Which? Or, Between Two Women

by Ernest Daudet

  CHAPTER VI.

  PARIS IN 1792.

  On the third of September, 1792, about eleven o'clock in the morning, atall, stalwart man, with an energetic face and sunburned hands, andaccompanied by a young woman, might have been seen approaching theBarriere du Trone. Both were clad in the garb worn by the peasantry ofsouthern France. The young woman wore the costume of a Provencalepeasant girl, and carried upon her arm a short, dark cloak, which sheused as a protection against the cool night air, but which she did notrequire now in the heat of the day. The man wore a suit of blackfustian, a foxskin cap, blue stockings and heavy shoes. The expressionof weariness imprinted upon their features and the dust that coveredtheir garments proved that their journey had been long. As they nearedthe gateway, the man, who was carrying a heavy valise in his hand,paused to take breath. His companion followed his example, and, as theyseated themselves by the roadside, she cast an anxious glance at thecity.

  "Do you think they will allow us to pass?" she murmured, frightenedalready at the thought of being subjected to the examination of thesoldiers who guarded the gate.

  "Are not our passports all right?" demanded her companion. "If wewished to leave Paris it would be quite another matter; but as we merelydesire to enter the city, there will be no difficulty. Have no fears,Mademoiselle; they will not detain us long at the gate."

  "Coursegol, stop calling me Mademoiselle. Call me your daughter. If youdo not acquire the habit of doing so, you will forget some day and thenall will be discovered."

  "I know my role, and I shall play it to perfection when we are beforestrangers, but, when we are alone, I cannot forget that I am only yourservant."

  "Not my servant; but my friend, my father. Have you not always felt forme the same affection and solicitude you would have entertained for yourown daughter?"

  Coursegol responded only by a look; but this look proved that Doloreshad spoken the truth and that the paternal love, of which he had givenabundant proofs in the early part of this history, had suffered nodiminution.

  "If you had only been willing to listen to me," he remarked, after a fewmoment's silence, "we should have remained in the village where thecoach stopped. There we could have awaited a more propitious opportunityto reach our journey's end."

  "I was too eager to reach the city. It seems to me that, in approachingParis, I am nearing Philip and Antoinette. If they are still living, weshall certainly find them in Paris."

  "Oh! they are living; I am sure of it; but is it not likely that theyhave emigrated? In that case, why should we remain in a city that is sofull of danger for us?"

  "We can lead a quiet and retired life there! No one will know us and weshall have better facilities for obtaining news in Paris than in avillage. My heart tells me that we are not far from our friends."

  "God grant it, my child," responded Coursegol; "and if, as I hope,Bridoul has not forgotten his friend of former days, we shall soon besafe in his house."

  "Are you not sure of his friendship?" inquired Dolores, anxiously.

  "Can we place implicit confidence in any one as times are now?" returnedCoursegol. "Bridoul was my comrade in the army. He loved me, and he wasdevoted to Monsieur Philip, our captain. But to-day the remembrance ofsuch a friendship is a crime. It must be forgotten; and fear sometimesrenders the bravest hearts cowardly and timorous. Still, I do notbelieve Bridoul has changed. But we shall soon know. Now, let us go on,my dear daughter, and show no anxiety if they question us at the gate."

  "Have no fear, father," replied Dolores, with a smile.

  Coursegol picked up his valise, and boldly approached the gate. Doloresfollowed him, striving to quiet the throbbings of her heart; she wasmore troubled in mind now than she had been during the whole of the longjourney. As they were passing through the gateway, a sentinel stoppedthem and made them enter a small house occupied by the detachment of theNational Guard, which was deputized to watch over the safety of Parisfrom this point. The post was commanded by a young lieutenant, a mereboy with a beardless face. On seeing a beautiful girl enter, followed byan aged man, he rose, and turning to his soldiers:

  "What is the meaning of this?" he inquired.

  "I wish to enter the city, lieutenant," volunteered Coursegol, withoutwaiting to be questioned.

  "Enter Paris! You have chosen a nice time! There are many people in itwho would be only too glad to make their escape. Who is this citoyenne?"added the officer, pointing to Dolores.

  "That is my daughter."

  "Be seated, citoyenne," said the lieutenant, politely offering Doloreshis own chair.

  She accepted it, and the examination continued.

  "From whence do you come?"

  "From Beaucaire."

  "Afoot?"

  "No, citizen; we left the coach at Montgeron. The driver had no otherpassengers, and, when he heard of the troubles in Paris, he declared hewould wait there until they were over. His coach was loaded withmerchandise, and he feared it would be taken from him."

  "Does he take patriots for bandits?" exclaimed the officer, angrily. "IfI am on guard here when his coach enters the city, he will receive thelesson he deserves. You said you had passports, I think?"

  "Here they are!"

  The officer took the papers that Coursegol handed him and examined themcarefully.

  "These papers were drawn up two years ago," said he. "Where have youspent these years?"

