CHAPTER XIV
WHAT LISLE PUT IN THE CAKE
"Tell me some more, please. See, I will blow the fire and make a blaze."Vivi spoke pleadingly, as she picked up some pieces of a broken basketand put them on the low fire in the tiny, rusty grate.
"You tell me something, Vivi. I've talked and talked, and now I want toknow about you. Have you always lived here in the alley? Let's sit closetogether to keep warm, and let's talk."
Rosanne drew the velvet table cover close about them and they hitchedthe cot as near the fire as they could without getting up.
Vivi shook her head.
"What is there for me to tell, Mademoiselle? It is you who have doneeverything. I have done nothing. I have lived with my father always,here in the alley. Winter and summer I have lived here. In the summer Igo out and play in the streets. There is always some fun about thegates. We used to catch rides on the market carts, and that was the mostfun of all. Sometimes we would ride way out into the country. But thosetimes are over, for now no one may go in and out of the city without apass, and there is always shouting and fighting around the gates."
It was a fortnight since Humphrey Trail had brought Rosanne to Vivi.Their acquaintance had progressed by leaps and bounds. Shut in from thewinter cold and terrors of the city, it was small wonder that they weredrawn together. The days had been long, the only excitement being thearrival of Humphrey with food and good cheer. But he always had to shakehis head when Rosanne asked for news of Lisle. He did not let her seehow he himself was worried to distraction over the boy; instead healways had a word of encouragement. They would have a clue soon. He wasprobably safe enough. Yet all the while, night and day, he was goingover in his mind the few things that he knew about Lisle. Where was he?How to find him? These were the grave questions always before HumphreyTrail!
This particular February night he was feeling discouraged, and for thatreason pretended to be more than usually cheerful before the two girls.He found them sitting on the cot close to the fire and spoke to themmerrily.
"What would tha say to a bit o' sweet cake! Humphrey Trail will bringtha some. Tha shall see!"
Vivi smiled delightedly.
"A real cake from a bakery shop; one with cherries," she pleaded.
"Bring news of Lisle, Humphrey Trail," Rosanne said. Her brown eyeslooked very big in her small, white face.
Above all things he must see that the little girl kept her cheer andcourage. "Tha'll be running races with him some day in the land o'Yorkshire," he said as he threw his cloak over his shoulder and wentout.
He stood uncertainly for some moments on the corner of the rue SaintAntoine in a swirl of snow. Sounds of rough, brawling voices came downthe dark street. The snow was black with the ashes and smoke fromnear-by forges where guns were being made for the army. Humphrey steppedinside a small cafe at the end of the street and, seating himself at arude table near the door, ordered a glass of hot ale. He had neverattempted any disguise. He was just an honest farmer and taken for suchby any one who took the trouble to notice him. Few would have thoughthim to be other than French until they heard him speak. There were manyout-of-towners in the city at that time, market farmers, well-to-dovillagers, all eager to join in the talk and wrangle of the day, eachwith his own especial plan or grievance, all ardent Republicans.
Humphrey listened to a group who sat near him, rough, unkempt men of theSaint Antoine district. He had made it a practice, during the lastfortnight, of dropping in here and there and listening to the talk goingon around him. He sipped his hot ale, listening intently, but hisknowledge of French was so meager that he could only catch a word hereand there.
"They think they're mighty fine, those aristos living snugly in theirgrand houses in the country. They think their fields and cattle andtheir hired slaves will save them. Well, they'll sing another song soon.They'll not stay long in hiding. They'll be hunted out, root and branch,all of them!"
Loud laughter and applause greeted the end of this harangue. Afterputting down the coins to pay for his drink, Humphrey went out into thewintry night. He had heard something which gave him food for thought,and he felt that it would ease his mind to walk about the city. He wasrestless, but his discouragement had given place to alertness. There wasso much to do that he had not a moment for brooding. For a week or morehe had been wondering how it was with Lisle's family at Pigeon Valley.The day after Lisle's disappearance he had gone to the Marquise duGanne's house. Rosanne knew the house well, having gone there on stateoccasions with Marie Josephine. She was able to give Humphrey a fairidea of how to find it. She told him that the coat of arms on the doorwas different from that of the Saint Freres'. It was a shield with twoswords crossed in the middle. He had found the house, but he had found,also, two soldiers of the Republic stationed in front of it. He hadstopped and spoken to them.
"Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, citizen," he had said, and they hadanswered, "Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, citizen."
