*XVII*
_Of how Francois, escaping, lives in the wood; of how he sees thedaughter of the marquis dying, and knows not then, or ever after, whatit was that hurt him; of how he becomes homesick for Paris._
The forest was of great extent, and intersected by wood roads. Alongone of these Francois ran for an hour or more, until he was tired, andhad put, as he believed, some miles between himself and the citizen withthe wart. The way became more narrow, the forest more dense. At lastthere was only a broad path. Now and then he saw the north star, andknew that he was traveling southward. He came out at dawn on an openspace, rocky and barren, a great rabbit-warren, as he knew by the suddenstampede of numberless rabbits. He turned aside into the woods, and afew hundred yards away found a bit of marsh, and beyond it a brook, withleaf-covered space beneath tall plane-trees, now bare of foliage. Hedrank deep of the welcome water, and sat down with Toto to rest andthink.
"_Mon ami_," he said, "we like adventures; but this was a little toomuch." Then he laughed at the thought of Pierre's terror; but the manwith the wart was not so funny, and the poor lady who was St. Cecilia,and that cold-blooded devil of a marquis--"What a man!"
Here were rabbits for food, and only a forest bed, but, on the whole,better than the Conciergerie or the Chatelet. He slept long, and wascold, fearing to make a fire. About eleven next morning he left Toto,and went with care to the edge of the wood. He heard noises, and sawboys setting traps; for now my lord's rabbits were anybody's rabbits.The traps pleased him. He slipped away. At evening, being dreadfullyhungry, he went to the warren, took two rabbits out of the traps, andwent back. The man's patience was amazing: not until late at night didhe make a fire to cook his meat; but Toto, less exacting, was fed atonce with the raw flesh.
A week went by, with no more of incident than I have mentioned. Heexplored the woods day after day, and a half-mile away found a farm,whence at night he took toll of milk, having stolen a pail to aid him.It was all sadly monotonous, but what else could he do? Once, after afortnight, he was bold enough to wander in daylight within the woodsnear the chateau. It was apparently deserted; at least, he saw no signsof habitation; nor, later at night, when he went back, were therelights, except in one room on the ground floor.
Francis approached with caution, and, looking through a window, saw anold man seated by the fire. Making sure that he was alone, the wanderertapped on the pane. The man at the hearthside looked up, and Francoissaw, as he had suspected, that he was the majordomo. Again Francoistapped, and observing the inmate move toward the door, he hurriedthither. As they met, Francois hastened to say that he was the man whoaided the marquis, having himself had the luck to escape. Oncereassured, the old majordomo urged Francois to enter. But this he wouldnot do. He had had enough of house-traps. In the forest they would besecure. To this the servant agreed, and followed him at once. When atlast in the woodland shelter, Francois asked: "What of the marquis?" Hehad been taken by Gregoire toward Paris, but was said to have made hisescape. "A hard man to hold is my master; and as to the village, it hashad to pay right dearly, too." Pierre had been arrested, but was soonset free. And the little gentleman? He had been taken to a cousin'shouse in eastern Normandy. Francois hesitated over his final question;he himself could not have told why.
"THE WANDERER TAPPED ON THE PANE."]
"And Mme. Renee?" he exclaimed, and bent forward, intent.
"The countess?"
"I did not know. Is she a countess? Mme. Renee--what of her?--she whowas hurt. I passed her; she lay on the upper stair. There wasblood--blood. The little boy cried to me to help her. My God! I couldnot. I--tell me, was she badly hurt?"
"She is dying, monsieur. Something--a gauntlet, they say--struck herhead. She has known no one since."
"Where is she?"
"In the chateau, with a maid and her aunt. She was too ill to be takenaway. She is dying to-night. They say she cannot last long. God resther soul! 'T is the end of everything."
The thief stood still a minute; then he said resolutely, "I must seeher." This the old servant declared impossible; but when Francois sworethat he would go alone, he finally consented to show him the way,insisting all the time that he would not be let in.
In a few minutes they were moving down a long corridor on the secondfloor. All was dark until the majordomo paused at a door under which aline of light was to be seen. Here he knocked, motioning his companionto keep back a little. The door opened, and a gaunt middle-aged ladycame forth.
"What is it?" she said.
"This man--this gentleman would see the countess."
"What do you want?" she said, facing Francois. "My niece isdying--murdered. You have done your cruel work. Would you trouble thedead?"
