TORCHLIGHT 
 
TORCHLIGHT 
 
 The author's great 
 novel on the life 
 and times of Napo- 
 leon, of which this 
 is Volume I . 
 
 E. P. DUTTON& COMPANY 
 
TORCHLIGHT 
 
 BY 
 
 LEONIE AMINOFF 
 
 NEW YORK 
 E. P. BUTTON & COMPANY 
 
 681 Fifth Avenue 
 
PRESERVATION 
 COPY ADDED 
 ORIGINAL TO BE 
 RETAINED 
 
 APR 28 1994 
 
 Copyright, 1921, 
 By E. P. Dutton & Company 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 PRINTED IN THE UNITED 
 STATES OF AMEBICA 
 

 mihJ 
 
 AUTHOR'S NOTE 
 
 TN offering her work to the public, partly in honor of 
 Napoleon's centenary, May, 1921, the author begs to 
 say that she has not only relied on the statistical state- 
 ments taken from the vast bulk of Napoleonic literature, 
 but also on the personal point of view, which, to an imagi- 
 native mind, is of greater importance. She has called her 
 work Torchlight, It may not be a good title not that 
 titles matter but surely it is symbolic of her attitude? 
 Without some kind of light we poor human beings are in a 
 sad way, and an artist is frankly lost. The human mind 
 resembles a torch ^we like the idea of a torch now burn- 
 ing sullenly, now bursting into a flame of purest light ! 
 
 In this particular volume Napoleon is shown in the first 
 stage of his wonderful career against a more or less de- 
 tailed background of the French Revolution, which, as it 
 were, ploughs a passage for his advance. Even he would 
 have failed in a world of peace. 
 
 The book is inscribed to the author's twin sister, Sylvia, 
 and her three little daughters, Nadine, Pamela, and Flora 
 McDougall, who have taken flattering interest in the work, 
 most of it written under the ancient roofs of Provender 
 (their home) in the Black Prince's own chamber, so called 
 since that valiant knight (1846) occupied it, on his way to 
 join his father's standard in France, 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 FAGE 
 
 AuTHOR^s Note v 
 
 BOOK I: REVOLUTION 
 
 Chapter One 3 
 
 Chapter Two 6 
 
 Chapter Three 18 
 
 Chapter Four 29 
 
 Chapter Five 34 
 
 Chapter Six 39 
 
 Chapter Seven 49 
 
 Chapter Eight .53 
 
 Chapter Nine 63 
 
 Chapter Ten 67 
 
 Chapter Eleven ........... 78 
 
 Chapter Twelve 83 
 
 Chapter Thirteen 91 
 
 Chapter Fourteen 99 
 
 Chapter Fifteen 107 
 
 Chapter Sixteen 114 
 
 Chapter Seventeen 123 
 
 Chapter Eighteen 130 
 
 Chapter Nineteen 140 
 
 Chapter Twenty 145 
 
 Chapter Twenty-one . . .152 
 
 vii 
 
viii CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Chapter Twenty-two 162 
 
 Chapter Twenty-three 168 
 
 Chapter Twenty-four 173 
 
 Chapter Twenty-five 180 
 
 Chapter Twenty-six 183 
 
 BOOK II: TERROR 
 
 Chapter Twenty-seven . . . 195 
 
 Chapter Twenty-eight 201 
 
 Chapter Twenty-nine 206 
 
 Chapter Thirty 209 
 
 Chapter Thirty-one 216 
 
 Chapter Thirty-two 222 
 
 Chapter Thirty-three 231 
 
 Chapter Thirty-four 234 
 
 Chapter Thirty-five 244* 
 
 Chapter Thirty-six 257 
 
 Chapter Thirty-seven 272 
 
 Chapter Thirty-eight 287 
 
 Chapter Thirty-nine 292 
 
 Chapter Forty 306 
 
 Chapter Forty-one .314 
 
 Chapter Forty-two 325 
 
 Chapter Forty-three 337 
 
 Chapter Forty-four 345 
 
 Chapter Forty-five 359 
 
BOOK I 
 REVOLUTION 
 
TORCHLIGHT 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 DURING the inaugural ceremony of affianced love 
 T^rezia held herself apart with charming modesty. 
 She veiled her eyes from the too ardent gaze of Devin. 
 She clasped her hands together under mamma's tearful 
 harangue. She wished mamma at Jericho. Why make a 
 fuss about an extraordinarily commonplace situation.'* 
 Everyone married. Marriage was the first step of any 
 importance in life. From the bridal altar the road led in 
 many directions. Terezia, half-listening to mamma and to 
 the marquis's choked commentaries, grew thoughtful. She 
 looked very lovely, very young, very innocent. 
 
 With a final embrace which effectually included both the 
 lovers, Marie-Antoinette left the room somewhat hastily. 
 She had just remembered some trifling detail of her dinner- 
 table which hadn't pleased her. She would speak to Chris- 
 tina at once. What on earth had made Pedro fold the 
 napkins in such an outlandish pattern? Swans were all 
 the fashion and sufficiently elaborate, but tall, spiky, inse- 
 cure turrets of an impossible architecture were, to put it 
 plainly, "real horrors.'^ . . . On his knees sank the lover, 
 stretching out beseeching arm^, rolling his eyes in a fearful 
 endeavor to look attractive. "Angel," he moaned. It was 
 the saddest exhibition. 
 
 Terezia, overcome by bashfulness (or was it laughter.?), 
 turned her back draperies to his languishing gaze, and, to 
 do something, began rearranging the flowers on the chim- 
 ney-piece. It was more than mortal lover could endure. 
 A costumier of the first rank might have found consola- 
 
 3 
 
4 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 tion in admiring the charming folds of a rose-pink dress 
 which charmingly revealed the lines of a charming figure. 
 . . . Devin had no artistic talent to help him in his hour 
 of need he was all heart, and that tender organ was 
 being lacerated by indifference. 
 
 The marquis, fired by rage, did a fine stroke of business. 
 He leapt to his feet, caught the lady backwards, and twist- 
 ing her round just as easily as she had been twisting the 
 long-suffering roses faced her all burning, all aglow 
 "wild" as she told her deeply impressed Claire the follow- 
 ing morning, ''and he kissed me all over." 
 
 He succeeded in impressing her. 
 
 "Mademoiselle," he said presently, "I will be your slave, 
 your humble watchful slave, I'll ask nothing in return but 
 this" (he kissed her slender fingers). "I ask your for- 
 giveness but you sent me mad. You are the most beau- 
 tiful creature in the world." 
 
 The first transport over, she led him to a little sofa, sat 
 down beside him, and looked at him with the eye of a con- 
 noisseur who has recently purchased an article of doubtful 
 value. Couldn't she have done better? He was certainly 
 very ugly ^but there was warmth in the little man. How 
 he loved her! Terezia smiled. She felt just a little sorry 
 for him. 
 
 It was twilight, and in the grateful shadows of the big 
 room one hardly noticed his red hair or even the color of 
 his unfortunate skin . . . she would make him give greater 
 attention to his appearance . . . oh, he would "do" very 
 well. 
 
 "I love you, dear Devin," she murmured. "I intend to 
 be ideally happy. Presently I'll go upstairs to bed I am 
 just a little bit tired, which is only reasonable. To be 
 engaged is such a very new sensation and I'll sleep so 
 soundly and dream of my little Devin." 
 
 He drew himself up. He was by no means "little" in his 
 own consideration. He considered himself a fine figure of 
 a man. His "unfortunate" skin deepened in color. Tere- 
 zia, with a woman's quick intuition, remedied her fault. 
 
REVOLUTION 5 
 
 "There is only one thing which makes me nervous/' she 
 began. 
 
 (That was as it ought to be.) Fontenay smiled ten- 
 derly. "Whenever you have anything on your mind, 
 darling, always remember to tell me." 
 
 "Indeed I wiU." 
 
 "My little lambP' 
 
 The lamb cuddled a shade closer to M. de Fontenay. 
 She looked up at him shyly. "Oh, you great big tyrant, 
 I am afraid of you! When you look at me I feel all 
 so." She shivered. 
 
 He was alarmed. "I have been too hasty," he mur- 
 mured. "I have startled my dear lamb. I'll be more 
 gentle in future. On my word of honor as a nobleman 
 you can trust me !" He sat very upright and puffed out 
 his narrow chest. ** 'Faith' is the watchword of our 
 House." 
 
 "I am greatly obliged, monsieur. To tell you the truth, 
 it is rather an ordeal to marry into such a distinguished 
 family. What would you say if your little lamb makes an 
 exhibition of herself?" 
 
 "I'll kiss her and forgive her." He pressed her fingers. 
 "Dear little hand worthy of royal jewels. Are you fond 
 of gems, mademoiselle .''" 
 
 "Moderately so, monsieur. Papa has kindly given me 
 a few pretty ornaments." She fingered the pearls round 
 her neck. "These are considered rather fine." 
 
 *'No thing to what I intend to give you. You will have 
 the use of my heirloom jewels most of them were brought 
 into my family by Marie de Rohan, who married one of 
 my ancestors in the reign of Louis XIII." 
 
 "Ah!" said Terezia, warmly. "Dear big tyrant, your 
 little lamb does love you, very much," 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 T^EREZIA held out her arms. Her ruffles were of real 
 ^ Mechlin her dress a shadow chintz muslin of a thin- 
 ness warranted to stand no laundry. Round her throat 
 she wore a narrow velvet band with a diamond slide, on 
 her bare feet a pair of black velvet slippers with diamond 
 half-moons "Only paste, my angel.'' 
 
 This latter remark was addressed to her best friend, 
 Mademoiselle Claire de Cardilac, after the young ladies 
 had kissed each other with effusion. 
 
 Claire very often tripped in to pay dear Terezia a 
 morning call. She lived quite close by, in the gloomy great 
 stone mansion facing the Bank of France, which prospect 
 gave the house and the family, as Claire was fond of say- 
 ing, a solidity beyond reproach. 
 
 Claire was also an only daughter. Her father had a 
 minor post at court, which the family considered extremely 
 important. Terezia shared completely her friend's feel- 
 ings on the subject. It was delightful to have the entree. 
 One day, perhaps, Claire would be selected to wait upon 
 the queen, to carry her little pails of frothy cream, and 
 dab the royal butter on the little marble slabs when 
 majesty played at work. To play at work! What a 
 delightfully easy task ! Terezia envied her friend. 
 
 Claire loved Terezia. Claire was seventeen, but she was 
 a baby compared to the "big beauty" (who was only fif- 
 teen). She wasn't a beauty, the little Claire; her dark 
 hair wasn't famous ; her nose might have been better ; her 
 mouth a trifle smaller but oh, it couldn't have been more 
 good-natured. She would have run all Terezia's errands 
 (had she been allowed) ; in a word, she adored Terezia. 
 
 There are many such friendships in this world. Beauti- 
 ful belief on one side, beautiful condescension on the other ; 
 
 6 
 
REVOLUTION 7 
 
 take my word for it, the former is, as a rule, as unjustifi- 
 able as the latter. Claire was as good as gold the most 
 unselfish little girl in Paris, and clever in her way alto- 
 gether desirable as wife, mother, or friend. But she was 
 ignored. No one noticed la petite Id, She was lost in the 
 flaming aureole of Terezia's magnificence, a little humble 
 satellite good enough (when the beauty felt disposed) to 
 receive her confidences. 
 
 Half, if not three parts, of the joy of making "con- 
 quests" is the telling of the oft-repeated tale. Claire had 
 during the last year lived in a vortex of agonizing sus- 
 pense. Terezia was daring greatly daring. . . . 
 
 "I have made up my mind to marry," declared Terezia, 
 sinking down on the chaise longue "Give me my polisher, 
 there's a darling. Oh, it is somewhere I had it just a 
 minute ago ; my nails are too disgraceful for words." 
 
 "Don't bite them." 
 
 "Can't you find it?" 
 
 "Here it is. What lovely roses !" 
 
 "Who sent them, guess?" 
 
 **Monsieur de Listenay." 
 
 "That old horror ! I always give his roses to Christina. 
 No matter how beautiful they are, Christina gets them. 
 She invariably burns them. She hates de Listenay' s flow- 
 ers ; she is a terror, is Christina. She always finds me out. 
 Come here, come here." 
 
 Claire ran across the room. 
 
 "Yes?" she said, bending over her friend. 
 
 *^I met him last night," she whispered. 
 
 "Antoine de Boisgaloup?" 
 
 *'Yes, Georges will cut his head off if he hears the truth. 
 He is studying hard at the military college. He writes the 
 most adorable letters. Where is his last one? on my 
 work table, angel. Do read it, if you care to. He has 
 made friends with a thin, sulky youth who works like the 
 very devil. You admire industry, Claire? Georges shall 
 introduce you to this paragon. He'll love you. He'll 
 marry you. I have a thousand things to tell you.** 
 
8 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 "Don't bite jour nails, Terezia, dear, jou will ruin 
 them." 
 
 "True, I am a fool. The paragon's name is Napoleon 
 Bonaparte if you want to know." 
 
 "It does not interest me in the least. However, I admire 
 his energy." 
 
 Terezia yawned and kicked, one foot. The slipper fell 
 off. "My feet are charming," she said. 
 
 "They are beautiful. You are so lovely, Terezia." 
 
 "I suppose I am. It is a great responsibility. Thank 
 your stars you are only presentable." 
 
 "Don't flatter me. I am frankly ugly. Did you ever 
 see such lank, distressful hair.? When I marry I'll wear 
 a wig two feet high. You won't know me. I shall look 
 so tall and dignified." 
 
 Terezia sat up. "I said he'd propose!'^ 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Are you pleased.?^" 
 
 "Mamma and papa are satisfied.'* 
 
 ^'Little fool! Look at me. I have accepted Monsieur 
 de Fontenay." 
 
 Claire screamed. "Oh, but he is not worth such an 
 honor. He is red-haired he is short, he is vain." 
 
 Terezia nodded. "Perfectly true, my friend. But he 
 has an excellent position. He has a charming country 
 house, and ^Madame la marquise de Fontenay' sounds 
 respectable. I'll be received at court, and hold my own 
 salon. I shall be a great lady." She blew a kiss to the 
 gilt Cupid over her bed. "And I intend to make the best 
 of my opportunities." She rose to her feet and clasped 
 Claire in her arms. "You have never grasped my ambi- 
 tions, my soaring, towering ambitions. I want to live, to 
 live!" She almost screamed. "What is the good of hav- 
 ing a matchless body and a matchless face if you don't 
 dazzle your world.?" She nodded her head. "I'll eat every 
 crumb of my cake the sugar first. It is an inherited 
 taste. Mamma loves sugar." She laughed sardonically. 
 "I frighten you, pa/avre petite? I am wild to-day, Claire ; 
 
REVOLUTION 9 
 
 I want to start at once, at once! Life never waits. I 
 want to fly ! There, kiss me, darling. When I am tired 
 you shall console me." 
 
 "I thought you loved Georges?" 
 
 Terezia laughed and drew Claire on to the sofa. ^^En- 
 fiuy'* she said, "I love him, he is a dear boy, but you must 
 admit he is no parti. Why, he stands in deadly terror of 
 that horrid mother of his, Madame de Boisgaloup. Even 
 at the most burning moments he never forgets her acid 
 tongue. She is as sour as vinegar. Why shouldn't 
 Georges love me.'^ It is so natural. I have run risks for 
 his sake solely to spite tante Louise. Do you remember 
 the day I crept through the pantry window, and my lace 
 petticoat caught on a nail, and Madame de Boisgaloup 
 found the lace, and nearly thrashed me? She shook, my 
 dear, trembled with rage. Mamma looked as if she was 
 being gently run over by a heavy cart " 
 
 "Don't, Terezia; Madame de Carrabus is an angel of 
 goodness." 
 
 "So she is, but wearisome. I wish angels didn't cry so 
 much. Tears ruin the complexion." 
 
 "Are you serious.?" 
 
 *'About mamma's complexion?'^ 
 
 **No, no. Li marrying de Fontenay.'' 
 
 "Stop to lunch and stay on to dinner. I will take no 
 refusal. Then you'll have the pleasure of watching a 
 unique courtship. He is far too terrified of his happiness 
 to speak ; he only gapes, rubs his red mop, and gapes. At 
 the end of an hour's gaping he'll blurt out, with fierce 
 unexpectedness, 'Mademoiselle, vous etes tres belle.' It is 
 as good as a play." 
 
 "You must not make fun of him. No doubt h^ is better 
 than he looks." 
 
 "We'll hope so." 
 
 "Terezia, do you love him?" 
 
 "Of course not. How could you love a little red-haired 
 man who gapes?" 
 
 ''Why consider him?" 
 
10 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 *'Silly child, I am not going to repeat myself.'^ 
 
 **He sent jou those roses?" said Claire sadly. 
 
 Terezia gleefully shut her eyes. "Exactly. As he has 
 got red hair, he sends me red roses. Isn't it splendid.'*" 
 
 "Is he of good family.?" 
 
 "A marquis." 
 
 Claire sighed. "I know I shall hate him." 
 
 "You couldn't hate anyone. Don't bother your little 
 head. We'll get along famously. What is the time? 
 Twelve o'clock. We lunch at one. I must dress. Kiss 
 me, Claire. You are a darling. If I hate him very much 
 I'll pass him on to you. Monsieur le cousin will of course 
 object but you are always kind." 
 
 Claire's soft brown eyes were full of tears. She spoke 
 with emotion. "This is no matter for fun,'^ she said 
 earnestly. "I want to assure myself of your happiness." 
 
 "Pouff," said Terezia. "Set your mind at ease. I in- 
 tend to have a good time." 
 
 It was quite a dinner-party, including Monsieur Georges 
 de Marmont, le marquis Devin de Fontenay to give him 
 his full title who sat next T^r^zia (a wonder in bleu 
 tendre lavishly draped; in her yellow hair, combed high 
 in the Spanish style, a dark rose red nodded over her 
 shell-like ear; another rose ^blush-white at her slender 
 waist ; her fingers bare, her arms bare, her neck discreetly 
 veiled; the rise and the fall of her ungirdled bosom, the 
 flash of her eyes, her vivacious mouth, her white teeth were 
 the cynosure of all eyes and mamma's obvious pride and 
 the admiration of M. Alexandre de Lameth. He eyed the 
 blush-white rose at Terezia's bosom with passionate affec- 
 tion ^his gift . . .), Madame Lameth ^a sparkling bru- 
 nette who did not in the least mind her young husband's 
 flirtations ; that firebrand, Mirabeau a rare guest at any 
 dinner-party heaven knows how Marie-Antoinette had 
 landed him at her table silent as an oyster, and as hard 
 to open and last but not least Comte de Ravoral, a man 
 of genius, and cynical beyond report (which gave him a 
 
REVOLUTION 11 
 
 rope of immeasurable length). He was quite bald and 
 showed his originality by not disguising the fact. He 
 was very elegantly dressed, his coat fitted faultlessly hid- 
 ing not a line of his shrunken figure, his hands were a 
 marvel of well-tended wrinkles and tinted nails ; his mouth 
 was loose, inclined to hang at the comers, but when he 
 talked and smiled this little defect was not apparent. He 
 was fond of saying that only in repose is the face un- 
 masked. Report had it that he slept behind bed-curtains 
 carefully pinned together. He was never taken unawares, 
 M. le comte. He was known to be poor, but he invari- 
 ably appeared a rich man. He dined out frequently 
 they said, because he could not afford to breakfast ^he 
 never denied a lie nor admitted a truth. In truth a very 
 able man. As he said himself, he had the misfortune to 
 live at the wrong time. He would have had a remarkable 
 career if he had been born twenty years before his esti- 
 mable parents* marriage or forty years after as it was 
 he was sandwiched between two epochs. He sometimes 
 talked of the glory of Louis XIV.'s reign, and he was 
 equally feeling when dilating on the prospects of Madame 
 de Lameth's youngest-born a veritable cherub in long 
 clothes. Madame de Lameth encouraged the old man. 
 Her one desire was to be amused. He le vieua: comte- ^ 
 was so wickedly amusing. ... 
 
 Madame de Carrabus, very fat, very gorgeous in orange 
 satin and black Chantilly ^beamed on the company. She 
 sat at the head of the oval table, behind a tall epergne of 
 solid gold filled with water-lilies. Two small "aquariums'* 
 sunk in moss, containing gold-fish in perpetual motion, 
 gave a clou to the table. There was also some really 
 magnificent fruit sent with the compliments of M. de Lis- 
 tenay, who had been unavoidably prevented from accepting 
 Madame de Carrabus' kind invitation. (As a matter of 
 fact he hadn't had the heart to face his successful rival.) 
 
 The dinner was gay and of excellent quality, the wine 
 recherche. If you entertain the elite you cannot do less. 
 There was a whisper in Paris, a faint, faint whisper, that 
 
12 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 Carrabus' affairs weren't quite so rosy as for instance the 
 delectable peach facing M. de Fontenay. That infatuated 
 lover had at a mere rumor no thicker than air gone 
 expres to Madame Carrabus and begged (on his knees) for 
 the honor of her daughter's hand without a sou of dot. 
 Such sterling love touched the good lady. She had with 
 warmth extended a fat hand, raised the supplicant to his 
 feet and promised to write without delay on the matter 
 to Carrabus. 
 
 Yesterday, thanks to M. Carrabus' promptness, she had 
 been able to give him a satisfactory answer. Devin urged 
 an early marriage. What had they to wait for? He had 
 said as much to mamma, before dinner, overwhelmed by 
 giddy good-fortune. At dinner he looked even more 
 vacant than usual, and never ceased to "gape" at his 
 beloved. 
 
 Terezia, when she remembered, vouchsafed her affianced 
 lover a few tender glances. Once, when all the table was 
 listening to Mirabeau's lightning wit, she clasped her 
 fiance's hot hand in her own, and whispered a fond nothing 
 in his protruding ear. Then she glanced across at Claire 
 charming in simple white with a woebegone expres- 
 sion. . . . M. de Ravoral (who was not listening to Mira- 
 beau and detested him) intercepted the glance and laughed 
 captiously. The old cynic only partially envied red- 
 headed Fontenay his giddy good-fortune. 
 
 Alas, wit unless amusing is sand-colored. He was in- 
 sufferably dull, poor de Fontenay ^insufferably mean, and 
 to crown God's work he had a temper of ten fiends. His 
 mother (God rest her soul) ought to have known how to 
 set about her son's education, once she had realized the 
 color of his hair she had brought him up on a mild 
 system which had totally disagreed with his coloring. Now, 
 at thirty-odd, he was a veritable tyrant, suspicious, jeal- 
 ous, untruthful, and with it all, tongiie-tied except in the 
 intimacy of his home. Once safely married Terezia would 
 have her eyes opened and her hands tied. ... 
 
 What a superb creature ! The count shut his piercing 
 
REVOLUTION 18 
 
 eyes the better to visualize her incomparable promise- 
 after all she was barely full-grown. He considered her at 
 say five-and- twenty after eleven years' tutelage at the 
 fount of flattery and adulation ! By that time she would 
 try to realize her own worth. . . . (Terezia at this period 
 veiled her knowledge in public.) He hoped there wouldn't 
 be a large family he felt jealous of her perfect figure 
 too many babies invariably spoil a woman's shape. He 
 glanced at Marie- Antoinette. . . . SacrS bleu! what a 
 criminal inheritance! 
 
 "Mademoiselle," he said, with a poignant look of sorrow 
 in his eyes, "I drink to your future. May I beg of you to 
 take care of yourself.'^ 
 
 Terezia smiled, slightly astonished. She promised she 
 would do her best. 
 
 By some tacit understanding, very shortly after coffee 
 had been served in the green salon Madame Carrabus^ 
 friends took a formal farewell of their kind hostess. 
 
 As a rule it was understood that cards, wine, and music 
 were at the disposal of any (or all) of the guests who 
 desired to pass their evening until Pedro, assisted by 
 Christina (she very conscious of her fashionable apron 
 and a youthful cap all ribbons and lace a gift of the 
 delighted Terezia, who loved Christina's rather comical 
 appearance in her best headdress), had solemnly handed 
 round tea and cakes very weak tea and we may be sure 
 very fanciful cakes. Marie-Antoinette used to watch the 
 heavily-laden silver trays with hospitable concern. Had 
 Christina allowed enough? Great heavens! Once she had 
 forgotten to slice the chocolate cake. Who would venture 
 to cut it? To Marie- Antoinette's intense mortification it 
 had passed the round of the company and out through 
 the great folding doors, in the wake of Joseph's gorgeous 
 livery, entirely untouched. She had shivered; unspeak- 
 able! She had rushed out on the heels of her guests to 
 lecture Christina, all agog with righteous indignation, and 
 that good woman had stared at her excited mistress and 
 calmly assured her that it hadn't mattered in the least, 
 
14 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 and that there had been plenty of other good things to eat. 
 Marie- Antoinette had almost danced with impotent rage. 
 "They will laugh at me/' she had said. "They will say 
 I don't know how to behave in short that I am a provin- 
 cial!" Christina at this juncture had in great haste 
 fetched burnt feathers and smelling-salts. At the next 
 entertainment she had cut the cake in such huge slices that 
 Marie- Antoinette was obliged to reprimand "such vulgar 
 display," and assure her faithful Christina that people in 
 good society had no taste for "coarse eating." . . . Chris- 
 tina had not said one word in self- justification, but in- 
 wardly she had vowed that in future she would go her 
 own way and let her mistress swoon to her heart's content 
 before she hurried after remedies. 
 
 To-day nothing untoward happened. 
 
 At dinner, M. Mirabeau had bent an attentive ear to 
 his hostess's reminiscences. 
 
 "I know, sir, I have grown fat. Fifteen years ago there 
 was not a prettier girl in all Bayonne. I could pick and 
 choose my lovers as you might plunge a stick in an ant- 
 heap and gather a handful of insects by a twist of the 
 wrist," She paused for breath. "What is the good of 
 going over old ground? When the ball is cracked it will 
 no longer bounce." She sighed heavily, and fanned her- 
 self. "The summer heats are early this year," she said. 
 "Christina, be good and fetch me an iced drink. When 
 your heart is sad there is great consolation in food* In 
 Bayonne, I lived on air and roses and kisses." 
 
 "I do not doubt your word, madame." 
 
 Marie- Antoinette stared dreamily in front of her. The 
 great room was carefully shuttered. From the street be- 
 low came the tramp of horses' hoofs and the rumbling of 
 heavy carriages. 
 
 Mirabeau had talked on in his usual half-satirical, half- 
 serious manner. His voice always soothed Marie-Antoi- 
 nette. M. Mirabeau explained some of his reasons for 
 coming to Paris (the unimportant ones). 
 
REVOLUTION 15 
 
 M. de Fontenay was the most abstemious of all. He 
 was either too much in love or too nervous to eat. At 
 dinner his cold salmon trout had remained untouched, and 
 he had eaten his ice at one gulp, and had very nearly died 
 in consequence ; Terezia had gently slapped his back, which 
 made him, as it were, die over again. Through tear-blis- 
 tered eyes he had regarded his divinity . . . when he 
 recovered him:self he refused the cheese and biscuits. Tere- 
 zia with charming gaiety tried to persuade him. He shook 
 his head another choking fit, and he'd impair his dignity 
 for ever. He stuffed his napkin into his mouth a most 
 undignified gesture. "Merci, merci, ma belle.'' 
 
 Terezia nibbled her biscuit and thin slice of Gorgonzola 
 cheese with the air of a delighted little mouse. She was 
 enjoying herself hugely. M. Mirabeau had actually dis- 
 covered her presence. (Had she known it, he had a great 
 weakness for women.) He had paid her a compliment! 
 M. de Lameth had never ceased to look at her with his 
 beseeching, beautiful blue eyes. Old Ravoral was more 
 than usually audacious and amusing and then, of course, 
 beside her sat her incomparable Fontenay . . . altogether 
 a charming dinner. . . . 
 
 As they passed out of the lofty dining-room, Terezia 
 released M. de Fontenay's trembling arm, and ran up to 
 "her darling Claire." "Oh," she whispered, "what do you 
 think of him? Doesn't he gape like a big, big, hungry 
 fish? pouif ! to think I am the little fish he is after. . . 
 Hush ! Not a word ! I love him ! I adore him !" 
 
 She opened her mouth wide. Old Ravoral, leading 
 mamma into the drawing-room, turned round and mouthed 
 back at her. She put her hands to her eyes. "Spare 
 me!" she cried. He did not catch what she said. He 
 preened his neck round, but mamma sailed him into the 
 green salon before he could make a suitable retort. He 
 bowed his hostess to a sofa, where she took her place 
 beside Madame de Lameth. The young girls, of course, 
 seated themselves on chairs. "Do be careful," implored 
 Claire, "they will hear you." "Tant mieux,'^ said Terezia, 
 
16 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 crossing her little feet and looking at them affectionately. 
 "Aren't they lovely?" she said. 
 
 Up came M. de Lameth. 
 
 "I have been in Hades all dinner," he murmured in the 
 beauty's ear. 
 
 "I regret your possible discomfort, monsieur," said 
 Terezia. "Here is a cool corner." 
 
 She swept her skirts aside. She had seated herself on a 
 gilded cane bench, with her back to her ornate inlaid harp 
 and a flaming group of azaleas. She possessed the artistic 
 sense without which the most beautiful woman alive is less 
 than perfect. She played with a little lace handkerchief 
 passing it through her fingers. Then quickly, before 
 Mirabeau could discover her imprudence, she slipped it 
 into Lameth's capacious pocket. "Your wife's," she mur- 
 mured demiurely. Ravoral looked up. Madame de Lameth 
 laughed de hon coeur. Alexandre was quite at liberty to 
 keep Terezia's handkerchief as long as it pleased him. His 
 eyes said unspeakable things. Terezia shivered. "Won't 
 you play something?" she murmured. 
 
 "Not now," he whispered, "ma toute belle, ma bien 
 aimee." Again Madame de Lameth laughed de hon cceuri 
 Old Ravoral knew very well what she was laughing at, and 
 he exerted himself to turn her attention. He succeeded at 
 last. She forgot the harp, the azaleas, the golden girl in 
 pink, the charming man in blue. As to le petit Fohtenay, 
 he did not pretend to forget anything. He did nothing 
 but gape at the tantalizing vision opposite him. Poor 
 Claire in vain tried to show him some really charming 
 prints and gravures he'd have none of them. His round, 
 slightly protruding eyes were fixed on the highly artistic 
 tout ensemhle opposite. 
 
 However, his agony of jealousy was not prolonged un- 
 reasonably. As we have said, the general company in- 
 cluding Claire very soon took their leave with all the 
 compliments of the day. "That indescribable devil in 
 blue," to quote M. de Fontenay's mental definition of 
 Madame de Lameth's husband, was obliged to follow his 
 
REVOLUTION 17 
 
 smiling wife. She kissed Marie- Antoinette, and she kissed 
 Terezia "My dear," she said to the young girl, "all my 
 felicitations. Your mother has just been telling me of 
 M. de Fontenay's great good fortune. How happy he 
 looks!" (Devin was scowling like a satyr.) "We must 
 leave you to yourselves. Come, Alexandre, bid mademoi- 
 selle good-bye." 
 
 M. de Lameth ceremoniously bowed over the young girl's 
 extended hand. 
 
 "Au revoir, mademoiselle." 
 
 "Au revoir, monsieur." 
 
 They both at that moment hated the bonds of conven* 
 tion. 
 
CHAPTER m 
 
 TN 1785 life spelled amusement. 
 
 -' Ter^zia found herself on her first arrival in Paris, that 
 is to say three years before her engagement, in her ele- 
 ment. She had a glorious time. You can be sure when 
 she walked abroad, demurely beside fat mamma, she at- 
 tracted considerable attention. Who was she? Where did 
 she come from.'^ What youth, what brilliancy, what pos- 
 sibilities ! 
 
 With her sleepy half-veiled eyes she was not slow in 
 returning the inquisitive inquiring male glances which met 
 hers with frank admiration. She was so tall, so gold and 
 white, with a touch of carmine here and there in the right 
 places. She carried herself with self-assurance. Undoubt- 
 edly a young lady of distinguished family? (Yes, un- 
 doubtedly.) 
 
 First of all she was made "presentable.'^ Madame Car- 
 rabus was only too anxious to strike a note of extreme 
 elegance. From morning till noon, and from noon till 
 evening the ladies spent their time shopping, buying hats 
 and trying on dresses. The dressmakers, assured of M. 
 de Carrabus* inexhaustible resources (in Spain), were 
 only too anxious to please their clients, and, as a con- 
 sideration, raised their prices. 
 
 Marie-Antoinette, born of thrifty bourgeois parents, 
 was horrified with a true Frenchwoman's horror of ex- 
 travagance. Poor dear Marie- Antoinette ! She would 
 have loved to contrive and save, and make two lumps of 
 sugar do for three that was her nature but fate had 
 willed it otherwise. With a heavy reticule on her arm, con- 
 taining gold, scent, cosmetics and chocolate, she wended 
 her way through the fashionable streets of Paris, per- 
 spiring, and a spendthrift! 
 
 18 
 
REVOLUTION 19 
 
 T^r^zia had not inherited her worthy mother*s nature. 
 She did not mind spending money. She thought it undig- 
 nified of mamma to inquire the cost of an , article before 
 purchasing it. She blushed when mamma gasped at the 
 price, clutching her reticule tighter than even "Paris is 
 a nest of thieves," said mamma. 
 
 "We are rich," said Terezia with unanswerable truth. 
 "Why make a fuss? Besides, that little gown suits me to 
 perfection." 
 
 When duly dressed our debutante was introduced in a 
 certain set alas, Madame de Boisgaloup's acquaintances 
 did not include the haute noblesse, but she knew very nice 
 people indeed, distinguished, charming, witty, good-look- 
 ing. Marie- Antoinette every Sunday with praiseworthy 
 regularity wrote a budget of news to her husband, who 
 was detained by pressure of business in Madrid. 
 
 Carrabus smiled when he received these naive epistles. 
 The only thing which really delighted him was Terezia's 
 personal success. He impressed on his wife that she must 
 remember the girl's youth, and above all give attention to 
 the proper finishing of her education. "Knowledge is of 
 incredible importance" (he wrote). "Not when you are 
 beautiful" (she answered in return), which was rather sage 
 philosophy from the pen of a good-natured fool. The 
 great Carrabus, with all his scintillating gifts of mind and 
 speech, was very pleased to applaud his wife's wit. True, 
 he wasn't often called upon to exert himself. 
 
 Span those full years, those much exposed, much be- 
 written years 1785-1791 what do they not represent 
 of audacity and excitement, bloodshed and horror, and 
 sheer brutal vitality? A pity they have been run to death 
 for our purpose. Who can hope to throw a new light on 
 such a well-worn topic? 
 
 And yet here is our scheme to show you the expected 
 from Terezia's point of view (and she was always in the 
 limelight), to show you a living, breathing, actual woman 
 precocious, a devil undoubtedly, but a creature of swift 
 transitions, great energy, and undeniable looks. Look at 
 
20 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 her career Kiipping from the commonplace to sordidness 
 from sordidness to theatrical sublimity, "Notre Dame 
 de Septembre," "Notre Dame de Directoire," and slipping 
 oif to dull and princely respectability after a long life of 
 debauchery. 
 
 It is giving the plot away with a vengeance and maybe 
 hunting you oif the track? Who knows what lies before 
 us? Anyhow, such as it is, the story has to be written 
 for the greater part as it happened. Truth carries her 
 own flag. 
 
 Terezia never forgot her first impressions of Paris. She 
 had leaned as far as she could out of the dusty traveling 
 carriage to gain a glimpse of all the wonders. 
 
 Paris was a far gayer, far brighter city than Madrid. 
 And yes, it didn't smell nearly as evilly. She found the 
 Rue St. Honore most imposing the shops, the pedes- 
 trians, even the beggars came in for a due share of notice. 
 In default of her sleepy mamma's attention, she had to 
 address her ecstatic remarks to Christina, who sat facing 
 her ladies, holding on to a valise probably containing 
 madame's diamonds, or madame's sugar cakes. 
 
 Christina had been bom in the Rue du Bac thirty-five 
 years ago. She knew Paris. She could (an' she would) 
 have pointed out the chief sights to her young lady (she'd 
 nursed her from a baby). But Christina was, as she ex- 
 pressed it, shaken to her marrow by the infernal jolting 
 of the lumbering vehicle. She was tired and cross, and 
 to all Terezia's eager questions she answered in toneless 
 monosyllables. 
 
 "I'll bite your head off if you don't tell me what that 
 is," the young beauty cried, shaking Christina's arm. 
 
 *'What could it be, mam'selle, but the palace of the 
 king?" 
 
 "Do you think he is there now?'^ 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 *^What a quaint bridge all covered with shops, little 
 tiny shops. Do you hear them fighting? Look at that 
 man ; why, he is as black as ink and nearly naked. Chris- 
 
REVOLUTION 21 
 
 tina, he will kill someone with that pole !'* Terezia shut 
 her eyes. "Are we safely over?" she asked presently. 
 
 "Yes," said Christina in the same dull voice. 
 
 They left fashionable Paris behind them, and, even as 
 the sun dipped in the muddy Seine, they drew up with a 
 jerk, which eifectually woke Marie- Antoinette, in front of 
 a tall gray house on the Quai St. Louis. 
 
 Pedro, the footman, rang a hoarse-throated bell. The 
 great iron gates of the courtyard swung back. 
 
 The gatekeeper's wife, a homely woman dressed in 
 deepest black, curtsied to the ladies. 
 
 Over the front door waved a bale of black dull cloth, 
 surrounding two wax lights in dim lanterns, which gleamed 
 ineffectually in the rays of the setting sun. 
 
 Terezia looked around her fearfully, as she followed 
 mamma out of the carriage into the entrance hall, which 
 was narrow, gloomy and also draped in black. 
 
 "Tiens! the great misfortune," said Marie- Antoinette. 
 "Who is dead.?" 
 
 The major-domo, old and silver-haired, let his stave 
 rattle on the stone flooring. 
 
 "The master. Monsieur de Boisgaloup," he replied. 
 
 Marie- Antoinette, who was vainly trying to order her 
 hair and arrange her veil, exclaimed anxiously: "My hus- 
 band wrote making his arrangements. We were to accept 
 the hospitality of his old friend. I wouldn't inconvenience 
 madame for worlds ! Tell us, good man, the name of a 
 decent inn. Stop the carriage ! Christina see, the idiots 
 are unstrapping the luggage. We cannot in decency stay 
 here." At last she had her veil free and revealed her 
 heated, worried face. "Paris is as hot as an oven," she 
 said. "Oo-uff, for a glass of iced water!" 
 
 Before the old servant could answer, a little lady 
 spare as a robin, dark, vivacious, dressed in deep widow's 
 weeds, with an enormous white lawn tippet and cuffs to 
 match flung herself into Marie- Antoinette's arms. 
 
 "Welcome," she gasped. "Welcome." 
 
 The ladies kissed each other. 
 
22 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 Marie- Antoinette overflowed with condolences and ejac- 
 ulations. She would not derange dear Louise. What a 
 tragedy only ill seven days? and (comparatively) such 
 a young man; handsome and charming! 
 
 "He was fat too fat,'' said Madame de Boisgaloup. 
 "The heat carried him off, the heat and dysentery. He 
 grieved not to be able to meet you. He charged me with 
 all manner of messages." 
 
 "It tears my heart," said Marie- Antoinette ; ever a 
 facile weeper, she let her tears rain on the smooth muslin 
 bosom of the little widow. "You have children?" 
 
 "Two boys, great big boys; they must make friends 
 with your little girl." 
 
 Madame de Boisgaloup searched the dim hall with her 
 sharp little eyes. She almost laughed, so great was her 
 astonishment, when she discovered Terezia. "You never 
 prepared me for this," she said. *'She might well be seven- 
 teen, a marriageable young lady, and I was expecting a 
 child to pet and hold in my empty arms." 
 
 She gave a hand to each of her guests. "You must be 
 tired and you will want to see your rooms, and you, my 
 great big girl, must go to bed at once. How old are you?" 
 
 "Twelve years, madame," 
 
 "Men Dieu! And she towers over me." 
 
 She led them into a big prim salon with three tall win- 
 dows facing the^ river. To the left were the congested 
 buildings of the lie St. Louis and the exquisite spiral of 
 the Sainte Chapelle. 
 
 The Boisgaloups lived in the oldest quarter of the town. 
 
 The light was fairly good in the big room in spite of its 
 somber hangings. The family portraits were shrouded in 
 black cloth, and all the furniture was covered in white linen 
 sheeting, to match the calico-hung walls. 
 
 Terezia shivered. The room struck damp and cold with 
 an indescribable odor of withered flowers, wax lights and 
 death. 
 
 "There stood his coffin. My poor Antoine was only 
 buried yesterday. His funeral oration was magnificent 
 
REVOLUTION 23 
 
 and cost me a hundred livres in doles to the poor, exclusive 
 of the masses for his soul and a thousand incidental ex- 
 penses. I have spared no money. I even called in the 
 king's physician, and his fee is enormous. He could do 
 nothing but shake his head and approve of Jordain's treat- 
 ment. And my poor Antoine groaned. It is horrible to 
 watch suffering, horrible. When they told me he was dead 
 I praised God." 
 
 "I share your feelings," said Marie- Antoinette, sitting 
 down precisely in the middle of the long hard settee under 
 the defunct gentleman's portrait. He was portrayed wear- 
 ing his legal robes and looked highly important. On either 
 side of him hung two charming portraits. 
 
 Terezia stared at these pictures, and wondered if the 
 young girl in a pink hooped skirt, wearing her natural 
 brown curls, with rosy lips and dimpled cheeks, could be 
 her hostess. Terezia's relentless young eyes noticed Ma- 
 dame de Boisgaloup's withered, lemon-tinted skin, brought 
 into sharp contrast by her hideous black head-dress (which 
 completely enveloped her hair), and the stiff muslin ker- 
 chief pinned by a mourning brooch two cross-bones and 
 a skull framed in dull ebony placed exactly beneath her 
 pointed chin. 
 
 It was Terezia's first introduction to death. She shiv- 
 ered again. She felt quite sure M. de Boisgaloup ought 
 to have died a month earlier or a month later. He had 
 behaved with no consideration for his Spanish guests. 
 
 Terezia made big eyes at her mother, who was reveling 
 in the details of the deceased gentleman's illness. The little 
 widow, who had seated herself beside her visitor, possessed 
 herself of one of her large white hands and while gently 
 stroking it poured out, in an unbroken stream, her infor- 
 mation. Marie- Antoinette continually nodded her head. 
 At last Terezia felt convinced that either it or her insecure 
 bonnet must come off. 
 
 Terezia was also convinced that grown-up people, par- 
 ticularly elderly ladies, were very tiresome. 
 
 She walked over to the window. She longed to open it, 
 
24 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 but didn't dare. The atmosphere was stifling. Where 
 were the bojs, she wondered? And where was she going 
 to sleep? She hoped she would be given a proper bed. 
 She hated lying anyhow on a sitting-room sofa and being 
 obliged to get up and dress early in the morning . . . 
 she would insist on a bed, she would stir up heaven and 
 earth until a bed was provided for her. Her legs ached. 
 They had been cramped in the carriage with all mamma's 
 packages and parcels. 
 
 Marie- Antoinette remembered that she was dusty, tired 
 and hot. An overwhelming thirst possessed her. As dear 
 Louise was counting the funeral wreaths, and the names 
 of the distinguished guests who had attended the funeral 
 banquet, she wetted her lips with her tongue and exclaimed, 
 "Christina has a wonderful recipe for lemonade: two lem- 
 ons, a dash of sherry, a thimbleful of any sweet liqueur 
 handy, half-a-dozen crystallized cherries, two bay leaves 
 and iced water,'* The last words were spoken with great 
 emphasis. 
 
 Her hostess immediately took the hint (stiffly). 
 
 "Ter^zia," she exclaimed. "There is the bell-rope to 
 the left, child mind my best Sevres vase. Ciel a touch 
 is sufficient!'' 
 
 A loud sonorous peal sounded throughout the house. 
 T^r^zia had pulled the bell-rope with a vengeance! She 
 was burning for action. She wouldn't have minded in the 
 least if Madame de Boisgaloup's cherished vase had been 
 knocked to pieces. In the face of such a deplorable acci- 
 dent the ladies must have interrupted their gruesome con- 
 versation. Who cared a straw about the horrid old man's 
 symptoms and his nasty illness? It made her feel sick to 
 listen to them. He was much better dead. 
 
 Presently, refreshed by a cup of cold water, served with 
 strawberry juice, and a moderate supply of wafer biscuits, 
 Marie- Antoinette allowed herself to be conducted to her 
 apartments. 
 
 T^r^zia followed on tiptoe, all excitement to know where 
 she was to sleep . . she would insist on a bed. . . 
 
REVOLUTION 25 
 
 Marie- Antoinette had told her that little girls, when pay- 
 ing visits, slept anywhere, where most convenient; they 
 were given a pillow and a quilt hon Dieu, they could 
 choose for themselves a sofa (if vacant) or they could lie 
 on the floor or on three chairs, or on the linen chest, in 
 the wood-box tiensy little girls slept anywhere, . . . 
 
 Terezia, after receiving this valuable information one 
 day during their interminable drive, had remained quite 
 silent. Well, anyhow she would marry at her first oppor- 
 tunity. According to mamma, married ladies were given 
 the luxury of beds, and sheets and fine lace and satin quilts 
 and dear little gilt Cupids to hold back the silk bed draper- 
 ies. To gain such grace Terezia felt herself willing to 
 marry the ugly postilion who had lost one eye and who 
 squinted villainously with the one left him. 
 
 Marie- Antoinette had laughed at her daughter's airs 
 and graces. She had said she was altogether too fastid- 
 ious the next thing she would demand would be scented 
 baths and toilet powder, and jewels and her box at the 
 opera. What were young girls coming to? It was not 
 seemly. 
 
 Marie-Antoinette preached her homily to deaf ears. 
 Mamma was hopelessly old-fashioned. Terezia had shaken 
 her splendid plaits with a contemptuous toss of her head. 
 Youth stands for much in the eyes of youth. ... 
 
 Madame de Boisgaloup's best spare room was quite a 
 fine apartment. Yes, a splendid bed, carved white and 
 gilt wood, green brocade panels and curtains to match; 
 a lovely suite of modern furniture (Louis XVI.), a bu- 
 reau supplied with an oval toilet mirror set in silver, and, 
 in one corner, a commode with a china basin the size of 
 a small rose-bowl and a ewer to match. 
 
 "How charming," said Marie- Antoinette. "And even 
 flowers." Against the white paneled walls Madame de 
 Boisgaloup had set a big jardiniere of white roses and 
 red carnations. 
 
 "I thought you'd like them, dear Marie- Antoinette," 
 said the widow, applying her enormous handkerchief to 
 
26 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 her bright little eyes. "They arrived this morning with 
 M. de Listenay's compliments. He has such taste. They 
 were intended for my poor dear Antoine. He'd mistaken 
 the day. The cemetery is such a long way off, and I 
 thought you would appreciate them better than he could. 
 You must see M. de Listenay's famous gardens. They 
 say the queen envies him.'* 
 
 "Thank you," murmured Marie- Antoinette. "I appre- 
 ciate the warmth of your heart. Terezia, thank madame 
 for her great kindness." 
 
 Terezia curtsied, 
 
 Madame de Boisgaloup clasped her hands together, hav- 
 ing first folded her handkerchief, and replaced it in her 
 pocket. *'Take off your hat, child," she said. 
 
 Terezia obeyed her. 
 
 *'And your pelerine. We haven't worn these things for 
 five years in Paris." 
 
 Marie- Antoinette blushed more hotly than ever. Of all 
 things to be accused of being unfashionable ! Sorrow had 
 made the estimable Louise bitter. They would soon rectify 
 their wardrobes. M. Carrabus had supplied them with a 
 substantial sum of ready money and a munificent letter of 
 credit. 
 
 She looked at her young daughter dressed in her flow- 
 ered, hooped satin dress of richest brocade ; noted her lace 
 under-sleeves, her immaculate throat and her sulky expres- 
 sion. The little one looked tired. 
 
 "All is light and air in Paris," said the widow. "The 
 thinnest of silks and taffetas are worn ; Chinese crepes and 
 English muslins ; the queen has set a fashion of expensive 
 simplicity. A shower will ruin a costly dress in a few 
 moments. The dressmakers are doing a wonderful trade. 
 Thanks to the genius of dear M. Calonne he is longing 
 to make your acquaintance we are again rich in France, 
 incomparably rich! Calonne is a veritable conjurer. My 
 dear, he arrived in the nick of time. There were stories 
 about terrible stories people dying of starvation- *' 
 
 "God help them !" murmured Marie- Antoinette. 
 
REVOLUTION 27 
 
 "Menacing* the king's majesty, insulting the nobles. 
 And the nobles themselves are at their wits' end for ade- 
 quate supplies. They have had, in a great many cases, 
 to sell their personal effects, their silver, their jewels, and 
 they have parted with their daughters for next to nothing. 
 If you cannot provide a. dot you cannot expect a match, 
 
 you must take what offers. Incredible stories " She 
 
 paused for breath. "But you must be tired I will leave 
 you, dear Marie- Antoinette. Supper will be ready at ten 
 o'clock." 
 
 "You are too kind," said Marie- Antoinette, conducting 
 her friend to the door, who whispered in her ear, "My con- 
 gratulations. She is lovely. It is a thousand pities my 
 mourning prevents me from introducing her into society. 
 It would have been- such a pleasure. Twelve! Impos- 
 sible!" 
 
 "Terezia is well grown for her age," said Marie- Antoi- 
 nette with placid satisfaction. "I married at fifteen." 
 
 "That is over-young. No girl ought to marry before 
 sixteen." 
 
 "Terezia will marry long before that, and to tell you 
 the truth" (she lowered her voice), "I will not hinder the 
 child from making a suitable marriage. She is terribly 
 headstrong and already gives me untold anxiety. Every 
 man who sees her loves her." 
 
 "And she?" 
 
 "She returns their love ^up to a certain point, of 
 course." 
 
 "My poor friend !" 
 
 Madame de Boisgaloup blew a kiss through the chink 
 of the door. "Au revoir, mes cheres amies." 
 
 Hardly had she closed the door before Terezia, on the 
 point of bursting into tears, called, in suffocating accents, 
 "Christina! Where are you, Christina?" 
 
 A tiny door in the paneling opened unexpectedly. Chris- 
 tina ran hurriedly towards her nursling. *^What is it, 
 precious?" Her tone was all anxiety, all sympathy, 
 
 "Where am I to sleep, Christina?" sobbed Terezia. "I 
 
28 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 wonH sleep m the same bed as mamma. She always rolls 
 on me " 
 
 "There, there," said Christina. "Come, I will show 
 you. It is a lovely little virgin bower, and when I get the 
 window opened it will smell as fresh as a May morning." 
 
 Ter^zia quickly followed the maid through the little 
 paneled door and found herself in a good-sized cupboard, 
 arranged with hooks and wide shelves. Right at the top 
 was a tiny dormer window hung with a little home-spun 
 blind of coarse red and white linen. The top shelf was 
 supplied with a mattress and a pillow. 
 
 "Is it a bed?" asked Ter^zia doubtfully. 
 
 "What else?" said Christina stoutly. "And a very 
 comfortable bed, too.'* 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 CHRISTINA was well aware of her young lady's "go- 
 ings on." She knew why her mistress, after four 
 months' residence under the roof of Madame Boisgaloup, 
 took a cordial farewell of her friend, and installed herself 
 in her own appartement. There had been friction on both 
 sides, tears, reproaches, vows, forgiveness (and broken 
 promises galore from Terezia). Georges Boisgaloup had 
 at sight fallen head over ears in love with the brilliant 
 blonde, which was but natural. His younger brother was 
 not slow in contracting the fever, and their rivalry gave 
 infinite delight to Terezia. The bright-eyed widow at last 
 discovered a very apparent situation. She scolded every 
 inmate of her household. The lovers were obliged to meet 
 by stealth, which only added to their delight. Christina 
 knew and held her tongue, and pulled her young lady's 
 hair mercilessly at night. Terezia didn't care. Out she 
 crept to the back garden on every plausible excuse. She 
 liked both brothers impartially, and it was heaven to kiss 
 by moonlight and whisper in terrified accents of the 
 future. ... 
 
 Madame de Boisgaloup told Marie- Antoinette her true 
 opinion of her lovely daughter. "She ought to be kept 
 under lock and key," said she. 
 
 "Indeed, yes," said Marie-Antoinette. "Didn't I tell 
 you the very first evening that she's a handful?" 
 
 "More than a handful," said dear Louise. 
 
 The docile Terezia was whisked to society functions **to 
 distract her and give her new impressions." She was like 
 wax. The Due de Listenay the gentleman who had sent 
 her a basket of white roses and carnations by a somewhat 
 unusual channel fell an easy victim to her charms. He 
 was rich and charming, but beyond allowing him to make 
 
 29 
 
30 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 his intentions extremely plain, Terezia would have none of 
 him he was too obvious. She recalled her youth. She 
 was too young for an engagement. Mamma agreed. 
 Widow Boisgaloup had a different opinion. 
 
 The upshot of this disagreement was that the ladies 
 decided to set up their own establishment. "God bless 
 you, dear friend," said Louise, heaving a sigh of relief as 
 she watched the gorgeous new coach of the Carrabus' roll 
 down the ill-paved street. 
 
 Terezia very gracefully waved her hand to the widow, 
 now less funereal. She had discarded the "weepers" from 
 her head in favor of a lace head-dress including two lace 
 lappets which fluttered gently in the early morning breeze. 
 Marie-Antoinette was busy drying her eyes. Christina, 
 facing her ladies, kept her eyes piously fixed on the slender 
 spire of the Sainte Chapelle. 
 
 They moved into rooms befitting their station you 
 may be sure as fine and ornate as money could procure. 
 Terezia that forward, precocious minx had insisted on 
 having not only a bed to herself, but also a bedroom ! 
 
 She delighted herself in furnishing it according to her 
 own taste. The bed narrow and white as befitted a 
 jeune fille was nevertheless a decorative object in a room 
 all decoration. I wish you could have seen Terezia's bed- 
 room she occupied it only for a year and a month or so 
 the very walls were garlanded with hand-painted roses, 
 and fat little Cupids smiled from a lofty and exceedingly 
 blue ceiling. The tall windows were draped with lace cur- 
 tains festooned with dashing rosettes of rose satin ribbon ; 
 on the toilette table, en suite, there glittered a whole regi- 
 ment of glass bottles and various toilet implements and 
 painted sachets and silver-gilt brushes. Close to her bed, 
 on its own little pedestal, there was a Sevres lady in painted 
 china she sat by a table, fast asleep, her little red-slip- 
 pered feet peeping beneath a froth of china lace ; her gen- 
 erously-displayed bosom rising from another fall of lace 
 which partly concealed a tiny letter. It was a charming 
 little piece. 
 
REVOLUTION 31 
 
 The carpet, which almost covered the parquet floor, was 
 as pink as a flowering May tree, woven in one piece with a 
 medallion centre. The sofas and chairs were of gilded 
 cane, with masses of cushions stuffed with down and cov- 
 ered with ivory satin, a tone darker than the creamy walls. 
 There were brackets on the walls, holding Terezia's select 
 library, and Terezia's souvenirs, and Terezia's collection 
 of fans; a jardiniere filled with flowering plants; and a 
 work-table a gem stuffed with rainbow silks and cobweb 
 muslins and thin bright needles and a tiny thimble and a 
 pair of scissors, sharp as anything. T^rezia never used 
 her coquet work-table ; it was there to impress her female 
 friends. 
 
 Of course she received in her bedroom, and she drank 
 her morning chocolate in bed, raising herself on one dim- 
 pled elbow, smiling up at the "darling Cupid" (richly gilt) 
 festooning her lace bed-curtains which were lined with 
 shell-pink muslin. Having finished her chocolate, she 
 would stretch her long fair limbs under the cosy warmth 
 of her pink satin quilt, and maybe play with the edge 
 of her real-lace edged sheet. She was lazy, was Terezia. 
 Often and often Christina would whip like a thunderstorm 
 into her young lady's highly-perfumed chamber and rout 
 her out of bed. "You will get as fat as a pig^" she would 
 menace. 
 
 And Terezia, flushed, warm, indescribably lovely, would 
 seek her absurd little slippers in no time. She did not want 
 "to get fat." 
 
 A year later, papa, the great financier, arrived in Paris. 
 Terezia met him in a wonderful new dress, swept him a 
 curtsy of truly regal magnificence, had her hair confined 
 to her classic head by two gold daggers, and looked, in 
 short, the perfection of budding womanhood. Papa was 
 immensely pleased. He had had a trying business year. 
 His blue bills still fluttered, but the storm was practically 
 over, the storm of adulation and envy. Only malice sur- 
 vived. His Spanish majesty, backed by some of his chief 
 
32 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 advisers, was asking questions. M. de Carrabus was seri- 
 ously displeased with his Spanish majesty. Even kings 
 can ask too much, and he (Carrabus) had worked so hard 
 to please everybody. 
 
 It was indeed a pleasant relaxation to forget vexatious 
 state problems and babble nonsense with his delightful 
 daughter. (He'd see she'd get her dot safe and sound out 
 of the debacle.) 
 
 He had not been a day in Paris before he had inter- 
 viewed his bankers and arranged matters to his satisfac- 
 tion. 
 
 Had Terezia been quite a good little girl during his ab- 
 sence, attended to her lessons, been early to bed and early 
 to rise.'^ To all these paternal questions Ter6zia replied in 
 the affirmative, with her engaging yet vastly dishonest 
 smile. 
 
 Only Christina, the humble watch-dog Christina, knew 
 ^^mam'selle" was telling dear papa a pack of falsehoods. 
 
 The time in Paris had certainly not passed as tran- 
 quilly for Terezia as Carrabus had been given to under- 
 stand. . . . "It is impossible to keep our daughter always 
 at her tasks. I permit her now and again the relaxation 
 of the society agreeable to her. She is fond of dancing 
 and making new acquaintances, and she had a most flatter- 
 ing reception. . . .'* So wrote Marie- Antoinette in her 
 stiff, stilted French. 
 
 Papa couldn't help admiring his daughter's charming 
 taste and charming room (it was an interiewr to please the 
 most fastidious), but he would have preferred greater sim- 
 plicity. He did not want his girl spoiled. Mamma raised 
 her meek hands at this: "She spoils herself," said she. 
 Another word of wisdom from the mouth of a fool. 
 
 Papa heard all the news, interviewed some of Terezia's 
 admirers, administered his parental authority, insisted on 
 obedience, religion and love, and considered that money 
 and rank were worth attention from a matrimonial point 
 of view. 
 
 Then his own affairs called him back to troublesome 
 
REVOLUTION 33 
 
 Spain. His last evening in Paris was melancholy, Marie- 
 Antoinette wept. Terezia clasped her father's neck with 
 such protesting vigor that he was nigh to choking. 
 
 "I love you, papa," she murmured. "Stay and take 
 care of your own Terezia." He gently parted the too 
 ardent arms they were bare and round and firm as mar- 
 ble. "It cannot be, my darling. Live well take care of 
 yourself," he said hoarsely. 
 
 Blind, blind papa! Such needless advice to daughter 
 Terezia. 
 
 She flung herself at his feet in a pose of ravishing grace 
 as M. de Fontenay would say and murmured that if 
 papa left for Spain she'd die, die of sorrow and wounded 
 aifection. 
 
 He looked very concerned. Looking up sharply he dis- 
 covered the placid Marie-Antoinette actually sniffing. 
 "Stuff and nonsense," said Marie-Antoinette. "It will 
 take more than that to kill our daughter." 
 
 "Our daughter" in her ravishing attitude in her cling- 
 ing makeshift robe she was en deshabille moaned like 
 a little crushed dove, just a wee pipe, but nevertheless in- 
 finitely touching. 
 
 The great financier very properly scolded his wife. 
 
 "Take care of her,'* he said sternly. "She is of frailer 
 stuff than you." 
 
 "God knows it," said Marie- Antoinette piously. 
 
 And here, rising to her full height like an angel in a 
 cloud of clinging white Terezia moved across the car- 
 peted floor and embraced her mother very ardently. 
 "Father," she said, "I can trust her. She loves me, even 
 as I love her. ..." There was an irresistible glamor 
 about the young girl. Marie-Antoinette beamed as a 
 midday sun. "Enfin, que voulez-vous?" she said. "She 
 has a heart of gold," and she returned her daughter's 
 embrace warmly. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 GEORGES DE BOISGALOUP sat with his head in his 
 hands, literally stunned. Terezia's letter fluttered at 
 his feet. He was unconscious of the August heat, uncon- 
 scious of time, unconscious of everything, except that 
 Terezia was married. If he had been on the spot this 
 would never have happened ! She had been forced against 
 her will to marry an ogre ^his beautiful princess, the only 
 girl he would ever love ! His life was over and done with 
 . . . a fly tickled his nose, he whipped it passionately 
 aside, another fly, hundreds of flies buzzed on the clouded 
 window-panes, on the whitewashed walls, on the huge black 
 slate, on the Doctor's pulpit, on his long black robe, hang- 
 ing on a tarnished peg. It was insuiferably close and hot, 
 and the air was none too pure. Ventilation was undreamed 
 of in the days prior to the Revolution. . . . How his 
 thoughts chased each other ^he remembered their first 
 meeting ^her shyness, her sweetness, her infinite variety 
 . . . their first kiss . . . their last kiss . . . his mother's 
 insensate anger and Terezia's surprising fortitude in the 
 hour of peril. Then, as a menacing shadow, he saw his 
 younger brother she'd never wavered in her faith (he 
 smiled wearily). He believed in her through thick and 
 thin, in spite of much incriminating evidence he held to her 
 stoutly she could do no wrong . . . and then, owing to 
 this hateful business of study, they had to part, to live 
 on promises, to starve on hope damned hope! 
 
 He bent down and picked up the scented missive. With 
 trembling lips he deciphered her somewhat immature 
 writing. 
 
 . . . "Georges, I am in despair, but circumstances be- 
 yond my control have hurried this marriage. I can truth- 
 
 34 
 
REVOLUTION 35 
 
 fully say that m marrying M, de Fontenay I can give him 
 both my Respect and Esteem, but as you know my heart 
 is not in the matter. I will always love you. Think of 
 Terezia kindly . . . and if we meet? No, no! under the 
 circumstances it would be insupportable ! My life is made ; 
 my heart is broken. Of what account is my poor beauty 
 except that it has given you, my cherished friend, some 
 pleasure.? My appearance no longer satisfies me I am 
 weary of everything on earth. Let us suffer together 
 and bravely face our Destiny. 
 
 "Tekezia de Carkabus Fontenay." 
 
 The hot tears welled in Georges' blue eyes. He had a 
 fair and gentle appearance; slim and very tall, he gave 
 one the impression of delicacy. In reality he was strong 
 as steel. 
 
 He heard footsteps behind him. He rose hastily to his 
 feet and met the half-cynical, half-sulky glance of his class- 
 mate, Bonaparte. For some unknown reason he had taken 
 a fancy to the thin, unpopular Corsican. There was 
 something in the grip of his comrade's hand which thrilled 
 Georges. Napoleon was poor and underfed, and yet he 
 got through more solid work than any other youth at the 
 Academy. He never boasted of his endurance. He never 
 opened his lips unless he was obliged to there was some- 
 thing sinister about his appearance. 
 
 Bonaparte laid his hand on Georges' shoulder. 
 
 "Take it calmly whatever it is," he said, "and above all, 
 try and conceal your feelings. You'll never get on in the 
 world if you don't." 
 
 "I don't care what happens to me,"* said Georges, 
 brusquely. 
 
 Napoleon sat down astride a chair, and folded his arms 
 across the back under lowering brows he stared at 
 Georges. 
 
 "Love is of no consequence at eighteen.'* 
 
 The other started "How dare you " 
 
 "Why tell me? Your secret is no secret," 
 
36 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 "I'll make a clean breast of it." He opened his left hand 
 and showed Napoleon a little crushed letter, written on 
 tinted paper with violet ink ; it was faintly reminiscent of 
 the scent of violets. "I adore her. This is to tell me that 
 she is married. A simple enough story, and I daresay you 
 will be inclined to laugh. If so, kindly do it behind my 
 back.'' 
 
 "I don't want to laugh. Why should I? All women 
 are alike." 
 
 "Excuse me, you know nothing about the matter. This 
 lady" he tapped and carefully refolded Terezia's letter 
 and placed it in his pocket-book "is entirely original." 
 
 "Is she beautiful.?" 
 
 Georges nodded. 
 
 "Is she young?" 
 
 Georges nodded. 
 
 "Witty?" 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
 "She returns your love?" 
 
 Georges bit his lips. 
 
 "And you tell me she is original ! Why, my dear Bois- 
 galoup, she is as old as Eve." 
 
 "Your reasoning wearies me. I ask you to respect my 
 confidence." 
 
 "I never speak unnecessarily." He dropped his arms 
 and stood erect a lean little figure. There were dark 
 shadows round his eyes. "You have occasionally stood 
 my friend." 
 
 "That was nothing," said Boisgaloup, his fair skin red- 
 dening. "It is an infernal shame to make fun of you." 
 
 "It doesn't in the least affect me." 
 
 "No?" 
 
 "I am here to learn. I shall be able to retaliate pres- 
 ently. I have the instincts." 
 
 "Much good they do you!" 
 
 "Monsieur de Soissons is six foot three " 
 
 The other smiled. "You won there. No one but I 
 would back you against such odds." 
 
REVOLUTION 37 
 
 "You are very kind." 
 
 "Don't be satirical. It is one of your worst traits. To 
 tell you the truth, that is why the fellows don't like you. 
 Whenever you can you ridicule them. You are clever 
 enough to hurt them." 
 
 "You are very kind." 
 
 "There you are again! I'll have nothing to do with 
 you! Fight your own battles." Georges put his hands in 
 his pockets, and glared at the great window. 
 
 Bonaparte strode up and down the class-room. He 
 kicked over a stool, and great was the clatter thereof. "If 
 you knew how I despised all your little prejudices, and 
 your insuiferable arrogance," he said, coming to a stand- 
 still his whole face aflame. "You are all as blind as bats. 
 You see nothing, because you refuse to listen to reason. 
 And the storm is coming. There will be a wild stampede 
 one day and you will pray for your leader " 
 
 "Ho, ho,'* sneered Boisgaloup, thoroughly aroused. 
 "Why don't you come forward and apply for the situa- 
 tion.?" 
 
 Bonaparte leaned over Georges. *'I will," he said. 
 
 Boisgaloup bowed ironically. "I hope you'll conde- 
 scend to offer me a post under you.'^" 
 
 "I wUl." 
 
 "A thousand thanks." 
 
 Bonaparte yawned. "Forgive my plain speaking. Your 
 acting is the feeblest stuff I have ever seen. I believe in 
 your real side. Even in this tragic love affair you have 
 my warmest sympathy." 
 
 Boisgaloup lost all command of himself. He flung out 
 his hand and rushed headlong out of the room. 
 
 Bonaparte looked after him. For two or three minutes 
 he stood immovable as a stone image. Then he turned and 
 walked over to his desk. When the class, summoned by the 
 great bell, some two hours later, filed into the hall they 
 found him poring over his books. Soissons spoke to him, 
 and received nothing but a glassy stare. Another youth 
 
38 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 humorously caught hold of his quill, and sent it spurting 
 across in the direction of the learned Doctor's desk. 
 "Wake up, old Methuselah !" he shouted in his ear. Na- 
 poleon opened his pen-box and searched for another pen. 
 The Doctor rapped his desk. "Silence, gentlemen!'* 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 WE have marched a year ahead. Much has happened, 
 and the pot is still seething. 
 
 There is talk in high places; secret missions; secret 
 assignations even the queen has lost some of her tranquil 
 dairymaid calm. She still plays at butter-making, but 
 she frequently looks to the door . . . the door is locked. 
 Admittance only on parole. Unnecessary precaution 
 a game en plu^y so says the fat and tranquil Louis he 
 has a noble, yea, a kingly presence, but sometimes (even 
 as she loves him) the queen doubts him no, not him ^his 
 methods. 
 
 She has even tried to wake him up. "The times are bad 
 a little more energy, a spark more of royal contempt, 
 of Bourbon pride, Louis ; it would not hurt and it might 
 help matters." So speaks the queen. 
 
 His majesty smiles. In two strides he covers her pri- 
 vate boudoir a tiny place, all gilding, festoons, and mir- 
 rors and the queen watches him narrowly in her looking- 
 glass ^he is administering justice to the dauphin; in 
 make-belief wrath he asks the meaning of his royal high- 
 ness's impertinence? His royal highness laughs the 
 louder; he is not afraid of the king. 
 
 "Is that as you would have it ?" says Louis, floundering 
 down on a tiny sofa and wiping his heated brow. "There 
 is a storm brewing." He taps his chest. "I can hardly 
 breathe. Come here, you little vagabond ! The king must 
 be obeyed. . . . You see, your majesty, how they treat 
 me? it is worrying." 
 
 He turns towards the queen who is busy writing at her 
 little desk. 
 
 39 
 
40 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 "What are you doing there, madame?" 
 
 **I am writing to my father." 
 
 ^^I beg of you to send him my greetings." 
 
 The queen looks up. There is the shadow of some awful 
 calamity in her eyes. 
 
 The king perceives that she is not herself. He lumbers 
 up from the sofa, crosses the room on tiptoe, and, bending 
 down, he puts his arm around her neck. Then he pats her 
 on the back with fatherly good-nature. 
 
 "Whatever happens we have each other and the chil- 
 dren, and Madame Elizabeth. God is good." 
 
 The queen drops her little pen. She leans her proud 
 head against her husband's shoulder and bursts into tears. 
 
 *'It is the weather," he says consolingly, "only the 
 weather. . . .'* 
 
 For once his majesty was right. The weather broke 
 that night in a pitiless hailstorm. Never in the memory of 
 man had there been such a storm. In and round about 
 Paris the damage done was frightful. It was the month 
 of July, and the corn was ripening for harvest. 
 
 The fields were swept clean as if an army of locusts had 
 passed over them the proud grain was beaten and laid 
 level with the earth. The storm broke over Paris at her 
 gayest hour ^just before midnight. . . Hist! listen! 
 Down poured the deluge and the wind piped high and heat- 
 flashes (corn lightning) lit the blackened sky. One saw 
 and yet one did not see. The gutters ran with water; 
 children shrieked in terror, dishevelled women ran out on 
 the streets peering here peering there where were their 
 husbands in their hour of need? It was God's punishment. 
 And the storm grew in fury; the hailstones rattled down 
 the ill-paved streets the gutters ran as rivers, and blue 
 lightning lit the torrid sky. With it all a stifling, brood- 
 ing, intolerable heat. 
 
 There were many homeless people in Paris that night, 
 starving people who had wandered in from the great by- 
 ways ; there was no food in the country, and they were 
 here to look for work, stalwart, patient men, and women 
 
REVOLUTIO:Nr 41 
 
 less patient. The women were the most blasphemous 
 wicked, obscene language floated over the heads of their 
 hungry little ones. Work? Where could they find it? 
 
 Terezia was frightened. She lay trembling on her velvet 
 couch, shutting her eyes. 
 
 The curtains were drawn, wax lights blazed on madame's 
 toilet-table, and over madame's full-length dress mirror. 
 
 "Put them out," she commanded. "Where is Claire? If 
 only Claire was here I would feel much safer." 
 
 The hail tore at the spacious gardens of the Chateau de 
 Fontenay ; delicate shrubs were literally plucked up by the 
 roots and flung on high ; on the slate roof of the castle the 
 huge stones beat a merciless tattoo. 
 
 "I am frightened," moaned Terezia. 
 
 "Try and go to sleep," said Christina, who sat in one 
 corner of the big room, by a shaded lamp, tranquilly but- 
 ton-holing a cambric jacket. 
 
 She looked older than of yore. Christina had passed 
 through troubled waters. M. Carrabus' inability to keep 
 in oflice (and his incidental flight) had surprised and 
 pained her. Madame de Carrabus was no longer in Paris. 
 Six months ago she had left France to join her husband. 
 She had refused to take Christina with her. "Someone 
 must stay behind and look after our daughter," she had 
 said. 
 
 Christina sighed as she drew her needle in and out of the 
 delicate fabric. Her eyes had grown very keen of late. 
 She bitterly regretted this gift of sight. She had been 
 given to understand ^by many disgraceful circumstances 
 that Terezia was well, not a model of all the virtues. 
 It hurt Christina; she felt less pride in the marquise's 
 beauty now she knew that it was allied to many paltry and 
 ignoble traits of character. She had let her mother go, 
 trembling, horrified half realizing the bitterness of per- 
 sonal disgrace, but without the flimsiest pretence of grief. 
 True, young madame had at the time been much taken up 
 with a royal masquerade ; she was one of the patronesses of 
 the ball and had felt her responsibility. . . And all the 
 
42 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 love she protested and all the love she wasted! If ever 
 there was a stern old maid it was Christina. The spectacle 
 of her mistress's unlicensed love affairs had taught her to 
 hate men. They were all alike so she told herself un- 
 worthy of an honest woman's respect. . . . 
 
 She kept her tongue in bounds by sheer force of habit. 
 She had promised Marie-Antoinette to look after "her 
 darling." . Christina smiled grimly and bit off her 
 thread. 
 
 A baby's sobbing brought her instantly to her feet. 
 Christina flung down her work and ran across the yielding 
 carpet (all was luxury in madame's bedroom), and bent 
 down, cooing, smiling, adoringly over an ornate cradle. 
 The cradle was very gilt, very lacey, very pink (madame 
 had made up her mind she would have a daughter, if only 
 to bestpw upon her the incomparable inheritance of 
 beauty). 
 
 "The little wretch, he is always howling. Take him 
 away," said Terezia, fretfully, half-turning on the sofa, 
 and half-opening her eyes. "I was sleeping." 
 
 "My precious !" said Christina. She took up the baby 
 and cuddled him close to her spare bosom. 
 
 "I wish he had been yours. Listen, Christina!" (the 
 wind howled) . "I know I shall go mad !" Terezia sat up 
 and passed her hand across her dry eyes. 
 
 Christina, still holding the baby, walked over to his 
 mother and put him down in her lap. 
 
 He was not a beautiful specimen; wizened, with great 
 big reproachful eyes. Terezia had not treated him well. 
 Prior to his birth it had been impossible for her to 
 remember her condition and then ugh, wasn't he his 
 father's child? Terezia on the very day of his birth^ a 
 month ago had detected a similarity of expression. And 
 though the poor little mite had been born with a crop of 
 dense black hair, he had already begun to grow down of a 
 reddish tint. "Every day he grows more ugly more re- 
 pellent." Terezia never minced her words. Women of her 
 disposition revel in adjectives. When she was happy she 
 
REVOLUTION 43 
 
 was "gloriously happy,'' when unhappy (a frequent slate 
 of affairs) "there was no more miserable wretch in the 
 kingdom." The two states knew no intermediate line. 
 Like her beauty her mood was flamingly apparent. 
 
 Maternity suited Madame la marquise de Fontenay 
 (old Ravoral had breathed a sigh of relief when he'd paid 
 her his first visit of congratulation). She had risen from 
 her confinement with a skin of such dazzling purity and 
 eyes of such extraordinary brilliancy that her very physi- 
 cal perfection astounded her friends. 
 
 Terezia touched the baby. He had stopped crying and 
 was smiling as if half realizing a rare treat. 
 
 "Poor little thing," she said. "How funny it seems to 
 be so tiny. Look at his hands" (she uncurled his fingers), 
 "they are really rather sweet." 
 
 Christina beamed. 
 
 *'You'll grow to love him yet." 
 
 ^'Christina, you are an old fool. Why will you believe 
 in me.''" 
 
 "For old times' sake." 
 
 The girl-mother nodded and tickled her son's neck. 
 *'Once upon a time I was a dear little girl," she told him, 
 "so obedient (was I ever obedient, Christina?), so prim, 
 so painstaking. Here, take him, Christina ^he is so hot. 
 Don't look like a thunder- cloud. Ai! there is something 
 struck!" She jumped to her feet, flew across the room 
 and pushed back the heavy curtains. "I can't see any- 
 thing. It is horribly dark." 
 
 A vivid sheet of lightning played above the dense woods ; 
 in an instant and for an instant the whole grounds were lit 
 up. Across the courtyard clattered a pair of horsemen 
 darkness. 
 
 Terezia had, however, glimpsed M. de Fontenay. "It 
 serves him right," she said. "Won't he be in a rage ! He 
 is as frightened of water as a cat. I expect they are 
 drenched to the bone. I hope he will stay in bed and let 
 Charles cosset him, and you can brew him one of your 
 famous drinks as long as I don't see him. Christina . . 
 
M TORCHLIGHT 
 
 Christina ! I refuse to be left alone ! Where are you go- 
 ing to?" 
 
 "It is time for his milk. Charlotte! Charlotte!" She 
 went through the big door calling for "that lazy baggage 
 -the wet nurse. . . ." 
 
 Of course the women were bound to quarrel. Christina 
 was ludicrously jealous of Charlotte's enormous privileges. 
 It rather amused Terezia^ that is to say when she was 
 utterly at a loss for amusement. 
 
 Now she stood listening, one finger to her lips. She was 
 thinking hard. Then she smiled. "I'll chance it,'* she said. 
 "Life is too horribly dull I adore thrills and excitement, 
 and why, to please one man's insensate temper, should I 
 shut myself up as a hermit ? I have given him a son. My 
 conscience is perfectly en regie I can afford my little 
 pleasures . . . mon tres cher Adolf." 
 
 She seated herself at her pretty writing-table and fever- 
 ishly scribbled a note, presumably to her "tres cher 
 Adolf." 
 
 Her heart beat rapidl3\ She felt intensely alive. The 
 little letter, which she presently addressed in a careful 
 hand, was packed full with lies and passion. She wrote a 
 very good love-letter considering she only worked from 
 imagination. 
 
 She lay down presently on her chaise longue face down- 
 wards on the little soft feather pillow, sprinkled with violet 
 perfume. Her long limbs were stretched in slothful repose. 
 With a gentle beat of her finger-tips she made her calcu- 
 lations if no untoward incident occurred she was as safe 
 as le petit Georges . . . she passed her tongue over splen- 
 did lips . . . until to-morrow was a whole eternity. 
 
 Suddenly as it had begun, the hailstorm ceased. 
 
 Terezia fell fast asleep. And the little note, which she 
 had so artistically penned, inconsiderately slipped from 
 her hand to the floor. 
 
 Monsieur le Tnari half out of a sense of duty and half 
 out of suspicion as soon as he had donned dry clothes and 
 drunk a cup of bouillon, knocked at madame's door; get- 
 
I 
 
 REVOLUTION 45 
 
 ting no answer, he boldly entered the room, walking, in his 
 comfortable velvet slippers, as noiselessly as a cat across 
 the floor. He stopped by madame's couch, and watched 
 her flushed face, the smile of her half-opened "rosebud" 
 mouth. (He did not flatter himself that she was dream- 
 ing agreeably of her "great big tyrant.") By chance his 
 eyes fell away from madame's enchantingly rounded elbow 
 to the side of the sofa ; noticing a letter on the floor, he 
 picked it up; he looked at it, and pocketed it. Then, 
 silently as he had entered, monsieur made his departure. 
 
 Terezia, needless to say, when she discovered her loss 
 and her "indescribable folly," worked herself up into a 
 state of feverish excitement. 
 
 Practical Christina soothed her as well as she might. 
 
 "It is very late, long past midnight. Nothing can be 
 done to-night. Just you go to sleep, like a dear child. The 
 angels will watch over you." 
 
