THE BILLET.
The other two municipal guards came up hastily. A detachment of
the post accompanied them. The doors were shut, and two sentinels
intercepted the egress from each chamber.
"What do you want, sir?" said the queen to Maurice when he entered. "I
was about to retire, when, five minutes since, the citizen municipal
suddenly forced his entrance into my chamber, without informing me what
he desired."
"Madame," said Maurice, bowing, "it is not my colleague who desires
anything from you, it is myself."
"You, sir?" demanded Marie Antoinette, looking at Maurice, whose
courteous behavior had caused her to regard him with some favor; "and
what do you desire?"
"I request that you will be kind enough to show me the letter you were
concealing when I entered just now."
Madame Royale and Madame Elizabeth trembled. The queen turned very pale.
"You are mistaken, sir; I concealed nothing."
"You lie, Austrian!" cried Agricola.
Maurice quickly placed his hand on the arm of his colleague.
"One moment, my dear colleague," said he; "leave me to speak to the
citizeness, I am a little bit of a lawyer."
"Go on then; but do not stand on ceremony with her, _morbleu_!"
"You have concealed a letter, Citizen," said Maurice, austerely; "now
it is necessary we should see this letter."
"But what letter?"
"The letter that Tison's daughter brought you, and which the
citizeness, your daughter" (Maurice alluded to the young princess),
"picked up with her pocket-handkerchief."
The three females looked at each other with terror.
"But, Monsieur, this is worse than tyranny," said the queen; "we are
women! women!"
"Do not mistake," said Maurice, with firmness; "we are neither
judges nor executioners, we are overseers,--that is to say, your
fellow-citizens,--commissioned to guard you. We have our order; to
violate it is treason. Citizeness, I pray you to give me the letter you
have concealed."
"Gentlemen," said the queen, with much hauteur, "since you are
overseers, search, and deprive us of our rest to-night as usual."
"God forbid we should lay our hands upon women! I am now going to
inform the Commune, and shall await its orders. But you cannot retire
to bed; you may sleep upon these easy-chairs, if you please, and we
shall guard you. If necessary, they will search you."
"What is the matter?" said Tison's wife, appearing at the door quite
bewildered.
"It is this, Citizeness," said Maurice, "that by lending yourself to
treasonable practices, you have debarred yourself from seeing your
daughter any more."
"From seeing my daughter? What do you tell me then, Citizen," demanded
Tison's wife, who could not yet comprehend why she was not to see her
daughter.
"I tell you, that your daughter did not come here to see you, but to
bring a letter to the Citizen Capet; and therefore she shall return
here no more."
"But if she does not come here, I shall not be able to see her, as we
are forbidden to go out."
"This time you have no one to blame but yourself,--it is your own
fault," said Maurice.
"Oh!" screamed the poor woman, "my fault! why do you say it is my
fault? Nothing has happened, I assure you. If I thought anything could
have happened, woe to you, Antoinette; you should pay dearly for it,"
and the exasperated woman shook her fist at the queen.
"Threaten no one," said Maurice; "but rather gain by kindness what we
demand, for you are a woman, and the Citizeness Marie Antoinette, who
is herself a mother, will take pity on you. To-morrow your daughter
will be arrested,--to-morrow imprisoned; then, if they discover
anything, and you know that when they choose they always can do so, she
is lost, and also her companion."
The woman Tison, who had listened to Maurice with increasing terror,
turned wildly toward the queen.
"You hear, Antoinette? My daughter! It is you who will ruin my child!"
The queen in her turn appeared bewildered, not by the fury which
sparkled in the eyes of her female jailer, but by her evident despair.
"Come with me, Madame Tison," said she, "I have something to say to
you."
"Holloa! No cajolery; we are not in your way here," said Maurice's
colleague. "Before the municipality--everything open and above board."
"Never mind, Citizen Agricola," whispered Maurice, "provided we
discover the truth, it does not matter in what fashion we do so."
"You are right, Citizen Maurice; but--"
"Let us pass behind the glazed partition, Citizen Agricola; and if you
agree with me, we will turn our backs, and I am certain the individual
for whom we evince this consideration will not make us repent it."
The queen heard these words, intended for her to hear, and cast upon
the young man a look of grateful acknowledgment. Maurice carelessly
turned his head, and walked to the other side of the glazed partition.
Agricola followed him.
"You see this queen," said he to Agricola: "as a queen she is very
culpable, as a woman she is high-minded and dignified. It is well to
destroy crowns; princes are purified by misfortune."
"By thunder! you speak well, Citizen Maurice; I like to hear you talk,
and your friend Lorin. Is that poetry you recited?"
Maurice smiled.
