IX
THE CABARET DE LA LIBERTE
I
"Eight!"
"Twelve!"
"Four!"
A loud curse accompanied this last throw, and shouts of ribald laughtergreeted it.
"No luck, Guidal!"
"Always at the tail end of the cart, eh, citizen?"
"Do not despair yet, good old Guidal! Bad beginnings oft make splendidends!"
Then once again the dice rattled in the boxes; those who stood aroundpressed closer round the gamesters; hot, avid faces, covered with sweatand grime, peered eagerly down upon the table.
"Eight and eleven--nineteen!"
"Twelve and zero! By Satan! Curse him! Just my luck!"
"Four and nine--thirteen! Unlucky number!"
"Now then--once more! I'll back Merri! Ten assignats of the mostworthless kind! Who'll take me that Merri gets the wench in the end?"
This from one of the lookers-on, a tall, cadaverous-looking creature,with sunken eyes and broad, hunched-up shoulders, which were perpetuallyshaken by a dry, rasping cough that proclaimed the ravages of somemortal disease, left him trembling as with ague and brought beads ofperspiration to the roots of his lank hair. A recrudescence ofexcitement went the round of the spectators. The gamblers sitting rounda narrow deal table, on which past libations had left marks of stickyrings, had scarce room to move their elbows.
"Nineteen and four--twenty-three!"
"You are out of it, Desmonts!"
"Not yet!"
"Twelve and twelve!"
"There! What did I tell you?"
"Wait! wait! Now, Merri! Now! Remember I have backed you for tenassignats, which I propose to steal from the nearest Jew this verynight."
"Thirteen and twelve! Twenty-five, by all the demons and the ghouls!"came with a triumphant shout from the last thrower.
"Merri has it! Vive Merri!" was the unanimous and clamorous response.
Merri was evidently the most popular amongst the three gamblers. Now hesprawled upon the bench, leaning his back against the table, andsurveyed the assembled company with the air of an Achilles havingvanquished his Hector.
"Good luck to you and to your aristo!" began his backer lustily--would,no doubt, have continued his song of praise had not a violent fit ofcoughing smothered the words in his throat. The hand which he had raisedin order to slap his friend genially on the back now went with aconvulsive clutch to his own chest.
But his obvious distress did not apparently disturb the equanimity ofMerri, or arouse even passing interest in the lookers-on.
"May she have as much money as rumour avers," said one of the mensententiously.
Merri gave a careless wave of his grubby hand.
"More, citizen; more!" he said loftily.
Only the two losers appeared inclined to scepticism.
"Bah!" one of them said--it was Desmonts. "The whole matter of thewoman's money may be a tissue of lies!"
"And England is a far cry!" added Guidal.
But Merri was not likely to be depressed by these dismal croakings.
"'Tis simple enough," he said philosophically, "to disparage the goodsif you are not able to buy."
Then a lusty voice broke in from the far corner of the room:
"And now, citizen Merri, 'tis time you remembered that the evening ishot and your friends thirsty!"
The man who spoke was a short, broad-shouldered creature, with crimsonface surrounded by a shock of white hair, like a ripe tomato wrapped incotton wool.
"And let me tell you," he added complacently, "that I have a cask of rumdown below, which came straight from that accursed country, England, andis said to be the nectar whereon feeds that confounded ScarletPimpernel. It gives him the strength, so 'tis said, to intriguesuccessfully against the representatives of the people."
"Then by all means, citizen," concluded Merri's backer, still hoarse andspent after his fit of coughing, "let us have some of your nectar. Myfriend, citizen Merri, will need strength and wits too, I'll warrant,for, after he has married the aristo, he will have to journey to Englandto pluck the rich dowry which is said to lie hidden there."
"Cast no doubt upon that dowry, citizen Rateau, curse you!" broke inMerri, with a spiteful glance directed against his former rivals, "orGuidal and Desmonts will cease to look glum, and half my joy in thearisto will have gone."
After which, the conversation drifted to general subjects, becamehilarious and ribald, while the celebrated rum from England filled theclose atmosphere of the narrow room with its heady fumes.
II
Open to the street in front, the locality known under the pretentioustitle of "Cabaret de la Liberte" was a favoured one among the flotsamand jetsam of the population of this corner of old Paris; men andsometimes women, with nothing particular to do, no special means oflivelihood save the battening on the countless miseries and sorrowswhich this Revolution, which was to have been so glorious, was bringingin its train; idlers and loafers, who would crawl desultorily down thefew worn and grimy steps which led into the cabaret from the level ofthe street. There was always good brandy or eau de vie to be had there,and no questions asked, no scares from the revolutionary guards or thesecret agents of the Committee of Public Safety, who knew better than tointerfere with the citizen host and his dubious clientele. There wasalso good Rhine wine or rum to be had, smuggled across from England orGermany, and no interference from the spies of some of those countlessCommittees, more autocratic than any ci-devant despot. It was, in fact,an ideal place wherein to conduct those shady transactions which areunavoidable corollaries of an unfettered democracy. Projects ofburglary, pillage, rapine, even murder, were hatched within thisunderground burrow, where, as soon as evening drew in, a solitary, smokyoil-lamp alone cast a dim light upon faces that liked to court thedarkness, and whence no sound that was not meant for prying ears foundits way to the street above. The walls were thick with grime and smoke,the floor mildewed and cracked; dirt vied with squalor to make the placea fitting abode for thieves and cut-throats, for some of those sinisternight-birds, more vile even than those who shrieked with satisfied lustat sight of the tumbril, with its daily load of unfortunates for theguillotine.
