CHAPTER VIII.
AN EPISODE OF THE EMIGRATION.
On the first Sunday in the month of September, 1793, about ten o'clockin the morning, a young girl clad in mourning emerged from the doorwayof a pretty cottage in the suburbs of London. She slowly descended thebroad and handsome steps that led up to the dwelling, passed through thegarden, and having opened the gate, gazed anxiously in the direction ofthe city.
She was a brunette, rather fragile in appearance, and petite in stature;and though she was not really beautiful, hers was a sympathetic andaltogether charming face. The air of elegance that characterized herperson and her attire, the whiteness of her hands, and her delicate andrefined features, all indicated that she was a person of gentle birth.She did not appear to be more than twenty years of age. By the anxietywith which her large blue eyes scanned the horizon, it was easy todivine that she was expecting some loved one; but it was also evidentthat he did not come quickly enough to suit her desires, for she seemedrestless and impatient.
"What if he should not come?" she murmured. As if these words had beenheard, a voice responded:
"Do not be impatient, dear Antoinette. M. Philip said he would be hereto-day, but did not mention the hour; and the day has scarcely begun.You will see him, never fear."
The lady who had just spoken had used the English language. She was akind, motherly looking person, past middle age. Understanding the younggirl's anxiety, she had joined her with the desire to appease it.Antoinette replied, not without some bitterness:
"I am quite sure that we shall see him, dear Mrs. Reed; but have I not aright to be impatient? Has it not been three weeks since he was here?"
"You do not know what important interests may have detained him inLondon."
Antoinette shook her head; then, after casting another glance at thedeserted road, she sadly returned to the house. Mrs. Reed followed her,trying to divert her mind and make her forget the sorrow and anxietycaused by Philip's long absence. The two ladies entered a small, butprettily furnished parlor and seated themselves at a round table, uponwhich a servant had just deposited a smoking tea-urn, some empty cupsand some bread and butter. Just then, a very stout man entered the room.It was Mr. Reed, the master of the house. He strongly resembled hiswife; there was the same age, the same corpulence, the same kind andbenevolent expression of countenance.
"Ah, well! mademoiselle," he remarked to the young girl, pouring out acup of tea, "this is a fete day, is it not? You are expecting MonsieurPhilip?"
Antoinette made no response. Mrs. Reed answered for her.
"Mademoiselle Antoinette is afraid her cousin will not keep his word."
"She is wrong then," quietly remarked Mr. Reed, who was now standing bythe window, sipping his tea, "she is wrong, for here he is!"
Antoinette sprang up, uttering a cry of joy. She was about to rush outto meet Philip, but the latter did not give her time. He entered almostimmediately, and Antoinette flew to his arms. All her doubts, all hergriefs were forgotten! Ah! If the hour of separation is cruel when itsounds in the ears of those who love, how sweet is the hour thatreunites them! Antoinette clung rapturously to Philip's breast, and Mr.and Mrs. Reed, wishing to allow the young people to enjoy each other'ssociety undisturbed, left the room; but before he went, Mr. Reed said toPhilip:
"You will spend the day and dine with us, will you not?"
"Ah! how gladly would I do so! But I shall be obliged to leave in anhour!"
Mr. Reed stood motionless for a moment, actually stupefied withastonishment.
"What! you are going to leave me so soon?" cried Antoinette,despairingly.
"I will explain my reasons," replied Philip.
Mr. Reed bowed and followed his wife, who had just disappeared.
Two years had passed since Philip fled with Antoinette from the burningchateau and from the bedside of his dying father. On quitting the sceneof the catastrophe that destroyed the home of his childhood, Philipaccompanied by Mlle. de Mirandol repaired to Valence. There, a friend ofthe Chamondrin family furnished them with the means to pursue theirjourney to England, which country they gained after many perils andvicissitudes.
London served as a refuge for many of the Emigres, but Philip had chosenthe capital of Great Britain as a retreat for Antoinette, principallybecause he knew that a portion of Mlle. de Mirandol's fortune was in thehands of a banker in that city, and because it would be easy there toobtain news from Louisiana, where the heiress of M. de Mirandol stillowned considerable property.
