After Dark

by Wilkie Collins

  CHAPTER IV.

  The waiting-room of the revolutionary tribunal was a grim, bare place,with a dirty stone floor, and benches running round the walls. Thewindows were high and barred; and at the outer door, leading into thestreet, two sentinels kept watch. On entering this comfortless retreatfrom the court, Lomaque found it perfectly empty. Solitude was just thenwelcome to him. He remained in the waiting-room, walking slowly fromend to end over the filthy pavement, talking eagerly and incessantly tohimself.

  After a while, the door communicating with the tribunal opened, and thehumpbacked jailer made his appearance, leading in Trudaine and Rose.

  "You will have to wait here," said the little man, "till the rest ofthem have been tried and sentenced; and then you will all go back toprison in a lump. Ha, citizen," he continued, observing Lomaque at theother end of the hall, and bustling up to him. "Here still, eh? If youwere going to stop much longer, I should ask a favor of you."

  "I am in no hurry," said Lomaque, with a glance at the two prisoners.

  "Good!" cried the humpback, drawing his hand across his mouth; "I amparched with thirst, and dying to moisten my throat at the wine-shopover the way. Just mind that man and woman while I'm gone, will you?It's the merest form--there's a guard outside, the windows are barred,the tribunal is within hail. Do you mind obliging me?"

  "On the contrary, I am glad of the opportunity."

  "That's a good fellow--and, remember, if I am asked for, you must sayI was obliged to quit the court for a few minutes, and left you incharge."

  With these words, the humpbacked jailer ran off to the wine-shop.

  He had scarcely disappeared before Trudaine crossed the room, and caughtLomaque by the arm.

  "Save her," he whispered; "there is an opportunity--save her!" His facewas flushed--his eyes wandered--his breath on the chief agent's cheek,while he spoke, felt scorching hot. "Save her!" he repeated, shakingLomaque by the arm, and dragging him toward the door. "Remember all youowe to my father--remember our talk on that bench by the river--rememberwhat you said to me yourself on the night of the arrest--don't wait tothink--save her, and leave me without a word! If I die alone, I can dieas a man should; if she goes to the scaffold by my side, my heartwill fail me--I shall die the death of a coward! I have lived for herlife--let me die for it, and I die happy!"

  He tried to say more, but the violence of his agitation forbade it. Hecould only shake the arm he held again and again, and point to thebench on which Rose sat--her head sunk on her bosom, her hands crossedlistlessly on her lap.

  "There are two armed sentinels outside--the windows are barred--you arewithout weapons--and even if you had them, there is a guard-house withinhail on one side of you, and the tribunal on the other. Escape from thisroom is impossible," answered Lomaque.

  "Impossible!" repeated the other, furiously. "You traitor! you coward!can you look at her sitting there helpless, her very life ebbing awayalready with every minute that passes, and tell me coolly that escape isimpossible?"

  In the frenzy of his grief and despair, he lifted his disengaged handthreateningly while he spoke. Lomaque caught him by the wrist, and drewhim toward a window open at the top.

  "You are not in your right senses," said the chief agent, firmly;"anxiety and apprehension on your sister's account have shaken yourmind. Try to compose yourself, and listen to me. I have somethingimportant to say--" (Trudaine looked at him incredulously.) "Important,"continued Lomaque, "as affecting your sister's interests at thisterrible crisis."

  That last appeal had an instantaneous effect. Trudaine's outstretchedhand dropped to his side, and a sudden change passed over hisexpression.

  "Give me a moment," he said, faintly; and turning away, leaned againstthe wall and pressed his burning forehead on the chill, damp stone. Hedid not raise his head again till he had mastered himself, and could sayquietly, "Speak; I am fit to hear you, and sufficiently in my senses toask your forgiveness for what I said just now."

  "When I left the tribunal and entered this room," Lomaque began in awhisper, "there was no thought in my mind that could be turned to goodaccount, either for your sister or for you. I was fit for nothing butto deplore the failure of the confession which I came to St. Lazare tosuggest to you as your best plan of defense. Since then, an ideahas struck me, which may be useful--an idea so desperate, souncertain--involving a proposal so absolutely dependent, as to itssuccessful execution, on the merest chance, that I refuse to confide itto you except on one condition."

