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} - - div.clearpage, div.cleardoublepage - { margin: 10% 0; border: none; border-top: 1px solid gray; } - - .vfill { margin: 5% 10% } -} - -@media print { - div.clearpage { page-break-before: always; padding-top: 10% } - div.cleardoublepage { page-break-before: right; padding-top: 10% } - - .vfill { margin-top: 20% } - h2.title { margin-top: 20% } -} - -/* DIV */ -pre { font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.9em; white-space: pre-wrap } - -</style> -<title>A MARRIAGE UNDER THE TERROR</title> -<meta name="PG.Rights" content="Public Domain" /> -<meta name="PG.Title" content="A Marriage Under the Terror" /> -<meta name="PG.Producer" content="Al Haines" /> -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<meta name="DC.Creator" content="Patricia Wentworth" /> -<meta name="DC.Created" content="1910" /> -<meta name="PG.Id" content="42520" /> -<meta name="PG.Released" content="2013-04-12" /> -<meta name="DC.Language" content="en" /> -<meta name="DC.Title" content="A Marriage Under the Terror" /> - -<link href="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" rel="schema.DCTERMS" /> -<link href="http://id.loc.gov/vocabulary/relators" rel="schema.MARCREL" /> -<meta content="A Marriage Under the Terror" name="DCTERMS.title" /> -<meta content="marriage.rst" name="DCTERMS.source" /> -<meta content="en" scheme="DCTERMS.RFC4646" name="DCTERMS.language" /> -<meta content="2013-04-12T23:15:23.258493+00:00" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.modified" /> -<meta content="Project Gutenberg" name="DCTERMS.publisher" /> -<meta content="Public Domain in the USA." name="DCTERMS.rights" /> -<link href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/42520" rel="DCTERMS.isFormatOf" /> -<meta content="Patricia Wentworth" name="DCTERMS.creator" /> -<meta content="2013-04-12" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.created" /> -<meta content="width=device-width" name="viewport" /> -<meta content="EpubMaker 0.3.20a7 by Marcello Perathoner <webmaster@gutenberg.org>" name="generator" /> -</head> -<body> -<div class="document" id="a-marriage-under-the-terror"> -<h1 class="center document-title level-1 pfirst title"><span class="x-large">A MARRIAGE UNDER THE TERROR</span></h1> - -<!-- this is the default PG-RST stylesheet --> -<!-- figure and image styles for non-image formats --> -<!-- default transition --> -<!-- default attribution --> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="clearpage"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="align-None container language-en pgheader" id="pg-header" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the </span><a class="reference internal" href="#project-gutenberg-license">Project Gutenberg License</a><span> -included with this eBook or online at -</span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license">http://www.gutenberg.org/license</a><span>.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<div class="align-None container" id="pg-machine-header"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>Title: A Marriage Under the Terror -<br /> -<br />Author: Patricia Wentworth -<br /> -<br />Release Date: April 12, 2013 [EBook #42520] -<br /> -<br />Language: English -<br /> -<br />Character set encoding: UTF-8</span></p> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-start-line"><span>*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>A MARRIAGE UNDER THE TERROR</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-produced-by"><span>Produced by Al Haines.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span></span></p> -</div> -<div class="align-None container titlepage"> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics x-large">A Marriage -<br />Under the Terror</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics medium">By</em><span class="medium"> -<br /></span><em class="italics medium">Patricia Wentworth</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">G. P. Putnam's Sons -<br />New York and London -<br />Knickerbocker Press -<br />1910</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container verso"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">COPYRIGHT, 1910 -<br />BY -<br />G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">Published, April, 1910 -<br />Reprinted, May, 1910</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">The Knickerbocker Press, New York</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">Advertisement</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>To </span><em class="italics">A Marriage Under the Terror</em><span> has been awarded -in England the first prize in the Melrose Novel -Competition, a competition that was not restricted to first -stories. The distinguished literary reputation of the -three judges—Mrs. Flora Annie Steel, Miss Mary -Cholmondeley, and Mrs. Henry de la Pasture—was -a guaranty alike to the contestants and to the public -that the story selected as the winner would without -question be fully entitled to that distinction. In -consequence, many authors of experience entered the -contest, with the result that the number of manuscripts -submitted was greater than that in the competition -previously conducted by Mr. Melrose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Among such a number of good stories individual -taste must always play an important part in the -decision. It is, therefore, no small tribute to the -transcendent interest of the winning novel that, though -the judges worked independently, each selected </span><em class="italics">A -Marriage Under the Terror</em><span> as the most distinctive -novel in the group.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">CONTENTS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">CHAPTER</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<ol class="upperroman simple"> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-purloined-cipher">A Purloined Cipher</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-forced-entrance">A Forced Entrance</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#shut-out-by-a-prison-wall">Shut out by a Prison Wall</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-terror-let-loose">The Terror Let Loose</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-carnival-of-blood">A Carnival of Blood</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-doubtful-safety">A Doubtful Safety</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-inner-conflict">The Inner Conflict</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#an-offer-of-friendship">An Offer of Friendship</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-old-ideal-and-the-new">The Old Ideal and the New</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-fate-of-a-king">The Fate of a King</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-irrevocable-vote">The Irrevocable Vote</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#separation">Separation</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#disturbing-insinuations">Disturbing Insinuations</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-dangerous-acquaintance">A Dangerous Acquaintance</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#sans-souci">Sans Souci</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#an-unwelcome-visitor">An Unwelcome Visitor</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#distressing-news">Distressing News</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-trial-and-a-wedding">A Trial and a Wedding</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-barrier">The Barrier</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-royalist-plot">A Royalist Plot</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-new-environment">A New Environment</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#at-home-and-afield">At Home and Afield</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#return-of-two-fugitives">Return of Two Fugitives</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#burning-of-the-chateau">Burning of the Château</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#escape-of-two-madcaps">Escape of Two Madcaps</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-dying-woman">A Dying Woman</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#betrayal">Betrayal</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#inmates-of-the-prison">Inmates of the Prison</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#through-darkness-to-light">Through Darkness to Light</a></p> -</li> -</ol> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-purloined-cipher"><span class="x-large">A MARRIAGE UNDER THE TERROR</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">CHAPTER I</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">A PURLOINED CIPHER</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was high noon on a mid-August morning of the year -1792, but Jeanne, the waiting-maid, had only just -set the coffee down on the small table within the ruelle of -Mme de Montargis' magnificent bed. Great ladies did -not trouble themselves to rise too early in those days, -and a beauty who has been a beauty for twenty years was -not more anxious then than now to face the unflattering -freshness of the morning air. Laure de Montargis stirred -in the shadow of her brocaded curtains, put out a white -hand for the cup, sipped from it, murmured that the -coffee was cold, and pushed it from her with a fretful -exclamation that made Jeanne frown as she drew the -tan-coloured curtains and let in the mid-day glare. -Madame had been up late, Madame had lost at faro, and -her servants would have to put up with Heaven alone -knew how many megrims in consequence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame suffers?" inquired Jeanne obsequiously, -but with pursed lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The lady closed her eyes. Laying her head back -against the delicately embroidered pillows, she indicated -by a gesture that her sufferings might be taken for -granted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame has the migraine?" suggested the soft, -rather false-sounding voice. "Madame will not receive?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Heavens! girl, how you pester me," said the -Marquise sharply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, falling again to a languid tone, "Is there any -one there?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jeanne smiled with malicious, averted face as she -poured rose-water from a silver ewer into a Sévres bowl, -and watched it rise, dimpling, to the flower-wreathed -brim.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is M. le Vicomte as usual, Madame, and Mme -la Comtesse de Maillé, who, learning that Madame was -but now awakened, told me that she would wait whilst -I inquired if Madame would see her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good Heavens! what an hour to come," said the -lady, with a peevish air.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame la Comtesse seemed much moved. One -would say something had occurred," said Jeanne.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Marquise raised her head sharply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"—And you stand chattering there? Just Heaven! -The trial that it is to have an imbecile about one! -The glass quickly, and the rouge, and the lace for my -head. No, not that rouge,—the new sort that Isidore -brought yesterday;—arrange these two curls,—now a -little powder. Fool! what powder is this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame's own," submitted Jeanne meekly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The suffering lady raised herself and dealt the girl a -sounding box on the ear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Idiot! did I not tell you I had tired of the perfume, -and that in future the white lilac powder was the only -one I would use? Did I not tell you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Madame"—but there was a spark beneath the -waiting-maid's discreetly dropped lids.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Marquise de Montargis sat bolt upright, and -contemplated her reflection in the wide silver mirror which -Jeanne was steadying. Her passion had brought a -little flush to her cheeks, and she noted approvingly -that the colour became her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Put the rouge just here, and here, Jeanne," she -ordered, her anger subsiding;—then, with a fresh -outburst—"Imbécile, not so much! One does not have the -complexion of a milkmaid when one is in bed with the -migraine; just a shade here now, a nuance. That will -do; go and bring them in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She drew a rose-coloured satin wrap about her, and -posed her head, in its cloud of delicate lace, carefully. -Her bed was as gorgeous as it well might be. Long -curtains of rosy brocade fell about it, and a coverlid of -finest needlework, embroidered with bunches of red and -white roses on a white satin ground, was thrown across -it. The carved pillars showed cupids pelting one another -with flowers plucked from the garlands that wreathed -their naked chubbiness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madame de Montargis herself had been a beauty for -twenty years, but a life of light pleasures, and a heart -incapable of experiencing more than a momentary -emotion had combined to leave her face as unlined and -almost as lovely as when Paris first proclaimed her its -reigning queen of beauty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was eminently satisfied with her own looks as she -turned languidly on her soft pillows to greet her friends.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mme de Maillé bent and embraced her; M. le Vicomte -Sélincourt stooped and kissed her gracefully extended -hand. Jeanne brought seats, and after a few polite -inquiries Mme de Maillé plunged into her news.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ma chère amie!" she exclaimed, "I come to tell you -the good news. My daughter and her husband have -reached England in safety." Tears filled her soft blue -eyes, and she raised them to the ceiling with a gesture -that would have been affected had her emotion been -less evidently sincere.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! chère Comtesse, a thousand felicitations!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear, I have been on thorns, I have not slept, I -have not eaten, I have wept rivers, I have said more -prayers in a month than my confessor has ever before -induced me to say in a year. First I thought they would -be stopped at the barriers, and then—then I pictured to -myself a hundred misfortunes, a thousand inconveniences! -I saw my Adèle ill, fainting from the fatigues -of the road; I imagined assaults of brigands, shipwrecks, -storms,—in short, everything of the most unfortunate,—ah! my -dear friends, you do not know what a mother -suffers,—and now I have the happiness of -receiving a letter from my dearest Adèle,—she is well; -she is contented. They have been received with -the greatest amiability, and, my friends, I am too -happy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And your happiness is that of your friends," bowed -the Vicomte.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mme de Montargis' congratulations were polite, if a -trifle perfunctory. The convenances demanded that -one should simulate an interest in the affairs of one's -acquaintances, but in reality, and at this hour of the -day, how they did bore one! And Marie de Maillé, -with her soft airs, and that insufferable Adèle of hers, -whom she had always spoilt so abominably. It was a -little too much! One had affairs of one's own. With -the fretful expression of half an hour before she drew -a letter from beneath her pillow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I too have news to impart," she said, with rather a -pinched smile. "News that concerns you very closely, -M. le Vicomte," and she fixed her eyes on Sélincourt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That concerns me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But yes, Monsieur, since what concerns Mademoiselle -your betrothed must concern you, and closely, as I -said."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mademoiselle my betrothed, Mlle de Rochambeau!" -he cried quickly. "Is she then ill?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mme de Montargis smiled maliciously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hark to the anxious lover! But calm yourself, my -friend, she is certainly not ill, or she would not now be -on her way to Paris."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To Paris?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That, Monsieur, is, I believe, her destination."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What? She is coming to Paris now?" inquired -Mme de Maillé with concern.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Marquise shrugged her shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is very inconvenient, but what would you?" she -said lightly; "as you know, dear friend, she was betrothed -to M. le Vicomte when she was a child. Then my good -cousin, the Comte de Rochambeau, takes it into his -virtuous head that this world, even in his rural retreat, -is no longer good enough for him, and follows Madame, -his equally virtuous wife, to Paradise, where they are no -doubt extremely happy. Until yesterday I pictured -Mademoiselle almost as saintly and contented with the -holy Sisters of the Grace Dieu Convent, who have looked -after her for the last ten years or so. Then comes this -letter; it seems there have been riots, a château burned, -an intendant or two murdered, and the good nuns take -advantage of the fact that the steward of Rochambeau -and his wife are making a journey to Paris to confide -Mademoiselle to their care, and mine. It seems," she -concluded, with a little laugh, "that they think Paris is -safe, these good nuns."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor child, poor child!" exclaimed Mme de Maillé -in a distressed voice; "can you not stop her, turn her -back?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Marquise laughed again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear friend, she is probably arriving at this minute. -The Sisters are women of energy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At least M. de Sélincourt is to be congratulated," -said Mme de Maillé after a pause; "that is if Mademoiselle -resembles her parents. I remember her mother -very well,—how charming, how spirituelle, how amiable! -I knew her for only too short a time, and yet, looking -back, it seems to me that I never had a friend I valued -more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My cousin De Rochambeau was crazy about her," -reflected Mme de Montargis; "he might have married -anybody, and he chose an Irish girl without a sou. -It was the talk of Paris at the time. He was the -handsomest man at Court."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And Aileen Desmond the loveliest girl," put in -Mme de Maillé thoughtlessly; then, observing her -hostess's change of expression, she coloured, but -continued—"They were not so badly matched, and," with a little -sigh, "they were very happy. It was a real romance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mme de Montargis' eyes flashed. Twenty years ago -beautiful Aileen Desmond had been her rival at Court. -Now that for quite a dozen years gossip had coupled her -name with that of the Vicomte de Sélincourt, was Aileen -Desmond's daughter to take her mother's place in that -bygone rivalry?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mme de Maillé, catching her glance, wondered how it -would fare with any defenceless girl who came between -Laure de Montargis and her lover. She was still -wondering whilst she made her farewells.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When M. le Vicomte had bowed her out he came -moodily back to his place.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is very inconvenient, Madame," he said pettishly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You say so," returned the lady.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pardon, Madame, it was you who said so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Marquise laughed. It was not a pleasant laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course it was I," she cried. "Who else? It is -hardly likely that M. le Vicomte finds a rich bride -inconvenient."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sélincourt's face changed a little, but he waved the -words away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mademoiselle is nothing to me," he asserted. -"Chère amie, do you suspect, do you doubt the faithful -heart which for years has beaten only for one beloved -object?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The lady pouted, but her eyes ceased to sparkle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And that object?" she inquired, with a practised -glance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Angel of my life—need you ask?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was indeed unnecessary, since a very short acquaintance -with this fervid lover was sufficient to assure any -one that his devotion to himself was indeed his ruling -and unalterable passion; perhaps the Marquise was -aware of this, and was content to take the second, but -not the third place, in his affections. She looked at -him coquettishly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," she said, "you mean it now, now perhaps, -Monsieur, but when she comes, when you are married?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh, ma foi," and the Vicomte waved away his -prospective marriage vows as lightly as if they were -thistle-down, "one does not marry for love; the heart must be -free, not bound,—and where will the free heart turn -except to the magnet that has drawn it for so long?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madame extended a white, languid hand, and Monsieur -kissed it with more elegance than fervour. As he -was raising his head she whispered sharply:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The new cipher, have you got it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He bent lower, and kissed the fair hand again, -lingeringly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is here, and I have drafted the letter we spoke of; -it must go this week."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Queen is well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, but impatient for news. There is an Austrian -medicine that she longs for."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Chut! Enough, one is never safe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Adieu, then, m'amie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Adieu, M. le Vicomte."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur took his leave with an exquisite bow, and -all the forms that elegance prescribed, and Madame lay -back against her pillows with closed eyes, and the frown -which she never permitted to appear in society. Jeanne -threw a sharp glance at her as she returned from closing -the door upon Sélincourt. Her ears had made her aware -of whispering, and now her eyes showed her a small -crumpled scrap of paper, just inside the ruelle of -Madame's bed. A love-letter? Perhaps, or perhaps -not. In any case the correspondence of the mistress is -the perquisite of the maid, and as Jeanne came softly -to the bedside she covered the little twisted note with -a dexterous foot, and, bending to adjust the -rose-embroidered coverlid, secured and hid her prize. In a -moment she had passed behind the heavy curtains and -was scanning it with a practised eye—an eye that saw -more than the innocent-seeming figures with which the -white paper was dotted. Jeanne had seen ciphers -before, and a glance sufficed to show her the nature of -this one, for at the foot of the draft was a row of signs -and figures, mysterious no longer in the light of the key -that stood beneath them. Apparently Jeanne knew -something about secret correspondence too, for there in -the shadow behind the curtain she nodded and smiled, -and once even shook her fist towards the unconscious -Marquise. Next moment she was again in evidence, -and but for that paper tucked away inside her bodice she -would have found her morning a hard one. Madame -wished this, Madame wished that; Madame would have -her forehead bathed, her feet rubbed, a thousand whims -complied with and a thousand fancies gratified. -Soft-voiced and deft, Jeanne moved incessantly to and fro on -those small, neatly-shod feet, which she sometimes -compared not uncomplacently with those of her mistress, -until, at last, at the latter end of all conceivable fancies -there came one for repose,—the rosy curtains were -drawn, and Jeanne was free.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Half an hour later a deftly-cloaked figure stood before -a table at which a dark-faced man wrote busily—a paper -was handed over, a password asked and given.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it enough now?" asked Jeanne the waiting-maid. -And the dark-faced man answered, without looking up, -"It is enough—the cup is full."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-forced-entrance"><span class="large">CHAPTER II</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">A FORCED ENTRANCE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Mademoiselle de Rochambeau had been -a week in Paris, but as yet she had tasted none -of its gaieties—for gaieties there were still, even in these -clouding days when the wind of destiny blew up the -storm of the Terror. The King and Queen were -prisoners in the Temple, many of the noblesse had emigrated, -but what remained of the Court circles still met and -talked, laughed, gamed, and flirted, as if there were no -deluge to come. To-day Mme de Montargis received, -and Mlle de Rochambeau, dressed by a Parisian milliner -for the first time, was to be presented to her cousin's -friends.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had not even seen her betrothed as yet,—that -dim figure which she had contemplated for so many -years of cloistered monotony, until it had become the -model upon which her dreams and hopes were hung. -Now that the opening of the door might at any moment -reveal him in the flesh, the dreams wore suddenly thin, -and she was conscious of an overpowering suspense. -She hoped for so much, and all at once she was afraid. -Husbands, to be sure, were not romantic, not the least -in the world, and, according to the nuns, it would be the -height of impropriety to wish that they should be. -One married because it was the convenable thing to do, -but to fall in love,—fi donc, Mademoiselle, the idea! -Aline laughed, for she remembered Sister Séraphine's -face, all soft and shocked and wrinkled, and then in a -minute she was grave again. Dreams may be forbidden, -but when one is nineteen they have a way of recurring, -and it is certain that Mlle de Rochambeau's heart beat -faster than Sister Séraphine would have approved, as -she stood by Mme de Montargis' gilded chair and -heard the servant announce "M. le Vicomte de -Sélincourt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He kissed Madame's hand; and then hers. A sensation -that was almost terror caught the colour from her -face. Was this little, dark, bowing fop the dream hero? -His eyes were like a squirrel's—black, restless, -shallow—and his mouth displeased her. Something about its -puckered outline made her recoil from the touch of it -upon her hand, and the Marquise, glancing at her, saw -all the young face pale and distressed. She smiled -maliciously, and reflected on the folly of youth and the -kind connivance of Fate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sélincourt, for his part, was well enough satisfied. -Mademoiselle was too tall for his taste, it was true; her -beautifully shaped shoulders and bust too thin; but of -those dark grey Irish eyes there could be no two opinions, -and his quick glance approved her on the whole. She -would play her part as Mme la Vicomtesse very creditably -when a little modish polish had softened her convent -stateliness, and for the rest he had no notion of being in -love with his bride. It was long, in fact, since his small, -jaded heart had beaten the faster for any woman, and his -eyes left her face with a genuine indifference which did -not escape either woman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mademoiselle, I felicitate Paris, and myself," he -said, with a formal bow. Mademoiselle made him a -stately reverence, and the long-dreamed-of meeting was -over.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned at once to her cousin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have written to our friend, Madame?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wrote immediately, M. le Vicomte."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He lowered his voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The paper with the cipher on it, did I give you my -copy as well as your own?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But no, mon ami. Why, have you not got it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sélincourt raised his shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly not, since I ask if you have it," he returned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madame's delicate chin lifted a little.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And when did you find this out?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I had no occasion to use the code until yesterday, -and then..." the lift of his shoulders merged into a -decided shrug.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Marquise turned away with a slight frown. It -was annoying, but then the Vicomte was always careless, -and no doubt the paper would be found; it must be -somewhere, and her guests were assembling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Of such stuff were the conspirators of those -days,—triflers, fops, and flirts; men who mislaid the papers -which meant life and death to them and to a hundred -more; women who chattered secrets in the hearing of -their lackeys and serving-maids, unable to realise that -these were listeners more dangerous than the chairs and -tables of their gaily furnished salons. What wonder that -of all the aristocratic plots and counterplots of the -Revolution there was not one but perished immature? -Powdered nobles and painted dames, they played at -conspiracy as they played at love and hate, played -with gilded counters instead of sterling gold, and in the -end they paid the reckoning in blood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile Madame received.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The gay, softly lighted salon filled apace. Day was -still warm outside, but the curtains were drawn, and -clusters of wax candles, set in glittering chandeliers, -threw their becoming light upon the bare shoulders of -the ladies and lent the rouge a more natural air.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Play was the order of the day, the one real passion -which held that world. Life and death were trifles, -birth and marriage a jest, love and hate the flicker of -shadow and sunshine over shallow waters; but the -gambler could still feel joy of gain or rage of loss, and -the faro table demanded an earnestness which religion -was powerless to evoke. Mlle de Rochambeau stood -behind her cousin's chair. The scene fascinated, interested, -excited her. The swiftly passing cards, the heaps -of gold, the flushed faces, the half-checked ejaculations, -all drew and enchained her attention; for this was the -great world, and these her future friends.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At first the game itself was a mystery, but by degrees -her quick wits grasped the principle, and she watched -with a breathless interest. Madame de Montargis won -and won. As the rouleaux of gold grew beside her, she -slid them into an embroidered bag, where her monogram -shone in pearls and silver and was wreathed by clustering -forget-me-nots.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now she was not in such good luck. She knit her -brows, set her teeth into the full lower lip, pouted -ominously,—and cheated. Quite distinctly Mademoiselle -saw her change a card, and play on smilingly, as the -change brought fickle fortune to her side once more. -Aline de Rochambeau's hand went up to her throat with -a nervous gesture. She wore around it a single string -of pearls—milk-white, and of great value. In her -surprise and agitation she caught sharply at the necklet, -and in a moment the thread snapped, and the pearls -rolled here and there over the polished floor. Aileen -Desmond had worn them last, a dozen years before, and -the silken string had had time to rot since then.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The players took no notice, but Mademoiselle de -Rochambeau gave a soft little cry and went down on her -knees to pick up her pearls. The greater number were -to her hand, but a few had rolled away to the corner of -the room. Mademoiselle put what she had picked up -into her muslin handkerchief, and slipped it into her -bosom. Then she went timidly forward, casting her -looks here, there, and everywhere in search of the three -pearls which she still missed. She found one under the -fold of a heavy curtain, and as she bent to pick it up she -heard voices in the alcove it screened, and caught her -own name.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The little Rochambeau"—just like that.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a woman's voice, very clear, and a little shrill, -and then a man said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She is not bad—she has eyes, and a fine shape, and -a delicate skin. Laure de Montargis will be green with -jealousy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The woman laughed, a high, tinkling laugh, like the -trill of a guitar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The faithful Sélincourt will be straining at his leash," -pursued the same voice. "It is time he ranged himself; -and, after all, he has given her twelve years."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Another ripple of laughter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a gift! Heaven protect me from the like. -He is tedious enough for an hour, and twelve -years!—that poor Laure!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Chère Duchesse, she has permitted herself -distractions." Here the voice dropped, but Aline caught names -and shuddered. She rose, bewildered and confused, and -as she crossed the room and took her station near Madame -again, her eyes looked very dark amidst the pallour -of her face. The hand that knotted the fine handkerchief -over the last of her pearls shook more than a little, -and at a sudden glance of Sélincourt's she looked down, -trembling in every limb. M. de Sélincourt, her -betrothed, and Laure de Montargis, her cousin,—lovers. -But Laure was married. M. de Montargis was with -the Princes,—his wife had spoken of him only that day. -Oh, kind saints, what wickedness was this?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline's brain was in a whirl, but through her shocked -bewilderment emerged a very definite horror of the -sallow-faced, shifty-eyed gentleman whom she had been -taught to regard as her future husband. She shuddered -when she remembered that he had kissed her hand, and -furtively she rubbed the place, as if to efface a stain. If -she had been less taken up with her own thoughts, she -would have noticed that whereas the room appeared to -have grown curiously quiet, there was a strange sound of -trampling, and a confused buzz of speech outside. -Suddenly, however, the door was burst open, and a -frightened lackey ran in, followed by another and another.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame—a Commissioner—and a Guard—oh, Madame!" -stammered one and another.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mme de Montargis raised her arched eyebrows and -stared at the foremost man in displeased silence. He -fell back muttering incoherently, and she turned her -attention to the game once more. But her guests -hesitated, and ceased to play, for behind the lackey -came a little procession of three, and with it some of the -desperate reality of life seemed to enter that salon of the -artificial. A Commissioner of the Commune walked -first, with broad tri-coloured sash above an attire -sufficiently rough and disordered to bear witness to his -ardent patriotism. His lank black hair hung unpowdered -to his shoulders, and his fat, sallow face wore an -expression of mingled dislike and complacency. He -was followed by two blue-coated National Guards, -who looked curiously about them and smelled horribly -of garlic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madame's gaze dwelt on them with a surprised -resentment that did not at all distinguish between the -officer and his subordinates.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Messieurs, this intrusion—" she began, and on the -instant the Commissioner was by her side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ci-devant Marquise de Montargis, you are my -prisoner," and rough as his voice came his hand upon -her shoulder. With a fashionable oath Sélincourt drew -his sword, and a woman screamed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>("It was the La Rivière," said Mme de Montargis -afterwards. "I always knew she had no breeding.")</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>M. le Commissionaire had a fine dramatic sense. He -experienced a most pleasing conviction of being in his -element as he signed to the nearest of his underlings, -and the man, without a word, drew back the heavy -crimson curtains which screened the window towards -the street.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The afternoon sun poured in, turning the candle-light -to a cheap tawdry yellow, and with it came a sound -which I suppose no one has yet heard unmoved—the -voice of an angry crowd. Oaths flew, foul words rose, -and above the din sounded a shrill scream of—"The -Austrian spy, bring out the Austrian spy!" and with a -roar the crowd took up the word, "To the lantern, to the -lantern, to the lantern!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was no uncertainty about that voice, and at -that, and the Commissioner's meaning gesture, Sélincourt's -sword-arm dropped to his side again. If Madame -turned pale her rouge hid it, and her manner continued -calm to the verge of indifference. When the shouting -outside had died down a little she turned politely to the -man beside her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur, your hand incommodes me; if you would -have the kindness to remove it"; and under her eye, -and the faint, stinging sarcasm which flavoured its glance, -he coloured heavily and withdrew a pace. Then he -produced a paper, drawing from its rustling folds fresh -confidence and a return to his official bearing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The ci-devant Vicomte de Sélincourt," he said in -loud, harsh tones; and, as Sélincourt made a movement, -"You, too, are arrested."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But this is an outrage," stammered the Vicomte, -"an outrage, fellow, for which you shall suffer. On -what charge—by what authority?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man shrugged fat shoulders across which lay the -tri-colour scarf.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Charge of treasonable correspondence with Austria," -he said shortly; "and as to authority, I am the Commune's -delegate. But, ma foi, Citizen, there is authority -for you if you don't like mine," and, with a gesture -which he admired a good deal, he waved an arm towards -the street, where the clamour raged unchecked. As he -spoke a stone came flying through the glass, and a sharp -splinter struck Sélincourt upon the cheek, drawing blood, -and an oath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You had best come with me before those outside -break in to ask why we delay," said the delegate -meaningly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madame de Montargis surveyed her guests. She was -too well-bred to smile at their dismay, but something -of amusement, and something of scorn, lurked in her -hazel eyes. Then, with her usual slow grace, she took -Sélincourt's arm, and walked towards the door, smiling, -nodding, curtsying, speaking here a few words and -there a mere farewell, whilst the Commissioner followed -awkwardly, spitting now and then to relieve his embarrassment, -and decidedly of the opinion that these -aristocrats built rooms far too long.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Chère Adèle, 't is au revoir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Marquise, I cannot express my regrets."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, Duchesse, mine is the discourtesy, though a -most unintentional one. I must rely upon the kindness -of my friends to forgive it me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline de Rochambeau walked after her cousin, but -participated in none of the farewells. She felt cold -and very bewildered; her only instinct to keep close to -the one protector she knew. To stay behind never -occurred to her. In the vestibule Madame de -Montargis paused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dupont!" she called sharply, and the stout major-domo -of the establishment emerged from a group of -frightened servants.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame—" Dupont's knees were shaking, but he -contrived a presentable bow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madame's eyes had lost their smile, but the scorn -remained. She spoke aloud.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Discharge those three fools who ran in just now, and -see that in future I have lackeys who know their place," -and with that she walked on again. All the way down -the grand staircase the noise of the mob pursued them. -In the vestibule more of the Guard waited with an -officer, and yet another Commissioner. The three men -in authority conferred for a moment, and then the -Commissioners hurried their prisoners to a side door where -a fiacre stood waiting. They passed out, and behind -them the door was shut and locked. Then, for the first -time, Madame seemed to be aware of her cousin's presence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aline—little fool!—go back—but on the instant—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ma cousine——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go back, I say. Mon Dieu, Mademoiselle, what folly!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl put her hand on the door, tried it, and said, -in a low, shaking voice:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it is locked——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Decidedly, since those were my orders," growled -the second Commissioner. "What's all this to-do? -Who 's this, Renard? Send her back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I ask you how?" demanded Renard, "since the -door is locked inside, and—Heavens, man, they are -coming this way!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lenoir uttered an imprecation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here, get in, get in!" he shouted, pushing the girl -as he spoke. "It is the less matter since the house and -all effects are to be sealed up. Get in, I say, or the mob -will be down on us!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madame gave him a furious glance, and took her seat -beside her trembling cousin. Sélincourt and Renard -followed. Lenoir swung himself to the box-seat, and the -fiacre drove off noisily, the sound of its wheels on the -rough cobble-stones drowning by degrees the lessening -outcries of the furious crowd behind.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="shut-out-by-a-prison-wall"><span class="large">CHAPTER III</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">SHUT OUT BY A PRISON WALL</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The fiacre drew up at the gate of La Force. M. le -Vicomte de Sélincourt got down, bowed politely, -and assisted Madame de Montargis to alight. He then -gave his hand to her cousin, and the little party -entered the prison. Mme la Marquise walked delicately, -with an exaggeration of that graceful, mincing step which -was considered so elegant by her admirers. She fanned -herself, and raised a scented pomander ball to her nostrils.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fi donc! What an air!" she observed with petulant disgust.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Renard of the dramatic soul shrugged his shoulders. -It was vexing not to be ready with a biting repartee, -but he was consoled by the conviction that a gesture -from him was worth more than many words from some -lesser soul. His colleague Lenoir—a rough, -coarse-faced hulk—scowled fiercely, and growled out:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh, Mme l'Aristocrate, it has been a good enough -air for many a poor devil of a patriot, as the citizen -gaoler here can tell you, and turn and turn about's fair -play." And with that he spat contemptuously in -Madame's path, and scowled again as she lifted her -dainty petticoats a trifle higher but crossed the inner -threshold without so much as a glance in his direction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bault, the head gaoler of La Force, motioned the -prisoners into a dull room, used at this time as an office, -but devoted at a later date to a more sinister purpose, -for it was here in days to come—days whose shadow -already rested palpably upon the thick air—that the -hair of the condemned was cut, and their arms pinioned -for the last fatal journey which ended in the embraces -of Mme Guillotine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bault opened the great register with a clap of the -leaves that betokened impatience. He was a nervous -man, and the times frightened him; he slept ill at nights, -and was irritable enough by day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your names?" he demanded abruptly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mme de Montargis drew herself up and raised her -arched eyebrows, slightly, but quite perceptibly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am the Marquise de Montargis, my good fellow," -she observed, with something of indulgence in her tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"First name, or names?" pursued Citizen Bault, unmoved.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Laure Marie Josèphe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you?" turning without ceremony to the Vicomte.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jean Christophe de Sélincourt, at your service, -Monsieur. Quelle comédie!" he added, turning to Mme -de Montargis, who permitted a slight, insolent smile -to lift her vermilion upper lip. Meanwhile the -Commissioners were handing over their papers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite correct, Citizens." Then, with a glance -around, "But what of this demoiselle? There is no -mention of her that I can see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lenoir laughed and swore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh," he said, "she was all for coming, and I dare -say a whiff of the prison air, which the old Citoyenne -found so trying, will do her no harm."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bault shook a doubtful head, and Renard threw himself -with zeal into the role of patriot, animated at once -by devotion to the principles of liberty, and loyalty to -law and order.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, Lenoir; no, no, my friend. Everything -must be done in order. The Citoyenne sees now what -comes of treason and plots. Let her be warned in time, -or she will be coming back for good. For this time there -is no accusation against her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He spoke loudly, hand in vest, and felt himself every -inch a Roman; but his magniloquence was entirely lost -on Mademoiselle, for, with a cry of dismay, she caught -her cousin's hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Messieurs, let me stop! Madame is my guardian, -my place is with her!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mme de Montargis looked surprised, but she -interrupted the girl with energy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Silence then, Aline! What should a young girl do -in La Force? Fi donc, Mademoiselle!"—as the soft, -distressed murmur threatened to break out again,—"you -will do as I tell you. Mme de Maillé will receive -you; go straight to her at the Hotel de Maillé. Present -my apologies for not writing to her, and—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sacrebleu!" thundered Lenoir furiously, "this is not -Versailles, where a pack of wanton women may chatter -themselves hoarse. Send the young one packing, Bault, -and lock these people up. Are the Deputies of the -Commune to stand here till nightfall listening to a pair -of magpies? Silence, I say, and march! The old -woman and the young one, both of you march, march!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laid a large dirty hand on Mlle de Rochambeau's -shoulder as he spoke, and pushed her towards the door. -As she passed through it she saw her cousin delicately -accepting M. de Sélincourt's proffered arm, whilst her -left hand, flashing with its array of rings, still held the -sweet pomander to her face. Next moment she was in -the street.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her first thought was for the fiacre which had -conveyed them to the prison, but to her despair it had -disappeared, and there was no other vehicle in sight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she stood in hesitating bewilderment, she was aware -of the sound of approaching wheels, and looking up she -saw three carriages coming, one behind the other, at a -brisk pace. There were three priests in the first, one -of them so old that all the solicitous assistance of the -two younger men was required to get him safely down -the high step and through the gate. In the second were -two ladies, whose faces seemed vaguely familiar. Was -it a year or only an hour ago that they had laughed and -jested at Mme de Montargis' brilliant gathering? They -looked at her in the same half uncomprehending manner, -and passed on. The last carriage bore the De Maillé -crest, but a National Guard occupied the box-seat in -place of the magnificent coachman Aline had seen the -day before, when Mme de Maillé had taken her old -friend's daughter for a drive through Paris.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The door of the chariot opened, and Mme De Maillé, -pale, almost fainting, was helped out. She looked -neither to right nor left, and when Aline started forward -and would have spoken, the National Guard pushed her -roughly back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go home, go home!" he said, not unkindly; "if you -are not arrested, thank the saints for it, for there are -precious few aristocrats as lucky to-day"; and Aline -shrank against the wall, dumb with perturbation and -dismay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As in a dream she listened to the clang of the prison -gate, the roll of departing wheels, and it was only when -the last echo died away that the mist which hung about -her seemed to clear, and she realised that she was alone -in the deserted street.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alone! In all her nineteen years she had never been -really alone before. As a child in her father's château, -as a girl in her aristocratic convent, she had always -been guarded, sheltered, guided, watched. She had -certainly never walked a yard in the open street, or been -touched by a man's hand, as the Commissioner Lenoir -had touched her a few minutes since. She felt her -shoulder burn through the thin muslin fichu that veiled -it so discreetly, and the blood ran up, under her delicate -skin, to the roots of the curling hair, where gold tints -showed here and there through the lightly sprinkled -powder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was still very hot, though so late in the afternoon, -and the sun, though near its setting, shot out a level ray -or two that seemed to make palpable the strong, brooding -heat of the evening.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline felt dazed, and so faint that she was glad to -support herself against the rough prison wall. When -she could control her trembling thoughts a little, she -began to wonder what she should do. She had only -been a week in Paris, she knew no one except her cousin, -the Vicomte, and Mme de Maillé, and they were in -prison—they and many, many more. For the moment -these frowning walls stood to her for home, or all that -she possessed of home, and she was shut outside, in a -dreadful world, full of unknown dangers, peopled perhaps -with persons who would speak to her as Lenoir had done, -touch her even,—and at that she flushed again, -shuddered and looked wildly round.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A very fat woman was coming down the street,—the -fattest woman Mlle de Rochambeau had ever seen, yes, -fatter even than Sister Josèphe, she considered, with -that mechanical detachment of thought which is so -often the accompaniment of great mental distress.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She wore a striped petticoat and a gaily flowered -gown, the sleeves of which were rolled up to display a -pair of huge brown arms. She had a very broad, sallow -face, and little pig's eyes sunk deep in rolls of crinkled -flesh. Aline gazed at her, fascinated, and the woman -returned the look. In truth, Mlle de Rochambeau, with -her rose-wreathed hair, her delicate muslin dress, her -fichu trimmed with the finest Valenciennes lace, her thin -stockings and modish white silk shoes, was a sufficiently -arresting figure, when one considered the hour and the -place. The fat woman hesitated a moment, and in that -moment Mademoiselle spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was the most hesitating essay at speech, but the -woman stopped and swung her immense body round -until she faced the girl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh bien, Ma'mselle," she said in a thick, drawling -voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle moistened her dry lips and tried again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame—I do not know—can you tell me,—oh! you -look kind, can you tell me what to do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What to do, Ma'mselle?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh yes, Madame, and—and where to go?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where to go, Ma'mselle?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Madame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But why, Ma'mselle?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When anything terrible happens to the very young, -they are unable to realise that the whole world does -not know of their misfortune. Thus to Mlle de -Rochambeau it appeared inconceivable that this woman should -be in ignorance of so important an event as the arrest -of the Marquise de Montargis and her friends. It was -only when, to a puzzled expression, the woman added a -significant tap of the gnarled forefinger upon the heavy -forehead, and, with a shrug of voluminous shoulders, -prepared to pass on, that it dawned upon her that here -perhaps was help, and that it was slipping away from -her for want of a little explanation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Madame," she exclaimed desperately, "do listen -to me. I am Mlle de Rochambeau, and it is only a -week since I came to Paris to be with my cousin, the -Marquise de Montargis, and now they have arrested -her, and I have nowhere to go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A sound of voices came from behind the great gate of -the prison.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Walk a little way with me," said the fat woman -abruptly. "There will be more than you and me in this -conversation if we loiter here like this. Continue, then, -Ma'mselle—you have nowhere to go? But why not to -your cousin's hotel then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My cousin would have had me do so, but the -Commissioners would not permit it. Everything must be -sealed up they said, the servants all driven out, and no -one to come and go until they had finished their search -for treasonable papers. My cousin is accused of -corresponding with Austria on behalf of the Queen," Mlle -de Rochambeau remarked innocently, but something -in her companion's change of expression convicted her -of her imprudence, and she was silent, colouring deeply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The fat woman frowned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, your cousin, had a large society; her friends -would protect you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline shook her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know who they are, Madame. Mme de -Maillé, to whom my cousin commended me, is also in -prison, and others too,—many others, the driver of the -carriage said. I have nowhere to go, nowhere to go, -nowhere at all, Madame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sainte Vierge!" exclaimed the fat woman. The -ejaculation burst from her with great suddenness, and -she then closed her lips very tightly and walked on for -some moments in silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you any money?" was her next contribution -to the conversation, and Mademoiselle started and put -her hand to her bosom. Until this moment she had -forgotten it, but the embroidered bag containing her -cousin's winnings reposed there safely enough, -neighboured by her broken string of pearls. She drew out -the bag now and showed it to her companion, who gave -a sort of grunt, and permitted a new crease, expressive -of satisfaction, to appear upon her broad countenance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh bien!" she exclaimed. "All is easy. Money -is a good key,—a very good key, Ma'mselle. There are -very few doors it won't unlock, and mine is not -one,—besides the coincidence! Figure to yourself that I was -but now on my way to ask my sister, who is the wife -of Bault, the head gaoler of La Force, whether she could -recommend me some respectable young woman who -required a lodging. I did not look, it is true, for a noble -demoiselle,"—here the smooth voice took a tone which -caused Mademoiselle to glance up quickly, but all she -saw was a narrowing of the eyes above a huge impassive -smile, and the flow of words continued,—"la, la, it is all -one to me, if the money is safe. There is nothing to be -done without money."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mlle de Rochambeau drew a little away from her -companion. She was unaccustomed to so familiar a -mode of speech, and it offended her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The little, sharp eyes flashed upon her as she averted -her face, and the voice dropped back into its first tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well then, Ma'mselle, it is easily settled, and I need -not go to my sister at all to-night. It grows dark so -early now, and I have no fancy for being abroad in the -dark; but one thing and another kept me, and I said to -myself, 'Put a thing off often enough, and you'll never -do it at all.' My cousin Thérèse was with me, the -baggage, and she laughed; but I was a match for her. -'That's what you've done about marriage, Thérèse,' I -said, and out of the shop she bounced in as fine a temper -as you'd see any day. She's a light thing, Thérèse is; -and, bless me, if I warned her once I warned her a -hundred times! Always gadding abroad,—and her -ribbons—and her fal-lals—and the fine young men who were -ready to cut one another's throats for her sake! No, no, -that's not the way to get a husband and settle oneself -in life. Look at me. Was I beautiful? But certainly -not. Had I a large dot? Not at all. But respectable,—Mon -Dieu, yes! No one in all Paris can say that -Rosalie Leboeuf is not respectable; and when Madame, -your cousin, comes out of prison and hears you have been -under my roof, I tell you she will be satisfied, Ma'mselle. -No one has ever had a word to say against me. I keep -my shop, and I pay my way, even though times are bad. -Regular money coming in is not to be despised, so I take -a lodger or two. I have one now, a man. A man did -I say? An angel, a patriot, a true patriot; none of -your swearing, drinking, hiccupping, lolloping loafers, -who think if they consume enough strong liquor that the -reign of liberty will come floating down their throats of -itself. He is a worker this one; sober and industrious -is our Citizen Dangeau, and a Deputy of the Commune, -too, no less."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mlle de Rochambeau, slightly dazed by this flow of -conversation, felt a cold chill pass over her. -Commissioners of the Commune, Deputies of the Commune! -Was Paris full of them? And till this morning she had -never heard of the Commune; it had always been the -King, the Court; and now, to her faint senses, this new -word brought a suggestion of fear, and she seemed for a -moment to catch a glimpse of a black curtain vibrating -as if to rise. Behind it, what? She reeled a little, -gasped, and caught at her companion's solid arm. In a -moment it was round her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Courage, Ma'mselle, courage then! See, we are -arrived. It is better now, eh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle drew a long breath, and felt her feet -again. They were in an alley crowded with small -third-rate shops, and so closely set were the houses that it -was almost dark in the narrow street. Mme Leboeuf -led the way into one of the dim entrances, where a strong -mingled odour of cabbages, onions, and apples -proclaimed the nature of the commodities disposed of.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Above, it will be light enough still," asserted Rosalie -between her panting breaths. "This way, Ma'mselle; -one small step, turn to the left, and now up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They ascended gradually into a sort of twilight, until -suddenly a sharp turn in the stair brought them on to a -landing with a fair-sized window. Opposite was a gap -in the dingy line of houses, and through this gap shone -the strong red of the setting sun.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mlle de Rochambeau looked out, first at the gorgeous -pageant in the sky, and then, curiously, at the strangeness -of her new surroundings. She saw a tangle of mean -slums, streets nearly all gutter, from which rose sounds -of children squabbling, cats fighting, and men swearing. -Suddenly a woman shrieked, and she turned, terrified, to -realise that a man was passing them on his way down -the stair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She caught a momentary but very vivid impression -of a tall figure carried easily, a small head covered with -short, dark, curling hair, and a pair of eyes so blue and -piercing that her own hung on them for an instant in -surprise before they fell in confusion. The owner of the -eyes bowed slightly, but with courtesy, and passed on. -Madame Leboeuf was smiling and nodding.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good evening, Citizen Dangeau," she said, and -broke, as he passed, into renewed panegyrics.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-terror-let-loose"><span class="large">CHAPTER IV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">THE TERROR LET LOOSE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Jacques Dangeau was at this time about -eight-and-twenty years of age. He was a successful -lawyer, and an ardent Republican, a friend of Danton, -and a fairly prominent member of the Cordeliers' Club.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Under a handsome, well-controlled exterior he -concealed an unbounded enthusiasm and a passionate -devotion to the cause of liberty. When Dangeau spoke, -his section listened. He carried always in his mind a -vision of the ideal State, in the service of which a race -should be trained from infancy to the civic virtues, -inflamed with a pure ambition to spend themselves for -humanity. He saw mankind, shedding brutishness and -self, become sober, law-abiding, just;—in a word, he -possessed those qualities of vision and faith without -which neither prophet nor reformer can influence his -generation. Dangeau had the gift of speech, and, -carried on a flood of burning words, some perception -of the ultimate Ideal would rise upon the hearts of even -the most degraded among his hearers. For the moment -they too felt the glow of a reflected altruism, and -forgot that to them, and to their fellows, the Revolution -meant unpunished pillage, theft recognised, and murder -winked at.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As Dangeau walked through the darkening streets -his heart burned in him. The events of the last month -had brought the ideal almost within grasp. The grapes -of liberty had been trodden long enough in the vats of -oppression. Now the long ferment was nearing its -close, and the time approached when the wine of life -should be free to all; and that glorious moment of -anticipation held no dread of intoxication or excess. Truly -a patriot might be hopeful at this juncture. Capet and -his family, sometime unapproachable, lay prisoners now, -in the firm grip of the Commune, and the possession of -such hostages enabled Paris to laugh at the threats of -foreign interference. The proclamation of the Republic -was only a matter of weeks, and then—renewed visions -of a saturnian reign,—peace and plenty coupled with -the rigid virtues of old Rome,—rose glowingly before his -eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he entered the Temple gates he came down to -earth with a sigh. He was on his way to take his turn -of a duty eminently distasteful to him,—that of -guarding the imprisoned King and his family. As a patriot -he detested Louis the Tyrant, as a man he despised Louis -the man; but the spectacle of fallen greatness was -disagreeable to his really generous mind, and he was of -sufficiently gentle habits to revolt from the position of -intrusive familiarity into which he was forced with -regard to the women of the party.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Tower of the Temple, where the unfortunate -Royal Family of France were at this time confined, was -to be reached only by traversing the Palace of the same -name, and crossing the court and garden where the work -of demolishing a mass of old houses, which encroached -too nearly upon Capet's prison, was still proceeding. -Patriotic ardour had seen a spy behind every window, a -concealed courtier in every niche; so the buildings were -doomed, and falling fast, whilst from the debris arose -a strong enclosing wall pierced by a couple of guarded -entries. Broken masonry lay everywhere, and -Dangeau stumbled precariously as he made his way over -the rubble. The workmen had been gone this half-hour, -but as he halted and called out, a man with a lantern -advanced and piloted him to the Tower.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Commune was responsible for the prisoners of -the Temple, and the actual guarding of them was -delegated to eight of its Deputies. These were on duty -for forty-eight hours at a stretch, and were relieved by -fours every twenty-four hours.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As Dangeau entered the Council-room, those whose -term of duty was finished were already leaving. The -office of gaoler was an unpopular one, and most men, -having once satisfied their curiosity about the prisoners, -were very unwilling to approach them again. The sight -of misfortune is only pleasing to a mind completely -debased, and most of these Deputies were worthy men -enough.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau was met almost on the threshold by a fair-haired, -eager-looking youth, who hailed him warmly as -Jacques, and, linking his arm in his, led him, unresisting, -into the deep embrasure of the window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it, Edmond?" inquired Dangeau, an unusually -attractive smile lighting up his rather grave features. -It was plain that this young man roused in him an -amused affection.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing," said Edmond aloud, "but it is so long -since I saw you. Have you been dead, buried, or out of -Paris?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Since the arm you pinched just now is reasonably -solid flesh and blood, you may conclude that -during the past fortnight Paris has been rendered -inconsolable by my absence," said Dangeau, laughing -a little.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Edmond Cléry threw an imperceptible glance at his -fellow-Commissioners. Two being always with the -prisoners, there remained four others, and of these a -couple were playing cards at the wine-stained table, and -two more lounged on the doorstep smoking a villanously -rank tobacco and talking loudly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Certainly no one was in the least interested in the -conversation of Citizens Dangeau and Cléry. Yet for -all that Edmond dropped his voice, not to a whisper, but -to that smooth monotone which hardly carries a yard, -and yet is distinctly audible to the person addressed. -In this voice he asked:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have not been to the Club?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau shook his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nor seen Hébert, Marat, Jules Dupuis?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An expression of distaste lifted Dangeau's finely cut lip.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have existed without that felicity," he observed, -with a slightly sarcastic inflexion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you have been told—have heard—nothing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear Edmond, what mysteries are these?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Edmond Cléry leaned a little closer, and dropped his -voice until it was a mere tenuous thread.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They have decided on a massacre," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A massacre?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, of the prisoners."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just Heaven! No!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is true. Things have fallen from Hébert once or -twice. He and Marat have been closeted for hours—the -devil's own alliance that—and the plan is of their -hatching. Two days ago Hébert spoke at the Club. It -was late, Danton was not there. They say—" Cléry -hesitated, and stole a glance at his companion's set -face,—"they say he wishes to know nothing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A lie," said Dangeau very quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know. There, Jacques, don't look at me -like that! How can I tell? I tell you my brain reels at -the thought of the thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did Hébert say? He spoke?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes; said the people must be fleshed,—there was -not sufficient enthusiasm. Paris as a whole was -quiescent, apathetic. This must be changed, an elixir was -needed. What? Blood,—blood of traitors,—blood of -aristocrats,—oppressors of the people. Bah!—you can -fancy the rest well enough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did any one else speak?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Marat said the Jacobins were with us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Robespierre?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In it, of course, but would n't dirty those white hands -for the world," said Cléry, sneering.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No one opposed it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, but hooted down almost at once. You know -Dupuis's bull voice? It did his friends a good turn, -bellowing slackness, lack of patriotism, and so on. I -wish you had been there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau shook his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I could have done nothing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, but you could; there 's no one like you, Jacques. -Danton thunders, and Marat spits out venom, and -Hébert panders to the vile in us, but you really make -us see an ideal, and wish to be more worthy of it. I said -to Barrassin, 'If only Dangeau were here we should be -spared this shame.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The boy's face flushed as he spoke, but Dangeau -looked down moodily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I could have done nothing," he repeated. "If -they spoke as openly as that it is because their plans are -completed. Did you hear any more?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Edmond looked a little confused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not there,—but—well, I was told,—a friend told -me,—it was for to-morrow," and he looked up to find -Dangeau's eyes fixed steadily on him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A friend, Edmond? Who? Thérèse?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cléry coloured hotly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not Thérèse, Jacques?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, if you like to play with gunpowder it's no -business of mine, Edmond; but the girl is Hébert's mistress, -and as dangerous as the devil, that's all. And so she -told you that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cléry nodded, a trifle defiantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To-morrow," said Dangeau slowly; "where?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At all the prisons. One or two of the gaolers are -warned, but I do not believe they will be able to do -anything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau was thinking hard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They sent me away on purpose," he said at last.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Curse them!" said Cléry in a shaking voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau did not swear, but he nodded his head -as who should say Amen, and his face was bitter -hard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is anything intended here?" he asked sharply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, not from head-quarters; but Heaven knows what -may happen when the mob tastes blood."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau gave a short laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Jacques?" said Cléry, surprised.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Edmond," repeated Dangeau sardonically, -"I was thinking that it would be a queer turn for Fate -to play if you and I were to die to-morrow, fighting in -defence of Capet against the people."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You would do that?" asked Edmond.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But naturally, my friend, since we are responsible -for him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had been leaning carelessly against the wall, but -as he spoke he straightened himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Our friends upstairs will be getting impatient," he -said aloud. "Who takes the night duty with me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cléry was about to speak, but received a warning -pressure of the arm. He was silent, and Legros, one of -the loungers, came forward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau and he went out together. Upstairs silence -reigned. The two Commissioners on duty rose with -an air of relief, and passed out. The light of a badly -trimmed oil-lamp showed that the little party of prisoners -were all present, and Dangeau saluted them with a -grave inclination of the head that was hardly a bow. -His companion, clumsily embarrassed, shuffled with his -feet, spat on the floor, and lounged to a seat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Queen raised her eyebrows at him, and, turning -slightly, smiled and nodded to Dangeau. Mme -Elizabeth bowed abstractedly and turned again to the -chessboard which stood between her and her brother. Mme -Royale curtsied, but the little Dauphin did not raise -his head from some childish game which occupied his -whole attention. His mother, after waiting a moment, -called him to her and, laying one of her long delicate -hands on his petulantly twitching shoulder, observed -gently:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fi donc, my son; did you not see these gentlemen -enter? Bid them good evening!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The child tossed his head, but as his father's gaze met -him, he hung it down again, saying in a clear childish -voice, "Good evening, Citizens."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mme Elizabeth's colour rose perceptibly at the form -of address, but the Queen smiled, and, giving the boy's -shoulder a little tap of dismissal, she turned to Dangeau.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We forget our manners in this solitude, Monsieur," -she said in her peculiarly soft and agreeable voice. Then -after a pause, during which Dangeau, to his annoyance, -felt that his face was flushing, "It is Monsieur Dangeau, -is it not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Citizen Dangeau, at your service."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marie Antoinette laughed; the sound was pleasing but -disturbing. "Oh, my good Monsieur, I am too old to -learn these new forms of address. My son, you see, is -quicker"; the arch eyes clouded, the laugh dropped to -a sigh, then rippled back again into merriment. "Only -figure to yourself, Monsieur, that I have had already to -learn one new language, for when I came to France as a -bride, all was strange—oh, but so strange—to me. I -had hard work, I do assure you; and that good Mme de -Noailles was a famous task-mistress!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Should it be harder to learn simplicity?" said Dangeau, -a faint tinge of bitterness in his pleasant voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, no, Monsieur," returned the Queen, "it should -not be. My liking has always been for simplicity. -Good bread to eat, fresh water to drink, and a clean -white dress to wear,—with these things I could be very -well content. But, alas! Monsieur, the last at least is -lacking us; and simplicity, though a cardinal virtue now, -does not of itself afford an occupation. Pray, Monsieur -Dangeau, could you not ask that my sister and I should -be permitted the consolation of needlework?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau coloured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Commune has already decided against needle-work," -he said rather curtly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But why then, Monsieur?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because we all know that the needle may be used -instead of the pen, and that it is as easy to embroider -treason on a piece of stuff as to write it on paper," he -replied, with some annoyance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Queen gave a little light laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, de grace! Monsieur," she said, "my sister and I -are not so clever! But may we not at least knit? -There is nothing treasonable in a few pins and a little -wool, is there, M. le Député?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau shook his head doubtfully. Consciousness -of the Queen's fascination rendered his outward aspect -austere, and even ungracious.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will ask the Council," was all he permitted himself -to say, but was thanked as charmingly as though he had -promised some great concession. This did not diminish -his discomfort, and he was acutely conscious of Mme -Elizabeth's frown, and of a coarse grunt from Legros.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The prisoners did not keep late hours. Punctually at -ten the King rose, embraced Mme Royale, kissed his -sister's forehead and the Queen's hand, and retired to -his own apartment, accompanied by M. le Dauphin, his -valet, and the Deputy Legros. The Queen, Mme -Elizabeth, and Mme Royale busied themselves for a -moment with putting away the chessmen, and a book -or two that lay about. They then proceeded to their -own quarters, which consisted of two small rooms -opening from an ante-chamber. There Marie Antoinette -embraced her sister and daughter, and they separated -for the night. Dangeau was obliged to enter each -apartment in turn, in order to satisfy himself that all -was in order, after which he locked both doors, and drew -a pallet-bed across that which led to the Queen's room. -Here he stretched himself, but it was long ere he slept, -and his thoughts were very bitter. No Jacobin of them -all could go as far as he in Republican principles. To -him the Republic was not only the best form of -government, but the only one under which the civic virtues -could flourish. It was his faith, his ardent religion, -the inspiration of his life and labours, and it was this -faith which he was to see clouded, this religion defiled, -this inspiration befouled,—and at the hands of his -co-devotees, Hébert, Marat, and their crew. They -worshipped at the same altar, but they brought to it -blood-stained hands, lives foul with license, and the smoking -blood of tortured sacrifices.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Paris let loose on the prisoners! He shuddered at -the thought. Once the tiger had tasted blood, who -could assuage his thirst? There would be victims enough -and to spare. Curled fops of the salons; scented -exquisites of the Court; indolent, luxurious priests; -smooth-skinned, bright-eyed women; children foolish and -unthinking. He saw the sea of blood rise and rise till -it engulfed them all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Strange that he should think of the girl he had seen -for an instant on Rosalie's stairway. How uneasily -she had looked at him, and with what a rising colour. -How young she seemed, how delicately proud. Her face -stayed with him as he sank into a sleep, vexed by -prophetic dreams.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The next morning passed uneasily. It was a hot, -cloudless day, and the small room in which the prisoners -were confined became very oppressive. The King -spent a part of the time in superintending the education -of his son, and whilst thus engaged certainly appeared -to greater advantage than at any other time. The -child was wayward, wilful, and hard to teach; but the -father's patience appeared inexhaustible, and his method -of imparting information was not only painstaking, but -attractive.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Princesses read or conversed. Presently the -King got up and began pacing the room. It was a -habit of his, and, after glancing at him once or twice, -Mme Elizabeth rose and joined him. Now and then -they stood at the window and looked out. The last few -houses to be demolished were falling fast, and the King -amused himself by speculating on the direction likely to -be taken by each crashing mass of masonry. He made -little wagers with his sister, was chagrined when he lost, -and pleased out of all reason when he won. Dangeau's -lip curled a little as he watched the trivial scene, and -perhaps the Queen read his thought, for she said -smilingly:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Prisoners learn to take pleasure in small things, -Monsieur"; and Dangeau bit his lip. The quick -intuition, the arch glance, confused him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All things are comparative," continued Marie -Antoinette. "When I had many amusements and -occupations, I would not have turned my head to remark -what now constitutes an event in my monotonous day. -Yesterday a workman hurt his foot, and I assure you, -Monsieur, that we all regarded him with as much -interest as if he had been a dear friend. Trifles have ceased -to be trifles, and soon I shall look out for a mouse or a -spider to tame, as I have heard of prisoners doing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot imagine even the loneliest of unfortunates -caring for a spider," said Dangeau, with a smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Monsieur, nor I," returned the Queen. She -seemed about to speak again, and, indeed, her lips had -already opened, when, above the crash of the falling -masonry, there came the heavy boom of a gun. Dangeau -started up. It came again, and yet a third time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is the alarm," said Legros stolidly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Immediately there was a confused noise of voices, -shouting, footsteps. Dangeau and his colleague pressed -forward to the window. The workmen were throwing -down their tools; here a group stood talking, -gesticulating, there half a dozen were running,—all was -confusion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Louis had recoiled from the window. His great face -was a sickly yellow, and the sweat stood in large beads -upon the skin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is there danger? What is it?" he stammered, and -caught at the table for support.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mme Royale sat still, her long, mournful features -steadily composed. She neither moved nor cried out, -but Dangeau saw the thin, unchildish shoulders tremble. -Mme Elizabeth embraced first her brother, and then her -sister, demanding protection for them in agitated accents. -Only the Queen appeared unmoved. She had risen and, -passing her arm through that of her husband, rapidly -addressed a few words to him in an undertone. Inaudible -to others, they had an immediate effect upon -him, for he retired to the back of the room, sat down, -and drew his little son upon his knee.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Queen then turned to the Commissioners.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it, Messieurs?" she asked. "Is there -danger?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know," answered Legros bluntly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau threw her a reassuring glance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a street riot, I think," he said calmly. "It is -probably of no consequence; and in any case, Madame, -we are here to protect you, with our lives if necessary. -You may be perfectly assured of that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Queen thanked him with an earnest look and -resumed her seat. The noise outside decreased, and -presently the routine of the day fell heavily about them -once more.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If Dangeau were disturbed in mind his face showed -nothing, and if he found the day of an interminable -length he did not say so. When the evening brought -him relief, he found the Council in considerable -excitement. The prisons had been raided, "hundreds killed," -said one. "Bah! only one or two, nothing to speak of," -maintained another.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Edmond Cléry looked agitated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is only the beginning," he whispered, as he passed -his friend. He was on duty with the prisoners, so -further conversation was impossible; but Dangeau's -sleep in the Council-room was not much sounder than -that of the night before in the Queen's ante-chamber.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-carnival-of-blood"><span class="large">CHAPTER V</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">A CARNIVAL OF BLOOD</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>September the third dawned heavy with murky -clouds, out of which climbed a sun all red, like a -ball of fire. The mists of the autumn morning caught -the tinge, but no omens could add to the tense foreboding -which wrapt the city. It needed no signs in the -sky to prophesy a day of terror.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At La Force a crowded court-yard held those of the -prisoners who had escaped the previous day's massacre. -They had been driven from their cells at dawn, and, -after an hour or two of strained anticipation, had -gathered into their accustomed coteries. Mme de -Lamballe, who had heard the mob howling for her -blood, sat placidly beautiful. Now and then she spoke -to a friend, but for the most part she kept her eyes on the -tiny copy of </span><em class="italics">The Imitation of Christ</em><span> which was found -in her blood-stained clothes later on in that frightful -day. Others, less devout, or less alarmed, were -gossipping, chattering, even laughing, or playing cards, -as if La Force were Versailles, and the hands on the -clock of Time had never moved for the last four years.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mme de Maillé was gone. Her hacked corpse still lay -in its pool of blood, her dead eyes stared unburied at -the lowering sky; but Mme de Montargis sat in her -old place, her attendant Vicomte at her side. If her -face was pale the rouge hid it, and at least her smile -was as ready, her voice as careless, as ever. Bault, -the gaoler, stared as he passed her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"These aristocrats!" he muttered; "any honest -woman would be half-dead of fright after yesterday, and -what to-day will bring, Heaven knows! I myself, mille -diables! I myself, I shake, my hand trembles, I am in -the devil's own sweat,—and there she sits, that light -woman, and laughs!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he passed into his own room, his wife caught him -by the arm——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jean, Jean, mon Dieu, Jean! They are coming -back!" He strained his ears, listening, gripping his -wife, as she gripped him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is true," he murmured hoarsely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A sullen, heavy drone burdened the air. It was like -the sound of the rising tide on a day of storm,—far off, -but nearer, every moment nearer, nearer, until it -drowned the thumping of the frightened pulses which -beat so loudly at his ears. A buzz as of infernal -bees,—its component parts, laughter of hell, audible lust of -cruelty, just retribution clamorous, and the cry of -innocent blood shed long ago. All this, blent with the -howl of the beast who scents blood, made up a sound -so awful, that it was small wonder that the sweat -dripped heavily from the brow of Bault, the gaoler, or -that his wife clung to his arm, praying him to think of -their children.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To his honour be it said that he risked his life, and -more than his life, to save some two hundred of his -prisoners, but for the rest—their doom was sealed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It had been written long ago, in letters of cumulative -anguish, when the father of Mme de Montargis had torn -that shrieking peasant bride from her husband's side on -their marriage-day, when her grandfather hanged at his -gates the starving wretches who clamoured over-loudly -for release from the gabelle,—hardly a noble family in -France but had some such record at their backs, signs -in an alphabet that was to spell "The Terror." At the -hands of the fathers was sown the seed of hate, and the -doom of the reaping came fast upon their children.