  "My daughter has been ill and we were obliged to stop at numerous placeson the way. We made long sojourns at Dijon and at Montereau; but youwill notice, citizen, the passports bear the endorsement of theauthorities of those towns."

  "So I perceive. Very well, you will be taken before the Commissionersand if your papers prove all right, as I believe they are, you will beallowed to remain in the city."

  The young lieutenant turned away to give an order to one of hissoldiers; then suddenly he approached Coursegol and said kindly, in alow voice:

  "You seem to be worthy people, and I should be very sorry if anymisfortune happened to you. Paris is not a safe abode just now.Yesterday they began to put the prisoners to death, and, perhaps, youand your daughter would do well to wait until the fury of the populaceis appeased."

  "But we belong to the people," replied Coursegol. "We have nothing tofear; moreover, I know a good patriot who will be responsible for us ifnecessary: Citizen Bridoul, who keeps a wine-shop on the Rue Antoine."

  "At the sign of the Bonnet Rouge?" cried the officer.

  "The very same," replied Coursegol, boldly, though until now he had beenignorant of the sign which distinguished his friend Bridoul'sestablishment.

  "Bridoul is a true patriot. Thanks to him, you will incur no risk! Youwill now be conducted to the Commissioners."

  "Many thanks for your kindness, lieutenant," said Coursegol.

  And taking Dolores' arm in his, he followed the soldier who was toconduct them to the municipal authorities. There, they underwent a freshexamination, and Coursegol responded as before. As people who desired toenter Paris at such a time could hardly be regarded with suspicion,Coursegol and Dolores were walking freely about the streets of the citya few moments later, surprised and alarmed at the sights that met theireyes at every turn. The last witnesses of the grand revolutionary dramaare disappearing every day. Age has bowed their heads, blanched theirlocks and enfeebled their memories. Soon there will remain none of thosewhose testimony might aid the historian of that stormy time in hissearch after truth; but among the few who still survive and who in theyear 1792 were old enough to see and understand and remember, there arenone upon whom the recollection of those terrible days in September isnot indelibly imprinted. Since the tenth of August, Paris had beendelivered up to frenzy and bloodshed. The arrest of the royal family,the rivalry between the Commune and the Convention, the bitter debatesat the clubs and the uprising of the volunteers were more than enough tothrow the great city into a state of excitement, disorder and terror.Business was paralyzed; the stores were for the most part closed; thearistocrat
ic portions of the city deserted; emigration had deprivedFrance of thousands of her citizens; the streets were filled with afierce, ragged crowd; the luxury upon which the artisan depended for alivelihood was proscribed; famine was knocking at the gates; gold haddisappeared; places of amusement were broken up; the gardens and thegalleries of the Palais-Royal alone remained--the only rendezvousaccessible to those who, even while looking forward to death,frantically desired to enjoy the little of life that remained. Such wasthe aspect of affairs in Paris.

  With the last days of August came the news of the capture of Longwy bythe Prussians, the siege of Terdun, and the warlike preparations ofRussia and Germany. This was more than enough to excite the terror ofthe Parisians and to arouse their anger against those whom they calledaristocrats and whom they accused of complicity with the enemies of thenation.

  On the 29th of August, by the order of the Commune, the gates wereclosed. It was impossible to enter Paris without a passport endorsed byexaminers appointed for the purpose. No one was allowed to leave thecity on any pretext whatever. The Parisians were virtually prisoners.Every house, every apartment was visited by inspectors. Rich and poorwere alike compelled to submit. Every suspicious article was seized, andthe man in whose dwelling it was discovered was arrested. The inspectorsperformed their tasks with unnecessary harshness, ruthlessly destroyingany valuable object upon which they could lay their hands. They rappedupon the walls to see if they contained any secret hiding-place; theypierced the mattresses with their swords and poignards. After thesevisits thousands of citizens were arrested and conducted to the Hotelde Ville, where many were detained for thirty hours without food,awaiting their turn to appear before the members of the Commune. Aftertheir examination some were released; others were thrown into theprisons, which were soon crowded to such a degree that there was notroom for a single newcomer by the first of September. If room could notbe found, room must be made; and the following day, the second ofSeptember, twenty-four prisoners, chiefly priests, were led before themayor, adjudged guilty of treason, crowded into fiacres and taken to theAbbaye, where they were executed immediately on their arrival.

  After this, their first taste of blood, the executioners hastened to theChatelet and to the Conciergerie, where they wrought horrors that thepen refuses to describe, sentencing to death the innocent and the guiltywithout giving them any opportunity to defend themselves. Night did notappease the fury of the butchers. On the third of September they killedagain at the Abbaye, at the Force and at the Bernardins prisons; and onthe fourth they continued their work of death at La Salpetriere andBicetre.

