At length the night preceding the great day arrived. Danton came home very late, as he had been detained helping to perfect the arrangements for the morrow.
Assuming that all were asleep, he crept upstairs. At Lucille’s room he paused, and, leaving his candle on the landing, he gently pushed open the door that he might go in, as usual, to whisper good-night to her, as she lay asleep in her little nest, under the guardianship of a Madonna, before whose shrine a small red lamp was always burning. To-night he was surprised to find the room in utter darkness. The lamp must have gone out, he thought. He brought in his candle, and when by its light he saw the room he was hardly able to suppress an exclamation of amazement. It had undergone a complete metamorphosis. The dainty curtains had gone from the bed; the shrine had been removed, and also the pictures of the saints from the walls. Instead of these were portraits of Danton and other Titans of the great Revolution, and over Lucille’s bed was a lurid picture of the execution of Louis XVI.
Bending over the sleeping Lucille, he thought he noticed the trace of tears on her cheek. Utterly perplexed, he stole out of the room hoping to find some explanation from his wife, but she was snoring the snore of the just; and on the bedroom wall facing the door was the legend “Liberty, Fraternity, Equality—or Death.”
Danton did not dare to rouse Madame; and desirous of blotting out the words that seemed to mock him, he blew out the candle and went to bed in the dark.
After about an hour he woke with a scream.
“What is the matter, Danton?”
“Oh, nothing, chérie, I’ve had a nightmare.”
“No weakness, Danton.”
“No, chérie.”
Madame in a second or two was again snoring rhythmically, but to Danton sleep did not return so speedily. He had been dreaming of processions; then he thought he was in a tumbrel on the way to execution, and that the angry crowd with threatening gestures were hurling fierce oaths at him, and turning to escape the sight he found himself face to face with a fellow victim—it was Lucille! Although he knew now that it was only a nightmare, the horrible vision kept renewing itself, but merciful sleep came to him at last, and, when he awoke again, it was the cheery voice of the bonne offering her usual good morning to Monsieur and Madame, as she entered the bedroom with the petit déjeuner.