 "Nonsense! What do I care about the angels.'^ You 
 must make inquiries at once." 
 
 "And awaken suspicion?" 
 
 "Find out who has stolen my letter. It's is positively 
 indecent the way I am treated in my own house ! I am sur- 
 rounded by spies, by enemies by monsieur's inflexible 
 hatred. He hates me! It is his only joy to cause me 
 pain." 
 
 Christina threw back the sheets on the great bed. Then 
 she took forcible hold of the excited marchioness (aged just 
 sixteen), and with considerable muscular power assisted 
 her into bed. "I won't answer a single question," she said 
 sternly. "I'll never help you again as long as you live if 
 you don't do as I tell you. Take it calmly, madame.'* 
 
 Terezia, looking very dejected, said Christina was a 
 brute, and that she truly and honestly disliked her, and 
 that she had long suspected her of being heartless. 
 
 Christina meanwhile was quietly folding her mistress's 
 clothes and putting the room in order. 
 
 Terezia sat up in bed. "You are not even listening to 
 me. It is the very height of insolence ! I will make my 
 
46 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 arrangements. M. de Lameth will protect me. He adores 
 me.'' 
 
 *'When will you realize the folly of putting pen to 
 paper.'*" Christina blew out the lights on the dressing- 
 table. 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "There may be a duel." 
 
 ^'A duel ! A duel ! M. de Fontenay can storm and back- 
 bite and kick up fearful rows, but he'd never hazard an 
 honest fight. I know my man." 
 
 "After all, madame, he is a gentleman." 
 
 *'Come here, Christina, and I will tell you something 
 which I always meant to keep to myself because I am so 
 ashamed of the whole disgraceful affair. Nearer. I am 
 not going to shout." 
 
 Christina bent over her and buttoned madame's fragile 
 nightdress. "What is it?" 
 
 "Such a scandal. So much for his boasted lineage!" 
 (she snapped her fingers). "You remember the story of 
 his family jewels?" 
 
 "Yes, madame." 
 
 "You are not in a witness-box, or in a church. Don't 
 be so stiff, Christina. I am sorry I was nasty just now. 
 You are not a brute, really. Forgive me." 
 
 "There, there, my precious. I would do anything in the 
 world for you, if you would only be good." 
 
 "I promise faithfully " 
 
 Christina sighed and regarded her "little baby" with an 
 exquisite and rare smile. After all, why should she con- 
 demn her, sinful as she was? Youth and beauty have their 
 privileges. 
 
 Terezia fondled the faithful creature's hand. "It is all 
 a fraud," she said. "He is only a mushroom marquis the 
 son of a low tradesman, and the grandson of a lacquey. 
 He bought the title, he bought the jewels, he bought me!" 
 She nodded her head. "It is every bit true. Isn't it 
 awful? Christina, dear Christina, you'll send a message to 
 M. Longueville? He is my only friend. I can trust him. 
 
REVOLUTION 47 
 
 He respects me, and he's very sorry for my abominable 
 position. Though I knew nothing, it was an open secret 
 at the time of our marriage. And how he boasted, and 
 mamma too, of his splendid position and fortune. I don't 
 believe he has even got money. I am sure he is crippled 
 by debts; or else he is the meanest monster alive. Is it 
 any wonder I despise and hate him? I am so young." 
 
 Christina bit her lips and scowled. "I always felt there 
 was something wrong. You will be revenged yet. Take 
 my word for it." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "How can I say? I am no sorceress." 
 
 "I wish you were ; then you could turn him into a tad- 
 pole and drown him comfortably in the pond, and no one 
 would accuse you of murder. If a man behaves as a toad, 
 why shouldn't he be treated as a toad? Monsieur de Fon- 
 tenay has behaved infamously." 
 
 "Who has told you all this?" 
 
 "Monsieur de Ravoral." 
 
 "Just like his impertinence. Can't he mind his own 
 business ?" 
 
 "He knew we were always quarrelling." 
 
 "A fine way of making peace." 
 
 **He acted for the best. I have a clear case against mon- 
 sieur le marquis ; I'll divorce him for incompatibility of 
 temper." (She yawned.) "I am awfully sleepy. Good 
 night, dear Christina. I feel much calmer. Get word to 
 Monsieur Longueville, and I will forgive everything." 
 She banged at her pillow "It is hard." (Christina 
 shook it.) "That is better. Of course, when I was asleep 
 Devin crept into the room and stole my letter. That is 
 perfectly clear. He'll have no scruples about reading 
 it." She laughed heartily. "Oh, Christina, it is such a 
 letter ! I expect his hair will be green to-morrow Chris- 
 tina? " 
 
 "Go to sleep." 
 
 "In a minute. Is the door bolted to the passage?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
48 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 "To the nursery?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Then for mercy's sake lock it carefully. There is 
 murder in the air." 
 
 "Good-night." 
 
 "Good-night. . . . How I wish I had Adolf here to 
 protect me . . ," she called drowsily. 
 
 "The idea !" snapped Christina. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 TVyT ID-DAY a week later. Monsieur de Fontenay is 
 -^^-^ standing very erect by the ornate chimney-piece in 
 his own magnificent salon. On her knees Terezia 
 Terezia very smart in an "adorable costume" (to quote 
 herself), white organdie muslin, patterned with tiny pink 
 rosebuds, over a white satin slip ; a wide sash of blue silk, 
 touching her little high-heeled, buckled shoes ; her hair ar- 
 ranged in a profusion of curls, golden, perfumed, glisten- 
 ing ; on her wrist, dangling by blue ribbons, to match her 
 sash, a wide Leghorn hat trimmed with shaded pink roses 
 in her eyes a mutinous and yet imploring expression. 
 
 ". . . See, I kneel to you," she said. "I ask your par- 
 don only let me out ! For one week I have suffered ex- 
 cruciating agony. I feel I am dying. For one week you 
 have kept me literally behind lock and key and made the 
 most frightful insinuations against my character. In 
 reality there lives no better woman in France." 
 
 Terezia ended her speech, and raised imploring eyes to 
 the ornate ceiling. Then she sighed profoundly doubled 
 up as it were (an extraordinarily pliant woman), she al- 
 most touched the floor with her golden curls, and let the 
 "most adorable hat in Paris" trail in the dust. This last 
 is but a figure of speech to represent Terezia's incalculable 
 self-pity there was not a particle of dust in madame's 
 salon. 
 
 Flowers, pretty furniture, lovely pictures, a miniature 
 library, a harp (of course), and an ivory and gold harp- 
 sichord if only the spirit of harmony and love had 
 reigned in this charming room, what an enviable frame 
 it would have been for a pretty woman! 
 
 49 
 
50 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 The fly in the ointment was very apparent. The fly in 
 this case was red-headed, apoplectic and domineering, 
 sneering insufferably superior. 
 
 "No," he said icily. "I am going to be master in my 
 own house! As you cannot, madame, behave properly, 
 you must be taught manners. I won't be made the laugh- 
 ing-stock of all Paris." Devin stroked his bristly 
 moustache, and stamped his feet. 
 
 "I did no wrong. You yourself admit the letter was 
 . . . (sobs) never ... delivered." 
 
 "Get up from the floor, and don't whine. Who has paid 
 for that dress? I married a pauper, the daughter of a 
 common swindler " 
 
 "You fiend !" She rose with surprising agility, sprang 
 forward, and with her little hand wide outspread, she 
 soundly boxed monsieur's very visible ears. 
 
 Lord, a bully cannot stand a straight attack! Tere- 
 zia's heart contracted, at first, in terror at her dramatic 
 effort and then leaped in bubbling delight at the effect of 
 her action. 
 
 Monsieur collapsed like a spent bubble ; he shivered. 
 
 "Don't," he said. "For mercy's sake remember your 
 dignity and mine." His teeth chattered. 
 
 The roses in Terezia's cheeks matched the roses on her 
 garlanded hat. 
 
 "You to lecture me," she said slowly, towering over the 
 little man. "I have long known the truth of this, par 
 exemple,^* (She stroked a jeweled brooch set as a basket 
 with different precious stones which she wore at her 
 breast.) . . . "An heirloom once in the possession of 
 Marie de Rohan a brooch of great intrinsic worth, but 
 of still greater sentimental value." She turned and looked 
 out of the great French window on to a high terrace a 
 wide sweep of landscape garden below, bathed in July 
 sunshine. "And this old family estate, sacred to many 
 
 memories " She looked monsieur straight in the face. 
 
 "Behold the owner of all this splendor the signeur 
 steeped in noble traditions the representative of a famous 
 
REVOLUTION 51 
 
 name You see I remember, I really have quite a good 
 memory." 
 
 The blood receded from de Fontenay's face. His eyes 
 bulged, and his lips trembled. If his life had depended on 
 it he could not have answered the beautiful, mocking 
 creature. 
 
 "You made a fool of me," she said calmly. "Had I 
 loved you I would have been furious. As it happens it is 
 for me a matter of complete indifference. I would have 
 loathed you just as much had you been the son of a hun- 
 dred heroes instead of the child of a sausage manufac- 
 turer. Marseilles, I believe? Sausages must have been 
 popular or haven't you paid for the jewels and the 
 chateau? Don't tell me anything. In any case I wouldn't 
 believe you." 
 
 "You may sneer, madame. My father was an honest 
 citizen. His excellency, the Comte de Carrabus " 
 
 "My father is a good man." 
 
 **A fraudulent banker " 
 
 *'He created joy " 
 
 *^0n the brink of a precipice " 
 
 **Some of us are bound to go over. Papa had the mis- 
 fortune to miscalculate his distance." 
 
 "A common felon, madame." 
 
 "Remember I am his daughter !" 
 
 *'A disreputable " 
 
 "The most beautiful woman in France ! And I take it 
 the saints forgive my behavior ^nay, encourage it. It is 
 their way of making amends for my deplorable mar- 
 riage. . . ." She folded her hands very piously. "Have 
 I not shown heavenly resignation to an unkind fate?" 
 She leaned over towards him. "Now are we even," she 
 whispered, and touched him lightly on his arm. "Let me 
 go my own way, and I will never breathe the word sausages 
 again. I will wear the Rohan jewels in perfect good faith 
 I will, to my friends, speak kindly of n^y good-natured 
 husband. . , , Hein? Is it a bargain, my great big 
 tyrant ?" 
 
52 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 Hg stroked his moustache, 
 "It is all a lie " 
 
 "I'll agree on condition- " 
 
 "What do jou want" 
 
 Madame pointed her finger to a delightful carriage, 
 which at that moment swept past the window, and dropped 
 a deep curtsj. "I want monsieur's gracious permission 
 to drive into Paris to meet my friends. Monsieur will 
 remember that Madame Vigee Lebrun is at present en- 
 gaged in painting my portrait it is most important that 
 the sittings are continued." 
 
 "On condition you return home to-night." 
 
 "I make no conditions." 
 
 "I won't have it!" 
 
 She drew on her soft kid glove, smoothing it carefully 
 on her arm. "You can be quite at ease. I am staying 
 with the Cardilacs. Claire insists on it. She is a great 
 dear, is little Claire. I love her.'^ She sighed. "It is a 
 perfect day. I intend to have a lovely time. Au revoir, 
 my dear Devin. Look after le petit Georges. He was 
 crying for you last night." 
 
 He could not find words to answer her superb insolence. 
 
 He not only let her go, but he conducted her to her car- 
 riage waving the grim Christina aside, and folding the 
 rug about her delicate dress. 
 
 Terezia was in the seventh heaven of delight. She could 
 not help beckoning Christina on the off-side of the car- 
 riage and whispering in her ear: 
 
 "He is a vile little toad and I have squashed him to 
 
 jelly."_ 
 
 Christina scowled so ferociously at this remark that the 
 very coachman, who happened to look round, almost 
 dropped his reins. But Terezia laughed as an irrepres- 
 sible, happy child: 
 
 "Partons !" she cried. "A Pavenir !" 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 T70R Terezia, engrossed by her own pleasant thoughts, 
 ^ the dusty drive into Paris passed rapidly enough. 
 
 She hardly glanced at the desolate fields or, for the 
 matter of that, remembered the hail-storm which had done 
 all the damage. The sun was shining; there was a deli- 
 cious breeze and she had triumphantly got her own 
 way! Sufficient cause to drive away any melancholy 
 thoughts. 
 
 Now and again with half-pitying contempt for their 
 laziness she would glance at the pedestrians who, singly or 
 in groups, were plodding towards Paris. They all looked 
 repulsive; unwashed, with evil expressions. One or two 
 women actually raised a fist and shook it at her pretty 
 carriage, accompanying the unbecoming gesture with gut- 
 tural and utterly unbecoming language. Happily Terezia 
 didn't catch their remarks or understand their rude patois. 
 Probably her coachman did ; the nearer they approached 
 the city the more he urged his gallant grays to their top- 
 most speed. Terezia liked a good pace. She only laughed 
 when the wheels of the carriage caught in an extra deep 
 rut which nearly tossed her out on the dirty roadside. 
 The carriage righted itself by a miracle ; indeed the public 
 roads were shockingly kept. 
 
 They entered Paris and drove to M. Cardilac's house, 
 which was situated opposite the Bank of France. 
 
 Terezia, assisted by her little pocket mirror, adjusted a 
 wind-blown curl, pulled at a ribbon and smoothed her 
 very smooth cheeks with an infinitesimal wisp of cambric, 
 dipped in some toilet unguent. 
 
 Pouff! The town smelled horrible! and what a lot of 
 common people about! What wretches to walk calmly in 
 the middle of the streets and hinder her progress ! 
 
 53 
 
54 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 Terezia snapped the lid of her dear little gilt etuiy which 
 contained her cooling lotion (an infallible remedy against 
 sunburn and heat), and spoke to her coachman. 
 
 "Hurry," she said. "As it is I am late. Tell those 
 people to get out of the way.'' 
 
 She in her turn shook her little jeweled fist (it was so hot 
 she had taken off her gloves) at an excitable group of 
 men and women standing stock-still in the middle of the 
 street, stretching horribly thin and eager necks at an ef- 
 figy, carried aloft by one of their members a veritable 
 giant he, with arms as of a bronzed Hercules. 
 
 The coachman had to pull up his horses. He shouted 
 to the crowd it shouted back at him, without budging 
 an inch. 
 
 Terezia smiled at a man in the crowd a stalwart 
 peasant, almost good-looking in spite of his scowl. The 
 youth stared back at the lady and spat on the ground. 
 Terezia turned her charming head in another direction and 
 met a sea of angry faces. 
 
 Suddenly the crowd leaped away as if at a given signal, 
 howling and waving their trophies. 
 
 The dappled grays quivered. 
 
 The coachman, who had been very red in the face, turned 
 an ugly sickly gray. 
 
 "Madame," he said, looking round. "It is best to re- 
 turn to Fontenay. Paris is not safe to-day." 
 
 Terezia looked up at him with superb scorn. "Do 
 you think I am frightened by a set of hooligans.? Drive 
 on!" 
 
 The coachman whipped up his horses. There were 
 many faces at the windows of the tall houses lining the 
 narrow street. Nearly everyone glanced at Madame de 
 Fontenay's splendid carriage. Here and there a shrill 
 laugh rang out, or an unmistakable oath. 
 
 A burly tradesman, who had once sold Terezia a pair of 
 silk stockings, and never forgotten the fact or the beauty 
 of his customer, ran out of his shop door, after her car- 
 riage. 
 
REVOLUTION 55 
 
 "Madame !" he called. "Madame !" 
 
 Terezia, recognizing the fellow, waved her hand and 
 smiled. 
 
 "Bon jour, David," she called. "What a lovely day." 
 
 She was for passing on, but the hosier laid a detaining 
 hand on the low carriage door and the coachman puUed up 
 at once. (It gave him great pleasure to do so.) 
 
 "Have you not heard the news, madame la marquise?" 
 panted the man. "There were riots last night. Lamoig- 
 non burned in efRgj in the Place du Dauphin for eighteen 
 hours the people shouted and danced. Blood was shed to 
 the accompaniment of fireworks. M. Necker's portrait 
 was publicly insulted. May I advise you, madame " 
 
 Terezia shook her head gently. 
 
 "They ought to be punished," she said. "What are the 
 police thinking of? Thank you so much for telling me. 
 . . . Drive on, Baptiste." 
 
 Baptiste galloped his horses down the empty street 
 towards the Pont Neuf. By some miracle the angry 
 crowds had dispersed. The hosier (good man) returned 
 to his quaint little shop, cursing the folly of women. 
 
 On the famous bridge facing the equestrian statue of 
 Henry IV., Terezia found herself in fresh difficulties. Her 
 horses were peremptorily held up by a score or so of dirty 
 hands. A score or so of dirty faces hemmed her dainty 
 freshness. One man had tlie audacity to poke his ragged 
 head under the hood of the carriage and to lay an in- 
 describably dirty hand on madame's dainty shoulder. 
 
 "Madame is pleased to descend," he said. "Citizens, 
 shall this pearl escape penance?" 
 
 "No !" roared the excited crowd. The women hedged 
 close. A child howled and was not reprimanded. No one 
 heard its shrill screams. 
 
 Terezia was hustled from her pretty carriage, far more 
 annoyed than frightened, and conducted by the hooting, 
 shouting, dancing mob, opposite a huge figure made of 
 straw, surmounted by a grinning mask and a black wig. 
 Before this ungainly effigy she was told to kneel, to fold her 
 
56 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 hands, to back away and curtsy three times. The rules and 
 regulations of the ceremony were very strict. Terezia, 
 deeming resistance unpolitic and meaningless, did as she 
 was told, and with such charming grace that even that 
 graceless crowd of long-suffering humanity ceased to howl 
 and continued to stare. Was the lady actually of their 
 own flesh and blood? 
 
 A young girl, attenuated by want and suifering, stealth- 
 ily drew near and slipped eager fingers across the blue 
 freshness of T6rezia's sash. She had never in all her 
 life touched silk. . . 
 
 In her cool drawing-room, behind carefully-closed 
 blinds, Claire sat reading, awaiting the arrival of her 
 friend. 
 
 Claire was absorbed in the romance of Paul et Virginiey 
 by Saint-Pierre. The book had been very well received. 
 Claire loved it and frequently wept over the pathetic pas- 
 sages ... at times she would lay down the book and pic- 
 ture herself and her cousin in one or other of the poignant 
 situations. For reasons which have nothing to do with 
 this history, Claire was still in love and still unmarried. 
 M. le cousin had business abroad, and his frequent love- 
 letters were Claire^s chief solace in life. One day . . . no, 
 we will not allow ourselves to pry into a young girPs day- 
 dreams, except to tell you that they were altogether rosy 
 and altogether doomed to disappointment. Even in ro- 
 mances, such as Saint-Pierre's masterpiece. Fate hovers 
 dim, unrecognizable, a secret agent and how much more 
 so in the inexorable scheme of existence.?^ 
 
 Poor little tender Claire, who this afternoon was weav- 
 ing yet another thread into her tapestry of dreams, how 
 very little she understood the beginning of the end! In 
 fact, when old Tourozel, the family retainer, had retailed 
 with emphasis the business of these last days, and had ex- 
 plained the nature of the explosive (human) material 
 huddled in the damp nether dens of Paris smoldering 
 
REVOLUTION 57 
 
 and catching heat by very physical contact she had only 
 sighed and had finished her dinner with a good appetite. 
 
 She was one of the many. 
 
 So few of us see the crack in the wall, but we all feel 
 its collapse. . . . 
 
 Claire did not look an hour older or an hour wiser than 
 when we last met her at Marie- Antoinette's dinner-party. 
 She still believed in her dear Terezia, and considered her a 
 much-maligned and injured young woman. She could not 
 look at Devin de Fontenay, the actual cause of so much 
 misery, without shivering. Oh, why had dear T^rezia 
 married him? She would have been so happy with . . 
 even Claire, faithful little Claire, found it difiicult to name 
 the gentleman. AnyoTie would have been preferable to a 
 bully, a man of furious jealousy and low suspicions. Un- 
 consciously Claire repeated Terezia's indictment. Dear 
 Terezia had during the last year used up a vocabulary of 
 poignant language to express, all too inadequately, the 
 woes of married life. 
 
 Claire would sigh and soothe and sympathize on every 
 occasion where her sympathy was demanded, and often 
 acted as an unconscious intermediary in restoring her dear 
 friend's shattered nerves. She realized that her own deep 
 compassion couldn't always meet the case. There were 
 other friends who had a right to administer comfort to the 
 disillusioned bride. "Men were much kinder than women,'* 
 Terezia would remark, "always with the exception of her 
 incomparable Claire," And Claire never contradicted 
 anyone willingly. , 
 
 Presently Terezia burst into the cool drawing-room, a 
 very whirlwind of excitement. She flung herself into the 
 arms of her friend, 
 
 "I am so glad to see you. My dear! My dear!" 
 
 "What has happened?" 
 
 "I have been nearly killed." 
 
 "Terezia!" 
 
 "Or at least trampled on and insulted. Do look at my 
 shoulder, I believe it is bruised. It is aching horribly." 
 
58 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 "Never tell me Devin has dared to touch you !*^ 
 
 "No, no. That is another story. Darling, I have 
 once and for always silenced M. de Fontenay. Aren't you 
 sorry for me.'^" Terezia sank into a convenient chair. 
 "I was too clever to move as much as an eyelash. I paid 
 no regard to my dress. I knelt on the hard stones, sur- 
 rounded by a gaping crowd. Bah! ^how they smelled! 
 Darling, I am hot! Lebrun will be in despair. She is 
 just at the complexion, and no imagination can do justice 
 to my skin. I must get cool." Terezia unloosened the 
 strings of her garlanded hat. 
 
 Claire handed Terezia a charming fan, hand-painted on 
 parchment. 
 
 "I don't understand,'^ she said. "Have you had an 
 accident?" 
 
 "An accident, '* she murmured. "She calls it an acci- 
 dent! Have you been out to-day?'* 
 
 "No.'' 
 
 "Nor yesterday?" 
 
 "Yesterday I was hdping in the still-room. Marie is 
 iU ^" 
 
 T^rfeia waved her hand, "Precious, what is the good of 
 living in Paris ? There is a riot in the town." 
 
 "That is very true, I remember. Tourozel was speak- 
 ing yesterday of unseemly rabbles who parade the streets 
 and who shout for no reason at all. It is very sad." 
 
 "Sad? It is shocking! One can't drive in one's own 
 carriage without being molested by unspeakable ruffians. 
 Why doesn't the king act?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 *'The government is to blame. The watch are hustled 
 and flouted by lawless demons ! Why don't they fill up the 
 Bastille? A great big place like that going to waste! If 
 I were a man I'd soon restore order." 
 
 "I wish something could be done," said Claire, kissing 
 her friend. 
 
 Presently Terezia changed the conversation. She was 
 not really interested in politics, and she was annoyed with 
 
REVOLUTION . 59 
 
 her majesty, who hadn't given her an appointment at 
 court. Her majesty was apparently deeply engrossed in 
 domestic affairs. Public festivities and state entertain- 
 ments were rare in Paris in 1788. Everyone kept quiet, 
 except the rabble and Mirabeau. Mirabeau was scream- 
 ing himself hoarse. It was altogether a baffling, odious 
 situation. If Calonne hadn't squandered the national 
 funds nothing unpleasant would have occurred. . . . 
 
 K]Jalonne was an infamous rascal. 
 (A very little while ago Calonne had stood at the sum- 
 ait of his popularity. How shifty is the wind of favor.) 
 The young girls lunched alone. Just as they were rising 
 rom the table in walked M. de Ravoral. 
 
 "Am I late?" he said. "What exquisite vision do I see? 
 Madame de Fontenay, more lovely than ever. How is the 
 baby?" 
 
 "As well as ever," laughed Terezia. 
 
 "And you yourself? One need not ask.'* 
 
 "I have been in Hades for one week." 
 
 *'Tant Trdetuv, To-day you can appreciate heaven the 
 better. Pain and pleasure are built on contrasts." 
 
 *' Allow me to offer you some breakfast, monsieur," said 
 Claire. 
 
 "I have feasted enough," said the gallant Ravoral, 
 bowing his ludicrously bald head to both the ladies. 
 
 Terezia knelt on a chair ^her elbow on the table. 
 
 "You are original, madame," said de Ravoral, apprising 
 her attitude. 
 
 Terezia floated to her feet (no other word signifies the 
 grace of her movement). 
 
 "No, only uncomfortable. I have had an adventure 
 to-day. The people stopped my carriage. Imagine !" 
 
 "You ought not to drive alone. Surely one of your 
 many admirers " 
 
 "Legions, monsieur, and never one to hand when he is 
 wanted. It is a melancholy fact." 
 
 "And incredible. What are you ladies doing this after- 
 noon? if I may be so indiscreet as to ask." 
 
60 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 Terezia clapped her hands. 
 
 "Come with us. I have an appointment at Madame 
 Lebrun's studio at three o'clock, I would value your 
 opinion on my portrait." 
 
 Count Ravoral knitted his brows in thought. (He 
 always did that when he had arrived at a definite con- 
 clusion.) 
 
 "As it happens, I am bound to see my publisher. It 
 seems I write a difficult hand, and invention is ever the 
 easiest course out of a difficulty." 
 
 *'Yes, monsieur," said Claire, without knowing in the 
 least what Ravoral was talking about, as he absently de- 
 voured a crisp roll. She spoke to fill up a pause, and 
 while the wrinkles were clearing on RavoraPs domed fore- 
 head. 
 
 "I have it. If you will allow me, mademoiselle, I will 
 write a note to Panchouche and ask him to send my proofs 
 to Madame Lebrun's studio. While the lady is immortal- 
 izing her just fame, and the most famous face of the cen- 
 tury, I can run through my copy. Only flagrant mistakes 
 matter when it comes to print. The public are of all 
 bodies the most long-suffering." 
 
 "Maybe," said Terezia. "But at times they are in- 
 sufferably trying. Can you understand the temper of the 
 people? Are they mad?" 
 
 "Sanity and madness are so closely allied, it would tax a 
 stronger brain than mine to define their exact gravity. I 
 would not, madame, swear to anything." 
 
 "Yet you look prodigiously grave. Do you think they 
 are likely to chop our heads off? these barbarous sav- 
 ages!" Terezia laughed at her own wit. 
 
 "Who knows? I am, madame, believe me, absolutely in 
 the dark as to the people's intention." 
 
 "What does his majesty say about the situation?'* asked 
 Claire, lifting her beautiful dark eyes to Ravoral's bald 
 ugliness, 
 
 "Nothing, mademoiselle, as might be expected.'* 
 
 "They tell me the queen is looking pale," said Terezia 
 
REVOLUTION 61 
 
 B\she liked airing her intimacy at court, and made much of 
 the confidences of a ci-devant lady-in-waiting now too 
 corpulent to do much else than talk) . 
 
 "Poor lady; I have it in my heart to pity her majesty," 
 said de Ravoral, solemnly. 
 
 "Oh I" said Terezia, genuinely surprised. "How can 
 you pity a queen! Such a delightful position. I'd love 
 to be a queen." 
 
 "The uncrowned queens are often of greater signifi- 
 cance." 
 
 "I thank you, monsieur." (Terezia tossed her head.) 
 "I have never envied a Dubarry." 
 
 "True, madame, she lacks intelligence. No, she is not to 
 be envied." 
 
 "A real queen- 
 
 "Is sometimes a real woman- 
 
 Claire sighed. "Her majesty is so beautiful and digni- 
 fied " 
 
 "And proud. Yes, mademoiselle." 
 
 Ravoral brushed the crumbs from his fancy waistcoat 
 (skin-tight). "I am satisfied that the strongest man will 
 win. Far worse than the queen's pride is the latest report 
 on Mirabeau's health." 
 
 "Hateful man," said Terezia, who remembered a feather- 
 weight slight. 
 
 "His health is dangerously impaired and yet he never 
 spares himself. He has the energy of ten men, and the 
 strength of your baby, madame." 
 
 "Really.?" 
 
 "Mirabeau is an astonishing product of the times. The 
 pity is he over-exerts himself. He is the one man in 
 France who might modify her destiny." 
 
 "I thought you disliked him," 
 
 "Intensely. But I also admire him. I always respect a 
 clever man who takes himself seriously." 
 
 "I don't see his cleverness," 
 
 "You wouldn't, madame." 
 
 "You mean my opinion is of no consequence? You 
 
62 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 are astonishingly polite, monsieur." Terezia's blue eyes 
 glittered dangerously. She could suffer a million com- 
 pliments, but the faintest disparagement of her abilities 
 always made her mad. 
 
 Ravoral smiled as engagingly as he could with his loose- 
 set lips. "I am afraid Mirabeau would underrate you. 
 But then, of course, he is a monster. Allow me, ma- 
 dame " He offered Terezia his arm, and conducted 
 
 her into the salon. 
 
 On their way he managed to restore sunshine. How? 
 What he whispered in her ear must remain a secret. 
 
 "My friend " began Terezia, touched to the heart. 
 
 She paused on the threshold of the Cardilacs' stiff salon 
 and left her sentence unfinished. With a little cry she ran 
 across the room. 
 
 "Georges," she said. "Georges, am I dreaming!" 
 
 Georges de Boisgaloup was standing in the embrasure of 
 the window. He had no idea he would meet Madame de 
 Fontenay in Paris. He had come to say goodby to 
 Claire, before joining his regiment, at Valence, on his 
 appointment as an officer of artillery. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 GEORGES came forward and bowed with ceremonious 
 politeness to the ladies. Terezia, recollecting her 
 manners, swept him a deep curtsy. M. Jlavoral rubbed 
 his bald pate. He was trying to remember . . in two 
 seconds he had remembered ^he smiled, and very ^adroitly 
 he asked Mademoiselle Claire to have the goodness of 
 heart to show him where he could pen his note to Pan- 
 chouche. Mademoiselle asked monsieur to have the kind- 
 ness to follow her into the library. 
 
 Terezia quite forgot to signal to her friend. When she 
 wanted an audience of a private nature, she had to make it 
 very clear to dear Claire that she needn't hurry back and 
 disturb her. Nor admit anyone else. She remembered 
 nothing but that she hadn't seen Georges for nearly two 
 years ... an eternity! 
 
 Ravoral acted very kindly by Terezia. In M. Cardilac's 
 comfortable library he detained Claire. He begged her to 
 transmit to her father a message of a private character. 
 He had not been looking well, M. de Cardilac. They 
 talked of dear papa's health for quite a reasonable time. 
 And then, adroitly, Ravoral turned the conversation on 
 the amazing merits of that young diplomat M. le cousin. 
 This occupied quite half an hour. And the winged min- 
 utes flew for Claire. . . . 
 
 As to the pair in the drawing-room, they were both a 
 prey to emotion. Georges had done his best, by intense 
 application to his studies, to forget Terezia, (A method 
 which on occasions sharpens memory.) 
 
 She was more lovely than he had supposed imaginable, 
 more seductive, more humble, more loving, more contrite, 
 more despairing. ... 
 
 83 
 
64 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 What could he do but hold her in his arms, promise 
 eternal devotion, and kiss her passionately? 
 
 Terezia's whole demeanor pointed to this natural solu- 
 tion of callous resolves. Georges clean forgot his prom- 
 ise to Napoleon Bonaparte. He clean forgot that he had 
 sworn to forget a woman, worthless enough to throw him 
 over in favor of "a despicable little wretch." 
 
 All Georges' sense of chivalry rose at sight of Terezia's 
 distress . . she did not say very much she continually 
 broke off her pathetic confidences to ask if Georges still 
 loved her? Georges wrapped his arms around her and 
 kissed her mouth. His arms were as steel he was tall and 
 manly and altogether improved. She loved Georges with 
 all her broken heart. He loved to hear' her soft voice, 
 but above all he loved to feel her beating heart respond 
 to his own, and the warm loveliness of her incomparable 
 self. 
 
 "How handsome you are," said Terezla. "Why was I 
 such a weak woman? I had to give in. . . ." 
 
 "Are you happy, Terezia? Moderately happy?" 
 
 Terezia kissed his sensitive mouth. "You dear, silly boy, 
 who can be moderately happy?" she asked, with wet eyes 
 and trembling lips. 
 
 "You have your child, madame. I heard of his birth. 
 May he console you." 
 
 *'He never will," said Terezia, with honest conviction. 
 She shuddered. "Don't speak of him ! He reminds me of 
 all kinds of horrible situations. God! Do you realize 
 what it means to be in the power of a man you detest?'* 
 
 "My darling!" 
 
 "You always were so sympathetic. Do you remem- 
 ber . . ," 
 
 (They remembered many things during the next half- 
 hour. They lost count of time. They were intensely 
 miserable, intensely happy.) 
 
 "Tell me about your plans," said Terezia presently. 
 
 *'I am joining my regiment at Valence. It is a trouble- 
 some quarter, and we may see fighting." 
 
r 
 
 r"Oh! 
 
 ^^^^ oc i-f 4-r\ cl 
 
 REVOLUTION 65 
 
 'Oh !'* moaned Terezia, and put her hand over her eyes 
 as if to shut out a painful vision. "I hate the idea of you 
 fighting. Think if you were killed! Do you know what 
 I would do the instant I heard such terrible tidings? I 
 would commit suicide." She nodded her head and disclosed 
 a pair of beautiful and very calm eyes. "Indeed I would." 
 
 "Terezia, you must not talk so wickedly." 
 
 *T feel wicked. I want you, Georges, and no one else. 
 I will come to Valence will you have your little Terezia? 
 . I will cook for you and work for you and look after 
 our little home. A sub-lieutenant cannot afford a man- 
 sion. Am I not wise?" 
 
 "You are adorable." 
 
 "Do you mean it, Georges?" 
 
 "With all my heart and soul." 
 
 "How I love you!" 
 
 "Darling." 
 
 Somewhere about here Terezia heard the approach of M. 
 de Ravoral and dear Claire. M. de Ravoral was talking 
 very loudly. 
 
 Terezia put up her hands and adjusted her "adorable 
 hat." (She had got to the stage when she didn't care if 
 it was adorable or not.) She wanted to look tidy and 
 discreet. She moved away from Boisgaloup and seated 
 herself at a table and commenced turning over an album 
 of verses. 
 
 "Have you friends In Valence?" she asked in a smooth, 
 "company" voice. 
 
 "No, madame." 
 
 "That is sad." 
 
 "I shall have to depend on the society of my brother 
 officer, Bonaparte we have joined the same regiment." 
 
 "Wasn't he the studious, disagreeable young man?" 
 
 "Very studious. I don't find him disagreeable. We 
 have the same interests." 
 
 "Par exemple?" 
 
 "We talk over the future and pore over maps. Bona- 
 parte is never tired of studying the map of Europe. He 
 
66 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 IS a queer fellow, but interesting. When he talks no dream 
 seems too ambitious." 
 
 "Quite a superior young man. . . . There you are, dear 
 Claire. I and M. de Boisgaloup have just been wondering 
 where you were." 
 
 M. de Ravoral expressed great remorse at his selfishness 
 in detaining mademoiselle. 
 
 Terezia generously forgave him. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 TT IS nearly three o'clock," said Claire. "And you 
 know, Terezia, how cross Madame Lebrun gets if 
 
 you keep her waiting.' 
 
 ^True, very true. Is the carriage there? Monsieur 
 Boisgaloup, have the kindness to look out on the court- 
 yard the window is just outside, in the passage." 
 
 "Certainly, madame." 
 
 "It seems rude to leave him behind," said Claire, as soon 
 as the young man had left the room. 
 
 "Darling, we'll take him with us," cried Terezia tri- 
 umphantly. "Madame Lebrun never minds company ; the 
 more the better, she says. Artists are so generous." 
 
 "Sensible creatures," chimed Ravoral. 
 
 Georges returned and announced that M. de Cardilac's 
 carriage was waiting the convenience of the ladies. 
 
 Claire explained with some trepidation that circum- 
 stances prevented her staying at home and entertaining 
 her guest. She expressed her regret very prettily. 
 
 Georges bowed and said that he was also very sorry, and 
 hoped that the next time he called on Mile, de Cardilac he 
 would be more fortunate. 
 
 Terezia buttoned her glove and, without glancing up, 
 suggested to Claire that monsieur if he had nothing bet- 
 ter to do ^would be welcome in Madame Lebrun's studio. 
 "She is such an interesting woman," said the marchioness. 
 
 Georges had heard of the lady's reputation. He re- 
 gretted extremely that he couldn't avail himself of the 
 pleasure of accompanying the ladies. 
 
 *'Why not.'"' asked Terezia, raising her heavenly eyes to 
 the ceiling with an expression to match her gentle query. 
 
 "My mother expects me," said Georges. 
 
 **Ah!" said Terezia. She quickly looked down again 
 
 67 
 
68 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 at her immaculate gloves. ("The old vixen!" she 
 thought.) 
 
 "Monsieur,'' said Ravoral, twirling his cane, "filial 
 affection is beautiful to behold." 
 
 "Monsieur Boisgaloup has always been a pattern son," 
 explained Terezia, coldly. 
 
 "You flatter me," said Georges. "I leave Paris to- 
 morrow." 
 
 Terezia looked up hurriedly and met RavoraPs keen 
 glance. She did not care a sou what he thought of her! 
 Georges must not leave Paris without seeing her again. 
 He mustn't ! 
 
 *We cannot spare you," she said lightly. "Why, I 
 have a thousand things to tell you." She turned to Rav- 
 oral. "Monsieur Boisgaloup and I are old friends. When 
 we first came to Paris four years ago my mother and 
 I stayed with Madame Boisgaloup. She was so kind." 
 
 "Indeed.'*" said Ravoral. "Now you mention it I re- 
 member the fact quite well. I have the honor of Madame 
 Boisgaloup's acquaintance; a charming lady of unim- 
 peachable virtue. Maybe a trifle too strict '* 
 
 He left his sentence unfinished as Claire entered the 
 room with her hat on and her little reticule over her bare 
 arm. Claire never went anywhere without her bag. She 
 was the soul of neatness. 
 
 Terezia held out a refractory glove to Georges. "But- 
 ton it," she commanded. "Go on, dear Claire. It'll save 
 time. I'll follow in half a second. Don't wait for me, M. 
 de Ravoral." 
 
 With a sardonic smile Ravoral followed his hostess. 
 "What a woman," he said emphatically. 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "Pardon, mademoiselle; you." 
 
 ^'Mademoiselle, you are altogether too much of a saint." 
 Claire smiled. "Indeed, sir, I am not very strict." 
 At the bend of the staircase old Ravoral looked up. "A 
 quick settlement is often an advantage," he said. He had 
 
REVOLUTION 69 
 
 caught sight of Terezla's fluttering draperies, and the 
 arched beauty of her foot. Behind her came Georges, 
 carrying her fan, and looking wonderfully solemn. 
 
 Terezia, during the short drive to the studio (which 
 passed without any untoward incident), was decidedly 
 sulky. 
 
 The old gentleman, on the little seat opposite the ladies, 
 respected their silence. Only once did he speak. "A 
 deuced clever woman," he murmured aloud. 
 
 "Who?" laughed Claire. "Ah, monsieur, restrain your 
 language." 
 
 "I beg your pardon, mademoiselle. I was alluding to 
 our mutual friend, the widow Boisgaloup." 
 
 Terezia tossed her head. "She is as cunning as a fox," 
 she said. "And though she is only about the size of a 
 doll, she rules her taU son completely." 
 
 "Madame," said Ravoral, "let us hope your son wiU be 
 brought up on the same excellent principles." 
 
 "I wouldn't hamper my child with a code of morals 
 utterly out of date. To tell you the truth, Claire, I de- 
 spise a henpecked man." 
 
 "Georges is so splendid," said Claire enthusiastically. 
 
 Terezia didn't answer. 
 
 Ravoral sucked the head of his cane (a distressful 
 habit of his) and chuckled. 
 
 Terezia, seated on the dais in a charming attitude, was 
 the cynosure of all eyes. M. Ravoral was scanning his 
 proofs, but they only had half his attention. He liked to 
 watch Madame Vigee Lebrun at work ^with what light- 
 ning rapidity she wielded her brush how she laughed 
 and chatted and smiled and frowned and disagreed in a 
 wholly agreeable fashion. 
 
 She was a woman of fashion and an artist of high repute. 
 She could command her own price and choose her own 
 patrons. No wonder she found life charming. 
 
 Her mouth was soft and humorous, the lips red enough. 
 Her brown eyes were full of vivacity. She was below 
 
70 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 medium height, rather inclined to plumpness. She gener- 
 ally wore a turban on her little head, a gay-colored hand- 
 kerchief which half concealed her russet-tinted hair. 
 Madame Lebrun was rather proud of her curly locks, but 
 she was by no means a vain creature. 
 
 For an hour Terezia had kept her position, and now, as 
 the soft-toned grandfather clock chimed a quarter past 
 four, the artist laid down her brushes and stepped back 
 to scan her canvas. 
 
 "Don't move, madame," she called to her model, "I 
 want an unbiased opinion on my work. Come here, young 
 man, and tell me frankly if you consider it successful." 
 
 Terezia smiled, and looked kindly at Panchouche's mes- 
 senger. He hadn't been five minutes in the studio, but, if 
 she'd known him a lifetime, she couldn't have been more 
 sure of his feelings. She didn't like men who considered it 
 necessary to hide their admiration under a respectful 
 glance. She appreciated the youth's bold-eyed approval 
 of her charms. Never since he had entered the room had he 
 taken his eyes off her face for a moment. Now he actually 
 started, as if struck, at Madame Lebrun's sharp command. 
 He sauntered over to the easel, with his hands in his 
 pockets. Terezia liked his audacity. This man of the 
 people looked as if the whole world belonged to him. 
 
 He was a tall, dark young man, loosely strung together, 
 poorly dressed (poor fellow!), with a flashy necktie, and 
 well oiled black hair. His nose was ludicrously long (no, 
 he wasn't handsome), his red lips were thick and smooth, 
 while his teeth were surprisingly even. In the presence of 
 his betters he smiled, perfectly at his ease, in spite of 
 Ravoral's angry frown evidently he looked down upon 
 his "superiors." Here was a type essentially modern, a 
 type unknown to her, full of mystery and charm. . . . 
 His eyes? No, she couldn't describe his eyes were they 
 black, blue, gray? His glance as, he looked up from scru- 
 tinizing the picture on the easel was thrilling. Involun- 
 tarily she shivered, and lowered her eyes before his immense 
 stare . . Ah, she thought, he wouldn't be afraid to meet 
 
REVOLUTION 71 
 
 man or devil, and in love he'd scale superhuman heights. 
 The men of her class lacked primitive strength weaklings 
 all. She paid a passing thought to Devin, a con- 
 temptuous, withering thought, quite forgetting that he'd 
 sprung from the same stock as "Tallien." She'd caught 
 his name all right. Ravoral had condescendingly ad- 
 dressed the young man by name, when he had handed him 
 his proofs, "Thank you, Tallien," he'd said. His tone 
 had sent the blood surging into Tallien's rather pale 
 cheeks . . , one day he'd retaliate. She dimly sensed his 
 hatred and his power. Terezia felt convinced that she had 
 before her in spite of his deplorable clothes and no less 
 deplorable taste in neckties a coming man ... he would 
 be great one day ; he would command ; he would make other 
 men cringe in front of him as frightened dogs. She closed 
 her eyes in ecstasy, seeing Tallien with the whip hand 
 raised in action . . he'd never hit her he'd defend her 
 with his own blood, if necessary. She took a deep breath 
 and shut her eyes and leaned back in her chair, exhausted. 
 
 "You are tired," said Madame Lebrun, "I've almost 
 finished for to-day." 
 
 *'Give me five minutes," murmured Terezia, "and I will 
 be at your disposal, madame." 
 
 Tallien had forgotten the portrait. His bold eyes re- 
 mained fixed on Madame de Fontenay. 
 
 Old Ravoral, highly amused, nodded his bald head. 
 What a providential bolt from the blue, sent to stanch 
 her wounded vanity ! That astute gentleman never found 
 any trouble in piecing two and two together. If the lovely 
 Terezia held young Georges' heart, the widow, his mother, 
 retained his filial obedience ; as a lover he was "impossible." 
 The lady's palpable annoyance in the carriage had made 
 this very clear. A boy with a fierce sense of honor 
 wouldn't suit her humor as if all the promises in the 
 world didn't fade before the sublime law of love! , . . He 
 saw her point of view. In his youth he'd always taken it. 
 
 Truth to tell, the bald-headed gentleman had estimated 
 the situation to a nicety. Never in all her life had Terezia 
 
72 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 felt so insulted. Never had Georges felt so miserable. 
 Wrath had sat on her brow and imperiled virtue. Georges, 
 at the poignant moment of separation ^which he could 
 have put off, if he'd wanted to had never found her so 
 lovely, so desirable. "Listen, darling," he'd said "when 
 
 I come back " "No, thank jou she'd no use for a 
 
 devout lover who was also a devoted son," On the full 
 tide of her wounded dignity she'd sailed out of his life in 
 the wake of old Ravoral (full of curiosity) and that guile- 
 less Claire who never saw anything. She'd walked down 
 the stairs, not vouchsafing the miserable Georges another 
 glance or word. . No wonder the darling was glad of 
 a new distraction to modify her "cruel disappointment." 
 
 "I am impatient, sir, to hear your approval or your 
 condemnation," called the goddess from the throne, clasp- 
 ing her beautiful arms round her knees, and opening her 
 shining eyes upon Tallien, full of astonishing vitality and 
 condescension. 
 
 Old Ravoral with one bleared eye enjoyed the comedy 
 highly. Sot to voce he repeated his comment "what a 
 woman !" 
 
 Little Claire did not understand anything at all. 
 Madame Lebrun considered that Madame Fontenay 
 showered distinguished consideration on an unknown, 
 frankly plebeian young man, who conducted himself with 
 amusing ostentation. If she knew anything of human 
 nature, young Tallien would not long remain an obscure 
 printer's devil. He said as much himself. On the slight- 
 est encouragement this youth of twenty-four would will- 
 ingly have detailed to the company his life's history ... 
 it was a comical situation. 
 
 Ravoral encouraged the audacity of Panchouche^s mes- 
 senger. At every pause he slipped in a suggestion he 
 righted as It were the little boat and sent it down the 
 stream again the stream of blatant self-satisfaction. 
 Any other "lackey" in his position would have trembled, 
 blushed, and answered the ladies' condescending questions 
 in monosyllables. Tallien talked like a book, he aired 
 
REVOLUTION 73 
 
 his knowledge, he gave his advise (unasked), he had the 
 superb effrontery to criticize M. de Ravoral's spelling and 
 punctuation he even suggested an amendment in the text. 
 Terezia laughed. Madame Lebrun laughed. Claire smiled. 
 Ravoral, repeatedly nodded his billiard-ball head. Tallien, 
 lounging against the wall, did not realize the nature of the 
 sensation he was creating. 
 
 Terezia gazed delightedly as this young giant in trade, 
 with a very serious air, leaned over the easel holding her 
 unfinished portrait. He looked from the picture to the 
 lady. 
 
 "The mouth is too small," he said. "Why diminish 
 those lips? They are perfect of their kind. You have 
 got the expression of her eyes to a nicety, madame. I like 
 the pose of the head, and the way the shoulders set. Here, 
 with advantage, a softening touch of lace would break the 
 line in the background. On the whole the portrait is a 
 work of art." 
 
 Madame Lebrun, suffocating with ill-suppressed laugh- 
 ter, nodded her head. "Thank you, good sir. I am much 
 obliged. You have given me some invaluable hints. 
 Where, if I may ask, have you studied art?" 
 
 "In Paris and abroad." He looked at Terezia, who was 
 still watching him with flattering interest. "I have always 
 been an ardent admirer of Spain and Spanish artists. In 
 my opinion, Velasquez stands alone." 
 
 "Perhaps," said Madame Lebrun, sarcastically, "you 
 have studied under him? If so, you have been fortunate in 
 your master." 
 
 Old Ravoral chuckled. (She'd caught him nicely.) 
 
 Tallien with complete unconsciousness informed Madame 
 Lebrun that he had not had that privilege. He was only 
 an amateur. He regretted that his parents had chosen for 
 him an uncongenial career. "It is no pleasure to get 
 scolded for another man's carelessness," said he, staring 
 in a pointed manner at our author's proofs. 
 
 Ravoral almost collapsed at this sally. 
 
74 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 "You will get on, young man, like a house on fire," he 
 said. 
 
 "When the fire starts." 
 
 "Eh!" The old man looked up. "You have talents 
 behind jour folly. Don't waste them." 
 
 "On the contrary, I am storing up every ounce against 
 an emergency." 
 
 "How do you intend to win your fortune.?" asked 
 Terezia, very slowly. 
 
 He looked at her with overpowering admiration. "Ah, 
 madame, if I knew I would not be here. We are all play- 
 things of chance. I can bear my present obscurity by just 
 being able to glimpse my future greatness." 
 
 Terezia gave the young man a ravishing smile. 
 
 *'Do enlighten us," she said. "It is always so thrilling 
 to hear a declaration of faith." 
 
 "There is gold and honor and fame and love in store for 
 me, and vengeance on those who have hitherto hindered 
 my ambition. It is written." 
 
 "How very interesting," drawled Ravoral. "Here, my 
 lucky young friend, take this back to your master with my 
 compliments" (he handed Tallien his proofs), "and tell 
 him he has the very devil in his apprentice. He ought to 
 clap such a dangerous seer into prison, or marry him to 
 his daughter." 
 
 "She does not interest me," said Tallien coldly, drop- 
 ping Ravoral's proofs on the floor. 
 
 Madame Lebrun laughed aloud. "Don't go! Ask him 
 to stay, monsieur. He is as good as a play. I have been 
 dying of ennm all the morning." 
 
 "Continue," said Ravoral, turning his back on Tallien's 
 tall figure. 
 
 "If monsieur would indicate the direction.?^" 
 
 ^Wherever your invention pleases," answered Ravoral, 
 without looking round. 
 
 "I have never invented a situation, though I've told 
 many a lie." 
 
 *'Here is a promising subject for the charitable," said 
 
I 
 
 REVOLUTION 75 
 
 Terezia gaily. "Monsieur de Ravoral, don't be so rude! 
 Offer this prodigy a post more worthy of his talents. 
 Would a secretaryship suit you, sir?" 
 
 Tallien met her glance with a bold stare, 
 
 "That depends on my employer." 
 
 '^If he is the most charming man in Paris?'* 
 
 "I would be jealous of him, madame.'* 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 "In that case he would be your lover.'* 
 
 "Oh!" Terezia gasped. Tallien, for all his ugliness, 
 pleased her enormously. 
 
 He took a step forward, trod on M. de Ravoral's manu- 
 script, and, with a disdainful gesture, took it up and 
 dropped it into his pocket. 
 
 And he kissed the goddess's outstretched hand. 
 
 He bowed to the company in general. "We will meet 
 again," he said, in the tone of a man conferring a favor. 
 In another minute he had gone, before Ravoral had had 
 time to realize his abominable insolence, banging the door 
 after him. They could hear him whistling down the stairs 
 one of the anti-royalist songs of the day. 
 
 "A firebrand," murmured Madame Lebrun, looking 
 thoughtful. "I wouldn't wonder if we did hear of him 
 again. What do you say, M. de Ravoral?" 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 *'Times are changing." 
 
 Claire sighed and looked up, sweetly. *^There were 
 riots last night," she said. 
 
 Old Ravoral got up and bowed before the young girl. 
 "Take my advice, mademoiselle," he said, "and follow M. 
 le cousin abroad. He'll understand and forgive your indis- 
 cretion." 
 
 "I swear you are right, sir," said Madame Lebrun. 
 "Thank God I've got my passports in order." 
 
 "You stand apart, madame. How seldom do we find 
 beauty and genius combined. Go, go, go, all who can." 
 
 "How foolish," said Terezia. She rose, and came down 
 from the dais, looking a trifle giddy. "I intend to stay. 
 
76 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 There's poor, darling Claire blushing^ Fie, sir, to wound 
 her tender modesty." 
 
 "It's not a question of modesty, it's a question of life, 
 mesdames," said the artist. "I adore life." 
 
 "So do I," said Terezia, slowly. 
 
 "Ter^zia!" 
 
 "Yes, dear?'' 
 
 "What are you thinking of? I have spoken to you 
 twice," said Claire, affectionately slipping her hand 
 through her friend's arm. 
 
 "Of love," said Terezia. She drew herself up to her 
 full height. 
 
 "Mes compliments, madame," said Ravoral. 
 
 Claire looked from one to the other, as she tied her 
 bonnet-strings. "Why, what has happened?" she said. 
 
 "It isn't a laughing matter, sir. And love is out of the 
 question," said Lebrun. "Kick 'em, I say! We are too 
 lenient." 
 
 "Or too indolent " 
 
 "The king " 
 
 Ravoral bowed. "As a figure-head he's played out 
 as a personality he never existed." 
 
 "I have always been loyal, sir." 
 
 "Madame, for centuries my family have tied the royal 
 night-cap." 
 
 "We all know your traditions, sir and your pride. 
 Talk to the queen. Something ought to be done." 
 
 "So we've said for centuries." 
 
 "In the meanwhile " 
 
 "The queen makes butter, and the king turns out a very 
 pretty key, only it'll never unlock a door. We're up 
 against fate, madame, and several generations of injustice. 
 I see it, if not as clearly as our friend Mirabeau, at least 
 sufficiently plainly to advise the rich to leave the country 
 to the poor. They'll play ducks and drakes with it for 
 a time" (he took a pinch of snuff) "excuse me, madame 
 and then they'll be very happy to be beaten. We 
 
I 
 
 REVOLUTION 77 
 
 have the traditions, madame. I look upon blood as in- 
 vincible." 
 
 Terezia yawned. "What are jou talking about?" she 
 said. ''Monsieur, I never take any interest in politics. It 
 must have been a game invented by a stupid man." 
 
 "It seems dreadful if it is true that the people 
 haven't enough to eat," said Claire. "One hears the most 
 terrible stories." 
 
 "Mademoiselle, I've heard worse facts," 
 
 "It is true, then?" said Lebrun. 
 
 "Only too true, madame, and a great deal besides." 
 
 "You believe " 
 
 "Nothing of what I hear, and only a certain part of 
 what I see. Enough to make my hair, if I had any, stand 
 on end." 
 
 "As I said before, sir, it is not a situation to be glossed 
 over with witticism. I hate wits! I've had to do with 
 them all my life. And I tell you frankly, sir, their folly 
 is astounding." 
 
 "When I gravely counsel mademoiselle, noire toute 
 helle^' (he bowed to Terezia who was looking at her por- 
 trait), "and you, madame, to flee this distracted, hell- 
 ridden France, you merely laugh. By laughing myself 
 I hope to encourage your gravity." 
 
 "What can they do, after all?" said Madame Lebrun, 
 looking out of the window. "Look, cheriey" she put her 
 arm round Claire's supple waist, "there's a representative 
 body of our masters, marching across the square. Have 
 you ever seen such horrors? There are women, too 
 tattered, blackened, disiieveled women . . . and little chil- 
 dren. God pity them." 
 
 She closed the window. *'Don't let's look at them. 
 Don't let's think of them." She curtsied to Terezia. 
 "We meet to-night at the opera," she said. 
 
 "It's as good as a play," said RavoraL 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 npHE fall of the Bastille woke the queen to feverish 
 *- activity. She had been dawdling on the brink of a 
 volcano. Obviously she must remove herself and her fam- 
 ily (including the king) to a position of safety. 
 
 During the hot nights of September, 1798, she felt as if 
 air was denied her. She awoke choking. She would throw 
 out her arms as if searching for support hardly knowing 
 what she did poor, distraught lady. The one thing cer- 
 tain was that she'd keep her fears to herself. She would 
 rather die than flicker an eyelid or yield an inch in face 
 of the infuriated populace. Was she the cause of their 
 suffering, their hatred, their crimes? She mocked the 
 futility of so paltry a lie. She had had nothing to do 
 with the government. She could not stem the tide of just 
 complaints. Good God, if the people couldn't get bread, 
 why didn't they eat cake.?^ 
 
 Maybe, in a spirit of misplaced levity, she had used 
 some such term, when the dismal situation was explained 
 to her with suave loyalty. . . . She might have done so. 
 How her words were brought up against her ! She had to 
 face a blank wall of callous indifference. The Royal 
 house of France no longer mattered to the people of 
 France. 
 
 In secret her majesty collected her jewels, and trifles 
 of sentimental value. She was for ever selecting, discard- 
 ing, and reinstating a bauble. There was much talk in 
 the immediate royal entourage. A noble gentleman of 
 foreign lineage, to wit Count Fersen, was seen frequently 
 in the queen's society. He seemed to exercise a soothing 
 influence on the royal lady. In all that hubbub of inac- 
 curacy he alone exerted a sensible authority. He was a 
 
 78 
 
I 
 
 REVOLUTION 79 
 
 born courtier and an accredited diplomat. He also loved 
 the queen with devout homage. 
 
 She listened to him she wavered she promised "to 
 look into matters." If necessity called for action the king 
 would act, she said. 
 
 Frail promise! And yet his majesty had the "best in- 
 tentions." His rather passive heart was set beating at 
 the rapid turn of affairs. 
 
 He would seriously consult some capable man say M. 
 de Mirabeau. M. de Mirabeau was far too much taken up 
 with the vital business of life and death to find time to 
 listen to his majesty's eternal platitudes. Louis favored 
 the idea of throwing as many buns as possible to the irate 
 bear. If it came to the worst, in his own royal person, 
 with all the paraphernalia of state and trappings of roy- 
 alty, he'd face the angry populace and speak to his people, 
 as man to man. Surely, in face of such unprecedented 
 condescension the people would submit to necessity and 
 go quietly home ? He did not ask for more. All he wanted 
 was peace. 
 
 Count Fersen listened attentively to his majesty's sug- 
 gestions, bowed profoundly, and by his humble silence gave 
 the troubled king to understand that he understood his 
 fatherly goodwill towards his stiff-necked subjects. 
 
 The queen continued in feverish haste arranging her 
 wardrobe, packing her jewels and restricting, to strain- 
 ing-point, her court. All who wished, among the aris- 
 tocracy of France, were at liberty to travel abroad, 
 pending a satisfactory settlement of the internal troubles 
 at home. 
 
 Only a few availed themselves of their opportunity. 
 
 Down in hot Paris the ferment remained unabated, and 
 day by day, night by night, it gained in vigor. As in a 
 foul disease, infection spread to all classes. No longer 
 did the hooligan, the ragged vendor of matches and boot- 
 laces, stand alone; he was surrounded by "respectable" 
 people, deputies, waremongers, newsvendors, little clerks 
 and pretty seamstresses. Like a monster snowball the 
 
80 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 crowd grew. Yelling fishwives elbowed no less yelling 
 laundresses. Fat old men, in tawdry nightcaps, hugged 
 the arms of spruce young dandies all alike imbued with 
 the spirit of fraternity and liberty. 
 
 No one exactly knew what all the hue and cry was 
 about. Some wanted bread honest bread; others hun- 
 gered for indigestible fame and all suspected each other ; 
 these strenuous young men marching under no flag, 
 preaching dissension, socialism, revolution. . . . Suspicion 
 hung ripe in the heated air. At any moment the storm 
 might burst. What were the people waiting for? Shout- 
 ing wasn't good enough. Howling wasn't good enough. 
 Mirabeau, dying by inches, held them in check. It Was 
 a fine time for the advent of a great man. France held 
 but one and he was dying. She also held sedition and 
 murder, and ungovernable hate. 
 
 The queen wrote again to her father. His majesty took 
 his time in answering her letters, and when he did so, used 
 very guarded language. It was all rather in the nature 
 of a nightmare, preposterously improbable. At times the 
 queen danced gaily with her little children in the pretty 
 gardens of the Trianon, and refused to believe her own 
 ears. All was false false false! False as ugly, wicked 
 rumor! There wasn't a spice of danger in the air. Lis- 
 ten the bees were murmuring; see the butterflies were 
 reveling in the golden autumn air. . . . The next year 
 would come, a splendid year. There'd be a rich harvest 
 and bread enough for everybody. Why should people 
 starve? It was entirely against the king's wish. The 
 king loved his people. She'd show herself in Paris. She'd 
 drive about the streets and let the people look at her. 
 Surely that would calm them ? the beasts ! 
 
 She'd caught sight through the heavy spiked railings 
 of her pretty rose-garden ^her private garden of some 
 dreadful faces, inhuman faces, watching the little dauphin 
 and Princess Elizabeth playing by the fish-pond. The 
 little boy was fishing with a little gilt rod, and his sister 
 was sailing a little green boat with white silk sails. 
 
I 
 
 REVOLUTION 81 
 
 I 
 
 The queen rose from her garden seat, and called the 
 children indoors. Safe in their nurseries, she locked the 
 door and sat down by the window and wept. 
 
 "Why are you crying, madame.?'* asked the dauphin. 
 
 "I'm not crying," she said. And she raised her head 
 and laughed, *^Come away," she said. "We'll all go away 
 together," 
 
 "Where.?" 
 
 "Anywhere," she said wildly. 
 
 "And papa?" 
 
 "He'll come with us. And Madame Elizabeth and kind 
 M. de Fersen. Children, we'll travel north and live in a 
 big, big foresL I'll cook the food " 
 
 "I'll make the beds." 
 
 "Yes, darling." 
 
 "I'll fish the fish." 
 
 "Yes, darling." 
 
 "Let's start at once." 
 
 The queen put her hand to her forehead. *'IVe forgot- 
 ten," she said. "I've something to do." 
 
 She kissed her children, went into her own rooms, and 
 began feverishly unpacking a box she'd packed that 
 morning. 
 
 A tragedy is never so acute as when it is simple. Poor, 
 distraught lady your worst nightmare was not one-half 
 as terrible as the reality. Remember, she left her children 
 alive. She followed in the murdered king's footsteps, and 
 she left her children to the living world. A racked, mad 
 world with a little home-made god, in sky-blue clothes, 
 at the head of affairs. She knew the future god by sight 
 Deputy Robespierre had long had his eye on her. He 
 was antagonistic to Mirabeau. He had his own adherents 
 and large words, terrible words. Even as a little deputy 
 in the representative chamber called together by the 
 king's clemency (or folly, rather) he had made himself 
 heard. He spoke as a man, they said as a devil, we 
 say, with an apology to Satan. At his very first sight 
 of the queen he'd noticed her head. He'd looked up at her 
 
82 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 and smiled. ^'She'll be pretty, by and by,'* he mur- 
 mured sentimentally. Young Tallien who'd stepped up 
 the lower these hell-spawn plunged the higher they 
 stepped applauded him. "Capital," he agreed as it 
 were reading Deputy Robespierre's hidden meaning. His 
 glance wasn't in the least veiled. The queen took it 
 grandly. How she despised these fellows! How she de- 
 spised them! She never feared them, never once. It was 
 Fate she warded off an implacable, cruel fate, which had 
 designated her (and hers) to pay off in person a very 
 ancient score ... it had to be . . . there is never an end 
 to evil, or evil blood. Civilization, education, tradition 
 call it what you will is the flimsiest excuse in existence 
 for excesses. Fraternity, equality, liberty likewise. 
 When order runs riot, heaven recedes. Mirabeau tried to 
 weather the storm. He was caught in a whirlwind and 
 died. You remember his state interment and all the fine 
 things said about him.? A kind of ghastly humor over 
 the affair. Never had Robespierre attended a funeral 
 in higher spirits. We can see him, fanning his face with 
 his black-edged pocket handkerchief, weeping into it croc- 
 odile tears. "Glory, glory, glory ..." The guns 
 saluted the passing of a hero (and a man). The people 
 cheered not the dead but the living. 
 
 Away in Versailles, the queen sat in her garden; M. de 
 Fersen at her feet, reading poetry. Her ladies in a pretty 
 group in the background. Her children on two little 
 stools one nursing a doll and the other mending a kite. 
 Down the long avenue walked his majesty, with his head 
 held high. His majesty had no time for poetry. He had 
 just saluted the queen's hand a very white hand against 
 her ample robe of blue brocade and walked off, engaged 
 upon the ponderous consideration of national affairs . . . 
 his majesty was perfectly assured of its just issue. He 
 never like the queen dreaded his fate ... an anointed 
 king has a very solid position in life. . . . 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 ^EREZIA yawned. 
 
 "You can speak until to-morrow evening," she said, 
 crossly, "but you'll never convince me that you are right. 
 Why should the time be ominous? People have quarreled 
 before and got over it, I am very well read in history. 
 My poor father gave me an excellent education." 
 
 "Did he?" said Madame de Lameth, quietly, 
 
 Terezia didn't observe the skeptical tone of her voice, 
 nor the slightly incredulous lifting of madame's pretty 
 eyebrows. In her heart of hearts Madame de Lameth 
 despised her dear friend Madame de Fontenay, not on 
 account of her husband's partiality in that quarter, but 
 because she knew that she was a vain and insincere woman. 
 She was far too bright herself to be jealous of a vulgar 
 flirt, who adored kissing, and who loved no one (the little 
 brunette had summed up the character of the beauty to a 
 nicety) but herself. She couldn't (and she didn't try to) 
 convince poor deluded Alexandre that she was right. Te- 
 rezia's loveliness, in her later teens, was too intoxicating 
 to leave any room for doubt in a male mind as to her per- 
 fection; she was, according to her many admirers, "alto- 
 gether beautiful." The Madame de Lameths could only 
 wring their hands at such folly and keep silence if they 
 were wise. "Give a woman a long enough rope and she'll 
 end by hanging herself," is a valuable maxim. The idea 
 that Terezia was bound to fall sooner or later into 
 a pit of her own digging, consoled the ladies who possessed 
 indifferent features and volatile husbands. "A face bl 
 face, what is in a face?" they asked. 
 
 Terezia, who laughed behind their backs jealousy is 
 such an amusing quality in your friends to their faces 
 
 S3 
 
84 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 was fond of airing her little stock of brains, which she 
 exaggerated quite fabulously. Would you believe it? she 
 considered herself quite as clever as she was beautiful. 
 And, as a set-off to her natural talents, she had her 
 "splendid education." At times she'd quite impress stran- 
 gers by the magnitude of her learning. They'd had no 
 idea that Spanish young ladies were so strictly brought 
 up. They'd always imagined they were allowed a certain 
 indolent freedom, more attention being paid to their de- 
 portment and dancing than to their spelling and gram- 
 mar. "Oh, no," said the marchioness, aghast at such 
 ignorance. "I had six tutors and six governesses, all 
 instructing me at the same time different subjects, of 
 course." Then she'd smile her bewildering, lovely smile. 
 And all the men believed in her, on their oath. In her soft 
 warm hand she held the sceptre of triumphant woman- 
 hood. 
 
 Alexandre had unexpectedly after luncheon T^r^zia 
 had driven over to spend the day with her friends been 
 obliged to leave for town. Madame de Lameth had been 
 quite distressed. Terezia had taken it calmly. 
 
 The ladies were seated on the west terrace so sunny 
 and cheerful. Terezia was playing with a white rose 
 she was all in white herself her beautiful eyes kept roving 
 round the well-kept gardens, admiring their brilliant au- 
 tumn coloring. 
 
 "How peaceful it is," she said. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Yet, what would life be without excitement and 
 love.?" 
 
 "Love affairs bore me.'' 
 
 Terezia gave Madame de Lameth a wondering glance. 
 "Why? You are quite pretty," she said. 
 
 "I'll tell you a secret. I'm a happy woman. A happy 
 woman has no need for love affairs." 
 
 *'I can never have sufficient." 
 
 "Pm satisfied with Alexandre." 
 
 **Are you so sure of him?" 
 
REVOLUTION 85 
 
 "Entirely. He flirts with every woman in Paris in- 
 cluding yourself, darling." 
 
 T^rezia wasn't going to be browbeaten by a little 
 woman with a sallow skin, too. "I love your husband," 
 she said lazily. "One day, when you're horrid, we intend 
 to run away together." 
 
 "Well, my dear, I can't do more than encourage him. 
 Didn't you hear me implore Alexandre, not an hour ago, 
 to let me go to Paris while he stayed and entertained 
 
 you?" 
 
 "I heard you.'* 
 
 "Wasn't it unselfish?" 
 
 *'No. You didn't mean it. Madame, have you heard 
 the news from Versailles?" 
 
 "Too terrible for words. The rabble actually forced 
 their way into the queen's private apartments. They 
 menaced her and the royal children." 
 
 "The king behaved nobly." 
 
 "Weakly." 
 
 *'He promised '' 
 
 "A king acts he doesn't promise! Once again he has 
 let an opportunity slip." 
 
 "What could he do?" 
 
 "Assert his authority.'* 
 
 "M. de Ravoral says he hasn't any." 
 
 "M. de Ravoral for all his nightcap traditions is the 
 greatest socialist I know. He also stands aside to be 
 trampled on. It's maddening. We'll lose our heads by it, 
 see if we don't. What a thousand calamities that Mira- 
 beau is dying, before he has finished his work. It isn't 
 kind of God to make unnecessary trouble in this world." 
 
 "Who cares about him! He deserves his fate. I'm a 
 fatalist, darling." Terezia rose, and walked up and down 
 the terrace, looking very superlative indeed, in her white 
 silk frock, her white silk sash, her white transparent silk 
 stockings and her white satin high-heeled shoes. Over her 
 arm she trailed a long scarf of Brussels lace. 
 
 "And you're a dear," she said, kissing the little lady. 
 
86 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 iC 
 
 I promise you I'll never run away with Alexandre, at 
 least not with your Alexandre. Swear you won't tell him? 
 I hate hurting people's feelings but I've ceased to love 
 him entirely and for ever; I never said a truer word. 
 Cherie,'' She clutched her friend's shoulder. "Look at 
 me. Trust me. You do believe me.?" 
 
 "Who is he.?" 
 
 "The other man.?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "How did you guess?" 
 
 "I'm a witch or a sensible woman." 
 
 *'You are more than sensible, you are wonderful. Guess 
 again." 
 
 "He's in the house." 
 
 ^'You're a miracle ! He doesn't know it himself." 
 
 "I wonder." 
 
 "Don't. It is a fact. I adore him and he is ignorant 
 of my feelings. Isn't it a tragedy?" 
 
 "Knowing my husband's secretary, I'd say yes. He's 
 an abominable man." 
 
 Terezia nodded. "Don't you see? That is just what 
 makes him so attractive. There are heaps of nice men, 
 just like your sweet Alexandre, all eyes, poetry, sighs 
 and not an atom of feeling. This Tallien is a furnace. If 
 he touches my hand it'll bum like fire. If he looks at me 
 I'll flame from head to foot. I've lain awake in my big, 
 lonely room sobbing for him. That's love!" 
 
 "He's an impostor." 
 
 "No matter!" 
 
 "He's lazy and impudent." 
 
 "No matter! How long has he had his present post?" 
 
 "Some three or four months. A recommendation from 
 M. Barras. My cousin Paul is an authority whom we 
 can't afford to neglect." 
 
 "I've never met him." 
 
 **Just as well." 
 
 "I'm not so greedy as you think. Honestly, Tallien, 
 c^est suffisanf. Has he made love to you?" 
 
ft 
 
 f REVOLUTION 87 
 
 "Pouif ! The idea! For the matter of that, his repu- 
 tation is scandalous.'' 
 
 "It would be," she said softly. "I tell you he's a man 
 of fire." 
 
 "I find him detestable." 
 
 "Are his parents living.?" 
 
 "I've never inquired. I presume his birth isn't his chief 
 attraction." 
 
 "In a way, yes. Imagine the man's audacity ! By birth 
 e ought to pull down our carriage steps dirt beneath 
 our feet, my dear. Through his own merits he has raised 
 himself " 
 
 "In these topsy-turvy times that's no merit." 
 
 "Naturally he's been lucky," 
 
 "Oh, very." 
 
 "Madame, where are you hiding him.?" 
 
 "He seldom lunches with us." 
 
 "I intend to see him." 
 
 "Don't be a fool, Terezia. I've always declared that 
 you are not a bad woman, only a silly child. How old 
 are you?" 
 
 "Nearly seventeen." 
 
 "How's the baby.?" 
 
 "Quite well ask Christina. Hush ! I hear steps. Dar- 
 ling, I'm going to ask him to my party." 
 
 "You'll do nothing of the kind. He's not of our world." 
 
 "A new element." 
 
 "A dangerous one." 
 
 "Just look how he has got on. A year ago he was at 
 Pantouche, a needy printer's devil, earning kicks and 
 pence. Now he is at a gentleman's house, at a gentle- 
 man's occupation. Next year M. Tallien will employ his 
 own secretary." 
 
 "Et puis.?" 
 
 Terezia looked dreamily in front of her. "After that 
 he'll earn fame and love and wealth." 
 
 "Splendid. Who's told you.?" 
 
 "He himself." 
 
88 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 "So you've met before?'' 
 
 "Once." 
 
 T'ja!" 
 
 "It's quite true. It was a year ago at Lebrun's studio. 
 I remember everything, as if it were yesterday . , . love 
 is faithful." 
 
 Madame de Lameth got up. *^I've no patience with 
 you," she said. "I'll tell Christina to whip you soundly." 
 
 "I'm in earnest." 
 
 "So am I. In my heart of hearts I've always liked you. 
 You are more sinned against than sinning. Such a hus- 
 band! Poor dear! Come in, and you shall have a big 
 pear and look at little Alexandre in his bath. How time 
 flies! It is four o'clock." 
 
 "Look," said Terezia; "there he is!" 
 
 M. Tallien in quite a creditable coat and almost an 
 elegant necktie he had improved came towards them, 
 with his hat in his hand, bowing deferentially. 
 
 ^'Excuse me, mesdames," he said in his deep voice, look- 
 ing at Terezia. "I am searching for M. de Lameth." 
 
 "He left for Paris after lunch." 
 
 "A thousand pardons." 
 
 Madame de Lameth walked on. He stepped up to Ma- 
 dame de Fontenay. "Am I forgotten.'^" he whispered. 
 
 "No," she murmured. 
 
 ^*I am amply rewarded ^" 
 
 "For what.?" 
 
 *'A lost year, madame." 
 
 "I congratulate you on your present position, mon- 
 sieur." 
 
 "I do not intend to retain it for long." 
 
 "And your next move?" 
 
 "A leap into the light, madame." 
 
 She nodded and ran after Madame de Lameth, smiling 
 as much as to say Is not this a wonderful creature? She 
 met coldly unresponsive eyes. 
 
 "We will not detain you, monsieur," said Madame de 
 Lameth to the secretary. 
 
REVOLUTION 1 89 
 
 "I am entirely at your service." His eyes met hers with 
 a challenging glance, a contemptuous, half-pitying glance. 
 
 "Have the goodness to gather Madame de Fontenay a 
 bunch of roses,'^ returned the lady, icily, ignoring his 
 insolence. 
 
 "Please do,'* said Terezia. *'I will carry them home 
 with much pleasure,'* 
 
 "I love white roses and all they represent," he declared, 
 entirely mollified. "The roses of Bois-le-Vert are famous." 
 
 "Yes," said Terezia. 
 
 His eyes swept her from her feet to the crown of her 
 uncovered head. She drank in his admiration. She moved 
 into the sunlight. "Follow me," she said, "I will show you 
 my favorite tree, with madame's kind permission." She 
 gave her friend a swift triumphant glance. Didn't she, 
 Terezia, invariably get her own way.'* The gods fight for 
 those they love. The gods would surely fight for Tallien 
 this tall young man, whose taste in neckties had con- 
 siderably improved. 
 
 She remembered their first meeting and every word he 
 had spoken to her. She walked very upright, with slow, 
 sensuous grace. In her hand she trailed her Brussels 
 scarf, and on the little finger of her left hand gleamed 
 a huge diamond. The sun burnished her wonderful hair. 
 
 Madame de Lameth picked up Terezia's hat, which she 
 had carelessly dropped on the path, and resigned herself 
 to the inevitable. She deplored dear Terezia's question- 
 able taste. Tallien was a cad. She went indoors to fetch 
 a pair of scissors and a length of ribbon. She wasn't 
 going to have her roses spoiled to please anyone in the 
 world. 
 
 She found them standing together under a great rose- 
 tree. They weren't speaking. Terezia's breath came 
 sharp and quick and the flush had deepened on her soft 
 round cheeks. Tallien was looking excessively calm. His 
 long, square-tipped fingers were trying to grasp a branch 
 just beyond his reach. He bounded in the air, caught a 
 Splendid rose, and brushed it across Terezia's mouth. 
 
90 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 "My first kiss," he whispered so low that she scarcely 
 heard him. Every nerve was tingling in her body. 
 
 She drew a deep breath. 
 
 "Make haste," she said, as if waking from a trance. 
 "We must not keep Madame de Lameth waiting. The 
 scissors, the scissors!" she cried gaily. "Now, monsieur, 
 do your best to please us both." 
 
 Tallien broke off the rose which had touched Terezia's 
 mouth. "I thank you, madame," he said. He placed 
 the rose in his buttonhole. "I will not detain you many 
 minutes," he said, as he deftly cut Terezia a few choice 
 blooms. 
 
 He handed the bunch to her with a bow. "Allow me, 
 madame," said he. 
 
 She thanked him with her eyes. 
 
 Half-way home she remembered she had quite forgotten 
 to ask Tallien to her party. Should she send him a card? 
 She decided against this. The gods would act for him. 
 She buried her face in his roses. 
 
I 
 
 CHAPTER Xm 
 
 ^T^EREZIA stood frowning in front of her dressing- 
 -" table mirror. She was fingering a tricolor cockade, 
 undecided where to place it. It spoiled her toilette, it was 
 flashy and gaudy and inartistic, just the kind of favor 
 men would invent to try the patience of artistic women- 
 kind. 
 
 "You see yourself, Christina," said Terezia, holding out 
 the despised ribbon, "in my hair it is obviously wrong, on 
 my bodice it clashes with my sash " 
 
 "With a white dress any sash will do. There is a nice 
 red ribbon in your drawer " 
 
 "It'll stay there. I am wearing pale-blue to-day and no 
 other color. For what purpose did I get my turquoises 
 out of the safe in the teeth of monsieur's opposition.?" 
 Terezia patted a charming necklace which showed up her 
 white neck to perfection. "Blue is the Virgin's color. I 
 am going to be saintly to-day. Whatever provocations 
 are in store for me I am going to face them with angelic 
 fortitude." With a quick movement she pinned the de- 
 spised cockade (a fairly large one) as an order below her 
 left breast. "Well, anyhow, it draws attention to my fig- 
 ure. Don't you hate prejudice? All the new people revel 
 in these badges. They say the king, to placate his ene- 
 mies, wears one himself in his hat, and that the queen 
 carries hers, en cachet, in the hollow of her shoe. She has 
 always trampled on popular opinion. Now she is the most 
 disliked woman in France. I have heard such dreadful 
 things about her I wonder if they are true. . . ." 
 
 Terezia had, as usual, talked herself into a good temper. 
 With lavish generosity she scented her fine lace handker- 
 chief. 
 
 Christina remonstrated. 
 
 91 
 
92 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 "I am doing it on purpose," she said. *^One never 
 knows nowadays whom one may meet or where they have 
 come from. I wish the honorable deputies talked less and 
 washed more, I believe they reelly keep themselves dirty 
 to please the people. The people!" Terezia whirled to- 
 wards the door in indignant haste. *^I tell you, Christina, 
 w^ are too kind to the people after all they are terribly 
 uninteresting, and we have all got to weep over their 
 troubles and pretend to make a frightful fuss of them 
 dirty gutter-snipes! I am like a fine-bred dog who 
 barks at rags ^indeed I am. But of course when M. 
 Robespierre airs their grievances I am the first to sob. 
 I am sure this Robespierre is deceitful. I generally get 
 on well with men, but I dislike his sickliness and his smiles. 
 Come out, Christina, and watch him to-day. You never 
 enjoy my parties. Everyone says they are brilliant. . . . 
 Christina, I have forgotten my watch. . . . Six o'clock! 
 Oh, I must fly." 
 
