"Poor woman," said the queen, "believe me, I feel for you."
"You!" said she, looking at her fiercely with her blood-shot eyes. "You pity me? Never! never!"
"You are mistaken. I pity you from my heart; but do pray allow me to pass."
The woman burst into a hoarse laugh.
"Let you pass? No, no! I would have assisted you to escape, because he promised if I did so and asked your forgiveness he would rescue my daughter; but since she is condemned to death you shall not escape."
"Gentlemen!" cried the queen, "help! Do you not see that this woman is mad?"
"No, I am not mad; I know well what I am saying!" cried the woman. "It is the truth,—there was a conspiracy, and Simon discovered all. It was my poor daughter who sold the bouquet. She confessed it before the Revolutionary Tribunal—A bouquet of carnations—They had papers concealed in them."
"Madame," exclaimed the queen, "in the name of Heaven!"
The voice of the crier was again heard, repeating,—
"This is the judgment and decree condemning the girl Héloïse Tison to the punishment of death for the crime of conspiracy!"
"Do you hear it?" screamed the lunatic, around whom the National Guards had now gathered; "do you hear? Condemned to death; it is you who have killed my daughter—you, Austrian, you!"
"Gentlemen," said the queen, "for pity's sake, if you will not release me from this poor mad creature, allow me at least to return to my apartments. I cannot support the reproaches of this woman; unjust though they are, they crush my heart," and she turned away, sighing deeply.
"Yes, yes; weep, hypocrite!" cried the maddened wretch; "your bouquet cost her dear—She might have known it. Thus it is with all those who serve you. You bring misery, Austrian, everywhere! Your friends are dead,—your husband and your defenders have all perished,—and now they will sacrifice my unhappy child! When will your turn come, that no more may die for you?" And the miserable creature accompanied these last words with threatening gestures.
"Unhappy woman!" observed Madame Elizabeth, venturing to speak, "do you forget that she whom you address is the queen?"
"The queen!" repeated the maniac, whose madness every moment increased, "if she is the queen, let her defend my poor girl from the hangmen who seek her life—Let her show mercy to my poor Héloïse!—Kings show mercy—Render me back my child, andI will acknowledge you as queen. Till then, you are only a woman, and a woman who brings misery upon all, and kills all—"
"Oh, have pity, Madame!" cried Marie Antoinette; "you see my tears and distress," and she again made an attempt to pass, no longer from any hope of escape, but to free herself from this cruel attack.
"You shall not pass!" roared the old woman. "You want to escape, Madame Veto—I know it all, the man in the mantle told me; you want to go and rejoin the Prussians. But you shall not escape," continued she, clasping the robe of the queen; "I will prevent you.À la lanterne, Madame Veto! To arms, citizens! let us march—"
And with her arms wrestling, her grizzled locks dishevelled and hanging over her haggard countenance, her eyes blood-shot, the unfortunate creature fell to the ground, in her fall tearing the robe she still held in her hand.
The queen, terrified, but freed at last from the maniac, was flying to the side of the garden, when all at once a terrible cry resounded, mingled with loud barking, and accompanied with a strange uproar, arousing the National Guards from their stupor, who, attracted by the uproar, immediately surrounded Marie Antoinette.
"To arms! to arms! Treason!" shouted a man, whom from his voice the queen recognized as the shoemaker Simon.
Near this man, who, sword in hand, guarded the threshold of the cabin, little Jet was barking furiously.
"To arms! every one to his post!" cried Simon; "we are betrayed. Compel the Austrian to turn back. To arms! to arms!"
An officer ran up, when Simon spoke to him, pointingwith enraged gestures to the interior of the hut. The officer in his turn then cried "To arms!"
"Jet! Jet!" called the queen, advancing some steps.
But the dog only continued to bark more furiously.
The National Guard ran to arms, and rushed toward the hut, while the municipals took possession of the queen, her daughter, and sister, and compelled them to re-enter the wicket, which they closed behind them.
"Prepare your arms!" cried the municipals to the sentinels. And the sound of firearms being made ready for action was heard.
"It is there! it is there!" cried Simon, "under the trap. I saw it move, I am certain of it. Besides, the Austrian's dog, a good little animal who was not in the plot, barked at the conspirators, who are no doubt still in the cellar. Hold! he barks again."
Indeed, Jet, instigated by Simon's cries and shouts, began to bark again more strenuously than before.
The officer seized the ring of the trap, but seeing he was unable to raise it, two of the gendarmes went to his assistance, but without the slightest success.
"You perceive they hold the trap-door from below. Fire through the trap-door, my friends, fire!" said Simon.
"Oh!" cried Madame Plumeau, "you will break my bottles."
"Fire!" repeated Simon, "fire!"
"Be silent, brawler!" said the officer, "bring some hatchets, and open the planks. Now let a platoon make ready, and fire into the trap-door the instant an opening is made." The groaning of planks and a sudden jerk informed the National Guards that some movement was taking place in the interior. Directly afterward they heard a motion under ground, like an iron portcullis being closed.
"Courage!" cried the officer to the sappers, who worked indefatigably.
The hatchets severed the planks. Twenty guns were lowered in the direction of the opening, which enlarged every moment.
But through the aperture no one could be seen.
The officer lighted a torch and threw it into the cave. It was empty.
They then raised the trap-door, which now offered no resistance. "Follow me!" said the officer, bravely leaping down the steps.
"Forward! forward!" cried the National Guards, following the example of their officer.
"Ah! Madame Plumeau," said Simon, "you lend your cellar to aristocrats!"
The wall was broken down; the humid soil had been trampled by numerous feet; and a conduit of three feet wide and five feet high, like the branch of a trench, plunged in the direction of Rue de la Corderie. The officer ventured into this opening, resolved to follow these aristocrats into the bowels of the earth; but when he had advanced three or four steps he found all farther progress impeded by an iron grating.
"Halt!" cried he, to those who were closely pressing behind him; "we can proceed no farther until this portcullis is removed."
"Well," said the municipal, who having placed the prisoners in security anxiously awaited the news,—"well, what have you discovered?"
"Parbleu!" said the officer, reappearing, "it was doubtless a conspiracy; the aristocrats wanted to carry off the queen during her walk, and she was probably in collusion with them."
