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diff --git a/42520.txt b/42520.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 3388786..0000000 --- a/42520.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,13619 +0,0 @@ - A MARRIAGE UNDER THE TERROR - - - - -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 Project Gutenberg License included with this -eBook or online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license. - - - -Title: A Marriage Under the Terror -Author: Patricia Wentworth -Release Date: April 12, 2013 [EBook #42520] -Language: English -Character set encoding: US-ASCII - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MARRIAGE UNDER THE TERROR -*** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines. - - - _A Marriage - Under the Terror_ - - - _By_ - _Patricia Wentworth_ - - - - G. P. Putnam's Sons - New York and London - Knickerbocker Press - 1910 - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1910 - BY - G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS - - - Published, April, 1910 - Reprinted, May, 1910 - - - - The Knickerbocker Press, New York - - - - - Advertisement - - -To _A Marriage Under the Terror_ 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. - -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 _A Marriage Under the Terror_ as the -most distinctive novel in the group. - - - - - CONTENTS - - -CHAPTER - - I. A Purloined Cipher - II. A Forced Entrance - III. Shut out by a Prison Wall - IV. The Terror Let Loose - V. A Carnival of Blood - VI. A Doubtful Safety - VII. The Inner Conflict - VIII. An Offer of Friendship - IX. The Old Ideal and the New - X. The Fate of a King - XI. The Irrevocable Vote - XII. Separation - XIII. Disturbing Insinuations - XIV. A Dangerous Acquaintance - XV. Sans Souci - XVI. An Unwelcome Visitor - XVII. Distressing News - XVIII. A Trial and a Wedding - XIX. The Barrier - XX. A Royalist Plot - XXI. A New Environment - XXII. At Home and Afield - XXIII. Return of Two Fugitives - XXIV. Burning of the Chateau - XXV. Escape of Two Madcaps - XXVI. A Dying Woman - XXVII. Betrayal - XXVIII. Inmates of the Prison - XXIX. Through Darkness to Light - - - - - A MARRIAGE UNDER THE TERROR - - - - CHAPTER I - - A PURLOINED CIPHER - - -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. - -"Madame suffers?" inquired Jeanne obsequiously, but with pursed lips. - -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. - -"Madame has the migraine?" suggested the soft, rather false-sounding -voice. "Madame will not receive?" - -"Heavens! girl, how you pester me," said the Marquise sharply. - -Then, falling again to a languid tone, "Is there any one there?" - -Jeanne smiled with malicious, averted face as she poured rose-water from -a silver ewer into a Sevres bowl, and watched it rise, dimpling, to the -flower-wreathed brim. - -"There is M. le Vicomte as usual, Madame, and Mme la Comtesse de Maille, -who, learning that Madame was but now awakened, told me that she would -wait whilst I inquired if Madame would see her." - -"Good Heavens! what an hour to come," said the lady, with a peevish air. - -"Madame la Comtesse seemed much moved. One would say something had -occurred," said Jeanne. - -The Marquise raised her head sharply. - -"--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?" - -"Madame's own," submitted Jeanne meekly. - -The suffering lady raised herself and dealt the girl a sounding box on -the ear. - -"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?" - -"Yes, Madame"--but there was a spark beneath the waiting-maid's -discreetly dropped lids. - -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. - -"Put the rouge just here, and here, Jeanne," she ordered, her anger -subsiding;--then, with a fresh outburst--"Imbecile, 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." - -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. - -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. - -She was eminently satisfied with her own looks as she turned languidly -on her soft pillows to greet her friends. - -Mme de Maille bent and embraced her; M. le Vicomte Selincourt stooped -and kissed her gracefully extended hand. Jeanne brought seats, and -after a few polite inquiries Mme de Maille plunged into her news. - -"Ma chere 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. - -"Ah! chere Comtesse, a thousand felicitations!" - -"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 Adele 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 Adele,--she is well; -she is contented. They have been received with the greatest amiability, -and, my friends, I am too happy." - -"And your happiness is that of your friends," bowed the Vicomte. - -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 Maille, with her soft airs, -and that insufferable Adele 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. - -"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 Selincourt. - -"That concerns me?" - -"But yes, Monsieur, since what concerns Mademoiselle your betrothed must -concern you, and closely, as I said." - -"Mademoiselle my betrothed, Mlle de Rochambeau!" he cried quickly. "Is -she then ill?" - -Mme de Montargis smiled maliciously. - -"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." - -"To Paris?" - -"That, Monsieur, is, I believe, her destination." - -"What? She is coming to Paris now?" inquired Mme de Maille with -concern. - -The Marquise shrugged her shoulders. - -"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 chateau 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." - -"Poor child, poor child!" exclaimed Mme de Maille in a distressed voice; -"can you not stop her, turn her back?" - -The Marquise laughed again. - -"Dear friend, she is probably arriving at this minute. The Sisters are -women of energy." - -"At least M. de Selincourt is to be congratulated," said Mme de Maille -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." - -"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." - -"And Aileen Desmond the loveliest girl," put in Mme de Maille -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." - -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 Selincourt, was -Aileen Desmond's daughter to take her mother's place in that bygone -rivalry? - -Mme de Maille, 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. - -When M. le Vicomte had bowed her out he came moodily back to his place. - -"It is very inconvenient, Madame," he said pettishly. - -"You say so," returned the lady. - -"Pardon, Madame, it was you who said so." - -The Marquise laughed. It was not a pleasant laugh. - -"Of course it was I," she cried. "Who else? It is hardly likely that -M. le Vicomte finds a rich bride inconvenient." - -Selincourt's face changed a little, but he waved the words away. - -"Mademoiselle is nothing to me," he asserted. "Chere amie, do you -suspect, do you doubt the faithful heart which for years has beaten only -for one beloved object?" - -The lady pouted, but her eyes ceased to sparkle. - -"And that object?" she inquired, with a practised glance. - -"Angel of my life--need you ask?" - -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. - -"Ah," she said, "you mean it now, now perhaps, Monsieur, but when she -comes, when you are married?" - -"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?" - -Madame extended a white, languid hand, and Monsieur kissed it with more -elegance than fervour. As he was raising his head she whispered -sharply: - -"The new cipher, have you got it?" - -He bent lower, and kissed the fair hand again, lingeringly. - -"It is here, and I have drafted the letter we spoke of; it must go this -week." - -"The Queen is well?" - -"Well, but impatient for news. There is an Austrian medicine that she -longs for." - -"Chut! Enough, one is never safe." - -"Adieu, then, m'amie." - -"Adieu, M. le Vicomte." - -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 Selincourt. 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. - -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. - -"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." - - - - - CHAPTER II - - A FORCED ENTRANCE - - -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. - -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 Seraphine'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 Seraphine would have approved, as she stood by Mme de Montargis' -gilded chair and heard the servant announce "M. le Vicomte de -Selincourt." - -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. - -Selincourt, 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. - -"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. - -He turned at once to her cousin. - -"You have written to our friend, Madame?" - -"I wrote immediately, M. le Vicomte." - -He lowered his voice. - -"The paper with the cipher on it, did I give you my copy as well as your -own?" - -"But no, mon ami. Why, have you not got it?" - -Selincourt raised his shoulders. - -"Certainly not, since I ask if you have it," he returned. - -Madame's delicate chin lifted a little. - -"And when did you find this out?" she asked. - -"I had no occasion to use the code until yesterday, and then..." the -lift of his shoulders merged into a decided shrug. - -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. - -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. - -Meanwhile Madame received. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"The little Rochambeau"--just like that. - -It was a woman's voice, very clear, and a little shrill, and then a man -said: - -"She is not bad--she has eyes, and a fine shape, and a delicate skin. -Laure de Montargis will be green with jealousy." - -The woman laughed, a high, tinkling laugh, like the trill of a guitar. - -"The faithful Selincourt 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." - -Another ripple of laughter. - -"What a gift! Heaven protect me from the like. He is tedious enough for -an hour, and twelve years!--that poor Laure!" - -"Chere 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 -Selincourt's she looked down, trembling in every limb. M. de -Selincourt, 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? - -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. - -"Madame--a Commissioner--and a Guard--oh, Madame!" stammered one and -another. - -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. - -Madame's gaze dwelt on them with a surprised resentment that did not at -all distinguish between the officer and his subordinates. - -"Messieurs, this intrusion--" she began, and on the instant the -Commissioner was by her side. - -"Ci-devant Marquise de Montargis, you are my prisoner," and rough as his -voice came his hand upon her shoulder. With a fashionable oath -Selincourt drew his sword, and a woman screamed. - -("It was the La Riviere," said Mme de Montargis afterwards. "I always -knew she had no breeding.") - -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. - -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!" - -There was no uncertainty about that voice, and at that, and the -Commissioner's meaning gesture, Selincourt'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. - -"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. - -"The ci-devant Vicomte de Selincourt," he said in loud, harsh tones; -and, as Selincourt made a movement, "You, too, are arrested." - -"But this is an outrage," stammered the Vicomte, "an outrage, fellow, -for which you shall suffer. On what charge--by what authority?" - -The man shrugged fat shoulders across which lay the tri-colour scarf. - -"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 Selincourt upon -the cheek, drawing blood, and an oath. - -"You had best come with me before those outside break in to ask why we -delay," said the delegate meaningly. - -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 -Selincourt'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. - -"Chere Adele, 't is au revoir." - -"Marquise, I cannot express my regrets." - -"Nay, Duchesse, mine is the discourtesy, though a most unintentional -one. I must rely upon the kindness of my friends to forgive it me." - -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. - -"Dupont!" she called sharply, and the stout major-domo of the -establishment emerged from a group of frightened servants. - -"Madame--" Dupont's knees were shaking, but he contrived a presentable -bow. - -Madame's eyes had lost their smile, but the scorn remained. She spoke -aloud. - -"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. - -"Aline--little fool!--go back--but on the instant--" - -"Ma cousine----" - -"Go back, I say. Mon Dieu, Mademoiselle, what folly!" - -The girl put her hand on the door, tried it, and said, in a low, shaking -voice: - -"But it is locked----" - -"Decidedly, since those were my orders," growled the second -Commissioner. "What's all this to-do? Who 's this, Renard? Send her -back." - -"But I ask you how?" demanded Renard, "since the door is locked inside, -and--Heavens, man, they are coming this way!" - -Lenoir uttered an imprecation. - -"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!" - -Madame gave him a furious glance, and took her seat beside her trembling -cousin. Selincourt 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. - - - - - CHAPTER III - - SHUT OUT BY A PRISON WALL - - -The fiacre drew up at the gate of La Force. M. le Vicomte de Selincourt -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. - -"Fi donc! What an air!" she observed with petulant disgust. - -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: - -"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. - -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. - -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. - -"Your names?" he demanded abruptly. - -Mme de Montargis drew herself up and raised her arched eyebrows, -slightly, but quite perceptibly. - -"I am the Marquise de Montargis, my good fellow," she observed, with -something of indulgence in her tone. - -"First name, or names?" pursued Citizen Bault, unmoved. - -"Laure Marie Josephe." - -"And you?" turning without ceremony to the Vicomte. - -"Jean Christophe de Selincourt, at your service, Monsieur. Quelle -comedie!" 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. - -"Quite correct, Citizens." Then, with a glance around, "But what of -this demoiselle? There is no mention of her that I can see." - -Lenoir laughed and swore. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"Oh, Messieurs, let me stop! Madame is my guardian, my place is with -her!" - -Mme de Montargis looked surprised, but she interrupted the girl with -energy. - -"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 Maille will receive you; -go straight to her at the Hotel de Maille. Present my apologies for not -writing to her, and-- - -"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!" - -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 Selincourt'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. - -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. - -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 Maille crest, but a National Guard -occupied the box-seat in place of the magnificent coachman Aline had -seen the day before, when Mme de Maille had taken her old friend's -daughter for a drive through Paris. - -The door of the chariot opened, and Mme De Maille, 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. - -"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. - -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. - -Alone! In all her nineteen years she had never been really alone -before. As a child in her father's chateau, 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. - -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. - -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 Maille, 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. - -A very fat woman was coming down the street,--the fattest woman Mlle de -Rochambeau had ever seen, yes, fatter even than Sister Josephe, she -considered, with that mechanical detachment of thought which is so often -the accompaniment of great mental distress. - -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. - -"Madame----" - -It was the most hesitating essay at speech, but the woman stopped and -swung her immense body round until she faced the girl. - -"Eh bien, Ma'mselle," she said in a thick, drawling voice. - -Mademoiselle moistened her dry lips and tried again. - -"Madame--I do not know--can you tell me,--oh! you look kind, can you -tell me what to do?" - -"What to do, Ma'mselle?" - -"Oh yes, Madame, and--and where to go?" - -"Where to go, Ma'mselle?" - -"Yes, Madame." - -"But why, Ma'mselle?" - -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. - -"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." - -A sound of voices came from behind the great gate of the prison. - -"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?" - -"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. - -The fat woman frowned. - -"Madame, your cousin, had a large society; her friends would protect -you." - -Aline shook her head. - -"I don't know who they are, Madame. Mme de Maille, 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." - -"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. - -"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. - -"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." - -Mlle de Rochambeau drew a little away from her companion. She was -unaccustomed to so familiar a mode of speech, and it offended her. - -The little, sharp eyes flashed upon her as she averted her face, and the -voice dropped back into its first tone. - -"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 Therese was with me, the baggage, and she laughed; but -I was a match for her. 'That's what you've done about marriage, -Therese,' 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, Therese 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." - -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. - -"Courage, Ma'mselle, courage then! See, we are arrived. It is better -now, eh?" - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"Good evening, Citizen Dangeau," she said, and broke, as he passed, into -renewed panegyrics. - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - THE TERROR LET LOOSE - - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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. - -"Nothing," said Edmond aloud, "but it is so long since I saw you. Have -you been dead, buried, or out of Paris?" - -"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. - -Edmond Clery 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. - -Certainly no one was in the least interested in the conversation of -Citizens Dangeau and Clery. 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: - -"You have not been to the Club?" - -Dangeau shook his head. - -"Nor seen Hebert, Marat, Jules Dupuis?" - -An expression of distaste lifted Dangeau's finely cut lip. - -"I have existed without that felicity," he observed, with a slightly -sarcastic inflexion. - -"Then you have been told--have heard--nothing?" - -"My dear Edmond, what mysteries are these?" - -Edmond Clery leaned a little closer, and dropped his voice until it was -a mere tenuous thread. - -"They have decided on a massacre," he said. - -"A massacre?" - -"Yes, of the prisoners." - -"Just Heaven! No!" - -"It is true. Things have fallen from Hebert 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 Hebert spoke at the Club. -It was late, Danton was not there. They say--" Clery hesitated, and -stole a glance at his companion's set face,--"they say he wishes to know -nothing." - -"A lie," said Dangeau very quietly. - -"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." - -"What did Hebert say? He spoke?" - -"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." - -"Did any one else speak?" - -"Marat said the Jacobins were with us." - -"Robespierre?" - -"In it, of course, but would n't dirty those white hands for the world," -said Clery, sneering. - -"No one opposed it?" - -"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." - -Dangeau shook his head. - -"I could have done nothing." - -"Ah, but you could; there 's no one like you, Jacques. Danton thunders, -and Marat spits out venom, and Hebert 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.'" - -The boy's face flushed as he spoke, but Dangeau looked down moodily. - -"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?" - -Edmond looked a little confused. - -"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. - -"A friend, Edmond? Who? Therese?" - -Clery coloured hotly. - -"Why not Therese, Jacques?" - -"Oh, if you like to play with gunpowder it's no business of mine, -Edmond; but the girl is Hebert's mistress, and as dangerous as the -devil, that's all. And so she told you that?" - -Clery nodded, a trifle defiantly. - -"To-morrow," said Dangeau slowly; "where?" - -"At all the prisons. One or two of the gaolers are warned, but I do not -believe they will be able to do anything." - -Dangeau was thinking hard. - -"They sent me away on purpose," he said at last. - -"Curse them!" said Clery in a shaking voice. - -Dangeau did not swear, but he nodded his head as who should say Amen, -and his face was bitter hard. - -"Is anything intended here?" he asked sharply. - -"No, not from head-quarters; but Heaven knows what may happen when the -mob tastes blood." - -Dangeau gave a short laugh. - -"Why, Jacques?" said Clery, surprised. - -"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." - -"You would do that?" asked Edmond. - -"But naturally, my friend, since we are responsible for him." - -He had been leaning carelessly against the wall, but as he spoke he -straightened himself. - -"Our friends upstairs will be getting impatient," he said aloud. "Who -takes the night duty with me?" - -Clery was about to speak, but received a warning pressure of the arm. -He was silent, and Legros, one of the loungers, came forward. - -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. - -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: - -"Fi donc, my son; did you not see these gentlemen enter? Bid them good -evening!" - -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." - -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. - -"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?" - -"Citizen Dangeau, at your service." - -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!" - -"Should it be harder to learn simplicity?" said Dangeau, a faint tinge -of bitterness in his pleasant voice. - -"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?" - -Dangeau coloured. - -"The Commune has already decided against needle-work," he said rather -curtly. - -"But why then, Monsieur?" - -"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. - -The Queen gave a little light laugh. - -"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 Depute?" - -Dangeau shook his head doubtfully. Consciousness of the Queen's -fascination rendered his outward aspect austere, and even ungracious. - -"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. - -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, Hebert, 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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: - -"Prisoners learn to take pleasure in small things, Monsieur"; and -Dangeau bit his lip. The quick intuition, the arch glance, confused -him. - -"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." - -"I cannot imagine even the loneliest of unfortunates caring for a -spider," said Dangeau, with a smile. - -"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. - -"It is the alarm," said Legros stolidly. - -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. - -Louis had recoiled from the window. His great face was a sickly yellow, -and the sweat stood in large beads upon the skin. - -"Is there danger? What is it?" he stammered, and caught at the table -for support. - -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. - -The Queen then turned to the Commissioners. - -"What is it, Messieurs?" she asked. "Is there danger?" - -"I don't know," answered Legros bluntly. - -Dangeau threw her a reassuring glance. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -Edmond Clery looked agitated. - -"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. - - - - - CHAPTER V - - A CARNIVAL OF BLOOD - - -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. - -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 _The Imitation of Christ_ 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. - -Mme de Maille 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. - -"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!" - -As he passed into his own room, his wife caught him by the arm---- - -"Jean, Jean, mon Dieu, Jean! They are coming back!" He strained his -ears, listening, gripping his wife, as she gripped him. - -"It is true," he murmured hoarsely. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -Mme de Montargis came up trippingly upon the Vicomte de Selincourt'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!" - -"To the Abbaye," bawled the reverend judges, and Madame made them a -little curtsey. This was better than she expected. - -"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." - -"Quelle comedie!" responded Selincourt, with a shrug, and with that the -door before them opened. - -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. - -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. - -"Tiens, mon ami," she said, "your comedy becomes tragedy. I never -thought it my role, 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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!" - -A bewildered group emitted Dangeau. - -"What has happened, Citizen?" he asked steadily. "A riot? Like -yesterday?" - -"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!" - -"How many?" asked Dangeau sharply. - -"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!" - -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. - -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. - -Then he announced their contents, speaking briefly and with complete -assurance. - -"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?" - -The officer came forward, saluting. - -"You have--how many men?" - -"Four hundred, Citizen." - -"You can answer for them--their discipline, their nerve?" - -"With my life!" - -"Very well, attend to your instructions. Both sides of the great gates -are to be opened." - -"Opened, Citizen?" stammered the captain, whilst a murmur of -dissatisfaction ran through the room. - -Dangeau's brows made a dangerous straight line. - -"Opened," he repeated emphatically. "Between the outer and inner doors -you will draw up a double line of your steadiest men--unarmed." - -It was only the officer's look which protested this time, but it quailed -before Dangeau's glance of steel. - -"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." - -The captain swung away, and Dangeau turned to his colleagues. - -"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." - -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. - -As he left the room, he had a last order to give: "Tell Clery and -Renault to keep the prisoners away from the windows"; and with that was -on his way to the gates. - -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. - -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. - -He had not long to wait. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -Dangeau turned a little, beckoning with his hand, and there was a -momentary lull in the chorus of shouts, oaths, and obscene songs. - -"What do you want?" he shouted. - -The mob renewed its wild-beast howl. - -Dangeau beckoned again. - -"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. - -"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. - -"And then?" Dangeau's speech fell cold and clear as ice upon the heated -words of the demagogue. - -"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. - -Again that high, cool voice---- - -"And then?" - -The ruffian scowled, spat viciously, and swore. - -"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." - -"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. - -"Antoine, have you forgotten the February of two years ago?" - -The ghastly object ceased its strange rhythmic movements, stared a -moment, and broke into voluble speech. - -"'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. - -Silence fell, and, after a very slight pause, Dangeau leaned forward and -began to speak in a low, confidential tone. - -"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. - -"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." - -"They shall see us crush the tyrants!" bellowed the crowd. - -"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?" - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -He paused a moment, and, gauging his audience, cried quickly: - -"Vive Dumouriez! Vive l'armee!" - -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. - -Dangeau let it have its course, then motioned for silence, and got it. - -"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. - -"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." - -"Name them, name them!--down with the traitors!" shouted the mob. - -"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?" - -A shout of denial went up. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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---- - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 Clery, 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. - -Suddenly even her composure was shattered. - -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. - -Clery 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. - -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. - -Renault's great shoulders blocked the window, and even as he pressed -forward the head was withdrawn. - -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. - -"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. - -Dangeau, released, sprang on a heap of rubble, and made his final -effort. - -"He, 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!" - -As he ceased, his words were taken up by all present. - -"To the Palais Royal! To the Tuileries!" they howled. - -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. - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - A DOUBTFUL SAFETY - - -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. - -She had not left the little room at all. On the first day she had been -put off civilly enough. - -"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." - -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. - -Closing the cracked pane she retreated to the farther corner of the -attic, and again slow hours went by. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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. - -"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. - -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. - -Suddenly she caught her cousin's name--"that wanton, the Montargis, -damned Austrian spy," the man called her, and added Selincourt's name to -hers with a foul oath. - -"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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -The flesh no longer enchained her--weak with shock and fasting, it -released its grip, and the freer spirit peered forth into the -immensities. - -Aline's body lay motionless, but her soul floated in a calm sea of -light. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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!" - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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. - -Rosalie's fat shoulders went shrugging up to Rosalie's thick, red ears. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -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: - -"I understand, Madame. Is it permitted to ask what you propose to do -with me?" - -Rosalie stared insolently. Then planting herself deliberately on a -chair, she observed: - -"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." - -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?" - -"Madame--I am--grateful," said Mademoiselle faintly. Her lips were -ashen, and the breath came with a gasp between every word. - -"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. - -"Let us come to business." - -"With all my heart, Madame." - -"Tut--no Madame--Citoyenne, or Rosalie. Madame smells of treason, -disaffection, what not. What money have you?" - -"Only what I showed you yesterday." - -"But you could get more?" - -"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!" - -"Te! te! te!" 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!" - -"Madame!" - -"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?" - -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. - -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. - -"Well now, Citoyenne," she said suddenly, "let us see where we are. You -came to Paris ten days ago. Who brought you?" - -"The Intendant and his wife," said Mademoiselle. - -"And they are still in Paris?" (The devil take this Intendant!) - -"No; they returned after two days. I think now that they were -frightened." - -"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?" - -Aline turned a shade paler. How far away seemed that betrothal kiss -which she had rubbed impatiently from her reluctant hand! - -"I was fiancee to M. de Selincourt." - -"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?" - -"Only Mme de Maille--she remembered my mother." - -"An old story that--she is dead too," said Rosalie composedly. "In -effect, it appears that you have no friends; they are all dead." - -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. - -Rosalie pursued the conversation. - -"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." - -Mademoiselle shuddered. - -"Oh!" she breathed protestingly, and then added in haste, "They are all -dead, Madame, all my friends, and what am I to do?" - -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. - -"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 -menage 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?" - -Mademoiselle de Rochambeau coloured. - -"I can embroider," she said hesitatingly. "I helped to work an altar -cloth for the Convent chapel last year." - -Rosalie gave a coarse laugh. - -"Eh--altar cloths! What is the good of that? Soon there will be no -altars to put them on!" - -"I learned to embroider muslin too," said Mademoiselle hastily. "I -could work fine stuffs, for fichus, or caps, or handkerchiefs, perhaps." - -Rosalie considered. - -"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." - -"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! - -"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?" - -"Aline Marie." - -"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." - -Mademoiselle repeated it, her lip curling a little. - -"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." - -"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. - -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. - -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. - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - THE INNER CONFLICT - - -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. - -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. - -"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. - -"You are a fool, my good friend," he remarked, and plunged again into -his papers. - -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. - -"Tiens!" she said one day, about the middle of October, "tiens! The -Citizen is killing himself." - -Dangeau, sitting on the counter, between two piles of apples, laughed -and shook his head. - -"But no, my good Rosalie--you will not be rid of me so easily, I can -assure you." - -"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." - -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. - -"Who is she, then, Citoyenne?" he asked lightly. - -"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." - -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. - -"Why, yes, Citoyenne, I know all that, but that does n't answer my -question at all. Who _is_ Marie Roche?" - -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. - -"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." - -Dangeau enjoyed his Rosalie. - -"She earns nothing, then?" he observed, with a subdued twinkle in his -eye. - -"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. - -"Excellent Rosalie!" he said, with a soft, half-mocking inflection. - -She bridled a little. - -"Ah, if the Citizen knew!" she said, with a toss of the head, which, -aiming at the arch, merely achieved the elephantine. - -"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: - -"Tell me, then, Citoyenne, does this Marie Roche write a good hand?" - -"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?" - -To Dangeau's annoyed surprise he felt the colour rise to his cheeks as -he answered: - -"Du tout, Citoyenne, but I do require an amanuensis, and I thought your -protegee 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." - -"The girl is an aristocrat," said Rosalie suspiciously. - -Dangeau laughed. - -"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." - -"It will take too much of her time," said Rosalie sulkily. - -"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." - -Rosalie looked a little alarmed. - -"Yes, she looks ill," she muttered; "and as you say it would be only for -an hour or two." - -"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." - -"H'm--" said Rosalie; "and the pay, Citizen?" - -Dangeau got down from the counter, laughing. - -"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." - -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. - -"It is true, I have a charitable disposition," sighed Rosalie. - -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. - -Dangeau bit his lip impatiently. He did not at all understand his own -mood, and suddenly it angered him. - -"The girl is an aristocrat--nourished on blind superstition, cradled in -tyranny," said his brain. - -"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. - -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. - -"Enter!" he called out, expecting to see Rosalie. - -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: - -"The Citizen desires my services as a secretary? Rosalie told me you had -asked her to speak to me----" - -Dangeau sprang up. His theory of universal equality, based upon -universal citizenship, was slipping from him, and he found himself -saying: - -"If Mademoiselle will do me so much honour." - -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. - -"I am ready, Citizen," she said, with a faint smile and a fainter -emphasis on the form of address. - -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. - -When the first page had been transcribed, Mademoiselle brought it over -to him. - -"Is that clear, and as you wish it, Citizen?" - -"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. - -"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." - -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. - -After some evenings of silent work, he asked her abruptly: - -"What is your name?" - -Mademoiselle gave a slight start, and answered without raising her head: - -"Marie Roche, Citizen." - -"I mean your real name." - -"But yes, Citizen"; and she wrote a word that had to be erased. - -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?" - -"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. - -"Then do you believe that I am stupid, or"--with a change of tone--"not -to be trusted?" - -Mademoiselle de Rochambeau looked up at that. - -"Monsieur," she said in measured tones, "why should I trust you?" - -"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?" - -"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?" - -"You are right," said Dangeau, after a brief pause; "I had no right to -ask--to expect you to answer." - -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. - -"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." - -Dangeau scarcely looked up. - -"I thank you, Citoyenne," he said in a cold, constrained voice; "your -confidence shall be respected." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -Ten o'clock struck solemnly, and Mademoiselle began to put away her -writing materials in her usual orderly fashion. - -"You are going?" he stammered. - -"Since it is the hour, Citizen," she answered, in some surprise. - -He held the door, and bowed low as she passed him. - -"Good-night, Citizen." - -"Good-night, Citoyenne." - -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 Therese of his -warning to young Clery. 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! - -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! - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - AN OFFER OF FRIENDSHIP - - -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. - -"What is it?" he asked quickly. - -She read the words aloud, with a slow scorn, which went home. - -"And Monsieur believes that?" she said, with her eyes still on his. - -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? - -"It is the truth," he said; "before Heaven it is the truth." - -"The truth--this?" she said, smiling. "Ah no, Monsieur, I think not." - -The smile pricked him, and his words broke out hotly. - -"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?" - -"Oh!" said Mademoiselle faintly. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -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: - -"Citoyenne." - -"Yes, Citizen." - -"Citoyenne, it would be wiser not to express to others the sentiments -you have avowed to-night. They are not safe--for Marie Roche." - -"No, Citizen." - -Mademoiselle's back was towards him, and he had no means of discovering -how she took his warning. - -"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." - -"Yes, Citizen." - -Something drove him on--that subtle instinct which drives us all at -times, the desire to probe deeply, to try to the uttermost. - -"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'?" - -She turned and faced him then, very pale, but quite composed. There was -no coward blood in her. - -"You are trying to tell me that you will denounce me," she said quietly. - -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. - -"Look me in the face and say that again!" he thundered in the voice his -section knew. - -"Ah!" cried Mademoiselle,--"what do you mean, Monsieur? This is an -outrage, release me!" - -His hands fell, but his eyes held hers. They blazed upon her like -heated steel, and the anger in them burned her. - -"Ah! you dare not say it again," he said very low. - -"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. - -Dangeau spoke again, his voice muffled with passion. "You dare say I, -Jacques Dangeau, am a spy, an informer, a betrayer of trust?" - -Mademoiselle's composure began to return. This man shook when he -touched her; she was stronger than he. There was no danger. - -"Not quite that, Citizen," she said quietly. "But I did not know what a -patriot might consider his duty." - -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. - -"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." - -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." - -"Do you count me a friend, Citoyenne?" - -Mademoiselle drew back a shade. - -"What is a friend--what is friendship?" she said more lightly. - -And Dangeau sought for cool and temperate words. - -"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. - -"And are you such a friend, Citizen?" - -"If you will accept my friendship, you will learn whether I am such a -friend or not." - -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. - -"I will try this friendship of yours, Citizen," she said, with a little -smile, and she held out her hand to him. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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.... - -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!" - -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. - - - - - CHAPTER IX - - THE OLD IDEAL AND THE NEW - - -It was really only on four evenings of the week that Dangeau was able to -avail himself of Mlle de Rochambeau's services. - -On Sundays she took a holiday both from embroidery and copying, and on -Mondays and Thursdays he spent the evening at the Cordeliers' Club. - -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. - -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. - -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: - - "She sat beneath the wayside tree, - Et lon, lon, lon, et la, la, la-- - She heard the birds sing wide and free, - Hail Mary, full of grace! - - "She had no shelter for her head, - Et lon, lon, lon, et la, la, la, - Except the leaves that God had spread-- - Hail Mary, full of grace! - - "Down flew the Angel Gabriel, - Et lon, lon, lon, et la, la, la, - He said, 'Maid Mary, greet thee well!' - Hail Mary, full of grace!" - -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: - - "She laid her Son in the oxen's stall, - Et lon, lon, lon, et la, la, la-- - Herself she did not rest at all, - Hail Mary, full of grace!" - -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. - -When the evening was come, and Mademoiselle was in her place, he asked -her suddenly: - -"What do you do with yourself on Sunday?" - -"I take a holiday, Citizen," she answered demurely, and without looking -up. - -"But what do you do with your holiday, Citoyenne," said Dangeau, -persistent. - -Mademoiselle smiled a little and blushed a little, smile and blush alike -reproving his curiosity, but after a slight hesitation she said: - -"I go to one of the great churches." - -"And when you are there?" - -"Is it the Catechism?" ventured Mademoiselle, and then went on hastily, -"I say my prayers, Citizen." - -"And could you not say them at home?" - -"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." - -Dangeau frowned and then broke out impatiently: - -"That idea of prayer--it is so selfish--each one asking, asking, asking. -I do not find that ennobling!" - -"Is it so selfish to ask for patience and courage, then, Citizen?" - -"And is that what you pray for?" he asked, arrested by something in her -tone. - -Aline's colour rose high under his softened look, and she inclined her -head without speaking. - -"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." - -"What would you give them instead, Citizen?" asked Mademoiselle -seriously. - -"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. - -"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." - -"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." - -Aline leaned back in her upright chair, and a little remembering smile -came into her eyes. - -"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. - -"The sister in charge of us was Sister Marie Josephe, and we were very -fond of her; but when we were naughty, out came a birch rod, and we were -soundly punished. - -"Now Sister Marie Josephe 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 Genevieve took her place, -and Sister Genevieve 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. Adele de Matignon dared me to get -out. I declared I would, and I watched my time. I am sure Sister Marie -Josephe must have been very much surprised by my frequent and tender -inquiries after her health at that time. - -"'Always a little suffering, my child,' she would say, and then I would -whisper to Adele, 'We must wait.' - -"At last, however, a day came when the good sister answered, 'Ah, it -goes better, thanks to the Virgin,' and I told Adele 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 Genevieve. 'But where is Sister -Marie Josephe?' I sobbed. 'Ah, my child!' said Sister Genevieve 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 Genevieve'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 Josephe's." - -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, - -"See, Citoyenne," he said, "see how your tale supports my theory, and -how fine a deterrent was the pure reason of Sister Genevieve as compared -with the birch rod of Sister Marie Josephe!" - -"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. - -Dangeau's eyes twinkled. - -"You are too quick," he said in mock surrender. - -Mademoiselle took up her pen. - -"I am very slow over my work," she answered, smiling. "See how I waste -my time! You should scold me, Citizen." - -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. - -"You see only flowers and innocence upon your altars, but I have seen -them served by cruelty, blood, and lust." - -Aline looked up, startled. - -"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. - -Mlle de Rochambeau's eyes flashed. - -"And in the name of Liberty, none?" she asked with a sudden ring in her -voice. - -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: - -"Yes, there have been crimes." - -Then he looked up again, snatching his thoughts back to control. - -"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." - -Slowly, but surely, the spirit of the two great Republican Clubs was -turning to violence and lust of power. Hebert, Marat, and Fouquier -Tinville were rising into prominence--fatal, evil stars, driven on an -orbit of mad passion. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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: - -"If God is, He will bless you." - -Mademoiselle's heart beat violently. - -"And you too, Citizen," she murmured, with an involuntary catch of the -breath. - -"Do you pray for me?" he asked, filled with a new emotion. - -"Yes, Citizen," she said, in a very low voice. - -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. - - - - - CHAPTER X - - THE FATE OF A KING - - -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. - -On the 11th of the month, the Hall had echoed to the Nation's indictment -of Louis Capet, sometime King of France. - -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 Deseze. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -By the fire two men were talking in low voices--Hebert, 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. - -"We get no further," complained Hebert, in a dull, oily voice, devoid of -ring. - -Marat shrugged his crooked shoulders. - -"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." - -"Very pretty," drawled Hebert, 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." - -Robespierre looked up, and down again. No one could have said he heard. -It was in fact not possible, but Hebert grew a faint shade yellower, and -Marat's eyes glittered maliciously. - -"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." - -Hebert swore, and spat into the fire. - -"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." - -"Which way?" asked Marat sarcastically. - -"H'm--that is just what I should like to know." - -"And our Maximilian?" - -"What does he mean? What does he want?" Hebert broke out uneasily, -low-voiced. "He is all for mildness and temperance, justice and -sobriety; but under it--under it, Marat?" - -Marat's pointed brows rose abruptly. - -"The devil knows," said he, "but I don't believe Maximilian does." - -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'Etat, c'est moi!" - -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. Hebert 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. - -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. - -Here leaned Herault de Sechelles, 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. - -"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 Caesar'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!" - -"It is all delay, delay," said Herault gloomily to young Clery. "Deseze -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." - -"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." - -"The Convention deliberates," said Herault gloomily, and Jean Bon -interrupted him with a brutal laugh-- - -"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." - -"He is of more use to us alive than dead, I should say," cried Edmund -Clery impetuously. "Are we in so strong a position as to be able with -impunity to destroy our hostages?" - -Hebert, who had joined the group, turned a cold, remembering eye upon -him. - -"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: - -"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?" - -There was a murmur, part protest, part encouragement. - -Hebert went on: - -"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." - -Danton had entered as Hebert 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. - -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. - -He listened now, but did not speak, and Camille, at his side, flung out -an eager arm. - -"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!" - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -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: - -"Citizens, Capet must die!" - -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---- - -"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." - -"The frontiers--Europe--are we strong enough?" shouted a voice from the -back. - -Danton's eyes blazed. - -"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!" - -At that the clamour swallowed everything. Men cheered and embraced. -There was shouting and high applause. - -Danton turned from the riot and fell into earnest talk with Robespierre. -In Hebert's ear Marat whispered: - -"As you said. The bull has roared, and we all follow." - -"All?" asked Hebert significantly. - -"Some people have an inexplicable taste for being in the minority," said -Marat, shrugging. - -"As, for instance?" - -"Our young friend Dangeau." - -"Ah, that Dangeau," cursed Hebert, "I have a grudge against him." - -"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 -fete, not just a roaring crowd, a pike-thrust or two, and pff! it is all -over." - -"It is true." - -"See you, Hebert, 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 Republique must have her fetes, 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----" - -"Well, my friend?" Hebert was a little pale; had he any premonition of -the day when he too should kneel at that Republican altar? - -Marat's face was convulsed for a moment. - -"I don't know," he said, in sombre tones. - -"But Dangeau," said Hebert 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." - -"Danton is his friend," said Marat with intention. - -"And it's 'ware bull.'" - -"I know that. See now if Danton does not pack him off out of Paris -somewhere until this business is settled." - -"He might give trouble--yes, he might give trouble," said Marat slowly. - -"He is altogether too popular," grunted Hebert. - -Marat shrugged his shoulders. - -"Oh, popularity," he said, "it's here to-day and gone to-morrow; and -when to-morrow comes----" - -"Well?" - -"Our young friend will have to choose between his precious scruples and -his head!" - -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. - -"He, Hebert," he chuckled, "here 's something for the Pere 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. - -Hebert appeared to be well amused by Dupuis' tale. Its putrescent -scintillations stimulated his jaded fancy, and its repulsive denouement -evoked his oily laugh. - -Dangeau, after listening for a moment or two, moved farther off, a -slight expression of disgust upon his face. - -Hebert's light eyes followed him. - -"The Citizen does not like your taste in wit, my friend," he observed in -a voice carefully pitched to reach Dangeau's ear. - -Dupuis laughed grossly. - -"More fool he, then," he chuckled. - -"You and I, mon cher, are too coarse for him," continued Hebert 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 -sacres aristocrats." - -Dangeau looked up with a glance like the flash of steel. - -"You said, Citizen--?" he asked smoothly. - -Hebert shrugged his loosely-hung shoulders. - -"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?" - -Dangeau looked at him steadily. - -"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!" - -Hebert'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. - -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. - -"Back again, and busy again?" he said, turning. - -"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." - -Dangeau leaned closer and spoke low. - -"I was detained--have only just come. Has anything been done--decided?" - -"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." - -Dangeau did not speak, and Danton's eye rested on him with a certain -impatience. - -"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." - -Dangeau looked down. - -"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. - -"Life is like that," he said, half to himself. - -Danton walked away, his big head bent, the veins of his throat swollen. - - - - - CHAPTER XI - - THE IRREVOCABLE VOTE - - -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? - -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? - -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. - -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 _tricoteuses_--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. - -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. - -"Your vote, Citizen?" and Dangeau, in clear, grave reply: - -"Death, Citizen President." - -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. - -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. - -Bare-necked women flashed their diamonds and their wit, chattering, -laughing, and exchanging sallies with their friends. - -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. - -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. - -"Philippe is voting," cried the brown woman loudly. "See, Jeanne, there -he comes!" - -Dangeau looked down, and saw Philippe Egalite, 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." - -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. - -"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. - -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 Egalite!" - -Only the bold brown woman and her companion laughed. The former even -leaned across the bar and kissed her hand, waving, and beckoning him. - -Dangeau's gaze, half sardonically curious, half disgusted, rested upon -the scene. - -"All posterity will gaze upon what is done this day," he said in a low -voice to Danton--"and they will see this." - -"The grapes are trodden, the wine ferments, and the scum rises," -returned Danton on a deep, growling note. - -"Such scum as this?" - -"Just such scum as this!" - -Below, one of the Girondins voted for imprisonment, and the upper -galleries hissed and rocked. - -"Death, death, death!" cried the next in order. - -"Death, and not so much talk about it!" - -"Death, by all means death!" - -The blonde woman, Jeanne Fresnay, was pricking off the votes on a card. - -"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." - -The brown Marguerite Didier produced her own card--a dainty trifle tied -with a narrow tricolour ribbon. - -"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." - -"That's because I love him so well. Is he not Philippe's cousin?" -drawled the other, making the correction. - -Philippe himself leaned suddenly between them. - -"I should be jealous, it appears," he said smoothly. "Who is it that you -love so much?" - -The bare white shoulders were lifted a little farther out of their very -scanty drapery. - -"Eh--that charming cousin Veto of yours. Since you love him so well, I -am sure I may love him too. May I not?" - -Philippe's laugh was a little hoarse, though ready enough. - -"But certainly, chere amie," he said. "Have I not just proved my -affection to the whole world?" - -Mademoiselle Didier laughed noisily and caught him by the arm. - -"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." - -Again Dangeau turned to his companion. - -"An edifying spectacle, is it not?" he asked. - -Danton shrugged his great shoulders. - -"Mere scum and froth," he said. "Let it pass. I want to speak to you. -You are to be sent on mission." - -"On mission?" - -"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." - -Dangeau's eyes sparkled; a longing for action flared suddenly up in him. - -"I will do my best," he said in a new, eager voice. - -"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!" - -"I will be ready," said Dangeau. - -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: - -"This place is stifling--the scent, the rouge. What do women do in an -affair of State?" - -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? - -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. - -The dark girl flushed and bit an angrily twitching lip as she stared -after Dangeau's retreating figure. When Hebert joined her, she turned -her shoulder on him, and threw him a black look. - -"Why did you leave me?" she cried hotly. "Am I to stand here alone, for -any beast to insult?" - -"Poor, fluttered dove," said Hebert, sneering. He slid an easy arm -about her waist. "Come then, Therese, 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." - -As he spoke he drew her forward, and still with a dark glow upon her -cheeks she yielded. - - - - - CHAPTER XII - - SEPARATION - - -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 Therese -Marcel was mentioned, it was very little that that young woman cared. - -She and Rosalie were first cousins, and the respectable widow Leboeuf -winked at Therese's escapades, in consideration of the excellent and -spicy gossip which she could often retail. - -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. - -"You should have been there, ma cousine," said Therese between two bites -of her apple. - -"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, Therese, was he pale?" - -Therese threw away the apple core, and showed all her splendid teeth in -a curious feline mixture of laugh and yawn. - -"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." - -Rosalie gave a little shudder, but her face was full of enjoyment. - -"Ah," she breathed, leaning forward a little. - -"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!" - -"And then----?" - -"Well, thanks to the drums, you couldn't hear; but there was a -whispering with the Abbe, 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 Mere 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 Abbe 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!'" - -Rosalie leaned back, fanning, her broad face a shade paler, whilst the -girl went on: - -"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!" - -"Blood--ouf!" said Rosalie; "I do not like to see blood. I cannot -digest my food after it." - -"For me, I am a better patriot than you," laughed Therese; "and if it is -a tyrant's blood that I see, it warms my heart and does it good." - -A shudder ran through Rosalie's fat mass. She lifted her bulky knitting -and fanned assiduously with it. - -Her companion burst into a loud laugh. - -"Eh, ma cousine, if you could see yourself!" she cried. - -"It is true," said Rosalie, with composure, "I grow stouter; but at your -age, Therese, 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 Therese's -frowning face. - -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." - -Rosalie nodded. - -"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!" - -Up went Therese's head in a trice, and her bold colour mounted. - -"He!"--she snorted contemptuously--"is he the world? Others are not so -blind." - -There was a pause. Rosalie knitted, smiling broadly, whilst Therese -caught a second apple from a piled basket, and began to play with it. - -"He is going away," said Rosalie abruptly, and Therese dropped the -apple, which rolled away into a corner. - -"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." - -"For how long?" asked Therese, staring out of the window. - -"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." - -"When does he go?" - -"To-morrow," said Rosalie cheerfully, for to torment Therese 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. - -Therese sprang up, and paced the small shop with something wild in her -gait. - -"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!" - -"Chut," said Rosalie, with placid pleasure, "he never was yours to take, -and that you know as well as I." - -"He looked at me," and Therese's coarse contralto thrilled tragically -over the words. - -"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." - -"He smiled." Her eyes glared under the close-drawn brows, but Rosalie -laughed. - -"Not if you looked at him like that, I 'll warrant; but as to -smiling--he smiles at me too, dear cousin." - -Therese flung herself into a chair, with a sharp-caught breath. - -"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----" - -"Well?" said Rosalie curiously. - -"I 'd twist her neck for her, or get Mme Guillotine to save me the -trouble," said Therese viciously. - -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. - -Therese 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. - -For a moment Aline hesitated, and then, with a murmured "Pardon," -advanced a step. - -"Who are you?" demanded Therese, in her roughest voice. - -Rosalie looked up with an expression of annoyance. Really Therese and -her scenes were past bearing, though they were amusing, for a little. - -"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?" - -Therese's eyes flashed, and she gave a loud, angry laugh. - -"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. - -"Chut, Therese!" commanded Rosalie angrily. - -"I say she is an aristocrat," shouted Therese, swinging round upon her -cousin. - -"Fiddlesticks," said Rosalie; "the girl's harmless, and her name's her -own, right enough." - -"With that face, those hands? Am I an imbecile?" - -"Do I know, I?" and Rosalie shrugged her mountainous shoulders. "Bah, -Therese, what a fuss about nothing. Is it the girl's fault if her mother -was pretty enough to take the seigneur's fancy?" - -The scarlet colour leapt into Mademoiselle's face. The rough tones, the -coarse laugh with which Rosalie ended, and which Therese 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. - -Meanwhile Therese turned violently upon her cousin. - -"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?" - -"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 Therese?' 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 -Hebert, and young Clery, 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. - -Therese 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: - -"It is not every one who is so blind, voyez-vous, ma cousine." - -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 Therese in his path. She was all bold smiles, -and a glitter of black eyes, in a moment. - -"The Citizen forgets an old friend." - -"But no," he returned, smiling. - -"It is so long since we met, that I thought the Citizen might have -forgotten me." - -"Is it so long?" asked Dangeau innocently; "surely I saw you somewhere -lately. Ah, I have it--at the trial?" - -"Ah, then you remember," cried Therese, clapping her hands. - -Dangeau nodded, rather puzzled by her manner, and Rosalie permitted -herself an audible chuckle. Therese 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 Therese's -brain, and, all considerations of prudence forgotten, she launched -herself with a tigress's bound straight at her cousin's ponderous form. - -She had reckoned without her host. - -Inside those fat arms reposed muscles of steel, behind those small pig's -eyes lay a very cool, ruthless, and determined brain, and Therese 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. - -Rosalie closed and latched the door, and sank panting, perspiring, but -triumphant, into her seat again. - -"Be calm," she observed, between her gasps; "be wise, and go home. For -me, I bear no malice, but for you, my poor Therese, you will certainly -die in an apoplexy some fine day if you excite yourself so much. -Ouf--how out of breath I am!" - -Therese 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. - -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 Therese gave it a personal -edge. - -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. - -Dangeau stood without, his face worn and tired, but an eager light in -his eyes. - -"Will you spare me a moment?" he asked, motioning to his open door. - -"Is it about the copying?" she said, hesitating. - -"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. - -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. - -"I am going away to-morrow," he said at last. - -"Yes, Citizen." It was her first word to him for many days, and he was -struck by the altered quality of the soft tones. - -They seemed to set him infinitely far away from her and her concerns, -and it was surprising how much that hurt him. - -Nevertheless he stumbled on: - -"I am obliged to go; you believe that, do you not?" - -"But, yes, Citizen." More distant still the voice that had rung -friendly once, but behind the distance a weariness that spurred him. - -"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." - -"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?" - -"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 Clery--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." - -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. - -"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." - -He put the note into her hand, and returned to the table, where he -paused, looking strangely at her. - -"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. - -"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. - -Mademoiselle de Rochambeau raised her head a little, proudly. - -"Monsieur, I am of this order of which you speak," she said, and her -voice was cold and still. - -"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." - -"Monsieur, one cannot change one's blood, one's race. I am of them." - -"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. - -"Not if one is Rochambeau," she said very low. - -There was an instant's pause, whilst she drew a long breath, and then -words came to her. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -Suddenly broke the seventh wave, the wave of Fate. - -In the mist Dangeau made an abrupt movement. - -"Aline!" he said, lifting his eyes to her white face. "Aline!" - -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. - -"No, no," said her trembling lips; "no, no." - -With that he was beside her, catching her unresisting hand. Cold as ice -it lay in his, and he felt it quiver. - -"Oh, mon Dieu, are you afraid of me--of me?" he cried, in a hoarse -whisper. - -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. - -"Aline," he said again, "Aline, look at me." - -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. - -She caught her hand from his and put it quickly over her eyes. - -"No, no, no--oh no, Monsieur," she cried, in a trembling whisper. - -He recoiled at once, the light in his face dying out. - -"It is no, for always?" he asked slowly. - -She bent her head. - -"For always, and always, and always?" he said again. "All the years, all -the ways wanting you--never reaching you? Think again, Aline." - -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. - -"Is it because I am what I am, Jacques Dangeau, and not of your order?" -he asked, in a sharp voice. - -The change helped her, and she looked up steadily. - -"Monsieur, one has obligations--you said it just now." - -"Obligations?" - -"And loyalties--to one's order, to one's King." - -"Louis Capet is dead," he said heavily. - -"And you voted for his death," she flashed at him, voice and eye like a -rapier thrust. - -He raised his head with pride. - -"Yes, Mademoiselle, I voted for his death." - -"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." - -There was an infinite troubled loneliness behind the pride in her eyes, -and it smote him through his anger. - -"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." - -"Adieu, Monsieur." - -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. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - - DISTURBING INSINUATIONS - - -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. - -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. - - "No tread on the stair, no passing step across the way. - What slow, long days--what empty, halting evenings." - - -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? - -"For me, I do not see that things are changed so wonderfully," sighed -brown little Madeleine Rousse, Rosalie's neighbour. - -Mlle de Rochambeau and she were standing elbow to elbow, waiting for the -baker to open his doors, and begin the daily distribution. - -"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." - -Her small face was pinched and drawn, and she sighed heavily, thinking -of five clamouring children at home. - -"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, 'He, -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!" - -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!" - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -A month before Mlle de Rochambeau would have shrunk and caught her -breath, but now she only looked, and looked away. - -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. - -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 Salpetriere could tell a sadder tale than even the -prisons of Paris. - -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: - -"Aristocrat." - -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: - -"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: - -"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. - -"It is Mere 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." - -The old woman threw her a wicked glance. - -"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. - -"But this"--pursued Mere 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!" - -Mademoiselle drew her hand away with a shudder, but recovering her -self-possession, she held it up, still with that careful laugh. - -"Why, Mere 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." - -"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!" - -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. - -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: - -"Aristocrat, aristocrat!" - -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. - -It was in these days that Rosalie made up her quarrel with Therese -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. - -Mlle de Rochambeau, returning with her daily dole of bread, met her one -day about to sally forth. - -Therese was with her, and saluted Mademoiselle with a contemptuous -laugh. - -"Are you coming with us, Mlle White-face?" she called. - -Aline shook her head with a civil smile. - -"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?" - -Rosalie's broad face took on a dull flush, and her eyes became suddenly -restless. - -"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, -Therese 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. - -White-faced, Aline recoiled. - -"Oh, Citoyenne," she breathed, and shrank away. - -Therese laughed loud. - -"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. - -"Have you heard any news of that fine lover of yours, since he rode -away," she went on. - -"I have no lover," answered Mademoiselle, the blood flaming into her -thin cheeks. - -"You are too modest, perhaps?" sneered Therese. - -"I have not thought of such things." - -"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?" - -Mademoiselle's flush had faded almost as it had risen, leaving her white -and proud. - -"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." - -"I dare say you were"--and Therese'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!" - -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, Therese, we shall be late, we shall not -get good places," and they went out, Therese still laughing noisily. - -"Vile, vile, shameless woman," thought Aline, as she stood drawing long -breaths before her open window. - -The strong March wind blew in and seemed to fan her hot anger and shame -into a blaze. "How dare she--how dare she!" - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -In the south Dangeau made speech after speech. He wrote to Danton from -Lyons: - - -"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." - - -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. - -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. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - - A DANGEROUS ACQUAINTANCE - - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -It was thus that Hebert 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -Suddenly in her ear a smooth, hateful voice: - -"Why do you hurry so, Citoyenne?" - -She did not look up, but quickened her pace. - -"But, Citoyenne, a word--a look?" - -Hebert'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. - -"Citizen!" she exclaimed, freeing herself with an unexpectedly strong -movement. "How dare you! Oh, help me, Louison, help me!" - -In the moment that he caught her again she had seen the small, wiry -figure of Jean Michel's wife turn the corner. - -"Louison, Louison Michel!" she called desperately. - -Next moment Hebert was aware of some one, under-sized and shrivelled -looking, who whirled tempestuously upon him, with an amazing flow of -words. - -"Oh, my Ste. Genevieve! 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. - -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. - -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." - -He thought of his meek wife at home, and laughed unpleasantly. - -"For the rest, she has done the girl no good by interfering." This was -unfortunately the case. Hebert'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, Therese 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: - - -"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." - - -Hebert struck his coarse hands together with an oath. Dangeau--Dangeau, -now it came back to him. Dangeau was infatuated with some girl, Therese -had said so. He laughed softly, for Therese 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 Hebert's -feathering. - -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. - -Madame la Roturiere 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. - -Hebert 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? - -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. - -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. - -Had a woman an inconvenient husband, why, a cry of "Austrian Spy!" and -she might be comfortably rid of him for ever. - -Evil times for a beautiful, friendless girl upon whom gross Hebert cast -a wishful eye! - -He walked into the shop next day, and accosted Rosalie with Republican -sternness of manner. - -"Good-day, Citoyenne Leboeuf." - -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. - -"Citizen Hebert," she murmured. - -He bent a cold eye upon her, noting a beaded brow. - -"You have a girl lodging here--Marie Roche?" - -"Assuredly, Citizen." - -"I must speak to her alone." - -Rosalie rallied a little, for Hebert had a certain reputation, and -Louison had not held her tongue. - -"I will call her down," she said, heaving her bulky form from its place. - -"No, I will go up," said Hebert, still with magisterial dignity. - -"Pardon me, Citizen Deputy, she shall come down." - -"It is an affair of State. I must speak privately with her," he -blustered. - -Rosalie's eyes twinkled; her nerves were steadying. They had begun to -require constant stimulation, and this answered as well as anything -else. - -"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." - -"That privilege being reserved for my colleague, Citizen Dangeau," -sneered Hebert. - -"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." - -She moved to the inner door as she spoke, and called up the stair: -"Marie! Marie Roche! Descend then; you are wanted." - -Hebert 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. - -He moved impatiently as Mademoiselle delayed, and, at the sound of her -footstep, started eagerly to meet her. - -She came in quite unsuspiciously, looking at Rosalie, and at first -seeing no one else. When Hebert'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. - -Hebert checked a smile, and entrenched himself behind his office. - -"You are Marie Roche, seamstress?" - -"Certainly, Citizen." - -"Father's and mother's names?" - -"By what right do you question me?" the voice was icy with offence, and -Rosalie stirred uneasily. - -"It is the Citizen Deputy Hebert; answer him," she growled--and Hebert -commended her with a look. - -Really this was amusing--the girl had spirit as well as beauty. -Decidedly she was worth pursuing. - -"Father's and mother's names?" he repeated. - -Mademoiselle bit her lip, and gave the names she had already given when -she took out her certificate of Citizenship. - -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. - -Hebert scowled. - -"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. - -"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." - -Mademoiselle raised her delicate eyebrows very slightly. - -"The Citizen does me altogether too much honour," she observed, her -voice in direct contradiction to her words. - -"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." - -Mademoiselle remained silent. She looked past Hebert, at the street. -Rosalie got up exasperated, and pulled her aside. - -"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." - -Aline turned from her in a sudden despair. - -"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." - -"But a friend," suggested Hebert, coming a little closer, "a friend -would feel it a privilege to do away with that necessity for hard work." - -Mademoiselle's pallor flamed. She turned sharply away, feeling as if -she had been struck. - -"Good-day, Citizen," she said proudly; "you have made a mistake," and -she passed from Rosalie's detaining hand. - -Hebert sent an oath after her. He was most unmagisterially angry. -"Fool," he said, under his breath--"Damned fool." - -Rosalie caught him up. - -"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. - -He swore at her then, and went out without replying. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 Hebert had not laid hands on her again. - -The torture of the man's companionship, the insult of his look, were -beyond their comprehension. - -Meanwhile, Hebert'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. - -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. - -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 Hebert'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, Hebert 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, Therese might help. Now how fortunate that he had -always kept on good terms with Therese. - -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. - -"Morbleu!" he swore, "you 're a handsome creature, Therese; there 's no -one to touch you." - -"What do you want?" asked Therese, with a shrewd glance into his -would-be amorous eyes. - -"What, ma belle? What should I want? A kiss, if you 'll give it me. -Ah! the old days were the best." - -Thus Hebert, disclaiming an ulterior motive. - -Therese frowned, and twitched away from him. - -"Ma foi, Hebert, 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. - -"Chut!" she said impatiently. "What is it that you want?" - -Hebert considered. - -"You see your cousin sometimes, the widow Leboeuf, who has the shop in -the rue des Lanternes?" - -"I see her often enough, twice--three times a week at present." - -"Could you get something out of her?" - -"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." - -Hebert looked at her keenly. - -"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?" - -In a flash Therese was crimson to the hair, and he had her by the wrist, -swinging her round to face him. - -"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." - -Hebert pounced on one word, like a cat. - -"Aristocrat? Ah! I thought so," he said, his breathing quickening a -little. "Who is she, then, ma mie?" - -Therese regarded him with a little scorn. She did not care who got -Hebert, since she had done with him herself, but what, _par exemple_, -did he see in a pale stick like that--and after having admired her, -Therese? Certainly men were past understanding. - -She lolled easily on the arm of the chair. - -"I 've not an idea, but I dare say I could find out--that is, if Rosalie -knows." - -"Well, when you do, there 'll be a chain to match the ear-rings," said -Hebert, his arm round her waist again. - -All the same, April had passed into May before Therese won her chain. - -It was in the time between that Hebert 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 Clery'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 -Hebert? 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 -Clery, 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 Therese'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 Hebert, and now with this amiable young man, -shrinking, white-faced! Bah! she had no patience with her. - -Edmond bowed smilingly. - -"My homage, Citoyenne," he said. - -Aline forced a "Bonjour, Citizen," and then fell silent again. Ah! why -had she left the note--why, why, why? - -Clery 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. - -"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." - -Aline raised her tired eyes to his, and read kindness in the open -glance. - -"You are very good," she said slowly, and looked past him with a -hesitating air. - -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. - -"Citizen Dangeau said I might trust you, Citizen." - -"Indeed you may; I am his friend and yours." - -Even then the colour rose a little at this linking of their names. The -impulse towards confidence increased. - -"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." - -"Not if you will confide that honour to me," said Clery quickly. - -She smiled faintly. - -"You are very good." - -"But who is it? Tell me his name, and I will see that you are not -molested in future." - -"It is the Citizen Deputy Hebert," faltered Aline, all her terror -returning as she pronounced the hateful name. - -Clary's brows drew close, and a long whistle escaped his lips. - -"Oho, Hebert," he said,--"Hebert; 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. - -Two days later, Hebert came foaming in on Therese. When he could speak, -he swore at her. - -"See here, Therese, if you 've a hand in setting Clery 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!" - -Therese stepped up to him and fixed her great black eyes on his pale, -twitching ones. - -"Don't be so silly, Hebert," she said steadily, though her colour rose. -"What is it all about? What has young Clery done to you? It 's rather -late in the day for you to start quarrelling." - -"Did you flatter yourself it was about you?" said Hebert 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?" - -Therese was heavily flushed, and her eyes curiously veiled. - -"What! Clery too?" she said in a deep whisper. "Dangeau, and you, and -Clery. Eh! I wish her joy of my cast-off clouts. But she shall -pay--Holy Virgin, she shall pay!" - -Hebert caught her by the shoulder and shook it. - -"What are you muttering? I ask you a plain question, and you don't -answer it. What about Clery--did you set him on?" - -She threw back her head at that, and gave a long, wild laugh. - -"Imbecile!" 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?" - -The paper she thrust at Hebert came from her bosom, and when he had read -it his dull eyes glittered. - -"'The King's death a crime--perhaps time not ripe for a Republic.' -Therese, you 're worth your weight in gold. I don't think Edmond Clery -will write you any more love-letters." - -Therese drew gloomily away. - -"And the girl?" she asked, with a shiver. - -"That, my dear, was to depend on what you could find out about her," -Hebert reminded her. - -His own fury had subsided, and he threw himself into a chair. Therese -made an abrupt movement. - -"There is nothing more to find out. I have it all." - -"You 've been long enough getting it," said Hebert, sitting up. - -"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." - -"It is one you have caught from her, then," said Hebert impatiently. -"The news, my girl, the news! What do I care for your cousin and her -tantrums?" - -Therese looked dangerous. - -"Am I your cat's-paw, Hebert?" she said. "Pah! do your own dirty -work--you 'll get no more from me." - -Hebert cursed his impatience--fool that he was not to remember Therese's -temper! - -He forced an ugly smile. - -"Oh, well, as you please," he said. "Let the girl go. There are other -fish in the sea. Best let Clery go too, and then they can make a match -of it, unless she should prefer Dangeau." - -His intent eyes saw the girl's face change at that. "A thousand devils!" -she burst out. "Why do you plague me, Hebert? Be civil and play fair, -and you 'll get what you want." - -"Come, come, Therese," 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?" - -"Good enough," said Therese, 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." - -"What?" exclaimed Hebert. - -"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." - -"The Montargis!" repeated Hebert, 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. - -"Her name?" he demanded. - -"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 Therese, with a short laugh. - -Hebert went off with his plans made ready to his hand. It pleased him -to be able to ruin Clery, since Clery 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 Therese, but since he had been such a fool he must -just pay for it with his head. - -The truth was that Clery 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 Therese 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. - -On the day following Hebert's interview with Therese 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. - -His arrest made some little stir in his own small world. Therese -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. - -"I think you are a devil, Therese," said the fat woman gloomily. - -"So others have said," returned Therese, with a wicked smile. - -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. - -Hebert 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. - -She turned on him with a sudden resolve. - -"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?" - -"The day that I realise that will be a bad day for you," said Hebert, -with malignant emphasis. - -The threat brought her head up, with one of those movements of mingled -pride and grace which made him hate and covet her. - -"I have done no wrong--what harm can you do me?" she said steadily. - -"I have interest with the Revolutionary Tribunal--you may have heard of -the arrest of our young friend Clery? Ah! I thought so,"--as her -colour faded under his cruel gaze. - -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?" - -Hebert smiled--a smile so wicked that she realised an impending blow, -and on the instant it fell. - -"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. - -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. - -She walked on as steadily as she might, but the smooth voice was still -at her ear. - -"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 Clery--Edmond Clery 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?" - -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. - -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. Hebert laughed and pointed as the cart went by. - -"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." - -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. - -"The Citizen insults me when he assumes there is a choice," she said, -with cold lips. - -"The prison is so attractive then? The embraces of the Guillotine so -preferable to mine--hein?" - -"The Citizen has expressed my views." - -Hebert cursed and flung away, but as she moved on he was by her side -again. - -"After all," he said, "you may change your mind again. Until to-morrow, -I can save you." - -"Citizen, I shall never change my mind. There is no choice; it is -simply that." - -An inexorable decision looked from her face, and carried conviction even -to him. - -"One cannot save imbeciles," he muttered as he left her. - -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 Hebert 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. - -She knelt and prayed for a while, and sat down to her work with hands -that moved as skilfully as before. - -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. - -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. - -Aline woke happily to a soft May dawn. Her dream lay warm against her -heart and cherished it. - -In the evening she was arrested and taken to the prison of the Abbaye. - - - - - CHAPTER XV - - SANS SOUCI - - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"Who is that?" she demanded, in her deep, imperious tones. - -"Some little bourgeoise, accused of Heaven knows what," shrugged M. de -Lancy. - -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. - -"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." - -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 -Crespigny, and her husband had been guillotined a fortnight before. - -"I have seen her too, Madame," she said in an uninterested sort of way, -"but I cannot recall where it was." - -Mme la Comtesse rapped her knee impatiently with a much-beringed hand. - -"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." - -"Was it Henri de Rochambeau?" said De Lancy. - -She nodded vivaciously. - -"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." - -"And she objected, chere Comtesse?" De Lancy's tone was one of pained -incredulity. - -Chere Comtesse shrugged her shoulders delicately. - -"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." - -Her own had bored no one--she had not permitted it any such social -solecism. - -"I remember," said De Lancy; "they went down to Rochambeau, and expired -there of dulness and each other's unrelieved society." - -Mme de Crespigny 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----" - -She shuddered faintly. De Lancy became interested. - -"But she accompanied her cousin to La Force and perished there." - -"She must have escaped. I am sure it is she. She had that way of -holding her head--like a stag--proud and timid." - -"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." - -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: - -"We rejoice to welcome Mademoiselle to our society." - -She curtsied--a graceful action--and Madame de Matigny watching, nodded -twice complacently. "Bourgeoise indeed!" she murmured, and pressed her -lips together. - -"You are too good, Monsieur," said Mademoiselle. - -Only four words, but the voice--the composure. - -"Madame la Comtesse is right, as always; she is certainly one of us," -thought De Lancy. - -"Madame la Comtesse de Matigny begs the honour of your acquaintance," he -pursued; "she had the pleasure of knowing your parents." - -"Monsieur?" - -"Do I not address Mlle de Rochambeau?" - -Surprise, and a sense of terror at hearing her name, so long concealed, -brought the colour to her face. - -"That is my name," she murmured. - -"She is always right--she is wonderful," repeated the Marquis to -himself, as he piloted his charge across the room. - -He made the presentation in form. - -"Madame la Comtesse, permit that I present to you Mademoiselle de -Rochambeau." - -Aline bent to the white, wrinkled hand, but was raised and embraced. - -"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." - -"Mme de Crespigny, my granddaughter Mlle Marguerite de Matigny." - -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. - -"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." - -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: - -"Grandmamma is always obeyed--but on the instant," and Aline sat down -submissively. - -"And now, racontez donc, mon enfant, racontez," said the old lady, -"where have you been all these months, and how did you escape?" - -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. - -Mme de Matigny tapped her knee. - -"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?" - -"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." - -"Poor child," the hand stopped tapping, and patted her shoulder kindly. -"And this Rosalie you speak of, what was she?" - -"Sometimes she was kind. I do not think she meant me any harm, and at -least she saved my life once." - -When she came to the story of her arrest, she faltered a little. The -old eyes were so keen. - -"What do they accuse you of? You have done nothing?" - -"Oh, chere Comtesse, is it then necessary that one should have done -anything?" broke in Adele de Crespigny, a little bitter colour in that -faded voice of hers. "Have you done anything, or I, or little Marguerite -here?" - -Madame fanned herself, her manner slightly distant. She was not -accustomed to be interrupted. - -"They say I wrote letters to emigres, 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." - -"No," said Aline, blushing. "It was ... it was that the Citizen Hebert -found out my real name--I do not know how--and denounced me." - -Her downcast looks filled in enough of the story for those penetrating -eyes. - -"Canaille!" said the old lady under her breath, and then aloud: - -"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. - -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. - -Mlle Marguerite looked up from the brilliant half-set stitch, and -glanced warily round. - -"Tiens, Aline," she said, putting her small head on one side, "I heard -something this morning, something that concerns you." - -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. - -"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. Hebert 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. Hebert." - -"Please don't call him _my_ M. Hebert," said Aline proudly. Marguerite -laid down her needle. - -"Aline, why did he denounce you?" - -"Ah, Marguerite, don't talk of him. You don't know what a wretch--" and -she broke off shuddering. - -"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?" - -Mlle de Rochambeau assumed an air of prudence and reproof. - -"Fi donc, Mlle de Matigny, what would your grandmother say to such -talk?" - -Marguerite made a little, wicked _moue_. - -"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. - -"Oh, Marguerite, it is too dreadful to laugh about." - -"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. - -Mlle de Rochambeau laughed, but she shook her head, and Marguerite gave -her a little pinch. - -"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. - -"Are you sure he is in prison?" she asked anxiously. - -"Yes, yes, quite sure. The Abbe 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, 'Hebert, who edits -that disgrace to the civilised world, the _Pere Duchesne_, is in -prison.' Oh, Aline, would n't it have been fun if he had been sent -here?" - -Aline's hand went to her heart. - -"Oh, mon Dieu!" she said quickly. - -Marguerite made round baby eyes of wonder. - -"You _are_ 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. - -"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. - -Marguerite coloured, and looked first down at the floor and then up at -her friend's flushed face. - -"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. - -"Oh dear, it will have to be cut," she declared, "and what grandmamma -will say, the saints alone know." - -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." - -"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?" - -"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." - -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 _jeune fille, bien elevee_. 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. - -"Dis donc, Aline! You were betrothed, were you not, to that poor M. de -Selincourt? Were you inconsolable when he was killed? Did you like -him?" - -The ambiguous "aimer" fell from her lips with a teasing inflection. - -"He is dead," reproved Mlle de Rochambeau. - -"Tiens, I did not say he was alive! But did you; tell me? What did it -feel like to be betrothed?" - -"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. - -"De grece!" 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?" - -Mlle de Rochambeau shook her head with decision. Something in the light -words had stabbed her, and she felt an inward pain. - -"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." - -"Oh, Marguerite!" - -"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 Crespigny--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." - -"Hush, Marguerite, you should not say such things." - -"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 -Crespigny was our cousin, so I know all his names. There is no Etienne -amongst them," and she nodded wisely. - -"Oh, Marguerite!" - -"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 -Crespigny, unless, to be sure, one could make shift to laugh, as I think -I shall try to do when my time comes." - -Mlle de Rochambeau looked up with a sudden flame in her eyes. - -"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." - -Marguerite embraced her. - -"And do you?" she whispered slyly. - -Girls' talk--strange talk for a prison, and one where Death stood by the -entrance, beckoning one and another. - -One day it was M. de Lancy who was called away in the midst of a -compliment to his "Chere Comtesse," called to appear at Fouquier -Tinville's bar, and later, at that of another and more merciful Judge. - -The next, Mme de Crespigny'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. - -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. - -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 Abbe de Nerac, the Abbe 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. - -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 Abbe -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. - -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. - -Outside the Gironde rocked, tottered, and fell. Imprisoned Hebert 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. - -So passed the Girondins, first of the Revolution's children to fall -beneath the Juggernaut car they had reared and set in motion. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - - AN UNWELCOME VISITOR - - -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. - -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. - -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 Kerac'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. - -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. - -"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. - -"Yes!" said the low voice. - -"Are you ill--can I do anything for you?" - -There was a rustling movement and a dim shape emerged from the shadow. - -"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!" - -Aline made room on the straw pallet, and put an arm round the cold, -shrinking figure. - -"Why, you are chilled," she said gently, "and the night is quite warm." - -"To-morrow I shall be colder," said Mme de Coigny in a strange whisper. - -"My dear, what do you mean?" - -Something like a shiver made the straw rustle. - -"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." - -"No, no; why should you think so? How can you know?" - -"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." - -"Life is not always sad," said Aline soothingly. - -"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." - -"Yes, talk to me, and I will put my arms round you. There! Now you will -be warmer." - -Another shiver shook the bed, and then the low voice began again. - -"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." - -"Did you not want to marry him?" - -"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. - -"Was he kind to you?" - -"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." - -"Then you were happy?" - -"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." - -"You will live for the poor little baby," whispered Aline, her eyes full -of tears, but Mme de Coigny shook her head. - -"No," she said quietly; "it is over now. To-morrow they will take me -away." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"M. Clery!" she exclaimed. - -Edmond Clery could hardly stand, but he forced a pitiful parody of his -old, gay laugh and bow. - -"Myself," he said, "or at least as much of me as the ague has left." - -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. - -"Oh," said Mademoiselle, "how ill you look; you are not fit to walk -alone." - -He gave her a whimsical glance. - -"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." - -"I think I know M. de Maurepas a little," said Aline; "he is very -religious." - -Clery gave a faint laugh. - -"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." - -"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." - -Clery found the pity in her eyes very agreeable. - -"And why reproach yourself, Citoyenne; it is not your fault that my cell -is damp." - -"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." - -"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." - -"Ah, M. Clery, is that true?" and her voice spoke her relief. - -"I should be able to think better of myself if it were not," said Clery -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 Therese." - -"Therese--Therese Marcel?" asked Aline, shrinking a little. - -"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." - -Aline averted her eyes, and her colour rose a shade. For a moment her -heart felt warm. Then she looked back at Clery, 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. - -"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." - -He lifted Clery as he spoke, and carried him the length of the corridor. - -"Now, if Mademoiselle will have the goodness to push the door a little -wider," and he passed in and laid Clery gently down. - -Mademoiselle hesitated by the door for a minute. - -"He looks so ill, will he die?" she said. - -"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." - -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. - -Clery 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: - -"How is M. Clery to-day?" - -The young soldier looked at her steadily. - -"He has--he has moved on, Mademoiselle," he returned, something of -distress in his tone. - -The turnkey burst into a loud, brutal laugh. - -"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. - -Aline drew a sharp breath. - -"Oh, no," she said involuntarily, but De Maurepas bent his head in grave -assent. - -"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." - -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. - -Aline steadied herself against the wall, and closed her eyes for a -moment. She had conceived a sincere liking for the young soldier; Clery -had done her a service, and now both were gone, and she still left. And -yet she knew that Hebert 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. - -Hebert 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. - -It was the middle of June before he thought seriously of Mlle de -Rochambeau. - -"Dangeau is returning," said Danton one morning, and Hebert's dormant -spite woke again into full activity. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"Ah, ma mie, ma belle, ma bien aimee!" she cried, sobbing. - -"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." - -The blood ran back to Aline's cheek. Only two days back the Abbe 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--Hebert! - -Just a moment's pause, and she came forward with a composure that hid -God knows what of shrinking, maidenly disgust. - -Hebert 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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -There was a pause. Mademoiselle held to the wall, and kept her eyes -away from his face. - -"Your affair comes on to-morrow," he said, with a brisk change of tone. - -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? - -Hebert guessed her thoughts. - -"Rather death than me, hein?" he said, leaning closer. "Is that what -you are thinking, Ma'mselle White-face?" - -Her eyes spoke for her. - -"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." - -Mademoiselle stood silent, a helpless thing at bay. - -"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." - -She quivered in a sick horror. "What did he mean; what could he do? -Oh, Mary Virgin!" - -His face came very close with its pale, hideous smile. - -"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." - -Her white lips moved. - -"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! - -The room was all mist, swirling, rolling mist out of which looked -Hebert's eyes. Through it sounded his voice, his laugh. - -"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?" - -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. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - - DISTRESSING NEWS - - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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." - -He drew a long, deep breath and entered the small shop. - -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. - -"Why, Citoyenne!" he cried cheerfully, "I am back, you see." - -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. - -"You, Citizen?" she said, with a sort of dull surprise. - -"Myself, and very glad to be back." - -"You are well, Citizen?" - -"And you, I fear, suffering?" - -Rosalie pulled herself together. - -"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." - -Dangeau shuddered lightly. A gruesome welcome this. - -"I would not go and see such things," he said. - -"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. _They_ all die alike, with a little stretched smile and -steady eyes--no crying out--I find that tiresome at the last." - -"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." - -Rosalie looked up with a sort of horrid animation. - -"Ah, j'y suis deja," she said quickly. "Already I see them in the -night. A week ago I wake, cold, wet--and there stands the Citizen Clery -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 Clery? Was it I -who had a hand in his death? These revenants have not common-sense. It -is my cousin Therese whose nights should be disturbed, not mine." - -Dangeau looked at her steadily. - -"Come, come, Rosalie," he said, "enough of this--Edmond Clery's head is -safe enough." - -"Yes, yes," nodded Rosalie, "safe enough in the great trench. Safe -enough till Judgment day, and then it is Therese who must answer, and -not I. It was none of my doing." - -"But, Rosalie--mon Dieu! what are you saying--Edmond----?" - -"Why, did you not know?" - -"Woman!--what?" - -"Ask Therese," said Rosalie with a sullen look, and fell to plaiting the -border of her coarse apron. - -"Rosalie!" - -His voice startled her, and her mood shifted. - -"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 Therese, and she is a devil. I told her so; I -said to her, 'Therese, I think you are a devil,' and she only laughed." - -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 Clery, poor Edmond! - -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: - -"All else are well?" - -She looked sullen again, and shrugged her shoulders. - -"Ma foi, Citizen, Paris does not stand still." - -He bit his lip. - -"But here, in this house?" - -"I am well, I have said so before." - -He turned as if to go. - -"And the Citoyenne Roche?" He had his voice in hand now, and the -question had a careless ring. - -"Gone," said Rosalie curtly. - -In a flash that veil of carelessness had dropped. His hand fell heavily -upon her shoulder. - -"Gone--where?" he asked tensely. - -"Where every one goes these days, these fine days. To prison, to the -guillotine. They all go there." - -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!" - -Rosalie was rocking to and fro, counting on her fingers. His emotion -seemed to please her, for she gave a foolish smile. - -"She has a little white neck, very smooth and soft," she muttered. - -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. - -"Tiens, Citizen," she said in a different tone, "she is not dead yet"; -and the immense relief gave Dangeau's anger rein. - -"Woman!" he said violently, "what has happened? Where is she? At -once----" - -Rosalie twitched away her shoulder, shrinking back against the wall. -This blaze of anger kept her sane for the moment. - -"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. - -"Since when?" - -"A month--six weeks--what do I know?" - -"How came she to be arrested?" - -"How should I know, Citizen?" - -"Did you betray her? You knew who she was. Take care and do not lie to -me." - -"I lie, I--Citizen! But I was her best friend, and when that beast -Hebert came hanging round----" - -"Hebert?" - -"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." - -Dangeau was a man of clean lips, but now he called down damnation upon -Hebert's black soul with an earnestness that frightened Rosalie. - -"What more do you know? Tell me at once!" - -She turned uneasily from the look in his eyes. - -"She will be tried to-day." - -"You are sure?" - -"Therese told me, and she and Hebert are thick as thieves again." - -"What hour? Dieu! what hour? It is ten o'clock now." - -"Before noon, I think she said, but I can't be sure of that." - -"You are lying?" - -"No, no, Citizen--I do not know--indeed I do not." - -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. - -"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. - -"Four--five--six--seven--eight--" Suddenly she stared at them heavily. -"There's no blood," she muttered, "no blood." - -Half an hour later Therese found her with a phlegmatic smile upon her -face and idle hands folded over something that lay beneath her coarse -apron. - -"Come along then, Rosalie," she called out impatiently. "Have you -forgotten the trial?--we've not too much time." - -"Ah!" said Rosalie, nodding slowly; "ah, the trial." - -Therese tapped impatiently with her foot. - -"Come then, for Heaven's sake! or we shall not get places." - -"Places," said Rosalie suddenly; "what for?" - -"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. - -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--" Therese was staring at her. - -"What's the matter with you to-day?" she said. "Are you coming or no? -It will be amusing, Hebert says; but if you prefer to sit here and sulk, -do so by all means. For me, I go." - -She turned to do so, but Rosalie was already getting out of her chair. - -"Wait then, Therese," 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?" - -"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." - -"Dangeau is back," said Rosalie irrelevantly. - -Therese laughed loud. - -"He has a fine welcome home," she said. "Well, are you coming, for I -'ve no mind to wait?" - -"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." - -She laughed a little and rocked, cuddling what lay beneath her apron. - -"Just a trial," she muttered; "but whose trial did you say?" - -Therese lost patience. She stamped on the floor. - -"What, again? What the devil is the matter with you to-day? Are you -drunk?" - -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. - -"No, I 'm not drunk, not drunk, Therese," she said in a thick voice. - -Therese tried to shake her off. - -"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." - -"Yes," said Rosalie, nodding her head--"yes, you will be late, Therese." - -"Va, imbecile!" cried the girl in a passion. - -As she spoke she hit the nodding face sharply, twitching violently to -one side in the effort to free her arm. - -The ponderous hand closed tighter, and Therese, 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. - -"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! - -It flashed and fell, wrenched free and fell again, and Therese went -down, horribly mute, her hands grasping in the air, and catching at the -basket across which she fell. - -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, -Therese gave one convulsive shudder, which passed with a gush of -crimson. - -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. - -Then she threw the potatoes back into the basket one by one. She wore a -complacent smile. Her eyes were intent. - -"Now, there is blood," she said, nodding as if satisfied. "Now, there -is blood." - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - - A TRIAL AND A WEDDING - - -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. Hebert -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. - -Hebert'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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 Hebert, 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. - -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! - -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 Hebert'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. - -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. - -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 Hebert's throat. - -Hebert 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. - -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. - -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. - -"Your name?" - -"Aline Marie de Rochambeau." - -"You are a cousin of the late ci-devant and conspirator Montargis?" - -"Yes." - -A sort of howl went up from the back of the room, where a knot of filthy -men stood gesticulating. - -"And you were betrothed to that other traitor Selincourt?" - -"Yes." - -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 Selincourt's mistress! Give her to us! Throw her down!" - -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. - -"You have conspired against the Republic?" - -"No." - -"But I say yes," said Tinville loudly. "Citizen Hebert 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?" - -Dangeau swung himself on to the platform and came forward. - -"Citizen President," he said quietly. "I claim to represent the -accused, who has, I see, no counsel." - -Herman looked up stupidly, a vague smile on his broad, blond face. - -"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." - -Fouquier Tinville glanced at him with venomous intention. "And the -Citizen delays us," he said politely. - -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. - -He turned again to Herman. - -"But you still hear witnesses, or whence the conviction?" he said in a -carefully controlled voice. - -"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?" - -He recognised little Louison, hanging to her big husband's arm, and sent -her a smiling nod of thanks. - -"Witnesses, by all means," shrugged Tinville, to whom Hebert 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: - -"What do you know of the accused?" - -"I know her motive for changing her name." - -"Oh, you know her motive--eh?" - -Dangeau raised his voice. - -"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." - -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. - -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 Hebert'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. - -"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." - -Hebert 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!" - -Dangeau turned from the bar to the people. - -"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. - -"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." - -A confused uproar followed, some shouting, "Hear him!" and others still -at their old parrot-cry of, "Death! Death!" - -Above it all rang Louison's shrill cry: - -"A speech, a speech! Let Dangeau speak!" and by degrees it was taken up -by others. - -"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." - -"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?" - -"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." - -"What, Robinot, can you vouch for yours?" screamed Louison; and a roar -of laughter went up, spiced by the brewer's very evident discomfort. - -"Yes, what's she to you after all?" said another woman. - -"A hussy!" shrieked a third. - -"An aristocrat!" - -"What do you know of her, and how do you know it?" - -"Explain, explain!" - -"Death, death to the aristocrat!" - -Dangeau sent his voice ringing through the hall: - -"She is my betrothed!" - -A momentary hush fell upon the assembly. Hebert 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?" - -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. - -"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.'" - -He caught Mademoiselle's hand, and held it up. - -"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!" - -"Stop him!" gasped Hebert. - -Fouquier Tinville shrugged his shoulders, as he and Herman exchanged -glances. - -"No, thanks, Hebert," 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. - -Undoubtedly Dangeau had them, for in that pause no one spoke, and his -voice rang out again at its full strength: - -"Come forward then. Do any accuse me?" - -There was a prolonged hush. The jury growled amongst themselves, but no -one coveted the part of spokesman. - -Once Hebert 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. - -It appeared that no one accused Dangeau. Far in the crowd a pretty -gipsy of a girl laughed loudly. - -"Handsome Dangeau for me!" she cried. "Vive Dangeau!" - -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. - -When the noise fell a little, she waved her arms, crying, with a peal of -laughter: - -"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!" - -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 fete, 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. - -"Vive Dangeau! Vive Dangeau and the Daughter of the Revolution!" - -Up on to the platform swarmed the crowd, laughing, gesticulating, -pressing upon the jury, and even jostling Fouquier Tinville himself. - -Hebert bent to his ear in a last effort, but got only a curse and a -shrug for his pains. - -"I tell you, he 's got them, and no human power can thwart them now." - -"You should have shut his mouth! Why in the devil's name did you let -him speak?" - -"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!'" - -"Speak to them,--do something," insisted Hebert. - -"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." - -Dangeau was at the table now. - -"We await the decision of the Tribunal," he said, with a hint of sarcasm -in the quiet tones. - -Fouquier Tinville's eyes rested insolently upon him. - -"Our Sovereign has decided, it seems," he said. "For me--I throw up the -prosecution." - -Hebert flung away with an oath, and Herman bent stolidly and wrote -against the interrogatory the one word, "Acquitted." - -It stood out black and bold in his gross scrawl, and as he threw the -sand on it, Dangeau turned away with a bow. - -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 cure of St. Jean. - -"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. - -"A wedding, a wedding!" shrieked the same women who, not half an hour -ago, had raised the howl for the aristocrat's blood. - -"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, Rene, and let 's to work." - -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. - -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 Hebert'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. - -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. - -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. - -"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. - -"Now you may kiss me," said the bridesmaid, pouting. "Rene isn't -looking; but be quick, Citizen, for he 's jealous, and a broken head -would n't be a pleasant marriage gift." - -Like a man in a dream he brushed the glowing cheek, and felt its warmth. - -Yes, so the living felt; but his bride was cold, as the week-old dead -are cold. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX - - THE BARRIER - - -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. Therese'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 Salpetriere. 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. - -"My dearest, you are safe. Thank God you are safe," he said in broken -tones. - -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. - -"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?" - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -"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 Therese 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." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -A thought of Hebert rose upon his shuddering mind, and involuntarily -words broke from him--"Ah, mon Dieu!" he said, with heaving chest. - -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 -Hebert. If she should think him such another! Oh, God forbid! - -He looked once more, blessed her in his soul, and turned away. - -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. - -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-- - -"I 'll have no loafing or gossiping here, Citizen"; and received his -explanation with perfect indifference. - -"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?" - -"Yes, two, Citoyenne." - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -He crossed the floor to her quickly, and took her hands. He felt them -tremble, and put them to his lips. - -"Aline, my dearest!" he said in a low, vibrating voice. - -With a quick-caught breath she drew away from him, sore trouble in her -eyes. - -"Wait!" she panted. Oh, where was her courage? Why had she not thought, -planned? What could she say? "Oh, please wait!" - -There was a long pause, whilst he held her hands and looked into her -face. - -"There is something--something I must tell you," she murmured at last, -her colour coming and going. - -The pressure upon her hands became suddenly agonising. - -"Ah, mon Dieu! he has not harmed you? Aline, Aline--for God's sake----" - -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-- - -"How do you know about--him?" and the words came hardly from her. - -"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 Hebert -seemed to caress her. - -"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." - -"My dear, leave it--leave it. Why should you say anything?" - -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. - -"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." - -Dangeau's arm went up--the arm with which he would have killed Hebert -had he stood before him--and then fell protectingly about her shoulders. - -"Aline, let him go--don't think of him again. You are safe--Death has -given you back to me." But she shrank away. - -"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." - -"Aline!" - -"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?" - -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. - -When he spoke his changed voice startled her ears. - -"So it comes to this," he said, with a short, bitter laugh; "having to -choose between me and Hebert, 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." - -She looked at him--a bewildered, frightened look. - -Pain spurred him on. - -"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?" - -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? - -She shrank, waiting. - -"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?" - -She looked at him piteously. - -"Yes, Monsieur." - -"Yes, Monsieur? Very well, then, since I order it, and the Church tells -you to obey me, come here and kiss me, my wife." - -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. - -"You will obey?" - -She spoke, agonised. - -"You can compel me. Ah! you have been good to me--I have thought you -good--you will not----" - -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. Hebert had seen it so. He spoke his thought roughly. - -"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. - -"Yes, I can compel you," he said again, low and bitterly. "I can compel -you, but I 'm not Hebert, 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. - -"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!" - -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: - -"Oh God, what have I done--what have I done?" - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -Aline raised her head proudly. Her eyes were steady behind the brimming -tears. - -"Monsieur, your honour is safe," she said, with a thrill in her voice. - -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. - - - - - CHAPTER XX - - A ROYALIST PLOT - - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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?" - -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 Abbe -Loisel. - -"It is M. l'Abbe?" she said in a voice as low as his own. - -"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?" - -A slight colour rose to Aline's cheek. Her tone became distant. - -"I think you are too well informed as to what passes in Paris not to -know, M. l'Abbe," she said. - -They came out into a little crowd of people as she spoke, and he walked -on without replying, his thoughts busy. - -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. - -"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." - -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: - -"It is true that I am married to M. Dangeau." - -But the Abbe had seen her face quiver, and drew his own conclusions. He -was versed in reading between the lines. - -"Mme de Matigny suffered yesterday," he said with intentional -abruptness, and Aline gave a low cry. - -"Marguerite--not Marguerite!" she cried out, and he touched her arm -warningly. - -"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?" - -"M. l'Abbe, for pity's sake, tell me, she is not dead--little -Marguerite?" - -"Not this time, Madame, but who knows when the blow will fall? But -there, it can matter very little to you." - -"To me?" She sighed heavily. "It matters greatly. M. l'Abbe; I do not -forget my friends. I have not so many that I can forget them." - -"You remember?" - -"Oh, M. l'Abbe!" - -"And you would help them?" - -"If I could." - -He paused, scrutinising her earnest face. Then he said slowly: - -"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." - -His keen look dwelt on her, and saw her face change suddenly, the eager -light go out of it. - -"M. l'Abbe, you must not tell me anything," she said quickly, catching -her breath; for Dangeau's voice had sounded suddenly in her memory: - -"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. - -"You have indeed gone far," he said. "You must not hear--I must not -tell. What does it mean? Who forbids?" - -Aline turned to him desperately. - -"M. l'Abbe, 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." - -"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." - -"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'Abbe." - -"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. - -"M. l'Abbe, I cannot hear such words." - -"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 Abbe 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." - -The Abbe 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. - -"Good-day, Citizen," he said, with a sarcastic inflexion. "I will -relieve you of the trouble of escorting my wife any farther." - -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. - -"Good-day," he returned with composure, and was moving off, when Dangeau -detained him with a gesture. - -"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?" - -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. - -"M. l'Abbe," 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." - -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. - -"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." - -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." - -"I am to start immediately." - -"Yes, Monsieur." - -He swung round, looked at her angrily for a moment, and then stared -again into the dirty street. - -"It is a question of what you are to do," he said impatiently. - -"I? But I shall stay here. What else is there for me to do?" - -"I cannot leave you alone in Paris again." - -"Monsieur?" - -"What!" he cried. "Have you forgotten?" and she bent to hide her sudden -pallor. - -"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. - -"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." - -"I will do as you think best," murmured Aline. - -"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." - -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. - -"Monsieur!" she stammered, and seemed afraid of her own voice; and all -at once a wild stirring of hope set his heart beating. - -"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. - -"Oh, Monsieur, if you would do something!" - -"Why, what is it you want me to do, child?" - -That was almost his old kind look, and it emboldened her. She rose and -leaned towards him, clasping her hands. - -"Oh, Monsieur, you have influence--" and at that his brow darkened. - -"What is it?" he said. - -"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." - -"I thought you had no friends?" - -"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. - -"Is that what the priest told you to say?" he asked harshly. - -"The priest----" - -"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?" - -Her eyes filled. - -"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." - -The voice, the child's look would have disarmed him, but the words he -had overheard came back, and made his torment. - -"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----" - -"Monsieur!" but the soft, agitated protest fell unheard. - -"I should kill you--yes, I think that I should kill you," he said in a -cold, level voice. - -She moved a step towards him then, and if her voice had trembled, her -eyes were clear and untroubled as they met his full. - -"You shall not need to," she said quietly, and there was a long pause. - -It was he who looked away at last, and then she spoke. - -"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." - -"Are you sure?" he asked in a strange voice, and she answered his -question with another. - -"Would you have pledged your honour if you had not been sure?" - -He gave a short, hard laugh. - -"Upon my soul, child, I think so," he said, and the colour ran blazing -to her face. - -"Oh, Monsieur, I keep faith!" she cried in a voice that came from her -heart. - -Her outstretched hands came near to touching him, and he turned away -with a sudden wrench of his whole body. - -"And it is hard--yes, hard enough," he said bitterly, and went out with -a mist before his eyes. - - - - - CHAPTER XXI - - A NEW ENVIRONMENT - - -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. - -With a roll and a flourish the diligence drew up, and Madelon's -excitement grew. - -"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. - -"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." - -"My winking days!" exclaimed Madelon,--"my winking days indeed!" She -tossed her head with feigned displeasure and leaned out again, -wide-eyed. - -A third passenger had just alighted, and stood by the door of the -diligence holding out a hand to some one yet unseen. - -"Seigneur!" cried Madelon maliciously; "look there, Jean Jacques, if -that is not a fine man!" - -"What, the rat?" grinned the miller. - -"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." - -"Eh, Madelon, how you talk!" - -"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." - -"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." - -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: - -"You are from Paris? All the way from Paris?" - -"Yes, from Paris," said Aline rather wearily. - -"Ciel! That is a distance to come. Are you not tired?" - -"Just a little, perhaps." - -"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!" - -Aline could not help laughing. - -"Yes, I believe there are quite as many as that. My husband is one of -them, you know." - -"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!" - -"Why, how did you guess?" - -"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?" - -"I do not know," said Aline, smiling. - -"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?" - -Aline was amused by the girl's confiding chatter. - -"I do not think he is often angry," she said. - -"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." - -"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. - -Then her own thought startled her, and she turned quickly to her -companion. - -"Is that your husband?" she asked, for the sake of saying something. - -"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." - -"From Rancy--you come from Rancy?" said Aline, with a little, soft, -surprised sound. - -"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. - -"I am going to Rancy," said Aline on the impulse. - -"You, Citoyenne?" and Madelon's brown eyes became completely round with -surprise. - -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. - -"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." - -"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." - -"Yes," said Aline. - -"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. - -"Yes?" said Aline again. - -"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?" - -Aline was vexed to feel the colour rise to her cheeks as she answered: - -"No--not long." - -"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?" - -Aline turned a tell-tale face away, and Madelon edged a little nearer. - -"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 betise, do you not think -so?