 The 'Marquis and the Marquise de Fontenay stood on 
 the upper terrace to welcome their friends. The marquis 
 had got himself up in blue and yellow ^he looked like an 
 ungainly butterfly ; he never remained still for one minute ; 
 he ran forward, he ran backwards, he bowed, he kissed 
 hands, he pirouetted all within a prescribed space. 
 
 His tall wife did the honors after the manner of Ver- 
 sailles (all women are more or less adaptive) ; except for 
 the prescribed dignified curtsy she stood immovable, ex- 
 tending a gracious hand to the men, poising it at the exact 
 level to receive the customary salute. She might all her 
 life have done nothing but "receive." How did this child 
 ^barely seventeen arrive at such distinction? 
 
 "Allow me to present to you, madame, Deputy Viscount 
 Paul de Barras." 
 
 "Charmed to see you, monsieur." She gave him a pass- 
 ing glance and passed him over. M. Barras bowed pro- 
 foundly, kissed the beauty's hand with lingering attention, 
 and withdrew into the general company. 
 
I 
 
 REVOLUTION 93 
 
 He was a tall, squarely-built man with rugged features, 
 a sensuous mouth, a fleshy nose, very handsomely dressed, 
 with a very handsome opinion of himself. He was M. 
 Robespierre^s political opponent, and by his deportment 
 and pacific speeches he had already gained some notoriety 
 in the Assembly. He talked easily and willingly which 
 is but natural to a man with a handsome opinion of him- 
 self. The king, they said, was personally attached to M. 
 Barras. His birth was unimpeachable. 
 
 *'Bonjour, monsieur; charmed to see you." 
 
 Terezia smiled very agreeably at Deputy Camille Des- 
 moulins she had met him at least six times in her life, 
 which constituted old acquaintanceship in those days. He 
 was cynical, witty, good-looking, and very happily mar- 
 ried. 
 
 "You know M. Robespierre?" he said, stepping back 
 to give that gentleman an opportunity of paying his re- 
 spects to his hostess. 
 
 ^'Charmed to see you, monsieur," said Terezia, dropping 
 the "great" man a splendid reverence. 
 
 He'd come to her party after all. Camille Desmoulins 
 had forcibly carried him off in his cabriolet. **I'll take no 
 refusal," he'd said gaily. "Why, man, you are working 
 yourself to death. No cause is worth it. Remember Mira- 
 beau if he'd spared himself he would have died rich in 
 years. A day, or half a day of pure folly " 
 
 "Is it so pure.?" 
 
 "I'll tell you to-morrow. Come and eat lobster and ices 
 in the Fontenay woods. They're delicious. And the di- 
 vine Terezia is incomparably the loveliest creature in cre- 
 ation. And you'll hear music, singing and laughter." 
 
 Robespierre had shivered. He suffered from acute in- 
 digestion and he had a horror of "pleasure." His pleasure 
 had rather an ugly color at that time. Not a mortal 
 soul quite realized how ugly. On this particular morning 
 the day of Terezia's picnic an absurd title for a 
 sumptuous al fresco supper, served with every possible 
 luxury he'd woken with a dull pain in his head and a 
 
94 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 tearing knife at his stomach. It had made him work all 
 the better. 
 
 He had looked at Desmoulins, whom he designated a 
 foolish ape there were many foolish apes, according to 
 Robespierre, disporting themselves in the House of As- 
 sembly. He hated listening to their inane chatter . . . 
 chattering wouldn't do it and then he'd flushed at sight 
 of his overloaded desk. Work work work like a 
 mighty and remorseless hammer the edict of man crowded 
 out blessed inspiration. (His vilest schemes were to him 
 sacred.) . . . He had looked at his feverish hands a 
 little change might do him good, and bring him fresh in- 
 spiration . . . he'd have a look at the female monkeys. 
 He laughed harshly. 
 
 "I'll come," he said, linking his arm within Desmoulins'. 
 "The Fates know best . . . mon arm, what fools they are." 
 
 "Not at all, not at all," laughed Desmoulins. "I've a 
 great respect for the ladies." 
 
 M. Robespierre proceeded with his protracted toilet, 
 while Desmoulins kicked his heels in the next room, and 
 turned over one or two of the member of Arras' books 
 very odd titles. Desmoulins put them down as if they'd 
 burned him he didn't like the ultra-modern, ranting the- 
 ory . . . down with state, church, and king. . . . Moon- 
 shine, of course, the fixment of some poor devil's diseased 
 brain, but, for all that, pernicious stuff. He wondered 
 Robespierre allowed such truck in his room. *'Ah, there 
 you are," he said. "My horse is as fresh as a daisy." 
 "Confound the dust," said Robespierre, turning up the 
 collar of his gray linen coat. He was a finicky little man 
 and he hated dust. "A tender eater," as someone de- 
 scribed him, at this period. He had his own little notions, 
 Robespierre. Presently, driving through the famous and 
 shady park of Fontenay, he broke into song: 
 
 The queen is in her dairy. 
 The king is in his forge. 
 The queen is making butter. 
 The king a master-key. 
 
REVOLUTION 95 
 
 Desmoulms laughed. "No idea you were a minstrel," 
 he said. 
 
 Robespierre unbuttoned his dust cloak. "I'm many 
 things," he said, modestly. "One day I'll show myself to 
 my best advantage." 
 
 "I hope I'll be present," said Desmoulins cheerily. 
 
 "God, look at that rut !" 
 
 They had been very nearly overturned. The little, 
 high-swung cart, on two wheels, had leaned at a perilous 
 angle, and Representative Robespierre had turned more 
 than his usual sickly pea-green color. Desmoulins, who 
 was a ruddy-skinned, healthy man, could not stand his 
 honorable colleague's complexion. It reminded him, he 
 said, of boiled mutton. 
 
 "I wish you'd be more careful; you oughtn't to be 
 trusted with horses." 
 
 Desmoulins flicked a fly gently off^ the ear of his spir- 
 ited chestnut. "So gently, old boy," he said. "For the 
 matter of that, I wonder if you are to be trusted with 
 men." 
 
 Robespierre folded his coat very neatly on his knee. 
 "Lambs," he bleated. "They are all lambs." 
 
 "Of a dangerous breed, sir." 
 
 "Not if you know how to manage them." 
 
 "That is just my point. The temper, last night, in the 
 house was very hot.'* 
 
 "It'll get warmer^ much warmer." He peered up at 
 the charming perspective of the old Chateau de Fontenay, 
 bedded in historical woods a peaceful, rural, seigneurial 
 picture of unobtrusive luxury. It was a rich man's place. 
 The blue sky and the autumn foliage toned admirably. 
 The terrace was thronged with a representative and rather 
 mixed gathering. From the stable-yard you could hear 
 the neighing of horses and the clatter of vehicles there 
 was life in the picture and old tradition. The sun caught 
 the west front of the old mansion in a ruddy embrace. 
 Ivy gleamed on the mellow red-brick walls, and the tall 
 windows were elegantly festooned with white lace curtains. 
 
96 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 By the gates surmounted with the arms of the house of 
 Fontenay two tall lackeys, in the green-and-red liveries 
 of the family, stood, very ornamentally fulfilling their 
 duties. They bowed obsequiously as the light cart bowled 
 through the gates. 
 
 Robespierre folded his hands together they were gloved 
 in palest lemon kid. "We'll finish with all that," he said 
 pleasantly. 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 "Nothing, nothing at all, my friend. Attend to your 
 horse." 
 
 "Aren't you glad you came.'^'* 
 
 "Delighted." 
 
 Desmoulins wasn't quite so sure of his own feelings. 
 Truth to tell, he felt uncomfortable. He half regretted 
 having enticed M. Robespierre to the party. His pres- 
 ence wasn't as cheering as it ought to be. Lord bless 
 him! On an occasion like this everyone ought to be 
 friends. He felt convinced that the member for Arras 
 had brought his and the "people's" confounded cause with 
 him. He rather loved to parade his political opinions. 
 Desmoulins frowned. No doubt that the honorable mem- 
 ber was a howling radical. It was he, and men of his 
 inflated ideas, who fanned the worst tempers of the crowd. 
 A crowd is peaceable until you excite it . . . once let it 
 get out of bounds, and there's the devil to pay. 
 
 A woman's clear, silvery laugh seemed to challenge his 
 thoughts. He recognized Madame de Lameth, coming 
 down the drive attended by M. de Lameth. 
 
 "Isn't it a perfect afternoon.?" she cried. **You are 
 late, monsieur." 
 
 "Bonsoir, madame," called Robespierre, raising his hat. 
 "Never fear, we'll catch you up." 
 
 "Sir," she said, drawing herself up to her full height 
 which wasn't much "I've never been afraid in all my 
 life !" And she passed on. 
 
 "There," said Desmoulins. "They are all like that. For 
 sheer spirit and audacity give me a noble Frenchwoman.'* 
 
r 
 
 REVOLUTION 97 
 
 "Sir, I'll keep the pick of the bunch for myself.'* 
 
 "Ha-ha!" Handsome Desmoulins laughed loudly. (M. 
 Robespierre was notoriously indifferent to the charms of 
 lovely woman.) "That's right, man," he said. "Keep it 
 up; live, eat and be merry! I warrant you the supper 
 will be luscious. As to the ladies look at them! Bless 
 their hearts, I wish I had it in my heart to love them all." 
 
 *'Rather less will satisfy me." 
 
 Again the tone of his companion's voice vexed Desmou- 
 lins. There was a kind of dull finality about it. In grim 
 silence he flung the reins into the hands of a groom. 
 
 He stalked in front of Robespierre towards Terezia 
 standing at the head of a flight of wide marble stairs, 
 reaching to the balcony terrace. The sun flamed around 
 her. 
 
 "Remember, sir," said Desmoulins, "not to air your 
 bear tricks here. We are not in the House. And the 
 people curse 'em are on the other side of the world." 
 
 "I understand. My dear fellow, I always hope, what- 
 ever my political sentiments may be, that I can, on all 
 occasions, conduct myself as a gentleman." 
 
 "No doubt, sir," said Desmoulins, politely. 
 
 You ought to have seen that strange crowd beneath the 
 famous Fontenay chestnuts (faintly red) and how Terezia 
 enjoyed herself; how her "cher Devin" shone in her smiles ; 
 how excellently well the village girls performed their 
 dance; how prettily Claire Cardilac behaved; how veuve 
 Boisgaloup resplendent in moire antique turned the 
 cold shoulder on Robespierre ^he a glitter of sea-green 
 cloth and silver lace; how everyone sported the tricolor 
 colors and talked the politics of the day. No silence 
 under the century-old trees they very quiet in the Sep- 
 tember calm, looking down on this frolic (in the midst of 
 revolution). Did the night-wind, hushing her breath, 
 guess at the frightful secrets held in each man's heart? 
 What a travesty of innocence ! What a mockery of mirth ! 
 A few great ladies were present (by reason of policy). 
 
98 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 By reason of policy they wore the national colors and 
 conversed amiably with "insufferable upstarts." 
 
 The conversation was mainly frivolous, but underneath 
 the banter and light talk ran a current of menace and 
 gravity. 
 
 One or two of the men were within an inch of an open 
 fight. (The Fontenay wine was strong.) They snarled 
 at each other like very common and ugly curs. Little de 
 Fontenay turned a pale lilac shade beneath his vivid hair 
 " so terrified was he of scandal. He called for peace. 
 ^^Gentlemen, gentlemen,'^ said he in a voice he vainly tried 
 to make easy, "at a feast of beauty and intellect angry 
 words are out of place." 
 
 Terezia swept down on the gentlemen who were behav- 
 ing as very ugly and common curs she separated them 
 by placing herself between the two. "Messieurs," she 
 said, "I order you to love each other. Reconciliation 
 is the sole excuse for bad temper.'* 
 
 The company applauded. 
 
 The would-be combatants with grudging good-nature 
 shook hands. One of them fell on his knees and kissed the 
 hem of his "benefactress's" embroidered robe. This pleased 
 the benefactress enormously. She smiled happily, and 
 smoothed both his ruffled hair and his ruffled spirits. It 
 ended by the other gentleman suffering himself to be led 
 away spouting poetry to an accompaniment of watery 
 eyes: 
 
 AH ye who dwell within the shade 
 Repine not. Nothing which is made. 
 Wind blown by God's decree 
 On earth or in the sea. 
 Is utterly lost or free. 
 
 He felt so he declared on the verge of ecstasy and 
 celestial bliss. He would never, never forget the charm 
 of the chdtelame of Fontenay, nor her compassion and 
 sympathy. ... 
 
 As Terezia afterwards declared to her husband, "A 
 little tact makes the world go round." 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 MADAME DE FONTENAY'S evening party was 
 entirely successful, in spite of M. de Fontenay hav- 
 ing caught such a bad cold that he had been obliged ever 
 since to keep to his own rooms. Some three weeks after, 
 Terezia, who had no sympathy for her husband, told her 
 friends in confidence (there's nothing which has a wider 
 circulation) that little Devin was quite all right, as far 
 as his health went, but that his nerves were shattered. 
 He'd been "insulted" by his own tenants. They'd flung 
 stones at him and used awful language. They'd threat- 
 ened to burn up his ancestral castle she felt so sorry for 
 all their refined ghosts and, what was worse, if they ever 
 caught sight of him again, they'd wring his neck. Poor 
 dear Devin did so fancy his neck. . . . Terezia raised her 
 eyes to heaven, and piously committed her husband to the 
 charge of his patron saint. Obviously (she said) the saint 
 had instructed him to keep to his rooms, pending happier 
 days. They were bound to come. She'd great hopes of 
 the New Year. On New Year's Day they were going to 
 give a splendid subscription ball in Paris, under royal 
 patronage for the poor. Well, could they in decency 
 ask for more? Terezia promised that she'd dance her 
 shoes into rags. Everyone applauded her charitableness. 
 After that ball tickets at two guineas apiece, not includ- 
 ing supper the decorations were to be on a very lavish 
 scale the wretched people would fall on their knees and 
 pray for mercy. The question was ^would the king for- 
 give them? Certainly he would. The king was so long- 
 suffering, and had a heart of gold. What a pity, said a 
 wit, that he couldn't cut it into just pieces and distribute 
 them amongst the people. For fault of bread they now 
 
 99 
 
100 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 demanded gold! Gold for the people! A great many 
 sober aristocrats laughed merrily at the wit's address. 
 "But he was droll," they said. 
 
 Follow us up the Rue St. Honore, and let us stop, if 
 you please, nearly opposite the cross-road Rue Saint Floe- 
 otine, at the house of one Duplay, a carpenter. In these 
 hard times he had let his rooms to Deputy Robespierre 
 two modest rooms over the courtyard one he used as his 
 bedroom and the other as his office. His secretary had 
 the goodwill of a box-bed on the draughty landing, which 
 also contained his desk and office stool. It is always best 
 to begin humbly. (For the matter of that Deputy Robes- 
 pierre retained his modest chambers until the day of his 
 death. Somehow or other the honest carpenter had diffi- 
 culty in letting them again. People didn't like to come 
 in after his late tenant. He'd died quite a commonplace 
 death ^but all the same, people have their prejudices. In 
 fact, the proprietor might have turned an honest penny 
 if he'd charged a trifling sum and admitted the public to 
 view the late MaximiUen Robespierre's apartment, keeping 
 the furnishing of the said rooms intact the ruby lamp, 
 swinging in the alcove over the narrow iron bedstead 
 the little writing-table, by the window; the citizen's shav- 
 ing and powdering gowns, hanging negligently over the 
 back of his high-backed, green rep-upholstered easy 
 chair. . . .) 
 
 To return to the present, let us follow the seedy clerk 
 into his master's presence. 
 
 He bowed humbly and handed him a visiting-card. 
 
 "What's that.?" said Robespierre. "The devil, didn't 
 I tell you not to disturb me!" 
 
 "The gentleman " 
 
 "To blazes!" 
 
 **He is very insistent.'* 
 
 *^They all are ; wasps. I'll smoke 'em out presently." 
 
 He twisted round in his chair, scratching his neck (he 
 was wearing his flowered chintz dressing-gown and his 
 white pantaloons were very visible) ^a trick of his which 
 
I 
 
 REVOLUTION 101 
 
 gave the impression of some local irritation, heightened 
 by the sight of a pimply eruption. 
 
 " 'Jean Lambert Tallien,' " he read, scanning the card. 
 *' 'Redacteur.' Show him in. And show him out the mo- 
 ment I sound my bell.'* 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Citizen," snapped Robespierre. 
 
 ^'Yes, citizen," said the clerk, with a broad grin* 
 
 On the heels of the elated clerk (who'd quite expected a 
 severe drubbing for his five-franc piece the exact amount 
 of the tall gentleman's bribe) Tallien, in a swallow-tailed 
 green coat ^with brass buttons, and a primrose- tin ted 
 kerchief swathed round his lace-edged collar advanced, 
 with his usual imperturbability, into the centre of the 
 room. Evidently he'd been listening outside the door 
 probably to save the secretary's valuable time.f* Some 
 men are so thoughtful. 
 
 ''Good-morning, citizens," he said pleasantly. "Quite 
 a snap of frost in the air. You are comfortably warm 
 in here," (The vitiated air was heavy as lead.) "Don't 
 trouble to move. You can go, my man." 
 
 Tallien waved three erect fingers at the astonished clerk. 
 Here was a gentleman of extraordinary sang-froid, 
 
 "Go to the devil," rasped Robespierre. As he didn't 
 look up from his papers ^he was scribbling as fast as he 
 could go, with his nose almost touching his desk either 
 man could have taken the permission to himself. The 
 clerk, being more at home, availed himself of his patron's 
 civility. In fact he vanished with considerable briskness. 
 
 Tallien swayed across the floor and closed the door 
 carefully after him, stufiing the keyhole with a scrap of 
 paper. "An eavesdropper is contemptible," he remarked, 
 "but just as well to avoid him." 
 
 He pulled a chair from the wall and sat down, facing 
 the light and Robespierre. He eyed him critically, as with 
 his handkerchief he flicked at his boots. "Dusty weather," 
 he remarked. "It clashes with the frost. Times are out 
 of gear." 
 
102 : rTORCHLIGHT 
 
 Robespierre dashed his pen on the table. 
 
 Tallien shook his head. "Gently," he said. "You've 
 blotted the sheet. May be something valuable.''" 
 
 "What's your business, citizen?" 
 
 Tallien pursed his thick lips as if on the point of whis- 
 tling. However, he refrained. "You have got my card 
 there it is in front of your nose." 
 
 "Who are you.?" 
 
 "A man of the people. My mother is alive. My father 
 is dead ^he died in the service of monsieur le vicomte de 
 Rochenoir one of his valet s-de-chambre he kept fifteen 
 great style famous chateau -friend of du Barri, and 
 Louis XV. ... I hate the aristocrats." 
 
 The young man, from beginning his sentence with a 
 certain flippancy, ended it on a note of vital simplicity 
 and great earnestness. 
 
 "Redacteur," said Robespierre, fingering his visitor's 
 vulgar card. It was inscribed by hand a great sprawling 
 hand Tallien's own. 
 
 "Of a great paper, UAmi des Citoi/ens,^* 
 
 '^Never heard of it." 
 
 **The first number appears the day after to-morrow, on 
 the tenth of October. I just hit on the date by chance. 
 I'm not in the least superstitious ^but I never fly in the 
 face of fate. That date, sir, flapped in my face as a pair 
 of bat's wings in the dark. I had to fix on it the tenth." 
 
 Robespierre trembled. He screwed his little mouth into 
 a comical shape. Tallien dimly realized that he was try- 
 ing to smile. A very ludicrous exhibition. 
 
 "The worst is over," said Tallien. 
 
 "Or beginning," said Robespierre, rubbing his hands. 
 
 *'I'm twenty-four and I look older," continued Tallien. 
 "I'n> beholden to no man. I cut my father's calling as 
 beneath my ambition. A man in a striped waistcoat, shirt- 
 sleeves, a baize apron, holding a broom, cuts a ridiculous 
 figure, even when opening the door for his master's light- 
 o'-love. Such intrigues would never satisfy me. Like 
 you, sir, I see ^large." 
 
REVOLUTION 103 
 
 He spread out his hands very big hands and, at the 
 present moment, mottled and red. "Together we could 
 do a stretch," he said. He opened his mouth a very 
 wide mouth to a surprising capacity. "Citizen, I'm as 
 hungry as a hunter for my food. Only I insist on the 
 right sort." 
 
 He didn't laugh. He put down his hands and he closed 
 his mouth, shutting it tight as if afraid of a single word 
 escaping him. 
 
 Robespierre nodded. He took up his pen and bit it. 
 He put it down again and he took it up again and bit it. 
 . . . "Further?'^ 
 
 "I started as one of Pantouche's men. Quite a subor- 
 dinate post. However, I learned a trick or two. Can turn 
 a sentence pretty neatly." His eyes twinkled. "Every 
 scrap of knowledge is useful. From my late lamented 
 parent's lips I've memorized quite a store of facts dealing 
 with aristocratic barbarities or shall we say blunders? 
 They're dipped pretty deeply in guilt. Up to their necks, 
 citizen. A life for a life. You'll like it hot the hotter 
 the better. 'The Citizens' Friend' will be nothing if not 
 a firebrand. Given a likely wind we'll soon have France 
 fizzling. It'll be a boon and blessing to man. A new form 
 of blessing, too. That makes it all the more striking." 
 
 ^'After Pantouche kicked you out of his place .^^ " 
 
 "Pantouche didn't. I chucked him. I met a woman 
 who gave me ideas no matter we'll leave her outside the 
 question though she filled it entirely. An amazingly 
 beautiful creature." 
 
 "Damn you! Do you think I've time to listen to your 
 dirty love affairs?" 
 
 "Wrong again. I've seen her twice and I've kissed her 
 once through the heart of a rose. Poetical? At a pinch 
 I'll run to poetry. One of my best friends is a consump- 
 tive poet. He writes the worst verse in Paris 'mazin' 
 clever. He'll sub-edit the poets' comer. The people like 
 verse with an edge to it saws versus knives." 
 
104 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 "I am to understand that you have left the printing 
 office?" 
 
 "Exactly, sir, a year ago precisely. The master's 
 daughter wept. Fancy aspiring to me! Cheek! She 
 might as well hope for a bloated aristocrat. . . . The 
 beauty with the heart of a rose no matter. We'll edu- 
 cate her ^by blood. If you can make a gentleman out 
 of a swineherd you can turn a lady into a slut. Neither 
 you nor I, citizen, will stick at a point to gain a step. 
 Each step is invaluable. At M. de Lameth's I've learned 
 more in twelve months than during my five years' experi- 
 ence at Pantouche's." 
 
 "You don't edit a paper on nothing." 
 
 "Exactly." 
 
 "Go to the devil!" 
 
 "Exactly. I've practically sworn to serve you with 
 my heart, soul, and body." Tallien, who had never once 
 raised his voice from a uniform drawl, here flicked his 
 boots with his handkerchief. 
 
 Robespierre got up and faced him. He stood over him, 
 peering down at his vast complacency. "You think a 
 precious deal of yourself, young man." 
 
 "All that and more." 
 
 "Why come whining to me? I can't help you." 
 
 Tallien shrugged his shoulders. "Isn't that a trifle 
 ambiguous? To true patriots riches and poverty are the 
 same thing. We all share and share alike. Equality, fra- 
 ternity, liberty." 
 
 He repeated the last words very smoothly. "Citot/erij^* 
 he said, looking up into the other's twitching face, "in a 
 very little while we'll be rich and they" (he again swept 
 his right hand with a large, circular gesture), "and they'll 
 be poor. We'll take everything else, God willing, and 
 leave them their cursed pride. May it feed them. Amen." 
 
 Robespierre sat down again. "Continue," he said. 
 
 *'I want to secure my subscribers. To tell you the 
 truth, I only want the best people." 
 
 Robespierre nodded. 
 
I 
 
 REVOLUTION 105 
 
 *'Let them rant and say what they like, you, citizen, 
 have your finger and thumb on the artery vein. You need 
 only press here and press there ^with the help of the 
 press, of course and your victory is a foregone conclu- 
 sion. Citizen, I take the liberty of admiring you im- 
 mensely.'' 
 
 Robespierre chuckled. "What impertinence!" he said. 
 
 "It's what you want. It's what we all want. Your 
 sanctimonious, mealy-mouthed courtiers wouldn't be worth 
 a grain o' salt, let alone a bag o' gold." 
 
 "A bag o' gold.?" 
 
 "Exactly. And a pretty stiff one, too. Nothing under 
 two hundred pieces." Tallien rose and laid his hand on 
 the great man's shoulder. "Whereupon I'm your prop- 
 lerty, body, soul and honor." 
 
 *'I haven't the money." 
 
 *'My contributors will have the use of a popular organ 
 to air their complaints, their prejudices enfin, their am- 
 bitions. The paper will circulate in the classes the honor- 
 able deputy" (Tallien inclined his head ever so slightly) 
 "desires to reach. Believe me, the written word has a 
 stronger attraction for the unlettered classes than the 
 most brilliant flow of oratory. They'll master a word of 
 print say a flaring headline with difficulty, and it'll 
 sink deep into their elementary souls." 
 
 ^'I haven't the money." 
 
 '^My policy is your policy. My child your child a 
 little pathos is such a help. Ill give tears a good place." 
 He glanced out of the window. "Presently we'll see a red 
 glow in the sky, *A red sky at night is the shepherd's 
 delight.' You're a shepherd. As a humble instrument 
 I'll stand by you." 
 
 Robespierre detached a bunch of keys from his waist- 
 coat pocket. He unlocked and opened a drawer. 
 
 "I'll bring round the first proofs to-morrow at eight 
 sharp." 
 
 Robespierre banged to the drawer. "I haven't the 
 money, I tell you," he said huskily. 
 
106 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 "Good-moming, monsieur. I regret Infinitely that I 
 have trespassed on monsieur's valuable time." 
 
 Tallien had reached the door before a heavy thud 
 stopped him. 
 
 Robespierre, with protruding eyes and a violently work- 
 ing throat, had twisted round in his chair and flung a bag 
 of gold pieces on the floor. 
 
 "Take it," he said, "and be gone! To-morrow at ten." 
 
 Tallien stooped and, with a good-natured smile, he 
 picked up the money, opened the cord, looked inside, and 
 weighed it carefully in his hand before slipping it into the 
 breast-pocket of his green tail-coat. 
 
 For one instant his eyes measured his fellow-conspira- 
 tor. "We mustn't waste time," he said, cheerily, "I'll 
 come at eight. I can wait. I can always wait." 
 
 Very gently he opened and closed the door behind him. 
 He left pandemonium behind him. It was rarely Citoyen 
 Robespierre lost control of his feelings, but when he did, 
 he left nothing to the Imagination, How he walked, nay, 
 how he skipped, how he hopped, how he danced up and 
 down his dingy parlor, a prey to ungovernable excite- 
 ment ! His face was drawn Into a thousand fantastic lines. 
 He snapped his fingers ; he chuckled ; he laughed ; he sang : 
 
 The queen is in her dairy. 
 The king is in his forge. 
 The queen is making butter. 
 The king a master-key. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 OCTOBER, after a preliminary deluge of sleet and 
 torrential rain, had settled into the bleak rawness of 
 early winter. The autumnal leaves flew fast in Paris. 
 No less fast than the > Vritten word." Tallien could glory 
 in the success of his production (even Terezia blushed as 
 she scanned a secreted copy). No lady demeaned herself 
 in those days by reading radical organs. The Cardilacs, 
 good honest folk, would have been justly horrified if they 
 had known that some few yards from their savory pot 
 of morning coffee fluttered one of these abhorred sheets 
 in the hands of an honored guest. 
 
 To please Claire, whom they adored, the Cardilacs ac- 
 cepted her friend. They never asked questions. Truth to 
 tell, when she pleased Terezia could bear herself with be- 
 coming modesty and charm. She looked very innocent, 
 when her arms circled her "dear Claire" before dear 
 Claire's exceptional parents. Sometimes in the privacy 
 of her room, to her maid Christina, Terezia would ease her 
 stifled feelings by using naughty language. *'Was there 
 ever such a pair of old fools as the Cardilacs !" she would 
 laugh. 
 
 In those days Terezia reveled in the high wind of love 
 and courtship. Scandalous stories about her would have 
 been popular reading in Paris if they hadn't been eclipsed 
 by the threatening storm of revolution. 
 
 Secretly, greatly enjoying the huge joke, Robespierre, 
 Tallien, Fenelon and company blew the bellows. When 
 the fire of hate showed some slight deviation, some faint 
 abatement, these gentlemen worked as galley slaves to 
 avert "disaster." 
 
 They looked at the dripping skies; they scanned the 
 faces of anxious women, infuriated women, mad women ; of 
 
 107 
 
108 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 men bom to obey (after a fashion) ; of youths drifting 
 into the whirlpool; and away, far above them, in some 
 starry splendor, they saw the ancien regimw, represented 
 by the disdainful aristocrats who hitherto had held undis- 
 puted sway in the good land of France, Looking up, 
 dogs howl. 
 
 Terezia followed TalHen's career with unprecedented 
 interest. In her heart of hearts she was superstitious. 
 She had always laughed at "silly fables" yet she 
 respected what she didn't understand. Terezia never 
 respected Tallien, Are we to conclude that she understood 
 him? 
 
 Claire looked pale in these dark autumn days when the 
 wind whistled over the thinning trees of Paris. She went 
 often to Mass. Sometimes she would induce the lazy Tere- 
 zia to accompany her, "Prayers are so comforting," said 
 Claire. 
 
 With her head devoutly bent over her rosary, Terezia 
 would yawn. 
 
 One fine day "she couldn't stand It any longer." With 
 a great show of unwillingness and really unselfish behavior 
 she said she must return home to look after "her great 
 big tyrant." 
 
 "You are an angel," said Claire. 
 
 *T am sure I am," answered the unquenchable Terezia, 
 when seated in her traveling carriage. "Christina, have 
 you my jewel-box safe? The rabble may rob us, remem- 
 ber. I have taken a bag full of buns to fling at the lead- 
 ers. Isn't it a joke? Good-by, angel. Take care of 
 yourself. My deep respects to madame your mother. A 
 thousand grateful thanks, M. Cardilac, I have so enjoyed 
 my visit," and away she galloped. Terezia never did any- 
 thing quietly. 
 
 She didn't go home; she spent a rather disgraceful 
 week-end ; she reveled in love and kisses and grew beautiful 
 as the morning sun. Christina played propriety. Poor 
 Christina as her mistress grew more physically perfect 
 In these bacchantic orgies, she no less visibly aged. It 
 
I 
 
 REVOLUTION 109 
 
 Sickened her heart to see the waste of things. Instead of 
 upbraiding Terezia and calling her a very plain name 
 (which Terezia would have suffered with a child's blank 
 stare) she rounded on the unfortunate Devin. If he 
 hadn't been such a woebegone husband he would not have 
 had such a woebegone wife! What was the matter with 
 the world? asked Christina. 
 
 The months leaped ahead. The Royal Family of 
 France had to face another year of indecision, much in- 
 sult, some little gladness every now and again an echo 
 from the outside world to fill the queen with pride. Aus- 
 tria would help her, Prussia was arming. England was 
 coming forward blessed, blessed news! 
 
 The putrid "rags" doubled and trebled their circula- 
 tion; they fluttered all over France. Young Tallien was 
 coining money. He was head over ears in plots and coun- 
 terplots foiled by one man's inability to die. 
 
 The talk of the hour was Mirabeau's lion courage and 
 extraordinary vitality. Everyone knew him by sight, the 
 disease-riddled face, the flaming eyes, the ridiculous nose. 
 Men doffed their hats to him if to none other. At that 
 critical moment he was the actual ruler of demented 
 France. Terezia had quoted to the sick man Desmoulins' 
 Tnot, as proof of his ready wit: "To reach sanity, one 
 must wallow in madness." (Terezia was never word-per- 
 fect in her quotations she could remember the substance 
 of things but never the matter.) 
 
 April shone gently over Paris. Mirabeau, in spite of 
 his fierce desire to live, had to give up the struggle and 
 die as well as he could. He managed at least to tide over 
 Fools' Day. On Ap'ril the second, somewhere about eight 
 in the morning, "he fell asleep." 
 
 To a man who has spent the greater part of his life in 
 ceaseless toil, incessant struggle, with a vision of terrible 
 clearness, can death have a sweeter reading? 
 
 Terezia came to town for the funeral, and insisted on 
 her husband being present. "Everyone will be there. 
 
110 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 There never was a more popular death," she said "I mean 
 people are wild with sorrow, from the king down to the 
 bottle-washer. You are a coward, Devin ! Nobody would 
 dream of killing you ! It wouldn't be worth the exertion." 
 Already the little marquise, in the radiancy of her eigh- 
 teen full-blown years she looked older than her age ; her 
 full, round figure might well have passed for twenty and 
 more was instituting legal proceedings against Marquis 
 Red-Pate she supposed he had a title to his own hair? . . . 
 
 When Terezia was away, amusing herself, Christina was 
 left at home in charge of the baby the very image of his 
 papa, which his mamma took as a personal affront. Truth 
 to tell, both parents took a very perfunctory interest in 
 little Georges. He was a good-tempered child with red 
 cheeks, the paternal hair, and round blue eyes. He was 
 just beginning to talk. Christina listened to him with the 
 greatest attention. Terezia would be mildly amused at 
 her infatuation. The boy had his own nurse, of course. 
 He didn't care a snap of his chubby fingers for Marie, the 
 bailiff's daughter it is always well to employ your own 
 people. Marie was a strong-minded young woman (who 
 took in UAmi des Citoyens). Christina loathed her. "I 
 don't care," said Terezia, when her faithful old nurse 
 warned her against having such a person in the house. 
 *'They are all alike. Not a soul opens a gate for me any 
 longer. Life is too short to worry over trifles." 
 
 And off she'd dash into Paris or to Bois Vert or Gros- 
 Bois, Chateau d'Hyere, or anywhere her fancy or her posi- 
 tion led her. The beautiful chatelaine of Fontenay-des- 
 Roses was popular. She was "so ornamental," they said. 
 "So good-tempered," said another. "So amusing," said a 
 third. Terezia had a way of telling wicked little stories, 
 transparent as daylight ... it was the fashion to play 
 with words, morals, religion, royalty, politics such a 
 jumble ! 
 
 When the tangle was at its worst Louis recalled M. 
 Necker from Berne, and reinstated him as his financial 
 adviser. For at least three weeks after that astute gentle- 
 
REVOLUTION 111 
 
 man's acceptance of office and return to Paris, the queen 
 ceased packing her boxes, ceased to weep (in secret) and 
 entered briskly into the details of butter-making, varied 
 by dream-making, joy-making or other airy fantasies. 
 Necker issued new bills not blue but green, we fancy 
 and new taxations. The people continued to growl. They 
 were still hungry and very unsatisfied. Then in April, as 
 we've said, after Fools' Day, Mirabeau achieved his de- 
 parture from life in great style. His death was eloquent. 
 In the very moment of dissolution, when his speech for- 
 sook him, with appalling courage he traced certain letters, 
 on a sheet of paper propped up in front of him by his 
 sister. ... 
 
 In the merry month of May Terezia came to town. The 
 queen sang in her parlor M, Necker and Madame Necker 
 entertained and the people of Paris had determined to 
 have their king in their midst. In fact, a great body 
 of them had escorted him from the palace of Versailles 
 to the palace of the Tuileries. They'd taken no refusal. 
 They pinned on him a huge tricolor badge and they drove 
 him in front of them much as a sheep to the slaughter. 
 He had white horses harnessed to his top-heavy coach his 
 best wig on the queen beside him a silent, proud queen 
 and the royal children opposite, in pretty white dresses, 
 one carrying a top, the other nursing a doll. They chat- 
 ted together. . . . 
 
 Terezia, as usual, stayed with the Cardilacs. She'd 
 come to say good-by. She'd made up her mind to spend 
 the early summer months in England. England they 
 said was such a quiet place. In fact, heaps of her 
 friends, who wanted to rest, were going too. She hoped 
 the Cardilacs would join her. They could see all the 
 London sights together, before going on to Bath. The 
 waters would do them all good. 
 
 Claire thought it a splendid idea. She was anxious to 
 get away. Her parents didn't look well. In the mean- 
 while she and Terezia spent their time in shopping, in con- 
 fidential chats (Claire was officially affianced to M. le 
 
112 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 cousin and it was the merry month of May) ; in divers 
 theatre and small dinner-parties. Big dinners were out 
 of the question ^provisions were expensive and everyone's 
 movements erratic. **Here to-day and gone to-morrow," 
 sang Terezia, idly touching her friend's harp in the back 
 drawing-room. 
 
 "My dear," she said, "how untidy everything is ! Look 
 at that plant, it is unwatered. And your mother's work- 
 basket looks as if the cats had used it for a cradle.'* 
 
 "We are packing," said Claire. 
 
 "When I run away 111 run neatly," said Terezia. 
 
 "Don't say that, darling." 
 
 "It's the truth. We are all behaving like cowards. 
 There's no real danger.'* 
 
 "Everyone says " 
 
 "You dear, darling donkey. Come here and I'll kiss 
 you. I'm rather sorry that I missed Georges Boisgaloup. 
 How was he looking?" 
 
 "As usual. He is always pleasant and kind." 
 
 Terezia sighed. "There are some things a woman 
 won't forgive. No, I'll never look at him again." 
 
 Claire looked up. "He's coming to-morrow.'* 
 
 "You receive him. I'll go upstairs." 
 
 The bell rang. 
 
 "There he is," said Claire. 
 
 "How exciting! Fly downstairs, and tell him I'm not 
 at home." 
 
 Terezia spent a quarter of an hour, fidgeting round the 
 untidy drawing-room the curtains were down ^before 
 Claire returned, looking indignant. 
 
 "Well? What did he say? Wasn't he furious? Surely 
 he gave you his respectful compliments to carry upstairs 
 to your obstinate friend?" 
 
 Terezia danced round the room in high glee. "Serves 
 him right," she said. "Did he bring his friend. Lieuten- 
 ant Bonaparte?" 
 
 "No. It wasn't Georges at all.'* 
 
 "You nasty, deceiving wretch! And I'm dying for 
 
I 
 
 REVOLUTION 113 
 
 amusement. Who was it? Old Ravoral? Or poor dear 
 Alexandre de Lameth?" 
 
 "No, a big vulgar creature whom I've never set eyes on. 
 He sent in his card and he asked to see you on business, 
 he said. I had quite a diiSculty in getting rid of him. In 
 these times one can't be too careful with strangers." 
 
 "What was his name?" asked Terezia, slowly. 
 
 "Citizen Jean Lambert Tallien. Here's his card." 
 
 Terezia took it. "And you sent him away," she said in 
 a strangely subdued tone. 
 
 "NaturaUy." 
 
 "It's fate. When are we to meet again?'' 
 
 "You know that man?" 
 
 Terezia clasped Claire's hand within her own. "He's the 
 greatest friend I've got." 
 
 "Terezia! He wasn't a gentleman." 
 
 "What a calamity ! A year and a year and a year. 
 It's three years since we met. Three long eventful years ! 
 doesn't time crazd? He's got the patience of Job. Fancy 
 loving a woman to distraction and looking her up once a 
 year! Such patience deserves a prize. . . . What'll he 
 get? What'll we get? Claire, don't stare at me, I'm not 
 mad! I never was saner in my life. Sooner or later we 
 all touch the impossible. For heaven's sake don't stare 
 at me, but get a jug of water and water that miserable 
 plant! Life's precious. Don't jou realize it.'^ ^precious, 
 precious !" 
 
 Nevertheless Claire continued to stare at her friend 
 with astonishment. She'd never seen T^r&ia so wildly 
 excited before. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 npEREZIA dressed herself thoughtfully. She consid- 
 -" ered gay colors were out of season. She chose a sober 
 dove-gray gown with a broad black satin ribbon round 
 her waist. From the conservatory she ordered a bunch 
 of white carnations these she thrust into her bosom; 
 a string of pearls round her bare throat; a little black 
 hat on her head with one white plume ; it was a becoming 
 hat. Terezia smiled at herself in her looking-glass a 
 faithful friend. Anyhow, God be thanked, these strenuous 
 times had not robbed her of her beauty. Some people 
 under adversity lose all their looks. Terezia could remem- 
 ber quite twenty women to prove her point. What was 
 the good of worrying? 
 
 Drawing on her pale-gray gloves, she passed into the 
 nursery. Opposite his evil-faced nurse little Georges was 
 eating bread and butter. He eyed his mamma gravely. 
 
 "Where are you going to?" he asked. 
 
 "To Paris, my Uttle one." 
 
 "What are you going to do in Paris?" 
 
 *'I am going to buy you a toy." 
 
 *'May I have a rocking-horse?" 
 
 "Much too big ! How could poor little mamma carry a 
 rocking-horse ?" 
 
 "Well then, a guillotine." 
 
 "A what?" 
 
 *'A guillotine." 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 *'A lovely new game. You chop head off, so." The 
 little boy thumped a chubby fist on the nursery table. 
 
 The evil-faced nurse smiled. 
 
 For the first time Terezia felt unaccountably frightened. 
 
 114 
 
POn } 
 
 REVOLUTION 115 
 
 On her return from Paris she would dismiss her nurse. 
 Christina would love to look after the boy. 
 
 Terezia kissed her son almost affectionately. "Good- 
 by, little angel," she said. "Look after him, Marie. I 
 will be back probably this evening." 
 
 The woman nodded. "Very well," she said sullenly. 
 
 The road to Paris lay deserted. Never had the Fonte- 
 nay carriage passed with greater ease along the miserably 
 inadequate highway. Nothing hindered the citoyenne's en- 
 trance into the town, where, to all appearances, proper 
 order reigned. 
 
 Terezia, with curiosity, sharpened by this new dull sen- 
 sation of fear, looked carefully around her. The shops 
 were all open, the street hawkers cried their wares, the 
 newsboys ran their errands on noiseless bare feet. One 
 of them flung a bill at Terezia's feet. It was an announce- 
 ment that a ball would take place to-morrow evening (at 
 popular prices) at a well-known Paris house of entertain- 
 ment. ... So people danced in Paris? 
 
 Terezia's quick eyes scanned the passers-by. Everyone 
 seemed in a hurry. At most, acquaintances passed each 
 other with a scant nod, a quick "good morning," or a 
 quicker glance. . . . There came a party of young peo- 
 ple, gay young people ; who, as they glanced at the Fonte- 
 nay carriage, broke into still louder laughter. A hasty 
 brush dipped in some dull paint had obliterated the for- 
 bidden cipher and coronet. One young man pointed to 
 the dappled grays ; they also were shorn of aristocratic 
 distinction, in rude harness all their richly emblazoned 
 trappings gone. Terezia had taken a tender interest in 
 her own and her husband's insignia of rank; no, she had 
 not spared the coronets. 
 
 The group of young people dancing, shouting, singing, 
 and yet withal exhibiting the undeniable grace of youth, 
 passed up the quiet street; Terezia noticed that the girls 
 were tricked out in garlands, and, of course, the inevitable 
 tricolor cockades. 
 
116 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 She noticed on the opposite side of the road a young 
 gentleman, who wore in his button-hole a knot of white 
 satin ribbon. She had half a mind to stop the carriage 
 and ask him what this novel decoration was intended to 
 convey. He of the white knot, looking neither to the right 
 nor left, swung past her carriage at a fine martial pace. 
 Terezia tapped her delicate fingers on the framework of 
 her elegant equipage. Indeed the world must be entirely 
 mad when she ceased to command attention. 
 
 They clattered past the Tuileries. Towards the street 
 all the palace windows were shuttered. No doubt their 
 majesties preferred the seclusion of the garden front. A 
 great many soldiers paced the outer courtyard; no heavy 
 coaches in waiting. Why, at Versailles at times the car- 
 riages, two deep, had extended from one angle of the huge 
 building to another. 
 
 There had always been arrivals and departures at 
 court ; petitioners desiring royal favors ; those who had 
 the privilege to wait on royalty, and who never let an 
 opportunity pass to show their respectful homage ; others 
 whom the glitter of court life attracted as so many human 
 bees around the honey-pot; and the liveried servants of 
 the crown, the countless satellites, the lesser nobility who 
 bowed to the greater ^where had the astonishing crowd 
 vanished? 
 
 They drove down the Rue St. Honore, the shopping 
 centre of Paris. There was a frightful conformity in the 
 shop windows. Every mortal thing, from hats to cheese, 
 sported the national colors. Terezia with a yawn leaned 
 back in her carriage and scanned her ivory tablets. 
 
 She touched the cord attached to the coachman's arm. 
 
 Baptiste pulled up his horses with a jerk. A woman 
 pushing a barrow of vegetables had a narrow escape of 
 being knocked down. She voiced popular opinion in a 
 flow of abusive language. A little crowd gathered. 
 
 "Drive to the Three Miisheteers. I have not very much 
 to do. The horses must rest if I return home this eve^ 
 
REVOLUTION 117 
 
 ning.'* Terezia looked at her little jeweled watch. "Be 
 quite ready at six o'clock." 
 
 "Citojenne ?" 
 
 Click went the carriage door, and the citoyenne^s dainti- 
 ly-shod foot touched the pavement. 
 
 "Madame is walking!" exclaimed the horrified coach- 
 man, in his astonishment forgetting the new regulations. 
 
 The crowd hissed. 
 
 "Yes," said Terezia, smoothly, "I have business in this 
 quarter. I can always take a hackney coach." She 
 waved her hand. "Go," she said impatiently, "I have no 
 more orders to give you." 
 
 She turned and tripped away, rather well pleased with 
 herself. No woman of quality walked the streets alone 
 it was highly indecorous. Nothing mattered in times of 
 revolution. Terezia intended finding out things. She 
 had come to Paris to test public feeling. Boxed up at the 
 Cardilacs' she might just as well have stayed at home 
 and listened to Devin's boring prognostications. Devin 
 knew less than nothing of the political situation-r he only 
 repeated "old wives' tales," tales bordering on the in- 
 credible. What nonsense about killing the aristocrats! 
 Why the whole world would cry shame on the murderers. 
 
 Secure in her indomitable right to live, Terezia, with 
 scant consideration of what her friends might say, passed 
 over the Place du Louvre and made straight towards the 
 Cafe Royal. 
 
 As we all know, it has a charming central position occu- 
 pying a corner frontage facing the Palais Royal and 
 looking up towards the present Avenue de POpera. In 
 T^rezia's time the neighborhood was still a labyrinth of 
 indifferent streets. 
 
 With her easy swinging movement she entered the estab- 
 lishment. A waiter came forward and stared at her. 
 
 She smiled. "It is nicer outside. I will sit here." 
 She chose a pretty little green chair beside a tiny marble 
 table, one of many on the pavement. 
 
118 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 It was rather a slack business hour. Except for two or 
 three customers Terezia had the place to herself. 
 
 She ordered coffee and cakes and the Moniteur. 
 
 The white-aproned man, still staring, took her order. 
 Then he went to the propi'ietor. 
 
 The proprietor shrugged his shoulders. At present 
 people were not so particular, he said. The citoyenne did 
 no harm ( from a window he peeped at a certain little black 
 hat, a gorgeous display of golden hair and a pretty white 
 feather) on the contrary, she might attract custom. 
 
 Terezia sat on her little marble table, agreeably engaged 
 in watching the passers-by. She knew no one. How 
 strange that in the course of a year or so society should 
 have changed beyond recognition. Bah! Paris, ruled by 
 the commonalty, was no better than a provincial town. 
 Once she caught sight of a man who loved her very much 
 she had no wish to be discovered. Under cover of the 
 Moniteur, which the waiter had brought her, she hid her 
 amused face. Poor Adolf, how distracted he would have 
 been to know what he had missed ! She was not exactly 
 tired of Adolf, but his star was unpropitious. 
 
 Terezia had rarely felt so elated. She was doing a 
 brave thing, sitting in the heart of Paris utterly unpro- 
 tected. 
 
 A fat man ^probably a shopkeeper with a leering 
 hideous face turned round to look at her again. Terezia's 
 face was absolutely unemotional. 
 
 ^'The citoyenne is too pretty to sit alone," he remarked, 
 coming forward. "May I have the pleasure?" He in- 
 dicated an empty seat at her little table. 
 
 "Certainly," said Terezia, a little wearily, '4f it pleases 
 the citoyen,^* 
 
 "You are a stranger to Paris ?" he asked. 
 
 *'I arrived this morning." 
 
 "I have lived here for six months, six glorious months. 
 We can be proud to-day, we citizens, of enlightened 
 France." 
 
REVOLUTION 119 
 
 "I am afraid I am very ignorant." Terezia sighed, and 
 played with her little silver coffee-spoon. 
 
 He spat on the ground. ^'Gar^on here, a cognac." 
 
 The dull-faced waiter very promptly served the fat man. 
 In passing Terezia he gave her a knock. Perhaps it was 
 entirely accidental. 
 
 Her cavalier gave the toast of the hour: "Down with 
 royalties, down with aristocrats." He smiled facetiously 
 and put out a splay hand, none too well-kept. "The 
 beautiful citoyenne is of the same opinion.'^" 
 
 "Of course. The aristocrats have grown impossible." 
 
 "Well spoken, my dear. Still I have it in my heart to 
 pity them. Before we hunted them, now we gather them 
 in, keep them close, very close. Every true citizen of 
 France wishes to hug a little aristocrat." He threaded 
 his splay fingers and suddenly pulled his hands apart. "A 
 life for a life. You read your holy office, mademoiselle ,f^" 
 
 "Titles are out of place. Are we not friends.?" She 
 smiled. "Do tell me what is actually going on in Paris. 
 All seems so quiet and so orderly, one reads of no partic- 
 ular riots" (she rustled her paper), "and yet the air is 
 electric." 
 
 "You have hit the truth. Men are working day and 
 night, good, brave men, men whose names will live for 
 ever whom our children's children will rise and bless" 
 (what with the cognac and his own emotions the fat man 
 grew unctuously sentimental) ^he grabbed at Terezia's 
 hand. 
 
 *'Who are you, my pretty one.?" 
 
 *'A woman obviously alone and in need of protection." 
 
 He worked his tongue round his mouth as if chewing a 
 subtle thought. "I'll tell you frankly it can't be done. I 
 have got the devil of a wife. She is not in the provinces, 
 worse luck." 
 
 Terezia raised dangerously imploring eyes to heaven. 
 "I am an honest woman," she said simply. **Tell me, is 
 Paris safe for women in these days.?" 
 
 **you could bed in a thieves' cabin and fear no harm, 
 
120 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 provided you come of an honorable stock. There is war 
 to the knife on the aristocrats" (he lowered his voice), 
 "and on the Royal house." 
 
 "I have heard," said T^rezia, "that the deputies are not 
 of one mind." 
 
 "Nor likely to be. The top dog wins." 
 
 "Whom do you favor.?" 
 
 "Three.'' 
 
 "Their names?" 
 
 "Robespierre, a fine hard-working patriot. His nose is 
 of no delicate mechanism ^he'll stand a deal, will Robes- 
 pierre. Ever since the lamentable death of Mirabeau that 
 young man has come forward, rushed forward, impelled by 
 the voiceless soul of France. Thirty-five odd millions be- 
 hind him." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 "And a handful of enemies to vanquish. Death to the 
 aristocrats! Gar^on, another cognac." 
 
 Overcome by patriotism, the fat man had ceased to re- 
 gard Terezia as a possible distraction. His eyes took 
 another expression, less dangerous to herself but infinitely 
 more menacing to the order she represented. 
 
 Dully Terezia realized that Devin had touched the truth. 
 These people would stop at nothing. She realized the 
 hatred behind the man's words. 
 
 "And the others?" she said. 
 
 "There is Marat." 
 
 "I have heard of him." 
 
 "And TaUien " 
 
 "I have heard of him." 
 
 "There is a man for you ! He has both spirit and enter- 
 prise. He is a bom financier." 
 
 "Indeed?" 
 
 "By God's grace, yes ! And he does not tax the people. 
 The noblesse have to pay through their noses. Passports 
 are expensive matters nowadays. They come to him cring- 
 ing, paying their all." (He tapped his fleshy hand on 
 the little marble table.) "The public repositories are get- 
 
REVOLUTION 12l 
 
 ting over-crowded. I had occasion to call at citoyen Tal- 
 lien's private office last week. A printing office hein! A 
 legal bureau of Public Safety hein! Fiddlesticks! a 
 jeweler's shop, an establishment of genuine antique and 
 costly bric-a-brac. There they lay, the spoils of the Phil- 
 istines, all higgledy-piggledy on the floor and shelf, gleam- 
 ing to the tune of millions millions, I say! France will 
 benefit '' 
 
 AndTallien!'* 
 
 "Ha! ha! But you are perfectly right, my beauty. 
 Why, the fellow is an arch-thief." 
 
 "But a good patriot." 
 
 "None better, his zeal is famous. They say " 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 "It is a secret." 
 
 "No matter." 
 
 "I wouldn't care to risk my neck, not even to please you, 
 my pretty one. (To the devil with Angelique!)" 
 
 "Just for once." 
 
 "You could turn any man's head. I have heard it 
 emphatically stated that no more aristocrats are to leave 
 Fraxice '* 
 
 "And a good business too " 
 
 "That is, as soon as the matter can be properly legal- 
 ized, the whole lot of 'em get tucked in prison, snugly put 
 away, with no respect for either age or person. The 
 whole blessed lot." 
 
 "Then you must first build your cages. Why, the 
 prisons are far too small for such a select company." 
 
 "Gently, gently. There is an idea of easing his majes- 
 ty's prisons. Fellowship they say gives room up to a 
 certain point; you cannot ask impossibilities of God or 
 man." 
 
 Terezia sighed, 
 
 "Are you going to kill the poor creatures ?" she asked a 
 little doubtfully. 
 
 "You are a clever little woman. That is exactly what 
 we intend doing.'* 
 
122 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 "Have they any definite plans?" 
 
 "They don't speak of them. No definite plan is spoken 
 of until it has actually taken place." 
 
 "I understand." 
 
 "So much I can tell you. Look out for next year." 
 
 Terezia laughed. "MoTi Dieu" she said cheerfully, "not 
 before next year? Why, that gives them breathing space." 
 
 She rose. 
 
 "Don't go.' 
 
 "I must," she said. "As it is, my patronne will scold me 
 severely. It is wrong to gossip during business hours." 
 
 "Where do you live?" 
 
 T6r6zia smiled very sweetly. She opened her little bag 
 and extracted a blank visiting-card. "Has the citoy^en a 
 pencil?" 
 
 He handed her one. 
 
 She bent over the little table and wrote in a very clear 
 writing, "Marthe Brun, 10, Rue de Babylone." "A troi- 
 sieme^ citoyen. If you ask for Marthe the milliner you 
 will be sure to find me." 
 
 She held out her hand. 
 
 "You will look me up ?" she said. 
 
 He stumbled to his feet. He made some remark, prob- 
 ably to the effect that the citoyenne could be assured of 
 his future interest in her welfare. The citoyemie in the 
 meanwhile had disappeared in the crowd and vanished 
 from his slightly hazy view. 
 
 The fat man clutched at the little marble table, and, with 
 protruding eyes, he stared at the bit of pasteboard lying 
 before him. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 WITH a rapidly-beating heart Terezia threaded her 
 way through the unsavory streets. She walked 
 quickly, possessed by the horrible idea that if she didn't 
 put an appreciable distance between herself and "that 
 awful vampire" the said vampire would track her down 
 and maybe there and then drink his fill of aristocratic 
 blood. 
 
 Terezia had long ago forgotten that it might be a moot 
 question if dear papa's lineage and dear mamma's ancestry 
 were of such high degree. She made open fun of the Fonte- 
 nay family annals, but she looked upon her own birth as 
 unimpeachable. Now, hastening through the familiar 
 streets, she felt her heart bum at the insult offered to her 
 class and sex. 
 
 In her hurry she collided with a gentleman. He raised 
 his hat and benignly asked madame's pardon. He looked 
 a sober, kind-hearted old fellow. A lawyer probably.'* A 
 doctor maybe? Anyhow, an honest citizen of dishonest, 
 pandemonic Paris. 
 
 In the Rue de Clichy Terezia paused in her headlong 
 flight. She looked around rather doubtfully, flushed and 
 much too beautiful to walk alone. And yet she did not at- 
 tract undue attention. No one apparently had time to 
 follow her or to speculate on her errand. 
 
 Terezia found herself outside a coach-builder's premises. 
 The stock-in-trade lay about in the dim yard beyond; a 
 wheel over the signboard gave to all and sundry the dis- 
 tinguished information that Sullivan et Cie., purveyors to 
 the court, also accepted orders from less distinguished 
 patrons. 
 
 She suddenly remembered the paucity of the hamess- 
 
 123 
 
124 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 room at Fontenay. She really couldn't any longer drive 
 about with those wretched farm traces. 
 
 She mounted the steps and opened the shop door. 
 
 An elderly man in a leather apron, drilling holes in a 
 stout pair of reins, looked up indifferently. 
 
 "Good morning, citoyennej*^ he said, going on with his 
 work. 
 
 "May I sit down? I'm so tired." Terezia placed a 
 bundle of whips on the floor and took possession of the 
 only seat in the shop, a three-legged stool. "It is warm 
 to-day, and I am doing my shopping on foot, to save my 
 horses." She fanned herself with her handkerchief. A 
 faint breath of lilac broke through the stench of oil and 
 seasoned leather. 
 
 The man continued his work. "The master is out," he 
 volunteered at length. 
 
 "Can you take my orders?" 
 
 "I might" (surlily). 
 
 "Then get up properly and listen to me !" 
 
 "Eh.?" 
 
 He opened big eyes and smiled. "The citoyerme is in a 
 hurry. It is quite a phase of the day. All our customers 
 are in a hurry. Never had a busier season." 
 
 "No doubt your master is gratified." 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 Terezia beat her little, daintily-shod foot on the saw- 
 dust floor. "I can go elsewhere," she said, angrily. 
 
 "If it is a carriage you want, we can't book another 
 order until next year." 
 
 *'I have fifteen carriages at home." 
 
 He opened his eyes. "Ma fo%! a d-devant aristocrat?" 
 
 "Don't be rude. I am as good a patriot as you any day, 
 my man. I want you to make me as soon as possible a 
 plain set of double harness. What's the idea, I wonder? 
 Extravagance, I call it " 
 
 "That proves it " he interrupted. 
 
 "Proves what?" 
 
 "You are an aristocrat." 
 
REVOLUTION 125 
 
 "What else could I possibly be? Have you no eyes in 
 your head? Monsieur, there are aristocrats and aristo- 
 crats. The good people of France have no reason to dis- 
 like the name of Fontenay." 
 
 "I've heard of the name, ma foi!*^ 
 
 Terezia smiled. "I am rather famous,'* she admitted 
 modestly. 
 
 The man flung the reins over the counter, and fetched 
 the order-book, looking sharply at his customer. 
 
 "How much do you want to pay?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't care." 
 
 "Fifty, sixty, three hundred francs?'* 
 
 "I don't care." 
 
 "Good leather runs into a deal of money.'* 
 
 "The best quality, please." 
 
 The man booked the order. "To be paid on delivery 
 this day month, at the Chateau de Fontenay. Good morn- 
 ing, citoyenne" He turned briskly away. 
 
 "Oh!" gasped Terezia. "I've never in all my life paid 
 ready money. Is that also a new regulation? Dear Robes- 
 pierre must have very little to do." 
 
 "Many people run away nowadays without paying 
 at aU." 
 
 Terezia deposited two one-hundred- franc bills on the 
 counter. *'0n account," she said loftily. "Give me a 
 receipt." 
 
 "Eh ! but you are a quick one !" 
 
 "When it pleases me, citizen." She smiled. 
 
 The coachbuilder's assistant signed the receipt. He was 
 a strong, burly man, with a humorous twinkle in his eyes. 
 
 Terezia wandered leisurely across the shop and looked 
 out of the back door; it opened on to the yard. Under 
 a rough shed stood a monster coach, brand-new, extremely 
 effective and, no doubt, extremely heavy. 
 
 "That's a handsome carriage," she remarked, pleasantly, 
 *^and quite a new model. What do you call it?" 
 
 "A berline." 
 
 "Who's ordered it?" 
 
126 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 "A Baroness Korff.'* 
 
 "Don't know her." 
 
 "I think the family is German, or maj4)e Scandina- 
 
 vian "' 
 
 Ter&ia pricked up her ears. *'How interesting," she 
 said. "Can I look at it closer.'^" 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 He followed her across the yard and gallantly assisted 
 her into the coach. (Terezia had a mighty power over 
 men!) "Enter, madame," he said politely, "and feel for 
 yourself the luxury of the upholstery. Why, a queen 
 couldn't want a better carriage, let alone a baroness." 
 
 Terezia settled herself on the front seat, and declared 
 that it was a dream. "But it is a heavy carriage all the 
 same," she added, "and I rather pity the poor post- 
 horses." 
 
 "Ten good horses and two or three crack postilions, 
 and she'll dance out of France in a jiffy." 
 
 Terezia laughed. "Really it does you all credit. Look 
 what capacious pockets, and here is a place for a carafe. 
 And four footstools why so many?" 
 
 "She doesn't travel alone." 
 
 **No, no, I suppose she doesn't. Well, anyhow, she is 
 a fortunate lady." 
 
 Terezia clambered out of the heavy carriage. She had 
 quite forgotten her fatigue. For the moment she was 
 genuinely jealous of Baroness de Korff's fine conveyance. 
 She wouldn't have minded it herself, nor "dancing out of 
 Paris in a jiffy." Paris was a horribly iniquitous hole. 
 
 Terezia put her little lilac-scented handkerchief to her 
 nose. "I hope your client doesn't mind the smell of fresh 
 paint," she said, 
 
 "That'll pass off. The gentleman is in no hurry to 
 have his order delivered. We are keeping the carriage 
 until required." 
 
 ^'Gentleman?" inquired Ter&ia. 
 
 "The most insufferable gentleman, ma'am." 
 
 "How so?" 
 
REVOLUTION 127 
 
 "Tastes 'differ, I know. Personally IVe never stom- 
 ached pretty feathered cocks of foreign extraction, pra- 
 ting this, prating that. There is nothing so wearisome 
 as a man with nothing to do except to offer good advice." 
 
 "Indeed, you are right," said Terezia, thinking how 
 aptly this applied to Devin. "It makes them so quarrel- 
 some and interfering." 
 
 "Just so in and out of the workshop at all hours of 
 the day, arguing, directing, insisting." 
 
 "I wonder who she is?" 
 
 The man swung a huge key on his finger, which he had 
 taken from the coach-house door. "The same idea has 
 struck me," he said. 
 
 "You have made no inquiries?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Nor your master?" 
 
 "Why should he? He has been handsomely paid. It 
 is no business of ours." He looked at her with his merry 
 twinkle. "Don't you be building mares' nests out of a 
 plain carriage." 
 
 Terezia liked the look of this honest craftsman. He 
 had splendid muscles, and, more than that, splendidly 
 broad principles. She returned slowly into the shop, 
 which struck cold and damp after the sunny courtyard. 
 Terezia shivered . . . surely he wouldn't wish to kill 
 aristocrats? She wanted to put the question to him, 
 but she thought it wiser to refrain. A pleasant, humor- 
 ous smile may hide unknown depths of villainy. 
 
 "Good-by, and thank you so much," she said, tripping 
 out of the shop door. In a minute she was back again, 
 asking rather breathlessly, "Where am I?" 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 The man had resumed his work. *'In the Rue de Clichy, 
 No. 27 where else?" 
 
 "I have lost my way," she explained pathetically. 
 
 "You^l find it again. Turn to the right and you are 
 sure to find it. You couldn't miss it." He followed her 
 to the door. 
 
128 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 "Thank jou,'* said Terezia, rather doubtfully, 
 
 As luck would have it, the same benign old gentleman 
 she had noticed on leaving the Cafe Royal, came leisurely 
 up the street. He carried a bag in his hand. 
 
 *'Who is that?" she asked, on a sudden impulse, point- 
 ing towards the leisurely citizen. "I know his face. 
 Where can I have seen it.'^" 
 
 "That's more than I can answer, citoyenne. As it 
 happens, however, he's one of the customers. A Doctor 
 GuiUotin. An inventor, and a kind, clever man, they say." 
 
 "He looks very kind," said Terezia, thoughtfully. 
 Where had she heard that name? Then she smiled. Her 
 nerves were playing her stupid pranks! What an odd 
 coincidence! Dear little Georges had asked her to bring 
 him a toy with some such name. Who knows? the good 
 doctor might have invented the very game! 
 
 "^w. revoir,''^ she said. "You'll let me have the harness 
 as soon as possible?" 
 
 She walked slowly towards the river, searching for a 
 hackney cab. She felt very hungry and tired. In h^r 
 deepest dejection her good star gleamed in a leaden sky. 
 Whom should she sight again but Adolf! He was a long 
 way off, but this time she ran after him. 
 
 "Adolf !'^ she cried. "Adolf!" 
 
 And, as the gods rarely give half-measure, the young 
 man heard her voice, above the medley of traffic and his 
 own grave thoughts, and promptly turned round. Te- 
 rezia felt like a shipwrecked mariner who suddenly feels 
 land under his feet. She caught hold of her lover's arm, 
 and before he could ask a single question she told him she 
 was famished, and that after a good lunch she would be 
 quite ready to hear all he had to teU her. 
 
 *'Darling " he began. 
 
 "I know ^but first of all an omelette, a casserole of 
 chicken, a glass of Burgundy, a dish of stewed pears " 
 
 "T^r&ia!" 
 
 ** Adolf, I love you," she mnrmurcd. 
 
REVOLUTION 129 
 
 He hailed a passing cab. "Jump in," he said. "What 
 is the meaning of it all?" he asked. 
 
 She didn't directly answer his question, but instead she 
 laid her tired head on his shoulder. "Hold me tight," 
 she murmured. "Yes, one kiss ^just one to make me feel 
 alive. I have been so desperately frightened. I have had 
 a dreadful adventure. . . ." 
 
 He smoothed her hair; he kissed her flower mouth; he 
 called her every imaginable endearing term. Neither 
 realized the musty fustiness of the jolting cab, or that 
 the driver kept continually turning round in his seat and 
 staring in, through the cracked window, at his amorous 
 fare. Nothing mattered (to Terezia) but food and 
 love. . . . 
 
 As to her lover, he was in the seventh heaven of ro- 
 mantic delight. What a windfall! 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 npHE days slipped past very quickly. Terezia was quite 
 surprised when Monsieur de Fontenay solemnly pre- 
 sented her with a big bouquet of roses and his con- 
 gratulations. 
 
 She was still in bed. The window curtains were thrown 
 back and the bright June sunshine flooded her pretty 
 room. The coloring was so delicate gray, pink, white 
 and discreet gilding. A choice crayon drawing by Wat- 
 teau in an oval frame faced her. It represented a very 
 pretty woman, yet not so pretty as Terezia . . . she 
 knew it herself. From the open window she could see a 
 handful of fresh green trees and an acre or two of 
 blue, blue sky. 
 
 "What is it?" she said. 
 
 *'Your birthday, madame." 
 
 He placed the roses on her counterpane such a beauty 
 lace, ribbons, and needlework and a discreet salute 
 on her outstretched hand. 
 
 *'Thank you,'' she murmured. 
 
 So . . . she was eighteen getting quite old! 
 
 Shock-headed Devin had been quite on his good behavior 
 lately. He'd treated her with great deference only about 
 once a week did he call her any names worth mentioning. 
 He took her protracted absences in Paris very good-na- 
 turedly. Her little peccadilloes he put down to youth. If 
 at seventeen you can't amuse yourself, when is to be done? 
 He'd come to the just conclusion. He himself not being 
 seventeen, but a distressingly old thirty (he looked forty), 
 he kept prudently at home. 
 
 He said he had all the amusement he wanted looking 
 
 130 
 
REVOLUTION 131 
 
 after the pigs. He'd lately invested in fine Yorkshire 
 stock. Terezia very kindly refrained from being sar- 
 castic. The whole world knew it wasn't pigs but fright 
 which kept him boxed at Fontenay-des-Roses. He was 
 afraid to meet his own bailiff, they said. He'd run any 
 distance to escape Robespierre. He didn't want to in- 
 criminate himself with any party. He heroically refrained 
 from airing his royalist sympathies. Such a great, well- 
 born man would naturally uphold the interests of the 
 crown. He didn't mind meeting the Bishop of Autun, 
 Monseigneur de Talleyrand, a deputy and enormously 
 proud of the fact. (He'd done penance and talked piously 
 to gain his seat. He wasn't a bit pious, reall}^ Quite 
 the contrary. The ladies loved him. Men didn't like him.) 
 Well, Devin suffered the bishop. He was equally gracious 
 to another of his wife's friends, de Ravoral. De Ravoral 
 would frequently drop down on the couple (always ascer- 
 taining beforehand if she was at home) and bring them 
 all the news of the day. He invariably left the master 
 of the house shaken, and more inclined than ever to the 
 proper breeding of pigs. "Nuff nuff nuff !" They at 
 least were harmless animals, and a good investment. Lit- 
 tle Devin had a true tradesman's eye on the profits. His 
 chief complaint against Terezia was her extravagance. 
 On the whole he took ner lovers laconically. "If at seven- 
 teen you don't amuse yourself, when are you to do it?" 
 
 Yet he respected the convenances. Wasn't it punctili- 
 ously courteous of him to bring her an offering of flowers 
 on the fifteenth of June? Truth to tell, he'd got hold of 
 a wrong date but that didn't matter. Terezia wanted 
 a June birthday. Who wants to be born in the sere and 
 yellow leaf? It is quite a bad omen. Devin was horribly 
 superstitious. He was (so said his wife) horrible in many 
 ways. However, the flowers were quite pretty. 
 
 *^Thank you," she said again. "I'm getting up pres- 
 ently, and then you shall take me for a walk. We'll take 
 the boy with us." 
 
 "I shall be charmed," he said. 
 
132 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 So, you see, between storms they enjoyed moments of 
 peaceful family life. 
 
 Peace wasn't the order of the day. In hot Paris 
 they'd had quite a heat wave Deputy Robespierre and 
 Redacteur Tallien were disputing. 
 
 Tallien worked tremendously. There never was a more 
 painstaking young man, and with it all he maintained a 
 breezy optimism. On the darkest, wettest day he always 
 saw a beneficent, radiant sun, getting up right, as it were, 
 behind the inky clouds, for his sole benefit. Such a sight 
 would naturally be conducive to good-humor. 
 
 It quite annoyed him to find his friend (they hated each 
 other like poison) , citoyen Robespierre, on such a glorious 
 day in the dumps. There he would sit on his office stool 
 like a monkey, black as a thunder-cloud, peevish, irritable, 
 suspicious, in spite of his, Tallien's brilliant flow of talk. 
 
 Robespierre would lean his hot head on his left hand, 
 elbow on table, and focus his adviser. From a rational 
 point of view he was utterly wrong yet, maybe, by a 
 whim of chance superlatively right? 
 
 ^'I tell you,'' said Tallien, sprawling on his chair in a 
 new summer suit, pale violet, we fancy, with a pale-blue 
 silk collar "I tell you, we couldn't have arranged it 
 better ourselves. For once in their lives the dear pets 
 have behaved cleverly; 'mazing clever.'* 
 
 "We're not out of the wood." 
 
 Tallien nodded, fanning his heated face with his yel- 
 low gloves. "The very place on a summer's day." 
 
 The sound of gay young voices in the street below 
 broke in upon his reflections. He looked out of the dim 
 window Robespierre's rooms were incredibly dirty. The 
 sight of youth and innocence always gave him pleasure. 
 From the window he glanced pityingly at the dyspeptic 
 little man opposite him . . . poor devil, no woman would 
 ever dream her heaven on his breast. . . . 
 
 "If I had the time," said Tallien, "I'd drive out to 
 Fontenay-des-Roses." 
 
REVOLUTION 133 
 
 "So," snarled the other, "you've patched up an ac- 
 quaintance?" 
 
 "I don't approve of patches, sir ; it's against my meth- 
 ods entirely." He stroked a fold of his brand-new sum- 
 mer coat. "Either all or nothing." 
 
 He leaped to his feet with disconcerting suddenness, 
 "It'll be all aU all !" he said. 
 
 "Keep your dirty " 
 
 "Nonsense, man alive! D'you think I've the time to go 
 love-making? I've never even tried except once to 
 meet the lady. I can wait, I can always wait. I'm think- 
 ing of our birds, our pretty little human birds, fluttering 
 in the woods away. We'll catch 'em on the rebound 
 . , such good copy. In point of fact" (he tapped his 
 breast-pocket), "I've got it all written up. A stirring 
 article, citoi/en, a very notable article, full of human dis- 
 gust at human folly, and worse, human selfishness. Think 
 of flying away, trying to fly away from Duty! Isn't 
 duty our conscience, our God, our constitution, with the 
 gracious king at its head ? he, ha, ha !" 
 
 Tallien's laugh was as sudden and loud as the boom of 
 a fog-horn. It almost startled Robespierre. 
 
 "Have you got your facts?" he said. 
 
 "Facts and fancies, sir." He tapped the paper he held. 
 
 "I never believe in gossip." 
 
 "But you believe in yourself?" 
 
 "What's that got to do with it?" 
 
 "Rather more than you imagine." 
 
 Robespierre held out his clammy hand it was an ob- 
 jectionable hand none too clean. "Let me look at it." 
 
 "Presently, sir, presently," he said, vastly pleased with 
 himself. "I may post into Varennes and drink a glass of 
 wine at the Golden Arms, The landlord is rather a pal 
 of mine, an excellent fellow and a good patriot. It would 
 encourage him if I showed some interest in the crops 
 the coming harvest ought, by all reports, to be of prime 
 quality." 
 
 Robespierre watched the younger man prance, as if 
 
134 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 practising a dance measure, as he uttered these quaint 
 absurdities. He looked full of life, this long-nosed indi- 
 vidual ; his big mouth was wreathed in smiles ; his broad, 
 strong teeth declaring agreeable things about his diges- 
 tion. Again green-eyed envy oppressed the Public Ac- 
 cuser. It would have given him immortal pleasure to 
 squash the exuberance of this robust young man. 
 
 "I confess you put it very aptly," said Robespierre, 
 evidently referring to some .earlier matter under dis- 
 cussion. 
 
 "The bait, the trap and the dear little mice,'* said 
 Tallien, still capering. "Why, it is of exquisite simplicity, 
 and between ourselves and the post, not without a touch 
 of humor,'* 
 
 "How so?" (irritably). 
 
 "They little know that they are playing into our 
 hands.'* 
 
 **Spies never yet collected in one camp.'* 
 
 "Yes, but, of course they are all eyes, all ears ^all 
 tongues !" 
 
 *'You take it, citizen, with unreasonable levity.** 
 
 "Not at all.'* Tallien's long limbs grew rigidly stiff. 
 *'At heart I am desperate at the very idea of failure. 
 Look you, we have all the pawns in the game. What are 
 their effective allies? A handful of faithful guards say 
 a score or so of loyal gentlemen, any number of indiscreet 
 women (women don't count), this very enterprising Swede 
 who may jeopardize his head; uncommon foolish meth- 
 ods, a talking and a buzzing to start a mole winking, 
 much more a patriot of Robespierre's penetration I tell 
 you, their poor little battalion, all told, is of no more 
 consequence than the dauphin's tin soldiers. I can throw 
 them over with a sweep of my hand. I will throw them 
 over (we'll arrange that later). Good lord, man! can't 
 you see that in their flight the king saves his country 
 alive! All we want to win our game is a startling or a 
 cowardly action on his part." 
 
REVOLUTION 135 
 
 Rigid he stood as he spoke, facing the other's grudging 
 approval. 
 
 Tallien passed his big hand over his sleek black hair. 
 *'Given so much in justice they must take their share in 
 the business my faith! we will spare them the details of 
 the return journey. We'll crowd our canvas with large 
 colors, and give his majesty a national welcome. That 
 part of the program belongs to us, and we'd be asses if 
 we didn't profit by so notable an occasion. The streets 
 of Paris shall be lined with an appreciative audience. 
 We'll collect together the riff-raff, the goodly backbone 
 of our new France. It'll be a sight for the gods to behold, 
 and a milestone in the history of our country. No ban- 
 ners, no music, no military ceremonial, the people shall 
 by their silence give solemn welcome to their ruler. It 
 will be a tremendous day, tremendous !" He leaped in the 
 air and bawled in his excitement. 
 
 A knock at the door interrupted his eloquence. Robes- 
 pierre composed his features all agape at this fiery out- 
 burst and Tallien, red-cheeked, seated himself at his 
 desk. He dipped his quill in the large inkpot, "Come 
 in," he said sharply. 
 
 The door opened cautiously to admit ci-devant Comte 
 de Ravoral, looking exactly himself bald pate, careful 
 clothes, exquisite manner. 
 
 "I fear I am disturbing a conference," he said. *'Let 
 me plead guilty at once, with a thousand apologies for 
 such indiscretion." 
 
 Tallien grunted. He did not like the ci-devant count. 
 He had never liked him since he had had the honor of 
 reading his villainous proofs. 
 
 Robespierre had only a casual acquaintance with this 
 derelict of Louis XV.'s court. He remembered he had 
 met him at the Fontenays'. 
 
 "Whatever the citizen's business may be,'* he said 
 suavely, "we regret that to-day it is quite impossible to 
 give the matter our attention. It is late " 
 
 "Never too late to oblige a lady," interrupted Ravoral, 
 
136 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 advancing on the tips of his polished boots towards Tal- 
 lien. "Here is a surety of better things to come. A spring 
 message to the Messenger of Hope.'* As he spoke he 
 laid under Tallien's nose a dainty basket massed with 
 dewy violets, and tied with white satin ribbons. 
 
 "I am greatly obliged," said Tallien, sniffing the offer- 
 ing. "My modesty forbids me to guess who has thus 
 honored me.'' 
 
 Robespierre, behind his colleague's back, gurgled his 
 disapproval. Tallien was fish enough to swallow any 
 bait! What conceit! 
 
 And bland he looked, this tall son of the people smiling 
 at the bluest blood of France. He had not enough polish 
 to get up and offer the count a seat. He didn't appear 
 to notice' that his visitor, bending forward and fingering 
 the violets, was standings 
 
 Ravoral inhaled the perfume of the flowers over Tallien's 
 long back and sloping shoulders (no, Tallien wasn't a well- 
 built man), and, in the very discreetest of whispers he 
 managed to convey to him that the modest gift concealed 
 yet another offering of love. 
 
 "Thanks," said Tallien. 
 
 *'No matter," said Ravoral, loudly, stepping back and 
 waving his delicate fingers in a deprecating manner. "How- 
 ever, to please the most charming woman in Paris, just 
 place her flowers in water. And then I'll fly. At what 
 hour can I return?" 
 
 "Settle the man," signaled Robespierre. 
 
 "How can I serve you?" asked Tallien, rising. 
 
 *'I am outside the matter, dear sir. The lady ^by the 
 way, her card is attached to the basket." 
 
 Tallien searched for the card, Ravoral in the meanwhile 
 engaging Robespierre in conversation, and managing with 
 his attenuated figure to screen the editor. 
 
 The card was quickly located, lying on the top of a 
 small jewel-box, faded and old. Tallien with great greed 
 raised the lid and discovered a string of beautiful pearls. 
 