During this conversation, the scene which Maurice had anticipated was
passing on the other side.
The woman Tison approached the queen.
"Madame," said the queen, "your despair grieves me. I do not wish
to deprive you of your daughter,--that would be too cruel; but pray
consider, perhaps by doing what these men require, your child will be
lost none the less."
"Do what they tell you!" cried the woman,--"do what they tell you!"
"But first, at least, hear what is the matter."
"What is the matter?" demanded the woman, with almost savage curiosity.
"Your daughter brought a friend with her."
"Yes, a work-woman like herself. She did not like to come alone,
because of the soldiers."
"This friend committed a letter to your daughter; your daughter let it
fall. Marie, who was passing, picked it up. It is, doubtless, a paper
of no consequence, but still one upon which evil-minded people might
put a bad construction. Did not the municipal just tell you, when they
wish that they can always do so?"
"Well, go on."
"That is all; you wish me to give up this paper,--do you wish me to
sacrifice a friend, without perhaps benefiting your daughter?"
"Do what they tell you!" shrieked the woman,--"do what they tell you!"
"But if this paper implicates your daughter," said the queen; "do try
to understand."
"My daughter is, like myself, a good patriot," cried the hag. "Thank
God, the Tisons are well known. Do what they tell you!"
"Good Heavens!" said the queen; "how can I make you understand?"
"My child, I want them to return me my child," cried Tison's wife,
stamping her feet. "Give me the paper, Antoinette, give me the paper!"
"There it is, Madame," and the queen tendered a paper to the wretched
creature, which she seized, and held joyfully above her head, crying,--
"Come here, come here, citizen municipals. I have the paper; take it,
and give me back my child."
"You sacrifice our friends, sister," said Elizabeth.
"No, sister," replied the queen, mournfully; "I only sacrifice
ourselves. The paper implicates no one."
At the cries of the woman Tison, Maurice and his colleague came toward
her, when she immediately held out the paper to them. They opened it
and read,--
"At L'Orient [the east] a friend still watches."
Maurice had no sooner cast his eyes on this paper than he started. The
hand-writing seemed to him not unknown.
"My God!" cried he, "can it be that of Geneviève? But no, it is
impossible; I am mad. It resembles hers, certainly; but what can
Geneviève have to do with the queen?"
He turned round, and observed that Marie Antoinette was watching him
attentively. As for the woman Tison, as she awaited her fate, she
devoured Maurice with her eyes.
"You have done a good action," said he, to Tison's wife; "and you,
Citizeness, a great one," addressing the queen.
"Then, sir," replied Marie Antoinette, "follow my example. Burn the
paper, and you will perform a charitable one."
"You are joking, Austrian," said Agricola. "Burn a paper that may
perhaps enable us to discover a whole covey of aristocrats? Good faith!
no; we are not quite such fools as that."
"Ah, yes! do burn it; it might compromise my daughter," implored the
woman Tison.
"I believe you; your daughter and some others," said Agricola, taking
the paper from the hands of Maurice, which the latter, had he been
alone, would most certainly have destroyed.
Ten minutes afterward, the paper was deposited on the bureau of the
members of the Commune. It was instantly opened and commented upon in
various ways.
"'At L'Orient--a friend watches.' What the devil can that mean?" said
one.
"Why," replied a geographer, "at Lorient, that is clear enough. Lorient
is a little town of Brittany, situated between Vannes and Quimper.
Egad! we ought to burn the town, if it be true that it shelters
aristocrats who are watching still over the Austrian."
"It is all the more dangerous," said another, "because Lorient being a
sea-port, they might establish communication with England."
"I propose," said a third, "that we send a committee to Lorient, and
that a thorough search of the place be instituted."
This proposition made the minority smile, but was approved by the
majority; they accordingly resolved that a committee be sent to Lorient
to watch the aristocrats.
Maurice had been informed of the consultation.
"I think it may perhaps mean the East," said he; "but I am quite sure
it is not in Brittany."
The next day the queen, who, as we have previously said, would no more
enter the garden, to avoid passing the door of the apartment where her
husband had been imprisoned, requested permission to ascend the tower
to take the air, with her daughter and Madame Elizabeth. Her wish
was instantly acceded to; but Maurice followed her, and mounting the
stairs, ensconced himself behind a little turret where, concealed, he
awaited the result of the letter of the preceding evening. The queen at
first walked without manifesting any concern, with Madame Elizabeth and
her daughter, then stopped, while the two princesses continued their
promenade, and turning toward the "East," observed intently a house at
the windows of which several persons were visible, one of whom held a
white handkerchief.
