DR. LEGRAND'S ASYLUM
The Rue Charonne was a long street extending toward the outer limits of
the city, and while at one end, near the Chat Rouge Tavern, it was a
busy thoroughfare with crowded Streets on either side of it, at the
other end it was quiet, and almost deserted in the evenings. The houses
were less closely packed, and there were walls which trees overhung,
telling of pleasant and shady gardens.
Behind such a wall the passer-by had a glimpse of the upper windows and
steep roof of a house of considerable size. On one side of it stretched
a garden, on the other some outbuildings joined it to another house
which had nothing to do with it, but was one of a block of rather old
houses which faced the street.
This house, in its pleasant garden, was, as every one knew, a private
asylum and sanatorium conducted by Dr. Legrand. He had come there half a
dozen years ago, and for some time there had been only a few inmates,
not dangerously insane, but unfit to be at large, and two or three
others who had retired into this retreat to end their days in peace. In
the last few months, however, the number of residents had vastly
increased. Certainly every room in the house must be occupied, the
larger rooms probably divided into two or three, the neighbors argued,
and most of the inmates did not appear to be insane. It was not a time
to busy one's self about other people's affairs, it was much safer
neither to gossip nor to listen to gossip; so to many persons the riddle
of Monsieur Legrand's sudden prosperity remained unsolved.
Yet many people understood the riddle, and were not slow to profit by
it. This house, although one of the best known, was not the only one of
its kind to be found in Paris. Legrand was a man of business as well as
a doctor, a better man of business than he was a doctor, and perceived,
almost by a stroke of genius, how he might profit by the Revolution. To
many a revolutionary leader gold was better than the head of an
aristocrat, although by that curious twist of conscience which men can
so easily contrive for themselves, direct bribery was not to be thought
of. Dr. Legrand seemed to thoroughly understand this twisted and
diseased conscience, and had a remedy to offer. What persuasion he used,
what proportion of his exorbitant fees found its way into other pockets,
cannot be said, it was a secret he locked up in his own soul, but it
soon became known that aristocrats, fortunate enough to be prisoners in
this house in the Rue Charonne, were safe so long as the fees were paid.
The agents of the Public Prosecutor never came there for food for the
guillotine. If the fees were not paid, it invariably meant that some ill
turn of fortune, which Legrand was quite unable to explain, necessitated
the speedy removal of the delinquent to the Abbaye, to Sainte Pélagie,
or one of the other prisons where their days were almost certain to be
few.
A round-faced man, with generosity beaming in his eyes, was Dr. Legrand.
His prisoners, or guests as he preferred to call them, were free to
roam the house or the grounds at their will; if the table he kept was
not liberal, a certain etiquette was indulged in which did something to
cover the parsimony, and the insane inmates who remained in the house
were pushed out of the way into odd corners as much as possible.
Into the doctor's study one morning there had come a man and a woman.
"I have come as arranged," said the man. "This is the lady."
Legrand bowed low, and appeared to overflow with benevolence.
"I am happy to welcome such a guest," he said. "There are certain
formalities, and then you are as safe, mademoiselle, as you could be at
Beauvais."
So it was that Mademoiselle St. Clair came to be a guest at the house in
the Rue Charonne, brought there for safety by Lucien Bruslart. She had
been there a week when, not far away, Richard Barrington had been
obliged to run for his life, and with the help of a man, whose identity
the dark entry concealed, had jumped into safety. Of this she knew
nothing; she was as ignorant of what was passing in the city as though
hundreds of miles separated her from it. Lucien had found her a safe
retreat, and the time was not so heavy on her hands as she had expected.
