AN "AFFAIR OF HONOUR"
I
The evening of March 7, 1845, was one pregnant with fate where
Dujarier was concerned. He had received, and accepted, an invitation
to a supper-party at the Frères-Provençaux restaurant, given by Mlle
Anais Liévenne, a young actress from the Vaudeville company. Among the
other _convives_ gathered round the festive board were a quartet of
attractive damsels, Atala Beauchene, Victorine Capon, Cecile John, and
Alice Ozy, with, to keep them company, a trio of typical _flâneurs_ in
Rosemond de Beauvallon (a swarthy Creole from Guadaloupe, with
ambitions to be considered a novelist), Roger de Beauvoir (a friend of
Alphonse Karr, and whose other claim to distinction was that he had
once challenged Balzac), and Saint-Agnan (an individual dubbed by
journalists a "man-about-town"). Altogether, a gathering thoroughly
representative of the theatre, the press, the world, and the
half-world.
Lola was invited to join the party; but, at Dujarier's special
request, she excused herself. If, however, she had gone with him, the
tragedy for which the evening was to be responsible might have been
averted. Still, nobody can look ahead.
For some time, all went merrily as the proverbial marriage bell. The
ladies were not too strait-laced; dull care was banished. Food and
drink without stint; music and lights and laughter; bright eyes and
pretty faces. Champagne corks popped; toasts were offered; jests were
cracked; and tongues wagged.
But it did not last. The clouds were gathering; and presently the
harmony was interrupted. Dujarier was to blame. Unable to carry his
liquor well, or else, under the spell of her bright eyes, he went so
far as to remark to his hostess: "My dear Anais, figure to yourself,
in six months from now you and I will be sleeping together." The
damsel's acknowledged cavalier, de Beauvallon, a stickler for
propriety, took this amiss and declared the assertion to be
unwarranted. Words followed. Warm words. Mlle Liévenne, however, being
good-tempered, merely laughed, and peace was restored.
But the patched-up truce was only a temporary one. Feeling still ran
high. A few minutes later, de Beauvallon picked another quarrel with
Dujarier, this time complaining that he had neglected to publish a
feuilleton of his, _Mémoires de M. Montholon_, that had been accepted
by him. As was to be expected, the result of pestering the sub-editor
at such a moment was to receive the sharp response that he "must wait
his turn, and that, in the meantime, there were more important authors
than himself to be considered."
With the idea of calming frayed nerves, somebody suggested that they
should all adjourn for a flutter at lansquenet, then ousting écarté.
The proposal was accepted; and, the revellers having settled down,
Saint-Agnan, having the best-lined wallet, took the bank.
Fortune did not smile on Dujarier. The luck seemed against him; and,
when the party broke up in the small hours, he was a couple of
thousand francs to the bad. Worse than this, he was unable to settle
his losses until he had borrowed the necessary billets from the head
waiter. As a result, his temper was soured, his nerves on edge.
Accordingly, when de Beauvallon was tactless enough to upset him
again, he "answered somewhat abruptly."
This, however, was not all. The "wine being in, the wit was out." A
woman's name cropped up, that of a certain Madame Albert, a young
actress in whose affections Dujarier had, before Lola Montez appeared
on the scene, been ousted by de Beauvallon. The recollection rankled,
and he made some sneering reference to the subject. With an obvious
effort, the other kept his temper and curtly remarking, "You will hear
from me to-morrow, Monsieur," left the restaurant.
II
"It might have been thought," is the comment of Larousse, "that, with
the fever of the wine abated, these happenings and the recollection of
the indecorous words accompanying them would, by the next morning,
have been forgotten."
But they were not forgotten. They were remembered. On the following
afternoon, while Dujarier was in his office, lamenting the fact that
he had made such a fool of himself, and wondering how he was to
explain matters to Lola, two visitors were announced. One of them was
the Comte de Flers and the other was the Vicomte d'Ecquevillez. With
ceremonious bows, they stated the purport of their call. This was that
they represented de Beauvallon, who "demanded satisfaction for the
insults he had received from M. Dujarier."
