“Tenez! Monsieur Philip, you have a noble heart—”
“For heaven’s sake, Joseph, go and drink yourself to death with this five-franc piece,” entreated Landes, but neither bribes nor threats had any effect.
“Charlemagne and Roland are not in it with you, old chap,” said Ellice, grinning at him under his képi.
“Don Quixote is,” said Philip, a little irritated. “Are you ready?”
“Yes, your worship, but I fear this will be a worse business than windmills.”
Landes looked at Jack’s laughing face with compunction.
“Look here,” he said, “I have no right to bring you into this. It isn’t your affair. You are risking your neck for me.”
“No, for fun. And besides, you are risking yours for Mademoiselle de Brassac; what’s the difference? Moreover, it is my affair, — any decent man’s affair, you know.”
Philip, divided between his urgent need of help and a sudden sense of responsibility for Jack’s neck, turned toward the door.
Joseph had called a cab; they entered it and told the driver to go to the Café Blanc-bec in the Faubourg du Temple. They had planned to dismiss the cab there and stroll leisurely up the street to the Impasse de la Mort.
The Boulevard St. Michel, the bridges, the quays, were alive with National Guards, strolling in groups or singly. Their uniforms fitted them rather worse, on the whole, than Jack’s and Philip’s did their wearers. “That’s all right,” said Ellice, “but I hope I sha’n’t have to talk.”
“Yes, your — er — accent — but there are all sorts of foreign adventurers in the Federal ranks. They’ll take you for one.”
“I hope so.”
“Yes, otherwise when you say ‘donny moy ung verre do—’”
“I can say it better than that,” said Ellice, placidly. Landes diverted the conversation. “What has become of Ynès Falaise, Jack?”
“Didn’t I tell you? She has fallen in love with Archie Wilton.”
“Why, that’s the commander of the 266th.”
“Yes. Ynès never cared for him until he began to swagger for the Commune. Like all French girls of her class she’s a rank rebel — and now she adores Archie. Pity, — Wilton was a decent little chap when he was an art student.”
They were looking at a brilliantly lighted shop window; crowds of people seemingly without a care in the world were passing and repassing.
“The Reign of Terror has not interfered much with business as yet,” Landes said,— “but wait.” They were drawing near their destination.
“What did you do with the paper on which Faustine wrote the countersign?”
“I have it.”
“Tear it up, we know the word—’ Viroflay.’”
“Yes — Viroflay.” Landes tore the paper into little bits and dropped them out of the window. The cab drew up before the Café Blanc-bec. Ellice paid, prudently declining a battle over the tip which the cabby offered him, and followed Landes on to the terrace. They ordered coffee and sat down as if they meant to spend the evening. There were not many people on the shabby terrace. A vilely scented souteneur, a poor girl or two, but not a single uniform, for which they thanked their stars. After a while the bulky proprietor came and surveyed his guests. When he saw the two National Guards he hailed them with enthusiasm.
“Good-evening, comrades. What battalion?”
“Two hundred and sixty-fifth,” answered Landes, pleasantly, but at the same time he gave Jack the sign to move on.
“Did you say the two hundred and sixty-fifth?” wheezed the host.
“Yes, — Colonel Tribert,” said Landes, rising slowly and moving away.
“Wait, comrade, will you please take a message to my son? You know him, perhaps, — Paul Martin, private in the third company.”
Landes had to stop and wait until the man waddled up.
“No, I don’t know Paul Martin.”
“And your friend?” looking at Ellice. Jack shook his head.
“Now it would oblige me very much if you would inquire for my son in the third company, and give him a message for me. Ask him to get leave for an hour or two to-night. Tell him, Monsieur,” here he stuck his face into Landes’—” tell him at nine there will be a little supper — a few delicacies — some good wine, a duck — est ce-que je sais moi? Well, something better than camp fare at least. Will you ask him, Monsieur?”
