"I will tell you. Because I should no sooner have told you that I was

hungry than you would have asked permission to go and order my dinner.

No sooner would I have given you permission to do so than you would have

requested to have it served at the same table with yours. In other

words, you would have invited me to take dinner with you, which, as you

see, would be an indiscretion."

"Really, mademoiselle," said d'Argentan, "your logic is terrible, and,

if I may say so, bears little resemblance to the period in which we

live."

"That," retorted Diane with a frown, "is because few women find

themselves in the same position as I am in. You see, sir, that I am in

deep mourning."

"Are you in mourning for a husband? Your passport describes you as

unmarried and not as a widow."

"I am unmarried, and a young girl, sir, if one can remain so after five

years of solitude and misfortune. My last relative, he who was

everything in the world to me, has just died. Reassure yourself, sir,

you have not, in leaving Paris, lost your seductive powers, but I cannot

consistently consent to recognize the merits of those who address me,

and who see that in spite of my mourning I am young, and that in spite

of my grief I am fair. And now I am as hungry as one can be who drinks

tears, and who lives on memories instead of hopes. I will dine as usual

in the same room with you, assuring you that under any other

circumstances, were it only out of gratitude to you for your attentions

during the journey, I would have dined at the same table with you."

The young man rode up as close to her as the rapid motion of the

carriage would permit.

"Madame," said he, "after your frank avowal, it remains for me to assure

you that if, in your unprotected state, you should need a friend, you

have one at hand, and though it be only a friend of the highroad, he is

as true as any you will find."

Then setting off at a gallop, he went, as he had suggested, to order

dinner for two.

But as the hour of Mademoiselle Rotrou's arrival coincided with that of

the table d'hôte, Monsieur d'Argentan had the delicacy to say that his

companion would dine in her own room, even at the risk of not seeing her

again. At the table nothing was talked of except the six thousand men

whom the Directory had sent to bring Cadoudal to terms.

During the last two weeks Cadoudal had struck blows more audacious than

any that had been attempted by the most adventurous generals who had

served in the Vendée and Brittany during the bloodiest times of the war

in those provinces.

Monsieur d'Argentan, the tax-collector of Dinan, inquired persistently

as to the route which the little corps had taken. He was informed that

there was the utmost uncertainty concerning that point, because the man

in command, who, though not wearing the uniform, seemed absolute with

them, had said at that very inn that his route would depend upon certain

information which he was to receive at the little village of

Châteaubriant, and that it would also depend upon the whereabout of his

adversary whether he plunged into the Morbihan or skirted the hills of

Maine.

When he had finished dinner, Monsieur d'Argentan sent a message to

Mademoiselle Rotrou, asking whether she would do him the honor to

receive him, as he had a communication to make which he believed to be

of much importance.

She replied that she would do so with pleasure.

Five minutes later he entered her room, where she received him, sitting

at an open window. Mademoiselle Rotrou pointed to an armchair, and

motioned to him to be seated. He thanked her with a slight bow, and

contented himself with leaning on the back of the chair.

"As you might think, mademoiselle," said he, "that regret at parting so

soon from you has led me to seek a pretext for seeing you again, I will

come straight to the point. I do not know whether or not you are

desirous of meeting, at some three hundred miles from Paris, those

extra-judicial agents of the government, who become more tyrannical the

further they get from the centre of power. What I do know is that we are

on the eve of meeting a considerable Republican column led by one of

those wretches whose business it is to look for heads for the

government. It seems that shooting has been adjudged too noble a death

for the Chouans, and the guillotine is to be naturalized on the soil of

Brittany. The troops will have to choose between two roads at

Châteaubriant, a village some fifteen miles from here, and will either

march straight to the sea, or skirt the Côtes-du-Nord and the Morbihan.

Have you any reason to fear them? If so, whichever road you take--and

even if you have to pass the entire column from beginning to end--I will

remain with you. If, on the contrary, you have nothing to fear from them

(and I hope you will not mistake the motive which prompts the question),

as I have myself only a moderate liking for tri-colored cockades,

envoys extraordinary, and the guillotine--you see how frank I am--I will

avoid the column and will take the road to Dinan, which does not suggest

itself to their fancy."

"First, let me thank you with all my heart, sir," said Mademoiselle

Rotrou, "and assure you of my gratitude, but I am not going as you are

to Dinan, but to Vitré. If the column has taken the road to Rennes,

which is that of Dinan, I shall have no fear of meeting it. If, on the

contrary, it has taken that of Vitré, it will not deter me from

following it also. I have not much more liking than you for tri-colored

cockades, envoys extraordinary, and guillotines; but I have no reason to

fear them. I will even go further. I was informed of these men and of

what they carry with them; and as they are to cross that part of

Brittany which was occupied by Cadoudal, I was authorized, in case of

necessity, to put myself under their protection. All will therefore

depend upon their leader's decision. If they continue on the road to

Vitré, I shall regret being obliged to part from you at the crossroad.

If, on the contrary, they take the road to Rennes, and your dislike is

so great as to cause you to avoid them, I shall owe to that dislike the

pleasure of continuing my journey with you until I have reached my

destination."

Monsieur d'Argentan's explanation when he entered forbade his lingering,

now that his errand had been discharged. He bowed and went out, while

Mademoiselle Rotrou rose from her chair.

At six o'clock they started, therefore, after the customary greetings.

At Châteaubriant they learned that the column had left an hour earlier

by the road to Vitré Consequently the two travellers were obliged to

separate. Monsieur d'Argentan approached Mademoiselle Rotrou, renewed

his offer of service, and said farewell in a voice full of emotion.

Mademoiselle Rotrou raised her eyes toward the young man, and being too

much a woman of the world herself not to be grateful for the respect

which he had shown her, she gave him her hand to kiss.

Monsieur d'Argentan mounted his horse, and called out to the postilion

who preceded him, "Road to Rennes!" while Mademoiselle Rotrou's

carriage, obedient to the order which she gave in a voice as calm as

usual, took the road to Vitré.

CHAPTER XXI

CITIZEN FRANÇOIS GOULIN

Mademoiselle Rotrou, or rather, Diane de Fargas, fell into a profound

revery after leaving Châteaubriant. In the state of her heart at that

time, it was, or so she thought, insensible to all tender sentiments,

particularly love. But beauty, refinement, and courtesy will always

exercise upon a woman of breeding a sufficient influence to make her

dream if not love.

Mademoiselle de Fargas, therefore, dreamed of her fellow-traveller, and

for the first time a suspicion occurred to her. She began to ask herself

how it was that a man so amply protected by the triple signature of

Barras, Rewbell, and La Reveillière-Lepaux should evince such an

unconquerable repugnance toward the agent of a government which had

honored him with such noteworthy confidence.

She forgot that she herself, whose sympathies were far from being with

the Revolutionary government, was travelling under the same protection;

and even supposing Monsieur d'Argentan to be an aristocrat, which she

surmised to be the case from some words he let fall during their last

interview, it was possible that, under the stress of circumstances like

hers, he had availed himself of a protection which he was somewhat

ashamed to claim.

Then, too, she noticed that Monsieur d'Argentan, when he dismounted from

his horse, always removed a valise from the saddle whose weight seemed

somewhat disproportionate to its size.

Although the young man was strong and vigorous, as if to divert

suspicion he often carried it with one hand, as he would a valise

containing a mere change of clothing. But it taxed his strength far more

than he was willing to have it appear.

Was he carrying money? If so, he was a curious kind of tax-gatherer, to

be carrying money from Paris to Vitré, instead of sending it from Vitré

to Paris.

While the constant revolution of the wheel of Fortune made it difficult

to determine such matters accurately, Mademoiselle de Fargas was too

familiar with the different rounds of the social ladder not to know that

it was unusual to find an insignificant tax-collector of an obscure

canton at the furthest extremity of France, who rode like an English

gentleman and expressed himself with the courtesy which had about it the

indelible perfume of gentle birth. And this was especially noticeable

toward the close of a period when everybody had put on a varnish of

vulgarity to please the powers that were.

She asked herself--without a flutter of the heart, however--who the

unknown could be, and what motive had induced him to travel with a

passport that was certainly not his own.

By a curious coincidence, when Monsieur d'Argentan left Diane de Fargas

he asked himself the same questions about her.

Suddenly, just as they reached the summit of the hill which guarded the

entrance of the post-town of La Guerche, from which the road was visible

for miles around, Diane was startled and dazzled by the gleam of

gun-barrels, reflecting the light of the sun. The road looked like an

immense river of flashing steel. It was the Republican column, whose

advance guard had already reached La Guerche, while the rest of the

troops were still a mile and a half behind them.

Everything was of importance in these troublous times, and, as Diane

paid her attendants well, the postilion asked her whether he should take

his place in the rear of the column, or drive along the side of the

road without slackening his pace, and thus reach La Guerche.

Mademoiselle de Fargas told him to raise the top of the carriage, that

she might not be made the object of undue curiosity, and to drive on

without slackening his speed. The postilion did as she bid him; and

then, remounting his horse, set off at the smart pace at which the

horses of the Department of Posts used to make their six miles an hour.

As a result, Mademoiselle de Fargas duly reached the gates of La

Guerche. When we say gates, we mean the beginning of the street which

branched into the Châteaubriant road.

There they found an obstruction, in the nature of an immense machine,

drawn by twelve horses, on a truck which was too wide to pass the gates,

and which blocked the entire road.

Mademoiselle de Fargas, seeing that her carriage had stopped, and not

knowing the reason, put her head through the open window, and said:

"What is the matter, postilion?"

"The matter is, citizeness," replied the postilion, "that our streets

are not wide enough for the things they wish to carry through them, and

they will have to dig up one of the posts before M. Guillotin's machine

can enter La Guerche."

And, in fact, as François Goulin had decided to travel for the

edification of towns and villages, it happened, as the postilion had

said, that the street was too narrow, not for the machine itself, but

for the sort of rolling platform on which it was set up.

Diane gazed at the horrible thing that obstructed the road; then,

realizing that this must be the scaffold, which she had never seen

before, she quickly turned her head away, exclaiming: "Oh! how

horrible!"

"How horrible! how horrible!" repeated a voice in the crowd. "I should

like to know who is the aristocrat who speaks thus disrespectfully of

the instrument which has done more for human civilization than any

invention since that of the plow?"

"It is I, sir," said Mademoiselle de Fargas; "and if you have anything

to do with it, I should be much obliged if you would aid my carriage to

enter La Guerche as soon as possible. I am in haste."

"Ah! you are in haste," said a thin, dried-up little man, dressed in the

ignoble _carmagnole_ or jacket which had not been worn for the last two

years or so. He was white with rage. "Ah! you are in haste! Well, you

will have to get out of your carriage, and you will have to go on

foot--if so be that we let you go at all."

"Postilion!" said Diane, "lower the top of the carriage."

The postilion obeyed. The young girl threw aside her veil, disclosing

her marvellous face.

"Can it be, perchance, that I am talking to citizen François Groulin?"

asked she mockingly.

"I believe you are mocking me," said the little man, darting toward the

carriage, and arranging the red cap, now out of fashion for some time,

but which citizen François Groulin had determined to bring into fashion

again in the provinces. "Well, yes, it is I. What have you to say to

me?"

And he stretched out his hand toward her as if he would take her by the

throat. Diane sprang to the other side of the carriage.

"In the first place," said she, "if you must touch me, which I do not

think at all necessary, put on gloves. I detest dirty hands."

Citizen Groulin summoned four men, presumably to order them to seize the

beautiful traveller; but from a secret pocket in her satchel Diane had

drawn out the safe-conduct which Barras had given her.

"I beg your pardon, citizen," she said, still mocking him, "but do you

know how to read?"

Goulin gave a cry of rage.

"You do?" said she. "Then read this; but take care not to crumple the

paper too much, for it may be useful to me again if I am to meet many

more such boors as you." And she held out the paper to him. It contained

only a few words:

In the name of the Directory, the civil and military authorities

are ordered to protect Mademoiselle Rotrou in her mission, and to

afford her armed assistance, if she claims it, under penalty of

dismissal.

Paris, the----

BARRAS.

Citizen François Goulin read and re-read the safe-conduct of

Mademoiselle de Fargas. Then, like a bear who is forced by his master,

whip in hand, to make his bow, he said:

"These are singular times when women, and women too in silk dresses and

carriages, are permitted to give orders to citizens who bear the outward

and visible signs of Republicanism and equality. Since we have only

changed our king, and you have a passport from King Barras, you may go,

citizeness; but you may rest assured that I shall never forget your

name, and if ever you fall into my hands--"

"Postilion, see if the road is clear," said Mademoiselle de Fargas in

her usual tones. "I have no further business with monsieur."

The road was not yet clear, but by turning aside the carriage managed to

pass.

