"No hurry, commissioner." The thief enjoyed the situation. "Let us
talk a little. Let us make things a trifle safer. Have the kindness to
write a receipt for one hundred louis d'or accepted by thee as security
for the head of one Louis de Ste. Luce, _ci-devant_ marquis."
"Not I!" cried Gregoire, starting up.
"Ah, I think thou wilt"; and, with this, Francois drew his quite
harmless pistol, and cocked it.
"Dost thou mean to murder me? Help! help! Murder!"
Francois seized him by the throat and thrust him down on to the chair.
"The devil! Fat fool! must I really kill thee? Hold thy tongue. Toto,"
he said, "just look at this gentleman. He is afraid, a coward--he who
has killed so many--so many brave men and women, who died and showed no
fear. Keep the door, Toto. There, now, citizen; write it, and quick,
too, or--"
"But it is my death."
"What do I care? It is certain death unless thou dost keep faith. Once
the marquis is free, and I am secure, I will burn it. That is all.
Thou art forced to trust me. The situation is simple, and rather
different from what it was at nine this morning. Thou art trapped."
It was true, and Gregoire knew it. He drew his chair to the table, and
wrote a few lines as the thief dictated. Francois added a request for a
date. "Thou art not clever with a pen," he said; "thy hand shakes."
"I am a lost man!"
"No; by no means. But look out for my marquis. He ought to be very
precious to thee, because--because if there should be any accident to
him or to me, my friend will promptly place this harmless receipt in the
hands of Saint-Just; and then--"
Gregoire sat in a cold sweat, saying at intervals: "I am lost. Let me
go."
"Not quite yet. Give me ten louis."
"I--I can't. I left the money at home."
"Thou art lying. I heard it rattle when I shook thee. I might take it
all. I am generous, just, like the incorruptible man with the green
around his eyes, one Robespierre. Come, now."
Gregoire, reluctant, counted out the gold. "Let me go," he said. There
were scarce left in him the dregs of a man. He rose, pale and
tottering.
"Not quite yet, my friend. Thou wilt wait here a little while. Then a
citizen hag will come up and let thee out. But be careful; no noise.
The gentlemen who inhabit this mansion like not to be disturbed in their
devotions. Moreover, they are curious, and generally inquisitive as to
purses. Thou hast a few hours for reflection on thy sins. Pray
understand that this little paper will be put in the hands of a friend
of the marquis; I shall not keep it. The trap will be well set. Am I
clear?"
The commissioner made no reply.
"I forgot," said Francis. "Here is thy letter. I keep my word. The
receipt is enough."
The compromising document lay on the table, unnoticed by Gregoire. He
fell back, limp and cowed, gripping the seat with both hands to save
himself from slipping ont of the chair. The sweat ran down his face.
When Francois, calling to the poodle, left him alone, he made no motion;
he was like a beaten cur.
"Come, Toto," said Francois, as he locked the door. "That for his wart!
It is not as big as it used to be, and it is not in the middle of his
nose." He went down to the room of the concierge, and threw the key of
his room in her lap.
"He is very quiet, thy patient up-stairs; he hath a chill."
Quatre Pattes, standing by, nodded, and looked up. "Is he alive? No
lies, young man."
"Alive? Not quite; only well scared. Imagine thyself one day on the
red stair, and the basket all ready, and so neat,--thou art fond of
neatness,--all as clean as thy room; and the knife--"
"Shut up that big jaw! I am Quatre Pattes. Dost thou want to frighten
me?"
"I? By _St. Fiacre_, no! I only want to let thee understand how the
citizen on the fourth floor feels."
"He will bleed the better, my dear." She rattled the sticks, and looked
up at Francois, her head swaying as the head of the cobra sways. She
was still in some doubt as to this too ready pupil, whom she had taught
so much. "Art thou trying to fool Mother Quatre Pattes?"
"Oh, stuff! Go up and speak to the man. But take care; this is no
light matter to put thy claws into. The man will rage; but a day
without diet will quiet him a good bit. Then thou canst begin to make
thy little commercial arrangement."
"Two hundred--three hundred. No rags, no assignats."
"Might get four hundred, Mother Crabby. There will be two sides to the
question."
The old woman laughed a laugh shrill and virulent.
"Two sides? I see--inside and outside. All right."
Francois stood in the doorway as she spoke.
"By-by, _maman_; and don't frighten him too much. Thy style of beauty is
not to the taste of all men. Folks are really afraid of thee, _maman_.