Although she chanced upon no intimate friends in Dr. Legrand's house,
she met several acquaintances, men and women she had known something of
before the flight to Beauvais. They had much to talk of in the day, and
in the evenings they sang and danced. If care was heavy upon some of
them, smiling faces were made to mask the fact. Saturday was a day of
apprehension, a day of which the ending was greeted with a sigh of
relief. It was the day for paying fees. Some the inmates paid their own,
their purses refilled by friends who were free; the fees of many were
paid direct to the doctor by their friends. This was the arrangement in
Mademoiselle St. Clair's case. Lucien had told her that it would be the
most satisfactory way, and she had given him power to draw on her money
for the purpose. He had a special agreement with Legrand, he said, for
Jeanne was there on a different footing from the other guests. He hinted
too that Legrand was under such obligations to him that any favor he
asked was practically a command. It was not until the second Saturday
had passed that Jeanne understood all that the payment of these fees
meant. At the table that night there were two empty places, a man's and
a woman's. She asked her neighbor, an elderly Abbé, who had lived well
all his life until he came to the Rue Charonne and was forever grumbling
at the extortion practiced, what had become of them.
"Removed to another prison, mademoiselle. I did not hear which."
"But why?"
"They could not afford to remain here. They are not the first I have
seen made bankrupt by Legrand."
"Ah! this hateful revolution!"
"It will end, mademoiselle. Already the dogs begin to tear one another,
and when that happens, the quarry escapes."
"It will end, yes; but when? How long?"
"Before our purses run dry, I trust, mademoiselle," answered the Abbé,
with a smile.
Jeanne had no fear for her own safety, but great compassion for others.
She began to hate the smiling face of Dr. Legrand. She heard something
of the enormous sums he charged, and wondered what Lucien was paying for
her, and how long he would have to pay it. He had said that at least a
month must elapse before it would be safe to make an attempt to leave
Paris. Unfortunately, he had to think of his own safety as well as hers.
Poor Lucien! She had braved Paris to help him, and her presence in the
city had only added to his difficulty and danger. What was he doing day
by day to end it all? Was Monsieur Barrington helping him? Lucien would
be foolish not to accept the help of such a man, so brave, so full of
resource, so----
These thoughts concerning Richard Barrington made Jeanne start a little.
She was suddenly conscious that she was comparing the two men, and that
one seemed to take hold of her, hurry her along, as it were, and absorb
her attention, until she could only bring her thoughts back to the other
with an effort. Barrington stood out clear and distinct, definite in
word and action, knowing what he intended to do and doing it without
thinking of failure; Lucien was a shadow in comparison, indistinct,
waiting rather than acting. Barrington would have made an attempt to get
her out of Paris before this, and Jeanne was convinced that she would
have gone without fear. If the enterprise had failed, it would have been
a splendid failure. Lucien had not made the attempt. She did not blame
him, his nature was to exercise greater caution, and when he did move,
perhaps the chances of success would be greater; yet she knew that with
Lucien she would feel greater responsibility, feel that she was obliged
to protect him almost as much as he protected her. Lucien would ask her
advice and be guided by it; Barrington would tell her what to do and be
angry if she did not obey at once.
"It is my love which makes the difference," she told herself. "A woman
must exercise protection over the man she loves. In the love of all good
women there is the mother instinct. That is the reason why I feel like
this toward Lucien." And then she thought of how she had passed the
barrier with Barrington and his servant Seth. It seemed a mad scheme,
yet it had succeeded. And Lucien had asked her whether this man was to
be trusted!
So the days passed, much dreaming in them for want of other employment.
It was sometimes too cold and wet to walk much in the garden, and the
sense of confinement within high walls was depressing. Not always could
cards or music dispel the anxiety which these guests had to endure, and
Jeanne, with all her bravery, had hard work to keep her tears back at
times. She had been at the house in the Rue Charonne a month when Marie,
a maid of all work in the establishment, came to her one morning, a
frightened look in her face and evidences of tears in her eyes. Marie
was generally assumed to be of rather weak intellect, chiefly perhaps
because she made no complaint against the drudgery of her life, and
because, unlike the other servants, she did not copy the rapacity of the
master and extort fees at every opportunity. She was especially attached
to Mademoiselle St. Clair, who had in times past befriended her aged
mother, and she had endeavored to repay the debt by special devotion to
her, and, when they chanced to be alone, by a loquacity which was
intended to be encouraging. Her present doleful appearance was therefore
the more surprising.
