CHAPTER XXIX. FOR THE SAKE OF THAT HELPLESS INNOCENT
The next instant he was kneeling on the floor and his hands werewandering over the small, irregular flagstones immediately underneaththe table. Marguerite had risen to her feet; she watched her husbandwith intent and puzzled eyes; she saw him suddenly pass his slenderfingers along a crevice between two flagstones, then raise one of theseslightly and from beneath it extract a small bundle of papers, eachcarefully folded and sealed. Then he replaced the stone and once morerose to his knees.
He gave a quick glance toward the doorway. That corner of his cell, therecess wherein stood the table, was invisible to any one who had notactually crossed the threshold. Reassured that his movements could nothave been and were not watched, he drew Marguerite closer to him.
"Dear heart," he whispered, "I want to place these papers in your care.Look upon them as my last will and testament. I succeeded in foolingthose brutes one day by pretending to be willing to accede to theirwill. They gave me pen and ink and paper and wax, and I was to write outan order to my followers to bring the Dauphin hither. They left me inpeace for one quarter of an hour, which gave me time to write threeletters--one for Armand and the other two for Ffoulkes, and to hide themunder the flooring of my cell. You see, dear, I knew that you would comeand that I could give them to you then."
He paused, and that, ghost of a smile once more hovered round his lips.He was thinking of that day when he had fooled Heron and Chauvelin intothe belief that their devilry had succeeded, and that they had broughtthe reckless adventurer to his knees. He smiled at the recollectionof their wrath when they knew that they had been tricked, and aftera quarter of an hour's anxious waiting found a few sheets of paperscribbled over with incoherent words or satirical verse, and theprisoner having apparently snatched ten minutes' sleep, which seeminglyhad restored to him quite a modicum of his strength.
But of this he told Marguerite nothing, nor of the insults and thehumiliation which he had had to bear in consequence of that trick. Hedid not tell her that directly afterwards the order went forth thatthe prisoner was to be kept on bread and water in the future, nor thatChauvelin had stood by laughing and jeering while...
No! he did not tell her all that; the recollection of it all had stillthe power to make him laugh; was it not all a part and parcel of thatgreat gamble for human lives wherein he had held the winning cardshimself for so long?
"It is your turn now," he had said even then to his bitter enemy.
"Yes!" Chauvelin had replied, "our turn at last. And you will not bendmy fine English gentleman, we'll break you yet, never fear."
It was the thought of it all, of that hand to hand, will to will, spiritto spirit struggle that lighted up his haggard face even now, gave him afresh zest for life, a desire to combat and to conquer in spite of all,in spite of the odds that had martyred his body but left the mind, thewill, the power still unconquered.
He was pressing one of the papers into her hand, holding her fingerstightly in his, and compelling her gaze with the ardent excitement ofhis own.
"This first letter is for Ffoulkes," he said. "It relates to the finalmeasures for the safety of the Dauphin. They are my instructions tothose members of the League who are in or near Paris at the presentmoment. Ffoulkes, I know, must be with you--he was not likely, God blesshis loyalty, to let you come to Paris alone. Then give this letter tohim, dear heart, at once, to-night, and tell him that it is my expresscommand that he and the others shall act in minute accordance with myinstructions."
"But the Dauphin surely is safe now," she urged. "Ffoulkes and theothers are here in order to help you."
"To help me, dear heart?" he interposed earnestly. "God alone can dothat now, and such of my poor wits as these devils do not succeed incrushing out of me within the next ten days."
Ten days!
"I have waited a week, until this hour when I could place this packet inyour hands; another ten days should see the Dauphin out of France--afterthat, we shall see."
"Percy," she exclaimed in an agony of horror, "you cannot endure thisanother day--and live!"
"Nay!" he said in a tone that was almost insolent in its proud defiance,"there is but little that a man cannot do an he sets his mind to it. Forthe rest, 'tis in God's hands!" he added more gently. "Dear heart! youswore that you would be brave. The Dauphin is still in France, and untilhe is out of it he will not really be safe; his friends wanted to keephim inside the country. God only knows what they still hope; had I beenfree I should not have allowed him to remain so long; now those goodpeople at Mantes will yield to my letter and to Ffoulkes' earnestappeal--they will allow one of our League to convey the child safely outof France, and I'll wait here until I know that he is safe. If I triedto get away now, and succeeded--why, Heaven help us! the hue and crymight turn against the child, and he might be captured before I couldget to him. Dear heart! dear, dear heart! try to understand. The safetyof that child is bound with mine honour, but I swear to you, my sweetlove, that the day on which I feel that that safety is assured I willsave mine own skin--what there is left of it--if I can!"