Don't make it a part of the bargain that he marry thee."
"Good idea, that! And when shall I see thee?"
"Possibly to-morrow; certainly within a week or so. I may have a few
days' work for the committee in Villefranche--dirty country, filthy
inns, not like thy room"; and he glanced at it. "I always do like to
see how neat it is, and how clean. It would please Sanson. He is so
particular; keeps things clean and ready--always ready."
"'T is true," said Quatre Pattes, and clattered away up the hall.
Francois heard her sticks on the stair, and her shrill laughter. "Thy
cheese is poisoned, old rat," he said.
Once secure of the absence of his too observant landlady, Francois
called to Toto and went out of the house. It was now about half-past
one. No suspicious persons were visible. He had doubted this Gregoire.
He had no mind to leave Paris, but when asking a passport he meant that
Gregoire should think he had done so. He moved away, with the dog at
his heels, and presently stood awhile in deep thought, at the end of the
street. Gregoire was safe; he could harm no one for a day, and after
that would be the last man in Paris to trouble Francois. Amar was to be
feared, but that was to be left to chance and cautious care. Quatre
Pattes? He smiled. "'T is as fine as a play, Toto. Here comes the
last act. Can we go away and not see it?" He looked back. The
shoemaker whom the Crab had wished him to denounce, with a view to the
eternal settlement of her debts, was standing at his door in the sun,
just opposite to No. 33 bis. It was a good little man, lame of a leg,
hard-working and timid.
"It is not to be resisted, Toto. Come, my boy." He went back, and
pulled the bell at No. 33 bis. No one answered. He rang three times,
and became sure that, as he had anticipated, the Crab had at once gone
up to see how much of truth there was in his statement.
[Illustration: "HE PULLED THE BELL AT No. 33 BIS."]
Thus assured, he looked about him. He saw no one he had need to fear.
He crossed the street, and spoke to the cobbler.
"Come into thy shop; I want to speak to thee." When within, he said: "I
have been arrested, and let out--praise be to the saints! I have just
now seen the old Crab. She owes thee money?"
"Not much."
"No matter. She has asked me to denounce thee, my poor friend. I came
to warn thee."
The cobbler gasped. "_Dieu!_ and my little ones! I have done nothing--I
assure thee, nothing."
"Nor I, my friend. Now, listen. I am lucky enough to be in a little
employment for the Great Committee. I mean to save thee."
"And canst thou do that?"
"Yes, yes. Something will happen to-morrow, about four o'clock; and
after that no fear of the hag. I must see it; it is my business. Can I
stay a day--I mean until then--in the little room here above thy shop?"
"Why not? The children are with my sister. They shall stay till
to-morrow night."
He followed the overjoyed cobbler up to the room above his shop, sent
him out to buy food and wine, and sat down to await events. The cobbler
came back with a supply of diet and the gazettes. Francois sat behind
the slats of the green window-shades, and laughed, or talked to Toto, or
read, while at intervals he watched No. 33 bis. He read of how
Charleroi had been taken, and of the recovery of Fleurus. It interested
him but little.
"They have cut off the head of the devil, and got a new god, my good
poodle. _Tenes_! Hold! Attention!" He saw Quatre Pattes clatter out.
It was about 4 P.M. She had no market-net. She was decisively bent on
some errand, and moved with unusual celerity, her back bent, her head
strained upward to get a sufficient horizon.
"It is altogether pleasant, _ami_. She will not wait till twelve
to-morrow. She has gone to denounce him. Get up. Here is a nice bite
for thee. She is shrewd, our snake. If she plunders M. Gregoire,--and
she will, too,--she knows what he will do when he is out. He will
denounce her. The play is good, Toto. The money she will have, if we
know her. But, mm ami, if he makes her believe through the door that he
is the great Gregoire of the wart, and she lets him out, and is scared,
and asks no pay, Toto, 't is nevertheless a scotched snake she will be.
The Wart will want to be revenged for low diet and loss of the
republic's time. _Mordieu_! Toto, let us bet on it."
He read his gazettes, and waited. At six that afternoon the Crab came
home. At nine Francois went to bed. Twice he awakened, laughing; he
was thinking about Gregoire. The cobbler came in at six with breakfast,
and Francois warned him to be careful.
At ten in the morning Quatre Pattes appeared at her door, and chatted
with one or two dames of the fish-market. She rattled her sticks, and
talked volubly. She was in the best of humors.