Mademoiselle de Fargas reached the post-house with great difficulty, for

the road was crowded with Republicans. There she was obliged to stop.

She had eaten nothing since she had left Châteaubriant, and as she

wished to sleep at Vitré, it was imperative that she should take some

nourishment at La Guerche. She asked for a room, and ordered something

to be served in it. Scarcely had she begun her breakfast, however, than

she was informed that the colonel commanding the column wished to pay

his respects to her.

She replied that she had not the honor of the colonel's acquaintance,

and that unless he had something of importance to say to her she begged

him to excuse her.

The colonel insisted, saying that he thought it his duty to warn her of

something which he alone knew, and which might prove of the utmost

importance to her.

Mademoiselle de Fargas intimated that she would receive him, and Colonel

Hulot was announced.

CHAPTER XXII

COLONEL HULOT

Colonel Hulot was a man of thirty-eight or forty. He had served for ten

years under the late king without having been able to rise to the rank

of corporal. But as soon as the Revolution had been proclaimed, he had

earned one grade after another at the point of his sword, like the brave

soldier that he was.

He had learned of the altercation which had taken place at the gate

between citizen François Goulin and the pretended Mademoiselle Rotrou.

"Citizeness," he said as he entered, "I have heard of what took place

between yourself and the commissioner of the Directory. I need hardly

tell you that we old soldiers have no great affection for these fellows

who follow the armies with the guillotine as if powder and ball and

swords did not give death sufficient pasture to reap in. Hearing that

you had stopped at the post-house, I came to you with the sole intention

of congratulating you upon the manner in which you had treated citizen

Goulin. When men tremble before such wretches it behooves women to prove

to them that they are but the fag-ends of the human race, and that they

are not worthy to be called rabble by a beautiful mouth like yours. And

now, citizeness, have you need of Colonel Hulot? If so, command him."

"Thanks, colonel," said Diane; "if I had anything to fear or to ask I

would accept your offer with a frankness equal to that with which you

make it. I am going to Vitré, which is the end of my journey, and, as

there is but one more stage to make, I think that I am not liable to

meet with any inconveniences greater than those which have already

befallen me heretofore."

"Hum!" said Colonel Hulot. "I know that Vitré is but some fifteen miles

distant, but I also know that the road forms a narrow pass, bordered by

furze and thorn brush, most admirably suited to serve as an ambush for

my gentlemen, the Chouans. My own opinion is that in spite of our

respectable numbers we shall scarcely reach Vitré without being

attacked. If you are, as you say, thoroughly vouched for by citizen

Barras, you must be a person of considerable importance. Now, one who is

so well protected by Barras has everything to fear from Master Cadoudal,

who does not feel for the Directory the respect which it deserves.

Moreover, I have been officially notified, both personally and as the

leader of this column, that a citizeness named Mademoiselle Rotrou,

might perhaps claim the favor of travelling under the protection of our

bayonets. When I say 'claim the favor,' I merely quote the words in the

letter, for, in this case, the favor would be all on my side."

"I am, indeed, Mademoiselle Rotrou, sir, and I am grateful to Monsieur

Barras for his kind remembrance. But, as I have already said, all my

precautions are taken; and some claims to consideration, which I may

call to the attention of the Chouan leader, incline me to believe that I

run little danger in that direction. However, colonel, I am equally

grateful to you, and I am particularly glad that you share my aversion

for the miserable creature whom they have given you for a travelling

companion."

"Oh! as for us," said Colonel Hulot, "we are not at all afraid of him.

We are no longer in the times of Saint-Just and Lebas, a fact which I

must confess I deplore with all my heart. They were brave men who

exposed themselves to the same dangers as we ourselves; who fought with

us, and who, since they remained on the field at the imminent risk of

being shot, had the right to proceed against those who abandoned them.

The soldiers did not love them but they did respect them; and when they

stretched forth their hands over a head they understood that no one had

the right to rescue it from the vengeance of the Republic. But as for

our François Goulin, who will run away at the first shot he hears,

taking his guillotine with him, there is not a soldier among our six

thousand who would let him touch a hair of one of our officers."

Just then Mademoiselle Rotrou was told that her carriage was ready.

"Citizeness," said Colonel Hulot, "it is part of my duty to clear the

road along which our column is to pass. I have with me a small

detachment of cavalry composed of three hundred hussars and two hundred

chasseurs, and I am about to send them--not for you, but for

myself--along the road which we are to follow. If you are in need, you

have only to apply to the officer in command, and he is under orders to

do his utmost to serve you, and even, if you desire it, to escort you as

far as Vitré."

"Thank you, sir," said Mademoiselle de Fargas, giving her hand to the

old soldier; "but I should never forgive myself were I to imperil the

lives of your soldiers, which are so precious as defenders of the

Republic, to assure the safety of a life as humble and of as little

importance as mine."

With these words Diane went out, escorted by the colonel, who gallantly

gave her his hand to assist her to enter the carriage. The postilion was

waiting with his horses.

"The road to Vitré," said Diane.

The postilion started. The soldiers drew aside to let the carriage pass;

and as they were all aware of the manner in which she had reproved

François Groulin, compliments, somewhat coarsely expressed, it is true,

but none the less sincere, were not spared her.

As she set out, she heard the colonel shout: "To horse, chasseurs and

hussars!"

And from three or four different directions she heard the "boots and

saddle" sounded. When they had driven through La Guerche, the postilion

stopped, as if to adjust some portion of the harness, and, approaching

the carriage, said: "Perhaps the citizeness has business with _them_?"

"With _them_?" repeated Diane astonished.

The postilion winked.

"Why, yes, with _them_."

"Whom do you mean?"

"The friends, of course. They are here to the right and left of the

road," and he imitated the hoot of a screech-owl.

"No," replied Diane, "go on; but when you have reached the foot of the

hill stop."

"Bah!" muttered the postilion to himself, "you will stop all right

enough, little mother."

They were then at the summit of a hill which sloped gently down for more

than a mile and a half. Both sides of the road were lined with a thick

growth of furze and thorn, which was in places dense enough to conceal

three or four men.

The postilion started the horses at the usual pace, and drove down,

singing an old Breton song in the Karnac dialect.

From time to time he elevated his voice, as if his song were a signal

which the people along the side of the road understood. Diane, who knew

that she was surrounded with Chouans, used her eyes to good advantage

without uttering a word. This postilion might be a spy, whom Goulin had

set to watch her, and she had not forgotten his threat should she give

him any advantage over her, or fall into his hands again. Just as they

reached the foot of the hill, where a little path crossed the road, a

man on horseback sprang out of the woods to stop the carriage: but when

he saw that its only occupant was a lady, he raised his hat.

The postilion turned round as he saw him, and said in a low tone: "Do

not be afraid; that is General Roundhead."

"Madame," said the horseman, with the greatest politeness, "I believe

that you come from La Guerche, and possibly from Châteaubriant."

"Yes, sir," said she, leaning forward in the carriage without exhibiting

any fear, although she saw no less than fifty horsemen ambushed along

the side of the road.

"Do your political opinions permit you to give me any information

concerning the strength of the Republican column which you have left

behind you?"

"Both my political opinions and my social conscience permit me to do

so," replied the fair traveller with a smile. "The column consists of

six thousand men, who have just returned from prisons in England and

Holland. They are commanded by a brave man named Colonel Hulot; but they

have in their train a miserable wretch whom they call François Goulin,

and a horrible machine which they call the guillotine. When I entered

the town I had an altercation with the aforesaid François Goulin, who

has promised me that I shall make the acquaintance of his machine, if

ever I fall into his hands. This made me so popular with the soldiers,

who detest their travelling companion, that Colonel Hulot insisted upon

an interview with me, and wished to give me an escort as far as Vitré,

lest I should otherwise fall into the hands of the Chouans. But as I

left Paris with the express intention of falling into the hands of the

Chouans, I refused his escort. Then I told the postilion to drive on,

and here I am, delighted to meet you, General Cadoudal, and to express

to you my admiration for your courage, and the esteem which your

character inspired in my breast. As for the escort which was to have

accompanied me, there it is just coming out of the town. It consists of

two hundred chasseurs and three hundred hussars. Kill as few of those

brave fellows as you can, and you will please me."

"I will not conceal from you, madame," replied Cadoudal, "that there

will be an encounter between my men and that detachment. Will you go on

as far as Vitré, where I will rejoin you after the fight, as I am

anxious to learn more definitely the motive of a journey for which you

have given me an improbable cause."

"It is none the less the true one," replied Diane; "and as a proof, if

you will permit, I will remain to witness the engagement. Since I have

to join your army, this will serve as an apprenticeship."

Cadoudal gazed at the little column, which grew in size as it

approached, then said to the postilion: "Place madame where she will be

in no danger; and if we are beaten, explain to the Blues that I, to her

great despair, prevented her from continuing her journey." Bowing to

Diane, he added: "Madame, pray for the good cause while I fight for it."

Then, darting down the path, he rejoined his ambushed companions.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE BATTLE

Cadoudal exchanged a few words with his comrades, and four of them, who

were not mounted and who acted as officers to carry his orders into the

underbrush and heather, glided away immediately, and passing between the

thorn bushes, reached the foot of two sturdy oaks, whose broad branches

and thick foliage made a rampart against the sun. These two oaks stood

at the two ends of the avenue which the road coming from the town to the

crossroad formed.

When they reached this spot, they paused, ready to execute some

manœuvre, which no one who did not know the general's plan of battle

could have divined.

Diane's carriage was drawn into the crossroad, and she herself was

stationed on a little knoll some thirty paces from the road, among a

cluster of trees, where she could see without being seen.

The chasseurs and hussars advanced cautiously at a foot-pace. An

advance-guard of ten men preceded them, and, like the rest of the

troop, marched with the greatest caution. When the last man had left the

town, a shot was heard, and a man in the rear-guard fell. This was a

signal. The two crests of the ravine which formed the road blazed forth

fire. The Blues sought in vain for the enemy who had attacked them. They

saw the fire and the smoke, and they felt the bullets, but they could

distinguish neither the weapon nor the man who carried it. Confusion

seized upon them once they felt themselves the prey of an invisible foe.

Each one sought, not to escape death, but to give death for death. Some

retraced their steps, others forced their horses to climb the slope; but

no sooner did a man's head rise above the crest of the slope than he was

shot at close quarters and fell back, overturning his horse with him

like the Amazons in Rubens' "Battle of Thermodon."

Others again, and they were the more numerous, pushed forward, hoping to

pass the ambush and thus escape the net which had trapped them. But

Cadoudal, when he saw this movement, for which he had apparently been

waiting, set spurs to his horse, and galloped out, followed by his forty

men, to meet them. They fought along the road for about two hundred

yards.

Those who attempted to turn back found the way barred by Chouans, who

discharged their pieces in their faces and forced them to return.

Finally those who pushed forward came in contact with Cadoudal and his

men. But after a few moments the latter appeared to give way and fled.

The Blues at once started in pursuit. But scarcely had the last Chouan

passed the two great oaks which were guarded by the four men than they

began to push with all their strength, and the two giants, which had

been previously separated from their roots with an axe, bent toward each

other and fell with crashing branches and a tremendous noise upon the

road, which they thus closed by an impassable barrier. The Blues were

following the Whites so closely that two of their number, together with

their horses, were crushed by the falling trees.

The same manœuvre took place at the other end of the road. Two trees

dislodged from their bases fell across the road, and their interlacing

branches formed a barrier like that which had just closed up the other

end of the road. Thus men and horses were caught as in a huge arena, and

each Chouan could choose his man, aim at discretion, and bring him down

without fail.

Cadoudal and his forty horsemen discarded their horses, which were now

useless, and, rifle in hand, were about to join in the struggle, when

Mademoiselle de Fargas, who was watching the sanguinary drama with all

the ardor of her lion-like nature, suddenly heard the gallop of a horse

coming along the road from Vitré, and, turning, she recognized the man

with whom she had travelled.

When he saw that Georges and his companions were about to join in the

fray, he attracted their attention by shouting: "Stop! Wait for me!"

And no sooner had he joined them, amid cries of welcome, than he leaped

from his horse, tossed the bridle to a Chouan to hold, and threw himself

upon Cadoudal's neck. Then he selected a rifle, filled his pockets with

cartridges, and followed by twenty men, Cadoudal taking the others, he

darted into the thicket which lined the left bank of the road, while the

general disappeared on the right side.

The redoubled fusillade announced the arrival of these reinforcements

for the Whites.

Mademoiselle de Fargas was too much absorbed in watching what was

passing before her to pay much attention to Monsieur d'Argentan's

conduct. She understood simply that the pretended tax-gatherer of Dinan

was in reality a disguised royalist--which fact explained why he was

bringing money from Paris to Brittany, instead of sending it from

Brittany to Paris.

