THE PREPARATIONS OF THE CHEVALIER.
During the scene described in the preceding chapter as passing at the
door of the register-office leading into the prison of the queen, or
rather into the first compartment occupied by the two gendarmes, other
preparations were taking place on the opposite side,--that is to say,
in the women's court.
Suddenly a man appeared, like a statue of stone which had detached
itself from the wall. He was followed by two dogs, and was humming the
"Ça ira," a song much in vogue at this period. He held in his hand a
large bunch of keys, which, in passing, he had rattled against the bars
which barricaded the window of the queen.
The royal prisoner at first started, but recognizing the signal,
immediately opened her window softly to commence her work, with a hand
more experienced than would have been believed; for more than once in
the blacksmith's shop where her royal husband amused himself by passing
part of the day, she had with her delicate fingers handled instruments
similar to that upon which at this moment depended her every chance of
safety and deliverance.
Directly the man with the keys heard the queen's window open, he
knocked at that of the gendarmes.
"Ah! ah!" said Gilbert, looking through the window, "here is the
Citizen Mardoche."
"Himself," said the turnkey. "Well, but it appears you keep strict
watch?"
"Much as usual, Citizen Key-bearer. It seems to me you do not often
find us at fault?"
"Ah!" said Mardoche; "and vigilance is more than ever necessary
to-night."
"Bah!" said Duchesne, who had now approached.
"Truly."
"Why, then?"
"Open the window, and I will tell you all about it."
Gilbert opened it, and shook hands with Mardoche, who had already made
friends with the two gendarmes.
"What is it, Citizen Mardoche?" repeated Gilbert.
"The sitting of the Convention has been rather hot to-day. Have you
read about it?"
"No. What passed then?"
"It was first stated that the Citizen Hébert had made a discovery."
"What?"
"It is, that the conspirators believed to be dead are found to be
alive, and very much alive indeed."
"Oh! yes," said Gilbert; "Delessart and Thierry; I have heard speak of
that. They are in England, the scoundrels!"
"And the Chevalier de Maison-Rouge?" asked the key-bearer, raising his
voice so that the queen might hear.
"What, is he in England also?"
"Not at all," said Mardoche; "he is in France," still speaking in the
same loud key.
"He has returned, then?"
"He has never quitted it."
"Well, he, for one, has good courage," said Duchesne.
"Indeed, he has."
"Well, are they going to arrest him?"
"Certainly; but that is much easier said than done."
At this moment the queen's file grated so forcibly upon the iron bars
that the turnkey feared it might be heard, notwithstanding all his
efforts to drown the sound. He hastily trod upon the paw of the nearest
of his dogs, which uttered a prolonged howl of pain.
"Oh, poor beast!" said Gilbert.
"Bah!" said the turnkey, "he had not put on his clogs. Be quiet,
Girondin; will you be quiet?"
"Is your dog named Girondin, Citizen Mardoche?"
"Yes; that is the name I have given him."
"But pray go on with what you were telling us," said Duchesne, who,
imprisoned himself, took that lively interest in news that all
prisoners feel.
"I was telling you that in the Citizen Hébert you see a good patriot;
and Hébert has made a motion to return the Austrian to the Temple."
"And why so?"
"Faith! because he pretends that she was only withdrawn from the Temple
to remove her from the immediate inspection of the Commune of Paris."
"Yes; and from the attempts of that cursed Maison-Rouge," said Gilbert;
"it seems too that the subterranean passage still exists."
"That was the reply the Citizen Sauterre made; but Hébert said, the
instant that was defeated there was no more danger; that at the Temple,
fewer precautions were requisite for the security of Marie Antoinette
than here; and finally, that the Temple was a much more secure place
than the Conciergerie."
"Faith!" said Gilbert, "for my part, I wish they would remove her again
to the Temple."
"I understand; you are tired of the confinement?"
"No; but it makes me melancholy."
Maison-Rouge coughed loudly, as the noise of the file biting through
the iron bar was distinctly heard.
"Well, what have they decided on?" said Duchesne, when the turnkey's
cough had subsided.
"It is settled that she shall remain here, but that her trial shall
take place immediately."
"Poor woman!" said Gilbert.
Duchesne, whose sense of hearing was no doubt more acute than that
of his colleague, or his attention less engrossed by the recital of
Mardoche, stooped down to listen on the left side of the compartment.
The turnkey saw the movement.
"So you see, Citizen Duchesne," said he, in an animated tone, "the
attempts of the conspirators will become the more desperate from the
fact of their having less time before them for their execution. They
are going to double the guards of the prisons; so look out, Citizen
Gendarme, since the matter in question is nothing less than the
irruption of an armed force into the Conciergerie. They will murder
all, sacrifice every impediment, till they effect an entrance to the
queen,--to the widow of Capet, I mean to say."
"Ah! bah! How can these conspirators of yours get in?"
"Disguised as patriots, they will pretend to recommence the 2d of
September, the rascals! and when once the gates are open, good-night!"
There was an instant's silence, produced by the astonishment of the
guards.
The turnkey heard with emotions of joy and terror the continued grating
of the file. Nine o'clock struck.
At the same moment there was a knock at the wicket, but the gendarmes,
preoccupied, did not reply.
"Well, we shall watch, we shall watch!" said Gilbert.
