CITIZENESS PRIVAT'S CARD
"How does one obtain admission to visit a prisoner, citizen doorkeeper?"
"How does one obtain permission?" repeated the keeper without looking up
from the work with which he was occupied. "One waits in that room," and
he gave a wave of the pen, "until the proper hour, then if one passes
satisfactorily under the inspection of the chief prison-keeper and
everything appears to be quite regular, one is allowed to see and
converse with the prisoner for a short time."
"I wish to see some one here. Pray tell me where I shall find the chief
keeper?"
"I am he," replied the keeper, pausing as he dipped his pen in the ink,
and looking over the top of his desk saw a woman neatly but simply
dressed, as became a citizeness of the Republic. The outlines of her
features were partly hidden by the hood of a gray cloak drawn up about
her head, but the shadows cast by this garment were not deep enough to
hide altogether the beauty of the oval face beneath it.
"Whom do you wish to see?" he asked, evidently satisfied with his
inspection, for he dipped his pen in the ink-bottle and resumed his
work of ruling perpendicular lines in a ledger.
"I wish to see the prisoner, Robert Tournay."
The jailer put down his ruler. "That is impossible; the prisoner Tournay
is not here."
"Not here! Then he has been set at liberty!" The cry of joy that sprang
to her lips checked itself, frozen by the quick negative gesture on the
keeper's part. She placed one hand upon the iron rail before her and
closed her fingers tightly around it. "He is not--Do not tell me he is
dead!" she whispered, looking up at the inexpressive face with a
pleading expression in her eyes, as if the jailer were the arbiter of
Tournay's fate.
"Transferred to the conciergerie. You may see for yourself, citizeness,"
and he held up the book and pointed with his forefinger to the notation
upon the neatly ruled page, "'Trans. to C.' That means that Robert
Tournay, former colonel in the army of the Republic, was yesterday
transferred to the prison of the conciergerie."
Edme's heart grew cold. She had no means of knowing the full purport of
the change, but she felt that it boded nothing but ill to Robert
Tournay.
"Can you tell me why this removal was made?" she asked, although fearing
to hear the answer.
"To facilitate his trial. As every one knows the Revolutionary Tribunal
is in the same building with the conciergerie. A prisoner may be brought
from his cell in the prison into the tribunal chamber, be tried,
sentenced, and returned to his dungeon without once being obliged to go
outside. He only passes out into the streets on his way to the
guillotine."
"Has the trial already taken place? Can I see him if I go there at
once?" she demanded hurriedly.
As the jailer saw the young woman's evident distress his voice softened
a little as he made reply: "That you may be prepared for another
disappointment, I tell you now, that in order to visit him in the
conciergerie, you will have to be furnished with a written permit from
some member of the committee. Robert Tournay is confined 'in secret.'"
"Thank you, citizen jailer," was the faint reply. As Edme turned and
left the prison lodge, the custodian of the Luxembourg bent over his
work again. The book was already filled with lists of names, written
evenly in long columns. This book was the record of all the prisoners of
the Luxembourg. When one left the prison his departure was duly noted in
the space opposite his name. His transfer to another jail was indicated
by the abbreviation "trans." If he was summoned before the tribunal and
acquitted, this fact was chronicled by the letters "acq." If he was
sentenced to death by the guillotine, the jailer marked him with a
little black cross "X." He had once been a schoolmaster, and it was his
pride to keep his prison records with neatness and accuracy.
"Nevertheless, I am going to the conciergerie," said Edme to herself as
she passed along the Rue Vaugirard; "to the conciergerie," she
repeated. She stopped abruptly in the street as the remembrance of the
Citizeness Privat came to her mind. Putting her hand into her pocket,
she drew out the card. "'Permit the Citizeness Privat to enter the rooms
of the tribunal.' I will be Madame Privat to-night" was Edme's
resolution. "Once in the tribunal chamber, I shall at least be very near
the prison."
It was late in the afternoon when she reached the Quai de l'Horloge that
skirted the frowning walls of the formidable prison. She passed the iron
grating of the yard, and looking in, wondered why some sparrows which
were twittering and fighting on the pavement beneath an unhealthy
looking tree should remain for a moment in a prison yard when they had
the whole outside world to fly in. Her pace, which had been a rapid one
all the way from the Luxembourg, slackened as she approached the main
entrance, and her fingers closed tightly on the card in her pocket,
while the heart beneath the gray cloak beat rapidly.
She did not know where to find the tribunal chamber. She had never been
in that part of Paris before. She only knew that somewhere in that pile
of gray stone were the old Parliament rooms, at present converted into
the tribunal chambers of the Republic. Once in those rooms she would be
under the same roof with Robert Tournay. Passing along the prison wall,
she turned up the Rue Barillerie, and there saw the words "Revolutionary
Tribunal," in large letters over a doorway. Here was the place to begin
the role of the Citizeness Privat.
The June evening was warm, and the air in the street fetid, as if it
were poisoned by the prison atmosphere; yet with a quick movement of the
hand she pulled the hood closer about her face, and rapidly ascended the
stone staircase.
A porter sitting by the doorway looked at her with indifferent gaze, but
said nothing as she showed him the permit. She passed into the large
hall with a strange feeling, as if she were no longer Edme de Rochefort.
From the information she had received Edme knew that there was some
means of communication between this hall and the prison. This
communication she must discover, but she resolved to set about the task
coolly and carefully in order that she might not arouse suspicion in the
minds of any chance observer.
She imagined that she heard footsteps in a corridor on the other side of
the chamber, and this reminded her forcibly that she must play the part
of the Citizeness Privat. She gave a glance around the room, wondering
how the worthy citizeness did her work. The room certainly was dirty and
needed a good deal of cleaning. Bits of paper littered the floor and
were scattered about upon the desks. Upon a set of shelves, some books
and pamphlets were buried so deeply in dust that Edme began to think the
Citizeness Privat had been somewhat lax in the performance of her duty.