  For three days the tocsin sounded. Bands of sans-culottes andtricoteuses, thirsting for blood, traversed the streets, uttering criesof death; and no one seemed to think of checking their sanguinary fury.A prey to a truly remarkable panic, when we consider the relativelysmall number of assassins, the terrified citizens remained shut up intheir houses. The National Assembly seemed powerless to arrest thehorrors of these tragical hours; the Commune seemed to favor them.

  Of all those days that inspire us with such horror, even now, after thelapse of nearly a century, the darkest was that which witnessed theexecution of the Princesse de Lamballe, who perished for no other crimethan that of love for the queen. Beheaded, and thrown at first upon apile of corpses, her body was afterwards despoiled of its clothing andexposed to the view of an infamous mob. One of the bandits dared toseparate from this poor body, defiled with mud, and later by the handsof its murderers, the lovely head that had surmounted it; others,dividing it with a brutality that nothing could soften, quarrelled overthe bleeding fragments. Then began a frightful massacre. Like wildbeasts, bearing these spoils of the head as trophies of victory, theband of assassins rushed down the Rue de Sicile to carry terror to theheart of Paris.

  It was nearly noon when Coursegol and Dolores, having passed theBastile, entered the Rue Saint Antoine to find a dense crowd of men,women and ragged children yelling at one another and singing coarsesongs. Some of the National Guard were among the throng; and they werestopped every few moments by the people to shout: "Vive la Nation!" thepatriotic cry that lent courage to the hearts of the soldiers of theRepublic nobly fighting for the defence of our frontiers, but which hadbeen caught up and was incessantly vociferated by the ruffians whoinaugurated the Reign of Terror. All carriages that attempted to passthrough this moving crowd were stopped, and their occupants were obligedto prove their patriotism by mingling their acclamations with those ofthe mob. The audacity and brutality of the sans-culottes knew no bounds.Woe to him who allowed his face to betray his sentiments, even for amoment! Terror, pity, sadness, these were crimes to be cruelly expiated.

  Coursegol had hesitated to enter the Rue Saint Antoine. He feared tocome in contact with this excited multitude, but the more alarming thegreat city which she saw for the first time appeared to Dolores, themore anxious she was to find shelter at Bridoul's house. But Bridoul'shouse was in the Rue Saint Antoine; and, to reach it, it was absolutelynecessary to make their way through the crowd, or to wait until it haddispersed. But when would it disperse? Was it not dangerous to remainmuch longer without an asylum and a protector? This thought terrifiedDolores, and, longing to reach her place of destination, she urgedCoursegol to proceed.

  At first, they advanced without much difficulty, following the throngthat seemed to be wending its way in the same direction as themselves;but when they had passed the Palais-Royal, they were obliged to slackentheir pace, and soon to stop entirely. The crowd formed an impassablebarrier against which they were pressed so closely by those behind thatDolores was nearly suffocated, and Coursegol, to protect her, placed herbefore him, extending his arms to keep off the excited throng.

  In the midst of the tumult which we have attempted to describe,Coursegol was troubled, not so much by the impatience of Dolores as bythe doubts that beset him when he thought of Bridoul. He had not seenthe latter for three years. He only knew that his comrade, on quittingthe army, had purchased a wine merchant's establishment; but, on hearingthat his former friend sold his merchandise at the sign of the BonnetRouge, he asked himself in alarm if he would not find, instead of afriend, a rabid patriot who would refuse to come to the aid of theex-servant of a Marquis. These reflections had made him silent andanxious until now; but, finding his progress checked by the crowd, thethought of inquiring the cause of this excitement occurred to him.Addressing a man who was standing a few steps from him, and who, judgingfrom his impassive features, seemed not to share the emotions of whichhe was a witness, Coursegol inquired:

  "What is going on, my friend?"

  "What is going on!" replied the stranger, not without bitterness. "Theyare carrying the head of the Princesse de Lamballe through the streetsof Paris!"

  Coursegol could not repress a movement of horror and of pity. On severaloccasions, when he had accompanied Philip to the house of the Duke dePenthieore, he had seen the Princess who had befriended his youngmaster. At the same time, the thought that Dolores might be obliged towitness such a horrible exhibition frightened him, and he resolved tofind some way to spare the girl the shameful spectacle that the eagercrowd was awaiting. Suddenly Dolores, who had been standing on the samespot for some time, discovered that the soil beneath her feet had becomewet and slippery, and, turning to Coursegol, she said:

  "I am standing in water."

  Coursegol drew back and forced the crowd to give way a trifle, soDolores could have a little more standing-room. Thanks to his exertions,she could breathe once more; but, chancing to look down upon the ground,she uttered an exclamation of consternation.

  "Blood! It is blood!" she exclaimed, in horror.

  Coursegol's eyes followed hers. She was not mistaken. She was standingin a pool of blood, and not far off lay a body that the crowd hadtrampled upon only a few moments before.

  "But where are we?" murmured the terrified Coursegol.