"Percy!" she cried with a sudden outburst of passionate revolt, "youspeak as if the safety of that child were of more moment than your own.Ten days!--but, God in Heaven! have you thought how I shall live theseten days, whilst slowly, inch by inch, you give your dear, your preciouslife for a forlorn cause?
"I am very tough, m'dear," he said lightly; "'tis not a question oflife. I shall only be spending a few more very uncomfortable days inthis d--d hole; but what of that?"
Her eyes spoke the reply; her eyes veiled with tears, that wanderedwith heart-breaking anxiety from the hollow circles round his own tothe lines of weariness about the firm lips and jaw. He laughed at hersolicitude.
"I can last out longer than these brutes have any idea of," he saidgaily.
"You cheat yourself, Percy," she rejoined with quiet earnestness. "Everyday that you spend immured between these walls, with that ceaselessnerve-racking torment of sleeplessness which these devils have devisedfor the breaking of your will--every day thus spent diminishesyour power of ultimately saving yourself. You see, I speakcalmly--dispassionately--I do not even urge my claims upon your life.But what you must weigh in the balance is the claim of all those forwhom in the past you have already staked your life, whose lives you havepurchased by risking your own. What, in comparison with your noble life,is that of the puny descendant of a line of decadent kings? Why shouldit be sacrificed--ruthlessly, hopelessly sacrificed that a boy mightlive who is as nothing to the world, to his country--even to his ownpeople?"
She had tried to speak calmly, never raising her voice beyond a whisper.Her hands still clutched that paper, which seemed to sear her fingers,the paper which she felt held writ upon its smooth surface thedeath-sentence of the man she loved.
But his look did not answer her firm appeal; it was fixed far awaybeyond the prison walls, on a lonely country road outside Paris, withthe rain falling in a thin drizzle, and leaden clouds overhead chasingone another, driven by the gale.
"Poor mite," he murmured softly; "he walked so bravely by my side, untilthe little feet grew weary; then he nestled in my arms and slept untilwe met Ffoulkes waiting with the cart. He was no King of France justthen, only a helpless innocent whom Heaven aided me to save."
Marguerite bowed her head in silence. There was nothing more that shecould say, no plea that she could urge. Indeed, she had understood, ashe had begged her to understand. She understood that long ago he hadmapped out the course of his life, and now that that course happened tolead up a Calvary of humiliation and of suffering he was not likely toturn back, even though, on the summit, death already was waiting andbeckoning with no uncertain hand; not until he could murmur, in the wakeof the great and divine sacrifice itself, the sublime words:
"It is accomplished."
"But the Dauphin is safe enough now," was all that she said, after thatone moment's silence when her heart, too, had offered up to God thesu
preme abnegation of self, and calmly faced a sorrow which threatenedto break it at last.
"Yes!" he rejoined quietly, "safe enough for the moment. But he wouldbe safer still if he were out of France. I had hoped to take him one daywith me to England. But in this plan damnable Fate has interfered.His adherents wanted to get him to Vienna, and their wish had best befulfilled now. In my instructions to Ffoulkes I have mapped out a simpleway for accomplishing the journey. Tony will be the one best suited tolead the expedition, and I want him to make straight for Holland; theNorthern frontiers are not so closely watched as are the Austrian ones.There is a faithful adherent of the Bourbon cause who lives at Delft,and who will give the shelter of his name and home to the fugitive Kingof France until he can be conveyed to Vienna. He is named Nauudorff.Once I feel that the child is safe in his hands I will look aftermyself, never fear."
He paused, for his strength, which was only factitious, born of theexcitement that Marguerite's presence had called forth, was threateningto give way. His voice, though he had spoken in a whisper all along, wasvery hoarse, and his temples were throbbing with the sustained effort tospeak.
