Chapter VII: Part 7

"_Diable!_ yes. What right hast thou to make an officer of the Great Committee laugh? Thou wilt get into trouble."

"I am in it now, monsieur--up to the neck."

"No 'monsieur' to me, aristocrat! What brought thee here?"

'"A greedy woman denounced me. Could not I denounce her in turn?"

"_Mort du diable!_ that is a fine idea--to let the denounced also denounce. It would make things move. I will mention that to Couthon." The half of the face that was able to express emotion manufactured a look of ferocious mirth; but it was clear that he took the proposition seriously.

"It appears that we do not go fast enough, citizen," said Francois. "In April, 257; in May, so far, only 308. So say the gazettes. What if we denounce Citizens Robespierre and Vadier? We might go faster. Let us denounce everybody, and, last, the devil."

Amar set an elbow on the table, and, with his chin in his hand, considered this novel specimen of humanity.

Francois had a controlling idea that what chance of safety there was lay in complete abandonment to the natural recklessness of his ever-dominant mood of humor.

"Art thou at the end of thy nonsense, idiot?" said the Jacobin.

"Not quite; the citizen might denounce himself."

"By all the saints! Art making a jest of me--me, Jean Pierre Amar? Thou must value thy head but little."

"_Dame!_ it was never worth much; and as to saints, one Citizen Montmorency said yesterday that the republic hath abolished the noblesse of heaven and earth too. Droll idea, citizen"; and he laughed merrily.

"Oh, quit that infernal laughing! Thou must be of the Comedie Francaise."

"No; I am of the comedy of France, like the rest--like the commissioner; but the citizen has two ears for a joke."

"I--I think so"; and he made it manifest by a twisted, unilateral grin of self-approval. "That idea of the citizen--prisoners denouncing--I shall not forget that. Wilt thou serve the republic?"

"Why not?"

"These common spies in the prisons are useless. I will put an 'M' to thy name on our list; 'M' for _mouchard_--spy. That will put thee down at the bottom whenever the Committee of Safety comes to thy case. I am not ungrateful."

"Very good," said Francois, promptly. "I am as honest a Jacobin as the best. I will serve the republic, citizen, to the best of my ability."

"Then thou wilt report once a week, especially on the _ci-devants_. The head keeper will give thee pen, ink, and paper, and a chance to write here alone. I will so order it. But beware, citizen! I am not a man to trifle with; I do not forget.'7

"I should think not," said Francois, humbly.

"And when Gregoire comes, in June, thou wilt report to him."

"I--Gregoire--report--"

"Certainly. What's the matter? Off with thee now. Ah, that _sacre_ Citizen Ste. Luce! I forgot him. Tell him his case will come on shortly."

"I am sorry."

"That is to lack patriotism."

"But he and De Crosne are the only people who amuse me, and it is dull in this bird-cage. He swears thou art clumsy with the small sword."

"I--I clumsy! I should like to catch him somewhere. I was too fat; but now!" and he smote his chest. "Didst thou think me clumsy--me, Pierre Amar?"

"I? No, indeed. These aristocrats think no one else can handle a rapier. Ah, if I could fence with the citizen commissioner a little, and then--"

"Impossible."

"He swears thou art coward enough to use the guillotine to settle a quarrel, and that thou dost fence like a pigsticker."

Amar, _le farouche_, swore an oath too blasphemous to repeat. The great thick-lipped mouth moved half across so much of his face as could move at all. He was speechless with rage, and at last gasped, as he struck the table: "Me--Amar? Ah, I should like well to let him out and kill him; and I would, too, but there are Saint-Just, and Couthon, and the rest. Go; and take care how thou dost conduct thyself. Go! The _sacre_ marquis must take his chance. Pig-sticker indeed!"

Thus terminated this formidable interview; but, alas! it was now close to the end of May, and in the background of June was the man with the wart.

The next day, in the garden, Francis related to the marquis his interview with the dreaded Jacobin. The gentleman was delighted.

"_Mon Dieu_! Francois, you are a great man; but I fear it will do no good; my turn must be near. De Crosne and poor Fleury got their little billets last evening, and are off on a voyage of discovery to-morrow, along with M. de la Morne, and De Lancival, and more. They will be in good society. Did you think that Jacobin Apollo would be pricked into letting me out for the chance of killing me?"

"It came near to that, monsieur. I did say that you were not much of a blade, after all; that Citizen Amar was out of condition when you last met; and that if he and I could fence a little,--outside, of course,--M. le Marquis would regret the meeting."

"Delicious! And he took it all?"

"Yes, as little Annette takes a fairy-tale of M. Fleury's--who will tell no more, poor fellow!"

"But, after all, we are still here. I envy you the interview. _Parbleu!_ these fellows do their best, but they can't take the jests out of life. I hope the next world will be as amusing."

As he ceased, Francois exclaimed:

"By all the saints! there is that crazy fool Despard."

"Despard--Despard?" repeated the marquis. "That is a contribution to the show. How the mischief did he get here?"

The unlucky Jacobin was wandering about like a lost dog, a shabby, dejected figure. Toto, at play, recognized his master's former partner, and jumped up in amiable recognition. Despard kicked him, and the poodle, unaccustomed to rude treatment, fled to Francois. The thief's long face grew savage and stern; to hurt Toto was a deadly offense.

"Pardon, monsieur," he said to the marquis, and went swiftly to where Despard stood against the wall.

"Look here, rascal," said Francois; "if ever thou dost kick that dog again, I will twist thy neck."

