CHAPTER XII
DIAN MAKES A FRIEND
Dian had reached the gates of Paris and passed through. Though he didnot in any way realize it, it was a remarkable thing that he had done.There had been a slight scrimmage among a flock of sheep at the westbarrier when he came up to it, and much shouting and bad language hadensued. The guards at the gates were stupid, bad-tempered men, and theyberated the market farmers loudly. Dian had called out to the flock inthe tones so well known by his own sheep at home in Pigeon Valley. Heknew well that the sheep would listen to him, and in an instant itseemed as though all the wild disorder among them had never been. Theypassed through the gates, and Dian went with them. There was no one inthe motley crowd who did not think that he was their shepherd except themen who owned them, and they were glad enough to be out of the brawl! Ithad been easy enough to get into Paris, and Dian, with his simple faith,felt that when the right time came it would be easy to get out again.
His journey had not been difficult for he was used to every kind ofweather and he loved the wind and the snow. He rested whenever he wastired, and he never minded sleeping in the corner of a barn, with hiswarm cloak wrapped snugly about him. He had brought food in his wallet,and whenever he had thought it wise, he had asked for a glass of warmmilk. He walked with long strides, knowing well how to save himselfunnecessary fatigue, and he thought not at all about his own welfare. Hehad never been in a city before in all his life, and had never seenlarge numbers of people together, and as he stood quietly on a streetcorner watching the wild tide of life that swept past him, he wonderedgreatly.
He had a hard task before him. He was thinking how best to perform it,as he stood in the shadow of a gabled shop door on this dark, broodingday. It was less than a week since Lisle had been carried away from hishome and Humphrey Trail had brought Rosanne to be a friend to Vivi. Tofind Lisle's home was Dian's task, and he wanted to do it without askingquestions of any one. He took out a faded, leather wallet from an innerpocket of the smock which he wore under his cloak. Standing so that thelight fell upon the wallet, he took from it a long folded piece of thinpaper, which he opened and examined. It was the plan of a street and ahouse. He stood for a long time there in the shadow looking at itclosely. It was traced in black ink delicately but distinctly. After hehad looked at it for some time, he folded it up and put it back in thewallet, and then put the wallet in the inner pocket of his smock again.
Some one bumped against him in passing. It was a farmer's lad with asack of potatoes over his shoulder. They were close to the gates and themarket carts were drawn up in rows near by, looking ghostly in the coldmorning fog. The boy had an honest face, and Dian was moved to speak tohim.
"It is a bleak winter day," he volunteered, and the boy answeredsnappily:
"There's no sense in bringing in produce these mornings. Wait tillspring, I tell the master. Then there will be lettuces and cucumbers,something worth while; though there won't be so many to enjoy them aslast spring, I'm thinking." The boy spoke significantly, meaning thatmany of the rich aristocrats, who had enjoyed the market dainties, werenow in prison or had already been executed.
"Have you served many of the great houses with your master's produce?"Dian asked the boy.
"Bless you, of a surety! There are none of the big houses that I do notknow. All of Saint Germain has tasted our lettuces and our youngcarrots. But that's all passed now; their day is gone. You look asthough you knew a farm well yourself, and as though you did not feel toowell acquainted with the city." He eyed Dian frankly, but notimpudently, as he spoke. Dian] "Yes, I am new to the cityand I confess that I would be glad of company. Would you not like tostroll about for a while? This does not seem to be a cheerful part oftown. Let us take a look elsewhere."
Dian had the rare gift of reading faces. He had felt, when he first sawthe farmer's boy, that he was to be trusted and that he was merry andhonest of heart. He was very well content when the boy replied that hewould like to go about for a while, and he did not have to report to hismaster until late afternoon. The two started off together, keeping alongthe quieter streets, and walking rapidly until they came to the greatsquare facing the one-time Tuileries palace.
