by G. A. Henty
CHAPTER XI.
Two men were sitting in a cabaret near the Halles. One was dressed inthe uniform of a sergeant of the National Guard. He was apowerfully-built man, with a black beard and a mustache, and a roughcrop of hair that stuck out aggressively beneath his kepi. The other wassome fifteen years younger; beyond the cap he wore no military uniform.He had a mustache only, and was a good-looking young fellow of theOuvrier class.
"I tell you it is too bad, Pere Dufaure. A year ago she pretended sheliked me, and the fact that she wore good dresses and was earning lotsof money did not seem to make any difference in her. But now all that ischanged. That foreigner has turned her head. She thinks now she isgoing to be a lady and has thrown me over as if I were dirt, but I won'thave it," and he struck his fist upon the table, "those cursedaristocrats are not to have everything their own way."
"Patience, Jean. Women will be women, and the right way to win her backis to have patience and wait. I don't say that just at present her headis not turned with this American, who by the way is a good Republican,and though he has money, has good notions, and holds with us that wehave too long been ground down by the bourgeois, still she may tire ofhim after a while. He is not amusing, this American, and though Minettemay like being adored, she likes being amused also. Pooh, pooh, thismatter will come all right. Besides, although she likes the American atpresent, she thinks more of the Commune than of any lover. Have patienceand do not quarrel with her. You know that I am on your side. ButMinette is a good deal like what her mother was. Ah, these women! A mancan do nothing with them when they make up their minds to have their ownway. What can I say to her? I can not threaten to turn her out of thehouse for everything in it is hers. It is she who earns the money. Sheis too old to be beaten, and if it comes to scolding, her tongue runsfaster than mine does, and you know besides she has a temper."
Jean nodded.
"She is worse than a wild-cat when her back is up," he said. "Why, whenthis thing first began, and I told her to beware how she went on withthis American, for that I would kill him if he came in my way, shecaught up a knife, and if I had not run like a rabbit, she would havestuck me, and you know how she went on, and drove me out of Montmartre.After that affair I have not dared see her."
"Why not let her go? and take to someone else, Jean? There are plenty ofpretty girls in the quarter who would not say no to the best risingworker in his trade."
"It is no use, Pere Dufaure, I have told myself the same a hundredtimes, but I cannot do it. She has her tempers, what woman has not; butat other times who is so bright and gay as she is?"
"Well, well, Jean, we shall see what we shall see. You don't supposethat if things do not turn out well, as we hope they will do, I shouldlet her carry out this whim of hers, and go off with the American, andleave me to shift for myself. Not such a fool. At present I say nothing.It is always better to hold your tongue as long as you can. I make himwelcome when he comes to our house; we go together to the meetings, andsometimes he speaks, and speaks well, though he does not go far enoughfor us. Well, no one can say what may happen--he may be shot by theGermans, or he may be shot at the barricades, who knows. At any rate itis best to hold my peace. If I leave things alone, Minette is as likelyas not to change her mind again, but if I were to say anything againsthim--first, we should have a scene; secondly, she would be more thanever determined on this whim. You must be patient, Jean, and all willcome well in the end."
"I am not so sure of that," Jean said, sullenly. "I was as patient as Icould be, but no good came of it; then, as you know, I tried to get ridof him, but failed, and had to move away, but one thing is certain, if Idon't marry her he never shall. However, I can wait."
"That is all right, Jean; wait till our little affairs come off and thebourgeois are under our feet. There will be good posts for true citizensthen, and I will see that you have one, and it will be time to talkabout marriages when everything is going on well. When we once get theGermans out of the way, we shall see what we shall see, Sapristie! wewill make short work of the capitalists, and as for the troops, theywill have had enough fighting and will be ready enough to march off andleave us alone."
At the time they were talking, the couple they were speaking of werestanding leaning on the parapet of the wall by the river. They met thereevery evening when there was no assembly of importance to attend.
"I wish it was all over, Minette," he said, "and that we could leavethe city and be off. It would be a different life for you, dear, but Ihope a pleasanter one. There would be no cold weather like this, but youcan sit all the year round in the veranda without needing wraps. Therewill be servants to wait on you, and carriages, and everything you canwish for, and when you are disposed there will be society; and as all ofour friends speak French, you will soon be quite at home with them. And,what one thinks of a good deal at present, there will be fruits andflowers, and plenty to eat, and no sound of cannon, and no talk of wars.We fought out our war ten years ago."