On this occasion the project that was being hatched was one of the mostabject. A young girl, known by some to be possessed of a fortune, wasthe stake for which these workers of iniquity gambled across one of minehost's greasy tables. The latest decree of the Convention, encouraging,nay, commanding, the union of aristocrats with so-called patriots, hadfired the imagination of this nest of jail-birds with thoughts ofglorious possibilities. Some of them had collected the necessaryinformation; and the report had been encouraging.
That self-indulgent aristo, the ci-devant banker Amede Vincent, who hadexpiated his villainies upon the guillotine, was known to have beensuccessful in abstracting the bulk of his ill-gotten wealth andconcealing it somewhere--it was not exactly known where, but thought tobe in England--out of the reach, at any rate, of deserving patriots.
Some three or four years ago, before the glorious principles of Liberty,Equality, and Fraternity had made short shrift of all such pestilentialaristocrats, the ci-devant banker, then a widower with an only daughter,Esther, had journeyed to England. He soon returned to Paris, however,and went on living there with his little girl in comparative retirement,until his many crimes found him out at last and he was made to sufferthe punishment which he so justly deserved. Those crimes consisted forthe most part in humiliating the aforesaid deserving patriots with hisbenevolence, shaming them with many kindnesses, and the simplicity ofhis home-life, and, above all, in flouting the decrees of theRevolutionary Government, which made every connection with ci-devantchurches and priests a penal offence against the security of the State.
Amede Vincent was sent to the guillotine, and the representatives of thepeople confiscated his house and all his property on which they couldlay their hands; but they never found the millions which he was supposedto have concealed. Certainly his daughter
Esther--a young girl, not yetnineteen--had not found them either, for after her father's death shewent to live in one of the poorer quarters of Paris, alone with an oldand faithful servant named Lucienne. And while the Committee of PublicSafety was deliberating whether it would be worth while to send Estherto the guillotine, to follow in her father's footsteps, a certain numberof astute jail-birds plotted to obtain possession of her wealth.
The wealth existed, over in England; of that they were ready to taketheir oath, and the project which they had formed was as ingenious as itwas diabolic: to feign a denunciation, to enact a pretended arrest, toplace before the unfortunate girl the alternative of death or marriagewith one of the gang, were the chief incidents of this inquitousproject, and it was in the Cabaret de la Liberte that lots were thrownas to which among the herd of miscreants should be the favoured one toplay the chief role in the sinister drama.
The lot fell to Merri; but the whole gang was to have a share in theputative fortune--even Rateau, the wretched creature with the hackingcough, who looked as if he had one foot in the grave, and shivered as ifhe were stricken with ague, put in a word now and again to remind hisgood friend Merri that he, too, was looking forward to his share of thespoils. Merri, however, was inclined to repudiate him altogether.
"Why should I share with you?" he said roughly, when, a few hours later,he and Rateau parted in the street outside the Cabaret de la Liberte."Who are you, I would like to know, to try and poke your ugly nose intomy affairs? How do I know where you come from, and whether you are notsome crapulent spy of one of those pestilential committees?"
From which eloquent flow of language we may infer that the friendshipbetween these two worthies was not of very old duration. Rateau would,no doubt, have protested loudly, but the fresh outer air had evidentlycaught his wheezy lungs, and for a minute or two he could do nothing butcough and splutter and groan, and cling to his unresponsive comrade forsupport. Then at last, when he had succeeded in recovering his breath,he said dolefully and with a ludicrous attempt at dignified reproach:
"Do not force me to remind you, citizen Merri, that if it had not beenfor my suggestion that we should all draw lots, and then play hazardas to who shall be the chosen one to woo the ci-devant millionairess,there would soon have been a free fight inside the cabaret, a number ofbroken heads, and no decision whatever arrived at; whilst you, who werenever much of a fighter, would probably be lying now helpless, with abroken nose, and deprived of some of your teeth, and with no chance ofentering the lists for the heiress. Instead of which, here you are, thevictor by a stroke of good fortune, which you should at least have thegood grace to ascribe to me."
Whether the poor wretch's argument had any weight with citizen Merri, orwhether that worthy patriot merely thought that procrastination would,for the nonce, prove the best policy, it were impossible to say. Certainit is that in response to his companion's tirade he contented himselfwith a dubious grunt, and without another word turned on his heel andwent slouching down the street.
III
For the persistent and optimistic romanticist, there were still one ortwo idylls to be discovered flourishing under the shadow of the grim andrelentless Revolution. One such was that which had Esther Vincent andJack Kennard for hero and heroine. Esther, the orphaned daughter of oneof the richest bankers of pre-Revolution days, now a daily governess andhousehold drudge at ten francs a week in the house of a retired butcherin the Rue Richelieu, and Jack Kennard, formerly the representative of abig English firm of woollen manufacturers, who had thrown up hisemployment and prospects in England in order to watch over the girl whomhe loved. He, himself an alien enemy, an Englishman, in deadly danger ofhis life every hour that he remained in France; and she, unwilling atthe time to leave the horrors of revolutionary Paris while her fatherwas lingering at the Conciergerie awaiting condemnation, as suchforbidden to leave the city. So Kennard stayed on, unable to tearhimself away from her, and obtained an unlucrative post as accountant ina small wine shop over by Montmartre. His life, like hers, was hangingby a thread; any day, any hour now, some malevolent denunciation might,in the sight of the Committee of Public Safety, turn the eighteen yearsold "suspect" into a living peril to the State, or the alien enemy intoa dangerous spy.