The quarrel, however, was really one between two rival papers, _La
Presse_ and _Le Globe_, which had long been at daggers drawn. Granier
de Cassagnac, the editor of _Le Globe_, was the brother-in-law of de
Beauvallon, and Emile de Girardin, the proprietor of _La Presse_, had
systematically held him up to ridicule in his columns. Hence, when the
news of the restaurant fracas leaked out among the café gossipers, the
result was that everybody said: "il n'y eut qu'une voix pour dire
'c'est le _Globe_ qui veut se battre avec la _Presse_.'"
Dujarier, who had no stomach for fighting--except with his pen--would
have backed out if he could. But he could not. Things had already gone
too far. Accordingly, he referred the visitors to his friends, Arthur
Bertrand (a god-son of the Emperor) and Charles de Boignes, and then
hurried off to consult them himself.
"Pistols for two and coffee for one," was their decision when they
heard what he had to tell them. There was, they were emphatic, no
other way by which he could satisfy his "honour." The code demanded
it.
Clutching at a straw, Dujarier next sought counsel of Alexandre Dumas.
"I don't know why I am fighting," he said.
If it came to that, Dumas shared his ignorance. Still, he insisted
that a "meeting" was inevitable.
This was the case. For a Frenchman to refuse to "go out"--no matter
what his reason--would be to incur social ignominy. He would be looked
upon as a pariah; not a hand would be offered him; and he would have
bundles of white feathers showered upon him by his former
acquaintances.
It was all very ridiculous. Still, it must be remembered that "the
period was one when journalists aped fine gentlemen, and killed
themselves for nothing." Ferdinand Bac declares that this practice was
"largely the fault of Dumas, who, in his romances, would describe
lovely women throwing themselves between the combatants to effect
their reconciliation."
Since a meeting could be a serious affair, the seconds were naturally
anxious to protect themselves. Accordingly, the four of them, putting
their heads together, drew up a document which, in the event of
untoward consequences occurring, would, they felt, absolve them of
responsibility:
"We, the undersigned, state that, as the result of a disagreement, M.
de Beauvallon has provoked M. Dujarier in a fashion that makes it
impossible for him to refuse an encounter. We ourselves have done all
we can to reconcile these gentlemen; and it is only at M. de
Beauvallon's urgent demand that we are proceeding in the matter."
As the challenged party, Dujarier had the choice of weapons. The
privilege, however, was not worth much to him. He had never handled
cold steel, while his adversary was an expert fencer, and he was also
such a poor marksman that he could not have made sure of hitting a
haystack at twenty yards. Still, he reflected that, although de
Beauvallon was unlikely to miss him with a rapier, he might possibly
do so with a bullet. Accordingly, he elected for pistols.
When Dujarier came back to her that evening, Lola, with womanly
intuition, saw that some trouble had befallen him. Under pressure, he
admitted that he was about to fight a duel for which he had no
stomach. At the same time, however, he led her to believe that his
adversary was de Beauvoir, and not de Beauvallon.
Having thus calmed her fears, for she knew that de Beauvoir was no
more a fire-eater than was he himself, he went off to have another
consultation with his seconds.
"I shall not be back until late," he said, "as I am supping with
Dumas. You must not stop up for me."
Instead, however, of returning that night, Dujarier, feeling that he
could not face Lola and tell her the truth, stopped with one of his
seconds. There he wrote and sealed a couple of letters, charging de
Boignes to "deliver them if required by circumstances." The first was
to his mother:
If this letter reaches you, it will be because I shall be
dead or else dangerously wounded. To-morrow morning I am
going out to fight with pistols. My position requires it;
and, as a man of honour, I accept the challenge. If you, my
good mother, should have cause to weep, it is better that
you should shed tears for a son worthy of yourself than to
shed them for a coward. I go to the combat in the spirit of
a man who is calm and sure of himself. Justice is on my
side.
A more difficult, although less flamboyant, letter to write was the
second one, for its recipient would be the woman who had given him her
heart: and was even then anxiously awaiting his return:
MY EVER DEAREST LOLA:
I want to explain why it was I slept by myself and did not
come to you this morning. It is because I have to fight a
duel. All my calmness is required, and seeing you would have
upset me. By two o'clock this afternoon everything will be
over.
A thousand fond farewells to the dear little girl I love so
much, and the thoughts of whom will be with me for ever.
Having written his letters, he proceeded to draw up his will. This
document left, among specific bequests to his mother and sister,
certain shares that he held in the Palais Royal to Lola Montez.
