“The King!” she cried, and as we rose to drink the toast I had a vision of a boy of twelve issuing triumphantly from the gate of the Temple to avenge his murdered father.
“And may God protect him!” added M. le Comte, as we set our glasses down.
There was gloom for a moment in our hearts, and I at least felt the stark horror of the Revolution as I had never done. I saw more clearly its blood-guiltiness, its red madness. For in our quiet home at Beaufort the delirium of Paris had seemed far away, almost of another age and country.
We had shuddered at the stories of the September massacres, but only as one shudders at any tale of horror; even yet we scarcely believed that the King was really dead. It seemed impossible that such things could happen. Just as the body pushed beyond a certain limit of pain grows numb and suffers no more, so the mind after a certain time refuses to be impressed. It was thus with the reports which came from Paris, as one followed another, each more terrible than the last. Not even the actors in that hideous drama comprehended what was passing there; they were but chips in a maelstrom, hurled hither and thither, utterly powerless to stay or to direct the flood which hurried them on and finally sucked them down.
We of Beaufort were far off the beaten track, and of too little consequence to cause the tide of revolution to sweep in our direction; so it had passed us by at such a distance that we had caught only the faint, confused murmur of it. True, our peasants had for the most part deserted us; our fields were untilled, our flocks untended. There was no money in the till and little meat in the larder. But personally we had experienced no danger, and expected none. We had been content to sit quietly by while France wrought out her destiny, pitying those less fortunate than ourselves, and happy in the safety which our obscurity won for us.
Now I was suddenly brought face to face with the question, What was my duty? Was it to stay at home and permit these scoundrels to have their way unquestioned? Was it not rather to join the army of La Vendée and add my atom to its strength, to do what in me lay to render that campaign against the cannibals at Paris not a dream but a reality? For at last I understood. Those hideous tales were true. The fair land of France lay at the mercy of the vilest of her people——
“Still pondering the riddle?” asked my companion; and I turned to find her again regarding me with a provoking scrutiny.
“No, mademoiselle,” I said. “I was thinking that when M. le Comte rides back to the Bocage I will accompany him.”
Her eyes flashed a swift approval.
“That is a man’s place!” she said. “That is where I would be, were I a man!”