"Madame," said Francois, "I am he who held the stair with the marquis.I am no Jacobin. I shot the man who wounded the countess."
"You! He is dead."
"Thank God! May I see the lady?"
"She is dying; why should you see her?"
"Madame, I am a poor unhappy thief. Once this lady offered me help--achance, a better life. I was a fool; I let it go by. I--let me seeher."
"Come in," said the gentlewoman; and, with no more words, he enteredafter her, and approached the bed, leaving his dog outside. What hebeheld he neither forgot nor, I believe, save in his memoirs, ever spokeof to any one.
He saw a white face on the pillow; a deep-red spot on each cheek; eyeswith the glaze of swift-coming death. He fell on his knees beside her,and stayed motionless, watching the sweat on the brow, the breathquicken and then stop as if it would not come again. At last he touchedthe hand. It was cold, and he withdrew his own hand, shrinking back.He had seen death, but no death like this. He said, "Madame." Therewas no answer. He looked up at the older woman. "She is dying; shedoes not hear."
"HE SAW A WHITE FACE ON THE PILLOW."]
"No; nor ever will in this world."
He turned, bent down, and kissed the fringe of the coverlet. Then hearose, shaken by the strongest emotion life had brought to him.
"I thank you," he said, and moved to the door. He paused outside.
"Are you sure the beast is dead--the man who did that--that?"
"Yes."
"I am sorry--sorry." He shook his long arms in the air. "I should likenow to kill him again--again!" He walked swiftly away, and, not waitingfor the servant, left the house and found his way back to his forestshelter.
All night long he sat without a fire, indifferent to poor Toto's effortsto get a little notice, not feeling the cold, a sorely wounded man, witha scar on his memory which no after happiness could ever erase.
The next night he found the majordomo, and learned that the countess wasdead. He took away blankets and the provisions bountifully supplied,and once more rejoined his dog.
In this manner the last days of February were passed; and in March thespring began to appear, but with it a new peril. The woodmen went hereand there at work, and thrice he narrowly escaped being seen. Early inApril his friend the majordomo disappeared, and the great chateau wasinfested with men who came and went--for what he knew not.
He began to be troubled with a feverish desire to see the streets ofParis. At last he made up his mind to leave his forest shelter; andsometime in April, having hesitated long, he set out. He hid all day inwoods, and walked at night, until he reached the Seine. With this as aguide, he went on, robbing hen-houses of eggs, and milking cows, untilhe was close to Paris. How to enter it he did not know. The times weredoubly dangerous. Spies and suspicion were everywhere to be dreaded.His papers had no certifications from the places he was presumed to havevisited. Formidable in the background he saw the man Gregoire, thecommissioner with the wart of ill luck.
How the thief and his dog lived near to Paris in woods and fields, thereis no need to tell in detail. The month of June was come in this year of1793. Marat was ill, and Charlotte Corday on her way to forestall thedecr
ee of nature. La Vendee was up. The Girondists had fallen, thegreat cities of the South were in uproar, the enemy was on the frontier,and the rule of France in the competent and remorseless hands of theCommittee of Public Safety. All around Paris the country was infestedwith wandering people who, for the most part, like Francois, had goodreason to fear. There were beggars, thieves, persecuted nobles, thosewho had no mind to face the foe as volunteers. Now and then Francois,ever cautious, picked up a little news on a scrap of gazette found bythe wayside. He read that Citizen Amar was of the Great Committee ofGeneral Security. Francois laughed.
"Toto, dost thou think this will add to thy master's security? That wasthe gentleman with the emigrative mouth. _Ami_, he is still alive.They must be tough, these Jacobins. What fun, Toto! I can see himpinned to the door like a beetle, and that marquis with a face, Toto,like a white plaster cast those Italians used to sell.
"I like not M. Amar. Toto, we are unhappy in our acquaintances. Butthe man of the wart is the worst." This was Francois's black beast;why, he could not have said. Amar, _le farouche_, was really a morefatal foe. The citizen who dressed neatly, and wore spectacles overgreen eyes, and was in debt to the conjurer for a not desirable forecastof fortune, was a yet more sinister acquaintance. Yet it was CitizenGregoire who came to Francois in dreams, and the bare thought of whomcould chop short a laugh as surely as Mother Guillotine, the merciless.
The Adventures of François Page 19
