CHAPTER XVIII. THE INCORRUPTIBLE
It was towards noon of the following day when Caron La Boulaye presentedhimself at the house of Duplay, the cabinet-maker in the Rue St. Honore,and asked of the elderly female who admitted him if he might see theCitizen-deputy Robespierre.
A berline stood at the door, the postillion at the horses' heads, andabout it there was some bustle, as if in preparation of a departure. ButLa Boulaye paid no heed to it as he entered the house.
He was immediately conducted upstairs to the Incorruptible'sapartment--for he was too well known to so much as need announcing. Inanswer to the woman's knock a gentle, almost plaintive voice from withinbade them enter, and thus was Caron ushered into the humble dwellingof the humble and ineffective-looking individual whose power alreadytranscended that of any other man in France, and who was destined tobecome still more before his ephemeral star went out.
Into that unpretentious and rather close-smelling room--for it wasbed-chamber as well as dining-room and study--stepped La Boulayeunhesitatingly, with the air of a man who is intimate with hissurroundings and assured of his welcome in them. In the right-handcorner stood the bed on which the clothes were still tumbled; in thecentre of the chamber was a table all littered with the disorder ofa meal partaken; on the left, by the window, sat Robespierre at hiswriting-table, and from the overmantel at the back of the room a marblecounterpart of Robespierre's own head and shoulders looked down upon thenewcomer. There were a few pictures on the whitewashed walls, and a fewobjects of art about the chamber, but in the main it had a comfortlessair, which may in part have resulted from the fact that no fire had beenlighted.
The great man tossed aside his pen, and rose as the door closed afterthe entering visitor. Pushing his horn-rimmed spectacles up on to hisforehead he stretched out his hand to La Boulaye.
"It is you, Caron," he murmured in that plaintive voice of his. It was avoice that sorted well with the humane man who had resigned a judgeshipat Arras sooner than pass a death-sentence, but hardly so well with himwho, as Public Prosecutor in Paris, had brought some hundreds of headsto the sawdust. "I have been desiring to congratulate you upon yourvictory of yesterday," he continued, "even as I have been congratulatingmyself upon the fact that it was I who found you and gave you to theNation. I feared that I might not see you ere I left."
"You are leaving Paris?" asked La Boulaye, without heeding thecompliments in the earlier part of the other's speech.
"For a few days. Business of the Nation, my friend. But you--let us talkof you. Do you know that I am proud of you, cher Caron? Your eloquenceturned Danton green with jealousy, and as for poor Vergniaud, itextinguished him utterly. Ma foi! If you continue as you have begun,the day may not be far distant when you will become the patron and I theProtege." And his weak eyes beamed pleasantly from out of that unhealthypale face.
Outwardly he had changed little since his first coming to Paris, torepresent the Third Estate of Artoise, saving, his cheeks were grownmore hollow. Upon his dress he still bestowed the same unpretentiouscare that had always characterised it, which, in one of the mostprominent patriots of the Mountain, amounted almost to foppishness. Bluecoat, white waistcoat, silk hose and shoes buckled with silver, gave himan elegant exterior that must have earned him many a covert sneerfrom his colleagues. His sloping forehead was crowned by a periwig,sedulously curled and powdered--for all that with the noblesse this wasalready a discarded fashion.
La Boulaye replied to his patron's compliments with the best grace hecould command considering how full of another matter was his mind.
"I may congratulate myself, Maximilien," he added, "upon my good fortunein coming before you took your departure. I have a request to prefer, afavour to ask."
"Tut! Who talks of favours? Not you, Caron, I hope. You have but to namewhat you desire, and so that it lies within my power to accord it, thething is yours."
"There is a prisoner in the Luxembourg in whom I am interested. I seekhis enlargement."
"But is that all?" cried the little man, and, without more ado, heturned to his writing-table and drew a printed form from among the chaosof documents. "His name?" he asked indifferently, as he dipped his quillin the ink-horn and scratched his signature at the foot of it.
"An aristocrat," said Caron, with some slight hesitancy.
"Eh?" And the arched brows drew together for an instant. "But no matter.There are enough and to spare even for Fouquier-Tinvillle's voraciousappetite. His name?"
"The ci-devant Vicomte Antole d'Ombreval."
"Qui-ca?" The question rang sharp as a pistol-shot, sounding themore fearful by virtue of the contrast with the gentle tones in whichRobespierre had spoken hitherto. The little man's face grew evil."d'Ombreval?" he cried. "But what is this man to you? It is by yourfavour alone that I have let him live so long, but now--" He stoppedshort. "What is your interest in this man?" he demanded, and thequestion was so fiercely put as to suggest that it would be well for LaBoulaye that he should prove that interest slight indeed.
