The Adventures of François

by S. Weir Mitchell

  *XIII*

  _Citizen Amar, meeting the marquis, is unlucky and vindictive._

  A fear vast and oppressive was upon the great city. The white cockadeswere gone. Francois burned all he could find. For a week no one cameto fence in the morning. The afternoons were full, and there was muchinquiry for Citizen Gamel. On the night of the 24th of this terribleJanuary, 1793, Francois went out. Paris was recovering, and, as usual,forgetful, was eating and drinking and dancing, while all Europe wasringing with the news of this murder of a good man too weak for a mightytask.

  When, later, Francois returned to the school of arms he smelt the odorof a pipe. "Ah!" he cried, "Toto, he has come. 'T is none too soon."Candles lighted dimly the large hall and the rooms beyond it. He heardno sounds, and, suddenly becoming uneasy, hastened to enter the littlesalon. It was empty, as were all the rooms. On the bedroom floor layscattered clothes. Scorched leaflets were fluttering like black crowsover the ashes of a dying fire. They were fragments of burnt paper. Anopen desk was on the table, and everywhere were signs of haste.

  Francois ran out to the kitchen, and called their only servant, a shrewdold woman. She said: "I heard thee, citizen. I was coming to tell theethat Citizen Gamel has gone."

  "Gone! _Mon Dieu!_"

  "He has paid me, and well; and here is a box for thee, Citizen Francois.I hid it under the mattress. Oh, I have waited, but I am afraid."

  Francois took the box and its key, and went to his room. The boxcontained some five hundred francs in gold, and as much more inassignats--the notes of the day, and really worth but little. In afolded package were papers and a letter. It read thus:

  "I am sorry to leave thee. A business affair has failed, and I gowestward. I risk this to warn thee to fly. For two days thou art safe,but not longer. If a gentleman calls whom thou knowest, and asks for_Monsieur_ Achille Gamel, tell him all. I inclose for thee a passport.No matter how I got it. It is good. Use it soon. I divide with thee mysmall store. Thou hast been honest; stay so. We may meet in bettertimes."

  Francois laughed. "We must go, Toto. Well, it has a good side; thouwilt get thinner." Then he read the passport. It described him well:Jean Francois, juggler ("Good!"), returning to Normandy; affairs offamily; a father dying. "Good! Now I have one parent at least." Itwas in due order. "Thou hast no papers, Toto; but thy black head issecure."

  At early morning on the 25th of January, he found a vender ofantiquities, and quickly sold him, for two hundred francs, the antiquearms in the fencing-room. He must remove them that coming night. Nexthe sought a maker of articles for the jugglers who were still to befound in every town; for neither at this time nor during the Terror didthe people cease to amuse themselves. Francois bought a set of gailytinted balls and the conjuring apparatus with which he was familiar.Once again in his room, he packed his clothes in a knapsack and hisjuggler's material in a bag that he could carry. A long cloak which hismaster had left he set aside to take, and, thus prepared, felt that onthe whole he had better risk waiting until the dawn of the following daybefore he set out on his wintry journey. The old woman had already fledin alarm.

  On the following morning, at 9 A.M., Francois went into the great hallto secure pistols and the fine Spanish rapier which Gamel had given him.Here he paused, and re-read the passport. A blank space had been leftfor the insertion of the special locality to which the bearer might wishto go in Normandy.

  "Ah!" he exclaimed, "that must do. I will go to Musillon. Perhaps Ishall find Despard. He will help me to recover that desirable papa."He went back to Gamel's room, and carefully completed the passport byinserting the name of the village Musillon.

  After this he returned to the hall, talking to the poodle as he went."Toto, thou art uneasy," he said; "and I too, my friend. Remember tohowl no more at Jacobins. Thou art of the Left, a dog of the Left._Tiens!_ the bell." He caught up his rapier, and opened the door. Apowerful, broad-shouldered man entered. He was clad in gray, and worethe red bonnet the extreme Jacobins affected, and which Robespierre somuch despised.

  "Ah, no one here. That is well. I trust Gamel has gone."

  "Ah!" exclaimed Francois to himself. "'T is my confounded marquis. Nowfor ill luck."

  "Is Monsieur Gamel at home? _Monsieur_ Achille Gamel?" He emphasizedthe title.

  Francois understood, with no great amazement, that this was the man ofwhom Gamel's letter spoke. He replied, "This way, please, monsieur."