"Plague take it!" cried the municipal, "sendsome one for the Citizen Santerre, and inform the Commune!"
"Soldiers," said the officer, "remain in this cellar, and if any one presents himself, kill him!"
And the officer, having given this order, ascended the winding stair to make his report.
"Ah! ah!" said Simon, rubbing his hands, "ah! ah! will they still say I am a fool? Brave Jet! Jet is a famous patriot; Jet has saved the Republic. Come here, Jet, come!"
And the brute who had coaxed the poor little dog, the moment he approached him, raised his foot and kicked him to a distance of several feet.
"I like you, Jet," said he; "ah, you will cut your mistress's throat! Come here, Jet, come!"
But this time instead of obeying him, Jet ran away howling, on the road toward the keep.
CHAPTER XXVII.
THE MUSCADIN.
Itwas near two o'clock. Lorin was promenading up and down in Maurice's room, while Agesilaus polished his master's boots in the antechamber, only for the greater convenience of conversation the door remained open, and during his walk Lorin often stopped and questioned the official.
"And you say, Citizen Agesilaus, that your master left home this morning?"
"Oh, upon my soul! yes."
"At the usual hour?"
"It might be ten minutes earlier, or ten minutes later, I cannot say exactly."
"And you have not seen him since?"
"No, Citizen."
Lorin continued his walk, and after three or four turns again stopped and renewed his questions.
"Had he his sword with him?" demanded he.
"When he goes to the section he invariably carries it."
"Are you sure he has gone to the section?"
"He told me so, at least."
"In that case I shall join him," said Lorin; "but in case I miss him, tell him I have been here, and am coming back."
"Wait!" said Agesilaus.
"Why?"
"I hear his footstep on the staircase."
Almost at the same moment the door opened, and Maurice entered. Lorin bestowed a hasty glance upon him, and perceived nothing extraordinary in his appearance.
"So you are come at last," said he. "I have been waiting here these two hours."
"So much the better," said Maurice, smiling; "that has afforded you plenty of time to compose distichs and quatrains."
"Alas!mon ami," replied the improvisator, "I do not make them now."
"Why, is the world coming to an end?"
"My dear Maurice, I am very unhappy."
"You unhappy?"
"Yes, I am miserable. I am suffering from remorse."
"Remorse?"
"Oh, by Heaven! yes," said Lorin. "Between you and her I had to choose!—between you and her I could not hesitate; but, you see, Arthémise is in despair, for she was her friend."
"Poor girl!"
"And it was she who gave me her address—"
"You would have done much better to have allowed things to take their natural course."
"Yes; and at this very moment you would have been condemned in her stead. Powerfully argued, dear friend. And I came to ask your advice! I thought you were wiser than that."
"Never mind, ask away."
"This poor girl: do you understand? I wish to attempt some means of saving her. Even if I could only give or receive a blow in her defence, I feel as if it would do me good."
"You are mad, Lorin," said Maurice, shrugging his shoulders.
"Perhaps if I made an appeal to the Revolutionary Tribunal?"
"It is too late, she is condemned."
"Truly," said Lorin, "it is dreadful to see this poor girl sacrificed thus."
"The more so since it was my safety that has entailed her death. But after all, Lorin, we have one consolation. She was a conspirator."
"Goodness!" said Lorin, "does not every one conspire nowadays? She has done no more, poor girl, than every one else does."
"Grieve for her neither too much, nor too loudly, my friend," said Maurice, "for we have to bear our share in this trouble. Believe me, we are not so fully cleared from the accusation of being her accomplices, that no stain remains behind. To-day, at the section, I was termed 'Girondin,' by the Captain of the Chasseurs of Saint Leu; and I, at the same time, found it necessary to convince him by a stroke from my sword that he was mistaken."
"Then that was the reason you returned so late?"
"Just so."
"But why did you not inform me?"
"Because in affairs of this nature you cannot restrain yourself, and the thing had to be concluded immediately, that it might make no noise."
"And that scum called you 'Girondin,' Maurice,—you, a thoroughbred Republican?"
"By Jove, he did! and this will convince you that another adventure of this nature and we become unpopular; and you well know, Lorin, in these times unpopular is a synonymous term forsuspected."
"I know it well," said Lorin; "and that word appalls the bravest heart; but never mind—It is repugnantto my feelings to allow this poor Héloïse to be led to the guillotine without asking her forgiveness."
"What do you wish to do?"
"I wish you to remain here; you have nothing to reproach yourself with, so far as she is concerned. With me, you see, the case is very different. Since I can do nothing for her, I will meet her on her way. I wish to go there, Maurice; do you comprehend me? Were she to give me only a wave of her hand—"
"I will accompany you then," said Maurice.
"Impossible, my friend: you are a municipal, secretary to a section, and you have just been tried, while I have only I been your defender. They would think you guilty, therefore remain here. As for me, it is quite another thing. I risk nothing, and therefore go."
"Go then," said he, "but be prudent."
Lorin smiled, shook Maurice's hand, and left.
Maurice opened his window, and waved a sad adieu; but before Lorin had turned the corner of the street, Maurice could not help gazing wistfully at him more than once, and each time, as if drawn by magnetic influence and sympathy. Lorin turned round, looked at him, and smiled.
At last, when the latter had disappeared at the corner of the quay, Maurice closed the window, threw himself into a fauteuil, and fell into one of those dreamy moods which in people of strong mind and vigorous constitution are often the presentiments of misfortune, as they resemble the calm which is the precursor of the storm. He was softly awakened from his revery, or rather state of stupor, by his official, who, on returning from the execution of some commission, entered with the sprightly air of a servant anxious to communicate his budget of news. Seeing his master preoccupied, however, he dared not interrupt him, and consoled himself by constantly passing and re-passing before him, without any reasonable cause for so doing.
"What is it?" at length said Maurice; "speak, if you have anything to tell me."
"Ah! Citizen, another desperate conspiracy."
Maurice merely shrugged his shoulders.
"A conspiracy enough to make the hair of one's head stand upright," continued Agesilaus.
"Indeed!" replied Maurice, like a man accustomed to hear daily of thirty conspiracies at this epoch.
