A BROKEN DOOR
"Open, in the name of the Republic."
No answer.
Crash! Crash! Blow followed blow upon the door of the old château.
"Again, citizens, once again! Brasseur! bring fagots, we'll fire the old trap. Forgons, take this sledge-hammer in your big hands. At it, man!—we'll soon have the lair of the aristocrats down about their ears. Defour, Haillons, and you others, take up that ash-tree and let it strike in the same place as before."
Amid a pandemonium of shouts and curses the blows continued to rain upon the iron-studded outer door of the château de Rochefort, and the tree, used as a battering-ram, poised upon the shoulders of a dozen men, was dashed forward with a force that made the hinge-bolts start from their sockets and the oaken panels fill the air with splinters.
The besieged had taken refuge in one of the large salons on the second floor. There were only four of them: an old man, a priest, and two women.
"They have nearly forced the outer door," cried old Matthieu Tournay, wiping the perspiration from his brow with trembling hand.
"But the inner one," exclaimed the priest, laying his hand on Matthieu's arm. "How long will that keep them off?"
"They'll break through that easily. Nothing can save us now; we are all lost," replied the old man.
"May the Blessed Virgin preserve us from the monsters," murmured the priest, looking towards the woman.
Edmé de Rochefort stood near the window. The terrifying sounds which echoed through the lower part of the building would have unnerved her, had not anger supplied a sustaining force, and brought a deep flush to supplant the pallor on her cheeks. The spirit of her race was roused within her. Had she been a man she would have charged alone, sword in hand, against the mob; but being only a woman she stood waiting the issue. Trembling slightly, she stood with her small hands clenched and white teeth firmly set. At her elbow was Agatha, her maid. She was paler than her mistress, but it was not for herself she feared. Her devotion made her fear more for Edmé's safety than for her own.
As the shouts redoubled Edmé saw the two old men turn, pallid and trembling, towards her.
"They seek me only," she said resolutely. "Why should I endanger your lives by remaining here? I will go to meet them!"
"You shall not go!" cried Agatha, placing herself in front of her mistress.
"It can only be a question of a few minutes at the longest. Let me go, Agatha."
"Listen," cried the priest, "they are in the house! They are coming up the stairway now!"
"No," cried old Matthieu, "I can still hear them down there in the courtyard."
Nevertheless a quick footstep was heard approaching from the corridor. The portières at the further end of the room were thrown apart, and a man, wearing the uniform of the Republican army, entered the salon.
"Robert!" came in a glad cry from old Tournay's lips.
Tournay did not wait to exchange words with his father, but approached Edmé.
"I have ridden from Paris to prevent your arrest, mademoiselle; thank God I have arrived in time. Only do as I direct and I shall be able to save you."
"How are we to know that we can trust you?" she said, looking at him fixedly.
He caught his breath as if unprepared for such a question. "You must trust me, mademoiselle."
Edmé laughed scornfully.
The color which rose to his cheek showed that her laugh cut even deeper than her words.
"Mademoiselle," he began, "if you"—
She interrupted him passionately. "Are not those men below who seek to destroy my château your friends? They have been clamoring for admittance in the name of the Republic." And she looked significantly at the tricolored cockade in his hat.
"And because I am a Republican and wear the uniform of the nation do you really think that I could have anything in common with those ruffians? You do me great injustice; I am here with one object, to protect this household."
Edmé continued to look steadily at him.
"You say nothing, mademoiselle. You condemn me by your silence. I will prove to you how deeply you wrong me even if it take my life. I would give that gladly only to prove it to you. But there is more than my life at stake. There is your safety—and the safety of these, your servants. My father—mademoiselle!"
Edmé's look softened a little as she answered:—
"Although since you left our house we have only thought of you as an enemy, still I believe your father's son would be incapable of treachery. As for saving us, listen to the mob below. One man is helpless against so many."
"I can save you—but it depends upon yourself. No matter what I may say or do, you must trust me implicitly."