"You have a chilly day for doing naught but standing still," he went on.They had laughed at his attempt to speak their Paris French, and one ofthem had replied:
"We are watching a nest to see that the birds do not fly away, citizen."
Then he had gone on as unconcernedly as he could. So Lisle's mother andhis Great-aunt Hortense were prisoners, too!
Humphrey was thinking over this occurrence of a fortnight ago, as hewalked toward the Place de la Bastille. He had gone back twice since toa vantage point where he could see the Du Ganne house without beingobserved himself. Both times he had seen the soldiers. He was thankfulthat Rosanne was safe for the present, at least. He was slowly trying toprepare a way of escape when the time should come that he could getaway, but he knew that unless he could take the children, Lisle andRosanne, with him, he would never go. He would not go alone.
The skipper of the schooner _Sandlass_, Anastasius Grubb, was aYorkshire friend of his. He had made the voyage across from England withhis crony, and he had waved him a smiling good-by from the shore. Butthat was some time ago now and Anastasius was as far away andunattainable as the stars, or so it seemed to Humphrey on that rawFebruary night!
He walked on toward the rue Saint Honore, drawing up the wide collar ofhis coat as the stinging wind blew about him. At last he turned in atthe gilded door of the bakery at 126 rue Saint Honore. Its blue andsilver sign was flapping in the wind.
When he came inside he saw the bakery woman talking across the counterwith a boy who carried a basket of vegetables.
"Tell your master that I say he is getting almost too fine for his oldfriends, judging by the cake he has ordered for next week!" the womanwas saying, and the boy answered:
"It's not for himself. It's for the seed merchant where we stay when wecome in with produce. Some of his friends are coming together next weekfor a dispute and supper!"
The bakery woman shrugged her shoulders.
"That's all they do, waste good time chattering like a set of magpies.Well, they'll have the cake, never fear! Now you can go to the back andtake a cup of coffee and a croissant, if you've a mind to. Only do getthat big basket out of the way, and quickly, too. You're right in frontof a customer."
The boy went through the shop to the back where he found himself in themidst of general confusion.
Humphrey selected a good-sized sponge cake topped with almond icing. Itwas expensive and he counted out his coins ruefully. He did not have agreat deal of money and he knew that he must save enough for bribes, ifneed be. He took the package of cake from the woman, who gave him only apassing look, and went out.
Raoul, the farmer's boy, helped himself to a steaming cup of coffee froma tall, white jug on the table in the back room and selected a nicelybrowned croissant from the plate beside the jug. Then he shoved hisbasket over to one side and looked about for a place to rest and eat. Hehad been on his feet all day, and he was glad of the prospect of a biteto eat and, perhaps, a nap. Beyond the pantry room, at one side, wer
ethe kitchens, from which issued a savory odor of baking and the jangleof many voices; on the other side, at the back, was something thatlooked like a storeroom. On going into the storeroom, Raoul found thatit was filled with old boxes, bundles of paper, a broken chair or two,and some tubs.
He sat down on a dingy settle without a back, in a dim corner of thisjunk room. At the other end of the room was a short stairway leading toa narrow gallery. The remains of an old bureau and some more boxes wereheaped up on the little gallery. Raoul sipped his hot, sweet coffee andmunched his croissant. The warmth from the baking kitchens and the quietafter his busy day made him drowsy, and soon he was fast asleep.
He woke suddenly and sat up. The bakery woman was climbing the stairway,carrying a tray. When she reached the gallery she put the tray down onthe floor in front of a door which faced her. Taking some keys from herwaist she unlocked the door and then picked up the tray. At that moment,through the half-open door, Raoul caught sight of a boy, who sat facinghim on a window ledge in a corner of the room.
Raoul rubbed his eyes. He was not one to fancy things. Surely he wasawake and not dreaming! He had seen a boy sitting on a window ledge inan otherwise unused room back of the storeroom. He had seen himdistinctly. The light from a window behind had shone upon the boy's fairhair. He saw the bakery woman unlock the door upon going in, and he knewshe had locked it again when she went inside. He had heard the lockclick. The boy in the room must be a prisoner!
Raoul picked up his basket of vegetables and went quickly out, unnoticedby the bustling groups in the kitchens and pantry.
After she had bolted the door, the woman crossed the room, and, puttingthe tray down on the window sill beside her prisoner, surveyed him, herhands on her hips. Lisle returned her gaze unconcernedly.
