Chapter VIII: Part 8

"What do I care? It is certain death unless thou dost keep faith. Once the marquis is free, and I am secure, I will burn it. That is all. Thou art forced to trust me. The situation is simple, and rather different from what it was at nine this morning. Thou art trapped."

It was true, and Gregoire knew it. He drew his chair to the table, and wrote a few lines as the thief dictated. Francois added a request for a date. "Thou art not clever with a pen," he said; "thy hand shakes."

"I am a lost man!"

"No; by no means. But look out for my marquis. He ought to be very precious to thee, because--because if there should be any accident to him or to me, my friend will promptly place this harmless receipt in the hands of Saint-Just; and then--"

Gregoire sat in a cold sweat, saying at intervals: "I am lost. Let me go."

"Not quite yet. Give me ten louis."

"I--I can't. I left the money at home."

"Thou art lying. I heard it rattle when I shook thee. I might take it all. I am generous, just, like the incorruptible man with the green around his eyes, one Robespierre. Come, now."

Gregoire, reluctant, counted out the gold. "Let me go," he said. There were scarce left in him the dregs of a man. He rose, pale and tottering.

"Not quite yet, my friend. Thou wilt wait here a little while. Then a citizen hag will come up and let thee out. But be careful; no noise. The gentlemen who inhabit this mansion like not to be disturbed in their devotions. Moreover, they are curious, and generally inquisitive as to purses. Thou hast a few hours for reflection on thy sins. Pray understand that this little paper will be put in the hands of a friend of the marquis; I shall not keep it. The trap will be well set. Am I clear?"

The commissioner made no reply.

"I forgot," said Francis. "Here is thy letter. I keep my word. The receipt is enough."

The compromising document lay on the table, unnoticed by Gregoire. He fell back, limp and cowed, gripping the seat with both hands to save himself from slipping ont of the chair. The sweat ran down his face. When Francois, calling to the poodle, left him alone, he made no motion; he was like a beaten cur.

"Come, Toto," said Francois, as he locked the door. "That for his wart! It is not as big as it used to be, and it is not in the middle of his nose." He went down to the room of the concierge, and threw the key of his room in her lap.

"He is very quiet, thy patient up-stairs; he hath a chill."

Quatre Pattes, standing by, nodded, and looked up. "Is he alive? No lies, young man."

"Alive? Not quite; only well scared. Imagine thyself one day on the red stair, and the basket all ready, and so neat,--thou art fond of neatness,--all as clean as thy room; and the knife--"

"Shut up that big jaw! I am Quatre Pattes. Dost thou want to frighten me?"

"I? By _St. Fiacre_, no! I only want to let thee understand how the citizen on the fourth floor feels."

"He will bleed the better, my dear." She rattled the sticks, and looked up at Francois, her head swaying as the head of the cobra sways. She was still in some doubt as to this too ready pupil, whom she had taught so much. "Art thou trying to fool Mother Quatre Pattes?"

"Oh, stuff! Go up and speak to the man. But take care; this is no light matter to put thy claws into. The man will rage; but a day without diet will quiet him a good bit. Then thou canst begin to make thy little commercial arrangement."

"Two hundred--three hundred. No rags, no assignats."

"Might get four hundred, Mother Crabby. There will be two sides to the question."

The old woman laughed a laugh shrill and virulent.

"Two sides? I see--inside and outside. All right."

Francois stood in the doorway as she spoke.

"By-by, _maman_; and don't frighten him too much. Thy style of beauty is not to the taste of all men. Folks are really afraid of thee, _maman_. Don't make it a part of the bargain that he marry thee."

"Good idea, that! And when shall I see thee?"

"Possibly to-morrow; certainly within a week or so. I may have a few days' work for the committee in Villefranche--dirty country, filthy inns, not like thy room"; and he glanced at it. "I always do like to see how neat it is, and how clean. It would please Sanson. He is so particular; keeps things clean and ready--always ready."

"'T is true," said Quatre Pattes, and clattered away up the hall.

Francois heard her sticks on the stair, and her shrill laughter. "Thy cheese is poisoned, old rat," he said.

Once secure of the absence of his too observant landlady, Francois called to Toto and went out of the house. It was now about half-past one. No suspicious persons were visible. He had doubted this Gregoire. He had no mind to leave Paris, but when asking a passport he meant that Gregoire should think he had done so. He moved away, with the dog at his heels, and presently stood awhile in deep thought, at the end of the street. Gregoire was safe; he could harm no one for a day, and after that would be the last man in Paris to trouble Francois. Amar was to be feared, but that was to be left to chance and cautious care. Quatre Pattes? He smiled. "'T is as fine as a play, Toto. Here comes the last act. Can we go away and not see it?" He looked back. The shoemaker whom the Crab had wished him to denounce, with a view to the eternal settlement of her debts, was standing at his door in the sun, just opposite to No. 33 bis. It was a good little man, lame of a leg, hard-working and timid.

"It is not to be resisted, Toto. Come, my boy." He went back, and pulled the bell at No. 33 bis. No one answered. He rang three times, and became sure that, as he had anticipated, the Crab had at once gone up to see how much of truth there was in his statement.