Despard did not seem to take in his meaning.

"It is thou, Francois. There is the _ci-devant_--the marquis. I followed him. I--Pierre Despard--I denounced him. I did it. I am not afraid."

"Stuff! Didst thou hear me? What have I to do with _ci-devant_ marquises? Thou hast kicked Toto."

"I see him; I must speak with him."

"_Fichtre!_ he is mad," said the thief, and went after him.

At the coming of Despard, ragged, wild-eyed, excited, the group about the tall gentleman turned.

Despard paused before him. "It is my turn now! I followed--I followed--I denounced thee--I, Pierre Despard. They will let me out when thou art to die; it will be soon. I will take thy child--thy bastard--my wife's child. We will go to see thee--I and thy hunchback--to see thee on the tumbrel at the guillotine. She hath thy own cold eyes--frozen eyes. Thou wilt know her by those when thou art waiting--waiting--shivering."

The marquis listened with entire tranquillity.

"One or two more in the audience will matter little"; and, smiling, he walked away.

A strange tremor seized on the chin and lower lip of Despard. He said to Francois, "Come with me," and then, in a bewildered manner, "He isn't afraid yet. I--I want him to be afraid."

"_Dame!_ thou wilt wait then till the cows roost and the chickens give milk."

"No; it will come."

"Stuff! How camest thou here? Didst thou denounce thyself? I have heard of men mad enough to do that."

"No. Do not tell. I trust thee; I always did trust thee. I am a spy. I am to stay here till I want to be let out, when he--he is tried. I wanted to watch him. Some day he will have fear--fear--and--I--"

"Well, of all the mad idiots! A mouse to walk into a trap of his own accord! _Dieu!_ but the cheese must have smelt good to thee."

"I shall go out when I want to go. Didst thou know his daughter is dead? I am sorry she is dead."

"Yes--God rest her soul!"

"I am sorry she is dead because she cannot be here. I wish she were here. If only she were here, it would be complete. Then he would be afraid."

"_Bon Dieu!_" cried several, "he will kill him!" The thief had caught Pierre by the throat, and, scarce conscious of the peril of his own strength, he choked the struggling man, and at last, in wild rage, hurled him back amid a startled mass of tumbled people.

"Beast!" muttered Francois, at his full height regarding angrily the prostrate man.

In an instant the jailers were at his side. "What is this?" said they.

"He--he kicked my dog!"

"Did he? Well, no more of this, citizen."

"Then let him be careful how he kicks my dog; and take him away, or--"

Pierre needed no further advice.

Presently Ste. Luce came over to Francois.

"What is wrong?"

"He kicked my dog!"

"Indeed? Do you know this man well? Once you warned me about him. Where have you met?"

"We juggled together, monsieur, when I used to read palms. He is a bit off his head, I think."

"'T is common in France just now, or else the reverse is. But he has a damnably good memory. We of Normandy say, 'As is the beast, so are his claws.' The fellow is of good blood in a way; but, _mon Dieu!_ he is a coward to be pitied. To be through and through a coward does much enlarge the limits of calamity. If I or if you were to hate a man, for reasons good or bad, we would kill him. But a coward! What can he do? He has his own ways, not mine or yours. His claws are not of the make of mine. I have no complaint to make as to his fashion of revenging himself; but really, revenge, I fancy, must lose a good deal of its distinctness of flavor when it waits this long. It is, I should say, quite twelve years--quite. There is a child, he says, or there was. Do you chance to know anything about it?"

"Yes."

"Did you ever see it? Is it male or female?"

"A girl, monsieur. I never saw it."

"How old?"

"I do not know."

"Penitence becomes a question of dates, Francois. But it is true--true that I never had the least talent for regret; and if a man is not capable of regret, why, Francois, how the deuce can he achieve penitence? Don't think I am joking, my most accomplished thief. There are men here who--there is M. de--well, no matter. There are men here who are honestly bewailing their past--well, amusements--sins, if you please. I cannot. There are some here who, because they are noble by descent, are making believe not to be afraid, and will make believe until the knife falls. I am not penitent, because I am not; and as to the knife, I have had a most agreeable life, and should never have gone on living if life had ceased to amuse me."

He was now silent awhile, his strong, handsome features clear to see, as they lay on the scant grass in the sunshine. The thief had learned that at times this great seigneur would talk, and liked to do so; and that at other times he was to be left to the long silences which were difficult to secure where this morbidly gay crowd, of all conditions of men, was seeking the distraction of too incessant chat.

He rose quietly, and went away to talk with Domville of the Comedie, who himself was always glad of the company of Francois's cheery visage.

In the salon, which was now deserted, he saw Despard. Pierre stood at an open window, and was pulling at his fingers, as Francois had so often seen him doing. He was gazing at the people in the yard. His eyes wandered feebly here and there, as if without interest or purpose. His attitude of dejection touched some chord of pity in his partner's heart.

"Dame! he must have thought I was rough with him for a dog--a dog." He had no mind to explain.

Pierre turned to meet him. He was not angry, nor was he excited. The shifting phases of his malady had brought to him again the horrible misery of such melancholy as they who are sound of mind cannot conceive. When this torture has a man in its grip, the past is as nothing; the present a curse; duty is dead; the future only an assurance of continued suffering; death becomes an unconsidered trifle; life--continued life--an unbearable burden.

Poor Pierre said no word of his ex-partner's recent violence. The tears were running down his cheeks. The man at his side was, as usual, gaily cheerful.