Some of the happiest hours these two spent in one another's company wereembittered by that ever-present dread of the peremptory knock at thedoor, the portentous: "Open, in the name of the Law!" the perquisition,the arrest, to which the only issue, these days, was the guillotine.
But the girl was only just eighteen, and he not many years older, and atthat age, in spite of misery, sorrow, and dread, life always has itscompensations. Youth cries out to happiness so insistently thathappiness is forced to hear, and for a few moments, at the least, drivescare and even the bitterest anxiety away.
For Esther Vincent and her English lover there were moments when theybelieved themselves to be almost happy. It was in the evenings mostly,when she came home from her work and he was free to spend an hour or twowith her. Then old Lucienne, who had been Esther's nurse in the happy,olden days, and was an unpaid maid-of-all-work and a loved and trustedfriend now, would bring in the lamp and pull the well-darned curtainsover the windows. She would spread a clean cloth upon the table andbring in a meagre supper of coffee and black bread, perhaps a littlebutter or a tiny square of cheese. And the two young people would talkof the future, of the time when they would settle down in Kennard's oldhome, over in England, where his mother and sister even now were eatingout their hearts with anxiety for him.
"Tell me all about the South Downs," Esther was very fond of saying;"and your village, and your house, and the rambler roses and theclematis arbour."
She never tired of hearing, or he of telling. The old Manor House,bought with his father's savings; the garden which was his mother'shobby; the cricket pitch on the village green. Oh, the cricket! Shethought that so funny--the men in high, sugar-loaf hats, grown-up men,spending hours and hours, day after day, in banging at a ball with awooden bat!
"Oh, Jack! The English are a funny, nice, dear, kind lot of people. Iremember--"
She remembered so well that happy summer which she had spent with herfather in England four years ago. It was after the Bastille had beenstormed and taken, and the banker had journeyed to England with hisdaughter in something of a hurry. Then her father had talked ofreturning to France and leaving her behind with friends in England. ButEsther would not be left. Oh, no! Even now she glowed with pride at thethought of her firmness in the matter. If she had remained in Englandshe would never have seen her dear father again. Here remembrances grewbitter and sad, until Jack's hand reached soothingly, consolingly out toher, and she brushed away her tears, so as not to sadden him still more.
Then she would ask more questions about his home and his garden, abouthis mother and the dogs and the flowers; and once more they would forgetthat hatred and envy and death were already stalking their door.
IV
"Open, in the name of the Law!"
It had come at last. A bolt from out the serene blue of their happiness.A rough, dirty, angry, cursing crowd, who burst through the heavy dooreven before they had time to open it. Lucienne collapsed into a chair,weeping and lamenting, with her apron thrown over her head. But Estherand Kennard stood quite still and calm, holding one another by the hand,just to give one another courage.
Some half dozen men stalked into the little room. Men? They looked likeravenous beasts, and were unspeakably dirty, wore soiled tricolourscarves above their tattered breeches in token of their official status.Two of them fell on the remnants of the meagre supper and devouredeverything that remained on the table--bread, cheese, a piece ofhome-made sausage. The others ransacked the two attic-rooms which hadbeen home for Esther and Lucienne: the little living-room under thesloping roof, with the small hearth on which very scanty meals were wontto be cooked, and the bare, narrow room beyond, with the iron bedstead,and the palliasse on the floor for Lucienne.
The men poked ab
out everywhere, struck great, spiked sticks through thepoor bits of bedding, and ripped up the palliasse. They tore open thedrawers of the rickety chest and of the broken-down wardrobe, and didnot spare the unfortunate young girl a single humiliation or a singleindignity.
Kennard, burning with wrath, tried to protest.
"Hold that cub!" commanded the leader of the party, almost as soon asthe young Englishman's hot, indignant words had resounded above the dinof overturned furniture. "And if he opens his mouth again throw him intothe street!" And Kennard, terrified lest he should be parted fromEsther, thought it wiser to hold his peace.
They looked at one another, like two young trapped beasts--notdespairing, but trying to infuse courage one into the other by a look ofconfidence and of love. Esther, in fact, kept her eyes fixed on hergood-looking English lover, firmly keeping down the shudder of loathingwhich went right through her when she saw those awful men coming nighher. There was one especially whom she abominated worse than the others,a bandy-legged ruffian, who regarded her with a leer that caused her analmost physical nausea. He did not take part in the perquisition, butsat down in the centre of the room and sprawled over the table with theair of one who was in authority. The others addressed him as "citizenMerri," and alternately ridiculed and deferred to him. And there wasanother, equally hateful, a horrible, cadaverous creature, with hugebare feet thrust into sabots, and lank hair, thick with grime. He didmost of the talking, even though his loquacity occasionally broke downin a racking cough, which literally seemed to tear at his chest, andleft him panting, hoarse, and with beads of moisture upon his low,pallid forehead.
Of course, the men found nothing that could even remotely be termedcompromising. Esther had been very prudent in deference to Kennard'sadvice; she also had very few possessions. Nevertheless, when thewretches had turned every article of furniture inside out, one of themasked curtly:
"What do we do next, citizen Merri?"
"Do?" broke in the cadaverous creature, even before Merri had time toreply. "Do? Why, take the wench to--to--"
He got no further, became helpless with coughing. Esther, quiteinstinctively, pushed the carafe of water towards him.
