CHAPTER XTHE STAR
THE night in its pale glory passed, and the morning dawned as fair as if the world were freshly made. The duke waited until seven o’clock for Trimousette to wake; she had slept like an infant since midnight. Then he went and roused her. She arose and dressed quickly, and began those preparations which even the poorest prisoner makes before leaving the world. There were some books to be disposed of and a few clothes, and the pot with thegeranium, now bearing three splendid scarlet flowers.
“It is well you have no shoes to leave, except what you are wearing, for there is no woman’s foot in France small enough for your shoes,” said the duke, with an air of compliment, and Trimousette nodded almost gayly.
At nine o’clock Duval came to them. The duke was calmly writing at his table, and Trimousette was smoothing out her white gown upon the bed.
“Ah, Monsieur Duval,” she cried cheerfully, “we have decided to make you our executor. The duke means to leave you his pen and these books. You can sell the books for ten francs perhaps. My clothes are few and very shabby, but you may have a daughter or perhaps a niece whom they will fit, so pray take them. Also, I give you my geranium, but I shall pluck the blossoms—one for the duke to wear to the Place de la Révolution,one for myself, and one for the little Vicomte d’Aronda.”
“Thank you, madame,” replied Duval gruffly. “I—I—have not yet told the boy. I don’t know how he will take it.”
“Have no fear. His name is d’Aronda,” said the duke, looking up from his writing.
At noon the great doors clanged open, and the prisoners, marching out, saw the list of the condemned posted up in the vast, gloomy archway. The list, which was long, was headed with the name of the King’s sister, the gentle and pious Elizabeth. Next came the names of Citizen and Citizeness Belgarde, and the twenty-fourth and last name was that of Louis Frédéric d’Aronda.
At this noontime, as on any other, Trimousette and the duke walked in the garden. They wished to say good-by to their friends among their fellow prisoners, a brave custom, rarely omitted. As the duke and Trimousette passed out into the gloomy corridor, theysaw, standing before the posted list in the archway, the little vicomte, quite smiling and composed.
“It is a great honor,” he said, bowing low with boyish bravado, “to go with the King’s sister, and also an honor to go with the Duke and Duchess of Belgarde.”
“Death is nothing,” cried the duke debonairly, laying his hand on the lad’s shoulder. “I have faced him a hundred times in fight, and if you look him straight in the eye and advance upon him, he grows quite amiable to look at.”
“So my father always said,” replied the boy, “and none of my family, monsieur, knew fear. Even my sister, only twenty, was as cool as any soldier, and surely a gentleman cannot let his sister surpass him in valor. Oh, if I die bravely, my father will praise me, and my mother will smile upon me, and so will my sister when we meet; and if I show the white feather, I should be afraid to face them.”
“You shall go in the cart with us,” said Trimousette, “and we will tell Madame Elizabeth that you are a brave boy, a real d’Aronda.”
That day, too, was bright and cloudless, and one of the most peaceful Trimousette ever spent.
At six o’clock there resounded through the great stone corridors of the prison a loud, echoing voice, calling the condemned to appear, and at the same moment the tumbrils rattled into the courtyard. Duval unlocked the doors of the cells, and the Duke and Duchess of Belgarde came forth, and at the same moment the little vicomte appeared. He had made as much of a toilet as he could, and carried carefully in his hand a new, though coarse, white handkerchief.
Trimousette wore upon the breast of her white gown a vivid red geranium blossom, and another blazed upon the lapel of the duke’s threadbare brocade coat. The thirdblossom Trimousette pinned upon the little vicomte’s breast, and he kissed her hand for it.
Once in the courtyard, the guards objected to the boy going in the same cart with Trimousette and her husband—the cart would be too heavy.
“But he is so small—he takes up so little room,” urged Trimousette, with soft pleading in her eyes. And then, the lad, without waiting for permission, jumped into the cart and folded his arms defiantly, as much as to say:
“Turn me out if you dare.”
