PIERRE AND JEAN
As Gaillard stepped out from the theatre into a dark side street a hand
fell upon his right shoulder. He looked around and saw a tall gendarme
standing by his side. The prospect did not please him, so he turned to
the left and saw another gendarme standing there. This one was short,
and stout with a smile on his red face. Then Gaillard stopped.
"Well, citizens of the police," he exclaimed, "I don't need any escort.
I can find my way home alone."
"Is your name Gaillard?" asked one.
"I have every reason to believe so," was the reply.
"Actor?" demanded the other.
"Ah, there I am not so certain," he answered.
"How? You do not know your own vocation?"
"My friends say I am an actor, and my enemies dispute it. What is your
opinion?"
"I can say you are an actor, for I have seen you act," said the stout
gendarme. "And a very good actor you were. You made me laugh heartily."
"Then I shall count you among my friends!" exclaimed Gaillard. "And
between friends now, what is it that you want of me?"
"We are going to take you to the Luxembourg."
"What for?"
"I will read you the warrant," said the tall gendarme. "Come under the
light of the lantern yonder."
Gaillard accompanied the two police officers to the other side of the
street.
One of them took a large paper from his breast-pocket:--
"Warrant of arrest for the Citizen Gaillard, actor of the theatre of the
Republic. Cause: Friend of the Suspect Tournay, and, therefore, to be
apprehended."
Gaillard repressed the start that the sight of his friend's name gave
him. "'The Suspect Tournay.' My colonel has been arrested," he said to
himself. Then heaving a deep sigh he exclaimed aloud in a pathetic tone
of voice:--
"It is very sad to think I should be arrested just as I was going to
have such a good part in the new piece at the theatre."
"Was it a funny one?" inquired the short gendarme.
"Funny! why if you should hear it, you'd laugh those big brass buttons
off your coat."
"It's a shame you can't play it," was the sympathetic rejoinder.
"I'll tell you what you can do," said Gaillard. "Go with me to my house,
15 Rue des Mathurins, and let me fetch the part so that I can study it
while in prison; then, if I should be released soon I shall be prepared
to play the part."
"It's against our orders," said the tall gendarme. "We must take you at
once to the Luxembourg."
"It's very near here," persisted Gaillard, "and I will read one or two
of the funniest speeches while we are there."
"It will not take us more than fifteen minutes," interposed the stout
gendarme, looking at his mate.
"And when I am released," said Gaillard persuasively, "and play the
part, I'll send you each an admission."
"Well," said the tall gendarme, "we'll go."
"You see," explained Gaillard as they walked off in the direction of the
Rue des Mathurins, "my arrest is a mistake, that's clear. Whoever heard
of an actor being mixed up in politics!"
"That's so," remarked the short gendarme.
"Yes," admitted the long one, "I have arrested many a suspect, and
you're the first actor. But I have my duty to perform, and if the
warrant calls for an actor, an actor has to come."
"Of course," agreed Gaillard, "you are a man of high principle, as any
one can see."
Gaillard knew that as soon as he was arrested his rooms would be
searched for any evidence of a suspicious nature. In all the house there
was only one document which could possibly compromise either himself or
Tournay, and that was the letter his friend had received that same
afternoon, and which was now lying upon the chimney-piece.
"Here we are at No. 15; I live on the fourth floor," he said, as they
came to the door.
"Whew!" exclaimed the stout gendarme. "You'll have to give us half a
dozen of the best jokes if we go way up there."
"You shall have as many as you can stand," answered Gaillard. "Now,
citizen officers, mind the angle in the wall, that's it. It's not a hard
climb when you're used to it."
"Whew!" exclaimed the stout man as they entered Gaillard's apartment, "I
could not climb that every day." He sank down in a chair and mopped the
perspiration from his brow.
"I wish I was sure of climbing it every day of my life," said Gaillard.
"It's thirsty work, however, so let us have something to refresh
ourselves with;" and he took out from the closet a bottle of the choice
Burgundy and three glasses.
"Here's to the gendarmerie," he said as he filled the glasses.
A moment later two pairs of lips smacked approvingly in concert.
"That's a vintage for you," said the short gendarme approvingly.
"I never drank but one glass of better wine than this in my life," said
the tall gendarme meditatively.
"When was that?" asked Gaillard as he filled the glasses again.
"That was when the Count de Beaujeu's house was sacked, and the citizens
threw all the contents of his wine cellar into the street."
"You did not drink a glass that time," remarked the stout gendarme, "you
had a hogshead."
The tall man scowled.
"Well, there's plenty of this," said Gaillard; "have another glass?"
"We will," said both of the gendarmes. "Let us have a few of the funny
lines of your new part, citizen actor," said the stout gendarme
swallowing his third glass of Burgundy.
"Willingly!" exclaimed Gaillard. He turned toward the chimney-piece and
took from it the manuscript of his part. Close beside it lay the letter.
His fingers itched to take it, but the eyes of the police officers were
upon him so closely that he dared not touch it.
"Let us fill our glasses again before I begin," said the actor,
producing another bottle from the closet.
