After the interview with the queen, Madeleine reconducted Gabrielle out
of the park to the tavern where they had left Percenez.
The little man sat at the door on a bench, smoking, his leathery face
void of expression. Behind his back was a pack slung by a thong to his
shoulders.
'Eh, well!' said he, as the girls approached; 'since you have been
away, I have been doing a stroke of work. I have sold a dozen copies
of the _Moniteur_, eighteen copies of Mirabeau's Lettres à mes
Commettants, several of the _Journal de Paris_, and of the _Mercure_,
besides some little pamphlets which I won't name, and which nobody sees
but those who are intended to read them. Well! and what has been the
result? Ah! David says, _Nolite confidere in principibus in quibus non
est salus_. You have found out what it has taken France many centuries
to discover. Better late than never.'
'She has failed,' said Madeleine; 'and I have told her to look
elsewhere for help.'
'Ah!' said the colporteur; 'we shall see. Events march like the
seasons. Ça ira, ça ira! But till the time comes, what is to be done
with our little peasantess? She must return to Bernay.'
'But how is she to return?' asked Madeleine; 'you cannot accompany her.'
'No,' answered the little man; 'I do not think I can. But go she must.'
'And where am I to go to if I do return?' inquired Gabrielle; 'I have
no home at Bernay now.'
'Ah!' said Percenez; 'that is awkward.'
'The roads are crowded with brigands,' said Madeleine; 'we hear of them
trooping into Paris from all the country round, and it is not safe for
Gabrielle to encounter them alone.'
'That again is awkward,' said Percenez.
'Then what is to be done?' asked Madeleine.
'Under the circumstances,' spoke the little brown man, 'I see nothing
else to be done than for me to find a lodging elsewhere, and to take my
ward with me. She must put off her country dress, and you, Madeleine,
can dress her in your Parisian style, and then she can assist me in
selling pamphlets and papers.'
'So it must be,' Madeleine said; 'but I am sorry to lose her. We have
already become friends, though so unlike in character and disposition.'
'Please, M. Étienne,' said Gabrielle, gently; 'do you not think we
might remain with Madame Deschwanden? Perhaps the police will not
return to make search for me again; and even if they do, what can they
say to me? I have done what M. Berthier desired to prevent.'
'That is true,' observed Percenez.
'And again,' pursued Gabrielle; 'I shall be near the Bastille and my
dear mistress. I cannot, I will not, go far from her.'
'It is too dangerous,' said the colporteur.
'Now, uncle!' exclaimed Madeleine; 'take my advice. Return for this
night to our house. I believe there is far too much subject for anxiety
to Berthier and all his crew to make them trouble themselves much more
about an inoffensive peasantess. If the times were quiet, it would be
different; but with Paris in a ferment, it is most unlikely that any
further measures will be taken to secure Gabrielle.'
'That is very true,' said Percenez; 'I have begun to think so myself.'
'Besides,' continued Madeleine, 'my mother is dreadfully put out at the
prospect of losing you both.'
'I did not know that my sister was so anxious to retain us.'
'Oh yes, she is. She is enthusiastic about it. She vows that she will
die of chagrin if you go. Return to the Rue S. Antoine this night,
and talk to her about what is to be done. My mother is a woman of
resources. I never saw my mother nonplused yet. When she heard that
you were afraid of remaining in her house, she said, "Afraid of what?"
I answered, "Of the gendarmes." On which she exclaimed, "My faith!
as if I were not a match for a whole regiment of them!" And,' added
Madeleine, with an air of conviction so ludicrous that it made Percenez
laugh, 'she is so, I assure you.'
'I do not know about gendarmes,' said the little man, slyly; 'but I
know that the very mention of a Swiss patriot, or of a Swiss saint,
routs her immediately.'
'Mon Dieu! who could help it?' exclaimed Madeleine, seriously; 'we are
pestered every day with Werner Stauffacher, Erni of Melchthal, and
Walter Fürst; and, worst of all, with Bruder Klaus. I have actually
seen my mother, in her exasperation, when the corporal and his son were
out, wring the nose of the illustrious Bruder in his niche; but the
corporal does not know it, or I believe he would separate from his wife
in horror at the sacrilege. The corporal is especially enthusiastic
just now, for he has served his time, and he expects his discharge
shortly.'
'What does he propose to do then?'
'What but to return to father-land; and my mother is perfectly frantic
at the idea. To leave Paris for Switzerland, is to quit civilisation
for barbarism.'
