LEISURE HOUR SERIES LESSE OBLIGE BY THE OROF"MLLE.MORr *Z^.^. Henry HoLT&Co.PuBLiSHEF. Nev/York M The I I THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES GIFT OF California State Library lES. .1 - t inj. «t ,>f the Library, turee favor of any '"'-""' , > l,as returned all books taken ^^ otherwise. i signed all accounts for injuring such ^^ ^^^^ ^^^i,,^ i the seat of ^"-■-";^7 ^f^^.tees of the Librai^- Attorney-General, and the iru „.„ ,r.„v,r. jies>.rs. flESBi: Holt ii Co. Hpt of the advertined price. CONDENSED CLASSICS. PiiKi'Aiti-.iJ nv IIOSSITEU JOJLNSOX, (E>l'itOf of ^' Littli' tla.snics.") IMessrs. IIknky IIoi.t & Co. have }«st begnn th;iCy •"•f^-tb-":^ -!\i,,y word, .with the excejitiuii of a few connecting clauses, is tlie author's own, and nothing has been consciously omitted which lielps on the story or is necessary to the delineation of a character or the ;rrapliic portr >yal of a scene. Though il;e elided passag-es are by no means worthless, yet for tlie I'urposes of the rapid reader who desires only the stoiy and an imcriticid knowledge of the author, the^' can well be spared, and the dr;iniatic inteiest is intensified by reducing the amount of matter. The aim has been to cut out everything that a skillful novel reader would skip. ,niil everything that he might skip if he knew what were comi?ig. This condensation leaves the novels, on the average, about half of their iir!"':'i:H Ipii'k. iVOIV READY: l\^\NFiOE. By Sir Walter Scott. OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. By DicKr..x>. X EARLY REAnV: THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII. Uy jk ..wf.r. Reasonable encouragement will lead to the completion of the editions of these authors and to the similar publication of the U'orks of Field- ing. -Sterne, Marryat, Lever. '\\'arreu, and others. ^^E'l.L-h novel will bi in II ISmoroi. hi' "I Price $1. r25 liohd at , Nfw ioik. iM:i. ;j, lo.i;. / V LEISURE HOUR SERIES NOBLESSE OBLIGE BY THH AUTHOR OF "MLLE. MORI" / ji.0-^'- " Onr duty is neither to ridicule the affairs of men, nor to deplore, but einiply to un- dergtand ihem '" — Spinoza. NEW YORK HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 1876, DEDICATED TO THE DEAR MEMORY OF E. M. H. CONTENTS. CHAPTKH I. MOTHKR AKD DArOHTER II. Plot and Counterplot . III. A Republican Wedding IV. A Li>NO Night's Walk . V, Explanations VI. Edmee finds a Feiend . VII. Friend or Foe . VIII. Froji Scylla to Chartbdi: ■" IX. The Abbe Gerusez X. Mere Claude . XI. What the Abbe said. XII. Apartments in Paris XIII, In Hiding . XIV. A Game of Chess . XV. The Blow falls XVI. A Friend in Need. XVII. Foiled XVIII. ' The Incorruptible ' XIX. Uncaged XX. Balmat's Conspieact XXI. An Exchange of Prisoners XXII. Between Flood and Ebb XXIII. Eeminiscences . XXIV. A Recognition PAGB 1 10 14 23 32 39 48 58 C>6 77 85 94 103 112 119 127 136 143 152 IGO 168 175 182 190 via CONTENTS. flHAPTER XXV. Hide and Seek . XXVI. The 9th of Thbrmidoe . XXVII. Lattke .... XXVni. Open Sesame . XXIX. 'Should Old Acqdaintancb be XXX. The Birds aee ixown XXXI. Balmat in his Studio . XXXn. M. Dklts makes a JouRNEr XXXIII. An Art Patron . XXXIV. In the Atelieb XXXV. Hopes and Fears XXXVI. De Pelvex goes to Church XXXVII. A Meeting ui the Atelier XXXVIII. Life in the Atelier XXXIX. A Glimpse of the Past XL. Entrapped XLI. Alain's Ransom . . . XLII. A Friend at Court . XLIII. Husband and Wife FORGOT ? ' PAQK 203 212 220 231 242 252 259 273 286 294 306 314 325 335 340 350 359 368 381 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. CHAPTER I. MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. Between Pontarlier on the French frontier and that district •which in 1793 was kno^^'n as Bresse lies a great stretch of as uninteresting country as can be found in the whole of Central France. It is spaisgly populated now, and was even more so then ; but here and there a village raises its red-tiled roofs beside a winding river, and then the long white road goes on again over a featureless jilain, as far as eye can see, without another hamlet cominc; into sight. Vaise is one of these villages, far off" the modem track of travellers, and offering notlung noticqable in itself, but situated in one of the few spots which have any claim to picturesqueness, for there a little river mns fiercely between rocky banks, eddying and foaming round great blocks of stone which fell mto it at that far-off time when this strange and sudden upheaval of the ground took place, and obliging anyone who wishes to cross to go all the \\'ay round to the bridge, which spans the stream with a single very high and pointed stone arch. At first sight the bed seems so narrow and so much encumbered by the huge boulders lying in it that, except at times v/hen melting snow or heavy rains send the stream in flood to the Saone, it looks an easy thing to cross upon them ; but the inhabitants know that in mid-channel there is always a deep and rapid current, too wide to jump across, and strong NOBLESSE OBLIGE. enough to swee]) away any stepping-stones. They either go round to the bridge, or boiTOw the miller's boat. The mill stands by a wider and quieter bit of water, formed partly by ISTature, partly by art. Every mill has its boat along these streams. In 1792 the mill of Vaise belonged to the Chateau de St. Aiguan, and until feudal rights a\oic abolished the villagers were bound to have their corn ground at it. The chateau stood on the other side of the river, an ancient, but not very extensive building. Its o^\^lers were of a good countiy family — noblesse de provincs — who, until the last twenty years, had lived on theii- estates, and only claimed very distant cousinsliip with the elder branch of the same name. The actual owner had joined the army as a lad of twelve, with some half-dozen young cousins, under his father's guardianship, and before he was thirteen had seen some service, and came hoine for a short time to be cured of a wound in the arm. Since then he had rarely appeared, except to pass a few weeks in hunting, and his intendant, or steward, Leroux, was much better known to the tenants than theii- master, of whom Leroux's dealings gave no very pleasant impression. Living at Court strained the resources of a property never very considerable, and, as elsewhere, the tenants of St. Aignan were ground down by exactions — not more than elsewhere, and not less. Things were rapidly changing now, but for the moment it seemed doubtful whether for the better or worse. The Earon and his sons were gone, indeed, out of the story ; some said they were in Paris, others that they had emigrated ; no one knew or cared much which was true ; Leroux only shrugged his shoulders when asked. He had always given it to be understood that he was the unwilling instrument of his master's exactions, and that his strongest wish Avas never to see or hear of him again. This was true enough, though perh:ips not in the sense in which he Avished it to be understood. The villagers had never known exactly what to make of Jncques Leroux ; they had feared him when he acted for his lord, and feared him even more now that he headed the little party of Jacobins which had sprung up at Vaise as elsewhere, to be at first hailed and admiied as patriots by their neighbours, all of v/hom had MOTHER AND DA UOHTER. 3 tlieir own story of wrongs and siifTeruigs, but who now begaa to be viewed Avith vague and fearful distrust. No one in £'i ance knew exactly what to expect or fear, so that no effec- tual defence could be attempted against the rising tide of revolution. Of late a rumour had ciiculatcd that the chateau, and its lands were to be sold as hi:n d'emi'jrc, in lots to tho highest bidder, as the property of a neighbouring convent had been some time before. No one knew the truth of this, unless Leroux did. The villagers thought that they must now be at liberty to kill game and fell trees as they jileased, and went, €7i masse, to pull down the dovecot of the chateau, •with vengeful recollections of the crops desti'oyed and di- minished by the flights of pigeons, whose right it was to feed in the tenants' fields. But having accomplished the destruc- tion of the ' colombier,' they found a sudden check put to their proceedings by Leroux's declaring that the chiiteau a,nd its dependencies were the property of the nation, and must therefore be respected. It Avas a severe disappointment, and there was much grumbling, but v/ith bated breath, for Leroux knew how to speak too significantly to be disregarded. No one liked to meet his light-grey eyes twice. He Avas an under-sized man, Avith a narroAv head and a thin A'oice ; there seemed nothing formidable about him, and yet everyone felt something of that mortal terror in Avhich his Avife held him — terror Avhich Avas not produced by blows or any tangible ill- treatment. Leroux had never struck a blow, nor abused anyone loudly in his life ; but he liad a singular poAver of cowing all under his authority by look and tone, and a fev/ quiet words. By such means he had long since crushed his Avife into helpless, nervous submission. Madame Leroux did not belong to Vaise by birth. She came from Berri, Avhere the St. Aignans had also property ; and the good folks of Yaise had always looked on her as a stranger, and therefore more foe than friend. During all the seA'enteen yeais in Avhich she had lived in Vaise, and faded into a pale, shrinking creo.,ture, the shadoAv of her old self, she had not knoAvn hoAV to make a friend among her own class; and the only person AA'ho showed her a little rough kindness Avas the miller, a good-humoured cheery man, who had married Leroux's sister. 4 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. There was. no doubt, a jealousy cf Ber, as "being not only a foreigner, but a step above them as the intendant's wife, and often at the chateau ; but the deeper reason was that she grew yearly more sj^iritless and unable to show fi-iendlincss herself. Her one dcsiie was to keep out of sight, and come as little as possible in Leroux's way. Only one person had succeeded in winning the confidence of the frightened woman, and this was Madame de St. Aignan, a Beirichonne like herself, who, when she was at the chateau, would send for her and recall mutual recollections of her native place, while they played with little Edmee, \intil she outgiew her baby- hood, and went to the chateau to learn instead of to play. Edmee was the only child of INIadame Leroux, and the god- child of Madame de St. Aignan. But the kind mistress of the chiiteau was dead, taken away from the evil to come, and Madame Leroux was slowly pining to death on a sick bed, nursed by Edmee, now a slender, startled-looking girl of sixteen, who feared Leroux as much as her mother did, but in a diflerent way. Madame Leroux knew more cf her husband's tactics than anyone else did ; he had used her as a tool, and she had been conscious of it, without indeed daring to resist ; but the thought that she had been a spy on the St. Aignans had gone far to break down what little courage she had left, and bring her to her gi-ave. She fancied, with a weak woman's exaggerated remorse, that the ruin of the family to whom she owed hereditaiy allegiance, and vrho were represented to her by the beloved lady to whom she was in- debted for all the faint rays of sunsliine Avhich her maiTicd life had known, lay at her door. The thought haunted her day and night, haimted Edmee too, though she, at least, was blameless; for when she discovered that her father had a purjjose in making her repeat everything which she heard at the chateaii (and much was said before the child by guests and xelations full of peril in these last years) she renounced those visits which were her one joy, as far as possible, or let nothing be extracted from her on her return, let Leroux do what he would, though she had to set her teeth and clench her hands to keep back the passionate vrords that rushed to her lips when he turned on JMadame Leroux, and reproached her for Edjnee's uselessness to him, Avith the scathing speeches of MOTHER AND DAUOETEB. 5 whicli he ■v\-as master. There were times when he hated this girl — who stood white, mute, in passive resistance, her dark eyes glowing, though she dared not lift them — almost more than he did the poor feeble woman who crouched at his voice and step in unconcealed terror. There were many miserable families in Vaise ; vrant and wretchedness made men hard ; the tailor behind his little window with its leaded panes, and the weaver throwing his shuttle for ill-paid work, nay, the mothers themselves were often tempted to wish the swarms of half-naked children scrambling about the doorsteps were underground ; but there was scarcely one household half as miserable as that of the prosperous Jacques Leroux. * If I only knew where they all are now ! ' his wife was murmuring to Edmee, in weak, wandering tonet, as the spring twilight gathered and all the landscape grew indis- tinct. Edmee bent over her, put the pillow straight, and thought anxiously that the worn face looked more dra.wn since morning, and that the voice was fainter. It was lowered, however, as much from instinctive fear and caution as weakness, although there was no one in the house but the mother and daughtei*, for Leroux was at a meeting, held to deliberate on the last measures of the Convention. ' If I only knew where they are now, M. le Baron and his sons — Mademoiselle — how our dear lady loved her ! born sisters could not have been more to each other ; they were brought up in the convent together, our lady and Mademoiselle. Ah, Edmee, dost thou recollect the night I fell down the stairs ? — she heard of it and came at once, leaving her guests, only a mantle thrown round her, in her beautiful dress, and wetted the bandages on my head and spoke such kind words. I would have suffered twice as much again gladly, only to hear them.' ' I remember well, mother,' answered the girl, on whom the unexpected visit from the lovely lady of the chateau, in her rich evening dress and sparkling diamonds, had made an ineffaceable impression. ' And she comforted thee, child, and kissed thee before she went ; thy father was standing by and I saw him look at her — ah, how he looked at her and the diamonds ! ' mi:r- mured ]Madame Leroux, shuddering ; ' she never guessed that 6 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. I was a spy on her and all of them, and must learn where the jewels and papers were kept ; she would not have be- lieved it if I had knelt down and told her, as I longed to do —oh, I did long to do it ! I went as seldom as I could, thou know'st that, Edmee, though he was angry, but sometimes I dared not disobey ... I used to wish that thou woiild'.st do as he desired, because thou know'st how it Avas when thou didst refuse, but afterwards, I was always glad thou haclst such courage ; and she would ask why we came not 1 — Holy Virgin, forgive that I lied to her ; how could I tell the truth? It was not my fault, Edmee,' she added appeal- ingly, unconscious of the deep and terrible resentment against Leroux, which welled up in Edmee's heart at the piteous look and tone. ' I owed her so much ; I could bear my life while she lived. Do you think she was happy 1 she seemed so, but M. le Eai'on was not the husband for her - — twice her age, and not like his ancestors. All the St. Aignans before him lived here, but he must always be at Court. It is a pity that M. le Chevalier is not the eldest son ; he loved this place, and so did she. He is like her — M. le Chevalier. How she loved him ! he was her own, you see ; the eldest son was M. le Baron's, he must always be with his father, and marry and keep up the family ; but M. Alain belonged to his mother.' ' M. le Chevalier is not maixied, ma mere % ' ' M. le Chevalier ! ' answered Madame Leroux, so m.uch startled by this unheard-of idea as to speak with some energy, and half-lifting herself from her pillow. ' Chevaliers do not marry, child ; what would become of a noble family if any but the eldest married ? Would you have the lands divided 1 M. le Baron had four sisters : one married, one took the veil, one became a elianoinesse ; his younger brother, M. le Chevalier dc St. Aignan, uncle to oiir Chevalier, died j'oung, but none ever married except the eldest son and daughter.' * I have seen his fourth sister here, mother — Mademoiselle — you spoke of her just now. She was not a nun nor a chanoinesse,' said Edmee, in a perplexed and wondering tone, and in fact the existence of a noble unmarried woman MOTUEB AND DA UGHTEB. 7 wlio was neither a canoness nor a member of some religions order was an anomaly which might well surprise her. ' A relation left her a large dowry, and she was betrothed to a noble gentleman, but he was taken prisoner in the wars,' answered Madame Leroux, who was perfectly con- versant with the history of the St. Aignan family ; ' her family knew not whether he was alive or dead, and held it dishonourable to break their promise until it was cleared up, and so the time went by. Her father died, and she refused to enter a convent, as her family wished ; her motlier held it a great disgrace to have her living at home unmarried, like a bourgeoise ; but our dear lady loved her and stood by her — she always held out a hand to those who wanted help. Ah, cliild, I shall be out of the world soon, and have no chance of couferssing first, for all the priests are driven away or in prison ; it kills me when I think I cannot confess, but if ever you have a chance of doing anything for a St. AigTian, be you sure to do it, maybe it will be counted to me — you "will remember, Edmee % ' ' ' I would do it without that, for marraine's sake,' answered the girl, using the fond name which Madame de St. Aignan had liked her to give her. ' Yes, yes, but let it be for my sake, it may help me m purgatoiy if you do them a good work for me,' urged the mother faintly. * I will do it, motlier, no matter what it cost,' answered the girl's low unfaltering voice. ' That is my own dear child,' answered Madame Leroux, thinking too much of the comfort which the promise aifordcd her, to realise the risk which Edmce must run in fulfilling it. ' Thou wert ever a good child to me. — Ah ! he is coming ! ' She shrank down into the bed, trembling, as slie heard the house-door open and her husband's step enter. If she hoped that he would not take the trouble to come into her room she was mistaken ; he walked in, and stood looldng a.t her. Something in her face struck him, for he said curtly : ' So you are worse to-night 1 ' ' Ko, no,' she murmured, as if accused of a crime. ' Bah ! you never had sense enough to know when it was 8 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. of any use to lie,' he said, surveying lier with contempt. ' Well, I have some news for you ; one of your friends — your dear lord's eldest son — has been taken by our soldiers, fiarhtincj with Conde's arm v.' He waited for an exclamation or question, but only a faint moan answered him. ' And he has been shot,' Edmee said, so quietly that he was deceived into thinking she had heard the intelliijence, and demanded, with angry suspicion, who had told her. ' It needs no one to tell that, if he was taken,' said the girl coldly. ' Ah, well, that is true. So there is one aristocrat less in the world. Your mother would like to know that ; she was always a good patriot, and she has brought up her daughter to think like her,' said Leroux. ' That is why my good friend Letumier asks you in marriage, my girl.' lie had moved them both now. The mother absolutely turned towards him with a faint cry. Edmee lifted her eves for an instant, while her face was blanched with dismay. Leroux was satisfied with the effect his information had pro- duced, and left the room smiling to himself To give his daughter to a red-hot Jacobin like this Letumier was in itself a proof of patriotism very valuable to him ; and to get rid of the pale, silent girl, whom he felt he could crush bufc not subdue, he would have given her to Letumier or anyone else. Mother and daughter remained sUent for a long time, as if Leroux had still been present. At last Madame Leroux whispered : * My child, my poor child ! If thou wert to beg thy uncle to help thee, he has always been fond of thee ; it may be he would speak to thy father. Ah, if they take thee from me ! ' ' They shall not do that, mother.' •' But if it is his will, child ! ' Edmee had no answer to make, but she never was called on to solve the question as to what she should do if her father tried to force her from her mother's sick bed. That double shock of ill-tidings extinguished the feeble flame of life in the weak frame, and by the next day's end Edmee was motherless. Had Leroux's opinions been otherwise than what they MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 9 were, no religious service could have been performed over the dead woman. At the beginning of the year 1792 low mass had still, in some places, been tolerated, early and in some secresy, even by priests who were non -jurors, or, in other words, who had refused the oath of unconditional sub- mission to tho Government. Isaturally, all who were opposed to the Revolution frequented these services, which therefore speedily became odious to the people, and it grew highly dangerous to be present at them. The priests had been hated as obstructing reform, and sharing in the innu- merable privileges of the nobles ; and although the country clei'gy had for a time been on the popular side, and frater- nised with the early reforms, the oath of obedience was a stumbling-block which ^ew could pass. More and more lied out of the country ; by the Ciid of the preceding year there were nearly 8,000 priests and nuns in England alone, home- less and penniless, and those who remained did so under an unspoken sentence of death. Marriage, as a religious rite, baptism, and burial ceased to be possible ; and if anything could have added to Edmee's horror at the thought of being given to Letumier, it was that no ceremony was practicable, except that brief legal form vvdiich to her was no marriage at all. The villagers who came to see Madame Leroux buried were astonished at the tearless gaze with which Edmee looked on. They could not tell with what bitter relief she was saying to herself : ' No one can reach her there to tor- ture her, not even he ! ' There was almost triumph in her heart as she thought that this victim had escaped Lerovix. Of her own fate she had not thought much yet, and he was too busy to concern himself just then about her. She was sure to be at hand when he wanted her. Edmee had not appealed to her uncle or to anyone else. She would have smiled hopelessly enough at the suggestion that anyone could influence Leroux. Edmee knew him too well to siip- pcse that possible. 10 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. CHAPTER II. PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT. Two days after the hasty, imhonoured burial of l\Iadame Leroux, Edmee sat alone in the dim room where she had nursed her mother, beside the empty bed. Her household duties had all been done early in the day ; she had not been out of the house, nor had anyone come near her, and as she sat in silence and solitude a sudden sense of desolation came upon her, and, for the first time, hiding her face on the bed, she broke into weeping, mute, but shaking her from head to foot with emotion. Two or three figures passing the closed window, and the click of the lifted door-latch in the outer room startled her sobs away ; she sat up, putting back her loosened hair, and drying her eyes in great haste, and then she Hushed red, vrhile her slender brows contracted, for, among the voices now spealdng behind the thin partition which divided her room from the oviter one, she recognLsed that of Letumier. She expected to be summoned by her father every moment, never doubting that this visit con- cerned her, but the words passing between the men speedily undeceived her, yet startled her so that it was scarcely a rehef. She rose noiselessly, and leaned her head against the partition, straining her ear to catch each word. ' M. le Chevalier at the chateau ! Ah, what madness ! ' flitted through her mind as she listened. * What can have brought him here — to his death 1' Further listening told her that there were papers and sums of money at the chateau "which A.lain de St. Aignan had, doubtless, come to secure. His mother had distrusted Leroux, and so far infected her husband with her own suspicions that he had left the papers and money in a secret hiding-place until someone whom he trusted could fetch them, instead of sending orders to his intendant to despatch them to Paris when the troubles began. Leroux cared comparatively little for the money, but he had a Frenchman's and a Celt's intense desire to possess land ; to PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT. H o"v\'n Chateau St. Aiman ^vas his heart's stronsrest wish. He hated the nobles, whom he had long served and by whom he had been regarded as merely a serviceable tool, with capabi- lities wliich merited the honour of being used by them ; and it gave him indescribable pleasure to have his turn, and be master. The opportunity for which he had waited was come ; the heir of St. Aigiian and the title-deeds were within his grasp. Edmee understood perfectly what must be pass- ing in his mind ; he and Letumier vrere arranging with a third ally how a party of ' good patriots ' were to be promptly collected, and while one set crossed by the bridge, anotncr should take the shorter way over the river in the milier's boat, so as to secure both approaches to the chateau. There was a moment's debate whether one party should go to the mill at once, but it was decided first to call for the maire, and summon him to accompany them to arrest the Chevalier. The maire was one Martin Gautier, the blacksmith of Vaise, a jovial, honest fellow, who, having profited largely by the sale of the convent lands, thought that the Revolution lind gone^ far enough, and, in his heart, feared Leroux and liCtumier dismally. Leroux did not love Martin Gautier, and was glad of the chance of showing him reluctant to for- ward patriotic designs. It was therefore settled to fetch him, and to have a cart ready in which to convey the prisoner to Macon. There was no need for a pretext for arresting him. His noble biith was reason enough, not to mention that his elder brother had been taken fighting against his country in the ranks of the emigrants. The three men left the house, and Edmee stood up straight and wliite. ' Our dear lady's son ! And my father has betrayed him ! Ah, mother, thank God you are not here to know it ! ' And then the promise which that mother had bound her with came to Edmc^o's mind. ' My father will find it out and kill me. Well, then I shall not inarry Letumier! They shall not take M. le Chevalier — no, they shall not.' She stood an instant, think- ing : ' Gautier's house is at the other end of the village — • then they will have to come all the way back here, and so to the mill before they separate. Yes, I can get the boat and cross, antl then they must all go round by the bridge. There will be time.' . 12 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. Edmee knew the trick of tlie boat-chain well ; she was sure that she could uodo it, and so cross the mill-pool. Leronx's house stood on the edge of the village, and she might hope in the gathering twilight to leave it nnperceived, or that, if anyone saw her, it would be supposed that she was soing to see her uncle and aunt. JManv, she knew, would be gathered to hear the Annates ratriotiqws read aloud, for now newspapers were freely read in the village, the sale of which a few years before would have brought a colporteur to the gallows and the listeners to piison. Another change was the active cultivation of land which had been until now neglected. Edmee had some reason to hope that the villagers who were not at the club would be at work in the fields. She crossed the threshold and looked round. There was no one in sight but an old ragged woman, hobbling along tov.rards her, though uj) in the village there was a cheerful stir. Madame Leroux had given many a bowl of soup to old Nicole ; and when she saw Edmee she hobbled a little faster. Edmee quivered with impatience, but dared not excite att(\> tion by hurrying by. And yet eveiy moment was inestimable ! ' Ah, my dear heart,' whimpered the old woman, shaking her withered head and reaiing herself on hei' stick before Edmee ; ' so she's gone ! she's gone ! and there's one less to do a kind turn to a poor creature like me, who would have starved last winter but for her. When I used to lie awake of a night and hear the Avolves howl and jump up at the windows and fall back into the snow, I thought all night long of the soup I should get from her the next day. There's no one now to give a poor body a bov/1 of soup.' Edmee saw that she should not get rid of the old woman until she had responded to the hint. ' Sit down, Nicole,' she said, ' I will find you something to eat ; only I cannot stay ; ' and she looked anxiously towards the village from the top of the steps where she stood. Old Nicole clambered up one or two and settled herself comfortably. ' Ah, you are Dnme Edmonde'g own daughter ! ' said she. ' You never miss the chance of a good v/ork, and truly, since the world':^ coming to an end, what remains to us but to make our salvation 1 But they ^vLll not let us even do that ! ' she added, in a lowered tone. PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT. 13 ' The reverend fathers are all driven out of the monastery, and JNI. I'Abbe is in prison at Macon, and the King is dead, and the nobles gone, and I am just as poor as ever ; what is the nse of having our liberty, as they call it, if one is no better oif ? But you will not tell anyone that I said so, my little heart 1 ' added she, with siidden apprehension. ' I am only a poor old woman ; I don't understand these tilings. You are in haste 1 You are going somewhere 1 ' ' Yes, I cannot stay ; I am going to the mill.' ' Ah, to the mill,' echoed Nicole, as if some unusual thrill in the girl's voice had struck her. ' 1 am late ; I dare not linger. If you see my fath er you will not say anything, Nicole 1 ' said Edmee, aware that to say this was perilous, but terribly afraid lest, as Leroux passed by, Nicole shovild unwittingly arouse his suspicions. ' I understand, I understand,' answered Nicole, I'ising, and putting down the empty bowl, with the self-satisfaction of one who in point of fact does not understand at all. ' There is no need to say his message was not carried to the mill an hour ago. Farewell, my heart, the saints keep you ! ' She tottererl away. Edmee dared not think how much time had been lost, but after one more scared glance towards the village, which assured her that as yet no one was coming thence, she ran down the moss-grown steps, and hurried towards the mill, asking herself as she Avent, if the miller's man were loitering about, or her aunt came out, what pretext she could possibly find for asking to be put across the river. None occurred to her; she could only say desperately to herself : ' If I cross on the rocks, or wade the channel, I will get over ! ' No pretext was needed. Not a living creature seemed stirring near the mUl, and the boat was secured at the edge of the pool, where the water lay smooth and still, reflecting the wheel, now motionless, and the old wooden house, though further down it rushed furiously over the great stones in its course. She had often passed over the mill-pool, and, un- loosing the boat, pushed across with the long paddle with all the force she could muster. She could see the chateau 14 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. standing Lalf-a-mile off in the flat park, dark and solitary, ita tall keep standing up conspicuous above the more modern part. Not a light v/as to be seen at any of the upper windows, nor a human being moving about it ; for month's past only an old gardener and hi^ wife had lived in the chateau, but her heart leaped up in fresh excitement as she ran towards it, at the sight of a gleam from a lower room, where neither Blaise nor his wifo were likely to be. Edmee knew that it was there she must seek Alain de St. Aignan. She had not seen him for several years — not since he had outgrown his boy- hood ; she might not have recognised him had she met him, but he was the son of one whom she had passionately loved, and her errand was to hinder her own father from bringing him to the scalfold. Edmee knew Avell that a St. Aigiian would only lea,ve the prisons of Macon for the guillotine. What would happen should Leroux find out how she had crossed his purposes she scai'cely thought. Hers was the woman's courage, which rises to confront an emergency, and the one thing in her mind vras how to forestall Leroux. CHAPTER III. A EEPUBLICAN WEDDING. Alain de St. Aignan had never been within the walls of the chateau sin.ce the day v>'hen he bent over his mother's deathbed, to which a hasty summons had called him from his regiment. The tie between the mother and son had been peculiarly close ; as Madame Leroux had implied, the eldest son, heir and representative of the family, had, as it were, belonged exclusively to the father ; but Alain was the mother's own, the one who reflected her views and disposi- tion, the deepest source of gladness in her life. It had been a happy, sunny life, although she was married to a man much older than herself, and they had few tastes in common. A REPUBLICAN WEDDING. 