--or"--with a polite glance at the averted face--"perhaps you desire -a girl, Citoyenne?" - -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. - -"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." - -"Yes, it is strange," said Aline. - -"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." - -"And you?" faltered Aline, her eyes on the ground. - -"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." - -"At once?" she repeated in a little voice like a child's. - -He nodded, and walked to the window, where he stood looking out for a -moment. - -"The horses are in," he said, turning again. "It is time I took my -seat." - -He passed out, saluting Pinel and Madelon, who was much elated by his -bow. - -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. - -"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. - -"Marguerite?" - -"Yes, the Citoyenne Matigny. She is free. I thought you would be glad -to know." - -"Yes--yes--oh, thank you! I am glad!" - -"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." - -"Yes--the letter was kind." - -"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. - -"Yes," she said, with stiff lips. - -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. - -"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?" - -"Thou must still be talking, Madelon," said Jean Jacques, complacently. - -"Well, I should not like it," shrugged Madelon pettishly. - -"No, I 'll warrant you wouldn't," said the miller, with a grin and a -hearty kiss. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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! - -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 chateau, on the windows of which the setting -sun shone full, showing them broken and dusty. - -"Who lives in the chateau?" asked Aline suddenly. - -"No one--now," returned Jean Jacques; and Madelon broke in quickly. - -"It was the chateau 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." - -"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. - -"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?" - -"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." - -Madelon tossed her head. - -"It is true, all the same," she protested. "Why, there was M. -Rene,--all the world knows how she brought M. Rene here to die." - -"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. - -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. - -"Tiens, Citoyenne Ange, then. Can a man remember all the time?" he -growled, and flicked Suzette again. Madelon looked penitent. - -"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." - -"Yes, it is hard always to remember," Aline agreed. - -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: - -"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. - -"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." - -"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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -A long sigh went up from the rows of children, and one said regretfully: - -"Is that all, Citoyenne?" - -"That is all the story, my children; but now I shall ask questions. -Felicite, say then, who is the young hero?" - -A big, sharp-eyed girl looked up, and said in a quick sing-song, "He is -the glorious Revolution and the dragon." - -"Chut then,--I asked only for the hero. It is Candide who shall tell us -who is the dragon." - -Every one looked at Candide, who, for her part, looked at the ceiling, -as if seeking inspiration there. - -"The dragon is--is-- - -"Come then, my child, thou knowest." - -"Is he not a dragon, then?" said Candide, opening eyes as blue as the -sky, and quite as devoid of intelligence. - -"Little stupid one,--and the times I have told thee! What is it, then, -that the glorious Revolution has destroyed?" - -She paused, and half a dozen arms went up eagerly, whilst as many voices -clamoured: - -"I know!"--"No, ask me!"--"No, me, Citoyenne!"--"No, me!"--"Me!" - -"What! Jeanne knows? Little Jeanne Marie, who cried? She shall say. -Tell us, then, my child,--who is the dragon?" - -Jeanne looked wonderfully serious. - -"It is the tyranny of kings, is it not, chere Citoyenne?" - -"Very good, little one. And the lovely lady, who is the lovely lady?" - -"France--our beautiful France!" cried all the children together. - -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. - -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!" - -After a moment she was quietly released, and Ange Desaix turned to the -children. - -"Away with you, little ones, and come again to-morrow. Louise and Marthe -must give up their bows, but the rest can keep them." - -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." - -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. - -"Another time you will be wise," said Ange consolingly; and Louise and -Marthe went out hanging their heads. - -"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." - -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: - -"It is good of you to let me come here. I--I am very grateful, chere -Mademoiselle." - -Ange put a hand on her arm. - -"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." - -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. - -"But where, then, is Jacques--the dear Jacques?" - -"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." - -"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." - -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. - -Ange drew her forward. - -"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." - -Marthe Desaix turned her head with a sharp movement--a movement of -restless pain. - -"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." - -"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." - -She went out quickly, and Aline, coming nearer to the window, uttered a -little exclamation of pleasure. - -"Ah, how lovely!" she said, just above her breath. - -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. - -Marthe Desaix looked curiously at her, but all she could see was a slim -form, in the dusk. - -"You find that better than lamplight?" she asked. - -"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." - -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. - -Aline herself was conscious of being looked up and down. Then Marthe -Desaix said, with a queer twist of the mouth: - -"You did not live long in Paris, then?" - -"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." - -"You like the country?" - -"Yes, I think so," faltered Aline, conscious of having said too much. - -"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." - -"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. - -When Aline was in bed, Ange heard her sister's views at length. - -"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." - -"Well, she is our nephew's wife," said Ange. - -"Our nephew's wife, but no wife for our nephew, if I'm not much -mistaken," returned Marthe sharply. - -"I thought she looked sweet, and good." - -"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." - -"Ma cherie, if any one heard you!" - -"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." - -"But why, why?" - -"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." - -"I saw nothing wrong," said Ange in a voice of distress. - -"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." - -Ange laughed a little. - -"Well, well, dearest, perhaps I shall guess. Good-night, and sleep -well." - -"As if I ever slept well!" - -"Poor darling! Poor dearest! Is it so bad to-night? Let me turn the -pillow. Is it a little better so?" - -"Perhaps." Then as Ange reached the door: - -"Angel!" - -"What is it then, cherie?" - -Mlle Marthe put a thin arm about her sister's neck and drew her close. - -"After all, I will tell you." - -"Though I did not beg it on my knees?" - -"Chut!" - -"Or with my last breath?" - -"Very well, then; if you do not wish to hear----" - -"No, no; tell me." - -"Well then, Ange, she is noble--that girl." - -"Oh no!" - -"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." - -"Oh no, he would not----" - -"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." - -She pushed Ange away, and lay a long time watching the stars. - - - - - CHAPTER XXII - - AT HOME AND AFIELD - - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -On the instant the roses were there, and Aline stood transfigured; but -they faded almost at once, and left her paler than before. - -Mlle Ange opened her basket, and showed neat bunches of green herbs -disposed within. - -"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." - -"May I help?" asked Aline eagerly; and Mlle Ange nodded a pleased "Yes, -yes." - -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. - -"There is then to be no food to-day?" said Marthe at last, her voice -calmly sarcastic. - -Ange finished counting the drops she was transferring from one -mysterious vessel to another. - -"Eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve--what was that you said, cherie?" - -"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." - -"Oh, tres chere, 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." - -Marthe's eyebrows went up, and Ange turned in smiling distress to Aline. - -"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." - -"And mine," observed Marthe, with a click of the needles. "Jeanne's -omelettes I will not eat." - -"Oh, tres chere, 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." - -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. - -"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." - -Here, the returning Jeanne banged down a dish, and clattered with a -small pile of spoons and forks. - -Ange Desaix broke an egg delicately, and watched the white drip from the -splintered shell. - -"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." - -She laughed softly, and putting the egg-shells on one side, began to -chop up a little bunch of herbs. - -"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." - -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. - -"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? - -"If one's lot is tasteless, one must flavour it with cheerfulness; and -if it is bitter, drink clear water after it, and forget." - -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. - -"Ma'mselle is served," she said snappishly, but there was a glint of -triumph in her eye. - -"No, Jeanne, it is too much," said Ange, flushing; whereat Jeanne merely -picked up the dish and observed: - -"If Ma'mselle will proceed into the other room, I will serve the -dejeuner. Ma'mselle has perhaps not remarked that it grows late." - -After which speech Mlle Desaix walked out of the room with a fine -dignity, and the smell of the burnt omelette followed her. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"There 's no great cause without its victim, no new faith without -bloodshed," she said to Marthe, with a kindling glance. - -"I said nothing, my dear," was the dry reply. - -Ange paced the room, brushing away hot tears. - -"It is for the future, for the new generations, that we make these -sacrifices, these terrible sacrifices," she cried. - -"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." - -"There is nothing I can do," said Ange, at her saddest. - -"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." - -"I would not hurt her," said Ange; "but, cherie, she is a Republican's -wife--she must know his views, his aims. Why, he voted for the King's -death!" - -"Just so," nodded Marthe: "he voted for the King's death. I should keep -a still tongue, if I were you." - -"You still think----?" - -"Think?" with scorn. "I am sure." - -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. - -"So he married you with his mother's ring?" - -She started, covering it quickly with her other hand. - -"Is it? No, I didn't know," she murmured confusedly. Then, with an -effort at defence: "How do you know, Mademoiselle Marthe?" - -"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." - -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. - -Marthe's brows were drawn together. - -"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." - -Aline looked up and spoke on impulse. - -"What did he tell you about our marriage?" she asked. - -"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." - -"Was that all?" - -"Certainly." - -"Then do you think I had better tell you more?" said Aline unsteadily. - -Marthe looked at her with a certain pity in her glance. - -"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." - -Dangeau's letter of about this date to Danton contained a little more -information than that he sent his wife. - -"The scoundrels have thrown off the mask at last," he wrote in a -vigorous hand, which showed anger. "Yesterday Precy 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, Precy 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." - -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.'" - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -Dangeau sat at a table spread with papers, wrote on for a space, and -then-- - -"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." - -"But, Citizen Commissioner, we have them not." - -Dangeau consulted a notebook. - -"I can give you twenty-four hours to produce them, not more." - -"But, Citizen, these are impossibilities. We cannot produce what we -have not got." - -"And neither can our armies save your throats from being cut if they are -unprovided. Twenty-four hours, Citizen Mayor." - -According to his nature, the Mayor swore or cringed. - -"It is impossible." - -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. - -"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." - -"Your report?" - -"Non-compliance with requisitions is to be reported to the Convention -without delay. I have my orders, and you, Citizen Mayor, have yours." - -"But, Citizen, where am I to get the things?" - -Dangeau shrugged his shoulders. - -"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." - -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. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII - - RETURN OF TWO FUGITIVES - - -"Aline, dear child!" - -"Yes, dear aunt." - -"I do not think I will leave Marthe to-day, the pain is so bad; but I do -not like to disappoint old Mere Leroux. No one's hens are laying but -mine, and I promised her an egg for her fete day. She is old, and old -people are like children, and very little pleases or makes them -unhappy." - -Aline folded her work. - -"Do you mean you would like me to go? But of course, dear aunt." - -"If you will, my child. Take your warm cloak, and be back before -sundown; and--Aline----" - -"Yes," said Aline at the door. - -"If you see Mathieu Leroux, stop and bid him 'Good-day.' Just say a -word or two." - -"I do not like Mathieu Leroux," observed Aline, with the old lift of the -head. - -Mlle Ange flushed a little. - -"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." - -Aline's eyes were a little startled. - -"What, what do you mean?" she asked. - -"Child, need you ask me that?" - -"Oh!" she said quickly. "What did Madelon say?" - -"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." - -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. - -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." - -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. - -"Bonjour," he returned, without removing his pipe. - -Aline struggled with her annoyance. - -"How is your mother to-day?" she inquired. "My aunt has sent her a -new-laid egg. May I go in?" - -"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." - -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. - -In a small back room she found old Mere 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. - -"And Mlle Ange?" she cried in her cracked old voice. - -"My aunt Marthe is bad to-day; she could not leave her," explained -Aline. - -"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." - -"Oh, Mere Leroux, you should n't say that!" - -"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." - -"You had another son, then?" said Aline, bringing a wooden stool to the -old woman's side. - -"Yes, my son Charles. Ah, a fine lad that, and handsome. He was M. -Rene's body servant, and you should have seen him in his livery--a fine, -straight man, handsomer than M. Rene. 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." - -"M. Rene died?" asked Aline quickly, for the old woman had begun to cry. - -Mere Leroux dried her eyes. - -"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 Hotel, he met M. de -Breze, and M. de Breze said to him, 'Well, Rene, we have been hearing of -you,' and M. Rene said, 'How so?' 'Why,' says M. de Breze (my son -Charles was with M. Rene, and he heard it all), 'Why,' says M. de Breze, -'I hear you have found a guardian angel of quite surpassing beauty. May -I not be presented to her?' Then, Charles said, M. Rene looked straight -at him and answered, 'When I bring Mme Rene de Montenay to Paris, I will -present you.' M. de Breze shrugged his shoulders, and slapped M. Rene -on the arm. 'Oho,' said he, 'you are very sly, my friend. I was not -talking of your marriage, but of your mistress.' - -"Then M. Rene 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 Breze 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 Breze was the better swordsman, -and he ran M. Rene through the body." - -"And he died?" said Aline. - -"Not then; no, not then. It would have been better like that--yes, much -better." - -"Oh, what happened?" - -"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. Rene'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. - -"'Rene, my son,' she said, 'I hear your duel was about Ange Desaix.' M. -Rene 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.' - -"M. Rene 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 Breze 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. Rene 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. Rene 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. Rene. -Big black eyes she had then, and her face all white, as white as his. -'Rene,' she said, 'are you still mad?' and M. Rene 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. Rene 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.' - -"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. -Rene to Rancy." - -"Oh, no!" said Aline. - -"Yes, my dear, yes; and she did it too, and he died of the journey--died -calling for Mlle Ange." - -"Oh, did she come?" - -"Charles fetched her, and for that Madame never forgave him." - -"Oh, how dreadful!" - -"Yes, yes, it is sad; but it would have been a terrible mesalliance. A -Montenay and his steward's daughter! No, no, it would not have done; one -does not do such things." - -Aline got up abruptly. - -"Oh, I must go," she said. "I promised I would not be long. See, here -is the egg." - -"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. - -"I will come again," said Aline gently. - -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 chateau, 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. - -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. - -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 -Mere 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. - -"Marguerite," she breathed. - -Marguerite's hand came through the wrought-work and caught at her. It -was cold, but human, and Aline recovered herself with a gasp. - -"Marguerite, you?" - -"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!" - -"But I don't understand. Oh, Marguerite, I thought you were a ghost." - -"And wondered why I should come here? Well, I 've some right to, for my -mother was a Montenay. Did you not know it?" - -"No. But what brings you here, since you are not a ghost, but your very -own self?" - -"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 -cherie, I heard it was your husband who saved me, and of course that -means you----" - -"Not me," said Aline quickly. "He did it. Who told you?" - -"The Abbe Loisel. He knows everything--too much, I think! I don't like -him, which is ungrateful, since he got me out of Paris." - -"Did he? Where did you go then?" - -"Why, to Switzerland, to Bale, where I joined my father; and then, -then--oh, Aline, do you know I am betrothed?" - -"My dear, and you are happy?" - -Marguerite screwed up her face in an unavailing attempt to keep grave, -but after a moment burst out laughing. - -"Why, Aline, he is so droll, and a countryman of your own. Indeed, I -believe he is a cousin, for his name is Desmond." - -"And you like him?" - -"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----" - -"He is not handsome, then?" said Aline, laughing too. - -"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." - -"Marguerite, you are just the same, you funny child!" - -"Well, why not--it's not so long since we saw each other, is it? Only a -few months." - -"I feel as if it were centuries," said Aline, pressing her hands -together. - -"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----" - -"And you?" - -"You are my friend," said Mlle de Matigny with decision. "But I must go -on with my story. Well, I was at Bale and betrothed, and then my father -and Monsieur my fiance set off to join the Princes, leaving me with Mme -de Montenay, my great-aunt, who is ever so old, and quite, quite mad!" - -"Oh, Marguerite!" - -"Yes, but she is. Imagine being safe in Bale, and then coming back -here, all across France, just because she could not die anywhere but at -the Chateau de Montenay in Rancy-les-Bois." - -"She has come back?" - -"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." - -"Oh, my poor dear! What made you come?" - -"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." - -"You are not alone?" - -"Jean and Louise, her old servants, started with us; but Jean got -himself arrested. Poor Jean, he could not pretend well enough." - -"And Louise?" - -"Oh, Louise is there, but she is nearly as old as Madame." - -"You must have food," said Aline decidedly. "I will bring you some." - -"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." - -"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 chateau, and I 'll come as soon as possible." - -"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." - -"Does M. my cousin find pallor interesting?" inquired Aline teasingly. - -"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 Maille!" - -"And my cousin, M. le Chevalier, what did he do?" - -Marguerite gave an irrepressible giggle. - -"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!" - -"And then?" - -Marguerite's voice became very demure. - -"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." - -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. - -"What is it, child?" she said hastily. "Was Mathieu rude?" - -"My dear, how late you are," said Mlle Ange, looking up from her -needlework. - -"Not Mathieu?" continued Marthe. "What has happened, Aline? You have -not bad news? It is not Jacques?" and her lips grew paler. - -"No, no, ma tante." - -"What is it, then? Speak, or--or--why, you have been to the chateau!" -she said abruptly, as Aline came into the lamplight. - -"Why, Marthe, what makes you say that?" said Ange, in a startled voice. - -"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?" - -"I--I saw----" - -"A ghost?" inquired Marthe with sharp sarcasm. - -Ange rose up, trembling. - -"Oh, she has come back! I know it, I have felt it! She has come back," -she cried. - -"Ange, don't be a fool," said Marthe, but her eyes were anxious. - -"Speak then, Aline, and tell us what you saw." - -"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. - -"Come back to die?" Ange said at last, very low. "Alone?"