It is needful for us to return to Madame Deschwanden, who was in
despair at the prospect of losing her lodgers. She had less to do
in millinery, at a time of great popular agitation, than suited her
wishes, and the chance of making a little money by her brother and
Gabrielle was too good an opportunity to be thrown away; and she
therefore resolved to retain them, if she could.
To effect her purpose, she dressed herself in her most bewitching
out-of-door costume, and sallied forth into the streets, leaving
Nicholas at home to attend to the house. She took her way towards
Berthier's mansion, bowing and smiling to acquaintances whom she met at
almost every step, and stopping occasionally to exchange greetings with
her most intimate and cherished friends, who numbered about two hundred
and fifty.
Madame was dressed with the utmost care; a little powder and rouge had
improved her complexion. Her hair was heaped up into a magnificent
pile, from which depended two ringlets that rested à la Marie
Antoinette on her shoulders; a lace handkerchief covered her bosom, was
crossed over her breast, and tied behind. Her gown was looped up so as
to expose a pair of very active, neat little feet in high-heeled boots,
which threw madame forward, and made the use of a cane necessary.
On reaching the door of Berthier's house she rung, and asked to see
Monsieur the Intendant.
She was admitted immediately to the yard in the middle of the house,
where she saw Berthier seated in an easy chair, armed with a long
carter's whip, lashing his bloodhounds, which bayed and barked,
producing such a deafening noise that he could scarcely hear what
Gustave said to him, when he approached to announce Madame Deschwanden.
'Down, you rascally Pigeon!' shouted Berthier; 'will you now venture
to touch the meat, Poulet? Very well,' and he drew the whip across
the hound's nose. 'So!' as Pigeon sprang forward; 'so, and so, and
so!' slashing at it over the breast and belly as the beast sprang into
the air, yelling with pain. 'What is it, Gustave? Ha there! Back, you
devil!' and he cut the dog Poulet, so that the blood started. 'Well,
Gustave! speak higher. You would like your dinner, eh! Pigeon, creep up
to it, a little closer; closer still--so--so--and _so_;' he caught the
lash of the whip in his hand, whirled the handle round above his head
and brought the end of it, which was weighted, down on the brute's head
so as for the moment to stun it. 'Now, Gustave, what do you want? A
lady, eh! young and pretty is she, eh? Pardon;' he rose to his feet and
saluted Madame Deschwanden, whom he saw at that moment. The corporal's
wife smiled, threw a coquettish glance into her eyes, and brushed her
ringlets from her shoulders.
'Really,' said the lady, 'those dogs make so much noise, that it is
quite impossible for me to speak here without elevating my voice; and,'
she added, 'what I have come to talk to monsieur about is not for all
the world to hear.'
'What is it, madame?'
'Would you allow me a few moments in private?' asked the little woman;
'there are secrets, you know, which must not be blazed abroad. Perhaps
it would not be too great a liberty if I were to whisper a name into
your ear. So--' said she, playfully, as he bent towards her, and she
raised her lips to his ear; 'Gabrielle! There, you know the name.
Well, now a word in privacy. I thought as much. What alacrity, what
energy; ah! the master passion, the beautiful passion; it is superb! it
elevates man, and it deifies woman!'
Berthier at once conducted the corporal's wife into a small boudoir,
and requested her to take a seat. She dropped into a fauteuil, and
began to fan herself. The Intendant stood, leaning his arm upon a
cabinet, and crossed his legs.
'You may be a diplomatist, you may be a politician of the first
ability, you may be a capitalist with the largest income,' said madame,
'but,' and she waved her fan, 'if you do not love, you are nothing.'
'Madame,' asked the Intendant, 'I shall be glad to learn what you know
about Gabrielle André.'
'About Gabrielle André,' repeated the little woman; 'quite so; in due
time, we are coming to her. Now, what do you take me for?'
'Madame, for the most fascinating specimen of your sex.'