"Yes, Citizen," replied Agesilaus; "it drives me to frenzy, you see. The very thought of it makes a good patriot's flesh creep."
"Let us hear this conspiracy," said Maurice.
"The Austrian has all but escaped."
"Nonsense!" said Maurice, beginning to listen with greater attention.
"It seems," continued Agesilaus, "that the Widow Capet was in communication with the girl Tison, who is to be guillotined to-day. She has not escaped that fate, unfortunate creature!"
"How had the queen communication with this girl?" demanded Maurice, who felt the perspiration exuding at every pore.
"Through a carnation. Can you imagine, Citizen, how they could have conveyed the plan to her in a carnation?"
"In a carnation? Who did this?"
"Monsieur le Chevalier de—wait then! His name is notorious, but as for me, I forget all these names. A Chevalier de Chateau—what a fool I am! It is not a Chateau—a Chevalier de Maison."
"De Maison-Rouge?"
"That is it."
"Impossible!"
"How impossible? when I told you they have found the trap-door, the subterranean passage, and coaches."
"On the contrary, you have told me nothing of all this."
"Well, I am going to tell you, then."
"Go on, then. If it is a story, it is at least a good one."
"No, Citizen, it is not a story, very far from it; and in proof of that, I had it from a citizen porter. The aristocrats had dug a mine, and this mine commenced at Rue de la Corderie, and terminated in the cellar of the little cabin belonging to Madame Plumeau, who has narrowly escaped being arrested as an accomplice. You know her, do you not?"
"Yes," replied Maurice; "go on!"
"Capet's wife was to escape by the subterranean passage. She already had her foot on the first step, when Simon caught her by her robe— But stay, they are beating to arms in the city, and the recall in the sections. Do you not hear the drum? There! It is said that the Prussians are at Dammartin, and have reconnoitred as far as the frontiers."
In the midst of this maze of words, a medley of truth and falsehood, probability and impossibility, Maurice seized the guiding thread. All sprung from the carnation presented before his eyes to the queen, and purchased by himself from the poor miserable flower-girl. This carnation contained the plan of a plot which had just come to light, the details of which, more or less true, had been reported by Agesilaus. At this moment the noise of the drum came nearer, and Maurice heard the crier proclaim in the street,—
"Tremendous conspiracy discovered at the Temple by the Citizen Simon! Grand conspiracy in favor of the Widow Capet discovered at the Temple!"
"Yes, yes," said Maurice; "it is just as I thought. There is some truth in all this. And Lorin, in the midst of this popular excitement, goes to offer his hand to this girl and be cut to pieces."
Maurice snatched up his hat, buckled his sword-belt, and with two bounds was in the street.
"Where can he be?" said Maurice to himself. "Probably on the road to the Conciergerie," and he rushed toward the quay.
At the extreme end of the Quai de la Mégisserie some pikes and bayonets, bristling in the midst of the crowd, attracted his attention, and he fancied in the centre he could distinguish the uniform of a National Guard, and in the group signs of hostile movements. He ran, his heart oppressed with the dread of impending misfortune, toward the assemblage on the banks of the river.
The National Guard pressed by the company of Marseillais was Lorin. He was very pale, his lips compressed, his eyes menacing; his hand upon the handle of his sword, measuring the place best calculated to strike the blows he fully intended to inflict on his cowardly assailants.
Within two feet from Lorin stood Simon. He was laughing ferociously, and pointing him out to the Marseillais and the populace, saying,—
"Look at him! look well at him! He is one of those that I drove from the Temple yesterday for an aristocrat. He is one of those who favored the correspondence with the carnations. This is an accomplice of the girl Tison, who will pass here presently. Well, do you see?—he walks quietly on the quay while his coadjutor goes tothe guillotine; and perhaps she was even more to him than an assistant. She might be his mistress, and he is here to bid her farewell, or to try to save her!"
Lorin was not the man to endure more. He drew his sword. At the same time the crowd opened before a man who charged headlong into the group, whose broad shoulders had already knocked down two or three spectators who were preparing to become actors in this scene.
"Be happy, Simon," said Maurice. "You regretted, no doubt, that I was not with my friend to enable you to turn your new title of Denunciator to full account. Denounce! Simon, denounce! I am here."
"Faith! yes," said Simon, with his hideous sneer; "and your arrival is very apropos. This," continued he, "is the elegant Maurice Lindey, who was accused at the same time as the girl Tison, but was acquitted because he was rich."
"To the lamp-post with them! to the lamp-post!" cried the Marseillais.
"Yes, forsooth, you had better make the attempt!" said Maurice, and advancing a step he pricked one of the foremost of the cut-throats in the forehead, so that the blood from his wound nearly blinded him.
"Have at the murderer!" cried the latter.
The Marseillais lowered their pikes, raised their hatchets, and loaded their guns, while the frightened crowd dispersed, leaving the two friends to contend alone against this storm of blows. They regarded each other with a last sad, yet sublime smile, while calmly awaiting their destruction from the whirlwind of iron and flame which threatened them, when all at once the door of the house against which they were leaning opened, and a swarm of young people, attired in the habits of those termed"Muscadins," or "Fops," each wearing a sword and brace of pistols in his girdle, rushed upon the Marseillais, and were instantly engaged in a terrific contest.
"Hurrah! hurrah!" cried Maurice and Lorin, simultaneously, animated by this unexpected relief, without reflecting that to fight in the ranks of the new-comers was to confirm Simon's accusation,—"Hurrah!"
But if they were forgetful of their own safety, another thought for them. A short young man, about five-and-twenty years of age, with blue eyes, who fought without any intermission, with infinite science and valor, with a heavy sword which any one would have thought his delicate and feminine hand incapable of wielding, perceiving that Maurice and Lorin, instead of escaping by the door which he seemed to have left open for that purpose, remained fighting by his side, turned to them and said in a low voice,—
"Fly directly through this door; pay no attention to what we do here, or you will uselessly compromise yourselves."
Then, seeing the two friends hesitate, he suddenly cried, addressing himself to Maurice, "Away! no patriots among us, Citizen Lindey; we are aristocrats here!"