 ** . . Two hundred and fifty thousand. I assure the 
 
REVOLUTION 137 
 
 deputy these figures were given me as representing the 
 crowd gathered on the Champ de Mars. A wonderful and 
 inspiring sight. Two hundred and fifty thousand!" The 
 old man emphasized his point. 
 
 Tallien, secretly laughing at RavoraPs adroitness, 
 slipped the handsome bribe into his pocket. It was a 
 valuable necklace. 
 
 "Here is the card," he said pleasantly. He looked at it. 
 "H'm ! how can I serve the ci-devant Marquise de Longue- 
 ville?" 
 
 "She has been ordered by her doctor to take the waters 
 at Bath." 
 
 "Quite a fashionable resort." 
 
 "It seems there is a difficulty in getting passports. I 
 took upon myself the liberty of troubling the citizen on 
 the matter. The lady is in delicate health." 
 
 "We might oblige the lady," said Tallien good- 
 naturedly. "You are quite right, we have been obliged 
 to limit our passports troublesome times in France 
 and also to enforce very strict regulations. However, 
 there is an exception to every rule." (He signaled to 
 Robespierre a reassuring message.) 
 
 Robespierre coughed. "I am very willing to grant the 
 lady permission to stay at Bath." 
 
 **Exactly. A charming health resort in the south of 
 England. Do you know England?" 
 
 "Only by hearsay." 
 
 "A delightful country, though the inns baffle descrip- 
 tion." 
 
 Tallien rustled a large sheet of parchment, and sat 
 down at his writing-table, dipped his quill in the ink-horn 
 and wrote with his usual rapidity. "That is all right," 
 he said, turning round and looking at Robespierre. "All 
 I want is your signature, if you would kindly give yourself 
 the trouble. Here beneath mine." 
 
 Robespierre took hold of a pen. Tallien laughed good- 
 naturedly. "No, my friend," he said, "red ink, if you 
 please; it is so much more effectual." 
 
138 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 Robespierre smiled and wrote his sprawling signature 
 beneath Tallien's (equally sprawling). 
 
 Tallien blotted the document. 
 
 De Ravoral thanked them profusely. 
 
 Tallien rolled the document and tied it with a piece of 
 green silk, attached to two splashing seals. 
 
 "At your service, citizen," he said, handing the roll to 
 Ravoral. 
 
 Ravoral again expressed his deep sense of gratitude. 
 He went towards the door. "Dear little violets," he said, 
 en passant, "Emblem of good fortune. Good-evening, 
 gentlemen.'* 
 
 Old Ravoral ran almost jauntily down the steep stairs 
 and into his waiting cab. 
 
 "Home," he said. 
 
 And up his own stairs this gay old bird leaped like a 
 schoolboy. He used his latchkey with precaution. Once 
 in the privacy of his library he added to his precaution 
 by turning the key in the door. Then he unrolled the 
 precious passport the face value five francs seventy-five 
 centimes, plus two hundred and fifty thousand francs, plus 
 a basket of delicious violets. 
 
 He read it over carefully ; he read it again a true and 
 honorable document giving to the citot/enne Longueville 
 and her family, seven persons all told, a free pass from the 
 territories of France. 
 
 Ravoral, as it was getting dark, lit all his available 
 candles and one snuffing old oil lamp. He also drew down 
 his blinds. 
 
 With infinite pains he wrote a facsimile of the two sig- 
 natures very boldly inscribed in red ink. Like a good boy 
 he repeated his copy until perfect. 
 
 Then, like a neat boy, he very carefully erased the 
 sprawling redness of Robespierre's and Tallien's brack- 
 eted names. And (with some natural trepidation) he 
 dipped the formidable signatures ^as it were) into the 
 dye-pot. 
 
REVOLUTION 139 
 
 Presently with satisfaction he glanced at Madame de 
 Longueville's passport. "That is their little game," he 
 said, "is it? Well, my dear lady, I have done the best 
 for you, humanly speaking, that I can. The rest we must 
 leave to Providence." 
 
 On this old Ravoral tidied his bureau, blew out his 
 lights, rolled up his paper, readjusted the green ribbon, 
 unlocked his door, slipped into his great-coat, and landed 
 at Madame de Longueville's house just in time for supper. 
 
 He was received with acclamation and some tears. 
 
 Never once did the bald-headed nobleman allude to ink, 
 red or black. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 NEVER had leafy June been more exquisite than in this 
 year of grace 1791, It was quite a pleasure to quit 
 the hot precincts of Paris the sun-baked pavements, the 
 scorching squares, the little breathless side streets smelling 
 not of aloes and myrrh ; a rather villainous odor, partic- 
 ularly at nightfall, pervaded these mean streets where the 
 poor housed as best they could. 
 
 The spirit of the hour didn't allow of lightly linked 
 friendships, swiftly made and quickly broken. The danc- 
 ing-halls in Paris stood practically empty; even the Bois 
 had less attraction for the public that was customary at 
 this time of year thirsty, tired citizens evidently quenched 
 their thirst elsewhere. Clubs had sprung up everywhere, 
 and were immensely popular; in every grade of society 
 men frequented more or less dubious assemblies, where 
 liberty was upheld as the very bed-rock of unrestricted 
 citizenship; amazing how bravery of sorts flourished in 
 the outposts of Paris. 
 
 How well we can understand the call of the country, of 
 the leafy, distant glades, where, to all purposes, perpetual 
 tranquillity reigns, perpetual twilight, cool as a zephyr 
 breeze and of touching purity. No law-abiding citizen 
 fails to appreciate a woodland scene; it speaks to him of 
 the peace which once upon a time dwelt on earth proba- 
 bly, if he thinks the matter over, when Eve yet slept in 
 Adam's rib. 
 
 Even her majesty the Queen of France dreamed, when 
 the June sunshine flooded the royal apartments, of a 
 happy day in the country. 
 
 By the arbitrary law of the people, which carried more 
 weight than St. Louis' golden scroll, she and the king had 
 been mewed up in the Tuileries for over a year. So zeal- 
 
 140 
 
REVOLUTION 141 
 
 ous were the citizens of Paris to guard the royal family 
 that they'd refused to listen to reason, or to the laws of 
 health. It was perilously wearisome at the palace. Noth- 
 ing of interest occurred to break the monotony of the 
 daily routine: a little gossip, a few card-parties ; a paucity 
 of scandal and much talk which soared entirely above their 
 imagination. Having nothing better to do, it seemed the 
 courtiers exaggerated public affairs. All kinds of im- 
 possible, wicked stories were, under the plea of secrecy, 
 retailed to their majesties. Sister Elizabeth was, of 
 course, privy to each confidence. 
 
 Ever since Easter the queen had forbidden gossip in 
 her presence. The people and the antics of the people did 
 not interest her. On the whole the people had behaved 
 improperly. 
 
 What with the breath of radiant summer, the wild call 
 of the woods, the glitter of marshland, melting into the 
 azure sea all seen in the perspective of a wistful mind 
 the glamor of the country took more and more hold of the 
 royal family. 
 
 There were secret councils, secret smugglings, secret 
 orders, secret amusement (Was there ever such an ad- 
 venture embarked upon- by the Crown?) The king woke 
 up to the task in hand, nodded benign consent, laughed 
 loudly over certain articles of dress and took much pleas- 
 ure (behind locked doors) in trying on a very new set of 
 clothes. How he dangled the round hat, which completed 
 a delightful costume, with boyish delight! "Eh bien, me 
 voila," he said, popping it on his royal wig. Madame 
 Elizabeth, far more sensible than the king, was for ever 
 cautioning silence his majesty's spirits were like to run 
 away with his prudence. It was on the whole a matter of 
 relief to the good lady when *Hhe dear man" was safe 
 seated at his writing table, glum as an unbroken thunder- 
 cloud, pondering his correspondence. Long before June 
 broke into leaf his majesty had solemnly promised himself 
 to write a concise and explicatory Letter. The Letter 
 was to be left behind him when the party went a-frolicking. 
 
142 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 Such an affair! (whisper it not) in the dead of night, in 
 unrecognizable attire, with baggage and kind friends, 
 waiting-maids, band-boxes, gentlemen whips, brand-new 
 conveyance, borrowed names and all the wit they could 
 muster ! 
 
 When Marie Antoinette thought of this prodigious es- 
 capade, now in the making, when she tried on strange 
 garments, practiced stranger manners, tried not to look 
 herself and caught sight of her dignified yet strangely 
 ageing face in the looking-glass, the enterprise would seem 
 to have a sinister importance. There was no joke behind 
 the grim reality of it all. Blessed children of France! 
 (she would turn and kiss them) they were mercifully 
 spared the revelation of the looking-glass, and even to the 
 anointed king, their father, some good angel had denied 
 the gift of penetration. 
 
 We can take it for granted that Marie- Antoinette suf- 
 fered the most from the restricted air of Paris, and that 
 the king was more deeply annoyed by the poor comfort of 
 his palace. Small matters were great matters to his maj- 
 esty and great matters hung as trifles before his kindly 
 eyes. 
 
 What followed is history. We all know how the royal 
 flight turned out a dismal failure ; how every detail wanted 
 oiling, above all clipping! How maddening it must have 
 been to the Faithful Few to watch this piling of effects ; 
 this grandiose preparation for a flight, which was no flight 
 but a solemn procession into the ridiculous. 
 
 It is history, and sad history at that, artifice upon 
 artifice. The snarers waiting for the overweighted birds, 
 and the poor birds fluttering back into the cage almost 
 as eager to be caught as to gain their freedom. The 
 travesty of the return ; the church bells pealing ; the mar- 
 shaling of crowds ; the grant of public holiday ; the shut- 
 tered shops of Paris. And far and wide to the uttermost 
 corners of France, the panting couriers riding for dear 
 life, carrying the fatal tidings of a king's broken faith. 
 
 Yes, as Tallien had pleasantly anticipated, the second 
 
REVOLUTION 143 
 
 act of the performance was infinitely better stage-man- 
 aged than the first. It required hard work, but a true 
 patriot does not spare himself. Tallien had worked very 
 hard indeed, and by some impious decree of luck he'd 
 touched rock in a quagmire of uncertainty. 
 
 There had been a night and a day when, sweating agony 
 beneath an indifferent manner, he had faced the odds of an 
 enraged populace. It requires so infinitely little to shift 
 the uneasy scales of popularity. A misplaced gesture and 
 he, Tallien, felt convinced that all his eloquence would not 
 have saved his neck. So (sweating agony) he held himself 
 rigid. He was as utterly neutral as an unborn babe. In 
 this attitude he awaited events. 
 
 And triumph held his great lips in an enormous smile. 
 The day of the King's Public Disgrace, Tallien ran around 
 Paris as if suspended on invisible wires all animation 
 all-powerful greatly admired, he of the vast energy and 
 patriotic fervor. 
 
 He marshaled the willing crowds; he joked with the 
 little women, always his slaves, the work-girls of Paris; 
 he gave fatherly counsel to white-bearded men, this strap- 
 ping, ambitious fellow not yet thirty. 
 
 How joyfully he breathed the impure air of the streets; 
 how often he glanced towards the open road ^how he was 
 the very first to spy a big fly crawling in a cloud of dust, 
 presently to emerge into a lumbering conveyance of sorts 
 (with a full retinue behind), and at last, in front of his 
 frank impatience, to take concrete form in the shape of 
 a traveling-carriage, of dignified dimensions, harnessed to 
 creditably fresh horses, and led by shame-faced postilions, 
 containing for him, Tallien, the salt of the earth. 
 
 His loyalty was exuberant at that moment. He almost 
 doffed his hat to the heated visage of corpse-faced mon- 
 archy. 
 
 No muffled beat of drum or sound of solemn tocsin was 
 necessary to convince Tallien that the king had staked his 
 all and lost his all. 
 
 He slipped from his place in the stolid, patient, awe- 
 
IM TORCHLIGHT 
 
 struck crowd ^he rushed down a comparatively empty 
 side-street to a new coign of vantage. He was granted a 
 brief glimpse of the queen's face. Her face told him 
 nothing; her eyes were downcast. Slowly, very slowly, 
 the mournful procession passed along the shuttered streets 
 of Paris. . . "Eh bien, me voila," said the king, reiter- 
 ating his stock phrase as he put his head out of the 
 window. 
 
 Next morning, again, the little breakfast party in the 
 royal dining-room the same old battered coffee-pot on 
 the table which had caused the king's annoyance the day 
 before yesterday. 
 
 The sealed Letter had been removed from its place ; by 
 now its contents were familiar to a million minds. Day 
 and night, printing-presses had churned out copies of that 
 incriminatingly foolish Letter, "written by Our Hand" 
 and we may add composed by "Our Mind." Oh. why, 
 Marie- Antoinette, in the hurry of flight, why hadn't you 
 paused an instant to snatch that damning Letter and 
 commit it to the sacred flames? You might have known 
 your man. . . . 
 
 In one of the dining-room windows at the Tuileries, the 
 dauphin had hung his bird-cage. Presently, the king, after 
 eating a good breakfast, left the ladies to their silence, and 
 presented the canaries with a lump of sugar. He stood a 
 long time watching their cheerful antics, tapping the little 
 cage with his royal fingers. . . . 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 A/TARQUIS DE FONTENAY was deeply incensed at 
 '^^'^ the king's ignoble mistake. His majesty it seems 
 had publicly declared that the royal picnic (or what- 
 ever he called it) had been from start to finish a mere 
 frolic. They'd dressed themselves up for fun, merely to 
 amuse themselves and the dauphin and Madame Royale 
 she a pensive little girl who evidently wanted plenty of 
 amusement before she laughed . . . had she laughed? 
 
 Really and truly the Marquis Devin had no patience 
 with the whole story. He glared angrily and uncompre- 
 hendingly at Mile, de Cardilac, who, a fortnight after the 
 said escapade, was paying a visit to Fontenay and who 
 had no better breeding than to sit weeping- at his break- 
 fast table, over "the sad affair." 
 
 "It serves them right," said Devin. 
 
 Terezia finished her plateful of strawberries and cream 
 before speaking. "It was a tragedy," she said, calmly. 
 
 Devin didn't answer. He never answered his wife, if he 
 could help it. He got up instead and sauntered away to 
 his pigs. "Nuff nuff," they grunted. 
 
 He stood over a great sow, wallowing in the mire, and 
 tickled her ears with his walking-stick . . . how he pitied 
 the king, and how he would have envied him if he'd been 
 successful. No man envies signal misfortune. His posi- 
 tion was intolerable. He was practically a prisoner in his 
 palace, under the watch and care of a justly incensed 
 nation. "Nuff nuff," said the sow, rolling on her back 
 in an ecstasy of delight. 
 
 Yet the King's Flight ^very feelingly alluded to in 
 L'Ami des Citoyens ^hadn't been without its notable re- 
 sults. Something had to be done. Out of much misery 
 
 145 
 
146 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 there sprang a glory. The papers called it a glory, and 
 much else, all of a deliriously joyful character. Terezia 
 when she heard that the long-projected idea had actually 
 taken substantial form was delighted. 
 
 "How nice," she said. ''Then they can't fight any more. 
 They've got what they've wanted beasts and I'll be 
 able to look forward to a pleasant season. Last winter 
 there were no balls to speak of." 
 
 De Ravoral stroked his chin thoughtfully. He felt for 
 the lovely creature at his feet. It was a lovely September 
 morning; the gardens of Fontenay were looking their best 
 so was the marchioness, in a belated summer hat 
 wreathed with field flowers, and a transparent barege 
 dress, patterned with blue, sucking a straw and looking 
 up at him, full of delightful wonder. 
 
 It's nice to be an oracle at any age, but especially so 
 late in life. Comte de Ravoral would be the last man not 
 to appreciate the blessings left to him ^he could easily 
 number them. He leaned back in his comfortable garden 
 chair, mildly grateful to his valet that he'd made him wear 
 his thick boots. At eighteen you can, probably, without 
 any evil consequences, lie full length on the September turf 
 in spite of a transparent dress and damp grass, but at 
 ^well, at middle age, it's best to be prudent. 
 
 De Ravoral had never been so prudent in all his life, 
 though he was habitually prudent living on his tradi- 
 tions, and the intimacy of celebrities. If he'd had St. 
 Simon's ability, so he said, he would have had great pleas- 
 ure in writing his memoirs. The times were felicitous. 
 St. Simon's records were prosy, compared to what his 
 might have been. At the present moment all was excite- 
 ment and unbounded joy. Personally, he preferred joy 
 in a more guarded form. Let loose, it can so easily degen- 
 erate into vulgarity. Vulgarity was the sin of the day, 
 he said. That's why their majesties, for fear of contami- 
 nation, prudently shut themselves up in their palace. The 
 queen very seldom went abroad. 
 
 Probably, later, she'd be obliged to attend some public 
 
REVOLUTION 147 
 
 functions, the opera and so on. The queen^s duty was to 
 set a good example to the other women ^ladies who, in 
 exactly the same predicament as her majesty, were obliged 
 to keep in Paris against their wills. A most odious state 
 of affairs, from a lady's point of view. Positively, yes, 
 positively, no fresh passports were issued. The Cardilacs 
 like herself had been too late. Never mind, if it prom- 
 ised to be a good season, did it matter? Surely Paris had 
 the right to enjoy her own beauties? "You belong to us, 
 madame," he said, "if not by birth, by marriage. I felici- 
 tate Paris." 
 
 "Don't be absurd," she said. "I want to hear more of 
 the situation." 
 
 "So you shall, dear child." 
 
 "It is all so thrilling, if it's true." 
 
 Terezia took hold of the old gentleman's hand and held 
 it against her warm cheek. "I won't release you, until 
 I'm satisfied," she said. "Go on." 
 
 He smiled, and, to the best of his ability, he explained 
 (as he said) the inexplicable business. 
 
 All France was washed as with spring dew, all France 
 was laughing, shouting gaily, trembling with happy emo- 
 tion. The people had gained their stubbornly- fought 
 battle. No longer need they pull unevenly under the heavy 
 yoke of aristocracy and monarchy. Look you, the king 
 had given his country a free Constitution. The old As- 
 sembly, working under restrictions, had melted into thin 
 air, vanished as a spent cloud and, in its place, in hot, 
 perspiring, giddily joyful Paris a new and august Par- 
 liament labored for the good of the State, 
 
 Terezia was very much impressed. De Ravoral with his 
 own bloodshot eyes (bright as facets) had seen this in- 
 spiring body take the oath of allegiance and rustle docu- 
 ments white as virgin snow. "All was yet to be written.'* 
 
 So said the bald-headed nobleman, following his fair 
 hostess's example and nibbling at a dry grass-stem, 
 
 "It is wonderful," he said, "as long as it lasts." 
 
 "To break a Constitution is the deed of a maniac," said 
 
148 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 Terezia; "the heinous and melancholy crime of a weak, 
 desperate individual." 
 
 Old Ravoral nodded his bald pate. 
 
 "Your dress is charming," he said. "Whom are you 
 quoting?" 
 
 Terezia colored. As it happened, she had heard Des- 
 moulins express himself in some such words, in his exqui- 
 sitely graceful manner. His hot words could never scorch 
 from the very coolness of their utterance; they sometimes 
 fanned the flames. A pity his genius was allowed to 
 languish. 
 
 "I judge in these matters by my own conviction," she 
 said loftily. 
 
 "A very pretty dress," repeated Ravoral, taking the 
 straw from his mouth and throwing it away, "As you 
 say, adaptability is a science." 
 
 She had never said anything of the kind. However, it 
 sounded vaguely clever, so she agreed to it. 
 
 "How well you remember my words." 
 
 "My dear lady, I keep my notes." 
 
 Ravoral, like a spoiled child, grew tractable. He took 
 the privilege of his class and age, leaned back in his com- 
 fortable garden chair and closed his eyes. No, thought 
 Terezia, watching him he didn't look handsome, and yes 
 he did look ill. 
 
 Everyone, it seemed, looked haggard and ill in spite of 
 the glorious Constitution. 
 
 "Don't go to sleep," began Terezia. "Have you heard 
 from the Longuevilles ?" 
 
 Ravoral kept his eyes closed. "It is ravishing, this 
 warmth and the music of your voice," he murmured. 
 "Allow me the luxury of blindness. Yes, I have heard 
 of their safe arrival in England. Bath seems to be a fash- 
 ionable and expensive resort. The Longuevilles remain in 
 Bloomsbury." 
 
 "Where is that.?" 
 
 "London." 
 
 "Why call it Bloomsbury?" 
 
REVOLUTION 149 
 
 "A thousand pardons " 
 
 "They were extremely lucky. Do you know I had 
 friends crossing to England by the same packet?" 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 "At an enormous sacrifice they had bought their pass- 
 ports " 
 
 Ravoral nodded. 
 
 "Can you believe it? they, and for the matter of that all 
 their fellow-travelers, were refused embarkation. They 
 cried, they swore, they showed their passports " 
 
 Ravoral nodded. 
 
 "All to no purpose. The officers in charge said that 
 they regretted the position extremely but, technically, 
 their passports failed in a qualifying point. Something 
 had been forgotten, they must return to Paris. Neither 
 bribes nor sighs made the brutes relent. They are a pack 
 of wolves at Havre!" 
 
 Terezia raised her arms to heaven with a very graceful 
 gesture her wide sleeves fell apart, disclosing the dimpled 
 roundness of her perfect arms all lost on Ravoral. He 
 still persisted in keeping his eyes shut. 
 
 "Strange," he murmured. 
 
 "Why the Longuevilles ? They were, so it seems, treated 
 to distinguished consideration ; allowed to go on board at 
 once. No one touched their luggage they might have 
 been royalty " 
 
 "Surely not," murmured Ravoral. 
 
 Terezia laughed. "You mean that royalty have no 
 privileges nowadays? I am curious to know why those 
 rather uninteresting people should have been favored. Es- 
 pecially " 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 "Desmoulins told me himself no one had been more sur 
 prised than who? Guess. Do open your eyes." 
 
 Ravoral opened them suddenly, very wide, 
 
 "How could I possibly guess?" 
 
 "Robespierre himself !" 
 
 "I congratulate my old friends," said Ravoral, pleas- 
 
150 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 antly, "and, between ourselves, I think they had a lucky 
 escape. From what I hear, Blooinsbury is not the most 
 attractive spot on earth but I hope they'll stay there, 
 and that their boarding-house will keep them." 
 
 "Boarding-house ! The Longuevilles !" 
 
 "Madame," he said, "without money Bloomsbury is a 
 very dismal hole, of no attraction whatsoever." 
 
 "The poor things! And Madame de Longueville who'd 
 never wear anything but the finest batiste and real lace 
 next her skin ! Her personal linen w;as a dream." 
 
 "May the dream help her to exist," said Ravoral very 
 piously. "My ship is all of mist ; my ship is all of dreams ; 
 and clouds and vapors and tears and sighs " 
 
 "That's pretty," said Terezia. "Whom are you quot- 
 ing?" 
 
 "Myself." 
 
 *'Since when has monsieur turned a poet?" 
 
 "Since the day when I first met the incomparable 
 Terezia, if you must ferret out my secret." 
 
 Terezia smiled, well pleased. "Even you," she said 
 gently. 
 
 "Even I," said old Ravoral. "You are nineteen, you 
 tell me?" 
 
 "Only eighteen.'' 
 
 "If you live, imagine the record!" 
 
 "Thank you." 
 
 She rose and slipped her arm affectionately into his. 
 
 ^^Come," she said. "I know it is time for lunch." 
 
 "Lunch!" he repeated mournfully. "Lunch! You are 
 shockingly prosaic. Here have I made you the most sol- 
 emn declaration of a full life, and you answer me by refer- 
 ring to smoked salmon and poached eggs ; lamb cutlets and 
 late peas, followed by a choice of quails in aspic, or cold 
 ham " 
 
 "How did you guess?" 
 
 "I never guess. I always make inquiries." 
 
 "You wicked creature ! Spying in the kitchen, making 
 love to the cook " 
 
REVOLUTION 151 
 
 "Two francs did it, and a smile." 
 
 Terezia looked critically at RavoraPs profile. "Give me 
 a smile," she asked. 
 
 "After that perfect lunch, darling, I'll be happy to 
 grimace as a monkey if it pleases you." 
 
 "I am a good housekeeper, am I not?" 
 
 "In a sense, a very good sense," 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Madame, surely I've explained enough for one day? 
 Some things are better taken for granted." 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 T^rOT before the following December had T^r^zia an 
 -^^ occasion for satisfying her curiosity, and seeing for 
 herself how the queen took her "misfortune." 
 
 Everyone agreed that she was unfortunate. Some even 
 reiterated the old Diamond Necklace scandal in fact 
 Tallien had frequently brought it into his copy it was 
 always useful, with new embellishments, to fan the unre- 
 luctant fire . . . everyone could see the fire was burning 
 well. "I don't want a fire,'* said Tallien cheerily he was 
 very hopeful in those days "I want a blaze ! A top-hole 
 blaze!" (Only, of course he used his own slang.) In 
 Redacteur excuse us, in Deputy Tallien's mind (he'd 
 got his seat Robespierre congratulated him warmly and 
 smiled sicklily) it was already a creditable beginning. En- 
 caged royalty at one end and trumpeting patriotism at 
 the other could you ask for better.'* Eh.'* "I can," said 
 Robespierre. Tallien took his meaning at once. He shook 
 him warmly by the hand, absorbing, as it were, its moist- 
 ure into his own broad palm. "So do I," he said, or rather 
 whispered a long-drawn whisper, accompanied by a 
 searching glance. . . . Robespierre dropped his eyes. It 
 was about this time that his oculist ordered the honorable 
 deputy a pair of glasses slightly smoked for wearing 
 out o' doors "to save his valuable eyesight." So he said. 
 Tallien knew better. "Bah, they don't take me in!" he 
 said to sensitive Desmoulins; "he's really afraid to meet 
 the glance of honest men." It was on the tip of Desmou- 
 lin's tongue to say, "That explains your intimacy." How- 
 ever, he refrained. To be witty at another man's expense 
 is often uncommonly dear for yourself. The times were 
 
 152 
 
REVOLUTION 153 
 
 ruinous. Bread was going up, and every kind of food; 
 money was going down alarmingly. Suave M. Necker 
 and madame his wife and madame his daughter had re- 
 cently left for Switzerland, on a "holiday," so they said. 
 "When was he coming back?" No one knew. "Probably 
 when affairs were regulated," hazarded a wiseacre. 
 "Puiff !" whistled a pessimist, "that means never." Tallien 
 was of a different opinion. "Citizens," he said calmly, 
 "I see light." And he looked up as if the light he saw 
 was entirely heavenly. We rather fancy a little low- 
 mannered devil, blowing his bellows below, squealed iron- 
 ically. Little devils we are sure are much amused when 
 humans behave illogically. Tallien really was rather a 
 "delightful" fellow. His breezy good-nature was colossal ! 
 
 In December Terezia secured a box at a gala representa- 
 tion of Beaumarchais' Mariage de Figaro, She insisted on 
 Claire joining her party. She wasn't staying with her 
 friends in spite of new curtains having been put up in 
 the drawing-room, and new plants, and probably a new 
 work-basket or at least a fresh outfit of haberdashery. 
 The Cardilacs had made up their mind to stay all the 
 winter in Paris. Lots of their friends were doing the same. 
 What was the good of journeying to the frontier, only 
 to be turned back again? Some escaped through the very 
 teeth of vigilance. Robespierre swore. Tallien swore 
 (cheerfully). "There are still a good many left," said 
 the latter gentleman, with one of his broadest smiles. 
 "Later, sir (again he employed a whisper), "we'll further 
 restrict their movements." * 
 
 Already these two amiable protectors of the poor 
 Friends of Man or whatever they styled themselves 
 had hit upon a satisfactory plan to enforce justice. "We 
 must wait,'* said Tallien, piously. "The spring will bring 
 her own counsel, and the summer will ripen it. With any 
 luck, my dear friend, we'll be able to gather much autumn 
 fruit. In the meanwhile, let's prepare the soil. It's very 
 congenial, very rich, but all the same it won't be the worse 
 for a little turning over. I have brought you an article, 
 
154 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 my best of friends. . .'* At times TalHen was quite 
 fulsome in his address. 
 
 Citoyen Robespierre couldn't bear him. He had to put 
 up with a good many things in those days that he didn't 
 like. Of all trials is there anything more unbearable than 
 waiting, and fearing that your precious schemes won't 
 come off at the last? . . . There were too many fools, 
 talking in the Constitution, and outside it . . . pouff ! 
 
 the place wanted thinning. By Gr it wanted thinning ! 
 
 Such a jabber and such a crowd! On his oath Robes- 
 pierre didn't know who he distrusted most, his smug, dig- 
 nified majesty or a little retail grocer round the corner, 
 who was full of sedition and craft. If he could, that fool- 
 ish grocer, he'd upset Deputy Robespierre's administra- 
 tion. . . . 
 
 ^'Claire, darling, you've just got to come," said Tere- 
 zia. **I'm bringing three delightful men." 
 
 "I haven't the heart, dear." 
 
 Ter&ia pinched the girl's pale cheeks. "I'll buy you a 
 stick of rouge. It's so plebeian to show your feelings. I 
 know you are wretched on account of the cousin. I tell 
 you he is safe." 
 
 Claire shook her head. *^t's not that, dear." 
 
 "When did you hear last from him.?" 
 
 "Six months ago." 
 
 "Six months isn't a lifetime ! Germany is a huge place. 
 Cheer up. You never see me depressed ! And I've every 
 reason to be. Devin has slaughtered all his pigs I don't 
 know why he said they were suspicious, and anyhow he's 
 horribly cross. Sits all day and looks at the clock as if 
 that would hurry time ! When you are in a hurry, never 
 look at the clock. You don't suppose I want to be killed? 
 I don't believe in it. Devin does. I wish he'd die naturally 
 and properly. He'd spare himself so much trouble " 
 
 Of course Claire had to give in and she did it with a 
 good grace, too. She kissed her dear Ter^zia who talked 
 such a lot of nonsense and said she'd be very pleased 
 to come to the play. 
 
I 
 
 REVOLUTION 155 
 
 The centre of interest in all that crowded house was the 
 royal box. Her majesty's appearance aroused discreet 
 whispers. How tired she looked how sad she looked ; yes, 
 and in spite of royal magnificence (look at her diamonds!) 
 her age was more than apparent, nay, grossly exagger- 
 ated poor queen ! The loss of her beauty struck Terezia 
 as the most flagrant robbery in all that maelstrom of 
 greedy grasping. Thej^ had taken her liberty, and one 
 foot as it were off her throne they might have spared her 
 her beautiful eyes, her beautiful complexion, her happy, 
 roguish smile the smile of a dairymaid frothing her milk- 
 pails. 
 
 Only a few years ago Marie-Antoinette had stood at the 
 zenith of her imperial charm. Terezia remembered the first 
 glimpse she had had of her, and how she'd been over- 
 whelmed with a desire to kiss her hand. Terezia was 
 always one for kisses. (Kisses signified to her so much 
 and so little.) Now, in spite of her new pink velvet dress 
 the first time on she felt an inclination to weep. She 
 would have liked to have offered her majesty her lace shawl 
 and beg her to wrap herself discreetly in it. It was terrible 
 for the queen to have to sit there, the cynosure of all eyes 
 (some very evil), to have to suffer either glances of com- 
 passion or a brutal stare of triumph. 
 
 Why did they invent such cruel gossip about her? Such 
 spiteful, hateful gossip a shadow of truth in a big caul- 
 dron of lies. Not one of her enemies believed any good of 
 her. 
 
 The representative gathering at the Odeon was unusu- 
 ally democratic. Terezia glanced round the house, curl- 
 ing her lips. Look at the rank and file ! Who paid for 
 these people's tickets? Socialism rubbing elbows with ci- 
 devant conservatism. It was not fashionable to incline 
 towards the throne. . . . The right to live belonged to 
 every man. To live? Terezia remembered her adventure 
 last year and how the fat man had boasted of coming 
 events, and exploited the new doctrine. What was it? 
 Death to the aristocrats ! There had been no perceptible 
 
156 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 change in popular feeling. The Constitution had signally 
 failed to relieve the situation. Above the music Terezia 
 seemed to hear a menacing cry . . . death! death! . . . 
 
 The queen, seated well to the front of her box, remained 
 an impassive spectator of the scene. She very seldom 
 glanced at the stage; she very seldom spoke. One might 
 have said that her majesty's thoughts had strayed, strayed 
 beyond the heavy, impure atmosphere of the theatre. 
 Maybe she saw, as in a mirror clearly, her own people's 
 regretful farewell to their princess setting out for France? 
 She had been young in those days, young and thoughtless ; 
 fifteen years old, and sufficiently spoiled to get her own 
 way in everything. Love had made it easy. Hate was 
 a different matter. . . . 
 
 Her majesty, looking down, met the fixed glance of a 
 personal enemy. She knew him for what he was, this little 
 hard-working lawyer man with a smooth tongue and a mind 
 of such infinite pettiness. She knew him and she didn't 
 fear him, or his methods or his policy or what he ^in his 
 miserable person stood for . . . her majesty had always 
 been brought up to despise the canaille. 
 
 She met his eyes without flinching. She drew herself up 
 proudly. Robespierre, utterly unabashed, kept his flat- 
 tened head well thrown back, staring up at the royal box. 
 He was also thinking of other matters than the play. 
 There were clashings in his little head, and smiting ham- 
 mers, heavy dull blows and sharp sword-thrusts . . . and 
 sweetest of all, dull cries of agony and shrill cries for 
 mercy. . . . 
 
 He scratched the back of his neck. ... 
 
 The king was the only complaisant individual at the 
 theatre. He had long since forgotten ^'regrettable inci- 
 dents." He had long since, by the signing of this new 
 Constitution, convinced himself of the stability of the 
 Crown. He had atoned for those "regrettable incidents" 
 by a very high and mighty condescension. His reign 
 would mark a unique place in French history. He wished 
 his people well. He had comported himself with true dig- 
 
REVOLUTION 157 
 
 nity. No one had forced his hand. He had of himself 
 arrived at the best solution of a political deadlock. Air! 
 Air! He had thrown wide the door and ushered in the 
 morning. God knows that he wished his people well. . . 
 
 He smiled and fidgeted, and, on the edge of the box, beat 
 his royal fingers in time to the gay light music. He was in 
 quite a good temper. He met the eyes of one of his chief 
 councilors a man rather given to new ideas, but not a 
 bad fellow at heart; with kingly condescension and 
 fatherly good- will he smiled at "the creature.'* (Marie- 
 Antoinette, estimable lady though she was, had a way of 
 expressing her dislike in unmeasured terms she had called 
 Deputy Robespierre "a creature" and worse. . . . ) 
 
 The creature, observing royal condescension, received it 
 with a glassy stare. 
 
 The king was quite taken aback. He sighed, then he 
 yawned. He signaled to his gentleman-in-waiting. 
 
 "What is the time?" he asked. 
 
 "Just upon midnight, sire." 
 
 "Bien, bien." 
 
 In half-an-hour's time he would be able to slip into a 
 loose jacket and eat his supper in peace. He wasn't so 
 young as he had been. The king glanced very affection- 
 ately at the queen. He looked distressed. Faintly he 
 realized Marie- Antoinette's first gray hairs. It was very 
 disturbing. He almost frowned at Robespierre. What 
 right had he to anger the queen! He would have liked 
 to have risen to his feet, and shaken his fist in the horror- 
 struck face of patriotism, shouting "Cochons, cochons!" 
 They were all a set of pigs, despicable, low-down, under- 
 bred pigs! He grew very red in the face. The queen 
 noticed his majesty's discomfiture. She put out her hand. 
 
 "Thank you, my friend," said the king, and he held 
 tightly on to the all too fragile fingers. Her rings bit 
 into Marie- Antoinette's flesh. But she did not remove her 
 imprisoned hand. So they sat, the cynosure of all eyes. 
 
 During the entr'^-a^te Claire looked round the house and 
 asked questions. 
 
158 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 "Who's that lady in the opposite box? She is very 
 pretty." 
 
 Terezia leveled her glasses at the box, "Which one, 
 dear? The woman in green with that awful feather in her 
 head?" 
 
 "No, the lady in white." 
 
 ^'That's Madame Josephine de Beauharnais. She's 
 rather nice-looking. I know her slightly. Had dinner 
 with her last week. That's her husband to the left, and 
 her lover to the right at least I think so. He's one of 
 the men of the hour." 
 
 "M. de Beauharnais?" 
 
 "No, of course not. The greatest bore on earth. Sol- 
 diers generally are." Terezia looked up at the officer 
 standing behind her, "You are not listening, are you?" 
 
 "With the greatest attention, citoyenne,''^ 
 
 "There are exceptions to every rule," she admitted. 
 
 The man sat down and drew his chair very close to the 
 beautiful citoyenne. Over her bare back he whispered 
 intelligently into her shell-like ear. . . . Terezia smiled. 
 "Don't be wicked," she said. 
 
 "Be reasonable," he said. 
 
 "I'm always reasonable," she sighed. 
 
 Little Mile. Claire discreetly continued observing the 
 house. It amused her. She didn't often come to the play. 
 She looked again at the pretty Vicomtesse de Beauharnais 
 . . . she had a fascinating smile. (As we know, little 
 Claire was very generous towards women she even re- 
 spected their weaknesses.) . . . She wondered why she 
 didn't like her good-looking husband. She didn't like the 
 appearance of the other man. She knew him by sight 
 M. Paul Barras, a gentleman of poor reputation, in spite 
 of being one of the men of the hour. Claire actually tossed 
 her head. That wasn't much of a recommendation. He 
 was a gentleman, after all . . . an aristocrat. She 
 shivered ; the title had an ominous sound. What had they 
 all done to have brought themselves to this sorry pass? 
 Claire's eyes filled with tears, as, for one brief instant, she 
 
I 
 
 I 
 
 REVOLUTION 159 
 
 met the queen's eyes. The queen looked at the young girl, 
 across the crowded house, and smiled . . . such a terribly 
 sad smile. Claire blushed and hastily looked away. It 
 was, she considered, excessively bad manners to stare at 
 royalty. 
 
 Her glance wandered to the cheaper part of the house, 
 the pit, as we'd call it to-day filled by a surging, laugh- 
 ing, gesticulating crowd. A faint film passed over her 
 eyes. She bent forward, staring eagerly. 
 
 "Terezia," she called, turning round. 
 
 "Darling?" 
 
 Terezia's voice was as milk, rich and creamy. Lieuten- 
 ant Brienne, talking with the third man who wondered 
 why the deuce he'd been asked recognized its quality. 
 
 The dear lady was enjoying herself. Captain X 
 
 was a notable lady-killer. Brienne laughed good-humor- 
 edly. He was also an officer, up on leave from Valences. 
 
 "Isn't that Georges, Georges Boisgaloup, sitting there?" 
 
 Claire pointed eagerly towards the pit. "I must attract 
 his attention," she said. 
 
 "Do nothing of the kind," said Terezia sharply. (Her 
 voice was no longer rich and creamy . . . Brienne stroked 
 his moustache . . . 'pon his soul, he couldn't understand 
 women.) "I don't want to meet him. He's a brute, an 
 unmitigated brute!" 
 
 "Never mind, darling," murmured the contrite Claire. 
 In the joy of seeing a friend from "old days" how distant 
 they seemed she'd utterly forgotten that darling Terezia 
 hated Georges. He'd been rude to her, very rude so 
 unlike Georges. 
 
 Claire stifled her disappointment. M. Brienne came 
 delicately to her rescue. He distracted mademoiselle with 
 an agreeable flow of small talk ... it was a devilish long 
 pause. Had something happened behind the scenes? (As 
 a matter of fact the stage manager had had his orders 
 from "a man of the hour." No able patriot ought to 
 ignore any little opportunity to annoy majesty . . . they 
 didn't like being kept waiting it was not etiquette. The 
 
160 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 stage manager^ a dense patriot had seen the point fit 
 last. "The citoi/en/' he said, with a grin, "could rest 
 assured the leading lady would lose her shoe at the 
 right moment." "Exactly; no hurry about her finding 
 it. . . .") Bah ! what contemptible pigs they were ! His 
 majesty was quite right. 
 
 M. Brienne pointed out to Claire a brother officer, also 
 up on leave. 
 
 Claire brightened and said she'd heard his name before 
 from her friend, M. de Boisgaloup. 
 
 "They're inseparables, mademoiselle." 
 
 *'He looks foreign." 
 
 "A Corsican. His mother is a widow with a large fam- 
 ily, mainly existing on Bonaparte's exertions. People 
 consider him good-looking." 
 
 "He's got fine eyes, monsieur," said Claire modestly. 
 "Only he looks too restless to please me." 
 
 "He's wedged in a crowd and he wants to get on." 
 
 In truth Lieutenant Bonaparte had a very poor place. 
 His thin, sallow face had a contemptuous expression. He 
 was eating an orange, rather hungrily, and obviously not 
 attending to what his companion, Boisgaloup, was saying. 
 
 "The amount of work Lieutenant Bonaparte gets 
 through is positively astonishing. I tell you, mademoi- 
 selle, he'll make nothing of walking ten miles, without 
 breakfast, to attend a lecture in the morning and sit up 
 all night, supperless, perfecting his lesson." 
 
 **No wonder he looks thin," laughed Claire. ^'What's 
 his ambition, sir?" 
 
 At that moment the lights were lowered and the curtain 
 went up, so Brienne hadn't an opportunity of answering 
 mademoiselle's question. It was the last act. 
 
 Afterwards, in the crowded vestibule, Terezia clutched 
 Claire's arm fiercely. "There he is," she said. "He's 
 been here all evening and I've never known it. I am the 
 most unlucky woman on earth." 
 
 Passing through the swing-doors Claire recognized the 
 
REVOLUTION 161 
 
 tall, loosely-built figure of Deputy Tallien. "What a 
 mercy," she said. "I can't bear the sight of him." 
 
 "Oh, you little fool !" said Terezia, shaking her friend's 
 arm before letting it go. "We are going on to supper at 
 Lamertine's. Yes, you've got to come. My darling child, 
 I must think of my reputation. Remember, Devin has sold 
 his pigs and he's awfully cross." 
 
 As a matter of fact, earlier in the evening. Deputy 
 Tallien had seen and recognized the beautiful ci-devant 
 Marquise de Fontenay. He'd colored up all over his big 
 face with pleasure. He made up his mind that he wouldn't 
 allow fate to dally any longer with his desire ; it was keen 
 and very alive. 
 
 He had sauntered carelessly down the gangway he was 
 sitting in the stalls towards the first-tier boxes ... no 
 doubt she'd be delighted to see him ... no doubt 
 
 In the midst of these agreeable reflections, Deputy 
 Robespierre's unpleasant voice recalled him to well, shall 
 we call it life.'^ He'd been crossing a pleasant field full of 
 delightful fancy here he was, bang up against actuality 
 and Robespierre's greenest expression. Tallien sighed. 
 
 "Where are you going to.?^" 
 
 "Nowhere," said Tallien; sitting down beside his friend. 
 "That's to say, I can wait ^I can always wait.'* 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 T> EFORE March, a new fear struck the infantine nation. 
 --^ Europe was on her heels ! War was imminent ! The 
 emigrants had mustered an army of close on half a million. 
 The Germans would be over the frontier in no time ! Whose 
 the fault? The king's! Who had intrigued for this dis- 
 graceful result? The queen! Who triumphed, fancying 
 a speedy solution to small matters of personal trial? The 
 aristocrats ! 
 
 And in all this seething turmoil where every man sus- 
 pected his brother and ribbon cockades gave place to rude 
 twists of tricolor worsted Robespierre asks for leave "to 
 arrange his private affairs, and also to take much-needed 
 rest," betakes himself to Arras and installs himself on a 
 tranquil farm to drink milk, eat home-made cheeses, and 
 contemplatively to stroke the house-cat's fur. The farm- 
 er's wife would say (half jestingly) that often in the semi- 
 darkness of evening she could see how sparks flew from the 
 cat's back. The cat kept her eyes shut, but the contempla- 
 tive gentleman kept his wide open staring into the embers. 
 He did not like a blaze. He did not like being disturbed. 
 For hours he would sit there by the fireside, stroking the 
 cat's fur. At times he hardly looked human this strange, 
 ugly man. He gave no trouble, he was gentle in his ways ; 
 and no doubt he was an honest patriot. 
 
 After three weeks of absence, Robespierre returned to 
 Paris. He had not been altogether idle. He brought back 
 with him various letters, pamphlets and nondescript litera- 
 ture. And certain plans. The plans he carried behind his 
 narrow forehead. 
 
 On his return to Paris Tallien went to see his Chief. 
 
 162 
 
REVOLUTION 163 
 
 Robespierre had of late asserted himself more and more. 
 Tallien with a large smile suffered his authority. On the 
 whole it was safer to stand behind another man's coat-tails. 
 Tallien was the soul of prudence. He had a hundred little 
 pleasant subterfuges to evade the finger of the law. He 
 would as it were shoot off the fireworks and then, splut- 
 tering with mirth, clamber into a hole and watch results. 
 
 He seldom came out of his hiding-place feeling ag- 
 grieved. The people were heart and soul with him. The 
 people had small patience but vast credulity. They would 
 swallow a whale spurting blood and fire as easily as a 
 picked shrimp. Tallien loved his public. Loving them 
 and knowing their little idiosyncrasies, he supplied them 
 handsomely with rancid food. Not only Paris benefited 
 by his literary and political organs. No little God-for- 
 saken hamlet escaped his vigilance. 
 
 The hamlets and the little villages ignited at a spark. 
 Mad terror reigned in those benighted regions. Reports 
 came to hand of much bloodshed, pillage and incendiarism. 
 Down south the cltdteafiix burned merrily. The aristocrats, 
 hunted from their homes, sought safety from imminent 
 death in a hundred oddly ingenious disguises. 
 
 Tallien rubbed his hands as he mounted the stairs to 
 Robespierre's modest office. 
 
 He listened outside the door, big ear to the keyhole. He 
 fancied he heard voices. He was mistaken. The Chief 
 was only, in his solitude, practicing oratory. There were 
 certain speeches to be got off by rote the words must slip 
 smoothly from key to key. Robespierre never believed in 
 inspiration. His method was one of calculation. He was 
 very careful not to make mistakes. Such as Tallien might 
 leap at a sound and be carried off their feet by their own 
 eloquence. Spontaneity sometimes impresses the multi- 
 tude, but more often than not it wearies them. Concise- 
 ness is seldom the gift of improvisation. Conciseness in 
 this instance was essential. Robespierre mentally put his 
 hand to the plow. He was clever enough to see the blood 
 furrow but he kept a clear head. Blood must flow. . . . 
 
164 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 Tallien closed the door very gently. He took off his hat 
 with a dignified gesture to his Chief. 
 
 "I have pleasure in seeing you back again, citizen," he 
 said. "No doubt you have benefited by your holiday? 
 How was the country looking?" 
 
 Robespierre faced him smihng. "Very pretty, thank 
 you. Arras is a charming little town." 
 
 "A peaceful place where nothing unusual ever happens." 
 
 "Exactly." 
 
 "Surely sometimes the postboy gallops past at a rush?" 
 
 "Occasionally." 
 
 *'When we have settled our little affairs we will both 
 retire to Arras " 
 
 "And lead a quiet and idle life- 
 
 "And grow vegetables." TaHien unbuttoned his yellow 
 gloves, and laid them very carefully on the table. "And 
 now," he said, "to business." 
 
 Tallien was for immediate action why shouldn't they 
 gather the blossom instead of the fruit? The blossom was 
 very beautiful. Hadn't he observed it at Arras? a place 
 noted for its orchards. No doubt it was slightly extrava- 
 gant, but he felt in an extravagant mood to-day. . . . 
 
 Robespierre snarled. If he couldn't talk sense (he said), 
 what was the good of discussing business ? So dear Tallien 
 sobered down, sat down, and bent his sleek black head next 
 the powdered wig affected by his rival, excuse us, his Chief. 
 A subordinate mustn't contradict his superior. . . . 
 "Exactly." . . . "Exactly." . . . "Exactly." ... At 
 lucid and precise intervals Tallien agreed to Robespierre's 
 masterly scheme of organization. 
 
 "It'll go under the name of a spontaneous demonstra- 
 tion." 
 
 "Exactly." 
 
 *'You take this district. It's not too much for you?" 
 
 **0n the contrary." 
 
 "If you've time, sound St. Thomas. And speak to the 
 women. I'll leave all the women to you. Your depart- 
 ment." 
 
REVOLUTION 165 
 
 Tallien smiled. "I may have some slight influence in 
 that quarter," he admitted. "Very well, sir, I'll tackle 
 the women." 
 
 "Put it to them plainly." 
 
 "A little embroidery, just a little it pleases the 
 women." 
 
 "Invent as many lies as you like." 
 
 "Or as many as I can," said Tallien, pleasantly. "I'm 
 not infallible, citizen." 
 
 Robespierre removed his eyes from his sheaf of papers 
 and looked up at Tallien. "No, you are not," he said. 
 He said it rudely. 
 
 Tallien only smiled generously. It wasn't his place to 
 contradict his revered Chief. "Exactly," he said, in that 
 even, smooth tone of his, which Robespierre found par- 
 ticularly exasperating. 
 
 When they'd arrived at a satisfactory solution of pre- 
 liminaries always a difficult job Tallien referred, much 
 against his will, to money matters. 
 
 "I'd be obliged by a temporary loan," he said. 
 
 *^ You've never yet paid me back a farthing." 
 
 "Exactly. And I won't until we've gathered the fruit." 
 He smiled. "It's such a pretty sight. I'm a countryman 
 myself. It's a pity wasting one's youth in a city. There's 
 so much misery about. The queen so they told me had 
 toothache last night." 
 
 "You hear everything.?" 
 
 "Everything." 
 
 "You are having them carefully watched,'*" 
 
 Tallien held up his broad hands. "Every little thing 
 which takes place at the Tuileries is carefully reported to 
 us. I'm not the head of that department. All the same 
 I take a fatherly interest in it. What man wouldn't? 
 Family life is so purifying. The dauphin got a new musi- 
 cal-box for his birthday present. The king likes it enor- 
 . mously. It plays seven tunes. Seven is a lucky number 
 except when it is unlucky, of course. How about the loan, 
 
166 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 citizen? Three hundred pieces of gold." He held out his 
 broad-palmed hand. 
 
 Robespierre went to his drawer and counted out to him 
 the exact sum. In a spirit of unwonted generosity he 
 added an extra gold piece. 
 
 "For luck," he said. 
 
 "Thank you, kindly." 
 
 The money was no more his than Tallien's, They both 
 appropriated public funds for their own uses. Tallien's 
 clothes cost money. Tallien's life cost money. The 
 "women" had to be paid. Spies had to be reimbursed. 
 Extra editions distributed in great masses, cost free 
 run into figures. Some one has to pay. The beauty of it 
 was, and the sweet simplicity, that the aristocrats them- 
 selves "advanced" their rentes in the good of the cause. 
 "It was heavenly," said Tallien. "So simple. You simply 
 laid embargo on lawful property, and lo and behold, it 
 became your own." 
 
 "My dear Robespierre," said Tallien, '*I shouldn't won- 
 der if we both died rich men." 
 
 "And full of honors," said the other, in dead seriousness. 
 They had the queerest idea of honor. 
 
 We know it's history, friends. They knew nothing, 
 God forgive them. After all, they both had their punish- 
 ments ^maybe inadequate, but frightful for all that. 
 We've got to follow Tallien a long way down the road 
 in his case it led to a bridge and a pedler's tray and a 
 blind man's dog and a beggar's whine. "Charite, charite 
 pour I'amour de Dieu!" It is an immense way off. We 
 must first dance our puppet in the sunlight, and give him 
 his good days his full meals his less full meals, before 
 we fling him a halfpenny to buy his beggar's daily ra- 
 tion. . . . 
 
 Robespierre hadn't such a long rope. He twirled and 
 twirled and twirled, very rapidly. There never was such 
 a fantastic, dancing, self-made deity as his godship. As 
 we all know, he ended in a shriek under the knife. He^d 
 set it up, in the brazen light of day why should he shriek.^ 
 
REVOLUTION 167 
 
 It was what he might have expected. For years he'd fabri- 
 cated a ludicrous book of faith all lies, nothing but lies, 
 abominable lies. 
 
 "Good-morning, citoi/en,^* 
 
 "Good-morning, citoyenj'* 
 
 Ugh! What a pair! 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 ALL the garbage of centuries seemed to collect in the 
 gardens of the Tuileries. No man could wade clear 
 of this tideless sea of decay. It required a torrential 
 wave, a monster wave to suck in its whirling depths the 
 horror of it all. 
 
 And still the king turned his face to the wall and per- 
 sisted in playing piquet. His object was to save the queen 
 anxiety. 
 
 In those brooding days of July, 1792, it was pathetic 
 (and in a way sublime) to watch God's anointed act the 
 part of a bourgeois pere de famille. He was all smiles in 
 the inner circle. He had his little jokes always well re- 
 ceived. In that little family circle they all played their 
 parts, all eager to deceive each other and evade dangerous 
 topics. 
 
 Questions would crop up now and again. It was hu- 
 manly impossible to keep the dauphin's musical box 
 tinkling day and night, drowning sad care. 
 
 Care peeped in at the curtained, sunlit windows; care 
 flaunted in the queen's parterre^ and even her roses lost 
 their bloom. 
 
 In those troublesome times the queen occupied herself 
 much with needlework. With her embroidery-needle fever- 
 ishly flashing to and fro, the queen would sit and listen 
 to the king's make-believe absurdity. 
 
 She saw through his labored acting. Now and again the 
 needlework was flung to the floor, and her Majesty would 
 impetuously rise and fling herself into the king's wide- 
 stretched arms. "Oh, my all! Oh, my life!" she would 
 moan, and stroke with her curiously thin hand the king's 
 florid cheeks fat enough in spite of all the woe in France. 
 
 168 
 
REVOLUTION 169 
 
 France, the dear land of her adoption, of tradition, of 
 royal state, of deep-rooted culture plunging towards her 
 doom. What could save the royal house of France? 
 What! A miracle of grace? A prophet might arise and, 
 barefooted, thrust aside the massed enemies of order 
 restore faith to the goodly land of France. God was 
 good. 
 
 They had their faith. In all this turmoil of rank heresy 
 and blasphemy, the Cross comforted the royal house. 
 Their religion was very simple and elastic, but yet it held 
 a potent promise. Men might forsake them but "le bon 
 Dieu" would safeguard His children. Only to look at 
 Sister Elizabeth shook atheism to its core. Her loving 
 counsel was founded on the rock of Christ crucified. 
 
 The storm broke in fierce suddenness. It beat on the 
 private door. The king unarmed, except by the majesty 
 of patience met the residue of his people face to face. A 
 crowd they were and very hellish, men and women all 
 armed with gibes, murmuring rage and intoxicated tri- 
 umph. They had forced their entrance into the Presence. 
 Who could deny them their right ! Past the guards they 
 had rushed up marble stairs, broad and splendid in clat- 
 tering sabots and toeless shoes, in rags and breeches of 
 coarse, black stuff, a clamoring, fiendish deputation from 
 the world beyond the palace gates. 
 
 The king received them in royal audience; this incon- 
 gruous, impossible rabble, the scum of the gutter and red 
 revolutionism. They jabbered of their needs, and flashed 
 on the king's majesty eyes where dull surprise sat upper- 
 most. He was not afraid of them? 
 
 "Feel my heart," said the king to a bragging ruffian 
 who had questioned his courage. The crowd had laughed. 
 And as suddenly someone had remembered his rags, his 
 folly, and his daring devilry. 
 
 Tallien sat in his private office, writing with great haste. 
 
 Tallien never liked to disappoint his adherents. This 
 
 time he had succeeded in surprising his friends. Dealing 
 
170 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 with the matter uppermost in the thoughts of men the 
 raid on the palace he deplored the unnecessary violence 
 to the king's majesty. He hinted at the inviolable sacred- 
 ness of home life. His readers gathered from Tallien's 
 flowing periods that an attack on the Constitution would, 
 in comparison, have been a public act of loyalty to the 
 Nation (as distinct from the Throne), an act well pleasing 
 in the sight of Heaven. 
 
 All over Paris the news spread. The Press no longer 
 held with the people ! The people were getting out of hand 
 the people must be checked. If allowed unbridled li- 
 cense, who could answer for their deeds? The Public 
 Accuser shook his head one or two of his fellow coad- 
 jutors saw him smile. When Robespierre smiled so they 
 said old Nick was busy. 
 
 Men in the streets thrust their woolen caps deeper on 
 their brows, and thundered disapproval. The people would 
 fight for their liberty unaided by these faint-hearted 
 patriots, who doubtless had been bought over by the 
 government. 
 
 It was a close game. At one time Tallien went in danger 
 of his life. His neutral-tinted leaders made more enemies 
 than friends. 
 
 The king, with kind good-nature, readily forgave the 
 laxity of respect shown towards his own person. 
 
 *'They acted in ignorance,'* he said. Who knew but that 
 out of much wrangling an understanding might arise.?* 
 The king saw himself the hero of the hour, falling on the 
 repentant necks of his people. He would weep ; they would 
 weep. And the queen would be able to spend the month 
 of August at the little Trianon. She had always liked 
 this miniature palace. The king remembered many happy 
 days spent on the south terrace ... it would be very 
 pleasant once again to live the life of an idle country 
 gentleman. . . . The gardens of the Trianon were very 
 pretty. The king recalled the play of the little fountain 
 in the courtyard; it hardly interfered with the hum of 
 insects or the gentle twittering of the birds. He had 
 
REVOLUTION 171 
 
 never cared for the magnificence of Versailles. The dis- 
 play of artificial water in the pompous gardens struck 
 him as wearisome. One can have too much of a good thing. 
 Louis XIV. (God rest his soul) had been consequential. 
 Sometimes he'd over-reached his mark. Louis XIV., with 
 a pious prayer for forgiveness, gave le Grand Monarque 
 the blame of the present disordered condition. He had 
 taxed his subjects (what with one thing and another) just 
 beyond the limit. If anyone was to be blamed for present 
 calamity, le grand Louis must bear his share in events. 
 A grievance can lie dormant for a hundred years and more, 
 and suddenly spring to appalling activity. . . . The king 
 rubbed his eyes and went in to supper. Food was gen- 
 erally his solution of a difiicult question. 
 
 The leading conspirators in these delicate operations 
 had every reason to congratulate themselves on unusually 
 keen vision. They had calculated to a nicety each move 
 in the game. Never once had they fallen foul of them- 
 selves (though often of each other). If the Constitution 
 failed to march, the Revolution sprinted like an athlete. 
 There were sinews and muscles to the fore; good strong 
 men only beseeching to be allowed to act in the interest of 
 the common cause ; there were hungry eyes feasting on the 
 slender proportions of "turtle"- fed ladies and gentlemen; 
 these deeply incriminated ladies and gentlemen of aristo- 
 cratic lineage (no crime viler, no slur of greater signifi- 
 cance) they, and they alone, encumbered the earth! To 
 have done with them, once and for all, to finish off their 
 doleful tale of sin and shame! "Friends and patriots, 
 long live liberty! Long live our glorious country!" 
 
 Tallien rubbed his hands as, unobserved, he watched the 
 good citizens of Paris taking counsel together. They were 
 fit, very fit. A little more oiling a little more patience, 
 a trifle, a mere nothing, and the situation would declare 
 itself. 
 
 Still rubbing his hands, this wide-awake politician would 
 return to his editorial duties. Though it was quite late 
 he'd sit up practically all night writing a glowing state- 
 
172 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 ment of the National Danger. War had been declared. 
 It behooved every man to look to his weapon. He drew 
 a tormenting picture of Prussian invasion, disaster, de- 
 feat, and the tenfold retribution of aristocratic rule. Was 
 she ready France awake to submit to the doles of 
 hereditary wage-givers? Was all to go for naught, dis- 
 tress and hunger, death and wrong, centuries of oppres- 
 sion? He sharpened invisible pikes, he dropped molten 
 lead into visionary wounds ... he did a good night's 
 work from his point of view. 
 
 Then, over-tired, he would roll on his narrow bed, 
 dressed as he was, booted feet sprawling on the counter- 
 pane, and go to sleep. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 "T'LL go alone!" bellowed Devin. 
 A "Tra-la-la," hummed Ter^zia, 
 
 "You are the most insufferable fool on earth !** 
 
 "Cela depend." 
 
 It was a very hot morning, close, sultry, not a breath 
 of air stirring. And here was little Devin in one of his 
 "tempers" inflicting himself on his poor lady, and she not 
 yet properly dressed. For the matter of that, Terezia in 
 the heat of August floated about until noon in the airiest 
 of costumes. (Weather permitting, she kept to one gar- 
 ment; sandaled feet and a massive plait uncoiling itself 
 down her superb back; a thick layer of powder on neck 
 and face to mitigate the sun's rays. . . .) 
 
 Seated by the open window, she was sipping a cup of 
 chocolate. Her dressing-room was strewn with new 
 dresses and odds and ends of millinery. She had just 
 given her Paris dressmaker an interview, and made a selec- 
 tion for the autumn season. Trade was bad and the prices 
 on the whole moderate. Terezia, on satisfactory terms, 
 had bought a large stock of unnecessary clothes. Neither 
 in September nor in October were parties likely to be given. 
 How could she know that? What was the date.'^ how 
 quickly time passed August the tenth. 
 
 Fresh news from Paris had brought Devin in a towering 
 passion into Ter^zia's dressing-room. He would rout her 
 out the lazy slut! The good-for-nothing baggage who 
 had dishonored his stainless name, dishonored the blood of 
 a hundred earls or something in that style. The ci- 
 devant marquis, now that all titles were of equal value, 
 had a prodigious respect for his House. Were not the de 
 
 178 
 
174 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 Fontenays equal in rank to the de Villequiers ? The duke, 
 by the way, plotting in Brussels. Happy duke ^beyond 
 the borders! 
 
 Only two days old, the news from Paris but porten- 
 tous! The new squadron, dubbed the Marseillais, a set 
 of fierce fire-brands, had come to blows witli the Filles 
 Saint-Thomas men, and, in their trail, a rabble of parti- 
 sans. A good many had been killed and wounded. The 
 marching women had been the worst they had shrieked 
 and egged the men on, hurling words and hurling stones. 
 They had stormed towards the Tuileries. 
 
 "Yes?" said Terezia, expectantly. 
 
 "Is not that enough? The Swiss held the rabble at 
 bay and at length the soldiers lost interest in their 
 quarrel. By nightfall Paris slept." 
 
 "Well, I don't see," began Terezia, plaintively, "if they 
 are quiet, why you should make such a noise. Do go away, 
 please." 
 
 She pushed aside her cup of chocolate and moved to- 
 wards her toilet table. Deftly she coiled her hair and 
 tried on a new hat. 
 
 Devin walked across the room and as quickly snatched 
 at the hat and deliberately trampled on it. 
 
 Terezia behaved very sweetly. Nine hundred and 
 ninety-nine women out of a thousand would have taken 
 such an incident in a very bad spirit. She hardly looked 
 at the hat, nor at her husband, executing a war-dance 
 with lack of grace. 
 
 "If I were you, Devin," she said, "I would take some 
 medicine. It is very bad for the constitution to give way 
 to temper and does no good in the world. If you had 
 spoken reasonably I would have been pleased to give you 
 my best attention. The fact is you tire me. Your meth- 
 ods are not my methods. Bear me out " she pointed 
 to the flattened hat, "I am not in the least cross though 
 you have ruined a charming creation. I am clever enough 
 to know that I can get a new hat. And also a new hus- 
 band. That is why I put up with you. If I thought we 
 
REVOLUTION 175 
 
 were inseparable I would weep my eyes out as it is, I can 
 afford to be generous.'* 
 
 With the majesty of a goddess she crossed the room 
 and held out her hand. "I'll forgive you," she said. 
 
 He in duty bound kissed her hand and begged her 
 pardon. (He always did.) 
 
 "Thank you, my friend. I am sorry," he said (limply). 
 
 "Don't mention it. You have many trials. It would 
 be wicked of me not to do you so much justice." 
 
 Terezia with unwonted graciousness asked Devin to 
 help her with her correspondence. Defeated in every 
 point, he meekly submitted. For two hours they worked 
 side by side at Terezia's commodious new writing-table. 
 Her old desk (a little gem) stood against the wall stuffed 
 full with love-letters. For some reason probably ro- 
 mantic the charming ci-devant marchioness still penned 
 her "personal" missives, lilac-scented at this inconvenient 
 table. 
 
 When Devin had successfully written, in a perfectly 
 disguised handwriting, a series of incriminatory instruc- 
 tions (each one of which might have cost him his head, 
 red hair and all), Terezia rewarded him with a kiss. 
 
 "My great big tyrant," she said, "when you are nice 
 you are very nice." 
 
 He returned the compliment. Even though he loathed 
 her he felt the spell of her womanhood. Heat suited 
 Terezia. Never had her bare throat and her indiscreetly 
 veiled shoulders looked so white or so velvety. Devin 
 noticed a little blue vein on her firm bosom. 
 
 She was quick to percieve his glance. There was no 
 one else staying in the house. Terezia felt a bit out of it 
 and dull, and she had neglected Devin, and she had caused 
 him intense annoyance, and strictly speaking she hadn't 
 always treated him with the highest consideration. 
 
 She was tired of writing incriminating letters for the 
 good of her fellow-sufferers. (The reward was slow in 
 coming.) She laid down her charming mother-o'-pearl, 
 gold-nibbed pen, and let "ce pauvre monstre'* encircle her 
 
176 TORCHLIGHT ^ 
 
 waist with a curiously flabby arm- even at that moment 
 Terezia felt it was flabby she suffered his embrace, she 
 suffered his kiss. Her beautiful eyes were wonderfully 
 soft as they met his. . 
 
 Devin long remembered August the tenth as a red-letter 
 day in his existence. Terezia had seldom been so charm- 
 ing, so pliable, so complaisant. 
 
 The whole afternoon the happy family had spent in a 
 clover field. The little Georges came in for a lion's share 
 of his parents' attention ; they had played with him, they 
 had invented little stories to please him ; they had laughed 
 at each other's wit. When Devin made a ball of white 
 clover and flung it gently into Terezia's lap, she had flung 
 it neatly back again into his outstretched palm. Georges 
 thought it such a good game they had all three laughed. 
 After which mamma had unpacked a "surprise" basket- 
 in it all manner of good things. Little Georges could eat 
 as many sponge-cakes as he liked, and papa shared with 
 mamma a bowl of strawberries and cream. They all had 
 some of the rich yellow cream though mamma said it 
 was ruinous for her figure. Papa said nothing could spoil 
 anything so perfect. Little Georges laughed. He was 
 a gay, happy child and he took his treats splendidly. He 
 didn't know what day it was and didn't care- but he 
 felt sure he had never had a happier one. 
 
 It was seven o'clock before the party broke up. Georges 
 rode home all the way on papa's shoulder ; mamma follow- 
 ing, swinging her garden hat by a velvet string through 
 the shady avenue they walked in a very dilatory manner. 
 Little Georges was sleepy he had eaten a good many 
 sponge cakes and Terezia was thoughtful. In these 
 strenuous times it was selfish to be idle . . . she sighed. 
 Devin looked round. 
 
 "What is it?" he said very kindly. 
 
 "Oh, nothing. Fate is inexorable. If life had been 
 different, what a perfect wife I would have made ! You've 
 liked me to-day?" 
 
 "I will love you for ever if you will allow me." 
 
REVOLUTION 177 
 
 She only sighed again. "We cannot control our des- 
 tiny or our inclination," she said sadly. 
 
 She slipped her hand through Devin's arm and smiled. 
 "This day is yours come what may." 
 
 She felt his pulses beat. 
 
 "My dear, my dear," he said. 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 After supper, reclining on a couch in the library, 
 dressed in fair white silk, one great red rose on her 'breast, 
 Terezia poured out her heart to her attentive husband. 
 She looked very captivating, this simple child of nature, 
 as she pleaded her own cause prettily her youth, her 
 thoughtlessness, her beauty. He asked himself in bewilder- 
 ment, "Have I given her of my best? Have I given her 
 of my time? Have I protected this woman God gave 
 me?" To all these heart-burning queries he could only 
 shake his head negatively. He had been the culpable 
 one, he had been blind to madness! Terezia had wanted 
 telling, not in harsh and ungainly language, but kindly, 
 lovingly, as you'd speak to a little child. How blind he 
 had been not to fathom her incomparable nature! There 
 was a fund of sweetness, of diffidence, of true womanly 
 dignity in her character. She'd only wanted his sym- 
 pathy, so she said. He tried to believe her, looking at 
 the deep red rose at her bosom, which he had gathered for 
 her only two hours ago. 
 
 All the same it was bewildering. 
 
 She clasped her hands over her head a favorite gesture 
 of hers "Oh," she said, "I am so disappointed in myself. 
 I ought to have behaved better. There is no shadow of 
 excuse for a woman to accept love where she cannot faith- 
 fully return it. My sin is a sin of omission. Looking 
 back I realize my culpability. I have never loved!" (she 
 almost sobbed). "Believe me or believe me not, I am 
 telling you the absolute truth. I am tired of my existence. 
 I want a solid interest in life." 
 
 She looked at Devin perhaps he didn^t look solid 
 
178 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 enough to tempt her to invite him to step in and fill the 
 vacancy? 
 
 All was chaos, violence and death. She found a parallel 
 in the present wickedness to her own blighted condition. 
 The ineffable sadness of it all wrung no reproach from her 
 lips. She exonerated Devin. He shouldn't burden his 
 life by her "folly'* ... she wouldn't allow it. . . . 
 
 He did not at last know if he was standing on his head 
 or his heels ; in any case Terezia was a blameless woman ! 
 He could not say less in face of her poignant self- 
 reproaches. 
 
 "Bear with me," she said. "It won't be for long. In a 
 very little while you will be a free agent.'* 
 
 He remembered their pending divorce. The thought 
 shook him completely. He would cancel the suit so he 
 said. Their case shouldn't come before the Courts. 
 
 "Why not?" said Terezia meekly. "Our petition is 
 very clear. I would not dream of demanding a sacrifice." 
 
 Devin with hot cheeks answered her that circumstances 
 change the man (or woman) and that he for one would 
 not look on their reconciliation as a sacrifice. 
 
 "For how long?" she said, without a shadow of bitter- 
 ness. **You are temperamentally jealous " 
 
 "You have tried me, Terezia." 
 
 "How you err ! My heart is asleep ; one day It may 
 wake." 
 
 On this reflection she closed her eyes and lay immovable. 
 
 He also was sunk in deep speculation; the outlook on 
 the whole was fluctuating. Why on earth couldn't she 
 love her husband like an honest woman! 
 
 He was near to frowning, but Terezia disarmed him. 
 "Great big tyrant," she said, "assert your authority! 
 I am waiting to be taught my lesson. Women are such 
 adaptable creatures, and are always the slaves of men. 
 I could adore a blackguard if he was also a strong man. 
 ... Don't frown; I would not hurt your feelings for 
 anything in the world. Devin, I ask your forgiveness." 
 
 "How so?" he murmured. "You despise me." 
 
REVOLUTION 179 
 
 "Indeed I don't. You are immeasurably my superior. 
 You at least stand by your word." 
 
 "What am I to believe.?" 
 
 "Look at me." 
 
 He looked, 
 
 "Hold my hand." 
 
 He held it. 
 
 "My husband," she said, "my dear husband, do trust 
 me." 
 
 He did not trust her, but he kissed her passionately 
 instead. Terezia was just as pleased. She felt herself 
 to be a saint, a wife, and k mother all in one captivating 
 whole. Poor Devin ... he was dreadfully ugly , . . yet 
 somehow she felt touched at his uncouth demonstration 
 of affection. She would yield herself entirely to his wishes. 
 She would suffer him gladly. 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 CHANCE had left the royal family m the hand of 
 Destiny. 
 
 Can we read, in the scroll of history, a more pitiable 
 tale than that of this little, very devoted family closeted 
 together on the evening of "Red Friday"? 
 
 The Family, with the Family's usual elasticity of 
 temperament, had hoped for the best. They had even, 
 as the day lagged on, ventured to ridicule the situation 
 "Le tocsin ne rend pas." . . . All this blatant hurrying 
 of armed men and gloomy-visaged courtiers, ready to die 
 for king and country, was quite unnecessary. The clamor 
 of bells from steeples, sombre in the night dusk, had rung 
 to dull patriots they were asleep, no whit inclined to 
 rise and risk their ill-starred lives. . . . 
 
 Unloosed rage is not so easily kenneled. The simul- 
 taneous ringing of all the church bells in Paris had been 
 heard in palace and hovel alike. 
 
 Only the head of this particular little family, which 
 calls for our immediate sympathy, refused to credit the 
 truth. Indeed, so little was the king intimidated by per- 
 sonal danger that out he marched alone and unattended 
 to face his rebellious troops. He would speak to them. 
 His reception was such that, very red in the face, he was 
 obliged to return with his errand unfulfilled. 
 
 The royal ladies had underrated the king's simple 
 bravery they were horrified when they detected his ab- 
 sence and overwhelmed with joy at his safe return. They 
 had also underestimated the power of brute passion. 
 Apparently these mad revolutionists were ready to die, 
 snarling; rage fed them as fire ignites oil. 
 
 Towards dusk, the family, collected in one room, saw 
 
 180 
 
REVOLUTION 181 
 
 in the palace gardens and far beyond the iron barriers a 
 sea of faces, one mass of faces and yet one Face. . . . 
 
 "Let us go," said the king. 
 
 The family never argued with their head. They went. 
 A doleful little procession of six three ladies, a boy, a 
 girl, and a stout gentleman who carried himself with 
 great dignity. They walked over to the House of As- 
 sembly through treble ranks of sullen subjects. The wind 
 swept so they say the first autumn leaves across their 
 path, and the boy of the party, bounding forward, caught 
 hold of a handful and playfully flicked them in the face 
 of a stalwart Marseillais. . . . 
 
 In the palace they had just vacated, brave men, of scant 
 argument and magnificent dullness, were loading their 
 weapons each man at his post eying the Face beyond 
 the barriers. Vaunt them to the skies, these courageous 
 dupes who carried their belief in the face of utter blank- 
 ness. They were there to guard the sacred person of 
 majesty. His majesty was on his way to the scaffold. 
 They knew it not he knew it not all they knew for 
 certain was that the king had left them in charge of his 
 honor. For the sake of honor many sublime follies have 
 been committed. Theoretically speaking there was no 
 need for this fanatical sacrifice of life and these deeds of 
 personal valor this butchery of innocent men. It all 
 fitted in with the lamentable story. 
 
 Robespierre had unleashed the hounds of hell, and, as 
 the evening wore on, and a fitful moon hovered in the 
 cloudy sky, all over Paris the hounds bayed in chorus, 
 well-fed, well-content. . . . 
 
 All Paris sang except the aristocrats. Among aris- 
 tocrats supper went a-begging that night. 
 
 The king was the exception ; harassed by "events," he 
 ate hungrily of a stew of beef and vegetables placed at 
 his disposal by his legislative council. 
 
 They also provided him with temporary accommodation 
 until more suitable quarters could be found. The rooms 
 were very small ^but all the safer giving directly on the 
 
182 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 Hall of Assembly dark, low-pitched, evil-smelling, and 
 three in number by courtesy one a cupboard, or the 
 queen's bedroom, if you prefer it. Such the sanctuary 
 of France ! The king solemnly declared that he found his 
 quarters "sufficient pending a better arrangement." The 
 queen said nothing. In the little cupboard-room, on a 
 hard bare bench, she sat dazed by events. 
 
 Sister Elizabeth put the children to bed on a makeshift 
 mattress. She was dimly conscious of unspeakable hor- 
 ror. She knew nothing of mob rule, revolution and prim- 
 itive democracy. She had never gone hungry to bed in 
 all her gentle life, nor lacked for friends or amusement. 
 . . . How could a kind princess realize that decency and 
 mercy were bankrupt, and could borrow no more in a 
 world of brutal facts? 
 
I 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 T was quite late, nearer midnight, when a small, thin 
 
 person accompanied by a tall, broad person, both 
 wrapped in voluminous cloaks ^lanterns in hand ^walked 
 up the much-disfigured gardens of the Tuileries. 
 
 They swung their lanterns on comparatively peaceful 
 surroundings. Here and there a lawless and no doubt 
 greedy citizen was stealthily, under cover of darkness and 
 sheltering trees, creeping towards the battered gates with 
 booty cumbersome or light of weight. You could pick 
 and choose as you liked in that tumbled, broken heap of 
 valuables lying in the courtyard just as they fell, when, 
 with ruthless vandalism, the invaders had pitched the royal 
 furniture out of gaping windows. Some were for a 
 people's bonfire, a mighty, substantial blaze others for 
 moderation and personal profit; the moderates spied, in 
 the pell-mell of objects, articles well worth the carrying; 
 gold pieces and silver pieces, ornate mirrors, comfortable 
 carpets and, by the Lord, yes ! the quaintest of satin 
 cushions, embroidered no doubt by queenly fingers. Some 
 capacious wit vowed, with very blasphemous oaths, he 
 would inherit that puffed satin conceit and for the fun 
 of the thing stuff it into homely use. He would make a 
 footstool of the queen's pillow and kick it mercilessly, 
 . , . Cruel words were cheap on August the tenth. 
 
 More choice oaths heralded the discovery of old wine. 
 The people s.ang in the immense cellars, and danced, 
 clasped hand to hand, among the dusty bins. Refreshed 
 they rushed to new deeds of burning patriotism. Blood 
 was better than wine! Blood was intoxicating! reeling 
 drunk these loathsome thieves. . . . 
 
 The two cloaked figures threaded their way through the 
 
 183 
 
184 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 debris. They let their lanterns play on a considerable 
 heap of dead. 
 
 The taller figure made some remark to his companion, 
 but he got no response. Picking their way, they entered 
 the smoke-grimed vestibule of the palace. 
 
 It was very quiet. 
 
 The fitful moon, drifting clear of the clouds, looked in 
 placidly into an upper chamber. It was a large room, 
 and once upon a time at no distant date it had been 
 a lady's drawing-room, full of her little possessions, her 
 pet flowers, her favorite pictures, her easiest chairs. Here 
 of evenings, very likely, the owner of the room (with a 
 very pretty taste) would sing and play the harpsichord 
 or display to an intimate circle of relations and friends 
 those little touches of feminine grace and feminine wit 
 which sum up a woman's, a home woman's charm. We 
 can without difficulty see the inviting pictures, the fine, 
 faint colors, the dim gilding, the white paneling, the 
 shadowy curtains fluttering in the summer breeze . . . 
 twilight, which is to music its natural setting, gives to our 
 interieur its true value. And when the music, with a ripple 
 of modulated chords, dies into memory, into the twilight 
 scheme steal the soft tones of cultured voices brightly 
 discussing some agreeable subject, disagreeing and agree- 
 ing . . the tinkle of a silver spoon, the candle-light, the 
 curling steam from a tea-kettle and a general laugh at 
 some witty sally received and given in excellent fellow- 
 ship. 
 
 The room so very recently a frame of human affection 
 had, by some sinister jugglery, lost its true character; 
 the disorder was heartbreaking, the dirt astonishing. 
 What incredibly muddy footsteps must have dug into the 
 soft carpet, stained by uglier marks than clay. The 
 curtains hung in tattered wisps, and all the movable fur- 
 niture had been carried away. It was a sorry spectacle; 
 yes, and in the light of the drifting moon and the station- 
 ary glitter of a couple of lanterns, not a pleasant sight. 
 Across the threshold to the right lay two corpses huddled 
 
REVOLUTION 185 
 
 together in a pool of blood one a king's man, the other 
 one of Robespierre's tools a poor blackguard he, huge 
 of limb and dirty of attire. There were many such hug- 
 ging the earth below, with splintered skull or gaping 
 wound. They were of priceless value, these erstwhile 
 ruffians, vagabonds and true patriots now dead men to 
 be avenged. 
 