Landes promised and started again to go, but old Martin seized him by the arm and poured out fatvoiced thanks mingled with cries of joy. “Come yourself, also, you and your comrade — mon Dieu! — you young fellows can get two hours’ leave! Come and bring the ladies if you like — I don’t care. Cré nom d’un nom il faut bien qu’on s’amuse!”
To get away from him Landes promised everything, and the fat reprobate let him go at last in a shower of “au revoirs!”
“Did you see his nose? The old sinner!” said Ellice, in disgust. As they crossed the dirty Canal St. Martin, Philip begged him to speak lower and keep an eye open for sentries.
“We’ve got our revolvers,” said Jack.
“Yes,” thought Landes, “but if we have to fire the game’s up. There! — the Impasse de la Mort,” he said aloud; “now keep quiet and let me do the talking if we ‘re challenged.”
“Lord! You ‘re welcome,” said Jack.
They crossed the street and entered the mouth of a narrow alley lighted dimly by a single oil lamp at the farther end, but no challenge came from the darkness, and there was no sound except the echo of their own footsteps.
When they had gone about a third of the way down the alley a door was flung open in a house between them and the gate which they had just passed, a gleam of light shone out, and a babel of voices filled the narrow court. Then the door was slammed, the voices ceased, and the place was in darkness again. But the two friends had seen a soldier come out of the door and walk toward the entrance of the alley.
“It’s the sentinel; he’s been drinking in there, that’s why we were not challenged,” whispered Ellice.
“Wait a moment,” said Landes, and he started toward the figure now standing in the mouth of the alley. He had almost reached the sentinel before the fellow heard him, and swinging about brought his rifle awkwardly to the charge.
“Qui vive!” he bellowed, ferociously.
“Friend of the Commune!”
“Advance three paces, friend of the Commune!”
Philip obeyed carelessly.
“Halt!”
“Philip stopped, cocked his képi, thrust his hands into his pockets, and said: “Come, come, comrade; not so much fuss! You leave your post to get a drink, and Thiers himself might have passed.”
The sentinel, a thick-witted lout, was frightened, and tried to hide it by angrily demanding the countersign.
“Viroflay! Viroflay! For all you know it might be Versailles! Really this indiscipline is disgusting.”
The sentinel dropped the butt of his musket to the ground and stared hard, trying to see Landes’ face in the half darkness.
“What’s your battalion?” he asked, nervously.
“That’s none of your business.”
“You ‘re not very polite, comrade,” whined the fellow, who began to fear he had to do with an officer on his rounds in private’s uniform.
“I’m polite when I choose to be. Why did you leave your post?”
“Voyons, comrade — it was only a moment — just a step to the ‘ Bec-de-Gaz ‘ there — and this is very dry work. You wouldn’t report me?”
“What’s your battalion?”
“Why, the 265th!” said the man, surprised and suspicious again.
Philip saw his slip and caught himself up.
“Good! You ‘re not so drunk that you can’t tell that!” he said.
“Drunk!” cried the sentinel, “when I only had a petit verre!”
“That will do. Your company?” demanded Philip, sternly.
“Third,” stammered the man, perplexed and fr
ightened once more.
“Your name?”
“Paul Martin.”
Landes whistled softly. Then he burst into a hearty laugh and clapped the sentinel on the shoulder.
“I was joking,” he said. “Don’t take it amiss, comrade. I’ve got a message for you from your father.”
“Farceur!” cried Martin, angrily, but much relieved. “You gave me a fine scare! How did I know but it was that martinet Cluseret?”
“D — n Cluseret!” swaggered Philip. “How long are you on duty?”
“Until midnight. The Captain soaked it to me for losing three buttons. What does my father want?”
“He wants you to get two hours’ liberty. There’s a duck, some good wine, and good company at the Café Blanc-bec, at nine o’clock.”
“Fichtre! I can’t go.”
“Ask the Captain.”
“Look here, my friend, I see you don’t belong to the third company, or you would know that pigheaded Captain Pau. Do you think after he’s stuck me with six hours’ extra sentry he’s going to give me two hours’ liberty? What is your company anyway?”