Thus assured, he looked about him. He saw no one he had need to fear. He crossed the street, and spoke to the cobbler.

"Come into thy shop; I want to speak to thee." When within, he said: "I have been arrested, and let out--praise be to the saints! I have just now seen the old Crab. She owes thee money?"

"Not much."

"No matter. She has asked me to denounce thee, my poor friend. I came to warn thee."

The cobbler gasped. "_Dieu!_ and my little ones! I have done nothing--I assure thee, nothing."

"Nor I, my friend. Now, listen. I am lucky enough to be in a little employment for the Great Committee. I mean to save thee."

"And canst thou do that?"

"Yes, yes. Something will happen to-morrow, about four o'clock; and after that no fear of the hag. I must see it; it is my business. Can I stay a day--I mean until then--in the little room here above thy shop?"

"Why not? The children are with my sister. They shall stay till to-morrow night."

He followed the overjoyed cobbler up to the room above his shop, sent him out to buy food and wine, and sat down to await events. The cobbler came back with a supply of diet and the gazettes. Francois sat behind the slats of the green window-shades, and laughed, or talked to Toto, or read, while at intervals he watched No. 33 bis. He read of how Charleroi had been taken, and of the recovery of Fleurus. It interested him but little.

"They have cut off the head of the devil, and got a new god, my good poodle. _Tenes_! Hold! Attention!" He saw Quatre Pattes clatter out. It was about 4 P.M. She had no market-net. She was decisively bent on some errand, and moved with unusual celerity, her back bent, her head strained upward to get a sufficient horizon.

"It is altogether pleasant, _ami_. She will not wait till twelve to-morrow. She has gone to denounce him. Get up. Here is a nice bite for thee. She is shrewd, our snake. If she plunders M. Gregoire,--and she will, too,--she knows what he will do when he is out. He will denounce her. The play is good, Toto. The money she will have, if we know her. But, mm ami, if he makes her believe through the door that he is the great Gregoire of the wart, and she lets him out, and is scared, and asks no pay, Toto, 't is nevertheless a scotched snake she will be. The Wart will want to be revenged for low diet and loss of the republic's time. _Mordieu_! Toto, let us bet on it."

He read his gazettes, and waited. At six that afternoon the Crab came home. At nine Francois went to bed. Twice he awakened, laughing; he was thinking about Gregoire. The cobbler came in at six with breakfast, and Francois warned him to be careful.

At ten in the morning Quatre Pattes appeared at her door, and chatted with one or two dames of the fish-market. She rattled her sticks, and talked volubly. She was in the best of humors.

No new thing took place till three o'clock, when two municipal guards paused at her door. She came forth, spoke to them, and went in, leaving the door open. A third joined them. They loitered about. Ten minutes went by. Francois grew more and more eager as he watched.

"Ho, ho, Toto," he exclaimed, "there was a noise! The fool! she has gone up alone to let him out."

It was true. Gregoire had yielded in all some three hundred francs, and, as ordered, had slipped the money under the door, piece by piece, while Quatre Pattes sat and counted it with eyes of greed. She came down and hid the last of it. Now she went up again, rather liking the errand. She was absolutely fearless. She opened the door, and stood aside. "Come out," she said, "little man."

Gregoire was past restraining his rage. "She-devil!" he cried, and struck at her in a fury of passion. He ran past her down the stairs, the terrible woman after him. She was wonderfully quick, but the man's fear was quicker. At the last stairway she found him beyond her reach, and, cursing him in fluent slang of the quarter, she threw one of her sticks at him. It caught him on the back of the neck, and he fell headlong into the hallway. In an instant he was up and staggering into the street. As he came forth two guards seized him. "In the name of the law!" Quatre Pattes came swiftly after him, screaming out: "Take him! I denounce him! He is an aristocrat!"

What she and Francois saw was unpleasant for her.

"_Nom de Ciel!_ 't is the Citizen Gregoire!" cried the third guard.

Gregoire was for an instant speechless and breathless. The guards fell back.

"Arrest me?--me, Gregoire! Have you an order to arrest me?" He was not quite at ease.

"No, no, citizen. It is clearly a mistake. We were to arrest a _ci-devant_."

Quatre Pattes stood up, pallid.

"Take this woman!" cried Gregoire. "I will send an order. The Chatelet, and quick!"

"The little trap did work," cried Francois, behind his screen. "How she squeals--like a pig, a pig! She will give up the money. The citizens and she disappear within."

"This woman stole it!" roared the great man, as they came out. "Take her away."

When they came to lay final hands on her, she was like a cat in a corner.

"_Chien de mon ame_! 't is a fine scrimmage," cried Francois, "and the street full."

The sticks rattled; and when they were torn from her, she used tooth and claw, to the joy of a crowd appreciative of personal prowess. At last she was carried away, screaming, and exhausted as to all but her tongue.

The commissioner with the wart readjusted his garments and his dignity. The crowd cried: "_Vive Gregoire!_" and the hungry Jacobin went his way, furious, in search of dietetic consolation.

"The show is over, Toto," said Francois, as he sat down.