After their perilous journey was concluded and they were safelyestablished in England, the agitation caused by the great disaster whichhad deprived them of so much that they loved was succeeded by a relativecalm which gave them an opportunity to look their situation in the face.They both found it exceedingly embarrassing. Antoinette remembered onlythat she loved Philip, and that, in obedience to the request of hisdying father, he had solemnly promised to marry her. She was simplywaiting for him to fulfil this promise, and already regarded herself ashis wife.
As for Philip, he inwardly cursed this promise. His thoughts wereconstantly occupied with Dolores; he said to himself that since theconvents had been broken up, she must be free if she were still alive;and he would not believe that she was dead. He was certain that she wasstill alive, that Coursegol had remained with her to protect her, andthat the day of their meeting was near at hand. These thoughts made hisheart rebel against the yoke he had striven to impose upon it; for nomatter what attempts may be made to destroy it, hope will not die in aheart that loves sincerely. It resists time and the sternest ordeals.Death alone can, not destroy it, but transform it, by associatingrealization with the delights of a future life which shall know noblight or decay.
Still, Philip dare not speak frankly to Mlle. de Mirandol. He loved herwith true brotherly affection; and his courage failed him when hethought of the misery his confession would cause this loving and artlessgirl. Moreover, the promise he had made to his father was ever on hismind, arousing constant sorrow and remorse. He resolved, therefore, togain time, if possible. With this aim in view, he had a longconversation with Antoinette a few days after their arrival in London.Without referring to the engagement which he had a just right toconsider irrevocable, he requested that its accomplishment should bedeferred until his period of mourning had expired. He pleaded the tragicdeath of his father and the uncertainty that still enshrouded the fateof Dolores and of Coursegol as reasons for delay; and Antoinetteconsented. He then gave her to understand that, as they were notmarried, it was not proper for them to remain under the same roof, andtold her that he had found a pleasant home for her with some worthypeople who resided in the environs of London and who, as they had nochildren of their own, would be glad to have a young girl with them as aboarder. Antoinette consented to this arrangement also; and thisexplains her installation in the Reed household. Mr. Reed was formerly amerchant, but had retired from business to spend his last years in quietand comfort. The situation of the French Emigres had aroused thesympathy of the kind-hearted man and his wife, so Philip's propositionwas gladly accepted, and they petted and spoiled the young girlentrusted to their charge as if she had been their own daughter.
Philip remained in London; but once a week he came to spend a day withAntoinette; and the hours that Mlle. de Mirandol thought so delightfulflew by all too swiftly for her. They never spoke of the future. Philipcarefully avoided any allusion to that subject; but they talked of thepast and of Dolores whose fate was still veiled in mystery.
Sometimes, accompanied by Mrs. Reed, Antoinette visited the poor Emigreswho had taken refuge in London, and relieved their necessities. She alsorequested Philip, who had charge of her property, never to refuse aid toany of her countrymen or countrywomen who asked it of him; and in thebenefits she quietly conferred upon the needy around her she found someconsolation for her own sorrow and anxiety. As for Philip, he hadplunged into the active and feverish life led by most of the Emigres, asif he desired to drown his own doubts and regre
ts in bustle andexcitement.