"It sounds nice, Arnold, very nice, but it will be strange not to work."
"You won't want to work there," he said; "in the day it is so hot thatyou will be glad to sit indoors in a darkened room and do nothing. Ishall paint a good deal, and when you have the fancy, you can sit as mymodel again."
"And is it a large city, Arnold? It seems to me now that I could notlive in the country, I should soon get dreadfully tired of it."
"It is a large city," he said, "though, of course, not so large asParis. There are theatres there and amusements of all sorts."
"I should be content with you, Arnold. It does not seem to me that Icould want anything else, but after all this excitement it will seemstrange to have nothing to do."
"I shall be glad to be out of it," he said. "Your father and the othersare quite right--the rich have too much and the poor too little. Themanufacturers gain fortunes, and the men whose work enriches them remainpoor all their lives. Still I fear that they will go too far, and thattroubles me."
She made a quick movement as if about to speak, but checked herself fora moment, and then said, quietly--
"You know the proverb, Arnold, 'One cannot make an omelette withoutbreaking eggs.'"
"That is true," he said, "as to an omelette, but a change of Governmentcan be carried out without costing life, that is unless there isresistance, and I hope there will be none here. The incapables overthere will slink away. Why, Flourens and a few hundred men were enoughto snatch the government out of their feeble hands. If the peopledeclare that they will govern themselves, who is to withstand them. Ihope to see the triumph and then to go. You know I am not a coward,Minette; our corps have shown that they can fight, but I long for myquiet home again, with its gardens and flowers, and balmy air, and Ilike handling a paint-brush much better than a rifle, and above all tosee you mistress of my home, but I know there is a good deal to gothrough first. Trochu's plans may be carried out any day."
"Ah! Those Prussians!" she exclaimed, in a tone of the deepest hate,with a gesture of defiance towards Versailles. "They will dare to fireat you!"
"Yes, I imagine they will do that, Minette," he said with a laugh, "andpretty hotly, too."
"Well, if they kill you," she said, passionately, "I will avenge you. Iwill go out through the outposts and will find my way to Versailles, andI will kill William or Bismarck. They may kill me afterwards, I carenothing for that. Charlotte Corday was a reactionist, but she slew Maratand died calmly and bravely. I could do as much and would to revengeyou."
"I hope you would not attempt anything so mad, Minette. Of course, Imust take my chance as everyone else will do, and the Prussians will beno more to blame if one of their bullets killed me than if it had struckanyone else. Everyone who goes into a battle has to run his chances. Ihad an elder brother killed in the civil war we had in the States. Ihave no great love for the North, but I do not blame them especially forthe death of my brother. There were a great number killed on both sides,and that he should be among them was the fortune of war. But it
isbitterly cold, Minette; let us be walking. I am glad we are not onoutpost duty to-night. I put on so many flannel shirts that I can hardlybutton my tunic over them, but in spite of that it is cold work standingwith one's hands on one's trigger looking out into the darkness. It isquite a relief when a rifle rings out either from our side or theother. Then for a bit everyone is alive and active, we think thePrussians are advancing, and they think we are, and we both blaze awaymerrily for a bit. Then there is a lull again, and perhaps an hour ortwo of dreary waiting till there is a fresh alarm. As soon as we arerelieved, we hurry off to our quarter, where there is sure to be a fireblazing. Then we heat up the coffee in our canteens, pouring in a littlespirits, and are soon warm again."
"I cannot see why they don't form corps of women, Arnold; we have justas much at stake as the men have, and I am sure we should be quite asbrave as the most of them, a great deal braver than the National Guard."
"I have no doubt you would, dear, but it will be quite time for you tofight when all the men are used up. What the women ought to do is todrive the men outside the walls. If the women were to arm themselveswith mops soaked in dirty water, and were to attack every man underforty they found lurking in the streets, they would soon make a changein things. You should begin in your own quarter first, for although theyare always denouncing the bourgeois for not fighting, I cannot see thatthere is any more eagerness to go out at Montmartre than there is in thequarter of the Bank--in fact, a great deal less."
"Why should the ouvriers fight with the Germans, Arnold--to them itmatters little whether Paris is taken by the Germans or not--it is notthey whose houses will be sacked, it is not they who will have to paythe indemnity."
