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ORPHANS OF THE STORM
LILLIAN AND DOROTHY GISH AS THE TWO ORPHANS IN D. W.GRIFFITH'S ORPHANS OF THE STORM. _Frontispiece_.]
ORPHANS OF THE STORM
A COMPLETE NOVEL
FROM D. W. GRIFFITH'S MOTION PICTURE EPIC ON THE IMMORTAL THEME OF
THE TWO ORPHANS
NOVELIZED BY
HENRY MacMAHON
ILLUSTRATED WITH SCENES FROM THE PHOTO-PLAY
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS--NEW YORK
Made in the United States of America
Copyright 1922
BY HENRY MacMAHON
All rights reserved, including those of translation intoforeign languages.
CONTENTS
I. TWO GIRLS OF NORMANDY 1 II. THE JOURNEY TO PARIS 5 III. WHAT HAPPENED AT THE COACH HOUSE 12 IV. THE FETE OF BEL-AIR 20 V. BEL-AIR--(CONTINUED) 27 VI. IN THE FROCHARDS' DEN 33 VII. TANGLED SKEINS 38 VIII. THE HONOR OF THE FAMILY 46 IX. FRIENDS OF THE PEOPLE 54 X. THE ATTACK ON DANTON 61 XI. LOUISE BEFORE NOTRE DAME 67 XII. LOVE, MASTER OF HEARTS 72 XIII. THE RECOGNITION 76 XIV. DOWN IN THE DEPTHS 84 XV. LIGHT RAYS IN THE DARKNESS 91 XVI. REVOLUTION IS HERE! 100 XVII. PRISON DELIVERY--AND AN ENCOUNTER 108 XVIII. "THERE IS NO LAW--" 114 XIX. KNIFE DUEL AND ESCAPE 124 XX. THE NEW TYRANNY 129 XXI. ADVENTURES OF A PILGRIM 136 XXII. ADVENTURES OF A PILGRIM (CONTINUED) 142 XXIII. BEFORE THE DREAD TRIBUNAL 149 XXIV. VENGEANCE COME TO JUDGMENT 156 XXV. THE VOICE OF DANTON 160 XXVI. REPRIEVE OR AGONY 169 XXVII. THE FAREWELL 173 XXVIII. MANIAC WITH A DAGGER 178 XXIX. DANTON'S RIDERS 184 XXX. THE AFTERMATH 191
ORPHANS OF THE STORM
CHAPTER I
TWO GIRLS OF NORMANDY
In all the countryside of Evreux, nay in all the beauteous old-timeNormandy of the period of 1789, there were no lovelier _filles dupeuple_ than Henriette and Louise Girard.
Their romantic story was often whispered by country gossips. Ininfancy foundlings on the church steps of Notre Dame, then brought tothis quiet Norman backwater by the Girards and raised as sisters, theyhad lost both their protectors by death. The same visitation of thedread plague had cost poor little Louise her eyesight.
Since the orphaning and especially since the blindness of Louise,Henriette cared for her with a love overwhelming as that of a motherfor her helpless baby. She looked forward eagerly to the day when theymight leave the kinswoman's where they were staying and go to Paris.
A local doctor had imparted a precious ray of hope.
"As for me, voila! I can do nothing," he said. "Mais, is it not thatthere are learned faculties in Paris--men skilled in chirurgery evento the taking off of cataracts and the restoration of sight? Of atruth, yes! En avant, mes enfants! Let Monsieur Martin, your ancientcousin in Paris, have the care of you whilst the chirurgeons exerttheir skill--presto! if all goes well, the little one shall yet see!"
Henriette's heart thumped with joy o'er the cheering prospect. Shekissed and fondled Louise and even teased her. Reading or chatting tothe blind girl, sewing her frocks or performing a thousand and onekindly services, her sole thought was to distract and enliven theprisoned soul behind the darkened windows.