III
The date of the meeting was March 11, and the rendezvous was a retired
spot in the Bois de Boulogne. A bitterly cold morning, with snow on
the ground and heavy clouds in a leaden sky. As the clock struck the
appointed hour, Dujarier, accompanied by his seconds, and M. de Guise,
a medical man, drove up in a cab. They were the first to arrive.
After waiting for more than an hour, Dujarier was in such a nervous
condition that his seconds declared he would be justified in leaving
the field, since his adversary had not kept the appointment. Instead,
however, of jumping at the chance, he took a swig at a flask of
cognac. The potent spirit gave him some measure of Dutch courage, and
his teeth stopped chattering.
"I will fight," he announced grandiloquently. "I am a Frenchman, and
my honour is very dear to me."
It was to be put to the test, for a few minutes later de Beauvallon
and his seconds arrived, with a tardy apology.
On behalf of their principal, Dujarier's seconds then made a last
appeal for an amicable settlement. It was coldly received; and they
were told that "the insult offered was too serious to be wiped out by
words." There being nothing else for it, the preliminaries were
discussed, the conditions of the combat being that the adversaries
should stand thirty paces apart, advance six paces, and then fire.
The pistols were furnished by d'Ecquevillez, and it had been expressly
stipulated that his principal should not have handled them until that
moment. When, however, Bertrand examined the pair, he remarked that,
since the barrels were blackened and still warm to the touch, it was
obvious that somebody had already practised with them. As, however,
d'Ecquevillez swore that they had not been tried by de Beauvallon, the
protest was withdrawn.
The distance being measured and the adversaries placed in position,
the seconds stepped aside. Then, at a signal, the word was given. The
first to fire was Dujarier. He was, however, so agitated that he sent
a bullet wide of the mark. De Beauvallon, on the other hand, was
perfectly cool and collected. He lifted his weapon and aimed with such
deliberate care that de Boignes, unable to restrain himself, called
out excitedly: "_Mais, tirez donc, Monsieur!_" With a nod, de
Beauvallon pressed the trigger. There was an answering flash and a
report; and, as the smoke drifted away, Dujarier reeled and fell,
blood gushing from his mouth and nostrils.
When Dr. de Guise examined him, he looked grave. He saw at once that
the injury was serious. As a matter of fact, Dujarier was dead before
they returned to Paris.
As the cab reached the house in the rue Lafitte, Lola, waiting there
in an agony of suspense, heard the rumble of wheels. Rushing
downstairs, she stepped back with a cry of terror, for three men were
carrying a heavy burden into the hall. Instinctively, she realised
that the worst had happened, that her suspense was at an end.
"Mademoiselle, we have ill tidings for you," said de Boignes.
"I know it," said Lola. "Dujarier is killed. I felt sure this would
happen. You should not have let him fight."
The funeral of Dujarier, which took place a couple of days later in
the cemetery at Montmartre, was attended by characteristic pomp. The
velvet pall above his coffin was held by Balzac, Dumas, and Joseph
Méry, and a flowery "oration" delivered at the graveside by Emile de
Girardin:
"Whether it endure but a single day, or be deep and
prolonged, Man's sorrow is always barren and profitless. It
cannot restore to a disconsolate mother, bemoaning her
untimely loss, the son for whom she weeps, or give him back
to his friends.... Let the words written by Dujarier: 'I am
about to fight a duel for the most absurd and futile of
causes,' never be effaced from our memory. Farewell,
Dujarier! Rest in peace! Let us carry away from the
graveside the hope that the recollection of so lamentable an
end will last long enough to shield others from a similar
one. Let all mothers--still astounded and trembling--derive
some measure of confidence from this hope, and pray to God
for poor Dujarier with all the fervour of their souls!"
As may be imagined, talk followed. A vast amount of talk, in the
newspapers and elsewhere. "The topic was discussed," one reads, "at
the royal table itself by the family of Louis-Philippe; and Queen
Amelie and Aunt Adelaide stigmatised the conduct of this wicked hussy,
Lola Montez, in severe terms."
IV
After such an experience, Lola felt that she had had enough of France
for a time. Accordingly, she went back to Germany. There she resumed
relations with Liszt, who took her to a second Beethoven Festival at
Bonn. While allowance could be made for the artistic temperament, this
was considered to be straining it, and caustic remarks on the subject
appeared in the press.
