PRISON DELIVERY--AND AN ENCOUNTER
The jailers deliver the keys; the mob pours tumultuously into the
female prison. What cries of joy, what sobs of relief from the saner
inmates, as they try to _think_ their new, almost incredible jail
delivery! What stony, uncomprehending glances or what wild shrieks
from the maniacal! Amid this confused throng Picard, who has entered
with the crowd to wait upon his mistress, presents a comic figure. He
has arrayed himself in the red-and-white striped garb of the
proletariat, is trying his best to look a Revolutionary, though all he
gets for it are kicks and wallops!
Sense and nonsense mix strangely in the proceedings of the mob. They
set up a rude court headed by two horny-handed butchers, the object of
which is to separate the innocent from the guilty. But the new
red-and-white cockade--superseding the green cockades of the first
battle--is the best passport to their favor. Inmates whose friends
have provided them with these Revolutionary badges, are generally
turned loose. Shouting and laughing in their glee, they dance out of
the prison.
Picard has provided Henriette with his badge, whilst Sister Genevieve
and the Doctor vouch to her good character. Henriette kisses the
cockade as a sign of fealty to the new order. The brawny judges let
her pass. She runs merrily out past the harmless gauntlet of the
friendly pikes and lances.
Not so Picard--That luckless valet tries to sneak out past the big
chopper of the brawny butcher-judge.
Whir-r! The chopper descends in front of him, almost taking his head
off!
Picard executes a strategic retirement to the rear. There! Isn't there
seemingly a good chance to crawl out between the other guardian's
legs, and thus escape?
Picard tries it.
Alas! the first butcher catches sight of Picard's be-tufted head
protruding in this strange manner from under the crotch of his fellow.
The Man of Meat grasps Picard firmly by the collar and pulls him
forth.
With the other hand he raises the axe to chop the offender's head off,
thinks better of it, twirls Picard swiftly around, and using the flat
of the chopper spanks the rear of the Picard anatomy, sending him
sprawling into the limbo.
So that little Henriette's excursion into Freedom is unattended and
alone. It is quite unlikely that she bothers about Picard at all.
"Louise! Rue de Brissac!" is the sole thought of her whirling little
brain, as she speeds on.
Just where is the Frochards' cellar door? Certainly she has never
noticed it in her frequent searches of the Pont Neuf district. But
perhaps some one can tell her--She is in the Rue de Brissac now,
almost at the spot where she herself was kidnapped and Louise was
lost.
A good-looking daughter of the people comes hurrying by.
"Can you tell me where the Frochards live?" inquires Henriette
eagerly.
The girl points to an almost indistinguishable trap-door, nearly
covered with straw, in front of one of the houses. "There!" she says.
Henriette presses the newcomer to accompany her. "Sorry, I haven't a
minute!" negatives the other, hastening off in spite of Henriette's
efforts to detain her.
* * * * *
Henriette opens the trap-door of the cellar where the Frochards
lodged, and peers within. Courageously she goes down the steps.
Sympathy and horror struggle in the thought of Louise being an inmate
of this foul place.
What is her disgust then to encounter the wart-faced and moustachioed
hag who is its proprietor! Quickly Henriette tells La Frochard of her
information, and demands Louise.
"I don't know any such person," the hag lies, with ready effrontery.
"You must be mistaken!"
But Henriette's eyes are gazing at the Frochard's neck, sensing
something or other vaguely familiar. The old woman, who has been
drinking, has unloosened her nondescript rig. The girl's gaze sees a
well-remembered object.
"My sister's shawl!"
The blue eyes are gleaming now in astonishment--with a hint of coming
fury. She snatches the shawl from La Frochard's shoulders, fondles and
caresses it. Then like a small tigress robbed of whelp she advances on
the beggar, shaking her in paroxysmal rage.
It would have been a comical sight if not so very serious a one; the
tiny Henrietta shaking a woman twice her size, pummeling her,
brow-beating her till La Frochard sinks to her knees and begs for
mercy.
"You have been lying, and that shawl proves it," cries Henriette.
"Where is she?"
The old woman gets up. She changes her tone to a whine, and tries to
pat Henriette in pretended sympathy. "Well, if you must know the
truth--"
"Yes, yes," cries Henriette, "go on!"
"--she _was_ with us, but alas!--poor thing--with the hard life we
have to lead--she--she died!"
The searcher for Louise reels as if about to faint.
She collects herself with difficulty, and stares at La Frochard. A
distraught look is on the girl's face.
It is a look of utter misery, compounded with mistrustfulness of the
deceiving hag.
She leaves the cellar, fully resolved to invoke the Law--if Law--in
this wild time--there can be found...
A bundle of rags, on which Henrietta has almost stepped in passing,
moves very slightly.