The heroic efforts of this little band of five hundred men would furnish

material for an epic poem.

Their courage was all the greater as they were, as we have said,

fighting against an invisible danger, calling to it, defying it, and

shrieking with rage because it would not rise up before them. Nothing

could make the Chouans change their deadly tactics. Death flew whistling

by, and the Blues simply saw the smoke and heard the report. A man would

throw up his hands and fall back in the saddle, and the frightened

riderless animal would dash wildly into the thicket and gallop madly on

until an invisible hand checked him, and tied his bridle to the branch

of a tree.

Here and there in the fields some one of these horses could be seen

rearing and tugging at his bridle, trying to escape from the strange

master who had just made him prisoner. The butchery lasted an hour. At

the end of that time, they heard the drums beating the charge. It was

the infantry coming to the assistance of the cavalry.

Colonel Hulot commanded in person. His first care, with the infallible

glance of a veteran, had been to get an accurate idea of the ground, and

to open an exit for the unfortunates who were confined in this sort of a

tunnel into which the Chouans had converted the road.

He had the horses unharnessed from the gun-carriages, the artillery

being useless for the sort of combat upon which they were about to

engage. The horses were then attached to the fallen trees, which they

dragged from their transverse position across the road, thus opening a

means of retreat for the stricken cavalry. Then he sent five hundred men

to charge along the road, with levelled bayonets, just as if the enemy

had been in sight. He ordered the most expert of his sharpshooters to

return shot for shot--in other words, whenever a puff of smoke appeared

they were to fire straight at it, since it denoted that a man was lying

in ambush at that spot. This was almost the only way to reply to the

fusillade of the Whites, who almost invariably shot from cover, and

rarely showed themselves save at the moment of taking aim. Habit, and,

above all, necessity, had made many of the Republican soldiers

exceedingly skilful at this quick exchange of shots.

Sometimes the men upon whom they retaliated were killed outright.

Sometimes when they fired by guesswork, they were only wounded. In that

case they would not move. Their shots were forgotten in the turmoil, and

the soldiers frequently passed very near them without discovering them.

The Chouans were noted for their marvellous courage in stifling groans

which their insufferable agony would have elicited from any other

soldier.

The fight lasted until the first shades of night were falling. Diane,

who did not lose a single incident, fumed with impatience at not being

able to take part in it. She would have liked to don male attire, arm

herself with a gun, and rush upon the Republicans, whom she hated. But

her costume, and, above all, the lack of a weapon, rendered her

helpless.

About seven o'clock Colonel Hulot ordered the retreat to be sounded. In

this kind of warfare day was dangerous, but night was more than

dangerous, it was fatal.

The sounds of the trumpets and the drums, announcing the retreat,

redoubled the ardor of the Chouans. Thus to abandon the field of battle

and return to the town was an avowal on the part of the Republicans that

they were beaten.

Shots accompanied them to the very gates of La Guerche, leaving three or

four hundred dead on the field, ignorant of the losses which the Chouans

had sustained, and without a single prisoner--to the intense chagrin of

François Goulin, who had succeeded in getting his instrument inside the

town, and who had taken it to the other end of the town in order to be

near the scene of battle.

All his efforts were now useless, and François Goulin took up his

lodgings in a house where he need not lose sight of his precious

machine.

Since they had left Paris, neither officer nor soldier had chosen to

lodge in the house of the commissioner extraordinary. He had been given

a guard of twelve men, and that was all. Four men guarded the

guillotine.

CHAPTER XXIV

PORTIA

The day had had no material results for Cadoudal and his men, but the

moral effect was immense. All the great Vendéan chiefs had disappeared:

Stofflet and Charette were dead; the Abbé Bernier had yielded, as we

have said; and, finally, the Vendée had been pacificated by the genius

and patience of General Hoche. And we have seen how Hoche himself had

disturbed Bonaparte in far-off Italy by offering men and money to the

Directory.

Of the Chouannerie and the Vendée, the Chouannerie alone remained.

Cadoudal was the only one of the chiefs who had refused to bend the

knee. He had published his manifesto and announced that he had taken up

arms again. Then, besides the troops still remaining in the Vendée and

Brittany, they had sent six thousand men against him.

Cadoudal, with a thousand men, had not only held at bay six thousand

veterans who had seen five years of active warfare, but he had driven

them back to the town whence they had come, and had killed three or four

hundred of them.

Thus the new Breton insurrection had opened with a victory.

When the Blues were fairly in the town, and had posted their sentinels,

Cadoudal also ordered a retreat, for he meditated a fresh expedition for

the night.

The victorious Chouans could be seen joyfully returning through the

thickets of furze and briar which edged the road, and above which, now

that they were marching without disguise, they sometimes towered more

than a head. They were calling to each other and crowding around one of

their number who was playing the bag-pipe, as soldiers follow the

trumpet of the regiment. The bag-pipe was their trumpet.

At the bottom of the slope, just where the overturned trees had formed a

barricade which the Republican cavalry had been unable to pass, where

they had separated to take part in the fight, so did Cadoudal and

D'Argentan meet there after it was over. They were overjoyed to meet

again, for they had scarcely had time for a hurried greeting before.

D'Argentan, who had not fought for a long time before, had gone into the

fray with such good-will that he had got himself a bayonet thrust in the

arm. He had thrown his coat over his shoulder in consequence, and

appeared with his arm in a sling, improvised from his bloody

handkerchief.

As for Diane; she now came down from the little knoll, and approached

the two friends with her firm, masculine step.

"What," exclaimed Cadoudal, on perceiving her, "did you remain, my fair

Amazon?"

D'Argentan uttered a cry of surprise, for he recognized Mademoiselle

Rotrou, the "post-mistress" of Vitré.

"Permit me," said Cadoudal, still addressing Diane, and indicating his

companion with a wave of his hand, "to present to you one of my best

friends."

"Monsieur d'Argentan?" said Diane, smiling. "I already have the honor of

his acquaintance. Indeed we are old acquaintances of three days'

standing. We travelled all the way from Paris together."

"Then it would have been his privilege to present me to you, had I not

already done so myself." Then, addressing Diane more particularly, he

added: "You were going to Vitré, mademoiselle?"

"Monsieur d'Argentan," said Diane, without replying to Cadoudal's

question, "on the way you offered to act as my immediate intercessor

with General Cadoudal, if I had any request to make of him."

"I was then under the impression, mademoiselle, that you did not know

the general," replied D'Argentan. "But when once one has seen you, you

need no intercessor, and I answer for it that my friend here will grant

you whatever you may ask."

"That, sir," said Diane, "is pure gallantry, and a trick to evade your

promise to me. I summon you positively to keep your word."

"Speak, madame. I am ready to second your request with all my power,"

said D'Argentan.

"I want to join the general's army," said Diane, calmly.

"In what capacity?" asked D'Argentan.

"In the capacity of a volunteer,"--replied Diane coldly.

The two friends looked at each other.

"You hear, Cadoudal?" asked D'Argentan.

Cadoudal's brow grew grave, and his whole countenance assumed a stern

expression. Then, after an instant's silence, he said: "Madame, the

proposal is a serious one, and deserves serious reflection. I will tell

you something curious. I was at first ordained for the church; and I

took in my heart all my vows of ordination, which I have never broken. I

do not doubt that in you I should gain a charming aide-de-camp of

undoubted bravery. I believe that women are as brave as men. But in our

old religious Brittany there exist certain prejudices which often force

us to discourage too great devotion. Several of my colleagues have

received, it is true, the wives and daughters of royalists who have been

assassinated, but to them is due the protection and asylum which they

demand."

"And how do you know," returned Diane, "that I am not the daughter of an

assassinated noble, and perhaps also the sister of another, in which

case I have a double claim to the hospitality which I invoke?"

"In that case," said D'Argentan, with a mocking smile, joining in the

conversation, "how does it happen that you have a passport signed by

Barras?"

"Will you be good enough to show me your own, Monsieur d'Argentan?"

asked Diane.

D'Argentan took it laughingly from the pocket of the coat which hung

over his shoulder and gave it to her. She unfolded it and read:

Give free passage throughout the territory of the Republic to

Citizen Sebastien Argentan, tax-gatherer at Dinan.

(Signed) BARRAS, REWBELL, LA REVEILLIÈRE-LEPAUX.

"And will you be good enough to tell me, sir," said Diane, "how, as a

friend of General Cadoudal and fighting against the Republic, you are

supposed to have free passage throughout the territory of the Republic,

in the character of tax-collector of Dinan. Do not let us lift our

masks, sir, let us remove them entirely."

"Faith, that is well answered," said Cadoudal, who was deeply impressed

by Diane's coolness and persistency. "Come, speak! How did you get that

passport? Explain it to mademoiselle. Perhaps she will then deign to

explain how she came by hers."

"Ah!" said D'Argentan, laughing, "that is a secret which I dare not

reveal before our prudish friend Cadoudal; however, if you insist,

mademoiselle, at the risk of making him blush, I will say that there

lives in the Rue des Colonnes at Paris, near the Théâtre Feydeau, a

certain Aurélie de Sainte-Amour, to whom Barras can refuse nothing, and

who, in turn, can refuse me nothing."

"And furthermore," continued Cadoudal, "the name on the passport

conceals another, which is sufficient in itself to give him free passage

among Vendéans, Chouans, and royalists who wear the white cockade,

whether at home or abroad. Your travelling companion, mademoiselle, who

has now nothing to conceal, and whom I will consequently present to you

under his real name, is not Monsieur d'Argentan, but Coster de

Saint-Victor; and had he given no pledge, heretofore, the wound which he

has just received in fighting for our sacred cause--"

"If it needs only a wound to prove one's devotion, that is a very simple

matter," said Diane, coldly.

"What do you mean?" asked Cadoudal.

"See!" said Diane.

And drawing the sharp dagger, which had given her brother his

death-blow, from her belt, she struck her arm so violently in the place

where Coster de Saint-Victor had received his wound that the blade

entered on one side and came out on the other.

"And as for the name," said Diane, addressing the wondering young man,

"although my name is not Coster de Saint-Victor, it is Diane de Fargas!

My father was assassinated four years ago, my brother a week ago."

Coster de Saint-Victor started and glanced at the dagger which she had

left in her arm, and, recognizing it as the one which had in his

presence done to death the young Lucien, he said: "I am a witness and

can testify that this young girl has spoken the truth when she says that

she is as worthy as any one to be received into the royalist army, and

to be received among us and as one with us in our holy cause."

Cadoudal held out his hand to her.

"From now on," said he, "if you have no father, mademoiselle, I will be

your father. If you no longer have a brother, I will be your brother. I

know there was once a Roman woman who, fearing her husband's weakness,

and to reassure him, pierced her own right arm with the blade of a

knife. Since we live in times which force us to conceal our real names,

yours will be Portia, henceforth, instead of Diane de Fargas, as in the

past. And as you are now one of us, and at the first stroke have won the

rank of leader, you will attend the meeting which I am about to hold

when the surgeon has dressed your arm."

"Thanks, general," said Diane; "but as for the surgeon, I have no more

need of his services than has Monsieur Coster de Saint-Victor; for my

wound is no more serious than his."

Drawing the dagger from the wound where it had remained, she slit up her

sleeve, revealing her beautiful arm; then, addressing Coster de

Saint-Victor, she said, laughingly: "Comrade, be good enough to lend me

your cravat."

CHAPTER XXV

CADOUDAL'S IDEA

Half an hour later the Chouans were encamped in a half circle around the

town of La Guerche. They bivouacked in groups of ten, fifteen, and

twenty, with a fire for each group, and were cooking their supper as

peacefully as if a gunshot had never been heard from Redon to Cancale.

The cavalry bivouacked by themselves, on the borders of a little brook

which formed one of the sources of the Seiche. Their horses were saddled

but not bridled, so that horses as well as men could enjoy their food.

In the midst of the encampment, seated under an immense oak, Cadoudal,

Coster de Saint-Victor, Mademoiselle de Fargas, and five or six of the

Chouans were gathered. These latter deserve that their pseudonyms of

Branche-d'Or, Brise-Bleu, Chante-en-Hiver, Bénédicité, Monte-à-l'Assaut,

Cœur-de-Roi, and Tiffauges should be handed down to posterity together

with that of their leader.

Mademoiselle de Fargas and Coster de Saint-Victor ate with good

appetites, using the hand which was not disabled. Mademoiselle de Fargas

had wished to empty her six thousand francs into the general funds, but

Cadoudal had refused receiving her money only as a deposit.