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>King Mob was at his revels, but he must needs play -a ghastly comedy with the victims. There should be a -trial for each, a really side-splitting affair. "A table, -Bault," and up with the judges, three of them, wrapped -in a drunken dignity, a chair apiece, a bonnet rouge on -each august head; and prisoner after prisoner hurried -up, and interrogated. A look was enough for some, a -word too much for others. Here and there a lucky -answer drew applause, and won a life, but for the most -part came the sentence, "A l'Abbaye,"—and straightway -off went the condemned to the inviolable cloisters of -death.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mme de Montargis came up trippingly upon the -Vicomte de Sélincourt's arm. Their names were -enough—both stank in the nostrils of the crowd. There -was a shout of "Austrians, Austrian spies! take them -away, take them out!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To the Abbaye," bawled the reverend judges, and -Madame made them a little curtsey. This was better -than she expected.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thank you, Messieurs," she murmured; and then -to the Vicomte: "Mon ami, we are in luck. The Abbaye -can hardly be more incommodious than La Force."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quelle comédie!" responded Sélincourt, with a -shrug, and with that the door before them opened.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Let us give them the credit of their qualities. That -open door gave straight into hell,—an inferno of tossing -pikes which dripped with blood, dripped to a pavement -red and slippery as a shambles, whilst a hoarse, wild-beast -roar, full of oaths, and lust, and savage violence, -broke upon their ears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If Mme de Montargis hesitated, it was for the -hundredth part of a second only. Then she raised her -scent-ball carelessly to her nostrils, and the hand that -held it did not shake.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tiens, mon ami," she said, "your comedy becomes -tragedy. I never thought it my rôle, but it seems le bon -Dieu thinks otherwise"; and with that she stepped -daintily out on to the reeking cobble-stones. One is -glad to think that the first pike-thrust was well aimed, -and that it was an unconscious form that went down to -the mire and blood below.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The beautiful Lamballe was just behind. They say -she knew she was going to her death. There is a tale -of a dream—God! what a dream!—an augury, what -not? Heaven knows no great degree of prescience was -required. She turned very pale, her eyes on her book -until the last moment, when she slipped it into her -pocket, with one of those unconscious movements -dictated by a brain too numb to work otherwise than by -habit. She met the horror with dilated eyes,—eyes that -glazed to a faint before death struck her. Nature was -merciful, and death a boon, for over her corpse began a -carnival of lust and blood so hideous that imagination -staggers at it, and history veils it in shuddering -generalities. No need to dwell upon its details.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What concerns us is that, having her head upon a -pike, and the mutilated body trailing by the heels, the -whole mad mob set off to the Temple, to show Marie -Antoinette her friend, and to serve the Queen as they -had served the Princess.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was between twelve and one in the day that news -of what was passing came to the Temple. It was the -fat Butin who brought it. He came in on the Council -panting, gasping, dripping with the moisture of heat and -fear. All his broad, scarlet face was drawn, and his -lips, under the bristling moustache, were pale—a thing -very strange and arresting. It was plain that he had -news of the first importance, but it was some time before -he could speak. When his voice came it was all out of -key, and his whole portly body quivered with the effort -to control it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hell is out, Citizens!" were his first connected words. -Then—"Oh! they are mad, they are mad, and they -are just behind me. Close the gates quickly, or they 'll -be through!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A bewildered group emitted Dangeau.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What has happened, Citizen?" he asked steadily. -"A riot? Like yesterday?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Like yesterday? No, ma foi, Citizen! Yesterday -was child's play, a mere nothing; to-day they murder -every one, and when they have murdered they tear in -pieces. They have assassinated the Lamballe, and they -are coming here for Capet's wife!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How many?" asked Dangeau sharply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How do I know!" and fat Butin wrung his -hands. "The streets are full of them, leaping, and -howling, and shouting like devils. Does the Citizen -suppose I stayed to count them?—I, the father of a -family!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Citizen supposed nothing so unlikely; in fact, his -questions asked, he was not thinking of Butin at all. -His brain was working quickly, clearly. Already he -saw his course marked out, and, as a consequence, he -assumed that command of the situation which is always -ceded to the man who sees his way before him whilst -his fellows walk befogged.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sat at the table and wrote two notes, despatching -one to the President of the Legislative Council and the -other to the General Council of the Commune.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then he announced their contents, speaking briefly -and with complete assurance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have written asking for six members of the -Assembly and six of the Council, popular men who will -assist us to control the mob. We shall, of course, defend -the prisoners with our lives if necessary, but there must -be no fighting unless as a last recourse. Where is the -captain of the Guard?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The officer came forward, saluting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have—how many men?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Four hundred, Citizen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can answer for them—their discipline, their -nerve?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"With my life!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, attend to your instructions. Both sides -of the great gates are to be opened."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Opened, Citizen?" stammered the captain, whilst a -murmur of dissatisfaction ran through the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau's brows made a dangerous straight line.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Opened," he repeated emphatically. "Between -the outer and inner doors you will draw up a double line -of your steadiest men—unarmed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was only the officer's look which protested this -time, but it quailed before Dangeau's glance of steel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will place a strong guard beyond, out of sight. -These men will be fully armed. All corridors, passages, -and courts leading to the Tower will be held in sufficient -force, but not a man is to make so much as a threatening -gesture without orders. You will be so good as to carry -out these instructions without delay. I shall join you at -the gate."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The captain swung away, and Dangeau turned to his -colleagues.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I propose to try to bring the people to reason," he -said; "if they will hear me, I will speak to them. If -not—we can only die. The prisoners are a sacred trust, -but to have to use violence in defending them would be -fatal in the extreme, and every means must be taken to -obviate the necessity. Legros, you are a popular man, -and you, Meunier; meet the mob, fraternise with the -leaders, promote a feeling of confidence. They must be -led to feel that it is our patriotism which denies them, -and not any sentiment of sympathy with tyrants."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a low murmur of applause as Dangeau -concluded. He had acted so rapidly that these slow-thinking -bourgeois had scarcely grasped the necessity for -action before his plan was laid before them, finished to -the last detail.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he left the room, he had a last order to give: -"Tell Cléry and Renault to keep the prisoners away -from the windows"; and with that was on his way to -the gates.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His instructions were being carried out expeditiously -enough. The great gates stood wide, and he passed -towards them through a double row of the National -Guard. A sharp, scrutinising glance appeared to satisfy -him. These were what he wanted—men who could -face a mob, unarmed, as coolly as if they were on parade; -men who would obey orders without thought or question. -They stood, a solid embodiment of law and order, -discipline, and decorum.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau took off his tri-coloured sash, borrowed a -couple more, knotted them together, suspended them -across the unbarred entrance, and, having requisitioned -a chair, sat down on it, and awaited the arrival of the -mob.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had not long to wait.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They came, heralded by a dull, hideous roar: no longer -the tiger howl of the unfleshed beast, but the devilish -mirth of the same beast, full fed, but not yet sated, and -of mood wanton as well as murderous. It would still -kill, but with a refinement of cruelty. The pike-thrust -was not enough. It would not suffice them to butcher -the Queen,—she must first kiss the livid lips of their -other victim; she must be stripped, insulted, dragged -alive through the Paris streets.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In this new mood they had stopped on their way to -the Temple, broken into the trembling Clermont's shop, -and forced that skilful barber to dress the Princesse de -Lamballe's exquisite hair and rouge the bloodless cheeks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The hair was piled high, and wreathed with roses; -roses bloomed in the dead cheeks, beneath the lifeless -violet of the loveliest eyes in France. Only the mouth -drooped livid, ghastly, drained of delight. Clermont had -done what he could. Even terror could not rob his -fingers of their skill, but, as he muttered to himself, with -shaking lips, "Am I, le bon Dieu, to make the dead -live?" Rouge and rose-wreathed hair made Death -more ghastly still, but the mob was satisfied, and tossing -him a diamond buckle for his pains, they swung off -again, the head before them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was thus that Dangeau saw them come. For a -moment the blood ran thick and turgid through his -brain, the next it cleared, and, though his heart beat fast, -it was with the greatest appearance of calm that he -mounted his improvised rostrum, and held up his hand -in a gesture demanding silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The mob swept on unheeding; nearer, nearer, right -on without check or pause, to the fragile ribbon that -alone barred their way. Had Dangeau changed colour, -had his eye flickered, or that outstretched arm quivered -ever so little, they would have been on him—over him, -and another massacre would have been written on the -stained pages of History.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Dangeau stood motionless; an unbearable tension -held him rigid. His steady eyes—like steel with the -sun on it—fixed the leader of the mob;—fixed him, held -him, stopped him. A bare yard from the gates, the -man who held the head aloft slackened speed, -hesitated, and finally came to a standstill so close to -Dangeau that a little of the scented powder in the -Princess's hair fell down and whitened the sleeve of -his outstretched arm. Like sheep, the silly crowd -behind checked as their leader checked, and stopped as -he had stopped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau and he stood looking at one another. The -man was a giant, black and hairy, stripped to the waist -and a-reek with blood. Under a villainous, low brow -his hot, small eyes winked and glared, shifted, and fell at -last before the steadier gaze.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau turned a little, beckoning with his hand, and -there was a momentary lull in the chorus of shouts, oaths, -and obscene songs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you want?" he shouted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The mob renewed its wild-beast howl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau beckoned again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let your leader speak," he called; and as the ruffian -with the head was pleased to second his suggestion, he -obtained a second interval in the storm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you want?" he asked again, and received -this time an answer, couched in language too explicit to -be transcribed, but the substance of which was that the -Capet woman was to kiss her precious friend.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And then?" Dangeau's speech fell cold and clear -as ice upon the heated words of the demagogue.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And then, aha! then—" She was to be taught -what the people's vengeance meant. For how many -years had they toiled that she might have her sport? -Now she should make sport for them, and then they -would tear her limb from limb, show her traitorous -heart to Paris, where she had lived so wantonly; burn -her vile body to ashes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again that high, cool voice——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The ruffian scowled, spat viciously, and swore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then, then—a thousand devils! What did the -Citizen mean with his 'and then'? He supposed that -they should go home until there was another tyrant -to kill."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And then—shall I tell you what then?—will you -hear me, Dangeau? Some of you know me," and his -eye lit on a wizened creature who danced horribly about -the headless corpse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Antoine, have you forgotten the February of two -years ago?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The ghastly object ceased its strange rhythmic -movements, stared a moment, and broke into voluble speech.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'T is a patriot, this Dangeau, I say it—I whom he -saved from prison. Listen to him. He has good, -strong words. Tell us then, Citizen, tell us what -we're to do," and he capered nearer, catching at -Dangeau's chair with fingers horribly smeared.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silence fell, and, after a very slight pause, Dangeau -leaned forward and began to speak in a low, confidential -tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All here are patriots, are they not? Not a traitor -amongst you, citizens all, proved and true. You have -struck down the enemies of France, and now you ask -what next?" His voice rose suddenly and thrilled over -the vast concourse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Citizens of Paris, the whole world looks to you—the -nations of Europe stand waiting. They look to -France because it is the cradle of the new religion,—the -religion of humanity. France, revolted from under -the hand of her tyrants, rises to give the law to all -future generations. With us is the rising sun, whose -beams shed liberty, justice, equality; and on this -splendid dawn all eyes are fixed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They shall see us crush the tyrants!" bellowed the -crowd.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They shall see it," repeated Dangeau, and the words -rang like an oath. "Europe shall see it, the World -shall see it. But, friends, shall we not give them a -spectacle worthy of their attention, read them a lesson -that shall stand on the page of History for ever? Shall -we not take a little time in devising how this lesson -may be most plainly taught? Shall a few patriots,—earnest, -sincere, passionately devoted to liberty it is -true, but unauthorised by France, or by the duly delegated -authority of the people,—shall a few weak men, in -an outburst of virtuous indignation putting a tyrant to -death, shall this impress the waiting peoples? Will they -not say, 'France did not will it—the people did not -will it—it was the work of a few'? Will they not say -this? On the other side, see—a crowded hall, the hall -of the people's delegates. They judge and they -condemn, and Justice draws her sword. In the eye of the -day, in the face of the world, before the whole people, -there falls the tyrant's head. Then would not Europe -tremble? Then would not thrones based on iniquity -totter, tyrants fall, and the universal reign of liberty -begin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The crowd swayed, hypnotised by the rolling voice, -for Dangeau had the tones that thrill, that stir, that -soothe. We do not always understand the fame of -dead-and-gone orators. Their periods leave us cold, their -arguments do not move us, their words seem no more -eloquent than another's; and yet, in their day, these men -swept a whirlwind of emotion, colour, life, conviction, -into their hearers' hearts. Theirs was the gift of -temperament and tone. As the inspired musician plays -upon his instrument, so they on theirs,—that oldest and -most sensitive instruments of all, the human heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau's voice pealed out above the throng. He -took the biggest words, the most extravagant phrases, -the cheapest catchwords of the day, and blended them -with the magic of his voice to an irresistible spell. -Suddenly he changed his key. The mob was listening, -their attention gained,—he could give them something -more than a vague magniloquence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Frenchmen!" he said earnestly, "do we oppose you -with arms? Do we threaten, do we resist you? No, -for I am most certain that there is not a man among -you who would be turned from his purpose by -fear,—Frenchmen do not feel so mean a sentiment,—but is -there a Frenchman here who is not always ready to -listen to the sacred dictates of reason? Hear me then."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Somewhere inside Dangeau's brain a little mocking -devil laughed, but the crowd applauded,—a fine appetite -for flattery characterises the monster Demos,—it was -pleased, and through its thousand mouths it clamorously -demanded more.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I stand here to make that appeal to your reason, -which I am assured cannot fail. First, I would point -out to you that these prisoners are not only prisoners of -ours, but hostages of France. Look at our frontiers: -England threatens from the sea, Austria and Spain from -the south; but their hands are tied, Citizens, their hands -are tied. They can threaten and bluster, but they dare -take no steps which would lead to the sacrifice of the -tyrant and his brood. Wait a little, my friends; wait a -little until our brave Dumouriez has won us a battle -or two, and then the day of justice may dawn."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He paused a moment, and, gauging his audience, -cried quickly:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Vive Dumouriez! Vive l'armée!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Half a dozen voices echoed him at first, but in a -minute the cry was taken up on the outskirts of the crowd, -and came rolling to the front in a storm of cheers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau let it have its course, then motioned for -silence, and got it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"France owes much to Dumouriez," he said. "We -are a nation of soldiers, and we can appreciate his work. -Let us support him, then, and do nothing to embarrass -him in his absence. Let him first drive the invaders of -France back across her insulted frontiers, and then—" He -was interrupted by a howl of applause, but he got the -word again directly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Citizens of Paris," he called, "your good name is in -your own keeping. They are some who would be glad -to see it lost. There are some, I will name no names, -who are jealous of the pre-eminence of our beautiful -Paris. They would be glad of an excuse for moving the -seat of government. I name no names, I make no -accusations, but I know what I know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Name them, name them!—down with the traitors!" -shouted the mob.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They are those who bid you destroy the prisoners," -returned Dangeau boldly. "They are those who urge -you to lay violent hands on a trust which is sacred, -because we have received it from the hands of the people. -They are those who wish to represent you to the world -as incapable of governing, blind with passion. Shall -this be said?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A shout of denial went up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Citizens of Paris, you have elected us your -representatives. You have reposed in us this sacred trust. -If we abuse it, you have your remedy. The Nation -which elected can degrade; the men who have placed -in us their confidence can withdraw that confidence; but -whilst we hold it, we will deserve it, and will die in its -defence."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The crowd shook with applause, but there were -dissenting voices. One or two of the leaders showed dark, -ominous faces; the huge man with the head scowled -deepest, he seemed about to speak, and eyed Dangeau's -chair as if he contemplated annexing it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>None knew better than Dangeau how fickle a thing is -a crowd's verdict, or how easily it might yet turn against -him. He laid his hand on the grimy shoulder beside him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To show the confidence that we repose in you, I -suggest that this citizen, and five of his colleagues, shall -be admitted into the garden; you shall march round the -Tower if you will, and it will be seen that it is only -your own patriotism and self-control that safeguards -the prisoners, and not any force opposed to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This proposal aroused great enthusiasm. Dangeau, -who was fully aware of the risks he ran in making it, -hastily whispered to two of the Commissioners sent him -in response to his appeal to the Commune, bidding them -remain at the gate and keep the mob in a good temper, -whilst he himself accompanied the ringleaders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a strange and horrifying procession that took -its way through palace rooms which had looked upon -many scenes of vice but none so awful as this.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau, a guard or two, six filthy, reeking creatures, -drawn from the lowest slums, steeped in wickedness -as in blood; the exquisite head, lovely to the last, set on -a dripping pike; the white, insulted body, stripped to -the dust and mire of Paris; the frightful odour of gore -diffused by all, made up a total effect of horror -unparalleled in any age.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To the last day of Dangeau's life it remained a -recurrent nightmare. He was young, he had lived a -clean, honest life, he had respected women, nourished -his soul on ideals, and now——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the time he felt nothing,—neither disgust nor -horror, nausea nor shame. It was afterwards that two -things contended for possession of his being—sheer -physical sickness, and a torment of outraged sensibility. -He had vowed himself to the service of Humanity, and -he had seen Humanity desecrate its own altar, offering -upon it a shameful and bloody sacrifice. Just now it -was fortunate that feeling was in abeyance, and that -it was the brain in Dangeau, and not the conscience, -that held sway. All of him, except that lucid brain, -lay torpid, stunned, asleep; but in its cells thought -flashed on thought, seizing here an impulse, there an -instinct, bending them to the will, absorbing them in -its designs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All the way the butchers talked. One of them -fancied himself a wit. Fortunately for posterity his -jests have not been preserved. Another gave a detailed -and succinct account of every person murdered by him. -A third sang filthy songs. Dangeau's brain ordered -him not to offend these bestial companions, and in -obedience to it he nodded, questioned, appeared to commend.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Arrived at the garden, the whole company took up -the chorus of the song, and began to march round the -Tower, holding the head aloft and calling on the Queen -to come and look at it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Those of the workmen who still remained at their -posts came gaping forward—some of them joined the -tune; the excitement rose, and cries of "The Austrian, -the Austrian; give us the Austrian!" began to be heard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Within there was a dead silence. The little group -of prisoners were huddled together at the farther side -of the room. Mme Elizabeth held her rosary, and her -pale lips moved incessantly. One of the Commissioners, -Renault, a strong, heavy-featured man, stood -impassively by the window watching the progress of events, -whilst Cléry, his eager young face flushed with -excitement, was trying to keep up a conversation with the -Princesses in order to prevent the terrifying voices from -without reaching their ears. Although no one could be -ignorant of what was passing, they seconded his attempts -bravely. Marie Antoinette was the most successful. -She preserved that social instinct which covers -under an airy web the grimmest and most evident facts. -Death was such a fact,—vastly impolite, entirely to -be ignored; and so the Queen conversed smilingly, even -whilst the mother's eye rested in anguish upon her -children.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly even her composure was shattered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a loud shout of "Come out, Austrian! -Look, Austrian!" and a shape appeared at the -window—a head, omen of imminent tragedy. That head had -shared the Queen's pillow, those drawn lips had smiled -for her, those heavy lids closed over eyes whose beauty -to her had been the lovely, frank affection which beamed -from them. Thus, in this fearful shape, came the -intimation of that friendship's close.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cléry sprang up with a cry of "Don't look!" but he -was too late. With a hoarse sound, half cry, half -strained release of breath too frantically held, the Queen -shrank back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In that moment her face went grey and hollow, her -death-mask showed prophetic, but after that one -movement, that one cry, she sat quite still and made no -sound. Mme Royale had fainted, and Elizabeth knelt -beside her shuddering and weeping.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Renault's great shoulders blocked the window, and -even as he pressed forward the head was withdrawn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Down below a second crisis was being fought through. -Dangeau began to feel the strain of that scene by the -Temple gates; his nervous energy was diminished, and -the dreadful six were straining at the leash. They -howled for the Austrian, they bellowed forth threats, -they vociferated. One of them caught Dangeau by -the shoulder and levelled a red pike at his head; but for -a moment the steely composure of the eyes held him, -and the next a friendly hand struck down the weapon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is Dangeau, our Dangeau, the people's friend!" -shouted his rescuer, a powerful workman. "I am of his -section," and he squeezed him in a grimy embrace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau, released, sprang on a heap of rubble, and -made his final effort.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hé, mes braves!" he cried, "it is growing late; half -Paris knows your deeds, it is true, but how many are -still ignorant? Will you let darkness overtake you -with your trophies yet undisplayed? Away, let the -other quarters hear of your triumphs. Vaunt them -before the Palais Royal, and let the Tuileries, so often -defiled by the Tyrant's presence, be purified now by -these relics, evidence of the people's power!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he ceased, his words were taken up by all present.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To the Palais Royal! To the Tuileries!" they howled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau, not only saved, but a hero,—so fickle a -thing is the mood of the sovereign people,—was cheered, -embraced, carried across the court-yard, and with -difficulty permitted to remain behind; whilst the whole -mob, singing, shouting, and dancing, took its frenzied -course towards the royal palaces.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-doubtful-safety"><span class="large">CHAPTER VI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">A DOUBTFUL SAFETY</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Mlle de Rochambeau knelt by her open -window. She had been praying, but for a long -time her lips had not moved, and now it seemed as if -their numbness had invaded her heart, and lay there -deadening fear, emotion, sorrow, all,—all except that -heavy beating, to which she listened half unconsciously, -as though it were a sound from some world which hardly -concerned her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had not left the little room at all. On the first -day she had been put off civilly enough.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rest a little, Ma'mselle, rest a little; to-morrow I -will make my sister a little visit, and you shall -accompany me. To-day I am busy, and without me you -would not be admitted to the prison."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But when to-morrow came, there were at first black -looks, then impatient words, and finally the key turned -in the lock and hours of terrifying solitude. The one -small window overlooked a dark and squalid street where -the refuse of the neighbourhood festered. It was noisy -and malodorous, and she sickened at every sense. The -sounds, the smells, the sight of the wizened, wicked-looking -children, who fought, and swore, and scrabbled -in the noisome gutter below, all added to her growing -apprehension.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Closing the cracked pane she retreated to the farther -corner of the attic, and again slow hours went by.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>About noon a distant roar startled her to the window -once more. Nothing was to be seen, but the sound -came again, and yet again; increasing each time in -violence, and becoming at last a heavy, continuous -boom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There is scarcely anything so immediately terrifying -as that dull mutter of a city in tumult. Mlle de -Rochambeau's smooth years supplied her with no -experience by which to measure the threat of that far -uproar, and yet every nerve in her body thrilled to it -and cried danger! It was then that she began to pray. -The afternoon wore on, and she grew faint as well as -frightened. Rosalie Leboeuf had set coffee and coarse -bread before her in the early morning, but that was now -many hours since.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sun was near to setting when a loud shouting -arose in the street below, shocking her from the dizzy -quiescence into which she had fallen. Looking out, she -saw that the children had scattered, pushed aside by -rapidly gathering groups of their elders. Every house -appeared to be disgorging an incredible number of people, -and in their midst swayed a very large man, extremely -drunk, and half naked. Such clothes as he possessed -appeared to have been torn and rent in a most amazing -manner, and scraps of them depended fantastically -from naked shoulders and battered belt. His swarthy -head retained its bonnet rouge, whose original colour -was dyed, here and there, a deeper and more portentous -crimson.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He waved great windmills of arms, and talked loudly -in a thick guttural voice, adding strange gestures and -stranger oaths. A sort of fascination kept -Mademoiselle's eyes riveted upon him, and presently she began to -catch words—phrases.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear holy Virgin! what was he -saying?—Impossible—impossible, impossible!" And then quite -suddenly her shocked brain yielded to the truth. There -had been a massacre of the prisoners—this man had -been there; he was recounting his exploits, boasting -of the number he had killed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mother most merciful, protect! save!—" But -the ghastly catalogue ran on. They say that in those -days many claimed the murderer's praise who had never -acted the murderer's part. Men with hands innocent -of blood daubed themselves horribly, and went home -boasting of unimaginable horrors, guiltless the while -as the children who hung eagerly on the tale. There -was a madness abroad,—a fearful, epidemic madness -that seized its thousands, and time and again set Paris -reeking like a shambles and laughing wantonly in the -face of outraged Europe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Whether Jean Michel were innocent or not, his -conversation was equally horrifying. Mlle de Rochambeau -listened to it, shaking. The things said were -inconceivable, and mercifully some of them passed over her -innocence leaving it unbruised, save for a gradually -accumulating weight of horror.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly she caught her cousin's name—"that -wanton, the Montargis, damned Austrian spy," the man -called her, and added Sélincourt's name to hers with -a foul oath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I struck them, I! My pike was the first!" he -shouted. Then drawing a scrap of reeking linen from -his belt he waved it aloft, proclaiming, "This is her -blood!" and looked around him for applause.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was too much. A gasp broke from the girl's rigid -lips, a damp dew from her brow. The twilight quivered—turned -to darkness—then broke into a million sparks -of flame, and a merciful oblivion overtook her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jean Michel may be left to the tender mercies of -Louison his wife, a little woman and a venomous, having -that command over her husband which one sees in the -small wives of large men. Having haled him home, she -burned his precious trophy, and poured much cold -water on his hot and muddled head. Afterwards she -gave her tongue free course, and we may consider that -Jean Michel had his deserts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Mlle de Rochambeau shuddered back again to -consciousness, the room was dark. Outside, quiet -reigned, and a beautiful blue dusk, just tinged with -starlight. She dragged herself up into a half-sitting, -half-kneeling position, and looked long and tremblingly -into the tranquil depths above. All was peace and a -cool purity, after the red horror of the day. The lights -of the city looked friendly; they spoke of homes, of -children, of decent comfort and ordered lives, and over -all brooded the great sapphire glooms of the darkening -ether and the lights of the houses of God. A strange -calm slid into her soul—the hour held her—life and death -were twin points in a fathomless, endless stretch of -peace eternal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The flesh no longer enchained her—weak with shock -and fasting, it released its grip, and the freer spirit -peered forth into the immensities.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline's body lay motionless, but her soul floated in -a calm sea of light.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>How long this lasted she did not know, but presently -she became aware that she was listening to some rather -distant sound. It came slowly nearer, and resolved -itself into a man's heavy step, which mounted the narrow -stairway, and paused ominously beside her door. Some -of the strange calm from which she came still wrapped -her, but her heart began to beat piteously. Her -hearing seemed preternaturally acute, and she was -aware of a pause, of one or two quickly drawn -breaths, and then the dull sound of a groan—such -a sound as may come from a man utterly weary and -forespent when he imagines himself alone. The -pause, the groan were over even as she listened, and -the door opposite hers closed sharply upon Jacques -Dangeau.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A throb of relief shook her back into normal humanity. -It was, of course, the man she had seen on the stairs, and -all at once she was conscious of immense fatigue; her -head sank lower and lower, the darkness closed upon -her, and she slept.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rosalie stumbled over her an hour later, and took -fright when the girl just stirred, and no more. She had -intended her young aristocrat to pass a chastening day. -Fasting was good for the soul, it rendered young girls -amenable, and Rosalie wished to come to terms with this -friendless but not unmoneyed demoiselle whom chance, -luck, or some other god of her rather mixed beliefs had -thrown her way. She had not, however, meant to leave -the girl quite so long without food, but sallying out in -quest of news she had been detained by her trembling -sister, whose timid soul saw no safety anywhere in all -red, raving Paris.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rosalie set down her light and bent over the sleeping -girl. A shrewd glance showed her a drawn fatigue of -feature and a collapsed discomfort of attitude beyond -anything she was prepared for.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tett, tett!" she grunted; "that Michel—could she -have heard him? It is certainly possible. Well, well, -there will be no talk to-night, that 's a sure thing. -Here, Ma'mselle! Ma'mselle!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mlle de Rochambeau opened her eyes, but only to -close them again. The lids hung half shut, and under -them lay heavy violet streaks. This was slumber that -was half a swoon, and with a shrug of her vast shoulders, -and a mental objurgation of the tenderness of aristocrats, -Rosalie set herself to getting a cup of strong hot broth -down the girl's throat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle moaned and gasped, but when a sip or -two had been chokingly swallowed, she raised her head -and took the warm drink eagerly. She was about to -sink back again into her old position when she felt -strong arms about her, and capable hands loosened her -dress and pulled off shoes and stockings. With a sigh -of content, she felt herself laid down on the bed, her -head touched a pillow, some one covered her, and she -fell again upon a deep, deep, dreamless sleep.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was high noon before she awoke, and then it was -to a sense of bewildered fatigue beyond anything she -had ever experienced. She lay quite still, and watched -the little patch of sky which showed above the roofs of -the houses opposite. It was very blue, and small -glittering clouds raced quickly across it. Slowly, -slowly as she looked, yesterday came back to her, but -with a strange remoteness, as if it had all happened too -long ago to weep for. A great shock takes us out of -time and space. Emotion crystallises and ceases to -flow along its accustomed channels. Aline de -Rochambeau was never to forget the experience she had just -passed through, but for the time being it seemed too -far away to pierce the numbness round her heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A cry in the street did something; her cheek paled, -and Rosalie coming noisily in found her sitting up in -bed with wide, frightened eyes. She caught at the -woman's arm and spoke in a sort of hurried whisper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, Madame, is it true? For Heaven's love tell -me! Or have I had some terrible dream?" and her -voice sank, as if the sound of it terrified her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rosalie's fat shoulders went shrugging up to Rosalie's -thick, red ears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is what true?" she asked. "It is certainly true -that you have slept fourteen hours, no less; long enough -to dream anything. They called it laziness when I was -young, my girl."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mlle de Rochambeau joined both hands about her -wrist. "Tell me—only tell me, Madame—I heard—oh, -God!—I heard a man in the street—he -said"—shuddering—"he said the prisoners were all -murdered—and my cousin—oh, my poor cousin!" Words -brought her tears, and she covered her face from -Rosalie's convincing nod.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As to all the prisoners, for that I cannot answer, -but certainly there are some hundreds less of the -pestilent aristocrats than there were. As to your cousin, -the ci-devant Marquise de Montargis, she 's as dead -as mutton."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline looked up—she was not stupid, and this -woman's altered tone was confirmation enough without -any further words. Two days ago, it had been -"Ma'mselle," and the respectful demeanour of a servant, -smiles and smooth words had met her, and now -that rough "my girl" and these brutal words! -Rosalie Leboeuf was no pioneer. Had some terrible -change not taken place, she would never have -dared to speak and look as she was looking and speaking now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle had not the Rochambeau blood for -nothing. She drew herself up, looked gravely in the -woman's face, and said in a fine, cold voice:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I understand, Madame. Is it permitted to ask -what you propose to do with me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rosalie stared insolently. Then planting herself -deliberately on a chair, she observed:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is certainly permitted to ask, my little -aristocrat—certainly; but I should advise fewer airs and graces -to a woman who has saved your life twice over, and that -at the risk of her own."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle was silent, and Rosalie took up her -parable. "Where would you have been by now, if I -had not brought you home with me? There 's many a -citizen who would have been glad to find a cage for a -pretty stray bird like you, and how would that have -suited you—eh? Better rough words from respectable -Rosalie Leboeuf than shameful kisses from Citizen -Such-a-one. And yesterday—if I had whispered -yesterday, 'Montargis is dead, but there's a chick of -the breed roosting in my upper room,' as I might very -well have done, very well indeed, and kept your money -into the bargain—what then, Miss Mealy-mouth? Have -you a fancy for being stripped and dragged at a cart's -tail through Paris, or would you relish being made to -drink success to the Revolution in a brimming mug -of aristocrats' blood? Eh! I could tell you tales, my -girl, such tales that you 'd never sleep again, and that's -what I 've saved you from, and do I get thanks—gratitude? -Tush! was that ever the nobles' way?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame—I am—grateful," said Mademoiselle -faintly. Her lips were ashen, and the breath came -with a gasp between every word.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Grateful—yes, indeed, I should think you were -grateful," responded Rosalie, her keen eyes on the girl's -ghastly face. With a little nod, she decided that she -had frightened her enough. "I want more than your -'Madame, I'm grateful,'" and as she mimicked the -faltering tones the blood ran back into Mademoiselle's -white cheeks. "So far we have talked sentiment," -she continued, with a complete change of manner. -Her brutality slipped from her, and she became the -bargaining bourgeoise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let us come to business."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"With all my heart, Madame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tut—no Madame—Citoyenne, or Rosalie. Madame -smells of treason, disaffection, what not. What money -have you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only what I showed you yesterday."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you could get more?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not think so, I know nothing of my affairs—but -there was a good deal in that bag. I put it—yes, -I 'm sure I did—under the pillow. Oh, Madame, my -money 's not here! The bag is gone!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Té! té! té!" went Rosalie's tongue against the -roof of her mouth; "gone it is, and for a very good reason, -my little cabbage, because Rosalie Leboeuf took it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ma'mselle!" mimicked the rough voice. "It is -the little present that Ma'mselle makes me—the token -of her gratitude. Hein! do you say anything against -that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle was silent. She was reflecting that -she still had her pearls, and she put a timid hand to -her bosom. A moment later, she sank back trembling -upon her pillow. The pearls were gone. It was not -for nothing that Rosalie had undressed her the night -before. She bit her lip, constraining herself to silence; -and Rosalie, twinkling maliciously, maintained the same -reserve. She was neither a cruel nor a brutal woman, -though she could appear both, if she had an end to -gain, as she had now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She meant Mlle de Rochambeau no harm, and -honestly considered that she had earned both gold -and pearls. Indeed, who shall say that she had not? -Girls had to be managed, and were much easier to -deal with when they had been well frightened. When -she was well in hand, Rosalie would be kind enough, -but just now, a touch of the spur, a flick of the whip, -was what was required—and yet not too much, for -times changed so rapidly, and who knew how long -the reign of Liberty would last? She must not overdo it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well now, Citoyenne," she said suddenly, "let us -see where we are. You came to Paris ten days ago. -Who brought you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Intendant and his wife," said Mademoiselle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And they are still in Paris?" (The devil take this -Intendant!)</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No; they returned after two days. I think now -that they were frightened."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very likely. Worthy, sensible people!" said Rosalie, -with a puff of relief. "And you came to the Montargis? -Well, she 's dead. Are you betrothed?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline turned a shade paler. How far away seemed -that betrothal kiss which she had rubbed impatiently -from her reluctant hand!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was fiancée to M. de Sélincourt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That one? Well, he's dead, and damned too, if -he has his deserts," commented Rosalie. "Hm, hm—and -you knew no one else in Paris?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only Mme de Maillé—she remembered my mother."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An old story that—she is dead too," said Rosalie -composedly. "In effect, it appears that you have no -friends; they are all dead."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline shrank a little, but did not exclaim. In this -nightmare-existence upon which she had entered, it -was as natural that dreadful things should happen as -until two days ago it had seemed to her young optimism -impossible.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rosalie pursued the conversation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, they are all dead. I gave myself the trouble -of going to see my sister this morning on purpose to -find out. Marie is a poor soft creature; she cried and -sobbed as if she had lost her dearest friends, and Bault, -the great hulk, looked as white as chalk. I always -say I should make a better gaoler myself—not that I 'm -not sorry for them, mind you, with all that place to -get clean again, and blood, as every one knows, the work -of the world to get out of things."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle shuddered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" she breathed protestingly, and then added in -haste, "They are all dead, Madame, all my friends, and -what am I to do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rosalie crossed her arms and swayed approvingly. -Here was a suitable frame of mind at last—very -different from the hoity-toity airs of the beginning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hein! that is the question, and I answer it this -way. You can stay here, under my respectable roof, -until your friends come forward; but of course you -must work, or how will my rent be paid? A mere -trifle, it is true, but still something; and besides the rent -there will be your ménage to make. For one week -I will feed you, but after that it is your affair, and -not mine. Even a white slip of a girl like you -requires food. The question is, what can you do to earn it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle de Rochambeau coloured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can embroider," she said hesitatingly. "I helped -to work an altar cloth for the Convent chapel last -year."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rosalie gave a coarse laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh—altar cloths! What is the good of that? -Soon there will be no altars to put them on!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I learned to embroider muslin too," said Mademoiselle -hastily. "I could work fine stuffs, for fichus, or -caps, or handkerchiefs, perhaps."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rosalie considered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, that's better, though you 'll find it hard to fill -even your pinched stomach out of such work; but we can -see how it goes. I will bring you muslin and thread, -and you shall work a piece for me to see. I know a -woman who would buy on my recommendation, if it -were well done."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They said I did it well," said Mademoiselle meekly. -Her eyes smarted suddenly, and she thought with a -desperate yearning of comfortable Sister Marie -Madeleine, or even the severe Soeur Marie Mediatrice. -How far away the Convent stillness seemed, and how -desirable!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good," said Rosalie; "then that is settled. For -the rest, I cannot have Mlle de Rochambeau lodging -with me. That will not go now. What is your -Christian name?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aline Marie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aline, but no—that would give every donkey -something to bray over. Marie is better—any one may be -Marie. It is my sister's name, and my niece's, and was -my mother's. It is a good name. Well, then, you are -the Citoyenne Marie Roche."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle repeated it, her lip curling a little.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fi donc—you must not be proud," remarked -Rosalie the observant. "You are Marie Roche, you -understand, a simple country girl, and Marie Roche -must not be proud. Neither must she wear a fine -muslin robe and a silk petticoat or a fichu trimmed -with lace from Valenciennes. I have brought you a -bundle of clothes, and you may be glad you had Rosalie -Leboeuf to drive the bargain for you. Two shifts, these -good warm stockings, a neat gown, with stuff for another, -to say nothing of comb and brush, and for it all you -need not pay a sou! Your own clothes in exchange, -that is all. That is what I call a bargain! Brush the -powder from your hair and put on these clothes, and -I 'll warrant you 'll be safe enough, as long as you keep -a still tongue and do as I bid you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you," said Mademoiselle, with an effort. -Even her inexperience was aware that she was being -cheated, but she had sufficient intelligence to know -herself completely in the woman's power, and enough -self-control to bridle her tongue.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rosalie, watching her, saw the struggle, inwardly -commended the victory, and with a final panegyric on -her own skill at a bargain she departed, and was to be -heard stumping heavily down the creaking stair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As soon as she was alone Aline sprang out of bed. -Most of her own clothes had been removed, she found, -and she turned up her nose a little at the coarse -substitutes. There was no help for it, however, and on they -went. Then came a great brushing of hair, which was -left at last powderless and glossy, and twisted into a -simple knot. Finally she put on the petticoat, of dark -blue striped stuff, and the clean calico gown. There -was a tiny square of looking-glass in the room, cracked -relic of some former occupant, and Aline peeped -curiously into it when her toilette was completed. A young -girl's interest in her own appearance dies very hard, and -it must be confessed that the discovery that her new -dress was far from unbecoming cheered her not a little. -She even smiled as she put on the coarse white cap, and -turned her head this way and that to catch the side -view; but the smile faded suddenly, and the next moment -she was on her knees, reproaching herself for a hard -heart, and praying with all dutiful earnestness for the -repose of her cousin's soul.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-inner-conflict"><span class="large">CHAPTER VII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">THE INNER CONFLICT</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>September passed on its eventful way. Dangeau -was very busy; there were many meetings, much -to be discussed, written, arranged, and on the -twenty-first the Assembly was dissolved, and the National -Convention proclaimed the Republic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau as an elected member of the Convention -had his hands full enough, and there was a great deal -of writing done in the little room under the roof. -Sometimes, as he came and went, he passed his pale -fellow-lodger, and noted half unconsciously that as the days -went on she grew paler still. Her gaze, proud yet -timid, as she stood aside on the little landing, or passed -him on the narrow stair, appealed to a heart which was -really tender.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She is only a child, and she looks as if she had -not enough to eat," he muttered to himself once -or twice, and then found to his half-shamed -annoyance that the child's face was between him and -his work.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are a fool, my good friend," he remarked, and -plunged again into his papers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He burned a good deal of midnight oil in those days, -and Rosalie Leboeuf, whose tough heart really kept a -soft corner for him, upbraided him for it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tiens!" she said one day, about the middle of -October, "tiens! The Citizen is killing himself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau, sitting on the counter, between two piles -of apples, laughed and shook his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But no, my good Rosalie—you will not be rid of me -so easily, I can assure you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"H'm—you are as white as a girl,—as white as your -neighbour upstairs, and she looks more like snow than -honest flesh and blood."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau, who had been wondering how he should -introduce this very subject, swung his legs nonchalantly -and whistled a stave before replying. The girl's change -of dress had not escaped him, and he was conscious, -and half ashamed of, his curiosity. Rosalie plainly -knew all, and with a little encouragement would tell -what she knew.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who is she, then, Citoyenne?" he asked lightly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh! the Citizen has seen her—a slip of a white -girl. Her name is Marie Roche, and she earns just -enough to keep body and soul together by embroidery."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau nodded his head. He did not understand -why he wished to gossip with Rosalie about this girl, -but an idle mood was on him, and he let it carry him -whither it would.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, yes, Citoyenne, I know all that, but that -does n't answer my question at all. Who </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> Marie Roche?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rosalie glanced round. Indiscretion was as dear to -her soul as to another woman's, and it was not every -day that one had the chance of talking scandal with -a Deputy. To do her justice, she was aware that -Dangeau was a safe enough recipient of her confidences, -so after assuring herself that there was no one within -earshot, she abandoned herself to the enjoyment of the -moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aha! The Citizen is clever, he is not to be taken -in! Only figure to yourself, then, Citizen, that I find -this girl, a veritable aristocrat, weeping at the gates of -La Force, weeping, mon Dieu, because they will not -keep her there with her friends! Singular, is it not? -I bring her home, I am a mother to her, and next day, -pff—all her friends are massacred, and what can I do? -I have a charitable heart, I keep her,—the marmot -does not eat much."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau enjoyed his Rosalie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She earns nothing, then?" he observed, with a -subdued twinkle in his eye.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, a bagatelle. I assure you it does not suffice -for the rent; but I have a good heart, I do not let her -starve"; and Rosalie regarded the Deputy with an air of -modest virtue that sat oddly upon her large, creased face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Excellent Rosalie!" he said, with a soft, -half-mocking inflection.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She bridled a little.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, if the Citizen knew!" she said, with a toss of -the head, which, aiming at the arch, merely achieved -the elephantine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If it is a question of the Citoyenne's virtues, who -does not know them?" said Dangeau. He made her -a little bow, and kept the sarcasm out of his voice this -time. He was thinking of his little neighbour's look -of starved endurance, and contrasting her mentally -with the well-fed Rosalie. He had not much confidence -in the promptings of the latter's heart if they countered -the interests of her pocket. Suddenly a plan came into -his head, and before he had time to consider its possible -drawbacks, he found himself saying:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me, then, Citoyenne, does this Marie Roche -write a good hand?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"H'm—well, I suppose the nuns in that Convent of -hers taught her something, and as it was neither baking -nor brewing, it may have been reading and writing," -said Rosalie sharply. "Does the Citizen wish her to -write him a billet-doux?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To Dangeau's annoyed surprise he felt the colour -rise to his cheeks as he answered:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Du tout, Citoyenne, but I do require an amanuensis, -and I thought your protégée might earn my money as -well as another. I imagine that much fine embroidery -cannot be done in the evenings, and it would be then -that I should require her services."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The girl is an aristocrat," said Rosalie suspiciously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you afraid she will contaminate me?" he asked -gaily. "I shall set her to copy my book on the principles -of Liberty. Desmoulins says that every child in France -should get it by heart, and though I do not quite look -for that, I hope there will be some to whom it means -what it has meant for me. Your little aristocrat shall -write it out fair for the press, and we shall see if it will -not convert her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It will take too much of her time," said Rosalie sulkily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A few hours in the evening. It will save her eyes -and pay better than that embroidery of hers, which as -you say barely keeps body and soul together. I hope -we shall be able to knit them a little more closely, for at -present there seems to be a likelihood of a permanent -divorce between them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rosalie looked a little alarmed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, she looks ill," she muttered; "and as you say -it would be only for an hour or two."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, for the present. I am out all day, and it is -necessary that I should be there. I write so badly, you -see; your little friend would soon get lost amongst my -blots if she were alone, but if I am there, she asks a -question, I answer it—and so the work goes on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"H'm—" said Rosalie; "and the pay, Citizen?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau got down from the counter, laughing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Citoyenne Roche and I will settle that," he said, a -little maliciously; "but perhaps, my good Rosalie, you -would speak to her and tell her what I want? It would -perhaps be better than if I, a stranger, approached her -on the subject. She looks timid—it would come better -from you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rosalie nodded, and caught up her knitting, as Dangeau -went out. On the whole, it was a good plan. The -girl was too thin—she did not wish her to die. This -would make more food possible, and at the same time -entail no fresh expense to herself. Yes, it was decidedly -a good plan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is true, I have a charitable disposition," sighed -Rosalie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau went on his way humming a tune. The -lightness of his spirits surprised him. The times were -anxious. New Constitutions are not born without -travail. He had an arduous part to play, heavy -responsible work to do, and yet he felt the irrational -exhilaration of a schoolboy, the flow of animal spirits -which is induced by the sudden turn of the tide in -spring, and the uplifted heart of him who walks in -dreams. All this because a girl whom he had seen some -half-dozen times, with whom he had never spoken, -whose real name he did not know, was going to sit for -an hour or two where he could look at her, copy some -pages of his, which she would certainly find dull, and -take money, which he could ill spare, to bring a little -more colour into cheeks whose pallor was beginning to -haunt his sleep.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau bit his lip impatiently. He did not at all -understand his own mood, and suddenly it angered him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The girl is an aristocrat—nourished on blind -superstition, cradled in tyranny," said his brain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She is only a child, and starved," said his heart; -and he quickened his steps, almost to a run, as if to -escape from the two voices. Once at the Convention -business claimed him altogether, Marie Roche was -forgotten, and it was Dangeau the patriot who spoke -and listened, took notes and made suggestions. It was -late when he returned, and he climbed the stair -somewhat wearily. He was aware of a reaction from the -unreasoning gaiety of the morning. It seemed cold and -cheerless to come back night after night to an empty -room and an uncompanioned evening, and yet he could -remember the time, not so long ago, when that dear -solitude was the birthplace of burning dreams, and -thoughts dearer than any friend.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had not felt so dull and dreary since the year of -his mother's death, his first year alone in life, and once -or twice he sighed as he lighted a lamp and bent to the -heaped-up papers which littered his table. Half an hour -later, a low knocking at the door made him pause.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Enter!" he called out, expecting to see Rosalie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The door opened rather slowly, and Mlle de Rochambeau -stood hesitating on the threshold. Her eyes were -wide and dark with shyness, but her manner was prettily -composed as she said in her low, clear tones:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Citizen desires my services as a secretary? -Rosalie told me you had asked her to speak to me——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau sprang up. His theory of universal equality, -based upon universal citizenship, was slipping from him, -and he found himself saying:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If Mademoiselle will do me so much honour."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle's beautifully arched eyebrows rose a -little. What manner of Deputy was this? She had -observed and liked the gravity of his face and the -distant courtesy of his manner, or utmost privation -would not have brought her to accept his offer; but she -had not expected expressions of the Court, or a bow that -might have passed at Versailles.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am ready, Citizen," she said, with a faint smile -and a fainter emphasis on the form of address.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For the second time that day Dangeau flushed like a -boy. He was glad that a table had to be drawn nearer -the lamp, a chair pushed into position, ink and paper -fetched. The interval sufficed to restore him to -composure, and Mademoiselle being seated, he returned to -his papers and to silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When the first page had been transcribed, Mademoiselle -brought it over to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that clear, and as you wish it, Citizen?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is very good indeed, Citoyenne"; and this time his -tongue remembered that it belonged to a Republican -Deputy. If Mademoiselle smiled, he did not see it, and -again the silence fell. At ten o'clock she rose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot give you more time than this, I fear, -Citizen," she said, and unconsciously her manner -indicated that an audience was terminated. "My embroidery -is still my 'cheval de bataille,' and I fear it would -suffer if my eyes keep too late hours."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her low "Good-night," her scarcely hinted curtsey -passed, even whilst Dangeau rose, and before he could -reach and open the door, she had passed out, and closed -it behind her. Dangeau wrote late that night, and -waked later still. His thoughts were very busy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After some evenings of silent work, he asked her -abruptly:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is your name?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle gave a slight start, and answered -without raising her head:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Marie Roche, Citizen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I mean your real name."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But yes, Citizen"; and she wrote a word that had -to be erased.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau pushed his chair back, and paced the room. -"Marie Roche neither walks, speaks, nor writes as you -do. Heavens! Am I blind or deaf?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have not remarked it," said Mademoiselle demurely. -Her head was bent to hide a smile, which, if -a little tremulous, still betokened genuine -amusement—amusement which it certainly would not do for the -Citizen to perceive.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then do you believe that I am stupid, or"—with a -change of tone—"not to be trusted?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle de Rochambeau looked up at that.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur," she said in measured tones, "why -should I trust you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why should you trust Rosalie Leboeuf?" asked -Dangeau, with a spice of anger in his voice. "Do you -not consider me as trustworthy as she?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As trustworthy?" she said, a little bitterly. "That -may very easily be; but, Monsieur, if I trusted her, it -was of necessity, and what law does necessity know?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are right," said Dangeau, after a brief pause; -"I had no right to ask—to expect you to answer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sat down again as he spoke, and something in his -tone made Mademoiselle look quickly from her papers to -his face. She found it stern and rather white, and was -surprised to feel herself impelled towards confidence, as -if by some overwhelming force.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was jesting, Monsieur," she said quickly; "my -name is Aline de Rochambeau, and I am a very friendless -young girl. I am sure that Monsieur would do -nothing that might harm me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau scarcely looked up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thank you, Citoyenne," he said in a cold, -constrained voice; "your confidence shall be respected."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Perhaps Mademoiselle was surprised at the formality -of the reply,—perhaps she expected a shade more -response. It had been a condescension after all, and if -one condescended, one expected gratitude. She frowned -the least little bit, and caught her lower lip between her -white, even teeth for a moment, before she bent again -to her writing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau's pen moved, but he was ignorant of what -characters it traced. There is in every heart a moment -when the still pool becomes a living fountain, because -an angel has descended and the waters are divinely -troubled. To Jacques Dangeau such a moment came -when he felt that Aline de Rochambeau distrusted him, -and by the stabbing pain that knowledge caused him, -knew also that he loved her. When he heard her speak -her name, those troubled waters leapt towards her, and -he constrained his voice, lest it should call her by the -sweet name she herself had just spoken—lest it should -terrify her with the resonance of this new emotion, or -break treacherously and leave her wondering if he were -gone suddenly mad.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He forced his eyes upon the page that he could not -see, lest the new light in them should drive her from her -place. He kept his hand clenched close above the pen, -lest it should catch at her dress—her hand—the white, -fine hand which wrote with such clear grace, such -maidenly quiet, and all the while his heart beat so hard -that he could scarcely believe she did not hear it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ten o'clock struck solemnly, and Mademoiselle -began to put away her writing materials in her usual -orderly fashion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are going?" he stammered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Since it is the hour, Citizen," she answered, in some -surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He held the door, and bowed low as she passed him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-night, Citizen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-night, Citoyenne."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mlle de Rochambeau passed lightly out. He heard -her door close, and shut his own. He was alone. A -torrent as of emotion sublimed into fire swept over him, -and soul and body flamed to it. He paced the room -angrily. Where was his self-control, his patriotism, his -determination to live for one only Mistress, the Republic -of his ardent dreams? A shocked consciousness that -this aristocrat, this child of the enemy, was more to him -than the most ardent of them, assaulted his mind, but -he repulsed it indignantly. This was a madness, a fever, -and it would pass. He had led too solitary a life, hence -this girl's power to disturb him. Had he mixed more -with women he would have been safe,—and suddenly he -recalled Rosalie's handsome cousin, the Thérèse of his -warning to young Cléry. She had made unmistakable -advances to him more than once, but he had presented -a front of immovable courtesy to her inviting smiles and -glances. Certainly an affair with her would have been -a liberal education, he reflected half scornfully, half -whimsically disgusted, and no doubt it would have left -him less susceptible. Fool that he was!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Far into the night he paced his room, and continued -the mental struggle. Love comes hardly to some -natures, and those not the least noble. A man trained to -self-control, master of his own soul and all its passions, -does not without a struggle yield up the innermost -fortress of his being. He will not abdicate, and love -will brook no second place. The strong man armed -keepeth his house, but when a stronger than he -cometh— All that night Dangeau wrestled with that -stronger than he!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was some days before the evening task was -interrupted again. If Dangeau could not speak to her -without a thousand follies clamouring in him for -utterance, he could at least hold his tongue. Once or twice -the pen in those resolute fingers flagged, and his eyes -rested on his secretary longer than he knew. Heavy -shadows begirt her. The low roof sloped to the gloom -of the unlighted angles in the wall. Outside the -lamp-light's contracted circle, all seemed strange, unformed, -grotesque. Weird shadows hovered in the dusk background, -and curious flickers of light shot here and there, -as the ill-trimmed flame flared up, or suddenly sank. -The yellow light turned Mademoiselle's hair to burnished -gold, and laid heavy shadows under her dark blue eyes. -Its wan glow stole the natural faint rose from her cheeks -and lips, giving her an unearthly look, and waking in -Dangeau a poignant feeling, part spiritual awe, part -tender compassion for her whiteness and her youth, that -sometimes merged into the wholly human longing to -touch, hold, and comfort.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Once she looked up and caught that gaze upon her. -Her face whitened a little more, and she bent rather -lower over her writing, but afterwards, in her own room, -she blushed angrily, and wondered at herself, and him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What a look! How dared he? And yet, and yet—there -was nothing in it to scare the most sensitive -maidenliness, not a hint of passion or desire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Out of the far-away memories of her childhood, Aline -caught the reflection of that same look in other -eyes—the eyes of her beautiful mother, haunted as she gazed -by the knowledge that the little much-loved daughter -must be left to walk the path of life alone, unguarded -by the tender mother's love. Those eyes had closed in -death ten years before, but at the recollection Aline -broke into a passionate weeping, which would not be -stilled. One of her long-drawn sobs reached waking -ears across the way, and Dangeau caught his own breath, -and listened. Yes, again,—it came again. Oh God! she -was weeping! The unfamiliar word came to his -lips as it comes to those most unaccustomed in -moments of heart strain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"O God, she is in trouble, and I cannot help her!" -he groaned, and in that moment he ceased to fight -against his love. To himself he ceased to matter. It -was of her, of the beloved, of the dear sadness in her -voice, of the sweet loneliness in her eyes that he thought, -and something like a prayer went up that night from -the heart of a man who had pronounced prayer to be -a degrading superstition. Long after Aline lay sleeping, -her wet lashes folded peacefully over dreaming eyes, he -waked, and thought of her with a passion of tenderness.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="an-offer-of-friendship"><span class="large">CHAPTER VIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">AN OFFER OF FRIENDSHIP</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was some nights later that Mlle de Rochambeau, -copying serenely according to her wont, came across -something which made her eyes flash and her cheeks -burn. So far she had written on without paying much -heed to the matter before her, her pen pursuing a -mechanical task, whilst her thought merely followed its -clear, external form, gracing it with fine script and due -punctuation. At first, too, the strangeness of her -situation had had its share in absorbing her mind, but now -she was more at her ease, and began, as babies do, to -take notice. Custom had set its tranquillising seal upon -her occupation, and perhaps a waking interest in -Dangeau set her wondering about his work. Certain it is that, -having written as the heading of a chapter "Sins against -Liberty," she fell to considering the nature of Liberty -and wondering what might be these sins against it, -which were treated of, as she began to perceive, in -language theological in its fervour of denunciation. -Dangeau had written the chapter a year ago, in a white -heat of fury against certain facts which had come to his -knowledge; and it breathed a very ardent hatred towards -tyrants and their rule, towards a hereditary aristocracy -and its oppression. Mlle de Rochambeau turned the -leaf, and read—"a race unfit to live, since it produces -men without honour and justice, and women devoid of -virtue and pity." She dropped the sheet as if it burned, -and Dangeau, looking up, found her eyes fixed on him -with an expression of proud resentment, which stung -him keenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it?" he asked quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She read the words aloud, with a slow scorn, which -went home.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And Monsieur believes that?" she said, with her -eyes still on his.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau was vexed. He had forgotten the chapter. -It must read like an insult. So far had love taken him, -but he would not deny what he had written, and after -all was it not well she should know the truth, she who -had been snatched like some pure pearl from the -rottenness and corruption of her order?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is the truth," he said; "before Heaven it is the -truth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The truth—this?" she said, smiling. "Ah no, -Monsieur, I think not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The smile pricked him, and his words broke out hotly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are young, Citoyenne, too young to have known -and seen the shameless wickedness, the crushing tyranny, -of this aristocracy of France. I tell you the country -has bled at every pore that vampires might suck the -blood, and fatten on it, they and their children. Do you -claim honour for the man who does not shame to -dishonour the hearths of the poor, or pity for the woman -who will see children starving at her gate that she may -buy herself another string of diamonds—hard and cold -as her most unpitiful heart?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" said Mademoiselle faintly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is the truth—the truth. I have seen it—and -more, much, much more. Tales not fit for innocent girls' -ears like yours, and yet innocent girls have suffered the -things I dare not name to you. This is a race that -must be purged from among us, with sweat of blood, and -tears if needs be, and then—let the land enjoy her -increase. Those who toiled as brutes, oppressed and -ground down below the very cattle they tended, shall -work, each man for his own wife and children, and the -prosperity of the family shall make the prosperity of -France."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mlle de Rochambeau listened impatiently, her finely -cut mouth quivering with anger, and her eyes darkening -and deepening from blue to grey. They were those -Irish eyes, of all eyes the most changeable: blue under a -blue sky, grey in anger, and violet when the soul looked -out of them—the beautiful eyes of beautiful Aileen -Desmond. They were very dark with her daughter's -resentment now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur says I am young," she cried, "but he -forgets that I have lived all my life in the country -amongst those who, he says, are so oppressed, so -enslaved. I have not seen it. Before my parents died and -I went to the Convent, I used to visit the peasants with -my mother. She was an angel, and they worshipped her. -I have seen women kiss the fold of her dress as she -passed, and the children would flock to her, like chickens -at feeding-time. Then, my father—he was so good, so -just. In his youth, I have heard he was the handsomest -man at Court; he had the royal favour, the King wished -for his friendship, but he chose rather to live on his -estates, and rule them justly and wisely. The meanest -man in his Marquisate could come to him with his -grievance and be sure it would be redressed, and the -poorest knew that M. le Marquis would be as scrupulous -in defence of his rights as in defence of his own honour. -And there were many, many who did the same. They -lived on their lands, they feared God, they honoured the -King. They did justly and loved mercy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau watched her face as it kindled, and felt the -flame in her rouse all the smouldering fires of his own -heart. The opposition of their natures struck sparks -from both. But he controlled himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is the power," he said in a sombre voice; "they -had too much power—might be angel or devil at will. -Too many were devil, and brought hell's torments with -them. You honour your parents, and it is well, for if -they were as you speak of them, all would honour them. -Do you not think Liberty would have spoken to them -too? But for every seigneur who dealt equal justice, -there were hundreds who crushed the poor because they -were defenceless. For every woman who fostered the -tender lives around her, there were thousands who saw -a baby die of starvation at its starving mother's breast -with as little concern as if it had been a she-wolf perishing -with her whelps, and less than if it were a case of one -of my lord's hounds and her litter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle felt the angry tears come sharply to her -eyes. Why should this man move her thus? What, -after all, did his opinions matter to her? She chid her -own imprudence in having lent herself to this unseemly -argument. She had already trusted him too much. A -little tremour crept over her heart—she remembered the -September madness, the horror, and the blood,—and the -colour ebbed slowly from her cheeks as she bent forward -and took her pen again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau saw her whiten, and in an instant his mood -changed. Her hand shook, and he guessed the cause. -He had frightened her; she did not trust him. The -thought stabbed very deep, but he too fell silent, and -resumed his work, though with a heavy heart. When -she rose to go, he looked up, hesitated a moment, and -then said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Citoyenne."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Citizen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Citoyenne, it would be wiser not to express to others -the sentiments you have avowed to-night. They are not -safe—for Marie Roche."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Citizen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle's back was towards him, and he had no -means of discovering how she took his warning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That process of purging, of which I spoke, goes -forward apace," he continued slowly; "those who have -sinned against the people must expiate their sins, it may -be in blood."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Citizen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Something drove him on—that subtle instinct which -drives us all at times, the desire to probe deeply, to try -to the uttermost.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They and their innocent children, perhaps," he said -gloomily, and her own case was in his mind. "What do -your priests say—is it not 'to the third and fourth -generation'?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned and faced him then, very pale, but quite -composed. There was no coward blood in her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are trying to tell me that you will denounce -me," she said quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The words fell like a thunderbolt. All the blood in -Dangeau's body seemed to rush violently to his head, -and for a moment he lost himself. He was by her side, -his hands catching at her shoulders, where they lay -heavy, shaking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look me in the face and say that again!" he -thundered in the voice his section knew.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" cried Mademoiselle,—"what do you mean, -Monsieur? This is an outrage, release me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His hands fell, but his eyes held hers. They blazed -upon her like heated steel, and the anger in them burned -her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! you dare not say it again," he said very low.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur, I dare." Her gaze met his, and a strange -excitement possessed her. She would have been less -than woman had she not felt her power—more than -woman had she not used it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau spoke again, his voice muffled with passion. -"You dare say I, Jacques Dangeau, am a spy, an -informer, a betrayer of trust?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle's composure began to return. This man -shook when he touched her; she was stronger than he. -There was no danger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not quite that, Citizen," she said quietly. "But I -did not know what a patriot might consider his duty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned away, and bent over his table, arranging -a paper here, closing a drawer there. After a few -moments he came to where she stood, and looked fixedly -at her for a short time. His former look she had met, -but before this her eyes dropped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Citoyenne," he said slowly, "I ask your pardon. -I had hoped that—" He paused, and began again. "I -am no informer—you may have reliance on my honour -and my friendship. I warned you because I saw you -friendless and inexperienced. These are dangerous -times—times of change and development. I believe with all my -heart in the goal towards which we are striving, but -many will fall by the way—some from weakness, some -by the sword. I was but offering a hand to one whom -I saw in danger of stumbling."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His altered tone and grave manner softened Aline's -mood. "Indeed, Citizen," she cried on the impulse, -"you have been very kind to me. I am not ungrateful—I -have too few friends for that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you count me a friend, Citoyenne?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle drew back a shade.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is a friend—what is friendship?" she said -more lightly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Dangeau sought for cool and temperate words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Friendship is mutual help, mutual good-will—a bond -which is rooted in honour, confidence, and esteem. A -friend is one who will neither be oppressive in prosperity -nor faithless in adversity," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And are you such a friend, Citizen?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you will accept my friendship, you will learn -whether I am such a friend or not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The measured words, the carefully controlled voice, -emboldened Mademoiselle. She threw a searching glance -at the dark, downcast features above her, and her youth -went out to his.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will try this friendship of yours, Citizen," she said, -with a little smile, and she held out her hand to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau flushed deeply. His self-control shook, but -only for a moment. Then he raised the slim hand, and, -bending to meet it, kissed it as if it had been the Queen's, -and he a devout Loyalist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was Aline's turn to wake and wonder that night, -acting out the little scene a hundred times. Why that -flame of sudden anger—that tempest which had so -shaken her? What was this power which drew her on -to experiment, to play, with forces beyond her -understanding? She felt again the weight of his hands upon -her, her flesh tingled, and she blushed hotly in the -darkness. No one had ever touched her so before. -Wild anger woke in her, and wilder tears came burning -to her burning cheeks. Truly a girl's heart is a strange -thing. The shyest maid will weave dream-tales of -passionate love, in which she plays the heroine to every -gallant hero history holds or romance presents. Their -dream kisses leave her modesty untouched, their fervent -speeches bring no faintest flush to her virgin cheeks. -Comes then an actual lover, and all at once is changed. -The garment of her dreams falls from her, and leaves her -naked and ashamed. A look affronts, a word offends, -and a touch goes near to make her swoon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline lay trembling at her thoughts. He had touched, -had held her. His strong hands had bruised the tender -flesh. She had seen a man in wrath—had known that -it was for her to raise or quell the storm. And then -that kiss—it tingled yet, and she threw out her hand in -protest. All her pride rose armed. She, a Rochambeau, -daughter of as haughty a house as any France nourished, -to lie here dreaming because a bourgeois had kissed her -hand!