"What is wrong with thee?" said Francois. "I was hard on thee, but thou knowest--"

"What is it?" replied Pierre. "I--it is no matter."

Francois, surprised, went on: "Can I help thee?"

"No. I cannot sleep; I cannot eat. I suffer. I am in a hell of despair."

"But how, or why, _mon ami_?"

"I do not know. I suffer."

"Rouse up a bit. Why didst chance to come here? I asked thee that before. If thou canst get out, go at once. Thou art not fit to be in this place. This devil of a marquis excites thee. To be a spy thou shouldst be ashamed. Canst thou really get out when it pleases thee to go?"

"Why not?" said Pierre, in alarm. "Dost thou think they will not let me go? I did not want to be a spy, but I was half starved. All I could get I sent to keep my--his poor little hunchback. Vadier lent me some money. I kept none, not a sou. I asked him to let me come here as a spy. They say my reports are useless. I can't help that. I will go out. I want to see that man suffer; I want to see him afraid. He is not afraid. Dost thou think he is afraid?"

"No."

For a moment there was a pause, when Pierre, in a quiet, childlike manner, said: "Dost thou think he ever will be afraid?"

"No, Pierre; he never will be. What a fool thou art to have come here! 'T is not so easy to get out."

"_Mon Dieu!_ don't say that. I--they said--"

"Dost thou believe a Jacobin--and Vadier, the beast, of all men?"

"Hush!" said Pierre, looking about him suspiciously. "I must go--I must go. I must walk; I cannot keep still."

He remained in this mood of subdued terror and the deepest melancholy for some days. Then for a few hours he followed the marquis about, proclaiming his own wrongs in a high-pitched voice. At last Ste. Luce complained to the keeper, Vaubertrand, who hesitated to interfere, being puzzled and fearful as to the amount of influence possessed by this spy of the Committee of Safety. He mustered enough courage at last to tell Despard that he must not speak to the marquis; and, as he luckily caught him in his mood of despair and depression, the man timidly promised to obey.

*XXI*

_How Francois, having made a bargain with Citizen Amar, cannot keep it with the man of the wart--How Despard dies in the place of the marquis--Of Francois's escape from prison._

The second week of June was over. The keeper, who had taken a fancy to the merry thief, called him aside one afternoon, and said:

"Thou must write thy report, because to-morrow comes Citizen Gregoire. Thou canst use the office for an hour, as is permitted. But take care. Thou dost know how they are treated in the prisons who are suspected of making these reports to the committee. I will come for thee at dusk."

Francois thanked him, and at the time mentioned was locked up in the office; for despite Vaubertrand's amiability, he was careful as to the security of his prisoners. As it was now dark, the office table was lighted by two candles. He found pen and ink and paper, but no competent thoughts. What was he to say--whom to accuse? He had made a hasty contract with Amar, and was of no mind to fulfil his share of it. He got up from the desk, and walked about. "The deuce!" he said to Toto, who never left him. "'T is a scrape of our own making. I should have told that scamp with the pretty face to go to the devil with his spy business. _Sacristie!_ doggie, I am like that fellow in the play I once saw. He sold his soul to the devil, and didn't want to pay up when the time came. What to do?" He had told the marquis, whom he trusted, of the difficulty he anticipated.

Ste. Luce, much amused, said: "Take me for a subject. I am as sure to die as an abbot's capon. If you have a conscience, it may rest easy so far as I am concerned."

Francois took it seriously. "I beg of you, monsieur--"

"Oh, a good idea!" laughed the nobleman, breaking in upon his remonstrance. "Tell them how you saw me kill three good citizens that night on the stairs. By Mars! Francois, those twenty minutes were worth living for. I was in a plot to rescue the king; tell them that."

"Not I," grinned the thief.

"Confound it! you are difficult."

And now, as Francois recalled their talk, his task was not more easy. He nibbled the end of his quill, and looked around him. At last, as he walked to and fro, he began to exercise his natural inquisitiveness. It was never long quiet. He stared at the barred windows. A set of pigeonholes attracted him. He glanced hastily over their contents. "_Tiens!_" he exclaimed.

Every day or two, about 3 P.M., a clerk of the Committee of Safety brought a great envelop stamped with the seal of the republic. Within was a paper on which were clearly set out the names and former titles of the citizen prisoners selected for trial the night before in joint counsel by the Great Committee and that of Security. The keeper copied each name on to the space in the blank summons kept for this use, and these fatal papers were then duly delivered after supper.

Francois looked at the packet. It was sealed. He knew well what it meant. It was labeled: "Mandate of the Tribunals Nos. 4 and 5."

"Toto, we may be among them; we must see." He looked about him. Here were all the writing-table implements then in use. He heated a knife, and neatly loosened the under wax of the seal. The death-call lay before him. He ran over it with shuddering haste.

"_Dieu!_ we are not there. But, _mon ami_, here is the marquis!" His was the last name at the foot of the first page. Francois sat still, his face in his hands. At any moment he might be caught. He did not heed.

"I must do it," he said. He saw, as it were before him, the appealing face of the dead woman, and felt in remembrance the hand the great seigneur had given him on the stair. He had a glad memory of a moment which had lifted him on to the higher levels of self-esteem and manhood.

"I will do it, Toto; 't is to be risked; and, _mon Dieu!_ the rest--the rest of them!" Some he knew well. Some had been kind to him. One had given him clothes when these were greatly needed. He was profoundly moved.