15 Madame de St. Ai2;nan was a woman who found and made brightness wherever she went. Yes, she had been hap})y ; Alain Icnew it, and it was almost the only thing on which he conld dwell without pain as he sat alone in the silent chateau, believing that no one knew ^ of his arrival, and waiting for the protection of darkness before he left it. He was thinking much more of her than of the risk he ran or of the business which bi-ought him, important as it was, and marvelling within himself that any circumstances could have so altered his feelings that, instead of the anguish which had filled him as he bent over her and saw the sweet eyes gi'ov.r dim in death, he was absolutely thankful that she was gone. The three years since her death had been filled with so rapid and amazing a seiies of events that he was dizzy and be- wildered, and could see nothing of whither the vessel was drifting amid the breakers, whose roar told of the rocks ahead. But a short space before this wild time the nobles had been everything in France ; the whole nation seemed to exist only for them and the King. Then a breath of fteer air began to blow ; the doctrine spread that all classes bad equal rights, all men were brothers ; and while it filled some hearers with angry horror, very many among the privileged classes hailed it with generous enthusiasm, and ui'ged it on by word and deed. A perception of the ills under which France was suffering seemed to become suddenly universal, and the wildest panaceas were proposed to cure them ; ^yhiIe no one saw that it was impossible that a nation trained under a despotism should know Avhat to do with libei'ty. The expulsion of the Protestants had destroyed that industrious middle class who would have had an interest in the stability of existing things ; the miserable peasants wei'e ground down by taxes, and were often scarcely more than serfs, and the commercial class were profoundly offended by the insolence of the nobles. All the social pi^oblems, which had been continually growing more and more complicated ever since the sixteenth century, rose x;p, demanding to be solved at once. In this general confusion power fell into the hands of men who had nothing to lose and all to gain by destroying everyone richer or nobler than themselves, with the nation's 16 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. sense of wrongs which had accumulated for centuries to back them up, and with ' Would you be free 1 then cut off heads ! ' as a watchword. The utter disorganisation throughout the country in 1793 was indescribal)le ; no one knew whom to trust or what to do, and many, through sheer timidity, sided with the most violent in their neighbourhood, by way of securing a character for patriotism. Yet it was but a little while since the nobles had led the movement towards reform, and had voluntarily renounced their titles and privileges. Alain, while rapidly glancing through letters and papers, caught sight of a sentence in one which vividly recalled that memorable day when De Noailles stood up in the National Assembly, with Lameth and Lamboine, and volunteered in the name of his order to resign hereditary rights and honours. It seemed as if a great gulf lay between that day and this, as Alain recollected his own glow of enthusiasm, the indig- nation ai'oused in him by his brothei-'s frigid disapproval, and the pain with which he had seen the ironical smile on his father's lips, as M. do St. Aignan observed, with a little significant gesture : * We may give up our titles, but we can- not be bom again as roturiers to please ces messieurs ! ' Alain only then understood that though his father was a philoso- pher and liberal in theory, in heart he was as utter an aristocrat as his eldest son, who had married into one of tho most conservative fiimilies in France, and from the first had opposed all reforms with a pei'sistency which had early brought all connected with him into danger. The present state of things seemed amply to justify him, and Alain felt it with inexpressible keenness and bitterness, yet felt certain all the while that at the bottom of all lay right and justice. One of the sharp trials of the time, especially to minds like his, was the difficulty of proving this, even to himself the inability to distinguish between the early desire for lawful reform and the madness and anarchy of the last two years. Another, equally keen, was the deep disunion which the Revolution had caused in families hitherto cordially united. M. de St. Aignan's liberal views, or what he called such, molted away at the first hint of danger; but, mere talk though they were, they had alienated his eldest son, who A REPUBLICAN WEDDING. 17 scarcely evei' visited liim, and would not even recognise Alain when they met ; for Alain had not only embraced the popular side with a generous lad's enthusiasm, but upheld it as he grew older, vie^dng it from the liberal and serious point of view which he had learned to take from his mother's family. Madame de St. Aignan belonged to one of those great legal families who formed an unimpeachable nobility of their own, and had opposed despotism undauntedly, wherever they fomid it, even under a Richelieu or a Louis XIY., though their voices had as far as possible been silenced, and the Parle- ments of Paris and the provinces crippled and shorn of their power. And now Alain sat alone in the deserted chateau, his brother dead, and his father attempting to cross the frontier and escape into Switzerland, with a passport obtained through the disdainful kindness of a relation, whom for some years all the family had looked on with indignant coldness, as a very black sheep indeed. From the early days of the Revo- lution M. de St. Aignan had been bent on emigrating with his yoiinger son, and that Alain should venture to oppose him was to him the strongest proof of all into what chaos the world had returned. "There had been many arguments between them, fuiious on the one side, respectful but firm on the other. Now, once more, Alain seemed to find himself entirely in the wrong ; he had refused to emigrate because it seemed to him a cowardly desertion of king and country, a fatal throwing away of the game ; and heie, at last, he found himself oliligcd to yield, and consider that they were only too fortunate if they could save their lives by this tardy flight. He had but a few hours to sj^are, and some of theso he intended to spend in a hasty journey across country, to see a member of his family who was abiding whatever fortune might bring, in strict retirement, though not absolutely in hiding. He believed his presence at the chateau unknown, except to old Blaise, v.diom he trusted, and little guessed that while the daughter of his greatest enemy was flying to warn him, danger was ap])roaching as rapidly as she. Some subtle sense of its neighbourliood, however, tluilled thi-ough him ; he sat listening intently, and fancied that ho heard a step. 18 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. Edmee was standing breathless without ; she saw him lift his head, pause, look round, then, as if reassui'cd, bend a2;ara over the packet of pnpcrs which he was fastening up, and then start as she tapped with hasty imperative fingers on the Avindow. He came and opened it at once, witli enquiring looks. Tlae pale face recalled nothing to him ; perhaps he had hardly ever looked at the intcndant's daughter, who was a mere child when he came to Vaise ; but her agitation, though words died breathless on her lips, told plainly enough that her message was urgent. 'Whom do you seek, mademoiselle?' he asked, in tho kind and coiu^tcous voice in which Edmee secnicd to hear his mother's tones. 'Come in, — nay,' as she shrank back, * you can scarcely stand, what can I do for you 1 ' ' Oh, nothing, nothing,' she gasped, letting herself be drawn into the room, and leaning on the back of a high chair to save herself from dropping to the ground : ' I came — oh, monsieur, do not lo.se a moment, they know that you are here, they come to take you to pii.son — ' ' Ah ! ' said Alain, changing colour, ' Is it so ] and to whom do I owe this warning l ' ' I am Leioux's daughter — oh, do not linger ! ' ' Leroux's daughter !' said Alain, gathering up the papers which he had come at such risk to seek, ' I owe this friendly warning to him ! ' and there was an accent of surprise v/hich showed that the young man had not put implicit faith in the stewai d. There was no time for an answer ; before Alain could step through the window, before the faint cry had died on Edmee's lijjs, a party of aimed men dashed open the door, while a second came suddenly I'ound the angle of the house, and stood looking into the dimly-lighted room, into wliich their comrades were advancing with a shout of tiiumph at the sight of their prey. Leroux was among them, and his ally Letumier ; behind came a party of bare-footed, bare- headed peasants, trying to look over each other's shoulders at the young noble. Alain had his hand on his pistols, but his first thought was how to shield the poor girl who had come to warn him ; he hoped that in the gloom she might escape unnoticed, and stepped hastily forward, asking what they came for. A REPUBLICAN WEDDING. 19 * For soTnetliing "which we have foimd,' answered LctiTmicr, * for an animal of an aristocrat, who has come hei e to try how much more he can rob the nation of hefoic ho goes off to onr enemies. Here, friends, hand me a lantern ; let ns see what the young rascal was about before we lodge him at the expense of the nation, — nay, nay, you need not be in such a hvirry ; you may not find those lodgings exactly what you have been used to, my ci-devant.'' ' He's in haste to see all his ftiends at Macon, but there's no feai- of their i-unning away, except to look out of the little window ' (guillotine), laughed another, holding up the lantern and casting its unsteady light into the further pait of the room. ' Why, what's that 1 ' perceiving that there was some- one yet unperceived there, ' a woman ! ' with an indescribable accent, and throwino; the sleam full on the face of Edm^e as all the villagers pushed in, eager to verify the fact. ' A girl ! Why, citizen Leroux !' as they all reco.gnised the poor girl, who had made no attemj^t to escape, but stood as she had done all along, in white despair, ' by St. Guillotine ! it is your daughter ! * There was an instant's dumb amazement, but the sudden, universal laugh with which the villagers recovered from their first stupefaction i-oused Leroux from his speechless fury. Advancing with a furious curse, he ordeied Edmee to say what had brought her there, looking at her with deadly menace as words died on her quivermg lips. Alain answered for her : ' Your business is not with this child, but me, messieurs; I am ready to follow you.' ' What, a man finds his daughter shut up in the dark with a young man, and he is not even to ask what it means ! voila Men these aristocrats ! ' said Leroux, with cold fmy. ' Know what it means ! ' said Letumier, with a sneer, which made Alain set his teeth and colour hotly. ' Not much need to ask that ! ' ' At least I know this,' said Leroux, exasperated by feeling that his neighboui'S were hugely enjoying liis discomfiture, ' that my house is no harbour for traitors to the nation. Let the huzzy go with him to Macon, since she is so fond of his company. I would send my own mother to the guillotine .20 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. if she were not a g(X)cl Eej^ublican ! I would stand by and see her head fall into the basket joyfully if I suspected her of abetting the ci-devants ! ' ' Well said, citizen Leroux ! ' answered Letumier; ' a true patriot has no family except the Republic' He looked round for applause, and scowled angi-ily as he perceived that the laughter and the coarse jests which his companions had been showering on Alain and Edmee had ceased, and instead there was a miirmur, which lashed up Leroux's fury afresh. ' I tell you I mean it ! ' he cried, -ndth a secret fear that his daughter's having sided with the aristocrats would here- after be used against him. ' "What are we waiting for 1 Here ! ' to a couple of municipal guards, ' take the scoundrel of an aristoci'at and this jade away at once ! ' ' Good heavens ! have none of you an innocent daughter like this poor cliild 1 ' exclaimed Alain, starting between Edmee and the guards, who advanced rather reluctantly, look- ing enquii'ingly towards the maii-e, who seemed very slow to give any sign. ' What has she done but try to save a stranger's life out of sheer pity 1 1 tell you I am ready to go where you like — straight to the scaffold if yovi will — but, jinless you are downright fiends, you. will let the girl go ! ' ' She does not darken my doors again,' said Leroux. * As for that, she can come to me,' said his brother-in- law, the miller, who had held Leroux back with a sti'ong hand when he would have seized on Edmee. ' At least, that is ' — he stopped in evident embarrassment. ' Ah, friend miller forgot he had to ask Dame Magloire's leave,' said a voice, and there was a general laugh, for every- one knew that the burly miller dared not lift a finger without his wife's permission. * Listen, friends,' said the maire, a man evidently superior to the rest, who had all along looked distui'bed and reluctant ; ' it would be a blot on our village if one of our lasses had to go to prison as a bad patriot ; we should not like that story told in Lcs Yigues or Eoissy, eh 1 We should have them crowing over us more than ever, and that would be hard on good "patriots like us — we are all good pati iots hei-e, is it not A REPUBLICAN WEDDING. 21 so 1 "We are not like some places, which have to send a dozen or two people to prison to prove it. Yes, yes, citizen Letu- mier. I know that Fouche has reproached us for having contributed so few to the prisons of Macon, but what does that show % that there are only good Eepublicans among us, to be sure. Are we to be free and equal only to have Fouche ordering us about as if he were our seigneur 1 No seigneurs for us, we are free citizens here ! Bah ! the daughter of a man lilce the citizen Leroux cannot be a traitor ; the thing is impossible — there is only one aristocrat here ' — pointing to Alain — ' well, then, I have an idea ; shall I tell it to you, my friends 1 ' and, encouraged by signs of approbation fiom many of his audience, he resumed, with a laugh : ' They used to say in old days that man and wife were one ; what do you say to our tui'ning an aristoci'at into a patiiot by mai-rying him to a good Republican's daughter 1 Let the young ci-devant marry the girl, and send them about theu' business. What do you say to that % ' A loar of laughter and applause covered any dissent. Leroux's voice was inaudible. Alain smiled hauecbtily and answered : ' You can insult me as you please ; my life is in your hands, but my honour and my name are my own.' It was well for him that the noise drowned his words, as it did the faint protest of Edmee. The maire, who had come close \i}> to him, answered in a lowered voice, ' You may talk of your lionour, monsieur, but it seems to a plain man like me that honour would have you get the girl out of the scrape you have brought her into — well, well, that she has run into to serve you, if you Uke that better. What is to become of her 1 And life is sweet ; you cannot have it twice, mind that ! ' Alain knew it. He was only twenty-four, and life was sweet, even in all the wretchedness of the time. He looked, as the maire did, at Edmee, hiding her face on the back of the tall chair to which she had been clinging, overwhelmed with shame and misery. What indeed was to become of her 1 He gave another glance at the evil face of Leroux, and know that he could not leave her in those hands. Eaising liis voice above the tumult, he said, so that all could hear : ' Let it be so, on condition that you do not let auy harm come to this girl.' 22 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. ''Bctr^r marry than lose one's head,' muttered one or two sullen voices, but the maiie's suggestion had taken the fancy of the spectators, many of whom were more stupid than savage, and who could be mollified by a Joke that they under- stood, and the miller was whispering to Leroux : ' Hold your tongue, man; it will be all the easier to get the lands!' Leroux turned a dangerous look upon liim ; he did not love to have his secret plans divined, but in the dim light he laid his hand unobserved on the bundle of papers on the ttible. The bystanders had drawn back, making a circle round Alain, who had brought Edmee forward, more dead than alive, and the maire, who in blue and red carmagTiole, with his tri-colonr scarf of office over it, hurried through the brief cei-emony which was all that the law now I'cquired to bind man and wife. The ,girl submitted, stupefied with shame and emotion, but conscious thi-ough it all that thus only could Alain's life be saved, wliile Ms chief thought was that at all costs he must deliver the innocent creature who had left herseh" no protec- tion but him. He scarcely expected to be allowed to go free, but he thought that the maire meant to stand by the poor gii-1, and was about to claim his promise for her, as the hasty cei-emony concluded, when, with a sudden bound of the heart, as if new life had rushed into it, he heard him say, ' There ! the ci-dcvant has done his part, now let us do ours, friends and fellow-citizens, and that is to go home, or rather to the " Bonnet Rouge," where I will stand treat ; what do you say ] ' On the whole the villagers were glad to let Edmee escape, and it was sweet to have seen both Leroux and one of their seigneur's family humiliated together. They went off in good humour, laughing all the more that Leroux and Letumier were not among them. Leroux had refused to see his daughter marry an aristocrat, and had disappeared, followed by Letumier, before the ceremony began. The mau-e turned back suddenly, saying he had forgotten his pen, and thus made an opportunity to say, low and hastily : ' C4et out of reach as soon as possible, M. le Chevalier ; the temper of the people may turn, and I should not be able to help you again. I have risked too much ah-eady. Be kind to this gii-l, she has A LONG monrs walk 23 had a hard life, oneway and another.' He hastened after the others, and the newly-married pair were left alone. CHAPTER lY. A LONG night's WALK. Edm^e had retiirned to her former position, and her face was hidden on the back of the chair behind which she had taken refuge. Alain stood looking at her with considerable embarrassment and perplexity. It was impossible to take her on his hasty and perilous flight ; moreover, his passport naturally made no provision for a female companion, and to go even from one village to another without a passport was now as much as anyone's life was worth, under the terrible laws passed to check emigration. After a short consulta- tion with himself he spoke, and the sound of his voice, kind and compassionate, yet cold, made her start. ' I fear I must take you a long vray to-night, and at once.' 'Yes,' she answered, standing up immediately, without further question. ' For both our sakes there must be no delay, but — ah ! ' as he suddenly perceived the abstraction of the papers, with an instantaneous perception that it was useless to seek them. ' Gone ! as I might have expected ; it is only sur- prising that they have left me the money and jewels. Come ! ' He held oiit his hand, led her through the window by which she had entered a short hour before, and across the park ; then they walked on silently over the plain, through the moonless night ; myriads of stars in a cloudless sky gave a faint, indistinct light, by which they could distinguish the path which they must take. The smell of mint and. balm and sage, which they ti'od on or brushed by, rose into the air ; great moths fluttered by ; the sharp cry of a bat over- head alone broke the stillness. There was not a dwelHug in 24 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. sight ; they seemed the only living creatures in all the wide landscape. In after years that silent night-scene often rose unbidden before Edmee, though at the time she felt too be- wildered and miserable to notice anything. Now and then Alain spoke, always in the same constrained and yet kind tone, and once when she lagged behind and looked over the parapet of a bridge which they were crossing, into the star- lit water, he asked if she were tii-ed, and proposed to rest, ' No, no,' she answered hastily, and they went on again, lie could not guess how fierce the temptation had been to deliver him and herself from the yoke thrust upon them, by throwing herself into the stream which flowed glistening be- low. ' Would it have taken long 1 ' she wondeied to her- self in a dazed way ; and her fancy pictured her body rolled among the stones and cai'ried away into the Saone, as if it were of someone else she was thinking, Alain thought her exhausted, and tried to make her take his arm, but she shi'auk away in such alarm as to call a smile to his lips. He sought to re-assure her by telling her something of his plans, and that he did not intend to oblige her to accompany him beyond Mortemart, a place which she knew by name ; but so bad were the roads, and so small the communication be- tween places off" the beaten ti'ack, that she seemed to have no idea where it was, although but a few leagues from her bii'th-place. He asked her if she had ever heard of his aunt, Mademoiselle de St. Aignan. ' Certainly ! ' she an- swered, so much surprised by the doubt as to forget her timidity for a moment, ' I have seen her at the chateau formerly.' ' "Well then, it is to her that we are now going. I had al- ready intended to visit her before leaving France, and it is with her that I hope to leave you— in good hands, my poor child : she is a Idnd, good woman, who will take care of you, and never forget what you have done for me. Shall you be content with this plan 1 ' ' Yes, oh yes — if she will let me.' ' She owes you the life of a nephew whom she loves,* said Alain, kindly and sevioiisly ; ' she will receive you will- ingly — but, ma pauvre petite, I do not even know whether A LONG NIQHT'S WALK. 25 we shall find her yet safe ; two days ago she "was so, but who can count now on even twenty-four hours 1 Mortemart is a small, out-of-the way town ; she mo.y, perhaps, remain un- noticed, unless it occurs to some poor wretch to earn a few livres by denouncing an aristocrat. At all events, it is the best I can do for you.' ' And you 1 ' she summoned courage to ask. ' I ? I go to join my father ; it may be that he has already reached Switzerland ; if not, we meet this morning a.nd tiy to pass the frontier together. If possible, I will send news, but it grows daily more perilous for those who stay to have any communication with emigrants.' Silence fell on them again. They walked on, untU Alain began to fear that his companion's powers would fail. If he had not hunted constantly over this district when a boy, he could not have found his way at all ; and it proved a longer and rougher journey than he had recollected, especially with the encumbrance of a female companion. Edmee did not know whether she were tired or not ; she only wanted to go on, and reach Mortemart, and have this ietc-a-tcte over, whatever reception might await her there. As morning dawned, however, and its cold grey light fell on her face, she looked so wom-out that Alain refused to go any further, and, sitting dov/n under a tree, insisted on her resting. ' It is losing time ; every minute is precious,' she mur- mured ; but she felt her strength fail, and obeyed his desire, so weary that, with her head on the coat which he took off and rolled up for a pillow, she dropped asleep. Alain sat beside her, scarcely able to distinguish more than a dark form which lay under the shadow of the tree, recalling what had happened. The thought that but ibr a marvellovis chance he should at this instant have been inside the ])iisons cf Macon filled him with a horror such as he had not in the least felt when danger was imminent. He saw now what the risk of returrang to the chateau had been, and remembered unpleasantly his father's parting words, spoken lightly, with a little, sarcastic smile, but, as Alain could not but know, more in earnest than jest. ' " I may possibly have another son, but if I lose my title-deeds, it is highly 26 JfOBLESSE OBLIGE. improbable that I shall ever have any more of them," ' mut- tered Alain to himself. ' How far will the son be welcome without the title-deeds, and with ' He looked down at Edmee, and smiled in spite of him- self at the thought of what report he should have to make to M. de St. Aignan when they met. Dawn had come almost unperceivcd ; he could now see the young face, and the dark, sweeping lashes on the pallid cheeks. One hand was clasped on her breast, over something which even in sleep she held as if it were veiy precious. A lain wondered Avhat it was, and then thought anxiously of the distance to Mortemait, and how little remained of the time which he had intended to sjjend there. He knew how anxiously he was expected, and how essential it was that he should go and come unpeixeived. He ■was unwilling to rouse Edmee, but the question Avas settled by the sight of someone in the distance, coming towards them. To a fugitive everjthing is startling ; Alain's first thought was that this man must bring danger with him. He looked earnestly towards the advancing traveller, and was a little re-assured by his air and ccstume, which had none of the distinctive marks of a Republican, but was rather that of an honest workman. He wore coarse, homespun breeches of brown cloth, grey stockings, a blue cloth coat, and a brovvn woollen cap. There was a knapsack on his back, and he had a stout stick in his hand. He, too, seemed to have walked through the night, but he came along with a steady, patient step, as if he could have gone on all day too. Alain laid his hand gently on the sleeping girl, lest she should be roused too hastily, and betray, by some incautious word, that they dreaded observation. She woke with a bewildered, enquiring gaze, soon passing into distressed recollection ; but, as with Alain, the sight of the traveller, nearer now, drove away all other thoughts. She looked up hastily at Alain, then again at the stranger. They could see him plainly now, and he had evidently perceived them ; his homely costiime corresponded with features kindly, honest, and rather heavy ; aiul the un- disguised wonder of his blue eyes, as he turned them from Alain to Edmee, was in itself re-assuring. No Frenchman but would have guessed some part at least of their story ; A LONG NIGHT'S WALK. 27 this must be a stranger, and tlierefore as little to Le dreaded as anyone could be by people whose chief desire was to escape all notice. He stopped when he reached them, and asked in a strong Swiss accent how far he was from Mortemart, then sat down, unstrapped his knapsack, and oi3ered them a share of the cheese and black bread which it contained. They accepted gratefully ; neither had eaten for maily hours; his honest, simple expression pleased Edmee, and she felt his presence a relief and protection. It would have seemed more formidable to be alone with Alain now that daylight had come than when they could not see each other's faces. When they rose to go, the Swiss rose too, taking it as a matter of course that they were to join company. There seemed no pretext for avoiding him, nor could they venture to hint how unwelcome an addition to their journey he v/as ; he strapped on his knapsadc afresh, took his stick, and said in a friendly, simple sort of way, ' And since, as I think, there is no other town near, we must be all going the same way ] So much the bettor for me ! I shall not lose my way again, if you know the road.' Edmee had risen, and gave an anxious glance at Alain, who was debating what to do, unable to guess how unsuspi- cious was the young Swiss, how inexperienced in all that was going on in the country v/hose frontier he had crossed so lately with a light step and a hoj^eful heart. ' Yes, we can guide you to Mortemai't,' Alain answered briefly, with an inward hope of somehow shaking off his un- welcome companion, or at least of preventing his babbling of their meeting. They went on, the Swiss sapng, with a smile which gave a certain charm to his homely face, and lighted up his frank blue eyes pleasantly : ' People are better friends v/hen they know each other's names ; mine is Bertrand Balmat, and my peojile are watchmakers near Locle.' ' Swiss ! There are a good many Frenchmen who would be glad to be where you, it seems, do not care to stay,' said Alain, without reciprocating the confidence. ' Ay ! those who love the old state of tilings better than the new ! Well, it leaves the more room for those who want to go to Palis, like me.' 28 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. ' To Paris ! * repeated Alain, astonished, for to bim Paris seemed a vast trap, whence eveiyone was tnang to escape. ' Yes ; you see, it has not boon altogether cr.sy ; we are poor, and for a long time my father and uncle said there was only folly in it ; but by-and-by they saw there was nothing else to be done. I could not put any heart into watchmaking, though it has' been in our family ever since the trade was known in the country ; so they have let me go.' ' But for what end ?' * Why, to be a painter ! ' answered the Swiss, turning astonished eyes on his questioner, as if the tiling were so clear to him that it must needs be so to eveiyone else. ' Ah ! ' said Alain, amused by the na'iv simjilicity of his comi^anion. ' And under whom shall you study ? ' ' David !' said Balmat, with an intonation of pride and satisfaction, as if to utter the very name were an honour. Very different was the effect which it produced on the Cheva- lier de St. Aignan. ' David ! David the — ' he scarcely suppressed in time the word ' regicide.' ' Yes, Louis Charles David, the regenerator of art, our great master ! ' said Balmat, Avith beaming eyes. ' You have, no doubt, introductions to lim 1 ' said Alain coldly, and after a }:)ause in which he struggled with the re- collection that this David, whom the Swiss seemed to recjard as something superhuman, was one of those who had voted the death of Louis XVI. that year. * No, none — how should I ? But I shall show him my drawings, and ask leave to join his pupils. I have never had the chance of paintiag ; I have only drawn with chalk and fusain — that is yet to come.' There was such honest, joyful confidence in his voice and look that Edmee could not help giving him a sympathising smile. She had been lookincr with ^reat interest at him ever since he amiounced his vocation. He had won her full confidence, and she would have had no fear in asking him to say nothing about them. Alain, however, taldng it for granted that a would-be pupil of David's must share the painter's political views, was increasingly peqiilexed. ' But since you are, no doubt, desirous of reaching Paris quickly, why linger at Mortemart 1 ' he suggested. A LONG NlOnrS WALK. 29 'Tliat is true. Monsieur, but what would you have? one cannot walk all the way to the capital without a halt. I thought to make a short cut last evening, and lost my way, walking on till a lad told me an hour ago that this Morte- mart was the nearest place to eat at — and so I go there. Besides, I have hurt my foot, and must look to it, lest I get laid up,' and Alain then observed what Edmee had seen already, that the young man was walking rather lame. * I conclude your papers are all right,' he said, rather abruptly ; ' these are not times to travel in without them.' ' Undoubtedly, Monsieur ! It would be folly indeed to risk being delayed,' said Balmat ; and Alain saw that, simple as he seemed, he had some of the shrewd sense of his country- men. ' You know no one in Mortemart % ' * No, Monsieur, how should 11'- ' My good friend, let me give you a piece of advice ; call no one by that title if you wish to live long enough to be famoiis, or even to reach Paris ! ' ' Bien ! ' answered Balmat, quietly, but with a glance which took in both Alain and Edmee. ' I thank you for the warning.' ' You have yet to leam France,' said Alain, with some- thing of an apology in his tone ; ' these are days when a care- less word ' — he stopped, by no means sure that he was not guilty of uttering just what he had condemned, for it had come to such a pass that no one felt sure that the man he spoke to, were he an old friend, might not denounce him. Balmat made no reply ; his wondering, reflective look, could Alain have read it, said that he found himself in a world of new ideas, of which he could make nothing. As yet, France was to him merely a country which had shaken off a yoke of slavery, and the land where lived David, in whose atelier he should learn to be a painter. If rumours had reached his native village of how the Revolution was working, they had not interested him enough to enter his mind. ' You will find no inn open at such an hovir,' said Alain, who had at last decided what course to take. ' It will be best that you come with me — us. A relation expects me, who will gladly entertain you.' 30 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. ' Thants, citizen,' answered Balmat, looking at Alain with IX smile, as he showed that he had profited by tho lesson re- ceived. ' I will go with you gladly.' Used to the simple, cordial hosj)itality of his own country, he saw nothiiig surprising in the invitation, which Alain gave, thinking that it could bring no danger on Mademoiselle de St*. Aignan, or, indeed, might tell favourably for her, should it be known that she had received a guest on his way to Paris and David, and understanding enough of the man with whom he had to deal to feel that he would scarcely betray those who had shown him hospitality. 