by William Sage
CHAPTER II
A LITTLE BREAKFAST AT ST. HILAIRE'S
The Marquis Jean Raphael de St. Hilaire was giving a breakfast-party. Itwas not one of those large affairs for which the marquis was noted,where a hundred guests would sit down in his large salon to a repastcosting the lavish young nobleman a princely sum. This being merely theoccasion of a modest little dejeuner, the covers were laid in themarquis's morning cabinet on the second floor, which was more suitablefor such an informal meal.
There were present around the table the Count and Countess d'Arlincourt;the old Chevalier de Creux; the witty Madame Diane de Remur; the Countde Blois, dressed in the very latest and most exact fashion; and theMarquis de Lacheville, with the pallor of recent illness on his face. Atthe lower end of the board sat a young poet who was riding on his firstwave of popularity; and next to him was a philosopher.
The guests, having finished the dessert, were lingering over a choicevintage from the marquis's cellar.
The host, leaning back in his chair with half-closed eyes, listenedcarelessly to the hum of conversation while he toyed with a few sugaredalmonds.
"And so you think, chevalier," said the Countess d'Arlincourt in replyto a remark by the old nobleman, "that our troublesome times are not yetover?"
"Not yet, my dear countess, nor will they be over for a long time tocome."
"Oh, how pessimistic you are, chevalier; for my part I do not see howaffairs can be worse than they have been for the last year."
"For a longer period than that," remarked her husband, the Countd'Arlincourt.
"Well, I remember particularly, it was a year ago when you first told methat you could not afford to make me a present of a diamond crescent towear in my hair at the Duchess de Montmorenci's fancy dress-ball. Youhad never used that word to me before."
"You have been extremely fortunate," said the Chevalier de Creux,turning a pair of small, bright eyes upon the countess and speaking withjust the slightest accent of sarcasm. "Even longer ago than a year, manypersons were in need of other necessities than diamonds."
"Oh, yes, I know," interrupted the countess hastily, anxious to showthat she was not as ignorant as the chevalier's tone implied,--"bread.Why don't they give the people enough bread? It is a very simple demand,and things would then be well."
"My dear child," put in Madame de Remur, "it would do no good to givethem bread to-day; they would be hungry again to-morrow. The trouble iswith the finances. When they are set right everything will go well; andthe people can buy all the bread they want, and you can have yourdiamond crescent," and the speaker smiled at the chevalier and shruggedher white shoulders.
"Yes, but," persisted the countess, raising her pretty eyebrows, "when_will_ the finances be set right? The people cannot go forever withoutbread."
"Nor can women go forever without diamonds," laughed Madame de Remur.
"Women with your eyes, fair Diane, have no need of other diamonds," saidthe Marquis de St. Hilaire debonairely. The lady smiled graciously atthe compliment. She was a young and attractive widow and she looked atSt. Hilaire not unkindly.
"We have frequently had financial crises in the past," saidd'Arlincourt, "and gotten safely over them; and so we should to-day,were it not for the host of philosophical writers who have broken loose;who call the people's attention to their ills, and foment trouble wherethere is none. Of course you will understand that I make the usualexception as to present company," he added, bowing slightly to thephilosopher. But the latter seemed lost in thought and did not appear tohear the count's remark. The poet took up the conversation in a lowtone.
"Should we not look to these very men, these philosophers, theseencyclopaedists, to point the way out of the difficulty?" and he turnedfrom one to the other with a shrug.
"Bah, no! They are the very ones to blame, I tell you," repeatedd'Arlincourt.
"My dear count," cried Madame d'Arlincourt, "I cannot permit you tospeak slightingly of our philosophers. They are all the fashion now. Thedoor of every salon in Paris is open to them. The other night, at agreat reception given by the Duchess de Montmorenci, half the invitedguests were philosophers, poets, encyclopaedists. They say that even someof the nobility were overlooked in order to make room for the men ofletters."
