Orphans of the Storm

by Henry MacMahon

  Sister Genevieve was strangely moved by it, as was the Doctor to whomshe repeated it.

  "Against the will of the Police Prefect we can do nothing!" said theDoctor, soberly. "If only his wrath has cooled, we may possibly gether term shortened--"

  "What monstrous wickedness!" interrupted the Sister, ordinarily mildand loyal, but worked up to near-democracy by these and otherinjustices. "To imprison a pure girl--her only offence a nobleman'shonorable suit and her own ceaseless search for her blind sister, lostin the streets of Paris!"

  "This girl Henriette was her blind sister's sole support," suggested anurse.

  "I had found her--Louise--at the moment when they arrested me,"exclaimed Henriette sorrowfully. "I heard her voice. I saw her. Shewas covered with rags. Her beautiful golden hair fell in disorder onher shoulders. She was being dragged along by a horrible old woman,who I know ill-treats her--beats her, perhaps, and they would not letme go to her. Now I have lost her forever--forever!"

  "Wait a minute, my child," exclaimed the physician, as a suddenthought flashed over him. "I believe I have met that very same girl."

  "You, monsieur?" exclaimed Henriette in surprise.

  "Yes--yes, a young girl led by an old woman who calls her Louise--"

  "Yes--yes, that's her name," and the young girl became breathless withexcitement.

  "I know the old woman, too," continued the Doctor. "She is called LaFrochard--an old hag who goes about whining for alms in the name ofHeaven and seven small children.

  "Where did I last see them?" he mused. Suddenly he recollected alittle scene on the steps of Notre Dame one morning before mass. "Oh,yes," he continued, "they were begging for charity of the churchgoersat Notre Dame. I noticed that the young girl was blind--professionallyinterested, I examined her pupils and discovered she was merelysuffering from cataracts which could be readily removed. I told theold woman so, asked her to bring the girl for treatment to La Force,but they have never shown up--"

  "Quick! Quick!" cried Henriette. "Tell me, Doctor, where Mere Frochardlives?"

  "Oh, they inhabit an old boathouse at the end of the Rue de Brissacdown on the banks of the river Seine. There's a cellar entrance totheir hovel near the Paris-Normandy coach house. But what would youdo?" he inquired solicitously.

  "Oh, Sir," said Henriette piteously, "if you could use your influenceto get me out of here some way, I would--would run there and recovermy little lost sister! You don't know how I love her, nor my fearsthat they will kill her. Please, please--" The little voice broke offin sobs.

  Patting the girl's shoulder and smiling at her as if to try to impartconfidence in a very difficult matter, the good Doctor drew apart withSister Genevieve and conferred earnestly for a few moments. On theirreturn, the physician spoke again:

  "'Twould be of no use to invoke the police, as the Count has probablyinstructed them not to hunt for Louise. Nor is it in our power torelease you from here. But we shall get up a petition signed by all ofus for your reprieve, very likely Count de Linieres will not ventureto refuse it--"

  Henriette was overjoyed even with this slender resource, and warmlythanked them. At once her busy little brain laid plans for invadingthe lair of the Frochards. And then--a most unexpected ray in thedarkness--arrived at Salpetriere the quaint valet Picard and broughther comfort too.

  No longer a spy for the Count, he had been converted from basesuspicion by the Chevalier's honorable suit and the exile the latterhad suffered. He now delivered this little message from his master atCaen:

  Dearest, never will I marry anyone but you, my heart's desire! Should I escape, it will be to your arms. Picard knows my secret plan and will tell you--until then, courage! A thousand kisses from your Maurice.

  Henriette kissed the little paper fervently.

  Countess de Linieres decided to make a clean breast of her wretchedpast to her husband. "It was not that I--I sinned," she sobbed,kneeling at his feet, "In the sight of God I am innocent, thougherring!

  "In early girlhood," she continued, "I loved and was loved by aCommoner, a man of the people. The good Cure married us secretly. Wewere blessed by an infant daughter.

