Denounced: A Romance

by John Bloundelle-Burton

"HIS HOURS TO THEIR LAST MINUTE MOUNTED."

After that night Bertie ceased to believe that he would ever go forth from the Bastille; a lethargy, which was partly despair and partly a fierce, bitter repining at the inexplicable, unmerited cruelty which had consigned him to such a place, took possession of his spirits, and he came to regard himself as one who was dead to the world for ever.

Yet from the other--to whose long sufferings his own could at present form no comparison--he received consolation in many forms; from De Chevagny, continual exhortations were made that he should never lose heart, while even Bluet would tell him, in his own familiar, good-natured manner, that he was far too young a visitor to consider himself a permanency as yet.

"There have been men here," said the marquis, repeating the same stories over and over again to him for his comfort, "who have not given up hope for years, who have then done so and become despairing, and have then, after still more years, gone out free." After which he would tell of the Dutch doctor who had been mistaken for the Alsatian poisoner; of others who had been there ten, fifteen, twenty years, and had at last got away; indeed, to solace poor Bertie, the marquis more than once said that even he himself, after forty-three years, had not lost all courage, and hoped to spend some few of those remaining to him in freedom. Yet, as the other looked in his face and heard his sad, trembling tones, he knew that it was but pity that inspired the words; that, in his heart, De Chevagny knew he would never be released.

From Falmy--by use of their letters which, in spite of the change in lodging, they could still make visible to one another--he received also many sentences of encouragement and counsel, while one day there came from that unhappy man a piece of information which once more set his heart beating with hope, and raised great expectations.

"I have been joined by another prisoner," he signalled across to the window of the calotte. "He is, however, about to obtain his liberty--awaits only his signed acquittal from D'Argenson. If you have messages to send, he will deliver them if possible."

In an instant Bertie had snatched from an old trunk that had been brought by De Chevagny the letters which he used, and a few moments later he had begun to signal a message to his mother, which he intended to augment by another to Kate. His heart beat high as he did so; he knew that, if this prisoner who was to be released was only faithful, in a few days at most the two women who loved him so would know of his whereabouts, though they were powerless to obtain his freedom. Yet, could even that be possible? Who could say? His mother might represent to the King his long and faithful services in the regiment; Kate might have powerful friends at court who could do something.

With trembling hands he formed the words, letter by letter. "Tell him my name is Elphinston. Bid him seek out my mother. She lives at the Rue----" Alas! as he finished the last letter of the word "Rue," upon the calotte about the tower in which Falmy was there appeared the cone-shaped shako, or cap, worn by the corps de garde of the Bastille, followed by the body of a sentry, and, hastily leaving the window, he desisted from his work. He was foiled for the day at least; the sentry he knew, was set on that particular tower, and either he or those who relieved him would be there for twenty-four hours. And as he reflected that in those twenty-four hours the acquit from D'Argenson might come for the prisoner who was about to be released, he felt as if he would go mad.

Falmy appeared at his window often during the day, looking wistfully up to the calotte, though Bertie, who could still observe him when standing back from the window, dared make no sign. It would matter nothing for the soldiers to see him at the opening--the prisoners were allowed the privilege of looking out if the windows were low enough to permit of their doing so--but the slightest communication that should be observed to pass between them would be visited with the most severe punishment, even to confinement in the dungeons beneath the ditch. He perceived, therefore, all the signs of distress on Falmy's face; he even observed him turn round, and saw his lips move as he gesticulated to his new companion within the room; he could guess, as plainly as though he had heard him, what the Genevese was saying. He felt sure that he was explaining that there must be a sentry above them, and that therefore Elphinston dared not signal across.

"Oh!" exclaimed poor Bertie, "oh, if I had but acquainted them with my mother's address at once before the guard was set! that would have been enough. Fool! fool that I am to lose so fair a chance! The very visit of a man set free from this place to my mother's house would have alarmed her suspicions, would have told her all. And now, now, he knows not where to go. God help me! it was my only hope, and I have lost it."