The six or seven Chouan leaders whom we have named, ate as if they were

not sure of being able to eat on the morrow. But the Whites did not have

as many privations to endure as the Republicans, although the latter

were able to exact contributions. The Whites, with whom the people of

the neighborhood were in entire sympathy, and who paid for whatever they

ate, lived in comparative abundance.

As for Cadoudal, preoccupied with some thought which seemed to be

struggling in his mind, he went and came, having taken only a glass of

water, his customary beverage. He had obtained from Mademoiselle de

Fargas all the information which she could give him about François

Goulin and his guillotine. He stopped suddenly, and turning to the group

of Breton leaders, he said: "I want a willing man to go to La Guerche

and get such information as I require."

All rose spontaneously.

"General," said Chante-en-Hiver, "without wronging my comrades, I think

I am better fitted than any of them for this mission. My brother lives

at La Guerche. I will wait until it is dark, and then I will go to him.

If I am stopped I can appeal to him; he will answer for me, and that

will be the end of it. He knows the town like his own pocket; we will do

whatever you want done, and I will be back with the information within

the hour."

"Very well," said Cadoudal, "this is what I have decided upon. You all

know that the Blues are dragging a guillotine around with them, to

strike terror to our hearts and to intimidate us; and that the infamous

Goulin has charge of it. François Goulin, who was, you will remember,

the hero of the drownings at Nantes. He and Perdraux were Carrier's

tools. They have both boasted of having drowned more than eight hundred

priests. Well, Providence has sent this man again, who went to Paris,

not only to ask immunity, but reward for his infamous crimes, that he

might expiate his ill-doing on the spot where he committed it. He has

brought the infamous guillotine among us. Let him perish by the foul

instrument that he watches over; he is not worthy of a soldier's bullet.

Now we must take both him and his instrument, and transport them to some

spot where we are absolute masters, that the execution may not be

interfered with. Chante-en-Hiver will go to La Guerche; he will come

back and tell us all about the house where Goulin lodges, the place

where the guillotine stands, and the number of men who guard it. When we

ascertain these facts, I have a plan which I shall explain to you; and

if you agree to it we will carry it out this very night."

The chiefs applauded loudly.

"The deuce!" observed Coster de Saint-Victor, "I have never seen a man

guillotined, and I have sworn that I would have nothing to do with the

abominable machine until my turn came to be beheaded; but when François

Groulin is brought to book, I promise to be in the front rank of

spectators."

"You hear, Chante-en-Hiver?" asked Cadoudal.

Chante-en-Hiver did not wait for him to speak twice. He laid aside all

his weapons with the exception of his knife, with which he never parted.

Then, asking Coster de Saint-Victor to look at his watch, and learning

that it was half-past eight, he promised to return by ten. Five minutes

later he disappeared.

"Now," said Cadoudal, addressing the remaining chiefs, "how many horses

were taken on the battlefield, with their saddles, etc.?"

"Twenty-one," said Cœur-de-Roi; "I counted them myself."

"Can we find twenty chasseur or hussar uniforms that are complete?"

"General, there are nearly one hundred and fifty dead on the field of

battle," replied Branche d'Or; "we have only to take our pick."

"We must have twenty hussar uniforms, and one of them must belong to a

quartermaster-general, or a sub-lieutenant."

Branche-d'Or rose, whistled, collected a dozen men, and started off with

them.

"I have an idea," said Coster de Saint-Victor. "Is there a printing-shop

at Vitré?"

"Yes," replied Cadoudal; "I had my manifesto printed there the day

before yesterday. The manager is a worthy man named Borel, who is

entirely with us."

"I have a good mind," said Coster, "since I have nothing else to do, to

get into Mademoiselle de Fargas's carriage, go to Vitré, and order some

placards inviting the people of La Guerche, including the six thousand

Blues, to witness the execution, by his own executioner, and his own

guillotine, of François Goulin, government commissioner. It would be a

good joke, and it would amuse our people in the Paris salons."

"Do it, Coster," said Cadoudal. "One cannot employ too much publicity

and solemnity when God executes justice."

"Forward, D'Argentan, my friend," said Coster; "only some one will have

to lend me a jacket."

Cadoudal made a sign, and each of the leaders pulled off his own to

offer it to Coster.

"If the execution takes place," he asked, "where will it be?"

"Faith!" said Cadoudal, "three hundred paces from here, at the top of

the hill just in front of me."

"That is all I want to know," said Coster de Saint-Victor. And, calling

to the postilion, he added: "My friend, as you may take it into your

head to object to what I am going to tell you to do, I want to tell you

beforehand that all objections will be useless. Your horses are rested

and they have eaten; you are rested and you have eaten. You will put the

horses to the carriage; and as you cannot return to La Guerche, because

the road is obstructed, you will take me to Vitré, to Monsieur Borel,

the printer. If you agree to it, you shall have two crowns of six livres

each--not assignats, but crowns. If you refuse, one of these lads here

will take your place, and will naturally receive the two crowns instead

of you."

The postilion took no time for reflection.

"I will go," said he.

"Very well," said Coster; "and since you have shown such willingness,

here is one of the crowns in advance."

Five minutes later the carriage was harnessed and Coster was on his way

to Vitré.

"Now," said Mademoiselle de Fargas, "as I have no part to play in all

these preparations, I will ask your permission to take a little rest. I

have not slept for five days and nights."

Cadoudal spread his cloak on the ground and on it five or six goatskins,

a portmanteau served for a pillow, and Mademoiselle de Fargas began her

first night's bivouac, and with it her apprenticeship to civil war.

As the clock of La Guerche was chiming ten, Cadoudal heard a voice at

his ear which said: "Here I am."

It was Chante-en-Hiver, who had returned, as he had promised. He had

gathered all the necessary information, and he told Cadoudal all that we

already know. Goulin occupied the last house in the town of La Guerche.

Twelve men, who slept in a room on the ground-floor, constituted his

private guard. Four men took turns in acting as sentinels at the foot of

the guillotine, relieving each other every two hours; the three off

guard slept in the anteroom on the ground-floor of François Goulin's

house. The horses which were used to pull the machine were stabled

behind the same house.

At half-past ten, Branche-d'Or arrived in his turn; he had taken the

uniforms from twenty dead hussars and brought them with him.

"Choose twenty men who can wear these clothes without looking as if they

were masquerading in them. You will take command of them. I suppose you

did as I told you, and found one uniform belonging to a

quartermaster-general or a sub-lieutenant?"

"Yes, general."

"You will put it on, and take the command of these twenty men. You will

take the road to Château-Giron, so that you will reach La Guerche at the

other end by the road opposite to it. When the sentinel challenges you,

you will advance and say that you are come from General Hedouville at

Rennes. You will ask for Colonel Hulot's house, which they will show

you. You will be careful not to go there. Chante-en-Hiver, who will be

your second in command, will show you the way through the town if you

do not know it."

"I do know it, general," replied Branche-d'Or; "but no matter, a good

fellow like Chante-en-Hiver is never in the way."

"You will go straight to Goulin's house. Thanks to your uniform, you

will have no difficulty. While two men approach the sentinel and talk to

him, the other eighteen will enter the house and seize the Blues who are

there. You will make them swear not to offer any opposition at the

sword's point. As soon as they have sworn, you need trouble no further

about them; they will keep their oath. Masters below, you will then go

up to François Goulin's room. As I have no idea that he will defend

himself, I will not tell you what to do in case of resistance. As for

the sentinel, you understand how important it is that he should not cry

'To arms!' He will surrender or you will kill him. In the meantime

Chante-en-Hiver will take the horses from the stable and harness them to

the machine; and as it is on the road, all you will have to do is to

drive straight ahead in order to rejoin us. When once the Blues have

given you their word, you can trust them with the secret of your

mission. I am firmly convinced that there is not one among them who

would court death for the sake of François Goulin, and that, on the

contrary, you will find more than one who will give you good advice.

Thus, for example, Chante-en-Hiver neglected to find out where the

executioner lived, probably because I neglected to tell him to do so. I

suppose none of you would care to fill his office, therefore he is

indispensable to us. I leave the rest to your intelligence. We will make

the attempt about three o'clock in the morning. At two o'clock we shall

be where we were yesterday. A rocket will notify us that you have been

successful."

Branche-d'Or and Chante-en-Hiver exchanged a few words in a low tone.

One was objecting to something that the other was saying; finally they

seemed to have come to some conclusion in the matter, and, turning to

the general, they said: "That is enough, general. Everything shall be

done as you say."

CHAPTER XXVI

THE ROAD TO THE SCAFFOLD

About two o'clock the noise of a carriage was heard. It was Coster de

Saint-Victor returning with the handbills. As he had been certain of the

successful issue of the affair, he had ordered the printer to post a

hundred in the town of Vitré.

The handbill read as follows:

You are invited to assist at the execution of François Goulin,

commissioner-extraordinary of the Directory. He will be executed

to-morrow at nine o'clock in the morning, on the road from Vitré to

La Guerche, at a place called Moutiers, upon his own guillotine.

General Cadoudal, by whose order this execution takes place,

offers the truce of God to all who shall be present at this act of

justice.

GEORGES CADOUDAL.

From his camp at La Guerche.

In passing through Etrelles, Saint-Germain du Pinel and Moutiers, Coster

had left copies with the inhabitants, whom he had awakened for the

purpose, and whom he charged to inform their neighbors of the good

fortune that was in store for them on the following day. Nor had any of

these people complained of being awakened. A commissioner of the

Republic is not executed every day.

Horses were harnessed to the trees that had been felled in that

direction, as the Republicans had done at the other end of the ravine,

in order to make the road passable.

At two o'clock, as had been agreed, Cadoudal gave the signal to his men,

who took up their places behind the thickets where they had fought

during the day.

Half an hour earlier Branche-d'Or, Chante-en-Hiver and his twenty men

had started off on the road to Château-Giron, dressed as hussars. An

hour passed in absolute silence. The Chouans could hear the sentinels

calling from one to another from where they were posted.

About a quarter to three the disguised Chouans appeared at the end of

the main street in La Guerche, and, after a moment's parley with the

sentinel, were directed to the town-hall where Colonel Hulot was lodged.

But Branche-d'Or and Chante-en-Hiver were not so simple as to follow the

main thoroughfares of the town; they took to the lanes, where they might

have been thought a patrol watching over the safety of the town.

They went thus to the house where François Goulin lodged. There

everything passed off as Cadoudal had foreseen. The sentinel at the

guillotine, seeing the little troop approach from the centre of the

town, was not at all alarmed, and they had a pistol at his throat before

he suspected that they had aught to say to him. The Republicans, taken

by surprise in the house where they were asleep, made no resistance.

François Goulin was caught in his bed, and had been rolled up and tied

in his sheet before he had time to utter a single cry of alarm.

As for the executioner, he and his assistant were lodged in a little

pavilion in the garden, and as Cadoudal had foretold, the Republicans

themselves, when apprised of the object of the expedition, pointed out

the hole where the two foul creatures were sleeping. The Blues promised

furthermore to take and distribute the bills, and to ask Colonel Hulot's

permission to be present at the execution.

A rocket went up from the hill at three o'clock in the morning,

announcing to Cadoudal and his men that the expedition had been

successfully terminated. And at the same time they caught the echo of

the rumbling of a heavy cart which was conveying one of the finest

specimens of Monsieur Guillotin's invention.

Seeing that his men were not pursued, Cadoudal called the Chouans, and

they removed the dead bodies from the middle of the road, that the

wagon might not be impeded in its progress. It was not until they were

half-way down the hill that they heard the first blast of the trumpets

and the first beats of the drums.

The fact is that no one had been in any haste to inform Colonel Hulot.

The one who was charged with the duty did not forget to take with him a

number of the handbills; and instead of first reporting the audacious

deed which Cadoudal's men had just perpetrated, he began by thrusting a

handful of the bills under his eyes. Then, as they told the colonel

nothing, he was forced to elicit the necessary information by a series

of questions which brought forth the truth bit by bit. He finally heard

it all, however, and flew into a terrible passion, ordering a hot

pursuit of the Whites and the rescue of the Government commissioner at

any cost.

Then the trumpets had sounded and the drums beat. But the officers

wheedled their old colonel until they disarmed his anger, and obtained a

tacit permission to go, at their own risk and peril, to see this

execution which the colonel himself was dying to witness. But he knew

that this was impossible, and that he would only jeopardize his own head

by such an act; he therefore contented himself with telling his

secretary, who had not dared to ask leave, to go with the other officers

and bring him an exact report. The young man jumped for joy when he

learned that he was to go and see François Goulin's head cut off.

The man must indeed have inspired profound disgust when Whites and

Blues, citizens and soldiers, approved thus unanimously of an act which

was open to such criticism from the standpoint of the right.

As for François Goulin, he had no very clear idea of what was impending

over him until he saw the Chouans join and fraternize with his escort.