"If I burn it, 't is but to give them a day, and no more--if I burn it!"

He took scissors from the table, and carefully cut off the half-inch at the foot of the paper. It was now without the name "Ste. Luce, _ci-devant_ marquis." He tore up the strip of paper, and put the fragments in the fireplace, behind the unkindled logs.

Next he casually turned the page. "_Ciel!_ this calls for eleven. I have left but ten. They will think it a blunder. One will be wanting; that is all."

He used a little melted wax under the large seal, replaced the warrant in the outer cover, and returned the document to the pigeonhole whence he had taken it. This done, he sat down again, and began to write his report.

He found nothing to say, except that those he would have spoken of had been already disposed of; and now he thought again that he would burn the fatal paper. He rose resolute, but at this moment the head keeper came back.

Francois was sorry, but he was not used to writing, and made excuses until at last the man said impatiently:

"Well, thou must settle all that with Amar and Gregoire. I gave thee time enough." Could he have another chance? He was told that he should have it; but now it was supper-time; better not to be missing. He went out and up-stairs to his place at table.

He had lost his gaiety. Here and there at the table were the doomed men and women. He could not eat, and at last left the room to wander in the corridors. Pierre soon found him. He was eager, anxious, and full of strange news.

"When will that brute marquis be sent for? I was to go out to-day. They have forgotten. There is trouble in the Great Committee. I hear of it from Vaubertrand. Robespierre and Vadier think things go not fast enough; and the rest--the rest, except little cripple Couthon and Saint-Just, are opposing our great Robespierre."

Francois began to be interested, and to ask questions. The gazettes were no longer allowed in the prisons. The outer world was a blank to all within their walls.

Despard, flushed and eager, told him how daily the exit of the prisoners for trial was met by a mob clamorous for blood. Then he began to exhibit alarm. Did Francois think that he, Pierre, might by chance miss the execution of the marquis? He would speak to Gregoire, who was coming next morning. They should learn not to trifle with a friend of Robespierre. When Francois left him he was gesticulating, and, as he walked up and down the deserted corridor, was cracking his knuckles or gnawing his nails.

After supper the varied groups collected in the salon. The women embroidered. A clever artist was busy sketching the head of a girl of twenty for those she loved, who were to see her living face no more. Some played at cards. Here and there a man sat alone, waiting, stunned by the sure approach of death. The marquis was in gay chat with the Vicomte de Beausejour.

"Ah, here is my mysterious gentleman!" cried Ste. Luce. "They have bets on you. Tell these gentlemen who you really are. They are puzzled."

Francois smiled. He was pleased to do or say anything which would take his thoughts off the near approach of the messenger of doom. He said:

"M. le Marquis knows that I am under an oath."

"_Pardie!_ true, true; I have heard as much."

"The bets stand over," said a gray old man, M. de l'Antilhac. "We knew you as a juggler."

"Yes, and a fencing-master," said Du Pin.

"You are both right. These times and the king's service set a man to strange trades. Well, gentlemen, I am not to be questioned. Tales lose heads."

They laughed. "Pardon me," said a younger man. "The marquis was about to tell us of the delightful encounter you had on his staircase. 'T is like a legend of the days of Henri IV of blessed memory."

"Tell them," said Ste. Luce.

"The marquis does me much--_Dieu!_" Francois cried, and fell back into a chair, weak as a child. The turnkey went by him with the fatal missives.

"Art thou ill?" said De l'Antilhac. "What is it?"

"Yes," said Francois. "Excuse me. He--he--" And, as it were fascinated, he rose and went after the keeper.

Vaubertrand paused behind a gentleman who was playing piquet.

"Citizen Ste. Michel," he said, and passed on, as he laid the summons before the player.

"At last!" said the man thus interrupted. "Quatre to the king--four aces. Let it wait."

Vaubertrand moved on. Francois followed him.

The calls to trial and death were distributed. A man rolled up the fatal paper without a word, and lighted his pipe with it. One of those who sat apart took his summons, and fell fainting on the floor.

"Nothing for me?" said the marquis.

"Not yet, citizen."

"I was never before so neglected."

The game went on. Here and there a woman dropped her embroidery and sat back, thinking of the world to come, as she rolled the deadly call to trial in her wet fingers, and took refuge in the strength of prayer.

Francois felt as if it were he who had condemned these people. He went to his cell, and tossed about all night, sleepless. Rising early, he went out into the garden. After breakfast the keeper said to him:

"Thou shouldst have had thy report ready. Gregoire is coming to-day. He is before his time. If he is drunk, as usual, there will be trouble. That fool Despard is wild to-day. He will be sure to stir up some mischief. All the _mouchards_ will be called."

"Despard is an idiot. He is raving one day, and fit to kill himself the next. Get him out of this."

"_Dame_! I should be well pleased. He swears I keep him here. He will--ah, _mon Dieu!_ the things he threatens. I am losing my wits. My good Francois, I have been kind to thee, and I talk rashly. I wish I had done with it all."

"And I too, citizen; but thou art safe with me."

As the jailer spoke, he looked over his list of those summoned. "_Sacre bleu!_ here is a list which calls for eleven, and there are only ten names!"

"Some one has made a mistake."

"No doubt. But Gregoire never listens. Pray God he be sober. Be in the corridor at nine; Gregoire will want to see thee."

