III
Lubin was the first to enter. He had his scarf round him, and was followed by a dozen men armed with pikes. Casting his eyes first on Madame de Luzy and then on me—“Peste!” he exclaimed. “It seems we are disturbing a pair of lovers. Excuse us, pretty one!”
Then turning to his followers, he remarked—
“The sans-culottes are the only folks who know how to behave.”
But despite his theories this encounter[encounter] had evidently put him in good spirits.
He sat down on the bed, and raising the chin of the lovely high-bred woman, said—
“It is plain that that pretty mouth wasn’t made to mumble paternosters day and night. It would have been a pity if it were. But the Republic before all things. We are seeking the traitor, Planchonnet. He is here, I’m certain of it. I must have him. I shall get him guillotined. It will make my fortune.”
“Search for him, then!”
They looked under the chairs and tables, in the cupboards, thrust their pikes under the bed, and probed the mattresses with their bayonets.
Lubin scratched his ear and looked at me slily. Madame de Luzy, dreading that I might be subjected to an embarrassing catechism, said—
“Dear friend, you know the house as well as I do myself. Take the keys and show Monsieur Lubin all over it. I am sure you will be delighted to act as guide to such patriots.”
I led them to the cellars, where they turned over the piles of faggots, and drank a fairly large number of bottles of wine; after which Lubin staved in the full casks with the butt end of his gun, and leaving the cellar flooded with wine, gave the signal of departure. I conducted them out as far as the gate, which I shut on their very heels, and then ran back to let Madame de Luzy know that we were out of danger.
When she heard this, she bent her head over the side of the bed next the wall, and called—
“Monsieur Planchonnet! Monsieur Planchonnet!”
A faint sigh was the response.
“God be praised!” she exclaimed. “Monsieur Planchonnet, you occasioned me the most appalling fear. I thought you were dead.”
Then turning towards me—
“My poor friend, you used to take so much delight in declaring, from time to time, that you loved me; you will never tell me so again!”
THE BOON OF DEATH BESTOWED
TO ALBERT TOURNIER