—this was a scourge to bring blood. It certainly -brought many tears, and at the last she knelt for a long -while praying. The waters of her soul stilled at the -familiar words of peace, and settled back into a virgin -calm. As yet only the surface had been ruffled by the -first breath which heralded the approaching storm. It -had rippled under the touch, tossed for an hour, flung up -a drop or two of salt, indignant spray, and sunk again -to sleep and silence. Below, the deeps lay all untroubled, -but in them strange things were moving. For when she -slept she dreamed a strange dream, and disquieting. She -thought she was at Rochambeau once more, and she -wondered why her heart did not leap for joy, instead of -being heavy and troubled, beyond anything she could -remember.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sun was sinking, and all the fields lay golden in -the glory, but she was too weary to heed. Her feet were -bare and bleeding, her garments torn and scanty, and on -her breast lay a little moaning babe. It stretched slow, -groping hands to her and wailed for food, and her heart -grew heavier and darker with every step she took. -Suddenly Dangeau stood by her side. He was angry, his -voice thundered, his look was flame, and in loud, terrible -tones he cried, "You have starved my child, and it is -dead!" Then she thought he took the baby from her -arms, and an angel with a flaming sword flew out of the -sun, and drew her down—down—down....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She woke terrified, bathed in tears. What a dream! -"Holy Mary, Mother and Virgin, shield me!" she -prayed, as she crouched breathless in the gloom. "The -powers of darkness—the powers of evil! Let dreams be -far and phantoms of the night—bind thou the foe. -His look, his fearful look, and his deep threatening voice -like the trump of the Angel of Judgment! Mary, Virgin, -save!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thoughts wild and incoherent; prayers softening to a -sob, sobs melting again into a prayer! Loneliness and the -midnight had their way with her, and it was not until -the tranquillising moon shot a silver ray into the small -dark room that the haunting agony was calmed, and she -sank into a dreamless sleep.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-old-ideal-and-the-new"><span class="large">CHAPTER IX</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">THE OLD IDEAL AND THE NEW</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was really only on four evenings of the week that -Dangeau was able to avail himself of Mlle de -Rochambeau's services.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On Sundays she took a holiday both from embroidery -and copying, and on Mondays and Thursdays he spent -the evening at the Cordeliers' Club.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was on a Saturday that Dangeau had stormed, -proffered friendship, and kissed Mademoiselle's hand, so -that during the two days that followed both had time to -calm down, to experience a slight revulsion of feeling, and -finally to feel some embarrassment at the thought of -their next meeting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On Tuesday Dangeau was in his room all the afternoon. -He had some important papers to read through, -and when he had finished them, felt restless, yet -disinclined to go out again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was still light, but the winter dark would fall in -half an hour, and the evening promised to be wet and -stormy. A gust of wind beat upon the window now -and again, leaving it sprayed with moisture. Dangeau -stood awhile looking out, his mood grey as the weather. -Some one not far off was singing, and he opened his -window, and leaned idly out to see if the singer were -visible. The sound at once grew faint, almost to -extinction, and latching the casement he fell to pacing his -room. By the door he paused, for the sound was surely -clearer. He turned the handle and stood listening, for -Mademoiselle's door was ajar, and from within her voice -came sweetly and low. He had an instant vision of how -she would look, sitting close to the dull window, grey -twilight on the shining head bent over the fine white -work as she sang to keep the silence and the loneliness -from her heart. The song was one of those soft -interminable cradle songs which mothers sing in every -country place, rocking the full cradle with patient -rhythmic foot, the while they spin or knit, and every -word came clear to a lilting air:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"She sat beneath the wayside tree,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Et lon, lon, lon, et la, la, la—</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>She heard the birds sing wide and free,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Hail Mary, full of grace!</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"She had no shelter for her head,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Et lon, lon, lon, et la, la, la,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Except the leaves that God had spread—</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Hail Mary, full of grace!</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Down flew the Angel Gabriel,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Et lon, lon, lon, et la, la, la,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>He said, 'Maid Mary, greet thee well!'</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Hail Mary, full of grace!"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The song was interrupted for a moment, but he heard -her hum the tune. To the lonely man came a swift, -holy thought of what it would be to see her rock a child -to that soft air in a happy twilight, no longer solitary. -He heard her move her chair and sigh a little as she sat -down again. The daylight died as if with gasps for -breath palpably withdrawn:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"She laid her Son in the oxen's stall,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Et lon, lon, lon, et la, la, la—</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Herself she did not rest at all,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Hail Mary, full of grace!"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Another pause, another sigh, and then the sound of steps -moving about the room. Then the door was shut, and -with a little smile half tender, half impatient, Dangeau -turned to his work again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When the evening was come, and Mademoiselle was -in her place, he asked her suddenly:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you do with yourself on Sunday?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I take a holiday, Citizen," she answered demurely, -and without looking up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But what do you do with your holiday, Citoyenne," -said Dangeau, persistent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle smiled a little and blushed a little, -smile and blush alike reproving his curiosity, but after -a slight hesitation she said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I go to one of the great churches."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And when you are there?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it the Catechism?" ventured Mademoiselle, and -then went on hastily, "I say my prayers, Citizen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And could you not say them at home?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, yes, and I do, Citizen, but I go to hear the -Mass; and then the church is so solemn, and big, and -beautiful. Others are praying round me, and I feel my -prayers are heard."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau frowned and then broke out impatiently:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That idea of prayer—it is so selfish—each one -asking, asking, asking. I do not find that ennobling!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it so selfish to ask for patience and courage, then, -Citizen?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And is that what you pray for?" he asked, arrested -by something in her tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline's colour rose high under his softened look, and -she inclined her head without speaking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That might pass," said Dangeau reflectively. "I -do not believe in priests, or an organised religion, but -I have my own creed. I believe in one Supreme Being -from whom flows that tide which we call Life when it -rises in us, and Death when it ebbs again to Him. If -the creature could, by straining towards the Creator, -draw the life-tide more strongly into his own soul, that -would be worthy prayer; but to most men, what is -religion?—a mere ignoble system of reward or punishment, -fit perhaps for children, or slaves, but no free -man's creed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What would you give them instead, Citizen?" -asked Mademoiselle seriously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Reason," cried Dangeau; "pure reason. Teach man -to reason, and you lift him above such degrading -considerations. Even the child should not be punished, it -should be reasoned with; but there—" He paused, -for Mademoiselle was laughing a soft, irrepressible laugh, -that filled the small, low room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Citizen, forgive me," she cried; "but you -reminded me of something that happened when I was -a child. I do not quite know whether the story fits -your theory or mine, but I will tell it you, if you like."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If it fits my theory, I shall annex it unscrupulously, -of that I give you fair warning," said Dangeau, laughing. -"But tell it to me first, and we will dispute about it -afterwards."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline leaned back in her upright chair, and a little -remembering smile came into her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Citizen, you must know that I was only nine -years old when I went to the Convent, and I was a -spoilt child, and gave the good nuns a great deal of -trouble, I am afraid.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The sister in charge of us was Sister Marie Josèphe, -and we were very fond of her; but when we were naughty, -out came a birch rod, and we were soundly punished.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now Sister Marie Josèphe was not strong; she -suffered much from pain in her head, and sometimes it -was so bad that she was obliged to be alone, and in the -dark. When this happened, Sister Géneviève took her -place, and Sister Géneviève was like you, Citizen; she -believed in the efficacy of pure reason! If under her -regime there was a crime to be punished, then there -was no birch rod forthcoming, but instead, a very long, -dreary sermon—an hour by the clock, at least—and at -the end a very limp, discouraged sinner, usually in tears. -But, Citizen, it was ennuyant, most terrible ennuyant, -and much, much worse than being whipped; for that -only lasted a minute, and then there were tears, kisses, -promises of amendment, and a grand reconciliation. -Well, I must tell you that I had a great desire to see -the moon rise over the hill behind us. Our windows -looked the other way, and as it was winter time we -were all locked in very early. Adèle de Matignon -dared me to get out. I declared I would, and I watched -my time. I am sure Sister Marie Josèphe must have -been very much surprised by my frequent and tender -inquiries after her health at that time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Always a little suffering, my child,' she would say, -and then I would whisper to Adèle, 'We must wait.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At last, however, a day came when the good sister -answered, 'Ah, it goes better, thanks to the Virgin,' and -I told Adèle that it would be for that evening. Well, I -got out. I climbed through a window, and down a pear -tree. I scratched my hands, and fell into some bushes, -and after all there was no moon! The night was cloudy -and presently it began to rain. I assure you, Citizen, -I was very well punished before I came up for judgment. -Of course I was discovered, and, to my horror, found -myself in the hands of Sister Géneviève. 'But where -is Sister Marie Josèphe?' I sobbed. 'Ah, my child!' -said Sister Géneviève mildly, 'this wickedness of yours -has brought on one of her worst attacks, and she is -suffering too much to come to you.' I cried dreadfully, -for I was very much discouraged, and felt that one of -Sister Géneviève's sermons would remove my last hope -in this world. She did not know what to make of me, -I am sure, but I had to listen to more pure reason -than I had ever done before, and I assure you, Citizen, -that it gave me a headache almost as bad as poor Sister -Marie Josèphe's."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle laughed again as she finished her tale, -and looked at Dangeau with arch, malicious eyes. He -joined her laughter, but would have the last word; for,</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"See, Citoyenne," he said, "see how your tale -supports my theory, and how fine a deterrent was the -pure reason of Sister Géneviève as compared with the -birch rod of Sister Marie Josèphe!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But if it is a punishment, then your theory falls to -the ground, since you were to do away with all reward -and punishment!" objected Aline.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau's eyes twinkled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are too quick," he said in mock surrender.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle took up her pen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am very slow over my work," she answered, -smiling. "See how I waste my time! You should -scold me, Citizen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They wrote for awhile, but Dangeau's pen halted, the -merriment died out of his face, leaving it stern and -gloomy. These were no times to foster even an innocent -gaiety. Abruptly he began to speak again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You see only flowers and innocence upon your -altars, but I have seen them served by cruelty, blood, -and lust."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline looked up, startled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I could not tell you the tales I know—they are -not fit." His brow clouded. "My mother was a good -woman, good and religious. I have still a reverence for -what she reverenced; I can still worship the spirit of -her worship, though I have travelled far enough since -she taught me at her knee. I have seen too many -crimes committed in the name of Religion," and he -broke off, leaning his head upon his hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mlle de Rochambeau's eyes flashed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And in the name of Liberty, none?" she asked with -a sudden ring in her voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A vision of blood and horror swept between them. -Dangeau saw in memory the gutters of Paris awash with -the crimson of massacre. Dead, violet eyes in a severed -head pike-lifted stared at him from the gloom, and -under his gaze he thought they changed, turned greyer, -darker, and took the form and hue of those which Aline -raised to his. He shuddered violently, and answered in -a voice scarcely audible:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, there have been crimes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then he looked up again, snatching his thoughts back -to control.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Liberty is only a name, as yet," he said; "we have -taken away the visible chain which manacled the body, -but an invisible one lies deep, and corroded, fettering -the heart and will, and as it rusts into decay it breeds -a deadly poison there. The work of healing cannot be -done in a day. There can be no true liberty until our -children are cradled in it, educated in it, taught to hold -it as the air, without which they cannot breathe. That -time is to come, but first there will be much bitterness, -much suffering, much that is to be deplored. You may -well pray for strength and patience," he continued, after -a momentary pause, "for we shall all need them in -the times that are coming."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Slowly, but surely, the spirit of the two great -Republican Clubs was turning to violence and lust of power. -Hébert, Marat, and Fouquier Tinville were rising into -prominence—fatal, evil stars, driven on an orbit of -mad passion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Robespierre's name still stood for moderation, but -there was, at times, an expression on his livid face, a -spark in his haggard eyes, which left a more ominous -impression than Marat's flood of vituperation or -Tinville's calculating cruelty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau's heart was very heavy. The splendid dawn -was here—the dawn longed for, looked for, hoped for -through so many hours of blackest night—and behold, -it came up redly threatening, precursor, not of the full, -still day of peace, but of some Armageddon of wrath -and fury. The day of peace would come, must come, -but who could say that he would live to see it? There -were times when it seemed unutterably far away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A dark mood was upon him. He could not write, -but stared gloomily before him. That anxiety, that -quickened sense of all life's sadness and dangers which -comes over us at times when we love, possessed him -now. How long would this young life, which meant -he was afraid to gauge how much to him, be safe in -the midst of this fermenting city? Her innocence -stabbed his soul, her delicate pride caught at his -heart-strings. How long could the one endure? How soon -might not the other be dragged in the dust? Rosalie -he knew only too well. She would not betray the -girl, but neither would she go out of her own safe way -to protect her; and she was venal, narrow, and hard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not kiss Mademoiselle's hand to-night, but he -took it for a moment as she passed, and stood looking -down at it as he said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If God is, He will bless you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle's heart beat violently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you too, Citizen," she murmured, with an -involuntary catch of the breath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you pray for me?" he asked, filled with a new -emotion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Citizen," she said, in a very low voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau was about to speak again—to say he knew -not what—but with her last words she drew her hand -gently away, and was gone. He stood where she had -left him, breathing deeply. Suddenly the gloom that -lay upon him became shot with light, and hope rose -trembling in his heart. He felt himself strong—a -giant. What harm could touch her under the shield of -his love? Who would dare threaten what he would -cherish to the death? In this new exultation he flung -the window wide, and leaned out. A little snow had -fallen, and the heaviness of the air was relieved. Now it -came crisp and vigorous against his cheek. Far above, -the clouds made a wide ring about the moon. Serenely -tranquil she floated in the space of clear, dark sky, and -all the night was irradiated as if by thoughts of peace.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-fate-of-a-king"><span class="large">CHAPTER X</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">THE FATE OF A KING</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>December was a month of turmoil and raging -dissensions. Faction fought faction, party abused -party, and all was confusion and clamour. In the great -Hall of the Convention, speaker succeeded speaker, -Deputy after Deputy rose, and thundered, rose, and -declaimed, rose, and vituperated. Nothing was done, and -in every department of the State there reigned a chaos -indescribable. "Moderation and delay," clamoured the -Girondins, smooth, narrow Roland at their head, -mouthpiece, as rumour had it, of that beautiful philosopher, -his wife. "To work and have done with it," shouted the -men of the Mountain, driving their words home with -sharp accusations of lack of patriotism and a desire to -favour Monarchy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the 11th of the month, the Hall had echoed to -the Nation's indictment of Louis Capet, sometime King -of France.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the 26th, Louis, still King in his own eyes, made -answer to the Nation's accusation by the mouth of his -advocate, the young Désèze.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For three hours that brave man spoke, manfully -striving against the inevitable, and, having finished -a most eloquent speech, threw his whole energies -into obtaining what was the best hope of the -King's friends—delay, delay, delay, and yet again -delay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The matter dragged on and on. Every mouthing -Deputy had his epoch-making remarks to make, and -would make them, though distracted Departments -waited until the Citizen Deputies should have finished -judging their King, and have time to spare for the -business of doing the work they had taken out of his hands; -whilst outside, a carefully stage-managed crowd howled -all day for bread, and for the Traitor Veto's head, which -they somehow imagined, or were led to imagine, would -do as well.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Mountain languished a little without its leader, -who was absent on a mission to the Low Countries, and, -Danton's tremendous personality removed, it tended to -froth of accusation and counter-accusation, by which -matters were not at all advanced. At the head of -his Jacobins sat Robespierre, as yet coldly inscrutable, -but amongst the Cordeliers there was none to replace -Danton.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the early days of January, the Netherlands gave -him back again, and the Mountain met in conclave—its -two parties blended by the only man who could so blend -them. The long Committee-room was dark, and though -it was not late, the lamps had been lighted for some -time. Under one of them a man sat writing. His -straight, unnaturally sleek hair was brushed carefully -back from a forehead of spectral pallor. His narrow -lips pressed each other closely, and he wrote with an -absorbed concentration which was somehow not agreeable -to witness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Every now and then he glanced up, and there was a -hinted gleam of red—a mere spark not yet fanned into -flame—behind the shallows of his eyes. The lamp-light -showed every detail of his almost foppish dress, which was -in marked contrast to his unpleasing features, and to the -custom of his company; for those were days when careful -attire was the aristocrat's prerogative, and clean linen -rendered a patriot gravely suspect.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By the fire two men were talking in low voices—Hébert, -sensual, swollen of body, flat and pale of face; -and Marat, a misshapen, stunted creature with short, -black, curling hair, pinched mouth, and dark, malignant -gaze.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We get no further," complained Hébert, in a dull, -oily voice, devoid of ring.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marat shrugged his crooked shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We are so ideal, so virtuous," he remarked viciously. -"We were so shocked in September, my friend; you should -remember that. Blood was shed—actually people were -killed—fie then! it turns our weak stomachs. We look -askance at our hands, and call for rose-water to wash -them in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very pretty," drawled Hébert, pushing the fire with -his foot. "There are fools in the world, and some here, -no doubt; but after all, we all want the same thing in -the end, though some make a boggle at the price. I -want power, you want power, Danton wants it, Camille -wants it, and so does even your piece of Incorruptibility -yonder, if he would come out of his infernal pose and -acknowledge it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Robespierre looked up, and down again. No one -could have said he heard. It was in fact not possible, -but Hébert grew a faint shade yellower, and Marat's -eyes glittered maliciously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," he said, "that's just it—just the trouble. -We all want the same thing, and we are all afraid to -move, for fear of giving it to some one else. So we -all sit twiddling our thumbs, and the Gironde calls the -tune."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hébert swore, and spat into the fire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now Danton is back, he will not twiddle his thumbs -for long," he said; "that is not at all his idea of -amusing himself. He is turning things over—chewing the -cud. Presently, you will see, the bull will bellow, -and the whole herd will trot after him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Which way?" asked Marat sarcastically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"H'm—that is just what I should like to know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And our Maximilian?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What does he mean? What does he want?" -Hébert broke out uneasily, low-voiced. "He is all for -mildness and temperance, justice and sobriety; but under -it—under it, Marat?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marat's pointed brows rose abruptly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The devil knows," said he, "but I don't believe -Maximilian does."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Robespierre looked up again with calm, dispassionate -gaze. His eye dwelt on the two for a moment, and -dropped to the page before him. He wrote the words, -"Above all things the State"—and deep within him the -imperishable ego cried prophetic, "L'État, c'est moi!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The room began to fill. Men came in, cursing the -cold, shaking snow from their coats, stamping icy -fragments from their frozen feet. The fire was popular. -Hébert and Marat were crowded from the place they -had occupied, and a buzz of voices rose from every -quarter. Here and there a group declaimed or argued, -but for the most part men stood in twos and threes -discussing the situation in confidential tones.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If intellect was less conspicuous than in the ranks of -the Gironde, it was by no means absent, and many faces -there bore its stamp, and that of ardent sincerity. For -the most part they were young, these men whose meeting -was to make History, and they carried into politics the -excesses and the violence of youth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Here leaned Hérault de Séchelles, one of the -handsomest men in France; there, declaiming eagerly, to -as eager a circle of listeners, was St. Just with that -curious pallor which made his face seem a mere -translucent mask behind which there burned a -seven-times-heated flame.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I say that Louis can claim no rights as a citizen. -We are fighting, not trying him. The law's delays are -fatal here. One day posterity will be amazed that we -have advanced so little since Cæsar's day. What—patriots -were found then to immolate the tyrant in -open Senate, and to-day we fear to lift our hands! -There is no citizen to-day who has not the right -that Brutus had, and like Brutus he might claim -to be his country's saviour! Louis has fought against -the people, and is now no longer a Frenchman, -but a stranger, a traitor, and a criminal! Strike, -then, that the tocsin of liberty may sound the birth -hour of the Nation and the death hour of the Tyrant!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is all delay, delay," said Hérault gloomily to -young Cléry. "Désèze works hard. Time is what he -wants—and for what? To hatch new treasons; to get -behind us, and stab in the dark; to allow Austria to -advance, and Spain and England to threaten us! No, -they have had time enough for these things. It is the -reckoning day. Thirty-eight years has Louis lived and -now he must give an account of them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My faith," growled Jean Bon, shaking his shaggy -head, to which the winter moisture clung, "My faith, -there are citizens in this room who will take matters -into their own hands if the Convention does not come -to the point very shortly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Convention deliberates," said Hérault gloomily, -and Jean Bon interrupted him with a brutal laugh—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thunder of Heaven, yes; talk, talk, talk, and nothing -done. We want a clear policy. We want Danton to -declare himself, and Robespierre to stop playing the -humanitarian, and say what he means. There has been -enough of turning phrases and lawyers' tricks. Louis -alive is Louis dangerous, and Louis dead is Louis dust; -that's the plain truth of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is of more use to us alive than dead, I should -say," cried Edmund Cléry impetuously. "Are we in so -strong a position as to be able with impunity to destroy -our hostages?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hébert, who had joined the group, turned a cold, -remembering eye upon him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Austria does not care for Capet," he said scornfully; -"Antoinette and the boy are all the hostages we require. -Austria does not even care about them very much; -but such as they are they will serve. Capet must die," -and he sprang on a bench and raised his voice:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Capet must die!—I demand his blood as the seal of -Republican liberty. If he lives, there will be endless -plots and intrigues. I tell you it is his life now, or ours -before long. The people is a hard master to serve, my -friends. To-day they want a Republic, but to-morrow -they may take a fancy to their old plaything again. -'Limited Monarchy!' cries some fool, and forthwith on -goes Capet's crown, and off go our heads! A smiling -prospect, hein, mes amis?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a murmur, part protest, part encouragement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hébert went on:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Some one says deport him; he can do no more harm -than the Princes are doing already. Do you perhaps -imagine that a man fights as well for his brother's -crown as for his own? The Princes are half-hearted—they -are in no danger, the crown is none of theirs, their -wives and children are at liberty; but put Capet in their -place, and he has everything to gain by effort and all to -lose by quiescence. I say that the man who says 'Send -Capet out of France' is a traitor to the Republic, and a -Monarchist at heart! Another citizen says, 'Imprison -him, keep him shut up out of harm's way.' Out of -harm's way—that sounds well enough, but for my part -I have no fancy for living over a powder magazine. -They plot and conspire, these aristocrats. They do it -foolishly enough, I grant you, and we find them out, and -clap them in prison. Now and then there is a little -blood-letting. Not enough for me, but a little. Then -what? More of the breed at the same game, and encore, -and encore. Some day, my friends, we shall wake up and -find that one of the plots has succeeded. Pretty fools -we should look if one fine morning they were all flown, -our hostages—Capet, the Austrian, the proud jade -Elizabeth, and the promising youth. Shall I tell you what -would be the next thing? Why, our immaculate generals -would feel it their duty to conclude a peace with profits. -There would be an embracing, a fraternising, a -reconciliation on our frontiers, and hand in hand would come -Austria and our army, conducting Capet to his faithful -town of Paris. It is only Citizen Robespierre who is -incorruptible—meaner mortals do not pretend to it. In -our generals' place, I myself, I do not say that I should -not do the same, for I should certainly conclude that I -was being governed by a parcel of fools, and that I should -do well to prove my own sanity by saving my head."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Danton had entered as Hébert sprang up. His loose -shirt displayed the powerful bull-neck; his broad, rugged -forehead and deep-set passionate eyes bespoke the rough -power and magnetism of his personality. He came in -quietly, nodding to a friend here and there, his arm -through that of Camille Desmoulins, who, with dark hair -tossed loosely from his beautiful brow, and strange eyes -glittering with a visionary light, made an arresting figure -even under Danton's shadow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In happier days the one might have been prophet, -ruler, or statesman; the other poet, priest, or dreamer of -ardent dreams; but in the storm of the Red Terror they -rose, they passed, they fell; for even Danton's thunder -failed him in the face of a tempest elemental as the -crash of worlds evolving from chaos.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He listened now, but did not speak, and Camille, at his -side, flung out an eager arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The man must die!" he shouted in a clear, ringing -voice. "The people call for his blood, France calls for -his blood, the Convention calls for his blood. I demand -it in the sacred name of Liberty. Let the scaffold of a -King become the throne of an enduring Republic!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Robespierre looked up with an expression of calm -curiosity. These wild enthusiasms, this hot-blooded -ardour, how strange, how inexplicable, and yet at times -how useful. He leaned across the table and began to -speak in a thin, colourless voice that somehow made -itself heard, and enforced attention.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Capet has had a fair trial at the hands of a righteous -and representative Assembly. If the Convention is -satisfied that he is innocent, maligned perhaps by men -of interested motives"—there was a slight murmur of -dissent—"or influenced to unworthy deeds by those -around him, or merely ignorant—strangely, stupidly -ignorant—the Convention will judge him. But if he has -sinned against the Nation, if he has oppressed the people, -if he has given them stone for bread, and starvation for -prosperity—if he has conspired with Austria against the -integrity of France in order to bolster up a tottering -tyranny, why, then"—he paused whilst a voice cried, -"Shall the people oppressed through the ages not take -their revenge of a day?" and an excited chorus of oaths -and execrations followed the words—"why, then," said -the thin voice coldly, "still I say, the Convention will -judge him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Maximilian Robespierre took up his pen and wrote on. -Something in his words had fanned the scattered embers -into flame, and strife ran high. Jules Dupuis, -foul-mouthed and blasphemous, screamed out an edged tirade. -Jean Bon boomed some commonplace of corroboration. -Marat spat forth a venomous word or two. Robespierre -folded the paper on which he wrote, and passed the note -to Danton at his elbow. The great head bent, the deep -eyes read, and lifting, fixed themselves on Robespierre's -pale face. It was a face as strange as pale. Below the -receding brow the green, unwinking eyes held steady. -The red spark trembled in them and smouldered to a -blaze.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Danton looked strangely at him for a moment, and -then, throwing back his great shoulders and raising his -right hand high above the crowd, he thundered:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Citizens, Capet must die!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A roar of applause shook the room, and drowned the -reverberations of that mighty voice—Danton's voice, -which shook not only the Mountain on which he stood, -and from which he fell, but France beyond and Europe -across her frontiers. It echoes still, and comes to us -across the years with all the man's audacious force, his -pride of patriotism, and overwhelming energy! -raised it now, and beckoning for silence——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We are all agreed," he cried, "Louis is guilty, and -Louis must die. If he lives, there is not a life safe in all -France. The man is an open sore on the flesh of the -Constitution, and it must be cut away, lest gangrene seize -the whole. Above all there must be no delay. Delay -means disintegration; delay means a people without -bread, and a country without government. Neither can -wait. Away with Louis, and our hands are free to do -all that waits to be done."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The frontiers—Europe—are we strong enough?" -shouted a voice from the back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Danton's eyes blazed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let Europe look to herself. Let Spain, Austria, and -England look to themselves. The rot of centuries is ripe -at last. Other thrones may totter, and other tyrants fall. -Let them threaten—let them threaten, but we will dash -a gage of battle at their feet—the bloody head of the -King!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At that the clamour swallowed everything. Men -cheered and embraced. There was shouting and high -applause.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Danton turned from the riot and fell into earnest talk -with Robespierre. In Hébert's ear Marat whispered:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As you said. The bull has roared, and we all follow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All?" asked Hébert significantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Some people have an inexplicable taste for being in -the minority," said Marat, shrugging.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As, for instance?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Our young friend Dangeau."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, that Dangeau," cursed Hébert, "I have a grudge -against him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very ungrateful of you, then," said Marat briskly; -"he saved Capet and his family at a time when it suited -none of us that they should die. We want a spectacle—something -imposing, public, solemn; something of a fête, -not just a roaring crowd, a pike-thrust or two, and pff! it -is all over."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is true."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"See you, Hébert, when we have closed the churches, -and swept away the whole machinery of superstition, -what are we going to give the people instead of them? -I say La République must have her fêtes, her holidays, -her processions, and her altars, with St. Guillotine as -patron saint, and the good Citizen Sanson as officiating -priest. We want Capet's blood, but can we stop there? -No, a thousand times! Paris will be drunk, and then, in -a trice, Paris will be thirsty again. And the oftener -Paris is drunk, the thirstier she will be, until——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, my friend?" Hébert was a little pale; had he -any premonition of the day when he too should kneel at -that Republican altar?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marat's face was convulsed for a moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know," he said, in sombre tones.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But Dangeau," said Hébert after a pause, "the -fellow sticks in my gorge. He is one of your moral -idealists, who want to cross the river without wetting -their feet. He has not common-sense."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Danton is his friend," said Marat with intention.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And it's 'ware bull.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know that. See now if Danton does not pack -him off out of Paris somewhere until this business is -settled."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He might give trouble—yes, he might give trouble," -said Marat slowly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is altogether too popular," grunted Hébert.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marat shrugged his shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, popularity," he said, "it's here to-day and gone -to-morrow; and when to-morrow comes——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Our young friend will have to choose between his -precious scruples and his head!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marat strolled off, and Jules Dupuis took his -place. He came up in his short puce coat, guffawing, -and purple-faced, his loose skin all creased with -amusement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hé, Hébert," he chuckled, "here 's something for the -Père Duchesne," and plunged forthwith into a scurrilous -story. As he did so, the door opened and Dangeau came -in. He looked pale and very tired, and was evidently -cold, for he made his way to the fireplace, and stood -leaning against it looking into the flame, without -appearing to notice what was passing. Presently, however, he -raised his head, recognising the two men beside him with -a curt nod.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hébert appeared to be well amused by Dupuis' -tale. Its putrescent scintillations stimulated his jaded -fancy, and its repulsive dénouement evoked his oily -laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau, after listening for a moment or two, moved -farther off, a slight expression of disgust upon his -face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hébert's light eyes followed him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Citizen does not like your taste in wit, my -friend," he observed in a voice carefully pitched to reach -Dangeau's ear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dupuis laughed grossly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"More fool he, then," he chuckled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You and I, mon cher, are too coarse for him," -continued Hébert in the same tone. "The Citizen is -modest. Tiens! How beautiful a virtue is modesty! -And then, you see, the Citizen's sympathies are with -these sacrés aristocrats."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau looked up with a glance like the flash of -steel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You said, Citizen—?" he asked smoothly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hébert shrugged his loosely-hung shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I said the Citizen Deputy had a tender heart, -should I be incorrect? Or, perhaps, a weak stomach -would be nearer to the truth. Blood is such a -distressing sight, is it not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau looked at him steadily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A patriot should hold his own life as lightly as he -should hold that of every other citizen sacred until the -State has condemned it," he said with a certain quiet -disgust; "but if the Citizen says that I sympathise with -what has been condemned by the State, the Citizen lies!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hébert's eyes shifted from the blue danger gleam. -Bully and coward, he had the weakness of all his type -when faced. He preferred the unresisting victim and -could not afford an open quarrel with Dangeau. Danton -was in the room, and he did not wish to offend Danton -yet. He moved away with a sneer and a mocking -whisper in the ear of Jules Dupuis.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau stood warming himself. His back was -straighter, his eye less tired. The little interchange of -hostilities had roused the fire in his veins again, and for -the moment the cloud of misgiving which had shadowed -him for the last few days was lifted. When Danton -came across and clapped him on the shoulder, he looked -up with the smile to which he owed more than one of -his friends, since to a certain noble gravity of aspect it -lent a very human, almost boyish, warmth and glow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Back again, and busy again?" he said, turning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Busier than ever," said Danton, with a frown. He -raised his shoulders as if he felt a weight upon them. -"Once this business of Capet's is arranged, we can work; -at present it's just chaos all round."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau leaned closer and spoke low.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was detained—have only just come. Has anything -been done—decided?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We are unanimous, I think. I spoke, they all -agreed. Robespierre is with us, and his party is well -in hand. Death is the only thing, and the sooner the -better."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau did not speak, and Danton's eye rested on -him with a certain impatience.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sentiment will serve neither France nor us at this -juncture," he said on a deep note, rough with irritation. -"He has conspired with Austria, and would bring in -foreign troops upon us without a single scruple. What -is one man's life? He must die."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau looked down.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, he must die," he said in a low, grave voice, and -there was a momentary silence. He stared into the fire, -and saw the falling embers totter like a mimic throne, -and fall into the sea of flame below. A cloud of sparks -flew up, and were lost in blackness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Life is like that," he said, half to himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Danton walked away, his big head bent, the veins of -his throat swollen.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-irrevocable-vote"><span class="large">CHAPTER XI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">THE IRREVOCABLE VOTE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Danton returned was Danton in action. Force -possessed the party once more and drove it -resistless to its goal. Permanent Session was moved, and -carried—permanent Session of the National Convention—until -its near five hundred members had voted one by -one on the three all-important questions: Louis Capet, -is he guilty, or not guilty? Shall the Convention judge -him, or shall there be a further delay, an appeal to the -people of France? If the Convention judges, what is -its judgment—imprisonment, banishment, or death?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Forthwith began the days of the Three Votings, -stirring and dramatic days seen through the mist of -years and the dust-clouds raised by groping historians. -What must they have been to live through?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was Wednesday evening, January 16, and lamps -were lit in the Hall of the Convention, but their glow -shone chiefly on the tribune, and beyond there crowded -the shadows, densely mysterious. Vergniaud, the -President, wore a haggard face—his eyes were hot and -weary, for he was of the Gironde, and the Gironde -began to know that the day was lost. He called the -names sonorously, with a voice that had found its pitch -and kept it in spite of fatigue; and as he called, the long -procession of members rose, passed for an instant to the -lighted tribune, and voted audibly in the hearing of the -whole Convention. Each man voted, and passed again -into the shadow. So we see them—between the dark -past and the dark future—caught for an instant by that -one flash which brands them on history's film for ever.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Loud Jacobin voices boomed "Death," and ranted of -treason; epigrams were made to the applause of the -packed galleries. For the people of Paris had crowded -in, and every available inch of room was packed. Here -were the </span><em class="italics">tricoteuses</em><span>—those knitting women of the -Revolution, whose steel needles were to flash before the -eyes of so many of the guillotine's waiting victims, before -the eyes indeed of many and many an honourable -Deputy voting here to-night. Here were swart men of -St. Antoine's quarter—brewers, bakers, oilmen, butchers, -all the trades—whispering, listening, leaning over the -rail, now applauding to the echo, now hissing indignantly, -as the vote pleased or displeased them. Death demanded -with a spice of wit pleased the most—a voice faltering -on a timorous recommendation to mercy evoked the -loudest jeers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau sat in his place and heard the long, reverberating -roll of names, until his own struck strangely on his -ear. He rose and mounted into the smoky, yellow glare -of the lamps that swung above the tribune. Vergniaud -faced him, dignified and calm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your vote, Citizen?" and Dangeau, in clear, grave reply:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Death, Citizen President."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Here there was nothing to tickle the waiting ears -above, and he passed down the steps again in silence, -whilst another succeeded him, and to that other another -yet. All that long night, and all the next long day, the -voices never ceased. Now they rang loud and full, -now low and hesitating; and after each vote came the -people's comment of applause, dissent, or silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau passed into one of the lower galleries -reserved for members and their friends. His limbs were -cramped with the long session, and his throat was -parched and dry; coffee was to be had, he knew, and he -was in quest of it. As he got clear of the thronged -entrance, a strange sight met his eye, for the gallery -resembled a box at the opera, infinitely extended.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bare-necked women flashed their diamonds and their -wit, chattering, laughing, and exchanging sallies with -their friends.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Refreshments were being passed round, and Deputies -who were at leisure bowed, and smiled, and did the -honours, as if it were a place of amusement, and not a -hall of judgment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A bold, brown-faced woman, with magnificent black -eyes, her full figure much accentuated by a flaring -tricolour sash, swept to the front of the gallery, and -looked down. In her wake came a sleepy, white-fleshed -blonde, mincing as she walked. She too wore the -tricolour, and Dangeau's lips curled at the desecration.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Philippe is voting," cried the brown woman loudly. -"See, Jeanne, there he comes!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau looked down, and saw Philippe Égalité, -sometime Philippe d'Orleans, prince of the blood and cousin -of the King, pass up the tribune steps. Under the lamps -his face showed red and blotched, his eyes unsteady; but -he walked jauntily, twisting a seal at his fob. His attire -bespoke the dandy, his manner the poseur. Opposite to -Vergniaud he bowed with elegance, and cried in a voice -of loud effrontery, "I vote for Death."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Through the Assembly ran a shudder of recoil. -Natural feeling was not yet brayed to dust in the mortar -of the Revolution, and it thrilled and quickened to the -spectacle of kinsman rising against kinsman, and the old -blood royal of France turning from its ruined head -publicly, and in the sight of all men.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is good that Louis should die, but it is not good -that Philippe should vote for his death. Has the man -no decency?" growled Danton at Dangeau's ear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Long after, when his own hour was striking, Philippe -d'Orleans protested that he had voted upon his soul and -conscience—the soul whose existence he denied, and -the conscience whose voice he had stifled for forty years. -Be that between him and that soul and conscience, but, -as he descended the tribune steps, Girondin, Jacobin, -and Cordelier alike drew back from him, and men who -would have cried death to the King's cousin, cried none -the less, "Shame on Égalité!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Only the bold brown woman and her companion -laughed. The former even leaned across the bar and -kissed her hand, waving, and beckoning him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau's gaze, half sardonically curious, half -disgusted, rested upon the scene.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All posterity will gaze upon what is done this day," he -said in a low voice to Danton—"and they will see this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The grapes are trodden, the wine ferments, and the -scum rises," returned Danton on a deep, growling note.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Such scum as this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just such scum as this!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Below, one of the Girondins voted for imprisonment, -and the upper galleries hissed and rocked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Death, death, death!" cried the next in order.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Death, and not so much talk about it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Death, by all means death!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The blonde woman, Jeanne Fresnay, was pricking off -the votes on a card.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah—at last!" she laughed. "I thought I should -never get the hundred. Now we have one for banishment, -ten for imprisonment, and a hundred for death."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The brown Marguerite Didier produced her own card—a -dainty trifle tied with a narrow tricolour ribbon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are wrong," she said—"it is but eight for -imprisonment. You give him two more chances of life -than there is any need to."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's because I love him so well. Is he not -Philippe's cousin?" drawled the other, making the -correction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Philippe himself leaned suddenly between them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should be jealous, it appears," he said smoothly. -"Who is it that you love so much?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The bare white shoulders were lifted a little farther -out of their very scanty drapery.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh—that charming cousin Veto of yours. Since you -love him so well, I am sure I may love him too. May I -not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Philippe's laugh was a little hoarse, though ready -enough.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But certainly, chère amie," he said. "Have I not -just proved my affection to the whole world?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle Didier laughed noisily and caught him -by the arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There, let him go," she said with impatience. "At -the last he bores one, your good cousin. We want more -bonbons, and I should like coffee. It is cold enough to -freeze one, with so much coming and going."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again Dangeau turned to his companion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An edifying spectacle, is it not?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Danton shrugged his great shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mere scum and froth," he said. "Let it pass. I -want to speak to you. You are to be sent on mission."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"On mission?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, yes. You can be useful, or I am much mistaken. -It is this way. The South is unsatisfactory. -There is a regular campaign of newspaper calumny going -on, and something must be done, or we shall have trouble. -I thought of sending you and Bonnet. You are to make -a tour of the cities, see the principal men, hold public -meetings, explain our aims, our motives. It is work -which should suit you, and more important than any -you could do in Paris at present."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau's eyes sparkled; a longing for action flared -suddenly up in him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will do my best," he said in a new, eager voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You should start as soon as this business is -over." Danton's heavy brow clouded. "Faugh! It -stops us at every turn. I have a thousand things to -do, and Louis blocks the way to every one. Wait till -my hands are free, and you shall see what we will make -of France!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will be ready," said Dangeau.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Danton had called for coffee, and stood gulping it as -he talked. Now, as he set the cup down, he laid his hand -on Dangeau's shoulder a moment, and then moved off -muttering to himself:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This place is stifling—the scent, the rouge. What -do women do in an affair of State?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In Dangeau's mind rose a vision of Aline de Rochambeau, -cool, delicate, and virginal, and the air of the -gallery became intolerable. As he went out in Danton's -wake, he passed a handsome, dark-eyed girl who stared -at him with an inviting smile. Lost in thought, he bowed -very slightly and was gone. His mind was all at once -obsessed with the vision he had evoked. It came upon -him very poignantly and sweetly, and yet—yet—that -vote of his, that irrevocable vote. What would she say -to that?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Duty led men by strange ways in those strange days. -Only of one thing could a man take heed—that he should -be faithful to his ideals, and constant in the path which -he had chosen, even though across it lay the shadows of -disillusion and bitterness darkening to the final abyss. -There could be no turning back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The dark girl flushed and bit an angrily twitching lip -as she stared after Dangeau's retreating figure. When -Hébert joined her, she turned her shoulder on him, and -threw him a black look.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why did you leave me?" she cried hotly. "Am I to -stand here alone, for any beast to insult?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor, fluttered dove," said Hébert, sneering. He slid -an easy arm about her waist. "Come then, Thérèse, no -sulks. Look over and watch that fool Girondin yonder. -He 's dying, they say, but must needs be carried here to -vote for mercy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he spoke he drew her forward, and still with a -dark glow upon her cheeks she yielded.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="separation"><span class="large">CHAPTER XII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">SEPARATION</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Rosalie Leboeuf sat behind her counter knitting. -Even on this cold January day the exertion -seemed to heat her. She paused at intervals, and waved -the huge, half-completed stocking before her face, to -produce a current of air. Swinging her legs from the -counter, and munching an apple noisily, was a handsome, -heavy-browed young woman, whose fine high colour and -bold black eyes were sufficiently well known and admired -amongst a certain set. An atmosphere of vigour and -perfect health appeared to surround her, and she had -that pose and air which come from superb vitality and -complete self-satisfaction. If the strait-laced drew their -skirts aside and stuck virtuous noses in the air when -Thérèse Marcel was mentioned, it was very little that -that young woman cared.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She and Rosalie were first cousins, and the respectable -widow Leboeuf winked at Thérèse's escapades, in -consideration of the excellent and spicy gossip which she -could often retail.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rosalie was nothing if not curious; and just now there -was a very savoury subject to hand, for Paris had seen -her King strip to the headsman, and his blood flow in the -midst of his capital town.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You should have been there, ma cousine," said -Thérèse between two bites of her apple.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I?" said Rosalie in her thick, drawling way. "I am -no longer young enough, nor slim enough, to push and -struggle for a place. But tell me then, Thérèse, was -he pale?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thérèse threw away the apple core, and showed all -her splendid teeth in a curious feline mixture of laugh -and yawn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, so-so," she said lazily; "but he was calm -enough. I have heard it said that he was all of a sweat -and a tremble on the tenth of August, but he did n't show -it yesterday. I was well in front,—Heaven be praised, -I have good friends,—and his face did not even twitch -when he saw the steel. He looked at it for a moment -or two,—one would have said he was curious,—and then -he began to speak."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rosalie gave a little shudder, but her face was full of -enjoyment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," she breathed, leaning forward a little.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He declared that he died innocent, and wishing -France—nobody knows what; for Santerre ordered the -drums to be beaten, and we could not hear the rest. I -owe him a grudge, that Santerre, for cutting the -spectacle short. What, I ask you, does he imagine one goes -to the play in order to miss the finest part, and I with a -front place, too! But they say he was afraid there would -be a rescue. I could have told him better. We are -not fools!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And then——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, thanks to the drums, you couldn't hear; but -there was a whispering with the Abbé, and Sanson -hesitating and shivering like a cat with a wet paw and the -gutter to cross. Everything was ready, but it seems he -had qualms—that Sanson. The National Guards were -muttering, and the good Mère Garnet next to me began -to shout, 'Death to the Tyrant,' only no one heard her -because of Santerre's drums, when suddenly he bellowed, -'Executioner, do your duty!' and Citizen Sanson seemed -to wake up. It was all over in a flash then; the Abbé -whispered once, called out loudly, and pchtt! down -came the knife, and off came the head. Rose Lacour -fainted just at my elbow, the silly baggage; but for me, -I found it exciting—more exciting than the theatre. I -should have liked to clap and call 'Encore!'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rosalie leaned back, fanning, her broad face a shade -paler, whilst the girl went on:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"His eyes were still open when Sanson held up the -head, and the blood went drip, drip, drip. We were all -so quiet then that you could hear it. I tell you that -gave one a sensation, my cousin!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Blood—ouf!" said Rosalie; "I do not like to see -blood. I cannot digest my food after it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For me, I am a better patriot than you," laughed -Thérèse; "and if it is a tyrant's blood that I see, it -warms my heart and does it good."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A shudder ran through Rosalie's fat mass. She lifted -her bulky knitting and fanned assiduously with it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her companion burst into a loud laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh, ma cousine, if you could see yourself!" she cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is true," said Rosalie, with composure, "I grow -stouter; but at your age, Thérèse, I was slighter than -you. It is the same with us all—at twenty we are thin, -at thirty we are plump, and at forty—" She waved -a fat hand over her expansive form and shrugged an -explanatory shoulder, whilst her small eyes dwelt with -a malicious expression on Thérèse's frowning face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl lifted the handsomest shoulders in Paris. -"I am not a stick," she observed, with that ready flush -of hers; "it is these thin girls, whom one cannot see if -one looks at them sideways, who grow so stout later on. -I shall stay as I am, or maybe get scraggy—quel -horreur!"—and she shuddered a little—"but it will not -be yet awhile."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rosalie nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are not thirty yet," she said comfortably, -"and you are a fine figure of a woman. 'T is a pity -Citizen Dangeau cannot be made to see it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Up went Thérèse's head in a trice, and her bold -colour mounted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hé!"—she snorted contemptuously—"is he the -world? Others are not so blind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a pause. Rosalie knitted, smiling broadly, -whilst Thérèse caught a second apple from a piled -basket, and began to play with it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is going away," said Rosalie abruptly, and -Thérèse dropped the apple, which rolled away into a -corner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tctt, tctt," clicked Rosalie, "you have an open -hand with other folk's goods, my girl! Yes, certainly -Citizen Dangeau is going away, and why not? There -is nothing to keep him here that I know of."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For how long?" asked Thérèse, staring out of the -window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One month, two, three—how do I know, my cabbage? -It is business of the State, and in such matters, -you should know more than I."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When does he go?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To-morrow," said Rosalie cheerfully, for to torment -Thérèse was a most exhilarating employment, and -one that she much enjoyed. It vindicated her own -virtue, and at the same time indulged her taste for -gossip.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thérèse sprang up, and paced the small shop with -something wild in her gait.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why does he go?" she asked excitedly. "He used -to smile at me, to look when he passed, and now he goes -another way; he turns his head, he elbows me aside. -Does he think I am one of those tame milk-and-water -misses, who can be taken up one minute and dropped -the next? If he thinks that, he is very much mistaken. -Who has taken him from me? I insist on knowing; I -insist that you tell me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Chut," said Rosalie, with placid pleasure, "he never -was yours to take, and that you know as well as I."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He looked at me," and Thérèse's coarse contralto -thrilled tragically over the words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Half Paris does that." Rosalie paused and counted -her stitches. "One, two, three, four, knit two together. -Why not? you are good to look at. No one has denied -it that I know of."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He smiled." Her eyes glared under the close-drawn -brows, but Rosalie laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not if you looked at him like that, I 'll warrant; but -as to smiling—he smiles at me too, dear cousin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thérèse flung herself into a chair, with a sharp-caught -breath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And at whom else? Tell me that, tell me that, for -there is some one—some one. He thinks of her, he -dreams of her, and pushes past other people as if they -were posts. If I knew, if I only knew who it was——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?" said Rosalie curiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'd twist her neck for her, or get Mme Guillotine to -save me the trouble," said Thérèse viciously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she spoke, the door swung open, and Mlle de -Rochambeau came in. She had been out to make some -trifling purchase, and, nervous of the streets, she had -hurried a good deal. Haste and the cold air had brought -a bright colour to her cheeks, her eyes shone, and her -breath came more quickly than usual.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thérèse started rudely, and seeing her pass through -the shop with the air of one at home, she started up, -and with a quick spring placed herself between -Mademoiselle and the inner door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment Aline hesitated, and then, with a -murmured "Pardon," advanced a step.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who are you?" demanded Thérèse, in her roughest -voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rosalie looked up with an expression of annoyance. -Really Thérèse and her scenes were past bearing, though -they were amusing, for a little.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am Marie Roche," said Mademoiselle quietly. "I -lodge here, and work for my living. Is there anything -else you would like to ask me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thérèse's eyes flashed, and she gave a loud, angry -laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh—listen to her," she cried, "only listen. Yes, -there is a good deal I should like to ask—amongst other -things, where you got that face, and those hands, if your -name is Marie Roche. Aristocrat, that is what you -are—aristocrat!" and she pushed her flushed face close to -Mademoiselle's rapidly paling one.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Chut, Thérèse!" commanded Rosalie angrily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I say she is an aristocrat," shouted Thérèse, swinging -round upon her cousin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fiddlesticks," said Rosalie; "the girl's harmless, and -her name's her own, right enough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"With that face, those hands? Am I an imbecile?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do I know, I?" and Rosalie shrugged her mountainous -shoulders. "Bah, Thérèse, what a fuss about nothing. -Is it the girl's fault if her mother was pretty enough to -take the seigneur's fancy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The scarlet colour leapt into Mademoiselle's face. -The rough tones, the coarse laugh with which Rosalie -ended, and which Thérèse echoed, offended her -immeasurably, and she was far from feeling grateful for the -former's interference. She pushed past her opponent, -and ran up the stairs without pausing to take breath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile Thérèse turned violently upon her cousin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aristocrat or not, she has taken Dangeau from me," -she screamed, with the sudden passion which makes her -type so dangerous. "Why did you not tell me you had -a girl in the house?—though what he can see in such a -pinched, mincing creature passes me. Why did you not -tell me, I say? Why? Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh, ma foi! because you fatigue me, you and your -tempers," said Rosalie crossly. "Is this your house, par -exemple, that I must ask you before I take any one to -live in it? If the man likes you, take him, and -welcome. I am not preventing you. And if he does n't -like you, what can I do, I? Am I to say to him, 'Pray, -Citizen Dangeau, be careful you do not speak to any -girl, except my cousin Thérèse?' It is your own fault, -not mine. Why did n't you marry like a respectable -girl, instead of taking Heaven knows how many lovers? -Is it a secret? Bah! all Paris knows it; and do you -think Dangeau is ignorant? There was Bonnet, and -Hébert, and young Cléry, and who knows how many -since. Ciel! you tire me," and Rosalie bent over her -knitting, muttering to herself, and picking fiercely at -dropped stitches.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thérèse picked up an apple and swung it from one -hand to another, her brows level, the eyes beneath them -dangerously veiled. Some day she would give herself -the pleasure of paying her cousin Rosalie out for that -little speech. Some day, but not to-day, she would tear -those fat, creased cheeks with her nails, wrench out a -few of the sleek black braids above, sink strangling -fingers into the soft, fleshy rolls below. She gritted her -teeth, and slipped the apple deftly to and fro. Presently -she spoke in a tolerably natural voice:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is not every one who is so blind, voyez-vous, ma -cousine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she spoke, Dangeau came through the shop door. -He was in a hurry—these were days of hurry—and he -hardly noticed that Rosalie was not alone, until he found -Thérèse in his path. She was all bold smiles, and a -glitter of black eyes, in a moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Citizen forgets an old friend."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But no," he returned, smiling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is so long since we met, that I thought the Citizen -might have forgotten me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it so long?" asked Dangeau innocently; "surely -I saw you somewhere lately. Ah, I have it—at the -trial?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, then you remember," cried Thérèse, clapping -her hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau nodded, rather puzzled by her manner, and -Rosalie permitted herself an audible chuckle. Thérèse -turned on her with a flash, and as she did so Dangeau -bowed, murmured an excuse, and passed on. This time -Rosalie laughed outright, and the sound was like a -spark in a powder-magazine. Red rage, violent, uncontrollable, -flared in Thérèse's brain, and, all considerations -of prudence forgotten, she launched herself with a -tigress's bound straight at her cousin's ponderous form.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had reckoned without her host.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Inside those fat arms reposed muscles of steel, behind -those small pig's eyes lay a very cool, ruthless, and -determined brain, and Thérèse felt herself caught, held, -propelled across the floor, and launched into the street, -all before she could send a second rending shriek after -her first scream of fury.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rosalie closed and latched the door, and sank panting, -perspiring, but triumphant, into her seat again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Be calm," she observed, between her gasps; "be -wise, and go home. For me, I bear no malice, but for -you, my poor Thérèse, you will certainly die in an -apoplexy some fine day if you excite yourself so much. -Ouf—how out of breath I am!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thérèse stood rigid, her face convulsed with fury, her -heart a black whirlpool of all the passions; but when -Rosalie looked up again, after a vigorous bout of fanning, -she was gone, and, with a sigh of relief, the widow -Leboeuf settled once more to her placid morning's work.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The past fortnight had gone heavily for Mlle de -Rochambeau. Since the days of the votings she had not -seen Dangeau, for he had only returned late at night to -snatch a few hours' sleep before the earliest daylight -called him to his work again. She heard his step upon -the stair, and turned from it, with something like a -shudder. What times! what times! For the -inconceivable was happening—the impossible had come to -pass. What, was the King to die, and no one lift a -hand to help? In open day, in his own capital? Surely -there would be a sign, a wonder, and God would save the -King. But now—God had not saved him—he was -dead. All the previous day she had knelt, fasting, -praying, and weeping, one of many hundreds who did -likewise; but the knife had fallen, the blood royal was no -longer inviolate—it flowed like common water, and was -swallowed by the common earth. A sort of numb terror -possessed Aline's very soul, and the little encounter with -Thérèse gave it a personal edge.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she sat, late into the evening, making good her -yesterday's stint of embroidery, there came a footstep -and a knocking at her door, and she rose to open it, -trembling a little, and yet not knowing why she -trembled since the step was a familiar one.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau stood without, his face worn and tired, but -an eager light in his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you spare me a moment?" he asked, motioning -to his open door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it about the copying?" she said, hesitating.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The copying, and another matter," he replied, and -stood aside, holding the door for her to pass. She -folded her work neatly, laid it down, and came silently -into his room, where she remained standing, and close -to the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau crossed to his table, asked her a trifling -question or two about the numbering of the thickly -written pages before him, and then paused for so long -a space that the constraint which lay on Mademoiselle -extended itself to him also, and rested heavily upon -them both.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am going away to-morrow," he said at last.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Citizen." It was her first word to him for -many days, and he was struck by the altered quality -of the soft tones.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They seemed to set him infinitely far away from her -and her concerns, and it was surprising how much that -hurt him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nevertheless he stumbled on:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am obliged to go; you believe that, do you not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, yes, Citizen." More distant still the voice -that had rung friendly once, but behind the distance a -weariness that spurred him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are very friendless," he said abruptly. "You -said that I might be your friend, and the first thing -that I do is to desert you. If I had been given a -choice—but one has obligations—it is a trust I cannot shirk."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur is very good to trouble himself about me," -said Mademoiselle softly. "I shall be safe. I am not -afraid. See then, Citizen, who would hurt me? I live -quietly, I earn my bread, I harm no one. What has -any one so insignificant and poor as I to be afraid of? -Would any one trouble to harm me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God forbid!" said Dangeau earnestly. "Indeed, I -think you are safe, or I would not go. In a month or -six weeks, I shall hope to be back again. I do not -know why I should be uneasy." He hesitated. "If -there were a woman you could turn to, but there—my -mother died ten years ago, and I know of no one else. -But if a man's help would be of any use to you, you -could rely on Edmond Cléry—see, I will give you his -direction. He is young, but very much my friend, and -you could trust him. Show him this"—he held out -a small, folded note—"and I know he will do what -he can."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle's colour was a little tremulous. His -manner had taken suddenly so intimate, so possessive, -a shade. Only half-conscious that she had grown to -depend on him for companionship and safety, she was -alarmed at discovering that his talk of her being alone, -and friendless, could bring a lump into her throat, and -set her heart beating.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed, Monsieur, there is no need," she protested, -answering her own misgivings as much as his words. -"I shall be safe. There is no one to harm me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He put the note into her hand, and returned to the -table, where he paused, looking strangely at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So young, so friendless," beat his heart, "so alone, -so unprotected. If I spoke now, should I lose all? Is -she old enough to have learned their accursed lesson of -the gulf between man and man—between loving man -and the woman beloved? Surely she is too lonely not to -yearn towards shelter." He made a half step towards -her, and then checked himself, turning his head aside.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mademoiselle," he said earnestly, "you are very -much alone in the world. Your order is doomed—it -passes unregretted, for it was an evil thing. I do not -say that every noble was bad, but every noble was -nourished in a system that set hatred between class -and class, and the outcome of that antagonism has been -hundreds of years' oppression, lust, starvation, a -peasantry crushed into bestiality by iniquitous taxes, and an -aristocracy, relieved of responsibility, grown callous to -suffering, sunk in effeteness and vice. There is a future -now for the peasant, since the weight is off his back, -and his children can walk erect, but what future is -there for the aristocrat? I can see none. Those who -would survive, must out from their camp, and set -themselves to other ways of thought, and other modes of -life." He paused, and glanced at her with a dawning -hope in his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle de Rochambeau raised her head a little, -proudly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur, I am of this order of which you speak," -she said, and her voice was cold and still.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You were of them, but now, where are they? The -links that held you to them have been wrenched away. -All is changed and you are free—the daughter of the -new day of Liberty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur, one cannot change one's blood, one's race. -I am of them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But one can change one's heart, one's faith," he -cried hotly; and at that Mademoiselle's hand went to -her bosom, as if the pressure of it could check the -quick fluttering within.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not if one is Rochambeau," she said very low.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was an instant's pause, whilst she drew a long -breath, and then words came to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you know, Monsieur, that for seven hundred -years my people have kept their faith, and served the -King and their order? In all those years there have -been many men whom you would call bad men—I do -not defend them—there have been cruel deeds done, -and I shudder at them, but the worst man of them all -would have died in torments before he would have -accepted life at the price of honour, or come out from -his order because it was doomed. That I think is what -you ask me to do. I am a Rochambeau, Monsieur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her voice was icy with pride, and behind its soft -curves, and the delicate colour excitement painted there, -her face was inexorably set. The individuality of it -became as it were a transparent veil, through which -stared the inevitable attributes of the race, the hoarded -instinct of centuries.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau's heart beat heavily. For a moment passion -flared hot within him, only to fall again before her -defenceless youth. But the breath of it beat upon her -soul, and troubled it to the depths. She stood waiting, -not knowing how to break the spell that held her -motionless. Something warned her that a touch, a movement, -might unchain some force unknown, but dreadful. -It was as if she watched a rising sea—the long, long -heaving stretch, as yet unflecked with foam, where -wave after wave towered up as if about to break, yet -fell again unbroken. The room was gone in a mist—there -was neither past nor future. Only an eternal -moment, and that steadily rising sea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly broke the seventh wave, the wave of Fate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the mist Dangeau made an abrupt movement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aline!" he said, lifting his eyes to her white face. -"Aline!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle de Rochambeau felt a tremor pass over -her; she was conscious of a mastering, overwhelming -fear. Like something outside herself, it caught her heart, -and wrung it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no," said her trembling lips; "no, no."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With that he was beside her, catching her unresisting -hand. Cold as ice it lay in his, and he felt it quiver.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, mon Dieu, are you afraid of me—of me?" he -cried, in a hoarse whisper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She tried to speak, but could not; something choked -the sound, and she only stood there, mechanically focussing -all her energies in an effort to stop the shivering, -which threatened to become unbearable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aline," he said again, "Aline, look at me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He bent above her, nearer, till his face was on a level -with her own, and his eyes drew hers to meet them. -And his were full of all sweet and poignant things—love -and home, and trust, and protection—they were -warm and kind, and she so cold, and so afraid. It -seemed as if her soul must go out to him, or be torn in -two. Suddenly her fear of him had changed into fear of -her own self. Did a Rochambeau mate thus? She saw -the red steel, wet with the King's life, the steel weighted -by the word of this man, and his fellows. She saw the -blood gush out and flow between them in a river of -separation. To pass it she must stain her feet—must -stain her soul, with an uncleansable rust. It could -not be—Noblesse oblige.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She caught her hand from his and put it quickly -over her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, no—oh no, Monsieur," she cried, in a -trembling whisper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He recoiled at once, the light in his face dying out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is no, for always?" he asked slowly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She bent her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For always, and always, and always?" he said again. -"All the years, all the ways wanting you—never reaching -you? Think again, Aline."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She rested her hand against the door and took a step -away. It was more than she could bear, and a blind -instinct of escape was upon her, but he was beside her -before she could pass out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it because I am what I am, Jacques Dangeau, -and not of your order?" he asked, in a sharp voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The change helped her, and she looked up steadily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur, one has obligations—you said it just now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Obligations?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And loyalties—to one's order, to one's King."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Louis Capet is dead," he said heavily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you voted for his death," she flashed at him, -voice and eye like a rapier thrust.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He raised his head with pride.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Mademoiselle, I voted for his death."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is a chasm no human power can bridge," she -said, in a level voice. "It lies between us—the King's -death, the King's blood. You cannot pass to come to -me—I may not pass to come to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was an infinite troubled loneliness behind the -pride in her eyes, and it smote him through his anger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Adieu, Mademoiselle," he said in a low, constrained -voice. He neither touched her hand, nor kissed it, but -he bowed with as much proud courtesy as if he had been -her equal in pride of race. "Adieu, Mademoiselle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Adieu, Monsieur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She passed out, and heard the door close harshly -behind her. It shut away—ah, what? The -Might-have-been—the Forbidden—Eden perhaps? She could not -tell. Bewildered, and exhausted, she fell on her knees -in the dark by her narrow bed, and sobbed out all the -wild confusion of her heart.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="disturbing-insinuations"><span class="large">CHAPTER XIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">DISTURBING INSINUATIONS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>February came in dreary, and bleak, and went out -in torrents of rain. For Aline de Rochambeau a -time of dull loneliness, and reaction, of hard grinding -work, and insufficient food. She had to rise early, and -stand in a line with other women, before she could -receive the meagre dole of bread, which was all that -the Republic One and Indivisible would guarantee its -starving citizens. Then home again, faint and weary, -to sit long hours, bent to catch the last, ultimate ray -of dreary light, working fingers sore, and tired eyes red, -over the fine embroidery for which she was so thankful -still to find a sale.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All these wasted morning hours had to be made up -for in the dusk and dark of the still wintry evenings. -With hands stiff and blue, she must thread the fine -needle, and hold the delicate fabric, working on, and on, -and on. She did not sing at her work now, and the -silence lay mournfully upon her heart.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"No tread on the stair, no passing step across the way.</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>What slow, long days—what empty, halting evenings."</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Rosalie eyed her with a half-contemptuous pity in -those days, but times were too hard for the pity to -be more than a passing indulgence, and she turned to -her own comfortable meals without a pang. Times -were hard, and many suffered—what could one do?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For me, I do not see that things are changed so -wonderfully," sighed brown little Madeleine Rousse, -Rosalie's neighbour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mlle de Rochambeau and she were standing elbow -to elbow, waiting for the baker to open his doors, and -begin the daily distribution.