"If those friends had only thought of denying me food instead of sleep,"he murmured involuntarily, "I could have held out until--"
Then with characteristic swiftness his mood changed in a moment. Hisarms closed round Marguerite once more with a passion of self-reproach.
"Heaven forgive me for a selfish brute," he said, whilst the ghost ofa smile once more lit up the whole of his face. "Dear soul, I musthave forgotten your sweet presence, thus brooding over my own troubles,whilst your loving heart has a graver burden--God help me!--than it canpossibly bear. Listen, my beloved, for I don't know how many minuteslonger they intend to give us, and I have not yet spoken to you aboutArmand--"
"Armand!" she cried.
A twinge of remorse had gripped her. For fully ten minutes now she hadrelegated all thoughts of her brother to a distant cell of her memory.
"We have no news of Armand," she said. "Sir Andrew has searched all theprison registers. Oh! were not my heart atrophied by all that it hasendured this past sennight it would feel a final throb of agonising painat every thought of Armand."
A curious look, which even her loving eyes failed to interpret, passedlike a shadow over her husband's face. But the shadow lifted in amoment, and it was with a reassuring smile that he said to her:
"Dear heart! Armand is comparatively safe for the moment. TellFfoulkes not to search the prison registers for him, rather to seek outMademoiselle Lange. She will know where to find Armand."
"Jeanne Lange!" she exclaimed with a world of bitterness in the tone ofher voice, "the girl whom Armand loved, it seems, with a passion greaterthan his loyalty. Oh! Sir Andrew tried to disguise my brother'sfolly, but I guessed what he did not choose to tell me. It was hisdisobedience, his want of trust, that brought this unspeakable misery onus all."
"Do not blame him overmuch, dear heart. Armand was in love, and loveexcuses every sin committed in its name. Jeanne Lange was arrested andArmand lost his reason temporarily. The very day on which I rescued theDauphin from the Temple I had the good fortune to drag the little ladyout of prison. I had given my promise to Armand that she should be safe,and I kept my word. But this Armand did not know--or else--"
He checked himself abruptly, and once more that strange, enigmaticallook crept into his eyes.
"I took Jeanne Lange to a place of comparative safety," he said after aslight pause, "but since then she has been set entirely free."
"Free?"
"Yes. Chauvelin himself brought me the news," he replied with a quick,mirthless laugh, wholly unlike his usual light-hearted gaiety. "He hadto ask me where to find Jeanne, for I alone knew where she was. As forArmand, they'll not worry about him whilst I am here. Another reason whyI must bide a while longer. But in the meanwhile, dear, I pray you findMademoiselle Lange; she lives at No. 5 Square du Roule. Through herI know that you can get to see Armand. This second letter," he added,pressing a smaller packet into her hand, "is for him. Give it to him,dear heart; it will, I hope, tend to cheer him. I fear me the poor ladfrets; yet he only sinned because he loved, and to me he will always beyour brother--the man who held your affection for all the years beforeI came into your life. Give him this letter, dear; they are myinstructions to him, as the others are for Ffoulkes; but tell him toread them when he is all alone. You will do that, dear heart, will younot?"
"Yes, Percy," she said simply. "I promise."
Great joy, and the expression of intense relief, lit up his face, whilsthis eyes spoke the gratitude which he felt.
"Then there is one thing more," he said. "There are others in this cruelcity, dear heart, who have trusted me, and whom I must not fail--Mariede Marmontel and her brother, faithful servants of the late queen; theywere on the eve of arrest when I succeeded in getting them to a placeof comparative safety; and there are others there, too all of thesepoor victims have trusted me implicitly. They are waiting for me there,trusting in my promise to convey them safely to England. Sweetheart, youmust redeem my promise to them. You will?--you will? Promise me that youwill--"
"I promise, Percy," she said once more.
"Then go, dear, to-morrow, in the late afternoon, to No. 98, Rue deCharonne. It is a narrow house at the extreme end of that long streetwhich abuts on the fortifications. The lower part of the house isoccupied by a dealer in rags and old clothes. He and his wife andfamily are wretchedly poor, but they are kind, good souls, and fora consideration and a minimum of risk to themselves they will alwaysrender service to the English milors, whom they believe to be a band ofinveterate smugglers. Ffoulkes and all the others know these peopleand know the house; Armand by the same token knows it too. Marie deMarmontel and her brother are there, and several others; the oldComte de Lezardiere, the Abbe de Firmont; their names spell suffering,loyalty, and hopelessness. I was lucky enough to convey them safelyto that hidden shelter. They trust me implicitly, dear heart. They arewaiting for me there, trusting in my promise to them. Dear heart, youwill go, will you not?"
