The revelation that Tournay was condemned, the awful knowledge that he would be executed on the morrow, conveyed to her thus suddenly, made the room reel before Edmé's eyes. In her dizziness she fell against one of the tables and held to it for support.
In the quiet that followed the departure of the clerks she pressed her head and tried to think. At first her benumbed brain refused to work; then as the full significance of the clerk's action came back to her, when she realized just what he had done and what she in her turn might do, she stood erect, alert, and courageous.
The warrant for Robert's death; could she get possession of it? With a beating heart she glided into the chamber of death warrants.
A lamp was burning in the room, and there in plain view upon the table were three packets of black-covered papers. She bent over them hastily and at once took up the file marked: "Warrants of the eighth Thermidor." With nervous fingers she ran them through, looking at each name until she came to that of "Tournay, Robert, ex-colonel." At sight of the name she gave a half-suppressed cry, and took it quietly from the others. "They shall not send you to the guillotine to-morrow, Robert," she breathed. Her first thought was how to make way with the fatal paper. She looked round the room; it had one window and two doors. The window looked out upon the street. One doorway led back into the tribunal chamber. Through the other, a small one, the two clerks must have passed out. She hastened towards it, praying fervently that they had omitted to fasten it. Vain prayer, the clerks had not been remiss in their duty here. It was locked. Yet it was not a strong barrier. A few blows struck with some heavy object might break it through; or better still there was a pistol in the drawer of one of the desks; with that she could blow the lock to atoms. Either method would make a noise, but she must take the risk.
Just as these thoughts flashed through her mind, she saw to her consternation the door-handle turn, and heard the grating of a key on the outside.
"The employees returning," she thought, and had just presence of mind enough to pass her left hand, which still clutched the death warrant, behind her back, when the door opened, and she was face to face with a woman.
"Hello!" said the latter, "I expected to find Clément and Hanneton here. Who are you?"
"I—I am,—I came in the place of Madame—of Citizeness Privat."
"You seem a little put out, citizeness, at the sight of La Liberté. You have never seen me before? That's why, eh? Tell me, now, what are you doing here?"
"I am doing the work of Citizeness Privat, who is ill," replied Edmé, recovering her self-possession.