by William Sage
CHAPTER XIII
THE SWORD OF ROCROY
Citizen St. Hilaire had just come in from making a few purchases at thebaker's shop in the Rue des Mathurins. Shortly after dusk that eveninghe had recalled to mind that he was without the gill of cream for hisnext morning's coffee, and also that the small white loaf which formed apart of his breakfast was at that moment reposing crisp and warm on thecounter of the baker's shop a few doors distant.
As Citizen St. Hilaire was very particular about his coffee and alwaysliked to have a certain choice loaf that Jules, the baker in the Rue desMathurins, made to perfection late every afternoon, he had braved thewind and rain of a stormy January evening, and gone out to procure hisnext morning's repast.
Returning to his small apartment at the top of the house, he threw offhis wet cloak and was on the point of extracting from his pocket alittle can of cream, when a knock sounded at the door of the chamberwhich served him for sitting-room, dining-room, and library. Putting thecan upon the table, he took up a lamp and went to the door.
A young woman stood upon the threshold. She had evidently come in acarriage, for the costly clothes she wore were quite unspotted by therain.
"This is Citizen St. Hilaire," she said in a tone of conviction as shestepped into the room.
St. Hilaire bowed and stepped back to place the lamp upon a small tablenear at hand, and stood waiting the further pleasure of his visitor.
As he stood within the circle of light, the young woman looked from himto his modest surroundings with marked curiosity, her eyes dwelling uponeach object in the room in turn. It did not take long to note everypiece of furniture; the table, arm-chair, a few books, the violin casein the corner, with a picture or two and a pair of rapiers upon thewall. When she had completed her survey of the room her gaze returned tohim once more.
He was plainly dressed in a suit of dark brown color. His linen wasexquisitely neat, and his figure was so elegant that although his coatwas far from new, and of no exceptional quality, it became him as wellas if it were of the most costly material.
"Will you be seated?" said St. Hilaire, drawing forward the arm-chairfrom its corner.
The young woman took the seat he offered her.
"And so you are Citizen St. Hilaire," she repeated as if the nameinterested. "I--I am Citizeness La Liberte. I remember you well," shecontinued; "I saw you a number of times, years ago, at the home of theMarquis de----But why mention his name? There are no more marquises inFrance, and he was a worthless creature," and she tossed back her headwith a gesture of careless freedom.
"No," he repeated, "there are no more marquises," and with a laugh heseated himself opposite her. The sharp end of the crisp loaf in hispocket made him aware of its presence. He took it out and put it in itsplace upon the table beside the cream.
"The Republic has caused many strange changes, but I should never havedreamed of finding you here like this, Citizen St. Hilaire," and againshe eyed him wonderingly.
"The Republic has done a great deal for you?" said St. Hilaire, raisinghis eyebrows inquiringly.
"Everything," replied La Liberte with emphasis, while her eyes and thejewels on her bosom flashed upon him dazzlingly. Her look indicated thatshe thought the Revolution had not dealt so generously by him.
"It has done much for me too," said St. Hilaire.
"What good has it done you?" inquired La Liberte incredulously.
"It has taught me wisdom," he replied.
"Oh," she answered contemptuously, "it has brought me pleasure.Therefore I love it. But you, Citizen St. Hilaire,--will you answer me aquestion?"
St. Hilaire bowed in acquiescence.
"Are you satisfied with this Republic? I know it is dangerous to speakslightingly of it in these days, but between us, with only the walls tohear, do you like it?"
"I am never satisfied with anything," replied St. Hilaire with just atouch of weariness in his voice.
"I should think that you would hate it. I should were I you," and LaLiberte shook her brown curls with a laugh.
"Notwithstanding," said St. Hilaire, "I would not go back to the oldregime."
"I do not understand you at all," exclaimed La Liberte in despair, witha puzzled look on her brow.
"Why try?" he asked dryly. "I have given it up myself. Tell me in whatway I can serve you?"
"I have come here to do you a service," she answered. The room was warm,and as she spoke she threw her ermine-lined cloak over the back of thechair.
A slight trace of surprise showed itself upon Citizen St. Hilaire's faceas he looked at her inquiringly.
She had evidently found the chair too large to sit in comfortably, forshe perched herself upon its arm with one foot on the floor while sheswung the other easily.
"That is extraordinary!'" he exclaimed. "It is a long time since any onehas gone out of his way to do me a service. May I ask why you have doneso?"
"Oh, I can hardly tell you why," she replied, tapping her boot heelagainst the side of the chair. It was a very dainty foot and clad inthe finest chaussure to be found in Paris. "You were once kind to afriend of mine," she went on to say, slowly--"and I rather likedyou--and so I have come to show you this." She put a slip of paper intohis hand.