Presently came the cobbler, curious, and much relieved.

"Ask no questions," said Francois. "Here is a little money."

"But, citizen, it is a gold louis."

"The show was worth the price of admission. Thou art welcome. Hold thy tongue, if thou art wise. At dusk I shall slip out. Thou art safe. The Crab will denounce no more of her neighbors."

"Two she hath sent to the knife," said the cobbler.

"_Dieu!_ how the _tricoteuses_ will grin!"

*XXIII*

_Of how Francois found lodgings where he paid no rent--Of the death of Toto--Of how his master, having no friends on the earth, finds them underground._

At dusk Francois went out, and was soon moving rapidly across Paris. He was in search of lodging, food, and security. In an hour or less he was in the half-peopled quarter of St. Antoine. Near the barrier he turned aside, and stood considering a little house in what seemed to have been a well-kept garden. On the gate was the large red seal of the republic. It was safe for a night. If he took a lodging, he must show all his papers, and have his name set out, with his business, on a placard such as was nailed to the outer door of every house in Paris. His name, as a new lodger, must be reported to the sectional committee. He was widely known, and, alas! too peculiar to escape notice long. Now he needed time to think. He wandered awhile, ate in a small cafe, bought wine and bread, at night climbed the garden wall, and without much trouble found his way into the house. It was a sorry sight. The arrests must have been sudden and pitiless. The kettle stood on the dead embers. The bread, burned black, was in the oven. A half-knit stocking lay on a chair. Up-stairs and down, it was the same. The open drawers showed evidence of search. A dead bird lay starved in a cage. The beds were unmade. The clock had stopped. He found some scant provisions, unfit for use. It seemed a gardener's house. The place oppressed him, but it answered his purpose. His dog troubled him. Toto was, like himself, conspicuous, and he felt forced during the daytime to leave him locked up in the house. But Toto was sagacious, and had learned to keep quiet. For several days Francois lived at daylight in the streets and cafes, returning at night, to get away again before dawn. In the quiet little taverns where he went for food and shelter he made himself small, and hid in corners; nor, at this time, did he laugh much. He bought the gazettes, and read them with intelligent apprehension of the fact that change was in the air. Robespierre had never had with him a majority of his colleagues, and now he was becoming more and more conscious of his insecure hold on the Convention. As long as the ex-nobles or the foes of the republic suffered, it was of little moment to the representatives; but when the craving for blood, not justified by any political reasons, sent too many of their body to the block, the unease of the Terror began to be felt within their own hall. To be timid, cautious, or obscure had once been security. It was so no longer. That terrible master still had his way, and, one by one, the best brains of the opponents of the Jacobins were sent to perish on the scaffold. The Convention began to feel the need for associative self-defense. Revenge, fear, and policy combined to aid the enemies of this extraordinary person. Like Marat, he began to show physically the effects of a life full of alarms; for this monster dreaded darkness, trembled at unusual noises, and remained to the last the most carefully dressed man in Paris. To understand him at all, one must credit him in his early political life with a sincere love of country, and with willingness to sacrifice himself for others. It is impossible to regard him as entirely sound of mind at a later date. He became something monstrous--a mixture of courage, cowardice, blood-madness, self-esteem, and personal vanity. But there were men who loved him to the last.

It was now early in July, the month Thermidor. Francois began, as usual, to weary of a life of monotonous carefulness. His supply of money was ample. He was well fed and, so far, safe. He sat night after night in darkness, and thought of the lady of the chateau. He knew that her father was thus far secure; his name was not in the daily lists of the victims; and these were many, for on the 22d Prairial (June 10) a decree deprived the accused of counsel, and of the right to call witnesses. The end was near.

One evening about nine, as he came near to the garden, he saw lights in the house. Toto was found waiting outside of the gate. A girl came forth, and soon returned with a net of vegetables.

"_Ciel_! Toto," said Francois, "the poor things have been released, and thou wert clever to get out. We are glad, thou and I; but they have our house." He had left nothing at this lodging, having nothing to leave. He walked away, puzzled, and, wandering, scarce aware of whither he went, found himself at last in the Rue de Seine. It was getting late, and he began to look about him for a new lodging.

"We must find an empty house, Toto. The seal of this cursed republic is our best chance." He did not need to look far. In the Rue de Seine he came upon a small two-story shop. Beside it was a wide gateway, on which he saw with difficulty, but felt readily, the seal no one dared to violate. He concluded that there must be a deserted house beyond it, in a garden. He passed around by the _quai_, and entered the Rue des Petits-Augustines, and stood before the mansion of Ste. Luce. A light was in an upper room. Some one was in charge. On either side were railings and a garden. It was now ten o'clock, and no one visible in the long street of old houses, once the homes of the great French nobles. He pushed the poodle between the rails, and readily pulled himself up and dropped at his side. Once within, he moved with care across to the wall behind the mansion, and soon saw that he was not in the garden of the marquis, but in the larger domain of the Duc de la Rochefoucauld-Liancourt. His object was to find his way into the house which had an outlet on the Rue de Seine. As he was arranging his clothing to climb a tree near to the wall, he suddenly paused. "Toto," he exclaimed, "we have been robbed,--we--first-class thieves,--and we know not when it was. Ah, it was at that cafe, as we came out. Well done, too. Not a sou. Weep, Toto; we are broken."

