o. .rjv 
 
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 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
3 1924 088 383 561 
 
Cornell University 
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THE MARIE ANTOINETTE ROMANCES. 
 
 LA COMTESSE DE CHAKNY. 
 
 Vol. I. 
 
"THE QUEEN EXTENDED BOTH HANDS 
 
 TO ANDRfiE." 
 
 Drawn and etched by E. Van Muyden, 
 
 La Comtesse de Charny, I. 
 
LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 BY 
 
 ALEXANDRE DUMAS.^ IS-Q^-JO 
 
 Vol. I. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY. 
 
 1898. 
 
Copyright, 1890, 1S94, 
 By Little, Bkown, ajjd Company, 
 
 University Pkess: 
 John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, TT.S.A. 
 
INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 " Be it understood that we are writing history, and 
 not romance," says the author more than once in 
 the course of these volumes. The statement is 
 incontestable in the sense that the strictly roman- 
 tic portions of the story — those which deal with 
 fictitious personages and events — furnish but a 
 trifling part of the interest. But, on the other 
 hand, it must be said that he who writes of " the 
 thing we call French Eevolution " as it was, who 
 takes its leading figures for his heroes, and de- 
 scribes its lurid scenes and incidents, ranging from 
 almost incredible grandeur to quite incredible in- 
 famy and horror, — such a one, we say, could 
 hardly fail, were he the least interesting of writ- 
 ers, to produce a work beside which the most 
 intense creation of the brain of the novelist sinks 
 into insignificance. 
 
 In " Ange Pitou " the historical thread is broken 
 at the invasion of the (Eil-de-Bceuf by the Pari- 
 sian populace on the night of the Fifth and Sixth 
 
VI INTKODUCTOEY NOTE. 
 
 of October, and the fortunate, as well as courageous 
 and tactful, interposition of Lafayette. In the 
 "Comtesse de Charny" the narrative is resumed 
 with the forced journey of the royal family from 
 Versailles to Paris on the Sixth of October, and is 
 continued, with substantial accuracy as to all the 
 main events and innumerable minor ones, down to 
 the Twenty-first of January, 1793, when Louis XVI., 
 the well-meaniag but fatally weak monarch, whom 
 Carlyle calls the " unhappiest of Human Solecisms," 
 paid the penalty of his own weakness and inde- 
 cision, and the crimes and oppression of his 
 ancestors. 
 
 Any attempt to sketch roughly these momentous 
 years within the reasonable and proper limits of a 
 note of this sort would necessarily result in some- 
 thing very like an abstract of the work to which it 
 is introductory. 
 
 The most striking thing about this tremendous 
 upheaval which shook the whole world, whether 
 we read of it as told by Dumas in the various 
 romances of the Marie Antoinette cycle, or in the 
 numerous strictly historical works devoted to the 
 subject, is the utter fatuity with which the king 
 and queen — or, perhaps, the king under the in- 
 fluence of the queen — persistently misused, or 
 refused to use at all, the opportunities that were 
 afforded, in the first place to guide the Eevolution, 
 
INTEODUCTOEY NOTE. VU 
 
 and, in the second place, when it had become too 
 late for that, to escape by flight the consequences of 
 their own folly. 
 
 It is a most significant fact, and one which 
 explains much that would otherwise remain inex- 
 plicable, that previous to the flight to Varennes the 
 French people had in but very few instances ceased 
 to be monarchist at heart, and could very easily 
 have been won back to the loyal support of Louis, 
 had he chosen to adopt and consistently follow such 
 a course of action as was promised, for instance, by 
 his visit to the Assembly on the 4th of February, 
 1790, when that body was wandering in the mazes 
 of constitution-making (whence its name "Consti- 
 tuent "), — had he chosen, that is to say, to accept in 
 good faith the limited functions of kingship which 
 that instrument allotted to him, and to be himself 
 the leader of a peaceful revolution. 
 
 Towards the close of 1790, while disorganization 
 and anarchy were making rapid progress, Mirabeau, 
 "desperate of constitution-building under such ac- 
 companiments," entered into those negotiations with 
 the court which are described with much fulness 
 and practical accuracy by Dumas, accompanied by 
 a marvellously truthful portrayal of him who was, 
 beyond question, the grandest man, in everything but 
 morals, of the whole revolutionary period. What 
 might have been the result had he been dealt with 
 
Vlli INTEODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 honestly and with sincerity, it is perhaps useless to 
 conjecture. Whether or not his ambition to save 
 the monarchy was the offspring of his ambition to 
 occupy the same position with respect to the queen 
 that Mazarin is supposed to have occupied with re- 
 spect to Anne of Austria, is of small consequence. 
 It is certain that he was tricked and fooled and 
 played with, merely to gain time, while the hope of 
 foreign interference was growing in the queen's 
 breast ; and it is equally certain that with his death, 
 on the 2d of April, 1791, the last clfefice of guiding 
 or controlling the Revolution passed away. 
 
 And so was it with Lameth, and so, too, with 
 Barnave, whose devotion seems to have made some 
 impression upon Marie Antoinette, but whose only 
 reward for his sincere purpose to serve her was pre- 
 mature death. 
 
 When Gamain, — of whom we believe no writer, 
 whatever his predilections concerning the Revolution, 
 has ever written except in terms of disgust and 
 loathing, — when Gamain turned upon his bene- 
 factor, and disclosed the existence of the secret 
 cupboard, the correspondence of both Barnave and 
 Mirabeau came to light, and the evidence of their 
 " treason " was overwhelming. Poor Barnave was 
 then in prison as a " suspect " at Grenoble. He was 
 brought to Paris, and guillotined in due course. 
 
 The greater statesman was beyond the reach 
 
INTEODUCTOEY NOTE. ix 
 
 of the guillotine, but his remains reposed in the 
 Pantheon, and his bust was a prominent object in 
 the Hall of the Jacobins. The latter, denounced by 
 Robespierre from the tribune, was cast upon the 
 floor and shattered. But the crowning dishonor 
 was reserved for a later period. 
 
 " It was on a dull day in autumn, in the tragical 
 year 1794, when France had almost finished ex- 
 terminating herself, — it was then that, having 
 destroyed the living, she set about destroying the 
 dead, and banished her most glorious son from her 
 heart, performing this last grievous act with savage 
 
 Joy." 
 
 Thus Michelet, who, however, defends the action 
 of the Convention, in pursuance of whose decree 
 the remains of Mirabeau were removed from the 
 Pantheon, and transported to Clamart, the burial- 
 place for executed criminals, in the Faubourg Saint 
 Marceau. 
 
 It may be worth while to note that the functions 
 of friend and physician to Mirabeau, here assigned 
 to Gilbert, were really performed by Cabanis, who 
 published an account of his illustrious patient's last 
 illness and death. From this contemporary source 
 Dumas has drawn largely. 
 
 It is very difficult, after making all possible al- 
 lowance for every consideration which could be 
 humanly expected to weigh with the most exalted 
 
X INTEODUCTOEY NOTE. 
 
 personages, to explain the conduct of the king and 
 queen in connection with their attempt to join 
 Bouilld and his army at Montm^dy. They still 
 believed, if the king may be said to have had any 
 belief, that the Eevolution might still be con- 
 trolled from outside, and therefore resolved at last 
 up6n taking the step which had been urged many 
 times by their sincere friends when secrecy would 
 have been unnecessary. But at this time — June, 
 1791 — they were substantially prisoners in the 
 Tuileries, as they had learned when they made the 
 attempt to go to Saint Cloud in April. 
 
 Under those conditions, what steps did they take 
 to insure secrecy, and to slip away unrecognized 
 and unnoticed ? Let us listen to Michelet on this 
 subject : — 
 
 "This journey to Yarennes was a miracle of 
 imprudence. It is sufficient to make a statement 
 of what common-sense required, and then to follow 
 an opposite course ; by adopting this method, if all 
 memoirs were to vanish, the story might still be 
 written. 
 
 " First of all, the queen orders an outfit to be 
 made for herself and her children two or three 
 months beforehand, as if to give notice of her 
 departure. Next, she bespeaks a magnificent trav- 
 elling-case, like the one she had already, — a com- 
 plicated piece of furniture that contained all that 
 
INTEODUCTOEY NOTE. XI 
 
 could have been desired for a voyage around the 
 globe. Then, again, instead of taking an ordinary- 
 carriage of modest appearance, she charges Fersen 
 to have a huge, capacious berlin constructed, on 
 which might be fitted and piled a heap of trunks, 
 boxes, portmanteaus, and whatever else causes 
 a coach to be particularly conspicuous on the road. 
 This is not all; this coach was to be followed by 
 another full of female attendants ; whilst before and 
 behind, three body-guards were to gallop as couriers 
 in their new bright-yellow jackets, calculated to 
 attract attention, and make people believe, at the 
 very least, that they were retainers of the Prince 
 de Cond^, the head and front of the emigration ! 
 Doubtless these men are famihar with the route ? 
 No, they had never travelled it before ! But they 
 must be resolute fellows, armed to the teeth ? 
 They had nothing but small hunting-knives ! The 
 king informed them that they would find arms in 
 the carriage ; but Fersen, the queen's man, doubt- 
 less fearing on her account the danger of armed 
 resistance, had forgotten the weapons ! 
 
 "All this is ridiculous want of foresight. But 
 now let us glance at the wretched, ignoble side of 
 the picture. The king allows himself to be dressed 
 as a valet, and disguises himself in a gray coat 
 and a little wig. He is now Durand, the valet-de- 
 chamhre. These humiliating particulars are in the 
 
Xll INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 simple narrative of tlie Duchesse d' Angouleme 
 (Madame Eoyale) ; the fact is also stated in the 
 passport given to the queen and Madame de 
 Tourzel, as a Eussian lady, the Baroness de Korff. 
 Thus this lady is so intimate with her valet-de- 
 chamhre (an indecorous arrangement, which alone 
 revealed everything) that she places him in her 
 carriage face to face, and knee to knee ! " 
 
 And again : " A very resolute soldier, recom- 
 mended by M. de Bouill^, was to have entered the 
 carriage, to give answers when required, and to 
 conduct the whole affair. But Madame de Tourzel, 
 the governess of the royal children, insisted upon 
 the privilege of her office. By virtue of the oath 
 she had taken, it was her duty, her right, not to 
 quit the children ; and the word ' oath ' made a 
 great impression on Louis XVI. Moreover, it was 
 a thing unheard of in the annals of etiquette for 
 the Children of France to travel without a gover- 
 ness. Therefore the governess took her seat in the 
 carriage, and not the soldier; and instead of a 
 useful man, they had a useless woman. The expe- 
 dition had no leader, nobody to direct it ; it was 
 left to go alone and at random." 
 
 In the face of these and many other similar and 
 indubitable facts, it is not hard to believe the anec- 
 dote of the queen's childish exploit when she en- 
 countered Lafayette in the Place du Carrousel. 
 
INTRODUCTORY NOTE. xiii 
 
 In the details of the flight, Dumas follows 
 Michelet very closely, assigning to the Charnys 
 and to Billot parts which were actually played — 
 in many instances — by unknown persons. 
 
 For example, it was not Billot, but " a scarecrow 
 of an herb-merchant " who noticed the grand new 
 berlin in the wood of Bondy, and furnished the 
 needed information as to the road the fugitives had 
 taken. So Drouet, when he rode out of Sainte 
 Menehould, was "watched and closely followed by 
 a horseman who understood his intention, and 
 would, perhaps, have killed him ; but he galloped 
 across the country and plunged into the woods, 
 where it was impossible to overtake him." And 
 Eomoeuf arrived at Varennes from Paris, accom- 
 panied by " an of&cer of the National Guard, — a 
 man of gloomy countenance, evidently fatigued, but 
 agitated and excited, wearing plain, unpowdered 
 hair, and a shirt open at the neck." 
 
 It was Count Fersen, a Swede, who drove the 
 berlin to Bondy. He seems to have been influenced 
 solely by attachment to the queen. He disappears 
 from history from the time he left the coach at 
 Bondy. 
 
 The three body-guards who accompanied the 
 flight were Valory, Maiden, and Du Moustier. 
 They were gagged, and bound upon the seat of 
 the carriage on the return to Paris. 
 
xiv INTKODUCTOEY NOTE. 
 
 Madame Campan, the queen's femme-de-chamlire, 
 is authority for many details given by Dumas, — 
 as, for instance, the secrecy observed by Marie 
 Antoinette in her interviews with Barnave, and as 
 to the precautions adopted with respect to food, 
 having their source in the return to the Tuileries 
 of the Palais-Eoyal pastry-cook, who was such a 
 furious Jacobin. 
 
 Madame Campan also testifies to the enormous 
 appetite of the king, and to the queen's mortifica- 
 tion because it never abated ; nor did he put any 
 restraint upon it, no matter how painful or humili- 
 ating were his circumstances. 
 
 The League of Pilnitz, in August, 1791, made the 
 king's eventual deposition inevitable, although it 
 was postponed for a year. The manifesto issued 
 by the parties to the league aroused furious indig- 
 nation in France. The flames which it kindled 
 were not extinguished till twenty-five years later. 
 
 In September, the Constituent Assembly, having 
 previously, upon Eobespierre's motion, declared its 
 members ineligible for the succeeding Assembly, de- 
 clared its sessions to be ended, and went its way. 
 
 On October 1, the Legislative Assembly, the first 
 and last body elected under the Constitution, began 
 its life of a year. 
 
 Its time was wasted in " debates, futilities, and 
 staggering parliamentary procedure," amid frequent 
 
INTRODUCTOKY NOTE. XV 
 
 changes of ministry, growing anxiety concerning 
 foreign invasion, and such internal episodes as that 
 of Avignon, where the reprisals for the death of 
 L'Escuyer, under the lead of Joutdan Ooupe-Tete, 
 were immeasurably worse than is here hinted at. 
 The Tour de la Glacifere was the theatre of scenes 
 at the mere thought of which the heart sickens. 
 
 In those chapters of the " Comtesse de Charny " 
 which deal with the ministry of Dumouriez, and 
 the events accompanying and succeeding it, we 
 have some welcome glimpses of "that queen-like 
 burgher-woman, beautiful Amazonian — graceful to 
 the eye ; more so to the mind," — the daughter of 
 Phlipon, the Paris engraver, and wife of Eoland de 
 la Platrifere. " The creature of sincerity and nature " 
 — so she has been described — " in an age of arti- 
 ficiality, pollution, and cant ; there, in her still 
 completeness, in her still invincibihty, she, if thou 
 knew it, is the noblest of all living Frenchwomen." 
 
 In due time the Girondist deputies, to the num- 
 ber of some twenty or more, succumbed to the 
 Mountaia, and ascended the fatal platform, from 
 which they might have saved Louis XVI., had they 
 had the courage to vote in accordance with their 
 acknowledged convictions. 
 
 On the 8th of Ifovember, 1793, a month after the 
 death of the queen, and within a day or two of the 
 last appearance upon earth of Madame Du Barry, 
 
XVI INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 who has been called the " gateway of the Eevolu- 
 tion," and the infamous Philippe figalit^, Madame 
 Eoland followed her associates to the Place de la 
 Edvolution. 
 
 Her memoirs were written during the five months 
 she was in prison. 
 
 Events marched fast during the early summer 
 of 1792, following the declaration of war against 
 Austria in April. The Clubs, journalistic organiza- 
 tions, and Sections were growing ever more violent 
 and desperate, and on June 20th came the immense 
 procession, which eventually invaded the Tuileries, 
 — an occasion more remarkable for what it fore- 
 boded than for what actually happened. 
 
 Lafayette's unexpected appearance in the As- 
 sembly a week later put the finishing touch to the 
 extinction of his popularity and influence upon 
 events. 
 
 The scene in the Assembly on July 6th, deri- 
 sively called the " Baiser I'amourette," was followed 
 by Barbaroux's famous despatch to Eebecqui for 
 " five hundred men who know how to die." 
 
 The solemn proclamation of the " Country in 
 Danger " on July 22d, the Prussian declaration of 
 war on the 24th, and the celebrated, but ill-advised, 
 manifesto of the Duke of Brunswick carried the 
 excitement and indignation of France to the boihng 
 point. The arrival at Paris of the black-browed 
 
INTRODUCTORY NOTE. XVll 
 
 Marseillais, after "wending their wild way from 
 the extremity of French land, through unknown 
 cities, toward unknown destiny, with a purpose 
 that they know," inspired to frenzy by the soul- 
 stirring strains of the "Marseillaise," the "luckiest 
 musical composition ever promulgated," — their arri- 
 val at Paris, we say, in the last days of July, fur- 
 nished the only ingredient that was lacking to 
 make the seething mass of the population effer- 
 vesce, and the Tenth of August was the inevitable 
 sequel. 
 
 Of all the participants in the events of that 
 dreadful day, the interest of humanity must ever 
 attach most compassionately to the devoted Swiss. 
 The ten score or more of courtiers who had rushed 
 to the Tuileries to defend monarchy in its last 
 ditch succeeded in escaping in large numbers when 
 they found themselves shamelessly deserted by 
 those for whom they had come to lay down their 
 lives. Some there were who remained and faced 
 certain death heroically ; but they were Frenchmen 
 dying for what they thought a consecrated cause. 
 How different was it with the Swiss ! They were 
 mere " hirelings," as they had been often sneeringly 
 called; by birth and education, their sympathies 
 were on the popular side ; they had no interest in 
 maintaining their position, except to obey the order 
 of him to whom they had sold their services, and 
 
XVIU INTKODUOTOfiY NOTE. 
 
 by him they had been heartlessly abandoned. They 
 knew not how to act: "one duty only is clear to 
 them, that of standing by their post ; and they will 
 perform that." ' 
 
 Westermann pleaded with them in German, and 
 the Marseillais implored them " in hot Provencal 
 speech and pantomime." Let them stand aside, and 
 their lives were saved. They stood fast, and what 
 followed is known of all men. 
 
 The consequences of the Tenth of August were 
 not slow to follow, as the Assembly in the presence 
 of the king voted that the " Hereditary Eepresenta- 
 tive " (which was the constitutional title of the 
 king) be suspended. It also voted that a National 
 Convention be summoned, by election, to provide 
 for the future. 
 
 Meanwhile, and until that Convention assembled, 
 although the Legislature continued to sit, the In- 
 surrectionary Commune, self-constituted, was really 
 supreme at Paris, and Danton held the seals of the 
 Department of Justice. 
 
 The removal of the royal family to the Temple, 
 and their life there, are told by Dumas in much 
 detail and with complete fidelity to history, which 
 necessarily relies for many of its facts upon the 
 narratives of the valets-de-chambre. 
 
 We need add nothing either to what our author 
 has to say with relation to the " Massacres of Sep- 
 
INTRODUCTOKY NOTE. XIX 
 
 tember " at La Force and the other prisons, except 
 that the massacred amounted to one thousand and 
 eighty-nine, all told, and that Eobespierre " nearly- 
 wept " at the thought that one innocent person was 
 slain ! It is said that the bell of Saint-Germain 
 I'Auxerrois, on which the tocsin was sounded for the 
 massacres to begin, was the identical metal on which 
 the signal was given for the Saint Bartholomew, two 
 hundred and twenty years before. 
 
 Twenty-three theatres were open while the 
 slaughter was in progress ! 
 
 Both Sombreuil and Cazotte were spared, at the 
 intercession of their daughters, but both subse- 
 quently came to the guillotine during the " Terror." 
 
 Maillard's appearance as presiding officer of the 
 tribunal at La Force was his last in history. 
 
 The most important incidents of the famous sit- 
 ting of the Convention at which the death of Louis 
 was decreed, mainly through the weakness of 
 Vergniaud and his fellow Girondists, are described 
 by Dumas in accordance with all the authorities, 
 and the same may be said of his description of the 
 king's last hours and execution. 
 
 The author's frequent eulogistic references to 
 Michelet, whom, as we have said, he follows closely 
 in many portions of the narrative, make it proper 
 to say that the impartiality of that writer is by no 
 means beyond question. In a note to one of the 
 
XX INTEODUCTOEY NOTE. 
 
 earlier romances of this series, we have adverted to 
 the charge he has brought against Louis XV. 
 apparently without authority, and that charge is 
 echoed by Dumas in these volumes almost every 
 time that Comte Louis de Narbonne is mentioned. 
 
 It is natural that so earnest a partisan of the 
 Eevolution should be influenced by bitter feelings 
 towards England for the part she played under the 
 leadership of Pitt and Burke. But it can hardly be 
 claimed that he is justified in characterizing Burke 
 as " a talented, but passionate and venal Irishman," 
 who " was paid by his adversary, Mr. Pitt," for " a 
 furious philippic against the Eevolution ; " or in 
 speaking of that statesman's work as " an infamous 
 book, wild with rage, full of calumny, scurrilous 
 abuse, and insulting buffoonery;" or, again, in re- 
 ferring to him as a man " possessed of brilliant 
 eloquence, but devoid of ideas and of frivolous 
 character," — a man " who makes the better actor 
 because he acts his part in earnest, and because his 
 interior emptiness enables him the better to adopt 
 and urge the ideas of others ; " or in making the 
 statement that " England never had, nor will she 
 ever have, any great moralist or jurisconsult." 
 
 Olivier de Charny is a most perfect type of 
 many noble-hearted Frenchmen who sacrificed their 
 lives without a murmur in behalf of what they 
 believed to be a holy cause, convinced though they 
 
INTEODUCTOKY NOTE. XXI 
 
 were of the comparative unworthiness of those who 
 stood for that cause. It was fitting that Andrde, 
 whose only happiness ia life had come to her 
 through him, and whose hopes of happiness died 
 with him, should have turned aside from the 
 thought of life without him. 
 
 In -s'iew of the terrible months that followed the 
 death of the king, happy were they who, like Gil- 
 bert and Billot, turned their backs upon their coun- 
 try, and sought true freedom under the flag of the 
 new Eepublic across the sea. 
 
 In the last volume of the series, "Chevalier de 
 Maison Eouge," the author has taken for his theme 
 the agony of Marie Antoinette during the eight 
 months that intervened between the king's death 
 and her own. We shall there make the acquaint- 
 ance of one whose devotion was to the person of 
 the queen even more than to the dying cause which 
 she represented. 
 
LIST OF CHARACTERS. 
 
 Period, 1789-1794. 
 
 Louis XVI., King of Trance. 
 
 Marie Antoinette. 
 
 The Dauphin, ) 
 
 Madame Koyale, 1 *« '°^^^ ''^'^^''''- 
 
 Madame Elizabeth, the King's sister. 
 
 COMTE DE PkOVENCE, ) , , . , ^^. 
 
 Comte d'Artois, 1 ^'°^^''' °f ^^^ ^'""S- 
 
 Princesse DE Lamballe, Superintendent of the royal household. 
 
 M. DE PENTHiivRE, her father-in-law. 
 
 Madame de Tourzel, governess of the royal children. 
 
 Madame Misery, ^ 
 
 Madame Campan, y the Queen's waiting-women. 
 
 Madame Neuville, J 
 
 Weber, confidential servant to Marie Antoinette. 
 
 Doctor Louis, Marie Antoinette's physician. 
 
 Madame Brunier, the Dauphin's chambermaid. 
 
 M. DE BREzi;, Master of Ceremonies. 
 
 La Chapelle, the King's steward. 
 
 MM. Hue, Dakey, and Thierry, attendants of the King. 
 
 Prince DE Poix, 1 gentlemen of the 
 
 M. DE Saint-Pardon, I ^■^^,^ household after 
 
 Baron d'Aubier, f ^^^ ^qq^ ^^ ^ ^ 
 
 MM. DE Goguelat and de Chamille, ) 
 
 Clert, the King's valet at the Temple. 
 
 M. Leonard, the Queen's hairdresser. 
 
XXIV 
 
 LIST OF CHAEACTEES. 
 
 ROYALISTS. 
 
 PillNCE DE CONDi. 
 
 Duo DE LlANCOURT. 
 
 Due BE LA. ROCHEFODGAULT, 
 
 COMTE DE LA MaUCK. 
 
 COMTESSE DE LA MaRCK. 
 
 CoMTE Louis de Narbonne 
 
 COMIE FeRSEN. 
 
 Baroness de Stael. 
 Prince de Lambesq. 
 
 Marquis be Pavras. 
 Baron de Breteuil. 
 Due DE Mailly. 
 Marechal de Moucht. 
 Mareohal de Noailles. 
 Duo BE Castries. 
 
 CoMTE d'InNISDAL. 
 
 Due Charles de Lorraine 
 
 Abbi; Sicard. 
 MM. ViojiESNii, DE LA Chatke, Lecrosne, Gosse, Villiers, 
 
 and Bhidaub. 
 M. BE Dampierre, Chevalier of the Order of Saint Louis. 
 Pierre Victor Besenval, Inspector-General of Swiss. 
 M. Laporte, Superintendent of the Civil List. 
 M. DE Villekoy, of the King's household. 
 M. Pastoret, a member of the Legislative Assembly. • 
 M. DE Brissac, Commander of the King's Constitutional Guard. 
 M. DE Sombreuil, Governor of Hotel des Invalides. 
 Mademoiselle de Sombreuil, his daughter. 
 M. Acloque, a Commander of the National Guard. 
 MM. DE Carteja, Clermont, d'Amboise, Tourcaty, b'Amblay, 
 MarquiI;, and Merci d'Argenteau. 
 
 Princesse de la Tremouille. 
 
 Madame de Mackau. 
 
 Madame de la Roche Aymon. 
 
 Madame Ginestous. 
 
 Princesse de Tahente. 
 
 M. BE Malden, \ 
 
 M. be Valory, I accompanying the royal faraOy 
 
 CoMTE Olivier be Charny, J ^"^ ^^"^ ^'S'^* ^'""^ ^^"^- 
 Comtesse de Charny, the Queen's maid-of-honor. 
 VicoMTE Isidore be Chabny, Comte de Charny's brother. 
 
 Baron be Batz. 
 Parisot, a journalist. 
 Jacques Cazotte. 
 Mademoiselle Cazotte, his 
 daughter. 
 
LIST OF CHAEACTEES. XXV 
 
 ROYALISTS. 
 
 Abbe Botjton, a dramatic author, \ 
 
 M. BE Sdleau, a Royalist pamplileteer, I killed by the mob of 
 
 MM. ViGiEE and Solminiac, of the j August 10th. 
 
 old Royal Guard, ] 
 
 M. DE MONTMOBIN, \ 
 
 Abbe de Rastignac, a religious author, p°"'f ^ °f ^^^ ^^P" 
 Abbe Lenpant, an ex-chaplain of the King, J *®"°^'^ massacre. 
 
 Royalist Officers assisting in the Flight of the Royal Family. 
 
 Makquis de Bouille, Governor-General of the City of Metz. 
 CoMTE Louis de BouillI:, ) , • 
 M. Jules de Bouille, ) 
 
 Due de Choiseul. Marquis de Dandoins. 
 
 Baron de Mandell. Colonel de Damas. 
 
 Lieutenant Bondet Captain Deslon. 
 
 Adjutant Pocq. Captain Guntzer. 
 
 Sergeant Saint Charles. Sergeant la Potterie. 
 MM. DE Floirac, Rohrig, and Raigecourt. 
 
 Royalist Officers defending the Tuilerles. 
 
 M. d'Hervilly, commanding the Chevaliers of Saint Louis and 
 
 Constitutional Guard. 
 General Mandat, a Commander of the National Guard. 
 M. Maillardot, commanding the Swiss. 
 M. DE Chantereine, Colonel of the King's Constitutional 
 
 Guard. 
 Chevalier Charles d'Autichamp. 
 Salis Lizers, Major Reading, and Captain Durlee, Swiss 
 
 officers. 
 MM. RuLHiijRES, Verdi^ee, de la Chesnate, and Foeestieh 
 
 DE Saint-Venant. 
 
XXVI LIST OF CHAEACTEES. 
 
 BE VOL UTIONISTS. 
 
 Jean Paul Marat, editor of " L'Ami du Peuple." 
 Maximilien de Robespiekre, aa advocate of Arras, member 
 
 of the National Assembly and of the National Convention. 
 Danton, Minister of Justice and Member of the National 
 
 Convention, 
 Louis Philippe Joseph, Dug D'OKiiANS, afterwards called 
 
 Philippe Egalit^. 
 Rou&ET de L'Isle, an engineering officer of Strasburg, author 
 
 of " La Marseillaise." 
 Santebue, a brewei-, General-in-Chief of a Battalion of the 
 
 National Guard. 
 GoNCHON, " the Mirabeau of the People." 
 Pouquiee, Tinville, Attorney- General of the Revolutionary 
 
 Tribunal. 
 Antoine Saint Just, 
 
 BiLLAUD BE VaRENNES, 
 HtRAULT DE StCHELLES, 
 
 Collet d'Heebois, 
 
 Legendre, a buteher, 
 
 Anachaesis Clootz, 
 
 Thueiot, called " the king-killer,'' 
 
 CouTiioN, a cripple, 
 
 Fabee d'Eglantine, 
 
 Lepellbtiee de Saint Paegeau, 
 
 Bishop GKtGoiRE, 
 
 Maillard, Sheriff of the Court of the Cliatelet. 
 
 THiROiGNE DU MiEicouBT, a courtesau. 
 
 Thomas Paine. Due d'Aiguillon. 
 
 M. Robert. Pourniee, an American. 
 
 Westeemann, a Prussian, 
 
 Nicholas, a butcher. 
 
 Prosper Vereieres, a deformed dwarf. 
 
 Heneiot, the master of the guillotine. 
 
 members of the National 
 
 Convention condemning 
 
 the King. 
 
LIST OF CHARACTERS. XXVli 
 
 XE VOL UTIONISTS. 
 
 Simon, a cobbler, in charge of the Dauphin at the Temple. 
 
 Messieurs Isabet, father and son. 
 
 Madame be Rochekeul, a spy at the Tuileries. 
 
 Chabot, one of the authors of the " Catecliism for Sans 
 
 Culottes." 
 Laceoix, a lawyer, member of the LegislatiYe Assembly. 
 Bishop Tokne, of the Legislative Assembly. 
 Andre CniNiER, a poet. 
 
 Bertrand BARRi;RE, member of the National Convention. 
 Count d'Oyat, a bastard son of Louis XV. 
 ViRCHAUX, a Swiss. Brusne, a type-setter. 
 
 Bonjour, a clerk in the Navy Department. 
 Madame Candeille, of the Comedie Pranpaise, actress, poetess, 
 
 musician. 
 Nicholas Claude Gamain, master locksmith to the King. 
 Matthew Jouve, otherwise known as Jourdan "I . 
 
 the headsman. \ ° . 
 
 MM. Lescuyer, Duprat, and Mainvielle, j 
 Charlot, a barber, ) murderers of Princesse de 
 
 Grison, Rodi, and Mamin, ) LambaRe, 
 
 M. Huguenin, President of the Commune. '' 
 
 M. Talhen, Secretary of the Commune. 
 MM. Manuel aud Chaumette, Procureurs of the Commune. 
 LuzousKi, a Pole, member of the Communal Council. 
 Panis, friend of Danton and 1 
 
 brother-in-law of Santerre, I of the Communal Council 
 MM. Jordeuil and Duplain, j and Vigilance Committee. 
 Sergent, a copper-plate engraver, J 
 MM. Deforgues, Guermek, Dofort, Lenfant, aud Leolerc, 
 
 of the VigUance Committee. 
 Cambon, Guardian of the Public Treasures. 
 MoucHET, a crippled dwarf, Justice of the Peace from the 
 
 Marais District. 
 
XXVIU 
 
 LIST OF CHAEACTEKS. 
 
 BE VOL UTIONISTS. 
 
 LuBiN, a municipal officer proclaiming the Republic. 
 
 Boucher RENi;, "j 
 
 Boucher Saint-Sauveue, V municipal officials. 
 
 MM. BoiRiE and Le Roulx, J 
 
 M. GiEAUD, City Architect of Paris. 
 
 REVOLUTIONARY JOURNALISTS. 
 
 Camille Desmoulins, stjHng himself " Procureur-Gen^ral de 
 
 la Lanterne," 
 Jacques Rene Hebert, editor of Father DuohSne. 
 Louis Stanislaus Freron, editor of " Le Moniteur." 
 
 LOUSTALOT, '\ , n • .1 
 
 Citizen Proudhomme, | ^^'^°'' °^ "Revolutions de Pans. 
 M. Carra, editor of " Annales Patriotiques." 
 Bonneville, editor of " The Iron Mouth." 
 Jean Lambert Tallien, editor of " L'Ami des Citoyens.'' 
 Mademoiselle de Keralio, writer for the " Mercury," after- 
 wards Madame Robert. 
 
 girondists. 
 
 Jeanne Marie Roland de la Platiere. 
 
 Manon Jeanne Phlipon, his wife, usually called Madame Roland. 
 
 Charles Barbaroux, of Marseilles, 
 
 M. Rebecqui, his friend, 
 
 M. Grangeneuve, a Bordeaux advocate, 
 
 Jeanne Pierre Brissot, 
 
 Jerome Petion, 
 
 Rabaut Saint-Etienne, 
 
 GlREY DUPRE, 
 
 Abbe Pauchet, 
 
 mm. louvet, isnard, boyer fonpride, 
 
 Condorcet, Vergniaud, GensonnI:, 
 
 GUADET, LaNJUINAIS, VaLAZE, 
 
 Lasouhce, Bieottead, Ducos, 
 Duchatel, 
 
 members of the Na- 
 tional Convention. 
 
LIST OF CHAEACTEES. 
 
 XXIX 
 
 the 1 
 
 M. Bailly, an astronomer, Provost of 
 
 Merchants of Paris, 
 PiEREE Joseph Mauie 1 , , t,t 
 
 deBarnaye, I members of the Na. 
 
 Adkiej, Dupom, J *'°'^^1 Assembly, 
 
 M. LA Haepe, author of " Melanie," 
 M. Andrieux, an author. 
 M. Sedaixe, a gem-cutter, 
 Chameort, poet-laureate, 
 
 Maeie-Joseph Chenier, author of "Charles IX." 
 M. Laclos, author of " Les Liaisons Dangereuses,' 
 Lais, a singer. 
 
 Napoleon Bonaparte, a Lieutenant of Artillery, 
 Talma, ) David, 
 
 leaders of the 
 . Constitutioflal 
 Party. 
 
 Laeiye, 
 
 actors, 
 
 Vernet, 
 
 painters. 
 
 members 
 
 of the 
 
 Jacobin 
 
 Club. 
 
 of the 
 National 
 Assembly, 
 
 MM. Barras, Cuodied, Chapellier, and Mont- 
 
 LOSIEE, 
 
 HoNORE Gabriel Victor Riquetti, Comte de 
 
 Mir ABE Au, 
 Doctor Guillotin, inventor of the guillotine, 
 Charles de Lambth, 
 Alexandre de Beauharnais, 
 Abbes de Sii;TEs and Maurt, 
 Prieue de la Marne, 
 Regnadlt de Saint Jean d'AngAlt, 
 MM. Thouret, Salles, Mouniee, Buzot, Lally, 
 
 Desmeuniees, Guilheemy, Malhouet, Tae- 
 
 GET, and DE Latoue Mauboueg, 
 Maequis de Lafayette, Commander-in-Chief of the National 
 
 Guard, 
 Maequis de Chateauneup, 
 
 PRAN5OIS DE NeUFCHATEAU, 
 
 Camus, the Recorder, 
 MM. CocHON, GkandpeI;, Eouyer, 
 Lequinio, and Qdinette, 
 
 members of the National 
 Convention. 
 
XXX 
 
 LIST OF CHAEACTEES. 
 
 of the Dumouriez 
 
 Ministry. 
 
 Baeon de Necker, Prime Minister, 1789-90. 
 
 Chevaliek de QaAVE, ) 
 
 M. Cahier de Gekville, \ °^ ^'^^ ^''^s'^ ^°"'^''^^ '"^ l''^^' 
 
 General Dumouriez, Secretary of Foreign Affairs in 1792. 
 
 M. Lacoste, Minister of the Navy, 
 
 M. Clavieres, Minister of Finance, 
 
 M. DuRANTHON, Minister of Justice, 
 
 M. Servan, Secretary of War (Chev- 
 alier de Grave's successor), 
 
 M. Chambonnas, Secretary of Foreign Affairs, succeeding Gen- 
 eral Dumouriez. 
 
 M. Lajard, Secretary of War, his colleague. 
 
 M. MoNGE, Minister of the Navy under the Eepublic. 
 
 M. DE NoAiLLES, French Ambassador at Vienna. 
 
 M. DE SfjGUR, Ambassador at Berlin. 
 
 MaRECHAL DE BOCHAMBEAU, 
 
 Generals Luckner, Kellerman, Beaurepaire, 
 CusTiNE, Beurnonville, and Chazot, 
 
 LlEaTENANT-CoLONEL BeRTOIS, 
 
 Theobald Dillon, 
 
 MM. DE BiRON and de Watteville, 
 
 Mathat, keeper of the Temple Tower. 
 
 TuRGT, an attendant of the Princesses at the Temple. 
 
 TiSON, ) . . , . , r. , 
 
 Madame Tison, ] ™'^woipal spies at the Temple. 
 
 Citizens Gobeau, Danjou, Jacques 
 Rous, TuRLOT, and Meunibr, 
 
 James, a teacher of English, 
 
 Rocheb, a janitor at the Temple. 
 
 MM. Maleshebbes, Tronchet, and Des^ze, advocates defend- 
 ing the King. 
 
 M. Garat, Minister of Justice, 
 
 officers of 
 the French 
 armies on 
 the fron- 
 J tiers. 
 
 municipal officials on 
 duty at the Temple. 
 
 M. Lebrun, Minister of Foreign 
 
 Affairs, 
 M. Grovelle, Secretary of the 
 
 Council, 
 
 members of the Executive 
 
 - Council notifying the King 
 
 of his sentence. 
 
LIST OF CHAEACTEES. XXXI 
 
 A.BBE Edgewobth de Fiemont, the King's confessor at his 
 
 execution. 
 Citizen Rioave, rector of Saint Madeleine, "i m ■ ^ 
 
 Citizens Renaud and Damoreau, vicars ™alimg the official 
 
 of Saint Madeleine Parish, I ''P°^''^°"f'^;;" 
 
 Citizens Leblanc and Dnsois, Adminis- 
 
 trators of the Department of Paris, j °' 
 
 CoMiE Cagliostro, assuming the name of Baron Zannone, a 
 
 Genoese banker. 
 Doctor Honore Gilbert, physician to the King. 
 Sebastien Gilbert, his son. 
 
 Jean Baptiste Toussaint de Beausire, an adventurer. 
 Nicole Oliva Legay, " a woman resembling the Queen." 
 Toussaint, son of Beausire and Nicole. 
 
 A.RCHBISHOP OF BORDEAUX, BiSHOP OF AUTUN. 
 
 The Curates op Saint Paul's and Agenteuil. 
 MM. DE RoMEUF and Gouvin, aides-de-camp to Lafayette. 
 RoMAisviLLiERS, a Commander of the National Guard. 
 Matthew Dumas, an aide-de-camp in the National Guard. 
 Farmer-General Augeaud. 
 Marceau, a member of the City Council. 
 Prooureur-Syndic Roederer. 
 
 Charles Louis Sanson, commonly called Monsieur de Paris. 
 Citizen Fallot, municipal architect. 
 Madame Villette, Voltaire's adopted daughter. 
 Mademoiselle Charlotte de Robespierre, sister of Robes- 
 pierre. 
 Madame d'Arazon, Mirabeau's niece. 
 Madame bu Saillant, Mirabeau's sister. 
 Albertine, vrife of Marat. 
 Madame Danton. 
 
 LuciLE DuPLESsis Laridon, wife of Camille Desmoulins. 
 MM. DuMONT and Frichot, friends of Mirabeau. 
 Cerutti, pronouncing the eulogy at Mirabeau's funeral. 
 Doctor Cabanis. 
 
SXXll LIST OF CHAEACTEES. 
 
 M. Lescuyer, a notary at Avignon. 
 Major PrIuontaine. 
 
 Jean Baptiste Drouet, son of the post-superintendent at St. 
 Meneliould. 
 
 GiLLAUME, ) , TA- 1 fl- 1 
 
 W TiniN ( assisting Drouet to arrest the King s ilight. 
 
 M. Sausse, town solicitor of Varennes. 
 
 Madame Sausse. 
 
 Hannont, commander of the National Guard of Varennes. 
 
 Dietrich, Mayor of Strasburg. 
 
 M. Ghampagneux, editor of " The Lyons Journal." 
 
 MM. Bosc, Bancal des Issarts, and Lamthenas, friends of 
 
 Monsieur and Madame Eoland. 
 M. SouRDAT, a lawyer of Troyes, offering to defend the King. 
 Oge, a Saint Domingo negro. 
 Madame Dugazon, a singer. 
 Saint-Prix, an actor. 
 Olympe de Gouges, a dramatic writer, 
 Caron de Beaumarchais, author of " Figaro." 
 Pleub D'liPiNE, a recruiting officer. 
 Father R£my, a military pensioner. 
 Pellinb, Mirabeau's secretary. 
 Teisch and Jean, Mirabeau's servants. 
 Fritz, Count Cagliostro's servant. 
 Mallet, a wine dealer. 
 DuPLAY, a joiner. 
 Madame Duplay, his wife. 
 Mademoiselle Duplay. 
 Baptiste, servant of Comte de Chamy. 
 Leclerc, an amorer. 
 Master Guidon, a carpenter. 
 Brisack, servant of M. de Choiseul. 
 HucHER and FRAN901S, bakers. 
 BusEBY, a wig-maker. 
 Lajariette, a barber. 
 
LIST OF CHARACTERS. XXxiii 
 
 The Register of the Court op the Chatelet. 
 
 Lonis, a turnkey at the Chatelet prison. 
 
 rREDERicK William, King of Prussia. 
 
 The Duke of Brunswick. 
 
 Countess Lichtenau. 
 
 CoMTE Clerfatt, an Austrian General. 
 
 William Pitt, the Younger. 
 
 RESIDENTS OF VILLERS COTTEBETS. 
 
 Billot, a farmer, afterwards a Deputy to the Legislative 
 
 Assembly, condemning the King. 
 Catherine, his daughter. 
 Isidore, son of Catherine and Vicomte de Charny. 
 Madame Billot. 
 
 M. DE LoNSPRE, Mayor of Villers Cotteret. 
 AbbI; Fortier. 
 
 Mademoiselle Adelaide, his niece. 
 Ange Pitou, Captain of the National Guard of Haramont. 
 Desire Maniquet, Pitou's lieutenant. 
 
 Claude Tellier, Sergeant of the Haramont National Guard. 
 Messieurs Boulanger and Molicar, of Pitou's troops. 
 Doctor Ratnal. 
 Madame Cl^jment, a nurse. 
 Pather Clouis. 
 Father Lajeunesse. 
 Master Delaurot, 
 
 Master Blignt, ' **''°''^- 
 
 PiCAED, a locksmith. 
 
 Mother Colombe, distributor of letters. 
 
 Mother Pagot. 
 
 Pagotin, her son. 
 
 Parolet. 
 
 Rigolet, a locksmith. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 Introduction xxxix 
 
 Chapter 
 
 I. The Taveen at Sevkes Bkidge ... . 1 
 
 II. Master Gamain 10 
 
 III. Cagliostro 21 
 
 IV. Eatality 33 
 
 V. The Tuileries 49 
 
 VI. The Four Candles 59 
 
 VII. The Egad to Paris 67 
 
 VIII. The Apparition 77 
 
 IX. Andree's Pavilion 83 
 
 X. Husband and Wife 94 
 
 XI. The Bedroom 104 
 
 XII. A Pamiliab Egad 112 
 
 XIII. "What had happened to Sebastien . . . 121 
 
 XIV. The Man gp Place Louis Pifteenth . . . 131 
 XV. Catherine 143 
 
 XVI. A Truce 150 
 
 XVII. The Portrait or Charles the First . . 160 
 
 XVIII. MiRABEAU 171 
 
 XIX. Favras 187 
 
 XX. The King busies himself with Family Ateairs 199 
 
 XXI. The King busies himself ■with State Affairs 207 
 
 XXII. With the Queen 221 
 
 XXIII. Sombre Outlooks 232 
 
 XXIV. Wife without Husband, Sweetheart with- 
 
 out Lover 239 
 
XXXVl CONTENTS. 
 
 CsAPiEK Page 
 
 XXV. EBAN901S THE Baker 251 
 
 XXVI. Advantages to be- derived from a Sev- 
 ered Head 260 
 
 XXVII. The Court op the Chatelet .... 273 
 XXVIII. Again the House in the Rue Saint 
 
 Claude 282 
 
 XXIX. The Jacobin Club 293 
 
 XXX. Metz and Paris 311 
 
 XXXI. The Queen 317 
 
 XXXII. The King 324 
 
 XXXIII. Old Acquaintances 333 
 
 XXXIV. In which the Reader will have the 
 
 Pleasure of finding M. de Beausire 
 the Same Man he was when they left 
 
 him 346 
 
 XXXV. (Edipus and Lot 359 
 
 XXXVI. In which Gamain proves that he is tru- 
 ly Master of the Master, Master of 
 
 All 373 
 
 XXXVII. In which something besides Lockmaking 
 
 is discussed . 382 
 
 XXXVIII. In which it is demonstrated that there 
 
 is truly a Providence for Drunkards 391 
 
 XXXIX. What is called Chance 398 
 
 XL. Doctor Gtjillotin's Machine .... 415 
 XLI. A Soiree in the Pavillon de Flore . 425 
 XLII. What the Queen had seen in a Decan- 
 ter Twenty Years before at the Ta- 
 verns y Chateau 435 
 
 XLIII. The Physician for the Body and the 
 
 Physician fob the Soul .... 448 
 
 XLIV. Provence disavows Pavras and the King 
 
 swears to support the Constitution . 461 
 XLV. A Gentleman 471 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Those excellent readers who are in a certain sort 
 pledged to us, — those who follow us wherever we go, 
 those who (strangely enough) never abandon, even in his 
 errors, a man who, like the author, has undertaken the 
 interesting task of unrolling, leaf by leaf, the story of 
 the monarchy, — these readers well understood, in read- 
 ing the word finis at the close of the last chapter of 
 "Ange Pitou," that there was some monstrous error 
 therein, which, one day or another, we were bound to 
 explain. 
 
 How could it be supposed that an author of any pre- 
 tensions, however misplaced, an author who is supposed 
 to know beforehand how to make a book, with all the 
 requirements of a book, — as an architect professes to 
 know how to build a house, with all the requirements of 
 a house, or a shipbuilder to construct a ship, with all 
 the requirements of a ship, — how could such an author 
 abandon his house at the third story, or leave his vessel 
 unfurnished with a mainsail ] 
 
 Moreover, what would become of our Ange Pitou, if 
 the reader took seriously that word finis, placed exactly 
 at the most interesting situation of the book, — that is to 
 say, when the King and the Queen were getting ready 
 to quit Versailles for Paris ; when Charny was beginning 
 to note that his charming wife, although for five years he 
 had not paid her the least attention, now blushed when 
 
XXXVUl INTRODUCTION. 
 
 his glance met her eyes, when his hand touched her hand ; 
 when Gilbert and Billot were gazing gravely but reso- 
 lutely into the Revolutionary abyss before them, exca- 
 vated by the Royalist hands of Lafayette and Mirabeau, 
 one representing the Popularity of the epoch, the other 
 its Genius ; and finally when poor Ange Pitou, the hum- 
 ble hero of that humble history, was on the road from 
 Villers Cotterets to Pisseleu, holding Catherine across his 
 knees, — a young woman who had swooned over the last 
 farewell of her lover, who was already several fields away, 
 in full gallop over the highway to Paris. 
 
 Besides, there are other personages in this romance, 
 secondary it is true, but personages towards whom we are 
 sure our readers have been kindly disposed, and to whom 
 they will still accord a portion of this interest ; and as 
 for ourselves, it is said that when we have once put a 
 drama on the stage, we have a habit of following up, not 
 only our chief heroes, but our minor characters as well, 
 — and even the stage supernumeraries, — into the most 
 shadowy windings of the theatric scene. 
 
 There is the Abbe Fortier, a rigid Monarchist, who 
 certainly will not transform himself into a Constitutionel 
 priest, but will accept persecution rather than take the 
 new oath. 
 
 There is the young Sebastien Gilbert, made up of the 
 two natures embroiled at that epoch, of the two elements 
 which had been ten years in a state of fusion, the demo- 
 cratic element, which he inherited from his father, the 
 aristocratic element, derived from his mother. 
 
 There is Madame Billot, poor woman, — who is above 
 all a mother, and blind as a mother, — leaving her 
 daughter on the same road which she herself had trod, 
 and returning alone to the farm, already desolated by 
 the departure of Billot. 
 
INTRODUCTION. XXXIX 
 
 There is Father Clouis, in his hut in the middle of the 
 forest, who does not yet know whether, with the gun 
 which Pitou has given him, — in exchange for the one 
 which had carried away two or three fingers of his left 
 hand, — he can kill one hundred and eighty-three hares 
 and one hundred and eighty-two rabbits in an ordinary 
 year, and one hundred and eighty-three hares and one 
 hundred and eighty-three rabbits in a leap year, — as he 
 could with the old gun. 
 
 Finally there are Claude Tellier and Desire Maniquet, 
 village Revolutionists, who wish nothing better than to 
 walk in the footsteps of the Revolutionists of Paris, but 
 for whom it is to be hoped that honest Pitou — their 
 captain, their commander, their colonel, in a word, their 
 superior officer — will serve as a guide and curb. 
 
 All that we have said can b\it renew the astonishment 
 of the reader at the position of that word finis, so oddly 
 placed at the end of the chapter of which it is the termi- 
 nation, — stationed, as one might say, like the ancient 
 Sphinx, crouched at the entrance of her cavern on the 
 road to Thebes, and proposing an insoluble enigma to the 
 BcBotian pilgrims. 
 
 We will attempt an explanation. 
 
 There was a time when the newspapers were publishing 
 simultaneously " The Mysteries of Paris," by Eugene Sue, 
 " The General Confession," by Frederic Soulie, " Mauprat," 
 by George Sand, and " Monte Cristo," " Le Chevalier de 
 Maison Rouge," and "The Women's War," by myself. 
 
 Those were good times for serial stories, but bad times 
 for politics. 
 
 Who in the world at that time cared about tlie lead- 
 ing articles of Armand Bertin, Doctor Veron, or Deputy 
 Chambolle 1 
 
 Nobody. 
 
xl INTRODUCTION. 
 
 And the world was right, for if any trace remains of 
 those unkicky Parisian editorials, it is certain that they 
 were not worth the pains taken with them. 
 
 Everything of any valne always floats to the surface, 
 and infallibly finds its rightful place somewhere. 
 
 There is only one sea which forever swallows up what- 
 ever is thrown into it ; that is the Dead Sea. 
 
 It appears that it was into this sea that the leading 
 Paris editorials of 1845, 1846, 1847, and 1848 were 
 thrown. 
 
 Along with these leaders by Armand Bertin, Doctor 
 Veron, and Deputy Chambolle, were also cast away, pell- 
 mell, the speeches of Thiers and Guizot, of Odilon Barrot 
 and Berryer, of Mole and Duchatel ; and this wearied 
 Messieurs Duchatel, Mole, Barrot, Guizot, and Thiers, as 
 it wearied Deputy Chambolle, Doctor Veron, and Armand 
 Bertin. 
 
 It is true, as a compensation, that people out off with 
 the greatest care the feuilletons, or half-sheets, contain- 
 ing " The Mysteries of Paris," " General Confession," 
 " Mauprat," " Monte Cristo," " The Women's War," and 
 "Le Chevalier de Maison Rouge," in order that after 
 these sheets had been read in the morning, they could 
 be put aside to be reperused in the evening ; it is true 
 that these feuilletons brought subscribers to the journals 
 and patrons to the libraries ; it is true they brought 
 history home to the historians and the people ; it is true 
 that they created four millions of readers in France, and 
 fifty millions of foreign readers; it is true that French 
 thus became the literary language of the nineteenth 
 century, as it had been the diplomatic language of the 
 seventeenth ; it is true that the poet, who thus won 
 money enough to make himself independent, escaped 
 from the thraldom heretofore exercised over him by 
 
INTRODUCTION. xli 
 
 aristocracy and royalty ; it is true that literature created 
 in society a new nobility and empire, — the nobility of 
 Talent and the empire of Genius ; it is true, finally, that 
 all this led to results so honorable for individuals, and so 
 glorious for France, that serioiis efforts were made to bring 
 to an end this state of things, — one which produced such 
 an overturn that the prominent men of the kingdom be- 
 came really the men in most repute, and that the reputa- 
 tion, the glory, and even the money of the country were 
 drifting towards those who had truly earned their reward. 
 
 The state officials of 1847 hoped, as has been said, to 
 put an end to this scandal, whereupon Odilon Barrot, 
 who always liked to be talked about, conceived an idea 
 of giving, not only good and beautiful speeches on the 
 rostrum, but bad dinners in different localities, where his 
 name was still held m honor. 
 
 It was necessary to give a name to these dinners. In 
 France it is of little importance that things should have 
 the name most appropriate to them, provided only that 
 they have some name. These dinners were consequently 
 called Reformatory Banquets. 
 
 There was then in Paris a man who, having been a 
 Prince, was made a General; who, after being a General, 
 was exiled ; who, after being exiled, was made Professor of 
 Geography ; who, having been a Professor of Geography, 
 travelled in America ; who, having travelled in America, 
 resided in Sicily ; who, having married the daughter of 
 the King of Sicily, returned to France ; who, having re- 
 turned to France, was raised to the rank of Eoyal High- 
 ness, by Charles the Tenth ; and who at last, being thus 
 made a Eoyal Highness by Charles the Tenth, finished 
 by making himself King. 
 
 Well, this Prince, this General, this Professor, this 
 Traveller, this King, — in a word, this man, whom both 
 
Xlii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 misfortune and prosperity ought to have taught much, 
 though they had taught him nothing, — this man had an 
 idea of preventing Odilon Barrot from giving his Reform- 
 atory Banquets. He lost his head over that idea, never 
 suspecting that it was a principle against which he de- 
 clared war. Now every principle comes from above, and 
 is consequently stronger than whatever comes from below, 
 as every angel is able to overthrow the man with whom 
 he wrestles. Now as Jacob was a man, aud the angel 
 overthrew Jacob, so, in these latter days, the Principle 
 overthrew the man ; and Louis Philippe was overthrown) 
 with his double generation of princes, his sons and his 
 grandsons. 
 
 What say the Scriptures % " The sins of the fathers 
 shall be visited upon the children, unto the third and 
 fourth generation." 
 
 This made such a noise in France that for some time 
 people would bother themselves neither with " The Mys- 
 teries of Paris," with " The General Confession," with 
 "Mauprat," with "Monte Cristo," with "Le Chevaher 
 de Maison Rouge," nor with "The Women's War," — nor 
 even (we must acknowledge it) with their authors. 
 
 No, they listened to Lamartine, to Ledru Rollin, to 
 Cavaignac, and Prince Napoleon. 
 
 At the end of the turmoil, however, a little calm super- 
 vening, it was perceived that these gentlemen were far 
 less entertaining than Eugene Sue, than Fre'deric Soulie, 
 than Madame George Sand, and even the man who hum- 
 bly puts himself last of all ; and it was seen that their 
 political prose, except that of Lamartine (to evei-y prince 
 all honor !) was not worth so much as that of " The 
 Mysteries of Paris," of "The General Confession," of 
 "Mauprat," of "Monte Cristo," of "Le Chevalier de 
 Maison Eouge," and of "The Women's War." 
 
INTRODUCTION. xliii 
 
 As he could not do much in politics, Lamartine, the 
 ^yisdom of the Nation, was invited to write essays ; and 
 the other gentlemen, myself included, to confine oiu-selves 
 to light literature. 
 
 This we hastened at once to do, having no need of any 
 invitation thereto. 
 
 Straightway the novels reappeared, and the editorial 
 leaders again disappeared ; although the same orators 
 who declaimed before the Revolution, have continued 
 to repeat, without an echo, the same speeches after the 
 Revolution, and will go on talking forever. 
 
 Among these speech-makers was one who never talked, 
 — at least, rarely. 
 
 Nevertheless he was well known, and the world saluted 
 him when he passed along, wearing his decorative ribbon 
 as a Delegate. 
 
 One day he mounted the tribune. Oh Lord, I wish I 
 could tell you his name, but I have forgotten it. 
 
 He ascended the rostrum. Well, you must know one 
 thing, that the Chamber was in very bad humor that day. 
 
 Paris had elected, as its Representative, one of those 
 men who write feuilletons. The name of that man I do 
 not forget ; he was called Eugene Sue. 
 
 The Chamber was in a bad humor when it was reported 
 that Eugene Sue had been elected. There were already 
 on its benches four or five literary blots, who were suf- 
 ficiently insupportable, — Lamartine, Hugo, Felix Pyat, 
 Quinet, Esquiros. 
 
 This Deputy, whose name I do not recall, mounted 
 the tribune, profiting adroitly by the bad humor of the 
 Chamber. Everybody called out Hush. Everybody 
 listened. 
 
 He said that in novels were to be found the reasons 
 why Eavaillac assassinated Henry Fourth, why Louis 
 
.ptliv INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Thirteenth assassinated Mar^ohal d'Ancre, why Louis 
 Fourteenth assassinated Fouquet, why Damiens tried to 
 assassinate Louis Fifteenth, why Louvel assassinated the 
 Duo de Berry, why Fieschi assaulted Louis Phihppe, and 
 finally why Praslin Eissassinated his wife. 
 
 He added that all the adulteries committed, all the 
 peculations perpetrated, all the thefts accomplished, were 
 caused by the feuilleton; that its novels must either be 
 suppressed or taxed ; that when this was done the world 
 would call a halt, and instead of continuing its road 
 towards the abyss, would reasoend to the Golden Age, — 
 which it could not fail to reach at a very early day, pro- 
 vided the country could go backward as fast as it had 
 come forwax'd. 
 
 General Foy said one day : " There is an echo in France, 
 whenever the words honor and country are spolsen." 
 
 Yes, it is true that in General Foy's time there was 
 such an echo. We have heard it, — we who are now 
 speaking, — and we are glad we did hear it. 
 
 " Where is that echo ? " somebody asks. 
 
 Which echo % 
 
 " The echo of General Foy." 
 
 It is with the old moons of the poet Villon. Perhaps 
 some day we shall find it again. Let us hope so. 
 
 There was also on a certain day, — not the time of 
 General Foy, — another echo heard in the tribune. It 
 was a strange echo, which said : " This is a time when we 
 blast what Europe admires, — when we sell, as dearly as 
 possible, what any other government would give away for 
 nothing, if it had the good fortune to possess it, — 
 Genius." 
 
 It must be said that this poor Echo did not speak on 
 its own account ; it did but repeat the words of the 
 orator. 
 
INTRODUCTION. xlv 
 
 The Chamber, with few exceptions, was but the echo 
 of that echo. 
 
 Alas, for thirty-five or forty years this has been the 
 r61e of every majority. In legislatures, as in the thea- 
 tre, there are traditions almost fatal. 
 
 The Chamber, being advised that all thefts which 
 occurred, all peculations which took place, all adul- 
 teries which were committed, were to lie at the door of 
 the Feuilleton Romance ; that if Praslin killed his wife, 
 if Fieschi assaulted Louis Philippe, if Louvel killed the 
 Due de Berry, if Napoleon killed the Due d'Eughien, 
 if Damiens tried to kill Louis Fifteenth, if Louis Four- 
 teenth killed Fouquet, if Louis Thirteenth killed Marcchal 
 d'Aucre, and finally, if Eavaillac killed Henry Fourth, 
 — all these crimes were evidently owing to the serial 
 novel, even before it was created. 
 
 The majority were in favor of a stamp-act. 
 
 Perhaps the reader has not thought about such a tax, 
 and may ask how a stamp, of only a centime (a fifth of a 
 sou, or the hundredth part of a franc) on each sheet, should 
 kill the feuilleton. 
 
 Dear reader, a centime on each feuilleton, — do you 
 know how much it amounts to, if your journal prints 
 forty thousand copies? Four hundred francs an issue for 
 each feuilleton ; that is, twice as much as is paid to the 
 author, whether his name is Eugene Sue, Lamartine, Mery, 
 George Sand, or Dumas. 
 
 It is three or four times as much as is received when 
 the author is less in vogue than those whose names we 
 have cited, however honorable the name of that excellent 
 author may be. 
 
 Now tell me : Is it highly moral for a government to 
 place on merchandise an impost-duty four times the value 
 of the merchandise itself? Above all, is this honorable 
 
xlvi INTEODUCTION. 
 
 when the merchandise is such that its ownership may be 
 contested, — namely, Intellect ? 
 
 The result is that not a journal is rich enough to buy 
 serial romances. It also follows from this, that all the 
 journals publish feuilleton histories. 
 
 Dear reader, what do you say to the serial history in 
 ■'The Conatitutionel " ? 
 
 Ahem ! 
 
 Yes ; that 's it exactly ! 
 
 That is what politicians desire, in order that these lit- 
 erary fellows shall no longer be talked about ; but no- 
 body imagines that this will incite the feuilleton to a 
 healthy moral course. 
 
 For instance': it was proposed to me, — to me who 
 wrote " Monte Cristo,'' " The Musketeers," " Queen 
 Margot," — it was proposed to me to make a History 
 of the Palais Royal. 
 
 This species of history would be doubly interesting, — 
 on the one side a History of Gaming-houses, and on the 
 other a History of Brothels. 
 
 It was also proposed to me, — to me, a distinctively 
 religious man, — to write a History of Papal Crimes. 
 
 It was proposed to me, — well, I dare not tell you all 
 that was proposed to me. 
 
 This would be nothing, however, if people were only 
 content with asking me to worh ; but they also propose 
 to me to wo^-h no more. 
 
 Accordingly, this very morning, I received this letter 
 from Emile de Girardin. 
 
 My dear Fkiend : I wish " Ange Pitou " to be in one half- 
 volume instead of six volumes, — in ten chapters instead of 
 a hundred. 
 
 Arrange it to suit yourself; but cut it, unless you wish me 
 to curtail it for you. 
 
INTRODUCTION. xlvii 
 
 I understood perfectly well, parhleu ! 
 
 Girardin had my Memoirs in his old drawers. He pre- 
 ferred publishing my Memoirs, which pay no stamp-tax, 
 rather than " xVnge Pitou," which is heavily taxed. He 
 would therefore suppress six volumes of fiction in order 
 to publish twenty volumes of Memoirs. 
 
 And this, dear and beloved reader, is why the word 
 finis was placed long before the finish, — why Ange 
 Pitou was strangled after the fashion of Paul the First, 
 not by the neck, but around the middle of his body. 
 
 But yon know by " The Musketeers," which you twice 
 believed dead, but which became twice resuscitated, that 
 my heroes are not put out of the way as easily as 
 emperors. 
 
 Well, it is with Pitou as it was with these same 
 Musketeers. 
 
 Pitou — who was not dead the least in the world, but 
 had only disappeared — is going to reappear ; and on my 
 part I beseech you, in this season of troubles and revolu- 
 tions, which kindle so many torches and extinguish so 
 many candles, not to mistake my heroes for dead, unless 
 you receive a certificate from me, signed by my own 
 hand. 
 
 And hardly then — ! 
 
LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE TAVERN" AT SEVRES BRIDGE. 
 
 If the reader will refer for one instant to our romance 
 called "Ange Pitou," and cast his eyes for an instant on 
 the chapter entitled The Night of the Fifth and Sixth 
 of October, he will recall certain facts which it is impor- 
 tant he should have in mind when commencing the pres- 
 ent book, which opens with the morning of the sixth of 
 the same month. 
 
 By quoting a few important lines from that chapter 
 we shall give, in as few words as possible, a summary of 
 the facts which necessarily precede the resumption of our 
 recital. 
 
 These lines are as follows : 
 
 At three o'clock all was tranquil at Versailles. The As- 
 sembly, reassured by the report of its officers, had retired. 
 It was believed that this tranquillity would not be troubled. 
 This belief was ill-founded. 
 
 In almost all popular movements which prepare the way 
 for great revolutions, there is a period of stagnation, during 
 which it seems as if everything was finished, and the world 
 might sleep in peace. These appearances are deceptive. 
 VOL. I. — 1 
 
2 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 Behind the men who make the first movements there are 
 others who wait till the first movements are over, when those 
 who have taken the first steps rest themselves, either from 
 fatigue or satiety, not wishing, either in one case or the other, 
 to take a step farther. 
 
 Then it is that these unknown men take their turn, — these 
 mysterious agents of fatal passions, — gliding through the popu- 
 lace, taking up the cause where it has been abandoned, push- 
 ing it to the utmost limits, and appalling, in the outburst, 
 those who have opened the way, and who, believing the end 
 attained, the task accomplished, have retreated to their couches 
 in the very middle of the race. 
 
 In the book from which we borrow the few lines above 
 cited we have named three of these men. 
 
 May we now be permitted to introduce into our scene, 
 — that is to say, at the entrance of the tavern at Sfevres 
 Bridge — a personage who, though not so named in these 
 narratives, none the less played an important role on that 
 terrible night. 
 
 This was a man from forty-iive to forty-eight years of 
 age, dressed like a workman ; that is to say, he wore 
 velvet breeches, guarded with leathern patches about 
 the pockets, like the aprons worn by iron-workers and 
 locksmiths. He wore gray hose, and shoes with copper 
 buckles ; and on his head was a woollen cap, resembling 
 a lancer's bonnet cut in halves. A forest of gray hair 
 escaped from beneath this cap, mingled with his enor- 
 mous eyebrows, and shaded his large eyes, lively and 
 intelligent, whose glances were so rapid, and whose tints 
 so changeable, that it was difficult to determine whether 
 the eyes were green or gray, blue or black. The rest of 
 his face included a nose rather beyond the medium size, 
 large lips, white teeth, and a complexion browned by 
 the sun. 
 
THE TAVERN AT SEVRES BRIDGE. 3 
 
 Without being large this man was admirably formed. 
 He had lithe limbs and a small foot ; and one might have 
 seen that he had a hand small and delicate, if that hand 
 had lacked the bronze tint common to workers in iron. 
 Looking from the hand to the elbow, and from the elbow, 
 up the arm, to the point where the roll of the shirt per- 
 mitted a view of his vigorously outlined muscle, one 
 could not help noting, despite the strength of muscle, 
 that the skin which covered it was fine, soft, almost 
 aristocratic. 
 
 This man, standing at the door of the inn of Sevres 
 Bridge, had in his hand a gun with two barrels, and 
 richly ornamented with gold, on the barrel whereof 
 might be read the name of Lecl^re, an armorer then be- 
 ginning to be fashionable among the aristocracy of Pari- 
 sian hunters. 
 
 Perchance somebody might ask how so beautiful a 
 weapon found itself in the hands of a simple workman. 
 To this we should respond, that in days of riot — and 
 we have seen a few such days — it is not always in the 
 whitest hands that the finest weapons are found. 
 
 This man had come from Versailles hardly an hour 
 before ; and he knew perfectly well what had happened 
 there, for to the questions put to him by the landlord, 
 in serving a bottle of wine, before the stranger had even 
 touched it, the Unknown responded that the Queen was 
 coming with the King and the Dauphin ; that they 
 started at midday, — hardly later ; that they had finally 
 decided to reside at the Palace of the Tuileries ; that in 
 future Paris would probably not want for bread, inas- 
 much as it would have the Baker, the Bakeress, and the 
 Baker's Boy, as Louis the Sixteenth, Marie Antoinette, 
 and their son were commonly called ; and that he, the 
 Unknown, was waiting to see the procession. 
 
4 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENT. 
 
 This last assertion might be true ; yet it was easy to 
 see that his attention was turned more anxiously upon 
 the route towards Paris than upon the route towards 
 Versailles ; which made it reasonable to believe that he 
 did not feel himself obliged to render a strict account of 
 his intentions to the worthy innkeeper, who had permit- 
 ted himself to ask so many questions. 
 
 At the end of some moments the stranger's attention 
 appeared to be rewarded. A man, clad almost exactly 
 like hiuiself, and seemingly engaged in a similar vocation, 
 was outlined on the hill which bounded the horizon in 
 that direction. 
 
 This man walked with a weary step, like a traveller 
 who has already taken a long journey. As he ap- 
 proached, his characteristics and his age were distin- 
 guishable. His age seemed to be about that of the 
 Unknown ; that is, one might boldly afi&rm, as people 
 say, that he was on the shady side of forty. As to his 
 traits, they were those of a man with base inclinations 
 and vulgar instincts. 
 
 The eye of the Unknown fixed itself curiously and with 
 a strange expression upon the new-comer, as if at a glance 
 he would measure all that was impure and bad in the 
 man's heart. 
 
 When the mechanic, coming by the Paris road, was 
 not more than fifty steps from the personage who waited 
 at the door, the latter re-entered the tavern, and poured 
 the first wine from the bottle into one of the two glasses 
 on the table. Returning to the door he said, with the 
 glass lifted in his hand: "Ah, comrade, the weather is 
 cold, the way is long. Shall we not take a glass of wine 
 to sustain and warm us ^ " 
 
 The mechanic from Paris looked about him, to see if it 
 was indeed to him the invitation was addressed. 
 
THE TAVERN AT SEVRES BRIDGE. 5 
 
 "Is it to me you speak 1" he demanded. 
 
 "To whom then, so please you, seeing that you are 
 alone ? " 
 
 " And you offer me a glass of wine 1 " 
 
 " Why not 'i " 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 " Are we not of the same trade, or nearly so 1 " 
 
 For a second time the workman looked at the Un- 
 known. "All the world," said he, "may be of the same 
 trade; but it is important to know if one is a comrade in 
 that trade, or a master." 
 
 " Oh well, that we can determine while having a glass 
 of wine and a chat." 
 
 " Be it so ! " said the workman, making his way towards 
 the doorway of the tavern. 
 
 The Unknown pointed to the table and offered him a 
 glass. The workman took the glass, and regarded the 
 wine with a certain air of suspicion; but this disappeared 
 when the Unknown poured a second glass of the liquid 
 alongside of the first. 
 
 " Well," asked the workman, " is somebody too stuck- 
 up to drink with one whom he invites 1 " 
 
 " S"o, by my faith. To the Nation ! " 
 
 The gray eyes of the mechanic sought for a moment 
 those of him from whom the toast emanated. Then he 
 repeated : " Parbleu, you say well : To the Nation ! " and 
 he swallowed the contents of the glass at a gulp. After 
 that he wiped his lips with his sleeve. " Ah ha," he 
 added, " it is burgundy." 
 
 "And of good age, hey? This brand has been recom- 
 mended to me. On my way I tried it, and am not sorry 
 for it. But sit down, comrade. There is still some left 
 in the bottle ; and when there is no more in that bottle, 
 there are more bottles in the cellar." 
 
6 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 " Well," said the workman, " what are you doing 
 here ? " 
 
 "Well, you see I come from Versailles, and I await the 
 procession, to accompany it to Paris." 
 
 " What procession 1 " 
 
 " Why, that of the King, the Queen, and the Dauphin, 
 who return to Paris, in companj' with the market-women 
 and two hundred members of the Assembly, and under the 
 protection of the National Guard and of our Lafayette." 
 
 " He has then decided to go to Paris, this Citizen ? " 
 
 "It was necessary.'' 
 
 " I had no doubt of it at three o'clock this morning, 
 when I started for Paris.'' 
 
 " Ah ! You started in the night, at three o'clock ! and 
 you quitted Versailles like that, without any curiosity tc 
 know what was happening?" 
 
 " In truth I had some desire to know what would be- 
 come of the Citizen, — the more so because, without 
 boasting, I have some acquaintance with him ; but, you 
 know, business before everything else ! When a man has 
 a wife and children he must care for them, especially if 
 there is no longer the P\,oyal Forge." 
 
 The Unknown allowed these two allusions to pass un- 
 noticed ; but presently he said : " It was then some 
 pressing job which took you to Paris?" 
 
 "Faith, yes, so it seemed, — and likely to pay well," 
 added the workman, jingling some crowns in his pocket 
 as he spoke ; " although they had me paid hy a servant, 
 which was not polite, and even by a German servant, 
 who could not converse the least little bit." 
 
 " And you do not dislike to gossip?" 
 
 " Dame ! When we do not speak ill of others it is 
 harmless." 
 
 " And also when we do. — is it not so % " 
 
THE TAVERN AT SEVRES BRIDGE. 7 
 
 The two men began to laugh, the Unknown showing 
 his white teeth, the other displaying his broken teeth. 
 
 " Well then," replied the Unknown, — like a man who 
 indeed advances step by step, but whom nothing will 
 prevent from advancing, "you have been employed in 
 pressing business, and well paid?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Because the work was difficult, no doubt?" 
 
 " Difficult, yes ! " 
 
 " A secret lock, hey 'i " 
 
 " An invisible door ! Imagine a house within a house. 
 Some one must be anxious to hide himself, — is it not so ? 
 Well, it is so and it is iiot so. You ring. The servant 
 opens the door. ' Monsieur V — 'He is not in.' — ' Oh 
 yes, he is ! ' — ' Very well ! Search ! ' You search. Good 
 evening ! I defy you to find Monsieur. A door of iron, 
 do you understand, boxed nicely into a moulding. You 
 might mistake it all for old oak, since it is impossible to 
 distinguish the wood from the iron." 
 
 " Yes, but if you rap on it ? " 
 
 " Bah ! A layer of wood on the iron, thin as a thread, 
 but thick enough to make the sound the same. Tac- 
 tac-tac-tac ! You see, the thing is done, if I am not 
 mistaken." 
 
 "And where the devil did you do all thisi" 
 
 " Ah, that 's it ! " 
 
 " That 's what you don't wish to tell? " 
 
 " That is what I can't tell, for the good reason that I 
 do not know." 
 
 "Your eyes were bandaged V 
 
 " Certainly ! I was met by a carriage at the barrier. 
 Somebody said to me : ' Are you so and so ? ' I said, 'Yes.' 
 — ' Good, it is you for whom we wait ! Enter ! ' — 'It 
 is necessary for me to ride?' — 'Yes.' I entered, and 
 
8 LA COMTESSE DE CHAKNY. 
 
 they bandaged my eyes. The carriage rolled along for 
 about half an hour, and then a door was opened, a wide 
 door. I blundered over the first stone of a stairway. 
 I mounted ten steps. I entered a vestibule. There I 
 fmmd a German servant, who said to the others : ' Dat is 
 veil. Now go you avay. Ve have no more need of you.' 
 The others went away. My bandage was taken off, and 
 I was shown what I had to do. I put myself to the task 
 in earnest. In an hour it was done. They paid me in 
 beautiful gold louis. Then my eyes were again bandaged. 
 I was replaced in the same carriage, and reconducted to 
 the very place where I had entered the can-iage. They 
 wished me a happy journey, — and here I am ! " 
 
 " Without having seen anything, even out of the cor- 
 ner of your eye 1 The devil ! A bandage is not so well 
 secured that one may not peep to the right or left." 
 
 "Aye, aye !" 
 
 " Well then, well then, tell what you saw ! " said the 
 stranger briskly. 
 
 " Here you are then ! When I made that false step 
 against the lower step of the vestibule, I profited by the 
 accident to make a gesture. In making this gesture I 
 disarranged the bandage a little." 
 
 "And in disarranging the bandage?" said the Ua 
 known, with responsive vivacity. 
 
 " I saw a row of trees at my left, which led me 
 to believe the mansion was on the Boulevards; but 
 that's all." 
 
 " That 's all 'i " 
 
 " On my word of honor ! " 
 
 "That doesn't reveal much." 
 
 " Seeing that the Boulevards are long, and that there 
 is more than one house, with a big door and an archway, 
 between the Cafe Saint-Honor6 and the Bastille ! " 
 
THE TAVERN AT siVKES BRIDGE. 9 
 
 "Percliance you would recognize the house again 1 " 
 
 The locksmith reflected an instant. " No, on my faith, 
 no," said he. " I am not capable of it." 
 
 The Unknown, although his astute countenance did 
 not habitually betray what he wished to conceal, looked 
 well satisfied with this assurance. 
 
 "Ah yes; but," said he, suddenly taking up a new 
 order of ideas, " are there not enough locksmiths in 
 Paris, that these gentry, who wish for secret doors, should 
 send to Versailles for a locksmith ] " 
 
 At the same time he poured out a full glass for his 
 companion, striking the table with the empty bottle, in 
 order that the master of the establishment should bring 
 a fresh flask. 
 
10 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 MASTER GAMAIN. 
 
 The locksmith raised his glass to a level with his eye, 
 and regarded the wine complacently. Then, tasting it 
 with satisfaction, he said : " There are certainly lock- 
 smiths in Paris." 
 
 He sipped a few drops more. " There are even mas- 
 ters in the art there." 
 
 He drank again. 
 
 '' That is what I said ! " 
 
 " Yes, hut there are masters aiid masters." 
 
 " Ah ha ! " laughed the Unknown ; " I see ! You are 
 like Saint Eloi, not only a master, but a master over 
 masters.'' 
 
 " And master over all. You are in the same condition ? " 
 
 " Nearly so." 
 
 "What are you T' 
 
 " I am a gunsmith." 
 
 " Have you a sample of your work 1 " 
 
 " You see this gun." 
 
 The locksmith took the gim from the hands of the 
 Unknown, examined it with attention, played with the 
 sj)rings, with a motion of his head approved the click of 
 the hammers. Then, reading the name on the barrel 
 and on the plate, he said : " LeclSre 1 Impossible, my 
 friend. Leclere is not over twenty-eight years, and we 
 two are both marching towards the fifties, — if this may 
 be spoken without being disagreeable to you." 
 
MASTER GAMAIN. 11 
 
 "That is true," said the other. "I am not Leclere ; 
 but it 's all the same." 
 
 " How all the same ] " 
 
 ""Without a doubt, because I am his master." 
 
 "That's good ! " cried the locksmith laughing. " It 
 is as if I should say : ' I am not the King, but it 's all 
 the same.' " 
 
 ■'How is that the same thing?" asked the Unknown. 
 
 " Easily so, because I am his master,'' said the lock- 
 smith. 
 
 " Oh "ho ! " laughed the "Unknown, rising, and carica- 
 turing the military salute ; " then it is to M. Gamain 
 I have the honor of speaking t " 
 
 " To himself in person, and ready to serve you if I 
 can," said the locksmith, enchanted with the effect his 
 name had' produced. 
 
 " The devil ! " said the Unknown ; " I did not know 
 that I had the honor of speaking to a man of so much 
 consequence." 
 
 " Eh ! " 
 
 "To a man of such consequence," repeated the Un- 
 known. 
 
 " So consequential, you mean." 
 
 ""Well, yes," replied the Unknown, laughing ; "but, 
 you know, a poor gunsmith does not talk French like' 
 a master, — and such a master, master of the King of 
 France." 
 
 Then, resuming the conversation in a different tone, 
 he said : " Say, it can not be very amusing to be the 
 King's master '! " 
 
 " Why not 1 " 
 
 " "Why indeed ; when it must take an eternity of 
 bother to say Good-day or Good-evening properly." 
 
 " Oh, no ! " 
 
12 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 " When it is necessary to say ' Your Majesty, take the 
 key in the left hand. — Sire, take this file in the right 
 hand.' " 
 
 "Really that is the charm about him, — because he is a 
 good fellow at bottom, you see. Any day at the forge, 
 when he had his apron on, and the sleeves of his shirt 
 were turned up, one would never have taken him for the 
 Eldest Son of Saint Louis, as they call him, — the King 
 of a great country like this." 
 
 " Indeed you are right. It is extraordinary that a 
 king should resemble any other man." 
 
 " Yes, is n't it % Long ago those who came near him 
 found that out." 
 
 " Oh, that was nothing, if he had near him only those 
 whom he knew," said the Unknown, laughing with a 
 strange laugh ; " but now there are those outside who 
 begin to perceive the same thing.'' 
 
 Gamain regarded his interlocutor with some astonish- 
 ment ; but the latter, who had almost forgotten his role, 
 as one word followed another, did not give him time to 
 weigh the value of the sentence just uttered. Turning 
 the conversation he said : " Yes, you are right ; I think 
 it humihating for one man to address another man, like 
 himself, as your Majesty and Sire." 
 
 " But it was not needful to call him Sire and Majesty. 
 Once at the forge he required no more of that. I called 
 him Bourgeois, and he called me Gamain. Only I did 
 not thee-aTid-thou him, as he did me." 
 
 "Yes! but when the hour came for breakfast or din- 
 ner, Gamain was sent to dine with the attendants, with 
 lackeys ! " 
 
 " Not so, oh, no ! He never did that. On the con- 
 trary, he had a table, already spread, brought into the 
 shop ; and often, especially at breakfast, he sat at the 
 
MASTER GAMAIN. 13 
 
 table with me, and said : 'Bah, I will not go to break- 
 fast with the Queen, for then I shall have to wash my 
 hands.' " 
 
 " I don't understand ! " 
 
 " You don't understand that when the King came to 
 work with me, to handle iron, pardieu, he had hands like 
 the rest of us. What then 1 That does not prevent us 
 from being honest folks ; although the Queen would 
 say to him, with her stuck-up air : ' Fie, Sire, you have 
 soiled hands ! ' as if one could have clean hands when he 
 was working at the forge." 
 
 " Don't talk to me any more about it,'' said the Un- 
 known, " it makes me weep ! " 
 
 " You see, in a word, he only enjoyed himself at the 
 forge, that man, or in his Geographical Cabinet, with me 
 or with his librarian ; but I believe it was myself whom 
 he most loved." 
 
 " Xevertheless, it is not amusing to be the teacher of 
 a bad pupil." 
 
 " Of a bad pupil ] " cried Gamain. " Oh no ! That is 
 not so. He is indeed unhappy at having come into the 
 world a king, and at being obliged to occupy himself 
 with such foolish things as now claim him, instead of 
 making progress in his art. He will never make but 
 a poor king ; he is too honest ; but he would make 
 an excellent locksmith. There is one man there whom 
 I hate, for the time he made him waste. That was 
 Xecker. How much time he made him lose ! Oh Lord, 
 how much time he made him lose." 
 
 "With his accounts, is it not so'! " 
 
 " Yes, with his accounts on paper, — his accounts in 
 the air, as one might say." 
 
 " Well, my friend, tell us — " 
 
 "Whatr' 
 
14 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 " That must have been a famous job for you, with a 
 pupil of such calibre." 
 
 " ludeed, no ! Truly, there 's where you 're mistaken ; 
 for here I vow to you, — although people believe me rich 
 as Croesus, on account of what 1 've done for your Louis 
 Sixteenth, your Father of his Country, your Eestorer of 
 the French Nation, — in good truth I 'm as poor as Job." 
 
 " You are poor 1 But his money, what did he do with 
 it, then "i " 
 
 "Good ! He gave half of it to the poor, and the other 
 half to the rich, of the sort who never have a sou. The 
 Coignys, the Vaudreuils, the Polignacs nibbled at him, 
 poor dear fellow ! One day he wished to reduce the 
 salary of Monsieur de Coigny. Coigny came to see him 
 at the door of the forge. After five minutes' absence the 
 King returned very pale, saying: 'My faith, I thought 
 he would beat me!' — 'And his salary. Sire?' I de- 
 manded. 'I have let that alone,' he responded, — 'im- 
 possible to do otherwise.' Another day he wished to 
 speak to the Queen about the lay-out of Madame de 
 Polignao, a lay-out of three hundred thousand francs, 
 you know." 
 
 " Very pretty ! " 
 
 "Very well! but that was not enough. The Queen 
 made him give five hundred thousand ! So you see, 
 these Polignacs, who only ten years ago had not a sou, 
 when they come to quit France will have millions. If 
 they only had talent ; but give all those blades an anvil 
 and a hammer, and they are not capable of forging a 
 horse-shoe. Give them vise and file, and they are not 
 capable of making the screw of a lock ; but on the other 
 hand, being fine talkers and chevaliers, as people say, 
 they have pushed the King ahead, and to-day leave him 
 to get on as he can, with Messieurs Bailly, Lafayette, 
 
MASTER GAJIAIN. 15 
 
 and Mirabeau ; while for me, — me, who have always 
 given him such good counsel, if he had only listened 
 to it, — he has only allowed fifteen hundred livres sal- 
 ary, — me his master, me his friend, — me, who first put 
 the file into his hand." 
 
 " Yes, but when you labor with him, there is always a 
 bonus." 
 
 " You think that I still work with him ? In the first 
 place that would compromise me. Since the taking of 
 the Bastille I have not set foot inside the palace. Once 
 or twice I have encountered him. The first time all the 
 world was in the street, and he contented himself with a 
 bow. The second time was on the road to Satory. ^Ve 
 were alone, and he stopped his carriage. ' Ah, my poor 
 Gamain, good-morning,' he said, with a sigh. — 'Well, 
 things do not go as you wish 1 but this will teach you,' 
 I began. — ' And thy wife, thy children,' he interrupted, 
 ' they are all well '! ' — ' Perfectly ! Infernal appetites, 
 that 's all.' — ' Hold,' said the King. ' Carry them 
 this gift from me ; ' and he ransacked his pockets and 
 scraped together nine louis. ' It is all I have about 
 me, my poor Gamain,' he said, ' and I am ashamed to 
 make such a sorry present.' And indeed, as you can 
 understand, there was something shameful about it ! A 
 king who has only nine louis in his pocket, a king who 
 makes his comrade, his friend, a gift of nine louis ! 
 So — " 
 
 " So you refused ? " 
 
 " No ! I said: ' It is right to take what comes, for he 
 may meet another less particular, who will accept.' But 
 it 's all the same. He may rest in peace ! I shall not 
 take another step towards the palace, though he sends 
 for me again and again." 
 
 " What a grateful heart ! " murmured the Unknown, 
 
16 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 "You say — r' 
 
 " I say, Master Gatnain, that it is touching to see de- 
 votion lilte yours survive such ill fortune. A final glass 
 of wine, to the health of your scholar." 
 
 " Ah, my faith ! He is n't worth it. No matter, 
 here 's to his health, all the same." 
 
 He drank and then continued : " And when I think 
 that he had in his cellars more than ten thousand bot- 
 tles, of which the very poorest is worth ten times more 
 than this, and that he never said to his footman : ' Here 
 you, get a basket of wine, and carry it to the house of 
 my friend Gamain ! ' Oh yes ! He preferred having it 
 drunk by his bodyguards, by his Swiss soldiers, and 
 by the regiment from Flanders. There is success for 
 
 you!" 
 
 " What would you have 1 " said the Unknown, empty- 
 ing his glass little by little. "Kings are always so, — 
 ingrates ! But hush ! We are not alone." 
 
 In truth three persons entered the tavern, two men of 
 the people, and one fishwoman, and seated themselves at 
 the table opposite the one where the Unknown had just 
 finished his second bottle with Master Gamain. 
 
 The locksmith cast his eyes towards them, and exam- 
 ined them with a solicitude which made the Unknown 
 smile. 
 
 Indeed these three new personages seemed worthy of 
 some attention. 
 
 Of the two men, one was all body, the other all legs. 
 As for the woman, it was difficult to know what she was. 
 
 The man who was all body resembled a dwarf, and 
 hardly attained a height of five feet. Perhaps he lost 
 an inch or two of height on account of the bend of his 
 knees, which touched each other inside when he was 
 standing, despite his straddling feet. His face, instead 
 
MASTER GAMAIN. 17 
 
 of relieving this deformity, seemed to make it more no- 
 ticeable. His hair, graj^ and dirty, was plastered over a 
 low forehead. His eyebrows, badly shaped, seemed to 
 have grown by chance. His eyes were habitually glassy, 
 stagnant, and without light, liiie those of a toad ; yet in 
 moments of irritation they gave forth a sparkle like that 
 which radiates from the contracted eyeball of a furious 
 viper. His nose was flat, deviating from the straight 
 line, and therefore made more self-assertive the promi- 
 nent knobs of his cheeks. Finally, to complete this 
 hideous combination, his twisted mouth revealed, through 
 his jaundiced lips, only a few tusks, shaky and black. 
 
 This man, even at the first glance, seemed to have 
 veins filled with gall instead of blood. 
 
 The second, the opp site of the first, whose legs were 
 short and crooked, seemed like a heron perched on a pair 
 of stilts. His resemblance to the bird with which we 
 have compared him was even greater, because, being 
 humpbacked, his head was completely lost between his 
 shoulders, and could only be distinguished by two eyes, 
 which seemed like spots of blood, and by a nose long 
 and pointed, like a beak. He was still more like the 
 heron in this, that you might fancy, at first glance, that 
 he had the power of stretching his neck like a spring, 
 and of pecking out the ej'es, even at a distance, of any 
 individual to whom he might wish to render this mali- 
 cious service. Moreover, his arms seemed endowed with 
 the elasticity really denied to his neck. Seated as he 
 was, he had only to elongate his finger, without inclining 
 his body in the least, in order to pick up a handkerchief 
 he had let fall, after wiping his forehead, moist with 
 sweat and rain. 
 
 The third man or woman, whichever you please, was 
 a being amphibious, of which one could recognize tho 
 
 VOL. I. — 2 
 
18 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 species, though it was difficult to distinguish the sex. It 
 was a mau or a woman of thirty to thirty-four years old, 
 wearing an elegant fishwife's costume, with chains of 
 gold and buckles of silver, with lace headdress and ker- 
 chief The features, so far as they were distinguishable 
 through the layer of rouge and powder which covered 
 them, and through the patches, of all shapes, which 
 starred this surface of red and wliite, were paitly ob- 
 literated, as one sees them in debased races. Sometimes 
 wheu you looked that way, and the aspect conveyed the 
 doubt we have already expressed, you waited with impa- 
 tience for the mouth to open and pronounce a few words, 
 in the hope that the sound of the voice would give to 
 the doubtful physique a character which would render 
 it possible to identify its sex. But it was not so. The 
 voice, which seemed a treble, left the inquisitive ob- 
 server plunged more profoundly in the doubt awakened 
 by the body. The ear did not help the eye, the hearing 
 did not complement the sight. 
 
 The socks and shoes of the two men, as well as the 
 shoes of the woman, indicated that the wearers had been 
 tramping a long time in the streets. 
 
 " It is astonishing," said Gamain, " but it seems to me 
 that I know that woman." 
 
 "May-be; but the moment when those three people 
 are together, my dear Monsieur Gamain," said the Un- 
 known, taking his gun and drawing his cap over his ear, 
 "that is the moment wheu they have something to do; 
 and when they have something to do, it is well to leave 
 them alone." 
 
 "You know them, thenr' demanded Gamain. 
 
 "Yes, by sight," responded the Unknown. "And you?" 
 
 "Mel I repeat, that I beheve I have seen the woman 
 somewhere." 
 
MASTER GAMAIN. 19 
 
 " At Court, mayhap t " queried the Unknown. 
 
 " Oh yes, surely ! A fishwoman ! " 
 
 " They have been there often of late.'' 
 
 " If you recognize them, name the two men to me. That 
 ■will aid me to recognize the woman more positively." 
 
 " The two men 1 " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Which shall I name first ? " 
 
 " Him of the bandy-legs." 
 
 "Jean Paul Marat." 
 
 " Ah ha ! " 
 
 " Next 1 " 
 
 "The hunchback." 
 
 " Prosper Verriferes." 
 
 " Oh ho ! " 
 
 " Well, does that help to put you on the track of the 
 fishwife 1 " 
 
 " Faith, no ! " 
 
 " Think ! " 
 
 " I give my memory to the dogs ! " 
 
 " Well, well, — the fishwife 1 " 
 
 "Hold on! No, no, no—" 
 
 " Have you thought '? " 
 
 " It is — impossible ! " 
 
 "Yes, it does seem impossible, at first thought." 
 
 "Itis — r' 
 
 " I see very well that you will never name him, and 
 so I must do so. The fishwife is the Due d'Aiguillon." 
 
 At the utterance of this name the fishwife started and 
 turned herself about, and so did the two men. 
 
 All three then made a movement to arise, as we do 
 before a chief for whom we wish to show marked defer- 
 ence ; but the Unknown placed his finger on his lips and 
 passed out. 
 
20 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 Gamain followed him, believing himself in a dream. 
 
 At the entrance they were hustled by an individual 
 apparently in flight, pursued by people who cried out : 
 " The Queen's hairdresser, the Queen's hairdresser ! " 
 
 Among the people running and screaming there were 
 two who each bore a bloody head at the end of a spear. 
 
 These were the heads of two unfortunate guardsmen, 
 Varicourt and Deschuttes. 
 
 These heads, as we have said, formed part of the mob 
 running after the unlucky fellow who jostled Gamain. 
 
 " Hold on, Monsieur Leonard ! " he said to him. 
 
 " Silence ! Don't call rpe by name ! " cried the hair- 
 dresser, rushing into the tavern. 
 
 " What will they do with him 1 " demanded the lock- 
 smith of the Unknown. 
 
 " Who knows] " responded the latter. " Perhaps they 
 wish him to frizz the hair of those poor devils. People 
 have singular ideas in revolutionary times ; " and then he 
 lost himself in the crowd, leaving Gamain, from whom 
 he had doubtless extracted all that he needed, to regain, 
 as he intended, the workshop at Versailles. 
 
CAGLIOSTEO. 21 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 CAGLIOSTRO. 
 
 It was the easier for the Unknown to lose himself in 
 that crowd, because the crowd was numerous. This was 
 the advance guard of the escort of the King, the Queen, 
 and the Dauphin. They had left Versailles, as the King 
 had appointed, at about an hour after noon. 
 
 The Queen, the Dauphin, Madame Royale, the Comte 
 de Provence, Madame Elizabeth, aud Audree * were in the 
 King's coach. 
 
 A hundred carriages had received the members of the 
 National Assembly, who had declared themselves insepa- 
 rable from the King. 
 
 The Comte de Charny and Billot remained at Ver- 
 sailles, to render the last services to the Baron George de 
 Charny, — killed, as we have before related, in that ter- 
 rible night of the Fifth and Sixth of October, — and also 
 to see that the corpse was not mutilated, as the bodies 
 of the guardsmen Varicourt and Deshuttes had been. 
 
 This advance guard, whereof we have spoken, — and 
 which set out from Versailles two hours before the King, 
 and was now in advance of him by about a quarter-hour, 
 — rallied as it were about the two heads of the guards- 
 
 1 Speaking always with the conviction, or at least the hope, that our 
 readers of to-day were our readers of yesterday, and are consequently 
 familiar with these personages, we believe it necessary to remind them 
 only of one fact, that Mademoiselle Andree- de Taverney is no other 
 than the Comtesse de Charny, the sister of Philippe, and daughter of 
 the Baron de Taverney-Maison-Rouge. 
 
22 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 men, which served them for an ensign. When the heads 
 came to a standstill at the Sevres Bridge Tavern the 
 advance guard stopped also, and at the same time. 
 
 This advance guard was composed of miserable raga- 
 muffins, half drunk, the scum which floats to the surface 
 in every flood, whether a flood of water or of lava. 
 
 Suddenly there was a great tumult in the crowd. They 
 had caught sight of the bayonets of the National Guard 
 and the white horse of Lafayette, who preceded the 
 King's carriage. 
 
 Lafayette liked popular assemblies very much, — that 
 is, among the people of Paris, of whom he was the idol, 
 among whom he literally reigned ; but he did not love 
 the populace. Paris, like Eome, had its plehs and its 
 plehecula, the commonalty and the rabble. 
 
 Above all he disliked this sort of execution, which 
 the populace administered of their own accord. We 
 have seen that he did all he could to save Flesselles, 
 Foulon, and Berthier de Sauvigny. 
 
 It was to hide their trophies, and at the same time to 
 preserve the bloody ensigns which confirmed their vic- 
 tory, that this advance guard had marched so far ahead ; 
 and now, re-enforced by the triumvirate, whom they had 
 the luck to encounter in the tavern, these standard-bearers 
 found a means of eluding Lafayette. They refused to 
 part with their companions ; a.nd decided, his Majesty 
 having declared he would not be separated from his 
 faithful guards, that they should attend his Majesty as 
 his escort. Consequently the advance guard, having 
 gathered its forces, again took up its march. 
 
 The mob rushed along the great road from Versailles 
 to Paris, like a demoralized stream, which, after a storm, 
 carries away, in its black and foul torrent, the inmates of 
 a palace, which it has encountered and overturned in its 
 
CAGLIOSTRO. 23 
 
 violence — this mob, we say, had on each side of the 
 route a sort of eddy, formed by the residents of the 
 surrounding vilhxges, who ran to see what was going 
 on. Among those who ran thither some, and this was 
 the smallest number, mingled with the crowd as part of 
 the King's escort, adding their clamors and shouts to 
 all the other shouts and cries ; but the greater number 
 remained by the roadside, silent and unmoved. 
 
 Are we to suppose from this that they were in sym- 
 pathy with the King and Queen] No; for apart from 
 those who belonged to the upper crust of society, every- 
 body, even the middle classes, suffered more or less from 
 that frightful famine which was spreading itself over 
 France. Though they did not insult the King, Queen, 
 and Dauphin, they held their peace ; and the silence of a 
 crowd is perhaps worse than insult. 
 
 On the other hand, as a compensation, this crowd 
 shouted with all their lungs : " Long live Lafayette ! " 
 who from time to time doffed his hat with his left hand, 
 and saluted with the sword in his right, — and "Long 
 live Mirabeau ! " — as now and then he thrust his 
 head through the door of the coach, into which he was 
 crowded as the sixth inmate, in order to inhale from the 
 outside the full amount of fresh air needful for his large 
 lungs. 
 
 Thus the unhappy Louis the Sixteenth, towards whom 
 all were mute, heard them applaud, in his very presence, 
 the very thing he had lost. Popularity, and what he had 
 always lacked. Genius. 
 
 Gilbert, as if making the trip alone with the King, 
 marched along with the rest of the crowd, at the right 
 hand door of the royal coach, — that is, at the side of the 
 Queen. 
 
 Marie Antoinette, who had never been able to compre- 
 
24 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 hend this species of stoicism in Gilbert, iii whom Ameri- 
 can coolness was iinited with a novel gruffness, regarded 
 with astonishment this man, who — without love and 
 withoxit devotion towards the royal family, fulfilling to- 
 wards them simply what he considered his duty — was 
 yet ready to do for them all that could have been done 
 by devotion and love. Moreover he was ready to die 
 for them, and the greatest love and loyalty' could go no 
 farther. 
 
 On both sides of the carriage of the King and Queen, 
 bej'ond this line of footmen, as it were, — who had taken 
 possession of this location, part of them from curiositj% 
 others that they might be able to succor the august 
 travellers in case of need, and a very few with evil inten- 
 tions, — on the sides of the road, floundering in mire six 
 inches deep, walked the dames and porters of the market- 
 place ; and amidst this motley stream of bouquets and 
 ribbons, which seemed to increase from time to time, 
 rolled one wave more compact than the rest. 
 
 This wave was a gun-carriage, or a powder-cart, filled 
 with women singing and yelling at the tops of their 
 voices. When they sang, it was the familiar old verse : 
 
 The Baker's wife, she hath some crowns, 
 Which did not cost her dear. 
 
 AVhen they spoke, it was a new formula of hope : " We 
 shall no longer lack bread, since we bring back the 
 Baker, the Baker's Wife, and the Baker's Boy." 
 
 The Queen seemed to hear all this, without under- 
 standing it. She held, seated in her lap, the little Dau- 
 phin, who regarded the crowd with that scared expression 
 with which royal children must look upon a mob in revo- 
 lutionary times, as we have seen the King of Eome, the 
 Due de Bordeaux, and the Comte de Paris look upon it ; 
 
CAGLTOSTRO. 25 
 
 only the rabble in our day is more disdainful and more 
 magnanimous, because it is stronger, and knows that it 
 can afford to be gracious. 
 
 The King, on his part, beheld all this with a dull and 
 weary look. He had scarcely slept during the night be- 
 fore. He had eaten little breakfast. There had been no 
 time to have his hair dressed and powdered. His beard 
 ■was long. His linen was rumpled. All these things 
 were infinitely to his disadvantage. Alas ! The poor 
 King was not the man for difficult emergencies. Indeed, 
 before all such emergencies he bowed his head. On one 
 day only he raised it, — on the scaffold, at the very mo- 
 ment when it was about to fall. 
 
 Madame Elizabeth was the angel of sweetness and 
 resignation whom God had placed near these two con- 
 demned creatures, to console the King, in the Temple, in 
 the absence of the Queen, to console the Queen, in the 
 Conciergerie, for the death of the King. 
 
 The Comte de Provence, then as always, had a sidelong 
 and false expression. He well knew that, for a time at 
 least, he ran no danger. At that particular moment he 
 was the popular one of the family. Why 1 Nobody 
 knows. Perhaps because he remained in France when 
 his brother, the Comte d'Artois, went away. But if the 
 King had been able to read the bottom of the Count's 
 heart, it remains very doubtful if what he read there 
 would have left undisturbed his avowed gratitude for 
 what he interpreted as devotion. 
 
 Andrde seemed like marble. She had slept no better 
 than the Queen, eaten no better than the King ; but 
 these exigencies of life seemed scarcely to belong to her 
 exceptional nature. She had no time to care for her hair 
 or change her clothes ; and yet not a hair of her head 
 was disarranged, and not a fold of her robe indicated any 
 
26 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 unaccustomed disturbance. Like a statue the waves 
 rolled about her, without apparentlj' attracting even her 
 attention, and seemed to make her more smooth and 
 white. It was evident that this woman had, in the 
 depths of head or heart, a thought unique and luminous, 
 known to herself alone, to which her soul gravitated, as 
 the magnetic needle points to the polar star. A sort of 
 shadow among the living, only one thing showed that she 
 was alive, — the involuntary light which flashed in her 
 glance every time her eje encountered the eye of Gilbert. 
 
 A hundred paces or so before they arrived at the little 
 tavern of which we have spoken, the procession made a 
 halt. The ci-ies redoubled all along the line. 
 
 The Queen leaned slightly out of the window, and this 
 movement, which resembled a salutation, occasioned a 
 prolonged murmur in the crowd. 
 
 "Monsieur Gilbert," she said. 
 
 This one word, by the precise intonation with which it 
 was pronounced, indicated that Gilbert was always at the 
 orders of the Queen. 
 
 " Monsieur Gilbert," she repeated, " what do my 
 people sing, what do they say 1 " 
 
 One could see, by the very form of this phrase, that 
 the Queen had premeditated it, and that she had chewed 
 it between her teeth, doubtless for a long time, before 
 ejaculating it through the window, into the face of that 
 rabble. 
 