Francois would be on hand. As to the report, he should wish to ask how to draw it up. He found a quiet corner in the courtyard, and began to think about the man with the wart--the man of whom he knew so little, and whom he feared as he had never before feared a man. The every-day horror and disturbance of the morning had begun. Officers were coming and going; names were called; there were adieus, quiet or heartrending. The marquis was tranquilly conversing, undisturbed by the scene, which was too common to trouble those who had no near friend or relation in the batch of prisoners called for trial. Francois had seen it all, day after day. It always moved him, but never as now.

He stood looking at a young woman who was sitting with the order in her lap, her eyes turned heavenward as if in dumb appeal. Now and then she looked from one man to another, as if help must come.

Francois glanced at the marquis; he was the center of a laughing group, chatting unconcerned.

"_Ciel!_ has the man no heart?" he murmured. "Why did I save him even for a day? The good God knows. It must make life easy to be like him." The marquis would have been amazed to know that the memory of a white, sad woman's face, and of one heroic hour, had given him a new lease of life.

"Ah, Toto," said the thief to himself, "we held that stair together, he and I." The thought of an uplifting moment overcame him. A sudden reflection that he might have been other than he was flushed his face.

"Ah, my friend Toto, we could have been something; we missed our chance in the world. Well, thou dost think we had better make a fight for it. Life is agreeable, but not here. Let us think. There is one little card to play. Art thou up to it? Yes! I must go now. Thou wilt wait here, and thou wilt not move. In an hour I shall be with thee; and, meanwhile, behold a fine bone. No, not yet, but when I come. Attention, now!"

He turned his back to the prison, took off a shoe, and extracted a paper, which he folded so as to be small and flat. Then he produced a bit of a kid glove he had asked from Mme. Cerise of the Comedie Francaise. In it he laid the paper, and put the little packet, thus protected, in the dog's mouth. "Keep it," he said. "It is death--it is life." The dog lay down, his sharp black nose on his paws, shut his eyes, and seemed to be asleep. He had done the thing before.

When Francois entered the corridor he found the keeper.

"Come," said Vaubertrand. "The commissioner is in a bad way, and drunk, too. He is troubled, I think, and the citizens who are outside reproach him that the supply for the guillotine is small, and the prisons full. What have I done to be thus tormented? There will be a massacre. _Ciel!_ I talk too much. I have favored thee. Take care--and thou canst laugh yet." Whereupon Francois laughed anew, and went after him.

The large hall on the first floor was unusually full. There was much confusion. The great street door, as it was opened wide and shut again in haste, gave a not reassuring glimpse of men in red bonnets roaring the _Ca ira_. Over all rose the shrill tongues of the women of the markets. A new batch of prisoners was pushed in, the keeper declaring he had no room. Officers of the Committee of Safety untied the hands of the newcomers, and ranged them on stone benches to the left. On the right were those who were called to trial. Francois stood aside, watchful.

Pierre Despard was waiting, flushed and anxious. As a spy, he had leave from Vaubertrand to descend in order to state his case to Gregoire. He went hither and thither, noisy, foolish, gesticulating. He was now in his alternate mood of excitement, and soon began to elbow his way toward the office.

"Citizen La Vaque is summoned."

A tall man answered from the bench. Then another and another was called. The officers went down the line, and, paper in hand, verified the prisoners. They were taken, one by one, into a side room by a second officer, and their hands secured behind their backs.

At last the first officer said: "Here are but ten, Citizen Vaubertrand, and the list calls for eleven. The keeper must see the commissioner." The officer in charge reproached Vaubertrand for neglect. The man with the wart came out from the office.

"Silence!" he cried. "What is this?"

The matter was explained, or was being set forth, when the door opened, and another half-dozen unfortunates were rudely thrust in, while the crowd made a furious effort to enter. Gregoire turned pale.

"Thou shalt answer for this. Find another. I shall hear of it, and thou, too."

Meanwhile, Despard, too insane to observe Gregoire's condition, and lost to all sense of anything but his own sudden wish to escape, was frantically pulling the furious commissioner by the arm.

"Citizen," he cried, "I must be heard! Dost hear? Thou wilt repent. I am the friend of Robespierre."

Gregoire paid no attention; he was half drunk, and raging at poor Vaubertrand.

"I will report thee," cried Despard. "I denounce thee!"

Gregoire turned upon him in a rage.

"Who is this?" he cried.

"I am Despard of the fourth section. I will let thee know who I am." In his madness he caught Gregoire by the collar and shook him.

Gregoire called out: "Take away this fool! What! threaten me--me--Gregoire! All, thou art the rascal who plunders chateaux. I know thee. Thou dost threaten an officer of the Committee of Safety. Tie this fellow; he will do for the eleventh. Quick, quick!"

There was no hesitation. The officers seized their prey, and Gregoire, growling, went again into the office.

Pierre fought like the madman he was, but in a minute was brought back screaming and added to the corvee. It was complete. He was carried out raving, amid the yells and reproaches of the mob, which broke up and went along with the wagons.

Again there was quiet in the hall, where the thief stood in wonder, horror-stricken. "It is I that have killed him--he who did long to see another die. And for him to die in the place of the marquis--_dame!_ it is strange."

"_Ciel!_" cried Vaubertrand, wiping the sweat from his brow. "This is the second they took this way to make up for some one's blunder. Come, and have a care what you say. He is half drunk."

Francois entered the office.

"Who is this?" said Gregoire, facing him, with his large, meaningless face still flushed and angry.

Vaubertrand pushed forward the reluctant Francois. "It is one of the reporters, citizen commissioner."