No new thing took place till three o'clock, when two municipal guards
paused at her door. She came forth, spoke to them, and went in, leaving
the door open. A third joined them. They loitered about. Ten minutes
went by. Francois grew more and more eager as he watched.
"Ho, ho, Toto," he exclaimed, "there was a noise! The fool! she has gone
up alone to let him out."
It was true. Gregoire had yielded in all some three hundred francs,
and, as ordered, had slipped the money under the door, piece by piece,
while Quatre Pattes sat and counted it with eyes of greed. She came
down and hid the last of it. Now she went up again, rather liking the
errand. She was absolutely fearless. She opened the door, and stood
aside. "Come out," she said, "little man."
Gregoire was past restraining his rage. "She-devil!" he cried, and
struck at her in a fury of passion. He ran past her down the stairs,
the terrible woman after him. She was wonderfully quick, but the man's
fear was quicker. At the last stairway she found him beyond her reach,
and, cursing him in fluent slang of the quarter, she threw one of her
sticks at him. It caught him on the back of the neck, and he fell
headlong into the hallway. In an instant he was up and staggering into
the street. As he came forth two guards seized him. "In the name of
the law!" Quatre Pattes came swiftly after him, screaming out: "Take
him! I denounce him! He is an aristocrat!"
What she and Francois saw was unpleasant for her.
"_Nom de Ciel!_ 't is the Citizen Gregoire!" cried the third guard.
Gregoire was for an instant speechless and breathless. The guards fell
back.
"Arrest me?--me, Gregoire! Have you an order to arrest me?" He was not
quite at ease.
"No, no, citizen. It is clearly a mistake. We were to arrest a
_ci-devant_."
Quatre Pattes stood up, pallid.
"Take this woman!" cried Gregoire. "I will send an order. The
Chatelet, and quick!"
"The little trap did work," cried Francois, behind his screen. "How she
squeals--like a pig, a pig! She will give up the money. The citizens
and she disappear within."
[Illustration: "'THE LITTLE TRAP DID WORK,' CRIED FRANCOIS, BEHIND HIS
SCREEN."]
"This woman stole it!" roared the great man, as they came out. "Take
her away."
When they came to lay final hands on her, she was like a cat in a
corner.
"_Chien de mon ame_! 't is a fine scrimmage," cried Francois, "and the
street full."
The sticks rattled; and when they were torn from her, she used tooth and
claw, to the joy of a crowd appreciative of personal prowess. At last
she was carried away, screaming, and exhausted as to all but her tongue.
The commissioner with the wart readjusted his garments and his dignity.
The crowd cried: "_Vive Gregoire!_" and the hungry Jacobin went his way,
furious, in search of dietetic consolation.
"The show is over, Toto," said Francois, as he sat down.
Presently came the cobbler, curious, and much relieved.
"Ask no questions," said Francois. "Here is a little money."
"But, citizen, it is a gold louis."
"The show was worth the price of admission. Thou art welcome. Hold thy
tongue, if thou art wise. At dusk I shall slip out. Thou art safe.
The Crab will denounce no more of her neighbors."
"Two she hath sent to the knife," said the cobbler.
"_Dieu!_ how the _tricoteuses_ will grin!"
*XXIII*
_Of how Francois found lodgings where he paid no rent--Of the death of
Toto--Of how his master, having no friends on the earth, finds them
underground._
At dusk Francois went out, and was soon moving rapidly across Paris. He
was in search of lodging, food, and security. In an hour or less he was
in the half-peopled quarter of St. Antoine. Near the barrier he turned
aside, and stood considering a little house in what seemed to have been
a well-kept garden. On the gate was the large red seal of the republic.
It was safe for a night. If he took a lodging, he must show all his
papers, and have his name set out, with his business, on a placard such
as was nailed to the outer door of every house in Paris. His name, as a
new lodger, must be reported to the sectional committee. He was widely
known, and, alas! too peculiar to escape notice long. Now he needed
time to think. He wandered awhile, ate in a small cafe, bought wine and
bread, at night climbed the garden wall, and without much trouble found
his way into the house. It was a sorry sight. The arrests must have
been sudden and pitiless. The kettle stood on the dead embers. The
bread, burned black, was in the oven. A half-knit stocking lay on a
chair. Up-stairs and down, it was the same. The open drawers showed
evidence of search. A dead bird lay starved in a cage. The beds were
unmade. The clock had stopped. He found some scant provisions, unfit
for use. It seemed a gardener's house. The place oppressed him, but it
answered his purpose. His dog troubled him. Toto was, like himself,
conspicuous, and he felt forced during the daytime to leave him locked
up in the house. But Toto was sagacious, and had learned to keep quiet.