"Nothing of the sort!" riposted Merri sententiously. "The wench stayshere!"
Both Esther and Jack had much ado to suppress an involuntary cry ofrelief, which at this unexpected pronouncement had risen to their lips.
The man with the cough tried to protest.
"But--" he began hoarsely.
"I said, the wench stays here!" broke in Merri peremptorily. "Ah ca!" headded, with a savage imprecation. "Do you command here, citizen Rateau,or do I?"
The other at once became humble, even cringing.
"You, of course, citizen," he rejoined in his hollow voice. "I wouldonly remark--"
"Remark nothing," retorted the other curtly. "See to it that the cub isout of the house. And after that put a sentry outside the wench's door.No one to go in and out of here under any pretext whatever. Understand?"
Kennard this time uttered a cry of protest. The helplessness of hisposition exasperated him almost to madness. Two men were holding himtightly by his sinewy arms. With an Englishman's instinct for a fight,he would not only have tried, but also succeeded in knocking these twodown, and taken the other four on after that, with quite a reasonablechance of success. That tuberculous creature, now! And that bandy-leggedruffian! Jack Kennard had been an amateur middle-weight champion in hisday, and these brutes had no more science than an enraged bull! But evenas he fought against that instinct he realised the futility of astruggle. The danger of it, too--not for himself, but for her. Afterall, they were not going to take her away to one of those awful placesfrom which the only egress was the way to the guillotine; and if therewas that amount of freedom there was bound to be some hope. At twentythere is always hope!
So when, in obedience to Merri's orders, the two ruffians began to draghim towards the door, he said firmly:
"Leave me alone. I'll go without this unnecessary struggling."
Then, before the wretches realised his intention, he had jerked himselffree from them and run to Esther.
"Have no fear," he said to her in English, and in a rapid whisper. "I'llwatch over you. The house opposite. I know the people. I'll manage itsomehow. Be on the look-out."
They would not let him say more, and she only had the chance ofresponding firmly: "I am not afraid, and I'll be on the look-out." Thenext moment Merri's compeers seized him from behind--four of them thistime.
Then, of course, prudence went to the winds. He hit out to the right andleft. Knocked two of those recreants down, and already was prepared toseize Esther in his arms, make a wild dash for the door, and run withher, whither only God knew, when Rateau, that awful consumptivereprobate, crept slyly up behind him and dealt him a swift and heavyblow on the skull with his weighted stick. Kennard staggered, and thebandits closed upon him. Those on the floor had time to regain theirfeet. To make assurance doubly sure, one of them emulated Rateau'stactics, and hit the Englishman once more on the head from behind. Afterthat, Kennard became inert; he had partly lost consciousness. His headached furiously. Esther, numb with horror, saw him bundled out of theroom. Rateau, coughing and spluttering, finally closed the door upon theunfortunate and the four brigands who had hold of him.
Only Merri and that awful Rateau had remained in the room. The latter,gasping for breath now, poured himself out a mugful of water and drankit down at one draught. Then he swore, because he wanted rum, or brandy,or even wine. Esther watched him and Merri, fascinated. Poor oldLucienne was quietly weeping behind her apron.
"Now then, my wench," Merri began abruptly, "suppose you sit down hereand listen to what I have to say."
He pulled a chair close to him and, with one of those hideous leerswhich had already caused her to shudder, he beckoned her to sit. Estherobeyed as if in a dream. Her eyes were dilated like those of one in awaking trance. She moved mechanically, like a bird attracted by aserpent, terrified, yet unresisting. She felt utterly helpless betweenthese two villainous brutes, and anxiety for her English lover seemedfurther to numb her senses. When she was sitting she turned her gaze,with an involuntary appeal for pity, upon the bandy-legged ruffianbeside her. He laughed.
"No! I am not going to hurt you," he said with smooth condescension,which was far more loathsome to Esther's ears than his comrades' savageoaths had been. "You are pretty and you have pleased me. 'Tis no smallmatter, forsooth!" he added, with loud-voiced bombast, "to have earnedthe good-will of citizen Merri. You, my wench, are in luck's way. Yourealise what has occurred just now. You are amenable to the law whichhas decreed you to be suspect. I hold an order for your arrest. I canhave you seized at once by my men, dragged to the Conciergerie, and fromthence nothing can save you--neither your good looks nor the protectionof citizen Merri. It means the guillotine. You understand that, don'tyou?"
She sat quite still; only her hands were clutched convulsively together.But she contrived to say quite firmly:
"I do, and I am not afraid."
Merri waved a huge and very dirty hand with a careless gesture.
"I know," he said with a harsh laugh. "They all say that, don't they,citizen Rateau?"
"Until the time comes," assented that worthy dryly.
"Until the time comes," reiterated the other. "Now, my wench," he added,once more turning to Esther, "I don't want that time to come. I don'twant your pretty head to go rolling down into the basket, and to receivethe slap on the face which the citizen executioner has of late taken tobestowing on those aristocratic cheeks which Mme. la Guillotine hasfinally blanched for ever. Like this, you see."
And the inhuman wretch took up one of the round cushions from thenearest chair, held it up at arm's length, as if it were a head which heheld by the hair, and then slapped it twice with the palm of his lefthand. The gesture was so horrible and withal so grotesque, that Estherclosed her eyes with a shudder, and her pale cheeks took on a leadenhue. Merri laughed aloud and thr
ew the cushion down again.
"Unpleasant, what? my pretty wench! Well, you know what to expect ...unless," he added significantly, "you are reasonable and will listen towhat I am about to tell you."
