by G. A. Henty
“I think, mademoiselle, that it would be wiser for Monsieur de Gisons to meet you elsewhere than here. The arrival of three relations to stop with Madame Moulin is sure to attract some little attention among her neighbours just at first. You will be the subject of talk and gossip. My visit will no doubt be noticed, and it will be as well that there should not be more material for talk. The less we attract attention the better. No doubt many have escaped arrest, and there will be a sharp look-out, for, as they will call us, suspicious persons. I should propose, if you have no objection to such a course, that you should stroll out with your sisters and Louise through the fields to St. Denis. The count will be in my room in a few minutes. We can keep a look-out from my window and follow you at a distance until we get clear from observation beyond the gates.”
Marie looked at Madame Moulin, who nodded.
“That would be the best plan, my dear. What Monsieur Sandwith says is very true. The less we give the neighbours to gossip about the better; for though your disguises are good, if sharp eyes are watching you they may note something in your walk or air that may excite suspicion.”
“That being arranged then you must excuse me, for it is just the time when the count was to arrive, and I fancy that he will be before rather than behind time.”
Indeed, upon reaching the door of his room Harry found the young count standing there.
“Oh, it is you, friend Harry! I have been here ten minutes, and I began to be afraid that something might have happened to you and to imagine all sorts of things.”
“It is still three or four minutes before the time we agreed upon, Victor,” Harry said in a loud voice, for at this moment one of the other doors opened, and a woman came out with a basket in her arms.
“I have been looking about as usual, but without luck so far. I suppose you have had no better fortune in your search for work?” He had by this time unlocked his door, and the two entered together.
“I must call you by your Christian name, count, and will do so, if you don’t mind, when alone as at other times, otherwise the title might slip out accidentally. Will you, on your part, call me Henri? As you know the marquis and his family called me Harry, which is the ordinary way in England of calling anyone whose name is Henry, that is unless he is a soft sort of fellow; but I must ask them to call me Henri now, Harry would never do here.”
“Have you seen them?” was the count’s first question.
“I have just left them, Victor, and if you look out from that window into the street you will in a few minutes see them also; they are just going for a ramble towards St. Denis, and we will follow them. I thought it safer not to attract attention by going to the house, and I also thought that it would be more pleasant for you to talk to Mademoiselle de St. Caux out there in the fields, than in a little room with us present.
“Much more pleasant; indeed, I was wondering whether I should get an opportunity for a few minutes’ talk alone with her.”
They both took their places at the open window and leaned out apparently chatting and carelessly watching what was passing in the street.
A quarter of an hour later they saw Louise Moulin and the girls come out of their house.
“We had better come away from the window now,” Harry said; “Virginie might look up and nod, we can’t be too careful.”
They waited three or four minutes to allow the others to get well ahead and then started out after them; they walked fast until they caught sight of the others, and then kept some distance behind until the party had left the town and were out among the fields which lay between Paris and St. Denis. They then quickened their pace and were soon up with them.
The greeting between the lovers was a silent one, few words were spoken, but their faces expressed their joy at meeting again after the perils through which they had passed; there was a little pause, and then Harry, as usual, took the lead.
“I will stroll on to St. Denis and back with Jeanne and Virginie; Madame Moulin can sit down on that log over there, and go on with her knitting; you, Victor, can ramble on with mademoiselle by that path through the field; we will agree to meet here again in an hour.”
This arrangement was carried out; Jeanne and Virginie really enjoyed their walk; the latter thought their disguise was great fun, and, being naturally a little mimic, imitated so well the walk and manner of the country children she had seen in her walks near the chateau that her sister and Harry were greatly amused.
“I like this too, Harry,” Jeanne said. “It would not be nice to be a peasant girl for many things; but it must be joyful to be able to walk, and run, and do just as you please, without having a gouvernante always with you to say, Hold up your head, Mademoiselle Jeanne; Do not swing your arms, Mademoiselle Jeanne; Please walk more sedately, Mademoiselle Jeanne. Oh, it was hateful! Now we might run, mightn’t we, Harry?”
“Oh, by the way, Jeanne, please call me Henri now; Harry is English, and people would notice directly if you happened to say it while anyone is near.”
“I like Harry best,” Jeanne said; “but, of course, I should not say it before the people; but may we run just for once?”
“Certainly you may,” Harry laughed; “you and Virginie can have a race to the corner of that wall.”
“Come on, Virginie,” Jeanne cried as she started, and the two girls ran at full speed to the wall; Jeanne, however, completely distancing her younger sister. They were both laughing when Harry came up.
“That is the first time I have run a race,” Jeanne said. “I have often wanted to try how fast I could run, but I have never ventured to ask mademoiselle; she would have been horrified; but I don’t know how it is Virginie does not run faster.”
“Virginie has more flesh,” Harry said smiling. “She carries weight, as we should say in England, while you have nothing to spare.
“And she is three years older,” Virginie put in. “Jeanne is just sixteen, and I am not thirteen yet; it makes a difference.”