"Oh! do as my son says, mademoiselle!" interposed old Matthieu, joining his hands beseechingly. "For your sake, for all our sakes, listen to and be guided by him."
"If you can really protect us in this dreadful hour I should be guilty if I risked the lives of those who have faithfully remained at my side, by refusing your aid. I will follow your father's and your counsel," said Edmé quietly.
"Is the door of the salon barred?" asked Tournay of his father.
"With such slight fastenings as we have," answered the old man.
"See that it is fast," said Tournay. "It will give us a few minutes. Then listen to me."
There was a crash—louder than any that had yet been heard, and the mob poured into the lower part of the château.
Here they paused for a moment to recover breath and wipe the perspiration from their brows. Then some of the party began again their work of destruction among the pieces of furniture, while others brought up wine from the cellar to refresh themselves and their thirsty companions.
Gardin, anxious only to make the arrest, stormed at this slight delay.
"Cannot you leave your wine until your work is done, citizens?" he called out impatiently. "The aristocrat is above stairs—follow me!"
Through the large hall of the château and up the broad staircase, on the heels of their leader, swarmed the mob, yelling and cursing.
Gardin and Forgons, like bloodhounds who scent their prey, made direct for the door of the great salon, where the little party awaited them. Gardin shook the door violently, then threw himself against it to force an entrance.
"Here, citizen, we have already proven that two pair of shoulders are better than one at that game," laughed Forgons, adding his strength to that of Gardin. Under their combined weight the door yielded with a suddenness that precipitated both men into the room,—Gardin on his hands and face while Forgons fell over him,—and the two rolled together in the middle of the floor. Amid a shout of rough laughter from the men in the rear the two leaders regained their feet.
The scowl on Gardin's face vanished in a look of astonishment when he found himself face to face with a man in the uniform of a colonel of the French army.
Matthieu and the old priest had retreated to the corner of the room at their entrance. Beside the chimney-piece stood Edmé de Rochefort. The sight of the frenzied mob, the knowledge that it was her arrest alone they sought; the shrinking dread which the thought of their rude touch inspired, made her heart sink with sickening terror. Yet beyond trembling slightly, she gave no sign of fear.
Gardin had expected to find a frightened girl, surrounded possibly by a few servants who remained faithful. The sight of Tournay's tall figure, his resolute face, above all his uniform, standing between him and the object of his search, made him hesitate.
"There she is! That's the aristocrat!" exclaimed Forgons, as Gardin hesitated. "Let me get my hands upon her." He rushed forward, but before he could touch Edmé, Tournay pushed him backward with a force that sent him reeling into the group of men behind.
"A thousand devils," cried Forgons, when he regained his equilibrium, "what is the meaning of this, citizen colonel? Are you defending the little aristocrat?"
"Keep back, will you, Forgons," interposed Gardin, fearing that his dignity as leader would be usurped. "Leave me to manage this affair. I am here," he said, addressing Colonel Tournay, "to apprehend the person of an aristocrat, and shall brook no interference on the part of any one."
"Let me look at your warrant," demanded Tournay, in a tone of authority.
"I am not obliged to show that to you," replied Gardin doggedly.
"Let me see it, I say!" was the determined rejoinder.
Gardin slowly drew a document from the breast of his coat and handed it over with a sullen "Well, there's no harm in your seeing it."
Tournay read it carefully. Then folding it up with great deliberation he returned it.
"It seems quite regular."
"Regular," repeated Gardin, with a laugh,—"well, I like that. Of course it's quite regular,—signed and stamped by the Committee of Public Safety." Then with a show of mock politeness: "Now if the citizen colonel will condescend to step aside I will conduct this young citizeness from the room."
"That order of arrest calls for a certain citizeness de Rochefort, does it not?" asked Tournay, without moving.
"Certainly it does. The Citizeness Edmé de Rochefort who stands there, right behind you."