  The gentleman followed without a word.

  "Read this," said Francois; "and, pardon me, but read it quickly. Myhead appears to me to be less securely attached to my body than common."

  "_Dame_! You are as jolly as ever, my delightful thief."

  "I beg that monsieur will read this letter, and at once. _Nom de ciel!_there is no time to be lost." And still he laughed. "We are in a trap,monsieur."

  The marquis was not to be hurried; it was not his way. "St. Gris! youcan laugh. I envy you. In France men grin, for they must; but laughteris dead. Ah!" and he fell to considering the letter. Then he folded itdeliberately. "Burn it," he said. "So; that is well; and now, my goodthief, I came to warn Gamel. He has wisely fled. Of course there was aplot, and, as usual, it failed. You, who are not in it, are like enoughto pay other folks' debts. I have a certain mild interest in honestrascality. You are a marked man. No cabbage of the field is more sureof the knife. Go, and soon."

  "I have heard from Gamel, monsieur. He assured me that I was safe herefor a day or two--I know not how he knew that."

  "I do, but I scarcely share his confidence. Go soon."

  "I shall go at dawn to-morrow."

  "No; go to-day--this evening."

  "I will. Monsieur will pardon me if I ask if madame, monsieur'sdaughter, is well and safe? There are few who have been kind to me,and--"

  "My child is well," said the marquis, "and in Normandy; but if safe ornot, who can say, while these wolves destroy women and children? Safe!I would give my soul to be sure of that." His face showed the transientemotion he felt; and suddenly, as if annoyed at his own weakness, hedrew himself up and said abruptly: "Go--and go quickly! I shall leaveat once--"

  At this moment the bell rang violently.

  "The devil!" cried the marquis. "Go and see, and do not shut the innerdoor; I must hear." With this he entered the pistol-gallery and waited.Francois obeyed, and, with the sheathed rapier still in his hand,crossed the hall. Again the bell rang.

  "He is in a mischief of a hurry. No noise, Toto!"

  As he opened the outer door, the man of the warped face broke in, and,passing him at once, walked across the little reception-room and intothe great hall beyond. Again his height and massive build struck thefencing-master.

  "Where is Gamel, citizen?--and no lies to me! Where is Gamel, I say?"

  "He has gone away. Why, I do not know. Will the citizen search hisrooms?"

  "Search! Not I. I will call the municipals. What are those rooms overthere? And arms! Why have they not been sent to the committee for ourpatriot children on the frontier?"

  "Perhaps Citizen Amar would kindly inspect them, and then, if required,we can send them. Many have been already sent. Behold, citizen, awar-club of Ashantee, a matchlock, a headsman's sword. _Parbleu!_ theguillotine is better."

  "I see, citizen; I see. But now of Gamel. He was to be here to-day, Ihear. I will return presently with the officers; and, friend citizen,it will be well for thee to assist, and heartily. This Gamel was insome plot to save the Citizen Capet. Like master, like man. Have readythe lists of those aristocrats who fence here in the morning. Thoucanst save thy head by making a clean breast of it. I shall return inhalf an hour. Have everything ready."

  At this the dreaded Jacobin, having looked over the arms and dulyimpressed the fencing-master, moved toward the door of exit. ShouldAmar leave the room, Francois felt that his own fate was certain. He hadbeen too much with Gamel. Less things every day
cost the heads of men.There was death or life in the next five minutes. Francois was not oneto hesitate. Preceding the Jacobin, he quietly set his back to thedoor, and, locking it, put the key in his pocket. This action was sodexterous and swift that for a moment the Jacobin did not perceive thathe was trapped. He was thinking if there was anything more to be said.He looked up. "Well, open the door, citizen." As he spoke, the twostrangest faces in Paris were set over against each other. Here wascomedy, with long lean features, twinkling eyes above, and below thegood humor of a capacious mouth set between preposterous ears. Andthere was tragedy, strong of jaw, long hair lying flat in black,leech-like flakes on a too prominent brow, and small eyes, deep-set,restless, threatening, seen like those of a wolf in cave shelters--aface no man trusted, a face on which all expressions grew intodeformity; not a mere beast; a terribly intelligent bigot of the newcreed, colossal, alert, unsparing, fearless, full of vanity.