'Are we near Mortemarf?* Edmee asked, with a beating heart. It was the first time that she had spoken voluntarily. The prospect of facing Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, and hear- ing her story told was growing veiy terrible. ' Yonder ! ' said Alain, looking on into what was still lost in the dimness of very early morning. Edmee could only see bare hills, whose summits were so fantastically broken into bat- tlemented crags that at first she thought them a line of ruins. ' Have they been pulling down all the chateaux here 1 ' she asked in alarm ; but even as she spoke the first rays of the sun ro.S3 over the hill-tops, casting a yellow light on their bleak slopes, and into the mist rising in the valley, and mak- ing all the dew-drops sparkle on the gossamers spread over the ground. ' It is growing late,' said Alain, quickening his pace, as he looked towards Mortemart, still nearly half-a-mile away, clusterLag over a little hill. The house of Mademoiselle de St. Aignan was on the outskirts ; it had belonged to her family for a considerable time, but had never been used by them, until, after the death of Alain's mother, her life-long fiiend, she had removed there, somewhat to the surprise and discomfiture of her brother, to whose opinions, however, neither then nor at any other time had she ever been known to pay any attention. Mademoiselle de St. Aignan was something of a Republican, as at one time were many women of i-ank in Fi'ance, but with her it was not a mei'e mtitter of fashion ; liberal views suited her turn of mind and slightly sceptical temperament, and her influence had told on Alaili. As yet she had lived unmolested, and had ventured on communicating occasionally with him. The house stood A LONG monrs walk 31 in a great shady garden, with high walls round it, over which Konie tall trees raised their heads ; but on one side it com- municated by a court with tlie street. Alain avoided this way of approacliing it, and turned under the wall, below which vras a steep slope, Avith a small rapid stream at the foot of it. There was a small door in this wall, but it had only been used to descend to the stream by, when a boat war, wanted ; and no one had reqiured the steps leading down to the water for so long that they had fallen into ruins, and no path led over the steep and slippery turf eml^ankment. It was, how- ever, along this slope that Alain intended to conduct his com- panions, hoping to enter unperceived, and before anyone in the town or fields was astir. Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, as he knew, had but one old servant, having made her reduced fortunes the welcome pretext for dismissing all the others, without offending them. Alain made a hasty explanation to • Balmat as they took this unexpected way, instead of entering the town, and saw the eyes of the young Swiss fix steadily upon him, with a kind of wondering thoughtfulncss, wliich seemed a reproach. He stood suddenly still. ' Listen, my friend,' he said ; * after all I know not whether I am not brinoins vou into danger. . . . You aie a Swiss, therefore one of a nation who cannot betray a man who trusts you. I must not be seen here ; my papers might chance to be less en re-fh than yours, were they inspected. I must place this — this lady ' — he looked at Edmee — ' in safety, and get away as soon as may be. Perhaps ij; were better to pait ftom us, even if you wait till morning in the street, than mix yourself in our affairs.' It was hurriedly and loyally said, and Edmee looked up with proud satisfixction. Balmat thought for a moment, as if it were too much the habit of his mind to deliberate for an instant decision to be possible to him ; then, with what Edmee secretly called ce bon sourire he said, in the calm, slow voice which accorded well with his turn of mind : ' Why, would you have me miss my first chance of being useful to you 1 How are you going to get — her — over this slope % Is it not true that a Swiss foot is wanted 1 Come, then ' — he evidently could not tell whether to say Madame or INIademoiselle, and com- 32 NOBLERSE OBLIGE. promised it by ' Citoyenne ' — ' take my hand ; this stick will steady iis.* Edmce gave her hand gladly ; it was much easier to let herself be helped and guided by this stranger than by Alain, who went fii'st and opened the door by a key which his aunt had contrived to send him. It opened so easily that it was evident that measui-es had been taken to cause those old liinges to turn noiselessly ; and the three stood within the garden and looked towards the house. A window on the ground-floor had a light burning in it, and they could sec tLat there was someone sitting at a table, on which an untouched meal was spread. All through the long night Mademoiselle de St. Aignan had watched with increasing anxiety, and hope sinking lower and lowei', as the hovirs went by and no one came. She was by no means a nervous woman ; but this night every rustle in the leaves or flutter of a bird had made her start and gaze out, until at last she said to herself: * He will not come ; he camiot, it is too late. I ought not even to wish for it now. But what can have happened 1 ' Terrible question in those days ! and her imagination was not far astray when it pictured him discovered and arrested ; but in its wildest flight it would never have suggested how he had been delivered. CHAPTER V. EXPLANATIONS. * No, he will not come. But what has happened 1 ' Mademoiselle de St. Aignan was repeating to herself, just as two figures stood outside the window ; and raising her eyes, full of tears, she started in joyful surprise and hurried to admit them. ' Alain ! my dear boy ! at la.st ! ' she exclaimed, for the fii'st moment seeing nothing but him ; and then per- ceived the slender shrinking girl, whom he held by the hand, she added, in great wonder, ' You are not alone ! ' ' No, dear aunt ; here is one whom I must leave to yoitr EXPLA NA TI0N8. 33 care, whom 3011 will shelter gladly for my sake — one to whom I owe my liie, and who is my wife.' ' Your wife ! ' exclaimed Mademoiselle de St. Aiman, but then, seeing the imploring, voiceless gesture of Edmee, who was trembling so that she could scarcely stand, she added, with grave kindness : ' My cliild, I need ask no more ; my nephew's wife, even without such a claim of having t;avcd his life, is welcome to me.' * Ah, mademoiselle, if I might tell you — if you would make him undei stand,' fiiltered the poor girl, slirinking from the kind embrace, and almost choking with the teai'S sup- I)iessed till now — ' it is not — I .".m not ' ' She is Av'oin out,' said Alain, in answer to a keen, dis- Quieted look from JMademoiselle de St. Aiajnan : ' we have walked from St. Aignan.' ' Worn out ! doubtless, and the only thing is now to let her rest,' said the aunt. ' Come, cliild, there aie some things for which there is no cure but sleep. My boy, I shall soon return,' she added, leading away the passive Edmee, but with sometliing in her voice which told how much it cost her to lose a moment wdth him. 'But listen, dear aunt,' said Alain, conscious that Balmat was waiting in the garden outside, ' I have — bah ! she is gone, and what am I to do with my Swiss 1 Well ! ' and ho shrugged his shoulders at the complicated difficulties in which he found himself. ' My friend — he, Balmat ! come here, and profit by what the gods send you — a shelter, and food, and a moment to eat it in. My aunt will soon return, aaid mean- v,^hi^-e let us lose no time.' Balmat entered at the call, and looked round with pleased interest, noting everything, from the clock on the mantel- piece, in which he probably felt a professional interest, to Eousseau's ' Devin du Village,' \jmg open on a little harp- sichoid. ' There is no tolling what may be useful som.e day in a picture,' he said, in an explanatoiy way to Alain, and then, gravely folding his hands, and bowing his head, said a short grace aloud and reverently, unconscious of Alain's amused wonder, which gave i^lace an instant later to a gi'avc and 34 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. softened look. The manner and action of the young Swiss had recalled lessons learned at his mother's knee, and moved Mm much. He had scarcely taken liis place at the table when the tap of Mademoiselle dc St. Aignan's high heels was heard, and she I'e-entered, saying, ' I would hear notliing from that poor tired child, but now — ah ! another ! ' she sud- denly exclaimed, perceiving Balmat, and turning looks of coustei-nation and wonder on her nephew ; ' ISIonsieur ! I am happy to see you. My nephew's friends are all welcome,* she added, as Balmat lose and bowed respectfidly ; but there was an irresistibly comic expression in her fiice, as she looked at Alain, as if to demand how many more guests or connec- tions she might expect. ' No friend, madame, only a fellow-traveller, whom Mon- sieur youi" nephew has kindly brought here for an hour's i-est/ said Balmat, looking with dclif.hted ndmiration on a face whose high-bred charm and dignity were a revelation to him. ' He must have much to say to you, and httle time to spare ; so, with your leave, I will take my supper into the garden, and finish it thei-e. It is too good to leave altogether,' he added, with wistfulness wliich provoked her to laughter. ' I had forgotten that anyone could laugh,' muttered Alain to himself, looking with a sort of curiosity at iiis aunt, and hardly able to believe that the last months could have gone by without alteiing her. He had met women, and men too, in Paris, changed beyond recognition by the anguish and terror that had been concentrated into a few weeks. But Llademoiselle de St. Aignan had hitherto lived a compara- tively sheltered life, and there was still the beautiful bloom, the clear blue eye, and gay smile which made her in middle age perhaps more fascinating than in girhsh freshness. Alain's heart warmed as he looked at her. ' Nay, monsieur ! let me see you both eat, and then, if you will, there is a sofa at your disposal in that little room, where you might rest before leaving us ; it is scarcely day yet,' she said, suppi-essing her sti'oug desu-e to have her nephew to herself, and hear at full length the story wliich she would not let the exhausted, weeping Edmee tell her. Balmat readily accepted the invitation to remain, but his BXPLANATIONS. 35 hostess was strongly tempted to repent it, as lie proceeded through his deliberate meal. She stilled many sighs of im- patience, and could hardly refrain fi'om ordering him off long before he rose, said gi'ace again, and retiied, as she had recommended, to the room and the sofn., wheie sleep fell vipon him long before Alain had given an outline of his story. Mademoiselle de St. Aignan listened with deep interest, her unusual gravity showing how much she was moved. ' Yes, yes, you did right ; you could not have done other- wise,' she said, as he paused. ' The poor child ! But what will my bi other say. Chevalier'? ' She turned a half-humorous look on Alain, who could only shrug liis shouldei's again by way of reply. ' To get uo title-deeds ; ah ! I suppose that villain Leroux must have swept them off — they disappeaied in the confusion, you say 'I — and to have instead a daughter-in-law, whom he had not counted on — 'tis a little hard, one must own; but ho will console himself by saying it is no marriage.' * I know that,' answei'ed Alain in a low voice. ' No more it is,' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, turning on him quickly. ' And you '] — ' ' Noblesse oblige,' was Alain's answer. ' That is ti-ue. Chevalier, so true that, if I knew where a priest coidd be found, I should say have it all made fast once for all ; but since that cannot be — ' ' And since she cannot possibly share my flight, I can only leave her hei'e with you until I return, and Heaven knows when that will be ! ' ' Yes, her home is here,' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan. * You have done right to bring her to me, since yoiu' mother is no more.' She was a proud woman ; in spite of her liberal views she had the calm, innate pride of one nobly born, with uncon- tested rights and privileges, who smiles in serene amusement should anyone ia his ignorance question them ; but it never occurred to her as jiossible that Alain should not stand by the promise which he had made, though to neitlier did tliis civil marriage seem binding. ' As long as I can I will shelter the cliild.' 3fi NOBLESSE OBLIGE. ' You liavenot bcsn molested 1 Ko one has tlireatcned you ? ' * ITo, they leave ine in peace, as yet. I have had a long time of qviet, for anyone who is spared an hour in these days may coxint it a yeai-,' she sai'd, with a look and tone wliich, though they replaced but for an instant her usual smiling and philosophical cheeifulness, told unmistakably how she looked on the prospects of the future. 'And you are resolved to remain? You are convinced that it is wise ] JMy father has urged emigration from the first, would have gone long ago had I consented, and since the King's death .... Yes, I must go, wliile you stay ! ' said Alain, full of bitterness at the thought of liyiiig when a woman refused to do so. 'Oh! my brother!' said Mademoiselle do St. Aignan, at no pains to con;eal her opinion tliat it mattered very little to anyone but himself whether Monsieur de St. Aignan went or stayed. ' He has only himself to please ; but for you and me, nephew, it was difi'erent. You know^ I have never favoured Coblentz — never could see that the way to sti-engthen the throne was to leave it unsupported, nor that to convince the people we loved France as well as they, we should run out of the country, or come back in arms against it. But mind you, I tliink now that you have no clioico but to go. You have stayed till tlie last possible moment, and your father will not stir without you. He cannot stay ; he will go oat of his wits from slicer terroi- of the guillotiue and the molj. I laiow him. You must have gone through some stormy discussions with him, my poor Chevalier ! Ah, I wonder when we shall meet again ! Well, after all, I would not have you take the part that your cousin, De Pelven, has ; tu-st hand and glove wir^h the Palais Eoyal, and now, it seems, a Jacobin ; what does your father say to that ? Why, five years ago I i-ecollect his marching out of the room at one door because De Pelven had come in by another ! ' ' De Pelven warned me that my father was to be arrested.' ' De Pelven ! There is some good left in him then I Did you see him 1 ' ' Yes, he came to me at night, and asked our jilans. I told him that my father wished nothing better than to leave EXPLANATIONS. 37 France, but that he was equally set on securing the money and title-deeds left at the chateau.' ' And then 1 ' asked Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, with some suspicion. ' He agreed that it was absolutely necessary, and we con certed means for my father's leaving Paris, and waiting for me on the fiontier. Immediately after tliis I got your letter, and loft Paris a day sooner than I had intended, to gain time to see you.' ' De Pelven knew tins 1 ' ' No, T had no means of letting him know, and it was needless. Communication with suspected persons like ourselv es could only bring him into danger. He had done liis utmost — moi'e than I could have possibly expected — unasked too.' ' Yes. I do not understand it. It is not like De Pelven,' muttered Mademoiselle de St. Aignan to herself. ' Well, tell me your plans as far as you know them, and what chance I have of hearing from you.' Little enough, it seemed, for to communicate with an emigre was risking life. Alain could only say that his father's plan was to aAvait in Switzeiland what turn events might take. Such a tempest as tlais must naturally cease ere long — ^its very \-io'ence forbade its lasting. ' I cannot tell,' was all MadcmoLselle de St. Aignan's answei% . There was so much to hear and to tell that all seemed yet to be said when the pai'ting could no longer be delayed. The brief hour, wliich was already more than could safely be snatched, was gone. Both rose up for what they knew might be a last farewell ; Alain was very pale, and tears trembled in the eves of Mademoiselle de St. Aiornan. ' Fai'ewcll, my boy, my dear boy ! God keep you ! I will do my best with the poor child. I wish you went out a free man, but as it is, I'ccollect what you owe her. Ah ! I had forgotten ; she would not be calmed until I had promised to give you this.' A lain I'ccognised with astonishment a morocco case which he had keenly regretted having left at St. Aignan. 3S NOBLESSE OBLIGE. ' My mother's miniature ! This then was what she was holding ! How did she come by it 1 ' ' I asked no questions ; I was in too great a hurry to return to you, but she lias a will of her own, that slender child — she held me fast till she had made me hear. " 'Tis marraine," she said, " and tell him he is free " — so I took it, and promised ami^hing she liked.' ' Marraine ! ' repeated Alain, looking up from the minia ture, at which he had been gazing with moistened eyes. ' Yes — do you not lecoUect that Leroux's wiie was a faA^ourite of your dear mother's ? — and this child — what is her name "? ' ' Upon my word I do cot know ! ' said Alain, laughing and colouring. ' It was said when we went through our parts, wdth the Maiie for a priest, and a tricolour scarf for his vestments ; at least I suppose so, but I cannot recall it. It is too absurd not to Icnow one's wife's name ! ' And so, glad to cover emotion with a smile, they pai-ted, Alain to endeavour to make his way through a thousand dangers to the rendezvous where Monsieur de St. Aignan was vituperating his delay, and Mademoiselle de St. Aignan to rouse and get lid of her- Swiss, before his presence should be perceived, and cause enquiries which might lead too far. He gratefully accepted both the piovisions Avliich she offe]-ed, and her proposal to bandage his foot, and there was something in his simple, cheerful wa^ which rested and refreshed her, while calling up a smile of amusement. She felt as many a care-worn man or woman does on coming in contact with an innoL'fjQt child, to wliom the anxieties and pains of life are things unknoAvn, and vrillingly gave him a few moments, now that they were not taken from Alain, to listen to his short history, and ho]5es for the future, though her thoughts now strayed to her nephew, now to the means of procuring from the Maire of Mortemart a permit for Edmee to remain, with- out entering on dangerous explanations. Balmat had had Eepublican prejudices against aristocrats, but they melted away like the snow of his native country under the Fohn before he made liis adieux, and set out for iParis, Kttle dream- ing when and how they were to meet again, but with Ms EDMEE FINDS A FRIEND. 39 imagination full of his charming hostess, and, though liis natural discretion had prevented him from asking a single question, some wonder as to the connection between the yonng noble, as he was quite shrewd enough long since to have per- ceived Alain to be, and the silent girl, who seemed to skrink from his eye, and avoid his touch. ' Bah ! there are strange things in this France ! ' Balmat said to himself, and his mind turned again to art and David, as he stepped oiit along the endless white road, bordered by elms, which stretched on and on, and would not end, but was in time to lead to Paris and to fame. CHAPTER VI. EDMEE FINDS A FRIEND. Mademoiselle de St. Aignan returned to Edmee with the problem still unsolved of how she was to account for her presence, Avithout a passport, at a time when no one was per- mitted to stir until numerous tedious formalities had been gone through, tliough it were but from one village to another. The withdrawal of the numerous families who had emi- gi\ated, which at first had been looked on with savage joy, or contempt, was now perceived to have greatly impoverished the country; and the knowledge that the e7?a^?*es were appeal- ing to foreign powers to invade France, and saw no treason in fighting their countrymen, had roused a vindictive fury equally fatal to the suspected, whether they stayed or atr tempted to escape. And it was hard to say who was not now- suspected. The Kevolution, with its just protests against time-honoured abuses, its thrilling declaration that all men were brothers, had become a war of class against class, a tyranny such as the world had never yet seen, though it had had many a warning of what must come, if the ruling classes persisted in blinding their eyes and shutting their ears, and the Church coldly looked on, or actively aided and abetted. 40 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. There was a line of care on Mademoiselle de St. Aignau's forehead as slie songjit Edmee. She had revolved many schemes in vain. Once she had thought of i-equesting the maire of JMoitemart to come to her, but rejected the idea, feeling that so great a jiersonage would naturally expect her to go to him, a step which would excite too much attention in the little town, and to which, moreover, she could not make up her mind, for to stand as a sujijiliant before her grocer, maire though he might be now-a-days, was moi-e than s!io could quite swallow. To send Edmee with a plausible story suggested itself, but the appearance of a stranger would excito as much enquiry as if ]Mademoiselle de St. Aignan herself had been seen on her way to the mairie, and besides Edmee might be betrayed into jjerilous admissions — perilous both to her- self and others. The line of care was very marked as Mademoiselle de St. Aignan entered the room where she expected to find the girl sleeping, but Edmee lay with wist- ful, open eyes, and sprang up at once as her hostess came in, exclaiming, 'Ah, mademoiselle, did you tell him? Does ho understand % ' ' I gave him your message, my child.' ' And he sees — he knows I never supposed he would be bound to me? that I knew he would be free? It was to save liis life that I consented. No one could hold it a real marriage, and if it were, they say that anyone can have a divorce now. You have told him so 1 ' ■ ' You are very anxious to be free, my poor child ; perhaps there is someone to whom you would be more willuig to be bound 1 ' said Mademoiselle do St. Aignan, unable to under- stand the gii'l's passionate vehemence. 'IV she answered, in such uncomprehending siu-pri.se, that the suspicion was silenced at once. ' I was not thinldug of myself ! ' ' How came you to ti-y to save him, child 1 How did you know of liis danger?' ' I heard .... people planning to seize him ; they said he was at the chateau, and I thought of marraine, and how I had pi'omised my mother always to do what I could for a St. Aignan.' ' Your mother — is she living 1 ' * No, she was bui ied last week,' said Edmee, lifting her EDJIJ^E FINDS A FRIEND. 41 eyes witli so strange an expression of triumph, and almorsfc rejoicing, that IMademoiselle de St. Aignan was much startled. ' Cliild ! did you not love her, then ? ' ' Love her % ' was Edmee's astonished answer. ' Did yon ask if I loved my mother, mademoiselle 1 ' ' It would not seem that you grieved over her death 1 ' ' 'No, I did not — how could 11 I was glad when she was in her grave, for even he could not torment her there,' said Edmee, in a voice low indeed, but thrilling v.'ith such inex- tinguishable i-esentment that Mademoiselle de St. Aignan started, and thought within hersf^.lf, ' What sort of man can this Leroux be] ' but she said aloud, in a tone of reproof, 'I am called over-liberal by some, but let me tell you that I have an old-fashioned belief that children should honour ajid love their parents.' ' They should, no doubt, mademoiselle,' said Edmee, seriously, and without any attempt at justifying herself, and her hostess felt it useless to pursue the subject. * You have not yet told mo your name,' she said. 'Edmee, mademoiselle.' ' Ah ! my dear si'-ter-in-law's name. And you are her godchild 1 ' ' Yes,' and the smile wluch for the fii-st time illumined the gii'l's wan face was a revelation to ivlademoiselle de St. Aignan. ' Ah ! you are a Berrichonne,' she said, contemplating her attentively, and begirsjiing to perceive a promise of beauty in the features noAV wliite and thin, but with great purity of out- line, and pei-haps possessing, at a happier moment, the fair and rosy complexion often seen in Bei-ri, and said to be traceable to those English iiavaders who long occupied the province. * Yes, my mother was from Berri, like marraine.' Mademoiselle de St. Aignan noticed the tender tone in which this last word was always spoken by the girl. It attracted her towards Edmee, and she took her hand, and said, ' You were very fond of my sister, child 1 ' ' Ah, yes. Yon cannot guess, mademoiselle, what para- dise it was to visit the chateau ; how lovely evervthing was, and she most of all ! I tliink that a queen could not have been more beautiful ! ' ' And yon sometimes met my nephew there 1 ' 42 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. ' I have seen him, of course, hvit not for several years not since my dear man-aine — ' ' True — true — he has not been there since her death,' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, looking at Edmee with puzzled cuidosity. ' It was then for her sake that you ran the lisk of warning him 1 ' ' Surely, mademoiselle,' answered Edmee, quite as much puzzled in her turn. 'But if you had been discovered after he escaped ?■ ' ' Yes, I know,' she said, shuddering far more now than when the danger was present, and she added, as if in haste to change the subject, ' I recollect once seeing you at the chateau — you came into the conservatories. — Mademoiselle, is the Swiss painter here still 1 ' Mademoiselle de St. Aignan could not see the connection between this question and what had gone before, though it was qidte clear to Edmee. * No, he went soon after my ne^ihew left me.' ' JNIonsieur le Chevalier is gone ! ' There vv^as mingled relief and dismay in Edmee's voice. ' Yes.' ' Ah ! dear mademoiselle, it is very hard for you 1 ' said Edmee, with a shy, caressing gesture. 'And you have m« instead, whom you did not want.' ' T]iat is the very ching I came to talk to you about, my little one. You are here without passports or papers of any kind to sliow your identity ; it is very perilous for you.' ' And for you 1 ' Edmee asked quickly. ' For us both ; especially if your connection with my nephew be discovered. If Ave only knew anyone who would answer for your patriotism — ' ' I am not a patriot, mademoiselle — I hate patriotism ! ' ' Silly child ! what do you know aliout it 1 ' ' Mademoiselle, the seigneurs may have done wicked things, and treated us ill, but they never could be such tyrants as peo^^le of my class -will make if they get the upper hand ; I know how some of them ride their own families ! ' ' You are more of an ai istocrat than the nobles them- selves, petite. But we are as far as ever from the point of EDMEE FINDS A FRIEND. 43 hoAv to explain your presence here to Monsieur le maire, or even to my old Nanon ; it is true that she is deaf and pur- blind, which is why I kept her in prefei-ence to any of her fellow-servants, but she is unfortunately not blind enough not to see you at all, and I would not have her chatter of gnests arriving here iu the night. Bah I I was never meant for a conspirator ! I have left all the I'emains of our meal en evidence ; I must go and remove them.' ' Let me help you, mademoiselle, do let me help you ! Have you really no servant but this Nanon % ' ' And so much the better, child ! Do you think I am less happy because I have no valets or lady's maids'? I have breathed more freely ever since they all went, and we parted civilly. Many a one would be glad to be quit of them all, if it could be done without danger. It does not do to offend a person who may walk off and denounce you, and yet one cannot exactly feel easy when one knows that one has half-a- dozen spies under one's roof ! Come, we have no time to lose. Nanon should soon be stirring.' ' Mademoiselle,' said Edmee, as they went downstairs to remove all traces of the guests, ' might I not go quietly out, and ring at your door as if I had j ust ai-rived 1 I could say to Nanon that I had no friends to whom to go, and that as your family had formerly been kind to me — ah, how true that is ! — I had come here. She cannot Avonder at that.' ' It seems the best plan for the moment,' said Made- moiselle de St. Aignan, relieved even by this poor expedient ; and just then they heard old ISTanon's heavy step overhead. Mademoiselle de St. Aignan hastened back to her own room, after cautiously letting Edmee pass through the couit, into the yet silent and empty street, where she stood for a few moments, looking i-ound her. It was always a silent, gloomy sti-eet, and the high walls of a conA^ent rose opposite. She raised her eyes to the blank expanse, thankful that thei'e wei-e no windoAVs Avhence curious gazers might j)ei'ceiA^e her. The couA^eut Avithin Avas inAdsible, but had all its AvindoAVS overlooked her, no one Avould have appeai'od at them, for the nuns Avere all scattei'cd, some in England, others in Belgium, and some in the graA^es Avhither the guillotine had sent them. 44 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. Further on she saw the ' hotel ' of some noble family, but the arms carved in stone above the dooiway were mutilated by recent violence. Beyond came the ' Place.' with a desecrated cJiurch on one side and old houses and shops filling up the three others. Edmee had no time to observe more than that the garden of Mademoiselle de St. Aignan almost reached the church ; she feared to linger, and rang the bell Avith a hasty hand. Ko one answered it ; either jSTanon had not heard, or did not choose to hear. She rang again, and then a Little old figure came out of the house, and peered suspi- ciously out at the ' grille,' with a sidelong look, turning the least-deaf ear a little upwards. Edmee tried to give the explanation which she had prepared, but only got a peevish shake of the head for answer, and a sign to go away. She tried laisuig her voice, with no better effect. It was necessary to have recoui-se to pantomime, and this succeeded bettor, for the gate was a little unclosed by Nanon's skinny hand, and Edmee slipped in, and followed the old woman, who went before her, shaking her head and mumbling to herself. iSIademoiselle de St. Aignan met thorn. ' Why, whom have you there, Kanon 1 ' she asked in the cheery, distinct voice which the deaf ears Avere used to, and which reached them readily. ' How should I know, mademoiselle 1 she was at our gate, and woidd not oncipliment with a bow and smile, as if spoken in all good faith..' ' My nephew ? I slioukl have suj^posed that you knew as little of his movements as T.' ' I confess to you, dear mademoiselle, that one of my ob- jects in coming here was to find him. It is of the utmost impoitance that I should, and that at once.' ' But he is not here.' 'Ah, that is most unfortunate,' said De Pelven, with a glance at once so penetiuting and i-apid that, while it scrutinised her face closely, even a watchful observer would not have noticed it. ' I will be frank with you — ' ' Then I know he is trying to deceive me,' muttered Mademoiselle de St. Aignan to herself. ' You must at least be aware of his resolution to leavf France, less, as T know well, on account of any danger thaa to satisfy his father, whose mind, it seems, threatened to give way under the risks he thought he ran, and the death of the Yicomte strengthened this . . . this — ' ' Delusion r FRIEND OR FOE? 51 * Delusion, then, or fear, and there was truth enough in it to make me desirous of helping them to leave France.' ' Yet, as I hear, it is so dangerous to help anyone out of the way of losing his head, that you yourself must have run considerable risk, monsieur 1 ' ' Even if it were so, mademoiselle, I was bound to do it ; I am the next heir to Monsieur le Comte and the Che- valier,' answered De Pelven with a louK and tone which made Mademoiselle de St. Aignan say to herself, ' That sounds true . . . that is well said . . . after aJ, I know not hing against him except his politics.' 