"No, but at least they are Frenchmen. They can talk enough about thehonor of France, but it is little they do to preserve it. They shout,'the Prussians must be destroyed,' and then go off quietly to theircabarets to smoke and drink. I do not admire the bourgeois, but I do notsee anything more admirable among the ouvriers. They talk grandly butthey do nothing. There is no difficulty in getting volunteers for thewar companies among the National Guard of the centre, though to them theextra pay is nothing; but at Belleville and Montmartre the war companiesdon't fill up. They rail at the bourgeois but when it comes to fightingoutside the walls I will wager that the shopkeepers show the mostcourage."
"They will fight when there is anything to fight for," she said,confidently, "but they don't care to waste their time on the walls whenthere is nothing to do, and the Germans are miles away."
"Well, we shall see," he replied, grimly. "Anyhow, I wish it were allover, and that we were on our way home. You have never seen a ship yet,Minette. You will be astonished when you go on board one of the greatliners," and as they walked along the Boulevards he told her of thefloating palaces, in one of which they were to cross the ocean, andforgetting for a time the questions that absorbed her, she listened withthe interest of a child hearing a fairy-tale. When they nearedMontmartre they separated, for Minette would never walk with him in herown quarter.
The next morning, November 28th, the order was issued that the gateswere to be closed and that no one was to be allowed to pass out underany pretext whatever. No one doubted that the long-expected sally was tobe carried out. Bodies of troops marched through the streets, trains ofwagons with munitions of war moved in the same direction, and in an hourall Paris knew that the sortie was to take place somewhere across theloop formed by the Marne.
"It is for to-morrow," Pierre Leroux exclaimed, running into Cuthbert'sroom, "we are to parade at daybreak. The gates are shut, and troops aremoving about everywhere."
"All right, Pierre; we have been looking for it for so long, that itcomes almost as a surprise at last."
Cuthbert got up, made himself a cup of coffee, drank it with a piece ofdry bread, and then sallied out. Mary would be on duty at ten o'clock.He knew the road she took on her way to the hospital and should meether. In half an hour he saw the trim figure in the dark dress, and thewhite band round the arm.
"I suppose you have heard that we are going to stir up the German nestto-morrow," he said gayly.
"Yes, I have heard," she said, sadly, "it is very dreadful."
"It is what we have been waiting for and longing for for the last twomonths. We are to be under arms at daybreak, and as you will be at theambulance for the next twenty-four hours I thought I would make aneffort to catch you on the way. I want you to come round to mylodgings."
She looked surprised.
"Of course I will come," she said frankly, "but what do you want me todo that for?"
"Well, there is no saying as to who will come back again tomorrow, Mary,and I want you to see my two pictures. I have been working at them forthe last two months steadily. They are not quite finished yet, butanother week would have been enough for the finishing touches, but Idon't suppose you will miss them. Nobody has seen them yet, and nobodywould have seen them till they were quite ready, but as it is possiblethey never may be finished I should like you to see them now. I am nottaking you up under any false pretences," he said, lightly, "nor to tryagain to get you to change your mission. I only want you to see that Ihave been working honestly. I could see when I have spoken of mypainting there was always a little incredulity in the way in which youlistened to me. You had so completely made up your mind that I shouldnever be earnest about anything that you could not bring yourself tobelieve that I wasn't amusing myself with art here, just as I did inLondon. I had intended to have brought them triumphantly in a fiacre toyour place, when they were finished, and I can't deny myself thepleasure of disabusing your mind. It is not far out of your way, and ifwe walk fast you can still arrive at your ambulance in time. If therewere any fiacres about I would call one, but they have quitedisappeared. In the first place, because no one is rich enough to beable to pay for such luxuries, and in the second, because most of thehorses have been turned to other uses."
She did not seem to pay very much attention to what he was saying, butbroke in with the question--
"Do you think there will be much fighting?"