  When the citizen commissioner said, "Open," Francois replied:

  "Not just yet, citizen."

  "What is this?" shouted Amar. "Open, I say, in the name of the law!"

  "Not I." And Francois, with a quick motion, threw off the sheath of therapier. It fell with a great clatter on the far side of the room.

  "Open, I say!"

  At this moment Ste. Luce came across the hall.

  "What the deuce is all this, Francois?"

  Amar turned his square shoulders, and looked at the marquis.

  "I presume thee, too, to be one of this rascal Gamel's band. If thoudost think I, Pierre Amar, am afraid of thee, thou art going to find outthy mistake. What is thy name?"

  "Go to the devil!" cried the marquis. The Jacobin darted toward thewindow; but Francois was too quick for him, and instantly had him by thecollar, the point of the rapier touching his back. "Move a step, andthou art a dead man." The face, crooked with passion, half turned overthe shoulder.

  "Misery! What a beauty! Didst thou think I valued my head so little asto trust thee, scum of the devil's dish-water?" For some reason thishuge animal filled Francois with rage, and he poured out a flood of theabusive slang of the Cite as the marquis came up.

  "Drop that window-curtain!" said the thief. "And now, what to do,monsieur?"

  The captured man showed the utmost courage, and no small lack of wisdom."Dog of an aristocrat! I know thee. It was thou didst kill JeanCoutier, last month. I saw thee, coward! We knew not thy name. Now weshall take pay for that murder."

  The marquis grew white to the eyes, with a certain twitching of the lipsto be seen as Francois again asked:

  "What shall we do with him? Shall we tie him?"

  "No; kill him. What! you will not? Give me your rapier. 'T is but onewolf less."

  Francois was more than unwilling. The intense hatred of the noble forthe Jacobin he did not share; indeed, he liked the man's fearlessness,but, nevertheless, meant to provide for his own security. Hisconscience, such as it was, refused to sanction cold-blooded murder.

  "I cannot. Go away! I will take care of this rascal."

  "There is no time to lose," said the marquis. "Kill the brute."

  "Not I," said Francois.

  "Thou art coward enough to kill a man in cold blood!" cried Amar. "Thisis the fine honor you talk of. Better go. All thy kind are running;but, soon or late, the guillotine will get thy hog-head, as it did thyJew-nosed king's."

  "The face and the tongue are well matched," said Ste. Luce, quietly."It will take a good ten minutes to tie and gag him. You will not killhim? Then give the fellow a blade, and--I will see to the rest. Are youman enough to take my offer? Quick, now!"

  "Try me. I am no weakling, like poor Coutier."

  "Find him a blade, Francois. I will watch him. Be quick!" He took therapier, and stood by the motionless figure, whose uneasy eyes followedthe thief as he went and came again.

  "The blades are of a length, Francois? Yes. Lock the door. Ah, it isdone. Good! Now, keep an eye on him, Francois. Take care of yourselfif he has the luck to kill me. However, that is unlikely. Ah, you havea sword, Francois."

  "The citizen talks a good deal," said Amar, trying his blade on thefloor.

  "Yes," said the marquis, negligently untying his cravat. "It is sorare, in these democratic days, that one has a chance to talk with oneof you gentlemen."

  "Bah!" cried the Jacobin, "we shall see presently." As he spoke, helaid his sword on a chair and began to strip. As he took off his coatand waistcoat, he folded them with care, and laid them neatly on abench.

  The marquis also stripped to his waistcoat, but it was with more haste.He threw his coat to Francois, and took his place in the middle of theroom, where he waited until his slower antagonist, in shirt andbreeches, came forward to meet him. Both believed it to be a duel tothe death, but neither face showed to Francois any sign of anxiety. TheJacobin said:

  "The light is in thine eyes, citizen. If we were to move so as toengage across the room--"

  "It is of no moment," returned the marquis. "Are you ready?"

  "Yes."

  Francois saw no better method of disposing of an awkward business.Nevertheless, he was uncomfortable. "What if this devil should kill themarquis?" He cried, "On guard, messieurs!" and stepped aside.

  The marquis saluted with grave courtesy; but the Jacobin, obeying thefashion of the schools of fence, went through the formula of appearingto draw the sword, and certain other conventional motions supposed to beexacted by etiquette. The marquis smiled as Amar led off in thisceremonious fashion. These preliminaries of the _salle d'armes_ wereusually omitted or curtailed in serious combats. The seigneur, amused,and following Amar's lead, went through the whole performance.Meanwhile Francois looked the two men over, and was not ill pleased.This heavy fellow should prove no match for a practised duelist likeSte. Luce. He was soon undeceived.