Landes ignored the question.
“I’m sorry you can’t come; Monsieur Martin invited me too.”
“And to think that I must miss it, — I who live on — you know what they choke us with here!”
“Do I know!” groaned Philip.
“Duck, did you say?” The man banged his rifle viciously against the stones.
“Duck and green peas,” repeated Philip, carelessly. “And old wine? The Beaune that he drinks himself no doubt.”
“He said ‘good wine’ and ‘tender duck.’”
“Don’t, comrade, my mouth is watering!”
“Diable! so is mine!” laughed Philip.
The sentinel cursed his luck so heartily that Landes laughed all the more. Then he said, pretending to have a sudden thought and coming close to Martin: “Listen, comrade, I believe we can arrange it, after all. Where is the sentinel in front of Colonel Tribert’s house?”
“He isn’t in front any more. He’s stationed in the hallway. Why?”
“Never mind, let me see, — Colonel Tribert’s house is — is—”
“The third from the end of the cul-de-sac, — on the right. Hasn’t your company been on guard here?”
“No — not yet. Well, now suppose I should get you a substitute — would the Colonel find it out?”
“No — he doesn’t know me — and besides, he’s gone away.”
“And your Captain?”
“He’s gone too — with the Colonel to the Hôtel de Ville.”
“Then if I get someone to take your place you could come for an hour to the petit souper — and not be missed.”
“Can you do that?”
“Well, one of my comrades has gone into the Impasse to see his girl. He’ll stand here for us, I’ll engage, if we bring him a half bottle and a wing of something!”
“Tiens! an idea! Ask him!”
Philip ran to where Ellice was concealed in a doorway, and told him in a few words of the chance that he had found. Jack whispered, “All right!” and they returned together to the sentry.
“My comrade, Victor, of the sixth—” whispered Landes to Martin, “give him your chassepot, and hurry.”
“Aren’t you coming too?”
“In ten minutes. I’m going to fetch a lady — your father said I might.”
“Ah — c’est ça!” Martin’s coarse voice broke into a chuckle. “Then I won’t wait — and — I say, comrade — bring two.”
“If I can,” said Philip, hiding his disgust, “now hurry.”
Martin slunk quickly out of the alley, muttering, “don’t forget, Viroflay is the word,” and disappeared in the direction of the Canal. As soon as he had vanished Landes turned to Ellice.
“Jack, Tribert has gone to the Hôtel de Ville. His house is the little one there at the end of the alley, the third on the right. There’s a sentry in the hallway. I’m going to reconnoitre.”
“I’ll come too.” —
They walked rapidly toward the house.
“What a rat-trap,” said Jack, eying the end of the Impasse, which was a dead wall.
“What’s the use of saying so if it is,” said Landes, nervously.
“There’s the house — and here’s the sentry!”
“Qui vive!” came the challenge, followed by a rattle of accoutrements in the doorway.
“Friends of the Commune!”
“Advance three paces, friends of the Commune! Halt!” —
“Hst! Viroflay!” It’s all right,” said Landes, walking up to the doorway. “Paul Martin is in trouble again.”
“What’s he done now?” inquired the sentry, leaning carelessly on his rifle.
“You know how the Captain soaked him about the buttons?”
“Yes, six hours’ extra sentry.”
“Well, he’s been found away from his post now. He just went into the ‘Bec-de-Gaz’ to drink, and along comes — comes—”
“Who?”
“You know,” whispered Landes, who was stuck fast.
“You don’t mean Grissot?”
“Yes — Grissot himself.”
“Whew! Poor Paul! What did old Grissot do?”
“Come in and I’ll tell you,” and Landes walked into the house with a swagger and a cock of his képi that would have carried conviction in any Federal battalion. Ellice followed in the same fashion, and they entered a big bare office, lighted by a single candle.
“Wait!” cried the sentry, a beardless youth, with prominent eyes and retreating chin, “you can’t go in there.”
