LA SOURIS MEETS HIS MATCH
A month and a half had passed. Jean regularly attended the meetings of
the Brotherhood, and in all that company there was no more active and
enthusiastic worker than this youngest member of the league. By the
middle of March many things had been accomplished and the rough details
of the plot were nearing perfection.
In the first place, the Surgeon Saintanac had at last discovered a child
suffering with a hopeless, incurable disease, and as like the little
prince as could be wished in one so near death. The problem of smuggling
him into the Tower was to be solved in this way. When Citizeness Clouet
came with a basket of clean linen, the sick child was to be concealed
at the bottom. The day chosen for this must of course be one when the
municipals on duty were mostly those of the Brotherhood, and the
examination of the basket could thus be intentionally hasty and
incomplete. Then the child would be hidden in an upper lumber room, till
a favourable opportunity to have him exchange places with the King.
This opportunity was not far away, for Laurent had intimated to some of
the municipals that he was about to resign his position as keeper of the
royal child. His mother had recently died, family affairs were pressing,
and in spite of his real affection for the boy, he felt that he had done
his duty and that the time had come for his removal. His successor, a
man named Citizen Lasne, was a staunch Republican, but this did not
worry the Brotherhood, since they planned that the false king should be
exchanged for the real one before his arrival.
One other most important point had been gained by the society. Gomin had
at last ceased his vacillating, and come out staunchly for the cause.
Municipal Debierne the toy-man, was responsible for this. Long and
arduous had been his discussions, quiet and skilful his manipulations of
the impressionable Gomin, till at length, inspired both by Debierne's
influence and his own very real sympathy for his pathetic little charge,
he yielded. He was brought to the Brotherhood meeting, branded and
sworn, and the cause was all but complete.
Great was the rejoicing on the night of Gomin's initiation into the
Brotherhood, and a huge feast was partaken of in celebration of this
most important event. Jean's delight was beyond all bounds, and he had
hard work to contain his bubbling spirits, when he heard a piece of news
that considerably dampened his ardour. It was Caron who told him. It had
leaked out that La Souris was again walking about as if no harm could
threaten him! After having disappeared for many months, he had managed
to wriggle himself into favour with someone in high authority, probably
with the minor leader of the Convention, La Reveilliere-Lepeaux, and was
again expecting to resume his duties as municipal of the Tower.
"Look out!" warned Caron. "He has you particularly in his eye, Jean! He
can't do you much harm personally, for you are under the protection of
the Brotherhood. Your place here is secure. But he may be the death of
the whole plot if we don't watch out!"
"I'll watch him like a cat!" declared the disgusted boy. "I'll keep him
in sight every minute of the time he is in the Tower. Trust me! But, oh,
_why_ did he have to come back?"
The day was appointed at last for the first great move. Far in the
night, on the twenty-sixth of March, Saintanac drove up in a tightly
closed carriage to Citizeness Clouet's door. No one was about to see him
carry into the house a young boy of ten years, desperately ill and half
delirious. This child, some nameless waif from one of the charity
hospitals, bore a haunting, ghastly resemblance to the little captive of
the Tower.
The surgeon administered to him a heavy dose of opium that would put him
into a deep sleep for many hours, and left him in the care of Mere
Clouet. She and Yvonne were both in the plot, of course, though it had
not been deemed necessary that they should become sworn and branded
members, since Jean vouched for them. Next morning they packed the
unconscious child into the huge clothes-basket, carefully arranging the
linen so that he should not be smothered. Then, with beating hearts and
courage steeled to the utmost, they called a cab, in it deposited their
heavy burden, and were driven to the Temple.
"Mother, mother!" gasped Yvonne, pressing her hands to her heart to
still the terrible thumping, "what will happen if La Souris is there
and insists on examining the basket?"
"Trust in God, little one!" answered Mere Clouet. "Our cause is a just
one and merciful. He will not suffer it to fail! Repeat the prayer for
those in danger, child!" Yvonne's lips moved softly, and scarcely had
she reached the "Amen!" when the carriage drew up at the outer
courtyard.
