AN APPEAL TO FRIENDSHIP
Raymond Latour was a busy man, he seldom missed attending the meetings
of the Convention, and was assiduous in his work upon the various
committees of public instruction, domains, liquidation and finance. It
was therefore past noon on the following day when Sabatier found him and
related what had occurred at the wine shop on the previous evening.
"Citizen Bruslart is no coward," concluded Sabatier, as though he
considered even grudging praise from a man like himself conferred
distinction upon the recipient. "When he entered, every patriot there
was ready to fly at his throat, yet before the evening was ended he was
a hero."
"He must still be watched," said Latour. "I have always told you that he
was clever."
"He would be safer arrested, citizen. Indeed, is it not almost certain
that he will be since this aristocrat was found in his apartment?"
"He has wasted no time," Latour answered. "Quite early this morning he
saw certain members of the Convention and explained matters. It was the
same story as he told in the wine shop, and he was believed."
"Do you believe him?" Sabatier asked.
The smile upon Latour's face suggested that he had no great faith in
any one, that it was a sign of weakness to trust any man fully, and
folly to express an opinion on such a subject.
"For all his professions of innocence a word would suffice to have him
arrested," said Sabatier.
"It is the very last word I want spoken," Latour answered. "As you know,
I have a personal interest in this affair. Citizen Bruslart is one of
the cards in the game I play. Such a card in the hand is not to be
carelessly thrown away, for there will surely come a time when it will
be played with effect. Until then, Sabatier, make it your business to
believe in Citizen Bruslart's patriotism, discourage as much as you can
any questioning of it among those with whom you come in contact. Twice
already to-day I have been loud in his praises. For the present he is
safe, and we can watch him easily."
Perhaps Latour trusted Sabatier more fully than he did any of the others
who served him, and there were many. He was farseeing enough to
understand that popularity only was not sufficient security, that with
the conflicting and changing interests which ruled Paris and the
country, the friends of to-day might easily become the enemies of
to-morrow. It was necessary to obtain some stronger hold upon the fickle
populace, a security which was rooted in fear and ignorance of the
extent of his power and knowledge. He had been careful, therefore, that
the interests of those who served him should not be identical, that
their individual importance should lie in different directions, in
various quarters of the city and among different sections of the
revolutionists whose aims and views were in many ways opposed to one
another. The result was that Latour's power was appreciated on all
sides, yet only imperfectly understood, and in the Convention he passed
for something of an enigma, yet a man who was far safer as a friend than
as an enemy. These confederates of his had one thing in common, however;
all of them were beholden to Raymond Latour. He held some secret
concerning each one of them; their lives, or at least their well-being,
were in his hands; no one of them had his full confidence, and they
could not afford either to deceive or betray him. His position was as
secure as any man's in Paris. That he had enemies he knew, but they dare
not strike; that he was watched he did not doubt, but the fact did not
trouble him. Yet, at this juncture of his schemes, the espionage of one
person who dogged his footsteps might have made him apprehensive had he
known of it.
Seth, a hunter and trapper by nature, the son and grandson of men who
for their own safety had to be trained in the subtle methods of the
Indian, who himself had had no small experience in this respect, and
easily followed a trail which was no trail to ordinary eyes, found
little difficulty in watching Latour's movements. Barrington had taken
Seth to the Rue Valette last night, and from the shadow on the opposite
side of the street had pointed out Latour to him. Seth had followed
Latour to the Abbaye prison, had seen him call Mathon from the
neighboring wine shop, and before he slept Barrington had received the
information. That Latour should go so promptly to this particular prison
was at least surprising. He might have business there which had nothing
to do with Jeanne St. Clair, he might still be in ignorance of the
identity of the occupant of that coach, but Barrington could not believe
this to be the case. He was much rather inclined to think with Lucien
Bruslart that Latour had had a part in her betrayal.
One thing was certain, he must make use of the friendship Latour had
offered him. There was danger in it no doubt, but Mademoiselle St.
Clair's life was at stake, so the danger counted for nothing. Moreover,
Barrington had papers in his possession to prove what his object was in
coming to France, and he had already thrown out the suggestion to Latour
that his reason in smuggling mademoiselle into Paris might have been a
sinister one; and since Latour must have enemies, there would at least
be some who would believe Barrington's statement that this deputy was
ready to plot on behalf of an aristocrat, that over his wine he had
confessed it. The struggle with Raymond Latour might be a more equal one
than it appeared on a first consideration.