 In the centre of the room stood a deal table, chipped 
 and broken, and two or three cane chairs carried from 
 God knows where, to accommodate tired patriots. On the 
 table stood an empty wine-bottle. The bottle finished, 
 the honest patriots had gone elsewhere. It was a big 
 palace and full of likely treasure. The empty rooms did 
 not attract the public. There was nothing to do in a 
 dismantled room, but, maybe, kick the body of a mad 
 Swiss. The Swiss had fired on the people the obstinate, 
 pigheaded, muddle-brained gentlemen who, when the swarm 
 was upon them twenty, thirty, forty to one still kept 
 their swords level, playing with a nicety of purpose. 
 Forty to one what boots the most finished swordsman- 
 ship in the world.'* Glory? Glory is a loose expression 
 and comfortless on occasions. Maybe the Swiss were 
 hewn down in a nimbus of heavenly radiance; as a corps 
 of dead men they looked a poverty-struck company. Most 
 of them, besides being frightfully used, had been partially 
 or entirely stripped; as negative objects they were dis- 
 piriting, these stalwart men who had known how to die 
 with a very hazy notion as to why. 
 
 A sound broke the stillness, very faint, a little tinkling 
 melody, plaintively reminiscent of a waltz-tune. Never 
 was there such an incongruous air. The waltz was fol- 
 lowed by the opening bars of an ambitious march this a 
 labored piece of music the mechanical contrivance wheezy 
 at times. 
 
 Seated in the queen's private drawing-room a patriot 
 was amusing himself by churning out the tunes from the 
 dauphin's dear little plaything. It was a new toy to the 
 patriot and struck him as being extremely cunning. 
 
186 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 He went on repeating the tunes^ almost mechanically 
 ^half listening to other sounds. His companion had 
 spoken twice, now he was silent; only that inadequate 
 dance measure filling vast spaces. . . . 
 
 Through the wide-flung doors there loomed an immen- 
 sity of vacant rooms. The palace had been forsaken. By 
 order. 
 
 The cloaked man with the musical bump sat loosely on 
 his chair, legs sprawling, and arms flung wide on the 
 stained table. His companion had dropped his cloak 
 he very upright, very recognizable, very inquisitive. He 
 peered into the darkness with short-sighted eyes, palely 
 blue about the lips, a sickly, diseased, abnormal fellow-^ 
 abnormally rejoicing. He did his thanksgiving in silent 
 prayer. No shouting or playing the fool for him. 
 
 His sprawling companion had never ceased to comment, 
 to wonder, to suggest, to glory immoderately. Never had 
 a juicier plum fallen into a more grateful mouth! He of 
 the sprawling limbs was one wide revealing smile. 
 
 The lantern stood on the soiled table and the moon shone 
 fitfully. 
 
 There were mysterious tappings and creakings in the 
 vast chamber, mysterious sighs, mysterious footfalls. 
 . . Tallien could have sworn they were not alone. 
 
 He roused himself, pushed the musical-box to tinkling 
 extremity, sang in a cracked whisper a deplorable verse 
 overturned the empty bottle and sent it crashing through 
 the window. 
 
 The smaller man sat quite still, a faintly humorous smile 
 hovering over his attentive face. 
 
 "This expedition was a happy idea," said he. 
 
 "Think so?" Tallien tried to hide his terror by ex- 
 treme bravado. He hated the little blu^-lipped devil 
 opposite him. (All hatred is more or less rooted in fear.) 
 
 Robespierre put out his hand and quite gently removed 
 the musical-box. **I don't like it," he said simply, 
 
 "I am sorry " 
 
REVOLUTION 187 
 
 Robespierre tapped his long thin fingers on the table. 
 "For a beginning it is not bad," he said. 
 
 Tallien laughed. "Lord, but you are modest!" 
 
 *'Not at all. I want a great many heads to avenge that 
 poor fellow's broken skull." (He jerked his thumb in the 
 direction of the killed.) "Roughly speaking, I should 
 say we have lost some two hundred men, we'll say three 
 hundred. You've got your notebook?" 
 
 Tallien drew the lantern nearer to himself. With 
 trembling fingers he fished out of his pocket a soiled 
 leather-covered volume of no inconsiderable bulk. 
 
 Bending close to the light he scanned some very closely- 
 written pages. 
 
 "Addresses.?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "How many?'* 
 
 "Some thirty thousand.'* 
 
 Robespierre bit his thumb-nail savagely. ^'AU suspected 
 persons to be seized. Given ventilation, the prisons will 
 answer our purpose. Movable property heinF' 
 
 "You will go gently, brother?" 
 
 His little brother laughed. "Very gently. Those who 
 
 speak " He did not finish his sentence, but very 
 
 tenderly he clasped his throat with both his hands. "Even 
 the best of patriots can die suddenly. Life is in the 
 hands of God " 
 
 "Subject to the approval of a select committee." 
 
 "Exactly." 
 
 "We have got tools in plenty. I have never dreamed of 
 such a procession. It was splendid." 
 
 "Yes.'* 
 
 "What a symbolic flight!" said Tallien. "Crowns and 
 miniver trains and heirs- apparent. His heirship is of 
 heaven." 
 
 "I'd never kill a child." 
 
 "I'd stamp out the breed." 
 
 "You are cruel and new to your honors. Some public 
 men can't stomach approval." 
 
188 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 TalHen bit his lips and kept silence. He hated the blue- 
 lipped Samaritan who would not have a hand in killing 
 children* Who cared a damn one way or another? He 
 looked around the melancholy room fiUed with a sickly, 
 indescribable odor of sweat, blood, spilled liquors and 
 discharged cartridges, 
 
 "I am your man," he said breezily, "your very stanch 
 man. I am heart and soul with you. Let them live!" 
 He shrugged his shoulders. "We'll turn the children out 
 to grass and turn them out good patriots at the same 
 time there is a notable scheme! One family, one ador- 
 ing family, black and white, turned drabby gray. Will 
 they mix easily?" He laughed again. 
 
 A door creaked sharply. 
 
 Tallien fingered his loaded pistol. "It is not safe here. 
 One of those blackguardly Swiss may be alive. I am no 
 match for a trained soldier." 
 
 Robespierre rose languidly. 
 
 "Any man could beat you," he said slowly, 
 
 "The citizen is pleased to have his little joke.'* 
 
 It was so dark they could not see each other's faces. 
 
 Robespierre jumped deftly aside. "No, my friend. 
 The time is not ripe ^you must, we must both cultivate 
 patience." 
 
 "I did nothing." 
 
 "We never do anything when we fail or are detected. 
 I will trouble you for your pistol." 
 
 Blankly staring, Tallien obeyed. 
 
 Robespierre very carefully unloaded it. "Shooting is 
 bad form. Another time try a knife." 
 
 Tallien with a cold hand accepted his now harmless 
 weapon. "You leave me unarmed," he said, politely. 
 
 "No, you carry my secrets. I'd kill you with pleasure, 
 but unfortunately I cannot manage without your as- 
 sistance." 
 
 Tallien puffed out his chest. "We pull pretty evenly," 
 he agreed. 
 
 They got over their little difference pretty easily. Life 
 
REVOLUTION 189 
 
 and death at that moment wasn't of great consequence. 
 (Man's an adaptive creature.) They passed off the 
 ^'joke" with an awful jest at the expense of a dead patriot 
 shot through the heart lying cheek by jowl with his 
 mortal enemy tliey^d come to death grips, the king's 
 man and the people's man. "There is something very 
 godlike about the people," said Tallien, slipping the musi- 
 cal box into his coat-pocket. 
 
 Robespierre nodded his head, waggishly. They were 
 bent on good sport and good-fellowship. Their sparring " 
 (call it murder) had only been a tentative trial of strength 
 . . . they pulled pretty equally as Tallien had admitted 
 (rather regretfully). 
 
 They talked affably for a while of the situation. 
 
 "The Luxembourg,'* said Robespierre, "is too windy a 
 nest for our exotic birds." 
 
 Tallien whistled. "Dear little birds," he said. 
 
 "The Temple is far more suitable. A cosy, quiet place, 
 with thick walls and strong doors eh.^" 
 
 "Not bad." 
 
 "Have you a better project?" 
 
 "Have you, sir.'^" 
 
 "Come now, come now, none of your playfulness, sir." 
 
 ^'There's the Conciergerie, you know very dark, very 
 wholesome for froward majesty. I suppose they'll keep 
 their titles, complimentary titles .''" 
 
 *^Damn me, if they will !'* 
 
 *' Spoken as a true patriot. It'd be silly, very silly." 
 
 "There's the incredible majesty of example, citizen, to 
 be taken into consideration." Robespierre cleared his 
 throat and spat on the floor. "That fat booby shall set 
 the record and take a prominent place in history. I'd 
 be the last man to deny him his privileges. The descend- 
 ant of how many kings?" 
 
 "Sixty, I believe; quite a show." 
 
 "It is something to be the pick of the bunch." Robes- 
 pierre edged forward on his seat, leaned over the spat- 
 tered deal table and laid his hand affectionately on Tal- 
 
190 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 lien's arm. "He'll also be the last," he murmured. In the 
 light of the moon, drifting through the clouds, his pale 
 eyes had an extraordinary glassy stare. 
 
 Tallien shook himself free from the detaining hand. 
 (He couldn't help himself damn him if he could!) 
 "What an honor!" he said reverently. "How will he 
 take it?" 
 
 Robespierre screwed his face into that tentative ex- 
 pression which he called a smile. Anyhow he bared his 
 little, pointed, discolored teeth to the moon. "Well, my 
 friend ; very well," he said. 
 
 The moon covered her face. Only the lantern twinkled 
 between the two men, and a few unmentionable thoughts. 
 They still had a few subjects they couldn't speak about 
 . . . the fruit wasn't ripe. They could wait, they could 
 always wait, as Deputy Tallien would say, with his large 
 smile, and immense good-nature. He had also a fund of 
 optimism. And you must say he had something to back 
 him. Considering everything, his affair had marched. 
 
 At that moment ^both the gentlemen's nerves were 
 pretty tightly braced it had, with one thing and another 
 been a racketing day a tremendous crash, accompanied 
 by demoniac shouts and no less demoniac cheers, rent the 
 air. It came from the direction of the Place Dauphin, 
 where stood the great equestrian statue of His Majesty 
 Louis XIV. 
 
 Tallien sprang to the open window. 
 
 "Hurrah !" he cried exultantly, waving his hand above 
 his head. "They've got him down! I always said that 
 if you left the people to themselves they'd prove their 
 quality. Great, I call it great ! Hear 'em ? Lusty 
 devils. And they'll want more. Broken stones aren't 
 broken heads ha ! ha I I see their little game. God for- 
 bid that I'd interfere with justice." 
 
 Robespierre, who had also got up, didn't say a word 
 until the other man had buried his transports in a checked 
 handkerchief. It was a green handkerchief with bars of 
 yellow, red and blue ^very vivid, very large. 
 
REVOLUTION 191 
 
 While Tallien was blowing his big nose ^you remember 
 the shape? Robespierre spoke, without the least exag- 
 geration. 
 
 "They put him up a hundred years ago, and a day," 
 he said. 
 
 Tallien flung back his head and pocketed his handker- 
 chief. His very gesture was extravagant. "A hundred 
 years," he said. "What's a hundred years I" 
 
 "We shan't last as long," said Robespierre, sorrowfully 
 (and accurately). 
 
 Tallien stepped back from the window the din had 
 somewhat subsided. In the gardens below, men were run- 
 ning to and fro in the moonlight such a coy Lady Moon. 
 On this night, of all nights, was she flirting with poor 
 human beings? It looked like it. 
 
 Tallien dug Robespierre playfully in the ribs. He was 
 in high good-humor, as the father might be at the un- 
 expected prowess of his family and who tickles 'em! 
 . . . "We aren't stone images, eh?" he said. "But true 
 flesh and blood patriots." He peered inquisitively into 
 the other's pallid face, shaking his head dolefully. "Not 
 much blood and not much flesh. Drink cream, cream " 
 he curled his tongue over his thick, smooth lips "and 
 other things. I'm thirsty. Let's satisfy ourselves eh?" 
 
 Stepping very carefully over the dead and the dying 
 one of the dying did actually turn at sight of them, but 
 only to look away they made their way unchallenged 
 into the public street. They had come by way of the 
 private gardens, where the queen's roses bloomed, washed 
 in dew. It was a warm night full of scents, by no means 
 all agreeable. Robespierre shivered. The mortally 
 wounded man, who'd moved, had given given him a turn 
 ... it was a very sad world. He wondered if the people 
 hadn't overstepped their privileges in breaking up that 
 monumental piece of sculpture? It was bordering on 
 extravagance. Robespierre didn't like extravagance. 
 . . . Tallien was rejoicing he was heart and soul with 
 
192 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 the people he was one of them. He walked very upright, 
 swinging his long arms to and fro. 
 
 "Put out the lantern," said Robespierre. 
 
 "Exactly,'* murmured Tallien, in a dreamy voice. "We 
 don't want to be seen." He did as he was told. 
 
 The narrow Rue Santerre loomed darkly in front of 
 them. They hurried on. Only once did Tallien place a 
 warning hand on his companion's narrow shoulders. 
 "Listen," he said; "what is that?" 
 
 In the street corner there sat a beggar, huddled up in 
 his rags. He was deplorably crippled. 
 
 "Singing all to yourself, citizen?" said Tallien, pleas- 
 antly. "It is a great night, I'll allow it, a prophetic 
 night." 
 
 Tallien slipped a piece of money into the beggar's hand. 
 He thanked him perfunctorily and continued his melan- 
 choly dirge. The words clipped into Tallien's memory. 
 Long after he'd flung himself on his bed they haunted 
 him ^pshaw ! 
 
 Le front ride, les cheveulx gris, 
 
 Les sourcilz cheuz, les yeulx estains. 
 
 Qui faisoient regars et ris, 
 
 Dont maintz marchons furent attains, 
 
 Nez courbe, de beaulte loingtains, 
 
 Oreilles pendans et moussues, 
 
 Le vis pally, mort et destains, 
 
 Menton fence, joues peaussues. 
 
BOOK II 
 TERROR 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 X70U may remember that we casually mentioned the 
 * presence, at the Gala performance at the Odeon, of 
 a young officer (sucking an orange) whose appearance, 
 despite his admittedly fine eyes, had not impressed Made- 
 moiselle Claire favorably. 
 
 We are sorry to say that this Incomprehensible young 
 man (even at a considerable distance of time we are still 
 rather under his sway) had, through his own negligence, 
 been obliged to send in his papers and resign his com- 
 mission in his majesty's army. He had outstayed his 
 leave at Ajaccio, and in consequence we find him prowling 
 round Paris, in the wake of a revolutionary rabble, with 
 nothing better to do than to speculate in real estate prop- 
 erty and the probable date of his next meal. 
 
 He was deplorably dressed. Deprived of his uniform 
 he'd eked out his civilian clothes with such parts of his 
 military outfit as might pass muster. His small, neat feet 
 were cased in large, clumsy field boots (little men love 
 big boots, and walk heavily it gives them consequence), 
 a slouch hat, thrust low on his brow, almost concealed his 
 fine eyes, but gave free egress to his wisps of untidy dark 
 hair a forelock hung right over one of his nicely pen- 
 ciled eyebrows. In spite of his slovenly dress, he was a 
 good-looking boy not tall but well-proportioned, and 
 well-knit. He was no weakling, which makes his plight 
 seem all the sadder. His lips though Mile. Claire hadn't 
 noticed them were "good" not good in a religious sense, 
 but from an artistic point of view; they were very well 
 shaped so was his nose; for the matter of that, so was 
 his face. We repeat it, he was a handsome boy, in spite 
 of his wicked little scowl. He habitually scowled at every- 
 
 195 
 
196 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 one. He walked hastily forward, covering the ground 
 with extraordinarily long strides, not graceful. There 
 was something angular about his movements. He seemed 
 to be in a fever of impatience probably with himself. 
 We can imagine him belaboring his own mind "Get on 
 get on, can't you?'* 
 
 The whole world was topsy-turvy, and when the world 
 is topsy-turvy there is always a chance for an alert young 
 man to make his mark. "Get on get on!" he mumbled 
 fiercely, digging his small, finely- shaped hands deep into 
 the pockets of his deplorably shabby coat. 
 
 "I will !" he called aloud, considerably startling a dear 
 old lady who was crossing the road in front of him. He 
 must have bawled. Lots of people were bawling on that 
 day. The king, the queen, and the rest of the royal 
 family, had just gone into residence in the Temple. All 
 the state prisons, large and small, were chock-full with 
 suspected individuals of the hated class. It was sufficient 
 to be of that class to come under suspicion. A coroneted 
 handkerchief would have been fatal in the mean Rue des 
 Quatre Vents one of those narrow streets which cut 
 through old Paris. 
 
 It was a bleak, poverty-struck street. Many hingeless 
 shutters flapped in the wind here and there a few dilapi- 
 dated shops, principally dealing in cheap food commodi- 
 ties; a tailor not above patching a cobbler who never 
 dreamed of doing anything else; a public-house with a 
 queer sign hanging over the door, representing a blue- 
 skinned, gold-mottled cow with enormous poached-egg 
 eyes. An ancient house, built of solid black oak, with 
 its gable towards the street. . . . 
 
 Not far off from this hostlery a pawnbroker hung out 
 his golden balls. His little shop was approached from the 
 street itself by a flight of steep stone stairs ^his little 
 shop-window was crowded with a heterogeneous collection 
 of priceless treasures ! 
 
 It was the day of turning the gentry into prisons and 
 turning out their family effects into the street. Deputy 
 
TERROR 197 
 
 Tallien (very kindly) was at the very moment enlarging 
 his repositories of Public Safety. Could anything sound 
 better than a Repository of Public Safety? The very 
 name was a voucher for thieving. All that came out of 
 those state warehouses went into Deputy Tallien's private 
 pocket. In his department the Constitution allowed him 
 complete control. The right honorable member was a 
 conspicuous patriot. "A humble instrument," said Tal- 
 lien but that was only his modesty. Robespierre called 
 him a blusterer. Extraordinary how some men, in spite 
 of taking up a modest position, appear puffed with un- 
 wholesome pride. I assure you, after August the tenth, 
 there was really no holding Deputy Tallien. His breezy 
 good-nature was almost suffocating his ideas bewilder- 
 ing one or two moderate men, such as Camille Des- 
 moulins, held their credulous breath. No, no, no he 
 couldn't go to such lengths. There is a limit even in 
 politics; a limit to liberty, fraternity, equality. The 
 moderates shuddered at the shadow of a rumor. Good- 
 natured Tallien was immensely tickled. (He did hate a 
 slacker.) He would purse his fat lips and look grave. 
 Then he'd speak (and write) very feelingly in very choice 
 language each word a firebrand in the cause of blessed 
 justice. At that particular moment his partisans con- 
 sisted entirely of men who stopped at nothing . . . not 
 one of them looked upon bloodshed as evil. . . "To the 
 pure of heart all things are pure," said Deputy Tallien, 
 raising his large hand and making the sign of the cross. 
 Somewhere, at the back of the crowd, a hysterical woman 
 might whimper. Some women even among those who 
 stop at nothing can't control their nerves. 
 
 Ci-devant Lieutenant Bonaparte sprang up the pawn* 
 broker's steps, pushed the door open, and strode across 
 the little shop towards a man probably the proprietor 
 who was seated behind a crowded counter the whole 
 place was piled from floor to ceiling with goods reading 
 a copy of the People* s Friend, 
 
 He took the little delicately-wrought silver cross, set 
 
198 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 With turquoises, which his customer offered him, awk- 
 wardly, over the counter. 
 
 "Poor stones. We've no call for these articles," he 
 said. "Where does it come from.'^'' 
 
 "Corsica." 
 
 "Two francs." 
 
 The young man trembled in his turn, and turned a fiery 
 red under his sallow skin. The red touched up his eyes 
 until they glowed like lit-up lamps. The effect startled 
 the pawnbroker. He leered at the young man. 
 
 "Poor fellow, poor fellow," he said. "And such glorious 
 times, too." 
 
 "Grand, citoyenJ'^ 
 
 **I needn't ask, you are one of us." 
 
 The young man laughed sarcastically at his own ex- 
 pense. "As you see, a very tower of strength. I want 
 ten francs.'* 
 
 The pawnbroker waved his hand round his premises. 
 "Look," he grunted. "It isn't business, it's a deluge. 
 That bureau over there, inlaid with real gold mounts 
 heavy as an elephant I helped to remove it myself three 
 francs. They wanted more. Tcha! beggars can't be 
 choosers." 
 
 He took up his paper and shook his head it wasn't 
 business but infirmity and chuckled. "Movin' fine," he 
 murmured, "movin' grand." 
 
 The young man stamped his foot. 
 
 "Listen!" 
 
 Lieutenant Bonaparte whipped out a clasp-knife from 
 his pocket and severed a couple of buttons from his faded 
 blue coat. He laid them down very gently on the counter. 
 "They are silver," he said, in a voice melodious as music. 
 His gentleness struck the pawnbroker favorably. He laid 
 down the juicy paper it really might have been steeped 
 in blood and he inclined his heart towards charity. 
 
 He smiled, disclosing one very long tooth. 
 
 "There you are, citizen. For an old friend I'll make 
 it seven francs. Five francs for rent two for a banquet." 
 
TERROR 199 
 
 The young man without a word accepted his money and 
 his ticket and clattered out of the dirty little shop. 
 
 "There's a cub for you,'* soliloquized the pawnbroker. 
 "His eyes did it." He was sensibly annoyed over his 
 generosity. He'd paid him as a prince. 
 
 Paris labored during those first days of mob rule it 
 very soon shook off the feeling under bewilderment and 
 wealth. Money was easy; you stole and you bought; 
 you stole and you sold in either case the middleman 
 paid he of aquiline nose, lace ruffles, and haughty con- 
 tempt. "Ba-ah! ha-a!" I wish we could give you the 
 faintest impression of the populace's scathing joy. They 
 went the greater part ^hungry to bed (a delusion, sirs, 
 merely a delusion), hugging their joy to their delirious 
 hearts and empty stomachs. The majority didn't possess 
 beds, neither food nor beds ^but each brute man accord- 
 ing to his brutality could dream of vengeance and each 
 she-wolf could according to her imagination see her- 
 self and her starving little ones bedded in priceless lace 
 and thickest blankets, or eating their fill of hot meat 
 and pastry. ^ i 
 
 We can imagine Lieutenant Bonaparte's contempt of 
 these ignorant wretches you don't want to be taught to 
 dislike feeble opposition and ear-splitting howls he'd 
 followed the people out of idle curiosity (he'd plenty of 
 time on his hands). Once edged in that packed evil-smell- 
 ing mass ^he'd had a good front place on June the 
 twentieth ^he'd seen the king in his palace mounted on 
 a table clad in a cap of liberty red wool, with a tassel 
 to it negotiating with the rioters. It wasn't a princely 
 sight, but rather a sickening one. It had sickened Bona- 
 parte, filling him with consuming rage. At length he 
 had boiled over. 
 
 He caught a firm hold of pale Boisgaloup's shoulder. 
 "Ah," he hissed, '^ook at him!" (he pointed to Louis' 
 well-known features). "What a loathly exhibition! He 
 deserves all he'll get. He's a blockhead! He is a fool! 
 A prompt fusillade would have saved him his dignity and 
 
200 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 saved him his crown, and there he sits inviting the 
 laughter of the world." 
 
 No doubt he was right; he often was. 
 
 The second time he had followed the people was on 
 August the tenth, black August, or red August, or heav- 
 enly August, whichever you like. A vast deal of difference 
 in opinion in Paris on that date; some rejoiced and some 
 staggered back, aghast. The king ate his supper boiled 
 beef and vegetable stew with good appetite, in his pro- 
 visional three rooms under the roof of his own august 
 Constitutional Parliament. If he'd opened the door a 
 crack he could have heard the House, lusty and loud- 
 voiced, in fiery debate. He didn't. 
 
CHAPTER XXVni 
 
 r 
 
 From The Prison of La Fobce, 
 
 The 1st September, 1192, 
 
 To THE CiTOYENNE TeREZIA FoNTENAY, N^E CaRRABUS 
 
 Yes, my dear Terezia, such is the fate of your old admirer, 
 Ravoral eating the bread of dependence (and vile at that) 
 in a National penthouse. Three weeks is not a great 
 scrap of life to a man close on eighty. The days of polite 
 deception are as dead as honor in much-racked France. I 
 would not cultivate a pretense, living as I do in a tomb, so 
 I will quite happily drop my mask of youth with the other 
 pretty insincerities of my former existence. 
 
 I would have written before, but paper chez nous is at a 
 premium, and lamentably rare in our extremely select circle. 
 Two passages off, behind a stone wall, fourteen feet thick, I 
 have as a neighbor our beautiful and ill-starred Princesse de 
 Lamballe. For no reason at all, except to annoy her majesty, 
 she was removed from the Temple, some time last week, if 
 I remember rightly. Behind prison walls time has but little 
 consequence, and life seen through a prison window appears 
 curiously remote. We have all grown, let us say wiser. Youth 
 and age meet as equals. And every insult, every hardship, 
 every sanguinary rumor we accept without complaint. I have 
 never before cherished the idea of death as a friend. Death, 
 in the full play of existence, is an unsubstantial shadow 
 here he sports a merry wit, a kindly, fatherly interest. Morn- 
 ing and evening we read our destiny (those who care to look) 
 in the more or less deep-grained scowl or smile, or what you 
 will, which transfigures kind human nature into a veritable 
 fiend. The turnkeys are all as transparent as blocks of ice 
 touched by spring sunshine. Sometimes -very rarely money 
 will melt their hatred into complicity. If you remember, the 
 Duchesse d'Angreve is passionately fond of gambling and 
 plays for high stakes. At an infinite price she has secured 
 a pack of playing-cards, and is now happily occupied winning 
 
 201 
 
202 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 IOU*s from her circle of intimates. I am writing by a truly 
 villainous lights at one lop-sided barrel ^madame is presid- 
 ing at another, dealing out her cards with her beautiful gem- 
 laden hands. We keep ourselves as tidy as we can. We know 
 each other by our voices, our gestures, our bons mots and 
 our infinite rapacity of ignoring the present. We never talk 
 of the future. As none of us are religious, the subject hardly 
 attracts us. 
 
 Now to matters more interesting. How are you yourself.'* 
 The last I heard of you was a perfectly ridiculous report that 
 poor Devin had engaged your attention. No one has credited 
 the scandal. As I tell them, Madame de Fontenay has too 
 much s avoir vivre to commit such a solecism. Anyhow, it is 
 an affair which cannot last. I know you, my friend. I love 
 you, I judge you and I find you cold. A heart is the one 
 thing no one can grow from seed. A heart must be born in 
 the full flower of perfection. If I am cruel, forgive me. Love 
 will never cause you discomfort, but no doubt infinite happi- 
 ness. Happiness is such an exquisitely individual expression. 
 You are the personification of enduring pleasure. I can see 
 you always supposing you are allowed to live satisfying 
 yourself for a great many years, treasuring your beauty and 
 directly ministering to the welfare of others. Such as you, 
 Terezia, are of great importance. You represent, if I may 
 say so, the healthy, joy-giving animal, barren only on one 
 point. Which point, you may ask ? You cannot suffer. Phys- 
 ically, mentally, you are cased in metal. Such strength ! I 
 am in a mood to cavil at death because I shall be debarred 
 from watching your interesting career. Such as you carry 
 men far or else strangle them. You will be worshiped, but 
 never hated ^who hates a perfectly placid idol? Fools, may- 
 be. In your world we will exclude fools, primarily because 
 they will invariably flock around you. I repeat it, my friend 
 and believe me, I am not without experience ^you are born 
 to an enviable lot, if you can keep your lovely head above 
 water. 
 
 Honestly, I advise you to let Devin carry you off to Eng- 
 land or Spain. The outskirts of Paris are charming in sum- 
 mer, but in autumn the country strikes one as damp and dull 
 and lifeless. After all, life is a tremendous possession. Ass 
 that I am, for eighty years I have carried this inestimable 
 gift about my person without realizing its value. 
 
TERROR 203 
 
 Seriously speaking, I have never utilized my freedom. Con- 
 vention is the one thing all libertines respect. For instance 
 the card-party yonder, and the crowd lining the damp walls, 
 elegantly passing the time before dinner in polite conversation 
 (un plat de jour, probably soup a la Revolution a very 
 noxious mixture served in wooden bowls with or without pew- 
 ter spoons), are brilliantly conventional. It is our creed, our 
 god, our genius. There is no genius so great as the art of 
 hiding suffering; no greater test of courage. Why should I 
 complain .f* I am one of a company destined to attract the 
 admiration of future ages for all time, never their sickly com- 
 passion. You dole out compassion to a poor thriftless tear- 
 drenched beggar one who creates his own miserable atmos- 
 phere by his own worthlessness. We pity the poor wretch. 
 We give him of our charity. But who would dare to pity the 
 demoiselles St. Innocents, for example (they are at this mo- 
 ment standing opposite me and laughing deliciously) ? dis- 
 tant cousins of mine charming little girls, one nineteen, the 
 other eighteen, dressed alike in pink soiled pink ^who cares ! 
 They are as fresh as flowers in May ^poor pale mites, more 
 than half-starved. (If it were not beneath m}^ dignity, I 
 would love to throw that unspeakable soup in the face of our 
 maitre d'hotel!) Terezia, as a last favor I beg of you to try 
 and send us some of your ripe, rich fruit. The greengages 
 at Fontenay are admirable. The grapes of no second-rate 
 quality and the quantity ! (Have I actually refused a bunch 
 because I was too lazy to eat them?) I would like to feed 
 my charming cousins. 
 
 They tell us we are going soon to be removed to another 
 prison any variety is welcome. The ladies are well satisfied. 
 For myself, I consider the news alarming. The ladies, in 
 self-defense, never deign to glance at our wretched warders. 
 I am not so fastidious. I have seen many disgusting sights 
 in my days; but never a more blood-curdling spectacle than 
 Jean Lecou's jutting jaw and retreating forehead, as, with 
 closed eyes, he gives us his little information. No mask ! To 
 me his eyes are wide open, revealing untold depths. God 
 spare my cousins ! Dear Terezia, as you know, I have always 
 had an unholy affection for youth and beauty. Take this as 
 my last will and testament. Give me a thought now and again 
 who knows if I am not your master? In truth I am! Be- 
 neath my crusty baldness, my countless wrinkles, my arti- 
 
204 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 ficial manner, I still carry a heart. A heart fancy, Terezia, 
 my beautiful pagan a heart! (You see, I still hark back 
 to the same subject.) A heart is of incalculable importance. 
 Without a heart you lose the key of individuality, you can 
 never unlock the doors of art never unstop deaf ears. Art 
 is as unteachable as a soul is unprocurable. Yet my faith in 
 you is absolute. You will never meet failure, because you 
 will never understand defeat. How I envy you your machin- 
 ery, your digestion, your colossal conceit! I am not playing 
 with words or with you. I am speaking in solemn earnest. 
 May you live! 
 
 Your sincere lover, 
 
 Paul Honore Marie de Ravoral. 
 
 Poor old Ravoral had been dead some three months 
 when T^rezia received this characteristic letter. She had 
 heard of the horrors wept a good many tears, and writ- 
 ten at once to her people at Bordeaux, It was about time 
 she looked them up. She would rather like to meet Uncle 
 Galabert again, and see her cousins (to whom until now , 
 she had never given a thought). She wrote with dutiful 
 affection to the head of the family dear papa's only 
 brother, a prosperous and strictly honest tradesman, or 
 merchant, which sounds more distinguished. 
 
 It was a miracle that Ravoral's letter ever reached her. 
 Where had it lain between the first of September and the 
 twentieth of November.? Three months less than three 
 months, but, oh, God, what a vast unbridgeable gulf ! At 
 night Terezia, even with her lack of imagination, would 
 dream of butchery and terror unspeakable. She would 
 wake and wring her hands and bury her face in her scented 
 pillow, bury it deep in the cool fair linen and try to forget 
 the plight of the people she had known actually known, 
 taken by the hand, kissed, entertained with all kinds of 
 nonsense. She remembered the ridiculous deportment of 
 Madame d'Angr^ve and the respect she had always felt 
 for her, though the duchess had not returned the com- 
 pliment. 
 
 The rain beating on her window-panes, the wind sighing 
 
TERROR 205 
 
 under the discolored elms in her famous garden all com- 
 bined to keep her awake. She would fancy she heard 
 stealthy steps in the passage outside; in another moment 
 her door would be forced open . . . entrance demanded 
 in the name of the king . . . no, no, she was crazy! 
 There was no king in France. Robespierre and Marat 
 and all those "creatures" ruled a mob stark, staring mad. 
 Didn't they howl day and night round the guillotine the 
 doctor's Idea transformed to actuality on an appalling 
 scale? In the very centre of Paris they had raised a 
 scaffold, and the knife was grinding to some purpose. It 
 all went by rote. Samson (was not that his name?) had 
 on the whole an easy task. He had only to obey. They 
 had all to obey. Even Terezia the most beautiful woman 
 in France would not be exempt from the common order. 
 They called it justice! 
 
 She would sit up in bed, her heart beating to suffocation. 
 Her nerves were shattered (so she thought). Had she no 
 friend in the whole wide world? No friend among the 
 ruling class? 
 
 In this chaos of thought her quick mind lighted on a 
 tall young man, with great burning, lascivious eyes, who 
 had once upon a time desired her. Terezia was an adept 
 at construing glances. She never deceived herself. Men 
 were all alike, more or less. They all loved her. Love 
 is power. Could she not get speech with this Tallien? 
 She would finish the work the sight of her beauty had 
 commenced. He would save her. Tallien was a noble 
 young man. She had always admired his physical 
 strength, his aplomb, his audacity, his appalling ignor- 
 ance, so brilliantly veiled. She remembered quite well 
 their first meeting and their second. In the midst of her 
 nightmare she seemed to feel the touch of a dew-laden 
 rose on her lips: "My first kiss," only a whisper, but 
 a whisper of lambent fire. . . . 
 
 She would fall asleep greatly comforted. The Terezias 
 of this world are very easily consoled. 
 
CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 PVEN the most heartless woman may feel a natural 
 -^^ twinge of regret at the thought of leaving her home 
 maybe for ever. 
 
 Terezia, leaving Christina working feverishly against 
 time, ran downstairs to get a breath of fresh air. Her 
 mind was all in a turmoil. She was feeling excited, elated 
 at the prospect of an adventure all the better if danger- 
 ous she was sick to death of doing nothing, sick to death 
 of her own society, her deadly lack of courtship. She 
 would have embraced with fervor the least desirable of 
 her lovers. Had Robespierre appeared behind the laurel 
 hedge mistily pallid in the moonlight she would have 
 greeted him without fear. She would have reproved him. 
 She was no coward she, Terezia! 
 
 She stepped out on the desolate terrace. It was a very 
 quiet night. Nature slept, even if turbulent humanity 
 held unholy revel. By a sharp contrast the extensive 
 grounds of the chateau the distant grove of elms, the 
 gleaming sheet of water and the long stretch of undulating 
 turf had a peculiar fascination. The peace of it all for 
 a brief while ubjugated Terezia's vanity. 
 
 She held out her hands beseechingly, a thoroughly 
 natural gesture. This was the stage of her daily life, the 
 scene of her triumphs, the theatre of her vast ennui. She 
 had spent five years of her precious existence at Fontenay. 
 Her heart went out to the beauty of the night. Her eyes 
 rested on the grave majesty of the famous trees, and 
 lingered awhile on a sheltered seat half hidden in bower- 
 ing lilac-bushes. 
 
 She folded her hands and walked decorously down the 
 garden path. She unlatched the postern gate and made 
 her way along the broad elm avenue. She was not afraid. 
 
 206 
 
TERROR 207 
 
 No one would molest her. She enjoyed this pilgrimage of 
 love reluctant. Her whole being rose in an inarticulate 
 hymn of farewell. Never again would she touch this ex- 
 alted mood. She looked up at the giant trees with misty 
 affection. They were old, very old . . . she wondered 
 how old? She stood for a moment leaning against a mas- 
 sive trunk, sunk in a profound reverie. 
 
 She was leaving her home for ever. She had entered it 
 as a young bride, joyously confident of the future; her 
 trust had been ruthlessly abused. Leaning against the 
 age- worn tree, her own youth struck her as pathetically 
 reaL Would she ever retrieve the confidence or her early 
 days? Out of chaos would she find enduring happi- 
 ness? . . . 
 
 Already a note of self-pity disturbed the idealistic ele- 
 ment of her emotion. She brushed her despondency aside, 
 and ran fleet-footed towards the mirrored lake, all bathed 
 in a ripple of moonshine. The tarnished leaves on the 
 great trees shining like burnished jewels, the moss-grown 
 boulders and the reddish bracken an echo from the wil- 
 derness beyond struck her as infinitely beautiful. It 
 was the "clou" of the park, this unexpected dell of un- 
 tamed nature. Against the green lawns, silver-gray in 
 the moonlight, and smooth as velvet, the tumbled disorder 
 of natural growth struck a note of grand relief. 
 
 Terezia, in an ecstasy of farewell, stooped down to the 
 edge of the lake, and dipped her fingers in the cold clear 
 water. She gathered a chance bramble, gleaming w4th 
 red berries to carry back as a memento. ^'Good-by, 
 dear Fontenay," she said. "I will always remember on 
 kindly. Terezia is faithful to her friends." 
 
 Except for her whispered, whimsical assurance not j; 
 broke the stillness. It was so quiet that it frightened 
 She fancied she saw something move on the opposite si 
 She caught hold of her petticoats and ran swiftly, fi) 
 with her magnificent length of limb, her chest expar 
 her big eyes wide open. She did not pause for hvi ^a 
 until she was safe inside the lighted vestibule. 
 
208 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 Devin came out of his room and looked at her. 
 
 Her cheeks were, flushed, her eyes extraordinarily bril- 
 liant, her heaving besom firm as a rock; her simple dress 
 clung to her figure. 
 
 "Where have you been?'' he asked. 
 
 She put her hand to her lips. "You would never under- 
 stand," she said. She said it proudly. She was genuinely 
 sorry to say good-by to Fontenay, but he was not in- 
 cluded. A sudden rancor effaced Terezia's transcendent 
 beauty. She was no longer a goddess upholding the hid- 
 den flame of life, but a scowling woman. 
 
 He watched her mount the staircase, slowly, heavily. 
 "Why does she run about madly," he thought, "and over- 
 tire herself?" 
 
CHAPTER XXX 
 
 OOME three or four days later, if you had been happen- 
 ^ ing to drive into Paris (with your heart in your 
 mouth), you might have passed a dilapidated cart on two 
 high wheels, harnessed to a dejected horse and driven by 
 an old woman. 
 
 Beside the old woman, frankly plebeian, with a grim, 
 toil-worn face and capable hands (which seemed to be 
 perpetually pulling at the horse's mouth), sat a well- 
 grown girl. She was very poorly dressed and yet with a 
 certain pretense to neatness. Her head and part of her 
 face were covered by a red cotton handkerchief tied se- 
 curely under her chin. Her shapely hands were very 
 brown, and what you could see of her face was equally 
 sunburned. Her stiff bodice, fastened by two large bone 
 buttons, revealed folds of dubious linen. 
 
 *'HeinI'^ roared the old woman. "Get on!" giving a 
 merciless tug to her horse's head as they passed a convoy 
 of soldiers. The old lady evidently meant to clatter into 
 Paris by noon, and also to exhibit to the soldiers the gentle 
 art of driving. She hung on to the reins, whip in hand. 
 Away bolted the long-suffering animal, raising a cloud of 
 dust and nearly overturning the cart. 
 
 The soldiers laughed. One of them had caught a 
 glimpse of the girl's face, as the cart swung past him 
 like a flash. He sang out a greeting; she did not hear 
 him, as she clutched wildly at her seat in a vain endeavor 
 to steady the cart. 
 
 "Do be careful, Christina.'* 
 
 At the bend of the road Christina slackened speed. The 
 horse came to a standstill with heaving flanks. 
 
 209 
 
210 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 "That was a close shave. Did you. see him, madame?" 
 said she. 
 
 Terezia wiped her forehead with her handkerchief and 
 said that she was horribly frightened and had seen no 
 one except some dirty soldiers. 
 
 "In charge of an officer, Captain Longueville." 
 
 "Adolf!" cried Terezia, in great excitement, looking 
 back. "Why did you not stop? He is my friend " 
 
 "A pretty pass if you and he had jumped at each other 
 with a kiss and a hug!" 
 
 "Do I look very ugly?" 
 
 Instead of answering, Christina pulled at the reins and 
 took a sharp turn round. The dejected horse pricked 
 up his ears. 
 
 "No," said Terezia firmly. "Drive on to Paris.'* 
 
 "Well, I have warned you." 
 
 Terezia, in spite of her annoyance, bestowed a fluttering 
 kiss somewhere in the region of Christina's left ear. 
 
 Christina laid her disengaged hand on the knee of her 
 wilful mistress. "Be careful, darling. Don't open your 
 mouth if you can help it. It is a big risk we are taking 
 and I doubt its issue." 
 
 Terezia's heart fluttered for all her boasted courage. 
 Paris struck her as an infinitely strange, and rather a 
 terrible place. She stared at the broken monuments, the 
 smashed windows, the defaced houses. The very air 
 seemed tainted. 
 
 A great many of the shops were closed and a large 
 number of the people were perambulating the streets, 
 carrying small banners in their hands, or minute gaily- 
 trimmed sticks. They all looked more or less cheerful. 
 In many quarters of the town arose clouds of thick smoke ; 
 whoops, shouts, peals of harsh laughter. Terezia shiv- 
 ered. She clasped her stained hands tightly together, 
 feeling very dismayed. She recognized some of her friends' 
 houses, recognized them in spite of their impossible ap- 
 pearance. Could a few weeks of mob rule, or mob venge- 
 ance, work such havoc? How forlorn they looked, these 
 
TERROR 211 
 
 spacious mansions ! Through the curtainless and broken 
 windows the Spirit of the Past had spread her wings and 
 vanished in her wake the bright sunshine of a fine 
 morning. 
 
 The sunshine seemed to deride the great empty houses. 
 
 Where were their owners? 
 
 There was something harrowing in this ignoble drive 
 through the city of Paris. No one paid any attention to 
 their modest turn-out. Terezia bent her head lower and 
 pulled her handkerchief well over her face. They were 
 passing the Temple. She did not dare look up, yet behind 
 one of those heavily-barred windows she might have seen 
 her majesty, looking out on a very strange world. 
 
 At that moment the boom of cannon rolled away in the 
 distance, followed by ominous silence. The sound came 
 from the Place de Revolution (formerly the Place Louis 
 XV.). It was the signal that the day's work had begun. 
 Terezia dimly recognized its significance. 
 
 How could any living person, she thought passionately, 
 enjoy seeing his fellow-creature's head cut oif ! It was 
 inhuman, it was monstrous! 
 
 "To the Cardilacs'," she whispered. She longed to clasp 
 Claire in her arms ... to assure herself that Claire was 
 safe and well. How astonished she would be at sight of 
 her ! 
 
 The big gates of the Cardilacs' mansion were wide open. 
 The first thing Terezia noticed in the familiar courtyard 
 was a large bed of autumn dahlias, a bright glow of color 
 against the old house. The flowers seemed to welcome 
 her, to dispel her uneasiness. 
 
 The hall door stood open ^wide open. Terezia ran up 
 the staircase, calling loudly: 
 
 "Claire! Claire!" 
 
 She forgot Christina's warning, she forgot her own 
 danger. 
 
 At first she did not understand this voiceless answer to 
 her vague question. Her friends had evidently gone, leav- 
 ing their house in very great disorder. All the rooms were 
 
212 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 dismantled. Terezia looked around the big drawing-room 
 with her childish eyes full of amazement. What was the 
 meaning of this desolation? 
 
 A hand seemed to clutch her throat. She trembled. 
 Very gently she opened the door leading into the dining- 
 room. "Claire," she breathed softly. "Claire!" 
 
 She came upon a human being, at least Terezia supposed 
 she was a human creature. She had never seen anyone 
 like her before. 
 
 By the window she sat, this terrible woman. She was 
 very tall, very thin, very upright and hideously ancient. 
 Her discolored skin hung in loose furrows ; her deep-set, 
 still piercing eyes were shaded by a few wisps of dead- 
 white hair; her face expressed some remorseless purpose. 
 She was knitting. 
 
 "The citoyerme comes late. The family have left. I 
 am in charge," she said. 
 
 Terezia did not move. 
 
 The woman, still knitting, rose, tall, emaciated, smiling 
 her one sharp tooth projecting over her shriveled lip. 
 
 "Who are you, my dear? A friend of the family 
 maybe?" 
 
 She spoke to empty walls. Terezia had flown, running 
 for dear life. 
 
 To get away, to get away at any price! A torturing 
 sense of terror spurred Terezia to her utmost endeavor. 
 Tallien would help her. Tallien loved her, Tallien was the 
 soul of compassion! He was also a brave young man, 
 and a deputy. 
 
 They drove to the House of Assembly. 
 
 By sheer good luck, when Terezia had squeezed her way 
 through the evil crowd to a prominent place in the public 
 gallery where, looking down, she had an uninterrupted 
 view of the famous Salle de Manege, Tallien was in the act 
 of addressing the Convention. 
 
 She listened, entranced. In her ears his voice was beau- 
 tiful, impassioned, full of vigor. 
 
TERROR 213 
 
 He was denouncing the rights of monarchy, urging the 
 house to commit the king to trial and condemn him. He 
 appealed to his fellow legislators to their intelligence, 
 to their patriotism. He did not veil his purpose he 
 gloried in it. He shouted in the extremity of his confi- 
 dence and elation. The determined representatives of 
 France had all to win and nothing to lose victory lay 
 in their hands! He waved the Prussian invasion aside as 
 a man might toss a handful of wet matches into the fire. 
 God was with them ! Never had there been such torrential 
 floods. Argonne was steeped in water, and the enemy's 
 troops were weakened by dysentery, and openly mutinous. 
 The good patriots of France would welcome their foes 
 in a proper manner a remnant of rebellious and disease- 
 riddled invaders. . . . Again he urged the case of Louis 
 Capet. 
 
 A murmur rose in the packed hall. 
 
 Camille Desmoulins shifted uneasily in his chair; his 
 ironical glance penetrated Tallien's vanity, Tallien loved 
 the sound of his own voice, he loved his own wide gestures, 
 his own sweeping assertions which fired the heated imagi- 
 nation of the multitude. He was not speaking to the 
 National Convention but to the soul of France, to thirty- 
 five million superbly free individuals superbly free, 
 thanks to the genius of Tallien ! 
 
 Behind his words Desmoulins saw the shadow of his 
 gross vanity, his gross birth, his gross cowardice. A brave 
 man never blusters. 
 
 Robespierre listened to his colleague, now and again 
 shaking his head, now and again mumbling beneath his 
 breath, and all the time he sucked a straw when Tallien 
 had finished, it lay limp and flaccid in his hand ; he dropped 
 it to the ground. The gesture was significant. So was 
 the glance he directed towards Tallien. 
 
 Terezia, against her better judgment, refused to credit 
 her own ears. Tallien was certainly a splendid young 
 
214 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 man, very good and reliable. It was she, shaken by all 
 she had gone through, who had not understood the pur- 
 port of his speech. She leaned forward, smiling. . . . 
 
 Tallien never once glanced up at the crowded public 
 gallery. Desmoulins, from his seat in the body of the 
 hall, let his eyes rove the place in idle curiosity. In idle 
 curiosity at his first opportunity he went upstairs, to 
 verify his suspicion. Of course she was a fool ^but still 
 he firmly believed Terezia's folly had its due limits. He 
 listened very attentively to Terezia's rather disconnected 
 petition. He said he would do his best to help her, but 
 held out very little hope of any success, and advised her 
 to return with all possible speed to Fontenay. He also 
 promised to inquire as to the whereabouts of the Cardi- 
 lacs. He would look at lists, old and new. He was very 
 kind, very sarcastic, and, you could see, mortally weary 
 of the whole flagrant business. 
 
 "A dignified moderation acts as a healthy wind," he 
 said. "Robespierre is overborne by terrific impulses. It 
 is deplorable and insane.'' 
 
 "Surely you can oppose him.^ He is a rat.'' 
 
 He shook his head. "When the trouble is over I will 
 'arrange matters to your complete satisfaction." 
 
 Terezia looked at him closely. "My friend, will nothing 
 make you serious," she asked, "or frightened?" 
 
 "What is the good of being frightened? Fear never 
 yet improved a man's valor. With your kind permission, 
 I will remain myself," he said genially. 
 
 "You are to be envied in this respect, at least, that you 
 can look on " 
 
 "I look away. By the way, citoyenne, there is a rough 
 fellow here who has been staring at you for the last half- 
 hour over there." 
 
 "Oh!" said Terezia, suddenly remembering her own 
 danger. 
 
 She recognized her fat admirer from last year. He had 
 also recognized her. He now placed a finger to his mouth, 
 
TERROR 215 
 
 and favored her with a significant leer. She felt herself 
 trapped on all sides. 
 
 "Take me away," she said, "at once. It is insufferably 
 hot up here." She tapped an individual standing in front 
 of her "Let me pass, please." 
 
CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 npHE New Year saw Terezia still at Fontenay, living in 
 - three or four rooms. The staff of servants had been 
 much reduced it was practically impossible to keep serv- 
 ants in those days their table at times poorly furnished. 
 By contrast, the post-bag was groaningly heavy. What 
 news! The Convention had carried their threat into exe- 
 cution the incredible had come to pass. The king lay 
 under sentence of death. T6rezia, when she heard the 
 news, felt nigh unto fainting. If they murdered the king 
 in cold blood, they would not spare her. They would come 
 and drag her out of her poor "three or four rooms" 
 drag her out as you would a starved weasel, and wring 
 her neck with absolute indifference. . . . 
 
 Life and what happened in life had only for Terezia a 
 relative significance. U affaire du roi spelled V affaire Te- 
 rezia. 
 
 Tragedy is only overwhelming when perfectly simple. 
 The situation was on the whole without any complications. 
 The king had to die. They gave him a few privileges 
 a father confessor, a farewell interview with his family, 
 and a drive through the streets of Paris. The people were 
 excluded from sight-seeing. Eighty thousand troops lined 
 the streets, eighty thousand automata in this scheme of 
 restitution. Every patriotic heart was filled with sublime 
 emotion. 
 
 So he passed through the empty streets, spared some 
 trouble, a king to the last ^prisoner of his thirty-five 
 million people, and victim of his own character. 
 
 The morning light shone on the scaffold. The incred- 
 ible deed had taken place. All Europe wailed. And the 
 queen sobbed as if her heart would break. . . . 
 
 216 
 
TERROR 217 
 
 He was aged thirty-eight years, four months and 
 twenty-eight days. 
 
 January 21, 1793. 
 
 In this time of stress Deputy Tallien kept up wonder- 
 fully. He slept better than he had ever slept in all his 
 life much, we suppose, as a satiated boa-constrictor 
 slumbers in the hot sun. Every night he went to bed 
 (sometimes he took off his boots, sometimes he didn't) 
 with a good conscience and physically exhausted. As he 
 said, he did not spare himself; as a "humble instrument" 
 he worked prodigiously hard, doing all the dirtiest work 
 of his party. He tried to get out of it he was more 
 than a little frightened of consequences but his chief 
 was insistent. 
 
 January rushed ahead in a very orgy of glory they 
 called it glory ; an excellent program, headed by the king's 
 execution ; item, the massacre of the priests ; item, the 
 children's day ; item, the marriage of the Loire ; item 
 but why go on.? A certain monotony about the whole 
 business. 
 
 Now, the September massacres had been a novelty, as 
 no one would deny. For instance, the beautiful Princesse 
 de Lamballe's bloody, severed head, thrust on a tall spike 
 for the edification of the queen at an upper window she 
 had so little amusement was a thoughtful piece of fun. 
 They say a jailer flung himself between her and the sight, 
 incurring her majesty's displeasure at his rudeness. He 
 had almost laid hands on her so they said to get her 
 out of the way ; he had sworn at her distinctly and laughed 
 hideously, and she had retreated (proudly) into her 
 corner. . . . It is comforting to know that a demon is not 
 insensible to common decency. We wonder if he got good 
 marks for his gentlemanly act.?^ We Kke to fancy the 
 Recording Angel amending judgment in the Book of Life 
 "Strike off two thousand years of purgatory for one 
 Jean Henri, the son of Pichau. ..." 
 
 Like all great men. Deputy Robespierre would rather 
 be the object of a visit than the visitor. However, one 
 
218 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 February morning he pocketed his prejudices, and 
 mounted the three pair of steep stone stairs leading to 
 Deputy Tallien's private door. He came early before 
 seven in the morning as he wanted to take him by sur- 
 prise. He had also some information of a private char- 
 acter to give him. In fact, friend Tallien was shortly 
 to be intrusted by a prudent nation with a post of some 
 delicacy and honor a post where he would be at liberty 
 to act according to his own distinguished discretion. All 
 over France they were instituting these very necessary 
 departments, under the jurisdiction of a supreme court 
 in Paris. The times were such that it was of paramount 
 importance to look after the Public Safety. The seaports 
 especially were to be watched, and, in order to lessen the 
 pressure of executions in the capital, the guilty could be 
 arraigned locally, tried, and (if found guilty) guillotined 
 at the discretion of the said governors in their own towns 
 or districts a scheme which would save everyone a great 
 deal of inconvenience, and the loss of much valuable time. 
 Hundreds of times Deputy Robespierre had impressed 
 on his supporters the necessity of quick work. It mad- 
 dened him, he said, to see this lack of briskness. As a 
 result of this desultory behavior and slack attention to 
 duty many enemies of the country had made good their 
 escape, and were now safe in England or elsewhere, plot- 
 ting in their own nefarious interests. The French Am- 
 bassador, M. Charles-Maurice de Talleyrand, ancien 
 bishop, ancien deputy, had been obliged, rather precipi- 
 tately, to ask for his passports. Being a wise man, he 
 had traveled to America, provisionally discarding both 
 spiritual and temporal rank in favor of life. They said 
 he earned a living by setting up a small retail shop and 
 conducting it profitably. He had quite a genius, M. de 
 Talleyrand, for serving his own ends. We are sure, even 
 if his pork wasnH often first grade, that he got a prime 
 price for it, and that he wrapped up each separate piece 
 very elegantly, giving the lucky purchaser a distinguished 
 smile for nothing. 
 
TERROR 219 
 
 Deputy Tallien v/as up and dressed, looking rather 
 puffy and red in the face. He had been up all night at 
 the Jacobin Club the life and soul of the meeting. After 
 he had addressed the influential gathering some of the 
 members had entertained him at a splendid supper, where 
 there was very little food and much wine. Tallien was 
 a poor drinker. Two bottles quite did for him. He would 
 then dangle against his chair, like a doll stuffed unevenly 
 with sawdust, and speak very freely, to the intense grati- 
 fication of his many opponents. 
 
 Seeing Deputy Robespierre, Deputy Tallien suddenly 
 recalled some of his remarks after supper. He had spoken 
 in disparaging terms of his beloved chief. What hadn't 
 he called him? ... he was quite embarrassed. 
 
 "Take a seat," he said hospitably, pulling a chair for- 
 ward. "As you see, I have been busy kept to the traces." 
 
 He waved his hand impartially round his little over- 
 crowded room, indicating his untidy desk and a notable 
 collection of miniatures. He had lately gone in for min- 
 iatures. He admired, so he said, beautiful women, refined 
 and beautiful women ; it was a study of absorbing interest. 
 
 Robespierre sat down, very carefully put his shiny 
 yellow hat on a convenient table, and placed his walking- 
 stick between his knees ; he sat crunched forward, his knees 
 in and his feet out contemplatively sucking the head of 
 his cane and looking at the head of Tallien. 
 
 "A fine morning," said Tallien, breezily. "It was a pity 
 you weren't at the club last night a really moving address 
 from Hebert " 
 
 "I'm sorry to pain you, my dear fellow, but heads are 
 heads." 
 
 Tallien was still standing. His smile had grown very 
 large. 
 
 "What an extraordinary coincidence! It was just ex- 
 actly what he said." 
 
 "Exactly." (Suck, suck.) 
 
 "All alike," 
 
 "All alike." 
 
220 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 Robespierre thumped his stick viciously on the floor 
 (rat-tat-tat !). "What do you mean by trifling with duty, 
 citizen?" 
 
 Tallien's wide open mouth was as round as a red gutta- 
 percha ball. "I?" he repeated, dumfounded. 
 
 "Precisely. You are sheltering the Fontenays. I know 
 it as a fact. She was down on a list. A list, sir, of my 
 own hand. You've dared to scratch off her name. I'm 
 not a fool whatever you are. I'm not a lover whatever 
 you are." At every word his voice got lower and lower 
 intensely audible. His meaning was unmistakable. He 
 dropped his cane with a clatter. Tallien jumped forward 
 and picked it up it was quite an unconscious movement 
 probably hereditary. 
 
 "What have you got to say for yourself?" 
 
 "She can wait, she can always wait," murmured Tallien. 
 Then he swore, not angrily, but in mild amusement. "How 
 you jump at conclusions! I don't know the lady. Met 
 her twice in my life. Twice twice, two little moments. 
 Ask the rose. The rose speaks truth. The rose " 
 
 Robespierre snarled. He had no stomach for such 
 idiocies. He wanted the woman for his own purpose 
 to spite Tallien. . . . Tallien wanted her for his pur- 
 pose. . . . 
 
 "Ha, ha!" sniggered Robespierre. "We can wait, we 
 can always wait. Joking apart, the Carrabus correspond- 
 ence " 
 
 "Foolish, incriminating, awful!" 
 
 *'Mark my word " 
 
 "It isn't fair, Robespierre, it isn't fair.'' Tallien swept 
 his hand across his eyes. "Use a bell too hardly and it'll 
 crack. How I've swung in your interests! How I have 
 labored on the thorny path of duty ! Have I ever thought 
 of myself ? Never! And I never will. I'd rather die than 
 be selfish." 
 
 "Stuif and nonsense! Where are they?" 
 
 *'How should I know?" 
 
TERROR 221 
 
 "Arrest the woman to-day.'* 
 
 "If she is in Paris " 
 
 "She is in Paris." 
 
 "That's all right. Perfectly all right." 
 
 Robespierre took up his hat. "That's true," he said, 
 smiling (always a hideous performance). "Here we are 
 very nearly disputing over nothing. I have something of 
 real importance to tell you. Not now, dear friend, I 
 haven't time. We'll see each other at the House. Come 
 into my committee-room, at twelve o'clock. You'll be 
 pleased. It is a splendid idea." 
 
 "Thank you, citoyen, I am most deeply grateful. As 
 a humble " 
 
 However, the sentence was lost on his patron. Very 
 nimbly the great man took himself away, chuckling down 
 the stairs. 
 
 He had no sooner got aWay before Tallien flung himself 
 before his writing-table and scrawled a note. 
 
 "I can't wait, I can't wait," he murmured. 
 
 Neither could the Fontenays. Thanks to an anonymous 
 communication they received that morning, they hastened 
 their departure to Bordeaux. In fact, they set off that 
 very evening, and were handed their passports as ar- 
 ranged by an unknown individual at the eastern toll-gate. 
 
CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 rpEREZIA sat at her dressing-table, considering her 
 *" nails. They were rather blunt, but beautifully pol- 
 ished on the whole, she felt satisfied with their appear- 
 ance. 
 
 She had lately moved into new rooms, very far from 
 meeting the requirements of her station, but much more 
 to her satisfaction than the proffered hospitality of her 
 uncle and his "odious" wife. 
 
 From the very first moment Terezia had shrunk from 
 this paragon of a female, who regarded beauty as a crime, 
 and a forlorn position as the outcome of some personal 
 ineptitude. Citoyenne Louise Carrabus was a virtuous 
 woman, and looked upon Citoyenne Terezia Fontenay as 
 a frail specimen of her sex. She had heard stories even 
 in Bordeaux of her loose living. She pitied Devin, and 
 told him frankly that, though she abhorred divorce in 
 the abstract, she considered it in his case a merciful insti- 
 tution. 
 
 Terezia had to endure her aunt^s views, her aunt's cold- 
 ness, her aunt's advice, until she wanted to shriek, and 
 catch at her aunt's plastered peruke and tear it into 
 shreds. 
 
 Mortal dulneps met her in Bordeaux from the very 
 outset. Mortal dulness had a privileged home at her 
 uncle's house ; in fact mortal dulness occupied every nook 
 and corner of that roomy establishment on the quay, 
 where the tall windows faced the shipping and a glimpse 
 of the sea beyond. 
 
 It was a quiet town in the spring of 1793. The doves 
 on the market-place cooed contentedly. A few lucky 
 
 222 
 
TERROR 223 
 
 would-be emigrants managed to get a foothold on the 
 planks of outgoing vessels. Those not so lucky were 
 hustled into the local prisons to await trial. There was 
 a Committee of Public Safety in Paris, with thousands 
 of branches stretching all over France. Presently a ru- 
 mor arrived in the busy commercial town of Bordeaux, 
 the rumor stayed, it grew to definite news and as it were 
 from all the corners of the earth the winds rose and bel- 
 lowed. . . . The Terror was on them! Bordeaux would 
 taste of aristocratic blood! Bordeaux would see with 
 her own eyes the deadly working of that wonderful instru- 
 ment of justice, the guillotine. . . . Red caps waved 
 ecstatically in the air. Lily heads drooped disconsolately. 
 In the hideous prisons arose a sound which might have 
 been derision, or a murmur of thankfulness. . . . 
 
 The captains on all outgoing ships were hard pressed 
 for accommodation. 
 
 Who was coming to their good town *^to preserve 
 order"? 
 
 No doubt they would send a capable man. 
 
 Terezia was on the eve of dissolving her marriage with 
 shock-headed Devin he on the eve of procuring a passage 
 to Martinique. Terezia intended, pending her future ar- 
 rangements, to stay on quietly at Bordeaux, under the 
 protection of her kinsfolk (her two brothers lived in the 
 town). She was to have the custody of the little Georges. 
 
 Terezia accepted every clause in her divorce. Nothing 
 mattered. Life was stagnant. 
 
 No doubt she did her best to mitigate the barrenness of 
 her existence. No doubt love flourished in her little apart- 
 ment. Even at Bordeaux she had many admirers and a 
 few ardent lovers. Some of these gentlemen, on their way 
 to foreign parts, believed in her overpowering goodness. 
 She was an angel, they said, this beautiful, charitable 
 woman with a sad history. (An unfortunate marriage 
 invariably bestows on a woman a pathetic importance.) 
 Now that Devin was out of her life as completely as if 
 he had never been in it, Terezia said she missed him. She 
 
224 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 deliberately took up the position of the neglected wife 
 before her sympathetic audiences, 
 
 Terezia in her wild search for excitement did not mind 
 involving herself in dangerous affairs. She was known to 
 assist refugees, known to distribute unauthorized pass- 
 ports. She was more than "suspected" she was regarded 
 as a notorious busybody who had no right to cumber the 
 earth. The great majority of the women of Bordeaux 
 condemned her outright. Why didn't those in authority 
 send her packing? this colossally important young per- 
 son with her excessively short morals. There were scan- 
 dals about her to right and left. Her aunt held up her 
 bony hands in mute protestation mute because there are 
 some subjects no self-respecting woman will mention. 
 
 Terezia didn't mind. She enjoyed her notoriety. She 
 courted danger. She made friends with seafaring cap- 
 tains. She collected funds for the needy. Secretly she 
 opened a bureau for "Public Safety," and she flourished 
 as the proverbial bay-tree. 
 
 Terror was creeping down the white roads of France, 
 creeping forward in the person of a very notaljle* gentle- 
 man none other than the Dictator's right-hand man, his 
 dearly-beloved Tallien. Tallien could be trusted to do 
 his duty. Tallien had gone through the right sort of 
 experience. The sight of a headless trunk no longer gave 
 him a qualm, but keen satisfaction. A whole-hearted 
 patriot he, and a splendid business man. He had grown 
 very rich. He knew how to harness larceny and usury 
 to his own profit. One thousand per cent, was his com- 
 mission for a small job. He was arrogant and puffed with 
 pride. His long lank body heralded immense deeds. . . . 
 The winds grew in volume around old Bordeaux ; the whole 
 town quivered. ... 
 
 Yet Tallien wasn't a happy man. Greed is one thing, 
 passion another. He had satisfied his greed, but his passion 
 had never met an equal response. He spat at the memory 
 of his early conquests immature adventures of enormous 
 
TERROE 225 
 
 idulness and equal ease. He wanted to live he, Tallien; 
 I he wanted to be a hero to himself and a hero to his 
 I woman! His big eyes roved Paris ^blood, nothing but 
 blood. He was getting a bit sick of signing death-war- 
 rants, a bit wearied of this continual performance, which 
 lacked novelty. He wanted a big adventure. He was 
 burning to let loose his very soul at the feet of a perfect 
 woman. He saw her in his dreams, tall, voluptuous, well- 
 bred, white-skinned, golden-haired with rich red lips and 
 a genius for love. . . . She was a past mistress in the 
 art which has given woman her unique position. Tallien 
 wanted to be tamed, to be led by a "silken thread,'' to be 
 worshiped and to worship at his divinity's shrine. . . . 
 
 With pomp and state our lackey now the all-conquer- 
 ing Governor made his entrance into hapless Bordeaux. 
 He arrived in the midst of a street broil. Some of the 
 inhabitants were in the chase of a fugitive woman she tall, 
 elegant, with flashing eyes and heaving bosom . . . they 
 were on her, scowling, howling . . , quite a picturesque 
 scene. At the critical moment she saw her deliverance. 
 Forcing herself free of the crowd, she ran right into the 
 arms of the all-powerful man. 
 
 He caught her and held her tenderly. Her sweet breath 
 fanned his cheek her red mouth all a-quiver, all humid, 
 all beseeching. He looked into her eyes, dim with inex- 
 pressible emotion. The menacing populace had less than 
 no significance. They two were alone, held by a magic 
 spell. . . . Tallien leaned over Terezia. "You are safe, 
 citoT/enne/^ he said dully. 
 
 His heart had never beaten so convulsively. "Where 
 do you live.?" he asked her. 
 
 She tried to speak, but words failed her. 
 
 Tallien glanced at the hushed crowd thinning rapidly. 
 He shuddered at the possible turn of events if he had not 
 appeared in time. He was horrified at the thought of 
 an innocent woman being torn- to pieces by a set of igno- 
 rant, blasphemous wolves. They were no better than 
 animals. 
 
226 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 Gently he passed his hand over Terezia's disheveled 
 head. The touch of her hair electrified him. She was 
 very beautiful. He noticed her left arm was bleeding, just 
 below the elbow. He sucked the wound. She was very 
 pale, very quiet, very respectful. 
 
 "Come," he said authoritatively, "I will take you home. 
 Citot/enne, I am here to protect you" he bent close to 
 her ear "to love you. Do you understand? I never 
 forget a face. Your face has lived with me day end night. 
 I always redeem my promises." 
 
 "You have never given me a promise," she said. She 
 lifted her eyes and looked at him proudly. 
 
 "Not in so many words," he said gravely. 
 
 She felt his arm tremble around her waist. She could 
 have laughed, under normal circumstances. She knew the 
 symptoms so well! Her heart beat to suffocation, her 
 mind a whirl of doubt of splendid hope. Had she turned 
 a very ugly corner? 
 
 "I don't care about my own life," she said modestly, 
 "except that it may be in some small degree of consequence 
 to others. The citoyen Tallien knows that duty and love 
 are ever hand in hand?" 
 
 "Duty and love," he echoed slowly. "They are at war, 
 citoyenne,''* 
 
 She looked down. "If so, I wonder which will conquer 
 in your case," she said, softly. 
 
 "Need you ask?" 
 
 She was silent. 
 
 Leaning on his arm, they walked forward. At the door 
 of her house she paused. She held out her hand. "Good- 
 by, and thank you for my life," she said. 
 
 He looked at her without comprehension. A tinge of 
 color had returned to her face ; her eyes were very bright. 
 
 "Do you live here?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Where is your husband?** 
 
 "I have no husband." 
 
I 
 
 TERROR 227 
 
 I 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. "For the matter of that, 
 it is of no consequence," he said brutally. 
 
 No." 
 
 "Is he dead?" 
 
 Terezia smiled. "I have divorced him. Citoyen Fon- 
 tenay has probably by now arrived at St. Pierre. Does 
 it interest you, citoyenr^ 
 
 "Everything about you interests me." 
 
 "You are very kind." 
 
 ^'Citoyenne, I am a brute at heart ; a brute wants to be 
 satisfied." 
 
 She liked his address. It was uncouth, unconventional 
 admiration, akin to madness, lit his black eyes. 
 
 She had been feeling sadly unnerved after her imminent 
 peril; now she felt safe. 
 
 The tears gathered in her eyes. "I have been in great 
 danger, citoyen,^' she said. "If you hadn't come at that 
 
 moment and taken care of me " She left her sentence 
 
 unfinished. It was quite intelligible enough. 
 
 He looked quickly up and down the street. No one was 
 in sight. He caught her up bodily in his strong arms and 
 mounted the stairs. She clung to him, abandoning herself 
 completely to his mercy. She handed him her latch-key, 
 and he pushed open the door and carried her into her 
 sitting-room. 
 
 By the window stood a writing-table massed with books 
 and papers ; a silk-shaded lamp ; a bowl of spring flowers. 
 A broad couch was drawn up by the chimney angle. The 
 walls were covered with brightly-tinted paper on a cream 
 ground. There were two or three easy-chairs in the room 
 a gay rug or two on the polished floor. On a pretty 
 little work-table in mahogany, with a green fluted silk-box, 
 stood the miniature portrait of a little boy, in a gilt 
 frame; a home-like, charming apartment, full of refined 
 atmosphere. The sun flooded the room. 
 
 Tallien laid Terezia gently on the sofa. 
 
 "Darling," he murmured, "I have loved you since the 
 beginning. Terezia, my beautiful Terezia, the gods work 
 
228 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 for those whom they honor. This is our hour." He bent 
 over her and kissed her forehead. 
 
 "You are the most wonderful woman in the world," he 
 said. 
 
 He knelt down beside her and chafed her cold hands. 
 "I believe in destiny," he said. "This had to be. You are 
 mine now and forever." 
 
 She never looked at him, but she was acutely conscious 
 of his presence. 
 
 He kissed her hands, her white neck, a little blue vein on 
 her temple. He buried his face in her fragrant hair, 
 and all the time he was thinking furiously. . . . "This is 
 my woman! I love her! I adore her! I will renounce 
 my public career. I will live for her ! I will devote every 
 hour of my existence to making her happy. She shall 
 return my love a hundredfold. ..." He said nothing. 
 His mute worship bathed Terezia's whole being in the 
 essence of content. She had no desire to move ... he 
 continued to kiss her with the ardor of passion and the 
 gentleness of love. . . . "He would treat her well. He 
 would be her humble slave." His fingers followed the lines 
 of her voluptuous figure. . , . She was a wonder, a mira- 
 cle, a glory! . . . 
 
 In an ecstasy of joy his lips met hers^ wholly sweet, 
 wholly submissive. 
 
 Suddenly she raised herself and wound her arms around 
 his neck. They rocked together, bound by one desire. 
 
 It was getting late, yet Tallien could not make up his 
 mind to go. He stood staring at Terezia with unsatisfied 
 hunger, tongue-tied by the very excess of his happiness. 
 He was frightened lest she should escape him. Without 
 realizing it he was jealous of her friends, her occupations, 
 her very thoughts. He wanted her entirely for himself. 
 
 Citoyenne Carrabus was standing by the mirror, ar- 
 ranging her hair. With a rough gesture he caught hold 
 of her plait unloosed it and wound it round her throat. 
 
TERROR 229 
 
 "I could strangle you," he murmured rapturously. 
 "And then die at your feet, beloved." 
 
 He looked at her with dim eyes. At that moment he 
 would willingly have suffered death for her. He opened 
 wide his arms and crushed her to his heart. "I love you 
 more than life," he said, "more than self, more than ambi- 
 tion. I'm as wax in your hands, darling. There is noth- 
 ing I wouldn't do for you, nothing I wouldn't grant you." 
 
 She laid her head on his shoulder. "As a lover you 
 are not backward," she said. 
 
 He kissed her tenderly, respectfully, almost reluctantly. 
 "All I ask from you in return is a kind word.'^ 
 
 She looked up at him, and put her fingers on his eyelids. 
 "Trust me, darling," she murmured. 
 
 "I am strong as a lion." 
 
 "I know it." 
 
 "As my wife, Terezia, you will be famous." 
 
 "As your wife.?" The idea was new to her and not 
 without its attraction. As his wife she would surely go 
 far.'* Always supposing this hot-headed young man didn't 
 trip. It was just as easy to fall as to rise in these days. 
 For a minute she considered his chances . . . they'd do. 
 In this world you must always risk something. 
 
 "I will marry you," she said slowly, "later on. We've 
 got to be careful, dear; there is your position to think of." 
 
 He laughed to scorn her scruples, intoxicated by his 
 success. "Together we'll govern the world," he flared. 
 "My darling, you need never regret your trust in me. All 
 I have is yours." 
 
 She thanked him kindly. Very gently she unwound her 
 hair and gathered it in a firm knot at the back of her 
 head. She looked like a child, meek, solemn, full of calm 
 happiness. . . . She believed in herself, even if she doubted 
 Tallien. ... In whatever sphere Providence placed her 
 she'd always be able to shine. She smiled. 
 
 "Don't boast," she said gently. 
 
 He laughed harshly. "There is light ahead,'' he said. 
 
 He pointed to a gleam in the darkening sky. 
 
230 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 Terezia went swiftly across to the window and lowered 
 the blind. 
 
 He flung himself down in a chair and buried his head 
 in his hands; in them he held her little lace-edged, per- 
 fumed handkerchief. He drew a deep breath. "There is 
 nothing in this world of any significance except yourself," 
 he said. 
 
 "Yes," she agreed. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 ROBESPIERRE allowed himself the relaxation of 
 novel-reading. He liked to flutter through a volume, 
 glean the plot, laugh or sigh as the case might be. At 
 times the Dictator wanted to forget the present reality. 
 The whirling pace hardly suited his liver. 
 
 He had long ago made his calculations clever enough 
 up to a certain point, but beyond that the ravings of a 
 madman. For one thing, he dismissed God from his uni- 
 verse; the working of the doctor's invention had clearly 
 biased his mind he accepted no authority but the narrow 
 basis of his own system, which engulfed all France. Every 
 living man was open to suspicion; every gutter-snipe 
 reeked of aristocratic blood. 
 
 As we have said, there were no limits to his butchery, 
 no bounds to his ambition. He saw himself in a sky-blue 
 coat ruling heaven and earth, surrounded by obedient 
 tools, mannikins of flesh-and-blood ... he saw a whole 
 battalion move at the "click" of one tongue (for the nonce 
 parched and fever-coated). 
 
 He turned the pages of his book listlessly and started 
 scratching his neck more blotchy than ever. Through 
 his velvet coat he felt the deadly sweat ooze from his at- 
 tenuated body. The fever was sapping his strength, 
 destroying his nerves. ... 
 
 "Who goes there?" he snapped. 
 
 He watched the ample folds of a curtain suddenly bulge 
 and flap out. The door behind it was locked, the key 
 safe in his pocket. He took seemly precaution against 
 any attempts on his life. Who had dared to disturb his 
 privacy? 
 
 Another Corday, maybe? Another buxom young wo- 
 
 231 
 
232 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 man with a mission to fulfill? He dismissed the idea and 
 the danger. Marat had been a palsied, loose-lived fool. 
 Robespierre prided himself on his continency. He had 
 not driveled away his strength in mighty orgies. Bah! 
 he despised women-folk and the lore men loved! Love? 
 What had love to do with his magnificence? The Incor- 
 ruptible One smiled chalk-white in the face, his sweating 
 body damp as a wringing sheet. 
 
 The wind had played him a trick a sudden gust had 
 forced the carelessly-hinged window open and the draught 
 had caught the heavy curtain opposite. The mild April 
 air blew into the smoke- riddled privacy of the most re- 
 sponsible villain in France. 
 
 Robespierre shut up his book and limped across to the 
 window. The street was very empty. The days of com- 
 motion and lively pageants had died a natural death. The 
 king, the queen, the court were wiped off the face of the 
 earth, even as the flowers of yester-year. (Robespierre 
 thought in poetry.) Many of the wicked gone and a 
 few innocent men. ... 
 
 "The pity of it !" he said aloud. 
 
 Over the death of these unwitting angels Robespierre 
 had shed hot tears. 
 
 "Brothers in heaven," he had implored, "forgive the 
 mistakes committed in the name of Justice." No doubt 
 this stinging insult of assumed brotherhood with the mar- 
 tyrs fell on deaf ears. At the throne of God these good 
 men and just remained impassive, as the recording angels 
 meekly kneeling in some dim church fashioned, they, of 
 marble and the nimble brain of artistry. 
 
 As luck would have it, Robespierre spied a traveling 
 carriage jogging down the evil street; it was dusty and 
 heavy and cumbersome. The leather hood was brazenly 
 flung back. All the world had the world so minded 
 could have seen the happy smile of ci-devant Fontenay, 
 Terezia Carrabus by all that was marvelous ! 
 
 Robespierre's face took on a curious expression as he 
 recognized the lady. He closed the window carefully and 
 
TERROR 233 
 
 returned to his seat to consider his immediate course of 
 action. Here was a feather to pluck and fling in the face 
 of outraged modesty ! He had heard of Tallien's master- 
 ful wooing and tyrannical rule at Bordeaux. The young 
 man was copying his own methods too closely to be toler- 
 ated. It was high time he was put in his proper place. 
 Instinctively Robespierre stroked his blotchy throat. 
 After all, the remedy was very simple. The lady should 
 herself indirectly administer the healing draught. Tal- 
 lien had clearly behaved as an arrogant devil and deserved 
 his punishment. 
 
 Robespierre, summoning all his dramatic energies, plot- 
 ted a scene of low comedy, or, if you will, high tragedy. 
 Tallien, recalled to Paris, should have the pleasant task 
 of denouncing his mistress (a preliminary step). It would 
 give him (Robespierre) true pleasure to aid and abet his 
 purpose. Robespierre had never failed to hate Tallien. 
 If they were in love, so much the better. Love love! 
 In that little dirty parlor there rang out a cracked laugh, 
 and the mightiest scoundrel in France cut a clumsy caper, 
 game leg and aU. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 npEREZIA, washed and beautified, was lying on her 
 
 * couch, drawn up in front of a cheerful wood fire, 
 
 fervently admiring the slender proportions of her ankles. 
 
 Her flesh-tinted silk stockings were very fine, and 
 matched to a nicety her new boudoir gown in the same 
 shade of rose satin. There were frills of real Mechlin 
 round her bare throat, and in her elbow-sleeves. Her 
 little shoes were embroidered with apple-blossoms. If you 
 remember, it was the month of April. 
 
 The salon was lofty and light, creditably clean and 
 very well furnished. Young Guery had found her the 
 rooms he was really wonderfully clever and such a dear 
 boy. . . . Terezia arched her foot. She might tire of 
 her lovers, but she never tired of herself. 
 
 The firelight played on the lovely citoyerme^s be-creamed 
 and be-powdered face, flattering if possible the rakish 
 glory of her short-cropped curls. 
 
