In proportion to the nearer roar of the besiegers' cannon, and the
sharper gripe of famine within the walls, the Parisians seemed to
increase their scorn for the skill of the enemy, and their faith in the
sanctity of the capital. All false news was believed as truth; all
truthful news abhorred as falsehood. Listen to the groups round the
cafes. "The Prussian funds have fallen three per cent. at Berlin," says
a threadbare ghost of the Bourse (he had been a clerk of Louvier's).
"Ay," cries a National Guard, "read extracts from La Liberte. The
barbarians are in despair. Nancy is threatened, Belfort is freed.
Bourbaki is invading Baden. Our fleets are pointing their cannon upon
Hamburg. Their country endangered, their retreat cut off, the sole hope
of Bismarck and his trembling legions is to find a refuge in Paris. The
increasing fury of the bombardment is a proof of their despair."
"In that case," whispered Savarin to De Breze, "suppose we send a flag of
truce to Versailles with a message from Trochu that, on disgorging their
conquests, ceding the left bank of the Rhine, and paying the expenses of
the war, Paris, ever magnanimous to the vanquished; will allow the
Prussians to retire."
"The Prussians! Retire!" cried Edgar Ferrier, catching the last word and
glancing fiercely at Savarin. "What Prussian spy have we among us? Not
one of the barbarians shall escape. We have but to dismiss the traitors
who have usurped the government, proclaim the Commune and the rights of
labour, and we give birth to a Hercules that even in its cradle can
strangle the vipers."
Edgar Ferrier was the sole member of his political party among the group
which he thus addressed; but such was the terror which the Communists
already began to inspire among the bourgeoisie that no one volunteered a
reply.
Savarin linked his arm in De Breze's, and prudently drew him off.
"I suspect," said the former, "that we shall soon have worse calamities
to endure than the Prussian obus and the black loaf. The Communists will
have their day."
"I shall be in my grave before then," said De Breze, in hollow accents.
"It is twenty-four hours since I spent my last fifty sous on the purchase
of a rat, and I burnt the legs of my bedstead for the fuel by which that
quadruped was roasted."
"Entre nous, my poor friend, I am much in the same condition," said
Savarin, with a ghastly attempt at his old pleasant laugh. "See how I am
shrunken! My wife would be unfaithful to the Savarin of her dreams if
she accepted a kiss from the slender gallant you behold in me. But I
thought you were in the National Guard, and therefore had not to vanish
into air."
"I was a National Guard, but I could not stand the hardships, and being
above the age, I obtained my exemption. As to pay, I was then too proud
to claim my wage of 1 franc 25 centimes. I should not be too proud now.
Ah, blessed be Heaven! here comes Lemercier; he owes me a dinner--he
shall pay it."
"Bon jour, my dear Frederic! How handsome you look in your kepi! Your
uniform is brilliantly fresh from the soil of powder. What a contrast to
the tatterdemalions of the Line!"
"I fear," said Lemercier, ruefully, "that my costume will not look so
well a day or two hence. I have just had news that will no doubt seem
very glorious--in the news papers. But then newspapers are not subjected
to cannonballs."
"What do you mean?" answered De Breze.
"I met, as I emerged from my apartment a few minutes ago, that fire-
eater, Victor de Mauleon, who always contrives to know what passes at
headquarters. He told me that preparations are being made for a great
sortie. Most probably the announcement will appear in a proclamation
tomorrow, and our troops march forth to-morrow night. The National Guard
(fools and asses who have been yelling out for decisive action) are to
have their wish, and to be placed in the van of battle,--amongst the
foremost, the battalion in which I am enrolled. Should this be our last
meeting on earth, say that Frederic Lemercier has finished his part in
life with eclat."
"Gallant friend," said De Breze, feebly seizing him by the arm, "if it be
true that thy mortal career is menaced, die as thou hast lived. An
honest man leaves no debt unpaid. Thou owest me a dinner."
"Alas! ask of me what is possible. I will give thee three, however, if I
survive and regain my _rentes_. But today I have not even a mouse to
share with Fox."
"Fox lives then?" cried De Breze, with sparkling hungry eyes.
"Yes. At present he is making the experiment how long an animal can live
without food."
"Have mercy upon him, poor beast! Terminate his pangs by a noble death.
Let him save thy friends and thyself from starving. For myself alone I
do not plead; I am but an amateur in polite literature. But Savarin, the
illustrious Savarin,--in criticism the French Longinus--in poetry the
Parisian Horace--in social life the genius of gaiety in pantaloons,--
contemplate his attenuated frame! Shall he perish for want of food while
thou hast such superfluity in thy larder? I appeal to thy heart, thy
conscience, thy patriotism. What, in the eyes of France, are a thousand
Foxes compared to a single Savarin?"
"At this moment," sighed Savarin, "I could swallow anything, however
nauseous, even thy flattery, De Breze. But, my friend Frederic, thou
goest into battle--what will become of Fox if thou fall? Will he not be
devoured by strangers? Surely it were a sweeter thought to his faithful
heart to furnish a repast to thy friends?--his virtues acknowledged, his
memory blest!"
"Thou dost look very lean, my poor Savarin! And how hospitable thou wert
when yet plump!" said Frederic, pathetically. "And certainly, if I live,
Fox will starve; if I am slain, Fox will be eaten. Yet, poor Fox, dear
Fox, who lay on my breast when I was frostbitten. No; I have not the
heart to order him to the spit for you. Urge it not."
"I will save thee that pang," cried De Breze. "We are close by thy
rooms. Excuse me for a moment: I will run in and instruct thy bonne."