Next morning he told Seth his plans. "First I shall see Monsieur
Bruslart early this afternoon as arranged. Unless he should have had
some extraordinary success last night, which is hardly to be expected, I
shall then go and see Latour."
"It may be only to walk into a den of lions," said Seth.
"Probably, but I am not altogether without means of taming them--and you
know, Seth, where I have gone. If I am missing, it will be your task to
find where I am, and if necessary, you must go to the Marquis de
Lafayette and tell him."
"You will have also told Monsieur Bruslart."
"I am not sure," Barrington answered. "It will depend on circumstances."
"I should be inclined to let circumstances prevent it," said Seth. "I
have not much faith in the help of a man who is so sure of his own
cleverness that he takes the woman he loves to the very place where a
child might know she would be in the greatest danger."
"I cannot understand that, I must confess, Seth."
"Well, Master Richard, I've always found it a good rule to have as
little as possible to do with people you don't understand."
It was wise advice, perhaps, but the fact that Barrington had accused
himself of entertaining a selfish hope that Lucien Bruslart was not a
worthy man inclined him to believe in him, to trust him. He had, indeed,
greater reason to do so now that grave suspicion was attached to Latour.
There was nothing of the despair of last night in Bruslart's manner
to-day when Barrington saw him. It had not been replaced by confidence,
but a dogged purpose was in his face, and a calm calculation in his
words.
"I have done something but not much," he said. "After leaving you last
evening, I fell in with a lot of patriots and I was quickly aware that I
was in greater danger than I had imagined. I had to think of myself, for
once my word is discredited, all my power to help mademoiselle is gone."
"Have you succeeded in re-establishing your credit?"
"I think so. I understand the mob and played to it. I had to lie of
course, lies are the chief currency in Paris to-day. I knew nothing of
mademoiselle's coming, I said; I did not even know the name of the
aristocrat who had been arrested in my apartment, and naturally, as a
true patriot I rejoiced at her arrest. I was considered a very fine
fellow before the evening was out."
"But mademoiselle was not helped much," said Barrington.
"Not at all. I could not move on her behalf until this morning. First I
have ascertained that her imprisonment in the Abbaye is so far
fortunate, since it means that there is no desire to bring her to trial
hurriedly. This gives us time. Then I have interviewed one or two
members of the Convention. I need not tell you, Monsieur Barrington,
that most of these men who are striving for individual power are afraid
of one another. Each one wants staunch supporters and is ready to pay
any price for them. It is worth while obtaining my support, so these men
listened earnestly to me. They are inclined to help me."
"How?" asked Barrington.
"It is too early to decide, but I am hoping that we shall be able to
show that mademoiselle was in Paris for a legitimate purpose, to help
the distress in the city, for example; something, at any rate, to make
the mob shout for her release. That way her prison doors would be
quickly opened. The respite might be short lived, but it would be long
enough. Then would come your part of the work, to see her safely back to
Beauvais."
"And what further steps can you take towards this end?"
"Careful ones," Bruslart answered. "First gain the interest of other
members of the Convention; secondly, let the reason for mademoiselle's
return gradually be known among the poor in the Faubourg St. Antoine,
and elsewhere. I can drop a spark or two in different directions, and
the mob is tow. The fire will spread."
"But if it does not?" asked Barrington.
"You are depressing, monsieur."
"I want to act."
"It must be with caution," said Bruslart, "and with deceit. We can make
no appeal to justice, because justice does not exist in Paris."
"I have nothing to say against your plans," Barrington returned. "I am
only wondering whether we cannot work in another direction as well, so
that if one way fail we may have the other to fall back on."
"You are still thinking of the power of gold."
"It seldom fails with such men as seem to be the rulers in Paris," said
Barrington.
"Perhaps not, but it would fail now. Power is more to these men than
gold. The one can be used and gloried in, evidence of the other would
only make the mob suspicious. Is there any other way you can suggest?"
Barrington was thoughtful for a moment, making up his mind whether he
should tell Lucien Bruslart of Latour's movements.
"No," he said slowly, "I have no other suggestion to make."