"Ahem! One of Citizen Amar's appointments," said Gregoire. "Thou canst go, Citizen Vaubertrand"; and he looked up as he sat at the table.

"Thy name?"

"Francois," said the thief.

"Thy occupation?"

"Juggler."

The citizen commissioner was on the uncertain line between appearance of sobriety obtained by effort and ebriety past control. As he interrogated Francois his head dropped forward. He recovered himself with a sharp jerk, and cried sharply:

"Why dost thou not answer? I said, How didst thou get here, and who gave thee thy order to report?"

"Citizen Amar; he is a friend of mine."

"Is he? Well, where is thy _sacre_ report?"

"I should like to tell the citizen commissioner what I have to say. I--I did not know just how to frame it."

Meanwhile Gregoire was considering him with unsteady eyes. "Ah, now I have it; now I remember thee. Thou art an _ex-emigre_. I shall attend to thee. It was thou who stole my wallet of papers; and thou couldst laugh, too. _Ciel!_ what a laugh! Try it now."

Francois replied that he was no _emigre_; as to the rest, he could explain; and leaning over, he said quietly:

"You will do well to hear what I have to say."

"'You will do well'! Idiot! Why dost thou say 'you, you'? Cursed aristocrat that thou art! Say 'thou' when thou dost address me, or I shall--where is that report?"

"If the citizen will listen. There was in that wallet a little paper addressed to Citizen de la Vicomterie. _Dame!_ it was good reading, and I have it still."

"Thou hast it? Thou wilt not have it long."

Gregoire was not over-intelligent, and had now the short temper of drink. The prisoner tried to get a moment in which to explain that another held the document.

Gregoire was past hearing reason. "Officers, here! here!" he cried. "Search this man! Search him. Strip him. Here! here!"

Francois did not stir. "When thou hast done we can talk."

"Hold thy tongue! Search him."

"_Ma foi_, marquis," said the thief, later, "they did it well. They even chopped up the heels of my shoes. And my coat! _Sacre_! The good keeper gave me another. In our cell, as I learned, they went through the beds and Heaven knows what else. I was well pleased, I can tell thee, when it was all over."

The commissioner had now cooled down. "Put on thy clothes," said Gregoire, and himself shut the door. It was Francois's turn.

"Citizen," he said, "didst thou think me fool enough to leave within reach that little letter of thine to the good citizen of the committee--to--ah, yes, La Vicomterie is his name. I am not an _emigre_, only a poor devil of a thief and a juggler. I do not love Citizen Robespierre any better than some others love him--some I could name. But one must live, and the day I go out to thy infernal tribunal, Robespierre will have thy letter. A friend will go himself and lay it before the committee."

Gregoire grew deadly pale, all but the wart, which remained red. "I am betrayed!"

"Wait a little. Thou art not quite lost, but thou wilt be unless--"

"Unless what?"

"Unless thou wilt open that door and set me free. I have no grudge against thee. I will arrange to have for thee the letter, and must receive from thee a new _carte de surete_, and a good passport on business of the Committee of Safety."

The commissioner was partly sobered. "How shall I know that thou wilt keep thy word?"

"Thou wilt not know until I do. Why should I not?"

"But the letter may be lost."

"Well, what then? Thou wilt be safe, and have one less life to answer for to the devil when he gets thee."

"Talk business. There is no devil."

"I don't agree with thee. His name is Robespierre. The mischief is that it is I who do not trust thee. Thou hast a wart, citizen. Men who have warts are unlucky to meet. But take care, because I am a desperate man, and most extremely value my head. If thou shouldst fail to--"

"No, no; I promise."

"Good, then."

"Wait; I will write out the papers."

"I shall not hurry thee. I must pack up. I will be back in half an hour. Be so kind as to arrange that I may return without hindrance."

Francois went at once to the garden, and called Toto. Then he hastened to his _cachot_, or cell, and, finding himself alone, shut the door, took the little packet from Toto's mouth, and gave him the promised bone. He placed the paper inside his stocking, and secured it with a pin. Next he gathered up his small effects, left his mangled coat on the bed of a fellow-prisoner, and descended thoughtfully to the office.

He was glad to see that the man of the wart was sitting apparently inattentive to the piles of accounts before him. "Clearly, the citizen is worried," said Francois to himself.

"I have thy papers. One had to be sent out for a signature. Here is thy card of safety, and reapproved as that of a citizen who has denounced an _ex-emigre_. Also, behold a passport, and an order from the Committee of Safety to leave Paris on business of the republic. All are in the name of Citizen Francois, juggler."

"The citizen has been thoughtful."

"_Sacre_! I never do things by halves; I am thorough. And now, as to the paper?"

"It will be best for thee to come, at twelve to-day, to No. 33 _bis_ Rue Perpignan. There I will take thee to my old room, or another, and make good my side of the bargain. After that, I have the agreeable hope never to meet thee again."

"I will be there at noon."

Francois's watchful ear detected a certain emphasis on the "I" of this phrase, which made him suspicious. He said quietly:

"Citizen, thou hast sold me my head. I shall give thee thine. Afterward I shall be in thy power."

"Yes, yes; that might be so with Amar or Couthon, but not with Andre Gregoire."

"_Tiens!_" said the thief, "what is this? 'Andre'? This order is signed 'Alphonse Gregoire.' The citizen must have been absent-minded. Look!"

Gregoire flushed. "True, true. I will write a second. I was troubled."