"How many bottles of that wine have you?" inquired the tall gendarme.
"Two more besides this," answered Gaillard, drawing the cork.
"We might as well drink them all, now that we are here," said the
officer solemnly.
"It would be a pity to leave any of it," Gaillard acquiesced.
The short gendarme nodded his approval.
"I wish I had a hogshead of it," thought Gaillard. "I'd put you both in
bed and leave you."
After filling the glasses once again, Gaillard took up the lines and
began to act out his part. If he had been playing before a large and
enthusiastic audience, he could not have done it more effectively.
The stout gendarme was soon in such a state of laughter that the tears
ran down his red cheeks. His merriment continued to increase to such an
extent as to alarm his companion.
"He'll die of apoplexy some day, if he is so immoderate in his
raptures," said the tall man, shaking his head sadly.
The fat gendarme was now coughing violently. Gaillard stopped to slap
him on the back. When the paroxysm was over, the actor brought out the
two remaining bottles of Burgundy.
"A little of this wine may relieve your throat," he said, and filled the
glasses all round.
"Continue, my friend," called out the jolly-faced officer; "don't stop
on my account."
Gaillard went on with his rehearsal. The tall gendarme drank twice as
much wine as his stout companion, who was now rolling on the floor with
shouts of laughter.
Finally, when the merry fellow could laugh no more, and the last drop of
wine had disappeared, the tall gendarme stooped, and lifting his fallen
companion to his feet leaned him up against the wall. "Jean," he said,
"thou art drunk. Shame upon thee." Then he turned toward Gaillard.
"Come, citizen actor, we must take you to the Luxembourg."
"Let us at least smoke a pipe of tobacco before we go," said Gaillard,
bringing out smoking materials from the closet.
"No time, citizen; as it is we may get in trouble through Jean's
indulgence in the bottle." The short gendarme certainly showed the
effect of the wine he had taken, though he straightened up and denied
it.
"Pierre, thou liest, thou hast taken twice the quantity I have," he
rejoined, waving his hand toward the empty bottles.
This also was true; and Gaillard looked with wonder at the solemn
countenance of the tall gendarme.
"In any case, let us light our pipes and smoke them as we go along the
street," said the actor as he filled the pipes and handed one to each of
the police officers.
"I'm quite agreeable to that," said Gendarme Pierre.
Gendarme Jean made no reply, but endeavored to light his pipe over the
flame of the candle.
Through a defect in vision occasioned by his potations, he held the bowl
several inches away from the flame and puffed vigorously.
At this the tall gendarme laughed audibly for the first time during the
evening. Gaillard felt relieved. "He can laugh," he murmured.
"Wait one moment and I will give you a light," he said, and taking a
piece of paper from the chimney-piece he carelessly twisted it in his
fingers, ignited it in the candle's flames, and held it over Jean's
pipe. Then he repeated the service to Gendarme Pierre, and ended by
lighting his own pipe, holding the offending list until the flame
touched his fingers and it was entirely consumed.
"Forward, my children!" cried the stout gendarme gayly. "We must be off.
Shall we place seals upon the doors, comrade?" he said addressing his
friend Pierre.
"No, my little idiot Jean, you will remember we are not supposed to have
come here at all. The seals will be placed here by men from the section.
Hurry forward now."
They descended the stairs in single file. The tall gendarme leading, and
stout Jean bringing up the rear. He would stumble from time to time and
strike his head into Gaillard's shoulders. "Very awkward stairs," he
would murmur in apology, "very awkward."
Once in the street he got along better, although his knees were a little
weak, and he showed an inclination to sing.
"Be quiet, Jean," expostulated his companion in arms; "you will get both
of us in trouble."
"As mute as a mouse, my clothespin," was the obedient reply.
"You would better take his arm, citizen actor. We shall get along
faster." Gaillard complied, and arm in arm they walked off in the
direction of the Luxembourg.
"What's this?" demanded the warden in the prison lodge, rubbing his
sleepy eyes as three men appeared before him in the gray light of early
morning.
"Hector Gaillard, actor; domicile Rue des Mathurins 15; suspect. Warrant
executed by Officers Pierre Echelle and Jean Rondeau," said the tall
gendarme.
The sleepy guardian turned over the pages of his book.
"Ah yes, here it is. Bring your prisoner this way, citizen gendarme."
Whereupon the stout gendarme, who had been quiet for some time, burst
into tears.
"In God's name, what's the matter with him?" asked the astonished
warden.
"He always does that way," said the gendarme Pierre. "'Tis his
sympathetic nature. He gets very much attached to his prisoners. Cease
thy tears, Jean, thou imbecile," and he cursed his brother gendarme
under his breath.
Jean drew a long sob. "Adieu, my friend," he said, throwing his arms
about Gaillard's neck.
"Why weepest thou?" inquired the actor pretending to be much affected.
"I am afraid they will guillotine thee, my beautiful actor, before I
have laughed all the brass buttons off my coat at the play."
"Courage, my friend," replied Gaillard; "I trust for thy sake that I may
live to act in many plays. Adieu, my gendarme," and he was led away to a
cell.