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We were hungry before, and we are hungry now. -Bread is as scarce, and the only difference is that there -are more mouths to feed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her small face was pinched and drawn, and she -sighed heavily, thinking of five clamouring children at -home.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh, Madeleine," cried Louison Michel, wife of that -redoubtable Septembrist, Jean, the butcher. "Eh, be -thankful that your last was not twins, as mine was. -There was a misfortune, if you like, and I with six -already! And what does that great stupid oaf of mine -say but, 'Hé, Louison, what a pity it was not three!' 'Pity,' -said I, and if I had been up and about, I warrant -you I 'd have clouted him well; 'pity, indeed, and why?' Well, -and what do you think—you 'd never guess. 'Oh,' -says he, with a great sheep's grin on his face, 'we might -have called them Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity.' And -there he stood as if he had said something clever. -My word! If I was angry! 'The charming idea, my -friend,' I said. 'I who have to work for them, whilst you -make speeches at your section, what of me? Take that, -and that,' said I, and I threw what was handy at -him—Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity, indeed!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madeleine sighed again, but an impudent-faced girl -behind Aline whispered in her ear, "Jean Michel has -one tyrant from whom the Republic cannot free him!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Louison's sharp ears caught the words, or a part of -them, and she turned with a swing that brought her -hand in a resounding slap upon the girl's plump cheek, -which promptly flamed with the marks of five bony -fingers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh—Ma'mselle Impudence, so a wife mayn't keep -her own husband in order? Perhaps you 'd like to -come interfering? Best put your fingers in some one -else's pies, and leave mine alone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl sobbed angrily, and Louison emitted a vicious -little snort, pushing on a pace as the distribution began, -and the queue moved slowly forward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A month before Mlle de Rochambeau would have -shrunk and caught her breath, but now she only looked, -and looked away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At first these hours in the open street were a torture -to the sensitive, gently-bred girl. Every eye that -lighted upon her seemed to be stripping off her disguise, -and she expected the tongue of every passer-by to -proclaim and denounce her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After the shock of the September massacres, it was -impossible for her to realise that the greater part of -those she encountered were plain, hungry, fellow-creatures, -who cared little about politics, and much about -their daily bread, but after a while she found she was one -of a crowd—a speck, a dust mote, and that courage -of the crowd, that sloughing of the individual, began to -reassure her. She lost the sensation of being alone, -the centre of observing eyes, and took her place as one -of the great city's humble workers, waiting for her share -of its fostering; and she began to find interest in the -scenes of tragedy and comedy which those hours of -waiting brought before her. The long standing was -fatiguing, but without the fresh air and enforced -companionship of these morning hours, she would have -fared worse than she did. Brains of coarser fibre than -hers gave way in those days, and the cells of the Salpêtrière -could tell a sadder tale than even the prisons of Paris.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One day of drenching rain, as she stood shivering, -her thin dress soaked, her hair wet and dripping, a -heavy-looking, harpy-eyed creature stared long and -curiously at her. The wind had caught Aline's hair, -and she put up her slim hand smoothing it again. As -she did so, the woman's eyes took a dull glare and she -muttered:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aristocrat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Terror teaches the least experienced to dissemble, -and Mademoiselle had learned its lesson by now. Her -heart bounded, but she managed a tolerably natural -shrug of the shoulders, and answered in accents modelled -on those of Rosalie:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My good mother, I? The idea! I—but that -amuses me," and she laughed; but the woman gave a -sort of growl, shook her dripping head, and repeated -hoarsely:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aristocrat, aristocrat," in a sort of chant, whilst -the rain, following the furrows of the grimy, wrinkled -cheeks, gave her an expression at once bleared and -malignant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is Mère Rabotin," said the woman at Mademoiselle's -side. "She is a little mad. They shot her -son last tenth of August, and since then she sees -aristocrats and tyrants everywhere."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old woman threw her a wicked glance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In you, I see nothing but a fat cow, whose husband -beats her," she remarked venomously, and a laugh -ran down the line, for the woman crimsoned, and held -her tongue, being a rather stupid, garrulous creature -destined to be put out of action at once by a sharp -retort.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But this"—pursued Mère Rabotin, fingering Mademoiselle's -shrinking hand—"this is an aristocrat's hand. -Fine and white, white and fine, and why, because it has -never worked, never worked as honest hands do, and -every night it has bathed in blood—ah, that is a famous -whiteness, mes amis!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle drew her hand away with a shudder, but -recovering her self-possession, she held it up, still with -that careful laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Mère Rabotin," she cried, "see how it is -pricked and worn. I work it to the bone, I can tell you, -and get little enough even then."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aristocrat, aristocrat," repeated the hag, watching -her all the time. "Fine white hands, and a black -heart—blue blood, and a light name—no mercy or pity. -Aristocrat!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All the way it kept up, that half-mad drone. The -women in front and behind shrugged impatient shoulders, -staring a little, but not caring greatly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle kept up her pose, played the poor -seamstress, and played it well, with a sigh here, and -a laugh there, and all the time in her ears the one -refrain:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aristocrat, aristocrat!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She came home panting, and lay on her bed listening -for she knew not what, for quite an hour, before she -could force her trembling fingers to their work again. -Next day she stayed indoors, and starved, but the -following morning hunger drove her out, and she went -shaking to her place in the line of waiting citizens. The -woman was not there, and she never saw her again. -After awhile she ceased to feel alarmed. The feeling of -being watched and stared at, wore off, and life settled -down into a dull monotony of work, and waiting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was in these days that Rosalie made up her quarrel -with Thérèse Marcel; and upon the reconciliation began -a gradual alteration in the elder woman's habits. There -were long absences from the shop, after which she would -return flushed, and queer-eyed, to sit muttering over her -knitting, and these absences became more and more -frequent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mlle de Rochambeau, returning with her daily dole of -bread, met her one day about to sally forth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thérèse was with her, and saluted Mademoiselle with -a contemptuous laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you coming with us, Mlle White-face?" she called.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline shook her head with a civil smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There are two women in to-day's batch—I have -been telling Rosalie. She did n't mean to come, but -that fetched her. She has n't seen a woman kiss -Madame Guillotine yet, but the men find her very -attractive, eh, Rosalie?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rosalie's broad face took on a dull flush, and her eyes -became suddenly restless.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh, Marie," she said, in a queer, thick voice. -"Come along then—you sit and work all day, and in the -end you will be ill. Every one must take a holiday some -time, and it is exciting, this spectacle; I can tell you it is -exciting. The first time I was like you, I said no, I -can't, I can't; but see you, I could think of nothing else, -and at last, Thérèse persuaded me. Then I sat, and -shivered—yes, like a jelly—and saw ten knives, and ten -heads, and half a dozen Citizen Sansons—but after that -it went better, and better. Come, then, and see for -yourself, Marie," and she put a heavy hand on the -girl's shrinking shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>White-faced, Aline recoiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Citoyenne," she breathed, and shrank away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thérèse laughed loud.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Citoyenne, Citoyenne," she mimicked. "Tender -flower, pretty lamb, but the lamb's throat comes to the -butcher's knife all the same," and her eyes were wicked -behind their mockery.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you heard any news of that fine lover of yours, -since he rode away," she went on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have no lover," answered Mademoiselle, the blood -flaming into her thin cheeks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are too modest, perhaps?" sneered Thérèse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have not thought of such things."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Such things—just hear her! What? you have not -thought of Citizen Dangeau, handsome Citizen Dangeau, -and he living in the same house, and closeted with you -evening after evening, as our good Rosalie tells me? -Does one do such things without thinking?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle's flush had faded almost as it had risen, -leaving her white and proud.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Citoyenne, you are in error," she said quietly. "I -am a poor girl with my bread to earn. The Citizen -employed me to copy a book he had written. He paid -well, and I was glad of the money."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I dare say you were"—and Thérèse's coarse laugh -rang out—"so he paid you well, and for copying, for -copying—that was it, my pious Ste. Nitouche. Copying? -Haha—I never heard it called that before!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle turned haughtily away, only a deepening -of her pallor showed that the insult had reached her, but -Rosalie caught her cousin's arm with an impatient—"Tiens, -Thérèse, we shall be late, we shall not get -good places," and they went out, Thérèse still laughing -noisily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Vile, vile, shameless woman," thought Aline, as she -stood drawing long breaths before her open window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The strong March wind blew in and seemed to fan her -hot anger and shame into a blaze. "How dare she—how -dare she!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Woman-like, she laid the insult to Dangeau's account. -It was another stone added to the wall which she set -herself night and day to build between them. It rose -apace, and this was the coping-stone. Now, surely, she -was safe. Behind such a wall, so strong, so high, how -could he reach her? And yet she was afraid, for -something moved in the citadel, behind the bastion of -defence—something that fluttered at his name, that ached in -loneliness, and cried in the night—a traitor, but her very -heart, inalienable flesh and blood of her. She covered -her face, and wrestled, as many a time before, and after -awhile she told herself—"It is conquered," and with a -smile of self-scorn sat down again to her task too long -delayed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Outside, Paris went its way. Thousands were born, -and died, and married, and betrothed, in spite of scarce -bread, war on the frontiers, and prisons full to bursting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Mountain and the Gironde were only held from -one another's throats by Danton's strong hand; but -though their bickerings fill the historian's page, under -the surface agitation of politics, the vast majority of the -population went its own way, a way that varies very -little under successive forms of government, since the -real life of a people consists chiefly of those things about -which historians do not write.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Tragedy had come down and stalked the streets of -Paris, but there were thousands of eyes which did not see -her. Those who did, talked loudly of it, and so it comes -that we see the times through their eyes, and not through -those of the silent and the blind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the south Dangeau made speech after speech. He -wrote to Danton from Lyons:</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"This place smoulders. Words are apt to prove oil -on the embers. There are 900 prisoners, and constant -talk of massacre. Chalier is a firebrand, the Mayor one -of those moderate persons who provoke immoderate -irritation in others. We are doing our best."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Danton frowned heavily over the curt sentences, -drawing those black brows of his into a wrathful line. -He turned to other letters from other Deputies, all -telling the same weary tale of jangle and discord, strife -and clamour of parties unappeased and unappeasable. -Soon he would be at death-grips with the Gironde—force -opposed to philosophy, action to eloquence, and -philosophic eloquence would go to the guillotine -shouting the Marseillaise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His feet were set upon a bloody path, and one from -which there was no returning. All Fate's force was -in him and behind him, and he drove before it to his -doom.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-dangerous-acquaintance"><span class="large">CHAPTER XIV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">A DANGEROUS ACQUAINTANCE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was in April that Fate began to concern herself with -Mlle de Rochambeau once more. It was a day of -spring's first exquisite sweetness—air like new-born life -sparkling with wayward smiles, as the hurrying -sunbeams glanced between one white cloud and the next; -scent of all budding blossoms, and that good smell of -young leafage and the wet, fecund earth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On such a day, any heart, not crushed quite dumb and -dry, must needs sparkle a little too, tremble a little -with the renewal of youth, and sing a little because -earth's myriad voices call for an echo.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline put on her worn print gown with a smile, and -twisted her hair with a little more care than usual. -After all, she was young, time passed, and life held -sunshine, and the spring. She sang a little country air as -she passed to and fro in the narrow room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Outside it was delicious. Even in the dull street -where she took her place in the queue the air smelled of -young flowering things, and touched her cheeks with a -soft, kissing breath, that brought the tender colour into -them. Under the bright cerulean sky her eyes took the -shade of dark forget-me-nots.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was thus that Hébert saw her for the first time—one -of Fate's tricks—for had he passed on a dull, rainy, -day, he would have seen nothing but a pale, weary girl, -and would have gone his way unnoticing, and unremembered, -but to-day that spring bloom in the girl's heart -seemed to have overflowed, and to sweeten all the air -around her. The sparkle of the deep, sweet, Irish eyes -met his cold, roving glance, and of a sudden changed it -to an ugly, intent glitter. He passed slowly by, then -paused, turned, and passed again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When he went by for the second time, Aline became -aware of his presence. Before, he had been one of the -crowd, and she an unnoticed unit in it, but now, all at -once, his glance seemed to isolate her from the women -about her, and to set her in an insulting proximity to -himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked down, coldly, and pressed slowly forward. -After what seemed like a very long time, she raised her -eyes for a moment, only to encounter the same fixed, -insolent stare, the same pale smile of thick, unlovely -lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With an inward shudder she turned her head, feeling -thankful that the queue was moving at a good rate, and -that the time of waiting was nearly over. It was not -until she had secured her portion that she ventured to -look round again, and, to her infinite relief, the coast was -clear. With a sigh of thankfulness she turned homewards, -plunging her thoughts for cleansing into the fresh -loveliness of the day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly in her ear a smooth, hateful voice:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do you hurry so, Citoyenne?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did not look up, but quickened her pace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, Citoyenne, a word—a look?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hébert's smile broadened, and he slipped a dexterous -arm about the slim waist, and bent to catch the blue -glance of her eyes. Experience taught him that she -would look up at that. She did, with a flame of -contempt that he thought very becoming. Blue eyes were -apt to prove insipid when raised, but the critic in him -acknowledged these as free from fault.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Citizen!" she exclaimed, freeing herself with an -unexpectedly strong movement. "How dare you! Oh, -help me, Louison, help me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the moment that he caught her again she had -seen the small, wiry figure of Jean Michel's wife turn -the corner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Louison, Louison Michel!" she called desperately.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Next moment Hébert was aware of some one, under-sized -and shrivelled looking, who whirled tempestuously -upon him, with an amazing flow of words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, my Ste. Géneviève! And is a young girl not -to walk unmolested to her home. -Bandit! assassin! tyrant! pig! devil! species -of animal, go then—but on the -instant—and take that, and that, to remember an honest -woman by,"—the first "that" being a piece of his hair -torn forcibly out, and thrown into his perspiring face, -and the second, a most superlative slap on the opposite -cheek.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was left gasping for breath and choking with fury, -whilst the whirlwind departed with as much suddenness -as it had come, covering the girl's retreat with shaken -fist, and shrill vituperation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After a moment he sent a volley of curses in her -wake. "Fury! Magaera!" he muttered. "So that is -Jean Michel's wife! If she were mine, I 'd wring her -neck."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He thought of his meek wife at home, and laughed -unpleasantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For the rest, she has done the girl no good by -interfering." This was unfortunately the case. Hébert's -eye had been pleased, his fancy taken; but a few passing -words, a struggle may be, ending in a kiss, had been all -that was in his thought. Now the bully in him lifted -its head, urging his jaded appetite, and he walked slowly -after the women until he saw Mademoiselle leave her -companion, and enter Rosalie's shop. An ugly gleam -came into his eyes—so this was where she lived! He -knew Rosalie Leboeuf by sight and name; knew, too, of -her cousinship with his former mistress, Thérèse Marcel, -and he congratulated himself venomously as he strolled -forward and read the list of occupants which, as the law -demanded, was fixed on the front of the house at a -distance of not more than five feet from the ground:</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Rosalie Leboeuf, widow, vegetable seller, aged -forty-six. Marie Roche, single, seamstress, aged nineteen. -Jacques Dangeau, single, avocat, aged twenty-eight,"—and -after the last name an additional notice—"absent -on business of the Convention."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Hébert struck his coarse hands together with an oath. -Dangeau—Dangeau, now it came back to him. Dangeau -was infatuated with some girl, Thérèse had said so. -He laughed softly, for Thérèse had gone into one of her -passions, and that always amused him. If it were this -girl? If it were—if it only were, why, what a -pleasure to cut Dangeau out, and to let him find on his -return that the bird had flown to a nest of Hébert's -feathering.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There might be even more in it than that. The girl -was no common seamstress; pooh—he was not stupid—he -could see as far into a brick wall as others. Even at -the first glance he had seen that she was different, and -when her eyes blazed, and she drew herself from his -grasp, why, the aristocrat stood confessed. Anger is the -greatest revealer of all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madame la Roturière may dress her smiling face in -the mode of Mme l'Aristocrate; may tune her company -voice to the same rhythm; but put her in a passion, and -see how the mud comes boiling up from the depths, and -how the voice so smooth and suave just now, rings out -in its native bourgeois tones.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hébert knew the difference as well as another, and -his thoughts were busy. Aristocrat disguised, spelled -aristocrat conspiring, and a conspiring aristocrat under -the same roof as Jacques Dangeau, what did that spell?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He rubbed his pale fat hands, where the reddish hair -showed sickly, and strolled away thinking wicked -thoughts. Plots were the obsession of the day, and, -to speak the truth, there were enough and to spare, but -patriot eyes were apt to see double, and treble, when -drunk with enthusiasm, and to detect a conspirator -when there was only a victim. Plots which had never -existed gave hundreds to the knife, and the populace -shouted themselves into a wilder delirium.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Did the price of bread go up? Machinations of Pitt -in England. Did two men quarrel, and blows pass? -"Monarchist!" shouted the defeated one, and presently -denounced the other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Had a woman an inconvenient husband, why, a cry of -"Austrian Spy!" and she might be comfortably rid of -him for ever.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Evil times for a beautiful, friendless girl upon whom -gross Hébert cast a wishful eye!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He walked into the shop next day, and accosted -Rosalie with Republican sternness of manner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-day, Citoyenne Leboeuf."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rosalie was fluttered. Her nerves were no longer -quite so reliable as they had been. Madame Guillotine's -receptions were disturbing them, and in the night -she would dream horribly, and wake panting, with her -hands at her fat throat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Citizen Hébert," she murmured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He bent a cold eye upon her, noting a beaded brow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have a girl lodging here—Marie Roche?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Assuredly, Citizen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must speak to her alone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rosalie rallied a little, for Hébert had a certain -reputation, and Louison had not held her tongue.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will call her down," she said, heaving her bulky -form from its place.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I will go up," said Hébert, still with magisterial -dignity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pardon me, Citizen Deputy, she shall come down."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is an affair of State. I must speak privately with -her," he blustered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rosalie's eyes twinkled; her nerves were steadying. -They had begun to require constant stimulation, and -this answered as well as anything else.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bah," she said. "I shall not listen to your State -secrets. Am I an eavesdropper, or inquisitive? Ask -any one. That is not my character. You may take -her to the farther end of the shop, and speak as low as -you please, but, she is a young girl, this is a respectable -house, and see her alone in her room you shall not, not -whilst she is under my care."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That privilege being reserved for my colleague, -Citizen Dangeau," sneered Hébert.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tchtt," said Rosalie, humping a billowy shoulder—"the -girl is virtuous and hard-working, too virtuous, I -dare say, to please some people. Yes, that I can very -well believe," and her gaze became unpleasantly -pointed—"Well, I will call her down."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She moved to the inner door as she spoke, and called -up the stair: "Marie! Marie Roche! Descend then; -you are wanted."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hébert stood aside with an ill grace, but he was -quite well aware that to insist might, after yesterday's -scene, bring the whole quarter about his ears, and -effectually spoil the ingenious plans he was revolving -in his mind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He moved impatiently as Mademoiselle delayed, and, -at the sound of her footstep, started eagerly to meet -her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She came in quite unsuspiciously, looking at Rosalie, -and at first seeing no one else. When Hébert's -movements brought him before her, she turned deadly white, -and a faintness swept over her. She caught the door, -fighting it back, till it showed only in that change of -colour, and a rather fixed look in the dark blue eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hébert checked a smile, and entrenched himself -behind his office.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are Marie Roche, seamstress?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly, Citizen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Father's and mother's names?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By what right do you question me?" the voice was -icy with offence, and Rosalie stirred uneasily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is the Citizen Deputy Hébert; answer him," she -growled—and Hébert commended her with a look.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Really this was amusing—the girl had spirit as well -as beauty. Decidedly she was worth pursuing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Father's and mother's names?" he repeated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle bit her lip, and gave the names she -had already given when she took out her certificate of -Citizenship.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They were those of her foster-parents, and had she -not had that rehearsal, she might have faltered, and -hesitated. As it was, her answer came clear and -prompt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hébert scowled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are not telling the truth," he observed in -offensive tones, expecting an outburst, but Mlle de -Rochambeau merely looked past him with an air of -weary indifference.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not satisfied," he burst out. "If you had -been frank and open, you would have found me a good -friend, but I do not like lies, and you are telling them. -Now I am not a safe person to tell lies to, not at -all—remember that. My friendship is worth having, and -you may choose between it and my enmity, my virtuous -Citoyenne."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle raised her delicate eyebrows very -slightly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Citizen does me altogether too much honour," -she observed, her voice in direct contradiction to her -words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tiens," he said, losing self-control, "you are a proud -minx, and pride goes before a fall. Are you not afraid? -Come," dropping his voice, as he caught Rosalie's -ironical eye—"Come, be a sensible girl, and you shall -not find me hard to deal with. I am a slave to beauty—a -smile, a pleasant look or two, and I am your friend. -Come then, Citoyenne Marie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle remained silent. She looked past -Hébert, at the street. Rosalie got up exasperated, and -pulled her aside.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Little fool," she whispered, "can't you make yourself -agreeable, like any other girl. Smile, and keep -him off. No one wants you to do more. The man 's -dangerous, I tell you so, I—— You 'll ruin us all with -your airs and graces, as if he were the mud under your -feet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline turned from her in a sudden despair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am a poor, honest girl, Citizen," she said imploringly. -"I have no time for friendship. I have to -work very hard, I harm nobody."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But a friend," suggested Hébert, coming a little -closer, "a friend would feel it a privilege to do away -with that necessity for hard work."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle's pallor flamed. She turned sharply -away, feeling as if she had been struck.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-day, Citizen," she said proudly; "you have -made a mistake," and she passed from Rosalie's -detaining hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hébert sent an oath after her. He was most unmagisterially -angry. "Fool," he said, under his breath—"Damned fool."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rosalie caught him up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is a fool who wastes his time trying to pick the -apple at the top of the tree, when there are plenty to -his hand," she observed pointedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He swore at her then, and went out without replying.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From that day a period of terror and humiliation -beyond words set in for Mlle de Rochambeau. Hebert's -shadow lay across her path, and she feared him, -with a sickening, daily augmenting fear, that woke her -gasping in the night, and lay on her like a black -nightmare by day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sometimes she did not see him for days, sometimes -every day brought him along the waiting queue, until -he reached her side, and stood there whispering -hatefully, amusing himself by alternately calling the -indignant colour to her cheeks, and replacing it by a yet -more indignant pallor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The strain told on her visibly, the thin cheeks were -thinner, the dark eyes looked darker, and showed -unnaturally large and bright, whilst the violet stains -beneath them came to stay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was no one to whom she could appeal. Rosalie -was furious with her and her fine-lady ways. Louison, -and the other neighbours, who could have interfered to -protect her from open insult, saw no reason to meddle -so long as the girl's admirer confined himself to words, -and after the first day Hébert had not laid hands on -her again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The torture of the man's companionship, the insult -of his look, were beyond their comprehension.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile, Hébert's passing fancy for her beauty -had changed into a dull, malignant resolve to bend, or -break her, and through her to injure Dangeau, if it -could possibly be contrived.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Women had their price, he reflected. Hers might -not be money, but it would perhaps be peace of mind, -relief from persecution, or even life—bare life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After the first few days he gave up the idea of -bringing any set accusation against Dangeau. The man -was away, his room locked, and Rosalie would certainly -not give up the key unless a domiciliary visit were -paid—a thing involving a little too much publicity -for Hébert's taste. Besides, he knew very well that -rummage as he might, he would find no evidence of -conspiracy. Dangeau was an honest man, as he was -very well aware, and he hated him a good deal the -more for the inconvenient fact. No, it would not do -to denounce Dangeau without some very plain evidence -to go upon. The accuser of Danton's friend might -find himself in an uncommonly tight place if his -accusations could not be proved. It would not do—it was -not good enough, Hébert decided regretfully; but the -girl remained, and that way amusement beckoned as -well as revenge. If she remained obstinate, and if -Dangeau were really infatuated, and returned to find -her in prison, he might easily be tempted to commit -some imprudence, out of which capital might be made. -That was a safer game, and might prove just as well -worth playing in the end. Meanwhile, was the girl -Marie Roche, and nothing more? Did that arresting -look of nobility go for nothing, or was she playing a -part? If Rosalie knew, Thérèse might help. Now how -fortunate that he had always kept on good terms with -Thérèse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took her a pair of gold ear-rings that evening, -and whilst she set them dangling in her ears, he slipped -an arm about her, and kissed her smooth red cheek.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Morbleu!" he swore, "you 're a handsome creature, -Thérèse; there 's no one to touch you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you want?" asked Thérèse, with a shrewd -glance into his would-be amorous eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, ma belle? What should I want? A kiss, if -you 'll give it me. Ah! the old days were the best."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thus Hébert, disclaiming an ulterior motive.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thérèse frowned, and twitched away from him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ma foi, Hébert, am I a fool?" she returned, with a -shrug. "You 've forgotten a lot about those same old -days if you think that. I 'll help you if I can, but don't -try and throw sand in my eyes, or you 'll get some of -it back, in a way that will annoy you"; and her black -eyes flared at him in the fashion he always admired. -He thought her at her best like that, and said so now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Chut!" she said impatiently. "What is it that -you want?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hébert considered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You see your cousin sometimes, the widow Leboeuf, -who has the shop in the rue des Lanternes?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see her often enough, twice—three times a week -at present."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Could you get something out of her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not if she knew I wanted to. Close as a miser's -fist, that's what Rosalie is, if she thinks she can spite -you; but just now we are very good friends—and, well, -I dare say it might be done. Depends what it is you -want to know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hébert looked at her keenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps you can tell me," he said, watching her -face. "That girl who lodges there, who is she? What -is her name—her real name?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In a flash Thérèse was crimson to the hair, and he -had her by the wrist, swinging her round to face him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oho!" she cried, laughing till the new ear-rings -tinkled, "so that's it—that's the game? Well, if you -can give that stuck-up aristocrat the setting-down I 've -promised her ever since I first saw her, I 'm with you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hébert pounced on one word, like a cat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aristocrat? Ah! I thought so," he said, his breathing -quickening a little. "Who is she, then, ma mie?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thérèse regarded him with a little scorn. She did -not care who got Hébert, since she had done with him -herself, but what, </span><em class="italics">par exemple</em><span>, did he see in a pale -stick like that—and after having admired her, Thérèse? -Certainly men were past understanding.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She lolled easily on the arm of the chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 've not an idea, but I dare say I could find -out—that is, if Rosalie knows."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, when you do, there 'll be a chain to match the -ear-rings," said Hébert, his arm round her waist again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All the same, April had passed into May before -Thérèse won her chain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was in the time between that Hébert haunted -Mlle de Rochambeau's footsteps, and employed what -he considered his most seductive arts, producing only -a sensation of shuddering defilement from which neither -prayer nor effort could free her thoughts. One day, -goaded past endurance, she left Dangeau's folded note -at the door of Cléry's lodging. When it had left her -hand, she would have given the world to have it back. -How could she speak to a man of this shameful pursuit -of Hébert? How, having put Dangeau out of her life, -could she use his help, and appeal to his friend? And -yet, how endure the daily shame, the nightly agony of -remembering those smooth, poisonous whispers, that -pale, dreadful smile? She cried her eyes red and swollen, -and Edmond Cléry, looking up from a bantering -exchange of compliments with Rosalie, wondered as she -came in, first if this could be she, and then at his friend's -taste. He permitted himself a complacent memory -of Thérèse's glowing cheeks and supple curves, and -commended his own choice. Rosalie's needles clicked -amiably. She liked young men, and this was a -personable one. What a goose this girl was, to be -sure!—like a frightened rabbit with Hébert, and now with this -amiable young man, shrinking, white-faced! Bah! she -had no patience with her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Edmond bowed smilingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My homage, Citoyenne," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline forced a "Bonjour, Citizen," and then fell -silent again. Ah! why had she left the note—why, -why, why?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cléry began to pity her plight, for there was something -chivalrous in him which rose at the sight of her -obvious unhappiness, and he gave the impulse rein.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you not tell me how I can serve you?" he said -in his gentlest voice. "It will be both a pleasure and -an honour."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline raised her tired eyes to his, and read kindness -in the open glance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are very good," she said slowly, and looked past -him with a hesitating air.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rosalie was busy serving at the moment, and a shrill -argument over the price of cabbage was in process. -She stepped closer, and spoke very low.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Citizen Dangeau said I might trust you, Citizen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed you may; I am his friend and yours."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Even then the colour rose a little at this linking of -their names. The impulse towards confidence increased.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am in trouble, Citizen, or I should not have asked -your help. There is a man who follows, insults me, -threatens even, and I am without a protector."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not if you will confide that honour to me," said -Cléry quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled faintly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are very good."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But who is it? Tell me his name, and I will see -that you are not molested in future."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is the Citizen Deputy Hébert," faltered Aline, all -her terror returning as she pronounced the hateful name.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clary's brows drew close, and a long whistle escaped -his lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oho, Hébert," he said,—"Hébert; but there, Citoyenne, -do not be alarmed, I beg of you. Leave it -to me"; after which he made his adieux without -conspicuous haste, leaving Rosalie much annoyed at -having missed most of the conversation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Two days later, Hébert came foaming in on Thérèse. -When he could speak, he swore at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"See here, Thérèse, if you 've a hand in setting Cléry -at me, let me warn you. I 'll take foul play from no -woman alive, without giving as good as I get, and if -there 's any of your damned jealousy at work, you -she-devil, I 'll choke you as soon as look at you, and with a -great deal more pleasure!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thérèse stepped up to him and fixed her great black -eyes on his pale, twitching ones.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be so silly, Hébert," she said steadily, though -her colour rose. "What is it all about? What has -young Cléry done to you? It 's rather late in the day -for you to start quarrelling."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you flatter yourself it was about you?" said -Hébert brutally. "Not much, my girl; I've fresher -fish to fry. But he came up to me an hour ago, and -informed me he had been looking for me everywhere to -tell me my pursuit of that pattern of virtue, our good -Dangeau's mistress, must cease, or I 'd have him to -reckon with, and what I want to know is, have you a -hand in this, or not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thérèse was heavily flushed, and her eyes curiously -veiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What! Cléry too?" she said in a deep whisper. -"Dangeau, and you, and Cléry. Eh! I wish her joy of -my cast-off clouts. But she shall pay—Holy Virgin, -she shall pay!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hébert caught her by the shoulder and shook it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What are you muttering? I ask you a plain -question, and you don't answer it. What about -Cléry—did you set him on?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She threw back her head at that, and gave a long, -wild laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Imbécile!" she screamed. "I? Do you hate him? -Well, think how I must love him when he too goes after -this girl—goes to her from me, from swearing I am his -goddess, his inspiration? Ah!"—she caught at her -throat,—"but at least I can give you his head. The -fool—the fool to betray a woman who holds his life in her -hands! Here is what the imbecile wrote me only a week -ago. Read, and say if it 's not enough to give him to -the embraces of the Guillotine?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The paper she thrust at Hébert came from her bosom, -and when he had read it his dull eyes glittered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'The King's death a crime—perhaps time not ripe -for a Republic.' Thérèse, you 're worth your weight -in gold. I don't think Edmond Cléry will write you -any more love-letters."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thérèse drew gloomily away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the girl?" she asked, with a shiver.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That, my dear, was to depend on what you could -find out about her," Hébert reminded her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His own fury had subsided, and he threw himself into -a chair. Thérèse made an abrupt movement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is nothing more to find out. I have it all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 've been long enough getting it," said Hébert, -sitting up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I have it now, and I told you all along that -Rosalie was more obstinate than a mule. She has been -in one of her silent moods; she would go to all the -executions, and then, instead of being a pleasant -companion, there she would sit quite mum, or muttering to -herself. Yesterday, however, she seemed excited. There -was a large batch told off, three women amongst them, -and one of them shrieked when Sanson took her kerchief -off. That seemed to wake Rosalie up. She got quite -red, and began to talk as if she had a fever."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is one you have caught from her, then," said -Hébert impatiently. "The news, my girl, the news! -What do I care for your cousin and her tantrums?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thérèse looked dangerous.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I your cat's-paw, Hébert?" she said. "Pah! do -your own dirty work—you 'll get no more from me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hébert cursed his impatience—fool that he was not -to remember Thérèse's temper!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He forced an ugly smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, well, as you please," he said. "Let the girl go. -There are other fish in the sea. Best let Cléry go too, -and then they can make a match of it, unless she should -prefer Dangeau."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His intent eyes saw the girl's face change at that. -"A thousand devils!" she burst out. "Why do you -plague me, Hébert? Be civil and play fair, and you 'll -get what you want."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, come, Thérèse," he said soothingly. "We -both want the same thing—to teach a stuck-up baggage -of an aristocrat a lesson. Let's be friends again, and -give me the news. Is it any good?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good enough," said Thérèse, with a sulky look,—"good -enough to take her out of my way, if I say the -word. Why, she 's a cousin of the ci-devant Montargis, -who got so prettily served on the third of September."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What?" exclaimed Hébert.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! you never guessed that, and you 'd never have -got it out of Rosalie; for she 's as close as the devil, and I -believe has a sneaking fondness for the girl."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Montargis!" repeated Hébert, rubbing his -hands, slowly. This was better than he expected. No -wonder the girl went in terror! He had heard the Paris -mob howl for the blood of the Austrian spy, and he -knew that a word now would seal her fate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Her name?" he demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rochambeau—Aline de Rochambeau. She only -clipped the tail off, you see, and with a taste that way, -she should have no objection to a head clipping—eh, my -friend?" said Thérèse, with a short laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hébert went off with his plans made ready to his -hand. It pleased him to be able to ruin Cléry, since -Cléry had crossed his path; and besides, it would terrify -the girl, and annoy Dangeau, who had a liking for the -boy. It was inconceivable that he should have been so -imprudent as to trust a woman like Thérèse, but since -he had been such a fool he must just pay for it with his -head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The truth was that Cléry during his service at the -Temple had been strangely impressed, like many another, -by the bearing of the unfortunate Royal Family, and -had conceived a young, whole-hearted adoration for the -Queen, which did not, unfortunately for himself, -interfere with his wholly mundane passion for Thérèse -Marcel. In a moment of extraordinary imprudence -he made the latter his confidante, never doubting that -her love for himself would make her a perfectly safe -one. Poor lad! he was to pay a heavy price for his -trust.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the day following Hébert's interview with Thérèse -he was arrested, and after a short preliminary examination, -which revealed to him her treachery and his -dangerous position, he was lodged in the Abbaye.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His arrest made some little stir in his own small -world. Thérèse herself brought the news of it to the -rue des Lanternes. Her eyes were very bright and -hard as she glanced round the shop, and she laughed -louder than usual, as she threw out broad hints as to her -own share in the matter, for she liked Rosalie to know -her power.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think you are a devil, Thérèse," said the fat woman -gloomily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So others have said," returned Thérèse, with a -wicked smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mlle de Rochambeau took the blow in deadly silence. -Hope was dead in her heart, and she prayed earnestly -that she alone might suffer, and not have the wretchedness -of feeling she had drawn another into the net -which was closing around her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hébert dallied yet a day or two, and then struck -home. Aline was hurrying homewards, her ears -strained for the step she had grown to expect, when -all in a minute he was there by her side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned on him with a sudden resolve.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Citizen," she said earnestly, "why do you -persecute me? What have I done to you—to any -one? Surely by now you realise that this pursuit is -useless?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The day that I realise that will be a bad day for -you," said Hébert, with malignant emphasis.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The threat brought her head up, with one of those -movements of mingled pride and grace which made him -hate and covet her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have done no wrong—what harm can you do me?" -she said steadily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have interest with the Revolutionary Tribunal—you -may have heard of the arrest of our young friend -Cléry? Ah! I thought so,"—as her colour faded under -his cruel gaze.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shrank a little, but forced her voice to composure. -"And does the Revolutionary Tribunal concern itself -with the affairs of a poor girl who only asks to be allowed -to earn her living honestly?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hébert smiled—a smile so wicked that she realised an -impending blow, and on the instant it fell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It would concern itself with the affairs of Mlle de -Rochambeau, cousin of the ci-devant Marquise de -Montargis, who, if my memory serves me right, was -arrested on a charge of treasonable correspondence with -Austria, and who met a well-deserved fate at the hands -of an indignant people." He leaned closer as he spoke, -and marked the instant stiffening of each muscle in the -white face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment her heart had stopped. Then it -raced on again at a deadly speed. She turned her head -away that he might not see the terror in her eyes, -and a keen wind met her full, clearing the faintness -from her brain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She walked on as steadily as she might, but the smooth -voice was still at her ear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are in danger. My friendship alone can save -you. What do you hope for? The return of your -lover Dangeau? I don't think I should count on that -if I were you, my angel. Once upon a time there was -a young man of the name of Cléry—Edmond Cléry to -be quite correct—yes, I see you know the story. No, -I don't think your Dangeau will be of any assistance -to you when I denounce you, and denounce you I most -certainly shall, unless you ask me not to, prettily, with -your arms round my neck, shall we say—eh, Citoyenne -Marie?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he spoke there was a rumble of wheels, and a rough -cart came round the corner towards them. He touched -her arm, and she looked up mechanically, to see that it -held from eight to ten persons, all pinioned, and through -her own dull misery she was aware of pity stirring at her -heart, for these were prisoners on their way to the Place -de la Revolution.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One was an old man, very white and thin, his scanty -hair straggling above a stained, uncared-for coat, his -misty blue eyes looking out at the world with the -unseeing stare of the blind or dying. Beside him leaned a -youth of about fifteen, whose laboured breath spoke of -the effort by which he preserved an appearance of calm. -Beyond them was a woman, very handsome and upright. -Her hair, just cut, floated in short, ragged wisps -about her pale, set face. Her lips moved constantly, her -eyes looked down. Hébert laughed and pointed as the -cart went by.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is where you 'll be if I give the word," he -whispered. "Choose, then—a place there, or a place -here,"—and he made as if to encircle her with his -arm,—"choose, ma mie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline closed her eyes. All her young life ran hotly in -her veins, but the force of its recoil from the man beside -her was stronger than the force of its recoil from death.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Citizen insults me when he assumes there is a -choice," she said, with cold lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The prison is so attractive then? The embraces of -the Guillotine so preferable to mine—hein?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Citizen has expressed my views."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hébert cursed and flung away, but as she moved on -he was by her side again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"After all," he said, "you may change your mind -again. Until to-morrow, I can save you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Citizen, I shall never change my mind. There is no -choice; it is simply that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An inexorable decision looked from her face, and -carried conviction even to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One cannot save imbeciles," he muttered as he left -her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle walked home with an odd sense of -relief. Now that the first shock was over, and the danger -so long anticipated was actually upon her, she was calm. -At least Hébert would be gone from her life. Death -was clean and final; there would be no dishonour, no -soiling of her ears by that sensual voice, nor of her eyes -by those evil glances.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She knelt and prayed for a while, and sat down to her -work with hands that moved as skilfully as before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That night she slept more peacefully than she had -done for weeks. In her dreams she walked along a -green and leafy lane, birds sang, and the sky burned -blue in the rising sun. She walked, and breathed -blissful air, and was happy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Out of such dreams one awakes with a sense of the -unreality of everyday life. Some of the glamour clings -about us, and we see a mirage of happiness instead of -the sands of the Desert of Desolation. Is it only mirage, -or some sense sealed, except at rarest intervals?—a -sense before whose awakened exercise the veil wears -thin, and from behind we catch the voices of the -withdrawn, we feel the presence of peace, and garner a little -of the light of Eternity to shed a glow on Time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline woke happily to a soft May dawn. Her dream -lay warm against her heart and cherished it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the evening she was arrested and taken to the -prison of the Abbaye.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="sans-souci"><span class="large">CHAPTER XV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">SANS SOUCI</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>In after days Aline de Rochambeau looked back upon -her time in prison as a not unpeaceful interlude -between two periods of stress and terror. After -loneliness unspeakable, broken only by companionship with -the coarse, the dull, the cruel, she found herself in the -politest society of France, and in daily, hourly contact -with all that was graceful, exquisite, and refined in -her own sex,—gallant, witty, and courteous in the -other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When she joined the other prisoners on the morning -after her arrest, the scene surprised her by its resemblance -to that ill-fated reception which had witnessed at once -her debut and her farewell to society. The dresses were -a good deal shabbier, the ladies' coiffures not quite so -well arranged, but there was the same gay, light talk, -the same bowing and curtsying, the same air of high-bred -indifference to all that did not concern the polite arts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All at once she became very acutely conscious of her -bourgeoise dress and unpowdered hair. She felt the -roughness of her pricked fingers, and experienced that -painful sense of inferiority which sometimes afflicts -young girls who are unaccustomed to the world. The -sensation passed in a flash, but the memory of it stung -her not a little, and she crossed the room with her head -held high.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old Comtesse de Matigny eyed her through a -tortoise-shell lorgnette which bore a Queen's cipher in -brilliants, and had been a gift from Marie Antoinette.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who is that?" she demanded, in her deep, imperious tones.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Some little bourgeoise, accused of Heaven knows -what," shrugged M. de Lancy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old lady allowed hazel eyes which were still -piercing to rest for a moment longer on Aline. Then -they flashed mockingly on M. le Marquis.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My friend, you are not as intelligent as usual. Did -you see the girl's colour change when she came in? -When a bourgeoise is embarrassed, she hangs her head -and walks awkwardly. If she had an apron on, she -would bite the corner. This girl looked round, and -flushed,—it showed the fine grain of her skin,—then up -went her head, and she walked like a princess. Besides, -I know the face."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A slight, fair woman, with tired eyes which looked as -if the colour had been washed from them by much -weeping, leaned forward. She was Mme de Créspigny, -and her husband had been guillotined a fortnight before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have seen her too, Madame," she said in an uninterested -sort of way, "but I cannot recall where it was."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mme la Comtesse rapped her knee impatiently with -a much-beringed hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is some one she reminds me of," she said at -last—"some one long ago, when I was younger. I never -forget a face, I always prided myself on that. It was at -Court—long ago—those were gay days, my friends. -Ah! I have it. La belle Irlandaise, Mlle Desmond, -who married— Now, who did Mlle Desmond marry? -It is I who am stupid to-day. It is the cold, I think."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was it Henri de Rochambeau?" said De Lancy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded vivaciously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was—yes, that was it, and I danced at their -wedding, and dreamed on a piece of the wedding-cake. -I shall not say of whom I dreamed, but it was not of -feu M. le Comte, for I had never seen him then. Yes, -yes, Henri de Rochambeau, and la belle Irlandaise. -They were a very personable couple, and why they saw -fit to go and exist in the country, Heaven alone -knows—and perhaps his late Majesty, who did Mme de -Rochambeau the honour of a very particular admiration."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And she objected, chère Comtesse?" De Lancy's -tone was one of pained incredulity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Chère Comtesse shrugged her shoulders delicately.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What would you?" she observed. "She was as -beautiful as a picture, and as virtuous as if Our Lady -had sat for it. It even fatigued one a little, her virtue."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her own had bored no one—she had not permitted it -any such social solecism.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I remember," said De Lancy; "they went down to -Rochambeau, and expired there of dulness and each -other's unrelieved society."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mme de Créspigny had been looking attentively at -Aline. "Now I know who the girl is," she said. "It -is the girl who disappeared, who was supposed to have -been massacred. I saw her at Laure de Montargis' -reception the day of the arrests, and I remember her -now. Ah! that poor Laure——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shuddered faintly. De Lancy became interested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But she accompanied her cousin to La Force and -perished there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She must have escaped. I am sure it is she. She -had that way of holding her head—like a stag—proud -and timid."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was one of her mother's attractions," said the -Comtesse. "Mlle Desmond was, however, a great deal -more beautiful. Her daughter, if this girl is her -daughter, has only that trick, and the eyes—yes, she has the -lovely eyes," as Aline turned her head and looked in -their direction. "M. de Lancy, do me the favour of -conducting her here, and presenting her to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The little old dandy clicked away on his high heels, -and in a moment Mademoiselle was aware of a truly -courtly bow, whilst a thin, shaky voice said gallantly:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We rejoice to welcome Mademoiselle to our society."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She curtsied—a graceful action—and Madame de -Matigny watching, nodded twice complacently. -"Bourgeoise indeed!" she murmured, and pressed her lips -together.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are too good, Monsieur," said Mademoiselle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Only four words, but the voice—the composure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame la Comtesse is right, as always; she is -certainly one of us," thought De Lancy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame la Comtesse de Matigny begs the honour of -your acquaintance," he pursued; "she had the pleasure -of knowing your parents."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do I not address Mlle de Rochambeau?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Surprise, and a sense of terror at hearing her name, -so long concealed, brought the colour to her face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is my name," she murmured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She is always right—she is wonderful," repeated the -Marquis to himself, as he piloted his charge across the -room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He made the presentation in form.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame la Comtesse, permit that I present to you -Mademoiselle de Rochambeau."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline bent to the white, wrinkled hand, but was raised -and embraced.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You resemble your mother too closely to be mistaken -by any one who had the happiness of her acquaintance," -said a gracious voice, and thereon ensued a whole series -of introductions. "M. le Marquis de Lancy, who also -knew your parents."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mme de Créspigny, my granddaughter Mlle Marguerite -de Matigny."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A delightful sensation of having come home to a place -of safety and shelter came over Aline as she smiled and -curtsied, forgetting her poor dress and hard-worked -fingers in the pleasure of being restored to the society -of her equals.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sit down here, beside me," commanded Mme de -Matigny. She had been a great beauty as well as a -great lady in her day, and she spoke with an imperious -air that fitted either part. "Marguerite, give -Mademoiselle your stool."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline protested civilly, but Mlle Marguerite, a little -dark-eyed creature, with a baby mouth, dropped a soft -whisper in her ear as she rose:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Grandmamma is always obeyed—but on the -instant," and Aline sat down submissively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And now, racontez donc, mon enfant, racontez," -said the old lady, "where have you been all these months, -and how did you escape?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Embarrassing questions these, but to hesitate was out -of the question. That would at once point to necessity -for concealment. She began, therefore, and told her -story quite simply, and truly, only omitting mention of -her work with Dangeau.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mme de Matigny tapped her knee.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, enfin, I do not understand. What is all this? -Why did you not appeal to your cousin's friends, to -Mme de St. Aignan, or Mme de Rabutin, for example?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I knew only the names, Madame," said Aline, -lifting her truthful eyes. "And at first I thought all -had perished. I dared not ask, and there was no one -to tell me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor child," the hand stopped tapping, and patted -her shoulder kindly. "And this Rosalie you speak of, -what was she?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sometimes she was kind. I do not think she meant -me any harm, and at least she saved my life once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When she came to the story of her arrest, she faltered -a little. The old eyes were so keen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do they accuse you of? You have done nothing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, chère Comtesse, is it then necessary that one -should have done anything?" broke in Adèle de Créspigny, -a little bitter colour in that faded voice of hers. -"Have you done anything, or I, or little Marguerite here?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madame fanned herself, her manner slightly distant. -She was not accustomed to be interrupted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They say I wrote letters to emigrés, to my son -Charles, in fact. Marguerite also. It is a crime, it -appears, to indulge in family feeling. But, you, you, -Mademoiselle, did not even do that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said Aline, blushing. "It was ... it was that -the Citizen Hébert found out my real name—I do not -know how—and denounced me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her downcast looks filled in enough of the story -for those penetrating eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Canaille!" said the old lady under her breath, and -then aloud:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are better here, with us. It is more -convenable," and once more she patted the shoulder, and -that odd sense of being at home brought sudden tears to -Aline's eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A few days later a piece of news reached her. She -and Marguerite de Matigny sat embroidering the same -long strip of silk. They had become close friends in the -enforced daily intimacy of prison life, and the luxury -of possessing a friend with whom she could revive the -old, innocent, free talk of convent times was delightful -in the extreme to the lonely girl, forced too soon into -a self-reliance beyond her years.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mlle Marguerite looked up from the brilliant half-set -stitch, and glanced warily round.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tiens, Aline," she said, putting her small head on -one side, "I heard something this morning, something -that concerns you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline grew paler. That all news was bad news was -one axiom which the events of the last few months had -graved deeply on her heart. Marguerite saw the tremor -that passed over her, and made haste to be reassuring.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, ma belle, it is nothing bad. Stupid that I -am! It is that these wretches outside have been -fighting amongst themselves, and your M. Hébert has been -sent to prison. I hope he likes it," and she took a little -vicious stitch which knotted her yellow thread, and -confused the symmetrical centre of a most gorgeous -flower. "There, I have tangled my thread again, and -grandmamma will scold me. I shall say it was the fault -of your M. Hébert."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please don't call him </span><em class="italics">my</em><span> M. Hébert," said Aline -proudly. Marguerite laid down her needle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aline, why did he denounce you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, Marguerite, don't talk of him. You don't know -what a wretch—" and she broke off shuddering.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, but I should like to know. I can see you could -tell tales—oh, but most exciting ones! Why did he do -it? He must have had some reason; or did he just see -you, and hate you, like love at first sight, only the other -way round?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mlle de Rochambeau assumed an air of prudence and reproof.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fi donc, Mlle de Matigny, what would your grandmother -say to such talk?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marguerite made a little, wicked </span><em class="italics">moue</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She would say—it was not convenable," she mimicked, -and laid a coaxing hand on her friend's knee. -"But tell me then, Aline, tell me what I want to know—tell -me all about it, all there is to tell. I shall tease and -tease until you do," she declared.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Marguerite, it is too dreadful to laugh about."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If one never laughed, because of dreadful things, -why, then, we should all forget how to do it nowadays," -pouted Marguerite. "But, see then, already I cry—" -and she lifted an infinitesimal scrap of cambric to her -dancing eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mlle de Rochambeau laughed, but she shook her -head, and Marguerite gave her a little pinch.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wicked one," she said; "but I shall find out all the -same. All my life I have found out what I wanted to, -yes, even secrets of grandmamma's," and she nodded -mischievously; but Aline turned back to the original -subject of the conversation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you sure he is in prison?" she asked anxiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes, quite sure. The Abbé Loisel said so when -he came this morning. I heard him say to -grand-mamma, 'The wolves begin to tear each other. It is -a just retribution.' And then he said, 'Hébert, who -edits that disgrace to the civilised world, the </span><em class="italics">Père -Duchesne</em><span>, is in prison.' Oh, Aline, would n't it have -been fun if he had been sent here?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline's hand went to her heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, mon Dieu!" she said quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marguerite made round baby eyes of wonder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You </span><em class="italics">are</em><span> frightened of him," she cried. "He must -have done, or said, something very bad to make you -look like that. If you would tell me what it was, I -should not have to go on worrying you about him, but -as it is, I shall have to make you simply hate me. I -know I shall," she concluded mournfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, child, child, you don't understand," cried Mlle -de Rochambeau, feeling suddenly that her two years of -greater age were twenty of bitter experience. Her eyes -filled as she bent her burning face over the embroidery, -whilst two large tears fell from them and lay on the -petals of her golden flower like points of glittering -dew.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marguerite coloured, and looked first down at the -floor and then up at her friend's flushed face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Aline!" she breathed, "was it really that? Oh, -the wretch! And when you wouldn't look at him he -revenged himself? Ouf, it makes me creep. No -wonder you feel badly about it. The villain!" she -stamped a childish foot, and knotted her thread again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh dear, it will have to be cut," she declared, "and -what grandmamma will say, the saints alone know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline took the work out of the too vehement hands, -and spent five minutes in bringing order out of a sad -confusion. "Now it is better," she said, handing it -back again; "you are too impatient, little one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, 'twas not my fault, but that villain's. How -could I be calm when I thought of him? But you are -an angel of patience, ma mie. How can you be so -quiet and still when things go wrong?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," said Mademoiselle with half a sigh, "for -eight months I earned my living by my work, you know, -and if I had lost patience when my thread knotted I -should have had nothing to eat next day, so you see -I was obliged to learn."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mme de Matigny came by as she ended, and both -girls rose and curtsied. She glanced at the work, -nodded her head, and passed on, on M. de Lancy's arm. -For the moment chattering Marguerite became decorous -Mlle de Matigny—a </span><em class="italics">jeune fille, bien élevée</em><span>. In her -grandmother's presence only the demurest of glances -shot from the soft brown eyes, only the most dutiful -and conventional remarks dropped from the pretty, -prudish lips—but with Aline, what a difference! Now, -the stately passage over, she leaned close again above -the neglected needle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dis donc, Aline! You were betrothed, were you -not, to that poor M. de Sélincourt? Were you -inconsolable when he was killed? Did you like him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The ambiguous "aimer" fell from her lips with a -teasing inflection.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is dead," reproved Mlle de Rochambeau.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tiens, I did not say he was alive! But did you; -tell me? What did it feel like to be betrothed?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ask Mme de Matigny what is the correct feeling -for a young girl to have for her betrothed," said Aline, -a hint of bitterness behind her smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"De grêce!" and Marguerite's plump hands went up -in horror. "See then, Aline, I think it would be nice -to love—really to love—do you not think so?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mlle de Rochambeau shook her head with decision. -Something in the light words had stabbed her, and she -felt an inward pain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not see why one should not love one's -husband," pursued Marguerite reflectively. "If one has -to live with some one always, it would be far more -agreeable to love him. But it appears that that is a very -bourgeoise idea, and that it is more convenable to love -some one else."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Marguerite!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes, I tell you it is so! Here one hears -everything. They cannot send one out of the room when -the conversation begins to grow interesting. There is -Mme de Créspigny—she is in our room—she weeps -much in the night, but it is not because of her husband, -oh no; it is for M. le Chevalier de St. Armand, who was -guillotined on the same day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush, Marguerite, you should not say such things."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But if they are true, and this is really true, for -when they brought her the news she cried out 'Etienne' -very loud, and fainted. M. de Créspigny was our cousin, -so I know all his names. There is no Etienne amongst -them," and she nodded wisely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Marguerite!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So you see it is true. I find that odious, for my -part, though, to be sure, what could she do if she loved -him? One cannot make oneself love or not love. It -comes or it goes, and you can only weep like Mme de -Créspigny, unless, to be sure, one could make shift to -laugh, as I think I shall try to do when my time comes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mlle de Rochambeau looked up with a sudden flame -in her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is not true that one cannot help loving," she said -quickly. "One can—one can. If it is a wrong love -it can be crushed, and one forgets. Oh, you do not -know what you are talking about, Marguerite."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marguerite embraced her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And do you?" she whispered slyly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Girls' talk—strange talk for a prison, and one where -Death stood by the entrance, beckoning one and another.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One day it was M. de Lancy who was called away in -the midst of a compliment to his "Chère Comtesse," -called to appear at Fouquier Tinville's bar, and later, -at that of another and more merciful Judge.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The next, Mme de Créspigny's tired eyes rested for -the last time upon prison walls, and she went out -smiling wistful good-byes, to follow husband and lover -to a world where there is neither marrying nor giving -in marriage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As each departed, the groups would close their ranks, -and after a moment's pause would talk the faster and -more lightly, until once more the summons came, and -again one would be taken and one left.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This was one side of prison society. On the other -a group of devout persons kept up the forms of convent -life, just as the coterie of Mme de Matigny did those -of the salon. The Abbé de Nérac, the Abbé Constantin, -and half a dozen nuns were the nucleus of this second -group, but not all were ecclesiastics or religious. M. de -Maurepas, the young soldier, with the ugly rugged face -and good brown eyes, was of their number, and devout -ladies not a few, who spent their time between encouraging -one another in the holy life, and hours of silent -prayer for those in the peril of trial and the agony of -death.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Their conversations may still be read, and breathe a -piety as exquisite as it is natural and touching. To -both these groups came daily the Abbé Loisel, bringing -to the one news of the outside world, and to the other -the consolations of religion. Mass was said furtively, -the Host elevated, the faithful communicated, and -Loisel would pass out again to his life of hourly peril, -moving from hiding-place to hiding-place, and from -plot to plot, risking his safety by day to comfort the -prisoners, or to bless the condemned on their way to -the scaffold, and by night to give encouragement to -some little band of aristocrats who thought they could -fight the Revolution.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Singular mixture of conspirator and saint, his courage -was undoubted. The recorded heroisms of the times -are many, those unrecorded more, and his strange -adventures have never found an historian.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Outside the Gironde rocked, tottered, and fell. -Imprisoned Hébert was loose again. Danton struck for -the Mountain, and struck right home. First arrest, -then prison, and lastly death came upon the men who -had dreamed of ruling France. The strong man -armed had kept the house, until there came one stronger -than he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So passed the Girondins, first of the Revolution's -children to fall beneath the Juggernaut car they had -reared and set in motion.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="an-unwelcome-visitor"><span class="large">CHAPTER XVI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">AN UNWELCOME VISITOR</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Mlle de Rochambeau shared a small, -unwholesome cell with three other women. One -of them, Mme de Coigny, a young widow, had lately -given birth to a child, a poor, fretful little creature -whose wailings added to the general discomfort.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mme Renard, the linen draper's wife, tossed her head, -and complained volubly to whoever would listen, that -she got no sleep at nights, since the brat came. She -had been a great man's mistress, and was under arrest -because he had emigrated. Terrified to death, she -bewailed her lot continually, was sometimes fawning, -sometimes insolent to her aristocratic companions, and -always very disdainful of the fourth inmate, a stout -Breton peasant, with a wooden manner which concealed -an enormous respect for the company in which she -found herself. She told her rosary incessantly, when -not occupied with the baby, who was less ill at ease in -her accustomed arms than with its frail, young mother.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One night Mademoiselle awoke with a start. She -thought she was being called, and listened intently. A -little light came through the grated window—moonlight, -but sallow, and impure, as if the rays were infected -by the heaviness of the atmosphere. It served, -however, to show the heavy immobility of Marie Kérac's -form as she lay, emitting unmistakable snores, the baby -caught in her left arm and sleeping too. A dingy beam -fell right across Mme Renard's face. It had been -pretty enough, in a round dimpled way, but now it -looked heavy and leaden, showing lines of fretful fear, -even in sleep.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Out of the darkness in the corner there came a long-drawn -sigh, and then a very low voice just breathed the -words, "Mademoiselle de Rochambeau, are you awake?" Aline -sat up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it you, Madame de Coigny?" she asked, a little -startled, for both sigh and voice had a vague -unearthliness that seemed to make the night darker. -The Bretonne's honest breathing was a reassuring sound.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes!" said the low voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you ill—can I do anything for you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a rustling movement and a dim shape -emerged from the shadow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I might lie down beside you for a while. The -little one went so peacefully to sleep with that good -soul, that I had not the heart to take her back, and it -is lonely—mon Dieu, it is lonely!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline made room on the straw pallet, and put an arm -round the cold, shrinking figure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, you are chilled," she said gently, "and the -night is quite warm."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To-morrow I shall be colder," said Mme de Coigny -in a strange whisper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear, what do you mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Something like a shiver made the straw rustle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not afraid. It is only that I cannot get warm"; -then turning her face to Aline she whispered, "they -will come for me to-morrow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no; why should you think so? How can you know?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, I know—I know quite well—and I am glad, -really. I should have been glad to die before the little -one came, for then she would have been safe too. Now -she has this business of life before her, and, see you, I -find life too sad, at all events for us women."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Life is not always sad," said Aline soothingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mine has been sad," said Mme de Coigny. "May -I talk to you a little? We are of the same age, and -to-night—to-night I feel so strange, as if I were quite -alone in some great empty place."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, talk to me, and I will put my arms round you. -There! Now you will be warmer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Another shiver shook the bed, and then the low voice -began again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wanted to be a nun, you know. When I was a -child they called me the little nun, and always I said I -would be one. Then when I was eighteen, my elder -sister died, and I was an heiress, and they married me -to M. de Coigny."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you not want to marry him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nobody thought of asking me, and, mon Dieu, how -I cried, and wept, and tortured myself. I thought I was -a martyr, no less, and prayed that I might die. It was -terrible! By the time the wedding-day came, M. de -Coigny must have wondered at his bride, for my face -was swollen with weeping, and my eyes red and sore," -and she gave a little ghost of a laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was he kind to you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, he was kind"—there was a queer inflection in -the low tone—"and almost at once he was called away -for six months, and I went back to my prayers, and -tried to fancy myself a nun again. Then he came back, -and all at once, I don't know how, something seemed to -break in my heart, and I loved him. Mon Dieu, how I -loved him! And he loved me,—that was what was so -wonderful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you were happy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For a month—one little month—only one little -month—" she broke off on a sob, and clung to Aline -in the dark. "They arrested us, took us to prison, -and when I would have gone to the scaffold with him, -they tore me away, yes, though I went on my knees -and prayed to them. 'The Republic does not kill her -unborn citizens,' they said; and they sent me here to -wait."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will live for the poor little baby," whispered -Aline, her eyes full of tears, but Mme de Coigny -shook her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she said quietly; "it is over now. To-morrow -they will take me away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She lay a little longer, but did not talk much, and -after a while she slipped away to her own mattress, and -Aline, listening, could hear that she slept.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the morning she made no reference to what had -passed, but when Aline left the cell to go to Mme de -Matigny's room she thought as she passed out that she -heard a whispered "Adieu," though on looking round -she saw that Mme de Coigny's face was bent over the -child, whom she was rocking on her knee.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She went on her way, walking fast, and lifting her -skirts carefully, for the passages of the Abbaye were -places of indescribable noisomeness. About half-way -down, the open door of an empty cell let a little light -in upon the filth and confusion, and showed the bestial, -empurpled face of a drunken turnkey, who lay all along -a bench, sleeping off the previous night's excesses. As -Aline hastened, she saw a man come down the corridor, -holding feebly to the wall. Opposite the empty cell he -paused, catching at the jamb with shaking fingers, and -lifting a face which Mademoiselle de Rochambeau -recognised with a little cry of shocked surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"M. Cléry!" she exclaimed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Edmond Cléry could hardly stand, but he forced a -pitiful parody of his old, gay laugh and bow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Myself," he said, "or at least as much of me as the -ague has left."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Just inside the cell was a rough stool, and Aline drew -it quickly forward. He sank down gratefully, leaning -against the door-post, and closing his eyes for a moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," said Mademoiselle, "how ill you look; you are -not fit to walk alone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He gave her a whimsical glance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So it appears," he murmured, "since De Maurepas, -you, and my own legs are all of the same story. Well, -he will be after me in a few moments, that good -Maurepas, and then I shall get to my room again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think I know M. de Maurepas a little," said -Aline; "he is very religious."