For several days Francois lived at daylight in the streets and cafes,
returning at night, to get away again before dawn. In the quiet little
taverns where he went for food and shelter he made himself small, and
hid in corners; nor, at this time, did he laugh much. He bought the
gazettes, and read them with intelligent apprehension of the fact that
change was in the air. Robespierre had never had with him a majority of
his colleagues, and now he was becoming more and more conscious of his
insecure hold on the Convention. As long as the ex-nobles or the foes
of the republic suffered, it was of little moment to the
representatives; but when the craving for blood, not justified by any
political reasons, sent too many of their body to the block, the unease
of the Terror began to be felt within their own hall. To be timid,
cautious, or obscure had once been security. It was so no longer. That
terrible master still had his way, and, one by one, the best brains of
the opponents of the Jacobins were sent to perish on the scaffold. The
Convention began to feel the need for associative self-defense.
Revenge, fear, and policy combined to aid the enemies of this
extraordinary person. Like Marat, he began to show physically the
effects of a life full of alarms; for this monster dreaded darkness,
trembled at unusual noises, and remained to the last the most carefully
dressed man in Paris. To understand him at all, one must credit him in
his early political life with a sincere love of country, and with
willingness to sacrifice himself for others. It is impossible to regard
him as entirely sound of mind at a later date. He became something
monstrous--a mixture of courage, cowardice, blood-madness, self-esteem,
and personal vanity. But there were men who loved him to the last.
It was now early in July, the month Thermidor. Francois began, as usual,
to weary of a life of monotonous carefulness. His supply of money was
ample. He was well fed and, so far, safe. He sat night after night in
darkness, and thought of the lady of the chateau. He knew that her
father was thus far secure; his name was not in the daily lists of the
victims; and these were many, for on the 22d Prairial (June 10) a decree
deprived the accused of counsel, and of the right to call witnesses.
The end was near.
One evening about nine, as he came near to the garden, he saw lights in
the house. Toto was found waiting outside of the gate. A girl came
forth, and soon returned with a net of vegetables.
"_Ciel_! Toto," said Francois, "the poor things have been released, and
thou wert clever to get out. We are glad, thou and I; but they have our
house." He had left nothing at this lodging, having nothing to leave.
He walked away, puzzled, and, wandering, scarce aware of whither he
went, found himself at last in the Rue de Seine. It was getting late,
and he began to look about him for a new lodging.
"We must find an empty house, Toto. The seal of this cursed republic is
our best chance." He did not need to look far. In the Rue de Seine he
came upon a small two-story shop. Beside it was a wide gateway, on
which he saw with difficulty, but felt readily, the seal no one dared to
violate. He concluded that there must be a deserted house beyond it, in
a garden. He passed around by the _quai_, and entered the Rue des
Petits-Augustines, and stood before the mansion of Ste. Luce. A light
was in an upper room. Some one was in charge. On either side were
railings and a garden. It was now ten o'clock, and no one visible in
the long street of old houses, once the homes of the great French
nobles. He pushed the poodle between the rails, and readily pulled
himself up and dropped at his side. Once within, he moved with care
across to the wall behind the mansion, and soon saw that he was not in
the garden of the marquis, but in the larger domain of the Duc de la
Rochefoucauld-Liancourt. His object was to find his way into the house
which had an outlet on the Rue de Seine. As he was arranging his
clothing to climb a tree near to the wall, he suddenly paused. "Toto,"
he exclaimed, "we have been robbed,--we--first-class thieves,--and we
know not when it was. Ah, it was at that cafe, as we came out. Well
done, too. Not a sou. Weep, Toto; we are broken."
He lost no more time in lamentation, but climbed the tree, looked over,
came down, pulled up the dog, and descended on the farther side of the
wall.