At these words, united to the audacity which would induce a man publicly to accuse himself of what at this period must lead to certain death, the crowd uttered a loud shout.
But the fair young man and two or three of his friends, without evincing any symptoms of alarm, pushed Maurice and Lorin into the alley, and closed the door behind them. They then threw themselves into the mêlée, which was now considerably augmented by the approach of the fatal cart.
Maurice and Lorin, thus miraculously saved, regarded each other in amazement. The outlet seemed to have been designed for the express purpose of their escape. They entered a court, and at the end discovered a small private door which opened into Rue Saint Germain l'Auxerrois.
At this moment a detachment of gendarmes issued from Pont-au-Change, who had soon swept the quay, although, from the cross-street where our two friends had concealed themselves, they heard for an instant the noise of an obstinate struggle. These gendarmes preceded the cart which conducted the hapless Héloïse to the scaffold.
"Gallop!" cried a voice,—"gallop."
The cart proceeded at a quick pace, and Lorin saw the unfortunate girl standing, a smile upon her lips, and calm reliance in her eye, but was unable to exchange even a gesture with her, as she passed without seeing him, in the midst of a perfect maelstrom of people, shouting,—
"To the guillotine with the aristocrat! to the guillotine!"
The noise decreased in the distance till it reached the Tuileries. Then the little door through which Maurice and Lorin had escaped, again opened, and three or four Muscadins, with their clothes torn and stained with blood, passed through. It was probably all that remained of the little troop. The fair young man went through the last.
"Alas!" said he, "this cause is then accursed!" and casting from him his sword, notched and bloody, he rushed toward Rue des Lavandières.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE CHEVALIER DE MAISON-ROUGE.
Mauricehastened to return to the section to enter a complaint against Simon. It is true that before quitting Maurice, Lorin had found a more expeditious way; this was to collect some Thermopyles to lie in wait for him, and on his first exit from the Temple to kill him in a pitched battle. But Maurice strenuously opposed this plan.
"You are ruined," said he, "if you make use of these means. Crush Simon, but do it legally. That ought to be an easy thing enough to the lawyers."
Consequently, the next morning, Maurice laid a formal complaint before the section, but was both astonished and annoyed when the president turned a deaf ear, excusing himself by saying he could not interfere between two good citizens, each incited by the love of country.
"Good," said Maurice. "I know now how to act to merit the reputation of a good citizen. To assemble the people in order to assassinate a man who displeases you: this you call being 'incited by love of country.' Well, I agree to Lorin's opinion, which I was wrong to dispute. After to-day, as you hear, I shall adopt patriotism, and shall first experiment upon Simon."
"Citizen Maurice," replied the president, "you are, after all, perhaps more to blame in this affair than Simon. He discovered a conspiracy, which it was not his province to do. You saw nothing, although the discovery formedpart of your duty; and more, you have held communication—accidentally or intentionally, we know not which—with the enemies of the nation."
"I?" said Maurice. "Well, this is something new. And with whom, pray, Citizen President?"
"With the Citizen Maison-Rouge."
"I?" said Maurice, stupefied. "I had communication with the Chevalier de Maison-Rouge? I do not know him—I never—"
"You have been seen speaking to him."
"I?"
"Shaking his hand."
"I?"
"Yes."
"Where? When, Citizen President?" said Maurice, carried away by the firm conviction of his own innocence. "You have lied!"
"Your zeal for your country carries you too far, Citizen Maurice;" said the president, "and you will regret what you have said, when I tell you I can prove that I have advanced nothing but the truth. Here are three different reports accusing you."
"Now," said Maurice, "do you really think me simple enough to believe in your 'Chevalier de Maison-Rouge'?"
"And why should you not believe it?"
"Because it is only the ghost of a conspirator, with whom you always have a conspiracy ready to amuse your enemies."
"Read the denunciations."
"I will read nothing," said Maurice. "I protest I have never seen the Chevalier,—never spoken to him. Let any one who doubts my word of honor come and tell me so. I shall know how to answer him."
The president shrugged his shoulders. Maurice, who did not wish to be in arrears with any one, did the same. An air of gloomy silence pervaded the remainder of the sitting. After the meeting was concluded, the president, a stanch patriot raised to the highest rank in the district by the votes of his fellow-citizens, approached Maurice, and said,—
"Come, Maurice, I want to speak to you."
Maurice followed the president, who conducted him into a little cabinet adjoining that where the sittings were held. On arriving there, he regarded Maurice for a moment in silence; then placing his hand on his shoulder,—
"Maurice," said he, "I knew and esteemed your father; this makes me esteem and love you. Believe me, you incur great danger from want of faith,—the first falling off of a truly revolutionary spirit. Maurice, my friend, they who lose their faith also lose their fidelity. You do not believe in the enemies of the nation, therefore you pass near without seeing them, and become an instrument in their plots without being aware of it."
"What, the devil!" said Maurice, "I know, Citizen, I am a man of feeling, and possess some share of patriotic zeal; but my zeal does not render me a fanatic. There are twenty pretended conspiracies, to which the public assign the same name. I demand once for all to face my accuser."
"You will not believe in conspirators, Maurice," said the president; "then tell me, do you believe in the red carnation for which Héloïse Tison was yesterday guillotined?"
Maurice started.
"Do you believe in the subterranean passage drilled under the Temple garden communicating through thecellar of Citizen Plumeau with a certain house in the Rue de la Corderie?"
"No," said Maurice.
"Then do as Thomas the Apostle did,—go and see."
"I am not on guard at the Temple, and they would not allow me to enter."
"Any one may enter the Temple now."
"How is that?"
"Read this report, since you are so incredulous. I shall only proceed by official information."
"Ah!" said Maurice, reading the report, "has it come to this?"
"Continue."
"Are they going to remove Marie Antoinette to the Conciergerie?"
"They are; and do you think that from a dream, or what you call an imaginary idea or an idle story, the Committee of Public Safety would have adopted so grave a measure?"
"This measure has been adopted; but will never be executed, like many more I have seen sanctioned and all—"
"Read to the end," said the president, and he presented him with the last paper.
"The receipt of Richard, the jailer of the Conciergerie!" cried Maurice.
