The Outburst
"Monsieur le Marquis," M. du Tillet exclaimed, hurrying into the
salon, in which the marquis with his family were sitting, on the
evening of the 21st of August, "I hear that it is rumoured in the
street that all the members of noble families are to be arrested."
The room was lit up as if to receive company, but the crowd which
had thronged it a fortnight before were gone. The Girondists had
first withdrawn, then the nobles had begun to fall off, for it had
become dangerous for them to show themselves in the streets, where
they were liable to be insulted and attacked by the mob. Moreover,
any meeting of known Royalists was regarded with suspicion by the
authorities, and so gradually the gatherings had become smaller
and smaller.
The only constant visitor now was the Count de Gisons, but he
to-night was absent. The news was not unexpected. The violence of
the extremists of the Mountain had been increasing daily. At the
Cordeliers and Jacobin Clubs, Danton, Robespierre, and Marat had
thundered nightly their denunciations against the aristocrats, and
it was certain that at any moment the order for their arrest might
be given. Such bad news had been received of the state of feeling
in the provinces, that it was felt that it would be more dangerous
to send the young ones away than to retain them in Paris, and the
marquise had been a prey to the liveliest anxiety respecting her
children. It seemed impossible that there could be any animosity
against them, but the blind rage of the mob had risen to such a
height that it was impossible to say what might happen. Now that
she heard the blow was about to fall she drew her younger girls
instinctively to her, as if to protect them, but no word passed
her lips.
"It might still be possible to fly," M. du Tillet went on. "We have
all the disguises in readiness."
"A Marquis de St. Caux does not fly from the canaille of Paris,"
the marquis said quietly. "No, Du Tillet; the king and queen are
in prison, and it is not for their friends to leave their post here
in Paris because danger threatens them; come when they may, these
wretches will find us here ready for them."
"But the children, Edouard!" the marquise murmured.
"I shall stand by my father's side," Ernest said firmly.
"I do not doubt your courage, my son. I wish now that I had long
ago sent you all across the frontier; but who could have foreseen
that the people of France were about to become a horde of wild
beasts, animated by hate against all, old and young, in whose veins
ran noble blood. However, although it is the duty of your mother
and I to stay at our posts, it is our duty also to try and save
our house from destruction; therefore, Du Tillet, I commit my two
sons to your charge. Save them if you can, disguise them as you will,
and make for the frontier. Once there you know all the arrangements
we have already made."
"But, father," Ernest remonstrated.
"I can listen to no argument, Ernest," the marquis said firmly.
"In this respect my will is law. I know what your feelings are,
but you must set them aside, they must give way to the necessity
of saving one of the oldest families of France from perishing."
"And the girls?" the marquise asked, as Ernest bent his head in
sign of obedience to his father's orders.
"I cannot think," the marquis said, "that they will be included in
the order for our arrest. They must go, as arranged, in the morning
to the house of our old servant and remain quietly there awaiting
the course of events. They will pass very well as three of her
nieces who have arrived from the country. You had better send a
trusty servant to prepare her for their coming. You, Harry, will,
of course, accompany my sons.
"Pardon, marquis," Harry said quietly, "I am firmly resolved to
stay in Paris. I may be of assistance to your daughters, and there
will be no danger to me in remaining, for I have no noble blood in
my veins. Besides, my travelling with M. du Tillet would add to
his danger. He will have difficulty enough in traversing the country
with two boys; a third would add to that difficulty."
"I cannot help that," the marquis said. "I ought long ago to have
sent you home, and feel that I have acted wrongly in allowing you
to remain so long. I must insist upon your accompanying my sons."
"I am sorry to disobey you, monsieur le marquis," Harry said quietly
but firmly; "but from the moment of your arrest I shall be my own
master and can dispose of my actions. I am deeply sensible of all
your goodness to me, but I cannot yield, for I feel that I may be
of some slight use here. There are so many strangers in Paris that
there is little fear of my attracting any notice. A mouse may help
a lion, monsieur, and it may be that though but a boy I may be able
to be of service to mesdemoiselles."