Yvonne's presentiments were only too correct! To their horror and
despair, the first face they saw as they entered with the basket, was
the sly, evil, suspicious countenance of La Souris! His little, rat's
eyes glittered under his almost hairless brows, and his claw-like hands
twitched nervously as he reached for the basket. Debierne and Meunier
also stepped up and began to turn over the freshly ironed linen.
"Hold hard, friends! I will attend to this!" snapped La Souris. "You may
look on and see that I do it thoroughly!"
Yvonne and Mere Clouet almost fainted away with terror, but they set
their teeth and endured it bravely. All trembled with despair, even the
staunchest man in the group, yet they dared not utter one word of
remonstrance. Layer after layer La Souris removed, shaking out each
piece deliberately, and holding it to the light. The operation seemed
interminable, and the suspense beyond all endurance! At length all but
the last layer had been removed. Nothing but that and a sheet covered
the body of the hidden child. Oh, was there not something that could
stop that dreadful hand!
Just at this point, out from the kitchen across the courtyard stepped
Jean, bearing in his hands a huge bowl of soup for the breakfast of the
soldiers in the Tower. To carry this to the guard-room where the meal
was served, he was obliged to pass directly through the group gathered
at the door. Well he knew the meaning of those blenched faces, those
hopeless, despairing eyes, but he walked slowly by them all without a
sign of recognition.
La Souris was kneeling before the basket, holding to the light a
pillow-slip, when Jean passed directly behind him. With a studied
carelessness, the boy deliberately tripped over the man's foot, lost his
grip on the huge tureen, and skilfully managed to pour the entire
steaming contents down the back of the unsuspecting municipal! With a
hideous yell, La Souris dropped the linen and sprang to his feet.
"Oh! Pardon! pardon, Citizen! It was an accident!" shrieked Jean,
assuming a well-feigned fright and dashing past him into the courtyard.
La Souris, frenzied by the blistering of his back, and furious with rage
at its perpetrator, tore after him, longing only to lay his hands on the
agile lad. Round and round they flew, Jean ducking, doubling and evading
with the skill of an accomplished Parisian _gamin_, while the soldiers
gathered about laughing and applauding the race. La Souris panted and
shrieked for vengeance, but he was no match for this agile lad, and he
stopped at last, exhausted by his exertion and his very real pain.
"Someone call a doctor!" he groaned. "I haven't an inch of skin left on
my back!" Jean, the wily, was the first and most ardent to rush off at
this command, and fetch the Temple surgeon. La Souris, faint with
suffering, was removed to his house in a cab, having forgotten all about
the basket which had long since been quietly and thankfully removed.
During the excitement and noise, when everyone had rushed to the yard to
witness the chase, the sick child had been carried to the attic and
hidden away in a long-unused half-boarded-up lumber room. The basket was
returned to Mere Clouet, and the plot so far was safe, thanks to the
timely intervention of Jean. He was the hero of the hour that night at
the Brotherhood, and thoroughly did he enjoy that honourable position.
"But you've no idea," he declared, "how Caron and I worked to get that
soup heated to the proper boiling pitch! I was watching at the window,
when I wasn't cramming wood in the fire, and I certainly thought La
Souris would have everything out of that basket before it was ready! It
was Caron who thought of the soup!"
"Yes, but no one could have carried it out so well as Jean!" insisted
the admiring Caron. "Whoever thought that La Souris would turn up just
this day! The Evil One himself must have prompted him! Well, he's out of
the way now for a spell, and that's a mercy!"
All this while the little captive king was living in total ignorance
that there was such a thing as a plot for his escape. Release was
something he had long given up as hopeless. Sometimes, even to his
childish mind, it seemed as though death alone could free him from his
long imprisonment. He was grieved and sad over the thought of Laurent's
approaching departure, for he had begun to cherish a real affection for
this first kindly man who had come into his life in many a weary month.
