NO. 7 RUE D'ARCIS
The order signed by Robespierre for the immediate release of a prisoner had not been questioned by the keeper of the conciergerie, and within a few minutes from the time when Edmé presented the document with a heart fluctuating between the wildest hope and the greatest fear, Colonel Tournay walked out of the prison a free man.
The sudden manner of his release, the fact that it had been effected by Edmé's own daring and sagacity, and that he owed his life to her whom he loved, made his brain reel. Then the recognition of the danger that still menaced him, and above all the woman who was by his side, brought him back to himself, and he was again cool, alert, and determined as she had always known him. Drawing her arm through his and walking rapidly in the shadows of Rue Barillerie, he said quickly:—
"The pursuit will be instant. Robespierre will ransack all Paris to find us. But I know a hiding-place. Come quickly."
She looked up at him. "I feel perfectly safe now," she said, and together they hurried onward.
Suddenly she stopped. "But how about Agatha!" she exclaimed, as the thought of her faithful companion came to her mind for the time.
"Agatha! Where is she?" asked Tournay almost impatiently, chafing at a moment's delay.
"At the Citizeness Privat's in the Rue Vaugirard. They will surely find and arrest her. Robert, we must not let them."
"The delay may mean the difference between life and death," replied Tournay, turning in the direction of the Rue Vaugirard; "but we must not let Agatha fall into Robespierre's clutches."
In a few minutes they passed up the Rue Vaugirard. "Which is the house?" asked Tournay anxiously.
"There; the small one with the blinds drawn down. Agatha will be anxiously waiting for me, I know. There she is now in the doorway. She sees us! Agatha, quick! Never mind your hat or cloak. Ask no questions. Now Robert, take us where you will."
Passing Edmé's arm through his own, and with Agatha on the other side, Tournay conducted the two women rapidly down the street.
At the same moment gendarmes were running in all directions carrying Robespierre's orders.
Two of them hastened to the house of Citizeness Privat. They found her in bed. Awakened from her sleep, she could only give meagre information about her lodgers. There were two of them; one, she thought, was still in the room across the hall. A tall gendarme opened the door and walked in without ceremony. He found the room empty, although a few articles of feminine apparel indicated that it had been occupied recently.
"Hem!" sniffed the tall gendarme, "women!" Then he called in his companions, and they proceeded to examine everything in the hope of finding a clue.
At that moment Robert Tournay, Edmé, and Agatha were approaching the Rue d'Arcis.
"It is only a step from here," said Tournay encouragingly as they crossed the bridge St. Michel. "Once there we cannot be safer anywhere in Paris. I know of the place from a fellow prisoner in the Luxembourg."
They passed through a narrow passageway and underneath some houses, and emerged into the Rue d'Arcis. Crossing the street, and looking carefully in both directions to see if they were unobserved, Tournay struck seven quick low notes with the knocker on the door. They waited in silence for some time; then Tournay repeated the knocking a little louder than before. They waited again and listened intently. Edmé's teeth began to chatter with nervous excitement, and Tournay looked once more apprehensively up and down the street.
"Who knocks?" was the question breathed gently through a small aperture in the door.
"From Raphael," whispered Tournay, "open quickly."
"Enter."
The door swung inward on its hinges, and the three fugitives hastened to accept the hospitality offered them.
It was an old man who answered their summons and who closed the door carefully after them. He now stood before them shading with his palm a candle, which the draft, blowing through the large empty corridors, threatened to extinguish altogether. The dancing flame threw grotesque shadows on the wall. As the light played upon the features of the old man, first touching his white beard and then shining upon his serene brow, Edmé thought she looked upon a face familiar to her in the past, but, no sign of recognition appearing in the eyes that met her gaze, she attributed it to fancy.
"Your name is Beaurepaire?" inquired Tournay.
"That is my name," was the old man's answer.
In a few words Colonel Tournay told of his acquaintance with St. Hilaire, and explained how, had their plan of escape succeeded, they would have come there together. Unfortunately he alone had escaped,—and now came to ask that he and his two companions might remain there in hiding for a few days.