Esther was no fool, nor was she unsophisticated. These were not timeswhen it was possible for any girl, however carefully nurtured andtenderly brought up, to remain ignorant of the realities and thebrutalities of life. Even before Merri had put his abominableproposition before her, she knew what he was driving at.Marriage--marriage to him! that ignoble wretch, more vile than any dumbcreature! In exchange for her life!
It was her turn now to laugh. The very thought of it was farcical in itsvery odiousness. Merri, who had embarked on his proposal withgrandiloquent phraseology, suddenly paused, almost awed by that strange,hysterical laughter.
"By Satan and all his ghouls!" he cried, and jumped to his feet, hischeeks paling beneath the grime.
Then rage seized him at his own cowardice. His egregious vanity, woundedby that laughter, egged him on. He tried to seize Esther by the waist.But she, quick as some panther on the defence, had jumped up, too, andpounced upon a knife--the very one she had been using for that happylittle supper with her lover a brief half hour ago. Unguarded,unthinking, acting just with a blind instinct, she raised it and criedhoarsely:
"If you dare touch me, I'll kill you!"
It was ludicrous, of course. A mouse threatening a tiger. The very nextmoment Rateau had seized her hand and quietly taken away the knife.Merri shook himself like a frowsy dog.
"Whew!" he ejaculated. "What a vixen! But," he added lightly, "I likeher all the better for that--eh, Rateau? Give me a wench with atemperament, I say!"
But Esther, too, had recovered herself. She realised her helplessness,and gathered courage from the consciousness of it! Now she faced theinfamous villain more calmly.
"I will never marry you," she said loudly and firmly. "Never! I am notafraid to die. I am not afraid of the guillotine. There is no shameattached to death. So now you may do as you please--denounce me, andsend me to follow in the footsteps of my dear father, if you wish. Butwhilst I am alive you will never come nigh me. If you ever do but lay afinger upon me, it will be because I am dead and beyond the reach ofyour polluting touch. And now I have said all that I will ever say toyou in this life. If you have a spark of humanity left in you, you will,at least, let me prepare for death in peace."
She went round to where poor old Lucienne still sat, like an insentientlog, panic-stricken. She knelt down on the floor and rested her arm onthe old woman's knees. The light of the lamp fell full upon her, herpale face, and mass of chestnut-brown hair. There was nothing about herat this moment to inflame a man's desire. She looked pathetic in herhelplessness, and nearly lifeless through the intensity of her pallor,whilst the look in her eyes was almost maniacal.
Merri cursed and swore, tried to hearten himself by turning on hisfriend. But Rateau had collapsed--whether with excitement or the ravagesof disease, it were impossible to say. He sat upon a low chair, his longlegs, his violet-circled eyes staring out with a look of hebetude andoverwhelming fatigue. Merri looked around him and shuddered. Theatmosphere of the place had become strangely weird and uncanny; even thetablecloth, dragged half across the table, looked somehow like a shroud.
"What shall we do, Rateau?" he asked tremulously at last.
"Get out of this infernal place," replied the other huskily. "I feel asif I were in my grave-clothes already."
"Hold your tongue, you miserable coward! You'll make the aristo thinkthat we are afraid."
"Well?" queried Rateau blandly. "Aren't you?"
"No!" replied Merri fiercely. "I'll go now because ... because ... well!because I have had enough to-day. And the wench sickens me. I wish toserve the Republic by marrying her, but just now I feel as if I shouldnever really want her. So I'll go! But, understand!" he added, andturned once more to Esther, even though he could not bring himself to gonigh her again. "Understand that to-morrow I'll come again for myanswer. In the meanwhile, you may think matters over, and, maybe, you'llarrive at a more reasonable frame of mind. You will not leave theserooms until I set you free. My men will remain as sentinels at yourdoor."
He beckoned to Rateau, and the two men went out of the room withoutanother word.
V
The whole of that night Esther remained shut up in her apartment in thePetite Rue Taranne. All night she heard the measured tramp, themovements, the laughter and loud talking of men outside her door. Onceor twice she tried to listen to what they said. But the doors and wallsin these houses of old Paris were too stout to allow voices to filterthrough, save in the guise of a confused murmur. She would have felthorribly lonely and frightened but for the fact that in one window onthe third floor in the house opposite the light of a lamp appeared likea glimmer of hope. Jack Kennard was there, on the watch. He had thewindow open and sat beside it until a very late hour; and after that hekept the light in, as a beacon, to bid her be of good cheer.
In the middle of the night he made an attempt to see her, hoping tocatch the sentinels asleep or absent. But, having climbed the fivestories of the house wherein she dwelt, he arrived on the landingoutside her door and found there half a dozen ruffians squatting on thestone floor and engaged in playing hazard with a pack of greasy cards.That wretched consumptive, Rateau, was with them, and made a facetiousremark as Kennard, pale and haggard, almost ghostlike, with a whitebandage round his head, appeared upon the landing.
"Go back to bed, citizen," the odious creature said, with a raucouslaugh. "We are taking care of your sweetheart for you."
Never in all his life had Jack Kennard felt so abjectly wretched as hedid then, so miserably helpless. There was nothing that he could do,save to return to the lodging, which a kind friend had lent him for theoccasion, and from whence he could, at any rate, see the windows behindwhich his beloved was watching and suffering.