He was now in a small garden. Near him, and close to the wall, was a
little plant-house. On the farther side of a grassy space stood a hotel
of moderate size, with the front court, as he presumed, opening on the
Rue de Seine. On each side, as he saw clearly, for the night was bright
and the moon rising, there were high flanking walls. After assuring
himself that the house was empty, Francois found a trellis covered with
old vines, and, climbing this, entered the hotel by a convenient
balcony. He was safe for the night, and at leisure to explore his new
dwelling. He feared to strike a light, but he could see dimly that
there were pictures, books, china. Evidently this had been the home of
people of wealth. As the moon rose higher, he saw still better, and
began to realize the fact that here were evidences of hasty flight. In
a room on the second floor was a secretary, and this Francois readily
opened.
"Toto," he said, "we are rich again." He had found forty louis in a
canvas bag which comfortably fitted his side pocket. In the larder he
came upon meat, cooked and uncooked, mostly unfit for use, stale bread,
and cheese. Once satisfied, he went over the house, and then the
garden, taking pains at last to set a ladder against the wall of the
Rochefoucauld property.
The glass-house was in disorder, the plants lying about, uncared for.
His foot struck an iron ring attached to a trap-door. There were
staples for padlocking it, but no padlock. He concluded this to be the
opening to a wine-cave or -cellar, and lifted the trap. It was dark
below. He ventured down the steps a little way, and then stood still to
listen. Hearing noises below him, he retreated in haste. He was, as has
been said, superstitious.
"That is strange! We will look about when it is day, Toto--not now."
Concluding to sleep out of doors, he accordingly arranged for his
comfort by taking a pillow and blankets from the house; for now he had
opened a door below, and was in full possession. Suites of apartments
which he dared not use for sleep, and a pretty little library,
overlooked the small estate of the garden.
No occupied dwelling was in view. Great trees in the grounds of La
Rochefoucauld and Ste. Luce partially hid the houses, and, what was of
more moment, shut off the sight of Francois's refuge. It was, of
course, possible that at any time he might be disturbed by the coming of
the officers, or, what was to be feared less, that of the owners. But
he was not a man to be continually anxious. The outer front door had a
bar, and this he dropped into its socket. The side walls were high. He
could hear any one who attempted to enter. His way out at the back was
made easy by the ladder he had set in place. At dusk he began to be
fully at ease, and after a day or two was hardly less so in the sun-lit
hours.
On the morning of the third day, much at home, he sat behind the little
plant-house, with Toto at his feet, and a book in his hand, for in the
library he found several which excited his interest. Now he was deep in
a French translation of the travels of Marco Polo. Suddenly he heard a
noise of steps. He fell back, caught Toto with a warning grasp on the
jaw, and lay still. He was so hidden in the narrow space between the
plant-house and the wall of the garden as to be for the time secure. No
longer hearing anything alarming, he rose and looked cautiously through
the double glass and the sheltering plants which were between himself
and the mansion. In a few minutes a tall man came out of the
plant-house, went into the dwelling, and by and by returning with
blankets and a basket, passed into the plant-house, and was lost to
sight. He soon came out again with a lad, and after several such
journeys to the main house, whence each time he fetched something, they
reentered the plant-house, and came forth no more.
This incident greatly amazed the thief. "Toto," he said, "there must be
a trap below! 'T is a lower cellar it leads to, and there are people
beneath. _Helas_, Toto! no sooner are we gentlemen with an estate than,
presto! a change, and it is get up and go. It were better we took to
the woods and saw far countries, like this M. Polo." Toto regarded his
master with attentive eyes, the long black tail wagging. He seemed to
comprehend Francois's difficulties, or at least to feel some vague
desire to help and comfort.
"Yes, yes; it is time we settled down, _mon ami_. Behold, we get a
little money and wherewithal to live; we hurt no one; we cultivate our
minds with travel; we start fresh, and are honest, having enough,--which
is a good foundation for honesty,--and then--_eh bien!_ my friend; let
us laugh"; and he lay on his back, and tumbled the dog about.
He was in the garden, near to the dwelling, a day later, when he heard
noises as of steps in the La Rochefoucauld grounds. He climbed the
ladder, and, without showing himself, listened. There were voices, and
now and then he caught a phrase. These were municipal guards. He
beckoned to Toto, and, crossing the garden, entered the house, meaning
to watch his new neighbors from a window.
He went up-stairs to the third story under the roof. As he moved toward
a window, he heard a sound below. He ran down the stair, and stood on
the lower landing-place, facing the front door. "We are gone, Toto!"
For once he was at a loss, and stood still, in doubt what to do.