And so a broad smile crossed the lovely sightless features and eventhe dulled orbs radiated a little as Henriette excitedly told thedetails of the proposed trip, and teased:
"--And, oh, yes--I forgot--when Miss Baby's eyes are quite well, Ishall sit down like a lady--and you'll do all the work!"
They were quite in a fever of delighted ardor over the preparationsfor the journey.
Elder sister, attending to everything, pronounced it perfect with gaylittle pats of quaint panniered costumes, fitting of banded sailorhats o'er white coifs, recurling of ringlets, and dainty polishing ofslippers. The graceful little figures seemed elfin and fairy-like inthe half sleeves and low corsages of tight bodices from which dependedenormously full skirts set off by cute pinafores.
Round boxes, baskets or bags on either arm and even the rainy-dayumbrella, they waited in delicious expectancy the serving man fetchingthe brass-studded cowhide trunk, to the very last moment when toHenriette's surprise the blind girl pouted and drew back!
She groped until her fingers touched a chair, then sat down--kerplump!
"I won't go!" announced Louise firmly. "Y-you'll meet somebody orother in Paris--get married--and--and--I'll be left _all alone_!"
The little general of the expedition paced hurriedly up and down thefloor like a Napoleon at Elba. Shocked surprise at Louise's awfulinsinuation struggled with panic fear. At last Henriette faced hersister squarely. She came over and knelt beside her chair, raising asmall hand to high Heaven.
"Desert you for a Man!" said Henriette, breathlessly. "Why, the veryidea that I could ever think such a thing. Dear, here is my righthand; take it and bear witness: I solemnly swear _never to marry tillyou yourself can see and approve my husband_!"
The left hand of Louise traveled up till it met and lay flat on theother's upraised palm. An expression of happiness overspread the blindgirl's face. She leaned over and kissed her sister. The two girls roseand left the old home of Evreux.
CHAPTER II
THE JOURNEY TO PARIS
Locomotion in those pre-railroad days was by stage coach except forthe rich and noble who rode in their chaises. The way of the diligenceled past winding streams and bright meadows busy with haymakers; pastpicturesque water mills and stone chateaux, anon along tree-shadedavenues grateful in their coolness.
Hard as the leathern seats were and however wearisome the ride, thegirls forgot discomfort in Henriette's description of the sights andscenes and Louise's just as eager listening. Then at the stops theyoung women would get out and stretch their weary limbs whereof theysuddenly became aware as the motion ceased. They were the onlypassengers, with unlimited time for the naive confidences whichgirlhood loves.
"Are you sure that Cousin Martin will really meet us at the Pariscoach house?" asked the blind sister anxiously.
"I wrote him that we were coming," replied Henriette simply. "Ofcourse he will be there and awaiting our arrival."
"But if he should not--"
"Then, we have his address and will go to his house. Never fear,little sister, it will be all right...."
The lumbering coach-and-six did its hundred miles a day, bad roads orgood roads. But within a few miles of Paris a whiffletree broke, theungainly vehicle stopped, and the men jumped off to hold the horsesand repair the damage. Henriette and Louise soon left the hard seatsfor a few minutes too.
Down the other side of the narrow turn of the road where the accidenthad occurred, thundered the beautiful carved and
gilded chaise of afamous nobleman, Marquis de Praille, accompanied by gallant outridersand backed by liveried footmen on the high rear seats. Inside theequipage were the Marquis and his commissionaire La Fleur.
The black and dusty old stage coach blocked the way.
As the aristocrat's journey rudely stopped, with the chaise horsesthrown back on their haunches, a bewigged and powdered head was thrustout of the window, roaring:
"What is the meaning of this?"
Descending presently with his follower to survey the scene, the nobleMarquis enraged at the blocking of his day's pleasuring belabored thechief ostler with his cane. Smartly the blows rained down on thecowering sufferer, alternate right and left in rhythmic strokes thattouched each and several part of the canaille anatomy.
This gentle exercise finished, the Marquis espied around the corner ofthe coach the two young passengers. Another side of the GrandSeigneur's nature disclosed itself.