"She has been there these two hours." This time Maurice remained deep in thought.
"The Commune, as you know," continued the president, "acts with profound judgment. It is digging a furrow long and straight in its course; its measures are not puerile, and it has put in execution the principle of Cromwell,—'Kings should be struck on the head.' Read this secret note from the minister of police."
Maurice read,—
"Seeing that we possess the certainty that theci-devantChevalier de Maison-Rouge is in Paris; that he has been seen in several places; that he has left traces of his appearance in various plots, happily frustrated,—I request all chiefs of sections to redouble their vigilance—"
"Seeing that we possess the certainty that theci-devantChevalier de Maison-Rouge is in Paris; that he has been seen in several places; that he has left traces of his appearance in various plots, happily frustrated,—I request all chiefs of sections to redouble their vigilance—"
"Well?" asked the president.
"I must believe you, Citizen President," said Maurice, and he continued,—
"Description of the Chevalier de Maison-Rouge: In height, five feet three inches; fair hair, blue eyes, straight nose, chestnut-colored beard, dimpled chin, soft voice, and hands like a female's."
"Description of the Chevalier de Maison-Rouge: In height, five feet three inches; fair hair, blue eyes, straight nose, chestnut-colored beard, dimpled chin, soft voice, and hands like a female's."
At this description a strange light burst upon Maurice; he thought of the young man who commanded the troop of Muscadins, and who on the preceding evening saved the lives of himself and Lorin, and so valiantly drew his sword upon the Marseillais in their defence.
"The deuce!" muttered Maurice, "it must be he; in that case the accusation that I have been seen speaking to him is not false. But I cannot remember taking his hand."
"Maurice," asked the president, "what do you say to all this, now, my friend?"
"That I believe what you have said," said Maurice, musing sadly, who for some time past, without understanding what evil influence saddened his life, had noticed everything darkening around him.
"Do not trifle thus with popularity," said the president. "In these days, Maurice, popularity is life. As for unpopularity, it is to be suspected of treason; and the Citizen Maurice Lindey ought not to brook the suspicion of being a traitor."
Maurice had nothing to reply to sentiments so much in accordance with his own. He thanked his old friend and left the section.
"Ah!" murmured he, "there is too much suspicion and battling. Now," drawing a deep breath,—"now for peace, innocence, and joy; now to Geneviève," and Maurice took the road to the old Rue Saint Jacques.
When he reached the abode of the master-tanner, Dixmer and Morand were supporting Geneviève, who was suffering from a violent attack of hysterics. Thus, instead of being allowed to enter unceremoniously as he was accustomed to do, a servant met him in the passage.
"Announce me, at all events," said he, "and if Dixmer cannot conveniently receive me, I will retire."
The domestic entered the little pavilion, while Maurice remained in the garden. It seemed to him that something strange was going on in the house, and the workmen, instead of being occupied in their usual employment, were pacing restlessly about the garden. At length Dixmer himself appeared.
"Come in, dear Maurice," said he,—"come in; you are not one of those against whom the door is closed."
"What is the matter?" inquired the young man.
"Geneviève is ill," said Dixmer; "indeed, more than ill,—she is delirious."
"Gracious Heaven!" cried the young man, overcome at again encountering trial and suffering; "what, then, is the matter with her?"
"You are aware, my friend," said Dixmer, "one never knows anything concerning the illness of women, especially their husbands."
Geneviève was lying on a lounge; near her stood Morand, offering her some salts, which she smelled occasionally.
"Well?" asked Dixmer.
"Always the same thing," replied Morand.
"Héloïse? Héloïse?" murmured the young woman, from between her closed teeth and white lips.
"Sophie!" repeated Maurice, in much surprise.
"Oh, my God! yes," replied Dixmer, greatly affected; "Geneviève most unfortunately saw the cart pass yesterday conveying the unhappy girl to the scaffold. Since then she has had five or six attacks of hysterics, and keeps on continually calling upon Sophie."
"But the most astonishing thing of all is, that in her she recognized the girl who sold the carnations, which you already know about," said Morand.
"Certainly, I know about them," said Maurice, "since in consequence of them I very narrowly escaped having my head cut off."
"Ah! we have heard all that, dear Maurice, and, believe me, we have not been slightly alarmed; but Morand was at the sitting, and saw you fully acquitted and liberated."
"Silence!" said Maurice; "she again speaks."
"Oh, those empty, unintelligible words!" exclaimed Dixmer.
"Maurice," murmured Geneviève; "they are going to kill Maurice. Rescue him, Chevalier,—rescue him!" A profound silence followed these words.
"Maison-Rouge," again murmured Geneviève; "Maison-Rouge!"
Maurice felt a slight suspicion, but he could make out nothing clearly, and was too much affected by the suffering of Geneviève to attend much to her words.
"Have you called in a physician?" demanded Maurice.
"Oh, it will prove nothing," said Dixmer; "a momentary delirium, that is all," and he shook his wife soviolently by the arm that she revived, and uttering a shrill cry, opened her eyes, which till now had remained closed.
"Ah, you are both here, and Maurice with you. Oh, I am so glad to see you, dear friend; if you knew what I have—" she corrected herself—"what we have suffered for the last two days."
"Yes, we are all here," said Maurice; "have no more terror on that account. But there is one name above all others you must not accustom yourself to pronounce, seeing that at this moment it does not bear a very high repute."
"What name?" quickly demanded Geneviève.
"The Chevalier de Maison-Rouge."
"Have I named the Chevalier de Maison-Rouge?" inquired Geneviève, bewildered.
"Without doubt you have," said Dixmer, with a forced laugh; "but understand, Maurice, there is nothing surprising in that, since it is said he was an accomplice with the girl Tison, and that it was he who concocted the whole plan of escape so happily frustrated yesterday."
"I do not say there is anything surprising in it," said Maurice; "I only say he should keep himself well concealed."
"Who?" demanded Dixmer.
"Zounds! The Chevalier de Maison-Rouge. The Commune seeks for him; and their bloodhounds have a fine scent."
"Provided that, before they arrest him," said Morand, "he has not accomplished some new enterprise that may succeed better than the last."
"At all events," said Maurice, "it will not be in favor of the queen."