There were voices outside. The hall door had been unlocked, but the bar
held it fast. After a minute or two they seemed to have given up the
idea of entering. Francois waited a few minutes, and began to descend
the stairs. Then he heard quick footfalls in the room to the left on
the level of the landing above him. Some one must have entered by a
window on the second floor. He turned, perplexed, instinctively drew
his useless pistol, and began to go faster. Suddenly the steps above him
quickened.
A man on the staircase landing behind him cried: "Halloo! Surrender, in
the name of the republic!" Francois jumped, taking the stairs below him
in one leap, but, tripping over Toto, fell headlong in the hall. The dog
sprang after him, and alighted on his master's back. A pistol-shot rang
out. The dog fell dead with a ball in his brain. Francois was on his
feet. He cast a glance at the faithful friend of many a day. His own
long, strange face became like that of a madman. He dashed up the stair,
a second ball missing him narrowly. Through the smoke he bounded on his
enemy. He caught the man by the right arm, wrested the pistol from him,
and, scarce feeling a blow from the fellow's left hand, struck him full
in the face with the butt of the pistol. The blood flew, and the man
staggered, screaming. A second blow and a third fell. Twisting his
victim around, Francois hurled him down the stair.
"Beast!" he cried; and, leaping over him, stooped a moment, kissed the
quivering little body of his friend, and, with tears streaming from his
eyes, stood still. Loud cries from beyond the wall of the garden
recalled his energies. The noise at the door was heard again. He ran
out and across into the plant-house, pulled up the trap, and,
descending, closed it. Then he stood puzzled. It was dark; he could
see nothing. He fell on his knees, and began hastily to grope about
until he felt an iron ring attached to the trap-door of what he presumed
to be the entrance to a yet lower cellar.
"It is this or death," he muttered under his breath, and stood
reflecting, having heard no sounds approaching overhead. Thinking it
better to see and be seen by those below, he struck his flint on the
steel, and, with the aid of a morsel of paper and his kindling breath,
soon had a light. Then he saw near by a lantern with a candle within
it. He lighted it, and held it in one hand. This done, he knelt again,
and with a quick movement set open the trap-doorway. What he saw was a
man and the muzzle of a pistol. The man cried out: "If you move, you
are dead!"
"I am not a municipal, monsieur. I am only a thief. Let me come down,
for God's sake! I am flying from those rascals who are in the house."
"I have half a mind to blow your brains out."
"_Ciel_! I hope you will not have a whole mind. It would only call
those scoundrels. I stole a little from the house--I return it"; and he
dropped the bag of louis. It fell on the head of a small boy below,
unseen in the gloom. He howled lustily.
"_Diantre!_ keep quiet!" cried the man.
"Oh, let him come down, duke; he is welcome." It was the voice of a
woman out of the deep darkness. Tender and clear it was.
"Be quick, then, rascal! Down with you."
The thief waited for no second invitation. The duke descended;
Francois's long legs came after. He paused to arrange some loose
staves, that, in falling, they might conceal the trap. Then he blew out
the candle, and was in total darkness, but where or with whom he knew
not.
"Have a care how you move," said the voice of the woman. "We are in
great peril. Come down quietly."
"May all the saints bless you!" said Francois, and sat down on the lower
step. For a while all was still.
*XXIV*
_Of how Francois got into good society underground--Of what he saw, and
of the value of a cat's eyes--From darkness to light--Of how Francois
made friends for life._
"It was dark indeed; I had never imagined such darkness," says Francois
in his memoirs.[#] He adds that he has heard the story of this
wonderful escape from the catacombs told over and over by M. des Illes.
He does not consider that it did him (Francois), the principal person,
sufficient justice. He had also heard the old Duke Philippe relate the
matter, and it was incredible how crooked he got it. But, then, Duke
Philippe was a man who had no sense of humor. As to his dear Mme. des
Illes, when she did tell this story, the baby was the chief hero. Duke
Henri,--that is, the present man,--although only a lad when these events
took place, remembered them well.
[#] See Epilogue.
"When he was seventeen," says Francois, "we used to fence together. I
have often heard him relate to the other young fellows how we made our
escape; but Duke Henri has too much imagination, and that, you see,
makes a man inaccurate. I knew two very accomplished thieves who were
inaccurate. I am not. Duke Henri's tale got stronger, like wine, as
time went on. The rats grew to be of the size of cats; three of them
pulled the baby out of madame's lap. And as to the people we killed, it
would have satisfied M. Dumas, who is the greatest and most correct of
such as write history."