 Gilbert uttered a sigh which signified, " Always the 
 same ! " 
 
 Then he said, with a profound expression of melan- 
 choly : " Alas, Madame, the people, whom you call mi/ 
 people, have been so heretofore, and it is hardly twenty 
 years since Monsieur de Brissac — a charming courtier, 
 for whom I now look in vain — showed you, from the 
 
CA.GLIOSTRO. 27 
 
 balcony of the Hotel de Ville, to these same people, cry- 
 ing : 'Long live the Daupliine!' and said to you: 'Ma- 
 dame, you have there two hundred thousand lovers.' " 
 
 The Queen bit her lips, for it was impossible to charge 
 this man with rudeness .in reply or with want of respect. 
 
 " Yes, that is true," said the Queen, " and that proves 
 how changeable the people are." 
 
 This time Gilbert bowed, but did not answer. 
 
 " I asked you a question, Monsieur Gilbert," said the 
 Queen, with that persistence which she alvvaj's evinced, 
 even about things which must of necessity prove disagree- 
 able to her. 
 
 "Yes, Madame," said Gilbert, "and I will answer it, 
 since your Majesty insists. The people are singing : 
 
 The Baker's Wife, she hath some crowns, 
 "Which did not cost her dear. 
 
 You know whom people call the Baker's Wife 1 " 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur, 1 know they do me that honor. I 
 
 am already accustomed to such nicknames. They used 
 
 to call me Madame Deficit. Is there any analogy between 
 
 the first surname and the last V 
 
 " Yes, Madame, and to assure yourself of it you have 
 
 only to ponder the two lines which I have given you : 
 
 The Baker's Wife, she hath some crowns. 
 Which did not cost her dear." 
 
 The Queen repeated : " Some crowns which did not cost 
 her dear. I do not understand. Monsieur.' 
 
 Gilbert held his tongue. 
 
 " Well," resumed the Queen with impatience, " can 
 you not see that I do not understand t " 
 
 '■ And your Majesty continues to insist upon an 
 explanation 1 " 
 
 " Undoubtedly ! " 
 
28 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 " The song means, Madame, that your Majesty has 
 had very complaisant ministers, especially Ministers of 
 Finance, — Monsieur de Calonne, for example. The 
 people know that your Majesty had only to ask, in order 
 for him to give ; and as it oosts.no great pains to ask, if 
 one is Queen, when to ask is to command, the people sing : 
 
 The Baker's Wife, she hath some crowns, 
 Which did not cost her dear ; 
 
 that is to say, which cost her only the trouble of 
 asking." 
 
 The Queen clenched her white hand, resting on the 
 red velvet of the door-ledge. 
 
 "Well said!" she added. "So that is what they 
 sing ! Next, if you please. Monsieur Gilbert, since you 
 explicate their meaning so well, let us pass on to what 
 they shout." 
 
 " They say, Madame : We shall no longer lack bread, 
 since ive bring back the Balcer, the Baker's Wife, and the 
 Baker's Boy." 
 
 " You can explain this second insult as clearly as the 
 first, can you not % I depend upon it ! " 
 
 " Madame," said Gilbert, with the same amiable stoi- 
 cism, " if you will ponder well, not the words so much as 
 the intention of the people, you will see that you have 
 not so much to complain of as you fancy." 
 
 " Let us see," said the Queen with a nervous smile. 
 " You know. Monsieur Doctor, that I ask nothing bet- 
 ter than to be enlightened. Go on! I listen! I am 
 impatient ! " 
 
 " Rightly or wrongly, Madame, the people are told 
 that a big trade in flour has been carried on at Ver- 
 sailles, and that this is why flour no longer comes to 
 Paris. Who feeds the poor % The baker and bakeress of 
 
CAGLIOSTEO. 29 
 
 the ueighborhood. Towards whom do the husband, the 
 father, the sou turn their suppliant hands when, for want 
 of money, the child, the wife, or the father is perishing 
 with hunger? Towards the baker, towards the baker's 
 wife. To whom do men pray, next to God who produces 
 the harvest 1 To those who distribute the bread. Are not 
 you, Madame, is not the King, is not this royal child 
 himself, are you not all three really distributors of God's 
 bread] Do not be astonished, then, at the pleasant 
 name which these people give you, and be thankful for 
 the hope it affords, that when once the King, the Queen, 
 and Monsie\ir the Dauphin dwell iu the midst of twelve 
 hundred thousand famished souls, those twelve hundred 
 thousand suflerers will want for nothing.'' 
 
 The Queen closed her eyes an instant, and one could 
 note a motion of her mouth and throat, as if she tried to 
 swallow her chagrin, along with the acrid saliva which 
 burned her throat. 
 
 " Is that what they cry, these people, what they cry 
 yonder, before and behind us 1 Ought we to thank 
 them for the nicknames they give us, for the songs they 
 sing ■? " 
 
 " Oh yes, Madame, and most sincerely ; because the 
 song they sing is but an expression of good humor, because 
 the nicknames which they give you are only manifesta- 
 tions of their hopes; but their shouts are the expression 
 of their desires.'' 
 
 " Ah, the people wish prosperity to Messieurs La- 
 fayette and Mirabeau ! " 
 
 As may be inferred from this, the Queen had heard 
 perfectly well the songs, the shouts, and the cries. 
 
 "Yes, Madame," said Gilbert, "because, by living, 
 Lafayette and Monsieur Mirabeau, who are separated, as 
 you can see at present, separated by an abyss over which 
 
30 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 you are suspended, — because, by living prosperously, 
 Lafayette and Mirabeau may be reunited, and by this 
 reunion save the monarchy." 
 
 " That is to say, Monsieur," cried the Queen, " that 
 the monarchy is so low that it can only be saved by 
 those two men 1 " 
 
 Gilbert was preparing to answer, when cries of terror, 
 mingled with atrocious bursts of laughter, made them- 
 selves heard, and there was a great movement in the 
 crowd, which instead of drawing Gilbert away, brought 
 him close to the window, against which he clung, con- 
 jecturing that something might happen which would 
 necessitate the employment of his voice or his strength 
 in defence of the Queen. 
 
 The two head-carriers, having compelled the unlucky 
 Leonard to powder and curl the two heads, desired the 
 horrible pleasure of exhibiting them to the Queen, as 
 other head-bearers — or possibly these very men — 
 had exhibited to Berthier the head of his son-in-law, 
 Foulon. 
 
 The cries came from the crowd, scattering at the very 
 sight of the two heads, as the rabble recoiled upon itself, 
 opening the way to let them pass. 
 
 " In the name of Heaven, Madame," said Gilbert, " do 
 not look to the right." 
 
 The Queen was not the woman to obey such an injunc- 
 tion, without assuring herself of the reason why the 
 request was made. Consequently, her first movement 
 was to turn her eyes towards the point forbidden by 
 Gilbert, and she uttered a terrible cry. 
 
 Suddenly she removed her eyes from this horrible 
 spectacle, as if they had encountered a sight yet more 
 horrible, as if, fascinated by a Medusa's head, her eyes 
 could not detach themselves from it. 
 
CAGLIOSTRO. 31 
 
 This head of Medusa was that of the Unknown, whom 
 we have seen chatting and drinking with Master Gamain 
 in the tavern at Sevres Bridge, and who now stood with 
 folded arms, leaning aga.inst a tree. 
 
 The Queen's hand detached itself from the velvet door- 
 way, and leaning on Gilbert's shoulder she grasped him 
 an instant, as if to bury her nails in his flesh. 
 
 Gilbert turned. He saw that the Queen was pale, her 
 lips bloodless and trembling, her eyes fixed. 
 
 Perhaps he would have attributed this nervous over- 
 exoitemeut to the presence of the two heads, if the vision 
 of Marie Antoinette had been arrested by either of tliem ; 
 but she gazed horizontally before her, at about the height 
 of a man. 
 
 Gilbert followed the direction of her glance, and as 
 the Queen uttereJ a cry of terror, he uttered one of 
 astonishment. 
 
 Then they both murmured, at the same instant of 
 time, " Cagliostro ! " 
 
 On his side, the man leaning against the tree saw the 
 Queen perfectly well. He made with his hand a sign to 
 Gilbert, as much as to say, " Come here ! " 
 
 At that moment the vehicles made a movement to 
 resume their journey. By a motion mechanical, instinc- 
 tive, natural, the Queen pushed Gilbert, lest he should 
 be bruised by the wheel. 
 
 He supposed that she pushed him towards that man. 
 Even if the Queen had not given Gilbei-t a push, as soon 
 as he recognized who it was, in a certain way he was no 
 longer master of himself. 
 
 Consequently, standing immovable, he let the escort 
 pass by him. 
 
 Then, following the disguised workman, who occasion- 
 ally turned to see if he was obeyed, Gilbert went after 
 
32 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 him into a narrow lane, ascending towards Bellevue by a 
 rapid declivity, and disappeared behind a wall, at the 
 very moment when the carriage and escort disappeared 
 on the side towards Paris, completely concealed by the 
 declivity of the hill, which lost itself in an abyss. 
 
FATALITY. 33 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 FATALITY. 
 
 Gilbert folloAved his guide, who preceded him by some 
 twenty paces, half-way up the hill. There they found, 
 themselves in front of a spacious and beautiful house- 
 He who walked ahead drew a key from his pocket, and 
 opened a little door, designed to enable the master of the 
 house to go and come without confiding to servaats his 
 outgoings and incomings. 
 
 The door was left ajar, which signified, as clearly as 
 possible, that the first comer invited his companion to 
 follow. 
 
 Gilbert entered and softly shut the door, which swung 
 silently on its hinges, and so fastened itself that one could 
 not hear the click of the bolt. 
 
 Such a lock would have roused the admiration of Master 
 Gamain. 
 
 Once inside, Gilbert found himself in an apartment 
 whose walls were overlaid, to the height of a man, — in 
 such a way, that is, that the eye need not lose one of 
 their marvellous details, — with bronze panels, modelled 
 from those with which Ghiberti enriched the Baptistery 
 at Florence. 
 
 The feet sank into soft Turkish carpeting. 
 
 At the left was an open door. Gilbert thought that 
 this door was purposely left open, and entered another 
 apartment, hung with India satin, with furniture of the 
 same stuff as the tapestry. One of those fantastic birds, 
 
 VOL. I. — 3 
 
34 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 such as the Chinese paint or embroider, covered the ceil- 
 ing with his wings of gold and azure, and held in his 
 talons the chandelier, which, with splendidly wrought 
 candelabra, representing lily-tufts, served to illuminate 
 the room. 
 
 A single painting adorned the place, and was hung 
 by the glass over the fireplace. It represented one of 
 Raphael's Madonnas. 
 
 Gilbert was gazing with admiration at this masterpiece 
 when he heard, or rather divined, that a door opened 
 behind him. He turned, and recognized Cagliostro, com- 
 ing from a sort of toilet closet. 
 
 A moment had sufficed him to remove the stains from 
 his arms and face, to give his hair, still black, a more aris- 
 tocratic brush, and completely change his clothes. 
 
 He was no longer the mechanic, with black hands, 
 with plastered hair, with mud-soiled shoes, with cordu- 
 roy breeches, and a shirt of unbleached linen. He was 
 the elegant nobleman, whom we have already twice pre- 
 sented to our readers, first in Joseph Balsamo, and after- 
 wards in The Queen's Necklace. 
 
 His garments covered with embroidery, his hands 
 sparkling with diamonds, contrasted strongly with Gil- 
 bert's black suit, and the plain gold ring, a gift from 
 Washington, which he wore on his finger. 
 
 With a genial and smiling face Cagliostro came for- 
 ward and opened his arms to Gilbert. 
 
 Gilbert threw himself into them. " Dear master ! " 
 be exclaimed. 
 
 " Wait a bit ! " said Cagliostro laughing. " You have 
 made such progress since we parted, above all in philoso- 
 phj', that to-day it is you who are the master, while I 
 am hardly worthy to be a pupil." 
 
 " Thanks for the compliment," said Gilbert ; " but 
 
FATALITY. 35 
 
 suppose I have made such progress, how do you know 
 it ? It is eight years since we met." 
 
 " Do you fancy, my dear Doctor, that you are one of 
 those men whom people forget because they do not see 
 them 1 I have not seen you for eiglit years, it is true ; 
 but I can tell you, almost day by day, what you have 
 been about during these eight years." 
 
 " Eeally now 'i " 
 
 " Will you always be sceptical as to my second sight ■! " 
 
 " You know I am a mathematician ! " 
 
 " And therefore incredulous 1 Let us see now ! You 
 came to France the first time summoned by family mat- 
 ters. These family matters do not concern me, and 
 consequently — " 
 
 "Oh, no," said Gilbert, thinking to embarrass Caglios- 
 tro ; "speak on, dear master." 
 
 " Well, at that time you were anxious about the edu- 
 cation of your son Sebastien, wishing to place him in a 
 small city, some eighteen or twenty leagues from Paris, 
 and to regulate your affairs with your agent, — a good 
 man, whom you kept in Paris in spite of himself, and 
 ■who, for a thousand reasons, should have been near his 
 wife." 
 
 " Truly, master mine, you are a marvel." 
 
 " Hold on ! The second time you returned to Paris 
 because political affairs drove you to it, as they have 
 driven so many others. You had prepared certain pam- 
 phlets, and sent them to King Louis the Sixteenth ; and 
 as there is still something of the old Adam within, you 
 were more proud of the approbation of a king than may- 
 hap you would be of that of my predecessor in your edu- 
 cation, Jean Jacques Eousseau, who now, if he were 
 living, would be reckoned greater than a king. You 
 were anxious to know what the descendant of Louis the 
 
36 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 Fourteenth, of Henry the Fourth, and of Saint Louis 
 thought of Doctor Gilbert. Unhappily there was a little 
 affair whereof you had not dreamed, but which neverthe- 
 less led me, one fine day, to find you all bleeding, your 
 breast plowed by a ball, in a grotto in the Azore Islands, 
 where my vessel happened accidentally to touch. This 
 little affair concerned Mademoiselle Andrfee de Taverney, 
 now become the Comtesse de Charny, in all prosperity 
 and honor, ready to render any service to the Queen. 
 Now as the Queen could refuse nothing to the woman 
 who married the Comte de Charnj', the Queen demanded 
 and obtained for your benefit a secret warrant of impris- 
 onment. You were arrested on the way from Havre to 
 Paris, and taken to the Bastille, where you would yet 
 be, dear Doctor, if the rabble had not one day overturned 
 the Bastille with a wave of the hand. Soon, like the good 
 Royalist you are, my dear Gilbert, you sided with the 
 King, who has made you one of his attendant physicians. 
 Yesterday, or rather this morning, you powerfully con- 
 tributed to the welfare of the royal family by hastening 
 to rouse Lafayette, who was sleeping the sleep of the 
 just; and an hour ago, when I saw you, believing the 
 Queen (who, between ourselves, my dear Gilbert, detests 
 j^ou) to be menaced, you were ready to raise a rampart 
 before your sovereign with your own body. Is it not so 1 
 Let me not forget one particular, of no small importance, 
 a magnetic seance in the King's presence, — the recovery 
 of a certain casket from certain hands, a casket which 
 had been seized through the agency of one Pasdeloup ? 
 See now, tell me if I have made one mistake or impor- 
 tant omission, and I am ready to make ray apology." 
 
 Gilbert remained stupefied before this extraordinary 
 man, who so well knew how to adapt means to ends, 
 that those whom he influenced were tempted to believe 
 
FATALITY. 37 
 
 that, like the Ahnighty, he had power to comprehend at 
 once the totality and the details of the world, and to read 
 the very hearts of men. 
 
 " Yes, it is even so," said he, " and you are still 
 Cagliostro, the magician, the sorcerer, the enchanter." 
 
 Cagliostro smiled with satisfaction. Evidently he was 
 proud of having produced on Gilbert the impression 
 which, in spite of himself, Gilbert allowed to mantle his 
 face. 
 
 Gilbert continued : " As I love you at least as much as 
 you love me, my dear master, and as my desire to know 
 what has happened to yoo, during our separation, is at 
 least as great as that which has led you to inform your- 
 self so faithfully about me, will you tell me, if the request 
 is not indiscreet, in what part of the world you have 
 displayed your genius and exercised your power ? " 
 
 Cagliostro smiled. "I too,'' he said, "like yourself, 
 have seen kings, many of them even, but for another 
 purpose. You approach in order to uphold them ; but 
 as for me, I approach in order to dethrone them. You 
 seek to establish a Constitutional King, and you do not 
 attain your end ; but I try to make philosophers of em- 
 perors, kings, and princes, and I achieve my purpose." 
 
 " Verily 1 " interrupted Gilbert, with a skeptical air. 
 
 " Certainly ! It is true that they were admirably pre- 
 pared for it by Voltaire, D'Alembert, and Diderot, those 
 new Mozentiuses, those sublime contemners of the gods, 
 and by the example of that dear King Frederick, of whom 
 we have so unfortunately been bereaved ; but then, you 
 know we are all mortal, — with the exception of those who 
 never die, like myself and Count Saint Germain. We 
 have the Emperor Joseph the Second, brother of our 
 beloved Queen, who suppressed three-quarters of the 
 convents, confiscated the ecclesiastical benefices, who 
 
38 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 even drove the Carmelites from their cells, and sent to 
 his sister, Marie Antoinette, engravings representing the 
 uncapped nuns trying on modern fashions, and unfrocked 
 monks having their hair frizzled. We have the King of 
 Denmark, who commenced by being the headsman for 
 his physician Struensee, — a precocious philosopher, who 
 said, at seventeen : ' It is Voltaire who has made me a 
 man and has taught me to think.' There is the Em- 
 press Catherine, who took such long strides in philo- 
 sophy, even while she was dismembering Poland, that 
 Voltaire wrote : ' Diderot, D'AIembert, and mj'self are 
 decorating altars to you.' There is the King of Sweden ; 
 and there are, finally, plenty of Princes of the Empire, 
 and of all Germany." 
 
 " It remains only for you to convert the Pope, my 
 dear master ; and as I believe nothing to be impossible 
 to you, I hope you will attain that result.'' 
 
 "Ah, as to that, it would be difficult. I just escaped 
 from his clutches. For six months I was in the Castle 
 of Saint Angelo, as you were three months in the 
 Bastille." 
 
 " Bah ! and did the people beyond the Tiber destroy 
 the Castle of Saint Angelo, as the populace of the Fau- 
 bourg Saint Antoine pulled down the Bastille 1" 
 
 " No, my dear Doctor. The Roman people have not , 
 yet reached that point. — Oh, be tranquil ; it will come 
 some day ! The Papacy also will have its Fifth and 
 Sixth of October, and in that harmony Versailles and 
 the Vatican will shake hands." 
 
 " But I thought that once inside the Castle of Saint 
 Angelo one could not get out." 
 
 " Bah ! Benvenuto Cellini ! " 
 
 " Did you, like hira, get a pair of wings like a modern 
 Icarus, and soar across the Tiber ] " 
 
FATALITY. 39 
 
 " That would have been impossible, inasmuch as I was 
 lodged, with apostolic precaution, in a dungeon very 
 deep and very dark." 
 
 "Yet you did get outT' 
 
 "As you see, here I am." 
 
 " You corrupted jour jailer with the power of gold 1 " 
 
 " I was unlucky ; I stumbled on a jailer incorruptible." 
 
 " Incorruptible 1 The devil ! " 
 
 " Yes, but happily he was not immortal. Luck, or 
 one believing more than I do might say Providence, 
 planned it so that he died the day after his third refusal 
 to open my prison-dooi's." 
 
 " He died suddenly ] " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Ah ! " 
 
 " It was necessary to replace him, and they did replace 
 him." 
 
 " And this one was not incorruptible ^ " 
 
 " This one said to me, on the very day when he en- 
 tered upon his duties, as he brought me my supper : 
 ' Eat well, get strength, for we have a journey to make 
 to-night.' Pardieu, the brave fellow did not lie. That 
 same night we each ruined three horses and we covered 
 a hundred miles." 
 
 " And what said the rulers when your escape was 
 discovered 1" 
 
 " They said nothing ! They clothed the other jailer, 
 who was not yet buried, with some garments which I 
 had left behind. Then they fired a pistol at the middle 
 of his face, let the pistol fall by his side, and declared 
 that having procured a weapon, they knew not how, I 
 had blown out my brains. Then they declared me dead, 
 and interred the jailer under my name. You see, my 
 dear Gilbert, that I am fairly a corpse, — that if I should 
 
40 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 claim to be alive, they might respond with my record 
 of decease, and so prove that I am dead ; but there is no 
 need of that, for it suits me very well at this juncture 
 to disappear from the world. I made a plunge as far as 
 the sombre borders, as once said the most illustrious 
 Abb6 Delille, and I have reappeared here in Paris, under 
 another name." 
 
 " And what do you call yourself, if I do not commit an 
 indiscretion by asking 1 " 
 
 " I call mj'self the Baron Zannone. I am a Genoese 
 banker. I discount the notes of princes. Good paper, 
 is it not, especially the sort issued by Cardinal Rohan t 
 By the way, are you in need of money, my dear Gilbert 1 
 You know that my heart and my purse are at your dis- 
 posal, to-day as always." 
 
 "I thank you !" 
 
 " Ah, you think perhaps you will be in my way, be- 
 cause you met me to-day attired as a mechanic 1 Don't 
 worry yourself about that. That is one of my disguises. 
 You know my notions about life, that it is a long Carni- 
 val, wherein everybody is more or less masked. Any- 
 how, remember this, my dear Gilbert, — if ever you have 
 need of money, here in my secretary is my special de- 
 posit, you understand. The large safe is in Paris, Rue 
 Saint Claude. If at any time you should need money, 
 whether I am here or not here, you may come in. I will 
 show you how to open my little door. You will press 
 the spring — see, this is how I press it ! — and you will 
 always find there nearly a million." 
 
 Cagliostro pressed the spring. The front of the secre- 
 tary lowered itself, and brought to light a mass of gold 
 and several bundles of banknotes. 
 
 " You are indeed a wonderful man," said Gilbert laugh- 
 ing; "but you know that with my twenty thousand 
 
FATALITY. 41 
 
 livres of iucoine I am richer than the King. Meanwhile 
 do you not fear being disturbed in Paris t " 
 
 " On account of the afl'air of the necklace ? Go along ! 
 They dare not bother me. In a country where there are 
 such spirits, I have only to say a word to raise a riot- 
 You forget that I am somewhat the friend of everybody 
 who is popular, — of Lafayette, of Monsieur Necker, of 
 ^lirabeau, of yourself." 
 
 " And what have you to do in Paris ? " 
 
 " ^Yho knows 1 What you have been doing in the 
 United States, perhaps, — establishing a republic." 
 
 Gilbert shook his head. " France has not the republi- 
 can spirit," he said. 
 
 " We will make her another republic, nevertheless." 
 
 "The King will resist." 
 
 " That is possible ! " 
 
 '■ The nobility will take up arms." 
 
 " That is probable." 
 
 " Then what will you do t " 
 
 " Well, if we don't make a republic we shall make a 
 revolution." 
 
 Gilbert let his head fall upon his breast. " If we come 
 to that point, Joseph, it will he dreadful," he said. 
 
 " Terrible indeed, if we encounter on the road many 
 men of your ability, Gilbert." 
 
 " I am not strong, my friend," said Gilbert. " I am 
 honest, that is all." 
 
 " Alas, so much the worse, and that is why I must 
 convince you, Gilbert." 
 
 " I am convinced." 
 
 "That you should prevent us from doing our work?" 
 
 " At least that we should detain you on the road." 
 
 " You are foolish, Gilbert ! You do not comprehend 
 the mission of France. France is the brain of the world. 
 
42 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 It is essential that France should think, and think liber- 
 ally, in order that the world may act as France thinks, 
 liberally also. Do you know what upset the Bastille, 
 Gilbert 1 " 
 
 " The people." 
 
 "You do not understand ! You mistake the effect for 
 the cause. For five hundred years, my friend, there have 
 been confined in the Bastille counts, lords, princes, and 
 still it remained steadfast. One daj' an angry king con- 
 ceived the awful idea of imprisoning Thought, which 
 requires space, breadth, infinity. Thought burst its way 
 out of the Bastille, and the populace entered by the 
 breach." 
 
 " That is true,'' murmured Gilbert. 
 
 " You recall what Voltaire wrote to Chauvelin, on the 
 second of March, 1764, nearly twenty-six years agoV 
 
 " Repeat it ! " 
 
 " Voltaire wrote as follows : ' Everything that I see is 
 putting forth the seedlings of a revolution which will in- 
 fallibly come, and of which I shall not have the pleasure 
 of being a witness. The French are tardy, but they 
 always arrive. The light is coming nearer and nearer, 
 at such a pace that, on the first occasion, the outbreak 
 will be heard, and there will be a grand uproar. The 
 young are indeed happy ; they will see great things.' 
 What do you say as to the uproar of yesterday and 
 to-day, heyT' 
 
 " Terrible ! " 
 
 " What do you say of the things you saw ? " 
 
 "Frightful!" 
 
 " Indeed ! Well, you are only at the beginning, 
 Gilbert." 
 
 " Prophet of Evil ! " 
 
 " Listen ! Three daj's since I was with a physician of 
 
FATALITY. 43 
 
 much merit, — a, philanthropist. Do you know what he 
 was bnsj'ing himself about at that moment 1 " 
 
 " He was searching for a remedy for some great disease, 
 reputed to be incurable." 
 
 " Oh no ! He was seeking to remedy life, not death." 
 
 " Wluit do you say 1 " 
 
 "Epigram apart, I tell you that he found — having 
 before him the pestilence, the cholera, the yellow fever, 
 the smallpox, the apoplexy, and five hundred other mala- 
 dies considered incurable, besides ten or twelve hundred 
 which may become so if not treated in season, — to say 
 nothing of the cannon, the gun, the sword, the poniard, 
 water, fire, the fall from a roof, the gibbet, and the rack 
 
 — he found that there were not methods enough of get- 
 ting out of life, although there is but one way of getting 
 into it, and at that moment he was inventing a machine, 
 
 — very ingenious, on my word, — which he expects to 
 offer the nation, iu order to put to death fifty, sixty, or 
 eighty persons in less than an hour. Well, my dear 
 Gilbert, do you believe that so distinguished a phy- 
 sician, so humane a philanthropist as Doctor Guillotin, 
 would busy himself with such a machine, unless the need 
 of such a machine makes itself felt's So far as my 
 knowledge goes, this machine is no novelty ; and a proof 
 of this is that one day, when I was at the Baron 
 Taverney's, — and by-the-by, you must remember tlie 
 occuri'enoe, for you were there likewise ; but you had 
 eyes only for a young girl called Nicole, — the proof is, 
 that the Queen, having come thither by chance, — she 
 was then only the Daaphiuess, and hardly that ; well, 
 the proof lies in this, that I made her see this machine 
 in a decanter, and the thing inspired her with so much 
 fear that she screamed and lost her consciousness. Well, 
 my dear fellow, this machine, at that epoch, existed only 
 
44 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 in outline ; but some day you will see it perform its 
 functions, for it will be tried. I tell you this beforehand, 
 that if you are not blind you may recognize the finger of 
 Providence, which, foreseeing a time to come when the 
 headsman would have too large a task, if he simply held 
 on to the old methods, indicated a new method by which 
 he might fulfil his duty." 
 
 " Count, Count, you were more consoling than this in 
 America." 
 
 " I believe you ! I was then amidst a nation rising, 
 and I am now amidst a social order which nears its end. 
 Nobility and royalty march together towards the tomb in 
 our old world, and that tomb is an abyss." 
 
 "I give up the nobilitj', my dear Count; or rather 
 the nobility abandoned itself, on the famous night of the 
 Fourth of August ; but let us preserve royalty, for it is 
 the palladium of the nation." 
 
 " Ah, what fine words, my dear Gilbert ; but did the 
 palladium save Troy 1 Preserve royalty 1 Do you be- 
 lieve it an easy thing to save royalty, with such a 
 King ? " 
 
 " But he is the descendant of a grand race." 
 
 " Yes, a race of eagles ending in paroquets ! In 
 order that you, and all such Utopians, may be able to 
 save royalty, royalty must first make an effort to save 
 itself. Let us see ! You have seen Louis the Sixteenth, 
 you often see him, and j'ou are not the man to see any- 
 thing without studying it. Well now, frankly tell me : 
 Can royalty survive, represented by such a king ^ Is he 
 your ideal of the sceptre-bearer 1 Do you imagine that 
 Charlemagne, Saint Louis, Philip Augustus, Francis the 
 First, Henry the Fourth, and Louis the Fourteenth had 
 such flabby flesh, such hanging lips, such inanity m the 
 eyes, such indecision in the gait. No, those old fellows 
 
FATALITY. 45 
 
 were men. There was nerve, blood, and life under their 
 royal cloaks, and they were not yet bastardized by the 
 transmission of only one strain. There is a good medi- 
 cal idea which those short-sighted men have forgotten. 
 To preserve some species of animals, and even vegetables, 
 in continual freshness and constant vigor, Nature pre- 
 scribes the intermixture of species and the union of families. 
 As grafting in the vegetable kingdom is the chief cause of 
 the goodness and beauty of the species, so is it with man. 
 Marriage between parents too near akin is a cause of 
 decay in individuals. Nature suffers, languishes, and 
 degenerates, after several generations have been produced 
 from the same blood. On the other hand, Nature is 
 revived, regenerated, and I'e-euforced, when a new and 
 prolific principle is introduced into the line. Note the 
 heroes who found great families, and the feeble men 
 who ruin them. Consider Henry the Third, the last of 
 the Valois. Observe Gaston, the last of the Medicis. 
 Think of Cardinal York, the last of the Stuarts ; and of 
 Charles the Sixth, last of the Hapsburgs. Well, the 
 chief cause of degeneracy in these races is the intermar- 
 riage among their families, which has made itself felt in 
 all the dynasties whereof we have spoken, and more 
 sensibly in the house of Bourbon than in any other. 
 Going back from Louis Fifteenth to Henry Fourth and 
 Marie de Medicis, we find Henry Fourth to be five 
 times the great-great-grandfather of Louis Fifteenth, and 
 Marie de iledicis his great-great-grandmother through 
 five different channels. If we go back to Philip Third of 
 Spain and Margaret of Austria, Piiilip Third is three 
 times the great-great-grandfather, and Margaret of Austria 
 is three times the great-great-grandmother of Louis Fif- 
 teenth ; and I have reckoned as follows, as I have 
 nothing to do but reckon : of the thirty-two great-great- 
 
46 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 grandmothers and great-great-grandfathers of Louis Fif- 
 teenth there are six members of the house of Bourbon, 
 five of the house of Me'dicis, eleven of the Austrian house 
 of Hapsburg, three of the house of Savoy, three of the 
 house of Stuart, and one Danish princess. Subject a 
 dog or horse of the best blood to such a test, and by the 
 fourth generation you will have a jade and a mongrel. 
 How the devil can we resist these influences, we who are 
 but men 1 What say you to my calculation, Doctor, you 
 who are a mathematician 1 " 
 
 " I say, dear sorcerei'," said Gilbert, rising and taking 
 his hat, " I say that your calculation frightens me, and 
 makes me think all the more that my place is by the 
 King's side." 
 
 Gilbert took a few steps towards the entrance, when 
 Cagiiostro checked him. 
 
 " Listen, Gilbert ! " he said. " You know whether I 
 love you ; you know whether, to spare you pain, I am 
 capable of exposing myself to a thousand sorrows. Well, 
 believe me — a piece of advice — " 
 
 " What 1 " 
 
 " If the King would save himself the King should quit 
 France while there is yet time. In three months, in a 
 year, in six months perhaps, it will be too. late." 
 
 "Count,"' said Gilbert, " would j'ou counsel a soldier to 
 abandon his post because there is danger if he remains t " 
 
 " If that soldier was already captured, surrounded, 
 confined, disarmed, so that he conld not defend himself, 
 above all if the exposure of his life would endanger the 
 life of a half-million of men, — yes, I would counsel him 
 to flee. And you yourself, Gilbert, will say this to the 
 King. The King will listen to you when it is too late. 
 Do not wait till to-morrow ; tell him to-day. Do not 
 wait till evening ; tell him this within an hour." 
 
FATALITY. 47 
 
 "Count, you know that I am of the fatalistic school. 
 Come what will, as long as I have any power whatever 
 over the King, the King will remain in France, and I 
 shall remain with him. Adieu, Count, we shall meet 
 again in the combat, and perhaps sleep side by side on 
 the field of battle." 
 
 " Go ! " murmured Cagliostro. " No man, however 
 intelligent he may be, can escape his evil fate. I sought 
 you, in order to say this to you, and I have said it. You 
 have heard it ! My warning is useless, like Cassandra's. 
 Adieu ! " 
 
 " Tell me frankly, Count," said Gilbert, pausing on 
 the threshold of the room, and looking fixedly at Ca- 
 gliostro, " do you here claim, as you did in America, to 
 be able to read men's future in their faces 1 " 
 
 " Gilbert," replied Cagliostro, " as surely as in the sky 
 you trace the pathway of the stars, although the general- 
 ity of men believe them immovable or erratic." 
 
 " Well, then — Stop, somebody is rapping at the door.'' 
 
 " That is true." 
 
 " Tell me the fate of him who raps at the door, who- 
 ever he may be. Tell me by what sort of death he will 
 die, and when he will die." 
 
 " Be it so," said Cagliostro. " Let us admit him 
 ourselves." 
 
 Gilbert advanced towards the door at the end of the 
 corridor, of which we have before spoken, with a beating 
 heart which he could not repress, although he said to 
 himself that it was absurd to take such charlatanism 
 seriously. 
 
 The door was opened. A man of distinguished bear- 
 ing, tall in stature, in whose face was printed a strong 
 expression of good-will, appeared on the threshold, and 
 threw upon Gilbert a rapid glance, not free from disqnie*-. 
 
48 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 " Good-day, Marquis," said Cagliostro. 
 
 " Good-day, Baron," responded the Marquis. 
 
 Then, as Cagliostro perceived that the look of the new- 
 comer reverted to Gilbert, he said : " Marquis, Doctor 
 Gilbert, one of my friends. My dear Gilbert, the Mar- 
 quis de Favras, one of my customers." 
 
 The two men saluted each other. 
 
 Then addressing the stranger he continued: "Mar- 
 quis, if you will enter the salon and wait for me au in- 
 stant, in five seconds I will be at your service." 
 
 The Marquis bowed a second time, as he passed before 
 the two men, and withdrew. 
 
 " Well 1 " asked Gilbert. 
 
 " You wish to know by what death the Marquis will 
 die 1 " 
 
 " Have yon not promised to tell me 1 " 
 
 Cagliostro gave a peculiar smile. Then, after looking 
 about to see that nobody could overhear, he said : " Have 
 you ever seen a nobleman hanged ? " 
 
 " No ! " 
 
 " Well, it is a curious spectacle ; and you will be in 
 the Place de Gr6ve on the day when they hang the 
 Marquis de Favras." 
 
 Then conducting Gilbert to the street door he added : 
 " Hold ! AYhen you wish to come and see me without 
 noise, without being seen and without seeing anybody 
 but myself, push this button from right to left and from 
 up to down, — so. — Adieu. Excuse me, but it is not 
 fair to keep those waiting who have not long to live." 
 
 Then he went away, leaving Gilbert amazed at the 
 prognostication, which excited his astonishment, but did 
 not conquer his incredulity. 
 
THE TUILERIES. 49 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE TUILERIES. 
 
 Meanwhile the King, the Queen, and the- royal family 
 continued their way to Paris. 
 
 Progress was so slow, — retarded, as it was, by the 
 body-guard marching on foot, by the armed fishwives 
 mounted on their horses, by the men and women of the 
 market-place, riding on the decorated cannons, by the 
 one hundred carriages of the Deputies, by two or three 
 hundred wagon-loads of wheat and flour, taken at Ver- 
 sailles and covered with the yellow leaves of autumn, — 
 that it was not till six o'clock that the royal coach, con- 
 taining so much sorrow, so much hatred, so much pas- 
 sion, and so much innocence, arrived at the barrier. 
 
 During the journey the young Prince was hungry, and 
 asked for something to eat. The Queen looked about 
 her. It seemed very easy to procure a little bread for 
 the Dauphin, as every man in the crowd bore a loaf on 
 the point of his bayonet. 
 
 She looked for Gilbert. Gilbert, as we know, had fol- 
 lowed Cagliostro. 
 
 If Gilbert had been there, the Queen would not have 
 hesitated about asking him for a morsel of bread ; but 
 the Queen was unwilling to make such a request to one 
 of these men of the populace, whom she regarded with 
 horror; so she pressed the Dauphin to her breast, and 
 said to him as he cried : " My child, we have no food; 
 
 VOL. I. — 4 
 
50 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 but wait till this evening, for perhaps we shall have some 
 this evening.'' 
 
 The Dauphin extended his little hand towards the men 
 who carried the loaves on their bayonets, and said: 
 " Those people there have some ! " 
 
 " Yes, my child, but that bread is theirs, not ours, and 
 they went to hunt for it in Versailles, because — so they 
 say — they have had none in Paris for three days.'' 
 
 " For three days 1 " said the child j " they have not 
 eaten for three days, mamma 1 " 
 
 Ordinarily etiquette required that the Dauphin should 
 call his mother Madame, but the poor child was as hun- 
 gry as if he were simply the child of a commoner ; and 
 being hungry, he called his mother mamma. 
 
 " No, my child," responded the Queen. 
 
 " In that case they must be very hungry," said the 
 child with a sigh ; and ceasing to complain he tried to 
 sleep. 
 
 Poor child of royalty ! More than once before death 
 came to him, as come it did, he begged ineffectually for 
 bread. 
 
 At the city gates the procession again came to a halt, 
 — this time not for rest, but for a celebration of their 
 arrival. That arrival must be celebrated by songs and 
 dances. 
 
 It was a strange pause, almost as portentous in its joy, 
 as the others had been in their fear. 
 
 The fishwives dismounted from their horses, — that is, 
 from the horses of the guardsmen, — and fastened the 
 sabres and guns to the saddlebows. The women and 
 porters from the market-place descended from their gun- 
 carriages, which were thus left frightfully bare. 
 
 Then they formed a ring which surrounded the King's 
 carriage, separating it from the National Guard and from 
 
THE TUILEEIES. 51 
 
 the Deputies, — au alarming harbinger of what was to 
 happen later. 
 
 This ring, with the good intention of showing its joy 
 to the royal family, sang, screamed, howled, the women 
 embracing the men, and the men making the women 
 leap like those in the wanton orgies of a Teniers 
 picture. 
 
 This took place when night had almost fallen on a day 
 gloomy and rainy, so that the ring, illuminated only by 
 torches on the cannon and other warlike implements, 
 took on tints fantastic and almost infernal, in the changes 
 of shadow and light. 
 
 After some lialf-an-hour of cries, clamor, singing, and 
 dancing in the'mud, the escort gave an immense hurra. 
 Everybody who had a loaded gun, man, woman, or child, 
 discharged it into the air, without any special concern 
 about the bullets, which presently came down again, 
 cleaving the puddles of water like heavy hailstones. 
 
 The Dauphin and bis sister wept. They were so fright- 
 ened as to be no longer hungry. 
 
 The procession followed the line of the river piers, and 
 arrived at the square by the Hotel de Ville. There the 
 troops were formed into a hollow square, to keep back all 
 carriages except the King's, and to prevent all persons, 
 except those belonging to the roj'al household or the 
 National Assembly, from entering the building. 
 
 The Queen presently perceived Weber, her confidential 
 attendant and foster-brother, — an Austrian, who had 
 accompanied her from Vienna, — making every effort to 
 pass through the line, and to enter the Hotel de Ville 
 with her. 
 
 She called to him, and he ran to her side. 
 
 Noticing at Versailles that the National Guard had 
 the place of honor for the day, Weber had dressed him- 
 
52 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 self aa a National Guardsman, in order to give himself a 
 position, thanks to which he might become useful to the 
 Queen ; and to the simple uniform of a volunteer he had 
 even added the decorations of a staff-officer. The equerry 
 of the Queen's cavalcade had lent him a horse. 
 
 In order not to awake suspicion he had held himself 
 aloof throughout the journey, with the intention, be it 
 well understood, of coming nearer if the Queen needed 
 him. Being now recognized and summoned by the Queen 
 he hastened to her at once. 
 
 " Why dost thou try to force the lines, Weber 1 " 
 demanded the Queen, who had preserved the old habit 
 of thee-and-thouing him. 
 
 " To be near your Majesty, Madame." 
 
 " Thou wilt be very useless to me iu the Hotel de Ville, 
 Weber," said the Queen, " although thou mayest be very 
 helpful to me elsewhere." 
 
 " Where, Madame 1 " 
 
 " At the Tuileries, my dear Weber, at the Tuileries, 
 where no one expects us ; and where, if thou dost not 
 precede us, we shall find neither a bed, a chamber, nor a 
 morsel of food." 
 
 " Ah ! " said the King, " that is an excellent idea of 
 yours, Madame.'' 
 
 The Queen had spoken in German, and the King, who 
 understood German but did not speak it, spoke in English. 
 
 The bystanders heard, but did not understand. This 
 foreign language, for which they had an instinctive dis- 
 like, roused a murmur around the carriage, a murmur 
 which threatened to become a roar, when the hollow 
 square suddenly opened in front of the carriage and closed 
 in behind it. 
 
 Bailly, one of the most popular men of that epoch, 
 Bailly, whom we saw during the first journey of the King, 
 
THE TUILEEIES. 63 
 
 — ou that occasion when bayonets, guns, and cannon 
 were concealed under flowers, forgotten in the second 
 journey, — Bailly awaited the King and Queen at the 
 foot of a throne improvised to receive them, — a throne 
 badly placed, badly constructed, creaking beneath the 
 velvet which covered it, — veritably a throne suitable to 
 such an occasion. 
 
 The Mayor of Paris addressed the King on this second 
 trip almost exactly as he addressed him on the first 
 trip. 
 
 The King responded : " It is always with pleasure and 
 confidence that I come into the midst of the people of my 
 good city of Paris.'' 
 
 The King spoke low, in a voice weakened by fatigue 
 and hunger. Bailly repeated the sentence louder, so that 
 everybody might hear it ; only, intentionally or uninten- 
 tionally, he omitted the two words and confidence. 
 
 The Queen noticed this, and her bitterness rejoiced at 
 thus finding a passage into the open day. 
 
 " Pardon, Monsieur Mayor," she said, sufiiciently loud 
 for those around her not to lose a word or phrase, " either 
 you did not hear correctly, or your memory is short." 
 
 "Scy please you, Madame'!" stammered Bailly, turning 
 towards the Queen his astronomical eye, which could see 
 so well in the sky and so badly on the earth. 
 
 The Queen responded : " The King said, Monsieur, it 
 was alwaj's with pleasure and confidence that he came 
 into the midst of the inhabitants of his good city of 
 Paris. As some may doubt if he now comes hither with 
 pleasure, it is better to have it known that at least he 
 comes with confidence." 
 
 Then she mounted the three steps of the throne and 
 seated herself near the King, in order to hear the dis- 
 course of the electors. 
 
64 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 Meanwhile Weber, on a horse before which the crowd 
 gave way, thanks to his uniform of staff-officer, found his 
 way to the palace of the Tuileries. 
 
 For a long time this royal Lodge of the Tuileries, as it 
 was formerly called, — this residence built by Catherine 
 de Me'dicis, and occupied by her for a time, then aban- 
 doned by Charles Ninth, Henry Third, Henry Fourth, 
 and Louis Thirteenth for the Louvre, and by Louis Four- 
 teenth, Louis Fifteenth, and Louis Sixteenth for Ver- 
 sailles, ■ — had been little more than an appendage to the 
 other royal palaces, and was occupied by certain persons 
 connected with the Court; but therein neither King nor 
 Queen had perhaps ever set foot. 
 
 Weber went through the apartments ; and, knowing 
 the customs of the King and Queen, he selected the one 
 occupied by Madame de la Marck, and that belonging to 
 the Marshals jSToailles and Mouchy. 
 
 Her apartment, which the Countess at once abandoned, 
 had this advantage, that, it was ready to receive the 
 Queen, with its furniture, linen, curtains, and carpets, 
 which Weber bought. 
 
 Towards ten o'clock was heard the noise of their Majes- 
 ties' coach, as it drove up. 
 
 Everything was prepared ; and, hastening into the pres- 
 ence of his august employers, Weber exclaimed : " Attend 
 the King ! " 
 
 The King, the Queen, Madame Eoyale, the Dau- 
 phin, Madame Elizabeth, and Andree entered. Mon- 
 sieur de Provence had already returned to the chateau 
 at Luxembourg. 
 
 The King turned his eyes anxiously on all sides; and 
 in entering the salon he saw through a half-open door, 
 leading into a side room, a supper-table spread at the 
 end of that room. 
 
THE TUILERIES. 65 
 
 At the same time the door opened, and an usher 
 appeared, saying : " The King is served ! " 
 
 " Oh, what a man of resources is that Weber," said 
 the King with an exclamation of joy. " Madame, you 
 will say to him, in my behalf, that I am much pleased 
 with him." 
 
 " I will not fail to do so, Sire," replied the Queen, as 
 with a sigh, which responded to this exclamation of the 
 King, she entered the dining-room. 
 
 Plates were laid for the King, the Queen, for Madame 
 Royale, for the Dauphin, aud for Madame Elizabeth ; but 
 there was no place provided for Andrfee. 
 
 Pressed by hunger the King did not remark this omis- 
 sion, which was not a slight, but happened in accordance 
 with the laws of strictest etiquette ; but the Queen, whom 
 nothing escaped, perceived it at the first glance, and said : 
 " The King will permit the Comtesse de Charny to sup 
 with him, — is it not so. Sire t " 
 
 "Why not]" cried the King. "To-day we dine as a 
 family, and the Countess belongs to the family." 
 
 "Sire," said the Countess, "is this a command from 
 the King]" 
 
 The King looked at the Countess with astonishment. 
 
 " No, Madame," said he, " it is a petition which the 
 King makes to you." 
 
 " In that case," replied the Countess, " I beg the King 
 to excuse me, as I am not hungry." 
 
 "How? You are not hungry?" cried the King, who 
 could not comprehend how one should not be famished 
 at ten o'clock in the eveuing, after such a wearisome jour- 
 ney, especially when one had eaten nothing since ten 
 o'clock in the forenoon, at which hour they had break- 
 fasted so poorly. 
 
 " No, Sire," said Andrea. 
 
56 I,A COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 "Nor I," said the Queen. 
 
 " Nor I/' said Madame Elizabeth. 
 
 " Oh, you 're wrong, Madame," said the King, " for 
 upon the good condition of the stomach depends the good 
 condition of the rest of the body, and even of the spirit ; 
 and thereanent is a stnry by Livy, imitated by Shake- 
 speare and by La Fontaine, wliioh I beg you to consider." 
 
 " We know it, Monsieur," said the Queen. " It is a 
 fable which was related to the Roman people by old 
 Menenius, one day during a revolution. On that day 
 the Romans were in revolt, as the French people are 
 to-day. You are right, Sire ; certainly that fable is 
 appropriate to the present occasion." 
 
 " "Well," said the King, passing his plate to be served 
 with soup a second time, " does n't this historic similitude 
 help you to decide, Countess 1 " 
 
 " No, Sire ; and I am truly sorry to tell your Majesty 
 that though I wish to obey I cannot do so." 
 
 " You are wrong, Countess, for this soup is really per- 
 fect. Why is this the first time I have been served with 
 such a soup 1 " 
 
 " Perhaps because you have a new cook. Sire, that 
 of the Comtesse de la Marck, whose apartments we are 
 occupying." 
 
 " I will retain him for my service, and desire that he 
 -will attach himself to my household. This Weber is 
 truly a miraculous man, Madame." 
 
 " Yes,'' murmured the Queen sadly ; " what a pity he 
 cannot be made a cabinet minister ! " 
 
 The King did not hear, or did not wish to hear ; but 
 as he saw Andree standing there very pale, while the 
 Queen and Madame Elizabeth, though they ate no more 
 than Andree, remained seated at the table, he turned 
 towards the Comtesse de Charny and said : " Though you 
 
THE TUILEKIES. 57 
 
 are not hungry, Madame, you cannot say you are not 
 fatigued. If you refuse to eat you will not refuse to 
 sleep? Then he added to the Queen : "Madame, I be- 
 seech you to give the Comtesse de Charny permission 
 to retire. In default of nourishment, — sleep ! " 
 
 Turning then to the servants at his side he said : " I 
 hope it is not with the bed of Madame la Comtesse de 
 Charny as it is with her dinner, and that they have not 
 forgotten to prepare a chamber for her ? " 
 
 " Oh Sire," said Andrde, " how can you trouble your- 
 self about me, in such a time of distress t An armchair 
 will suffice." 
 
 " Not by any means," said the King. " You slept very 
 little last night, or not at all j and it is necessary to-night 
 that you should sleep well. The Queen needs not only 
 her own strength but that of her friends.'' 
 
 Presently a footman returned, who had gone to inquire, 
 and said : " Monsieur Weber, knowing the great favor 
 with which Madame la Comtesse is honored by the 
 Queen, believes that he has anticipated the wishes of her 
 Majesty by reserving for the Countess a chamber adjoin- 
 ing that of the Queen." 
 
 The Queen tremhled, for she bethought herself that if 
 there was only one chamber for Madame la Comtesse, 
 there was consequently only one chamber for both the 
 Countess and the Count. 
 
 Andree noted the shiver which ran through the veins 
 of the Queen. Not a sensation which agitated either of 
 these two women escaped the other. 
 
 "For to-night, and to-night only," said she, "I will 
 accept, Madame. The apartments of her Majesty are too 
 contracted for me to have a chamber there at the expense 
 of her comfort. There must be, somewhere in this big 
 chateau, a little corner for me." 
 
68 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNr. 
 
 The Queen stammered some unintelligible words. 
 
 " Countess," said the King, " you are right. They 
 shall see to all this to-morrow, and you shall be lodged 
 as well as possible." 
 
 The Countess bowed respectfully to the King, the 
 Queen, and Madame Elizabeth, and left the room, pre- 
 ceded by a lackey. 
 
 The King followed her an instant with his eyes, hold- 
 ing his fork suspended at the height of his mouth. " She 
 is truly a charming creature, that woman," he said. 
 " How happy must be the Count at finding such a phoenix 
 in the Court.'' 
 
 The Queen twisted herself in her armchair, to conceal 
 her pallor, not from the King, who would not have ob- 
 served it, but from Madame Elizabeth, who would have 
 been alarmed by it ; and indeed she was almost ill. 
 
THE FOUR CANDLES. 59 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE FOUR CANDLES. 
 
 As soon as the children had eaten, the Queen craved 
 of the Khig permission to retire to her own chamber. 
 
 " Most willingly, Madame," said the King, " for you 
 must be fatigued ; only, as it is impossible for you not to 
 be hungry before to-morrow, have some food already 
 prepared." 
 
 Without answering him the Queen withdrew with her 
 two children. 
 
 The King remained at table to finish his supper. 
 Madame Elizabeth, whose devotion could not be altered, 
 even by the occasional coarseness of Louis the Sixteenth, 
 stayed near the King in order to render him those 
 trifling services which escape the notice of even the best 
 servants. 
 
 Once in her own room the Queen breathed again. 
 Not one of her women had followed her to Paris, the 
 Queen having commanded them not to quit Versailles 
 until they were so notified. 
 
 She busied herself in looking for a large sofa or a capa- 
 cious armchair for herself, intending to put the children 
 into the bed. 
 
 The little Dauphin was already asleep. Hardly had 
 the poor child appeased his hunger than slumber over- 
 took him. 
 
 Madame Eoyale was not asleep; and, had it been 
 needful, she would not have slept the whole night long. 
 There was much of the Queen in Madame Eoyale. 
 
60 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENYo 
 
 As soon as the little Prince was quietly deposited in 
 his ai'mchair, Madame Eoyale and tlie Queen looked 
 about in quest of such conveniences as they might 
 find. 
 
 The Queen approached a door. As she was about to 
 open it she heard a slight noise on the other side of the 
 door. She listened and heard a second sigh. She bent 
 herself to the level of the look, and through the keyhole 
 she perceived Andree, kneeling on a low chair and pray- 
 ing. The Queen resumed her upright position, but 
 looked at the door with an expression of sorrow. 
 
 Opposite this door was another. The Queen opened 
 it, and found herself in a chamber pleasantly warmed, 
 and lighted with a shaded lamp, by whose glimmer she 
 saw, with a thrill of joy, two beds, fresh and white as two 
 altars. Then her heart melted, and a tear moistened her 
 dry and burning eyelids. 
 
 " Oh Weber, Weber," she murmured, " the Queen 
 told the King it was unfortunate they could not make 
 thee a cabinet minister, but the mother tells thee that 
 thou meritest more than that." 
 
 Then, as the little Dauphin was still asleep, she 
 wished to begin by putting Madame Royale to bed ; but 
 the latter, with the respect she always showed to 
 her mother, requested permission to aid her first, to the 
 end that she might, in her turn, go promptly to bed 
 afterwards. 
 
 The Queen smiled sadly, because her daughter sup- 
 posed she could sleep after such a night of agony, such 
 a day of humiliation ; but she wished the girl to remain 
 in this sweet belief. 
 
 They commenced by putting the Dauphin to bed. 
 Then Madame Eoyale, according to custom, knelt at the 
 foot of her bed and said her prayer. 
 
THE FOUR CANDLES. 61 
 
 The Queen waited. " It seems to me that thy prayer 
 lasts longer than usual, Therese," she said to the young 
 Princess. 
 
 " That is because my brother fell asleep without 
 dreaming of saying his prayers, poor child," said Madame 
 Eoyale ; " and as he is accustomed each evening to pray 
 for you and fur the King, I said his little prayer after 
 my own, that nothing may be wanting in our petitions 
 to God." 
 
 The Queen grasped Madame Royale, and pressed the 
 child to her heart. The fountain of weeping, already 
 opened by the thoughtfulness of the good Weber, and 
 rekindled by the piety of Madame Royale, gushed abun- 
 dantly and quickly from her eyes, and tears profoundly 
 sad but not bitter rolled down her cheeks. 
 
 She stood by the bed of Madame Eoyale, as immova- 
 ble as the Angel of Maternity, till she saw the eyes of 
 the young Princess close, till she felt the muscles of her 
 hands — which pressed her own with such tender and 
 deep filial love — detach themselves under the relaxa- 
 tion of sleep. 
 
 Then she gently laid her child's hands in bed, and 
 covered them with the quilt, that she might not suffer 
 from cold, if the chamber should grow chilly during the 
 night. Then, placing on the sleeping forehead of the 
 future martyr a kiss, light as a breath and sweet as a 
 revery, she re-entered her own chamber. 
 
 This chamber was illuminated by a candelabra bearing 
 four caudles. The candelabra was placed on a table. 
 This table was covered with a red cloth. 
 
 The Queen seated herself in front of the table, and 
 with staring eyes let her head fall between her closed 
 hands, so that she could see nothing except the red clotli 
 spread before her. Twice or thrice she shook her head 
 
62 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 mechanically at this bloody reflection. It seemed as if 
 her eyes were distended with blood, her temples beating 
 with fever, and her ears almost bursting. Then, with 
 a stormy movement, all her life passed again before 
 her. 
 
 She remembered that she was born on November Sec- 
 ond, 1755, the day of the Lisbon earthquake, which killed 
 more than fifty thousand people and overthrew two 
 hundred churches. 
 
 She remembered that in the first French chamber 
 where she lay, at Strasburg, the tapestry represented the 
 Massacre of the Innocents ; and that on the same evening, 
 by the uncertain light of the night-lamp, it seemed to her 
 that she saw blood oozing from the wounds of the poor 
 babes, and that the faces of the murderers took on an 
 expression so hateful that she called for succor in her 
 alarm, and ordered that at dawn they should depart from 
 a city which left her with so fearful a reminiscence of the 
 first night she passed in France. 
 
 She remembered that, in continuing her journey 
 towards Paris, she had to stop at the mansion of the 
 Baron de Taverney ; that there she met, for the first 
 time, that miserable Cagliostro, who had since obtained, 
 through the afiriir of the necklace, such a terrible influ- 
 ence over her destiny ; and who during that meeting — 
 so vivid in her memory that it seemed as if it was 
 an event of the evening before, although twenty years 
 had rolled away — had made her see, imaged in a de- 
 canter of water, something monstrous, a death-machine 
 awful and unknown, and at the base of the machine a 
 rolling head, detached from the body, which was none 
 other than her own. 
 
 She recollected that when Madame Lebrun painted a 
 charming portrait of her as a young wife, beautiful and 
 
THE FOUR CANDLES. 63 
 
 even happy, she gave to her — inadvertently, no doubt, 
 but the presentiment was terrible — the attitude of 
 Madame Henrietta of England, wife of Charles the 
 First. 
 
 She recalled the day when for the first time she en- 
 tered Versailles, — how, as she descended from her 
 carriage, and set her foot on the funereal pavement of 
 the Marble Court, — which now, on the evening previous, 
 she had seen red with blood, — a tremendous thunder- 
 clap was heard, preceded by a flash of lightning, which 
 furrowed the sky in such a frightful fashion that Marshal 
 Richelieu, who was not easily frightened, shook his head 
 and said : " A bad precedent ! " 
 
 As she remembered all these things there seemed to 
 rise before her eyes a reddish vapor, which grew thicker 
 and thicker. 
 
 The darkness became so apparent that the Queen 
 raised her eyes as far as the candelabra, and perceived 
 that one of the candles had gone out, without any ap- 
 parent reason. 
 
 She shuddered. The candle yet smoked, and nothing 
 indicated the cause of its extinction. 
 
 As she looked with astonishment at the candelabra, it 
 seemed to her that the neighboring candle grew slowly 
 paler, and that little by little the white flame turned 
 red and the red became blue. Then the flame grew 
 thinner and elongated itself Then it seemed to quit the 
 wick and fly away. Finally it wavered an instant, as if 
 agitated by an invisible breath, and then died. 
 
 The Queen watched with haggard looks the struggles 
 of that candle. Her bosom heaved more and more. 
 With outstretched hands she drew nearer to the cande- 
 labra, in proportion as the light grew fainter. Finally, 
 when it was entirely extinguished, she shut her eyes. 
 
64 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 sank back into her armchair, and passed her hands over 
 her forehead, which she found raining perspiration. 
 
 She remained thus ten minutes or more, with closed 
 eyes ; and when she opened them again, she saw with 
 aifright that the third candle was beginning to change, 
 like the first two. 
 
 Marie Antoinette at first believed that this was a 
 dream, and that she was under the weight of some fatal 
 hallucination. She tried to rise, but it seemed to her 
 that she was chained to her armchair. She tried to 
 summon Madame Royale, whom ten minutes ago she 
 would not have aroused for a second crown ; but her 
 voice was suffocated in her throat. She tried to turn 
 away her head, but her gaze remained steadfast and 
 immovable, as if that third dying candle absorbed her 
 sight and her breath. At last, even as the second had 
 changed color, the third also took on different tints, 
 paled, lengthened itself, waved from left to right and 
 then from right to left, and then was extinguished. 
 Fright drove the Queen to such an effort that her voice 
 returned to her, and with its aid she tried to regain the 
 courage which failed her. 
 
 " I am not worried," she exclaimed aloud, " at what 
 has happened to the three candles ; but if the fourth 
 should go out like the other three, woe, woe is me ! " 
 
 Suddenly, without the warnings which the others had 
 given, without the flame's changing color, without its 
 appearing to grow longer, without its wavering, but as if 
 touched by the wing of a passing bird, the fourth candle 
 expired. 
 
 The Queen sent forth an awful cry, arose, turned twice 
 around, beating the air and the obscurity with her arms, 
 and then fell senseless. 
 
 Almost simultaneously with the noise of her body 
 
THE FOUR CANDLES. 65 
 
 striking tlie floor, the door opened, and Andree, clad in a 
 cambric dressing-gown, appeared on the threshold, white 
 and silent as a ghost. 
 
 As she paused an instant amidst the darkness, she 
 fancied she could see a kind of vapor. She listened, 
 as if she heard the air agitated with the sweep of a 
 shroud. 
 
 Lowering her eyes she perceived the prostrate Queen, 
 collapsed and unconscious. 
 
 She took a step backward, as if her first impulse was 
 to withdraw ; but immediately controlling herself, with- 
 out speaking a word, without asking the Queen (and, as 
 for that, any question would have been absolutely use- 
 less) what was the matter, she lifted her in her arms, 
 and, with a force of which one would have believed her 
 incapable, carried her to the bed, — guided solely by the 
 two candles burning in her own chamber, whose rays 
 strayed through the door into the Queen's chamber. 
 
 Then taking from her pouch a vial of salts, she held it 
 to the nostrils of Marie Antoinette. 
 
 Despite the efficacy of the salts, the swoon of Marie 
 Antoinette was so deep that it was only at the end of 
 ten minutes that she heaved a sigh. 
 
 At this sigh, which announced the return of her sov- 
 ereign to life, Andree was again tempted to withdraw; 
 but this time, as before, she was detained by the senti- 
 ment of duty, so powerful in her. 
 
 She only withdrew her arm from beneath the head of 
 Marie Antoinette, which she had lifted, lest a drop of 
 the corrosive vinegar, in which the salts were dissolved, 
 should fall on the face or breast of the Queen. At the 
 same time she withdrew the hand which held the vial. 
 The head fell back on the pillow ; and, the vial being 
 withdrawn, the Queen was plunged into a stupor more 
 
 VOL. I. — 5 
 
66 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 profound than that from which she had seemed about to 
 emerge. 
 
 Always cool, almost immovable, Andr^e lifted her 
 again, and for the second time applied the vial of salts, 
 which produced its effect. 
 
 A slight shiver ran through the Queen's body. She 
 sighed, and her eyes opened. She recalled her thoughts, 
 remembering the horrible omen. Then, realizing that a 
 woman was near, she threw both arms about her neck, 
 cryiug, " Oh defend me, save me ! " 
 
 " Your Majesty has no need of defence, being in the 
 midst of friends," responded Andree, " and appears to 
 be already saved from the swoon into which she had 
 fallen." 
 
 " The Comtesse de Charny ! " cried the Queen, releasing 
 Andree, whom she had embraced, and whom, in the first 
 movement, she almost repulsed. 
 
 Neither this motion, nor the sentiment which inspired 
 it, could escape Andree's notice. 
 
 But the next moment she remained calm, almost to 
 frigidity. Then she asked, taking a backward step : 
 "Does the Queen bid me assist her in undressing]" 
 
 " No, Countess, I thank you," replied the Queen in an 
 altered voice ; "I can undress alone. Eeturn to your 
 own room, for you must need sleep." 
 
 " I will return to my chamber, but not to sleep, 
 Madame," responded Andree, " but to watch over the 
 sleep of your Majesty." 
 
 Having saluted the Queen she retired to her room, with 
 a step as slow and solemn as that of a statue, if statues 
 could walk. 
 
THE ROAD TO PAEIS. 67 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THK ROAD TO PARIS. 
 
 On the same evening when the events took place which 
 we have just related, an occurrence no less grave disturbed 
 the college of Abbe Fortier. 
 
 Sebastien Gilbert had disappeared about six o'clock ; 
 and at midnight, despite careful researches throughout 
 the mansion, both by the Abbe Fortier and his sister, 
 Mademoiselle Alexandrine Fortier, he had not been 
 found. 
 
 All the domestic world was asked what had become of 
 him, but all that world was ignorant ; only Aunt Angelica, 
 as she was going out of the church, where she had been 
 arranging the chairs, at about eight o'clock in the even- 
 ing, thought she had seen him pass through the little 
 street running between the church and the prison, and 
 take the path leading to that portion of the park called 
 the Parterre. 
 
 This report, instead of reassuring the Abb^ Fortier, in- 
 creased his anxiety. He was not ignorant of the strange 
 hallucinations which occasionally possessed Sebastien, 
 especially when that woman appeared whom he called 
 his mother ; and more than once in their walks, when 
 the Abbe anticipated this sort of dizziness, he had 
 watched the child as he saw him venture too far into 
 the woods ; and when he feared to see the boy disappear 
 altogether, had sent after him one of the best runners 
 in the college. 
 
68 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 The runners always found the boy panting, almost 
 exhausted, leaning against a tree, or lying at length on 
 the moss, the green carpet of this magnificent forest ; 
 but these dizzy turns had never seized Sebastien in the 
 evening, and never during the night had they been 
 obliged' to run after him. 
 
 Something extraordinary must have happened ; but 
 the Abbe Fortier, however much he might scratch his 
 head, could not imagine what. 
 
 In order to reach a happier result than the Abbe 
 Fortier, suppose we follow Sebastien Gilbert, — we, who 
 know his whereabouts. 
 
 Aunt Angelica was not mistaken. It was certainly 
 Sebastien Gilbert whom she saw slipping by in the twi- 
 light, and making, with all his legs, for the ParteiTe. 
 From the Parterre he went to the Pheasant Park. Pass- 
 ing through the Pheasant Park he shot away through 
 the little lane which leads straight to Haramont. In 
 three-quarters of an hour he reached that village. 
 
 Knowing the end of Sebastien's course to be the village 
 of Haramont, it is not difiicult for us to guess whom he 
 sought in that village. He came to find Pitou. 
 
 Unfortunately Pitou left by one side of the village just 
 as Sebastien Gilbert entered it by the other; for Pitou, 
 it may be remembered, after the festival given by the 
 Haramont National Guard, — having, like an ancient 
 ■wrestler, managed to stand upright when all the others 
 were floored, — started to seai'ch for Catherine, whom, 
 it may also be remembered, he found fainting on the 
 road from Villers Cotterets to Pisseleu, and destitute of 
 all warmth, except that of the last kiss given her by 
 Isidore. 
 
 Gilbert was ignorant of all this, and went straight to 
 Pitou's cottage, the door of which he found unfastened. 
 
THE ROAD TO PARIS. 69 
 
 In the simplicity of his life Pitou did not fancy there 
 was any necessity for fastening a door, whether the 
 house was occupied or not. Moreover, if it had been 
 his habit scrupulously to secure his door, on this par- 
 ticular evening he was so occupied with weighty mat- 
 ters, that he would certainly have forgotten to take this 
 precaution. 
 
 Sebastien was as well acquainted with Pitou's lodgings 
 as with his own. He searched for flintstone and punk, 
 found the knife which served Pitou for a steel, lighted 
 the punk, with it lighted a caudle, and then waited ; but 
 Sebastien was too excited to wait patiently, especially if 
 he had to wait a long time. 
 
 He walked repeatedly from the fireplace to the door, 
 from the door to the corner of the street. Then, like 
 Sister Anne, in the Bluebeard storj^ seeing nobody com- 
 ing, he returned to the house, to assure himself that Pitou 
 had not returned in his absence. • 
 
 Finally, seeing how time was slipping away, he went 
 to the rickety table, where there were ink, quills, and 
 some paper. On the first page of the paper were inscribed 
 the full names and ages of thirty-three men, forming 
 the effective force of the National Guard of Haramont, 
 acting under the orders of Pitou. 
 
 Sebastien lifted carefully this top sheet, a model of 
 the commander's chirography, who did not blush, when 
 the task would be better done, to descend sometimes 
 to the subaltern grade of quarter-master. 
 
 Then the boy began to write on the next sheet : 
 
 My dbae Pitou : I have come to tell thee that I overheard, 
 a week ago, a. conversation between the Abbe Fortier and the 
 Vicar of Villers Cotterets. It appears that the Abb6 Fortier 
 has some understanding with the Parisian aristocrats, and 
 
70 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 told the Vicar that a counter revolution was under way at 
 Versailles. 
 
 It is the one of which we have since heard, in behalf of the 
 Queen, who put on the black cockade and trod underfoot the 
 tricolored badge. 
 
 This menace of a counter-revolution, together with what we 
 have learned of the events which followed the banquet, have 
 abeady made me very anxious about my father, who, as thou 
 knowest, is the enemy of the nobility ; but this evening, my 
 dear Pitou, there is something much worse. 
 
 The Vicar came back to see the Curate ; and as I had fears 
 for my father, I thought it not amiss to listen, especially, after 
 what I had accidentally overheard the other day. 
 
 It seems, u\j dear Pitou, that the populace went out to 
 Versailles, and massacred many persons, and that among those 
 persons was George de Charny. 
 
 The Abbe Fortier said : " Let us speak low, so as not to dis- 
 quiet little Gilbert, whose father went to Versailles, and may 
 possibly have been killed with the others." 
 . Thou understandest well, my dear Pitou, that I did not 
 listen any longer. I glided softly out of my hiding-place, so 
 that nobody heard me. J went through the garden, and found 
 myself on the Place du Chateau ; and, running all the way, 
 I have come to thee, to ask thee to reconduct me to Paris, — 
 which thou wouldst not fail to do, and with all the heart, if 
 thou wast here. 
 
 But as thou art not here, as thou mayest be very late in re- 
 turning, being probably at work with thy snares in the forest 
 of VUlers Cotterets, — in which case thou wilt not come back 
 before daylight, — my anxiety is so great that I cannot wait 
 till then. 
 
 I depart, therefore, all alone. Be easy, for I know the road. 
 Besides, of the money my father gave me, I still have left two 
 louis, and I will take a place in the first coach which I run 
 across on the journey. 
 
 P. S. I have made my letter rather long, in order to explain 
 the cause of my departure, ■ — and also because of a constant 
 hope that thou wouldst return before it was finished. 
 
THE ROAD TO PARIS. 71 
 
 It is finished ; thou hast not returned, and I go. Adieu, or 
 rather, Au revoir. If nothing has happened to my father, and 
 if he runs into no danger, I shall return. 
 
 Anyhow, I have fully decided to insist that he should keep 
 me close to himself. 
 
 Make the Abbe Fortier easy about my departure ; but, above 
 all, do not set his mind at rest before to-morrow, in order that 
 it may be too late to send anybody after me. ' 
 
 Decidedly thou art not coming, and I depart. Adieu, or 
 rather, Au revoir. 
 
 Thereupon Sebastien Gilbert, who knew the economy 
 of his friend Pitou, extinguished the candle, shut the 
 door, and went his way. 
 
 To say that Sebastien Gilbert was not excited, in begin- 
 ning so long a journey at night, would be untrue ; but 
 his emotion was not what it would have been in another 
 child, — fear. It was solely and simply the natural sen- 
 timent of the deed he undertook, which was in disobedi- 
 ence to his father's orders, but was at the same time a 
 great proof of his filial affection; and such disobedience 
 has a right to forgiveness from any father. 
 
 Besides, Sebastien had grown apace since we last took 
 note of him. A little pale, a little frail, a little nervous 
 for his age, Sebastien was nearly fifteen years old. At 
 that age, with the temperament of Sebastien, especially 
 as the son of Gilbert and Andree, a boy should be almost 
 a man. 
 
 The young fellow, with no other sentiment than the 
 emotion inseparable from the task which he had under- 
 taken, set out for Largny, which he soon discovered by 
 the " pale light which falleth from the stars," as, old 
 Corneille puts it. He passed along the village, reached 
 the great ravine which extends thence to Vauciennes, 
 encompassing the ponds of Walue. At Vauciennes he 
 
72 LA COMTESSE DE CHAKNY. 
 
 took the broad road, and walked along more tranquilly, 
 knpwing that he was in the King's highway. 
 
 Sebastian was a boy full of sense. He had once 
 talked Latin all the way from Paris to Villers Cotterets, 
 and it had taken three days to make the trip ; and he 
 understood therefore that one could not return to Palis 
 in a night, and did not waste his breath by talking in 
 any language. He descended the first and mounted the 
 second hill of Vauciennes at a moderate pace, but having 
 reached the plain below he marched along more rapidly. 
 
 Perhaps this liveliness in Sebastien's gait was incited 
 by his approaching a disagreeable place which intervened 
 along this road, a place which, at that daj', had a repu- 
 tation it has now completely lost. This place was called 
 Clear Water Spring, because the limpid stream trickled 
 twenty feet from quarries like two gates of hell, opening 
 their sombre jaws towards the highway. 
 
 Whether Sebastien was timid about passing this point 
 or not no one will ever know, for he did not quicken his 
 footsteps, nor did he swerve from the middle of the road, 
 although he might have gone round by the opposite 
 side of the way. To be sure he slackened his pace fur- 
 ther on, but that was doubtless because he came to a 
 slight elevation, and was near the spot where the road 
 divided into two, branching towards Paris and Crespy. 
 
 There he suddenly stopped. In coming from Paris he 
 had not noted which route he took at this point, and so, 
 in returning to Paris, he did not know which road he 
 ought to follow. 
 
 Was it the left, or was it the right 1 Both roads were 
 bordered with similar trees, both were paved in the same 
 way. Nobody was there to answer Sebastien's questions. 
 
 These two roads, starting from the same point, diverged 
 from each other visibly and rapidly, so that if Sebastien 
 
THE ROAD TO PAEIS. 73 
 
 took the wroug direction, instead of the right, the result 
 would be, that by next morning he would be very much 
 out of his way. 
 
 Sebastien stood undecided. He looked for some indi- 
 cation by which he might recognize the route by which he 
 had formerly travelled ; but this indication, which would 
 have failed him even in the daytime, failed him still more 
 in the obscurity. 
 
 He sat down discouraged at the fork of the roads, 
 partly for rest, and partly for reflection, when sud- 
 denly he thouglit he heard in the distance, coming from 
 the direction of Villers Cotterets, the gallop of one or 
 two horses. 
 
 He bent his ear to listen. He was not in error. The 
 noise of the horses' hoofs resounded above the roadbed, 
 and became more and more distinct. Sebastien was 
 about to receive the help which he needed. 
 
 He determined to stop the riders midway and ask 
 for directions. Soon he saw their shadows loom up in 
 the darkness, while sparks of fire spurted from beneath the 
 iron feet of the horses. He raised himself, crossed the 
 trench, and waited. 
 
 The cavalcade was composed of two men, one of whom 
 galloped three or four paces in front of the other. 
 
 Sebastien reasonably concluded that the first of the 
 two men must be the master, the second the servant. 
 He advanced three steps, in order to address the first 
 rider. The latter, seeing a man leap as it were from the 
 ditch, believed there was an ambuscade, and put his hand 
 to his belt. 
 
 Sebastien noticed the movement, and called out : " I 
 am no thief, ^Monsieur. I am a boy whom the lust news 
 from Versailles summons to Paris, to search for his father. 
 I don't know which of these two roads I ought to take. 
 
74 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 Tell me which leads to Paris, and you will do me a great 
 favor." 
 
 The clearness of Sebastien's words and the juvenile 
 ring of his voice (which sounded not unfamiliar to the 
 horseman) were such that, hurried as he was, he drew 
 rein. 
 
 " My boj','' he asked kindly, "who are you, and why 
 do yon venture on the highroad at such an hour, alone 
 and unprotected 1 " 
 
 " I do not ask who you are, Monsieur ; I only ask my 
 way, the road at the end of which I may learn if my 
 father is dead or living." 
 
 There was in that voice, though still childish, a firm- 
 ness of accent which struck the cavalier. 
 
 " My friend," he said, " the road to Paris is the one 
 which we pursue. I know it but badly myself, having 
 travelled this road to Paris but twice ; but I am not the 
 less sure the oue we follow is the best one." 
 
 Sebastian took a backward step in expressing his 
 thanks. The horses needing to breathe, the horseman 
 who seemed to be the master resumed his course, but 
 at a less rapid pace. His lackey followed him. " Mon- 
 sieur Isidore," he said, " did you not recognize that 
 youngster 1 " 
 
 " No, but it seemed to me somehow — " 
 
 " What, Monsieur Isidore did not recognize young 
 Sebastien Gilbert, who belongs at the boarding-school of 
 the Abbe Fortier?" 
 
 " Sebastien Gilbert 1 " 
 
 " To be sure, — who came from time to time, with 
 that big Pitou, to Mademoiselle Catherine's farm." 
 
 " Thou art indeed right ! " 
 
 Stopping his horse and turning around he asked : " Is 
 it indeed you, Sebastien 1 " 
 
THE EOAD TO PAEIS. 75 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur Isidore," answered the lad, who had 
 already recognized the cavalier. 
 
 " Come then, my J'oung friend," said the horseman, 
 " let me linow how it happens that I find you alone on 
 such a road, at such an hour." 
 
 " I have told you. Monsieur Isidore. I go to Paris, to 
 ascertain if my father has been killed, or if he still 
 lives.'' 
 
 " Alas, poor boy," said Isidore, with a deep feeling 
 of sadness, " I go to Paris for a similar cause ; only I am 
 not in doubt." 
 
 " Yes, I know, — your brother — "i" 
 
 " One of my brothers, George, was killed yesterday 
 morning at Versailles.'' 
 
 " Ah, Monsieur George de Charny ! " 
 
 Sebastien made a forward movement and offered both 
 his hands to Isidore, who caught and pressed them. 
 
 " Well, my dear boy," he added, " as our situations are 
 almost identical, it is useless for us to separate. Like 
 myself you must be in haste to reach Paris." 
 
 " Yes, yes. Monsieur ! " 
 
 " Yo\i can't go afoot ! " 
 
 " I could go on foot very well, but it would take too 
 long ; so I expect to-morrow to pay for a place in the 
 first vehicle I find on the road, going in the same direc- 
 tion as myself, and to travel in it as far as I can towards 
 Paris." 
 
 " And if you do not find one — t " 
 
 " I shall proceed on foot." 
 
 "Do better than that, my dear boy; mount on the 
 crupper behind my lackej'." 
 
 Sebastien withdrew his hands from those of Isidore, 
 and said • " I thank you, Monsieur le Yioomte." 
 
 These words were accentuated by a tone so expressive 
 
io LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 that Isidore saw how he had wounded the lad by offer- 
 ing him a lift behind a servant ; so he added : " On 
 the whole, come to think of it, take Baptiste's horse, 
 and he can rejoin us at Paris. He can inquire for me 
 at the Tuileries, where they will always know of my 
 whereabouts." 
 
 " I thank you still more, Monsieur," said Sebastien in 
 a softer voice, for he appreciated the delicacy of this new 
 proposition, " but I will not deprive you of Baptiste's 
 services." 
 
 Only a little more persuasion was needed, the prelimi- 
 naries of peace being already arranged. 
 
 " Well, you may do still better, Sebastien. Mount 
 behind me. Day is already breaking. At ten in the 
 forenoon we shall be at Dammartin, — that is, half way. 
 There we will leave the two horses in Baptiste's care, and 
 take a postchaise, which will land us in Paris. That is 
 what I intended to do, and you do not alter my plans." 
 
 " Is that really true, Monsieur Isidore 1 " 
 
 " On my word of honor." 
 
 "Well then — ," said the lad hesitating, but dying to 
 accept. 
 
 " Get down, Baptiste, and help Monsieur to mount ! " 
 
 " Thanks, but that is needless, Monsieur Isidore," 
 said Sebastien, who, agile as any schoolboy, climbed, or 
 rather bounded, to the crupper. 
 
 Then the three men and the two horses started 
 at a gallop, and soon disappeared behind the hill of 
 Gondreville. 
 
THE APPARITION. 77 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 THE APPARITION. 
 
 As had been planned, the three riders continued their 
 journey as far as Dammartin. They arrived at Dammar- 
 tin about ten o'clock. They all needed something to 
 eat ; and besides, it was necessary to inquire for a chaise 
 and posthorses. 
 
 While breakfast was served to Isidore and Sebastien, 
 who did not exchange a word, being a prey, Sebastien 
 to anxiety and Isidore to melancholy, Baptiste cleaned 
 his master's horses, and tried to find a chaise and post- 
 horses. 
 
 At midday, breakfast being over, the horses and chaise 
 were ready at the door. 
 
 As Isidore had heretofore used his own vehicle when 
 he travelled by post, he was not aware that those who 
 travel with carriages belonging to the company were com- 
 pelled to change conveyances at each stopping-place. 
 The result of this was that the relay-masters — who kept 
 others strictly to the rules, though they refrained care- 
 fully from observing those rules themselves — never had 
 vehicles under their control or horses in their stables. 
 Consequently, leaving Dammartin at noon, the travellers 
 did not reach the barrier till half-past four, and were not at 
 the gates of the Tuileries till five o'clock in the evening. 
 
 There it was still further necessary to make them- 
 selves known to Lafayette, who controlled the guards, 
 and who, in these troublous times, having made himself 
 
78 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 resjJonsible to the Assembly for the person of the King, 
 guarded that King conscientiously. However when 
 Charuy gave his name, when he invoked the name of his 
 brother, the obstacles vanished, and Isidore and Sebas- 
 tian were introduced into the Courtyard of the Swiss 
 Guards, whence they passed into the Middle Courtyard. 
 
 Sebastien wished to be instantly conducted as far as 
 the Kue Saint Honor^, to the lodging which his father 
 inhabited; but Isidore bade him remember that as Doctor 
 Gilbert was a physician to the King for that quarter, 
 those about the King would best know when he was 
 expected. Sebastien, whose disposition was thoroughly 
 reasonable, yielded to this argument, and consequently 
 followed Isidore. 
 
 A certain kind of etiquette was already established in 
 the Palace of the Tuileries, although the Court had ar- 
 rived only the night before. Isidore was conducted by 
 the Staircase of Honor, and the usher made him wait in 
 the great salon hung with green, feebly lighted by two 
 candelabras. 
 
 The rest of the palace was plunged in semi-darkness ; 
 for the building having been generally occupied by pri- 
 vate persons, the great lamps, which constituted part of 
 the royal luxury, had been neglected. 
 
 The usher at once went to inquire for the Comte de 
 Charny and Doctor Gilbert. The boy seated himself on 
 a sofa. Isidore walked up and down with long strides. 
 
 At the end of ten minutes the usher reappeared. The 
 Comte de Charny was with the Queen. As to Doctor 
 Gilbert, he was not yet visible. It was supposed, though 
 no one had power to speak positively, that he was with 
 the King, — the King being closeted, as the valet de 
 chambre on duty said, with his physician ; only as the 
 King had four physicians for each term, besides his regu- 
 
THE APPARITION. 79 
 
 lar physician, no one knew precisely if the gentleman 
 closeted with his Majesty was Monsieur Gilbert. If it 
 was he, they would notify him, when he came forth, that 
 somebody waited for him in the Queen's antechamher. 
 
 Sehastien breathed freely. He had no longer any 
 reason to fear. His father lived, and was unhurt and 
 safe. He ran to thank Isidore for having brought him 
 hither. Isidore embraced him tearfully. The thought 
 that Sebastien had found his father rendered more dear 
 to himself the brother he had lost, and should never see 
 again. 
 
 At that moment the door opened. An usher cried : 
 " Monsieur le Vioomte de Charny." 
 
 " That is I," responded Isidore, coming forward. 
 
 " Monsieur le Vicomte is summoned to the Queen," 
 said the deferential usher. 
 
 "Yon will wait for me, will you not," said Isidore to 
 Sebastien, " at least, unless Monsieur Gilbert sends for 
 you ? Bear in mind that I must account for you to your 
 father." 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur," said Sebastien, " and meanwhile re- 
 ceive my fresh acknowledgments." 
 
 Isidore followed the usher, and the door closed. 
 
 Then, tranquil about his father, tranquil about himself, 
 certain that he should be pardoned by the Doctor, on 
 account of his intentions, his thoughts reverted to the 
 Abbe Fortier and to Pitou, and to the worriment he had 
 caused them, to the one by his flight, to the other by his 
 letter. 
 
 He could not comprehend now, with all the hindrances 
 he had encountered on the road, how it was that Pitou 
 — who need only stretch his long legs to travel as fast as 
 a posthorse — had not overtaken them. 
 
 Xaturally, by a simple connection of ideas, in thinking 
 
80 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 about Pitou he thought about his usual surroundings, 
 
 — that is, the big trees, the beautiful shaded paths, the 
 bluish distances which marked the horizon of the forest. 
 Then, by a gradual process, he recalled the strange 
 visions which sometimes had appeared to him beneath 
 the great trees, in the depth of their immense arches. 
 
 He thought of the woman whom he had several times 
 seen in his dreams, and once — at least, so he believed 
 
 — in reality, on the day when he was walking in the 
 woods at Satory, and this woman passed and vanished 
 like mist, drawn in a magnificent caltehe, by two superb 
 horses at full gallop. 
 
 He recalled the emotion which the sight of her always 
 roused in him, and, half dreaming, he murmured in a 
 low voice : " My mother, my mother, my mother ! " 
 
 Suddenly the door, which bad been closed behind 
 Isidore de Charny, was again opened. This time it was 
 a woman who appeared. By chance the boy's eyes were 
 fixed on that door at the moment of this apparition. 
 
 This vision was so much in harmony with what was 
 passing in his thoughts, that, on seeing his dream be- 
 come animate in a veritable form, the boy trembled ; but 
 it was quite a different matter when the woman entered, 
 and he saw, both at once, the shadow and the reality, — 
 the shadow of his dreams, the reality of Satory. 
 
 He suddenly stood upright, as if a spring had placed 
 him on his feet. His- lips opened, his eyes grew larger, 
 his pupils dilated. His palpitating bi-east tried vainly to 
 form a sound. 
 
 The woman moved along, proud, majestic, disdainful, 
 without noticing him in the least. Calm as this woman 
 seemed outwardly, her contracted eyebrows, pale color, 
 and stifled respiration showed her to be laboring under 
 the pressure of great nervous irritation. 
 
THE APPARITION. 81 
 
 She crossed the hall diagonally, opened a door opposite 
 to that by which she entered, and withdrew into the 
 corridor. 
 
 Sebastien realized that she would escape him if he did 
 not hasten. As if to be sure of the reality of her appear- 
 ance, he stared wildly at the door by which she had 
 entered and the door by which she had disappeared, and 
 then hurried after her, before the skirt of her silken robe 
 had vanished around the angle of the corridor ; but hear- 
 ing some one behind she walked more quickly, as if she 
 dreaded pursuit. 
 
 Sebastien hastened his steps more than she was able to 
 do. The corridor was dark, and he feared lest the dear 
 vision should again fly from him. 
 
 Hearing footsteps fast overtaking her, she quickened 
 her pace, but turned her head. Sebastien uttered a 
 feeble cry of joy. It was she, always she. 
 
 The woman, on her side, seeing herself pursued by a 
 lad with extended arms, but understanding nothing of 
 the reason for it, and having reached the top of a stair- 
 case, began to descend ; but hardly had she taken a 
 single step when Sebastien appeared in his turn at the 
 end of the corridor, crying, " Madame, Madame ! " 
 
 This voice roused a strange sensation throughout the 
 whole being of that young woman. It seemed to her as 
 if a blow, half mournful half charming, was smiting her 
 heart ; and that from her heart there radiated a chill 
 throughout her body, running through all her veins ; but 
 understanding as yet nothing, either of the appeal or the 
 emotion which it aroused, she redoubled her pace, till 
 her walk became almost a flight ; but slie was not far 
 enough in advance of the lad to elude him. They reached 
 the bottom of the stairway almost at the same time. 
 
 The young woman darted into the courtyard. A car- 
 
 VOL. I. — 6 
 
82 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 riage was in waiting, and a servant held open the door of 
 that carriage. She entered rapidly, and seated herself; 
 but before the door was shut Sebastien glided between 
 the servant and the carriage, and having seized the 
 bottom of the fugitive's robe, kissed it passionately, again 
 exclaiming, " Oh Madame, Madame ! " 
 
 The young woman then looked at the charming boy, 
 who had previously so frightened her, and said in a softer 
 voice than was habitual with her, although that voice still 
 betrayed a mixture of emotion and fear : " Well, my 
 fiiend, why do you run after me t Why do you call me 1 
 Who are you ? " 
 
 " I want," said the boy, all of a tremble, " I want to 
 see you, I want to embrace you ; " and then he added, 
 so low that only the young woman could hear him : " I 
 want to call you my mother I " 
 
 The young woman uttered a cry, took the head of the 
 boy between her hands, and, as if moved by a sudden 
 revelation, drew him quickly to herself, and pressed her 
 lips ardently upon his forehead. 
 
 Then, as if fearing that she might be robbed of the 
 child she had found, she drew him entirely into the 
 carriage, placed him on the other side, shut the door, and 
 pulled down the window, which she immediately raised 
 again to saj' : " Home, to the Rue Coq Heron, num- 
 ber nine, at the first coachway opening from the Eue 
 Platri^re.'; 
 
 Then, turning towards the child, " Thy name 1 " she 
 demanded. 
 
 " Sebastien ! " 
 
 " Ah, come here, Sebastien, — here to my heart." 
 
 Then sinking back, as if almost fainting, she mur- 
 mured : " Oh, what is this unknown sensation ] Is it 
 what they call happiness ? " 
 
ANDKEE'S PAVILION. 83 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 andr^e's pavilion. 
 
 The drive was far enough for only one long mutual kiss 
 between mother and son. 
 
 Behold this child, for her heart never for an instant 
 doubted that he belonged to her, this child, who had 
 been snatched away from her one terrible night, a night 
 of anguish and dishonor ; this child, who had disappeared 
 without any trace of his abductor, except a footstep im- 
 printed on the snow ; this child, whom she had so de- 
 tested and even cursed, that his first cry she had not 
 heard, his first wail she had not enjoyed ; this child, for 
 whom she had appealed, searched, whom she had re- 
 peatedly demanded, whom her brother had pursued 
 across the ocean, in the person of Gilbert ; this child, 
 whom she had mourned for fifteen years, whom she had 
 despaired of ever seeing again, of whom she had dreamed 
 only as a vision of the beloved dead, as a cherished spirit, 
 — behold this child, suddenly, at a moment when she least 
 expected it, recovered by a miracle. By a miracle he 
 recognized her, ran after her in his turn, — pursued her, 
 called her his mother ; this child, here he was, held to her 
 heart, pressed to her breast. Here was one who, never 
 having seen her, yet loved her with filial aifection, as she 
 loved him with affection maternal. Here, from his lips, 
 pure from other kisses, she regained the joys of a lost life 
 in the first embrace which she gave her child. 
 
84 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 Above the heads of men there was, then, something 
 more than the empty void wherein circled the worlds, 
 there was something besides chance and fatality. 
 
 " Rue Coq Heron, number nine, at the first coach- 
 way after leaving the Rue Platriere," the Countess had 
 said. 
 
 Strange coincidence, which brought this child, after a 
 lapse of fourteen years, to the very house where he was 
 born, where he had inhaled the first breath of life, 
 whence he had been stolen by his father. 
 
 This little mansion, bought formerly . by the senior 
 Taverney, when some wealth had come into the bosom 
 of his family, through the favor with which the Queen 
 honored him, had been preserved by Philippe de Taver- 
 ney, and was cared for by an old concierge, whom the 
 ancient proprietors had apparently sold with the house. 
 It served as a resting-place for the young man, when 
 he returned from his travels, or for the young woman, 
 when she wished to sleep in Paris. 
 
 After the last scene between Andree and the Queen, 
 after the night spent near her, Andree was resolved to 
 withdraw from her rival, who recalled all her sorrows, 
 — from one in whose presence the misfortunes of the 
 Queen, great though they were, seemed always less than 
 the anguish of the woman. 
 
 Therefore in the morning Andree had sent a servant 
 to the little mansion in the Rue Coq Heron, with orders 
 to put the summer-house in order, — the pavilion, — 
 which consisted, as she remembered, of an antechamber, 
 a small eating-i'oom, a parlor, and a bedroom. 
 
 Formerly Andree had used the parlor as a second bed- 
 room, in order to have Nicole near her ; but since that 
 was no longer necessary, each room had been restored to 
 its original purpose, and the chambermaid, leaving the 
 
ANDREE'S PAVILION. 85 
 
 lower story entirely to her mistress, — who came there 
 rarely, and always alone, — had to accommodate herself 
 with a small attic, under the eaves. 
 
 Audrce excused herself to the Queen for not keeping 
 the adjacent chamber, on the ground that the Queen was 
 lodged in such narrow quarters that she needed to have 
 near her one of the Ladies of her Chamber, rather than 
 one who was not particularly detailed for her royal service. 
 
 The Queen did not insist upon retaining Andree, or 
 rather she urged it no more than strict conventionality 
 required; and towards four o'clock in the afternoon, when 
 Andree's woman came to say that the pavilion was in 
 readiness, she gave orders for the chambermaid to go at 
 once to Versailles, collect the belongings which, in their 
 precipitate departure, had been left in the apartment of 
 the chateau which Andree occupied, and bring them on 
 the morrow to the Rue Coq Heron. 
 
 At five o'clock, consequently, the Comtesse de Charny 
 quitted the Tuileries, regarding as a sufficient farewell 
 the few words she had spoken to the Queen in the morn- 
 ing, when Andree placed at her disposal the chamber she 
 had occupied over night. 
 
 It was on leaving the Queen, or rather the chamber 
 adjoining the Queen's, that she crossed the Green Salon, 
 where Sebastieu was waiting, — when, followed by him, 
 she fled through the corridors, till Sebastien threw him- 
 self into the cab, which, ordered in advance by the 
 chambermaid, was in waiting at the door of the Tuileries, 
 in the Courtyard of Princes. 
 
 Thus everything combined to make that evening a 
 happy one for Andree. Instead of her chamber at the 
 Tuileries, or her suite at Versailles, wherein she could 
 have received her child so miraculously restored, but 
 where she could hardly have opened the floodgates of her 
 
86 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 maternal affection, she was in a mansion by herself, in an 
 isolated summer-house, without a lackey, without even a 
 chambermaid, without a single onlooker or eavesdropper. 
 
 It was therefore with a well-felt expression of joy that 
 she gave the address written above, and which has fur- 
 ished material for this digression. 
 
 Six o'clock sounded as the coach way was opened, at 
 the summons of the driver, and the cab stopped in front of 
 the pavilion. 
 
 Andrfee did not wait for the driver to leave his seat, 
 She opened the door, and alighted at one step, drawing 
 Sebastien with her. 
 
 Then, giving the coachman a piece of money nearly 
 double his d^we, she hurried, still holding the boy by the 
 hand, into the interior of the pavilion, after carefully 
 closing the door of the antechamber. 
 
 In the parlor she paused. This parlor was illumi- 
 nated solely by the fire burning in the grate, and two 
 lighted candles on the mantelpiece. 
 
 Andr6e placed her son on a small lounge, where were 
 concentrated the united light of both fire and candles. 
 
 Then, with an expression of joy in which a little doubt 
 still trembled, she exclaimed : " Oh my child, my child, 
 is it indeed thou 1 " 
 
 "My mother!" responded Sebastien, with an expansion 
 of his heart, which unfolded like a dewy rose, against the 
 beating heart and feverish breast of Andree. 
 
 "And here, here !" cried Andree, gazing about her, — 
 finding herself in the same parlor where she had given 
 birth to Sebastien, and turning her eyes with terror 
 towards the very chamber from which he had been 
 abducted. 
 
 " Here t " repeated Sebastien ; " what does that mean, 
 my mother ? " 
 
ANDREE'S PAVILION. 87 
 
 " That means, my child, that here, fifteen years ago, 
 thou wast born, in this very room where we now are ; and 
 I bless the mercy of the all-powerful Lord, which, at the 
 end of fifteen years, has miraculously brought thee back 
 again." 
 
 " Oh yes, miraculously," said Sebastien ; " for if I had 
 not feared for the life of my father, I should not have 
 started alone and at night for Paris ; if I had not come 
 alone and at night, I should not have been puzzled to 
 know which of two roads to take, I should not have 
 paused on the great highway, I should not have ques- 
 tioned Monsieur Isidore de Charuy as he rode by, — he 
 would not have recognized me, nor offered to bring me 
 to Paris with him, nor have taken me to the Palace of 
 the Tuileries. Moreover I should not have seen you, 
 when you crossed the Green Salon ; I should not have 
 recognized you ; I should not have run after you ; I 
 should not have overtaken you ; I should not have been 
 able to call you mother, — that word which is so sweet 
 and tender to pronounce." 
 
 At those words of Sebastien, " If I had not feared for 
 the life of my father," Andree felt a sharp pain in her 
 heart, closed her eyes, and threw back her head. 
 
 At those other words, " Monsieur Isidore de Charny 
 would not have recognized me, nor offered to bring me 
 to Paris with him, nor taken me to the Palace of the 
 Tuileries," her eyes reopened, her heart was relieved, her 
 glance rose thankfully to Heaven ; for it was indeed a 
 miracle which led to the restoration of Sebastien through 
 a brother of her husband. 
 
 Finally, the words " I should not have called you 
 mother, a word so sweet and tender to pronounce," re- 
 called her to emotions of happiness, and she pressed 
 Sebastien renewedly to her breast. 
 
88 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 "Yes, yes, thou art right, my child," said she, "very 
 sweet ! There is indeed only one word sweeter or ten- 
 derer, — that which I speak in pressing thee to my 
 heart, my son, my son." 
 
 There was an instant of silence, during which could 
 only be heard the soft contact of the maternal lips on 
 the face of her child. 
 
 At last Andree suddenly exclaimed : " It is not fair 
 that everything about me and around me should remain 
 so mysterious. Thou hast well explained thy presence 
 there, but thou hast not explained tliy recognition of me, 
 thy race after me, why thou didst call me thy mother." 
 
 " Can I tell you t '' asked Sebastien, i-egarding Andree 
 with an indescribable expression of love. " I scarcely 
 know myself Yon talk of mysteries. All is as myste- 
 rious to me as to you." 
 
 " But somebody- said to thee, as I passed by. Child, 
 behold thy mother — ? " 
 
 " Yes, my heart ! " 
 
 "Thy heart r' 
 
 " Listen, my mother ! I wish to tell you something 
 strange." 
 
 Andree drew near the child, at the same time looking 
 up to Heaven, as if to thank God that, in restoring her 
 child to her, He had restored him in such a way. 
 
 " It is ten years since I first knew you, my mother." 
 
 Andree trembled. 
 
 " You do not understand 1 " 
 
 Andree shook her head. 
 
 " Let me tell you. I often used to have strange dreams, 
 which my father called hallucinations." 
 
 At the allusion to Gilbert from the lips of her child, 
 piercing her heart like a steel shaft, Andree shivered. 
 
 "Twenty times since then have I seen you, my mother.'' 
 
ANDREE'S PAVILION. 89 
 
 " How so t " 
 
 " In the dreams of which I spoke just now." 
 
 Andree thought of the awful dreams which had agitated 
 her own life, and of one to which this child owed its 
 birth. 
 
 " You see, ny- mother," continued Sebastien, " that 
 when I was a child, when I played with the village chil- 
 dren, and while I remained in the village, my impressions 
 were like those of other children, and I saw nothing ex- 
 cept real and palpable things ; but as soon as I quitted 
 the village, as soon as I left its last garden behind me, as 
 soon as I crossed the fringe of the forest, I ft4t the rustle 
 of a gown pass by me. I stretched out my hands to grasp 
 it, but I grasped only the air. Then the phantom moved 
 away. Invisible though it was at first, it became visible 
 little by little. At the beginning it was only vapor, trans- 
 parent as a cloud, resembling that wherein Virgil enwraps 
 the motlier of .Eneas, when she appears to her son on the 
 shore at Carthage. Soon this vapor intensified, and took 
 on the human form. This human form, which was that 
 of a woman, glided along the surface instead of walking 
 on the earth. Then an unknown power, strange and irre- 
 sistible, drew me after her. She beckoned me into the 
 darkest recesses of the forest, and I followed with extended 
 arms, but mute as herself; for when I tried to speak, my 
 voice would not articulate a sound ; and thus I pursued 
 her, without her pausing, without being able to overtake 
 her, till the power which had announced her presence to 
 me gave the signal for her disappearance. Then the 
 phantom vanished little by little ; but she seemed to 
 suff'er like myself, because Heaven's will separated us 
 from each other ; for she vanished gazing at me, while 
 I, overcome by fatigue, when no longer sustained by her 
 presence, fell headlong where I last saw her,'' 
 
90 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 This double existence of Sebastien's, this living dream, 
 too much resembled those which had come to Andree, for 
 her not to recognize herself in her child. 
 
 " Poor boy," she said, pressing him to her heart, " it 
 was indeed in vain that hate separated thee from me. 
 God was bringing ns together, without my suspecting it. 
 Only, less happy than thyself, my dear child, I saw thee 
 neither in dream nor in reality ; although, when I passed 
 by thee in the Green Salon, a shudder seized me. When 
 I heard thy steps behind me, something like vertigo shot 
 through my heart and soul ; when thou calledst me 
 madame, that somewhat arrested my attention ; but when 
 thou saidst mother, I almost fainted ; at thy touch, I 
 knew thee." 
 
 " My mother, my mother, my mother ! " thrice re- 
 peated Sebastiec, as if he would console Andree for not 
 having heard this sweet name pronounced for so long a 
 time. 
 
 " Yes, yes, thy mother," replied the young woman, 
 with a transport of affection impossible to describe. 
 
 " And now that we are at last together,'' said the lad, 
 " since thou art glad and happy to know me, we will not 
 leave each other again, shall we '! " 
 
 Andree trembled. She had seized the present in its 
 flight, closing her eyes halfway to the past, and entirely 
 to the future. 
 
 "My poor child," she murmured with a sigh, " how 
 I should bless thee if thou oouldst work such a 
 miracle." 
 
 " Leave it to me," replied Sebastien, " I will arrange 
 it all." 
 
 " How ? " asked Andree. 
 
 " I do not know the causes which have separated thee 
 from my father 1 " 
 
ANDREE'S PAVILION. 91 
 
 Andr^e grew pale. 
 
 " But,"- resumed Sebastien, "however grave the causes, 
 they will disappear before my prayers and even my 
 tears." 
 
 Andree shook her head. " Never, never," she said. 
 
 " Listen ! " said Sebastien, — who after the words 
 which Gilbert had once spoken to him, Child, never 
 speak to me of thy mother, had always believed that the 
 blame of the separation lay with her, — " Listen, my father 
 adores ine." 
 
 Andree's hands, which held those of her son, loosened. 
 The boy appeared not to notice this, and probably did 
 not. He continued: "I will prepare him to see thee. 
 I will tell him how happy thou hast made me. Then 
 some day I will take thee by the hand, I will lead thee 
 to him, and I will say : She is here. See, my father, how 
 beautiful she is." 
 
 Andree repulsed Sebastien and raised herself 
 
 The lad looked at her in astonishment. She was so 
 pale that he feared her. 
 