The Marquis de St. Hilaire threw a small cake to the spaniel that sat onits haunches begging for it.
"We cannot very well overlook this new order of nobility of theink-and-paper that has exerted such an influence during the lastgeneration," he said carelessly.
"I should not overlook them if I had my way," cried the Countd'Arlincourt. "I should lock them safely up in the Bastille."
"Oh!" cried the ladies in one breath; "barbarian!"
"These men are doubtless responsible for the inflamed state of thepublic mind," said St. Hilaire, again taking up the conversation.
"Of course they are," agreed the count.
"And so are Calonne and Brienne," continued the marquis. "Theymismanaged affairs during their terms of office."
Here the philosopher smiled an assent.
"But the blame rests more heavily upon other shoulders than those ofscribbling writers or corrupt officials," and the marquis paused to lookaround the table.
"I am all attention," cried the Countess d'Arlincourt, prepared forsomething amusing. "Upon whom does it rest?"
"Upon the nobility themselves," answered St. Hilaire.
For a moment there was silence; then came a storm of protests from allsides, only the chevalier and the philosopher making no audible reply,although the latter said to himself:--
"You are right, monsieur le marquis."
"St. Hilaire is in one of his mad fits," de Lacheville exclaimed.
"If it were not for the nobility there would be no poetry, no wit,"murmured the poet.
"The nobility is the mainstay of the throne, the vitality of thecountry," said d'Arlincourt.
"What have _we_ done?" cried the ladies in concert. "We ask for nothingbetter than to have everybody contented and happy." And they shruggedtheir pretty white shoulders as if to throw off the burden that St.Hilaire had placed there.
"Look at me," exclaimed St. Hilaire, rising and speaking with ananimation he had not shown before. He was a man of twenty-five with aface so handsome that dissipation had not been able to mar its beauty."I am a type of my class."
"An honor to it," said the poet.
"Thank you; then you will agree that the cap which I put on will fitother heads as well. I have wasted two fortunes."
"St. Hilaire is in one of his remorseful moods," whispered de Lachevillein the ear of Madame de Remur.
"I have spent them in riotous living with men like myself." Here helooked at de Lacheville.
"I feel deeply honored, my dear marquis," said the latter, bowing.
"When I wanted more money I knew where to get it."
"Happy fellow," called out de Lacheville with a laugh.
"I went to the steward who managed my estates. I have estates, or ratherhad them, for they are now mortgaged to the last notch, in Normandy,Picardy, Auvergne and Poitou--I would say to my steward, 'I need moremoney.'"
"'Very well, monsieur le marquis, but I must put on the screws a littleto get it.'
"'Put on a dozen if you like, but get me the funds.'
"'It shall be done, monsieur le marquis.'
"Again and again I went to him for money. He always responded in thesame manner, but each time the screws had to be turned a little tighter.Do you suppose my peasants love me for that? No, they hate me just asyours hate you, de Lacheville, and yours hate you, d'Arlincourt." DeLacheville laughed, and the count lifted up his hand in denial. "I knewthat the day of reckoning would come," St. Hilaire went on. "Every timeI went to Monsieur Rignot, my steward, every time he put on the screwsat my request, I knew it was bringing us nearer the final smash."
"Us!" repeated d'Arlincourt, with a gesture of impatience.
"Yes, us," said St. Hilaire; "we are all in the same boat, but we haveal
l done the same thing in a greater or less degree. We shall all haveto pay the penalty."
"There is where I differ with you, my dear marquis," said the Countd'Arlincourt; "I am willing to take what responsibility falls to me byright, but I emphatically refuse to pay the penalty of your follies."
"My follies are but those of my class. You may have been an exceptionyourself, d'Arlincourt, but that will not save you."
"What penalties must we pay? Save him from what?" demanded the prettycountess, looking at St. Hilaire with her large blue eyes.
"From the revolution," was the answer. There was a general exclamationof surprise. D'Arlincourt took up the word.