--and she -turned on Aline. - -"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." - -"No food goes from this house to that," said Marthe loudly, but Ange -caught her hand. - -"Oh, we can't let them starve." - -"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?" - -"No, no; but I can't let her starve--you know I can't." - -Marthe laughed again. - -"No, perhaps not, but I could, and I would." She paused. "So you 'd -heap coals of fire--feed her, save her, eh, Angel?" - -"Oh, Marthe, don't! For the love of God, don't speak to me like -that--when you know--when you know!" - -Marthe pulled her down with an impulsive gesture that drew a groan from -her. - -"Ah, Ange," she said in a queer, broken voice; and Ange kissed her -passionately and ran out of the room. - -There was a long, heavy pause. Then Marthe said: - -"So you've heard the story? Who told you?" - -"Mere Leroux, to-night." - -"And a very suitable occasion. Who says life is not dramatic? So Mere -Leroux told you, and you went up to the chateau to see if it was -haunted, and it was. Ciel, if those stones could speak! But there 's -enough without that--quite enough." - -She was silent again, and after awhile Mlle Ange came back, wrapped in a -thick cloak and carrying a basket. - -Aline started forward. - -"Ma tante, I may come too? It is so dark." - -"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." - -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 chateau 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!" - -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. - -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. - -"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. - -"I sat here. The hours I have read to her, or worked whilst she was -busy with her letters!" - -"You!" said Aline, surprised. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -Across that room, and to another. Darkness and silence still. At the -third door Ange came forward again. - -"It is past," she said, half to herself, and went in before Aline. - -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. - -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. - -Through the silence came a mere thread of a voice-- - -"Who is it?" - -"I am Ange Desaix." - -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. - -"Ange Desaix, Ange Desaix,--Rene's Angel. Oh, la belle comedie!" - -"Madame!" the sound came like a sob, and in a flash Aline guessed how -long it was since any one had named Rene de Montenay before this woman -who had loved him. After the silence of nearly forty years it stabbed -her like a sword thrust. - -Again that faint sound like the echo of laughter long dead: - -"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!" - -Aline crossed the room obediently. - -"Who are you?" said the faint voice again, and the burning eyes looked -searchingly into her face. - -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: - -"I am Aline de Rochambeau." - -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. - -"Rochambeau, Rochambeau. I know all the Rochambeau--Rene 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-- - - Fiers et beaux, les Rochambeau; - Fiere et bonnes, les belles Vivonne.' - -Whose daughter are you?" - -Aline knelt by the chair and kissed the little claw where a diamond -shone from the gold circlet which was so much too loose. - -"Rene de Rochambeau was my grandfather," she said. - -"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? Rene is -dead, and I have no more sons; I am really a little at a loss." - -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. - -"Let the past alone, Madame," she said slowly. "Believe, if you can, -that I have come to help you. You are not alone?" - -"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 Rene was dying--dear me, how many years ago it is -now?" - -"It is thirty-seven years ago," said Ange Desaix in low muffled tones. - -"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 Rene here, that he might die at home." - -"Yes," said Ange. "You brought him home that he might die." - -The slight change of words was an accusation, and there was a moment's -silence, broken by an almost inaudible whisper from Mlle Ange. - -"Thirty-seven years. Oh, mon Dieu!" - -The tremulous grey head moved a little, bent forward, and was propped by -a shaking hand, but Madame's eyes shone unalterably amused. - -"Yes, my dear Ange, he died--unmarried; and I had the consolations of -religion, and also of knowing that a mesalliance is not possible in the -grave." - -Ange Desaix started forward with a sob. - -"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!" - -The sudden fire transfigured her, and she looked like a prophetess. -Madame de Montenay stared at her and fell to fidgeting with her shawl. - -"I am too old for scenes," she said fretfully. "Rene 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." - -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. - -Ange swept through the door. - -"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. - -Out of the darkness Marguerite came trembling. - -"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!" - -Mlle Ange turned, collecting herself. - -"Is it Louise?" she asked. - -"No, I am Marguerite de Matigny. Louise is in the corridor." - -"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. - -"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." - -"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." - -"We will come again," said Aline, kissing her, "and at least there is -food here." - -"Yes, take the basket, Louise," said Mlle Ange, "and now we must go." - -"Oh, no, don't go," cried Marguerite. "Stay just a little--" but Louise -broke in---- - -"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. - -"Come, Aline," said Mlle Ange with dignity, and they went down the -echoing stair in silence. - -Neither spoke for a long while. Then amongst the deeper shadows of the -wood Aline heard a curiously strained voice say: - -"So you are Rochambeau, and noble?" - -"Yes." - -"Marthe said so from the first; she is always right." - -"Yes." - -A little pause, and then Ange said passionately: - -"What made you give that name? Are you ashamed to be called Dangeau?" - -"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. - -"Does he know it, Jacques?" - -"Yes, oh yes!" - -"He knew before you were married?" - -"Yes, always; he has been so good." - -"So good, and you his wife, and could deny his name! I do not understand -you, Aline de Rochambeau." - -Aline flushed scarlet in the darkness. Her own name spoken thus seemed -to set a bruise upon her heart. - -"It was not that," she cried: "I do not know why I said it, but it was -not to deny--him." - -Her voice sank very low, and something in it made Ange halt a moment and -say: - -"Aline, do you love Jacques?" - -Aline's hand went to her breast. - -"Yes," she said under her breath, and thought the whole wood echoed with -the one soft word. - -"And does he know that too?" The questioning voice had sunk again to -gentleness. - -"No, no--oh, no." - -"Poor child," said Agnes Desaix, and after that they spoke no more. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV - - BURNING OF THE CHATEAU - - -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 chateau, 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. - -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. - -"It is dark, Ma'mselle," she said. - -"I will wait till they come in." - -"Eh--it 's queer weather, and a queer time of day to be out," muttered -Jeanne sulkily. - -"Madame is young; she needs exercise," said Marthe, prompted by -something in the woman's tone. - -"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. - -"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!" - -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?" - -Marthe pushed her away with an angry jerk. - -"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!" - -Ange winced, but only said gently: - -"Dearest, don't." - -"There, Ange, I 've no patience! I tell you we are all on the brink of -ruin. Madelon has been here." - -"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?" - -Mlle Marthe caught her sister's hand and pressed it until she cried out, -"Marthe, you are hurting me!" - -"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!" - -"Her father sent her! Marthe, dearest, don't--that hurts." - -"I mean it to. Yes, her father----" - -"But why. I don't understand." - -Aline had been lighting the lamp. She looked up now, and the yellow -flare showed the trouble in her face. - -"Oh, ma tante," she breathed. - -"Yes, child. Ange, wake up; don't you realise?" - -"Mathieu suspects?" asked Aline quickly. "But how?" - -"He saw you take the path to the chateau 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." - -"Oh, Marthe, don't. Madelon,--Madelon is as true as steel." - -"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." - -"Ah, poor Madelon," said Ange, "she must not distress herself like that, -it is so bad for her just now." - -Marthe ground her teeth. - -"Ange, I won't have it--I won't. I tell you all our lives are at stake, -and you discuss Madelon's health." - -"My dearest, don't be vexed; indeed, I am trying to think what can be -done." - -"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?" - -"Yes," said Aline, "I think you are quite right." - -"That is always a consolation." Marthe's voice took a sarcastic tone. -"Now, Ange, do you agree?" - -"If you really think----" - -"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?" - -"Well--yes." - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"Aline! The chateau! It is on fire!" she cried. "Oh, mon Dieu, what -shall we do?" - -They ran out, wrapped hastily in muffling cloaks, and as they climbed -the hill Ange spoke in gasps. - -"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!" - -"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. - -"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: - -"Oh, my dear, God knows,--but I 'm afraid so," and then they pushed on -again in silence. - -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. - -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. - -"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. - -"They can't see us," said Ange; "but come this way, here, where the -statue screens us." - -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. - -"Ah, it was Marguerite," cried Aline with catching breath. "I saw her -face. Marguerite! Marguerite!" - -"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." - -As she spoke she hurried into the smoke, and Aline followed, gasping. - -"Your cloak over your face, child, and remember you must not faint." - -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. - -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. - -"It was here, mon Dieu, what has become of it? So many years ago, but I -thought I could have found it blindfold. Rene 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: - -"We must go on. This is not safe." - -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. - -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. - -"Oh, save me, save me!" - -"Cherie, you are saved." - -"And they are burnt. Oh, Holy Virgin, I shall see it always." - -"Don't talk of it, my dear!" - -"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." - -"Madame?" asked Ange, very low. - -"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!" - -"Tell us what happened, my dear, if you can." - -"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." - -"Underneath! It began below, then?" - -"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!" - -"Oh, Marguerite, my dear--and you?" - -Marguerite shuddered. - -"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." - -"Hush! there is some one coming," said Mlle Ange in a quick whisper. - -They crouched down and waited breathlessly. Then, after an agonised -struggle, Marguerite coughed, and at once a dark figure bore down on -them. - -"Thank the Saints I have found you," said Madelon's voice. - -Aline sprang up. - -"Madelon--you? How did you know?" - -"Ah! Bah--I saw you when you crossed the terrace. I saw you were -carrying some one. Is it Madame?" - -"No, no; a girl--younger than we are. Oh, Madelon, you will help us?" - -"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?" - -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: - -"She must come home with us." - -"Impossible! No, no, that would never do, dear Ma'mselle." - -"But there is nothing else to be done." - -"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." - -"Madelon! Jeanne? She has been with us a life-time." - -"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." - -"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." - -Madelon drew Aline aside. - -"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?" - -"What you do," said Aline calmly. - -"Well, then, what next?" - -"What do you advise?" - -"Seigneur! Don't put it on me. What is there to advise?" - -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. - -"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. - -"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." - -"No, no, Madelon, you mustn't," said Mlle Ange. - -"And why not, chere Ma'mselle?" - -"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." - -"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." - -"Dear child, he is a good husband; but--but just now you should not have -anxiety or run any risks." - -Madelon laughed, and then grew suddenly grave. - -"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?" - -Ange kissed her impulsively. - -"God bless you, my dear," she said. "You are a good woman, Madelon." - -"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." - -"Where is he, then?" asked Aline. - -"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." - -"Now, Ma'mselle, are you ready?" - -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. - - - - - CHAPTER XXV - - ESCAPE OF TWO MADCAPS - - -"Well, it is a mercy, only what's to happen next?" said Mlle Marthe in -the morning. - -"I don't know," said Aline doubtfully. - -Marthe caught her sister's hand. - -"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." - -"My dearest, you forget we can't desert Madelon." - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -Mlle Marthe was pleased to smile. - -"Oh, you can be very angelic when you like, my Angel. Kindly remember -that goodness is your role, and stick to this particular version of it." - -"Madelon says the poor child is rested. She has put her in the loft -where she stored her winter apples." - -"Sensible girl. Now you would have given her the best bed, if it meant -everybody's arrest next moment." - -"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." - -"Well, one hoped he would. For Heaven's sake keep out of the whole -matter, and he 'll continue to think so." - -"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." - -"Oho, Mademoiselle Virtue, then it was Madelon who was good, not you." - -"We were both good," asserted Ange demurely. - -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. - -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. - -"It is the spring--it will pass," Ange said repeatedly. - -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 chateau, 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. - -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. - -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: - -"Venus her mirror, no less! Faith, my lady Venus, can you tell me where -I have the good fortune to find myself?" - -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 -Seraphine say, "Attention, then, my child." - -Then she remembered that Sister Marie Seraphine 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. - -"Monsieur my cousin, or I 'm much mistaken," she said to herself, but -aloud she answered: - -"And do you not know where you are then, Citizen?" - -"I know where I want to be, but I hope I have n't got there," said the -young man, coming closer. - -"And why is that, Citizen?" - -He made a quick impatient gesture. - -"Oh, a little less of the Citizen, my dear. I know I 'm an ugly devil, -but do I look like a Jacobin?" - -Aline was amazed at his recklessness. - -"Monsieur is a very imprudent person," she said warningly. - -"Monsieur would like to know where he is," responded the young man, -laughing. - -She fixed her eyes on him. - -"You are at Rancy-les-Bois, Monsieur." - -He bit his lip, made a half turn, and indicated the blackened ruins -above them. - -"And this?" - -"This is, or was, the Chateau de Montenay." - -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: - -"When was it burned?" - -"Ten days ago." - -"Any--lives--lost?" - -"It is believed so," said Aline, watching him. - -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. - -"Marguerite is safe," she cried quickly and saw him colour to the roots -of his hair. - -"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. - -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. - -"She is quite safe," she repeated nervously, whereupon the young man -raised his head, exclaiming in impulsive tones: - -"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. - -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. - -"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?" - -He regarded her with such complete earnestness that Aline could hardly -refrain from smiling. She bent her head a little and said: - -"I can understand that Monsieur le Chevalier did not know what he was -doing." - -He stared. - -"What, you know me?" - -"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." - -"I 'll not deny my name, but that I 'm imprudent--yes, with my last -breath." - -Aline could not repress a smile. - -"Do you talk to all strangers as you did to me?" she inquired. - -"Come, now, how do you think I got here?" he returned. - -"I am wondering," she said drily. - -"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 Bale, I 've told it to half a dozen." - -Aline gasped. - -"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." - -"I am a friend of Marguerite's, fortunately," she said, "and, I believe, -M. le Chevalier, that I am a cousin of yours." - -Mr. Desmond looked disappointed. - -"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?" - -The blood of the Rochambeau rose to Aline's cheeks in a becoming blush, -as she answered with rather an indignant negative. - -"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." - -"If she so far forgot," Aline began a little haughtily, and then, -remembering, blushed a very vivid crimson, and was silent. - -"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----" - -"Rochambeau, Monsieur. Yes, I was Aline de Rochambeau." - -"Was?" said Mr. Desmond curiously, and then fell to whistling. - -"Oh, my faith, yes, I remember,--Marguerite told me," and there was a -slight embarrassed pause which Desmond broke into with a laugh. - -"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." - -His glance was too frank to warrant offence, and Aline answered it with -a smile. - -"With Monsieur's permission I shall wait until I can kiss Madame ma -cousine," she said, and dropped him a little curtsey. - -Mr. Desmond sighed. - -"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?" - -Aline considered. - -"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?" - -"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. - -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. - -"But what plan have you?" Aline was asking. - -"Oh, a hundred," he said carelessly. - -Marguerite pulled her hand away with a jerk. - -"Then you might at least tell us one," she said. - -"Ah, now I 'd tell you anything when you look at me like that," he said -with fervour. - -"Then, tell me. No, now,--at once." - -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. - -"In France," said Aline. - -"Why, yes, one can't advertise oneself as an emigre. Once on the -frontier, one must make a dash for it,--it's done every day." - -"But it says his wife," objected Marguerite, "and I 'm not your wife." - -"And I 'm not Lemoine, but it does n't hurt my conscience to say I -am,--not in the least," returned Mr. Desmond. - -"But I can't go with you like that," she protested. "What would -grandmamma have said?" - -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. - -"Indeed, Monsieur, you may be, but I 'm not. Why, there was Julie de -Lerac, 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." - -"But your life depends on it. Marguerite, don't you trust me?" - -"Why, of course; but that has nothing to do with it." - -"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." - -Marguerite tapped with her foot. - -"Why can't we be married now?" she said quickly. - -Madelon, who had been listening in silence, started and looked up, but -did not speak. - -"Impossible," said Mr. Desmond; and Aline whispered: - -"My dear, you could n't." - -"Why not? There is a priest here." - -"You could n't trust him. He has taken the oath to the Convention," -said Aline. - -"Well but--Madelon, you told me of him; tell them what you said. Do you -think he would betray us?" - -"How do I know?" said Madelon, with a frown. "I do not think so, but -one never knows. It is a risk." - -"I don't mind the risk." - -"To us all," continued Madelon bluntly. "I am thinking of more than -you, little Ma'mselle." - -"Who is this priest?" asked Desmond. "What do you know of him?" - -"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." - -"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." - -"Well?" - -"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 pere, here are two people who wish to be married.' - -"Yes! and he 'd want to know why?" - -"Of course, and I shall say, 'Mon pere, we are escaping for our lives, -and we wish to be married because I am a jeune fille bien elevee, and my -grandmamma would turn in her grave at the thought of my crossing France -alone with ma fiance; and then he will marry us, and we shall walk away -again, and go on walking until we can't walk any more." - -"Marguerite, what folly!" cried Aline, and Madelon nodded her head. - -"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?" - -"Oh, yes, as chaperon, and then we needn't bother about getting -married," said Marguerite, kissing her. - -"That's not what I meant at all," observed Mr. Desmond reproachfully, -and Aline was obliged to laugh. - -"No, no, ma mie; not even to keep you out of so mad a scrape," she said, -and Madelon nodded again. - -"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." - -Aline drew away from Marguerite, and caught Madelon by the arm. - -"What's to be done?" she asked. - -"Why, let them go." - -"But the plan 's sheer folly." - -Madelon shrugged. - -"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." - -"You mean?" - -"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." - -"But this added risk----" - -"I do not think there is much risk. The cure 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." - -She broke off, looking troubled; and Desmond stopped whispering to -Marguerite and turned to them. - -"Well, you good Madelon, we shall be off your mind to-morrow. Tell us -where this cure 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." - -"To-night!" exclaimed Aline. - -"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." - -"Watched! By whom?" Desmond's eyes were alert. - -"By my father, Mathieu Leroux, the inn-keeper." - -"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." - -"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. - -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 cure's window, -and the moonlight glinting on the pane as the casement opened. What -followed was like the inconsequent and fantastic dramas of sleep. - -The explanations--the protests, the cure'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. - -"No, no, I can't go--I can't!" she murmured, but Aline wrenched herself -away. - -"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. - -"Oh, you'll save me!" And for once Aline was thankful for his tone of -careless ease---- - -"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. - -"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 Cure withdrew himself from participation in -so perilous an affair. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVI - - A DYING WOMAN - - -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. - -"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. - -No news was good news, and no news came; presently Aline stopped being -terrified at every meeting with the inn-keeper, or the cure, 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. - -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. - -"The day is a long time going," said Marthe after a silence of some -minutes. - -"Yes, the days are lengthening." - -"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." - -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. - -Aline turned with a sob. - -"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." - -"Oh, don't!" said Aline, choking; and something in voice and face -brought a queer look to the black, mocking eyes. - -"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!" - -There was a pause, and then the weak voice went on again: - -"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?" - -"Was that why you hated me?" said Aline quickly. - -"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." - -"Oh, that's not true!" cried Aline on a quick breath. - -Marthe Desaix looked sharply at her. - -"Aline," she said, "how long are you going to break his heart and your -own?" - -"I don't know," whispered the girl. "There's so much between us. Too -much for honour." - -"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. - -"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?" - -Aline looked up steadily. - -"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." - -"Tell me," said Marthe; and Aline told her all, from the beginning. - -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." - -Aline looked at her in alarm, for she seemed all at once to have grown -very old. - -"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." - -Aline kissed her hand, and spoke wistfully: - -"Is it all so dark to you?" - -"Why yes, dark enough--cold enough--lonely enough. Is n't it so to you?" - -"Not altogether, ma tante." - -"What, because of those old tales which you believe? Well, if they -comfort you, take comfort from them. I can't." - -"But Mlle Ange--believes?" - -Marthe frowned impatiently. - -"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." - -"You would not like to see M. le Cure?" 