 " Never," she repeated, " never ! " and this time 
 her voice expressed more than tremor ; it expressed a 
 threat. 
 
 In his turn the boy recoiled on the sofa. He began to 
 discover in the face of this woman those dreadful lines 
 which Raphael assigns to angels in anger. 
 
 " And why," demanded he in a disappointed tone, 
 " why dost thou refuse to see my father 1 " 
 
 At these words, as with the shock of two clouds meet- 
 ing in a tempest, the thunder burst forth. " Why 1 " 
 said Andree, " thou askest, ivhy ? Indeed, my poor child, 
 thou knowest nothing." 
 
 "Yes," replied Sebastien firmly, "I ask why." 
 
 " Well," responded Andree, quite incapable of longer 
 
92 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 suppressing the fangs of the hateful serpent raging in 
 her heart, " because thy father is a wretch, because he is 
 infamous." 
 
 Sebastien bounded from the seat on which he was 
 cro\iohing, and stood in front of Andreo. 
 
 " Is it my father of whom yoii are speaking, Madame, 
 of my father," he cried, " of Doctor Gilbert, of the man 
 who has reared me, to whom I owe everything, with 
 whom alone I am acquainted? I was mistaken, Madame, 
 yon are not my mother." 
 
 The boy made a motion as if to leave the room. Andree 
 stopped him. 
 
 " Listen ! " said she. " Thou dost not know, thou 
 canst not understand, thou must not judge ! " 
 
 " No, but I can feel ; and I feel that I do not love you 
 any longer." 
 
 Andree uttered a cry of distress ; but at the same 
 time a noise outside diverted the emotion which convulsed 
 her, although that emotion had threatened to completely 
 overwhelm her. 
 
 This noise was the opening of the outer gate, and of a 
 carriage which stopped at the entrance. At this sound a 
 chill ran through Andree's limbs, a chill which passed 
 from her body into that of her child. " Listen ! " she 
 said, "listen, and hold thy tongue ! " 
 
 The terrified hoy obeyed. 
 
 The door of the antechamber was heard to open and 
 steps were heard approaching the parlor. 
 
 Andree remained immovable and mute, pale as the 
 statue of Expectancy, her eyes fixed on the door. 
 
 " "Whom shall I announce to Madame ] " asked the 
 voice of the old porter. 
 
 "Announce the Comte de Charny, and ask if she 
 will do me the honor to receive me." 
 
ANDEEE'S PAVILION. 93 
 
 "Ohr" exclaimed Audree, "into that bedroom, child, 
 into that bedroom ! It will not do for him to see thee. 
 It is not necessary for him to know of thine existence ; " 
 and she hurried the scared boy into the inner room. 
 
 Closing the door on him she said : " Eemain there ! 
 "When he is gone I will tell thee, 1 will relate to thee. — 
 No, no ! No more of that ! I will embrace thee, and so 
 thou wilt understand that I am really thy mother." 
 
 Sebastien replied only by a sort of moan. 
 
 At that moment the door from the antechamber 
 opened. Cap in hand the old concierge delivered the 
 commission with which he was charged. Behind him, in 
 the shadow, Andrea's piercing eye discerned a human 
 form. 
 
 "Let the Count enter," she said, in a voice as firm as 
 if nothing had happened. 
 
 The old porter stepped aside and the Count, hat iu 
 hand, appeared on the threshold. 
 
94 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 HrSBAND AND "WIFE. 
 
 As he was in. mourning for his dear brother, killed 
 hardly two days before, the Count was clad in complete 
 black. 
 
 Moreover, as this mourning, like Hamlet's, was not 
 alone in his " inky cloak," but iu the depths of his heart, 
 his pale face attested the tears he had shed and the grief 
 he had suffered. 
 
 The Countess saw all this at one rapid glance. Hand- 
 some faces are never so handsome as after a shower of 
 tears. Never had Charny seemed so handsome before. 
 
 She closed her eyes for an instant, threw her head 
 slightly backward, as if to give her lungs a chance to 
 breathe better, and held her hand to her heart, which 
 felt as if it would break. 
 
 "When she reopened her eyes, — and this was but a 
 second after she closed them, — she saw Charny stand- 
 ing in the same place. 
 
 The gesture and glance of Andrea asked at the same 
 time, and so visibly, why he did not come in, that he 
 most naturally responded, to both gesture and glance : 
 "Madame, I was waiting." 
 
 He took a step forward. 
 
 " Do you wish your carriage sent away. Monsieur 1 " 
 asked the porter, urged to the query by the Count's 
 servant. 
 
HUSBAND AND WIFE. 96 
 
 An indescribable expression played about the Count's 
 eyes, and conveyed itself to Andree, who, as if dazzled, 
 closed her eyes again, and remained immovable, with 
 bated breath, as if she had not heard the question, as if 
 she had not seen the look. Both, however, had gone 
 straight to her heart. 
 
 Charny vainly sought, from this living statue, for any 
 sign which would indicate to him what he ought to 
 respond. Then, as the tremor which ran over Andree 
 might as well arise from fear that he would not go away, 
 as from desire for him to remain, he replied : " Tell the 
 coachman to wait." 
 
 The door closed ; and, for the first time perhaps since 
 their marriage, the Count and Countess found themselves 
 alone together. 
 
 It was the Count who first broke the silence. " Par- 
 don me, Madame," said he, " but is nij' unexpected 
 presence indiscreet 1 I am all ready, my carriage is at 
 the door, and I can go away as I came." 
 
 " No, Monsieur," said Andree quickly. " On the con- 
 trary, though I knew you to be well and safe, I am not 
 the less happy to see you again, after the events which 
 have recently taken place." 
 
 " You have then had the goodness to inquire after me, 
 Madame 1 " asked the Count. 
 
 " Undoubtedly ! Yesterday and this morning I learned 
 that you were at Versailles. This evening they told me 
 that you were with the Queen." 
 
 Were these last words innocently spoken, or did they 
 contain a reproach 1 It was evident that the Count him- 
 self, not knowing how to take them, was puzzled for an 
 instant ; but presently he said : " Madame, a sorrowful 
 and pious duty kept me yesterday and to-day at Ver- 
 sailles. A duty which I also regard as sacred, considering 
 
96 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 the situation in which the Queen is placed, led me, as 
 soon as I returned to Paris, to seek her Majesty." 
 
 In her turn Andrea obviously tried to grasp, in all its 
 fulness, the meaning of the Count's last words. Then, 
 thinking that at least she ought to make some response to 
 his earlier words, she said : " Yes, Monsieur, yes. I also 
 know the awful loss wiiich " — she hesitated an instant, 
 " which you have sustained." 
 
 Andree had been on the point of saying " which we 
 have sustained." 
 
 She dared not, but continued : " You have had the 
 misfortune to lose your brother, Baron George." 
 
 One might have supposed that Charny listened for the 
 utterance of the two words we have italicized, for he 
 trembled when each of them was pronounced. 
 
 " Yes, Madame," he replied, " it is as you say, a terrible 
 loss to me, the loss of this young man, — a loss which 
 fortunately you can not appreciate, having known my 
 poor George so little.'' 
 
 There was a mild and melancholy reproach in his word 
 fortunately. 
 
 Andree understood him ; but no outward sign showed 
 that she gave his words a thought. 
 
 " For the rest, one thing will console me for this loss, 
 
 — if I can be consoled," resumed Charny, — " that poor 
 George died — as Isidore will die, as I shall probably die 
 
 — doing his duty." 
 
 These words, ai I shall ^irohahly die, touched Andree 
 profoundly. 
 
 " Alas, Monsieur," she asked, " do you then believe 
 affairs to be so desperate, that there will be need of more 
 blood-stained sacrifices to disarm the celestial wrath ? " 
 
 " I believe, Madame, that the knell of kings has already 
 sounded, or at least is about to strike. I believe that its 
 
HUSBAND AND WIFE. 97 
 
 evil genius drives the monarchy towards an abyss. If it 
 falls therein, I think it should be accompanied, in the 
 rush, by all those who have shared its splendor." 
 
 "That is true," said Andree, "and when that day 
 comes, believe me, Monsieur, like yourself, you will find 
 me ready for all sacrifices." 
 
 " Ah Madame," said Charny, " you have given too 
 many proofs of such devotion in the past for any one, 
 whoever he may be, — and myself least of all, — to doubt 
 that devotion in the future ; and perhaps I have less 
 reason to question your loyalty than mine, which, may- 
 hap for the first time, recoils from a command of the 
 Queen." 
 
 " I do not understand," replied Andree. 
 
 " On arriving at Versailles, Madame, I found an order 
 to present myself at once before her Majesty." 
 
 " Oh," said Andree, smiling sadly. Presently, after an 
 instant of silence, she added: "It is all very simple! 
 Like yourself, the Queen sees that the future is perplex- 
 ing and troublous, and wishes to reunite about herself 
 men upon whom she can rely." 
 
 " You deceive yourself, Madame," responded Charny. 
 " It was not to attach me to herself that the Queen sent 
 for me, but to send me away." 
 
 "To send you away V asked Andree quickly, taking 
 a step nearer the Count. After a moment, perceiving 
 that the Count was still standing near the doorway, as 
 he had been since the commencement of the conversation, 
 she added : " Pardon, I have kept you standing. Count," 
 and pointed to an armchair. 
 
 As she uttered these words, incapable of longer sus- 
 taining an upright attitude, she sank upon the sofa, 
 where, only an instant before, she had been seated with ■ 
 Sebastien. 
 
 VOL. I. — 7 
 
98 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 "You are sent away'?" she repeated, with an emotion 
 ■which was not devoid of delight, for she supposed that 
 Charny and the Queen were to be henceforth separated ; 
 "and to what end]" 
 
 " To fulfil a mission at Turin, to the Comte d'Artois 
 and the Due de Bourbon, the King's kinsmen, who have 
 quitted France." 
 
 " And you have accepted 'i " 
 
 Charny looked fixedly at Andree, and then said, "No, 
 Madame ! " 
 
 Andree grew so pale that Charny took a step towards 
 her, as if to help her; but at this movement of the Count 
 she rallied her strength and was herself again, and stam- 
 mered : " No ? You have said 710 to an order from the 
 Queen, — you, Monsieur?" and the last two words were 
 pronounced with an accent of incredulity impossible to 
 set down on paper. 
 
 " I responded, Madame, that I believed my presence 
 to be more needful in Paris than at Turin, especially at 
 present; that anybody could fulfil the mission to Turin 
 with which she honored me ; that a second brother of 
 mine had but just come from our province, to put himself 
 at the orders of her Majesty, and that he was ready to 
 go in my place." 
 
 " And beyond a peradventure. Monsieur, the Queen 
 was happy to accept the substitute 1 " cried Andree, with 
 an expression of bitterness she could not withhold, and 
 which did not elude Charny. 
 
 "No, Madame, quite the contrary; for my refusal ap- 
 peared to wound her deeply. I should have been forced 
 to go, but happily the King came iu at that moment, and 
 I made him the judge." 
 
 "And the King said you were right, Monsieur?" re- 
 joined Andree, with an ironic smile. " He was of one 
 
HUSBAND AND WIFE. 99 
 
 mind with yourself, and thought you ought to remain at 
 the Tuileries'! Oh how good his Majesty is ! " 
 
 Charny did not frown at this thrust, but resumed : 
 " The King said, in substance, that he thought my 
 brother Isidore well adapted to that mission, the more 
 so because, coming for the first time to Court, and being 
 for the first time in Paris, his absence would not be re- 
 marked ; and the King added that it would be cruel for 
 the Queen to insist that I should leave you at such a 
 moment." 
 
 " Me" cried Andree, " the King spoke of me V 
 
 " I but repeat his words, Madame. Then, looking be- 
 yond the Queen, and addressing himself to me directly, 
 he asked: 'But really, where is the dear Countess] I 
 have not seen her since yesterday evening.' As the 
 question was addressed especially to myself, it was fitting 
 that I should reply ; so I said : ' Sire, I so seldom have 
 the pleasure of seeing Madame de Charny, that it is im- 
 possible for me to tell you where the Countess may be at 
 this moment ; but if your Majesty wishes to be informed 
 on this subject, and will address himself to the Queen, the 
 Queen doubtless knows, and will answer.' And I insisted 
 the more, because, seeing the frown on the Queen's brow, 
 I fancied that something had taken place between you 
 and herself, of which I was ignorant." 
 
 Andree was so anxious to hear that she did not dream 
 of replying. 
 
 Charny continued : " The Queen responded : ' Sire, 
 Madame de Charny left the Tuileries an hour ago.' — 
 'How?' demanded the King, 'the Countess has left the 
 Tuileries V — ' Yes, Sire.' — ' But when to return 1 ' — 'I 
 cannot guess!' — 'You cannot guess, Madame ■?' replied 
 the King. ' Why, what possible motive had the Count- 
 ess, your best friend, Madame — % ' The Queen made a 
 
100 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 gesture. ' Yes,' repeated he, ' I say your best friend, 
 Madame, — for leaving the Tuileries at such a time?' — 
 ' I believe,' said the Queen, ' she found herself badly ac- 
 commodated.' — ' Badly accommodated, beyond a doubt, 
 if it had been our intention to let her remain in that 
 chajiiber next to yours ; but we would have provided her 
 with a lodging, pardieu, — a lodging for her aud also for 
 the Count, should we not, Monsieur? This would not 
 have seemed too difficult a task to you, I hope?' — 'Sire,' 
 I answered, ' the King knows that I hold myself ready to 
 do my duty in any post to which he assigns me, provided 
 the position calls for my service.' — 'Indeed I know it 
 well,' resumed the King. ' So the Countess has gone 
 away! But whither, Madame? Don't you know?' — 
 ' jSTo, Sire, I do not know.' — ' How ? Your friend leaves 
 you, and you do not ask whither she is going?' — 'When 
 my friends quit me I leave them free to go where they 
 will, and am not so indiscreet as to ask whither they are 
 bound.' — ' Good ! A woman's sulkiness,' said the King 
 to me. ' Count, I have somewhat to say to the Queen. 
 Go and wait in my rooms, and present your brother to 
 me. This evening he shall depart for Turin. I am 
 of your opinion, Charny, I need you, and I shall keep 
 you.' — I went to find my brother, who had just ar- 
 rived, and who, they told me, was waiting in the Green 
 Salon." 
 
 At these words, in the Green Salon, Andree, who had 
 almost forgotten Sebastien, — so much was she interested 
 in the recital of her husband, — bethought herself of all 
 which had taken place between herself and her son, and 
 cast her eyes in agotiy towards the door of her bedroom, 
 which was closed. 
 
 " But pardon me, Madame," said Charny. " I fear I 
 have entertained you with things of little interest to your- 
 
HUSBAND AND WIFE. 101 
 
 self, and doubtless you are asking how it chances that I 
 am here, and what brings me here." 
 
 " No, ilonsieur," said Andree. " On the contrary, what 
 you do me the honor to recount excites my liveliest in- 
 terest. As to your presence near myself, you know that 
 after the alarms which I have experienced on your account, 
 your presence, which proves that personally no misfortune 
 has happened to you, — your presence cannot be other- 
 wise than agreeable. Continue your story, I beg. The 
 King bade you wait in his apartment, and you had been 
 notified about your brother — " 
 
 " We reported ourselves at the King's rooms, Madame. 
 Ten minutes later he returned. As the errand to the 
 Princes was urgent, it was about that the King first 
 spoke. The object was to instruct their Highnesses 
 about the events which are taking place. A quarter- 
 hour after his Majesty's return my brother left for Turin. 
 We remained alone. The King paced the room a mo- 
 ment pensively. Suddenly pausing before me he said : 
 ' My dear Count, do you know what has taken place be- 
 tween the Queen and the Countess V — ' No, Sire,' I an- 
 swered. — ' Something must have happened between them,' 
 he added, ' for I found the Queen in an execrable temper, 
 and unjust to the Countess, as it seemed to me, which is 
 not her Majesty's customary attitude towards her friends, 
 whom she defends even when they are in the wrong.' — ' I 
 can only repeat to your Majesty what I have had the honor 
 to say before,' was my reply. ' I am completely ignorant 
 as to what has occurred between the Countess and the 
 Queen, even if anything has taken place between them. 
 In any case, Sire, I dare affirm, in advance, that there is 
 nothing wrong either on one side or the other ; and if the 
 Queen has been in any way wronged, the misdeeds are 
 not on the Countess's part.' " 
 
102 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 "I thank you, Monsieur,'' said Andree, "forjudging 
 me so kindly." 
 
 Charny bowed and resumed : " The King continued : 
 ' At any rate, if the Queen does not know the where- 
 abouts of the Countess, you ought to know.' — I was 
 hardly better informed than the Queen. However, I 
 replied : 'Sire, I know that my Countess has a stopping- 
 place in the Eue Coq Heron, and doubtless it is there she 
 has gone.' — ' Yes, probably she is there,' said the King. 
 'Go after her. Count. I grant you leave of absence until 
 to-morrow, provided you then bring the Countess back 
 to us.' " 
 
 Charny's glance, as he pronounced these words, was 
 directed so pointedly towards Andree, that feeling ill at 
 ease, and unable to evade his look, she shut her eyes. 
 
 Charny continued : " The King went on : ' You will 
 say to her, always speaking in the King's name, that we 
 will find a suitable lodgment for her here somewhere, 
 even if I have to hunt it up myself, — accommodations 
 certainly less spacious than at Versailles, but large enough 
 for a husband and wife. Go, Count, go. She must be 
 very anxious about you, and you ought to be anxious 
 about her. Go ! ' Then recalling me, when I had taken 
 several steps towards the door, he said, extending his 
 hand, which I kissed : ' By the way, seeing you dressed 
 in mourning, — that is where I ought to have conmienced, 
 — you have had the misfortune to lose your brother. 
 One is powerless to console such afflictions, even a King; 
 but even a King may ask if your brother was married, if 
 he had a wife or children, if this wife and children can 
 be cared for by the King % In any case, jMonsieur, if 
 such a wife and children exist, bring them here, present 
 them to me ; the Queen shall take charge of the mother, 
 and I of the children.' " 
 
HUSBAND AND WIFE. 103 
 
 As he repeated these words tears coursed down Charuy's 
 cheeks. 
 
 "Doubtless the King only repeated what the Queen 
 had already said to you 1 " queried Audree. 
 
 " The Queen, Madame," replied Charny with hesita- 
 ting voice, " did not do me the honor to speak a single 
 word to me on the subject, and that is why this remem- 
 brance of the King's touched me so profoundly. Seeing 
 me burst into tears, he said to me: 'Come, come. Mon- 
 sieur, I was wrong to speak of this, but I act always under 
 the inspiration of my heart, and my heart told me to do 
 as I have done. Eeturn now to our dear Andree, Count, 
 for if the people whom we love cannot comfort us, they 
 can weep with us, and we can weep with them, which is 
 always an alleviation.' 
 
 "And so," continued Charny, "here am I, by order ot 
 the King, Madame, — which will perhaps be my excuse." 
 
 " Ah Monsieur," cried Andree rising quickly, and offer- 
 ing both hands to Charny, " can you doubt if?" 
 
 Charny swiftly took her two hands between his own, 
 and touched them with his lips. 
 
 Andree uttered a cry, as if his lips had been red-hot 
 iron, and fell back on the sofa ; but her clenched hands 
 were so interlocked with Charny's, that in falling back 
 upon the sofa she drew the Count after her ; and without 
 her so willing it, and without his so wishing it, he found 
 himself seated by her side. 
 
 At the same instant, believing she heard a noise in her 
 bedroom, she swiftly withdrew herself from Charny. On 
 his part, not knowing to what sentiment he should attri- 
 bute the Countess's outcry, and the brusque motion she 
 had made, Charny at once arose, and stood in front of 
 her. 
 
104 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE BBDEOOM. 
 
 Chaent leaned on the end of the sofa and heaved a sigh. 
 Audree let her head fall on her hand. 
 
 That sigh of Charny's drew one like it from the depths 
 of her own bosom. What took place just then in the heart 
 of that young woman is simply imjjossible to describe. 
 
 Married four years to a man whom she adored, that 
 man himself was constantly occupied with another woman, 
 with never an idea of the fearful sacrifice Andree made in 
 espousing him. 
 
 Keeping everj'thing to herself, she had seen all and 
 borne all, with the abnegation demanded by her double 
 duty as a wife and a subject. 
 
 Lately it seemed as if some of her husband's glances 
 were kinder, and some of the Queen's words harder, — as 
 if her devotion were therefore not wholly fruitless. 
 
 During the days just passed, — terrible days, full of 
 incessant agony for them all, — Andree, alone perhaps 
 amidst the courtiers and frightened attendants, had felt 
 some exultant sensations and pleasant throbs. This 
 was when, in some happy moment, by motion, look, or 
 word, Charny appeared to think of her, — looking about 
 for her with anxiety, meeting her with delight. 
 
 It might be the light touch of the ungloved hand, 
 communicating a tremor unperceived by the surrounding 
 crowd, but vivifying for themselves a common thought ; 
 
THE BEDROOM. 105 
 
 but these unwonted and delicious sensations were un- 
 known to her, with her form of snow and her diamond 
 heart, which had never known anything of love except 
 its sorrows. 
 
 Now, all at a blow, when this poor solitary creature 
 had recovered her child, and so once more become a 
 mother, behold something like the rosy Aurora of love 
 showed itself on her sad and sombre horizon. Only — 
 by a strange coincidence, which proved that happiness 
 was not for her — these two events combined them- 
 selves in such a strange fashion that each neutralized 
 the other, — that the return of the husband banished the 
 love of the child, as the presence of the child extinguished 
 the dawning love of the husband. 
 
 This is what Charny could not perceive in the cry 
 which escaped from Andree's lips, in the motion that re- 
 pelled him, — in the sorrow-laden silence which succeeded 
 her cry, so resembling a groan, — which was nevertheless 
 a cry of love, — and in that action, which might have 
 been inspired by repulsion, but was really only prompted 
 by fear. 
 
 Charny contemplated Andree an instant, with an ex- 
 pression which the young wife could not have misun- 
 derstood, if she had but raised her eyes to those of her 
 husband. 
 
 He uttered a sigh, and renewing the conversation, at 
 the point where they had abandoned it, he asked : 
 "What shall I report to the King, Madame?" 
 
 Andree trembled at the sound of his voice. Then, 
 lifting to the Count her clear and limpid eyes, she said: 
 " Monsieur, I have suffered so much since I have lived 
 at Court, that, as the Queen has the goodness to give me 
 permission to withdraw, I accept that permission with 
 gratitude. I was not born to live in that world, and 
 
106 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 have always found my repose iu solitude, if not my happi- 
 ness. The happiest days of my life were those which I 
 passed as a young girl iu tlie Chateau Taverney, — and 
 later, those which I spent in retreat, at the Convent 
 Saint Denis, with that noble daughter of France whom 
 they called Madame Louise. So with your permission. 
 Monsieur, I will live in this pavilion, which is full of 
 remembrances for me, which, however sad, are not with- 
 out their pleasant side." 
 
 As Andree demanded this permission of him Charny 
 inclined his head, as a man ready not only to grant a 
 prayer, but to obey an order. 
 
 " This then is your resolution, Madame 1 " 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur," responded Andree, softly but firmly. 
 
 Charny bowed again, and said : " There remains then 
 only one thing for me to ask of you, — that is, if I may 
 be permitted to visit you here." 
 
 Andree fixed on Charny her large liquid eyes, usually 
 so calm and cold, but now full of surprise and delight. 
 " Undoubted]}', Monsieur," she said; "and as I see no 
 one, whenever your duties at the Tuileries permit you to 
 throw away a few hours here, I shall always welcome their 
 consecration to me, however short they may be." 
 
 Charny had never before seen such a charm in 
 Andree's look, never noticed such tenderness in her voice. 
 A feeling ran through his veins, like the velvet thrill 
 which comes with a first kiss. 
 
 He looked at the place which he had occupied by her 
 side, and which had been vacant since he rose from it. 
 He would have given a year to sit there again, even if 
 Andree repulsed him as she had before ; but, timid as a 
 babe, he dared not permit himself in such boldness, with- 
 out being encouraged thereto. 
 
 On her part, Andree would have sacrificed not merely 
 
THE BEDEOOM. 107 
 
 one year, but ten years of life, to feel, then and there, 
 the bliss whereof she had so long been deprived. 
 
 Unhappily neither understood the other, and each re- 
 mained statuesque, in an attitude almost dolorous. 
 
 Charny first broke the silence, to which He alone who 
 is permitted to read the heart could give the true 
 interpretation. 
 
 " You say you have suffered much since you came to 
 live at Court]" he asked. "Has not the King always 
 shown towards you a respect amounting to veneration, and 
 the Queen a tenderness which nearly reaches idolatry 1 " 
 
 "Indeed," said Andree, "the King has been kindness 
 itself towards me." 
 
 "You will permit me to observe, Madame, that you 
 only respond to part of my question. Has not the Queen 
 been at least as perfect towards you as the King 1 " 
 
 Andree's teeth closed tightly, as if her rebellious nature 
 refused to answer. At last she said, with an effort : " I 
 have nothing wherewith to reproach the Queen, and 
 I should be unfair if I did not render that justice to her 
 Majesty." 
 
 "I say this to you, Madame," persisted Charny, "be- 
 cause it has seemed to me for some time, — very likely 
 I have deceived myself, — that her friendship for you has 
 received a chill." 
 
 " It is possible, Monsieur," said Andree, " and this 
 may be the reason why, as I have just had the honor to 
 tell you, I desire to quit the Court." 
 
 " But then, Madame, you will be so very solitary, so 
 isolated." 
 
 " Have I not always been so, Monsieur," she rejoined 
 with a sigh, " as a child, as a maiden, and as " 
 
 Andree paused, feeling that she was going too far. 
 
 " Complete your sentence, Madame," said Charny, 
 
108 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 " You have already understood me, Monsieur. I was 
 about to say, and as a wife." 
 
 " Have I that happiness, that you deign to reproach 
 meV 
 
 " Eeproach 1 " replied Andr6e quickly. " What right 
 have I, great God, to reproach you. Do you suppose 
 I have forgotten the circumstances under which we were 
 united ? The very opposite of those who at the foot of 
 the altar swear reciprocal love and mutual protection, we 
 swore — yes, we — eternal indifference, complete separa- 
 tion. We should have nothing wherewith to reproach 
 ourselves, even if one of us had forgotten the bridal 
 oath." 
 
 A sigh, roused by Andree's words, fell from Charny's 
 heart. 
 
 " I see that your resolution is taken, Madame," he said ; 
 " but at least you will permit me to concern myself as to 
 the way in which you expect to live here. Shall you not 
 be somewhat uncomfortable 1 " 
 
 Andree smiled plaintively. " The household of my 
 father was so poor," she said, " that this pavilion, bare as 
 it appears to you, is furnished with a luxury to which I 
 have not been accustomed." 
 
 " But that charming retreat at Trianon, — the Versailles 
 Palace — " 
 
 " Oh, I knew very well, Monsieur, that I should only 
 be a sojourner there." 
 
 "At least you should have here all that is needful for 
 yourself]" 
 
 " I shall find all that I formerly enjoyed." 
 
 " Let us see ! " said Charny, who wished to form some 
 idea of the apartments which Andree was to inhabit, and 
 began to look about him. 
 
 " What do you wish, Monsieur 1 " she asked rising 
 
THE BEDKOOM. 109 
 
 hastily, and throwing a rapid and anxious glance towards 
 the bedroom. 
 
 " Unless you are very humble in your desires, this 
 pavilion is surely a very modest dwelling-place, Madame. 
 I have passed through an antechamber, and here I am in 
 the parlor. This door " — and he opened a side entrance 
 — " opens into the dining-room, and that " 
 
 Andrea glided between the Count and the door towards 
 which he was advancing, and behind which, in her mind's 
 eye, she could see Sebastien. 
 
 " Monsieur ! " she exclaimed, " I beg you, — not a step 
 farther. Monsieur ! " and her extended arm resolutely 
 barred his ingress. 
 
 " Yes, I understand," said Charny with a sigh, " this 
 is the door of your sleeping-room." 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur," stammered Andree, in a stifled voice. 
 
 Charny looked at the Countess. She was pale and 
 trembling. Fright was never manifested more plainly 
 than in the expression which now spread itself over her 
 countenance. 
 
 " Ah, Madame," he murmured, with a tearful voice, " I 
 knew very well you did not love me, but I did not suppose 
 you hated me so much.'' 
 
 Incapable of longer remaining near Andree without 
 breaking down, he reeled an instant like a drunken man. 
 Then, rallying all his nerve, he threw himself out of the 
 apartment, with a moan of despair which went to the 
 bottom of Andree's heart. 
 
 The young wife followed him with her eyes as far as 
 he could be seen. She bent her head, so that she could 
 distinguish the noise of his carriage, which sounded far- 
 ther and farther away. Then, as if she felt that her heart 
 was like to break, and comprehended that she had none 
 too much maternal affection with which to combat the 
 
no LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 other love, she threw herself into the bedroom, exclaim- 
 ing, "Sebastien, Sebastien !" 
 
 No voice responded to hers. She listened in vain for 
 any echo to her dolorous wail. 
 
 By the dim reflection of the night-lamp she looked 
 about her anxiously, and saw that the chamber was 
 vacant. 
 
 She could hardly believe her eyes, and called a second 
 time, "Sebastien, Sebastien!" 
 
 The same silence ! 
 
 Then only did she notice that the window was open, 
 and that the outside breeze, penetrating the room, made 
 the flame of the night-lamp quiver. 
 
 This was the same window which had stood open 
 fifteen years before, when her child vanished the first 
 time. 
 
 "It is just!" she cried. "Did he not tell me I was 
 not his mother 1" 
 
 Comprehending that she had lost both husband and 
 child, at the very moment when she thought she had 
 regained them, Andree threw herself on her bed, her 
 arms extended and her hands clasped. She was at the 
 end of her strength, the end of her resignation, the end 
 of her prayers. She had only sobs, tears, sighs, and an 
 overpowering feeling of grief. 
 
 An hour or so passed in absolute prostration, in forget- 
 iulness of the entire world, in that desire for universal 
 destruction which is felt by the unhappy, the hope that 
 they may enter annihilation, and drag mankind along 
 with them. 
 
 Suddenly it seemed to Andree that something yet more 
 terrible than her grief glided between her heart and her 
 tears. A feeling slowly invaded all that remained to 
 her of life, — a sensation she had only experienced two 
 
THE BEDROOM. Ill 
 
 or three times before, but which had always foreshadowed 
 some great crisis of her existence. 
 
 By a movement almost involuntary she slowly straight- 
 ened herself. Her trembling voice was stiiled in her 
 throat. Her whole body seemed awhirl. Through the 
 blinding mist of her tears she believed that she could 
 see she was not alone. As her eyes dried she saw more 
 clearly. A man stood before her, who had evidently 
 leaped through the casement to reach her side. 
 
 She wanted to call, to scream, to extend her hand 
 towards the bell-rope, but this was impossible. She 
 began to feel that invincible torpor which had formerly 
 been the signal of Balsamo's presence. At last, in that 
 man standing before her, in the fascination of his look 
 and gesture, she recognized Gilbert. 
 
 How could Gilbert, the execrated father, be there, in 
 the very place of the beloved child whom she sought '! 
 
 This is what we shall try to explicate to the reader. 
 
112 LA COMTESSE DE CHAKNY. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A FAMILIAR ROAD. 
 
 It was indeed Doctor Gilbert who was closeted with the 
 King, when, according to Isidore's order and Sebastien's 
 request, the usher brought them this information. 
 
 At the end of half-an-hour Gilbert came out. The 
 King placed more and more confidence in him ; for the 
 straightforward heart of the King appreciated the loyalty 
 in tlie heart of Gilbert. 
 
 As he came out the usher notified him that he was 
 waited for in the antechamber of the Queen. 
 
 He was about to take the corridor which led that way, 
 when a swinging door opened and shut, only a few paces 
 from him, giving egress to a young man, evidently igno- 
 rant of the locality, who hesitated whether to go to the 
 right or left. 
 
 This young man saw Gilbert coming towards him, and 
 paused to ask the way. Suddenly Gilbert also paused, 
 as the flame of a lantern shone full in the face of the 
 young man. 
 
 " M. Isidore de Charny ! " exclaimed Gilbert. 
 
 " Doctor 'Gilbert ! " responded Isidore. 
 
 " Is it you who have done me the great honor of asking 
 for me 1 " 
 
 " Precisely — yes, Doctor, — I and some one else.'' 
 
 "Who then r' 
 
 " Some one," continued Isidore, " whom you will be 
 very glad to see again." 
 
A FAMILIAR ROAD. 113 
 
 " Would it be indiscreet to ask who 1 " 
 
 " Xo, but it would be oruel to keep you waiting 
 longer. — Come with me, or, rather, lead me, into one of 
 the Queen's antechambers they call the Green Salon." 
 
 " On my faith," said Gilbert, smiling, " I am not much 
 at home in the topogTaphy of palaces, and specially the 
 Palace of the Tuileries ; nevertheless, I will try to be 
 your guide." 
 
 Gilbert walked on before. After several ineffectual 
 efforts he pushed open a door which led into the Green 
 Salon ; but the Green Salon was empty. 
 
 Isidore looked all about him and called for an usher ; 
 but the confusion was as yet so great throughout the 
 palace that, contrary to all the rules of etiquette, there 
 was no usher in the antechamber. 
 
 "Let us wait a moment," said Gilbert. " The man can- 
 not be far away ; and while waiting, Monsieur, — at least, 
 if such a disclosure is not a breach of confidence, — I 
 pray you tell me who was waiting for me." 
 
 Isidore looked about anxiously. " Can you not guess 1 " 
 he said. 
 
 " Xo." 
 
 " Some one whom I encountered on my day's journey, 
 coming on foot to Paris, uneasy as to what might have 
 happened to you, — somebody whom I mounted on my 
 crupper, and whom I brought here." 
 
 " You are not speaking of Pitou t " 
 
 " Xo, Doctor, I speak of your son Sebastien." 
 
 " Of Sebastien 1 " exclaimied Gilbert. " Well, where 
 is he 1 " and his eye rapidly ran over the recesses of the 
 vast salon. 
 
 " He was here. He promised to wait for me. Probably 
 the usher, to whose care I commended him, not wishing to 
 leave him here alone, has taken him somewhere with him." 
 
 VOL. I, — 8 
 
114 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 At that moment the usher re-entered. He was alone. 
 
 " What has become of the young man whom I left 
 here 1 " asked Isidore. 
 
 " What young man 1 " asked the usher. 
 
 Gilbert had enormous self-control. He felt alarmed, 
 but contained himself, and drew near in his turn. 
 
 Isidore could not prevent himself from murmuring, 
 "Oh my God!" a prey to dire misgivings. 
 
 " Look here, Monsieur ! " said Gilbert with a firm 
 voice. " Collect all your senses ! This child is my son. 
 He is not acquainted in Paris ; and if perchance he has 
 gone outside tlie palace, as he is a stranger, he runs the 
 risk of being lost." 
 
 " A child 1 " said a second usher, who now came in. 
 
 " Yes, a boy, almost a young man." 
 
 " Of about fifteen 1 " 
 
 "Even so!" 
 
 " I saw him in the corridors, following a lady who had 
 just come from her Majesty's presence." 
 
 " And the lady, do you know who she was 1 " 
 
 " No. She drew her mantle close about her eyes." 
 
 " But what did she do t " 
 
 "She ran away, almost, and the boy pursued her, 
 exclaiming Madame. ! " 
 
 "Let us go down," said Gilbert, "and the concierge 
 will tell us who has gone out." 
 
 Isidore and Gilbert took the same corridor through 
 which Andree had. passed an hour before, followed by 
 Sebastien. They came to the door of the Princes' Court- 
 yard, and questioned the porter. 
 
 "Yes indeed," he replied, "I saw a woman, walking 
 so fast that she seemed almost running. A boy came 
 after her. She entered a cab. The boy rushed forward, 
 and so overtook her." 
 
A FAMILIAR ROAD. 115 
 
 " And what nest 1 " demanded Gilbert. 
 
 " "Well, the lady drew the boy after her into the 
 carriage, embraced him ardently, gave her directions, 
 closed the door, and the cab drove away." 
 
 " Do you remember the address 1 " asked Gilbert 
 anxiously. 
 
 " Yes, perfectly ! Rue Coq Heron, number nine, the 
 first coach way as yoii leave the Eue Platriere." 
 
 Gilbert ti-embled. 
 
 " Why," said Isidore, "that is the address of my sister- 
 in-law, the Comtesse de Chariiy." 
 
 " Fatality ! " murmured Gilbert. 
 
 In that age the world was too philosophical to say 
 Providence. 
 
 Then he added to himself : " He recognized her ! " 
 
 " Well," said Isidore, " let us go to the Countess's." 
 
 Gilbert saw in what a situation it would place Andree, 
 if he presented himself to her with the brother of her 
 husband. 
 
 " Monsieur," said he, " so long as my son is with 
 the Countess he is in security ; and as I have already 
 the honor of her acquaintance, instead of accompanying 
 me, I think it will be better for you to set out at once on 
 your journey, — for after what I heard in the King's 
 apartments, I presume you are to go to Turin 1 " 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur." 
 
 " Well, then, receive my thanks for what you have 
 done for Sebastien, and depart without losing a minute." 
 
 " Nevertheless, Doctor — " 
 
 " Monsieur, the moment a father tells you he is without 
 anxiety, you can safely leave him. Wherever Sebastien 
 may be, with the Countess or elsewhere, fear nothing ; 
 my son will be found." 
 
 " Then you so desire, Doctor?" 
 
116 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 " I so pray.'' 
 
 Isidore extended his hand to Gilbert, who pressed it 
 with more cordiality than he was accustomed to show to 
 men of such rank, and as soon as Isidore re-entered the 
 palace, the Doctor went into the Place du Carrousel, 
 emerged on the Rue Chartres, crossed diagonally the Place 
 du Palais Royal, passed along the Rue Saint Honore, was 
 lost an instant in the labyrinth of small streets which 
 empty into the market-place, and then found himself at 
 the corner of two streets. These were the Rue Platri6re 
 and the Rue Coq Heron. 
 
 These streets had both painful reminders for Gilbert. 
 There, very often, in the very place where he now stood, 
 his heart had beaten even more violently than it was 
 beating at this hour. An instant he hesitated between 
 the two streets ; but he then decided sharply, and took 
 the Rue Coq Heron. 
 
 Andree's porch, the coaohway at number nine, was 
 well known to him, and it was not because he feared 
 himself mistaken that he did not stop there. No,- he 
 had evidently sought a pretext for entering the mansion ; 
 and, finding no such pretext, he was trying now to find 
 some means of access. 
 
 He pushed the door to see if, by one of those miracles 
 which chance gives to the perplexed, it had been left 
 open ; but it resisted. 
 
 He ran along the wall. The wall was ten feet high. 
 This he knew vpry well ; but he looked to see if there 
 was not some wagon, left alongside the wall by some 
 teamster, wherewith he might gain his end. With such 
 an aid, active and vigorous as he was, he could easily 
 reach the inside ; but there was no such wagon near the 
 wall. 
 
 Consequently he must find other means of entrance. 
 
A FAMILIAR ROAD. 117 
 
 He approached the door, laid his hand on the knocker, 
 lifted the knocker ; but changing his mind he replaced 
 it softly, without making the slightest noise under his 
 gloved hand. 
 
 Evidently a new idea, springing from a hope almost 
 lost, enlightened his spirit. 
 
 "Indeed," he murmured, "it is possible." 
 
 He went back towards the Kue Platriere, which he 
 followed only for an instant. 
 
 In passing he threw a glance and a sigh on that foun- 
 tain whither he came more than once, sixteen years be- 
 fore, to wet the hard black bread, received through the 
 generosity of the good Therese and the hospitality of the 
 famous Eousseau. 
 
 Eousseau was dead. Therese was dead. He had risen. 
 He had attained respect, reputation, fortune. Alas ! AVas 
 he now happier, less troubled, less full of anxieties pres- 
 ent and future, than in those days, when burning with 
 a foolish passion, he came to moisten his bread at this 
 fountain 1 
 
 He kept on his way. At last he stopped unhesitatingly 
 before a small side gateway, of which the upper part was 
 grated. Apparently this was his destination. 
 
 An instant he leaned against the wall, perhaps because 
 the sum of remembrances which that little gate recalled 
 nearly crushed him, — perhaps because he feared the 
 hope which brought him hither was doomed to defeat. 
 
 At last he ran his hand over the door, and with a feel- 
 ing of inexpressible joy he found, in the orifice of a little 
 round hole, the tag of a string, by whose aid, in the day- 
 time, the gate could be opened. 
 
 Gilbert bethought himself that oftentimes at night 
 they forgot to pull the string inside, and that one even- 
 ing, when he was belated, in returning to the attic which 
 
118 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 -he occupied at Rousseau's, he profited by this forgetful- 
 ness to re-enter the house and regain his bed. 
 
 As was the case formerly, this house, where he now 
 paused, was occupied by people poor enough to feel no 
 fear of thieves. There was the same carelessness, the 
 same forgetfulness. 
 
 Gilbert pulled the little cord. The door opened, and 
 he found himself in an alley damp and black, at the end 
 of which, like a snake turning a pirouette on his own tail, 
 rose the stairway, slippery and clammy. 
 
 Gilbert closed the door with care, and feeling his way 
 along, gained the first steps of the staircase. 
 
 When he had mounted ten steps he stopped. A feeble 
 light, straggling through dirty glass, showed that there 
 was a window at this point, and he could see that the 
 night, however dark, was less sombre without than 
 within. Through this glass, defaced as it was, one could 
 see the stars in the clear sky. 
 
 Gilbert sought for the little bolt which fastened the 
 ■ window, opened it, and, by the same pathway he had 
 followed twice before, descended into the garden. 
 
 Although fifteen years had glided away, this garden 
 was so vivid to the memory of Gilbert that he recognized 
 everything, — trees, flowerbeds, and even the little angle, 
 covered with a vine, where the gardener used to place his 
 ladder. 
 
 He did not know whether, at that hour of the night, 
 the doors were fastened ; he did not know whether 
 Charny was with his wife, — or, in default of the Count, 
 some lackey or chambermaid. 
 
 Resolved at all events to regain Sebastien, he still felt, 
 in his heart, that he ought not to compromise Andrde, 
 except as a last extremity ; and he felt, above all, that 
 he must see her alone. 
 
A FAMILIAR ROAD. 119 
 
 He first went to the door of the low stairway. He 
 pressed the latch of the door, and the door yielded. He 
 argued that if this door was not fastened Andr^e was not 
 alone. Unless tremendously preoccupied, a woman living- 
 alone, in a ground pavilion, does not neglect to fasten the 
 door. 
 
 He closed it gently, and without noise, glad to know 
 that this entrance remained as a last resource. 
 
 Then he went along the staircase platform, and hastily 
 applied his eye to the Persian blind, which, fifteen years 
 before, when opened so suddenly under Andree's hand, 
 had bruised his forehead, on that night when, v.-ith Bal- 
 samo's one hundred thousand francs in hand, he came to 
 proffer marriage to this haughty girl. 
 
 This blind belonged to the parlor. The parlor was 
 lighted ; but as the curtains were drawn before the win- 
 dows it was impossible to see anything inside. 
 
 Gilbert continued his investigations. Suddenly he 
 seemed to see, trembling on the earth and on the trees, 
 a feeble light, coming from an open window. This open 
 window belonged to the bedroom. This window he also 
 recognized, for it was through it he had once stolen the 
 child whom to-day he again sought for. 
 
 He turned aside in order to be beyond the rays pro- 
 jected from the window, and in order to see without being 
 seen, hidden in the obscurity. 
 
 Stationed at a point where he could look far into the 
 chamber, he could see the open parlor door ; and in the 
 circle which was within reach of his glance, he could also 
 see a bed. 
 
 On the bed was a rigid, dishevelled, prostrate woman. 
 Hoarse guttural sounds escaped from her throat, like 
 those of the death-rattle, interrupted from time to time 
 by moans and sobs. 
 
120 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 Gilbert came slowly forward, avoiding the line of light, 
 which he hesitated to enter for fear of being seen. He 
 finally pressed his pale face against an angle of the 
 window. 
 
 In Gilbert's raind there was no longer any doubt. This 
 woman was Andree, and Andree was alone. 
 
 But wh}' was Andree alone 1 Why did Andree weep 1 
 That was what Gilbert could only learn by asking. 
 
 Then it was that noiselessly he climbed through the 
 window and stood beside her, — the moment when she 
 was forced to turn, by that magnetic attraction to which 
 Andree was always so accessible. 
 
 The two enemies found themselves once more face to 
 face. 
 
WHAT HAD HAPPENED TO SEBASTIEN. 121 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 WHAT HAD HAPPENED TO SEBASTIEN. 
 
 Andree's first feeling in thus beholding Gilbert was 
 one not merely of extreme fear, but also of invincible 
 repugnance. 
 
 For her he was always the same wretched little Gilbert, 
 — the terrible demon ambushed among the groves of 
 Trianon, — rather than Gilbert the American, the friend of 
 "Washington and Lafayette, however elevated by science, 
 by study, and by his genius. 
 
 As for Gilbert, on the contrary, — despite her misun- 
 derstandings, despite her abuse, despite even her perse- 
 cution, — though he no longer cherished for Andreo that 
 ardent love which, as a young man, made him commit 
 a crime for her sake, he yet regarded her with a tender 
 and deep interest, which would compel his manhood 
 to render her a service, even at the risk of his life. 
 
 This was because — in the intelligent insight where- 
 with Nature had endowed him, in that absolute justice 
 which he had imbibed with his education — Gilbert 
 judged himself. He understood all the misfortunes 
 which had befallen Andree, and that he should not stand 
 guiltless towards her until he recompensed her with an 
 amount of felicity equal to the misfortunes which she had 
 experienced through himself. 
 
 Now wherein and how could Gilbert beneficently 
 influence Andree's future 1 That is what he could not 
 see. 
 
122 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 In finding this woman, whom he had already seen a 
 victim to such despair, the prey of new afflictions, all the 
 pitiful fibres of his heart were moved by her great 
 misery. 
 
 Therefore, instead of making use immediately of his. 
 mesmeric power, which he had once so successfully em- 
 ploj'ed with her, he determined to talk with Andree 
 kindly, but to give that up if he found her rebellious, 
 and return to his disciplinary method, which she could 
 not evade. 
 
 The result was that Andree, already encompassed by 
 the magnetic fluid, regained her free-will little by little. 
 Partly with Gilbert's permission the influence was dissi- 
 pated, — like a cloud which evaporates, and permits the 
 eyes once more to behold the distant horizon. 
 
 It was she who took the initiative word. " What do 
 you wish. Monsieur?" she said. "Why do you come 
 here'! By what means have you come?" 
 
 " By what means have I come, Madame 1 " responded 
 Gilbert. " Precisely as I have come before. Be tranquil, 
 therefore ; no one will suspect my presence here. Why 
 have I come 1 I come because I have to reclaim a 
 treasure, indifferent to you, but precious to me, — my 
 son. What do I want 1 I want you to tell me where my 
 son is, whom you have enticed away, taken into your 
 carriage, and brought here." 
 
 " What has become of him V replied Andree. " Do I 
 know ? He has fled from me. You have thoroughly 
 taught him to hate his mother." 
 
 "His mother, Madame ! Are you really his mother 1" 
 
 " Oh ! " cried Andree. " He sees my sorrow, he has 
 heard my lamentations, he has looked upon my despair, 
 and then asks if I am a mother." 
 
 " Then you are ignorant of his whereabouts 1 " 
 
WHAT HAD HAPPENED TO SEBASTIEN. 123 
 
 " I tell you that he has fled, — that he was iii this 
 chamber ; but when I came into it, believing I should 
 rejoin him, I found the window open and the chamber 
 empty." 
 
 " My God," exclaimed Gilbert, " where can he have 
 gone ^ The unfortunate boy is unacquainted with Paris, 
 and it is past midnight." 
 
 " Oh ! " cried Andree in her turn, taking a step towards 
 Gilbert, " do you think that some accident has befallen 
 himV' 
 
 " That is what we must find out,'' said Gilbert, " that 
 is what you must tell me ; " and he extended his hand 
 towards Andree. 
 
 " Monsieur, Monsieur," she pleaded, reluctant to sub- 
 mit herself to the magnetic control. 
 
 " Madame, have no fear," said Gilbert. " It is the 
 mother through whom I am going to ask what has 
 become of her son. You are sacred to me ! " 
 
 Andree uttered a sigh, and sank into an armchair, 
 murmuring the name of Sebastian. 
 
 " Sleep ! " said Gilbert ; " but sound asleep though 
 you are, see with your heart." 
 
 "I am asleep," replied Andrde. 
 
 " Must I exert all my will-power," demanded Gilbert, 
 "or are you disposed to answer me voluntarily?" 
 
 " Will you again tell my child that I am not his 
 mother 1 " 
 
 "That depends ! Do you love him 1 " 
 
 " He asks if I love him, the child of my inward life ! 
 Oh yes, yes ! I love him ardently." 
 
 " Then you are his mother, as I am his father, Madame, 
 since you love him as I love him." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Andree, breathing again. 
 
 " Then you will answer willingly 1 " said Gilbert. 
 
124 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 "Will you allow me to .see him again when you have 
 found him 1 " 
 
 " Have I not said that you are his mother, as I am his 
 father? You love your child, Madame; you shall again 
 see your child ! " 
 
 " I thank you," said Andr^e, with an unspeakable 
 expression of joy, clapping her hands together. " Now 
 then, question me. — I see — only — ! " 
 
 " What ? " 
 
 " Let me trace him from the moment of his departure, 
 so that I may be sure not to lose sight of him." 
 
 " Be it so. Where did you first see him 1 " 
 
 " In the Green Salon ! " 
 
 " Whither did he follow you 1 " 
 
 " Along the corridors.'' 
 
 " Where did he overtake j'ou?" 
 
 " When I entered the cab." 
 
 " Whither did you bring him?" 
 
 " Into the parlor, — the room on that side.'' 
 
 " Where did he sit 1 " 
 
 " Near me, on the sofa." 
 
 " Did he remain there long 1 " 
 
 " A half-hour, perhaps." 
 
 " Why did he leave you 1 " 
 
 " Because we heard the noise of a carriage 1 " 
 
 " Who was in that carriage 1 " 
 
 Andree hesitated. 
 
 " Who was in that carriage 1 " repeated Gilbert, in a 
 firmer tone and with a stronger will. 
 
 " The Comte de Charny." 
 
 " Where did you conceal the boy ? " 
 
 " I thrust him into this bedroom." 
 
 " What did he say as he entered 1 " 
 
 " That I was not his mother." 
 
WHAT HAD HAPPENED TO SEBASTIEN. 125 
 
 " And why did he say that 1 " 
 
 Audr6e was silent. 
 
 " And why did he say that ? Speak, I so will it ! " 
 
 " Because I had said to him — " 
 
 " "What had you said to him "i " 
 
 "Because I had said to him" — Andree made an 
 effort — "that you were an infamous wretch." 
 
 " Consider the heart of the poor boy, Madame, and 
 reckon up the unhappiness you caused him." 
 
 " Oh my God, my God," murmured Andree. " Pardon, 
 my child, pardon ! " 
 
 " Did M. de Charny suspect that the boy was here i" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " You are sure of it ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Why did he not remain] " 
 
 " Because the Count never stays with me." 
 
 " What did he come for, then t " 
 
 Andrea remained an instant in thought, with staring 
 eyes, as if trying to see into the darkness. 
 
 " Oh my God ! " she exclaimed, " my God. — Olivier, 
 dear Olivier — " 
 
 Gilbert looked at her with amazement. 
 
 " Oh unhappy woman that I am !" murmured Andree. 
 " He came back to me. It was in order to remain near 
 me that he refused that mission. He loves me, he loves 
 me!" 
 
 Gilbert began confusedly to read this terrible drama, 
 which his mind was the first to penetrate. 
 
 " And you," he asked, " do you love him t " 
 
 Andree sighed. 
 
 " Do you love him 1 " repeated Gilbert. 
 
 " Why do you ask that question ] " demanded Andree, 
 
 " Bead my thoughts 1 " 
 
126 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 " Ah yes, I see ! Your intention is good. You ■would 
 make me so happy as to compel forgetfulness of the evil 
 you have done me ; but I should refuse the happiness if 
 I owed it to you. I hate you, and shall continue to hate 
 you." 
 
 " Poor humanity ! " murmured Gilbert. " Are there 
 allotted to thee such great stores of felicity that thou 
 canst choose which ought to be accepted 1 — So you love 
 him f" he added. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Since when 1 " 
 
 "Since the time when I saw him, — since the day he 
 went from Paris to Versailles, in the same carriage as the 
 Queen and myself" 
 
 "And you know what love is, Andrea?" murmured 
 Gilbert sadly. 
 
 " I know," responded the young woman, " that love 
 has been given to humanity in proportion to its ability to 
 suffer." 
 
 " That is well. There speaks the wife, there speaks the 
 mother. A rough diamond, you are being fashioned in 
 the hands of that awful lapidary whom men call Sorrow. 
 — Let us return to Sebastien." 
 
 " Yes, yes, let us return to him. Don't let me think 
 of Charny. It troubles me ; and instead of following my 
 child, I shall perhaps follow the Count." 
 
 " That is right. Wife, forget thy husband ; mother, 
 think only of thy child." 
 
 This expression, half joyous, which overspread not 
 only her countenance but Andree's whole body, now 
 disappeared, to give place to her usual expression. 
 
 " Where was he while you talked with the Count ?" 
 
 " He was there listening, — there, — there at the 
 door." 
 
WHAT HAD HAPPENED TO SEBASTIEN. 127 
 
 " How much of that conversation did he overhear 1 " 
 
 " All the first part." 
 
 "At what moment did he decide to quit the chamber T' 
 
 " At the moment when M. de Charny — " 
 
 Andrde stopped. 
 
 "At the moment when M. de Charny — ]" repeated 
 Gilbert, pitilessly. 
 
 "At the moment when M. de Charny kissed my hand, 
 and I cried out." 
 
 " You can see him then 1 " 
 
 " Yes, I can see him, with his forehead wrinkled, hia 
 lips compressed, and his fists closed against his breast." 
 
 " Follow him with your eyes, and from this moment 
 do not leave him, do not lose sight of him." 
 
 " I see him, I see him ! " said Andree. 
 
 " What is he doing 1 " 
 
 " He looks about him, to see if there is not some door 
 opening into the garden. As he does not find one, he 
 goes to the window, opens it, throws a last glance 
 towards the parlor, leaps over the window-sill, and 
 disappears." 
 
 "Follow him in the dai'kness." 
 
 " I cannot." 
 
 Gilbert came nearer, and passed his hand before her 
 eyes. 
 
 " You know there is no night to you," he said. 
 " Look ! " 
 
 "Ah, there he is! — running by the alley along the 
 wall. He is at the big doorway. He opens it without 
 being seen, and darts away towards the Rue Platriere. 
 Ah, he pauses. He speaks to a woman who is passing 
 by." 
 
 " Listen well," said Gilbert, " and you will hear what 
 he asks." 
 
128 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY, 
 
 " I am listening." 
 
 " And what does he ask? " 
 
 " He asks for the Rue Saint Honore." 
 
 " Yes, that is where I Hve. He has returned to me. 
 He is waiting for me, poor boy ! " 
 
 Andree shook her head. 
 
 " l>io," she said, with an evident expression of disquie- 
 tude, " no, he has not returned to you — no, he is not 
 waiting — " 
 
 "Where is he, then]" 
 
 " Let me follow him, or I shall lose him." 
 
 " Oh follow him, follow him ! " exclaimed Gilbert, 
 thinking that Andree foresaw some evil. 
 
 " Ah, I see him, I see him," she exclaimed. 
 
 "WelH" 
 
 "There he is, entering the Rue Grenelle. Now he 
 enters the Rue Saint Honore. He crosses, always run- 
 ning, the Place du Palais Royal. Again he inquires his 
 way, again he rushes on. He is at the Rue Riclielieu. 
 He is at the Rue Frondeurs, — at the Rue Neuve Saint 
 Roch. Stop, child, stop, thou unhappy — Sebastien. 
 Sebastien, canst thou not see that carriage, coming up 
 the Rue Sourdiere ? I see it, I see it ! The horses. 
 — Ah!" 
 
 Andree sent forth a fearful shriek, sprang upright, 
 with motherly anguish depicted on her face, down which 
 were coursing great drops of perspiration, mingled with 
 tears. 
 
 " Remember," cried Gilbert, " if any mischief happens 
 to him, it will recoil on thine own head." 
 
 Andree went on speaking, without hearing, without 
 understanding what Gilbert said. " The God of Heaven 
 be praised, the breastplate of the horse strikes him and 
 throws him aside, beyond the reach of the wheels. — 
 
WHAT HAD HAPPENED TO SEBASTIEN. 129 
 
 There, he falls, he lies senseless, but he is not dead. 
 Oh no, no, he is not dead, — fainted, fainted, only. Help, 
 help ! It is my child, my child ! " and with a distracting 
 cry Andree fell back almost fainting into her chair. 
 
 Notwithstanding Gilbert's desire to know more he 
 accorded to the exhausted Andrde an instant's repose, 
 whereof she stood sorely in need. 
 
 He feared lest a fibre of her heart should break, or a 
 vein burst in her brain, if strained too far ; but as soon 
 as he believed she could be interrogated without danger, 
 he said, " Well 1 " 
 
 " Wait, wait," responded Andree. " They are making 
 a great circle about him. Oh Heaven, let me pass, let me 
 see him. It is my son, it is my Sebastien. Oh my God, 
 is there not a surgeon or a physician among you all 1 " 
 
 " Yes, I am coming ! " exclaimed Gilbert. 
 
 " Wait ! " again said Andree, grasping his arm. " See, 
 the crowd opens. Surely it is somebody whom they 
 have called, somebody who is coming. — Hui'ry, hurry. 
 Monsieur. You see very well that he is not dead, you 
 see very well that you can save him. Oh ! " she cried, 
 sending forth an exclamation which resembled a cry of 
 terror. 
 
 " My God, what is it 1 " asked Gilbert. 
 
 " I will not let that man touch my child," cried Andree. 
 " It is not a man ; it is a dwarf, it is a demon, a vampire ! 
 oh, hideous, hideous ! " 
 
 " Madame, Madame," murmured Gilbert, shuddering, 
 " for Heaven's sake don't lose sight of Sebastien." 
 
 Andree replied, with set eye, quivering lip, and extended 
 finger : " Oh be calm — I am so — I am so ! " 
 
 " What does he do, this man 1 " 
 
 " He takes him away. He goes up the Eue Sourdiere. 
 He turns to the left, into the Lane Saint Hyacinth. He 
 
 VOL. I. — 9 
 
130 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 ■ goes to a low door which stands half open. He pushes 
 it wide open, he bends himself, he descends some steps. 
 He lays him on a table, where there are quills and 
 ink, and papers both written and printed. He takes off 
 the boy's coat and rolls up his sleeve. He secures his 
 arm with bandages, brought to him by a woman dirty 
 and hideous as himself. He opens his case and takes 
 out a lancet. He is going to bleed him. — Oh I will not 
 see it, I will not see it, — the blood of my son." 
 
 " Well, then," said Gilbert, " go back, and count the 
 steps of the stairway." 
 
 " I have counted. There are eleven." 
 
 " Examine the door carefully, and tell if there is about 
 it anything remarkable." 
 
 " Yes, a little square aperture, protected by a cross- 
 bar." 
 
 " Very well, that is all I need." 
 
 " Eun, run, and you will find him where I tell you.'' 
 
 " Do you wish to awaken at ouce, and remember what 
 you have seen ; or will you wake to-morrow morning, 
 forgetting it all 1 " 
 
 " Awake me now, and let me come to myself." 
 
 Gilbert, following her bent, pressed his thumbs on 
 Andree's brows, breathed on her forehead, aud pronounced 
 the one word, Awake ! 
 
 Immediately the young woman's eyes became animated 
 and her limbs became more supple. She looked at Gil- 
 bert almost in terror, and continued, awake, the exhorta- 
 tion she had given in her slumber. " Oh run, run," she 
 said, " and take him out of the hands of that man j he 
 makes me afraid." 
 
THE MAN OF PLACE LOUIS FIFTEENTH. 131 
 
 CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 THE MAN OF PLACE LOUIS FIFTEENTH. 
 
 No need to urge Gilbert in his search. He hurried out 
 of the room • and as it would cause too much delay to 
 retrace the steps by which he had come, he ran straight 
 to the gateway on the Rue Coq Heron, opened it without 
 the help of the porter, pulled it to behind him, and found 
 himse Ifon the King's highway. 
 
 He remembered perfectly well the route described by 
 Andree, and followed up the traces of Sebastien. 
 
 Like the boy he crossed the Place du Paluis Royal, went 
 along the Rue Saint Honore, — now deserted, for it was 
 hard on one o'clock in the morning. At the corner of the 
 Rue Sourdiere he turned to the right, then to the left, tUl 
 he found himself in Sainte Hyacinthe Lane. 
 
 Then he began a minute inspection of the locality. 
 
 In the third door on the right he recognized, by its 
 small square aperture, protected by an iron crossbar, 
 the door which Andree had described. Her description 
 was so positive that it was impossible to be mistaken. 
 He knocked. Nobody responded, and he knocked a 
 second time. 
 
 Then he fancied he heard somebody creeping along the 
 staircase, and coming towards him with a timid and 
 suspicious step. He knocked a third time. 
 
 " Who knocks 1 " asked a feminine voice. 
 
 " Open," responded Gilbert, " and fear nothing. I 
 am the father of the wounded boy whom you have 
 rescued." 
 
132 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 "Open the door, Albertine," said another voice, "it is 
 Doctor Gilbert." 
 
 " My father, my father," cried a third voice, which 
 Gilbert recognized as that of Sebastien, and then drew a 
 long breath. 
 
 The door opened. Stammering his thanks he sprang 
 down the steps. At the bottom he found himself in a 
 sort of cellar, lighted by a lamp, standing on a table 
 covered with printed and written papers, as Andree had 
 disclosed. 
 
 In the shadow, lying on a kind of pallet, Gilbert- 
 beheld his son, who called to him with extended arms. 
 Although Gilbert's self-control was strong, paternal love 
 bore away philosophic decorum, and he threw himself 
 towards his child, whom he clasped to his heart, taking 
 care, however, not to hurt the bleeding arm or sore 
 breast. 
 
 After a long embrace, wherein, by the soft murmur of 
 two mouths seeking each other, all was told without the 
 articulation of a word, Gilbert turned towards his host, 
 whom he had hardly noticed. 
 
 The man stood upright, with his legs wide apart, one 
 hand resting on the table, the other on his hip, and there 
 fell upon him the light of the lamp, from which he had 
 removed the shade, the better to enjoy the scene which 
 was taking place before his eyes. 
 
 " Look, Albertine," he said, "and be thankful, with me, 
 that chance has allowed me to render a service to one of 
 my brothers.'' 
 
 As the surgeon pronounced these words with some 
 emphasis, Gilbert turned around, as we have said, and 
 threw a glance at the deformed being before him. 
 
 There was something yellow and green about his gray 
 eyes, which projected from his head like those of the 
 
THE MAN OF PLACE LOUIS FIFTEENTH. 133 
 
 fabled peasants pursued by the anger of Latona, — who, 
 in the process of their metamorphosis, were no longer 
 men, but were not yet toads. 
 
 In spite of himself Gilbert shuddered. It seemed to 
 him as if in some hideous dream he had already beheld 
 this man, — through a veil of blood, as it were. 
 
 Again Gilbert turned to Sebastien, and leaned over 
 him still more tenderly. At last he overcame his first 
 feeling of repulsion, and went up to the strange man, 
 whom Andree had seen in her magnetic sleep, and who 
 had greatly distressed her. 
 
 " Monsieur," said he, " accept all the acknowledgments 
 of a father to whom you have restored his son. They 
 are sincere, and come from the bottom of my heart." 
 
 " I have only done my duty. Monsieur," replied the 
 surgeon, — " the duty inspired by my heart, and recom- 
 mended by science. I know mankind ; and, as Terence 
 says, Nothing human is a stranger to me. Besides I 
 have a tender heart. I cannot bear to see an insect 
 suffer, — certainly not, and with stronger reason, my 
 equal, a being like myself." 
 
 "Have I the honor of knowing the eminent philan- 
 thropist to whom I have the pleasure of speaking 1 " 
 
 " You do not know me, my confrere ] " said the sur- 
 geon, laughing with mirth which he intended to be 
 benevolent, but which was simply hideous. " Well, never 
 mind, I know you. You are Doctor Gilbert, the friend 
 of Washington and Lafayette," — he dwelt in a curious 
 fashion on the last name, — "a man of both America 
 and France, the honest Utopian, who wrote the magnifi- 
 cent essays on Constitutional Monarchism, which you 
 addressed from America to his Majesty Louis the Six- 
 teenth, essays which his Majesty Louis the Sixteenth 
 recompensed by sending you to the Bastille the moment 
 
134 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 you touched the soil of France. Yon wished to save 
 him, by showing him, in advance, the drift of the future, 
 and he opened for you the way to prison, — a royal 
 acknowledgment.'' 
 
 Here the surgeon laughed anew, but it was a discord- 
 ant and menacing laugh. 
 
 " If you know me. Monsieur, that is another reason 
 why I insist upon my request, that I may have the honor 
 of acquaintance with you, in my turn." 
 
 " Oh, we were acquainted a long time ago. Mon- 
 sieur," said the surgeon, — " twenty years ago, on a ter- 
 rible night, the night of the Thirtieth of May, 1770. 
 You were about the age of that lad. You were brought 
 to me as he was, wounded, senseless, injured. You were 
 brought to me by my master, Kousseau, and I laid you 
 on a table, surrounded with corpses and severed limbs. 
 It is a grateful remembrance to me, of that dreadful 
 night, that I was able to save some lives, — thanks to 
 the steel which knew how to reach just far enough to 
 heal, and knew when to cut and how to cicatrize." 
 
 " Then, Monsieur," exclaimed Gilbert, " you are Jean 
 Paul Marat ! " and in spite of himself he recoiled a step. 
 
 " Thou seest, Albertine," said Marat, with a sinister 
 laugh, " that my name has some effect." 
 
 "But why are you here?" said Gilbert quickly. 
 " Why are you in this cellar, lighted only with this 
 smoky lamp 1 I supposed you were the physician of the 
 Comte d'Artois." 
 
 " Veterinary surgeon for his stables, you mean," re- 
 sponded Marat. " The Prince has emigrated. No more 
 Prince, no more stables. No more stables, no more 
 surgeon. Besides, I had sent in my resignation. I don't 
 wish to serve tyrants ! " and the dwarf drew himself up 
 to the full height of his short stature. 
 
THE MAN OF PLACE LOUIS FIFTEENTH. 135 
 
 "But why in this hole, in this cellar T' persisted 
 Gilbert. 
 
 " Wh}-, Monsieur Philosopher 1 Because I am a Pa- 
 triot, because I write to denounce the ambitious, be- 
 cause Bailly fears me, because Necker execrates me, 
 because Lafayette tracks me, — because he would have 
 me tracked by the National Guard, because he has set a 
 price on my head, — the ambitious fellow, the dictator! 
 But I defy him. From the depths of my cavern I follow 
 him up, I denounce him, — the dictator! You know 
 what he is doing?" 
 
 " No." said Gilbert innocently. 
 
 " He is having made, in the Faubourg Saint Antoine, 
 fifteen thousand snuff-boxes, each with his portrait. 
 There is something behind that I believe, — hein ! I 
 beseech all good citizens to smash them whenever they 
 are able to get hold of them. They will find them some- 
 how the password of a Royalist plot ; for you are not 
 ignorant how Lafayette conspires with the Queen, while 
 poor Louis Sixteenth sheds scalding tears over the follies 
 the Austrian makes him commit." 
 
 "AVith the Queen?" said Gilbert, thoughtfully. 
 
 "Yes, with the Queen. You cannot pretend to say 
 that she is not conspiring % Why, in these latter days 
 she has distributed so many white cockades that white 
 ribbon has risen three sous an ell. This is sure, for I 
 have it from one of the workgirls of Madame Bertin, 
 — the Queen's milliner, her prime minister, who said, 
 / have been at work this morning with her Majesty.'' 
 
 " And where do you denounce all this 1 " asked 
 Gilbert. 
 
 " In my journal, in the journal which I have just 
 founded, and of which I have already published twenty 
 numbers, — in ' The Friend of the People, or the Parisian 
 
136 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 Publicist,' — a journal political and impartial. In order 
 to pay for the paper and the presswork of the first num- 
 bers, — hold ! look behind you, — I have sold everything 
 except the sheets and coverlids of the bed where your 
 son is lying." 
 
 Gilbert did turn, and saw that little Sebastien indeed 
 lay on the frayed ticking of a mattress, absolutely bare, 
 where he was falling asleep, overcome by grief and 
 fatigue. 
 
 The Doctor drew near the youth, to see if his slumber 
 was not a fainting fit ; l)ut reassured by his respiration, 
 easy and regular, he returned to this man, who inspired 
 him with something of the same interest that would have 
 been roused by the exhibition of some savage beast, a 
 tiger or a hyena. 
 
 " And who are your colaborers in this gigantic 
 work 1 " 
 
 "My colaborers V said Marat. "Ha, ha! Turkeys 
 march in groups; the eagle soars alone. My colabor- 
 ers 1 Here they are!" And he showed his head and 
 hands. 
 
 " You see that table 1 " he continued. " It is the 
 workshop of Vulcan, — the comparison is well founded, 
 is it nof? — where he forges the thunder. Every night 
 I write eight pages octavo, which they sell in the morn- 
 ing ; eight pages, and frequently that is not enough, 
 and I double the size. Sixteen pages are not enough ; 
 and though I begin in large type, I almost always finish 
 with small. Other journalists write at intervals, have 
 assistance and relief, but I, never. ' The Friend of the 
 People,' — you can see a copy, there it lies, — ' The 
 Friend of the People ' comes entirely from my own hand. 
 It is not simply a journal, — no, it is a man I It is a 
 personality, it is myself! " 
 
THE MAN OF PLACE LOUIS FIFTEENTH. 137 
 
 " But how can you get through such an enormous 
 amount of work 1 " asked Gilbert. 
 
 " Ah, there is one of nature's secrets. That is a com- 
 pact between Death and myself. I give Death ten years 
 of my life, and he accords me certain days when I have 
 no need of rest, certain nights when I have no need of 
 sleep. My life is a unity, it is simple, — I write. I write 
 by night, I write by day. Lafayette's police compel me to 
 live concealed, shut up. This frees me, body and soul, 
 for work. This doubles my activity. This life provoked 
 me at first, but now I am at home in it. It pleases me 
 to contemplate the miserable world through the contracted 
 and crooked opening of my cellar, through its damp 
 and dark vent-hole. Out of the depths of my obscurity 
 I rule the world of the living. I judge science and 
 politics, without asking permission. With one hand I 
 demolish Newton, Franklin, Laplace, Lavoisier. With 
 the other I shake up Bailly, Necker, Lafayette. I upset 
 them all, — yes, as Samson overthrew the temple ; and 
 beneath the fragments, which will perhaps overwhelm 
 myself, I may entomb royalty also." 
 
 Gilbert shivered in spite of himself. This man re- 
 peated to him, in a cavern, under rags of misery, almost 
 precisely what Cagliostro, in a broidered suit, tiad said 
 to him in a palace. 
 
 " But why, popular as you are,'' said he, " have you 
 not tried to have yourself nominated to the National 
 Assembly 1 " 
 
 " Because the time has not yet come ! " replied Marat. 
 Then he added almost immediately, with an expression 
 of regret : " Oh, if I could be Tribune of the people, 
 if I could be sustained by thousands of determined men, 
 I would answer for it, that in six weeks the Constitution 
 would be perfect, that the political machine Mould work 
 
138 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 better, that no rascal would dare to interfere with it, 
 that the nation would be free and happy, that in less 
 than a year she would become flourishing and strong, 
 and remain so as long as I live." 
 
 In Gilbert's presence this vainglorious creature was 
 transfigured. His eyes were filled with blood. His 
 tawny skin was bathed in sweat. The monster was 
 grand in his ugliness, as another might be grand in his 
 beauty. 
 
 He went on, taking up the thought where it had been 
 interrupted by his enthusiasm : " Yes, but I am not 
 Tribune, and I have not the thousands of backers whom 
 I need ; no, but I am a journalist ! I have my desk, 
 my paper, my quills, — I have my subscribers, my read- 
 ers, for whom, I am an oracle, a prophet, a seer. I have 
 my people whose friend I am ; and whom I lead, all of a 
 tremble, from treason to treason, from discovery to dis- 
 covery, from fright to fright. In the first number of ' The 
 Friend of the People,' I denounced the ai-istoorats. I 
 said there were six hundred criminals in France, for 
 whom six hundred rope's-ends would suffice. Ah ha ! I 
 was somewhat mistaken a month ago. The Fifth and 
 Sixth of October have come since then, and have cleared 
 my vision. It is no longer six hundred culprits who 
 should be judged ; it is ten thousand, twenty thousand 
 aristocrats who ought to be hanged." 
 
 Gilbert smiled. Fury, when it reaches such a point, 
 appears like foolery. 
 
 "Be careful," said he, "or there will not be hemp 
 enough in France for your requirements, and rope will 
 advance in price." 
 
 "Then I hope we shall find new expedients," said 
 Marat. "Do you know whom I expect to-night, — who 
 will rap at the door in about ten minutes 1 " 
 
THE MAN OF PLACE LOUIS FIFTEENTH. 139 
 
 " 'So, Monsieur." 
 
 " Well, I expect one of my confreres, — a member of 
 the National Assembly whom you know by name, — the 
 Citizen Guillotin." 
 
 "Yes," replied Gilbert, " he who proposed to the Depu- 
 ties to reunite in the Tennis Court, when they were driven 
 from the Hall of Assembly', — a very learned man." 
 
 " Well, do you know what he has discovered, this Citi- 
 zen Guillotin 1 He has invented a marvellous machine, 
 a machine which kills without causing pain, — for it is 
 necessary that death should be punishment, not torture. 
 He has invented such a machine, and some morning we 
 will try it." 
 
 Gilbert shuddered. This was the second time that 
 this man, in his cellar, had reminded him of Cagliostro. 
 This machine was, without a doubt, the same whereof 
 Cagliostro had spoken. 
 
 " Xow then ! " said Marat, as some one knocked. " It 
 is he. — Go and open the door, Albertine, — open it ! " 
 
 The wife, or rather the female Marat, rose from the 
 stool whereon she was crouched, half-asleep, and ad- 
 vanced mechanically and totteringly towards the door. 
 
 As to Gilbert, stupefied, terrified, a prey to astonish- 
 ment which resembled vertigo, he ran instinctively to the 
 side of Sebastien, whom he prepared to lift in his arms, 
 in order to carry him home. 
 
 "You will see," continued Marat, enthusiastically, "a 
 machine whose function is unique, which needs nobody 
 to wield it, which can, by thrice changing the knife, sever 
 three hundred heads a day.'' 
 
 " And add," said a mild and flute-like voice behind 
 Marat, " which can cut off three hundred heads without 
 pain, with no other sensation than a slight coolness 
 around the neck." 
 
140 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 " Ah, it is you, Doctoi-," cried Marat, turning towards a 
 small man, forty or forty-five years old, whose neat attire 
 and mild air were in strange contrast with Marat's, and 
 who carried in his hand a box of the shape and dimen- 
 sions of those used for children's playthings. " What 
 have you there 'i " 
 
 " A model of my famous machine, my dear Marat. 
 But if I do not err," added the little man, trying to 
 distinguish him in the obscurity, " it is Doctor Gilbert 
 whom I see there." 
 
 " Himself, Monsieur,'' said Gilbert bowing. 
 
 " Enchanted to meet you, Monsieur. You are not one 
 too many, thank God, and I should be glad to have the 
 advice of a man so distinguished as yourself, as to the 
 invention I have brought to light ; for I must tell you, 
 my dear Marat, that I have found a very skilful carpen- 
 ter, one Master Guidon, who is to make me a large-sized 
 machine. It is expensive, — he wants five thousand five 
 hundred francs, — but no sacrifice is too costly for the 
 good of humanity. In two months it will be finished, 
 my friend, and we shall be able to try it. Then I will 
 offer it to the National Assembly. I hope you will in- 
 dorse the proposition in your excellent journal. Although 
 indeed my machine recommen,ds itself, Monsieur Gilbert, 
 as you shall judge with your own eyes, yet a few lines in 
 ' The Friend of the People ' will do it no harm." 
 
 " Be easy about that. It is not a few lines which 
 I shall consecrate to this subject, but a whole number." 
 
 " You are too good, my dear Marat ; but, as they say, 
 you can't sell a cat in a bag." 
 
 From his pocket he drew a second box, one fourth 
 smaller than the first, from which proceeded a little 
 noise, as if it were inhabited by some animal, or rather 
 by several animals, impatient of their prison. 
 
THE MAN OF PLACE LOUIS FIFTEENTH. 141 
 
 This sound did not escape the subtile ear of Marat. 
 " What have we inside 1 " he asked. 
 
 " Yon shall see," said the Doctor. 
 
 Marat took the box in his hand. 
 
 " Be careful," said the Doctor, quickly, " be careful ! 
 Don't let them escape, for we can't trap them again. 
 They are mice, whose heads we are to amputate. What 
 are you doing. Doctor Gilbert 1 You will not leave us 1 " 
 
 " Alas, yes, Monsieur," responded Gilbert, '' and to my 
 great regret ; but my son, who was wounded this even- 
 ing, by a horse which knocked him down in the street, 
 has been relieved, bled, and tended by Doctor Marat, to 
 whom I already owed my own life, under similar circum- 
 stances, and to whom I renewedly present my acknowl- 
 edgments. The lad has need of a fresh bed, of repose, 
 of various attentions. I shall not be able to assist in 
 your interesting experiments." 
 
 " But you will assist in our greater experiment, two 
 months hence 1 You will promise me that. Doctor ] " 
 
 " I promise you that. Monsieur." 
 
 " I shall hold you to your word, you understand 1 " 
 
 " It is given." 
 
 " Doctor," said Marat, " there is no need to ask you to 
 keep secret the place of my retreat 1 " 
 
 " Oh Monsieur ! " 
 
 " If your friend Lafayette should discover it, he would 
 have me shot like a dog or hanged like a thief." 
 
 " Shoot ! Ivang 1 " cried Guillotin. " We shall make an 
 end of all such cannibalistic deaths. We are going to 
 have a death pleasant, easy, instantaneous, — such a 
 death as old men, disgusted with life, who would end it 
 like philosophers and sages, would prefer to a natural 
 death. Come and see, my dear Marat, come and see ! " 
 
 Without concerning himself further with Gilbert, 
 
142 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY, 
 
 Guillotin opened the larger box, and began to arrange 
 the machine on the table of Marat, who inspected it 
 with a curiosity equal to his enthusiasm. 
 
 Gilbert profited by their preoccupation to lift thif 
 sleeping Sebastien, and carry him out in his arms. 
 Albertine accompanied them as far as the door, which 
 she fastened carefully behind them. 
 
 Once in the street, Gilbert felt, by the coolness of his 
 face, that he was covered with perspiration, and that the 
 night wind was already congealing the moisture on his 
 forehead. 
 
 " Oh my God," he mattered, " what will come into 
 this city from its caverns, which perhaps conceal five 
 hundred philanthropists at this very hour, each busy with 
 devices similar to the one I have just seen, and which 
 some day will flaunt themselves under the light of 
 heaven." 
 
CATHEEINE. 143 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 CATHERINE. 
 
 It was but a few steps from the Eue Sourdieve to the 
 house where Gilbert lived in the Eue Saint Honore. 
 
 This house was situated not very far from the Church 
 of the Assumption, and opposite the establishment of a 
 joiner named Duplay. 
 
 The cold and motion awakened Sebastien. He wished 
 to walk, but his father was opposed to this, and contin- 
 ued to carry him in his arms. 
 
 Arrived at the door the Doctor set Sebastien for an 
 instant on his feet, and rapped loudly, that he might not 
 be obliged long to wait, even if the porter was asleep. 
 
 Presently a heavy but rapid step was heard on the 
 other side of the door. 
 
 " Is it you. Monsieur Gilbert 1 " demanded a voice. 
 
 " Hist ! " said Sebastien, " that is Pitou's voice." 
 
 " Ah, God be praised ! " cried Pitou, opening the door. 
 " Sebastien is found ! " 
 
 Then turning towards the stairway, in whose shadows 
 might be perceived the light of a candle, he shouted, 
 " Monsieur Billot, Monsieur Billot, Sebastien is found 
 again, — and without accident, I hope, — is it not so, 
 Monsieur Gilbert V 
 
 " Without serious accident, at least," said the Doctor. 
 " Come, Sebastien, come ! " 
 
 Leaving to Pitou the care of fastening the door, he 
 lifted the boy anew, — in the face and eyes of the abashed 
 
144 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 concierge, who appeared on the threshold of the lodge, in 
 a cotton nightcap and nightshirt, and began to mount 
 the staircase. 
 
 Billot walked ahead, lighting the Doctoi'. Pitou filled 
 up the passage behind them. 
 
 The Doctor lodged on the second floor, where the doors, 
 thrown open to their full width, showed that he was 
 expected. He laid Sebastien on his own bed. 
 
 Pitou followed, anxious and shy. By the mud which 
 covered his shoes, stockings, and breeches, and speckled 
 the rest of his clothing, it was easy to see that he had 
 newly arrived from a long journey. 
 
 In fact, after conducting to her home the weeping 
 Catherine, after learning from the young girl's own 
 mouth — for she was too deeply prostrated to conceal 
 her grief — that this grief was caused by the departure 
 of Isidore de Charny for Paris, Pitou felt his heart doubly 
 bruised, both as a friend and a lover, by her sorrowful 
 expression. Taking leave of Catherine in her chamber, 
 and of Mother Billot crying at the bedside, he set out for 
 Haramont with a much tardier step than that which had 
 brought him thence. 
 
 He did not reach Haramont till daybreak, thanks to 
 the slowness of his gait, to the many times he turned to 
 look regretfully at the farmhouse he was leaving behind 
 him, to his great sympathy with Catherine, and to his 
 own sorrow. 
 
 Siich was his preoccupation, like that of Sextus on 
 finding his dead wife, that Pitou sat a long while on his 
 bed, with listless eyes, and his hands clasped over his 
 knees. 
 
 At last he roused himself, like a man who awakens, not 
 from slumber, but from thought. Looking about him he 
 presently saw near a sheet of paper, covered with his own 
 
CATHERINE. 145 
 
 writing, another leaf, scribbled over with a different hand. 
 He went to the table and found the letter Sebastien had 
 left behind him. 
 
 To Pitou's credit be it said, that he forthwith forgot his 
 personal troubles, and could only think of the dangers his 
 friend might encounter in the trip he had undertaken. 
 Kegardless of the advantage the lad must have over him, 
 having started the evening before, Pitou nevertheless put 
 himself in pursuit, — confiding in his long legs, — with 
 the hope of overtaking him, if Sebastien, not finding other 
 means of conveyance, was obliged to make the whole 
 journey afoot. Besides, Sebastien would need rest, 
 whereas Pitou could walk steadily on. 
 
 Pitou encumbered himself with no baggage whatsoever. 
 He girded his loins about with a leathern belt, which he 
 was wont to use when he had a long tramp before him. 
 Under his arm lie carried a four-pound loaf of bread, into 
 which he thrust a sausage. Then, staff in hand, he set 
 forth. 
 
 At his ordinary pace Pitou could make a league and 
 a half every hour. By accelerating his steps he could 
 walk two leagues an hour. 
 
 Therefore, as he only stopped here and there to drink, 
 to tie up his shoes, and to inquire for tidings of Sebas- 
 tien, he was only ten hours in reaching the end of the 
 Eue Largny, at the barrier of Villette ; though it took 
 another hour, on account of the blockade of carriages, 
 to go from the Villette barrier to Doctor Gilbert's 
 house. This made eleven hours ; and as he started 
 at nine in the morning, he arrived at eight in the 
 evening. 
 
 This, it may be remembered, was exactly the time 
 when Andr^e carried Sebastien away from the Tuileries, 
 and Doctor Gilbert was closeted with the King. Pitou 
 
 VOL. I. — 10 
 
146 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 therefore found neither Doctor Gilbert nor Sebastien at 
 the house, but he found Billot. 
 
 Billot, however, had heard nothing said about Sebas- 
 tien, nor did he know at what hour Gilbert would come 
 home. 
 
 The unhappy fellow was so disturbed that he never 
 thought of tallying to Billot about Catherine. His con- 
 versation was one long groan over his ill-luck, in not hav- 
 ing been in his lodging-place when Sebastien came there 
 the night before. 
 
 As he had brought along Sebastien's letter, in order 
 to justify himself, if need be, with the Doctor, he read 
 it over again, — a useless process, for he had already 
 perused cjiid reperused that letter, till he knew it by 
 heart. 
 
 Time, therefore, dragged slowly and sadly with Pitou 
 and Billot, from eight o'clock in the evening till two in 
 the morning. It was a tedious six hours ; and it had 
 not taken Pitou twice as long to come all the way from 
 Villers Cotterets to Paris. 
 
 At two o'clock in the morning the rat-tat of the 
 knocker was heard for the tenth time since the arrival of 
 Pitou. At each knock Pitou had precipitated himself 
 down the stairs ; and though it was forty steps, Pitou 
 always managed to be down by the time the porter 
 pulled the cord to open the gate ; but each time his hope 
 was disappointed, for neither Gilbert nor Sebastien 
 appeared, and he returned to Billot's room slowly and 
 dejectedly. 
 
 We have told you how, having descended the last time 
 more precipitately than before, his patience was fully re- 
 warded by seeing the father and son, Gilbert and Sebas- 
 tien, present themselves together. 
 
 Gilbert thanked Pitou, as a brave fellow ought to be 
 
CATHERINE. 147 
 
 thanked, by a pressure of the hand. Then, as he felt 
 sure that after a trot of eighteen leagues, and a watch of 
 six hours, the traveller needed i-epose, he wished Pitou 
 good-night, and sent him to bed. 
 
 Though his mind was easy about Sebastien, Pitou had 
 nevertheless his confidences for Billot. He therefore 
 made a sign for Billot to follow him upstairs, and Billot 
 did so. 
 
 As for Gilbert, he would not confide to anybodj' else 
 the care of putting Sebastien to bed and watching over 
 him. He examined for himself the bruise on the lad's 
 breast, and applied his ear several times to the lungs. 
 Assured that respiration was perfectly free, he finally 
 lay down on a lounge near the boy, who was not long in 
 falling asleep, although still very feverish. 
 
 Very soon, however, thinking of the anxiety which 
 must beset the Comtesse de Charny, knowing the dis- 
 tress he had experienced himself. Doctor Gilbert sum- 
 moned his valet, and ordered him to carry a letter to the 
 nearest messenger, so that it would reach its address by 
 the earliest delivery, — a letter in which were only these 
 words : " Eeassui-e yourself. The boy is found and is not 
 injured." 
 
 Next morning Billot sought permission to enter Gil- 
 bert's room, and the permission was of course granted. 
 The goodly face of Pitou appeared smiling behind Billot, 
 whose own expression, as Gilbert noticed, was grave and 
 sad. 
 
 " "What is it then, my friend, what has happened 1 " 
 asked the Doctor. 
 
 " It is this, ilonsieur Gilbert, — that you have done 
 well to keep me here, so long as I could be viseful to you 
 and to our country ; but while I stay in your Paris, all 
 goes wrong away down there." 
 
148 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 One might suppose, from these words, that Pitou had 
 revealed to Billot Catherine's secret, and talked of the 
 affair of the young girl with Isidore. No ! The honest 
 heart of the brave commander of the Haramont National 
 Guards relucted at such a disclosure. He had only told 
 Billot that the crops were bad, that the rye had failed, 
 that part of the wheat had been damaged by hail, that 
 the granaries were only half filled, and that he had 
 found Catherine ill, on the road between Villers Cotte- 
 rets and Pisseleu. 
 
 Billot was somewhat troubled by the failure of the rye 
 and the destruction of the wheat, but it made him almost 
 sick to hear of Catherine's swoon ; for he knew, this sen- 
 sible Father Billot, that a girl of Catherine's temperament 
 and strength does not faint on the highway, without good 
 reason. 
 
 Moreover he had questioned Pitou closely ; and though 
 Pitou was reserved in his answers. Billot more than once 
 shook his head, saying : " Well, well, I believe it is time 
 for me to go away down there again." 
 
 Gilbert, who by this time had learned for himself how 
 the heart of a father may suffer, understood at once what 
 was passing in Billot's mind, when the latter related to 
 him the news brought by Pitou. 
 
 " Go then, my dear Billot," he said to him. " Your 
 farm and your family claim j'ou ; but do not forget, in 
 the name of your country, that I shall depend upon you 
 in any case of pressing need." 
 
 " Give the word, Monsieur Gilbert, and in a dozen 
 hours I will be in Paris," responded the brave farmer. 
 
 Having embraced Sebastien, who, after a restful night, 
 found himself completely out of danger, and having 
 squeezed Gilbert's thin and delicate hand in his own 
 brawny grasp, Billot took the road to his farm, — his 
 
CATHERINE. 149 
 
 farm which he had quitted for only eight days, but frora 
 which he had beeu absent three mouths. 
 
 Pitou went also, — carrying, as an offering from Doctor 
 Gilbert, twentj'-five louis, to aid in clothing and equipping 
 the National Guards of Haramont. 
 
 Sebastien remained with his father. 
 
150 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 A TBUCE. 
 
 A WEEK intervened, between the events just recounted 
 and the day when we again take the reader by the hand, 
 and conduct him to the Tuileries, henceforth the prin- 
 cipal theatre of the great catastrophes about to take 
 place. 
 
 Oh Tuileries, fatal heritage, bequeathed to her descend- 
 ants, and their successors, by the queen of Saint Bartholo- 
 mew fame, by the stranger, Catherine de Medicis ! In- 
 toxicating palace of Circe, attracting only to devour, what 
 fascination lies in thy j^awning porch, whereinto have 
 entered all the crowned fools who wished to be called 
 kings, who believed themselves truly sacred when they 
 slept beneath thy regicidal walls, and whom thou didst 
 vomit foi'th, one after the other, — corpses without a 
 head, or fugitives without a crown. 
 
 In thy stones, chiselled like a jewel of Benvenuto Cel- 
 lini, abides some fatal malediction ; some mortal talisman 
 is buried beneath thy threshold. Count the last kings 
 whom thou hast received, and say what thou hast done 
 with them ! 
 
 Of those five kings, one only didst thou peacefully 
 surrender to the grave which awaited him in the tombs 
 of his ancestors. Of the other four, whom history re- 
 claims at thy hands, one was delivered to the scaffold, 
 and three were sent into exile. 
 
 Once upon a time a whole Assembly wished to brave 
 the peril, and establish themselves in the kingly place, 
 
A TRUCE. 151 
 
 there to sit as proxies of the nation, where the elect 
 of the monarchy had been enthroned. From that mo- 
 ment they were seized with the vertigo. From that 
 moment they destroyed themselves. The scaffold de- 
 voured some ; exile absorbed others ; and one strange 
 fraternity reunited Louis Sixteenth and Eobespierre, 
 Collot d'Herbois and Napoleon, Billaud Varennes and 
 Charles Tenth, Vadier and Louis Philippe. 
 
 Oh Tuileries, Tuileries ! mad indeed must he be who 
 dares to cross thy threshold, and enter where Louis Six- 
 teenth, Napoleon, Charles Tenth, and Louis Philippe 
 entered ; for a little sooner or a little later he will go out 
 by the same door. 
 
 Oh funereal palace, each of these rulers entered thy 
 precincts amidst the acclamations of the populace ; 
 and thj' double balcony saw them, one after the other, 
 smilingly respond to those acclamations, believing in the 
 cheers, and the vows of the crowd who uttered them. 
 Hardly were they seated on the royal dais than each one 
 of them set himself to work for his own ends, instead of 
 doing the work of the public ; and as soon as the public 
 perceived this, these rulers were put out of doors like 
 unfaithful stewards, or punished like ungrateful agents. 
 
 Thus, after that terrible march on the Sixth of October, 
 in the midst of the mire of blood and turmoil, the next 
 day's pale sun saw, at its rising, the courtyard of the 
 Tuileries filled with people, stirred by the King's return, 
 and famished for a sight of him. 
 
 Louis the Sixteenth received the regular corporations 
 throughout the day. While this was going on, the crowd 
 waited outside, looking for him, and peering through the 
 window-panes. If one fancied he caught sight of the 
 King he uttered cries of joy, and pointed him out to his 
 neighbor, saying : " See him ? See him 1 There he is ! " 
 
152 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 At noon it was thought best for the King to show 
 himself on the balcony, and the bravos and plaudits were 
 unanimous. 
 
 In the evening he came down into the garden, and 
 there was no end to the cheers and applause ; and there 
 were even tears and sentiment. 
 
 Madame Elizabeth, with her young heart, — affection- 
 ate and ingenuous, — pointed to the crowd, saying to her 
 brother : " It seems to me that it cannot be difficult to 
 reign over such men." 
 
 Her rooms were on the ground floor. In the evening 
 she had the windows thrown open, and ate in public. 
 
 Men and women looked on, and applauded and saluted 
 through the openings, — especially the women, who made 
 their children climb to the window-ledges, bidding the 
 little innocents throw kisses to the grand lady, and tell 
 her how beautiful she was ; and the children threw kisses, 
 without number and without end, from their plump hands, 
 and repeated : " You are very beautiful, Madame ! " 
 
 Everybody said : " The Revolution is finished. The 
 King is freed from his Versailles, his courtiers, and his 
 counsellors. The spell is broken, which held royalty 
 captive so far from his capital, in that world of auto- 
 matons, statues, and artificially shapen yew-ti'ees, which 
 is called Versailles. Thanks to God, the King is replaced 
 amidst life and truth, — that is to say, amidst genuine 
 human nature. Come, Sire, come among us. Until 
 to-day, surrounded as you were, your only liberty wns 
 the liberty to act wrongly. To-day, amidst ourselves, 
 in the midst of your people, you will have all liberty for 
 doing good." 
 
 Often the masses, as well as individuals, deceive them- 
 selves as to what they are, or rather as to what they will 
 be. The fear roused by the events of the Fifth and Sixth 
 
A TRUCE. 153 
 
 of October not only restored to the King a multitude of 
 hearts, but also united to him many minds and many 
 interests. The imagination of honest people was strongly 
 impressed with these shouts in the evening, the watch at 
 midnight, the bonfires burning in the Marble Court, illu- 
 minating with their weird reflections the grand walls of 
 Versailles. 
 
 The Assembly was in greater fear when the King was 
 threatened, than when itself menaced. It seemed then 
 to be dependent upon the King ; but six months had not 
 rolled away before the Assembly felt, on the contrarj-, 
 that the King was dependent on itself. One hundred 
 and fifty members took out passports; and Mounier and 
 Lally — the son of that Lally who died in the Place de 
 Greve — saved themselves. 
 
 The two most popular men in France returned to Paris 
 as Royalists, — Lafayette and Mirabeau. 
 
 Mirabeau said to Lafayette : " Let us unite, and save 
 the King." 
 
 Unfortunately Lafayette — a pre-eminently honest man, 
 but possessing a limited intellect — mistook Mirabeau'a 
 character, and did not \inderstand his genius, while hs 
 disliked the Duo d'Orleans. 
 
 Many things were said about his Eoyal Highness. It 
 was said that during that dreadful night the Duke was 
 seen, with his hat pulled down over his eyes and a cane 
 in his hand, stirring up the groups in the Marble Court, 
 and urging them to pillage the palace, in the hope that 
 this pillage would be at the same time an assassination. 
 
 To Orleans, Mirabeau was everything. 
 
 Lafayette, instead of attending to Mirabeau, went to 
 find Orleans, and invited him to quit France. He 
 debated, quarrelled, was obstinate ; but Lafayette was 
 virtually King, and the Duke had to obey. 
 
154 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 " And when shall I return '? " he demanded of Lafayette. 
 
 " When I tell you it is time to return, my Prinoe," 
 responded Lafayette. 
 
 " And what if I am bored, and return without your 
 permission?" inquired tlie Duke, superciliously. 
 
 "Then," responded Lafayette, "I hope that your High- 
 ness will do me the honor to fight with me the day after 
 your return." 
 
 The Duke departed, and did not return till he was sent 
 for. 
 
 Lafayette was hardly a Royalist before the Sixth of 
 October, but after the Sixth of October he became one 
 really and sincerely. He had saved the Queen and pro- 
 tected the King. 
 
 The services we confer, rather than the favors we re- 
 ceive, attach us strongly to our friends, because there is 
 more pride than gratitude in the human heart. 
 
 The King and Madame Elizabeth were really touched, 
 though they felt that there was hidden below the mass 
 of the people, and perhaps above them also, a fatal ele- 
 ment, — something hateful and vindictive, like the wrath 
 of a tiger, which snarls while it caresses. 
 
 It was not so with Marie Antoinette. The wrong 
 disposition of her woman's heart misled her intelligence 
 as the Queen. Her tears were tears of spite, disap- 
 pointment, jealousy. The tears she shed were more 
 for Charuy, whom she felt slipping from her arms, than 
 for the sceptre she felt slipping from her hand. 
 
 She thei-efore saw the people and heard their cries 
 with a tearless heart and an irritable spirit. She was in 
 reality younger than Madame Elizabeth, or rather about 
 the same age ; but a pure soul and body had woven for 
 Madame Elizabeth a robe of innocence and bloom she 
 never lost ; while the fiery passions of the Queen, her 
 
A TRUCE. 155 
 
 hatred and her love, made her hands yellow like ivory, 
 pinched her wan lips over her teeth, and spread beneath 
 her eyes those dark violet lines which reveal a malady 
 deep, incurable, constant. 
 
 The Queen was really ill, seriously ill, sick with a 
 disease one cannot conquer, because the sole remedy is 
 happiness and peace ; and poor Marie Antoinette felt 
 that for her there was no happiness, no peace. 
 
 In the midst of all these outbursts, all these shouts, 
 and all these vivas, when the King offered his- hands to 
 the men, when Madame Elizabeth laughed and wept at 
 the same time, with the women and their little ones, the 
 Queen's ej-es were bedewed with her own selfish grief 
 •while by herself, but remained dry in the presence of the 
 public rejoicings. 
 
 The destroyers of the Bastille were presented to her, 
 and she refused to receive them. 
 
 The Dames of the Market-place came in their turn, 
 and she received them, but at a distance, separated from 
 them by an array of skirts, — her women being arranged 
 round about her like an advance guard, to defend her 
 from vulgar contact. 
 
 This was a great mistake on her part. The Dames 
 of the Market-place were Eoyalists, and many of them 
 utterly repudiated the Sixth of October. These women 
 also spoke to her, for in such groups there are always 
 orators. 
 
 One woman, holder than the rest, constituted herself a 
 counsellor. " Madame Queen," said this woman, " will 
 you allow me to give you one piece of advice, a warning 
 which is perhaps very impudent, but which comes from 
 the heart r' 
 
 The Queen made an imperceptible sign with her head, 
 which the woman did not see. 
 
156 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 " You do not answer 1 " she resumed. " Never mind ! 
 I will give it, all the same. You are here among us, in 
 the midst of your people, — that is, in the bosom of your 
 true family. It is therefore proper that you should send 
 away from you all these courtiers, who ruin kings, and be 
 somewhat amiable to us poor Parisians, who have seen 
 you only perhaps four times, though you have been 
 twenty years in France." 
 
 "Madame," responded the Queen, dryly, "you speak 
 thus because you know not my heart. I have loved you 
 at Versailles, and I shall love you the same in Paris." 
 
 This was not promising much ! 
 
 Another spokeswoman said : " Yes, yes, j'ou loved us 
 at Versailles ! It was perhaps out of love that, on the 
 Fourteenth of July, you wished to besiege our citj', and 
 have it bombarded. It was love that made you wish, on 
 the Sixth of October, to flee to the frontiers, under the 
 pretext of going at midnight to the Trianon ] " 
 
 " That is to say," replied the Queen, " it was so re- 
 ported, and you believed it. That is what often makes 
 mischief for both people and King." 
 
 Presently there came to her — poor woman ! or rather 
 poor Queen ! — a happy inspiration, in the very midst of 
 the struggles of her pride and the distractions other heart. 
 
 One of these dames, an Alsatian by birth, addressed 
 her in German. 
 
 The Queen responded : " Madame, I have become so 
 thoroughly French that I have forgotten my maternal 
 tongue." 
 
 This was a charming thing to say, but unhappily it was 
 not true. 
 
 The Dames of the Market-place went away crying 
 " God save the Queen ! " but they went away crying thus 
 with their lips, but growling between their teeth. 
 
A TKUCE. 157 
 
 That night the royal family being together, — doubt- 
 less for mutual consolation, and to strengthen each other, 
 — the King and iladame EHzabeth recalled everything 
 they had found pleasant and comforting in the people. 
 The Queen bad but one fact to add to all the rest, and 
 that was a jest of the Dauphin, which she repeated several 
 times, both that day and the day following. 
 
 Hearing the distui'bance made by the Dames of the 
 Market-place, as they came into the apartments, the poor 
 little fellow ran to his mother and pressed against her 
 crying : " Good Heaven,' mamma, is to-day another 
 yesterday t " 
 
 The little Dauphin was there. He heard what his 
 mother said about him. Proud, like all children who 
 see that others specially notice them, he went up to the 
 King and looked at him pensively. 
 
 " What is it, Louis t " asked the King. 
 
 " I wish to ask something very serious, my father,'' 
 replied the Dauphin. 
 
 " ^Yell," said the King, taking him between his knees, 
 " what wilt thou ask 1 Come, speak out ! " 
 
 " I want to know," continued the child, " why your 
 people, who used to love you so much, are all at once so 
 displeased with you, and what you have done to make 
 them so very angry." 
 
 " Louis ! " remonstrated the Queen, with an accent of 
 reproach. 
 
 " Let me answer him," said the King. 
 
 Madame Elizabeth smiled at the child. 
 