The present author grieves that he has not the narration of this famous
escape at the hands of Mme. des Illes and the two dukes, father and son.
Those who have found leisure to read "A Little More Burgundy" have heard
Des Illes's narrative as M. des Illes related it. Those who have not
read that rendering may incline to hear Francois's own statement of what
happened after he thus found himself in darkness with people he had
never seen. I have followed his memoir pretty closely. It tells some
things of which the other people concerned did not know. Evidently he
considered it a less tragic affair than did they. It has been needful
to condense Francois's account, and to do this especially where he
speaks of his own intermediate adventures, which were singular enough.
When, as I have said, Francois, obeying Duke Philippe, put out his
lantern, he sat still awhile, and said nothing. Like the rest, he was
fearful lest the officers he had disturbed so rudely should make a too
effective search. Their inspection of the upper cellar would be
perilous enough. The anxious people beneath held their breaths when a
man overhead stumbled across the staves the thief had set to fall on the
trap-door. After a while all noises faded away, and in the evening the
duke proposed to reconnoiter once more; but when he tried to lift the
trap, it was found impossible to do so. The municipals, in their
examination, must have rolled a full barrel of wine upon the door. This
discovery was, or seemed, an overwhelming calamity.
Francois during the day came to understand that here in the darkness
were Duke Philippe de St. Maur, his son Henri, a lad, another rather
older boy, Des Illes, Mme. des Illes, and the baby, who made himself
terribly well known by occasional protests in the tongue of babyhood.
As the thief became accustomed to the gloom and the company, his usual
cheeriness returned; and when they could not open the trap he began to
propose all manner of schemes. He would bore a hole and let out the
wine, and so lighten the barrel. He would shoot a ball through the trap
and the barrel, and thus let out the weight of wine. The duke, who
never lost respect for his own dignity, was disgusted, and would listen
to none of his counsels.
Toward bedtime the baby began to wail dismally; the boys sobbed; and
Mme. des Illes cried out to them that they should be ashamed to
complain, and then, by way of comment, herself burst into tears; while
the duke stumbled about, and swore under his breath. This was all very
astonishing to Francois, who had seen little of any world but his own,
and to whom calamity served only as a hint to consider some way to
escape its effects. He remained silent for a while, after the duke had
let him plainly understand that he was a fool and had better hold his
tongue. This lasted for a half-hour, during which he sat still,
thinking, with full eyes, of his dead dog. By degrees the children grew
quiet, and the baby, having exhausted his vocabulary and himself, fell
asleep. Then the duke said irritably:
"Why the deuce don't you do something, Master Thief? If you can get
into places where you do not belong, why cannot you get out of this
abominable box?"
Francois laughed. "Get out I would, and gladly; but how? We might
wait, monsieur, till they drink up the wine, or until it dries up, or--"
But here the boys laughed, and even the duke forgot himself, and said
Francois was a merry fellow. Indeed, he was of use to them all; for,
soon becoming at ease, he regaled the boys with his adventures; but how
many he invented I do not know. Some were queer, and some silly; but
all tales are good in the dark, for then what can one do but attend?
After a while, all being still, Francois lighted his lantern, on which
Duke Philippe said: "Put out that light; we have too few candles as it
is; and keep quiet. You are prowling about like a cat on the tiles, and
twice you have stumbled over my legs."
"But I have twice said I was sorry," said Francois, getting tired of
this duke with an uncertain temper, who repeated: "Put out that light,
and sit down."
Then madame spoke: "He may have a reason to want to see and to move
about."
"'T is so," said Francois. "If I walk, my wits walk; if I sit, they go
to sleep; and as to cats, madame, I am a street cat"; and, thinking of
Suzanne, he laughed.
"Ah, confound your laughing!" The duke felt that to laugh at a joke he
did not share was, to say the least, disrespectful. "What is there to
laugh at?"
Francois, who had been moving as he spoke, was suddenly elated. He said
it was Suzanne he was thinking of; and when madame would know if she
were his wife, the duke was silent out of lack of interest for low
company, and Francois began to tell about the elders and the Hebrew
maid, and of the Amalekites who lived on the next roof. The boys were
charmed, and madame said, "Fie! fie!" but it served to amuse. An hour
later he began to move about restlessly, and at last cried out, from the
far end of the cellar:
"This way, monsieur; what is this? A candle--and quick!" When they all
came to see, he rolled aside an empty cask, and showed a heavy planking.