He lost no more time in lamentation, but climbed the tree, looked over, came down, pulled up the dog, and descended on the farther side of the wall.

He was now in a small garden. Near him, and close to the wall, was a little plant-house. On the farther side of a grassy space stood a hotel of moderate size, with the front court, as he presumed, opening on the Rue de Seine. On each side, as he saw clearly, for the night was bright and the moon rising, there were high flanking walls. After assuring himself that the house was empty, Francois found a trellis covered with old vines, and, climbing this, entered the hotel by a convenient balcony. He was safe for the night, and at leisure to explore his new dwelling. He feared to strike a light, but he could see dimly that there were pictures, books, china. Evidently this had been the home of people of wealth. As the moon rose higher, he saw still better, and began to realize the fact that here were evidences of hasty flight. In a room on the second floor was a secretary, and this Francois readily opened.

"Toto," he said, "we are rich again." He had found forty louis in a canvas bag which comfortably fitted his side pocket. In the larder he came upon meat, cooked and uncooked, mostly unfit for use, stale bread, and cheese. Once satisfied, he went over the house, and then the garden, taking pains at last to set a ladder against the wall of the Rochefoucauld property.

The glass-house was in disorder, the plants lying about, uncared for. His foot struck an iron ring attached to a trap-door. There were staples for padlocking it, but no padlock. He concluded this to be the opening to a wine-cave or -cellar, and lifted the trap. It was dark below. He ventured down the steps a little way, and then stood still to listen. Hearing noises below him, he retreated in haste. He was, as has been said, superstitious.

"That is strange! We will look about when it is day, Toto--not now."

Concluding to sleep out of doors, he accordingly arranged for his comfort by taking a pillow and blankets from the house; for now he had opened a door below, and was in full possession. Suites of apartments which he dared not use for sleep, and a pretty little library, overlooked the small estate of the garden.

No occupied dwelling was in view. Great trees in the grounds of La Rochefoucauld and Ste. Luce partially hid the houses, and, what was of more moment, shut off the sight of Francois's refuge. It was, of course, possible that at any time he might be disturbed by the coming of the officers, or, what was to be feared less, that of the owners. But he was not a man to be continually anxious. The outer front door had a bar, and this he dropped into its socket. The side walls were high. He could hear any one who attempted to enter. His way out at the back was made easy by the ladder he had set in place. At dusk he began to be fully at ease, and after a day or two was hardly less so in the sun-lit hours.

On the morning of the third day, much at home, he sat behind the little plant-house, with Toto at his feet, and a book in his hand, for in the library he found several which excited his interest. Now he was deep in a French translation of the travels of Marco Polo. Suddenly he heard a noise of steps. He fell back, caught Toto with a warning grasp on the jaw, and lay still. He was so hidden in the narrow space between the plant-house and the wall of the garden as to be for the time secure. No longer hearing anything alarming, he rose and looked cautiously through the double glass and the sheltering plants which were between himself and the mansion. In a few minutes a tall man came out of the plant-house, went into the dwelling, and by and by returning with blankets and a basket, passed into the plant-house, and was lost to sight. He soon came out again with a lad, and after several such journeys to the main house, whence each time he fetched something, they reentered the plant-house, and came forth no more.

This incident greatly amazed the thief. "Toto," he said, "there must be a trap below! 'T is a lower cellar it leads to, and there are people beneath. _Helas_, Toto! no sooner are we gentlemen with an estate than, presto! a change, and it is get up and go. It were better we took to the woods and saw far countries, like this M. Polo." Toto regarded his master with attentive eyes, the long black tail wagging. He seemed to comprehend Francois's difficulties, or at least to feel some vague desire to help and comfort.

"Yes, yes; it is time we settled down, _mon ami_. Behold, we get a little money and wherewithal to live; we hurt no one; we cultivate our minds with travel; we start fresh, and are honest, having enough,--which is a good foundation for honesty,--and then--_eh bien!_ my friend; let us laugh"; and he lay on his back, and tumbled the dog about.

He was in the garden, near to the dwelling, a day later, when he heard noises as of steps in the La Rochefoucauld grounds. He climbed the ladder, and, without showing himself, listened. There were voices, and now and then he caught a phrase. These were municipal guards. He beckoned to Toto, and, crossing the garden, entered the house, meaning to watch his new neighbors from a window.

He went up-stairs to the third story under the roof. As he moved toward a window, he heard a sound below. He ran down the stair, and stood on the lower landing-place, facing the front door. "We are gone, Toto!" For once he was at a loss, and stood still, in doubt what to do.

There were voices outside. The hall door had been unlocked, but the bar held it fast. After a minute or two they seemed to have given up the idea of entering. Francois waited a few minutes, and began to descend the stairs. Then he heard quick footfalls in the room to the left on the level of the landing above him. Some one must have entered by a window on the second floor. He turned, perplexed, instinctively drew his useless pistol, and began to go faster. Suddenly the steps above him quickened.