"Yes, Percy," she replied. "I will go; I have promised."
"Ffoulkes has some certificates of safety by him, and the old clothesdealer will supply the necessary disguises; he has a covered cart whichhe uses for his business, and which you can borrow from him. Ffoulkeswill drive the little party to Achard's farm in St. Germain, where othermembers of the League should be in waiting for the final journey toEngland. Ffoulkes will know how to arrange for everything; he was alwaysmy most able lieutenant. Once everything is organised he can appointHastings to lead the party. But you, dear heart, must do as you wish.Achard's farm would be a safe retreat for you and for Ffoulkes: if...I know--I know, dear," he added with infinite tenderness. "See I do noteven suggest that you should leave me. Ffoulkes will be with you, andI know that neither he nor you would go even if I commanded. EitherAchard's farm, or even the house in the Rue de Charonne, would be quitesafe for you, dear, under Ffoulkes's protection, until the time when Imyself can carry you back--you, my precious burden--to England in mineown arms, or until... Hush-sh-sh, dear heart," he entreated, smotheringwith a passionate kiss the low moan of pain which had escaped her lips;"it is all in God's hands now; I am in a tight corner--tighter than everI have been before; but I am not dead yet, and those brutes have notyet paid the full price for my life. Tell me, dear heart, that you haveunderstood--that you will do all that I asked. Tell me again, my dear,dear love; it is the very essence of life to hear your sweet lips murmurthis promise now."
And for the third time she reiterated firmly:
"I have understood every word that you said to me, Percy, and I promiseon your precious life to do what you ask."
He sighed a deep sigh of satisfaction, and even at that moment therecame from the guard-room beyond the sound of a harsh voice, sayingperemptorily:
"That half-hour is nearly over, sergeant; 'tis time you interfered."
"Three minutes more, citizen," was the curt
reply.
"Three minutes, you devils," murmured Blakeney between set teeth, whilsta sudden light which even Marguerite's keen gaze failed to interpretleapt into his eyes. Then he pressed the third letter into her hand.
Once more his close, intent gaze compelled hers; their faces were closeone to the other, so near to him did he draw her, so tightly did hehold her to him. The paper was in her hand and his fingers were pressedfirmly on hers.
"Put this in your kerchief, my beloved," he whispered. "Let it rest onyour exquisite bosom where I so love to pillow my head. Keep it thereuntil the last hour when it seems to you that nothing more can comebetween me and shame.... Hush-sh-sh, dear," he added with passionatetenderness, checking the hot protest that at the word "shame" had sprungto her lips, "I cannot explain more fully now. I do not know what mayhappen. I am only a man, and who knows what subtle devilry those brutesmight not devise for bringing the untamed adventurer to his knees. Forthe next ten days the Dauphin will be on the high roads of France, onhis way to safety. Every stage of his journey will be known to me. I canfrom between these four walls follow him and his escort step by step.Well, dear, I am but a man, already brought to shameful weakness by merephysical discomfort--the want of sleep--such a trifle after all; butin case my reason tottered--God knows what I might do--then give thispacket to Ffoulkes--it contains my final instructions--and he will knowhow to act. Promise me, dear heart, that you will not open the packetunless--unless mine own dishonour seems to you imminent--unless I haveyielded to these brutes in this prison, and sent Ffoulkes or one of theothers orders to exchange the Dauphin's life for mine; then, when mineown handwriting hath proclaimed me a coward, then and then only, givethis packet to Ffoulkes. Promise me that, and also that when you andhe have mastered its contents you will act exactly as I have commanded.Promise me that, dear, in your own sweet name, which may God bless, andin that of Ffoulkes, our loyal friend."
Through the sobs that well-nigh choked her she murmured the promise hedesired.
His voice had grown hoarser and more spent with the inevitable reactionafter the long and sustained effort, but the vigour of the spirit wasuntouched, the fervour, the enthusiasm.
