PRESENTLY the first agitation was past, and Trimousette told, as if it were the simplest thing in the world, the story of her journey alone by diligence from the Breton coast to Paris, and how she forced her way into Robespierre’s presence and had wrung from him the boon of being with her husband.
“But let us not deceive ourselves,” said the duke gently, still holding her to his breast. “I shall not escape from the Temple this time. No man has ever got away from this prison twice. I am destined to follow his Majesty the King and her Majesty the Queen to the guillotine.”
He expected that Trimousette would faint or shriek when he said this, but she looked at him with calm eyes and answered in a soft, unbroken voice:
“So it may be, but Robespierre has promised me that when you leave the prison I shall go with you.”
The duke held her a little way from him and studied her reflectively. Yes, it was better so. In a flash had been revealed to him the height and depth of her adoration. What would be her fate if left alone among those howling wolves who now ravened France? He would have taken with him any creature that he loved, as he would have saved a bullet for that creature if he had been surrounded and overwhelmed by savages, whose blood thirst must be appeased.
“Well, then,” continued Trimousette, still smiling and composed, “let us here await God’s will.”
“And that of the National Assembly,” grimly replied the duke, who had not become either pious or forgiving under the shadow of the guillotine, but, like most men, was the same in all circumstances. Some, however, mistake fear for repentance—not so Fernand, Duke of Belgarde.
There was but one chair, one bed, one table in the room, and when the turnkey brought the duke’s supper, there was only one cup, one plate, and no spoon or knife at all. To the turnkey’s surprise, Citizen and Citizeness Belgarde made merry at this. Trimousette was to have a little cell opening into the duke’s, but when the rusty door was forced wide, there was nothing but the bare walls and floor. The duke, assuming an air of authority as if he were giving orders to a lackey at the Château de Belgarde, directed the turnkey to bring what was necessary for the comfort of the Duchess of Belgarde, and the turnkey, appreciating the joke, grinned and winked at the duke. Then the duchess, in her sweet, complaisant manner, said to him:
“Pray, take no offense at the Duke of Belgarde. He is not yet used to being in prison. But do me the favor, please, kind sir, to give me at least a bed to sleep upon and a chair to sit in. Not so good as your wife has at home, perhaps, but I shall be easily satisfied.”