A man on the staircase landing behind him cried: "Halloo! Surrender, in the name of the republic!" Francois jumped, taking the stairs below him in one leap, but, tripping over Toto, fell headlong in the hall. The dog sprang after him, and alighted on his master's back. A pistol-shot rang out. The dog fell dead with a ball in his brain. Francois was on his feet. He cast a glance at the faithful friend of many a day. His own long, strange face became like that of a madman. He dashed up the stair, a second ball missing him narrowly. Through the smoke he bounded on his enemy. He caught the man by the right arm, wrested the pistol from him, and, scarce feeling a blow from the fellow's left hand, struck him full in the face with the butt of the pistol. The blood flew, and the man staggered, screaming. A second blow and a third fell. Twisting his victim around, Francois hurled him down the stair.

"Beast!" he cried; and, leaping over him, stooped a moment, kissed the quivering little body of his friend, and, with tears streaming from his eyes, stood still. Loud cries from beyond the wall of the garden recalled his energies. The noise at the door was heard again. He ran out and across into the plant-house, pulled up the trap, and, descending, closed it. Then he stood puzzled. It was dark; he could see nothing. He fell on his knees, and began hastily to grope about until he felt an iron ring attached to the trap-door of what he presumed to be the entrance to a yet lower cellar.

"It is this or death," he muttered under his breath, and stood reflecting, having heard no sounds approaching overhead. Thinking it better to see and be seen by those below, he struck his flint on the steel, and, with the aid of a morsel of paper and his kindling breath, soon had a light. Then he saw near by a lantern with a candle within it. He lighted it, and held it in one hand. This done, he knelt again, and with a quick movement set open the trap-doorway. What he saw was a man and the muzzle of a pistol. The man cried out: "If you move, you are dead!"

"I am not a municipal, monsieur. I am only a thief. Let me come down, for God's sake! I am flying from those rascals who are in the house."

"I have half a mind to blow your brains out."

"_Ciel_! I hope you will not have a whole mind. It would only call those scoundrels. I stole a little from the house--I return it"; and he dropped the bag of louis. It fell on the head of a small boy below, unseen in the gloom. He howled lustily.

"_Diantre!_ keep quiet!" cried the man.

"Oh, let him come down, duke; he is welcome." It was the voice of a woman out of the deep darkness. Tender and clear it was.

"Be quick, then, rascal! Down with you."

The thief waited for no second invitation. The duke descended; Francois's long legs came after. He paused to arrange some loose staves, that, in falling, they might conceal the trap. Then he blew out the candle, and was in total darkness, but where or with whom he knew not.

"Have a care how you move," said the voice of the woman. "We are in great peril. Come down quietly."

"May all the saints bless you!" said Francois, and sat down on the lower step. For a while all was still.

*XXIV*

_Of how Francois got into good society underground--Of what he saw, and of the value of a cat's eyes--From darkness to light--Of how Francois made friends for life._

"It was dark indeed; I had never imagined such darkness," says Francois in his memoirs.[#] He adds that he has heard the story of this wonderful escape from the catacombs told over and over by M. des Illes. He does not consider that it did him (Francois), the principal person, sufficient justice. He had also heard the old Duke Philippe relate the matter, and it was incredible how crooked he got it. But, then, Duke Philippe was a man who had no sense of humor. As to his dear Mme. des Illes, when she did tell this story, the baby was the chief hero. Duke Henri,--that is, the present man,--although only a lad when these events took place, remembered them well.

[#] See Epilogue.

"When he was seventeen," says Francois, "we used to fence together. I have often heard him relate to the other young fellows how we made our escape; but Duke Henri has too much imagination, and that, you see, makes a man inaccurate. I knew two very accomplished thieves who were inaccurate. I am not. Duke Henri's tale got stronger, like wine, as time went on. The rats grew to be of the size of cats; three of them pulled the baby out of madame's lap. And as to the people we killed, it would have satisfied M. Dumas, who is the greatest and most correct of such as write history."

The present author grieves that he has not the narration of this famous escape at the hands of Mme. des Illes and the two dukes, father and son. Those who have found leisure to read "A Little More Burgundy" have heard Des Illes's narrative as M. des Illes related it. Those who have not read that rendering may incline to hear Francois's own statement of what happened after he thus found himself in darkness with people he had never seen. I have followed his memoir pretty closely. It tells some things of which the other people concerned did not know. Evidently he considered it a less tragic affair than did they. It has been needful to condense Francois's account, and to do this especially where he speaks of his own intermediate adventures, which were singular enough.

When, as I have said, Francois, obeying Duke Philippe, put out his lantern, he sat still awhile, and said nothing. Like the rest, he was fearful lest the officers he had disturbed so rudely should make a too effective search. Their inspection of the upper cellar would be perilous enough. The anxious people beneath held their breaths when a man overhead stumbled across the staves the thief had set to fall on the trap-door. After a while all noises faded away, and in the evening the duke proposed to reconnoiter once more; but when he tried to lift the trap, it was found impossible to do so. The municipals, in their examination, must have rolled a full barrel of wine upon the door. This discovery was, or seemed, an overwhelming calamity.

