“Pah!” said the fellow contemptuously. “Has one of them ever been converted? Answer me that, citizen!”
“Come,” said Dubosq, sharply, “I have given you the orders. See that you obey them. Forward!”
The squad moved on past me toward the château, and I cautiously raised my head above the back of the seat and peered around. The sentry had been posted so close to me that I could hear him still growling to himself.
“A Septembrist!” I told myself. “A monster! An assassin!”
But as I looked at him I could scarcely believe that this was the bloodthirsty ruffian whose voice I had listened to. He stood leaning on his musket, staring toward the château, and a beam of light falling full upon his face revealed a mere youth, with features finely chiselled and the dreamy eyes of a poet. His hair clustered about his face in little curls, his lips were curved and sensitive as any woman’s. I stared at him amazed; then suddenly I understood. This was one of those who fought for an ideal, who fancied that the era of universal brotherhood was at hand, and that the Revolution was to make it possible—one to whom “Liberty, equality, fraternity” was not a mere phrase, but a vision to be realized. I had heard of such, but never until that moment had I believed in their existence. Could it be that after all the Revolution had in it a germ of good, a possibility of light?
I shook the thought away—it was absurd to suppose that good could spring from murder and outrage, that light could come from a darkness so revolting. This was not a moment for theories, but for deeds. I must go; I must make a dash for it. I should fall, of course. He could scarcely miss me in that clear light. But the shot would alarm the house, would give its occupants at least a moment to prepare for their defense. That, at any rate, I could accomplish.
I gathered myself for the spring. Just ahead of me lay a strip of moonlit lawn—it was there that the peril lay—it was there he would bring me down. And the shot would precipitate the attack.
I paused. If there was no alarm at least twenty minutes would be required to post the sentries and to make sure there was no break in the chain. Perhaps there was another and a better way. Perhaps I could leap upon the sentry and bear him down before he could give the alarm.
I raised my head cautiously and looked at him again, measuring the distance. He was humming the “Marseillaise,” his thoughts evidently far away, for his eyes were lifted and he was staring absently up at the clear heavens. Had I a dagger I could have struck him down. But I had no weapon; and even had there been a dagger in my hand I doubt if I could have nerved my arm to the blow, so pure, so youthful did he appear at that moment—younger than I. And somehow I understood that there in the sky he saw a face smiling down at him.
I shook myself savagely and called myself a fool. Since he had espoused the cause of murderers he must suffer like any other—this was no time to hesitate. Again I measured the distance and noted his abstraction. I would be upon him at a single bound, and, my fingers once at his throat, I knew that he would not cry out.