"Like all men given to excess,--pardon the remark, marquis, but you haveyourself admitted it,--you exaggerate the present unquiet state ofaffairs. The people will not revolt. They have no real cause. If you hadmade such a statement twenty years ago during the ascendancy of theinfamous du Barry I might not have contradicted you. But now the peopleas a mass are loyal. They love their king."
"I still affirm," said St. Hilaire, "that the time is ripe for arevolution. Sooner or later it must come."
The chevalier from the further end of the table said quietly; "It _has_come."
"Surely you are not serious," said d'Arlincourt, turning to thechevalier, "in calling the disturbance of the past few days arevolution. Why, I have seen more serious revolts than this blow intonothing. Our Paris mob is a fickle creature, demanding blood one momentand the next moment throwing up its cap with delight if you show it acolored picture."
"The disturbance of to-day will become great enough to shake France toits centre," said the chevalier.
"One would think that you possessed the gift of second sight," laughedde Lacheville.
"I do," replied the old man impressively.
"Give us an example of it, then," demanded d'Arlincourt. "What part am Ito take in the new revolution?"
"I see behind you, my dear d'Arlincourt," replied the chevalier, leaningback in his chair and looking in the count's direction throughhalf-closed eyelids, "the shadow of a scaffold."
Unwittingly the count turned with a start, to see Blaise standing behindhim in the act of filling his glass with wine. There was a generallaugh.
"Madame de Remur will bare her white shoulders to the rude grasp of theexecutioner. De Lacheville will escape. No, he will not. He will die byhis own hand to cheat the scaffold."
"And I," interrupted the Countess d'Arlincourt, "shall I share theirfate?"
The chevalier looked at her with a peculiar expression in his eyes. "Mysight fails here," he said. "I cannot foretell your fate. Yet you maylive; your beauty should save you. People do not kill those who pleasethem; those who bore them are less fortunate." And he turned hissnapping brown eyes in the direction of the gentle poet and thevenerable philosopher.
"St. Hilaire's sudden and great interest in the people's welfare mayprove of service to him," remarked d'Arlincourt significantly.
"It will not save him," replied the chevalier. "He will finally come tothe same end. The shadow of the scaffold is behind him also."
St. Hilaire laughed as he cracked an almond. "Though I may sympathizesomewhat with a people who have been oppressed and robbed, I should feelunhappy indeed to be left out in the cold when so many of theillustrious had gone before. But you have overlooked yourself. That islike you, chevalier, unselfish to the last."
"Oh, I am too old to be of importance; I shall die of gout," said theold nobleman.
"You have disposed of us effectually," said the poet, "and I shall begreatly honored at being permitted to leave this world in such goodcompany. But may I ask, are we to be the sole victims of yourrevolution?"
"Far from it," answered the old chevalier, closing his eyes and speakingin an abstracted manner, as if talking to himself, while his friendslistened in rapt attention, half inclined to smile at the affair as at ajoke, and yet so serious was he that they could not escape the influenceof his seriousness.
"I can see," he continued, "a long line of the most illustrious inFrance. They are passing onward to the block. They are princes of theblood; aye, even the king's head shall fall."
"Enough!" cried out the voice of d'Arlincourt, above the generalexclamations of horror that the chevalier's pretended vision calledforth. "You overstep the line, Chevalier de Creux. I do not object to apleasantry, but when you go so far as to predict the execution of theking you carry a jest too far. It is time to call a halt."
"But was it a jest?" asked the chevalier dryly.
"A very poor one," said de Lacheville.
"My dear friend," said the chevalier in his blandest tone, "I am notpredicting what I should like to have take place. Not what ought to be,but what will be."
The count scowled and de Lacheville turned away with a shrug and began aconversation with Madame de Remur.