When he went a few moments ago, he had left the porte cochere ajar. Nowhe pushed it open and stepped into the dark passage beyond. A tinystreak of light filtrated through a small curtained window in theconcierge's lodge; it served to guide Kennard to the foot of the narrowstone staircase which led to the floors above. Just at the foot of thestairs, on the mat, a white paper glimmered in the dim shaft of light.He paused, puzzled, quite certain that the paper was not there fiveminutes ago when he went out. Oh! it may have fluttered in from thecourtyard beyond, or from anywhere, driven by the draught. But, even so,with that mechanical action peculiar to most people under likecircumstances, he stooped and picked up the paper, turned it overbetween his fingers, and saw that a few words were scribbled on it inpencil. The light was too dim to read by, so Kennard, still quitemechanically, kept the paper in his hand and went up to his room. There,by the light of the lamp, he read the few words scribbled in pencil:
"Wait in the street outside."
Nothing more. The message was obviously not intended for him, and yet....A strange excitement possessed him. If it should be! If...! He hadheard--everyone had--of the mysterious agencies that were at work, undercover of darkness, to aid the unfortunate, the innocent, the helpless.He had heard of that legendary English gentleman who had before nowdefied the closest vigilance of the Committees, and snatched theirintended victims out of their murderous clutches, at times under theirvery eyes.
If this should be...! He scarce dared put his hope into words. He couldnot bring himself really to believe. But he went. He ran downstairs andout into the street, took his stand under a projecting doorway nearlyopposite the house which held the woman he loved, and leaning againstthe wall, he waited.
After many hours--it was then past three o'clock in the morning, and thesky of an inky blackness--he felt so numb that despite his will a kindof trance-like drowsiness overcame him. He could no longer stand on hisfeet; his knees were shaking; his head felt so heavy that he could notkeep it up. It rolled round from shoulder to shoulder, as if his will nolonger controlled it. And it ached furiously. Everything around
him wasvery still. Even "Paris-by-Night," that grim and lurid giant, was forthe moment at rest. A warm summer rain was falling; its gentle,pattering murmur into the gutter helped to lull Kennard's senses intosomnolence. He was on the point of dropping off to sleep when somethingsuddenly roused him. A noise of men shouting and laughing--familiarsounds enough in these squalid Paris streets.
But Kennard was wide awake now; numbness had given place to intensequivering of all his muscles, and super-keenness of his every sense. Hepeered into the darkness and strained his ears to hear. The soundcertainly appeared to come from the house opposite, and there, too, itseemed as if something or things were moving. Men! More than one or two,surely! Kennard thought that he could distinguish at least threedistinct voices; and there was that weird, racking cough whichproclaimed the presence of Rateau.
Now the men were quite close to where he--Kennard--still stood cowering.A minute or two later they had passed down the street. Their hoarsevoices soon died away in the distance. Kennard crept cautiously out ofhis hiding-place. Message or mere coincidence, he now blessed thatmysterious scrap of paper. Had he remained in his room, he might reallyhave dropped off to sleep and not heard these men going away. There werethree of them at least--Kennard thought four. But, anyway, the number ofwatch-dogs outside the door of his beloved had considerably diminished.He felt that he had the strength to grapple with them, even if therewere still three of them left. He, an athlete, English, and master ofthe art of self-defence; and they, a mere pack of drink-sodden brutes!Yes! He was quite sure he could do it. Quite sure that he could forcehis way into Esther's rooms and carry her off in his arms--whither? Godalone knew. And God alone would provide.
Just for a moment he wondered if, while he was in that state ofsomnolence, other bandits had come to take the place of those that weregoing. But this thought he quickly dismissed. In any case, he felt agiant's strength in himself, and could not rest now till he had triedonce more to see her. He crept very cautiously along; was satisfied thatthe street was deserted.
Already he had reached the house opposite, had pushed open the portecochere, which was on the latch--when, without the slightest warning, hewas suddenly attacked from behind, his arms seized and held behind hisback with a vice-like grip, whilst a vigorous kick against the calves ofhis legs caused him to lose his footing and suddenly brought him down,sprawling and helpless, in the gutter, while in his ear there rang thehideous sound of the consumptive ruffian's racking cough.
"What shall we do with the cub now?" a raucous voice came out of thedarkness.
"Let him lie there," was the quick response. "It'll teach him tointerfere with the work of honest patriots."
Kennard, lying somewhat bruised and stunned, heard this decree withthankfulness. The bandits obviously thought him more hurt than he was,and if only they would leave him lying here, he would soon pick himselfup and renew his attempt to go to Esther. He did not move, feigningunconsciousness, even though he felt rather than saw that hideous Rateaustooping over him, heard his stertorous breathing, the wheezing in histhroat.
"Run and fetch a bit of cord, citizen Desmonts," the wretch saidpresently. "A trussed cub is safer than a loose one."
This dashed Kennard's hopes to a great extent. He felt that he must actquickly, before those brigands returned and rendered him completelyhelpless. He made a movement to rise--a movement so swift and sudden asonly a trained athlete can make. But, quick as he was, that odious,wheezing creature was quicker still, and now, when Kennard had turned onhis back, Rateau promptly sat on his chest, a dead weight, with longlegs stretched out before him, coughing and spluttering, yet wholly athis ease.
Oh! the humiliating position for an amateur middle-weight champion tofind himself in, with that drink-sodden--Kennard was sure that he wasdrink-sodden--consumptive sprawling on the top of him!
"Don't trouble, citizen Desmonts," the wretch cried out after hisretreating companions. "I have what I want by me."