 Terezia's great plait had been cut off. Thereby hangs 
 a tale a tale of love and greed and insensate passion ; of 
 how she tamed the Lion, and the Lion had first suffered 
 all the tortures of jealousy and then the pent-up misery 
 of remorse. To prove her virtue Terezia had calmly 
 reached for the scissors and sacrificed her hair. The 
 action had dumfounded Tallien (as it was meant to do). 
 Meek as a lamb, he had kissed her feet, blubbering of his 
 wickedness, and coiled round his throat the rich symbol 
 of her innocence. 
 
 Only then ^with Tallien wearing her beloved plait 
 did Terezia realize her folly. She fled to the mirror and 
 fell a-weeping. This was sacrilege! This was horror! 
 This was irrevocable! 
 
 234 
 
I 
 
 TERROR 235 
 
 In spite of her cropped locks and her deluge of promises, 
 she had remained faithful just a^ long as it suited her. 
 ^Every time Tallien felt doubtful of Terezia's virtue, he 
 kwould thrust his hand deep into his capacious pocket and 
 squeeze something soft and perfumed. He carried her 
 plait on his person as a charm against infidelity. Some- 
 times that soft coil of hair seemed to plunge as if in mirth. 
 
 Bordeaux and what happened in Bordeaux belonged to 
 the past. Terezia had an extraordinary facility in ad- 
 justing her perspective. To some women there is an 
 impassable line between yesterday and to-day. Yesterday 
 was of no importance to Terezia. 
 
 Yet she was content, lying on her comfortable couch 
 waiting for her supper-guest (Guery was rather late in 
 returning), to review the past six months of her life. On 
 the whole she was quite pleased with herself. Little 
 women, it is not all of us who can successfully hoodwink 
 a roaring lion! 
 
 Terezia smiled to herself as she recalled one or two 
 occasions when her wit and audacity had saved the situa- 
 tion. On the whole, she had always proved herself Tal- 
 lien's equal in fact, his superior. Not that he was 
 stupid ; he was seldom taken at a disadvantage, and where 
 money was concerned he was never at fault. Terezia 
 loved the means of wealth, yet at times she had urged 
 Tallien to generosity. So bountiful was his exchequer 
 (she said) that he could well afford an occasional act of 
 clemency and sometimes send to the guillotine an un- 
 plucked bird. 
 
 On execution days he was extremely patriotic and com- 
 pletely disinterested. From the tribunal of justice, his 
 voice would ring loud and effective. "Brothers !" he would 
 cry, "he must die. In regenerated France '* 
 
 He would stalk up and down the platform erected 
 immediately opposite the guillotine large hands gesticu- 
 lating, juicy lips jutting, bold eyes glittering duly im- 
 pressing the illiterate, yet, for all his trumpeting, a prey 
 to nervous indecision a born coward, he. 
 
236 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 On one occasion, carried away by his conflicting emo- 
 tions and madly desirous of impressing the fickle crowd, 
 he had sprung off the revolutionary tribune and mounted 
 the gory throne of La Guillotine a stone's throw away. 
 Picking up a head from the executioner's basket, still 
 warm and faintly colored, he held it at arm's length, wav- 
 ing it in the air, and shouting bestial triumph. Then, 
 smoothing back the clotted tresses, he had put his beefy 
 lips to the cold mask of death, and deliberately, slowly, 
 unctuously, kissed the rigid mouth. It was a small 
 woman's mouth, proud and young. 
 
 The rabble had swayed to catch a nearer view of this 
 moving exhibition and had shouted in sympathy. One or 
 two dissentient voices: "Enough, enough, you beast,'' 
 they cried. 
 
 Tallien had daintily dropped the head back into the 
 packed basket. He had looked at his blood-stained fingers, 
 at his wet coat. They bled profusely, these aristocrats 
 he had turned suddenly very pale, his nostrils quivered, 
 his full mouth hung loose as a withered leaf. He had 
 steadied himself on the raikngs. 
 
 "Can you doubt my patriotism, true brothers of one 
 mind?" His words leaked thin as a spent whistle. 
 
 The touch of those lukewarm lips had unnerved him. 
 Nasty, hateful business! 
 
 He had descended the platform, dully conscious of some 
 irreparable misfortune. Through his sodden mind ran 
 copious lists and the pressure of overwork. Nasty, hate- 
 ful business ! . . . He had glanced behind him at the dirty 
 knife no time for fripperies and cleanliness with an 
 oath he had sworn he would make holiday to-morrow and 
 sever himself completely from his public duties. His mind 
 had turned with rapture at the thought of Terezia, 
 divinely complacent, divinely compassionate, divinely 
 woman. . . . 
 
 The lion, full of these engaging fancies, had swung 
 himself free of the crowd and had gone to call on Citoyenne 
 Carrabus. 
 
TERROR 237 
 
 He had found her improperly engaged, and had swiftly 
 ejected the young man from the premises. She was his, 
 body and soul! A terrible scene had ensued. Terezia 
 remembered quite well how frightened she had been and 
 how here she smiled how everything had ended in her 
 triumphant victory. 
 
 Tallien needed Terezia, he needed her smooth words, 
 her wonderful softness, her caresses, the light of her 
 beautiful eyes, the warmth of her womanhood. She had 
 soothed him, sh^ had comforted him, she had brought 
 music into his Idfie. How he loved her this matchless 
 woman who lived xo lie and lied to live ! 
 
 Terezia played with the soft knot of ribbon at her 
 bosom and dispassionately reviewed her connection with 
 Tallien. Of course she had deceived him, but she had 
 always managed him beautifully. And indeed, truth to 
 tell, she had every intention of legalizing their union by 
 marriage. 
 
 She liked a firm footing in society, and had always 
 deplored unconventionality in others. At her first oppor- 
 tunity she would woo respectability. 
 
 Terezia yawned and looked impatiently at the pretty 
 little timepiece ornamenting the chimneypiece. How mis- 
 erable was all this fighting in Paris ! She was heartily 
 sick of the revolution and desired nothing better than a 
 speedy restoration of order and a king in the palace again. 
 What she wanted was a system of effulgent monarchy 
 where a woman of parts could distinguish herself. 
 
 She laughed aloud when she remembered Tallien's cun- 
 ning expression, when one day she had bared her principles 
 to him. He hadn't agreed with her. Why should he hate 
 nice people? (said Terezia). What did he see in the 
 dirty masses to admire? She had called him a simpleton 
 and then kissed him. 
 
 Yes, she had always been able to manage her refractory, 
 big, roaring lion. On the whole she was rather proud of 
 him. Anyhow, he was the man of the moment, and head 
 and shoulders above the rabble. His one fault was jeal- 
 
238 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 ousy. It required all her engaging frankness to turn the 
 tide of his suspicions. 
 
 "How could she deny herself to her friends ?" she would 
 say sweetly. "Was not her beauty apparent to all?" 
 
 Some such remark would be followed by a sigh and a 
 deliberate kiss. The jury of one found her not guilty. 
 At this she would smile, wind herself closely round his . 
 slack body and forbid him to speak. She remembered 
 how he had begged her to accompany him for a few days' 
 holiday in the mountains. He had looked ill and harassed 
 at the time, and Terezia had not hesitated to comply 
 immediately with his request. 
 
 So they had gone picnicking in the woods only those 
 two gay as irresponsible children. Terezia had wanted 
 to bring her little Georges to complete the family party, 
 but Tallien had shown himself adverse to her motherly 
 solicitude. He disliked the boys' bright manner and his 
 devotion to Terezia. He was jealous even of her son. 
 Terezia bore his unkindness to Georges with admirable 
 patience. She seldom saw the boy. He still lived with 
 his uncle and aunt under Christina's careful charge. He 
 would have been in her way at Bordeaux. Besides, "the 
 darling" was safer at his great-uncle's house, where he 
 had a larger nursery than she could have afforded him. 
 Terezia would tell her friends that a mother must sacrifice 
 her own feelings where her child's happiness was concerned. 
 She had given up everything for Georges' sake even her 
 dear old maid. She missed Christina immensely so she 
 said. In reality she was glad to be rid of her "unwarrant- 
 able interference." Old servants (she thought) were a 
 terrible nuisance. 
 
 Well, as we have said, Tallien and Terezia had their 
 outing. They climbed up a steep mountain path, and, 
 under the shadow of an immense cliff, they looked down 
 on the world. 
 
 They lodged in an ancient and forsaken cottage and 
 played at simplicity to an accompaniment of champagne, 
 dainty food and feather beds. Terezia had ordered these 
 
TERROR 239 
 
 necessities to be sent up to the empty cottage, as a sur- 
 prise to Tallien and a satisfaction to herself. 
 
 She was always ready for a new experience, and, as the 
 weather was heavenly, they spent their first evening on 
 the moonlit terrace very happily engaged. 
 
 Terezia had dressed herself, after cottage fashion, in a 
 simple blue cottage gown, and wore her splendid hair in 
 a shining knot at her neck. It was before the great scene 
 where shears played a drastic part. 
 
 Tallien's performance in the part of the rustic lover 
 lacked all distinction. Tallien always remained himself, 
 foxy, vain, grasping. At least he had made the most of 
 his hour; when he fell asleep the full August moon had 
 wandered home, and Terezia lay, as some handsome, 
 healthy animal, sunk in profound repose, her long limbs 
 luxuriously stretched beneath a coverlet of stitched silk 
 and eiderdown. No doubt the little forsaken cottage had 
 stared amazed at its strange occupants. 
 
 Terezia remembered how, on the whole, she had disliked 
 this senseless excursion into the unreal. The second morn- 
 ing broke misty and cold. She had woken in a peevish 
 temper. She had wanted her coffee, her bath and a thou- 
 sand unobtainable necessities. 
 
 Roused by Terezia, Tallien had lit the fire and boiled 
 the coffee, but he failed to improve his lady's humor. The 
 day had ended in a lover's quarrel ; the descent was rapid. 
 Once in her own comfortable apartment at Bordeaux, 
 Terezia was not only pleased to smile, but even to lavish 
 her thanks on her sorrowful lover. She had enjoyed her- 
 self immensely, she said. (An excursion is never so lovely 
 as when viewed in the retrospect. ) In fact, they had never 
 agreed so well as on the evening of their return to civiliza- 
 tion. They were as two perfectly tuned viols voices, 
 thoughts, gestures of one subtle harmony. Terezia re-^ 
 membered how she had enjoyed her care fully- served din- 
 ner, the shaded lamplight, her pretty dress, her lavish 
 perfume, the day's news and rumors from Paris. Tallien 
 
240 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 had looked quite distinguished in black velvet and silver 
 buttons. . . . 
 
 Terezia sighed and broke off her musings to look at the 
 door. Why was Guery so late? What had happened? 
 Had Tallien sent her to Paris for some nefarious purpose? 
 She dismissed the idea as preposterous. She remembered 
 his genuine fears for her safety, how he had urged her 
 return, and how, to pacify his uneasiness, she had meekly 
 submitted to his plans. His fears had touched her lightly. 
 ... Tallien's enormous feet would always secure her a 
 safe passage through difficult places. 
 
 Even a flight can be managed agreeably. She had not 
 mentioned on parting from the strangely subdued lion 
 that she had offered a seat in her commodious traveling 
 carriage to young Guery. She had managed the depart- 
 ure from Bordeaux very cleverly. Terezia loved an in- 
 trigue. If Tallien had, as it were, handed her youthful 
 admirer into her carriage with all due recognition of his 
 usefulness on the journey, she would have lost every shred 
 of interest in his companionship. 
 
 As it was, she had been, all the wearisome roadway, 
 sensibly gay, sweet and lovable. 
 
 After Tallien's crude love-making at times rough as 
 the hug of a bear^ the young man's restrained and ex- 
 quisite sentiments pleased her. Dear boy, instinctively 
 he raised the level of true love to very high art. Is not 
 sincerity the key of expression? 
 
 She had borne the journey admirably. She was quite 
 content to sun herself in the cult of Young Love and Deep 
 Respect even though in her heart of hearts she thought 
 poorly of Deep Respect. Deep respect and love were 
 to her strange associates. 
 
 The whole journey had been wonderfully bracing and 
 divinely new. Only once had the young man forgotten 
 himself so far as to give her a chaste and breathless 
 salute. Terezia had never known a sweeter kiss. 
 
 She had drawn herself up proudly in the jolting, dusty 
 carriage, and very gently she had asked him to remember 
 
TERROR 241 
 
 what was due to her. Tears had gathered in her eyes 
 as she spoke the tears of a lovely, defenceless woman, 
 sure prey of evil man. 
 
 The youth had blushed hotly. The blood had sung in 
 his ears. He had sworn to himself never again to hurt her 
 sweet susceptibilities. . . . 
 
 On the fourth day they arrived in Paris, and long before 
 then had promised each other eternal friendship. 
 
 Only two hours ago Terezia had dismissed the handsome 
 boy, with an invitation to supper. 
 
 "Go," she had said, "and make yourself presentable, 
 mon cwwr, and above all bring me back a sheaf of news. 
 I am dying to know what they are saying in Paris. Am 
 I forgotten?" She had clutched at his tapering fingers. 
 "Have we put ourselves in danger?" she breathed. ^'Mon 
 cceur, promise me not to leave me alone to-night." 
 
 Promise! Why, the young fool had not expected such 
 supreme permission. 
 
 His eager words tripped each other. He said he would 
 guard her and adore her all the days of his life. He called 
 her rapturous names his beautiful princess, his divine 
 angel, his white rose. He assured her he was totally un- 
 worthy to serve her. 
 
 Terezia had sighed, looking a little distraite as her eyes 
 wandered over her new quarters. 
 
 She could hear her new maid, Clarisse, a pert young 
 woman, slamming the drawers in her dressing-room. She 
 shivered. In some ways she missed grim old Christina, 
 with her big, staring eyes and firmly shut mouth. In some 
 ways she had been useful. ... A mother's heart is capa- 
 ble of great sacrifices. 
 
 Young Query had been informed of her unselfish devo- 
 tion and had, of course, responded in a suitable manner. 
 He had said her behavior was worthy of a Roman matron, 
 and that she was a heroine. 
 
 The dear boy was rather given to superlatives of speech. 
 He meant very well indeed. 
 
 How difiicult it had been to move him, for instance, this 
 
242 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 afternoon, from the borderland of rosy romance and get 
 him to grapple with facts. She had had eventually to 
 push him out of the room. 
 
 "The sooner you go the sooner you will return," she 
 had said very sensibly. "I will count the minutes, dar- 
 ling." 
 
 He had kissed her hand gustily and bolted down the 
 echoing stairway, waving his hat in the air, full of boyish 
 assurance. 
 
 He had been gone three hours when Ter6zia heard his 
 timid knock on the sitting-room door. 
 
 She was angry with him for being so late, so she closed 
 her eyes and lay very still on the sofa. 
 
 "Come in," she said faintly. 
 
 He opened the door very gently and advanced on the 
 tips of his toes across the parquet floor. 
 
 He looked down at T^rezia and whispered, "You are 
 resting?" 
 
 "No, waiting.'^ 
 
 "For me!" His voice rose two octaves. 
 
 Still she did not open her eyes. "For news." 
 
 He was disappointed, so he said nothing, but dashed 
 his buckled hat, which he carried under his arm, upon a 
 chair and, kneeling down by her couch, he took her hand 
 out and gently kissed each finger separately. Then turn- 
 ing the palm outwards he pressed his lips passionately to 
 her soft flesh. Terezia smiled and handed him her other 
 hand. He repeated the performance. 
 
 "Foolish boy," she said, and vouchsafed him a glance. 
 
 Then she stroked his shining hair. "When I arrive 
 at a decision," she said, "I never change my mind." 
 
 "In that respect we are exactly alike." 
 
 "Are we, you naughty boy?" 
 
 "How I love you!" he murmured. 
 
 "Get up," she said. "This isn't the time for folly.'* 
 
 "Folly! is it foUy to be happy?" 
 
I 
 
 TERROR 243 
 
 I 
 
 She extricated herself from his encircling arms, and sat 
 up very straight, looking extremely fresh and self-assured. 
 
 "I can trust you, mon ccewr" she said. "How nice you 
 look! Sit down on that chair and tell me everything." 
 
 She had to whip him with eager questions to get any 
 sense out of his story. It was a lame report. What was 
 he hiding? Evidently they had not (as she had fondly 
 hoped) sickened of bloodshed in Paris. 
 
 Terezia, as soon as she had realized this alarming fact, 
 stamped her foot on the ground and cried out: 
 
 I don't believe a word of it! Terror is dead in Paris. 
 A fashion always lingers longer in the provinces. You 
 don't know what you are speaking of. Who told you?" 
 
 "Robespierre.'* 
 
 For the space of a minute she said nothing. 
 
 "He he himself?" she stuttered. 
 
 She rose to her feet and flung her arms round the young 
 man's neck. 
 
 ^'Mon coeuTy^ she moaned, "they won't rest till they have 
 killed me," 
 
CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 l^OR the moment Terezia was really frightened. She 
 -^ clung convulsively to the pale young man. She held 
 up her lips and mutely implored a kiss. There was nothing 
 repulsive in her action. A child might have done the same 
 in need of pity, in need of sympathy. For the moment 
 Terezia shameless coquette that she was -was sexless. 
 She did not regard Guery in the light of an emotional 
 young man who would very probably misconstrue the 
 touch of her moist lips. 
 
 He kissed her and trembled out of sheer physical de- 
 light; she kissed him and trembled out of sheer physical 
 terror. How could he tell the nicety of difference? Do 
 we not always seek in others the reflection of ourselves .^^ 
 
 Terezia was frightened of death of a fate worse than 
 death. 
 
 In a flash she saw before her the loathsome prison dun- 
 geons at Bordeaux their squalor, their darkness; she 
 seemed to breathe the putrid atmosphere, to feel her way 
 in the congested crowd to catch sight, by the light of a 
 flickering torch, of a pale, worn face, fever-ridden, terror- 
 haunted ^her own face! She saw herself one of that 
 hopeless company, caught in the toils of devilish wicked- 
 ness. She had realized the futility of Tallien's boasted 
 protection. He was quite capable of denouncing her him- 
 self. He would sacrifice her to save his own miserable 
 carcass. Why had she believed in him? Why had she 
 trusted him? Why had she treated him so royally? 
 
 The room rocked around her and suddenly grew dark. 
 
 "Save me !" she moaned, hardly knowing what she said. 
 What could the boy do but hold her still closer? She re- 
 membered Tallien's fierce jealousy, and she felt inclined 
 to hate Guery. 
 
 244 
 
TERROR 245 
 
 She let go her hold on his shoulder. She sank back on 
 the couch and feverishly searched for her handkerchief. 
 It had slipped away among the laces of her bodice. 
 
 He watched the flush on her white forehead, the beat 
 of a pulse in the splendid column of her throat a tiny 
 tendril of amber hair falling on her neck. She was beau- 
 tiful. 
 
 "I will save you," he said, confidently. 
 
 She looked up at him and wiped her eyes. 
 
 **I must not behave as a fool," she said. "Why don't 
 you scold me? A hard beating would settle my nerves." 
 
 Terezia, as she spoke, smiled at the suggestion. He 
 looked so elegant, so tender, so young, so utterly in- 
 capable of giving anyone a beating, least of all herself. 
 
 She made a place for him on the sofa. "Sit down," 
 she said, "and tell me every little thing." 
 
 "Are you feeling better?" he asked as a preliminary, 
 
 "Oh, yes, yes," she said, petulantly. "Go on with your 
 story." 
 
 "On leaving you I went to my rooms. I had hardly 
 finished dressing before a letter was brought to me by a 
 stranger, an old man of quiet and respectable appear- 
 ance." 
 
 "Yes?" (Who cared if he was respectable or not! 
 Was there ever such an irritating fool?) 
 
 "The letter just two lines was from Maximilien 
 Robespierre." 
 
 "What did he say?" 
 
 "I was to give myself the honor of calling on him with- 
 out a moment^s delay in the interest of a certain lady." 
 
 "The viUain!" 
 
 "I dashed on my hat and, immediately, accompanied by 
 the messenger, set out to have the matter explained. I 
 can tell you I was in a fine fit of rage, I gathered that 
 your arrival in Paris had been notified at headquarters. 
 
 Robespierre Lie down, sweetheart. This is a most 
 
 unfortunate business." 
 
 Terezia felt nigh to screaming. 
 
246 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 "How did he find us out? Tell me, how did he find us 
 out?'' 
 
 "Perhaps Tallien *' 
 
 "Tallien! He is my friend, my very devoted friend. 
 He loves me,'* She covered her face with her hands and 
 trembled. 
 
 The young man breathed heavily. He bent over her 
 and roughly took hold of her hands. ^'Madame, you have 
 concealed the truth," he said, his eyes burning with anger. 
 
 "Poor precious idiot! Can you hide a mountain with 
 this bit of lace?" She tossed her handkerchief in the air. 
 He let it fall at her feet. "Take it it is wet with my 
 tears. Of course Tallien loves Terezia." She spoke with 
 slow voluptuousness. "Cannot you see that is our one 
 hope of safety? I have him under my heel. He would 
 do anything for me. He is every bit as big a scoundrel as 
 Robespierre," she added, reflectively. "We'll set them 
 at each other." 
 
 "Robespierre is an angel of pity compared to Tallien. 
 With what delight would I plunge my dagger in his false 
 heart! Don't believe in your lover, madame." 
 
 His lips quivered. He tried to speak with fine disin- 
 terestedness, but his voice vibrated with pain and righteous 
 indignation. 
 
 She had as much as admitted her guilt. . . . Tallien 
 loved Terezia. . . The consequence was that Terezia, 
 in spite of her repeated assertions to the contrary, loved 
 Tallien. Was ever youth beset by a worse tangle? She 
 was deeply involved. Her natural purity stood accused. 
 She had sacrificed herself in the interests of mankind. It 
 flashed upon him that there was an ulterior and sublime 
 motive for her behavior. Bordeaux had rung with her 
 praises. Had she not tenfold deserved her title, "Our 
 Lady of Compassion"? Who can sound the depths of a 
 noble woman's heart? She must have suffered all the 
 agonies of hell. And here was he ready to upbraid her, 
 to scorn her, to cast her out of his life as unworthy. 
 
 Terezia studied the conflicting misery on the boy's 
 
TERROR 247 
 
 mobile face. She dimly realized his thoughts. She was 
 angry with him. She hated his high-flown notions of 
 Deep Love and Deep Respect. They had floundered in a 
 quagmire, let them sink! 
 
 His very youthful prettiness filled her with distaste. 
 His blonde and silky hair, his smooth chin, his red lips, 
 his white teeth, his ridiculous baby eyes, blue as forget-me- 
 nots. In truth he was a simpleton, a coxcomb, and a 
 menace to her personal safety. 
 
 Young Guery, in a spasm of agony, bit his lips and 
 turned his face from Terezia's blinkless stare. 
 
 Her thoughts leaped ahead to the near future. Her 
 anger turned to acute self-pity. The hatefulness of her 
 position struck her with the force of a stinging blow. 
 
 Her face melted into extraordinary tenderness. 
 
 *^Mon cceur,*' she cried, hardly above a whisper, "you 
 shall help me to bear my suffering. I can trust you. Your 
 love is the only consolation I have. I wonder how it feels, 
 the touch of that cold, sharp knife! I am not a coward 
 at heart. I am going to be very brave. I won't cry when 
 my time comes ... a moment's numbing suspense . . . 
 and then glory." 
 
 She sat very quiet, the ghost of a smile on her beautiful 
 face. 
 
 "Look at me, my friend. You see I am prepared for 
 the worst and quite calm." 
 
 "Terezia !" 
 
 "Do you believe in God and all His angels? Did you 
 love your mother?" 
 
 "You must not, Terezia. . . ." 
 
 She had succeeded in thawing him. 
 
 His heart beat to suffocation. Standing close beside 
 her, he looked down at her with a world of contrition and 
 tender affection in his forget-me-not-blue eyes. His divin- 
 ity was a woman in need of protection. His youth folded 
 her closely as in a mantle. He felt himself a man, for all 
 his poor seventeen years a man full grown and strong. 
 
 She sat motionless. 
 
248 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 "You are the best woman in all the world !'^ he declared 
 stoutly, by sheer force of will reinstating his lady in her 
 former glory. He flung Tallien's huge bulk, as it were, 
 in the mud. He didn't count! He, Guery, would treat 
 him with the contempt he deserved. By the Lord's grace, 
 he would! It was as clear as the blessed sunlight that, 
 she, Terezia, had never cared for him. Never! Never! 
 
 He repeated his superlative assurance over and over 
 again with triumphant conviction, as he watched her half- 
 fearful, half-defiant helplessness. 
 
 She broke oif the thread of his reflection by remarking, 
 "Whether or not Tallien plays me false, Robespierre will 
 never incline his heart to mercy. I am in a sorry plight, 
 darling boy. Tell me, how did he broach the subject.?" 
 
 *'He questioned me " 
 
 "Such an easy task," she murmured. 
 
 "I was extremely careful." 
 
 "Yes.?" 
 
 *'By some evil chance he knew of your arrival." 
 
 "A chance?" 
 
 *'As luck would have it he was actually at the window 
 of his ofiice when we drove down the Rue de St. Honore. 
 He sent you his kind regards and hoped you were com- 
 fortable." 
 
 "You gave him my address?'* 
 
 "No need. He had it already. How do those people 
 find out things?'* 
 
 Terezia nodded. "And what else?" 
 
 "He said he would give himself the pleasure of calling 
 on you at his first opportunity probably to-morrow. 
 He said you were a very attractive lady, but hardly pru- 
 dent enough, at that he smiled and asked after Tallien's 
 health." 
 
 Terezia's eyes flashed. "Guery, I am looking forward 
 to a struggle sharp and lively. If the worst comes to the 
 worst this will serve me." 
 
 She rose and fetched a little satin-wood box lined with 
 
TERROR 249 
 
 blue velvet, "Look! is it not a darling? I bought it in 
 Bordeaux for a mere song, and a woman's whim." 
 
 She showed him a little toy dagger, cunningly chiseled 
 with a twisted gold handle. The handle was tied with a 
 pink silk bow, tasseled with gold. 
 
 She toyed with it and pressed its smooth surface across 
 her cheek. Then she replaced it in its box and returned 
 to her seat by the fire. 
 
 She smoothed her draperies and sat as immovable as the 
 world of nature before the storm breaks. The firelight 
 caught the diamond buckle on her pale slippered foot, 
 and it shone with a thousand iridescent reflections. 
 
 The young man mechanically replaced a log which, in 
 its fall, had not disturbed Terezia. He kicked it into 
 place, throwing on at the same time a fresh one from 
 the carved wood box. The flames burst into triumph and 
 raced up the wide chimney. 
 
 Outside, the patter of rain fell on the cobbled yard. 
 From very far off the rumble of a passing coach broke 
 the quiet of the night. They two seemed shut in upon 
 themselves. 
 
 "Terezia," ^he began. 
 
 She looked up at him, a faint smile hovering round her 
 closely-set lips. He was not capable of listening to 
 reason. He was giddy and sick with love . . truly life 
 had given him joy. 
 
 "Do you know how old I am.?" she asked inconse- 
 quently. 
 
 "You are very young." 
 
 "I am twenty, just twenty. As years go I am not 
 actually old, but I have had good value for my life." She 
 stretched her arms lovingly to the blaze. "How I adore 
 warmth and comfort! Yes, mon coeuT, supposing the 
 worst comes to the worst, the waste places in my life have 
 been negligible." 
 
 He looked at her with dawning comprehension. 
 
 His words trembled with a passion of regret. 
 
250 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 **My poor darling," he said. "Life has treated you 
 very badly." He threw his head back and clutched the 
 hilt of his rapier. 
 
 She sighed. "I am only speaking the truth," she said. 
 
 It is vile." 
 
 "Silly boy ! Some people wait all their lives for love and 
 only achieve dulness. My face is my very good friend." 
 She spoke gratefully. 
 
 He came round and knelt at her knees amid the shat- 
 tered ruin of Love's young dream. He had no right 
 to judge her. Her present position was frightful. Did ' 
 she realize the horror which engulfed her? It flashed upon 
 him that, in spite of everything, he adored her. 
 
 She bent down and rubbed her smooth cheek against 
 his. "Dear boy!" she said. 
 
 She said it with genuine kindness. She felt old enough 
 to be his mother, in spite of his seventeen years. 
 
 "So you are jealous of Terezia's past? As if the dead 
 years mattered ! They are dead, my dear, dust and ashes. 
 We live for to-day and we think of to-morrow. I was 
 married to a brute," 
 
 ''Si, sir 
 
 "Your hair is like silk," she said, kissing his forehead. 
 
 Her tender voice blotted out the sight of Tallien's 
 gigantic greed. Poor girl! 
 
 Ter^zia was in an expansive mood. She looked into the 
 dancing firelight with her big soft eyes full of wounded 
 astonishment. 
 
 "I will tell you the truth," she said. "I am vain, grasp- 
 ing, cruel, abominably selfish. If I loved you I'd turn 
 you out into the cold street. I am indifferent to every- 
 thing which does not give me pleasure." 
 
 He tightened his hold on her hand. 
 
 "Ter6zia!" 
 
 ^'I have trapped you, young Guery, trapped you by my 
 beauty, my mystery, my wantonness." She gave him a 
 sudden push. "Well, listen, mon cosur. I am not wholly 
 bad as God lives, I am not wholly bad!" 
 
TERROR 251 
 
 She jumped to her feet, her eyes flashing. 
 
 For one moment they faced each other. 
 
 "Good night," she said. "Go home and dream of a 
 maligned woman transformed into a winged angel. . . . 
 Gu^ry, Guery, I want to live !" 
 
 She broke down and wept, covering her face with her 
 hands. 
 
 "The pity of life!" she breathed. "For what purpose 
 are we born into this sad world, where all is confusion and 
 wickedness?" 
 
 "Terezia!" 
 
 "Go!" she said. "Go! Can't you see I am already 
 regretting my generosity?" 
 
 He laughed aloud. 
 
 "With your very kind permission I am going to have 
 some supper. I am very hungry." 
 
 She dried her eyes. "You can stay to supper if you 
 promise to leave me the moment we have finished." 
 
 He kissed her hand, and said he would give the matter 
 his serious consideration. "It is a very wet night," he 
 added. 
 
 "You obstinate wretch!" smiled Terezia. "Ring the 
 bell, will you?" 
 
 When Clarisse appeared, looking sulky and hot, Terezia 
 told her to light all the candles in the chandelier and to 
 replenish the fire. 
 
 "Is supper ready?" * 
 
 "Yes, citoyenne,'' 
 
 "That's nice. Come along, mon cceur, and we'll see 
 what the unknown cook has provided. Make up the fire, 
 Clarisse, and don't forget to warm my bed. I have been 
 shivering all the evening. I wonder if the rooms have 
 been properly aired." 
 
 "They are like ice cellars," said Clarisse. *Where is 
 the young gentleman to sleep?" She played with her 
 apron and looked supercilious. 
 
 "I'll tell you later," said Terezia coldly, as, followed by 
 Guery, she passed into the dining-room. 
 
252 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 It was a small cheerful room with white paneled walls 
 and crimson-curtained windows. On the walljs hung sev- 
 eral family portraits. 
 
 "What a pretty room!" exclaimed Terezia. "By the 
 way, whose house is it? Hot soup, chicken, jelly and 
 lovely fruit! Aren't we lucky?" 
 
 She sat down at the head of the little round table 
 daintily set out with china and silver. There were four 
 massive silver candlesticks on the table, each with its 
 lighted candle. 
 
 "Whose house is it?" she repeated. "The silver is 
 splendid, and look at this china dish it is certainly worth 
 a lot of money. I know that woman." She glanced at 
 the portrait opposite her. ^^Guery, you shan't have any 
 soup if you don't answer!" 
 
 "Let me give you some wine, darling." 
 
 Terezia pushed aside her glass. "Answer me. Whose 
 house is it?" 
 
 "Nobody's at present. Belonged to a friend of mine. 
 I happened to know the woman left in charge. She has 
 been for years in the service of the St. Innocents " 
 
 "The St. Innocents!" 
 
 Terezia glanced round the room with great staring 
 eyes. 
 
 "The young people, you know. Jacques, some five or 
 six years ago, married his cousin, Mademoiselle de Longue- 
 ville; they were as happy as the day was long. Full of 
 pranks. They really behaved as babies, though they 
 were awfully proud of their own baby a fat little crea- 
 ture with the family nose " 
 
 "They are guillotined, you mean?" 
 
 The boy nodded. 
 
 "When did it happen?" 
 
 "In November." 
 
 Terezia stared at the portrait facing her. It repre- 
 sented a handsome, elderly woman in a decollete dress 
 with a knot of crimson ribbon at her bust. She wore a 
 
TERROR 253 
 
 lace head-dress on her high coiffure. Her eyes were dark 
 and sparkHng. 
 
 Guery, with an unsteady hand, poured the soup into 
 two large cups. His hand shook so that a few drops were 
 spilled on the damask cloth. Terezia did not notice his 
 clumsiness. She was still staring at the portrait of her 
 old enemy. It was a life-like portrait of Jacques' digni- 
 fied mother. 
 
 "His mother and his sisters had a much worse fate. 
 They were victims of the September massacres. Also the 
 old people, I believe. The whole family has been extermi- 
 nated." 
 
 "Darling," he said, "don't think of horrors to-night. 
 You are tired after the journey and worried about your- 
 self." 
 
 She laughed hysterically. "You'll die a judge, ^a 
 famous criminal judge," she said. 
 
 She poured herself out a glass of wine, broke off a piece 
 of bread and dipped it into the wine. The first mouthful 
 choked her. She burst into tears. 
 
 "I can't bear it! I can't bear it!" she sobbed. "It is 
 too horrible for words. Why did you bring me here? 
 You are a fool. The St. Innocents never liked me :-they 
 would just hate me staying here." She pointed to the 
 portrait. "Lizette's mother is looking at me now as 
 much as to say, 'Never mind, it will be your turn next. 
 I never flinched. Behave, if you can, like a lady.' I can 
 hear her cold voice. I can see her haughty, indifferent 
 glance. She always treated me as dirt beneath her feet. 
 If ever there was a pompous, dull old creature it was 
 Madame St. Innocent. She was full of prejudices, full 
 of silly little maxims. . . ." Terezia broke off sud- 
 denly. "One must not speak against the dead," she said 
 solemnly. 
 
 "Darling " 
 
 "I mustn't cry. Forgive me." She gave him a melan- 
 choly smile. "After all, I'm not so dreadfully greedy, 
 am 1? All I want is to live, and, yes, a little happiness." 
 
254 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 The boy's eyes welled with loving sympathy. He felt 
 ready to go through unmentionable torture to save her 
 an unnecessary sigh. 
 
 In the charged atmosphere each sound was magnified 
 tenfold. Clarisse, slamming her dishes in the pantry close 
 by and singing over her work, was intolerably audible. 
 
 "Drink your soup, darling. It'll be quite cold." 
 
 She pushed her soup listlessly aside. 
 
 "I'm not hungry." 
 
 He got up and uncovered a silver dish keeping hot over 
 a spirit-lamp. 
 
 "You must eat some chicken." 
 
 "I can't eat anything." 
 
 He placed before her a wing of the fowl with nice potato 
 straws and creamed chcmi'pignons, 
 
 "For my sake, Terezia, be a good girl. You must keep 
 up your strength." 
 
 She played with her food. "It is rather nice," she said, 
 "but you can't expect me to have an appetite, I'm too 
 nervous. The least little thing would make me scream. 
 And yet I don't seem to have any feeling at all. Every- 
 thing is unreal to-night, you and I and Paris great big 
 wicked Paris this horrible little room everything ex- 
 cept memory." 
 
 "Yes," he said. "Yes.'* 
 
 He ate tremendously fast, surreptitiously watching 
 Terezia, who swallowed infinitesimal morsels of chicken 
 and copious draughts of wine. 
 
 She sighed at intervals, but her spirits were improving. 
 She had unconsciously eaten all her food and ^uncon- 
 sciously it hadn't choked her. 
 
 He kept up a desultory conversation with great earnest- 
 ness. "I'm not going to leave you to-night," he said. 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 "You must go early to bed." 
 
 She was quite amenable. He would shift for himself 
 in the sitting-room. By Jove, he'd sleep like a top any- 
 where . . . he'd choose a book when left alone. If sleep 
 
TERROR 256 
 
 was out of the question he'd read by the firelight. He 
 rather looked forward to his sorrowful vigil. Morning 
 would bring him counsel. He was determined to save 
 her life, even at the expense of his own. He and the 
 cook between them would smuggle her out of danger . . . 
 one day she'd remember and thank him. She would re- 
 member him. What glory! His loving thought leaped 
 years ahead to the noble tranquillity of Terezia's happy 
 old age, when they were rudely interrupted by a peal at 
 the hall bell, accompanied by rattling blows on the door. 
 
 "There," said Terezia, in her calmest manner. "I told 
 you so." 
 
 Young Guery sprang to his feet. 
 
 "Sit down," she commanded. "There's no hurry. Let 
 them knock." 
 
 Clarisse came hurrying into the room, talking volubly. 
 It seemed there was a crowd of people waiting below, in 
 the courtyard. She had had nothing to do with it, noth- 
 ing ! They were carrying on terribly ; howling. It was 
 pouring with rain. Such a night! a night of horror! 
 She must go and answer the bell. What was the good 
 of resistance .f^ No one resisted in Paris without suffering. 
 In justice to herself 
 
 Tereziia held up her hand a pretty little hand covered 
 with sparkling rings. It quite amused her to see young 
 Guery's pained expression he took his love very seri- 
 ously, also his responsibility. What had he to do with it ? 
 It was fate and Tallien. Her beautiful eyes narrowed 
 dangerously. At that moment she felt nothing but con- 
 tempt for her lion a beastly mangy lion. 
 
 She got up, tall and straight, with something rather 
 grand about her attitude. There was not a shadow of 
 terror in her calm voice. 
 
 "Go into the kitchen," she said to the trembling maid. 
 "Monsieur Guery will open the door." She used the word 
 "monsieur" intentionally. She would have clapped it out 
 at that moment in the face of the sea-green god him- 
 self. She was justly angry, Terezia, She hated at that 
 
256 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 moment all men, including Guery. What a trembling 
 fool he looked! What was he nervous about? . . . The 
 St. Innocents, every one of them, had faced a far worse 
 fate without flinching. The old lady spiteful old cat ! 
 hadn't believed in her courage. (She'd never forgive her.) 
 She, Terezia, was quite equal to her duty, 
 
 Clarisse fled howling away. Terezia walked up to 
 young Guery and tapped him smartly on his shoulder. 
 
 "If they want me, I'm in the salon,'' 
 
 "Terezia!" 
 
 "Be a man, darling. It is rather thrilling, you know. 
 I do hope they'll give me time to change my dress." 
 
 While he was talking outside, in the tiny hall it was 
 quite a small flat of three rooms Terezia kept smiling 
 to herself. Poor dear boy, of course he would say the 
 wrong thing. Men generally do . . stupid creatures! 
 What was the good of talking? 
 
 With languid grace Terezia walked across to the sit- 
 ting-room. All the candles were lit as if for a party, and 
 the fire was burning brightly. What a reception! Who 
 were they? Rough men? She heard two voices, and 
 Guery's eager, angry expostulation. 
 
 "He talks too much," thought Terezia regretfully. 
 "Far too much." 
 
 She leaned her right elbow on the mantelpiece and 
 studied her face in the mirror. Her hair was growing 
 beautifully so thick, and such a good color ... in a 
 year or two it would probably reach her waist. 
 
 She laughed gently. She felt sorry for her pretty 
 golden hair. What a shame! s s 
 
CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 AT this exciting moment we hope that you are feeling 
 as concerned for Terezia's golden curls as she does 
 herself, they were neatly knotted at the base of her throat 
 by a filigree gold clasp, which Tallien had given her (Bah! 
 there's something revolting in the fact from what dead 
 woman had he plucked it?) we are obliged, in the inter- 
 ests of the story, to introduce a new character. His was 
 one of the voices Terezia had heard outside the door, and 
 in spite of his rude words he struck her as worth listening 
 io. She had actually left off admiring herself in Madame 
 St. Innocent's charming mirror, and came across the 
 pretty room quite charmingly pretty in the firelight 
 find candle-light to listen by the door, the better to hear 
 vhat he was saying. 
 
 The owner of the other voice merely annoyed her. He 
 spoke in a bawling, loud, drunken key deep and gruff 
 at that, like a cavern full of smoke and belching fire. She 
 knew that voice. It was the voice of the people. She 
 had heard it often at Bordeaux. She had hoped that it 
 had ceased to exist in Paris. 
 
 The gruff voice bawled on its top note, the interesting 
 voice insisted, young Query's stream of words was truly 
 amazing. The lady stamped her foot. 
 
 When young M. Guery came in, his face was flushed, 
 his address one wild preamble which presently elucidated 
 itself into the disagreeable fact that Terezia must consider 
 herself (temporarily) under the protection of the Bureau 
 of Public Safety. Robespierre had sent a couple of picked 
 men to take care of her. 
 
 "Send them away at once," she said. 
 
 Young Guery, with a shrug of his shoulders and frantic 
 
 257 
 
258 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 gestures, informed her the men would not budge. They 
 intended to remain all night on the premises, God knows 
 he was willing to help her ; his dagger was at her disposal. 
 Young Guery looked over his shoulder at an imaginary 
 pool of blood, his own, spilled in the ardor of fight and 
 for the glory of love. 
 
 Terezia pooh-poohed his vision, dismissing it as she 
 would have dismissed the insistence of little Georges, eager 
 for a fairy story when his darling mamma was otherwise 
 preoccupied. Little Georges would have had a smack 
 somewhere or other on his diminutive person. Young 
 Guery, thanks to his superior inches, had to be treated 
 in another fashion. She was sick to death of him. 
 
 Terezia, in her turn, standing under the lighted char- 
 delier, regardless of guttering wax there was a devil's 
 draught somewhere shrugged her splendid shoulders, and, 
 not deigning the youth a glance, she passed outside. He 
 heard her presently, in her clear, self-possessed, truly 
 agreeable voice, ask the citizens to give themselves the 
 trouble of entering the salon, where she would be entirely 
 at their disposal. 
 
 Guery rushed into speech. 
 
 "Darling," he babbled through the doorway, "they 
 aren't fit to speak to you. They are either drunk or mad 
 probably both. Their language is outrageous. Their 
 demands are gross! . . . Darling! Darling!" In fever- 
 ish anxiety he caught at the tail of her delicate train, 
 whisking softly through the half-closed door. He had a 
 wild idea of holding on to the shimmering stuff and by 
 brutal violence enforcing her retreat. 
 
 He did not know his lady. Terezia, if realizing his 
 attempt, was quite capable of leaving him the undisputed 
 possession of her dress. She would have enjoyed slipping 
 out of her gown and imagining his tongue-tied surprise 
 at his booty. When is woman coerced by brutal force? 
 You can lead her by love, you can guide her by gentleness, 
 you can keep her by wit, but when you come to blows, 
 it is like beating a cloud waste, sheer waste of strength. 
 
TERROR 259 
 
 Presently she returned majestically into the cheerful 
 sitting-room, followed by her two warders. One was he 
 of the interesting voice, but at the present moment not 
 much to look at a red-skinned, red-haired, ugly fellow, 
 and in very slovenly dress. Yet his clothes were clean 
 enough. In fact this M. Joseph was surprisingly clean 
 for a jailer from Les Carmes the dirtiest prison in 
 Paris. His companion was a gigantic, red-eyed, thick- 
 lipped fellow with a mass of fair tousled hair thatching 
 his flattened skull. His greasy coat, straining over his 
 broad thighs and broader shoulders, gaped open on a dirty 
 tricolor tie and a waistcoat of canary-yellow satin. He 
 had a trick of holding on to his coat with a pair of enor- 
 mous fists with mutilated finger-nails ingrained with all 
 manner of dirt. 
 
 Guery stared with unconcealed hatred at "the scoun- 
 drel" as he entered the room busily engaged in munching 
 a huge crust of bread and cheese. It was the finishing 
 touch to his oifensiveness. 
 
 The young man offered Terezia a seat, at the same 
 time warning the men to keep their proper distance. 
 
 "Oh, darling," he said, "you are not treating them as 
 they deserve. Why speak to such wretches ? Let me " 
 
 "I like to," said Terezia, gazing pensively into the fire. 
 "Who can escape the finger of destiny?" 
 
 Her calmness dumfounded Guery. What had destiny 
 to do with damnable insolence? 
 
 The giant smiled, eying the chandelier and the lady 
 with impartial flattery. 
 
 "Supper is never so cheap as when you get it free," he 
 mumbled between two great mouthfuls. "Say what you 
 will, Joseph, we are in luck's way. She might have been 
 forty, toothless, vixenish, a hell of a trouble kicking, 
 screaming and no grace about the business ; cold rooms, 
 no fires, no candles, no wine" (a wink through the open 
 door of the dining-room at the inviting supper-table). 
 ^*A patriot must do his duty and take his pleasures as they 
 come." He sighed. "I tell you Joseph, my man" a 
 
260 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 heavy slap on his colleague's back "we have struck oil. 
 She is a dear, and as pretty as the tulips in my mother's 
 garden when the sun slants over the fields. By Lucifer, 
 Joseph, say your prayers and keep your eyes on the 
 young gentleman. I'll take care of the lady. What is 
 your name, precious? It will be precious to me if it's 
 Sarah or Araminta or plain Mary." 
 
 "You are very drunk," said Terezia. 
 
 "No, citoyenne^ I assure you you haven't an idea how I 
 look when I am very drunk. Joseph will explain. Joseph 
 drinks only cow's milk. Gin upsets his digestion for 
 weeks. He had a taste just now a most unfortunate 
 mistake. He is naturally a jolly good fellow. Here, 
 Joseph, speak up ! Tune up the tune you sang on Michael- 
 mas Eve which drove all the geese into the cauldron, 
 spluttering and squirting until they simmered in rich thick 
 gravy. You spoon'd it, son! You spoon'd it! No lies! 
 The lady won't stand lies. Out on you, fellow ; show your 
 tongue even if you can't use it. He has a bashful soul, 
 as beautiful as your floor, my darling. I could dance 
 and eat and admire from now to Doomsday. It is dam- 
 nably close to Doomsday. Darling, are you there? poor, 
 pretty dear, a shame to cut off its little head! I'd save 
 it with pleasure for a kiss, only Joseph would be sure to 
 find his tongue and give me away. Or he'd write. He is 
 great on writing. His writing would astonish you, my 
 good sir" with a grave bow to Query. 
 
 "Hist," said Joseph, pulling his confrere's straining 
 jacket. "Be sensible." 
 
 "Fool! How can sense keep pace with the times?" 
 
 Terezia laughed. Mr. Giant smacked his lips and 
 pointed his sandwich at Guery. "Be young, sir, be your- 
 self, sir, be a happy boy, sir, and not a poor copy of a 
 stone image. There now, the lady is leaning her head 
 against his hand. Kneel at her feet, look up at her face 
 a miracle of whiteness what the aristocrats waste in 
 soap would keep us in cheese for a month. My friend 
 
TERROR 261 
 
 here, who is a handy artist and uncommon quick at his 
 pencil, will sketch the group for love and a louis." 
 
 "It is intolerable," muttered Guerj, shivering under this 
 direct attack. 
 
 Terezia smiled again. "It is rather amusing. I won- 
 der if the little man is also drunk. Here, ask the giant's 
 name." 
 
 "Chatterbox, at your service," replied the big man, at 
 once. "I change my name to suit my argument. When 
 I am dismal I am Mr. Dignity. When betwixt and be- 
 tween, I am nothing." He swallowed the last crumbs of 
 his supper and wiped his mouth with the back of his 
 hand, blowing Terezia a kiss at the same time. "Sorry, 
 Joseph, my friend, it is all gone. Only my words left. 
 You are kindly welcome to them. I never eat my own 
 words, for fear of indigestion. A good digestion invites 
 dreamless slumber." 
 
 He glanced around the room, selected a rug, rolled it 
 up into a bundle and lay down on the floor with his head 
 on the improvised pillow. "I thank you, ma'am. Take 
 care of Joseph. He is a dear little creature." He gave 
 a pull to his coat. "A middling blanket," he said. He 
 kicked his enormous legs in the air and flung off his muddy 
 jack-boots. They fell with a thud on the centre of the 
 floor. The chandelier trembled a faint tinkle of shiver- 
 ing crystal drops. The little ormolu clock chimed eleven 
 musical strokes. A squall of wind rattled the tall windows, 
 accompanied by the patter of steady rain. 
 
 Clarisse very much subdued crept out of her pantry 
 and into the dining-room, and began removing the dishes 
 from the supper-table. 
 
 Joseph glanced at his companion sprawling on the 
 floor, feigning sleep or fast asleep. Giving the giant a 
 wide berth, he sauntered across the room and studied a 
 picture hanging on the wall a charming model of youth, 
 by Watteau. Then he turned to Terezia. "What a 
 dainty touch he had," he said, softly. 
 
 A spluttering snore answered him from the floor. The 
 
262 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 giant turned over, lay flat on his back, hunching his feet 
 under his knees, red hands clasped on broad chest. His 
 thick gray socks were full of holes. 
 
 Terezia, from the depths of her arm-chair, without look- 
 ing at Joseph, remarked that she wondered Robespierre 
 kept such ragged creatures in his service. "Surely the 
 pay attached to the guardians of Public Safety ought to 
 attract a superior class of men?" she said. 
 
 "There is only one class, citoyerme^''^ answered the 
 smaller man, bending over the fire and warming his hands. 
 
 Terezia laughed derisively. "God forgive your boast- 
 ing!" she cried. "As if France was only peopled by 
 drunkards and vagabonds !" she glanced again at the man 
 on the floor, shuddering. "Bah! What a spectacle! Is 
 he always drunk.''" 
 
 "Not always. He is pleasanter drunk." 
 
 "We are fortunate." 
 
 "Very fortunate." 
 
 She turned suddenly and looked at the man. 
 
 "What made you come to this?" she asked. 
 
 "One thing and another. The course of our lives is 
 seldom shaped by a single circumstance." 
 
 *'Poor man ... sit down." 
 
 "Thank you, citot/erme, with your permission I prefer 
 to stand." 
 
 "I'm your prisoner," sighed Terezia. 
 
 Joseph looked at young Guery, leaning gloomily 
 against a mahogany pole-screen set with a piece of tapes- 
 try worked in glowing colors probably the ch^f cToeuvre 
 of Madame St. Innocent's happy moments. 
 
 By mechanically raising and sinking the little panel, 
 young Guery was doing his bounden best to break the 
 screen. Poor boy, his fingers were itching for employ- 
 ment. 
 
 "Leave that alone!" said Terezia sharply. 
 
 "Darling " 
 
 Darling frowned and turned her back on mon coeur. 
 "Break it if it pleases you," she said indifferently. 
 
TERROR 263 
 
 Joseph swept the hearth ; he did it very neatly. Terezia 
 looked at him curiously. His profile was astonishingly 
 fine. He had good features, and, yes, he wore a wig! 
 
 Looking up, he met the lady's curious glance. His 
 eyes were luminously clear ^beautiful gray eyes, almond- 
 shaped with dark lashes. He might have been thirty or 
 thereabouts. His eyes (at that moment) gave you the 
 impression of integrity and a welter of deep thoughts, 
 principally of a grave and scholarly nature. 
 
 The giant's labored breathing seemed to fill the little 
 room to its uttermost. 
 
 "Poor creature ! Probably you have seen better days," 
 she remarked. 
 
 Her kind words made Joseph blink. 
 
 "Madam," he whispered, "I am here to help you." 
 
 In her astonishment she half rose from her seat. Guery 
 let go the screen and touched his rapier. A candle gut- 
 tered in its socket. 
 
 At that moment the giant, with his eyes closed, his legs 
 outstretched, his fists clasped across his mighty chest, 
 started very adroitly to roll himself sideways across the 
 parquet floor. He evaded his boots with a nicety of calcu- 
 lation. 
 
 He did not stop rolling until his tousled head lay within 
 a yard of the lady's chair, well within the circle of the 
 leaping firelight. 
 
 "Go to sleep, Mr. Dignity," he said, very solemnly. 
 "Go to sleep and keep your ears open. Joseph is always 
 worth listening to. . . . She's a pet . . the warmth 
 of the fire is delicious. . . Go to sleep, Mr. Dignity, 
 and sleep long. It is one of your distressing habits to 
 wake up sober." 
 
 Joseph touched his companion with his foot. 
 
 "You are a clumsy brute," he said. 
 
 "Not a patch on you, my friend. . . . Keep her 
 amused." 
 
 Terezia accepted defeat with her habitual good humor. 
 
264 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 She turned to Guerj, as much as to say, "I knew he was 
 only trying to deceive us." 
 
 She twisted her chair a fraction of an inch further 
 away from the drunkard, and settled herself comfortably. 
 
 She closed her eyes, with a weary expression on her 
 face. Guery regarded her apprehensively. 
 
 **Dearest," he implored, "you are looking very tired. 
 Please go to bed." 
 
 Terezia shook her head, without looking up. 
 
 Query sighed (wise boy), said no more, and retired into 
 the shell of his miserable reflections, varied enough, but 
 all sad. 
 
 The rain hurled itself in gusty squalls against the tall 
 French windows. A volume of smoke came pouring down 
 the chimney, as the result of a mighty gust of wind. The 
 candles flickered. 
 
 Terezia smoothed her silk dress, and drew in her ex- 
 quisitely-slippered feet under her voluminous petticoats. 
 She did not want her new shoes spoiled. She glanced 
 pensively at the charming clock standing on the marble 
 mantelpiece. She decided that she would sit up at least 
 two hours longer before retiring to rest. Probably she 
 would succeed in tiring out her warders, and her poor, 
 faithful love-sick Guery. . , . What big eyes he had! 
 What had he seen of life? 
 
 Her situation was not without piquancy. Virtually she 
 was the prisoner of two ill-matched men. She was sure 
 that Joseph had seen better days, but the man on the 
 floor was merely beastly. 
 
 Joseph had shown considerable tact in immediately 
 dropping his offer of help. No doubt the hulking brute 
 at her feet would, eventually, under the combined effects of 
 wine and the genial warmth of the room, fall asleep. . . 
 
 Terezia pointedly addressed Joseph. 
 
 ^^Citoyeriy*^ she said gently, *'be so good as to replenish 
 the fire. I am cold." 
 
 Guery gave her a poignant and melancholy glance. 
 Guery had been ruminating on her extraordinary courage. 
 
TERROR 265 
 
 in precarious situations and yet he couldn't quite ap- 
 prove of her sang-froid. Joseph was undoubtedly only a 
 degree removed in beastliness from "Mr. Dignity" the 
 unutterable swine! . . . 
 
 Citoyen Joseph, after he had built up a crackling 
 blaze, drew forward a modest stool, covered in green silk 
 tapestry, and, having obtained Terezia's permission, he 
 seated himself. 
 
 "What surprises me," he said, "is not the change in 
 Paris, but the want of curiosity in the town. I assure you 
 there are many quarters quite untouched by tears and 
 bloodshed, where united families, happily engaged, pay no 
 attention to ugly stories which they are wholly unable 
 to credit." 
 
 "Have you come across such people?" 
 
 "Indeed I have, madam. There is a dear old lady liv- 
 ing at this moment in the Rue de Lille who believes in the 
 existence of monarchy, and who mildly censures her late 
 majesty for playing the dairy-maid, though she thor- 
 oughly approves of her domesticity. She is loyalty itself 
 to King Louis XVL, though sometimes I have seen her 
 shake her head at his good-nature. Congenial occupa- 
 tion, madam, blinds many of us to the harshness of life. 
 My mother loves her children, honors her king, and never 
 asks questions of either." 
 
 "It sounds incredible," said Guery. 
 
 "Why shouldn't it be true?" said Terezia. 
 
 Joseph bowed, and stroked his cheek with a well-shaped 
 hand. 
 
 "If so," said Guery, "you must be an accomplished liar. 
 Sir." 
 
 Joseph continued stroking his cheek. "Of some little 
 merit, sir. I never gossip when at home. Also, I have 
 very little opportunity for practice. Robespierre keeps 
 us all pretty busy. Citizen, life is interesting, and ro- 
 mance is charming." 
 
 "Very," said Guery, in a cynical tone. "Do you keep 
 your good mother shut up?" 
 
266 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 "On the contrary, she is as free as air. She chats with 
 her neighbors, and every Saturday, accompanied by her 
 servant, she goes to the Marche St. Honore and does her 
 weekly marketing. She brings home a basketful of pro- 
 visions and a few crumbs of news " 
 
 "Why, sir," said Terezia, "that is really extraordinary. 
 How does she account for the news.?" 
 
 "Madam, I take it God protects His chosen few. On 
 entering her little house she scatters the crumbs to the 
 four winds of heaven. Then, very happily, she sets about 
 her household duties, which are manifold. I can recom- 
 mend her walnut cordial as an excellent drink. She spins 
 flax, soft as silk, and she mends her own linen. She never 
 ceases to thank Providence for her lavender-bush, her 
 one big tree, and her own patch of blue sky. At the pres- 
 ent moment my mother is the happiest woman in Paris." 
 
 "Poor lady," said Guery, with a dreary smile at the 
 ceiling. "How does she account for her son.?" 
 
 "I thank you, citizen, kindly. By the way, she has two, 
 and she is proud of them both. I myself am a prosperous 
 man the wicked flourish as the bay-tree and my brother, 
 a soldier, has lately been distinguishing himself at Toulon 
 and writes home enthusiastic praise of his commanding 
 officer. General Bonaparte." 
 
 Terezia smiled. 
 
 "I want to meet that man," she said, tapping her finger 
 on the arm of the chair. 
 
 Joseph further informed the company that his mother 
 was in the habit of reading aloud his brother's letters 
 from the front, when her coffee was brewing and her saf- 
 fron bread baking. 
 
 Terezia frowned. She was getting weary of listening 
 to the idiocyncrasies of this remarkable citoyenne of 
 Paris. She yawned, flashing jeweled fingers over her 
 mouth, and glanced at the clock. 
 
 "Very nice," she said, gently polishing a rosy thumb- 
 nail. "Tell me more of this General Bonaparte. I hear 
 he goes about dressed worse than a common soldier. They 
 
TERROR 267 
 
 also tell me that this wonderful young man hardly ever 
 sleeps ; occasionally he'll talk volubly ; at other times he'll 
 conveniently lose his tongue but never under any circum- 
 stances his scowl." She put her finger in her mouth, 
 and looked wise as a precocious infant sure of making an 
 effect. (She was convinced she'd make a great impression 
 on a youthful general of twenty- four.) 
 
 "All honor to him," said Joseph, politely. "But for 
 Bonaparte we would certainly have lost Toulon." 
 
 "People are very apt to turn a fortunate circumstance 
 into a heroic action," said Guery. "Time will prove 
 his mettle." 
 
 "Exactly," agreed Terezia. "I for one don't believe 
 in the English. Who knows if, even without this estimable 
 Corsican's assistance, we wouldn't have beaten them just 
 as easily.'^" 
 
 Mr. Dignity with disconcerting suddenness sat up and 
 nodded his immense head. "There is a clever headpiece 
 for you," said he, addressing the tips of Query's boots. 
 "Cock-a-doodle-doo, what a dry company! Good-night 
 to everyone, dry or wet. To-morrow has arrived, and 
 Yesterday has turned the comer. . . . Joseph, my man, 
 God bless you. God bless your mother. God bless every- 
 one." He blinked at Guery. "Young man, you're im- 
 proving. In ten years you will be formidable to the 
 ladies. I know one, a widow lately, a 'guillotine' widow. 
 She is in prison, and her name is Josephine Beau-har- 
 nais." (He docked off the syllables on his huge fingers.) 
 . . . "God bless her. . . . God bless everyone. . . ." 
 
 His voice dropped into unintelligible mutterings as his 
 head bumped on the fender-stool. "Sleep is more blessed 
 than kisses," he said. "Sleep, I love you!" 
 
 He settled himself, like a corkscrew, closed his eyes, and 
 started snoring at once. 
 
 Terezia gave him a contemptuous glance. A drunkard 
 is everybody's friend, but a sober man makes his choice 
 of the field. She smiled, well satisfied. . . . She had great 
 hopes of the future. Even this Bonaparte, whom every- 
 
268 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 one was crying up, was not invulnerable. How could a 
 hot-blooded Corsican keep a cool front in face of a per- 
 fect woman? She laughed aloud at such a ridiculous idea. 
 . . . Yes, she would like to meet him. 
 
 She blew a kiss through her pursed lips at a phantom. 
 
 Guery got up and whispered in her ear. "Go to bed, 
 darling " 
 
 Terezia shrugged her shoulders, shook her head, tapped 
 her heels, fluttered her eyelids, and laughed deliciously, all 
 in the fraction of a second. 
 
 "Sit down, mon cwuty^ she recommended him. "Citoyen 
 Joseph, give me all your attention and I'll tell you an 
 amusing story." 
 
 Joseph bowed. *^I am altogether your debtor," he said. 
 "One day, madam, I hope to repay you." 
 
 She glanced at the beast hugely enjoying her secret 
 understanding with the little man who wore a wig. Her 
 heart beat a trifle faster. Terror had its fascinations ! 
 Let them send her to prison she'd wriggle out somehow ! 
 Her quick mind leaped ahead and fervently cursed her 
 enemy, Robespierre^ less fervently her lover, Tallien 
 . . . Tallien might still be of some use to her. 
 
 "I knew Madame de Beauharnais in the old days," she 
 said. "In the dear old days !" ( She nodded at Joseph as 
 much as to say, "Bring them back again, my friend.") 
 "Once she asked me to dinner in an informal fashion. 'I 
 dine at three,' she said. ^Come early.* I arrived very 
 punctually and was shown into an untidy sitting-room. 
 A maid was on her knees trying to light a damp fire; 
 another, at my entrance, picked up armfuls of soiled table 
 linen from the centre of the floor. I shivered, and sat 
 down on a little sofa beside a little table on which stood 
 a vase of faded violets, and a sheaf of old dance-pro- 
 grams. I studied the wall-paper opposite me for half- 
 an-hour, waiting for the mistress of the house to appear. 
 Then I rang the bell. 'Serve dinner,' I said to the fright- 
 ened manservant, who, overawed by my grand air, obeyed. 
 By four o'clock I had finished a fairly good meal. By 
 
TERROR 269 
 
 five o'clock, when I was seated by the sitting-room fire, 
 now burning up brightly, reading a witty play, Madame 
 de Beauharnais appears, buttoning her bracelets, and 
 asking, ^Am I late, darling?' 'No, madame,' said I, 'not 
 at all.' She swayed up to me and kissed the nape of my 
 neck. 'Allow me, madame,' she said, Ho congratulate you 
 on an unexpected dimple.' 'On the contrary, madame,' I 
 continued, 'you are astonishingly early for supper, bien 
 entendu,* I rose to go. She was not at all put out. She 
 swept me a ravishing curtsy. 'Madame,' she said, extend- 
 ing her hand, 'I thank you for a well-deserved rebuke. I 
 hope you didn't eat up all the mayonnaise?' In the end 
 we embraced each other, and arranged to meet at the play 
 on the following evening. Madame de Beauharnais ar- 
 rived at the curtain of the third act, with her inevitable 
 query, 'Am I late, darling?' She will certainly put Sam- 
 son in a fever of impatience, and then kiss the scaffold 
 and smile at the first man she happens to see in the crowd." 
 
 Terezia turned to Guery. "Have you met her?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "No," answered Guery, without enthusiasm. 
 
 "She is quite good-looking, though of course she is not 
 at all young, has two big children, and her teeth are 
 rotten." 
 
 "Doesn't sound attractive," said Guery. (If Terezia 
 had described Venus he would have said just the same.) 
 
 "I remember that evening as if it were yesterday," she 
 sighed. "Garat was singing. The poor dear queen ad- 
 mired his voice immensely. She practically made him. 
 He was quite the fashion a year or two ago. Where is he 
 now?" 
 
 "In Lyons," answered Joseph. 
 
 "In prison?" 
 
 Joseph bowed. 
 
 Terezia's eyes dilated. 
 
 "How I hate you all !" she said. "Nothing is too small 
 for you and nothing too great; and you think you'll 
 escape the penalty of your crimes?" 
 
270 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 "No, madame. Robespierre will meet his fate very soon, 
 if I am not much mistaken." 
 
 "How? Time presses, sir." 
 
 Joseph glanced at the man on the floor. Mr. Dignity's 
 mouth was wide open. He had the slack appearance of a 
 man intent on his dreams. 
 
 "Robespierre is the most unpopular man in France," 
 said Joseph softly, "and the most feared." 
 
 "I am confident of the future," said Terezia, serenely. 
 "Failing anyone else, Camille Desmoulins will help me. 
 He once did me a very kind action. He shall repeat it." 
 
 Impetuously she rose from her seat, and crossing over 
 to Joseph, who had risen at her approach, she whispered 
 in his ear. "Lacking men, women must act. Citizen, I'll 
 let Desmoulins have the option of immortality. If he 
 refuses, I'll step in." 
 
 "Camille Desmoulins was guillotined last Thursday 
 week, on April the fifth." 
 
 Terezia stifled a sharp cry. 
 
 "The dear good man !" she breathed. "And his wife 
 loved him.'^ 
 
 Joseph nodded. "Danton died with him very bravely." 
 
 *'And no one spoke.?* No one objected?" 
 
 "I tell you, madam the knife has clogged the brains of 
 the people. They are satiated, but far from satisfied. 
 It is a fantastic display of power." Joseph leaned over 
 the sleeping man's gigantic frame, "Robespierre goes 
 in terror of his life. He has grown to look a shadow of 
 his former self." 
 
 "Ugh!" she said. "To think that he, and such as he, 
 hold up France and defy God!" 
 
 "Terezia darling," interrupted Guery, ^'please go to 
 bed. You are looking so feverish. All this excitement 
 is bad for you " 
 
 Terezia took hold of the boy's hot hand. "Poor dear," 
 she said, "how obstinate we are I Very well, if you insist 
 on it I will leave you to yourselves. Good night, citizens. 
 I'll see you in the morning." 
 
TERROR 271 
 
 She moved across the room. In passing a mirror she 
 glanced at herself. "No one would imagine from my ap- 
 pearance that I am suffering agony," she observed com- 
 placently. "It is a great advantage, citizens." 
 
 "An unmitigated blessing, ma'am," said Joseph, com- 
 ing up to her. "Are you aware that Citizen Tallien is in 
 Paris? Hush, I pray you. We must not be overheard." 
 
 "Tallien !" breathed Terezia. "Impossible ! I left him 
 at Bordeaux. He can't be here unless he's flown." 
 
 "He made a forced journey, riding at express speed." 
 
 "Why.?" 
 
 *'He has been summoned to report himself at head- 
 quarters." 
 
 "Is it a fact?" 
 
 "I saw him myself this afternoon at Robespierre's house.'* 
 
 "Thank you," said Terezia quietly. "It makes the 
 situation all the more interesting. Will love or greed or 
 terror win? Unfortunately, Tallien has his limitations. 
 I'll be imprisoned as sure as death. Citizens, I am not 
 afraid of ^a Tallien! Does the woman exist who is fright- 
 ened of her lover?" 
 
 Terezia smiled at her two friends. *'Do me a favor," 
 she said. "Get rid of that thing" she pointed a finger 
 at the slumbering man "before I get up to-morrow, or 
 he'll certainly spoil my appetite for breakfast." 
 
 Joseph's answer was to signal to Guery. Between them 
 they carried the giant out of the salon, and deposited him 
 in the little hall outside. They let him drop like a stone 
 on the floor. He never woke. 
 
 Behind her closed door, they could hear Terezia laugh- 
 ing to herself. 
 
 Joseph sat down by the fire and drew out of his pocket 
 a folded document, which he handed to Citizen Guery. It 
 was an order of arrest for the Citoyenne Terezia Carrabus 
 de la main de Robespierre. 
 
 Scrawled beneath his signature he had added these 
 words: "II faut reunir toutes les pieces relatives k la 
 Carrabus." 
 
CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 C ET in the immense roll of annotated history, the French 
 ^ Revolution with a paltry hundred years or so inter- 
 vening between then and now seems incredibly close to 
 us. At times we may well fear that it will repeat itself, 
 on a vastly larger scale, but, wisely, we dismiss such ideas 
 as unwelcome dreams. 
 
 It was a mad, bad world in this spring of 1794. Yet 
 even then town sparrows could chirp, children play, men 
 and women work, dig, bake and mend all for that im- 
 portant crumb of existence so dear to the heart of man. 
 The Terror might have paralyzed France left her dod- 
 dering like a lame idiot except for this merciful necessity 
 of carrying on. Eventually, as we know, horror did pass 
 away, like a heavy cloud, leaving the morning brilliantly 
 fair. 
 
 The day following Terezia's arrival in Paris redeemed 
 the character of wayward April. The storm of the previ- 
 ous night had given place to brilliant sunshine, which 
 shone over the city in a perfect halo of gold; it glistened 
 on roofs still rain-wet, and on the tender leafage of bud- 
 ding trees ; it flecked sanded courtyards with little discs 
 of light, and lit upon unexpected pools of water ; it effaced 
 the smell of sewage gas, and other rank unpleasantness, 
 bringing to the fore the cleanly odor of damp earth and 
 the scent of dewy, freshly-gathered flowers. 
 
 Upon the soft blue sky, tiny feathery clouds drifted 
 before a gentle breeze. It was difficult to associate this 
 rejuvenated morning with death sudden death, premedi- 
 tated, applauded, and of alarming regularity. Truth to 
 tell, satiety had taken the sharp edge off the bloody appe- 
 tites of vengeful citizens. To make matters worse, class 
 was no longer respected. Any individual, no matter how 
 
 272 
 
TERROR 273 
 
 humble his birth, was open to suspicion! Men of one 
 breed turned and denounced each other. It was an un- 
 easy time. Every true patriot (if he valued his life) lived 
 in the open, willingly facing the blazing light of publicity, 
 trumpeting his innocence into the ears of the sweltering 
 crovd, thankful if, by a miracle, he escaped condemnation. 
 
 The leaders scenting the temper of the populace 
 wrangled in open court; howled and shrieked and spat 
 at each other in a frenzy of patriotism which but poorly 
 veiled each man's secret fear. Out in the great squares, 
 under April skies. La Guillotine did her work, coldly in- 
 different to everyone. 
 
 Behind barred door and shut windows, where two or 
 three were gathered together, speculation ran rife, and 
 tongues wagged fast but to no purpose. No one seemed 
 able to cope with the situation all the more terrible for 
 the balmy air of spring and the dew-wet violets, to be 
 bought (cheaply) in the flower markets of Paris. 
 
 It was eight o'clock in the morning. Robespierre had 
 finished his dressing and stood by his bedroom window. 
 He was not a pretty sight. His eyes were fishy, and his 
 narrow hands rather well-shaped and white were hot 
 as coals, with an inner lining of damp skin. A fastidious 
 man might well be excused some natural repugnance in 
 shaking Robespierre's hand apart from the sentimental 
 significance they were actually rather terrible hands to 
 touch. 
 
 Having finished a finicking toilette the higher he rose 
 in office, the greater thought he bestowed on his appear- 
 ance Robespierre sat down in his favorite arm-chair, by 
 the window, drew forward a little satin-wood table 
 shaped like a kidney, inset with a mosaic border of green 
 laurel leaves rang the table bell a shrill- voiced piece of 
 silver and took up a small yellow-backed pamphlet. He 
 was well acquainted with its contents a commendable, 
 concise, clever little treatise on social matters. His 
 brother, Augustine, had sent him the book from Avignon, 
 
274 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 together with a flattering report of its young author^ a 
 studious and exemplary artillery officer, by name Napoleon 
 Bonaparte. The book was called An Evening at Beauu- 
 caire. 
 
 It very neatly voiced Robespierre's policy, without any 
 groveling servitude of spirit. In fact, the little book was 
 full of a strange new personality, and the style, though 
 rugged, bore witness to lucidity and a straightforward 
 directness of manner which appealed to Maximilien's sense 
 of fitness. (There is no devil on earth, or below, without 
 his own little set of weights and measures. Robespierre 
 prided himself on the accuracy of his scales. . . .) 
 
 On this twinkling April-rain-washed morning, he was 
 fully alive to his critical faculty. For some time he had 
 noticed Bonaparte and singled him out for protection. 
 In fact, thanks to his influence, the young man had been 
 reinstated in the Army. He had also, privily, sent word 
 to his brother, in Avignon, to look him up. He was a 
 young man who wanted watching. His mathematical 
 treatises had made extremely interesting reading. And 
 as to his personality as yet undeclared it had filled 
 Robespierre with anticipation. A spice of good luck, a 
 handful of kind friends, and that sallow-faced stripling 
 ought to advance on his own merits. There, in a nutshell, 
 lay life's secret. No man, even if flung to the front, 
 can stay there except by his own ability. A man has only 
 himself to thank for what he is. Robespierre smiled to 
 himself (a grim performance though not lacking in kindly 
 intention in this instance) as he remembered this 'Valuable 
 officer's" (Augustin's report of 1792 since amply justi- 
 fied) far from reassuring presence the recollection of 
 his leanness, his awkward gait, his untidy hair, filled him 
 with amusement. And yet, when he recalled his eyes eyes 
 of mesmeric depth ^he had to allow that nothing about 
 him really mattered in comparison with his undoubted 
 talent. He was undeniably gifted! "My friend," ex- 
 claimed Robespierre aloud, laying down Bonaparte's book 
 on the table, "if you live you'll make history. There is 
 
TERROR 275 
 
 grit in you, and you take long views.'* (Robespierre 
 glanced contemptuously towards the Place de la Revolu- 
 tion, sneering at so tedious a proceeding as the guillotine.) 
 "What this Corsican soldier wants," he thought, "is war, 
 not murder, and sudden death. . . ." Robespierre 
 yawned. He was getting a bit hazy. He swore at his 
 man. Why did he not bring him his breakfast? His 
 head was aching . . . aching as if it would burst. 
 
 His servant knocked on the door and entered the room 
 with a little brown tray containing a cup of chocolate, 
 a basin of porridge and some jam puffs. 
 
 He sipped his chocolate, wiped his mouth with the back 
 of his hand, spat on the floor. Uncovering his porringer 
 a handsome blue Sevres china dish with gilt handles 
 be devoured his porridge. A thin thread of steam wan- 
 dered past his face up to the low ceiling, and was lost in 
 the intricacies of damp-rot. (He lodged poorly with one 
 Duploy, a carpenter in the Rue St. Honore.) He crunched 
 his yellow teeth into his crisp fresh pastries and smacked 
 his lips. To-day the tarts were filled with strawberry 
 jam. Robespierre loved strawberry jam. 
 
 On the stroke of nine a loud tap at the door announced 
 the arrival of Citoyen Salicet his barber a little wizened 
 fellow, who always entered the room at a run, as if pro- 
 pelled forcibly from behind. 
 
 "Good morning, citoyen, A fine morning!" 
 
 Robespierre spat at the exact centre of a medallion on 
 the carpet he reached it by a nicety of calculation. Then 
 he shuffled his feet. 
 
 "Quite fine," he agreed. "Have you brought your new 
 powder.?" 
 
 "I have it with me, citoyen. It is as smooth as velvet 
 and as white as snow. Allow me." 
 
 The barber from a cupboard fetched a wrapper of none 
 too white linen and enveloped his client in its ample folds. 
 
 "If the citoyen would give himself the infinite trouble of 
 crossing to the dressing-table. The light is better " 
 
 The barber rubbed his thin hands together and twinkled 
 
276 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 his little eyes at the great man. "The citoyen, if I may 
 be allowed to say so, is looking the picture of health this 
 morning." Still rubbing his hands, he bowed deeply. "All 
 Paris rings with the citoi/en's praises. 'Robespierre, the 
 savior of France ! Robespierre, the man of genius ! Robes- 
 pierre with the heart of a child ! When he punishes it is 
 but to reprove naughtiness. . , .' Forgive me, gossiping 
 thus early in the morning." Citoyen Salicet, with a nim- 
 ble gesture, opened the little bag he was carrying and 
 placed on the dressing-table a methylated-spirit stove, 
 crimping-irons, a large box of powder, and a length of 
 new black satin ribbon. 
 
 "Black is so tender against white," he murmured, pass- 
 ing the ribbon through his hands. "I have taken the 
 liberty of bringing this. The citoyen must tell me if I 
 have done wrong." 
 
 "I hate black ! I loathe black ! Azure blue Is my true 
 color, as you know. You are a leprous fool ! Irritate me 
 again and I'll have your carcass flung in the pit, without 
 a preliminary embrace of the savior of men." 
 
 ^'Citoyen, dear good citoyen I was only ^joking," 
 stammered the unfortunate man. "Black is hideous wear. 
 
 Black would not suit Apollo, much less " he stopped, 
 
 working his mouth in a hideous imitation of a smile. . . . 
 Saints protect him! The least little slip might indeed 
 send him headlong into perdition. It would be like Robes- 
 pierre's humor to fling him alive into a swarming pit of 
 mangled bodies . . . like his humor. . . . 
 
 The tears started in Salicet's eyes. The beautiful 
 morning seemed to him a crowning piece of insolence 
 perhaps this was his last? 
 
 Robespierre cleared his throat noisily. "Silly ass, I 
 don't kill fleas especially useful fleas. You are the only 
 man in Paris who has the knack of dressing my head. Be 
 satisfied." 
 
 "I am overwhelmed with honor," said Citoyen Salicet, 
 actually so delighted at this affable statement that, 
 
TERROR 277 
 
 through his blanched lips, he whistled a popular air from 
 the music-halls. 
 
 Robespierre crossed to the dressing-table, in high good- 
 humor. "Dear, dear!" he said. "In this frightful pres- 
 sure of business I never have the opportunity of attending 
 places of amusement." (He carefully dipped his finger 
 into a pot of rouge and smoothed his lips.) "Are they 
 playing to full houses?" 
 
 "Packed. Paris has never been so gay. They have a 
 little piece on now, at the Theatre Michelet, which is at- 
 tracting enormous audiences. The citoyen must really 
 go and see it. It is rich ! rich !" 
 
 The barber as he spoke was busily powdering and pat- 
 ting his client's peruke, and adjusting his thin locks into 
 a scheme of unprecedented elegance. 
 
 Robespierre blinked at his powdery reflection in the 
 mirror. He was gratified that the theatres were doing 
 well. The crowds must be kept amused. A bored crowd 
 is often troublesome. Out of sheer weariness of spirit, 
 good-tempered people have been known to behave disgrace- 
 fully. Tired out, they will yell to no purpose except for 
 the delight of bawling. From bawling it is but a step to 
 rioting and fighting. Robespierre, out of national funds, 
 generously supported the drama. He had even proposed 
 getting Pierre Garat (conceited coxcomb that he was) 
 out of prison to sing to his admiring Parisians, who were 
 all foolishly delighted with the Bordelais singer. Robes- 
 pierre wanted more moving space for himself it would 
 be a good thing, surely, to get up a counter-attraction 
 elsewhere.^ Danton and Camille Desmoulins had, amongst 
 others opposed his kindly thought in the interest of the 
 public, but at the time he had waved aside the matter as a 
 piece of triviality unworthy of his attention. Later he 
 had signed the death-warrant of these two men culpably 
 dishonest because they had voted against him, and sullied 
 the fame of the Government with their jealousy. He had 
 also personally seen them die. Danton had borne himself 
 bravely, flinging back his great head, and, at the very 
 
278 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 last, had glared at him with contemptuous pity (save the 
 mark!). The winning man is surely deserving of envy? 
 On that day Robespierre had felt more than ordinarily 
 sure of himself. He had taken a keen and sensitive pleas- 
 ure in poor Desmoulins' unseemly behavior, had egged him 
 on to make a still further exhibition of his grief. Camille, 
 at sight of his weeping wife and family specially invited 
 for the occasion had mingled his tears with theirs, nay, 
 he had actually struggled to escape his sentence ! Paying 
 no attention to Danton's pleading: "Calm yourself, my 
 friend," Desmoulins' voice had rung out above the heads 
 of the gaping crowd a flattering concourse of absorbed 
 spectators: "O my wife, my well-beloved, I shall see you 
 no more!" . . . Eventually he had quieted down. To 
 Danton was left the final theatrical speech: "Samson, 
 thou wilt show my head to the people ; it is worth showing." 
 
