CHAPTER XIX. THE THEFT
La Boulaye sat once more in the Rue Nationale and with his head in hishands, his elbows supported by the writing-table, he stared before him,his face drawn with the pain and anger of the defeat he had sustainedwhere no defeat had been expected.
He had been so assured that he had but to ask for Ombreval's life,and it would be accorded him; he had promised Suzanne with suchconfidence--boasting almost--that he could do this, and to do it he hadpledged his word. And now? For very shame he could not go to her andtell her that despite his fine promises despite his bold bargaining, hewas as powerless to liberate Ombreval as was she herself.
And with reflection he came to see that even did he bear her such a taleshe would not believe it. The infinite assurance of his power, implicitin everything that he had said to her, must now arise in her memory, andgive the lie to his present confession of powerlessness. She would notbelieve him, and disbelieving him, she would seek a motive for the wordsthat she would deem untrue. And that motive she would not find farto seek. She would account his present attitude the consummation ofa miserable subterfuge by which he sought to win her confidence andesteem. She would--she must--believe that he had but made a semblanceof befriending her so disinterestedly only that he might enlist herkindness and regard, and turn them presently to his own purposes.She would infer that he had posed as unselfish--as self-sacrificing,almost--only that he might win her esteem, and that by telling her nowthat Robespierre was inflexible in his resolve to send Ombreval to theguillotine, he sought to retain that esteem whilst doing nothing forit. That he had ever intended to save Ombreval she would not credit.She would think it all a cunning scheme to win his own ends. And now hebethought him of the grief that would beset her upon learning that herjourney had indeed been fruitless. He smote the table a blow with hisclenched hand, and cursed the whole Republic, from Robespierre down tothe meanest sans-culotte that brayed the Ca ira in the streets of Paris.
He had pledged his word, and for all that he belonged to the class whoseright to honour was denied by the aristocrats, his word he had neveryet broken. That circumstance--as personified by MaximilienRobespierre--should break it for him now was matter enough to enragehim, for than this never had there been an occasion on which such abreach could have been less endurable.
He rose to his feet, and set himself to pace the chamber, driven toaction of body by the agonised activity of his mind. From the streetrose the cry of the pastry-cook going his daily rounds, as it had risenyesterday, he remembered, when Suzanne had been with him. And now ofa sudden he stood still. His lips were compressed, his brows drawntogether in a forbidding scowl, and his eyes narrowed until they seemedalmost closed. Then with his clenched right hand he smote the openpalm of the other. His resolve was taken. By fair means or foul, withRobespierre's sanction or without it, he would keep his word. After notonly the hope but the assurance he had given Suzanne that her betrothedshould go free, he could do no less than accomplish the Vicomte'senlargement by whatever means should present themselves.
And now to seek a way. He recalled the free pardon to which Robespierrehad gone the length of appending his signature. He remembered that ithad not been destroyed; Robespierre had crumpled it in his hand andtossed it aside. And by now Robespierre would have departed, andit should not be difficult for him--the protege and intimate ofRobespierre--to gain access to the Incorruptible's room.
If only he could find that document and fill in the name of Ombreval thething would be as good as done. True, he would require the signaturesof three other Deputies; but one of these he could supply himself, andanother two were easily to be requisitioned, seeing that already it boreRobespierre's.
And then as suddenly as the idea of the means had come to him, came nowthe spectre of the consequences to affright him. How would it fare withhim on Robespierre's return? How angered would not Robespierre be upondiscovering that his wishes had been set at naught, his very measurescontravened--and this by fraud? And than Robespierre's anger there werefew things more terrible in '93. It was an anger that shore away headsas recklessly as wayside flowers are flicked from their stems by theidler's cane.
For a second it daunted him. If he did this thing he must seek refugein flight; he must leave France, abandon the career which was so fullof promise for him, and wander abroad, a penniless fortune-hunter. Wellmight the prospect give him pause. Well might it cause him to surveythat pale, sardonic countenance that eyed him gloomily from the mirrorabove his mantel shelf, and ask it mockingly if it thought that Suzannede Bellecour--or indeed, any woman living--were worthy of so great asacrifice.
What had she done for him that he should cast away everything for hersake? Once she had told him that she loved him, only to betray him.Was that a woman for whom a man should wanton his fortunes? And thenhe smiled derisively, mocking his reflections in the mirror even as hemocked himself.