It was headed, "List for the fifteenth Pluviose." Then followed a scoreof names. St. Hilaire saw his own among them near the end.
The young woman watched him earnestly while he read it. The carelesslook had quite disappeared from her face, and given place to one ofseriousness.
"It is a list of names," said St. Hilaire, turning the paper over andlooking at the reverse side to see if it contained anything else. "Andmy name is honored by being among them. Where did it come from? Whatdoes it mean?"
"I picked it up," replied La Liberte. "I saw it lying on a table. I didnot know the other names upon it and should never have touched it had Inot seen your name. And I resolved that you should see it also, and bewarned in time. But you have little time to spare. To-morrow is thefifteenth."
"Warned?" repeated St. Hilaire, "of what?"
"Every man whose name is upon that list will be arrested to-morrow. Itmay be in the morning, it may be during the day, it may be late atnight. But it will surely be to-morrow. Oh! I have seen so many of thoselists, and of late they are longer and more frequent."
"Whose handwriting is this?" inquired St. Hilaire, looking atcritically.
"I dare not tell," said La Liberte in a low tone.
"As long as you have revealed so much, why not go a step further andmake the information of greater value?" he insisted quietly.
"One of the committee, I dare not mention his name even here," and shelooked around the room furtively. "One of the most powerful," she wenton, in a very low tone, as if frightened at her own temerity. "Cannotyou guess?"
"Yes, I think I can," rejoined St. Hilaire musingly.
"Now that you have had this warning I hope you will be able to eludethem. Give me the paper again, Citizen St. Hilaire, that I may replaceit before it is missed. He is at the club now, but I must hurry back.Never mind the light; I can find my way well enough. My eyes are used tothe dark."
St. Hilaire took up the lamp, and in spite of her remonstrancesaccompanied her down the four flights of stairs. At the door stood ahandsome equipage.
"That is mine," she said, as St. Hilaire escorted her to the carriage;there was the same slight touch of pride in her tone that had crept outonce before. "This once belonged to the Duchess de Montmorenci," shesaid. "It is rather heavy and old-fashioned, but will do very well untilI can get a new one."
"I see that you have had the coat of arms erased," St. Hilaireremarked. "I suppose your new carriage will have a red nightcap on thepanel."
"Now you are laughing at me," she said, tossing back her brown curlswith a pout. "Good-night, marquis," she added in a low voice in his earas he was closing the door of the carriage.
"Citizen St. Hilaire," he corrected gravely, as she drove away. "Youforget there are no more marquises in Fra
nce."
After La Liberte's departure the Citizen St. Hilaire retraced his stepsup the stairs, humming quietly to himself. On reaching the top landinghe entered his room and sitting down by the window he looked out overthe lights of Paris. For two hours he sat thus buried deep in thoughtand scarcely moving. When he finally arose from his chair the city clockhad long struck the hour of midnight.
First drawing the bolt to the door as if to prevent intrusion even atthat late hour, he opened an old armoire in the corner of the room andtook from it an object carefully wrapped in a velvet cover. He took fromthe covering a sword, with golden hilt studded with jewels. Thescabbard, too, was of pure gold, set profusely with diamonds, emeralds,and rubies. Unsheathing the weapon he held it to the light. He held itcarefully, almost reverently, as one holds some sacred relic. His eyewas animated and had he uttered his thoughts he would have spokenthus:--
"This is the sword that a marshal of France wielded upon the field ofbattle. He was my ancestor, and from father to son it has come down tome, the last of my race. It is as bright to-day as when it flashed fromits sheath at Rocroy. I have kept it untarnished. It is the soleremaining relic of the greatness of our name."
Replacing the sword carefully in its scabbard, he buckled it around hiswaist. Then taking a cloak from the armoire he enveloped himself in it,so as to completely hide the jeweled scabbard. This done, he went intohis bedroom and drew from under his couch a small chest from which hetook a purse containing some money. All these preparations he madequietly and with great deliberation. Returning to the sitting-room heunbolted and opened the door. All was quiet. A cat, that frequented theupper part of the building, and made friends with those who fed it,walked silently in through the open door and arching her back rubbedpurringly against his leg. He went to the cupboard, and getting out asaucer filled it with the cream that was to have flavored his nextmorning's cup of coffee, and placed it on the floor. The animal ran toit greedily, and for a few moments St. Hilaire stood watching the littlered tongue curl rapidly out and in of the creature's mouth as she lappedup the unexpected feast. Then giving a glance about the room, buttouching nothing else in it, he extinguished the light and went out intothe corridor, leaving the door ajar.
When he passed out into the street he noticed that the rain had ceased.The wind blew freshly from the west and the night was cool. Drawing hiscloak closer about him and allowing one hand to rest upon hissword-hilt, he walked rapidly away, humming softly to himself. In theroom he had just left, the cat licked up the last few drops of cream inthe saucer; signified her contentment by stretching herself, while shedug her forepaws into the carpet several times in succession; thenjumped into his vacant arm-chair and curled up for a nap.