"We all know that the chevalier is a merry gentleman, yet no jester,"said St. Hilaire. "What will be, will be. I, for one, am willing todrink a toast to the chevalier's revolution. Blaise, bring out some ofthat wine I received from the Count de Beaujeu. I lost fifty thousandlivres to him the night he made me a present of this wine; it will belike drinking liquid gold."
Blaise filled the glasses amid general silence.
St. Hilaire rose to his feet, holding his wine-glass above his head.
"What, my friends, you are not afraid?" he exclaimed in a tone ofsurprise, looking about the table where only the chevalier and thephilosopher had followed his example. "Is it possible you have taken thechevalier's visions so much to heart?"
They all rose from their places, ashamed to have it thought that theyhad taken in too serious a vein the little comedy played by thechevalier.
"Any excuse to drink such wine as this," said de Lacheville, with aforced laugh.
"We drink to the revolution!" cried St. Hilaire in his recklessmanner--and he touched glasses with Madame de Remur and then with theCountess d'Arlincourt. As the glasses clinked about the table, a heavybooming sound fell upon the ears of the revelers.
"What noise is that?" cried the countess nervously. They stopped tolisten, holding their glasses aloft. The booming ceased, then followed aroar like that of the angry surf beating upon a rockbound shore.
"It is the chevalier's revolution," exclaimed Madame de Remur.
"Are we to be frightened from drinking our toast by a little noise?"cried St. Hilaire. "What if it be the revolution? Let us drink to it.Come!" and they drained their glasses to the accompaniment of whatsounded like a volley of musketry.
The ladies looked pale and were glad to quit the table for the salon,where they were joined by the poet and the philosopher, leaving theothers still at their wine.
The Marquis de Lacheville took another glass, and then a third.
"You had best be careful how you heat your blood with this rich wine, deLacheville, while that wound in your side is scarcely healed," remarkedd'Arlincourt.
"Confound the wound, and curse the young villain who gave it me,"growled de Lacheville. "I have been forced to lead the life of ananchorite for the past fortnight; but such nectar as this cannotinflame, it only soothes," and he reached out his hand toward thedecanter. As he did so, the sound of guns reverberated again through theroom, making the windows rattle and jarring the dishes on the table. Theladies in the adjoining room cried out in alarm, and d'Arlincourt roseand went to reassure them.
"I will go with you," said the chevalier, and he joined the count.
De Lacheville threw his napkin down upon the spot of wine that hadsplashed from his upraised glass upon the damask cloth.
"The devil take them!" he cried petulantly; then filling his glass againwith an air of bravado, "will they not permit a man to breakfast inpeace?"
"Your nerves must be badly shaken, de Lacheville, if you permit such aslight thing to disturb you," laughed St. Hilaire, filling a glass tothe brim.
D'Arlincourt entered from the next room hurriedly. "I am going to seewhat all this firing means," he
said. "Will you accompany me,gentlemen?"
"I make it a point never to seek for news or excitement, but ratherallow them to come to me," said St. Hilaire leisurely. "You would bettersit down and let me send a servant to ascertain the cause of thisturmoil."
"Why leave the house in search of truth when we have with us an oraclein the shape of the chevalier?" interposed the Marquis de Lacheville.
"I shall be able to bring a more accurate account," replied d'Arlincourtwith an impatient shrug.
"As you will," said St. Hilaire. "Blaise, give the Count d'Arlincourthis hat and sword. Are you quite sure you do not want some of my lackeysto accompany you?" he asked.
D'Arlincourt declined the offer and hastily left the room.
The two marquises were left in possession of the dining-room and thewine. They both continued to drink, each after his own fashion. Witheach successive glass, de Lacheville became louder in voice and moreboastful, while as St. Hilaire sipped his wine, he became quieter andmore indifferent.
Within ten minutes d'Arlincourt returned to them, his face betrayinggreat excitement.
"A mob has attacked and captured the Bastille. The multitude is surgingthrough the streets. They will pass before this very door."
"It is impossible that they could have taken the Bastille!" exclaimed deLacheville, rising to his feet and steadying himself by holding to theback of his chair.
