CHAPTER III
Hospitality.
"Is there anything more I can do for you now, mademoiselle?"
The gentle, timid voice roused Juliette from the contemplation of thepast.
She smiled at Anne Mie, and held her hand out towards her.
"You have all been so kind," she said, "I want to get up now and thankyou all."
"Don't move unless you feel quite well."
"I am quite well now. Those horrid people frightened me so, that is whyI fainted."
"They would have half-killed you, if ..."
"Will you tell me where I am?" asked Juliette.
"In the house of M. Paul Deroulede--I should have said of Citizen-DeputyDeroulede. He rescued you from the mob, and pacified them. He has such abeautiful voice that he can make anyone listen to him, and ..."
"And you are fond of him, mademoiselle?" added Juliette, suddenlyfeeling a mist of tears rising to her eyes.
"Of course I am fond of him," rejoined the other girl simply, whilst alook of the most tender-hearted devotion seemed to beautify her paleface. "He and Madame Deroulede have brought me up; I never knew myparents. They have cared for me, and he has taught me all I know."
"What do they call you, mademoiselle?"
"My name is Anne Mie."
"And mine, Juliette--Juliette Marny," she added after a slighthesitation. "I have no parents either. My old nurse, Petronelle, hasbrought me up, and--But tell me more about M. Deroulede--I owe him somuch, I'd like to know him better."
"Will you not let me arrange your hair?" said Anne Mie as if purposelyevading a direct reply. "M. Deroulede is in the salon with madame. Youcan see him then."
Juliette asked no more questions, but allowed Anne Mie to tidy her hairfor her, to lend her a fresh kerchief and generally to efface all tracesof her terrible adventure. She felt puzzled and tearful. Anne Mie'sgentleness seemed somehow to jar on her spirits. She could notunderstand the girl's position in the Deroulede household. Was she arelative, or a superior servant? In these troublous times she mighteasily have been both.
In any case she was a childhood's companion of theCitizen-Deputy--whether on an equal or a humbler footing, Juliette wouldhave given much to ascertain.
With the marvellous instinct peculiar to women of temperament, she hadalready divined Anne Mie's love for Deroulede. The poor young cripple'svery soul seemed to quiver magnetically at the bare mention of his name,her whole face became transfigured: Juliette even thought her beautifulthen.
She looked at herself critically in the glass, and adjusted a curl,which looked its best when it was rebellious. She scrutinised her ownface carefully; why? she could not tell: another of those subtlefeminine instincts perhaps.
The becoming simplicity of the prevailing mode suited her to perfection.The waist line, rather high but clearly defined--a precursor of thelater more accentuated fashion--gave grace to her long slender limbs,and emphasised the lissomeness of her figure. The kerchief, edged withfine lace, and neatly folded across her bosom, softened the contour ofher girlish bust and shoulders.
And her hair was a veritable glory round her dainty, piquant face. Soft,fair, and curly, it emerged in a golden halo from beneath the prettiestlittle lace cap imaginable.
She turned and faced Anne Mie, ready to follow her out of the room, andthe young crippled girl sighed as she smoothed down the folds of her ownapron, and gave a final touch to the completion of Juliette's attire.
The time before the evening meal slipped by like a dream-hour forJuliette.
She had lived so much alone, had led such an introspective life, thatshe had hardly realised and understood all that was going on around her.At the time when the inner vitality of France first asserted itself andthen swept away all that hindered its mad progress, she was tied to theinvalid chair of her half-demented father; then, after that, thesheltering walls of the Ursuline Convent had hidden from her mentalvision the true meaning of the great conflict, between the Old Era andthe New.
Deroulede was neither a pedant nor yet a revolutionary: his theorieswere Utopian and he had an extraordinary overpowering sympathy for hisfellow-men.
After the first casual greetings with Juliette, he had continued adiscussion with his mother, which the young girl's entrance hadinterrupted.
He seemed to take but little notice of her, although at times his dark,keen eyes would seek hers, as if challenging her for a reply.