They allowed him to remain.
There were twelve tumbrils in all for the twenty-four condemned persons. The very last to appear was a gentle, middle-aged lady, the dead King’s sister, Madame Elizabeth. Each of the condemned persons made her a low bow, the little vicomte scrambling out of the cart to make his reverence. The eyes of Madame Elizabeth grew troubled as she looked at the lad; the women and men coulddie, but the little lads—ah, it was too hard! The Duke of Belgarde, as the man of highest rank present, had the honor of assisting Madame Elizabeth into the cart, for which she thanked him sweetly. Her hands were the first tied, the guards knowing well she would make no resistance, and that the rest would do as the King’s sister did. When it came to the duke’s turn, he said:
“Will you kindly permit me to assist madame, my wife, into the cart first? Then I shall submit willingly.”
The ruffian in attendance assented with a grin, and the duke gallantly helped Trimousette into the tumbril, and then putting his hands behind his back, they were tied, after which he jumped lightly in himself and cried:
“Drive on, coachman! Straight ahead, first turning to the right!”
The procession of the twelve carts moved. In one sat a solitary person, in another sat three, the Duke and Duchess de Belgarde andthe young Vicomte d’Aronda. The evening was as clear as crystal and the river, like a string of pearls, slipped softly from the green valley of the Seine, under the bridges, the statues looking down upon the silvery stream, past the palaces, in whose windows the sunset blazed blood red. The great city was still and breathless, as it always was when these strange processions started for the great open space where Madame Guillotine held her court. Toward the west, the sky turned from a flame of crimson to an ocean of golden light, and then to a splendor of pale purple and green and rose. Presently, a single palpitating star came out softly in the heavens, now dark blue, and shone with a veiled but steady brilliance, growing larger and brighter as the daylight waned. Trimousette, jolting along upon the rude plank laid crosswise the tumbril, leaned a little toward the duke, who, although pinioned, yet supported her as the cart rattled along the stony street. The boysat at her feet, his look fixed upon her face. He saw neither fear nor grief, but perfect peace. From Trimousette the lad turned his glance upon the duke, who had a cool and victorious eye even in that hour.
“I said a great many prayers last night,” said the boy, after a pause, “and so that business is finished. I leave all with God, as a gentleman should who treats God as if He were a gentleman and meant to keep His word to us.”
“He will keep His word to us,” answered Trimousette. The boy’s courage charmed her, and she thought, if long life had been given to her she would have wished for such a son as this Louis Frédéric d’Aronda.
“When first I was in prison I rehearsed this scene to myself and concluded there was nothing about it to keep a man awake at night,” said the duke. “I think with you, my young vicomte, if there is a God, He is a gentleman, and will treat us poor devils ofmortals fairly. Is not that true, Trimousette?”
“Quite true,” replied Trimousette.
So, with calm and peaceful talk, they made the journey, amid crowds of staring and agitated people, who packed the streets and made black the tops of the houses. A murmur of pity for the little vicomte, sitting in the bottom of the cart, and talking so cheerfully, swept over the multitude. The women in the throbbing crowds asked each other his name and sometimes broke into sobbing as he passed. This agitated compassion troubled the boy, and he said, with his lips trembling a little:
“I wish they would not say ‘Poor lad! Poor little boy!’ I am afraid it will make me weep, and that is what I should hate to do.”
“If you are a man, you will not weep,” answered the duke, who knew what chord to touch. “You should say to them: ‘Ladies, I would take off my hat to you if my hands were not tied.’”
The boy’s eyes sparkled; he loved to play the man and the gallant; so he spoke to the crowd as the duke had told him, and was innocently vain of his own coolness.
At last, the carts, jolting steadily onward, reached the vast clear space of the Place de la Révolution, crammed with people, and in the open place in the middle a great Thing, black and gaunt, reared itself high in the air. At the top a blade of blue steel blazed in the sunset glow.