  Both men were plainly enough masters of their weapon, and for at leasttwo minutes there was no advantage. Then Ste. Luce was touched in theleft shoulder, and a distorted grimace of satisfaction ran over the faceof the Jacobin. The marquis became more careful, and a minute or twolater Francois saw with pleasure that Amar was breathing a trifle hard.He had half a mind to cry: "Wait! wait! He is feeling the strain." Heheld his peace, and, with Toto, looked on in silence. The marquis knewhis business well, and noted the quickening chest movements of hisadversary. He began to smile, and to make a series of inconceivablyquick lunges. Now and then the point of either blade struck fair on theconvex steel shell-like guard which protected the hand. When thischanced, a clear, sweet note as of a bell rang through the great hall.The Jacobin held his own, and Francois, despite his anxiety, saw withthe satisfaction of a master how lightly each rapier lay in the grasp ofthe duelist, and how dexterously the fingers alone were used to guidethe blades.

  Of a sudden the strange face was jerked as it were to left, and a savagelunge in tierce came perilously near to ending the affair. Ste. Lucethrew himself back with the quickness of a boy. The point barelytouched him. "St. Gris!" he called out gaily. "That was well meant.Now take care!"

  "By St. Denis! 't is a master," muttered Francois. The marquis seemed ofa sudden to have let loose a reserve of unlooked-for power. He was hereand there about the massive and by no means unready bulk of Amar, swiftand beautifully graceful.

  Then of a sudden the marquis's blade went out as quick as lightning, andjust at the limit of a nearly futile thrust caught Amar over the righteye. "_Dame_! I missed those lanterns of hell!"

  The Jacobin brushed away the blood which, running down his face, madehis right eye useless for the time.

  The marquis fell back, and dropped his point. "The deuce! The mancannot see. Tie a handkerchief around his head."

  The Jacobin was not sorry to have time to breathe.

  "Thou art more than fair, citizen," said Amar, getting his breath.

  "Thanks," returned the marquis, coldly. "Make haste, Francois."

  Francois took up a lace handke
rchief which lay beside Ste. Luce's coaton the seat where he had cast his clothes. While Francois bound thehandkerchief around the head so as to stop the flow of blood, Amarturned to his foe.

  "Citizen," said the Jacobin, "thou hast been a gallant man in thismatter. My life was thine to take. Let it end here. Thou art a braveman and a good blade."

  Ste. Luce looked at him with an expression of amused curiosity.

  "What else?"

  "I will not have thee pursued--on my honor."

  "Tie it firmly, Francois. You have just heard, my Francois, of the lastParisian novelty--a Jacobin's honor! Be so good as to hurry, Francois."

  Had the stern Jacobin felt some sudden impulse of pity or respect? Inall his after days he was unsparing, and certainly it was not fear whichnow moved him.

  "As pleases thee," he said simply. Ste. Luce made no answer. Againtheir blades met. And now the marquis changed his game, facing his foesteadily, while Francois gazed in admiration. Ste. Luce's rapier waslike a lizard's movements for quickness. Twice he touched the man'schest, and by degrees drove him back, panting, until he was against thedoor. Suddenly, seeming to recover strength, the Jacobin lunged inquarte, and would have caught the marquis fair in the breast-bone had henot thrown himself backward as he felt the prick. Instantly he struckthe blade aside with his open left hand, and, as it went by his leftside, drove his rapier savagely through Amar's right lung and into thepanel of the door. It was over. Not ten minutes had passed.

  "_Dame!_" he cried, withdrawing his rapier, and retreating a pace ortwo. "He was worth fighting."

  The Jacobin's face moved convulsively. He coughed, spattering bloodabout him. His right arm moved in quick jerks. His sword dropped, andstuck upright in the floor, quivering.

  "Dog of an aristocrat!" he cried. His distorted face twitched; hestaggered to left, to right, and at last tumbled in a heap, a massivefigure, of a sudden inert and harmless.

  "HE STAGGERED TO LEFT, TO RIGHT, AND AT LAST TUMBLED IN AHEAP."]