As they stood there in the great square, they could see the black,sinister guillotine in the distance. Dian shut his eyes and stood for afew moments with his head bowed over his clasped hands. He was givingthanks for the long, warm summer days, the comfort of the stars atnight, and the confidence of his sheep as he led them home at sundown.The noise of the city was all about him. Wild voices were singing the"Ca Ira," the song of the revolution, rough, ragged groups of men andwomen in scarlet caps jostled past him. There were sounds of poundingand hammering everywhere, and he could hear the clanging of anvils fromnear-by forges. All over the city, these forges had sprung up overnight, to make weapons for the people.
They walked the great length of the square and, except for a curiousglance or so at Dian because of his red locks and his great stature, noone noticed them at all. They kept in the midst of the crowd going upthe rue Saint Honore. The tri-color ribbons and the gay red caps of thehalf-starved crowds made splashes of brilliance through the greyness.The farm boy touched Dian's arm.
"Listen," he said and his voice sank almost to a whisper. "Listen! Ihear the roar of the tumbrils. They are coming this way. They almostalways do. I have seen them before." He caught Dian's arm as he spoke,and Dian could feel him trembling.
The shepherd laid his hand on the lad's arm. "Let us come away from allthis. I do not want to see them. I cannot help them by seeing them."
"Do you want to help them?" the boy asked.
"I want to help everyone," Dian answered.
They walked down a side street, away from the rue Saint Honore, but theroar of the tumbrils followed them for a long time. Dian was sad atheart. He knew too well that for long centuries the people of France hadbeen kept down and abused and embittered by the tyranny and injustice ofthe nobles, but he knew also that every day many innocent people weregoing to their death in the great square, that the revolution no longerhad any dignity, no longer was a striving for justice and equal rightsfor all. It had grown to be a nightmare of wild, undisciplined horror.Dian was in earnest when he said that he wanted to help everyone--Griggeas well as Lisle. He wanted it more than anything else in all the world.
As they walked, the boy told Dian that his name was Raoul, and that hecame into the city once a week with his master. He said that they alwaysstayed over night, at lodgings above a seed shop near the west barrier,and returned to the country the following day. They walked on until theycame in sight of the Bois, a dark blur against the winter sky. The Boisis a wood in the heart of Paris. It had the same charm and mystery aboutit then that it has to-day. Dian stood looking at it, thinking of whatNeville had told him of the gay coaching parties and promenades anddaily drives in their gilded coaches of the Saint Freres and otherfamilies of the nobility. They were all gone now, these same families,hiding for their lives.
Dian knew the Saint Frere house as soon as he saw it, not so much by theplan he had, which would help him more in finding his way about inside,as by an engraving which he had seen in the study of the old Comte SaintFrere at Les Vignes. It was not difficult to distinguish it from theother great houses near it. There was something medieval and differentabout it. Indeed, there was no house in all of Paris quite so old.
He did not speak of the house to Raoul, as they passed by it. They had amodest meal of coffee and bread for a few sous at a stand near thefarmer boy's lodgings. Then Dian went with him as far as the seed shopand there they bid each other good-by. Raoul said that he was glad tohave met him, for he was timid about going alone in the streets whilethe city was in such a turmoil, and it was good to have the company ofone who, like himself, knew the country and farm ways. Dian answeredthat he would know how to find him at his lodgings. The boy assured himthat he could always be found there on Thursdays, unless the weather
wasso bad that his master gave up coming into Paris.
As he walked away from the seed shop, Dian felt deeply grateful that hehad become acquainted with the farmer's boy, Raoul. He would be comingand going out of Paris every week. That in itself was something toremember. It was growing dark, and the shepherd walked slowly back bythe way which he had taken earlier in the day with Raoul, past the Boisto the Saint Frere house. A small part of his task had already beenaccomplished. He had found the Saint Frere house. The next thing was toenter it. This would be an easy enough task if the comtesse were athome, but something told Dian that she was not.
