"From Edward Fitzgerald on behalf of his kinsman, Sillery. But too
late. Come, Adele. The twenty-two are before the Tribunal to-day, and
I have a place for you in the gallery."
And without heeding me further (for which I was devoutly thankful), he
drew his wife's arm in his own and walked off rapidly in the direction
of the Tuileries.
Lest my reader should suppose that my letter to Depute Duport was one of
great moment to my own story, let me say at once it was not so, at least
directly. It was, as the deputy had said, a letter addressed by Lord
Edward Fitzgerald, a young Irish nobleman (of whom more hereafter), to
Duport, claiming, for the sake of old comradeship, his good offices on
behalf of one of the twenty-two impeached Girondist deputies, Sillery by
name, whose adopted daughter, or, rather, the adopted daughter of whose
wife, Lord Edward had lately married. Many letters of the kind were no
doubt constantly coming into the hands of powerful members of the
Convention just then; and many, like it, came too late.
Next morning, so I was told, the whole of the accused, and Sillery first
of the batch, were guillotined; the headsman doing his work with such
dexterity that in thirty-one minutes the twenty-two were all disposed
of.
My letter to Mr Lestrange (which I still carried in my stocking) was
another matter, and concerned me considerably, especially now that I
understood it was from my lady at Knockowen. Where to find him I knew
not, and to be found with the letter on me might compromise not merely
me but him and his Irish kinsfolk.
All things considered, I decided to read the letter and commit it to
memory, and then destroy it, hoping my good intentions might be excuse
enough for the breach of faith. And, indeed, when that afternoon I
sought a sheltered place in the woods and produced the soiled and
stained letter from my stocking, I was glad I had done what I did.
"Dear Cousin," wrote my lady at Knockowen, "I hear there is a chance of
getting a letter to you by the messenger who is to carry back Lord
Edward's petition on behalf of the poor Marquis Sillery. Your nephew,
Captain Lestrange, told us of his trouble when he was here in the
summer, and gave us to understand there was little to be hoped for. If
Sillery perish, your position in Paris will be painful indeed. I would
fain send you the money you ask for, but Maurice keeps me so low in
funds that I cannot even pay for my own clothes. I trust, however, your
nephew may bring you some relief, as he spoke of going to Paris this
autumn on a secret mission for the English Government. Affairs with us
are very bad, and, indeed, Maurice succeeds so ill in winning the
confidence of either party, loyalist or rebel, that he talks of sending
me and Kit over to you till times are better here. Take the threat for
what it is worth, for I should be as sorry as you would, and I hear
Paris is a dreadful place to be in now. But you know Maurice. Kit is
well, but all our troubles prey on her spirits. I suspect if your
nephew were in Paris, she would be easier reconciled to our threatened
pilgrimage than I. Between ourselves, my dear cousin, as Maurice now
holds all the mortgages for your Irish estates, it would be well to keep
in with him, even if the price be a visit from your affectionate
cousin,--
"Alice Gorman."
"P.S.--I forget if you are still in the Quai Necker, but am told Lord
Edward's messenger will know where to deliver this."
Such was my lady's letter, and you may guess if it did not set the blood
tingling in my veins, and make Paris seem a very different place from
what it was an hour before.
I carefully read and re-read the letter till I had it by heart, and then
as carefully tore it into a thousand pieces and scattered them to the
wind. The one sentence referring to Captain Lestrange's visit as an
agent for the British Government was (little as I yet knew of the state
of affairs in Paris) enough to hurry the innocent folk to whom it was
addressed to the guillotine. What if my little lady and her mother were
by this time in this terrible city and liable to the same fate?
I spent that afternoon wandering along the river on both banks, seeking
for the Quai Necker, but nothing of that name could I find. The names
were mostly new, and in honour of some person or place illustrious in
the Revolution. At last, in despair, I was giving up the quest, when on
an old book-stall I lit upon a plan of Paris dated ten years ago.
The _bouquineur_, a sour fellow whose trade had evidently suffered in
recent months, would by no means allow me to look at it till I had paid
the five sous he demanded, which I was glad enough to do. And after a
very little study I found the Quai Necker marked down near the
cathedral; and having carefully noted its bearings, I carried my map to
a stall higher up, where I sold it for eight sous, thus making one of
the most profitable bargains I ever struck.
Before dark, and while all Paris was ringing with the news that the
twenty-two unfortunate Girondists were to be executed next morning, I
found myself standing in a shabby passage beside the river, under the
shadow of the great cathedral of Notre Dame.