  The marquis stood still and looked down at his foe.

  "What the deuce to do with him?" said Francois.

  "Take his head, and drag him into your room. We can talk then."

  "Will monsieur take his feet?"

  "What! _I_ touch the dog? No, not I."

  Francois did not like it; but making no reply, he dragged the Jacobin'shelpless bulk after him, and, once in his room, pulled the mattress offthe bed, and without roughness drew the man upon it.

  Amar opened his eyes, and tried to speak. He could not; the flow ofblood choked him. He shook his fist at Ste. Luce.

  "Cursed brute," cried Francois, "be still! He will begin to howlpresently. The sons of Satan are immortal."

  "We must gag him, Francois."

  "But he will die; he will choke. See how he breathes--how hard."

  "_Diable!_ it is he or I. Would he spare me, do you think? Don't talknonsense. Do as I tell you."

  Francois took up a towel. As he approached, Amar looked up at him.There was no plea in his savage face.

  "Go on. What the deuce are you waiting for?" said Ste. Luce.

  "I cannot do it," said Francois. "End it yourself."

  "What! I? Strangle a dog! I! _Dame_! Let us go. What a fool youare!"

  "Better go singly, then," said the thief. He had no mind to increasehis own risks by the dangerous society of the nobleman.

  Amar was silent. The handkerchief had fallen from his head, but thewound bled no longer.

  "What shall I do with the handkerchief, monsieur?"

  "Do? Burn it. Faugh!" Francois cast it on the still glowing embers."Now my clothes and my cloak," said Ste. Luce; "and do not lose any timeover that animal."

  He washed off the little blood on his clothes, and dressed in haste,saying: "Lucky that his point struck on my breast-bone. 'T is of nomoment. The fellow has left me a remembrance. I am sorry I did nothave the luck to kill him. Good-by, Francois. May we meet in betterdays." He was gone.

  Francois locked the door after him, and went back to his room. He satdown on the floor beside the mattress.

  "Now listen, Master Amar. Canst thou hear me? Ah, yes. Well, I havesaved thy life. Oh, thou wilt get well,--more 's the pity!--and do somemischief yet. Now if I should kill thee I would be pretty safe. If Igo away, and send thee a doctor, I am a lost man. What is that thou artsaying? Ah!" and he leaned down to hear the broken whisper. "So thouwilt have my head chopped off. Thou art less afraid than I would be,were I thee. What shall we do, Toto?" and he laughed; somehow thesituation had for him its humorous side.

  "I can't murder a man," he said. "If ever I kill a man, I trust it maybe one who hath not thy eyes and thy one-sided grin. To be haunted by aghost like thee! The deuce! Not I! _Sac a papier_! I will take mychance." He sat down, and wrote a short note to a surgeon on thefarther side of Paris, one whom he knew to have been much commended tohis pupils by Gamel.

  "My unforgiving friend," he said, "I shall lock thee in. Thou art tooweak to move, and to try will cause thee to bleed. This note will getthee a surgeon in about six hours. I must leave thee. Be quiet, and begood. Here is a flask of _eau-de-vie_. Art still of a mind to give thypreserver to the guillotine?" The grim head nodded as the red frothleaked out over the lips. "'Yes, yes,' thou sayest. Thou art in a finestate of penitence. I hope we have seen the last of each other. Onemore chance. Promise me not to be my enemy. I will trust thee. Come,now."

  But the Jacobin was past speech. As Francois knelt beside him, hebeckoned feebly.

  "What is it?" As he bent lower, a grim smile went over the one movableside of Amar's face, and, raising a feeble hand, he drew it acrossFrancois's neck.

  "_Mon Dieu!_" cried he, recoiling, "thou art ripe for hell. Adieu, myunforgiving friend; and as thou hast no God, _au diable_, and may St.Satan look after thee--for love of thy looks. Come, doggie!" He puthis pistols in the back of his belt, set his rapier in the belt-catch,threw his cloak over all, and picked up his bag and knapsack. He tookone last look at Amar, and saying, "By-by, my angel," left him, lockingboth doors as he went out.

  Francois passed into the street, followed by the black poodle. In theRue St. Honore he paid the boy of a butcher with whom Gamel dealt totake his note when the midday meal should be over. And thus havingeased his conscience and regulated the business of life, he set out toput between him and the Jacobin as many miles as his long legs couldcover.