Very leisurely he pulled a coil of rope out of the capacious pocket ofhis tattered coat. Kennard could not see what he was doing, but felt itwith supersensitive instinct all the time. He lay quite still beneaththe weight of that miscreant, feigning unconsciousness, yet hardly ableto breathe. That tuberculous caitiff was such a towering weight. But hetried to keep his faculties on the alert, ready for that surprise springwhich would turn the tables, at the slightest false move on the part ofRateau.
But, as luck would have it, Rateau did not make a single false move. Itwas amazing with what dexterity he kept Kennard down, even while hecontrived to pinion him with cords. An old sailor, probably, he seemedso dexterous with knots.
My God! the humiliation of it all. And Esther a helpless prisoner,inside that house not five paces away! Kennard's heavy, wearied eyescould perceive the light in her window, five stories above where he lay,in the gutter, a helpless log. Even now he gave a last desperate shriek:
"Esther!"
But in a second the abominable brigand's hand came down heavily upon hismouth, whilst a raucous voice spluttered rather than said, right throughan awful fit of coughing:
"Another sound, and I'll gag as well as bind you, you young fool!"
After which, Kennard remained quite still.
VI
Esther, up in her little attic, knew nothing of what her English loverwas even then suffering for her sake. She herself had passed, during thenight, through every stage of horror and of fear. Soon after midnightthat execrable brigand Rateau had poked his ugly, cadaverous face in atthe door and peremptorily called for Lucienne. The woman, more dead thanalive now with terror, had answered with mechanical obedience.
"I and my friends are thirsty," the man had commanded. "Go and fetch usa litre of eau-de-vie."
Poor Lucienne stammered a pitiable: "Where shall I go?"
"To the house at the sign of 'Le fort Samson,' in the Rue de Seine,"replied Rateau curtly. "They'll serve you well if you mention my name."
Of course Lucienne protested. She was a decent woman, who had never beeninside a cabaret in her life.
"Then it's time you began," was Rateau's dry comment, which was greetedwith much laughter from his abominable companions.
Lucienne was forced to go. It would, of course, have been futile andmadness to resist. This had occurred three hours since. The Rue de Seinewas not far, but the poor woman had not returned. Esther was left withthis additional horror weighing upon her soul. What had happened to herunfortunate servant? Visions of outrage and murder floated before thepoor girl's tortured brain. At best, Lucienne was being kept out of theway in order to make her--Esther--feel more lonely and desperate! Sheremained at the window after that, watching that light in the houseopposite and fingering her prayer-book, the only solace which she had.Her attic was so high up and the street so narrow, that she could notsee what went on in the street below. At one time she heard a greatto-do outside her door. It seemed as if some of the bloodhounds who wereset to watch her had gone, or that others came. She really hardly caredwhich it was. Then she heard a great commotion coming from the streetimmediately beneath her: men shouting and laughing, and that awfulcreature's rasping cough.
At one moment she felt sure that Kennard had called to her by name. Sheheard his voice distinctly, raised as if in a despairing cry.
After that, all was still.
So still that she could hear her heart beating furiously, and then atear falling from her eyes upon her open book. So still that the gentlepatter of the rain sounded like a soothing lullaby. She was very young,and was very tired. Out, above the line of sloping roofs and chimneypots, the darkness of the sky was yielding to the first touch of dawn.The rain ceased. Everything became deathly still. Esther's head fell,wearied, upon her folded arms.
Then, suddenly, she was wide awake. Something had roused her. A noise.At first she could not tell what it was, but now she knew. It was theopening and shutting of the door behind her, and then a quick, stealthyfootstep across the room. The horror of it all was unspeakable. Estherrema
ined as she had been, on her knees, mechanically fingering herprayer-book, unable to move, unable to utter a sound, as if paralysed.She knew that one of those abominable creatures had entered her room,was coming near her even now. She did not know who it was, only guessedit was Rateau, for she heard a raucous, stertorous wheeze. Yet she couldnot have then turned to look if her life had depended upon her doing so.
The whole thing had occurred in less than half a dozen heart-beats. Thenext moment the wretch was close to her. Mercifully she felt that hersenses were leaving her. Even so, she felt that a handkerchief was beingbound over her mouth to prevent her screaming. Wholly unnecessary this,for she could not have uttered a sound. Then she was lifted off theground and carried across the room, then over the threshold. A vague,subconscious effort of will helped her to keep her head averted fromthat wheezing wretch who was carrying her. Thus she could see thelanding, and two of those abominable watchdogs who had been set to guardher.
The ghostly grey light of dawn came peeping in through the narrow dormerwindow in the sloping roof, and faintly illumined their sprawling forms,stretched out at full length, with their heads buried in their foldedarms and their naked legs looking pallid and weird in the dim light.Their stertorous breathing woke the echoes of the bare, stone walls.Esther shuddered and closed her eyes. She was now like an insentientlog, without power, or thought, or will--almost without feeling.
Then, all at once, the coolness of the morning air caught her full inthe face. She opened her eyes and tried to move, but those powerful armsheld her more closely than before. Now she could have shrieked withhorror. With returning consciousness the sense of her desperate positioncame on her with its full and ghastly significance, its awe-inspiringdetails. The grey dawn, the abandoned wretch who held her, and thestillness of this early morning hour, when not one pitying soul would beastir to lend her a helping hand or give her the solace of mutesympathy. So great, indeed, was this stillness that the click of theman's sabots upon the uneven pavement reverberated, ghoul-like andweird.