Mon Dieu, what a vision! Blue eyes, yellow ringlets framing mostkissable features, dainty form, twinkling feet, flower-likeelegance--a rustic Psyche far more to be desired than the ladies ofthe Court! The Marquis hardly looked twice at the blind girl. All hisglances were for Henriette.
Self-conscious, the noble gentleman plumed and preened. Patting downhis somewhat ruffled apparel, adjusting his fashionable wig andperuke, and touching up his mouth with the lipstick that the dandiesof that age carried, he advanced elegantly upon the young women, canein one hand and the other toying delicately with a hand muff.
Henriette curtsied and smiled, and bade Louise do the same. Theyknew not the ways of Courts, but native courtesy and naive simplicitywere theirs. Presently the elder girl found herself telling thedistinguished personage all the details of their trip, the appointmentwith M. Martin, and the hope of curing Louise by a visit to theFaculty.
The gallant de Praille, all bows and smirks, was offering them thehospitality of the chaise. What a grand stranger, truly! A regalcaress of Henriette's fingers in the handclasp. Most patronizing (orwas it odious familiarity?) his dainty touch of her bare arms; thejeweled hand that toyed with her ringlets; the dexterous move as if toencircle her waist; the playing--in the airiest, most flutteringmanner imaginable--with the lace that draped her adorable littlebosom!
Quietly Henriette replied to his overtures:
"No, monsieur, I think it is best that we go in our own coach!"
The chastiser of canaille and charmer of ladies did not seem a whitabashed. Paying them ceremonious farewell, he withdrew and repaired tohis equipage, the road for which was now clear. The girls stood aminute giggling at his mannerisms, as Henriette described his fineryand imitated his peacock airs.
The girls would not have smiled had they understood. La Fleur, whomthey had scarcely noticed, was the pander of the Marquis's vices. Thetwo were deep in plot. 'Twas whispered talk, but a chance bystandermight at least have overheard the words:
"... At my fete of Bel-Air--make no mistake, La Fleur--I rely on you.One hundred louis, the reward...."
Or another scene that marked de Praille's entry into Paris, might haveinterested them. Driving recklessly to make up time lost in theblockade, the nobleman's equipage knocked down and ran over a lucklessdenizen of the faubourgs. Carelessly flinging out gold to therelatives of the dead woman who were sobbing or cursing him, he leanedforward and inquired most solicitously of the driver:
"_But--are the horses hurt?_"
Indeed the nobles of that time regarded the masses as little if anysuperior to cattle or any other of their possessions.
In the country the common man toiled a serf without wages, for hismaster; while in Paris itself, the centre of gayety and fashion, thefruit of his toil was expended by the aristocrats in prodigal luxury.
The bourgeoisie or middle class bore the brunt of the taxes. A gayparasitic element, the demi-monde, ministered to the nobles'pleasures. Below, the "submerged tenth" of the thievish and beggingclasses plied their questionable trades, with a large margin of thecity's population on the very verge of starvation.
It hints eloquently of the terrible conditions that there were no lessthan _thirty thousand professional beggars in Paris at this time_.Their wan, pinched faces, gaunt forms and palsied vitality were anoutstanding reproach to a flower-like but decadent aristocraticculture founded on the muck of cruelty and oppression.
Nothing had the girls (or the simpleminded country Doctor who spedthem) known of the dangers or pitfalls of the city. Vile gallantry orviler underworld was looking for just such prey....
CHAPTER III
WHAT HAPPENED AT THE COACH HOUSE
The Normandy-Paris stage swung into the city as the shades of eveningwere falling and deposited our heroines at journey's end in a littlesquare beyond the Pont Neuf where the coach house was situated. Asthey alighted, cries of "Sedan! Sedan chair!" were heard. Brawlingchairmen "mixed it" with pummeling fists and kicking legs to be in thefront lines for the passengers' custom.
'Twas a terrifying scene from which they were glad to escape to a sidebench whence they watched the homeward hurrying throngs and lookedvainly for Monsieur Martin. As in the country, Henriette tried to passthe time of day with divers and sundry folk, but it was no use. Theygave her queer looks or hurried on, as if stone deaf.