'Well, cousin,' and the increase of friendliueso in her manner was apparent, ' after thatr ' After that, mademoiselle, lieing pi o .ided with papers, they left Paris — unexpectedly. You know my opinions, and will understand that I had been distinctly assured that neither Monsieur le Comti? nor his son would use this oppor- tunity to conspire against the Eepublic, iijr convey commu- nications to any refugees.' ' That was but fair.' 'It was but fair— precisely, but, unfortunately, the con- ditions were not carried out. A plot harj been discoveied in Palis, one of many which have been detected of late — to liberate the Queen — I ^vill not oflend jou bv refusing her that title— ' * Do not speak to me of her, monsieui ! When I think of what she has undergone, I cannot an ;wer for myself ! I am ashamed that I belong to the courtly and the nation who have insulted her as a queen iind toitured her as a woman ! ' ' In spite of all precautions, letters have been obtained, signed by this poor lady, to her own fciuily, and to cer-tain Royalists, now in exile — they wei-e confided to Monsieur le Comte and his son.' ' Impossible, monsieur ; I tell you it is impossible ! ' 'Alas, mademoiselle, it is precisely tl.o imjiossible wliich is most often true. There is no doubt aliout it. Had these gentlemen not quitted Paris earlier than 1 was led to expect," we shoidd know more.' 52 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. M. de Pelven's voice had never altered from its calm and level tone, and only at tliese last words did a momentary spark kindle in his grey eyes. It was quenched in an instant, but had Mademoiselle de St. Aignan seen that look of vindictive and deadly hatred, she would have needed no further revelation of his feelings, but she was overwhelmed with consternation. ' You are sure 1 — yoxi cannot be mistaken 1 ' she asked, with the shame and anger of an honourable woman, wlio feels family disgi-ace as if it weie her own. ' It must be possible, then ; my brother must have held that his duty as a Eoyalist was superior to any he could owe Republicans, but Alain at least had no share in it j Alain knew nothing whatevei' my brother did ! ' A smile, not a pleasant one, crossed the lips of M. de Pelven. ' I should be moie assured of that if I could hear it from himself.' ' I wish you could ! I Tv^sh you could ! ' Mademoiselle de St. Aignan had foi'gotten all danger to Alain in the regret that he was not there to clear himself. ' But he is not here - — I never thought to regret that he was out of France. I do not know where he may be, but not here.' M. de Pelven slightly shrugged his shoulders ; he did not believe a word. ' You doubt me, my cousin,' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, recovering something of her usual calm manner, as she saw the gestui-e. ' You have a right to doubt lis all, but can you su])])0S8 that I shoidd hesitate where my ne])hew's lionour is concerned'? If I knew Vvdiere he was, as things stand, I should tell you at once.' * I never presumed to suppose you a party to this plot, mademoiselle, though your nephew has tvirned suspicion on you by coming here.' * Why do you suppose he came here 1 ' with an impulse to own as little as possible, for under the indignant conviction that the charge was true, at least as far as it concerned her brother, she felt great doubt and distrust of his accuser. * Dear lady, what is the use of denying what I have positive pixtof of ? ' FRIEND OR FOE? 53 He took out a pocket-book and carefully and deliberately extracted a scrap of paper in her own liandwiiting, which, he held to her. ' Yes, it is my writing ; I wi-ote lately to my nephew.' 'And he replied by coming here. He arrived the day before yesterday.' ' On my honour he did not,' she answered, perceiving at once that he knew nothing of the journey to St. Aignan. * I must believe you,' he replied courteously. 'Only you do not,' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, with impatience ; * well then, since it can do no harm, as far as I can see — my nephew came here ; came last night, stayed barely an hour, and left me at dawn, to join his father, who, yoxi say, had already crossed the frontier. I know no more. "What you tell me of the Comte utterly i:)erplexes me.' * Last night, and left you at dawn,' said De Pelven, meeting the clear blue eyes raised full to his with a thoughtful gaze, while he said to himself, ' It has the ring of truth, yet I fully believed him here in the house- — the girl's face said so — ah ! the girl,' and the perception that he could learn what he would from Edmee seemed to clear the path for him. Up to this time he had been a singularly successful man, as he counted success, a politician and a plotter for the pure pleasvire of using men and circumstances as he chose, with lemarkable penetration and foi'csight, which seemed to command the future and enable him to steer in the most troubled seas, and a fieedom from convictions oi' conscience which gave him an enoimous advantage over those wedded to a piinciple or a paity. It was his study that as few as possible should know how many threads he held in his hands, or how great a power he possossed. He made no affectation of ultra-Republicanism, yet he was in the confidence of all the Jacobin leaders, and did not fear to extend protection to Royalists and Moderates whom it suited him to hel]). He had sjioken the exact truth as to his feelings towards the St. Aignans; their death could bring no advantage to him except that he would have a claim on their estates, >\hich he did not desire, and his pride forbade him to let them ])prisli and then profit by theii- death. Rut now to find himself eudail- 54 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. gored by the aid which he had given, cheated, laughed at, awoke such feelings as only a man of De Pelven'a nature could expoi'ience. The hostility of such a man could only be deadly. The knowledge of the plot in which the Comte de St. Aignan, if not his son, was implicated, was confined to one or two besides himself, and none but he knew of the existence of that hcrap of paper left on the floor of Alam's room, a fragment of a letter supposed to be destroyed, in which Mademoiselle de St. Aiarian had given him directions how to come to her — a harmless letter enough, even if the whole had been seized, but at tliis juncture more than enough to cost her life. De Pelven had visited Alain's rooms on tne first intelligence cf the conspiracy ; found him gone, and, narrowly scrutinising all that could gi^^e a clue to his move- ments, discovered the fragment of paper. He at once assumed that the joumey to St. Aignan had been mentioned mei'ely as a blind, and that Mortemart was his leal destina- tion, probably to concert with his aunt means of ti-ansmitting answeis to the papers which he carried oiit of France with him. The unhappy Mai-ie Antoinette was still alive, a close prisoner, dejirived of her son, and an unceasing object of suspicion and hatred to the ultra-Republicans. Desperate attempts to rescue hei- within the kingdom, and appeals to foreign powers without, were ceaseless, and it was in one of these that De Pelven believed the St. Aignans to be con- cerned. It was the policy of the Jacobins to use the dis- coveiy of such a plot, real or pretended, to incense the mob yet more against the Queen, but silence had been kept on this, with the hope of learning more. His prompt enquiries on the frontier had assured him that M. de St. Aignan bad passed it, alone ; A lain therefore, he argued, must still be in France, almost certainly at INIoi-temart, and he, at least, might be mad i to pay fo:- his partial success in hoodwinking De Pelven, who. as he thought it over, could not but smile with a cold wondej' and disdain as he thought of the Comte or his son venturing to pit themselves against Jdm. But the smile was a dangei'ov.s one. He had not often been deceived before, and he thought it would hai-dly happen to him again, forgetting that the aciitest man is not secure against being FRIEND OR FOE? 55 self-deceived. And his preconceived view misled him when, practised as he was in distinguishing ti'uth from falsehood, he could not make np his mind to trust what Mademoiselle de St. Aignan said, and i-everted to his fii'st belief that Alain was in Moi-tomai-t. To remain there himself was absolutely necessary, for even if Alain were gone, he would doubtless try to commiuiicate with his aunt, unaware that the con spii-acy was discovered, and thus its extent and his whei-e- abouts might be learned ; or else she would try to let him know what she had just learned. De Pel van had rapidly reviewed the state of things before he replied to ^Mademoiselle de St. Aignan's last words. ' So best, dear lady ; there is no more to be said. I must leave you now to see the local authorities on a matter of business which may detain me some days here — there is a small jiropei-ty on sale in this neighbourhood. ' ' Lousnieres V ' Exactly,' he answered, liaving spoken with a tolerable certainty that there must be either Church lands, or some hien d'emiyre, in the market. * I shall hope to be allowed to see you again.' ' You will allow me to offer you hospitality, unless there is danger for even you in accepting it from an aristocrat 1 ' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, with reluctance born of her instinctive disti'ust, mingled oddly with the consciousness of having no servant whatever. He could hardly fail to misin- terpret her hesitation. ' You ai'e too good ! If, indeed, it did not inconvenience you — perhaps, too, my presence might be some protection. You have not been annoyed in any way ? ' ' Not actually, though I have had more than one domi- ciliary visit, and strong admonitions to i-emember that I was a suspicious character. All that is a thing of course, but truly your society would be a boon, for I feel my isolation much ; one's oldest acquaintance look shyly on one, or have iled. No one ventures near friend or relation now ; every- one's chief dp!^'.ire^is to be forgotten.' * I gratefully accept, then. There is nothing that I can do for your seciu-ity or comfort ] ' ' But indeed there is ! ' exclaimed ^Mademoiselle dc St. 56 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. Aignan, stnick by a sudtlen idea. * I have here a young girl who has come to me withoTit papers, being homeless since her mother's late death, and knowing nothing of such mat- ters as permits. My old Nanon took fright at once at such a dangerous guest, and left me, and we have been debating ever since how to procure pcimission for the child to lemain.' * The girl who opened the door to me 1 I will settle that.* ' Thanks, my cousin,' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, with sincere gratitude. ' The poor child put me in a serious difficulty, but what could I do 1 Pray assure Monsieur le Maire that there is no danger of her conspiring against the nation, which, by-the-by, seems as suscejjtible as a grande dame's nerves to the most distant idea of danger ! ' ' It is difficult to say where conspiracy does not lurk now, my cousin, but I will answer for this child on the strength of your word ; you shall not accuse me twice in one day of not believing it. Where does she come from 1 ' ' St. Aignan. She is called Edmee Leroux, a gii-1 of sixteen, I think.' ' And she is here — since when ] ' * Only since this morning.' * Ah ! ' The date seemed important to De Pelven. ' Yes, my poor old Nanon let her in, but as soon as sho heard the story, she let herself out much more rapidly.' ' I can imderstand that. Let me tell you there was real peril, dear coixsin, but now Nanon need not fear to retui-n.* ' No, no,' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, with a comic expression of deprecation. ' I do not need her, and I need not tell you that, for many i-easons, one is glad to have as few servants as possible. It is so tempting to prove oneself a good patriot by denouncing a master who is too economical, or a little hasty, or who forgets that servants aie masters now-a-days, and must be treated as such. Or else some speech only half heard, and not at all understood, is repeated. No, ISTanon shall stay in her own home, or rather that given by her gi-andson, a bai-ber in the town.' ' Then if I need a barber I will propitiate Nanon's gi^and- son by calling in his services. The perrucpieis and paiiitera FRIE2ped abruptly, and betrayed her perturbation by putting down a wrong card, Avhich threw all the chances of the game into her opi:)onent's hands. Being an ardent piquet-player, this untoward accident for the moment banished everything else from her mind ; but some instinct told Edmee that her presence was a restj-aint. She stepped out of the room, and betook herself to the garden, though it was late, and there had been rain, enough in the morning to make the waits damp. She was happy, happy enough to find her solitary wandeiing, filled vv^ith vague musings, very pleasant, even when twilight made the neglected walks, shaded by thick hornbeam hedges, chill and gloomy, and the comparative liberty of her present life was in itself a spring of pleasure ; but she stood still, with a great start, as she saw the little door leading down to the river cautiously moved, and a man's head a])pear at the opening. Her presence did not seem to scare liim as his did her, for he came through the door and closed it behind him. He wore a peasant's dress, and seemed to have "w^aded through the stream, to judge by his dripping condition. Edmee stood still in some alarm, but was re- THE ABB^ QMuaEZ. 67 assured by a look into the face, very careworn and haggard, but that of a kind elderly man, by no means formidable. ' My child, is yom- name St. Aignan % ' he asked, in a low- voice. ' No, monsieur ; Mademoiselle is in the house ; do you want her ] ' ' I have a message to yovi both, for surely I cannot be mistaken ] it is the wife of the Chevalier de St. Aignan to whom I speak 1 ' ' But, monsieur ! ' Edmee gazed at him in breathless consternation. ' Nay, you need not be afraid of me, my daughter,' he said, with a kind smile, only partially comprehendiag her dismay. ' I am the Abbe Gei'usez, the priest of Les Halliers ; ' then, seeing that this told her nothing, he smiled again, and shook his h<;iad with compunction. ' Ah, I see you have never hcai'd of me — how should you 1 It is a timely hu- miliation. Where ^vill not vanity lurk ! ' ' A priest ! Oh, Monsieur I'Abbe, is it safe for you to be hereT ' Safe, my poor child ! Where can it be safe for anyone, above all a priest, now 1 But let me give you your message ; the Chevalier has escaped into Switzerland, and found his father already there. .You must not ask me how I know this ; it might bring others into danger. All that concerns you is that he was exceedingly anxious that his aunt and wife should know this, even if he camiot communicate again with them.' ' " His wife ! " Surely he did not call mo that,' Edmeo nmrmured, tiu'ning vei'y pale. ' Undoubtedly, my child. Are you not, then, his wife 1 * * Yes — no — you would not tliink so. Oh, father ! may ] confess to you ] But, no, it might be too dangerous if you lingered. We are not alone in the house ; a relation oi Mademoiselle's is here, who might come into the garden, and though, of course, he would not betray you ' ' Would he not, my poor little one ] You answer boldly for this Pelven, a dangerous man, as I hear ; a dangeirous, bad man.' G8 IS'OBLESSE OBLIGE. ' Oh no, fatlier, you are misinformed ! ' cried Edm^e, blusliing rosy-red with eagerness and displeasure ; * he has protected us, though he is a Kepublican ; he is most kind and good.' ' Poor child ! ' was the priest's answer, ' more dangerous to you than me, perhaps. I would certainly hear your con- fession, but I am urgently wanted elsewhere ; there is a dying woman with an unbaptised babe to whom I must go at once, but I will return to-morrow, at this hour, if I Kve.' ' Oh. risk nothing for me, Monsieur I'Abbe ! T ought not to ask it.' ' Why not for you as well as for others 1 I have not stayed for the sake of one, but of all my flock — or rather, I have come .back for them. Alas ! my child, you must not think too well of me ; at the first I fled like a hii-eling,' said the priest, colouring deeply, ' but ray conscience woiild not let me rest, and I came back to my people ; they need a shep- herd sorely. The very danger all around us tempts men to forget God.' ' ' Does it, father ] ' ' You wonder, my child, but so it is. Those who loved Him in better times cling faster to Him now, but as for the rest. . . . One cannot always live at full stretch ; one grows used to terror and danger, and one thrusts away the thought and grows reckless. And men's hearts fail them when their jirayers fall to the ground unanswered, and they knock, but the dooi- is not opened,' said the priest, with an irrepressible sigh, adding after a moment, almost inaadibly, ' " Lord, I believe ; help Thou mine unbelief." Farewell, my daughter, till to morrow, if God wills it. Thank Mademoiselle de St. Aignau for her last kind help to my people.' ' You know her, then ! ' said Edmee, astonished. He answered only by a smile, but moved back to lay his hnnd on her head and bless her. She knelt down in great agitation, and did not rise until the garden-gate had closed behind him ; then sprang up and lied indoors ; she would have passed M. de Pelven, without seeing him, but for his detaining hand, and gentle, ' I was sent by my cousin to seek you. Ah f you are the beai-er of important news ] ' TRE ABBS Q^RUSEZ. 69 ' Monsieur ! how do you know that 1 ' * Parbleu ! it is not cliificult to see. Eeassiire me at least as to the Chevalier's safety.' ' Yes ; he is safe, he is in Switzerland. Let me go to Mademoiselle.' ' In Switzerland ! ' murmured De Pelven, much surprised. ' Out of reach, then, at least for the moment. But who brought the news ? ' He might have questioned Edm^e, but it was more con- genial to his nature to discover it in a less dii-ect way. He went down into the garden, looking attentively at the walks, damp with recent, rain. They scarcely betrayed where Edmee's girlish step had passed, but near the little door foot- prints were deeply marked on them. ' A man's foot, not a young one's ; he had a stick and leant on it — -a countryman's shoe, but that tells nothing,' De Pelven said to himself, eyeing the ti-aces. ' Ha ! what happened here 1 she must have knelt down. It was a. priest, viafoi! thei'e is sure to be a woman and a priest in all plots. It must be that Abbe from Les Halliers, whom they caimot getholdof — So heis mixed up withit! well, he will come again.' Meanwhile Edmee had joined Mademoiselle de St. Aignan and told her that Alain was in safety. She wondered to see the fii'st flash of joy on his aunt's face overshadowed almost immediately. 'But -who brought the news, child?' she asked impetuously. ' How could you let him go 1 It is absolutely necessary that I send the Chevalier a message.' ' I do not know, mademoiselle ; it was a priest, a kind man — the Abbe Gerusez I think he called himself ' Ah, the good Abbe ! There is a man who might make us all say, " Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian " — nay, quite, for it must be a gi-eat faith which enaljles a timid man such as he to choose the life of a hunted beast, noAv in the woods, now in some hut, always in the utmost danger. I do not love the priests overmiich, as you know — yes, yes, petite, I have seen you wince and sigh over ray dei);nvitv, but it is the truth — yet when I see a man like the cur6 of Los Halliers, I think ... a great many things,' she concluded with a laugh. ' Be sure to keep him if you see liim again.' 70 jS-oblesse oblige. EHm^e could never tell how far the sceptical tone habitual to her hostess was assumed or real. It troubled her deeply, as a flaw in a precious stone, and set a certain barrier between them. She could not bring herself to say that she hoped to see and confess to the Abbe the next evening, but went away to her own room, and tried to prepare herself for this confes- sion. It was long since she had had such an opportunity, and she felt -with keen pain how unlike her tale would be to the simple, girlish avowals of two years before. That message from Alain kept ringing in her eai's : ' his wife ! ' he had called her so openly, and she was forced to pei-ceive that there was some sort of a bond between them which could only be broken by mutual consent. And if so — where had she been drifting 1 She covered her face in a transport of pain and shame, and then a sharp Jiang of resentment against Mademoiselle de St. Aignan shot through her heart. Why had she not spoken frankly of her as the Chevalier's wife, since she held her so ; why had she put her in this false position with regard to — othei-s 1 Even to herself she did not at first say any name. * Send me help — oh, no matter how, but send me help ! ' was the cry of her heart as she sat in the deep window-seat of her bedroom through long hours of the night • — hours in which her childhood died — and faced her position and her danger. * Anyhow — in any way — only let me be helped ! ' she implored, looldng up to the for off, silent sky, \viih voiceless intensity of suj^plication. ' Monsieur I'Abbe came at the right time,' she said to hei-self at last, worn out into calmness, and with a sense that she had not prayed in vain. ' He will advise me. If I belong to the St. Aignans, they shall never blush for me — ^but oh, mother, mother ! ' Her promise to her mother was costing her more than she could have drenmed possible. ' He must know,' she added presently, but it was only with the innocent belief that it v.'ould be safer for herself were De Pelven informed of her position ; she had learned what he was to her, but the dis- covery was as yet too absorbing for any thought of what she might be to him ; he seemed too far off, too superior a being for that side of the question to present itself. ' Yes — Monsieur I'Abbe was sent to me,' and, comforted by that thought, she THE ABB^ G^RUSEZ. 71 Ifiy down at last and slept. She woke with a new world of feelings in lier heart, and it did not need the keen eye of De Pelven to see immediately what a change had come over her. * She expects someone — the Chevalier % No, she said he was in Switzerland, and though she can be silent, she cannot lie,' he mattered, noting her closely. * It will be well in any case to get hold of t!iis go-between.' Edmee never discovered that he was watching her, yet she felt the strangest sense of being under surveillance. It had hitherto been the most natural thing in the woild that she should go out and in as the fancy took her, but as the hour for her appointment came near she felt as if she dared not move, even though De Pelven, v/ho had been absent all the morning, had only returned to go straight to his rooms, where he spent a good deal of time in writing. Once, v.'hen she had summoned courage to leave the room. Mademoiselle de St. Aignan called after her, and she started as if she had been shot, although it was but a request to fetch a cliauffejncd. She brought it, and I\Iademoiselle de St. Aignan thanked her by a pat on the cheek. Its coldness startled her. ' Wliy, petite I ' she exclaimed, ' it is you, not 1, who need more warmth. What have you been doing? Sitting still all day over that lace-pillow ! Fie, fie, you shoiild go into the garden, and get your eyes rested. One would say you had stayed awake alL night, only happily that never befalls children of your age ! ' added Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, who, though twice Edmee's age, and more, never guessed that into the brief life of the girl had been crowded feai-s, and bitterness, and exquisite suffering such as her own had never even been tinged with. ' Leave that to older people, petite / Go then — unless it is too late "? ' ' Oh, no, no,' answered Edmee, inexpressibly thankful for the pi-etext to escape, and she slipped away in haste, and hui-i-ied to the end of the garden, her heart beating fast as she watched for the opening of the little door, and went over what she had to say to the Abbe. She waited long, with her eyes still fixed on the door, and her ears on the alert for every sound, waited until a sick sense of disappointment and doubt began to creep over her ; a fear that something had delayed the priest. * But he must come,' she exclaimed half aloud, 7;i NOBLESSE OBLIGE. looking up with reproachful, appealing eyes to the skies from whose depths she had seemed to feel an answer thrill the night before. They were grey now ; cloudy and low ; they cUd not seem the same into which she had gazed with her soul in her eyes a few hours earliei-. The unseen woi-ld had seemed so near in that conflict of feeling ; help so certain. She shivered, and listened to the town clock striking slowly. She dared not linger any longer. ' He will not come ! ' she thought again, with such bitter disappointment as did not only come from the failvu^e of her hope of confession ; it seemed to her as if her gi'atitude for that certainty of help which had thrilled into her soul had been wasted, as if she had been mocked by a delusive promise, and that there was nothing to trust to. All was blankness to her. It was with uttei- de- pression that she went weai'ily away, and returned to the house, scarcely caring to remember that there was no leason why the Abbe Gerusez should not come another day. Mademoiselle de St. Aignan sat reading, with her feet on the chauffepiad ; she looked up, and gave Edmee a friendly nod as she oame in, and then went on with her book. She read a great deal, especially woiks by the Encyclopedists. Just now she had in hand Malebranche's ' Recherche de la "Verite.' She would not let Edmee read them, which indeed the girl had little inclination to do ; but gave her ' Paiadis Peidu ' instead, which, as it happened, suited her little better. Edmee went and leant listlessly at the window, which looked across the coiu-t to the street, but her vague gaze sought nothing there. All the exhaustion of hei- sleepless night and tumult of feeling had come upon her ; she looked like the spii'itless stranger whom Alain had brought in the chill dawn into the little salon on the giound-floor rather than the Edmee who had of late moved lightly about the house where she had found a home. She stood at the window because she was too listless to move away, hardly thinking anything distinctly, and unobserved by Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, who was iutei'ested by her book, and to whom Edmee's goings and comings were not especially important, although she had grown fonder of her guest than she yet knew. For some xuinutes Edmee had been dimly conscious of a noise without, THE ABB^ GiJRUSEZ. 73 which seemed to gather volume, and approach, and her heart gave a gieat leap of horror as all at once she became aware that these sounds were the yells of infuriated voices, the trampling of many feet — sounds ominous of ill, perhaps of death. Her exclamation startled Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, who rose in alarm, and hurried to her side, just as the crowd went by, a crowd composed of a few men and many women, shrieking, brandishing their clenched hands in the air, and heaping coarse insults on the passive figiu-e whom they dragged along in theii- midst, whom Edmee had x'ecognised even before Mademoiselle de St. Aignan exclaimed with consternation and deep regret, ' The Abbe Gerusez ! Good heavens ! he is a lost man ! ' They only saw him for a moment, as the throng rushed past, but even in that brief time Edmee noticed a woman, a wild fury, with her cap fallen back and her black locks all loose, snatch up a handful of mud from the street, and lling it into his face. He coiild not wipe it away, for his hands were bound, and a cruel laugh of triumph arose from the spectators. Their cries and shouts weie audible long after the mob had gone by. Mademoiselle de St. Aignan turned, pale and shuddering, to speak to Edmee, but, to her smprise, found her gone unnoticed. She had darted up to the second floor, into the apartment never before visited by her while De Pelven was there, though she took shy delight in arranging it in his al^sence. ' Monsieur ! ' she cried, appearing suddenly before him, while he looked up from his writing in smiling ama/:cnient. ' Monsieur ! they have arrested the priest of Les Halliers. Ho is a dead man unless someone interfere at once, but you can save him.' * I, my poor child ? You greatly overrate my power,' said De Pelven, coldly. ' Wliat can make you credit mc witli interest enough to save a priest in these days ] I should simply risk my own head in vain.' ' No, no, that is not so ; you are powerful, and oh, lie in such a good man ! he has given his life for his jjcople, and you will not let him be murdered 1 I knoio you can save him,' Edmee cried, exasperated by his deprecating smile and shrug. ' Unless you had ]iower, how cduld you liave 74 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. * arranged my being here as you did ? how would you dare to live under the roof of an aristocrat 1 ' ' I have strained such poor interest as I have on behalf of my cousin,' said De Pelven, surprised at an argument which showed more shrewdness than he expected or liked. * I can do no more, I assure you. And what is tliis priest to you, my pretty Edmee, that you plead so warmly for him ! ' ' A good man, monsieur ; is not that enough 1 Some would thinlc it enough to be worth risking Komething for ! ' * And, moreover, your means of communicating with the Che scalier ■? ' said De Pelven, fixing his eyes upon her; but he was not prepared for the instant change produced by his words. All the personal feelings which emotion had swept away returned on her like a flood ; she turned red and pale, and stood dumb before him, and sudden passion blazed up in his eyes as, for once losing self-command, he exclaimed, ' Do you mean to tell me you love St. Aignan 1 ' ' I ... I have scarcely seen him,' she faltered out ; * but ... I am his wife.' * His wife ! ' For a moment De Pelven's countenance changed as much as hers had done. Blase man of the world as he was, those two words shook him so that he could not trust his voice to reply. It was with a soi-t of wonder at himself that he heard its hvisky tone as he said, after a pause, ' This is news which may well surprise me a little. I should have thought, under the circumstances, that the Chevalier would have wished for two persons' names on his passport.' ' No, he could not tell— and besides ... let me tell you how it was, monsieur,' said Edmce, gaining courage, and re- solved to make all clear. ' I tried to warn him of danger at St. Aignan ; it was found out, and my home was closed to me. Then he married me.' * With the help of this priest, no doubt.' * No ; ' Edmee's colour flushed crimson. ' Before the maire ; and then he brought me here.' * Before the maire ! And you do not love him 1 Is it possible that you hold that a marriage 1 ' cried De Pelven, with instant perception of the argument Avhich would tell most with Edmee. ' It is impossible, nor can he, my poor child.' TEE ABBi: OMUSEZ. 