He dreaded to think who might take his place, though Gomin was still to
be there. But Gomin had to give much of his time to the sister on the
floor above.
On the night of March twenty-ninth, Laurent bade a tender farewell to
Louis Charles. When the door at last closed behind him, the boy threw
himself on his bed in a violent fit of weeping. It was here that Gomin
found him when he came in later with his supper. Gomin himself was
nervous, excited and ill at ease, for this was the appointed time for
the second great move in the scheme of liberation. On him this time
depended success!
For a while the child refused to eat anything. This distressed Gomin
beyond measure, for it was important that the meal should be eaten,
since it was heavily dosed with opium. Nothing could be well
accomplished unless the boy were rendered unconscious. At last, to
please his keeper, Louis Charles swallowed the food though it almost
choked him.
"Why am I so sleepy?" he presently asked. "It is not yet time to go to
bed!"
"You have worn yourself out with crying," answered Gomin. "You had
better let me put you to bed at once." The boy complied, his eyelids
sinking more and more each moment, and before he was half undressed he
had fallen into a heavy slumber. But Gomin did not put him in bed. On
the contrary, he wrapped him in a large shawl, and opening the door,
made a sign to someone outside.
Barelle and Debierne entered with a huge basket that at first seemed
empty. When the door was closed, however, they removed a false bottom,
and there lay the sick child, sleeping soundly but not drugged. Quick as
a flash the change was made. The strange boy lay in the little king's
bed, clothed in the king's own gown and cap, and Louis XVII was placed
at the bottom of the basket. The false bottom was again adjusted, and
the remaining space piled with odds and ends of waste that had
accumulated during Laurent's stay.
When the basket was filled, the two municipals carried it upstairs,
telling the sentries who challenged them that they were going to place
in the lumber room all the old truck that Laurent had left behind him,
in order to clear the premises for Lasne. The sentries, after a hasty
examination, passed them on without trouble. The attic of the Tower was
a vast space more than half filled with every manner of cast-off
articles that could have accumulated in a century past. Here they
removed the rubbish from the basket, and lifted out the boy. Approaching
the wooden partition they knocked softly, in the manner of the
Brotherhood.
"All right!" whispered a familiar voice from behind, and on removing a
board the curly head of Jean appeared.
"Hand him in!" he said. With incredible difficulty they managed to
squeeze the unconscious child through the small aperture. Behind the
partition was a tiny space not more than six or seven feet in any
direction. Within this space was a mattress on the floor, and nothing
else. Jean laid the boy on the mattress, covered him, and called once
more, "All right!" The two men drew the board into place, and no one
would have suspected either that there was any space behind it, or what
that space contained. Then they left the garret room, rejoicing in the
success of the second great step, and Jean was left alone with his
charge.
All night he sat by the bed watching. But morning came and no change had
occurred. The drug still held the boy in its deadening grip. Jean ate
his breakfast of half a loaf of bread, and washed it down with a pitcher
of water. Then he continued his watch. About noon the little king came
to himself, but so deathly ill was he from the effects of the opium,
that he noticed neither his changed surroundings nor his companion for
many hours. Meanwhile Jean nursed him tenderly, and forced him to
swallow a healing draught that had been left for the purpose by
Saintanac. Toward night Louis Charles recovered himself sufficiently to
be conscious of some radical change in his surroundings.
"Why is it so dark?" he demanded. "And who are you?" Then Jean put his
arms around the boy, and whispered the whole story in his ear.
"I am Jean," he ended, "who has loved you ever since I first saw you in
your little garden at the Tuileries! Will you not trust me?" For a time
it seemed as if the child could hardly comprehend it all. The news was
so sudden, so confusing! It was too wonderful! It was beyond belief that
he should be free at last, and that his long-lost friend should be one
of the chief actors in that scheme of release! But something else
troubled him.
"What of my mother and sister and aunt?" he inquired. "Will they also be
released with me? I do not wish to go if they remain!" Jean was silent a
moment. What should he reply? But the time was not yet ripe to reveal
all the truth to this loving child.