"Poor fool," he muttered, "it is not for the sake of what you are toher. Were it for that alone, you would not stir a finger to gratify herwishes. It is for the sake of what she is to you, Caron."
He turned from the mirror, his resolve now firm, and going to thedoor he called his official. Briefly he instructed Brutus touching thepacking of a valise, which he would probably need that night.
"You are going a journey, Citizen?" inquired Brutus, to which La Boulayereturned a short answer in the affirmative. "Do I accompany you?"inquired the official, to which La Boulaye shook his head.
At that Brutus, who, for all his insolence of manner, was very devotedlyattached to his employer, broke into remonstrances, impertinent ofdiction but affectionate of tenor. He protested that La Boulaye had lefthim behind, and lonely, during his mission to the army in Belgium, andhe vowed that he would not be left behind again.
"Well, well; we shall see, Brutus," answered the Deputy, laying his handupon the fellow's shoulder. "But I am afraid that this time I am goingfarther than you would care to come."
The man's ferrety eyes were raised of a sudden to La Boulaye's face in avery searching glance. Caron's tone had been laden with insinuation.
"You are running way," cried the official.
"Sh! My good Brutus, what folly! Why should I run away--and from whom,pray?"
"I know not that. But you are. I heard it in your voice. And you do nottrust me, Citizen La Boulaye," the fellow added, in a stricken voice. "Ihave served you faithfully these two years, and yet you have not learntto trust me."
"I do, I do, my friend. You go too fast with your conclusions. Now seeto my valise, and on my return perhaps I'll tell you where I am going,and put your fidelity to the test."
"And you will take me with you?"
"Why, yes," La Boulaye promised him, "unless you should prefer to remainin Paris."
With that he got away and leaving the house, he walked briskly upthe street, round the corner, and on until he stood once more beforeDuplay's.
"Has the Citizen Robespierre departed yet?" he inquired of the woman whoanswered his peremptory knock.
"He has been gone this hour, Citizen La Boulaye," she answered. "Hestarted almost immediately after you left him."
"Diable!" grumbled Caron, with well-feigned annoyance. "Quelcontretemps! I have left a most important document in his room, and, ofcourse, it will be locked."
"But the Citoyenne Cecile has the key," answered the woman, eager tooblige him.
"Why, yes--naturally! Now that is fortunate. Will you do me the favourto procure the key from he Citoyenne for a few moments, telling her, ofcourse, that it is I who need it?"
"But certainly, Montez, Citoyen." And with a wave of the hand towardsthe stairs she went before him.
He followed leisurely, and by the time he had reached Robespierre's doorher voice floated down to him from above, calling the Incorruptible'sniece. Next he heard Cecile's voice replying, and then a whisperedconference on the landing overhead, to the accompaniment of theoccasional tinkle of a bunch of keys.
Presently the domestic returned, and unlock
ing the door, she held itopen for La Boulaye to pass. From her attitude it seemed to Caron as ifshe were intentioned--probably she had been instructed--to remain therewhile he obtained what he sought. Now he had no mind that she should seehim making his quest among the wasted papers on the floor, and so:
"I shall not be more than a few minutes," he announced quietly. "I willcall you when I am ready to depart."
Thus uncompromisingly dismissed, she did not venture to remain, and,passing in, La Boulaye closed the door. As great as had been hisdeliberation hitherto was now the feverish haste with which he crossedto the spot where he had seen the document flung. He caught up acrumpled sheet and opened it out It was not the thing he sought. He castit aside and took up another with no better luck. To crumple discardedpapers seemed the habit of the Incorruptible, for there was a verylitter of them on the ground. One after another did Caron investigatewithout success. He was on his knees now, and his exploration hadcarried him as far as the table; another moment and he was grovellingunder it, still at his search, which with each fresh disappointment growmore feverish.
Yonder--by the leg of the Incorruptible's chair--he espied the ballof paper, and to reach it he stretched to his full length, lying pronebeneath a table in an attitude scarce becoming a Deputy of the FrenchRepublic. But it was worth the effort and the disregard of dignity, forwhen presently on his knees he smoothed out that document, he discoveredit to be the one he sought the order upon the gaolers of the Luxembourgto set at liberty a person or persons whose names were to be filled in,signed by Maximilien Robespierre.