The first to dismount from the carts was gentle Madame Elizabeth. She seated herself placidly on one of the twenty-four chairs ranged around in the circle. For the first time it was noted of this simple and kindly creature, once known as a Child of France, something majestic in her demeanor. She looked about her calmly, as much as to say: “It matters little to me, Elizabeth, a Daughter of France, what you may do.”
Another woman, who had also been meekall her life, showed a stateliness of bearing which might well become a duchess. This was Trimousette, Duchess of Belgarde. She was the next to alight, after Madame Elizabeth, and took her place of rank, next the royal princess, first making her a low curtsey, which the princess rose and returned. Each lady present made two curtseys to this royal lady and each man two bows, one on dismounting from the cart, and another before ascending the rude stairs to the platform where the glittering ax worked in its groove. The most graceful bow of all was made by the Duke of Belgarde; the most debonair by the Vicomte d’Aronda.
The condemned persons passed in the order of their rank; those of the lowest rank going first. The little vicomte being last of all, except the Duke and Duchess of Belgarde, passed before the royal lady, sitting still and stately in her rough wooden chair. Twenty persons mounted the stairs to the platform,and twenty times the ax flashed up and down in its groove. From the surging multitudes around came occasionally gaspings and sobbings, and even sometimes a wild shriek cut the twilight air. But not one sob or shriek came from those who went to their death, each passing bravely and silently.
The twenty-first name to be called was that of Citizen d’Aronda, and the little vicomte, standing up, cried:
“I am here—Louis Frédéric, Vicomte d’Aronda!”
He went first to Trimousette and kneeled to kiss her hand.
“Au revoir, madame,” he cried; “we meet again shortly, but meanwhile I shall have seen madame, my mother.”
“Yes, we shall meet soon, and in the greatest happiness,” answered Trimousette. Her voice trembled a little—she had been less brave about the boy than about anything else. And the duke called out in a pleasantvoice, just as if the lad were a full-grown man:
“Au revoir, my comrade!”
The vicomte made his reverence to Madame Elizabeth, who rose and returned it as if the lad were a Marshal of France. In another minute he was springing up the wooden steps, and some women in the crowd began weeping loudly, but were soon quieted by the rude words and blows of the guards. Trimousette did not see what happened next. Her eyes were fixed upon the west, in which the single star was growing more beautifully brilliant every moment.
Then it became the turn of Citizen Belgarde, once known as the Duke of Belgarde. He knelt and kissed Trimousette’s hand and rose and kissed her cheek, saying with a smile:
“I believe with the little lad that God is a gentleman, and has not brought us together only to tear us apart.”
Trimousette answered with the sweet,bright smile which had only been hers since her honeymoon began:
“It is a good belief. Wait for me there,” and pointed toward the star, now shining large and bright in the purple heavens.
Nevertheless, she turned away her head, and two warm tears ran down her cheeks. Most men die as they have lived, and so did Fernand, Duke of Belgarde. After making his reverence to Madame Elizabeth, the duke walked up the rude stairs coolly, his steady tread resounding loudly. Then he shouted out:
“Long live the King!”
There was a sudden crash, some movement and commotion on the scaffold. Then all was over in this world for the Duke of Belgarde, and but little remained for the wife who had ever loved him better than her life.
Trimousette rose quickly, made her reverence to Madame Elizabeth, and when her name was called she was already standing at the foot of the wooden steps.
Every man who looked at Trimousette wished to help her; even one of the guards, seeing how small and slight she was, would have assisted her, but she said to him with a kind of gentle haughtiness:
“I thank you, monsieur, but I do not need your help.”
The executioner tore the white fichu from her neck, leaving its unsunned beauty exposed to the gaze of thousands of eyes. Trimousette’s black eyes flashed, and a deep red blush flooded her face and milk-white neck. She turned for one moment toward the star trembling in the western sky, and then, with a glorified face, laid her dark head upon the wooden block, and passed smiling into the Great Silence.