  The man to whom he had previously spoken drew a little nearer and said:

  "You are, perhaps
, a hundred paces from the prison where they executedthe prisoners scarcely an hour ago."

  Then, drawing still nearer, so that no one save Coursegol could hearhim, he added:

  "Advise that young girl not to cry out again as she did just now. Ifsome of these fanatics had heard her, she would have fared badly!"

  At that very moment, the crowd resumed its march. The man disappeared.When Coursegol, agitated by these horrors which were so new to him,turned again to speak to Dolores, he saw that she had fainted in hisarms. The poor man glanced despairingly about him. Suddenly his eyesfell upon a sign hanging over a shop on the opposite side of the street.This sign represented a red Phrygian cap upon a white ground, and aboveit was written in large red letters: "Le Bonnet Rouge." For a quarter ofan hour he had been standing directly opposite Bridoul's establishment.He uttered a cry of joy, lifted Dolores in his strong arms, and, in astentorian voice, exclaimed:

  "Make way! Make way, good citizens! My daughter has fainted!"

  The Provencale costume worn by Dolores deceived the persons who wouldotherwise have impeded Coursegol's progress.

  "He is from Marseilles," some one cried.

  Just at that time the Marseillais were heroes in the eyes of all goodpatriots. The unusual height of Coursegol strengthened the illusion.

  "Yes," remarked another, "he is one of the Marseillais who have come tothe aid of the Parisians."

  The crowd opened before him. He soon reached the shop over which hungthe sign of the "Bonnet Rouge" and entered it. There were but fewcustomers in the large saloon. He placed Dolores in a chair, ran to thecounter, seized a glass of water, returned to the girl and bathed herforehead and temples. In a moment she opened her eyes.

  "My dear child, are you better?" he asked.

  "Yes, yes, my good Coursegol," replied Dolores. Then she added: "Yes,father, but I was terribly frightened."

  "The citoyenne was crushed in the crowd!" said a voice behind Coursegol.He turned and saw a woman who was still young. Suddenly he recollectedthat Bridoul was married.

  "Are you not Citoyenne Bridoul?" he asked.

  "Certainly, Cornelia Bridoul."

  "Where is your husband?"

  "Here he is."

  Bridoul appeared. He had followed his wife in order to see the youngProvencale who had been brought into his shop.

  "Do you know me?" inquired Coursegol.

  "Can it be Coursegol?"

  "Yes; I am your brother-in-law; this young girl is your niece. We havejust arrived from Beaucaire. I will explain everything by and by."

  Bridoul cast a hasty glance around him. No one was observing them. Thefew who had been sitting at the table had risen and gone to the door,attracted there by the increasing tumult without.

  "Take the young lady into the back room," Bridoul whispered to his wife."There will be a crowd here in a moment."

  The latter made haste to obey. It was time. In another moment Doloreswould have been obliged to witness an even more horrible spectacle thanthat upon which her eyes had rested a short while before. The shop wassuddenly taken by storm. Several men with repulsive faces, long hairand cruel eyes, and whose clothing was thickly spattered with blood,entered the saloon, followed by a yelling crowd. People mounted onchairs and tables to obtain a look at them. They were the cityexecutioners. They ordered wine which Bridoul hastened to place beforethem. One carried in his hand the newly decapitated head of a woman,whose fair hair was twined round his bare arm. Before drinking his winehe placed the head upon the counter. Coursegol closed his eyes to shutout the ghastly sight. He had recognized the features of the Princessede Lamballe. When the men had finished their wine, one said:

  "Now we will have the hair of this citoyenne dressed so that MarieAntoinette will recognize her."

  And addressing Bridoul, he added:

  "Is there any hair-dresser in this neighborhood?"

  "About a hundred paces from here, on the Place de la Bastille," repliedBridoul.

  "On! on!" shouted the executioners.

  And taking the head of the unfortunate Princess they departed,accompanied by the crowd that had followed them from the prison. A fewmoments later the saloon was empty. Bridoul hastened into the back room.Coursegol followed him. Fortunately the two women had not seen what hadoccurred, and, thanks to Cornelia Bridoul's friendly offices, Doloreshad regained her composure.

  "First of all, are you classed among the suspected characters?" the winemerchant inquired of Coursegol. "Are you trying to escape from yourpursuers? Must I conceal you?"

  "No," replied Coursegol "We have come to Paris in the hope of findingMonsieur Philip."

  "Our old captain?"

  "The same," answered Coursegol, at once recounting the events with whichthe reader is already familiar. When the recital was ended, Bridoulspoke in his turn.

  "I am willing to swear that the captain is not in Paris. If he were, he,like all the rest of the nobles, would have been in great danger; and inperil, he would certainly have thought of his old soldier, Bridoul, forhe knows he can rely upon my devotion."

  "Ah! you have not changed!" cried Coursegol, pressing his friend's hand.