It was so dark by the time he reached its gates that he could see thehouse only vaguely. A fine sleet was falling, and there was somethingsad about the aspect of the whole place. Dian walked up the marble stepsto the great iron door and pulled the silken cord. He heard a loud clangechoing through the great house, but, although he waited for a longtime, no one opened the door. He went around to the side of the housewhich opened directly on to the dark, narrow side street which MarieJosephine had traversed with Gonfleur the night of the bal masque. Aftergroping about for a while in the dark, Dian found the door leading intothe cellar. It was half open. He went inside, stepped over the logs ofwood lying on the floor, crept up the steep, dark stairs, and foundhimself facing a long corridor.
Dian always remembered that walk through the great, silent house. Therewas no sound anywhere at all, and there was no sign of any human being.The drawing-rooms, the great halls, and the wide stairways seemed neverto have known the touch of human footsteps. In one of the smaller rooms,on a pillow of a velvet couch, he saw some needlework and a pair ofscissors lying beside it. It looked as though the sewing had beencarelessly thrown down, as indeed it had been when Great-aunt Hortense'sservant had come for the comtesse.
Dian stood still in the center of the drawing-room and pondered. Helooked at the inlaid mother-of-pearl table from which Humphrey hadsnatched the blue velvet covering to put about Rosanne, and at the widehearth where Lisle and Rosanne had toasted the nuts that night a weekago, when so much had happened. Dian could not know of all this, but heworked things out in his mind. The house had not been taken over by theRepublican soldiers. Of that he was convinced. Neville had told him ofmuch that was happening, and he knew that he would have found some signof occupation either by the mob or official authority.
He went on up to the floor above and came to a large room which he wassure must have belonged to the comtesse, for in it were a gilded bedwith a blue brocade coverlet, and a tall dressing table with bluedraperies and gold toilet articles. There was a little room off thiswhich interested Dian and he stayed in it for some time. Dian had notwanted to go through the house, but he knew that he must do everythingin his power to find Lisle and his mother and the little girl who hadalways been the Little Mademoiselle's best friend. That was why thelittle room off the comtesse's big one interested him so much. There wasa sleeping couch, and close by it a table. On the table were arrangedsome books, and propped against the books was a water-color painting ofa dog. In spite of the wobbly legs and ungainly shape, Dian realizedthat it was meant to be a likeness of Flambeau. He picked it up and readwhat was written on it:
"Flambeau wishes to give you his best felicitations for your birthday.Your friend, Marie Josephine."
The date was that of a year or more before. It evidently had been one ofRosanne's greatest treasures. She had brought it with her when she hadhad to leave her own home so suddenly for the Saint Frere home. As Dianlooked at the painting, he felt the same sadness of heart that he hadfelt when Grigge had begged him not to go away. It was because he hadsuch deep and tender pity for any one in distress.
He passed on to the servants' part of the house. Everywhere he sawevidence of careless, hasty departure. There was one room that seemeddifferent from the others; it gave the air of being occupied. Dian knewat once that it belonged to Henri, the one servant who had stayed, andhe whom Neville did not trust. The door of the room was open, and Dianwent inside. Henri probably still lived here, and at any moment he mightreturn.
Dian went on down through the vast house, feeling his way in thedarkness, until he came to the long corridor on the lower floor. He tooka candle from one of many in a bronze candelabra on the hall table, andthen, with his sack over his shoulder, made his way to the top of thecellar stairs. Here he lit his candle with flint and tinder which he hadfound in a box on the drawing-room floor. Then he climbed down, down,until he came to the dim cellar. He knelt on the floor and pressed thelittle square stone--the seventh--that was wedged in between the otherstones. The stone slid aside and, as the space opened to receive him, hedescended slowly into the heart of the ancient house, into thefurthermost depths of its hidden fastness. Before descending, he touchedthe stone and it slipped back into place. He had faith that it wouldopen as easily again at his touch. He had searched for no lodging inParis that day because he knew that he would lodge deep underground. Hewas "the other one" who knew of the hidden cellar!