"A nice, grateful kind of boy you are, to be sure! Here I leave mypatrons and my shop to come up here with good, fresh milk broughtstraight from the country by a market gardener, and crisp cakes baked inmy own oven this very day, and never so much as a 'Thank you' from youfor all my pains. Name of a name, but you're a proud one!"
Lisle did not show any emotion at the bakery woman's words, and that iswhat she could not understand. He had been snatched away from his ownhome, this young aristocrat, at night in the midst of a storm, and was aprisoner here in this little room at the back of her bakery shop, heldunder lock and key, his destination unknown. For all he knew, he mightbe delivered up at any moment to the Revolutionary Tribunal, which madeshort work of aristocrats, old or young. Yet he could look at herunconcernedly with his cold blue eyes. Well, she had had nothing to dowith the whole business, except that it was her task to feed theprisoner. She was not without a heart, and she saw that the food wasgood. She had no use for aristocrats, old or young--let them have theirjust deserts!--but she could not see the sense of keeping the boy shutup. Her husband did not confide his plans to her, but she guessed thatthere was money in his scheme, money or official position in one of thesections. These sections had sprung up all over the city, and each onehoped, in time, to make the laws of the country. No doubt her husbandwas keeping the lad until the right moment for handing him over to theRevolutionary Tribunal. He would be a ripe plum to present. That wastheir game. She was sure of it!
The prisoner was speaking to her.
"I wish to ask you a question. Could you tell me if there is any otherprisoner in this place beside myself?"
Lisle asked the question simply enough, but he listened eagerly for thewoman's answer. His unwinking gaze held her eyes as she replied:
"There is no one else. Do you think I make a jail out of my good bakery?No! I've plenty to do to feed the gay birds who come flocking in thesedays. They think they're all very fine, good Republicans they callthemselves, but to my mind their heads are not any too safe on theirshoulders. Each one has his turn these days, and the mob is none toofond of fine clothes!" She walked toward the door as she spoke, and asshe opened it, she said over her shoulder:
"You'll do well to eat the cakes. They're madeleines, you know, the kindyou bought when you used to come to the bakery."
He smiled as he answered her. "I'll eat them, every one," he said.
He sat for a long time on the window sill, his hands clasped about hisknees, thinking. He still wore the blue velvet suit in which he had beendressed on the night of his abduction. The woman brushed it for him eachnight. The fresh linen that she brought him each day was coarse. She didnot ask him to wear the shabby trunks and smock which her husband hadgiven her for him; but there was a streak of romance in her, and sheadmitted to herself that she liked to see the boy sitting there on thesill, in his velvet suit, and with the flare of ribbon at the back ofhis neck. He was different from any one that had ever been in her life,like some one in a book of fairy tales.
Lisle was thinking deeply, while he drank the glass of milk and ate thecakes. He went over in his mind the events of a fortnight ago--hissudden, unbelievable capture, the rush through the fury of the storm,then warmth, the smell of baking, this room, and the bakery woman! Hehad never seen his captors. They had left him blindfolded inside theroom, and the woman had come in shortly afterward!
He knew that the bakery woman was kind and he was grateful to her. Heknew that as a prisoner he might have had to suffer physically in waysthat he would have found it hard to bear. Here there was no filth ormisery. There was good food and a comfortable bed. There was even alittle mouse who came out and wabbled its nose at him now and then. Heparticularly enjoyed this because he had read stories in which prisonersmade friends with mice and rats. It made his captivity more interestingto him. He felt certain that the bakery woman would not lift a finger tohelp him to escape, and he was right. She was not of the stuff of whichheroines are made. She would not do anything to change the peaceful,even course of her bakery existence. No, he must not look to her formore than everyday comfort! Where, then, could he look?
He thought constantly of Rosanne, more so than of his mother, for heknew where his mother was, or, at least, where she was supposed to be,while of Rosanne he knew nothing at all, except that he had left hersinging in the salon when he went to the cellar for the wood. More thananything else he longed to know that she was safe. He did not dare tomention her to the bakery woman, because he did not want to callattention to her at all. There was nothing then that he could do, butwait.
He asked the bakery woman for ink and a pen soon after his coming. Shehad protested at first, but had finally brought him a dish of ink and along, fine quill pen. She herself used such articles only for heraccounts, writing not being one of her best accomplishments. Lisle hadexplained to her why he wanted them.