"You came from Raphael," replied Beaurepaire with the dignity of an earlier time. "The length of your stay is to be determined by your own desire."
He led the way along the corridor, down a short flight of steps, through a covered passageway, into what appeared to be an adjoining house; Tournay asked no questions, but, with Edmé and Agatha, followed blindly.
Their aged conductor ushered them into a large room, which had formerly been a handsome salon; but the few articles of furniture still remaining in it were decrepit and dusty. The once polished floor was sadly marred, and appeared to have remained unswept for years. The room was wainscoted in dark wood to the height of six feet, and upon the wall above it hung portraits of ladies and gentlemen of the house of St. Hilaire. Here they had hung for years before the Revolution, dusty and forgotten.
At the end and along one side of the room ran a gallery which was reached by a short straight flight of stairs, and around this gallery from floor to ceiling were shelves of books.
Beaurepaire mounted the stairs, and looking among the books as if searching for a certain volume, pushed back part of a bookcase and revealed a door. He motioned them to ascend.
"In here," he said, pointing to a small room with low-studded ceiling, "the two ladies can retire. It is the only room in the house suitable for their comfort. You, sir," he continued, looking at Colonel Tournay, "will have to lie here upon the gallery floor. There is only a rug to soften the oak boards, but you are, I see, a soldier. To-morrow I will see what can be done to make the place more habitable."
Edmé and Agatha passed through the aperture in the wall, the venerable Beaurepaire bowing low before them.
"At daylight I will bring you some food; until then I wish you good repose." He withdrew, and Colonel Tournay was left to stretch himself out upon the gallery floor to get what sleep he could.
It was daylight when he opened his eyes, and looking through the balustrade to the room below, saw a loaf of bread, some grapes, and a steaming pitcher of hot milk set on a large mahogany table which stood against the wall. He had evidently been awakened by the entrance of his host, for the figure of Beaurepaire was standing with his back to him, looking out of the window into the courtyard. The colonel kicked aside the rugs which had served him for a bed, and rising to his feet, started to descend.
The figure at the window turned at the sound of the tread upon the stairs, and Tournay stopped short with one hand on the rail. "He has shaved off his flowing beard overnight," was his astonished thought. Then the next instant he recognized that it was not Beaurepaire, but Father Ambrose, the old priest of La Thierry, who stood before him.
The latter approached with his usual dignity.
"Father Ambrose," exclaimed Tournay in surprise, "how can this be? Who, then, is this Beaurepaire?"
"He is my brother. I have lived here for more than six months. I saw you when you came last night, but waited until now before making myself known. Inform me, my good sir, how fares it with Mademoiselle de Rochefort?"
"You shall see her presently. She and Agatha are in the chamber behind the secret panel. They are doubtless much fatigued from the excitement of yesterday, and we would better let them sleep as long as they can. In the meantime I will eat some of this food, for I am desperately hungry."
"Do so, my son," replied the priest. "I would eat with you, but for the fact that I never break my fast before noon."
Tournay helped himself to a generous slice of bread and a bunch of grapes.
"Tell me," he asked, as he began on the luscious fruit, "how do you obtain the necessities of life? Do you dare venture out to buy them?"
"I have not set my foot outside the door since I first entered. All the communication with the outside world has been held by my brother, who has managed to keep free from suspicion, and who goes and comes in his quiet way as the occasion arises."
A knock upon the door brought Tournay to his feet. He stopped with the pitcher of milk in one hand and looked at Father Ambrose.
"There is no cause for alarm," said the priest; "it is my brother's knock;" and going to the door he drew back the bolt.
Tournay set down the milk jug untasted, with an exclamation of surprise, as he saw Gaillard burst into the room, followed by the old man Beaurepaire. The actor, no longer dressed in the disguise of an old man, was greatly excited.
"Great news, my colonel!" he exclaimed without stopping to explain how he had found his way there. "Robespierre has been arrested by the convention."
Tournay sprang forward and grasped his friend by both shoulders. "At last they have done it!" he cried excitedly. "Gaillard, tell me about it. How was it brought about?"
