I turned into a side passage, and opened another door. It was a small room which apparently had escaped observation. Every thing here bore token of the purity of feminine taste. The little bed was untouched: there were flowers in the window, a breviary upon the table, and a crucifix suspended on the wall. The poor young inmate of this place had been also summoned from her sanctuary, never more to enter it again. As I came in, a little bird in a cage raised a loud twittering, and began to beat itself against the wires. The seed-box was empty, and the last drop of water had been finished. In a revolution such as this, it is the fate of favourites to be neglected.
The poor thing was perishing of hunger. I had no food to give it, but I opened the cage and the window, and set it free. With a shrill note of joy, it darted off to the trees, happier than its mistress, now thrown upon the mercy of a rude and selfish world. I looked down upon the scene beneath. The river was flowing tranquilly to the sea; the first breezes of spring were moving through the trees, just beginning to burgeon and expand; the sun was sinking amidst the golden clouds tranquilly—no sign in heaven or earth betokened that on that day a mighty monarchy had fallen. The roar of Paris was hushed; the work of desolation was over; and on the morrow, its first day would dawn upon the infant Republic.
“May Heaven shelter the unfortunate!” I exclaimed; “and may my native land be long preserved from the visitation of a calamity like this!”
CHAPTER V.
TWO PROVISIONAL GOVERNMENTS.
I awoke upon the morrow impressed with that strange sensation which is so apt to occur after the first night’s repose in a new and unfamiliar locality. I could not for some time remember where I was. The events of the two last days beset me like the recollections of an unhealthy dream, produced by the agency of opiates; and it was with difficulty I could persuade myself that I had passed the night beneath the roof of the famous Tuilleries.
“After all,” thought I, “the event may be an interesting, but it is by no means an unusual one, in this transitory world of ours. Louis XVI., Napoleon, Charles X., Louis Philippe, and Dunshunner, have by turns occupied the palace, and none of them have had the good fortune to leave it in perpetuity to their issue. Since abdication is the order of the day, I shall even follow the example of my royal predecessors, and bolt with as much expedition as possible; for, to say the truth, I am getting tired of this turmoil, and I think, with Sir Kenneth of Scotland, that the waters of the Clyde would sound pleasant and grateful in mine ear.”
A very slight toilet sufficed for the occasion, and I sallied forth with the full intention of making my immediate escape. This was not so easy. I encountered no one in the corridors, but as I opened the door of the Salle des Trophées, a din of many voices burst upon my ears. A number of persons occupied the hall, apparently engaged in the discussion of an extempore breakfast. To my infinite disgust, I recognised my quondam acquaintances of the cellar.
“Aha! thou art still here then, citizen?” cried Monsieur Destripes, who was inflicting huge gashes upon a ham, filched, probably, from the royal buttery. “By my faith we thought thou had’st given us the slip. Never mind—we are not likely to part soon; so sit thee down and partake of our republican cheer.”
“I am afraid,” said I, “that business requires my presence elsewhere.”
“Let it keep till it cool then,” replied the other. “Suffice it to say, that no man quits this hall till the whole of us march out en masse. Say I right, brother Pomme-de-terre?”