"They simply pay no attention to you here!" she complained to Louise,"but never mind! Cousin Martin will come soon, and take us to hishome."
Presently the city lamplighter was lighting the street lantern abovethem; he went his way and the Place was deserted.
There _was_ a man lurking in the shadows of a portico nearby, though'twould somewhat strain credulity to imagine him the elderly tradesmanMartin. He was a powerful and burly figure, black habited, of impudentvisage quite unlike a gentle relative's. In the deeper shadows back ofhim crouched two fellows, one of whom bore in his hand a black cloth.
"Oh, why does not Monsieur Martin come?" said Henriette to herselfsoftly, with a little gesture of half-despair.
"I am your cousin Martin!" said the man, advancing upon them with asmirk that was like a leer.
Henriette involuntarily drew back, withdrawing Louise a few steps withher. Relief and fear of the strange "cousin" struggled within her. Theman laid a hand on the elder girl's arm and at the same time signalledthe ruffians. A sudden impulse moved Henriette to wrench herselffree.
In a twinkling the three were upon her. While the burly leader toreaway her grasp of the blind Louise, the fellow with the cloth threw itover her face and shoulders, stifling her screams.
Not a passer-by in sight!
Fiercely Henriette struggled, twice lifting the cloth from her face,and fiercely Louise sought to twine herself around the body of herlovely guide and protector. But the big man again had thrown the blindgirl off, and the fellows, having tied the black cloth, liftedHenriette between them and carried her into a waiting fiacre.
"We've got her safe now, La Fleur," said the kidnappers.
"Drive your hardest to Bel-Air, the Marquis's fete begins at nineo'clock!" said the villain addressed, who was none other than thefamous nobleman's pander....
What cared the Marquis and La Fleur about the blind one's misfortunes.As La Fleur had said:
"Never fear--blindness is ever a good stock in trade. She'll find hercareer--in the streets of Paris!"
Louise stopped, and listened for the retreating footsteps. The noiseof the kidnappers' melee was quite stilled. Instead, the diminishingsound of hoofbeats and crunching wheels woke the echoes of the silentstreet; mingled with it--perhaps not even actually, but the memory ofan earlier outcry--the muffled cry, "Louise! Louise!"
Louise listened again, but no familiar sound met her ear--only therushing of the water, or the footsteps of some pedestrian in thedistance.
"I hear nothing," she said, in a terrified whisper. Hoping againsthope, and in a voice trembling with fear, she spoke as it were to theempty winds:
"Henriette! Speak to me, speak one word. Answer me, Henriette!" Noanswer, no reply!
"They have dragged her away to some hiding," sensed the poor blindbrain, "or perhaps that carriage is bearing her away from me forever.Oh, what shall I do?" she cried aloud, in tones that would havethrilled a hearer's heart with pity. "Alone--alone! Abandoned!"
With the last word the full horror of her situation surged upon her,and she burst into a torrent of tears. Alone in Paris! Blind andalone, without relatives or friends.
You who sit in a cozy home, surrounded by safeguards and comforts, canhave no idea of the blind foundling's utter dependence or the terriblemeaning conveyed by the one word "abandoned."
"What will become of me?" she cried, between the sobs. "Alone in thisgreat city; helpless and blind--my God, what _shall_ I do? Where am Ito go? I do not know which way to turn!"
Self-preservation, and the piteous hope that the house fronts mightgive her some clue to her bearings, caused the girl to stagger fromthe centre of the square to the sides. Along one of them she pickedher way, moaning for help and having not even a stick to guide her.Slowly, painfully she groped around the Place until unwittingly sheapproached the railing or wall which served as a guard to the steepbank that descended to the river.
Along this she felt her way until suddenly her hands met the emptyair. What, now? Should she return as she had come? No, she thought;the flagging beneath her feet was heavy and substantial: 'twasprobably the intersection of another street, and a few steps wouldbring her to house fronts again.
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