"There is nothing to do, don't you see? Nothing. I have no books, andyou have none to give me. All prisoners have written accounts of theirlife in prison. It is always done, and it will give me something tothink about!" he had said to her, and she had brought what he wanted,when she had come up again with his food. He had begun a sort of diary,and once when the mouse came out from his hole and winked at him whilehe was writing, he felt as though he might be a part of an old novel. Hewas a prisoner writing his diary, and his one friend was a mouse!
These were his happier moments. There were other times when he realizedhis dire position so vividly that it seemed as though he must pound andtear at the door until somehow he smashed it open, but he knew that itwould never give way. He knew that his mother had gone to Great-auntHortense. More than that he could not know, and he dared not think toomuch about his people. When he thought of Pigeon Valley, he found thatit was Dian who stood out among all others.
Meanwhile, Dian had walked the city from one end to another, makingfriends as was his wont. He became acquainted with the market gardenerand went about with him to meetings of the different sections. Now andthen he spoke at the meetings. When he spoke, the wrangling generallyceased for a moment, and the people listened--but only for a moment.They had no use for the message of love that he had to give. Yet theyshowed no animosity when his gentle, earnest face
was seen among thecrowds and at public meetings. He never once lost faith in his beliefthat the right way would be shown him. He was grateful that he had metRaoul and his master, for being with them meant being with the people,mingling with them freely. He had never gone through the Saint Frerehouse again, as he did not wish to run the risk of meeting Henri. Eachnight he slept in the hidden cellar and it was there that he thoughteverything out. As he paced up and down the rough, uneven floor, Dianthought that he would give up all that the future held for him of peaceand quiet days to have Lisle walking beside him.
When the bakery woman came in to see Lisle the next afternoon shebrought with her the cake she had baked for the seed shopman's party.The boy, Raoul, was to come for it at four o'clock. Her man was going tothe supper. There was to be roasted suckling pig. Indeed, it was to be afine affair and much discussion was to take place.
"They'll talk, but they won't get anywhere; they never do," sniffed thewoman as she set the cake down on the table. It was already placed inits wide green box, and it was surrounded by soft pink paper.
It was a superb, a fantastic cake--four tiers of golden fluff, withglimpses of cream and marrons between layers and a gauze covering ofspun sugar holding it all in place. It was topped with a glitteringicing. The icing was festooned with candied apricots and cherries, inthe midst of which stood a little spun-sugar figure wearing a tinyscarlet cap decorated with a tri-color rosette, the emblem of therevolution!
The bakery woman was proud of her cake and she did not attempt toconceal her pride. She pushed one side of the fine paper away so thatLisle could see it in all its glory. Lisle was glad to show hisgratitude to the bakery woman for her kindness, by expressing aninterest in her cake. He was quick to see beauty and cleverness, and helooked at the cake with appreciation. "Magnificent!" he exclaimed.Something in his sincere admiration, contrasting with the dire peril ofhis situation, touched the bakery woman so much that the tears came toher eyes. She turned away, saying, "I'll see if I can make your cot morecomfortable."
She crossed the room, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand as shewent.
It was then that the thought came to Lisle, and he knew that he must actquickly. He picked up the quill pen and wrote these words on a scrap ofpaper:
"I am Lisle Saint Frere, and I am a prisoner in the bakery shop at 128rue Saint Honore."
He folded the paper and thrust it far back in the corner of the box,almost under the cake. While he did this he watched the bakery woman,whose back was toward him, as she smoothed the blankets of his cot. Whenshe turned around, he was sitting as usual on the window seat. As shecame up to him, he nodded toward the cake.
"You are a genius. I have never seen a cake like it, even at my mother'ssoirees!" he said.
"It is a cake! Sacre bleu, it is a cake!" the bakery woman exclaimed.
"It might be for a banquet of the gods!" said Lisle, leaning forward andgiving it another look. As he did so, the picture of past days in theschoolroom at home rose before him--Le Pont reading about Olympus, MarieJosephine pulling Denise's hair when the governess was not looking,Hortense's bored expression as she unwillingly took notes for acomposition they were to write on the "Iliad." A feeling of hopelessnesscame over him, but he smiled one of his rare smiles as he spoke to thewoman. She put the green cover on the box and fastened the paper allabout it with a gilt cord.