"Why not?" demanded Morand.
"Because she is henceforth shielded from his bold attempts."
"Where is she then?" inquired Dixmer.
"At the Conciergerie," replied Maurice; "she was taken there this evening."
Dixmer, Geneviève, and Morand uttered a cry which Maurice mistook for one of surprise.
"Thus you see," continued he, "adieu to the Chevalier's plans for the queen. The Conciergerie is more secure than the Temple."
Morand and Dixmer exchanged looks unperceived by Maurice.
"Ah!" exclaimed Maurice, "Madame Dixmer has turned faint again."
"Geneviève!" said Dixmer, "you must go to bed, my child; you suffer."
Maurice took the hint. He respectfully kissed Geneviève's hand, and quitted the house. Morand left with him, and accompanied him as far as the old Rue Saint Jacques, where he parted with him to exchange some words with a man, a superior sort of domestic, who held a horse ready saddled and bridled. Maurice was so much occupied with his own thoughts that he did not even ask the man's name; indeed, he and Morand had not exchanged a word since they quitted the house together.
Maurice took the road to Rue des Fossés Saint Victor, and gained the quay.
"It is strange," said he, walking on. "Is my mind weakened, or are these events assuming undue importance? Everything appears to me as if viewed through a magnifying glass." And to recover his equanimity, Maurice leaned over the parapet of the bridge and presented his face to the breeze.
CHAPTER XXIX.
THE PATROL.
Ashe lost himself in these reflections, and leaning over the parapet of the bridge, enjoyed a melancholy pleasure in gazing on the dark still water, he heard the measured tread of a little troop, like that of a patrol. Maurice turned round; it was a company of the National Guard, arrived by the other extremity, and in the obscurity he fancied he recognized Lorin. It was he, indeed. The instant he saw his friend Maurice he ran toward him with open arms.
"Found at last," cried Lorin. "Faith, it is not without some trouble that we have rejoined you.
"'But since I find a friend so fond,My fate assumes an aspect new.'
This time you will not complain, I hope, for I have given you Racine instead of Lorin."
"But what do you do here as patrol?" inquired Maurice, anxiously.
"I am the chief of the expedition, old fellow; the business is to establish our blemished reputation upon its original footing." Then turning toward his company, "Carry arms! Present arms! Shoulder arms!"
"There, my lads, it is not yet sufficiently dark, so you can talk over your little affairs while we follow your example." Then turning to Maurice, "I have heard great news at the section to-day," continued Lorin.
"What!"
"First, that you and I are beginning to be suspected."
"I know it. What next?"
"Secondly, that the whole conspiracy of the carnations was conducted by the Chevalier de Maison-Rouge."
"I know that also."
"But this you do not know,—that the conspiracy of the carnations and that of the subterranean passage are one and the same."
"Again, I know it."
"Then let us pass on to the third piece of news. This I am certain you cannot know. We go this night to capture the Chevalier de Maison-Rouge."
"To take the Chevalier de Maison-Rouge?"
"Yes."
"Have you then turned gendarme?"
"No; but I am a patriot. A patriot belongs to his country. Now my country is horribly ravaged by this Chevalier, who forms plot upon plot. Well, my country commands me, being a patriot, to free her from this Chevalier de Maison-Rouge, who distresses her horribly, and I obey my country."
"It is all the same," said Maurice; "but it is singular that you should be charged with this commission."
"I am not charged; I charge myself, or rather, I should say, I solicited the commission. It required a brilliant stroke to reinstate us in our former position; while our re-establishment will not only prove security for our lives, but still more the right of putting, at the very first opportunity offered, six inches of steel into the belly of that hideous Simon."
"But how are they sure it was the Chevalier who was the instigator of this subterranean plot?"
"They are not yet certain, but they presume so."
"You proceed, then, upon inference?"
"No; we proceed by certainty."
"How do you make out all this?"
"Listen."
"I am listening."
"I had scarcely heard the cry 'Grand conspiracy discovered by the Citizen Simon,'—that beast Simon (the wretch is everywhere),—than I wished to judge of the truth for myself. Then, they spoke of a subterranean passage."
"Does it really exist?"
"It does; I have seen it;
"'Seen it with both my eyes; that I call seeing,—'
There, why do you not hiss?"
"Because that is Molière; and besides, these events, I must confess, appear to me rather too serious for pleasantry."
"What can we jest about, if we do not jest about serious things?"
"You say, then, that you have seen it?"
"I repeat that I have seen the subterranean passage. It extends from the cellar of the Widow Plumeau to a house in the Rue de la Corderie, No. 12 or 14, I cannot remember which."
"Really? Have you passed through it, Lorin?"
"I have, the whole length; and, faith, it is a trench prettily cut, I assure you; and moreover it was divided by three iron gratings, which they have been obliged to remove one after the other, but which, in case these conspirators had succeeded, would have given them time, by sacrificing two or three of their number, to have placed Madame Widow Capet in a place of safety. Happily it is not so, and that hideous Simon discovered all!"
"But it appears to me," said Maurice, "those who ought to have been first arrested were the inhabitants of the house in the Rue de la Corderie."
"This would have been, had they not found the house perfectly uninhabited."
"But at least this house must belong to some one?"
"Yes, to a new proprietor; but no one knows who. They know the house changed masters two weeks since, and that is all. The neighbors have often heard a noise; but the house being very old, they had imagined it was undergoing thorough repair. As to the late proprietor, he has left Paris. In the mean time I arrived."
"'Upon my word!' said I to Santerre, drawing him aside, 'you are in an awkward situation.'
"'Indeed we are,' replied he.
"'This house has been sold, has it not?'
"'Yes, it was, about a fortnight ago.'
"'Was it sold in the presence of a notary?'
"'Yes.'
"'Then we must search all the notaries in Paris, to discover which of them sold this house, and then make him produce the agreement, at the bottom of which will be found the name of the purchaser.'
"'Well and good!' said Santerre, 'that is capital advice, and coming too from a man they accuse of not being a good patriot. Lorin! Lorin! I will re-establish you, or may the foul fiend seize me!'
