"Oh, a good idea!" laughed the nobleman, breaking in upon his
remonstrance. "Tell them how you saw me kill three good citizens that
night on the stairs. By Mars! Francois, those twenty minutes were worth
living for. I was in a plot to rescue the king; tell them that."
"Not I," grinned the thief.
"Confound it! you are difficult."
And now, as Francois recalled their talk, his task was not more easy.
He nibbled the end of his quill, and looked around him. At last, as he
walked to and fro, he began to exercise his natural inquisitiveness. It
was never long quiet. He stared at the barred windows. A set of
pigeonholes attracted him. He glanced hastily over their contents.
"_Tiens!_" he exclaimed.
Every day or two, about 3 P.M., a clerk of the Committee of Safety
brought a great envelop stamped with the seal of the republic. Within
was a paper on which were clearly set out the names and former titles of
the citizen prisoners selected for trial the night before in joint
counsel by the Great Committee and that of Security. The keeper copied
each name on to the space in the blank summons kept for this use, and
these fatal papers were then duly delivered after supper.
Francois looked at the packet. It was sealed. He knew well what it
meant. It was labeled: "Mandate of the Tribunals Nos. 4 and 5."
"Toto, we may be among them; we must see." He looked about him. Here
were all the writing-table implements then in use. He heated a knife,
and neatly loosened the under wax of the seal. The death-call lay
before him. He ran over it with shuddering haste.
"_Dieu!_ we are not there. But, _mon ami_, here is the marquis!" His
was the last name at the foot of the first page. Francois sat still,
his face in his hands. At any moment he might be caught. He did not
heed.
"I must do it," he said. He saw, as it were before him, the appealing
face of the dead woman, and felt in remembrance the hand the great
seigneur had given him on the stair. He had a glad memory of a moment
which had lifted him on to the higher levels of self-esteem and manhood.
"I will do it, Toto; 't is to be risked; and, _mon Dieu!_ the rest--the
rest of them!" Some he knew well. Some had been kind to him. One had
given him clothes when these were greatly needed. He was profoundly
moved.
"If I burn it, 't is but to give them a day, and no more--if I burn it!"
He took scissors from the table, and carefully cut off the half-inch at
the foot of the paper. It was now without the name "Ste. Luce,
_ci-devant_ marquis." He tore up the strip of paper, and put the
fragments in the fireplace, behind the unkindled logs.
Next he casually turned the page. "_Ciel!_ this calls for eleven. I
have left but ten. They will think it a blunder. One will be wanting;
that is all."
He used a little melted wax under the large seal, replaced the warrant
in the outer cover, and returned the document to the pigeonhole whence
he had taken it. This done, he sat down again, and began to write his
report.
He found nothing to say, except that those he would have spoken of had
been already disposed of; and now he thought again that he would burn
the fatal paper. He rose resolute, but at this moment the head keeper
came back.
Francois was sorry, but he was not used to writing, and made excuses
until at last the man said impatiently:
"Well, thou must settle all that with Amar and Gregoire. I gave thee
time enough." Could he have another chance? He was told that he should
have it; but now it was supper-time; better not to be missing. He went
out and up-stairs to his place at table.
He had lost his gaiety. Here and there at the table were the doomed men
and women. He could not eat, and at last left the room to wander in the
corridors. Pierre soon found him. He was eager, anxious, and full of
strange news.
"When will that brute marquis be sent for? I was to go out to-day.
They have forgotten. There is trouble in the Great Committee. I hear
of it from Vaubertrand. Robespierre and Vadier think things go not fast
enough; and the rest--the rest, except little cripple Couthon and
Saint-Just, are opposing our great Robespierre."
Francois began to be interested, and to ask questions. The gazettes
were no longer allowed in the prisons. The outer world was a blank to
all within their walls.
Despard, flushed and eager, told him how daily the exit of the prisoners
for trial was met by a mob clamorous for blood. Then he began to
exhibit alarm. Did Francois think that he, Pierre, might by chance miss
the execution of the marquis? He would speak to Gregoire, who was
coming next morning. They should learn not to trifle with a friend of
Robespierre. When Francois left him he was gesticulating, and, as he
walked up and down the deserted corridor, was cracking his knuckles or
gnawing his nails.
After supper the varied groups collected in the salon. The women
embroidered. A clever artist was busy sketching the head of a girl of
twenty for those she loved, who were to see her living face no more.
Some played at cards. Here and there a man sat alone, waiting, stunned
by the sure approach of death. The marquis was in gay chat with the
Vicomte de Beausejour.
"Ah, here is my mysterious gentleman!" cried Ste. Luce. "They have bets
on you. Tell these gentlemen who you really are. They are puzzled."
Francois smiled. He was pleased to do or say anything which would take
his thoughts off the near approach of the messenger of doom. He said:
"M. le Marquis knows that I am under an oath."
"_Pardie!_ true, true; I have heard as much."
"The bets stand over," said a gray old man, M. de l'Antilhac. "We knew
you as a juggler."
"Yes, and a fencing-master," said Du Pin.