"They will also be safe!" he answered. And satisfied with this, the
little fellow put his head down on Jean's shoulder, and cried long and
softly in the sheer excess of his joy.
Jean remained hidden with the boy for the next few days. He was supposed
to be away on a leave of absence, so at the Tower his non-appearance was
thus accounted for. During this time he warned Louis Charles that his
position was a terribly dangerous one, and that he must keep absolutely
quiet always, and not be afraid if he were left alone, for he, Jean,
could not be with him all the time. After his horrible six months of
solitude, however, this new departure had little terror for a boy so
inured to suffering. He promised joyfully to do all that was required of
him.
"How long do you think it will be?" he asked.
"I cannot tell," answered Jean, "but as long as that poor little chap in
your place down there remains alive. And goodness knows, that won't be
_very_ long, from the description they give of him!" Louis was genuinely
interested in, and sorry for his counterpart.
"Do not waste much sympathy on him, dear friend," said Jean. "He is long
past knowing even that he suffers, and death will be to him also a
welcome release. Rest assured too that he is having better care here
than he would get in a charity hospital! But now I must go. Be quiet and
contented, and do not fear! I will come again to you as soon as it is
possible. Meanwhile here is food and drink for two days. Adieu!" And in
some inexplicable manner Jean wriggled himself out of the absurdly small
aperture, and closed the plank behind him.
For nearly two months and a half, Louis Charles remained hidden at the
top of the Tower, waiting till the sick child below should breathe his
last. During this time Jean was his frequent companion, and his only
one. The boy did his best to amuse the lonely little prisoner, telling
him long stories about Moufflet, Yvonne, the good Mere Clouet, and also
about his own imprisonment in the Conciergerie, and his remarkable
escape. The eyesight of the two children grew like an owl's in this
semi-darkness, and they found after a while that they could see each
other quite well. On one occasion, after they had talked a long while
and fallen into silence, Louis Charles suddenly asked his companion what
day of the month it was.
"The third of May, 1795," answered Jean, unsuspectingly. Louis was quiet
for a while, apparently struggling with some thought or half illusive
recollection. Presently a flash of joy illuminated his face.
"Why! then it is my Aunt Elizabeth's birthday! How I wish I could go to
her and give her my congratulations! But I suppose my mother will
remember to do so for me!"
"Yes, yes!" returned Jean, but the words almost choked him, and he could
think of nothing further to say. Something about his actions aroused his
companion's suspicions. Turning on him squarely, Louis Charles demanded:
"Tell me all about my mother!" Jean felt that the time had at last
arrived when it was expedient to conceal the facts no longer. Summoning
all his courage, he replied softly:
"She is dead!"
"And my aunt?"
"She is also dead!"
"And my sister?" pursued the relentless voice.
"She is alive and safe here in the Tower!" For a moment the blow seemed
too stupendous. The stricken child sat almost stunned. Then the
catechism recommenced.
"How long has my mother been dead?"
"A year and a half!"
"And my aunt?"
"Just one year!"
"And they never told me?"
"They did not have the heart!" said Jean gently. This reply broke the
ice of the little fellow's grief. Tears came to his relief, and he threw
himself on the bed sobbing quietly. The struggle was long and severe,
and Jean left him to the sacredness of his sorrow unmolested. When the
storm of sobs grew less and the tears had ceased, Jean took him in his
big, brawny arms and comforted him almost as one would a tired baby.
Then to divert his thoughts for a while, he told him all his experiences
on the night of his first visit to the Brotherhood of Liberation, for
this he had been permitted to do if he chose. The child's interest was
at first languid, but gradually grew intense as the tale advanced. When
Jean recounted how he had been branded and sworn into the circle, Louis
took in his own hands the branded palm of the older boy.
"And you went through all this for me?" he said in wonder. "Then will I
never, never forget you, and I shall love you always, as I would my own
brother!" Stooping, he bent his head and touched the scar with his
gentle lips!
In all his life, Jean never forgot that moment!
THE LAST MOVE