"M. L'Abbe!..." said Marguerite gravely.
"Yes, mon enfant."
The old man looked up from his breviary, and saw Marguerite's greatearnest eyes fixed with obvious calm and trust upon him. She hadfinished her toilet as well as she could, had shaken up and tidied thepaillasse, and was now sitting on the edge of it, her hands claspedbetween her knees. There was something which still puzzled her, andimpatient and impulsive as she was, she had watched the abbe as hecalmly went on reading the Latin prayers for the last five minutes, andnow she could contain her questionings no longer.
"You said just now that they set you to watch over me..."
"So they did, my child, so they did..." he replied with a sigh, as hequietly closed his book and slipped it back into his pocket. "Ah! theyare very cunning... and we must remember that they have the power. Nodoubt," added the old man, with his own, quaint philosophy, "no doubt lebon Dieu meant them to have the power, or they would not have it, wouldthey?"
"By 'they' you mean the Terrorists and Anarchists of France,M. L'Abbe.... The Committee of Public Safety who pillage and murder,outrage women, and desecrate religion.... Is that not so?"
"Alas! my child!" he sighed.
"And it is 'they' who have set you to watch over me?... I confess Idon't understand..."
She laughed, quite involuntarily indeed, for in spite of the reassurancein her heart her brain was still in a whirl of passionate anxiety.
"You don't look at all like one of 'them,' M. l'Abbe," she said.
"The good God forbid!" ejaculated the old man, raising protesting handsup toward the very distant, quite invisible sky. "How could I, a humblepriest of the Lord, range myself with those who would flout and defyHim."
"Yet I am a prisoner of the Republic and you are my jailer, M. l'Abbe."
"Ah, yes!" he sighed. "But I am very helpless. This was my cell. I hadbeen here with Francois and Felicite, my sister's children, you know.Innocent lambs, whom those fiends would lead to slaughter. Last night,"he continued, speaking volubly, "the soldiers came in and draggedFrancois and Felicite out of this room, where, in spite of the dangerbefore us, in spite of what we suffered, we had contrived to be quitehappy together. I could read the Mass, and the dear children would saytheir prayers night and morning at my knee."
He paused awhile. The unshed tears in his mild blue eyes struggledfor freedom now, and one or two flowed slowly down his wrinkled cheek.Marguerite, though heartsore and full of agonizing sorrow herself, felther whole noble soul go out to this kind old man, so pathetic, so highand simple-minded in his grief.
She said nothing, however, and the Abbe continued after a few seconds'silence.
"When the children had gone, they brought you in here, mon enfant, andlaid you on the paillasse where Felicite used to sleep. You lookedvery white, and stricken down, like one of God's lambs attacked bythe ravening wolf. Your eyes were closed and you were blissfullyunconscious. I was taken before the governor of the prison, and he toldme that you would share the cell with me for a time, and that I was towatch you night and day, because..."
The old man paused again. Evidently what he had to say was verydifficult to put into words. He groped in his pockets and brought outa large bandana handkerchief, red and yellow and green, with whichhe began to mop his moist forehead. The quaver in his voice and thetrembling of his hands became more apparent and pronounced.
"Yes, M. l'Abbe? Because?..." queried Marguerite gently.
"They said that if I guarded you well, Felicite and Francois wouldbe set free," replied the old man after a while, during which he madevigorous efforts to overcome his nervousness, "and that if you escapedthe children and I would be guillotined the very next day."
There was silence in the little room now. The Abbe was sitting quitestill, clasping his trembling fingers, and Marguerite neither moved norspoke. What the old man had just said was very slowly finding its way tothe innermost cells of her brain. Until her mind had thoroughly graspedthe meaning of it all, she could not trust herself to make a singlecomment.
It was some seconds before she fully understood it all, before sherealized what it meant not only to her, but indirectly to her husband.Until now she had not been fully conscious of the enormous wave of hopewhich almost in spite of herself had risen triumphant above the dull,grey sea of her former despair; only now when it had been shatteredagainst this deadly rock of almost superhuman devilry and cunning didshe understand what she had hoped, and what she must now completelyforswear.
No bolts and bars, no fortified towers or inaccessible fortresses couldprove so effectual a prison for Marguerite Blakeney as the dictum whichmorally bound her to her cell.
"If you escape the children and I would be guillotined the very nextday."
This meant that even if Percy knew, even if he could reach her, hecould never set her free, since her safety meant death to two innocentchildren and to this simple hearted man.
It would require more than the ingenuity of the Scarlet Pimpernelhimself to untie this Gordian knot.