  "No, I have not changed. As you knew me so will you find me. But, mygood friend, we must be prudent. You did well to come to my house. Youand your daughter must remain here. You are relatives of mine; that isunderstood. Later, we can make other arrangements; but this evening Ishall take you to the political club to which I belong. I will introduceyou as my brother-in-law, a brave patriot from the south."

  "But what the devil shall I do at the club?" inquired Coursegol.

  "What shall you do there? Why, you will howl with the wolves; that isthe only way to save yourself from being eaten by them!"

  But Coursegol demurred.

  "M. Bridoul is right," urged Dolores, timidly.

  "Niece, you are wise to take your uncle's part," remarked Bridoul; "butyou must take care not to call me monsieur. That is more than enough tosend you to prison as times are now."

  "Is everything a crime then?" cried Coursegol.

  "Everything," answered Bridoul, "and the greatest crime of all would beto remain at home while all good patriots are listening to the friendsof the people in the political meetings. You will be closely watched,for we are surrounded by spies; and if any act of yours arouses theslightest suspicion we shall all go to sleep on the straw in theConciergerie or the Abbaye, until we are sent to the block!"

  Coursegol uttered a groan.

  "Why do you sigh?" asked Bridoul. "All this does not prevent me fromdoing a service to such as deserve it. On the contrary, I should be richif the number of thousand louis I possess equalled the number of lives Ihave saved since the tenth of August!"

  "Hush, husband!" said Madame Bridoul, quickly. "What if some one shouldhear you!"

  "Yes, yes, Cornelia, I will be prudent. Here we are all good patriots,worthy sans-culottes, ever ready to cry: 'Vive la Nation!'"

  As he spoke Bridoul returned to his shop, for several customers werecoming in.

  The former dragoon was over forty years of age. He was small of stature,and in no way resembled one's ideal of a brave cavalier. His shortlimbs, his protruding stomach, his enormous arms and his fat hands gavehim, when he was not moving about, the appearance of a penguin inrepose. The large head covered with bushy gray hair, that surmountedhis short body imparted to him really an almost grotesque look; but somuch kindness shone in his eyes, and his voice was so rich and genialthat one instantly divined a brave man beneath this unattractiveexterior and was irresistibly attracted to him. Twenty-five years of hisexistence had been spent in the service of the king. He had cheerfullyshed his blood and risked his life, and, thanks to the shrewdness he haddisplayed in his dealings with recruiting officers, he was now thepossessor of several thousand francs. This little fortune enabled him toleave the army and to marry. A pretty shop-girl on the Faubourg duRoule, whose beautiful eyes, as he, himself, expressed it, had piercedhis heart from end to end, consented, though she was muc
h his junior, toa union of their destinies. In 1789 the newly married couple purchasedthe stock of a wine-shop, over the door of which, after the 10th ofAugust, they prudently hung the sign of the "Bonnet Rouge."

  At heart, Bridoul and his wife were still ardent royalists. Theybitterly deplored the imprisonment of Louis XVI. and his family, butthey were governed by a feeling which soon became general, and under theempire of which most of the events of this bloody period wereaccomplished. They were afraid. It would not do for them to be classedwith suspected persons, so they did not hesitate to violate theirconscience and their heart by openly professing doctrines which theysecretly abhorred, but which gave them the reputation of irreproachablepatriots. Hence the "Bonnet Rouge" soon became the rendezvous of theRevolutionists of that quarter; and through them Bridoul acquiredinformation with regard to their plans that enabled him to save thelives of many citizens. Fear had made him cautious but not cowardly; andhe was fortunate enough to find in his wife a valuable auxiliary whoseresolution, courage and coolness were never failing. After thisexplanation, not one will be surprised at the welcome this worthy coupleaccorded Dolores and Coursegol. They were ever ready to do good and tosuccor the distressed.

  The evening after her arrival, Dolores was installed in a chamber overthe shop. Coursegol occupied a small room adjoining this chamber. Theycould reach their apartments without passing through the saloon; soDolores and Coursegol were not compelled to mingle against their willwith the crowd of customers that filled the wine-shop during the day. Itwas decided that they should all take their meals at a common table,which was to be served in the back shop where Bridoul and his wifeslept. It was also decided that Dolores should lay aside the Provencalecostume which she had worn on her arrival in Paris, and dress like adaughter of the people. Everything that would be likely to attractattention must be scrupulously avoided, for the beauty of Dolores hadalready awakened too much interest on the part of curious customers.

  The following Sunday morning, Dolores, who felt certain that CorneliaBridoul was a devout Christian, said to her:

  "At what hour do you go to church? I would like to accompany you?"

  "To church! For what?" asked Cornelia, evidently surprised.

  "To hear mass."

  "Would you listen to a mass celebrated by a perjured priest?"

  And, as Dolores looked at her in astonishment, Cornelia added:

  "The sacred offices are now celebrated only by renegade priests, whohave forsaken the tenets of the church to render allegiance to theconstitution."