The Citizen St. Hilaire had always foreseen the possibility of just suchan emergency as now confronted him. He was quite prepared to meet it.
On the other side of the river in the small and quiet Rue d'Arcis dweltan old man. The house in which he lived, number seven, was also veryold. It was large and rambling. St. Hilaire knew it well. As a child hehad played in it. It had once belonged to him, and he had deeded it toan old servant of his father at a time when he regarded old houses asencumbrances upon his estates, and when aged servants had found no placein his retinue. If for no other reason, his family pride had caused himto make generous provision for a faithful retainer, and now that his ownworldly fortunes were reduced, he knew where to find a home until hecould carry out his plans for leaving the country. For some time past hehad been forming such plans, but with his customary indifference todanger he had delayed their execution from day to day.
Crossing the Seine by the bridge St. Michel and following the Quai, St.Hilaire remembered an unfrequented way to the house in the Rue d'Arcis.From the Quai on the left was a blind alley that ended at a row ofhouses. Through one of these houses had been cut an arched passage tothe street beyond. The passageway came out on the other side almostdirectly opposite number seven, and offered a tempting short-cut.
St. Hilaire walked quietly up the alley and had almost reached thefarther end, when a door on the opposite side opened and a woman cameout. The lateness of the hour and the signs of timidity which the womanshowed, caused St. Hilaire to stop in the entrance to the passageway andlook back to observe her actions.
She peered first down the street cautiously, as if to see that therewere no passers on the Quai, then up at the windows of the housesopposite to assure herself that she was unobserved from that quarter.Satisfied as to both of these points, she closed the door noiselessly,and hurriedly passed down the street. She was, however, not destined toreach the Quai unnoticed by any other eyes than St. Hilaire's, for shehad not gone fifty paces when a party of four men, talking in loudvoices, crossed the street on the Quai. At sight of them the womanstopped short and hesitated. The four also stopped and looked at her.One of them called out to her. Evidently frightened she turned, andcrossing the street hurried back. To St. Hilaire's surprise, she passedby the house from which she had recently come, and made straight forthe passageway where he stood. The four men gave chase, one of themovertaking her before she had reached the entrance. He placed his handupon her arm, while she cried and struggled to free herself. The hoodfell over her shoulders, and in the light from a lantern, hung upon aprojecting crane from one of the houses, St. Hilaire recognized Madamed'Arlincourt.
The exertion to free herself from the man's grasp had caused her hair tofall down upon her shoulders. Her blue eyes had a wild look like thoseof a person whose mind is strained almost to madness. She foughtfiercely for her freedom.
A dove striking its pinions against a lion's paw could have been able toeffect its release as quickly as the poor little countess from the hugehand that held her.
St. Hilaire was as gallant a gentleman as ever drew a sword, or raised alady's fingers to his lips. On the instant, he forgot his own danger andthe cause of his flight, and stepped forward into the circle of light.
"How now, citizen? What have you to do with this young citizeness?" hecried out in distinct tones.
In his surprise at St. Hilaire's sudden appearance, the man loosened hisgrasp upon Madame d'Arlincourt's shoulder. With a cry she flew instantlyto St. Hilaire's side for protection.
"Defend me, sir, oh, save me from them!" she cried, catching hold of hisarm.
"I will not let them harm a hair of your head," he whispered in reply;"calm yourself, my dear madame."
The quiet way in which he spoke seemed to bring back some part of herself-control. She ceased crying and stood by his side like a statue,although he could feel by the pressure on his arm that she stilltrembled.
"Well, citizen, what would you with this citizeness?" repeated St.Hilaire in a loud voice, as the other men came up behind their comrade.
"Her actions are suspicious; she may be an aristocrat. We want to bringher to the Section for examination," answered one of them.
"Let her come to the Section," echoed another.
The fellow who had first laid hands upon the countess now recoveredspeech. "If she's an aristocrat here's at her; I've killed many anaristocrat in my day." As he spoke he drew himself together and raisinghis musket leveled it at the woman's head.
The countess tightened her grasp on St. Hilaire's arm with both herhands, rendering him powerless for the moment.
St. Hilaire pushed her gently behind him, and looking straight into hisopponent's face, said firmly:--
"She shall certainly go to the Section, citizen, but first put down yourweapon and let me speak. I am Citizen St. Hilaire--were we in theFaubourg St. Michel almost anybody would be able to tell you who I am."
"I know you, citizen!" exclaimed one of the men in the rear, "and youshould know me also. My name is Gonflou!" and the fellow grinnedgood-naturedly over the shoulder of his companion, as if he recognizedan old friend.