“A great deal of difference,” Harry agreed; “but I don’t think you will ever run as fast as she does. That will not matter, you know,” he went on, as Virginie looked a little disappointed, “because it is not likely that you will ever race again; but Jeanne looks cut out for a runner—just the build, you see—tall, and slim, and active.”
“Yes,” Virginie agreed frankly, “Jeanne has walked ever so far and never gets tired, while I get dreadfully tired; mamma says sometimes I am quite a baby for my age.”
“Here are some people coming,” Harry said; “as we pass them please talk with a little patois. Your good French would be suspicious.”
All the children of the marquis, from their visits among the peasants’ cottages, had picked up a good deal of the Burgundian patois, and when talking among themselves often used the expressions current among the peasantry, and they now dropped into this talk, which Harry had also acquired, as they passed a group of people coming in from St. Denis.
They walked nearly as far as that town, and then turned and reached the point where the party had separated, a few minutes before the expiration of the appointed hour.
The two girls ran away to Louise Moulin, and chatted to her gaily, while Harry walked up and down until, a quarter of an hour later, the count and Marie made their appearance. The party stood talking together for a few minutes; then adieus were said with a very pale face, but with firmness on Marie’s part, and then the girls, with Louise, turned their faces to Paris, while Harry and Victor remained behind until they had got well on their way.
“It was hard to deceive her,” Victor said; “but you were right. She insisted that I should go. I seemed to resist, and urged that it was cowardly for me to run away and to leave her here alone, but she would not listen to it. She said it was a duty I owed to my father and family to save myself, and that she should be wretched if she thought I was in Paris in constant danger of arrest. Finally, I had to give way to her, but it went against the grain, for even while she was urging me she must have felt in her
heart it would be cowardly of me to go. However, she will know some day that Victor de Gisons is no coward.”
“I am sure it is better so,” Harry said. “She will have anxiety enough to bear as to her father and mother; it is well that her mind should be at ease concerning you.”
“In reality,” Victor said, “I shall be safer here than I should be journeying towards the frontier. The papers this morning say that in consequence of the escape of suspected persons, and of the emigration of the nobles to join the enemies of France, orders have been sent that the strictest scrutiny is to be exercised on the roads leading to the frontier, over all strangers who may pass through. All who cannot give a perfectly satisfactory account of themselves and produce their papers en regle, are to be arrested and sent to Paris. Therefore, my chance of getting through would be small indeed, whereas while remaining in Paris there can be little fear of detection.”
“Not much risk, I hope,” Harry agreed; “but there is no saying what stringent steps they may take as time goes on.”
Victor had taken a lodging a few houses from that of Harry. Every day the excitement in Paris increased, every day there were fresh arrests until all the prisons became crowded to overflowing. It was late in August; the Prussians were advancing and had laid siege to Verdun, and terror was added to the emotions which excited to madness the population of Paris. Black flags were hung from the steeples, and Danton and his allies skilfully used the fear inspired by the foreign enemy to add to the general hatred of the Royalists.
“We Republicans,” he said in the rostrum of the Assembly, “are exposed to two parties, that of the enemy without, that of the Royalists within. There is a Royalist directory which sits secretly at Paris and corresponds with the Prussian army. To frustrate it we must terrify the Royalists.”
The Assembly decreed death against all who directly or indirectly refused to execute or hindered the orders given by the executive power. Rumours of conspiracy agitated Paris and struck alarm into people’s minds, while those who had friends within the prison walls became more and more alarmed for their safety.
On the 28th of August orders were issued that all the inhabitants of Paris were to stay in their houses in order that a visit might be made by the delegates of the Commune to search for arms, of which Danton had declared there were eighty thousand hidden in Paris, and to search for suspected persons. As soon as the order was issued, Harry and Victor went to their lodgings, and telling their landlords that they had obtained work at the other end of town, paid their rent and left the city, and for the next two days slept in the woods.
They passed most of their time discussing projects for enabling their friends to escape, for from the stringency of the steps taken, and the violence of the Commune, they could no longer indulge in the hopes that in a short time the prisoners against whom no serious charge could be brought, would be released. At the same time they could hardly persuade themselves that even such men as those who now held the supreme power in their hands, could intend to take extreme measures against so vast a number of prisoners as were now in custody.
Victor and Harry knew that their friends had at first been taken to the prison of Bicetre, but whether they were still confined there they were of course ignorant. Still there was no reason to suppose that they had been transferred to any of the other jails.
The Bicetre was, they had discovered, so strongly guarded that neither force nor stratagem seemed available. The jailers were the creatures of Danton and Robespierre, and any attempt to bribe them would have been dangerous in the extreme. Victor proposed that, as he as well as Harry was well provided with funds, for he had brought to Paris all the money which the steward of the estates had collected, they should recruit a band among the ruffians of the city, and make a sudden attack upon the prison. But Harry pointed out that a numerous band would be required for such an enterprise, and that among so many men one would be sure to turn traitor before the time came.
“I am ready to run all risks, Victor, but I see no chance of success in it. The very first man we spoke to might denounce us, and if we were seized there would be no one to look after the safety of Mademoiselle de St. Caux and her sisters. My first duty is towards them. I gave my promise to their father, and although it is not probable that I can be of any use to them, I will at any rate, if possible, be at hand should occasion arise.”