  But that same evening after supper, as Dolores was about retiring to herchamber, Cornelia, who was sitting with her guest in the room in therear of the shop, while Bridoul and Coursegol were closing the saloon,said to her:

  "This morning you were regretting that you could not attend church. Ihave been informed that an aged saint, who has found shelter with someworthy people in the neighborhood, will celebrate mass this evening."

  "Oh! let us go!" cried Dolores.

  "Very well, you shall go; Coursegol will accompany us; Bridoul willremain at home and take care of the house."

  A few moments later, Dolores, Cornelia and Coursegol, provided with thepass that all good patriots were obliged to carry if they were in thestreets of Paris after ten o'clock at night, stole out of the wine-shopand turned their steps toward the Place Royale. The streets which theytraversed, looking back anxiously now and then to make sure that theywere not followed, were dark and almost deserted. It was onlyoccasionally that they met little groups of two or three persons, whopassed rapidly, as if they distrusted the other passers-by. A policemanstopped our friends. They displayed their passes, and he allowed them topursue their way without further questions. At last, they reached thePlace Royale, and turned into a side street. At a half-open door stood aman clad in a blouse, and wearing a red cap. Cornelia said a few wordsto him in a low tone.

  "Pass in," was his response.

  He stepped aside. Dolores and Cornelia hastily entered, but Coursegol,who was to watch in the street, remained outside. The two women ascendedto the fifth floor, and at last reached a door which was guarded as theone below had been. Cornelia gave the password and they entered. Theytraversed several rooms and finally found themselves in a spaciousapartment dimly lighted by two candles. There were no windows, and theonly means of lighting and ventilating the room was a sky-light; butthis was now covered with heavy linen, undoubtedly for the purpose ofconcealing what was passing within from any spy who might be seized witha fancy for a promenade on the roof. At one end of the room, andseparated from it by a thick curtain, was an alcove. There were abouttwenty people, mostly women, in the room. Every one stood silent andmotionless, as if awaiting some mysterious event. When the clock struckeleven, a voice from behind the curtain said: "Close the doors."

  The man on guard obeyed and came and took his place with the others, whowith one accord fell upon their knees. At the same instant, the curtainsparted, revealing the interior of the alcove in which stood a lightedaltar surmounted by a cross of dark wood. At the foot of the altar stoodan old white-haired priest, arrayed in sacerdotal robes, and assisted bytwo young men who acted as a choir. The service began. Dolores could notrestrain her tears. After a few moments she became calmer and began topray. She prayed fervently for Philip, for Antoinette, for all whom sheloved and for herself. The ceremony was short. The priest addressed abrief exhortation to his audience. The time of pomp and of long sermonshad gone by. At any moment they might be surprised, and the life ofevery one present would have been in danger had they been arrested inthat modest room which had become for the nonce the only asylum of theproscribed Romish Church.

  When the service was concluded, the curtains were again drawn and theworshippers withdrew, not without depositing in a box an offering forthe venerable priest who had officiated. Just as Dolores and Corneliawere leaving the room, the brave old man passed them. He was arrayed inthe garb of a worthy patriot, and was so effectually disguised that theywould not have recognized him if he had not addressed them. As for thealtar, it had disappeared as if by enchantment.

  So, either in this house or in some other, Dolores regularly attendedthe offices of her church. Not a Sunday passed that Cornelia did notconduct her to some mysterious retreat, where a little band ofbrave-hearted Christians met to worship together. She was in this waymade familiar with heroic deeds which gave her courage to brave thedangers that threatened every one in those trying days, and she was thusinitiated into a sort of league, formed without previous intent, for thepurpose of providing a means of escape for those who were in danger ofbecoming the victims of the dread and merciless Committee of PublicSafety. It was in this way that she was led to accompany Cornelia oneevening when the latter went to carry food to a nobleman whose life wasin danger, and who was concealed in the neighborhood of the Invalides,and, on another occasion, to aid in the escape of an old man who hadbeen condemned to die. The enthusiasm of Dolores was so great that sheoften exposed herself to danger imprudently and unnecessarily. She wasproud and happy to assist the Bridouls in their efforts, and sheconceived for them an admiration and an affection which inspired herwith the desire to equal them in their noble work to which they had sobravely consecrated themselves.

  But Coursegol, ignorant of most of the dangers to which Dolores exposedherself, or who knew of them only when it was too late to blame her forher temerity, had not lost sight of the motives which had induced himto accompany the girl on her expedition to Paris.