So saying, he sprang forward with an elasticity of step which no one
could have anticipated from his previous languor. Frederic would have
followed, but Savarin clung to him, whimpering: "Stay; I shall fall like
an empty sack, without the support of thine arm, young hero. Pooh! of
course De Breze is only joking--a pleasant joke. Hist! a secret: he has
moneys, and means to give us once more a dinner at his own cost,
pretending that we dine on thy dog. He was planning this when thou
camest up. Let him have his joke, and we shall have a _festin de
Balthazar_."
"Hein!" said Frederic, doubtfully; "thou art sure he has no designs upon
Fox?"
"Certainly not, except in regaling us. Donkey is not bad, but it is 14
francs a pound. A pullet is excellent, but it is 30 francs. Trust to De
Breze; we shall have donkey and pullet, and Fox shall feast upon the
remains."
Before Frederic could reply, the two men were jostled and swept on by a
sudden rush of a noisy crowd in their rear. They could but distinguish
the words--Glorious news--victory--Faidherbe--Chanzy. But these words
were sufficient to induce them to join willingly in the rush. They
forgot their hunger; they forget Fox. As they were hurried on, they
learned that there was a report of a complete defeat of the Prussians by
Faidherbe near Amiens, of a still more decided one on the Loire by
Chanzy. These generals, with armies flushed with triumph, were pressing
on towards Paris to accelerate the destruction of the hated Germans. How
the report arose no one exactly knew.
All believed it, and were making their way to the Hotel de Ville to hear
it formally confirmed.
Alas! before, they got there they were met by another crowd returning,
dejected but angry. No such news had reached the Government. Chanzy and
Faidherbe were no doubt fighting bravely,--with every probability of
success; but--
The Parisian imagination required no more. "We should always be
defeating the enemy," said Savarin, "if there were not always a but;" and
his audience, who, had he so expressed himself ten minutes before, would
have torn him to pieces, now applauded the epigram; and with execrations
on Trochu, mingled with many a peal of painful sarcastic laughter,
vociferated and dispersed.
As the two friends sauntered back towards the part of the Boulevards on
which De Breze had parted company with them, Savarin quitted Lemercier
suddenly, and crossed the street to accost a small party of two ladies
and two men who were on their way to the Madeleine. While he was
exchanging a few words with them, a young couple, arm in arm, passed by
Lemercier,--the man in the uniform of the National Guard-uniform as
unsullied as Frederic's, but with as little of a military air as can well
be conceived. His gait was slouching; his head bent downwards. He did
not seem to listen to his companion, who was talking with quickness and
vivacity, her fair face radiant with smiles. Lemercier looked at them as
they passed by. "Sur mon ame," muttered Frederic to himself, "surely
that is la belle Julie; and she has got back her truant poet at last."
While Lemercier thus soliloquised, Gustave, still looking down, was led
across the street by his fair companion, and into the midst of the little
group with whom Savarin had paused to speak. Accidentally brushing
against Savarin himself, he raised his eyes with a start, about to mutter
some conventional apology, when Julie felt the arm on which she leant
tremble nervously. Before him stood Isaura, the Countess de Vandemar by
her side; her two other companions, Raoul and the Abbe Vertpre, a step or
two behind.
Gustave uncovered, bowed low, and stood mute and still for a moment,
paralysed by surprise and the chill of a painful shame.
Julie's watchful eyes, following his, fixed themselves on the same face.
On the instant she divined the truth. She beheld her to whom she had
owed months of jealous agony, and over whom, poor child, she thought she
had achieved a triumph. But the girl's heart was so instinctively good
that the sense of triumph was merged in a sense of compassion. Her rival
had lost Gustave. To Julie the loss of Gustave was the loss of all that
makes life worth having. On her part, Isaura was moved not only by the
beauty of Julie's countenance, but still more by the childlike
ingenuousness of its expression.
So, for the first time in their lives, met the child and the stepchild of
Louise Duval. Each so deserted, each so left alone and inexperienced
amid the perils of the world, with fates so different, typifying orders
of womanhood so opposed. Isaura was naturally the first to break the
silence that weighed like a sensible load on all present.
She advanced towards Rameau, with sincere kindness in her look and tone.
"Accept my congratulations," she said, with a grave smile. "Your mother
informed me last evening of your nuptials. Without doubt I see Madame
Gustave Rameau;"--and she extended her hand towards Julie. The poor
Ondine shrank back for a moment, blushing up to her temples. It was the
first hand which a woman of spotless character had extended to her since
she had lost the protection of Madame Surville. She touched it timidly,
humbly, then drew her bridegroom on; and with head more downcast than
Gustave, passed through the group without a word.
She did not speak to Gustave till they were out of sight and hearing of
those they had left. Then, pressing his arm passionately, she said: "And
that is the demoiselle thou halt resigned for me! Do not deny it. I am
so glad to have seen her; it has done me so much good. How it has
deepened, purified, my love for thee! I have but one return to make; but
that is my whole life. Thou shalt never have cause to blame me--never--
never!"
Savarin looked very grave and thoughtful when he rejoined Lemercier.
"Can I believe my eyes?" said Frederic. "Surely that was Julie Caumartin
leaning on Gustave Rameau's arm! And had he the assurance, so
accompanied, to salute Madame de Vandemar, and Mademoiselle Cicogna, to
whom I understood he was affianced? Nay, did I not see Mademoiselle
shake hands with the Ondine? or am I under one of the illusions which
famine is said to engender in the brain?"
"I have not strength now to answer all these interrogatives. I have a
story to tell; but I keep it for dinner. Let us hasten to thy apartment.
De Breze is doubtless there waiting us."