Francois during the day came to understand that here in the darkness were Duke Philippe de St. Maur, his son Henri, a lad, another rather older boy, Des Illes, Mme. des Illes, and the baby, who made himself terribly well known by occasional protests in the tongue of babyhood. As the thief became accustomed to the gloom and the company, his usual cheeriness returned; and when they could not open the trap he began to propose all manner of schemes. He would bore a hole and let out the wine, and so lighten the barrel. He would shoot a ball through the trap and the barrel, and thus let out the weight of wine. The duke, who never lost respect for his own dignity, was disgusted, and would listen to none of his counsels.

Toward bedtime the baby began to wail dismally; the boys sobbed; and Mme. des Illes cried out to them that they should be ashamed to complain, and then, by way of comment, herself burst into tears; while the duke stumbled about, and swore under his breath. This was all very astonishing to Francois, who had seen little of any world but his own, and to whom calamity served only as a hint to consider some way to escape its effects. He remained silent for a while, after the duke had let him plainly understand that he was a fool and had better hold his tongue. This lasted for a half-hour, during which he sat still, thinking, with full eyes, of his dead dog. By degrees the children grew quiet, and the baby, having exhausted his vocabulary and himself, fell asleep. Then the duke said irritably:

"Why the deuce don't you do something, Master Thief? If you can get into places where you do not belong, why cannot you get out of this abominable box?"

Francois laughed. "Get out I would, and gladly; but how? We might wait, monsieur, till they drink up the wine, or until it dries up, or--" But here the boys laughed, and even the duke forgot himself, and said Francois was a merry fellow. Indeed, he was of use to them all; for, soon becoming at ease, he regaled the boys with his adventures; but how many he invented I do not know. Some were queer, and some silly; but all tales are good in the dark, for then what can one do but attend?

After a while, all being still, Francois lighted his lantern, on which Duke Philippe said: "Put out that light; we have too few candles as it is; and keep quiet. You are prowling about like a cat on the tiles, and twice you have stumbled over my legs."

"But I have twice said I was sorry," said Francois, getting tired of this duke with an uncertain temper, who repeated: "Put out that light, and sit down."

Then madame spoke: "He may have a reason to want to see and to move about."

"'T is so," said Francois. "If I walk, my wits walk; if I sit, they go to sleep; and as to cats, madame, I am a street cat"; and, thinking of Suzanne, he laughed.

"Ah, confound your laughing!" The duke felt that to laugh at a joke he did not share was, to say the least, disrespectful. "What is there to laugh at?"

Francois, who had been moving as he spoke, was suddenly elated. He said it was Suzanne he was thinking of; and when madame would know if she were his wife, the duke was silent out of lack of interest for low company, and Francois began to tell about the elders and the Hebrew maid, and of the Amalekites who lived on the next roof. The boys were charmed, and madame said, "Fie! fie!" but it served to amuse. An hour later he began to move about restlessly, and at last cried out, from the far end of the cellar:

"This way, monsieur; what is this? A candle--and quick!" When they all came to see, he rolled aside an empty cask, and showed a heavy planking. He seized the decayed timbers and tore them away, so that as they fell a black gap was to be seen. The air blew in, cool and damp.

"_Mon Dieu!_ 't is the catacombs. My husband's grandfather cut off this end for a wine-cave. It is strange I should have quite forgotten it."

"But what then?" said the duke. "It is only a grave you have opened. You might as well have kept quiet."

The thief's feelings were hurt; he began to care less and less for this useless nobleman.

Madame said thoughtfully: "It may be a way out. If it come to the worst, we can but try it."

"Madame is right; and as to keeping quiet, I never could. Sleeping cats catch no rats." He believed in his luck. "We shall get out," he said, with cool assurance. "I always do. I have been in many scrapes. I got out of the Madelonnettes, and I was once near to decorating a rope."

"A rope!" exclaimed madame.

"Yes. _Parbleu_! I wear my cravat loose ever since. I like to have full swing, but not in that way." He was gay and talkative. The boys liked it; but not so the duke, who said:

"Well, what next?"

"We must explore. I will enter and see a little."

"But," said the woman, "you will get lost; and then, what to do?" She had come to trust the thief. He saw this, and liked it. "If we lose you, what shall we do?--what _shall_ we do?"

The thief turned to her as he stood, lantern in hand. He was grave. "Madame, I am a poor thief of the streets; I have had to live as I could; and since I was a boy I can count the kind words ever said to me by man or woman. I shall not forget."

Madame was moved, and said they were all alike come upon evil days, and that perhaps now he would turn from his wicked ways.

Poor Francois was not quite clear as to his ways having been wicked.

"Well, if you are going," said the duke, "you had better be about it."

It was then young Des Illes said he must have a string, like people who went into caves, else he might never find his way back. The thief thought it a fine idea; and here was madame's big ball of knitting-wool. With no more delay, he took it, and leaving an end in Des Illes's hand, boldly walked away into the darkness with his lantern, and was soon lost to view.