Taken by men wearing the Republican uniform, rolled up and tied in his

sheet before they had answered his questions, thrown into a carriage

with the executioner, his dear friend, and following in the wake of his

beloved machine, it will be readily understood how impossible it was

that the truth should have dawned upon him.

But when he saw the pretended hussars exchanging jokes with the Chouans,

who walked along the embankment at their side; when, after persistently

asking what they intended to do with him, and why they had entered his

domicile and laid violent hands upon his person, he was presented, by

way of reply, with a placard announcing his own execution; then, indeed,

did he realize the full gravity of his predicament, unless he were

rescued by the Republicans, or his captors should be moved to pity, two

chances so extremely problematical that he could place no dependence

upon them.

His first idea was to address the executioner and impress upon him that

he was to obey no one save himself, since he had been sent from Paris

with the injunction to obey him in all things. But the man was himself

so cast down, and looked around with such a haggard eye, being firmly

convinced that he was to die in the same place and at the same hour with

the man whose custom it was to put others to death, that the unhappy

François Goulin soon saw that he had nothing to expect from that

quarter.

Then he thought of crying out, appealing, entreating for help; but all

the faces expressed such utter indifference that he shook his head and

said to himself: "No, no, it is useless."

Thus they reached the foot of the hill. There the Chouans made a halt.

They wished to take off their borrowed costumes and put on their own

uniform, which consisted of the vest, breeches and gaiters of the Breton

peasant. A number of curious people had already gathered there. The

bills had accomplished wonders; from six and even eight miles in the

country round, people were hastening to the spot. Everybody knew that

this was the same François Goulin who had no other name throughout the

Vendée and at Nantes than the Drowner.

The guillotine shared with him in their curiosity. The instrument was

wholly unknown in this corner of France, which bordered upon Finistère

(_finis terrœ_, the end of the earth). Men and women questioned each

other as to how it worked, where the condemned man was placed, and how

the knife went up and down. People who did not know that Goulin was the

hero of the occasion addressed him, asking for information. One of them

said to him: "Do you believe a person dies as soon as his head is cut

off? When I cut off the head of a goose or a duck it lives for more than

a quarter of an hour afterward."

And Goulin, who was no more sure than he that death was instantaneous,

writhed in his bonds and said to the executioner: "Did you not tell me

one day that the heads of the people who had been guillotined gnawed at

the bottom of your basket?"

But the executioner, stupefied with terror, either did not reply at all,

or only mumbled such incoherent words as revealed the mortal fear which

was upon him whose lips were thus clogged.

After a halt of a quarter of an hour, which gave the Chouans time to

resume their own uniforms, they started again; but they caught sight of

the entire population hastening from the left to witness the execution.

It was a curious thing to see these men, who, on the previous day, had

been threatened with the fatal instrument, and who had looked with dread

upon the man who had it in charge--it was a curious thing to see this

instrument, like Diomedes' horses, which fed upon human flesh, cast

itself upon its master and devour him in turn.

A black mass, preceded by a stick with a white handkerchief floating at

the end, hurried through the crowd. They were the Republicans who had

taken advantage of the truce of God which Cadoudal had offered them, and

were coming, preceded by the white emblem of truce, to join the silence

of scorn to the angry outbursts of the populace, who, having nothing at

stake, respected nothing.

Cadoudal ordered a halt, and, after courteously saluting the Blues, with

whom he and his men had exchanged death blows on the previous night, he

said: "Come, gentlemen. The spectacle is a grand one and well worth the

presence of men of all parties. Cut-throats, drowners, and assassins

have no flag; or if they have one it is the standard of death--the black

flag. Come, we will none of us march beneath that flag."

And he went on again, mingling with the Republicans, and trusting them

as they trusted him.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE EXECUTION

An onlooker, watching the strange procession as it approached from the

far side of Moutiers and slowly ascended the hill, would have found it

difficult to make out the meaning of the strange jumble of men on foot

and on horseback: Whites in the costume made sacred by Charette,

Cathelineau and Cadoudal, Blues in the Republican uniform, accompanied

by women, children and peasants, and rolling along in the midst of this

human tide, restless as the waves of the ocean, an unknown

machine--unless the spectator had seen one of Coster de Saint-Victor's

placards.

But these placards were for the time being considered merely as one of

those gasconades which the parties permitted themselves at this period;

and many persons had come from afar, not to see the promised

execution--that would have been too much to expect--but to learn the

explanation of the promise which had been made them.

Moutiers was the appointed meeting place, and all the peasants in the

neighborhood had been waiting in the public square of that town since

eight o'clock in the morning.

Suddenly they were told that the procession, which was growing with

every step, was approaching the town. Every one at once hastened to the

spot indicated; and there they could see the Vendéan chiefs, who formed

the advance-guard, half-way up the hill. In their hands they were

carrying green branches, as in the old days of expiation.

The crowd which had gathered at Moutiers streamed along the road; and,

like two rivers meeting, the two human floods surged against each other

and mingled their waters.

There was a moment of confusion and tumult. Every one fought to get near

the cart which carried the scaffold and the carriage which contained

Goulin, the executioner and his assistant. But as they were all animated

by the same desire, and as enthusiasm was perhaps greater than

curiosity, those who had caught a glimpse thought it only right to fall

back and give the others a chance to have an equal opportunity.

As they advanced, Goulin grew paler and paler; for he realized that they

were making straight for a goal which they would surely reach. Moreover,

he had seen, on the bill which had been thrust into his hands, that

Moutiers was to be the scene of his execution; and he knew only too well

that the town they were approaching at every step was Moutiers. He

rolled his eyes around the crowd, unable to fathom this mingling of

Chouans and Republicans, who on the previous evening were waging such

furious warfare and yet in the morning united in such friendly fashion

to form his escort. From time to time he closed his eyes, doubtless in

the vain hope of persuading himself that it was all a dream. But then

the tempestuous roaring of the crowd and the swaying of the carriage

must have carried with it the suggestion of a tempest at sea. Then he

raised his arms, which he had succeeded in freeing from their

shroud-like wrappings, beat the air like a crazy man, stood up, tried to

cry out, and perhaps did cry out; but his voice was lost in the tumult,

and he fell back again on the seat between his two gloomy companions. At

last they reached the plateau of Moutiers, and then there came a cry of

"Halt!"

They had reached their destination.

More than ten thousand persons were assembled on this plateau. The

nearest houses in the village were crowded with spectators and the trees

along the roadside were loaded with human freight. A few men on

horseback, and a woman with her arm in a sling, towered above the crowd.

The men were Cadoudal, Coster de Saint-Victor, and the Chouan leaders.

The woman was Mademoiselle de Fargas, who, to familiarize herself with

her future emotions upon the field of battle, had come in quest of the

most intense of all emotions--that which is experienced by those who

witness a death upon the scaffold.

When the procession had halted, and each person had placed himself as he

or she wished to be placed during the execution, Cadoudal raised his

hand in token that he wished to speak.

Every voice was hushed, and even the breath seemed to expire upon pale

lips. A mournful silence ensued, and Goulin's eyes were fastened upon

Cadoudal, of whose name and importance he was ignorant. He had none the

less distinguished him from the others as perhaps the man whom he had

come from afar to seek--the man who at their first meeting was to change

rôles with him, to make of himself the judge and executioner, and of the

judge and executioner proper the victim--if an assassin can be described

as a victim, no matter what manner of death was reserved for him.

Cadoudal, as we have said, had signified that he wished to speak.

"Citizens," said he, addressing the Republicans, "as you see, I give you

the title which you give yourselves--my brothers," he continued,

addressing the Chouans--"and I give you the name with which God receives

you in his bosom--your meeting here at Moutiers to-day, and its object,

prove that each of you is convinced of the guilt of this man, who is

deserving of the death which he is about to suffer. And yet,

Republicans, whom I hope some day to call brothers, you do not know this

man as we do.

"One day, in 1793, my father and I were carrying some flour to Nantes.

There was a famine in the town. It was scarcely light. Carrier, the

infamous Carrier, had not yet arrived at Nantes. Therefore we must

render unto Cæsar the things which are Cæsar's, and unto Goulin the

things which are Goulin's. It was Goulin who invented the drownings.

"My father and I were going along the Quai de la Loire. We saw a boat on

which they were loading priests. A man was driving them into it two by

two, and counting them as they went aboard. He counted ninety-seven of

these priests, who were bound in couples. As they entered the boat they

disappeared, for they were thrown into the hold. The boat left the shore

and floated out into the middle of the Loire. This man stood in front

with an oar.

"My father stopped his horse and said to me: 'Wait and watch, something

infamous is about to happen here.'

"And in fact the boat had a plug. When the boat reached the middle of

the stream, the unfortunates in the hold were thrown into the water. As

they came up to the surface, this man and his wretched companions struck

at these heads, which already wore the halo of martyrdom, and bruised

them with their oars. It was that man there who urged them on to the

terrible work. Two of the condemned men, however, were too far away to

be struck; they made their way toward the bank, for they had found a

sandbar which afforded them a foothold.

"'Quick,' said my father, 'let us save those two.'

"We sprang from our horses and slipped down the bank of the Loire with

our knives in our hands. They, thinking that we also were murderers,

tried to escape from us. But we cried out to them: 'Come to us, men of

God! these knives are to cut your bonds, not to strike you.'

"They came to us, and in an instant their hands were free, and we were

on horseback, with them behind us, galloping away. They were the worthy

Abbés Briançon and Lacombe.

"They both took refuge with us in the forests of the Morbihan. One of

them died of cold, hunger and fatigue, as so many of us have died. That

was the Abbé Briançon.

"The other," said Cadoudal, pointing to a priest who tried to conceal

himself among the crowd, "recovered, and to-day serves God with his

prayers, as we serve him with our arms. That other is the Abbé Lacombe.

There he is!

"From that time," he continued, pointing to Goulin, "this man, and

always the same, presided at the drownings. In all the slaughter which

took place at Nantes, he was Carrier's right arm. When Carrier was tried

and condemned, François Goulin was tried at the same time; but he posed

before the tribunal as an instrument who had been unable to refuse to

obey the orders that were given him. I possess a letter written entirely

by his hand."

Here Cadoudal drew a paper from his pocket.

"I wanted to send it to the tribunal to enlighten its conscience. This

letter, written to his worthy colleague Perdraux, was his condemnation,

since in it he described his mode of procedure. Listen, you men of

hard-fought battles, and tell me if ever a war-bulletin made you shudder

like this."

And amid solemn silence, Cadoudal read aloud the following letter:

CITIZEN--In the exaltation of your patriotism, you ask me how I

make my Republican marriages.

When I get ready for the baths, I strip the men and women, and go

through their clothing to see if they have any money or jewelry. I

put the clothing in a great hamper, then I tie the man and woman

together, face to face, by the wrists. I bring them to the banks

of the Loire; they go aboard my boat, two by two, and two men push

them from behind and throw them into the water, head first; then

when they try to save themselves we have great clubs with which we

beat them back.

That is what we call the civil marriage.

FRANÇOIS GOULIN.

"Do you know," continued Cadoudal, "what prevented me from sending that

letter? It was the intercession of the good Abbé Lacombe. He said to me:

'If God has given this man a chance to escape, it is that he may have an

opportunity to repent.'

"Now, has he repented? You see him. After having drowned more than

fifteen hundred persons, he seizes the moment when the terror has been

revived to ask the favor of returning to this same region where he was

executioner, in order to make fresh executions. If he had repented, I

also would have pardoned him; but since, like the dog in the Bible, he

returns to his own vomit, since God has permitted him to fall into my

hands after escaping those of the revolutionary tribunal, it is because

God wishes him to die."

A moment of silence followed Cadoudal's words. Then the condemned man

rose in his carriage, and cried in a stifled voice: "Mercy! mercy!"

"Well," said Cadoudal, rising in his stirrups, "so be it. Since you are

standing there, look around you. There are ten thousand men who have

come to see you die. If, among them, a single one asks for mercy, you

shall have it."

"Mercy!" cried Lacombe, stretching out his arms.

Cadoudal rose again in his stirrups.

"You alone, father, of us all, have no right to ask for mercy for this

man. You extended mercy to him on the day when you prevented me from

sending his letter to the revolutionary tribunal. You may help him to

die, but that is all that I can grant you."

Then in a voice which made itself heard by all the spectators, he asked

for the second time: "Is there one among you who asks for mercy for this

man?"

Not a voice replied.

"You have five minutes in which to make your peace with God," said

Cadoudal to François Goulin; "and, unless it be a miracle from heaven,

nothing can save you. Father," said he, addressing Lacombe, "you may

give this man your arm, and accompany him to the scaffold." Then, to

the executioner, he said, "Do your duty!"