"Do not urge him further, Edouard," the marquise said, laying a
hand on her husband's arm as he was again about to speak. "Harry
is brave and thoughtful beyond his years, and it will be somewhat
of a comfort to me to think that there is some one watching over
our girls. I thank you, Harry, for your offer, and feel sure that
you will do all that can possibly be done to protect my girls. You
will be freer to do so than any of our friends, for they are likely
to become involved in our fate, whatever that may be. Marie, you
will view our English friend as joint guardian with yourself over
your sisters. Consult him should difficulty or danger arise as if
he were your brother, and be guided by his advice. And now, girls,
come with me to my room, I have much to say to you.
"I am glad my wife decided as she did, Harry," the marquis said,
putting his hand on his shoulder when his wife and daughters left
the room, "for I too shall feel comfort in knowing that you are
watching over the girls. Now leave us, for I have much to arrange
with Monsieur du Tillet."
After a prolonged talk with M. du Tillet the marquis sent for
Ernest. As soon as he entered the lad said:
"Of course, sir, I shall obey your commands; but it seems to me an
unworthy part for your son to play, to be flying the country and
leaving a stranger here to look after your daughters."
"He is hardly a stranger, Ernest," the marquis replied. "He has been
with us as one of the family for two years, and he risked his life
for your sisters. You could not stay here without extreme risk, for
if your name is not already included in the warrant for arrest it
speedily will be so, and when they once taste blood these wolves
will hunt down every one of us. He, on the other hand, might proceed
openly through the streets without danger; nevertheless, I would
not have kept him if he would have gone; but I have no power
of controlling him, and as he chooses to devote himself to us I
thankfully accept his devotion.
"And now, my son, it may be that after our parting to-morrow we
shall not meet again, for God alone knows what fate is in store for
us. I have, therefore, some serious advice to give you. If anything
happens to me, you will, I know, never forget that you are the
head of the family, and that the honour of a great name is in your
keeping; but do not try to strive against the inevitable. Adapt
yourself to the new circumstances under which you will be placed,
and lay aside that pride which has had much to do with the misfortunes
which are now befalling us.
"As to your sisters, Marie is already provided for, that is if
De Gisons is not included in the order for arrest. I have already
sent off a message to him to warn him; and as it has already been
arranged between us that while his father will stay and face whatever
will come, it is his duty, like yours, to escape the danger which
threatens our class, I trust that he will at once endeavour to
leave the country; but I imagine that he will stop in Paris until
some means are devised for getting your sisters away.
"As to the others, if you all reach England and settle down there
do not keep up the class distinctions which have prevailed here.
Marry your sisters to men who will protect and make them happy.
That these must be gentlemen goes without saying; but that is
sufficient. For example, if in future time a gentleman of the rank
of our English friend here, of whose character you can entirely
approve, asks for the hand of either of your younger sisters, do
not refuse it. Remember that such a suit would have the cordial
approval of your mother and myself."
A look of great surprise passed over Ernest's face. It had seemed
to him so much a matter of course that the ladies of his house should
marry into noble families that the idea of one of them being given
to a gentleman belonging to the professional class was surprising
indeed.
"Do you really mean, sir, that if my friend Harry were some day to
ask for Jeanne's hand you would approve of the match?"
"That is exactly what I do mean, Ernest. In the stormy times in
which we are living I could wish no better protector for her. Were
he a Frenchman, in the same position of life, I own that I might
view the matter in a different light; but, as I have said, in
England the distinction of classes is much less marked than here;
and, moreover, in England there is little fear of such an outbreak
of democracy as that which is destroying France."
A few minutes later Monsieur du Tillet entered with the clothes which
had been prepared for the boys. They were such as would be worn by
the sons of workmen; he himself was attired in a blue blouse and
trousers. Jules was aroused from the couch on which he had for the
last hour been asleep, and he and Ernest retired to dress themselves
in their new costume, M. du Tillet accompanying them to assist in
their toilet. Both boys had the greatest repugnance to the change,
and objected still further when M. du Tillet insisted it was
absolutely necessary that they should cut their hair and smear
their faces and hands with dirt.
"My dear Monsieur Ernest," he said, "it would be worse than useless
for you to assume that attire unless at the same time you assumed
the bearing and manners appropriate to it. In your own dress we
might for a short time walk the street without observation; but if
you sallied out in that blouse with your white hands and your head
thrown back, and a look of disdain and disgust on your face, the
first gamin who met you would cry out, 'There is an aristocrat in
disguise!'