When he came back to this anxious company, he had to report such a tangle of passages as caused him to say that to try to escape through these must be a last resort. He thought they might live on the rats if provisions gave out, but they must eat them raw.

"_Helas!_ what a fate!" said madame.

The little Duke Henri spoke eagerly, and said the Chinese ate rats.

"But not raw," cried the young Des Illes, which set them all to laughing.

Soon again they were quiet, because talk in the dark does not prosper. A little later madame called softly to the thief to sit by her, and would hear of his life. Francois related his exploits with pride. She made no comment, but said at last: "Your name, my friend?" And when he replied, "Francois," she declared that he was no more to be any one's thief, but always Francois; and this was a hint to the duke, who took it in silence, and was evidently depressed.

After this, madame bade the boys say their prayers; and soon all were asleep, except Francois, who sat against a cask, and saw Toto's brown eyes in the darkness.

At last the morrow came. The provisions were shared, and, as usual with Francois, his spirits rose as he filled his stomach. He held the baby, and was queerly interested in this mystery of unwinking eyes. Might he give it of the bottle? He satisfied the child, who seemed fearless of that long, good-humored face. Might he hold it longer? It would relieve madame. He sang low to it a queer thief-song, and then another none there could understand.

"_Ciel!_" said the duke, who had slept off his splenetic mood; "you have a fine voice."

"Ah, would it were a hymn," said madame, "or a psalm of Clement Marot!"

"I know no hymns," said Francois, "but only some old choir chants."

Upon this he began to sing, low and sweet, one of the old Latin songs:

Salve, mundi salutare,
Salve, salve, Jesu care!
Cruel tuae me aptare
Vellem vere, tu sols quare,
Da mihi tui capiam.

The rich voice which in his boyhood days had soared like a lark up among the arches of Notre Dame had come again. He heard himself with wonder and with sad thoughts of the chances his boyish haste had forever lost for him.

"And you a thief!" cried madame. "Where--where did you learn--"

But at this moment noises overhead put an end to all but listening. At last Francois said: "They move the casks. It were well to take to the caves." And this was hastily agreed to, when, of a sudden, the noises ceased.

Francois still urged instant flight; but the duke said, "No; we must wait," and gave no reasons. The thief did not agree, but held his tongue, as Mme. des Illes said nothing, and since, after all, this was a duke.

An hour later he started up. "By Heaven, they are at the trap!"

The duke was no coward. He ran up the steps, pistol in hand, and gave his second weapon to Francois, who stood below. The trap was cast wide open, and a big municipal was seen stooping over the open space; for beyond him the cellar was well lighted up. The duke fired without an instant's indecision.

"By St. Denis! 't is a man, this duke," cried Francois, as the officer pitched head down into the cave. The thief set a foot on him as he lay, and reached up the second pistol to the duke, while young Des Illes, too curious for fear, crawled up the broad stone stairs to see. The thief heard a second shot, and followed the lad. There were several candles set on casks, and through the smoke he saw a municipal in a heap at the far end of the upper cellar. He was groaning piteously.

"Load again, monsieur," cried Francois. "Quick! there may be more." He himself went past the duke, and young Des Illes after him. He turned the officer over.

"He is not dead," he said. "Best to finish him."

But here was madame at his side, saying: "No, no! No more--I will not have it. _Mon Dieu!_ it is bad enough. I will have no murder."

"Then let us go back; he is as good as dead."

"_Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!_" cried the woman; and so in haste the upper trap was closed, and all went again down to the cave.

The officer below was dead, with a ball through his head. Mother and children huddled away in the far corner, scared. The duke said:

"What now must we do?"

"We must go, and at once," said Francois. "They will soon come back, and then--"

"Yes, yes," cried madame; "you are right. You were right; we should have gone before, and saved all this bloodshed."

The duke made no comment, except to mutter, "I suppose so"; and at once began to assist Francois's preparations for flight.

And now the thief's readiness and efficiency were shown. He arranged every one's loads, filled baskets, laughed over a shoulder at the boys as he strapped blankets on the duke, and at last loaded himself with all that was left. They took the arms of the dead man, and soon trooped out into the darkness. The duke, who at once went on ahead, carried a lantern.

At the first turn, Francois called out to wait, and ran back. The duke swore. He was now eager to go on, and declared that the thief would deliver them up, and save his own head. But madame was of other mind, and so they stood expectant. At last came Francois, laughing.

"Ah, monsieur, this comes of honest company. I forgot the bag of gold. And these--these are priceless. I have the fellow's clothes. When a man does not resist, the temptation is great; neither did he assist."

"Stop that talk, and come on. Are we going to set up a shop for old clothes?"

Francois fell behind. "The duke would make a poor thief," he said to the boys. Young Henri de St. Maur said: "You are insolent. My father a thief!"

"_Tiens_! There are times when to steal is virtue. _Allons donc!_" and he strode on, laughing, and telling the boys stories.