75 ' Alas ! lie does,' slie answered, utterly unconscious how much, this short sentence betrayed to the eager ear which caught them. ' And you 1 ' * And i too.' * But this is folly ! You will prohably never meet again — do not believe those who say that in a few months all will settle down in France. Years will not see the emigre^ return — and are you to sacrifice all your young life to an imaginary bond 1 are you never to listen to anyone who tells you he loves you as the Chevalier neither does nor could do ? ' s.aid De Pelven, drawing nearer, and taking her hands, wliile his glowing, mcltiiig gaze dwelt on the drooping face which coloured vividly under the look which she felt though she did not see, and his voice dwelt on her ear in the caressing and seductive tones which few women indeed had ever heard unmoved. ' Sweet one ! do you not feel how cruel, how un- reasonably unjust to others as well as yourself this would be ] Look up ; have you not guessed a little that there is some one whom you would drive to despair by such a thought 1 — that it is for your sake I linger here 1 ' ' That does not make me free,' she answered, sighing deeply, and trying to withdraw her hands. ' But do you not seG that, since you are but a stranger to the Chevalier, his purpose was answered when he found you a home, and that he cannot even wish to have a further claim upon you 1 In freeing yourself, you free him.' ' I do not know that he wishes it.' ' But if you did, my Edmec, if you did 1 ' * It would be diderent then, I suppose,' she said, while for an instant she lifted her shy, brightening eyes to the face bent over her, moved for once with strong and sincere emotion, which seemed to thrill through her; ' but we cannot know.' * Nay, we can learn. Tliis abb6, this Gerusez, he doiil)t- less has means of communicating Avitli the Chevalier — if lie should undertake to assure you that Hi. Aignan desii-es to be free from this hasty bond, will you be content 'i ' Edm^e .stood thinking, as well as she could while her 76 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. heart throbbed so fast. ' If — without a word as if I asked for release — the Chevalier declares it is his wish to break this tie — I wish it too.' ' And that is all you will say ! Can you imagine that a man of honour would be the first to suggest it] Allons done ! you are in jest,' cried De Pelven, who knew that his hopes of success were but small if Alain were thus dealt with. ' It is an insult to suppose it ! ' ' But Monsieur I'Abbe can leana what he would wish — though, indeed, what can he wish but to escape from such a bond ] ' said Edmee, with buraing shame and confusion. ' Let me only know clearly that it is his wish. That it must surely be possible to ascertain.' De Pelven looked as if he were going to show her how futile such scruples were, but a glance at Edmee's counte- nance made him change his mind. He postjioued whatever he had been about to say, and turned it into, ' And you will leave me in suspense until who can say when ? ' ♦ I must.' ' Will you not even let me guess that you love me a little 1 ' he asked, bending over her until his lips almost touched hers, and with a light of passion and triumph in his eyes which she did not see ; but she hastily shrank a, way from him. ' No, I cannot, I will not. I should like you to think well of me,' she said, with a sweet pleading, lifting her eyes ; and the frank, innocent look touched him so strangely that he could only inwardly laugh at his own folly, when he came to think of it later, and wonder what was the spell by which this girl contrived to bewitch him. All his various former experiences seemed idle and unreal beside this. He had made love often, sometimes for his pleasure, often as a thread in the web of political inti'igues ; but it had never absorbed him, never approached to possessing the interest which plots and counterplots and the study of the men around him had ; but this new feeling threatened in his cool middle age to master him and make him its slave. ' If I told you what I think of you ' — he said, but so gently as not to scare her, though she flushed and quivered at MBBE CLAUDE. 77 all that the tone implied. ' "Well, that must wait. I v.ill see this abbe, perhaps save him, too, for your sake.' She thanked him by a look. He did not attempt to stop her as she tvii-ned away and went silently out of the i-oom, but sat down to think, plan, and wonder with a derisive smile at himself. Edmee returned to Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, who did not marvel at the traces of agitation in her looks ; she herself was still greatly shocked, but enquired with sur- prise where she had been. ' I thought IMonsieur your cousin might do something for the good abbe,' was Edmee's answer. ' Ah ! well thought of, but to interfere in behalf of a priest — dare he do so ! ' ' He says he will try.' ' That is well. I do not at all approve of his politics, though iipon my word, it is rather difficult, now I ' come to think of it, to know what they are— he is too much of a gen- tleman to obtrude them ; however, if we must have a Ee- publican in the family, it is well to use him when he can help one. After all, ^:)e<{#e, yovi look better than when you went out just now — you have quite a rosy coloiu* ; you ai-e like me, I imagine — any emotion, even pain, suits me better than a monotonous life. Yes, yes, as you say, I lead one dull enough just now, but vihen there is no choice I can endure a thing patiently. But I sometimes think I wovild rather be in all the dangers of Paris than vegetate safely here.' CHAPTER X. mSrE CLAUDE. Mademoiselle de St. Aignan repeated her obsei'vation as to pei'il in Paris being preferable to safety, buried alive en province, when DePelven appeared at s\i])per-time, and there was a momentarv expression in his face as if what she said 78 NOBLESBE OBLIGE. chimed in with some train of thought of his own, though he made no dii'ect answer, and she began to speak of the sight which had shocked her in the afternoon, and remarked with appi'obation on his courage in proposing to inteifere on the poor priest's behalf, ' as Edmee tells me you intend doing,' she said. * The child had a happy thought when she flew to invoke your help.' De Pelven smiled, and looked significantly at Edmee, who did not lespond, for chill doubt was creeping over her of what the decision of the abbe, or Alain's, would be. She never guessed that De Pelven was thinking to himself with disap- pointment, for which he derided himself, ' She has told just enough to avert suspicion ... of course she has ! "Why should I suppose her different to other women 1 What is it that bewitches me in her? I have seen a hundred more beautiful, a hundred more spirituelle — ' but jitst then Edmee looked up, and though he could not define the spell, and half chafed against it, half yielding with mai-velling pleasure, he could not in any case deny that thei-e it was, holding him in fine, invisilile meshes, whose strentrth increased houi-ly. Edmee had fancied that he would take measures in the priest's behalf that very evening, and was disappointed that he should stay as usual playing at piquet, pei'suading Made- moiselle de St. Aignan to sing to him, talking agreeably as on other occasions, though the various questions which he asked abo\it the abbe showed her that his interest in him was awakened. Mademoiselle de St. Aignan knew enough to be able to give him infoi-mation fully siiflicient to enable him to settle on his plan of campaign ; the abbe was a simple character, easily read by a less keen eye. ' Good ! ' reflected De Pelven, as he retii-ed, with a gaily tender farewell to his cousin, and a look that conveyed volumes to Edmee, ' to-morrow I will •see this man ; his timid nature will have had time to lealise his position, and I shall scarcely find it diflicult to learn where the Chevalier is — ' he set his teeth hard on his pale lips as he muttered the name, ' and if he should refuse ... if by chance he will not give the advice I want — there is no telling how women and priests will act — why, I can do with- out him.' MERE CLA UDE. 79 It was perfectly easy for a man in sucli repute witli tlie local authorities as De Pclven to see any prisoner whom ho chose, alone and whenever he liked, ' for the service of the nation.' There had been enough of the ineffectual plots and risings of the Eoyalist party, and of those whom the terrible condition of public aflaus drove to their side, through the province, to alarm the patriots, and supply llio -prison, though one set after another had been drafted off to Lyons or Paris itself, when the capture was considei'ed worthy of that dangerous honour. The convent opposite Mademoi- selle de St. Aignan's house had lately served as a prison, and De Pelven had but a few hundred yards to go to see the abbe, after he had furnished himself with a permit, which he asked, with scrupulous deference to the chief in office, who on his side vv-as fei'vent in his eagerness to forward the wishes of the deputy from Pai-is, who no doubt could make his fortune or have his head cut off, though sometimes the more vehement Jacobins expressed suspicions among themselves of the patriot- i.im possible to a man of noble buth with a De, however care- fully suppressed, to his name. He was absent for some time, Edmec observed, and needed no one to tell her where he had Ci ne. It woidd have needed far more keen-sighted eyes thnn Lcrs to lead dLssatisfaclion in his face when he returned. Flio was just going out, in the country costume which she always wore when she left the house, to her unwelcome duty of mar- keting, and they met in the courtyard. ' Y'ou will not ask me how I have sjjed 1 ' was his greet- ing, with a smile. ' But indeed I very much wish to know,' she answered, meeting his eyes with the frank and fearless innocence which in fact was what chiefly fascinated him in her. ' Well, better than I dared hope, my sweet one, though it was self-evident that to a priest such a tie as yoiu-s could seem no tie, but a sin. He luidertakes to communicate with the Chevalier, but you must not ex})ect a written consent from him ; it is very difficult to convey papers, and most dangerous to be found the bearer of any. So bo satisfied, my Edm6e.' * I am,' she murmured ; * now let me go.' 80 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. * What ! yoii leave me now? and for this miserable mar- keting.' ' Is it any reason because we are happy that Mademoi- selle should not be hungry 1 ' she laughed, gay with joy and relief. ' Only ... I shall not be very long gone, I think.' There was joyousness in her very step as she passed out into the street ; then she turned back so suddenly as to take De Pelven unawares as his eyes followed her, and started with wonder and alarm at the strange expression with which he was looking after her. She retui-ned rather timidly and apologetically. ' I had forgotten to ask if you think Monsieur I'Abbe will be soon released,' she said. * Yes, but he must leave this district ; it will not do to re- lease him openly, you understand. It must be supposed that he goes away to be judged elsewhere.' ' Ah ! how glad you must be that you can do such things ! ' she said, and he watched her go once more, and then laughed low to himself, a laugh with little mii-th in it. Crowding thoughts, and an inward treasuiy of joy into which she only let herself now and then give a shy glance, sent Edmee on her way, heedless of her iisnal fears and difficulties. She looked up brightiy at the convent as she passed under its high walls, glad to think that one captive at least would soon be freed, and by her intercession. Secret impatience to return quickened her steps until she readied the market square, into which several streets led ; it was the oldest part of the tov/n ; cpiaiiit wooden houses stood back from it, with doors adorned vrith huge nails, and high slated roofs. The first storey of many projected far forward, and was supported by great wooden pillars, dark with age, and carved window-sills. The narrow, ill-paved streets, between high and silent houses, had something claustral in their gloom and stillness, especially at this time, when a feeling of vague but profovind terror and uncertainty pervaded the tov/n, and no man felt safe unless unheard and unseen, but in the market square there was some life and bustle. Fruit and vegetables were heaped here and there on the ground, just mider the shelter of the projecting first-floors, or ovit in the free space, each market-woman sitting by her stores, and calliug attention vigorously to their merits. Buying and mMre CLA UDE. 81 Belling, eating and driuldng, must go on whatever happens, and there were many busy housewives, bargaining and .managing as best they could the serioiis diificulty of paying in paper money for which they could get no change, so that they had peiforce to buy up to the value of their assignat. Edmee heard one angiy buyer lamenting that when she only wanted a few sous' worth of goods, she must spend her note of five livres, and another bewailing the scarcity and dearness of provisions. ' Lamb at twelve francs a pound ! ' she cried, ' and wood at 400 francs the corde, ready money ! ' ' It is all the doing of the emigres and the calotins,' muttered a second. Edmee got out of their way, and moved towards the freer space round the fountain in the middle of the square. As she was passing it, her sleeve was roughly plucked by a woman, who sat close to it, apart from the others, beside a heap of fruit, vegetables, and flowers so crushed and carelessly an-anged that no one had cared to stop and examine them. 'Are you from the MaLson Aignan]' she asked, in a low shai-p whisper, and Edmee, standing still, startled, shrank from the flashing black eyes and pallid face. * Yes,' she answered, with some uneasiness. ' Listen, then ; I have a message for you. Seem to buy something — look at the fruit — it is from my son, the Abbe Gerusez.' ' Your son ! Ah, are you his mother 1 ' cried Edmee, re- joicing in the good news which she had to tell. * His stepmother. What ! you are like all the rest, who think we are nothing to each other because another Avoman bore him ? What cLje did she ever do for him 1 Was it not I who loved him and worked for b.ioi ? He held nut his little arms to me the first time he saw me, and my heart opened and took him in, and he has been there ever since. My good son ! I said he should be a priest ; I slaved for it, night and day, and there was not a prouder mother in France than I the day he said his first mass ! He loves me well, my Martin ! ' ' And you are not afraid to be here 1 ' said Edm^e, over- powered and confused by the vehemence of the woman, all tlie more intense that she spoke under lier breath, with fiei'ce, hard self-control. 82 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. * Afraid — of what ? Because of him 1 I tell you these narrow hearts think of us as two — animals that they are ! "What do they understand but flesh and blood 1 They would imagine, no doubt, that I should break my heart if my daughter Marie were in his place, but Martin, bah ! only her stepson ! Marie ! has she not her husband and child ? she does not want me, she ! but he, my Martin, he always needed the old mother, always had a smile for her. Ah, my son, my son,' she w;iiled, wringing her hands, and with fea- tures convulsed with anguish, suppressed in a moment as she saw someone coming up, but it was only to glance disdain- fully at the pile of vegetables, and pass on. ' Do not grieve so ; you will have him back,' Edmee whispered, unable to keep back the consolation in her power to give. The woman half-started up and grijiped her arm. ' Hold your peace, child ! how should you know what to say ? Have him back in the other world, you mean ? What am I to do with the years that lie empty between 1 Will he hold out his hand to me there and need me as he does hei e, I ask vou 1 He is too good for me here — what will he be there 1 Wait till you have felt like me, and then, speak if you can ! ' ' I did not mean that,' said Edmee, afraid to betray too much, and longing to hear the message which hitherto she had had no opportunity to ask. ' May I know what he wished to say to me 1 ' ' I cannot tell you here ; the people are beginning to stare ; I will walk your way. Well then, little citoyenne,* she added in a pui-posely raised tone, ' I will cai-ry these things for you, oar ways lie together,' and she rose, as by this time most of the other maiket-vfomen were doing, and strode along hj Edmee's side, with her heavy l^asket on hor shoulder, regardless of the jeeis of some of her fellow-ni«?'- cJiandes. ' Tiens ! Mere Claude, your basket is not much lighter ! ' ci-ied one ; while another, pointing to Edmee, ob- served, ' She has got one customer, anyhow ! A vieux chat jeune souris — how the poor little thing will be scolded when she gets La Claude's stuff home ! ' ' Well, well,' a third ob- served good-naturedly, ' it is not often Mere Claude briaga such choses de rebut to market, we all know that.' .^ MERE CLAUDE. 83 But La Claude, as tLey called her, passed on unheeding, only slackening her pace when she got into a quiet place, and then she spoke again. ' Was it not to you that he was going the night he was arrested ? denounced by that scoundrel De Pelven, who lives in your house ? How did he know my son was coming % From you 1 Ah, little viper, if I thought so I would stiangle you with my two hands as you stand ! ' But Edmee had received a shock which made her disre- gard the menace of the woman towering above her, with eyes aflame. ' Denounced by the Citoyen Pelven ! It is im- po.ssible — besides, I told no one.' ' Well for you ! How do I know ] That is easy to tell ; my nephew Jean — INiarius he calls himself now — is head keeper of the piison . . . well, why not 1 one must live, and is it not better that the poor creatures thei-e should have a gaoler who treats them well, and will sometimes contrive to give or take a message for them 1 He saw your Pelven come the other evening in the dusk, and ask for Citoyen Droz, who has his bureau in the convent now, and Jean had a fancy to hear what they said to each other — ' 'And— and then?' * He heard tliat ! He heard Pelven advise Droz to keep watch along the river at the foot of your garden, for that one of those days he would catch my son. My Martin ! he never disobeyed me but once, and that was v/hen I had got him away into safety, and he came back to his people — Ah ! hounds that they are ; who so much as tided to lift up a finger to help him when he was dragged through the streets 1 ' ' What was his message to me 1 ' asked Edmee, in so biief and hard a voice as roused even the M6re Claude from her one absorbing thought. ' Pie bids you, as you value your salvation, bewai'e of the Citizen Pelven, and believe nothing he tolls you,' she answered, with a momentai-y wonder and iuterest. ' Oh, if I could see Monsieur I'Abb^ ! If I could but speak to him ! ' ' It is not impossible — Me they know. Jean dare not let me pass ; but you ai-e a stranger, a country girl ; you could pass in, jierhaps, and then you would tell me how he 84 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. looks, what he said, if he needs anj-thiag — you promise thatr ' Yes, I will.' ' Then try ; see, take this and this, and go to the door, asking for the Citoyen Marius — Marius, mind ; tell him liis aunt seat him them, and when no one hears, say that I said he was to let you see my son. Ah, you will see him, you !' At another time Edmee would have responded to the straining wistfulness of the woman's face, but she too was now full of one absorbiag thought. She left the M^re Claude hiUTiedly, without any farewell, taking the fruit put into her hands almost unconsciously, and went I'apidly to the convent door, without a thought of the danger or difficulties in her way. Her summons brought a turnkey, who readily fetched the head gaoler, a man with a face not unkind, but stolid and impassive ; his superiors thought his quiet dull manner a recommendation, and had never suspected the lively spii-it of cui-iosity which lay beneath it. Very few things passed among them with which ' Marius ' was not peifectly aufait. He nodded ia answer to Edmee's message, and observed, ' You are fatigued, my little cabbage ; you want to rest, eh ? — Ko ; you live close by 1 No matter, I have somethiug to send to the aunt — come in and wait, for now I am occupied.' This was said in the hearing of his subordinates, one or two of whom might possibly know Edmee by sight ; he took her iato his own little room, and, without closing the door, but standing so as to be sure no one was within earshot, asked in a lowered voice, ' Now then, the other half of thy business ? ' Edmee had, of course, only spoken of the fruits which she had brought, before the eai'S in the corridor. ' I want to see the Abbe Gurnsez. I want to know whether a message which the Citoyen Pelven brought me fi'om him is true,' she answeied, feeling that absolute fiank- ness was her best weapon. The gaoler gave a long whistle. ' You ask enough when you ai'e about it, my lass ! — Speak to oue of the j.nisoi^ei'S ! — So the Citoyen Pelven brought you a message from Martin, did he ] See, you shall tell me what it was, and I will pro- WEAT THE ABBE SAID. 85 mise to get you a true answer ; but you cannot see him, that is impossible.' ' No ! I must see him, and no one will know that I have not a permit. If anyone sees me, say that I came about business of M. de — of the Citizen Pelven's I mean.' ' And if he should be asked about it, eh 1 ' ' He will not contradict it, you may be sure of that.' ' It would be much better to tell me,' urged Marius ' What ! you will not ? Ah, lajeunesse is always Hi-advised' — Edniie could see that his curiosity was gaining the upper hand. ' Well, well, I will see what I can do. Look here, if you go up that staircase and turn to the right you will see another ; it is one way into the choir ; it is in. the room beyond that the birds are caged. You will go down, and stand at the bottom, out of sight. It is dark there, for v.e had to stop up a window to make the cage safer. I will tell the abbe to be on the look-out.' As Edmee obeyed, siie thought to herself that her obliging ally no doubt had some lui-king coiner whence he intended to overheai' all which passed ; but that could not be helped. The one thing she had at heait was to speak face to face with the Abbe Gerusez. CHAPTER XI. WHAT THE ABBfi SAID. Edm^ce made her way unobserved, first up, then down, as she liad been directed. The grouiul-iloor had been appropriated to vai-ious uses by the municipality, but the one above was uuuiliabited ; the cells stood empty, the light fell on dusty iloors which no foot had crossed for montlis. A spiral stair- case led to the choir, to which access wa.s barred by a small door, locked and bolted; but its key had been slijijjed into her hand by the gaoler. She opened it so easily that the thought crossed her mind that ho must often uijc this uu- 86 JS'OBLESSE OBLIGE. noticed means of ingi-ess for his o%vti ends. Tlie clioir wiis very dark, its windows having been boarded up, and there was little trace of its original destination, for the painted glass was shattered, the altar demolished, the pavement wrenched up here and thei-e in the search for Chinch plate, siipposed to be concealed nnder it. Planks were piled up, old boxes, a bi-oken ladder, chairs and benches weie heaped together ; it was evidently considered the lumber-room of the rez-cle-chaussee. Edmee came cautiously do^vn the last step, and into the gloom, ventui-ing at length to look thi-ough the dooi- which led into a corridor, with a grating perhaps lately erected at each end, and another door, open, through which she could see the long, bare room in which the prisoners were lodged. Throvigh this room, and the passage, and the choir, they could move about at will, but the rest of the church and garden was forbidden to them, and they could only see a tree- top here and there thi-ough the high windows. One set of prisoners after another had occupied the space into which Edmee was looking ; after a short time they were sent away to be tried — seldom indeed to be released. There wero some twenty people there now, some walking up anddov\^n, with steps slow or impetuous, as hopelessness or impatience of the resti-aint prevailed in each heai't ; several were sitting at a long table, leaning their heads silently on their hands ; two were playing at backgammon, and seemed to take a lively interest in their game, and a few were talking together. There were four or five priests, and a sprinkling of gentle- men ; but the gi'eater part were ai-tisans, or tradesmen, de- nounced perhaps by unsuccessful rivals. In a few moments a turnkey came in, bringing a heap of straw, which he threw down, and bade the prisoners divide as best they could for their beds. Another followed with a pitcher of water, and a second of their soup, which was all that the municipal authoi'ities judged necessary to furnish in the way of food. If, however, a prisoner had friends with coui-age enough to call attention on themselves who would send him jii'O visions, or had a bundle of assignats to share between his purchases and a gaoler, the scanty meal might be supplemented, and some of the prisoners had private stores, which were brought WHAT THE ABB^ SAW. 87 out when the turnkeys were gone. If Edmee had been in a mood for observing humaii nature, she v/ould have found a various study in the way in which some tmbhishingly con- sumed their stores, under the hungry eye of others, who had only the meagre prison fare, while several shrank a little apart, half ashamed of themselves, but reluctant to part v/ith their bread, or eggs, or biitter, Sevei'al shared all they had with a neighbour, with a cheerful and genial readiness which brightened even this gloomy place. Edmee saw more than one oifer something to the Abbe Gerusez, who had eaten with relish his dish of soup, but he always declined, smiling, and evidently suggesting some other recipient, and walked up and down, with quiet steps, a little book of devotions in his hand, which had escaped the notice of his captors, though his breviaiy had been taken from him. He looked pale, but his face had lost the anxious and haggard air which she had seen on it when they met before, and had regained the cheerful, pleasant expression familiar to it in earlier days. Certainty, even of a,lmost inevitable death, v/as less terrible to him than the hunted life, bristling with dangers, known and unknown, which he had been leading. Edmee thought there was not one priest there, though several were well-boi-u, and far more intellectual-looldng, whom she should so readily trust as the peasant-abbe. He stopped occasionally, and spoke gently now to one, now to another, even to a piiest whom all the other ecclesiastics seemed markedly to shun, and eye askance, though he seemed a humble, inoflensive creature, and looked cUstressed and pained by the pointed disdain shown him by his fellow-ecclesiastics, to whom as djureur, a man vrho had taken the oath of obedience to the Convention, he was a renegade, an apostate, and a castaway. He was now arrested on the charge of want of ])atriotism in refusing to marry. Edmee was beginning to despair of ever speaking to the Abbe Gerusez, who never came within reach of such a call as she dared give, when she saw Marius come in, carrying the fruit which she had broxight him, and a loaf which must have come out of his own cupboard. He summoned the abbe in a harsh and pei'emptory tone, and diopped half the fi.'uit on the floor, as rf on purjiose to give him the trouble of 88 , NOBLESSE OBLIOK picking them up, with an affectation of insolence which he always assumed towards this prisoner, lest he should be sup- posed to favour him as a connection and old friend. ' There ! take them,' those near heard him say, as the abbe, who knew his tactics, stooped and smiled unseen ; ' is the time of good patiiots to be thrown away in waiting on a pig of a mlotin ? ' But he contiived, as they stood close together, to add a few words for his ear alone, which made him start and look towards the other end of the hall, up which, after giving away the best part of his unexpected stores to those least well suppHed, he slowly walked, unobserved, for it was a usual thing for one or another of the priests to spend an hour iii prayer in the deseci'ated chapel, which at least offered them solitude and quiet, crossed the passage, and stood before Edmee, saying in the kind voice which had attracted her when she first met him, ' God be with you, daughter ; I had not ventui'cd to hope that we were to meet.' She caught his rough peasant hand and kissed it, and he felt rather than sav/ her agitation. ' Hush, hush, my jjoor child ; is it for me you are troubled? Do not waste your tears; I am a happy man compared to what I was when I saw you before ; I have nothing now to fear.' ' Oh, then it was true . . . you are to be freed 1 ' she cried, with a revulsion of feeling, instantly changed into the bitterest disappointment ])y his quiet answer, ' Freed, yes . . . freed from sin and failure, and the fear of my own weakness. I and my fellow-priests go to Paris to-moi-row.' Edmee stood dumb, then with a wail of pain, more, after all, for herself than anyone else, she said, ' Your poor mother ! ' ' Ah, my mother,' and his voice shook, as he spoke the name with deep tenderness. ' My dear, good mother ! but even she must suffer less now than when she was fearing for me from morning till night and niglit till morning.' He paused, thinking how the passionate supplications of Mere Claude had moved him, more even than his natural timidity, to that action which he had i-epented with the bitterest shame, and expiated since by returning into the thick of danger. ' God bless her ! Tell her, if you can, that all was easy and welcome except leaving her ; yes, that is hard. But, my WHAT THE ABBE SAID. 89 daughter, you have made your way here to confess to me 1 There is no time to lose.' He sat down on a box, awaitin» her words : but Edmee's foremost puipose was not what he supposed. ' Mon pere — fii-st, have you seen M. de Pelven 1 ' ' 1 have ; and you, did you receive my message 1 ' he an- swered with a tinge of sternness. ' He told me that he had seen you . . . that you did not think me hound to [Monsieur le Chevalier.' * Did he ! did he ! Ah, — and you believed him 1 ' ' Yes. Ah, mo7i pere, never mind that, it can wait — but tell me what passed between him and you.' ' He asked for Monsieur your husband's addi-ess, for tidings of him, which I could not give; he then sought to learn by stealth as it were, whether I would pronounce you free, appealing to me as a priest, for he is a clever man, this De Pelven, and knows how to load one in the track he de- sires. I could but say that to me it seemed that since you had both consented to the union, you were bound, and ought to accom])lish it by the religious rite as soon as possible. He tried hard to get a contrary opinion out of me, and told me, at first by h^nts, then plainly, that unless I would give him a written decision such as he wished, I was a dead m;in. Ah, he knows human nature ... he is a tenibly skilful tempter, that De Pelven ; had I been less weaiy of life, and if I did not remember how I suffered after my flight, when conscience was against me, I must have yielded ! iJut it was not worth while,' added the abbe, with a sad smile. *My child, I have prayed earnestly for you; you are in mortal peril ... do you love this man 1 ' ' I did.' * Poor child ! you think, now that you have newly leamt his baseness, that you love hi lu no more ; but when you seo him again, when you come into daily contact with him, how will it be ■? ' 'I shall never love him any more.' 'You fancy so, like hundreils of other women, who count too much on their own sti'ength where the man tlu-y love is concerned. But listen, my daughter — has ho ever spoken of marriage to you ] ' 90 IfOBLESSE OBLIGE. Edmee looked straight in his face, bewildered. Then, her pale face colouring all over, she answered, ' No ; but he never spoke of love till yesterday.' ' And never will speak of anything else. Child, you stand on a precipice.' Edmee hardly heai'd the kind, anxious voice ; the earnest advice v.diich followed fell dull on her ear. She stood before the abbe stunned, speechless ; she did not know what he said, or whether she answered, and was only roused by the door by which she had come into the chapel being opened, while ISiarius thrust his head in, saying impatiently, ' Have yon not said enough to each other yet, you two 1 The clock strikes, and you stay, as if you were at home here ! Come then, I have risked enough to please you ; come, I say, there is no time for farewells : and hold your tongue, my girl, about having seen him, or your head, as well p^s mine, will "wag. Come along.' He enforced his adch'ess by an outstretched hand, and she yielded to the gi'asp, looking with piteous eyes at the abbe, and murm\iring, ' Yet I did so pray to be helped ! ' ' And you have beon heard, for your way has been made clear before yoti, my child ; you have been shown what this man is,' replied the priest, pityingly. She just heard the words as she was hurried through the door, which Marius locked and bolted fast. ' Have I been heard 1 — Thus ! thus ! ' she kept repeating to herself, with a kind of terror, as if her prayer, instead of bringing comfoi-t, had been flung back like a missile to strike her, and she was deaf to whatever the gaoler might be saying, and hardly kuev/ when or how she found herself in the street, with but a few s'.eps betv/een her and the Maison St. Aignan. Time to think over what she had heard thei'C was none, but she knew it was true — under- stood how she had been dealt with, and recoiled, as only a pure and innocent girl could, from the deception practised upon her, the intentions which De Pelven had harboured towards her, recoiled with a strength of indignation which sv.'ept away that dawning love that, in a natiu-e like Edmee's, might have become a master passion. She was one of those women who must esteem where they love ; to endure the companionship of any whom she could not re:s])ect was almost intolerable j to give them a place in her heart absolule'y im- WHAT TILE ABBJsJ SAID. 91 possible. India:iiation burned so hot within her that she walked unflinchingly into the salon, though she heard voices there that warned her she must meet De Pelven. She saw him make a gesture as if gently protesting against something, while Mademoiselle de 8t. Aignan was spealdng vehemently, with herd han on a newspaper, which she seemed to have pushed away from her on the table. ' Forgive me, it was in- exoisable thoughtlessness to have left it in your way,' he was saying ; and then they saw Edmee. and he instantly perceived that a change had come over her since they parted. ' She has learnt something ! ' he said inwardly, but aloud he asked gaily, ' And what have you purcha.sed to-day, mademoiselle 1' Her pride in her economy and successful marketings Avas often a subject of jest between them. * A little knov.ledge, monsieur,' she answered, looking up at him with an expression which until now he had never seen in those soft, Spanish eyes, fringed with long jet-black lashes. ' A little knowledge ? that is apt to be a dangerous com- modity, and cost dear,' he answered signLlcantly. Mademoi- selle de St. Aignan interrupted, unheeding the by-plav. ' This child shall judge; she can have no prejudices either wav. Listen, 2}etite ; the question is whether we stay here or go to Paris, where my cousin can still protect us — he is obliged very soon to return theie, and hero danger thickens every hour. In this very newspaper, which he chanced to leave about, I read that at Lyons four of my oldest friends have been guillotined, last week ; one, a nun, the best woman I ever knew, was forced to stand by the guillotine, waiting for death while an ass dressed up in a priest's vestment, with a mitre on its head, was led round and round it, with the mob shouting out their ribaldry ! Hero the popular tem])er grows worse every day — you have felt it yourself, M. de Pelven has, 1 am confident, risked much to defend us so long — ' ' J low should we be safer at Paris, mademoiselle 1 ' * We might escape notice there,' said Mademoi.selle do St, Aignan, quite iniconscious that she was repeating what Do I'elven had previously suggested to her mind, and fully b#- licving the train of thought was her own. ' Hero it is im- ])033ible. I am marked out by my residence, my name. Thero, 92 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. called — let me see, — ah, my Christian name will do — the Citoyenne Valentin, we shovild be insignificant atoms in a crowd.' ' Does monsieur advise this ? ' ' I dare not advise either way, mademoiselle ; the respon- sibility is too great ; all that I can say is that my whole in- tei'est, such as it is, my cousin can entirely dispose of,' said De Pelven, perceiving that to thi-ow a few drops of cold water on Mademoiselle de St. Aignan's scheme would only make her I'esolution to carry it out the hotter. ' We must go,' she said decisively. ' There is no choice, unless we mean to visit Paris without our own consent, like the poor wretches who have already gone from here ; of course we must go ; you cannot help seeing it 1 ' she added impa- tiently, unaware of Edmee's many strong reasons for doubting the advisability of the scheme. 