“All very well,” answered Michou; “but, for the present, that is not to be thought of.”
“My God!” cried Jeanne, “what has happened?”
“The revolution in Paris,” said Michou; “and this time it is real. Here is a letter from M. le Marquis, who tells me that in three days from now all will be fire and blood. He orders me to join him—Jeannet is with him—and I will take guns for everybody.”
Jeannette fell fainting in a chair. M. le Curé conversed with Michou; and, meanwhile, Ragaud and Pierrette entered, and learned, in their turn, the event, which was very true, as we all know. I leave you to think if there were ahs! and ohs! and exclamations of all kinds. For a full hour there were so many contradictory statements you would have thought the revolution at Paris transported to Muiceron. Several peasants, returning from the [pg 189] city, stopped at the farm, and reported there was agitation everywhere; that a great number of workmen in the factories had decamped; and, as under similar circumstances all sorts of stories are told and believed, it was added that half the capital was already burnt, and that smoke was seen in all the other parts of the city. At that, Michou shrugged his shoulders; but he was anxious about his master, whom he knew to be the man to do a thousand imprudent things, so he took a hasty farewell of his friends, and that very evening passed Muiceron in full rig, armed and equipped, ready for his post.
So once again everybody at Muiceron became gloomy and miserable, as each day brought its fresh contingent of sad news. For if, in the city and among learned men, where there is every chance of correct information, every one appears half crazy in time of public calamity, and in a fever to talk all kinds of nonsense, you can imagine what it is in a village, where one is obliged to listen to the neighbors and gossips, who always improve on the most absurd reports. It is true, also, that they never see a paper, and it is lucky if they preserve a few gleams of good sense; but what each one draws from his own private source amply suffices to bewilder everybody.
I, who speak to you, and who was very young at the time of this revolution, remember well to have heard it positively affirmed that the king, Louis Philippe, and his family had been crucified in front of their château, then cut in little pieces, boiled, and eaten by the people! And when, in addition, it was said that the waters of the Seine had formed a magnificent cascade from the heaped-up corpses, and were red with blood as far as the bridge at Rouen, I did not think the thing incredible, and, with great simplicity, I always awaited still more extraordinary news.
I remember, also, that a band of our most respectable young men took turns every night in mounting guard around the château of Val-Saint, because it was known, from a trustworthy source, that the cellars contained more than a hundred barrels of powder, ready to blow up at the shortest notice. Now, to ask how so many barrels, the least of which weighed as much as a tun of wine, could have been placed there without being seen, is what no person thought of; and the reflection, what man, sufficiently desirous of putting an end to his days by bringing that enormous building down upon him (a thing which could profit no one), would be capable of setting fire to the powder, still less entered their heads; and yet terror was at its height at the mere thought of an explosion so tremendous that it would have broken all windows for two leagues round. And thus it is that good people, without wishing it, lend their hands to the revolution.
It was not that all this was believed at Muiceron as readily as I swallowed it, but, in reality, they were very anxious, and ardently desirous of hearing news. A long week passed. M. Michou wrote a short letter, in which he said everybody was well, that M. le Marquis and Jean-Louis were always together, and cried out, “Long live the king!” in the streets while carrying a white flag, which made the boys of the street laugh, but at which no one took any exception. He added that King Louis Philippe was driven out, and that for the present the republic was much spoken of. Thereupon [pg 190] Ragaud declared that all was lost; for he, like all those of his age, only understood the republic as accompanied by scaffolds, drownings, and robberies, as in that of 1793, which he well remembered.
Jeannette, then, with the consent of M. le Curé, wrote a long and touching letter, which she addressed to Solange, in which she poured forth all the warmth and fire of her little heart. The poor child dared not write directly to Jeannet, in the fear that new events might prevent his receiving the missive; but she did not doubt that Solange would find means to read it to him who would receive so much consolation from its contents. The misfortune was that, in the midst of the fray, that good girl could hear nothing about her old friend; and, between ourselves, it was, I believe, because she had no permission to mix herself up in the affair, as she lived retired and absorbed in prayer with the other young sisters of the novitiate. It therefore followed that when Jeannet, in his turn, wrote to M. le Curé, it seemed, from the quiet, sad, and cold tone of his letter, that he knew nothing of this step of Jeannette's, or, if he knew it, he attached no importance to it, and wished them to understand it was too late to repair matters.
It was this last idea which fastened itself in the child's head as firmly as a nail in the wood. She became profoundly sad, which, according to her habit, she concealed as much as possible; and thus passed weeks and months without anything further being said of the return of the dear boy, so fondly desired by all at Muiceron.