"What is the matter, Marie?" Jeanne asked.
"The doctor wants to see you in his study."
"I wasn't thinking of your message, but of your appearance. You have
been crying."
"Yes, that's the reason," Marie answered. "The master wants to see you,
and it's Saturday morning."
Jeanne had forgotten the day, and the information, coupled with the
message, startled her for a moment.
"There is no need to be afraid, Marie," she said quietly.
"I know you're brave, you couldn't be anything else," returned the girl,
"but I know what Saturday morning in that study means. Mademoiselle,
I'll do anything I can. No one takes any notice of me. I can slip out of
the house almost any time I like."
"Thank you, Marie. I will not forget."
In spite of the servant girl's pessimistic view, Jeanne had little
apprehension as she went to the doctor's study, and Legrand's method of
receiving her was reassuring. He rose, bowed low and placed a chair for
her. He spoke of the pleasant crispness in the air, of the little dance
which had taken place in the salon on the previous night.
"Even the Abbé was persuaded to a few steps," he laughed. "It was very
amusing."
"I am waiting to hear the business which necessitates my presence here,"
said Jeanne.
"Ah, mademoiselle, it is a painful matter; it pains me. There is no
remittance from Monsieur Bruslart this week. It has always come on
Friday night, but this is Saturday morning and it is still not here."
Jeanne did not answer for a moment.
"Of course there is some mistake," she said.
"I thought so," said Legrand. "It did not trouble me much last night,
but this morning--mademoiselle, I was so surprised that I called on
Monsieur Bruslart this morning. He has left Paris."
"Gone!"
"Leaving no word behind him, mademoiselle."
"It is more likely that he has been arrested," said Jeanne.
"I have inquired. He has not been arrested, but he would have been had
he remained."
"Are you suggesting that he has run away without a thought for me?"
"Mademoiselle, the most prominent members of my profession have little
knowledge of men's thoughts. Of the working of Monsieur Bruslart's mind
I know nothing; I only know that he has left Paris without sending
money."
"And the consequence to me?" asked Jeanne.
"That is what pains me," Legrand answered. "This house is secure only on
certain conditions, a peculiar arrangement in which I have personally
little influence. Some of my guests are ungracious enough to disbelieve
this. When the fees remain unpaid I have no choice in the matter. My
guest is removed elsewhere."
Jeanne showed not a trace of nervousness or alarm. The whirl of thoughts
and doubts in her brain caused the lines in her face to harden a little,
but there was no quiver in her eyes, no tremble in her voice.
"Is the money paid in advance?" she asked.
"Always, mademoiselle; that is one of the conditions."
"Then it is for the coming week that the money is due?"
"That is so."
"I do not know, Dr. Legrand, whether you are fully aware of Monsieur
Bruslart's position and my own?"
"I think so, mademoiselle. You were, I believe, to be man and wife."
His suggestion that such a thing was now impossible was not lost upon
Jeanne and was a little startling. Did he believe that Lucien Bruslart
was a scoundrel?
"Do you know that the fees paid to you by Lucien Bruslart are paid out
of my money?"
"Officially I only know that they are paid by a certain person, and I
ask no questions. Having some knowledge of Monsieur Bruslart's position,
I have imagined that the necessary money was supplied by you."
"I have only to authorize the banker who has funds of mine in hand to
pay the amount."
"Mademoiselle, I naturally thought of that. All that was necessary was a
form for your signature, so I called upon the banker. I regret to tell
you that he has no longer any funds of yours in hand. The whole amount
has been withdrawn."
"By whom?"
Legrand shrugged his shoulders.