"You must behave as if you were acting in a comedy. You are
representing a lad of the lower orders. You must try to imitate
his walk and manner. Shove your hands deep in your pockets, shuffle
your feet along carelessly; let your head roll about as if it were
uneasy on your neck, round your shoulders, and slouch your head
forward. As to you Jules, your role should be impertinence. Put
your cap on the wrong way; hold your nose in the air; pull your
short hair down over your forehead, and let some of it spurt
out through that hole in your cap. To be quite correct, you ought
to address jeering remarks to every respectable man and woman you
meet in the streets; but as you know nothing of Parisian slang,
you must hold your tongue. See how thoroughly I have got myself
up. You would take me for an idle out-of-elbows workman wherever
you met me. I do not like it; but, as I have to disguise myself,
I try to do it thoroughly."
It was, however, with a feeling of humiliation that the boys presented
themselves before the marquis. He looked at them scrutinizingly.
"You will do, my boys," he said gravely. "I should have passed
you in the street without knowing you. Now come in with me and say
good-bye to your mother and sisters. The sooner you are out of this
house the better, for there is no saying at what hour the agents
of the canaille may present themselves."
The parting was a sad one indeed, but it was over at last, and
Monsieur du Tillet hurried the two boys away as soon as their father
returned with them.
"God bless you, du Tillet!" the marquis said as he embraced his
friend. "Should aught happen to us, you will, I know, be a father
to them."
"Now, Harry," the marquis said when he had mastered the emotion
caused by the parting, which he felt might be a final one, "since
you have chosen to throw in your lot with ours, I will give you a
few instructions. In the first place, I have hidden under a plank
beneath my bed a bag containing a thousand crowns. It is the middle
plank. Count an even number from each leg and the centre one covers
the bag.
"You will find the plank is loose and that you can raise it easily
with a knife; but wax has been run in, and dust swept over it, so
that there is no fear of its being noticed by any who may pillage
the house, which they will doubtless do after we are arrested. I
have already sent an equal sum to Louise Moulin. Here is her address;
but it is possible that you may need money, and may be unable to
communicate with my daughters at her house; at any rate do you keep
the bag of money in your charge.
"You had best attire yourself at once in the oldest suit of clothes
you have got. My daughters will be ready in a few minutes. They are
already dressed, so that they can slip out at the back entrance.
Should we be disturbed before morning I shall place them under your
escort; for although I hope that all the servants are faithful, one
can answer for no one in these times. I would send them off now,
but that the sight of females moving through the streets at this
time of night would be likely to attract attention on the part of
drunken men, or of fellows returning from these rascally clubs,
which are the centre and focus of all the mischief that is going
on.
"I can give you no further advice. You must be guided by
circumstances. If, as I trust, the girls can live undisturbed and
unsuspected with their mother's old nurse, it were best that they
should remain there until the troubles are finally over, and France
comes to her senses again. If not, I must leave it to you to act for
the best. It is a great trust to place in the hands of a youth of
your age; but it is your own choosing, and we have every confidence
in you.
"I will do my best to deserve it, sir," Harry said quietly; "but I
trust that you and madame la marquise will soon be able to resume
your guardianship. I cannot believe that although just at present
the populace are excited to fury by agitators, they can in cold
blood intend to wreak their vengeance upon all the classes above
them."
"I hope you may be right," the marquis said; "but I fear that it
is not so. The people are mad so far. All that has been done has
in no way mitigated their sufferings, and they gladly follow the
preachings of the arch scoundrels of the Jacobin Club. I fear that
before all this is over France will be deluged with blood. And
now, when you have changed your clothes, lie down, ready to rise
at a moment's notice. Should you hear a tumult, run at once to
the long gallery. There my daughters will join you prepared for
flight. Lead them instantly to the back entrance, avoiding, if
possible, any observation from the domestics. As these sleep on
the floor above, and know nothing of the dangers which threaten us,
they will not awake so quickly, and I trust that you will be able
to get out without being seen by any of them. In that case, however
closely questioned no one will be able to afford a clue by which
you can be traced."