 Robespierre tore at his dressing-gown. "Take it off," 
 he said. "I am choking! I want air space flight!" 
 
 Needless to say, the barber obsequiously obeyed. Dear, 
 dear, how changeable are great men, he thought, as, very 
 hurriedly, he repacked his little bag. He did not dare 
 speak. 
 
 Robespierre spat on the floor. 
 
 Someone gave a loud knock on the door. 
 
 Robespierre gave a quick jump. He bit his thumbnail, 
 jerked his neck round a trick of his and spoke over his 
 shoulder: "Come in." His voice sounded thick. 
 
 **Good morning, my dear friend. Why, how smart you 
 look! I thought I would catch you early, before you 
 went out. We didn't nearly finish our conversation yes- 
 terday." 
 
 And in walked Citoyen Tallien. 
 
 Tallien, at his worst and at his best, was more or less 
 dependent on others. He could crush heavily, like a big 
 stone accurately flung, but he had little or no real power. 
 He loved large efl'ects. He had wetted his fleshy lips, in 
 glad anticipation of the September massacres, and had 
 
TERROR 279 
 
 borne himself so foolishly at that dismal affair that much 
 of the responsibility for the gross entertainment will for 
 ever justly or unjustly cling to his memory. He did 
 not (as far as we know) swing a club himself, nor thrust 
 a pike at defenceless womanhood, but he was one of the 
 responsible factors of the carnage. We can imagine him, 
 whistling beneath his breath, at some handy street door 
 and exultantly (at a distance) following the rush of 
 action ; breathing heavily ; alive to the danger and the 
 triumph ever a coward, he, "the butcher of Bordeaux." 
 
 Not so to-day. He'd come into his kingdom and he 
 knew that his new spiritual clothes fitted him a marveille. 
 He and his former chief now shared, as it were, a per- 
 ambulator for two, the Revolution being an impartial, 
 deft-handed nurse. She made no difference between her 
 gifted children. ... In the train of this comfortable re- 
 flection, Tallien suddenly remembered the fate of his con- 
 freres, Danton and the brilliant, gentlemanly Desmoulins 
 for a moment he winced, and veiled his momentary alarm 
 by a cheap witticism. 
 
 "Extraordinary cheap living in Paris," he said, "when 
 the nation can afford to sell Notre-Dame^ for six pounds 
 ten shillings. I was passing the Cathedral this morning, 
 and was much amused at a notice nailed on the great door 
 to the effect that one Jean Pierre, an ironmonger, had, 
 by public auction, acquired the church, including all in- 
 ventories, for the said sum. Dirt-cheap, I call it." 
 
 "A very poor price," agreed Robespierre. "Churches 
 are a drug on the market. I put no reserve on Notre- 
 Dame. The man has probably got his money back in the 
 ironwork alone and the stained glass, they tell me, is 
 quite valuable." 
 
 "Is he going to pull it down?" 
 
 1 As late as 1833 the following inscription was affixed to the south- 
 ern tower of Notre-Dame: "National Property. For Sale." Dr, 
 Poumies de la Sihoutie. 
 
 Owing to a difference of opinion, the Cathedral only remained the 
 property of the ironsmith for a few weeks, when the nation bought 
 it back again. 
 
280 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 "I never meddle with an honest citizen's private prop- 
 erty. Maybe he bought it on that account." 
 
 "Citizen, it wouldn't surprise me at all, if presently 
 there was a boom in religion." 
 
 Robespierre eyed Tallien's rather florid coat and great 
 big splashing collar of bottle-green velvet before answer- 
 ing. 
 
 "Every rat has his deity," he said, lisping the words 
 with ineffable conceit. Then, sitting upright in his deep 
 arm-chair, he crossed his meagre legs, and spoke, quietly. 
 "I am going to apply for the situation," he said. 
 
 Tallien stared in very frank amazement, 
 
 "I intend to institute in my own person the glorious 
 reign of the Supreme Being. Naturally it is a foregone 
 conclusion, whom, in the first instance, the nation will 
 choose for this enviable post. They'll want a firm man. 
 Under my guidance as the Supreme Being, France will 
 weather the storm. She shall pray to me, and, when con- 
 venient, I will answer her prayers mhen convenient," he 
 repeated, tapping his fingers together. "It'll be no sine- 
 cure, my friend. But I am convinced it can be done by 
 reason, humane treatment, and ceremony. The people 
 love ceremony; the flare of colored lights and audacity 
 would appeal to their imagination they'll get their 
 money's worth in an ineffaceable feast of love. Love is 
 a supreme factor in life. France began by despising me. 
 She went on to fear me. She shall end by worshiping 
 me." A fanatical light gleamed in his light blue eyes. 
 
 "A most interesting programme," drawled Tallien, 
 yawning. "How you have changed, dear man ! I remem- 
 ber the time when your humility hurt me, positively hurt 
 me." 
 
 "I have changed," said the other dreamily. "It is not 
 so very long ago that I was obliged to break off my legal 
 business because I found certain formalities incompatible 
 with my conscience." 
 
 Tallien sighed unctuously. "You have passed that mile- 
 stone in your life," he said cheerily, "and passed it very 
 
TERROR 281 
 
 successfully. Ha, ha! jour scruples, by now, would not 
 cover a pin's head." 
 
 Robespierre bounded to his feet. 
 
 "And I'll go on to the bitter end!" he shouted. "Do 
 you think I care what you charlatans say.? I alone rule 
 France ! I am the deity of regenerated France. Through 
 me shall tribulation cease to be, and all manner of wicked- 
 ness. I can see peace ahead a purged and purified 
 country. Friends and foes alike shall die in the national 
 cause. Even you, my dear, dear Tallien, even you. Your 
 blood shall flow in a wave of rejoicing. What matters the 
 fate of the units, if the hallowed principles are left intact.'* 
 Religion and life are indissolubly joined together. I have 
 given the people great joy, but they shall know greater. 
 Death to traitors! Death!" He walked round the room 
 with outstretched arms, gesticulating and crossing himself 
 devoutly. "I am holy," he said, "holy!" 
 
 Tallien's big eyes dilated with fear. After all, he stood 
 leagues behind Robespierre in confounded impudence, 
 . What was his vanity compared to this maniac's idolatry 
 of himself? Had he brought the Catholic religion to 
 shame to install himself in its place.? The people craved 
 a divinity. They might accept Robespierre's monstrous 
 demand. They might dance round him in a frenzy of 
 fanatical delight, waving bloody pikes, as anchorites wave 
 their holy vessels. In this pandemonium, where was his 
 allotted place.? 
 
 Tallien's hand shook no nervous tremor, but a down- 
 right, obvious movement. He was frightened. The pleas- 
 ant April morning seemed alive with visible demons drag- 
 ging him down. . . . Look at Danton's fate a man of 
 resolute integrity. None could shake Danton, they'd 
 said and none could buy him. Robespierre, that little, 
 palsied, dancing satyr, had not only shaken him, but he'd 
 killed him. He had denounced him, and he had fallen, 
 fallen in the prime of life ; fallen not as a giant falls, but 
 like an insignificant cone from the great tree of life. The 
 
282 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 wind had passed over him and no one remembered his 
 place. . . 
 
 "Tallien?'^ 
 
 Tallien looked up and bowed very deferentially to the 
 little man in a sky-blue coat with a very white and very 
 well crimped wig set on his narrow head who now held 
 out a hot, damp hand of reconciliation to his friend. 
 
 "Forgive my impetuosity,'' he said, warmly. "I want 
 to hear more about yourself. I rather fancy at Bordeaux 
 the lion in love behaved indiscreetly. Remember a public 
 man has no privacy." 
 
 Tallien's blatant vanity was tickled by Robespierre's 
 reference to his love-affair. He smiled all over his big face. 
 He wiped his forehead with a large red silk handkerchief 
 patterned in yellow and green he was devilish hot. (An 
 interview with Robespierre generally left him either warm 
 or cold. .) Then he blew his enormous nose, gustily. 
 
 Robespierre observed him carefully. Certainly, this 
 erstwhile printer's devil had expanded into a very fashion- 
 able young man. His taste in jewelry was, however, vul- 
 gar. His hands were loaded with rings. His watch-fob 
 displayed immense diamonds. His cravat-pin one huge 
 pink pearl ^looked, somehow, like a boil, displaced from 
 his fleshy cheek. His face had grown fatter. His big 
 eyes had a rim of pink on each heavy lid they were blood- 
 shot, too. Probably excesses, in divers directions had 
 ruined his health, 
 
 Robespierre smiled. "Really I ought to scold you,'* 
 he said. "You are a dangerous young man." 
 
 Tallien, enlarged his smile, if possible. (Most of us 
 like to be called dangerous and young. Youth is precious, 
 and danger, under certain conditions, implies charming 
 potentialities.) 
 
 Tallien spread out his large hands and slowly twisted 
 a three-foiled diamond ring round his right index finger. 
 Then he looked up and said, with engaging frankness : 
 
 "As to that little matter, I plead guilty.'* 
 
 "How so.?" 
 
TERROR 283 
 
 ^'Ci-detmnt Fontenay was practically in a helpless posi- 
 tion at Bordeaux. I thought it my duty to look after 
 her." 
 
 "There is a limit to mercy." 
 
 Tallien laughed loudly. "True, but never to a woman's 
 demands." 
 
 "What did she want.?'* 
 
 Again Tallien smiled in a halo of very agreeable recol- 
 lections. So bright were they that they blinded him to 
 Robespierre's evident want of sympathy. "Love,'* he 
 said, "and love, and more love." 
 
 "And you could satisfy her, I suppose?" 
 
 "Good Lord, yes !" 
 
 "And incidentally, yourself.?" 
 
 Tallien utterly forgot his caution. "She is adorable!'* 
 he sputtered. "A woman in a million, beautiful, clever, 
 possessed of every virtue under the sun ! I assure you, if 
 you knew her better, you would grow to respect her. 
 Come over to my little place. I'll ask her to meet you at 
 dinner. Name your own day, citoyen, I know you are 
 a very busy man. We'll be delighted to see you, delighted. 
 She is a darling, and playful as a kitten, a dear little soft 
 kitten. You must be kind to her. I insist on kindness. 
 Remember she is as shy as a dove la petite. Promise me, 
 citoyen, to honor us at your very earliest opportunity. 
 Terezia shall feed you well and, if you still appreciate 
 music, she shall, after dinner, sing to you ^Les Trois Soeurs 
 en defile,* sl song in a thousand. . . ." Here Tallien sud- 
 denly became aware of Robespierre's lack of interest in 
 his hospitality. 
 
 A tremor chilled his vein of warm enthusiasm. The 
 pleasant little dinner the pretty little song, a reunion of 
 two lovers and a friend, faded as a dream which is told. 
 
 The two men looked at each other without flinching. 
 They wanted to tear out each other's secrets, to measure 
 each other's strength ; each wanted, if possible, to get the 
 other at a disadvantage. 
 
 Robespierre's icy glance changed into an expression of 
 
284 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 contemptuous disapproval. He spat on the floor once, 
 twice, thrice. 
 
 "I have put your mistress under observation," he said 
 briefly. "Last night I made out an order of arrest for 
 the citoyenne Terezia Carrabus." 
 
 Tallien jumped forward. "I tell you she is mine!" he 
 shouted, opening his jaws to their widest extent. 
 
 "I tell you she is mine !" mimicked the Dictator, mouth- 
 ing back again. "You little big worm! Stay where 
 you are! Remember, my very excellent deputy, that any 
 man is liable to pay, with his own life, for seditious lan- 
 guage. The sanctity of the State is inviolable." Robes- 
 pierre raised his eyes to heaven. 
 
 Tallien smoothed his windpipe with the index finger and 
 the thumb of his right hand. His big nails were very 
 bright and in need of cutting. 
 
 "She is innocent," he murmured, uncertainly. 
 
 "I think not. I consider the lady a dangerous person 
 to the community." 
 
 Tallien nodded. "No doubt you are right, cltoyen^^ 
 he said, still in that same strangled voice of his. 
 
 "No doubt, '^ agreed Robespierre smoothly, "we will 
 come to an amicable settlement later on. I have an en- 
 gagement this morning. For the matter of that, I can 
 offer you a very good seat if you care to see the show. 
 We have rather a notable execution on this morning that 
 of Elizabeth, Louis Capet's sister, you know." 
 
 Tallien bowed. "I thank you. You are very kind." 
 
 "Dear fellow! Don't mention it. What is the time? 
 Ten o'clock? We'd better be going. Samson is sulky if 
 he's kept waiting. He is sure to have a large attendance 
 this morning. It is a fine day, and people still take a 
 curious interest in the Capet family. Nothing dies so 
 hard as tradition. I assure you the widow's execution, 
 though spoiled by bad weather, attracted an enormous 
 concourse of sightseers. She was nothing to look at 
 any other old woman would have done in her place, except 
 for the name. Her spirit was broken at the trial, where 
 
TERROR 285 
 
 they certainly put her through some nasty questions. 
 How do you like my new hat? It is quaint, isn't it?" 
 
 "It is delightful," said Tallien vaguely, engrossed by 
 his own unpleasant predicament. 
 
 He watched his friend very carefully adjust the new 
 hat on his splendid new wig, and then take up a stick of 
 lip salve and gently stroke his lips. The eifect, probably, 
 wasn't an artistic success, because the Dictator with an 
 oath, rubbed the stuff off with a piece of rather dirty cot- 
 ton-wool. He only regained his composure after a sidelong 
 glance at himself in the mirror. Quite distinctly he mur- 
 mured to his bodyguard of invisible spirits, "I am Robes- 
 pierre . . Ro-bes-pierre !" His voice wailed across the 
 untidy room. He was evidently crooning a beloved litany. 
 
 "Yes," he said, taking up his walking-cane and a pair 
 of white kid gloves, made out of skins a la mode,^ "Louis 
 Capet's sister dies this morning. A stubborn creature. 
 She won't give us any fun, I promise you. The grand 
 air is tedious. Come along; I have promised to be pres- 
 ent, and it would not be etiquette to keep the good Eliza- 
 beth waiting. I am rather punctilious in these matters." 
 
 "Certainly," said Tallien, dully. "I suppose she is the 
 last of that particular lot?" 
 
 "Yes, except the children, of course. I don't approve 
 of killing children. The Dauphin has a very comfortable 
 home at the Temple, and presently he'll be apprenticed to 
 Simon, the shoemaker, and taught his master's trade.'* 
 
 "Of course," agreed Tallien, grinning at this piece of 
 exquisite wit. "Everyone knows how splendidly the king's 
 son is treated. Dressed in fine linen and purple every 
 day." 
 
 "I won't answer for the linen," interrupted Robespierre 
 facetiously, "but I'll swear to the purple." 
 
 He was alluding to the bruises on the little boy's at- 
 tenuated body. 
 
 1 "At Meudon," says Montguillard, "there was a tannery of human 
 skins; of such of the guillotined as seemed worth flaying; of which 
 perfectly good wash-leather was made, for breeches and other pur- 
 poses." 
 
286 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 The two redoubtable leaders of the Jacobins walked at 
 a quick pace, linked arm-in-arm, towards the Place de la 
 Revolution. The streets were very crowded with pedes- 
 trians and wheeled trafBc. It was a lovely day, warm and 
 exquisitely fresh. At No. 68, Rue St. Honore, a haw- 
 thorn tree, in full bloom, attracted Robespierre's admira- 
 tion. 
 
 "What a symbol of life to come !" he said, halting for 
 a moment, and pointing out the white blossom to Tallien. 
 
 A flower-seller drew his attention next. He smiled 
 kindly at the woman, gave her a coin, and selected from 
 her fragrant basket two bunches of violets. The one he 
 pinned in his own coat; and the other he presented to 
 Tallien. 
 
 "Dear friend," he said, "accept it as a mark of eternal 
 friendship. II faut faire ce petit sacrifice; for yourself, 
 if for no one else, you must denounce this nice lady of 
 Bordeaux. Otherwise consequences might be serious. I 
 am only giving you a friendly hint take it or leave it." 
 
 Tallien placed his bunch of violets in the button-hole of 
 his green velvet lapel, "Thanks," he said. "I'll take it." 
 
CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 Tp ALLIEN felt sick at heart. He took not the smallest 
 ** interest in ci-devant Princess Elizabeth's dull execu- 
 tion. He considered her farewell embrace of a former 
 lady of her court as being demonstrative and in bad taste. 
 Hadn't they sufficient time for kissing and hugging in 
 prison, without requiring to do so in public? He had 
 noticed a woman in the crowd lay aside her knitting- 
 needles and surreptitiously wipe away a tear . . . d d 
 
 cheap emotion ! And all for a ci-devant princess ! Women 
 were all alike undependable, not worthy of an honest 
 man's true affection. He must accustom himself to look 
 upon Terezia as a rose which has bloomed. He had gath- 
 ered the rose, worn it next his heart, tended it with utmost 
 care, and now the rose was dead, he'd have to fling it on 
 the dustpan and get a new one. 
 
 Tallien tapped his heavy cane on the rude flooring of 
 Robespierre's private box exactly facing the execution- 
 er's platform. . . . Lord! what a lengthy show! One 
 hundred and ninety-seven executions a mixed lot, most 
 of them pale, and speechless, like rather tattered rag-dolls. 
 One by one they mounted the platform. One by one they 
 were carried down a back way and thrust higgledy- 
 piggledy into a waiting cart. Tallien could just see, 
 round the corner, a distasteful procession of mean wag- 
 ons waiting for their unsavory loads. Even the drivers 
 looked grim and bored. Over all the fragrance of God's 
 perfect day. 
 
 By a mere chance, a company of swallows, probably 
 journeying north, had alighted on the highest post of the 
 scaffolding. There must have been twenty of them, plum- 
 ing their feathers trilling their love-songs, and looking 
 down on the great human beings ; these gifted, wonderful, 
 
 287 
 
288 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 august human beings who, naturally, intimidated little 
 birds. . . . 
 
 TalHen writhed on his hard wooden chair. The silence 
 around him was depressing, awful. Even Robespierre, in 
 the brilliant light of immortal spring, looked more than 
 usually green. He might have been an animated corpse. 
 . . Look now, that head (just being shown to the people 
 by Samson's assistant) was far more alive than he . . . 
 quite a pretty little face, too ; the eyes were wide open, 
 with a sweet and happy expression . . . extraordinary. 
 . . How would Terezia appear under the same circum- 
 stances.'^ They would be sure to pick her out for exhi- 
 bition. Samson had a pretty taste in female beauty. 
 
 By the living God! he would not participate in such a 
 foul deed! He loved her! His woman! His soul! His 
 life! His all in all! . . . He loved her ... he would 
 save her ... he would die with her, holding her lovely 
 mouth pressed to his adoring lips. A little dose of poison, 
 and the daylight would be forever shuttered. Probably 
 it was very comfortable in the deep, dark grave. He 
 would implore the House to give him, and Terezia, a 
 private place of interment. He would choose it himself, 
 miles away from tormented Paris, and in some little coun- 
 try churchyard, maybe under the guardianship of a young 
 hawthorn tree, they'd sleep forever. The tree would grow, 
 year by year, and expand and whisper over the tomb of 
 Love Everlasting. . . . 
 
 Tallien gave a huge sigh. 
 
 Then he perceived the beauty of the day and the awful 
 ugliness of death. He was not ready to die. He must (O 
 harrowing thought!) let Terezia take the strange journey 
 all alone. His loving thoughts would follow her along 
 the road. 
 
 "How are you? Nice to see you back in Paris, looking 
 so fit and well. Saint-Just is speaking stay and listen." 
 
 "Thanks, thanks, but I must fly. I have business in the 
 committee-room." 
 
TERROR 289 
 
 "m keep a place for you. They are sure to wrangle 
 sooner or later so amusing. Nice morning, isn't it?" 
 
 ^'Delightful," murmured Tallien, smiling at a cluster of 
 deputies, new and old. It was a time of quick promotion, 
 or as some said, of quick disgrace. Whatever the cause 
 of the lacancy, the House had to be filled and a jabber- 
 ing monkey-house it was ! 
 
 Tallien, trying to walk upright, swaggered out of the 
 hall, followed by many curious glances. Robespierre's 
 warm affection for him had been a matter of some specula- 
 tion amongst the members. All day he'd hardly allowed 
 him out of his sight. Together they had lunched after 
 witnessing the executions at Gaillard's, a noted place 
 for oysters and steak pies. After a protracted meal they 
 had walked, for half-an-hour, in the gay arcades of the 
 ci-devant Palais Royal, now the Palais Egalite, where 
 each gentleman had bought a trifling piece of jewelry 
 from Franchard. Robespierre had his favorite spaniel 
 tucked under his arm, and more than once he had been 
 observed to kiss the little dog, very tenderly. He always 
 kissed Niniche when exceptionally satisfied. 
 
 Then these two united friends had sat, side by side, 
 in the House, listening to the afternoon debate with pro- 
 found attention. Once or twice they had whispered to- 
 gether, and taken down hasty notes in their pocket-books. 
 
 Tallien walked into the committee-room, where some 
 dozen men sat round a large table, sparsely furnished with 
 a few documents. The room, though large, was badly 
 ventilated and lighted. 
 
 Robespierre looked up at his friend's entrance, with his 
 goose-quill suspended in his right hand. He was just 
 about to afiix his signature to the morrow's death-list. 
 A long blue sheet of paper lay on his desk, neatly filled 
 up with a great many names. 
 
 "I'll want you presently," he said genially to Tallien, 
 making room for him by his side. 
 
 Tallien sat down. 
 
 Every eye was fixed on him. 
 
290 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 Robespierre, very briefly, scanned the oflicial document, 
 wrote his name quickly at the bottom of the sheet and 
 handed it to a waiting clerk who took it with a deep bow. 
 
 "I am gratified," he said, "to be able to inform you, 
 citizens that the executions have been quadrupled. At the 
 present moment we have in Paris awaiting their trial, 
 some twelve thousand prisoners, all incarcerated on very 
 grave charges. I grieve to tell you, that, daily their 
 number is augmented by the admission of fresh criminals 
 of the deepest dye." 
 
 Robespierre sighed and, with his pen, absently drew on 
 his blotting-pad a little nondescript drawing. 
 
 No one answered this statement. 
 
 "Paris is a hotbed of vice," continued their leader, 
 in the same level, calm, matter-of-fact tone. "Citizens, 
 it is our duty to sink our individual differences, nay, our 
 very affections in our country's interests." He looked 
 at Tallien. "It is gratifying to hear such excellent re- 
 ports of the good work done in Bordeaux. According to 
 my able ally and dear friend, Tallien, the town is practi- 
 cally drained of seditious influence. He has not spared 
 himself in the exercise of his duty." 
 
 "I have done my best," said Tallien, modestly. 
 
 Robespierre thoughtfully rubbed his little pointed chin. 
 
 "Such unflinching honesty of purpose deserves recogni- 
 tion. I call for a vote of thanks for Citoyen Tallien." 
 
 Tallien held up a deprecating hand. "Citizens," he 
 said humbly, "I am but an instrument in the hands of the 
 Almighty, and my best reward lies in the calmness of my 
 conscience and in my sublime faith in the future." 
 
 Two or three voices murmured approval at such noble 
 sentiments, and one bewildered legislator whispered be- 
 neath his breath, "Dear Christ, forgive them, for they 
 know not what they do." No one heard this petition to a 
 Savior who, officially, no longer existed in France. 
 
 Robespierre sighed again ; perceiving his careless draw- 
 ing in front of him, he very carefully tore off the offend- 
 
TERROR 291 
 
 ing sheet, crushed it in his hand, and flung it into the 
 waste-paper basket. 
 
 "As jou know, citizens," he continued, "we have lately 
 been wounded in our most sacred feelings by malicious 
 rumors from Bordeaux. It gives me much pleasure to be 
 able to give you a fresh proof of Citoyen Tallien's un- 
 tarnished honor. To allay scandalous reports connecting 
 his good name with that of a somewhat notorious lady, 
 my friend gives us the lie direct by denouncing (he looked 
 at a paper on his desk) denouncing Citoyenne Terezia 
 Carrabus as a person dangerous to the community. Need 
 we question his disinterested motives? The lady has en- 
 joyed his virtuous friendship is it not so.?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Tallien, briskly. 
 
 "Of his own free will, for the good of our beloved 
 France, he renounces his friendship " 
 
 A murmur of sympathetic approval greeted these 
 words. 
 
 Tallien rose and bowed to the chairman. 
 
 "I denounce the Citoyenne Terezia Carrabus the di- 
 vorced wife of ci-devant de Fontenay, domiciled in Paris, 
 on the charge of plotting against the Government," he 
 said. 
 
 "Hear! hear!" 
 
 Robespierre wiped his eyes. Then he looked at Tallien 
 "Be so kind as to sign your indictment officially. Citizens. 
 I will want two witnesses below Citoyen Tallien's signa- 
 ture." 
 
 "Thank you," said Tallien. 
 
 Robespierre glanced at the attested paper which Tallien 
 formally handed to him. 
 
 "If the Carrabus is found guilty of the indictment on 
 which she is charged she shall be condemned to death," he 
 said. 
 
 Tallien bowed. 
 
 "You agree with me, citizen?" 
 
 "I agree," said Tallien. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 "DEING an exceptionally light morning, the blessed sim- 
 '^ shine was actually penetrating the very blurred win- 
 dow of Madame de Beauharnais, first-floor bedroom, which 
 she had the privilege of sharing with two other ladies. She 
 considered herself very fortunate in having secured a 
 lodging so much coveted on account of its privacy. 
 
 On the ground floor the apartments or dungeons 
 were all large, and consequently overcrowded; in some 
 of the rooms more than forty prisoners were confined in 
 close discomfort. 
 
 Madame la vicomtesse de Beauharnais ever a charming 
 optimist looked upon her privileges as far outweighing 
 her miseries. She had lived in this little box of a room 
 for over five months, and by this time she made light of its 
 poor ventilation after all, you couldn't expect prison 
 windows to open, and as to the wretched straw palliasse 
 which she shared with her two companions in misfortune, 
 it was dirty, certainly, but it did not actually walk away. 
 Well, yes, the wooden floor, she admitted, might have been 
 cleaner with advantage, but stone was infinitely colder than 
 wood. The soup was nasty, nasty, but remember, cheres 
 amies, that without soup they would expire not prettily. 
 Before a lady died of starvation she got very ugly and 
 thin so thin! (Madame de Beauharnais would demon- 
 strate the figure of a starving lady by means of one of her 
 precious hairpins, twisted into a spiral.) True, the want 
 of fresh linen was a great trial. Mais, que voulez-vous? 
 you had your capable hands and a piece of real soap. . . . 
 
 *^Terezia, Ninon, say what you will," said the charm- 
 ing Creole, taking up her one and only chemise from the 
 fcasia and wringing it out carefully, "we are extremely 
 
 292 
 
TERROR 293 
 
 fortunate. God is good, and Joseph is a darling. To 
 give us pleasure he has risked his head, and ours, seventy 
 times seven." (Joseph had procured them the tablet of 
 soap.) 
 
 One day this angel, in the disguise of a surly turnkey, 
 had brought his "favorites" (of course they were favor- 
 ites) a bunch of white lilac real white lilac. It was 
 before T^rezia was admitted to the restless intimacy of 
 Cell 306. 
 
 A week before her arrival Joseph had astounded the 
 viscountess and the duchess by this wonderful gift. As 
 they could not very well kiss Joseph they had kissed each 
 other, and, as water was as scarce as soap, they had 
 prudently watered their precious "garden" (it grew at 
 once into a marvelous, spacious, delicious garden) that 
 modest bunch of drooping lilac ^with their tears. They 
 had to cry it was so beautiful. 
 
 They hadn't the heart to throw away the garden when, 
 all too soon, it faded and drooped, and the little white, 
 perfumed honey petals turned a dingy brown. It was still 
 there on the window-shelf and all three ladies obdur- 
 ately refused to acknowledge that their garden had, prac- 
 tically, been a failure. Joseph did not dare cart in another 
 freehold a prison is full of jealousy and espionage and 
 scandal. He explained this to the ladies, when he called 
 them to have their dinner in the common hall . . . ugh ! 
 How Josephine, Terezia and Ninon loathed the dining- 
 room ineffectually lighted by dim lanterns, where the rats 
 and mice and spiders and cockroaches made free of their 
 poor finery with their indecent prison manners. The rats 
 at Les Carmes were the most offensive beasts on earth, 
 not even excepting Robespierre. 
 
 Across their little window the ladies had strung a line. 
 Owing to the exigencies of space, Monday was Josephine's 
 washing day; Thursday, Ninon's; Saturday, Terezia's. 
 It was Monday to-day a glorious Monday! Through 
 the grimy panes the young April sun shot a delicious 
 promissory note into the hearts of the prisoners. 
 
294 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 Josephine shook out her chemise and hung it on the 
 line. "When the sun is shining," she murmured, "there 
 is no reason to complain. The sun is the best doctor in 
 the world. Children, think of our friends of the dungeons, 
 condemned to perpetual darkness ai^d the perpetual so- 
 ciety of underbred people. All very well to talk of the 
 sisterhood of suffering I, for one, could never suffer a 
 vulgar woman. Imagine Blanche de la Tremouille's feel- 
 ings, being boxed up with that old shrew of a rag-picker 
 her late bailiff's wife. It is an outrage to our class to 
 denounce such creatures." 
 
 "I did not see Madame de Tremouille last night at 
 dinner," said Terezia Carrabus, dully. 
 
 Josephine, in the act of pulling out her stockings, let 
 them drop to the floor. "You are quite right," she said; 
 "she was not there." Tears welled out of her beautiful 
 eyes and coursed down her pale cheeks. "It hurts it 
 still hurts. Bah ! what nonsense philosophers talk in say- 
 ing you can grow accustomed to everything. It only 
 shows you what shocking nonsense clever people talk," 
 
 She picked up the stockings and shook them violently. 
 
 Madame la duchesse d'Aiguillon observed her anxiously. 
 "Pray be more careful, madame, they won't bear rough 
 handling," she said. 
 
 Josephine sighed, and, with a graceful gesture, wiped 
 away her iears with the back of her hand. Smiling, rather 
 forlornly, she held up her stockings to the light; they 
 were full of holes. 
 
 "I don't understand it," she said petulantly. "We 
 hardly ever take exercise, and, as a rule, I only put them 
 on for dinner. I will never again go to Fouchet for my 
 stockings, never!" 
 
 "Madame, I believe you," said Terezia, in the same 
 toneless voice. 
 
 She was seated on the one stool the room afforded, with 
 her head supported in her hands, looking the picture of 
 woebegone beauty. A week in prison hadn't taken her 
 hair out of curl, nor the peach bloom out of her com- 
 
TERROR 295 
 
 plexion, nor the surpassing elegance out of her splendidly 
 clean dress. She wore a dark shade of navy silk, with a 
 black silk sash and innumerable frills of real Valenciennes 
 lace. Round her bare throat was a gold chain, holding 
 a pendant set with one large aquamarine surrounded with 
 diamonds. On the shelf, beside the dismal lilac plantation, 
 lay an elegant hat trimmed with shaded blue feathers and 
 a touch of velvet. Against the dingy drab walls, scrawled 
 and splashed and defaced, that hat looked like a gaudy 
 peacock. Needless to say, Josephine had admired it im- 
 mensely, and had tried it on several times ^by the re- 
 flection of Madame d'Aiguillon's voice. They had no 
 other looking-glass but each other's kindly verdict. 
 Madame d'Aiguillon had much approved of the hat. . . . 
 
 Josephine very quickly and very daintily hung her 
 stockings on the line, and pattered across in her pretty 
 bare feet to Terezia ; kneeling down at her side, she im- 
 pulsively flung her arms round her neck. 
 
 ^'Petite,'^ she murmured, "of course you are feeling 
 nervy and altogether miserable. A week of this place is 
 torture ! I wanted to fly out of my skin after eight days 
 it is the truth now I am almost contented with this 
 little tinpot basin of life. And I don't really mind the 
 fleas ; after a time they grow so sick of you they don't 
 want to bite. I laugh at them ! Cheer up, Terezia, dar- 
 ling ! I know it is fearfully dull after all your gay doings 
 in Bordeaux, your nice parties and dresses and all that. 
 But really it is terribly exciting to hear the lists read 
 out at night. It is also agreeable to meet old friends and 
 new prisoners. We are always coming and going, hoping 
 and despairing." 
 
 Terezia gave a forlorn smile, and kissed Josephine on 
 the mouth. 
 
 "You are very kind," she said, "and very patient with 
 me." 
 
 "Not at all, I am only selfish. It is far better to try 
 and see the best side of everything. We can't get out 
 
296 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 or at least we don't want to under the circumstances 
 so we must just make up our minds not to grumble." 
 
 "I would like to scream." 
 
 "Well, scream you big, big donkey!" 
 
 Terezia laid her head against Josephine's shoulder. 
 "Everything is so frightful and unpleasant " 
 
 "Indeed you are wrong. What is the matter with this 
 room.? Haven't we got a treasure in Joseph.? How 
 amusing that he should have fetched you here. He is 
 quite an amazing man. One day he will burst in on us, 
 roaring, 'Cito^ermes, you are all at liberty! All Paris is 
 free, free of tyranny and bloodshed and horror!' Think 
 of it !" Josephine swayed forward and clapped her hands. 
 "I believe I shall *die of happiness," she faltered. "Smile, 
 madame ! Beauty can't afford to frown. You are getting 
 two ugly lines on your forehead. Your eyebrows are 
 shaggy. See." Josephine dexterously smoothed, with the 
 tips of her delicate fingers, Terezia's brows. . . "That's 
 better. You look perfectly lovely. Doesn't she, Ninon.?" 
 
 "Lovely," said the duchess. 
 
 Terezia smiled. 
 
 "Look here, you darling," said Josephine, jumping to 
 her feet. "If you promise never to complain again (after 
 all, you have got us!)^ I will give you my greatest treasure 
 on earth. I will, indeed I will ! I love making presents." 
 
 Josephine took a small parcel, carefully done up in 
 brown paper, from the shelf. Very solemnly she deposited 
 it in Terezia's lap. "Look," she said. 
 
 Terezia undid the parcel. 
 
 Josephine gave a little scream of delight, "Isn't it a 
 beauty.?" she cried. "So white, so soft, so clean. I have 
 kept it as the very apple of my eye. No, no I want you 
 to have it. You weren't so prudent as myself. I took 
 two pocket-handkerchiefs with me when I came here. I 
 put one, as you see, carefully away. . . ." Josephine 
 glanced at her personal effects hanging on the line. 
 "Dear, dear," she sighed, "I am such a very bad washer- 
 
TERROR 297 
 
 "How kind you are!" murmured Terezia. 
 
 "Let me feel it," asked the duchess. "Isn't it deliciously 
 white?" 
 
 "A perfect miracle," said Josephine. "Won't you 
 create a sensation to-night at dinner ! You will be smart." 
 
 "As if she was not always a picture," said Madame 
 d'Aiguillon. "And her clothes will last. I love that shade 
 of blue." 
 
 ''Pauvre Ninon, never mind," consoled Josephine. "By 
 candle-light dirty white always looks elegant." 
 
 "They would not give me time to change. As it hap- 
 pened, I was just coming home from dining with Aunt 
 Gabrielle." The duchess looked mournfully down at her 
 white satin dress, and held out for inspection a pair of 
 small white satin shoes with red heels and little red roset- 
 tes, sadly the worse for wear. The dress was trimmed 
 with silver lace, and rosettes of crimson velvet; it was 
 low-necked, and charmingly made but, alas, after six 
 months' daily wear and tear, what can you expect of white 
 satin, but dirt? Madame d'Aiguillon sighed deeply, and 
 tried to hide her tattered shoes. 
 
 "You vain puss," laughed Josephine, "you ought to be 
 prudent and take care of your clothes. As for me,'* she 
 declared stoutly, "I love pale blue taffetas, a jour (poking 
 her fingers through a new hole). They arrive," she said, 
 "they always arrive in unexpected places." She squeezed 
 Terezia's hand. "You'll last! Is it not so, my friend?" 
 (to the duchess) "Such durable stuff! I'll wager that 
 after six months she'll yet contrive to look distin- 
 guished " 
 
 "Six months!" screamed Terezia. 
 
 "There, there. I was only joking. Mayn't I have my 
 little fun, if it pleases me? I have been here six months, 
 and I know from personal experience that a joke is quite 
 as nourishing as ox- tail, soup, with plenty of port wine 
 in it. When you are hungry ^laugh. When you are sad 
 laugh. When you are cold laugh. When you are 
 ill ^laugh. Cherie, I am a famous doctor, and all my fees 
 
298 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 I take in kisses." (She kissed Terezia, and, rather than 
 leave Ninon out in the cold, she kissed her also.) "Dear 
 friends, please say that I am a perfectly delightful crea- 
 ture ! I am sickening of a dreadful complaint the want 
 of compliments and pretty speeches and love-making, 
 Chez nous, women only exist on love and kisses and sun- 
 shine." 
 
 Josephine pulled at her little corkscrew curls, clustering 
 round the nape of her swan neck. Never had a woman a 
 prettier arch to her throat than this exotic lady, nor 
 a prettier voice, nor a prettier instep, nor a prettier lack 
 of assertive talent. She was not clever. (If she had been, 
 Napoleon would never have fallen in love with her, and 
 never have been in the enviable position of crowning her 
 frailty Empress of the French.) But all this is a long, 
 long way off, down the vista of unimaginable years. 
 Josephine believed in fortune-telling, much as we believe 
 in fairy stories, loving their beauty without crediting their 
 truth. The vigorous beauty of life filled her ears (when 
 her thoughts were not otherwise engaged) as the swell of 
 the sea lapping a shingle beach. She heard it without 
 realizing the call of the deep, the strength of the waves, 
 or the storm asleep in a shell-tinted cloud. 
 
 Josephine stretched out her arm, and, taking her 
 wretched pillow off her wretched bed, she placed it on the 
 floor, at Terezia's feet. "I am tired of sitting on the 
 hard boards," she declared. "Tired of doing nothing." 
 She curled herself up on the pillow with inimitable grace. 
 
 Madame d'Aiguillon followed her example and sat down 
 on Terezia's other side. Each lady fondled one of the 
 new-comer's hands. A new-comer was always petted and 
 made much of at Les Cannes. 
 
 *^Let us tell each other stories to pass the time profit- 
 ably," said Josephine dreamily. "Wonderful stories, 
 magical as a starlit night at Martinique." 
 
 Madame d'Aiguillon sighed. "You begin," she said. 
 
 *^I can feel the wind blowing over the bay," said Ma- 
 
TERROR 299 
 
 dame de Beauharnais. "I can hear the birds singing in 
 the valley, and the ripple of a mountain stream, which 
 is always sweet and fresh. 
 
 "The sea is blue, the sky is blue, and the mountains are 
 blue, at Martinique," she continued. "Everything is blue 
 which isn't green or silver or rose or gold. Don't look 
 at that ugly gray wall, but imagine the splashes of vivid 
 color! The immense flowers crimson and violet. The 
 little houses, bright as new paint, with red roofs and 
 green shutters, built on the sloping terraces of a tropical 
 town. The narrow streets descending towards the harbor 
 are thronged with negresses, dressed in their holiday 
 clothes. Some, on the shady side of the street, are carry- 
 ing baskets of oranges and lemons; others are pushing 
 up the roadside loads of live fish, and bales of scarlet 
 cotton, or offering for sale green palm-leaf fans, and little 
 flutes made out of river grasses. When the night comes 
 home in a glitter of stars, young lovers will find each 
 other in the shadowy gardens, where the white roses, in 
 the moonlight, look like silver bells, and the red carna- 
 tions and the blue orchids like giant opals, hung on in- 
 visible strings. Below the garden the little waves will 
 murmur musically ; sea and earth are very close together. 
 Beyond the moonlit town, winds the white ribbon of a 
 road from St. Pierre to Mont Pelee. The most wonder- 
 ful fairy story on earth is dawn at Martinique, when the 
 blue sea is at full tide, and the laughing voices of the 
 children, just awake. . . . We are all children at heart, 
 when we are happy. How old are you, Terezia.? I am 
 ten, and presently I am going to ride up to the Gorge 
 des Oiseaux and breakfast on melons and grapes, at a 
 dear little shanty built of logs, where Aunt Clo' lives. 
 She is a witch, and she tells fortunes. Seriously she is 
 enormously wise! She has told me I am to be married 
 twice (poor dear Alexandre!) and that my fortune will 
 be finer than that of a real live queen ! What do you say 
 to such a piece of astounding good luck? When I am not 
 dreaming of Martinique blessed island ! I greatly fancy 
 
300 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 myself as a lovely empress, in perfectly splendid robes 
 an extravagant, popular empress, with all the world at 
 her feet." She stretched out her arms dramatically. 
 
 "And the emperor?" laughed Ninon. 
 
 "Darling, he is out of the picture. He is a man, any- 
 way, and he loves me to distraction '* 
 
 "And you return his love?" 
 
 Josephine made a delightful little grimace. 
 
 "It depends. Do emperors want loving? I don't know, 
 and I don't care. Anyhow, my train is real yards and 
 yards of silk velvet, embroidered all over with crowns, and 
 lined with miniver. Ninon, Terezia, you shall carry my 
 train! Remember, you have my solemn promise." 
 
 "Thank you," said Ninon. 
 
 "Thank you" chimed in Terezia (not quite so grate- 
 fully). 
 
 Each lady considered her own prospects. Terezia was 
 the first to break the silence, and chase an exquisite radi- 
 ancy from the duchess's tender blue eyes. (Ninon was 
 dreaming that she was the queen of her own nursery. 
 You see, somewhere pray God in safety she had her 
 darling Ninette and Charlemagne-Marie ; Ninette was four 
 years old, and Charlemagne would be two on May Day.) 
 
 "Can one dream here?" asked Terezia, laughing hys- 
 terically. 
 
 "Dream !" cried the startled Josephine, watching a flock 
 of sea-gulls rise from the coral reef, 
 
 "Dream!" cried Ninon, hugging her children to her 
 aching heart. 
 
 Terezia smiled. Perhaps It was not so absurd to fancy 
 things. 
 
 "Dream!" said Madame d'AIguIUon. "Why, we do 
 nothing else. We are dreaming all day long, and all night 
 long. We wake to dreams, which we have gathered dur- 
 ing the night such beautiful dreams. We live in our 
 dreams " 
 
 "Of the past?" asked Terezia. 
 
 **And of the future," said Josephine. 
 
TERROR 301 
 
 "We make our plans such sensible plans!" said the 
 duchess, gaily. "We buy new chemises, dazzling white; 
 and new stockings crowds of them, piles of them, and if 
 we discover a hole anywhere, a tiny, infinitesimal hole, we 
 throw them away at once! We creep into enchanting 
 beds. My bed is the very acme of comfort all hung in a 
 delicate shade of rose silk and snowy lace with great 
 downy, sweet-scented pillows and mountains of soft mat- 
 tresses. The sheets are of the finest linen, and the blankets 
 the blankets are exquisite, soft, warm, delicious." 
 
 "That is enough," said Josephine, stroking Ninon's yel- 
 low curls. "We can realize your bed, m^airde, without any 
 further embroidery. If you added so much as a warming- 
 pan you would overdo it." 
 
 Terezia kissed Ninon's hand. 
 
 "My bed is of course," said Josephine, with her grand- 
 est air, "a ve-ry royal one. All gilding and carving and 
 width and majesty. It is supplied with heavy curtains 
 gold brocade, I think. And there is a very marvelous 
 counterpane which has taken three years to complete " 
 
 "I couldn't wait so long," said Terezia, 
 
 "Silly child! It is an antique which has never been 
 used. It has been laid by on purpose there is nothing 
 extraordinary which hasn't its purpose ^in a cedar chest, 
 with layers of spices and rose-leaves, for more than a 
 hundred solid years. On second thoughts, I'll have it 
 wadded thickly with down eiderdown. Terezia, you 
 can't think how we suffered from cold this cruel winter. 
 Many times I was convinced I would shiver and shiver 
 until I died, sobbing in the arms of Ninon. Ninon tried 
 to be warm, but she couldn't. It was no use even pretend- 
 ing so we sat up in bed and cried. One night do you 
 remember, Ninon? two rats came out of their holes and 
 looked at us. We could see their eyes quite well in the 
 darkness. We left off crying to scream. Presently I fell 
 asleep envying the silly, greedy rats one night they ate 
 all the soap ! for their warm coats. Envy always makes 
 me hot so you see, even a sin isn't lacking in grace. 
 
302 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 . . . Where was I? In bed, of course! I'll never want 
 to get up. When my femme de chamhre brings me my 
 morning chocolate set out on a silver tray, with a plate 
 of saffron rolls dusted with sugar and chopped almonds 
 and, yes, a few currants I'll only shake my sleepy 
 head at her, and murmur 'Go away, please. Come again 
 another day.' She will drop a deep curtsy 'Madame!' 
 I won't even notice her as she trips out of the great white 
 doors, in a flutter of annoyance and pink ribbons." 
 
 Ninon shifted her position on the straw pallet and 
 displayed her little foot in its tattered slipper. 
 
 "What a treat it will 1>e," she said, "to be lazy and 
 warm. I am nearly always cold here. I expect I have 
 got a poor circulation. My mother always said I would 
 live to regret my dislike of porridge." Ninon sighed. "I 
 wonder, if I'd eaten it as a child, whether my prudence 
 would have kept me warm now?" 
 
 "Poor darling," murmured Terezia, noticing the little 
 duchess's wan cheeks. "We won't stand it a moment 
 longer than we can help. I have influential friends in the 
 outside world. When men fail, women must act. I wish 
 my voice could pierce these thick walls, and Robespierre's 
 power. We'll send him packing to the guillotine, and 
 every mother's heart in France will commend him to the 
 devil. He is at the back of all this misery." 
 
 Josephine jumped to her feet, "Vive I'Espoir!" she 
 called. "Vive I'Espoir! Who can I kiss? I must kiss 
 someone.'^ 
 
 "Let's dance, it will keep us warm," said Terezia. Her 
 eyes were shining; her cheeks flushed; her lips trembling. 
 She looked like a beautiful fury. Madame d'Aiguillon 
 looked only like a tired young girl, in need of a set of 
 new clothes and a good supper. 
 
 When presently the cell door opened cautiously, the 
 ladies were busy at the finishing touches of their evening 
 toilet. Josephine was always late for the dinner call, and 
 the turnkeys, as a rule, shuffled her in front of them, 
 
TERROR 303 
 
 regardless of whether she was in her stays and petticoat, 
 or less. Sometimes they made vile jests on her appearance. 
 
 To-night the ladieS were very nearly ready, and for- 
 tune favored them. They turned and faced the door, 
 each face alight with eagerness. Sometimes "darling 
 Joseph" summoned them downstairs. Joseph never came 
 empty-handed. If he had nothing else to give them, he'd 
 bring them a piece of news, a consoling speech, or a merry 
 word. 
 
 r Joseph!" 
 
 r' Joseph!" 
 
 ["Joseph!" 
 
 All three spoke together. 
 
 He looked a very different person from the fine gentle- 
 man who had forced his presence (if you remember) on 
 Terezia Carrabus, the evening of her unlucky arrival in 
 Paris. 
 
 Here he stood with his back to the door (which he 
 presently shut carefully), a hideous figure of depravity, 
 wickedness and patriotism. (A pure disguise, of course, 
 for his Christian intentions.) A red patch, like blood, 
 disfigured his left cheek. His hair was combed as the 
 wind combs a forsaken nest. His clothes were unutterable ; 
 his jack-boots steeped in mire evil-smelling his grimy 
 hands held a grimy lantern. His eyes beamed lovingly. 
 His bow was that of a perfect gentleman. 
 
 Followed by the fascinated gaze of three female wor- 
 shipers, he took out of his pocket a fairly large parcel, 
 a very small letter, and a loaf of bread, which he offered 
 to the ladies. 
 
 The ladies fingered the bread and sniffed at it, hardly 
 believing their senses. 
 
 "It is white," they said. 
 
 "It is warm," they said. 
 
 "It is delicious," they said. 
 
 "We will leave the parcel until later. Too much happi- 
 ness might kill us," said the practical duchess. 
 
304 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 ^'Citoyen^^' said Josephine, earnestly, looking at the 
 frightful man opposite her, "God will reward you." 
 
 "Forgive my appearance ladies. But here we must all 
 act, and dress up to the part of patriots, if we are to be 
 trusted. In other words, dirt, brutality and insolence 
 all make good marks. I am anxious to stand well with 
 the prison authorities," 
 
 Terezia did not listen to Joseph^s explanations. She 
 was busy reading the letter he had given to her. It was 
 from Tallien. 
 
 She stood close to the barred window; her hands trem- 
 bling, her head swimming. 
 
 It was a coward's letter, a liar's letter. 
 
 Down the passage the slamming of doors, and the vul- 
 gar voices of the jailers, told the ladies that they would 
 get no dinner if they didn't hurry. 
 
 Terezia put her letter in her pocket; she bit her lips 
 and looked mulish. "I have done my best to save you, 
 darling," he wrote (gushing at much length). . . . "Be 
 careful. Better not write. ..." Terezia made up her 
 mind she would write to Tallien directly after dinner 
 a good, strong letter. She had prudently smuggled into 
 prison a sufficiency of paper and ink. 
 
 She looked at Joseph. He would see to the safe delivery 
 of her message. He was in the plot, a rough plan of 
 action, as yet immature, but extremely suggestive of bril- 
 liant results, always supposing Tallien would act in self- 
 defence. She would efface herself and emphasize his per- 
 sonal danger. Even a mongrel leaps to bravery in his 
 hour of need. Tallien would act! 
 
 "Joseph! Are you there?" 
 
 A pasty-faced warder looked In at Cell 306. He car- 
 ried on his shoulder a narrow and extremely uninviting- 
 looking mattress; in places it was thin as an empty bag 
 ^in others lumpy as a sack of potatoes. 
 
 This shock-headed fellow pushed rudely past the ladies 
 and, without another word (except a lascivious curse), 
 he seized their poor bedding, rolled it in a bundle on his 
 
TERROR 305 
 
 shoulders, and flung down the deplorable substitute on 
 the floor. 
 
 *^Cito2/e7h,'^ said Josephine proudly, "what arfe jyou 
 doing? We will keep our own dirt, if you please." 
 
 "Can't be done. You are only two in here to-night. 
 Got a party of five arrived this afternoon, and they'll 
 have to have the larger bed. None of your bluff, Joseph, 
 and mind your own business." 
 
 Joseph thought fit to let the young man have his own 
 way. He very slowly wiped a spot of grease off his lantern. 
 
 The three ladies looked at each other. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 JOSEPHINE held up her petticoats and tripped down 
 the winding staircase with such haste that Terezia 
 and Ninon had quite a difficulty in keeping up with her. 
 The stairs were very steep, very dark, and very dirty. 
 Josephine always took them at a rush, holding her precious 
 handkerchief to her nose. She always entered the gloomy 
 semi-darkness of the dining-hall with some little remark 
 to the effect that she was either suffocating, or being 
 poisoned, or dying of fright. "B-rrr ! th^ gmells to-night, 
 citoyewnesl All the rats of Les Carmes are waiting out- 
 side for tit-bits. Yet I always say I'd rather meet a 
 hundred live rats than ten dead ones, any day.'* 
 
 Josephine was popular. Her gaiety was infectious. 
 All her friends would crowd around her. **Amuse us, 
 cherie," they'd say. "For ten very long hours we haven't 
 laughed." Josephine would shake her head. "And I 
 haven't ceased to laugh for ten minutes! Life is full of 
 amusement," she'd say. Madame de Beauharnais' un- 
 quenchable spirits were a standing joke at Les Carmes. 
 People trembled lest her name should appear on the list. 
 They couldn't afford to lose her, nor her wonderful 
 audacity. Fancy played with Terror! 
 
 They were all playing a game, a game of good man- 
 ners, and, above all, a game of ignoring unpleasant facts. 
 Otherwise a great many of these high-born delicate women 
 would have cheated the guillotine. They would have suc- 
 cumbed to bad food, bad air, and bad language. As it 
 was, they preferred to give life every chance, ignoring the 
 insolence of their warders, and their many privations. 
 There is no plant of such vigorous growth as human hope. 
 Even the Lists did not appal them. They could always 
 die ^as aristocrats. (They did die splendidly.) God was 
 their very good friend. 
 
 306 
 
TEllIlOR 307 
 
 Josephine rarely expounded her theories on death she 
 much preferred to dwell on life. Yet, if the subject came 
 uppermost, she always evinced proper contempt for the 
 canaille. When her dearest friends stood up to face their 
 last ordeal, she invariably clapped her little hands 
 probably quite soundlessly as an encouragement. 
 
 "Good-bye," she'd say her eyes very bright. "When 
 you arrive, give my love to So-and-so." (So-and-so hav- 
 ing left their select company maybe a week or two ago 
 maybe yesterday. In this exquisite stagnation no one 
 remembered dates.) 
 
 Madame de Beauharnais' lively society was much in 
 request. "Madame, have the goodness to come over here 
 my sister is greatly depressed this evening. She cried 
 all last night. We did all we could to comfort her, but 
 she only cried. ..." 
 
 And away Josephine would rush, maybe leaving her 
 dinner to get cold in her hurry to comfort a sufferer. 
 
 This evening she was the centre of interest to a little 
 coterie who had selected as their reception-room the left- 
 hand corner of the big room. The women sat very close 
 together on a plank, shiftily placed on two trestles, their 
 men-folk standing up behind them against the horrible 
 wall, which here met the sloping ceiling at a very low 
 angle. In fact, M. le marquis de Vielcoque who stood 
 six feet three in his stockings leaned his unpowdered 
 head against an ancient cross-beam, mouldy with age, and 
 vermin as he talked with Terezia and his cousin, Ninon 
 d'Aiguillon. 
 
 The duchess drooped her pretty head and stirred, with 
 a rough wooden spoon, the contents of her tin basin. 
 
 "I am not hungry to-night," she said. 
 
 There was a very poor light in the great hall, but the 
 tall marquis could quite distinctly see that his cousin was 
 not looking herself. She was strangely flushed, and he 
 remembered, when he had kissed her hand, how hot it had 
 felt to his lips. 
 
 "You are not sickening for measles, or anything, 
 
308 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 Ninon?" he asked quite sternly. He was genuinely fond 
 of Ninon, but she was a silly little girl for all that. 
 
 The duchess sighed. "Oh, no, Victor. I have had them. 
 I think I caught cold yesterday, maybe in the garden." 
 
 He looked at her bare shoulders. "You might have 
 borrowed a cloak." 
 
 "I might, but I didn't," she returned meekly. 
 
 Once a week the prisoners were taken out, in batches 
 of a hundred, and exercised in the yard, a small open space 
 surrounded by the menacing walls of the old prison, and 
 not of a particularly lively aspect. The air, though com- 
 paratively fresh, was still very tainted. A slaughter- 
 house stood close by, and a tannery, whose very name 
 made the aristocratic ladies feel uncomfortable, where 
 operations were carried on in a gloomy building, the chim- 
 neys of which could be seen, taking up an unfair propor- 
 tion of the visible blue sky. Ninon had once been out on 
 a winter night when the snow had covered the filthy yard, 
 a fresh, clear, cold winter night. As an attractive jest 
 the jailers in charge had aroused some of the prisoners, 
 and marched them out in the middle of the night. From 
 the guard-house, behind a handsome fire of logs, the men 
 had watched the ill-clad "denounced" parade the exercise- 
 ground, marching after each other in regulation single 
 file . . ten times forwards right about turn, ten times 
 backwards . . . this was to prevent giddiness. The court 
 was circular, and so high were the walls it resembled an 
 enormous funnel. Above was the starlit sky. It had 
 been a miraculous night. All the prisoners had been vis- 
 ibly delighted by this unusual favor. The ribald laughter 
 of the jailers died away, as their gorgeous fire, leaping 
 less high, smouldered down to glowing cinders. Their jest 
 had miscarried. Why, the devil! the accursed aristocrats 
 were pleased, whereas they ought to have shuddered, if 
 they had been at all natural! Sulkily the head jailer 
 our friend, Mr. Dignity sounded his horn. In ^ve min- 
 utes the stars, shining ov^r Les Carmes, were left without 
 a single worshiper. 
 
TERROR 309 
 
 Ninon remembered that night's exceeding beauty, though 
 her ridiculous white satin shoes came home, to Cell 306, 
 none the better for an hour's tramp in the snow-slush. 
 
 Terezia Carrabus, in all the glory of her "sensible" 
 dress and her fresh coloring, looked quite vulgar beside 
 Ninon. If M. le marquis had been less of a gentleman 
 and more of a poet, he would certainly, in a peevish spirit 
 of jealousy (as we have said, he was very fond of the 
 little Ninon), have likened her to an opulent cabbage rose 
 flaunting in the same bowl as a handful of pale lilies. The 
 marquis was a gentleman, but not a poet. He could not 
 help admiring Terezia's appearance. The solid dignity 
 of her dress and the vivid beauty of her healthy face im- 
 pressed him very favorably. She was an amazing picture 
 of unconquerable vitality. . . . Her name could never 
 stand on the List. Never! 
 
 "Monsieur?" 
 
 "Madame?" 
 
 Terezia held out her tin basin, the marquis bowed, took 
 it from her hands and walked across the unutterable floor, 
 placing the bowl on a tray heaped with similar bowls, 
 battered, dirty, and all more or less untouched. 
 
 There were occasions when no one had any appetite 
 at Les Carmes. Rabbit soup was a questionable dish. 
 What were the ingredients? It wasn't etiquette to ask 
 questions at Les Carmes except, of course, queries which 
 politeness exacted. "Have you slept well, madame?'* "I 
 hope, monsieur, your cold is better?" "You will repeat 
 that delightful song?" "Mademoiselle, how do you manage 
 to look so charming?" "And you, madame, by what 
 
 miracle of grace " ' They were hardly questions, but 
 
 dear old platitudes which never grow stale. A kind 
 thought, a kind compliment, a kind smile be they ever 
 so hollow are worth a lexicon of honest opinion not so 
 pleasantly framed. 
 
 Nothing was allowed to mar the dinner hour. In that 
 strange, rather pathetic assembly everyone seemed, if not 
 
310 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 happy, at least lazily content. (Every woman present 
 was more or less thankful for the blessed darkness.) 
 
 Josephine spread out her tattered skirts sitting at the 
 further end of the crowded bench as if they had been 
 very superior garments. Her gay voice, musical as a 
 bell, was easily distinguishable above the whispers of the 
 general company. She faced a dim lantern, standing on 
 the soiled table, at her right. Her pale, mobile face 
 looked delicate as a cameo a little knot of black velvet 
 at her throat ; her russet hair drawn back from her fore- 
 head, partly hiding her ears. Her beautiful eyes were 
 warm with sympathy and attention; she was listening to 
 one of old Madame de Rochenoire's very old stories. 
 Josephine had heard it many times before, but her inter- 
 est never failed. She held the old lady^s fragile hand in 
 a friendly grasp. 
 
 "Really!" said Josephine. "How astonishing! . . ." 
 
 A bell clanged sombrely. 
 
 An indefinable change came over that well-trained 
 assembly. If possible, the ladies drew a little closer to 
 each other. The men stood at attention. Every eye was 
 turned towards the barred doors. Fate was standing 
 outside. Fate in the hideous shape of a callous man, who 
 carried an official list in his hand. Sometimes it was 
 shorter sometimes longer. When he had read it he 
 marched out, passive as a malignant shadow. Some- 
 times he blew out the lantern he carried suspended on his 
 chest by a leather trap sometimes he forgot. 
 
 He marched out behind a selected number of victims. 
 Each had answered to his or her name. Each had taken 
 an affectionate if necessarily short farewell of their nearest 
 and dearest, and bowed gracefully to the general company. 
 
 It was all very orderly, very formal, very heartbreaking. 
 Yet not a murmur, not a protest, scarcely a tear. . . . 
 
 When all had passed beyond, the great door shut. 
 
 The new-comer took up his position, in front of the 
 table which stretched across one end of the room. 
 
TERROR 311 
 
 The master-cook, who had ladled out his appetizing 
 soup, and who had only laughed when the plates came 
 back practically untasted, rapped his shining carving- 
 knife on the splashed boards, and laughed until the tears 
 poured down his sooty, sweating cheeks. 
 
 He always waited for the reading of the Lists. He was 
 rather new to the place and, so far, he had betted 
 rather successfully on the evening's selections. He gave 
 Joseph a sly glance. Joseph always lost his money. 
 
 Joseph returned his wink in a breezy, familiar style. 
 In public Joseph earned his good marks with those in 
 authority at quite an alarming rate. He would tickle 
 the warders' gross humor by a display of wit still grosser. 
 He would cap their insults by blasphemy, laugh in the 
 ladies faces, snap his fingers under the very noses of the 
 gentlemen, blunder upon sacred confidences. 
 
 Sometimes, as a slight reward for such rollicking fun, 
 Joseph was allowed to read the List. 
 
 The room was always intensely quiet when Joseph 
 after a preliminary word or two ^began to read. He did 
 it so inimitably. The warders would nudge each other 
 and shrug their shoulders ; the prisoners would watch his 
 depraved countenance with great, startled, hopeful eyes. 
 He was a shocking bad hand at deciphering writing. One 
 might almost imagine, to cover his ignorance, he intro- 
 duced fancy names "Citoyen Grasshopper! Who an- 
 swers to the name of Citoyen Cockrobin Grasshopper?" 
 No one. There was not such a name on that particular 
 night at least at Les Carmes. So Joseph erased the name 
 off the fatal list. "Died of fever," he said casually. No 
 one laughed. Then he would call maybe for Mrs. Chair- 
 back, Mr. Dishcover, Miss Mittens and Miss Ribbon-tie 
 or any other fantastic combination of empty sound. 
 . . . No one laughed. The ladies might breathe a shade 
 deeper, and their eyes might glow with tears or laughter 
 who knows? (Anyhow, they are closely related.) 
 
 He'd do brilliantly for a time, but even Joseph could not 
 save them all. Now and again his summons was quickly 
 
312 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 answered. "Citojen, ci-devant comte Henri de Dedai- 
 geux!'' And immediately some elegant gentleman would 
 stand clear of the little crowd, and answer to his name 
 with calm politeness. 
 
 Joseph would ask him to join his fellow-prisoners, who 
 were to be brought up for their trial on the following 
 morning. 
 
 To-night Joseph was not allowed any privileges. The 
 man who held the sheet of stiff parchment had refused to 
 part with it. "None of your horse-play," he said roughly 
 ^as Joseph offered to relieve him of his trouble. 
 
 It seemed as if a tinge of melancholy fell on the com- 
 pany. Even one or two of the warders spat angrily on the 
 floor. "It is getting beyond a joke,'' one big man mur- 
 mured audibly. "Blast my tongue, but I'm sick to death 
 of blood." 
 
 The aristocrats, even though hope burned very low in 
 their hearts, smiled gently. 
 
 The man read out a goodly number of names some of 
 them very distinguished. The little group, gathering by 
 the great door, seemed to expand at an alarming rate. 
 
 **Quicker there!" said the surly official. "I'm in a 
 hurry to-night.'* 
 
 *'Au revoir, madame," said the tall marquis, bowing to 
 T^r^zia. "I've been charmed to make your acquaintance." 
 
 Terezia held out her hand. *^Au revoir, monsieur," she 
 said, dully. Surely it was all a hideous dream? 
 
 Ninon, who had risen, was looking up at her handsome 
 cousin in a bewildered manner. She had a thousand mes- 
 sages to give him, only she couldn't remember them. 
 
 "Take care of yourself," he said, turning towards her. 
 "My love to the babies. I promised Ninette a doll get 
 her one, will you? And this little ring, will you wear it, 
 Ninon, sometimes?" 
 
 "Thank you very much," said Ninon, slipping the 
 marquis's ring on her finger. 
 
 "Citoyenne, veuve Roche-noire !" 
 
TERROR 313 
 
 Josephine helped the old lady to rise, and kissed her 
 with great tenderness. 
 
 ^^Au revoiVy madame. Here is your scarf. A thousand 
 thanks for all your kindness.'* 
 
 "Citoyenne, ci-devant duchesse Ninon d'Aiguillon !" 
 
 "Wait a moment, Victor," called the little duchess. 
 *'We are going out together. . . Don't cry, Terezia. 
 Take care of Josephine. , . ." 
 
 Terezia rushed forward tall and tragic. "It's a mis- 
 take," she called loudly "a hideous mistake!" 
 
 Joseph, who had been looking over his confr^re^s shoul- 
 der, snatched roughly at the list. 
 
 "Dunder-headed ass !" he said, savagely. "Where are 
 your spectacles? Can't you read properly.? I'll report 
 you for inattention to duty. They'll snap your head off 
 like a dry twig you bloody fool!" 
 
 The man glared. 
 
 "Read for yourself! I'll denounce you to-morrow for 
 complicity in crime!" 
 
 Joseph bawled without the least hesitation: 
 
 " 'Citoyenne, ci-devant dowager duchesse d'Aiguillon !' 
 Criminal ! Would you condemn a suspected woman rather 
 than own up that you didn't go to school.?" 
 
 The master-cook gaped. He had lost five francs. 
 "There's some mischief at the bottom of this," he said. 
 
 "It is all one to me," said the turnkey surlily, with a 
 frightful oath. "Have it your own way. Come on, you 
 skittish dowager!" 
 
 Here a pock-marked jailer stepped forward. 
 
 "Cell 162. She is dead," he said. "Buried last week." 
 
 Josephine clapped her little hands. 
 
CHAPTER XLI 
 
 npHE old prisons of Paris have long since passed into 
 ^ the annals of ugly tradition, Les Cannes, La Force, 
 Le Temple, not to mention the historic Bastille, which the 
 dawn of the Revolution sacrificed to the spirit of revolt, 
 all have been razed to the ground. 
 
 Many times did Robespierre regret the destruction of 
 the Bastille. He could have filled it many times over. 
 Alas, in June, 1794, Paris was a hot-bed of vice, sedition, 
 and terrible menace to the delicate, new-born State 
 freshly calendared, freshly named, nursed by a demi-god 
 in blue clothes. 
 
 It was quite difficult to find accommodation for these 
 wicked people. Sex was no hindrance to unspeakable plot- 
 ting. Youth was no bar to soiled lips, infamous with 
 intolerable language. Quite young girls, well-brought-up 
 girls, girls who ought to have known better, had been heard 
 (and very properly denounced) pitying a class which had 
 gone under a class which no longer existed in France! 
 Only their shadow remained, to cast, as it were, a golden 
 halo at the feet of Robespierre. In his own imagination 
 he towered over the Jacobins as a full moon illumines 
 the night. 
 
 In that blessed month of June, Robespierre reached the 
 summit of his ambition. Fear and love, joining hands, 
 worshiped him. Fear controlled love though he, ten- 
 derly, gave precedence to love. 
 
 In the happy month of June Robespierre was often 
 troubled by insomnia. He was continually fighting 
 shadows. They crept around his narrow bed, and gath- 
 ered around the night-lamp emitting dim pink lights 
 through a ruby globe. The lamp was suspended to the 
 
 314 
 
TERROR 315 
 
 ceiling of the alcove by thin gilt chains and hung directly 
 over his head. At most times the tinted light fell on his 
 inquiring face. 
 
 From sleep he did not hope for forgetfulness. Sleep 
 visited him in the watches of dreams, tainted as the lives 
 of those wicked people he was trying to exterminate. 
 
 Many of the dead visited him under the ruby lamp 
 (which burnt until daylight), and scoffed at him. He 
 could hear them laugh and jeer, and treat him with ig- 
 nominy. "You man!" they said. "You little coward- 
 man ! You are not a god ! Sky-blue clothes don't trans- 
 figure guilty flesh into divinity! In sin you were born, 
 in sin you will die. . . ." 
 
 And the voices of the mocking dead (so recently alive) 
 pricked him as the touch of steel. He would wake and 
 stare beyond the ruby lamp in a cold sweat of terror 
 he had meant well ! He had meant to cleanse France ! 
 To leave a white corner on earth, furnished with great 
 love and greater discernment. ... If your right hand 
 offends you, cut it off! It was a sound doctrine. In the 
 old days the prophets had spoken, when Jove roamed the 
 earth in flames of celestial fire. . . . Jehovah, before him, 
 had wiped the world clean of ancient abominations. . . 
 
 Robespierre would sit up in bed his crumpled sheets 
 horridly damp liis nightshirt open on his hairy chest 
 his glittering eyes filled with the madness of creation. . . . 
 
 "God of Israel!" he would cry. "I am Thy chosen 
 instrument! I will purify France! Love me, God! for 
 love is good !" 
 
 So he babbled, drunk with achievement and swollen with 
 pride. He was convinced that in his little ague-stricken 
 frame true power and greatness dwelt. From regenerated 
 France his mind, circling the living world, leaped in one 
 bound to a regenerated earth. He was greater than 
 Alexander, greater than Caesar, greater than Charlemagne. 
 ... He had overthrown monarchy and raised the people 
 to their rightful status. He saw the surface of his world 
 neatly parceled into little holdings of equal value, and 
 
316 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 destitution and hunger and slavery vanishing before jus- 
 tice, as night mists vanish before the morning sun. . . . 
 
 Yet the dead laughed aloud. They would circle round 
 his narrow bed and laugh. He recognized grinning faces 
 which once had been pleasant faces faces of friends de- 
 nounced ; faces of enemies traduced ; faces of utter strang- 
 ers, done to death an astonishing gathering of mocking 
 spirits, all of whom he had hounded out of life, to satisfy 
 his own lustful policy. 
 
 Robespierre would gnash his teeth in impotent rage, 
 and mutter words. 
 
 "The innocent shall suffer for the guilty unto the third 
 and fourth generation.'* 
 
 A smile would light his weary eyes. He was justified 
 in his actions, more than justified! 
 
 Once, as in a dream dimly, he saw an ornate, stately 
 carriage, swung on high springs, rolling along the king's 
 high-road, furnished with liveried servants and richly 
 caparisoned horses. There were ten horses and ten ser- 
 vants ministering to the pride of a feeble peer of France. 
 He remembered the popinjay inside his swinging carriage, 
 swaying with the easy springs as the great wheels rolled 
 over an obstruction on the public road. The horses had 
 floundered into a group of peasant children ^knocking 
 some over, killing others. Neither horses, nor flunkeys, 
 nor lord had been inconvenienced by the incident. 
 
 "Revenge!" he'd cried, "unto the third and fourth 
 generation !" 
 
 He would twist his blistered tongue over his cracked 
 lips and howl at the impotent shadows. Dawn was ever 
 an immense distance off. He would choke with the terror 
 he had evoked. ... It struck him with hideous certainty 
 that the people's condition, on the whole, had not materi- 
 ally improved. Hunger still stalked in Paris, precisely 
 as it had done in the old days prior to the revolution. 
 And unrest. And thanklessness. And bitter envy. And 
 sorrow. . . . Yet he had touched the heart of Hope. 
 
TERROR 317 
 
 . , . His conscience was as clear as an untainted 
 brook. . . . 
 
 On this comfortable reflection, he would fall asleep to 
 be visited by dreams. 
 
 It was on the following Monday, Decadi, 20th Prairial 
 (8th June, old style), that Citoyen Tallien was disturbed, 
 just as he was going to the executions, by an unwelcome 
 visit from Joseph. 
 
 He looked at his big gold watch and rattled all the 
 multitude of seals and ornaments hanging to the massive 
 gold chain, in a peevish spirit of impatience at this un- 
 timely interruption to his agreeable duties. Joseph was 
 a good fellow, no doubt, and brave, and all that, but he 
 was apt to worry Tallien. The very sight of this man 
 discreetness itself made him realize uncomfortably the 
 predicament of his mistress. Of course it was not agree- 
 able for her (poor darling) to be shut up at Les Carmes, 
 in daily expectation of her trial and subsequent execution. 
 It was a miracle she was still alive, considering Robes- 
 pierre's business-like methods. As a matter of fact, 
 Tallien had had to walk very circumspectly to avert sus- 
 picion falling on himself. He had let the weeks slip past 
 at heart furiously angry at Terezia's imprisonment, 
 but outwardly complacently "just.'* 
 
 To be just is always a very excellent quality in a man, 
 and it was particularly so in Prairial, 1794, 
 
 *'I'll see him," said Tallien, to his servant Pierre a 
 discreet person. 
 
 "Very good, citoyen,^* 
 
 The man placed Tallien's silver-braided hat and a pair 
 of yellow chamois gloves (old-fashioned skins) on his 
 dressing-table. 
 
 At that moment the buhl clock on the ma,ntelpiece 
 struck half-past ten. 
 
 Tallien yawned, flicked out the folds of a clean linen 
 handkerchief and blew his nose. 
 
 He was feeling tired after yesterday's orgy. It had 
 
318 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 been a tawdry show, on the whole, and, as the Supreme 
 Being, Robespierre (for all his fine clothes) had struck 
 a false note, the statue of Wisdom, in spite of its mon- 
 strous size, had looked unconvincing and ludicrous. Even 
 the fireworks had refused to go off. There had been a 
 crowd, certainly, a yelling, excited, shabby crowd, but the 
 Supreme Being had not attracted the best people to his 
 initial birthday party. Truth to tell, he had cut a su- 
 premely ridiculous figure. 
 
 Tallien yawned again. He could only spare Joseph a 
 moment. The guillotine had been shifted from the Place 
 de la Revolution to the suburbs of Saint Antoine, to please 
 the Republic the finicky Republic which no longer loved 
 the sight of tumbrils in the elegant quarters of the city. 
 
 Robespierre, instead of cutting off the heads of these 
 sensitive plants, quietly gave in to them. For the last 
 month or so the guillotine had rolled round Paris like a 
 threshing machine traveling from farm to farm. It was 
 tiresome for the sightseers, sometimes necessitating long 
 journeys, and always hindering operations. There were 
 over twelve thousand prisoners in Paris waiting their 
 turn. 
 
 Tallien felt aggrieved and cross, and, yes, nervous. The 
 Supreme Being had treated him with scant courtesy last 
 night. What an intolerable little bounder he was, with his 
 jargon of godship and his painted face and his glib 
 tongue, coated with lies ! 
 
 "My dear Joseph," said Tallien, "shut the door, please. 
 I hate draughts. Besides, one can't be too careful. Be 
 thankful you escaped that ridiculous exhibition last night. 
 Robespierre is the biggest fool in Paris and the most 
 careful." 
 
 Joseph came over to Tallien and looked at him earnestly. 
 
 "What are you staring at?" asked that worthy fret- 
 
 "I was wondering how long you intend to sit still with 
 your hands folded." 
 
 Tallien drummed his fingers on the table. "Sit down." 
 
TERROR 319 
 
 Joseph accepted his invitation. "You have got the 
 chance of doing a big thing." 
 
 "It is too risky." 
 
 "It is quite worth your while." 
 
 "My dear fellow, ten per cent, of the people howling 
 round Robespierre last night still believed in him." 
 
 "Denounce him." 
 
 Tallien's upper lip quivered. His big eyes stared at 
 Joseph's clean face and clean coat without noticing the 
 extraordinary change in his appearance. 
 
 The fact was that Joseph was on his way to see his 
 mother, if you remember the old lady who didn't believe 
 in the Revolution and consequently he had put on his 
 best clothes and his most guileless manner. His mother 
 would kiss him, and ask after his health, his work and 
 his amusements, and Joseph would, of course, satisfy her 
 on every point. Then they would talk of his soldier 
 brother, who served under General Bonaparte. And he 
 would drink three cups of his mother's excellent coffee. 
 , . Joseph wondered if her roses were doing well. He 
 felt in his pocket to reassure himself that he had not 
 forgotten a packet of Essler's noted fly-killer, which his 
 mother, on his last visit, had particularly requested him 
 to bring her. She had heard excellent reports about this 
 preparation, and had said that she would like to give it a 
 trial if it wasn't too expensive. Joseph had assured her 
 it was quite cheap. And his mother had answered him, 
 smiling at him from her comfortable arm-chair, that she 
 for her part liked to keep pace with the times. 
 
 "It is a competitive age," she had observed, "such that 
 I, in my little corner, am seriously aware of it." She 
 was alluding to the suicidal price of groceries. . . . 
 
 Tallien looked at his elegant boots with moody distaste. 
 
 "Denounce! Denounce!" he said. "All very well for 
 you to talk! It is very easy to bell the cat, in the ab- 
 stract. A charming proposition!" 
 
 **It is more than charming. Brace yourself together, 
 man. There are more than twelve thousand " 
 
320 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 "Stuff and nonsense! Who cares a damn for those 
 beastly whining prisoners? a jumble lot; some of them 
 the very dregs of Paris.'* 
 
 "Citoyenne Carrabus among them. By the way, she 
 seems annoyed at your dilatory behavior.'* 
 
 "She never possessed a shred of patience.** 
 
 "I wonder." 
 
 "Well, of course, I own she is suffering hardships at 
 present, and bearing them very well, too. Anyhow, she 
 has the assurance of my love and consideration." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 '*Love IS everything to a woman.'* Tallien smiled com- 
 placently. "She is, on the whole, a lucky little woman. 
 How is she looking?*' 
 
 "Pale." 
 
 "Does she keep up her spirits ?*' 
 
 "Her indignation against you acts very beneficially." 
 
 "She is very beautiful. You know, I saved her life at 
 Bordeaux '* 
 
 'Won't help her in this case- 
 
 "My dear Joseph, I intend to help her. Haven't I 
 risked a great deal in writing to her? Seriously, I am 
 very attached to the citoyerme. There are heaps of pretty 
 women in Paris, but no one has Terezia's charm. The 
 day they kill her I shall go mad, raving mad !'* 
 
 "A monkey can only climb to the top of the tree, and 
 climb down again or fall. One monkey fell yesterday." 
 
 "Ha, ha !" laughed Tallien. "I rather thought he over- 
 did it myself. Those disgustin' speeches, and his flapping 
 arms ^like windmills and his screechin* laughter. I tell 
 you he roared like a mad bull!'* 
 
 Tallien rose and stalked about the room. Then he 
 turned and faced Joseph. 
 
 **If I succeed I expect a handsome reward," he said. 
 
 **An easy conscience, sir, and the gratitude " 
 
 "Fiddlesticks!" 
 
 **If you prefer the substance to the shadow, let's say a 
 dictatorship. Power in the right hand ** 
 
TERROR 321 
 
 TalHen opened his mouth wide. 
 
 "There is something very noble in self-sacrifice," he 
 said. 
 
 Joseph lowered his voice. 
 
 "Any delay is criminal.'* 
 
 "Be assured of my deepest sympathy for all concerned.'* 
 
 "Thank you, sir. I'll pass round the word at Les 
 Carmes. The lists get longer every night. Fever rages. 
 Many cases of madness, not to mention overcrowding. 
 Also the sanitary conditions might be improved, not to 
 mention the food." 
 
 Tallien approached his visitor. 
 