London was then the rendezvous of a great proportion of those who hadfled from the Reign of Terror. Princes, noblemen, prelates and ladies ofrank, who were striving to console themselves for the hardships of exileby bright dreams of the future, had assembled there. They plottedagainst the Republic; they planned descents upon France, attacks uponParis, movements in La Vendee, and the assassination of Robespierre andhis friends; but all these schemes were rendered fruitless by the spiritof rivalry and of intrigue that prevailed. They were all united upon theresult to be attained, but divided as to the means of attaining it. Inthis great party there were a thousand factions. They quarreled at aword; they slandered one another; they patched up flimsyreconciliations. French society had taken with it into exile all itsfaults, vanities, frivolities and ignorance. Philip de Chamondrin didnot forsake this circle, though he inwardly chafed at the weakness ofpurpose that was exhibited on every side; but here he could live in aconstant fever of excitement and could forget his personal griefs andanxieties. This was not the case with Antoinette, however, and if Philiphad hoped that by living apart from him and seeing him only at rareintervals she would soon cease to love him, he was mistaken.Antoinette's heart did not change. She waited, and had it not been forthe events that hastened the solution of the difficulty, she would havewaited always; and though she suffered deeply, she concealed her griefso carefully that even the friends with whom she lived and who loved heras tenderly as if she had been their daughter were deceived. AllPhilip's attempts to destroy her love for him proved fruitless. Herheart once given was given irrevocably. Nor did she possess thatexperience which would have enabled her to see that she was not beloved.She attributed Philip's coldness to the successive misfortunes that hadbefallen him; and she was waiting for time to assuage his sorrow andawaken feelings responsive to her own.
Under these circumstances one can easily understand why she had awaitedPhilip's coming with such feverish impatience. Three weeks had passedsince she had seen him; and all Mrs. Reed's caresses and well-meantattempts at consolation had failed to overcome her chagrin. Philip hadcome at last! She had sprung forward to meet him without making anyeffort to conceal the joy awakened by the prospect of a day spent withhim, and she had hardly done this when the young man announced that hemust leave in an hour.
"Will you explain the cause of this hasty departure?" she said, as soonas they were alone.
Her voice trembled and her lovely eyes were dim with tears.
"I am leaving you, Antoinette, to go where duty calls me," repliedPhilip, gravely.
"Duty? What duty?"
"The queen is still imprisoned in the Temple. It is said that she willsoon be sentenced to death. I have formed the project of wresting herfrom the hands of her enemies, of rescuing her from their sanguinaryfury."
"Alone?" cried Antoinette, overcome with terror at the thought of thedangers Philip would incur.
"Six of us have resolved to save her or die! We go together. A vessel isto convey us to the coast of Brittany. From there we shall make our wayto Paris as best we can."
"But what can you do, you, so few in number?"
"God will be with us," replied Philip. "Besides, we shall find friendsin Paris who will gladly join our little band."
On hearing these words which proved that Philip's determination wasimmovable, Antoinette could not control her emotion. She sank into anarm chair, covered her pale face with her trembling hands and burst intotears.
"Do not weep so bitterly, my dear Antoinette," said Philip, touched byher despair and kneeling beside her.
"Why did you not consult me before engaging in this mad and perilousundertaking?" she said, at last. "You are leaving me, abandoning mewithout even asking what my fate will be when I no longer have you toprotect me; without thinking how I shall suffer in your absence, andforgetting that if you should be killed I too should die!"
Philip, deeply moved, took her hands and said, gently:
"Be comforted; I shall not die; you will see me again soon. Do you notfeel that I should be dishonored if I shrank from the task that isbefore me? Could you respect a man who might be justly accused ofcowardice and of failure to perform his duty. The queen was formerly mybenefactress; how can I stand here to-day, and make no effort to rescueher from death?"
"But if you should die!"
This cry betrayed Antoinette's love in all its passionate intensity, andit found an echo in Philip's heart.
"I shall not be killed," said he, trying to make Mlle. de Mirandol sharethe conviction that animated his own mind; then, seeing her so sad andheart-broken at his departure, he added, with mingled remorse andtenderness:
"When I return, the fulfilment of the promise I made you shall be nolonger delayed."
He had not referred to this subject before for a long time, and thesefew words carried unspeakable comfort to Antoinette's heart.
"I have no right to detain you," said she. "Go! May you succeed and soonreturn. I shall pray for you."
They conversed some time longer. Philip, who had until then, takencharge of Antoinette's business interests, told her that he had decidedto entrust them until his return to Mr. Reed. He knew her protector tobe an honest man in whom she could place perfect confidence; still, hefelt that it was not only proper, but necessary, to acquaint the girlwith the extent of her resources and the condition of her affairs. Afterhe had done this, he asked to see Mr. and Mrs. Reed. He recommendedMlle. de Mirandol to their care, and for the first time revealed thefact that she was his betrothed. So at the moment of separation, heforced himself to render the pang of parting less bitter to her. Thehope of approaching happiness did much to assuage Antoinette's grief,and Philip was scarcely gone before she began to forget the past indreams of the future.
