THE PRODIGAL CHILD.
Maurice could not have been quicker, had he even possessed wings.
The streets were crowded, but Maurice only remarked the crowd as it
retarded his course. It was said everywhere that the Convention was
besieged; that the majesty of the people was offended through its
representatives, whom they prevented from coming out; and of this
there seemed some probability, as the ring of the tocsin was heard,
and the thunder of the cannon sounding an alarm. But what at this
moment, to Maurice, mattered either the tocsin or the cannon? What
cared he whether the deputies were or were not able to come out, when
the prohibition did not extend to him? So he quickened his pace, that
was all. While running, he pictured to himself Geneviève waiting at the
little window overlooking the garden, in order to see him; and that
she would perceive him far off; and then her smile, more than ever
charming, would welcome him back again.
Dixmer also was no doubt informed of this happy return, and would
tender him his coarse, large hand, so frank and loyal in its greeting.
He loved Dixmer; now even his love almost extended to Morand with his
black locks and his green spectacles, behind which he fancied he could
see the glitter of his brilliant but saturnine eyes.
He loved the whole world, for he was happy, and would willingly have
showered flowers on the heads of all mankind that they might be as
happy as himself.
But for once he was deceived. Poor Maurice! he deceived himself, as a
man generally does when he reckons according to his wishes.
Instead of the sweet smile awaiting Maurice, which was to receive him
when he would be seen from afar, Geneviève had determined on meeting
Maurice with the most distant politeness,--a feeble rampart with which
to oppose the torrent that threatened to invade her heart. She had
retired to her chamber on the first floor, and did not intend coming
down till sent for.
Alas! she also deceived herself.
Dixmer alone was not deceived; he watched for Maurice through a wired
lattice, and smiled ironically.
Morand was gravely occupied in dyeing black some tails which are placed
on white cat-skin to imitate ermine.
Maurice pushed open the little door of the alley, to enter
unceremoniously through the garden; as of old, the door opening rang a
little bell which indicated the arrival of Maurice.
Geneviève, who had stationed herself behind the closed window, started,
and let fall the curtain she had drawn on one side.
The first sensation experienced by Maurice on entering his friend's
house was disappointment. Not only was Geneviève absent from the window
on the ground-floor, but on entering the little salon where he had
uttered his last adieu, he found her not, and was compelled to announce
himself, as if an absence of three weeks' duration had transformed him
into a stranger. His heart was oppressed.
It was Dixmer whom Maurice first saw. He came forward, and embraced him
with exclamations of joy.
Geneviève then came down. She had tried in vain to restore some color
to her pallid cheek; but before she had proceeded twenty steps the
blood receded to her heart.
Maurice saw Geneviève appear in the shadow of the door; he advanced
toward her smiling, intending to kiss her hand, and then only perceived
how sadly she was changed. She on her part noticed with anxiety the
attenuated frame of Maurice, and his fevered look of wild excitement.
"You are here then, sir," said she, in a voice whose emotion she could
not subdue.
She had determined to address him with perfect indifference.
"Good-day, Citizen Maurice; why have your visits been so rare of late?"
This fickleness appeared more strange still to Maurice, and now what a
shadow was cast upon all!
Dixmer cut short this examination, and put an end to all reciprocal
reproaches by ordering dinner to be served; it was nearly two o'clock.
They passed into the _salle-à-manger_, where Maurice saw a cover was
placed for him. Then the Citizen Morand arrived, dressed in the same
chestnut-colored coat and in the same waistcoat--he always wore his
green spectacles--and white frilled shirt, and had the same long
thick black hair. Maurice felt so well-disposed toward him that he
wondered now when he had Morand before him that he should have ever
felt the least concern about his rivalry at a distance. In short, what
probability was there that Geneviève loved this little chemist? He was
in love, and in consequence a fool to allow such folly to enter into
his head.
Besides, the moment would have been badly chosen for jealousy. Maurice
carried within his waistcoat pocket Geneviève's last letter, and his
heart, bounding with joy, beat beneath it.
Geneviève had recovered her serenity. There is this peculiarity in the
organization of women, that the present is able to efface all hues of
the past, and distances all fears for the future.
Geneviève felt happy, having resumed her self-command: that is to say,
she became calm and dignified, though still kind,--another shade which
Maurice had not the requisite skill to comprehend. Lorin would have
found the explanation in "Parny," in "Bertin," or the "Gentil Bernard."
The conversation turned upon the Goddess Reason. The fall of the
Girondins, and the new mode of worship by which the kingdom of heaven
had fallen to the lot of the distaff were the prevailing topics of
the day. Dixmer pretended he should not have been sorry to see this
unparalleled honor offered to Geneviève. Maurice felt inclined to
laugh. Geneviève, however, concurred in the opinion of her husband,
while Maurice regarded them both with astonishment, wondering that
patriotism could so far mislead a sensible man like Dixmer and a woman
of so poetical and refined a nature as Geneviève.
Morand developed the theory of female politicians. He cited Théroigne
de Méricourt, the heroine of the 10th of August, and Madame Roland, the
"Soul" of the Girondins. Then, _en passant_, he launched out against
the "Tricoteuses." These words made Maurice smile. It was, however, a
cruel joke against these female patriots that they were latterly termed
"the female leeches of the guillotine."