"I do not know. If you wish me to make a guess, I should say by Lucien
Bruslart. You will know whether he had any document in his possession
giving him such power."
Jeanne knew that he had. She had trusted him fully. Even now she did not
jump to the hasty conclusion that he had betrayed that trust. There
might be a dozen good reasons why he had withdrawn the money; to save it
from being misappropriated by the State consequent on the banker's
possible arrest, or to spend carefully in arranging her escape. It was
probably an accident that the messenger had not arrived with the money
this week, and in preparation for escape it was quite likely that Lucien
might let it be understood that he had left Paris. He would not be
likely to confide in Monsieur Legrand. He would certainly not desert
her.
"Will you tell me the amount due for next week?" she asked.
The doctor took a paper from a drawer and handed it to her. She uttered
a sudden exclamation as she saw the amount.
"It is out of all reason," she said.
"Mademoiselle, the security offered by this house may be said to be out
of all reason too."
"If this is paid, I remain a guest for another week?"
"Until next Saturday."
Jeanne took her purse and counted out the money. She had little left
when it was done.
"Count it, Dr. Legrand, and give me the receipt."
His eyes beamed as he counted and found the sum correct.
"I am happy again," he said. "So much may happen in a week. I assure
you, mademoiselle, your ability to pay lifts years from my shoulders."
"Yes, monsieur, I have bought a long respite," Jeanne said, rising as
she took the receipt. "I doubt not much will happen in a week."
As she went out and closed the door, Legrand placed the money in a
drawer which he locked.
"It was a warning," he muttered, "and she has robbed me of seeming
generous by promising to give her a week free of cost. She must have
touched me in some way, or I should never have thought of giving her
such a warning. It was a fortunate idea. Had I left it until next
Saturday she would have been able to pay for another week, and I should
have been obliged to hunt for a pretext for refusing her money. She must
be removed elsewhere next Saturday. My little consideration, my wish to
prepare her, has turned out well; besides, I have received double fees
for this coming week. I cannot complain."
Alone in her own room, Jeanne nearly broke down. The strain of the
interview and all that it implied left her with little strength to fight
the despair that settled upon her. Yet she held back the tears that
threatened, and fought back the disposition to fling herself upon the
mean little bed and give way to her grief. A week! Only a week! She had
bought it at an enormous price and every hour in it was of immense
value. If Lucien Bruslart were a traitor, she had still one friend in
Paris. She was as sure of this as of the emblematic meaning of the small
crucifix which she had hung above her bed. She must act. There was no
time to give way to despair.
On scraps of paper she wrote a long letter, telling the whole history of
the house in the Rue Charonne, how she came to be there, and the peril
she was in. She sealed it, and then waited until she could get Marie
alone.
"Marie, you promised to help me."
"I meant it. What can I do, mademoiselle?"
Jeanne gave the girl minute instructions for finding the house in which
the Marquis de Lafayette had his apartment, and Marie showed little sign
of weak-mindedness as she listened.
"I know the house, mademoiselle."
"Go there, say you come from me and ask to see him. Give him this letter
and ask him to see that it is safely delivered."
"And if he is away, mademoiselle?"
"Then ask his servant to tell you where the man to whom this letter is
addressed lives."
"And if he does not know?"
"Ah, Marie, I cannot tell what you are to do then. Take the letter, hide
it away. Heaven grant it reaches its destination."
Marie stood with the letter in her hand.
"Who's it to? I cannot read, mademoiselle, but if I know the name, I may
find him even if the servant doesn't know."
"It is addressed to Monsieur Richard Barrington," said Jeanne.
The girl put the letter into her pocket, and patted her dress to
emphasize the security of the hiding-place.
"I'll go to-morrow. I have a holiday all day; that gives me plenty of
time to find the man who loves mademoiselle. Richard Barrington; I shall
not forget the name."
"Not my lover, Marie."
"Ah, mademoiselle, why pretend with me? Yours is not the first secret I
have kept."