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. - -Mlle Marthe was too weak for anger, but she raised her eyebrows in the -old sarcastic way. - -"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." - -She lay silent for a long while then, and watched the sunset colours -burn to flame, and fade to cold ash-grey. - -Suddenly Aline said: - -"Ma tante." - -"Well?" - -"Ma tante, do you think he loves me still?" - -"Why should he?" - -The girl took her breath sharply, and Mlle Marthe moved her head with an -impatient jerk. - -"There, there, I 'm too near my end to lie. Jacques is like his mother, -he has n't the talent of forgetfulness." - -"He looked so hard when he went away." - -"Little fool, if he had smiled he would have forgotten easily enough." - -Aline turned her head aside. - -"Listen to me," said Mlle Marthe insistently. "What kind of a man do -you take your husband to be, good or bad?" - -"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. - -"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?" - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVII - - BETRAYAL - - -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. - -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 Egalite 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 Hebert -demanding the Queen's blood. - -"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! - -A curious thought comes to one. Are these words, instinct with pure, -fate-driven tragedy, the fruit of Hebert's mind--Hebert 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? - -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." - -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. - -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. - -"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: - -"A courier from Paris came in an hour ago." - -Dangeau stretched out his hand, but the other held his papers close. - -"There is news,--weighty news," he continued; and Dangeau felt his -courage leap to meet an impending blow. - -"What news?" he asked, quite quietly, hand still held out. - -"You are Danton's friend?" - -"As you very well know, Citizen." - -Vibert flung all his papers on the table. - -"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. - -"Your meaning, Citizen?" - -Vibert's strident laugh rang out. - -"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." - -"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. - -"Well," he said, "Robespierre for my money; but, of course, Danton was -backing you, and you stand to lose by his fall." - -"Ah," said Dangeau softly, "you think so?" - -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. - -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. - -Dangeau sat motionless, but when the reverberations had died away, he -leaned across the table, still with that slight smile, and said: - -"And what do you say of me in your report, Vibert?" - -Still dazed with the noise, the man stared nervously. - -"My report, Citizen?" - -"Your report, Vibert." - -"My report to the Convention?" - -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. - -"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?" - -"Citizen----" - -"What, protestations? Really, Vibert, you underrate my intelligence. -Shall I tell you what you said about me last time?" - -Vibert shifted his eyes to the door, and seemed to measure his distance -from it. - -"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. - -Dangeau's lip lifted. - -"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." - -Vibert's lips closed with a snap. Here was recklessness, here was -matter enough to condemn a man who stood firmer than Dangeau. - -Dangeau leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -Dangeau shrugged his shoulders. - -"You needn't be afraid," he said, with hard contempt. "You are too -obviously suited to the present debacle 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." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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?" - -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. - -Such an hour was upon Dangeau now, and he experienced its intoxication -to the full. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -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." - -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." - -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 benisse," he said -under his breath. - -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." - -He sank his head in his hands, and, for the first time for months, -deliberately evoked her image. - -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. - -Meanwhile there was trouble at Rancy-les-Bois. Mr. and Mrs. Desmond, -after a series of most adventurous adventures, had arrived at Bale, 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. - -In this instance trouble was not long in breeding. Three years -previously Joseph Pichon of Bale 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. - -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. - -"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!" - -Bompard looked curiously at him. He did not know the secret of -Mathieu's hostility to the Desaix family. Old Mere 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 Rene 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: - -"So, Marthe, you are to make a match of it with young Leroux"; and at -that the girl flamed up. - -"If we 're not high enough for the Chateau, at least we 're too high for -the gutter," she said, with a furiously pointed glance at Rene de -Montenay, whose eyes were on her sister. - -Ange turned deadly pale, Rene 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. - -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 Carre to set up his tribunal -amongst the frightened villagers, and institute a little terror within -the Terror at quiet Rancy-les-Bois. - -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 Carre 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. - -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. - -"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!" - -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. - -"Then you mean to denounce me?" she said quite low. - -"Denounce you! Yes, you 're no daughter of mine! Every one shall know -that you are a traitress." - -"And my baby?" asked Madelon. - -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. - -When she looked at her father again there was something very bright and -intent in her expression. - -"Very well, my father," she said; "it is understood that you denounce -me. Do you perhaps suppose that I shall hold my tongue?" - -"Say what you like, and be damned to you!" shouted Mathieu. - -Jean Jacques clenched his hands and took a step forward, but his wife's -expression checked him. - -"I may say what I like?" she observed. - -"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." - -"Why, what has Mlle Ange to do with it?" said Madelon, open-eyed. - -Leroux became speechless for a moment. Then he swore volubly, and -cursed Madelon for a liar. - -"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." - -"Enough!" said Madelon sharply. "Let us understand each other. If you -speak, I speak too. If you accuse me, I accuse you." - -"Accuse me, accuse me,--and of what?" - -Madelon's eyes flashed. - -"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. - -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. - -"There is no proof!" shouted Mathieu. - -"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." - -"Shoe-buckles!" exclaimed Mathieu Leroux, his eyes almost starting from -his head. - -"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?" - -"It is not true," gasped Mathieu, putting one hand to his head, where -the hair clung suddenly damp. - -"Citizen Brutus Carre will believe it," returned Madelon steadily. - -"Hell-cat! She-devil! You would not dare----" - -"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. - -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. - -"It is a mistake to quarrel," he observed in his deep, slow voice. - -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. - -Then he said again: - -"Quarrels in families are a mistake. It is better to live peaceably. -Madelon and I are quiet people." - -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. - -"I don't want to quarrel, I 'm sure," he said sulkily. - -"We don't," observed Jean Jacques with simplicity. - -"Then it is understood. Madelon will tell no lies about me?" - -"I say nothing unless I am arrested. If that happens, I tell what I -know." - -"But you know nothing," exploded Leroux. - -"The shoe-buckles," said Madelon. - -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. - -Jean Jacques stood scratching his head. - -"Eh, Madelon," he said, "you faced him grandly. But when did he get -those shoe-buckles, and how did you know about them?" - -Madelon began to laugh faintly, with catching breath. - -"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. - -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. - -Meanwhile Brutus Carre 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. - -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. - -"I was a Republican before the Revolution," she said, and her look drew -from Citizen Carre an outburst of venom. - -"You are suspect, gravely suspect," he bellowed. - -"But, Citizen--" and the frank gaze grew a little bewildered. - -"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. - -M. le Cure came next. There was a high flush on his thin cheeks, and -his fingers laced and interlaced continually. - -When Carre blustered at him he started, leaned forward, and tapped the -table sharply. - -"I wish to speak, to make a statement," he said in a high, trembling -voice. - -There was a surprised silence, whilst the priest stretched out his hand -and spoke as from the pulpit. - -"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." - -Carre stared at him. - -"Is he mad?" he asked, with a brutal laugh. - -"No, not mad," said M. le Cure quietly. - -"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 cure. - -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. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVIII - - INMATES OF THE PRISON - - -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? - -There were six people in the small, crowded cell, and they changed -continually. No one ever returned, no one was ever released now. - -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 -Egalite, 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. - -"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. - -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. - -Mme de Labedoyere, inveterate chatterbox, was much interested. - -"He is somebody," she assured Aline, aside. "An astrologer, perhaps. -Who knows? He may be able to tell the future." - -"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." - -The little Labedoyere shrugged her plump shoulders, and old Mme de -Breteuil struck into the conversation. - -"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. - -"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. - -"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." - -He smiled again. - -"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. - -"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." - -"Yes," said the old man with a nod. - -"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." - -"Oh, but how delightful," exclaimed Julie de Labedoyere. - -"Not at all, my dear, it was most alarming." - -"But what did he tell you?" - -The old lady bridled a little. - -"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." - -"It is true," said Aristide, fixing his blue eyes upon her. - -"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." - -The old man shook his head and leaned back again, closing his eyes. - -"What is the future to us now?" said Mme de Vieuxmesnil in a low voice. -"It holds nothing." - -"Are you so sure?" asked Aristide, and she started, turning a little -paler, but Mme de Labedoyere turned on him with vivacity. - -"Oh, but can you really tell the future?" she asked. - -"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. - -"Even now he frightens me," she whispered to Aline, but Julie de -Labedoyere had clasped her hands. - -"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." - -"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." - -"The gaoler has a tribe of children," said Mme de Labedoyere eagerly. -"I have a little money. If I made him a present he would send us one." - -"It must be a young child, under seven years old." - -"But why?" - -"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." - -"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." - -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. - -"The end of the journey," said Aristide under his breath, but Mme de -Labedoyere was by the gaoler's side talking volubly. - -"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?" - -"I don't know that I should fret," said the man with a grin, and Mme de -Labedoyere bit her lip. - -"But you will lend us Marie," she said insistently. - -"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. - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -"Give him to me," said Mlle Ange suddenly. - -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. - -"Come here, my child," said the old gentleman in the corner, and Marie -went to him obediently. - -He had poured ink into his palm, and now held it under her eyes, putting -his other arm gently round the child. - -"Look now, little one. Look and tell us what you see, and you, Madame," -he said, beckoning to Mme de Labedoyere, "come nearer and put your hand -upon her head." - -"Do you see anything, child?" - -"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." - -"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." - -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. - -Presently Marie said: - -"Monsieur, there is a picture." - -"What then, say?" - -"A boy, with a broom, sweeping." - -He nodded gravely. - -"Yes, yes. Watch well; the pictures come." - -"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?" - -"Mon Dieu!" said Mme de Labedoyere with a sob. She released the child -and sat down by the wall, leaning against it, her eyes wide with fear. - -"You asked to see the future, Madame," said the old man impassively. - -"Can you show the past?" asked Mme de Vieuxmesnil, half hesitatingly. - -"Assuredly. You must touch the child, and think of what you wish to -see." - -She came forward and put out her hand, but drew it quickly back again. - -"No," she murmured; "it is perhaps a sin. I am too near the end for -that, and when one cannot even confess." - -"As you will," said the old man. - -"And you, Madame," he turned to Aline, "is there nothing you would know; -no one for whose welfare you are anxious?" - -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. - -"There are so many people," she said at last. "They run to and fro, and -wave their arms. That makes one's head ache." - -"Go on looking," said Aristide. - -"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." - -Aline drew away. The clamour and the crowd, the hasty wedding, the cold -first kiss, all swam together in her mind. - -"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?" - -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. - -"She shall look," he said, but Marie lifted weary eyes. - -"Monsieur, I am tired," she said. - -"Just this once more, little one. Then you shall sleep," and she turned -obediently and bent again over his hand. - -"I do not like this picture," she said fretfully. - -"What is it?" - -"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." - -"What gentleman?" asked Aline, in a clear voice. - -"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. - -"No, it is enough," said Aline gently. - -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. - -But Aristide was still looking at Aline. - -"I do not understand," he said under his breath. "You have none of the -signs, none of them. Now she,"--he indicated Mme de Labedoyere, "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." - -He was within reach, and she put it out half mechanically. He looked at -it long, and then laid it back in her lap. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -"Who is he?" he asked Defarge, the gaoler, and the man shrugged his -shoulders. - -"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." - -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. - -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: - -"I know your face. Where have I seen you, eh?" - -"And I know yours. My name is Dangeau." - -"Aha--I thought so. You were Edmond's friend. Poor Edmond! But what -would you? He was too imprudent." - -"Yes, I was Edmond Clery's friend," said Dangeau; "and you are his -uncle. I met you with him once. Citizen Goyot, is it not?" - -"At your service. There, that's finished." - -"Who is he; will he live?" asked Dangeau, as the patient twitched and -groaned. - -Goyot shrugged. - -"He has friends who want him to live, and enemies who are almost as -anxious that he should n't die." - -"A riddle, Citizen?" - -"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." - -"Ah, it is that way?" - -"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. - -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: - -"I 've been refreshing my memory about you, Citizen Dangeau." - -"Indeed." - -"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." - -"And what did my friends say?" asked Dangeau, smiling a little. - -"They said you were an honest man. I said there were n't two in Paris. -They declared you were one of them." - -"Ciel, Citizen, you are a pessimist." - -"Optimists lose their heads these days," said Goyot with a grimace. -"But after all one must trust some one, or one gets no further." - -"Certainly." - -"Well, we want to get further, that is all." - -"Your meaning, Citizen?" - -"Mon Dieu, must I dot all the i's?" - -"Well, one or two perhaps." - -"I have a patient sicker than this," said Goyot abruptly. - -"Yes?" - -"France," he said in a low voice. - -Dangeau gave a deep sigh. - -"You are right," he said. - -"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." - -"Robespierre." - -"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." - -"Comedy?" said Dangeau bitterly. "It's tragedy that fills the boards -for most of us to-day." - -"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 Comedie. We are discussing the -ethics of the drama," he explained to Defarge, who poked his head in at -this juncture. - -"Will that mend his head?" inquired the gaoler with a scowl. - -"Ah, my dear Defarge, that, I fear, is past praying for; but I have -better hopes of my other patient." - -"Who 's that?" asked the man, staring. - -"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. - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -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. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIX - - THROUGH DARKNESS TO LIGHT - - -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. - -Suddenly the door was thrown open, and Dangeau heard himself summoned. - -"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. - -"You? Where are you going?" he panted. - -"Where does one go nowadays?" returned Dangeau, with a slight shrug. - -"No, no," exclaimed Goyot. "It's not possible. We had arranged--your -name was to be kept back." - -"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." - -Goyot caught at Dangeau's arm. - -"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." - -"And mine," returned Dangeau. - -"No, no,--I tell you there is hope. It is only a matter of hours." - -"Just so." - -Defarge interposed. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -"Name," he rapped out, voice and eye alike vicious. - -With smooth indifference Dangeau repeated his names, and added with a -touch of amusement: - -"You know me and my names well enough, or did once, my good Tinville." - -The thin lips lifted in a snarl. - -"That, my friend, was when you were higher in the world than you are -now. Place of abode?" - -Dangeau's gaze went past him. He shrugged his shoulders with a faintly -whimsical effect. - -"Shall we say the edges of the world?" he suggested. - -Fouquier Tinville spat on the floor and leaned over the table with a -yellow glitter in his eyes. - -"How does it feel?" he sneered. "The edges of the world. Ma foi, how -does it feel to look over them into annihilation?" - -Dangeau returned his look with composure. - -"I imagine you may soon have an opportunity of judging," he observed. - -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. - -"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?" - -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. - -Tinville plucked him down with a curse. - -"Tiens, Duval, you grow too mad," he said angrily. "You and your beyond. -What should there be?" - -"If there were,--Hell," muttered Duval, with shaking lips. Tinville -banged the table. - -"Am I to have all the Salpetriere 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." - -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. - -Dangeau was moving away, but he turned for a moment, the old sparkle in -his eyes. - -"My felicitations, Tinville," he observed with a casual air. - -"On what?" - -Dangeau smiled politely. - -"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." - -"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. - -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? - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"This for you if you will get me into the same cart as this lady, and -see, friend, let it be the last one." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"My heart!" he said, and then before either could speak again they were -being pushed forward towards the open door. - -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. - -"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. - -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. - -His voice sounded from far, far away. - -"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. - -"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. - -"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." - -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. - -Then, whilst his straining senses reeled, he felt a jolt and the cart -stopped. All about them surged an excited crowd. - -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. - -"See the old man! and the girl! ma foi, she has an angel's face. Is the -guillotine to eat up every one?" - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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: - -"Robespierre falls; nothing can save him." - -It was Goyot in a workman's blouse, and as he dropped off again Dangeau -made curt answer. - -"In time for France, if not for me. Good-bye, my friend," and then -Goyot was gone and the lumbering wheels rolled on. - -On the other side of the cart, the Abbe 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. - -As the cart stopped by the scaffold foot, he crossed himself, and -followed the Abbe 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. - -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. - -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! - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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. - -"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?" - -"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. - -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. - -"Aline! Aline! Aline!" he called in hoarse, trembling tones, and Goyot -dropped the girl's wrist and took him harshly by the shoulder. - -"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!" - -Dangeau stared at him. - -"What am I to do?" he asked irritably. - -Goyot pressed his shoulder with a firm hand. - -"Lift your wife, and bring her along after me. Can you manage? She -looks light enough." - -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. - -"Eh, mon Dieu!" he said; "get in, get in!" - -The carriage had mouldy straw on the floor, and the musty odour of it -mounted in the hot air. - -Dangeau complained of it sharply. - -"A devil of a smell, this, Goyot!" and the little surgeon fixed him with -keen, watchful eyes, as he nodded acquiescence. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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. - -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. - -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. - -When Goyot came home with the news, Dangeau's face flamed, and he put -his hand before his eyes for a moment. - -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. - -"She is strange, Monsieur," she whispered. - -"She has not roused at all?" inquired Goyot rather anxiously. - -Marie shook her head. - -"She just sits and stares at the sky. God knows what she sees there, -poor lamb. If she would weep----" - -"Just so, just so," Goyot nodded once or twice. Then he turned a -penetrating look on Dangeau. - -"Ha, you are all right again. A near thing, my friend, eh? Small -wonder you were upset by it." - -"Oh, I!" said Dangeau, with an impatient gesture. "It is my wife we are -speaking of." - -"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?" - -"I don't know--I must go to her." - -"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." - -Dangeau had closed the door, and stood looking at his wife. - -"Aline," he said, "have they told you? We are safe--Robespierre is -dead." - -Then he threw back his head, took a long, deep breath, and cried: - -"It is new life--new life for France, new work for those who love -her--new life for us--for us, Aline." - -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. - -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. - -"Aline! Aline!" - -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. - -"Won't you come to me, my dear," he said gently, and with the simplicity -he would have used to a child. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -It hinted of the final secret known. - -"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. - -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. - -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. - -"Aline," he said, very low, "Aline, my heart! It is new life--new life -together." - -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. 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