"It would be folly to try to persuade you that there won't," he said."When there are so many thousand men with guns and cannon who aredetermined to get out of a place, and an equal number of men with gunsand cannon just as determined to keep them in, the chances are that, asthe Irish say, there will be wigs on the green. I do not suppose theloss will be great in comparison to the number engaged, becausecertainly a good many of the French will reconsider their determinationto get out, and will be seized with a burning desire to get back as soonas the German shells begin to fall among them, still I do hope that theywill make a decent fight of it. I know there are some tremendouslystrong batteries on the ground enclosed by the loop of the Marne, whichis where they say it is going to be, and the forts will be able to help,so that certainly for a time we shall fight with great advantages. I dowish that it was not so cold, fighting is bad enough in summer; but thepossibility of lying out all night on the snow wounded is one I verystrongly object to."
He continued to talk in the same light strain, until they reached hislodgings, in order to put the girl at her ease.
"So this is your sitting-room," she said, with a laugh that had a tremorin it, "it is just what I supposed it would be, very untidy, very dusty,and yet in its way, comfortable. Where are the pictures?"
"Behind that screen; I keep them in strict seclusion there. Now if youwill sit down by the window I will bring the easels out."
She did as he told her. The pictures were covered when he brought themout. He placed them where the light would fall best on them, and thenremoved the cloths.
"They have not arrived at the glories of frames yet," he said, "but youmust make allowances for that. I can assure you they will look muchlarger and more important when they are in their settings."
The girl sat for a minute without speaking. They were reproductions on alarger scale and with all the improvements that his added skill andexperience could introduce of the two
he had exhibited to M. Goude, whenhe entered the studio.
"I had intended to do battle-pieces," he said, "and have madeinnumerable sketches, but somehow or other the inspiration did not comein that direction, so I fell back on these which are taken from smallerones I painted before I left London. Do you like them? You see I hangupon your verdict. You at present represent the public to me."
There were tears standing in the girl's eyes.
"They are beautiful," she said, softly, "very beautiful. I am not ajudge of painting, though I have been a good deal in the galleries ofDresden, and I was at Munich too; and I know enough to see they arepainted by a real artist. I like the bright one best, the other almostfrightens me, it is so sad and hopeless, I think--" and she hesitated,"that girl in the veranda is something like me, though I am sure I neverlook a bit like that, and I am nothing--nothing like so pretty."
"You never look like that, Miss Brander, because you have never felt asthat girl is supposed to be feeling; some day when the time comes thatyou feel as she does you will look so. That is a woman, a woman wholoves. At present that side of your nature has not woke up. Theintellectual side of you, if I may so speak, has been forced, and yoursoul is still asleep. Some day you will admit that the portrait, for Iown it to be a portrait, is a life-like one. Now--" he broke offabruptly, "we had better be going or you will be late at your post."
She said no more until they were in the street.
"I have been very wrong," she said suddenly, after walking for some timein silence. "You must have worked hard indeed. I own I never thoughtthat you would. I used to consider your sketches very pretty, but Inever thought that you would come to be a great artist."
"I have not come to that yet," he said, "but I do hope that I may cometo be a fair one some day--that is if the Germans don't forciblyinterfere--but I have worked very hard, and I may tell you that Goude,who is one of the best judges in Paris, thinks well of me. I will askyou to take care of this," he said, and he took out a blank envelope."This is my will. A man is a fool who goes into a battle without makingprovision for what may happen. When I return you can hand it to meagain. If I should not come back please inclose it to your father. Hewill see that its provisions are carried out. I may say that I have leftyou the two pictures. You have a right to them, for if it had not beenfor you I don't suppose they would ever have been painted. I only wishthat they had been quite finished."
Mary took the paper without a word, nor did she speak again until theyarrived at the ambulance, then she turned and laid her hand in his.
"Good-bye, Mary, I hope I shall ask you for that envelope back again ina couple of days."
"God grant that it may be so," she said, "I shall suffer so till youdo."
"Yes, we have always been good friends, haven't we? Now, child, youalways used to give me a kiss before I left you then. Mayn't I have onenow?"
She held up her face, he kissed her twice, and then turned and strodeaway.