And it was through that awesome stillness that a sound suddenly struckher ear, which, in the instant, made her feel that she was not reallyalive, or, if alive, was sleeping and dreaming strange and impossibledreams. It was the sound of a voice, clear and firm, and with awonderful ring of merriment in its tones, calling out just above awhisper, and in English, if you please:
"Look out, Ffoulkes! That young cub is as strong as a horse. He willgive us all away if you are not careful."
A dream? Of course it was a dream, for the voice had sounded very closeto her ear; so close, in fact, that ... well! Esther was quite sure thather face still rested against the hideous, tattered, and grimy coatwhich that repulsive Rateau had been wearing all along. And there wasthe click of his sabots upon the pavement all the time. So, then, thevoice and the merry, suppressed laughter which accompanied it, must allhave been a part of her dream. How long this lasted she could not havetold you. An hour and more, she thought, while the grey dawn yielded tothe roseate hue of morning. Somehow, she no longer suffered eitherterror or foreboding. A subtle atmosphere of strength and of securityseemed to encompass her. At one time she felt as if she were drivenalong in a car that jolted horribly, and when she moved her face andhands they came in contact with things that were fresh and green andsmelt of the country. She was in darkness then, and more than threeparts unconscious, but the handkerchief had been removed from her mouth.It seemed to her as if she could hear the voice of her Jack, but faraway and indistinct; also the tramp of horses' hoofs and the creaking ofcart-wheels, and at times that awful, rasping cough, which reminded herof the presence of a loathsome wretch, who should not have had a part inher soothing dream.
Thus many hours must have gone by.
Then, all at once, she was inside a house--a room, and she felt that shewas being lowered very gently to the ground. She was on her feet, butshe could not see where she was. There was furniture; a carpet; aceiling; the man Rateau with the sabots and the dirty coat, and themerry English voice, and a pair of deep-set blue eyes, thoughtful andlazy and infinitely kind.
But before she could properly focus what she saw, everything began towhirl and to spin around her, to dance a wild and idiotic saraband,which caused her to laugh, and to laugh, until her throat felt chokedand her eyes hot; after which she remembered nothing more.
VII
The first thing of which Esther Vincent was conscious, when she returnedto her senses, was of her English lover kneeling beside her. She waslying on some kind of couch, and she could see his face in profile, forhe had turned and was speaking to someone at the far end of the room.
"And was it you who knocked me down?" he was saying, "and sat on mychest, and trussed me like a fowl?"
"La! my dear sir," a lazy, pleasant voice riposted, "what else could Ido? There was no time for explanations. You were half-crazed, and wouldnot have understood. And you were ready to bring all the nightwatchmenabout our ears."
"I am sorry!" Kennard said simply. "But how could I guess?"
"You couldn't," rejoined the other. "That is why I had to deal sosummarily with you and with Mademoiselle Esther, not to speak of goodold Lucienne, who had never, in her life, been inside a cabaret. Youmust all forgive me ere you start upon your journey. You are not out ofthe wood yet, remember. Though Paris is a long way behind, France itselfis no longer a healthy place for any of you."
"But how did we ever get out of Paris? I was smothered under a pile ofcabbages, with Lucienne on one side of me and Esther, unconscious, onthe other. I could see nothing. I know we halted at the barrier. Ithought we would be recognised, turned back! My God! how I trembled!"
"Bah!" broke in the other, with a careless laugh. "It is not sodifficult as it seems. We have done it before--eh, Ffoulkes? Amarket-gardener's cart, a villainous wretch like myself to drive it,another hideous object like Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, Bart., to lead thescraggy nag, a couple of forged or stolen passports, plenty of Englishgold, and the deed is done!"
Esther's eyes were fixed upon the speaker. She marvelled now how shecould have been so blind. The cadaverous face was nothing but a splendiduse of grease paint! The rags! the dirt! the whole assumption of ahideous character was masterly! But there were the eyes, deep-set, andthoughtful and kind. How did she fail to guess?
"You are known as the Scarlet Pimpernel," she said suddenly. "Suzanne deTournai was my friend. She told me. You saved her and her family, andnow ... oh, my God!" she exclaimed, "how shall we ever repay you?"
"By placing yourselves unreservedly in my friend Ffoulkes' hands," hereplied gently. "He will lead you to safety and, if you wish it, toEngland."
"If we wish it!" Kennard sighed fervently.
"You are not coming with us, Blakeney?" queried Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, andit seemed to Esther's sensitive ears as if a tone of real anxiety andalso of entreaty rang in the young man's voice.
"No, not this time," replied Sir Percy lightly. "I like my character ofRateau, and I don't want to give it up just yet. I have done nothing toarouse suspicion in the minds of my savoury compeers up at the Cabaretde la Liberte. I can easily keep this up for some time to come, andfrankly I admire myself as citizen Rateau. I don't know when I haveenjoyed a character so much!"
"You mean to return to the Cabaret de la Liberte!" exclaimed Sir Andrew.
"Why not?"
"You will be recognised!"
"Not before I have been of service to a good many unfortunates, I hope."
"But that awful cough of yours! Percy, you'll do yourself an injury withit one day."
"Not I! I like that cough. I practised it for a long time before I didit to perfection. Such a splendid wheeze! I must teach Tony to do itsome day. Would you like to hear it now?"
He laughed, that perfect, delightful, lazy laugh of his, which carriedevery hearer with it along the path of light-hearted merriment. Then hebroke into the awful cough of the consumptive Rateau. And Esther Vincentinstinctively closed her eyes and shuddered.