"You will not find her here," replied Tournay.
"None of your jests with me, citizen colonel; why, as I said before, she's standing behind you. I should know her for an aristocrat by the proud look on her face if I had not seen her a hundred times here in La Thierry."
"This is not Citizeness de Rochefort."
"That's a lie," replied Gardin bluntly, "and in any case she is the woman I am going to arrest."
"That woman is Citizeness Tournay, my wife. You cannot arrest her on that warrant, Citizen Gardin."
As the colonel spoke these words, which he did slowly and deliberately, Mademoiselle de Rochefort drew a quick, short breath.
"It is a trick," cried Gardin savagely; "you are trying to save her by a subterfuge."
Tournay repeated coolly, "She is my wife, and I am Robert Tournay, colonel in the Army of the Moselle. Again I advise you not to try to arrest her without a warrant."
"And I say again it is a lying trick," cried Gardin, beside himself with rage. "You cannot save your aristocratic sweetheart this way, citizen colonel. The Republic demands her arrest and I mean to take her."
"Citizen Ambrose," said Tournay, turning to the priest, "is not this woman my wife?"
"Most certainly," said the old priest, coming forward with dignity; "this lady is Madame Robert Tournay."
"Madame!" cried Gardin, repeating the word in a rage. "There are no ladies in France now, and all priests are liars. This is a trick, and you, citizen colonel, shall answer for it. Out of my way!" He grasped Tournay by the lapel of his coat, and twisting his fingers into the cloth endeavored to force the colonel to one side. There was a sharp struggle, then Tournay threw him off with such violence as to send him staggering across the room. His head struck the sharp edge of a mahogany cabinet as he reeled backward, and he rolled senseless to the floor.
With a shout of rage at the assault upon their leader the mob rushed forward to close about Tournay. But he was too quick for them; the muzzles of a pair of pistols met them as they advanced, one covering Forgons, who was in front, the other leveled at the men behind him.
The mob cowered and fell back a little. Clubs, hammers, and knives were their only weapons, which they still brandished threateningly. If Tournay had shown the least sign of flinching he would have fallen the next moment, beaten and crushed to death. He advanced a step forward. Before the threatening muzzles of the steadily-aimed pistols, the men recoiled still further, and were quiet for a moment. Tournay seized the opportunity to speak.
"This fellow," he cried in a loud voice, pointing to Gardin, "has dared to lay hands upon an officer of the Republican army. In doing so he has insulted the nation and deserves death. Is there any man here who would repeat this insult?"
The mob, taken by surprise, looked at their fallen leader and then at the two shining pistol-barrels that confronted them, and remained irresolute. Tournay thought he heard Edmé catch her breath quickly when the answer from the mob drowned everything.
"No, no! There are none here who would insult the nation!"
"Citizens, I am of the people, like yourselves. I am also a soldier of France. I have fought its battles, I wear its colors. See!" he went on, taking off his hat and pointing to the tricolor cockade—"here is the tricolor. If you do not respect that, you insult the Republic. Is there any one here who would dare to insult the Republic?"
"No, no!" came in quick response. "Long live the Republic!"
"But all who wear the tricolor are not our friends," muttered Forgons uneasily.
"Citizens," continued Tournay, affecting not to hear, "Gardin has no warrant to arrest this woman, who is not an aristocrat, since she has become my wife, the Citizeness Tournay. As for Gardin, he has insulted the Republic. He has forfeited the right to lead you. In the name of the Republic I appoint you, Forgons, the secretary of this section. To-night I return to Paris and will see that the confirmation of your appointment is sent you at once. Now, citizens, take up this fellow," he said, pointing to Gardin. "He shows signs of returning consciousness. A little cold water pumped over his head will bring him back to life. Come, follow me, I will be your leader for the present."
The mob took up the body and bore it off, cheering loudly for the Republic. Forgons went with them slowly, shaking his head, with a puzzled expression on his face.