 Louis Sixteenth took his son on his knees, and 
 said, putting the politics of the day on a level with 
 the child's apprehension : " My boy, I wished to make 
 the people happier than they were. I needed money to 
 pay the expenses occasioned by our wars. I demanded 
 
158 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 it of the Parliament, as all other kings, my predecessors, 
 had done. The magistrates who make up my Parliament 
 "were opposed to this, and said that the whole people only 
 had the right to vote me money. I called together at 
 "Versailles the chief citizens of each city, prominent by 
 birth, fortune, and talent. This is what is called the 
 States General. When they had assembled, they de- 
 manded some things which I could not do, either for 
 my own sake, or for yours, who will be my successor. 
 Well, there were certain wicked fellows who excited 
 the people ; and the excesses to which the populace have 
 gone, in these last few days, is the work of those mis- 
 chief-makers. My son, it will not do to be angry with 
 the people too much ! " 
 
 At this closing recommendation Marie Antoinette com- 
 pressed her lips. It was evident, if entrusted with the 
 training of the Dauphin, it would not be towards forget- 
 fulness of injuries that she would direct his education. 
 
 The next day the city magnates and the National 
 Guard sent to beg the Queen to appear at a theatrical 
 spectacle, and to show by her presence, and the King's, 
 that they resided in their capital with pleasure. 
 
 The Queen responded that she should take great pleas- 
 ure in accepting the invitation of the City, but that she 
 must have time to lose her recollections of the days 
 recently past. The people had already forgotten those 
 days, and were astonished that she remembered them. 
 
 When the Queen learned that her enem}-, the notorious 
 Orle'aus, had left Paris, she had a moment of joy ; but 
 she did not know how much she was indebted to La- 
 fayette for that withdrawal, and believed it was a purely 
 perso^ial affair between the Prince and the General ; or 
 else she pretended to believe it, not wishing to owe any- 
 thing to Lafayette. 
 
A TRUCE. 159 
 
 A veritable Princess of the House of Lorraine in ran- 
 cor and haughtiness, she wished either for conquest or 
 revenge. 
 
 " Queens cannot be drowned ! " said !Madame Hen- 
 rietta of England, in the midst of a tempest ; and Marie 
 Antoinette was of Madame Henrietta's opinion. 
 
 Besides, was not Maria Theresa nearer to death than 
 herself, when she took her infant in her arms, and showed 
 the babe to her faithful Hungarians'? This heroic mein- 
 ory of the mother influenced her daughter. This was a 
 blunder, however, — a terrible blunder on the part of 
 those who compared the situations of the two women, 
 without using good judgment. Maria Theresa had the 
 people with her. Marie Antoinette had them against 
 her. 
 
 Then the latter was, before everything else, a woman. 
 Alas ! Perhaps she would have better understood the 
 situation, if her heart had been more at peace. Perhaps 
 she would not have hated the people so much, if Charny 
 had loved her better. 
 
 Thus we see what was taking place at the Tuileries 
 during- those days when the Revolution came to a stand- 
 still, when heated passions cooled away ; when, as during 
 a truce, friends and enemies shake hands, only to begin a 
 new and more furious combat, a more deadly battle, at 
 the first proclamation of war. 
 
 This combat was the more probable, this battle more 
 certain, not only because of what was to be seen on the 
 surface of society, but more because of all that was plot- 
 ting in its depths. 
 
160 LA COMTESSE DE CHAKNY. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE PORTRAIT OF CHARLES THE FIRST. 
 
 For a few days, while the new hosts at the Tuileries were 
 getting themselves well established and resuming their 
 customary habits, Gilbert did not judge it proper to pre- 
 sent himself at the King's apartments, not being sum- 
 moned thereto ; but at last his regular visiting-day came 
 round, and he believed duty might furnish an excuse he 
 should not dare to claim for his devotion. 
 
 As the same household attendants had followed the 
 King from Versailles to Paris, Gilbert was as well known 
 in the antechambers of the Tuileries as in those of Ver- 
 sailles. Besides, though the King had not needed to send 
 for the Doctor, he had not forgotten him. 
 
 Louis the Sixteenth had too discriminating a spirit not 
 to easily distinguish his friends from his enemies. Despite 
 the Queen's prejudice against Gilbert, the King felt, at the 
 bottom of his heart, that even if Gilbert was not specially 
 the friend of the King, he was the friend of royalty, which 
 was worth quite as much. 
 
 He therefore remembered that this was Gilbert's visi- 
 tation-day, and gave orders that the Doctor should be at 
 once admitted to the royal presence on his ai-rival. Con- 
 sequently, hardly had he crossed the threshold when the 
 lackey in attendance arose and went before him, to intro- 
 duce him into the King's bed-chamber. 
 
 The King was walking up and down, so preoccupied 
 that he took no heed of the Doctor's entrance, as he had 
 
THE PORTRAIT OF CHARLES THK FIKST. 161 
 
 not noticed the announcement which heralded hira. Gil- 
 bert therefore stood in the doorway, quiet' and silent, 
 waiting for the King to mark his presence and speak to 
 him. 
 
 It was easy to see what ohject filled the King's mind, 
 for he more than once paused pensively before that object. 
 This was the full-length portrait of Charles the First, 
 painted by Vandyck, — the portrait now in the Louvre 
 Palace, which some Englishman offered to cover over with 
 gold pieces, if it was to l)e sold. 
 
 Everybody knows this portrait, if not on canvas, at 
 least in engravings. 
 
 Charles the First is on foot, beneath some slender and 
 sparse trees, like those which grow on the seashore. A 
 page is holding his horse, all caparisoned. The sea forms 
 the horizon. 
 
 The King's face is stamped with melancholy. Of what 
 was this Stuart thinking, — that he had for a predecessor 
 the beautiful and unfortunate Mary Queen of Soots, or 
 that he should have James the Second for a successor ? 
 Or rather, of what was the painter thinking, that man of 
 genius, when he thus depicted, on the physiognomy of 
 the King, the overflow of his thought ? Of what did he 
 think when he prophetically painted Charles as he was in 
 the last days of his life, — as a simple Cavalier, ready to 
 take the campaign against the Roundheads 1 Why did 
 he thus paint him as driven to the stormy shore of the 
 North Sea, with his horse at his side, ready for the 
 attack, but ready likewise for flight ? If the picture was 
 turned about, into which Vandyck conveyed so deep a 
 tinge of sorrow, would there be found on the reverse of 
 the canvas the outlines of the scaffold at AVhitehall 1 
 
 The voice from the canvas must have spoken very 
 distinctly, to be heard by the material nature of Louis 
 
 VOL. I. — 11 
 
162 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 Sixteenth, — whose countenance it darkened, as a pas- 
 sing cloud casts its shadow on green fields and golden 
 harvests. 
 
 Three times he interrupted his promenade to stand in 
 front of the picture ; and three times with a sigli he 
 resumed his walk, which seemed always, and fatally, 
 to bring him face to face with the picture. 
 
 At last Gilbert realized that there are circumstances 
 under which it is less indiscreet to announce one's pres- 
 ence than to remain mute. 
 
 He made a movement. Louis Sixteenth started and 
 turned. " Ah, it is you, Doctor 1 " he said. " Come in, 
 come in ; I am glad to see you." 
 
 Gilbert came towards him, bowing. 
 
 " How long have you been here, Doctor V 
 
 " Some ten minutes. Sire." 
 
 " Ah ! " said the King, meditating again. Then, after 
 a pause, leading Gilbert in front of Vandyck's masterpiece, 
 he asked : "Doctor, do you know that portrait?" 
 
 " Yes, Sire." 
 
 "Where have you seen it ? " 
 
 " When a lad, at Madame Dubarry's ; but boy as I 
 was at the time, it impressed me strangely." 
 
 " Yes, at Madame Dubarry's, — even so ! " murmured 
 the King. 
 
 After another pause of several seconds he asked : " Do 
 you know the history of that portrait, Doctor ] " 
 
 '■ Does your Majesty mean the history of the King it 
 represents, or the history of the portrait itself! " 
 
 " I referred to the history of the portrait." 
 
 " No, Sire. I know that it was painted in London, 
 about 1645 or 1646. That is all I can say. I do not 
 know how it came to France, and how it happens just 
 now to be in the chamber of your Majesty." 
 
THE PORTRAIT OF CHARLES THE FIRST. 163 
 
 " How it came into France, I can tell you. How it 
 happens to be here, at this time, I do not myself know.'' 
 
 Gilbert looked at Louis Sixteenth in surprise. 
 
 " It came into France in this wise," repeated the King. 
 "I can tell you nothing very new about that matter, but 
 I know many of the details. You understand why I 
 paused in front of that portrait, and of what I was 
 thinking as I stood there?" 
 
 Gilbert bowed his head, as a sign that he was listening 
 attentively. 
 
 " There was in France, about thirty years ago," began 
 Louis, " an administration fatal to France, — and above 
 all to myself," he added, sighing over the memory of his 
 father, whom he had always believed poisoned by the 
 Austrians. "That minister was Choiseul. It was de- 
 cided to supei-sede him by Aiguillon and Jlaupeou, and at 
 the same time to suppress the Parliament. This destruc-- 
 tion of Parliament was a measure strongly repugnant to 
 my grandfather, King Louis Fifteenth. For the dissolution 
 of Parliament he needed a will-power which he had lost. 
 Out of the remains of his old manhood, it was necessary 
 to construct a new manhood ; and in order to make a 
 new man of an old one, there was only one way. This 
 was to close up the shameful seraglio which, under the 
 name of the Paro-aux-Cerfs, had cost France so much 
 money and the monarch so much popularity. Instead of 
 a flock of young girls, among whom he wasted his virility, 
 it was necessary to give Louis Fifteenth a single mistress, 
 who would take the place of all the others, — one who 
 would not have enough influence to make him follow a 
 certain political course, but would have enough memory to 
 continually repeat to him a lesson she had well learned. 
 The old Marshal Eichelieu knew where to search for such 
 women. He looked where they were to be found, and 
 
164 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 found one. You knejv her, Doctor, for just now you said 
 you saw this portrait at her house." 
 
 Gilbert assented. 
 
 " We did not like this woman, either the Queen or 
 myself; — the Queen less than myself; for the Queen, an 
 Austrian, — instructed by Maria Theresa in the great 
 European scheme of politics of which Austria is the 
 centre, — saw in the advent of Aiguillon the downfall of 
 her friend Choiseul. We did not like her, as I say. 
 However, I must do her the justice to add, that in 
 destroying the existing state of things she acted in 
 accordance with my personal wishes, and also — I can 
 conscientiously say it — for the general good. She was a 
 born actress. She played her part marvellously well. She 
 surprised Louis Fifteenth by a familiar audacity here- 
 tofore unknown to royalty. She amused him with her 
 raillery ; and made a man of him, by making him believe 
 himself a man." 
 
 The King here suddenly paused, as if he reproached 
 himself for the imprudence of talking thus about his 
 grandfather in the presence of a stranger ; but glancing 
 at the free and open face of Gilbert, he saw that he could 
 speak plainly to this man, who so w-ell knew how to take 
 everything. 
 
 Gilbert surmised what was passing in the King's mind, 
 and he waited without impatience, without a question, 
 exposing his face fearlessly to the King's most scrutinizing 
 glance. 
 
 " Perhaps I ought not to tell you what I have, Mon- 
 sieur," said Louis Sixteenth, with a certain nobleness of 
 gesture not habitual with him, "because this is my private 
 thought, and a king ought not to exhibit the bottom of 
 his heart, except to those whose inmost mind he also can 
 read ; . but give me your word. Monsieur Gilbert, that if 
 
THE PORTRAIT OF CHARLES THE FIRST. 165 
 
 the King of P'rance tells you all his thoughts, you, ou 
 your part, will say all that you thiuk." 
 
 " Sire, I swear to you," said Gilbert, " if your Majesty 
 does me such au honor, I will render him a like service. 
 The physician has charge of the body, as the priest has 
 charge of the soul ; but however voiceless and impenetra- 
 ble to others, I should deem it a crime not to speak the 
 truth to my King, when he honors me by requesting it." 
 
 " And never a lapse. Monsieur Gilbert '? " 
 
 " Sire, if you should tell me that within a quarter 
 hour I should be put to death, and by yiiur orders, I 
 should not believe it right to escape, unless you said 
 Flee ! " 
 
 "You do well to tell me this. Monsieur (Gilbert. With 
 my best friends, even with the Queen, I only talk in 
 whispers ; but with you I think aloud." 
 
 Then he resumed : " Well, this woman, who knew very 
 well that with Louis Fifteenth one could hardly count 
 on anything except his royal feebleness of will, seldom 
 quitted him, in order to profit by the least appearance of 
 vigor. She even went with him to the Council, and bent 
 over his armchair. In the presence of the Chancellor, 
 and other important personages, before even the old ma- 
 gistrates, she couched at the King's feet, gambolling like 
 a monkey, chattering like a parrot, breathing out Royalty 
 night and day. But this was not all ; and this strange 
 Egeria would have wasted her time if, to her evanescent 
 words, Marshal Eichelieu had not conceived the idea of 
 adding a body, which would materialize the lesson she so 
 persistently repeated. Under the pretext that the name 
 of the page whom we see in this picture was Barry, the 
 picture was bought for her, as if it had been a family 
 portrait. This melancholy face, which foretells the Thir- 
 tieth of January, 1649, was placed in the boudoir of this 
 
166 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 woman, and heard their shameless bursts of laughter, and 
 beheld their wanton frolics ; and this is the end which 
 it served. In the midst of their sport she took Louis 
 Fifteenth by the head, and pointing to Charles the First 
 she said : ' See there, oh France, — there is a King whose 
 head they cut off, because he was too feeble for his Par- 
 •liament. Look out for thine own head ! ' Louis Fifteenth 
 at once dissolved his Parliament, and died tranquilly on 
 his throne. Then we exiled that woman, towards whom 
 we had perhaps been too indulgent. The painting re- 
 mained iu the gallery at Versailles, and I did not dream 
 of ordering it sent hither. How then does it happen to 
 be here? Who told them to bring if? Why does it 
 follow me — or rather, why does it so singularly pursue 
 me — hither ? " 
 
 Shaking his head sadly Louis added : " Doctor, is there 
 not some fatality beneath all this f " 
 
 " Fatality, if the portrait tells you nothing, Sire, but 
 Providence, if it speaks plainly to you." 
 
 " How can you think that such a portrait would not 
 speak to one in my situation. Doctor 1 " 
 
 " After the permission to speak to you truthfully, will 
 your Majesty allow me to question him 1 " 
 
 The King seemed to hesitate. " Speak, Doctor ! " he 
 presently said. 
 
 "Sire, what says the portrait to your Majesty?" 
 
 " It tells me that Charles the First lost his head for 
 making war against his people, and that James the Second 
 lost his throne by forsaking it." 
 
 " In that case, Sire, the portrait is like myself, — it 
 speaks the truth." 
 
 " How so ? " demanded the King, looking solicitously at 
 Gilbert. 
 
 " Well, since the King permits me to question him, I 
 
THE PORTRAIT OF CHARLES THE FIRST. 167 
 
 would like to ask what he responds to the portrait which 
 speaks to him so faithfully." 
 
 " Monsieur Gilbert," replied the King, " I pledge you 
 my faith as a gentleman that I have not yet decided. I 
 shall take counsel with circumstances." 
 
 " The people are afraid the King will only think of 
 contest." 
 
 Louis nodded, and said : " No, Monsieur, no ! I could 
 not fight with my subjects, except with the help of for- 
 eigners ; and I know the condition of Europe too well to 
 confide in their swords. The King of Prussia offers to 
 enter France with one hundred thousand men ; but I un- 
 derstand the ambitious and intriguing spirit of that little 
 kingdom, which tends to become a great monarchy, — 
 which fosters trouble everywhere, hoping, in the midst 
 of the turmoil, that she may absorb a new Silesia. On 
 the other side Austria also puts a hundred thousand men 
 at my disposal ; but I do not like my brother-in-law Leo- 
 pold overmuch, — a -Janus with two faces, — a devout 
 philosopher, whose mother, Maria Theresa, had my 
 father poisoned. My brother proposes help from Sar- 
 dinia and Spain ; but I have no confidence in those two 
 powers, led by Artois. He has with him Calonne, the 
 Queen's most cruel enemy, — he who annotated — I 
 have seen the manuscript ! — the pamphlet by Madame 
 Lamotte, written against us, on account of that villainous 
 affair of the necklace. I know all that takes place down 
 there in Turin. In the last Council the question was 
 raised of deposing me and appointing a Regent, who would 
 probably be my other dear brother, Provence. Finally, 
 my Cousin Conde proposes to enter France and march on 
 Lyons, although he might aspire to the throne. As for 
 Catherine the Great, that is another affair. She confines 
 herself to advice. You understand very well that she is 
 
168 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 at dinner, devouring Poland, and that she cannot arise 
 from table before she has finished her repast. She gives 
 me counsel about all that has recently happened, — 
 advice which sounds sublime, but is really ridiculous. 
 'Kings,' she says, 'ought to pursue their own course, 
 without bothering themselves about the complaints of the 
 people ; as the moon travels in its orbit, without pay- 
 ing attention to the baying of dogs.' It appears that 
 Russian dogs are content to bark ; but she had better 
 ask Deshuttes and Yaricourt if ours do not bite." 
 
 " The people also fear that the King dreams of flight, 
 of quitting France.'' 
 
 The King hesitated about answering. 
 
 " Sire," continued Gilbert, smiling, " it is always a mis- 
 take to take literally any permission given by a King. 
 I see that I am indiscreet ; thougli in my interroga- 
 tion I but purely and simply give expression to a 
 fear." 
 
 The King laid his hand on Gilbert's shoulder. 
 
 "Monsieur," he said, "I promised you the truth, and 
 you shall have it completely. Yes, there has been some 
 question about that ; yes, it has been proposed to me ; 
 yes, it is the opinion of many of the most loj'al advisers 
 about me that I ought to flee ; but on the night of the 
 Sixth of October, as she wept in my arms, pressing our 
 two children in her own, while the Queen awaited death 
 with me, she made me swear that I would not flee alone, 
 that we would go together, that we might be saved or die 
 together. I took the oath, Monsieur, and I w'ill keep my 
 word. Therefore we shall not flee ; for I know it would 
 he impossible for us to escape together, without being ten 
 times arrested before reaching the frontier." 
 
 "Sire," said. Gilbert, "you see me full of admiration 
 for your Majesty's equity of mind. Oh, why can France 
 
THE PORTRAIT OF CHARLES THE FIRST. 169 
 
 not understand you as I understand you at this moment 1 
 How the liatred which pursues your Majesty would be 
 allayed, how the dangei's which beset you would he 
 lessened ! " 
 
 " Hatred 1 " said the King. " Do you believe that my 
 people hate me 1 Dangers '? Not taliing too seriously the 
 gloomy thoughts inspired by this portrait, I tell you that 
 I believe the most serious dangers are passed." 
 
 Gilbert regarded the King with a profound feeling of 
 pity. 
 
 "Is this not your own opinion. Monsieur Gilbert?" 
 demanded Louis. 
 
 "My opinion, Sire, is that your Majesty has not yet 
 fairly entered the battle, and that the Fourteenth of July 
 and Sixth of October were only the first acts of a terrible 
 drama, which France is yet to perform in the sight of 
 the nations." 
 
 Louis Sixteenth grew somewhat pale. 
 
 " I hope you deceive yourself, Monsieur," said he. 
 
 " I do not deceive myself. Sire." 
 
 " How can you be better informed on this point than 
 myself, when I have both my police and my detec- 
 tives at command ] " 
 
 " Sire, I have neither police nor detectives ; but in my 
 position I am naturally an intermediary between that 
 which touches heaven and that which hides in the bowels 
 of the earth. Sire, Sire, what we have felt is only the 
 trembling of the earth. It remains for us to fight the 
 fire, the eruption, and the lava from the volcano." 
 
 " You say fiffhi, Monsieur. Would not flight be the 
 better word 1 " 
 
 '■ I ssLJd fight, Sire." 
 
 " You know my opinion in regard to foreigners. I will 
 never summon them into France, at least unless my life, 
 
170 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 — though my own life matters nothing, I am ready to 
 sacrifice that, — at least unless the lives of my wife and 
 my children are in real danger." 
 
 " I would gladly prostrate myself at your feet, Sire, to 
 thank you for such sentiments. No, Sire, foreigners are 
 not needed. Of what good is an outsider, if you cannot 
 depend on your own legitimate resources ] You fear be- 
 ing destroyed in the Eevolution, do you not Sire t " 
 
 " I acknowledge it ! " 
 
 " "Well, there are two methods of saving France and her 
 King at the same time." 
 
 " Speak out, Monsieur, and you will deserve much from 
 both." 
 
 " The first, Sire, is to put yourself at the head of the 
 Eevolution, and so guide it." 
 
 " They would drag me along with it, and I do not wish 
 to go whither they lead." 
 
 " The second is to put a bit into the mouth of the 
 Eevolution, — a curb solid enough to tame it." 
 
 "What do you call a bit, Monsieur?" 
 
 " Popularity united with Genius." 
 
 " And who will forge me such a bit ? " 
 
 " Mirabeau ! " 
 
 Louis Sixteenth gazed into Gilbert's face as if he had 
 not heard him correctly. 
 
MIRABEAU. 171 
 
 CHAPTEE XVIII. 
 
 MIRABEAU. 
 
 Gilbert saw that he had a struggle to sustain, but he 
 was prepared. 
 
 " Mirabeau," he repeated. "Yes, Sire, Mirabeau ! " 
 
 The King again looked at the portrait of Charles First, 
 and apostrophized the poetic canvas of Vandyck : " What 
 would have been thy response at such a time, Charles 
 Stuart, if thou hadst felt the earth shaking beneath 
 thy feet, and it had been proposed to thee to lean on 
 Cromwell r' 
 
 " Charles Stuart would have refused, and wisely," 
 replied Gilbert, " for there is no resemblance between 
 Cromwell and Mirabeau." 
 
 " I know not how things look to you, Doctor," said 
 the King, "but to me there are no degrees in treason. 
 A traitor is a traitor, and I know no difference between 
 one who is faithless in little and one who is faithless in 
 much." 
 
 Gilbert replied with the greatest respect, but at the 
 same time with invincible firmness : " Sire, traitor is not 
 the name for either Cromwell or Mirabeau." 
 
 " What then r' cried the King. 
 
 " Cromwell was a rebellious subject, and Mirabeau is a 
 discontented gentleman." 
 
 " Discontented with what % " 
 
 "With everything, — with his father, who confined 
 him in Chateau d'lf and the dungeon at Vincennes ; 
 
172 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 with tribunals, which once condemned him to death ; 
 with the King, who has misprised his genius, and still 
 misunderstands him." 
 
 " The genius of the politician should be honesty" said 
 the King quickly. 
 
 " The response is excellent, Sire, — worthy of Titus, 
 Trajan, or Marcus Aurelius ; but, unfortunatelj^, experi- 
 ence gives it the lie." 
 
 " How so 'i " 
 
 " Was Augustus C;esar an honest man, Trhen he first 
 divided the empire with Lepidus and Antony, and then 
 banished Lepidus and killed Antony, in order to have 
 everything for himself? Was it honest in Charlemagne 
 to send his brother Carloman to die in a cloister ; and in 
 order to get rid of his enemy, Wittikind, — almost as 
 great a man as himself, — ordered the decapitation of all 
 Saxons taller than his sword. Louis the Eleventh, who 
 rebelled against his father, for the purpose of dethroning 
 him, and filled Charles the Seventh with such a dread 
 of poison that he starved to death, — was Louis Eleventh 
 honest 1 Was Eichelieu honest in engineering conspira- 
 cies in the alcoves of the Louvre and the galleries of the 
 Palais Cardinal, which he afterwards denounced in the 
 Place de Greve? Was Mazarin an honest man, when 
 he signed a treaty with the Protector, Cromwell, and 
 not only refused a half-million of francs and five hundred 
 men to Charles the Second, but even drove him out of 
 France '? Was Colbert an honest man, when he betrayed, 
 accused, and overthrew Eouquet, his benefactor ; and hav- 
 ing thrown him into a living dungeon, from which he 
 never emerged but as a corpse, seated himself, with 
 superb impudence, in his predecessor's armchair, while 
 it was yet warm '! And yet neither of these, thank God, 
 did any wrong to King or kingdom." 
 
MIRABEAU. 173 
 
 " But you know, Monsieur Gilbert, that Mirabeau can 
 be nothing to me, while he is so much to Orleans." 
 
 " Ah, Sire, now that Orleans is in exile, Mirabeau be- 
 longs to nobody." 
 
 " Would you have me trust myself to a man who is for 
 sale 1 " 
 
 " Buy him ! Can't you afford to pay more than any- 
 body else in the world ] " 
 
 " An insatiable fellow, who would ask a million ! " 
 
 " When Mirabeau sells himself for a million, Sire, he 
 gives himself away. Do you fancy him worth less, by 
 two millions, than one of those Polignacs, masculine or 
 feminine 1 " 
 
 " Monsieur Gilbert ! " 
 
 " The King withdraws his word," said Gilbert bowing, 
 "and I am dumb." 
 
 " No, on the contrary, — speak ou ! " 
 
 " I have done, Sire." 
 
 " Then let us discuss the matter." 
 
 " I ask nothing better, Sire, for I know my Mirabeau 
 by heart." 
 
 " You are his friend V 
 
 " Unhappily I have not that honor. Besides, Mira- 
 beau has only one friend who is at the same time a friend 
 of the Queen." 
 
 " Yes, La Marck, — I know that. We reproach our- 
 selves for it every day." 
 
 " Your Majesty ought rather to forbid him from ever 
 quarrelling with Mirabeau, under penalty of death." 
 
 " And what importance would be derived, think you, 
 from having a lordling like Riquetti Mirabeau in the 
 weight of public affairs 1 " 
 
 " First, Sire, permit me to say that Mirabeau is a 
 nobleman, not a lordling. There are few noblemen in 
 
174 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 France who date back to the Eleventh Century ; and to 
 have more noblemen about them, our kings have only 
 insisted that the titles of these gentlemen should be 
 proved as far back as 1399, in order to concede them the 
 honor of riding in their carriages. No, Sire, he is no 
 parvenu. He descends from the Arrighetti of Florence, 
 one of whom came to France, after a defeat by the 
 Ghibelline party, and established himself in Provence. 
 A man is not a commoner because he has had a com- 
 mercial ancestor in Marseilles ; for you know. Sire, that 
 the nobility of Marseilles, like those of Venice, lost 
 nothing of their distinction by their condescension to 
 trade." 
 
 "A debauchee," interrupted the King, "a headsman of 
 reputations, a spendthrift ! " 
 
 " Ah, Sire, we must take men as nature made them. 
 The Mirabeaus have been always dissipated and disorderly 
 in their youth, but they improve as they grow older. In 
 their youth they are unhappily what your Majesty has 
 said ; but as heads of families they become imperious, 
 haughty, austere. A king who dislikes them would be 
 ungrateful, for they have furnished the army with in- 
 trepid soldiers, the navy with brave mariners. In their 
 provincial hatred of all centralization, in their half-feudal 
 and half-republican opposition, I am aware how, en- 
 trenched in their strongholds, they brave the authority 
 of ministers, and even kings. I know they have often 
 locked up the treasury officials who came to appraise their 
 estates. I know very well how they confounded with the 
 same disdain, and covered with the same derision, both 
 courtiers and clerks, land-superintendents and literary 
 fellows, and valued only two things in the world, the iron 
 of the sword and the iron of the plow. I know what one 
 of them wrote : ' Toadyism is as natural to Court gentry, 
 
MIRABEAU. 175 
 
 with their putty faces and hearts, as puddles to duoks.' 
 But all that does not affect their rank the least in the 
 world. On the contrary, all this, though it may not 
 be the purest morality, none the less arises from high 
 nobility." 
 
 " Well, well, Monsieur Gilbert," said the King with a 
 spice of dissatisfaction ; for he fancied that he knew, 
 better than anybody else, the prominent men of his 
 kingdom, — " well, you say you know your Mirabeau by 
 heart. For my sake, who know him not, keep on. Be- 
 fore engaging men in our service, we like to understand 
 them." 
 
 " Yes, Sire," replied Gilbert, spurred by a touch of 
 irony which he discovered in the King's intonation, " and 
 I will tell your Majesty. It was a Mirabeau, Bruno de 
 Eiquetti, who — on the day when Feuillade inaugurated, 
 in the square named after it, the statue of Victory, with 
 four nations enchained — was crossing with his regiment 
 (a regiment of the Guards, Sire) the New Bridge ; and 
 who paused, and made his regiment halt in front of the 
 statue of Henry Fourth, and said, doffing his hat : ' My 
 friends, let us salute this, for this statue is worth as much 
 as the other.' It was a Mirabeau, FranQois de Riquetti, 
 who, at the age of seventeen, returned from iSIalta, and 
 found his mother, Anne de.Pontfeves, in mourning. As his 
 father had been ten years dead, he demanded the cause 
 of her mourning. — ' I have been insulted,' replied the 
 mother. — ' By whom, Madame 1' — 'By the Chevalier de 
 Griasque.' — ' And you have not yet avenged yourself ? ' 
 asked Frangois, who understood his mother. — ' I greatly 
 desired revenge. One day I found him alone. I placed 
 a loaded pistol against his temple, and told him that if 
 I were a lone woman I would blow out his brains, as he 
 could see I was able to do, but that I had a son who 
 
176 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENF. 
 
 would avenge me more honorably.' — ' You did right, my 
 mother,' responded the youth. Without taking off his 
 boots he replaced his hat, once more girded on his sword, 
 and went after the chevalier, a bravo and bully. He 
 provoked him, locked himself up with him in a garden, 
 threw the keys over the wall, and slew him. A Mirabeau 
 it was, Jean Antoine, six feet tall, possessing the beaut}' 
 of Antinous and the strength of Milo, to whom his grand- 
 mother said, in the dialect of Provence : ' You are not r.f 
 the men ; you belong to the diminutives.^ Educated b}' 
 this virago, this Mirabeau had, as his grandson has 
 since stated, an elasticity and vigor almost impossible. 
 A musketeer at eighteen, always under fire, loving danger 
 as others love pleasure, he commanded a legion of terrible 
 fellows, fierce, indomitable like himself, of whom other 
 soldiers said, as they passed by : ' Seest thou those 
 EedcufFs? They are the Mirabeauans, a legion of devils 
 commanded by Satan.' Yet they were wrong in calling 
 the commander Satan, for he was a very pious man, — so 
 pious that one day, a fire having caught in one of his 
 forests, instead of giving orders for an attempt to ex- 
 tinguish it by ordinary means, he had the Holy Eucharist 
 carried thither, and therewith put out the flames. It is 
 true his piety was that of a feudal baron, and that this 
 captain sometimes found his deyotion dragged into great 
 embarrassment ; because it chanced one day that some 
 deserters, whom he intended to shoot, had taken, refuge 
 in the chapel of an Italian convent. He ordered his men 
 to break down the doors. They were going to obey, 
 when the abbot appeared on the threshold in full pontifi- 
 cals, with the Holy Euchai'ist in his hands." 
 
 "Well, what then]" asked Louis Sixteenth, evidently 
 captivated by a recital so full of verve and color. 
 
 " Well, he stood an instant dumbfounded, for the 
 
MIKABEAU. 177 
 
 position was very embarrassing. Then, brightened by a 
 sudden idea, he ordered his ensign to summon the chap- 
 lain of the regiment, to rescue the good God, — that is, 
 the Host of the Sacrament, — 'out of the hands of that 
 droll fellow there ; ' and this was piously done by the 
 chaplain of the regiment, Sire, relying upon the firelocks 
 of those devils in red trimmings.'' 
 
 " Indeed, I recollect something of that Marquis An- 
 toine," said the King. " Is not he the fellow who said to 
 Lieutenant-General Chamillard, — when the General had 
 promised to speak to his brother, the minister Chamillard, 
 on Marquis Antoine's behalf, after some affair in which 
 this Mirabeau had distinguished himself, — said to the 
 General : ' Monsieur, your brother is very fortunate in 
 having you, for without you he would be the greatest 
 fool in the kingdom ' 1 " 
 
 "Yes, Sire; and when there was a nomination of field- 
 marshals, Secretary Chamillard was very careful not to 
 put in the Marquis's name." 
 
 " And what became of this hero, who appears to me to 
 have been the Cond^ of the Riquetti race ] " asked the 
 King, laughing. 
 
 " Sire, he who has a splendid life has a splendid 
 death," responded Gilbert, gravely. " Charged with de- 
 fending a bridge attacked by the Imperialists, at the 
 battle of Cassauo, he made his soldiers lie flat on the 
 grouud, as was his custom, while he alone stood erect, 
 offering a point of attraction for the fire of the enemy. 
 The balls began to whistle about him like hail, but he 
 did not budge, any more than a guidepost which indicates 
 the road. One of the balls broke his right arm, — but 
 that was nothing, you understand. Sire. He took his 
 handkerchief, put his right arm into a sling, grasped 
 with the left hand his axe, his ordinary weapou, — mi.s- 
 
 VOL. I. — 12 
 
178 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 trusting the sabre and the sword as inflicting cuts too 
 small ; but hardly had he accomplished this manoeuvre 
 than a second shot struck his neck, and severed the 
 jugular vein and the nerves of his throat. This time 
 the difficulty was more serious. However, in spite of 
 this horrible wound, our Colossus still stood upright, 
 till, stifled with blood, he fell on the bridge like an up- 
 rooted tree. At sight of this the regiment was discour- 
 aged and fled, for with their chief they lost their hearts. 
 An old sergeant, \\ho hoped that he was not quite dead, 
 threw a covering over his face as they passed by ; and 
 the whole army of Prince Eugene, cavalry and infantry, 
 crowded over his body, in the wake of the flying regiment. 
 When the battle was over they began to bury the dead. 
 The magnificent uniform of the Marquis attracted atten- 
 tion. One of the captured soldiers recognized him. See- 
 ing that he still breathed, or rather that he gasped with 
 the death-rattle, the Prince ordered him to be taken to 
 the camp of the Due de Vendome. This order was ful- 
 filled. They placed the body of the Marquis in the 
 Vendome's tent, where the famous surgeon Dumoulin 
 happened to be. He was a man full of notions, and im- 
 dertook to restore this corpse to life, — a feat which ap- 
 peared impossible. The wound had nearly severed the 
 head from the shoulders, leaving them united only by 
 the spinal column and a few shreds of flesh. Besides 
 this, his whole body, over which three thousand horse- 
 men and six thousand footmen had marched, was full of 
 wounds. For three days it was doubtful if he would 
 ever recover consciousness ; but at the end of that time 
 he opened his eyes. Two days later he moved one arm. 
 Finally he seconded the obstinacy of Dumoulin with an 
 equal obstinacy, and at the end of three months he re- 
 appeared, with his broken arm supported in a black scarf, 
 
MIRABEAU. 179 
 
 with tweuty-seven wounds scattered all over his body, 
 — five more than Cjesar's, — and his head sustained by 
 a silver collar. His first visit was to Versailles, where he 
 was conducted to the Duke, and by him presented to the 
 King, who asked why it was, having given such proof 
 of courage, that he had never been made a field-marshal. 
 ' Sire,' responded Marquis Antoine, ' if I had come to 
 Court and bribed some jade, instead of staying to defend 
 the bridge at Cassauo, I should have received greater 
 advancement and fewer wounds.' It was not in such a 
 fashion that Louis Fourteenth liked to be answered, and 
 so he turned his heel on the Marquis. 'Jean Antoine, 
 my friend,' said Vendome, on the way out, ' henceforth I 
 shall present thee to the enemy, but never to the King. 
 Several months afterwards the Marquis, with his twenty- 
 seven wounds, broken arm, and silver collar, espoused 
 Mademoiselle Castellane-Norante, by whom he had seven 
 children, in the midst of seven new campaigns. Some- 
 times, though rarely, like all brave men, he spoke of that 
 famoiis affair at Cassano, and when he did so he used to 
 say : ' That 's the battle where T was killed ! ' " 
 
 Louis Sixteenth was visibly amused with this account 
 of Mirabeau's ancestors, and replied : "You have indeed 
 told me how the Marquis Jean Antoine was Tiilled, but 
 you have not told me how he died." 
 
 " He died in the Mirabeau stronghold, a rugged and 
 uncouth retreat, situated on a steep rock, fortifying a 
 double gorge, beaten incessantly by the north wind. He 
 died with that despotic and rude exterior which belongs 
 to the Riquetti family as they grow older, bringing up his 
 children to submission and respect, and keeping them at 
 such a distance that the eldest son said of him ; ' I never 
 had the honor of touching the hand, lips, or flesh of that 
 excellent man.' This eldest son was the father of our 
 
180 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY- 
 
 Mirabeau, — a wild sort of bird, whose nest was made 
 between four turrets, who never would Ve7'saillesize 
 himself, to quote his own word, and to whom your 
 Majesty does not render justice, because you do not 
 know him." 
 
 "Because I know him better, on the other hand. Mon- 
 sieur," said the King. " He is one of the chiefs of the 
 Economist School. He took part in the Revolution just 
 accomplished, giving the signal for certain social reforms, 
 popularizing many errors and a few truths ; which is the 
 more culpable on his part, because he fores.aw the situa- 
 tion, — he who said : ' This is an era when every woman 
 should bear an Artevelde or a Masaniello.' He was not 
 mistaken, and the womb of his own mother bore some- 
 thing worse." 
 
 " Sire, there is in Mirabeau something repugnant to 
 your Majesty, or that offends you. Let me say that this 
 is the result of paternal despotism and roj'al despotism." 
 
 " Eoyal despotism 1 " echoed the King. 
 
 " Undoubtedly, Sire ! Without the King, the father 
 could have done nothing. What great crime had been 
 committed by this descendant of a grand race, that at 
 the age of fourteen his father should send him to a 
 School of Correction, where he was registered, in order 
 to humiliate him, not as Riquetti Mirabeau, but under 
 the name of Buffiferes 1 What had he done at eighteen, 
 that his father should obtain a secret warrant of arrest, 
 and lock him up in the Island of Re 1 What had he 
 done at twenty, that he should be placed in the ranks 
 of a Disciplinary Battalion, and sent to fight in Corsica, 
 with this prediction by his father : ' He will embark, 
 the Sixteenth of April next, on the watery plain which 
 only furrows itself God grant that he may not some 
 day plow it as a galley-slave!' What did he do, at the 
 
MIEABEAU; 181 
 
 end of a year after his marriage, that his father should 
 banish him to Manosque 1 Why, at tlie end of six months' 
 exile at Manosque, was he transferred by his father to the 
 fortress at Joux 1 Finally, what had he done, after his 
 escape from Joux, that he should be arrested at Amster- 
 dam, and imprisoned in the stronghold at Vinceuiies, 
 where all the space assigned to him, by paternal clem- 
 ency and royal clemency, — to him, who could hardly 
 find breath in the wide open world, — was a cell ten 
 feet square, where for five years his young manhood 
 fretted and his passion increased, but where at the same 
 time his mind broadened and his heart grew stronger. 
 I will tell you what he did to deserve all this. He cap- 
 tivated his professor, Poisson, by the ease with which he 
 learned everything and comprehended everything. He 
 wound his way through the science of Political Economy. 
 Having chosen a military career, he desired to continue 
 it. Reduced to six thousand francs income, and having a 
 wife and child, he contracted a debt of thirty thousand 
 francs. He left his banishment at Manosque, to chas- 
 tise an insolent nobleman who had insulted his sister. 
 Finally, — and this was his greatest crime, — yielding to 
 the seductions of a young and pretty woman, he car- 
 ried her off from a debilitated old husband, morose and 
 jealous." 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur," said the King, " to abandon her soon 
 after, in such a way that the unhappy Madame Monnier, 
 left alone with her conscience, committed suicide." 
 
 Gilbert raised his eyes to Heaven and sighed. 
 
 " Well, let us see what you have to say to that, Mon- 
 sieur, and how you will defend Mirabeau 1 " 
 
 " With the truth. Sire, with the truth, — which reaches 
 kings with so much difficulty, that you, who seek it, who 
 demand it, who call for it, are almost always ignorant of 
 
182 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 it. 'No, Sire, lladame Mounier did not die because she 
 was abandoned by Mirabeau ; for when he left Vincenues, 
 his first visit was to her. Disguised as a pedler he 
 obtained access to the convent at Gien, where she 
 Lad sought an asjdum. He found Sophie cool and con- 
 strained. Aq explanation followed. Mirabeau not only 
 discovered that Madame Monuier loved him no longer, 
 but that she loved somebody else, the Chevalier de Rau- 
 court, whom she was to marry, being set free by the 
 death of her husband. Mirabeau had left his prison too 
 soon. As they had counted on his captivity, they had 
 now to be content with wounding his honor. Mirabeau 
 conceded his place to his happy rival, and withdrew, while 
 Madame hastened to wed Eaucourt, who soon after died 
 very suddenly. The poor woman had staked her whole 
 heart and life on this last affection. A month ago, on 
 the Ninth of September, she locked herself in her closet 
 and suffocated herself Then Mirabeau's enemies de- 
 clared that she died because of her abandonment by her 
 first lover, when she really died for love of a second. Oh 
 History, History, thus art thou written ! " 
 
 "Ah," said the King, "that is why he received the 
 news with such strange indifference." 
 
 " I can tell your Majesty how he received it, because I 
 know the man who announced it to him, — a member 
 of the Assembly. Ask the man himself ! He dare not 
 lie, for he is a priest, the Abbe Vallet. He sits on the 
 benches opposite those where Mirabeau sits. He crossed 
 the hall and took a seat by Mirabeau's side. ' What the 
 devil are you doing here 1 ' asked Mirabeau. Without 
 other response the Abbe Vallet gave him the letter which 
 contained the fatal news. He opened it, and was a long 
 time reading it, for he could hardly believe it. Then he 
 read it again, and during the second perusal his face 
 
MIRABEAU. 183 
 
 paled and lie became discomposed as he went on. He 
 passed his hands over his forehead, wiping his eyes at 
 the same time, coughing, spitting, and trying to gain the 
 mastery over himself. At last he had to give it up. He 
 rose precipitately and went away, and for three days did 
 not appear in the Assembly. Oh Sire, Sire, pardon me 
 for entering into these details ; bat one need only be a 
 man of ordinary genius to be calumniated at every point 
 and about everything ; and it is all the more so when 
 the man of genius is a giant." 
 
 " Even if it is so. Doctor, what motive could anybody 
 near me have for calumniating Mirabeau 1 " 
 
 " "What interest, Sire t The interest which mediocrity 
 always has to keep its place near the throne. Mirabeau 
 is not one of those men who can enter the Temple with- 
 out driving away the money-changers. The nearness of 
 Mirabeau to your Majesty would be the death-knell of 
 petty intrigues. His presence would be the banishment 
 of petty intriguers, — his genius tracing the pathway to 
 probity. What matters it to you. Sire, if Mirabeau lived 
 unpleasantly with his wife 1 What matters it if he 
 eloped with Madame Monnier ] What matters it to 
 you if he has a half-million of debts? Pay the half- 
 million of debts. Sire. Add thereto five hundred thousand 
 francs, — a million, two millions, ten millions, if necessary. 
 Mirabeau is now free. Do not let him escape you. Take 
 him. Make him your counsellor. Make him a cabinet 
 minister. Hearken to what his potent voice says to you ; 
 and what you hear, repeat to your people, to Europe, to 
 the world ! " 
 
 " Monsieur Mirabeau became a cloth-merchant at Aix, 
 in order to secure a popular nomination to the Assembly. 
 He could not betray his constituents, by forsaking the 
 popular side for that of the Court." 
 
184 LA COiMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 " Sire, Sire ! I repeat to you, you do not know Mirabeau. 
 He is, before all, an aristocrat, a nobleman, a Eoyalist. He 
 procured an election by the people, because the nobility 
 disdained him, — because there is in Mirabeau that sub- 
 lime desire to achieve his object by some means, which 
 is the torment of men of genius. He would not have 
 been chosen, either by the nobility or the people, if he 
 had proposed to enter Parliament like Louis Fourteenth, 
 booted and spurred, as if he possessed a divine right there. 
 He would not quit the popular party for the Court party, 
 you say'? Oh Sire, why is there a popular partj' and a 
 Court party 1 Why are not these parties one 1 Well, 
 that is what Mirabeau would accomplish. Take Mirabeau, 
 Sire. To-morrow, rebuffed by your indifference, Mirabeau 
 will turn against you ; and then, Sire, then, — I tell you 
 this, and the picture of Charles the First will tell you the 
 same thing hereafter, as it has told you before — then all 
 will be lost." 
 
 " Mirabeau will turn against me, you say 1 Has he not 
 already done so, Monsieur'!" 
 
 " In appearance, perhaps ; but at bottom Mirabeau is 
 really on your side. Ask La Marck what he said to him, 
 after that famous session of the Twenty-first July, when 
 Mirabeau alone read the future, with appalling sagacity." 
 
 "Well, what said her' 
 
 "He twisted his hands in affliction. Sire, and cried: 
 ' It is thus they lead kings to the scaffold ! ' Three days 
 after he added : ' These fellows do not see what an abyss 
 they are digging under the steps of the monarchj^ The 
 King and the Queen will perish, and the people will clap 
 their hands over their dead bodies.' " 
 
 The King shivered, grew pale, looked at the portrait 
 of Charles the First, and appeared almost ready to decide ; 
 but suddenly he said : " I will talk with the Queen about 
 
MIRABEAU. 185 
 
 this, and perhaps she may decide to talk with Mirabeau ; 
 but I cannot talk with him myself. I like to shake the 
 hand of the man with whom I talk, Monsieur Gilbert, 
 and I would not press the hand of Mirabeau for the price 
 of my throne, of my liberty, of my life." 
 
 Gilbert was about to reply, perhaps to insist further ; 
 but at that instant an usher entered and said : " Sire, the 
 person is here whom your Majesty wished to receive this 
 morning, and is waiting in the antechambers." 
 
 Louis made a quick movement, and looked at Gilbert. 
 
 " Sire," said the latter, " if it is best for me not to see 
 the pei-son who waits upon your Majesty, I will pass out 
 by another door." 
 
 " Xo, Monsieur," said the King, " go this way. You 
 know I hold you as my friend, and that I have no secrets 
 from you. Besides, the person who waits is a plain 
 gentleman, formerly attached to the household of my 
 brother, who has recommended him to me. He is a 
 faithful servant, and I am going to see if it is possible to 
 do something, if not for him, at least for his wife and 
 children. Go, Monsieur Gilbert, you know you will be 
 always welcome when you come, — even when you come 
 to talk to me about Mirabeau." 
 
 " Sire," asked Gilbert, " must I regard myself as com- 
 pletely bafaed 1 " 
 
 " I have already told you. Monsieur, that I will talk 
 with the Queen, that I will reflect. Later we will see." 
 
 " Later, Sire ! Here, this very instant ! I pray God 
 it may not be too late." 
 
 " Ah, do you believe the peril so imminent 1 " 
 
 " Sire," said Gilbert, " do not let that portrait of 
 Charles First be taken from your apartment, for it is your 
 best counsellor.'' 
 
 He withdrew, bowing, just at the moment when the 
 
186 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 person expected by tbe King presented himself at the 
 door, ready to come in. 
 
 Gilbert could not repress a start of surprise. This 
 gentleman was the Marquis de Favras, whom he had 
 met eight or ten days before at the house of Cagliostro, 
 and whose speedy and violent death had then been 
 prophesied. 
 
FAVEAS. 187 
 
 CHAPTEE XIX. 
 
 P A V R A S. 
 
 As soon as Gilbert had withdrawn, — a prey to forebod- 
 ings, not inspired by the realities of life, but by in- 
 visible and mysterious possibilities, — the Marquis de 
 Favras was introduced to the presence of Louis Sixteenth, 
 as related in the preceding chapter. 
 
 He paused at the door, as Doctor Gilbert had done, 
 but the King, having seen him enter, made a sign for him 
 to draw nearer. 
 
 Favras advanced bowing, but waited respectfully for 
 the King to address him. 
 
 Louis fixed on him that investigating look which seems 
 part of the education of kings, and is more or less super- 
 ficial, more or less profound, according to the genius of 
 him who employs it and applies it. 
 
 Thomas Mahi, Marquis de Favras, was a gentleman 
 forty-five years of age, with a tall figure, a bearing 
 elegant and at the same time strong, a frank physiognomy, 
 and an open face. 
 
 The examination was favorable, and something like a 
 smile touched the King's lips, already opening to interro- 
 gate the newcomer. 
 
 " You are the Marquis de Favras, Monsieur 1 " he 
 asked. 
 
 "Yes, Sire," replied the Marquis. 
 
 " You have wished to be presented to me 1 " 
 
188 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 " I have expressed to his Royal Highness, Monsieur de 
 Provence, my lively desire to place my services at the feet 
 of his brother, my King." 
 
 " My brother has great confidence in you V 
 
 " So I believe. Sire, and I avow that my ardent ambi- 
 tion is to have that confidence shared by your Majesty." 
 
 " My brother has known you a long time, Monsieur.'' 
 
 " But your Majesty knows me not ! I understand ; 
 but if your Majesty deigns to question me, in ten minutes 
 he will know me as well as his august brother knows 
 me." 
 
 " Speak, Mai-quis," said Louis Sixteenth, throwing a 
 side glance at the portrait of Charles Stuart, which would 
 not entirely leave his thoughts, nor at once remove itself 
 from the sweep of his eye, " speak ! I am listening." 
 
 " Your Majesty wishes to know — t" 
 
 " Who you are and what you have done." 
 
 " Who I am, Sire 1 The simple annoimoement of my 
 name tells you that. I am Thomas Mahi, Marquis de 
 Favras. I was born at Blois in 1745. I joined the 
 Musketeers at the age of fifteen, and fought the campaign 
 of 1761 in that corps. I was afterwards captain and ad- 
 jutant in the regiment of Belzunce, then lieutenant of 
 the Swiss Guard of Monsieur de Provence." 
 
 " And it was in this capacity that you knew my 
 brother 1 " 
 
 " Sire, I had the honor to be presented to him a year 
 before, so that he already knew me." 
 
 " And you left that service — %" 
 
 " In 1775, Sire, in order to go to Vienna, where I had 
 made the acquaintance of my wife, the legitimate and 
 only daughter of the Prince of Anhalt Schauenbonrg." 
 
 " Your wife has never been presented at Court, 
 Monsieur 1 " 
 
FAVEAS. 189 
 
 " No, Sire ; but at this very moment she has the honor 
 of being with the Queen, together witli my eldest sou." 
 
 The King made a dissatisfied motion, which seemed to 
 say : " Ah, the Queen has a hand in this ! " 
 
 After a period of silence, which he employed in walking 
 to and fro, and glancing once more, but furtively, at the 
 portrait of Charles the First, the King asked : " And 
 what nexf?" 
 
 " Next, Sire, for three years, during the insurrection 
 against the Stadtholder of Holland, I commanded a com- 
 pany, and contributed my part towards the re-establish- 
 ment of legitimate authority. Then turning my attention 
 towards France, and seeing bad blood begin its work of 
 disorganization, I returned to Paris, to place my sword 
 and life at the service of my King." 
 
 " Well, Monsieur, you have indeed beheld some pitiable 
 things, have you not "i " 
 
 " Sire, I witnessed those two days, the Fifth and Sixth 
 of October." 
 
 The King seemed desirous of changing the topic. 
 " Is it not told me, Marquis," he continued, " that my 
 brother of Provence has so much confidence in you that 
 he has charged you with an important loan 1 " 
 
 At this unexpected question, a third person, had 
 there been a third person present, might have noticed a 
 peculiar motion of the curtain which half enclosed the 
 King's private alcove, as if some one stood concealed be- 
 hind the tapestry ; and Favras was confused, like a man 
 who is prepared to answer a certain question, but finds 
 himself suddenly confronted by one far different. 
 
 " Yes, Sire," he said. " It is a mark of confidence to 
 entrust a gentleman with financial interests; and that 
 mark of confidence his Royal Highness has done me the 
 honor to give." 
 
190 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 The King paused in his promenade, and looked at 
 Favras as if the trend of the interview now offered greater 
 attractions than heretofore. 
 
 The Marquis continued, in a disappointed tone : " His 
 Eoyal Highness has been deprived of his revenues, as a 
 result of different Acts of the Assembly. Thinking the 
 time has come when princes should have a large sum at 
 their disposal, even for their own security, his Eoyal 
 Highness sent me the contracts, as I said." 
 
 " On which you have negotiated a loan, Monsieur ? " 
 
 " Yes, Sire." 
 
 " A large amount, you say 1 " 
 
 " Two millions." 
 
 " And with whom 1 " 
 
 Favras almost hesitated to answer the King, inasmuch 
 as the conversation seemed to lose its pith, and pass 
 from great and general interests into the lesser inquiry 
 after particular and personal interests, — to descend from 
 politics to police. 
 
 " I ask you who makes this loan," persisted the 
 King. 
 
 " Sire, I at first called upon the bankers Schaumel and 
 Sartorius ; but this negotiation having failed, I had re- 
 course to a foreign banker, — one who, knowing the wishes 
 of his Royal Highness, made me voluntary proffers of 
 service, out of love for our Princes and respect for our 
 King." 
 
 " Ah ! And you call, this banker — 1 " 
 
 " Sire ! " said Favras, hesitating. 
 
 "You will understand. Monsieur," insisted the King, 
 " that such a man it is well to know ; and that I desire 
 to learn his name, in order to thank him for his devotion, 
 should an occasion ever present itself." 
 
 " Sire, he is called the Baron Zanonne." 
 
FAVRAS. 191 
 
 " He is an Italian ? " 
 
 "A Genoese, Sire." 
 
 "And he lives — ?" 
 
 " At Sevres, Sire, immediately opposite the place," — 
 rejoined Favras, who hoped by this touch of the spur to 
 give more vigor to his foundering cause, — "immediately 
 opposite the place where your Majesty's coach halted on 
 the Sixth of October, on the return from Versailles, when 
 a set of cutthroats, led by Marat, Verrifere, and the Due 
 d'Aiguillon, in a Itttle pothouse at the Sevres Bridge, 
 compelled the Queen's barber to curl and dress the two 
 severed heads of Varicourt and Deshuttes." 
 
 The King grew pale ; and if at that instant he had 
 turned his eyes towards the alcove, he would have seen 
 the trembling curtain agitate itself a second time, more 
 nervously than before. 
 
 It was evident that this conversation annoyed him, 
 and that he wished he had never been led into it. 
 
 Kesolved to end the subject at once, he said : " It is 
 well, Monsieur ! I see that you are a faithful servitor of 
 royalty, and I promise not to forget it, at the proper 
 time ; " and he made that movement of the head which 
 signifies, with princes : " I have done you the honor to 
 hear you and talk to you long enough, and you are 
 authorized to take your departure ! " 
 
 Favras comprehended perfectly, but he said : " Par- 
 don me, Sire, I believe your Majesty had something else 
 to ask me." 
 
 "No," said the King, shaking his head slowly, as if he 
 searched his memory for some new questions to ask, " no, 
 Marquis ; this is all I wish to know." 
 
 " Yon are mistaken, Monsieur,'' said a voice which 
 made both King and Marquis turn towards the alcove ; 
 " you want to know how the forefather of the Marquia 
 
192 LA COMTESSE DE CHABNY. 
 
 managed to rescue King Stanislaus from Dantzig, and 
 conduct him safe and sound to the Prussian frontier." 
 
 Both men uttered a cry of surprise. This third per- 
 son, who came so unexpectedly into their conversation, 
 was the Queen, — the Queen pale and trembling, with 
 compressed lips, and not content with the statements fur- 
 nished by Favras. Doubting if the King, left to himself, 
 would dare to go so far, she had come by the private 
 staircase and the secret corridor, to take up the interview 
 when the King was weak enough, as she firmly believed, 
 to let it drop. 
 
 The Queen's intervention, and the fashion in which 
 she turned the conversation, by a reference to the flight 
 of Stanislaus, was to enable the King to hear, inider 
 a transparent veil of allegory, certain projects of flight, 
 which Favras had come to propose. 
 
 On his part Favras understood in an instant the 
 method she offered him for developing his plan ; and 
 although none of his ancestors or kinsmen had ever aided 
 the King of Poland in his flight, he bowed, and hastened 
 to reply. 
 
 " Your Majesty doubtless refers to my cousin, General 
 Steinflioht, who owes this illustrative name to the im- 
 mense service which he rendered his King, — a service 
 which had a fortunate effect over the fate of Stanislaus, 
 first snatching him from the hands of his enemies, and 
 then, by a conjunction of providential circumstances, 
 making him a forefather of your Majesty." 
 
 " That 's the one, that 's the one," said the Queen, 
 quickly ; while Louis, with a sigh, inspected anew the 
 portrait of Charles Stuart. 
 
 "Well," said Favras, "your Majesty knows — pardon 
 me. Sire, your Majesties know — that King Stanislaus, 
 although at liberty in Dantzig, was surrounded on all 
 
FAVBAS. 193 
 
 sides by the Muscovite army, and almost lost, when he 
 decided upon instant flight.'' 
 
 " Entirely lost," interrupted the Queen, " you may well 
 say entirely lost. Monsieur ! " 
 
 " Madame," said Louis Sixteenth, with some severity, 
 " the Providence which watches over kings, never allows 
 them to be entirely ruined !" 
 
 " Ah, Monsieur," said the Queen, " I believe as relig- 
 iously and trustfully as yourself in Providence ; but, to 
 my mind, it is a good thing to help Providence a little." 
 
 " This was also the mind of the King of Poland,, Sire," 
 added Favras, " for he declared positively to his friends, 
 that not believing his position tenable, and believing his 
 life in danger, he wished them to submit several schemes 
 for a flight. In spite of the difiiculty, three plans wore 
 brought forward. I say desinte the difficulty, because, as 
 your Majesty may notice, it was far more difficult for 
 King Stanislaus to get away fi-om Dantzig, than it would 
 be for you, for instance, to get out of Paris, if the notion 
 should take you. With a postchaise, — if your Majesty 
 wished to leave without noise and gossip, — with a post- 
 chaise, your Majesty would be able in one day to gain the 
 frontier ; or, if your Majesty wished to quit Paris in state, 
 you could give orders to some gentleman, honored with 
 your confidence, to raise thirty thousand men, and sum- 
 mon them to the palace, — yes, to the Tuileries. In either 
 case success would be sure, the enterprise certain." 
 
 " Sire," added the Queen, " you know that what Mon- 
 sieur Favras says is the exact truth." 
 
 " Yes," said the King ; " but my situation, Madame, 
 is far from being as desperate as that of King Stanislaus. 
 Dantzig was surrounded with Eussians, as the Marquis 
 said. The fort of Wechselmund, their last defence, was 
 ready to capitulate ; but as for me — " 
 
 VOL. I. — 13 
 
194 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 " As for you," interrupted the Queen with impatience, 
 "you are in the midst of Parisians, — of Parisians who 
 captured the Bastille on July the Fourteenth, who wanted 
 to assassinate you on the night of October Fifth, and who 
 on the next day haled you and your family to Paris by 
 force, insulting them all the time the trip lasted. Ah ! 
 The situation is so delightful, that it deserves preference 
 above that of King Stanislaus ! " 
 
 " But, Madame — " 
 
 " King Stanislaus did not risk a prison, and perhaps 
 death ; whereas you — " 
 
 She was checked by a glance of the King. 
 
 " Of course, you are the master," continued the Queen, 
 " and it is for you to decide ! " and she sat down impa- 
 tiently, face to face with the portrait of Charles the 
 First. 
 
 " Monsieur de Favras," she presently said, " I have 
 just come from a conversation with your wife and your 
 oldest son. I find them full of courage and resolution, as 
 becomes the wife and son of a gallant gentleman. What- 
 ever happens to them, — supposing anything should hap- 
 pen, — they may count on the Queen of France. TJie 
 Queen of France will never abandon them. She is the 
 daughter of Maria Theresa, and knows how to appreciate 
 and recompense courage." 
 
 The King resumed, stimulated by this sally of the 
 Queen : " You say, Monsieur, that three methods of 
 escape were proposed to King Stanislaus]" 
 
 " Yes, Sire ! " 
 
 " And those methods were — V 
 
 " The first, Sire, was to disguise himself as a peasant. 
 The Comtesse de Chapska, Palatine of Pomerania, who 
 spoke German as if it were her maternal tongue, — con- 
 ftding in a man who had proved that he knew the country 
 
FAVEAS. 195 
 
 perfectly ■well, — offered to disguise herself as a peasant- 
 woman, and let the King pass as her foreign husband. 
 This is the method I referred to just now for the King 
 of France, in telling him what facilities he would have, 
 in case it should be necessary for him to flee incognito 
 and by night." 
 
 " The second 1 " said Louis, as if he resented with some 
 impatience any attempt to apply to his own situation a 
 comparison with that of King Stanislaus. 
 
 " The second, Sire, was to take a thousand men, and 
 risk drilling a hole through the Muscovite ranks. This 
 also I just now suggested to the King of France, in call- 
 ing his attention to the fact that not one but thirty thou- 
 sand men might be at his disposal." 
 
 " You saw how I was served by thirty thousand men 
 on the Fourteenth of July, Monsieur ! " replied the King. 
 " Pass on to the third method ! " 
 
 " The third method, which Stanislaus accepted, was to 
 disguise himself as a peasant, and leave Dantzig, — not 
 with a woman, who might be an embarrassment on the 
 journey, not with a thousand men, who might one and 
 all be slain without finding an exit, but with only two 
 or three reliable men, who were acquainted anywhere. 
 This third method was proposed by Monsieur Monti, the 
 French ambassador, and approved by my kinsman, General 
 Steinflicht." 
 
 " This plan was adopted 1 " 
 
 " Yes, Sire ; and if any king, finding himself, or believ- 
 ing himself to be, in the situation of the King of Poland, 
 should graciously deign to accord me the confidence your 
 august ancestor accorded to General Steinflicht, I believe 
 I could answer for him with my head, — above all, if the 
 roads were as free as the roads of France, and the King 
 as good a rider as your Majesty." 
 
196 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 " Certainly ! " said the Queen. " But, Monsieur, on 
 the night of the Fifth and Sixth of October the King 
 took his oath never to go away without me, and not even 
 to suggest a plan of departure of which I was not part 
 and parcel. The King's word is pledged, Monsieur, and 
 the King never fails." 
 
 " Madame," said Favras, "that makes the journey more 
 difficult, but does not render it impossible ; and if I had 
 the honor to conduct such an expedition, I would agree to 
 carry the Queen, King, and whole royal family safe and 
 sound to Montmedy or Brussels, as General Steinflioht led 
 King Stanislaus safe and sound to Marienwerder." 
 
 " You hear, Sire ! " cried the Queen. " I believe there 
 is nothing to fear, and everything to hope, with a man 
 like Monsieur Favras." 
 
 "Yes, Madame," replied the King, "and that is my 
 opinion- also ; only the hour tas not yet struck." 
 
 "Very well, Monsieur," said the Queen, " consider what 
 happened to him whose portrait is looking out upon us, 
 the sight of which — at least, so I believed — would give 
 you better counsel. What if you were forced into war? 
 What if the battle were lost 1 Suppose you were a 
 prisoner 1 What if a scaffold were erected under your 
 window 1 Then you, who to-day say Too early, will be 
 forced to say, Too late." 
 
 " In any event, Sire, whatever be the hour, at his first 
 word the King will find me ready," said Favras, bowing. 
 He feared lest his presence should tire the King, as it 
 had already led to a species of conflict between th« 
 Queen and Louis the Sixteenth. " I have only my exist- 
 ence to offer my sovereign, and I do not say that I offer 
 that ; but I say he always has had, and will have, 
 the right to dispose of my existence, for it belongs 
 to him.'' 
 
FAVRAS. 197 
 
 " That is well, Monsieur," said the King, " and if it so 
 falls out, I ratify the promise which the Queen has already 
 made you, in regard to the Marquise and your children." 
 
 This time it was a veritable dismissal. The Marquis 
 was obliged to withdraw, however desirous of pressing his 
 ideas, because he saw no encouragement except . in the 
 looks of the Queen, who followed him with her eyes till 
 the tapestry closed behind him. 
 
 " Ah, Monsieur," said she, extending her hand towards 
 Vandyck's canvas, " when I had that picture brought to 
 your chamber, I believed it would inspire you better." 
 
 Superciliously, as if she disdained to pursue the con- 
 versation further, she walked towards the door of the 
 alcove ; but suddenly stopping she said : " Sire, acknowl- 
 edge that the Marquis de Favras is not the first person 
 whom you have received this morning." 
 
 " No, Madame, you are right. Before the Marquis I 
 received Doctor Gilbert.'' 
 
 The Queen trembled. " Ah," said she, " I suspected 
 as much. And Doctor Gilbert seems to be — 1" 
 
 " Of my mind, Madame, that we ought not to quit 
 France." 
 
 " But being of the opinion that we ought not to leave, 
 he doubtless gave you some counsel which will render our 
 stay here possible 1 " 
 
 " Yes, Madame, he gave us a piece of advice. Un- 
 happily I found it, if not bad, impracticable." 
 
 " Indeed ! What was his counsel t " 
 
 " He wishes us to buy Mirabeau for a year." 
 
 "And at what price?" asked the Queen. 
 
 " Six millions, and one of your smiles.'' 
 
 The Queen's face at once assumed a deeply meditative 
 character. 
 
 " Indeed," she said, " perhaps that may be a means — " 
 
198 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 " Yes, but a means you will refuse, on your part, — is 
 it not so, Madame 1 " 
 
 " I say neither Yes nor No," said the Queen, with that 
 sinister expression which the Angel of Evil wears in his 
 triumph. " This is something to be dreamed about ! " 
 And as she retired she added in a lower voice, "And I 
 will dream about it ! " 
 
THE ICING BUSIES HIMSELF WITH FAMILY AFFAIRS. 199 
 
 CHAPTER XX, 
 
 THE KING BUSIES HIMSELF WITH FAMILY AFFAIRS. 
 
 Left alone the King stood still for an instant. Then, as 
 if he feared the Queen's retirement was only feigned, he 
 went to the door through which she had passed out, 
 opened it, and peered into the antechambers and 
 corridors. 
 
 Perceiving only the attendants, he called, in a low 
 voice : " Frangois ! " 
 
 An attendant who had risen when the door into the 
 royal apartments opened, and stood waiting for orders, 
 stepped forwai-d, and when the King returned to his 
 rooms, went in behind him. 
 
 "Frangois, do you know where are the apartments of 
 the Comte de Charny 1 " 
 
 This attendant was no other than the one engaged by 
 the King after the Tenth of August (1792), who afterwards 
 left some Memoirs on the close of his Majesty's reign. 
 " Sire," he responded, " the Count has no apartment ; he 
 has only an upper room in the Floral Pavilion." 
 
 " And why an attic for an officer of his importance 1 " 
 
 " We wished to do better by the Count ; but he would 
 not allow it, saying that an attic was good enough for 
 him." 
 
 " "Well, do you know where his attic is 1 " 
 
 " Yes, Sire." 
 
 " Go and inquire for the Count ; I wish to speak with 
 him." 
 
200 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY, 
 
 The attendant went away, closing the door behind him, 
 and ascended to the mansarde of tlie Count, whom he 
 found leaning on the bar of his window, his eyes fixed on 
 the ocean of roofs, which loses itself on the horizon, in 
 waves of tiles and slates. 
 
 Twice the attendant rapped, but Charny did not hear, 
 60 deep was he plunged in meditation. Then the attend- 
 ant, seeing the key in the door, determined to enter un- 
 bidden, since he came at the King's order. 
 
 At this noise the Count turned. 
 
 " Ah, it is you, Monsieur Hue ? " he said. " Do you 
 come for me on the Queen's account 1 " 
 
 " No, Monsieur Count, but on the King's," replied the 
 attendant. 
 
 "On the King's]" replied Charny with open and 
 unfeigned surprise. 
 
 " Yes, from the King," persisted the attendant. 
 
 " It is well, Monsieur Hue ! Tell his Majesty that I 
 am at his orders." 
 
 The attendant withdrew from the chamber, with the 
 stiffness required by etiquette, while Charny conducted 
 him to the door, with that courtesy which the ancient and 
 genuine nobility showed to any messenger from the King, 
 whether he wore a gold chain about his necli or livery on 
 his back. 
 
 Left alone the Count remained a moment with his 
 head pressed between his hands, as if to compel his con- 
 fused and agitated thoughts to resume their proper place. 
 Order being re-established in his brain, he buckled on his 
 sword, which lay on an armchair, took his hat under his 
 arm, and went downstairs. 
 
 He found Louis Sixteenth in the royal chamber, break- 
 fasting, his back turned upon Vandyok's picture. 
 
 "Ah, it is you. Count V he said, raising his head and 
 
THE KING BUSIES HIMSELF WITH FAMILY- AFFAIRS. 201 
 
 perceiving Charuy. " Very well, will you breakfast with 
 me?" 
 
 " Sire, I am obliged to refuse the honor, having break- 
 fasted already," said the Count, bowing. 
 
 " In that case,'' said Louis, " will you wait awhile ; for 
 I have begged you to come to me for a discussion of 
 serious affairs, and I do not like to talk business when I 
 am eating." 
 
 " I am at the King's disposal." 
 
 " Then instead of talking business, let us discuss some- 
 thing else, — yourself, for example." 
 
 " Me, Sire 1 How do I deserve the notice of my 
 King ? " 
 
 " Wheu I asked rran5ois just now where you were 
 lodged in the Tuileries, do you know what Fraugois 
 answered, my dear Count?" 
 
 "No, Sire." 
 
 " He answered that you had refused a suite of rooms 
 offered you, and would only accept an attic.'' 
 
 " That is true, Sire ! " 
 
 " Why so, Count ? " 
 
 " Because, being alone, and having no other importance 
 than that conferred by the kind favor of your Majesties, 
 I did not judge it needful to deprive the Palace Gov- 
 ernor of his rooms, when a simple mansarde was all I 
 required." 
 
 " Your pardon, my dear Count, but you talk from 
 your standpoint, as if you were a simple officer and 
 bachelor ; but you have — and, thank God, in the hour 
 of peril you did not forget it — an important station near 
 ourselves ; and moreover you are married. What would 
 the Countess do in your mansarde ? " 
 
 Charny responded with a melancholy accent, which 
 did not escape the King, — accessible to sentiment as he 
 
202 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 always was : " Sire, I do not think that Madame would 
 do me the honor to share my apartment, be it little or 
 great." 
 
 " But your Countess, though having an appointment 
 near the Queen, is her friend. The Queen, as you 
 know, cannot get along without Madame de Charny, — 
 although, for some time, I have remarked a coolness 
 between them. When the Countess comes to the palace 
 where will she lodge 1 " 
 
 " Without an express order from your Majesty, I do 
 not think she will ever return to the palace." 
 
 " Ah ] Bah ! " 
 
 Charny bowed. 
 
 " Impossible ! " said the King. 
 
 " If your Majesty will pardon me," said Charny, " I 
 feel sure of it in advance.'' 
 
 " Well, that astonishes me less than you might suppose, 
 my dear Count ; for, as I just stated, I thought I per- 
 ceived a coolness between the Queen and her friend." 
 
 "And so your Majesty has observed if!" 
 
 " Women's quarrels ! We mast try to arrange all 
 that ! Meanwhile, it seems, without knowing it, that I 
 have been conducting myself in a very tyrannical fashion 
 towards you, my dear Count.'' 
 
 " How so. Sire 1 " 
 
 " Why, by forcing you to live at the Tuileries, while 
 the Countess lives — well, where ] " 
 
 " Eue Coq Heron, Sire." 
 
 " I ask from a habit of interrogation, which kings are 
 apt to acquire ; but partly from a wish to learn the 
 Countess's whereabouts ; although, not knowing Paris as 
 well as if I were a Russian from Moscow or an Austrian 
 from Vienna, I am ignorant whether the Rue Coq Heron 
 is near the Tuileries or far away." 
 
THE KING BUSIES HIMSELF WITH FAMILY AFFAIRS. 203 
 
 " It is near, Sire." 
 
 " So much the better. That explains why you have 
 only a temporary lodging at the Tuileries." " 
 
 " My chamber at the Tuileries is not merely a tem- 
 porary lodging," replied Charny, with the same accent of 
 melancholy the King had already noticed in his voice. 
 " On the contrary, it is a permanent lodging, where I may 
 be found at any hour, day or niglit, when your Majesty 
 does me the honor to send for me." 
 
 " Oh, ho, what does that mean. Monsieur 'i " said the 
 King, turning himself about in his armchair as he 
 finished his breakfast. 
 
 " The King will excuse me, but I do not quite under- 
 stand the question with which he honors me." 
 
 " Bah ! You do not know that I am a good citizen, 
 eh 1 — a husband and father before everything else, and 
 that I am almost as anxious about the interior life of my 
 palace as about my kingdom outside 1 AVhat does it 
 mean, Count, after hardly three years of marriage, that 
 Charny has his regular home at the Tuileries, while 
 Madame has her regular home in the Rue Coq Heron] " 
 
 " I can only say to your Majesty, that Madame wishes 
 to live alone." 
 
 " But you go there every day 1 — Xo ? — Well, twice 
 a week — V 
 
 " Sire, I have not had the pleasure of seeing the 
 Countess since the day when the King ordered me to go 
 and tell her some news." 
 
 "Why, but that 's more than eight days ago ! " 
 
 " Ten days. Sire," rejoined Charny, in a voice slightly 
 moved. 
 
 The King now better understood his sadness and 
 melancholy, and detected in the Count's tone a shade 
 of emotion which he allowed to show itself. 
 
204 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 " Count,'' said Louis, with that good-nature which so 
 well suited a family man, as he called himself, " this 
 mast be chiefly your fault!" 
 
 " My fault 1 " said Charny vivaciously, and slightly 
 blushing. 
 
 " Yes, yes, your fault," insisted the King. " Absence 
 from a wife, and above all from such a perfect woman 
 as your Countess, is always somewhat the fault of the 
 man." 
 
 " Sire ! " 
 
 " You will say this does not concern me, my dear 
 Count ; but I reply that it does concern me, that a king 
 can do many things by a single word. Kow be frank ! 
 You have been irresponsive towards this poor Made- 
 moiselle de Taverney, who loves you so much." 
 
 " Who loves me so much '? Sire, pardon me ; but does 
 your Majesty say that Mademoiselle de Taverney loves 
 me — so much — 1" replied Charny, with a slight tone of 
 bitterness. 
 
 "Mademoiselle de Taverney, or Madame de Charny, — 
 it 's all one, I presume ! " 
 
 " Yes and no. Sire." 
 
 "Well, I say that Madame loves you, and I am not 
 deceived." 
 
 " Sire, you know it is not allowable to contradict the 
 King." 
 
 " Oh, contradict as much as you please ! I know what 
 I am talking about." 
 
 " And your Majesty has perceived by certain signs, — 
 visible to himself alone, undoubtedly, — that Madame 
 Charny loves me very much 1 " 
 
 " I do not know anything about signs visible to myself 
 alone, my dear Count ; but this I know, that on that 
 terrible night of the Sixth October, from the moment 
 
THE KING BUSIES HIMSELF WITH FAMILY AFFAIRS. 205 
 
 when you joined us, she did not lose sight of you for an 
 instant, and that her eyes expressed all the agony of her 
 heart, — so much so, that when the Bull's Eye Portal was 
 nearly broken in, I saw the poor woman make a move- 
 ment to throw herself between you and danger." 
 
 The Count's heart was beating rapidly. He believed 
 that he had detected in the Countess something similar 
 to what the King alluded to ; but each detail of his last 
 interview with Andree was too distinct in his soul for 
 him not to let these memories overpower the vague affir- 
 mation of his heart, and even the more positive affirmation 
 of the King. 
 
 " And I also remember," continued the King, " that on 
 the way to Paris, you were sent away by the Queen to 
 the Hotel de Ville ; and the Queen afterwards positively 
 told me that the Countess almost died from grief over 
 your absence, and delight at your return." 
 
 " Sire," said Charny, smiling sorrowfully, " God per- 
 mits those who are born above us to receive at birth^ 
 doubtless as a privilege of their race, a faculty of prob- 
 ing heart-secrets, unknown to other men. If the King 
 and Queen have both observed this, it must be so ; 
 but the weakness of my sight has made me see other- 
 wise. That is why I pray the King not to disquiet him- 
 self about Madame Andree's great love for me, should he 
 wish to employ me in some mission dangerous or distant. 
 Absence or danger will be equally welcome, on my part 
 at least." 
 
 " Yet a week ago, when the Queen wished to send you 
 on a mission to Turin, you apparently desired to remain 
 in Paris." 
 
 " I believed my brother equal to the mission, Sire, and 
 reserved myself for one more difficult or more perilous." 
 
 " And wisely, my dear Coimt ; because the moment 
 
206 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 has come to entrust you with a mission, difficult even 
 now, and perhaps not without danger in the future. 
 This is why I spoke of the isolation of the Countess, and 
 wished to see her nearer some friend when I send away 
 her husband." 
 
 " I will write to the Countess, Sire, and impart to her 
 your Majesty's good intentions." 
 
 " How 1 Write to her 1 Do you not expect to see the 
 Countess before you go 1 " 
 
 " I never intruded upon my Comitess but once with- 
 out permission, Sire ; and after the manner in which she 
 then received me, it will be still more necessary to crave 
 that permission in future, unless I go by your Majesty's 
 express commands.'' 
 
 " Well, well. Let us say no more about it. I will 
 talk to the Queen of all this during your absence," said 
 the King, rising from the table. 
 
 Then ahemming two or three times, with the satisfac- 
 tion of a man who has eaten heartily and is sure of his 
 digestion, he observed : " My faith, the doctors are right 
 in saying that everything has two faces, — that sullen 
 face presented to an empty stomach, and that radiant face 
 presented to a full stomach. Enter my cabinet, my dear 
 Count ! I feel like talking to you with an open heart." 
 
 The Count followed Louis the Sixteenth, wondering at 
 that material and coarse side of his nature which robbed 
 the crowned head of its dignity, and on account of which 
 the proud Marie Antoinette could not restrain herself 
 from reproaching her spouse. 
 
THE KING BUSIES HIMSELF WITH STATE AFFAIRS. 207 
 
 CHAPTEE XXI. 
 
 THE KING BUSIES HIMSELF WITH STATE AFFAIRS. 
 
 Although the King had been nearly a fortnight installed 
 in the Tuileries, only two rooms in his suite had been 
 put in complete order, with none of their necessary fur- 
 nishings omitted. These two rooms were his worlcshop 
 and his office. 
 
 Later, and on an occasion which had an effect not less 
 injurious than the present upon the destiny of the 
 unhappy Prince, the reader shall be introduced to the 
 Royal Forge ; but for the present our business is with 
 the King's study, which we enter after the Count, who 
 stands in front of the desk where the King has seated 
 himself 
 
 This desk was covered with maps, geographical works, 
 English newspapers, and manuscripts, — among which 
 might be distinguished those bearing the chirography 
 of Louis Sixteenth, by the multiplicity of lines, which 
 so covered every sheet as to leave no blanks at the top 
 or bottom, or even on the margin. 
 
 His disposition revelled in the smallest details. The 
 parsimony of Louis not only would not allow the waste of 
 the smallest morsel of blank paper, but under his hand 
 these blank pages were very soon covered with as many 
 words as they could possibly contain. 
 
 As Charny had been living familiarly with the royal 
 couple for two or three years, he was too well acquainted 
 with all these details to specially notice the points here 
 
208 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 chronicled ; therefore his glance did not rest particularly 
 on any one object while waiting for the King to speak. 
 
 Despite the confidence expressed beforehand by the 
 King, at this point he seemed a little embarrassed as to 
 how he should open the subject. 
 
 To begin with, as if to give himself courage, he opened 
 a drawer in his desk, and in that drawer a secret com- 
 partment, whence he took several papers, enclosed in 
 envelopes, which he laid on the table, placing his hand 
 upon them. 
 
 At last he said : " Monsieur, I have remarked one 
 thing—" 
 
 There he paused, scrutinizing Charny closely, as the 
 latter waited respectfully till it should please the King 
 to speak further. 
 
 " — That is, that on the night of the Fifth and Sixth 
 of October, having to choose between the guardianship of 
 the Queen or myself, you placed your brother near the 
 Queen, and yourself remained with me." 
 
 " Sire, I am the head of my house, as you are the 
 head of the State, and had the personal right to perish 
 near my sovereign." 
 
 " That has made me think, that if at any time I had a 
 commission, — secret, difficult, and dangerous, — I could 
 entrust it both to your loyalty as a Frenchman, and to 
 your affection as a friend." 
 
 " Oh Sire," said Charny, " however high the King may 
 raise me, I have not the presumption to believe that 
 he would rate me as more than a faithful and devoted 
 subject." 
 
 " Count, you are a grave man, though you are hardly 
 thirty-six years old ; and you have not lived through the 
 events which have recently disclosed themselves about 
 us, without drawing some conclusion therefrom. What 
 
THE KING BUSIES HIMSELF WITH STATE AFFAIRS. 209 
 
 do you think of my situation ; and if you were my 
 Prime-Minister, what means of amelioration would you 
 suggest ? " 
 
 " Sire," replied Charny, with more hesitation than 
 embarrassment, " I am a soldier, a sailor. These high 
 social questions are beyond the reach of my intelligence.'' 
 
 " Monsieur," said the King, extending his hand to 
 Charny, with a dignity which seemed to grow out of the 
 situation in which he was placed, "you are a man; and 
 another man, who believes you his friend, asks solely 
 and simply what you would do in his place, — you, with 
 your upright heart and sound mind, as a loyal subject." 
 
 " Sire," replied Charny, " in a situation not less grave 
 than this, the Queen did me the honor, like the King at 
 this moment, to ask my advice. It was the day when 
 the Bastille was taken. She wished to send eight or ten 
 thousand foreign soldiers against the hundred thousand 
 armed Parisians, winding along over the boulevards and 
 through the streets of the Faubourg Saint Antoine, like 
 a Hydra-headed serpent of iron and steel. If I had been 
 less known to the Queen, if she had seen less of the devo- 
 tion and respect in my heart, my answer would no doubt 
 have made her angry with me. Alas, Sire, must I not 
 fear to-day, when interrogated by the King, lest my un- 
 duly frank response should wound the King] " 
 
 " "What did you say to the Queen, Monsieur ?" 
 
 "That your Majesty must enter Paris as a father, if 
 not strong enough to enter as a conqueror." 
 
 " Well, was not that the advice which I adopted 1 " 
 
 " It was indeed. Sire." 
 
 " Now then, it remains to be seen if I did well to fol- 
 low it ; for — answer me yourself ! — am I here as King 
 or as prisoner ] " 
 
 " Will the King permit me to speak with all freedom "i " 
 
 VOL. I. — 14 
 
210 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 " Do SO, Monsieur. When I ask your advice, I ask at 
 the same time your judgment." 
 
 "Sire, I disapproved the festival at Versailles. I 
 begged the Queen not to go to the theatre iu your ab- 
 sence. Sire, when the Queen trod the national cockade 
 under her feet, in order to display the black cockade, — 
 the Austrian symbol, — I was in despair." 
 
 " Charny, do you believe that therein lay the real cause 
 of the events of the Fifth and Sixth of October?" 
 
 " No, Sire ; but this certainly furnished a pretext. 
 Sire, you are not unjust towards the people, I trust's 
 The people are good ; they love you, they are Royalists ; 
 but the people suffer, — they are cold and hungry. There 
 are bad advisers, above them, below them, and on all 
 sides of them, who push the people forward. The people 
 march, they crowd, they upset things, but they know 
 not their own force. Once set them loose, belched forth 
 in full motion, and there follows au inundation or a 
 conflagration ; they burn and they engulf." 
 
 " But suppose, Count, as is very natural, that 1 prefer 
 to be neither drowned nor burned, then what ought I to 
 doV 
 
 " Sire, on no account give any pretest for the flood to 
 spread itself, or for the fire to be kindled. But pardon 
 me," added Charny, pausing, "I forgot that even under 
 the King's order — " 
 
 "You are speaking at my request! Continue, Mon- 
 sieur de Charny, the King prays you to continue.'' 
 
 " Well, Sire, you have seen the Parisian people, so 
 long bereaved of their sovereigns, rejoice like starving 
 men over your return. You saw them at Versailles, 
 threatening, burning, assassinating, — or rathei- you 
 thought you saw them, for at Versailles it was not the 
 people ! As yourself, the Queen, and the royal family 
 
THE KING BUSIES HIMSELF WITH STATE AFFAIRS. 211 
 
 stood on the double balcony here at the Tuileries, j'ou 
 heard the people saluthig. They have even penetrated 
 into your apartments, by means of deputations, — a 
 deputation of Dames of the Market-place, a deputation 
 of the Civil Guard, deputations of the municipal corpora- 
 tions, — of those who had not even the honor of being 
 appointed deputies. They came into your rooms, to ex- 
 change words with you. You saw how they pressed up 
 to the windows of your dining-room, — how the mothers 
 wafted to the illustrious eaters — sweet offering! — the 
 kisses of their children." 
 
 " Yes,'' said the King, " I saw all that, and thence 
 arises my hesitation. I ask myself, who are the real 
 people, those who kill and burn, or those who caress and 
 welcome 1 " 
 
 " Oh, the last, Sire, the last ! Confide in them, and 
 they will defend you against the others." 
 
 " Count, you repeat to me, after two hours' interval, 
 exactly what Doctor Gilbert told me this forenoon." 
 
 " Having received advice from a man so wise, so pro- 
 found, so sensible as the Doctor, why do you deign to 
 ask advice from me, a poor officer ? " 
 
 "I'll tell you, Monsieur,'! responded Louis. "It is 
 because there is this gi-eat difference between you two. 
 You are devoted to your King, but Doctor Gilbert is 
 devoted only to the Kingdom." 
 
 " I do not understand, Sire." 
 
 " I mean that he would willingly abandon the King, — 
 that is, the man, — if the Kingdom — that is, the prin- 
 ciple — were safe." 
 
 " Then your Majesty speaks truly. There is this 
 difference between us, — that you are to me .both King 
 and Kingdom. It is with this understanding that I beg 
 you to employ me." 
 
212 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 " Above all, I wish, to learn from you, Monsieur, to 
 whom you would appeal, in this moment of calm, — 
 when we are perhaps between two storms, — to dissipate 
 the traces of the gale which is past, and conjure away the 
 hurricane about to burst upon us." 
 
 " If I had the honor and the misfortune to be King, 
 I should recall the cries which surrounded the royal car- 
 riage on the return from Versailles, and I should offer 
 my right band to Lafayette and my left to Mirabeau." 
 
 " Count, how can j-ou say this to me," said the King, 
 briskly, " when you detest the one and despise the 
 other 1 " 
 
 " Sire, this is not a question of my likes and dislikes, 
 but of the welfare of the King and the future of the 
 Kingdom." 
 
 " Just what Doctor Gilbert said," muttered the King, 
 as if talking to himself 
 
 "I am glad," said Charny, "to agree in opinion with 
 a man so eminent as Doctor Gilbert." 
 
 " So you think. Count, that the union of these two men 
 would restore peace to the nation and security to the 
 King 1 " 
 
 " With the help of God, I should hope everything from 
 the union of these two men." 
 
 " But after all, if I lend myself to this union, and con- 
 sent to this compact, what if I fail, in spite of my de- 
 sires, perhaps in spite of these two men 1 What do you 
 think ought to be done, if this ministerial combination 
 should come to naught 1 " 
 
 " Then, having used all the means placed in your 
 hands by Providence, having fulfilled the duties laid 
 upon you by your position, I believe it would be right 
 for the King to consider the safety of himself and 
 fomily." 
 
THE KING BUSIES HIMSELF WITH STATE AFFAIRS. 213 
 
 " You would then advise me to run away 1 " 
 
 "I should then counsel your Majesty to retire to some 
 well-fortified place, like Metz, Nanoj^, or Strasburg, with 
 such regiments and gentlemen as you think you can 
 rely upon." 
 
 The King's face beamed. " Ah," he said, " among all 
 the generals who have given me proofs of their devo- 
 tion, let us see, — speak freely, Charny, you who are 
 acquainted with them all, — whom would you entrust 
 with the dangerous task of relieving or receiving his 
 King?" 
 
 " Oh Sire, Sire, it is a grave responsibility to guide 
 the King in such a choice. Sire, I know my own igno- 
 rance, my own feebleness, my impotence. Sire, I beg you 
 to hold me excused ! " 
 
 "Well, I will put you at your ease. Monsieur," said the 
 King. " My choice is made. It fidls upon a man to 
 whom I wish to send you. Here is the letter, all pre- 
 pared, which you are commissioned to deliver to him. A 
 name which you mentioned was riot without its influence 
 on my determination. He will designate another faith- 
 ful servitor, who will undoubtedly, in his turn, have 
 occasion to show his fidelity. Let us see, Charny, if 
 you had to intrust your King to the courage, the loy- 
 alty, the intelligence of one man, what man would you 
 choose?" 
 
 After reflecting an instant Charny replied : " I swear to 
 your Majesty that it is not because ties of friendship, 
 almost of family, bind me to him ; but there is one man 
 in the army, noted for his great devotion to the King, — 
 a man who, during the American war, as governor of 
 our islands, efiioiently protected our possessions in the 
 Antilles, and even snatched several islands from the 
 Eno-lish. He has since been intrusted with divers im- 
 
214 LA COMTESSE DE CHAKNY. 
 
 portant commands, and is now, I believe, Governor-Gen- 
 eral of the City of Metz. This man is the Marquis de 
 Boujlle. As a father, I would confide to him my son ; as 
 a son, I would confide to him my father; as a subject, I 
 would confide to him my King." 
 
 Though Louis Sixteenth was imdemonstrative he fol- 
 lowed the Count's words with evident anxiety, and his 
 face lighted up as he gradually recognized the person 
 whom Charny referred to. When the Count at last 
 pronounced the name the King could not repress a cry 
 
 of joy- 
 
 " Stop, stop," he said. " Read the address on this 
 letter, and see if I was not inspired to summon you by 
 Providence itself." 
 
 Charny took the letter from the hands of the King, 
 and read the superscription : 
 
 To M. Frani^ois Claude Amour, 
 
 Marquis de Boville, 
 
 Commanding General in the 
 
 City of Metz. 
 
 Tears of joy and pride rose to Chamy's eyelids. 
 " Sire," he cried, " after such a coincidence I can only 
 say one thing, — ■ that I am ready to die for your 
 Majesty." 
 
 " And after what has passed I do not think it right for 
 me to have any secrets from you. In the time to come 
 it is to you — and to you alone, you will understand — 
 that I confide my own person and that of the Queen and 
 my children. Listen to me. Hear what has been pro- 
 posed to me, and I have refused." 
 
 Charny bowed, giving all his attention to what the 
 King was about to say. 
 
THE KING BUSIES HIMSELF WITH STATE AFFAIRS. 215 
 
 " This is not the first time, as you may well believe, 
 Monsieur, that the idea has occurred to me, or has come 
 to me from those around me, to carry out a project 
 analogous to the one we are considering at this moment. 
 During the night of the Fifth and Sixth of October I 
 thouglit of having the Queen escape. A carriage was to 
 take her to Eambouillet. I was to meet her there on 
 horseback ; and thence we could easily have gained the 
 frontier, inasmuch as the espionage which surrounds us 
 now was not yet so close. The project failed, becaiise 
 the Queen would not part from me, and made me swear 
 never to part from her." 
 
 " I was present. Sire, when this pious oath was ex- 
 changed between King auJ Queen, or rather betwei n 
 husband and wife.'' 
 
 " Since then Monsieur de Breteuil has opened negotia- 
 tions with me, through the mediation of the Comte 
 d'Innisdal, and a week ago I received a letter from 
 Soleure." 
 
 The King paused, seeing that the Count remained 
 mute and immovable. "You do not respond," he said. 
 
 " Sire," replied Charny, bowing, "• I know that Breteuil 
 is uudev Austrian influence, and I fear lest I should dis- 
 turb the natural sympathy of the King with the Queen 
 his wife, and with his brother-in-law, the Emperor of 
 Austr'a, Joseph the Second." 
 
 The King seized Charny's hand, and leaning towards 
 him said, in a low tone : " Fear nothing. Count, for I 
 love Austria no better than you do." 
 
 Charny's hand trembled with surprise between the 
 King's hands. 
 
 " Count, Count, when a man of your valor is to give 
 himself — that is, to make the sacrifice of his life — for 
 another man, who has only the sorrowful advantage over 
 
216 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 him of being King, it is but fair that the hero should have 
 some knowledge of him to whom he devotes himself. 
 Count, I have already said, and I repeat it, — I do not love 
 Austria. I do not love Maria Theresa, who kept us seven 
 3'ears in a war wherein we lost two hundred thousand men, 
 two hundred millions of money, and seventeen hundred 
 leagues of territory in America, — who called Madame 
 Pompadour (a harlot) her cousin, and who had my fathei' 
 (a saint) poisoned by Choiseul, — who used her daugh- 
 ters as diplomatic agents, governing Naples through the 
 Archduchess Caroline, as, through the Archduchess Marie 
 Antoinette, she wanted to govern France." 
 
 " Sire, Sire, you forget that I am an outsider, a simple 
 subject of the King and Queen of France ! " said Charu}', 
 underlining the word Queen with his voice, as we have 
 underlined it with the pen. 
 
 " I have already told you," replied the King, " that you 
 are a friend ; and I may talk to you the more frankly, 
 because the prejudice which I hitherto entertained towards 
 the Queen has been completely effaced from my mind. 
 Against my judgment I took a wife who was doubly the 
 enemy of France, because she is of the house of Lorraine 
 as well as the house of Austria. Against my will I al- 
 lowed at Court the Abbe Vermond, professedly the pre- 
 ceptor of my wife (then the Dauphiness) but really a spy 
 of Maria Theresa's, and one whom I elbowed twice or 
 thrice a day, as if he had been commissioned to thrust 
 himself between my elbows, and to whom I did not 
 speak a word for nineteen years. It was against my will, 
 after ten years of struggle, that I intrusted Breteuil with 
 a department of my household and in the government of 
 Paris. I took the Archbishop of Toulouse, an atheist, for 
 my Prime-Minister ; but this also was against my inclina- 
 tion. Finally, in spite of myself, I paid Austria the mil- 
 
THE KING BUSIES HIMSELF WITH STATE AFFAIRS. 217 
 
 lions she wished to extort from Holland. To-day, at this 
 very hour, while I am speaking, although Maria Theresa is 
 dead, who counsels and directs the Queen 1 Her brother, 
 Joseph Second, is happily near his death. By whom is 
 she counselled 1 You know, as well as I, — hy the ageucy 
 of that same Abbe Yermond, the Baron de Breteuil, and 
 Mercy d'Argenteau, the Austrian ambassador. Behind 
 one old man is hidden another old man, Kaunitz, the 
 Septuagenarian, and minister of centenarian Austria. 
 These two old fools, or rather these two old dowagers, 
 influence the Queen of France, through her milliner, Mad- 
 emoiselle Bertin, and through her hairdresser, Leonard, 
 to whom they give pensions. And whither would they 
 lead her? Into an alliance with Austria, — Austria, 
 always the bane of France, whether as friend or as foe, — 
 Austria, who put the dagger into the hands of Jacques 
 Clement, a poniard into the hands of Ravaillac, a pen- 
 knife into the hands of Damiens, — Austria, formerly 
 devout and Catholic, but to-day abjuring her faith, and 
 half adopting the infidel philosophy of Joseph Second, — 
 imprudent Austria, who turns against herself her own 
 sword, Hungary, — improvident Austria, who allows the 
 brightest jewel of her crown, the Low Countries, to be 
 stolen by Belgian priests, — Austria, the vassal, who turns 
 her back on Europe, of which she never ought to lose 
 sight, and uses against the Turks, our allies, her best 
 troops, all for the benefit of Russia. No, no, no. Monsieur 
 de Charny, I hate Austria ; yes, I hate her, and will not 
 trust her." 
 
 " Sire, Sire, such confidences are honorable, but at the 
 same time dangerous to him who makes them. Sire, if 
 some day you should repent telling me — " 
 
 " Oh, I have no fear of that, and the proof is that I will 
 finish my statements." 
 
218 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY, 
 
 " If your Majesty commands me to listen, why, 1 will 
 listen." 
 
 " This overture is not the only one made to me about 
 flight. Do you know the Marquis de Favrasi" 
 
 "The former captain in the regiment of Belzunce, and 
 once lieutenant in the Guards of Monsieur^' (as the 
 King's brother, Provence, was commonly called). "Yes, 
 Sire." 
 
 " The same,'' said the King, dwelling on the last quali- 
 fication, " once lieutenant in the Guards of Monsieur 1 
 What think you of him % " 
 
 " That he is a brave soldier, a loyal gentleman, ruined 
 by misfortune, which makes him restless, and drives him 
 into a host of hazardous experiments and brainless pro- 
 jects ; but a man of honor, who would die without recoil- 
 ing a step, without uttering a complaint, if he had given 
 his word. He is a man whom your Majesty might rea- 
 sonably trust for a bold, swift action, but one who, I fear, 
 would not do so well as the chief of an enterprise." 
 
 "But the chief of the enterprise is not he," replied the 
 King with some bitterness, " it is Monsieur, my brother 
 of Provence, who finds the money, — Monsieur, who pre- 
 pares everything. It is Provence who, devoted to this 
 end, will remain here when I go away with Favras." 
 
 Charny made a gesture. 
 
 "Well, what is it. Count?" pursued the King. "This 
 is not an Austrian scheme, but a scheme of the Princes, 
 of the nobility, of French fugitives." 
 
 " Excuse me. Sire ! As I told you, I doubt neither 
 the loyalty nor courage of Favras. Whithersoever he 
 promises to conduct your Majesty, he will do it, or die 
 in your defence on the road ; but why should Monsieur 
 not go with your Majesty ? Why should he remain 
 herer' 
 
THE KING BUSIES HIMSELF WITH STATE AFFAIRS. 219 
 
 " Out of devotion, I tell you ; and perhaps also, in case 
 it should be advisable to depose the King, and nominate 
 a regent, that the people, weary of running in vain 
 after their King, may not have too far to go to find their 
 regent." 
 
 " Sire," cried Charny, "your Majesty alludes to terrible 
 things." 
 
 " I tell you what all the world knows, my dear Count, 
 what your brother wrote me yesterday, — that in the last 
 Council of the Princes, at Turin, the question of my depo- 
 sition and a regency was discussed ; and that in the same 
 Council my cousin of Conde proposed to march on Lyons. 
 You see, therefore, that even in my extremity I cannot 
 rely upon either Favras or Bretenil, Austria or the 
 Princes. This, my dear Count, I have said to nobody 
 except yourself; and when I assure you that no other 
 person, not even the Queen," — perhaps it was not by de- 
 sign, but by accident, that he emphasized these words, 
 not even the Queen, — " has reposed such trust in you as I 
 do now, it follows that you should be devoted to no one 
 else as you are to me." 
 
 " Sire," asked Charny, bowing, " ought the secret of my 
 journey to be guarded from all the world 1 " 
 
 " It matters little, my dear Count, who knows that you 
 go, if your errand is not known." 
 
 " And the purpose should be revealed to Bouille 
 alone 1 " 
 
 " To him alone, and only when you are sure of his 
 sentiments. The letter which I send him by you is a 
 simple letter of introduction. You know my position, 
 my fears, my hopes, better than my wife, better than 
 Necker my minister, better than Gilbert my counsellor. 
 Act correspondingly ! I put the thread and scissors into 
 vour hands. Unwind the thread, or cut it." 
 
220 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 Then presenting the open letter he added : " Eead it ! " 
 Charny took the letter and read : 
 
 Palace of the Tuileries, 29 October. 
 Monsieur : I hope that you continue to be contented with 
 your situation as Governor of Metz. The Conite de Charny, 
 a lieutenant of my Guards, who is to pass through j'our city, 
 will ask if it is your wish that I should do anything further 
 for you. If so, I shall seize the opportunity to oblige you, 
 as I seize this opportunity to renew the assurance of all my 
 sentiments of esteem. Louis. 
 
 " Go then, Monsieur ; and you have full power as to 
 the promises to be made to the Governor, if you think 
 there is any need of promises ; only do not pledge me 
 beyond my ability ; " and he offered his hand a second 
 time. 
 
 Charny kissed that hand with a devotion which ren- 
 dered new protestations needless, and then went out of 
 the cabinet, leaving the King convinced — and rightly so 
 — that he had won the Count's heart better by this con- 
 fidence, than he had been able to do by all the riches and 
 favor he had bestowed upon Charny in the days of the 
 utmost royal prosperity. 
 
WITH THE QUEEN. 221 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 WITH THE QUEEN. 
 
 With a heart full of contradictory sentiments Charny 
 left the King ; but the first of these sentiments, which 
 came to the surface of the thought-waves surging tumul- 
 tuously in his brain, was the deep gratitude he felt for 
 the boundless confidence which the King had bestowed 
 upon him. 
 
 This confidence indeed imposed upon him duties the 
 more sacred, because his conscience was far from quiet, in 
 view of his former indignity towards this worthy King, 
 who, in the hour of danger, placed his hand upon Charny's 
 shoulder, as upon that of a faithful and loyal supporter. 
 
 The more deeply Charny recalled his injuries towards 
 his master, the more ready was he to devote himself to 
 that master now. The more this sentiment of respectful 
 devotion increased in the Count's heart, the more the 
 impure sentiment decreased, which for days, months, 
 and years he had vowed to the Queen. 
 
 He had been detained in Court by a vague hope, born 
 in the midst of dangers, — like flowers which bloom on 
 precipices and perfume ravines, — a hope which led him 
 near Andree. This hope being lost, Charny earnestly 
 accepted a mission which would take him far from Court, 
 where he experienced the double torment of being loved 
 by a woman whose affection he could no longer return, 
 and of not being loved — at least, as he believed — by 
 the wife whom he had at last learned to love. 
 
222 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 Profiting by the coolness which for several days had 
 affected his relations with the Queen, he returned to 
 his chamber, determined to announce his departure by a 
 simple letter, when he found Weber waiting at the door. 
 The Queen wished to speak with him, and desired his 
 immediate attendance. There was no way of resisting 
 the Queen's desire, for the wishes of crowned heads are 
 commands. 
 
 Charny gave orders to his valet that horses should be 
 put to his carriage, and then followed in the steps of the 
 Queen's foster-brother. 
 