"I have every hope of success," said Bruslart, "but I am going to appear
discourteous, Monsieur Barrington. It is necessary that I shall be
considered a patriot of patriots, nothing must jeopardize such a
character at the present time. Now it is more than probable that there
are men in Paris who saw you at the barriers with mademoiselle, it would
be dangerous to my character if you were seen visiting me."
"I understand."
"And you forgive the seeming discourtesy?"
"There is nothing to forgive. The idea crossed my mind on the way here,
and I was cautious."
"Close to the Place du Carrousal," said Bruslart, "in a side street,
there is a wine shop, an iron sign representing three barrels hangs over
the door; if you could pass there every afternoon at four, I could find
you when I was ready for your help."
Barrington promised to make a habit of passing this place at four in the
afternoon and took his leave. He had hoped that Bruslart would have
accomplished more, but it was something that he had done so much. It was
absurd to feel any disappointment, in so short a time what more could he
have done? Yet Barrington walked rapidly and in the direction of the Rue
Valette. Bruslart had said nothing to alter his determination to see
Raymond Latour.
He saw nothing of Seth in the street, and hardly expected to find Latour
at home, but no sooner had he knocked than the door was opened and
Latour welcomed him. He locked the door again when Barrington had
entered.
"I am fond of study," he said, pointing to some open books on the table.
"And I disturb you?"
"No. I think I have almost been expecting you."
Barrington did not answer. It was necessary that he should get the
measure of this man, understand the working of his mind, see the
thoughts which were concealed behind his words. Barrington was as alert
as though rapiers were in their hands, and only the death of one of them
could satisfy the quarrel.
"Is it necessary for me to tell you that I guessed who you were
yesterday?" said Latour.
"No, I knew that."
"It was not until I returned here that I knew who was in that coach.
That is why I have been expecting you."
Barrington sat down, and with his elbows on the table supported his
chin in his hands. In this position he looked fixedly at his companion,
and neither of them spoke for a few moments. Then Latour sat down on the
opposite side of the table.
"I see how it is, Monsieur Barrington, you do not believe me. I am not
surprised. I am sufficiently well known in Paris for you to have
discovered, if you have taken the slightest trouble to inquire, that I
am a red republican, anathema to those who desire milder methods, a
bloodhound where aristocrats are concerned. Still, I did not know who
was in that coach any more than you did."
"If you had known?" asked Barrington.
"I should still have put out my hand to preserve your life."
"Are you quite sure of that?"
"Quite sure."
"You would not have rushed with me into that crowd, thinking of nothing
but the woman in the coach."
"What should make you think so?"
"You forget perhaps that you told me there was a woman, an aristocrat,
for whom you would do much," said Barrington.
"I do not forget, but the will to do much does not mean the will to die
for her."
"No? I think it did," Barrington returned. "I judged by the man's face,
not his words."
Latour smiled, as he closed the books upon the table and put them
together.
"You may be right," he said; "the temptation has not yet come to me. The
other idea that is in your mind is wrong. Mademoiselle St. Clair is not
the woman I am interested in."
"Then we start on level ground," said Barrington, "the ground which was
of your own suggesting--friendship. I do not believe my face is a
telltale one, but would you feel confident that I would do you a service
if I could?"
"Yes."
"Then, Monsieur Latour, what are you going to do to help me to save
Mademoiselle St. Clair?"
"The question is not unexpected," said Latour, after a pause. "I might
easily answer it with the bare statement that I could do nothing. It
would be true enough, for, in one sense, I am powerless; my conscience
would be clear because I should be acting up to my principles. But let
us consider the question for a moment. You are acting for Citizen Lucien
Bruslart."
"He does not know that I am here."
"I quite appreciate that you are not a man to trust any one implicitly
on so short an acquaintance, but you know perfectly well that to rescue
Mademoiselle St. Clair is to save her for Lucien Bruslart."
"And if it be so?"
"The enterprise does not much appeal to me," said Latour. "Let me be
more explicit than I was yesterday. I know Bruslart, not the man only
but the very soul of the man. It is black, monsieur, black as hell.
Mademoiselle had far better look through the little window than trust
such a man. The guillotine does its work quickly, but the misery of a
woman who trusts Lucien Bruslart must be the affair of a lifetime."
"If she is saved, is it so certain that it will be for Citizen
Bruslart?" Barrington asked.