The executioner, who now saw that his only part in the performance would

be the execution of his ordinary functions, rose and put his hand on

Groulin's shoulder in token that he belonged to him.

The Abbé Lacombe approached the condemned man, but the latter pushed him

back.

Then ensued a frightful struggle between the man who would neither pray

nor die and his two executioners. In spite of his cries, his bites and

his blasphemies, the executioner picked him up in his arms as if he had

been a child; and, while the assistant prepared the knife, he carried

him from his carriage to the platform of the guillotine.

The Abbé Lacombe went up first, with a ray of hope, and waited for the

culprit; but his efforts were vain, for Goulin would not even put his

lips to the crucifix.

Then on this awful stage there occurred a scene which is beyond

description. The executioner and his assistant succeeded in stretching

the condemned man upon the fatal plank. It rocked. Then the onlookers

saw a flash as of lightning. It was the knife which fell. Then a dull

thud. It was the head which had fallen.

A deep silence followed, and in its midst Cadoudal's voice could be

heard, saying: "God's justice is done!"

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE SEVENTH FRUCTIDOR

Let us leave Cadoudal to continue his desperate struggles against the

Republicans, victor and vanquished by turns, and, with Pichegru--the

last remaining hope of the Bourbons--let us cast an eye upon Paris, and

pause before the pile erected by Marie de Medicis, where the

citizen-directors still abide in the respective apartments we have

mentioned.

Barras had received Bonaparte's message, with which Augereau was

charged.

On the eve of the latter's departure, the young commander-in-chief,

choosing the anniversary of the 14th of July, which corresponded to the

26th Messidor, had assembled the army for a celebration, and had had

addresses drawn up in which the soldiers of the Army of Italy protested

their attachment to the Republic and their willingness to die for it if

necessary.

On the grand square at Milan a pyramid had been erected and surrounded

by trophies taken from the enemy, that is to say, the flags and cannon.

This pyramid bore the names of all the officers and soldiers who had

died during the campaign in Italy.

Every Frenchman in Milan was urged to be present at this celebration,

and more than twenty thousand men presented arms to the glorious

trophies and the pyramid covered with the immortal names of the dead.

While these twenty thousand men formed in square and presented arms to

their brothers, who lay stretched upon the battlefields of Arcola,

Castiglione, and Rivoli, Bonaparte, with uncovered head, said, as he

pointed to the pyramid:

"Soldiers! to-day is the anniversary of the 14th of July. You see

before you, on the pyramid, the names of those soldiers who have

died on the field of honor for the cause of liberty. They have set

you an example. You belong absolutely to the Republic. The

happiness of thirty millions of Frenchmen is in your hands, and to

your hands is also intrusted the glory of that name which has

received new lustre from your victories.

"Soldiers! I know that you are deeply grieved by the evils which

threaten your country; but that country cannot be in real danger.

The same men who are responsible for its triumph over allied

Europe are still there. Mountains separate us from France. You

would cross them with the speed of an eagle if it were necessary,

in order to protect the safety of the Constitution, defend liberty

and Republicanism.

"Soldiers! the government watches over the trust which has been

confided to it. The royalists, as soon as they appear, will

forfeit their lives. Have no fear; but swear by the spirits of the

heroes who have died beside us for liberty, swear by our flags

implacable war against the enemies of the Republic and the

Constitution of the Year III."

Then there followed a banquet, and toasts were offered. Bonaparte gave

the first.

"To the brave Stengel, La Harpe, and Dubois, who died on the field of

honor! May their shades watch over us and preserve us from the snares of

our enemies!"

Masséna proposed a toast to the re-emigration of the emigrés.

Augereau, who was to start the next day with full authority from

Bonaparte, raised his glass and said:

"To the union of all French Republicans! To the destruction of the

Clichy Club! Let the conspirators tremble! From the Adige and the Rhine

to the Seine is but a step. Let them tremble! Their iniquities are

known, and the price is at the end of our bayonets!"

As he uttered the last words, trumpets and drums sounded the charge.

Each soldier sprang to his gun, as if he were obliged to start on the

instant; and the men could scarcely be induced to resume their places at

the tables.

The members of the Directory received Bonaparte's message with widely

varying emotions.

Augereau exactly suited Barras, who, always ready to mount his horse and

summon the Jacobins and the people of the faubourgs to his assistance,

considered him the man for the situation. Rewbell and La Reveillière,

whose characters were cool and evenly balanced, wanted a general who was

as cool and as evenly balanced as themselves. As for Carnot and

Barthélemy, it is needless to say that Augereau could in no wise accord

with their plans.

Indeed, Augereau, such as we know him, was a dangerous auxiliary. A

brave man, an excellent soldier, with an intrepid heart, but a boasting

Gascon tongue, Augereau revealed too clearly the object of his mission.

But Rewbell and Le Reveillière succeeded in taking him aside and

convincing him that it was necessary to save the Republic by an

energetic and decisive blow, but without bloodshed. In order to keep him

quiet, they gave him command of the seventeenth military division, which

included Paris.

This was the 16th Fructidor.

The relations between the two parties were so strained that a _coup

d'état_ was expected at every moment, either on the part of the

directors or the councils.

Pichegru was the natural chief of the royalist movement; if he were to

take the initiative, the royalists would gather round him.

This book which we are writing is far from being a romance--perhaps,

indeed, it is not enough of a romance to suit some of our readers; but

we have already said that it was written along the shores of history

from promontory to promontory. And just as we were the first to throw

broad daylight upon the events of the 13th Vendémiaire and the part

which Bonaparte played in it, so shall we, at this period which we have

reached, show the over-calumniated Pichegru in his true light.

Pichegru, after his refusal to listen to the Prince de Condé--a refusal

the causes of which we have already narrated--entered into direct

negotiations with the Comte de Provence, who, since the death of the

Dauphin, had assumed the title of King Louis XVIII.

Now, when Louis XVIII. sent Cadoudal his commission as _king's

lieutenant_, and the red ribbon, he sent Pichegru at the same time (to

show his appreciation of his disinterestedness, in that he had refused

to accept honors and money, and would not attempt to bring about the

restoration save for the glory of being a second Monk without the Duchy

of Albemarle) the following letter:

I have long desired to express to you, sir, the feelings which you

early awakened in me and the esteem which I have for your person.

I yield now to the imperious demands of my heart when I say to you

that for the last eighteen months it has seemed to me that the

honor of restoring the French monarchy was reserved for you.

I will not speak to you of the admiration which I feel for your

talents and for the noble deeds which you have performed. History

has already placed you in the ranks of the great generals, and

posterity will confirm the verdict of all Europe in regard to your

victories and your virtues.

The most distinguished leaders have, for the most part, owed their

victories to long experience in their professions; but from the

first you were what you have never ceased to be throughout all

your campaigns. You have united the bravery of Marshal Saxe to the

disinterestedness of Monsieur de Turenne and the modesty of

Monsieur de Catinat. And I may say that your name is indissolubly

associated in my mind with those names which have made our annals

great and glorious.

I confirm, sir, the full powers which M. de Condé bestowed upon

you. I put no limit upon them, and leave you entirely free to do

anything you may think necessary for my service which is

compatible with the dignity of my crown and in accord with the

interests of the kingdom.

You know, sir, what are my sentiments toward you. They will never

change.

LOUIS.

A second letter followed the first. The two together furnish an exact

measure of Louis XVIII.'s feelings toward Pichegru, and should influence

not only his contemporaries but posterity as well.

You are aware, sir, of the unfortunate events which have taken

place in Italy. The necessity of sending thirty thousand men there

has forced an indefinite postponement of the project of crossing

the Rhine. Your attachment to me will enable you readily to

understand my chagrin at this unfortunate adverse stroke of Fate,

especially just as I saw the gates of my kingdom opening before me.

On the other hand, these disasters increase, if that were possible,

the respect and confidence with which you have inspired me. I am

sure that you will re-establish the French monarchy; and whether

the war continues, or whether we have peace this summer, I count

upon you for the success of the great work. I place in your hands,

sir, absolute power to act for me and in my name. Make such use of

it as you think necessary for my service.

If the valuable sources of information which you have at your

command in Paris and the provinces; if your talents, and, above

all, your character, could permit me to fear an event which might

oblige you to leave the kingdom, you would find your place between

Monsieur de Condé and myself. In speaking thus to you, I have a

heartfelt desire to prove to you my esteem and attachment.

LOUIS.

Therefore, on the one hand, Augereau was urging matters to a climax with

letters from Bonaparte; and, on the other, Pichegru was being urged to

action with letters from Louis XVIII.

The news that Augereau had been given command of the seventeenth

military division--that is to say, that he had been placed at the head

of the forces in Paris--impressed the royalists with the fact that they

had no time to lose. Therefore, Pichegru, Barbé-Marbois, Dumas,

Murinais, Delarue, Rovère, Aubry, Laffon-Ladébat--the whole royalist

party, in short, assembled at Adjutant-General Ramel's house, the latter

being commander of the guard of the Corps Legislatif.

This Ramel was a brave soldier, and had been adjutant-general of the

Army of the Rhine under the orders of General Desaix, when, in January,

1797, he had received orders from the Directory to return to Paris and

take command of the guard of the Corps Legislatif. This corps was

composed of a battalion of six hundred men, most of whom had been

selected from the grenadiers of the Convention, whom we saw marching so

bravely to the charge, under the command of Bonaparte, on the 13th

Vendémiaire.

At this meeting Pichegru clearly explained the situation. Ramel sided

entirely with the two councils, and was ready to obey any orders which

the two presidents might give him. Pichegru proposed that they should

take command that very evening of two hundred men and arrest Barras,

Rewbell, and La Reveillière, and make charges against them the next

day. Unfortunately, they had agreed to abide by the decision of the

majority. The temporizers opposed Pichegru's motion.

"The Constitution will be all-sufficient to defend us," said Lacuée.

"The Constitution can do nothing against cannon; and they will reply to

your decrees with cannon," replied Villot.

"The soldiers will not be with them," persisted Lacuée.

"The soldiers will follow those who command them," said Pichegru. "You

will not decide, and you will be lost. As for me," he continued, sadly,

"I sacrificed my life long ago. I am tired of all these discussions

which come to naught. When you need me you can come for me."

And with these words he went away. At the very moment when Pichegru left

Ramel's house, sad and depressed, a post-chaise drew up before the

Luxembourg, and citizen-general Moreau was announced to Barras.

CHAPTER XXIX

JEAN-VICTOR MOREAU

Moreau was about this time a man thirty-seven years of age, and, with

Hoche, the only man who could dispute with Bonaparte--in reputation at

least, if not in fortune.

He had at this time just joined an association, which later became a

conspiracy, which lasted from 1797 to 1809, when it became extinct at

the death of General Oudot, the head of the society, which was called

the Philadelphiles. In this society he was known as Fabius, in memory of

the famous Roman general who conquered Hannibal by temporizing.

Therefore Moreau was known as the Temporizer.

Unfortunately, temporizing was not with him the result of calculation

nor the effect of character. Moreau was absolutely lacking in firmness

in politics and strength of will. Had he been gifted with more

instinctive force, he might have had a greater influence upon events in

France, and have traced out for himself a career comparable with the

most glorious careers of modern or ancient times.

Moreau was born at Morlaix in Brittany. His father was a distinguished

lawyer. His family was of high standing, and rich rather than poor. At

eighteen years of age, being attracted toward the military profession,

he enlisted. His father, who wished him to become a lawyer like himself,

bought young Moreau's discharge, and sent him to Rennes to study law. He

soon acquired considerable influence over his companions, which was

undoubtedly due to his moral superiority. Inferior in intellect to

Bonaparte, and inferior in rapidity of thought to Hoche, he was

nevertheless superior to most men.

When the troubles which were the precursors of the Revolution burst out

in Brittany, Moreau sided with the parliament against the court, and

carried with him the whole body of students. Then followed between

Moreau, who was thenceforth called the parliamentary general, and the

commandant of Rennes a struggle in which the old soldier did not always

have the advantage. The commandant at Rennes finally gave orders for

Moreau's arrest.

But Moreau, who possessed as a part of his genius the quality of

prudence, found means to evade the search, showing himself every day,

now at one point, now at another, so that the people should be convinced

that the spirit of parliamentary opposition had not departed from the

old capital of Amorica.

But later, seeing that this parliament which he was defending opposed

the convocation of the States-General, and considering that such a

convocation was necessary for the future welfare of France, he changed

sides, while still holding the same opinions, supported the convocation

of the States-General, and appeared at the head of all the mobs which

were thereafter organized in Brittany. He was president of the Breton

youths gathered at Pontivy when the procureur-general, desiring to

utilize the talents which he was revealing, made him commander of the

first brigade of volunteers from Ille-et-Vilaine.