"I don't mind for myself, of course," the old man went on with gentlephilosophy. "I have lived my life. What matters if I die to-morrow, orif I linger on until my earthly span is legitimately run out? I am readyto go home whenever my Father calls me. But it is the children, yousee. I have to think of them. Francois is his mother's only son, thebread-winner of the household, a good lad and studious too, and Felicitehas always been very delicate. She is blind from birth and..."
"Oh! don't... for pity's sake, don't..." moaned Marguerite in an agonyof helplessness. "I understand... you need not fear for your children,M. l'Abbe: no harm shall come to them through me."
"It is as the good God wills!" replied the old man quietly.
Then, as Marguerite had once more relapsed into silence, he fumbledfor his beads, and his gentle voice began droning the Paters and Aveswherein no doubt his child-like heart found peace and solace.
He understood that the poor woman would not wish to speak, he knew aswell as she did the overpowering strength of his helpless appeal. Thusthe minutes sped on, the jailer and the captive, tied to one another bythe strongest bonds that hand of man could forge, had nothing to sayto one another: he, the old priest, imbued with the traditions of hiscalling, could pray and resign himself to the will of the Almighty, butshe was young and ardent and passionate, she loved and was beloved,and an impassable barrier was built up between her and the man sheworshipped!
A barrier fashioned by the weak hands of children, one of whom wasdelicate and blind. Outside was air and freedom, reunion with herhusband, an agony of happy remorse, a kiss from his dear lips, andtrembling held her back from it all, because of Francois who was thebread-winner and of Felicite who was blind.
Mechanically now Marguerite rose again, and like an automaton--lifelessand thoughtless--she began putting the dingy, squalid room to rights.The Abbe helped her demolish the improvised screen; with the same gentledelicacy of thought which had caused him to build it up, he refrainedfrom speaking to her now: he would not intrude himself on her grief andher despair.
Later on, she forced herself to speak again, and asked the old man hisname.
"My name is Foucquet," he replied, "Jean Baptiste Marie Foucquet,late parish priest of the Church of Saint Joseph, the patron saint ofBoulogne."
Foucquet! This was l'Abbe Foucquet! the faithful friend and servant ofthe de Marny family.
Marguerite gazed at him with great, questioning eyes.
What a wealth of memories crowded in on her mind at sound of that name!Her beautiful home at Richmond, her brilliant array of servants andguests, His Royal Highness at her side! life in free, joyous happyEngland--how infinitely remote it now seemed. Her ears were filled withthe sound of a voice, drawly and quaint and gentle, a voice and a laughhalf shy, wholly mirthful, and oh! so infinitely dear:
"I think a little sea voyage and English country air would suit the AbbeFoucquet, m'dear, and I only mean to ask him to cross the Channel withme..."
Oh
! the joy and confidence expressed in those words! the daring, theambition! the pride! and the soft, languorous air of the old-worldgarden round her then, the passion of his embrace! the heavy scent oflate roses and of heliotrope, which caused her to swoon in his arms!
And now a narrow prison cell, and that pathetic, tender little creaturethere, with trembling hands and tear-dimmed eyes, the most powerful andmost relentless jailer which the ferocious cunning of her deadly enemiescould possible have devised.
Then she talked to him of Juliette Marny.
The Abbe did not know that Mlle. de Marny had succeeded in reachingEngland safely and was overjoyed to hear it.
He recounted to Marguerite the story of the Marny jewels: how he had putthem safely away in the crypt of his little church, until the Assemblyof the Convention had ordered the closing of the churches, and placedbefore every minister of le bon Dieu the alternative of apostasy ordeath.
"With me it has only been prison so far," continued the old man simply,"but prison has rendered me just as helpless as the guillotine wouldhave done, for the enemies of le bon Dieu have ransacked the Church ofSaint Joseph and stolen the jewels which I should have guarded with mylife."
But it was obvious joy for the Abbe to talk of Juliette Marny'shappiness. Vaguely, in his remote little provincial cure, he had heardof the prowess and daring of the Scarlet Pimpernel and liked to thinkthat Juliette owed her safety to him.
"The good God will reward him and those whom he cares for," added AbbeFoucquet with that earnest belief in divine interference which seemed sostrangely pathetic under these present circumstances.
Marguerite sighed, and for the first time in this terrible soul-stirringcrisis through which she was passing so bravely, she felt a beneficentmoisture in her eyes: the awful tension of her nerves relaxed. She wentup to the old man took his wrinkled hand in hers and falling on herknees beside him she eased her overburdened heart in a flood of tears.
Chapter XX: Triumph
The Elusive Pimpernel Page 19