  "The family pride of the de Vaudreys was outraged by the so-calleddishonor. Two of the clan found our hiding-place and slew my husband,then took my baby Louise from my helpless arms. I was brought back tothe chateau and given in marriage to you, after threats of death if Ishould ever divulge the secret! Twenty years after, I saw my daughteras Louise the blind singer--the girl Henriette, whom you sent toSalpetriere, is her foster-sister. Oh, forgive, forgive--put me awayif you wish, but consider what I have suffered!..."

  The strong man, whom neither the fate of Maurice nor of Henriette hadmelted, was crying. Gently he lifted up the Countess and clasped hersobbing in his arms.

  "If you had only told me before--" was the only word to which he couldgive utterance.

  The hellish aspect of his persecutions now stood revealed. Count deLinieres, in the act of divine forgiveness, resolved to undo wrongs.

  But History struck faster.

  The avenger Jacques-Forget-Not annihilated pardons. The Linieres andthe other aristocrats were soon to flee for their lives.

  CHAPTER XVI

  REVOLUTION IS HERE!

  The ex-retainer nicknamed "Forget-Not" bore a baleful grudge becauseof the cruelties inflicted on his own father many years before by theCountess's father--the cruel punishment of pouring boiling lead intothe unfortunate tenant's veins: a procedure on which the boy Chevalierhad been taught to look approvingly.

  In fact ever since the elder Jean Setain displeased the then Seigneurof the de Vaudrey estate, the affairs of the tenant family had gone towrack and ruin until the middle-aged son was little more than alandless beggar and an embodied voice calling for vengeance.

  The original parties of the quarrel were dead. But the feud (on thepart of Jacques-Forget-Not) had taken on a more personal aspect,because his own sufferings were involved as well as the memory of hisfather's. He had determined to kill the Chevalier, the Countess andthe Count.

  In normal times the monomaniac's designs would never have reachedfruition. Now the vast public discontents converted the cringingex-tenant or shrieking beggar into a gaunt, long-haired, ferociousagitator--one of the outstanding crazy figures of Great Crises!

  For the Storm--long brewing in seditious Palais Royal or seethingfaubourg, in the heart and conscience of patriot Dantons, the cunningof Robespierres, the wildness of Desmoulins fire-eaters, thestarvation and misery of the people--struck the doomed country withfull force.

  In the outcome the fat King Louis XVI, the hapless royal family, andthe whole supporting system of parasitic aristocracy, were hurled downinto black nothingness! The upset released our characters from thehorrors of prison immurement, only to plunge them in the more awfultyranny of the New Terror.

  * * * * *

  Early in midsummer the wildest rumors reached Paris that theVersailles government intended to put down the discontents by weightof sword. Armies were advancing on the city, 'twas averred--cannon andarms were being parked in the commanding squares; the King's faithfulAllemands and Swiss were about to attack the representatives of thepeople and mow them down.

  As a beehive, stirred by over-curious bear or by an invader's stick,seethes and swarms in milling fury before the myriads of angryoccupants attack and overwhelm the intruder with their stings, so theseething populace mills in widening and ever widening circles, out todestroy--burn--slay. The ominous drum murmurs to the people of theirancient wrongs. Artisans pick up their nearest implements, the butcherhis axe, the baker his rolling pin, the joiner his saw, the ironworker his mallet or crowbar, rushing to join the homicidal throngs.Vengeful leaders like Forget-Not urge them on, directing the millingmasses to the central places of the city.

  At the Palais Royal gardens, later from the Cafe de Foy, CamilleDesmoulins is in his glory. See him rushing out, sibylline in face;his hair streaming, in each hand a
pistol! He springs to a table: thepolice satellites are eyeing him; alive they shall not take him; notthey alive, him alive.

  DANTON WELCOMES LAFAYETTE AND JEFFERSON, THEREPRESENTATIVES OF AMERICA'S NEW-WON FREEDOM.]

  "'Friends, shall we die like hunted hares? Us, meseems, only one crybefits: To arms! Let universal Paris, universal France, as with thethroat of the whirlwind, resound: To arms! Friends (continues Camille)some rallying sign! Cockades, green one; the color of hope!' As withthe flight of locusts, these green leaves; green ribands from theneighboring shops; all green things are snatched and made cockadesof.... And now to Curtius' image shop there; to the boulevards; to thefour winds, and rest not until France be on fire!"