Here is what Moreau says of himself:

I was destined to the study of the law at the beginning of this

revolution which was to burst the bonds of the French people. It

changed the whole course of my life; I devoted it to the profession

of arms. I did not take my place among the soldiers of liberty

through ambition, but I entered upon a military career out of

respect for the rights of the nation: I became a warrior because I

was a citizen.

To his calm and slightly lymphatic nature, Moreau owed a sure insight in

times of danger and a coolness which were astonishing in so young a man.

Men were still lacking at this time, although they were soon to swarm

forward in crowds. His qualities, though of a negative order, procured

for Moreau the rank of brigadier-general in the army of which Pichegru

was then commander-in-chief. Pichegru, the man of genius, appreciated

Moreau, the man of talent, and conferred on him, in 1794, the rank of

general of division. From that time he had command of twenty-five

thousand men, and was most frequently intrusted with the conduct of

siege operations. In the brilliant campaign of 1794, which subdued

Holland, Moreau commanded the right wing of the army. The conquest of

Holland had been deemed impossible by all strategists, Holland being, as

is well known, a land that lies lower than the sea, which was wrested

from the seas, and which can be flooded at will.

The Hollanders risked this semi-suicide. They pierced the dikes which

held back the seas, and thought to escape invasion by inundating their

country. But cold weather fell suddenly, of a severity unknown in the

country, in which the mercury fell to fifteen degrees, and which had not

been seen there more than once in a century, and froze the canals and

the rivers.

Then, with a daring which is peculiar to them, the French ventured out

upon the deep. The infantry risked the passage first, then the cavalry,

and, finally, the light artillery. Seeing that the ice bore this

unaccustomed weight bravely, they ventured upon it with the heavy pieces

of field-artillery. They fought on ice as they were in the habit of

fighting on dry land. The English were attacked and driven back with the

bayonet. The Austrian batteries were captured. That which should have

saved Holland was its destruction. The cold which later became the

mortal enemy of the Empire was now the faithful ally of the Republic.

After this there was nothing further to hinder the invasion of the

United Provinces. The ramparts could no longer defend the town, for they

were on a level with the ice. Arnheim, Amsterdam, Rotterdam, and the

Hague were taken. The conquest of Over-Yssel, Gröningen and Friesland

finished the subjugation of Holland.

There remained the Stadtholder's fleet, which was frozen in the ice of

the Straits of Texel, the different vessels of which were near the

margin of the water. Moreau brought his cannon to bear upon the

artillery of the fleet. He fought the vessels as he would have attacked

a fortress, sending a regiment of hussars to board it; and the fleet was

captured by a regiment of artillery and light cavalry--a thing

unheard-of in the annals of nations or in naval history.

These were the achievements which had caused Pichegru and Moreau to grow

in stature; but Moreau remained merely the clever lieutenant of the man

of genius.

Meanwhile, Pichegru was given the command of the Army of the Moselle and

the Rhine, and Moreau that of the Army of the North.

Before long, as we have said, Pichegru fell under suspicion and was

recalled to Paris, and Moreau succeeded to his command of the Army of

the Rhine and the Moselle.

At the beginning of the campaign, some skirmishers captured a wagon

which formed part of the equipage of the Austrian General Klinglin. In

a little chest which was forwarded to Moreau, the latter discovered the

whole correspondence between Fauche-Borel and the Prince de Condé. This

correspondence gave a full and detailed account of the relations which

had obtained between Fauche-Borel and Pichegru when the former had posed

as a travelling wine-merchant.

In this matter every one is free to judge Moreau according to his own

way of thinking and his own conscience.

Ought Moreau--the friend, the debtor, the lieutenant of Pichegru--simply

to have examined the contents of the chest and then have sent it to his

former chief, with the simple recommendation "Take care!" or ought he,

putting his country before his affections, the Stoic before the friend,

to have done what he did; that is to say, spend six months in

deciphering, or having deciphered, all the letters which were in cipher,

and then, with his suspicions verified, but with Pichegru's guilt

unproved, take advantage of the preliminaries of the treaty of Léoben,

and when the tempest was ready to burst over Pichegru's head, go to

Barras and say: "Behold me, I am the thunderbolt!"

Now that was what Moreau had come to say to Barras. Just such proofs as

these, not of complicity, but of negotiations, were what the Directory

needed to accuse Pichegru, and these proofs Moreau supplied.

Barras was closeted alone with Moreau for two hours, satisfying himself

that he held weapons that were the more deadly because they were

poisoned. Then, when convinced that there were grounds, if not for

condemnation, at least for trial, he rang. An usher entered.

"Go," said Barras, "bid the minister of police, and my two colleagues,

Rewbell and La Reveillière come hither." Then, looking at his watch, he

said: "Ten o'clock of the evening; we still have six hours before us.

Citizen-general, you have come in time." Then holding out his hand to

Moreau, he added, with his inscrutable smile: "We will reward you for

this."

Moreau asked permission to withdraw and it was granted. He would have

embarrassed Barras quite as much as Barras would have embarrassed him.

The three directors remained in consultation until three o'clock in the

morning. The commissioner of police joined them at once, and they sent

him for Merlin (of Douai) and Augereau, one after the other. Then about

three o'clock in the morning they sent an address to the government

printer which was couched in the following terms:

The Directory, attacked about two o'clock in the morning by the

troops of the two councils under General Ramel, was obliged to meet

force with force.

After about an hour's fighting, the troops of the two councils

were defeated, and the government remained victorious.

More than a hundred prisoners remained in the hands of the

directors; to-morrow a list of their names will be given, together

with a more ample list of their conspiracies, which have almost

succeeded in overturning the established power.

18th Fructidor, four A.M.

This curious production was signed by Barras, Rewbell, and La

Reveillière-Lepaux. Sothin, the minister of police, had suggested it and

had drawn it up.

"They will not believe in your placard," said Barras, shrugging his

shoulders.

"They will believe in it to-morrow," replied Sothin, "and that is all we

need. It does not matter what they believe the day after; the trick will

be turned then."

The directors separated, giving orders to arrest first of all their two

colleagues, Carnot and Barthélemy.

CHAPTER XXX

THE EIGHTEENTH FRUCTIDOR

While Sothin, the minister of police, was drawing up his placards, and

proposing to have Carnot and forty-two deputies shot--while the

directors were annulling the appointment of Barthélemy, the fifth

director, and promising his place to Augereau if they had reason to be

satisfied with him when the evening of the next day arrived--two men

were quietly playing backgammon in a corner of the Luxembourg.

One of these two men, the younger by two years only, had begun as an

officer of engineers, and had published mathematical essays which had

won him admittance into several societies of learning. He had also

composed a eulogy on Vauban which had been crowned by the Academy of

Dijon.

At the dawn of the Revolution he was a captain of engineers, and had

been appointed Chevalier of Saint-Louis. In 1791 the department of the

Pas-de-Calais had elected him deputy to the Legislative Assembly. His

first speech there had been directed against the emigré princes at

Coblentz, against the Marquis de Mirabeau, against Cardinal de Rohan,

and against Monsieur de Calonne, who was intriguing with foreign kings

to induce them to declare war upon France. He proposed that

non-commissioned officers and sergeants should take the place of the

officers belonging to the nobility who had emigrated. In 1792, he asked

for the demolition of all the bastilles in the interior of France, and

presented measures to abolish the passive obedience which had formerly

been exacted from officers and soldiers.

In the days when the Revolution had been threatened by foreign powers,

he had asked to have three hundred thousand pikes manufactured to arm

the people of Paris. Elected a deputy to the National Assembly, he had

unhesitatingly voted the death of the king. He had furthered the

acquirement of the principality of Monaco and a part of Belgium by

France.

Sent to the Army of the North in 1793, he had degraded General Gratien

from his rank upon the field of battle, because he fell back before the

enemy, and placing himself at the head of the French column, he won back

the ground that had been lost.

In the month of August of the same year he had been chosen a member of

the Committee of Public Safety, and, in that position, displayed an

extraordinary talent which has become proverbial, by organizing fourteen

armies and formulating plans of campaign, not only for each army by

itself, but for operations including them all. It was at that time that

the French armies won that astonishing series of victories, from the

recovery of Toulon to the surrender of the four strongholds in the

North.

This man was Lazare-Nicholas-Marguerite Carnot, the fourth director,

who, not having been able to agree with Barras, Rewbell, and La

Reveillière-Lepaux, had just been condemned to death by them, being

thought too dangerous to be allowed to live. His partner, who was

shaking the dice with a nonchalance equal to Carnot's energy, was the

Marquis François Barthélemy, the last of the directors to be appointed,

who had no other merit than that of being the nephew of the Abbé

Barthélemy, the author of the "Voyage du jeune Anarcharsis."

As minister from France to Switzerland during the Revolution, he had

concluded at Basel two years before the time of which we are now

speaking, the treaties of peace with Prussia and Spain, which had put an

end to the first coalition. He had been chosen because of the well-known

moderation of his opinions; and it was this very moderation which had

justly led to his dismissal by his colleagues, and was later to lead to

his incarceration.

It was one o'clock when Garnot, by a brilliant play, ended the sixth

game of backgammon. The two friends shook hands at parting.

"Au revoir," said Carnot to Barthélemy.

"Au revoir," replied Barthélemy. "Are you sure, my dear colleague? In

these times I am never sure when I leave a friend at night that I shall

meet him again in the morning."

"What the deuce do you fear?" asked Carnot.

"Hum!" said Barthélemy, "a stroke of the dagger is soon given."

"Nonsense!" said Carnot, "you need not worry about that. You are too

goodnatured for them to think of fearing you. They will treat you as one

of the do-nothing kings; you will be shaved and shut up in a cloister."

"But then, if you fear that," said Barthélemy, "why do you prefer defeat

to victory? For, after the propositions which have been made us, it

depends solely on ourselves whether we overthrow our three colleagues or

not."

"My dear friend," said Carnot, "you cannot see beyond your nose, which

is unfortunately not as long as that of your uncle. Who are the men who

have made us these propositions? The royalists. Now do you think the

royalists would ever pardon me for the part I have taken against them?

It is only a choice of deaths; with the royalists I shall be hanged as a

regicide, with the directors I shall be assassinated as a royalist. I

would rather be assassinated."

"And with these ideas you can go willingly to bed in your own rooms?"

said Barthélemy.

"Where should I go to bed?"

"In some place, no matter where, where you would be safe."

"I am a fatalist; if the dagger is to strike me, it will find me.

Good-night, Barthélemy! My conscience is clear; I voted the death of the

king, but I saved France. It is for France to take care of me."

And Carnot went to bed as composedly as he always did.

He was not mistaken. A German had received the order to arrest him, and,

if he made the least resistance, to assassinate him. At three o'clock in

the morning the German and his satellites presented themselves at the

door of Carnot's apartments, which he shared with a younger brother.

Carnot's servant, when he saw the men, and heard their leader ask in bad

French where citizen Carnot was, took them to his brother, and he,

having nothing to fear for himself, left them in error at first.

Then the valet ran to warn his master that they had come to arrest him.

Carnot, almost naked, escaped through one of the gates of the Luxembourg

garden to which he had the key. Then the servant came back. The brother,

when he saw him, knew that the other had escaped, and he made himself

known. The soldiers in a rage ran through the apartment, but they found

only Carnot's empty bed, which was still warm.

Once in the garden of the Luxembourg, the fugitive paused, not knowing

where to go. He finally went to a lodging-house in the Rue de l'Enfer,

but was told that there was not a vacant room in the house. He set off

again, seeking shelter at random, when suddenly the alarm-guns went off.

At the sound several doors and windows were opened. What would become of

him, half naked as he was? He would certainly be arrested by the first

patrol, and troops were marching toward the Luxembourg from all

directions.

While he was deliberating, a patrol appeared at the corner of the Rue de

la Vieille-Comédie. A porter half-opened his door and Carnot sprang

inside. Chance willed that the porter should be a worthy man who kept

him concealed until he had time to prepare another hiding-place.

As for Barthélemy, although Barras had twice sent him warning during the

day of the fate that awaited him, he took no precautions. He was

arrested in his bed an hour after he had left Carnot. He made no

resistance, and did not even ask to see the warrant, and the words "Oh,

my country!" were the only ones he uttered.

His servant, Letellier, who had been with him for twenty years, asked to

be arrested with him. This singular favor was refused. We shall see how

he obtained it later.

The two councils named a committee which was to sit permanently. The

president of the committee was named Siméon. He had not yet arrived when

the alarm-guns sounded.

Pichegru had passed the night with this committee, together with those

of the conspiracy who were determined to meet force with force; but none

thought the moment when the Directory would dare attempt its _coup

d'état_ was so near at hand. Several members of the committee were

armed, among them Rovère and Villot, who, learning suddenly that they

were surrounded, volunteered to go out, pistol in hand. But this

Pichegru opposed.