 Marie Antoinette was in a state of mind wholly opposed 
 to Charny's. She recalled her harshness towards the 
 Count, and the devotion he had shown her at Versailles. 
 She felt something like remorse at the remembrance — 
 for the sight was ever present to her mind's eye ■ — of 
 Charny's brother, as he lay bleeding in the corridor 
 which led to her chamber ; and she acknowledged to her- 
 self that even if the Count had shown her nothing but 
 dutiful devotion, she had poorly recompensed that devo- 
 tion ; but had she not the right to demand of him some- 
 thing more than devotion 1 Yet, on reflection, was 
 Charny guilty of any of the offences against her which 
 she imagined t 
 
 Must she not attribute to fraternal grief, the indiffer- 
 ence which he allowed her to see since her return from 
 Versailles 1 Besides, this indifference existed only on 
 the surface perhaps, and her restless love had been over 
 hasty in condemning Charny for refusing the mission to 
 Turin, which she had offered him in the hope of taking 
 him away from Andree. Her first idea, jealous and 
 malicious, had been that this refusal was caused by the 
 growing love of the Count for Andree, and his desire to 
 remain near his wife : and in fact, when the latter left 
 
WITH THE QUEEN. 223 
 
 one night at seven o'clock, she was followed two hours 
 later, by her husband, into her retreat in the Eue Coq 
 He'rou ; but Charny's absence had not been long. When 
 nine o'clock sounded he returned to the palace. More- 
 over, in returning to the palace, he declined the suite of 
 three rooms which had been prepared for him by the 
 King's order, and contented himself with one of the 
 mansardes intended for the domestics. 
 
 It had seemed to the poor Queen that this combination 
 of events was one in which her self-respect and her pas- 
 sion must both suffer ; but the closest inquiry had never 
 succeeded in finding Charny outside the palace, except 
 when engaged in his official duties ; and it was abundantly 
 evident to the eyes of the Queen, as to the eyes of the 
 other denizens of the palace, that since his return to 
 Paris, and their entrance into the Tuileries, Charny had 
 hardly quitted his chamber. 
 
 It was equally evident, on the other side, that Andree 
 had not reappeared in the palace since the night she left 
 it. If Andree and Charny had seen each other it was 
 for an hour only, on the day when the Count declined 
 the mission to Turin. 
 
 It is true that during this period he had not tried to 
 see the Queen ; but instead of detecting in this absence 
 a mark of indifference, ought not her clear sight to find 
 therein, on the contrary, a proof of his passion t Wounded 
 by the Queen's unjust suspicions, had he not remained 
 apart, not from excess of indifference, but from excess of 
 love'! 
 
 The Queen acknowledged to herself that she was unjust, 
 — unjust for reproaching Charny, on that terrible night 
 of the Fifth and Sixth of October, because he remained 
 with the King rather than the Queen, and had one look 
 for Andree between every two looks for herself. She had 
 
224 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 been hard in not sharing, with a heart more tender, the 
 deep sorrow which had moved Charny at the sight of his 
 dead brother. 
 
 It is thus with all deep and true love. In the pres- 
 ence of the complaining one, the beloved object seems 
 full of asperities. At a short distance all these reproaches 
 seem well-founded. Defects of character, oddities of 
 mind, forgetfuluess of heart, all appear under a magnify- 
 ing glass, and it is hard for one to understand how these 
 defects have been so long iinnotioed and endured. But 
 if the object of this fatal investigation withdraws from 
 sight, either voluntarily or by force, these asperities dis- 
 appear, which had before wounded us like thorns. The 
 disagreeable outlines are effaced. A too vigorous realism 
 vanishes before the poetic breath of distance and the 
 caressing touch of memory. We no longer judge; we 
 compare. We condemn ourselves with a rigor measured 
 by the indulgence felt for the other, who we see has 
 been ill appreciated ; and the result of this heart-travail 
 is, that after an absence of eight or ten days, the absentee 
 seems more dear and indispensable than ever. 
 
 It is to be understood that we are not supposing a case 
 where another passion profits by this absence to take the 
 place of the first. 
 
 Such were the feelings of the Queen towards Charny, 
 when the door opened, and the Count, who had, as we 
 know, just left the King's study, appeared, in the irre- 
 proachable garb of an ofiicer on duty ; but there was, at 
 the same time, in his demeanor, though alwaj'S profoundlj' 
 respectful, something icy, which seemed to chill the mag- 
 netic outflow, ready to gush from the Queen's heart, on 
 its search into Charny's heart, for all the mutual remem- 
 brances, pleasant, tender, or doleful, which they had 
 experienced during the four years past. 
 
WITH THE QUEEN. 225 
 
 Charny bowed and remained on the threshold. The 
 Queen glanced about her, as if asking what caused the 
 young man to remain at the end of the apartment. Being 
 assured that Charny's free-will was the only cause of his 
 standing thus aloof, she said: "Approach, Monsieur de 
 Charny, we are alone." 
 
 Charny drew near, and said, with a mild but firm 
 voice, in which it was impossible to detect the least 
 emotion : " I am here at the orders of your Majesty." 
 
 " Count," replied the Queen, in her most sentimental 
 tones, " did you not hear me say that we were alone 1 " 
 
 " Yes, Madame, but I do not see how solitude can 
 change the mode in which a subject should bear himself 
 towards his sovereign." 
 
 " When I sent for you. Count, and learned from Weber 
 that you were following him, I supposed one friend was 
 coming to converse with another friend." 
 
 A bitter smile outlined itself lightly on Charny's lips. 
 
 " Yes, Count," said the Queen, " I understand that 
 emile, and I know what you are saying to yourself inside. 
 You think I was unjust to you at Versailles, and that in 
 Paris I have been capricious." 
 
 " Injustice and caprice are allowable in any woman, 
 Madame, — and, by higher right, in a Queen." 
 
 " Heavens, my friend," said Marie Antoinette, with all 
 the charm she could infuse into her eyes and voice, " you 
 know one thing, — that is, whether caprice comes to the 
 Queen or the woman, the Queen cannot get along without 
 a counsellor, nor the woman without a friend." 
 
 She tendered him her white tapering hand, a little 
 wasted, but still worthy to serve as a sculptor's model. 
 Charny took this royal hand, and after kissing it respect- 
 fully, was ready to let it drop, when he felt that she wished 
 to retain his own. 
 
 VOL. I. — 16 
 
226 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 " Well," said the poor woman, replying in words to a 
 movement which he made, " well, yes, I have been unjust, 
 — more than unjust, — cruel. You have lost a dear 
 brother in my service, Count, a brother whom you loved 
 with an affection almost paternal. That brother died for 
 me. I ought to weep with you. In that moment terror, 
 love, jealousy, — whatever you will, Charny ! I am a 
 woman ! — stayed the tears in my eyes ; but left alone, 
 during the ten days since I last saw you, I have paid you 
 my debt of tears ; and the proof of it is, my friend, that 
 I still weep." 
 
 Marie Antoinette threw her head slightly backward, so 
 that Charny might see two tears, limpid as two diamonds, 
 roll down the furrows which sorrow had begun to trace 
 in her cheeks. 
 
 Ah, if Charny could have known what a quantity of 
 tears would follow the two before him, without doubt he 
 would have fallen at the feet of the Queen, moved by an 
 immense pity for her, and demanded pardon for all the 
 wrongs he had done her ; but, by permission of a merciful 
 God, the future is covei'ed with a veil which no hand may 
 lift, which no look may pierce, before its proper hour ; 
 and the black tapestry which concealed the destiny of 
 Marie Antoinette seemed enriched with golden embroid- 
 eiy, in order that no one should perceive it to be funereal 
 drapery. 
 
 As it was, too little time had elapsed since Charny 
 kissed the hand of the King, to allow the kiss he placed 
 on the Queen's hand to be other than a simple mark of 
 respect. 
 
 "Believe me, Madame," said he, "that I am not un- 
 grateful for this remembrance of me, for this grief on 
 account of my brother ; but unfortunately I have barely 
 time to express my acknowledgments." 
 
WITH THE QUEEN. 227 
 
 " How so 1 What do you say ? " she asked^ in the 
 utmost astonishment. 
 
 " I wish to say that I leave Paris in an hour." 
 
 " Leave Paris in an hour 1 " 
 
 "Yes, Madame!" 
 
 " Jly God ! Yon abandon us, like all the rest," cried 
 the Queen. " "Will you flee your country, Monsieur 1 " 
 
 " Alas ! Your Majesty ■would prove to me, through 
 that cruel question, that I have beeu guilty of some 
 wrong in my ignorance — " 
 
 " Pardon, my friend, but you said you were going away. 
 Why do you go ? " 
 
 " To accomplish a mission with which the King has 
 done me the honor to charge me." 
 
 "And you quit Paris?" asked she, anxiously. 
 
 " I quit Paris, — yes, Madame ! " 
 
 "For some time?" 
 
 " I do not know." 
 
 " But a week ago it seems to me that you refused a 
 mission abroad? " 
 
 " That is true, Madame." 
 
 " Why then, having refused that mission only eight 
 days ago, do you accept another to-day ? " 
 
 " Because in eight days many changes may come over 
 a man's life, and consequently over his resolutions." 
 
 The Queen appeared to make an effort to control her 
 will, and the different organs subordinate to that will- 
 power, and charged with obedience thereto. 
 
 " And you go — alone ? " she asked presently. 
 
 "Yes, Madame, alone." 
 
 Marie Antoinette breathed again. Then she drooped 
 an instant, as if overwhelmed by the effort she had made, 
 and asked, wiping her brow with her cambric handkep 
 chief : " Where do you go ?" 
 
228 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 Charny replied respectfully : " I know the King has 
 no secrets from your Majesty ; and that if the Queen will 
 ask her royal spouse the point of my destination, and the 
 object of my mission, he will undoubtedly inform her." 
 
 Marie Antoinette reopened her eyes, and looked at him 
 with amazement. 
 
 " But why should I address myself to him, -when I can 
 ask you 1 " 
 
 " Because the secret I bear is the King's, not mine." 
 
 " It appears to me," she replied with some haughtiness, 
 " that if the secret belongs to the King, it belongs also to 
 the Queen." 
 
 " I do not doubt it, Madame," responded Charny, bow- 
 ing. " That is why I venture to assure your Majesty 
 that the King will not hesitate about informing you." 
 
 " But is this mission somewhere in France, or is it to a 
 foreign land." 
 
 " The King alone can furnish her Majesty with the 
 enlightenment she seeks." 
 
 " Then,'' said the Queen, with a deep expression of dis- 
 appointment, which revealed the irritation caused by 
 Charny's reticence, " as you go away, far from me, you 
 will undoubtedly run into some perils ; and yet I shall 
 not know where you are, nor what dangers you incur." 
 
 " I can swear to you, as a faithful subject with a de- 
 voted heart, that wherever I may be, your Majesty will 
 be there also ; and all dangers which I may encounter 
 will be dear to me, because I expose myself in the ser- 
 vice of two heads which I venerate above all the world." 
 
 Bowing again, the Count evidently awaited the Queen's 
 signal to retire. 
 
 She breathed a sigh which resembled a suppressed sob, 
 and pressed her throat with her hand, as if to choke back 
 the tears. " It is well. Monsieur ! " was all she said. 
 
WITH THE QUEEN. 229 
 
 Charny bowed anew, and walked towards the door with 
 a firm step ; but at the moment when his hand touched 
 the knob, she extended her arms towards him and called 
 his name. 
 
 He trembled, and turned around with a pale face. 
 
 " Charny, come here ! " she continued. 
 
 He approached unsteadily. 
 
 " Come nearer," added the Queen. "Look me in the 
 face ! You no longer love me ! Am I not right 1 You 
 cannot deny it ! " 
 
 Charny felt a shiver course through his veins. For an 
 instant he believe'd he should faint. It was the first time 
 this haughty woman, this sovereign, had really humbled 
 herself before him. 
 
 Under other circumstances, at any other time, he would 
 have fallen on his knees before her, and craved her par- 
 don ; but he was now sustained by the remembrance of 
 what had passed between the King and himself, and, 
 rallying all his strength, thus replied : " Madame, after 
 the marks of confidence and good-will wherewith the King 
 has honored me, I should indeed be a wretch if I ex- 
 hibited towards your Majesty, at such a time, anything 
 but devotion and respect." 
 
 "You are right, Count, and you are free to go." 
 
 For an instant Charny was seized with an irresistible 
 desire to throw himself at the feet of the Queen ; but the 
 invincible loyalty which burned within him covered, if it 
 did not smother, the embers of that passion which he 
 had believed extinguished, but which had been on the 
 point of rekindling itself more fiercely and brightly than 
 ever. 
 
 He hastened from the room, with one hand on his fore- 
 head and the other on his breast, murmuring disconnected 
 words ; but incoherent as they were, if Marie Antoinette 
 
230 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 had overheard those words, they would have changed her 
 despairing tears into a smile of triumph. 
 
 She followed him with her eyes, hoping that he would 
 turn and come back to her ; but she saw the door open 
 before him and shut behind him, and heard his steps as 
 he passed through the antechambers and corridors. She 
 continued to look and listen, five minutes after the sound 
 of his footsteps had ceased. 
 
 Suddenly her attention was attracted by a new noise, 
 which came from the courtyard. It was the noise of a 
 vehicle. 
 
 She ran to the window, and recognized Charny's travel- 
 ling-carriage, which crossed the Courtyard of the Swiss 
 Guards, and passed out into the Piue Carrousel. 
 
 She rang for Weber. Weber entered. 
 
 " If I were not a prisoner in the palace," she said, 
 " and wished to go to the Rue Coq Heron, what street 
 would it be necessary to take 1 " 
 
 " It would be necessary, Madame, to go out by the door 
 into the Swiss Courtyard, turn into the Eue Carrousel, 
 then follow the Eue Saint Houore as far as — " 
 
 " Enough, that will do. — He has gone to bid her 
 adieu ! " she murmured to herself. 
 
 After leaning her forehead a moment on the cool glass 
 she continued in a low voice, bruising each word between 
 her clenched teeth : " Better that I should know what is 
 coming to me." 
 
 Then she said aloud : " Weber, go to Rue Coq Heron, 
 number nine, and tell Madame Charny that I desire to 
 talk with her this evening." 
 
 "Pardon, Madame, but I believe yonr Majesty has 
 already disposed of this evening in favor of Doctor 
 Gilbert ? " 
 
 " True," said she, hesitatingly, 
 
WITH THE QUEEN. 231 
 
 " What does your Majesty wish 1 " 
 
 "Countermand the order to Doctor Gilbert, and give 
 him an appointment for to-morrow forenoon." 
 
 Then she added in a lower tone : " Yes, that will do. 
 To-morrow, politics. At any rate the conversation I shall 
 have with the Countess will have no influence over the 
 determination I have taken ; " and she dismissed Weber 
 with a sign of her hand. 
 
232 LA COMTESSE DE CHARlilY. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 SOMBRE OUTLOOKS. 
 
 The Queen was mistaken. Cliarriy did not go near his 
 Countess. He went to the Eoyal Post to get posthorses 
 for his carriage. 
 
 While they were being harnessed, however, he went 
 into tlie office of the superintendent, asked for quill, ink, 
 and paper, and wrote a letter to the Countess, which he 
 sent by the servant who took the Count's own horses back 
 to their stables. 
 
 The Countess, half reclining on a sofa in a comer of 
 the parlor, with a small table near her, was reading this 
 letter, when Weber was ushered in, without previous 
 announcement, in accordance with the privilege of mes- 
 sengers who came from the King or Queen. 
 
 " Monsieur Weber !" said the chambermaid, opening the 
 door. At the same instant Weber appeared. 
 
 The Countess quickly folded the letter which she held 
 in her hand, and placed it in her bosom, as if per- 
 chance the Queen's attendant had come to rend it from 
 her. 
 
 Weber discharged his errand in German. It was al- 
 ways a pleasure for the good fellow to speak the language 
 of his own country, and Andree, who had learned it in 
 her youth, had come to speak German like her maternal 
 tongue, during her ten years of familiarity with it in the 
 Queen's service. 
 
SOJIBRE OUTLOOKS. 233 
 
 One cause which made Weber regret the departure of 
 Andree, and her alienation from the Queen, was that 
 this worthy man thereby lost many an occasion for speak- 
 ing his native tongue. 
 
 Undoubtedly with the hope that an interview would 
 end in reconciliation, he earnestly insisted that Andree 
 should on no account fail to meet the appointment, re- 
 curring several times to the fact that the Queen had 
 countermanded an interview appointed for Doctor Gil- 
 bert, the same evening, so that she might be mistress 
 of the hour. 
 
 Andree responded simply that she was at the orders of 
 her Majesty. 
 
 After Weber's departure the Countess remained quiet 
 with closed eyes for an instant, like one who would banish 
 from her spirit every outside thought that occupies it ; 
 and only when she felt that she was fully herself again, 
 did she take out the letter and resume its perusal. 
 
 The reading finished, she kissed the letter tenderly, 
 and laid it on her heart. Then, with a smile full of sor- 
 row, she said : " God keep you, dear soul of my life. I 
 know not where you are, but God knows, and my prayers 
 know where God is to be found." 
 
 Then she patiently and fearlessly awaited the liour 
 when she was to report herself at the Tuileries, although 
 she found it impossible to conjecture why the Queen had 
 summoned her. 
 
 Not so with the Queen. In a certain way she was 
 a prisoner in the palace, but she wandered from the Pa- 
 vilion de Flore to the Pavilion Marsan, to subdue her 
 impatience. 
 
 Monsieur helped her to pass an hour, for Provence 
 had come to the Tuileries to ascertain how Favras had 
 been received by the King. 
 
234 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 Ignorant of the purpose of Charny's journey, and 
 wishing to keep open the way of safety proposed by 
 Favras, the Queen agreed to more iu behalf of the King 
 than he had pledged for himself. 
 
 She told Moiuieur that he must persevere, and that 
 at the proper time she would be responsible for every- 
 thing. 
 
 On his side. Monsieur was joyous and full of confidence. 
 The loan which he had successfully negotiated, through 
 Favras, with the Genoese banker, whom we saw for an 
 instant in his country-house at Bellevue, placed two 
 millions in Monsieur's hands, of which he could persuade 
 Favras to accept only two hundred louis, which were 
 absolutely needed, iu order to pacify two sharp fellows, 
 on whom he had sworn that he could depend, and who 
 were to second him in the royal abduction. 
 
 Favras wanted to give Monsieur information about 
 these two fellows ; but Provence, always prudent, not 
 only refused to see them, but even to learn their names. 
 
 Monsieur was to be ignorant of all that happened. He 
 supplied Favras with money, because Favras had for- 
 merly been attached to the suite of his Highness ; but 
 what Favras did with this money, Monsieur neither knew 
 nor wished to know. 
 
 In case the King should go away, as we have already 
 stated, Monsieur would remain. 
 
 He had the appearance of being entirely outside of 
 the plot. Monsieur cried out against the flight of his 
 brothers and cousins, because he found this a method of 
 making himself more popular ; and as loyalty to their 
 sovereigns was deeply rooted in the hearts of the great 
 majority of the French people, it was probable, as Louis 
 the Sixteenth had told Charny, that Monsieur would be 
 chosen Regent, if the King took flight. 
 
SOMBRE OUTLOOKS. 235 
 
 In case the removal was a failure, Monsieur would 
 know nothing about it. He would deny everything. 
 Perhaps, with the fifteen or eighteen hundred thousand 
 francs which remained to his account, he would flee as far 
 as Turin, and rejoni his brother Artois and the Princes 
 Cond^. 
 
 After Provence's departure the Queen consumed an- 
 other hour with the Princess Lamballe. This poor lady, 
 devoted to the Queen even unto death, — and the occa- 
 sion was eventually found for this devotion, . — had never 
 been more than a convenience for Marie Antoinette, 
 who had transferred her inconstant favor successively to 
 Andree and the Polignao ladies ; but the Queen knew 
 her, — knew that it was only needful to take a single 
 step towards this true friend, to have that friend come all 
 the rest of the way to meet her, with open heart and arms. 
 
 At the Tuileries, since the return from Versailles, the 
 Princess Lamballe had occupied the Pavilion de Flore, 
 where she held receptions for Marie Antoinette, as 
 Madame Polignac had done at the Trianon. Whenever 
 the Queen was in great sorrow or anxiety, it was to 
 Madame Lamballe she went, — a proof that there she 
 felt herself truly beloved. "Without saying a word, with- 
 out even making this amiable young woman the confi- 
 dant of her grief or her worriment, the Queen would lay 
 her head on the shoulder of this living statue of Friend- 
 ship, and the tears which poured from the royal eyes, 
 mingled with their companions from the eyes of the 
 Princess. 
 
 Poor martyr ! Who dare search the gloom of the 
 historic alcoves to learn whether the source of thy friend- 
 ship was pure or criminal, when History, inexorable and 
 terrible, comes with her feet in thy blood, to tell what a 
 price that friendship cost thee ! 
 
236 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 Then dinner occupied another hour. That day they 
 dined en famille, with Madame Elizabeth, the Princess 
 Lamballe, and the children. 
 
 During the dinner the two most illustrious eaters were 
 preoccupied. Each kept a secret from the other : the 
 Queen, the affair with Favras ; the King, his affair with 
 Bouille. 
 
 Unlilje the King, who would have preferi'ed owing his 
 safety to anything, even to the Revolution, rather than to 
 strangers, the Queen liked foreigners best ; but it should 
 be recollected that those whom Frenchmen called for- 
 eigners, really belonged to the Queen's own family. How 
 could she place the people who killed her soldiers, the 
 women who insulted her in the courtyards at Versailles, 
 the men who tried to assassinate her in her apartments, 
 the crowd who taunted her as that Austrian woman, — 
 how could she weigh them in the same scales with the 
 kings of whom she demanded succor, with her brother 
 Joseph the Second, with her brother-in-law Ferdinand 
 the First, with her cousin Charles the Foui'th 1 
 
 The Queen therefore could not see any crime in the 
 proposed flight, though it was afterwards so denomi- 
 nated. She saw in it only a means of maintaining the 
 royal dignity; and when they should return, with an 
 armed hand, she hoped for a full expiation of all the 
 insults received. 
 
 We have seen the inmost heart of Louis, so distrust- 
 ful of kings and princes. He did not belong in the least 
 to the Queen's party, as has been so generally believed, 
 although he was German on his mother's side ; for the 
 Germans hardly regard the Austrians as being really 
 Germans. 
 
 No, the King belonged to the priests. He ratified all 
 decrees against kings, against princes, against fugitives ; 
 
SOMBRE OUTLOOKS. 237 
 
 but he would set his veto to any decree against the 
 priests. For them he risked the Twentieth of June, en- 
 dured the Tenth of August, submitted to the Twenty- 
 first of January ; and so the Pope, who could not make 
 Louis Sixteenth a Saint, did declare him a Martyr. 
 
 Contrary to her custom the Queen to-day remained 
 only a little while with her children. She felt somewhat 
 as if she had no right to their caresses at that moment, 
 her heart not being entirely their father's. 
 
 The heart of woman alone fathoms its own strange 
 contradictions, for it is a mysterious labyrinth, hiding 
 passion and breeding repentance. 
 
 At an early hour the Queen retired to her apartments, 
 and shut herself in. She said she wished to write, and 
 placed Weber on guard at the door. 
 
 The King scarcely noticed her withdrawal, preoccu- 
 pied, as he was, with events — less important it is true, 
 but still very grave — which menaced the peace of the 
 city, "whereof the Lieutenant of Police had come to inform 
 him. 
 
 In two words these were the events. 
 
 The Assembly, as we know, had declared itself insepara- 
 ble from the King ; and the King being in Paris, the 
 Assembly followed him there. While waiting for the 
 Riding School to be made ready, — tlie place intended 
 for them, — the members selected for their sessions a 
 hall in the Archbishop's Palace. 
 
 There they voted to exchange the title, King of France 
 and Navarre, for the title, King of the French. 
 
 They also prescribed the following royal formula, 
 " Louis, King by the Grace of God and by the Constitu- 
 tional Law of the State," to.be used instead of the old 
 formula, " We, by our sovereign knowledge and full 
 power." 
 
238 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 This proves that the National Assembly, like all other 
 parliamentary assemblies, of which this was either the 
 offspring or the progenitor, busied itself too much with 
 things futile, when it should have been paying attention 
 to matters more serious. 
 
 For instance, it should have considered that Paris 
 needed to be fed, for Paris was perisliing with hunger. 
 
 The return from Versailles, and the installation of the 
 Baker, the Bakeress, and the Baker's Boy in the Tuile- 
 ries, had not brought about the expected relief. Flour 
 and bread continued very scarce. Every day there were 
 crowds at the bakery doors, and these crowds led to 
 great disorders. 
 
 How could they be remedied, since the privilege of 
 public meetings was guaranteed by the Declaration of 
 Human Eights f 
 
 Of all this the Assembly practically knew nothing. 
 Its members were not compelled to stand in the long 
 line of bread-buyers at the bakeries ; and if perchance 
 one of the members was hungry during the session, he 
 was always sure of finding small fresh rolls a hundred 
 steps off, at the shop of a baker named Frangois, who 
 lived in the Eue Marche Palu, in the neighborhood of 
 Notre Dame Cathedral, and who, baking six or eight 
 batches of bread a day, always kept a reserve for 
 Gentlemen of the Assembly. 
 
 The Lieutenant of Police was engaged in making the 
 King aware of his anxiety about these disorders, which 
 might develop into an outbreak some fine morning, when 
 Weber opened the door of the Queen's little cabinet, and 
 announced, in a low voice : " Madame la Comtesse de 
 Charny." 
 
WIFE AND SWEETHEART. 239 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIV. 
 
 WIFE WITHOUT HUSBAND, SWEETHEART WITHOUT LOVER. 
 
 Although the Queen had sent for Andrea, although she 
 expected her, yet when the announcement was made, she 
 trembled from top to toe at the five words spoken by- 
 Weber. 
 
 This was because the Queen could not conceal from 
 herself, that in the compact (for it amounted to that) 
 made between herself and Andree, — in the early days, 
 when they were both young girls, and met at the Chateau 
 Taverney, — there was an agreement for the interchange 
 of friendship and assistance, in which Marie Antoinette 
 had always been the benefited party. 
 
 Now nothing is so annoying to kings as obligations 
 incurred, above all when the obligations grasp the very 
 roots of the heart. 
 
 The Queen sent for Andree, believing she had many 
 things to blame her for ; but not one of them could she 
 remember when she stood face to face with that young 
 wife. She could only think of obligations which lay on 
 the other side. 
 
 As for Andree, she was always the same, — cool and 
 calm, — pure as a diamond, but equally cutting and 
 invulnerable. 
 
 The Queen hesitated an instant as to what name she 
 should choose in addressing the white apparition, which 
 glided from the shadow of the doorway into the half- 
 lighted room, and came slowly within the circle of light 
 
240 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 projected from the three candles in the candelabra on the 
 table, whereon the Queen was resting her elbow. 
 
 At last, stretching out her hand to her former 
 friend, she said : " You are welcome to-day, as always, 
 Andree." 
 
 Strong and resolute as Andree was when she came to 
 the Tuileries, this salutation made her tremble in her 
 turn. She detected, in the words spoken to her by the 
 Queen, some traces of the tone formerly used by her 
 Majesty when she was only the Dauphin's bride. 
 
 " Need I say," responded Andree, meeting the occa- 
 sion with her customary candor and perspicacity, " that 
 if her Majesty had always spoken to me like that, there 
 would have been no need to send for me beyond the 
 confines of the palace, when her Majesty wished to talk 
 with me 1 " 
 
 Nothing could have better aided the Queen than the 
 way in which Andree entered at once into the matter, 
 and she hastened to avail herself of this overture. 
 
 " Alas, Andree," said the Queen, " one so beautiful, so 
 pure, so chaste as yourself, one whose soul has never been 
 troubled by hatred, one whose heart has never been upset 
 by love, one who is covered only by thunder-clouds which 
 disappear, — and who then shines forth like a star, which 
 reappears the more brilliantly in the firmament, when 
 the wind has swept the storm away, — a woman like 
 yourself must learn that all women, even those in high 
 jjlaces, have not your incomparable serenity, — myself 
 especially, who demand the help which you have so often 
 generously accorded." 
 
 " The Queen,'' responded Andree, " speaks of a time 
 which 1 had forgotten, and which I believed she no 
 longer remembered." 
 
 " That answer is severe, Andrde, and perhaps I merit 
 
WIFE AND SWEETHEART. 241 
 
 it ; and you have the right to so answer me. — It is true ! 
 So long as I was happy, I did not recompense your devo- 
 tion, perhaps because no human power, not even the 
 royal power, afforded the means of discharging such a 
 debt as mine to ycru. You have believed me ungrateful ; 
 but perhaps what you mistook for ingratitude, was only 
 inability." 
 
 " I might have the right to accuse you, Madame," 
 said Andree, " if ever I had wished or asked anything of 
 the Queen, and she had opposed my wishes and repulsed 
 my request ; but why should your Majesty think me 
 fault-finding, when I have neither asked nor desired 
 anything at your hands." 
 
 " Do you wish me to tell you, my dear Andree 1 It is 
 just this indifference of yours, to everything in the world, 
 that bothers us about you. Yes, you seem to me super- 
 human, a creature from another sphere, brought hither 
 by a whirlwind, and hurled into our midst, like those 
 meteoric stones, purified by fire, which come tumbling 
 upon us from nobody knows what distant sun. Conse- 
 quently we are terrified at our own weakness, when 
 brought face to face with one who is never weak ; but it 
 is said that supreme indulgence must reside in such su- 
 preme goodness, that one should bathe one's soul in the 
 purest spring ; and in this moment of deep misery, what 
 could I do, Andree, hut send for consolation to that 
 lofty being whose blame I fear^" 
 
 "Alas, Madame," said Andree, " if this is really why 
 you want me, I sadly fear you will be disappointed in 
 your expectations." 
 
 " Andree, Andree ! You forget under what terrible 
 circumstances you have already sustained me and con- 
 soled me." 
 
 Andree's color changed noticeably. The Queen saw 
 
 VOL. I. — 16 
 
242 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 her totter and close her eyes, as if her strength was al- 
 most exhausted, and made a motion with her hand and 
 arm, to draw Andree down upon the same sofa with her- 
 self ; but Andree resisted, and remained standing. 
 
 " Madame," she said, " if your Majesty pities her 
 faithful servant, you will spare her these reminiscences, 
 which she almost believed were forgotten. She is but a 
 poor comforter, who asks consolation of no one, not even 
 of God, because she doubts if God himself is not powerless 
 to assuage some sorrows." 
 
 The Queen fixed on Andree her acute and penetrating 
 gaze. " Sorrows 1 " she said. " Have you then other 
 sorrows than those which you have confided to me t " 
 
 Andree did not answer. 
 
 "Listen to me ! The hour has come when we must 
 have some understanding, and I want to question you 
 on that account. — You love Charny ! " 
 
 Andree turned pale as death, and remained speechless. 
 
 " Do you not love the Count 1 " repeated the Queen. 
 
 " Yes," answered Andree. 
 
 Like a wounded lioness the Queen uttered a groan, and 
 said : " I suspected as much 1 How long have you loved 
 him ? " 
 
 " Since the first hour I saw him." 
 
 The Queen recoiled in fear before the marble statue 
 who thus unveiled her soul. 
 
 "And you were silent 1" asked the Queen. 
 
 " You know that better than anybody else, Madame." 
 
 " And why were you so t " 
 
 " Because I perceived that you loved him," said Andree. 
 
 " Do you mean to say that you then loved him more 
 than I, forasmuch as I saw nothing of your feelings'?" 
 
 "Ah," said Andree, bitterlj', "you saw nothing else, 
 because you had his love." 
 
WIFE AND SWEETHEART. 243 
 
 "Yes ! and now I see the truth, because he no longer 
 loves me. That is what you mean, is it not? " 
 
 Andr^e was silent. 
 
 " Speak ! " said the Queen, grasping her not only by the 
 hand, but by the arm. " Aclinowledge that he loves me 
 no longer." 
 
 Andree responded neither by word, gesture, nor sign. 
 
 " This is death," cried the Queen. " Kill me then, at 
 once, by letting me know that he loves me no longer. — 
 Come, speak ! He loves me no longer, — is it not so 1 " 
 
 " The passion and indifference of the Count are his own 
 secrets. It is not for me to unveil them." 
 
 " His secrets 1 They are no longer his alone, for I 
 presume he has made you his confidant," said the Queen 
 bitterly. 
 
 "Charny has never spoken a word to me about his love 
 for you, or his indifference." 
 
 "Not even this morning'!" 
 
 " I did not see him this morning." 
 
 The Queen looked at Andrfee searchingly, as if she 
 would fathom the depths of her heart. 
 
 " Will you affirm also your ignorance of the Count's 
 departure ? " 
 
 " I will not say that." 
 
 " How did you know of his departure, if you did not 
 see him V 
 
 " He wrote and told me about it." 
 
 "Ah, he wrote you," said the Queen. As Richard 
 Third exclaimed, in a supreme moment, "My kingdom 
 for a horse ! " so Marie Antoinette was ready to cry out, 
 " My crown for that letter ! " 
 
 Andree understood the Queen's wish ; but she could 
 not forego the pleasure of leaving her rival in trepidation 
 for a while. 
 
244 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 "And that letter, which the Count wrote you on the 
 verge of his departure, I am sure you have it not with 
 you." 
 
 "You err, Madame," said Andree ; "it is here." 
 
 Taking the letter from her bosom, warm with her glow 
 and embalmed with her perfume, she extended it towards 
 the Queen. 
 
 The latter took it, shivering, pressed it between her 
 fingers, not knowing whether she ought to keep it or 
 return it, — regarding Andree meanwhile with a frowning 
 brow. Then, casting aside her scruples, she said : " The 
 temptation is too strong ! " 
 
 She opened the letter, leaned towards the light of the: 
 candelabra, and read as follows : 
 
 Madame : I leave Paris in an hour, under an oflficial order 
 from the King. I can tell you neither whither I go, why I 
 go, nor how long I shall remain away from Paris, — things 
 which probably matter very little to you, hut which I should 
 nevertheless be glad to communicate, if authorized so to do. 
 
 For an instant I intended calling upon you, to announce my 
 departure by the living voice ; but I did not dare do so without 
 
 your permission. 
 
 s 
 
 The Queen had ascertained what she wished to know, 
 and would have returned the letter to Andree ; but the 
 latter said to her, as if it was now for her to command, 
 not to obey : " Kead to the end, Madame ! " and so the 
 Queen read on : 
 
 I declined the last mission offered me, because I then 
 believed, poor fool ! that some mutual sympathy would 
 detain me in Paris ; but since then, alas! I have acquired 
 proof to the contrary, and I accept with joy an opportunity 
 for going far away from hearts to which I am indifferent. 
 
 If during my journey anything should happen to me, as to 
 my brother George, all my plans are made; so that you will 
 
WIFE AND SWEETHEART. . 245 
 
 oe the first to be informed of it, if any misfortune overtakes 
 me, and restores you once more to your libert3^ You must 
 know, however, Madame, what deep admiration has been 
 roused in my heart by your sublime devotion, so ill recom- 
 pensed by one for whom you — young, beautiful, and born to 
 be happy — have sacrificed youth, beauty, and happiness. 
 
 Finally, Madame, all I ask of God and yourself is, that j.ou 
 sometimes accord a thought to the unhappy one, who has so 
 tardily perceived the value of the treasure he possesses. 
 With heartfelt respect, 
 
 Olivieb de Charny. 
 
 The Queen handed Andrea the letter, who this time 
 ' accepted it ; but her nerveless, almost inanimate hand 
 fell by her side, and she murmured with a sigh : " Well, 
 Madame, have you been betrayed % Have I been faith- 
 less — I do not say to the promise made you, for I never 
 made you such a promise, but to the trust you reposed 
 in ^e%" 
 
 "Forgive me, Andr^e/ said the Queen, "but I have 
 suEFered so much ! " 
 
 " You have suffered ! You dare tell me, to my very 
 face, that you have suffered 1 What then shall I say of 
 myself? I will not say what I have suffered, for not a 
 single word could I use that has not already served other 
 women to blazon the same idea, and with less cause. No, 
 I should need a new word, unknown and unheard of, to 
 sum up all my sorrows, and give expression to all my 
 tortures. You have suffered ? And yet you have never 
 seen the man whom you loved, Madame, indifferent to 
 your love, kneeling, heart in hand, to another woman ! 
 You have not seen your brother, jealous of that other 
 woman, — whom he adored in silencej as a pagan adores 
 his deity, — quarrel with the man whom she loved ! 
 You have never heard the man whom you loved — when 
 
246 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNT. 
 
 smitten by your brother, with a wound believed to be 
 mortal — appeal, in his delirium, only to that other 
 woman, whose confidant you were ! You have not seen 
 that other woman glide like a ghost through the corri- 
 dors, where you yourself wandered, in order to hear those 
 delirious accents, which proved that if an insane passion 
 does not outlive this life, it at least accompanies a lover 
 to the very threshold of the tomb I You have not seen 
 this man return to life, by a miracle of nature and 
 science, and then rise from his bed, only to fall at the 
 feet of your rival, — your rival, — yes, Madame ; for in love 
 it is the grandeur of passion which levels all ranks ! You 
 have not, in your despair, retired to a convent at the age 
 of twenty-five, wishing to extinguish, at the frozen feet of 
 the crucifix, the love which consumed you ! Once more, 
 after a year of prayer, sleeplessness, fasting, fruitless de- 
 sires, pitiful moans, — when you hoped, if not to extin- 
 guish, at least to be able to put to sleep the flame which 
 consumed your life, — you have not seen your former 
 rival, who had comprehended nothing, guessed nothing, 
 summon you from your solitude, to ask of you — what ? 
 to demand, in the name of the old friendship, which suf- 
 fering could not alter, in the name of her safety as a 
 wife, in the name of compromised royalty, — to demand 
 that you should become the wife, — of whom ? Of the 
 man whom you had worshipped for years, — to become a 
 wife without a husband, conveniently used as a screen, 
 to stand between the watchfulness of the world and the 
 unlawful happiness of another, as a shroud conceals the 
 corpse from the public eye. You have never, — gov- 
 erned, I will not say by pity, — for jealous passion has 
 no mercy, as well you know, Madame, — you who have 
 made me your scapegoat, — I say you have never under- 
 taken such an enormous sacrifice, even through a sense of 
 
WIFE AND SWEETHEART. 247 
 
 duty ! You have not heard the priest ask you to take 
 for your husband a man who would never be your real 
 spouse ! You have not felt this man place upon your 
 finger a gold ring, pledge of eternal union, which for you 
 was but a worthless and empty token ! You have not 
 seen your husband quit your aide an hour after the cere- 
 mony, never to return, except as the lover of your rival ! 
 Ah, Madame, these few years, now rolled away, have been 
 cruel years." 
 
 The Queen stretched forth her faltering hand, seeking 
 Andree's ; but Andree withdrew her own. 
 
 "As for me," continued the young woman, becoming 
 the accuser, " I promised nothing, but you see what I 
 have done ; but as for you, Madame, you promised me 
 two things — " 
 
 " Andree, Andree 1 " begged the Queen. 
 
 " You promised me never to see Charny again, — a 
 promise the more sacred, because I did not exact it." 
 
 " Andre'e ! " 
 
 " Then again, you promised — oh, this time, in writ- 
 ing — to treat me as a sister, — another pledge the more 
 sacred, because unsolicited." 
 
 "Andree!" 
 
 " Must I recall to you the terms of that promise, made 
 at such a solemn time, at the moment when I was about 
 to sacrifice for you my life, — more than my life, my 
 love, — my happiness in this world and my salvation in 
 the next] Yes, my salvation in another world, for our 
 sins are not alone in our deeds, Madame, and who can 
 assure me that the Lord will pardon my mad desires, 
 my impious vows 1 Well, in that hour of sacrifice you 
 gave me a letter. I can see that letter yet, each word 
 flaming before my eyes." Then Andree repeated the 
 letter, which was couched in the following terms : 
 
248 LA COMTESSE DE CHABNY. 
 
 Andree : You have saved me ! My honor owes itself only 
 to j'ou ; my life is yours. In the name of that honor which 
 costs you so dearly, I swear that you may call me your sister. 
 Do so, and you will not see me blush. I place this writing in 
 your own hands. It is the pledge of my gratitude, — it is my 
 weddipg-gift. 
 
 Yours is the most nohle of hearts, and will appreciate the 
 worth of what I freely offer. 
 
 Marie Antoinette. 
 
 The Queen gave a dejected sigh. 
 
 " Oh, I understand," resumed Andree, " because .1 
 burned this note, you supposed I had forgotten its con- 
 tents ! 'No, Madame, no ! You see that I recollect every 
 word of it, from beginning to end, though i/ou appear to 
 remember not one line. Ah me, how well I remember it, 
 and more — " 
 
 " Oh forgive me, forgive me, Andree. I have believed 
 of late that he loved thee ! " 
 
 " Perhaps you believed it the law of the heart, that 
 because he loved you less, he must love another more 1 " 
 
 Andree had suffered so much, that now she became 
 cruel. 
 
 " You also, — you have perceived that he loved me 
 less 1 " said the Queen, with an exclamation of grief. 
 
 Andree answered not; but she looked at the dis- 
 tracted QueeUj and something like a smile curled her 
 lip. 
 
 " But what must I do, — my God, what must I do to 
 keep his love 1 My life is wrapt up in it. Oh, if thou 
 knowest, Andree, my friend, my sister, — tell me, I beg 
 thee, I adjure thee ! " and the Queen extended both 
 hands to Andree, who recoiled a step. 
 
 " How can I know, Madame, — I, whom he has never 
 loved r' 
 
WIFE AND SWEETHEART. 249 
 
 " Oh, but he may love thee ! Some day he may come 
 to thy feet, make honorable amends for the past, and 
 ask pardon for all he has made thee suffer ; and suffering 
 is so swiftly forgotten in the arms of one whom we love ; 
 pardon is so speedily accorded to those who have made -us 
 suffer." 
 
 " lu case that misery should come, — yes, Madame, 
 it woidd probably be unfortunate for us both ! — do you 
 forget that before being truly the wife of the Count, there 
 is a great secret which he should learn, a disclosure to be 
 made to him, — a terrible secret, a fatal disclosure, which 
 ■would instantly paralyze the love which you fear ? Do 
 you forget that it would remain for me to recount to him 
 what I long ago related to you 1 " 
 
 " You would tell him that your chastity had been 
 violated by Gilbert 1 You would tell him that you have 
 a child?" 
 
 " For what do you take me, Madame," said Andrea, 
 " that you should manifest such a doubt 1" 
 
 The Queen breathed again, and said : " Then you will 
 do nothing to bring Charny back to you 1 " 
 
 " Nothing, Madame, — no more in the future than I 
 have in the past." 
 
 "You will not tell him, you will not let him even 
 suspect that you love him? " 
 
 " Unless he comes to tell me he loves me, — no, 
 Madame ! " 
 
 " And if he should come and tell you so ; if you tell 
 him that you love him, you swear to me — " 
 
 " Oh Madame ! " said Audree, interrupting the Queen. 
 
 "Yes," said the Queen, " you are right, Andree, — my 
 sister, my friend ; and I am unjust, cruel, unreasonable. 
 Oh, but when all forsake me, friends, power, reputation, 
 
250 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 I would at least keep that love for which I have sacri- 
 ficed reputation, power, and friends." 
 
 " Then, Madame," said Andree, with that icy coolness 
 which she had not thrown off for an instant, even when 
 she spolie of her own tortures, " you have some new 
 agreements to demand of me, some fresh orders to 
 transmit 1 " 
 
 " No, nothing, I thank you. I wished to offer you my 
 friendship, and you refuse it. — Andree, Andree, at least 
 bear my gratitude away with you ! " 
 
 Andree made a motion of the hand which seemed to 
 repel this second sentiment of the Queen, as she had re- 
 jected the first. With a chilling and profound reverence 
 she went out slowly and silently, like a spectre. 
 
 " Thou art right, — body of ice, heart of diamond, soul 
 of fire, — to accept neither my gratitude nor my friend- 
 ship ; for I feel, and I ask the pardon of the Lord Christ 
 for it, that I hate thee as I never hated before. If he 
 loves thee not already, — oh, I am _sure of it, — he will 
 love thee hereafter." ^ 
 
 Calling Weber she said : " Webei*, hast thou seen 
 Monsieur Gilbert]" 
 
 " Yes, your Majesty," replied the attendant. 
 
 " At what time to-morrow will he come 1 " 
 
 "At ten, Madame." 
 
 " Very well, Weber. Tell my ladies I will go to bed 
 to-night without their assistance, and that as I am tired 
 and nearly ill, I wish them to let me sleep till ten o'clock. 
 The first and only person I shall receive will be Doctor 
 Gilbert." 
 
FEANgOIS THE BAKER. 251 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 FRANIJOIS THE BAKER. 
 
 We will not undertake to tell how these two women 
 passed the night. 
 
 Not till nine o'clock in the morning do we again see 
 the Queen, her eyes red with weeping, her cheeks pale 
 with want of sleep. At eight o'clock, — that is, near the 
 dawning, for this was the sad period of the yeftr, when 
 the days are brief and dull, — at eight o'clock she for- 
 sook her hed, whereon she had unsuccessfully sought re- 
 pose during the earlier hours of the night ; though dur- 
 ing the later hours she had fallen into feverish and 
 agitated slumber. 
 
 Although no one dared enter her chamber, after the 
 orders she had given, she soon began to hear those com- 
 ings and goings, outside of her apartments, those sudden 
 noises and prolonged murmurs, which indicate that some- 
 thing extraordinary is occurring outside. 
 
 Just as the Queen completed her toilet the clock 
 sounded nine. 
 
 Among the confused sounds, which vibrated through 
 the corridors, she heard Weber's voice, enjoining silence. 
 
 She summoned her faithful attendant. In an instant 
 the tumult ceased and the door opened. 
 
 " What is going on in the palace, Weber 1 " she asked. 
 " What does all this uproar mean t " 
 
 " It appears, Madame, that there is some disturbance 
 in the Cite, the ancient part of Paris," replied Weber. 
 
263 LA COMTESSE DE CHAKNY. 
 
 " A disturbance 1 "What about ? " 
 
 " Nobody yet knows, Madame ; only it is said there is 
 a bread riot." 
 
 Formerly the idea would not have entered the Queen's 
 mind that there are people who die of hunger ; but since 
 the ride from Versailles, when she heard the Dauphin 
 ask for bread, without being able to give it to him, she 
 understood better the distress occasioned by famine and 
 hunger. 
 
 " Poor souls ! " she said, recalling the shouts she had 
 heard on her journey, and Gilbert's explication of them. 
 " Well, now they can see that it is not the fault of the 
 Baker or the Bakeress, if they have no bread." 
 
 Then she asked aloud : " Is it feared that this disturb- 
 ance will become serious t " 
 
 " I do not know what to tell you, Madame, for no two 
 reports agree." 
 
 " Well then, run as far as the Cit6, Weber, — it isn't 
 far from here, — and ascertain with thine own eyes what 
 is going on. Then come and tell me." 
 
 "And Monsieur Gilbert?" asked Weber. 
 
 " Tell Campan or Misery that I expect him, and one 
 or the other can introduce him." 
 
 As Weber disappeared she threw this last injunction 
 after him : " Tell them not to keep him waiting ; for 
 he is posted about all that 's going on, and can explain 
 matters." 
 
 Weber went out of the palace, passed through the 
 wicket on the side of the Louvre, hastened over the 
 bridge ; and, guided by the clamor, and following the liv- 
 ing wave which rolled towards the Archepiscopal Palace, 
 he soon reached the Purview of Notre Dame. 
 
 As he neared this old part of Paris, the crowd increased 
 from far and near, and the outcries became louder. 
 
FRANgOIS THE BAKER. 253 
 
 In the midst of these outcries, or rather of these howls, 
 might be heard voices, such voices as are only to be heard 
 in the sky in hours of tempest, or on earth in days of 
 Revolution ; and these voices shouted : " He is a famine- 
 breeder ! Kill him, kill him ! To the lamp-post, to the 
 lamp-post ! " 
 
 The voices of thousands, who did not even know what 
 the noise was all about, among which could be distin- 
 guished the voices of women, repeated the denunciation, 
 in the expectation of one of those spectacles which make 
 the heart of a crowd leap for joy : "A famine-breeder ! 
 To death with him ! To the lamp-post 1 " 
 
 All at once Weber was struck by one of those concus- 
 sions sometimes felt where a great mass of people is com- 
 pacted together, and he saw, coming np the Rue Chanoi- 
 nesse, a human tide, a living cataract, in the midst where- 
 of was struggling a pallid victim with torn clothes. 
 
 After him the populace surged, for against him were 
 raised all these cries, these howls, these menaces. 
 
 One man only defended him against the mob ; only 
 one man tried to be a dyke to stem this human torrent. 
 The one man who felt this one touch of pity, in the face 
 of the animosity of ten, twenty, or a hundred men, was 
 Gilbert. Some amongst the crowd recognized him, and 
 began to call out : " It 's Doctor Gilbert, — a patriot, 
 the friend of Lafayette and of Bailly. Listen to the 
 Doctor ! " 
 
 At these outcries there was a halt, like the lull between 
 two storm-waves. Weber profited by this calm to push 
 his way towards the Doctor, whom he could hardly 
 reach. 
 
 " Monsieur Gilbert ! " he called out. 
 
 Gilbert turned himself towards the side whence came 
 the voice. 
 
254 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 "Ah, is it you, Weber ]" he said. Then he beckoned 
 him nearer, and whispered : " Go and tell the Queen that 
 I shall be late at my appointment, for I am busy saving 
 a man's life." 
 
 " Oh yes, yes ! " exclaimed the unfortunate victim, over- 
 hearing these last words, "you will save me, won't you. 
 Doctor 1 Tell them I am innocent. Tell them my young 
 wife is on the eve of motherhood. — I swear that I did n't 
 conceal any bread, Doctor ! " 
 
 The poor fellow's prayers and excuses only added to 
 the smouldering hatred and wrath of the crowd. Their 
 shouts redoubled, and menaces threatened to resolve 
 themselves into deeds. 
 
 " My friends," cried Gilbert, throwing himself with 
 superhuman force against the foremost furious pursuers, 
 " this man is a Frenchman, a citizen like yourselves. 
 You should not, you will not choke a fellow without a 
 hearing. Take him to the district court, and then we 
 will see." 
 
 " Yes, that 's right ! " was called out by those who had 
 recognized the Doctor. 
 
 "Monsieur Gilbert," said Weber, "hold on, and I will 
 notify the officers at the station, which is only two stQ|is 
 oiF. In five minutes they will be here." Then he slipped 
 away among the crowd, without even tarrying for Gilbert's 
 approval. 
 
 Meanwhile four or five men bad come to the Doctor's 
 support, and made with their bodies a sort of barricade 
 around the unfortunate man, menaced by the anger of 
 the crowd. This rampart, slight as it was, restrained 
 for a moment the assailants, who continued, however, to 
 drown with their clamor the voices of Gilbert and the 
 loyal citizens who had rallied about him. 
 
 At the end of five minutes there was a movement in 
 
FRANgOIS THE BAKEK. 265 
 
 the crowd, succeeded by a murmur, and this murmur 
 soou took the form of words : " The officers, the officers 
 of the district ! " 
 
 In the presence of these officers the curses ceased, and 
 the crowd fell apart. Perhaps the assassins had not yet 
 received their final orders. 
 
 The victim was conducted to the Hotel de Ville. He 
 stuck close to the Doctor, and held him by the arm, 
 which he would not release. 
 
 Meanwhile, who was this man 1 We will tell you. 
 
 He was a poor baker, named Denis Frangois, whom 
 you have already heard of as furnishing bread to the 
 members of the Assembly. 
 
 That morning an old woman went into his shop on the 
 Rue March^ Palu, just as he had distributed his sixth 
 batch of bread, and was beginning to bake the seventh. 
 This old woman demanded a loaf. 
 
 " There 's not one left," said Frangois ; " but wait for 
 the seventh baking, and you shall be then attended to 
 first." 
 
 "I want a roll right off," said the woman, "here's 
 your money ! " 
 
 " But I tell you there are no more," said the baker. 
 
 " Let me see ! " 
 
 "Oh yes," replied the baker, "go in, look for yourself, 
 search ! I ask nothing better." 
 
 The old woman entered, searched, sniffed, rummaged, 
 opened a cupboard, and in that cupboard she found three 
 four-pound loaves of stale bread, which the apprentices 
 had put aside for themselves. 
 
 She took one of them, and went out without paying 
 for it ; and when the baker protested, she stirred up the 
 passers-by, declaring that Frangois was a famine-breeder, 
 and kept back half the supply of his ovens. 
 
256 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 This cry of famine-breeder doomed Francois to a most 
 certain death. 
 
 An old recruiting officer of dragoons, named Fleur 
 d'Epine, who was drinking in a cabaret across the street, 
 ran out of the cabaret, and repeated, in a tipsy voice, the 
 old woman's outcry. 
 
 Hearing this double clamor people came bustling along, 
 made inquiries, learned what was the matter, took up the 
 same cry, rushed to the baker's shop, forced their way by 
 the four men stationed at the door by the police, — as at 
 the doors of all the bakeries, — and ransacked the shop. 
 Besides the two loaves of dry bread, left and denounced 
 by the old woman, they found ten dozen small fresh rolls 
 reserved for the Deputies, who held their sessions in the 
 Archbishop's Palace, only a hundred paces distant. 
 
 From that moment the victim was condemned. It 
 was no longer one voice, but a hundred, two hundred, a 
 thousand voices, which cried "Famine-breeder!" It was 
 the whole crowd which shouted, " To the lamp-post ! "' 
 
 At this time the Doctor was returning from a visit to 
 his son, whom he had replaced with the Abbe Berardier 
 at the College Louis le Grand. His attention was at- 
 tracted by the noise. He saw a whole crowd demand- 
 ing the death of one man, and ran to the help of that 
 man. 
 
 In a few words he learned from Frangois what the 
 trouble was all about. Convinced of the baker's inno- 
 cence he endeavored to defend him. Then the crowd 
 hustled along their victim and his friend together, in- 
 cluding them both in the sam? anathema, and ready to 
 kill both at one blow. 
 
 It was at this crisis that Weber, sent by the Queen, 
 arrived in Notre Dame Square, and recognized Gilbert. 
 
 Soon after the departure of Weber, as we know, the 
 
FRANgOIS THE BAKER. 257 
 
 district officei'S arrived, and the unlucky baker was forth, 
 with conducted to the H6tel de Ville, under their escort. 
 
 The prisoner, the district officials, the excited popu- 
 lace, all crowded helter-skelter towards the Hotel de 
 Ville, so that in an instant the square was encumbered 
 with unemployed laborers and poor devils dying of hun- 
 ger, always ready to mix themselves up in a riot, and 
 ascribe to whomsoever was suspected of being the cause 
 of any public misery, the ills they personally endured. 
 
 No sooner had the ill-fated FranQois disappeared under 
 the yawning gateway of the Hotel de Ville, than the 
 cries redoubled. It seemed to these men as if the prey 
 which rightfully belonged to them had been snatched 
 away. 
 
 Several individuals of sinister mien squirmed through 
 the crowd, whispering : " He 's a famine-breeder, hired 
 by the Court. That 's why they try to save him ! " 
 
 -These words, "He's a famine-breeder,'' meandering 
 amidst the famished populace like some cunning flame, 
 excited their malice and ignited their anger. 
 
 Unhappily it was still early, and not one of the men 
 who had most influence with the populace was on hand, 
 — Bailly or Lafayette ; and this was well known to those 
 who circulated the accusation : " He 's a famine-breeder, 
 a famine-breeder ! " 
 
 At last, when the accused did not reappear, the cries 
 changed into one immense clamor, the threats into a 
 universal howl. 
 
 The men of whom we have spoken glided through the 
 porch, and crept along the galleries, penetrating to the 
 hall where they found the unhappy baker, whom Gilbert 
 was trying to exculpate as best he could. 
 
 On the other side the neighbors of Frangois, who had 
 followed him in the tumult, testified to what he had 
 
 VOL. I. — 17 
 
258 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY 
 
 done since the beginning of the Revolution, as proof of his 
 zeal. They said that he had heated his ovens as many as 
 ten times a day; that when his fellow-bakers were out of 
 flour, he had supplied them with his own ; that in order 
 to serve his customers more promptly, he had hired, in 
 addition to his own furnaces, one belonging to a neighbor- 
 ing pastry-cook, where he could dry his wood. 
 
 In these depositions it was shown that this man merited 
 reward instead of punishment ; but in the square, through 
 the lobbies, and up into the trial-hall the cry was con- 
 tinued, " A famine-breeder ! " and the death of the cul- 
 prit was demanded. 
 
 Suddenly an unexpected irruption is made into the 
 hall, cleaving asunder the line of National Guardsmen 
 surrounding FrauQois, and separating him from his protec- 
 tors. Gilbert, crowded back to the side of the improvised 
 tribunal, sees twenty arms extended. Seized, dragged 
 down, pinioned, the prisoner cries for help, for succor, 
 and vainly lifts his supplicating hands. Gilbert makes a 
 frantic but useless effort to rejoin FrauQois. The living 
 avenue, through which the victim disappears, closes 
 gradually behind him. Like a swimmer absorbed by a 
 whirlpool he struggles an instant, his hands clasped, de- 
 spair in his eyes, his voice stifled in his throat. Then 
 the human wave overwhelms him again, and the gulf 
 swallows him up. 
 
 From that moment he is lost. Eolled from top to 
 bottom of the stairway, he receives a wound at each 
 step. When he reaches the entrance his body is one 
 vast bruise. He no longer begs for life, but for death. 
 
 Where did Death hide himself at that epoch, that 
 he was so ready to come when he was called. 
 
 In a second the bead of the wretched man is separated 
 from his body and elevated on the end of a pike. 
 
FBAN90IS THE BAKER. 259 
 
 Hearing the outcry in the street, those rioters who are 
 in the galleries and in the halls precipitate themselves 
 downstairs. They must see the spectacle to the end ! 
 It is a curiosity, — a man's head on a pike. They have 
 not seen one since the Sixth of October, and now it is the 
 Twenty-first ! 
 
 " Oh Billot, Billot," muttered Gilbert, hastening out of 
 the hall, " thou art fortunate in being away from Paris ! " 
 
 He crossed the Place de Greve, and walked along the 
 banks of the Eiver Seine, — the bleeding head, with its 
 howling escort, rapidly getting farther and farther away, 
 over the Bridge of Xotre Dame. About midway along 
 the Quay Pelletier he felt some one touch his arm. 
 
 He raised his head, made an exclamation, and was 
 about to stop and speak ; but the man who had recog- 
 nized him slipped a billet into his hand, laid his finger on 
 his mouth, and hastened along by the side of the Arch- 
 episcopal Palace. 
 
 Evidently this personage wished to preserve his in- 
 cognito, but a market-woman noticed him, clapped her 
 hands, and cried out: "Ah ha! It's our little mother 
 Miraheau." 
 
 " Long live Mirabeau ! " cried five hundred voices. 
 " Long live the Defender of the People ! Long live 
 the patriot, the orator ! " 
 
 The tail-end of the procession which was following the 
 head of the ill-starred baker heard this cry, and came 
 back to form an escort for Mirabeau, who was thus ac- 
 companied by a tremendous crowd to the doors of 
 the Archbishop's Palace. 
 
 It was indeed Mirabeau, on his way to a session of the 
 Assembly. Having encountered Gilbert, he gave him a 
 billet, which he had just written on a wine-seller's counter, 
 and intended sending to the Doctor's house. 
 
260 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 ADVANTAGES TO BE DERIVED FROM A SEVERED HEAD. 
 
 The billet slipped into his hand by Mirabeau was hastily 
 read by Gilbert, who then read it a second time slowly, 
 put it into his vest pocket, called a cab, which he ordered 
 driven to the Tuileries. 
 
 On his arrival there he found all the gratings closed. 
 The sentinels at the gates had been doubled, by order of 
 Lafayette, who, hearing there was trouble in the city, 
 first took measures for the security of the King and 
 Queen, and then betook himself to the locality where he 
 had been told the disturbance arose. 
 
 By making himself known to the porter at the gate 
 opening on the Eiie d'Echelle, Gilbert gained admittance 
 to the royal apartments. 
 
 As soon as she saw him, Madame Campan, according 
 to the Queen's orders, at once received and inti'oduced 
 him ; as Weber, in obedience to the Queen, had gone 
 back for further news. 
 
 At the sight of Gilbert the Queen uttered a cry. Part 
 of the Doctor's coat and frill had been torn in his struggle 
 to rescue the unlucky Frangois, and there were several 
 spots of blood on his shirt. 
 
 " I ask pardon of her Majesty," he said, " for presenting 
 .myself before her in this condition ; but I have already 
 made her wait a long time, in spite of myself, and I did 
 not wish to keep her in suspense any longer." 
 
 " And that unfortunate man, Monsieur 1 " 
 
ADVANTAGES DERIVED FROM A SEVERED HEAD. 261 
 
 " He is dead, Madame ! He was indeed assassinated 
 piecemeal." 
 
 " Was he at all blameworthy 1 " 
 
 " He was innocent, Madame." 
 
 "Oh, Monsieur, these are the fruits of your Eevolution 1 
 After having gorged themselves with great lords, public 
 functionaries, guardsmen, they now devour each other ! 
 But is there no means of meting out justice to those 
 assassins 1 " 
 
 " We shall strive for it, Madame ; but it is more 
 important now to prevent murders than to punish the 
 murderers." 
 
 " My God, how can that be done 1 The King and 
 myself would ask nothing better.'' 
 
 "Madame, all these misdeeds arise from the distrust 
 felt by the people towards the official agents. Place at 
 the head of the government men who have popular con- 
 fidence, and nothing of the sort will happen again." 
 
 " Ah yes, always the same democratic cry, — Mirabeau 
 and Lafayette ! " 
 
 " I hoped the Queen had sent for me to say that she 
 had prevailed upon the King to cease his hostility to this 
 combination which I proposed." 
 
 " To begin with. Doctor,'' she replied, " you fall into 
 a grave error, — one into which many others fall besides 
 yourself Tou fancy that I influence the King ] Tou 
 imagine that the King follows my ideas "i You deceive 
 yourself If anybody can influence the King, it is Ma- 
 dame Elizabeth, and not myself; and in proof of this, 
 let me tell you that no longer ago than yesterday he sent 
 one of my personal attendants on a mission, Monsieur 
 de Charny, without my knowing either whither he goes, 
 or for what purpose." 
 
 " Nevertheless, if the Queen can ever overcome her 
 
262 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 repugnance to Mirabeau, I will be responsible for bring- 
 ing the King to my wishes." 
 
 " Let us see ! " said the Queen, quickly. " Will Monsieur 
 tell me that he thinks my repugnance groundless ? " 
 
 " In politics, Madame, there should be neither personal 
 sympathies nor antipathies. In politics we must have 
 either agreement in principles, or a combination of in- 
 terests ; and I must acknowledge to your Majesty — to 
 the shame of humanity, be it spoken ! — that union of 
 interests is far more reliable than agreement of ideas." 
 
 " Doctor, would you seriously advise me to trust a 
 man who brought about the Fifth and Sixth of October, 
 and bargain with one who has publicly insulted me on 
 the rostrum 'i " 
 
 " Madame, believe me, Mirabeau was not responsible 
 for those days. It was famine, poverty, misery, which 
 then began their work in the daylight ; but there is a 
 powerful arm, mysterious and terrible, which tries to 
 accomplish its work in the night. Perhaps some day I 
 may even have to defend you in that direction, and wres- 
 tle with this hellish power which pursues you, — and not 
 only you, but all other crowned heads, — not only the 
 throne of France, but all thrones on earth. As truly as 
 I have the honor of putting my life at your feet, — and 
 at the King's, Madame, — I assure you that Mirabeau 
 was not responsible for those dreadful days ; and he was 
 first informed of the rioting at the Assembly, as others 
 were, — only perhaps a trifle sooner than the others, — 
 by a note which was sent to him, stating that the popu- 
 lace were mai-ching on Versailles." 
 
 " Do you also deny, what is notoriously public, the 
 insults which he bestowed upon me from the tribune 1 " 
 
 " Madame, Mirabeau is one of those men who know 
 their own value. Such a man feels exasperated — seeing 
 
ADVANTAGES DERIVED FROM A SEVERED HEAD. 263 
 
 what he is fitted for, of what use he might be — when he 
 finds that his rulers abstain from employing him. Yes, 
 to turn all eyes towards himself, Madame, ]\Iirabeau 
 would even be guilty of slander; for he would rather 
 have the illustrious daughter of Maria Theresa, either the 
 Queen or the woman, look upon him angrily, than not to 
 notice him at all." 
 
 " And you believe he would consent to be on our side, 
 Doctor r' 
 
 " He is entirely yours, Madame. When Mirabeau 
 avoids royalty, he is like a skittish horse, who only needs 
 to feel the bridle and spur of his rider, to return to his 
 proper gait." 
 
 " But, belonging already to Orleans, he can surely not 
 attach himself to us, to the King, to the people, — to 
 everj' party in the world ] " 
 
 " There is your mistake, Madame." 
 
 "Mirabeau is not committed to Orleans V said the 
 Queen. 
 
 " He is so little bound to Orleans, that when he heard 
 the Prince had retired to England, because of Lafayette's 
 decisive hints, Mirabeau said, as he crumpled in his hand 
 the note from Monsieur de Lauzun, announcing this 
 departure : ' They pretend I belong to that man's party ! 
 I would n't have him for one of my lackeys ! ' " 
 
 " Well, that reconciles me to him a little,'' said the 
 Queen, trying to smile, " and if I thought we could really 
 rely upon him — " 
 
 "Welir* 
 
 " Well, perhaps I should be less averse to the King's 
 reconciliation with him." 
 
 " Madame, the day after the rabble brought your 
 Majesty from Versailles, as well as the King and the 
 royal family, I met Monsieur de Mirabeau — " 
 
264 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 " Intoxiciited with his great triumph of the evening 
 previous 1 " 
 
 " Disturbed by the perils you had encountered, and 
 those into which you might hereafter run." 
 
 " Indeed ! Are you sure of this 1 " asked the Queen, 
 with a mistrustful air. 
 
 " Do j'ou wish me to report his very words t " 
 
 " Yes, if you will do me that pleasure." 
 
 " Well, here they are, word for word ; for I carved 
 them on my memory, hoping I might one day have an 
 opportunity of repeating them to your Majesty : ' If 
 3'ou have any means of making the King and Queen 
 listen to you,' said Mirabeau, ' persuade them that both 
 France and themselves will be ruined, if the I'oyal 
 family does not leave Paris. I have a plan for helping 
 them to do so. You may add the assurance that they 
 may reckon on my help.' " 
 
 The Queen became thoughtful and said : " Then Mira- 
 beau's advice, too, is that we quit Paris 1 " 
 
 " That was his opinion at that time." 
 
 "Which he has since changed 1" 
 
 " Yes, if I can credit a note which I received half an 
 hour ago." 
 
 " From whom 1 " 
 
 "From himself." 
 
 " Might one see that billet 1 " 
 
 " It was designed for your Majesty," said Gilbert, 
 drawing the paper from his pocket. 
 
 "Yonr Majesty must excuse everything," he added, 
 " for it was written on cheap copying paper, in some 
 shop." 
 
 " Oh, don't worry yourself about that. Paper and 
 place were quite iu harmony with the politics of the 
 hour ! " 
 
ADVANTAGES DERIVED FROM A SEVERED HEAD. 265 
 
 The Queen took the letter, and read as follows : 
 
 The occurrence of to-day alters the aspect of things. 
 
 Great advantage may be derived from that severed head. 
 
 The Assembly will be frightened and demand martial law. 
 
 Mirabeau may advocate and carry the vote for martial law. 
 
 Mirabeau may argue that there ia no security except in giv- 
 ing more power to the Executive arm of the government. 
 
 Mirabeau may attack Neoker, on account of his subsidies, 
 and upset them. 
 
 In place of the Necker Cabinet, a new ministry should be 
 formed, with Jlirabeau and Lafayette ; and Mirabeau will be 
 responsible. 
 
 " Well," said the Queen, " this memorandum is not 
 signed." 
 
 "Have I not had the honor of informing your Majesty 
 that Mirabeau himself handed it to me 1 " 
 
 " What do you think of it 1 " 
 
 " My opinion is, Madame, that Mirabeau is perfectly 
 right, and that the alliance he proposes alone can save 
 France." 
 
 " If Mirabeau should send me, through yourself, a 
 Memorial about the situation, and also the prospectus for 
 a new ministry, I will place them under the King's eyes." 
 
 " And your Majesty will approve them ■? " 
 
 "I will approve them." 
 
 " Meanwhile," said Gilbert inquiringly, " as the first 
 pledge, Mirabeau must support the resolution for martial 
 law, and demand that greater power shall be given to the 
 Executive Department ] " 
 
 " Let him do so." 
 
 " In exchange, in case the removal of Necker becomes 
 urgent, the ministry of Lafayette and Mirabeau will not 
 be unfavorably received ? " 
 
 "By myself! No!" said the Queen. "I wish to 
 
266 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 prove that I am ready to sacrifice all my personal resent- 
 ments for the good of the State. Only you must re- 
 member, I do not answer for the King." 
 
 " Will Monsieur abet you in this matter 1 " 
 
 " I conjecture that Provence has affairs of his own, 
 which will prevent him from endorsing others." 
 
 "And the Queen has no idea what Monsiew's projects 
 may be ? " queried Gilbert. 
 
 " I believe he is of Mirabeau's former opinion, that the 
 King had better leave Paris." 
 
 " Your Majesty authorizes me to tell Mirabeau that 
 his Memorial, and his scheme for a new cabinet, are 
 asked for by your Majesty V 
 
 " I will let Monsieur Gilbert judge for himself how far 
 it is necessary to be on one's guard in dealing with such a 
 man, — one who is our friend to-day, but may become our 
 enemy to-morrow." 
 
 " As to that point, Madame, rely upon me ; but as the 
 situation is grave, there is no time to be lost. Permit 
 me to go to the Assembly, and I will try to see Mirabeau 
 to-day. If I see him, your Majesty shall hear from me 
 in two hours." 
 
 The Queen made a gesture of assent and dismissal, and 
 Gilbert withdrew. 
 
 A quarter of an hour later he was at the Assembly hall. 
 The members were in commotion on account of the crime 
 committed at their doors, and against a man who had 
 been, in a certain way, their servant. They came and 
 went from the tribune to their benches, and from their 
 benches into the lobby. 
 
 Mirabeau alone remained in his place, unmoved. , He 
 waited, with his gaze fixed on the place reserved for visit- 
 ors. When he saw Gilbert, his leonine face lighted up. 
 
 Gilbert made him a sign, to which he responded by 
 
ADVANTAGES DERIVED FROM A SEVERED HEAD. 267 
 
 an affirmative nod ; so Gilbert tore a page from his 
 memorandum-book, and wrote as follows : 
 
 Your propositions were welcomed, at least by one of the 
 two parties, — the one whom you believe, and I also, to be the 
 most influential of the two. 
 
 A Memorial is requested for to-morrow, and a cabinet plan 
 for to-day. 
 
 Get more power for the Executive Administration, and the 
 Executive will rely on you. 
 
 He folded this paper in the form of a letter, and wrote 
 the address : 
 
 To 21. le Comte de Mirdbeau. 
 
 Calling a messenger he bade him take this billet to its 
 destination. 
 
 From his standpoint Gilbert could see the messenger 
 enter the aisles, direct his steps towards the Deputy from 
 Aix, and deliver to him the billet. 
 
 Mirabeau read it with such an expression of utter in- 
 difference, that it would have been impossible for his 
 nearest neighbor to guess that the paper he had received 
 corresponded with his inmost desires. With the same 
 indifference he traced a few lines on the sheet of paper 
 which happened to lie in front of him, folded the paper 
 carelessly, and gave it to the usher, saying : " For the 
 person who handed you the billet you just brought me." 
 
 Gilbert opened the paper with avidity. It contained 
 these few lines, which might have assured to France a 
 different future, if the plan proposed therein had been 
 put into execution : 
 
 I will speak. 
 
 To-morrow I will send the Memorial. 
 
 Here is the list requested, — which might be modified in 
 respect to two or three names. 
 Necker : Prime Minister. 
 
268 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 This name almost made Gilbert doubt if the billet he 
 was reading could be from Mirabeau's hand ; but as a 
 parenthetical note followed this name, as was the case 
 with names, Gilbert read on : 
 
 Necker ; Prime Minister. (It will be necessary to render 
 him as powerless as he is incapable ; but he must be l5;ept on 
 the King's side, for popularity's sake.) 
 
 Aechbishop of Bordeaux : Chancellor. (He should be 
 advised to choose his assistants with great care.) 
 
 LiANCOUET : Minister of War. (He has honor, firmness, 
 and personal affection for the King, which will give the King 
 a sense of security.) 
 
 EocHEFOuoAULT : Master of the Eoyal Household. (Thouret 
 with him.) 
 
 La Marck : for the Navy. (He cannot have the War De- 
 partment, which must be given to Liancourt. La Marck has 
 fidelity, character, and executive ability.) 
 
 Bishop op Autun : Secretary of the Treasury. (His pro- 
 position in regard to the clergy entitles him to that place. 
 Laborde with him.) 
 
 Mirabeau : in the Eoyal Council, without any special de- 
 partment. (Petty scruples about worldly speech are out of 
 season. Government must loudly affirm that its chief rep- 
 resentatives are henceforth right principles, character, and 
 talent.) 
 
 Target : Mayor of Paris. (The Basoche, or jurisdiction of 
 the Parliamentary officials, should belong to him.) 
 
 Lafayette : in the Council — Marshal of France — General- 
 issimo for a period, to reorganize the army. 
 
 MoNTMORiN : Governor, Duke, and Peer. (His debts to be 
 paid.) 
 
 Segdr : Minister of Foreign Affairs. 
 
 MouNiER : Eoyal Librarian. 
 
 Chapelier : Public Works. 
 
 At the bottom of this memorandum was written a 
 second. 
 
ADVANTAGES DERIVED FROM A SEVERED HEAD. 269 
 
 Lafayette's Preferences. 
 
 Minister of Justice : Eochefoucault. 
 Minister of Foreign Affairs : Bishop of Autun. 
 Minister of Finance : Lambert, Hallee, or CLAVliRES. 
 Minister of the Navj' : 
 
 The Queen's Preferences. 
 
 Minister of War or Navy : La Marck. 
 Chief of the Council of Instruction and Public Education: 
 Abbe Sieyes. 
 
 Keeper of the Privy Seal : 
 
 This second memorandum indicates the changes and 
 modifications which might be made in the combination 
 proposed by Mirabeau, without opposing any obstacle to 
 his views or interfering with his projects.^ 
 
 These notes were all written in a slightly tremulous 
 hand, which shows that Mirabeau felt great emotion, 
 though so calm on the surface. 
 
 Gilbert read hastily, tore out a fresh leaf from his 
 tablet, and wrote the three or four lines following, which 
 he handed to the same usher, whom he had requested 
 not to be far away : 
 
 I will return to the mistress of the apartments we wish to 
 hire, and report the conditions under which you consent to 
 take and repair the house. 
 
 Let me iinow — at my home in the Rue Saint Honore, near 
 the Church of the Assumption, and opposite the shop of a 
 joiner named Duplay — the result of the Session, as soon as it 
 is over. 
 
 Always thirsty for excitement and for public affairs, 
 hoping to beat down her heart's passion with political 
 
 1 These notes, found among Mirabeau's papers after his death, have 
 been since collected in the work published by Bacourt; and they 
 throw much light on the last two years of Mirabeau's life. 
 
270 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 intrigue, the Queen awaited Gilbert's return with im- 
 patience, meanwhile listening to Weber's recital of his 
 last intelligence, — a description of the terrible end of 
 an awful scene, of which Weber had now witnessed both 
 the commencement and termination. 
 
 Sent back for further information by the Queen, Weber 
 arrived at one end of Notre Dame Bridge, just as there 
 appeared, at the other end of the bridge, a bloodthirsty 
 escort, bearing aloft the head of the baker Francois, like 
 a murderous banner. In accordance with the same popu- 
 lar and ghastly humor which had led the mob to barber 
 the heads of the Guardsmen at Sevres Bridge, one of 
 these assassins, more facetious than the others, had dec- 
 orated the head of Fran9ois with a cotton cap, taken 
 from one of his fellow-bakers. 
 
 About a third of the way across the bridge a young 
 woman, pale and frightened, was running (despite her 
 evidently maternal condition) as rapidly as possible 
 towards the Hotel de Ville. 
 
 Suddenly she stopped. That head, whose features she 
 could not yet distinguish, looked in the distance like 
 some antique carving ; but as the head drew nearer and 
 nearer, it was easy to see, by the distortion of the fea- 
 tures of the poor fellow, that his head was by no means 
 transformed into stone. 
 
 When this horrible trophy was only twenty paces off, 
 the young woman uttered a cry, extended her arms des- 
 perately, and then, as if her feet were detached from the 
 earth, she fell fainting on the bridge. 
 
 It was the wife of Frangois, five months advanced 
 towards motherhood ; and they carried her away in an 
 insensible condition. 
 
 " Oh, my God," whispered the Queen, " this is a ter- 
 rible warning which thou hast sent thy servant, to teach 
 
ADVANTAGES DERIVED FROM A SEVERED HEAD. 271 
 
 her that there is far greater misery than her own, how- 
 ever great that may be." 
 
 At this moment Gilbert entered, introduced by Ma- 
 dame Campan, who replaced Weber as guardian at the 
 royal door. 
 
 Gilbert found there no longer the Queen alone, but 
 the woman, — that is, the wife and mother, — crushed 
 by the recital which knocked doubly at her heart. 
 
 Her disposition could not be more favorable, — in Gil- 
 bert's mind, at least, — since he came to propose a 
 method of putting an end to just such crimes. 
 
 Drying her eyes, whence tears were rolling, and her 
 forehead, pearly with perspiration, the Queen took from 
 Gilbert's hands the list he brought ; but before cast- 
 ing her eyes on the paper, important as it was, she 
 said ; " Weber, if that poor woman is not dead, I will 
 receive her to-morrow ; and if she is really in such a sad 
 condition, I will be godmother to her babe." 
 
 " Oh Madame, Madame,'' cried Gilbert, " why cannot 
 every Frenchman see, as I see, the tears which well from 
 your ej-es, and hear the words which drop from j-our 
 lips 1 " 
 
 The Queen trembled. These were almost the very 
 words Charny had addressed to her, under circumstances 
 not less critical. 
 
 Then she cast her eye over Mirabeau's note ; but she 
 was too much disturbed to make a proper response at 
 that moment. 
 
 "This is all right. Doctor," she said. "Leave me 
 that list ! I will reflect upon it, and give you an answer 
 to-morrow." 
 
 Scarcely knowing what she was doing, she extended 
 her hand to Gilbert, which he, greatly surprised, brushed 
 with his lips and finger-tips. 
 
272 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 It must occur to any one that a great change had al- 
 ready come over proud Marie Antoinette, when she was 
 willing to offer her hand for Doctor Gilbert's salute, and 
 discuss the formation of a new cabinet, with Lafayette 
 and Mirabeau as its prime factors. 
 
 At seven in the evening a servant, without livery, 
 brought Gilbert the following letter. 
 
 The session has been hot. 
 
 Martial law is decided upon. 
 
 Buzot'und Robespierre advocated the creation of a higher 
 court of law. 
 
 1 persuaded the house to decree that crimes against the Na- 
 tion {Use-nation, — it is a new word which we have invented) 
 shall be tried by the Royal Tribunal at the Chatelet. 
 
 I unmistakably based the welfare of France on the stability 
 of the royal authority, and three-quarters of the Assembly 
 applauded my words. 
 
 We are now at the Twenty-first of October. I hope Royalty 
 has made some progress since the Sixth. 
 
 Vale et me aina. 
 
 This billet was not signed ; but it was in the same 
 writing as the ministerial memorandum and the morn- 
 ing's note. This rendered it absolutely certain that the 
 writer was Mirabeau. 
 
THE COURT OF THE CHATELET. 273 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE COURT OF THE CHATELET. 
 
 Ix order that they may comprehend the import of Mira- 
 beau's triumph, — which involved in its rebound the 
 triumph of royalty, of which he constituted himself the 
 representative, — it is necessary to tell our readers what 
 the Court of the Chatelet was. 
 
 Moreover, one of its decisions furnished material for 
 one of the most dreadful scenes which ever stained the 
 Place de Gr^ve, during the year 1790, — a scene which 
 will necessarily find its place in the course of this narra- 
 tive, as it is by no means foreign to our subject. 
 
 Since the Thirteenth Century the Chatelet had been 
 of great historic importance, both as a courthouse and a 
 prison, having received from good King Louis the Ninth 
 the universal jurisdiction which it exercised during five 
 centuries. 
 
 Another King, who was nothing unless a builder, 
 Philip Augustus, erected a considerable part of the Church 
 of Noti-e Dame. He also founded three hospitals, Trin- 
 ity, Sainte Catherine, and Saint Nicolas du Louvre. He 
 paved the streets of Paris, which was so buried in mud 
 and f 1th, — so say the chronicles of the time, — that the 
 odors made it impossible for the inhabitants to sit in 
 their windows. 
 
 Philip Augustus had one great resource for all his ex- 
 penses, — a resource which his' successors unfortunately 
 lost, — the Jews. 
 
 VOL. I. — 18 
 
274 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 In 1189 he was inoculated with the chief folly of his 
 age, — the desire to recapture Jerusalem from the Sul- 
 tans of Asia ; so he accompanied Richard the Lion- 
 Hearted, of England, to the Holy Land. 
 
 Before he went away, nut wishing that his loyal citi- 
 zens of Paris should lose their time, and possibly, in their 
 leisure moments, dream of rebellion against himself, — 
 as, at Philip's own instigation, the subjects, and even the 
 sou of Henry Second of England had rebelled, — Philip 
 left a plan which he ordered to be put into execution 
 immediately after his departure. 
 
 This plan was to build a new wall about the city, an 
 enclosure of which he himself drew the plan, and which 
 was to be composed of solid masonry, a genuine wall of 
 the Twelfth Century, garnished with towers and gates. 
 This was the third wall surrounding Paris. 
 
 As one may easily understand, the engineers in charge 
 of the undertaking did not know precisely how to gauge 
 the size of their capital, which had grown very rapidly 
 since the days of Hugh Capet, and was in a fair way to 
 break through a third wall, as it had overrun the two 
 predecessors. 
 
 The encircling wall was therefore built with a large 
 margin ; and within its circumference, as a precaution 
 against the future, was a crowd of little hamlets, destined 
 some day to become portions of the grand whole. These 
 villages, poor as they were, had each its Seigneurial (or 
 Lord) Justice. These noble judges, or seigneurs, contra- 
 dicted each other on most points. Being included within 
 one precinct, this opposition was the more noticeable ; 
 and they ended off by jostling against each other so em- 
 phatically, that their decisions led to dire confusion in 
 this mixed capital. 
 
 There was a certain Seigneur de Vincennes. Having, 
 
THE COURT OF THE CHATELET. 275 
 
 as it seemed to him, greater grievances on tlie scoi'e of 
 this confusion than anybody else, he resolved to make 
 an end of it. This Seigneur was Louis the Xiuth, also 
 King of France. 
 
 It may be well to inform little children, and even 
 grown folks, that when Louis Ninth administered justice, 
 under the famous oak-tree which has since become prover- 
 bial, he did so as a Seigneur, or Lord, and not as King. 
 He therefore ordained, as King, that all the cases tried 
 before the petty Lords Judiciary of the hamlets might be 
 appealed to his own court, the Chatelet, in Paris. The 
 jurisdiction of the Chg,telet (or Little Castle) therefore 
 became all powerful, being made a Court of Final Appeal, 
 or Last Eesort. 
 
 The Court of Chatelet therefore remained the supreme 
 court, up to the very time when the Parliaments (encroach- 
 ing, in their turn, on the royal prerogatives) declared 
 that they would themselves consider any appeals from the 
 decisions of the Judges of the Chatelet Court. 
 
 Now the Assembly had just suspended the Parlia- 
 ments. " We buried them very speedily," said Lameth, 
 as he left the hall after the session. In place of Parlia- 
 ments, the Assembly, under the insistence of Jlirabeau, 
 restored to the .Chatelet Court its ancient authority, 
 augmented by new powers. 
 
 It was a great victory for royalty, that crimes against 
 the nation, appealable under martial law, should come 
 before a Crown Tribunal. 
 
 The first crime whereof the Chatelet had to take cog- 
 nizance, after this change, was one which we are about 
 to describe. 
 
 On the very day when this new law was promulgated, 
 two of the murderers of the unfortunate Frangois were 
 hano-ed in the Place de Greve with no process of trial 
 
276 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 except a public accusation aud the general notoriety of 
 the offence. 
 
 A third, who was none other than that blockhead Fleur 
 d'Epine, to whom we before referred, was regularly tried. 
 Degraded from his military office, and condemned by the 
 Chatelet Court, he travelled by the same route as them- 
 selves, to rejoin his companions in eternity. 
 
 Two cases remained to be heard : that of the Parmer 
 General Augeard, and that of the Inspector General of 
 the Swiss Guards, Pierre Victor de Besenval. These two 
 men were devoted to the Crown, and so their friends 
 hastened to carry their cause before the higher Chatelet 
 Judges. 
 
 Augeard was accused of having furnished the funds 
 paid by the Queen's agent to the troops assembled on the 
 parade-ground Champ de Mars, in July. Being little 
 known, his arrest made little noise, and the populace 
 cared nothing about it. The Chatelet acquitted him, 
 without occasioning much talk. 
 
 The last case was Besenval's. This was quite another 
 affair, for his name was notorious, in the worst sense of 
 that tei'm. 
 
 It was he who commanded the Swiss mercenaries at 
 Ke'veillon, at the Bastille, and on the Champ de Mars. 
 The pojiulace remembered that he had led the assault 
 against them on these three occasions, and were not slow 
 to seek their revenge. 
 
 The orders of the Crown to the Chatelet Judges were 
 most precise. Under no pretext would the King or 
 Queen allow Besenval to be condemned ; and it required 
 no less than this double protection to save him. 
 
 Knowing himself to l)e culpable, he fled after the fell 
 of the Bastille. Arrested on his way to the frontier, he 
 was brought back to Paris. When he entered the Court- 
 
THE COURT OF THE CHaTELET. 277 
 
 room, death-shouts greeted him on all sides. " Besenval 
 to the lamp-post ! Besenval to the gibbet ! " were cries 
 heard from every quarter. 
 
 " Silence ! " bawled the officials. With great effort 
 silence was obtained. One of the onlookers profited by 
 this stillness to call out, in a magnificent bass voice : " I 
 demand that he be cut into thirteen pieces, and that one 
 be sent to each section." 
 
 In spite of the charges against him, in spite of the 
 animosity of the audience, Besenval was acquitted. 
 
 Indignant at this double acquittal, of both Augeard 
 and Besenval, one of the auditors scribbled these four 
 lines on a scrap of paper, which he rolled up like a ball, 
 and sent to the Presiding Judge. 
 
 Sham judges, you — who Augeard cleared, 
 And Besenval whitewash — would fain cleanse a pest ; 
 
 Like cheap waste-paper, soft, besmeared. 
 You soak up foul blots, but on you the blots rest. 
 
 Tlie quatrain was signed. This was not all. The Pre- 
 siding Judge looked about for the author. The author 
 was standing on a bench, soliciting, by his gestures, the 
 Judge's attention ; but the countenance of the Judge fell, 
 and he did not dare order the man's arrest ; for that 
 author was Camille Desmoulins, the agitator from the 
 Palais Eoyal, the hero of platform and pistol, the dissemi- 
 nator of savage pamphlets, the Lamp-post Advocate, as he 
 was called. 
 
 One of the spectators who passed out in the crowd, and 
 whose costume would cause him to be taken for a simple 
 tradesman, spoke to one of his neighbors, at the same 
 time laying his hand on the man's shoulder, although 
 the latter apparently belonged to the superior class of 
 
278 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 society. "Well, Doctor Gilbert, what do you tluiik of 
 those two acquittals 1 " 
 
 The man thus addressed started, looked at his inter- 
 locutor, recognizing the fiice as he had the voice, and 
 answered ; " It is to you and not from you tiiis question 
 should come, my master, — you who know all things, 
 past, present, and future." 
 
 " I ? Why, I think that when two such scamps are 
 acquitted, it is time to say, ' Woe to the innocent man 
 who will come next ! ' " 
 
 " And why do you think an innocent man will succeed 
 them, and be punished 1 " asked Gilbert. 
 
 " For the simple reason, " replied his interlocutor, with 
 the irony natural to him, "that it is the way of the 
 world to let the good suffer for the bad." 
 
 " Adieu, master ! " said Gilbert, offering a hand to 
 Cagliostro ; for after such words he no longer doubted in 
 the least the identity of the terrible skeptic. 
 
 " And why adieu 1 " 
 
 " Because I have business," replied Gilbert, smiling. 
 
 " A rendezvous ? " 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
 " With whom, — Mirabeau, Lafayette, or the Queen 1 " 
 
 Gilbert paused and looked at Cagliostro uneasily. 
 
 " Do you know you terrify me ] " said Gilbert. 
 
 " On the contrary, I ought to reassure you," said 
 Cagliostro. 
 
 "How so V 
 
 " Am I not one of your friends 1 " 
 
 " I hope so." 
 
 " You may be sure of it, and if you want a proof — " 
 
 " What then 1 " 
 
 " Come with me, and I will give you, m regard to the 
 negotiation which you believe so secret, certain other 
 
THE COUKT OF THE CHATELET. 279 
 
 details, kept so very private, that you, who fancy your- 
 self to be managing this special affair, are really kept in 
 ignorance of half its ins and outs." 
 
 " Hear ! " said Gilbert. " Perhaps you think to make 
 game of me, with the aid of some of those old enchant- 
 ments which are your familiars ; but never mind ! The 
 circumstances of the time are so grave that I would ac- 
 cept an}' light, though offered by Satan in person. I will 
 go wherever you may wish to take me." 
 
 " Oh, be easy ! It will not be far away, and is more- 
 over in a place not unknown to you. Only you must let 
 me call the first empty cab that passes. The dress in 
 which I came out did not make it advisable to take my 
 own team." 
 
 He made a sign to a cab which was going by on the 
 other side of the quay. The cab drove up and the two 
 entered it. 
 
 " Where shall we go, my friend'?" asked the coachman 
 of Cagliostro, as if he comprehended that the passenger 
 he questioned, though more simply clad, really led the 
 other wherever he pleased. 
 
 " Oh, thou knowest," said Balsamo, making a sort of 
 Masonic sign to the driver, who looked at him in great 
 astonishment. 
 
 " Pardon, Monseigneur ! " he said, answering with an- 
 other sign, "but I did not know you." 
 
 " It is not so with me," said Cagliostro, in a firm and 
 haughty voice. " However numerous they may be, I 
 know every one of my subjects, from the least to the 
 greatest." 
 
 The coachman shut the door, mounted his seat, put 
 his horses into a grand gallop, and drove through the 
 labyrinth of streets which led from the Chatelet to 
 the Boulevard called Daughters of Calvary, whence he 
 
280 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 continued his course towards the Bastille, and drew up 
 at the corner of the Eue Saint Claude 
 
 When the cab stopped the door was opened with a 
 celerity which testified the driver's respectful zeal. 
 
 Cagliostro made a sign for Gilbert to step out fii-st, and 
 then came out himself, saying as he did so : " Hast thou 
 nothing to say to me ? " 
 
 " Yes, Monseigneur, and I should have made my re- 
 port this evening, bat for the good luck of meeting you 
 now." 
 
 " Speak out ! " 
 
 " What I have to say to Monseigneur must not be 
 heard by ears profone." 
 
 " Oh," said Cagliostro, laughing, " he who listens is 
 hardly one of the profane." 
 
 This referred to Gilbert, who discreetly moved farther 
 away, though not so far that he could not still see with 
 one eye and hear with one ear. 
 
 He could see a smile play over Balsamo's face at the 
 driver's report. He could hear the two names of Pro- 
 vence and Favras. 
 
 When the report was finished Cagliostro drew a double 
 louis from his pocket, and wished to give it to the coach- 
 man ; but the latter shook his head. " Monseigneur 
 knows very well," he said, " that we are forbidden, by the 
 supreme edict, to take pay for our reports." 
 
 " Oh well, it is not for thy report I pay, but for our 
 drive." 
 
 " With that understanding, I accept,'' said coaohy, tak- 
 ing the goldpieoe. " Thanks to you, Monseigneur, my 
 day's work is over." Mounting to his seat he drove away 
 on the trot, cracking his whip, and leaving Gilbert dum- 
 founded by what he had just seen and heard. 
 
 "Well!" said Cagliostro, who held his door open for 
 
THE COURT OF THE CHATELET. 281 
 
 several seconds before Gilbert thought of going inside, 
 " won't you come in, my dear Doctor ? '' 
 
 " Certainly ! " said Gilbert. " Pray excuse me ; " and 
 then he crossed the threshold, though so stunned that 
 he almost reeled like a man intoxicated. 
 
282 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENT. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 AGAIN THE HOUSE IN THE RUE SAINT CLAUDE. 
 
 We know what self-control Gilbert possessed. By the 
 time he had crossed the large and solitary courtyard he 
 was himself again ; so that he ascended the outer stair- 
 case with a stride as firm as his step across the threshold 
 had been vacillating. 
 
 The mansion he had already recognized as being the 
 same he had once visited, at that epoch in his career 
 which had left ineffaceable traces in his heart. 
 
 In the antechamber he encountered the same German 
 servant he had seen there sixteen years before. He stood 
 on the same spot and was clad in the same livery ; only, 
 like Gilbert, like the Count, like the antechamber itself, 
 this lackey was older by sixteen years. 
 
 Fritz — he remembered this as the name of this worthy 
 domestic — Fritz knew at a glance whither his master 
 wished to conduct Gilbert. Opening rapidly two inter- 
 vening doors he paused on the threshold of the third, till 
 he was assured that Cagliostro had no other commands. 
 
 This third door opened into the salon. Cagliostro, 
 with his hand, made a sign for Gilbert to enter, and with 
 his head, a sign that Fritz might retire, adding in Ger- 
 man : " I am at home to nobody, until further orders." 
 
 Then turning to Gilbert he said : " It was not to pre- 
 vent you from understanding that I spoke to my servant 
 in German, for I know you speak that language, but be- 
 cause Fritz, who is a Tyrole.se, understands German much 
 
THE HOUSE IN EUE SAINT CLAUDE. 283 
 
 better than French. — But sit down, Doctor ; I am at 
 your service." 
 
 Gilbert could not help glancing inquisitively about 
 him, and for a few seconds his eyes rested successively 
 on the pictures and different pieces of furniture orna- 
 menting the room, every one of which he recalled to 
 memory. 
 
 The salon was the same as aforetime. On the walls 
 hung eight pictures by the Old Masters. The armchairs 
 were still upholstered in cherry brocade, broidered with 
 gold, whose flowers shone out in relief amid the shadows 
 cast by the thick curtains. The great inlaid table was 
 in its old place ; and the smaller tables, weighted with 
 Sevres porcelain, stood between the windows. 
 
 Gilbert sighed, and let Jiis head fall on his hand. 
 Memories of the past superseded the feeling of curiosity 
 which at first possessed him. 
 
 Cagliostro looked at Gilbert, as Mephistopheles might 
 have looked at Faust, when that German philosopher 
 had the imprudence to allow himself to indulge in such 
 dreams in the diabolical presence. Suddenly he ex- 
 claimed, in a strident voice : " It appears that you recog- 
 nize this room. Doctor 1 " 
 
 " Yes ; and it recalls my obligations to you." 
 
 " Ah, bah ! Chimeras ! " 
 
 "You are indeed an odd man,'' said Gilbert, speak- 
 ing to himself rather than to Cagliostro ; " and if over- 
 ruling Eeason encouraged human faith in the magical 
 prodigies reported to us by the poets and chroniclers of 
 the Middle Ages, I should be tempted to believe you a 
 necromancer, like Merlin, or an alchemist, like Nicholas 
 Flamel." 
 
 " Yes, Gilbert, I am such a man to the world, but not 
 to you. I have never sought to dazzle you with mira- 
 
284 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 cles ; and if perchance you have seen, at my summons, 
 Truth emerge from her well, a little more ornamented 
 and a little less naked than is her custom, it is because 
 I have a taste for frippery, true .Sicilian as I am." 
 
 " It was here. Count, as you will remember, that you 
 gave a hundred thousand crowns to a very unhappy 
 fellow in rags, as readily as I should give a sou to a 
 pauper." 
 
 " You forget something still more extraordinary, Gil- 
 bert," said Cagiiostro gravely, — " that the ragged boy 
 brought back the whole of the one hundred thousand 
 crowns, less only two loiiis, which he had used to buy 
 clothing with." 
 
 " The fellow was only honest, whereas you had been 
 magnificent ! " 
 
 " And who says, Gilbert, that it is not easier to be 
 generous than honest, — and to give away a hundred 
 thousand ready crowns to somebody, when one has mil- 
 lions, than to carry back the one hundred thousand 
 crowns to the lender, especially when the borrower has n't 
 a sou." 
 
 " Perhaps so ! " 
 
 " Besides, all depends upon one's mental disposition at 
 the moment. I had just then experienced the greatest 
 unhappiness of my lifetime, Gilbert. I no longer held to 
 anything ; and if you had asked for my life, I believe 
 I should have given it to you — God pardon me! — as 
 readily as I gave you that hundred thousand crowns." 
 
 " Then you have been submitted to torture, like other 
 men 1 " said Gilbert, regarding Cagiiostro with some 
 astonishment. 
 
 Cagiiostro sighed. " You talk of the memories recalled 
 to your mind by this salon. If I should talk of what the 
 room recalls to me, — but no ! Before the recital was 
 
THE HOUSE IN KUE SAINT CLAUDE. 285 
 
 ended, the rest of my hair would be white. — Let us chat 
 about something else. Let us leave former events to 
 sleep quietly in their shroud of oblivion, in their tomb of 
 the past. Let us talk of the present. Let us talk of the 
 future, if you will." 
 
 " You bring me back to present realities. Just now 
 you said that, so far as I was concerned, you had broken 
 with charlatanism ; and behold now you pronounce that 
 sounding word future, as if the future were in your 
 hands, — as if your eyes could decipher its unknown 
 hieroglyphics." 
 
 " Ah, you forget ! Having at my disposal more means 
 than other men, it is not surprising that I see the way 
 better and farther than others do." 
 
 " Always words, Count ! " 
 
 " You are oblivious to the facts. Doctor ! " 
 
 "What do yoa expect, when my reason refuses to 
 believer' 
 
 " You remember that philosopher who denied all 
 motion % " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " What did his adversary do ] " 
 
 " He walked about in his opponent's presence," said 
 Gilbert. — " Very well ! I .see your point. March, and I 
 will look on ; or rather, Speak, for thy servant heareth." 
 
 " Certainly, that is why we are here ; and we have 
 already wasted too much time on other matters. Let us 
 see, Doctor, how far have we got along with our fusion 
 cabinet ? " 
 
 " What, — our fusion cabinet ? " 
 
 " Certainly, our Lafayette-Mirabeau ministry." 
 
 " There are some groundless rumors which you have 
 heard from others, and you seek to ascertain their reality 
 by interrogating me," replied Gilbert. 
 
286 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 " Doctor, you are scepticism incarnate ; and what is 
 worse, you doubt, not because you cant believe, but be- 
 cause you wont believe. Well, must I iirst tell you some 
 things which you know as well as I ] So be it ! After- 
 wards I will tell you some things which I know better 
 than yourself." 
 
 " I am listening !" 
 
 " A fortnight ago you talked with the King about 
 Mirabeau, as the one man who could save the monarchy. 
 Perhaps you remember, as you went away from the King, 
 that Monsieur Je Favras was admitted V 
 
 "Which proves that he was not hanged at that date," 
 said Gilbert, smiling. 
 
 " Oh, you 're in too much of a hurry. Doctor. I did n't 
 know you were so cruel. Do give the poor devil a few 
 days longer. I made that prediction on the Sixth of 
 October. It is now the Seventh of November, only a 
 month. You hardly vouchsafe his soul as long a time 
 to flit from the body, as is always accorded to a tenant 
 who is to vacate his lodgings, — the quarter's notice. — 
 But I warn you, Doctor, that you are leading me off the 
 track." 
 
 " Eesume it. Count. I ask nothing better than to 
 follow your lead." 
 
 " Very well, — you spoke to tlie King about Mirabeau, 
 as the only man to rescue the monarchy." 
 
 " That is my opinion, and that is why I suggested this 
 combination to the King.'' 
 
 " It is also my opinion. Doctor. That 's why your 
 combination will be wrecked." 
 
 " Wrecked ? " 
 
 " Undoubtedly. You know well enough that I don't 
 wish to see monarchies saved." 
 
 "Go on!" 
 
THE HOUSE IN KUE SAINT CLAUDE, 287 
 
 " The King, somewhat unsettled by what you said to 
 him — Excuse me, but I am obliged to take up the 
 thread from the outset, to convince you that I am not 
 ignorant of a single phase of your negotiation ! — Very 
 well, the King, moved by what you said to him, talked 
 over your combination with the Queen. It will be a 
 great amazement to superficial minds, — when that great 
 gossip, History, shouts on the housetops what we now 
 whisper in the ear, — to know that the Queen was less 
 averse to your project than the King. She sent for you 
 to inquire about it. She discussed with you the pros and 
 cons, and finally authorized you to talk with Mirabeau. 
 Is n't this correct, Doctor \ " said Cagliostro, looking 
 Gilbert squarely in the face. 
 
 " So far I acknowledge that you have not deviated 
 from the correct road." 
 
 " Upon this success you came away enchanted, Islon- 
 sieur Proudfellow, with the profound conviction that this 
 royal conversion was due to your irrefragable logic and 
 irresistible arguments.'' 
 
 At this ironical speech Gilbert could not avoid biting 
 his lips. 
 