  "Mention the condition! I submit to it before hand."

  "Give me your word of honor that you will not mention what I am aboutto say to your sister until I grant you permission to speak. Promise methat when you see her shrinking before the terrors of death to-night,you will have self-restraint enough to abstain from breathing a word ofhope to her. I ask this, because there are ten--twenty--fifty chances toone that there _is_ no hope."

  "I have no choice but to promise," answered Trudaine.

  Lomaque produced his pocket-book and pencil before he spoke again.

  "I will enter into particulars as soon as I have asked a strangequestion of you," he said. "You have been a great experimenter inchemistry in your time--is your mind calm enough, at such a tryingmoment as this, to answer a question which is connected with chemistryin a very humble way? You seem astonished. Let me put the question atonce. Is there any liquid or powder, or combination of more than oneingredient known, which will remove writing from paper, and leave nostain behind?"

  "Certainly! But is that all the question? Is there no greaterdifficulty?"

  "None. Write the prescription, whatever it may be, on that leaf,"said the other, giving him the pocket-book. "Write it down, withplain directions for use." Trudaine obeyed. "This is the firststep," continued Lomaque, putting the book in his pocket, "toward theaccomplishment of my purpose--my uncertain purpose, remember! Now,listen; I am going to put my own head in danger for the chance ofsaving yours and your sister's by tampering with the death-list. Don'tinterrupt me! If I can save one, I can save the other. Not a word aboutgratitude! Wait till you know the extent of your obligation. I tellyou plainly, at the outset, there is a motive of despair, as well as amotive of pity, at the bottom of the action in which I am now aboutto engage. Silence! I insist on it. Our time is short; it is for me tospeak, and for you to listen. The president of the tribunal has put thedeathmark against your names on the prison list of to-day. That list,when the trials are over and it is marked to the end, will be called inthis room before you are taken to St. Lazare. It will then be sent toRobespierre, who will keep it, having a copy made of it the moment it isdelivered, for circulation among his colleagues--St. Just, and therest. It is my business to make a duplicate of this copy in the firstinstance. The duplicate will be compared with the original, and possiblywith the copy, too, either by Robespierre himself, or by some one inwhom he can place implicit trust, and will then be sent to St. Lazarewithout passing through my hands again. It will be read in public themoment it is received, at the grating of the prison, and will afterwardbe kept by the jailer, who will refer to it, as he goes round in theevening with a piece of chalk, to mark the cell doors of the prisonersdestined for the guillotine to-morrow. That duty happens, to-day, tofall to the hunchback whom you saw speaking to me. He is a confirmeddrinker, and I mean to tempt him with such wine as he rarely tastes.If--after the reading of the list in public, and before the marking ofthe cell doors--I can get him to sit down to the bottle, I will answerfor making him drunk, for getting the list out of his pocket, and forwiping your names out of it with the prescription you have just writtenfor me. I shall write all the names, one under another, just irregularlyenough in my duplicate to prevent the interval left by the erasurefrom being easily observed. If I succeed in this, your door will notbe marked, and your names will not be called to-morrow morning when thetumbrils come for the guillotine. In the present confusion of prisonerspouring in every day for trial, and prisoners pouring out every day forexecution, you will hav
e the best possible chance of security againstawkward inquiries, if you play your cards properly, for a good fortnightor ten days at least. In that time--"

  "Well! well!" cried Trudaine, eagerly.

  Lomaque looked toward the tribunal door, and lowered his voice to afainter whisper before he continued, "In that time Robespierre's ownhead may fall into the sack! France is beginning to sicken under theReign of Terror. Frenchmen of the Moderate faction, who have lainhidden for months in cellars and lofts, are beginning to steal outand deliberate by twos and threes together, under cover of the night.Robespierre has not ventured for weeks past to face the ConventionCommittee. He only speaks among his own friends at the Jacobins. Thereare rumors of a terrible discovery made by Carnot, of a desperateresolution taken by Tallien. Men watching behind the scenes see thatthe last days of the Terror are at hand. If Robespierre is beaten in theapproaching struggle, you are saved--for the new reign must be a Reignof Mercy. If he conquers, I have only put off the date of your death andyour sister's, and have laid my own neck under the axe. Those are yourchances--this is all I can do."