"Ah! Citizen Morand," said Dixmer, "we respect patriotism even when it
is mistaken."
"As for me," said Maurice, "as far as I know of patriotism, I
always find the women sufficiently good patriots, when not too high
aristocrats."
"You are quite right," said Morand; "and as for myself, I frankly
confess I consider a woman very contemptible when she affects the
demeanor of a man, and a man a coward, unworthy of the name, when he
insults a woman, even were she his bitterest enemy."
Morand was gradually drawing Maurice on to delicate ground. Maurice
on his side replied by an affirmative sign. The lists being opened,
Dixmer, like the sounding herald, added,--
"One moment, one moment, Citizen Morand; you except, I hope, those
women who are known enemies of the nation?"
A silence of some moments succeeded this "parry and thrust" to the
response of Morand and the sign of Maurice. Maurice first interrupted
the silence.
"Let us except no one," said he, sadly; "those females who have been
enemies to the nation are now, it appears to me, sufficiently punished."
"You allude to the prisoners of the Temple,--to the Austrian, the
sister and daughter of Capet?" cried Dixmer, with a rapidity which
deprived his words of all expression.
Morand changed color while awaiting the reply of the young Republican,
seeming to sink his nails into his breast in the intensity of his
interest.
"Just so," said Maurice, "it is of them I am speaking."
"Who?" said Morand, in stifled tones. "Is what they say, true?"
"What do they say?" demanded the young man.
"That the prisoners are cruelly maltreated, sometimes even by those
whose duty it is to protect them."
"There are individuals," said Maurice, "who do not deserve the name of
men. There are some cowards who, totally deficient in real courage,
retain a desire to torture the vanquished in order to persuade
themselves that they are the conquerors."
"You are not one of those men, Maurice, I am quite certain," said
Geneviève.
"Madame," replied Maurice, "I who now speak to you mounted guard near
the scaffold on which perished the late king. My drawn sabre in my
hand, I was prepared to slay any one who attempted to rescue him.
Notwithstanding, on his approach I removed my hat, and turning toward
my men said,--
"'Citizens, I here warn you that I shall run my sword through the body
of the first man that insults the king.'
"And I defy any one to assert that a single shout was heard to proceed
from my company. From my hand first emanated those ten thousand
placards affixed to the walls of Paris after the king's return from
Varennes,--
"'Whoever acknowledges the king shall be flogged. Whoever insults the
king shall be hanged.'"
"Well," continued Maurice, without noticing the deep impression his
words had produced on his listeners,--"well, I have proved to you that
I am a frank, good patriot, that I hate all kings and their partisans.
Yet I declare, notwithstanding my opinion, which is nothing short of a
firm conviction, that, notwithstanding the certainty I feel that the
Austrian is in a great measure the cause of the miseries that desolate
France, never, never shall any man,--let him be who he may, even
Santerre himself,--insult the ex-queen in my presence."
"Citizen," said Dixmer, shaking his head as if he disapproved of so
much hardihood, "are you aware you ought to be very sure of us before
you make such declarations in our presence?"
"I make them before you, and would do so before all the world, Dixmer;
and I will add, she may perhaps perish on the same scaffold as her
husband, but I am not one to fear a woman; on the contrary, I have a
kindly regard for all those who are weaker than myself."
"And the queen, Monsieur Maurice?" demanded Geneviève, timidly; "has
she sometimes evinced her sense of this delicacy, to which she is so
little accustomed?"
"The prisoner has thanked me several times for my consideration for
her, Madame."
"Then she must expect your turn to guard with pleasure?"
"I believe she does, Madame," replied Maurice.
"Then," said Morand, tremulous as a woman, "since you have confessed
what no one nowadays confesses,--that you have a generous heart,--you
will not surely persecute the children either?"
"I!" said Maurice; "ask the infamous Simon the weight of the arm of the
municipal before whom he had the audacity to beat the little Capet."
This answer produced a spontaneous movement at Dixmer's table. All the
guests rose respectfully; Maurice alone remained seated, and had not
the slightest idea that he had elicited this mark of admiration.
"Why, what on earth is the matter?" said he, astonished.
"I thought some one called from the manufactory," said Dixmer.
"No," said Geneviève; "at first I thought so too; but we are mistaken."
And all resumed their seats.
"Ah! it is you then, Citizen Maurice," said Morand, in a tremulous
voice, "who are the municipal so much talked about, and who so nobly
defended a child."
"Talked about?" said Maurice, with the utmost _naïveté_.
"Yours is a noble heart," said Morand, rising from the table. That he
might give way to his feelings, he retired to the manufactory, as if
some pressing business there awaited him.
"Yes, Citizen," replied Dixmer; "they do speak about it, and it should
be said that all those possessed of brave, generous hearts applaud
without knowing you."
"And let him remain unknown," said Geneviève. "The glory he would
acquire would be replete with danger."
Thus in this singular conversation, without knowing it, each had
contributed his word of heroism, devotion, and sensibility. There had
been love and admiration which could not be expressed in words.