 "And to what was this conversion due, if not to my 
 logical arguments^ Tell me. Count ! for the study of the 
 human heart is more precious to me than the study 
 of the human body. You have discovered an instrument 
 wherewith you may read the bosoms of kings. Lend me 
 that marvellous telescope ! Only an enemy of humanity 
 would keep it solely to himself" 
 
 " I have already told you, that from yourself I liave 
 no secrets, Doctor. According to your wish I will place 
 the telescope in your own hands. You may look 
 through it as you will, by the small end, which makes 
 things look larger, or by the large end, which makes them 
 
288 LA GOMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 look smaller. The Queen yielded for two reasons. Firstly, 
 she had been subjected to a great sorrow the evening 
 before ; and to give her an intrigue, to tie and untie, 
 was to furnish her with a distraction. Secondly, the 
 Queen has always heard jNIirabeau referred to as a lion, 
 as a tiger, a bear ; and what woman is able to resist such 
 a flattering tribute to her self-love, as to tame a bear, 
 tiger, or lion 1 ' It will be curious,' so she said to her- 
 self, ' if I can bend to my feet this man who hates me, — 
 if I can lead him to make me public apologies, in the 
 very tribune where he insulted me. I shall see him at 
 mj' knees. That will be my revenge ! If this genuflexion 
 results in some good to France and royalty, so much the 
 better.' But this last consideration was entirely secondary 
 with the Queen, you understand." 
 
 " You pelt me with hypotheses, Count, when you prom- 
 ised to convince me by facts." 
 
 " You refuse my telescope 1 Well, let 's talk no more 
 about that, but return to material things, — to such facts 
 as may be seen with the naked eye, — Mirabeau's debts, 
 for example. Ah, there you have something which needs 
 no telescope ! " 
 
 " Very well. Count ; then here 's another chance for 
 you to display your generosity." 
 
 " By paying Mirabeau's debts 1 " 
 
 " Why not 1 You once paid the debts of Cardinal 
 Eohan." 
 
 " Don't guy me on account of that speculation, for it 
 was one which best succeeded." 
 
 "And how did it repay you? " 
 
 " In that affair of the necklace, — a very pretty aff'air, 
 it seemed to me. For such a price I would even pay 
 Mirabeau's debts; but just at present, as you know 
 very well, it is not I on whom he must rely. He must 
 
THE HOUSE IN RUE SAINT CLAUDE. 289 
 
 count upon the future Geueralissimo, Lafayette, who 
 will make him leap for fifty thousand miserable francs, 
 like a dog after macaroons, and will end by not giving 
 them to him." 
 "Oh, Count!" 
 
 " Poor Mirabean, indeed, when all the fools and cox- 
 combs with whom thou art connected make thy genius 
 pay for the follies of youth. True, all this is providential, 
 for God must use human means. The immoral Mirabeau ! 
 says Provence, who is himself impotent. Mirabeau the 
 prodigal ! says Artois, whose brother has thrice paid his 
 debts. Poor man of genius ! Yes, thou wilt perhaps save 
 the monarchy, but the monarchy ought not to be saved. 
 iMirabeau is a monstrous babbler, says Eivarol ; a beggar, 
 says Mably ; a spendthrift, says La Poule ; a scallawag, 
 says Guillermy ; an assassin, says the Abbd ]\Iaury ; a 
 dead man, says Target ; dead and buried, says Duport ; 
 an orator more hissed than applauded, says Pelletier; 
 small-pox in his very bones, says Champcenetz ; fit for the 
 galleys, says Lambesc ; deserves hanging, says ilarat. If 
 Mirabeau should die to-morrow the people would give 
 him an apotheosis, glorify him after death. All the 
 dwarfs whom he surpassed in stature, and on whom he 
 trod so heavily while he lived, would follow his hearse, 
 crying : ' Woe to France, who hath lost her Tribune ! 
 Woe to royalty, which has lost its staff.' " 
 
 "Do you mean to predict the death of Mirabeau V 
 cried Gilbert, almost frightened. 
 
 " Frankly, Doctor, can you expect long life for a man 
 whose blood scorches him, whose heart stifles him, whose 
 genius devours him 'i Do you not see that power so gigan- 
 tic as his cannot contend eternally against the current 
 of mediocrity 1 The labor essential to such an under- 
 taking is like the uphill journey of Sisyphus with his 
 
 VOL. I, — 19 
 
290 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 rock. For two years past has Mirabeau been beaten 
 backward by this word Immorality. Each time, after 
 unparalleled efforts, when he believed he had pushed his 
 stone to the very summit of the mountain, this word 
 tumbled on him again, harder than ever. When the 
 King had almost adopted the advice of the Queen, as 
 to the advisability of creating Mirabeau Prime Minister, 
 somebody came to the King to say : ' Sire, Paris is 
 shocked at Mirabeau's immorality ; France is shocked 
 at his immorality; Europe is shocked at his immorality ;' 
 as if God casts great men in the same mould as common 
 mortals; as if, in its enlargement, the circle which em- 
 braces the great virtues must not include great vices also. 
 Gilbert, you, and two or three other intelligent men, are 
 exerting yourselves to make Mirabeau Prime Minister, — . 
 to make him what that ninny Turgot has been, and that 
 pedant Xecker, that fop Calonue, and that atheist Brienne ; 
 but Mirabeau will not be minister, because he has one 
 hundred thousand francs' worth of debt, — which would 
 be readily paid, if he were only the son of a plain Farmer 
 General, — and because he was once condemned to death 
 for having carried off the wife of an old imbecile, who 
 finally killed herself with charcoal for the sake of a hand- 
 some captain. What a ti'agedy, what a comedy, is human 
 life ! How I should weep over it, if I had not chosen the 
 role of laughter." 
 
 " What prediction do you make for him % " asked Gilbert, 
 who fully approved the flight of Cagliostro's wit into the 
 region of the imagination, but was somewhat disconcerted 
 by the conclusion finally reached. 
 
 " I tell you," repeated Cagliostro, in the tone of a 
 prophet, who is not his own master and will permit no 
 reply, " I tell you that Mirabeau the Genius, Mirabeau 
 the Statesman, Mirabeau the Grand Orator, will exhaust 
 
THE HOUSE IN RUE SAINT CLAUDE. 291 
 
 his life and conquer the tomb, without becoming what, of 
 all the world, he should be, Minister. Ah, my dear 
 Gilbert, mediocrity is, after all, a fine shelter." 
 
 " Then the King opposes him'i " 
 
 " Peste 1 The King is careful. He must discuss the 
 matter with the Queen, to whom he almost gave his word. 
 You know the King's political science lies in that word 
 almost. He is almost persuaded (like a certain king in 
 the Scriptures) to be a Constitutionalist, a philosopher. 
 He is almost popular ; and he is almost done for, when 
 he counsels with Monsieur de Provence. Go to the As- 
 sembly to-morrow. Doctor, and you shall see what you 
 shall see." 
 
 " Can't you tell me in advance?" 
 
 " That would deprive you of the pleasure of a 
 surprise." 
 
 " To-morrow is rather far off ! " 
 
 " Then do better ! It is five o'clock. In an hour 
 the Jacobin Club will be open. These .lacobin gentle- 
 men are night-birds, you know ! Do you belong to the 
 society 1 " 
 
 " Xo. Camille Desmoulins and Danton have persuaded 
 me to join the Cordeliers." 
 
 " Xo matter ! As I say, the Jacobin Club will be open 
 in an hour. Be tranquil ; it is a society so well made up 
 that you will not be out of place. — We will dine together. 
 After dinner we will take a cab and drive to the Rue 
 Saint Honore ; and when you come out of the old con- 
 vent 30U will have been edified. Besides, having a dozen 
 hours' notice, you may be able to parry the catastrophe, 
 perhaps." 
 
 " How ! You dine at five 1 " 
 
 " At five precisely. I keep ahead in all things. In 
 tem years from now France will have only two daily 
 
292 LA GOMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 meals, — breakfast at ten in the forenoon, and dinner at 
 six in the evening." 
 
 " And what will lead to this change of custom ? " 
 
 " Famine, my dear ! " 
 
 " You are indeed a prophet of evil ! " 
 
 " Not always, for I now predict a good dinner." 
 
 " Have you guests 1 " 
 
 " I am absolutely alone ; but you know the saying of 
 the ancient epicure, LucuUiis dines with Lucullus." 
 
 " Monseigneur is served," said a lackey, opening the 
 two leaves of a door into a dining-room, splendidly 
 lighted and sumptuously garnished. 
 
 " Come, Monsieur Pythagorean," said Cagliostro, tak- 
 ing Gilbert's arm. " Bah, once does not establish a 
 custom." 
 
 Gilbert followed the enchanter, subjugated by his magic 
 words, and perhaps also with the hope of starting some 
 lightning in the conversation, which would guide him in 
 the political night wherein he was walking. 
 
THE JACOBIN CLUB. 293 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE JACOBIN CLUB. 
 
 Two hours after the conversatiou just recorded, a carriage, 
 without footmen or armorial bearings, stopped in front of 
 the steps of the Church of Saint Roch, whose fagade had 
 not then been mutilated by the long-barrelled Biscayen 
 muskets, used on the Thirteenth Veudemiaire, in the 
 Eevolution. 
 
 From this carriage emerged two men dressed in black, 
 like members of the commonalty at that time. Guided by 
 the yellow glimmer of the street lamps, which here and 
 there pierced the fog in the Rue Saint Honors, and 
 following the drift of the crowd, they walked along the 
 right side of the street, as far as the small door of the 
 Convent of the Jacobins. 
 
 If our readers have guessed, as is probable, that these 
 two men were Doctor Gilbert and Cagliostro, or the 
 Banker Zannone, as the latter at this time called himself, 
 it is needless to explain why they stopped in front of this 
 little doorway, inasmuch as that little doorway was the 
 end of their excursion. 
 
 Moreover, as we have said, the two new-comers had 
 only to follow the crowd, for the crowd was great. 
 
 " "Will you go into the nave, the main part of the 
 chapel, or will you content yourself with a seat in the 
 gallery 1 " asked Cagliostro of Gilbert. 
 
 " I believe," replied Gilbert, " that the nave is reserved 
 for members of the society." 
 
294 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 " Undoubtedly ; but I belong to all sorts of societies," 
 said Cagliostro, laughing, " and where I am, there my 
 friends may be also. Here is a card for you, if you want 
 it. As for me, I have only to give the word." 
 
 " We shall be recognized as outsiders," observed Gilbert, 
 " and told to get out.'' 
 
 " It is necessary to tell you one thing, which it seems 
 you do not know, — that the Jacobin Society, founded 
 only three months ago, numbers already nearly sixty thou- 
 sand members in France, and will count four hundred 
 thousand before the year is over. Besides, my very dear 
 fellow," he added, smiling, " this is the genuine Grand 
 Orient of Free Masonry, — the centre of all kinds of secret 
 societies, — rather than at that imbecile Fauchet's, as 
 the world fancies; so if you have no right to enter here as 
 a Jacobin, you have your place here in your capacity as a 
 Mason of the Rosy Cross degree." 
 
 " Never mind," said Gilbert, " I like the gallery best. 
 From that height we can overlook the whole assembly ; 
 and if there are any present or future notabilities, with 
 whom I am not acquainted, you can make them known 
 to me." 
 
 " To the galleries then ! " said Cagliostro, and he led 
 the way up a wooden staircase at the right, which led to 
 the gallery devoted to public use. 
 
 These benches were full ; but no sooner bad Cagliostro 
 made a sign, and pronounced a word in a low tone, than 
 two men vacated their front places, as if they had antici- 
 pated the arrival of Gilbert and the banker, and were only 
 there to keep for them these seats, which the new-comers 
 instantly accepted. 
 
 The meeting was not yet opened. The members were 
 scattered over the half-lighted body of the house, some 
 chatting in groups, others promenading in the narrow 
 
THE JACOBIN CLUB. 295 
 
 space left open to them by the great number of their 
 colleagues ; while otherSj feeling isolated, were seated in 
 the shadows or leaning against some massive pillar. 
 
 In semi-luminous strips, light from a few lamps fell upon 
 the crowd ; but individuals could not be distinguished, 
 unless their faces or their bodies happened accidentally 
 to come within range of one of these feeble fountains of 
 flame ; yet it was easy to perceive, even in the darkness, 
 that this was an aristocratic reunion. Laced coats abound- 
 ed, and the uniforms of officers, both naval and military, 
 dotting the crowd with scintillations of gold and silver. 
 
 Indeed at this period there was not a workman, not 
 a man of the people, — we had almost said, not a trades- 
 man, — to republicanize this illustrious association. 
 
 For fellows of the inferior class there was another hall, 
 below this one, which was opened at another hour, so that 
 the aristocracj' and common folks need not jostle each 
 other. 
 
 For the instruction of the people they had established a 
 Fraternal Society, whose members undertook to explicate 
 the Constitution and post themselves as to the Eights of 
 Humanity. 
 
 As for the Jacobin Society, as has been said, it was at 
 this time a military, aristocratic, intellectual, and — above 
 all — a literary and artistic organization ; for, indeed, 
 artists and men of letters were in its majority. 
 
 Among literary men there were La Harpe, author of 
 " Melanie ; " Chenier, author of " Charles the Ninth ; " 
 Andrieux, author of "Les Etourdis," who already, at the 
 age of thirty, gave the same promise as at sixty-six, and 
 who " died without the sight," always promising great 
 things, but never achieving them. There was also Sedaine, 
 the old gem-cutter, protected by the Queen, and therefore 
 a Eoyalist at heart, as were most of those present. There 
 
296 LA COMTESSi; DE CHARNY. 
 
 was Chamfort, the poet laureate, ex-secretary to the Prince 
 de Conde, and reader to Madame EHzabeth. There was 
 Laclos, a man attached to the interests of Orleans, the 
 author of " Dangerous Liaisons," — a man who stood in 
 his patron's place, and whose mission was either to call 
 the Duke to the remembrance of his friends, or to let him 
 be forgotten by his enemies, according to circumstances. 
 
 Among artists, there was Talma, who had just inaugu- 
 rated a theatric revolution, in the Roman part of Titus. 
 Thanks to him, the actors and people were cutting their 
 hair, while waiting for his colleague, Collot d'Herbois, to 
 cut off their heads. There was David, who dreamed of 
 painting Leonidas and The Sabines, who was outlining 
 his great canvas of The Oath in the Tennis Court, and 
 who, perchance, had already bought the pencils with 
 which he drew his grandest and most hideous picture, 
 Marat Assassinated in his Bath. 
 
 There was Vernet, who had been admitted to the 
 Academy two years before, on account of a great pic- 
 ture, and amused himself by painting horses and dogs. 
 He did not suspect that four paces away from him, in 
 that gathering, on the arm of Talma, was a young Corsi- 
 can lieutenant, with smooth hair and no powder, for 
 whom, unknown to himself, Vernet was one day to pre- 
 pare five out of his six finest pictures : Napoleon Crossing 
 the Alps, and the battles of Eivoli, Marengo, Austerlitz, 
 and Wagram. There was Larive, the surviving represen- 
 tative of the declamatory school of the drama, who did 
 not deign to recognize a rival in young Talma, but pre- 
 ferred Voltaire to Corneille, and Belloy to Racine. There 
 was Lais the singer, who was the pearl of the opera in 
 such r61es as the Merchant, in " The Caravan," the Con- 
 sul, in "Trajan," and Cinna, in " The Vestal." There were 
 Lafayette, Lameth, Duport, Sieyes, Thouret, Cha.pellier, 
 
THE JACOBIN CLUB. 297 
 
 Rabaut Saint Etienne, Lanjuinais, Montlosier. lu the midst 
 of everything, with his aggravating mien and nose in the 
 air, was the cheeky face of Barnave, the Deputy from 
 Grenoble, whom shallow adherents put forward as a rival 
 of Mirabeau, but whom Mirabeau flattened out whenever 
 he condescended to put his foot ou him. 
 
 Gilbert took a long look over the brilliant gathering, 
 recognizing almost everybody, and mentally appreciating 
 their diverse capabilities, which did little to inspire him 
 with hope, although the Royalist character of the assem- 
 blage comforted him somewhat. 
 
 "To sum it all np," said he suddenly to Cagliostro, 
 " what man do you see among all these, who is really 
 hostile to the monarchy ] " 
 
 " Must I look with the eyes of the world in general, 
 with those of Necker or Abbe Maury, with yours or with 
 my own 1 " 
 
 " With yours, of course," replied Gilbert. " Is it not 
 understood that yours are the eyes of a magician 1 " 
 
 " Well, there are two." 
 
 " Well, that 's not many, out of four hundred." 
 
 " It is enough ; for one of these men is to be the 
 murderer and the other the kingly successor of Louis 
 Sixteenth." 
 
 Gilbert started and murmured : " So we have here our 
 future Brutus and our future Caesar." 
 
 " Neither more nor less, my dear Doctor." 
 
 "You will let me see them, will you not?" said Gil- 
 bert, with a sceptical smile on his lips. 
 
 " Oh, thou apostle of the scale-covered eyes ! " mur- 
 mured Cagliostro. "I can do better, if thou wilt. I will 
 let thee clasp their hands. With which shall I begin] " 
 
 " With the subverter, I think. I have respect for 
 chronological order, so let us first see Brutus." 
 
298 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 "Thou knowest," said Cagliostro, as if suddenly ani- 
 mated by a breeze of inspiration, " thou knowest that 
 different men never proceed by the same methods, even 
 to accomplish a kindred purpose. Our Brutus does not 
 in any way resemble the ancient Brutus." 
 
 " All the more reason why I am curious to see him." 
 
 " Well, look there ! " said Cagliostro, extending his 
 hand in the direction of a man leaning against the old 
 pulpit. His head was just then in the light, though the 
 rest of his body was lost in the shadow. 
 
 His pale and livid face resembled a severed head, such 
 as in ancient times of proscription they used to nail upon 
 the rostrum during a speech. The eyes alone seemed to 
 be alive, with an expression of hatred almost contemp- 
 tuous, — like the expression of a viper, who knows that 
 his tooth contains mortal venom, — as they followed the 
 blatant and verbose Barnave in his various evolutions 
 about the place. 
 
 Gilbert felt a shudder run throughout his body as he 
 looked at this viperous face. " It is true, as you said 
 beforehand, that is neither the head of a Brutus nor a 
 Cromwell." 
 
 " Xo," said Cagliostro, " but perhaps it is the head of 
 a Cassius. You know, my dear fellow, what Julius Cffisar 
 said : ' I have no fear of gross men, who pass their days 
 at table and their nights in dissipation ; no, but I fear 
 the dreamers, with meagre bodies and pale faces.' " 
 
 Gilbert recalled Shakespeare's lines : 
 
 Let me have men about me that are fat, 
 Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep o' nights. 
 Yond Cassius hath a lean and hungry look ! 
 He thinks too much ; suoli men are dangerous. 
 He loves no plays ; he hears no music ; 
 Seldom he smiles. 
 
THE JACOBIN CLUB. 299 
 
 " Tlie man whom you designate certainly fulfils the 
 conditions prescribed by Cresar." 
 
 "Don't you know himT' asked Cagliostro. 
 
 "Well, yes," said Gilbert, gazing at the man atten- 
 tively, " I do know him, or rather I recognize him as a 
 member of the National Assembly." 
 
 " Even so ! " 
 
 " One of the most tedious orators on the left." 
 
 " Just so ! " 
 
 " Whom nobody listens to when he speaks." 
 
 "Exactly." 
 
 " A petty lawyer from Arras, is he not, whom they call 
 Maximilian de Robespierre.'' 
 
 " Precisely ! Now look attentively at that head ! " 
 
 " I am looking at it." 
 
 " What do you see 1 " 
 
 " I am no Lavater, Count." 
 
 "Xo, but you are one of his disciples." 
 
 " I see an expression of the spite felt by mediocrity 
 towards genius." 
 
 " That is to say, you judge like all the rest of the 
 •world. It is true his voice is feeble, a little sharp per- 
 haps. His face is sunken and sad. The skin on his 
 forehead seems to be bound tight about his cranium, 
 like stiff and yellow parchment. His glassy eye only 
 emits a greenish flame, which he quickly extinguishes. 
 His careworn physiognomy is tiresome by its very immo- 
 bility ; his invariable olive-green coat is odd, threadbare, 
 and too well brushed. Yes, I understand how all these 
 peculiarities make but small impression in our Assem- 
 bly, rich in orators, which has a right to be critical, 
 accustomed as it is to the lionlike face of Mirabeau, the 
 self-sufficient impudence of Barnave, the cutting repartee 
 of Abbe Maury, the fervor of Cazales, the logic of Sieyfes ; 
 
300 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 but as for this man, they cannot reproach him with im- 
 morality, as they do Mirabeau, for he is an upright man. 
 He never forgets his principles ; and if he sometimes 
 oversteps the bounds of legality, it is that he may kill 
 the old text with the new law, and put the letter below 
 the spirit." 
 
 " But after all," asked Gilbert, " who is this man 
 Eobespierre t " 
 
 " Ah, art thou here, thou aristocrat of the century ? It 
 was the Earl of Strafford, who asked a similar question 
 concerning the man who was afterwards to decapitate 
 his Lordship, ' Who is this Cromwell ? A beer-seller, 
 isn't heV" 
 
 "Do you mean to say that my head runs the same 
 risk as Sir Thomas Wentworth's t " asked Gilbert, trying 
 to emit a smile, which froze on his lips. 
 
 " Who knows 1 " replied Cagliostro. 
 
 " All the more reason for me to be well posted about 
 him,'' said the Doctor. 
 
 " Who is Robespierre 1 Well, nobody in France knows 
 him, except myself ; but I always mean to know whence 
 come the elect ones of Fate, and all about them, for this 
 knowledge helps me to divine whither they will go. — The 
 Robespierres are Irish by descent. Perhaps their ances- 
 tors formed part of the Irish colonists who, in the Sixteenth 
 Century, came over to fill up the monasteries and semina- 
 ries of our northern coasts, where they received from the 
 Jesuits that thorough education in scholastic quibbling 
 which those Reverend Fathers always gave their pupils. 
 The Robespierres were notaries, from father to son. One 
 branch of the family, from which this man descends, es- 
 tablished itself at Arras, a great centre, as you know, for 
 both nobles and chui'chmen. In this old city were two 
 lords, or rather two kings. One was the Abbe of Saint 
 
THE JACOBIN CLUB. 301 
 
 Wast ; the other was the Bishop of Arras, whose palace 
 shadows half the city. It was in that city that our man 
 was born, in 1758. What he did as a boy, what he did 
 as a youth, what he is doing to-day, I will tell you in two 
 words. What he will do hereafter I have already told you, 
 in one word. There were four children in the house. 
 The head of the family lost his wife. He was an attorney 
 at the bar of the Department of Artois ; but he fell into 
 a melancholy mood, ceased to plead in court, and finally 
 went on a recuperative voyage, from whicli he never re- 
 turned. At the age of eleven the eldest child, this one, 
 found himself the head of the family, the guardian of his 
 brother and two sisters, — a singular duty at such an age ! 
 The boy understood his task, and it at once made a man 
 of him. In twenty-four hours he became what he still re- 
 mains, — with a face which seldom smiles, a heart which 
 never laughs. He was the best scholar in the school. 
 They obtained for him, through the Abb6 of Saint Wast, 
 one of those scholarships which the Abbe had at his 
 disposal in the College Louis le Grand. He came to 
 Paris, recommended to a canon of Notre Dame Cathedral ; 
 but during that year this good priest died, and, almost at 
 the same time, the boy's youngest and best-loved sister 
 died at Arras. The shadow of the Jesuits, who have since 
 been expelled from France, at that period threw its gloom 
 over the walls of Louis le Grand. You know this edifice, 
 where your young Sebastien is now growing up. Its corri- 
 dors, deep and dark as those of the Bastille, would draw 
 the color from the freshest cheeks. Young Robespierre's 
 cheek was already pale, and now it became livid. Other 
 boys went out sometimes. For them the year had Sun- 
 days and holidays ; but for this orphan bursar, without a 
 protector, all days were alike. When the others breathed 
 the air of their families and homes, he breathed only the 
 
302 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 atmosphere of solitude, sorrow, and weariness, — three 
 pernicious blasts, which kindle envy and malice in the 
 heart, and rob the soul of its bloom. This simoon with- 
 ered the child, and made of him a faded young man. 
 Some day nobody will believe that there was ever a por- 
 trait of him, at the age of twenty-four, holding a rose in 
 one hand, and pressing the other to his breast, with this 
 motto : All for my sweetheart /" 
 
 Gilbert smiled sadly, as he continued to gaze upon 
 Robespierre. 
 
 " It is true,'' resumed Cagliostro, " that when he adopted 
 this device, and had himself painted in this attitude, a cer- 
 tain young girl swore that nothing should part their des- 
 tinies. He swore likewise, and was a man to keep his 
 oath. He went away for three months, and on his return, 
 found her married. Meanwhile the Abbe of Saint Wast 
 remained his protector, having found for the younger 
 brother a scholarship in College Louis le Grand, and 
 having procured for our hero a position as Judge in the 
 Criminal Tribunal. There came a case to be tried, an 
 assassin to punish. Full of remorsfe over this discharge 
 of duty, he let the third culprit escape with his life, al- 
 though the man was proved guilty. He then resigned 
 his office, and became an advocate, but could not earn 
 enough for himself and the support of his little sister ; 
 but fortunately their brother, though poorly fed at the 
 College Louis le Grand, still had a home there. Hardly 
 had our man put his name on the list of advocates in 
 Artois, when the peasantry begged him to plead their 
 cause in some suit against the Bishop of Arras. They 
 were in the right, as Eobespierre was convinced by an 
 examination of the evidence, and so he pleaded their 
 cause, and won the case for the peasantry ; and in the 
 flush of his success he was elected to the jS'ational Assem- 
 
THE JACOBIN CLUB. 303 
 
 bly. In this Assembly he found himself between the 
 two fires of malice and contempt : malice, on the pai-t 
 of the clergy, towards a fellow who had dared to argue 
 against them, — contempt, on the part of the nobility of 
 Artois, for a pettifogger reared by charity." 
 
 " But," interrupted Gilbert, " what has he done up to 
 the present time'! " 
 
 " Oh my God, — almost nothing in other people's 
 opinions, but plenty in mine. If it did not suit my 
 views to have him poor, I would give him a million 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " But, once more I ask, what has he done ^ " 
 
 " You remember the day when the clergy came hypo- 
 critically to the Assembly, to beg the Third Estate, kept 
 in suspense by the royal veto, to begin their labors'?" 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
 " Well, read over again the speech which he made 
 that day, and see if there is not a career for such acrid 
 vehemence, which was almost eloquence." 
 
 "But since then]" 
 
 "Since then? Well, we are obhged to jump from 
 May to October. On the fifth of that month, when 
 Maillard, delegated by the women of Paris, came to 
 harangue the Assembly, in behalf of his constituents, 
 all the members sat mute and motionless in their places ; 
 but this little lawyer not only proved himself sharper 
 but more audacious than anybody else. All the pro- 
 fessed defenders of the people held their tongues, but 
 he took the floor. The time before, he had spoken in 
 the midst of a tumult ; but the second time, amidst 
 profound silence. He supported Maillard, who pleaded 
 on account of the famine, and demanded bread." 
 
 "Yes indeed," said Gilbert, thoughtfully, "this be- 
 comes graver; but perhaps he will change." 
 
304 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 " Oh my dear Doctor, you do cot understand this 
 Incorruptible, as they now call him. Besides, who would 
 try to bribe a little pettifogger, whom everybody laughs 
 at 1 Hereafter that man — mark what I tell you 1 — 
 will be the terror of the Assembly, as he is now its 
 laughing-stock. It is understood among the noble Ja- 
 cobins that Robespierre is the clown of the Assembly, 
 who amuses them, and ought to amuse the public, — a 
 man whom everybody can and should make game of. 
 When the members get aweary in their long meetings, 
 they need some gawk to cheer them up. In the eyes of 
 Lameth, Cazales, Maury, Barnave, Duport, this Robes- 
 pierre is such a jester. His associates betray him by 
 laughing in their sleeves ; his enemies hoot and laugh 
 aloud. When he speaks, everybody chatters. When he 
 raises his voice, everybody shouts. When he makes a 
 speech, — always on the right side, and in defence of 
 some principle, — a speech to which nobody listens, some 
 insignificant member, on whom the Speaker fixes his eye, 
 ironically demands that the address be printed. Only 
 one of his fellow-members at all understands him, — 
 one only ! Can you guess who 1 Mirabeau, who yes- 
 terday said to me : ' That man will go far, because he 
 believes what he says ; ' — a singular thing for Mirabeau 
 to say, as you can well understand." 
 
 " But," said Gilbert, " I have read this man's speeches, 
 and I have found them insipid and commonplace." 
 
 " Good gracious, I did n't tell you he was a Cicero or 
 a Demosthenes, a Mirabeau or a Barnave ! No ! He is 
 the simpleton Monsieur de Robespierre, as they affect to 
 call him. Besides, his speeches are treated in the same 
 style by the printers as by the Assembly. On the tri- 
 bune they interrupt him. At the printing-house they 
 mutilate him. The journalists do not even call him 
 
THE JACOBIN CLUB. 305 
 
 Monsieur de Eobespierre. The reporters do not even 
 know his name. They call him Monsieur B., Monsieur 
 
 N., or Monsieur . God alone, and perhaps myself, 
 
 knows what an amount of gall is massed in that thin 
 breast, what tempests lodged in that narrow brain ; be- 
 cause he has neither the distractions of society, nor the 
 soface of family life, to make the hissed orator forget all 
 these insults and injuries, this treachery, — against a 
 man, moreover, who is conscious of his own abilitj', and 
 feels the sting. In his gloomy apartment in the gloomy 
 district of ?*Iarais, in a poor, cold, unfurnished lodging on 
 the Rue Saintonge, — where he lives parsimoniously on his 
 salary as Deputy, — he is as much alone as he was in the 
 damp corridors of College Louis le Grand. Even up to 
 last year his face was young and mild ; but you can see 
 that within a year his face has withered, dried up, like 
 the heads of those Caribbean chiefs, which such men as 
 Captain Cook and La Perouse brought from Oceanica. 
 He never leaves the Jacobin Club ; and apart from the 
 emotions with which he suffers, unseen by others, he has 
 suffered two or three times with hemorrhages, which left 
 him insensible. You are a great mathematician, Gilbert, 
 but I defy you, even with the most extended multipli- 
 cations, to calculate the amount of blood which it will 
 cost the aristocrats who insult this man, the priests who 
 persecute him, and even the King who never heard of 
 him, — blood which Eobespierre will shed." 
 
 "But why does he come to the Jacobin meetings'!" 
 " Ah, that 's it ! Hooted in the Assembly, he is heard 
 at the Club. This Society, my dear Doctor, is an infant 
 Minotaur. It begins with a cow, but -later it may devour 
 a nation. Well, Robespierre is a type of the Jacobins. 
 The association is summed up in him, and he is the ex- 
 pression of the association, — nothing more, nothing less. 
 
 VOL. I. — 20 
 
306 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 He will keep equal step with the Jacobins, going neither 
 behind them nor ahead of them. I promised, did I not, 
 to let you see an instrument, with which its inventor is 
 just now busy, which has for its object the removal of one 
 or two heads a minuted Well, of all the personages here 
 present, the one who will give the most employment to 
 that instrument of death is Robespierre." 
 
 " Truly, you are funereal, Count," said Gilbert ; " and if 
 your Caesar gives me no more comfort than your Brutus, 
 I shall be quite capable of forgetting the occasion which 
 brought me here. Pardon me, but what has become of 
 our Caesar 1 " 
 
 " Hold, you may see him down there. He is chatting 
 with a man with whom he is not yet acquainted, but who 
 later will have a great influence over his destiny. That 
 man's name is Barras. Remember the name, for you 
 will hear it again in due time." 
 
 "I do not know if you are correct, Count," said Gil- 
 bert, " but in this case you have chosen your illustration 
 well. Your Caesar has the veritable forehead for a crown ; 
 and his eyes, whose expression I do not quite catch — " 
 
 " Yes, because he is looking inward. Those are eyes 
 which read the future, Doctor." 
 
 " What is he saying to Barras 1 " 
 
 " He tells him that if he himself had defended the 
 Bastille, it would not have been taken." 
 
 " Then he is not a Patriot t " 
 
 " Men like him never care to he anything, unless they 
 can be first and foremost." 
 
 " Then you are jesting at the expense of that little 
 sub-lieutenant 1 " 
 
 " Gilbert," said Cagliostro, pointing again towards 
 Robespierre, " as sure as that man there will rebuild the 
 scaffold of Charles the First, so surely will that other 
 
THE JACOBIN CLUB. 307 
 
 man there," pointing to the Corsican with the smooth 
 hair, " reconstruct the throne of Charlemagne.'' 
 
 "Then our struggle for liberty will be futile," said 
 Gilbert, discouraged. 
 
 " And who saj's that the one will not do as much for 
 liberty with his throne, as the other with his scaffold 1 " 
 
 " The lieutenant will tlien be a Titus, a Marcus Aure- 
 lius, a god of peace, coming to console the world in an 
 age of bronze 1 " 
 
 " He will be at the same time an Alexander and a 
 Hannibal. Born in the midst of war, he will wax great 
 by war, and by war he will wane. I defied you to cal- 
 culate the blood which it will cost the clergy and nobil- 
 ity of France, which Robespierre will demand. Take all 
 the blood which is shed by these priests and nobles, en- 
 large it by multiplication upon multiplication, and you 
 will not then reach the river, the lake, the sea of blood 
 which that man will pour out, with his armies of five 
 hundred thousand soldiers, and his battles three days 
 long, which will demand fifty thousand cannon-shots." 
 
 " And what will come of all this noise, this smoke, this 
 chaos ] " 
 
 " The result of every Genesis ! We are intrusted with 
 the duty of burying the old world. Our children will see 
 the birth of a brave new world. This lieutenant is the 
 giant who will guard the door. Like Louis Fourteenth, 
 like Leo Tenth, like Augustus, he will give his name to 
 the century now opening." 
 
 "And what is his name?" asked Gilbert, fairly con- 
 quered by Cagliostro's positive conviction. 
 
 " He still calls himself Bonaparte," replied the prophet, 
 " but some day he will call himself Napoleon." 
 
 Gilbert bowed his head, and fell into a revery so pro- 
 found that he did not perceive, being absorbed by the 
 
308 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 tenor of his thoughts, that the meeting was opened, and 
 that an orator had ascended the rostrum. 
 
 An hour passed away, but neither the noise of the as- 
 semblage nor of its officers, for the meeting was a stormy 
 one, could draw Gilbert away from his meditations, 
 till he felt a powerful hand clasp and rest upon his 
 shoulder. 
 
 He turned. Cagliostro had disappeared, but in liis 
 place he found Mirabeau, his face thunderous with anger. 
 Gilbert looked at him questioningly. 
 
 " Well ! " said Mirabeau. 
 
 " What is it 1 " asked Gilbert. 
 
 " It means -that we are cajoled, ntiocked, betrayed. It 
 means that the Crown will have none of me, and takes 
 you for a dupe and me for a fool." 
 
 " I do not understand you ! " 
 
 " You have not been listening, then?" 
 
 " To what 1 " 
 
 "The resolution which was just passed." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 " Here ! " 
 
 " What resolution 1 " 
 
 " You must have been asleep ! " 
 
 " No," said Gilbert, " but I have been dreaming." 
 
 " Well, to-morrow, in response to my motion of to-day, 
 which proposes that the cabinet ministers be invited to 
 assist in the deliberations of the National Assembly, three 
 friends of the King are going to demand that no member 
 of the Assembly shall be a minister during its term. 
 Therefore the ministerial combination, so carefully ar- 
 ranged, is broken up by the capricious whistle of his 
 Majesty Louis the Sixteenth ; but," continued Mirabeau, 
 standing like Ajax, with his finger pointed towards the 
 sky, " but, as surely as my name is Mirabeau, I '11 pay 
 
THE JACOBIN CLUB. 309 
 
 him back ; and if his whistle can overturn a ministry, 
 he '11 find out that mine will upset a throne ! " 
 
 "But," said Gilbert, "you will not stay away from the 
 Assembly on this account"! You will still fight it out to 
 the end "i " 
 
 " I go to the Assembly 1 I fight it out ? I am one of 
 those men who are only to be buried under the ruins." 
 
 Half-distracted, jSIirabeau went away, more grand and 
 more terrible, for the deific frown imprinted on his face. 
 
 The next day indeed, on the motion of Lanjuinais, and 
 in spite of the superhuman genius displayed by Mirabeau, 
 the National Assembly adopted the obnoxious resolution 
 by an immense majority, that no member of the Assem- 
 bly should be appointed cabinet-minister during the term 
 of the Assembly. 
 
 " And I," cried Mirabeau, when the decree was voted, 
 " I propose an amendment which will not alter your law. 
 Here it is ! — that all the members of the present Assem- 
 bly may be cabinet-ministers, except Monsieur le Comte 
 de Mirabeau." 
 
 Every one looked stunned by this audacity. In the 
 midst of a universal silence Mirabeau descended from 
 the platform, with the same proud step with which he 
 had once marched up to Dreux Brt^z^, and said to him : 
 " We are here by the will of the people ; we will only go 
 out with bayonets in our bellies." 
 
 Then he left the hall. Mirabeau 's defeat was like 
 another man's triumph. 
 
 Gilbert did not even come to the Assembly. He re- 
 mained at home, and reviewed the strange predictions of 
 Cagliostro. Without believing them, he could not drive 
 them out of his mind. The present seemed to him very 
 small, when compared with the future. 
 
 Perhaps some one may ask how, as simply the historian 
 
310 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNT. 
 
 of a time already past, iemporis acti, I can explain Cagli- 
 ostro's predictions about Eobespierre and Napoleon. 
 
 I ask of those who so question me, to explain the 
 prediction of Mademoiselle Lenormand to the Empress 
 Josephine. 
 
 At every step in the world we meet something inexpli- 
 cable. It is for tliose who cannot explain these marvels, 
 and yet do not wish to believe them, that scepticism has 
 been invented. 
 
METZ AND PARIS. 311 
 
 CHAPTEE XXX. 
 
 METZ AND PARIS. 
 
 As Cagliostro had declared, and as Mirabeau had sur- 
 mised, it was the King who had overturned all Gilbert's 
 , projects. 
 
 In the overtures to Mirabeau, Marie Antoinette had 
 acted with passionate spite and womanly curiosity, rather 
 than queenly policy, and therefore she saw without re- 
 gret the downfall of the scaffolding of a Constitutional 
 Government, which had always keenly wounded her pi-ide. 
 
 As to the King, his policy was always limited to pro- 
 crastination, gaining time, and profiting by circumstances. 
 Moreover, two negotiations were pending in opposite 
 directions, each offering the opportunity of flight from 
 Paris, and one looking to his residence in some well- 
 fortified place, — his favorite plan. 
 
 Of these two negotiations, as we know, one was engi- 
 neered by Favras, a gentleman in the interest of Monsieur 
 de Provence. The other was in the hands of Charny, the 
 special messenger of King Louis. 
 
 Charny made the journey from Paris to Metz in two 
 days. He waited upon Commander Bouill6 at Metz, and 
 delivered the King's missive. This letter, it will be re- 
 membered, was only to be the means of putting Charny 
 into communication with Bouille ; so the Commander, 
 although not concealing his dissatisfaction with current 
 affairs, began by maintaining great reserve towards his 
 visitor. 
 
312 LA COMTESSE DE CHAKNY. 
 
 In fact, the suggestions made by Charny to Bouille 
 interfered seriously with the plans of the Commander. 
 The Empress Catherine had offered him a command ; and 
 he was on the point of writing td the King, asking leave 
 to accept a Russian commission, when this letter from 
 Louis Sixteenth made its appearance. 
 
 Bouille's first impulse, therefore, was one of hesitation ; 
 but the name of Charny brought to remembrance the 
 Count's relationship with Monsieur de Suffren, and the 
 common rumor that the Queen honored Charny with her 
 entire confidence ; and as Bouille was a faithful Eoyalist, 
 he felt himself permeated with a desire to snatch the 
 King from that factitious freedom which many regarded 
 as real captivity. 
 
 Before coming to any understanding with Charny, 
 however, Bouille suggested that his authority was not 
 sufficieiicly extended, and determined upon sending his 
 son Louis de Bouille to Paris, for a personal inter- 
 view with his Majesty on this important subject. 
 
 Charny remained in Metz during their negotiations, 
 partly because nothing personal recalled him to Paris, 
 and partly from a somewhat exaggerated sense of honor, 
 which made him feel it his duty to stay in Metz as a sort 
 of hostage. 
 
 Count Louis arrived in Paris in the middle of No- 
 vember. At this period the King was carefully guarded 
 from sight by Lafayette, and young Bouille was a cousin 
 to Lafayette. 
 
 The young man stayed at the residence of one of his 
 friends, whose patriotic opinions were well known, but 
 who was then travelling in England. 
 
 For Count Louis to visit the palace without the knowl- 
 edge of Lafayette, was dangerous and difficult, if not 
 impossible. 
 
• METZ AND PARIS. 313 
 
 From one point of view, although Lafayette was to be 
 kept in complete ignorance of the entanglements be- 
 tween Charny, Commander Bouille, and the King, nothing 
 seemed simpler than for the young man to procure hia 
 presentation to the King by Lafayette himself; and 
 circumstances seemed of their own accord to favor the 
 desires of the young officer. 
 
 He had been three days in Paris, having as yet de- 
 cided upon nothing definite, but pondering by what 
 means he could come near the King, and asking himself, 
 as we have just said, if the surest way would not be to 
 speak to Lafayette himself; when there came a letter from 
 the General, informing Louis that his arrival in Paris was 
 known, and inviting him to come to the headquarters 
 of the National Guard, at the Noailles Mansion. 
 
 This was in a certain way the answer of Providence, 
 from on high, to the prayer which the young man had 
 silently sent upward. Here was a good fairy, such aa 
 we read of in the charming stories of Perrault, taking 
 our knight by the hand, and leading him towards his 
 destination. 
 
 He therefore at once reported himself at the staff- 
 oflSoe. The General had gone to the Hotel de Ville, 
 where he was to receive a communication from Bailly ; 
 but in the absence of the General, Louis encountered his 
 aide-de-camp. Monsieur Eomeuf. 
 
 Romeuf had served in the same regiment with the 
 young Count, and there were pleasant relations between 
 them, albeit one belonged to the democratic and the 
 other to the aristocratic party. Since then Romeuf liad 
 been transferred to another regiment, one of those which 
 were mustered out of service after the Fourteenth of July ; 
 and he then resumed service in the National Guard, 
 where he held the position of favorite aide to Lafayette. 
 
314 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 These two young men, although wholly differing in 
 opinion on certain subjects, agreed in this, that hoth 
 loved and respected the King ; although one lo'ved him in 
 Patriotic fashion, — on condition that he would swear to 
 and abide hy the Constitution ; while the other loved him 
 after the Aristocratic fashion, — on condition that he 
 should refuse the Constitutional oath, and, if necessary, 
 call in foreign arms, to bring the rebels to terms. 
 
 By rebels young Bouille meant three-quarters of the 
 Assemblj', the National Guard, the electors, and so on, — 
 five-sixths of all France. 
 
 Romeuf being twenty-six years old, and Count Louis 
 twenty-two, it was rather difficult for the young fellows 
 to long confine their conversation to politics, — especially 
 as Louis did not wish his comrade to suspect him of being 
 engaged in any serious scheme. 
 
 He confided to his friend Eomeuf, as a great secret, 
 that he had left Metz without formal permission, in order 
 to visit Paris and see a woman whom he adored. 
 
 While he was imparting this confidence to the aide, 
 Lafayette appeared on the threshold of the door, which 
 remained open ; but although Louis could see the un- 
 expected arrival reflected in the mirror facing them both, 
 he nevertheless continued his narrative ; only, in spite of 
 various signs from Romeuf, which he pretended not to 
 understand, he raised his voice in such a way that the 
 General could not miss a solitary word. In fact the 
 General heard everything, which was precisely what young 
 Louis intended. 
 
 Lafaj'ette walked slowly towards the speaker's back ; 
 and when the story was finished, he laid his hand on the 
 narrator's shoulder, and said to him : " Ah ha, Monsieur 
 Lover, that is why you keep out of the way of your 
 respectable kinsfolk ! " 
 
METZ AND PARIS. 315 
 
 He was no severe judge, this gay General of thirty-two 
 years, this mild-frowning mentor, — himself ' quite the 
 rage among women of fashion, — and Count Louis was 
 not greatly disturbed by the homily which awaited 
 him. 
 
 " I have concealed myself a little, my dear cousin, un- 
 til to-day, when I should have done myself the honor to 
 call upon the most illustrious of my kindred, even if he 
 had not forestalled my intention by this message ; " and 
 he showed the General the letter just received. 
 
 " Do you country gentlemen suppose the Parisian 
 police are so blind and so badly managed 1 " said the 
 General, with an air of satisfaction which proved that 
 a certain amount of self-esteem entered into his reliance 
 upon the police. 
 
 " We know that nothing is concealed from the brave 
 General who watches over the liberties of the people and 
 the safety of the King." 
 
 Lafayette looked sidewise at his young cousin, with 
 that air of good-nature, humorous and somewhat jocose, 
 which we have before seen in him. He knew that the 
 safety of the King was very important to that branch of 
 the family, but that they did not concern themselves 
 much about the liberties of the people. 
 
 He therefore responded to only half of the compliment. 
 " And my cousin, the Marquis de Bouille," he said, em- 
 phasizing a title which he had renounced for himself since 
 the Fourth of August, " has he not charged his son with 
 some commission for the King whose welfare I guard t " 
 
 " He charged me to place at his feet his homage and 
 sentiments of respect, if General Lafayette should not 
 judge me unworthy of a presentation to my sovereign." 
 
 " Present you, — and when 1 " 
 
 " As soon as possible. General. I believe I have had 
 
316 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 the honor of telling you, or Eomeuf, that being here 
 without furlough — " 
 
 " You told Eomeuf, but it comes to the same thing, as 
 I heard"it all. Very well, let us see, — good things ought 
 not to be retarded. It is eleven o'clock in the forenoon. 
 Every day, at noon, I have the honor of seeing the King 
 and Queen. Eat a morsel with me, if you have not 
 already breakfasted, and I will take you to the Tuileries." 
 
 "But am I properly dressed, my dear cousin'!" asked 
 the young fellow, glancing over his uniform and his 
 boots. 
 
 " First of all I must tell you, dear boy, that the great 
 business of etiquette, which you imbibed with your 
 mother's milk, has been sick unto death since your de- 
 parture from town. Besides, as I look you over, your 
 coat is irreproachable, your boots are all right ; and what 
 costume is more appropriate than a military uniform, for 
 a gentleman who is ready to die for his King '! Eomeuf, 
 go and see if breakfast is ready. I will take my cousin 
 to the Tuileries immediately afterwards." 
 
 This plan corresponded so directly with the young 
 man's wishes that he could make no serious objection ; 
 so he bowed in token of his assent and obligation. 
 
 A half-hour afterwards the sentinels at the gates pre- 
 sented arms to General Lafayette and the young Count, 
 with no suspicion that they were paying military honors 
 at the same time to the Eevolution and the Counter- 
 Eevolution. 
 
THE QUEEN. 317 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXI. 
 
 THE QUEEN. 
 
 Lafayette and Louis de Bouille ascended the smaller 
 staircase iu the Marsan Pavilion, and hetook themselves 
 to the main (or second) floor, which their Majesties 
 occupied. 
 
 All doors opened before Lafayette. Sentinels pre- 
 sented arms and footmen bowed low, easily recognizing 
 him as master of the palace, and as the King's king. 
 
 Lafayette was first admitted into the Queen's apart- 
 ments. As for the King, he was at his forge, and some 
 one was sent to inform his Majesty. 
 
 It was three years since young Bouille had seen Marie 
 Antoinette. 
 
 During these three years the States General had been 
 convened, the Bastille had been captured, and the sad oc- 
 currences of the Fifth and Sixth October had intervened. 
 
 The Queen had reached the age of thirty-four, the 
 touching and attractive age, as Michelet expresses it, 
 which Vandyck so liked to paint,. — the age of wifehood 
 and motherhood, — and, in the case of Marie Antoinette, 
 the queenly age. 
 
 Within those three years the Queen had suffered in 
 mind and heart, in love and self-esteem. Her thirty-four 
 years were written on the poor lady's cheeks in lines of 
 purple and violet, which told their story of tear-filled 
 eyes and sleepless nights, which testified the deep 
 malady of the womanly heart, which is never entirely 
 
318 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 healed, be she queen or commoner, till it is utterly 
 extinguished. 
 
 This was the age at -which Mary Stuart, even as a 
 prisoner, inspired Douglas, Mortimer, Norfolk, and Bab- 
 ington with a passion so strong that they devoted them- 
 selves to death for her sake. 
 
 The sight of this Queen, imprisoned, hated, calumni- 
 ated, threatened, — and the events of the Fifth October 
 proved these menaces to be no idle threats, — made a 
 profound impression on the heart of the chivalrous young 
 Louis de Bouille. 
 
 Women never err as to the effect they produce, and as 
 kings and queens have a peculiar memory for faces, — 
 which in a certain sense is part of their education, — 
 Marie Antoinette hardly perceived the young man before 
 she recognized him, and had scarcely looked into his 
 eyes before she felt positive that this was the face of a 
 loving friend. 
 
 The consequence was that before the General had time 
 to make the presentation, before they even reached the 
 foot of the lounge whereon the Queen was reclining, she 
 raised herself, as one naturally does for an old acquaint- 
 ance, whom it is pleasant to meet again, or a follower, on 
 whose fidelity one may depend, and cried : " Ah, Monsieur 
 de Bouille ! " 
 
 Without paying any attention to Lafayette's words, 
 she extended her hand to the young man. Louis hesi- 
 tated an instant, for he had not anticipated she would 
 grant him such a favor ; but as the royal hand remained 
 extended, he threw himself on his knees, and touched 
 that hand with tremulous lips. 
 
 This was one of the Queen's blunders, and she made 
 many like unto it. Without this favor young Bouille 
 would have been equallj' won to her side ; and by such a 
 
THE QUEEN. 319 
 
 favor, accorded to his cousin in presence of Lafayette 
 himself, — to whom she had never extended such a cour- 
 tesy, — she set up a line of demarcation between them, 
 and offended the man whom she most needed to make her 
 friend. 
 
 AVith that courtesy which he was incapable of forget- 
 ting for an instant, but not without a perceptible altera- 
 tion in his voice, he s.aid : " On my faith, dear Cousin 
 Louis, I was expected to present you to her Majesty, but 
 it seems to me as \i you should the rather present me." 
 
 The Queen was so rejoiced to find herself face to face 
 with an adherent whom she could trust, — the wom:tu 
 was so proud of the eifect she had evidently wrought 
 upon the Count, — that she was conscious, in her heart, 
 of the renewed glory of a youth she had believed forever 
 vanished, and felt the spring breezes of a love which she- 
 had supposed forever dead. In this mood she turned to 
 the General, with such a smile as she used to wear at 
 Versailles and the Trianon, and said : " Dear General, 
 the Count is no such stern Republican as yourself. He 
 comes from Metz, not from America. He does not seek 
 Paris in order to labor over the Constitution ; he comes 
 but to offer me his homage. Be not surprised when I 
 accord to him — I, a poor queen, half dethroned — a 
 courtesy which, to a simple provincial like himself, may 
 seem worth being called a favor ; but which to you, inas- 
 much — "and the Queen supplied the missing words 
 with a coy expression of charming raillery, like the co- 
 quetry of a young girl, as if she would say : " Inasmuch 
 as you, Monsieur Soipio, you, Monsieur Cincinnatus, look 
 down upon such frivolities — " 
 
 "Madame," replied Lafayette, "I have ever adhered 
 respectfully and devotedly to my Queen, without her com- 
 prehending my respect or appreciating my devotion. This 
 
320 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 may be a great misfortune for me, and perhaps also for 
 her ! " and he bowed as he spoke. 
 
 The Queen regarded him with her deep and clear eye. 
 More than once Lafayette had spoken similar words to 
 her. More than once she had meditated over such words, 
 after they were spoken. Unhappily for her, when he thus 
 uttered himself, she always felt an instinctive repulsion 
 towards him. 
 
 "Indeed, General," she said, "you must be generous, 
 and forgive me." 
 
 " I, Madame, forgive you 1 And for what 1 " 
 
 " My enthusiastic welcome to this good family of 
 Bouilles, who love me with all their hearts, and between 
 whom and myself this young man may well be the con- 
 necting thread, the electric chain. When he entered, it 
 vpas his father, his uncles, all his family, who rose to my 
 view, and kissed my hand with loyal lips." 
 
 Lafayette bowed again. 
 
 "Monsieur,"' continued the Queen, "after the pardon, 
 the peace, — with a good shake of the hand, in English 
 or American fashion." 
 
 She gave him her hand, but with the palm upwards. 
 Lafaj'ette clasped it slowly and coldly, saying : " I regret 
 that you will never recollect that I am a Frenchman, 
 Madame. It is not so very far from the Sixth of October 
 to the Sixteenth of November." 
 
 "You are right. General," she said, making an effort 
 to control herself, and pressing his hand ; " it is I who 
 am ungrateful ! " and she sank back on her lounge as if 
 overcome with emotion. " But this ought not to surprise 
 you, — you, who know how often I am upbraided for 
 ingratitude." 
 
 Presently, shaking her head, she added: "Now, Gen- 
 eral, what is there new in Paris 1 " 
 
THE QUEEN. 321 
 
 Lafayette had a chance to retaliate, and he seized his 
 opportunity. 
 
 " Ah, Madame, how much I regret that you were not 
 at the Assembly yesterday. You would have witnessed 
 a touching scene, one that would have moved your heart. 
 An old man came to thank the Assembly for the happi- 
 ness he owed to it, — and to the King, inasmuch as the 
 Assembly could not have conferred that happiness with- 
 out the royal sanction." 
 
 " An old man 1 " repeated the Queen, inattentively. 
 
 "Yes, Madame, and such an old man, — the Dean, the 
 Nestor, of the human race ! — an emancipated peasant 
 from Jura, one hundred and twenty years old, led to 
 the bar by five generations of his descendants, that he 
 might thank the Assembly for the Fourth of August 
 decrees. Do you understand, Madame 1 — a man who 
 had been a feudal appendage for a half-century under 
 Louis Fourteenth, and eighty years afterward." 
 
 "And what did the Assembly do for this old man?" 
 
 " They rose, to a man, and he was compelled to sit 
 down, and put on his hat in their presence." 
 
 "Ah," rejoined the Queen, in a tone peculiar to herself, 
 " this must indeed have been very touching. I regret I 
 was not there; but you know better than anybody else," 
 added she, smiling, "that I am not always where I want 
 to be." 
 
 The General made a motion which signified that he. had 
 something to say in reply; but the Queen went on, with- 
 out giving him time to speak : " No, I was here, receiv- 
 ing the poor wife of that unfortunate baker, — the 
 Assembly's baker, — whom the Assembly allowed to be 
 assassinated almost at its doors. What was the Assembly 
 doing that day, Monsieur ? " 
 
 " You talk, Madame," responded the General, " of one 
 
 VOL. I. — 21 
 
322 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 of those evils which have harassed the Representa- 
 tives of France ; but if the Assembly could not pre- 
 vent the murder, the murderers have at least been 
 punished." 
 
 " Oh yes, but their punishment has not comforted this 
 poor woman. She was almost crazy, and it is thought she 
 will be brought to bed with a stillborn child. If her babe 
 is living, I have promised to be its godmother ; and in 
 order that the public may know that I am not insensible 
 to such of their misfortunes as come to my knowl- 
 edge, I ask you, dear General, if it will be too great 
 an inconvenience if the baptism takes place at Notre 
 Dame." 
 
 Lafayette lifted his hand, like one who was about to 
 ask permission to speak, and is glad to have it granted, 
 and said : " Madame, this is the second allusion you have 
 made, within a few moments, to the pretended captivity 
 in which some would have it believed that you are held 
 by your faithful servants. I must hasten to saj', before 
 roy cousin here, — and I will repeat it before Paris, be- 
 fore Europe, before the world, — as I wrote yester- 
 day to Monsieur Mnunier, who, from the interior of 
 Dauphiny, laments the royal captivity, — that you are 
 free ; and I have but one desire, I address to you but one 
 petition, — that your Majesties will put this to the proof, 
 the King by resuming his sports and his drives, and you 
 by accompanying him." 
 
 The Queen smiled, as if hardly convinced. 
 
 " As to being godmother to this poor little orphan, 
 born into so much mourning, in making this agreement 
 with the widow, the Queen has obeyed her kind heart, 
 which makes her loved and respected by all who are close 
 about her. If the Queen will select the church where 
 she wishes the ceremony to take place, and will give her 
 
THE QUEEN. 323 
 
 orders, wheu the day arrives for the ceremony, all shall 
 be made ready according to those orders. Meanwhile," 
 he continued, bowing, " I await any other orders where- 
 with the Queen may deign to honor me to-day." 
 
 " For to-day, my dear General, I have only one other 
 request, — that you invite your young cousin, if he re- 
 mains a few days longer in Paris, to accompany you to 
 one of Madame de Lamballe's receptions ; for you know 
 she receives for me as well as for herself." 
 
 " And I, Madame, will avail myself of the invitation, 
 for both his sake and my own ; and if her Majesty has 
 not seen me there before, I pray her to be persuaded that 
 it was because she has heretofore forgotten to manifest a 
 wish to meet me there." 
 
 The Queen responded with an inclination of the head 
 and a smile, which amounted to dismissal. Each of the 
 two cousins accepted that which was meant for him, — 
 Lafayette the salutation, Count Louis the smile ; and 
 then withdrew backwards, the one bearing away more 
 bitterness in his heart, and the other more devotion. 
 
324 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 At the entrance of the Queen's apartments the two 
 visitors found the King's valet, Fraugois Hue, awaiting 
 them. 
 
 The King had sent word, that having begun, for his 
 recreation, a very important piece of lock-work, he begged 
 General Lafayette to come upstairs to the shop. 
 
 A forge was the first thing the King inquired about oo 
 his arrival at the Tuileries. Learning that this indis- 
 pensable appendage had been forgotten in the building 
 plans of Catherine de Medicis and Philibert de Lorme, 
 he selected a large attic, — just above his own bedcham- 
 ber, — with a staircase both from the inside and outside, 
 and there established his workshop for lockmaking. 
 Louis Sixteenth had not for an instant forgotten this 
 workshop, even amidst the grave questions which had 
 assailed him during the five weeks he had been at the 
 Tuileries. With him the forge was a fixed idea. He 
 had presided over its arrangements, and had himself 
 designated the proper places for the bellows, the fire, the 
 anvil, the bench, and the vises. At last the forge had 
 been completed, the evening before. All sorts of imple- 
 ments were provided. Eound files, bastard files, toothed 
 files, fish-tongue and donkey files, were all in their places. 
 One-sided hammers, cross hammers, pointed hammers, 
 hung from their rightful nails. Tongs, pincers, rabbets, and 
 holdin_g irons were within reach of the workman's hands. 
 
THE KING. 325 
 
 Louis Sixteenth could wait no longer, and ever since 
 morning he had been hard at this work, which was such 
 a relief to his mind, a work in which he might have 
 been a past master, as we have already learned from 
 Master Gamain, if, to that worthy man's great regret, 
 such idle fellows as Turgot, Calonne, and Necker had not 
 distracted him from that learned occupation, by talking, 
 not only about the affairs of France, — which Gamain's 
 rigor might have allowed, — but also about other mat- 
 ters, which appeared to him very useless, relating to 
 Brabant, Austria, England, America, and Spain. 
 
 All this explains why the King, in the renewed ardor 
 of his work, had begged Lafayette to come upstairs to 
 the shop, instead of himself coming, down to greet the 
 General. 
 
 Moreover, having allowed the Commander of the Na- 
 tional Guard to see his feebleness as a king, he was not 
 unwilling to let him see his majesty as a locksmith. 
 
 In order to conduct the visitors to the Royal Forge, 
 the valet did not think proper to take them through the 
 King's suite of rooms, and up by the private staircase, so 
 they circumnavigated the royal apartments by way of the 
 corridors, and ascended the public staircase, which made 
 the distance somewhat longer. 
 
 The result of this deviation from the direct line was, 
 that young Count Louis had more time for reflection; 
 and he reflected accordingly. 
 
 Though his heart was filled with the Queen's gracious 
 reception of him, he could not misconceive the fact that 
 she had not expected him. Not an ambiguous word, not 
 a covert gesture had given him to understand that the 
 august prisoner, as she styled herself, had any conception 
 of the mission with which he was charged, or counted the 
 least in the world on him, to free her from her thraldom ; 
 
326 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 and this agreed with what he had gleaned from Chamy, 
 as to the King's concealment of their scheme from every- 
 body, even from the Queen. 
 
 Whatever satisfaction it gave Count Louis to see the 
 Queen once more, it was evident that he could not look 
 to her for the solution of his problem. 
 
 He must therefore observe carefully if, in the King's 
 reception of him, in even a word or motion, he could de- 
 tect any hint, meant solely for himself, that the King 
 was better informed than Lafayette, as to the cause of 
 young Louis's trip to Paris. 
 
 Not being acquainted with Count Louis, the valet 
 turned when they reached the door of the shop, and in- 
 quired : " Whom shall I announce 1 " 
 
 "Announce the General in Chief of the National 
 Guard. I will myself have the honor of presenting the 
 other gentleman to his Majesty." 
 
 So the valet announced : " Monsieur the Commander 
 of the National Guard ! " 
 
 The King turned towards them, and said: "Ah, is it 
 you, Monsieur Lafayette 'i I ask pardon for making you 
 come all the way up here, but the locksmith assures you 
 of a hearty welcome to his shop. A fellow once said to 
 Henry Fourth, that even a charcoal-burner was master 
 in his own house ; so I say to you, you are as much 
 the master here, in the blacksmith's shop, as in the 
 King's regular apartments." 
 
 King Louis, as we may readily see, attacked the con- 
 versation very much in the same fashion as Marie 
 Antoinette. 
 
 " Sire," responded Lafayette, " under whatsoever cir- 
 cumstances I may have the honor of presenting myself 
 before the King, and on whatever floor or in whatever 
 dress he may receive me, the King will be always King, 
 
THE KING. 327 
 
 and the man who now offers his respectful homage will 
 always be the King's faithful subject and devoted 
 servant." 
 
 " I do not doubt it, Marquis ! But you are not alone. 
 Have you changed your aide-de-camp 1 Does this young 
 officer take the place of either Gouvion or Eomeuf ] " 
 
 " This young officer, Sire, — and I ask the privilege of 
 presenting him to your Majesty, — is my cousin, Louis 
 de Bouille, a captain in Monsieur's Dragoons." 
 
 "Oh yes!" said the King, with a slight start, which 
 the young gentleman remarked, " oh yes, a son of the 
 Marquis de Bouille, Commander at Metz." 
 
 "The same. Sire," said the young Count with alacrity. 
 
 " Ah Monsieur, excuse me for failing to recognize you, 
 but I am very near-sighted. — You have been some time 
 away from Metz '? " 
 
 " Only five days, Sire ; but being in Paris without a 
 regular furlough, though by the special permission of my 
 father, I have solicited of my kinsman, the General, the 
 honor of a presentation to your Majesty." 
 
 " You have done well to ask it of Lafayette, my dear 
 young Count, for nobody is better able to present you, at 
 all times, and through no one could the presentation be 
 more agreeable." 
 
 The three words, at all times, indicated that Lafayette 
 had kept up the privilege accorded to him at Versailles, 
 of attending both general and special, both privalte and 
 public receptions, — in fact, of seeing the King whenever 
 it seemed best. 
 
 Moreover, the few words spoken by the King were suf- 
 ficient to indicate to the young Count that he must be 
 strictly on his guard. In particular the question, " Is it 
 long since you left Metz 1 " meant, " Did you come away 
 from Metz after Charny^s arrival 1 " 
 
328 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 The 'response of the young messenger sufficed for the 
 King to understand his meaning. The statement, " I 
 left Metz five days ago, and I am in Paris without mili- 
 tary leave, though by my father's permission," signified : 
 " Yes, Sire, I saw Monsieur de Charny ; and my father 
 has sent me to Paris to hear more from your Majesty, 
 and learn certainly if Charny was acting in behalf of the 
 King." 
 
 Lafayette glanced curiously about. Many were admit- 
 ted into the King's business office, his council-chamber, 
 his library, — even into his oratory, or private chapel ; 
 but few received the special favor of admission into his 
 workshop, where the King was the apprentice, and where 
 the true king, the veritable master, was Monsieur 
 Gamain. 
 
 The General noticed the perfect order in which every- 
 thing was arranged ; but this was not really remarkable, 
 as only on that morning had the King been able to begin 
 work. Hue having acted as his apprentice, to pull the 
 bellows. 
 
 Lafayette was embarrassed as to what subject he should 
 take up, with a monarch who received him in such an off- 
 hand fashion, with sleeves tucked up, a file in his hand, 
 and a leathern apron in front of him ; but at last he 
 said : " Your Majesty is busy with an important piece of 
 work 1 " 
 
 " Yes, General, I have undertaken the locksmith's 
 greatest mechanism, a lock ! I tell you what I am doing, 
 so that if Marat should find out that I have again set 
 up my workshop, and should pretend that I am forging 
 fetters for France, you can assure him, if you clap your 
 hands on him, that such a report is untrue. — You are 
 neither a journeyman nor a master workman, I suppose, 
 Monsieur de Bouille?" 
 
THE KING. 329 
 
 " No, Sire ; but I am an apprentice, and if I could be 
 of any use to your Majesty — " 
 
 " That 's true, my dear cousin," said Lafayette ; " the 
 husband of your nurse was a locksmith, was n't he ? I 
 remember that your father once told me, although he had 
 no great admiration for the author of 'Emile,' that he 
 should have trained you as a locksmith, had he followed 
 the advice of Jean Jacques Rousseau in your behalf." 
 
 " Precisely, Monsieur, and that is why I said to his 
 Majesty, that if he needed an apprentice — " 
 
 " An apprentice would not be unserviceable to me. 
 Monsieur," said the King ; " but what I most need is a 
 master." 
 
 "What sort of a lock is your Majesty making," asked 
 the young man, with that half-familiarity authorized by 
 the situation and attire of the King. " Is it a night-latch, 
 a clover-leaf, a spring-lock, a bolt-lock, or a catch-lock ] " 
 
 " Oh my cousin," said Lafayette, " I don't know what 
 you can do about locks practically ; but as a theorist you 
 seem thoroughly posted about the — I will not call it a 
 trade, since my sovereign has ennobled it — about the 
 art:' 
 
 The King had listened with evident pleasure to the 
 nomenclature of locks given by the young fellow, and 
 now replied : " No, it is only a concealed or mortised 
 lock, opening on both sides ; but I fear I have presumed 
 too much on my own ability. Ah, if my poor Gamain 
 were only here, — he who calls himself Master of masters. 
 Master over all ! " 
 
 " Is the good man dead. Sire % " asked young Louis. 
 
 "No," replied the King, — with a passing wink at the 
 young man, as much as to say. Read between the lines I — 
 " no, he lives at Versailles, Rue Reservoir. The dear 
 fellow has n't dared to come and see me at the Tuileries." 
 
330 LA COMTESSE DE CHAKNY. 
 
 " Why not, Sire 1 " asked Lafayette. 
 
 " For fear of compromising himself. A king of France 
 is a very compromising sort of chap just now, my dear 
 General, and the proof of it is, that all my friends are 
 gone, some to London, others to Coblentz and Turin. 
 However, my dear General, if you see nothing improper 
 in Gamain's coming here some day, with one of his pren- 
 tice-boys, to give me a little start, I will send for him." 
 
 " Sire," quickly answered Lafayette, " his Majesty 
 knows very well that he is at perfect liberty to summon 
 whom he will and see whomsoever he pleases." 
 
 "Yes, on condition that your sentinels cross-question 
 visitors, as if they were smugglers on the frontier. My 
 poor Gamain would think himself ruined entirely, if they 
 should mistake his files for poniards, and his kit for a 
 cartridge-box." 
 
 " Sire, I know not how to excuse myself to your 
 Majesty ; but I am responsible to Paris, to France, to 
 Europe, for my sovereign's precious life, and I cannot 
 take too many precautions for his safety. As to the 
 smart fellow of whom we were talking, the King may 
 give what orders seem to him best." 
 
 " That 's all right ! Thanks, Monsieur Lafayette ; but 
 there is no hurry. In six or eight days I may want him," 
 he added, with a side glance at Bouille ; " both him and 
 his apprentice. I will send him word by my valet Durey, 
 who is one of Gamain's friends." 
 
 "And he will only need to present himself, Sire, to be 
 admitted. His name will be a sufficient passport. God 
 shield me. Sire, from this reputation of being a jailer, a 
 turnkey, a gatekeeper. Never was the King of France 
 freer than at this moment. Indeed, I came with the idea 
 of begging his Majesty to resume his outdoor sports, his 
 hunting parties, his long rambles." 
 
THE KING. 331 
 
 "As to the chase, — no, I thank you! Besides, just 
 now I have other things to do. As to driving, wandering, 
 that 'a another matter. My last trip from Versailles to 
 Paris has rather cured me of any passion for travel, — at 
 least, with such a great company of believers." 
 
 Here the King again glanced at the young nohleman, 
 who, by a slight elevation of the eyelids, showed that he 
 understood what the King had in mind. 
 
 " Meanwhile, Monsieur," added Louis Sixteenth, ad- 
 dressing himself directly to the young man, " shall you 
 soou leave Paris, and return to your father ] " 
 
 " Sire," he answered, " I shall leave Paris in two or 
 three days, but not for Metz. I have an aged kins- 
 woman, who lives at Versailles, on the Rue Reservoir, to 
 whom I ought to pay my respects. Then I am intrusted 
 by my father with the conclusion of an important family 
 affair, and in eight or ten days I expect to see the party 
 from whom I am to receive further directions about it. I 
 shall not probably go back to my father before the early 
 part of December, — that is, unless the King wishes, for 
 any reason, that I should hasten my return to Metz." 
 
 " No, Monsieur ! Take your own time. Go to Ver- 
 sailles. Attend to these family affairs, as your father 
 has advised. Only, when they are done, go back to 
 your father, and say that I have not forgotten him, that 
 I know him to be among the faithless, faithful found, 
 aud that I shall some day recommend him to General 
 Lafayette, in order that the General may recommend 
 him to Monsieur du Portail for honorable advancement." 
 
 Lafayette smiled to himself at this new allusion to his 
 own omnipotence. " Sire," he said, " I should long ago 
 have commended the gentlemen of the Bouille family 
 to your Majesty's favor, if I had not the honor of being 
 related to them. I am sometimes deterred from doing 
 
332 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 justice to brave men, by the fear that I shall be accused 
 of turning the favors of the King towards my own 
 kinsfolk." 
 
 "Your forbearance is indeed unusual, and approaches 
 the marvellous. We will talk of this hereafter! " 
 
 "The King will allow, me to say," said the young 
 Count at this juncture, " that my father would regard it 
 as unkind, almost as a disgrace, if any military advance- 
 ment should deprive him in whole or in part of the means 
 of serving your Majesty." 
 
 "Oh, that's well understood. Count," said the King. 
 "I shall i>ot allow his position to be interfered with, un- 
 less to confer upon him one more in accordance with his 
 desires and my own. Leave us to manage that. General 
 Lafayette and myself, and betake yourself to your pleas- 
 ures, — though without forgetting your business affairs. 
 Adieu, gentlemen, adieu ! " 
 
 The King dismissed them with a dignified air, in strong 
 contrast to the coarse costume with which he was clothed. 
 
 When the door closed after them he said to himself: 
 " Well, I think that young man understood me, and 
 that in six or eight days I shall have Master Gamain and 
 his apprentice to aid me in finishing my lock." 
 
OLD ACQUAINTANCES. 333 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 OLD ACQUAINTANCES. 
 
 Between five and six o'clock, on the evening of the same 
 day when Loviis de Bouille had the honor of being re- 
 ceived, first by the Queen and then by the King, a scene 
 
 — which we wish to assist our readers in observing — 
 was taking place in the fourth and upper story of a small, 
 old, dirty, gloomy house, on the Rue Juiverie. 
 
 We therefore convoy our readers to the entrance of the 
 Pont au Change, — whether they dismount from their 
 chariots or from cabs, whether they pay six thousand 
 francs a year for coachman, two horses, and the carriage, 
 or give thirty sous a day for a simple hired vehicle, with 
 a public number. 
 
 We cross the bridge with them. We enter the Eue 
 Pelleterie, which we follow as far as the Rue Juiverie, 
 where we stop in front of the third door on the left. 
 
 We know very well that the appearance of that door — 
 which the tenants of the house do not take the trouble 
 to fasten, because they fancy their dwellings present no 
 nocturnal temptations to the noble thieves from the Cite 
 
 — is not attractive ; but, as has been said, we have busi- 
 ness with the people who inhabit the attics of this house ; 
 and as they will not come to us, why, we must go bravely 
 to them, — dear gentleman, or well-beloved lady-reader. 
 
 Walk carefully as possible, in order not to slip in the 
 sticky mud, which forms the soil of the narrow and dark 
 passage-way which we enter. Let us gather our skirts 
 
334 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 about us, ia order not to let them brush the walls of the 
 damp and greasy stairway, which crawls up from the end 
 of that alley, like the fragments of a disjointed serpent. 
 Let us place vials of vinegar under our nostrils, or press 
 perfumed handkerchiefs to our faces, in order that this 
 most subtle and aristocratic of our senses, the sense of 
 smell, may escape, so far as possible, any contact with 
 the ammoniated and tainted air, which penetrates mouth, 
 nose, and eyes, all at once. 
 
 We will pause at the top of the third staircase, in 
 front of a door on which the innocent hand of some 
 youthful designer has traced certain outlines in chalk, 
 which at first might be mistaken for cabalistic figures, 
 but are only unfortunate essays in the sublime art of 
 Leonardo da Vinci, Eaphael, and Michael Angelo. 
 
 If you please, we will look through the keyhole, in 
 order, dear gentleman or lady, that you may recognize, if 
 you have a good memory, the personages whom you are 
 to encounter. If you do not recognize them at sight, 
 you can apply your ear to the door, and listen It will 
 be strange indeed, if hearing does not then come to the 
 aid of sight, inasmuch as there are few of our dear read- 
 ers who have not perused our story called " The Queen's 
 Necklace." Thus it is, that our senses complement each 
 other. 
 
 First let us ascertain what can be seen through the 
 keyhole. 
 
 We see the interior of a miserable chamber, occupied by 
 three persons. These three persons are a man, a woman, 
 and a child. 
 
 The man is forty-five years old, and appears fifty-five ; 
 the woman is thirty-four, and appears forty ; the child is 
 five, and appears to be that age, for he has not yet had 
 time to grow old too fast. 
 
OLD ACQUAINTANCES. 335 
 
 The man is clothed in an old uniform of a sergeant of 
 the French Guards, a uniform venerated since the Four- 
 teenth of July, the day when the French Guards united 
 themselves with the populace, and exchanged gunshots 
 ■with Lambesq^'s Germans and Besenval's Swiss. 
 
 This man holds in his hand a whole pack of cards, 
 from the ace, through the deuce, and the three and four 
 of each color, up to the king. He is trying, for the 
 hundredth time, — for the thousandth, for the ten thou- 
 sandth time, — an infallible double and progressive cubic 
 reckoning, a scheme by which he may always break the 
 gaming bank. By his side reposes a card pricked as full 
 of holes as there are stars in the sky. We have said 
 reposes, but we hasten to take that word back. Repose 
 is not the right word to employ in reference to a card 
 which the gamester — incontestably he is a gamester — ■ 
 torments incessantly, and consults every five minutes. 
 
 The woman is clad in an old silk gown. With her the 
 misery seems more terrible, because it figures in conjunc- 
 tion with the remains of luxury. Her hair is done up in 
 a pug, and held by a copper comb, which was once upon a 
 time gilded. Her hands are scrupulously kept ; and by 
 dint of cleanliness, they have preserved, or rather have 
 acquired, a certain aristocratic pose. Her nails, which 
 Baron de Taverney, in his brutal realism, used to call 
 claws, are always rounded into the chestnut shape. 
 Finally some old-style slippers, worn out in spots, and 
 formerly embroidered in gold and silk, give her feet free 
 play, which are also partly covered with the remains of 
 some clocked stockings. 
 
 As to her face, as we have before said, it belongs to 
 a woman of thirty-four or thirty-five, and if artistically 
 decorated, according to the mode of the day, would enable 
 her to appear no older than she really is, or even to count 
 
336 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 five years below her true age ; for, as said the Abb6 of 
 Celle, till five or even ten years after, women cling des- 
 perately to twenty-nine. Deprived of rouge and pow- 
 der, and thereby stripped of all means for concealing the 
 effect of her sighs and imhappiness, this woman's third 
 or fourth decade, this third or fourth flight of time, con- 
 victs her of several years beyond her proper portion. 
 
 Haggard as is this face, one dreams of having seen it 
 before ; and without the ability to answer the question, 
 — inasmuch as the mind, however strong on the wing, 
 hesitates to overleap such a distance, — one asks in what 
 gilded palace, in what six-horse carriage, in the midst of 
 what royal dust, he has before seen a resplendent face, 
 of which this is only the faded reflection. 
 
 The child is five years old, as we have said. He has 
 hair outspread like a cherub's, in one of Carlo Dolci's 
 pictures. His cheeks are round as pippins. He has the 
 demoniacal eyes of his mother, the greedy mouth of his 
 father, and the laziness and vacillation of both. 
 
 He wears a coat of threadbare velvet ; and while 
 munching a slice of jam-covered bread, from the corner 
 grocery, he shreds the end of an old tricolored belt, fringed 
 with copper, into the crown of an old felt hat. 
 
 All this is lighted by a candle with a gigantic snuff, 
 for which a bottle serves as a candlestick. This places 
 the man with the cards in the light, and leaves the rest 
 of the apartment in semi-darkness. 
 
 This is the situation. Now if ocular inspection has 
 taught us nothing, let us try the aural method, as for- 
 merly proposed. 
 
 Listen ! It is the child who first breaks the silence, 
 as he tosses over his head his bread tart, which falls 
 at the bottom of the bed, now reduced to a single 
 mattress. 
 
OLD ACQUAINTANCES. 337 
 
 " Mamma," he says, " I 'm tired of sweetened bwead ! 
 Poaah ! " 
 
 " Well, what dost want, Toussaint 1 " 
 
 " I want a stick of wed barley canny." 
 
 " Hearest thou, Beausire '! " says the woman. 
 
 Then, noting that he is absorbed in, his calculations, 
 she asks, louder than before : " Dost thoa hear what this 
 poor child says 1 " 
 
 The same silence 1 
 
 Then, raising her foot as high as her hand, she takes 
 off a slipper, and throws it at the calculator's nose. 
 " Hey, Beausire ! " she cries. 
 
 " Oh well, what is it f " he asks, with a decided, ex- 
 pression of ill-humor. 
 
 " Toussaint, here, wants a red stick of sugar candy, 
 because he is tired of jam, poor child." 
 
 " He shall have it to-morrow." 
 
 " I want it to-day ! I want it this evening ! I want it 
 wight off, now ! " cries the child in a yelping tone, which 
 threatens to breed a tempest. 
 
 " Toussaint, my dear," says the father, " I counsel 
 thee to silence, or thou wilt have trouble with papa ! " 
 
 The child yells, but the yell is drawn from him by 
 fractiousness rather than fear. 
 
 " Touch that child a bit, drunkard, and thou 'It have 
 trouble with me ! " says the mother, shaking at Beausire 
 her white hand, which, thanks to the care wherewith its 
 owner sharpens her finger-nails, looks as if it might be- 
 long to a griffin. 
 
 "Hey? Who the devil's going to touch the young 
 one 1 Thou knowest that 's only my way of talking, 
 Madame Oliva. Even if a fellow sometimes bangs the 
 mother's gown, he always respects the child's frock. 
 Come, — come and embrace this poor Beausire, who in a 
 
 VOL. I. — 22 
 
338 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 week will be as rich as a king. Gome, come, my little 
 Nicole ! " 
 
 " When you are as rich as a king, my jewel, it will he 
 quite time enough to embrace you, but till then, — not 
 for me ! " 
 
 " But when I tell thee it 's all the same as if I had a 
 million, do give me an advance kiss, to bring us good 
 luck. The baker will soon give us credit ! " 
 
 " A man who counts upon millions, and yet asks to be 
 trusted for a four-pound loaf ! " 
 
 " Me wants some wed barley canny ! " cries the 
 younket, in a tone which is the harbinger of worse out- 
 cries to come. 
 
 "See here, millionnaire, give this baby a morsel of 
 sugar candy ! " 
 
 Beausire makes a motion of his hand towards his pouch, 
 but it accomplishes only half the journey. "Thou well 
 knowest that yesterday I gave thee my last twenty-four 
 sou piece." 
 
 " Then thoti hast money, mamma ! " says the child, 
 turning towards her whom the respectable Monsieur 
 Beausire sometimes calls Oliva and sometimes Nicole. 
 " Give me a sou to buy a stick of wed barley canny ! " 
 
 " Here are two sous, thou naughty child ; but take 
 care and don't fall, going downstairs ! " 
 
 " Tanks, little mother," says the child, jumping up 
 and down for joy, and holding out his hand. 
 
 " Stop ! come here, till I put on thy belt again, and 
 thy hat, thou droll chicken ; for it must not be said that 
 Monsieur de Beausire lets his child run about the streets 
 half rigged. It may be all one to him, for he 's a no- 
 heart, but such things make me die of sha,me." 
 
 The child greatly desires, even at the risk of what the 
 neighbors may say about the heir presumptive of the 
 
OLD ACQUAINTANCES. 339 
 
 house of Beausire, to rid himself of that hat and belt, 
 whereof he has never been able to see the utility ; al- 
 though, in their freshness and glow, these articles excited 
 the admiration of the other children ; but as belt and 
 hat are among the conditions attached to the two-sou 
 piece, it is necessary for him to put them on, which the 
 young tease reluctantly does. However, he consoles 
 himself, before he goes out, by thrusting his ten-cen- 
 time (or two-sou) piece under his father's nose, who, ab- 
 sorbed in his calculations, only smiles at this charming 
 playfulness. 
 
 Presently they can hear his step, hastened by appe- 
 tite, but still timorous, receding down the stairway. 
 
 The woman shuts the door, after following the urchin 
 out with her eyes, and turns her attention from son to 
 father. After a brief silence she says : " Ah ha. Mon- 
 sieur de Beausire, your intelligence had better do some- 
 thing forthwith to get us out of this miserable hole ; or 
 else I must see what / can do ; " and she pronounces 
 these words in a mincing way, as a woman might, whose 
 mirror declares to her of a morning : " Be calm ! AA^ith 
 such a face as yours, no woman need die of hunger." 
 
 " Presently, my little Nicole ! Thou seest that I 'm 
 busy." 
 
 " Yes, in changing those cards about, and in pricking 
 holes in a piece of cardboard." 
 
 " But when I tell thee what I 've discovered — " 
 
 " What 1 " 
 
 " My combination." 
 
 " Good ! So we begin all over again. Beausire, I give 
 you fair warning, that I shall send my memory rummag- 
 ing among my old acquaintances, and see if I can't think 
 of one of them who 's able to send such a looney as you 
 to the Charenton Asylum." 
 
340 LA COMTESSE DE CHAKNY. 
 
 " But don't I tell thee this combination is infallible 1 " 
 
 " Ah, if Marshal Richelieu was n't dead ! " mutters the 
 young woman to herself. 
 
 "What sayest thou?" 
 
 " Or if Cardinal Eohan was n't ruined ! " 
 
 "Heyr' 
 
 "Or if Madame de la Motte had n't run away ! " 
 
 " What art thou saying, please 1 " 
 
 " If I could only recover some of my old friends, and 
 not be obliged to share the misery of an old cavalry man 
 like this ! " and with a gesture fit for a queen, Made- 
 moiselle Nicole Legay — now called Madame Oliva — 
 contemptuously indicates Beausire. 
 
 " But I tell thee," he repeats, with an air of conviction, 
 " that to-morrow we shall be rich ! " 
 
 " With millions ? " 
 
 "Yes, millions ! " 
 
 " Show me the first ten golden louis out of your mil- 
 lions, aiid I '11 take the rest for granted." 
 
 "Very well, thou shalt see them this very night, — ten 
 golden louis. That 's just the sum promised me ! " 
 
 " And thou 'It give them to me, my little Beausire 1 " 
 says Nicole, quickly. 
 
 " Well, I '11 give thee five, to buy a silk gown for thy- 
 self, and velvet frock for the little one. Then, with the 
 other five — " 
 
 "Well, well, with the other five — ?" 
 
 " I will bring thee a million ! " 
 
 " Wretch, — again gambling ! " 
 
 " But I tell thee I 've found the infallible combination 
 at last ! " 
 
 " Oh yes, twin sister to that other combination, which 
 ate up the sixty thousand francs coming to thee after 
 that Portuguese affair." 
 
OLD ACQUAINTANCES. 341 
 
 " Ill-gotten wealth never does any good ! " says Beau- 
 sire, senteutiously ; " and I always had a notion, that the 
 way ill which that money came to us was sure to bring 
 bad luck." 
 
 " I suppose the ten louis talked about come by inheri- 
 tance 1 Perhaps some uncle has died in America or 
 India, and bequeathed ten louis — ■ " 
 
 " These ten louis,'' rejoins Beausire, with an air of 
 superiority, " these ten louis. Mademoiselle Nicole Legay, 
 — yes, these ten louis, understand, — were earned, not 
 only honestly, but honorably, and in a cause wherein I 
 find myself much interested, like all the nobility of 
 France." 
 
 " You are then a nobleman, Monsieur Beausire 1 " says 
 Nicole, maliciously. 
 
 " Mademoiselle Legay, say De Beausire, — Be Beausire," 
 he reiterates, " as it is recorded in the certificate of the 
 birth of your child, registered in the sacristy of Saint 
 Paul's Church, and signed by your servant, — Jean Bap- 
 tiste Toussaint de Beausire, on the very day when I gave 
 him my name — " 
 
 " A great gift, that ! " mutters Nicole. 
 
 " — And my fortune ! " adds Beausire, emphatically. 
 
 " If the good God never sends him anything else," 
 she says, shaking her head, " the poor little chap is likely 
 to live on charity and die in an almshouse." 
 
 " Well now,'' he says, with an air of vexation, '' one 
 can't stand this ! Thou art never contented ! " 
 
 " Then don't stand it ! " cries Nicole, opening the flood- 
 gates of her long-restrained wrath. " Good God, who 
 wants you to stand it ? Thank God, I 'm not worried on 
 my own account, nor on my child's. Beginning to-night, 
 I also will look for fortune, — but elsewhere." 
 
 Nicole arose and took three steps towards the door. 
 
342 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENr. 
 
 Beausire placed himself before the door, barring the way 
 ■with outstretched arms, and saying : " But when I tell 
 thee, naughty girl, that this fortuue — " 
 
 " Well, well 1 " 
 
 " It will come this evening. Even if the combination 
 is wrong, — which it cannot be, after all my calculations, 
 there will only be five louis lost ! " 
 
 "There are times when five louis are a fortune, — a 
 fortune, do you hear, Monsieur Spendthrift t You don't 
 know that, oh no ! — you who 've eaten your gold by 
 the houseful ! " 
 
 " That proves my merit, Nicole. If I used up that 
 gold, it was I who earned it ; and if I won that money, I 
 can win more elsewhere. There 's a benevolent Provi- 
 dence for such fellows as I, — if they 're only adroit." 
 
 " Oh yes, count on that ! " 
 
 " Mademoiselle Nicole," said Beausire, " art thou an 
 atheist 1 " 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 "Dost thou belong to the school of Voltaire, who denies 
 Providence t " 
 
 " Beausire, you 're a fool ! " 
 
 " Coming from among the common people, as thou dost, 
 it would not be astonishing, thy holding such notions. I 
 warn thee, they are not the sort belonging to my social 
 caste, or in harmony with my political opinions." 
 
 " You 're insolent. Monsieur ! " said Nicole. 
 
 "As for me, — dost hear, — as for me, I hsLve faith, ■ 
 and if anybodj^ should say to me : ' Thy son, Jean Bap- 
 tiste Toussaiut de Beausire, who has gone out for a stick 
 of red barley candy, with a two-sou piece, will come up 
 again with a purse full of gold in his hand ; I should 
 reply : ' Very likely, if it is God's will ! '" and Beausire 
 lifted his eyes beatifically to Heaven. 
 
OLD ACQUAINTANCES. 343 
 
 " Beausire, you 're an idiot ! " 
 
 She had hardly uttered these words when they heard 
 the voice of young Toussaint, calling up the stairway : 
 " Papa ! Mamma ! " 
 
 Both Beausire and Nicole hearkened to the voice of 
 their pet. 
 
 " Papa ! Mamma ! " repeated that voice, coming nearer 
 and nearer. 
 
 " What has happened 1 " cried Nicole, opening the 
 door with maternal solicitude. " Come, my child, 
 come ! " 
 
 " Papa ! Mamma ! " continued the approaching voice, 
 like that of a ventriloquist, when he pretends to imitate 
 the sound of speech, heard through an opening cellar 
 door. 
 
 " I should not be surprised," said Beausire, noting an 
 element of joy in that voice, " if the miracle had come to 
 pass, and the little chap had found the purse of which I 
 spoke just now." 
 
 At that moment the urchin appeared on the last turn 
 of the stairway, and ran into the chamber, holding in 
 his mouth his stick of barley candy, squeezing a bag of 
 sweetmeats against his breast with his left arm, and 
 displaying in his outstretched right hand a golden louis, 
 which, by the light of the lone candle, shone like the star 
 Aldebaran. 
 
 " My God, my God ! " cried Nicole, leaving the door 
 to shut of its own accord. "What has happened to 
 the poor dear ! " and she covered the sticky mouth with 
 maternal kisses, which nothing can disgust, because they 
 purify everything they touch. 
 
 " Here it is," said the father, adroitly scooping in the 
 louis, and examining it by the candle, " here it is, a 
 genuine gold louis, worth twenty-four francs," 
 
344 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 " Where hast thou found it, little monkey 1 I must 
 go there, and search for others like it." 
 
 " I did n't fine it, papa ! Somebody give it to me ! " 
 
 " How ? Somebody gave it to thee t " cried the mother. 
 
 " Yes, mamma, — a gentleman." 
 
 Nicole was on the point of asking, as Beausire had 
 asked about the louis, where the gentleman was ; but, 
 rendered prudent by experience, and knowing Beausire's 
 jealous susceptibility, she contented herself with repeat- 
 ing : "A gentleman 1 " 
 
 " Yes, little mother," said the child, cracking his red 
 candy between his teeth, " a gentleman." 
 
 "A gentleman t " repeated Beausire, in his turn. 
 
 " Yes, little papa, a gentleman, who came into the 
 gwocery while I was there, and says : ' Monsieur Gwocer, 
 is n't this young gentleman named De Beausire, whom 
 you have the honor of serving ? ' " 
 
 Beausire drew himself up, and Nicole shrugged her 
 shoulders. 
 
 "What did the grocer say, my son?" asked Beausire. 
 
 " He says : ' I don't know about no gentleman, but his 
 name is Beausire, certainly.' — ' And don't he live near- 
 by ? ' asks the gentleman. — ' There, in the house at the 
 left, up thwee flights.' — ' Give all sorts of goodies to this 
 child, and I '11 pay,' says the gentleman. Then he says 
 to me : ' Here, pet, there 's a louis ; ' and he also says : 
 ' That 's to buy other bonbons, when these are all eaten 
 up.' Then he puts this louis into my hand, the gwocer 
 puts the package on my arm, and I come away happy. 
 — Hold on ! Where 's my louis 1 " and the child, who 
 had not observed his father's legerdemain, began to hunt 
 about for the goldpiece. 
 
 " Thou hast lost it, careless child ! " said Beausire. 
 
 " No ! no ! no 1 " cried the boy. 
 
OLD ACQUAINTANCES. 345 
 
 The discussion might have become serious, but for 
 what followed, which necessarily put an end to it. 
 
 While the child, doubtful about the matter, was 
 huntiug around the floor after the goldpiece, which re- 
 posed quietly in the deep pocket of papa's waistcoat ; 
 while papa was admiring the intelligence of young Tous- 
 saint, as shown in the story he had brought home, — 
 though that story has perhaps been a trifle clarified 
 under our pen ; while Nicole, though sharing the enthu- 
 siasm of her lover for this precocious eloquence, was 
 asking herself seriously who this giver of sweetmeats, 
 this louis-lender, could be, — the door opened slowly, and 
 a pleasant voice uttered these words : " Good-evening, 
 Mademoiselle Nicole ! Good-evening, Monsieur de Beau- 
 sire ! Good-evening, little Toussaint ! " 
 
 Each of the three turned towards the side whence came 
 the voice. 
 
 On the threshold stood a man elegantly dressed, and 
 gazing with a smiling face at the family group. 
 
 "Ah ! " cried the youngster, " the bonbon gentleman ! " 
 
 "Cagliostro ! " exclaimed Nicole and Beausire in a 
 breath. 
 
 " You have a charming child, Monsieur," said the 
 Count, "and you ought to be very proud of being his 
 father.'' 
 
346 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXIV. 
 
 IN ■WHICH THE EEADBE WILL HAVE THE PLEASUEB OF 
 FINDING M. DE BEAUSIEB THE SAME MAN HE WAS 
 WHEN THEY LEFT HIM. 
 
 Theee was a moment's pause after Cagliostro's gracious 
 words. He came into the middle of the chamber, and 
 glanced inquiringly about, doubtless wishing to inform 
 himself as to the moral, and especially the pecuniary 
 situation, of his old acquaintances, into whose midst he 
 had unexpectedly come, led by the terrible underground 
 intrigues of which he was the centre. 
 
 The result of this glance left no doubt in such a per- 
 spicacious mind as the Count's. Even a superficial 
 observer might have guessed the truth, that the poverty- 
 stricken household had reached its last twenty-four sous. 
 
 Of the three persons into whose midst the apparition 
 of the Count had brought such consternation, the first to 
 break silence was little Toussaint, whose memory only 
 recalled the events of that evening, and whose conscience 
 therefore did not reproach him. "Ah Monsieur," he 
 said, " ain't it too bad ] I 've lost my goldpiece." 
 
 Nicole opened her mouth to state the facts as they 
 were, but she reflected that possibly her silence might 
 procure her child a second louis, and that this second she 
 should inherit ; and she was not mistaken. 
 
 " Thou hast lost thy goldpiece, poor child 1 " said 
 Cagliostro. " Never mind ! Here are two. Take care 
 not to lose them this time ! " 
 
BEAUSIRE THE SAME MAN. 347 
 
 Taking two golden louis from a purse, whose plump- 
 ness attracted the covetous attention of Beausire, he let 
 them fall into the tight little hand of the child, who said, 
 running to Nicole, " Here, mamma, here 's one for thee 
 and one for me," aa he divided his treasure with his 
 mother. 
 
 Cagliostro noted the tenacity with which the. spurious 
 sergeant's glance followed his purse in its various evolu- 
 tions, from the time when he toolc it out, and it was opened 
 in giving passage to forty-eight francs, till it was returned 
 to his pocket again. Seeing it disappear in the depths 
 of the Count's vest, Nicole's sweetheart sighed. 
 
 " What, Monsieur, always melancholy ? " said Cagliostro. 
 
 " And you. Monsieur, always the millionnaire ! " 
 
 "My God ! — You, who are one of the greatest philoso- 
 phers I ever heard of, either in these degenerate later 
 ages, or in the cycles of classic antiquity, — you ought 
 to be acquainted with the time-honored maxim. Money 
 makes not happiness. I have known you when you were 
 comparatively rich." 
 
 "Yes, that 's true. I had nearly one hundred thousand 
 francs," said Beausire. 
 
 " That 's possible ; but at the time when I knew you, 
 yoa had already eaten up some forty thousand francs ; 
 though if you had only sixty thousand left, that would 
 be a good round sum for an old soldier." 
 
 Beausire sighed again. " What is sixty thousand 
 francs, compared with the money at your disposal % " 
 
 " In my capacity as trustee, you are perhaps correct ; 
 but if we reckon more carefully, I fancy you would be 
 Saint Martin, and I the pauper ; and to keep me from 
 freezing with the cold, my dear Beausire, you would have 
 to give me half of your cloak. Do you remember the cir- 
 cumstances under which I first met you 1 You had then, 
 
348 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 as I just said, about sixty thousand francs in jour pocket ; 
 but were you any happier ? " 
 
 Beausire emitted a sad retrospective sigh, which was 
 almost a groan. 
 
 " You see ! " insisted Cagliostro. " Now would you 
 give up your present condition, even if you possessed 
 nothing but the unlucky louis which you confiscated from 
 young Toussaint — t " 
 
 " Monsieur ! " interrupted the old soldier. 
 
 " We wou't quarrel now, Beausire ! We quarrelled once, 
 and you will remember that you were compelled to go 
 into the street to find your sword, which had jumped 
 out of the window 1 You recollect it, don't you t " he 
 continued, as Beausire made no response. " It is some- 
 thing worth remembering. Well, now I ask again, even 
 though you possessed only the one unlucky louis which 
 you confiscated from young Toussaint," — and this time 
 the insinuation passed unnoticed, — " would you ex- 
 change your actual position for the much more pre- 
 carious situation from which I once helped to extricate 
 you 1 " 
 
 " No, Monsieur," said Beausire, " you are right indeed ! 
 I would not make the exchange. Alas, I was separated 
 from my dear Nicole ! " 
 
 " Yes, and somewhat sought after by the police, on ac- 
 count of a certain affair in Portugal. What the Devil 
 ever came of that affair ] A most villainous affair, as 
 I remember ! " 
 
 " Oh well, it is drowned in oblivion." 
 
 " So much the better, for it must have annoyed you 
 very much. But don't reckon too surely on this falling 
 into oblivion. They are great divers, these police, and if 
 the net goes as deep as the water, a scandalous crime is 
 easier to fish up than a beautiful pearl." 
 
BEAUSIRE THE SAME MAN. 349 
 
 " But for the misery to which we are reduced, Mon- 
 sieur, — " 
 
 " You would be happy. Indeed, you would only need 
 a thousand louis to make that happiness complete." 
 
 Nicole's eyes lighted up, and Beausire's were flaming. 
 
 " That is to say," cried Beausire, " if we had a thou- 
 sand louis, — that is, twenty-four thousand francs, we 
 should buy some country-place with half the amount, get 
 a little income from the other half, and I should become 
 a cultivator." 
 
 " Like Cincinnatus ! " 
 
 " This would leave Nicole free to conduct the educa- 
 tion of our child." 
 
 " Like Cornelia ! — "Well, not only would your con- 
 duct be exemplary, but touching. You hope then to get 
 this amount out of the business which you are engaged 
 in just now 1 " 
 
 Beausire started. " What business 1 " 
 
 " That in which you figure as a sergeant of the Guards, 
 — that for which you have a rendezvous to-night, under 
 the arcades of Royal Square." 
 
 Beausire became pale as death. " Oh Monsieur 1 " he 
 said, clasping his hands beseechingly. 
 
 "What is if!" 
 
 " Don't give me away ! " 
 
 " Bah ! How you wander ! Am I a lieutenant of police t " 
 
 "There, I told thee so," said Nicole, — "that this was 
 some wretched affair." 
 
 " Ah, you knew about it, this affair, Mademoiselle 
 Legay 1 " asked Cagliostro. 
 
 " No, Monsieur," said she, " and for that very reason 
 I suspected him. When he hides an affair from me, 
 that 's because it 's bad, — I make sure of that." 
 
 " But as to this affair, which now concerns him, you 
 
350 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 may be mistaken. It may be an excellent affair, on the 
 contrary." 
 
 "Is it not?" cried Beausire. "The Count is a gen- 
 tleman, and understands that all the nobility are 
 interested — " 
 
 "In its success ! " replied Cagliostro. "It is however 
 true that the common people, on their side, are interested 
 to have it fail. Meantime, if you will believe me, my 
 dear Beausire, — and you understand, it is the counsel of 
 a friend which I give, of a true friend ! — well, if you 
 will believe me, you will take part neither with the 
 nobility nor with the people." 
 
 " But whose part shall I take ] " 
 
 " Your own ! " 
 
 "Miner' 
 
 "To be sure!" said Nicole. " Pardieu ! Thou hast done 
 enough for other folks. It 's time to think of thyself! " 
 
 " You hear 1 She speaks like Saint Chrysostom, — 
 John of the Golden Mouth. Eemember this, Beausire, 
 that everything has a good side and a bad side, — good 
 for some, bad for others. No affair, whatever it may be, 
 is bad for everybody or good for everybody. Well, the 
 one thing needful is to get on the right side.'' 
 
 " Ah ha ! and it appears that I am not on that side, 
 hey?" 
 
 " Not at all, dear Beausire ! No, that does n't follow. 
 I will only add, — you know I meddle with matters to 
 play the prophet, — I will only add, that if you are mixed 
 up in this affair, it will not be at the risk of your honor, 
 or even of your fortune, but you will run the risk of your 
 life. Yes, you will probably be hanged." 
 
 " But, Monsieur," said Beausire, trying to keep his 
 countenance, but wiping away the sweat which rolled 
 down his forehead, " thej' do not hang a gentleman." 
 
BEAUSIEE THE SAME MAN. 361 
 
 " That 's true ; but in order to obtain the privilege of 
 decapitation, it would be necessary to produce your proofs 
 of nobility, which would perhaps take so long as to weary 
 the judges, who would therefore ordain that you should 
 be provisionally hanged. You will tell me that in a good 
 cause the punishment matters nothing, that 
 
 Crime makes the shame, and not the scaffold, 
 
 as a great poet has said." 
 
 " Well then ! " stammered Beausire, more and more 
 frightened. 
 
 " Oh well, you are not so much attached to your 
 opinions that you wish to sacrifice your life, — I under- 
 stand that. The Devil ! ' One can live but once ! ' as 
 another poet says, — not so great as the first, perhaps, 
 but one who at least has reason on his side." 
 
 " I have always noticed," said Beausire at last, " in all 
 the relations in which I have had the honor to be asso- 
 ciated with you, that you have a way of talking which 
 ■would make the hair of even a moderately timid man 
 stand on end." 
 
 " Oh, the Devil, such was not my intention," said 
 Cagliostro. " Besides, you are not a timid man ! " 
 
 " No," responded Beausire, " not generally ! However, 
 there are certain circumstances — " 
 
 " Oh yes, I understand ! — for instance, when one has 
 behind him the galleys, for theft, and before him the gal- 
 lows, for the crime of treason against the people, — lese- 
 nation, — as the offence would now he called, I suppose, 
 which has for its aim the abduction of the King." 
 