'Quite so. Well, would you believe it, I have a barbarous name, a
German-Swiss name, which is a mouthful--a name to tremble at, a name
for a horse to shy at, for a dog to bark at, for a cat to set up its
back at. And yet I am French at heart. From the tip of my hair to the
soles of my feet I am French, French--always French. Hold! There is
always something dapper, comely, sweet about a Frenchwoman which you
cannot find in the great German frau, who is all fat and lymph, and
languor. And the Frenchman, too. He is an object to adore; he is a man
sensitive, courteous, gallant; a being to excite the heart, to inspire
enthusiasm, to claim devotion; but a German! My faith! I am married,
I am sacrificed to a German-Swiss. Do not ask me to describe him; I
should expire in making the attempt. The Frenchman is all vehemence,
go, fire, and the German is all conscience. But you will tell me that
the German has sentiment. I grant you it. But of what nature? It is
all of the past, and ours is of the present. We live and palpitate for
to-day, the Herr for five hundred years ago. Yesterday is nothing to
me; to him yesterday is everything, and to-day is nothing. A German
child is to me a wonder; it is not like any French child I ever met.
It lives in dreamland, a dreamland peopled with fairies; now a French
child cares for no fairies which are not made of chocolate, which it
cannot suck.'
'What about Gabrielle?' asked Berthier, impatiently.
'There, now,' said Madame Deschwanden, 'I quite understand about your
interest in her. I could not get the same idea into the corporal's head
if I were to use a gimlet. But I--I am French, I delight in sentiment,
I love intrigue, I worship the noble passion. I can throw myself
entirely into your position, and I can feel with you and for you. That
is splendid--that is French! Well, then, I say to you, monsieur, you
have gone the wrong way to work; you have used wrong methods, you have
exhibited barbarous ignorance, you have acted altogether like a German.
Where is the delicacy of touch, the subtlety of intrigue, the _finesse_
of action that belongs to one of your nation? I look for it, and I find
it not. I repeat it, you have gone the wrong way to work. You have
used coarse methods, and you have shown your utter ignorance of the
female character. You should not have employed force, that is certain
to revolt; you should not have offered a bribe openly, you should have
vaguely suggested advantages; you should not have exhibited yourself
as a tyrant, you should have acted the martyr. Why!' cried Madame
Deschwanden, 'I--_I_ would have rebelled, and spoken, and scratched,
and bitten, if I had been blockaded in the brutal, clumsy manner you
have adopted in laying siege to Gabrielle. You know absolutely nothing
of the art of conducting these little affairs of the heart. Mon Dieu!
I--_I_ could have accomplished a triumph in half the time without a
quarter of the material.'
'What am I to understand from all this?' asked Berthier, wiping his
eyes.
'Understand!' echoed Madame Deschwanden; 'there, again, you exhibit
a density of perception perfectly shocking. Allow me to ask you
seriously, monsieur, are you a German, or a Swiss? Have you one drop of
the tar they call blood crawling through your veins; for if so I give
you up, I abandon you, I turn my back on you.'
'Be content,' said Berthier sulkily, 'I am French.'
'And your blood is brandy, volatile, combustible, intoxicating. So be
it. I am on your side. Place the matter in my hands, and it is done. I
guarantee a surrender in one month.'
'In a month.'
'In a month and a day. Take out your watch, note the time. In one
month, one day, and one hour to a minute. See there!' She rapped her
fan against her hand triumphantly, and surveyed the Intendant with an
air of patronage. 'Never attempt what you don't understand. My faith!
you might as well meddle in my millinery affairs as in an affair of
the heart, unless you have skill, and that is a gift of nature; it is
not every one who is an adept in the science of intrigue. Mon Dieu!
I should think not. It requires a delicacy of perception, a fineness
of touch, in short, a sensibility which is born with one. You cannot
make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, a poet is not to be manufactured
or made as Nicholas chips and chops his saints. My faith! I should
hope not. A successful intriguer is so perfectly constituted that I
believe he is the most successful of the works of creation. You could
not make a triumph of a cap, try as hard as you might, you would botch
it. Mon Dieu! Some lovely construction which consumed me with care and
enthusiasm, if you put your clumsy hand to it, would be wrecked. So
with an affair of the heart. You cannot do it; you are not equal to it;
you were not born to it with that delicacy of perception, that subtlety
in feeling, that tenderness in touch, in fine, that sensibility
which----'
'Will you come to the point?' said the Intendant, angrily.
'Will I come to the point?' echoed madame. 'Look at him, asking such
a question. Behold him, ye gods, and stare. Did you ever see such a
man? But one has his gift in this way, and another in that. I have no
doubt you are the best of sheriffs, but you are absolutely a neophyte
in the art of love-making. Ah--bah! no one could make anything of you.
