CHAPTER XXXVIII. CAPITULATION
What occurred within the inner cell of the Conciergerie prison withinthe next half-hour of that 16th day of Pluviose in the year II of theRepublic is, perhaps, too well known to history to need or bear overfullrepetition.
Chroniclers intimate with the inner history of those infamous days havetold us how the chief agent of the Committee of General Security gaveorders one hour after midnight that hot soup, white bread and wine beserved to the prisoner, who for close on fourteen days previously hadbeen kept on short rations of black bread and water; the sergeant incharge of the guard-room watch for the night also received strict ordersthat that same prisoner was on no account to be disturbed until the hourof six in the morning, when he was to be served with anything in the wayof breakfast that he might fancy.
All this we know, and also that citizen Heron, having given allnecessary orders for the morning's expedition, returned to theConciergerie, and found his colleague Chauvelin waiting for him in theguard-room.
"Well?" he asked with febrile impatience--"the prisoner?"
"He seems better and stronger," replied Chauvelin.
"Not too well, I hope?"
"No, no, only just well enough."
"You have seen him--since his supper?"
"Only from the doorway. It seems he ate and drank hardly at all, and thesergeant had some difficulty in keeping him awake until you came."
"Well, now for the letter," concluded Heron with the same markedfeverishness of manner which sat so curiously on his uncouthpersonality. "Pen, ink and paper, sergeant!" he commanded.
"On the table, in the prisoner's cell, citizen," replied the sergeant.
He preceded the two citizens across the guard-room to the doorway, andraised for them the iron bar, lowering it back after them.
The next moment Heron and Chauvelin were once more face to face withtheir prisoner.
Whether by accident or design the lamp had been so placed that as thetwo men approached its light fell full upon their faces, while that ofthe prisoner remained in shadow. He was leaning forward with bothelbows on the table, his thin, tapering fingers toying with the pen andink-horn which had been placed close to his hand.
"I trust that everything has been arranged for your comfort, Sir Percy?"Chauvelin asked with a sarcastic little smile.
"I thank you, sir," replied Blakeney politely.
"You feel refreshed, I hope?"
"Greatly so, I assure you. But I am still demmed sleepy; and if youwould kindly be brief--"
"You have not changed your mind, sir?" queried Chauvelin, and a note ofanxiety, which he vainly tried to conceal, quivered in his voice.
"No, my good M. Chambertin," replied Blakeney with the same urbanecourtesy, "I have not changed my mind."
A sigh of relief escaped the lips of both the men. The prisonercertainly had spoken in a clearer and firmer voice; but whatever renewedstrength wine and food had imparted to him he apparently did not mean toemploy in renewed obstinacy. Chauvelin, after a moment's pause, resumedmore calmly:
"You are prepared to direct us to the place where little Capet lieshidden?"
"I am prepared to do anything, sir, to get out of this d--d hole."
"Very well. My colleague, citizen Heron, has arranged for an escortof twenty men picked from the best regiment of the Garde de Paris toaccompany us--yourself, him and me--to wherever you will direct us. Isthat clear?"
"Perfectly, sir."
"You must not imagine for a moment that we, on the other hand, guaranteeto give you your life and freedom even if this expedition proveunsuccessful."
"I would not venture on suggesting such a wild proposition, sir," saidBlakeney placidly.
Chauvelin looked keenly on him. There was something in the tone of thatvoice that he did not altogether like--something that reminded him of anevening at Calais, and yet again of a day at Boulogne. He could not readthe expression in the eyes, so with a quick gesture he pulled the lampforward so that its light now fell full on the face of the prisoner.
"Ah! that is certainly better, is it not, my dear M. Chambertin?" saidSir Percy, beaming on his adversary with a pleasant smile.
His face, though still of the same ashen hue, looked serene ifhopelessly wearied; the eyes seemed to mock. But this Chauvelin decidedin himself must have been a trick of his own overwrought fancy. After abrief moment's pause he resumed dryly:
"If, however, the expedition turns out successful in every way--iflittle Capet, without much trouble to our escort, falls safe and soundinto our hands--if certain contingencies which I am about to tellyou all fall out as we wish--then, Sir Percy, I see no reason why theGovernment of this country should not exercise its prerogative of mercytowards you after all."
"An exercise, my dear M. Chambertin, which must have wearied throughfrequent repetition," retorted Blakeney with the same imperturbablesmile.
"The contingency at present is somewhat remote; when the time comeswe'll talk this matter over.... I will make no promise... and, anyhow,we can discuss it later."
"At present we are but wasting our valuable time over so trifling amatter.... If you'll excuse me, sir... I am so demmed fatigued--"
"Then you will be glad to have everything settled quickly, I am sure."
"Exactly, sir."