'I should stay here,' said Edmee, briefly, much to the indignation of Mademoiselle de St. Aignan. * Stay here, you very foolish cliild, when I have shown you distinctly that it is impossibly dangerous 1 Why do you not tell her so, my coiisin 1 I shall begin to think you aie afraid of the risk of protecting me, if you persist in opposing me ! Yes, yes, I know that you have said nothing ! is it not that of which I complain 1 and when yoii know too that I am perishing of ennui here ! I enduied it well enough till you came, but after having some society, and coming back to life again, am I to be plunged into an abyss of dulness afresh 1 I tell you I have not courage for it. No, we go to Paris, it is decided,' cried Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, stimu- lated by the mute deprecation of the looks and gestures with which he replied to each sentence, though without attempting to slip in a word. ' Do you hear, petite ? We go to Paris.' Edmee was silent ; she could not explain openly why she objected with all her strength to this scheme, all the more that she felt sure De Pelven had somehow brought it about. He now said, with a little shrug, ' In that case, were it not useless, I should advise you, dear cousin, to look as little grande dame as possible, but I fear that Nature is too strong for any disguise to be of much avail. At least, recollect that WHAT THE ABB^ SAID. 93 yoii might as well put on your shroud at once as silks and brocades. I do entreat yoix, wear a plain cotton dress, and avoid unpopular colours. ISTothing is a trifle now.' ' Ti-ue, I will do so, and this child too. Now let us dine, and then we will make such preparations as we can,' sai'l Mademoiselle de St. Aignan gaily, her spirits rising at the thought of change. ' You will undertake to find us a lodging, with a good patriot, my cousin, who will not be too clear-sighted, nor cheat us too much, for my resources are not unbounded, I can tell you.' Edmee was so busy vmder her directions all the rest of the day, working at the dresses required in order to avoid attract- ing immediate attention, helping to decide what could be taken, and what left, that De Pelven had no opportunity of a word with her until night, when he found an instant to stoj) her unobserved, and look enquuingly in her face. He could hear her heart beat, but her first words were not what he ex- pected. ' Monsieur, why have you made mademoiselle go to Paris ? ' she demanded. ' That unha})py gazette ! I little thought I had left it here — •* ' I asked you why you desii-ed this going to Paris, mon- sieur.' * It is welcome to me, most welcome. I do not aflfect to deny it ; surely you can guess the reason ] How else could I have still had you within reach 1 ' ' Never speak to me again as if we could be more than strangere, monsieur] Enemies, if you please, but friends never again ! ' 'My pretty Edmee, it might be more dangerous fan you imagine to have me as an enemy,' he replied, with a slight ominous smile. ' Much more dangerous, for you — and for Mademoiselle de St. Aignan.' The last words were spoken veiy quietly and clearly ; Edmee started as if ho had stabbed her. ' You are cruel ! ' she murmured, feeling, as he meant she should, how much the calmly-spoken threat conveyed, and how great a hold it gave him over her. ' I am never ci'uel unless circumstances leave me na choice, sweet Edm6e,' he answered, and she heard him laugh 94 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. low to himself as he let her go, shuddering. He knew that the defenceless gii-1 was at his mercy, but as he thought over the scheme his pale mobile featvires seemed to harden into in- flexible resolution, and a sudden flush passed over them, leav- ing them more ivory-like and fixed than before. The percep- tion that she had somehow detected him, that the heart wliich had almost given itself to him had revolted and was free again, intensified his determination to gain her at any cost. CHAPTER XII. APARTMENTS IN PARIS. In so far as De Pelven had given Mademoiselle de St. Aignan to understand that she was in. growing danger at JMortemart, lie had not deceived her. The Jacobin, party, cxasi)erated by the bra\'^ though vain efforts of Lyons to shake off their terrible yoke, had besieged and taken the unhappy town in the beginning of October, and massacre and proscriptions in- stantly began. ' Lyons made war on freedom : Lyons is no more,' said BaiT^re, before the Committee of Public Salvation, and the very name of the unhappy city was suppressed, and it was ordered to be thenceforward known as the ' Commune Affi'anchie.' For six months workmen were employed in demolishing the chief houses of Lyons ; the stately Place de Bellecourt became a heap of i-uins, and since the guillotine could not dispose fast enough of the prisoners, cannon loaded with gi-apfeshot were used to make speedy work of whole batches of victims. The Jacobin emissaries, sent down from Paris, sought far and wide for fresh prey ; even small towns, off the main roads, and scarcely known beyond their imme- diate district, like Mortemai-t, were visited and exhoi-ted to show their patriotism by detectiug fugitives, and sending a good show of prisonere to Lyons or Paris. There were moments when the danger was so sweej)U)g that De Pelven trembled APARTMENTS IN PARIS. 95 foi" himself, ancl for Edmee. But for her he ■would not have attempted to protect INIademoisore de St. Aic;Tian ; hut as yet he had not seen his way to saving the one without the other. His vahie to the leading Ecpub'icans in Paris was his strong- hold, and. though at the risk of involving the two women in even gi-eater danger at a later time, lie secured them from immediate aiTest by declaiing that they were necessaiy to him, as means of uni'avelling the conspiracy which he had come to Moi'temai't to detect. He tnisted to his own powers of con- ducting an intiigxie to save Edmee later ; perhaps her hostess too, if it would suit him. It was by the same jn-etext that he secured for them a free passport for Paris, and it was out of the question tliat the diligence shouM stoj) openly at the Maison St. Aignan to take them. Their luggage was earned away late at night, and loaded unnoticed at the ' auberge,' where it changed hoi-ses — the euberge, once known as ' lia Croix Blanche,' but now designated as ' Bon Patiiote ; ' and Mademoiselle de St. Aignan and Edmee walked out in the dusk half a mile along the road, escorted by De Pelven, to await the lumbenng vehicle. Mademoiselle de St. Aignan found her emlon point and her high heels combine to make thi.s walk so difficult that she laxighing'y reminded Edmee how she had always declared that Natui-e and ftishion alike rendered flight impossible to her. Edmee could only secret'y wonder at her gaiety, and watch the foce of De Pelven, calm and unmoved, but she knew it well enough to detect con- cealed aixxiety and a look of relief when the roll of wheels and loud clack of a whip told that the dili'jence was approaching. 'There it ir; ! Ah, you never thought we sliouUl got oil* safely, mnn cotisin,' ci"icd ]\Iadcmoiselle de St. Aignan, laugh- ingly. ' What ! you thought I did not see that 1 Wou'd it have made it easier to you and tlie child if 1 had stood shaking and weeping ] Your hand, to help me in, since the gentle- man whom I see already seated does not seem inclined to assist me ! ' The diiver had licon on the look-out for them ; he ex- changed a Ux>k with De Pelven; tiiewhi]) clacked, tlic hoi-ses pulled, and they lumbered on along the white road, stretching out like a long ribbon, \w one hill, down another, between 96 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. dusty elms, tixming yellow and sere, past slow-gliding streams and poor mud- built villages, at considerable distances from each other, where thin, haggard peasants looked after them, and lean dogs followed barking. The people seemed miserably fed and clothed, and in the to^^"ns where they changed horses there was an indesci-ibable aii" of teiTor and depression, but the face of the country bore tokens of a chang-e for the better. BaiTen tracts were being brought into cultivation ; stubble- fields showed that corn had been sown and reaped ; labourers were worldng with the energy of men toiling for themselves and not for their masters, and if women still harnessed them- seh'es to the plough, it was no longer with dull and hopeless submission to an ii-resistible authority, but on ground which was their own. Oppi'essive and unjust as the sale of Church lands and bien cVemigres was, the efiect on the prosperity of the counti-y could not but be good in the end, foi- the seig- neurs had kept great part of the countiy fallow for hunting purposes, and the rights of the convents had fallen crushingly on the peasantry, who bore the chief burden of taxation, and wei-e worse off then than in any civilised part of Europe. Tolls and imposts met them at eveiy turn, miseiy brutalLsed the very women. The only other occupant of the diligence was the man whose want of politeness scandalised Mademoiselle de St. Aignan. Kis costume max'ked him out as an ardent enrage ; he had a sallow face, a great deal of dark hair, and equally dark eyebrows, and there was something theatrical about him which suggested that he had been or was an actor. He cast evil and ominovis looks towards the three who had just got in, opened a newspaper, and in a stentorian voice began reading aloud, evidently with the hope of rousing or startling them into some expression of opinion, such details of the scenes passing at Paris and Lyons, that Mademoiselle de St. Aignan tiirned pale, and Edmee recalled with sickening hoiTor the talk only too familiar to her eai-s among Leroux's chosen friends. Mademoiselle de St. Aignan's coloured handkerchief and cotton dress were indeed a very thin disguise ; she looked an unmistakable aristoci-at, Edmee too had much the same air, and De Pelven's di'ess and haughtilj-refined features told APARTMENTS IN PARIS. 97 thoir tales of rank so clearly that to feign himself anything but a noble ■wonld have been vain indeed. It was with mani- fest surprise that their alarming fellow-traveller heard himself addressed with some remark which showed a knov/ledge of who he was, and intimate acquaintance wTith other Jacobin leaders. A stare of incredulous suspicion showed that the observation was received as a shallow ruse, but a few more words had their effect, and Edmee felt mingled relief and aversion as she saw theii* companion begin an eager conversa- tion with De Pelven, whose name he soon learned Avith instant recognition, and ceased to glare at them. He molested them no more, and as he stopped half way to Paris, they got rid of him sooner than they could have hoped. When he had left thein De Pelven looked at his comj^anions, and said, ' Collet d'Herbois ! ' It was a long and fatiguing journey, now through forest- land and by empty ruined chateaux, now among the vine- yards of Bui-gxindy ; they slept once or twice in some mise- rable and exoibitant inn ; but De Pelven was in haste to get to Paris, and there seemed a sense of safety in reaching ■ then- destination, so that they hardly thought of their weari- ness until reaching it, and then, though Edmee was not only exhausted but depi-essed, Mademoiselle de St. Aignan was still gay, amused, and amvising. All the anxieties and doubts seemed to fall to the younger one's share. It was indignant misery to her to be there in constant companionship with De Pelven, to feel, as he made her do in a thousand impercep- tible ways, that they were in his power. He understood her now well enough to know that his only hope of conquering her lay in making her fear him, but he had not yet realised the strength of passive resistance and resentment in the girl who seemed so easily cowed ; and when she shrank and grew silent he thought that he was gainbig ground. He did not see that it was not the deceit practised on hei'self that she could not forgive ; but the downfall of her ideal, an ex- quisite pang which he could not even imagine, though a sense that if she yielded he should lose all which bewitched him in her would cross his mind. Paris was unusually quiet when they drove up to the 98 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. barrifere in the early mornmg. The necessary formalities •were soon gone through, without any of the delays which Edmee had expected, and the hour was so early that the streets had a strange, deserted look. IMademoiselle de St. Aignan i-ecalled with a little incredulity accounts of half- naked, drunken crowds, bi-andishing pikes, and shouting re- volutionary songs, and asked, as she looked from the windows of the diligence on the empty streets and closed hoiises, whether there had not been some exas:£ceration. All seemed to justify the enquiry, for even that terrible Faubourg St. Antoine, once an aristocratic part of Pai-is, but now the head-quaiters of the woist and lowest of the populace, seemed sleeping. Edmee looked involuntarily at De Pelven as the question was asked, and saw it answered by one of his brief and meaning smiles, and Mademoiselle de St, Aignan was too much inteiested ia looking out of her Avindow, making out through what streets they were driving, and recognising first one and then another building which she had seen on former \isits years before, to notice his silence, but on Edmee it made a deep and painful impression. The ■whole city was full of horror to her ; she dreaded at eveiy turn to see the gi-eat structiu-e of the guillotine rising aloft, or to meet a death-cai-t loaded with victims, perhaps the Abbe Gerusez amonsr them, if he had ^ et reached Paris. She too had heard of the scenes in Pai-is, not from an occasional newspaper, like Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, but from eye- witnesses, who had given fidl details with gloating triumph in Leroux's house. ]Many a time since had her dreams been haunted by the roar of voices, the shiieks of murdered vic- tims, the heads borne aloft on pikes, by hideous gi-oups, mad with blood and fury. Lately Mere Claude had constantly appeared in this ghostly throng. De Pelven savv^ her ashy paleness and set lips, and involuntarily tried to take one of the cold hands pressed together on her breast. The touch made her start back with a look which he never forgot. He threw himself back into his corner, feeling as if he hardly knew whether he did not hate her more than he loved her, but above all a fiei'ce and passionate necessity to subdue this spii-it to his will. Full as his mind was of matters on which APARTMENTS IN PARIS. 99 hundreds of lives, and his own among them, depended, this wao foi- the instant at all events his iipj^ermost feeling. Made- moiselle de St. Aig-nan interposed opportunely as she drew her head bact from the window on her side, by asking, ' And where are you goin.g to bestow iis, my cousin 1 I have always forgotten to ask.' There was no time for much answer, for the diligence was stopping before the hotel where De Pelven had an apartment, a house near the Louvre, and on such a scale as showed that it had once, and probably not long since, belonged to some rich family. They alighted, and De Pelven, with a friendly nod to the concierge, led the way to the second-floor, where breakfast awaited them, in a room very simply furnished, so that the eye of the vulgar might have looked round unenvyingly, but the initiated would see at once that the owner was a man of cultivated tastes. Mademoi- selle de St. Aignan looked round approvingly, and the preparations for their reception quickened her appreciation of De Pelven's good taste. ' What ! we are expected ! This is veiy hospitable, my cousin, and we owe you infinite thanks for all yom- kind solicitude. It is then here that we are to lodge 1 ' ' Alas ! no, dear mademoiselle ; would that I dared place tliis apartment at your disposal ! I had once indeed hoped to do so, for it is my own ; but ch-cumstances, I fear, render it impossible.' He looked at Edmee, who stood mute, but with refusal wi-itten in every line of her face. The eyes of Mademoiselle de St. Aignan followed his, and she asked hastily, ' What has la petite to do with if? Why should you object, child ] ' ' I think we had far better have our own apartment, and not trespass on monsieur's politeness,' said Edmee with cold decision ; and Mademoiselle dc St. Aignan perceived at last that there was some mystery which she had not penetrated, aiid immediately leaped to a v/rong conclusion, which dis- tui'bed her very much. De Pelven had not anticijiated such 0])en defiance, and it did not at all enter into his plans. * That is quite too unkind a way of putting it ! ' he cried jestingly ; ' see this little aristocrat, my cousin, who will not allow me to render her a trilling service because of my 100 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. unfortunate opinions ! It is well that you are less pi-e- judiced ! Now I leave you for a slioit time . . . You will allow me to breakfast with you % ' ' Allois done ! in your own house ! Pay no attention to this silly gii-l, my cousin, but return soon, for I am pro- digiously hungry.' De Pelven bowed, and went into a further room, whoi-e letters and papers awaited him. He closed the door, and rapidly studied them, gathering in the contents with rapt and concentrated attention, and for the time Edmee was banished from his mind. Mademoiselle de St. Aignan did not think it necessary to await his return beyond a very short time ; but, having got half-way through her meal, she suddenly said, ' You are not eating, p-'tite ! ' ' Pardon, mademoiselle.' ' Why do you always call me mademoiselle, child 1 Ma tante would be more appropriate, it seems to me.' * I did not know that you ... I never thought of it,' stammered Edmee. ' Well now you know I do Nvish it. And since M. de Pelven has generously taken charge of iis, I think he ought to be told how it stands with you and my nephew.' Mademoiselle de St. Aignan's suspicions had gone quite astray ; it never occurred to her that it could be De Pelven whose heart was in danger. * He knows,' was Edmee's low answer. * How ! he knows ? And who informed him 1 ' ' I did. He was speaking to me one day, and I thought it was right to tell liim.' ' Hum ! ' said JNlademoiselle de St. Aignan, in a tone where displeasure and reKef mingled almost equally. ' You take on yourself to act very independently, petite, and I think that I might have been consulted, or at least informed . . . However, it is all very well, I daresay ; but recollect that my nephew left you in my keeping. No emancipating of yoiu-self, if you please, until he retui-ns.' ' "VNTien he retui-ns, I will set him free ; until then I shall always remembei- that I am his wife, deai* mademoiselle,' APARTMENTS IN PARIS. 101 said Edmee, kneeling down, and kissing the hands of Alain's aunt. ' There, that will do, yon silly child ; eat yonr brealdast, and do not look so like a ghost ; the long journey, which indeed I thought would nevei- end, has exhausted you. I am not so sure that my nephew will wish to be set fi-ee,' said Mademoiselle de St. Aiguan, kissing her forehead, and then holding her back to look at her. ' No, not at all siu-e ! Some- hov/ one grows very fond of you, child.' The words gave Edmee such pleasui-e that even De Pelven's return did not banish the bi'ightness from her face ; she felt as if she might after all baffle him, and um'easouable as it was to hope to foil him simply because she felt happier, the secret thought lent her an arch and provoking charm. Poor child ! every admiiing look which he gave her in spite of himself but increased the danger of her position. He iindertook to find a lodging for them before night, and was absent on his own affairs and theirs the greater part of the day. When he returned he seemed harassed and anxious ' My cousin,' he said, ' you see me ashamed, disti'essed ; my best endeavours have only found a place which is utterly unfit for you. Unfortunately there is so much to be con- sidered for your safety. I could only ventiu-e to place you \vith known patriots, whom I can trust, and their house is not one where you would be comfortable. If I dai-ed say that you would be safer here ! but unhappily it is a rendezvous for my friends. If I went elsewhere, attention would .be attracted, questions asked.' ' All we want is a safe refuge, my dear De Pelven. Do not afllict yoiu-self as to any small discomforts or pi-ivations ; what can they be to what thousands of our countrymen are suffering ! You have at least found us a couple of I'ooms 1 ' ' Yes, but I have not the courage to propose your seeing them.' ' Ah, bah ! let us go there at once. I hope, however, that there is a busy street to look out on. I have vastly enjoyed watching all that has passed under these windows to-day. Good heavens ! what wondeiful costumes ! I do not speak of the carmagnoles and the red caps and all that ; 103 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. those I expected, but I saw with these eyes people dressed in classic corstume. There were two young men vralking along with their arms' round each other's necks, and those young men wore blue mantles, white tunics, and sandals ! ' 'Ah, pi-ecisely — scholars of Louis David's, our great anthoiity on classic matters, as doubtless you know, who organises our public ceremonies, and teaches ns what trne ai't is,' said De Pelven, with one of his dubious smiles. The name of DaA^id reminded Edmee of the young Swiss, her companion for a few hours of that memorable night which seemed so long ago that she had some' difficulty in recalling his name. She wondered if he could be now here, and how he would look in classic costume, but had to renounce the idea of him in mantle and tunic and sandals. How that night seemed to come back upon her ! Meanwhile Made- moiselle de St. Aignan had got i-eady to go, and De Pelven was assuring her that if she absolutely insisted on hii-ing the rooms, her boxes should be sent there immediately. Edmee was already prejudiced against the lodging because he had found it, and the first sight of the landlady, in the extreme of Republican fashion, with a hard vigilant face, increased her uneasiness. She thought her insolent and inquisitive, though evidently controlled by De Pelven, and vcij anxious to please him, and Edmee trembled at the prospect of being under her sui'veUlance. The rooms offered them on the third- floor justified De Pelven's excuses. The walls were spotted and stained ; an armchair, a heavy table, covered with black leather, a gi-eat bed, with dark curtains, and an old carved cupboard, with dust wherever it could lie, composed the chief furnitiire of the room ; and Mademoiselle de St. Aignan stood in evident dismay, while Edmee alternately observed the de- precating face of De Pelven, and the threatening and auda- cious ail" of the citoyenno Lafai-ge, their future landlady, or rather gaoler, as Edmee thought to herself. '"Well, covisin,' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, at last, cheerfully, ' we can make it do, no doubt ; we can add what we want, and it might be worse. I know you have done the best you can for us, so let us have our baggage, and make oui'selves at home. To-morrow you will come and see us. IN HIDIFQ. 103 Adieu. You have, no doxibt, a thousand things to do, and so have we.' She nodded gaily to him, and then began to poiat out to Edmee what they must buy, paying no attention to her attempts to make her conciliate the landlady, who stood by with looks auguring no good, and presently, fiuding herself ignored, went away, slamming the door and muttering, 'Pigs of aristocrats ! ' very audibly. ' Ah, mademoiselle ! ' began Edm^e in consternation ; but Mademoiselle de St. Aignan interrupted with a laxigh, ' Yes, yes, child, it was uupardonably imprudent ; scold me if you will, I deserve it, but what would you have 1 The woman is hateful to me ; did you observe her countenance % hateful, I tell you ; she affects my nerves, and it is too strong for me, allez ! I could not force myself to be civil to her.' * We have begun by making her our enemy,' said Edm6e, under her breath ; ' and the one fiiend whom we have here is perhaps more dangerous still ! ' CHAPTER XIII. IX HIDING. It woiild be difficult to imagine anything more forlorn than Edm^e's position when she found herself in the unknown woi-ld of Pai-is, aware that it teemed with perils, but quite uncertain what it was safe to do ; conscious that a rash ges- ture, a careless word, would bring heiself and Mademoiselle de St. Aignan into imminent danger, fearing to stir out lest some horrible sight should meet her eyes, fearing to enter a shop lest some unpopular form of speech should attract atten- tion, and fearing above all the woman in whose house they were, who watched her so keenly and malignantly whenever they met, and always had some private words with De Pelven when he came. Edmee wondered what was the link between them ; she did not know how much of his secret and 104 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. unseen power, his knowledge of all that went on, and his skill in avoiding dangers, De Pelven OAved to the glamour which he could cast over women of all ranks. Women had always been his best allies, his most iisefiJ tools, all the more that not one had ever really touched his heart until he met Edmee. He was inevitably the protector to whom she now looked, in spite of herself; she coiild not but lelax into something like fiiendship as eveiy day she felt how en- tii-ely helpless and hewildf^ied she would have been but fox* him. It was he who could tell hei' what was safest to do, and what must be avoided ; it was he wLo lessened her sense of ]'esponsibility with regard to the entertair'ment of Made- moiselle de St. Aignan, who could never venture out, as their one hope of escape lay in avoiding notice, and had almost no variety in the day but the hour which he constantly spent with her, always leaving her amused and cheerful, and Edmee's wary suspicion diminished as she saw the time go by without his alluding to his feelings for her. But each day just then seemed more laden with danger than the one which had preceded it; universal depression and terror had per- vaded all ranks since the terrible law against the suspected had passed, which declared anyone liable to arrest who had ^mijre relations, were of noble birth, had done notliing for the cause of liberty, were too much taken up by pi-ivate aftaiis to be duly interested in public ones, or spread bad news ! There were already 3,000 prisoners in Paris alone, and the numbers rose by hundreds daily, most of them innocent of any crime but that of gentle birth or fortune, and the country swarmed with revolutionary committees, who held in their hands the life of eveiyone in France. The very children learned to watch their looks and words, and the danger was so tremendous that while numbers cowered helplessly, quite as many rushed into the wildest licence, desperate and reck- less. To be forgotten was the best hope of those who had any hope at all. Mademoiselle de St. Aignan had expected to find some old friends at Paris, but she soon found that social intercourse was dead, and that the tempest had scat- tered even those most closely connected. Even life at Morte- mart was livelier than that in her room in Paiis. Edmee iiV HIDING. 105 marvelled at the cheerfulness wath which she accepted her position, gathering amusement from every trivial circum- stance, and in some incomprehensible way learning the histoiy of everyone in the house. She soon contrived to make friends with the little old father-in-law of the landlady, a small grey man, who held Iris formidable daughter-in-law in gi'eat fear and awe, and dared not lift a finger without her leave when she was within sight, but would climb up on some pretext or other to Mademoiselle de St. Aignan's room when he could do so undetected, and find consolation in whis- pering his secret feelings towards hhJiUdfre, as he called her, to his amused auditor. The cai'eful toilette which he always made before a])pearing before her highly amused her, all the more that though he could never resist coming, he was evidently on thorns lest he should be found out. and would liee in haste, and dolf cravat and coat with trembling hands at the least suspicion that the citoyenne Lafarge was coming home fi'om her marketing, her visits to the Convention, or from the executions, now amounting to sixty or seventy a day. ' It was always the way with he-r,' old Lafarge would say in his quavering voice, * even when my son was alive, though he would try to keep her away, even locking her up when there was anyone hanged, and — (he had such coin-age, iny poor son !) thi-eat^ning to beat her, she always found means to be present ! We all have our tastes, and that is hers — -what would you have 1 some are born so. For mc, I shudder to think of such things. I went once, because she said I must, and there is no gainsaving what she chooses, but I was so ill afterwards that I had to take Jleur (Vorawje to trancpiillise myself, and go to bed, for I am tender-hearted, you sec, very tender-hearted. It is a great misfoi'tune to bo so tender-hearted as I am ! ' Nevertheless the old man contrived to know all that was going on, and his talk often left Mademoiselle do St. Aignaa sad and anxious enough, though her natural good spirits and the wish to cheer Edmee kept t5ie fears which darkened daily in the background. The year was closing in over-increasing ' gloom. October had seen the execution of the Queen, at tlio voiy hour the tombs of St. Denis were broken open by tlie 106 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. mob, and 'November had begun by a public renunciation of Ckristianity, in the name of the nation. Provisions became scarcer and scarcer, and even the out-of-the-way sti-eet in which Mademoiselle de St. Aignan lodged was sometimes filled by a furious mob rushing by to break open some baker's shop. At first the citoyenne Lafarge had provided a few loaves from time to time for her two lodgers, but with so ill a grace that Edmee, as soon as she discovered how to dis- pense with her reluctant assistance, took the matter into her own hands, and would go out and stand in the crowd which would stand for hours waiting to bo served about the shops, sometimes only to be dispersed by an incursion of the popu- lace, less patient, perhnjis less hungry than the pale women who had waited since dawn in vain. She was beginning to wonder how long their slender means would hold out ; their lodgings were extravagantly dear, as were })rovisions, and where was more money to come from 1 She saw with dread the possibility of being driven to apply to De Pelven, and set herself to avoid this necessity with all her might, spent five francs on materials for lace-making, for even now the love of lace was not extinct, though the coarsest and commonest dress was supposed to be worn by all, and she hoped to dispose of her work to some shop, if not immediately, a little later. A few more francs went for painting materials, but this was rather to please Mademoiselle de St. Aignan than with much hope of gaining money, and Edmee rather gi-udged the extravagance until the delight of handling a brush and colours banished all regrets. Mademoiselle de St. Aignan watched her at work with pleasiire, siu'pnsed by her absorption in her occupation, and would stand by her, mak- ing siiggestions with all the audacity of ignorance. ' But do you know, she has talent, great talent,' she said, on one occasion, when Edmee was not present, as she showed a half-finished painting to De Pelven, who was accustomed to bring such flowers as the late season afibrded, well pleased that Edmee should accept them, even if with hesitating re- luctance. ' It is surprising. But to be sure she has had great advantages in being so much with my dear sister-in-law as she was.' LN- HIDING. 