"Our other colleagues assembled here are not armed," he said; "they

would be massacred by those wretches, who are only waiting for an

opportunity. Do not let us desert them."

Just then the door of the room occupied by the committee opened and a

member of the councils, named Delarue, rushed in.

"Ah, my dear Delarue!" exclaimed Pichegru, "what on earth have you come

for? We are all going to be arrested."

"Very well; then we will be arrested together," answered Delarue,

calmly.

And indeed, in order that he might share the same fate as his comrades,

Delarue had had the courage to force his way three times past the guard

in order to reach the committee room. He had been warned at his own

house of the danger he ran, but he had refused to escape, although it

would have been easy for him; and, having kissed his wife and children

without waking them, he had come, as we have seen, to join his

colleagues.

We have said in a preceding chapter that Pichegru, when he had offered

to bring the directors bound to the bar of the Corps Legislatif, if they

would give him two hundred men, had not been able to obtain them. They

were now eager to defend themselves, but it was too late.

Delarue had scarcely exchanged these few words with Pichegru when the

door was burst open, and a crowd of soldiers, led by Augereau, entered.

Augereau, finding himself near Pichegru, put out his hand to seize him.

Delarue drew a pistol from his pocket, and attempted to fire upon

Augereau, but on the instant a bayonet was thrust through his arm.

"I arrest you!" cried Augereau, seizing Pichegru.

"Wretch!" exclaimed the latter, "all you needed was to become a minion

of Barras."

"Soldiers," cried a member of the committee, "will you dare lay hands

upon Pichegru, your general?"

Without a word, Augereau flung himself upon him, and, with the

assistance of four soldiers, succeeded, after a violent struggle, in

securing his arms and binding them behind his back.

With Pichegru arrested, the conspiracy had no longer a head, and no one

attempted further resistance.

General Mathieu Dumas, the same man who was Minister of War at Naples

under Joseph Bonaparte, and has left such interesting memoirs, was with

the committee when it was surrounded. He wore the uniform of a general.

He left through the door by which Augereau had entered and went

downstairs.

In the vestibule he was confronted by a soldier, who thrust a bayonet in

his face and said, "No one is allowed to go out."

"I know it," said he, "for it was I who just gave the order."

"I beg your pardon, general," said the soldier, lowering his weapon.

And the general passed out without further hinderance. He was obliged

to leave Paris in order to insure his safety.

Mathieu Dumas summoned his two aides-de-camp, ordered them to mount

their horses, galloped to the barrier, gave his orders to the guard, and

passed outside the walls, to go, as he said, to another post, and

disappeared.

CHAPTER XXXI

THE TEMPLE

This is what had happened.

When a great event takes place like the 13th Vendémiaire, or the 18th

Fructidor, it stamps an indelible date upon the book of history.

Everybody knows this date; and so when the words "13th Vendémiaire" or

"18th Fructidor" are pronounced, everybody knows the results which

followed the great events commemorated by these dates, but very few know

the secret springs which prepared the way for the accomplishment of

these events.

As a result, we have particularly assumed the duty in our historical

novels, or romanticized histories, of telling things which no one has

told before, and of relating matters which we know, but of which very

few persons share that knowledge with us.

Since friendly indiscretion has revealed the source from which we have

obtained the priceless volumes and original and rare manuscripts from

which we have drawn, this is the proper place for us to acknowledge our

indebtedness for the communication of these interesting volumes which it

is so hard to coax down from their shelves. They have been for us the

beacon which has guided us through the 13th Vendémiaire; and we have

only to light it again to penetrate the mazes of the 18th Fructidor.

It is, then, with the certainty of telling the truth, the whole truth,

and nothing but the truth, that we repeat the phrase with which this

chapter begins: This is what had happened.

On the evening of the 17th, Adjutant-general Ramel, after he had visited

his posts, went to take his orders from the committee, who were to

remain in session during the night. He was present when Pichegru, as we

have said, having been prevented by his colleagues from taking the

initiative, had predicted what would happen, and with his habitual

indifference, although he might have fled, and thus have escaped the

persecution which he had foreseen, had allowed himself to drift along

with the current of his destiny.

When Pichegru had gone, the other deputies became more firmly convinced

that the Directory would not dare to attempt anything against them, and

if they did, it would not fall at once, and that therefore for several

days they were safe. Even before his departure, Pichegru heard several

of the deputies, among them Eméry, Mathieu Dumas, Vaublanc, Tronçon de

Coudray and Thibaudeau, indignantly denounce this supposition, and decry

the terror with which it had inspired the public.

Adjutant-general Ramel was therefore dismissed without further orders;

he was merely instructed to do that day what he had done the day before,

and what he would do on the morrow. Consequently he returned to his

quarters and contented himself with ascertaining that, in case of alarm,

his grenadiers were ready to take up arms. Two hours later, at one in

the morning, he received orders from the minister of war to report to

him.

He hastened to the hall, which was empty save for one solitary

inspector, named Rovère, who was asleep. He told him of the order which

he had received, and begged him to note its importance at that hour of

the night. Ramel added that he had been notified that several columns of

troops were entering Paris. But all these threatening probabilities had

no effect upon Rovère, who declared that he was very comfortable where

he was, and had excellent reasons for remaining so. Ramel, when he left

the hall, met the commander of the cavalry post whose duty it was, like

his own, to guard the councils. The latter announced that he had

withdrawn his pickets, and ordered his troops, as well as the two cannon

which were in the courtyard of the Tuileries, to cross the bridges.

"How could you do such a thing, when I told you to do just the

contrary?" asked Ramel.

"General, it was not my fault," replied the commander; "the

commander-in-chief, Augereau, gave the order, and the cavalry officer

refused positively to obey yours."

Ramel went back and again begged Rovère to warn his colleague, telling

him what had occurred since he had seen him. But Rovère was obstinate in

his confidence, and replied that all these movements of troops signified

absolutely nothing; that he had known of them before, and that several

corps of troops were to go upon the bridges at an early hour to

manœuvre. Ramel might therefore be perfectly easy, for Rovère's source

of information was reliable, and he could count upon it; and Ramel could

obey the order of the minister of war without any hesitation.

But a dread of being separated from his corps prevented Ramel from

obeying. He went home, but instead of going to bed remained ready

dressed and armed.

At three o'clock in the morning a former member of the bodyguard with

whom he had been very intimate in the Army of the Pyrenees, named

Poinçot, announced himself as a messenger from General Lemoine, and

handed Ramel a note couched in the following terms:

General Lemoine, in the name of the Directory, summons the

commander of the grenadiers of the Corps Legislatif to give passage

across the swing-bridge to a body of fifteen hundred men charged

with executing the government's orders.

"I am surprised," said Ramel, "that an old comrade, who should know me

better, could consent to bring me an order which I cannot obey without

dishonoring myself."

"Do as you please," replied Poinçot; "but I warn you that all resistance

will be useless. Eight hundred of your grenadiers have already been

covered by four cannon."

"I receive no orders save from the Corps Legislatif," exclaimed Ramel.

And hastening from his house he started on a run to the Tuileries. An

alarm-gun sounded so near him that he thought it was a signal for

attack. On his way he met two of his chiefs of battalion, Ponsard and

Fléchard, both excellent officers in whom he had every confidence.

He hastened to the committee-room again, where he found Generals

Pichegru and Villot. He at once sent notices to General Mathieu Dumas

and the presidents of the two Councils, Laffon-Ladébat, president of the

Council of the Ancients, and Siméon, president of the Five Hundred. He

also went to warn the deputies whose lodgings were known to him to be

near the Tuileries.

At that moment, they having forced the iron gates of the swing-bridge,

the divisions of Augereau and Lemoine were enabled to unite. The

soldiers of the two armies filled the garden; a battery was directed

against the Hall of the Ancients, all the avenues were closed, and all

the posts doubled and covered by superior forces.

We have told how the door opened, how a throng of soldiers entered the

hall of the committee, with Augereau at its head, and how, when no one

else had dared lay a hand on Pichegru, Augereau himself had committed

that sacrilege, and had thrown down and bound the man who had been his

general; and finally how, after Pichegru was mastered, the other

deputies offered no farther resistance, and the order was given to take

the prisoners to the Temple.

The three directors were waiting, together with the minister of police,

who, once his placards were posted, had returned to them. The minister

of police advised that the prisoners should be instantly shot in the

courtyard of the Luxembourg under pretext that they had been taken with

arms in their hands. Rewbell agreed with him; the gentle La

Reveillière-Lepaux, the man of peace, who had always advised merciful

measures, was ready to give the fatal order, saying, like Cicero of

Lentullus and Cethegus: "They have lived!"

Barras alone, it is but justice to say, opposed this measure with all

his might, saying that, unless they put him in prison during the

execution, he should throw himself between the bullets and the

prisoners. Finally a deputy named Guillemardet, who had made himself a

friend of the directors by joining their faction, proposed that the

prisoners be banished to Cayenne "to be done with it." This amendment

was put to the vote and enthusiastically carried.

The minister of police considered it his duty to conduct Barthélemy

personally to the Temple. We have said that his servant Letellier asked

to be permitted to accompany him. They refused at first, but finally

granted his request.

"Who is this man?" asked Augereau, who did not recognize him as one of

the exiles.

"He is my friend," said Barthélemy; "he asked to be allowed to follow

me, and--"

"Pooh!" said Augereau, interrupting him, "when he knows where you are

going he will not be so eager."

"I beg your pardon, citizen-general," replied Letellier, "but wherever

my master goes I will follow him."

"Even to the scaffold?" asked Augereau.

"Above all, to the scaffold," replied the man.

By dint of entreaties and prayers the doors of the prison were opened to

the wives of the prisoners. Every step they took in the courtyard, where

a queen of France had suffered so bitterly, was fresh agony to them.

Drunken soldiers insulte them at every turn.

"Are you coming to see those beggars?" they asked, pointing to the

prisoners. "Make haste and say farewell to them to-day, for they will be

shot to-morrow."

As we have already said, Pichegru was not married. When he came to Paris

he did not wish to supplant poor Rose, for whom, as we have said, he had

bought a cotton umbrella from his savings, which had delighted her

much. When he saw his colleagues' wives, he approached them, and took

Delarue's little son, who was crying, in his arms.

"Why are you crying so, my child?" he asked with tears in his own eyes

as he kissed him.

"Because," replied the child, "wicked soldiers have arrested my papa."

"You are right, poor little fellow," replied Pichegru, darting a look of

scorn at those who were watching him, "they are wicked soldiers. Good

soldiers would not allow themselves to be turned into executioners."

Augereau wrote Bonaparte that same day as follows:

At last, general, my mission is accomplished; the promises of the

Army of Italy were fulfilled last night.

The Directory determined upon a bold stroke; the moment for its

accomplishment was still undecided, and the preparations were

still incomplete, when the fear of being forestalled precipitated

matters. At midnight I sent orders to the troops to march upon

given points. Before daybreak all those points and all the

principal squares were filled with artillery; at daybreak the

halls of the councils were surrounded, the guards of the Directory

fraternized with our troops, and the members whose name I send you

were arrested and taken to the Temple.

A large number are being pursued; Carnot has disappeared. Paris is

calm, marvelling at a crisis which should have been terrible, but

which passed off like a holiday. The robust patriot of the

faubourgs proclaims the safety of the Republic, and the black

collars are downcast.

Now, it is for the wise energy of the Directory and the two

councils to do the rest. The place of sessions is changed and the

first proceedings promise well. This event has taken us a long

stride toward peace; it is for you to cross the intervening space

which still separates us from it.

Do not forget the bill of exchange for twenty-five thousand

francs; it is urgent.

AUGEREAU.

Then followed the list, containing seventy-four names.

CHAPTER XXXII

THE EXILES

The Temple suggested associations which were not entirely without

remorse for the political consciences of those who had been taken there.

Some of them, after they had sent Louis XVI. to the Temple, that is to

say, after they had closed the prison doors upon him, had opened them

again only to send him to the scaffold, which means that several of the

prisoners were regicides.

Accorded their liberty in the interior of the prison, they rallied

around Pichegru, as being the most eminent personality among them.

Pichegru, who had nothing to reproach himself with as far as Louis XVI.

was concerned, and who, on the contrary, was being punished for the too

great pity which he had evinced for the Bourbons--Pichegru, the

archeologist, historian, and man of letters, placed himself at the head

of the group who asked permission to visit the apartments of the tower.

Lavilleheurnois, former Master of Requests under Louis XVI., secret

agent of the Bourbons during the Revolution, and a participant with

Brotier-Deprêle in a conspiracy against the Republic, acted as their

guide.