"Dear heart," he murmured, "do not look on me with those dear, scaredeyes of yours. If there is aught that puzzles you in what I said, tryand trust me a while longer. Remember, I must save the Dauphin at allcosts; mine honour is bound with his safety. What happens to me afterthat matters but little, yet I wish to live for your dear sake."
He drew a long breath which had naught of weariness in it. The haggardlook had completely vanished from his face, the eyes were lightedup from within, the very soul of reckless daring and immortal gaietyillumined his whole personality.
"Do not look so sad, little woman," he said with a strange and suddenrecrudescence of power; "those d--d murderers have not got me yet--evennow."
Then he went down like a log.
The effort had been too prolonged--weakened nature reasserted her rightsand he lost consciousness. Marguerite, helpless and almost distraughtwith grief, had yet the strength of mind not to call for assistance.She pillowed the loved one's head upon her breast, she kissed the dear,tired eyes, the poor throbbing temples. The unutterable pathos ofseeing this man, who was always the personification of extreme vitality,energy, and boundless endurance and pluck, lying thus helpless, like atired child, in her arms, was perhaps the saddest moment of this day ofsorrow. But in her trust she never wavered for one instant. Much that hehad said had puzzled her; but the word "shame" coming from his own lipsas a comment on himself never caused her the slightest pang of fear. Shehad quickly hidden the tiny packet in her kerchief. She would act pointby point exactly as he had ordered her to do, and she knew that Ffoulkeswould never waver either.
Her heart ached well-nigh to breaking point. That which she could notunderstand had increased her anguish tenfold. If she could only havegiven way to tears she could have borne this final agony more easily.But the solace of tears was not for her; when those loved eyes once moreopened to consciousness they should see hers glowing with courage anddetermination.
There had been silence for a few minutes in the little cell. Thesoldiery outside, inured to their hideous duty, thought no doubt thatthe time had come for them to interfere. The iron bar was raised andthrown back with a loud crash, the butt-ends of muskets were groundedagainst the floor, and two soldiers made noisy irruption into the cell.
"Hola, citizen! Wake up," shouted one of the men; "you have not told usyet what you have done with Capet!"
Marguerite uttered a cry of horror. Instinctively her arms wereinterposed between the unconscious man and these inhuman creatures, witha beautiful gesture of protecting motherhood.
"He has fainted," she said, her voice quivering with indignation. "MyGod! are you devils that you have not one spark of manhood in you?"
The men shrugged their shoulders, and both laughed brutally. They hadseen worse sights than these, since they served a Republic that ruledby bloodshed and by terror. They were own brothers in callousness andcruelty to those men who on this self-same spot a few months ago hadwatched the daily agony of a martyred Queen, or to those who had rushedinto the Abbaye prison on that awful day in September, and at a wordfrom their infamous leaders had put eighty defenceless prisoners--men,women, and children--to the sword.
"Tell him to say what he has done with Capet," said one of the soldiersnow, and this rough command was accompanied with a coarse jest that sentthe blood flaring up into Marguerite's pale cheeks.
The brutal laugh, the coarse words which accompanied it, the insultflung at Marguerite, had penetrated to Blakeney's slowly returningconsciousness. With sudden strength, that appeared almost supernatural,he jumped to his feet, and before any of the others could interfere hehad with clenched fist struck the soldier a full blow on the mouth.
The man staggered back with a curse, the other shouted for help; in amoment the narrow place swarmed with soldiers; Marguerite was roughlytorn away from the prisoner's side, and thrust into the far corner ofthe cell, from where she only saw a confused mass of blue coats andwhite belts, and--towering for one brief moment above what seemed toher fevered fancy like a veritable sea of heads--the pale face of herhusband, with wide dilated eyes searching the gloom for hers.
"Remember!" he shouted, and his voice for that brief moment rang outclear and sharp above the din.
Then he disappeared behind the wall of glistening bayonets, of bluecoats and uplifted arms; mercifully for her she remembered nothing morevery clearly. She felt herself being dragged out of the cell, the ironbar being thrust down behind her with a loud clang. Then in a vague,dreamy state of semi-unconsciousness she saw the heavy bolts being drawnback from the outer door, heard the grating of the key in the monumentallock, and the next moment a breath of fresh air brought the sensation ofrenewed life into her.