107 ' You think that talent, like immorality, can loe commu- nicated from the upper ranks to the lower % ' asked De Pelven, wliile he looked with far more critical appreciation than INIademoiselle de St. Aignan was capable of at the beautiful little group of Howers which Edm^e had been engaged on. ' Not quite that ; I am a liberal, you know,' answeied INIademoiselle de St. Aignan, in perfect good faith, ' but still one does not expect to find distinguished gifts among the people. But there is no accounting for these things. As for this child, she is an aristocrat, born by mistake among the lower ranks. But for that no pains could have made her what she is ; one cannot deny that when a person is not nee, the difference shows in every look and action and mode of feeling to life's end.' ' it is of coui-se as a liberal that you speak, my cousin ] ' ' Assuredly ; because one is a liberal one need not fiy in the face of facts and common-sense. I mean to continue her education, though I daresay it is illegal, since the Convention lias closed all places of public instruction ! You must pro- cure something for her to read with profit ; I could bring but two or three volumes with me, and I do not care that she should study them ; they aie all very well for you and me, though even I, in these times, feel as if I should like some- thing wliich suggested' there might be a better world than this elsewhere.' ' You would probably be quite contented with this, my cousin, if you could arrange it after your own fancy.' ' That is what your friends are seeking to do, Hebert, St. Just, Collet d'Herbois, Robespierre and the rest, only they want to lay the foundations on heaps of heads. Good heavens ! what tyranny ever equalled this mob rule 1 ' 'Hush, dear cousin! you forget that we are all good patiiots now, perforce.' 'Yes — perforce. De Pelven, you are a man of good bii'th — a very clever man . . . between ourselves, what do you think of it all ? ' ' Tliink of it all ! ' he answered slowly, unconsciously lowering liis voice. ' I think that we are living in times teeming with events whose outcome the best politician liviiig 108 NOBLESSE OBLIOE. cannot calculate ; tlie consequences of this Kevolution will be felt, unless I am greatly mistaken, as long as the world lasts.' ' It is coming to an end, I think ! what a change since '90 ! The political horizon seemed almost cloudless then, do you remember % Nobody seemed much excited ; gold began to get rather scarce, I recollect ; but we had not the worry of these miserable assignats, and we were full of ho]>es. And now ! who would have believed that a man would dare to stand up before his fellow-countrymen in our public assembly, and declare himself an atheist amid general applause ; or, again, that the vessel of the Revolution must come into port on waves of blood % ' ' Who would believe it 1 Anyone who knew what it was to set a nation of slaves suddenly free.' ' Well, well, these matters are safer left alone ; we will be content to agi-e© on this one point,' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, laughing, and glad to take a lighter tone, ' that everyone in this Paris of ours is ciazy, except myself and two or three more, who think as I do. Here comes the child . . . she looks pale, does she not? Yet I think when my nephew comes home he will say she is greatly embellished.' This was the first hint which she had given of the relations between Alain and Edmee. Do Pelven could not cell whether Edmee heard or not ; but she turned back into the little kitchen adjoining the room sei-ving as bedchamber and salon, and he said hastily, ' Is it possible that you en- courage that wild idea 1 — you cannot think her bound by that a])Siu-d moc]\-marriage ? it is monstrous ! ' Mademoiselle de St. Aignan stared at him. ' It could not be my wish that the heii- of our family should marry the steward's daughter ; I feel that as keenly as yourself, my cousin, but the thing is done, and I have learned to love the child. Hush . . . she is coming.' Edmee looked white and weary, and when questioned confessed to being tu-ed and sleepy. * You have been on foot all the afternoon, starching my caps and ruffs,' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, half- tenderly, haLf-reproachfully, 'and now you have prepared IN HIDING. 109 supper . . . what should I do without this little girl, cousin ] And I believe she went out early, to procure bread ] ' ' You should not do that ! ' said De Pelven, quickly. 'At what hour did you go ? ' ' One must try to be among the first,' answered Edmee evasively ; ' there was a great crowd, and many who came late got none.' She did not like to own that she had stood in the throng from four in the moi-ning till eleven before obtaining her loaf of coarse bread. ' I thought that citoyenne Lafarge undertook to procure provisions for you,' said De Pelven. ' She did ; but I prefer doing it for myself monsieur.' * Is she unaccommodating, then 1 ' * Weil . . . not too amiable,' answered Edmee, smiling. De Pelven knit his brows. He perceived a complication of which Edmee was unconscdous. The instincts of a jealous woman had revealed more than he desired to Madame Lafarge, and it would need all his skill to steer through these troubled waters. It was with an efibrt that he roused him- self to talk as usual ; Mademoiselle de St. Aignan perceived it, and said, as he rose to go, ' My cousin, I cannot thank you enough for your kindness to us when no doubt your time and thoughts ai-e overfull, for even you, I fear, are not safe in these frightful days.' * Safe ! scarc3ly, dear mademoiselle ; is anyone safe, high or low, now ? ' ' And perhaps the attempt to protect us endangers you Btill more 1 ' He smiled and answered, ' If so, I shall expect full pay- ment some day soon, dear mademoiselle,' and, as he bowed to Edmee, he added, ' Do not forget that ; I know you keep the puis9.' Mademoiselle de St. Aignan thought that he merely wished to put aside her gratitude by a playful reply. Edmee knew better, and quailed. Instead of returning to hor d. awing when he was gone, or taking up her lace-pillow, she came and sat by Mademoiselle de St. Aignan's knee, rested her head against it, and diew her friend's hand round her 110 KOBLESSE OBLIGE. neck. ]\raclemoiselle de St. Aicrnan heard her si^h, and asked, ' What are joxx thinking of, j^dite ?' ' I scarcely know, mademoiselle ; of you, I believe — ho"w hard all this must be for you, used to such a different life ! ' ' Yes, I suppose it is,' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, looking round the room. * It is not only the living with a sword hanging over one's head, but the ennui, the uncertainty as to the fate of all one's friends and relations, or certainty worse stUl. Yet mine was not a very happy life.' ' Was it not, dear mademoiselle '? ' ' Ah, you wonder at that, p?tite ! You see, we were too numerous in family, and though one daughter went into a convent, and another became a canoness, and so on, all that lessened the family resources ; we were too well off to go into the order of La jNIisericorde, where noble girls are receiveil without a dowry, else that would have been our natural destination. As for me, I had another fate ; but that does not matter.' She paused, and her handsome face grew grave. Edmee kissed her hand, and said softly, ' Only I do so like to hear ! ' ' Ah, there is not much to tell, child ; after all, perhaps it was rather that I disHked becoming a nun than that I loved my betrothed so w^ll — I don't know. Anyhow, I did not consent, though it was a hard battle, and I should hardly have had my way but for your godmother. That long waiting for one who never came, who never came back, was weary work ; but her death was my sharpest sorrow. Still so young, so charming ; she left my heart very emjity.' ' Yes,' said Edmee, with full acquiescence ; * but she has escaped all that has come since, ' That is true ; but death is terrible, child ! ' ' Do you think so, mademoiselle ! Oh, it seems to me so much better to die than to Uve,' said Edmee, colouring as she saw the astonishment on Mademoiselle de St. Aignan's face. ' To escape from all the sorrow and pain, and having let those we love best go from our arms however fast we hold them . . . and to stand in the light of Paradise, and know that we shall never leave it, and see our dear Lord face to face ! ' IN HIDING. Ill There was such suppressed and eager enthusiasm in her look and tone that the oMer woman looked at her in silent amazement. Edmee was evidently speaking out of the depths of her heart. Evening had long closed in, and all was hushed in the street below ; a single candle dimly lighted the room where they sat. In the silence which followed Edmee's words the tramp of approaching feet was heard without ; the two turned pale and looked at each other. The steps paused, and their hearts stood still too; they expected in another moment to hear the imperative knock, and the dreaded summons, ' Open in the name of the law ! ' which preceded a domiciliary visit from the police. They heard Madame Lafarge open the house door and speak ; but the visit was not to them. After a short pause the tramp was again heard, receding down the street, as the party went off with a prisoner. 'Not such death as that !' mm-mm^ed Edmee, with pale lips, shrinking up to Mademoiselle de St. Aignan. ' Ah, child, what a difference the manner of it makes ! but to me death would always be terrible, and life sweet. You do not understand that, but it is so. Yes, if I lived as long as my poor old uncle, who lost his memory and always called us children by the names of brothers and sisters of his, dead and gone fifty years before ! Poor old man, I am glad that my nephew is not destiaed to lead the same sort of life as his, as he woiUd have been but for the Revolution, and you, little one ! ' Edmee averted the personal allusion by askins: what sort of life. J' o ' Like that of all younger brothers of noble birth. Mar- riage was out of the question for them ; they became eccle- siastics, entered the army, went into a. monastery. Those who I'emaiued in the world came home occasionally, and by- and-by had a little pension from the long, and their slender portion of the family fortune, and lived in some coiner of the eldest brother's house. My uncle had a room on the third- lloor, good enough for jMousieur le Chevalier, you know, and as long as his stiength allowed it, he went ovit shooting with the cure, played at cards and backgammon of an evening, 112 I^'OBLESSE OBLIGE. and -was very kind to us little ones. . . . "We were fond of tlie old man ; bnt nobody wanted or missed him, and I am soriy now when I thiak how dreary his last years must have been, after he got half-blind, and too feeble to crawl downstairs. I recollect how, if we evei- went up to his room, we used to see him sittiag in a gieat black leather armchau', his hands on his knees, dozing, or looking vaguely out of the window , as useless as the old sword which he had hung up on his bare walls.' Edmee could not but own to herself that Alaia might find life happier with her than following in the steps of his great uncle. She listened to all which Mademoiselle de St. Aignan volunteered to tell about him with shy pleasure, though she could not bring hei-self to ask anything. In these dai-k days she found herself often contrasting his conduct towards her with that of De Pclven, and on this evening her suspicions had sprung up with renewed strength; she saw that the truce between them had been but a feint before a harder battle than any they had yet fought. CHAPTER XIV. A GAMS OF CHESS. Christmas came and went, and the Kew Year began, the saddest Christmas and Now Yeai- which France had ever known, heralded by the Constitutional Bishop of Paris, Godet, publicly renouncing Chiistianity before the Conven- tion. Want increased enormously ; provisions were very scarce, and the emigiation of the iipper classes had throAvn thousands whom they used to employ out of work. The violent measures of the Convention, obliging shop-keepers to sell at a low price, while lapng in their goods at a high one, only ruined the sellers, and did not in the end help the bu^^ers. Bread-riots, sacking of shops, crowds besieging the A GAME OF CHESS. 113 Convention and clamouring for food and the lives of aristo- crats became part of daily routine, and were too much a matter of course to startle anyone. The power of feeling acutely seemed worn out by the perpetual strain, unless indeed some sudden news aroused it for a time, such as a massacre in the prisons, the trial and death of some veiy eminent person, or a victory on the frontiers, for in all tha anarchy and poverty, France was holduig her enemies valiantly at bay, and national pride and patriotism rejoiced amid the deep misery at the successes of the armies hastily raised, and mainly composed of untrained recruits, but giving promise of the glory which Bonaparte, as yet hardly known, was to win with them. Theroigne Lafarge attended her club assiduously (women and children had their clubs now, which backed up the worst of the Jacobins, and often over- ci^owed the Convention itself), and she was one of its favourite orators. Through her, intelligence of the horrible state of the prisons and the intolerable insults to which women were subjected by the gaolers reached her father-in- law, who detailed them to Mademoiselle de St. Aignan. Sometimes he would have to repoi't how the ' Societe Revolu- tionnaiie' intended to support a motion of Collet d'Herbois, for blowing up all the captives in the Conciergeries, by way of getting rid of them the sooner; sometimes that a civic ceremony had been commanded, at which all the members of the female clubs, with those of ' Les Enfants Eovisres ' — children from twelve to fourteen yeai-s old — shoiild appear, preceded by their banner, which bore for its inscription, * They have swept tyi-ants away before them.' ]\Iademoiselle de St. Aignan listened with mingled fascination and disgiist. * What ! more news of those paid furies ! ' she would say, and shrug her shoiilders with a smile of contempt and avei-sion, not unmingled with amusement, if she were looking out of the window when the citoyenne Lafarge issued forth, in red pantaloons and tricolour cockade in the bonnet rouge which matched the nether garments, on her way to hold forth at St. Eustache, Avherc her club sat, or to stand among ' les insulteuses,' who made it theii' business to deride the prisoners on their way to execution, or take her place among ' les 114 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. tricotoiises de Robespierre,* on the steps of the gnillotine. Robespierre, hoAvever, was not violent enough for snch women as she ; Chaumette and Hebert were their idols, and the vilo news^mper known as ' Le Pere Duchesne,' edited by tho latter, their favourite literature. Edmee shuddered at the very sound of her voice, and never went out without tremb- ling lest, like many other innocent young girls, she should be seized and beaten by these wretched women, xmder the pre- text that their captive wore some unpopular colour, or had no tricolour cockade. She wondered how long Madame Lafai-ge would tolerate her, and if indeed no other refuge could have been found but her house. If she could have read De Pelven's heart she would have known that his secret hope had been that the contrast between his apartment and this dismal lodging would incline both Edmee and Made- moiselle de St. Aignan to accept his protection on his own terms. But Mademoiselle de St. Aignan had fully believed his assertion that he could find notliing better, and accepted the situation with her imperturbable good -humour, and Edmee feared him almost more than she did Theroigno Lafarge. He had felt his own head sit very loosely on his shoulders many and many a time of late, yet it was keen en- joyment to him to deal with the dangers and difficulties around him, and feel that after all he was master of the situa- tion. Seeing further ahead than anyone else, unless perhaps Robespierre, he detected signs which told that the flood-tide of Clime and misery had almost reached the highest mark possible, and that he should have to steer his vessel in an ebb perhaps as furious. Absorbed in the events rapidly succeed- ing each other, he had visited his protegees but rarely for some time, and was proportionably welcomed by Mademoiselle de St. Aignan when at last he appeared, in the gathering dark of a February evening ; he never came imtil daylight had waned. She challenged him at once to a game of chess, and bade Edmee indulge in the unwonted luxuiy of two candles, one of which cast its flickeiing light on the board, the other Edmee drew close to her lace-jiillow. She had set out a su2>per of bread and a little ham on the table ; eggs and meat aud butter had long been beyond theii" means, being at panic A GAME OF CHESS. 115 price, but the bread and ham she had bought with the money brought her by old Lafarge, who had somehow disposed of a piece of her lace, and she did not ask what pcrcentago he had ke])t for liimself, too happy as she was to contiibuto to the maintenance of the vienage. De Pelven had ofTeicd a bottle of wine, and was now doing his best to conquer JNIade- moiselle de St. Aignan, who played a bold dashing game, and was almost his match, but always ended by making some sudden blunder, and falling into the snare of his long and patient combinations. Her interest in the game was divided by her desire to discuss public events, the all-absorbing topic of those days, when literature, family life, and religion seemed swept away. ' So the bloodhounds are at each others' throats ! ' she said, with the imprudent openness which kept Edmee in const-ant alarm. ' It seems that Danton and La IMontagne are at daggers drawn. That is good news for honest people.' ' My cousin, I fear that your honest people would say I was one of those bloodhounds,' said De Pelven, advancing a harmless-looking pawn. ' Nonsense ! you have a craze on that score,' said ]Made- moiselle do St. Aignan, who was rather wilfully blind to De Pelven's political opinionig, while she rashly fell into the snare laid for her, and lost a bishop by ovei'looking the pawn, in her desire to prove him better than he deserved. ' After all, you are a man of good birth, and never can forget it.' ' No, nor can others, unfortunately,' he answei'cd ruefully, thinldng how much danger that fact had brought him into, and how often it was cast up against him. ' No ; your very dress betrays it. You cannot bring yourself to go about in sabots and rags and a hideous car- magnole ; you wear lace ruffles and an embroidered waistcoat like a gentleman.' ' So does your hete noire, Maximilien Robespierre, dear covisin.' ' Really ! I think the better of him then. There is a great deal in clothes. How much it meant when, after Paul et Virginii was acted, people took to muslin and simplicity, and how vastly the Coui-t lost in the eyes of the vulgar when 116 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. stately toilettes were exchanged for a bourgeois plainness of attire ! As for yon, never, I am convinced, would you feel it i^ossible to come before ladies vinless dressed as becomes a well-born man — you could not, my dear De Pelven ! ' ' You are right, as always,' said De Pelven, glancing at Edmee, and acknowledging to himself that, be the risk what it might, he could never have brought himself to appeal" in her presence except in the garb of a gentleman. * I suppose that the question is indiscreet,' pursued Made- moiselle de St. Aignan, ' but I do very much wonder how you contrive to float safely in these times, cousin. One never, thank Heaven, sees your name as an oi-ator among those monsters at the Convention or the clubs ; you propose no measures, you take no apparent part in politics, yet you seem well acquainted with these inhuman wretches who have nothing of men but the form ; you have influence with them, it seems, you, a man of noble family, an aristocrat ! ' ' My cousin, your queen is in danger. Chess, Like politics, requires all one's attention.' ' But what can a man like you have in common with them ? ' she persisted. ' You came to Mortemart to unravel some i^lot, you said ... is that work for a gentleman ] Does it not involve sjiies and denunciations, and things impossible for a man of honour ? ' De Pelven paused, considered his move, and then answei'cd, while she was exclaiming at the disadvantage at which she suddenly found herself placed, ' My dear friend, you would not comprehend me if I tried to explain the exquisite pleasure which there is in calculating all the movements of an adversary ; of foreseeing what he will do ; the chances of his next move and yours, of leading him subtly in the direction favourable to your designs ; of bafiiing his plans befoi'e he suspects you of having divined them. It is a pleasure entirely abstract ; you play for the interest of the game, and therefore it is equally great whatever he may be seeking to do. It is not for or against this or that course which you are working ; it is to win in a contest of skill, in which you are pitted against someone who becomes your enemy simply because in that game he chances to be your A GAME OF CHESS. 117 opponent, ^ou have no pei-sonal feeling against him or his cause; you defeat him because it is necessary to youi- success.' ' I do not understand a word you are saying ! ' cried Blademoiselle de St. A ignan ; ' is it of chess or politics that you are talking 1 ' ' I told you, dear cousin, that we should not understand each other,' he answered serenely. ' This game, at all events, is mine ; is it not 1 ' ' But, monsieiu',' said Edmee, while Mademoiselle de St. Aignan was holding up her hands in dismay at this un- expected announcement, ' what becomes of those who are ill- advised enough to foil you ? ' She very rarely addi-essed him, and he was taken by sm-prise. ' I think, mademoiselle, that it has somehow or other so rarely happened to me that I can scarcely answer that question.' ' No, I suppose that it very rarely happens,' said Edmee, as if to herself. ' Thank you, monsieiu-, I know now why you are indispensable to Jlobespien-e.' De Pelven had been led away by a strong desire to see whether, as often happened, she divined his secret meaning; yet he had not anticipated that she would do so ; and lie could have cui-sed his folly in letting her have this glimpse of his real self. He set his teeth hard at the undisguised contempt in her voice. ' If you look on me as a vulgar police-spy you ai-e bound- lessly mistaken,' he said, half-aside. ' I am no Fouche . . . though indeed Fouche ' — he had recovered his usual calm and ironical tone — ' though indeed Fouche, with the talents he has, is more likely to rise high than any man I know. He will be even more indispensable under a despotism than in our present state of chaos, and a despotism must necessarily be the next step if anyone rise uyt who can master this anarchy. Ah, my dear cousin, I must not allow myself the ])leasure of another game with you ; I must go, and I fear that I shall not see you again for some time. I am going down to Brittany ; it seems that things have been ihi.sIkmI too far there ; Can-ier has Ix'en making mistakes, and i am com- missioned to look into it, and send a report to I'aris.' 118 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. If Mademoiselle de St. Aignan could but liave guessed what De Pelven gently designated as ' mistakes ' ! ' Ixow, my cousin, you are leaving Paris ! That is indeed ill nLHvs, and assuredly we have had enough of that already.' ' 1 thank yon for feeling it ill news. It is indeed not willingly that I leaA'e you. But have no fear while I am gone ; here is a protection from Robespierre and another from Danton, extending over five weeks, and ' ' A protection from Robespierre and Danton ! ' said Made- moiselle de St. Aignan, colouring high. ' Do you think I will consent to be indebted to those monsters ? iDo you take me for some jMadame de St. Amaranthe, who buys her safety by fi-equenting their houses, and conductiag her young daughter there '? / i-eceive a favour fi'om youi- sans-culottes ! I ! ' * There are veiy few people who would not kneel to Hebcrt himself for such a paper as this, my cousia. And recollect you have someone besides yourself to think of.' ' My aunt speaks for us both, monsieur,' said Edmee. ' iNo, no,' interrupted IMademoiselle de St. Aignan, hastily. ' Heaven forgive me, I foi'got the child ! I accept, De Pelven, I accept. AVhat ! lefuse anything which keeps her out of those prisons ! Death is little compared with the treatment she would encounter. Not another word, Edmee ; it seciu-es you, and I am grateful.' Edmee had never known till now how dear she had be- come to Alain's aunt, and her eyes filled with tears. ' I am an injrate, cousin; is it not so?' Mademoiselle de St. Aignan was saying, resuming her gay tone. ' But you will understand and pardon. What, you have something to say to me 1 Speak oiit this child and I have no secrets from each other.' De Pelven could have told her if he would that she by no means knew all Edmee's secrets. ' What I have to say concerns a friend of mine,' he answered ; and Eclmee at once withdroA. into the next room. The conference was not long, but she heard a shai-p exclamation from Mademoiselle do St. Aignan, and De Pelven's low persuasive tones, ansv/ered biietly enough. Then he went away, speaking to Madame Lafarge, who never failed to be hanging about, listeniag at A GAME OF CHESS. 119 the doois, Edmee believed, when he was in the house. ' For five weeks ! ' she heard the woman say ; ' and then ] ' but she did not wait to overhear more, and returned to Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, who seemed agitated, but not veiy ready to explain, the cause. Presently, however, she said, ' Petite, you do not guess what De Pelven had to say 1 No ? — how should you ! It seems that a friend of his, a most desii'able po?'^i, wants a wife . . . You undei'stand ? He thought of you, it appears ... it was, doubtless, kindly meant ; but I made it clear that you were Alain's wife, and that such a proposal would be an insult if rej)eated.' ' Ah ! . . . And he looks on you as an obstacle ia the way of his plans ? ' ' What a strange way of putting it, child ! One would tiiink you mistrusted this good De Pelven, who has ventui'ed so much to protect us ! ' * He warned us he should ask for payment ia full some day, mademoiselle ! ' CHAPTER XV. THE BLOW FALLS. * Safe for five weeks !' Edmee iised often to repeat to herself, thiough the time which followed De Pelven's departuie. 'But then %' For Edm6e could not shake ofi* the conviction that De Pelven had onl}^ put forward a man of straw in the 'fiiond' of whom he liad spoken to Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, and merely sought to asceiiain whethei- he should find in her an opponent or a friend ia his pi-o])Osals for Edmee. Now that she had expressed her view of the mattei-, no doubt with licr iisual frankness, he would look on her as an adversary, to be got out of the way. Sometimes Edmee shrank aftVightcd as the end of those weeks approached ; sometimes she felt an 120 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. ■ almost ungovernable impatience to have them over and know the worst. ' If oiir fate be death, give light and let \is die,' was often the iinuttared ciy of her heart. She had frequently asked hei-self whether or not to tell Mademoiselle de St. Aignan what had passed between her and De Pelven, but she could not endm-e to bring additional harass upon her, and deprive her of a sense of security which, if false, was nevertheless consoling, and then maiden pride and modesty silenced the confession to Alain's aunt that another man had pursued her with his love, and almost won her heart before she knew her own feelings. Perhaps too Mademoiselle de St. Aignan would think it all only the foolish, unauthorised fancy of a silly girl, mistaking kindness for admiration. And Edmee never could bring herself to utter the words which often rose to her lips when De Pelven was named between them. The incessant inward conflict told on her, and Made- moiselle de St. Aignan saw with concern how tMn and white she grew. 'You stoop too much over your painting,' she would say; * or else you are toiling over that lace-pillow. Come and read something to me ; I do not say talk, for what is thei'e to say 1 and besides, if we talk you continue yovir work. Come here, petite, and read me a little more of Pacine, which our good De Pelven procured for us before he left us.' Edmee came, but she could not bear the kind, scrutinising look bent upon her, and hid her face on Mademoiselle de St. Aignan's shoulder, clasping her di'ess fast unperceived, as if involuntarily trying to keep her from being torn away, but the next instant she loosed it, miu'muring unheard, ' What is the use "i what is the use % Can I keep her if I hold her ever so tight ? I shall have to let her go.' ' Yet it was with as steady a voice as if in that brief spaco she had not passed thi'ough a paroxysm of anguish that she began to read at the passage which Mademoiselle de St. Aignan had found for her. They were in the midst of ' Eri- tannicus,' and she read the fLae lines spoken by Bumis to Nero : — II vous faudra conrir de crime en crime, Soutenir vos rigueurs par d'autres cniautes, Et laver dans le sang vos bras ensanglaEtcs : TEE BLOW FALLS. 121 Vous allumez un feu qui ne pourra s'eteindre, Craiut detout I'univers, il vous faudra tout craindre, Toujours puuir, toujours trembler dans tos projets, £t pour vos ennemis compter tous vos sujets. Mademoiselle de St. Aignan took the book from them, and read them again, saying, ' Truly the poet and the pro- phet are one ! Is it not wonderfully applicable to the present times ? What a j)icture ! You and I have been marvellously spared, 2Jetite ; I begin to think that after all we shall escape, especially as we may soon expect our kind protector back. Perhaps this very evening we shall see him, and hear what he has been doing in Brittany. This brave La Vendee — ' ' Hark ! ' said Edmee, di'opping the book. * Ah, made- moiselle ! ' Loud voices and steps were on the stairs, those of Madame Lafarge among them ; they heard the malignant ring of satisfaction in her shi'ill tones, and knew at once what was at hnnd. ' So it has come ! Ent v,-e have that pajier ; courage, dear one,' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan. ' But if that should not avail, and if happily they only seek me, I forbid you — do you hear % — I forbid you to endanger yourself.' There was no time for more ; Madame Lafarge pushed the door open, exclaiming, ' There you have them, citizen municipals ; there are the ci-devants whom you seek. Let my house be purged from these vile aristocrats.' One of the men advanced ; the other was looking round, and making a mental inventory of the furnitiu'e, probably with a view to confiscation. * You are Valentine Aignan 1 ' * My name is Valentine Marie de St. Aignan.* ' There are no Des and no Saints now. You are accused of bf^ing a carnivorous aristocrat, and our orders are to arrest you.' 'Alas, citi-cn, nature and birth are answerable for both those sins ! But allow me to say that wo have a protection signed by Robespien-e and Danton.' 