"To be brief," continued Lorin, "this was no sooner said than done. The notary was sought for, the act was found, and upon the agreement the name and domicile of the culprit were written. Then Santerre took me aside, and I have engaged to arrest him."
"Was this man the Chevalier de Maison-Rouge?"
"No, only his accomplice,—that is to say, in all probability he was so."
"Then how is it you say you are going to arrest the Chevalier de Maison-Rouge?"
"We are going to arrest them all together."
"Do you, then, know this Chevalier de Maison-Rouge?"
"Perfectly."
"Have you seen the description of him?"
"By thunder! Santerre gave it to me. Five feet two or three inches, fair hair, blue eyes, straight nose, etc.; besides, I have seen him."
"When?"
"This very day."
"You have seen him?"
"And so have you."
Maurice started.
"The short, fair young man who rescued us this morning,—he who commanded the troop of Muscadins, and struck so hard."
"Was that the Chevalier?" demanded Maurice.
"Himself. They followed and lost him in the environs of the domicile of our proprietor of the Rue de la Corderie, so that we surmise they live together."
"It seems probable."
"It is certain."
"But it seems to me, Lorin," added Maurice, "that if this evening you arrest him who rescued you this very morning, you are much wanting in gratitude."
"Go along, then," said Lorin; "why, you don't suppose he saved us for our own sakes, do you?"
"For what else, then?"
"Not at all; they were in ambush to carry off the poor girl, Héloïse Tison, as she passed to the scaffold. Our cut-throats embarrassed them, so they fell upon thecut-throats; that was the whole of it. We have been saved by acontre-coup. Now, as the intention is everything, and there was no intention, I have nothing to accuse myself with on the score of ingratitude. Besides, do you see, Maurice, the capital point is necessity; and the necessity is that we should reinstate ourselves by some brilliant achievement. And then I have promised for you."
"To whom?"
"To Santerre; he knows that you command this expedition."
"How can that be?"
"'Are you sure of arresting these criminals?' said he to me.
"'Yes,' I replied; 'if Maurice is with me.'
"'But are you sure of Maurice? For some time he has been looked upon as rather lukewarm.'
"'Those who say so are totally deceived. Maurice is no more lukewarm in the cause than I am myself.'
"'And you will answer for his fidelity?'
"'As for my own.' I then went to your house, but could not find you at home. I took this road first because it lay in my way, and then I remembered it was the one you usually frequented; so at last we have met. Forward! March!
"'Where Victory leads us still onward we go,Ever joyfully singing we'll face every foe.'"
"My dear Lorin, I am in despair. I do not feel the slightest taste for this expedition. Say that you were not able to find me."
"Impossible! all our men have seen you."
"Well, then, say you met me, and I was not willing to join you."
"Again impossible."
"But why so?"
"Because this time you will not only be considered lukewarm, but asuspect; and you well know the fate ofthese suspects. They are conducted to the Place de la Révolution, and are there invited to salute the statue of Liberty; only instead of saluting with the hat they substitute the head."
"Well, Lorin, I hardly care how soon this fate may befall me; but without doubt it seems strange to you to hear me say so."
Lorin opened his eyes wide, and looked at Maurice.
"Well," said Maurice, "I am weary of life."
Lorin burst into a roar of laughter.
"Ah! ah!" said he, "we have had a quarrel with our beloved, and that fills us with melancholy ideas. Come, my handsome Amadis! let us return to the man, and from that we shall pass to the citizen. As for me I am never a better patriot than when I am embroiled with Arthémise. Apropos, her Divinity the Goddess Reason charged me with a thousand gracious messages for you."
"Pray thank her for me. Adieu, Lorin."
"Adieu! how adieu?"
"Yes, I am going."
"Where are you going?"
"I am going home."
"Maurice, you will ruin yourself."
"I laugh at the idea."
"Maurice, reflect; my friend, reflect!"
"I have done so."
"I have not repeated all—"
"What?"
"That Santerre said to me."
"What did he say?"
"When I asked for you to be chief of this expedition, he said to me, 'Take care!'"
"'Of whom?'
"'Of Maurice.'"
"Of me?"
"Yes, Maurice; and he also added, 'he often goes into that quarter?'"
"Into what quarter?"
"Into that of Maison-Rouge."
"How?" cried Maurice, "is it here he hides himself?"
"They fancy so, since it is here his supposed accomplice resides, the purchaser of the house in the Rue de la Corderie."
"Faubourg Victor?" demanded Maurice.
"Yes; Faubourg Victor."
"And in what street?"—
"In the old Rue Saint Jacques."
"O God!" murmured Maurice, as if struck by a thunderbolt. And he pressed his hand before his eyes. But after a moment's interval, during which he had collected all his courage,—
"What trade?" said he.
"A master-tanner."
"His name?"
"Dixmer."
"You are right, Lorin," said Maurice, by a violent effort controlling his emotion; "I will go with you."
"And you do well; are you armed?"
"I always carry my sword."
"Take also this pair of pistols."
"And you?"
"I have my gun. Carry arms! Shoulder arms! Forward! March!"
The patrol commenced its march, accompanied byMaurice, who walked near Lorin. They were preceded by a man dressed in gray, who directed their movements. This was an agent of police.
From time to time a shadow might be seen emerging from the angles of the streets or the doors of the houses, who exchanged some words with the man in gray. This was the inspector. On arriving at the little street, the man in gray did not hesitate for an instant. He was well instructed, and entered the street at once. Before the door of the garden where Maurice had been so nearly garroted, he stopped.
"It is here," said he.
"What is here?" demanded Lorin.
"It is here we shall find the two principals."
Maurice supported himself against the wall; he felt as if he were sinking to the ground.
"Now," said the man in gray, "there are three entrances,—the principal entrance, this one, and another which leads into a pavilion. I shall enter with six or eight men through the principal entrance, in the mean time keep guard here with four or five men, and place three sure men at the entrance of the pavilion."
"I will get over the wall," said Maurice, "and watch in the garden."
"The very thing," said Lorin, "as from the interior you can open the door to us."
"Willingly," said Maurice, "but do not clear the passage, or come, till I call you. All that passes in the interior I shall see from the garden."
"You are acquainted with the house, then?" demanded Lorin.
"Some time back I wished to buy it."