  Ancient flint-locks, pikes and lances are replevined, and dance high,minatory, over the heads of the mob. Storerooms of powder and musketryare broken into and swept clean. Behold, now, a still more astonishingsight; a rushing tide of women, impetuous, all-devouring, equippedwith brooms and household tools, descending like a snowbreak from alldirections upon the Hotel de Ville. "And now doors fly under hatchets;the Judiths have broken the armory; have seized guns and cannon, threemoney-bags," and have fired the beautiful City Hall of King Henry theFourth's time!

  ... And where the Storm breaks fiercest and the cry "Down withTyrants!" most loudly sounds, there Danton the revolutionist, thepock-marked Thunderer, leads the way, whipping up new fury and mouldingthem to his will with his appeal 'gainst "Starvation--oppression--agesof injustice--vile prisons where innocent ones die under autocracy!"

  Danton's voice shakes the world.

  Thousands upon thousands of commoners gather for the attack on thehated symbol of royal authority, the prison fortress of Bastille.

  Look! His impassioned eloquence touches the popular sympathies of thecommon soldiers who constitute the royal guard. They lower theiropposing bayonets, identify their cause with the people's, theexultant throng rushes past.

  Hurrah! The Revolution shall sweep on. The King's foreign soldiery arethe only loyal ones now. At the side of the Place de Greve thepopulace throw up barricades. The conflict twixt Kingship anddemocracy has begun.

  The people have won more cannon and more small arms. They rake theloyalist Swiss and Germans with a murderous fire. The foreign troopsfight to the last. They are killed or overwhelmed as the victoriouscommonalty take possession of the Square. Danton who has directed theproletariat is the popular hero.

  Forget-Not has his share of the triumph too. "Come, my men," he yells."On to the Police Prefect's palace--let us avenge the wrongs of policetyranny!" For in this dreadful hour the baleful Jacques-Forget-Notremembers a private vengeance--his followers need no second urging tohaste with him to sack and slaughter....

  Fox-like, Maximilien Robespierre, the "people's advocate," has watchedfrom a safe recess the issue of the battle. Not for him, the riskingof his precious skin! Later, in the councils of the new democraticState, he shall sway men to his purposes....

  And now the mob, re-enforced by many of the popular soldiery, seeksthe Bastille. Our previous description of the system of lettres decachet and the wholesale imprisonments without warrant of law, willhave given readers some idea of the hate with which this fortress ofinjustice was commonly regarded. Many of the attackers, no doubt, hadfriends or relatives immured there. 'Twas the monstrous and visiblecrime of the Kingship--the object all had immediately in view whencrying "Down with tyranny!"

  In less than a day the Bastille falls. 'Tis but feebly defended by afew aged veterans and a handful of valiant Swiss. Their first firekills some of the commoners and lashes the mob to fury. Up on thewalls, bastions and parapets, away from the guns at the portholes, crawl some of the more daring attackers. Others bringcannon, preparing to carry the siege by cannonade, investiture andstarvation.

  The governor, seeing that it is a losing fight, parleys and yields.But, instead of observing the terms of the honorable surrender andsafe-conduct, the inrushing mob slays and mutilates a number of theofficers and defenders--the first inkling of what murder and rapinethe Wild Beast of the Proletariat will commit!

  "Set free the victims of the tyrants!" is the sole thought after thelust of blood is satiated. The dungeons are opened, the prisonersbrought forth, joy of reunion or pathos of sorrow is the result ofthese strange meetings, many of the victims being but the wrecks orshadows of their old selves.

  "Set free the victims of tyranny!"

  After the Bastille La Salpetriere, the famous female prison, issummoned. Already the inmates are on the qui vive of expectation. Madand sane are flying about from cells to courtyard, and courtyard tobarred windows, like birds in storm-flight.

  Impatient, restless little Henriette, between the bars of her cage, islooking out wonderingly on a re-made world. What does it mean?Release? the easy path to her lost Louise?