Heron was taking no part in the present conversation. He knew that histemper was not likely to remain within bounds, and though he had nothingbut contempt for his colleague's courtly manners, yet vaguely in hisstupid, blundering way he grudgingly admitted that mayhap it was betterto allow citizen Chauvelin to deal with the Englishman. There was alwaysthe danger that if his own violent temper got the better of him, hemight even at this eleventh hour order this insolent prisoner to summarytrial and the guillotine, and thus lose the final chance of the moreimportant capture.
He was sprawling on a chair in his usual slouching manner with hisbig head sunk between his broad shoulders, his shifty, prominent eyeswandering restlessly from the face of his colleague to that of the otherman.
But now he gave a grunt of impatience.
"We are wasting time, citizen Chauvelin," he muttered. "I have stilla great deal to see to if we are to start at dawn. Get the d--d letterwritten, and--"
The rest of the phrase was lost in an indistinct and surly murmur.Chauvelin, after a shrug of the shoulders, paid no further heed to him;he turned, bland and urbane, once more to the prisoner.
"I see with pleasure, Sir Percy," he said, "that we thoroughlyunderstand one another. Having had a few hours' rest you will, I know,feel quite ready for the expedition. Will you kindly indicate to me thedirection in which we will have to travel?"
"Northwards all the way."
"Towards the coast?"
"The place to which we must go is about seven leagues from the sea."
"Our first objective then will be Beauvais, Amiens, Abbeville, Crecy,and so on?"
"Precisely."
"As far as the forest of Boulogne, shall we say?"
"Where we shall come off the beaten track, and you will have to trust tomy guidance."
"We might go there now, Sir Percy, and leave you here."
"You might. But you would not then find the child. Seven leagues is notfar from the coast. He might slip through your fingers."
"And my colleague Heron, being disappointed, would inevitably send youto the guillotine."
"Quite so," rejoined the prisoner placidly. "Methought, sir, that wehad decided that I should lead this little expedition? Surely," headded, "it is not so much the Dauphin whom you want as my share in thisbetrayal."
"You are right as usual, Sir Percy. Therefore let us take that assettled. We go as far as Crecy, and thence place ourselves entirely inyour hands."
"The journey should not take more than three days, sir."
"During which you will travel in a coach in the company of my friendHeron."
"I could have chosen pleasanter company, sir; still, it will serve."
"This being settled,
Sir Percy. I understand that you desire tocommunicate with one of your followers."
"Some one must let the others know... those who have the Dauphin intheir charge."
"Quite so. Therefore I pray you write to one of your friends that youhave decided to deliver the Dauphin into our hands in exchange for yourown safety."
"You said just now that this you would not guarantee," interposedBlakeney quietly.
"If all turns out well," retorted Chauvelin with a show of contempt,"and if you will write the exact letter which I shall dictate, we mighteven give you that guarantee."
"The quality of your mercy, sir, passes belief."
"Then I pray you write. Which of your followers will have the honour ofthe communication?"
"My brother-in-law, Armand St. Just; he is still in Paris, I believe. Hecan let the others know."
Chauvelin made no immediate reply. He paused awhile, hesitating. WouldSir Percy Blakeney be ready--if his own safety demanded it--to sacrificethe man who had betrayed him? In the momentous "either--or" that was tobe put to him, by-and-by, would he choose his own life and leaveArmand St. Just to perish? It was not for Chauvelin--or any man of hisstamp--to judge of what Blakeney would do under such circumstances, andhad it been a question of St. Just alone, mayhap Chauvelin would havehesitated still more at the present juncture.
But the friend as hostage was only destined to be a minor leverage forthe final breaking-up of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel through thedisgrace of its chief. There was the wife--Marguerite Blakeney--sisterof St. Just, joint and far more important hostage, whose very closeaffection for her brother might prove an additional trump card in thathandful which Chauvelin already held.
Blakeney paid no heed seemingly to the other's hesitation. He did noteven look up at him, but quietly drew pen and paper towards him, andmade ready to write.
"What do you wish me to say?" he asked simply.
"Will that young blackguard answer your purpose, citizen Chauvelin?"queried Heron roughly.
Obviously the same doubt had crossed his mind. Chauvelin quicklyre-assured him.
"Better than any one else," he said firmly. "Will you write at mydictation, Sir Percy?
"I am waiting to do so, my dear sir."
"Begin your letter as you wish, then; now continue."
And he began to dictate slowly, watching every word as it leftBlakeney's pen.
"'I cannot stand my present position any longer. Citizen Heron, and alsoM. Chauvelin--' Yes, Sir Percy, Chauvelin, not Chambertin ... C, H,A, U, V, E, L, I, N.... That is quite right-- 'have made this prison aperfect hell for me.'"
Sir Percy looked up from his writing, smiling.
"You wrong yourself, my dear M. Chambertin!" he said; "I have reallybeen most comfortable."