"There are no gods now but liberty and fraternity, they say, but I saythere's too much lawlessness, too much fighting and drinking, when everyone needs a sober head. That's what I say!" The woman shrugged hershoulders, lifted the box and walked toward the door. "This cake isgoing to them that have never tasted anything like it before. No oneneeds to say, because I've risen in the world I forget them thathasn't." As she said this, the bakery woman went out and closed thedoor.
* * * * *
The seed shopman, whose name was Soufflot, surveyed his room with pride.It was the storeroom of the seed shop. All along the center of the roomwere two rows of rude benches put together to make one long table. Thewalls were festooned from one end to the other with tri-color rosettesand streamers. At the far end of the room was a great banner upon whichwere the words "Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, or Death" in bright red,white, and blue letters.
The seed shopman had little enough to offer in the way of refreshment,his own nourishment consisting of black bread and lentil soup; but hewas fortunate in having friends from the country. Raoul's master hadbrought a couple of suckling pigs and had ordered a superb cake from thefamous bakery on the rue Saint Honore!
There were rows of tin plates along each side of the improvised table,and jugs of thin red wine were placed at intervals down the middle. Froman inner room came the smell of sizzling, roasted pig. The cake sat inthe center of the table. It was of so regal an aspect that it seemed tohave no part with its surroundings.
A clock somewhere near the West Barricade struck nine. It was time forthe guests to arrive. Just then, the market gardener, who hadcontributed largely to the feast, entered the room, Raoul at his heels.Towering behind them, his grey cloak wrapt close about him, hatless, andwith the breath of fields and woods that seemed always to hovermysteriously about him, was Dian!
"I've brought in a man from the farmlands. He met up with the boy,Raoul. He's a shepherd and he's new to the city. He went to a sitting ofthe convention last night and spoke some good words, but those foolswouldn't listen to him," said the market gardener. Having donated thepigs and potatoes and the cake for the feast, he felt at liberty tobring in whom he pleased to partake of it.
Soufflot gave Dian a hearty welcome. His greeting was interrupted by theloud trampling of feet and the jangle of rough voices on the stairs, andthe next moment the party arrived!
It was a noisy meal after the first hunger had been appeased. Theguests, whose food consisted daily of black bread and garlic washed downwith poor wine, ate enormously, declaring that they never knew thatroasted pig could taste so good.
When at last they had had enough of the pig, they sat back and began totalk.
"The aristocrats are going, going, going! The guillotine is doing goodwork. But we must find them all, we must not let any escape! Some ofthem are getting away in spite of us, but, for the most part, they'resafe under lock and key or, better still, minus their thinking caps!"
There was a loud laugh at the end of the seed shopman's remark, followedby a moment's hush as Soufflot's wife lifted the great cake and began topass it around the table. It was so magnificent, as Lisle had said, thatit fairly took one's breath away. Most of the guests--tailors,blacksmiths, and tanners from the Saint Antoine district--were in awe ofit, but after one taste they fell to with ardor. It was good! Ah, but itwas delicious, that cake from the bakery on the rue Saint Honore!
It was slow work passing it about the table, for it was heavy to carry.As Soufflot's wife had no china dish to put it on, she had left it inits green box. Raoul regarded it yearningly. Would it ever reach him! Hehad thought often of the boy in the room above the junk room at the backof the bakery, but he had not spoken of him to any one. He knew that itwas best to keep a quiet tongue in one's head and he had no desire atall to get himself into trouble. It was no concern of his! He eyed thecake gloatingly, and turning to Dian, who sat next to him, he exclaimed:"How big it is! Madame Soufflot cuts big wedges for everyone but stillit seems immense!"
His turn had come and he eyed his portion delightedly. He lifted the bigpiece in both hands and delved into it, smearing his round face withcream.
Dian took the rusty, uneven knife and lifted out his slice as Soufflot'swife passed it to him. Then she went on to the next man. Dian took hiscake in his hand, and, as he did so, he saw a stiff piece of paper stucktight to the melting sugar. It was heavy and firm like writing paper,otherwise it would have turned to a pulp, as the softer paper about thecake had done. Dian unfolded it without thinking and saw the writing onit. He glanced about him. Everyone was deep in his cake and thediscussion.
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He read the words written upon it.
"I am Lisle Saint Frere, and I am a prisoner in the bakery shop at 128rue Saint Honore."
He crushed the paper between his fingers, grinding it to bits with hisnails. Then he sat silently in the midst of the hubbub going on abouthim, his head bowed over his clasped hands and in his heart a prayer ofgratitude.