There were many little incidents that day, but the worst was at evening, when they found a great cave, lofty and wide, where had been cast, long before, the bones out of the overfilled cemeteries. Here it was that skulls fell from the great heap, and rolled away on every side into the darkness, while the rats ran out in armies. The thief was of all the most alarmed, and stood still, saying paternosters and aves by the dozen. After this they went on aimlessly, now and then hearing overhead the roar and rumble of wagons. Their nights proved to be full of sore trials. The rats assembled, and grew bolder. One bit the baby, who cried until the thief lighted a candle and watched while the rest slept, or tried to do so.

The dismalness of, these underground labyrinths was such as no man could imagine. One day they walked a half-mile through a wet cave-passage so narrow that two persons could not move abreast. It ended in a blank wall, and they were forced to go back, over shoe-top in water. Or, again, they went up rude stairs, stumbling, but hopeful, only to descend once more into the depths of the earth. Now and then a putrid rain fell on them, and at every turn the rats fled by them, now one and now a scurry of countless troops. Twice a mass of rock fell in some distant passage, and strange echoes reverberated in cavern spaces, so that the boys cried out in terror, and even Francois shivered at the thought of how they might be buried alive by one of these downfalls. Each sad day of weariness had its incident of terror or disappointment; and still, with lessening hope, they trailed on after the dim light which the duke carried as he led them--none knew whither. Each morning they rose cold, wet, and unrefreshed, ate of their lessening food, and after some little talk as to how this day they should keep turning to left or to right, set out anew, the duke still in advance, with an ever-changing mind as to where they were or what they should do. As day followed day, their halts became more frequent. They lingered where the dripping rain from the sewage of the great city overhead was least; or at times paused suddenly to listen to mysterious sounds, or to let the rats go by them, splashing in the noisome puddles underfoot. The night was as the day, the day as the night. They had no way to tell the one from the other, except by the duke's watch.

So confusing was this monotonous tramp underground, the days so much alike, that at last these sad people became bewildered as to how long they had wandered. Their food was becoming less and less, and on the evening of the fifth day the duke and Francois knew that very soon their stock of candles would be exhausted. These had, in fact, been of small use, except to keep the scared children more cheerful when night came on and the rats grew bold.

This evening of the fifth day, and earlier than usual, Mme. des Illes declared of a sudden that she could go no farther, and must rest for the night. The duke had a new plan, and urged her to go on. She cried over the baby on her lap, and made no answer. They sat down to pass another night of discomfort. After a little talk with the boys, Francois drew apart from the rest, and began to think over the wanderings of the day. Their situation this evening was somewhat better than it had usually been, for they sat in a dry end of one of the many excavations, and did not feel the cold, moist winds which howled along these stony caves, carrying a changeful variety of unwholesome stenches. A silent hour went by in utter darkness. At times Francois rose to drive away adventurous rats. At last he lighted a candle, and set it at the open end of the cul-de-sac. When he saw that the rats would not pass the lantern, he whispered to madame of this, and that he meant to explore a little, and bade her have no fear. The duke had thus far had his own way, and it had not been to Francois's taste. He took a second lantern, and moved off around a corner, resolute to find a means of escape. The duke ordered him to return and to put out the candle. Francois made no reply. He counted the turns as he went on, and listened for the noise of vehicles above him.

"A pretty duke, that!" he said. "I should have made as good a one. I like better that devil of a marquis; but _diantre!_ neither is much afraid--nor I, for that matter."

Sometimes he turned back, at others went on boldly, noting whence blew any current of warmer air. At last he came upon an enormous excavation. In the middle was a mass of partly tumbled stone, laid in courses. This broken heap was large, and irregularly conical. He moved around it in wonder, having seen nothing like it in his explorations. He turned the yellow and feeble lantern-light upon the heap, and at first concluded that the old makers of these quarries had here built for themselves a house, which had fallen to ruin.

But where was he, and what part of Paris was over his head? He remembered at last to have heard that these catacombs were once used as receptacles for the dead, in order to relieve the overpeopled graveyards. Had he been less alarmed, he might have guessed where he was when they came upon the bones; for that must have been near to the cemetery of the Church of the Innocents. But while the duke had led, Francois had taken less than his usual active notice, and had been content to follow. Here, now, was a new landmark. This before him could be no dwelling of quarriers, but must be a house fallen into the great cave. He had heard of such happenings. To be certain where and on what street so strange a thing had occurred would afford knowledge as to the part of Paris under which he stood. He would ask the duke; he might know. Thus reflecting, he began to walk around the tumbled mass. A vast amount of earth must have come down with it. He pried here and there, and at last found a gap in the ruin, and crawled in between fallen timbers until he could stand up. On one side was a wall and a wide chimney-place, and on the top of this wall the great beams of the ceiling still rested. Their farther ends lay on what seemed the wreck of the opposite wall, thus leaving a triangular space filled in at each side by broken stone. Amid this were the crushed steps of a staircase, quite blocked up. The lantern gave little light. Only close to the fireplace could the tall thief stand erect. He turned his lantern, and cried out:

"Ye saints!" Close beside him were the remains of a high-backed chair, and on these, and beside them, portions of the bones of a man. Two great jack-boots lay beside him, gnawed by rats. His skull was broken, and lay where the eager animals had dragged it.