Francois stood still, received the second order, and, saying, "_Au revoir_, citizen," was about to leave, when a thought seemed to strike him. He paused. "There is here a _ci-devant_ marquis you may recall--Ste. Luce."

"Well?"

"Put his name at the foot of the file of the accused and keep it there. Get a clerk to do it. The citizen is aware that it is done every day."

"Impossible! Art thou insane? I run risk enough with thy order and passport. But this I dare not do. There are limits."

"Do it, or I throw up my bargain. By Heaven, I am in earnest! Come, what will it cost? Will one hundred louis d'or do the business?"

Gregoire reflected. What more simple than to say yes, pocket the money, and let things take their course?

"I will do it for that--I mean I can have it done."

"Then give me ten minutes."

"I will wait."

The rich throughout these evil days were allowed to have in prison as much money as they could get from without. About March of this sad year they were told that they must feed the poorer captives, and were regularly assessed. Francois was aware that the marquis was well provided. He found him in the garden, and asked him to step aside.

"I am free, monsieur," he said. "No matter how. And I have bargained for your own head." He briefly related so much of his talk with Gregoire as concerned the marquis.

Ste. Luce looked at him. "_Pardie_! You are an unusual type of thief--or man. I would thank you if I considered my head worth much. But, after all, it is a natural attachment one's body has for one's head, or one's head for one's body, to put it correctly. Will it be wasted money, my admirable thief, or will the rascal keep his word?"

"Yes; he will keep his word--after we get through with the affair."

"You are a great man, Francois, but I have not the money. I lost it last night to Delavigne. I will get the loan of it. Rather a new idea to borrow one's head! Wait a little." He came back in a few minutes. "It pretty well cleaned out two of them. Good luck to you; and if ever we are out of this hole, we must fence a little. By the way, I hear they took that poor devil Despard to-day. It is a relief. He bored me atrociously."

"Yes; they took him in your place, monsieur. It was to have been to-day--"

"To-day! In my place? _Tiens!_ that is droll."

"Yes."

"But how--why?"

"No matter now. I will tell monsieur some day."

"Are you a magician, Master Francois?"

"I was. But I did not desire this man's death."

"And the guillotine will have him, and he will not be on hand to see me scared. _Ciel!_ but it is strange. Alas! the disappointments of this mortal life! Good luck to you, and _au revoir_. I thank you."

A few minutes later, Gregoire, having carefully disposed of the gold about his ample person, escorted Citizen Francois to the outer door. The look with which the commissioner with the wart regarded the retreating back and the big ears of Francois was unfriendly, to say the least.

*XXII*

_Wherein is told how Francois baits a crab-trap with the man of the wart._

Francois understood the risks of his position. For a time he was safe. After he gave up that precious paper he would be at Gregoire's mercy. "More or less," muttered the thief, with a laugh which set Toto to capering. He went toward the Seine, looked in the shop-windows, and had a bite and a good bottle of wine, for the marquis had insisted on giving him ten louis for his own use. About half-past eleven he turned into the Rue Perpignan, and rang the bell at No. 33 bis.

"Come, Toto," he said, as he went in. "We owe Mme. Quatre Pattes a little debt. Let us be honest and pay." He closed the door behind him, and heard the sharp voice of the concierge: "Who goes there? Speak, or I will be after thee." He drew back, and looked in through the glassed door of the Crab's room. He knew she would not sally out. Why should she? Her house was only a hive of thieves and low women, who were driven away when they could not pay, and who rarely plundered one another.

He had never before so carefully inspected his landlady. She was seated at a table, about to drink a cup of cocoa. The room, the table, the little well-swept hearth, were all as clean as care and work could keep them. The woman herself was no less neat than her surroundings, yet she seemed one who belonged to the sties of the Cite's lowest life. There was something strangely feline in the combination of animal appearance with the notable cleanliness of her patched clothes, her person, and her abode. Her back, bent forward from the waist, and rigid, forced her to turn her head up and to one side to attain a view of the face of man. The same need kept her red eyes wide open. The malady which caused this distortion had ceased to be active. It had scarcely affected her general health. Like many of those who have suffered from the more common forms of the disease which makes the hunchback, she possessed amazing strength.

Now, as Francois stood hesitating, watchful, she sat at table before him, intent on her meal, looking here or there for bread or salt, her head swaying from side to side.

"If she were to bite a man, he would be as good as dead," murmured the thief. "What is it she is like? Ah, 't is the vipers in the wood of Fontainebleau. _Bonjour, maman_," he cried gaily, as he went in.

Taken by a sharp surprise, she gripped at her two sticks on the table, but missed them. They fell clattering, and her shaky hands dropped on her lap. She lacked not courage. As she sat crouched, the bald head, red-eyed and vigilant, was held back to watch this enemy.

Toto ran in, and fawned at her feet.

"Enchanted to see you, _maman_." By this time she had her wits about her, and, hearing no accusing charges, felt more at ease.

"Come back again, art thou, my fine thief-bird? Did he fly to his nest? Ha! he knows who will take care of him. That _sacre_ shoemaker it was who denounced thee. Didst thou think it was thy little maman? Thou didst scold me. But how didst thou get out?"

"Ah, no matter now," said Francois. "I have work on hand for thee. If I mistrusted thee, it is not here I should have come. Sometime we will have a little _eau-de-vie_ and a pipe, _maman_, and I will tell thee all about it. Wouldst thou serve the republic, and be well paid for it? Here, take thy sticks; thou art fit for anything only when thou hast all thy four legs. Listen, now; and, to begin, thou canst read a little--enough to understand this passport, and this order from the Great Committee of Safety?"