  What they had aimed to do, as the reader doubtless recollects, was tofind Philip de Chamondrin and Antoinette de Mirandol, who had both beenmissing since the death of the Marquis and the destruction of thechateau. Though Bridoul persisted in declaring that his former captainwas not in Paris, Coursegol was not discouraged. For three months hepursued an unremitting search. He found several men who, like himself,had formed a part of M. de Chamondrin's company. He succeeded ineffecting an entrance to the houses of some of the friends whom hismaster had visit
ed during his sojourn in Paris. He frequented publicplaces. He might have been seen, by turn, in the Jacobin Club, in thegalleries of the Convention, at the Palais Egalite, in every place wherehe would be likely to find any trace of Philip; but nowhere could hediscover the slightest clew to his whereabouts. Every evening on hisreturn home, after a day of laborious search, he was obliged to admithis want of success to Dolores. She listened sadly, then shook her headand said:

  "Bridoul is right. Philip and Antoinette have left the country; we shallnever see them again. After all, it is, perhaps, for the best, sincethey are in safety."

  But, even while she thus attempted to console herself, Dolores could notconceal the intense sorrow and disappointment that filled her heart,and which were caused, not so much by the absence of her friends as bythe mystery that enshrouded their fate. If it be misery to be separatedfrom those we love, how much greater is that misery when we know nothingconcerning their fate, and do not even know whether they are dead oralive! Dolores loved Antoinette with all a sister's tenderness, andPhilip, with a much deeper and far more absorbing passion, although shehad voluntarily sacrificed her hopes and forced herself to see in himonly a brother. She had paid for the satisfaction of knowing that he washappy and prosperous with all that made life desirable; and thisuncertainty was hard to bear.

  "Come, come, my child, do not weep," Coursegol would say at times likethese. "We shall soon discover what has become of them."

  "They are in England or in Germany," added Bridoul, "probably quite asmuch distressed about you as you are about them. You will see them againsome day. Until then, have patience."

  More than four months had passed when it was suddenly announced that theking, who had been a prisoner in the Temple for some time, was to bebrought to trial. It was also rumored that a number of noblemen hadeluded the vigilance of the authorities and had entered Paris resolvedupon a desperate attempt to save him at the very last moment.

  Coursegol's hope revived. He felt certain that Philip would not hesitateto hazard his life in such an enterprise if he were still alive; and itwas in the hope of meeting him that he attended the trial of theunfortunate monarch, and that, on the twentieth day of January, heaccompanied Bridoul to the very steps of the guillotine. The king wasbeheaded; no attempt was made to rescue him. Then Coursegol decided upona step which he had been contemplating for some little time.

  It will be remembered that Philip on his first arrival in Paris, hadbeen attached to the household of the Duke de Penthieore, into which hehad been introduced by the efforts of the Chevalier de Florian. The dukewas the only member of the royal family who had remained in Franceunmolested. He owed this fortunate exemption of which the history ofthat epoch offers no similar example, to his many virtues and especiallyto his well known benevolence. Since the death of his daughter-in-law,the Princess de Lamballe, whom he had been unable to save from the handsof the executioners, he had lived with his daughter, the Duchess ofOrleans at the Chateau de Bisy, in Vernon. He was living there, not as aproscribed man but as a prince, ill, broken-hearted at the death of hisrelatives, almost dying, surrounded by his friends and protected fromthe fury of the Revolutionists by the veneration of the inhabitants ofVernon, who had displayed their reverence by planting with great pomp,in front of the good duke's chateau, a tree of liberty crowned with thisinscription: "A Tribute to Virtue;" and who evinced it still morestrongly a little later by sending a deputation to his death-bed toimplore him before his departure from earth, to bless the humblevillage in which his last days had been spent.

  One morning, Coursegol, having obtained a passport through Bridoul,started for Vernon. This village is situated a few leagues from Paris onthe road to Normandy. Coursegol, who in his double role of peasant andsoldier was accustomed to walking, made the journey afoot, which enabledhim to see with his own eyes the misery that was then prevailing in theprovinces as well as in Paris. It was horrible. On every side he sawonly barren and devastated fields, and ragged, starving villagers,trembling with fear. The revolution which had promised these poorwretches deliverance and comfort, had as yet brought them onlymisfortunes.

  Coursegol reached Vernon that evening, spent the night at an inn, andthe next morning at sunrise, repaired to the duke's chateau. That goodold man had long been in the habit of receiving all who desired to speakwith him, so it was easy for Coursegol to obtain an interview. He wasushered into a hall where several persons were already waiting, andthrough which the duke was obliged to pass on his way to attend morningservices in the chapel.

  At ten o'clock, the duke appeared. Coursegol, who had not seen him forseveral years, found him greatly changed. But the face surrounded bywhite floating locks had not lost the benign expression which had alwayscharacterized it; and he displayed the same simplicity of manner thathad always endeared him to the poor and humble. When he entered thehall, the people who had been waiting for him, advanced to meet him.They were mostly noblemen who owed their lives to his influence, andwho, thanks to him, were allowed to remain in France unmolested. Helistened to them with an abstracted air, glancing to the right and leftwhile they offered him their homage. Suddenly he perceived Coursegol whowas standing at a little distance awaiting his turn. He stepped towardhim and said:

  "What do you desire, my friend?"

