MANIAC WITH A DAGGER
A sansculotte soldier, less brutal than his fellows, had allowed
Louise and Pierre to approach one side of the scaffold. They were more
privileged than the frantic Picard, who could not get near his young
master and mistress. Revolutionary infantry guarded every side of the
public square. Intermingled among them were the favored hoodlums of
the Jacobin party, execrating the victims and howling with glee
whenever the dread axe fell.
Among the riff-raff, Mere Frochard and her precious son Jacques
Frochard were conspicuous. For no particular reason they were gloating
over the cutting-off of aristocrats, whilst indulging in rough
horseplay at the expense of the friends of the condemned. Picard's
quaint look of helpless sympathy excited ready mirth.
"Sniveling over those good-for-nothings, eh?" La Frochard curled her
heavy moustachioed lip in scorn.
"We'll find a way to make that sensitive young man feel something--"
she confided to Jacques. A moment later she had pulled over a
sansculotte's bayonet, with which she executed a neat jab into
Picard's anatomy.
Picard leaped in the air like a jumping jack. When he descended to
earth and turned to survey the cause of his torment, he faced but an
impassive trooper with weapon at parade rest and the grinning
countenances of Mere and Jacques Frochard, convulsed with laughter.
Picard decided the vicinity of the guillotine was almost as dangerous
for him as for his master. He edged out of range, biding the occasion
for a counter-thrust....
Pierre and Louise stood on the other side of the scaffold, the heavy
structure of which quite hid the ruffian Frochards and their horseplay
with Picard.
Henriette had been borne up the steps of the guillotine a few moments
before Pierre and Louise reached the scene. The cripple, terribly
excited, was telling Louise of Henriette's being strapped to the board
and shoved toward the knife vent.
"That big murderer is going to kill her!" hissed Pierre.
Louise's blind features became contorted with agony. Large tear drops
fell from her eyes. Both arms were extended toward her sister above,
then clawed convulsively at Pierre.
"They-have-put-her-head-in-the crossboard-and--oh, oh!--fastened-it-down!
"The-executioner-is-all-ready." Pierre was gesticulating like a
madman. He seemed to be raising despairing hands to high Heaven, in
token of helplessness.
Above--around--everywhere, he looked for succor; found none. A glance
from Henriette's doomed form to Louise's bitter anguish converts him
into a maniac.
"HE'S ASKING THE MASTER FOR THE SIGNAL TO PULL THE ROPE!"
Pierre shouts the words in a fury that is rapidly growing uncontrollable.
Spectators for the first time notice his strange actions. But neither
the expectant executioner nor the self-important master of ceremonial
looks down, or distinguishes the cry in the babel of savage sounds.
The wild youth now disengages himself from Louise's clutch. With his
right hand he pulls a dagger from his hip pocket. Look! As the
master's signalling hand is upraised high and begins to lower, the boy
leaps up the steps of the guillotine, and attacks the executioner
whose fingers are already on the death rope....
Ride on yet more fiercely, O Danton and ye fierce Cavalrymen--ride on,
e'en past the barrier, if Jacques-Forget-Not and his men do not stay
thee. Yes, thank God! there may yet be time, should this maniac with
the dagger provide sufficient respite!
... The brawny butcher is too astonished to defend himself. His
nerveless fingers are no longer on the rope; he stands like a stalled
ox in front of his homicidal assailant. With the rapidity of lightning
Pierre plunges his long Provencal dirk in the executioner's side. The
butchered butcher falls with a single bawling outcry and a groan. The
crowd is thunderstruck, and the pinioned de Vaudrey is wild with joy.
Though bound and helpless, he tries to leap up to his prostrate
Henriette.
But the master of ceremonial, at first too panic-stricken to
intervene, now summons the sansculotte guards from the ground below.
Up the steps on the double-quick they rush with fixed bayonets. As the
huge victim falls back into the arms of his assistant, the bayoneting
soldiers corner the dirk-waving Pierre.
The brief contest is quite unequal. In less time than it takes to tell
it, one of the men plunges his bright, long steel in Pierre's side.
The latter falls like a lump of clay on the scaffold flooring. Several
of the bayonets speed toward the inert lump, with the intent on the
part of their owners to fling the body contemptuously from the
scaffold to the floor.
But a more refined cruelty speaks: "Save him for the guillotine!" The
soldiers leave the crumpled-up, desperately wounded Pierre, dooming
him yet to taste La Guillotine's embrace. They subdue de Vaudrey and
truss him up anew.
The roars of the crowd die down. Comparative order is again restored.
The master of ceremonial, having recovered the habit of command,
orders Jean, the remaining executioner, to complete the stricken one's
job.
[Illustration: HENRIETTE SAVED FROM THE GUILLOTINE'S KNIFE.]
Fortunately for our heroine under the knife, the second executioner is
slow and awkward. He has seen butchery come quite too close to his own
flesh! Still somewhat unnerved, he prepares himself for the task with
clumsy movements and halting fingers. The master bids him hurry--Jean
takes his time, he's not going to bungle the job....
As the supreme moment nears, it is well that we should note what is
happening with Danton and his Centaurs--