But whatever feelings may have been swaying Caron at the moment, fearwas not one of them.
"My interest in him is sufficiently great to cause me to seek hisfreedom at your hands," he answered, with composure.
Robespierre eyed him narrowly for a moment, peering at him over hisspectacles which he had drawn down on to his tip-tilted nose. Then thefierceness died out of his mien and manner as suddenly as it had sprungup. He became once more the weak-looking, ineffectual man that had firstgreeted La Boulaye: urbane and quiet, but cold-cold as ice.
"I am desolated, my dear Caron, but you have asked me for the one man inthe prisons of France whose life I cannot yield you. He is from Artois,and there is an old score 'twixt him and me, 'twixt his family and mine.They were the grands seigneurs of the land on which we were born, theseOmbrevals, and I could tell you of wrongs committed by them which wouldmake you shudder in horror. This one shall atone in the small measurewe can enforce from him. It was to this end that I ordered you to effecthis capture. Have patience, dear Caron, and forgive me that I cannotgrant your request. As I have said, I am desolated that it should beso. Ask me, if you will, the life of any other--or any dozen others--andthey are yours. But Ombreval must die."
Caron stood a moment in silent dismay. Here was an obstacle upon whichhe had not counted when he had passed his word to Suzanne to effect therelease of her betrothed. At all costs he must gain it, he told himself,and to that end he now set himself to plead, advancing, as his onlyargument--but advancing it with a fervour that added to its weight--thathe stood pledged to save the ci-devant Vicomte. Robespierre looked upat him with a shade of polite regret upon his cadaverous face, and withpolite regret he deplored that Caron should have so bound himself.
So absorbed were they, the one in pleading, the other in resisting,that neither noticed the opening of the door, nor yet the girl who stoodobserving them from the threshold.
"If this man dies," cried La Boulaye at last, "I am dishonoured.
"It is regrettable," returned Robespierre, "that you should have pledgedyour word in the matter. You will confess, Caron, that it was a littleprecipitate. Enfin," he ended, crumpling the document he had signed andtossing it under the table, "you must extricate yourself as best youcan. I am sorry, but I cannot give him to you."
Caron's face was very white and his hands were clenched convulsively. Itis questionable whether in that moment he had not flung himself upon theIncorruptible, and enforced that which hitherto he had only besought,but that in that instant the girl stepped into the room.
"And is it really you, Caron?" came the melodious voice of Cecile.
La Boulaye started round to confront her, and stifled a curse at theuntimely interruption which Robespierre was blessing as most timely.
"It is--it is, Citoyenne," he answered shortly, to add more shortlystill: "I am here on business with the Citizen, your uncle."
But before the girl could so much as appreciate the rebuke he levelledat her intrusion,
her uncle had come to the rescue.
"The business, however, is at an end. Take charge of this good Caron,Cecile, whilst I make ready for my journey."
Thus, sore at heart, and chagrined beyond words, La Boulaye was forcedto realise his defeat, and to leave the presence of the Incorruptible.But with Cecile he went no farther than the landing.
"If you will excuse me, Citoyenne," he said abstractedly, "I will takemy leave of you."
"But I shall not excuse you, Caron," she said, refusing to see hisabstraction. "You will stay to dinner--"
"I am sorry beyond measure, but--"
"You shall stay," she interrupted. "Come, Caron. It is months since youwere with us. We will make a little fete in honour of your yesterday'striumph," she promised him, sidling up to him with a bewitching glanceof blue eyes, and the most distracting toss of golden curls upon anivory neck.
But to such seductions Caron proved as impervious as might a man ofstone. He excused himself with cold politeness. The Nation's businesswas awaiting him; he might not stay.
"The Nation's business may await you a little longer," she declared,taking hold of his arm with both hands, and had she left it at that itis possible that she had won her way with him. But most indiscreetly sheadded:
"Come, Caron, you shall tell me who was your yesterday's visitor. Do youknow that the sight of her made me jealous? Was it not foolish in me?"
And now, from cold politeness, La Boulaye passed to hot impoliteness.Roughly he shook her detaining hands from him, and with hardly so muchas a word of farewell, he passed down the stairs, leaving her white withpassion at the slight he had thereby put upon her.
The beauty seemed to pass out of her face much as the meekness was wontto pass out of her uncle's when he was roused. Her blue eyes grew steelyand cruel as she looked after him.
"Wait, Caron," she muttered to herself, "I will cry quits with you."And then, with a sob of anger, she turned and mounted the stairs to herapartments.
The Trampling of the Lilies Page 18