I do not say in ordinary matters of business, in cutting off heads,
or breaking on the wheel, or consigning to the Bastille, or marching
soldiers here, and ordering gendarmes there, in all _that_, I grant
you; but affairs of the heart are quite different from affairs of state
and of commerce. You want, to be successful in them, a delicacy of
perception----'
'Enough of that,' said Berthier. 'Come, madame. My time is precious.'
'I will not detain you from the dogs one moment longer,' quoth Madame
Deschwanden, pouring a little water from a decanter on the table into
a tumbler; 'oblige me with a lump of sugar and a drop of orange-flower
water. Thank you. It makes one thirsty to listen to another person
talking. Well, as I was saying, you cannot manage this affair yourself,
you want my help. You must have my help. And, monsieur, I proffer it
with enthusiasm. I cast myself zealously into your cause. I lend my
assistance to one who is certain to fail abjectly, to one lacking
all the requisites essential to success; for I flatter myself that I
possess the qualifications in which he is deficient. I make no boast of
it, not I. But if Providence has endowed one person with a delicacy,
a _finesse_, a sensibility, and all that constitute a successful
intriguer, it is not boasting if she acknowledges thankfully that she
possesses these talents. She cannot be blind to them. If she were
blind, she would not use them.'
'In short, you will help me?'
'I will do my best. With me to say that, is to say it is done. I do
not boast, but I cannot shut my eyes to facts. If I were to do so, you
would call me a fool, and justly. I should be a fool. But I make one
stipulation,--no, I make two.'
'What are they?'
'Tell me,' entreated madame, throwing passionate earnestness into
her voice and gesture, 'tell me, you have no conscience. I am tired
of conscience. My faith! what is conscience? It is a kind of flea;
you never know where it is. Now it is here, now it is there. You come
down with your finger on the spot, and it is gone. And then there
is irritation everywhere, and no rest. My husband is a martyr to
conscience, so is Nicholas, but Nicholas is the corporal repeated in
miniature. Have morals, I say, have philosophy, but crush conscience;
it is a pest. And then, I insist, you leave Gabrielle to me. Do not
interfere. Let me manage her. I know the ins and outs of a woman's
mind; I will so manage the affair for you that you will be full of
gratitude to me, that you will overwhelm me with testimonials of your
indebtedness. If you interfere, and send your gendarmes to the house
again, then I throw it up. I will have no more to say to it, and you
may botch your work again. Will you promise me solemnly to let me
conduct operations in my own way? Will you promise me not to interfere
by so much as lifting a finger?'
'Wait a bit,' said Berthier; 'before I promise anything, tell me where
Gabrielle is now.'
'With the greatest pleasure. You know that she has seen the queen?'
'No!' he started.
'Yes, she has. She has seen her and has been refused.'
Berthier drew a long breath.
'She has been refused, and now she is at Versailles.'
'At Versailles!'
'Yes, monsieur. It seems that she has a friend there, one of the
delegates to the National Assembly.'
'To the States-General,' corrected the Intendant.
'To be sure, you are right. Well, she has taken up her abode with him.
He was an old friend.'
'What is his name?'
'You will probably know him. He is from Bernay, a curé there. His name
is Lindet.'
Berthier nodded, and an angry flush over-spread his brow.
'Now you know very well that you cannot, and dare not, attempt to
remove the girl from the house of a delegate at Versailles; so I shall
do that myself. I shall draw her to my house; but that will take time,
as you have scared her with your gendarmes. My faith! if you want to
snare pigeons, do you set up scarecrows near your nets?--but let that
pass. I shall do my best to bring her to my house, and whilst she is
there, entrust her to me; do not show your face in the neighbourhood,
do not let a gendarme be seen within my door, and in one month, one
day, and one hour, the girl will rush of her own accord into your arms.'
'I see,' said Berthier. 'Yes, I will trust you, and give you the
promise you require.'
'That is your only chance,' pursued Madame Deschwanden. 'And
then remember, I have cast myself zealously into your cause, I am
enthusiastic on your behalf. But why? True, I am always eager to
help forward an affair of the heart. But interest, enthusiasm, zeal,
sometimes grow cold; they want hope to keep them alive, and they want
something also to kindle them. Will you believe it? I have even been
accused of being avaricious. _I_ avaricious,--I who lavish money on my
friends and expend it profusely on myself! They say I like money. Mon
Dieu! who does not? I do not like it for itself; I hate, I abhor the
dirty pelf--but, _voilà_--one must live.'
'Yes,' said Berthier, 'no one serves another without pay, that is
reasonable.'