He seized the decayed timbers and tore them away, so that as they fell a
black gap was to be seen. The air blew in, cool and damp.
"_Mon Dieu!_ 't is the catacombs. My husband's grandfather cut off this
end for a wine-cave. It is strange I should have quite forgotten it."
"But what then?" said the duke. "It is only a grave you have opened.
You might as well have kept quiet."
The thief's feelings were hurt; he began to care less and less for this
useless nobleman.
Madame said thoughtfully: "It may be a way out. If it come to the worst,
we can but try it."
"Madame is right; and as to keeping quiet, I never could. Sleeping cats
catch no rats." He believed in his luck. "We shall get out," he said,
with cool assurance. "I always do. I have been in many scrapes. I got
out of the Madelonnettes, and I was once near to decorating a rope."
"A rope!" exclaimed madame.
"Yes. _Parbleu_! I wear my cravat loose ever since. I like to have
full swing, but not in that way." He was gay and talkative. The boys
liked it; but not so the duke, who said:
"Well, what next?"
"We must explore. I will enter and see a little."
"But," said the woman, "you will get lost; and then, what to do?" She
had come to trust the thief. He saw this, and liked it. "If we lose
you, what shall we do?--what _shall_ we do?"
The thief turned to her as he stood, lantern in hand. He was grave.
"Madame, I am a poor thief of the streets; I have had to live as I
could; and since I was a boy I can count the kind words ever said to me
by man or woman. I shall not forget."
Madame was moved, and said they were all alike come upon evil days, and
that perhaps now he would turn from his wicked ways.
Poor Francois was not quite clear as to his ways having been wicked.
"Well, if you are going," said the duke, "you had better be about it."
It was then young Des Illes said he must have a string, like people who
went into caves, else he might never find his way back. The thief
thought it a fine idea; and here was madame's big ball of knitting-wool.
With no more delay, he took it, and leaving an end in Des Illes's hand,
boldly walked away into the darkness with his lantern, and was soon lost
to view.
When he came back to this anxious company, he had to report such a
tangle of passages as caused him to say that to try to escape through
these must be a last resort. He thought they might live on the rats if
provisions gave out, but they must eat them raw.
"_Helas!_ what a fate!" said madame.
The little Duke Henri spoke eagerly, and said the Chinese ate rats.
"But not raw," cried the young Des Illes, which set them all to
laughing.
Soon again they were quiet, because talk in the dark does not prosper.
A little later madame called softly to the thief to sit by her, and
would hear of his life. Francois related his exploits with pride. She
made no comment, but said at last: "Your name, my friend?" And when he
replied, "Francois," she declared that he was no more to be any one's
thief, but always Francois; and this was a hint to the duke, who took it
in silence, and was evidently depressed.
After this, madame bade the boys say their prayers; and soon all were
asleep, except Francois, who sat against a cask, and saw Toto's brown
eyes in the darkness.
At last the morrow came. The provisions were shared, and, as usual with
Francois, his spirits rose as he filled his stomach. He held the baby,
and was queerly interested in this mystery of unwinking eyes. Might he
give it of the bottle? He satisfied the child, who seemed fearless of
that long, good-humored face. Might he hold it longer? It would relieve
madame. He sang low to it a queer thief-song, and then another none
there could understand.
"_Ciel!_" said the duke, who had slept off his splenetic mood; "you have
a fine voice."
"Ah, would it were a hymn," said madame, "or a psalm of Clement Marot!"
"I know no hymns," said Francois, "but only some old choir chants."
Upon this he began to sing, low and sweet, one of the old Latin songs:
Salve, mundi salutare,
Salve, salve, Jesu care!
Cruel tuae me aptare
Vellem vere, tu sols quare,
Da mihi tui capiam.
The rich voice which in his boyhood days had soared like a lark up among
the arches of Notre Dame had come again. He heard himself with wonder
and with sad thoughts of the chances his boyish haste had forever lost
for him.
"And you a thief!" cried madame. "Where--where did you learn--"
But at this moment noises overhead put an end to all but listening. At
last Francois said: "They move the casks. It were well to take to the
caves." And this was hastily agreed to, when, of a sudden, the noises
ceased.
Francois still urged instant flight; but the duke said, "No; we must
wait," and gave no reasons. The thief did not agree, but held his
tongue, as Mme. des Illes said nothing, and since, after all, this was a
duke.