When he had changed his clothes Harry extinguished all the lights in
the salon, for the marquis had long before ordered all the servants
to retire to rest. Then he opened the window looking into the street
and took his place close to it. Sleep under the circumstances was
impossible.
As the hours passed he thought over the events of the last few
days. He was fully aware that the task he had undertaken might be
full of danger; but to a healthy and active English lad a spice of
danger is by no means a deterrent. He could, of course, have left
his employment before the family left their chateau; but after
his arrival in Paris it would have been difficult for him to have
traversed the country and crossed the frontier, and he thought that
the danger which he now ran was not much greater than would have
been entailed by such a step.
In the next place he was greatly attached to the family of the
marquis; and the orgies of the mob had filled him with such horror
and disgust that he would have risked much to save any unfortunate, even
a stranger, from their hands; and lastly, he felt the fascination
of the wild excitement of the times, and congratulated himself
that he should see and perhaps be an actor in the astonishing drama
which was occupying the attention of the whole civilized world.
As he sat there he arranged his own plans. After seeing his charge
in safety he would take a room in some quiet locality, alleging
that he was the clerk of a notary, and would, in the dress of one
of that class, or the attire of one of the lower orders, pass his
days in the streets, gathering every rumour and watching the course
of events.
Morning was just breaking when he heard the sound of many feet
coming along the street, and looking out saw a crowd of men with
torches, headed by two whose red scarfs showed them to be officials.
As they reached the entrance gate the men at the head of the
procession stopped. Harry at once darted away to the long gallery,
and as he did so, heard a loud knocking at the door.
Scarcely had he reached the gallery when a door at the further end
opened, and three figures, the tallest carrying a lamp, appeared.
The girls, too, had been keeping watch with their father and
mother. They were dressed in the attire of respectable peasant
girls. Virginie was weeping loudly, but the elder girls, although
their cheeks bore traces of many tears they had shed during the
night, restrained them now. When they reached Harry, the lad,
without a word, took the lamp from Marie's hand, and led the way
along the corridor and down the stairs towards the back of the
house.
Everything was quiet. The knocking, loud as it was, had not yet
aroused the servants, and, drawing the bolt quietly, and blowing
out the lamp, Harry led the way into the garden behind the house.
Then for a moment he paused. There was a sound of axes hewing down
the gate which led from the garden into the street behind.
"Quick, mesdemoiselles!" he said. "There is no time to lose."
He took they key out of the door, and closed and locked it after
him. Then throwing the key among the shrubs he took Virginie's hand,
and led the way rapidly towards the gate, which was fortunately a
strong one.
"In here, mesdemoiselles," he said to Marie, pointing to some shrubs
close to the gate. "They will rush straight to the house when the
gate gives way, and we will slip out quietly."
For nearly five minutes the gate, which was strongly bound with iron,
resisted the attack upon it. Then there was a crash, and a number
of men with torches, and armed with muskets and pikes, poured in.
Virginie was clinging to Marie, who, whispering to her to be calm
and brave, pressed the child closely to her, while Jeanne stood
quiet and still by the side of Harry, looking through the bushes.
Some twenty men entered, and a minute later there was the sound of
battering at the door through which the fugitives had sallied out.
"Now," Harry said, "let us be going." Emerging from the shelter, a
few steps took them to the gate, and stepping over the door, which
lay prostrate on the ground, they turned into the lane.
"Let us run," Harry said; "we must get out of this lane as soon as
possible. We are sure to have the mob here before long, and should
certainly be questioned."
They hurried down the lane, took the first turning away from the
house, and then slackened their pace. Presently they heard a number
of footsteps clattering on the pavement; but fortunately they
reached another turning before the party came up. They turned down
and stood up in a doorway till the footsteps had passed, and then
resumed their way.
"It is still too early for us to walk through the streets without
exciting attention," Harry said. "We had better make down to the
river and wait there till the town is quite astir."
In ten minutes they reached the river, and Harry found a seat for
them at the foot of a pile of timber, where they were partially
screened from observation. Hitherto the girls had not spoken a
word since they had issued from the house. Virginie was dazed and
frightened by the events of the night, and had hurried along almost
mechanically holding Marie's hand. Marie's brain was too full to
talk; her thoughts were with her father and mother and with her
absent lover. She wondered that he had not come to her in spite of
everything. Perhaps he was already a captive; perhaps, in obedience
to his father's orders, he was in hiding, waiting events. That
he could, even had his father commanded him, have left Paris as a
fugitive without coming to see her, did not even occur to her as
possible.