 " Monsieur ! " cried Beausire, utterly confounded. 
 
 " You unlucky dog ! " said Oliva. " Then it was on 
 this kidnapping business that you based your dreams of 
 gold?" 
 
352 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 " And he was not entirely in the wrong, my dear De- 
 moiselle ; only, as I said just now, there is a bad and 
 good side to everything, a bright face and a cloudy face. 
 Beausire has had the misfortune to caress the shady face, 
 to adopt the bad side ; but if he will turn about — " 
 
 " Is n't it too late ] " asked Nicole. 
 
 " Certainly not ! " 
 
 " What shall I dol" asked Beausire. 
 
 " Suppose one thing," said Cagliostro, thoughtfully. 
 
 "Well, what?" 
 
 " Suppose your plot should fail. Suppose those two 
 accomplices, the man in the brown cloak and the man 
 with a mask, should be arrested. Suppose — it is neces- 
 sary to suppose all sorts of things nowadays — suppose 
 they should be condemned to death. Augeard and 
 Besenval were acquitted, to be sure ; but suppose that 
 these accomplices should be condemned to death. Sup- 
 pose, — don't be in a hurry, for by supposition after sup- 
 position we get at the facts, — suppose you should be 
 regarded as one of their accomplices. Suppose the cord 
 was around your neck, and somebody should say to you, 
 in answer to your complaints, — for in such a situation, 
 however courageous he may be, — great Heavens ! — a 
 man must lament more or less — " 
 
 " Go on, go on. Count, I beg of you. It seems as if I 
 were already strangling." 
 
 " Pardieu, that 's not surprising, seeing that I was theo- 
 rizing about the cord at your throat ! Well, suppose 
 somebody, a Voice, should come to you and say : ' Poor 
 Beausire, dear Monsieur, this is all your own fault ! ' " 
 
 " How so 1 " cried Beausire. 
 
 " There, you see ! By theories upon theories we get 
 at the facts ; and you answer me as if we had already 
 touched bottom." 
 
BEAUSIRE THE SAME MAN. 353 
 
 " I own up ! " 
 
 " Very well. ' How so f ' you would say to the Voice ; 
 and the Voice would reply : ' Because you might not only 
 escape this malefactor's doom, which already holds you 
 in its talons, but gain a thousand louis, wherewith to 
 buy that little house in the country, with green hedges, 
 whither you wish to retire with, Mademoiselle Oliva and 
 little Toussaint, and five hundred francs a year income, 
 coming to you from the twelve thousand francs which 
 had not been used in buying the place, — to live, as you 
 said, as a gardener, going about in slippers in summer 
 time and brogans in winter. Now, instead of this charm- 
 ing prospect, we have — you particularly — before our 
 eyes the Place de Greve, planted with two or three vil- 
 lainous gallows-posts, of which the highest offers you its 
 arm. Ugh ! An ugly outlook, my poor Monsieur de 
 Beausire ! ' " 
 
 " But after all, Count, how can I manage to escape, — 
 how gain the thousand louis necessary to assure my tran- 
 quillity, and also that of Nicole and Toussaint ? " 
 
 " You are always asking something ! Well, the Voice 
 might reply : ' Nothing easier. You have there, very 
 near you, only two steps away, the Count Cagliostro.' 
 — ' I know him,' you would reply, — ' a foreign noble- 
 mau, who lives in Paris for his pleasure, and who is bored 
 almost to death unless he has plenty of news.' — ' That 's 
 the man,' the Voice would say. ' Well, you have only to 
 hunt him up, and say to him — ' " 
 
 " But I don't know where he lives ! " cried Beausire. 
 " I don't know if he is still in Paris. I don't even know 
 if he 's still alive." 
 
 " To which, dear Beausire, the Voice would respond, 
 that this was precisely why the Count had -come to find 
 you ; and the moment he found you, there would remain 
 
 VOL. I. — 23 
 
354 LA COMTESSE DE CHAKNY. 
 
 to you no convenient excuse. Well, you would then say 
 to him : ' Monsieur, I know you for an epicure in the 
 matter of news. Now I have the very latest. Monsieur, 
 the King's hrother, is engaged in a conspiracy.' — ' Bah ! ' 
 would be his reply. — 'Yes, with the Marquis de Favras.' 
 ■ — ' Impossible ! ' — ' Yes indeed ! I speak wittingly, be- 
 cause I am one of the agents of Favras.' — ' Truly ] Well, 
 what is the aim of this plof! ' — ' The abduction of the 
 King and his removal to Peronne. Well, Count, for your 
 recreation, if you so desire, I will bring you, hour by 
 hour, — minute by minute, if necessary, — intelligence 
 as to how the affair goes on.' Then the Count, who is a 
 generous seigTieur, would reply : 'Will you really do this, 
 Beausire ■! ' — ' Yes indeed ! ' — ' Well, as every effort 
 deserves its reward, if you keep your word, why, I have 
 there, in a corner, twenty-four thousand francs, which I 
 mean to use in some good way. My faith, why not spend 
 them on my caprice 1 Now on the day when the King 
 is abducted, or Favras taken, if you come and tell me so, 
 on the honor of a gentleman, the twenty-four thousand 
 livres shall be yours, as shall be these ten louis, — not 
 as an advance, not even as a loan, but simply as a 
 gift.'" 
 
 At these words, like an actor who rehearses with all 
 the accessories, Cagliostro drew from his pouch his heavy 
 purse, introduced into it his thumb and finger, and 
 with a dexterity which testified to his familiarity with 
 that species of exercise, he pinched up just ten louis, no 
 more and no less ; while it is but fair to say, on his side, 
 that Beausire put forth his hand to receive them. 
 
 Cagliostro pushed this hand gently aside, saying : 
 "Excuse me, but we were only dealing in suppositions, 
 I believe ! " 
 
 " Yes, but," said Beausire whose eyes gleamed like live 
 
BEAUSIRE THE SAME MAN. 355 
 
 coals, "as you said, by the way of theories and supposi- 
 tions we reach facts." 
 
 " Have we reached that point 1 " 
 
 Beausire hesitated. We hasten to say that the cause 
 of this hesitation was not honesty, was not fidelity to his 
 pledges, was not an elevated conscience. We affirm, what 
 our readers know Beausire too well to contradict, that the 
 cause of his hesitation was merely the fear lest the Count 
 should not keep his promise. 
 
 " My dear Beausire," said Cagliostro, " I well know 
 what is passing through your mind." 
 
 " Yes, you are right ! I hesitate about betraying the 
 trust reposed in me by a gallant man ; " and he lifted his 
 eyes to Heaven, and shook his head, as much as to say, 
 " How hard this is ! " 
 
 " Xo, that is not so," replied Cagliostro ; " and you are 
 a new illustration of the truth of that wise saw, j.Vo man 
 knows himself." 
 
 " '\^'^lat then 1 " demanded Beausire, flurried by the 
 Count's facility in reading the bottom of his heart. 
 
 " You fear that I will not keep my promise about giv- 
 ing you the thousand louis." 
 
 " Oh Monsieur ! — " 
 
 " That is but natural. Well, I offer you a guaranty." 
 
 " A guaranty ! Monsieur has no need — " 
 
 " A guaranty which will personally answer for me." 
 
 " And what is this security 1 " asked Beausire, timidly. 
 
 " Mademoiselle Nicole Oliva Legay." 
 
 " Oh, if the Count promises, the thing is as good as 
 done ! " cried Nicole. 
 
 "You see. Monsieur, here is the evidence that I scru- 
 pulously fulfil my agreements. Once upon a time Made- 
 moiselle was in the same situation that you are now, 
 minus the conspiracy ; that is, she was sought by the 
 
356 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 police. I made her an offer, — to make her retreat at 
 my house. She feared for her honor. I gave her my 
 word ; and in spite of all the temptations which beset 
 me, — and which you, Beausire, understand better than 
 anybody else, — I kept my word. — Is n't this so, my 
 dear Mademoiselle'!" 
 
 " Oh yes ! By our little Toussaint, I swear it ! " 
 
 " You believe, then, Mademoiselle Nicole, that I will 
 keep my word, if to-day I engage to give him twenty- 
 four thousand livres on the day when the King takes his 
 flight, or Favras is arrested ? And this does n't take into 
 the account, be it understood, that I also loosen the 
 knot which threatens to strangle you at any moment, — 
 so that there will he no further question of rope or 
 gallows, — at any rate, as connected with this affair. Of 
 course I cannot be responsible beyond that. — One mo- 
 ment ! Let us understand each other. There are some 
 vocations — " 
 
 " As for me," said Nicole, " it is all the same as if a 
 notary had passed the contracts." 
 
 " Well, my dear Mademoiselle," said Cagliostro, placing 
 in a row on the table the ten louis, which he had here- 
 tofore kept in his hand, " inspire the heart of Monsieur 
 de Beausire with this conviction, and the affair is con- 
 cluded ; " and he made a sign with his hand for Beausire 
 to go and talk with Nicole alone. 
 
 The conversation only lasted five minutes ; but it 
 mnst be said that during those five minutes it was very 
 animated. 
 
 Meanwhile Cagliostro looked at the card full of holes, 
 which he held up before the candle, nodding to it as if 
 he was saluting an old acquaintance. 
 
 "Ah ha ! " he said. " This is the famous combination 
 of Monsieur Law, which you have picked up. I lost a 
 
BEAUSIRE THE SAME MAN. 357 
 
 aiillion ou that very combination ; " and he carelessly 
 dropped the card ou the table. 
 
 This observation imparted new activity to the conversa- 
 tion of Nicole and Beausire. At last Beausire appeared 
 to have made up his mind. He came to Cagliostro with 
 outstretched hand, like a jockey who wishes to conclude 
 a good trade ; but the Count drew back and frowned. 
 
 " Monsieur, between gentlemen, the word is sufficient. 
 You have mine ; give me yours ! " 
 
 " On the faith of a Beausire, it is agreed." 
 
 " That is enough," said Cagliostro. Then he added, 
 drawing from his fob a watch, on which was a picture of 
 King Frederic of Prussia, enriched with diamonds : " It 
 is nine o'clock, less a quarter-hour. At nine o'clock 
 precisely you will be waited for under the arcades on 
 Place Royale, on the side of the Hotel Sully. Take these 
 ten louis and put them in your waistcoat pocket, buckle 
 on your coat, gird on your sword, cross Notre Dame 
 Bridge, follow the Eue Saint Antoiue. No need for any- 
 body to go with you." 
 
 Beausire did not need speaking to a second time. He 
 took the ten louis, put them into his pocket, buckled on 
 his coat, and belted on his sword. 
 
 " Where shall I see you again, Count?" 
 
 " In Saint John Cemetery, if you please. When one 
 wishes not to be overheard, and to talk over such af- 
 fairs as this, better be among the dead than among the 
 living." 
 
 " At what hour 1 " 
 
 " As soon as you are at liberty. The first comer will 
 wait for the other." 
 
 " Monsieur has something more to do 1 " asked Beau" 
 sire anxiously, seeing that the Count did not get ready 
 to follow him out. 
 
358 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 "Yes, I wish to chat with Mademoiselle Nicole." 
 
 Beausire made a sharp gesture. 
 
 " Oh, be easy, my friend. I respected her honor when 
 she was a young girl ; all the more reason why I should 
 respect her as the mother of a family. Go along, Beau- 
 sire, go along ! " 
 
 Beausire glanced at his Nicole, as much as to say : 
 " Madame de Beausire, be worthy of the confidence I re- 
 pose in you ! " Tenderly he embraced the young Tous- 
 saint, saluted the Count with respect mingled with some 
 distrust, and went out precisely as the clock on Notre 
 Dame rang out the three-quarters past eight. 
 
(EDIPUS AND LOT. 359 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXV. 
 
 CEDIPUS AND LOT. 
 
 It lacked but a few minutes of midnight when a man, 
 emerging from the Eue Eoyale into the Rue Saint An- 
 toine, followed the latter street as far as Saint Catherine's 
 Fountain, and paused a moment within its projecting 
 shadow, to assure himself that he was not shadowed by 
 some spy. Thence he took the lane ■which leads to the 
 Hotel St. Paul, whence he entered the very dark and 
 utterly deserted Rue du Eoi-de-Sicile. Then, some- 
 what relaxing his gait, he advanced towards the extremity 
 of this street, and hesitatingly turned into the Rue de la 
 Croix-Blanche, and finally stopped, but still more hesi- 
 tatingly before the grated gate of Saint John Cemetery. 
 
 There he waited, as if he feared he should see some 
 spectre rise out of the earth, and wiped the sweat from 
 his face with the sleeve of his sergeant's coat. 
 
 At the very moment when midnight sounded, some- 
 thing like a ghost appeared, gliding among the yews and 
 cypresses. This ghost approached the gate ; and soon, by 
 the noise of the key in the lock, one could see that the 
 spectre, if spectre it was, not only possessed the faculty 
 of coming out of his tomb, but, when he was once outside 
 the grave, of going also outside the cemetery. 
 
 At this clanking sound our military friend recoiled. 
 
 " Well, well, Beausire," said the hectoring voice of 
 Cagliostro, " don't you know me, or have you forgotten 
 our appointment 1 " 
 
360 LA COiMTESSE DE CHAENY, 
 
 " Ah, is it you 1 " said Beausire, breathing like a man 
 from whose heart a great weight has been lifted. " So 
 much the better. These devilish streets are so dark and 
 lonesome that one does n't know whether he would rather 
 find his way alone, or meet somebody.'" 
 
 " Ah, bah ! " said Cagliostro. " What, you afraid of any- 
 thing, at any hour of day or night 1 You would n't have 
 me credit that, — a brave man like you, who wears a 
 sword at his side ! Come this side of the gate, dear Beau- 
 sire, and you '11 feel easier, for you '11 only encounter 
 myself." 
 
 Beausire accepted the bidding, and the lock, which had 
 grated in opening the gate for him, grated again as it was 
 fastened behind him. 
 
 "There now," said Cagliostro, "follow this. little path- 
 way, dear Monsieur, and, at the end of twenty paces, we 
 shall find a sort of ruined altar, the steps whereof will be 
 marvellously convenient for a chat over our aifairs." 
 
 Beausire started "to obey his leader ; but presently he 
 said, after a moment's hesitation : " Where the devil are 
 you going? I can see only briers which scratch me like 
 nails, and grass which comes up to my knees." 
 
 " The truth is, that this cemetery is one of the worst 
 kept that I know of; but that is not astonishing. You 
 know hardly anybody is buried here except condemned 
 sinners, who have been executed in the Place de' Greve ; 
 and for such poor devils, they use small ceremony. Never- 
 theless, there are several illustrious people buried here. 
 If it were daytime I could show you the place where 
 Bouteville de Montmorenoy is buried, who was beheaded 
 for fighting a duel ; and the Chevalier de Rohan, decapi- 
 tated for oonspiiing against the government ; and Count 
 Horn, broken on the wheel for assassinating a Jew ; and 
 Damiens, quartered for trying to kill Louis Fifteenth, — 
 
(EDIPUS AND LOT. 361 
 
 and I dou't know who else. Oh, you 're wrong to tra- 
 duce Saint John Cemetery. It 's badly kept, but very 
 well inhabited." 
 
 Beausire followed on, fitting his step to Cagliostro's, as 
 regularly as a soldier, in the second rank, is in the habit 
 of doing with his file-leader. 
 
 " Ah ! " said the leader, suddenly stopping, in such a 
 way that Beausire, who expected no such halt, ran into 
 Cagliostro's back. " Hold, here 's something new. This 
 is the grave of your comrade, Fleur d'Epiue, one of the 
 murderers of Fran9ois the baker. Epine was hanged a 
 week ago, by order of the Chatelet Court. This ought to 
 interest you, as he was an old exempt soldier, like your- 
 self, a genuine recruiter and a sergeant." 
 
 Beausire's teeth literally chattered. It seemed as if 
 the thorns, amidst which he was walking, were so many 
 clinched hands, stretching out of the earth to draw him 
 down by his legs, and make him understand that Destiny 
 had there marked a place for his eternal sleep. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Cagliostro, stopping before a sort of ruin, 
 " here we are, at last ! " 
 
 Seating himself on a broken stone, he pointed Beausire 
 to another, which seemed placed side by side with the 
 first, expressly to spare Cinna the pains of bringing his 
 seat nearer that of Augustus. It was time, for the legs 
 of the ex-soldier were shaking in such a way that he fell, 
 rather than sat, down upon the stone. 
 
 "ISTow that we can talk at our ease," said Cagliostro, 
 " let us hear what took place under the arcades of Place 
 Eoyale. The meeting must have been interesting." 
 
 " My faith, I must acknowledge that just now my head 
 spins, and I think we shall both be the gainers if you will 
 please question me." 
 
 " So be it 1 I 'm a good-natured prince ; and if I can 
 
362 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 only learn what I want, never mind the form. How 
 many were there under the arcades in Place Eoyale 1 " 
 
 " Six, including me." 
 
 " Six, including yourself! Weil, let us see if they were 
 indeed the men I think. Imprimis, yourself, beyond a 
 doubt." 
 
 Beausire sighed, as much as to say that he should be 
 glad if the doubt were possible. 
 
 " You do me the honor to begin with me," he said, 
 " but there were much greater personages with me." 
 
 " My dear boy, I follow the precept of the Gospel, 
 which declares that the first shall be last. Now if the 
 first are to be last, the last naturally will be first. I pro- 
 ceed, as I tell you, according to the Gospel. First, you 
 were there, were you not 1 " 
 
 " Yes ! " said Beausire. 
 
 " Then there was your friend Tourcaty, — an old re- 
 cruiting officer, intrusted with raising the legion for 
 Brabant." 
 
 "Yes, Tourcaty was there." 
 
 " Then there was a good Eoyalist named Marquie, 
 formerly a sergeant in the French Guards, but now a sub- 
 lieutenant of a central company." 
 
 " Yes, Marquie was there." 
 
 " Next, Monsieur de Favras 1 " 
 
 "Yes, Favras comes next." 
 
 " Next, the masked man 1 " 
 
 " Next, the masked man ! " 
 
 " Have you any information to give me about that 
 masked man, Beausire 1 " 
 
 He looked at Cagliostro so intently that his eyes 
 seemed to illuminate the obscurity. " Well,'' he finally 
 began, " is he not — 1 " and then Beausire stopped, as if 
 he feared he should commit a sacrilege by going so far. 
 
(EDIPUS AND LOT. 363 
 
 " Is he not who 1" demanded Cagliostro. 
 
 "Is he not — r' 
 
 " So ! Your tongue is evidently tied, my dear Beau- 
 sire. You must pay attention to that. Knots in the 
 tongue sometimes bring on knots in the throat; and 
 those, though movable, are not the less dangerous." 
 
 Forced from his last intrenchment Beausire finally 
 replied : " Is he not Monsieur ? " 
 
 " Monsieur whoV 
 
 " Monsieur, — Monsieur, the King's brother." 
 
 " My dear Beausire, it is quite conceivable that the 
 Marquis de Favras should represent this masked man to 
 be Monsieur de Provence, because Favras has an interest 
 in having it believed that he is supported by the hand of 
 a Prince of the blood royal ; and a man who does not 
 know how to lie, does not how to conspire ; hut that you 
 and your friend Tourcaty, two old recruiters, should let 
 yourselves be imposed upon in this sort of way, is hardly 
 probable, — you, who are accustomed to taking the mea- 
 sure of people about them by feet and inches." 
 
 " What then ] " 
 
 " Monsieur is five feet, three inches, and a fraction in 
 height," Cagliostro went on, " while the masked man is 
 nearly five feet and six inches." 
 
 " That is true, and I had ah'eady thought of it ; but if 
 not Monsieur, who then can it be 1 " 
 
 " Ah Beausire, I am proud and happy at my ability 
 to teach you something, when I exjDected only to learn 
 something from you." 
 
 " Then," said the ex-soldier, returning little by little 
 to his natural condition, as he realized that he was deal- 
 ing with realities, " then you know, who this man iaV 
 
 " Perhaps ! " 
 
 " Would it be indiscreet to ask — ? " 
 
364 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 " His name ? " 
 
 Beausire bowed, to show that this was what he wanted. 
 
 "A name is always a ticklish thing to speak, Monsieur, 
 and really, I should like it better if you would guess." 
 
 " Guess 1 I have been trying to, for a fortnight." 
 
 " Ah ! because nobody aided you ! " 
 
 " Please aid me yourself, Monsieur Count." 
 
 " I ask nothing better. Do you know the history of 
 (Edipus 1 " 
 
 " Hardly. I saw it played once at the Comedie Fran- 
 9aise, but towards the end of the fourth act I had the 
 misfortune to get drowsy." 
 
 " Pest ! I wish you many such misfortunes, my dear 
 fellow." 
 
 " But you see that just now it leaves me ignorant — " 
 
 " Well, in two words I will tell you about ffidipus. I 
 was acquainted with him as a child at the Court of King 
 Polybius, and as an old man at the Court of King Ad- 
 metus ; so you can believe what I tell you, better than 
 you can believe what is said by ^Eschylus, Sophocles, 
 Seneca, Corneille, Voltaire, or Monsieur Ducis, who have 
 heard a great deal about CEdipus, but never enjoyed the 
 advantage of his acquaintance." 
 
 Beausire made a movement, as if to ask Cagliostro for 
 some explanation of this strange pretence of having known 
 a man who had been dead thirty-six hundred years ; but 
 thinking that it was hardly the thing to interrupt the 
 narrator for such a trifle, he checked himself, and made 
 a sign, as much as to say : " Keep on ; I am all atten- 
 tion ; " and as a matter of fact Cagliostro did keep on. 
 
 " Well, I knew (Edipus. It had been predicted that 
 he would be the murderer of his father and the husband 
 of his mother ; so believing Polybius to be his father, he 
 left the old man's Court without saying good-bye, and 
 
CEDIPUS AND LOT. 365 
 
 started for Phoois. At the time of his departure I ad- 
 vised his taking a mountain road which I was ac- 
 quainted with, instead of travelling by the usual road 
 from Daulis to Delphi ; but he was pig-headed, and as 
 I could not tell him why I so advised, all my exhorta- 
 tions to change his route were useless. At the branch- 
 ing of the road from Delphi to Thebes, he encountered a 
 man followed by five slaves. This man was mounted 
 in a chariot, and the chariot took up the whole road. All 
 would have been easily adjusted, if the man in the chariot 
 would have consented to move a little to the left, and 
 (Edipus a little to the right ; but each wanted to keep in 
 the middle of the highway. The man in the chariot had 
 a choleric temperament, and (Edipus was not naturally 
 patient. The five slaves threw themselves upon (Edipus, 
 one after the other, in front of their master ; and one 
 after the other was tumbled over, till at last their master 
 was slain in his turn. (Edipus marched over six corpses, 
 and among them was the man who was really his father ; 
 so part of the oracle was fulfilled." 
 
 " The Devil," said Beausire. 
 
 " Then (Edipus resumed his journey towards Thebes. 
 On the road rises Mount Phocion ; and in a pathway, even 
 narrower than that where (Edipus slew his father, a sin- 
 gular animal had his cavern. This animal had wings 
 like an eagle's, body and claws like a lion's, and breasts 
 and head like a woman's." 
 
 " Oh Monsieur," said Beausire, " can you believe that 
 such a monster ever existed 1 " 
 
 " I cannot so affirm," replied Cagliostro, gravely, " for 
 when I passed over this road, — a thousand years after- 
 wards, in the time of Epaminondas, — the Sphinx was 
 dead. However, he was living in the (Edipus epoch, and 
 had a mania for stationing himself in the road, proposing 
 
366 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 a conundrum to travellers, and devouring them if they 
 eould n't guess it. As he kept this up for over three cen- 
 turies, travellers became more and more scarce, and the 
 Sphinx's teeth very long. When he saw CEdipus coming, 
 the Sphinx placed himself in the middle of the road, and 
 lifted one paw as a sign for the young fellow to stop. 
 ' Traveller,' said he, ' I 'm the Sphinx.' — ' What then 1 ' 
 said (Edipus. — ' Well, Destiny has placed me on the 
 earth to propose an enigma to mortals. If they can't 
 solve it, they belong to me. If one should guess it, why 
 I should belong to Death, and of my own accord I should 
 throw myself into yon abyss, where at present I throw 
 the corpses of all those who have the misfortune to 
 come my way.' (Edipus looked over the precipice, and 
 there saw the bleaching bones. ' Very well,' said the 
 young fellow, ' what is the riddle 1' — ' This is the riddle,' 
 said the lion-bird : ' What is the animal who goes on four 
 paws in the morning, two at noon, and three at night 1 ' 
 (Edipus reflected an instant and then said, with a smile 
 •which did not make the Sphinx altogether comfortable : 
 ' And if I guess it, thou will throw thyself into yon 
 abyss'?' — 'Such is the law,' responded the Sphinx. — 
 ' Well, that animal is mmi /' replied CEdipus." 
 
 " How, man ? " interrupted Beausire, who was as much 
 interested in the story as if it concerned his Parisian 
 contemporaries. 
 
 " Yes, man. In infancy — that is, in the morning of life 
 — he creeps on both hands and feet. In adult age — that 
 is, at midday — he walks properly on his two feet. In 
 the evening — that is, in old age — he leans ou a cane.'' 
 
 " Mordieu, that 's true ! " said Beausire. " That stag- 
 gered the Sphinx ! " 
 
 " Yes, my dear fellow, staggered him so that he pre- 
 cipitated himself head first into the ravine; and as he 
 
(EDIPUS AND LOT. 367 
 
 was too honorable to save himself with his wings, which 
 ■you will doubtless think proves him an idiot, he broke 
 his head on the rocks. As to CEdipus, he went on his 
 way, arrived at Thebes, found Jocasta a widow (of the 
 man he had killed at the cross-roads) and married her, 
 thus accomplishing both prophecies, as to killing his 
 father and wedding with his mother." 
 
 " But after all, what analogy do you find iJetween the 
 history of CEdipus and the man with the mask'?" 
 
 " A great analogy. Listen ! To begin with, you want 
 his name.'' 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And I propose to you a conundrum. True, I am of 
 better stuff than the Sphinx, and I won't eat you alive if 
 you can't guess it. Attention ! I raise my paw. "What 
 young lord is the grandson of his father, the brother of 
 his mother, and the uncle of his sisters ? " 
 
 " The Devil ! " said Beausire, falling into a revery not 
 less profound than that of CEdipus. 
 
 " Think it out, my dear fellow ! " 
 
 " Help me a little. Count." 
 
 " Willingly. I asked if you knew the history of 
 CEdipus." 
 
 " You did me that honor." 
 
 " Well, now we '11 pass from profane history to sacred. 
 Do you know the anecdote about the Patriarch Lot % " 
 
 " With his two daughters ] " 
 
 " Precisely." 
 
 " Of course I know it," said Beausire ; "but — wait a 
 minute — Hey ! — yes — what used to be said about 
 old King Louis Fifteenth and his daughter, Madame 
 Adelaide % " 
 
 "You are near enough to burn, my dear man." 
 
 " Then the man with the mask must be — " 
 
-*=*■ 
 
 368 LA COMTESSE DE CHAKNT. 
 
 " Five feet and six inches tall." 
 
 " Count Louis — ! " 
 
 " That will do ! " 
 
 " Count Louis de — " 
 
 " Hush ! " 
 
 " But as you said there was nobody here but dead 
 folks — " 
 
 " Yes, but grass sprouts over their graves, and grows 
 faster there than anywhere else. Well, these weeds, like 
 the weeds of King Midas, — do you know the story of 
 King Midas t " 
 
 " No, Monsieur ! " 
 
 " I will tell it you some other time. For the nonce, let 
 us return to our own muttons." 
 
 Then he resumed, more seriously : " You were saying, 
 Beausire f " 
 
 "Excuse me, Monsieur, but I believe you were asking 
 certain questions." 
 
 " You are right ; " and thereupon Cagliostro mentally 
 pondered his catechism. 
 
 " On my word, that is true," muttered Beausire. " His 
 father's grandson, his mother's brother, and his sisters' 
 nnole ! That is Louis de Nar — ! " 
 
 " Attention ! " said Cagliostro. 
 
 Beausire interrupted his monologue, and listened with 
 all his ears. 
 
 " Meanwhile, as there is no longer any doubt about 
 the conspirators, masked or not masked, let us go to the 
 end of the plot." 
 
 Beausire indicated with a nod that he was ready to 
 answer. 
 
 " The object is to carry off the King, is it not 1 " 
 
 " That is indeed the aim of the conspiracy." 
 
 " To take him to Peronne % " 
 
(EDIPUS AND LOT. 369 
 
 " To Peronne ! " 
 
 " And the means t " 
 
 " Pecuniary 1 " 
 
 " Yes, pecuniary, first of all." 
 
 " They have two millions.'' 
 
 " Borrowed of a Genoese banker. I know that banker. 
 Is he the only one "i " 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 "Well, that '11 do very well for the money; but money 
 is not enough. Men must be had." 
 
 " Lafayette has just authorized raising a legion to go 
 to the help of Brabant, which is in revolt against the 
 German Empire." „ 
 
 " Oh that amiable Lafayette," said Cagliostro to him- 
 self; " that is just like him ! " Then he added aloud : 
 " So, they '11 have a legion ! But a legion can't execute 
 such a project. They need an army." 
 
 " They have an army ! " 
 
 "Ah, show us the army !" 
 
 " Twelve hundred horsemen will assemble at Versailles. 
 They will start on the day appointed, at eleven at night. 
 By two o'clock in the morning they will enter Paris in 
 three columns." 
 
 " Good ! " 
 
 " The first will enter by the Chaillot Gate ; the second 
 by the Barriere du Roule ; and the third hy the Crenelle. 
 The Greuelle column will swallow up General Lafayette. 
 The Chaillot column will choke off Prime Minister 
 Neoker. The other column will dispose of Bailly." 
 
 " Good ! " repeated Cagliostro. 
 
 " This done they are to spike the guns, and then the 
 three columns will reunite on the Champs Elysees, and 
 march on the Tuileries, which will be on our side." 
 
 " How on your side ? Where is the National Guard 1 " 
 
 VOL. I. — 24 ^ 
 
 ^ 
 
370 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 " The Brabant volunteers will attend to that. Aided 
 by part of the hired soldiery, — four hundred Swiss, — 
 and by three hundred confederates from the country, the 
 Brabant delegation, thanks to our accurate information 
 about the Tuileries, will take possession of the doors, 
 inside and outside. They will rush in upon the King, 
 exclaiming ; ' Sire, the Saint Antoine section is in full 
 insurrection. A carriage is all harnessed. You must 
 flee ! ' If the King consents to flee, the rest will take 
 care of itself. If he consents not, they will capture him 
 forcibly, and take him to Saint Denis." 
 
 " Good ! " 
 
 " There they will find twenty thousand infantry, 
 whereto will be added twelve hundred horsemen, the 
 Brabant legion, the four hundred Swiss mercenaries, the 
 three hundred confederates, besides ten, twenty, thirty 
 thousand Eoyalists, gathered along the route ; and in 
 great force they will conduct the amiable King of the 
 French to Peronue." 
 
 " Better and better ! And at Peronne, what will be 
 done, dear Beausire ] " 
 
 " At Peronne they will find twenty thousand, who will 
 arrive at about the same time from the Flanders ship- 
 ping, from Picardy, from Artois, Champagne, Burgundy, 
 Lorraine, Alsace, and Cambresis. They are also bargain- 
 ing for twenty thousand more Swiss hirelings, twelve 
 thousand Germans, and twelve thousand Sardinians, 
 which, added to the King's large escort, will form an 
 effective force of fifty thousand men." 
 
 " A very pretty number ! " said Cagliostro. 
 
 " Finally, with these fifty thousand men, they will 
 march on Paris, take possession of the river Seine above 
 and below the city, so as to cut off all supplies. Paris, 
 being famished, will capitulate. The National Assembly 
 
(EDIPUS AND LOT. 371 
 
 will be dissolved. The King will be replaced — a King 
 in deed and in truth — on the throne of his fathers." 
 
 " Amen ! " said Cagliostro. Then he added, rising : 
 " My dear Beausire, your conversation is very agreeable ; 
 but it is veith you, as with most great orators, — when 
 you have said everything, you have nothing more to say ; 
 and you have told the whole story, I believe ] " 
 
 " Yes, for the present ! " 
 
 " Very well ! When you want ten more louis, — always 
 as a gift, be it understood, — come and find me at my 
 place, Bellevue.'' 
 
 " At Bellevue ; and I shall ask for Monsieur Cagliostro ?" 
 
 " Cagliostro 1 Oli no, they would n't understand you. 
 Ask for the Baron Zannone." 
 
 " Baron Zannone ? " cried Beausire. " Why, that 's the 
 name of the banker who has discounted two millions worth 
 of paper for Momienr." 
 
 " Very possible ! " 
 
 " How, possible ? " 
 
 " Yes; only I do so much business, that one item may 
 easily be confounded with others. That is why I did n't 
 at first recollect ; but I think I do recall the fact now.'' 
 
 Beausire was in a state of stupefaction, in the presence 
 of a man who could forget business involving two mil- 
 lions, and began to think, that even from a pecuniary 
 point of view, it is better to be of service to the lender 
 than the borrower. 
 
 As this stupefaction was not so deep as to make him 
 forget where he was, at the sound of Cagliostro's first 
 move towards the gate, Beausire noted the action, and 
 followed, with a step so closely modelled after his leader's, 
 that, seeing them march thus in single file, one after the 
 other, one might mistake them for automatons, moved 
 by the same spring. Only at the entrance, after the 
 
372 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 grating was fastened, did the two appear to be wholly 
 separate. 
 
 " Well," asked Cagliostro, " which way do you go ] " 
 
 "And yourself?" 
 
 " In the direction which you do not!' 
 
 " I am going to the Palace Royal, Monsieur." 
 
 " And I to the Bastille." 
 
 On this the two men separated, Beausire saluting the 
 Count with deepest respect, and Cagliostro responding 
 with a slight nod ; and both disappeared, almost at the 
 same time, in the midst of the obscurity, Cagliostro going 
 towards the Eue Temple, and Beausire towards the Eue 
 de la Verrerie. 
 
GAMAIN TRULY THE MASTER. 373 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXVi; 
 
 IN 'WHICH GAMAIN PEOVES THAT HE IS TRULY MASTER OP 
 THE MASTER, MASTER OP ALL. 
 
 It may he remembered that the King expressed, in 
 presence of Lafayette and young Louis de Bouille, a 
 desire to have near him his old teacher Gamain, to aid 
 in an important bit of mechanism. He even added, — 
 and it may be well to record this detail, — that an adroit 
 apprentice would not be unwelcome to complete the me- 
 chanical triumvirate. This number three, which pleases 
 the gods of good-luck, was happily not displeasing to 
 Lafayette ; and he consequently gave orders for the free 
 access to the King of Master Gamain and his apprentice, 
 and that they should be admitted to the forge whenever 
 they presented themselves. 
 
 It was not therefore astonishing, several days after the 
 conversation before reported, to see Master Gamain, — 
 who is no stranger to our readers, as he was carefully 
 pointed out on the morning of the Sixth of October, 
 drinking a bottle of burgundy with an unknown gun- 
 maker, in the tavern near Sevres Bridge, — it was not 
 therefore astonishing, we repeat, a few days after the 
 King's conversation with Lafayette, to see Gamain, ac- 
 companied by an apprentice, both clad in working-clothes, 
 present themselves at the entrance of the Tuileries. 
 After their admission, which was accorded without any 
 difficulty, they walked around the royal apartments by 
 way of the public corridors, ascended the staircase to the 
 
374 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 attics, and gave their names and titles as follows, to 
 the attendant on duty : Nicholas Claude Gamain, master 
 locksmith ; Louis Lecomte, apprentice. 
 
 Although there was nothing aristocratic in either of 
 these names or titles, hardly were they announced 
 when Louis Sixteenth ran to the door, exclaiming, 
 "Come in!" 
 
 " Here we are ! " said Gamain, entering, not merely 
 with the familiarity of a guest, but as if he were at least 
 the master. 
 
 Perhaps because he was less accustomed to intercourse 
 with royalty, and naturally endowed with great respect 
 for crowned heads, in whatever costume they appeared to 
 him, or in whatever guise he appeared before them, — at 
 any rate, for some reason, the apprentice, by not respond- 
 ing at once to the King's bidding, left a convenient 
 interval between Gamain and himself, and so remained 
 standing, his jacket on his arm and his cap in his hand, 
 near the door, which the valet had closed behind them. 
 
 Perhaps it was easier from this point, than it would 
 have been if he had stood side by side with Gamain, to 
 catch the flash of joy which gleamed in the dull eye of 
 the King, and respond thereto with a respectful inclina- 
 tion of the head. 
 
 " Ah, is it thou, my dear Gamain 1 " said the King. 
 " I am right glad to see thee. Indeed, I did not expect 
 thee, and believed thou hadst forgotten me." 
 
 " And that 's why you took an apprentice ! That 's all 
 right, seeing I was n't here ; but unhappily," he added, 
 with a sly gesture, " the apprentice is n't a master, 
 hey^' 
 
 The apprentice made a sign to the King. 
 
 " What wouldst thou have, my poor Gamain 1 " asked 
 the King. "I was assured thou wouldst never have 
 
GAMAIN TRULY THE MASTER. 375 
 
 auythiug to do with me, — ■ never again, — for fear of 
 compromising thyself." 
 
 " Faith, Sire, you must have been convinced, for your- 
 self, at Versailles, that it went hard with your friends ; 
 and in the cabaret at Sevres Bridge I saw, with my own 
 eyes, two heads frizzled by Monsieur Leonard himself, — 
 two heads which grinned horribly, — of those two guards- 
 men who happened to be in your antechamber, when 
 your good friends came from Paris to visit you." 
 
 A cloud swept over the King's face, and the apprentice 
 lowered his head. 
 
 " But," continued Gamain, " they say things are better 
 since you came back to Paris, and that now you can do 
 what you please with these Parisians. Oh, that 's not 
 strange ! Your Parisians are such asses, and the Queen 
 is such a wheedler, when she chooses." 
 
 Louis Sixteenth said nothing, but a faint blush reddened 
 his cheeks. 
 
 As to the young man, he seemed greatly distressed by 
 these familiarities on Gamain's part. After wiping his 
 forehead, with a handkerchief somewhat too fine for a 
 locksmith's apprentice, he came nearer and said : " Your 
 Majesty will perhaps allow me to tell how it is that 
 Master Gamain has the honor of seeing the face of your 
 Majesty once more, and how I happen to be with 
 himT' 
 
 "Yes, my dear Louis," replied the King. 
 
 " Ah, there it is ! Mt/ dear Louis ! as large as life," 
 muttered Gamain. — " My dear Louis ! — to an acquaint- 
 ance of a fortnight, — to a workman, an apprentice. 
 What do you call me, — me, who have known you five- 
 and-twenty years, — me, who put the first file into your 
 hand, — ■ me, the master % That 's what it is to have a 
 glib tongue and white hands ! " 
 
376 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 " I call thee, My good Gamain, and I call this youth, 
 My dear Louis, not because he expresses himself more 
 elegantly than thyself, not because he washes his hands 
 oftener, — for I care little, as thou knowest, for these 
 trifles, — but because he found a way of bringing thee 
 here, my friend, when they told me thou wouldst refuse 
 to see me again." 
 
 " Oh, it was n't me who would n't see you ; for as for me, 
 — well, in spite of j'our faults, I rather like you, after all ; 
 but it was my wife, Madame Gamain, who kept saying to 
 me : ' Thou hast bad associates, Gamain, — associates too 
 high for thee. It is not well to visit aristocrats in these 
 days. We have n't much property, but let us guard it. 
 We have children ; let us look out for them ! If the 
 Dauphin wishes to learn lookmaking by-and-by, let him 
 go to somebody else. There is no scarcity of locksmiths 
 in France.' This is how she talked ; and even you know 
 how women can talk ! " 
 
 The King glanced at the apprentice, and said, stifling 
 a sigh, half humorous and half piteous : " Undoubtedly 
 there are plenty of locksmiths in France, but not another 
 like thyself" 
 
 " That 's what I told the master. Sire," interrupted the 
 apprentice, " when I went to see him in your behalf. I 
 told him the King was trying to make a secret lock, and 
 needed the aid of a locksmith ; that the King heard of 
 me, and sent for me ; that this was very flattering, and so 
 far, so good.; but that it was fine work the King was about. 
 The lock was well enough, so far as the partitions, the 
 case, and the springs went, because everybody knows 
 that three springs, dovetailed on to the flange, are enough 
 to connect the partition solidly with the box ; but when 
 it came to moving the bolt, then the workman was 
 bothered." 
 
GAMAIN TRULY THE MASTER. 377 
 
 "I believe you!" said Gamain. "The bolt is the 
 very soul of the lock." 
 
 "And the masterpiece of lockmaking, when well done," 
 said the apprentice; " but ther^ are bolts and bolts. There 
 is the sleepiug-bolt ; there is'-the lever-bolt, which moves 
 with the half-turn ; there is the nut-bolt, for moving the 
 latch. Well, suppose now, for instance, that we have a 
 bored key, which must be thrust through an aperture in 
 the woodwork, with a shallow sinkage on one side, and 
 a deeper sinkage on the other, requiring two wheels with a 
 reversible catch inside, to be pushed from the outside, 
 what sort of a bolt would be necessary for such a key 1 
 That 's where we came to a standstill." 
 
 " The fact is, everybody can't do such a job as that," 
 said Gamain. 
 
 " Precisely ! That 's why I went after you, Master 
 Gamain. Whenever the King was bothered he would 
 say to me, with a sigh : ' Oh, if Gamain were only here ! ' 
 So at last I said to the King : ' Well, why not have iim 
 here, this famous Gamain, and let him finish the work ; ' 
 but the King always answered : ' Useless, my poor Louis. 
 Gamain has forgotten me ! ' — ' Forget his Majesty, a man 
 to whom had been accorded the honor of working at his 
 Majesty's side] Impossible !' — So Lsaid to the King : 
 ' I will go and find this master of masters, this master 
 of all.' The King said : ' Go, but thou canst not bring 
 him ! ' But I declared I would bring you, and so set 
 forth. Ah, Sire, I did not know what a task I had under- 
 taken, and with what sort of a man I had to deal. Why, 
 when I went to him as an apprentice, he put me through 
 an examination which was worse than that required for 
 entering the School of Cadets. Well, never mind, I 
 stayed there with him. The next day I ventured to tell 
 him that I had come on your account. Well, I began to 
 
378 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 think he would put me clean out of doors. He called me 
 a spy. I tried to convince him that I was really sent by 
 the King ; but that counted for nothing. It was only 
 when I declared that the King and I had begun together 
 a piece of work we could not finish properly, that Master 
 Gamain opened his ears to me ; but even this did not 
 decide him. He said it was a snare set by his enemies. 
 It was only yesterday, when I handed him the twenty-five 
 louis which your Majesty had given me for that purpose, 
 that he at last said : ' Ah ha ! That certainly does come 
 from the King himself. Well, we '11 go to-morrow, for 
 whoso nothing risks shall nothing gain.' — All the evening 
 I kept the master in good humor ; and this morning I said 
 to him : ' See, it 's time to go ! ' I still had some difficulty 
 with him, but at last he decided ; so I tied his apron 
 about him, put his staff in his hand, and urged him out 
 of doors. "We took the road to Paris, and here we are ! " 
 
 "And you are welcome ! " said the King, thanking the 
 young man with a sidelong glance ; for the apprentice 
 had evidently taken as much pains with the matter, and 
 especially with the manner of his recital, — which sounded 
 almost as if it were read, — as Master Gamain might have 
 done with a sermon by Bossuet or a speech by Flechier. 
 
 " Now Gamain," added his Majesty, " as thou art forced 
 here at last, let us lose no time." 
 
 " That 's right ! " said the locksmith, " for I promised 
 Madame Gamain to be home to-night. Let 's see this 
 famous lock ! " 
 
 The King placed in the master's hands a lock three- 
 quarters made. 
 
 " Why didst thou tell me this was a hidden mortised 
 lock '! " said Gamain to his apprentice. " That sort of 
 a lock fastens from two sides, stupid ! This is only a 
 closet-lock. Let 's see a little about it ! This don't work 
 
GAMAIN TRULY THE MASTER. 379 
 
 very well, hey 1 Well, with Master Gamain, it '11 have to 
 work ! " and he tried to turn the key. " Ah, there it is I " 
 
 " Thou hast found the defect, dear Gamain 1 " 
 
 " I should say so ! " 
 
 " Well, show me ! " 
 
 "That 's quickly done ! Look ! The ward of the key 
 catches the large ridge well enough, and the ridge de- 
 scribes a half circle ; but then, as it is not bevelled off, 
 the key finishes its twist all alone, and the spring falls 
 back again. That 's all ! The play of the ridge being 
 six lines, the shoulder should be one line wide." Both 
 King and apprentice noted Gamain's science with wonder. 
 
 Encouraged by their tacit admiration he continued : 
 " Good gracious, it 's very simple. I don't see how you 
 managed to forget it. You must have been mixed up 
 with a heap of foolishness, since you saw me, which has 
 spoilt your memory. You have three ridges, — have n't 
 you 1 — one large and two small, — one five lines long, 
 and the others only two lines." 
 
 " Undoubtedly," said the King, following Gamain's 
 demonstration with some interest. 
 
 " Well, as soon as the key releases the large ridge, it 
 should unfasten the bolt, which had been held in place, — 
 shouldn't it r' 
 
 " Yes," said the King. 
 
 " Very well, on its second half-turn the key must catch 
 the second ridge, the minute the first is released 1 " 
 
 " Yes, yes, yes ! " said the King. 
 
 " Yes, yes, yes ! " repeated Gamain, impertinently. 
 " Well, how do you suppose this poor key can do that, if 
 the space between the large and small ridges is not equal 
 to the thickness of the wards of the key, and allows too 
 much play t " 
 
 " Ah ! " 
 
380 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 "Ah!" repeated Gamain jeeringly, as before. "You 
 are the fine great King of France, and say, / will. The 
 little ridge says / wonH ; and so, good-night, lock ! This 
 is just the way you bicker with the Assembly, and the 
 Assembly is the strongest." 
 
 " However, this lock may be cured, master, may it 
 nof!" asked the King. 
 
 " Great Heavens, there 's always a remedy. It is only 
 necessary to sharpen the first ridge a little, to enlarge 
 the shoulder a trifle, to remove the first ridge a little far- 
 ther from the second, and replace, at the same distance, 
 the third ridge, — the one which makes part of the spur, 
 and rests on the pin, — and there you are ! " 
 
 " But it will take a day's work to make all these 
 changes," said the King. 
 
 " Yes, for anybody else, — a day's labor ; but for 
 Gamain, two hours will sufiice, — if he is let alone, and 
 not bothered with remarks, — Gamain this, Gamain that! 
 The forge appears to be well supplied with tools ; and in 
 two hours, if I 'm let alone, — especially if the labor is 
 comfortably moistened," — continued Gamain, smiling, 
 "you may come back and find the agony all over." 
 
 What Gamain requested was exactly what the King 
 desired. The locksmith's desire for solitude furnished the 
 King an excuse for a tete-h-tete with the apprentice. How- 
 ever, the King pretended to raise objections. 
 
 "But if thou hast need of anything, my dear, good 
 Gamain — ?" 
 
 " If I need anything I will call the lackey, and pro- 
 vided he has orders to give me what I want, — well, 
 that's all I need." 
 
 The King went himself to the door, saying as he opened 
 it : " Frangois, stay at your post ! Here is Gamain, my 
 old instructor in lockmaking, who is correcting a bad 
 
GAMAIN TRULY THE MASTER. 381 
 
 piece of work. You will get him whatever he wants, and 
 particularly one or two bottles of excellent bordeaux." 
 
 " If you would have the goodness to remember, Sire, I 
 like burgundy much better! — To the Devil with your 
 bordeaux. It 's like drinking lukewarm water." 
 
 " Yes, yes, that 's true ! I forgot ! " said the King, 
 laughing. " We have clinked glasses many a time to- 
 gether, my poor Gamain. — Some burgundy, Franjois, — 
 you hear, some Volnay ! " 
 
 " Good ! " said Gamain, licking his chops, " I remember 
 that name." 
 
 " And it makes thy mouth water ] " 
 
 " Don't talk about water ! Water 1 I don't see what 
 use it is, unless for tempering iron. Those who use it for 
 anything else turn it from its proper destination. Water ? 
 Pooh ! " 
 
 " Well, be calm. While here, thou shalt hear nothing 
 of water ; and lest the word should escape one of us in- 
 voluntarily, we will leave thee all alone. When we are 
 wanted, send for us." 
 
 "And what are you going to do all this timel" 
 
 " See to the closet, for which this lock is intended." 
 
 " Well, that 's the kind of work you 're fit for. Good 
 luck ! " 
 
 " Good courage"! " responded the King ; and nodding 
 his head familiarly to Gamain he went out with the ap- 
 prentice, Louis Lecomte, or Count Louis, as the reader 
 prefers, — the reader to whom we ascribe perspicacity 
 enough to have recognized the son of the Marquis de 
 Bouille in the sham workman. 
 
382 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXVII. 
 
 IN WHICH SOMETHING BESIDES LOCKMAKING IS DISCUSSED. 
 
 The King did not leave his workshop by the &utside stair- 
 case, common to all the occupants of the palace, bnt by 
 the private stairs reserved for himself. This stairway 
 led directly into his study. 
 
 One table in this office was covered by an immense 
 map of France, which showed that the King had already 
 often considered what would be the shortest and easiest 
 route out of his kingdom. 
 
 It was not, however, tiU they had reached the bottom 
 of the staircase, and the door was fastened behind both 
 himself and his companion, that Louis Sixteenth, after 
 looking carefully about the room, appeared to recognize 
 the person who followed, with his jacket over his shoulder 
 and his cap in hand. 
 
 "At last," he said, "we are alone, my dear Count. 
 First of all, let me congTatulate you on your adroitness, 
 and thank you for your devotion." 
 
 " As for me, Sire, let me apologize to his Majesty," 
 said the young man, " for daring, even in his own seri 
 vice, to present myself, while clad in such a fashion, 
 before the King, and for talking to him as I have." 
 
 " You have acted as a brave gentleman, my dear Louis, 
 and however you may be clothed, a loyal heart always 
 beats under your coat. But come, we have no time to 
 lose. Everybody, even the Queen, is ignorant of your 
 
SOMETHING BESIDES LQCKMAKING DISCUSSED. 383 
 
 presence here. Nobody is within hearing. Tell rae 
 quickly what has brought you." 
 
 "Your Majesty has done my father the honor of send- 
 ing an officer to his house f " 
 ' "Yes, — Monsieur de Charny." 
 
 "Precisely, Charny. He brought a letter — 1" 
 
 " An insigniScant letter," interrupted the King, — 
 " only to furnish him with an introduction for the deliv- 
 ery of a verbal message." 
 
 "This verbal mission he fulfilled; and it was to make 
 its execution sure that I came to Paris, under orders from 
 my father, and in the hope of speaking face to face with 
 your Majesty." 
 
 " Then you have been informed of everything ? " 
 
 " I know that the King wishes to have the power of 
 leaving France, at any given moment." 
 
 " And that he relies upon the Marquis de Bouille, as a 
 man capable of seconding his project." 
 
 " And my father is both proud and grateful, because 
 of the honor you have done him." 
 
 " But let us come to the principal point. What does 
 he say of the project t " asked the King. 
 
 " That it is hazardous, that it demands the greatest 
 precautions; but that it is not impossible." 
 
 " To begin with, in order that the co-operation of De 
 Bouille may be as efficacious as his loyalty and devotion 
 promise, would it not be well to add several other prov- 
 inces to his present jurisdiction at Metz, and especially 
 the command of Franche Comtel" 
 
 " That is exactly the advice of my father. Sire ; but I 
 am glad the King is first to express his opinion on that 
 point, for the Marquis feared lest the King should at- 
 tribute such a desire to personal ambition." 
 
 " What ] Am I not already well acquainted with the 
 
384 LA COMTESSE. DE CHAENY. 
 
 disinteresteduess of j'our father 1 But go on ! Did he 
 talk with you about the particulars 1 " 
 
 "Above all, Sire, my father dreaded one thing." 
 
 "What was that?" 
 
 " That if several plans of flight should be presented to 
 your Majesty, one from Spain, one from the German Em- 
 pire, one from the e'migres at Turin, and these projects 
 should run counter to one another, that his own plan 
 might prove abortive, through some of those fortuitous 
 circumstances usually ascribed to Fate, which are almost 
 always the result of imprudence or jealousy in the inter- 
 ested parties." 
 
 " My dear Louis, I promise you to let all the world 
 carry on its intrigues about me, without my interference. 
 In the first place, some parties need such experiments ; 
 and then, this is a necessity of my position. As long as 
 the wit of Lafayette and the interest of the Assembly are 
 drawn towards thi-eads whose only purpose is to mislead, 
 we can take our own way, with no other confidants than 
 the persons strictly necessary for the accomplishment of 
 our plans, — all of them persons on whom we can thor- 
 oughly rely, — and we can do this with as much security 
 as privacy." 
 
 " That point being determined. Sire, here is what my 
 father has the honor of proposing to your Majesty." 
 
 " Speak on ! " said the King, bending over the map of 
 France, in order to follow with his eyes the different 
 routes which the young Count was about to explain. 
 
 " Sire, there are several places to which the King 
 might retire." 
 
 " Undoubtedly ! " 
 
 " Has the King made his choice 1 " 
 
 " Not entirely. I waited for the advice of the Marquis, 
 and I presume you bring it." 
 
SOMETHING BESIDES LOCKMAKING DISCUSSED. 385 
 
 The young man made a respectful and affirmative 
 response with his head. 
 
 " Go on," said the King. 
 
 " In the first place, there is BesanQon, whose citadel 
 makes it a very strong position, and very advantageous 
 for the collection of troops, and for summoning the 
 Swiss soldiers to our aid. These Swiss, added to our 
 forces, could advance through Burgundy, where Eoyalists 
 are numerous, and thence march upon Paris." 
 
 The King shook his head, in a way which signified : 
 " I should prefer something different." 
 
 The young man therefore resumed : " Then there is 
 Valenciennes, or some other place in Flanders, with a 
 secure garrison. Either before or after the King's ar- 
 rival, my father would betake himself thither with the 
 men under his immediate command." 
 
 Louis Sixteenth gave another nod, which seemed to 
 say, " Something else. Monsieur ! " 
 
 " The King might go by way of Ardennes and Austrian 
 Flanders, and return by the same frontier, to some one of 
 the places controlled by the Marquis, which he would 
 surrender to the King's authority, and where troops could 
 be gathered in advance." 
 
 " I will tell you presently why I must still ask if you 
 have nothing better to propose." 
 
 " Lastly, the King might tetake himself straight to 
 Sedan or Montmedy. There, being at the- centre of his 
 command, the General would be able to obey the King's 
 wishes, and assure him liberty of action, whether he should 
 wish to leave France or to march against Paris." 
 
 " My dear Count," said the King, " in two words I will 
 
 explain what makes me reject the first three propositions, 
 
 and why I shall probably adopt the fourth. First, 
 
 Besanjon is too far off, and consequently I should run 
 
 VOL. I. — 26 
 
386 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 too many chances of being arrested before reaching my 
 destination. Next, Valenciennes is well enough as to 
 distance, and would be agreeable to me also, because of 
 the excellent spirit of that city ; but Eochambeau is in 
 command of Hainault, — that is, at the very gates of 
 Valenciennes, — and he is wholly given over to the 
 democratic spirit. As to going by way of Ardennes and 
 Austrian Flanders, and so appealing to Austria — no I 
 Apart from my dislike of Austria, who never meddles 
 with French affairs without embroiling us somehow, — 
 apart from this, Austria has enough to do just now, — 
 what with the illness of the Emperor, my brother-in-law, 
 the war with the Turks, and the revolt in Brabant, 
 — without increasing her embarrassment by a rupture 
 with France. Besides, I will not go out of France. 
 Once outside his kingdom, a king knows not if he 
 shall ever return. Consider Charles the Second and 
 James the Second, of England. Charles did not go 
 back till the end of thirteen years, and James, never ! — 
 No, I prefer Montm6dy. Montmedy is at a convenient 
 distance, and is the centre of your father's jurisdiction. 
 Tell the Marquis that my choice is so far made, and that 
 it is to Montmedy I will retire.'' 
 
 The young Count ventured to ask : " Is the King re- 
 solved upon flight, or is it only a project as yet % " 
 
 " My dear Louis, nothing is decided. All must depend 
 upon circumstances. If I see that the Queen and my 
 children are exposed to new perils, like those of that terri- 
 ble night and day in early October, I shall make up my 
 mind at once ; and tell your father that when the decision 
 is once made, it will be irrevocable." 
 
 " Meanwhile, Sire, may I be permitted to submit to 
 the King's judgment the advice of my father as to the 
 details of the journey " " 
 
SOMETHING BESIDES LOCKMAKING DISCUSSED. 387 
 
 " Certainly ! Speak ou ! " 
 
 " His opinion is, that we should diminish the dangers 
 of the trip by dividing them." 
 
 " Explain yourself ! " 
 
 " Your Majesty should go in one direction, with 
 Madame Royale, your daughter, and with Madame 
 Elizabeth, your sister ; while the Queen should go 
 another way, with Monseigneur the Dauphin,, in order 
 that — " 
 
 The King did not let the young man finish his 
 sentence. 
 
 " It is useless to discuss that point, my dear Louis. 
 In a very solemn moment we decided, the Queen and 
 myself, that we would never separate. If your father 
 can save us, we must be saved together, or not at all ! " 
 
 The Count bowed and said : " When the right time 
 comes the King has but to give his orders, and the 
 royal orders will be executed ; only I must be permitted 
 to suggest to the King, that it will be difficult to procure 
 a vehicle large enough for the accommodation of their 
 Majesties, their august children, Madame Elizabeth, and 
 the two or three attendants who ought to accompany 
 them for the sake of comfort." 
 
 " Don't worry about that, my dear Louis. A carriage 
 is being made on purpose. That contingency is provided 
 for." 
 
 " One other thing. Sire ! There are two roads to 
 Montmedy. It only remains to ask which of these your 
 Majesty would prefer, in order to have the matter looked 
 into by a trustworthy expert." 
 
 " This trustworthy surveyor we already have, — in 
 Chamy, who is all devotion, and has already revised the 
 maps of Chandernagor, with remarkable fidelity and skill. 
 The fewer persons with whom we place our secret, the 
 
388 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 better ; and we have in Charny an approved follower, 
 intelligent and courageous, and will avail ourselves of his 
 services. As to the route, you see that I have been 
 thinking about that. As I had already selected Mont- 
 medy, the two routes which lead thither are marked on 
 this map." 
 
 " There are three roads, Sire," answered the young 
 man respectfully. 
 
 " Yes, I know. There is the one leading from Paris to 
 Metz, which one must quit after passing Verdun, in order 
 to take the road along the river Mouse, as far as Stenay, 
 from which Montmedy is only three leagues distant." 
 
 " There is the route by way of Rheims, the Isle de 
 France, Eethel, and Stenay,'' said the young Count, so 
 vivaciously that the King could see that his interlocutor 
 gave this plan the preference. 
 
 " Ah ! ah ! " said the King, " it appears that you like 
 that way best 1 " 
 
 " Not I, Sire ! God forbid that I, little more than a 
 boy, should take the responsibility of giving an opinion 
 about so grave a matter. No, Sire, that is not my opin- 
 ion, except as it is my father's ; but he based his judg- 
 ment on the fact that this route lies through a district 
 so poor as to be almost a desert, one wherein fewer 
 precautions would therefore be needed. He added, that 
 the best regiment in the army, the only one which is 
 known to remain thoroughly faithful, — the Royal Ger- 
 man, — is stationed at Stenay, and could be the King's 
 escort beyond Rethel, thus avoiding the danger of too 
 many military transfers.'' 
 
 " Yes,'' interrupted the King, " but we should have to 
 go through Eheims, where I was crowned, and where the 
 first comer would be sure to recognize me. No, my dear 
 Count, on that point my decision is final." 
 
SOMETHING BESIDES LOCKMAKINO DISCUSSED. 389 
 
 The King pronounced these words in so firm a tone 
 that Count Louis had no thought of combating this 
 determination; so he asked: "The King has then 
 chosen — 1" 
 
 " — The route to Chalons, through Varennes, avoiding 
 Verdun. As to the regiments, they can be gradually 
 stationed in the small cities between Montmedy and 
 Chalons. It would not be inconvenient, so far as I can 
 see, if the first detachment should wait for me in the 
 latter city." 
 
 " Sire, when the time comes, we can discuss in what 
 city the regiments will incur the least risk ; but the King 
 is not aware of one thing, that there is no station for 
 posthorses at Varennes." 
 
 "I'm glad to see you so well posted," said the king, 
 laughing. '' It proves that you have seriously meditated 
 upon our venture. But do not be uneasy on that score. 
 We shall find means for having posthorses on hand, 
 either beyond the city or this side of it. Our surveyor 
 will tell us which is best." 
 
 " Now that all is arranged," said the young Count, " will 
 his Majesty authorize me to recite to him, in the name 
 of my father, some lines from an Italian author, pertinent 
 to the royal situation, — some lines he had me learn by 
 heart, in order that I might repeat them here V 
 
 " By all means, Monsieur ! " 
 
 " Here they are, Sire : ' Delay is always dangerous, 
 and circumstances are never entirely favorable to any 
 undertaking ; so that if we wait for the perfect time, we 
 shall never undertake anything ; or if we do, it will turn 
 out badly.' Your Majesty will remember, it is the author 
 who speaks." 
 
 " Ah yes, Monsieur, and that author is Maohiavelli. I 
 will not forget the counsel of the ambassador of the 
 
390 LA COMTESSE DE CHAKNY. 
 
 Magnificent Republic, believe me ! — But hush ! I hear 
 steps on the stairs. Gamain is coming down. Let us get 
 in ahead of him, so that he will not notice that we have 
 been occupied with anything but the closet." 
 
 With these words the King opened the door of the 
 private staircase. It was time, for the master locksmith 
 was on the lower steps, with the lock in his hand. 
 
A PROVIDENCE FOE DRUNKARDS. 391 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 XN WHICH IT IS DEMONSTRATED THAT THERE IS TRULY A 
 PROVIDENCE FOR DRUNKARDS. 
 
 On the same day, about eight o'clock in the evening, a 
 man clad like a mechanic, — and pressing his waistcoat 
 pocket, as if on this particular evening the pocket con- 
 tained a considerably larger sum than is customary with 
 a mechanic's pocket, — a man, we say, came out of the 
 Tuileries, over the Pont Tournant (which had not at that 
 date been removed), turned to the left, and walked from 
 one end to the other of the grand avenue of trees, wliich 
 runs along the side of the Seine, forming that portion of 
 the Champs Elysees formerly called the Port au Marbre, 
 or sometimes the Purt aux Pierres, hut now known as the 
 Cours-la-Reine. 
 
 At the end of that avenue he found himself on what 
 was then called the Quai de la Savonnerie, though this 
 appellation has long since disappeared. 
 
 This quay, at that epoch, was very lively in the day- 
 time, and well lighted in the evening by a crowd of 
 booths, where, on Sunday, good citizens could buy the 
 provisions, liquid and solid, which they wished to take 
 with them on the freight-boats, which, at two sous a head, 
 would land them on the Isle of Swans for a day's outing ; 
 an island where, without this precaution, they would run 
 the risk of being famished, — on week-days, because the 
 place was utterly deserted, and on holidays and Sundays, 
 because it was so thickly populated. 
 
392 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 At the first wineshop he encountered on the way, this 
 man, clothed like a mechanic, appeared to have a violent 
 combat with himself, — a combat wherein he came off 
 conqueror, — to decide whether he should or should not 
 enter that wineshop. 
 
 He did not enter, but passed along. 
 
 At the second cabaret the temptation was renewed ; 
 and this time another man, — who followed the first one 
 like a shadow, but without being perceived, — evidently 
 believed that the mechanic would succumb to the temp- 
 tation ; inasmuch as he deviated from the straight line, 
 and bent his steps towards that annex of the Temple of 
 Bacchus, whose threshold he fairly grazed. 
 
 Nevertheless, temperance triumphed this time also. 
 If a third wineshop had not put itself in his path, and he 
 could not have broken the pledge (which he had apparently 
 made to himself) without retracing his steps, it is prob- 
 able he would have continued soberly on his way, — 
 not indeed fasting, for our traveller had already taken a 
 square dose of that liquor which rejoices the heart of 
 man, but in that state of self-control which would allow 
 his head to keep his legs in a reasonably straight course 
 in the journey before him. 
 
 Unluckily there was not only a third, but even a 
 tenth, — yes, and a twentieth wineshop on the way. 
 The temptation being too often renewed, and the resist- 
 ing force finding itself unequal to the power of the 
 temptation, the result was that he yielded on the third 
 trial. 
 
 It is but fair to say that by a sort of bargain with 
 himself, at the very entrance of the wineshop, the 
 mechanic (who had so far happily and successfully fought 
 the demon of wine) remained standing at the counter, 
 and asked for only a pint. 
 
A PKOVIDENCE FOR DRUNKARDS. 393 
 
 Meanwhile the wine-devil, against whom he had strug- 
 gled so victoriously heretofore, seemed to be typified by 
 the Unknown who followed at a distance, taking care to 
 keep always in the obscurity ; hut who, though remain- 
 ing out of sight, was none the less vigilant. 
 
 Doubtless it was to enjoy the perspective, which 
 seemed to be so very agreeable to him, that he seated 
 himself on the parapet, just opposite the sign of the bush 
 over the door where the mechanic was drinking his pint ; 
 but he resumed his travels five minutes later, when the 
 mechanic, having finished his drink, crossed the threshold 
 of the door, and took his line of march. 
 
 But who can say where the lips will stop when once 
 they have drunk from the fatal cup of intoxication, and 
 they perceive, with that mingled astonishment and satis- 
 faction peculiar to tipplers, that nothing excites thirst 
 like drinking. Hardly had the mechanic gone a hundred 
 paces than his thirst was such that he felt obliged to 
 again pause and quench it ; only this time he understood 
 that a pint was not enough, and so he asked for a half- 
 bottle. 
 
 The shadow, which seemed to belong to him, did not 
 appear to feel displeased with these delays, which the 
 need of refreshment occasioned in the course of the jour- 
 ney. He stopped in the angle of the cabaret, and while 
 the drinker was seated, in order to be more at his ease, 
 and took a full quarter-hour for sipping his half-bottle, the 
 good-natured shadow manifested no impatience, but con- 
 tented himself, when the drinker came out, by following 
 at the same distance as before. 
 
 At the end of the next hundred paces his forbearance 
 was put to a new and harder proof. The workman made 
 a third halt, and this time his thirst had become so 
 augmented that he demanded an entire bottle. 
 
394 LA COIITESSE DE OHAENY. 
 
 This meant a half-hour for the patient Argus who 
 dogged his steps. 
 
 Probably these five, fifteen, and thirty minutes, succes- 
 sively lost, roused some remorse in the heart of the 
 tippler ; for not wishing to delay any longer, but yet 
 desiring to continue his refreshment, he apparently made 
 another bargain with conscience, which ended in his 
 providing himself, on his departure, with another bottle, 
 already uncorked, which he resolved to take along as a 
 travelling-companion. 
 
 This was a wise resolution, and one which did not 
 retard him much, except for the curves, more and more 
 extended, and the zigzags, more and more frequent, which 
 were the result of each contact of the neck of the bottle 
 with the thirsty lips of the tippler. 
 
 In one of these curves, adroitly swung, he crossed the 
 Passy Barrier, without disturbing anybody, — for liquors, 
 as we know, were free from excise duty, when they were 
 taken away from the capital, though not when they were 
 brought into it from the country beyond. 
 
 The Unknown passed through behind him, and with 
 the same success. 
 
 A hundred paces beyond the barrier our man felici- 
 tated himself over his innocent precaution ; for from that 
 point the wineshops became few and far between, till at 
 last they disappeared altogether ; but what mattered it 
 to our philosopher ] Like a classic sage, he carried with 
 him not only his fortune, but his happiness. 
 
 We say his happiness, because, when the bottle was 
 about half empty, the tippler began to sing ; and nobody 
 has ever contested the fact that singing, like laughing, is 
 one of the methods by which man expresses his joy. 
 
 His shadow appeared duly sensible of the harmony of 
 the tipplei''s song, for he hummed the air after him j and 
 
A PROVIDENCE FOR DRUNKARDS. 395 
 
 tlie expression of joy, with which he followed the tippler's 
 movements, evinced some special interest. 
 
 Unfortunately the joy was ephemeral and the song 
 very short. The joy only lasted as long as there was 
 wine in the bottle ; and the bottle being empty, and 
 several times fruitlessly squeezed between the tippler's 
 hands, the singing changed to growling, which grew more 
 and more emphatic, till at last the growls expanded into 
 oaths, and the oaths into imprecations. 
 
 These imprecations were addressed to some unseen per- 
 secutors, of whom our traveller complained as he staggered 
 along. 
 
 " Wretches ! " he said, " wretches ! to give an old 
 friend, — and a master, too, — such doctored wine ! 
 Ugh ! Well, when he sends for me again to patch up 
 his old locks, when he sends after me by that traitor of a 
 comrade who abandons me, I will say to him : ' Good- 
 d-day, Sire, but thy M-m-majesty may patch up his 
 looks himself.' Then he'll see if — if — if a lock can 
 be m-made as easily as a m-m-manifesto 1 Ah, / '11 
 give thee a lock with three ridges. — I '11 g-g-give thee 
 a b-bolt with three t-t-tumblers. Oh yes, — I '11 give 
 thee — bored keys and side h-handles — notched — 
 notch — • Oh you wretches ! decidedly they 've poisoned 
 me." 
 
 As he uttered these words the unfortunate victim, 
 doubtless vanquished by this poison, fell at full length, 
 for the third time, on the road, softly spread with a thick 
 covering of mud. 
 
 Twice our man was able to get up alone. The opera- 
 tion was indeed difficult, but he finally accomplished it 
 creditably. The third time, after desperate efforts, he felt 
 obliged to own that the task was beyond his strength ; 
 and, with a sigh which resembled a groan, he apparently 
 
396 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 decided to take for his couch that night the breast of our 
 commou mother, the earth. 
 
 It was apparently for this point of discouragement and 
 feebleness that the unknown waited, who had followed 
 him from Place Louis XV. with so much perseverance ; 
 for after watching, from a distance, the ineffectual efforts 
 which we have tried to depict, he approached the man 
 very cautiously, made a detour around his fallen grandeur, 
 and then hailed a passing cab. 
 
 " Hold on, friend ! " he said to the driver. " My com- 
 panion here has been taken sick. Take this crown of six 
 livres, put the poor devil inside the carriage, and take 
 him to the tavern at Sevres Bridge. I will ride aloft 
 with you." 
 
 There was nothing surprising to the coachman in this 
 proposition, that one of the two companions should re- 
 main with him and share his seat, especially as they 
 appeared to be common sort of men ; so with that touch- 
 ing confidence which men of that condition repose in one 
 another, he said ; " Six francs "i And where are the six 
 francs '! " 
 
 " Here they are, my friend ! " replied the man who had 
 made the offer, giving the crown to the driver, and with- 
 out appearing offended the least in the world. 
 
 "And when we are there, goodman," said the coach- 
 man, softened by the sight of the royal head on the coin, 
 " there will be not even a trifle for drink-money ? " 
 
 " That depends upon how we get on. Put this poor devil 
 in thy cab, shut the windows carefully, try to keep thy 
 two plugs on their four legs, and when we reach Sevres 
 Bridge, — well, we shall see. According to thy conduct 
 will be mine." 
 
 " All right ! Money talks. Be easy, goodman. I 
 know what 's what ! Climb into my seat, and don't let 
 
A PROVIDENCE FOE DRUNKARDS. 397 
 
 those young turkeys get foolish. Gracious, at this hour 
 they smell the stable, and are anxious to get there again. 
 I '11 see to the rest." 
 
 The generous Unknown, without another word, fol- 
 lowed the instruction given him ; and on his side the 
 driverj with all the. delicacy whereof he was capable, 
 lifted the drunkard in his arms, laid him softly between 
 the seats of his cab, closed the door, remounted his seat, 
 where he found the Unknown already established, turned 
 his team about, whipped his horses, who jogged along at 
 that melancholy pace common with these unfortunate 
 quadrupeds, speedily passed through the village called 
 Point-au-Jour, and at the expiration of an hour's ride, 
 reached the cabaret near the Sevres Bridge. 
 
 After ten minutes spent in unloading our belated citi- 
 zen Gamain, — whom the reader of course long ago rec- 
 ognized, — we once more find the worthy master of the 
 master, and master of all, seated at the same table, and 
 face to face with the same gunmaker, as we saw him in 
 the first chapter of this history. 
 
398 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 WHAT IS CALLED CHANCE. 
 
 Meanwhile, how was this unloading managed, and Low 
 did Master Gamain emerge from that almost cataleptic 
 state, wherein we left him, into the nearly normal condi- 
 tion, wherein we now find him ? 
 
 The landlord of the inn at Sevres Bridge was abed, 
 and not the faintest streak of light filtered through the 
 chinks of his outside shutters, when the first blows of 
 the fist of our philanthropist, who had rescued Master 
 Gamain, resounded at the door. These blows of the fist 
 were administered in a fashion that did not allow the 
 occupants of the house to long believe themselves able to 
 enjoy repose in the face of such an attack, however given 
 over to sleep they might be. 
 
 Vei-y sleepily, very clumsily, and very fractiously, the 
 innkeeper himself came to open the door for the disturbers 
 of his slumbers, promising himself to administer a rebuke 
 worthy of the occasion, — if, as he said to himself, the 
 game should not prove worth the candle. 
 
 It appeared that the game was worth the candle ; for 
 at the first word whispered to mine host, by the man 
 who had knocked so loudly, the innkeeper doffed his cot- 
 ton nightcap, making certain salutes which his costume 
 rendered singularly grotesque, and at once introduced 
 Gamain and his conductor into the little apartment, 
 where we formerly saw the locksmith discussing a bottle 
 of burgundy, his favorite liquor ; though this time, from 
 
WHAT IS CALLED CHANCE. 399 
 
 having tested his wine too roundly, Master Gamaiu was 
 nearly insensible. 
 
 As the coaohman and his horses had done their best, 
 one with his whip and the others with their legs, the 
 Unknown began by discharging his debt to them, — add- 
 ing a coin of twenty-four sous, by way of drink-money, 
 to the six francs already paid. 
 
 Then, seeing Master Gamaiu seated squarely on a 
 chair, — his head leaning against the wall, with a table 
 in front of him, — the Unknown bade the landlord hasten 
 to bring two bottles of wine and a decanter of water, and 
 himself threw open the casements and blinds, in order to 
 change the mephitic air which filled the room. 
 
 Under any other circumstances this action would have 
 compromised his incognito ; for every observer knows, 
 that while there are people, of a certain class, who need 
 to respire the atmosphere in its natural condition, — that 
 is, air composed of seventy parts of oxygen, twenty-one 
 of nitrogen, and two of water, — there are nevertheless 
 hosts of ordinary people, accustomed to unventilated 
 habitations, who breathe the air without any difficulty 
 whatsoever, even if it is charged with carbon or 
 nitrogen. 
 
 Fortunately nobody was there to take note of his ac- 
 tions. The landlord, after having brought with alacrity 
 two bottles of wine, and, more slowly, a decanter of water, 
 respectfully withdrew himself, and left the Unknown alone 
 with Master Gamain. 
 
 First of all, as we know, the Unknown took care to 
 change the air. Then, before the window was closed, he 
 placed a vial of salts to the sniffling and dilated nostrils 
 of Master Locksmith, who was now involved in disgusting 
 drunken slumber, — a slumber which would surely cure 
 tipplers of their love of wine, if, by the miraculous power 
 
400 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 of the Most High, they could once behold themselves 
 asleep. 
 
 As he inhaled the penetrating odor of the liquid con- 
 tained in the vial, Master Gamain opened his eyes very 
 wide, and immediately began to sneeze furiously. Then 
 he uttered some words, unintelligible to almost anybody 
 except some expert philologist, like him who now lis- 
 tened with profound attention, and managed to catch 
 these three or four words : " The wretch ! She 'a poi- 
 soned me — poisoned ! — " 
 
 The gunsmith saw with satisfaction that Master 
 Gamain was still under the dominance of the same idea, 
 and again he put the vial to the drunkard's nostrils. 
 This restored the worthy son of Noah sufficiently for 
 him to complete the sense of his phrase, and add thereto 
 a few last words, containing an accusation all the more 
 terrible, because it denoted abuse of confidence and want 
 of heart. 
 
 " Poison a friend ! — a friend ! " he said. 
 
 " That is indeed horrible ! " observed the gunsmith. 
 
 " Horrible ! " babbled Gamain. 
 
 " Infamous ! " replied Number One. 
 
 " Infamous ! " echoed Number Two. 
 
 " Luckily I was on hand," said the gunsmith, " to ad- 
 minister an antidote." 
 
 " Lucky indeed ! " muttered Gamain. 
 
 " Lest the first dose may not be sufficient to counter- 
 act such a poisoning, better take another ! " said the 
 Unknown ; as into half a glass of water he put five or 
 six drops of liquid from his flacon, — which contained 
 nothing more nor less than some strong diluted harts- 
 hora, or ammonia. 
 
 He placed the glass to Gamain's lips. "Ah,'' stam- 
 mered the latter, " that 's to be drunk with the mouth I 
 
WHAT IS CALLED CHANCE. 401 
 
 I like that better than by the nose ; " and he thirstily 
 drank the entire contents of the goblet. 
 
 Hardly had he swallowed this diabolical liquor, when 
 he stretched his eyes to their utmost capacity, and cried, 
 between two sneezes : " Ah, you rascal, what have you 
 given me 'i — Pouah ! Pouah ! " 
 
 " My dear fellow," responded the Unknown, " I have 
 only given you some liquor, which may save your life." 
 
 " Well, if 't saves my life, you do right to give it to 
 me ; but if you call that liquor, you 're wrong ; " where- 
 upon he began to sneeze again, pursing his mouth and 
 opening his eyes to their fullest extent, like a classic mask 
 of Tragedy. 
 
 The Unknown profited by this pantomimic move- 
 ment, to go and close, not the window, but the outside 
 shutters. 
 
 Gamain opened his eyes for the third or fourth time. 
 In the midst of his convulsive movements he looked 
 about him ; and, with that ready recollection which tip- 
 plers cherish of wineshop walls, he recognized this as one 
 of his familiar resorts. 
 
 Indeed, on his frequent trips to Paris, which his trade 
 necessitated, it was seldom that Gamain did not stop at 
 the Sevres Bridge Inn. From one point of view, this halt 
 was necessary as well as very agreeable, the wineshop in 
 question being practically the half-way tavern between 
 Versailles and the capital. 
 
 This recognition produced a good effect. It inspired 
 Master Locksmith with confidence, and proved that he 
 was in a friendly country. 
 
 " Ah ha ! It appears that I have already finished half 
 my journey." 
 
 " Yes, thanks to me ! " said the gunsmith. 
 
 " How, thanks to yon ? " stammered Master Gamain, 
 
 VOL. I. — 26 
 
402 LA COMTESSE DE CHAKNY. 
 
 transferring his interest from inanimate to animate 
 objects. " Thanhs to you? Who are you, pray]" 
 
 " My dear Monsieur Gamain," said the Unknown, 
 " that question proves you have a very short memory." 
 
 Gamain looked at his interlocutor with more attention 
 than at first " Hold on, hold on ! " he said. " It seems 
 to me that I 've seen you before." 
 
 " Truly 'I Well, that 's pleasant ! " 
 
 " Yes, yes, yes ! But when and where "i That 's the 
 thing ! " 
 
 " Where ? Look about you ! Perhaps something will 
 strike your eye and refresh your memory. — Wheii 1 
 That 's another thing. Perhaps we must try another 
 dose of the antidote, to help you tell me that." 
 
 " No, thanks," said Gamain, putting up his hand ; 
 "I've had enough of your antidote! If I'm nearly 
 saved, I '11 stop right here. — Where have I seen you ] — 
 Where have I seen you? — Dear me, it was here!" 
 
 " Eight, so far ! " 
 
 " When did I see you ? — Hold on ! It was the day 
 when I came back from a job in Paris, — secret ! It 
 seems that I 'm lucky in such enterprises," added Ga- 
 main, laughing. 
 
 " Very well ! Now who am I ? " 
 
 " Who are you % You 're the man who paid the drinks, 
 and consequently a good feller. Put it there ! " 
 
 " With much pleasure ! " said the Unknown ; " Master 
 Locksmith and Master Gunsmith must certainly shake 
 hands." 
 
 " Ah, good, good ! Now I remember ! Yes, it was 
 that Sixth of October, when the King returned to Paris. 
 Why, we were talking about him that time ! " 
 
 "And I found your conversation very interesting, Mas- 
 ter Gamain ; and this makes me glad to enjoy it again. 
 
WHAT IS CALLED CHANCE. 403 
 
 When your memory comes back, I wish to ask you to tell 
 me, if it is not indiscreet, what you were doing aii hour 
 ago, stretched at full length across the roadway, and only 
 twenty paces from a freight-wagon, — which might have 
 cut you in two, if I had n't interfered. Were you blue. 
 Master Gamain, and had you taken a fatal resolve to 
 commit suicide 1 " 
 
 " Me 1 Suicide 1 Me 1 Well, I guess not ! What was 
 I doing in the middle of the road, — abed in the dirt 1 
 Are you sure it was so 1 " 
 
 " Look at yourself ! " 
 
 Gamain threw an eye over his clothes and said : " Oh 
 ho ! Madame Gamain will make a fuss ! ' Don't put on 
 thy new clothes. Wear the old blouse ! That 's good 
 enough for the Tuileries ! ' — That 's what she said to me 
 yesterday." 
 
 " How 1 To go to the Tuileries 1 " said the Unknown. 
 " You were coming from the Tuileries when I met 
 your' 
 
 Gamain scratched his head, trying to recall his scat- 
 tered senses. 
 
 " Yes, yes. There 's it ! Certainly I came from the 
 Tuileries. WTiy not 1 It was no secret that I was once 
 the teacher of Monsieur Veto." 
 
 " How, Monsieur Veto ? Whom do you call Monsieur 
 Veto ? " 
 
 " Well, well ! And you did n't know they called the 
 King that ] Well, well, where 've you been '! In 
 China?" 
 
 " What can you expect ? I attend to my trade, and 
 don't bother my head with politics." 
 
 "You're lucky ! I do attend to politics; that is, my 
 trade makes me do it. There 's what ruins me ! " and 
 Gamain lifted his eyes piously to the ceiling, and sighed. 
 
404 LA COMTESSE DK CHAENY. 
 
 " Ball ! Were you summoned to Paris for another piece 
 of work, of the same sort you had been doing there the 
 first time I saw you t " 
 
 " Precisely I Only, then I did n't know where I went, 
 with my bandaged eyes ; but this time, I knew where I 
 was, and kept my eyes open." 
 
 " So that you had no difficulty in recognizing the 
 Tuileries?" 
 
 "The Tuileries? Who told you I went to the 
 Tuileries 1 " 
 
 "Why, pou did, just now ! How should I know you 
 went to the Tuileries, if you had n't told me t " 
 
 "Sure enough," said Gamain to himself. "How should 
 he know it, if I had n't told him 1 " Then, looking at the 
 Unknown, he added : " Perhaps I did wrong to tell you 
 that ; but then, my faith, you 're not everybody, — you ! 
 Well, so I told you that ? Well, I won't go back on it ! 
 I did go to the Tuileries." 
 
 "And you worked with the King, who gave you the 
 twenty-five louis you have in your pocket." 
 
 " Hey 1 Well, yes, I /lad twenty-five louis in my 
 pocket." 
 
 "And have them still, my friend ! " 
 
 Gamain thrust his hand quickly into the depths of his 
 waistcoat, and drew out a handful of gold, mixed with 
 silver money and a few big copper sous. " Hold on ! " 
 he said, " hold on ! Five, six, seven ! — Good ! And I 'd 
 forgotten all about it ! — Twelve, thirteen, fourteen ! — 
 Twenty-five louis is quite a sum ! — Seventeen, eighteen, 
 nineteen ! — A sum, as times go, one don't pick up under 
 his horse's hoofs ! — Twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty- 
 five ! — Ah ! Thank God they 're all here ! " and Gamain 
 breathed more freely. 
 
 " When I told you so, you seemed to doubt me." 
 
WHAT IS CALLED CHANCE. 405 
 
 " You 1 How should you know I had twenty-five louis 
 about me 1 " 
 
 " My dear Monsieur Gamain, I have already had the 
 honor of telling you that I found you lying right in the 
 middle of the highway, only twenty steps ahead of a 
 wagon, which was likely to run straight over you. I 
 called out to the teamster to stop. I then called a pass- 
 ing cab. One of its lanterns I took, and by its light I 
 discovered two or three goldpieces rolling on the ground. 
 As these louis were near the mouth of your pocket, I 
 guessed they had fallen out of it. I put in my hand, 
 and by the score of other louis it contained, I found I 
 was not mistaken. Then the coachman shook his head, 
 and said : ' No, Monsieur, no ! ' — ' What do you mean by 
 no ?' — ' No, I can't take that man ! ' — ' And why not 
 take him 1' — ' Because he 's too rich for his dress. 
 Twenty-five gold louis in the pocket of a cotton velvet 
 waistcoat ! You can smell the gibbet a league off! ' — 
 ' How,' said I, ' you believe him a thief % ' — Doubtless 
 the word roused you. — ' Thief, me a thief? ' said you. 
 ■ — ' Undoubtedly a thief ! ' replied the cabman. ' If 
 you 're not a thiof, how do you happen to have so many 
 goldpieces in your pocket ?' — To which you replied : ' I 
 have twenty-five louis in my pocket, because my pupil, 
 the King of France, gave them to me.' — At these words 
 I thought I remembered you. I held the lantern nearer 
 your face, and said : ' Ah, all is explained. This is Mon- 
 sieur Gamain, a locksmith from Versailles. He has been 
 at work with the King, and the King has given him 
 twenty-five louis for his pains. I '11 be responsible for 
 him.' — After that the driver made no further objec- 
 tions. I replaced the louis in your pocket. You were 
 properly laid in the cab. Then I mounted the box. We 
 dismounted at this tavern, and, thanks to God, there is 
 
406 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 nothing for you to complain of, except that your appren- 
 tice abandoned you." 
 
 " Did I talk about an apprentice 1 Me, — complain of 
 his leaving me '! " cried the bewildered Gamain, more and 
 more astonished. 
 
 " Well, now, — here 's a fellow for you, — who can't 
 remember what he says ! " 
 
 "MeT' 
 
 " Why, yes ! Did n't you say, a moment ago, ' It 's all 
 the fault of that stupid — ' Well, I forget what you 
 called him — " 
 
 " Louis Lecomte 1 " 
 
 " That 's it ! You said : ' It 's all the fault of that 
 stupid Louis Lecomte, who promised to go back with me 
 to Versailles, and who, up to the moment when we parted, 
 fairly scorched me with his politeness.' — That 's what 
 you said." 
 
 " The fact is, I might well have said so, for it is the 
 truth." 
 
 " Well, then, if it 's true, why do you deny it 1 Don't 
 you know that all these evasions would be dangerous for 
 you in such times as these, — with any other man ex- 
 cept myself" 
 
 " Yes, but with t/ou, — " said Gamain, fawningly. 
 
 " With me ! What do you mean '? " 
 
 "That is to say, with 9. friend" 
 
 "Ah yes! Great confidence you manifest towards 
 your friend ! First you say yes, and then you say no. 
 First you say a thing is true, and the next minute you 
 say it is n't true. Here, the other day, you told me a 
 story, on your word of honor. Psha ! Tell that story to 
 the marines ! " 
 
 "What story r' 
 
 " The story of a secret door you had arranged, in the 
 
WHAT IS CALLED CHANCE. 407 
 
 house of some great lord, whose address and name you 
 could n't even tell me ! " 
 
 " Well, you can believe me or not, as you choose ; but 
 this time it was another door." 
 
 " For the King ] " 
 
 " Por the King. Only, instead of a door on a stair- 
 way, it was the door of a closet." 
 
 " And you expect me to believe that the King, himself 
 an adept in lockmakiug, would send for you to put a lock 
 on a door] Oh, come off I " 
 
 " Well, it 's just so ! Poor man ! To be sure he be- 
 lieved himself able to get on without me. He began 
 his lock. Well, then, — oh Lord ! — • ' What 's the use of 
 Gamain ? Can't we get on without Gamain ? Why send 
 for Gamain ? ' — Oh yes ! but he got muddled with those 
 bolts and ridges, and had to send after poor Gamain, 
 after all ! " 
 
 " So he sent after you by some confidential attendant, 
 — Weber, or Durey, or Hue ? " 
 
 "That's where you're mistaken! He had taken a 
 helper, a companion who knew less about it than him- 
 self. Well, one fine morning this companion came to 
 Versailles, and said to me : ' See here. Father Gamain. 
 We have been trying to make a lock, the King and me ; 
 but good-night, lock. It won't work.' — ' Well, what do 
 you want of me ? ' says I. — ' That you shall come to 
 Paris, and put it into shape,' says he. — Says I : ' That 's 
 a humbug ! You don't come from the King. You want 
 to get me into a trap ! ' — Says he : ' That 's all right ; 
 so the King has commissioned me to give you twenty-five 
 louis, in order that you sha'n't be in doubt about it.' — 
 ' Twenty-five louis,' says I ; ' where are they 1' — ' Here 
 they are ! ' says he ; and sure enough, there they were, 
 and he gave them to me." 
 
408 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 "And these are the twenty-five louis you have with 
 you 1 " asked the gunsmith. 
 
 "No! These here are another lot. The twenty -five 
 first ones were only on account." 
 
 " Pish ! Fifty goldpieces for touching up a lock 1 
 There must be some fraud underneath all that, Master 
 Gamain ! " 
 
 " That 's just what I said to myself. Besides, you see 
 that his companion — " 
 
 " Well, — his companion ! " 
 
 ""Well, he had the look of a sham. I 'd ought to 've 
 questioned him about the details of his journeyman's tour 
 through France, and what the mother of us all calls 
 herself." 
 
 " But you 're not a man to be cheated, when you see an 
 apprentice at his work." 
 
 " I don't say he can't work. This feller handled his 
 file and chisel well enough. I saw him cut off" a hot iron 
 bar at one blow, bore an eyelet with a rat-tail, as well as 
 if he 'd had a gimlet and a lathe. But you see there was, 
 in all this, more theory than practice. No sooner 'd he 
 finished a bit of work, than he washed his hands ; 
 when he washed 'em, they came out white. Do the 
 hands of a genuine locksmith bleach out like that 1 Bah, 
 I can't wash mine out so ! " and Gamain proudly dis- 
 played his black and callous hands, which seemed able to 
 defy all the almond paste and soaps on earth. 
 
 " But,'' said the Unknown, recurring to the point 
 which seemed to him most interesting, — " once at the 
 King's, what did you do '? " 
 
 " Well, it appeared that we were expected. They took 
 us to the workshop. The King showed me a lock, not 
 badly begun ; but he had come to grief over the ridges. 
 A lock with three ridges, you see ! Well, there ain't 
 
WHAT IS CALLED CHANCE. 409 
 
 many locksmiths capable of making one, — much less 
 Icings, — you understand. I looked at it, and saw what 
 was the matter with it ; so, says I : ' Good ! Let me 
 alone for an hour, and by that time the look '11 be all 
 right on its pins.' — Says the King : ' All right, my 
 friend, thou 'rt at home here. There are the files and 
 the pincers. Work, my boy, work,' says he ; ' and as for 
 us, we 'U go and get the closet ready.' — Then he went 
 out, along with his devilish comrade." 
 
 " By the broad stairway ? " carelessly asked Master 
 Gunsmith. 
 
 " No, by the small private staircase, which leads di- 
 rectly into his office. — Well, when I 'd done my job, says 
 I to myself : ' That there closet 's a blind ! Them two are 
 shut up there together, to concoct some plot or 'nother. 
 I '11 go downstairs very soft. I '11 open the door into 
 the office, — whew, — and then I 'II see what they 're up 
 to,' says I." 
 
 " And what were they doing ? " 
 
 " Doing ? Listening, probably ! Me ? I hain't got 
 the foot of a ballet-master, you understand. I tried to 
 make my tread light as possible ; but the stairway 
 creaked under my heels, and I was heard. They made 
 believe just coming after me. The minute I put my 
 hand on the knob, — crick ! the doer opened ! — Who got 
 left ? Gamain." 
 
 " So you learned nothing 1 " 
 
 " Wait a bit ! — 'Ah ha, Gamain, is 't thou t ' says the 
 King. — ' Yes, Sire,' says I, ' I 'm done.' — ' And we too,' 
 says he, ' we 're done. Come on, I 've another job for 
 thee ; ' and he led me rapidly through his study, but not 
 so rapidly but I could see, spread out on the table, a 
 large map, which I know was a map of France, for on 
 one corner of it were the three lilies of the kingdom." 
 
410 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 " And you noticed nothing peculiar about that map of 
 France ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, — three long lines of pins stuck into it. 
 They started from the centre, and ran toward the side 
 of the map, about equal distances apart. You might 'a 
 thought 'em soldiers, marching to the frontier by three 
 different routes." 
 
 " Indeed, my dear Garaain," said the Unknown, laugh- 
 ing his appreciation, " you have a perspicacity which 
 nothing escapes. So you think that instead of bothering 
 about that closet, the King and your companion had been 
 studying that big map 1 " 
 
 "Sure on't!" 
 
 " You can't be sure of it ! " 
 
 " But I am, though ! " 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 " It 's very simple. The pins had wax heads, — some 
 black, some blue, and others red ; and the King thought- 
 lessly picked his teeth with a red-headed pin, which he 
 happened to have left in his hand." 
 
 " Ah Gamain, my friend," said the Unknown, " when I 
 invent something new in giinmaking, I shall not invite 
 you into my cabinet, nor even let you pass through it, — 
 I can assure you of that ; unless your eyes are bandaged, 
 as they were the day you were summoned to the grand 
 seigneur's mansion ; yet even so, you discovered there 
 were ten main steps, and that the house looked out upon 
 the boulevards.'' 
 
 " Hold on," said Gamain, enchanted with these com- 
 pliments, " we 're not through yet. There was really a 
 closet ! " 
 
 "Ah ha! Where was it V' 
 
 " Ah yes, where 1 Guess a little. — Buried in the wall, 
 my friend." 
 
WHAT IS CALLED CHANCE. 411 
 
 "In which wall r' 
 
 " In the wall of the interior passage-way, which con- 
 nects the King's alcove with the Dauphin's chamber." 
 
 " Do you know this is very curious, what you tell mel 
 And that closet is in plain sight 1 " 
 
 " I should say so ! — Not much, Monsieur. I looked 
 about with all my eyes, and could see nothing ; so I says : 
 ' Where is your closet I ' — The King glances about ; and 
 says he : ' Gamain, I 've always put confidence in thee ; 
 and I should n't want anybody else to know this secret. 
 See here ! ' As he spoke these words, and the 'prentice 
 held the light for us, — for there 's no daylight in that 
 passage-way, — the King moved a panel of the wainscot, 
 and I saw a round hole, two feet in diameter, at its en- 
 ti'ance, — or a little more. Seeing my surprise, says 
 he : ' My friend,' and he winked at the apprentice as he 
 spoke, ' thou seest that hole 1 I 've had it made to keep 
 my money in. This yonng man helped me during the 
 four or five days he spent in the palace. But it is neces- 
 sary to put a lock on its iron door ; and it must be hid- 
 den in such a way that when the panel is replaced it 
 will conceal everything. If help is needed, here is this 
 youngster. He will help. Don't want him, hey 1 Then 
 I '11 keep him busy elsewhere, but always in mp service 1 ' 
 — 'Oh,' says I, 'you know very well, that when I can do 
 a job alone, I ask nobody's help. Here are four hours' 
 work for a workman ; but I 'm a master, and I '11 do it in 
 three. Go about your own affairs, youngster ; and you 
 can attend to yours also. Sire,' says I, ' and if you have 
 anything to lock up in that hole, come back in three 
 hours.' — It must be so, because the King said so, — that 
 our companion went to do some work somewhere else, — 
 for I have n't seen him since. The King returned alone 
 at the end of the three hours, and says : ' Well, Gamain, 
 
412 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 where are we V — ' Done, Sire ! ' says I ; and 1 let him 
 see the door — which moved as if it enjoyed moving, 
 without the least creak — and the lock, which worked 
 as smooth as one of Vaucanson's automatons. — ' Good 
 enough ! ' says the King. ' Now, Gamain, thou wilt help 
 me count the money I wish to put away.' Four bags of 
 double louis were brought in by a valet ; and says the 
 King, says he ; ' Now let 's count 'em ! ' I accounted for 
 one million, and he for another. Tliere were twenty-five 
 left over, miscounted somehow. — ' Here, Gamain,' says 
 the King, ' these twenty-five louis are for thy pains ! ' as if 
 it were not a shame to make a man count a million louis, 
 
 — a poor man with five young ones, — and give him 
 only twenty-five for a recompense ! — Say, what do you 
 think?" 
 
 The Unknown made a motion with his lips. " The 
 fact is, it 's shabby," he said presently; but it may be an 
 open question, to whom he applied the epithet. 
 
 " Hold on ! That ain't all ! I took the twenty-five 
 louiSj put 'em into my pocket, and says I : ' Thanks, 
 Sire ; but for all that, I have n't ate or drunk since the 
 forenoon, and I 'm direfully thirsty.' I had hardly said 
 this, when the Queen came in through a concealed door, 
 so that all in a minute, before you could say boo, there 
 she was, in front of me. She held a napkin in her hand, 
 on which I could see a glass of wine and a cake. — ' My 
 dear Gamain,' says she to me, ' you 're thirsty. Try a 
 glass of wine. You 're hungry. Have a cake.' — ' Ah, 
 Madame Queen,' says I to her, bowing, 'no need to 
 trouble yourself on my account. It ain't worth while.' 
 
 — Now then, Monsieur Gunsmith, what do you think of 
 that 1 One glass of wine, for a man who says he 's 
 thirsty, and one cake, for a man who declares himself 
 famished. What was that Queen thinking about 1 One 
 
WHAT IS CALLED CHANCE. 413 
 
 can easily see that she was never hungry or thirsty. — A 
 glass of wine ! Why, it 's stingy ! " 
 
 " Then yon refused it 1 " 
 
 " I should 'a done better to refuse it ! No ! I drinks 
 it ! As to the cake, I twists it up in my handkerchief, 
 and I says : ' What is n't good for the father may be 
 good for his children.' Then I thanked my lady for her 
 pains, and put myself on the road for home, swearing I 'd 
 never go to the Tuileries again." 
 
 " Why do you say you should have done better to 
 refuse the wine?" 
 
 " Because they must have put poison in it ! Hardly 
 had I crossed the Swing Bridge than I was thirsty again, 
 — and such a thirst I It was right there where the river 
 runs along on the left, and the wineshops were at my 
 right. — Ah, it was there I found out the bad quality of 
 the wine they 'd given me. The more I drank, the 
 thirstier I grew. Things went on like that till I lost con- 
 sciousness. One thing they may be easy about. If ever 
 I 'm called to testify against them, I will say that the 
 King and Queen gave me twenty-five louis, for working 
 four hours and counting a million of money ; and then, 
 for fear I should tell where they 'd hid their treasure, 
 they poisoned me like a dog." 
 
 This was in fact the very accusation (so it is recorded in 
 history !) which this miserable fellow subsequently made 
 against the Queen, in the presence of the Convention. 
 
 "And I can back up your testimony, dear Gamain," 
 said the gunsmith, rising, " by saying that it was I who 
 furnished you with the antidote, thanks to which you 
 have been recalled to life." 
 
 " Henceforth it is friendship in life and death between 
 us two," said Gamain, taking the hands of the Unknown 
 in his own. 
 
414 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 Kefusing for the third or fourth time, with almost 
 Spartan firmness, the wine which the Unknown offered 
 him (for the ammonia had the double effect of sobering 
 him instantly, and disgusting him with wine for twenty- 
 four hours), Gamain, after swearing eternal friendship, 
 resumed his journey to Versailles, which he reached safe 
 and sound, at two in the morning, with the King's 
 twenty-five goldpieces secure in his vest, and the Queen's 
 cake in his coat-pocket. 
 
 Lingering later in the cabaret, the sham gunsmith 
 drew from his pocket some tortoise-shell tablets, en- 
 crusted with gold, and therein wrote with a pencil this 
 brace of notes : 
 
 Behind the King's alcove, in the dark corridor leading to 
 the Dauphin's chamber, an iron closet. 
 
 See if this Louis Lecomte, a locksmith's helper, is not sim- 
 ply Count Louis (son of the Marquis de Bouille), who came 
 from Metz eleven days ago. 
 
DOCTOR GUILLOTIN'S MACHINE. 415 
 
 CHAPTEE XL. 
 
 DOCTOR GUILLOTIN'S MACHINE. 
 
 By the second day afterwards, thanks to the wires (con- 
 trolled by Cagliostro) among all classes of society, reach- 
 ing even to the royal household, he knew that the young 
 Count Louis had arrived in Paris in the middle of No- 
 vember ; that his presence had been discovered by his 
 cousin Lafayette three days later ; that he had been 
 presented to the King on that day ; that he had offered 
 his services as a workman to Gamain on the Twenty- 
 second of November ; that he remained with him three 
 days ; that on the fourth day he went from Versailles to 
 Paris with his master; that they were introduced at once 
 to the King's presence ; that young Louis returned after- 
 wards to his lodgings, in the apartments of his friend 
 Achille du Chastelet ; that he then changed his costume 
 immediately, and departed the same evening for Metz, 
 posthaste. 
 
 The day after Cagliostro'a conference with Beausire in 
 Saint John Cemetery, the ex-soldier, much excited, has- 
 tened to the hanker Zannone's residence at Bellevue. 
 
 Eeturning from the gaming-house at seven o'clock in 
 the morning, after losing his last louis, — despite Law's 
 infallible combination and sequence, — Master Beausire 
 had found his rooms entirely empty. Mademoiselle Oliva 
 and the young Toussaint having disappeared. 
 