  He paused, and Trudaine again endeavored to speak such words as mightshow that he was not unworthy of the deadly risk which Lomaque wasprepared to encounter. But once more the chief agent peremptorily andirritably interposed:

  "I tell you, for the third time," he said, "I will listen to noexpressions of gratitude from you till I know when I deserve them. It istrue that I recollect your father's timely kindness to me--true that Ihave not forgotten what passed, five years since at your house by theriver-side. I remember everything, down to what you would consider theveriest trifle--that cup of coffee, for instance, which your sister kepthot for me. I told you then that you would think better of me some day.I know that you do now. But this is not all. You want to glorify me tomy face for risking my life for you. I won't hear you, because my riskis of the paltriest kind. I am weary of my life. I can't look back to itwith pleasure. I am too old to look forward to what is left of itwith hope. There was something in that night at your house before thewedding--something in what you said, in what your sister did--whichaltered me. I have had my days of gloom and self-reproach, from timeto time, since then. I have sickened at my slavery, and subjection, andduplicity, and cringing, first under one master then under another. Ihave longed to look back at my life, and comfort myself with the sightof some good action, just as a frugal man comforts himself with thesight of his little savings laid by in an old drawer. I can't dothis, and I want to do it. The want takes me like a fit, at uncertainintervals--suddenly, under the most incomprehensible influences. Aglance up at the blue sky--starlight over the houses of this great city,when I look out at the night from my garret window--a child's voicecoming suddenly, I don't know where from--the piping of my neighbor'slinnet in his little cage--now one trifling thing, now another--wakes upthat want in me in a moment. Rascal as I am, those few simple wordsyour sister spoke to the judge went through and through me like a knife.Strange, in a man like me, isn't it? I am amazed at it myself. _My_life? Bah! I've let it out for hire to be kicked about by rascals fromone dirty place to another, like a football! It's my whim to give ita last kick myself, and throw it away decently before it lodges on thedunghill forever. Your sister kept a good cup of coffee hot for me, andI give her a bad life in return for the compliment. You want to thankme for it? What folly! Thank me when I have done something useful. Don'tthank me for that!"

  He snapped his fingers contemptuously as he spoke, and walked away tothe outer door to receive the jailer, who returned at that moment.

  "Well," inquired the hunchback, "has anybody asked for me?"

  "No," answered Lomaque; "not a soul has entered the room. What sort ofwine did you get?"

  "So-so! Good at a pinch, friend--good at a pinch."

  "Ah! you should go to my shop and try a certain cask, filled with aparticular vintage."

  "What shop? Which vintage?"

  "I can't stop to tell you now; but we shall most likely meet againto-day. I expect to be at the prison this afternoon. Shall I ask foryou? Good! I won't forget!" With those farewell words he went out, andnever so much as looked back at the prisoners before he closed the door.

  Trudaine returned to his sister, fearful lest his face should betraywhat had passed during the extraordinary interview between Lomaque andhimself. But, whatever change there might be in his expression, Rosedid not seem to notice it. She was still strangely inattentive to alloutward things. That spirit of resignation, which is the courage ofwomen in all great emergencies, seemed now to be the one animatingspirit that fed the flame of life within her.

  When her brother sat down by her, she only took his hand gently andsaid: "Let us stop together like this, Louis, till the time comes. I amnot afraid of it, for I have nothing but you to make me love life, andyou, too, are going to die. Do you remember the time when I used togrieve that I had never had a child to be some comfort to me? I wasthinking, a moment ago, how terrible it would have been now, if my wishhad been granted. It is a blessing for me, in this great misery, that Iam childless. Let us talk of old days, Louis, as long as we can--not ofmy husband; or my marriage--only of the old times, before I was a burdenand a trouble to you."