"Embrace me again, my colonel," exclaimed Gaillard, throwing his arms about Tournay and talking all the time. "It was this way: I heard the cry in the streets that the convention had risen almost to a man and arrested Robespierre and a few of his nearest satellites. At once I ran to the conciergerie to try and see you. Everything was in confusion. The news of Robespierre's arrest had just reached there. 'Can I see Colonel Tournay?' I demanded of the jailer.
"'He is not here,' he answered, turning from me to a dozen other excited questioners.
"'He has not been sent to the guillotine?' I cried, with my heart in my mouth.
"'No; liberated by Robespierre's order last night.'
"'What!' I shouted, thinking the man mad.
"'The order was countermanded fifteen minutes after the citizen colonel had left the prison,' cried the warden in reply. 'Don't ask me any more questions. My head is in a whirl; I cannot think.'
"I, myself, was so excited I could not think; but when I collected my few senses I recollected that St. Hilaire had told you of a place of refuge in case of emergency. 'My little colonel is there,' I said to myself, and flew here on the wind. Everywhere along the way people were congratulating one another. The greatest excitement prevailed. No notice was taken of an old man of eighty running like a lad of sixteen. When I reached your door I took off my wig and beard and put them in my pocket. Ah, my colonel, we shall wear our own faces; we shall speak our own minds, now that the tyrant himself is in the toils."
"Will they be able to keep him there?" asked Father Ambrose; "he will not yield without a struggle. The Jacobins may try to arouse the masses to rescue him."
"The populace is seething with excitement," said Gaillard. "Some quarters of the town are for the fallen tyrant; others are against him. In the Faubourg St. Antoine, the stronghold of the Jacobins, Robespierre is openly denounced by some, yet his adherents are still strong there and are arming themselves. The convention stands firm as a rock. 'Down with the tyrant!' is the cry."
"There is work for us," exclaimed Tournay. "Father Ambrose," he continued, turning to the priest, "I must go out at once. I leave you to tell the news to Mademoiselle de Rochefort. Tell her to remain here in the strictest seclusion until I return and assure her that we can leave here in safety. I leave her in your keeping, Father Ambrose. Now, Gaillard, let us go."
In the streets, Tournay found that his friend had not exaggerated the popular excitement. As they walked along both he and Gaillard kept their ears alert to hear everything that was said.
Suddenly a noise caused them to stop and look into each other's faces with consternation.
"The tumbrils!" exclaimed Gaillard, in answer to Tournay's look.
"That looks bad for our party," said Tournay. "One would expect the executions to cease, or at least be suspended, on the day of Robespierre's arrest."
"There is no one to give a coherent order," replied Gaillard. "Some of the prison governors do not know which way to turn, or whom to obey. The same with the police. They need a leader."
As he spoke they turned into the Rue Vaugirard and saw coming toward them down the street two death carts, escorted by a dozen gendarmes. The street was choked with a howling mass of people, and from their shouts it was manifest that some were demanding that the carts be sent back, while others were equally vociferous in urging them on. Meanwhile, the gendarmes stolidly made their way through the crowd as best they could.
Many of the occupants of the tumbrils leaned supplicatingly over the sides of the carts and implored the people to save them.
The crowd finally became so large as to impede the further progress of the carts.
"My God!" cried Tournay, grasping Gaillard by the arm. "There is St. Hilaire."
In the second cart stood the Citizen St. Hilaire. He held himself erect and stood motionless, his arms, like those of the rest of the prisoners, tightly pinioned behind him. But it could be seen that he was addressing the populace and exciting their sympathy. By his side was Madame d'Arlincourt, her large blue eyes fixed intently upon St. Hilaire; she seemed unmindful of the scene around her, and to be already in another world.
In the rear of the cart, dressed in white, was La Liberté. Her face was flushed and animated, and she was talking loudly and rapidly to the crowd which followed the tumbril.
Tournay sprang to the head of the procession. He still wore his uniform, and the crowd made way for him.