On the evening of the 30th they returned to Paris, and took two fresh apartments at a distance from their former quarters.
They were greatly anxious as to the safety of the girls, and Harry at once hastened there, but found that all was well. The deputies, learning from the landlord that only an old woman and her nieces inhabited the upper story, and having a heavy task before them, had only paid a short visit to the room, and had left after asking Louise one or two questions.
The girls, however, were in a state of terrible anxiety as to their parents, although Louise had avoided repeating to them the sinister rumours which came to her ears when she was abroad doing her marketing, for she now went out alone, thinking it better that the girls should appear as little as possible in the streets.
“It is terrible,” Marie said. “I think night and day of our father and mother. Can nothing be done? Surely we might devise some means for their escape.”
“I can think of nothing,” Harry said. “The prison is too strong to be taken without a considerable force, and it would be impossible to get that together.”
“Could we not bribe these wretches?”
“I have thought over that too,” Harry replied; “but, you see, it would be necessary to get several men to work together. One might, perhaps, bribe the man who has charge of the cell, but there would be other warders, and the guard at the gate, and the latter are changed every day. I do not see how that could possibly be done.”
“Would it be any use, do you think, were I to go to Danton or Robespierre and plead with them for their lives? I would do that willingly if you think there would be the slightest chance of success.”
“It would be like a lamb going to plead with a wolf. You would only attract attention to them.”
“Could you not get hold of one of these wretches and force him to sign an order for their release?” Jeanne suggested.
“Eh!” Harry exclaimed in surprise. “Jeanne, you have the best head of us all. That idea never occurred to me. Yes, that might be possible. How stupid of me not to think of it!”
“Do not run into any danger, Harry,” Marie said earnestly. “Such a scheme could hardly succeed.”
“I don’t know, mademoiselle. I think it might. I will think it over. Of course there are difficulties, but I do not see why it should not succeed.”
“Certainly it will succeed if Harry undertakes it,” Jeanne said, with implicit trust in his powers.
Harry laughed, and even Marie, anxious as she was, could not help smiling.
“I will try and deserve your confidence, Jeanne; but I am not a magician. But I will talk it over with”—and he hesitated—“with a young fellow who is, like myself, a Royalist, and in disguise. Luckily, we ran against each other the other day, and after a little conversation discovered each other. He, too, has relatives in prison, and will, I am sure, join me in any scheme I may undertake. Two heads are better than one, and four are much better than two when it comes to acting. And now I must say good-night. I hope when I see you again I shall be able to tell you that I have formed some sort of plan for their release.”
CHAPTER VII
The 2d of September
Victor de Gisons was, as usual, waiting near the door when Harry left Louise Moulin’s.
“What is the news, Henri? Nothing suspicious, I hope? You are out sooner than usual.”
“Yes, for I have something to think of. Here have we been planning in vain for the last fortnight to hit upon some scheme for getting our friends out of prison, and Jeanne has pointed out a way which you and I never thought of.”
“What is that, Henri?”
; “The simplest thing in the world, namely, that we should seize one of the leaders of these villains and compel him to sign an order for their release.”
“That certainly seems possible,” Victor said. “I wonder it never occurred to either of us. But how is it to be done?”
“Ah, that is for us to think out! Jeanne has given us the idea, and we should be stupid if we cannot invent the details. In the first place we have got to settle which of them it had better be, and in the next how it is to be managed. It must be some one whose signature the people at the prison would be sure to obey.”
“Then,” Victor said, “it must be either Danton or Robespierre.”
“Or Marat,” Harry added; “I think he is as powerful as either of the others.”
“He is the worst of them, anyhow,” Victor said. “There is something straightforward about Danton. No doubt he is ambitious, but I think his hatred of us all is real. He is a terrible enemy, and will certainly stick at nothing. He is ruthless and pitiless, but I do not think he is double-faced. Robespierre is ambitious too, but I think he is really acting according to his principles, such as they are. He would be pitiless too, but he would murder on principle.
“He would sign unmoved the order for a hundred heads to fall if he thought their falling necessary or even useful for the course of the Revolution, but I do not think he would shed a drop of blood to satisfy private enmity. They call him the ‘incorruptible.’ He is more dangerous than Danton, for he has no vices. He lives simply, and they say is fond of birds and pets. I do not think we should make much of either Danton or him, even if we got them in our power.
“Danton would be like a wild beast in a snare. He would rage with fury, but I do not think that he would be intimidated into signing what we require, not do I think would Robespierre. Marat is a different creature altogether. He is simply venomous. He hates the world, and would absolutely rejoice in slaughter. So loathsome is he in appearance that even his colleagues shrink from him. He is a venomous reptile whom it would be a pleasure to slay, as it would be to put one’s heel upon a rattlesnake. Whether he is a coward or not I do not know, but I should think so. Men of his type are seldom brave. I think if we had him in our hands we might frighten him into doing what we want.”