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cléry gave a faint laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, we are strange room-mates, he and I. He -prays all the time and I not at all, since I never could -imagine that le bon Dieu could possibly be interested -in my banal conversation; but he is a good comrade, -that Maurepas, in spite of his prayers."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, Monsieur, how come you to be so ill? If you -knew how I have reproached myself, and now to see -you like this—oh, you cannot tell how I feel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cléry found the pity in her eyes very agreeable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And why reproach yourself, Citoyenne; it is not -your fault that my cell is damp."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, but your arrest; to think that I should have -brought that upon you. Had I known, I would have -done anything rather than ask your help."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, then you would have deprived me of a pleasure. -Indeed, Citoyenne, my arrest need not trouble you; it -was due, not to your affairs, but my own."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, M. Cléry, is that true?" and her voice spoke her -relief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should be able to think better of myself if it were -not," said Cléry a little bitterly. "I was a fool, and I -am being punished for my folly. Dangeau warned me -too. When you see him again, Citoyenne, you may tell -him that he was right about Thérèse."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thérèse—Thérèse Marcel?" asked Aline, shrinking -a little.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah—you know her! Well, I trusted her, and she -betrayed me, and here I am. Dangeau always said that -she was dangerous—the devil's imitation of a woman, -he called her once, and you can tell him that he was -quite right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline averted her eyes, and her colour rose a shade. -For a moment her heart felt warm. Then she looked -back at Cléry, and fell quickly upon her knees beside -him, for he was gasping for breath, and falling sideways -from the stool. She managed to support him for the -moment, but her heart beat violently, and at the sound -of footsteps she called out. To her relief, M. de -Maurepas came up quickly. If he felt any surprise at -finding her in such a situation, he was too well-bred to -show it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do not be alarmed," he said hastily. "He has been -very ill, but this is only a swoon; he should not have -walked." Then, "Mademoiselle, move your arm, and -let me put mine around him, so—now I can manage."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He lifted Cléry as he spoke, and carried him the -length of the corridor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, if Mademoiselle will have the goodness to -push the door a little wider," and he passed in and laid -Cléry gently down.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle hesitated by the door for a minute.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He looks so ill, will he die?" she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not of this," returned M. de Maurepas; then, after -a moment's pause, and with a grave smile, "Nor at all -till it is God's will, Mademoiselle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mlle de Rochambeau spent the morning with Marguerite. -On her return to her own cell she found an -empty place. Mme de Coigny was gone, and the -little infant wailed on the peasant woman's lap.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cléry was better next day. On the third Aline met -M. de Maurepas in the corridor. He was accompanied -by a rough-looking turnkey, and she was about to pass -without speaking, but their eyes met, and on the impulse -she stopped and asked:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How is M. Cléry to-day?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The young soldier looked at her steadily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He has—he has moved on, Mademoiselle," he -returned, something of distress in his tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The turnkey burst into a loud, brutal laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh, that was the citizen with the ague? At the last -he shook and shook so much that he shook his head -off—yes—right out of the little window, where his friend -is now going to look for it," and he clapped De Maurepas -on the shoulder with a dingy, jocular hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline drew a sharp breath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no," she said involuntarily, but De Maurepas -bent his head in grave assent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is this so pleasant a camp that you grudge me my -marching orders?" he asked; and as they passed he -looked back a moment and said, "Adieu, Mademoiselle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gave him back the word very low, and he smiled -again, a smile that irradiated his rough features and -steady brown eyes. "Indeed, I think I go to 'Him,'" -he said, and was gone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline steadied herself against the wall, and closed her -eyes for a moment. She had conceived a sincere liking -for the young soldier; Cléry had done her a service, and -now both were gone, and she still left. And yet she -knew that Hébert was loose again. When she had first -heard of his release she spent days of shuddering -apprehension, but as the time went on she began to entertain -a trembling hope that she was forgotten, as happened to -more than one prisoner in those days.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hébert was loose again, but, for a time at least, with -hands too full of public matters, and brain too occupied -with the struggle for existence, to concern himself with -matters of private pleasure or revenge.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was the middle of June before he thought seriously -of Mlle de Rochambeau.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dangeau is returning," said Danton one morning, -and Hébert's dormant spite woke again into full activity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the Abbaye, the hot afternoon waned; a drowsy -stillness fell upon its inmates. Mme de Matigny dozed -a little. She had grown older in the past few weeks, -but her glance was still piercing, and she woke at -intervals with a start, and let it rest sharply upon her little -circle, as if forbidding them to be aware of Juno nodding.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marguerite and Aline sat together: Aline half asleep -with her head in her friend's lap, for Mme de Coigny's -baby had died at dawn, and she had been up all night -tending it, and now fatigue had its way with her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly a turnkey stumbled in. He had been drinking, -and stood blinking a moment as, coming from the -dark corridor, he met the level sunlight full. Then he -called Mlle de Rochambeau's name, and as she awoke -with a sense of startled amazement Marguerite flung -soft arms about her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, ma mie, ma belle, ma bien aimée!" she cried, -sobbing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Chut!" said the man, with a leer. "She 'd rather -hear that from some one else, I take it, my little -Citoyenne. If I 'm not mistaken there 's some one ready -enough. There 's no need to cry this time, since it is -only to see a visitor that I want the Citoyenne. There 's -a Citizen Deputy below with an order to see her, so less -noise, please, and march."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The blood ran back to Aline's cheek. Only two days -back the Abbé had mentioned Dangeau's name, and had -said he was returning. If it should be he? The -thought flashed, and was checked even as it flashed, but -she followed the man with a step that was buoyant in -spite of her fatigue. Then in the gaoler's room—Hébert!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Just a moment's pause, and she came forward with -a composure that hid God knows what of shrinking, -maidenly disgust.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hébert was not attractive to look at. His garments -were dusty and wine-stained, his creased, yellow linen -revealing a frowsy and unshaven chin, where the reddish -hair showed unpleasantly upon the fat, unwholesome -flesh. He laughed, disclosing broken teeth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was not I whom you expected, hein Citoyenne," -he said, with diabolical intuition. "He gets tired easily, -you see, our good Jacques Dangeau, and lips that have -been kissed too often don't tempt him any more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His leer pointed the insult, and an intolerable burning -invaded every limb, but she steadied herself against -the wall, and leaned there, her head still up, facing him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you think I had forgotten you too?" he pursued, -smiling odiously. "Ah! I see you did me that injustice, -but you do not know me, ma belle. Mine is such a -faithful heart. It never forgets, never; and it always -gets what it wants in the end. I have been in prison -too, as you may have heard—yes, you did? And -grieved for me, pretty one, that I am sure of. A few -rascals crossed my path and annoyed me for the moment. -Where are they now? Trembling under arrest. Had -they not detained me, I should have flown to you long -ago; but I trust that now you acquit me of the -discourtesy of keeping a lady waiting. I am really the -soul of politeness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a pause. Mademoiselle held to the wall, -and kept her eyes away from his face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your affair comes on to-morrow," he said, with a -brisk change of tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For the moment she really felt a sense of thankfulness. -So she was delivered from the unbearable affront -of this man's presence what did death matter?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hébert guessed her thoughts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rather death than me, hein?" he said, leaning -closer. "Is that what you are thinking, Ma'mselle -White-face?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her eyes spoke for her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can save you yet," he cried, angered by her -silence. "A word from me and your patriotism is -above reproach. Come, you 've made a good fight, and -I won't say that has n't made me like you all the better. -I always admire spirit; but now it's time the play was -over. Down with the curtain, and let's kiss and make -friends behind it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle stood silent, a helpless thing at bay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You won't, eh?" and his tone changed suddenly. -"Very well, my pretty piece of innocence; it's Fouquier -Tinville to-morrow, and then the guillotine,—but"—his -voice sank savagely—"my turn first."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She quivered in a sick horror. "What did he mean; -what could he do? Oh, Mary Virgin!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His face came very close with its pale, hideous smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come to me willingly, and I 'll save your life and -set you free when I 've had enough of you. Remain -the obstinate pig you are, and you shall come all the -same, but the guillotine shall have you next day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her white lips moved.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You cannot—" she breathed almost inaudibly. -Her senses were clouding and reeling, but she clutched -desperately at that one thought. Some things were -impossible. This was one of them. Death—yes, and -oh, quickly, quickly; no more of this torture. But this -new, monstrous threat—no, no, dear God! no, such a -thing could not, could not happen!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The room was all mist, swirling, rolling mist out of -which looked Hébert's eyes. Through it sounded his -voice, his laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cannot, cannot—fine words, my pretty, fine words. -When one has friends, good friends, one can do a good -deal more than you think, and instead of finding yourself -in the Conciergerie between sentence and execution, I -can arrange quite nicely that you should be in these -loving arms of mine. Aha, my dear! What do you -say now? Will you hear reason, or no?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The mist covered everything now, and the wall she -leaned against seemed to rock and give. She spread -out her hands, and with a gasp fell waveringly, first to her -knees, and then sideways upon the stones in a dead faint.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="distressing-news"><span class="large">CHAPTER XVII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">DISTRESSING NEWS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Dangeau entered Paris next morning. His -mission had dragged itself out to an interminable -length. Even now he returned alone, his colleague, -Bonnet, having been ordered to remain at Lyons for -the present, whilst Dangeau made report at headquarters. -The cities of the South smouldered ominously, and were -ready at a breath to break into roaring flame. Even -as Dangeau rode the first tongues of fire ran up, and -a general conflagration threatened. Of this he rode to -give earnest warning, and his face was troubled and -anxious, though the outdoor life had given it a brown -vigour which had been lacking before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He put up his horse at an inn and walked to his old -quarters with a warm glow rising in his breast; a glow -before which all misgivings and preoccupations grew -faint.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had not been able to forget the pale, proud -aristocrat, who had claimed his love so much against his -will and hers; but in his days of absence he had set her -image as far apart as might be, involving himself in -the press of public business, to the exclusion of his -thoughts of her. But now—now that he was about -to see her again, the curtain at the back of his mind -lifted, and showed her standing—an image in a -shrine—unapproachably radiant, unforgettably enchanting, -unalterably dear, and all the love in him fell on its -knees and adored with hidden face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He passed up the Rue des Lanternes and beheld its -familiar features transfigured. Here she had walked -all the months of his absence, and here perhaps she had -thought of him; there in the little room had mingled -his name with her sweet prayers. He remembered -hotly the night he had asked her if she prayed for him, -and her low, exquisitely tremulous, "Yes, Citizen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He drew a long, deep breath and entered the small shop.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was dark coming in from the glare, but he made -out Rosalie in her accustomed seat, only it seemed to -him that she was huddled forward in an unusual manner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Citoyenne!" he cried cheerfully, "I am back, -you see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rosalie raised her head and stared at him, and she -seemed to be coming back with difficulty from a great -distance. As his eyes grew used to the change from -the outer day he looked curiously at her face. There -was something strange, it seemed to him, about the -sunken eyes; they had lost the old shrewd look, and -were dull and wavering. For a moment it occurred to -him that she had been drinking; then the heavy glance -changed, brightening into recognition.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You, Citizen?" she said, with a sort of dull surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Myself, and very glad to be back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are well, Citizen?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you, I fear, suffering?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rosalie pulled herself together.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no," she protested, "I am well too, quite well. -It is only that the days are dull when there is no -spectacle, and I sit there and think, and count the heads, -and wonder if it hurt them much; and then it makes -my own head ache, and I become stupid."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau shuddered lightly. A gruesome welcome this.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I would not go and see such things," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sometimes I wish—" began Rosalie, and then -paused; a red patch came on either sallow cheek. "It -is too ennuyant when there is nothing to excite one, -voyez-vous? Yesterday there were five, and one of -them struggled. Ah, that gave me a palpitation! They -say it was n't an aristocrat. </span><em class="italics">They</em><span> all die alike, with a -little stretched smile and steady eyes—no crying -out—I find that tiresome at the last."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Rosalie," said Dangeau, "you should stay -at home as you used to. Since when have you become -a gadabout? You will finish by having bad dreams -and losing your appetite."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rosalie looked up with a sort of horrid animation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, j'y suis déjà," she said quickly. "Already I -see them in the night. A week ago I wake, cold, -wet—and there stands the Citizen Cléry with his head -under his arm like any St. Denis. Could I eat next -day?—Ma foi, no! And why should he come to me, -that Cléry? Was it I who had a hand in his death? -These revenants have not common-sense. It is my -cousin Thérèse whose nights should be disturbed, not -mine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau looked at her steadily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, come, Rosalie," he said, "enough of -this—Edmond Cléry's head is safe enough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes," nodded Rosalie, "safe enough in the -great trench. Safe enough till Judgment day, and then -it is Thérèse who must answer, and not I. It was none -of my doing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, Rosalie—mon Dieu! what are you saying—Edmond——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, did you not know?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Woman!—what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ask Thérèse," said Rosalie with a sullen look, and -fell to plaiting the border of her coarse apron.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rosalie!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His voice startled her, and her mood shifted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, to be sure, he was a friend of yours, and it is -bad news. Ah, he 's dead, there 's no doubt of that. -I saw it with my own eyes. He had been ill, and -could hardly mount the steps; but in the end he -smiled and waved his hand, and went off as bravely -as the best of them. It is a pity, but he offended -Thérèse, and she is a devil. I told her so; I said to -her, 'Thérèse, I think you are a devil,' and she only -laughed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau could see that laugh,—red, red lips, and -white, even teeth, and all the while lips that had kissed -hers livid, dabbled with blood. Oh, horrible! Poor -Cléry, poor Edmond!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He gave a great shudder and forced his thoughts -away from the vision they had evoked, but he sought -voice twice before he could say:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All else are well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked sullen again, and shrugged her shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ma foi, Citizen, Paris does not stand still."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He bit his lip.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But here, in this house?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am well, I have said so before."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned as if to go.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the Citoyenne Roche?" He had his voice in -hand now, and the question had a careless ring.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gone," said Rosalie curtly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In a flash that veil of carelessness had dropped. His -hand fell heavily upon her shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gone—where?" he asked tensely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where every one goes these days, these fine days. -To prison, to the guillotine. They all go there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment Dangeau's heart stood still, then -laboured so that his voice was beyond control. It came -in husky gasps. "Dead—she is dead. Oh, mon Dieu, -mon Dieu!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rosalie was rocking to and fro, counting on her -fingers. His emotion seemed to please her, for she -gave a foolish smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She has a little white neck, very smooth and soft," -she muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A terrible sound broke from Dangeau's ghastly lips; -a sound that steadied for a moment the woman's -tottering mind. She looked up curiously, as if recalling -something, smoothed the hair from her forehead, and -touched the rigid hand which lay upon her shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tiens, Citizen," she said in a different tone, "she is -not dead yet"; and the immense relief gave Dangeau's -anger rein.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Woman!" he said violently, "what has happened? -Where is she? At once——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rosalie twitched away her shoulder, shrinking back -against the wall. This blaze of anger kept her sane for -the moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She is in prison, at the Abbaye," she said. Under -the excitement her brain cleared, and she was thinking -now, debating how much she should tell him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Since when?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A month—six weeks—what do I know?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How came she to be arrested?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How should I know, Citizen?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you betray her? You knew who she was. -Take care and do not lie to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I lie, I—Citizen! But I was her best friend, and -when that beast Hébert came hanging round——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hébert?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She took his fancy, Heaven knows why, and you -know her proud ways. Any other girl would have -played with him a little, given a smile or two, and kept -him off; but she, with her nose in the air, and her eyes -looking past him, as if he was n't fit for her to see,—why, -she made him feel as if he were the mud under her feet, -and what could any one expect? He got her clapped -into the Abbaye, to repent at leisure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau was a man of clean lips, but now he called -down damnation upon Hébert's black soul with an -earnestness that frightened Rosalie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What more do you know? Tell me at once!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned uneasily from the look in his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She will be tried to-day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are sure?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thérèse told me, and she and Hébert are thick as -thieves again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What hour? Dieu! what hour? It is ten o'clock now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Before noon, I think she said, but I can't be sure -of that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are lying?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, Citizen—I do not know—indeed I do not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He saw that she was speaking the truth, and turned -from her with a despairing gesture. As he stumbled -out of the shop he knocked over a great basket of -potatoes, and Rosalie, with a sort of groan of relief, went -down on her knees and began to gather them up. As -the excitement of the scene she had been through -subsided her eyes took that dull glaze again. Her -movements became slower, and she stared oddly at the brown -potatoes as she handled them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One—two—three," she counted in a monotonous -voice, dropping them into the basket. At each little -thud she started slightly, then went on counting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Four—five—six—seven—eight—" Suddenly she -stared at them heavily. "There's no blood," she -muttered, "no blood."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Half an hour later Thérèse found her with a phlegmatic -smile upon her face and idle hands folded over -something that lay beneath her coarse apron.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come along then, Rosalie," she called out -impatiently. "Have you forgotten the trial?—we've -not too much time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" said Rosalie, nodding slowly; "ah, the trial."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thérèse tapped impatiently with her foot.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come then, for Heaven's sake! or we shall not get -places."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Places," said Rosalie suddenly; "what for?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ma foi, if you are not stupid to-day. The trial, I -tell you, that Rochambeau girl's trial—white-faced little -fool. Ciel! if I could not play my cards better than -that," and she laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rosalie's hands were hidden by her apron. One of -them clutched something. The fingers lifted one by one, -and in her mind she counted, "One—two—three—four—five"—and -then back again—"One—two—three—four—five—" Thérèse -was staring at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the matter with you to-day?" she said. -"Are you coming or no? It will be amusing, Hébert -says; but if you prefer to sit here and sulk, do so by all -means. For me, I go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned to do so, but Rosalie was already getting -out of her chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait then, Thérèse," she grumbled. "Is no one -to have any amusement but you? There, give me your -arm, come close. Now tell me what's going to happen?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, just the trial, but I thought you wanted to see -it. For me, I always think it makes the execution more -interesting if one has seen the trial also."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dangeau is back," said Rosalie irrelevantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thérèse laughed loud.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He has a fine welcome home," she said. "Well, -are you coming, for I 've no mind to wait?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is only the trial," said Rosalie vaguely. "Just a -trial—and what is that? I do not care for a trial, -there is no blood."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed a little and rocked, cuddling what lay -beneath her apron.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just a trial," she muttered; "but whose trial did -you say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thérèse lost patience. She stamped on the floor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, again? What the devil is the matter with -you to-day? Are you drunk?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rosalie turned her big head and looked at her cousin. -They were standing close together, and her left hand, -with its strong, stumpy fingers, closed like a vice upon -the girl's arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I 'm not drunk, not drunk, Thérèse," she said -in a thick voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thérèse tried to shake her off.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, you sound like it, and behave like it, you old -fool," she said furiously. "Drunk or crazy, it's all -one. Let go of me, I shall be late."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Rosalie, nodding her head—"yes, you -will be late, Thérèse."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Va, imbécile!" cried the girl in a passion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she spoke she hit the nodding face sharply, -twitching violently to one side in the effort to free her -arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The ponderous hand closed tighter, and Thérèse, -turning again with a curse, saw that upon Rosalie's -heavily flushed face that stopped the words half-way, -and changed them to a shriek.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Mary Virgin!" she screamed, and saw the -hidden right hand come swinging into sight, holding a -long, sharp knife such as butchers use at their work. -Her eyes were all black, dilated pupil, and she choked -on the breath she tried to draw in order to scream again. -Oh, the hand! the knife!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It flashed and fell, wrenched free and fell again, and -Thérèse went down, horribly mute, her hands grasping -in the air, and catching at the basket across which she -fell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She would scream no more now. The knife clattered -to the floor from Rosalie's suddenly opened hand, and, -as if the sound were a signal, Thérèse gave one convulsive -shudder, which passed with a gush of crimson.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rosalie went down on her knees, and gathered a handful -of the brown tubers from the piled basket. She had -to push the corpse aside to get at them, and she did it -without a glance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then she threw the potatoes back into the basket -one by one. She wore a complacent smile. Her eyes -were intent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, there is blood," she said, nodding as if -satisfied. "Now, there is blood."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-trial-and-a-wedding"><span class="large">CHAPTER XVIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">A TRIAL AND A WEDDING</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Of the hours that passed after that death-like swoon -of hers Mlle de Rochambeau never spoke. -Never again could she open the door behind which -lurked madness, and an agony such as women have had -to bear, time and again, but of which no woman whom -it has threatened can speak. Hébert had given his -orders, and she was thrust into an empty cell, where she -lay cowering, with hidden face, and lips that trembled -too much to pray.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hébert's threat lay in her mind like a poison in the -body. Soon it would kill—but not in time, not soon -enough. She could not think, or reason, and hope was -dead. Something else had come in its place, a thing -unformulated and dreadful, not to be thought of, -unbelievable, and yet unbearably, irrevocably present.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Oh, the long, shuddering hours, and yet, by a twist -of the tortured brain, how short—how brief—for now -she saw them as barriers between her and hell, and each -as it fell away left her a thing more utterly unhelped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When they brought her out in the morning, and she -stepped from the dark prison into the warm, sunny -daylight, she raised her head and looked about her a little -wonderingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Still a sun in the sky! Still summer shine and -breath, and beautiful calm space of blue ethereal light -above. A sort of stunned bewilderment fell upon her, -and she sat very still and quiet all the way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Inside the hall citizens crowded and jostled one -another for a place; plump, respectable mothers of -families, cheek by jowl with draggled wrecks of the -slums, moneyed shopkeepers, tattered loafers, a -wild-eyed Jacobin or two, and everywhere women, women, -women. Women with their children, lifting a round-eyed -starer high to see the white-faced aristocrat go -past; women with their work, whose chattering tongues -kept pace with the clattering needles; women fiercer and -more cruel than men, to whom death and blood and -anguish were become a stimulant more fatally potent than -any alcohol.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There were men there too, gaping, yawning, telling -horrible tales, men whose hands had dripped innocent -blood in September. There was a reek of garlic, the -air was abominably hot and close, and wherever citizens -could get an elbow free one saw a mopping of greasy -faces going forward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As Mademoiselle de Rochambeau was brought in, a -sort of growling murmur went round. The crowd was -in a dangerous mood: on the verge of ennui, it wanted -something fresh—a sauce piquante to its daily dish—and -here was only another cursed aristocrat with nothing -very remarkable about her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked round, not curiously, but in some vague, -helpless fashion, which might have struck pity from -hearts less inured to suffering. On the raised stage to -which they had brought her there were a couple of -rough tables. At the nearest of the two sat a number -of men, very dirty and evil-eyed—Fouquier Tinville's -carefully packed jury; and at the farther one, Herman, -the great tow-haired Judge President, with his heavy air -of being half asleep; and Tinville himself, the Public -Prosecutor, low-browed, with retreating chin—Renard -the Fox, as a contemporary squib has it, the perpetrator -of which lost his head for his pains. Behind him lounged -Hébert, hands in pockets, light eyes roving here and -there. She saw him and turned her head away with the -wince of a trapped animal, looking through a haze of -misery to the sea of faces below.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There is a peculiar effluence from any large body of -people. Their encouragement, or their hostility, -radiates from them, and has an overwhelming influence -upon the mind. When the crowd cheers how quickly -enthusiasm spreads, until, like a rising tide, it covers -its myriad human grains of sand! And a multitude in -anger?—No one who has heard it can forget!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Imagine, then, one bruised, tormented human speck, -girl in years, gently nurtured, set high in face of a -packed assemblage, every upturned face in which looked -at her with appraising lust, bloodthirsty cruelty, or -inhuman curiosity. A wild panic unknown before swept -in upon her soul. She had not thought it could feel -again, but between Hébert's glance, which struck her -like a shameful blow, and all these eyes staring with -hatred, her reason rocked, and she felt a scream rise -shuddering from the very centre of her being.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Those watching saw both slender hands catch suddenly -at the white throat, whilst for a minute the darkened -eyes stared wildly round; then, with a supreme effort, she -drew herself up, and stood quietly, and if the blood beat -a mad tune on heart and brain, there was no outward -sign, except a pallor more complete, and a tightening -of the clasped, fallen hands that left the knuckles -white.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was thus, after months of absence, that Dangeau -saw her again, and the rage and love and pity in his -heart boiled up until it challenged his utmost -self-control to keep his hands from Hébert's throat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hébert smiled, but uneasily. This was what he had -planned—wished for—and yet— Face to face with -Dangeau again, he felt the old desire to slink past, and -get out of the range of the white, hot anger in the eyes -that for a moment seemed to scorch his face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau had come in quietly enough, and stood first -at the edge of the crowd, by the steps which led to the -raised platform on which accused and judges were placed. -He had shot his bolt, had made a vain effort to see -Danton, and was now come here to do he knew not what.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle looking straight before her, with eyes -that now saw nothing, was not aware of his presence, as -in a strained, far-away voice she answered the questions -Fouquier Tinville put to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your name?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aline Marie de Rochambeau."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are a cousin of the late ci-devant and -conspirator Montargis?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A sort of howl went up from the back of the room, -where a knot of filthy men stood gesticulating.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you were betrothed to that other traitor -Sélincourt?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The answers dropped almost indifferently from the -scarcely parted lips, but she shrank and swayed a little, -as a second shout followed her reply, and she caught -curses, cries for her death, and a woman's scream of, -"Down with Sélincourt's mistress! Give her to us! -Throw her down!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Tinville waved for silence and gradually the noise -lessened, the audience settling down with the reflection -that perhaps it would be a pity to cut the play short in -its first act.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have conspired against the Republic?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I say yes," said Tinville loudly. "Citizen -Hébert discovered you under an assumed name. Why -did you take a name that was not your own if you had -no intention of plotting? Are honest citizens ashamed -of their names?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau swung himself on to the platform and came -forward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Citizen President," he said quietly. "I claim to -represent the accused, who has, I see, no counsel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Herman looked up stupidly, a vague smile on his -broad, blond face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We have done away with counsel for the defence," -he observed, with a large, explanatory wave of the hand. -"It took too much time. The Revolutionary Tribunal -now has increased powers, and requires only to hear and -to be convinced of the prisoners' crimes. We have -simplified the forms since you went south, Citizen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fouquier Tinville glanced at him with venomous -intention. "And the Citizen delays us," he said -politely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline had let one only sign of feeling escape her,—a -soft, quick gasp as Dangeau came within the contracting -circle of her consciousness,—but the sound reached him -and came sweetly to his ears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned again to Herman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you still hear witnesses, or whence the -conviction?" he said in a carefully controlled voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is Dangeau, our Dangeau!" shouted a woman near -the front. "Let him speak if he wants to: what does -he know of the girl?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He recognised little Louison, hanging to her big -husband's arm, and sent her a smiling nod of thanks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Witnesses, by all means," shrugged Tinville, to -whom Hébert had been whispering. "Only be quick, -Citizen, and remember it is a serious thing to try to -justify a conspirator." He turned and whispered back, -"He 'll talk his head off if we give him the chance—devil -speed him!" then leaned across the table and -inquired:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you know of the accused?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know her motive for changing her name."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you know her motive—eh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau raised his voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A patriotic one. She came to Paris, she witnessed -the corruption and vice of aristocrats, and she determined -to come out from among them and throw in her lot -with the people."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle turned slowly and faced him. Now if -she spoke, if she demurred, if she even looked a -contradiction of his words, they were both lost—both.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His eyes implored, commanded her, but her lips were -already opening, and he could see denial shaping there, -denial which would be a warrant of death, when of a -sudden she met Hébert's dull, anxious gaze, and, -shuddering, closed her lips, and looked down again at the -uneven, dusty floor. Dangeau let out his breath with -a gasp of relief, and spoke once more.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She called herself Marie Roche because her former -name was hateful to her. She worked hard, and went -hungry. I call on Louison Michel to corroborate my -words."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hébert raised a careless hand, and instantly there was -a clamour of voices from the back. He congratulated -himself in having had the forethought to install a claque, -as they listened to the cries of, "Death to the aristocrat! -Down with the conspirator! Death! Death!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau turned from the bar to the people.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Citizens," he cried, "I turn to you for justice. -What did they say in the bad old days?—'The King's -voice is God's voice,' and I say it still." The clamour -rose again, but his voice dominated it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I say it still, for, though the King is dead, a new -king lives whose reign will never end,—the Sovereign -People,—and at their bar I know there will be equal -justice shown, and no consideration of persons. Why -did Capet fall? Why did I vote for his death? Because -of oppression and injustice. Because there was no -protection for the weak—no hearing for the poor. But -shall not the People do justice? Citizens, I appeal to -you—I am confident in your integrity."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A confused uproar followed, some shouting, "Hear -him!" and others still at their old parrot-cry of, "Death! -Death!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Above it all rang Louison's shrill cry:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A speech, a speech! Let Dangeau speak!" and by -degrees it was taken up by others.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The girl is innocent. Will you, just Citizens, -punish her for a name which she has discarded, for -parents who are dead, and relations from whom she -shrank in horror? I vouch for her, I tell you—I, -Jacques Dangeau. Does any one accuse me? Does -any one cast a slur upon my patriotism? I tell you I -would cut off my right hand if it offended those -principles which I hold dearer than my life; and saying -that, I say again, I vouch for her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All very fine that," called a man's voice, "but -what right have you to speak for her, Citizen? Has n't -the girl a tongue of her own?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes!" shouted a big brewer who had swung -himself to the edge of the platform, and sat there -kicking his heels noisily. "Yes, yes! it 's all very well to -say 'I vouch for her,' but there 's only one woman any -man can vouch for, and that's his wife."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, Robinot, can you vouch for yours?" screamed -Louison; and a roar of laughter went up, spiced by the -brewer's very evident discomfort.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, what's she to you after all?" said another woman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A hussy!" shrieked a third.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An aristocrat!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you know of her, and how do you know it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Explain, explain!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Death, death to the aristocrat!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau sent his voice ringing through the hall:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She is my betrothed!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A momentary hush fell upon the assembly. Hébert -sprang forward with a curse, but Tinville plucked him -back, whispering, "Let him go on; that 'll damn him, -and is n't that what you want?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again Aline's lips moved, but instead of speaking -she put both hands to her heart, and stood pressing -them there silently. In the strength of that silence -Dangeau turned upon the murmuring crowd.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She is my betrothed, and I answer for her. You all -know me. She is an aristocrat no longer, but the -Daughter of the Revolution, for it has borne her into a -new life. All the years before she has discarded. From -its mighty heart she has drawn the principles of freedom, -and at its guiding hand learned her first trembling steps -towards Liberty. In trial of poverty, loneliness, and -hunger she has proved her loyalty to the other children -of our great Mother. Sons and Daughters of the -Republic, protect this child who claims to be of your -line, who holds out her hands to you and cries: 'Am -I not one of you? Will you not acknowledge -me? brothers before whom I have walked blamelessly, -sisters amongst whom I have lived in poverty and -humility.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He caught Mademoiselle's hand, and held it up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"See the fingers pricked and worn, as many of yours -are pricked and worn. See the thin face—thin as your -daughters' faces are thin when there is not food for all, -and the elder must go without that the younger may -have more. Look at her. Look well, and remember -she comes to you for justice. Citizens, will you kill -your converts? She gives her life and all its hopes to -the Republic, and will the Republic destroy the gift? -Keep the knife to cut away the alien and the enemy. -Is my betrothed an alien? Shall my wife be an enemy? -I swear to you that, if I believed it, my own hand would -strike her down! If there is a citizen here who does -not believe that I would shed the last drop of my -heart's blood before I would connive at the danger of -the Republic, let him come forward and accuse me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop him!" gasped Hébert.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fouquier Tinville shrugged his shoulders, as he and -Herman exchanged glances.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, thanks, Hébert," he said coolly. "He's got -them now, and I 've no fancy for a snug position -between the upper and the nether millstone. After all, -what does it matter? There are a hundred other -girls" and he spat on the dirty floor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Undoubtedly Dangeau had them, for in that pause -no one spoke, and his voice rang out again at its full -strength:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come forward then. Do any accuse me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a prolonged hush. The jury growled -amongst themselves, but no one coveted the part of -spokesman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Once Hébert started forward, cleared his throat, then -reflected for a moment on Danton and his ways—reflected, -too, that this transaction would hardly bear the -light of day, cursed the universe at large, and fell back -into his chair choking with rage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It appeared that no one accused Dangeau. Far in -the crowd a pretty gipsy of a girl laughed loudly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Handsome Dangeau for me!" she cried. "Vive -Dangeau!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In a minute the whole hall took it up, and the roof -rang with the shouting. The girl who had laughed had -been lifted to her lover's shoulders, and stood there, -flushed and exuberant, leading the cheers with her wild, -shrill voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When the noise fell a little, she waved her arms, -crying, with a peal of laughter:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let's have a wedding, a wedding, mes amis! If -she 's the Daughter of the Revolution, let the -Revolution give away the bride, and we 'll all say Amen!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The crowd's changed mood tossed the new suggestion -into instant popularity. The girl's cry was taken up on -all sides, there was bustling to and fro, laughter, gossip, -whispering, shouting, and general jubilation. A fête, a -spectacle—something new—oh, but quite new. A trial -that ended in the bridal of the victim, to be sure one -did not see that every day. That was romantic. That -made one's heart beat. Well, well, she was in luck to get -a handsome lover instead of having her head sliced off.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Vive Dangeau! Vive Dangeau and the Daughter -of the Revolution!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Up on to the platform swarmed the crowd, laughing, -gesticulating, pressing upon the jury, and even jostling -Fouquier Tinville himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hébert bent to his ear in a last effort, but got only a -curse and a shrug for his pains.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I tell you, he 's got them, and no human power can -thwart them now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You should have shut his mouth! Why in the -devil's name did you let him speak?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You wanted him to compromise himself, and it -seemed the easiest way. He has the devil's own luck. -Hark to the fools with their 'Vive Dangeau!' A while -ago it was 'Death to the aristocrat!' and now it 's -'Dangeau and the Daughter of the Revolution!'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Speak to them,—do something," insisted Hébert.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Try it yourself, and get torn to pieces," retorted -the other. "The girl 's not my fancy. Burn your own -fingers if you want to."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau was at the table now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We await the decision of the Tribunal," he said, -with a hint of sarcasm in the quiet tones.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fouquier Tinville's eyes rested insolently upon him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Our Sovereign has decided, it seems," he said. -"For me—I throw up the prosecution."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hébert flung away with an oath, and Herman bent -stolidly and wrote against the interrogatory the one -word, "Acquitted."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It stood out black and bold in his gross scrawl, and as -he threw the sand on it, Dangeau turned away with a -bow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Some one was being pushed through the crowd—a -dark man in civil dress, but with the priest's look on -his sallow, nervous face. Dangeau recognised the odd, -cleft chin and restless eyes of Latour, the Constitutional -curé of St. Jean.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A wedding, a wedding!" shouted the whole assembly, -those at the back crying the more loudly, as if to make -up by their own noise for not being able to hear what -was passing on the platform.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A wedding, a wedding!" shrieked the same women -who, not half an hour ago, had raised the howl for the -aristocrat's blood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bride, bridegroom, and priest," laughed the gipsy-eyed -girl. "What more do we want? The Citizen -President can give away the bride, and I 'll be brides-maid. -Set me down then, Réné, and let 's to work."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her lover pushed a way to the front and lifted her -on to the stage. She ran to Mademoiselle and began to -touch her hair and settle the kerchief at her throat, -whilst Aline stood quite, quite still, and let her do what -she would.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had not stirred since Dangeau had released her -hand, and within her every feeling and emotion lay -swooning. It was as if a black tide had risen, covering -all within. Upon its dark mirror floated the reflection -of Hébert's cruel eyes, and loose lips that smiled upon a -girl's shamed agony. If those waters rose any higher -they would flood her brain and send her mad with horror, -Dangeau's voice seemed to arrest the tide, and whilst -he spoke the reflection wavered and grew faint. She -listened, knowing what he said, as one knows the contents -of a book read long ago; but it was the voice itself, -not the words carried on it, that reached her reeling -brain and steadied it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All at once a hand on her hair, at her breast; a girl's -eyes shining with excitement, whilst a shrill voice -whispered, "Saints! how pale you are! What! not a blush -for the bridegroom?" Then loud laughter all around, -and she felt herself pushed forward into an open space.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A ring had been formed around one of the tables; -men and women jostled at its outskirts, pushed one -another aside, and stood on tiptoe, peeping and applauding. -In the centre, Dangeau with his tricolour sash; -Mademoiselle, upon whose head some one had thrust -the scarlet cap of Liberty; and the priest, whose eyes -looked back and forth like those of a nervous horse. -He cleared his throat, moistened his dry lips, and began -the Office. After a second's pause, Dangeau took the -bride's hand and did his part. Cold as no living thing -should be, it lay in his, unresisting and unresponsive, -whilst his was like his mood—hotly masterful. After -one glance he dared not trust himself to look at her. -Her white features showed no trace of emotion, her eyes -looked straight before her in a calm stare, her voice -made due response without tremor or hesitation. "Ego -conjugo vos," rang the tremendous words, and they rose -from their knees before that strange assembly, man -and wife in the sight of God and the Republic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Kiss her then, Citizen," laughed the bridesmaid, -slipping her arm through Dangeau's, and he touched -the marble forehead with his lips. The first kiss of his -strong love, and given and taken so. Fire and ice met, -thrust into contact of all contacts the most intimate. -How strange, how unbearable! Fraught with what -presage of disaster.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now you may kiss me," said the bridesmaid, pouting. -"Réné isn't looking; but be quick, Citizen, for -he 's jealous, and a broken head would n't be a pleasant -marriage gift."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Like a man in a dream he brushed the glowing cheek, -and felt its warmth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yes, so the living felt; but his bride was cold, as the -week-old dead are cold.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-barrier"><span class="large">CHAPTER XIX</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">THE BARRIER</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>After the wedding, what a home-coming! Dangeau -had led his pale bride through the cheering, -applauding crowd, which followed them to their very -door, and on the threshold horror met them—for the floor -was dabbled with blood. Thérèse's corpse lay yet in the -house, and a voluble neighbour told how Rosalie had -murdered her cousin, and had been taken, raving, to the -cells of the Salpêtrière. The crowd was all agog for -details, and, taking advantage of the diversion, Dangeau -cleared a path for himself and Aline. He took her to -her old room and closed the door. The silence fell -strangely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dearest, you are safe. Thank God you are safe," -he said in broken tones.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked straight before her with an expression -deeper than that which is usually called unconscious, her -eyes wide and piteous, like those of a child too badly -frightened to cry out. He took her cold hands and held -them to his breast, chafing them gently, trying to revive -their warmth, and she let him do it, still with that -far-away, unreal look.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear, I must go," he said after a moment. "For -both our sakes I must see Danton at once, before any -garbled tale reaches his ear. I will see that there is -some one in the house. Louison Michel would come I -think. There is my report to make, letters of the first -importance to be delivered; a good deal of work before -me, in fact. But you will not be afraid now? You are -safer than any woman in Paris to-day. You will not be -nervous?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shook her head slightly, and drew one hand away -in order to push the hair from her forehead. The gesture -was a very weary one, and Dangeau would have given -the world to catch her in his arms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So tired, my heart," he said in a low voice; and as a -little quiver took her, he continued quickly: "I will find -Louison; she came here with us, and is sure not to be far -away. She will look after you, and bring you food, and -then you should sleep. I dare not stay."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He kissed the hand which still lay passively in his and -went out hurriedly, not trusting himself to turn and look -at her again lest he should lose his careful self-control -and startle her by some wild outpouring of love, triumph, -and thankfulness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline heard his footsteps die away, listening with -strained attention until the last sound melted into a -tense silence. Then she looked wildly round, her breast -heaved distressfully, and tottering to the bed she fell on -it face downwards, and lay there in a stunned fatigue of -mind and body that left no place for thought or tears. -Presently came Louison, all voluble eagerness to talk of -the wedding and the murder, especially the latter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And to think that it was Jean's knife! Holy Virgin, -if I had known what she came for! There she sat, and -stared, and stared, until I told her she had best be going, -since I, at least, had no time to waste. Yesterday, that -was; and this morning when Jean seeks his knife it is -gone,—and the noise, and the fuss. 'My friend,' I said, -'do I eat knives?' and with that I turned him out, and -all the while Rosalie had it. Ugh! that makes one -shudder. Not that that baggage Thérèse was any loss, -but it might as well have been you, or me. When one -is mad they do not distinguish. For me, I have said for -a long time that Rosalie's mind was going, and now it is -seen who is right. Well, well, now Charlotte will come -round. Mark my words, Charlotte will be here bright -and early to-morrow, if not to-night. It will be the first -time she has set foot here in ten years. She hated Rosalie -like poison,—a stepmother, only a dozen years older than -herself, and when the old man died she cleared out, and -has never spoken to Rosalie since the funeral. But she 'll -be round now, mark my words."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline lay quite still. She was just conscious that -Louison was there, talking a great deal, and that -presently she brought her some hot soup, which it was -strangely comfortable to swallow. The little woman was -not ungentle with her, and did not leave her until the -half-swoon of fatigue had passed into deep sleep. She -herself was to sleep in the house. Dangeau had asked -her to, saying he might be late, and she had promised, -pleased to be on the spot where such exciting events had -taken place, and convinced that it would be for the health -of her husband's soul to have the charge of the children -for once.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was very late before Dangeau came home. If the -French language holds no such word, his heart supplied -it, for the first time in all the long years during which -there had been no one to miss him going, or look for him -returning. Now the little room under the roof held the -long-loved, the despaired-of, the unattainably-distant,—and -she was his, his wife, caught by his hands from insult -and from death. Outside her door he hesitated a moment, -then lifted the latch with a gentle touch, and went in -reverently. The moon was shining into the room, and -one long beam trembled mistily just above the bed, -throwing upon the motionless form below a light like -that of the land wherein we walk in dreams. Aline was -asleep. She lay on her side, with one hand under her -cheek, and her loosened hair in a great swathe across the -bosom that scarcely seemed to lift beneath it, so deep -the tranced fatigue that held her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The moon was still rising, and the beam slid lower, -lower; now it silvered her brow,—now showed the dark, -curled lashes lying upon a cheek white with that -translucent pallor—sleep's gift to youth. Her chin was a -little lifted, the soft mouth relaxed, and its tender curve -had taken a look at once pitiful and pure, like that of a -child drowsing after pain. Her eyelids were only -half-closed, and he was aware of the sleeping blue within, of -the deeper stain below; and all his heart went out to her -in a tremulous rapture of adoration which caught his -breath, and ran in fire through every vein. How tired -she was, and how deeply asleep,—how young, and pure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A thought of Hébert rose upon his shuddering mind, -and involuntarily words broke from him—"Ah, mon -Dieu!" he said, with heaving chest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline stirred a little; a slow, fluttering sigh interrupted -her breathing, as she withdrew the hand beneath her -cheek and put it out gropingly. Then she sighed again -and turned from the light, nestling into the pillow with -a movement that hid her face. If Dangeau had gone to -her then, knelt by the bed, and put his arms about her, -she might have turned to his protecting love as -instinctively as ever child to its mother. But that very love -withheld him. That, and the thought of Hébert. If -she should think him such another! Oh, God forbid!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked once more, blessed her in his soul, and -turned away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the morning he was afoot betimes. Danton had -set an early hour for the conclusion of the business -between them, and it was noon past before he returned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the shop he found a pale, dark, thin-lipped woman, -engaged in an extremely thorough scrubbing and tidying -of the premises. She stopped him at once, with a -grin—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll have no loafing or gossiping here, Citizen"; and -received his explanation with perfect indifference.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am Charlotte Leboeuf. I take everything over. -Bah! the state the house is in! Fitter for pigs than -Christians. For the time you may stay on. You have -two rooms, you say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, two, Citoyenne."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you wish to keep them? Well, I have no -objection. Later on I shall dispose of the business, but -these are bad times for selling; and now, if the Citizen -will kindly not hinder me at my work any more for the -present." She shrugged her shoulders expressively, -adding, as she seized the broom again, "Half the quarter has -been here already, but they got nothing out of me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline had risen and dressed herself. Rosalie had left -her room just as it was on the day of her arrest, and -the dust stood thick on table, floor, and window-sill. -Mechanically she began to set things straight; to dust -and arrange her few possessions, which lay just as they -had been left after the usual rummage for treasonable -papers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Presently she found the work she had been doing, a -stitch half taken, the needle rusty. She cleaned it -carefully, running it backwards and forwards through the -stuff of her skirt, and taking the work, she began to sew, -quickly, and without thought of anything except the -neat, fine stitches.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At Dangeau's knock, followed almost immediately by -his entrance, her hands dropped into her lap, and she -looked up in a scared panic of realisation. All that she -had kept at bay rushed in upon her; the little tasks -which she had set as barriers between her and thought -fell away into the past, leaving her face to face with her -husband and the future.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He crossed the floor to her quickly, and took her -hands. He felt them tremble, and put them to his lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aline, my dearest!" he said in a low, vibrating voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With a quick-caught breath she drew away from him, -sore trouble in her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait!" she panted. Oh, where was her courage? -Why had she not thought, planned? What could she -say? "Oh, please wait!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a long pause, whilst he held her hands and -looked into her face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is something—something I must tell you," -she murmured at last, her colour coming and going.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The pressure upon her hands became suddenly agonising.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, mon Dieu! he has not harmed you? Aline, -Aline—for God's sake——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She said, "No, no," hastily, relieved to have something -to answer, wondering that he should be so moved, -frightened by the great sob that shook him. Then—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How do you know about—him?" and the words -came hardly from her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rosalie," he said, catching at his self-control,—"Rosalie -told me—curse him—curse him! Thank -God you are safe. He cannot touch you now. What -is it, then, my dear?" and the voice that had cursed -Hébert seemed to caress her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you know—that"—the word came on a shudder—"you -know why I did—what I did—yesterday. But -no—I forget; no one knew it all, no one knew the worst. -I could n't say it, but now I must—I must."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear, leave it—leave it. Why should you say -anything?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But she took a long breath and went on, speaking very -low, and hurriedly, with bent head, and cheeks that -flamed with a shamed, crimson patch.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is a devil, I think; and when I said I would die, -he said—oh, mon Dieu!—he said his turn came first, he -had friends, he could get me into his power after I was -condemned."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau's arm went up—the arm with which he -would have killed Hébert had he stood before him—and -then fell protectingly about her shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aline, let him go—don't think of him again. You -are safe—Death has given you back to me." But she -shrank away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Monsieur," she said, with a quick gasp, "it was -not death that I feared—indeed it was not death. I -could have died, I should have died, before I -betrayed—everything—as I did yesterday. I should have died, -but there are some things too hard to bear. Oh, I do -not think God can expect a woman to bear—that!" Again -the deep shudder shook her. "Then you came, -and I took the one way out, or let you take it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aline!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no," she cried,—"no, no, you must understand—surely -you understand that there is too much between -us—we can never be—never be—oh, don't you -understand?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau's face hardened. The tenderness went out of -it, and his eyes were cold as steel. How cruelly she was -stabbing him she did not know. Her mind held dazed -to its one idea. She had betrayed the honour of her -race, to save her own. That red river of which she had -spoken long months before, it lay between them still, -only now she had stained her very soul with it. But -not for profit of safety, not for pleasure of love, not even -for life, bare life, but to escape the last, worst insult life -holds—insult of which it is no disgrace to be afraid. She -must make that clear to him, but it was so hard, so hard -to find words, and she was so tired, so bruised, she -hungered so for peace. How easy to yield, to take life's -sweetness with the bitterness, love's promise with love's -pain! But no, it were too base; the bitterness and the -pain were her portion. His part escaped her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When he spoke his changed voice startled her ears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So it comes to this," he said, with a short, bitter -laugh; "having to choose between me and Hébert, you -chose me. Had the choice lain between me and death, -you would have gone to the guillotine without soiling -your fingers by touching me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at him—a bewildered, frightened look.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Pain spurred him on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you make it very clear, my wife. Ah! that -makes you wince? Yes, you are my wife, and you -have just told me that you would rather have died than -have married me. Yesterday I kissed your forehead. -Is there a stain there? Suppose I were to kiss you -now? Suppose I were to claim what is mine? What -then, Aline, what then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A look she had never seen before was in his eyes, as -he bent them upon her. His breath came fast, and for -a moment her mind was terrified by the realisation that -her power to hold, to check him, was gone. This was -a new Dangeau—one she had never seen. She had -been so sure of him. All her fears had been for -herself, for that rebel in her own heart; but she had thought -her self-control could give the law to his, and had never -for a moment dreamed that his could break down -thus, leaving her face to face with—what? Was it the -brute?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shrank, waiting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am your husband, Aline," he said in a strange -voice. "I could compel your kisses. If I bade you -come to me now, what then? Does your Church not -order wives to obey their husbands?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at him piteously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Monsieur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Monsieur? Very well, then, since I order it, -and the Church tells you to obey me, come here and -kiss me, my wife."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That drew a shiver from her, but she came slowly -and stood before him with such a look of appeal as -smote him through all his bitter anger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will obey?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She spoke, agonised.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can compel me. Ah! you have been good to -me—I have thought you good—you will not——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laid his hands heavily upon her shoulders and -felt her shrink. Oh death—the pain of it! He thought -of her lying in the moonlight, and the confiding innocence -of her face. How changed now!—all drawn and terrified. -Hébert had seen it so. He spoke his thought roughly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that how you looked at him?" he said, bending -over her, and she felt her whole body quiver as he spoke. -She half closed her eyes, and looked about to swoon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I can compel you," he said again, low and -bitterly. "I can compel you, but I 'm not Hébert, Aline, -and I shan't ask you to choose between me and death." He -took his hands away and stepped back from her, -breathing hard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I kissed you once, but I shall never kiss you again. -I shall never touch you against your will, you need not -be afraid. That I have loved you will not harm you,—you -can forget it. That you must call yourself Dangeau, -instead of Roche, need not matter to you so greatly. I -shall not trouble you again, so you need not wish you -had chosen my rival, Death. Child, child! don't look -at me like that!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he spoke Aline sank into a chair, and laying her -arms upon the table, she put her head down on them -with a sharp, broken cry:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh God, what have I done—what have I done?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau looked at her with a sort of strained pity. -Then he laughed again that short, hard laugh, which -comes to some men instead of a sob.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mlle de Rochambeau has married out of her order, -but since her plebeian husband quite understands his -place, quite understands that a touch from him would -be worse than death, and since he is fool enough to -accept this proud position, there is not so much harm -done, and you may console yourself, poor child."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Every word stabbed deep, and deeper. How she had -hurt him—oh, how she had hurt him! She pressed her -burning forehead against her trembling hands, and felt -the tears run hot, as if they came from her very heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau had reached the door when he turned -suddenly, came back and laid his hand for a moment -on her shoulder. Even at that moment, to touch her -was a poignant and wonderful thing, but he drew back -instantly, and spoke in a harsh tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One thing I have a right to ask—that you remember -that you bear my name, that you bear in mind that I -have pledged my honour for you. You have been at the -Abbaye; I hear the place is honeycombed with plots. -My wife must not plot. If I have saved your honour, -remember you hold mine. I pledged it to the people -yesterday, I pledged it to Danton to-day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline raised her head proudly. Her eyes were steady -behind the brimming tears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur, your honour is safe," she said, with a thrill -in her voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau gazed long at her—something of the look -upon his face with which a man takes his farewell of -the beloved dead. Then his whole face set cool and -hard, and without another word he turned and strode -out, his dreamed-of home in ruins—love's ashes heaped -and dusty on the cold and broken hearth.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-royalist-plot"><span class="large">CHAPTER XX</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">A ROYALIST PLOT</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Charlotte Leboeuf was one of the people who -would certainly have set cleanliness above godliness, -and she sacrificed comfort to it with a certain -ruthless pleasure. The house she declared to be a -sty, impossible to cleanse, but she would do her best, -and her best apparently involved a perpetual steam of -hot water, and a continual reek of soap-suds. Dangeau -put up more than one sigh at the shrine of the absent -Rosalie as he stumbled over pails and brooms, or slipped -on the damp floor. For the rest, the old life had begun -again, but with a dead, dreary weight upon it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau at his busy writing, at his nightly pacings, -and Aline at her old task of embroidering, felt the -burden of life press heavily, chafed at it for a moment, -perhaps, and turned again with a sigh to toil, -unsweetened by that nameless something which is the salt -of life. Once he ventured on a half-angry remonstrance -on the long hours of stitching, which left her face so -pale and her eyes so tired. It was not necessary for -his wife, he began, but at the first word so painful a -colour stained her cheek, eyes so proudly distressed -looked at him between imploring and defiance, that he -stammered, drew a long breath, and turned away with a -sound, half groan, half curse. Aline wept bitterly when -he was gone, worked harder than before, and life went -drearily enough for a week or so.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then one day in July Dangeau received orders to go -South again. He had known they would come, and the -call to action was what he craved, and yet what to do -with the girl who bore his name he could not tell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was walking homewards, revolving a plan in his -mind, when to his surprise he saw Aline before him, and -not alone. Beside her walked a man in workman's dress, -and they were in close conversation. As he caught -sight of them they turned down a small side street, and -after a moment's amazed hesitation he took the same -direction, walking slowly, but ready to interfere if he -saw cause.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Earlier in the afternoon, Aline having finished her -work, had tied it up neatly and gone out. The streets -were a horror to her, but she was obliged to take her -embroidery to the woman who disposed of it, and on -these hot days she craved for air. She accomplished -her business, and started homewards, walking slowly, -and enjoying the cool breeze which had sprung up. As -she turned out of the more frequented thoroughfares, a -man, roughly dressed, passed her, hung on his footsteps -a little, and as she came up to him, looked sharply at -her, and said in a low voice, "Mlle de Rochambeau?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She started, her heart beating violently, and was -about to walk on, when coming still nearer her, he -glanced all round and rapidly made the sign of the cross -in the air. With a sudden shock she recognised the -Abbé Loisel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is M. l'Abbé?" she said in a voice as low as his own.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, it is I. Walk on quietly, and do not appear to -be specially attentive. I saw you last at the Abbaye, -how is it that I meet you here?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A slight colour rose to Aline's cheek. Her tone -became distant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think you are too well informed as to what passes -in Paris not to know, M. l'Abbé," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They came out into a little crowd of people as she -spoke, and he walked on without replying, his thoughts -busy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Part saint, part conspirator, he had enough of the -busybody in his composition to make his position as arch -manipulator of Royalist plots a thoroughly congenial -one. In Mlle de Rochambeau he saw a ravelled thread, -and hastened to pick it up, with the laudable intention of -working it into his network of intrigue. They came -clear of the press, and he turned to her, his pale face -austerely plump, his restless eyes hard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I heard what I could hardly believe," he returned. -"I heard that Henri de Rochambeau's daughter had -bought her life by accepting marriage with an atheist -and a regicide, a Republican Deputy of the name of -Dangeau."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline bit her lip, her eyes stung. She would not -justify herself to this man. There was only one man -alive who mattered enough for that, but it was bitter -enough to hear, for this was what all would say. She -had known it all along, but realisation was keen, and -she shrank from the pictured scorn of Mme de Matigny's -eyes and from Marguerite's imagined recoil. She walked -on a little way before she could say quietly:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is true that I am married to M. Dangeau."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the Abbé had seen her face quiver, and drew his -own conclusions. He was versed in reading between the -lines.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mme de Matigny suffered yesterday," he said with -intentional abruptness, and Aline gave a low cry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Marguerite—not Marguerite!" she cried out, and he -touched her arm warningly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not quite so loud, if you please, Madame, and -control your features better. Yes, that is not so bad. -And now allow me to ask you a question. Why should -Mlle de Matigny's fate interest the wife of the regicide -Dangeau?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"M. l'Abbé, for pity's sake, tell me, she is not -dead—little Marguerite?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not this time, Madame, but who knows when the -blow will fall? But there, it can matter very little to -you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To me?" She sighed heavily. "It matters greatly. -M. l'Abbé; I do not forget my friends. I have not so -many that I can forget them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You remember?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, M. l'Abbé!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you would help them?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I could."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He paused, scrutinising her earnest face. Then he -said slowly:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You bought your life at a great price, and something -is due to those whom you left behind you in peril -whilst you went out to safety. I knew your father. It -is well that he is dead—yes, I say that it is well; but -there is an atonement possible. In that you are happy. -From where you are, you can hold out a hand to those -who are in danger; you may do more, if you have the -courage, and—if we can trust you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His keen look dwelt on her, and saw her face change -suddenly, the eager light go out of it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"M. l'Abbé, you must not tell me anything," she said -quickly, catching her breath; for Dangeau's voice had -sounded suddenly in her memory:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have pledged my honour"; and she heard the -ring of her own response—"Monsieur, your honour is -safe." She had answered so confidently, and now, -whatever she did, dishonour seemed imminent, unavoidable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have indeed gone far," he said. "You must -not hear—I must not tell. What does it mean? Who -forbids?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline turned to him desperately.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"M. l'Abbé, my hands are tied. You spoke just now -of M. Dangeau, but you do not know him. He is a -good man—an honourable man. He has protected me -from worse than death, and in order to do this he risked -his own life, and he pledged his honour for me that I -would engage in no plots—do nothing against the -Republic. When I let him make that pledge, and -what drove me to do so, lies between me and my own -conscience. I accepted a trust, and I cannot betray it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fine words," said Loisel curtly. "Fine words. -Dutiful words from a daughter of the Church. Let me -remind you that an oath taken under compulsion is not -binding."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He said that he had pledged his honour, and I told -him that his honour was safe. I do not break a pledge, -M. l'Abbé."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So for a word spoken in haste to this atheist, to -this traitor stained with your King's blood, you will -allow your friends to perish, you will throw away their -lives and your own chance of atoning for the scandal of -your marriage—" he began; but she lifted her head -with a quick, proud gesture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"M. l'Abbé, I cannot hear such words."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You only have to raise your voice a little more and -you will hear no more words of mine. See, there is a -municipal guard. Tell him that this is the Abbé Loisel, -non-juring priest, and you will be rid of me easily -enough. You will find it harder to stifle the voice of -your own conscience. Remember, Madame, that there -is a worse thing even than dishonour of the body, and -that is damnation of the soul. If you have been preserved -from the one, take care how you fall into the other. -What do you owe to this man who has seduced you -from your duty? Nothing, I tell you. And what do -you owe to your Church and to your order? Can you -doubt? Your obedience, your help, your repentance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Abbé had raised his voice a little as he spoke. -The street before them was empty, and he was unaware -that they were being followed. A portion of what he -said reached Dangeau's ears, for the prolonged conversation -had made him uneasy, and he had hastened his -steps. Up to now he had caught no word of what was -passing, but Aline's gestures were familiar to him, and -he recognised that lift of the head which was always -with her a signal of distress. Now he had caught -enough, and more than enough, and a couple of strides -brought him level with them. Aline started violently, -and looked quickly from Dangeau to the priest, and -back again at Dangeau. He was very stern, and wore -an expression of indignant contempt which was new to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-day, Citizen," he said, with a sarcastic inflexion. -"I will relieve you of the trouble of escorting my -wife any farther."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Loisel was wondering how much had been overheard, -and wished himself well out of the situation. He was -not in the least afraid of going to prison or to the -guillotine, but there were reasons enough and to spare -why his liberty at the present juncture was imperative. -One of the many plots for releasing the Queen was -in progress, and he carried upon him papers of the first -importance. It was to serve this plot that he had made -a bid for Aline's help. In her unique position she -might have rendered priceless services, but it was not -to be, and he hastened to extricate himself from a -position which threatened disaster to his central -scheme.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-day," he returned with composure, and was -moving off, when Dangeau detained him with a gesture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One moment, Citizen. I neither know your name -nor do I wish to know it, but it seemed to me that -your conversation was distressing to my wife. I very -earnestly deprecate any renewal of it, and should my -wishes in the matter be disregarded I should conceive -it my duty to inform myself more fully—but I think -you understand me, Citizen?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So this was the husband? A strong man, not the -type to be hoodwinked, best to let the girl go; but as -the thoughts flashed on his mind, he was aware of her -at his elbow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"M. l'Abbé," she said very low, "tell Marguerite—tell -her—oh! ask her not to think hardly of me. I -pray for her always, I hope to see her again, and I will -do what I can."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She ran back again, without waiting for a reply, and -walked in silence by Dangeau's side until they reached -the house. He made no attempt to speak, but on the -landing he hesitated a moment, and then followed her -into her room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Danton spoke to me this morning," he said, moving -to the window, where he stood looking out. "They -want me to go South again. Lyons is in revolt, and is -to be reduced by arms. Dubois-Crancy commands, but -Bonnet has fallen sick, and I am to take his place."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline had seated herself, and picked up a strip of -muslin. Under its cover her hands clasped each other -very tightly. When he paused she said: "Yes, Monsieur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am to start immediately."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Monsieur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He swung round, looked at her angrily for a moment, -and then stared again into the dirty street.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a question of what you are to do," he said -impatiently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I? But I shall stay here. What else is there for me -to do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot leave you alone in Paris again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What!" he cried. "Have you forgotten?" and she -bent to hide her sudden pallor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What am I to do, then?" she asked very low. Her -submission at once touched and angered him. It allured -by its resemblance to a wife's obedience, and repelled -because the resemblance was only mirage, and not -reality.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot have you here, I cannot take you with me, -and there is only one place I can send you to—a little -place called Rancy-les-Bois, about thirty miles from -Paris. My mother's sisters live there, and I should ask -them to receive you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will do as you think best," murmured Aline.