"And if necessary, will die at our post like staunch Republicans,"
added Duchesne.
"She must soon be done," said the turnkey to himself, wiping the drops
of perspiration from his face.
"And you on your side," said Gilbert, "keep on the lookout, I presume?
They would spare you no more than us, were such an event as you have
been talking of to take place."
"I should think so," said the turnkey. "I pass the night in going the
round; thus I am always on the alert. The rest of you at least relieve
each other, and can sleep every other night."
At this moment a second summons at the wicket was heard. Mardoche
started; any event, however trifling, might mar the execution of his
project.
"What is it, then?" demanded he, in spite of himself.
"Nothing, nothing!" said Gilbert; "it is only the registrar of the
Minister of War. He is going now, and comes to inform me of it."
"Oh, very well!" said Mardoche.
The registrar still continued to knock.
"All right!" cried Gilbert, without leaving the window. "Good-night!
Adieu!"
"I think he is speaking to you," said Duchesne, turning toward the
door. The voice of the registrar was then heard.
"Come here, Citizen Gendarme," said he; "I wish to speak to you."
This voice, which appeared affected by some strong emotion which
deprived it of its natural accent, startled the turnkey, who fancied he
recognized it.
"What do you want, Citizen Durand?" asked Gilbert.
"I wish to speak a word with you."
"Well, you can tell me to-morrow."
"No, this evening; it must be this evening," replied the same voice.
"Hah!" murmured the turnkey, "what is about to happen now? It is
Dixmer's voice."
Sinister and vibrating, this voice seemed to borrow something funereal
from the far-off echoes of the gloomy corridor.
Duchesne turned round.
"Well," said Gilbert, "if he wishes it I must go," and he directed his
steps toward the door.
The turnkey availed himself of this moment when the attention of the
two gendarmes was thus occupied by this unforeseen circumstance. He ran
toward the window of the queen.
"Is it done?" said he.
"I have more than half finished," said the queen.
"Oh, for the love of God!" murmured he; "make haste! make haste!"
"Hallo! Citizen Mardoche," said Duchesne, "what has become of you?"
"Here I am," said the turnkey, returning quickly to the window of the
first compartment.
At that very moment, and as he turned to resume his former station, a
frightful cry resounded through the prison, then an oath, and the ring
of a sword snatched from its scabbard.
"Villain! brigand!" cried Gilbert, and the sound of a struggle was
heard in the corridor.
At the same moment the door opened, displaying to the eyes of the
turnkey two shadows struggling in the wicket, and thus affording free
passage to a female, who, pushing aside Duchesne, rushed into the
queen's chamber.
Duchesne, without noticing the woman, ran to his comrade's assistance.
The turnkey sprang toward the other window, and beheld the female on
her knees before the queen, praying and supplicating her Majesty to
exchange clothes with her.
He lowered his burning eyes, endeavoring to gain a clearer view of this
woman whom he feared he had already recognized too well. All at once he
uttered a dreadful cry.
"Geneviève! Geneviève!" murmured he.
The queen had dropped the file from her hand, and seemed transfixed
with despair. Here, alas! was another abortive attempt.
The turnkey seized the bar with both hands, shook it with all his
strength; but the file had not accomplished its work, the bar of iron
would not yield to his efforts.
Meanwhile Dixmer had hurled Gilbert back into the prison, and would
have entered with him, but Duchesne, leaning against the door,
prevented him. But he was unable to close it, for Dixmer, in despair,
had placed his arm between the gate and the wall.
In his hand he still retained the poniard, which in the contest,
checked by the buckle of the belt, had glided over the gendarme's
breast, tearing open his coat and lacerating his flesh.
The two gendarmes encouraged each other to reunite their efforts, at
the same time calling loudly for assistance.
Dixmer felt his arm must break; he placed his shoulder against the
door, shook it violently, and succeeded in withdrawing his bruised arm.
The door closed with a great noise; Duchesne pushed the bolts, while
Gilbert turned the key.
A rapid step was heard in the corridor, then all was over. The two
gendarmes looked at each other, and searched everywhere around them.
They detected the sound of the assumed turnkey wrenching the bar.
Gilbert rushed into the queen's chamber, where he found Geneviève
entreating her Majesty on her knees to exchange clothes with her.
Duchesne seized his gun and ran to the window; he discovered a man
hanging to the bar, which he shook with rage, and tried in vain to
scale.
He pointed his gun.
The young man saw it levelled at him.
"Oh, yes! yes!" cried he, "kill me! kill me!" and sublime in his
despair, he bared his breast to the bullet.
"Chevalier," said the queen,--"Chevalier, I entreat you to live."
At the sound of the queen's voice the Chevalier sank upon his knees.
The gun was discharged, but this movement saved him; the ball passed
over his head. Geneviève, imagining her friend was dead, fell upon the
ground without sense or motion. When the smoke disappeared, no one was
seen in the women's court.
Ten minutes afterward, thirty soldiers, led by two commissioners,
searched the Conciergerie even to its most inaccessible retreats.
They discovered no one; the registrar had passed, calm and smiling,
before Father Richard's arm-chair.
As to the turnkey, he had gone out crying, "Alarm! alarm!"
The sentinel opposed his egress with his bayonet, but his two dogs
seized the soldier by the throat.
Geneviève alone was arrested, interrogated, and imprisoned.