"No. I cannot sleep; I cannot eat. I suffer. I am in a hell of
despair."
"But how, or why, _mon ami_?"
"I do not know. I suffer."
"Rouse up a bit. Why didst chance to come here? I asked thee that
before. If thou canst get out, go at once. Thou art not fit to be in
this place. This devil of a marquis excites thee. To be a spy thou
shouldst be ashamed. Canst thou really get out when it pleases thee to
go?"
"Why not?" said Pierre, in alarm. "Dost thou think they will not let me
go? I did not want to be a spy, but I was half starved. All I could
get I sent to keep my--his poor little hunchback. Vadier lent me some
money. I kept none, not a sou. I asked him to let me come here as a
spy. They say my reports are useless. I can't help that. I will go
out. I want to see that man suffer; I want to see him afraid. He is not
afraid. Dost thou think he is afraid?"
"No."
For a moment there was a pause, when Pierre, in a quiet, childlike
manner, said: "Dost thou think he ever will be afraid?"
"No, Pierre; he never will be. What a fool thou art to have come here!
'T is not so easy to get out."
"_Mon Dieu!_ don't say that. I--they said--"
"Dost thou believe a Jacobin--and Vadier, the beast, of all men?"
"Hush!" said Pierre, looking about him suspiciously. "I must go--I must
go. I must walk; I cannot keep still."
He remained in this mood of subdued terror and the deepest melancholy
for some days. Then for a few hours he followed the marquis about,
proclaiming his own wrongs in a high-pitched voice. At last Ste. Luce
complained to the keeper, Vaubertrand, who hesitated to interfere, being
puzzled and fearful as to the amount of influence possessed by this spy
of the Committee of Safety. He mustered enough courage at last to tell
Despard that he must not speak to the marquis; and, as he luckily caught
him in his mood of despair and depression, the man timidly promised to
obey.
*XXI*
_How Francois, having made a bargain with Citizen Amar, cannot keep it
with the man of the wart--How Despard dies in the place of the
marquis--Of Francois's escape from prison._
The second week of June was over. The keeper, who had taken a fancy to
the merry thief, called him aside one afternoon, and said:
"Thou must write thy report, because to-morrow comes Citizen Gregoire.
Thou canst use the office for an hour, as is permitted. But take care.
Thou dost know how they are treated in the prisons who are suspected of
making these reports to the committee. I will come for thee at dusk."
Francois thanked him, and at the time mentioned was locked up in the
office; for despite Vaubertrand's amiability, he was careful as to the
security of his prisoners. As it was now dark, the office table was
lighted by two candles. He found pen and ink and paper, but no
competent thoughts. What was he to say--whom to accuse? He had made a
hasty contract with Amar, and was of no mind to fulfil his share of it.
He got up from the desk, and walked about. "The deuce!" he said to
Toto, who never left him. "'T is a scrape of our own making. I should
have told that scamp with the pretty face to go to the devil with his
spy business. _Sacristie!_ doggie, I am like that fellow in the play I
once saw. He sold his soul to the devil, and didn't want to pay up when
the time came. What to do?" He had told the marquis, whom he trusted,
of the difficulty he anticipated.
Ste. Luce, much amused, said: "Take me for a subject. I am as sure to
die as an abbot's capon. If you have a conscience, it may rest easy so
far as I am concerned."