"Ah yes, good citizen Gonflou!" repeated St. Hilaire. "Restrain theardor of this patriot who handles his musket so carelessly, while Iquestion the little citizeness."
Haillon muttered an oath and lowered the muzzle of his weapon.
"We can't be all night at this," he growled. "Better let me take a shotat the woman; she's an aristocrat, that's flat."
St. Hilaire bent over the countess.
"Release my arm!" She obeyed like a child. Stepping back with her acouple of paces, he continued:--
"Who is in the house you have just come out of? Answer me truthfully andfearlessly."
She looked up into his face, and he saw that she now recognized him asshe answered in a whisper, "My husband. He is ill. I could only ventureout after midnight to summon a physician who is known to us."
"Well," exclaimed Haillon, impatiently grinding the butt of his gun onthe pavement, "how long does it take to find out about an aristocrat?"
"She was going to summon a doctor to attend a sick father," said St.Hilaire without looking at Haillon.
"Bah," growled the latter.
"Right behind us," continued St. Hilaire, in a very low voice, andlooking into the countess' face earnestly to enforce his words, "is apassageway that leads to the Rue d'Arcis."
Madame d'Arlincourt nodded. She understood.
"When I next begin to talk to these men, you must go through thatpassage to the house opposite. It is number seven. You will not be ableto see the number, but it is directly opposite; you cannot mistake it.Knock seven times in quick succession. Some one will inquire fromwithin, 'Who knocks?' You must reply 'From Raphael.' Do you understand?"
"Yes," said the countess.
"You are taking up too much of our time, citizen," interrupted Haillon,"let me take a hand at questioning."
"Be silent, Haillon;" said St. Hilaire in a tone of quick authority.
"The door will be opened without further question. Once inside you musttell them that you were sent by Raphael, and that they are to keep youuntil it is safe for you to return to your own domicile. Nowremember!--as soon as I enter into conversation with these men."
"I can remember," replied the countess, "but what are you going to doafter that? Will they not harm you?"
St. Hilaire laughed lightly. "Oh, I will take care of that. I expect tofollow you in a few minutes." Then he turned and advanced a few steps inorder to cover her retreat more fully.
"The citizeness has convinced me that she is nothing but a poorsewing-girl in great distress at the illness of her father. I have toldher that she might continue on her errand for a doctor unmolested. Youare over-zealous, good Haillon, to see an aristocrat in every shadow."
"She has disappeared," cried Gonflou.
Haillon raised his musket with finger on the trigger. St. Hilaire's handstruck upward just as the detonation echoed through the quiet street.Then the smoke, clearing away, revealed Haillon upon the pavement, whilethe sword in St. Hilaire's hand was red with blood.
"He has killed a citizen," bellowed Gonflou. "Comrades, cut him down.Avenge the death of a patriot."
Three sabres were uplifted against the citizen St. Hilaire. He drew backa pace or two and with a smile upon his lips warded off the blows aimedat his head and breast. Then he poised himself and set his face firmly.The sword which had first won renown on the field of Rocroy now flashedin the light of the flickering lamp of the passage d'Arcis, and anotherof his assailants fell to the ground.
The wrist that wielded it was just as supple and the white fingers thatheld the jeweled hilt just as strong as when, in the days gone by, theMarquis de St. Hilaire was known as the best swordsman in his regiment.
His two remaining adversaries hesitated in their attack for a moment.Then Gonflou, bleeding from two deep wounds and bellowing like an angrybull, sprang at him again with his heavy sabre lifted in both hands.
One of the two fallen men had half raised himself and dragged over towhere Haillon lay. He drew a pistol from the dead man's belt and,leaning forward, fired under Gonflou's arm. The blow from Gonflou'ssabre was parried, then Jean Raphael de St. Hilaire fell forward on hisface and lay without moving upon the pavement, while the sword of Rocroyfell ringing to the ground.
One of the attacking party was still unhurt. He raised his weapon overthe prostrate body at his feet. Gonflou pushed him aside roughly."That's enough, citizen. We'll take him to the Section without cuttinghim up." The man who had fired the shot had since busied himself withtying up his own wounded arm. He now bent over St. Hilaire. "He stillbreathes," he said. "Had we not better finish him?"
"No, my little Jacques Gardin," was Gonflou's answer, who, the momentthe fight was over, became as good-natured as before; "let us take himto the Section."
"But he has killed Haillon," persisted young Jacques, who had reloadedthe pistol and was handling it lovingly.
"Pah," replied Gonflou, with a laugh, "Haillon should have been carefulwhen playing with edged tools. Come, citizens, take hold and we'll carrythem both to the Section. You may take your choice, Citizen Ferrand, thecorpse or the dying man. I'll carry either of them, and little Jacquesshall run ahead. Forward, march, comrades."