With these thoughts there was mingled a vague wonder at her own
position. A few weeks since petted and cared for as the eldest
daughter of one of the noblest families of France, now a fugitive
in the streets under the sole care of this English boy. She had,
the evening before, silently sided with Ernest. It had seemed to
her wrong that he should be sent away, and the assertion of Harry
that he intended to stay and watch over her and her sisters seemed
at once absurd and presumptuous; but she already felt that she had
been wrong in that opinion.
The decision and coolness with which he had at once taken the
command from the moment he met them in the gallery, and the quickness
with which he had seized the only mode of escape, had surprised
and dominated her. Her own impulse, when on opening the door she
heard the attack that was being made on the gate, was to draw back
instantly and return to the side of her parents, and it was due to
Harry only that she and her sisters had got safely away.
Hitherto, although after the incident of the mad dog she had exchanged
her former attitude of absolute indifference to one of cordiality
and friendliness, she had regarded him as a boy. Indeed she had
treated and considered him as being very much younger than Ernest,
and in some respects she had been justified in doing so, for in
his light-hearted fun, his love of active exercise, and his entire
absence of any assumption of age, he was far more boyish than
Ernest. But although her thoughts were too busy now to permit her
to analyse her feelings, she knew that she had been mistaken, and
felt a strange confidence in this lad who had so promptly and coolly
assumed the entire command of the party, and had piloted them with
such steady nerve through the danger.
As for Jeanne, she felt no surprise and but little alarm. Her
confidence in her protector was unbounded. Prompt and cool as he
was himself, she was ready on the instant to obey his orders, and
felt a certain sensation of pride at the manner in which her previous
confidence in him was being justified.
After placing the girls in their shelter Harry had left them and
stood leaning against the parapet of the quay as if carelessly
watching the water, but maintaining a vigilant look-out against
the approach of danger. The number of passers-by increased rapidly.
The washerwomen came down to the boats moored in the stream and
began their operation of banging the linen with wooden beaters.
Market-women came along with baskets, the hum and stir of life
everywhere commenced, and Paris was fairly awake.
Seeing that it was safe now to proceed, Harry returned to his
companions. He had scarcely glanced at them before, and now looked
approvingly at their disguises, to which the marquise had, during
the long hours of the night, devoted the most zealous attention.
Marie had been made to look much older than she was. A few dark
lines carefully traced on her forehead, at the corners of her eyes
and mouth, had added many years to her appearance, and she could
have passed, except to the closest observer, as the mother of
Virginie, whose dress was calculated to make her look even younger
than she was. The hands and faces of all three had been slightly
tinged with brown to give them a sun-burnt aspect in accordance
with their peasant dresses, and so complete was the transformation
that Harry could scarcely suppress a start of surprise as he looked
at the group.
"It would be safe now, mademoiselle," he said to Marie, "for us to
proceed. There are plenty of people about in the streets; but as
the news has, no doubt, already been spread that the daughters of
the Marquis de St. Caux had left the house before those charged
with their father's arrest arrived, it will be better for you not
to keep together. I would suggest that you should walk on with
Virginie. I will follow with Jeanne a hundred yards behind, so
that I can keep you in sight, and will come up if anyone should
accost you."
Marie at once rose, and taking the child's hand set out. They had
to traverse the greater part of Paris to reach their destination.
It was a trial for Marie, who had never before been in the streets
of Paris except with her mother and closely followed by two domestics,
and even then only through the quiet streets of a fashionable
quarter. However, she went steadily forward, tightly holding
Virginie's hand and trying to walk as if accustomed to them in the
thick heavy shoes which felt so strangely different to those which
she was in the habit of wearing.
From time to time she addressed an encouraging word to Virginie
as she felt her shrink as they approached groups of men lounging
outside the wine-shops, for there was but little work done in Paris,
and the men of the lower class spent their time in idleness, in
discussions of the events of the day, or in joining the mobs which,
under one pretext or another, kept the streets in an uproar.