He was talking of the mob of Paris, whom he evidently understood sowell. Incidents such as the one which Juliette had provoked, had led torape and theft, often to murder, before now: but outside Citizen-DeputyDeroulede's house everything was quiet, half-an-hour after Juliette'sescape from that howling, brutish crowd.
He had merely spoken to them, for about twenty minutes, and they hadgone away quite quietly, without even touching one hair of his head. Heseemed to love them: to know how to separate the little good that was inthem, from that hard crust of evil, which misery had put around theirhearts.
Once he addressed Juliette somewhat abruptly: "Pardon me, mademoiselle,but for your own sake we must guard you a prisoner here awhile. No onewould harm you under this roof, but it would not be safe for you tocross the neighbouring streets to-night."
"But I must go, monsieur. Indeed, indeed I must!" she said earnestly. "Iam deeply grateful to you, but I could not leave Petronelle."
"Who is Petronelle?"
"My dear old nurse, monsieur. She has never left me. Think how anxiousand miserable she must be, at my prolonged absence."
"Where does she live?"
"At No. 15 Rue Taitbout, but ..."
"Will you allow me to take her a message?--telling her that you are safeand under my roof, where it is obviously more prudent that you shouldremain at present."
"If you think it best, monsieur," she replied.
Inwardly she was trembling with excitement. God had not only brought herto this house, but willed that she should stay in it.
"In whose name shall I take the message, mademoiselle?" he asked.
"My name is Juliette Marny."
She watched him keenly as she said it, but there was not the slightestsign in his expressive face, to show that he had recognised the name.
Ten years is a long time, and every one had lived through so much duringthose years! A wave of intense wrath swept through Juliette's soul, asshe realised that he had forgotten. The name meant nothing to him! Itdid not recall to him the fact that his hand was stained with blood.During ten years she had suffered, she had fought with herself, foughtfor him as it were, against the Fate which she was destined to mete outto him, whilst he had forgotten, or at least had ceased to think.
He bowed to her and went out of the room.
The wave of wrath subsided, and she was left alone with MadameDeroulede: presently Anne Mie came in.
The three women chatted together, waiting for the return of the masterof the house. Juliette felt well and, in spite of herself, almost happy.She had lived so long in the miserable, little attic alone withPetronelle that she enjoyed the well-being of this refined home. It wasnot so grand or gorgeous of course as her father's princely palaceopposite the Louvre, a wreck now, since it was annexed by the Committeeof National Defence, for the housing of soldiery. But the Derouledes'home was essentially a refined one. The delicate china on the tallchimney-piece, the few bits of Buhl and Vernis Martin about the room,the vision through the open doorway of the supper-table spread with afine white cloth, and sparkling with silver, all spoke of fastidioustastes, of habits of luxury and elegance, which the spirit of Equalityand Anarchy had not succeeded in eradicating.
When Deroulede came back, he brought an atmosphere of breezycheerfulness with him.
The street was quiet now, and when walking past the hospital--his owngift to the Nation--he had been loudly cheered. One or two ironicalvoices had asked him what he had done with the aristo and her lacefurbelows, but it remained at that and Mademoiselle Marny need have nofear.
He had brought
Petronelle along with him: his careless, lavishhospitality would have suggested the housing of Juliette's entiredomestic establishment, had she possessed one.
As it was, the worthy old soul's deluge of happy tears had melted hiskindly heart. He offered her and her young mistress shelter, until thesmall cloud should have rolled by.
After that he suggested a journey to England. Emigration now was theonly real safety, and Mademoiselle Marny had unpleasantly drawn onherself the attention of the Paris rabble. No doubt, within the next fewdays her name would figure among the "suspect." She would be safest outof the country, and could not do better than place herself under theguidance of that English enthusiast, who had helped so many persecutedFrenchmen to escape from the terrors of the Revolution: the man who wassuch a thorn in the flesh of the Committee of Public Safety, and whowent by the nickname of The Scarlet Pimpernel.