"There are thirty thousand of them," replied d'Arlincourt, "and throughsome treachery they have obtained arms. In order to save bloodshedGovernor Delaunay surrendered the fortress on receiving the promise ofthe insurgents that the lives of all its defenders should be spared.They are now dragging him through the streets, crying out for his blood.The man was mad to trust the word of such a rabble."
"Let us go into the salon," remarked St. Hilaire quietly. "There we canreassure the ladies and also view this interesting spectacle."
The three gentlemen entered the room which fronted upon the street,d'Arlincourt with compressed lips and flashing eyes; de Lacheville,unsteady of gait and with wine-flushed face, murmuring maledictionsagainst the beast multitude; and St. Hilaire, cool and calm as was hiswont.
In the salon they found the chevalier entertaining Madame de Remur withan anecdote which was the occasion of much laughter on her part.
The poet was reciting some of his own verses to the countess, while thephilosopher was asleep in an arm-chair.
"The crowd have torn down the Bastille," cried de Lacheville, speakingin a thick voice, "and they are now coming down this street, seekingwhom they can devour."
The ladies cried out in terror.
"Marquis, you have interrupted one of my best stories," said thechevalier petulantly.
"But, chevalier, the mob have taken the Bastille."
"Couldn't you have allowed them two minutes more to complete their work?However, what you say is very interesting, though it does not surpriseme. I have been expecting it."
"You forget that the chevalier is gifted with second sight," said thecount, with a slight sneer.
"I have been expecting it for some time," continued the chevalier,"though what they wanted to take it for, I cannot imagine. If theyshould attack the Hotel de Ville or the Louvre, or march againstVersailles, I could understand it."
Madame de Remur and the philosopher, who had awakened from his nap, hadapproached to hear the news; and the Marquis de Lacheville repeated itto them as if he had been an eye-witness of the whole affair.
"For my part," he said in conclusion, "I think this disturbance amountsto very little; the Baron de Besneval has but to give the order to histroops, and the valiant mob will disperse like chaff. I have seen suchfellows run before this. It is amusing to see what a steel bayonet willdo toward accelerating the pace of the canaille."
"They say that the French Guards are not loyal," remarked the chevalier.
"The French Guards be hanged!" shouted the Marquis de Lacheville hotly."I would not trust them further than the canaille itself; they are awhite-livered lot in spite of their gaudy uniforms. Thank heaven, wehave other troops who are good and loyal, and who will put down thesedisorders in a trice."
"We shall look to you, then, marquis," said the cavalier, "to restorepeace and quiet for us at once."
"I would not soil my hands with such dirt," replied de Lachevillehaughtily, and scowling at what he thought was a disposition on the partof the chevalier to ridicule him.
"Is there really danger?" inquired the Countess d'Arlincourt of herhusband.
"The situation is grave, but I hardly think there is great cause foralarm," he answered. "The king has too many loyal subjects to permitanarchy and riot to exist for any length of time."
"Let us go out upon the balcony," interrupted St. Hilaire; "the show isabout to pass under our windows." He threw open the windows and usheredhis friends out upon the balcony with a gesture as if he were biddingthem welcome to his box at the opera.
Down the street, with a roar that drowned all other sounds, came thesurging mass like a torrent that had burst its bounds. In the frontranks, carried on the shoulders of a dozen, were two men dressed in theuniform of the French Guards. They were greeted on all sides withacclamations.
"See how the Guards fraternize with the mob," said de Lacheville. "Downwith the French Guards! Down with the rabble!" he cried in hisexcitement, shaking his fist over the railing.
St. Hilaire gripped his arm. "I don't care how much you expose your ownlife, but as I do not wish to bring insult or danger upon the ladiesunder my roof, perhaps you had better refrain from expressing youropinions for the present."
"Do you think they would dare attack this house?" demanded deLacheville, turning pale.
