After this toilet, and a breakfast of rolls and coffee, partaken together from the rough deal table, the two prisoners felt as if they had known each other for years.
The lines of their lives had frequently run near together during the years of the Revolution, yet in all that whirl of events had never crossed till now, since the summer day in the woods of La Thierry, when the Marquis de St. Hilaire had placed his hand upon the boy's shoulder and bade him save his life by flight.
By some common understanding, subtler than words, no reference to past events was made by either of them. They began their acquaintance then and there; the officer in the republican army, and the Citizen St. Hilaire; fellow prisoners, who in spite of any misfortune that might overtake them would never falter in their devotion and loyalty to their beloved country, France, and who recognized each in the other a man of courage and a gentleman.
So the day passed in discussing the victories of the armies, the oppression and tyranny practiced by the committee, and the prospects of the future.
A few days after Tournay's incarceration the turnkey came toward nightfall to give them a short time for recreation in the courtyard. This, though far from satisfying, was hailed with pleasure by the prisoners, and especially by Tournay, who, accustomed to the violent exertion of the camp and field, chafed for want of exercise.
They were escorted along the upper corridor, whence they could look down into the main hall on the first floor of the Luxembourg. Here, those prisoners who were happy enough not to be confined under special orders, had the privilege of congregating during the hours of the day and early evening. Looking down upon this scene shortly after the supper hour, Tournay drew a breath of surprise. He felt for a moment as if he were transported back to the days before the Revolution and was looking upon a reception in the crowded salons of the château de Rochefort where the baron entertained as became a grand seigneur. The republican colonel turned a look of inquiry toward St. Hilaire. The latter gave a slight shrug as he answered:—
"The ladies dress three times a day and appear in the evening in full toilet. As for the men, they also wear the best they have. You will see that many wear suits which in better days would have been thrown to their lackeys. Now they are mended and remended during the day, that they may make their appearance at night, and defy the shadows of the gray stone walls and the imperfect candlelight quite bravely." And St. Hilaire himself pulled a spotless ruffle below the sleeves of his well-worn coat.
"And so," mused Tournay, "they can find the heart to wear a gay exterior in such a place as this?"
"No revolution is great enough to change the feelings and passions of human nature," replied St. Hilaire. "They only adapt themselves to new conditions. Here, within these walls, under the shadow of the guillotine, Generosity, Envy, Love, and Vanity play the same parts they do in the outer world. Affairs of the heart refuse to be locked out by a jailer's key, and these darkened recesses nightly resound with tender accents and the sighs of lovers. Bright eyes kindle sparks that only death can quench. Jealousy, also, is sometimes aroused, and I am told that even affairs of honor have taken place here."
"I should never have dreamed it possible," said the soldier, looking with renewed interest upon the moving picture at his feet; from which a sound of vivacious conversation arose like the multiplied hum of many swarms of bees.