During the absence of Lola from Paris, the relatives of Dujarier had
not been idle. Unpleasant whispers were heard that the dead man had
not fallen in a fair fight; and that the fatal bullet had come from a
weapon with which his adversary had already practised. As this was
contrary to the conditions of the encounter, the arm of the law
reached out, and de Beauvallon and his seconds were called upon for an
explanation. The one they furnished to them was deemed adequate by the
authorities. Still, if "honour was satisfied," the friends of de
Beauvallon's victim were not. Accordingly, they set to work, and,
pulling fresh strings, managed to get the official decision upset.
[Illustration: _Fanny Elssler. Predecessor of Lola Montez in Paris_]
An article on the subject that appeared in _Le Droit_ took a severe
tone:
"The grounds alleged to be responsible for this deplorable business,"
declared an editorial, "were utterly frivolous. As a result, the
public prosecutor has instructed an examining-magistrate to enquire
into all the circumstances, and an autopsy will be held. It is
possible that other measures will be adopted."
Other measures _were_ adopted.
"All duels," was the austere comment of the examining-magistrate who
conducted the enquiry, "are marked by folly, and some by deliberate
baseness." Where this one was concerned, he hinted at something
sinister, and asked pointed questions about the pistols that
d'Ecquevillez had been obliging enough to furnish. The answer was that
they belonged to M. de Cassignac, who, for his part, declared that,
until the actual day of the meeting, they had been in the custody of
the gunsmith from whom he had bought them. The gunsmith, however, M.
Devismes, said that this was not the case; and another witness
declared that he had seen de Beauvallon having a little surreptitious
practice with them in the garden.
The next thing that happened was that, before the magisterial enquiry
was finished, de Beauvallon and d'Ecquevillez made a hurried departure
from Paris. During their absence, it was decided to abandon further
proceedings for want of evidence. Thinking himself safe, de Beauvallon
then returned. But he was not safe. The Supreme Court cancelled the
decision of the inferior one, and announced that he was to stand his
trial for murder.
As public feeling ran high, and it was felt that an impartial jury
could not have been secured in Paris, the trial was held at Rouen. The
date was March 26, 1846. Attracted by the special circumstances of
the case, the court was crowded.
"Nearly all those who were present," says Claudin, "belonged to the
world of the boulevards." Albert Vandam was among the spectators; and
with him for a companion was a much more distinguished person, Gustave
Flaubert.
V
All being in readiness, and the stage set for the drama that was about
to be unfolded, the judges, in the traditional red robes, took their
seats, with M. Letendre de Tourville as president of the Court. M.
Salveton, the public prosecutor, and M. Rieff, the advocate-general,
represented the Government; and Mâitre Berryer and M. Léon Duval
appeared respectively on behalf of the accused and the dead man's
mother and sister.
As it had been suggested that de Beauvallon had purposely arrived late
on the ground, in order to have some preliminary practice, he was told
to give an account of his movements of the morning of the duel.
"I got up at seven o'clock," he said, "and went downstairs with the
pistols which had been waiting for me at the concierge's when I
returned home on the previous evening."
"The concierge remembers nothing of that," interrupted M. Duval. "This
is a fresh fact. We must certainly consider it. What happened next?"
"I went off in a cab to M. d'Ecquevillez, and handed the pistols to
him. At half-past ten I returned home, to wait for my seconds. We
arrived on the ground at half-past eleven. M. de Boignes received us
coldly, with his hands in his pockets, and said: 'You do well to keep
us waiting like this for you. Name of God! this isn't a summer
morning. We think there is not sufficient motive to fight a duel.' I
answered frigidly, but politely, that I did not agree with him, and
that I was in the hands of my seconds."
"But one of them, M. de Flers," remarked the President, "thought the
quarrel trifling and said so. Another thing. Why did M. d'Ecquevillez
tell us that the pistols belonged to him? Remember, he has given us
details as to where he got them."
"I ignore details," was the lofty response.
"If you do, we don't," returned the judge.
A vigorous denial was made by de Beauvallon to the suggestion that he
was familiar with the pistols used in the duel. To convince the jury
that he was not to be believed, the opposing counsel then told them
that he had once pawned a watch belonging to somebody else. When the
judge expressed himself shocked at such depravity, de Beauvallon, says
a report, "hung his head and wept."
Nor did d'Ecquevillez, the other defendant, cut a very happy figure.