She looked eagerly over the papers. "Yes, yes."

"And thou canst read this still better." He let a gold louis drop on the table. She put out a claw, and, failing through tremor to pick it up, drew it to the edge, and for a moment held it under her eyes; then she put it into her mouth, and, apparently satisfied, chewed on it, moving her lower jaw from side to side.

"A good purse, _maman_. It would be a bold man or a blind would steal thy head for the gold. Heads always lose in our France to-day; thy own is none too sure, _maman_."

"If thou art thinking to scare Quatre Pattes, it won't do. Ha! it won't pay." She looked as if it would not.

Francois saw that he had made a misplay. He laughed his best. "_Nom de diable!_ thou didst like a joke once. No matter. My time is short. I expect a citizen in a few minutes. Is my old room empty?"

"Yes, and half the rest. I tell thee, _mon fils_, I have missed thee."

"Give me the key, and pen, ink, and paper. These will do. Thy ink is dry. A little water--so. I shall come down in a minute or two, and take the citizen up with me. After that I shall come down alone. The citizen will be locked up."

"Good. Will he be alive? I will have no tricks; they get one into trouble."

"Alive! Yes; he will howl."

"Ah, he will howl. What shall I get?"

"He will pay to get out."

"He will pay--how much?"

"One--two--three hundred francs."

"Pshaw! Paper?"

"No; gold. At four to-morrow--no later, no sooner--at four to-morrow thou wilt let him out; and, mind thee, Dame Quatre Pattes, this is business of the republic. What happens to him after he is let out is of no moment. He may very likely make a fuss; he is bad-tempered. Wilt thou take the risk?"

"I--Quatre Pattes? Three hundred francs! I?"

"If I return not to give further orders before twelve, thou mayst ask the municipals to be here at four. That will save trouble. He will then be in no way to swear thou hast his money. That may be the best plan. I have no mind to get thee into trouble. Now, hold thy tongue; and remember, it will be the little cripple Couthon who will reckon with thee if in this business thou dost fail."

"This is all very well if thou dost not return; but who will pay me if thou art of a mind to come and take him away thyself?"

"'T is a sharp old Crab," laughed Francois. "If I come for him, I promise thee he shall pay thee full rent; and here is his _denier a Dieu, maman_." He cast another louis in her lap. "If I come not by noon, get all you can, and denounce him as a suspect; but remember--not till four."

"_Queue du diable_! 'T is a fine transaction," cried the Crab, and knocked her sticks together for emphasis. "We will bleed him like a doctor; we will send in the bill under the door; and then--we will have some nice municipals for sextons. Ha! ha! It is well to have the credit on one's little _carte de surete_."

Francois assured her that the plan was good. At this point, however, she became suddenly suspicious. She stood crouching over her sticks, the snake-like head slowly moving from side to side, her eyes searching the thief's smiling face. "Why is the man to be kept? What is it?"

He expected this. "Ask Couthon the palsied that, thou imbecile. I will take him elsewhere. There are a dozen houses where they ask no questions. Yes or no?"

"Yes, yes!" Caution was put to sleep by greed; or, more truly, by want, which was nearing its extremity.

He felt secure. "If he should ring before I get down-stairs, let him wait. Now, the ink and key."

"Is he to make his will? Thou wilt not be long?"

"No; I want something that I left."

"Ah! thou didst leave something?"

"Yes, and thou didst not find it, _maman_. Fie, fie, for a clever woman! Well, if thou didst not find it, few could. Wait, now."

He went swiftly up-stairs with Toto, and unlocked the door, leaving the key outside in the lock. He put the writing-materials on a table. In the chimney, just within reach of his farthest touch, he found his pistol. It was not loaded, and he had no powder to recharge it. He laughed as, putting it behind him in his waist-belt, under his cloak, he descended the stair.

"All is right. _Cordon_, if you please," he cried from the hall. He had not waited outside five minutes when Gregoire appeared, in ordinary dress, without the official feathered hat or the scarf of a functionary. He was now sober enough, but uneasy, and looked about him as if fearing recognition.

"Come," said Francois. They mounted the ill-smelling stairway to the attic. Neither spoke. Once they were within the room, Francois said: "Sit down." He took a stool, placing himself between Gregoire and the door. "To business," he said, and slipped out the famous letter from Gregoire to De la Vicomterie. He glanced at it, laughing. "There are three or more heads in this," he said. "Robespierre would pay well for it, or Saint-Just. One might put it up at auction. There would be high bidding."

Gregoire said: "I have paid for it. Give it to me--give it to me!"

"No hurry, commissioner." The thief enjoyed the situation. "Let us talk a little. Let us make things a trifle safer. Have the kindness to write a receipt for one hundred louis d'or accepted by thee as security for the head of one Louis de Ste. Luce, _ci-devant_ marquis."

"Not I!" cried Gregoire, starting up.

"Ah, I think thou wilt"; and, with this, Francois drew his quite harmless pistol, and cocked it.

"Dost thou mean to murder me? Help! help! Murder!"

Francois seized him by the throat and thrust him down on to the chair.

"The devil! Fat fool! must I really kill thee? Hold thy tongue. Toto," he said, "just look at this gentleman. He is afraid, a coward--he who has killed so many--so many brave men and women, who died and showed no fear. Keep the door, Toto. There, now, citizen; write it, and quick, too, or--"

"But it is my death."