He rose, absorbed in his successful find, and he pursued upon the tablethe process of smoothing the creases as much as possible from thatpriceless document. That done he took up a pen and attached his ownsignature alongside of Robespierre's; then into the blank space above hefilled the name of Anatole d'Ombreval ci-devant Vicomte d'Ombreval.He dropped the pen and took up the sand-box. He sprinkled the writing,creased the paper, and dusted the sand back into the receptacle. Andthen of a sudden his blood seemed to freeze, and beads of cold sweatstood out upon his brow. There had been the very slightest stir behindhim, and with it had come a warm breath upon his bowed neck. Someone waslooking over his shoulder. An instant he remained in that bowed attitudewith head half-raised. Then suddenly straightening himself he swunground and came face to face with Cecile Deshaix.
Confronting each other and very close they now stood and each wasbreathing with more than normal quickness. Her cheeks were white, hernostrils dilated and quivering, her blue eyes baleful and cruel, whilsther lips wore never so faint a smile. For a second La Boulaye looked thevery picture of foolishness and alarm. Then it seemed as if he drew acurtain, and his face assumed the expressionless mask that was habitualto it in moments of great tension. Instinctively he put behind him hishands which held the paper. Cecile's lips took on an added curl of scornas she observed the act.
"You thief!" she said, very low, but very fiercely. "That was the paperthat you left behind you, was it?"
"The paper that I have is certainly the paper that I left behind," heanswered serenely, for he had himself well in hand by now. "And asfor dubbing me a thief so readily"--he paused, and shrugged hisshoulders--"you are a woman," he concluded, with an air suggesting thatthat fact was a conclusion to all things.
"Fool!" she blazed. "Do you think to overcome me by quibbles? Do youthink to dupe me with words and shrugs?"
"My dear Cecile" he begged half-whimsically, "may I implore you to usesome restraint? Inured as I am to the unbounded licence of your tongueand to the abandon that seems so inherent in you, let me assure youthat--"
"Ah! You can say Cecile now?" she cried, leaving the remainder of hisspeech unheeded. "Now that you need me; now that you want me to be aparty to your treacherous designs against my uncle. Oh, you can say'Cecile' and 'dear Cecile' instead of your everlasting 'Citoyenne'.
"It seems I am doomed to be always misunderstood by you," he laughed,and at the sound she started as if he had struck her.
Had she but looked in his eyes she had seen no laughter there; she mighthave realised that murder rather than mirth was in his soul--for, at allcosts, he was determined to hold the paper he had been at such pains toget.
"I understand you well enough," she cried hotly, her cheeks flaming redof a sudden. "I understand you, you thief, you trickster. Do you thinkthat I heard nothing of what passed this morning between my uncle andyou? Do you think I do not know whose name you have written on thatpaper? Answer me," she commanded him.
"Since you know so much, what need for any questions?" quoth he coolly,transferring the coveted paper to his pocket as he spoke. "And sincewe are so far agreed that I am not contradicting anything you say--nor,indeed, intend to--perhaps you will see the convenience of ending aninterview that promises to be fruitless. My dear Cecile, I am verygrateful to you for the key of this room. I beg that you will make mycompliments to the Citizen your uncle upon his return, and inform him ofhow thoroughly you ministered to my wants."
With that and a superb air of insouciance, he made shift to go. Butfronting him she barred his way.
"Give me that paper, sclerat," she demanded imperiously. "You shall notgo until you surrender it. Give it to me or I will call Duplay."
"You may call the devil for aught I care, you little fool," he answeredher, very pleasantly. "Do you think Duplay will be mad enough to layhands upon a Deputy of the Convention in the discharge of the affairs ofthe Nation?"
"It is a lie!"
"Why, of course it is," he admitted sweetly. "But Duplay will not beaware of that."
"I shall tell him."
"Tut! He won't believe you. I'll threaten him with the guillotine ifhe does. And I should think that Duplay has sufficient dread of thenational barber not to risk having his toilet performed by him. Now, bereasonable, and let me pass."
Enraged beyond measure by his persiflage and very manifest contemptof her, she sprang suddenly upon him, and caught at the lapels of hisredingote.
"Give me that paper!" she screamed, exerting her entire strength in avain effort to boldly shake him.
Coldly he eyed this golden-haired virago now, and looked in vain forsome trace of her wonted beauty in the stormy distortion of her face.
"You grow tiresome with your repetitions," he answered her impatiently,as, snatching at her wrists, he made her release her hold. "Let me go."And with that he flung her roughly from him.