His real name was said to be Vincent, and aspersions were cast on his
right to dub himself a "Count." He swore he had never admitted that
the pistols belonged to him, and that de Beauvallon had borrowed them
from the gunsmith, Desvismes. The latter, however, calling on heaven
for support, declared the statement to be a "wicked invention."
Believing in the efficacy of numbers in getting up their case,
forty-six witnesses were assembled by the prosecution. Mlle Lièvenne,
the first of them to be examined, brought with her an atmosphere of
the theatre, "adopting a flashy costume, in deplorably bad taste."
"This," says a chronicler, "took the form of a blue velvet dress, a
scarlet shawl, and a pearl-grey mantle." Altogether, a striking
colour-scheme. But it did not help her. To the indignation of the
examining-counsel, she affected to remember nothing, declaring that
she had been "too busy at the supper-table, looking after the
company."
The other young women, described as "more or less actresses," who had
also been present, appeared to be suffering from a similar loss of
memory. Their minds, they protested, were absolutely blank as to what
had happened at the restaurant and very little could be extracted
from them. When they had given their evidence, they looked for seats
in the body of the court. The Rouen ladies, however, having somewhat
rigid standards, would not permit them to sit between the wind and
their propriety.
"Things are coming to a pretty pass," they declared, "when
play-actresses imagine they can sit beside respectable women like
ourselves."
Thereupon, the discomfited damsels withdrew to the hard benches of the
public gallery.
Dumas, subpoenaed as a witness, drove all the way from Paris in a
four-horsed carriage, with Méry as a travelling companion. When he
took his place on the stand, M. de Tourville, affecting judicial
ignorance, enquired his profession.
"If," returned the other, striking an attitude, "I did not here happen
to find myself in the country of the illustrious Corneille, I should
call myself a dramatist."
"Just so," was the caustic response, "but there are degrees among
dramatists."
Taking this for encouragement, Dumas launched out into a disquisition
on the history of the duello through the ages that was nearly as long
as one of his own serials. In the middle of it, a member of the jury,
anxious to be in the limelight, asked him a question.
"How does it happen," he enquired, "that Dujarier, who considered that
a man of fashion must fight at least one duel, had never prepared
himself by learning to shoot and fence?"
"I cannot tell you," was the reply. "My son, however, told me that he
once accompanied him to a shooting-gallery. Out of twenty shots, he
only hit the target twice."
Dumas made an exit as dramatic as his entry.
"I beg," he said, "that the honourable Court will permit me to return
to Paris, where I have a new tragedy in five acts being performed this
evening."
Lola Montez, garbed in heavy mourning, was the next summoned to give
evidence.
"When," says one who was there, "she lifted her veil and removed her
glove, to take the prescribed oath, a murmur of admiration ran through
the gathering." To this an impressed reporter adds: "Her lovely eyes
appeared to the judges of a deeper black than her lace ruffles."
The presiding judge had no qualms about enquiring her age; and she had
none about lopping five years off it and declaring that she was just
twenty-one. Nor did she advance any objection to being described, with
Gallic candour, as the "mistress of Dujarier."
During her evidence, Lola Montez, probably coached by Dumas, did just
what was expected of her. Thus, she shed abundant tears, struck
pathetic attitudes, and several times looked on the point of
collapsing. But what she had to say amounted to very little. In fact,
it was nothing more than an assertion that ill-feeling existed between
Dujarier and de Cassagnac, the brother-in-law of de Beauvallon, and
that the quarrel was connected with an alleged debt.
Dujarier, she said, had forbidden her to make de Beauvallon's
acquaintance, or to attend the supper at the restaurant. He had
returned from it in an excited condition at 6 o'clock the next morning
and told her that he would have to accept a challenge.
"I was troubled about it," she said, "all day long. But for M.
Bertrand's assurance that the encounter was to be with M. de Beauvoir,
I would have gone to the police. You see, de Beauvoir was a
high-minded gentleman, and would not have condescended to profit from
the poor Dujarier's lack of skill."
"Did you not," enquired counsel, "say 'I am a woman of courage, and,
if the meeting is in order, I will not stop it'?"
"Yes, but that was because I understood it was to be with de Beauvoir,
and he would not willingly have harmed Dujarier. When I heard it was
to be with de Beauvallon I exclaimed, 'My God! Dujarier is as good as
dead!'"