“Oh, it’s all right,” laughed Philip, “have you got anything to eat?”
“No, but there’s a bottle of cognac in that closet — if you’ll wait till—”
“Can’t wait.”
“If the Colonel comes—”
“Oh, he won’t come — let’s have a drink,” said Landes, coming nearer with a glance at Ellice who was watching him. “Hello! What’s wrong with your rifle? Is that the way—”
“What? What?” said the sentry, looking down at it. Landes tripped him up and held his mouth closed while Ellice jerked the rifle out of his hands.
“Tear up that curtain, Jack — quick — the fool is trying to bite me.” In a minute the astonished sentry had his mouth stuffed with a ball of cloth, a band about his face to keep it in and strong bandages around both ankles and both arms.
“Fine troops these Federals,” laughed Landes; “we’d better go on and capture the city. Quick, let’s get him into that closet.” —
“There he goes!”
“Good! Lock him in!”
Jack locked the door and put the key in his pocket. “Hark! What’s that?” he said as a door opened and a voice sounded on the floor above. They crept to the foot of the stairs and listened, then mounted silently.
“Keep out of sight,” Landes motioned. They had reached the landing and Philip, who was first, could see into the room whose door stood open. He looked and drew back with a face that made Jack’s blood run cold. Putting his mouth close to Ellice’s ear — Landes whispered, “Tribert is there.” The voice was plain enough now — and the words were perfectly audible to both listeners.
“What are you whining about?” growled Tribert, addressing someone in an inner room. “It’s your own fault. I’ve told you what I would do, and it’s more than anybody else would do for you.” There was no reply. Landes saw him pick up a sword from a camp-stool and attach it to his clasp. Then he took a brace of revolvers from the mantle, thrust them into his belt, and turned again to the invisible occupant of the next room.
“No more whining, I say. If you want to go home to Tours, I tell you I’ll send you there safely, but only on that condition. As for this scarlet and black dandy in spurs, he’s going to stay here.”
“Then I shall stay too,” came the answer in a clear sweet voice, ringing with defiance.
&
nbsp; Tribert made an ominous gesture.
“Be careful, you two! I’m going now to the Hôtel de Ville. If you want to get safely to Tours, Madamè, you will persuade your fellow aristocrat to hear reason. If he does not make up his mind to accept my proposition before I leave this room it will be bad for both of you. Yes, both — do you hear me, Captain de Carette?”
Philip’s heart leaped into his throat. He reached back and clutched Jack, who nodded that he had heard.
There was a slight pause, then Alain’s voice, cool and contemptuous:
“I was not paying attention. What did you say?”
“I said,” roared Tribert, “that you had better decide now. The Commune has voted the Law of Suspects. If Raoul Rigault catches you it means a file of men — and a dead wall for you. I, on the other hand, offer you command of a battalion.”
“Oh! a — battalion?”
“Of Turcos.”
“Turcos?”
“I said so.”
“Ah! Turcos from Belleville?”
“How reckless,” thought Landes, “to prod a wild beast when you are in his den!” The sullen roar began to sound again in Tribert’s voice — but he restrained himself. The hope of securing a regular officer and an aristocrat for the Commune’s army was worth some self-restraint.
“Well, and what have you against Turcos from Belleville, Monsieur the Aristocrat? The battalion is formed — we’ll see which will fight the best, when it is face to face with your yellow monkeys from Algiers. Will you command it or no?”
“Do you mean will I turn traitor to save myself?”
“Answer me!” snarled Tribert.
“I must trouble you to loosen this rope a little first; it’s too tight. Torture isn’t included, as yet, in the procedure of the Commune, is it?”
“He’ll give it an extra twist for that,” thought Landes; “why will Alain be so foolish?” and he remembered how he had flung a haughty affront in the face of the ex-valet on Montmartre. “He won’t get off this time.” Landes thought, with a sinking heart. But Tribert, after a second’s hesitation, tramped into the next room, and his voice was heard saying:
Works of Robert W Chambers Page 29