"You are both right. These times and the king's service set a man to
strange trades. Well, gentlemen, I am not to be questioned. Tales lose
heads."
They laughed. "Pardon me," said a younger man. "The marquis was about
to tell us of the delightful encounter you had on his staircase. 'T is
like a legend of the days of Henri IV of blessed memory."
"Tell them," said Ste. Luce.
"The marquis does me much--_Dieu!_" Francois cried, and fell back into a
chair, weak as a child. The turnkey went by him with the fatal
missives.
"Art thou ill?" said De l'Antilhac. "What is it?"
"Yes," said Francois. "Excuse me. He--he--" And, as it were
fascinated, he rose and went after the keeper.
Vaubertrand paused behind a gentleman who was playing piquet.
"Citizen Ste. Michel," he said, and passed on, as he laid the summons
before the player.
"At last!" said the man thus interrupted. "Quatre to the king--four
aces. Let it wait."
Vaubertrand moved on. Francois followed him.
The calls to trial and death were distributed. A man rolled up the
fatal paper without a word, and lighted his pipe with it. One of those
who sat apart took his summons, and fell fainting on the floor.
"Nothing for me?" said the marquis.
"Not yet, citizen."
"I was never before so neglected."
The game went on. Here and there a woman dropped her embroidery and sat
back, thinking of the world to come, as she rolled the deadly call to
trial in her wet fingers, and took refuge in the strength of prayer.
Francois felt as if it were he who had condemned these people. He went
to his cell, and tossed about all night, sleepless. Rising early, he
went out into the garden. After breakfast the keeper said to him:
"Thou shouldst have had thy report ready. Gregoire is coming to-day.
He is before his time. If he is drunk, as usual, there will be trouble.
That fool Despard is wild to-day. He will be sure to stir up some
mischief. All the _mouchards_ will be called."
"Despard is an idiot. He is raving one day, and fit to kill himself the
next. Get him out of this."
"_Dame_! I should be well pleased. He swears I keep him here. He
will--ah, _mon Dieu!_ the things he threatens. I am losing my wits. My
good Francois, I have been kind to thee, and I talk rashly. I wish I
had done with it all."
"And I too, citizen; but thou art safe with me."
As the jailer spoke, he looked over his list of those summoned. "_Sacre
bleu!_ here is a list which calls for eleven, and there are only ten
names!"
"Some one has made a mistake."
"No doubt. But Gregoire never listens. Pray God he be sober. Be in
the corridor at nine; Gregoire will want to see thee."
Francois would be on hand. As to the report, he should wish to ask how
to draw it up. He found a quiet corner in the courtyard, and began to
think about the man with the wart--the man of whom he knew so little,
and whom he feared as he had never before feared a man. The every-day
horror and disturbance of the morning had begun. Officers were coming
and going; names were called; there were adieus, quiet or heartrending.
The marquis was tranquilly conversing, undisturbed by the scene, which
was too common to trouble those who had no near friend or relation in
the batch of prisoners called for trial. Francois had seen it all, day
after day. It always moved him, but never as now.
He stood looking at a young woman who was sitting with the order in her
lap, her eyes turned heavenward as if in dumb appeal. Now and then she
looked from one man to another, as if help must come.
Francois glanced at the marquis; he was the center of a laughing group,
chatting unconcerned.
"_Ciel!_ has the man no heart?" he murmured. "Why did I save him even
for a day? The good God knows. It must make life easy to be like him."
The marquis would have been amazed to know that the memory of a white,
sad woman's face, and of one heroic hour, had given him a new lease of
life.
"Ah, Toto," said the thief to himself, "we held that stair together, he
and I." The thought of an uplifting moment overcame him. A sudden
reflection that he might have been other than he was flushed his face.
"Ah, my friend Toto, we could have been something; we missed our chance
in the world. Well, thou dost think we had better make a fight for it.
Life is agreeable, but not here. Let us think. There is one little
card to play. Art thou up to it? Yes! I must go now. Thou wilt wait
here, and thou wilt not move. In an hour I shall be with thee; and,
meanwhile, behold a fine bone. No, not yet, but when I come.
Attention, now!"
He turned his back to the prison, took off a shoe, and extracted a
paper, which he folded so as to be small and flat. Then he produced a
bit of a kid glove he had asked from Mme. Cerise of the Comedie
Francaise. In it he laid the paper, and put the little packet, thus
protected, in the dog's mouth. "Keep it," he said. "It is death--it is
life." The dog lay down, his sharp black nose on his paws, shut his
eyes, and seemed to be asleep. He had done the thing before.
When Francois entered the corridor he found the keeper.
"Come," said Vaubertrand. "The commissioner is in a bad way, and drunk,
too. He is troubled, I think, and the citizens who are outside reproach
him that the supply for the guillotine is small, and the prisons full.
What have I done to be thus tormented? There will be a massacre.
_Ciel!_ I talk too much. I have favored thee. Take care--and thou
canst laugh yet." Whereupon Francois laughed anew, and went after him.