"Why did you take these tumbrils out to-day?" he demanded of the gendarmes. "Do you not know that Robespierre is in prison and the executions are to be stopped?"
"I have my orders from the keeper of the Luxembourg. I am to take these tumbrils to the Place de la Révolution," replied the officer; then addressing the crowd, he cried, "Make way there, citizens, make way there and let us proceed!"
"No, no!" cried a great number of voices, while others cried out, "Yes, make way!" But all still blocked the passage of the carts.
"The keeper of the Luxembourg had no authority to order the execution of these prisoners to-day. Take them at once back to the prison," ordered Tournay.
"Where is your authority? Show it to me and I will obey you," replied the police officer.
"This is not a day on which we present written authority," answered Tournay. "I tell you I have the right to order you back to the prison. It is the will of the convention."
"I take my orders from the Commune," replied the gendarme stubbornly. "I must go forward."
Gaillard had meantime worked his way to Tournay's shoulder, and the latter said a few words in his ear. Gaillard plunged into the crowd and was off like a shot in the direction of the convention.
"Citizens, let us pass!" cried the gendarmes impatiently.
"Citizens," Tournay cried out in a loud voice, "it is the will of the convention that no executions take place to-day. These carts must not go. I call upon you to help me." As he spoke he ran to the horses' heads. The crowd swept the gendarmes to one side, and in a moment's time the tumbrils were turned about.
Then a clatter of hoofs was heard, accompanied by angry shouts, and the crowd broke and scattered in all directions, as Commandant Henriot, followed by a troop of mounted police, rode through them.
"What is the meaning of this?" he roared out.
"Where shall we go, back to the Luxembourg or forward to the Place de la Révolution?" cried out the bewildered gendarmes who guarded the tumbrils.
"To the guillotine, of course, always the guillotine," answered Henriot. "About, face! Citizens, disperse!"
The crowd had closed up and were muttering their disapproval, many even going so far as to flourish weapons.
"Citizens," cried Tournay fearlessly, "this man Henriot has been indicted by the convention. He should now be a prisoner with Robespierre."
"Charge the crowd!" yelled Henriot to his lieutenant. "I will deal with this fellow; I know him. His name is Tournay." And he rode his horse at the colonel.
The latter sprang to one side, and seizing a sword from a gendarme, parried the trust of Henriot's weapon. Catching the horse by the bridle, he struck an upward blow at the commandant. The animal plunged forward and Tournay was thrown to the pavement, while the crowd fled before the charge of the mounted troops.
Before Henriot could wheel his charger, Tournay was on his feet, and realizing the impossibility of rallying any forces to contend with Henriot's, he took the first corner and made the best of his way up a narrow and deserted street.
He was somewhat shaken and bruised from his encounter, and stopping to recover breath for the first time, he noticed that the blood was flowing freely from a cut over the forehead which he had received during the short mêlée.
As he stanched the wound with his handkerchief, he heard footsteps behind him, and turning, saw a man dressed in the uniform of his own regiment running toward him. Wiping the blood from his eyes, he recognized Captain Dessarts who had served with him for the past year.
"You are wounded, colonel!" exclaimed Dessarts, taking the hand which Tournay stretched out to him. "Can I assist you?"
"It is only a scalp wound, but it bleeds villainously. You can tie this handkerchief about my head if you will."
"I tried to help you rally the crowd, my colonel, but it was hopeless. Yet with a few good soldiers behind his back, one could easily have cleared the streets of those hulking gendarmes. Do I hurt you?" he continued as he tied the knot.
"No," answered Tournay. "Tie it quickly and then come with me."
"I must go to the barracks, Colonel Tournay," replied Dessarts. "Your old regiment has been disbanded. I am here with my company, ordered to join another regiment and proceed to the Vendée."
"Where are your men quartered?" asked Tournay excitedly.
"Two streets above here."
"Will they obey you absolutely?"
"To the last man, my colonel."
"Will you follow me without a question?"
"To the death, my colonel."
"Come then, and bring me to your men at once. Every instant is worth a life. Let us run."