A second she staggered, then, recovering her balance and without aninstant's hesitation, she sped to the door. Imagining her intent to beto lock him in La Boulaye sprang after her. But it seemed that hismind had been more swift to fasten upon the wiser course than had hers.Instead, she snatched the key and closed the door on the inside. Shewasted a moment fumbling at the lock, and even as he caught her bythe waist the key slipped in, and before he dragged her back she hadcontrived to turn it, and now held it in her hand. He laughed a trifleangrily as she twisted out of his grasp, and stood panting before him.
"You shall not leave this room with that paper," she gasped, her angerever swelling, and now rendering her speech almost incoherent.
He set his arms akimbo, and surveyed her whimsically.
"My dear Cecile," quoth he, "if you will take no thought for myconvenience, I beg that, at least, you will take some for your goodname. Thousand devils woman! Will you have it said in Paris thatyou were found locked in a room with me? What will your uncle--yourvirtuous, prudish, incorruptible uncle--say when he learns of it? If hedoes not demand a heavy price from you for so dishonouring him, he isnot the man I deem him. Now be sensible, child, and open that doorwhile there is yet time, and before anybody discovers us in this mostcompromising situation."
He struck the tone most likely to win him obedience, and that he hadjudged astutely her face showed him. In the place of the anger that haddistorted it there came now into that countenance a look of surpriseand fear. She saw herself baffled at every point. She had threatened himwith Duplay--the only man avail
able--and he had shown her how futile itmust prove to summon him. And now she had locked herself in with him,thinking to sit there until he should do her will, and he showed her thedanger to herself therein, which had escaped her notice.
There was a settle close behind her, and on to this she sank, andbending her head she opened the floodgates of her passionate littlesoul, and let the rage that had so long possessed her dissolve in tears.At sight of that sudden change of front La Boulaye stamped his foot. Heappreciated the fact that she was about to fight him with weapons thaton a previous occasion--when, however, it is true, they were wielded byanother--had accomplished his undoing.
And for all that he steeled his heart, and evoked the memory of Suzanneto strengthen him in his purpose: he approached her with a kindlyexterior. He sat him down beside her; he encompassed her waist with hisarm, and drawing her to him he set himself to soothe her as one soothesa wilful child. Had he then recalled what her attitude had been towardshim in the past he had thought twice before adopting such a course. Butin his mind there was no sentiment that was not brotherly, and far fromhis wishes was it to invest his action with any other than a fraternalkindness.
But she, feeling that caressing arm about her, and fired by it in herhapless passion for this man, was quick to misinterpret him, and totranslate his attitude into one of a kindness far beyond his dreams. Shenestled closer to him; at his bidding her weeping died down and ceased.
"There, Cecile, you will give me the key now?" he begged.
She glanced up at him shyly through wet lashes--as peeps the sun throughApril clouds.
"There is nothing I will not do for you, Caron," she murmured. "See, Iwill even help you to play the traitor on my uncle. For you love me alittle, cher Caron, is it not so?"
He felt himself grow cold from head to foot, and he grew sick at thethought that by the indiscretion of his clumsy sympathy he had broughtthis down upon his luckless head. Mechanically his arm relaxed the holdof her waist and fell away. Instinctively she apprehended that all wasnot as she had thought. She turned on the seat to face him squarely, andcaught something of the dismay in his glance of the loathing almost (forwhat is more loathsome to a man than to be wooed by a woman he desiresnot?) Gradually, inch by inch, she drew away from him, ever facing him,and her eyes ever on his, as if fascinated by the horror of what shesaw. Thus until the extremity of the settle permitted her to go nofarther. She started, then her glance flickered down, and she gave asudden gasp of passion. Simultaneously the key rang on the boards atCaron's feet angrily flung there by Cecile.
"Go!" she exclaimed, in a suffocating voice, "and never let me see yourface again."
For a second or two he sat quite still, his eyes observing her with alook of ineffable pity, which might have increased her disorder had sheperceived it. Then slowly he stooped, and took up the key.
He rose from the settle, and without a word--for words he realised,could do no more than heighten the tragic banality of the situation--hewent to the door, unlocked it, and passed out.
Huddled in her corner sat Cecile, listening until his steps had diedaway on the stairs. Then she cast herself prone upon the settle, and ina frenzy of sobs and tears she vented some of the rage and shame thatwere distracting her.
The Trampling of the Lilies Page 19