"I wish to place the matter before your friends in as indulgent a manneras I can," retorted Chauvelin dryly.
"I thank you, sir. Pray proceed."
"... a perfect hell for me,'" resumed the other. "Have you that? ...'and I have been forced to give way. To-morrow we start from here atdawn; and I will guide citizen Heron to the place where he can find theDauphin. But the authorities demand that one of my followers, one whohas once been a member of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel, shallaccompany me on this expedition. I therefore ask you'--or 'desire you'or 'beg you'--whichever you prefer, Sir Percy..."
"'Ask you' will do quite nicely. This is really very interesting, youknow."
"... 'to be prepared to join the expedition. We start at dawn, and youwould be required to be at the main gate of the house of Justice at sixo'clock precisely. I have an assurance from the authorities that yourlife should be in-violate, but if you refuse to accompany me, theguillotine will await me on the morrow.'"
"'The guillotine will await me on the morrow.' That sounds quitecheerful, does it not, M. Chambertin?" said the prisoner, who had notevinced the slightest surprise at the wording of the letter whilst hewrote at the other's dictation. "Do you know, I quite enjoyed writingthis letter; it so reminded me of happy days in Boulogne."
Chauvelin pressed his lips together. Truly now he felt that a retortfrom him would have been undignified, more especially as just at thismoment there came from the guard room the sound of men's voices talkingand laughing, the occasional clang of steel, or of a heavy bootagainst the tiled floor, the rattling of dice, or a sudden burst oflaughter--sounds, in fact, that betokened the presence of a number ofsoldiers close by.
Chauvelin contented himself with a nod in the direction of theguard-room.
"The conditions are somewhat different now," he said placidly, "fromthose that reigned in Boulogne. But will you not sign your letter, SirPercy?"
"With pleasure, sir," responded Blakeney, as with an elaborate flourishof the pen he appended his name to the missive.
Chauvelin was watching him with eyes that would have shamed a lynx bytheir keenness. He took up the completed letter, read it through verycarefully, as if to find some hidden meaning behind the very words whichhe himself had dictated; he studied the signature, and looked vainly fora mark or a sign that might convey a different sense to that which hehad intended. Finally, finding none, he folded the letter up with hisown hand, and at once slipped it in the pocket of his coat.
"Take care, M. Chambertin," said Blakeney lightly; "it will burn a holein that elegant vest of yours."
"It will have no time to do that, Sir Percy," retorted Chauvelinblandly; "an you will furnish me with citizen St. Just's presentaddress, I will myself convey the letter to him at once."
"At this hour of the night? Poor old Armand, he'll be abed. But hisaddress, sir, is No. 32, Rue de la Croix Blanche, on the first floor,the door on your right as you mount the stairs; you know the room well,citizen Chauvelin; you have been in it before. And now," he added with aloud and ostentatious yawn, "shall we all to bed? We start at dawn, yousaid, and I am so d--d fatigued."
Frankly, he did not look it now. Chauvelin himself, despite his maturedplans, despite all the precautions that he meant to take for the successof this gigantic scheme, felt a sudden strange sense of fear creepinginto his bones. Half an hour ago he had seen a man in what lookedlike the last stage of utter physical exhaustion, a hunched up figure,listless and limp, hands that twitched nervously, the face as of a dyingman. Now those outward symptoms were still there certainly; the face bythe light of the lamp still looked livid, the lips bloodless, the handsemaciated and waxen, but the eyes!--they were still hollow, with heavylids still purple, but in their depths there was a curious, mysteriouslight, a look that seemed to see something that was hidden to naturalsight.
Citizen Chauvelin thought that Heron, too, must be conscious ofthis, but the Committee's agent was sprawling on a chair, sucking ashort-stemmed pipe, and gazing with entire animal satisfaction on theprisoner.
"The most perfect piece of work we have ever accomplished, you and I,citizen Chauvelin," he said complacently.
"You think that everything is quite satisfactory?" asked the other withanxious stress on his words.
"Everything, of course. Now you see to the letter. I will give finalorders for to-morrow, but I shall sleep in the guard-room."
"And I on that inviting bed," interposed the prisoner lightly, as herose to his feet. "Your servant, citizens!"
He bowed his head slightly, and stood by the table whilst the two menprepared to go. Chauvelin took a final long look at the man whom hefirmly believed he had at last brought down to abject disgrace.
Blakeney was standing erect, watching the two retreating figures--oneslender hand was on the table. Chauvelin saw that it was leaning ratherheavily, as if for support, and that even whilst a final mockinglaugh sped him and his colleague on their way, the tall figure of theconquered lion swayed like a stalwart oak that is forced to bend to themighty fury of an all-compelling wind.
With a sigh of content Chauvelin took his colleague by the arm, andtogether the two men walked out of the cell.