The False Chevalier Part 48

"It is the thought of his own death," was the interpretation that flashed upon her.

A rap was heard.

"Come in, Dominique," said he.

The list of inmates affixed to the front of the house would have explained Germain's disguise. It read--

"The Citizen Dominique Levesque, boarding-house keeper.

"_The Citizeness Marie Levesque, his wife._

"The Citizeness Montmorency, sempstress."

"Citizeness Levesque" was sometimes observed about the house by the neighbours, but the family, like many others, cultivated no intercourse.

Wearing the garb only whenever absolutely necessary, he took part each day in whatever work was obtained to support the household, and at night went out to keep track of what was happening.

At the time of the guillotining of the Queen, he was restrained with difficulty from throwing his life away in an insane rush upon the murderers.

"My Lady Baroness," Dominique said, clinging to all the old delicate form of his respect--for the faithful servitor was as chivalrous as any knight--"I regret to report that there is a new law compelling everybody to take out cards of civism, as they call them, at the Hotel de Ville.

During the trouble at our door a few moments ago, some of the _Sans-culottes_ threatened to return. I consider it absolutely necessary that Madame and I should go at once and obtain these credentials."

"Is there no way of getting them without Madame? It looks to me dangerous," Lecour said.

"The demand must be made in person, Monsieur le Chevalier. I have thought that question over very carefully."

"If is the most dangerous thing yet."

"I do not conceal the risk, Monsieur."

"Dear Dominique," Cyrene put in firmly, "I am ready to do all you say."

"Yes, our more than parent," Lecour added in tears, "she is ready to trust her life in your hands," and going over to Dominique he put his arm upon his shoulder and kissed him.

The old man's lip trembled and he withdrew, and at the same time Cyrene also left the chamber to prepare for the ordeal.

Then did Germain fully realise the sharpness of dread. She whom he loved was in the direst peril. He saw the gulf which had swallowed so many others yawning for her life, and he trembled as he had never trembled before. It must be said for him that he had always valued his own life little and had been willing to risk it for another on more occasions than one. It was when not he but his heart's beloved was in such danger that his eyes were opened to the greatness of the fact of death.

Moreover he felt that he was helpless to lessen the peril. For him to accompany her to the Hotel de Ville was to make her fate absolutely certain. That charge must be left to Dominique, and--G.o.d!

G.o.d! He had not dared to think of G.o.d for years; yet now the Divine Face appeared through the dissolving vision of things mortal, and he suddenly saw it looming dim and awful as the one changeless Reality.

Her step sounded returning and he composed himself. Both tried to be brave. Both were thinking of the other's happiness.

"Have no anxieties, my dear one," she exclaimed, coming close to him, her eyes moistened and voice trembling slightly, "I have our good Dominique to take care of me, and we shall soon return."

"I do not doubt it," he replied as cheerily as he was able, bending and gently kissing her forehead. "Prudence and Courage!--all shall go rightly."

But at the touch of his lips she started, threw her arms around his neck and pa.s.sionately drew him to her.

"And what, my beloved, if it should _not_ go rightly?--what for you to be left behind?"

"Darling, darling, do not say it," he cried, fervently returning her embraces. "All must and will go rightly. We cannot live without each other. Trust in Providence."

Ah, what those words meant for him!

"I do," she murmured, "but would that Dominique's priest were here. I long for the eternal union of our souls."

He pressed her to his breast in great emotion, then loosed his arms and stood looking sorrowfully at her again, as for the last time.

"_Au revoir_," she whispered, her eyes intensely searching into his.

"_Au revoir, ma chere_," he answered, mastering his voice with all his strength.

Then she and Dominique left the house.

CHAPTER XLIX

CIVIC VIRTUE

Dominique and the citizeness proceeded as un.o.btrusively as they could along the Rue Honore. He hurried her past the Rue Florentin, down which he knew, without looking, was to be seen the tall machine of execution on the Place de la Revolution.

At first they pa.s.sed few people, but on approaching the centre of the City they saw numbers in front of the _cafes_ and even going to the theatre. Flashy carriages of thievish men who had enriched themselves under the new conditions, rolled frequently by. The basis of their power, the squalid element with jealous, insolent eyes, also increased on the pavements.

At the Rue de la Monnaie they turned towards the Quays. Just as they were turning, a young woman, whose head was covered with a shawl, glided from a gateway and addressed them.

They both started suspiciously, but the poor creature proved to be only seeking charity, and Cyrene, struck by a certain desperation in her tone, turned to give her a couple of _sous_. In pa.s.sing the coins their eyes met, and the mendicant started.

"Great G.o.d! Madame Baroness, you do not know me?"

The voice, though altered in quality, recalled other times. Her features became recognisable, and the ident.i.ty of their owner came over Cyrene.

"Mademoiselle de Richeval!" she gasped.

The sprightly companion of princesses was begging her bread. Her wit and beauty had disappeared, the once bright eyes were sharp, the once blooming cheeks were wrinkled and shrunk.

"Ladies, remember the spies," said Dominique.

"Go to our house, my dear," Cyrene whispered hastily. "It is No. 409, Rue Honore, you will get supper there, and await us."

"409, Rue Honore," the other repeated, and hastened to the promised food.

Continuing, the two reached the Hotel de Ville at seven o'clock. Though early, the s.p.a.cious building was lighted from attic to bas.e.m.e.nt, and slipping in through a swarm of _Sans-culottes_ who surrounded the doorsteps, they entered the great hall. As they were going in the "Ma.r.s.eillaise" began to be pounded, and the entry, from the opposite direction, of persons of much more importance than they, attracted the eyes of the men and women who smoked and knitted round the hall. The incomers were the President and heads of the Commune of Paris, each arrayed in his tricolor _carmagnole_, red bonnet, and great sabre.

The President was the Admiral. His glittering eyes swept the chamber, and singling out Cyrene as by premeditation, rested upon her face. He was unknown to her, but at his smile she shuddered.

These exalted personages--robbers, murderers, tavern-keepers, kettle-menders--sat down on their raised tribune, while Cyrene and Dominique were pushed by the guards into some rows of benches in front of but not facing them. The individuals on these benches were as yet few, and Cyrene looked apprehensively around the place, while Dominique took mental notes. They saw, forming the sides of the hall, two amphitheatres filled with Jacobin women knitting, patching trousers or waistcoats, and watching the benches of supplicants for the cards of civism, and made remarks to one another aloud.