'Pay, ah bah! never mention such a thing!' exclaimed the lady; 'but
among friends there is always an interchange of civilities, you well
understand. Ah! fie!' he pressed a few gold pieces into her hand; 'what
a rude, rough man you are! In these amiabilities there should be a
delicacy, a refinement, an----'
'Never mind,' said Berthier, wiping his eyes; 'remember that you are
salaried by me for a certain purpose. Wash that fact in rose-water,
dress it up, and present it to your mind in whatever costume pleases
you best.'
'You are a shocking creature,' said madame, waving her fan at him; 'I
am more than half inclined to play you a trick.'
'Take care how you do so!'
'Do not fear me. Intrigue is a passion with me. I revel in affairs of
the heart. Ah, my faith! when you come to deal in concerns of the grand
passion! then you rise from being human to being angelic; you soar from
pots and gridirons, at which you may be cooking; you tower above caps
and bonnets, which you may be constructing; you become a giant. Love is
woman's world; she exists in this commonplace earth, she lives in the
world of passion. Leave me alone, I know what I am about. But what am I
to expect?'
'I promise you a hundred louis.'
'I do not touch money,' said madame, with dignity; 'but anything in the
way of jewellery--ah! there you have me.'
'Well, then, you shall have jewels to that value.'
'You are very amiable. You enchant me. Come on, then, to your dogs! I
know you desire to return to them, and I--I shall be wanted at home. I
wish you a very good morning!'
Madame Deschwanden sailed down the streets with the air of an empress.
She held up her head, and her smile and bows were tinged with urbanity,
the urbanity of some one who having reached a lofty station condescends
to notice her old friends and to shed on them some of the bounties it
is now in her power to bestow.
When, in the evening, Percenez returned with Madeleine and Gabrielle,
madame overflowed. She listened with impatience to the story of
Gabrielle's failure, only interrupting it to inquire how the queen
and the princesses were dressed, how they wore their hair, and what
ornaments they bore.
Percenez told his sister the difficulty about Gabrielle, and said that
he hesitated about sending her alone to Bernay, and that he wished to
take a lodging in some other part of Paris, where Gabrielle might be
secure from pursuit.
Whilst he spoke, the triumphant expression in his sister's face excited
his curiosity. At last he inquired, 'What is it, Louise? I am sure you
have some news to communicate.'
'Now see!' exclaimed Madame Deschwanden. 'Am not I a woman? was not I
born with tact, with a delicacy, a refinement, a power of intrigue, in
a word, a sensibility of the most elevated description? I have this day
accomplished a great work. I have secured Gabrielle from all pursuit.'
'You have!'
'Yes, brother Stephen, you may stare. You men know nothing of a
woman's resources. I have done single-handed what you and the corporal
and Nicholas would not have effected. I have secured for Gabrielle
tranquillity in this house. I have paid the Intendant Berthier a visit.'
'Josephine, what madness!'
'I am a woman, Stephen, and a woman has resources. Ah! see what I have
done.'
Then she related with infinite zest her interview with Berthier. She
concluded her account with the jubilant remark, 'To think that I have
utterly deceived him! Superb! The way in which I have twisted him round
my little finger! Majestic!'
'But what do you mean, Josephine?' asked Stephen, much perplexed.
'What do I mean?' echoed madame, raising her eyes and hands. 'Oh these
men! Well, I will tell you what I mean. I wish I had a hammer to knock
it into your head. I have utterly deceived M. Berthier. He confides in
me, he believes that he has secured my services. He has given me money,
and promised me more, to persuade Gabrielle to cast herself into his
arms. Trusting that I am busy undermining the girl's resolution and
morals, he will abstain from attempting violence for one month and one
day. At the end of that time, trust me, I shall creep round him again,
and, when I have exhausted my resources, then I shall give you the
signal to decamp.'
'But, my dear sister, what did you mean by telling Berthier that
Gabrielle was at Versailles with Lindet?'
'Mon Dieu! it came into my head. It seemed so probable. It entirely
deceived the Intendant.'
'And you received money from M. Berthier!'
'If I had not done so, he would have mistrusted me. Now that I have
taken his gold, he believes implicitly in me.'
'I do not like this,' said the colporteur; 'my dear sister, you have
not acted rightly; you have told falsehoods, and----'
'My faith!' exclaimed madame, with a scream, as she backed her chair
across the room; 'you have a conscience, and you my brother! Oh, mon
Dieu! that I should have lived to discover it. Étienne, it will never
do; catch it, kill it.'