"I myself," she added, "could handle a pistol more accurately than the
poor Dujarier; and, if he had wanted satisfaction, I should have been
quite willing to have gone out with M. de Beauvallon myself."
A murmur of applause met this assurance. Lola's attitude appealed to
the spectators. She was clearly a woman of spirit.
During the proceedings that followed some sharp things were said about
M. Granier de Cassagnac, the accused's brother-in-law. Some of them
were so bitter that at last he protested.
"Monsieur le President," he exclaimed hotly. "I cannot bear these
abominable attacks on myself any longer."
"If you can't bear them, you can always leave the court," was the
response.
"This gentleman's indignation does not disturb me in the least," said
the public prosecutor. "I have already had experience of it, and I
consider it to be artificial."
VI
After all the witnesses had been examined and cross-examined, and
bullied and threatened in the approved fashion, Mâitre Duval addressed
the jury on behalf of the dead man's relatives. In the course of this
he delivered a powerful speech, full of passion and invective, drawing
a parallel between this _affaire d'honneur_ and the historic one
between Alceste and Oronte in Molière's drama. According to him,
Dujarier was a shining exemplar, while de Beauvallon was an
unmitigated scoundrel, with a "past" of the worst description
imaginable. Having once, years earlier, pledged a watch that did not
belong to him, he had "no right to challenge anybody, much less a
distinguished man of letters, such as the noble Dujarier." The various
causes of the quarrel were discussed next. Counsel thought very little
of them.
De Beauvallon had complained that Dujarier had "cut" him. "Is it an
offence," enquired M. Duval, "for one man to avoid another? Upon my
word, M. de Beauvallon will have to kill a number of people if he
wants to kill all those who decline the honour of his companionship."
As for the gambling quarrel, this was not serious. What, however, was
serious was that, on the morning of the encounter, de Beauvallon had
gone to a shooting gallery and had some private practice with the very
pistols that were afterwards used. This gave him an unfair advantage.
"If," was the advocate's final effort to win a verdict, "M. de
Beauvallon is acquitted, the result will be not only a victory for an
improperly conducted duel, but the very custom of the duel itself will
be dishonoured by such a decision."
Léon Duval having sat down, the President turned to the defendant's
counsel.
"The word is with you, M. Berryer," he said.
Mâitre Berryer, a master of forensic oratory, began his address by
contending that duelling was not prohibited by the law of France. In
support he quoted Guizot's dictum: "Where the barbarian murders, the
Frenchman seeks honourable combat; legislation on the subject is
profitless; and this must be the case, since the duel is the
complement of modern civilization."
The judges were unprepared to accept this view off-hand; and, after
consulting with the assessors, the President insisted that, whatever
M. Berryer might say, duelling was illegal in France. Although he did
not tell him so, it was also quite as illegal in England, where Lord
Cardigan had, a little earlier, only just wriggled out of a conviction
for taking part in one by a combination of false swearing and the
subservience of his brother peers.
Not in the least upset, M. Berryer advanced another point. As might
have been expected of so accomplished an advocate, he had little
difficulty in demolishing the elaborate, but specious and unsupported,
hypothesis built up by the other side. Hard facts did more with the
stolid and unimaginative Rouen jury than did picturesque embroideries.
"Is the accusation true?" demanded the President.
"On my honour and on my conscience, before God and before man,"
announced the foreman, "the declaration of the jury is that it is not
true."
As a result of this finding, de Beauvallon was acquitted of the charge
of murder. But he did not escape without penalty, for he was ordered
to pay 20,000 francs "compensation" to the mother and Dujarier's
relatives.
"He was the only son of his mother, and she was a widow." Convinced
that there had been a miscarriage of justice and a vast amount of
false swearing, the dead man's friends set to work to collect other
evidence. By a stroke of luck, they got into touch with a gardener,
who said that he had seen de Beauvallon, in company with
d'Ecquevillez, having some surreptitious pistol practice on the
morning of the duel. Thereupon, the pair of them were rearrested and
tried for perjury. Being convicted, d'Ecquevillez was sentenced to ten
years' imprisonment and de Beauvallon to eight years. But neither
couple stopped in durance very long. The revolution of 1848 opened the
doors of the Conciergerie and they made good their escape, the one of
them to Spain, and the other to his Creole relatives in Guadeloupe.