"Men who have successfully stormed a prison are not likely to hesitatebefore the walls of a house, even though it does belong to a marquis,"replied St. Hilaire. "Look at that!" he exclaimed suddenly, pointing upthe street. Then turning to d'Arlincourt, he said, "Get the ladiesinside as quickly as possible." The count had no sooner followed hisdirections, than along the street, borne on long poles on a level withthe very eyes of those on the balcony, appeared two heads dripping withblood.
"Dear me, whose are those?" exclaimed the chevalier, adjusting hiseyeglasses. "By my soul, it's poor Delaunay's head. They have treatedhim most shabbily. Can you make out the other, St. Hilaire?"
"No," answered the marquis, "I was never good at recognizing faces," andhe stepped to the window to reassure the ladies in the salon.
The chevalier leaned over the railing and called out to one of the menin the crowd:--
"My good fellow, will you have the kindness to tell me whose head theyare carrying on the second pole?"
The man, thus addressed, looked up. He was tall and broad-shouldered,with face browned from exposure to the sun. With one arm he supported amember of the French Guards who had been wounded.
"Flesselle's," he answered. "He has betrayed the people again and again.He has received a terrible punishment."
The man who had given the chevalier this answer did not move onimmediately, but stood looking up at the balcony. The old nobleman,following this look, saw that it rested on the Marquis de Lacheville.
The latter, meeting the man's eye at the same moment, recognized RobertTournay. He started forward as if about to speak, then noticing theweapon in Tournay's hand and remembering the recent warning of St.Hilaire, he checked himself. Neither spoke, but the marquis could notrepress a look of hatred, which was answered by a look of defiance byTournay. Then the latter turned away with his companion leaning on hisshoulder. The crowd closed up and he was soon lost to sight.
"They have killed Flesselle, the mayor of Paris," said the chevalier, asSt. Hilaire joined him a moment later. "Well," he continued, as if inanswer to St. Hilaire's shrug, "Flesselle was a fool, but I am sorry forpoor Delaunay. Come, St. Hilaire, let us go in, the crowd is thinningout now; in a short time the streets will be passable and I must begoing. I have to thank you for a most enjoyable day, marquis."
"Are you going to the duchess's to-night?" inquired the chevalier.
"No, I think not," answered St. Hilaire, putting his hand upon thewindow-bar. "After you, my dear chevalier," indicating the way into thesalon. As he was about to step into the room the chevalier turned andtook a final look at the street. The main body of the mob had passed andtheir shouts were heard receding in the distance; although underneaththe window were still a number of persons, coming and going in restlessexcitement.
"I think, marquis," he said, with his curious smile, "that your friendsneed soap and water badly."
"They do, chevalier," said the other, returning the smile, "and thesmell is sickening. Come to my bedroom; I will give you a new perfume."
That evening, after the departure of his guests, the Marquis de St.Hilaire called in his man of affairs.
"Rignot," he demanded carelessly, "have I a single estate that isunencumbered?"
"Unfortunately no, monsieur le marquis."
"Think again, Rignot. Is there not some little estate still intact? Somesmall farm heretofore overlooked by us?"
"Not a cottage, monsieur le marquis."
"What bills are unpaid?"
"Some three hundred thousand livres are rather pressing."
"Is that the sum total of all my liabilities? I want a full statementto-night."
"You owe about eight hundred thousand francs, monsieur le marquis."
"Pay them at once."
"But, monsieur le marquis, it will be impossible. Where shall I get thefunds?"
"You may sell my furniture, personal property"--
"What, everything, monsieur le marquis?"
"Yes, everything; and after paying all my debts, if there is anythingleft, take out a commission for yourself and give me the balance;" andthen he turned to the window and looked out on the lights of the city ofParis, indicating that the interview was at an end. Rignot withdrew.
"Assuredly," said the Marquis de St. Hilaire with a yawn, "thisrevolution arrives in good time. I should soon have become a beggar."