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They are unmarried, one is an invalid, and they are -good women. It is some years since I have seen them, -but I remember my Aunt Ange was greatly beloved in -Rancy. I think you would be safe with her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A vision of safety and a woman's protection rose -persuasively before Aline, and she looked up with a -quick, confiding glance that moved Dangeau strangely. -She was at once so rigid and so soft, so made for love -and trusting happiness, and yet so resolute to repel it. -He bit his lip as he stood looking at her, and a sort of -rage against life and fate rose hotly, unsubdued within -him. He turned to leave her, but she called him back, -in a soft, hesitating tone that brought back the days of -their first intercourse. When he looked round he saw -that she was pale and agitated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur!" she stammered, and seemed afraid of her -own voice; and all at once a wild stirring of hope set his -heart beating.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it? Won't you tell me?" he said; and -again she tried to speak and broke off, then caught her -courage and went on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Monsieur, if you would do something!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, what is it you want me to do, child?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That was almost his old kind look, and it emboldened -her. She rose and leaned towards him, clasping her -hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Monsieur, you have influence—" and at that -his brow darkened.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it?" he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I heard—I heard—" She stopped in confusion. -"Oh! it is my friend, Marguerite de Matigny. Her -grandmother is dead, and she is alone. Monsieur, she -is only seventeen, and such a pretty child, so gay, and -she has done no harm to any one. It is impossible -that she could do any harm."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought you had no friends?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I had none; but in the prison they were good to -me—all of them. Old Madame de Matigny knew my -parents, and welcomed me for their sakes; but -Marguerite I loved. She was like a kitten, all soft and -caressing. Monsieur, if you could see her, so little, and -pretty—just a child!" Her eyes implored him, but -his were shadowed by frowning brows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that what the priest told you to say?" he asked -harshly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The priest——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 'd lie to me," he broke out, and stopped himself. -"Do you think I didn't recognise the look, the tone? -Did he put words into your mouth?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her eyes filled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He told me about Marguerite," she said simply. -"He told me she was alone, and it came into my heart -to ask you to help her. I have no one to ask but you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The voice, the child's look would have disarmed him, -but the words he had overheard came back, and made -his torment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If it came into your heart, I know who put it there," -he said. "And what else came with it? What else -were you to do? Do you forget I overheard? If -I thought you had lent yourself to be a tool, to influence, -to bribe—mon Dieu, if I thought that——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur!" but the soft, agitated protest fell unheard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should kill you—yes, I think that I should kill -you," he said in a cold, level voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She moved a step towards him then, and if her voice -had trembled, her eyes were clear and untroubled as -they met his full.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You shall not need to," she said quietly, and there -was a long pause.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was he who looked away at last, and then she spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I asked you at no one's prompting," she said softly. -"See, Monsieur, let there be truth between us. That -at least I can give, and will—yes, always. He, the man -you saw, asked me to help him, to help others, and I -told him no, my hands were tied. If he had asked for -ever, I must still have said the same thing; and if it -had cut my heart in two, I would still have said it. But -about Marguerite, that was different. She knows nothing -of any plots, she is no conspirator. I would not ask, -if it touched your honour. I would not indeed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you sure?" he asked in a strange voice, and -she answered his question with another.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would you have pledged your honour if you had not -been sure?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He gave a short, hard laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Upon my soul, child, I think so," he said, and the -colour ran blazing to her face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Monsieur, I keep faith!" she cried in a voice that -came from her heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her outstretched hands came near to touching him, -and he turned away with a sudden wrench of his whole -body.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And it is hard—yes, hard enough," he said bitterly, -and went out with a mist before his eyes.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-new-environment"><span class="large">CHAPTER XXI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">A NEW ENVIRONMENT</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Madelon Pinel stood by the window of the inn -parlour, and looked out with round shining eyes. -She was in a state of pleasing excitement, and her comely -cheeks vied in colour with the carnation riband in her -cap, for this was her first jaunt with her husband since -their marriage, and an expedition from quiet Rancy to -the eight-miles-distant market-town was a dissipation of -the most agreeable nature. The inn looked out on the -small, crowded Place, where a great traffic of buying and -selling, of cheapening and haggling was in process, and -she chafed with impatience for her husband to finish his -wine, and take her out into the thick of it again. He, -good man, miller by the flour on his broad shoulders, -stood at his ease beside her, smiling broadly. No one, -he considered, could behold him without envy; for -Madelon was the acknowledged belle of the countryside, -and well dowered into the bargain. Altogether, a man -very pleased with life, and full of pride in his married -state, as he lounged beside his pretty wife, and drank -his wine, one arm round her neat waist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With a roll and a flourish the diligence drew up, -and Madelon's excitement grew.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, my friend, look—look!" she cried. "There will -be passengers from Paris. Oh! I hope it is full. -No—what a pity! There are only four. See then, Jean -Jacques, the fat old man with the nose. It is redder -than Gargoulet's and one would have said that was -impossible. And the little man like a rat. Fie! he -has a wicked eye, that one—I declare he winked at me"; -and she drew back, darting a virtuously coquettish glance -at the unperturbed Jean Jacques.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not he," he observed with complete tranquillity. -"Calm thyself, Madelon. Thou art no longer the -prettiest girl in Rancy, but a sober matron. Thy -winking days are over."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My winking days!" exclaimed Madelon,—"my winking -days indeed!" She tossed her head with feigned -displeasure and leaned out again, wide-eyed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A third passenger had just alighted, and stood by the -door of the diligence holding out a hand to some one yet -unseen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Seigneur!" cried Madelon maliciously; "look there, -Jean Jacques, if that is not a fine man!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, the rat?" grinned the miller.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, stupid!—the handsome man by the door there, -he with the tricolour sash. Ciel! what a sash! What -can he be, then,—a Deputy, thinkest thou? Oh, I -hope he is a Deputy. There, now there is a woman -getting out—he helps her down, and now he turns -this way. They are coming in. Eh! what blue -eyes he has! Well, I would not have him angry -with me, that one; I should think his eyes would -scorch like lightning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh, Madelon, how you talk!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There, they are on the step. Hold me then, Jean -Jacques, or I shall fall. Do you think the woman is his -wife? How white she is!—but quite young, not older -than I. And her hair—oh, but that is pretty! I wish I -had hair like that—all gold in the sun."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thy hair is well enough," said the enamoured Jean -Jacques. "There, come back a little, Madelon, or thou -wilt fall out. They are coming in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madelon turned from the window to watch the door, -and in a minute Dangeau and Aline came in. For a -moment Aline looked timidly round, then seeing the -pleasant face and shining brown eyes of the miller's -wife, she made her way gratefully towards her, and -sat down on the rough bench which ran along the -wall. Madelon disengaged herself from her husband's -arm, gave him a little push in Dangeau's direction, -and sat down too, asking at once, with a stare of frank -curiosity:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are from Paris? All the way from Paris?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, from Paris," said Aline rather wearily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ciel! That is a distance to come. Are you not tired?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just a little, perhaps."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Paris is a big place, is it not? I have never been -there, but my father has. He left the inn for a month -last year, and went to Paris, and saw all the sights. Yes, -he went to the Convention Hall, and heard the Deputies -speak. Would any one believe there were so many of -them? Four hundred and more, he said. Every one -did not believe him,—Gargoulet even laughed, and spat -on the floor,—but my father is a very truthful man, and -not at all boastful. He would not say such a thing -unless he had seen it, for he does not believe everything -that he is told—oh no! For my part, I believed him, -and Jean Jacques too. But imagine then, four hundred -Deputies all making speeches!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline could not help laughing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I believe there are quite as many as that. My -husband is one of them, you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Seigneur!" exclaimed Madelon. "I said so. Where -is that great stupid of mine? I said the Citizen was a -Deputy—at once I said it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, how did you guess?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, by the fine tricolour sash," said Madelon -naively; "and then there is a look about him, is there -not? Do you not think he has the air of being a Deputy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not know," said Aline, smiling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I think so. And now I will tell you another -thing I said. I said that he could be angry, and that -then I should not like to meet his eyes, they would be -like blue fire. Is that true too?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline was amused by the girl's confiding chatter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not think he is often angry," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, but when he is," and Madelon nodded airily. -"Those that are angry often—oh, well, one gets used to -it, and in the end one takes no notice. It is like a -kettle that goes on boiling until at last the water is all -boiled away. But when one is like the Citizen Deputy, -not angry often—oh, then that can be terrible, when it -comes! I should think he was like that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps," said Aline, still smiling, but with a little -contraction of the heart, as she remembered anger she -had roused and faced. It did not frighten her, but it -made her heart beat fast, and had a strange fascination -for her now. Sometimes she even surprised a longing -to heap fuel on the fire, to make it blaze high—high -enough to melt the ice in which she had encased herself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then her own thought startled her, and she turned -quickly to her companion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that your husband?" she asked, for the sake of -saying something.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, indeed," said Madelon. "He is a fine man, is -he not? He and the Citizen Deputy are talking -together. They seem to have plenty to say—one would say -they were old friends. Yes, that is my Jean Jacques; -he is the miller of Rancy-les-Bois. We have travelled -too, for Rancy is eight miles from here, and a road to -break your heart."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"From Rancy—you come from Rancy?" said Aline, -with a little, soft, surprised sound.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, from Rancy. Did I not say my father kept the -inn there? But I have been married two months now"; -and she twisted her wedding ring proudly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am going to Rancy," said Aline on the impulse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You, Citoyenne?" and Madelon's brown eyes became -completely round with surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline nodded. She liked this girl with the light -tongue and honest red cheeks. It was pleasant to talk -to her after four hours of tense silence, during the most -part of which she had feigned sleep, and even then had -been aware of Dangeau's eyes upon her face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she said. "Does that surprise you so much? -My husband goes South on mission, and I am to stay -with his aunts at Rancy. They have written to say that -I am welcome."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" cried Madelon quickly. "Then I know who -you are. Stupid that I am, not to have guessed before! -All the world knows that the Citoyennes Desaix have a -nephew who is a Deputy, and you must be his wife—you -must be the Citoyenne Dangeau."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Aline.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To be sure, if I had seen the Citoyenne Ange, she -would have told me you were coming; but it is ten days -since I saw her to speak to—there has been so much to -do in the house. She will be pleased to have you. Both -of them will be pleased. If they are proud of the -nephew who is a Deputy—Seigneur!" and Madelon's -plump brown hands were waved high and wide to express -the pride of Dangeau's aunts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes?" said Aline again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But of course. It is a fine thing nowadays, a very -fine thing indeed. All the world would turn out to look -at him if he came to Rancy. What a pity he must go -South! Have you been married long?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline was vexed to feel the colour rise to her cheeks -as she answered:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—not long."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And already he must leave you! That is hard—yes, -I find that very hard. If Jean Jacques were to go away, -I should certainly be inconsolable. Before one is married -it is different; one has a light heart, one is quick to -forget. If a man goes, one does not care—there are -always plenty more. But when one is married, then -it is another story; then there is something that hurts -one at the heart when they are not there—n'est-ce pas?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline turned a tell-tale face away, and Madelon edged -a little nearer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Later on, again, they say one does not mind so much. -There are the children, you see, and that makes all the -difference. For me, I hope for a boy—a strong, fat boy -like Marie my sister-in-law had last year. Ah! that -was a boy! and I hope mine will be just such another. -If one has a girl, one feels as if one had committed -a bêtise, do you not think so?—or"—with a polite -glance at the averted face—"perhaps you desire a girl, -Citoyenne?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline felt an unbearable heat assail her, for suddenly -her old dream flashed into her mind, and she saw herself -with a child in her arms—a wailing, starving child with -sad blue eyes. With an indistinct murmur she started -up and moved a step or two towards the door, and as she -did so, Dangeau nodded briefly to the miller, and came to -meet her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We are fortunate," he said,—"really very fortunate. -These worthy people are the miller of Rancy and his -wife, as no doubt she has told you. I saw you were -talking together."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, it is strange," said Aline.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing could have been more convenient, since they -will be able to take you to my aunt's very door. I have -spoken to the miller, and he is very willing. Nothing -could have fallen out better."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you?" faltered Aline, her eyes on the ground.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I go on at once. You know my orders—'to lose no -time.' If it had been necessary, I should have taken you -to Rancy, but as it turns out I have no excuse for not -going on at once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At once?" she repeated in a little voice like a child's.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He nodded, and walked to the window, where he stood -looking out for a moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The horses are in," he said, turning again. "It is -time I took my seat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He passed out, saluting Pinel and Madelon, who was -much elated by his bow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline followed him into the square, and saw that the -other two passengers were in their places. Her heart -had begun to beat so violently that she thought it -impossible that he should not hear it, but he only threw her -a grave, cold look.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will like perhaps to know that your friend's case -came on yesterday and that she was set free. There was -nothing against her," he said, with some constraint.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Marguerite?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, the Citoyenne Matigny. She is free. I thought -you would be glad to know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—yes—oh, thank you! I am glad!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will tell my aunts that my business was -pressing, or I should have visited them. Give them my -greetings. They will be good to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—the letter was kind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They are good women." He handed her a folded -paper. "This is my direction. Keep it carefully, and -if you need anything, or are in any trouble, you will -write." His voice made it an order, not a request, and -she winced.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she said, with stiff lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau's face grew harder. If it were only over, -this parting! He craved for action—longed to be away—to -be quit of this intolerable strain. He had kept -his word, he had assured her safety, let him be gone out -of her life, into such a life as a man might make for -himself, in the tumult and flame of war.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Seigneur!" said Madelon, at the window. "See, -Jean Jacques,"—and she nudged that patient man,—"see -how he looks at her! Ma foi, I am glad it is not I! -And with a face as if it had been cut out of stone, and -there he gets in without so much as a touch of the hand, -let alone a kiss! Is this the way of it in Paris?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou must still be talking, Madelon," said Jean -Jacques, complacently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I should not like it," shrugged Madelon -pettishly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I 'll warrant you wouldn't," said the miller, -with a grin and a hearty kiss.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At four o'clock the business and pleasure of the -market-day were over, and the folk began to jog home -again. Aline sat beside Madelon on the empty -meal-sacks, and looked about her with a vague curiosity as -they made their way through the poplar-bordered lanes, -bumping prodigiously every now and then, in a manner -that testified to the truth of Madelon's description of the -road.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was one of the days that seems to have drawn out -all summer's beauty, whilst keeping yet faint memories -of spring, and hinting in its breadth of evening shade -at autumn's mellowness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madelon chattered all the way, but Aline's thoughts -were too busy to be distracted. She thought continually -of the smouldering South and its dangers, of the -thousand perils that menaced Dangeau, and of the bitter -hardness of his face as he turned from her at the last.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jean Jacques let the reins fall loose after a while, -and turning at his ease, slipped his arm about his wife's -waist and drew her head to his shoulder. Aline's eyes -smarted with sudden tears. Here were two happy -people, here was love and home, and she out in the cold, -barred out by a barrier of her own raising. Oh! if he -had only looked kindly at the last!—if he had smiled, -or taken her hand!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They came over the brow of a little hill, and dipped -towards the wooded pocket where Rancy lay, among its -trees, watched from half-way up the hill by an old grey -stone château, on the windows of which the setting sun -shone full, showing them broken and dusty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who lives in the château?" asked Aline suddenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No one—now," returned Jean Jacques; and Madelon -broke in quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was the château of the Montenay but a year ago.—Now -why dost thou nudge me, Jean Jacques?—A year -ago, I say, it was pillaged. Not by our own people, but -by a mob from the town. They broke the windows and -the furniture, and hunted high and low for traitors, and -then went back again to where they came from. There -was nobody there, so not much harm done."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"De Montenay?" said Aline in a low voice. How -strange! So this was why the name of Rancy had -seemed familiar from the first. They were of her kin, -the De Montenay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, the De Montenay," said Madelon, nodding. -"They were great folk once, and now there is only the -old Marquise left, and she has emigrated. She is very -old now, but do you know they say the De Montenay -can only die here? However ill they are in a foreign -place, the spirit cannot pass, and I always wonder will -the old Marquise come back, for she is a Montenay by -birth as well as by marriage?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh, Madelon, how you talk!" said Jean Jacques, -with an uneasy lift of his floury shoulders. He picked -up the reins and flicked the mare's plump sides with a -"Come up, Suzette; it grows late."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madelon tossed her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is true, all the same," she protested. "Why, -there was M. Réné,—all the world knows how she -brought M. Réné here to die."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Chut then, Madelon!" said the miller, in a decided -tone this time; and, as she pouted, he spoke over his -shoulder in a low voice, and Aline caught the words, -"Ma'mselle Ange," whereon Madelon promptly echoed -"Ma'mselle" with a teasing inflexion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jean Jacques became angry, and the back of his neck -seemed to well over the collar of his blouse, turning -very red as it did so.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tiens, Citoyenne Ange, then. Can a man remember -all the time?" he growled, and flicked Suzette again. -Madelon looked penitent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, my friend," she said soothingly; "and the -Citoyenne here understands well enough, I am sure. -It is that my father is so good a patriot," she explained, -"and he grows angry if one says Monsieur, Madame, or -Mademoiselle any more. It must be Citizen and -Citoyenne to please him, because we are all equal now. -And Jean Jacques is quite as good a patriot as my -father—oh, quite; but it is, see you, a little hard to -remember always, for after all he has been saying the -other for nearly forty years."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, it is hard always to remember," Aline agreed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They came down into the shadow under the hill, and -turned into the village street. The little houses lay all -a-straggle along it, with the inn about half-way down. -Madelon pointed out this cottage and that, named the -neighbours, and informed Aline how many children they -had. Jean Jacques did not make any contribution to -the talk until they were clear of the houses, when he -raised his whip, and pointing ahead, said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now we are almost there—see, that is the house, -the white one amongst those trees"; and in a moment -Aline realised that she was nervous, and would be very -thankful when the meeting with Dangeau's aunts should -be over. Even as she tried to summon her courage, the -cart drew up at the little white gate, and she found -herself being helped down, whilst Madelon pressed her -hands and promised to come and see her soon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Citoyenne Ange knows me well enough," she -said, laughing. "She taught me to read, and tried to -make me wise, but it was too hard."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There, there, come, Madelon. It is late," said the -miller. "Good evening, Citoyenne. Come up, Suzette"; -and in a moment Aline was alone, with her modest -bundle by her side. She opened the gate, and found -herself in a very pretty garden. The evening light -slanted across the roof of the small white house, which -stood back from the road with a modest air. It had -green shutters to every window, and green creepers -pushed aspiring tendrils everywhere. The garden was -all aflash with summer, and the air fragrant with -lavender, a tall hedge of which presented a surface of dim, -sweet greenery, and dimmer, sweeter bloom. Behind -the lavender was a double row of tall dark-eyed -sunflowers, and in front blazed rose and purple phlox, -carnations white and red, late larkspur, and -gilly-flowers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Such a feast of colour had not been spread before -Aline's town-wearied eyes for many and many a long -month, and the beauty of it came into her heart like the -breath of some strong cordial. At the open door of the -house were two large myrtle trees in tubs. The white -flowers stood thick amongst the smooth dark leaves, and -scented all the air with their sweetness. Aline set down -her bundle, and went in, hesitating, and a murmur of -voices directing her, she turned to the right.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was dark after the evening glow outside, but the -light shone through an open door, and she made her way -to it, and stood looking in, upon a small narrow room, -very barely furnished as to tables and chairs, but most -completely filled with children of all ages.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They sat in rows, some on the few chairs, some on the -floor, and some on the laps of the elder ones. Here and -there a tiny baby dozed in the lap of an older girl, but -for the most part they were from three years old and -upwards.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All had clean, shining faces, and on the front of each -child's dress was pinned a tricolour bow, whilst on the -large corner table stood a coarse pottery jar stuffed full -of white Margaret daisies, scarlet poppies, and bright -blue cornflowers. Aline frowned a little impatiently -and tapped with her foot on the floor, but no one took -any notice. A tall lady with her back to the door was -apparently concluding a tale to which all the children -listened spellbound.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, indeed," Aline heard her say, in a full pleasant -voice,—"yes, indeed, children, the dragon was most -dreadfully fierce and wicked. His eyes shot out sparks, -hot like the sparks at the forge, and flames ran out of his -mouth so that all the ground was scorched, and the grass -died.—Jeanne Marie, thou little foolish one, there is no -need to cry. Have courage, and take Amelie's hand. -The brave youth will not be harmed, because of the -magic sword.—It was all very well for the dragon to -spit fire at him, but he could not make him afraid. No, -indeed! He raised the great sword in both hands, and -struck at the monster. At the first blow the earth -shook, and the sea roared. At the second blow the -clouds fell down out of the sky, and all the wild beasts -of the woods roared horribly, but at the third blow the -dragon's head was cut clean off, and he fell down dead at -the hero's feet. Then the chains that were on the -wrists and ankles of the lovely lady vanished away, and -she ran into the hero's arms, free and beautiful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A long sigh went up from the rows of children, and -one said regretfully:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that all, Citoyenne?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is all the story, my children; but now I shall -ask questions. Félicité, say then, who is the young -hero?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A big, sharp-eyed girl looked up, and said in a quick -sing-song, "He is the glorious Revolution and the dragon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Chut then,—I asked only for the hero. It is -Candide who shall tell us who is the dragon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Every one looked at Candide, who, for her part, looked -at the ceiling, as if seeking inspiration there.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The dragon is—is—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come then, my child, thou knowest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is he not a dragon, then?" said Candide, opening -eyes as blue as the sky, and quite as devoid of -intelligence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Little stupid one,—and the times I have told thee! -What is it, then, that the glorious Revolution has -destroyed?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She paused, and half a dozen arms went up eagerly, -whilst as many voices clamoured:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know!"—"No, ask me!"—"No, me, Citoyenne!"—"No, -me!"—"Me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What! Jeanne knows? Little Jeanne Marie, who -cried? She shall say. Tell us, then, my child,—who is -the dragon?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jeanne looked wonderfully serious.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is the tyranny of kings, is it not, chère Citoyenne?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very good, little one. And the lovely lady, who is -the lovely lady?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"France—our beautiful France!" cried all the children -together.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline pushed the door quite wide and stepped forward, -and as she came into view all the children became as -quiet as mice, staring, and nudging one another.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this, and the slight rustle of Aline's dress, Ange -Desaix turned round, and uttered a cry of surprise. -She was a tall woman, soft and ample of arm and bosom, -with dark, silvered hair laid in classic fashion about a -very nobly shaped head. Her skin was very white -and soft, and her hazel eyes had a curious misty look, -like the hollows of a hill brimmed with a weeping haze -that never quite falls in rain. They were brooding -eyes, and very peaceful, and they seemed to look right -through Aline and away to some place of dreams -beyond. All this was the impression of a moment—this, -and the fact that the tall figure was all in white, -with a large breast-knot of the same three-coloured -flowers as stood in the jar. Then the motherly arms -were round Aline, at once comfortable and appealing, -and Mlle Desaix' voice said caressingly, "My dear -niece, a thousand welcomes!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After a moment she was quietly released, and Ange -Desaix turned to the children.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Away with you, little ones, and come again to-morrow. -Louise and Marthe must give up their bows, -but the rest can keep them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The indescribable hubbub of a party of children -preparing for departure arose, and Ange said smilingly, -"We are late to-day, but on market-day some are from -home, and like to know the children are safe with me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she spoke a little procession formed itself. Each -child passed before Mlle Desaix, and received a kiss -and a smile. Two little girls looked very downcast. -They sniffed loudly as they unpinned their ribbon bows -and gave them up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Another time you will be wise," said Ange -consolingly; and Louise and Marthe went out hanging -their heads.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They chattered, instead of listening," explained Mlle -Desaix. "I do not like punishments, but what will -you? If children do not learn self-control, they grow -up so unhappy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was an alluring simplicity in voice and manner -that touched the child in Aline. To her own surprise -she felt her eyes fill with tears—not the hot drops -which burn and sting, but the pleasant water of -sympathy, which refreshes the tired soul. On the impulse -she said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is good of you to let me come here. I—I am -very grateful, chère Mademoiselle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ange put a hand on her arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will say 'ma tante,' will you not, dear child? -Our nephew is dear to us, and we welcome his wife. -Come then and see Marthe. She suffers much, my -poor Marthe, and the children's chatter is too much -for her, so I do not take them into her room, except -now and then. She likes to see little Jeanne sometimes, -and Candide, the little blue-eyed one. Marthe says she -is like Nature—unconsciously stupid—and she finds that -refreshing, since like Nature she is so beautiful. But -there, the child is well enough—we cannot all be clever."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mlle Desaix led the way through the hall and up a -narrow stair as she spoke. Outside a door on the -landing above she paused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But where, then, is Jacques—the dear Jacques?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"After all he could not come," said Aline. "His -orders were so strict,—'to press on without any delay,'—and -if he had lost the diligence, it would have kept -him twenty-four hours. He charged me with many -messages."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," said Mlle Ange, "it will be a grief to Marthe. -I told her all the time that perhaps he would not be -able to come, but she counted on it. But of course, -my dear, we understand that his duty must come -first—only," with a sigh, "it will disappoint my poor -Marthe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She opened the door as she spoke, and they came -into a room all in the dark except for the afterglow -which filled the wide, square window. A bed or couch -was drawn up to the open casement, and Aline took a -quick breath, for the profile which was relieved against -the light was startlingly like Dangeau's as she had seen -it at the coach window that morning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ange drew her forward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"See then, Marthe," she said, "our new niece is -come, but alas, Jacques was not able to spare the time. -Business of the Republic that could not wait."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marthe Desaix turned her head with a sharp -movement—a movement of restless pain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How do you do, my dear niece," she said, in a voice -that distinctly indicated quotation marks. "As to -seeing, it is too dark to see anything but the sky."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, truly," said Ange; "I will get the lamp. We -are late to-night, but the tale was a long one, and I -knew the market folk would be late on such a fine -evening."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She went out quickly, and Aline, coming nearer to -the window, uttered a little exclamation of pleasure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, how lovely!" she said, just above her breath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The window looked west through the open end of -the hollow where Rancy lay, and a level wash of gold -held the horizon. Wing-like clouds of grey and purple -rested brooding above it, and between them shone the -evening star. On either side the massed trees stood -black against the glow, and the scent of the lavender -came up like the incense of peace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marthe Desaix looked curiously at her, but all she -could see was a slim form, in the dusk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You find that better than lamplight?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I find it very beautiful," said Aline. "It is so -long since I saw trees and flowers, and the sun going -down amongst the hills. My window in Paris looked -into a street like a gutter, and one could only see, oh, -such a little piece of sky."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she spoke Ange came in with a lamp, which she -set beside the bed; and immediately the glowing sky -seemed to fade and recede to an immeasurable distance. -In the lamplight the likeness which had startled Aline -almost disappeared. Marthe Desaix' strong, handsome -features were in their original cast almost identical with -those of her nephew, but seen full face, they were so -blanched and lined with pain that the resemblance -was blurred, and the big dark eyes, like pools of ink, -had nothing in common with Dangeau's.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline herself was conscious of being looked up and -down. Then Marthe Desaix said, with a queer twist of -the mouth:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You did not live long in Paris, then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It seemed a long time," said Aline. "It seems years -when I try to look back, but it really is n't a year yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You like the country?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I think so," faltered Aline, conscious of having -said too much.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor child," said Ange. "It is sad for you this -separation. I know what you must feel. You have -been married so short a time, and he has to leave you. -It is very hard, but the time will pass, and we will try -and make you happy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are very good," said Aline in a low voice. -Then she looked and saw Mlle Marthe's eyes gazing at -her between perplexity and sarcasm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Aline was in bed, Ange heard her sister's views -at length.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A still tongue 's best, my Ange, but between you -and me"—she shrugged her shoulders, and then bit her -lip, as the movement jarred her—"there is certainly -something strange about 'our new niece,' as you call her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, she is our nephew's wife," said Ange.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Our nephew's wife, but no wife for our nephew, if -I'm not much mistaken," returned Marthe sharply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought she looked sweet, and good."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good, good—yes, we 're all good at that age! Bless -my soul, Ange, if goodness made a happy marriage, the -devil would soon have more holidays than working days."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ma chérie, if any one heard you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, they don't, and I should n't mind if they did. -What I do mind is that Jacques should have made a -marriage which will probably break his heart."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But why, why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, my Angel, if you saw things under your nose as -clearly as you do those that are a hundred years away, -you would n't have to ask why."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I saw nothing wrong," said Ange in a voice of distress.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did not say the girl was a thief, or a murderess," -returned Marthe quickly. "No, I 'll not tell you what I -mean,—not if you were to ask me on your knees,—not if -you were to beg it with your last breath."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ange laughed a little.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, well, dearest, perhaps I shall guess. Good-night, -and sleep well."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As if I ever slept well!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor darling! Poor dearest! Is it so bad to-night? -Let me turn the pillow. Is it a little better so?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps." Then as Ange reached the door:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Angel!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it then, chérie?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mlle Marthe put a thin arm about her sister's neck -and drew her close.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"After all, I will tell you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Though I did not beg it on my knees?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Chut!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Or with my last breath?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, then; if you do not wish to hear——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no; tell me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well then, Ange, she is noble—that girl."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh no!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am sure of it. The mystery, her coming here. -Why has she no relations, no friends? And then her -look, her manner. Why, the first tone of her voice -made me start."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh no, he would not——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would not?" scoffed Marthe. "He 's a fool in love, -and I suppose she was in danger. I tell you, I -suspected it at once when his letter came. There, go to -bed, and dream of our connection with the aristocracy. -My faith, how times change! It is an edifying world."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She pushed Ange away, and lay a long time watching -the stars.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="at-home-and-afield"><span class="large">CHAPTER XXII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">AT HOME AND AFIELD</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Aline slept late in the morning after her arrival. -Everything was so fresh, and sweet, and clean -that it was a pleasure just to lie between the -lavender-scented sheets, and smell the softness of the summer -air which came in at the open casement. She had -meant to rise early, but whilst she thought of it, she -slept again, drawn into the pleasant peace of the hour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When she did awake the sun was quite high, and -she dressed hastily and went down into the garden. -Here she was aware of Mlle Ange, basket on arm, -busily snipping, cutting, and choosing amongst the low -herbs which filled this part of the enclosure. She -straightened herself, and turned with a kind smile and -kiss, which called about her the atmosphere of home. -The look and touch seemed things at once familiar -and comfortable, found again after many days of loss.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you rested then, my dear?" asked the pleasant -voice. "Yesterday you looked so tired, and pale. We -must bring some roses into those cheeks, or Jacques -will surely chide us when he comes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the instant the roses were there, and Aline stood -transfigured; but they faded almost at once, and left her -paler than before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mlle Ange opened her basket, and showed neat -bunches of green herbs disposed within.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I make ointments and tinctures," she said, "and -to-day I must be busy, for some of the herbs I use are -at their best just now, and if they are not picked, will -spoil. All the village comes to me for simples and -salves, so that between them, and the children, and my -poor Marthe, I am not idle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"May I help?" asked Aline eagerly; and Mlle Ange -nodded a pleased "Yes, yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That was a pleasant morning. The buzz of the bees, -the scent of the flowers, the warm freshness of the -day—all were delightful; and presently, to watch Ange -boiling one mysterious compound, straining another, -distilling a third, had all the charm of a child's new -game. Life's complications fell back, leaving a little -space of peace like a fairy ring amongst new-dried grass. -Mlle Marthe lay on her couch knitting, and watching. -Every now and again she flashed a remark into the breathless -silence, on which Ange would look up with her sweet -smile, and then turn absently to her work again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is then to be no food to-day?" said Marthe -at last, her voice calmly sarcastic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ange finished counting the drops she was transferring -from one mysterious vessel to another.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve—what was that -you said, chérie?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing, my dear. Angels, of course, are not -dependent on food, and Jacques is too far away to -prosecute us if we starve his wife."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, tres chère, is it so late? Why did you not -say? And after such a night, too—my poor dearest. -See, I fly. Oh, I am vexed, and to-day too, when I -told Jeanne I would make the omelette."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marthe's eyebrows went up, and Ange turned in -smiling distress to Aline.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She will be so cross, our old Jeanne! She loves -punctuality, and she adores making omelettes; but then, -see you, she has no gift for making an omelette—it is -just sheer waste of my good eggs—so to-day I said I -would do it myself, in your honour."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And mine," observed Marthe, with a click of the -needles. "Jeanne's omelettes I will not eat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, tres chère, be careful. She has such ears, she -heard what you said about the last one, and she was -so angry. Aline must come with me now, or I dare -not face her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They went down together and into the immaculate -kitchen, where Jeanne, busily compounding a pie, -turned a little cross, sallow face upon them, and rose, -grumbling audibly, to fetch eggs and the pan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That good Jeanne," said Ange in an undertone, -"she has all the virtues except a good temper. Marthe -says she is like food without salt—all very good and -wholesome, but so nasty; but she is really attached to -us and after twenty years thinks she has a right to her -temper."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Here, the returning Jeanne banged down a dish, and -clattered with a small pile of spoons and forks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ange Desaix broke an egg delicately, and watched -the white drip from the splintered shell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Things are beautiful, are they not, little niece? -Just see this gold and white, and the speckled shell of -this one, and the pink glow shining here. One could -swear one saw the life brooding within, and here I -break it, and its little embryo miracle, in order to -please a taste which Jeanne considers the direct -temptation of some imp who delights to plague her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed softly, and putting the egg-shells on one -side, began to chop up a little bunch of herbs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An omelette is very much like a life, I think," she -said after a moment. "No two are alike, though all -are made with eggs. One puts in too many herbs, and -the dish is bitter; another too few, and it is tasteless. -Or we are impatient, and snatch at life in the raw; or -idle, and burn our mixture. It is only one here -and there who gets both matter and circumstance right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jeanne was hovering like an angry bird, and as -Mlle Desaix' voice became more dreamy, and her eyes -looked farther and farther away into space, she twitched -out a small, vicious claw of a hand, and stealthily drew -away the bowl that held the eggs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One must just make the most of what one has," -Ange was saying. Was she thinking of that sudden -blush and pallor of a few hours back, or of her sister's -words the night before?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If one's lot is tasteless, one must flavour it with -cheerfulness; and if it is bitter, drink clear water after -it, and forget."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline shivered a little, and then, in spite of herself, -she smiled. Jeanne had her pan on the fire, and a -sudden raw smell of burning rose up, almost palpably. -The mistress of the house came back from her dreams -with a start, looked wildly round, and missed her eggs, -her herbs, her every ingredient. "Jeanne! but truly, -Jeanne!" she cried hotly; and as she spoke the little -figure at the fire whisked round and precipitated a -burnt, sodden substance on to the waiting dish.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ma'mselle is served," she said snappishly, but there -was a glint of triumph in her eye.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Jeanne, it is too much," said Ange, flushing; -whereat Jeanne merely picked up the dish and observed:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If Ma'mselle will proceed into the other room, I -will serve the dejeuner. Ma'mselle has perhaps not -remarked that it grows late."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After which speech Mlle Desaix walked out of the -room with a fine dignity, and the smell of the burnt -omelette followed her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then began a time of household peace and quiet -healing, in which at first Aline rested happily. In -this small backwater, life went on very uneventfully,—birth -and death in the village being the only happenings -of note,—the state of Jeanne's temper the most pressing -anxiety, since Mlle Marthe's suffering condition was a -thing of such long standing as to be accepted as a -matter of course, even by her devoted sister.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Of France beyond the hills—of Paris, only thirty -miles away—they heard very little. The news of the -Queen's trial and death did penetrate, and fell into the -quiet like a stone into a sleeping pond. All the village -rippled with it—broke into waves of discussion, splashes -of lamentation, froth of approval, and then settled again -into its wonted placidity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline felt a pang of awakening. Whilst she was -dreaming here amongst the peace of herby scents and -the drowse of harvesting bees, tragedy still moved on -Fate's highways, and she felt sudden terror and the sting -of a sharp self-reproach. She shrank from Mlle Ange's -kind eyes of pity, touched—just touched—with an -unfaltering faith in the necessity for the appalling -judgment. The misty hazel eyes wept bitterly, but the will -behind them bowed loyally to the decrees of the -Revolution.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There 's no great cause without its victim, no new -faith without bloodshed," she said to Marthe, with a -kindling glance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I said nothing, my dear," was the dry reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ange paced the room, brushing away hot tears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is for the future, for the new generations, that -we make these sacrifices, these terrible sacrifices," she -cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, my dear!" said Marthe quickly, and then added -with a shrug: "For me, I never felt any vocation for -reforming the world; and if I were you, my Angel, I -would let it alone. The devil has too much to do with -things in general, that is my opinion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is nothing I can do," said Ange, at her saddest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank Heaven for that!" observed her sister piously. -"But I will tell you one thing—you need not talk of -noble sacrifices and such-like toys in front of Jacques's -wife."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I would not hurt her," said Ange; "but, chérie, she -is a Republican's wife—she must know his views, his -aims. Why, he voted for the King's death!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just so," nodded Marthe: "he voted for the King's -death. I should keep a still tongue, if I were you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You still think——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Think?" with scorn. "I am sure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A few days later there was a letter from Dangeau, -just a few lines. He was well. Lyons still held out, -but they hoped that any day might end the siege. He -begged to be commended to his aunts. Aline read the -letter aloud, in a faltering voice, then laid it in her lap, -and sat staring at it with eyes that suddenly filled, and -saw the letters now blurred, now unnaturally black and -large. Mlle Ange went out of the room, leaving her -alone under Marthe's intent regard; but for once she was -too absorbed to heed it, and sat there looking into her -lap and twisting her wedding-ring round and round. -Marthe's voice broke crisply in upon her thoughts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So he married you with his mother's ring?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She started, covering it quickly with her other hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it? No, I didn't know," she murmured confusedly. -Then, with an effort at defence: "How do you -know, Mademoiselle Marthe?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How does one know anything, child? By using -one's eyes, and putting two and two together. Sometimes -they make four, and sometimes they don't, but it 's -worth trying. The ring is plainly old, and my sister -wore just such another; and after her death Jacques wore -it too, on his little finger. He adored his mother."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The scene of her wedding flashed before Aline. At -the time she had not seemed to be aware of anything, -but now she distinctly saw the priest's hand stretched -out for the ring, and Dangeau's little pause of hesitation -before he took it off and gave it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marthe's brows were drawn together.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, did he give it her for love, or because there -was need for haste?" she was thinking, and decided: -"No, not for love, or he would have told her it was his -mother's." And aloud she said calmly: "You see, you -were married in such a hurry that there was no time to -get a new one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline looked up and spoke on impulse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did he tell you about our marriage?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear, what was there to tell? He wrote a few -lines—he does not love writing letters, it appears—he -had married a young girl. Her name was Marie -Aline Roche, and he commended her to our protection."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was that all?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then do you think I had better tell you more?" -said Aline unsteadily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marthe looked at her with a certain pity in her -glance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You did not learn prudence in an easy school," she -said slowly, and then added: "No, better not; and -besides, there 's not much need—it's all plain enough to -any one who has eyes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau's letter of about this date to Danton contained -a little more information than that he sent his wife.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The scoundrels have thrown off the mask at last," -he wrote in a vigorous hand, which showed anger. -"Yesterday Précy fought under the fleur-de-lys. Well, -better an open enemy, an avowed Royalist, than a -Girondist aping of Republican principles, and treachery -under the surface. France may now guess at what she -has been saved by the fall of the Gironde. They hope -for reinforcements here. Our latest advices are that -Sardinia will not move. As to Autichamp, he promises -help, and instigates plots from a judicious distance; -but he and his master, Artois, feel safer on any -soil but that of France, and I gather that he will -not leave Switzerland at present. Losses on both -sides are considerable. To give the devil his due, -Précy has the courage of ten, and we never know -when he will be at our throats. Very brilliant work, -those sallies of his. I wish we had half a dozen like him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the ninth of October Lyons fell, and the fiat of the -Republic went forth. "Lyons has no longer a name -among cities. Down with her to the dust from which -she rose, and on the bloodstained site let build a pillar -bearing these warning words: 'Lyons rebelled against -the Republic: Lyons is no more.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Forthwith terror was let loose, and the town ran -blood, till the shriek of its torment went up night and -day unceasingly, and things were done which may not -be written.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this time Dangeau's letters ceased, and it was not -until Christmas that news of him came again to Rancy. -Then he wrote shortly, saying he had been wounded on -the last day of the siege, and had lain ill for weeks, -but was now recovered, and had received orders to -join Dugommier, the Victor of Toulon, on his march -against Spain. The letter was short enough, but -something of the writer's longing to be up and away -from reeking Lyons was discernible in the stiff, curt -sentences.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In truth the tide of disgust rose high about him, and -raise what barriers he would, it threatened to break in -upon his convictions and drown them. News from Paris -was worse and worse. The Queen's trial sickened, the -Feast of Reason revolted him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Down with tyrants, but for liberty's sake with decency! -Away with superstition and all the network of priests' -intrigues; but, in the outraged name of reason, no more -of these drunken orgies, these feasts which defied public -morality, whilst a light woman postured half naked on -the altar where his mother had worshipped. This -nauseated him, and drew from his pen an imprudently -indignant letter, which Danton frowned over and -consigned to the flames. He wrote back, however, scarcely -less emphatically, though he recommended prudence -and a still tongue.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mad times these, my friend, but decency I will have, -though all Paris runs raving. It's a fool business, but -you 'd best not say so. Take my advice and hold your -tongue, though I 've not held mine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau made haste to be gone from blood-drenched -Lyons, and to wipe out his recollections of her -punishment in the success which from the first attended -Dugommier's arms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Spain receded to the Pyrenees; and over the passes -in wild wet weather, stung by the cold, and tormented -by a wind that cut like a sword of ice, the French army -followed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Here, heroism was the order of the day. If in -Paris, where Terror stalked, men were less than men -and worse than brutes, because possessed by some -devil soul, damned, and dancing, here they were -more than men, animated by a superhuman courage -and persistence. Yet, terrible puzzle of human life, -the men were of the same breed, the same stuff, the -same kin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Antoine, shouting lewd songs about a desecrated altar, -or watching with red, cruel eyes the death-agony of -innocent women and young boys, was own brother to -Jean, whose straw-shod feet carried his brave, starving -body over the blood-stained Pyrenean passes, and who -shared his last crust cheerfully with an unprovided -comrade. One mother bore and nursed them both, and -both were the spiritual children of that great Revolution -who bore twin sons to France—Licence and Liberty. -Nothing gives one so vivid a picture of France under -the Terror as the realisation that to find relief from the -prevailing horror and inhumanity one must turn to the -battlefields.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The army fought with an empty stomach, bare back, -and bleeding feet, and Dangeau found enough work to -his hand to occupy the energies of ten men. The -commissariat was disgraceful, supplies scant, and the men -lacking of every necessary.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Having made inquiries, he turned back to France, and -ranged the South like a flame, gathering stores, -ammunition, arms, shoes—everything, in fact, of which -that famished but indomitable army stood in such dire -need. Summary enough the methods of those days, -and Dangeau's way was as short a one as most, and -more successful than many.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He would ride into a town, establish himself at the -inn, and send for the Mayor, who, according as his -nature were bold or timid, came blustering or trembling. -France had no king, but the tricoloured feathers on her -Commissioner's hat were a sign of power quite as -autocratic as the obsolete fleur-de-lys.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau sat at a table spread with papers, wrote on -for a space, and then—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Citizen Mayor, I require, on behalf of the National -Army, five hundred (or it might be a thousand) pairs of -boots, so many beds, such and such provisions."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, Citizen Commissioner, we have them not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau consulted a notebook.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can give you twenty-four hours to produce them, -not more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, Citizen, these are impossibilities. We cannot -produce what we have not got."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And neither can our armies save your throats from -being cut if they are unprovided. Twenty-four hours, -Citizen Mayor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>According to his nature, the Mayor swore or cringed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is impossible."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau drew out a list. The principal towns of the -South figured on it legibly. Setting a thick mark against -one name, he fixed his eyes upon the man before him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you considered, Citizen," he said sternly, "that -what is grudged to France will be taken by Spain? -Also, it were wiser to yield to my demands than to -those of such an embassy as the Republic sent to Lyons. -My report goes in to-night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your report?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Non-compliance with requisitions is to be reported -to the Convention without delay. I have my orders, -and you, Citizen Mayor, have yours."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, Citizen, where am I to get the things?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau shrugged his shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it my business? But I see you wear an excellent -pair of shoes, I see well-shod citizens in your streets—you -neither starve nor lie on the ground. Our soldiers -do both. If any must go without, let it be the idle. -Twenty-four hours, Citizen Mayor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And in twenty-four hours boots, beds, and provisions -were forthcoming. Lyons had not been rased for nothing, -and with the smell of her burning yet upon the air, the -shriek of her victims still in the wintry wind, no town -had the courage to refuse what was asked for. Protestingly -they gave; the army was provided, and Dangeau, -shutting his ears to Paris and her madness, pressed -forward with it into Spain.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="return-of-two-fugitives"><span class="large">CHAPTER XXIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">RETURN OF TWO FUGITIVES</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Aline, dear child!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, dear aunt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not think I will leave Marthe to-day, the -pain is so bad; but I do not like to disappoint old Mère -Leroux. No one's hens are laying but mine, and I -promised her an egg for her fête day. She is old, and -old people are like children, and very little pleases or -makes them unhappy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline folded her work.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you mean you would like me to go? But of -course, dear aunt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you will, my child. Take your warm cloak, and -be back before sundown; and—Aline——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Aline at the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you see Mathieu Leroux, stop and bid him -'Good-day.' Just say a word or two."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not like Mathieu Leroux," observed Aline, with -the old lift of the head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mlle Ange flushed a little.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He has a good heart, I 'm sure he has a good heart, -but he is suspicious by nature. Lately Madelon has let -fall a hint or two. It does not do, my child, to let -people think one is proud, or—or—in any way different."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline's eyes were a little startled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, what do you mean?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Child, need you ask me that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" she said quickly. "What did Madelon say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very little. You know she is afraid of her father, -and so is Jean Jacques. It was to Marthe she spoke, -and Marthe says Mathieu Leroux is a dangerous man; -but then you know Marthe's way. Only, if I were you, -I should bid him 'Good-day,' and say a friendly word -or two as you pass."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As Aline walked down to the village at a pace suited -to the sharpness of the February day, Mlle Ange's words -kept ringing in her head. Had Mlle Marthe warned -her far more emphatically, it would have made a slighter -impression; but when Ange, who saw good in all, was -aware of impending trouble, it seemed to Aline that -the prospect was threatening indeed. All at once the -pleasant monotony of her life at Rancy appeared to be -at an end, and she looked into a cloudy and uncertain -future, full of the perils from which she had had so short -a respite.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When she came to the inn door and found it filled by -the stout form of Mathieu Leroux she did her best to -smile in neighbourly fashion; but her eyes sank before -his, and her voice sounded forced as she murmured, -"Bonjour, Citizen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Leroux' black eyes looked over his heavy red cheeks -at her. They were full of a desire to discover something -discreditable about this stranger who had dropped -into their little village, and who, though a patriot's wife, -displayed none of the signs by which he, Leroux, -estimated patriotism.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bonjour," he returned, without removing his pipe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline struggled with her annoyance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How is your mother to-day?" she inquired. "My -aunt has sent her a new-laid egg. May I go in?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh, she 's well enough," he grumbled. "There is too -much fuss made over her. She 'll live this twenty years, -and never do another stroke of work. That's my luck. -A strong, economical, handy wife must needs die, whilst -an old woman, who, you 'd think, would be glad enough -to rest in her grave, hangs on and on. Oh, yes, go in, -go in; she 'll be glad enough to have some one to complain to."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline slipped past him, frightened. He had evidently -been drinking, and she knew from Madelon that he was -liable to sudden outbursts of passion when this was the case.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In a small back room she found old Mère Leroux -crouched by the fire, groaning a little as she rocked -herself to and fro. When she saw that Aline was alone, -she gave a little cry of disappointment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And Mlle Ange?" she cried in her cracked old voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My aunt Marthe is bad to-day; she could not leave -her," explained Aline.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, poor Ma'mselle Marthe—and I remember her -straight and strong and handsome; not a beauty like -Ma'mselle Ange, but well enough, well enough. Then -she falls down a bank with a great stone on top of her, -and there she is, no better than an old woman like me, -who has had her life, and whom no one cares for any -more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Mère Leroux, you should n't say that!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's true, my dear, true enough. Mathieu is a bad -son, a bad son. Some day he 'll turn me out, and I -shall go to Madelon. She 's a good girl, Madelon; but -when a girl has got a husband, what does she care for -an old grandmother? Now Charles was a good son. Yes, -if Charles had lived—but then it is always the best who go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You had another son, then?" said Aline, bringing -a wooden stool to the old woman's side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, my son Charles. Ah, a fine lad that, and -handsome. He was M. Réné's body servant, and you -should have seen him in his livery—a fine, straight man, -handsomer than M. Réné. Ah, well, he fretted after his -master, and then he took a fever and died of it, and -Mathieu has never been a good son to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"M. Réné died?" asked Aline quickly, for the old -woman had begun to cry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mère Leroux dried her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, yes; there 's no one who knows more about that -than I. He was in Paris, and as he came out of M. le -duc de Noailles's Hôtel, he met M. de Brézé, and M. de -Brézé said to him, 'Well, Réné, we have been hearing -of you,' and M. Réné said, 'How so?' 'Why,' says -M. de Brézé (my son Charles was with M. Réné, and -he heard it all), 'Why,' says M. de Brézé, 'I hear you -have found a guardian angel of quite surpassing beauty. -May I not be presented to her?' Then, Charles said, -M. Réné looked straight at him and answered, 'When I -bring Mme Réné de Montenay to Paris, I will present -you.' M. de Brézé shrugged his shoulders, and slapped -M. Réné on the arm. 'Oho,' said he, 'you are very sly, -my friend. I was not talking of your marriage, but of -your mistress.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then M. Réné put his hand on his sword, and said, -still very quietly, 'You have been misinformed; it is a -question of my marriage.' Charles said that M. de -Brézé was flushed with wine, or he would not have -laughed as he did then. Well, well, well, it's a great -many years ago, but it was a pity, a sad pity. M. de -Brézé was the better swordsman, and he ran M. Réné -through the body."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And he died?" said Aline.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not then; no, not then. It would have been better -like that—yes, much better."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, what happened?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Charles heard it all. The surgeon attended to the -wound, and said that with care it would do well, only -there must be perfect quiet, perfect rest. With his -own ears he heard that said, and the old Marquise went -straight from the surgeon to M. Réné's bedside, and -sat down, and took his hand. Charles was in the -next room, but the door was ajar, and he could hear -and see.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Réné, my son,' she said, 'I hear your duel was -about Ange Desaix.' M. Réné said, 'Yes, ma mere.' Then -she said very scornfully, 'I have undoubtedly -been misinformed, for I was told that you fought -because—but no, it is too absurd.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"M. Réné moved his hand. He was all strapped up, -but his hand could move, and he jerked it, thus, to stop -his mother; and she stopped and looked at him. Then -he said, 'I fought M. de Brézé because he spoke -disrespectfully of my future wife.' Yes, just like that he -said it; and what it must have been to Madame to hear -it, Lucifer alone knows, for her pride was like his. -There was a long silence, and they looked hard at each -other, and then Madame said, 'No!'—only that, but -Charles said her face was dreadful, and M. Réné said -'Yes!' almost in a whisper, for he was weak, and then -again there was silence. After a long time Madame -got up and went out of the room, and M. Réné gave -a long sigh, and called Charles, and asked for something -to drink. Next day Madame came back. She did not -sit down this time, but stood and stared at M. Réné. -Big black eyes she had then, and her face all white, as -white as his. 'Réné,' she said, 'are you still mad?' -and M. Réné smiled and said, 'I am not mad at all.' She -put her hand on his forehead. 'You would really -do this thing?' she said. 'Lower our name, take as -wife what you might have for the asking as mistress?' M. Réné -turned in bed at that, and between pain and -anger his voice sounded strong and loud. 'Whilst I -am alive, there 's no man living shall say that,' he cried. -'On my soul I swear I shall marry her, and on my -soul I swear she is fit to be a king's wife.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame took her hand away, and looked at it -for a moment. Afterwards, when Charles told me, I -thought, did she wonder if she should see blood on -it? And then without another word she went out -of the room, and gave orders that her carriages were -to be got ready, for she was taking M. Réné to -Rancy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no!" said Aline.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, my dear, yes; and she did it too, and he died -of the journey—died calling for Mlle Ange."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, did she come?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Charles fetched her, and for that Madame never -forgave him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, how dreadful!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes, it is sad; but it would have been a terrible -mésalliance. A Montenay and his steward's daughter! -No, no, it would not have done; one does not do such -things."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline got up abruptly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I must go," she said. "I promised I would not -be long. See, here is the egg."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are in such a hurry," mumbled the old woman, -confused. She was still in the past, and the sudden -change of subject bewildered her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will come again," said Aline gently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When she was clear of the inn she walked very fast -for a few moments, and then stopped. She did not -want to go home at once—the story she had just heard -had taken possession of her, and she wanted to be alone -to adjust her thoughts, to grow accustomed to kind -placid Mlle Ange as the central figure of such a tragedy. -After a moment's pause she took the path that led to -the château, but stopped short at the high iron gates. -Beyond them the avenue looked black and eerie. Her -desire to go farther left her, and she leaned against the -gates, taking breath after the climb.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The early dusk was settling fast upon the bare woods, -and the hollow where the village lay below was already -dark and flecked with a light or two. Above, a -little yellowish glow lurked behind the low, sullen -clouds.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was very still, and Aline could hear the drip, drip -of the moisture which last night had coated all the -trees with white, and which to-night would surely freeze -again. It was turning very cold; she would not wait. -It was foolish to have come, more than foolish to let an -old woman's words sting her so sharply—"One does not -do such things." Was it her fancy that the dim eyes -had been turned curiously upon her for a moment just -then? Yes, of course, it was only fancy, for what could -Mère Leroux know or suspect? She drew her cloak -closer, and was about to turn away when a sound startled -her. Close by the gate a stick cracked as if it had been -trodden on, and there was a faint brushing sound as of -a dress trailing against the bark of a tree. Aline peered -into the shadows with a beating heart, and thought she -saw some one move. Frightened and unnerved, she -caught at the scroll-work of the gate and stared -open-eyed, unable to stir; and again something rustled and -moved within. This time it was plainly a woman's -shape that flitted from one tree to the next—a woman -who hid a moment, then leaned and looked, and at last -came lightly down the avenue to the gate. Here the -last of the light fell on Marguerite de Matigny's face, -showing it very white and hollow-eyed. Aline's heart -stood still. Could this be flesh and blood? Marguerite -here? Not in the flesh, then.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Marguerite," she breathed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marguerite's hand came through the wrought-work -and caught at her. It was cold, but human, and Aline -recovered herself with a gasp.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Marguerite, you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And Aline, you? I looked, and looked, and thought -'t was you, and at last I thought, well, I 'll risk it. Oh, -my dear!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I don't understand. Oh, Marguerite, I thought -you were a ghost."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And wondered why I should come here? Well, -I 've some right to, for my mother was a Montenay. -Did you not know it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. But what brings you here, since you are not a -ghost, but your very own self?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tiens, Aline, I have wished myself any one or -anything but myself this last fortnight! You must know -that when I was set free—and oh, ma chérie, I heard it -was your husband who saved me, and of course that -means you——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not me," said Aline quickly. "He did it. Who -told you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Abbé Loisel. He knows everything—too much, -I think! I don't like him, which is ungrateful, since he -got me out of Paris."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did he? Where did you go then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, to Switzerland, to Bâle, where I joined my -father; and then, then—oh, Aline, do you know I am -betrothed?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear, and you are happy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marguerite screwed up her face in an unavailing -attempt to keep grave, but after a moment burst out -laughing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Aline, he is so droll, and a countryman of -your own. Indeed, I believe he is a cousin, for his name -is Desmond."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you like him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I adore him," said Mlle Marguerite calmly. -"Aline, if you could see him! His hair—well, it's -rather red; and he has freckles just like the dear little -frogs we used to find by the ponds, Jean and I, when we -were children; and his eyes are green and droll—oh, but -to make you die of laughing——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is not handsome, then?" said Aline, laughing too.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh no, ugly—but most adorably ugly, and tall, and -broad; and oh, Aline, he is nice, and he says that in -Ireland I may love him as much as I please, and no one -will think it a breach of decorum."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Marguerite, you are just the same, you funny child!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, why not—it's not so long since we saw each -other, is it? Only a few months."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I feel as if it were centuries," said Aline, pressing -her hands together.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, that's because you are married. Ciel! that was -a sensation, your marriage. They talked—yes, they -talked to split your ears. The things they said——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are my friend," said Mlle de Matigny -with decision. "But I must go on with my story. -Well, I was at Bâle and betrothed, and then my -father and Monsieur my fiancé set off to join -the Princes, leaving me with Mme de Montenay, -my great-aunt, who is ever so old, and quite, quite mad!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Marguerite!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, but she is. Imagine being safe in Bâle, and -then coming back here, all across France, just because -she could not die anywhere but at the Château de -Montenay in Rancy-les-Bois."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She has come back?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Should I be here otherwise?" demanded Marguerite -pathetically. "And the journey!—What I endured!—for -I saw guillotines round every corner, and suspicious -patriots on every doorstep. It is a miracle that we are -here; and now that we have come, it is all very well -for Madame my aunt, who has come here to die, and -requires no food to accomplish that end; but for me, I -do not fancy starving, and we have nothing to eat in -the house."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, my poor dear! What made you come?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Could I let her come alone? She is too old and -too weak; but I ought to have locked the door and kept -the key—only, old as she is, she can still make every one -do as she wants."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are not alone?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jean and Louise, her old servants, started with us; -but Jean got himself arrested. Poor Jean, he could not -pretend well enough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And Louise?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Louise is there, but she is nearly as old as -Madame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must have food," said Aline decidedly. "I -will bring you some."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you angel!" exclaimed Marguerite, kissing her -through the bars. "When you came I was standing -here trying to screw up my courage to go down to the -inn and ask for some."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, not the inn," said Aline quickly; "that's the -last place to go. I 'm afraid there 's danger everywhere, -but I 'll do what I can. Go back to the château, and -I 'll come as soon as possible."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, as soon as possible, please, for I am hungry -enough to eat you, my dear. See, have n't I got -thin—yes, and pale too? I assure you that I have a most -interesting air."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does M. my cousin find pallor interesting?" -inquired Aline teasingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, my dear; he has a bourgeois's taste for colour. -He compared me once to a carnation, but I punished -him well for that. I stole the vinegar, and drank -enough to make me feel shockingly ill. Then I powdered -my cheeks, and then—then I talked all the evening -to M. de Maillé!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And my cousin, M. le Chevalier, what did he do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marguerite gave an irrepressible giggle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He went away, and I was just beginning to feel that -perhaps he had been punished enough, when back he -came, very easy and smiling, with a sweet large and -beautiful bouquet of white carnations, and with an -elegant bow he begged me to accept them, since white -was my preference, though for his part he preferred the -beauteous red that blushed like happy love!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marguerite's voice became very demure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor grandmamma used to say life was compromise, -so I compromised; next morning I did not drink vinegar, -and I wore a blush pink bud in my hair. M. le Chevalier -was pleased to admire it extravagantly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline ran off laughing, but she was grave enough -before she had gone very far, for certainly the situation -was not an easy one. She racked her brains for a -plan, but could find none; and when she came in, Mlle -Marthe's quick eyes at once discerned that something -was wrong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it, child?" she said hastily. "Was Mathieu -rude?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear, how late you are," said Mlle Ange, -looking up from her needlework.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not Mathieu?" continued Marthe. "What has -happened, Aline? You have not bad news? It is not -Jacques?" and her lips grew paler.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, ma tante."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it, then? Speak, or—or—why, you have -been to the château!" she said abruptly, as Aline came -into the lamplight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Marthe, what makes you say that?" said -Ange, in a startled voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The rust on her cloak—see, it is all stained. She -has been leaning against the iron gates. What took -you there, and what has alarmed you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I saw——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A ghost?" inquired Marthe with sharp sarcasm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ange rose up, trembling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, she has come back! I know it, I have felt it! -She has come back," she cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ange, don't be a fool," said Marthe, but her eyes -were anxious.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Speak then, Aline, and tell us what you saw."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is true, she has come back," said Aline, looking -away from Mlle Ange, who put her hands before her -eyes with a little cry and stood so a full minute, whilst -Marthe gave a harsh laugh, and then bit her lip as if -in pain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come back to die?" Ange said at last, very low. -"Alone?"—and she turned on Aline.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, a niece is with her. It was she whom I saw. I -knew her in Paris—in prison; and, ma tante, they have -no food in the house, and I said I would take them some."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No food goes from this house to that," said Marthe -loudly, but Ange caught her hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, we can't let them starve."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And why not, Angel, why not? The old devil! -She has done enough mischief in the world, and now -that her time has come, let her go. Does she expect -us, us, to weep for her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no; but I can't let her starve—you know I can't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marthe laughed again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, perhaps not, but I could, and I would." She -paused. "So you 'd heap coals of fire—feed her, save -her, eh, Angel?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Marthe, don't! For the love of God, don't -speak to me like that—when you know—when you know!