Lorin proceeded to conceal his men in the corners of the hedges and angles of the doors, while the agent ofpolice retired with six or eight National Guards to force his way by the principal entrance. In an instant the noise of their receding steps ceased in the distance, without having awakened the least suspicion. Maurice's men were at their post, and did their best to keep concealed. One would have declared that everything was perfectly quiet, and that nothing extraordinary was passing in the old Rue Saint Jacques. Maurice then began to climb the wall.
"Listen," said Lorin.
"To what?"
"The countersign."
"Right."
"'Carnation and Vault.' Stop all those who cannot give these three words. Permit all to pass who can. This is the password."
"Thanks," said Maurice, dropping from the top of the wall into the garden.
CHAPTER XXX.
THE PASSWORD.
Thefirst blow was terrible. It indeed required all Maurice's self-command to enable him to conceal from Lorin how powerfully he was affected by these startling events; but once in the garden, once alone in the silence of night, his mind became more calm, and his ideas, instead of running disordered through his brain, became once more under the control of reason.
What! this house that Maurice had so often visited with the purest pleasure; this house which had formed for him a paradise on earth,—was in reality only a den of sanguinary intrigues. The kind and flattering receptions bestowed on his ardent friendship resulted then from sheer hypocrisy; the love of Geneviève from fear.
The plan of the garden is well-known, our readers having more than once followed our young folks there. Maurice glided from bush to bush till he was shaded from the moon's rays by the little conservatory where he had been imprisoned previous to his first introduction to the house. This conservatory was opposite the pavilion inhabited by Geneviève. But this evening, instead of gleaming stationary from her chamber, the light moved frequently from one window to another. Maurice saw Geneviève through the curtain, evidently raised by accident, hastily packing some things in a portmanteau, and with astonishment beheld some weapons in her hands. He raised himself upon a post to enable him to seefarther into the room. A large fire was blazing on the hearth, where Geneviève was destroying papers.
At this moment the door opened and a young man entered the room. At first Maurice imagined this man was Dixmer. The young woman ran toward him, seized his hands, and they both stood facing each other for a moment, evidently influenced by some deep emotion. What this emotion meant he could not divine, as their words did not reach his hiding-place. But all at once Maurice measured his height with his eye.
"This is not Dixmer," murmured he. Indeed, the man who had entered was small and delicate, while Dixmer was tall and masculine. Jealousy is an active stimulant, and in a second he had compared the figure of this man with that of her husband.
"This is not Dixmer!" murmured he, compelled as it were to repeat it, to convince himself of the perfidy of Geneviève.
He approached still nearer to the window, but the nearer he came the less he saw. His brain was on fire. He stumbled on a ladder; the window was seven or eight feet high. He seized the ladder, and planting it firmly against the wall, ascended and placed his eye at an aperture in the curtain.
Geneviève's unknown visitor was a fair young man, about twenty-six or twenty-seven years of age, with blue eyes, and an elegant demeanor; he retained both the young woman's hands within his own, and was speaking soothingly, endeavoring fruitlessly to assuage the grief of Geneviève, which was plainly evinced by the tears which suffused her charming countenance. A slight noise, accidentally made by Maurice, caused the young man to turn his face toward the window. Maurice suppressed a cry of astonishment, he recognized his mysterious deliverer of the Place du Châtelet. At this moment Geneviève withdrew her hands from those of the unknown, and went toward the fireplace to ascertain that the papers were utterly consumed.
Maurice could no longer command his indignation. All those fierce passions which torture the heart of man—love, vengeance, and jealousy—lacerated him with their fangs of fire. He at once threw open the ill-closed casement, and vaulted into the chamber. At the same moment two pistols were pressed to his breast.
Geneviève, who had turned round at the noise, on perceiving Maurice stood speechless.
"Sir," said the young Republican, coldly, to him who had a double hold on his life, "you are the Chevalier de Maison-Rouge."
"And what if I am?" replied the Chevalier.
"It is this: you are a brave man, and consequently a cool one, and I would say two words to you."
"Say on," said the Chevalier, without lowering his pistols.
"You can kill me; but you cannot do so before I have uttered a cry, or rather I will not die without giving an alarm. Should I do so, the thousand men who surround this house will have reduced it to ashes ere the lapse of ten minutes; so lower your pistols and listen to what I have to say to the lady."
"To Geneviève?" said the Chevalier.
"To me?" murmured the young woman.
"Yes, to you."
Geneviève, pale as a statue, seized Maurice's arm; but he repulsed her coldly.
"You know what you affirmed, Madame," said Maurice, with profound contempt. "I now see that you told the truth. You indeed do not love Monsieur Morand."
"Maurice! hear me," said Geneviève.
"I have nothing to hear, Madame; you have severed with a single stroke every cord that united my heart with your own. You told me you did not love Morand, but you did not tell me you loved another."
"Sir," said the Chevalier, "what say you of Morand; or rather of what Morand do you speak?"
"Of Morand the chemist."
"Morand the chemist stands before you. Morand the chemist is the Chevalier de Maison-Rouge."
And extending his hand toward the table, he in an instant resumed the black wig which for so long a period had concealed him from the young Republican.
"Ah, yes," said he, with redoubled disdain,—"yes, I understand. It is not Morand that you love, since Morand does not exist; but the subterfuge, for all its acuteness, is none the less contemptible."
The Chevalier made a threatening movement.
"Sir," said Maurice, "permit me to speak a moment with the lady; join in the conversation if you like; it will not be long, I assure you."
Geneviève, with a gesture, asked Maison-Rouge to have patience.
"Thus, Geneviève, thus," continued Maurice, "you have made me a laughing-stock to my friends and a curse to my party. You have rendered me, blind fool that I was, an instrument in all your plots and an easy tool in your hands. Listen! It was an infamous deed; but you will be punished, Madame, for in five minutes this man, who is going to kill me before your eyes, will be lying dead at your feet; or if his life be spared, it will only be to lose his head upon the scaffold."
"He die!" cried Geneviève; "he lose his head upon the scaffold! But you do not know then, Maurice, thathe is my protector, and that of my family; that I will give my life for his; that if he dies I will die; and that if you are my love, he is my religion!"