The six weeks that followed Philip's departure were weeks of constantanxiety and alarm. Antoinette could not close her eyes to the perilsthat threatened Philip on every side. The reports that reached London inregard to the condition of affairs in Paris were not calculated toreassure her. She heard of the active surveillance exercised by theCommittee of Public Safety, and of the terrible punishment inflictedupon those who were guilty of no crime save that of being regarded withsuspicion. She was in constant fear lest some misfortune had happened toPhilip. Every night and every morning she prayed for him. He was ever inher thoughts; and she was continually trying to divine where he was andwhat he was doing. Every day she looked eagerly for a letter which wouldrelieve her anxiety, but in vain. No news came, and she was forced to becontent with such rumors as Mr. Reed could collect for her in the city.
On the twenty-second of October that good man did not return untilunusually late in the evening. Antoinette was awaiting him, her heartoppressed by the gloomiest forebodings. When he entered the room she sawthat he was greatly agitated.
"You have heard bad news!" she exclaimed, wildly.
Mr. Reed did not attempt to deny it. He told Antoinette that theunfortunate queen of France had been put to death on the sixteenth, justsix days before.
"They have killed her!" exclaimed the horrified girl.
She shuddered to think of Philip's probable fate. Since the queen wasdead, the conspiracy which Philip had organized must have failed; and ifit had failed, the conspirators had undoubtedly been discovered andarrested! This thought brought a deathlike pallor to her cheeks. Herfriends saw her totter; they sprang forward to support her and she sankinto their arms wild with anguish and despair.
"Tell me all!" she entreated.
"Alas! I know so little," responded kind-hearted Mr. Reed. "The queenwas sentenced on the sixteenth and beheaded the same day. Severalpersons are now in prison, charged with a conspiracy to rescue her andplace her son upon the throne. I could learn nothing further."
"That is enough!" she cried. "Philip is in prison!"
She was silent a moment; then suddenly she said, in a firm voice:
"I must start at once."
The husband and wife uttered an exclamation of dismay
.
"Start, and why?" demanded Mr. Reed.
"To join Philip."
"But it is walking straight into the jaws of death!" said Mrs. Reed.
Antoinette only repeated even more firmly than before:
"I must go at once!"
Then she broke into a passion of sobbing. Mrs. Reed took her in herarms, dried her tears, and tried to reassure her, lavishing everyendearment upon the unhappy girl.
"My dear child," said she, "your lover confided you to our care; wecannot let you go. Besides, how do you know that your betrothed has notescaped the dangers you fear for him? He is young, strong and clever.Perhaps at this very moment he is on his way back to you."
Antoinette made no reply; but she shook her head despondently, as if togive Mrs. Reed to understand that she had no hope. Still, she did notrebel against her guardian's decision. Mrs. Reed conducted her to herchamber, persuaded her to undress, and did not leave her until the girlhad fallen asleep. But her slumber was of short duration. It wasscarcely midnight when Antoinette awoke with a start from a frightfuldream. Philip had appeared to her, his hands bound behind his back, hisneck bare, his hair cut short. He was clad in the lugubrious garb of thecondemned, and he called her name in a voice wild with entreaty.
"Oh! I will go--I will go to save him or to die with him!"
This cry was upon her lips when she woke. She sprang up, hastily dressedherself, took the little money that chanced to be in her possession,and some or her jewels, and when the first gleam of daylight illuminedthe sky, animated by a saint-like courage, she furtively left the roofthat had sheltered her for three long years. When Mrs. Reed entered theyoung girl's room a few hours later, she found only a letter apprisingher of Antoinette's fixed determination to go to the rescue of herlover, and thanking her most gratefully for her care and love. Mr. Reedhastened to London, hoping to overtake the fugitive. Vain attempt! Hissearch was fruitless. Antoinette had disappeared.
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