Maurice, on his part, drew a telescope from his pocket, and while he
adjusted it, the queen made a quick movement, as if to request those
at the window to retire; but Maurice had already remarked the head of
a man, with fair hair and pale complexion, whose salutation was so
respectful as almost to border on humility. Behind this young man, for
he appeared to be five, or six, and twenty years of age, stood a woman
partially concealed from his view. Maurice directed his glass toward
her, and thinking that he recognized Geneviève, inadvertently made a
motion which brought him under the notice of the party. Immediately
the female, who also held a telescope in her hand, drew back, dragging
the young man away with her. Was it really Geneviève? Had she also
recognized Maurice? Had this couple only retired at the signal given
them by the queen? Maurice waited a moment to see if the young man
and woman would reappear; but seeing the window remain unoccupied, he
recommended the strictest vigilance to his colleague, Agricola, quickly
descended the staircase, and went and concealed himself at the corner
of the Rue Portefoin, to see if they came out of the house. It was in
vain; no one appeared. He could not resist the suspicion which had
entered his mind from the moment the companion of Tison's daughter had
persisted in maintaining so obstinate a silence. Maurice directed his
course toward the old Rue Saint Jacques, where he arrived, bewildered
by the strangest suspicions, doubts, and fears. When he entered,
Geneviève, attired in a white morning-dress, was seated under an arbor
of jasmine, where she was accustomed to breakfast. She, as usual,
accorded Maurice a friendly greeting, and invited him to take a cup
of chocolate with her. Dixmer on his part, who had in the mean time
arrived, expressed the greatest joy at meeting Maurice at this unwonted
hour; but before he permitted Maurice to take the cup of chocolate
he had accepted, always enthusiastically attached to his trade, he
insisted that his friend the secretary to the section Lepelletier
should come with him and see the manufactory.
On their way to the workshops Dixmer, taking Maurice's arm and hurrying
him along, observed,--
"My dear Maurice, I have important news for you."
"Political?" asked Maurice, always occupied with one idea.
"Ah! dear Citizen," said Dixmer, smiling, "do you think we trouble
ourselves about politics? No, no; relating to our business, thank
Heaven! My honored friend, Morand, who, as you know, is a celebrated
chemist, has discovered the secret of staining morocco red in an
unequalled manner,--that is to say, the color remains unalterable,--by
a process never discovered till now. It is this color I want to show
you. Besides, you will see Morand at work; he is quite an artist."
Maurice did not exactly comprehend how making a red dye constituted an
artist; but nevertheless accompanied Dixmer across the tanyards, and in
a separate sort of office saw the Citizen Morand at work. He had on his
blue spectacles, was in his working-dress, and seemed entirely absorbed
in the intensely interesting process of changing a sheep-skin from
dirty white to purple. He had tucked up his sleeves, and his hands and
arms were red to the elbow. As Dixmer remarked, he had devoted himself
heart and soul to cochineal.
So entirely was he preoccupied that he merely moved his head to Maurice.
"Well, Citizen Morand," said Dixmer, "what say we?"
"We shall gain a hundred thousand francs yearly by this process alone;
but I have not slept for eight days, and these acids have affected my
sight."
Maurice left Dixmer with Morand and joined Geneviève as he said to
himself, "It must be confessed the trade of municipal is degrading to
the hero! About eight days in the Temple one might fancy one's self an
aristocrat and denounce one's self. Honest Dixmer! Plodding Morand!
Gentle Geneviève! And I, idiot that I was, to have suspected them for a
moment!"
Geneviève awaited Maurice with a sweet smile calculated most
effectually to dispel every vestige of suspicion. She was as usual
sweet, amiable, and charming.
The hours passed in Geneviève's society were those only in which
Maurice could be said really to exist. At all other times he was
infected with that fever which might be termed the fever of '93,
by which Paris was separated into two hostile camps, and existence
rendered a perpetual combat. Toward noon, however, he had to part with
Geneviève, and return to the Tower of the Temple.
At the end of Rue Sainte Avoie he met Lorin, who was bringing down his
guard from duty. He left the ranks and came to meet Maurice, who still
wore upon his countenance the impress of the happiness he had enjoyed
in the society of the lovely Geneviève.
"Ah!" said Lorin, cordially shaking his friend by the hand,--
"In vain you seek your anguish
Within your heart to hide,
I know for whom you languish,
For whom so long you've sighed;
Within your heart, within your eyes,
Love reigns, and triumphs in his prize."
Maurice put his hand in his pocket in search of his key. This was
the method he adopted to put a stop to his friend's poetical vein.
But Lorin saw the movement, and ran away, laughing. "Apropos," said
he retracing his steps, "you have three days more at the Temple; I
recommend poor little Capet to your care."