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marthe pulled her down with an impulsive gesture -that drew a groan from her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, Ange," she said in a queer, broken voice; and -Ange kissed her passionately and ran out of the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a long, heavy pause. Then Marthe said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So you've heard the story? Who told you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mère Leroux, to-night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And a very suitable occasion. Who says life is not -dramatic? So Mère Leroux told you, and you went -up to the château to see if it was haunted, and it was. -Ciel, if those stones could speak! But there 's enough -without that—quite enough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was silent again, and after awhile Mlle Ange -came back, wrapped in a thick cloak and carrying a -basket.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline started forward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ma tante, I may come too? It is so dark."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the dark is full of ghosts?" said Ange Desaix, -under her breath. "Well, then, child, you may come. -Indeed, the basket is heavy, and I shall be glad of your -help."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Outside, the night had settled heavily, and without -the small lantern which Mlle Ange produced from under -her cloak, it would have been impossible to see the path. -A little breeze had risen and seemed to follow them, -moaning among the leafless boughs, and rustling the -dead leaves below. They walked in silence, each -with a hand on the heavy basket. It was very cold, -and yet oppressive, as if snow were about to fall -or a storm to break. Mlle Ange led the way up a -bridle-path, and when the grey pile of the château -loomed before them she turned sharply to the left, and -Aline felt her hand taken. "This way," whispered -Ange; and they stumbled up a broken step or two, and -passed through a long, shattered window. "This way," -said Ange again. "Mon Dieu, how long since I came -here! Ah, mon Dieu!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The empty room echoed to their steps and to that -low-voiced exclamation, and the lantern light fell -waveringly upon the shadows, driving them into the -corners, where they crowded like ghosts out of that past -of which the room seemed full.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a small room, and had been exquisite. Here -and there a moulded cupid still smiled its dimpled -smile, and clutched with plump, engaging fingers at the -falling garland of white, heavy-bloomed roses which -served it for girdle and plaything. In one corner a -tattered rag of brocade still showed that the hangings -had been green. Ange looked round mournfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was Madame's boudoir," she said slowly, with -pauses between the sentences. "Madame sat here, -by the window, because she liked to look out at the -terrace, and the garden her Italian mother had made. -Madame was beautiful then—like a picture, though -her hair was too white to need powder. She had little -hands, soft like a child's hands; but her eyes looked -through you, and at once you thought of all the bad -things you had ever done or thought. It was worse -than confession, for there was no absolution afterwards." -She paused and moved a step or two.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I sat here. The hours I have read to her, or worked -whilst she was busy with her letters!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You!" said Aline, surprised.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I, her godchild, and a pet until—come then, -child, until I forgot I was on the same footing as cat or -dog, petted for their looks, and presumed to find a -common humanity in myself and her. Ah, Marraine, -it was you who made me a Republican. Oh, my child, -pride is an evil god to serve! Don't sacrifice your life -to him as mine was sacrificed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She crossed hastily to the door as she spoke, and they -came through a corridor to the great stairs, where the -darkness seemed to lie in solid blocks, and the faint -lantern light showed just one narrow path on which to -set their feet. And on that path the dust lay thick; -here drifted into mounds, and there spread desert-smooth -along the broad, shallow steps, eloquent of -desolation indescribable. But on the centre of the grey -smoothness was a footmark—very small and lonely-looking. -It seemed to make the gloom more eerie, the -stillness more terrible, and the two women kept close -together as they went up the stair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the top another corridor, and then a door in front -of which Ange hesitated long. Twice she put out her -hand, and twice drew back, until at last it was Aline -who lifted the latch and drew her through the doorway. -Darkness and silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Across that room, and to another. Darkness and -silence still. At the third door Ange came forward -again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is past," she said, half to herself, and went in -before Aline.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Whilst the west was all in darkness, this long east -room fronted the rising moon, and the shimmer of it -lay full across the chamber, making it light as day. -Here the dust had been lately disturbed, for it hung -like a mist in the air, and its shining particles floated all -a-glitter in the broad wash of silver. Full in the -moonlight stood a great canopied bed, its crimson hangings -all wrenched away, and trailing to the dusty floor, where -they lay like some ineffaceable stain of rusting blood. -On the dark hearth a handful of sticks burned to a dull -red ash, and between fire and moon there was a chair. -It stood in to the hearth, as if for warmth, but aslant -so that the moon shaft lay across it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ange set down the lantern and took a quick step -forward, crying, "Madame!" Something stirred in the -tattered chair, something grey amongst the grey of the -shadows. It was like the movement of the roused spider, -for here was the web, all dust and moonshine, and here, -secret and fierce, grey and elusive, lurked the weaver. -The shape in the chair leaned forward, and the oldest -woman's face she had ever seen looked at Aline across -the moted moonlight. The face was all grey; the bony -ridge above the deep eye-pits, the wrinkled skin that lay -beneath, the shrivelled, discoloured lips—plainly this -was a woman not only old, but dying. Then the lids -lifted, and Aline could have screamed, for the movement -showed eyes as smoulderingly bright as the sudden -sparks which fly up from grey ash that should be cold, -but has still a heart of flame if stirred. They spoke -of the indomitable will which had dragged this old, -frail woman here to die.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Through the silence came a mere thread of a voice—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am Ange Desaix."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The shrivelled fingers picked at the shrouding shawl. -Aline, watching uneasily, saw the pinched face fall into a -new arrangement of wrinkles. The mouth opened like -a pit, and from it came an attenuated sound. With -creeping flesh she realised that this was a -laugh—Madame was laughing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ange Desaix, Ange Desaix,—Réné's Angel. Oh, -la belle comédie!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame!" the sound came like a sob, and in a -flash Aline guessed how long it was since any one had -named Réné de Montenay before this woman who had -loved him. After the silence of nearly forty years it -stabbed her like a sword thrust.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again that faint sound like the echo of laughter long -dead:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My compliments, Mlle Desaix. Will you not be -seated, and let me know to what I owe the pleasure of -this visit? But you are not alone. Who is that with -you? Come here!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline crossed the room obediently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who are you?" said the faint voice again, and the -burning eyes looked searchingly into her face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Something stirred in Aline. This old wreck of womanhood -was not only of her order, but of her kin. Before -she knew it she heard her own voice say:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am Aline de Rochambeau."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ange Desaix gave a great start. She had guessed,—but -this was certainty, and the shock took her breath. -From the chair a minute, tiny hand was beckoning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rochambeau, Rochambeau. I know all the -Rochambeau—Réné de Rochambeau was my first cousin, -for I was a Montenay born, you know. He and his -brother were the talk of the town when I was young. -They married the twin heiresses of old M. de Vivonne, -and every one sang the catch which M. de Coulanges -made—</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Fiers et beaux, les Rochambeau;</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Fiere et bonnes, les belles Vivonne.'</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Whose daughter are you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline knelt by the chair and kissed the little claw -where a diamond shone from the gold circlet which was -so much too loose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Réné de Rochambeau was my grandfather," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, he would have thought you a pretty girl. -Beauty never came amiss to a Rochambeau, and you -have your share. We are kinsfolk, Mademoiselle, -and in other circumstances, I should have wished—have -wished—" she drew her hand away impatiently and -put it to her head. "Who said that Ange Desaix was -here? Why does she come now? Réné is dead, and -I have no more sons; I am really a little at a loss."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The words which should have sounded pathetic came -in staccato mockery, and Aline sprang up in indignation, -but even as she moved Mlle Ange spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let the past alone, Madame," she said slowly. -"Believe, if you can, that I have come to help you. -You are not alone?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have Louise, but she—really, I forget where she -is at present, but she is not cooking, for we have nothing -to cook. It is as well that I have come here to die, since -for that there are always conveniences. One dies more -comfortably chez soi. In fact, unless one had the -honour of dying on the field of battle, there is to my mind -something bourgeois about dying in a strange place. -At least, it has never been our habit. Now I recollect -when Réné was dying—dear me, how many years ago -it is now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is thirty-seven years ago," said Ange Desaix in -low muffled tones.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you, Mademoiselle, you are quite correct. -Well, thirty-seven years ago, you, with that excellent -memory of yours, will recall how I brought my son -Réné here, that he might die at home."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Ange. "You brought him home that -he might die."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The slight change of words was an accusation, and -there was a moment's silence, broken by an almost -inaudible whisper from Mlle Ange.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thirty-seven years. Oh, mon Dieu!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The tremulous grey head moved a little, bent forward, -and was propped by a shaking hand, but Madame's -eyes shone unalterably amused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, my dear Ange, he died—unmarried; and I had -the consolations of religion, and also of knowing that a -mésalliance is not possible in the grave."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ange Desaix started forward with a sob.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And have you never repented, Madame, have you -never repented? Never thought that you might have -had his children about your knees? That night, when I -saw him die, I said, 'God will punish,' and are you not -punished? You have neither son nor grandson; you -are childless as I am childless; you are alone and the -last of your line!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sudden fire transfigured her, and she looked like -a prophetess. Madame de Montenay stared at her and -fell to fidgeting with her shawl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am too old for scenes," she said fretfully. "Réné -was a fool—a fool. I never interfered with his -amusements, but marriage—that is not an affair for oneself -alone. Did he think I should permit? But it is -enough, he is dead, and I think you forget yourself, -Ange Desaix, when you come to my house and talk to -me in such a strain. I should like to be alone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old imperious note swelled the thin voice; the -old imperious gesture raised the trembling hand. Even -in her recoil Aline felt a faint thrill of admiration as for -something indomitable, indestructible.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ange swept through the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" she said with a long shuddering breath, "ah, -mon Dieu! mon Dieu!" All her beautiful dreamy -expression was gone. "Ah! what a coward I am; even -now, even now she frightens me, cows me," and she -leaned panting against the wall, whilst Aline closed the -door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Out of the darkness Marguerite came trembling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aline, what is it?" she whispered. "I heard you, -and came as far as the door, and then, Holy Virgin, -is n't she terrible? She makes me cold like ice, and her -laugh, it 's—oh, one does not know how to bear it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mlle Ange turned, collecting herself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it Louise?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I am Marguerite de Matigny. Louise is in the -corridor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let us come away from here," said Aline, taking -the lantern, and they hastened through the two dark -rooms, meeting Louise at the farthest door. She was -a tall, haggard woman, with loose grey hair and restless, -terrified eyes. Mlle Ange drew her aside, whispering, -and after a moment the fear went out of her face, -leaving a sallow exhaustion in its place.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a miracle," she was saying as Aline and -Marguerite joined them. "The saints know how we got -here. I remember nothing, I am too tired; and Madame,—how -she is not dead! Nothing would hold her, when -the doctor told her she had a mortal complaint. If you -know Madame, you will know that she laughed. 'Mon -Dieu,' she said to me, 'I have had one mortal -complaint for ten years now, and that is old age, but since -he says I have another, no doubt he is right, and the -two together will kill me.' Then she said, 'Pack my -mail, Louise, for I do not choose to die here, where no -one has ever heard of the Montenay.' 'But, Mademoiselle,' -I said, and Madame shrugged her shoulders. -'But the Terror,' I said, and indeed, Ma'mselle, I went -on my knees to her, but if you think she cared! Not -the least in the world, and here we are, and God knows -what comes next! I am afraid, very much afraid, -Ma'mselle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, and so am I," whispered Marguerite, pinching -Aline's arm. "It is really dreadful here. La tante -mad, and this old house all ghosts and horrors, and -nothing to eat, it is triste,—yes, I can tell you it is -triste."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We will come again," said Aline, kissing her, "and -at least there is food here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, take the basket, Louise," said Mlle Ange, -"and now we must go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, don't go," cried Marguerite. "Stay just a -little—" but Louise broke in——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, Ma'mselle, let them go. Madame would -not be pleased. I thought I heard her call just now." She -shrugged her shoulders expressively, and Marguerite -released her friend with a little sobbing kiss.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, Aline," said Mlle Ange with dignity, and -they went down the echoing stair in silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neither spoke for a long while. Then amongst the -deeper shadows of the wood Aline heard a curiously -strained voice say:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So you are Rochambeau, and noble?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Marthe said so from the first; she is always right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A little pause, and then Ange said passionately:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What made you give that name? Are you ashamed -to be called Dangeau?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She was so old, and of my kin; I said the name -that she would know. Oh, I do not know why I said -it," faltered Aline.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does he know it, Jacques?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, oh yes!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He knew before you were married?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, always; he has been so good."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So good, and you his wife, and could deny his name! -I do not understand you, Aline de Rochambeau."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline flushed scarlet in the darkness. Her own -name spoken thus seemed to set a bruise upon her -heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was not that," she cried: "I do not know why I -said it, but it was not to deny—him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her voice sank very low, and something in it made -Ange halt a moment and say:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aline, do you love Jacques?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline's hand went to her breast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she said under her breath, and thought the -whole wood echoed with the one soft word.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And does he know that too?" The questioning -voice had sunk again to gentleness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no—oh, no."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor child," said Agnes Desaix, and after that they -spoke no more.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="burning-of-the-chateau"><span class="large">CHAPTER XXIV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">BURNING OF THE CHÂTEAU</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Mlle Marthe lay in the dusk frowning and -knitting her brows until they made a straight -dark line over her restless eyes. A sense of angry -impotence possessed her and found expression in a -continual sharp movement of head and hand; the stabbing -physical pain evoked was sheer relief to the strained -mind. Two days had now passed since the first -expedition to the château, and every hour of them had -seemed more heavily weighted with impending danger. -Nothing would persuade Mme de Montenay to move, -or Ange to leave her to her fate. Louise was tearful, -and useless; Marguerite, a lonely child, terrified of the -great shadowed rooms, and clinging eagerly to her -friend;—a complication, in fact, which roused Mlle -Marthe's anger more than all the rest, since even her -resolution recoiled from the abandonment of a young -girl, who had no share in Mme de Montenay's obstinacy. -Marthe fretted, turned a little, groaned, and -bit her lip.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As the door opened she looked up sharply, but it -was only Jeanne, who came to ask her if she should -light the lamp, and got a snappish "No!" for answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is dark, Ma'mselle," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will wait till they come in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh—it 's queer weather, and a queer time of day -to be out," muttered Jeanne sulkily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame is young; she needs exercise," said Marthe, -prompted by something in the woman's tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, yes, exercise," said Jeanne in a queer voice, -and she went out, shutting the door sharply. Mlle -Marthe's thoughts kept tone with the darkening sky. -Her eyes watched the door with an anxious stare. When -at last Ange and Aline came in snow-sprinkled and warm, -her temper was fretted to a sharp edge, and she spoke -with quick impatience.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mon Dieu, how long you have been! If you must -go, you must, but there is no occasion to stay and stay, -until I am beside myself with wondering what has -happened!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ange threw off her wet cloak and bent to kiss her -sister. "Oh, my dearest, has it been so long?" she -said. "Why, I thought we were being so quick, and -that you would commend us. We did not wait at all, -only gave the food to Louise and came straight back. -Has the pain been bad then, my poor darling? Have -you wanted anything?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marthe pushed her away with an angry jerk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What I want is a way out of this abominable -situation," she exclaimed. "If you had any common-sense, -Ange—the slightest instinct of self-preservation—but -no, you will sacrifice all our lives to that wicked -old woman, and then flatter yourself that you have done -something to be proud of. Come here to die, has she? -Heavens, she 'll outlive us all, and then go happy in the -thought that she has contrived to do a little more -mischief before the end!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ange winced, but only said gently:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dearest, don't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There, Ange, I 've no patience! I tell you we are -all on the brink of ruin. Madelon has been here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madelon? Ah, the dear child. It is so long since -I have really seen her. I am sorry to have missed her. -Was she well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mlle Marthe caught her sister's hand and pressed it -until she cried out, "Marthe, you are hurting me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ange! Sometimes I could swear at you! For -Heaven's sake think of yourself for a few moments, -or if that is asking too much, think of Aline, think of me. -Madelon came here because her father sent her!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Her father sent her! Marthe, dearest, don't—that hurts."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I mean it to. Yes, her father——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But why. I don't understand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline had been lighting the lamp. She looked up -now, and the yellow flare showed the trouble in her face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, ma tante," she breathed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, child. Ange, wake up; don't you realise?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mathieu suspects?" asked Aline quickly. "But how?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He saw you take the path to the château the other -day. Saw, or thought he saw, a light in the west wing -last night, and sent Madelon to find out how much we -knew. A mischief-maker Mathieu, and a bad man,—devil -take him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Marthe, don't. Madelon,—Madelon is as true -as steel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, but mightily afraid of her father. She sat -here with her round cheeks as white as curds, and cried, -and begged me not to tell her anything;—as if I should -be such a fool."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, poor Madelon," said Ange, "she must not -distress herself like that, it is so bad for her just now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marthe ground her teeth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ange, I won't have it—I won't. I tell you all -our lives are at stake, and you discuss Madelon's -health."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dearest, don't be vexed; indeed, I am trying to -think what can be done."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, Ange, listen to me. If you will go on with -this mad business, there is only one thing to be done. -I have thought it all out. They must do with as little -as possible, and you must not go there oftener than -once in four days. You will go at eleven o'clock at -night when there is no one abroad, and Louise will -meet you half-way and take the basket on. There -must be no other communication of any sort: you hear -me, Aline?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Aline, "I think you are quite right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is always a consolation." Marthe's voice -took a sarcastic tone. "Now, Ange, do you agree?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you really think——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, yes, I do. Ange, I 'm a cross animal, but I -can't see you throw your life away and not say a word. -I 'm a useless cripple enough, but I have the use of my -tongue. Will you promise?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well—yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's right. Now for goodness let's talk about -something else. If there 's going to be trouble it will -come, and we need n't go over and over it all before -it does come. Aline, do, for the love of heaven, -remember that I cannot bear the light in my eyes like that. -Put the lamp over here, behind me, and then you can -take a book and read aloud so as to give us all a chance -of composing our minds."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline waked late that night. All the surface calm -in her had been broken up by the events of the last -few days. The slight sprinkling of snow had ceased, -but there was a high wind abroad, and as it complained -amongst the stripped and creaking woods, it seemed to -voice the yearning that strained the very fibres of her -being.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stood at midnight and looked out. Very high -and pale rode the moon, and the driving cloud wrack -swept like shallow, eddying water across the one clear -space of sky in which she queened it. All below was -dense, dull, cloud mass, darkening to the hill slope, -and the black sighing woodland. Thoughts drove in -her brain, like the driving cloud. Sadness of life, -imminence of death, shortness of love. She had seen -an ugly side of ancestral pride in these two days, and -suddenly she glimpsed a vision of herself grown old -and grey, looking back along the interminable years to -the time when she had sacrificed youth and love. Then -it would be too late. Life was irrevocable; but now—now? -She threw open her window and leaned far -out, drawing the strong air into her lungs, whilst the -wind caught her hair and spread it all abroad. The -spirit of life, of youth, cried to her, and she stretched -her arms wide and mingled her voice with its voice. -"Jacques!" she called under her breath, "Jacques!" -and then as suddenly she drew back trembling and hid -her face in her cold hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did not know how the time passed after that, -but when she looked up again there was a faint glow -in the sky. She watched it curiously, thinking for a -moment that it was the dawn, and then aware that -morning must still be far away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A tinge of rose brightened the cloud bank over the -hill, and at its edge the ether showed blue. Then -quite suddenly a tongue of fire flared above the trees -and sank again. As the flames rose a second time -Ange Desaix was in the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aline! The château! It is on fire!" she cried. -"Oh, mon Dieu, what shall we do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They ran out, wrapped hastily in muffling cloaks, and -as they climbed the hill Ange spoke in gasps.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They must have seen it in the village before we -did. All the world will be there. Oh, that poor -child! God help us all!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, come quickly!" cried Aline, and they took -hands and ran. The slope once mounted, the path so -dark a few hours back was illuminated. A red, -unnatural dusk filled the wood, and against it the trees -stretched great black groping arms. The sky was like -the reflection from some huge furnace, and all the way -the fire roared in the rising wind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How could it have happened? Do you think,—oh, -do you suppose this is what she meant to do?" -Aline asked once, and Ange gave a sort of sob as she -answered:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, my dear, God knows,—but I 'm afraid so," and -then they pushed on again in silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They came out of the bridle-path into the cypress -walk that led to Madame's Italian garden. At a turn -the flaming building came into view for the first time. -South and east it burned furiously, but the west front, -that which faced them, was still intact, though the -smoke eddied about it, and a dull glare from the -windows spoke of rooms beyond that were already in the -grip of the flames. Between low hedges of box the two -pressed on, and climbed the terrace steps.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Here the heat drove to meet them full of stinging -particles of grit. The hot blast dried the skin and -stung the eyes. The wind blew strongly from the east, -but every now and then it veered, and then the fire -lapped round the corner and was blown out in long -dreadful tongues, which licked the walls as if tasting -them, and threw a crimson glare along the dark west -wing. Great sparks like flashes of flame flew high and -far, and the dense reek made breathing painful.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look!" said Aline, catching her companion by the -arm, and pointing. From where they stood the broad -south terrace was full in view, and the fire lighted it -brilliantly. Below it, where the avenue ceased, was a -small crowd of dark gesticulating figures, intent on the -blazing pile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They can't see us," said Ange; "but come this way, -here, where the statue screens us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They paused a moment, leaning against the pedestal -where a white Diana lifted an arrow against the glare. -Then both cried out simultaneously, for driven by a -sudden gust the smoke wreaths parted, and for a -moment they saw at a window above them a moving -whiteness,—an arm thrust out, only to fall again, and -hang with fatal limpness across the sill.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, it was Marguerite," cried Aline with catching -breath. "I saw her face. Marguerite! Marguerite!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush!" said Mlle Ange. "It is no use calling. -She has fainted. Thank God she came this way. -There is a stair if I could only find it. Once I knew -it well enough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she spoke she hurried into the smoke, and Aline -followed, gasping.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your cloak over your face, child, and remember you -must not faint."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>How they gained the boudoir, Aline hardly knew, but -she found herself there with the smoke all round, -pressing on her like a solid thing, blinding, stinging, -choking. Ahead of her Mlle Ange groped along the -wall. Once she staggered, but with a great effort kept -on, and at last stopped and pressed with all her strength.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the darkness appeared a darker patch, and then, -just as Aline's throbbing senses seemed about to fail her, -she felt her hand caught, she was pulled through a -narrow opening, her feet felt steps, mounted instinctively, -and her lungs drew in a long, long breath of relief, for -here the smoke had hardly penetrated, and the air, -though heavy, was quite fit to breathe. For a moment -they halted and then climbed on. The stair went -steeply up, wound to the left, and ceased. Then again -Ange stood feeling for the catch with fingers that had -known it well enough in the dead days. Now they -hesitated, tried here and there, failed of the secret, and -went groping to and fro, until Aline's blood beat in her -throat, and she could have cried out with fear and -impatience. The moment seemed interminable, and -the smoke mounted behind them in ever-thickening whirls.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was here, mon Dieu, what has become of it? So -many years ago, but I thought I could have found it -blindfold. Réné showing me,—his hand on mine—ah, -at last," and with that the murmuring voice ceased, and -the panelling slipped smoothly back, letting in more -smoke, to press like a nightmare upon their already -labouring lungs. Through it the window showed a red -square, against which was outlined a white, huddled -shape. It was Marguerite, who lay just as she had -fallen, head bowed, one hand thrust out, the other at her -throat. Ange and Aline stood by her for a moment -leaning from the window, and taking in what air they -might, and then the confusion and the stumbling began -once more, only this time they had a weight to carry, and -could shield neither eyes nor lungs from the pervading -smoke. Twice they stopped, and twice that dreadful -roar of the fire, a roar that drowned even the heavy beat -of their burdened pulses, drove them on again, until at -last they stumbled out upon the terrace, and there -halted, gasping terribly. The intolerable heat dripped -from them in a black sweat, and for a while they crouched -trembling in every limb. Then Ange whispered with -dry lips:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We must go on. This is not safe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They staggered forward once more, and even as they -did so there was a most appalling crash, and the flames -rushed up like a pyramid to heaven, making all the -countryside light with a red travesty of day. Urged by -terror, and with a final effort, they dragged Marguerite -down the steps, and on, until they sank at last exhausted -under a cypress which watched the pool where the -fountain played no more.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In a minute or two Aline recovered sufficiently to wet -the hem of her cloak and bathe Marguerite's face. -This and the cold air brought her to with a shudder -and a cry. She sat up coughing, and clung to Aline.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, save me, save me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Chérie, you are saved."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And they are burnt. Oh, Holy Virgin, I shall see -it always."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't talk of it, my dear!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I must. I saw it, Aline; I saw it! There was -a little thread of fire that ran up Louise's skirt, like a -gold wire. Oh, mon Dieu! They are burnt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame?" asked Ange, very low.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes; and Louise, poor Louise! I was so cross -with her last night; but I did n't know. I would n't -have been if I had known. Oh, poor Louise!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell us what happened, my dear, if you can."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I don't know." Marguerite hid her face a -moment, and then spoke excitedly, pushing back her -dishevelled hair. "I woke up with the smoke in my -throat, and ran in to la tante's room. She had n't gone -to bed at all. There she was in her big chair, sitting -up straight, Louise on her knees begging her to get up, -and all between the boards of the floor there was smoke -coming up, as if there were a great fire underneath."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Underneath! It began below, then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Aline, she did it herself! She must have crept -down and set light in ever so many places. Yes, it is -true, for she boasted of it. 'Ange Desaix says I am the -last of the Montenay. Very well, then; she shall see, -and the world shall see, how Montenay and I will go -together!' That is what she said, and Louise screamed, -'Save yourself, Ma'mselle!' But la tante nodded and -said, 'Yes, if you have wings, use them, by all -means.' It was like some perfectly horrid dream. I ran -through the rooms to see if I could get down the stairs, -but they were all in a blaze. Then I ran back again; -but when I was still some way from the door I saw that -the fire was coming up through the floor. Louise gave -one great scream, but la tante just sat and smiled, and -then the floor gave way, and they went down with a -crash. Oh, Aline—Aline!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Marguerite, my dear—and you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marguerite shuddered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I ran across the corridor and into the farthest -room, and the smoke came after me, and I fainted, and -then you came and saved me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush! there is some one coming," said Mlle Ange -in a quick whisper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They crouched down and waited breathlessly. Then, -after an agonised struggle, Marguerite coughed, and at -once a dark figure bore down on them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank the Saints I have found you," said Madelon's -voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline sprang up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madelon—you? How did you know?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! Bah—I saw you when you crossed the terrace. -I saw you were carrying some one. Is it Madame?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no; a girl—younger than we are. Oh, Madelon, -you will help us?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, at least I won't harm you—you know that; -but you are safe enough, so far, for no one else saw you. -They were all watching to see the roof fall in over there -to the right, and I should have been watching too, only -that my cousin Anne had just been scolding me so for -being there at all. She said my baby would have -St. John's fire right across his face. She herself has a -red patch over one eye, and only because her mother -would sit staring at the embers. Well, I thought I -would be prudent, so I bade Jean Jacques look instead -of me, and turned my head the other way, and, just -as the flames shot up, I saw you cross the terrace and -go down the steps. And now, what are you going to do -with Mademoiselle?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This most pertinent question took them all aback, and -Marguerite looked up with round, bewildered eyes; she -certainly had no suggestions to make. At last Mlle -Ange said slowly:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She must come home with us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Impossible! No, no, that would never do, dear -Ma'mselle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But there is nothing else to be done."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, there must be. Why, you could not hide -an infant in your house. Everything is known in the -village,—and—I should not trust Jeanne overmuch."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madelon! Jeanne? She has been with us a life-time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Maybe, but she hates the Montenay more than she -loves you and Mlle Marthe. Also, she is jealous of -Madame here,—and—in fact, she has talked too much -already."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then what is to be done?" asked Ange distractedly. -She was trembling and unnerved. That a man's foes -could be they of his own household, was one of those -horrible truths which now came home to her for the first -time. "Jeanne," she kept repeating; "no, it is not -possible that Jeanne would do anything to harm us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madelon drew Aline aside.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jeanne is an old beast," she said frankly. "I -always said so; but until the other day I did not think -she was unfaithful. Now,—well, I only tell you that -my father said she had given him 'valuable -information.' What do you make of that, eh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What you do," said Aline calmly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, then, what next?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you advise?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Seigneur! Don't put it on me. What is there to -advise?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she spoke, with a shrug of her plump shoulders, -Marguerite came forward. In her white undergarment, -with her brown hair loose and curling, and her brown -eyes brimmed with tears, she looked like a punished -child. Even the smuts on her face seemed to add -somehow to the youth and pathos of her appearance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Aline," she said, with a half sob, "where am I to -go? What am I to do?" And in a moment the mother -in Madelon melted in her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There, there, little Ma'mselle," she said quickly, -"there 's nothing to cry about. You shall come along -with me, and if I can't give you as fine a bed as you had -in this old gloomy place, at any rate it will be a safer -one, and, please the Saints, you 'll not be burnt out of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, Madelon, you mustn't," said Mlle Ange.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And why not, chère Ma'mselle?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The danger—your father—your good husband. It -would not be fair. I will not let you do what you have -just said would be so dangerous."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dangerous for you, but not for me. Who is going -to suspect me? As to Jean Jacques, you need n't be -afraid of him. Thank God he is no meddler, and what -I do is right in his eyes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear child, he is a good husband; but—but just -now you should not have anxiety or run any risks."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madelon laughed, and then grew suddenly grave.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, you mean my baby. Why, you are just like -Anne; but there, Ma'mselle, do you really think le bon -Dieu would let my baby suffer because I tried to help -poor little Ma'mselle here, who does n't look much more -than a baby herself?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ange kissed her impulsively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God bless you, my dear," she said. "You are a -good woman, Madelon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, then, it is settled. Here, take my cloak, -Ma'mselle. What is your name? Ma'mselle Marguerite, -then—no, not yours; it is much better that you -should not come into the matter any more, Ma'mselle -Ange, nor you, Madame. Ma'mselle Marguerite will -put on my cloak and come along with me, and as quickly -as possible, since Jean Jacques will be getting impatient."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where is he, then?" asked Aline.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yonder behind the big cypress. I left him there -to keep a look-out and tell us if any one came this way. -He has probably gone to sleep, my poor Jean Jacques. -It took me a quarter of an hour to wake him, the great -sleepy head. He had no desire to come, not he, and will -be only too thankful to be allowed to go back to bed -again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, Ma'mselle, are you ready?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They went off together into the shadows, and Ange -and Aline took their way home to remove the smoke -and grime, and to tell Mlle Marthe the events of the -night.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="escape-of-two-madcaps"><span class="large">CHAPTER XXV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">ESCAPE OF TWO MADCAPS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Well, it is a mercy, only what's to happen next?" -said Mlle Marthe in the morning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know," said Aline doubtfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marthe caught her sister's hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, Ange, promise me to keep out of it, and you, -Aline, I require you to do the same. Madelon is a most -capable young woman, and if she and Jean Jacques -can't contrive something, yes, and run next to no risk -in doing so, you may be sure that you won't do any -better. The sooner the girl is got out of the place the -better, and while she 's here, for Heaven's sake act -with prudence, and don't go sniffing round the secret, -like a dog with a hidden bone, until every one knows -it's there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dearest, you forget we can't desert Madelon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear Ange, you may be a good woman, but -sometimes I think you 're a bit of a fool. Don't you see -that Madelon is not in the least danger as long as you -keep well away from her? Who does Mathieu suspect? -Us. Well, and if you and Aline are always in Madelon's -pocket, do you think he will put it all down to an -interest in that impending infant of hers? He 's not such -a fool,—and I wish to Heaven you weren't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This adjuration produced sufficient effect to make -Mlle Ange pass Madelon on the road that very afternoon -with no more than a dozen words on either side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Approve of me," she said laughingly on her return. -"It was really very, very good of me, for there were a -hundred things I was simply dying to say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mlle Marthe was pleased to smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you can be very angelic when you like, my -Angel. Kindly remember that goodness is your rôle, -and stick to this particular version of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madelon says the poor child is rested. She has put -her in the loft where she stored her winter apples."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sensible girl. Now you would have given her the -best bed, if it meant everybody's arrest next moment."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, if it pleases you to say so, you may, but I 'm not -really quite so foolish as you try to make me out. -Mathieu thinks everyone was burnt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, one hoped he would. For Heaven's sake keep -out of the whole matter, and he 'll continue to think so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I will. I see you are right, dearest. Jean -Jacques has a plan. After a few days he thinks he could -get her out of the place. Madelon would not tell me -more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oho, Mademoiselle Virtue, then it was Madelon who -was good, not you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We were both good," asserted Ange demurely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After that there were no further confidences between -Madelon and the ladies of the white house. If they met -on the road, they nodded, passed a friendly greeting, -and went each on her own way without further words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ten days went by and brought them to the first week -of March. It came in like the proverbial lamb, with -dewy nights which sparkled into tender sunny days. -The brushwood tangles reddened with innumerable -buds; here and there in the hedgerow a white violet -appeared like a belated snowflake, and in the -undergrowth primrose leaves showed fresh and green. Aline -gave herself up to these first prophecies of spring. She -roamed the woods and lanes for hours, finding in every -budded tree, in every promised flower, not only the -sweetest memories of her childhood, but also, God -knows what, of elusive beckoning hopes that played on -the spring stirring in her blood, as softly as the Lent -breeze, which brought a new blush to her cheek. One -exquisite afternoon found her still miles from home. So -many birds were singing that no one could have felt -the loneliness of the countryside. She turned with -regret to make her way towards Rancy, taking here a -well-known and there an unfamiliar path. Nearer home -she struck into the woods by a new and interesting -track. It wandered a good deal, winding this way and -that until she lost her bearings and had no longer any -clear notion of what direction she was taking. Presently -a sweetness met her, and with a little exclamation of -pleasure she went on her knees before the first purple -violets of the year. It seemed a shame to pick, but -impossible to leave them, and by searching carefully -she obtained quite a bunch, salving her conscience with -the thought of what pleasure they would give Mlle -Marthe, who seemed so much more suffering of late.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is the spring—it will pass," Ange said repeatedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline walked on, violets in hand, wondering why the -spring, which brought new life to all Nature, should -bring—she caught herself up with a shiver—Death? -Of course there was no question of death. How foolish -of her to think of it, but having thought, the thought -clung until she dwelt painfully upon it, and every -moment it needed a stronger effort to turn her mind -away. So immersed was she that she did not notice at -all where she was going. The little path climbed on, -pursued a tortuous way, and suddenly brought her out -to the east of the château, and in full view of its ruined -pile, where the blackened mass of it still smoked faintly, -and one high skeleton wall towered gaunt and bare, -its empty window spaces like the eyeless stare of a skull.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sun was behind it, throwing it into strong relief, -and the sight brought back the sort of terror which the -place had always had for Aline. She walked on quickly, -skirting the ruins and keeping to the outer edge of the -wide terraces, on her way to the familiar bridle-path, -which was her quickest way home. When she came -into the Italian garden she paused, remembering the -nightmare of that struggle for Marguerite's life. The -pool with its low stone rim reflected nothing more -terrible than sunset clouds now, but she still shuddered -as she thought how the smoke and flame had woven -strange spirals on its clear, passive mirror. She stooped -now, and dipped her violets in the water to keep them -fresh. Her own eyes looked back at her, very bright -and clear, and she smiled a little as she put up a hand -to smooth a straying curl. Then, of a sudden she saw -her own eyes change, grow frightened. A step sounded -on the path behind her, and another face appeared in -the pool,—a man's face—and a stranger's.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline got up quickly and turned to see a tall young -man in a riding-dress, who slapped his boot with a -silver-headed cane and exclaimed gallantly:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Venus her mirror, no less! Faith, my lady Venus, -can you tell me where I have the good fortune to find -myself?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His voice was a deep, pleasant one, but it carried -Aline back oddly to her convent days, and it seemed -to her that she had heard Sister Marie Séraphine say, -"Attention, then, my child."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then she remembered that Sister Marie Séraphine in -religion was Nora O'Connor in the world, and realised -that it was the kindly Irish touch upon French -consonants and vowels which she had in common with this -young man, who was surely as unlike a nun as he could -be. She looked at him with great attention, and saw -red unpowdered hair cut to a soldier's (or a Republican's) -length, a face all freckles, and queer twinkling eyes, a -great deal too light for his skin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur my cousin, or I 'm much mistaken," she -said to herself, but aloud she answered:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And do you not know where you are then, Citizen?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know where I want to be, but I hope I have n't -got there," said the young man, coming closer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And why is that, Citizen?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He made a quick impatient gesture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, a little less of the Citizen, my dear. I know -I 'm an ugly devil, but do I look like a Jacobin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline was amazed at his recklessness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur is a very imprudent person," she said -warningly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur would like to know where he is," responded -the young man, laughing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She fixed her eyes on him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are at Rancy-les-Bois, Monsieur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He bit his lip, made a half turn, and indicated the -blackened ruins above them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is, or was, the Château de Montenay."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In a minute all the freckles seemed to be accentuated -by the pallor of the skin below. The hand that held -the cane gripped it until the knuckles whitened. He -stared a minute or two at the faintly rising vapour that -told of heat not yet exhausted, and then said sharply:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When was it burned?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ten days ago."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Any—lives—lost?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is believed so," said Aline, watching him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He put his hand to his face a moment, then let it -fall, and stood rigid, his queer eyes suddenly tragic, and -Aline could not forbear any longer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Marguerite is safe," she cried quickly and saw him -colour to the roots of his hair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Marguerite—mon Dieu! I thought she was gone!" -and with that he sat down on the coping, put his head -down upon his arms, and a long sobbing breath or two -heaved his broad shoulders in a fashion that at once -touched and embarrassed Aline.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She drew nearer and watched uneasily, her own breathing -a little quicker than usual. A woman's tears are of -small account to a woman, but when a man sobs, it -stirs in her the strangest mixture of pity, repulsion, -gentleness, and contempt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She is quite safe," she repeated nervously, whereupon -the young man raised his head, exclaiming in impulsive -tones:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And a thousand blessings on you for saying it, my -dear," whilst in the same moment he slipped an arm -about her waist, pulled her a little down, and before she -could draw back, had kissed her very heartily upon the -cheek.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It had hardly happened before she was free, and a yard -away, with her head up, and a look in her eyes that -brought him to his feet, flushing and bowing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I ask a thousand pardons," he stammered. "Indeed -if it had been the blessed Saint Bridget herself that gave -me that news, I 'd have kissed her, and meant no -disrespect. For it was out of hell you took me, with the -best word I ever heard spoken. You see, when I found -Marguerite gone with that old mad lady, her aunt, I was -ready to cut my throat, only I thought I 'd do more good -by following her. Then when I saw these ruins, my -heart went cold, till it was all I could do to ask the -name. And when you said it, and I pictured her there -under all these hot cinders—well, if you 've a heart in -you, you 'll know what I felt, and the blessed relief of -hearing she was safe. Would n't you have kissed the -first person handy yourself, now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He regarded her with such complete earnestness that -Aline could hardly refrain from smiling. She bent her -head a little and said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can understand that Monsieur le Chevalier did not -know what he was doing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stared.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, you know me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And do you perhaps think that I go about -volunteering information about Mlle de Matigny to every -stranger I come across? Every one is not so imprudent -as M. Desmond."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll not deny my name, but that I 'm imprudent—yes, -with my last breath."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline could not repress a smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you talk to all strangers as you did to me?" she -inquired.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, now, how do you think I got here?" he -returned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am wondering," she said drily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, it 's a simple plan, and all my own. When I -see an honest face I let myself go, and tell the whole -truth. Not a woman has failed me yet, and if I 've told -the moving tale of my pursuit of Marguerite to one -between this and Bâle, I 've told it to half a dozen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline gasped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, it 's a jewel of a plan," he said easily, "and much -simpler than telling lies. There are some who can -manage their lies, but mine have a way of disagreeing -amongst themselves that beats cock-fighting. No, no, -it 's the truth for me, and see how well it 's served me. -So now you know all about me, but I 've no notion who -you are."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am a friend of Marguerite's, fortunately," she -said, "and, I believe, M. le Chevalier, that I am a cousin -of yours."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Desmond looked disappointed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear lady, it would be so much more wonderful -if you were n't. You see my great-grandfather had -sixteen daughters, besides sons to the number of eight -or so, and between them they married into every family -in Europe, or nearly every one. Marguerite is n't a -cousin, bless her. Now, I wonder, would you be a -grand-daughter of my Aunt Elizabeth, who ran away with her -French dancing-master, in the year of grace 1740?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The blood of the Rochambeau rose to Aline's cheeks -in a becoming blush, as she answered with rather an -indignant negative.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No?" said Mr. Desmond regretfully. "Well, then, -a pity it is too, for never a one of my Aunt Elizabeth's -descendants have I met with yet, and I 'm beginning to -be afraid that she was so lost to all sense of the family -traditions as to die without leaving any."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If she so far forgot," Aline began a little haughtily, -and then, remembering, blushed a very vivid crimson, -and was silent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, well, I 'm afraid she did," sighed Mr. Desmond; -"and now I come to think of it you 'll be Conor -Desmond's granddaughter, he that was proscribed, and -racketed all over Europe. His daughter married a -M. de—Roche—Roche——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rochambeau, Monsieur. Yes, I was Aline de -Rochambeau."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was?" said Mr. Desmond curiously, and then fell -to whistling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, my faith, yes, I remember,—Marguerite told -me," and there was a slight embarrassed pause which -Desmond broke into with a laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"After all, now, that kiss was not so out of place," -he said, with a twinkle in his green eyes. "Cousins may -kiss all the world over."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His glance was too frank to warrant offence, and -Aline answered it with a smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"With Monsieur's permission I shall wait until I can -kiss Madame ma cousine," she said, and dropped him a -little curtsey.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Desmond sighed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish we were all well out of this," he said gloomily; -"but how in the devil's name, or the saints' names, or -any one else's name, we are to get out of it, I don't -know. Well, well, the sooner it's tried the better; -so where is Marguerite, Madame my cousin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline considered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't take you to her without asking leave of the -friend she is with," she said at last; "but if you will -wait here I will go and speak to her, and come back again -when we have talked things over. We shall have -to wait till it is quite dark, and you 'll be careful, won't -you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will," said Mr. Desmond, without hesitation. He -kissed his hand to Aline as she went off, and she frowned -at him, then smiled to herself, and disappeared amongst -the trees, walking quickly and wondering what was to -come next.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At eleven o'clock that night a council of four sat in -the apple loft at the mill. Marguerite, perched on a -pile of hay, was leaning against Aline, who sat beside -her. Every now and then she let one hand fall within -reach of Mr. Desmond, who, reclining at her feet, -invariably kissed it, and was invariably scolded for doing -so. Madelon sat on the edge of the trap-door, her feet -supported by the top rungs of the ladder which led to -the barn below. She and Aline were grave, Marguerite -pouting, and Mr. Desmond very much at his ease.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But what plan have you?" Aline was asking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, a hundred," he said carelessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marguerite pulled her hand away with a jerk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you might at least tell us one," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, now I 'd tell you anything when you look at me -like that," he said with fervour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then, tell me. No, now,—at once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sat up and extracted a paper from his waistcoat -pocket. It set forth that the Citizen Lemoine and his -wife were at liberty to travel in France at their pleasure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In France," said Aline.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, yes, one can't advertise oneself as an emigré. -Once on the frontier, one must make a dash for it,—it's -done every day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it says his wife," objected Marguerite, "and -I 'm not your wife."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I 'm not Lemoine, but it does n't hurt my conscience -to say I am,—not in the least," returned Mr. Desmond.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I can't go with you like that," she protested. -"What would grandmamma have said?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Desmond gave an ironical laugh. "Your sainted -grandmamma is past knowing what we do, and we 're -past the conventions, my dear," he observed, but she -only sat up the straighter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed, Monsieur, you may be, but I 'm not. Why, -there was Julie de Lérac, who escaped with her brother's -friend. It was when I was in prison, and I heard what -grandmamma and the other ladies said of her. Nothing -would induce me to be spoken of like that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But your life depends on it. Marguerite, don't you -trust me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, of course; but that has nothing to do with it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, my dearest child, what is to be done? You -can't stay here, and we can't be married here, so the -only thing to be done is to get away, and then we 'll be -married as soon as your father will allow it. My aunt -Judith's money has come in the very nick of time, for -now we 'll be able to go back to the old place. Ah, -you 'll love Ireland."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marguerite tapped with her foot.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why can't we be married now?" she said quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madelon, who had been listening in silence, started -and looked up, but did not speak.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Impossible," said Mr. Desmond; and Aline whispered:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear, you could n't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not? There is a priest here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You could n't trust him. He has taken the oath to -the Convention," said Aline.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well but—Madelon, you told me of him; tell -them what you said. Do you think he would betray us?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How do I know?" said Madelon, with a frown. "I -do not think so, but one never knows. It is a risk."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't mind the risk."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To us all," continued Madelon bluntly. "I am -thinking of more than you, little Ma'mselle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who is this priest?" asked Desmond. "What do -you know of him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What I know is from my husband's cousin, Anne -Pinel, who is his housekeeper. He took the oath, and -ever since he has a trouble on his mind, and walks at -night, sometimes all night long. At first Anne would -get up and listen, and then she would hear groans and -prayers, and once he called out: 'Judas! Judas! Judas!' -so that she was frightened, and went back to her bed -and put her hands over her ears. Now she takes no -notice, she is so used to it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There!" cried Marguerite. "Poor man, if he can -torment himself in such a way he would not put a fresh -burden on his conscience by betraying us. Besides, -why should he? I have a beautiful plan."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We shall start at night; and first we will go to the -priest's house, and I shall throw pebbles at his window. -He will open, and I shall say, 'Mon père, here are two -people who wish to be married.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes! and he 'd want to know why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course, and I shall say, 'Mon père, we are -escaping for our lives, and we wish to be married because -I am a jeune fille bien élevée, and my grandmamma -would turn in her grave at the thought of my crossing -France alone with ma fiancé; and then he will marry -us, and we shall walk away again, and go on walking -until we can't walk any more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Marguerite, what folly!" cried Aline, and Madelon -nodded her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a beautiful plan!" exclaimed Mr. Desmond. -He had his betrothed's hand in his once more, and was -kissing it unrebuked. "My dear, we were made for -each other, for it's a scheme after my own heart! -Madame, my cousin, will you come with us?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, as chaperon, and then we needn't bother -about getting married," said Marguerite, kissing her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's not what I meant at all," observed Mr. Desmond -reproachfully, and Aline was obliged to laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, ma mie; not even to keep you out of so mad -a scrape," she said, and Madelon nodded again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no," she echoed. "That would be a pretty state -of affairs. There is Citizen Dangeau to be thought of. -Deputies' wives must not emigrate."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline drew away from Marguerite, and caught -Madelon by the arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's to be done?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, let them go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But the plan 's sheer folly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madelon shrugged.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame Aline," she said in a low voice, "look at -them. Is it any use talking? and we waste time. -Once I saw a man at a fair. There was a rope stretched -between two booths, and he walked on it. Then a -woman in the crowd screamed out, 'Oh, he will fall!' -and he looked down at her, went giddy, and fell. He -broke his leg; but if no one had called out he would not -have fallen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It will be like walking on the rope for Monsieur -and little Ma'mselle Marguerite, all the way until they -get out of France. If they think they can do it,—well, -they say God helps those who cannot help themselves, -and perhaps they will get across safely; but if they get -frightened, if they think of the danger, they will be like -the man who looked down and grew giddy, and pouf!—it -will be all over."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But this added risk——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not think there is much risk. The curé is -timid; for his own sake he will say nothing. If Anne -hears anything, she will shut her ears; and, Madame -Aline, the great thing is for them to get away. I tell -you, I am afraid of my father. He watches us. I do -not like his eyes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She broke off, looking troubled; and Desmond stopped -whispering to Marguerite and turned to them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, you good Madelon, we shall be off your mind -to-morrow. Tell us where this curé lives; set us in the -way, and we 'll be off as soon as may be. My dear -cousin, believe me that frown will bring you lines ten -years before they are due. Do force a smile, and wish -us joy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To-night!" exclaimed Aline.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, that's best," said Madelon decidedly. "Little -Ma'mselle knows that she has been a welcome guest, -but she 's best away, and that 's the truth. If we had n't -been watched, Jean Jacques would have driven her out -in the cart a week ago."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Watched! By whom?" Desmond's eyes were alert.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By my father, Mathieu Leroux, the inn-keeper."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! well, we 'll be away by morning—in fact we 'll -be moving now. Marguerite is ready. Faith, now I 've -found the comfort of travelling without mails, I 'm ready -to swear I 'll never take them again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm not," said Marguerite, with a whimsical glance -at her costume, which consisted of an old brown skirt -of Madelon's, a rough print bodice, and a dark, patched -cloak, which covered her from head to foot. They stole -out noiselessly, Madelon calling under her breath to the -yard dog, who sniffed at them in the darkness, and then -lay down again with a rustle of straw.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Afterwards Aline thought of the scene which followed -as the most dreamlike of all her queer experiences. -The things which she remembered most vividly were -Marguerite's soft ripple of laughter, half-childish, -half-nervous, as she threw a handful of pebbles at the curé's -window, and the moonlight glinting on the pane as the -casement opened. What followed was like the -inconsequent and fantastic dramas of sleep.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The explanations—the protests, the curé's voice ashake -with timidity, until at last his fear of immediate -discovery overbore his terror of future consequences, and -he began to murmur the words which Aline had heard -last in circumstances as strange, and far more terrifying. -For days she wondered to herself over the odd scene: -Desmond with his head bent towards his betrothed, and -his deep voice muffled; and Marguerite pledging herself -childishly—taking the great vows, and smiling all the -time. Only at the very end she turned and threw her -arms round Aline, holding her as if she would never -leave go, and straining against her with a choked sob -or two.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, I can't go—I can't!" she murmured, but -Aline wrenched herself away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Marguerite, for God's sake!" she said. "It is too -late,—you must go"; and as Desmond stepped between -them Marguerite caught his arm and held it in a wild grip.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you'll save me!" And for once Aline was -thankful for his tone of careless ease——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My jewel, what a question! Why, we 're off on our -honeymoon. 'T is a most original one. Well, we must -go. Good-bye, my cousin," and he took Aline's hand -in a grip that surprised her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll not forget what you've done," he said, and -kissed it; and so, without more ado, they were gone, and -Aline was alone in the chequered moonlight before the -priest's house, where the closed window spoke of the haste -with which M. le Curé withdrew himself from participation -in so perilous an affair.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-dying-woman"><span class="large">CHAPTER XXVI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">A DYING WOMAN</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Next day brought it home to Madelon how true her -forebodings had been. Noon brought her a visit -from her father, and nothing would serve him but to go -into every hole and corner. He alleged a wish to admire -her housewifery, but the dark brow with which he -accompanied her, and the quick, suspicious glances which -he cast all round, made Madelon thank every saint in -the calendar that the fugitives were well on the road, -and that she had removed every trace of their presence -betimes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mon Dieu, Madame Aline!" she said afterwards, -"when he came to the apple loft he seemed to know -something. There he stood, not speaking, but just -staring at me, like a dog at a rat-hole. I tell you, I -thanked Saint Perpetua, whose day it was, that the rats -were away!" In the end he went away, frowning, -and swearing a little to himself, and quiet days set in.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No news was good news, and no news came; presently -Aline stopped being terrified at every meeting with the -inn-keeper, or the curé, and then Mlle Marthe became -so ill that all interests centred in her sick-room. Her -malady, which had remained stationary for so long, -began to gain ground quickly, and nights and days of -agony consumed her strength, and made even the sister -to whom she was everything look upon Death as the -Angel not of the Sword, but of Peace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One day the pain ebbed with the light, and at sunset -she was more comfortable than she had been for a long -while. Aline persuaded Mlle Ange to go and lie down -for a little, and she and Marthe were alone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The day is a long time going," said Marthe after a -silence of some minutes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, the days are lengthening."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And mine are shortening,—only I 'm an unreasonable -time over my dying. It's a trial to me, for I liked to -do things quickly. I suppose no one has ever known -what it has been to me to see Jeanne pottering about -her work, or Ange moving a chair, or a book, in her -slow, deliberate way; and now that it's come to my -turn I 'm having my revenge, and inflicting the same -kind of annoyance on you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She spoke in a quick, toneless voice, that sounded -very feeble,—almost as if the life going from her had -left it behind as a stranded wreck of sound.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline turned with a sob.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Heavens, child! did you think I did n't know I was -going, or that I expected you to cry over me? You 've -been a butt for my sharp tongue too often to be heart-broken -when there 's a chance of your being left in peace."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, don't!" said Aline, choking; and something in -voice and face brought a queer look to the black, -mocking eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, you really care a little? My dear, it's too -amiable of you. Why, Aline,"—as the girl buried her -face in her hands,—"why, Aline!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a pause, and then the weak voice went on -again:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you do care at all—if I mean anything at all in -your life—then I will ask you one thing. What are you -doing to Jacques?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was that why you hated me?" said Aline quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, hate? Well, I never hated you, but—Yes, -that was it. He and Ange are the two things I 've had -to love, and though I don't suppose he thinks about me -twice a year, still his happiness means more to me than -it does—well, to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, that's not true!" cried Aline on a quick breath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marthe Desaix looked sharply at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aline," she said, "how long are you going to break -his heart and your own?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know," whispered the girl. "There's so -much between us. Too much for honour."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Too much for pride, Aline de Rochambeau," said -Marthe with cruel emphasis, and her own name made -Aline wince. It seemed a thing of hard, unyielding -pride; a thing her heart shrank from.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Listen to me. When he is dead over there in -Spain, what good will your pride do you? Women who -live without love, or natural ties, what do they become? -Hard, and sour, and bitter, like me; or foolish, and -spiteful, and soft, and petty. I tell you, I could have -shed the last drop of my blood, worked my fingers to -the raw stump, for the man I loved. I 'd have borne -his children by the roadside, followed him footsore -through the world, slept by his side in the snow, and -thought myself blessed. But to me there came neither -love nor lover. Aline, can you live in other people's -lives, love with other women's hearts, rear and foster -other mothers' children as Ange does? That is the -only road for a barren woman, that does not lead to -desert places and a land dry as her heart. Can you -take my sister's road? Is there nothing in you that -calls out for the man who loves you, for the children -that might be yours? Is your pride more to you than -all this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline looked up steadily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she said, "it is nothing. I would do as you -say you would have done, but there was one thing I -thought I could not do. May I tell you the whole -story now? I have wished to often, but it is hard to -begin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me," said Marthe; and Aline told her all, -from the beginning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When she had finished she saw that Marthe's eyes -were closed, and moved a little to rise, thinking that -she had dropped asleep. But as she did so the eyes -opened again, and Marthe said fretfully, "No, I heard -it all. It is very hard to judge, very hard."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline looked at her in alarm, for she seemed all at -once to have grown very old.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, it is hard. Life is so difficult," she went on -slowly—weakly, "I 'm glad to be going out of it—out -into the dark."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline kissed her hand, and spoke wistfully:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it all so dark to you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why yes, dark enough—cold enough—lonely enough. -Is n't it so to you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not altogether, ma tante."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, because of those old tales which you believe? -Well, if they comfort you, take comfort from them. I -can't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But Mlle Ange—believes?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marthe frowned impatiently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who knows what Ange believes? Not she herself. -She is a saint to be sure, but orthodox? A hundred -years ago she would have been lucky if she had escaped -Purgatory fire in this life. She is content to wander in -vague, beautiful imaginings. She abstracts her mind, -and calls it prayer; confuses it, and says she has been -meditating. I am not like that. I like things clear and -settled, with a good hard edge to them. I should have -been the worker and Ange the invalid,—no, no! what -am I saying? God forgive me, I don't mean that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You would not like to see M. le Curé?" said Aline -timidly. The question had been on her lips a hundred -times, but she had not had the courage to let it pass -them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mlle Marthe was too weak for anger, but she raised -her eyebrows in the old sarcastic way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor man," she said, "he needs absolution a great -deal more than I do. He thinks he has sold his soul, -and can't even enjoy the price of it. After all, those -are the people to pity—the ones who have courage -for neither good nor evil."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She lay silent for a long while then, and watched the -sunset colours burn to flame, and fade to cold ash-grey.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly Aline said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ma tante."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ma tante, do you think he loves me still?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why should he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl took her breath sharply, and Mlle Marthe -moved her head with an impatient jerk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There, there, I 'm too near my end to lie. Jacques -is like his mother, he has n't the talent of forgetfulness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He looked so hard when he went away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Little fool, if he had smiled he would have -forgotten easily enough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline turned her head aside.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Listen to me," said Mlle Marthe insistently. "What -kind of a man do you take your husband to be, good -or bad?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, he is good—don't I know that! What would -have become of me if he had been a bad man?" said the -girl in a tense whisper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then would you not have him follow his conscience? -In all that is between you has he not acted as a man -should do? Would you have him do what is right in -your eyes and not in his own; follow your lead, take the -law from you? Do you, or does any woman, desire a -husband like that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline did not answer, only stared out of the window. -She was recalling the King's death, Dangeau's vote, and -her passion of loyalty and pain. It seemed to her now -a thing incredibly old and far away, like a tale read of -in history a hundred years ago. Something seemed to -touch her heart and shrivel it, as she wondered if in -years to come she would look back as remotely upon the -love, and longing, which rent her now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a long, long silence, and in the end Mlle -Marthe dozed a little. When Ange came in, she found -her lying easily, and so free from pain that she took -heart and was quite cheerful over the little sick-room -offices. But at midnight there was a change,—a greyness -of face, a labouring of failing lungs,—and with the dawn -she sighed heavily once or twice and died, leaving the -white house a house of mourning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mlle Ange took the blow quietly, too quietly to -satisfy Aline, who would rather have seen her weep. -Her cold, dreamy composure was somehow very -alarming, and the few tears she shed on the day -they buried Marthe in the little windy graveyard -were dried almost as they fell. After that she took -up all her daily tasks at once, but went about them -abstractedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Even the children could not make her smile, or a -visit to the grave draw tears. The sad monotony of -grief settled down upon the household, the days were -heavy, work without zest, and a wet April splashed the -window-panes with torrents of warm, unceasing rain.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="betrayal"><span class="large">CHAPTER XXVII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">BETRAYAL</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>In the early days of April the wind-swept, -ice-tormented Pyrenees had been exchanged for the -Spanish lowlands, vexed by the drought and heat of -those spring days. If the army had suffered from -frostbite and pneumonia before, it groaned now under a -plague of dysentery, but it was still, and increasingly, -victorious. An approving Convention sent congratulatory -messages to Dugommier, who enjoyed the distinction—somewhat -unusual for a general in those days—of -having been neither superseded nor recalled to suffer -an insulting trial and an ignoble death.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>France had a short way with her public servants just -then. Was an army in retreat? To Paris with the -traitor who commanded it. Was an advantage insufficiently -followed up? To the guillotine with the officer -responsible. Dumouriez saved his head by going to -Austria with young Égalité at his heels, but many and -many a general who had led the troops of France looked -out of the little window, and was flung into the -common trench, to be dust in dust with nobles, -great ladies, common murderers, and the poor Queen -herself. Closer and closer shaved the national razor, -heavier and heavier fell the pall upon blood-soaked -Paris. Marat, long since assassinated, and canonised -as first Saint of the New Calendar, with rites of an -impiety quite indescribable, would, had he lived, have -seen his prophecy fulfilled. Paris had drunk and was -athirst again, and always with that drunkard's craving -which cannot be allayed—no, not by all the floods of the -infernal lake. Men were no longer men, but victims -of a horrible dementia. Listen to Hébert demanding -the Queen's blood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you think that any of us will be able to save -ourselves?" he cries. "I tell you we are all damned -already, but if my blood must flow, it shall not flow -alone. I tell you that if we pass, our passing shall -devastate France, and leave her ruined and bloody, a spectacle -for the nations!" And this at the beginning of the Terror!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A curious thought comes to one. Are these words, -instinct with pure, fate-driven tragedy, the fruit of -Hébert's mind—Hébert gross with Paris slime, sensual, -self-seeking, flushed with evil living? or is he, too, -unwillingly amongst the prophets, mouthpiece only of an -immutable law, which, outraged by him and his like, -pronounces thus an irrevocable doom?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Well might Danton write—"This is chaos, and the -worlds are a-shaping. One cannot see one's way for the -red vapour. I am sick of it—sick. There is nothing -but blood, blood, blood. Camille says that the infernal -gods are athirst. If they are not glutted soon there -will be no blood left to flow. They may have mine -before long. Maximilian eyes my head as if it irked -him to see it higher than his own. If it were off he -would seem the taller. I am going home to Arles—with -my wife. The spring is beautiful there, and the -Aube runs clean from blood. It were better to fish -its waters than to meddle with the governing of men."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau sighed heavily as he destroyed the letter. -Surely the strong hand would be able to steer the ship -to calmer waters, and yet there was a deep sense of -approaching fatality upon him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His fellow-Commissioner was of Robespierre's party,—a -tall man, wonderfully thin, with grizzled hair, and a -nose where the bony ridge showed yellow under the -tight skin. He had a cold, suspicious eye, light grey, -with a green under-tinge, and was, as Dangeau knew -beyond a doubt, a spy both on himself and on -Dugommier. There came an April day full of heat, and -sullen with brooding thunder. Dangeau in his tent, -writing his report, found the pen heavy in his hand, and -for once was glad of the interruption, when Vibert's -shadow fell across the entrance, and his long form bent -to enter at the low door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, come in," he said, pushing his inkstand away; -and Vibert, who had not waited for the invitation, sat -down and looked at him curiously for a moment. Then -he said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A courier from Paris came in an hour ago."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau stretched out his hand, but the other held -his papers close.