The large hall on the first floor was unusually full. There was much
confusion. The great street door, as it was opened wide and shut again
in haste, gave a not reassuring glimpse of men in red bonnets roaring
the _Ca ira_. Over all rose the shrill tongues of the women of the
markets. A new batch of prisoners was pushed in, the keeper declaring
he had no room. Officers of the Committee of Safety untied the hands of
the newcomers, and ranged them on stone benches to the left. On the
right were those who were called to trial. Francois stood aside,
watchful.
Pierre Despard was waiting, flushed and anxious. As a spy, he had leave
from Vaubertrand to descend in order to state his case to Gregoire. He
went hither and thither, noisy, foolish, gesticulating. He was now in
his alternate mood of excitement, and soon began to elbow his way toward
the office.
"Citizen La Vaque is summoned."
A tall man answered from the bench. Then another and another was
called. The officers went down the line, and, paper in hand, verified
the prisoners. They were taken, one by one, into a side room by a
second officer, and their hands secured behind their backs.
At last the first officer said: "Here are but ten, Citizen Vaubertrand,
and the list calls for eleven. The keeper must see the commissioner."
The officer in charge reproached Vaubertrand for neglect. The man with
the wart came out from the office.
"Silence!" he cried. "What is this?"
The matter was explained, or was being set forth, when the door opened,
and another half-dozen unfortunates were rudely thrust in, while the
crowd made a furious effort to enter. Gregoire turned pale.
"Thou shalt answer for this. Find another. I shall hear of it, and
thou, too."
Meanwhile, Despard, too insane to observe Gregoire's condition, and lost
to all sense of anything but his own sudden wish to escape, was
frantically pulling the furious commissioner by the arm.
"Citizen," he cried, "I must be heard! Dost hear? Thou wilt repent. I
am the friend of Robespierre."
Gregoire paid no attention; he was half drunk, and raging at poor
Vaubertrand.
"I will report thee," cried Despard. "I denounce thee!"
Gregoire turned upon him in a rage.
"Who is this?" he cried.
"I am Despard of the fourth section. I will let thee know who I am."
In his madness he caught Gregoire by the collar and shook him.
Gregoire called out: "Take away this fool! What! threaten
me--me--Gregoire! All, thou art the rascal who plunders chateaux. I
know thee. Thou dost threaten an officer of the Committee of Safety.
Tie this fellow; he will do for the eleventh. Quick, quick!"
There was no hesitation. The officers seized their prey, and Gregoire,
growling, went again into the office.
Pierre fought like the madman he was, but in a minute was brought back
screaming and added to the corvee. It was complete. He was carried out
raving, amid the yells and reproaches of the mob, which broke up and
went along with the wagons.
Again there was quiet in the hall, where the thief stood in wonder,
horror-stricken. "It is I that have killed him--he who did long to see
another die. And for him to die in the place of the marquis--_dame!_ it
is strange."
"_Ciel!_" cried Vaubertrand, wiping the sweat from his brow. "This is
the second they took this way to make up for some one's blunder. Come,
and have a care what you say. He is half drunk."
Francois entered the office.
"Who is this?" said Gregoire, facing him, with his large, meaningless
face still flushed and angry.
Vaubertrand pushed forward the reluctant Francois. "It is one of the
reporters, citizen commissioner."
"Ahem! One of Citizen Amar's appointments," said Gregoire. "Thou canst
go, Citizen Vaubertrand"; and he looked up as he sat at the table.
"Thy name?"
"Francois," said the thief.
"Thy occupation?"
"Juggler."
The citizen commissioner was on the uncertain line between appearance of
sobriety obtained by effort and ebriety past control. As he
interrogated Francois his head dropped forward. He recovered himself
with a sharp jerk, and cried sharply:
"Why dost thou not answer? I said, How didst thou get here, and who
gave thee thy order to report?"
"Citizen Amar; he is a friend of mine."
"Is he? Well, where is thy _sacre_ report?"
"I should like to tell the citizen commissioner what I have to say.
I--I did not know just how to frame it."
Meanwhile Gregoire was considering him with unsteady eyes. "Ah, now I
have it; now I remember thee. Thou art an _ex-emigre_. I shall attend
to thee. It was thou who stole my wallet of papers; and thou couldst
laugh, too. _Ciel!_ what a laugh! Try it now."
Francois replied that he was no _emigre_; as to the rest, he could
explain; and leaning over, he said quietly:
"You will do well to hear what I have to say."
"'You will do well'! Idiot! Why dost thou say 'you, you'? Cursed
aristocrat that thou art! Say 'thou' when thou dost address me, or I
shall--where is that report?"
"If the citizen will listen. There was in that wallet a little paper
addressed to Citizen de la Vicomterie. _Dame!_ it was good reading, and
I have it still."
"Thou hast it? Thou wilt not have it long."
Gregoire was not over-intelligent, and had now the short temper of
drink. The prisoner tried to get a moment in which to explain that
another held the document.
Gregoire was past hearing reason. "Officers, here! here!" he cried.
"Search this man! Search him. Strip him. Here! here!"