 Then it came into his mind that Cagliostro had refused 
 to leave the house with him the evening before, because 
 
416 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 he had somethiug confidential to say to Olivia. Here 
 was a way open for suspicion. Olivia had certainly been 
 led astray by the Count. A good bloodhound, Beausire 
 put his nose to the ground, and followed the scent as far as 
 Belle vue. 
 
 On giving his name, he was at once received by the 
 Baron Zannone, or Count Cagliostro, — whichever the 
 reader, for the moment, pleases to call the principal per- 
 sonage, the kingpin, of the drama which we have under- 
 taken to recount. , 
 
 Conducted into the same parlor wherewith we became 
 acquainted at the beginning of this narrative, — when 
 Doctor Gilbert and Favras met each other, — Beausire 
 hesitated on finding himself face to face with the Count. 
 Cagliostro appeared such a mighty lord, that Beausire 
 hardly dared reclaim his mistress from him ; but as if he 
 could read the heart of the ex-soldier, the Count said : 
 " I have noted one thing, that you have only two passions 
 in this world, gambling and Mademoiselle Oliva." 
 
 " Ah ! " cried Beausire, " you know what brings me 
 here?" 
 
 " Perfectly well ! You come to demand Oliva. — She 
 is at my house." 
 
 " How, she 's with you ? " 
 
 " Yes, in my house in the Eue Saint Claude. She oc- 
 cupies her old apartment there ; and if you 're careful, 
 and I 'm pleased with your behavior, — if you bring me 
 news to interest and amuse me, — at such times I shall 
 give you twenty-five louis for your pocket, wherewith you 
 can visit the gamesters at the Palais Eoyal, and also buy a 
 coat for your back, in order to visit your mistress in the 
 Eue Saint Claude." 
 
 Beausire had a great mind to raise his voice, and de- 
 maud Olivia ; but Cagliostro said two words about that 
 
DOCTOR GUILLOTIN'S MACHINE. 417 
 
 miserable affair connected with the Portuguese embassy, 
 — which was always suspended over the ex-soldier's 
 head, like the sword of Damocles, — and Beausire held 
 his peace. 
 
 As Beausire manifested some doubt whether Oliva was 
 really at the mansion in the Rue Saint Claude, the 
 Count ordered his carriage, took Beausire with him to 
 that house on the boulevards, and introduced him into 
 the sanctum sanctorum, the Holy of Holies. There, by 
 displacing a picture, he allowed Beaus're to see, through 
 a skilfully contrived aperture. Mademoiselle Oliva, estab- 
 lished like a queen. Seated on a huge sofa, she was read- 
 ing one of those naughty books so common at that epoch, 
 and which constituted the joy of her life, whenever the 
 former chambermaid of Mademoiselle de Taverney was 
 happy enough to light upon them. Her son Toussaint 
 was attired like the sou of a king, with a Henry Fourth 
 hat, caught up with white feathers, and a sky-blue sailor 
 suit, kept in place by a tricolored belt, fringed with gold. 
 He was enjoying some beautiful playthings. 
 
 Then Beausire's heart dilated, as a lover and father. 
 He promised whatever the Count desired. Cagliostro 
 agreed that Beausire, whenever he brought important 
 news, should first receive his payment, gold in hand, and 
 then seek the prize of love in the arms of Mademoiselle 
 Olivia. 
 
 All was going on as Cagliostro desired, and very much 
 as Beausire wished also, when, towards the end of De- 
 cember, at an hour very unseasonable for that time of 
 the year, — namely, at six in the morning, — Doctor 
 Gilbert, who had already been at work an hour and a 
 half, heard three raps at his door, which he recognized, 
 by their peculiar intervals, as made by a brother in Free 
 Masonry. 
 
 VOL. I. — 27 
 
418 LA COMTESSE DE CHAKNY. 
 
 He opened the door therefore, and found Cagliostro, 
 with a smile on his hps, standing the other side of it. 
 Gilbert never met this mysterious man, face to face, with- 
 out a certain shiver. " Ah Count, is it you ] " he said ; 
 and then, with an effort, extended his hand, saying : 
 " Welcome, at whatever hour you come, and whatsoever 
 oause brings you hither.'' 
 
 " The cause which brings me, my dear Gilbert, is the 
 wish to have you assist in a philanthropic experiment, 
 of which I have already had the honor of speaking to 
 you." 
 
 Gilbert in vain tried to remember to what experiment 
 the Count alluded, and finally said : " I do not recollect 
 it." 
 
 " Come with me, all the same, my dear Gilbert ; for 
 I have not disturbed you for nothing, I assure you. 
 Besides, you will meet noteworthy people in the place 
 to which we are going." 
 
 " Dear Count, wherever you wish me to go, I will 
 go, — first, for your sake. The place whither I go, and 
 the people whom I may meet there, are of secondary 
 importance." 
 
 "Come then, for we have no time to lose." 
 
 Being already dressed, Gilbert needed only to lay down 
 his pen and don his hat. These two operations accom- 
 plished, he said : " Count, I am at your service." 
 
 " Let us go ! " replied the Count, simply; and he walked 
 ahead while Gilbert followed. 
 
 A carriage was in waiting, and the two men entered it. 
 As they started rapidly, without any new orders from 
 the Count, it was evident that the coachman already 
 knew where he was to drive. At the expiration of 
 fifteen minutes, during which Gilbert noticed that 
 they crossed the city, and passed through one of the 
 
DOCTOR GUILLOTIN'S MACHINE. 419 
 
 barriers, the carriage brought up iu a large square court- 
 yard, upon which opened two tiers of small, grated 
 windows. 
 
 The gate, which had opened to give the vehicle access, 
 closed behind it. As he stepped out, Gilbert perceived 
 that he was in the courtyard of a prison, which presently 
 he recognized as the one named Bicetre. 
 
 The place, already gloomy enough in its natural aspect, 
 was rendered more so by the dubious daylight, which 
 seemed to descend regretfully into that courtyard. It 
 was about quarter past six in the morning, — the worst 
 hour of the winter, because it is the hour when the cold 
 makes itself felt, even by the most vigorous organizations. 
 A foggy rain, fine as crape, was falling diagonally, and 
 made the walls look gray. 
 
 Under the lead of their boss, — but under the special 
 direction of a little man clad in black, who gave the sig- 
 nal for every movement, — five or six carpenters were at 
 work, setting up some machine, of a form unknown and 
 queer. 
 
 At sight of the new arrivals the little man in black 
 raised his head. Gilbert shuddered, as he recognized 
 Doctor Guillotin, whom he had met in Marat's cellar. 
 This machine was, in fact, a large copy of the one whereof 
 Gilbert had seen a small model in the home of the editor 
 of "The Friend of the People." 
 
 On his side, the little man recognized Cagliostro and 
 Gilbert ; and the arrival of these two personages seemed 
 sufficiently important for him to leave the work for an 
 instant, and come to greet them ; but he did not do this 
 without bidding the master carpenter give his best atten- 
 tion to the work in hand. 
 
 " There, there, Master Guidon, that 's very well. 
 Arrange the platform first. The platform 's the base of 
 
420 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 the structure. When the platform 's done, then set «p 
 the two posts, and be sure and follow the building-marks 
 on the timber, so that the posts shall be neither too far 
 apart nor too near. For the rest, — well, I shall he close 
 by, and sha' n't lose sight of you." 
 
 Then approaching Gilbert and Cagliostro, who met him 
 half-way, he said : " Good-day, Baron. It is very kind 
 of you to come first, and bring the Doctor. Doctor, you 
 will remember that when we met at Marat's, I invited 
 you to share this experiment ; only I afterwards forgot 
 yo\ir address. You will see something very curious, — 
 the most philanthropic machine ever invented." 
 
 Suddenly turning towards the machine, the object of 
 his dearest hopes, he exclaimed : " Here, here, Guidon, 
 what are you about 1 You 're putting it wrong end fore- 
 most." 
 
 Kushing up the ladder, which two of his assistants had 
 placed against one side of the scaffolding, he was on the 
 platform in an instant, and there his presence served to 
 correct, in a few seconds, the errors committed by the 
 mechanics, — not yet well posted as to the working of 
 this new-fangled machine. 
 
 " There, there ! " said the Doctor, seeing with satis- 
 faction that everything was now going according to his 
 directions, " there, there ! Now the cutter must be 
 -placed between the grooves. — Guidon, Guidon," he ex- 
 claimed suddenly, as if struck with fear, " why are n't 
 the grooves faced with copper?" 
 
 "It was this way. Doctor. I thought that good oak, 
 thoroughly dry, would do as well as copper," replied the 
 master carpenter. 
 
 " Oh yes, there it is ! " replied the Doctor, disdainfully. 
 " Economy, always economy ! — when it is a question of 
 the progress of science and the good of humanity. Guidon, 
 
DOCTOR GUILLOTIN'S MACHINE. 421 
 
 if our experiment fails to-day, I shall hold you responsi- 
 ble. — Gentlemen, I call you to witness," continued the 
 Doctor, addressing Cagliostro and Gilbert, — "I call you 
 to witness that I ordered copper-lined grooves, and that 
 I protest against the omission of the copper ; so if the 
 cutter catches on its way down, or slides badly, it is not 
 my fault, and I wash my hands of it." As he spoke, 
 the Doctor, standing there on the platform of his 
 machine, made the same gesture which was made by 
 Pontius Pilate, on the terrace of his palace, 1700 years 
 before. 
 
 At last, despite these little annoyances, the machine 
 was set up, and took on a certain homicidal air, which 
 delighted its inventor, bat which chilled Doctor Gilbert. 
 
 As to Cagliostro, he remained unmoved ; for ever since 
 the death of Lorenza, this man had become marble. 
 
 This is the form which the machine now assumed. 
 
 First there was a staging, reached by a short step- 
 ladder. This staging, like a scafibld, furnished a plat- 
 form, measuring some fifteen feet on each side. On this 
 platform, abo>it two-thirds back, and facing the stairs, 
 rose two parallel posts, ten or twelve feet high. 
 
 These two posts were ornamented with the famous 
 grooves, from which ' Master Guidon had economically 
 withheld the copper, — a saving which, as we know, roused 
 the regrets of the philanthropist, Doctor Guillotin. 
 
 When released by means of a spring, a crescent-shaped 
 cutter, or knife, was allowed to fall precipitously, its own 
 natural force being augmented a hundred-fold by addi- 
 tional weights placed upon it. 
 
 Between the two posts was a small opening. There 
 were two leaves in this opening, and when a man's head 
 was thrust between them, they closed together about the 
 neck, like a collar. A movable board, composed of a 
 
422 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 plank as long as the height of an ordinary man, was so 
 hinged as to move up and down at the proper time. 
 When turned down, this plank came upon a level with 
 this opening before described. 
 
 This was all very ingenious, as one could readily see. 
 
 While the carpenters, Master Guidon, and the Doctor 
 were putting the last touches to the erection of their 
 machine, Cagliostro and Gilbert were discussing the prob- 
 lematical novelty of this instrument, — the Count dis- 
 puting the originality of the invention, whereto he found 
 something analogous in the Italian mannaya, and es- 
 pecially in the doloire of Toulouse, used in the execution 
 of Marshal Montmorency, whereof Puj'segur says : " In 
 this country they make use of a doloire, or knife 
 placed between two pieces of wood. When a head is 
 placed on the block, some one loosens the cord, and 
 the knife descends, and separates the head from the 
 body." 
 
 Meanwhile new spectators entered the yard, undoubt- 
 edly summoned to assist in the experiment. 
 
 There was first an old man of our acquaintance, who 
 has played an active part in this long narrative. Touched 
 with a malady wherewith he must soon die, he yet left 
 his chamber, — at the urgency of his confrere Guillotin, 
 and in spite of the bad weather, — in order to see this 
 machine work. Gilbert recognized him, and advanced 
 respectfully to meet him. He was accompanied by 
 Giraud, city architect of Paris, who, by reason of his 
 public position, had been favored with a particular 
 invitation. 
 
 The second group — saluting nobody, and by nobody 
 saluted- — -was composed of four men, very plainlv dressed. 
 As soon as they entered, these four men took their places 
 in the corner of the yard farthest removed from Gilbert 
 
DOCTOK GUILLOTIN'S MACHINE. 423 
 
 and Cagliostro, and humbly remained there, talking in 
 low tones, and standing hat in hand, notwithstanding the 
 rain. 
 
 He who appeared to be chief among the four, and to 
 whom the others listened with deference, as he spoke 
 some words in a bass voice, was a man fifty or fifty-two 
 years old. He was tall in stature, and had a benevolent 
 smile and an open countenance. This man was Charles 
 Louis Sanson. He was born on February 1.5, 1738. 
 He saw his father out Damiens in quarters ; and he also 
 aided him, when he had the honor of cutting off the head 
 of Lally Tollendal. Sanson was commonly called Mon- 
 sieur de Paris. The three other men were his son — 
 who was subsequently to have the honor of aiding in 
 the decapitation of Louis Sixteenth — and his two 
 assistants. 
 
 The presence of Monsieur de Paris, his son, and two 
 assistants, lent a terrible eloquence to Guillotin's machine, 
 showing that the experiment was to be made^ if not with 
 the guaranty of the government, at least with its 
 approbation. 
 
 For the moment Monsieur de Paris appeared somewhat 
 sad. If the machine should be adopted, which he came 
 to see, the picturesque side of his profession would be 
 curtailed. The executioner would no longer appear to 
 the crowd as the Destroying Angel, armed with a flaming 
 sword, — like him who stood at the gate of Eden, to 
 guard it from those who had rebelled against Jehovah. 
 On the contrary, the headsman would appear like a sort 
 of house-porter, pulling the latchstring for the dead, in- 
 stead of the living. Therein lay Sanson's real objection 
 to the invention. 
 
 As the misty rain continued to fall, not so penetrat- 
 ingly, but more steadily. Doctor Guillotin — who doubt- 
 
424 LA COJITESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 less feared lest the bad weather should keep away some 
 of his spectators — addressed the most important group, 
 comprising Cagliostro, Gilbert, Doctor Louis, and Archi- 
 tect Giraud, and said to them, like a manager who scents 
 the public impatience : " Gentlemen, we only wait for 
 one person, Doctor Cabanis. When he comes, we will 
 begin." 
 
 Hardly were these words out of his mouth than a third 
 vehicle entered the yard, from which emerged a man 
 thirty-eight or forty years old, with a high forehead, in- 
 telligent face, and a vivid, inquisitive eye. This was the 
 last visitor expected, Doctor Cabanis. He saluted every- 
 body, with an affable air, such as becomes a medical phi- 
 losopher, and hastened to oiFer his hand to Guillotin, who 
 cried, from his place on the platform, " Come then, Doctor, 
 come on. We only waited for you." Then Cabanis 
 mingled in the group with Cagliostro and Gilbert, while 
 the carriage ranged itself with the other two carriages. 
 As to the cab of Monsieur de Paris, that remained mod- 
 estly outside the gate. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said Guillotin, " as nobody else is ex- 
 pected, we will begin at once." 
 
 At a sign from his hand a door opened, through which 
 came two men, clad in a sort of gray uniform, carrying 
 on their shoulders a sack, beneath whose folds one could 
 see the outline of the human form. 
 
 Behind the panes of the small windows could be seen 
 the pale faces of certain prisoners, whom nobody had 
 dreamed of inviting, but who nevertheless watched the 
 unexpected and terrible spectacle, though understanding 
 neither the apparatus nor its object. 
 
A SOIRfiE IN THE PAVILLON DE FLORE. 425 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 A SOiR^B IN THE PAVILLON DB FLOEB. 
 
 On the evening of the same day, — that is, on Christmas 
 Eve, — there was a reception in the Floral Pavilion. 
 
 The Queen, not wishing to hold receptions in her own 
 apartments, the Princess Lamballe received for her, and 
 did the honors of the circle until the Queen arrived. 
 After her Majesty came, everything went on as if they 
 were in the Marsan Pavilion, instead of the Floral. 
 
 lu the course of the moriiiug the young Baron Isidore 
 de Chamy had returned from Turin. As soon as his 
 arrival was known, he was admitted first to the King's 
 presence, and then to the Queen's. 
 
 Both received him with extreme friendliness, but es- 
 pecially the Queen, whose noticeable good-will arose from 
 two causes. In the first place, Isidore was Charny's 
 brother ; and Chamy being absent, it was a great pleas- 
 ure for the Queen to see his brother. In the next place, 
 Isidore came from the royal relatives, the Comte d'Artois 
 and the Prince de Conde, and brought with him their 
 messages, which were only too much in harmony with 
 ideas cherished in the Queen's own heart. 
 
 The Princes commended to the Queen the projects of 
 Favras. They invited her to profit by the devotion of 
 this courageous gentleman, and come at once to Turin. 
 Isidore was also commissioned to express to Favras, in 
 the name of the Princes, their full sympathy with his 
 plans, their approval thereof, and their best wishes for 
 his success. 
 
426 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 The Queen kept Isidore with her for an hour, and in- 
 vited him to come in the evening to Madame Lamballe's 
 circle ; and she only permitted him to retire, when he 
 asked leave to go and discharge his all-important errand 
 to Favras. 
 
 The Queen said nothing positive in regard to the pro- 
 ject of flight ; only she charged Isidore to repeat to Mon- 
 sieur and Madame de Favras, what she had ali-eady said 
 when she received Madame at their first meeting, and 
 had repeated when she so abruptly entered the King's 
 rooms, and found Monsieur de Favras there. 
 
 After leaving the Queen, Isidore b«took himself at 
 once to the abiding-place of Favras, who lived at Number 
 Twputy-one in Place Royale. 
 
 He was received by Madame, who at first told him that 
 her husband was out ; but when she noted the name of 
 her visitor, and learned what august personages he had 
 just interviewed, and what others he had left five or six 
 days before, she acknowledged that her husband was in 
 the house, and sent for him. 
 
 The Marquis came in with a frank look and a smiling 
 eye, for he knew in whose behalf Isidore had come. 
 
 The message from the Queen filled the heart of the 
 young conspirator with joy. Everything encouraged his 
 hopes. The plot was going on marvellously well. Twelve 
 hundred horsemen were already assembled at Versailles. 
 Each of them could carry a foot-soldier on his crupper, 
 and this would make twenty-four hundi'ed instead of 
 twelve hundred. 
 
 As to the triple assassination of Necker, Bailly, and 
 Lafayette, to be undertaken simultaneously by the three 
 columns, — entering Paris, one by the Roule Barrier, 
 another by the Grenelle Barrier, and the third by the 
 Chaillot Gate, — this had been relinquished, as it was 
 
A SOIREE IN THE PAVILLON DE FLORE. 427 
 
 thought sufficient for their purpose if they should dispose 
 of Lafayette aloue. 
 
 For this expedition, four men would be enough, pro- 
 vided they were well mounted and well armed. These 
 four were to await Lafayette's carriage at eleven o'clock 
 in the evening, the time when he usually left the Tuil- 
 eries. Two of them would take positions on the right 
 and left of the street, while the other two would place 
 themselves in front of the carriage. 
 
 One of these, holding a letter in his hand, would make 
 a sign for the driver to stop, declaring that he had an 
 important communication for the General. When the 
 carriage stopped, the General would naturally put his 
 head out of one of the windows, and immediately the 
 conspirator would blow his brains out with a pistol. 
 
 This was the only special change made in the scheme. 
 The other arrangements were unaltered. As money had 
 been disbursed and the men notified, the King had only 
 to say yes ; and at a sign from Favras he would be car- 
 ried oif. 
 
 Only one thing disquieted the Marquis, — the silence of 
 the King and Queen in regard to this affair. The Queen's 
 silence was now broken by the intervention of Isidore ; 
 and vague as were the words transmitted through him to 
 Monsieur and Madame de Favi'as, these words, coming 
 from a royal mouth, became vastly important. 
 
 Isidore promised to report to the King and Queen, 
 that evening, an assurance of the devotion of Favras. 
 
 The young Baron, as we know, had left for Turin on 
 the very day of his arrival in Paris, early in October ; 
 and he consequently had no lodging, except the chamber 
 belonging to his brother, in the Tuileries ; and that 
 brother being absent, Isidore had the chamber opened by 
 the Count's lackey. 
 
428 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 At nine in the evening he entered Madame de Lam- 
 balle's apartments. He had never been introduced to 
 the Princess, and she did not know him hy sight ; but 
 having been forewarned of his visit during the day, by a 
 word from the Queen, the Princess arose when his name 
 was announced. With that charming grace which, iu 
 her, took the place of wit, she drew him at once into the 
 circle of her intimate friends. 
 
 The King and Queen had not yet arrived. Monsieur 
 de Provence, who appeared very uneasy, was talking iu 
 the corner with two gentlemen of his inner circle of 
 friends, De la Chatre and D'Avaray. Louis de Narbonne 
 went from one group to another, with the ease of a man 
 who feels himself in his own family. 
 
 This circle of intimates was made up of young gentle- 
 men who had resisted the mania for emigration. There 
 was Lameth, who was so much to the Queen, and had 
 never taken part against her. There was D'Ambly, one 
 of the best or worst men of that epoch, according to one's 
 point of view. There were De Castries and De Fersen ; 
 and there was Suleau, chief editor of that witty journal, 
 " The Acts of the Apostles." All these had loyal hearts, 
 but hot heads, -and some of them were feather-brained. 
 
 Isidore was acquainted with none of these gentlemen ; 
 but when his name was announced, and the Princess 
 honored him with so much affability, all hands were 
 outstretched to him. 
 
 Besides, he brought news from that other France, 
 which had established itself in a foreign city. Each of 
 these young men had a relative or friend with the exiled 
 Princes in Turin. Isidore had seen everybody there, and 
 was consequently a sort of second Gazette. 
 
 We have indicated Suleau as chief among these men. 
 He was leading the conversation, which roused great 
 
A SOIRfiE IN THE PAVILLON DE FLORE. 429 
 
 laughter. Snleau had been present that day, at the 
 session of the Assembly. Guillotin had mounted the 
 tribune, taunted the advantages of the machine he had 
 devised, described the triumphant trial of it made that 
 very morning, and demanded the privilege of substitut- 
 ing it for all the other instruments of death, which had 
 successively stained the Place de Greve, — the wheel, the 
 gallows, the stake, the rack. Seduced by the smooth- 
 ness of his machine, the Assembly was quite ready to 
 adopt it. 
 
 Apropos to this theme, Suleau had written some 
 verses, to the air of the Exaudet Minuet, which were to 
 appear next day in his journal. 
 
 This song, which he sang in a low voice to the jovial 
 circle about him, provoked such free laughter, that the 
 King, who was coming in with the Queen, heard it in the 
 antechamber ; and as he, poor King ! could laugh no 
 longer, he promised himself to inquire what possible sub- 
 ject had been found provocative of so much gayety in 
 such a sorry time. 
 
 Needless to say, as soon as one usher announced the 
 King, and another the Queen, that all whispering, all 
 conversation, and all bursts of laughter ceased, giving 
 place to respectful silence. 
 
 The two royal personages entered. At that time, 
 when the genius of Revolution despoiled royalty of many 
 privileges, one by one, these outward tokens of respect 
 were augmented in private, especially by all true Royal- 
 ists, to whose courtesy the royal misfortunes lent new 
 force. The year 1789 witnessed great ingratitude ; but 
 179.3 witnessed supreme devotion. 
 
 Madame de Lamballe and Madame Elizabeth joined the 
 Queen. 
 
 Movskur walked up to the King to present his re- 
 
430 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 spects, and, as he bowed, said to him : " My brother, 
 can we not make up a special party, yourself, the 
 Queen, myself, and one of your friends, to the end that 
 we may converse confidentially, under cover of a game of 
 whist 1 " 
 
 " Willingly, my brother," replied the King. " Arrange 
 it with the Queen." 
 
 Monsieur approached Marie Antoinette, to whom Charny 
 was offering his respects, and saying, in a low voice : 
 " Madame, I have seen Favras, and have communications 
 of the highest importance for your Majesty." 
 
 " My dear sister," interrupted Monsieur, " the King 
 desires us to make a card-party of four. We two will 
 unite against yourself, and leave you to choose your own 
 partner." 
 
 "Very well," replied the Queen, who suspected that 
 whist was only a pretext, " my choice is made. Monsieur 
 Baron de Charny, you will join our game ; and while we 
 play, you can give us the news from Turin." 
 
 "Ah, you come from Turin, Baron?" said Monsieur. 
 
 " Yes, Monseigneur ; and in returning from Turin, I 
 came by way of Place Royale, where I saw a man most 
 devoted to the King, the Queen, and your Roj'al 
 Highness." 
 
 Monsieur blushed, coughed, and went farther away. He 
 was a man so full of circumspection, that a straight- 
 forward mind disconcerted him. He glanced at De la 
 Chatre, who drew near. After receiving some orders in 
 a low voice, De la Chatre left the room. 
 
 Meanwhile the King saluted the gentlemen, and the 
 few ladies, who frequented these receptions at the 
 Tuileries, and in return received their homage. Then 
 the Queen took his arm, and drew him towards the 
 card-table. 
 
A SOIREE IN THE PAVILLON DE FLORE. 431 
 
 He approached the table, looked for the fourth player, 
 and perceived Isidore. 
 
 "Ah, Monsieur de Charny," he said, "in the absence 
 of your brother, is it you ■who make up our table 1 He 
 could not be better replaced, and you are welcome." 
 
 By a sign he bade the Queen be seated, sat down him- 
 self, and Monsieur after him. Then the Queen, in her 
 turn, made a- sign of invitation to Isidore, who took the 
 last place. 
 
 Madame Elizabeth ensconced herself on a small sofa be- 
 hind the King, and leaned both arms on the back of his 
 armchair. 
 
 They played two or three hands of whist, speaking 
 only the words sacred to the game. At last, though still 
 playing, the Queen — having remarked that respect was 
 keeping everybody conveniently aloof from the royal 
 table — ventured to say to Monsieur : " My brother, has 
 the Baron told you that he is just from Turin 1" 
 
 " Yes," replied Monsieur, " he mentioned it." 
 
 " He told you that Artois and Cond^ strongly urge us 
 to join them 'i " 
 
 The King let an impatient movement escape him. 
 
 " Brother, I beg you to listen ! " whispered Madame 
 Elizabeth, with the sweetness of an angel. 
 
 "And you also, my sister T' said the King. 
 
 " I, more than anybody else, dear Louis ; for, more 
 than anybody else, I love you, and am uneasy about 
 you." 
 
 " I also added," Isidore ventured to say, " that I had 
 returned by way of Place Royale, and remained an hour 
 at number twenty-one." 
 
 " At number twenty-one ? " asked the King. " What is 
 going on there 1 " 
 
 " At number twenty-one dwells a gentleman devoted 
 
432 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 to your Majesty, as we all are, — ready to die for your 
 Majesty, as are all of us, — but who, more active than all 
 others, has arranged a plan — " 
 
 " What plan, Monsieur 1 " demanded the King, raising 
 his head. 
 
 " If I should have the misfortune to displease the King, 
 by repeating to his Majesty what I know of this project, 
 I will hold my peace." 
 
 " No, no. Monsieur," said the Queen, hastily. " Speak ! 
 People enough form projects against us. It is at least 
 well for us to know those who conspire on our side, — 
 that in pardoning our enemies, we may also remember 
 our friends. Tell us, Baron, who is this gentleman 1 " 
 
 " The Marquis de Favras." 
 
 " Ah," said the Queen, " we know him. And you be- 
 lieve in his devotion, Baron t " 
 
 " In his devotion ? Yes, Madame ! Not only do I be- 
 lieve in it, but I am sure of it." 
 
 " Look out, Monsieur," said the King, " you are going 
 too far ! " 
 
 "The heart judges with the heart. Sire. I answer for 
 the devotion of Favras. As to the excellence of his pro- 
 ject, as to his chances of success, — oh, that is another 
 thing. I am too young and too prudent to put forth any 
 opinion on such a subject, especially when it concerns the 
 welfare of the King and Queen." 
 
 "And this project, let us hear what it is !" said the 
 Queen. 
 
 " Madame, it is ready for execution. If it pleases the 
 King this evening to speak a word or make a sign, to- 
 morrow, at the same hour, he may be at Peronne." 
 
 The King kept silence. Monsieur twisted the spine of 
 a poor knave of hearts, who could not very well help 
 himself. 
 
A SOIREE IN THE PAVILLON DE FLORE. 433 
 
 " Sire," said the Queen to her husband, " do you hear 
 what the Baron says 1 " 
 
 " Of course I hear," replied the King, scowling. 
 
 " And you, my brother 1 " she asked Monsieur. 
 
 " I am not more deaf than the King." 
 
 " Well, what do you say to it ? At least it is a defi- 
 nite proposition ! " 
 
 " Undoubtedly,'' said Monsieur, "undoubtedly ! " Then 
 turning to Isidore, he added : " Repeat that pretty 
 suggestion." 
 
 Isidore replied : " I said that if the King would pro- 
 nounce the word, or make but a sign, he might be at 
 Peronne within twenty-four hours, thanks to the meas- 
 ures taken by Favras." 
 
 " Well, my brother," asked Monsieur, " is it not tempt- 
 ing, what the Baron proposes ? " 
 
 The King turned sharply to Monsieur and looked at 
 him searchingly. " If I go, will you go with me ? " 
 
 "IV 
 
 " Yes, you, my brother of Provence," said the King. 
 " Tou want me to pledge myself to quit Paris. I repeat 
 my question : If I go, will you go with me ? " 
 
 "I — but," stammered Monsieur, "I was not aware. 
 — None of my preparations are made." 
 
 " How 1 You were not aware," said the King, " when 
 you furnished Favras with the money ! None of your 
 preparations are made, when you have been informed, 
 hour by hour, as to every point in this plot 1 " 
 
 " This plot 1 " repeated Monsieur, growing pale. 
 
 " Undoubtedly, this plot ; for it is a conspiracy, — a 
 conspiracy so real, that if it is discovered, Monsieur de 
 Favras will be imprisoned, tried at the Chatelet, and 
 condemned to death, — unless, by solicitations and 
 money, you can save him, as we saved Besenval." 
 
 VOL. I. — 28 
 
434 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 " But if the King could save Besenval, he can rescue 
 Favras also." 
 
 " No ! What I did for the one, I probably cannot do 
 for the other. Besides, Besenval was my man, as Favras 
 is yours. Let M,ch save his own, my brother, and we shall 
 both have done our duty.'' 
 
 As he spoke, the King rose, but the Queen held him by 
 the flap of his coat. 
 
 " Sire," she said, " whether you accept or refuse, you 
 owe Favras some response." 
 
 " I ?" 
 
 " Yes, something which the Baron de Charny may con- 
 vey to Favras in the King's name." 
 
 " He responds," said Louis -Sixteenth, disengaging his 
 coat from the Queen's grasp, "the King responds, that 
 he will not allow himself to be abducted ! " And with 
 these words his Majesty walked away. 
 
 " That is to say," said Monsieur, " if Favras abducts the 
 King without permission, he is welcome to do so, — es- 
 pecially if he succeeds ; for whoever fails is a fool, and, in 
 politics, fools deserve double punishment." 
 
 " Monsieur de Charny," said the Queen, " this evening, 
 without loss of time, run after Favras, and tell him the 
 King's exact words, — the King will not allow himself to 
 he abducted. It is for Favras to comprehend these words, 
 or for you to explicate them. — Go ! " 
 
 The Baron, who, not without reason, regarded the 
 King's response and the Queen's advice as a double con- 
 sent, took his hat, went out hurriedly, and threw him- 
 self into a cab, bidding the driver take him to Eoyal 
 Square, number twenty-one. 
 
SEEN IN A DECANTER. 435 
 
 CHAPTER XLIL ^ 
 
 WHAT THE QUEEN HAD SEEN IN A DECANTER TWENTY YEARS 
 BEFORE AT THE TAVERNEY CHItEAU. 
 
 When the King left the card-table, he walked towards 
 the group of young fellows, whose joyous laughter had 
 attracted his attention before he entered the room. 
 
 At his approach a noticeable silence prevailed in the 
 group, so that he asked : " Well, gentlemen, is the King 
 so unhappy that he carries sadness wherever he goes 1 " 
 
 " Sire ! — " murmured the young men. 
 
 " Your gayety was lively enough, and your mirth 
 buoyant, when we came in a while ago, the Queen and 
 myself." Then, shaking his head, he added : " Woe to 
 kings, in whose presence none dare laugh ! " 
 
 " Sire, — the respect, — " began Monsieur de Lameth — 
 
 " My dear Charles," interrupted the King, " when you 
 used to leave your seminary on Sundays or Thursdays, 
 and I bade you seek recreation at Versailles, did you 
 deprive yourself of laughter, because I was there 1 I 
 said a minute ago. Woe to the king, before whom none 
 dare be merry. Now I say, Happy the king, in whose 
 presence men may laugh." 
 
 " Sire," said Monsieur de Castries, " the subject, which 
 afforded us so much mirth^ might not appear so comical 
 to your Majesty." 
 
 " Of what were you talking, gentlemen 1 " 
 
 " Sire," said Suleau, coming forward, " I deliver the 
 culprit to your Majesty." 
 
436 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 " Ah, Monsieur Suleau ! I have read the last number 
 of your ' Acts of the Apostles.' Have a care ! Have a 
 care ! " 
 
 " Of what, Sire 1" demanded the young journalist. 
 
 " You are a little too much of a Royalist. You might 
 easily get yourself into a bad scrape with the lover of 
 Mademoiselle Theroigne." 
 
 " With Monsieur Populus," laughingly asked Suleau. 
 
 " Precisely. By the way, what has become of the 
 heroine of that poem'!" 
 
 " Theroigne ? " 
 
 " Yes. I hear nothing of her nowadays." 
 
 " Sire, I believe she thinlis our Revolution does not 
 get on fast enough, and has gone to hurry up the Revo- 
 lution in Brabant. Your Majesty is doubtless aware 
 that this chaste amazon is at Liege 1 " 
 
 " No, I did not know it. Is this what you were 
 laughing at just now?" 
 
 "No, Sire, but about the National Assembly.'' 
 
 "Ah ha, gentlemen! Then you did well to become 
 serious when you saw me. I can't allow anybody in 7ny 
 house to laugh at the National Assembly. To be sure," 
 added the King, by way of compromise, " I am not now 
 at home, but in the apartments of the Princess Lamballe ; 
 so if you laugh at that no longer, or even laugh at it very 
 softly, you can still tell me what made you laugh so loud 
 awhile ago." 
 
 " Does the King know what question was agitated to- 
 day at the session of the National Assembly V 
 
 " Yes, and that makes me even more interested. Was 
 there not under consideration a new machine for the 
 execution of criminals?" 
 
 " Offered by Doctor Guillotin to the nation ! Yes, 
 Sire," said Suleau, 
 
SEEN IN A DECANTER. 437 
 
 " Oh Monsieur ! and you were ridiculing Guillotin, a 
 philanthropist 1 You forget that I am a philanthropist 
 myself." 
 
 " Oh Sire, I do not forget ! There are philanthropists 
 and philanthropists. For instance, there is, at the head 
 of the French nation, a philanthropist who has abolished 
 the preparatory suffering, the examination of prisoners 
 under torture. Such a philanthropist we respect, we 
 venerate ; nay, we do more, we love him, Sire." 
 
 All the young fellows bowed low, as by common 
 consent. 
 
 " But," continued Suleau, " there are other philanthro- 
 pists who, being already physicians, and having in their 
 hands the means, more or less skilful, for disposing of 
 sick folks, are still seeking some means of getting rid 
 of the well ones. Faith, Sire, I beg you to leave such 
 philanthropists to my tender mercies." 
 
 "And what would you do with them, — behead them 
 without suffering ? " asked the King, alluding to the claim 
 set forth by Doctor Guillotin. " Would they quit this 
 world with only a slight coolness about their necks ] " 
 
 " Sire, that is precisely what I wish for them, but that 
 is not what I have promised them." 
 
 " How ? What you wish for them 1 " said the King. 
 
 " Yes, Sire ! I wish that all fellows who invent such 
 machines might be the first to try them. I do not pity 
 Master Aubriot very much, because he had a chance to 
 test the walls of the Bastille ; nor Messire Enguerrand de 
 Marigny, who was the first to enjoy the gibbet at Mont- 
 faucon. Fortunately I have not the honor of being a 
 magistrate. It is therefore probable that I shall be 
 obliged, in the presence of the respectable Guillotin, to 
 confine myself to what I have promised him, and have 
 already begun to accomplish." 
 
438 LA COMTESSE DE CHAKNY. 
 
 " And what have you promised, — or rather, what have 
 you done 1 " 
 
 " Well, the notiou struck me that this great benefactor 
 of humanity ought to derive some recompense from the 
 benefaction itself; so to-morrow morning — in the copy 
 of my ' Acts of the Apostles,' which is being printed to- 
 night — a christening will take place. It is but just 
 that the child of Monsieur Guillotin — recognized to- 
 day as such publicly, by its father, in the presence of 
 the National Assembly — should be named Mademoiselle 
 Guillotine." 
 
 Even the King could not help smiling. 
 
 " And as there is never a marriage or baptism without 
 its song," said Lameth, " Suleau has made a couple of 
 songs for his godchild." 
 
 "Twor' said the King. 
 
 " Sire," said Suleau, "the poet must suit all tastes." 
 
 "And to what melody have you set these songs'! 1 
 can think of nothing so suitable as the funereal chant, De 
 Pr-ofundis, — ' Out of the Depths.' " 
 
 " Oh, your Majesty ! You forget the pleasure it will be 
 to have one's throat cut by the daughter of Monsieur 
 Guillotin, — that is, if he thrusts his head into her door- 
 way. No, Sire ! One of my songs is set to an air which 
 is just now all the rage, the Exaiidet Mhiuet. The other 
 takes in several melodies, — a sort of mixture." 
 
 " And may one have a foretaste of your poesy 1 " asked 
 the King. 
 
 Suleau bowed and said : " I do not belong to the Na- 
 tional Assembljf, and therefore do not presume to limit 
 the authority of my King. No, I am an obedient subject 
 of your Majesty; and my opinion is, that the King should 
 have whatever he wishes.'' 
 
 " Very well, I am listening." 
 
SEEN IN A DECANTER. 439 
 
 "Sire, I obey," said Suleau; and he sang, in a low 
 voice, the following ditty, to the melody called the 
 Exaudet Minuet, as we have said : "• 
 
 Guillotin, 
 
 Deep-learned man, — 
 
 Politician 
 
 And physician, — 
 Took a shine, one morning fine. 
 Hanging not to deem divine, 
 Nor his country's mission. 
 
 In a trice. 
 
 His device, — 
 
 Such a heauty I — 
 Having neitlier rope nor stress. 
 Must the hangman's art suppress. 
 
 And his duty. 
 
 All in vain a few may teach. 
 This the craft of envious leech, — 
 
 To uphold 
 
 The school of old 
 
 Hippocrates, — 
 The trade to swift monopolize. 
 Of dealing death to convict flies, 
 
 For frequent fees, 
 
 All at their ease. 
 
 1 This somewhat rough version of these Revolutionary songs is fur- 
 nished by the Translator, with the hope of reproducing, in some degree, 
 not merely the ideas of Suleau's stanzas, hut their satire, spirit, met- 
 rical rhythm, and recurrent rhymes ; and to this end all attempts at 
 poetic sentiment have been subordinated. It may be helpful, for those 
 unacquainted with French, to know that the final syllable z're, in such 
 words as Guillotin^ is always so pronounced as nearly to rhyme with 
 our word man. Except where two or three lines have been added, so as 
 to convey the whole meaning, this translation follows the French verses - 
 pretty carefully, though the Translator is fully aware of its many 
 deficiencies. 
 
440 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 Our doctor bold — 
 
 As we are told, 
 
 This work ro do — 
 Consulted with his colleagues suave, 
 Chapelier, and eke Barnave, — 
 
 The headsman too. 
 
 Straightway stands, 
 
 From his hands, 
 
 This machine, — 
 Which with ease may slay us all, 
 And which, after him, we call, 
 
 Guillotine ! 
 
 The laughter of the young fellows redoubled. Al- 
 though these verses did not appear so very amusing to 
 the King ; yet, as Suleau was one of his most steadfast 
 adherents, he did not wish that journalist to note the 
 peculiar feeling which agitated the royal heart, and 
 which the King himself could not account for ; so he 
 said, " But, my dear Suleau, you spoke of two songs. 
 You have given us the godfather. Now for the godmother 
 at the baptism." 
 
 "Sire," responded Suleau, " the godmother awaits the 
 honor of an introduction. She marches to the tune> 
 Paris est au Roi." 
 
 Monsieur Guillotin, 
 
 The medicine-man. 
 Whom the good of his race 
 
 Must ever engage, — - 
 
 Advances apace, 
 With demeanor so sage. 
 And the word for the age, — 
 
 Prompt suggesting 
 
 A small blessing, — 
 
 Interesting, — 
 
SEEN IN A DECANTER. 441 
 
 In -words not prolix ; 
 
 But his phrases 
 
 Win him praises, 
 From fools five or six, — \ 
 Grandiloquent tricks ! 
 
 " Dear gents, who safely lead us ! — 
 
 For every human flaw, 
 Your wisdom hath decreed us 
 
 Equality in law. 
 Awhile if you deign to listen, 
 
 Persuaded you soon must be. 
 That if it is cruel to hang men, 
 
 Far worse to be hanged it must be, 
 
 " What shall be done ? 
 When a worthy citizen, 
 
 In choler or in fun, 
 Assassinates his neighbor, 
 
 What shall be done ? 
 
 "To benefit is my intention, 
 
 And drag you through these straits. 
 And so I have made an invention, 
 
 Which quick decapitates. 
 
 " ' T is a blow which is received. 
 
 Ere one hears it popping ; 
 Scarcely is the cut perceived, — 
 
 One sees next to nothing. 
 
 " A hidden spring, with a boost. 
 All of a sudden unloosed. 
 Sets gliding, 
 
 Ding — ding ! 
 Sets shying, 
 
 Ying — ying ! 
 Sends gliding. 
 Sends shying. 
 Sends flying 
 The head. 
 Very little to dread ! " 
 
442 LA COMTESSE DE CHAKNY. 
 
 "Well, gentlemen, you laugh," said the King j " never- 
 theless, this machine is intended to spare condemned 
 criminals much suffering. What does society ask, when 
 it demands the death of the guilty ? Solely and simply 
 this, — the suppression of the individual. If that sup- 
 pression is accompanied by suffering, as with the wheel 
 or the rack, then punishment is no longer justice ; it is 
 vengeance." 
 
 " But, Sire," observed Suleau, " who can assure your 
 Majesty that suffering is diminished by the severance of 
 the head thus from the body t Who can say whether 
 life does not survive in both sections, the trunk and the 
 head, and that the dying person may not suffer doubly, 
 having a horrible consciousness of his duality 1 " 
 
 " That is a fair question for discussion among the 
 members of the faculty. — By the way, an experiment 
 was made at the Bicetre Prison, this very morning, I 
 believe. Was no one of you gentlemen present at that 
 experiment ? " 
 
 " No, Sire ! ITo, no, no ! " exclaimed a dozen or fifteen 
 merry voices, almost simultaneously. 
 
 " I was there, Sire, "'said a graver voice. 
 
 The King turned and saw Gilbert, who had entered 
 during the conversation, had respectfully drawn near, 
 but had stood silent till now, when he suddenly answered 
 the King's interrogation. 
 
 " Ah Doctor," said the King, with a shudder, " so you 
 were there." 
 
 "Yes, Sire." 
 
 " And how did the experiment succeed ? " 
 
 " Perfectly well, with the first two subjects, Sire ; but 
 with the third, though the vertebral column was cut, it 
 was still necessary to use a knife in severing the head 
 entirely from the body." 
 
SEEN IN A DECANTER, 443 
 
 The young men listened with open months and horrified 
 eyes. 
 
 " How, Sire," said Charles Lameth, evidently speaking 
 for the others, as well as for himself, " three men were 
 executed this morning ] " 
 
 "Yes, gentlemen," said the King; " only these three 
 men were three corpses, sent from the hospital, Hotel 
 Dieu. — And your opinion, Gilbert ? " 
 
 "As to what, Sirer' 
 
 " As to the instrument." 
 
 " Sire, it is evidently a great improvement on any 
 machine for this purpose hitherto invented ; but the 
 accident, which happened to the third victim, proves that 
 the machine needs perfecting." 
 
 " And how is it constructed," asked the King, whose 
 instinct for mechanism was at once aroused. 
 
 Thereupon Gilbert endeavored to give some description ; 
 but as the King could not understand the exact shape 
 of the instrument, even from the Doctor's explanation, , 
 he said : " Come, come. Doctor. Here, on this table, are 
 quills, ink, and paper. You draw, I "believe % " 
 
 " Yes, Sire ! " ;• 
 
 "Make me an outline, and I shall understand better." 
 As the young gentlemen, restrained by their respect for 
 the King, did not venture to follow without an invitation, 
 he added : " Come, gentlemen, come. This subject is 
 one which should interest all mankind." 
 
 " And then who knows," said Suleau, in a low voice, 
 " if one of us is not destined for the honor of espousing 
 Mademoiselle Guillotine 1 Come, gentlemen, let us make 
 the acquaintance of our future bride." 
 
 Following Gilbert and the King they clustered about 
 the table, where (by the King's bidding) Gilbert seated 
 himself, the better to draw his design. 
 
444 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 He began the sketch of the machine, and Louis fol- 
 lowed every line with the closest attention. Nothing 
 was wanting, — neither the platform, the stairway which 
 led to it, the two upright beams, the movable plank, the 
 little aperture, nor the crescent-shaped blade. 
 
 Gilbert was finishing this last detail, when the King 
 stopped him. " Parbleu ! It is not surprising the experi- 
 ment failed, especially with the third trial." 
 
 " Why so ? "'asked Gilbert. 
 
 " On account of the shape of the cutter," replied the 
 King. " It was certainly no mechanic's idea, to give the 
 crescent shape to a blade intended for cutting any material 
 likely to offer much resistance." 
 
 " But what form would your Majesty have given to it 1 " 
 
 " It is very simple, — a triangle." 
 
 Gilbert undertook to correct his sketch. 
 
 " Not so, not that way," said the King. " Give me 
 your qviill." 
 
 " Sire, here is the quill and the chair," said Gilbert, 
 rising. 
 
 " See here, see here ! " said King Louis, carried away 
 by his fondness for mechanism. " Bring the steel to a 
 point, so, — like a wedge. Bevel it, thus, — so — and so ! 
 Then, I warrant you it will cut off twenty-five heads, one 
 after the other, without a rebuff from one of them." 
 
 He had hardly uttered these words when a piercing 
 cry — a cry of fright, almost of despair — ■ sounded just 
 above his head. He turned quickly and saw the Queen, 
 pale, distracted, reeling, as she fell fainting into Gilbert's 
 amis. 
 
 Urged by curiosity, like the others, she had approached 
 the table, and was leaning on the King's chair, looking 
 over his shoulder, at the very instant when he added his 
 correction to the sketch. She instantly recognized the 
 
SEEN IN A DECANTER. 445 
 
 hideous machine, of whioh Cagliostro had made her see 
 the image, twenty years before, at the Chateau de 
 Taverney. 
 
 At this sight she had only strength enough to scream ; 
 and then, as if life had already abandoned her, ■ — ■ by the 
 fatal operation of the machine itself, — she fell, as already 
 related, into the arms of Gilbert. 
 
 Note. — The original of the two Guillotine songs is here appended. 
 
 SONG FIRST. 
 
 GiilUotiu, 
 
 M^decin 
 
 Politique, 
 Imagine, nn beau matin, 
 Que pendre est inhumain, 
 Et pen patriotique. 
 
 AussitSt 
 
 II lui faut 
 
 Un supplice, 
 Qui, sans corde ni poteau, 
 Supprime du hourreau 
 
 L'oflBce. 
 
 C'est en vain que Ton puhlie 
 Que c'est pure jalousie 
 
 D'un suppot 
 u tripot 
 
 D'Hippocrate, 
 Qui du tuer impun^ment, 
 Meme exclusivement, 
 
 Se flatte. 
 
 Le Romain 
 
 Guillotin, 
 
 Qui s'apprSte, 
 Consnlte gens du metier, 
 Bamave et Chapelier, 
 Mgme le coupe-t6te ; 
 
446 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 Et sa main 
 Fait soudaiu 
 La maciiine, 
 Que simplement noun tiira, 
 Et que I'on nommera : 
 Ouillotiiie, 
 
 SONG SECOND. 
 
 Monsieur Guillotin, 
 Ce grand medecin, 
 Que I'amour du prochain 
 
 Occupe sans fin, 
 S'avance soudain, 
 Prend la parole enfln, 
 Et, d'un air b^nin, 
 II propose 
 Pen de chose, 
 Qu'il expose 
 En peu de mots ; 
 Mais I'emphase 
 De sa phrase 
 Obtient les bravos 
 De cinq ou six sots. 
 
 " Messieurs, dans voire sagesse, 
 
 Si vous avez ddcr^t^. 
 Pour toute humaine faiblesse. 
 
 La loi de I'^galit^, 
 Pour peu qu'on daigne m'entendre, 
 
 On sera bien convain9u. 
 Que, s'il est cruel de pendre, 
 
 II est dur d'etre pendu, 
 
 " Comment done faire, 
 Quand un hounete citoyen, 
 
 Dans un mouvenient de colere, 
 Assassinera son prochain ? 
 Comment done faire ? 
 En revaijt a la sourdine. 
 
 Pour Tous tirer d'embarras, 
 J'ai fait une machine, 
 Qui met les tetes k bas ! 
 
SEEN liSr A DECANTER. 447 
 
 " C'est un coup que I'on revolt, 
 
 Avant qu'on s'en doute ; 
 A peine on s'en aper9oit, 
 
 Car on n'y voit goutte ; 
 Uu certain ressort cacW, 
 Tout k coup ^tant l^cli^, 
 Fait tomber! 
 Ber! berl 
 Fait sauter ! 
 Ter! ter! 
 Fait tomber; 
 Fait sauter; 
 Fait voler 
 La tete ! 
 C'est bien plus honnete I " 
 
448 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 CHAPTEE XLIII. 
 
 THE PHYSICIAN FOE THE BODY AND THE PHYSICIAN FOB 
 THE SOUL. 
 
 One can readily understand that such an occurrence 
 inevitably interrupted the soiree. 
 
 Although nobody could assign any cause for the Queen's 
 swoon, the fact remained, that as soon as she had looked 
 at the design drawn by Gilbert, and retouched by the 
 King, the Queen fainted. 
 
 When this was known throughout the room, all retired, 
 except those who belonged to the household, or were 
 among the special friends of the royal family. 
 
 Gilbert gave his first attention to the Queen. Madame 
 Lamballe would not consent to have her removed to the 
 royal apartments. Indeed this would have been difficult, 
 as Madame Lamballe lived in the Pavilion de Flore, -while 
 the Queen occupied the Pavilion Marsan, and it would 
 have been necessary to carry the lifeless body the whole 
 length of the palace. 
 
 The royal invalid was consequently placed on a lounge 
 in the bedroom of the Princess, who — having divined, 
 with the intuition peculiar to women, that there was 
 something mysterious and dark concealed beneath this 
 unexpected event — sent everybody away, even the King, 
 and stood at the foot of the couch, with a tender but 
 anxious mien, awaiting the moment when, thanks to 
 Gilbert's remedies, the Queen should recover her senses. 
 
PHYSICIAN FOR BODY AND SOUL. 449 
 
 Xow and then the Princess asked the Doctor a ques- 
 tion ; but he was powerless to hasten the Queen's recovery, 
 and could only tranquillize her friend with commonplace 
 assurances. 
 
 For some time the shock to the poor Queen's nervous 
 system was so intense that the application of smelling- 
 salts to her nose aiid of vinegar to her temples was 
 insufficient to restore her to life ; but at last a slight 
 cramp in the extremities indicated a return to sensi- 
 bility. She moved her head slowly from right to left, as 
 if waking from a painful dream. Then she heaved a sigh, 
 and reopened her eyes. 
 
 It was evident that life had returned before reason. 
 For some seconds she looked about the room^ with that 
 vague expression belonging to one who neither knows 
 where she is nor what has happened ; but presently a 
 lisht tremor ran through her body. Then she uttered 
 a faint cry, and placed her hand over her eyes, as if to 
 dispel some horrible illusion. 
 
 Memory had reawakened. The crisis was past. 
 
 Gilbert could not conceal from himself that the accident 
 had some moral cause. He knew how little effect medi- 
 cine has in such phenomenal cases, and he prepared to 
 withdraw ; but at his first backward step, as if by some 
 interior sense she had guessed his intention, the Queen 
 put out her hand and grasped his arm, and said, with a 
 voice as nervous as the gesture which accompanied it, 
 " Eemain ! " 
 
 Gilbert paused, much astonished. He was not ignorant 
 of the Queen's want of sympathy with himself; albeit, 
 on the other side, he had before remarked the strange 
 and almost magnetic influence which he exercised over 
 her. 
 
 " I am at the Queen's orders," he said ; " but I think 
 
 VOL. I. — 29 
 
450 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 it would be well to calm the anxiety of the King, and 
 of the other friends who remain in the drawing-room", 
 and if your Majesty will permit — " 
 
 " Therese," said the Queen, addressing Madame Lam- 
 balle, " go and tell the King that I am myself again ; and 
 then see that I am not interrupted, for I must talk with 
 Doctor Gilbert." 
 
 The Princess obeyed, with that passive amiability which 
 was the dominant trait in her character, and even in her 
 physiognomy. 
 
 Leaning on her elbow the Queen followed the Princess 
 with her eyes, and waited till there was time to fulfil her 
 errand. Then, seeing how effectually that mission was 
 accomplished, — thanks to the vigilance of the Princess, — 
 the Queen felt at liberty to converse at her leisure with 
 the Doctor ; so she turned toward him, fixing her glance 
 upon his face. 
 
 "Doctor," she demanded, "are you not astonished 
 that accident constantly brings you face to face with me, 
 in the physical and moral crises of my life 1 " 
 
 " Alas, Madame ! I do not know whether I ought to 
 be thankful or regretful over such accidents." 
 " Why so. Monsieur 1" 
 
 " Because I read in the depths of your heart that it is 
 neither to your desire nor your will that I owe this honor- 
 able contact." 
 
 " I said accident ! You kpow that I am frank. Under 
 the trying circumstances which have recently brought us 
 together, you have shown genuine devotion. I do not 
 forget it, and I thank you for it." 
 
 Gilbert bowed. The Queen noted the movement of 
 his face, as well as of his body. " I also am a physiogno- 
 mist," she said. " Do you know that you have answered 
 me without speaking a word % " 
 
PHYSICIAN FOR BODY AND SOUL. 451 
 
 " Madame, I should be in despair if my silence were 
 less respectful than my speech." 
 
 " You were saying to yourself, that I had thanked you, 
 becaiise that was the regular thing for me to do, but that 
 we had better change the subject." 
 
 " I at least showed my wish that her Majesty should 
 put my devotion to the proof, and permit me to manifest 
 it in some more efficacious manner than I have been able 
 to do so far ; and perhaps this sort of wistful impatience 
 is what the Queen noticed in my countenance.'' 
 
 "Monsieur Gilbert," she said, looking steadfastly at the 
 Doctor, " you are a superior man, and I wish to make 
 the amende honorable. I was formerly prejudiced against 
 you, but those prejudices exist no longer." 
 
 "Her Majesty will permit me to thank her from the 
 bottom of my heart, not for the compliment wherewith 
 she deigns to honor me, but for the assurance which she 
 gives me." 
 
 " Doctor," replied the Queen, as if what she was about 
 to say was the natural outgrowth of what she had said 
 already, " what do you think of the illness which has 
 just come to me 1 " 
 
 " Madame, I am an exact man, a scientific man. Have 
 the goodness to put your question in a more precise 
 form." 
 
 " I ask if you believe my swoon was caused by one of 
 those nervous crises to which we poor women are sub- 
 jected by the weakness of our organization, or do you 
 suspect that the accident had a more serious cause % " 
 
 " I answer your Majesty, that the daughter of Maria 
 Theresa, — that the woman whom I saw so calm and 
 courageous on that terriijle October night, — is no ordi- 
 nary woman, and consequently not moved by one of those 
 accidents which take hold of ordinary women." 
 
452 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 " You are quite right, Doctor. — Do you believe at all 
 in presentiments'? " 
 
 " Science rejects all phenomena which tend to reverse 
 the material and natural order of things, and therefore it 
 sets aside all such facts as give the lie to natural law." 
 
 "I should have said, Do you believe in predictions? " 
 
 " I believe the Supreme Goodness, for our best good, 
 hides the future behind an impenetrable veil. Some 
 minds, endowed by Nature with great scientific accuracy, 
 fna,j sometime be able, through a study of the past, to 
 lift a corner of the veil, and see dimly, as through a mist, 
 events to come ; but these exceptions are rare ; for since 
 religion would abolish belief in fatality, and philosophy 
 has set limits to faith, the prophets have lost three quar- 
 ters of their art. Nevertheless — " 
 
 " Well, nevertheless — V rejoined the Queen, seeing 
 him lost in thought. 
 
 " Nevertheless, Madame," he continued, as if it re- 
 quired an effort to deal with questions which his reason 
 relegated to the domain of skepticism, — " nevertheless, 
 there is a man — " 
 
 "A man — 1" repeated the Queen, who followed with 
 interest his halting words. 
 
 " There is a man who has confounded, with incon- 
 testable facts, all the arguments of my intelligence." 
 
 " And that man is — T' 
 
 " I dare not name him to your Majesty." 
 
 "That man is your master, is he not, Monsieur Gil- 
 bert '? This man, all-powerful, immortal, is the divine 
 ■Cagliostro.'' 
 
 " Madame, my only master, my true master, is Nature. 
 Cagliostro is only ray benefactor. Pierced by a ball, 
 which passed through my breast, — rapidly losing my 
 blood, through a wound which, since I have become a 
 
PHYSICIAN FOR BODY AND SOUL. 453 
 
 physician, and after twenty years of study, I still regard 
 as incurable, — he healed me in a few days, thanks to a 
 balm, of whose composition I am yet ignorant. Thence 
 arises my gratitude, — I might almost say, admiration." 
 
 " And this man has made you predictions which have 
 been accomplished 1 " 
 
 " Strangely and incredibly, Madame ! Yes, that man 
 marches forward in the present, with an assurance which 
 compels 3'ou to believe in his knowledge of the future." 
 
 " So if that man had predicted something about your- 
 self, you would believe his prophecy 1 " 
 
 "I should certainly act as if it might be fulfilled." 
 
 " So that if he had predicted for you a premature death, 
 terrible and disgraceful, you would prepare yourself for 
 that death?" 
 
 " After everything else, Madame, — after having tried 
 to escape, by all accessible means." 
 
 " Escape ? No, Doctor, no ! I see plainly that I am 
 condemned. This Revolution is a maelstrom which will 
 engulf the throne. The populace is a lion which will 
 devour me." 
 
 " Ah, Madame ! The lion, which you dread, you catr 
 compel to lie down at your feet, like a lamb." 
 
 " Have you not seen the populace at Versailles 1 " 
 
 " Have you not seen the populace at the Tuileries 7 
 They make an ocean, Madame, which beats incessantly 
 upon, and threatens to extirpate, the rook which opposes 
 its course, yet caresses the ship which is intrusted to its 
 keeping." 
 
 " Doctor, all was long ago at an end between the peo- 
 ple and myself. They hate me, and I do not understand 
 them." 
 
 "Because you do not know each other. Cease to be a 
 Queen to the people, and become a mother. Forget that 
 
454 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 you are the daughter of Maria Theresa, our old enemy. 
 Forget that you are the sister of Joseph the Second, our 
 false friend. Be a Frenchwoman, and you will hear the 
 voices of the people uplifted to bless you, and you will 
 see the arms of the people extended to caress you." 
 
 Marie Antoinette shrugged her shoulders. "Yes, I 
 know them ! They blessed yesterday. They caress to- 
 day. To-morrow they will throttle those whom they have 
 blessed and caressed." 
 
 " Because they feel that there is in such unfortunates 
 some resistance to the popular will, that hatred is re- 
 turned for love.'' 
 
 " Do they know what they love and what they hate ^ 
 The populace heoomes an element of destruction, like 
 wind, water, and fire, yet with all the caprices of a 
 woman." 
 
 " Because you only see the shore, Madame, as the vis- 
 itor on the cliffs sees the ocean. Advancing and retreat- 
 ing, without any apparent motive, it breaks in foam at 
 your feet, and enwraps you in moans which you mistake 
 for roars. But this is not the way you ought to consider 
 it. You should regard the ocean as moved by the spirit 
 of the Lord who rules the great waters. You should see 
 the ocean as God sees it, marching on in unity, yet break- 
 ing through whatever obstacle stands in its way. You 
 are Queen of the French, not merely of France, Madame ; 
 yet you ignore what is taking place in France at this very 
 liour. Eaise your veil, Madame, instead of lowering it, 
 and you will admire, instead of fear the people." 
 
 " What then shall I see, — so fine, so magnificent, so 
 splendid 1 " 
 
 " You will see a new world born amidst the ruins of 
 the old. You will see the cradle of France, floating like 
 ihe bulrush ark of Moses, but on a stream much bigger 
 
PHYSICIAN FOR BODY AND SOUL. 455 
 
 than the Nile, than the Mediterranean, or even the 
 ocean. God protect thee, oh cradle, God guard thee, oh 
 France ! " 
 
 Though so little of an enthusiast, Gilbert lifted his eyes 
 and arms towards Heaven. The Queen regarded liitii 
 with surprise. She could not understand him. 
 
 " And whither will this cradle float t " she asked. " To 
 the National Assembly, that convention of disputants, of 
 destroyers, of levellers? Is old France to guide the new ? 
 Unhappy mother, for so beautiful a child ! " 
 
 " No, Madame ! but wherever that cradle may find a 
 resting-place, one day or another, — to-day, perhaps to- 
 morrow, — men will call that unknown land their Na- 
 tion ; and the babe will find a vigorous nurse, a nourisher 
 of strong people, — Liberty ! " 
 
 " Grand words, which abuse has killed, — Nation and 
 Liberty." 
 
 " No, ^ladame, not only grand words, but grand ideas, 
 grand facts. Look at France, at a moment when she is 
 already bruised, when nothing is as yet reconstructed ; 
 when she has no regular municipalities, and hardly de- 
 partments ; when she has no laws, and everybody is a 
 law unto himself. See her cross, with steadfast eye and 
 assured step, the passage which leads from the old to the 
 new, that narrow bridge across the abyss. See that 
 bridge, — slender as that which Mohammed saw leading 
 into Paradise, — which France traverses without swerv- 
 ing. Whither goeth that ancient France 1 Into the 
 unity of a common country. All that was heretofore 
 believed to be difficult, painful, insurmountable, has be- 
 come not only possible, but easy. Our loosely bound 
 union of provinces was hut a sheaf of prejudices, a bundle 
 of opposing interests, of individual notions. Nothing 
 could prevail, it was believed, against the twenty-five or 
 
456 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 thirty nationalities, which repelled the one general na- 
 tionality. Would old Languedoc, old Toulouse, old Brit- 
 tany, consent to make themselves part of Normandy, 
 Burgundy, or Dauphiny 1 No, Madame ; but all together 
 they are willing to make France. Why were they so 
 obstinate about their rights, their privileges, their inde- 
 pendent legislation ? Because they had no common 
 country, no Nation. Now, as I have told you, Madame, 
 National Unity has appeared to them. Somewhat far 
 in the future, it may be, but still they have seen it, — 
 the fruitful and immortal mother, calling to her arms her 
 isolated and lost cliildren. She who calls them is their 
 common mother. In their humility they have called 
 themselves Languedociaus, Provengals, Bretons, Normans, 
 Burgundians, Dauphiuese ; but they were mistaken, for 
 they are all French, they are part of France." 
 
 " But according to you. Doctor," said the Queen, with 
 a touch of irony, "France, this ancient France, — the 
 eldest daughter of the Church, as the pojies have called her 
 since the Ninth Ceutury, — never existed till yesterday." 
 
 " That is precisely wherein lies the miracle, Madame. 
 There was a France, but now there are the French; and 
 not only are they French, but they are brothers, brothers 
 who grasp each other by the hand. My God, Madame, 
 men are not so bad as your world may think. They 
 tend towai-ds sociability. All your unnatural inventions 
 have failed to keep them entirely apart, — your interior 
 custom-houses, your innumerable toUgates, your ferries 
 on the rivers, your turnpikes on the highways, your 
 diverse local laws, your differing regulations, weights, and 
 measures, your provincial rivalries, in towns, cities, and 
 hamlets. Some fine day a trembling of the earth will 
 shake the throne, will overturn ancient walls, will de- 
 stroy all obstacles. Men will then look at each other in 
 
PHYSICIAN FOE BODY AND SOUL. 457 
 
 the face of Heaven, — basking in the peaceful and happy 
 light of that sunshine which not only fertilizes the earth 
 but the heart. Fraternity will hasten a holy harvest. 
 Enemies, astonished at the hatred which has so long 
 agitated them, will advance, not against one another, but 
 towards one another, with open arms, not filled with 
 weapons ; and this will be done naturally, not officially, 
 or by command. Under the flood-tide, rivers and moun- 
 tains will disappear. Geography will be no more. The 
 universal hymn, which thirty millions of French people 
 chant, will be in these words : 
 
 Praise God who hath made us a Nation ! 
 
 and there will be many accents, but one tongue." 
 
 "What are you coming to. Doctor 1 Do you hope to 
 reassure me by a vision of such a general federation, of 
 thirty millions of rebels against their King and Queen?" 
 
 " Ah Madame, undeceive yourself ! " cried Gilbert. " It 
 is not the people who rebel against King and Queen. It 
 is King and Queen who are in rebellion against the peo- 
 ple, — rulers who continue to talk about privileges and 
 royalty, when all around them the people are talking of 
 fraternity and duty. In your mind's eye glance at some 
 popular feast, and you will almost always see an altar, in 
 the middle of a vast plain, or on some hillock, — an altar 
 pure as Abel's ; and on that altar you will see a little 
 child, which all the feasters have adopted. Dowered with 
 the vows, the gifts, the tears of all, it becomes the child 
 of all, — the child of a regiment of hearts. Madame, 
 France — the France of yesterday, of which I speak — is 
 the infant on the altar. Only around that altar are no 
 longer grouped villages and cities, but peoples and na- 
 tions. France is the Christ born in a manger, amidst 
 the lowly, for the salvation of a world. Peoples shall 
 
458 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 rejoice in this birth. Kings shall bend the kjiee and bring 
 their tributes, like the three from the far East, who came 
 to the stable in Bethlehem. Italy, Poland, Ireland, and 
 Spain look to this infant, born yesterday, who yet pro- 
 phesies their future. With tear-filled eyes they stretch 
 forth their enchained hands, and exclaim : ' France, 
 France, in thee are we free ! ' — Madame, Madame,'' con- 
 tinued Gilbert, appealingly, " it is not yet too late. Take 
 this infant on the altar, and be you its mother ! " 
 
 " Doctor, you forget that I have other children, the 
 offspring of my life, and that in doing what you suggest, 
 I should be disinheriting them for a stranger." 
 
 " If it be so, Madame," replied Gilbert, with deep sor- 
 row, " wrap your children in the war mantle of Maria 
 Theresa, and take them outside of France ; for you say 
 truly, the people will devour you, and your babes with 
 you. Only there is no time to be lost. Hasten, Madame, 
 hasten ! " 
 
 " And you do not oppose our departure, Monsieur? " 
 
 " Far from it ! When I learn your real intentions, I 
 will aid you, Madame." 
 
 " This falls out marvellously well," said the Queen, 
 " for there is a gentleman already at work for us, devoted 
 until death." 
 
 "Ah, Madame!" exclaimed Gilbert, with terroi', "it 
 cannot be the Marquis de Favras of whom you speak 1 " 
 
 " Who has told his name t Who has betrayed our 
 project 1 " 
 
 " Oh Madame, be on your guard. A fatal prediction 
 pursues him also." 
 
 " And by the same prophet 1 " 
 
 '■ Even so ! " 
 
 " And according to that prophet, what fate awaits 
 Favras 1 " 
 
PHYSICIAN FOR BODY AND SOUL. 469 
 
 " A premature death, disgraceful and terrible, — like 
 the one you spoke of just now ! " 
 
 " You say well, there is no time to lose, if Ave would 
 disappoint this prophet of evil." 
 
 " You mean to notify Favras that you accept his 
 help ? " 
 
 " At this very instant he is being notified, Monsieur 
 Gilbert, and I await his reply." 
 
 Affrighted by the events in which he suddenly found 
 himself embroiled, Gilbert passed his hand over his fore- 
 head, as if to gain some light. At that moment Madame 
 Lamballe entered, and whispered two words in the Queen's 
 ear. 
 
 " Let him come in ! Let him come in ! " cried the 
 Queen. " The Doctor knows all. — Doctor, this is 
 Vicomte Isidore de Charny, who brings me a response 
 from the Marquis de Favras. By to-morrow the Queen 
 will have quitted Paris. The day after, we shall be 
 outside of France. Come, Monsieur de Charny, come. — 
 Great God ! — What is the matter "i — Why are you so 
 pale ? " 
 
 " The Princess says I may speak before Doctor Gil- 
 bert — 1" said Isidore. 
 
 " And that is true ! Yes, yes, — speak ! You have 
 seen .Favras t He is ready 1 We accept his offer ! We 
 will leave Paris, leave France." 
 
 " The Marquis has been arrested -within the hour, on 
 the Eue Beaurepaire, and taken to the royal prison of the 
 Chatelet." 
 
 The Queen's glance met Gilbert's. Hers was luminous, 
 desperate, wrathful. All the strength of Marie Antoinette 
 seemed concentrated in that look. 
 
 Gilbert approached her, and said, with an accent of pro- 
 found pity : " Madame, if I can be of any service to you, 
 
460 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 dispose of me. My intelligence, my devotion, my life, are 
 at your feet." 
 
 The Queen raised her eyes slowly towards the Doctor 
 and said calmly, in a resigned tone : " Monsieur Gilbert, 
 you who are so wise, you who witnessed the experiment 
 this morning, is it your opinion that death by this hideous 
 machine will be as easy as its inventor claims 1 " 
 
 Gilbert sighed, and covered his eyes with his hand. 
 
 At that moment Monsieur, who knew all he wished to 
 know, — for the news of the arrest of Favras had spread 
 over the palace in a few seconds, — Monsieur ordered his 
 carriage in all haste, and was going out without bothering 
 himself to inquire about the Queen's health, and almost 
 without taking leave of the King ; but Louis Sixteenth 
 barred his passage, saying : " My brother, you are not in 
 such urgent haste to reach the Luxembourg that you have 
 no time to give me a little counsel, I suppose % In your 
 opinion, what ought I to doV 
 
 " You ask what I would do, if T were in your i)lace % " 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
 " I should abandon Favras, and swear fidelity to the 
 Constitution." 
 
 " How could you swear fidelity to a Constitution not 
 yet completed 1 " 
 
 "All the more reason, my brother," replied Monsieur, 
 with that false and indirect look, which shared the ser- 
 pentine ways of his heart, " all the more reason why you 
 would not feel obliged afterwards to keep your oath." 
 
 The 'King remained an instant in thought. Then he 
 said : " This will not interfere with my writing to 
 Bouille that our plan still holds good, but is postponed. 
 This delay will give Chamy time to go carefully over the 
 route we ought to take." 
 
FAVRAS DISAVOWED, CONSTITUTION SUPPORTED. 461 
 
 CHAPTEE XLIV. 
 
 PROVENCE DISAVOWS FAVRAS AND THE KING SWEARS TO 
 SUPPORT THE CONSTITUTION. 
 
 The day after the arrest of Favras, the following singular 
 circular was scattered throughout Paris : 
 
 The Mart[uis Je Fuvias, living in the Place Royale, was 
 arrested, with MaiUune his wife, during the niglit of the twenty- 
 fourth and twenty-fifth, on account of a plot which had for its 
 purpose the enlistment of thirty thousand men, to assassinate 
 M. de Lafayette and the Mayor of the City, and also to deprive 
 us of the means of subsistence. 
 
 Mmisieur, the King's brother, was at the head of the affair. 
 Siyned: Barauz. 
 
 Oue can understand the commotion which such a cir- 
 cular would create in the Paris of 1789 and 1790, so 
 easily roused. A lighted train of powder could not have 
 produced a more rapid flarae than that set afoot by this 
 incendiary paper. It was at once in everybody's hands ; 
 and two hours later, everybody knew it by heart. 
 
 On the evening of the twent3'-sixth, the day after 
 Christmas, the members of the Comuiune were assembled 
 in council at the Hotel de Ville, or City Hall, reading the 
 report rendered by the Investigating Committee, when 
 the usher unexpectedly announced that Monsieur requested 
 admission. 
 
 " Monsieur 1 " repeated the worthy Bailly, who presided 
 at the meeting, "which Monsieurl " 
 
 " Monsieur, the King's brother," replied the usher. 
 
462 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 At these words the members looked at one another, for 
 since yesterday the name of Monsieur had been in every- 
 body's mouth ; but they also arose respectfully in their 
 places. 
 
 Bailly threw an inquiring glance around the circle, and 
 as the mute responses, which he read in the eyes of his 
 colleagues, seemed to him unanimous, he said : " Go tell 
 Monsieur that we are ready to receive him, though very 
 much astonished at the honor he does us." 
 
 A few seconds later Monsieur was introduced. 
 
 He was alone. His face was pale. His step, ordinarily 
 not very steadfast, was to-night more vacillating than 
 usual. 
 
 Happily for the Prince, the members of the Common 
 Council sat around a large semicircular table, shaped like 
 a horseshoe, and near each seat were lights, to aid the 
 Councillors in their work ; whereas the Prince stood 
 facing them, from the enclosure of the horseshoe, which 
 was left in comparative obscurity. 
 
 This circumstance did not escape Monsieur's notice, 
 and tended to give him confidence. He looked timidly at 
 the large assemblage, wherein he at least saw some re- 
 spect, in default of sympathy, and spoke with a trem- 
 bling voice, which grew stronger as he went on. This 
 speech is reproduced from the historic records, without 
 the alteration of a syllable. 
 
 " Gentlemen, the desire to repel a calumny has brought 
 me into your midst. Monsieur de Tavras was arrested 
 night before last, by order of your Investigating Commit- 
 tee ; and to-day the report is abroad that I am entangled 
 with him." 
 
 Smiles lighted the faces of his auditors, and the first 
 part of his address was received with chuckles. 
 
 He continued : " In my character as a citizen of Paris 
 
FAVRAS DISAVOWED, CONSTITUTION SUPPORTED. 463 
 
 I tliiiik it a duty to myself to inform you of the only 
 relations which J have ever sustained towards Favras." 
 
 As one may easily imagine, the attention of the mem- 
 bers of the Commune redoubled. They were glad to hear 
 from Monsieur's own mouth, whether they believed him 
 or not, what the relations were between Favras and his 
 Eoyal Highness. 
 
 He continued in these terms : " In 1772 the Marquis 
 de Favras enlisted in my Swiss Guards, which he left in 
 1775. Since that date I have not spoken with him." 
 
 A murmur of incredulity passed through the audience ; 
 but it was checked by a look from Bailly, and Monsieur 
 was left in doubt whether it was a murmur of approbation 
 or disapprobation. 
 
 He resumed : " Deprived, during several months, of the 
 enjoj'ment of my revenues, and anxious about some heavy 
 payments which I must make in January, I wished to 
 be able to meet these agreements, without being indebted 
 to the public treasury. I therefore resolved to obtain a 
 loan. Favras had been hereabouts a fortnight or so, and 
 he was pointed out, by Monsieur de la Chatre, as a man 
 able to procure such a loan, from a certain Genoese 
 banker. Consequently I signed an obligation for two 
 millions, the amount necessary for meeting my engage- 
 ments at the commencement of the year, and for sup- 
 porting my regular establishment. This affair was 
 purely financial, and I charged my steward to see to it. 
 I have not seen Favras. I have not written him, or held 
 any communication with him. What he has done in 
 other matters is utterly beyond my knowledge." 
 
 A contemptuous laugh, which came from some of his 
 audience, proved that everybody was not disposed to 
 credit, even on his own word^ the Prince's singular asser- 
 tion, — that without seeing the agent, especially when 
 
464 LA COIITESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 that agent was one of his old officers, Provence had in- 
 trusted to him negotiations for two millions of francs. 
 
 Monsieur blushed. Anxious to get out of the false 
 position in which he found himself, he hastily contin- 
 ued : " Well, I learned yesterday, gentlemen, that there 
 was being profusely distributed, throughout the capital, a 
 paper which reads thus." 
 
 Thereupon he read the bulletin just now cited, — a 
 very useless proceeding, as everybody had the circular, 
 either in his hand or his head. 
 
 At the last words, " Monsieur, the King's brother, was 
 at the head of the affair," all the members of the Com- 
 mune bowed. Did the members mean that they were of 
 the same mind as the circular ; or did they simply mean 
 that they were not ignorant of the accusation ? 
 
 Monsieur persevered : " You would hardly expect me, 
 I suppose, to so far forget my rank as to condescend to 
 justify myself from such a charge ; but at a time when 
 the most absurd calumny may easily lead you to con- 
 found your best citizens with enemies of the Revolution, 
 I have concluded, gentlemen, that it is due to the King, 
 to you, and to myself, to enter into all the details to 
 which you have listened, in order that public opinion 
 may not remain unsettled. Since the day when, in the 
 Second Assembly of the Notables, I declared myself as 
 to the fundamental question, which as yet divided many 
 minds, I have not ceased to believe the times ripe for a 
 grand Revolution ; whereof the King, by reason of his 
 motives, his virtues, and his supreme rank, ought to be 
 the chief, for the Revolution could not be advantageous 
 to the nation, without being equally so to the monarch, 
 — to the end that the royal authority should be the safe- 
 guard of national liberty, as national liberty is the basis 
 of royal authority." 
 
FAVEAS DISAVOWED, CONSTITUTION SUPPORTED. 465 
 
 Although the sense of this phrase was not very clear, 
 the habit of applauding certain combinations of words led 
 the hearers to applaud these. 
 
 Thereby encouraged, Monsieur raised his "Voice, and 
 added, addressing the assemblage with more assurance : 
 " Who can cite one action or speech of mine, which con- 
 tradicts the principles I have just uttered ? Who can 
 show, under any circumstances in which I have been 
 placed, that I have ceased to make the welfare of the 
 King and of the people the sole object of my thoughts 
 and vows 1 Till then, I have the right to be believed. 
 I have never changed my sentiments or my principles, 
 and I never shall change them." 
 
 Novelist though the writer may be, he has encroached 
 upon history, by giving this spun-out speech of his Eoyal 
 Highness in its full extent. It is well that even nov^- 
 readers should know what was the condition of a Prince 
 at the age of thirty-five, who, at sixty, wished to grant us 
 the charter, graced with its Article Fourteen. 
 
 As we wish to be no more unjust to Bailly than to his 
 Eoyal Highness, we quote the response of the Mayor of 
 Paris, as we have quoted Monsieur's speech. 
 
 Bailly said : " It is a great satisfaction for the repre- 
 sentatives of the Parisian Commune, to see among them 
 the Isrother of their cherished King, a King who is the 
 restorer of French liberty. August brothers, they are 
 united by the same sentiments ! Monsieur has shown 
 himself the first citizen of the kingdom, by voting, in 
 the Second Assembly of Notables, for the admission of 
 the Third Estate to equal legislative rights. He was 
 then almost alone in his opinion, supported by a very 
 small number of the friends of the people ; but he 
 adds the dignity of reason to all his other titles to 
 national respect. Monsieur is therefore the chief author 
 
466 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 of the doctrine of civil equality. Of this he gives a 
 nesw example to-day, by coming voluntarily to mingle 
 with the representatives of the people, where he wishes 
 to be appreciated only through his patriotic opinions. 
 These opinions are involved in the explanation which 
 Monsieur has given the meeting. The Prince confronts 
 public opinion. As a citizen, he sets a value on the 
 judgment of his fellow-citizens ; and, in the name of this 
 assemblage, I offer Monsieur the tribute of respect and 
 gratitude due to such sentiments, to the honor of his 
 visit, and above all to the value which he attaches to 
 the opinions of free men." 
 
 As Monsieur well understood, despite the eulogy on his 
 conduct pronounced by Bailly, that conduct might be 
 differently regai-ded by others. He however responded, 
 with that paternal air which he so well knew how to 
 ^ assume, in situations where it might be useful : " The 
 duty which I have discharged is painful to a virtuous 
 heart ; but 1 am well repaid by the sentiments which 
 this assemblage has manifested towards me, and my 
 mouth need only open once more, to demand pardon 
 for those who have wronged me." 
 
 One can see that Monsieur pledged himself to nothing, 
 nor did he ask anything definite of the assemblage. For 
 whom did he crave pardon? Certainly not for Favras, 
 because nobody really knew that Favras was culpable. 
 Besides, Favras had not wronged Monsieur. 
 
 No ! Mo7isieur only asked mercy for the anonymous 
 author of the accusing circular ; but this author, being 
 unknown, had no need of municipal favor. 
 
 Historians so often pass over the crimes of princes 
 without notice, that it is left for novelists to do the his- 
 torian's office in such a case, at the risk of making a 
 romance, as in this chapter, as tiresome as history. It 
 
FAVEAS DISAVOWED, CONSTITUTION SUPPORTED. 467 
 
 goes without saying, that when we talk of blind his- 
 torians and stupid histories, we take it for granted that 
 everybody will know to what historians and histories 
 we allude. 
 
 J/onsieur had now put into practice, on his own be- 
 half, the advice which he gave his brother Louis. He 
 had renounced Favras ; and, as may be seen by the 
 eulogium bestowed by the worthy Bailly, this move 
 proved a complete success. 
 
 It was doubtless in consideration of this that Louis 
 Sixteenth decided, on his part, to swear fidelity to the 
 Constitution. 
 
 As the usher of the Commune had announced to the 
 Mayor the advent of Monsiettr, so, on one fine morning, 
 another usher announced to the President of the National 
 Assembly, who that day happened to be Bureaux de Puzy, 
 that the King, with three or four officers and two cabinet 
 . ministers, was in waiting at the door of the Eiding School 
 (which had at last been put into proper trim for the legis- 
 lative ses.sions), as Monsieur had not long before knocked 
 at the door of the Hotel de Ville. 
 
 The representatives of the people looked up in amaze- 
 ment. What could the King have to say, who had so 
 long kept away from them 1 
 
 Louis the Sixteenth was invited to enter, and the 
 President ceded to him the chair. 
 
 The hall resounded with acclamations. Apart from 
 such men as Petion, Camille Desmoulins, and Marat, 
 all France was at that time Eoyalistic, or believed 
 itself so. 
 
 The King had been moved to come, and felicitate the 
 Assembly on its efforts. He wished to praise the admi- 
 rable division of France into geographical departments; 
 
468 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 but above all, what he could no longer delay expressing, 
 
 — what filled him to repletion, — was his ardent love for 
 the Constitution. 
 
 The beginning of his speech (let us not forget that 
 nobody — White or Black, Eoyalist or Constitutionalist, 
 Aristocrat or Patriot — knew what the King was driving 
 at !) caused some uneasiness ; the middle of it disposed 
 the general mind to gratitude ; but the termination 
 
 — oh, that termination ! — roused the Assembly to 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 The King could not resist his desire to express his 
 love for the Little Constitution of 1791, which was not 
 yet born. "What would he think of it when completely 
 unveiled to the light of day? There could be no gi'eater 
 love than the King « ould cherish for it. 
 
 All this was sheer fanaticism ! 
 
 We do not quote the King's entire discourse. Pest ! 
 It was six pages long. It is quite enough to have given • 
 entire Monsieur's discourse, which was only one page, and 
 which yet seemed terribly tedious. 
 
 However, the King's speech did not seem prolix to 
 the Assembly, which melted into tears as it listened. 
 
 When we say the members wept, this is no metaphor. 
 Barnave wept. Lameth wept. Duport wept. ^Mirabeau 
 wept. Barrere wept. There was a veritable deluge ; but 
 where was the Ark 1 
 
 The Assembly lost its head. The members arose in a 
 body. The tribunes arose. Every man extended his 
 hand, and took an oath of fidelity to the Constitution, — 
 the Constitution which did not yet exist. 
 
 The King went, out ; but the King and the Assembly 
 could not separate like that. The members marched 
 out behind him. They gathered about him, and formed 
 themselves into an escort. 
 
FAVRAS DISAVOWED, CONSTITUTION SUPPORTED. 469 
 
 When they reached the Tuileries, the Queen welcomed 
 them. 
 
 The Queen ! She was no enthusiast, — she, the se- 
 verely candid daughter of Maria Theresa ! She did not 
 weep, the dignified sister of Leopold ; but she presented 
 her little son to the Deputies of the Nation and said: 
 " Gentlemen, I share the King's sentiments. I, also, 
 cherish in my heart the aiiectionate demonstration in- 
 spired by his tender regard for tlie people. — Here is my 
 son ! I shall forget nothing which will teach him, at the 
 proper time, to imitate the virtues of the best of fathers, 
 to respect public liberty, and to maintain the laws, which 
 I hope he will be the foremost to sustain." 
 
 It was necessary that the unfeigned enthusiasm for 
 such a discourse should not cool. That of the Assembly 
 was already at white heat. It was proposed, on the in- 
 stant, to take an oath of Constitutional allegiance, which 
 was formulated on the spot. First of all the President 
 repeated the words : " I swear to be faithful to the 
 nation, to the laws, to the King ; and to maintain, with 
 all my might, the Constitution decreed by the National 
 Assembly, and accepted by the King." 
 
 All the Deputies except one raised their hands, each in 
 his turn, and repeated, " I swear it ! " 
 
 The ten days following this auspicious event — which 
 brought joy to the Assembly, tranquillity to Paris, and 
 peace to France — was spent in feasts, balls, and illu- 
 minations. One could hear nothing but Constitutional 
 oaths taken on all sides. People swore everywhere, — 
 on the Place de Greve, at the Hotel de Ville, in the 
 churches, on the streets, in the public squares. The 
 altars were dressed in patriotic colors. Schools were 
 taken thither, and scholars took the oath, as if they 
 were already men, and knew the value of an oath. 
 
470 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 The Deputies commanded a Te Deum, to be sung, and 
 were present in a body. There at the altar, in the face 
 of God, the oath was again solemnly taken. 
 
 Only the King did not go to Notre Dame, and conse- 
 quently did not take this sacred oath. 
 
 His absence was remarked ; but everybody was so 
 happy, so confident, so hopeful, that everybody was con- 
 tent with the first excuse that anybody offered for his 
 absence. 
 
 "Why were you not at the Te Deum? Why did you 
 not swear on the altar of your fathers]" asked the 
 Queen. 
 
 " Because, though I am willing to lie, Madame, I will 
 not perjure myself." 
 
 The Queen breathed more freely. Until then, like 
 all the world, she had believed in the good faith of the 
 King. 
 
A GENTLEMAN, 471 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 A GENTLEMAN. 
 
 The King's visit to the Assembly took place on Feb- 
 ruary 4, 1790. Twelve days later, on the night of the 
 Seventeenth and Eighteenth of the same month, during 
 the absence of the Governor of the Chatelet, — who had 
 asked and obtained permission, that very day, to go to 
 Soissons, so as to be with his dying mother, — a man 
 presented himself at the door of the prison, bearing an 
 order, signed by the Lieutenant of Police, — an order 
 which authorized the visitor to confer with Monsieur de 
 Favras, without witnesses. 
 
 Whether this order was genuine or counterfeit, we dare 
 not say ; but at any rate, the sub-director — who was 
 roused from sleep to inspect it — pr6nounced it good ; 
 and notwithstanding the hour was far advanced into the 
 night, he gave permission for the bearer of the order to 
 be introduced into the cell of Favras. 
 
 After assuring himself of the faithfulness of the turn- 
 keys inside and the sentinels outside the prison, the sub- 
 director returned to his bed, in order to finish the night 
 so disagreeably interrupted. 
 
 The visitor — under pretence of having dropped an 
 important paper, when he drew his order from his pocket- 
 book — took the lamp, and searched all over the floor 
 for it, until the sub-director had regained his chamber. 
 
 Then the visitor declared that he must have left this 
 paper on his nightstand at home ; but if anybody found 
 
472 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 it, he begged it might be returned to him when he went 
 away. 
 
 Then, returning the light to the turnkey in waiting, he 
 asked to be conducted to the dungeon where Favras was 
 confined. The jailer opened a door, let the Unknown 
 enter, passed through after him, closed the door, and 
 locked it behind them. He then looked at the Unknown 
 curiously, as if he expected, at any moment, that he might 
 receive from him some important communication. 
 
 They descended a dozen steps, and entered a subter- 
 ranean corridor. There a second door presented itself, 
 which the jailer opened and shut like the first. 
 
 The Unknown and his guide now found themselves on 
 a sort of landing-place, having before them another flight 
 of stairs, leading downward. The Unknown here paused, 
 and looked searchingly into the shadows of the dark cor- 
 ridor. When he was sure that the obscurity was as 
 solitary as it was silent, he asked : " You are the turnkey 
 Louis 1 " 
 
 " Yes," responded the jailer. 
 
 " A brother froiii the American Lodge t " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You were placed here a week ago, by some mysterious 
 agency, in order to accomplish an unknown purpose ] " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Are you ready to do that workV 
 
 " I am ready." 
 
 " You are to receive orders from a certain man — 1" 
 
 "Yes, from the Anointed One." 
 
 " How were you to recognize him 1 " 
 
 " By three letters embroidered on his breastplate." 
 
 " I am thatman, and here are the three letters." At 
 these words the visitor threw back his lace collar ; and 
 on his breast he displayed the three embroidered letters, 
 
A GENTLEMAN. 473 
 
 fi.. p. E)., the influence whereof we have had occasion to 
 note more than once in the course of these narratives. 
 
 "Master, I am at your orders,'' said the jailer, bowing. 
 
 "Very well ! Open the cell of Favras, and hold your- 
 self in readiness to obey orders." 
 
 The jailer bowed without answering, walked on before 
 to light the way, and whispered, as they stopped before a 
 low door, " Here it is." 
 
 The Unknown made a sign with his head. The key, 
 introduced into the lock, twice grated, and the door 
 opened. 
 
 Although taking the most rigorous measures for the 
 security of the prisoner, even assigning him a cell twenty 
 feet underground, the authorities had him treated with 
 the attention due to his rank. He had a regular bed 
 with white curtains. Near the bed was a table, covered 
 with books, ink, quills, and paper, intended for use in 
 the preparation of his defence. Above them all towered 
 an extinguished lamp. In a corner, on a second table, 
 glittered several toilet utensils, taken from an elegant 
 dressing-case, which bore the Marquis's coat of arms. 
 Against the wall was a small glass, belonging to the same 
 dressing-case. 
 
 The prisoner slept soundly. Although the door opened, 
 and the Unknown approached the bedside, — although 
 the jailer placed the second lamp near the first, aud then 
 went out again, at a sign from the visitor, — yet neither 
 the noise nor the motion disturbed the prisoner's slumber. 
 
 The Unknown for a moment gazed with deep melan- 
 choly upon the sleeping man. Then, as if remembering 
 that time was precious, whatever his regret at troubling 
 such sweet repose, he laid his hand on the sleeper's 
 shoulder. 
 
 The prisoner started and turned quickly, with eyes 
 
474 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 wide open, as is the habit of those who fall asleep ia the 
 expectation of being roused by some painful intelligence. 
 
 " Be calm. Monsieur," said the Unknown, " it is a 
 friend." 
 
 Favras looked at his nocturnal visitor with some sus- 
 picion, mingled with astonishment that a friend should 
 be searching for him after midnight, eighteen or twenty 
 feet below the ground. Then, suddenly recalling his 
 thoughts, he said: "Ah! the Baron Zannone? — " 
 
 " Myself, dear Marquis ! " 
 
 Favras glanced smilingly about, and pointed the Baron 
 to a stool, free from both books and clothes. " Be kind 
 enough to sit down ! " he said. 
 
 " My dear Marquis, I come to propose to you something 
 which does not admit of long discussion. Besides, we 
 have no time to lose." 
 
 " What do you propose, Baron ] I hope it is not 
 another loan." 
 
 "Why so r' 
 
 " Because the guaranties which I could give you ap- 
 pear not to be altogether safe — " 
 
 " That would not matter with me, Marquis. On the 
 contrary, I am quite ready to offer you a million." 
 
 " Me ] " laughed Favras. 
 
 " Yes, you ; but unless you accept certain conditions, 
 I cannot make you this offer." 
 
 " Then, as you have already warned me that you are 
 in haste, my dear Baron, come to business at once." 
 
 " You know that to-morrow you are to be tried 1 " 
 
 " Yes, I have heard something of the sort," responded 
 the Marquis. 
 
 "You know that the judges, before whom you are 
 to appear, are the same who acquitted Augeard and 
 Besenval?" 
 
A GENTLEMAN. 475 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "You know that neither of them would have been 
 acquitted, but for the all-powerful intervention of the 
 Crown 1 " 
 
 "Yes," responded Favras for the third time, but with- 
 out showing the least change in bis voice. 
 
 " You hope, undoubtedly, that the Court will do for 
 you what it did for your predecessors 1 " 
 
 " Those with whom I have had the honor to be con- 
 nected, in the enterprise which I headed, know what 
 ought to be done in my behalf. Monsieur ; and whatever 
 they do will be well done." 
 
 "They have already taken their stand in regard to 
 you, Marquis, and I am able to tell you exactly what 
 they have done." 
 
 Favras evinced no desire to be thus informed. 
 
 Nevertheless the visitor continued : " Monsieur went to 
 the Hotel de Ville, and declared that he hardly knew you ; 
 that in 1772 you enlisted in his Swiss Guards; that in 
 1775 you withdrew from that regiment ; and that he had 
 not seen you since that time." 
 
 Favras bowed, in token of acquiescence. 
 
 " As to the King, not only had he no thought of flight 
 (as he says), but more than that, — on the fourth day of 
 the current month, he went to the National Assembly, 
 and swore his adherence to the Constitution." 
 
 A smile passed over the Marquis's lips. 
 
 " You doubt me ] " asked the Baron. 
 
 " I do not say so." 
 
 " Thus you see, you cannot rely upon Monsieur, you 
 cannot rely upon the King." 
 
 " What then, Baron ? " 
 
 " You will come before your judges — " 
 
 " You do me the honor to tell me so." 
 
476 LA COMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 " You will be condemned — " 
 
 " It is probable ! " 
 
 " To death ! " 
 
 " That is possible ! " and Favras bowed his head, as if 
 ready to receive the blow that should come to him, 
 whatever it might be. 
 
 " But," urged the Baron, " do you know by what death, 
 my dear Marquis 1 " 
 
 " Are there two deaths, my dear Baron 1 " 
 
 " Oh, there are six. There is impalement, quartering, 
 the wheel, pressure, the gallows, decapitation ; or, rather, 
 a week ago there were all these methods of death. To-day, 
 as you say, there is only one, — the gibbet." 
 
 « The gibbet 1 " 
 
 "Yes. The National Assembly, after having declared 
 all men equal before the law, has now proclaimed equality 
 in death. Nobles and commons are to go out of the 
 world by the same door, — they will be hanged ! " 
 
 " Ah — ah ! " said Favras. 
 
 " Condemned to death, you will hang, — a sorrowful 
 ending, even for one who does not fear death, — I am 
 sure of that, — but shrinks from the gallows." 
 
 " So, Monsieur ! Have you come hither solely to tell 
 me all this good news, or have you something still better 
 in store 1 " 
 
 " I have come to tell you that all is ready for your 
 escape, — to say that in ten minutes, if you wish, you 
 may be outside your prison, and in twenty-four hours, 
 outside of France." 
 
 Favras reflected an instant, — not, however, that the 
 Baron's offer appeared to cause him any emotion. Then 
 he said : " Does this offer come from the King or his 
 Eoyal Highness^" 
 
 " No, it comes from myself." 
 
A GENTLEMAN. 477 
 
 Favras looked at the Baron. " From you ? And why 
 from you? " 
 
 "Because of my interest in you, Marquis." 
 
 " TVhat interest can you take in me, having only met 
 me twice before 1 " 
 
 " No need to see a man twice in order to know him. 
 True gentlemen are rare, and I wish to save one, — I do 
 not say to France, merely, but to humanity." 
 
 " You have no other reason 1 " 
 
 " This, Monsieur, that having negotiated with you 
 this loan of two millions, — and you having disbursed 
 the money, — I really furnished you the means of going 
 forward in the plot now unearthed ; and consequently I 
 contributed involuntarily to your death." 
 
 Favras smiled. " If you have committed no other 
 crime, sleep in peace, for I absolve you." 
 
 " How 1" cried the Baron, "you refuse to flee 1" 
 
 Favras extended his hand. " I thank you from the 
 depths of my heart ; I thank you, in the name of my 
 wife and my children ; but I refuse." 
 
 " Perhaps you think our plans badly laid, and fear lest 
 an attempted escape should aggravate your case 1 " 
 
 " I believe. Monsieur, that you are a prudent man, 
 and — I may add — adventurous, when you come in per- 
 son to propose this escape; but T repeat to you, I will 
 not flee." 
 
 " Perhaps you fear, being compelled to quit France, 
 that you will leave j-our wife and children in misery? I 
 have provided against this. Monsieur, and can offer you 
 this wallet, in which are a hundred thousand francs in 
 banknotes." 
 
 Favras looked at the Baron with a species of admira- 
 tion. Then he said, with singular serenity, and shaking 
 his head : " This astonishes you, Monsieur, and you ask 
 
478 LA GOMTESSE DE CHARNY. 
 
 yourself, without daring to ask me, whence arises this 
 strange resolution to go to the end, and die, if need be, 
 whatever the manner of death." 
 
 " I own it ! " 
 
 " Well, I will tell yon. I am a Royalist, but not after 
 the manner of those who emigrate to foreign lands, or 
 play the hypocrite in Paris. My opinion is not based 
 on calculation or interest. It is a worship, a creed, a re- 
 ligion. I must look on kings as I look on an archbishop 
 or a pope, — as the visible representatives of that religion 
 whereof I have spoken. If I flee, it may be thought that 
 the King or Monsieitr made me do so, and is therefore 
 my accomplice ; and Monsieur, who has denied me at 
 the tribune, and the King, who feigns not to know me, 
 would be destroyed by a blow which strikes in the dark. 
 Religions fail, when there are no more martyrs. Well, 
 I will revive my religion, by dying for it. This will be a 
 reproach to the past, an encouragement to the future." 
 
 '' But think of the manner of the death which awaits 
 you ! " 
 
 " The more infamous the death, the more meritorious 
 the sacrifice. The Messiah died on a cross, between two 
 thieves." 
 
 " I should understand you, Marquis," said the Baron, 
 " if your death would do for Royalism, what Christ's 
 death did for the world ; but such are the sins of kings, 
 that I fear they will not only require the cleansing blood 
 of a gentleman, a nobleman, but that even a king's blood 
 will not suffice for their justification." 
 
 " That will be as it pleases God, Monsieur; but in this 
 age of irresolution and doubt, when so many fail in their 
 duty, I can die with the consolation of having done 
 mine." 
 
 " Oh no. Monsieur," said the Baron, with an air of 
 
A GENTLEMAN. 479 
 
 impatience, "you cau die simply with regret at being 
 uselessly sacrificed." 
 
 " When the disarmed soldier will not flee, when he 
 awaits the enemy, when he braves death, when he meets 
 it, he knows perfectly well that his death is useless ; but 
 he also knows that desertion would be shameful, aud he 
 prefers to die ! " 
 
 " I cannot stay to argue," said the Baron, drawing out 
 his watch, which pointed to three in the morning. " AVe 
 have yet an hour. I will sit by the table, and read half 
 an hour. Meanwhile, think it over. In half an hour 
 you can give me a definite answer." 
 
 Taking a chair he seated himself before the table, with 
 his back to the prisoner, opened a book, and began to 
 read. 
 
 " Good-night, Monsieur ! " said Favras, as he turned his 
 face to the wall, doubtless to think without distraction. 
 
 The reader looked at his watch- two or three times, 
 more impatient than the prisoner. When the half-hour 
 had rolled away, he arose and approached the bed ; but 
 he waited in vain, for Favras did not turn. Bending 
 over him the Baron perceived, by his regular breathing, 
 that the prisoner was really asleep. 
 
 " Well, I am defeated," he said to himself; " but judg- 
 ment is not yet pronounced. Perhaps he still hopes ! " 
 
 Not wishing to awake the unfortunate man, for whom 
 a sleep so long and so profound was in store, the Baron 
 took a quill, and wrote, on a sheet of blank paper, the 
 following note : 
 
 When the sentence is pronounced, when the Marquis de 
 Favras is condemned to death, when he has no longer any 
 hope, either from judges, from Monsieur, or from the King, — 
 if he changes his mind, he has only to appeal to the turnkey 
 
480 LA COMTESSE DE CHAENY. 
 
 Louis, and say I have decided to flee ! and means will be found 
 to favor Ms flight. 
 
 Even when the Marquis is in the fatal death -cart, when he 
 makes his public confession in front of Notre Dame Cathedral, 
 when he crosses, with bare feet and corded hands, the short 
 space which separates the vestibule of the Hotel de Ville — 
 where he will enter to make his dying will — from the gibbet 
 erected in the Place de Grfeve, the Marquis has only to say, in 
 a loud voice, I wish to be saved ! and he shall be saved. 
 
 Cagliosteo. 
 
 Then the visitor took the lamp and again approached 
 the bed, to see if the prisoner had not awakened. Find- 
 ing him still asleep, he went — though not without re- 
 turning several times — to the door of the cell, behind 
 which the turnkey Louis stood, upright and immovable, 
 with that placid resignation which belongs to those 
 adepts who are ready for all sacrifices, in order to attain 
 the accomplishment of any grand work which they have 
 undertaken. 
 
 " Well, master," he asked, " what am I to do ? " 
 
 "Kemain in the prison, and do whatever Monsieur de 
 Favras commands." 
 
 The turnkey bowed, took the lamp from Cagliostro's 
 hands, and walked respectfully before him, like a lackey 
 who lights his master's way. 
 
 END OF VOL. L