  Coursegol bowed profoundly.

  "Monseigneur," he replied, "I am the servant of the Marquis Philip deChamondrin, who once had the honor to belong to your household."

  "Chamondrin! I remember him perfectly; a brave young man for whom mypoor Lamballe obtained a commission as captain of dragoons. I had newsof him quite recently."

  "News of him!" exclaimed Coursegol, joyfully. "Ah! Monseigneur, where ishe? How is he?"

  "Are you anxious to know?" inquired the duke.

  "Your highness shall judge."

  And Coursegol briefly recounted the events that had separated him fromPhilip, and told the duke how Dolores and himself had come to Paris inthe hope of finding him. His recital must have been both eloquent andpathetic, for when it was concluded tears stood in the eyes of thelisteners.

  "Ah! What anxiety the young girl must have suffered!" exclaimed theprince; "but I can reassure her. Yes; I recently received a letter fromthe Marquis de Chamondrin. It shall be given to you and you shall carryit to his sister. She will be indebted to me for a few hours ofhappiness. My dear Miromesnil," added the duke, addressing an old manwho was standing near, "will you look in my correspondence of the monthof October for a letter bearing the signature of Chamondrin? When youfind it, give it to this worthy man."

  Coursegol began to stammer out his thanks, but, without heeding them,the duke came still nearer and said, in a low voice:

  "Does Mademoiselle de Chamondrin require aid of any sort?"

  "No, monseigneur," replied Coursegol.

  "Do not forget that I am ready to come to her assistance whenever it isnecessary; and assure her of my sincere sympathy."

  Having uttered these words, the kind-hearted prince passed on, leaningupon the arm of a nobleman connected with his household. Coursegol,elated by the certainty that Philip was alive, could scarcely restrainhis impatience; but he waited for the promised letter, which would proveto Dolores that those she loved were still on earth. In a few moments M.de Miromesnil returned. He held the precious letter in his hand and gaveit to Coursegol, who hastily perused it. It was dated in London, and hadbeen addressed to the duke soon after the death of Madame de Lamballe.It contained no allusion to Mademoiselle de Mirandol, and Philip saidbut little about himself; still was it not an unspeakable relief to himto feel that he was alive and to know in what country he was sojourning.

  Eager to place this letter in the hands of Dolores, Coursegol startedfor home immediately; but, instead of returning as he came, he tookpassage in the diligence that plied between Rouen and Paris; and thatsame evening, after so many months of dreary waiting, he was able torelieve the anxiety that Dolores had felt regarding her brother's fate.The girl's joy was intense, and she devoutly
thanked God who had revivedher faith and hope just as she was beginning to despair. If Coursegolhad listened to her, they would have started for London without delay,so eager was she to rejoin Philip and Antoinette whom she supposedmarried. But Coursegol convinced her of the absolute impossibility ofthis journey. They could reach the sea only by passing through thegreatest dangers.

  "Besides," added Coursegol, "what does this letter prove? That M. Philipis safe and well, of course; but it does not prove that he is still inLondon."

  "Coursegol is right!" remarked Bridoul. "Before you think of starting,you must write to M. Philip."

  "But can letters pass the frontier more easily than persons?" askedDolores.

  "Oh, I will take care of all that. If you wish to write, I know agentleman who is going to England and who will take charge of yourletter."

  "Then I will write," said Dolores, with a sigh. "I would have preferredto go myself, but since that is impossible----"

  She paused, resolved to wait in patience.

  Coursegol breathed freely again. He feared she would persist in herdetermination to go, and that he would be obliged to tell her that theirresources were nearly exhausted and would not suffice to meet the costsof such a long and difficult journey, every step of which would demand alavish expenditure of money.

  Since the destruction of Chamondrin, Dolores had been entirely dependentupon Coursegol's bounty. The latter had possessed quite a snug littlefortune, inherited from his parents; but a sojourn of fifteen months atBeaucaire and more than a year's income expended on the journey to Parishad made great inroads in his little capital. Fortunately, on arrivingin Paris, the generous hospitality of the Bridouls had spared him thenecessity of drawing upon the remnant of his fortune. This amounted nowto about twelve hundred francs. Still, he felt that he could not remainmuch longer under the roof of these worthy people without trespassingupon their kindness and generosity, for they firmly refused to acceptany remuneration; and Coursegol was anxiously wondering how he couldsupport Dolores when this money was exhausted. He confided his anxietyto Bridoul; but the latter, instead of sharing it, showed him that sucha sum was equivalent to a fortune in times like those.

  "Twelve hundred francs!" said he. "Why that is more than enough for theestablishment of a lucrative business or for speculation in assignatswhich, with prudence, would yield you a fortune."

  It was good advice. Gold and silver were becoming scarce; and assignatswere subject to daily fluctuations that afforded one an excellentopportunity to realize handsome profits, if one had a little money onhand and knew how to employ it to advantage.