 "I sent her chocolates last week. I am always getting 
 a letter through. Tell her," he whispered, "Tallien will 
 do his duty." 
 
 "Every minute counts." 
 
 "Next week Robespierre lays his new legislative bill 
 before the House. It'll be the finishing touch as far as 
 his popularity is concerned. We like to deal with men, 
 not gods. As a god he is a mistake. A little human god 
 who fancies himself celestial. It can't be done, sir. It is 
 bad taste, damned bad taste." 
 
 Tallien had worked himself up into a very agreeable 
 frame of mind. He walked over jauntily to his dressing- 
 table, laden with different perfumes and cosmetics; select- 
 ing a bottle of his favorite carnation scent he sprayed his 
 person liberally. 
 
 "Delicious," he murmured, "delicious." 
 
 "Think it over." 
 
 " 'Pon my word, it is never out of my mind." 
 
 "You're a brave man, Tallien." 
 
 "Thank you, sir. By the way have you heard the 
 latest proof of our dear god's dwindling courage.?'* 
 
 "Yes ^no. It does not interest me." 
 
 "Don't be so unkind ! Two nights ago he took supper 
 with the Delaines. Report has it that he was engaged to 
 Mile. Rosalie a charming young girl. He drank more 
 than was good for him. He talked in a gay confidential 
 
322 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 tone. He kissed them all round all the family were 
 present. The following morning ce cher Robespierre 
 regretted his geniality. What had he said? It worried 
 him. Guess what he did." 
 
 Joseph looked at his watch. *'I can't conceive," he 
 said indiiferently. 
 
 *'He denounced the whole family, had 'em brought up 
 for trial that very same morning, and executed within 
 twenty- four hours." 
 
 "Splendid!" 
 
 *^Hard luck on old friends, eh?'* 
 
 "Extremely lucky for us. Just you let that little story 
 circulate." 
 
 Tallien rubbed his hands joyfully. ^*He hasn't a leg to 
 stand on." 
 
 "Any fool could knock him down," said Joseph. "Think 
 it over, valiant sir!" His eyes were lazily insolent. "I 
 must be going. I have got an important appointment at 
 eleven sharp. You won't forget this evening?" 
 
 "No," said Tallien. "I won't forget, but I don't half 
 like it. It is a big risk." 
 
 "Terrific." 
 
 *'Wait a minute, Joseph. Does she expect me?" 
 
 **Women are fools, you know, especially women in 
 love " 
 
 Tallien smiled engagingly. "I'll come," he said. "Tell 
 her I won't disappoint her. Joseph here, wait a mo- 
 ment I love that woman* I'd do any mortal thing to 
 please her." 
 
 Joseph had vanished. In his place, on the polished 
 table he had left a small parcel, wrapped in soiled news- 
 paper and tied with grayish tape. 
 
 Tallien first bit his nails, and then he slowly untied the 
 parcel ^holding it at a safe distance. By some queer 
 jugglery of thought he remembered Cleopatra and her 
 famous asps. Prudence seldom poisons a man. Sus- 
 picion was rife in Paris, and Tallien was the soul of pre- 
 caution. 
 
TERROR 323 
 
 He snapped open the lid of an oblong leather case lined 
 with faded green velvet. It contained neither asp nor 
 icorpion, but a pretty little toy dagger with a chased gold 
 handle coquettishly tied with a knot of pink ribbon. Tal- 
 lien remembered vaguely having seen it in Terezia's hands, 
 her jewel-laden, soft white hands. The thought put him 
 in a pensive mood. . . . She was a very charming woman, 
 passionate and warm, loving (at times) and sensible of 
 his virtues . . he'd like to reward her. 
 
 He gently took out the dagger and passed the bright 
 steel blade smoothly over his cheek. 
 
 Here was a pretty kettle of fish. What did she take 
 him for.^ . . . He was not a hired assassin no, no! but 
 a prudent, careful young man. 
 
 In moving the dagger he discovered that the case con- 
 tained a scrap of paper. He unfolded it and read the 
 following message penned by T^rezia: *^Act, act! For 
 God's sake, act! Terezia.^' 
 
 He shivered ^half in pleasure, half in fear. What an 
 audacious darling. A wicked little murderess eh? Ha-ha ! 
 
 Even in his own ears his laugh sounded insincere. He 
 passed his hand over his lips and looked cautiously about 
 him. Pierre his man was very inquisitive. Best to say 
 nothing. Best to lock up that foolish little toy (which 
 he promptly did). The letter he slipped into his pocket. 
 
 He stopped before the long mirror we have said that 
 his rooms were luxuriously furnished to admire his ele- 
 gant appearance. He was dressed in the height of fashion. 
 His coat was excessively short-waisted his breeches very 
 tight-fitting, his collar cut with immense lapels, his tie 
 a length of old lace finished with a diamond pin, said to 
 have belonged to his late majesty, Tallien wore it out 
 of sentiment. 
 
 He looked around his pleasant room, rather too luxu- 
 rious, maybe, for a man, rather over-scented, but refresh- 
 ingly clean. Tallien seldom spat, and he never invited 
 his dear friend Robespierre into his dressing-room. 
 
 How enchanting (he thought) Terezia would look lying 
 
324 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 on his big sofa in one of her semi-transparent morning 
 robes. Her presence in some subtle manner filled the big 
 room. He seemed to feel the insistent pressure of her 
 soft arms, to feel her delicate breath which rivaled his 
 carnation scent to see her eyes like twin stars shining, 
 clear, entreating. . . 
 
 He pulled out her note from his pocket, spread it open 
 on the table, and hungrily moved his hot lips over the 
 written words. 
 
 A discreet knock on the door awoke him from his trance. 
 
 "It is past eleven, citoifen,'^ said his servant. 
 
 Tallien snatched his hat from Pierre's hand, and rushed 
 down the stairs into his waiting cab. 
 
CHAPTER XLH 
 
 TN the leafy month of June fever ravaged the prisons. 
 - There was a strange glitter in the women's eyes ; their 
 cheeks were flushed when they met at meals, kissed and 
 whispered together. Even Josephine forgot her pressing 
 flirtations in the glow of greater matters. If! If! If! 
 
 The impossible sometimes happens. 
 
 Down the long passages of Les Carmes, filled to over- 
 flowing by human suffering how many lives had not 
 glided that way into the unseen? there blew a current, 
 fresh as a breeze from the salt sea-coast, intoxicating the 
 prisoners. It fanned their feverish cheeks, spurring them 
 to wild gaiety. 
 
 See you, the Revolution was tottering to its fall ! 
 
 Terezia walked through the crowded prison like a 
 torch-bearer. Her shining light lit on sad faces, on old 
 faces, on young faces ; faces seamed by illness, faces blot- 
 ted by indifference ; loving faces, cruel faces, beloved faces. 
 . . It was a very great company. 
 
 On this particular night ^when surely midsummer elves 
 were gamboling in some lonely woodland glen the in- 
 mates of Cell 306 were particularly wide awake and in the 
 best of good spirits. On the window ledge, in the neck 
 of a bottle, burned a precious stump of candle. A grand 
 illumination, ladies, in honor of a very important rendez- 
 vous! So much depended on the successful issue of Tere- 
 zia's interview with TalHen. For months they'd talked of 
 little else. Terezia was confident of victory. Josephine 
 and Ninon had complete faith in their beautiful cell-mate. 
 
 "Nothing can move her from her purpose," they de- 
 clared to their intimates. "She is exquisite." 
 
 The intimates would <:ordially agree with the gentle 
 
 325 
 
326 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 Madame de Beauhamais (as yet unaware of her widow- 
 hood). Terezia was indeed the golden butterfly of dull 
 prison routine. Before her magic glance secret doors 
 opened, "dangerous" letters had a way of reaching her 
 with their seals unbroken. In Cell 306 there was a price- 
 less collection of Deputy Tallien's ill-spelled missives writ- 
 ten on the thick, strongly-scented note-paper he affected, 
 signed in cypher. As Terezia said, he was the soul of 
 precaution. 
 
 "Beloved,'* said Josephine, "there is a limit to every- 
 thing. We don't want his prudence. We want all the 
 courage he can muster. Tell him the truth. We are 
 dead sick of prison life. In the interest of humanity he 
 must set us free. In return we will all love him tenderly.'* 
 
 At such speeches, spoken in the best of good faith, 
 Terezia, as a rule, merely shook her head. Sometimes she 
 laughed. 
 
 Josephine took the tortoiseshell pin from Ninon's out- 
 stretched hand ^poor little thin hand the duchess was 
 looking very ill and fastened it as best she could in Te- 
 rezia's coiffure. The ladies, owing to prison regulations, 
 had all close-cropped heads. Terezia's curls grew in pro- 
 fusion, with a glow all their own, soft as silk and bright 
 as gold. To-night there was no lack of animation in her 
 beautiful face. Her eyes shone, by the light of that poor 
 little taper, like rare pearls. They hadn't a stick of 
 rouge between them, but excitement had lent her all the 
 color she needed. 
 
 Ninon possessed a tiny filigree flask of attar of roses* 
 Very gravely she unscrewed the cork and presented Te- 
 rezia with a very precious drop. 
 
 "Thank you," said Terezia almost solemnly. 
 
 The sweet perfume flooded the cell. Josephine closed 
 her eyes and tried to imagine that she had strayed into 
 Roger and Gallet's shop in the Rue St. Honore. However, 
 it was rather beyond her so she opened them again to 
 admire Terezia. 
 
 "You look charming," she said ; "quite charming. He'll 
 
I 
 
 TERROR 827 
 
 want to fly away with you. Promise us you won*t let 
 him. You must come back again pauvre enfcmt!" 
 
 "I'll come back," said Terezia dreamily, "laden with 
 promises " 
 
 "Much good they'll do us," said Josephine. 
 
 "Trust me!" Terezia's voice rang sharp and hard. 
 
 "We all trust you. Every one of us," said the duchess 
 earnestly. 
 
 "Thank you, my dear friends." 
 
 Ninon, with a graceful gesture, threw back her head 
 and embraced Madame Carrabus with much tenderness. 
 
 "Tell him to hurry," she said. "Make him understand, 
 clearly, that we are very much inconvenienced at Les 
 Carmes. I would love a hot bath." 
 
 "I'd sell my soul for a looking-glass," said Josephine 
 flippantly. 
 
 "I'd sell mine for change of linen," agreed Terezia. 
 
 "It is wicked to complain when God has been so good to 
 us," whispered Ninon, sorry for her little fit of temper. 
 
 "You have got to thank Joseph for your life, darling,'* 
 said Madame de Beauharnais. 
 
 "I know it, Joseph is a magician." 
 
 Terezia glanced at her charming watch, daintily jeweled 
 and enameled. "He is very late. It is more than half- 
 past ten." 
 
 "Never mind. Wash your hands, I never doubt 
 Joseph. Has he ever failed to keep a promise?" 
 
 "Never!" 
 
 Josephine poured out a modicum of cold water into 
 their little tin basin. (Both she and Ninon had generously 
 abstained from washing for several days so that Terezia 
 might have enough.) Once a week the ladies were given 
 a regulation pint of cold fairly clean water for pur- 
 poses of ablution. 
 
 At first they had angrily demanded a better supply. 
 However, all their sarcasm was wasted on the young 
 warder the same who had one evening stolen their 
 mattress. 
 
328 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 "Take it or leave it," he'd grunted. "It is all the same 
 to me." 
 
 Now they never complained. They would preserve their 
 self-respect, as Josephine put it, at the expense of their 
 complexions. 
 
 At times all three of them especially Terezia would 
 think sadly of their plenished pots of skin food; their 
 eau de toilette golden and refreshing; their delicate in- 
 visible rouge ; their lip-salve ; their immense powder-puffs ; 
 their cut-glass bottles of perfumes ; their stacks of under- 
 linen ; their silk stockings ; and, when they grew very sad 
 indeed, of their dear little bedroom slippers, daintily 
 embroidered in colored silks, . . . 
 
 Josephine could almost read Terezia's aching thoughts, 
 which she understood and respected. On such depressing 
 occasions the long hours dragged wearily in Cell 306. 
 
 Only the little duchess would lightly wave aside the 
 attractions of her toilet-table, and spend a great deal of 
 time happily thinking of Ninette and Charlemagne-Marie, 
 playing in her company in the home orchards, in far-away 
 Picardy, under the auspices of brilliant sunshine. 
 
 Sometimes Ninon would recall the sad evening when 
 her tall cousin had gone away leaving a blank behind 
 him and when Joseph had returned her her lease of life, 
 wrapped,, as it were, in a cloak of abuse. How he had 
 cursed and stormed! Dear Joseph! Even the dreadful 
 master-cook in spite of his unlucky bet ^had looked at 
 him very respectfully, 
 
 Terezia dried her hands and wiped her face on the very 
 grubby family towel. 
 
 "I am really anxious," she said. "It would be so like 
 Tallien to back out of a difficulty." 
 
 Josephine measured the life of the candle with a practi- 
 cal eye before answering. "No, you are not," she said, 
 briskly, "you are only impatient. With care, it'll last 
 half an hour." 
 
 Ninon, who had lain down on the bed because she was 
 jbired of standing, here raised herself on her elbow. 
 
TERROR 329 
 
 The ladies strained their ears. There were always 
 sounds at Les Carmes. A great prison is always, day 
 and night, awake. When does pain sleep? 
 
 A low knock on their door bolted on the outside 
 justified Ninon's statement. 
 
 She jumped up, and threw the thin coverlet around her 
 bare shoulders. Her white satin dress, trimmed with red 
 velvet bows, was neatly folded on the floor. 
 
 Josephine had not undressed, but was still in her dinner 
 finery. Now she quickly wrapped a lace shawl round 
 T^rezia. 
 
 "My dear, my dear,'' she breathed, "what wouldn't I 
 give to be in your shoes ! I love an adventure, an adven- 
 ture with a man in it ! Don't be careful. Turn his head 
 -send him home famishing. It is the only way with men." 
 
 Terezia hardly listened to this wise counsel. She was 
 watching the little door with a fascinated expression. 
 
 "Come in," she said. 
 
 The bolt grated in the heavy bar. The door opened 
 two inches. 
 
 "Good-by," said the duchess, stealing two thin arms 
 round Terezia's splendid throat. "God bless you." 
 
 Terezia bent down and kissed Ninon. "I am fright- 
 ened," she whispered. 
 
 "Follow," called a voice outside a strange voice! 
 
 "Oh !" gasped Terezia, shrinking against the wall, "it is 
 a trap! I am done for!" 
 
 ^'You have no right to say such a thing," said Joseph- 
 ine, nearly crying with vexation. She gave T^r^zia a 
 little push; also a grain of comfort. "He loves you," 
 she murmured. "He adores you." 
 
 Then she boldly flung open the door, and looked down 
 the interminable and almost pitch-dark corridor. At the 
 further end there gleamed a faint lantern. A drove of 
 rats whisked past, to the left, with unmistakable scratch- 
 ing feet. 
 
330 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 Josephine did not draw back. Instead, she beckoned to 
 T^rezia. "Now is your time," she whispered. "Fly!" 
 
 Terezia took her courage in both her hands, and ran 
 swiftly down the gloomy passage towards the lantern. 
 
 Josephine stared after her with breathless interest. 
 
 "But she is a lucky girl," she said. "Ninon, cherie " 
 
 Suddenly the door was flung back in her face. As she 
 retreated into the cell, she heard the heavy bolt rasp 
 against its socket. 
 
 Terezia followed her unknown guide down interminable 
 passages, winding, crooked, deeply vaulted. They passed 
 through echoing doorways, and down steep staircases, 
 indented by the tread of many generations. Once Te- 
 rezia nearly stepped into a shining pool of water. The dim 
 lantern showed her, for an instant, curious mosses, thin 
 thread-like mosses, clinging to glistening black stones, 
 stones which were perpetually wet. 
 
 She clung to the reeking wall, which here was of a very 
 rough surface. The wall looked as if it was hewn out of 
 a single slab of rock, a mighty, stationary, eternal wall 
 which defied freedom. 
 
 She grew giddy with terror. Where was he leading her 
 to this speechless, utterly indifferent man? He had 
 never glanced at her. Now and again his hollow voice 
 echoed in that frightful labyrinth as he chanted his par- 
 rot-like order: "Follow!" She followed blindly. 
 
 Before she could grasp the significance of the blessed 
 moment she found herself standing in a long narrow street, 
 looking up at the sky. The night air struck her as very 
 cold after the stifling atmosphere of Les Carmes. Neither 
 mocn nor stars were visible, but already a faint streak of 
 light showed in the east; the spirit of dawn, waiting on 
 the spirit of night. The effect was very beautiful. 
 
 The guide had vanished. 
 
 As her eyes grew more accustomed to the darkness she 
 noticed the tall houses, thje shuttered windows, and down 
 
lit] 
 
 TERROR 331 
 
 he street the figtire of a man, wrapped in a Venetian 
 cloak. 
 
 Terezia walked down the quiet street. Coming quite 
 close to the man, she paused looked at him and slipped 
 within the folds of his heavy cloak. Thus they stood side 
 by side, hand in hand, and neither spoke a word. Not a 
 sound broke the stillness. 
 
 Once again Terezia lifted her brilliant eyes and looked 
 long at Tallien, her lover. 
 
 He was no longer a Terrorist, but a man in love. Touch 
 is more eloquent than speech. He pressed her very close, 
 and, bending down, he searched for her lips. ... It was 
 an eternal kiss. 
 
 She swayed a little, her lips moved ; she gave a faint sob. 
 
 And around them circled the freshness of June, the 
 silence of dawn, and the spell of human desire. 
 
 He found his voice at last in an agony of appeal. 
 "Terezia," he whispered, lifting her off her feet, **I love 
 you ! Why haven't you come before ? Why have you de- 
 nied me this happiness? Your mouth, Terezia, I have 
 thought of day and night since we parted. And of your 
 white arms, and your soft breast and your honey-sweet 
 words. Speak, darling. Tell me I am not dreaming.'* 
 
 His insistence brought her to earth. Terezia buried 
 her hot face in his scented coat. His luxurious coat ap- 
 pealed to her. The man offended her, but his clothes gave 
 her rich satisfaction. 
 
 He laughed happily, and put h^r on her feet. 
 
 "Pome," he said. 
 
 "Where are we going to.'*'* 
 
 "Hush!" 
 
 She followed him eagerly. 
 
 They walked a few paces down the quiet street, and 
 stopped outside a tall and shuttered house. Tallien took 
 a latchkey out of his pocket and opened the front door. 
 It led into a bare and empty passage, very poorly lit. 
 Terezia could just see a wide and shallow staircase facing 
 
332 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 her, and, beyond, a tall paneled door. All the wood-work 
 was of black oak. 
 
 Tallien strode across the echoing hall with no pretense 
 of precaution. With a flourish he opened the door of a 
 room, evidently prepared for their reception a sight for 
 hungry eyes! 
 
 He swaggered across to the fireplace and took up his 
 position on the hearth-rug, staring at his mistress. No, 
 her beauty remained unmarred, in spite of poor feeding, 
 villainous housing and her precarious existence. Tallien 
 rubbed his hands. 
 
 "Come in," he said. "We haven't over much time. We 
 mustn't waste a single precious minute." 
 
 Terezia closed the door behind her, and very gently 
 rubbed her eyes. 
 
 She found herself in a little, cheerful, wainscoted parlor, 
 paneled with black oak, and, half-way down the walls, 
 fitted with embossed leather hangings showing fruits, mel- 
 low with color, on a dim background of old gold. 
 
 The curtains were drawn in front of the deep window 
 embrasures, heavy curtains of tawny velvet; between the 
 windows stood an antique Chinese chest, and on the wall 
 above there was a long mirror, framed in carved and gilded 
 wood. 
 
 A broad and comfortable settee faced the enormous fire- 
 place, lit by a small fire of birch logs ; there were cushioned 
 chairs, covered in blue leather to match; and wonderful 
 Persian rugs placed on the shining oak floor. Candles 
 blazed everywhere, on the fine chimney-piece, in the mas- 
 sive brass chandelier, and on the round supper-table, which 
 stood in the centre of the room. 
 
 The table was covered with a damask cloth, lace-edged, 
 and set out with an elegant cold supper. Terezia noticed 
 at once ripe strawberries, in a Nankin bowl, and an 
 equally generous supply of cream ; in a wine-cooler, packed 
 in ice, champagne; dishes of spiced bread and rich cur- 
 rant loaves ; dishes of chicken and ham, smoked tongue, 
 mayonnaise of salmon ; vegetables, salads, creams, jellies 
 
lin< 
 
 TERROR 333 
 
 id sweetmeats. There was a fine show of silver plate, 
 a glittering array of knives and forks ; tall fragile goblets, 
 decanters of red and white wine, and a service of blue-and- 
 white porcelain. On the centre of the table stood a great 
 bowl of cut crystal, filled with fragrant red roses. 
 
 A door ajar led into an inner room very white and 
 gay. Terezia noticed a fine bed, draped with blue satin 
 curtains and luxuriously piled with blankets, down quilts, 
 and snowy sheets and pillows. On the blue satin counter- 
 pane lay a varied assortment of dainty female apparel 
 and, close by, on the pile carpet, a pair of charming blue 
 satin slippers. 
 
 In the bath-room adjoining stood a commodious, steam- 
 ing bath, with a plentiful array of towels, scents, soaps, 
 brushes. . . Not a grain of dust anywhere! Not a 
 speck of dirt! A gorgeous, joyful, fairy vision, fit for 
 fairy woman. , . 
 
 Terezia rubbed her eyes. O tantalizing dream! She 
 looked at Tallien tall, self-assured, infinitely common- 
 place. Thank God, he at least was not of the stuff o' 
 dreams ! In a rush of relief, she flew at him, swift as a 
 bird, tingling with life. 
 
 "O you live man!'' she breathed. "You at least are 
 real, tmfanciful, unromantic. You never invented this 
 glory? What shall I enjoy first?" She pressed her 
 mouth, warm and palpitating, against his willing lips. 
 
 He laughed loudly. 
 
 "You are as beautiful as ever, Witch of the World," 
 he said, waving one hand, and with the other clutching 
 at the back of her neck. "Joseph's little idea. He is 
 full of fancies. 'There is no pleasure like pleasing others,' 
 he said. 'Let's give her the limit.' The house belonged 
 to an artist who has recently trotted over to the majority. 
 Joseph has had his eye on the place for some time. In 
 fact, he made me take it over, a bargain a distinct bar- 
 gain. Ha, ha! Cost me a stamp, darling. He took no 
 end of trouble to please you. Went to your flat, and 
 searched for incriminating documents carried off a 
 
334 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 bundle of clothes^ and fal-lals ^and stopped your maid's 
 howls by a guinea or two. Put himself to some danger, 
 and lied like a carp to evade drowning. His soldier brother 
 is home on leave, and it is he who fetched you to-night. 
 Joseph '' 
 
 Terezia was not listening. She disengaged herself from 
 Tallien's large hand, went across* the room and knelt down 
 in front of the cut-glass bowl, burying her face in the roses. 
 
 "Years ago," she murmured, "I gathered the roses of 
 CaravachelL Tallien, they were absolutely gorgeous! I 
 can see tha big terrace aflame with color, and the deep 
 lake, beyond the bowling-green; it was always cold and 
 clear on the hottest day. I was never afraid of heat. 
 Mamma would shut herself up in the house, eat sugar 
 cakes (pauvre madman!) and read novels. Papa was more 
 or less engaged in Madrid. When he came home we used 
 to feast, and sing, and dance. And I would gather the 
 roses and fill his room to overflowing. I was always 
 extravagant. Even at the age of ten I'd trample on a 
 flower which lacked a petal. I'd ha,ve nothing less than 
 perfection. . . Terezia, Terezia, will you ever go back 
 on youi^elf ?" She spoke passionately. "Josephine lives 
 in her dreams, and Ninon lives for her children. I live 
 for myself !" 
 
 She stretched out her hand and dropped a strawberry 
 into her mouth. She did it again, and again, 
 
 Tallien watched Terezia feasting her senses, gloriously 
 happy. He grew suddenly angry. "Where do I come 
 in?" he asked sullenly. "You're beastly selfish, darling." 
 He sucked his lips. 
 
 "We can't afford to throw away any roses we women 
 of the world. Often we have to put^ up with second-rate 
 flowers, all dull and speckled, poor things." 
 
 "Don't talk nonsense!" 
 
 "It is utter nonsense, darling, but so satisfying!" She 
 reached for the cream- jug' and, pouring out a cupful, she 
 swallowed it at a gulp. 
 
 "This is living," she said. 
 
I 
 
 TERROR 335 
 
 Tallien noticed several stains on her elegant blue dress, 
 several holes in her elegant silk stockings, and a faint 
 roughness on her peach skin. She had suffered hardships 
 this pearl of vanity ! His toy 1 
 
 "Make yourself lovely," he whispered, kneeling beside 
 her. "Feed me, Terezia." 
 
 She rose immediately. His great bulky body interfered 
 with the beauty of the supper-table. In kneeling down he 
 ad crushed the exquisite table-linen, and had with his 
 big hand clumsily pushed the wine glasses together, with a 
 jangling, jarring sound. She could have screamed. He 
 was ynutterably vulgar, this over-scented, over-dressed 
 man, stained by crime. 
 
 "Tallien," she said, bending over .him. *^ou must save 
 us ! We are dying by inches in that horrible place. Oh, 
 Tallien, the dirt at Les Carmes ! Dirt grows and sticks 
 and peels and infects. We are all infectious. When hope 
 dies, sorrow lives." 
 
 He floundered to his feet: "I love you, by God I love 
 you!" he said. 
 
 "Love has nothing to do with it," said Terezla. "You 
 have got to be ve;ry brave, my darling a lion in action, 
 not a lion in love." 
 
 "I am brave." 
 
 "To-night '^ 
 
 "I have risked a good deal to see you. If Robespierre 
 finds us out there will be the devil to pay." 
 
 "Damn you for a dirty coward!" 
 
 Then, regretting her temper, she cooed up to him. 
 
 "Think of the rewards, Tallien. Think of your little 
 Terezia, your faithful, adoring wife. I'll love you, Tallien, 
 if you kill Robespierre. All France will love you. You'll 
 be great and famous; rich and powerful. We will keep 
 open house and give splendid entertainments. And when 
 all the candles are put out, you shall hold me in your arms, 
 and love me as much as ever you like." 
 
 He heaved a sigh and looked at her sideways. 
 
336 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 "That is so. You can tell lies ^ha-ha ! as well as any 
 one." 
 
 "Not when my life is at stake." 
 
 " Ton my word you ought to have been dead, ma*am, 
 ahem, an angel long ago. I have done all I can do to 
 save you." 
 
 T^rezia looked up at him adoringly. 
 
 "How wonderful you are," she said softly, 
 
 "A man can do no more than his best," he said unctu- 
 ously. "Hurry, my pet. That bath is getting cold." 
 
 She laughed. "I'm bewildered. You spoil me, sir." 
 
 She ran into the inner room, clapping her hands in 
 naive enjoyment. "It is perfectly lovely," she called. "I 
 won't keep you longer than I can help. Give me half an 
 hour's grace. Say your prayers, Tallien. Pray for 
 courage and strength of purpose. . . . I'm worth it. 
 
 . . What do you say.? No, don't come in! I forbid 
 you, sir!" 
 
 Terezia, rapidly undressing, suddenly remembered 
 Josephine's wise counsel. She'd act on it . . in the 
 interests of humanity. 
 
 "What are you laughing for?" 
 
 "Out of sheer happiness, sir, sheer happiness," she 
 called. 
 
 He waited outside the closed door trembling with im- 
 patience. 
 
CHAPTER XLIII 
 
 T ALLIEN lounged back in his comfortable high-baicked 
 chair and swore that he'd stand by Terezia through 
 oceans of blood, if necessary. He hammered his spoon 
 on the supper-table, and considered his mistress's charms. 
 She had been mocking, enchanting, captivating, com- 
 plaisant, and, through each phase, she had watched Tal- 
 lien as a panther watches his prey. 
 
 She was nearly sure of him ^nearly. . . All he wanted 
 she'd give him; beauty to admire; light words to laugh 
 at, and touch for touch. Her kisses had made him 
 astonishingly brave. 
 
 Terezia had curled herself up on the broad settee, an 
 armful of cushions behind her head, two or three divine 
 roses in her hand. She was enjoying every fleeting mo- 
 ment; her supper, her lover, her drowsiness; the sight 
 of her slim foot in its delicate blue satin slipper; the 
 touch of her fresh linen against her perfumed body. 
 
 She glanced lazily around the room, appreciating the 
 soft candle-light, the shining black oak panels, the old gilt 
 mirror, the fine antique Persian carpet at her feet, the 
 handsome spaciousness of the fireplace, with its gleaming 
 brass dogs and fire-irons . . . every detail of the little 
 room was artistically perfect. Terezia loved beauty and 
 felt a fleeting pang of regret for the artist who had been 
 obliged to leave it all . . rather lucky for her, though. 
 She smoothed the soft folds of her pretty wrapper. 
 Surely she was an angel, and this was heaven? . . . Cen- 
 turies ago she had been familiar with suffering and pain 
 and dirt the fearful degradation of dirt. 
 
 Some remark from Tallien who was still occupied in 
 eating and, incidentally choking himself over a large plate- 
 
 337 
 
388 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 ful of jelly ^3isturbed her pleasant musing. She turned 
 away from the sound of his voice, and buried her face in 
 her hands, overwhelmed with self-pity. Presently she 
 would have to go back to prison carrying three parcels; 
 a present for Ninon, a present for Josephine, and a packet 
 of memories for herself . . . she would never forget this 
 precious night a star set between two hells. To marry 
 Tallien was to court misery. To return to Cell 806 was 
 suicide. She'd like to leap into the blue satin bed, and 
 sleep for ever. 
 
 Tallien continued playing with his knuckles on the 
 supper-table, and airing his natural grievances. Save 
 the mark ^had Terezia turned prude? Once and for al- 
 ways he'd be obeyed! His fat cheeks, decidedly flushed, 
 worked convulsively; his bloodshot eyes glared viciously. 
 He wanted more than she'd given him more for his 
 money more for his courage! He was risking his life 
 to please her! He got up, banging his chair against the 
 table, and stood over her, recalling episodes which might 
 just as well (in the interest of morality) have remained 
 unrelated. 
 
 Terezia let him speak. His words did not offend her 
 in the least. In fact, she smiled angelically. He dropped 
 his blustering tone to tell her a piece of news. Tallien 
 was seldom above meanness and lies. He looked at her, 
 stretched at her ease on the sofa, with uncontrollable lust 
 and rage. His hand trembled. Would this hurt her? 
 
 "Darling," he said blandly, "I promise you I'll take 
 my revenge presently. As a husband you'll find me very 
 strict." 
 
 He sat down unsteadily. (He had drunk many glasses 
 of champagne.) "Do you remember that silly ass, Gu6ry, 
 the youth who traveled with you from Bordeaux?" 
 
 **Why, yes," she said. "What of him"? 
 
 "You won't travel with him again in a hurry." 
 
 **You are not surely jealous of a boy?" 
 
 No. Not a bit of it. Ha, ha!" 
 
 **Crive me a kiss, you silly man!" 
 
TERROR 389 
 
 "I^m silly, am I?" He laughed again. ^'The boy was 
 executed this morning one of a batch from La Force. 
 I happened to recognize him on the platform, and he 
 returned my salute very politely. One less of your lovers 
 in this troublesome world, eh? And I tell you, you've got 
 to keep them down." He pulled his chair nearer her and 
 stretched out his hand. 
 
 Terezia looked at him with unveiled horror, "Don't 
 touch me!" she cried. 
 
 He laughed sardonically. "I knew it ! I knew it !" he 
 said nodding his head gloomily. He flew into a volley 
 of abuse. 
 
 Suddenly he fell at her feet, the tears running down 
 his face. "You are treating me very badly," he whispered. 
 "I'm on fire, love, on fire." 
 
 "There, there," she said, "I did not mean to be unkind." 
 (Mon cceur, she thought with resignation, my ill-fated 
 friend so we are never to meet again?) Tallien was 
 spoiling her exquisite evening. As through a mist she 
 saw the candle-light . . , and her purpose drifting away. 
 She clutched at it as a drowning man clutches at a straw. 
 
 Tallien was a man of straw, and infinitely mean. Yet 
 she must submit to him, feign admiration and a love she 
 was very far from feeling; give him kiss for kiss, and 
 promise for promise. (Later she would send her promises 
 flying, like scraps of paper before the wind.) 
 
 She gently drew down his head on her breast, and laid 
 two cool fingers on the lids of his bloodshot eyes. At that 
 moment she loathed him ^in her imagination she saw him 
 dripping with blood nevertheless, she wound two soft 
 arms round his neck and pillowed his head on her lap. 
 
 He wiped his face on her sleeve, and his evil expression 
 relaxed into a look of utter content, 
 
 "My darling," she whispered, her mouth close to his, 
 "as if anything in the world mattered compared to our 
 love! Keep your eyes shut it will do your poor head 
 good; it is hot," (Her fingers caressed his brow.) "My 
 own, you have work in front of you before you can hope 
 
340 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 to win your bride your willing, joyful bride. I am very 
 proud of my Tallien, and God knows how much I love 
 him ! Dear, dear, don't you think I understand that your 
 sufferings are far worse than my own? Yours is a very 
 great undertaking, but the reward is great ! We shall 
 both appreciate the sweetness of success.'' 
 
 Still circling him in her arms, she sang a little song 
 which in the old days grim Christina had sung to her: 
 
 Tears in your eyes? 
 Clouds in April skies 
 Sleep, sleep awhile 
 And bring me a smile. 
 
 Give me your hand to hold. 
 To Fairyland we'll steal. 
 Where all the toys are gold 
 And all the smiles are real. 
 
 Sleep, sleep, light of mine eye ! 
 Red the glow in the sky. 
 Faint the light on the stream. 
 Dear every dream. 
 
 By-and-by, baby mine. 
 
 The great big moon will shine 
 
 Over the cedar tree. 
 
 Over the wide, wide sea. 
 
 Ter&ia's voice was low and sweet, and the words were 
 well fitted to the simple melody, yet they made no im- 
 pression on Tallien. 
 
 He brushed his thick black hair from his brow, and 
 looked up at her face with an unmistakable expression. 
 She laughed, a little musical laugh, and, bending down, 
 she kissed him generously . . he had to be humored. . . 
 
 Half an hour later Tallien, appeased, if not satisfied, 
 was smoking a cigarette and watching Ter6zia, as she 
 arranged two little parcels at a side table. Each contained 
 
TERROR 841 
 
 a change of linen, a tablet of soap, a tooth-brush, a bottle 
 of scent, and a bag of sweets. 
 
 "Give me your pencil," she said. 
 
 Tallien obliged her, still with that good-tempered, 
 affectionate smile on his face. How lovely she looked! 
 What a cruel shame it was to stuff her away into a cell ! 
 
 "Won't they be enchanted!" she said, as she wrote on 
 one parcel, "Josephine" and on the other "Ninon." 
 
 Then she looked round the pleasant room. "It is four 
 in the morning," she said sadly. It had been arranged 
 that Joseph was to come and fetch her at that hour. He 
 had strictly limited her luggage, or we may be sure she 
 would have returned to Cell 306 laden with pillows, rugs, 
 bread, candies, and the blue satin slippers. Terezia sighed 
 as she weighed her modest parcels. She could easily hide 
 them under her shawl. She must be sensible, and, yes, 
 thankful. 
 
 Tallien, sitting in his comfortable chair, a large smile 
 on his large face, was turning the pages of a little book 
 in his hand. It was an up-to-date calendar. He and 
 Terezia had been lingering over dates likely dates. It 
 had pained Terezia that they couldn't agree on the exact 
 day. 
 
 "Well," she said, coming forward, "have you decided?" 
 
 "Darling," he said, kissing her little hand lightly, "you 
 must have patience. There are practical details to ar- 
 range." 
 
 "In the meanwhile?" she suggested. 
 
 He shrugged his great shoulders (regarding that mat- 
 ter also from a different standpoint). "They'll die. Lots 
 will die. We must give his godship a handsome length of 
 rope. One day I'll screw him into an ugly corner " 
 
 "The day! The day!" she insisted. 
 
 "Dear love," he said blandly, as if speaking to a wilful 
 child, "trust me, and you won't go far wrong." 
 
 Her impatience was very sweet. He attributed it solely 
 to her devotion to himself. His little girl wife to be 
 loved him, as a man of his attractions deserved to be loved. 
 
342 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 He shut up his little almanac and wagged a jeweled 
 finger at Terezia. 
 
 "I'll give you his handsome head on a charger, soon 
 enough^ my pet. I'll put pennies on his eyes, or they 
 would be sure to glitter and frighten you. Nobody must 
 frighten my dear little woman," he added. He laughed 
 at his own wit, vastly pleased with himself. 
 
 Terezia leaned over his chair and took his hand in hers. 
 
 "Your nails want cutting," she observed. 
 
 "Any other remark?" he said, teasing a bright curl at 
 her neck. She was bewitching! 
 
 "You are getting a bit fat." 
 
 He drew in his breath and puffed out his cheeks. "The 
 better to love you, my dear," he bawled. He grinned until 
 his big square teeth shone in two semi-circles. "The bet- 
 ter to bite you, my dear," he said, playfully sucking her 
 thumb. 
 
 "Naughty man! What great big arms!" 
 
 "The better to hug you, my dear." He drew her 
 roughly down on his knee. "I'll send you a letter to- 
 morrow," he breathed in her ear, "a thunderin* good 
 letter." 
 
 Terezia sighed. "How I love you!" she said. 
 
 The lovers were disturbed by the sound of footsteps 
 in the passage outside. 
 
 Joseph for it was he on entering the room was 
 favored by a charming tableau. Terezia had the grace to 
 blush, and also to thank him very prettily for her even- 
 ing's entertainment. 
 
 "Don't mention it, madame," said Joseph in his politest 
 manner, doffing his red wig (exposing a neat dark head 
 and a fine forehead). "It has given me great pleasure 
 to have been able to arrange this little interlude, pleasing 
 to all parties. Friend Tallien, my compliments." 
 
 Joseph was dressed in his prison garb, filthy, unkempt, 
 with wide jack-boots, excessively muddy; his wig, combed 
 a la mode, tucked under his arm ; his face moist and sooty ; 
 his dirty hands were half hidden by his long red worsted 
 
TERROR 343 
 
 sleeves, tied back and knotted with pieces of cord. His 
 mouth was defaced by an absent tooth, and altogether his 
 appearance didn't exactly invite confidence. 
 
 Terezia slipped oif Tallien's knee. Impulsively she came 
 towards Joseph. 
 
 "Tell me," she said, "who are you.^^'* 
 
 "Joseph, madame." 
 
 "Am I never to bless you by any other name?'' 
 
 He shook his head. "Never is a big word," he said. 
 
 "Sit down a moment, and have a drink," said Tallien, 
 hospitably. 
 
 "No, thanks." 
 
 Terezia smiled. "It is all arranged," she said ^her 
 eyes very brilliant. 
 
 "Tallien stays on top, and the little blue god, alias the 
 Incorruptible One, alias Maximilien Robespierre, goes 
 under. Shall we swear to see this thing through.?" said 
 Joseph, absently blowing out two candles as he spoke. 
 
 Tallien fidgeted on his comfortable chair his big legs 
 sprawhng wide. He didn't like Joseph's easy confidence. 
 Confound his impudence! 
 
 "I'll denounce someone," he drawled. "Maybe I'll de- 
 nounce Joseph. I could whisk Joseph to Kingdom Come 
 as easily as a fly crawls." 
 
 Joseph looked him up and down. 
 
 "If it comes to that, I could denounce Tallien as easily 
 as a bird flies," he said, pleasantly. 
 
 Tallien laughed uproariously, jingling his money in his 
 pockets, and flashing his big eyes on the company. 
 
 "A truce," he cried, "a truce! I trust you, Joseph." 
 
 "I trust you, Tallien." 
 
 Terezia looked at Joseph imploringly. 
 
 "I've been entertaining my friends," said Joseph, "Mas- 
 ter Cook, Master Dignity and some twenty other con- 
 genial spirits. I left them pleasantly drunk for our 
 purpose. Alas, ma'am, I've come to fetch you home. 
 The party is over." 
 
 "Thank you, sir," answered Terezia. "I'll get ready 
 
344 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 at once.*' She dropped him a curtsy, and disappeared 
 into the next room. 
 
 The men were silent during her brief absence. Tallien 
 was aggrieved at this summary breaking-up of his orgy. 
 He hadn't nearly finished with Terezia. He was perfectly 
 happy where he was. He didn't want to stir beyond the 
 next room, where the bed looked inviting. He yawned 
 and blinked his eyes and scratched his head. 
 
 "She is a very beautiful woman," he said, sulkily. "And 
 very easy to get on with. Also she loves me very much." 
 
 "Which ought to simplify matters," said Joseph, bow- 
 ing. The bow was for Terezia and also for her old blue 
 dress, stained and pathetic. The old blue dress had noble 
 associations. 
 
 He took up her parcels. "I daren't allow more," he 
 said sadly. "At your convenience, madame." 
 
 *'I am quite ready," answered Terezia, taking a hand- 
 ful of red roses from the crystal bowl. 
 
 Tallien clattered to his feet, noisy with regret. "Wait 
 a minute, precious, wait a minute," he said. 
 
 Joseph very considerately, went outside and, cautiously 
 opening the hall door, he looked down the empty street. 
 
 Straight ahead loomed the grim prison, the prison eter- 
 nally awake. 
 
 Overhead the dawn had spread her fanlight, heralding 
 another beautiful day. 
 
CHAPTER XLIV 
 
 SPHERE were plenty of executions in Paris throughout 
 *' the month of June and well on into leafy July before 
 anything wonderful happened. 
 
 The poor ladies in Cell 306 lived on from day to day, 
 bright hope exchanged for dull acceptance. Terezia's 
 fairy party and fairy presents and fairy promises faded 
 into dim recollection as the weeks slipped past in horrible 
 monotony. Even the daily reading of the Lists failed to 
 excite the prisoners. There was a certain sameness about 
 them. Those who stayed behind almost envied those who 
 went out. The good-byes were cordial, tinged with 
 jealousy. And no one cried. 
 
 Tallien didn't again repeat his indiscretion. Even his 
 love-letters to Terezia grew sensibly fewer, and sensibly 
 colder. 
 
 Truth to tell, the fairy party had very nearly ruined 
 his prestige. A woman's kiss was not worth the scandal 
 of risking his own neck. As a precautionary measure, 
 Tallien denied the whole affair. 
 
 "Lord bless us," he said, highly amused, twirling his 
 cane, "there are plenty of women in Paris without taking 
 one from Les Carmes.'* 
 
 His good-humor saved his head this time much to 
 Robespierre's chagrin. He had so counted on friend Tal- 
 lien's folly. (He'd known all about it.) He was aching 
 to denounce him. 
 
 But the Assembly no longer listened to his godship with 
 their old attentive respect. In fact, many members paid 
 scant attention to his fiery orations. Some even yawned 
 openly in his face; others laughed in derision. 
 
 345 
 
346 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 Robespierre grew to love his own society in those dog- 
 days when the baking sun hung over dusty, smelling Paris. 
 He shunned committee-rooms as a man naturally shuns a 
 plague-spot. New laws, new speeches, new ideas filled him 
 with suspicion. They savored of personal indignity. 
 More than once his own amendments (the only ones he 
 tolerated) had been received with silence, ominous silence 
 which is akin to mutiny. 
 
 Men of our spacious times glance back at that arch- 
 fiend new-baked god and ancient devil as he hurries the 
 House through some new-fangled formality smacking his 
 dry tongue against the roof of his mouth little green 
 eyes darting fire like revolving lamps, trying to pierce 
 each man^s secret mind. Once safe from the precincts 
 of the sacred Assembly, he tears down the hot streets, 
 faster and faster until he dashes madly through the 
 leafy Bois alone! 
 
 Alone. 
 
 So he ran as if possessed through the pretty, leafy 
 glades of the quiet park; arms swinging like pendulums, 
 eyes glaring like revolving lamps; tongue wagging sedu- 
 lously ^he had acquired a habit of talking to himself 
 alone, always alone. 
 
 They weren't enjoyable walks, but very tiring. When 
 darkness fell, with shifty eyes looking out for possible 
 assassins, he would drag his weary body home and lay it 
 down to rest on his mean bed, beneath the ruby lamp which 
 emitted a gentle, deceptive ray. . At night his real 
 misery began. 
 
 By report he took to prayers and kind deeds. By 
 report he had been seen kissing little children, laying 
 gentle hands on their fluffy golden curls, and giving them 
 sugar-plums. 
 
 And what of friend Tallien, with his large smile, and 
 his no less large purpose .f* 
 
 He walked on air as the saying goes, to signify ex- 
 quisite self-assurance bright, celestial air, coulewr de 
 rose. He grew very bright in his dress, too these warm 
 
TERROR 347 
 
 summer days, when the soft winds played over parched 
 Paris, each breath full of promise. 
 
 It was astonishing how fine it kept, how the flowers 
 bloomed in hidden gardens, how old disused carriages 
 creaked in old disused coach-houses, and how lords and 
 ladies of the veritable ancien regime took to high play. 
 Their stakes were the lives of men. Would any of them 
 survive the Terror? 
 
 In the meanwhile the tumbrils ran their dreary course 
 to the outskirts of the town, rather overcrowded, if any- 
 thing. All classes were represented. Great calm ladies, 
 and common women who howled, grands seigneurs, and 
 mean men who might have claimed legitimate descent, but 
 never a shred of courage; big, ruffianly fellows who cried 
 like babies at sight of the scaffold ugly sights, very. 
 
 As we have said, Tallien took a brilliant interest in his 
 new clothes, and in his dress almost eclipsed friend Robes- 
 pierre. The Supreme Being, by the way, did not do 
 justice to his azure coat, wearing it with a certain sloven- 
 liness of style which the whole Assembly noticed, and most 
 particularly genial Tallien. 
 
 Up to the very last these two devoted enemies it sounds 
 trivial to write them down as friends clung to each 
 other in brotherly affection, supporting each other and 
 telling each other pretty little lies, smiling at each other 
 across the Assembly, giving each other little hints, little 
 courtesies. They knew they were humbugging each other ; 
 they knew they were arch-enemies ^but their exaggerated 
 attentions, their breezy compliments waxed none the 
 slower for that. However, by mutual consent they kept 
 their politeness (like their glossy beaver hats) for out-of- 
 door wear. 
 
 "Pierre, my blue cravat,'* said Tallien. *'My silver 
 tissue waistcoat you know, the one woven with little red 
 rosebuds and forget-me-nots." 
 
 *'Yes, citoyen,^^ answered the discreet manservant, who 
 took an interest in his master's appearance. 
 
348 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 Sometimes he would make use of his card of admission 
 and watch his mannikin from a humble seat in the gallery 
 of the House. At a distance Tallien showed off the cut 
 of his coat very well indeed. Sometimes the discreet valet 
 would tremble for the sleeves. Tallien had a way of 
 emphasizing his oratory by very wide gestures. No decent 
 coat will stand gestures worthy of a prize-fighter. As we 
 all know, gentlemen of the ring, when professionally en- 
 gaged, leave their coats behind them. Tallien, contrary 
 to rules, entered the arena dressed like a dandy showing 
 himself off at a flower-show. 
 
 Pierre gently adjusted his master's rather wide coat- 
 skirts. In other words, he gave them a pull, and stepped 
 back to appreciate the effect. 
 
 "Excellent," he murmured. "I like that seam straight 
 down the centre of the back. And that little touch of 
 embroidery on the collar though daring is very ele- 
 gant.'' 
 
 In truth, this morning of 27th July, 1794 (old style), 
 Citoyen Tallien cut a very dashing figure. His new boots 
 shone; his silver waistcoat shone at two louis a yard; 
 his large face shone with soap and perspiration. It was 
 a very hot morning and friend Tallien's thoughts matched 
 the day, if they didn't actually out-rival it. 
 
 Tallien breathed a deep, excessively unctuous sigh. 
 
 "Give me that little box," he drawled, "in the left-hand 
 drawer, Pierre. Don't be an arrant ass, man." 
 
 His man immediately produced the right article. (He'd 
 looked at it often.) He blew an imaginary grain of dust 
 off the lid, as he handed the box to Tallien. 
 
 Tallien snapped open the cover and took out a little 
 dagger and stroked it as he might have stroked the back 
 of a playful kitten. 
 
 "As a curiosity, cito7/en,^' ventured his man, watching 
 the dagger, "that is a nice little trifle. Personally I 
 wouldn't trust it the length of my arm." 
 
 Tallien, still stroking the dagger very tenderly, agreed. 
 
r 
 
 TERROR 349 
 
 "Presently it will not only be a curiosity but also an 
 object of historical value," he said. 
 
 "Indeed, sir?" 
 
 "It is a pretty little thing, a very pretty little thing." 
 
 *'Yes, monseigneur." 
 
 Tallien did not observe the slip of a title. And if he 
 did it did not worry him on the contrary, he had all a 
 plutocrat's love of rank, and considered himself deserving 
 of the best. This morning he looked upon every omen as 
 felicitous. 
 
 "I am rather superstitious, myself, sir," said Pierre, 
 
 "Yes," said Tallien, slipping his dagger into his coat 
 pocket. "Most people are. I must say, I'd rather carry 
 a mascot than go without one.'* 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Especially if it comes from a lovely lady. Lovely 
 ladies are very powerful. They've got their secret spells 
 and charms I don't blame 'em. No, I don't." 
 
 "Very natural," said Pierre. 
 
 "By the way, you can have that plum-colored suit. 
 I've done with it." 
 
 "Thank you, sir. There is a bit of lace on it which I 
 shall remove." 
 
 Tallien waved his hand. "Keep it," he said magnifi- 
 cently. 
 
 Pierre, with his hand on his heart, bowed deeply, and 
 presented his master with a scented handkerchief. Tallien 
 sniffed at it before putting it in his pocket rather a 
 vulgar sniff. Then he stared critically at his tall reflection 
 in the tall mirror. 
 
 "You'll do," he said jocularly, smiling at his splendid 
 hat, trying it on at a jaunty angle, on his well-greased 
 locks. Yes, he was pleased with his appearance. If it 
 wasn't undignified we'd liken him to a showy brass top, 
 wound up to its highest velocity. Yes, he was spinning 
 very fast ; spinning in the right direction, too. Nothing 
 could stop him now from doing his duty. Presently to 
 
350 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 carry the metaphor further ^he was bound to slow down, 
 and spin on his side, 
 
 ''Look in at the House, if you care to, Pierre, this morn- 
 ing. I expect we'll have an interesting debate." 
 
 His condescension, his affability, his generosity all 
 jogged together for pride o' place. Tallien (in his own 
 estimation) exceeded himself this morning. 
 
 "I thank you, sir.'* 
 
 "Don't mention it." 
 
 Treading very lightly, Tallien advanced into the middle 
 of the room, and struck an attitude of conscious elegance 
 before the full-length mirror (very suggestive of the last 
 phase of the brass top), raising his right arm dramati- 
 cally, as if saluting an unseen presence. 
 
 "Terezia," he said. "Your very obedient servant, 
 ma'am." 
 
 The address was brief, and mystifying on the whole. 
 The discreet manservant, figuratively speaking, stuffed 
 his ears with cotton-wool. He never presumed. 
 
 Tallien, neither remembering his indiscretion nor ignor- 
 ing it, still treading on air took the shortest way to 
 the House. As he walked he whistled a delightful tune, 
 yet not loud enough to court attention. 
 
 The fine weather had attracted quite a crowd of people 
 out of doors. 
 
 All was commotion in the dusty lobby of the House. 
 Members stood about in congested, excited groups, ap- 
 parently all talking at once, and paying not the least 
 attention to each other. 
 
 Into this galere walked Tallien attractive as a honey- 
 cake to a swarm of wasps. From his sweet expression 
 you might have supposed that he'd have liked to embrace 
 the company collectively and individually. 
 
 However, he restricted himself to shaking hands with 
 some dozen of his immediate friends and supporters; nor 
 did he escape some gentle raillery on his smart appearance. 
 
 "Are you going to a wedding, citoyen?^* 
 
 "No; are you?" 
 
TERROR 351 
 
 W 
 
 IV (When a popular hero makes the slightest jest it is 
 Always received with a perfect salvo of laughter,) 
 
 "Get along you artful dodger! Show us your bag of 
 tricks !" said the humorist. 
 
 "Presently, presently," said Tallien significantly, tap- 
 ping his coat pocket. 
 
 "What a collar!" cried an ecstatic voice in the crowd. 
 "No, no, look at the back, citoyen! Did you ever see a 
 more faithful reproduction? It is a work of art." 
 
 "Most excellently well done. Two mandarins and four 
 green leaves. Quite an idea!" 
 
 They surged lovingly around him, his admiring friends. 
 If his coat-collar had been embroidered with four carrots 
 and six green leaves, they would have been just as en- 
 chanted just as outspoken in their praise. None envied 
 Tallien. All admired him. 
 
 Through the high, uncurtained windows the brilliant 
 July sun streamed down on this body of representative 
 men searching out Tallien for particular attention. 
 
 In the glare of the light his greasy black hair shone 
 like ebony, and his full lips were like a pair of crushed 
 pomegranate petals very red, and rather cracked. Had 
 he a touch of fever eh? 
 
 Tallien rubbed his hands and looked around at the 
 crowd. "Has he arrived?" he asked a stout legislator. 
 
 "Half an hour ago. He ran through the lobby like a 
 scuttling beetle ^looking neither to right nor left. Le 
 Brun called out, ^Good morning, Citoyen Robespierre.' 
 He had not the heart or the nerve to answer him." (The 
 fat man pinched Tallien's arm.) "In a funk, my man, 
 a blue devil of a funk! You will be able to rat him out 
 as easily as Saint-Just drones to empty benches." 
 
 "They will be full presently," observed Tallien signifi- 
 cantly, looking through the half-open doors leading to the 
 hall. 
 
 In truth Saint-Just was delivering a dry-as-dust ora- 
 tion to a poor audience. The President in due obser- 
 vance of his duty was seated in his tribune, which was 
 
352 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 reached by a flight of steps. On his table stood a bell. 
 Tallien also caught a glimpse of Citoyen Robespierre, in 
 his usual place, on the cross benches, facing Saint-Just. 
 
 "Look at him," said the fat man. "I'll bet you a thou- 
 sand sheep his ears are twitching and his eyes are glued 
 on the floor, and his fingers are working. He is playing 
 cat's-cradle with his thumbs a, last desperate resource 
 to appear at his ease.'^ 
 
 An immense smile lit TalUen's face. You might have 
 thought he^d walked round the clock, stealing a couple of 
 hours in advance of Time. That he was not contemplating 
 a big coup, but that he had actually carried it off, by an 
 overwhelming majority. 
 
 "Poor wee mite," said Tallien with exquisite irony. 
 
 His absurd expression was received with tumultuous 
 laughter. 
 
 "Poor wee mite," echoed a wit, who lived by flattering 
 imitation. 
 
 Tallien smiled kindly at the young man. 
 
 "Now tell me," he said earnestly, "of last night's pro- 
 ceedings? I haven't so far heard anything but a garbled 
 version of the affair. The wretched monster seems to 
 have exceeded himself." 
 
 This quick descriptive change of the same object wor- 
 ried the Repeating Wit. He had, however, sufficient wit to 
 realize that if he called out "wretched monster" the re- 
 mark would have been an artistic failure. So he gloomily 
 held his tongue and gloomily sucked the head of his cane. 
 
 The fat man raised his hands. "A shockin' exhibition," 
 he said. **I was present all the evenin' at the Jacobins' 
 Club. Why, the man frightened me! I tell you, for a 
 pair of chestnuts he would have committed suicide. Ravin' 
 mad ! Shrieked like an owl, caught in a blazing bam. His 
 usual gimcrack nonsense, his incorruptibleness, his integ- 
 rity the Supreme Being " 
 
 "I know," said Tallien. 
 
 The fat man caught his breath delighted at his own 
 eloquence. 
 
TERROR 353 
 
 *'His pet crony, David, the artist, took him off at last. 
 They sobbed in each other's arms mighty grand, 'Let us 
 drink hemlock together,' said pal David. Here, brother 
 Augustin you know, Robespierre the younger asked to 
 share his brother's fate. All three jabbered like monkeys, 
 and implored the privilege of dying to vindicate their 
 honor Vive la Republique!'' 
 
 "Might oblige 'em at a pinch," said Tallien, looking 
 round at his vastly increased audience. 
 
 A murmur ran through the crowd. 
 
 "Rip along, Tallien," said a voice. "There is nothing 
 worse than uncertainty." 
 
 "David bolted this morning," volunteered a member. 
 
 "Sensible fellow," said Tallien. 
 
 The fat man held up a fat hand. "A pity you missed 
 it ^bar none, the liveliest bit of excitement we have had 
 lately and we've been spoiled eh?" 
 
 Tallien nodded. 
 
 "Things reached a climax when his godship . tried to 
 read his speech, the one we declined to listen to on Wednes- 
 day 'member.?" 
 
 Tallien nodded. 
 
 "An infernal din. We behaved damned well. We 
 jumped and howled and whistled and groaned ^you never 
 heard such a devil of a noise. Some ripped the seats off 
 the benches and others started kickin' the walls nervy 
 gentlemen dodging here and there, like jumping- frogs. 
 Lecoulteux smart little chap let off the fireworks, 
 genuine, sir, crackin' rockets under his blue nose raisin' 
 smoke, raisin' blue flames raisin' the wind." 
 
 Tallien nodded. 
 
 "He had a lively send-off, you bet. The little cur was 
 not dished by smoke or fire, nor noise, nor anything. He 
 backed his own authority, tried to howl us down ^blasted 
 impertinence! ^his lungs working like bellows, his face 
 scarlet with mortification. 'I demand!' he shrieked. 'I 
 demand!' Who cares a tinker's curse what he demanded? 
 At length, as I told you, David hustled him out of the 
 
354 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 room a sulphurous beggar the tears pouring down his 
 face. Never saw such a heavenly sight! A burst water- 
 pipe spluttering at the main. Little Max burst to pieces I'' 
 
 The speaker paused to wipe the saliva off his mouth 
 with a yellow handkerchief. 
 
 **Every word is gospel truth," he added; "every word," 
 
 Tallien slid his hand through the fat man's arm. 
 
 *'Shall we go in?" he asked. "My friends" ^he turned 
 and faced his audience, "I reckon on your support." 
 
 "We are with you heart and soul," said Paul B arras. 
 
 A great big word squeaked, as usual, in Tallien's throat 
 before it flew, gloriously free, over his large red lips a 
 brilliant, audacious word. 
 
 Inside the hall he dropped the fat man's arm and walked 
 alone up the gangway to his seat, opposite Robespierre, 
 followed at some distance by his supporters. Each 
 man filed into his place. Saint-Just broke off his speech 
 to give Tallien a smile, as he sat down beside him. Tallien 
 glanced at Citoyen Robespierre, apparently deeply en- 
 grossed by his boots the man who had given him his first 
 bag of gold. 
 
 Robespierre, without looking up, felt that Tallien had 
 entered the hall, and that he had honored him with his 
 recognition. He lifted his throbbing, aching head and 
 nodded. The two men stared at each other. Across the 
 hall they stared at each other measuring each other's 
 weakness. In Robespierre's blurred, troubled mind all that 
 he could take hold of was Tallien's flashy waistcoat. The 
 silver tissue gleamed like a coat of mail. And all that 
 mattered to Tallien was Robespierre's evident fatigue. 
 He had no fight left in him. 
 
 Saint-Just could no longer complain of poor attention. 
 In that packed hall you could have heard a pin drop so- 
 intense was the silence, broken by one man's sing-song 
 utterance. 
 
 Five minutes elapsed. The great round-faced, white- 
 faced clock, over the President's chair, ticked out the 
 flying seconds. . , . Another five minutes passed, devoted 
 
TERROR 355 
 
 to a statistical statement of excessive dryness, which no 
 one heard. There were flies in the big hall, a shaft of 
 sunlight, three hundred determined men, and one man 
 whose heart ran amuck. 
 
 Tallien slipped his right hand into his coat-pocket. 
 
 Suddenly, with an impassioned gesture, he rose to his 
 feet, and, holding a dagger in his hand, he cut Saint-Just 
 short in his peroration. 
 
 "Citoyen President, I demand a hearing!" he cried. 
 
 A murmur ran across the packed benches. Every eye 
 was turned on Tallien. Robespierre ceased to play cat's- 
 cradle and gave him his whole attention. 
 
 The President bent forward and touched his bell. He 
 had intimated that the House was ready to listen to 
 Citoyen Tallien. 
 
 Tallien stood upright, every nerve in his large body 
 working at high pressure. The revolution and un- 
 dreamed-of-honors held him taut as a ramrod. His 
 words gushed strongly. His indictment, one flood of 
 eloquence, was cruelly direct. At every word the tumult 
 increased. Men howled their assent hats waved in the 
 air handkerchiefs, red, yellow and blue, fluttered as 
 butterflies dance in the sun. Tallien's arms gesticulated 
 wildly. He pointed the dagger at the scapegoat a 
 cowering, terrified, mouthing scapegoat, lately dubbed the 
 Supreme Being. 
 
 "I denounce the traitor !" he cried. *'I denounce Robes- 
 pierre. Look at him, men of France ! His very face 
 admits his own guilty actions. To the guillotine with 
 Robespierre !" 
 
 Then his voice dropped it took a downward note a 
 note of anguish. 
 
 *^Think of the others," he said. "The innocent victims 
 suffering for his abominable crimes! Shall he go free? 
 O brothers in mercy consider the women." 
 
 His eyes flew the round of the hall, and discovered tears ; 
 then they returned to face the President, who had risen 
 from his seat, jangling his little bell. 
 
356 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 * Tallien sat down. 
 
 On the steps leading to the presidential tribune a little 
 man, a trembling little man, with damp, lank hair, and a 
 pitiable expression on his ghastly face, was running up 
 and down. His action was strangely suggestive of a small 
 boy at play who simply runs up and down the stairs 
 to please himself. Yet this strange little man so hid- 
 eously and mightily transformed ^was acting quite un- 
 consciously. 
 
 "Men of France," he squealed^turning and facing a 
 sea of enraged faces, "I am innocent of all the charges 
 brought against me! I can defend myself. I . . ." 
 
 And all the time that little silver bell was ringing shrilly 
 against him. There was no mercy in the House for 
 Robespierre. 
 
 He tumbled down the stairs. Giddily, swaying to and 
 fro, he hurried down the gangway. 
 
 "Attention! Attention!" he called. 
 
 The little bell rang convulsively. 
 
 "I accept the decree against Robespierre," called the 
 President. "I arrest him in the name of Liberty, Frater- 
 nity and Equality." 
 
 The ushers at the door stared aghast at each other. 
 They hardly dared obey their orders. 
 
 **Ah !" shrieked Robespierre, "Let go of me 1 Citizens, 
 as God lives, you are laboring under a grave delusion. I 
 denounce Tallien, the arch-traitor!" 
 
 The bell rang again, 
 
 "Carry him out," said the President, 
 
 "To prison to prison!" shouted the House as one 
 voice. 
 
 "No, try him at once!" cried a dissentient member. 
 
 Up rose Tallien. "Citoyen President, I move a petition 
 in the name of law and order that from to-day no sus- 
 pected individuals are imprisoned. And that all suspected 
 persons are to be set at liberty." 
 
 A deafening roar reached Robespierre as, bound, dis- 
 
TERROR 357 
 
 figured, bleeding, he was hustled into a common cab a 
 condemned man. 
 
 All the church bells jangled and pealed. All Paris was 
 agog with excitement. The news of Robespierre's down- 
 fall spread like wildfire. Joy is as contagious as tears. 
 Strangers fell on each other's necks and wept for happi- 
 ness. On the morning following Robespierre's arrest, men 
 and women laughed aloud and danced together in the 
 public streets. 
 
 In the midst of this hurly-burly, down the Rue La- 
 fayette there came in sight a sorry procession. Mean 
 carts they were, packed close with worthless lives that's 
 to say they had been worthless yesterday to-day they 
 were infinitely precious. Fervent Samaritans of both 
 sexes surrounded the carts and would have dragged the 
 dazed prisoners out of the jaws of death. Words of pity, 
 of consolation, of tenderness ran like milk down the 
 crowded street. "This shall not be," they said. "Be at 
 liberty, brothers. Take courage, sisters." The jailers 
 in charge who had had no fresh orders ^beat the people 
 back. The carts, with their amazed load of humanity, 
 moved on. It is sad to note that, in spite of protest, the 
 guillotine worked at regulation speed on the morning 
 following Robespierre's indictment. Galloping horsemen 
 scattered the crowds. Galloping horsemen surrounded the 
 grim prisons (by order). Orders counter-orders were 
 given and received with astonishing rapidity. Food for 
 thought, rich as a harvest in Siberia. . . . Men chattered 
 and laughed on the verge of lunacy. Not one really sane 
 man lived that day in Paris! 
 
 It all happened and gospel truth it is. 
 
 At night the sky was lit by a feu de joie. The bells, 
 the rejoicing bells, rang under livid skies. 
 
 " 'Tis the end," they said, "the end of iniquity.*' 
 
 Robespierre passed the night strapped to a table 'his 
 back to the jeers of his jailers. How they had laughed 
 
358 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 at the great little man ! They had taunted his godship 
 they had jeered at his blue vestments at his trousers of 
 white nankeen, at his face all forlorn, nay, his face all 
 anguished! This was terror! 
 
 By morning he sat up, all of a heap a bullet wound, 
 ugly and bleeding, ploughing his left jaw, breaking it 
 clean; his mouth hanging open, like a broken toy. He 
 had failed to die. He had only robbed himself of speech. 
 He could still feel pain, dishonor, defeat, ... So they 
 brought him into the light side by side with his nasty 
 brother (he who, trying to escape, fell into a cesspool, 
 to be, presently, fished out). Together in a common 
 tumbril they jolted through Paris. 
 
 Someone had bound Robespierre's jaw with a dirty 
 white rag there were crimson patches on it. His eyes 
 were very dumb. It was the end of all things. Behind 
 him, in front of him, and around him there surged a 
 triumphant and curious crowd. 
 
 "It is Robespierre," they said. "Look, my friend 
 it is Robespierre !" 
 
 The bells rang loudly. . . 
 
 Down familiar streets he journeyed. 
 
 La Gmllotine had moved back to her old place. Once 
 again she stood, in the brilliant sunshine, on the Place de 
 la Revolution, waiting. 
 
 The whole world waited. At the very end the world 
 held her breath. 
 
 They hurried him up on the platform and gave him 
 over to Samson. 
 
 A man pulled at his bandage. Robespierre's broken 
 jaw fell down, revealing a shattered, terrifying face, 
 strangely familiar. 
 
 His godship pealed a hideous, unnatural shriek. He 
 was held down ... he was dead. 
 
CHAPTER XLV 
 
 THE spider hung motionless in his own net surrounded 
 by prison flies. He was no longer interesting. Alive 
 he had distracted the ladies. They would tap their ele- 
 gant fingers, straining every nerve to reach the little dirty 
 window, barred by iron and filmy cobwebs. To reach the 
 window they had to stand on the chair, balancing them- 
 selves on the tips of their miserable shoes such deplora- 
 ble shoes in a vain effort to annoy the busy spider. He 
 gave them never a wink. He had his spider eyes fixed 
 on flies, a numberless host at Les Carmes and not on the 
 prisoners. 
 
 For the last hour or so Josephine had languidly amused 
 herself by ridiculing Terezia's valiant and fruitless effort 
 to reach a vulnerable spot in Tallien's "lion heart." 
 
 Her passionate appeal to her lover had been made in 
 vain. It hadn't achieved its purpose ; neither her letters 
 nor her toy dagger, dramatically tied with a piece of pink 
 satin ribbon (quite a clean piece, too), had been of any 
 effect. 
 
 ^^HelasH said Josephine, "you can bet your handker- 
 chief it is only half a one that he flung your symbolic 
 dagger into a handy drawer, and that by now he has for- 
 gotten its existence. No doubt he read your letters, and 
 no doubt he kissed them affectionately. Kisses are utterly 
 worthless in the wrong places. Nasty brute ! I wouldn't 
 wonder if each time you wrote, as a sign of sympathy he 
 ate an extra nice supper. Hot soup, fish, roast beef, 
 jellies, and those little cream tarts which I love. We 
 won't forgive him the tarts in a hurry, baked to perfec- 
 tion, with a dash of rum and a thought of sugar. N'est-ce 
 pas, cherie.'^" 
 
 359 
 
360 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 Josephine turned, with her brilliant eyes aglow, to the 
 duchess for sympathy. Terezia was looking mulish, 
 staring at the opposite wall. Her silence was almost as 
 oppressive as the heat. After all, poor girl, she had done 
 her best. But she needn't have been so cocksure of her 
 man. A born coward is not easily turned into a daunt- 
 less hero. After all, Tallien was only a lackey's son. No 
 one could say that his ancestors were famous. 
 
 The duchess smiled and assured Josephine her recipe 
 for the cream tarts was quite correct. She nodded her 
 little curly head to give emphasis to her statement. The 
 good God had given the duchess hair which curled natur- 
 ally even under the most trying conditions. 
 
 She had had a severe attack of prison fever, but was 
 now convalescent, though woefully thin. The prison diet 
 grew from bad to worse. Prison routine, though of 
 monotonous regularity, was none the less heart-breaking. 
 Josephine said the dramatic element saved them from 
 madness. Would their names stand on the fatal list? 
 That was always a question of some little interest. Mad- 
 ness was worse than fleas, she'd declare, and far worse 
 than physical discomfort and dirt. Fcmte de mieua:, they 
 could always cultivate their minds. 
 
 She was wise, was Josephine. Ninon was good. Terezia 
 was impatient. 
 
 For eight months, eight intolerably long months, these 
 tired women (Terezia excepted, she'd only been eight 
 weeks at Les Carmes) had watched and waited and hoped, 
 and seen too much of each other. By now they knew each 
 other's stock phrases. They knew each other's faults, 
 and they had glimpsed ^without great satisfaction -each 
 other's good qualities. 
 
 Josephine addressed her conversation exclusively to the 
 duchess. Then she pillowed her head upon Ninon's knees 
 and shut her eyes and sighed, and looked up and sighed 
 again, and went to sleep. 
 
 Ninon took out of her pocket a tiny calf-bound volume 
 and began to read. She had read the book many times. 
 
TERROR 361 
 
 Terezia did not try to conceal her bitter disappoint- 
 ment. At this moment nothing would have given her so 
 much pleasure as to plunge her toy dagger into the 
 cowardly heart of her lover, Tallien. Ugh ! how she hated 
 him; his immense smile; his immense conceit; his lowborn, 
 thieving instincts. Was there ever such a dirty swine? 
 
 She shivered. . . 
 
 And he had kissed her mouth (her incomparable mouth) ; 
 he had held her in his arms (her incomparable self). Even 
 now her crowning characteristic asserted itself. She 
 would die game. She would die vain! 
 
 And yet the vast pity of death. 
 
 Life was glorious. She was so young, and so entirely 
 capable of enjoying herself to the uttermost. If Tallien 
 only proved himself a man or a fair imitation of one 
 she swore, with quick revulsion of feeling, that she wouldn't 
 let him go unrewarded. She would thrill him by her 
 exquisite tenderness. She would worship him with her 
 body and soul. She would be his slave, his creature, his 
 toy. ... 
 
 From far, far off there came a murmur of voices, A 
 heavy door banged below. Someone screamed. 
 
 "Oh !" said Josephine, waking up and complaining of a 
 stiff neck. "Your fine lover, Terezia, has very sensibly 
 gone to bed on top of that fine supper. The little dagger 
 is no longer picturesque, devoid of hope. Chance is the 
 most decorative and romantic element in life. (Oh, I'm 
 so deadly hungry!) Plus que Reine . . . hJlas, hSlas, 
 I am so disappointed in my darling old witch. A young 
 girl will believe anything nice when the sky is blue, to 
 match her lover's eyes. My first affair was a sailor, a 
 most adorable English sailor. All the month of May his 
 ship lay at anchor in the bay of St. Pierre. I taught him 
 six Creole love-songs. He had a voice to shame a night- 
 ingale. I was seventeen and hadn't a care in the world 
 helas, hSlasr 
 
 Terezia stopped Josephine's lamenting with an impera- 
 tive gesture. Something was happening! She sprang to 
 
362 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 her feet, and with all her force she rattled the handle 
 of the barred door. 
 
 "The place may be on fire," she said. "They must 
 open the door." 
 
 Les Carmes, habitually a place of silence, had grown 
 suddenly noisy. Heavy footsteps came down the echoing, 
 immense passage. They could hear men arguing and 
 women sobbing. And the great bell rang. 
 
 "Let us out, for Christ's sake! let us out!" called 
 Josephine, with a sob in her throat. She also rattled the 
 door. 
 
 Terezia turned round and drew herself up to her full 
 height. 
 
 "It is freedom," she said. "France is saved, and Tal- 
 lien is the greatest man in the world, and I love him." 
 
 "Who wouldn't love him!" said Josephine impatiently, 
 hurling the chair against the door. "This delay is in- 
 tolerable! Where is Joseph? Too bad of Joseph not to 
 remember us ! I will scold him severely. There is another 
 bell. Listen ! More bells. It is a beautiful summer even- 
 ing. With any luck we will get home in time for late 
 dinner. My dear," she reached up and kissed Terezia, 
 "all my life I will remember you. What sufferings we 
 have endured together! . . . Ten thousand devils! Open 
 the door!" 
 
 Terezia smoothed her hair, and drew together an obvious 
 rent in her bodice. 
 
 "Ninon, lend me your lace scarf, there's a darling. You 
 look a picture as it is." 
 
 The duchess was on her knees, at the foot of their 
 wretched bed, saying her prayers. "God, I thank Thee," 
 she murmured. "God, I thank Thee for all Thy mercies." 
 
 T^r^zia shrugged her shoulders. She thought the 
 prayer both exaggerated and premature. 
 
 The cell door was flung open. 
 
 "You are at liberty," called a surly turnkey. ^'Robes- 
 pierre is dead, or practically dead. There is such a hub- 
 bub and confusion down below, no one really understands 
 
TERROR 363 
 
 what has happened. Anyhow, all prisoners are to be 
 released. Out you go. Better make haste." 
 
 And the surly turnkey (a real angel) vanished with a 
 heavy tread down the stone corridor, jingling an immense 
 bunch of keys. 
 
 The ladies stared at each other. The news was rather 
 staggering, you know. Robespierre accused, condemned, 
 dead ! Long live Tallien ! What a man ^what a glory of 
 a man ! 
 
 They drove away together in a ramshackle conveyance, 
 laughing, talking, and questioning the polite Joseph up 
 to the very last. How had it all come about? Had all 
 the prisoners been released.^ Who was at the head of 
 affairs? Wasn't the air lovely? Weren't there many 
 people about? And why did they stare? Why were some 
 crying? Did they look so very dreadful? 
 
 Joseph, having assisted the ladies into the coach, and 
 given the driver his orders, answered as well as he could 
 their inquiries. 
 
 "Good-by, dear M. Joseph," said Josephine. "Your 
 kindness has been invaluable. Are you perfectly sure 
 that all these terrible men have been guillotined?'* 
 
 "No, madam, I am perfectly certain Citoyen Tallien 
 lives." 
 
 "But of course, he is the hero of the hour ! But for his 
 
 splendid courage " she shuddered. "Look there is 
 
 Mme. de la Tremoille. And poor Mme. Victoire." 
 
 A group of prisoners were slowly, with uncertain foot- 
 steps, coming across the unevenly paved prison yard. 
 They looked like spectres in the evening light ^ragged 
 spectres. 
 
 Mme. de la Tremoille had lost her husband and both 
 her children. Out of all her family she alone had been 
 spared the death penalty. She walked with her splendid 
 upright carriage towards the gate, assisting a younger 
 lady (who nevertheless had snow-white hair). The 
 younger lady was talking volubly, telling everyone she 
 
364 TORCHLIGHT 
 
 met that, within a few hours, she'd have the happiness 
 of embracing her children, who were safe in the country. 
 
 "Poor dear," said Josephine. "As I told you, Terezia, 
 madness is far worse than fleas. Her suffering has de- 
 prived her of her reason. When her mother and children 
 died of fever, just after her husband was guillotined, she 
 went mad. She is quite tractable, poor dear, but, as you 
 see, quite mad. Her eyes are horrid. Don't look at her. 
 I wish they could kill Robespierre twice over. Joseph, 
 Joseph! Was he brave?" 
 
 "I was not present at the arrest, madam." 
 
 "I don't mean him. How did Tallien behave?" 
 
 "We must be going," said Terezia. "Good-by, M. 
 Joseph. I'll send you a card with the exact (Jates. Re- 
 member you've promised to come to my receptions." 
 
 "And. to mine also," said Josephine; "And tell your 
 nice brother to bring his friend, the little general. What 
 was his name?" 
 
 "Napoleon Bonaparte." 
 
 "Oh, I remember; a clever Corsican officer, with heaps 
 of brothers and sisters, and still more ambitions. Do vou 
 think he will succeed in getting everything he wants?" 
 
 "Possibly." 
 
 "How I envy him," said Terezia. 
 
 "Please tell the man to drive on," said the duchess. 
 
 **I know," said Terezia. "I'll marry him." 
 
 "And leave Tallien out in the cold !" screamed Josephine. 
 **Isn't she a pig? Joseph, I quite forgot. If you should 
 meet M. de Beauharnais before I do, givie him my love 
 and address. I am going to stay with Aunt Fanny. In 
 future I intend to love him with all my heart. He de- 
 serves nothing less. I am so happy. Are we really free? 
 Is it a dream, M. Joseph?" 
 
 The cab drove off, and M. Joseph was spared telling 
 Madame de Beauharnais the truth. He was convinced 
 that she would bear her widowhood with fortitude. 
 
 "Yes, darling Terezia," continued Josephine, "you must 
 marry Tallien at once. For every reason." 
 
TERROR 365 
 
 T6rezia yawned, 
 
 "Not this week, as I live!" she said. "For one week I 
 intend to stay in bed and enjoy myself; do nothing but 
 eat and sleep and grow fat and beautiful, and revel in 
 clean linen and unlimited baths. For one week I'll shut 
 my doors in the face of Fate.'* 
 
 "Et aprfes?" 
 
 "I'll do my duty.'^ ^ 
 
 "Well, your future is settled very satisfactorily. Only 
 don't be stupid." 
 
 "I am not stupid," said T^r&ia; "far from it!" Sud- 
 denly she kicked oif a tattered shoe and flung it into the 
 street. She wore no stockings, for the simple reason that 
 she possessed none. Affectionately she stared at her 
 little pink toes and her exquisite ankle. 
 
 "They are not so very dirty, after all," she said com- 
 placently. 
 
 The duchess, who was seated with her back to the horses, 
 looked tearfully happy. She hadn't been listening to her 
 friends' conversation, being deeply engrossed in her own 
 concerns. Her whole mind was concentrated on her 
 babies. In a very little while they'd be in her arms. . . . 
 
 Josephine bent forward and kissed away the tears run- 
 ning down the thin, pale cheeks of her little friend. 
 ^Ninon," she said, "I understand, vois-tu. I'm also a 
 mother. Only Eugene and Hortense are no longer babies." 
 
 T6rezia, behind her borrowed scarf, which she had ar- 
 ranged very becomingly round her head, looked curiously 
 at the passers-by. So, the Reign of Terror was over! 
 . . . She smiled a triumphant smile. Her mind was full 
 of new speculations. 
 
 End of Volume I 
 
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