Fortunately Marie knew the way perfectly and there was no occasion
for her to ask for directions, for she had frequently driven with
her mother to visit Louise Moulin. The latter occupied the upper
floor of a house in a quiet quarter near the fortifications in the
north-western part of the town. A message had been sent to her the
night before, and she was on the look-out for her visitors, but
she did not recognize them, and she uttered a cry of surprise as
Marie and Virginie entered the room.
"Is it you, mademoiselle?" she exclaimed in great surprise. "And
you, my little angel? My eyes must be getting old, indeed, that I
did not recognize you; but you are finely disguised. But where is
Mademoiselle Jeanne?"
"She will be here in a moment, Louise; she is just behind. But you
must not call me mademoiselle; you must remember that we are your
nieces Marie and Jeanne, and that you are our aunt Louise Moulin,
whom we have come to stay with."
"I shall remember in time," the old woman said. "I have been
talking about you to my neighbours for the last week, of how your
good father and mother have died, and how you were going to journey
to Paris under the charge of a neighbour, who was bringing a waggon
load of wine from Burgundy, and how you were going to look after
me and help me in the house since I am getting old and infirm, and
the young ones were to stop with me till they were old enough to
go out to service. Ah, here is Mademoiselle Jeanne!"
"Here is Jeanne," Marie corrected; "thank God we have all got here
safely. This, Louise, is a young English gentleman who is going to
remain in Paris at present, and to whom we are indebted for having
got us safely here."
"And your mother," Louise Moulin exclaimed, "the darling lamb
I nursed, what of her and your father? I fear, from the message I
got last night, that some danger threatens them."
"They have, I fear, been arrested by the sans culottes," Marie said
mournfully as she burst into tears, feeling, now that the strain
was over, the natural reaction after her efforts to be calm. For
her mother's sake she had held up to the last, and had tried to
make the parting as easy as possible.
"The wretches!" the old woman said, stamping her foot. "Old as I am
I feel that I could tear them to pieces. But there I am chattering
away, and you must be faint with hunger. I have a nice soup ready
on the fire, a plate of that will do good to you all. And you too,
monsieur, you will join us, I hope?"
Harry was nothing loth, for his appetite was always a healthy one.
When he had finished he said:
"Madame Moulin, I have been thinking that it would be an advantage
if you would take a lodging for me. If you would say that a youth
whose friends are known to you has arrived from Dijon, to make his
way in Paris, and they have asked you to seek a lodging for him;
it will seem less strange than if I went by myself. I should like
it to be near, so that you can come to me quickly should anything
out of the way occur. I should like to look in sometimes to see that
all is well. You could mention to your neighbours that I travelled
up with the same waggon with your nieces.
"I will do that willingly," the old woman said; "but first, my dears,
you must have some rest; come in here." And she led the way to the
next room. "There is a bed for you, Mademoiselle Marie, and one for
the two young ones. The room is not like what you are accustomed
to, but I dared not buy finer things, though I had plenty of money
from your mother to have furnished the rooms like a palace; but you
see it would have seemed strange to my neighbours; but, at least,
everything is clean and sweet."
Leaving the girls, who were worn out with weariness and anxiety,
to sleep, she rejoined Harry.
"Now, monsieur, I will do your business. It is a comfort to me to
feel that some one will be near of whom I can ask advice, for it is
a terrible responsibility for an old woman in such dreadful times
as these, when it seems to me that everyone has gone mad at once.
What sort of a chamber do you want?"
"Quite a small one," Harry answered, "just such a chamber as a
young clerk on the look-out for employment and with his pocket very
slenderly lined, would desire."
"I know just such a one," the old woman said. "It is a house a
few doors away and has been tenanted by a friend of mine, a young
workwoman, who was married four days ago--it is a quiet place,
and the people keep to themselves, and do not trouble about their
neighbours' affairs."
"That will just suit me," Harry said. "I suppose there is no porter
below, so that I can go in or out without being noticed."
"Oh, we have no porters in this quarter, and you can go in and out
as you like."
Half an hour later the matter was settled, and Harry was installed
in his apartment, which was a little room scantily furnished, at
the top of the house, the window looking into the street in front.