  Pray Heaven it does--

  CHAPTER XVII

  PRISON DELIVERY--AND AN ENCOUNTER

  The jailers deliver the keys; the mob pours tumultuously into thefemale prison. What cries of joy, what sobs of relief from the sanerinmates, as they try to _think_ their new, almost incredible jaildelivery! What stony, uncomprehending glances or what wild shrieksfrom the maniacal! Amid this confused throng Picard, who has enteredwith the crowd to wait upon his mistress, presents a comic figure. Hehas arrayed himself in the red-and-white striped garb of theproletariat, is trying his best to look a Revolutionary, though all hegets for it are kicks and wallops!

  Sense and nonsense mix strangely in the proceedings of the mob. Theyset up a rude court headed by two horny-handed butchers, the object ofwhich is to separate the innocent from the guilty. But the newred-and-white cockade--superseding the green cockades of the firstbattle--is the best passport to their favor. Inmates whose friendshave provided them with these Revolutionary badges, are generallyturned loose. Shouting and laughing in their glee, they dance out ofthe prison.

  Picard has provided Henriette with his badge, whilst Sister Genevieveand the Doctor vouch to her good character. Henriette kisses thecockade as a sign of fealty to the new order. The brawny judges lether pass. She runs merrily out past the harmless gauntlet of thefriendly pikes and lances.

  Not so Picard--That luckless valet tries to sneak out past the bigchopper of the brawny butcher-judge.

  Whir-r! The chopper descends in front of him, almost taking his headoff!

  Picard executes a strategic retirement to the rear. There! Isn't thereseemingly a good chance to crawl out between the other guardian'slegs, and thus escape?

  Picard tries it.

  Alas! the first butcher catches sight of Picard's be-tufted headprotruding in this strange manner from under the crotch of his fellow.The Man of Meat grasps Picard firmly by the collar and pulls himforth.

  With the other hand he raises the axe to chop the offender's head off,thinks better of it, twirls Picard swiftly around, and using the flatof the chopper spanks the rear of the Picard anatomy, sending himsprawling into the limbo.

  So that little Henriette's excursion into Freedom is unattended andalone. It is quite unlikely that she bothers about Picard at all."Louise! Rue de Brissac!" is the sole thought of her whirling littlebrain, as she speeds on.

  Just where is the Frochards' cellar door? Certainly she has nevernoticed it in her frequent searches of the Pont Neuf district. Butperhaps some one can tell her--She is in the Rue de Brissac now,almost at the spot where she herself was kidnapped and Louise waslost.

  A good-looking daughter of the people comes hurrying by.

  "Can you tell me where the Frochards live?" inquires Henrietteeagerly.

  The girl points to an almost indistinguishable trap-door, nearlycovered with straw, in front of one of the houses. "There!" she says.Henriette presses the newcomer to accompany her. "Sorry, I haven't aminute!" negatives the other, hastening off in spite of Henriette'sefforts to detain her.

  * * * * *

  Henriette opens the trap-door of the cellar where the Frochardslodged,
and peers within. Courageously she goes down the steps.Sympathy and horror struggle in the thought of Louise being an inmateof this foul place.

  What is her disgust then to encounter the wart-faced and moustachioedhag who is its proprietor! Quickly Henriette tells La Frochard of herinformation, and demands Louise.

  "I don't know any such person," the hag lies, with ready effrontery."You must be mistaken!"

  But Henriette's eyes are gazing at the Frochard's neck, sensingsomething or other vaguely familiar. The old woman, who has beendrinking, has unloosened her nondescript rig. The girl's gaze sees awell-remembered object.

  "My sister's shawl!"

  The blue eyes are gleaming now in astonishment--with a hint of comingfury. She snatches the shawl from La Frochard's shoulders, fondles andcaresses it. Then like a small tigress robbed of whelp she advances onthe beggar, shaking her in paroxysmal rage.

  It would have been a comical sight if not so very serious a one; thetiny Henrietta shaking a woman twice her size, pummeling her,brow-beating her till La Frochard sinks to her knees and begs formercy.

  "You have been lying, and that shawl proves it," cries Henriette."Where is she?"

  The old woman gets up. She changes her tone to a whine, and tries topat Henriette in pretended sympathy. "Well, if you must know thetruth--"