After a short investigation she discovered a broom in an ante-room; and
armed with this she returned to the hall and began to sweep into a heap
the scraps of paper that littered the floor. This work soon began to
fatigue her, and it also rolled up billows of dust which settled down
over chairs and tables. She placed the broom in a corner, and looked
about for some easier work which would serve her turn as well.
She espied a green cloth protruding from the edge of a table drawer.
Opening the drawer she put in her hand and was surprised to find that
the innocent cloth encased a large pistol. She removed the weapon and
returned it to the drawer, while with the green case as a dust-cloth she
made an attack upon the shelves of books with such violence and success
as to cause her to draw back quickly with a sneeze. She stopped, and,
with the green dust-cloth poised in air, listened attentively. No sound
was heard. Cautiously approaching the door she looked up and down the
passageway.
At the further end of this corridor she could see a small iron-barred
door. This, she rightly conjectured, led to the conciergerie, and
through it passed the prisoners when they were brought in for trial. She
determined to pass into the prison through this door, and went toward it
with a firm step. Taking hold of the bars with both hands, she pressed
her face against the ironwork.
"What do you want here?" demanded a voice, and Edme saw in the sombre
half light the figure of a sentry. He stood so near the door upon the
other side that by stretching her hand through the bars she could have
touched him.
"I wish to enter here," Edme replied.
"One does not enter here, citizeness. Go around to the main entrance on
the Quai."
"It is so far," she demurred pleadingly. "I have been doing my work here
in the tribunal chambers, and now wish to have a few words of
conversation with the turnkey Privat."
"Who are you?"
"I--I am Jeanne Privat, his sister."
"Well--such being the case, I will let you come through, but you must be
sure to come out this way, citizeness. If you were seen going out of the
lower entrance, not having entered there, it might get both of us in
trouble. And you might lose your place as well as I."
As he spoke he opened the lower half of an iron wicket. "Duck your head
a little, citizeness, and enter quickly."
Edme did not need a second bidding; the gate closed with a snap, and she
was inside the conciergerie.
"Privat is in the second corridor. Go to the right and then turn to the
left," said the warder. "There he is now, just at the corner," he added
hastily. "Hey, Privat," and he gave a prolonged, low whistle, "here is
your sister, come to see you."
Francois Privat was slow of speech as well as of brain, so he merely
stood gaping with amazement at sight of the young woman who claimed him
as a brother, and who bore not the slightest resemblance to his sister
Jeanne. Edme stepped quickly forward toward the turnkey, saying in a low
voice as she approached him:--
"I bring _a message_ from your sister; the good sentry should have told
you." Then in the same breath, she went on hurriedly to say: "The poor
woman was taken quite ill this afternoon, so ill that she had to be put
to bed. I came to do her work in the tribunal chambers, but thought you
should be told of your sister's illness, so asked the sentry to let me
speak to you."
In her trepidation, she hardly knew what words came to her lips.
There was silence; then after Privat had gotten the information into his
head, and had digested it, he said slowly:--
"Tell Jeanne Privat that I shall come to see her--let me see--day after
to-morrow--no--the day after that, Thursday, my first free time."
Edme looked up into his face. He was very tall and of a ruddy
complexion, fully fifteen years younger than his sister.
"Is that all your message?" she inquired, in order to gain time for
thought.
"At four o'clock in the afternoon, if you like, but she knows the time
well enough--from four to six."
Then without showing any further interest in the subject, the
imperturbable Privat took up his bunch of keys and began to polish one
of them upon his coatsleeve.
There was a pause.
Edme summoned all her courage and spoke with as much composure as she
could assume, although she felt that her voice trembled:--
"Citizen Privat, I have an urgent request to make you."
Privat blinked at her out of his stupid eyes.
"But I am prepared to pay for it."
A sign of animation seemed to come into the turnkey's face, but he did
not move nor seek to question her.
"What I am about to ask may be very difficult for you to do, and that is
why I am prepared to pay you _well_." She dwelt upon the last words,
seeming to guess that she had struck the right note.
"How much are you prepared to pay?" he asked in his slow way.
Edme drew a purse from the folds of her gown, and opening it disclosed a
number of shining gold pieces. Privat's eyes were animated now.
"All that!" he exclaimed. "What do you want me to do for it? It must be
something dangerous. I--I am not a brave man."
"It is merely," continued Edme, holding the open purse in her hand, "to
procure me speech with a prisoner."
"What prisoner?"
"Colonel Robert Tournay."
"But it is impossible; he is in secret confinement."
"I know he is, but what I ask is not impossible. There are five hundred
francs here; five hundred francs, all for you, if you will but bring me
to the cell of Robert Tournay."
"I cannot do that; I have not the key."
"You know who has the key. Surely some of this gold will enable you to
get it. I leave the means with you."
Privat's mind seemed to be going through the process which served him
for thought.
"At the further end of the south corridor," he finally said, motioning
with a key, "in half an hour, the prisoner Tournay will be allowed to
walk for exercise. The south corridor is separated from this one by a
grated door. I will see that you get through that door. That is all I
can do."
Edme pressed the purse into his huge palm, which closed upon it
greedily.
"Shall I come with you now?" she asked, her pulse beating high between
expectation, hope, and fear.
"No, wait here in the shadow until I come to fetch you to him. I shall
also come to tell you when you must leave the south corridor. You will
have to do so quickly and go back the same way you came. If you are
discovered here, I shall get into trouble. You understand?"
"I understand," she answered.