"I wonder whether she will ever grow to be a woman," he said to himself,bitterly, "and discover that there is a heart as well as brains in hercomposition. There was no more of doubt or hesitation in the way inwhich she held up her face to be kissed, than when she did so as achild. Indeed, as a child, I do think she would have cried if I told herat parting that I was going away for good. Well, it is of no use blamingher. She can't help it if she is deficient in the one quality that is ofall the most important. Of course she has got it and will know it someday, but at present it is latent and it is evident that I am not the manwho has the key of it. She was pleased at my pictures. It was one of herideas that I ought to do something, and she is pleased to find that Ihave buckled to work in earnest, just as she would be pleased ifParliament would pass a law giving to women some of the rights which shehas taken it into her head they are deprived of. However, perhaps it isbetter as it is. If anything happens to me to-morrow, she will be sorryfor a week or two just as she would if she lost any other friend, whileif Arnold Dampierre goes down Minette will for a time be like a madwoman. At any rate my five thousand will help her to carry out hercrusade. I should imagine that she won't get much aid in that directionfrom her father.
"Halloa, I know that man's face," he broke off as he noticed awell-dressed man turn in at the door of a quiet-looking residence he wasjust approaching, "I know his face well; he is an Englishman, too, but Ican't think where I have seen him." He could not have told himself whyhe should have given the question a second thought, but the face kepthaunting him in spite of the graver matters in his mind, and as hereached the door of his lodgings he stopped suddenly.
"I have it," he exclaimed, "it is Cumming, the manager of the bank, thefellow that ruined it and then absconded. I saw they were looking forhim in Spain and South America and a dozen other places, and here he is.By Jove, he is a clever fellow. I suppose he came here as soon as thewar broke out, knowing very well that the police would have plenty ofother things to think of besides inquiring as to the antecedents ofEnglishmen who took up their residence here. Of course he has beenabsolutely safe since the fall of the Empire. The fellow has grown abeard and mustache; that is why I did not recognize him at first. Ofcourse he has taken another name. Well, I don't know that it is anybusiness of mine. He got off with some money, but I don't suppose it wasany great sum. At any rate it would not be enough to make any materialdifference to the creditors of the bank. However, I will think it overlater on. There is no hurry about the matter. He is here till the siegeis over, and I should certainly like to have a talk with him. I havenever been able to get it quite out of my mind that there has beensomething mysterious about the whole affair as far as my father wasconcerned, though where the mystery comes in is more than I can imagine.I expect it is simply because I have never liked Brander, and havealways had a strong idea that our popular townsman was at bottom a knaveas well as a humbug."
Mary Brander went about her work very quietly all day, and more thanone of the wounded patients remarked the change in her manner.
"Mademoiselle is suffering to-day," one of them said to her, as hemissed the ring of hopefulness and cheeriness with which she generallyspoke to him.
"I am not feeling well, I have a bad headache; and moreover I havefriends in the sortie that is to be made to-night."
"Ah, yes, mademoiselle, there must be many sad hearts in Paris. As forme, my spirits have risen since I heard it. At last we are going tobegin in earnest and it is time. I only wish I could have been wellenough to have taken my share in it. It is tiresome to think that I havebeen wounded in a trifling skirmish. I should not have minded if it hadbeen tomorrow, so that, when I am an old man, I might tell mygrandchildren that I got that scar on the day when we drove thePrussians from the front of Paris. That would have been something tosay. Courage, mademoiselle, after all there are twenty who get throughthese things safely, to every one that is hit, and your friends will becovered with glory."
"I hope that it will be as you think," she said, "but it may be theother way, and that the sortie will fail."
"You must not think that," he said. "We have not had a fair chancebefore, now we have got one. But even should we not win the first time,we will the second or the third. What, are Frenchmen always to be beatenby these Prussians? They have beaten us of late, because we have beenbadly led; but there must come another Jena to us one of these days."
Mary nodded and then passed on to the next patient. In the evening thenews came that things were not all in readiness, and that the sortie wasdeferred at least for twenty-four hours.
"You are not well, Miss Brander," the chief surgeon of the hospital saidto her soon afterwards, "I have noticed all day that you have beenlooking fagged and worn out. As it is certain now that we shall have nounusual pressure upon our resources for another thirty-six hours at anyrate, I think you had better go home."
"I have a bad headache," she said.
"Yes, I can see that, and your hand is as cold as ice. Go home, child,and have a long night's rest. This sort of work is very tr
ying until onegets hardened to it. Fortunately I have no lack of assistance. If you donot feel better to-morrow morning take another twenty-four hours offduty. You are likely to want all your strength and nerve on Monday ifthis affair comes off in earnest, which I own I am inclined to doubt,for, so far, there has been no shadow of earnestness about anythingsince the siege began."