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is news,—weighty news," he continued; and -Dangeau felt his courage leap to meet an impending blow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What news?" he asked, quite quietly, hand still -held out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are Danton's friend?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As you very well know, Citizen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vibert flung all his papers on the table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 'll be less ready to claim his friendship in the -future, I take it," he said, with a sudden twang of steel -in his voice. Dangeau turned frightfully pale, but the -hand that reached for the letters was controlled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your meaning, Citizen?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vibert's strident laugh rang out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Danton was—somebody, and your friend. Danton -is—a name and nothing more. Once the knife has -fallen there is not a penny to choose between him and -any other carrion. A good riddance to France, and all -good patriots will say 'Amen' to that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Patriots!" muttered Dangeau, and then fell to -reading the papers with bent head and eyes resolutely -calm. When he looked up no one would have guessed -that he was moved, and the sneering look which dwelt -upon his face glanced off again. He met Vibert's eyes -full, his own steady with a cold composure, and after a -moment or two the thin man shuffled with his feet, and -spat noisily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," he said, "Robespierre for my money; but, of -course, Danton was backing you, and you stand to lose -by his fall."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," said Dangeau softly, "you think so?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked to the open door of the tent as he spoke. -The flap was rolled high to let in the air, and showed -a slope, planted with vines in stiff rows, and, above, a -space of sky. This seemed to consist of one low, -bulging cloud, dark with suppressed thunder, and in the -heavy bosom of it a pulse of lightning throbbed -continually. With each throb the play of light grew more -vivid, whilst out of the distance came a low, answering -boom, the far-off heart-beat of the storm. Dangeau's -eyes rested on the prospect with a strange, sardonic -expression. Danton was dead, and dead with him all -hopes that he might lead a France, purged terribly, and -regenerate by fire and blood, to her place as the first, -because the freest, of nations. Danton was dead, and -Paris adrift, unrestrained, upon a sea of blood. Danton -was dead, and the last, lingering, constructive purpose -had departed from a confederacy given over to a mere -drunken orgy of destruction—slaves to an ignoble -passion for self-preservation. To Dangeau's thought -death became suddenly a thing honourable and to be -desired. From the public services of those days it -was the only resignation, and he saw it now before -him, inevitable, more dignified than life beneath a -squalid yoke. All the ideals withered, all the idols -shattered, youth worn through, patriotism chilled, -disenchantment, disintegration, decay,—these he saw in -sombre retrospect, and nausea, long repressed, broke -upon him like a flood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A flash brighter than any before shot in a vicious fork -across the blackening sky, and the thunder followed it -close, with a crash that startled Vibert to his feet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau sat motionless, but when the reverberations -had died away, he leaned across the table, still with that -slight smile, and said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what do you say of me in your report, Vibert?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Still dazed with the noise, the man stared nervously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My report, Citizen?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your report, Vibert."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My report to the Convention?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau laughed, with the air of a man who is -enjoying himself. After the dissimulation, the hateful -necessity for repression and evasion, frankness was a -luxury.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, my good Vibert, not your report to the -Convention. It is your report to Robespierre that I -mean. I have a curiosity to know how you mean to -put the thing. 'Emotion at hearing of Danton's death,' -is that your line, eh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Citizen——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, protestations? Really, Vibert, you underrate -my intelligence. Shall I tell you what you said about -me last time?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vibert shifted his eyes to the door, and seemed to -measure his distance from it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What I said last time, Citizen?" he stammered. -Once out of the tent he knew he could break Dangeau -easily enough, but at present, alone with a man who -he was aware must be desperate, he felt a creeping in his -bones, and a strong desire to be elsewhere.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau's lip lifted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Be reassured, my friend. I am not a spy, and I -really have no idea what it was that you said, though -now that you have been so obligingly transparent I -think I might hazard a guess. It would be a pity if -this week's report were to contain nothing fresh. -Robespierre might even be bored—in the intervals of killing -his betters."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vibert's lips closed with a snap. Here was recklessness, -here was matter enough to condemn a man who -stood firmer than Dangeau.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You agree with me that that would be a pity? -Very well then, you may get out your notebook and -write the truth for once. Tell the incorruptible -Maximilian that he is making the world too unpleasant a -place for any self-respecting Frenchman to care about -remaining in it, and, if that is not enough, you can inform -him that Danton's blood will yet call loud enough to bid -him down to hell."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was no emotion at all in his voice. He spoke -drily, as one stating facts too obvious to require any -stress of tone, or emphasis.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vibert was puzzled, but his nerves were recovering, -and he wrote defiantly, looking up with a half-start at -every other word as if he expected to see Dangeau's arm -above him, poised to strike.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau shrugged his shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You needn't be afraid," he said, with hard -contempt. "You are too obviously suited to the present -débâcle for me to wish to remove you from it. No -doubt your time will come, but I have no desire to play -Sanson's part."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vibert winced. Perhaps he saw the red-edged axe -of the Revolution poised above him. When, four months -later, he was indeed waiting for it to fall, they say he -cursed Dangeau very heartily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The lightning stabbed with a blinding flame, the -thunder crashed scarce a heart-beat behind, and with -that the rain began. It fell in great gouts and splashes, -with here and there a big hailstone, and for a minute or -two the air seemed full of water, pierced now by a sudden -flare of blue, and shattered again by the roar that -followed. Then, as it had come, so it went, and in a -moment the whirl of the wind swept the sky clear again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vibert pulled himself together. His long limbs had -stiffened into a curious rigidity whilst the storm was at -its height, but now they came out of it with a jerk. -He thrust his notebook into the pocket which bulged -against his thin form, and under his drooping lids -he sent a queer, inquisitive glance at his companion. -Dangeau was leaning back in his chair, one arm thrown -carelessly over the back of it, his attitude one of -acquiescence, his expression that of a man released from some -distasteful task. Vibert had seen many a man under -sentence of death, but this phase piqued him, and he -turned in the doorway.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come then, Dangeau," he said, with a would-be -familiar air, "what made you do it? Between colleagues -now? I may tell you, you had fairly puzzled me. -When you read those papers, I could have sworn you -did not care a jot, that it was all one to you who was at -the top of the tree so you kept your own particular -branch; and then, just as I was thinking you had bested -me, and betrayed nothing, out you come with your -'To hell with Robespierre.' What the devil took you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau looked at him with a strange gleam in his -eyes. The impulse to speak, to confide, attacks us at -curious moments; years may pass, a man may be set in -all circumstances that invite betrayal, he may be closeted -with some surgeon skilled in the soul's hurts, and the -impulse may not wake,—and then, quite suddenly, at an -untoward time, and to a listener the most unlikely, his -soul breaks bounds and displays its secret springs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Such an hour was upon Dangeau now, and he experienced -its intoxication to the full.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My reason?" he said slowly. "My good Vibert, is -one a creature of reason? For me, I doubt it—I doubt -it. Look at our reasonable town of Paris, our reasonable -Maximilian, our reasonable guillotine. Heavens! how -the infernal powers must laugh at us and our reason."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then of a sudden the sneer dropped out of his tone, -and a ring almost forgotten came to it, and brought each -word distinctly to Vibert's ear, though the voice itself -fell lower and lower, as he spoke less and less to the man -in the tent-door and more and more to his own -crystallising thoughts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My reason? Impulse,—just the sheer animal desire -to strike at what hurts. What was reason not to do for -us? and in the end we come back to impulse again. A -vicious circle everywhere. The wheel turns, and we -rise, fancying the stars are within our grasp. The wheel -turns on, and we fall,—lose the stars and have our -wage—a handful of bloody dust. Louis was a tyrant, and -he fell. I had a hand in that, and said, 'Tyranny is -dead.' Dead? Just Heaven! and in Paris to-day every -man is a tyrant who is not a victim. Tyranny has the -Hydra's gift of multiplying in death. Better one tyrant -than a hundred. Perhaps Robespierre thinks that, but -God knows it is better a people should be oppressed -than that they should become oppressors." Here his -head came up with a jerk, and his manner changed -abruptly. "And then," he continued, with a little -bow, "and then, you see, I am so intolerably bored -with your society, my good Vibert."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vibert scowled, cursed, and went out. Half an hour -afterwards he thought of several things he might have -said, and felt an additional rancour against Dangeau -because they had not come to him at the time. A mean -creature, Vibert, and not quick, but very apt for dirty -work, and therefore worth his price to the Incorruptible -Robespierre.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau, left alone, fell to thinking. His strange -elation was still upon him, and he felt an unwonted -lightness of spirit. He began to consider whether he -should wait to be arrested, or end now in the Roman way. -Suicide was much in vogue at the time, and was gilded -with a strong halo of heroics. The doctrine of a purpose -in the individual existence being rejected, the Stoic -argument that life was a thing to be laid down at will seemed -reasonable enough. It appealed to the dramatic sense, -a thing very inherent in man, and the records of the times -set down almost as many suicides as executions. -Dangeau had often enough maintained man's right to -relinquish that which he had not asked to receive, but at -this crisis in his life there came up in him old teachings, -those which are imperishable, because they have their -roots in an imperishable affection. His mother, whom -he adored, had lived and died a devout Catholic, and -there came back to him now a strange, faint sense of -the dignity and purpose of the soul, of life as a trial, -life as a trust. It seemed suddenly nobler to endure -than to relinquish. An image of the deserter flitted -through his brain, to be followed by another of the child -that pettishly casts away a broken toy, and from that -his mind went back, back through the years. For a -moment his mother's eyes looked quite clearly into his, -and he heard her voice say, "Jacques, you do not listen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ah, those tricks of the brain! How at a touch, a -turn of the head, a breath, a scent, the past rises quick, -and the brain, phonograph and photograph in one, -shows us our dead again, and brings their voices to our -ears. Dangeau saw the chimney corner, and a crooked -log on the fire. The resin in it boiled up, and ran down -all ablaze. He watched it with wondering, childish -eyes, and heard the gentle voice at his ears say, "Jacques, -you do not listen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was there and gone between one breath and the -next, but it took with it the dust of years, and left the -old love very fresh and tender. Ah—the dear woman, -the dear mother. "Que Dieu te bénisse," he said -under his breath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The current of thought veered to Aline, and at that -life woke in him, the desire to live, the desire of her, -the desire to love. Then on a tide of bitterness, "She -will be free." Quickly came the answer, "Free and -defenceless."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sank his head in his hands, and, for the first time -for months, deliberately evoked her image.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It seemed as if Fate were concerning herself with -Dangeau's affairs, for she sent a bullet Vibert's way -next morning. It ripped his scalp, and sent him -bleeding and delirious to a sick-bed from which he did -not rise for several weeks. It was, therefore, not until -late in June that Robespierre stretched out his long -arm, and haled Dangeau from his post in Spain to Paris -and the prison of La Force.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile there was trouble at Rancy-les-Bois. -Mr. and Mrs. Desmond, after a series of most -adventurous adventures, had arrived at Bâle, and there, -with characteristic imprudence, proceeded to narrate to -a much interested circle of friends and relatives the full -and particular details of their escape. Rancy was -mentioned, Mlle Ange described and praised, Aline's -story brought in, Madelon's part in the drama given its -full value. Such imprudence may seem inconceivable, -but it had more than one parallel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In this instance trouble was not long in breeding. -Three years previously Joseph Pichon of Bâle had gone -Paris-wards to seek his fortune. Circumstances had -sent him as apprentice to M. Bompard, the watchmaker -of Rancy's market-town. Here he stayed two years, -years which were enlivened by tender passages between -him and Marie, old Bompard's only child. At the end -of two years M. Pichon senior died, having lost his -elder son about six months before. Joseph, therefore, -came in for his father's business, and immediately made -proposals for the hand of Mlle Marie. Bompard liked -the young man, Marie declared she loved him; but the -times were ticklish. It was not the moment for giving -one's heiress to a foreigner. Such an action might be -unfavourably construed, deemed unpatriotic; so Joseph -departed unbetrothed, but with as much hope as it is -good for a young man to nourish. His views were -Republican, his sentiments ardent. By the time his -own affairs were settled it was to be hoped that public -matters would also be quieter, and then—why, then -Marie Bompard might become Marie Pichon, no one -forbidding. Imagine, then, the story of the Desmonds' -escape coming to the ears of Joseph the Republican. -He burned with interest, and, having more than a touch -of the busybody, sat down and wrote Bompard a full -account of the whole affair. Bompard was annoyed. -He crackled the pages angrily, and stigmatised Joseph -as a fool and a meddler. Bompard was fat, and a good, -kind, easy man; he desired to live peaceably, and really -the times made it very difficult. His first impulse was -to put the paper in the fire and hold his tongue. Then -he reflected that he was not Joseph's only acquaintance -in the place. If the young man were to write to Jean -Dumont, the Mayor's son, for instance, and then it was -to come out that the facts had been known to Bompard, -and concealed by him. "Seigneur!" exclaimed -Bompard, mopping his brow, which had become suddenly -moist. Men's heads had come off for less than that. -He read the letter again, drumming on his counter the -while, with a stubby, black-nailed hand; at any rate, -risk or no risk, Madelon must not be mentioned. He -had known her from a child; there was, in fact, some -very distant connection between the families, and she -was a good, pretty girl. Bompard was a fatherly man. -He liked to chuck a pretty girl under the chin, and see -her blush, and Madelon had a pleasant trick of it; and -then, just now, all the world knew she was expecting -the birth of her first child. No, certainly he would -hold his tongue about Madelon. He burnt the letter, -feeling like a conspirator, and it was just as he was -blowing away the last compromising bit of ash that -Mathieu Leroux walked in upon him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They talked of the weather first, and then of the -prospects of a good apple year. Then Mathieu harked -back to the old story of the fire, worked himself into a -passion over it, noted Bompard's confusion, and in ten -minutes had the whole story out,—all, that is, except his -own daughter's share in it, and at that he guessed -with an inward fury which fairly frightened poor fat -Bompard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Those Desaix!" he exclaimed with an oath. "If -I 'd had your tale six weeks ago! Now there 's only -Ange and the niece. It's like Marthe to cheat one in -the end!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bompard looked curiously at him. He did not know -the secret of Mathieu's hostility to the Desaix family. -Old Mère Anne could have told him that when Marthe -was a handsome, black-eyed girl, Mathieu Leroux had -lifted his eyes high, and conceived a sullen passion for -one as much above him as Réné de Montenay was -above her sister Ange. The village talked, Marthe -noted the looks that followed her everywhere, and boiled -with pride and anger. Then one day Mme de Montenay, -coldly ignoring all differences in the ranks below -her own, said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So, Marthe, you are to make a match of it with -young Leroux"; and at that the girl flamed up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If we 're not high enough for the Château, at least -we 're too high for the gutter," she said, with a -furiously pointed glance at Réné de Montenay, whose eyes -were on her sister.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ange turned deadly pale, Réné flushed to the roots of -his hair, Madame bit her lip, and Charles Leroux, who -was listening at the door, took note of the bitter words, -and next time he was angry with his brother flung -them at him tauntingly. Mathieu neither forgot nor -forgave them. After forty years his resentment still -festered, and was to break at last into an open poison.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His trip to Paris had furnished him with the names -and style of patriots whose measures could be trusted not -to err on the side of leniency, and to one of these he -wrote a hot denunciation of Ange Desaix and Aline -Dangeau, whom he accused of being enemies to the -Republic, and traitors to Liberty, inasmuch as they -had assisted proscribed persons to emigrate. No -greater crime existed. The denunciation did its work, -and in a trice down came Commissioner Brutus Carré -to set up his tribunal amongst the frightened villagers, -and institute a little terror within the Terror at quiet -Rancy-les-Bois.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The village buzzed like a startled hive, women bent -white faces over their household tasks, men shuffled -embarrassed feet at the inn, glancing suspiciously at one -another, and all avoiding Mathieu's hard black eyes. At -the white house Commissioner Brutus Carré occupied -Mlle Marthe's sunny room, whilst Ange and Aline sat -under lock and key, and heard wild oaths and viler -songs defile the peaceful precincts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Up at the mill, Madelon lay abed with her newborn -son at her breast. Strange how the softness and the -warmth of him stirred her heart, braced it, and gave her -a courage which amazed Jean Jacques. She lay, a little -pale, but quite composed, and fixed her round brown -eyes upon her father's scowling face. In the background -Jean Jacques stood stolidly. He was quite ready to -strangle Mathieu with those strong hands of his, but -had sufficient wit to realise that such a proceeding would -probably not help Madelon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They were here!" vociferated Mathieu loudly. -"You took them in, you concealed them, you helped -them to get away. You thought you had cheated me -finely, you and that oaf who stands there; and you -thought me a good, easy man, one who would cover -your fault because you were his daughter. I tell you -I am a patriot, I! If my daughter betrays the Republic -shall I shield her? I say no, a thousand times no!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madelon's clear gaze never wavered. Her arm held -her baby tight, and if her heart beat heavily no one -heard it except the child, who whimpered a little and -put groping hands against her breast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you mean to denounce me?" she said quite low.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Denounce you! Yes, you 're no daughter of mine! -Every one shall know that you are a traitress."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And my baby?" asked Madelon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Leroux cursed it aloud, and the child, frightened by -the harsh voice, burst into a lusty wailing that took -all its mother's tender hushing to still.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When she looked at her father again there was -something very bright and intent in her expression.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, my father," she said; "it is understood -that you denounce me. Do you perhaps suppose that -I shall hold my tongue?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say what you like, and be damned to you!" shouted -Mathieu.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jean Jacques clenched his hands and took a step -forward, but his wife's expression checked him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I may say what I like?" she observed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The more the better. Why, see here, Madelon, if -you will give evidence against Ange Desaix and her -niece, I 'll do my best to get you off."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, what has Mlle Ange to do with it?" said -Madelon, open-eyed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Leroux became speechless for a moment. Then he -swore volubly, and cursed Madelon for a liar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A liar, and a damned fool!" he spluttered. "For -now I 'll not lift a finger for you, my girl, and when -you see the guillotine ready for you, perhaps you 'll -wish you 'd kept a civil tongue in your head."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Enough!" said Madelon sharply. "Let us understand -each other. If you speak, I speak too. If you -accuse me, I accuse you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Accuse me, accuse me,—and of what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madelon's eyes flashed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have a short memory," she said; "others will -not believe it is so short. When I say, as I shall say, -that it was you that arranged Mlle Marguerite's flight -there will be plenty of people who will believe me." She -paused, panting a little, and Mathieu, white with -passion, stared helplessly at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jean Jacques, in the background, looked from one to -the other, amazed to the point of wondering whether -he were asleep or awake. Was this Madelon, who had -been afraid of raising her voice in her father's presence? -And what was all this about Leroux and the escape? -It was beyond him, but he opened ears and eyes to -their widest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is no proof!" shouted Mathieu.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, but yes," said Madelon at once; "you forget -that Mlle Marguerite gave you her diamond shoe-buckles -as a reward for helping her and M. le Chevalier -to get away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shoe-buckles!" exclaimed Mathieu Leroux, his eyes -almost starting from his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, indeed, shoe-buckles with diamonds in them, -fit for a princess; and they are hidden in your garden, -my father, and when I tell the Commissioner that, and -show him where they are buried, do you think that -your patriotism will save you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is not true," gasped Mathieu, putting one hand -to his head, where the hair clung suddenly damp.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Citizen Brutus Carré will believe it," returned -Madelon steadily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hell-cat! She-devil! You would not dare——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I would dare. I will dare anything if you -push me too far, but if you hold your tongue I will -hold mine," said Madelon, looking at him over her -baby's head. She laid her free arm across the child -as she spoke, and Leroux saw truth and determination -in her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jean Jacques began to understand. Eh, but Madelon -was clever. A smile came slowly into his broad face, -and his hands unclenched. After all, there would be -no strangling. It was much better so. Quarrels in -families were a mistake. He conceived that the moment -had arrived when he might usefully intervene.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a mistake to quarrel," he observed in his deep, -slow voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mathieu swung round, glaring, and Madelon closed -her eyes for a moment. There was a slight pause, -during which Jean Jacques met his father-in-law's -furious gaze with placidity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then he said again:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quarrels in families are a mistake. It is better to -live peaceably. Madelon and I are quiet people."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Leroux gave a short, enraged grunt, and looked again -at his daughter. As he moved she opened her eyes, -and he read in them an unchanged resolve.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't want to quarrel, I 'm sure," he said sulkily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We don't," observed Jean Jacques with simplicity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then it is understood. Madelon will tell no lies -about me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I say nothing unless I am arrested. If that happens, -I tell what I know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you know nothing," exploded Leroux.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The shoe-buckles," said Madelon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Leroux stared at her silently for a full minute. Then, -with an angrily-muttered oath, he flung out of the room, -shutting the door behind him with violence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jean Jacques stood scratching his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh, Madelon," he said, "you faced him grandly. -But when did he get those shoe-buckles, and how did -you know about them?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madelon began to laugh faintly, with catching breath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, thou great stupid," she panted; "did'st thou -not understand? There never, never, never were any -buckles at all, but he thought they were there in his -garden, and it did just as well," and with that she -buried her face in the pillow and broke into passionate -weeping.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mathieu Leroux held his tongue about his daughter -and walked softly for a day or two. Also he took -much exercise in his garden, where he dug to the depth -of three feet, but without finding anything.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile Brutus Carré was occupied with the forms -of republican justice. His prisoners were to be taken to -Paris, since Justice lacked implements here, and Rancy -owned no convenient stream where one might drown the -accused in pairs, or sink them by the boat-load.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ange Desaix faced him with a high look. If her -ideals were tottering, their nobility still clung about her, -wrapping her from this man's rude gaze.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was a Republican before the Revolution," she said, -and her look drew from Citizen Carré an outburst of -venom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are suspect, gravely suspect," he bellowed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, Citizen—" and the frank gaze grew a little -bewildered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, Citoyenne!—but, Aristocrat! What! you -answer me, you bandy words? Is treason so bold in -Rancy-les-Bois? Truly it's time the wasp's nest was -smoked out. Take her away!" and Mlle Ange went out, -still with that bewildered look.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>M. le Curé came next. There was a high flush on his thin -cheeks, and his fingers laced and interlaced continually.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Carré blustered at him he started, leaned forward, -and tapped the table sharply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish to speak, to make a statement," he said in -a high, trembling voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a surprised silence, whilst the priest -stretched out his hand and spoke as from the pulpit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My children, I have been as Judas amongst you, as -Judas who betrayed his Lord. I desire to ask pardon of -the souls I have offended, before I go to answer for my sin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Carré stared at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is he mad?" he asked, with a brutal laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, not mad," said M. le Curé quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not that it matters having a crack in a head that's -so soon to come off," continued the Commissioner. -"Take him away. When I want to hear a sermon I 'll -send for him"; and out went the curé.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the road to Paris he was very quiet, sitting for the -most part with his head in his hands. After they -reached Paris, Mlle Ange and Aline saw him no more. -No doubt he perished amongst the hundreds who died -and left no sign. As for the women, they were sent to -the Abbaye, and there waited for the end.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="inmates-of-the-prison"><span class="large">CHAPTER XXVIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">INMATES OF THE PRISON</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was the first week in July, and heat fetid and airless -brooded over the crowded prison. Mlle Ange drooped -daily. To all consoling words she made but one reply—"C'est -fini"—and at last Aline gave up all attempt at -rousing her. After all, what did it matter since they -were all upon the edge of death?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There were six people in the small, crowded cell, and -they changed continually. No one ever returned, no one -was ever released now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Little Madame de Verdier, stumbling in half blind with -tears, sat with them through one long night unsleeping. -In her hand she held always the blotted, ill-spelled letter -written at the scaffold's foot by her only child, a lad of -thirteen. In the morning she was fetched away, taking -to her own death a lighter heart than she could have -borne towards liberty. In her place came Jeanne Verdier, -ex-mistress of Philippe Égalité, she who had leaned on -the rail and laughed as the votes went up for the King's -death. Her laughing days were over now, tears blistered -her raddled skin, and she wrung her hands continually -and moaned for a priest. When the gaoler came for her, -she reeled against him, fainting, and he had to catch her -round the waist, and use a hard word before he could get -her across the threshold. That evening the door opened, -and an old man was pushed in.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is a hundred at least, so there need be no -scandal," said the gaoler with a wink, and indeed the old -gentleman tottered to a corner and lay there peaceably -enough, without so much as a word or look for his -companions.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In a day or two, however, he revived. The heat which -oppressed the others seemed to suit him, and after a -while he even began to talk a little, throwing out -mysterious hints of great powers, strange influences, and -what not.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mme de Labédoyère, inveterate chatterbox, was much -interested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is somebody," she assured Aline, aside. "An -astrologer, perhaps. Who knows? He may be able to -tell the future."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have no future," said the melancholy Mme de -Vieuxmesnil with a deep sigh. "No one can bring back -the past, not even le bon Dieu Himself, and that is all I -care for now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The little Labédoyère shrugged her plump shoulders, -and old Mme de Breteuil struck into the conversation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He reminds me of some one," she said, turning her -bright dark eyes upon the old man's face. He was leaning -against the wall, dozing, his fine-cut features pallid -with a clear yellowish pallor like dead ivory. As she -looked his eyes opened, very blue, through the mist which -age and drowsiness hung over them. He smiled a little -and sat up, rubbing his thin hands slowly, as if they felt -a chill even on that stifling afternoon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The ladies do me the honour of discussing me," he -said in his queer, level voice, from which all the living -quality seemed to have drained away, leaving it steadily -passionless.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was thinking I had seen you somewhere," said -Mme de Breteuil, "and perhaps if Monsieur were to tell -me his name, I should remember."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My name is Aristide," he said, and seemed to be -waiting for a sensation. The ladies looked at one another -puzzled. Only Mme de Breteuil frowned a moment, -and then clapped her hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have it—ah, Monsieur Aristide, it is so many -years ago. I think we won't say how many, but all -Paris talked about you then. They called you the -Sorcerer, and one's priest scolded one soundly if one so -much as mentioned your name."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said the old man with a nod.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, you have forgotten it, I daresay, but I came to -see you then, I and my sister-in-law, Jeanne de Breteuil. -In those days the future interested me enormously, but -when I got into the room, and thought that perhaps I -should see the devil, I was scared to death; and as to -Jeanne, she pinched me black and blue. There was a -pool of ink, and a child who saw pictures in it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, but how delightful," exclaimed Julie de Labédoyère.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not at all, my dear, it was most alarming."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But what did he tell you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old lady bridled a little.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, a number of things that would interest nobody -now, though at the time they were extremely absorbing. -But one thing you told me, Monsieur, and that was that -I should die in a foreign land, and I assure you I find it -a vastly consoling prophecy at present."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is true," said Aristide, fixing his blue eyes upon her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To be sure," she continued, "you told Jeanne she -would have three husbands, and a child by each of them, -all of which came most punctually to pass; but, Monsieur, -I fear now that Jeanne will have my prophecy as well as -her own, since she had the sense to leave France two -years ago when it was still possible, and I was foolish -enough to stay here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old man shook his head and leaned back again, -closing his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is the future to us now?" said Mme de Vieuxmesnil -in a low voice. "It holds nothing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you so sure?" asked Aristide, and she started, -turning a little paler, but Mme de Labédoyère turned -on him with vivacity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, but can you really tell the future?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When there is a future to tell," he said, stroking his -white beard with a thin transparent hand, and his eyes -rested curiously upon her as he spoke. Something in -their expression made old Mme de Breteuil shiver a -little.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Even now he frightens me," she whispered to Aline, -but Julie de Labédoyère had clasped her hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, but how ravishing," she exclaimed. "Tell us -then, Monsieur, tell us all our futures. I am ready to -die of dulness, and so I am sure are these ladies. It will -really be a deed of charity if you will amuse us for an -hour."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The future is not always amusing," said Aristide with -a slight chilly smile. "Also," he added after a pause, -"there is no child here. I need one to read the visions -in the pool of ink."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The gaoler has a tribe of children," said Mme de -Labédoyère eagerly. "I have a little money. If I -made him a present he would send us one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It must be a young child, under seven years old."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The eyes, Madame, must be clear. With conscious -sin, with the first touch of sorrow, the first breath of -passion, there comes a mist, and the visions are read no -longer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, there are children enough," she answered with -a shrug. "I have seen a little girl of about five,—Marie, -I think she is called: we will ask for her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Almost as she spoke the door was thrown open and -the gaoler entered. He brought another prisoner to -share the already crowded room. If Paris streets were -silent and empty, her prisons were full enough. This -was a pale slip of a girl, with a pitiful hacking cough. -She entered listlessly, and sank down in a corner as if -she had not strength to stand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The end of the journey," said Aristide under his -breath, but Mme de Labédoyère was by the gaoler's side -talking volubly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is only for an hour,—and see—" here something -slipped from her hand to his. "It will be a diversion -for the child, and for us, mon Dieu, it may save our -lives! How would you feel if you were to find us all -dead one morning just from sheer ennui?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know that I should fret," said the man with -a grin, and Mme de Labédoyère bit her lip.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you will lend us Marie," she said insistently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, if you like, and if she will come. It is nothing -to me, and she is not of an age to have her principles -corrupted," said the man, laughing at his own wit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He went out with a jingle of keys, and in a few -minutes the door opened once more, and a serious-eyed -person of about five years old staggered in, carrying a -very fat, heavy baby, whose sleepy head nodded across -her shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She hesitated a moment and then came in, closed the -door, and finally sat down between Aline and Mlle Ange, -disposing the baby upon her diminutive lap.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is Mutius Scaevola," she volunteered; "my -mother washes and I am in charge. He is very sleepy, -but one is never sure. He is a wicked baby. Sometimes -he roars so that the roof comes off one's head. -Then my mother says it is my fault, and slaps me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give him to me," said Mlle Ange suddenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The serious Marie regarded her for a moment, and -then allowed her charge to be transferred to the stranger's -lap, where he promptly fell fast asleep.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come here, my child," said the old gentleman in the -corner, and Marie went to him obediently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had poured ink into his palm, and now held it under -her eyes, putting his other arm gently round the child.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look now, little one. Look and tell us what you -see, and you, Madame," he said, beckoning to Mme de -Labédoyère, "come nearer and put your hand upon her -head."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you see anything, child?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see ink," said Marie sedately. "It will make -your hand very dirty, sir. Once I got some on my -frock, and it never came out. I was beaten for that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush, then, little one, and look into the ink. -Presently there will be pictures there. Then you may speak -and tell us what you see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silence fell on the small hot room. Ange Desaix -rocked softly with the sleeping child. She was the only -one who never even glanced at the astrologer and his -pupil.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Presently Marie said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur, there is a picture."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What then, say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A boy, with a broom, sweeping."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He nodded gravely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes. Watch well; the pictures come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He has made a clean place," said the child, "and on -the clean place there is a shadow. Ah, now it turns into -a lady—into this lady whose hand is on my head. She -stands and looks at me, and a man comes and catches her -by the neck and cuts off her hair. That is a pity, for her -hair is very long and fine. Why does he cut it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mon Dieu!" said Mme de Labédoyère with a sob. -She released the child and sat down by the wall, leaning -against it, her eyes wide with fear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You asked to see the future, Madame," said the old -man impassively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can you show the past?" asked Mme de Vieuxmesnil, -half hesitatingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Assuredly. You must touch the child, and think of -what you wish to see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She came forward and put out her hand, but drew it -quickly back again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she murmured; "it is perhaps a sin. I am -too near the end for that, and when one cannot even -confess."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As you will," said the old man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you, Madame," he turned to Aline, "is there -nothing you would know; no one for whose welfare you -are anxious?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She started, for he had read her thoughts, which were -full of Dangeau. It was months now since any word -had come from him, and she longed inexpressibly for -tidings. Lawful or unlawful, she would try this way, -since there was no other. She laid her hand lightly on -the little girl's head, and once more the child looked into -the dark pool.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There are so many people," she said at last. "They -run to and fro, and wave their arms. That makes one's -head ache."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go on looking," said Aristide.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is a lady there now. It is this lady. She -looks very frightened. Some one has put a red cap on -her head. Ah—now a gentleman comes. He takes her -hand and puts a ring on it. Now he kisses her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline drew away. The clamour and the crowd, the -hasty wedding, the cold first kiss, all swam together in -her mind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is the past," she said in a low, strained voice. -"Tell me where he is now. Is he alive? Where is he? -Shall I see him again?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had forgotten her surroundings, the listeners, Mme -de Breteuil's sharp eyes. She only looked eagerly at -Aristide, and he nodded once or twice, and laid her hand -again on the child's head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She shall look," he said, but Marie lifted weary eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur, I am tired," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just this once more, little one. Then you shall -sleep," and she turned obediently and bent again over -his hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not like this picture," she said fretfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not know. There is a platform, with a ladder -that goes up. I cannot see the top. Ah—there is the -lady again. She goes up the ladder. Her hair is cut off, -close to the head. That is not at all pretty, but it is -the same lady, and the gentleman is there too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What gentleman?" asked Aline, in a clear voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The same who was in the other picture, who put the -ring upon your finger and kissed your forehead. It is -he, a tall monsieur with blue eyes. He has no hat on, -and his arms are tied behind him. Oh, I do not like -this picture. Need I look any more?" and her voice -took a wailing sound.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, it is enough," said Aline gently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She drew the child away and sat down by Mlle Ange, -who still rocked the sleeping baby. Marie leaned her -head beside her brother's and shut her eyes. Ange -Desaix put an arm about her too, and she slept.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Aristide was still looking at Aline.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not understand," he said under his breath. -"You have none of the signs, none of them. Now -she,"—he indicated Mme de Labédoyère, "one can see -it at a glance. A short life, and a death of violence, -but with you it is different. Give me your hand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was within reach, and she put it out half mechanically. -He looked at it long, and then laid it back in -her lap.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have a long life still," he said, "a long, prosperous -life. The child was tired, she read amiss. The -sign was not for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline shook her head. It did not seem to matter -very much now. She was so tired. What was death? -At least, if the vision were true, she would see her -husband again. They would forgive one another, and -she would be able to forget his bitter farewell look.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile Dangeau waited for death in La Force. -His cell contained only one inmate, a man who seemed -to have sustained some serious injury to the head, since -he lay swathed in bandages and moaned continually.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who is he?" he asked Defarge, the gaoler, and the -man shrugged his shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One there is enough coil about for ten," he grumbled. -"One pays that he should have a cell to himself, and -another sends him milk. It seems he is wanted to live, -since this morning I get orders to admit a surgeon to -him. Bah! If he knew when he was well off, he -would make haste and die. For me, I would prefer -that to sneezing into Sanson's basket; but what would -you? No one is ever contented."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That afternoon the surgeon came, a brisk, round-bodied -person with a light roving hazel eye, and quick, -clever hands. He fell to his work, and after loitering a -moment Defarge went out, leaving the door open, and -passing occasionally, when he would pop his head in, -grumble a little, and pass on again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau watched idly. Something in the little man's -appearance seemed familiar, but for the moment he -could not place him. Suddenly, however, the busy -hands ceased their work for a moment, and the surgeon -glanced sharply over his shoulder. "Here, can you -hold this for me?" and as Dangeau knelt opposite -to him and put his finger to steady the bandage, he -said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know your face. Where have I seen you, eh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I know yours. My name is Dangeau."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aha—I thought so. You were Edmond's friend. -Poor Edmond! But what would you? He was too -imprudent."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I was Edmond Cléry's friend," said Dangeau; -"and you are his uncle. I met you with him once. -Citizen Goyot, is it not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At your service. There, that's finished."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who is he; will he live?" asked Dangeau, as the -patient twitched and groaned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Goyot shrugged.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He has friends who want him to live, and enemies -who are almost as anxious that he should n't die."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A riddle, Citizen?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I don't know. You may conceive, if you will, -that his friends desire his assistance, and that his enemies -desire him to compromise his friends."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, it is that way?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did not say so," said Goyot. "Good-day, Citizen," -and he departed, leaving Dangeau something to think -about, and a new interest in his fellow-prisoner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Next day behold Goyot back again. He enlisted -Dangeau's services at once, and Defarge having left -them, shutting the door this time, he observed with a -keen look:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 've been refreshing my memory about you, Citizen -Dangeau."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes; you still have a friend or two. Who says the -days of miracles are over? You have been away a year -and are not quite forgotten."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what did my friends say?" asked Dangeau, -smiling a little.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They said you were an honest man. I said there -were n't two in Paris. They declared you were one of -them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ciel, Citizen, you are a pessimist."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Optimists lose their heads these days," said Goyot -with a grimace. "But after all one must trust some -one, or one gets no further."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, we want to get further, that is all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your meaning, Citizen?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mon Dieu, must I dot all the i's?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, one or two perhaps."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have a patient sicker than this," said Goyot -abruptly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"France," he said in a low voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau gave a deep sigh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are right," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course, it's my trade. The patient is very ill. -Too much blood-letting—you understand? There 's a -gangrene which is eating away the flesh, poisoning the -whole body. It must be cut out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Robespierre."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mon Dieu, Citizen, no names! Though, to be sure, -that one 's in the air. A queer thing human nature. I -knew him well years ago. You 'd have said he could n't -hurt a fly; would turn pale at the mention of an -execution; and now,—well, they say the appetite comes -with eating, and life is a queer comedy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Comedy?" said Dangeau bitterly. "It's tragedy -that fills the boards for most of us to-day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! that depends on how you take it. Keep an -eye on the ridiculous: foster it, play for it, and you have -farce. Take things lightly, with a turn of wit and a -playful way, and it is comedy. Tragedy demands less -effort, I 'll admit, but for me—Vive la Comédie. We -are discussing the ethics of the drama," he -explained to Defarge, who poked his head in at this -juncture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will that mend his head?" inquired the gaoler -with a scowl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, my dear Defarge, that, I fear, is past praying -for; but I have better hopes of my other patient."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who 's that?" asked the man, staring.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A lady, my friend, in whom Citizen Dangeau is -interested. A surgical case—but I have great hopes, -great hopes of curing her," and with that he went out, -smiling and talking all the way down the corridor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau grew to look for his coming. Sometimes he -merely got through his work as quickly as possible, but -occasionally he would drop some hint of a plot,—of plans -to overthrow Robespierre.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The patient's friends are willing now," he said one -day. "It is a matter of seizing the favourable moment. -Meanwhile one must have patience."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau smiled a trifle grimly. Patience, when one's -head is under the axe, may be a desirable, but it is not -an easily cultivated, virtue.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Life had begun to look sweet to him once more. The -mood in which he had suddenly flung defiance at Robespierre -was past, and if the old, vivid dreams came back -no more, yet the dark horizon began to show a sober -gleam of hope.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Every sign proclaimed the approaching fall of -Robespierre, and Dangeau looked past the Nation's temporary -delirium to a time of convalescence, when the State, -restored to sanity, might be built up, if not towards -perfection, at least in the direction of sober -statesmanship and peaceful government.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="through-darkness-to-light"><span class="large">CHAPTER XXIX</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">THROUGH DARKNESS TO LIGHT</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>So dawned the morning of the twenty-seventh of -July, the 9th Thermidor in the new Calendar of -the Revolution. A very hot, still day, with a veiled -sky dreaming of thunder. Dangeau had passed a very -disturbed night, for his fellow-prisoner was worse. The -long unconsciousness yielded at last, and slid through -vague mutterings into a high delirium, which tasked his -utmost strength to control. Goyot was to come early, -since this development was not entirely unexpected; -but the morning passed, and still he did not appear. -By two o'clock the patient was in a stupour again, and -visibly within an hour or two of the end. No skill could -avail him now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly the door was thrown open, and Dangeau -heard himself summoned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your time at last," said Defarge, and he followed -the man without a word. In the corridor they met -Goyot, his hair much rumpled, his eyes bright and -restless with excitement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You? Where are you going?" he panted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where does one go nowadays?" returned Dangeau, -with a slight shrug.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no," exclaimed Goyot. "It's not possible. -We had arranged—your name was to be kept back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bah," said Defarge, spitting on the ground. "You -need not look at me like that, Citizen. It is not my -fault. You know that well enough. Orders come, and -must be obeyed. I 'm neither blind nor deaf. Things -are changing out there, I 'm told, but orders are orders, -and a plain man looks no further."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Goyot caught at Dangeau's arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We'll save you yet," he said. "Robespierre is -down. Accused this morning in Convention. They 're -all at his throat now. Keep a good heart, my friend; -his time has come at last."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And mine," returned Dangeau.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no,—I tell you there is hope. It is only a -matter of hours."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Defarge interposed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ciel, Citizens, are we to stand here all day? Citizen -Goyot, your patient is dying, and you had better see to -him. This citizen and I have an engagement,—yes, -and a pressing one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An hour later Dangeau passed in to take his trial. -His predecessor's case had taken a scant five minutes, -so simple a matter had the death penalty become.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fouquier Tinville seated himself, his sharp features -more like the fox's mask than ever, only now it was the -fox who hears the hounds so close upon his heels that he -dares not look behind to see how close they are. Fear -does not improve the temper, and he nodded maliciously -at his former colleague.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Name," he rapped out, voice and eye alike vicious.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With smooth indifference Dangeau repeated his -names, and added with a touch of amusement:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know me and my names well enough, or did -once, my good Tinville."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The thin lips lifted in a snarl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That, my friend, was when you were higher in the -world than you are now. Place of abode?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau's gaze went past him. He shrugged his -shoulders with a faintly whimsical effect.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall we say the edges of the world?" he suggested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fouquier Tinville spat on the floor and leaned over -the table with a yellow glitter in his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How does it feel?" he sneered. "The edges of the -world. Ma foi, how does it feel to look over them into -annihilation?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau returned his look with composure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I imagine you may soon have an opportunity of -judging," he observed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At Tinville's right hand a man sat drumming on the -table. Now he looked up sharply, exhibiting a dead -white face, where the lips hung loose, and the eyes -showed wildly bloodshot.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But if one could know first," he said in a shaking -voice. "When one is so close and looks over, one -should see more than others. I have asked so many -what they saw. I asked Danton. He said 'The void.' Do -you think it is that? As man to man now, Dangeau, -do you think there is anything beyond or not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau recognised him with a movement of -half-contemptuous pity. It was Duval, the actor who had -taken to politics and drink, and sold his soul for a bribe -of Robespierre's.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Tinville plucked him down with a curse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tiens, Duval, you grow too mad," he said angrily. -"You and your beyond. What should there be?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If there were,—Hell," muttered Duval, with shaking -lips. Tinville banged the table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I to have all the Salpêtrière here?" he shouted. -"Have n't we cut off enough priests' heads yet? I tell -you we have abolished Heaven, and Purgatory, and -Hell, and all the rest of those child's tales."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A murmur of applause ran round. Duval's hand -went to his breast, and drew out a flask. He drank -furtively, and leaned back again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau was moving away, but he turned for a -moment, the old sparkle in his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My felicitations, Tinville," he observed with a -casual air.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"On what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau smiled politely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The convenience for you of having abolished Hell! -It is a masterstroke. It only remains for me to wish -you an early opportunity of verifying your statements."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Take him out," said Tinville, stamping his foot, and -Dangeau went down the steps, and into the long -adjoining room where the prisoners waited for the -tumbrils. It was too much trouble now to take them back -again to prison, so the Justice Hall was itself the -ante-chamber of the guillotine. It was hot, and Dangeau -felt the lassitude which succeeds a strain. Of what use -to bandy words with Fouquier Tinville, of what use -anything, since the last word lay with the strongest, -and this hour was the hour of his death? It is very -difficult for a strong man, with his youth still vigorous -in every vein, to realise that for him hope and fear, joy -and pain, struggle and endurance, are all at an end, -and that the next step is that final one into the blind -and unknown pathways of the infinite.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He thought of Robespierre, out there in the tideway -fighting for his life against the inexorable waves of Fate. -Even now the water crept salt and sickly about his -mouth. Well, if it drowned him, and swept France clean -again, what did it matter if the swirl of the tide swept -Dangeau from his foothold too?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Absorbed in thought, he took no note of his -companions in misfortune. There was a small crowd of -them at the farther end of the room, a gendarme or two -stood gossiping by, and there was a harsh clipping -sound now and again, for the prisoners' hair was a -perquisite of the concierge's wife, and it was cut off -here, before they went to the scaffold.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The woman stood by to-day and watched it done. -The perquisite was a valuable one, and on the previous -day she had been much annoyed by the careless cutting -which had ruined a magnificent head of auburn hair. -To-day she had noted that one of the women had a -valuable crop, and she was instant in her directions for -its cutting. Presently she pushed past Dangeau and -lifted the lid of a basket which hung against the wall. -His glance followed her idly, and saw that the basket -was piled high with human hair. The woman muttered -to herself as her eye rested on the ruined auburn locks. -Then she took to-day's spoil, tress by tress, from her -apron, knotting the hair roughly together, and dropping -it into the open basket. Dangeau watched her with a -curious sick sensation. The contrast between the -woman's unsexed face and the pitiful relics she handled -affected him disagreeably, but beyond this he experienced -a strange, tingling sensation unlike anything in -his recollection.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The auburn hair was hidden now by a bunch of gay -black curls. A long, straight, flaxen mass fell next, -and then a thick waving tress, gold in the light, and -brown in the shade, catching the sun that crossed it -for a moment, as Aline's hair had always done.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shuddered through all his frame, and turned away. -Thank God, thank God she was safe at Rancy! And -with that a sudden movement parted the crowd at the -other side of the room, and he looked across and saw -her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had heard of visions in the hour of death, but as -he gazed, a cold sweat broke upon his brow, and he knew -it was she herself, Aline, his wife, cast for death as he -was cast. Her profile was towards him, cut sharply -against the blackened wall. Her face was lifted. Her -eyes dwelt on the patch of sky which an open window -gave to view. How changed, O God, how changed -she was! How visibly upon the threshold. The beauty -had fallen away from her face, leaving it a mere frail -mask, but out of her eyes looked a spirit serenely touched -with immortality. It is the look worn only by those who -are about to die, and look past death into the Presence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a look that drove the blood from Dangeau's -heart; a wave of intolerable anger against Fate, of -intolerable anguish for the wife so found again, swept it -back again. He moved to go to her, and as he did so, -saw a man approach and begin to pinion her arms, -whilst the opening of a door and the roll of wheels -outside proclaimed the arrival of the tumbrils. In the -same moment Dangeau accosted the man, his last coin -in his hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This for you if you will get me into the same cart as -this lady, and see, friend, let it be the last one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What desperate relic of spent hope prompted his last -words he hardly knew, for after all what miracle could -Goyot work? but at least he would have a few more -minutes to gaze at Aline before the darkness blotted out -her face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jean Legros, stupid and red-faced, stared a moment at -the coin, then pocketed it with a nod and grunt, and fell -to tying Dangeau's arms. At the touch of the cord an -exclamation escaped him, and it was at this moment -that Aline, roused from her state of abstraction by -something in the voice behind her, turned her head and saw -him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They were so close together that her movement -brought them into contact, and at the touch, and as their -eyes met, anguish was blotted out, and for one wonderful -instant they leaned together whilst each heart felt the -other's throb.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My heart!" he said, and then before either could -speak again they were being pushed forward towards -the open door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The last tumbril waited; Dangeau was thrust into -it, roughly enough, and as he pitched forward he saw -that Aline behind him had stumbled, and would have -fallen but for fat Jean's arm about her waist. She -shrank a little, and the fellow gave a stupid laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, have you never had a man's arm round you -before?" he said loudly, and gave her a push that sent -her swaying against Dangeau's shoulder. The knot -of idlers about the door broke into coarse jesting, and -the bound man's hands writhed against his bonds until -the cords cut deep into the flesh of his wrist, and the -blood oozed against the twisted rope.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline leaned nearer. She was conscious only that -here was rest. Since Mlle Ange died of the prison -fever two days ago, she had not slept or wept. She -had thought perhaps she might die too, and be saved -the knife, but now nothing mattered any more. He was -here; he loved her. They would die together. God -was very good.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His voice sounded from far, far away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought you safe; I thought you at Rancy, oh, -God!" and she roused a little to the agony in his tone, -and looked at him with those clear eyes of hers. -Through all the dreamlike strangeness she felt still -the woman's impulse to comfort the beloved.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God, who holds us in the hollow of His hand, knows -that we are safe," she said, and at that he groaned -"Safe!" so that she fought against the weariness that -made her long just to put her head upon his shoulder -and be at peace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There was too much between us," she said very low. -"We could not be together here, but we could not be -happy apart. I do not think God will take us away -from one another. It is better like this, my dear!—it -is better."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her voice fell on a low, contented note, and he felt -her lean more closely yet. An agony of rebellion rent -his very soul. To love one woman only, to renounce -her, to find her after long months of pain, to hear her -say what he had hoped for only in his dreams, and -then to know that he must watch her die. What -vision of Paradise could blot this torture out? Powerless, -powerless, powerless! In the height of his strength, -and not able even to strike down the brute whose coarse -hand touched her, and that other brute who would -presently butcher her before his very eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, whilst his straining senses reeled, he felt a jolt -and the cart stopped. All about them surged an -excited crowd.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a confused noise, women screamed. One -high, clear voice called out, "Murderers! Assassins!" -and the crowd took up the cry with angry insistence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"See the old man! and the girl! ma foi, she has an -angel's face. Is the guillotine to eat up every one?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The muttering rose to a growl, and the growl to a -roar. To and fro surged the growing crowd, the horses -began to back, the car tilted. Dangeau looked round -him, his heart beating to suffocation, but Aline appeared -neither to know nor care what passed. For her the -world was empty save for they two, and for them the -gate of Heaven stood wide. She heard the song of -the morning stars; she caught a glimpse of the glory -unutterable, unthinkable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As the shouting grew, the driver of their cart cast -anxious glances over his shoulder. All at once he stood -up, waving his red cap, calling, gesticulating.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A cry went up, "The gendarmerie, Henriot! Henriot -and the gendarmes!" and the press was driven apart by -the charge of armed horsemen. At their head rode -Henriot, just freed from prison, flushed with strong -drink, savage with his own impending doom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The crowd scattered, but a man sprang for an instant -to the wheels of the cart, and whispered one swift -sentence in Dangeau's ear:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Robespierre falls; nothing can save him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was Goyot in a workman's blouse, and as he -dropped off again Dangeau made curt answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In time for France, if not for me. Good-bye, my -friend," and then Goyot was gone and the lumbering -wheels rolled on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the other side of the cart, the Abbé Delacroix -prayed audibly, and the smooth Latin made a familiar -cadence, like running water heard in childhood, and kept -in some secret cell of the memory. Beside the priest -sat old General de Loiserolles, grey and soldierly, -hugging the thought that he had saved his boy; how entirely -he was not to know. Answering his son's name, leaving -that son sleeping, he was giving him, not the doubtful -reprieve of a day, but all the years of his natural life, -since young De Loiserolles was amongst those set free by -the death of Robespierre.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As the cart stopped by the scaffold foot, he crossed -himself, and followed the Abbé to the axe, with a simple -dignity that drew a strange murmur from the crowd. -For the heart of Paris was melting fast, and the bloodshed -was become a weariness. Prisoner after prisoner went -up the steps, and after each dull thud announced the -fallen axe, that long ominous "ah" of the crowd went up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau and Aline were the last, and when they -came to the steps he moved to go before her, then -cursed himself for a coward, and stood aside to let her -pass. She looked sweetly at him for a moment and -passed on, climbing with feet that never faltered. She -did not note the splashed and slippery boards, nor -Sanson and his assistants all grimed and daubed from -their butcher's work, but her eye was caught by the sea -of upturned faces, all white, all eyeing her, and her head -turned giddy. Then some one touched her, held her, -pulled away the kerchief at her breast, and as the sun -struck hot upon her uncovered shoulders, a burning -blush rose to her very brow, and the dream in which -she had walked was gone. Her brain reeled with the -awakening, heaven clouded, and the stars were lost. -She was aware only of Sanson's hot hand at her throat, -and all those eyes astare to see her death.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The hand pushed her, her foot felt the slime of blood -beneath it, she saw the dripping knife, and all at once -she felt herself naked to the abyss. In Sanson's grip -she turned wide terror-stricken eyes on Dangeau, making -a little, piteous, instinctive movement towards him, her -protector, and at that and his own impotence he felt -each pulse in his strong body thud like a hammered -drum, and with one last violent effort of the will he -wrenched his eyelids down, lest he should look upon the -end. All through the journey there had been as it were -a sword in his heart, but at her look and gesture—her -frightened look, her imploring gesture—the sword was -turned and still he was alive, alive to watch her die. -In those moments his soul left time and space, and hung -a tortured point, infinitely lonely, infinitely agonised, in -some illimitable region of never-ending pain. There was -no past, no future, only Eternity and his undying soul -in anguish. The thousand years were as a day, and the -day as a thousand years. There was no beginning and -no end. O God, no end!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not hear the crowd stir a little, and drift -hither and thither as it was pressed upon from one side; -he did not see the gendarmes press against the drift, -only to be driven back again, hustled, surrounded so -that their horses were too hampered to answer to -the spur. Suddenly a woman went down screaming -under the horses' feet, and on the instant the crowd -flamed into fury before the agonised shriek had died -away. In a moment all was a seething, shouting, -cursing welter of struggling humanity. The noise of it -reached even Dangeau's stunned brain, and he said -within himself, "It is over. She is dead," and opened -his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The scaffold stood like an island in a sea grown -suddenly wild with tempest, and even as he looked, the -human waves of it broke in a fierce swirl which welled -up and overflowed it on every side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sanson, his hand on the machinery, was whirled aside, -jostled, pushed, cursed. A fat woman, with bare, -mottled arms, Heaven knows how she came on the -platform, dealt him a resounding smack on the face, -and shrieked voluble abuse, which was freely echoed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau was surrounded, embraced, cheered, lifted -off his feet, the cord that bound his arms slashed through, -and of a sudden Goyot had him round the neck, and -he found voice and clamoured Aline's name. The little -surgeon, after one glance at his wild eyes, pushed with -him through the surging press; they had to fight their -way, and the place was slippery, but they were through -at last, through and down on their knees by the woman -who lay bound beneath the knife that Sanson's hand -was freeing when the tumult caught him. A dozen -hands snatched her back again now, the cords were cut, -and Dangeau's shaking voice called in her ears, called -loudly, and in vain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Air, give her air and room," he cried, and some -pushed forwards and others back. The fat woman took -the girl's head upon her lap, whilst tears rained down -her crimson cheeks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh, the poor pretty one," she sobbed hysterically, -and pulled off her own ample kerchief to cover Aline's -thin bosom. Dangeau leaned over her calling, calling -still, unaware of Goyot at his side, and of Goyot's voice -saying insistently, "Tiens, my friend, that was a near -shave, eh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My wife," he muttered, "my wife—my wife is -dead," and with that he gazed round wildly, cried -"No, no!" in a sharp voice, and fell to calling her -again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Goyot knelt on the reeking boards, caught the frail -wrist in that brown skilful hand of his, shifted his -grasp once, twice, a third time, shook his head, and took -another grip. "No, she 's alive," he said at last, and -had to say it more than once, for Dangeau took no heed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aline! Aline! Aline!" he called in hoarse, trembling -tones, and Goyot dropped the girl's wrist and took -him harshly by the shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rouse, man, rouse!" he cried. "She's alive. I tell -you. I swear it. For the love of Heaven, wake up, -and help me to get her away. It's touch and go for all -of us these next few hours. At any moment Henriot -may have the upper hand, and half an hour would do -our business, with this pretty toy so handy." He -grimaced at the red axe above them, "Come, Dangeau, -play the man!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau stared at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What am I to do?" he asked irritably.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Goyot pressed his shoulder with a firm hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lift your wife, and bring her along after me. Can -you manage? She looks light enough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was no easy matter to come through the excited -crowd, but Dangeau's height told, and with Aline's head -against his shoulder he pushed doggedly in the wake -of Goyot, who made his way through the press with a -wonderful agility. Down the steps now, and inch by -inch forward through the jostling excited people. Up a -by way at last, and then sharp to the left where a -carriage waited, and with that Goyot gave a gasp of -relief, and mopped a dripping brow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh, mon Dieu!" he said; "get in, get in!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The carriage had mouldy straw on the floor, and the -musty odour of it mounted in the hot air.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau complained of it sharply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A devil of a smell, this, Goyot!" and the little -surgeon fixed him with keen, watchful eyes, as he -nodded acquiescence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What house they came to, or how they came to it, -Dangeau knew no more than his unconscious wife. She -lay across his breast, white and still as the dead, and -when he laid her down on the bed in the upper room -they reached at last, she fell limply from his grasp, and -he turned to Goyot with a groan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A soft, white-haired woman, dark-eyed and placid,—afterwards -he knew her for Goyot's housekeeper,—tried -to turn him out of the room, but he would go no farther -than the window, where he sat staring, staring at the -houses across the way, watching them darken in the -gathering dusk, and mechanically counting the lights -that presently sprang into view.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Behind him Marie Carlier came and went, at Goyot's -shortly worded orders, until at last Dangeau's straining -ears caught the sound of a faint, fluttering sigh. He -turned then, the lights in the room dancing before his -burning eyes. For a moment the room seemed full of -the small tongues of flame, and then beyond them he -saw his wife's eyes open again, whilst her hand moved -in feeble protest against the draught which Goyot -himself was holding to her lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau got up, stood a moment gazing, and then -stumbled from the room and broke into heavy sobbing. -Presently Goyot brought him something in a glass, -which he drank obediently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now you will sleep," said the little man in cheerful -accents, and sleep he did, and never stirred until the -high sun struck across his face and waked him to France's -new day, and his.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For in that night fell Robespierre, cast down by the -Convention he had dominated so long. The dawn that -found him shattered, praying for the death he had -vainly sought, awakened Paris from the long nightmare -which had been the marriage gift of her nuptials with -this incubus.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At four o'clock on the afternoon of the 10th Thermidor, -Robespierre's head fell under the bloody axe of the -Terror, and with his last gasp the life went out of the -greatest tyranny of modern times.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Goyot came home with the news, Dangeau's -face flamed, and he put his hand before his eyes for a -moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then he went up to Aline. She had lain in a deep -sleep for many, many hours, but towards the afternoon -she had wakened, taken food, and dressed herself, all in -a strange, mechanical fashion. She was neither to be -gainsaid nor persuaded, and Dangeau, reasonable once -more, had left her to the kind and unexciting ministrations -of Marie Carlier. Now he could keep away no -longer; Goyot followed him and the housekeeper met -them by the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She is strange, Monsieur," she whispered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She has not roused at all?" inquired Goyot rather -anxiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marie shook her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She just sits and stares at the sky. God knows -what she sees there, poor lamb. If she would weep——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just so, just so," Goyot nodded once or twice. -Then he turned a penetrating look on Dangeau.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, you are all right again. A near thing, my -friend, eh? Small wonder you were upset by it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I!" said Dangeau, with an impatient gesture. -"It is my wife we are speaking of."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes, of course—a little patience, my dear -Dangeau—yes, your wife. Marie here, without being -scientific, is a sensible woman, and it's a wonderful -thing how common-sense comes to the same conclusions -as science. A fascinating subject that, but, as you are -about to observe, this is not the time to pursue it. -What I mean to say is, that your wife is suffering from -severe shock; her brain is overcharged, and Marie is -quite right when she suggests that tears would relieve -it. Now, my good Dangeau, do you think you can make -your wife cry?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know—I must go to her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, well, go. Don't excite her, but—dear me, -Marie, how impatient people are. When one has saved -a man's life, he might at least let one finish a sentence, -instead of breaking away in the middle of it. Get me -something to eat, for, parbleu, I 've earned it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangeau had closed the door, and stood looking at -his wife.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aline," he said, "have they told you? We are -safe—Robespierre is dead."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then he threw back his head, took a long, deep -breath, and cried:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is new life—new life for France, new work for -those who love her—new life for us—for us, Aline."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aline stood by the window, very still. At the sound -of Dangeau's voice she turned her head. He saw that -she was smiling, and his heart contracted as he looked -at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Death had come so close to her, so very close, that it -seemed to him the shadow of it lay cold and still above -that strange unchanging smile; and he called to her -abruptly, with a rough tenderness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aline! Aline!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked up then, and he saw then the same smile -lie deep within her eyes. Unfathomably peaceful they -were, but not with the peace of the living.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Won't you come to me, my dear," he said gently, -and with the simplicity he would have used to a child.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A little shiver just stirred the stillness of her form, -and she came slowly, very slowly, across the room, -and then stood waiting, and with a sudden passion -Dangeau laid both hands upon her shoulders insistently, -heavily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He wondered had she lost the memory of the last time -he had touched and held her thus. Then he had fought -with pride and been defeated. Now he must fight again, -fight for her very soul and reason, and this time he must -win, or the whole world would be lost. He paused, -gathering all the forces of his soul, then looked at her -with passionate uneasiness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If she would tremble, if she would even shrink from -him—anything but that calm which was there, and -shone serenely fixed, like the smile upon the faces of the -dead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It hinted of the final secret known.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mon Dieu! Aline, don't look like that!" he cried, -and in strong protest his arms slipped lower, and drew -her close to his heart that beat, and beat, as if it would -supply the life hers lacked. She came passively at -his touch, and stood in his embrace unresisting and -unresponsive.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Remembering how she had flushed at a look and -quivered at a touch, his fears redoubled, and he caught -her close, and closer, kissing her, at first gently, but in -the end with all the force of a passion so long restrained. -For now at last the dam was down, and they stood -together in love's full flowing tide.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When he drew back, the smile was gone, and the lips -that it had left trembled piteously, as her colour came -and went to each quickened breath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aline," he said, very low, "Aline, my heart! It is -new life—new life together."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She pushed him back a pace then, and raised her eyes -with a look he never forgot. The peace had left them -now, and they were troubled to the depths, and brimmed -with tears. Her lips quivered more and more, the breath -came from them in a great sob, and suddenly she fell -upon his breast in a passion of weeping.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">THE END</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 6em"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="backmatter"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst" id="pg-end-line"><span>*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>A MARRIAGE UNDER THE TERROR</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="cleardoublepage"> -</div> -<div class="language-en level-2 pgfooter section" id="a-word-from-project-gutenberg" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<span id="pg-footer"></span><h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><span>A Word from Project Gutenberg</span></h2> -<p class="pfirst"><span>We will update this book if we find any errors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This book can be found under: </span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/42520"><span>http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/42520</span></a></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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