123 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. ' That is a lie ! Maximilien and Danton give no protections to ci-devanfs' ' But look, look ! * Eclmes cried, laying the paper before him. * Hum ! it seems so,' said the man, disappointed, and turn- ing angiily on Madame Lafarge — ' why do you then denounce this woman at the section, and give honest people the trouble of coming here for nothing 1 ' ' Because the protection expii-ed yesterday,' said she, with a smile of triumph. ' See the date ! ' Involuntarily all looked at the paper outspread on the table. It was true ; the time over which it extended had elapsed. Edmee stood looking in dumb despair at IMademoi- selle de St. Aignan, while the guard who had taken the lead- ing part striick the joaper with his outspread hand, and said with a laugh, ' You are shaii:)er than I thought, citoyenne Lafarge, and this ci-devant will come along with us. March, then, canaille of an aristocrat ! ' ' Will you let me put up a few necessaries ?' * The nation provides all that is necessary for its prisoners, and I wager that you will not want anything long. Come, I say, is our time to be wasted in waiting for such as you "?' IMademoiselle de St. Aignan rose up. She dreaded death intensely", as she had once said, and she had not the faith which strengthened Edmee, for the breath of the centuiy had passed over her, yet she met her fate, as thousands of others did, with unshaken courage, and a serene brow. Without looking at Edm^e, lest even a farewell glance should call attention to her, she followed her captors ; Edmee heard her ask as she passed out, ' Where are you taking me ? ' and the harsh answer, ' You will know soon enough.' They paid no attention to Edmee, and Madame Lafarge had been struggling all along with her vehement desire to point her out. Some foi'ce seemed restraining her, ]jut now her hatred proved too strong, and she seized the arm of the last guard, exclaiming, ' The gu'l — are you not going to take her too % ' ' Oh, as for that, we have no orders, and if there should be any mistake, since it would seem that these ci-hvants know Kobespierr.?, it may be as well to have left one. Listen, then, you ! ' to Edmee, who stood as if turned to stone, gazing THE BL W FA LL8. 123 lov\-ar Is the door through which her friend had gone, as if she had ah'eady seen the grave close over her. ' Yon are under surveillance, you understand. The citizen Lafarge' (old Lafarge had crept into the room with them) ' will eat with you, drink with you, and live with you.' And he fol- lowed the rest. ' There ! at least I shall no longer have the expense of maintaining thee, thou rabbits'-brains ! ' said Madame La- farge, to the old man. ' And as for thee ! ' casting a look of hatred on Edmee, ' thy turn will come yet.' She marched out ; old Lafr.rge listened timidly until the sound of her steps had ceased, then shut the door, and sat down on a sofa bought by Mademoiselle de St. Aignan. Presently he got up, and tried an arm-chair, then returning to the sofa, ' It is difficult to choose !' he said, with a sigh. ' They are both great inventions. Ah, I shall be very com- fortable here ! ' Edraee's stupor of gi'ief made no impression on him ; per- haps he did not perceive it. ' It was very disagi'eeable down in her room,' he went on talking to himself. ' No peace from her tongue, and then her friends come in with their horrible tales, and sit and cbink ; no one wants the old man there ; this is much better. But I wish I knew which was most comfortable.' And he got up and settled himself again in the arm-chair. ' You are young ; you do not need luxm-ies,' he added to Edmce. The sound of his voice, though not the words, reached her. * Where will they take her 1 ' she asked, so suddenly that he started, and said peevishly, ' There is no need to startle one so. Nobody has any thought for the old. Take her 1 oh, the citoyenne Valentine ; how should I know t There arc so many prisons.' ' You must find out. That woman, your daughter-iu-law, will know. You mu.st learn it for me, do you hear 1 and also if the citoyen Pclven bo returned.' Edm^3 spoke so imperiously that Lafarge looked quite cowed. ' She is no better after all than my filldtrc / ' he muttered. ' And I thought I should bo so comfortable hero ! Well, well, I daresay I can learn, if you really must know, 124 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. but it is taking trouble for notbing, since no one is allowed to see a prisoner ; tbe orders are stricter tban ever.' But if I knew wbere sbe was I could send her some clothes, some bedding.' And Edmee hastily began to make up a parcel, aware that is was impossible to procure any comforts whatever in the prisons, unless at exorbitant prices. Lafarge looked on, but when it was done observed, * It is a pity that you took all that trouble, for these things are the property of the nation, and I am in charge of them.' ' How ! we bought them, and she could take nothing ? * * It is vuxfortunate, but I am responsible to the nation,' answered the old man, ch'awing up his meagi-e person with a gesture of proud satisfaction in the dignity confeiTcd upon him. ' Besides, what would Theroigne say ! ' and he shook his head over this unanswerable argument. Edmee gave in ; theie was nothing else to be done, and by-and-by he gi-ew communicative, as he found himself increasingly comfortable and at home, and became almost affectionate. She heard nothing of what he was saying, and scarcely knew what she did when complying with his demand for money to buy pro- visions for theu- joint dinner, only she felt that he had gone out, and left her in solitude, and then she laid her head on her arms, and tried to think out some course of proceeding. It was rather the sense that she was no longer alone than any sound or movement which made her suddenly look up. De Pelven was standing by her, his eyes fixed on her, and geniiine compassion in his countenance. ' My poor child ! how you have suffered ! ' he exclaimed as he saw the white and faded cheek and tearless eyes raised unflinchingly to his own. ' I have but last night returned, and I learn that our poor friend has been aiTested ! But for a fatal, unavoidable delay I shou-d have been here before the protection which I gave you had expired. By what miserable chance did this occur ? ' ' JNIonsieur, that you must ask the woman in whose house you placed us.' ' You are mistaken. She was aware that you were under the aegis of EobespieiTe ; I took care of that.' TEE BLO W FALLS. 125 * And aware too of the veiy day on which it ceased to serve us. You took care of that also. Oh, do not deny it, monsieiu', for I should not believe you.' ' You thitk. then, that I have allowed Mademoiselle de St. Aignan to be an-ested % ' ' 1 do. She was an obstacle in your path, and you brushed it away.' ' As I would anything, anyone, who stood between us,' he answered, with passion intensified by the strength with which he repressed it. ' Child ! I would break you yourself if I could not make you yield otherwise. Do you know the old story of the sKght vase which floated down a stream in company with a brazen jar 1 There is your history, unless you will hear reason,' and she saw the fierce and dangerous gleam in his eye.' ' Do you think you can measure yourself asjainst me 1 ' he contmued, as if he understood how inwardlv and in silence she was rallying all her powers of I'esistance, and though her spirit was rising in indomitable revolt she trembled at the inci-easing vehemence of his tone, and the look in his face. ' Foolish one ! many who were strong in their day have tried it, and where are they ] Listen, Edmee. J do not speak to you of my love, you know it, and only shrink the more from me ; I tell you, whether you love me or abl)or me it is all one, you must yield, but if you yield voluntarily, without delay, I will save Mademoiselle de St. Aignan.' ' You will do that 1 ' she said, with a ciy of anguish and uncertainty. ' I swear it. And what is more, to me the thing is a farce, an idle form, but if that satisfy you, I will make you my wife in the way you think essential, I will find a priest — it has been done before now ' — he was thinking of Danton's Btrange second maiTiage. * Are you satisfied ? You silly child, what is it in you that bewitches meV he added im- patiently, and stood looking at her, waiting for her answer. It was long in coming. ' Where is Mademoiselle de St. Aignan 1 ' she asked at last. ' Probably in the Luxembourg.' , . 126 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. ' Ah ! ' and then, after another long pause, ' Give me till to-mon'ow to consider.' ' " Femme qui ccoute et ville qui parle sont pcrdues," ' he muttered to himself. ' So be it. Have pity on youi-self, Edmee ; why cannot you love me 1 Ah, once mine, and I swear you sho,ll do so ! ' He stooped over her, but she started away from his touch with a movement of fear and hoiTor. ' So ! ' he said, at once recovering his usual cynical tran- quillity, ' it is to be war between us, then]' ' T did not say that, but give me one day; it is not much to ask.' ' You think .so 1 It is all that stands between life and death with many a one at this moment. One day, then, Edmee ! ' ' You assure me that nothing shall happen to Mademoi- selle de St. Aignan in that time 1 ' she cried, struck with a sudden thought. ' What ! you think I might treat you as some spirituel monarch did his enemy's son, and buy what I want v/ith a dead body 1 No, I will deal fairly by you. Adieu then, xmtil to-moiTow evening, when I will come and learn your decision. Be well assured that the Chevalier would not thank you for allowing an imaginaiy bond between you and him to prevent your saving the life of his dearest relative.' He had gone, and a long time had passed, yet Edmee still sat whei"e he had left her, with hidden face, fighting out a cruel battle, where generosity, self-sacr'fice, perhaps duty itself, seemed airayed on the side of wrong, and only the voice of her heart and of honour spoke on the other side. Those last words of De Pelven's rang in her eare. Assuredly Alain could not wish her, for the sake of a tie unsought and unw«dcome, to refuse to redeem the life of Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, the relative so beloved by him, so good, so dear to her ! ' And she would like to live ! Oh, if it had be'^n I whom they took, but she would like so much to live ! Th°re are so many who would be glad to die, while she . . . Oh, what shall A FRIEND IN NEED. 127 I do ? After all, who would suffer but myself? ' murmured the girl, to whom the cup of life had hitherto offered little but bitterness. But still the Liiward voice answered stubbornly, ' I cannot do it,' and the battle was still unfoaght, though she was exhausted into a dull calm, when old Lafarge came back, loaded with provisions, which he had laid in un- stintedly, with the enjoyment of one spending money not his own. After spreading them out triumphantly, he observed, ' My daughter-in-law says that the citoyenne Valentine is in the Luxembourg. I do not object to your going out by-and- by after yon have got our dinner ready, and Theroigne is at her club ; the prisoners often stand at the windows, and you might g?t a sight of her. Theroigne woiild have me keep you a close prisoner, but I will not be always ordered by her ; I am here as the representative of the nation, and shall do as I please, only you miist wait till she is gone oiit . . . and you need not mention to her that you have quitted the house — you understand ? ' he said, much divided between the desire of emancipating himself on the strength of ' his little brief authority,' and his habitual fear of his formidable filldtre. ' In the Luxemboiu'g ! He told me the truth then. And I may perhaps see her ! ' Edmee said to herself — ' see her dear face, and let her know that I am with her in heart. At least I can try, and I need not make up my mind to-day.' The poor chance of a distant glimpse of the captive had put new life into her ; there seemed a check in the i-ising tide of misfortune, and hope rose up, unreasonable, immortal, in her breast. CHAPTER XYI. A FRIEND IN NEED. The prisons had never been so full as at this moment. Such legal formalities as had hitherto been observed were now cast aside; the accused were no longer allowed an advocate at 128 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. their trial, and the court which judged them was bidden to observe no law but ' that of then* conscience, enlightened by patriotism, to the end that the Hepublic might triumph, and its enemies perish.' Fifty or sixty prisoners, from all parts of Paris, were daily condemned and earned away in the same afternoon to be guillotined. The accusation of having con- spii'ed in prison was now the favoiu-ite charge against them, and the miserable captives knew that they were sxuTounded by spies, ready to falsify their most innocent words, and denounce them. The extremes of French society were crowded together ; rich and poor, bad and good, high and low. The Revolution had become a war of class against class ; in every rank men tried to destroy those a step above them; the crimes of 1793 had dishonoured the gi'eat move- ment of 1789, and fatally involved it with the name and doctrines of the Jacobins. It only remained, as some dema- gogue had urged, to erect a stone guillotine opposite the Tuileries, that it might become a public and national movement. The hour of four was the favourite one for executions. As usual at that hour Madame Lafarge went out, and Edmee, for once indifferent to the fear which had until now always haunted her of meeting those lucjubrious death-carts with their freight of young and old, availed herself of her keeper's permission, and went out also, absorbed in the hope of seeing, if but once more, the face which had gi'own so dear to her. She paused as she crossed a bridge over the Seine, however, fancying that someone had spoken her name. It was only fancy, but, recalled to the scene ai'ound her, she looked up and down the river, shuddering The sim was low, and cast a sinister light on the Tuileries and the Louvre ; the stream ran red under the bridge. Edmee hurried on, turning away her eyes. She heard a man leaning on the parapet mutter, ' The very river rolls blood ! Blood on the earth, on the sky, in the water ! ' Her mind was full of the fear lest in the waning light she should not be able to distinguish anyone at the windows of the Lirxemboui'g, but the words, and the accent of hori-or and remorse in which they were uttered, came back to her afterv^^ards, and long haunted her ear. In A FRIEND IN NEED. 129 the increasing cold of the March evening, far more like winter than coming spring, few people were abroad, and the leafless gardens of the Luxembourg were almost empty, but some women and a few men were walking in them, and turning anxious strained glances towards the windows, where they hoped to see dear faces, Edmee could perceive that there were gi'oups looking out, but so far above and away from the nearest spot to which she could approach that, as she had feared, in the dim twilight which had rapidly succeeded the lurid sunset, no one's features could be distinguished. She stood gazing up at the walls of the prison-palace, unable to give up this last hope, and feeling, as many and many others had done who like her had stood beneath them, as if her heart must break. Wild thoughts of bribing a jailor with all she had to admit her, of saying or doing something which should cause her to be impi'isoned too came into her mind ; she advanced so near as to be x'oughly ordered back by a sentinel, and made so little movement to obey that he pointed his gun at her, but lowered it with a half-laugh as someone, just come out of the palace, said, ' Nay, nay, citizen ; there is no credit to be gained by hitting a mark so close as that 1 And 'tis only a child ! ' Edmee fancied that the kind voice, which had a foreign accent, was not unknown to her ; she turned to the speaker, and saw a young man, with a country air, and a plain, agi'ee- able fiice ; he earned a portfolio under his arm, and wore a very homely costimie, which however had none of the studied I'aggedness and squalor aijned at by the extreme Republicans. On his side he studied her countenance with a considering and puzzled look ; presently his face lighted up with pleased siir^irise, as he said in a low tone, ' You do not remember me 1 We met on the road to IMortemart.' ' Ah ! is it possible ! ' cried Edmee, enchanted as if she had unexpectedly met a survivor of some shipwreck from which she had believed none but herself to have escaped. * Yes, you said that you were going to Paris. You were going to learn painting. I recollect it all.' The face of the young Swiss clouded, and it was with a sad and depressed air that he replied, ' That is not worth 130 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. speaking of just now. Let ns walk about the gardens; speak loAv, one never knows who may be listening, or where. Why are you here ? ' * Alas ! my aunt is imprisoned here.* * Your aunt % ' * Yes — that is — ' Edmee had of late grown so tised to the name that she had called her so unconsciously — ' Made- moiselle de St. Aignan.' ' Is it so % She was so kind to me ! ' said Balmat, with great concern. ' Since when is she a pi-isoner % ' ' Only since this morning. Ah, it seems such a long time ! ' ' And are you alone, or is he with you ? ' asked Balmat, thinking of Alaia. * Quite alone now.' Her voice quivered ; his kind, grieved looks overset hei" self-command, and her loneliness seemed to fall all at onca \fi\h. a crushing weight upon her. ' You hoped, no doubt, to see her at some wiadow. Bui I can do better than that for you ; I can take her a message, and give you news of her.' * You ! It is possible, then, to enter the prisons % ' ' For me, yes. I have a pass which admits me to all the prisons of Paiis. One of our great patriots, who has a turn for art, and especially for beauty, desu-es to have a gallery of portraits of all the beautiful or remarkable people who are arrested, and I am making crayon likenesses for him.' Edmee started in horror as Balmat said this, in his usual tranquil way ; he perceived her start, and smiled. ' What ! ' she cried, ' you lend yourself to this ? You abase your ai-t to gratify such a monster as this man must be 1 You must be worse than he ! ' * You would be less displeased, citoyenne, if you knew how many messages I am thus enabled to take backwards and for- wards ; how many families have now the porti'ait of someone whom they will never see again in life,' answered Balmat, quietly. ' Ah, forgive me ! I did not understand, I was too hasty. To do all this you must constantly risk your life ! Forgive A FRIEND IN NEED. 131 me. And you \vill see my aunt ; you will tell her how my lieax-t is always with, her ; you must cany hex- this money ' ' No, no, only a few francs. You do not know hov/ close a watch is kept upon the prisoners. If it were supposed that she had money about her she would lose it all. I did not see her to-day . . . perhaps she is in the entresol above the excellent De I\Iouchys ; she will probably see them ' ' You comfort me already ! I can imagine where she is, and I liave heai'd her speak of the marechal and his wife. When shall you see her ? ' ' To-moiTow, I pi'omise you. But now you must go home. See how dark it grows, and you are so thinly dressed ! ' said Balmat, looking at the muslin cap, with the inevitable tricolour cockade, and the print dross covered with little bouquets, which was the costume adopted by Edmee since she came to Paris, as least remarkable. Y6a have not even a shawl ! ' ' I forgot to put it on.' * She would not be pleased at that ! Comt», let me see you home ; whera do you live ] ' ' Homo ! Ah, if you laiew ! ' ' Yes, it must seem very empty, very desolate. But have you not seen him ... St. Aignan 1 ' ' ]\Ionsieur le Chevalier ] Oh, he escaped to Switzerland ; he did not come with us.' ' I know that,' said Balmat, turning out of the gardens ; * but he returned to Francs after his father's death. The Count was killed in a duel. I do not know the details, but he seems to have challcntred someone who accused him of having caused some plot to fail by mismanagement. It seems that the Chevalier knew nothing of this plot, whatever it was, and thought it concerned his honour to return and justify himself to some friend or relation — Do Pelven I think was the name.' ' Yes, yes, and then 1 ' ' He crossed the frontier disguised as a carter, went to Mortemait, found you gone, no ono knew where, came to Palis. This Pelven was absent, and he could learn nothing of his movements — you undei-stand that it was necessaiy to 132 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. observe the utmost catition for fear of aiTest, and endanccerinEt those who had 25i'Ocured his passport when he emigrated. He therefore could do nothing hwt leave a letter for his friend, and, I bo'ieve, quitted Paris a w^eek ago, intending to reach England, if possible.' ' Holy Virgin ! He returned to Paris ! What madness ! If De Pelven had been here ! You are sure M. de St. Aignan Ls gone? And how do you know all this? * ' Very simply ; I understood from what he said before me to his aunt that he was going to Switzerland, and told him that if he would kindly inform my family of our meeting and of his aunt's hospitality to me, they would serve him to the utmost of theii" power. Not well knowiag where to fo, he and his father settled for same weeks in my village, in our house, in fact ; and during that time they received a letter from me, sayuig where I lodged in Paris, and that David had allowed me to join his scholars ... all was new and hopeful then ... so when he came to Paris he sought me, and gave me news of my j^eople.' Edmee found herself led on in her turn to tell one thing after another until Balmat asked, ' Is there no one to whom you can apply in Mademoiselle de St. Aignan's behalf] ' * Only one, and he ' ' This Pelven who advised you to come here 1 who placed you in that house 1 Can you trust him 1 ' ' Trust him ! ' ' What does he want of you 1 ' asked Balmat, suddenly, and, as she did not answer, ' Pai'don me, I had no right to ask.' ' I will tell you ; I have no one to consult ; perhaps you may help me,' she said, wearily. ' He says he loves me ; he cffei'S to marry me, to find a priest.' ' He does ! Then his love is earnest, for the risk is tremendous. But are you free? Monsieur le Chevalier spoke of his aunt and his wife.' ' Yes, I am his wife by the new laws.' * It stands thus, then ; this De Pelven would marry you —and you 1 ' ' It Avould save her life ! ' A FRIEND IN NEED. 133 * Ah, I begin to understand. That, then, is the condi- tion. You can save her life if yon commit a sin 1 For you think it a sin, do you not 1 But if that be the only way, it cannot be God's will that she should be saved.' They walked on in silence. It seemed strange and start- ling in these times to hear a man thus simply lefer a matter to God's will. Edmee felt as if she had found a plank to cling to on the troubled ocean upon which she was tossed, but her affection for ISIademoiselle de St. Aignan made her slow to acknowledf'e him in the i-isrht. On the other hand, ever since De Pelven had pursued her with his love, Alain's claims had seemed more and more valid, and, uni'casonable as it might be, the knowledge that he had so lately been near her, had sought her, strengthened the impression. They had not exchanged another word when they reached the bridge over which Edmee had come ; the buildings on either shore were now a dark indistinct mass of shadow ; the towers of Notre Dame rose dark in the distance, and the river flowed pale below, reflecting the rising moon. The man whom she had seen leaning on the parapet, wrapped in his cloak, was still there, now in close conveisation with a com- panion. They moved as Edmee and Balmat approached, and walked away, arm in arm, and speaking low and rapidly. Balmat caught a glimpse of their faces : ' Danton,' he said in a whisper, ' and Camille Desmoulins ! ' and they looked after the two celebrated Republicans in silence, Balmat with in- diffei-ence, Edmee with something like loathing, but neither guessing that a few days later both these men would be under sentence of death in the Conciergei-ie. 'We must say good night,' Edmee said at last. 'You "vnll see her to-morrow % ' ' Cei-tainly. But you cannot go home ; you must not throw yourself into the hands of this man. I shall take you to my lodging. I have a room in the house of an Auvergnate, rather fond of money — she scraped all she has up Hard by Hard, poor soul ; but you will be s;ife there. For a few assignats she will arrange about your papers with her section ; they are not a bad s(?t, as times go, where we are, and she has a nephew who will manage it. Come.' 134 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. Edmee hesitated, alarmed at this decisive step, but Balmat ■was resolute. ' Do right, citoyenoie, and leave the rest. She would never pardon your buying her life at such a price. That bird of prey shall not have the poor little dove ! ' he added to himself, and finally Edmee yielded, with a sense of security in being overriiled. ' That is right,' he said, as they diverged into a quarter of the city unknown to her, and remote from the one where she had been living. ' Another day you might not have bei^n allowed to leave the house, and how could I have conveyed news of our friend to you there 1 By-the-by, what name will you be known by 1 You say she called herself Valentine.' ' I will be the citoyenne Alaiu,' answered Edmee, blush- ing a little, while a smile came on her lips for the first time for many days. ' A good name ! and we will say that your husband is seeking employment away from Paris; that is quite true, and it is better that you shorld be known as a manied woman ; it is more respectable,' observed Ealmat, contem- platiQg with some dissatisfaction the girlish air of his com- panion. ' See, this is the house where I lodge.' They had reached a narrow and gloomy street, and the house was an old dilapidated building, Avhich its present possessor had bought at a rate which did not greatly tax her means. They went up a winding, steep staircase, after pass- ing thi-ough a coiii-t as damp and dismal as a well, with a ruined fountain in the middle, and from the garret where Edmee found l\erself she could look into a neisrhbouririg cemetery, full of desecrated, broken tombs. There was hardly any furniture, except a chair or two and a small bed, and, as if the extreme poverty of his dwelling for the first time struck Balmat, he said in a sorrowful, apologetic tone, * I had not thought it was ffi poor a place ; I do not know whether you can live heie.^ ' Oh yes ! but you 1 You are giving me your own room. ' I shall manage ; I know where I can go for to-night, and to-morrow we shall see. Happily you have plenty of money, and can buy whatever you need.' * It is all we have. I took it out, hoping somehow to get A FRIEND. IN NEED. I35 it to Mademoiselle de St. Aignan. But I can make lace, and embroider muslin.' ' That is well ; my landlady may be able to sell such things, for it seems that even now women buy and wear luxuries. I will call her.' He went downstairs, leaving Edmee looking round her, •wirli rather a siuking heart ; but her spirits rose when he returned with his Auvergnate, whose face, though hard- featured, looked honest, and who seemed ready to show kindness to the gii-l, who was not avrare of the charm which she possessed, and was joyfully sm-prised at the unexpected gentleness of this homely woman. ' No, no, to-night she shall sleep with me, and to-morrow we can settle where to put the poor little cabbage,' said she, in a dialect which Edmee found it hard to understa,nd, though she comprehended the land look and tone. ' Her aunt in prison, her husband away ! Poor little girl ! And she can pay her rent, thou say'st ? That is well. Come then with me, ni}'- })retty one ; thou hast a good friend in Jacques Balmat, and thou shalt have anothei* in Madelon Ci"Ocq.' She took Edmce's cold hand, and led her away to her own kitchen, setting food before her, and showing her a rough tendei-ness v/hich came like rain on thirsty ground to the weary girl, who took her hand suddenly, and put it to her lips, to the surprise of Madelon. ' Bon ! bon ! ' said she, with tears starting to her eyes. ' Do not do that, pretty one ; thou art like my sister Driette . . . my poor Driette. I will do my best i"or thee, never fear.' And E(hriec fell asleep, thanlvful and almost hopeful, "with very little consideration for the perplexity into which her non-return would throw old Lafarge. 136 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. CHAPTER XVII. FOILED. In whatever form De Pelven had anticipated Edmee's de- cision, it had certainly not been in the shape of silence and vacancy, but when he came into her salon at the appointed time this was all that greeted him. The room was not indeed absolutely empty, for in one corner of the sofa dozed old Lafarge, his snuff-box slipping from his hand, and shed- ding its contents unperceived. De Pelven was not at first aware of his presence, for the room was almost dark, and he stood looking round Avonderuig, imable to grasp the situation ; then he became aware that there was someone cowering among the cushions, and stepped eagerly forward, only to be speedHy undeceived by percei\Tng something very unlike Edmee. ' Where is the citoyenne '\ ' he asked, in a tone of considerable anger, though indeed his disappointment was not the old man's fault. ' I have said fifty times that I cannot tell,' answered poor Lafarge queriilovisly, ai'oused from slumbers in which he had happily forgotten all the badgering to which his daughter-in- law had subjected him ever since she had discovered Edmee's disappearance. ' Cannot tell ! When did she go out 1 ' ' Yesterday.* ' How ? She went out yesterday, and you liave not seen her since ] W^here did she go 1 ' ' You should know that best, since my flldtre says she went to you, and a red ass could not be worse temiiered than that Th^roigne ever since. It is a dog's life tha,t I lead v/ith her ; I will never be tender-hearted agaia — but who could have supposed that gii-1 so ejdiste ? I let her out because she begged and prayed and wept,' said Lafarge, drawing largely on such imagination as he possessed ; ' so at last I allowed her to go ' ' Had you let her fancy herself under surveillance then ? — ^put it into her head that she was a prisoner ] Sao'ehku ! ' FOILED. 137 said De Pelven, grmdirj^ liia teeth. ' Wliat a misfortiine it is to have to use fools ! Where is your daughter-in-lav/ ? ' ' Downstairs, as far as I know,' replied Lafarge sulkily, as he tried to scrape up the snuiT, which had scattered itself over the sofa. ' Tell her to come here at once ; ' and, unwelcome as the command was, he did not venture to disobey, and went away slowly, muttering to himself, while De Pelven struck a light, put it to a lamp, and then stood looking round v/ith keen scrutiny. Theie was no token of a preconcei-ted flight ; on the contrary everything testified that no preparations had been made, and that Edmee must have intended to return. Her paint-box lay open, a drawing was half-finished beside it, her lace-pillow was on a chair, just as he had seen it all when he entered after the airest of Mademoiselle de St. Aignan. Only the bowed, girh'sh figure, leaning vrith hidden face over the table, was absent. Memory brought back the look in those sad eyes when at last she had lifted it. ' Heavens ! where can she be ? ' he tliought, pierced thi-ough and tliiough with the anguish of apprehension and perplexity. ' Gone since yesterday ! And she knew no one in the v.^ho'e city, unless ' His very lijxs turned livid ; the tliought oc- cuTcd to him that Alain, whose presence he had learned by the letter which he had found on his return from Nantes, might after all have remained in Paiis. ' Is it so ? ' he said, half aloud. ' Has he found her ] I will know that before this week is over, or own myself as gioat an imbecile as that old idiot himself, and this time she will not escape me. Still in Paris ! If so, his head shall fall into the basket, unless mine loll there first. So, citoyenne,' as jMadame Lafarge came in, with a red Hush on her handsome face, and eyes ablaze, ' you have let her go ! ' ' Have you the insolence to feign, that you do not know whcr(! e:h(j is, then ■? ' rctui-ned the woman, violently. ' Do you thmk I have not seen your game all along ? Am I a simpleton, or blind, or deaf? ^ah. \ (i d' autresl Theroigno Lafai-ge is not so easily deceived, va ! ' ' I tell you T know nothing ; but you are answerable for 138 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. lier, and I call on yon to explain what lias happened. I left lier here two days ago ' ' And yesterday, since you pretend to want details, de- claring that she was going to the Luxembourg, that old stockfish Lafarge allowed her to ' * What ! she said then that she was going to the Lnxem- boiirg gardens ! ' exclaimed De Pelven, who now began to fear that through some imprudence, intentional or otherwise, Edmee had been arrested. Theroigne looked at him in extreme surprise, and a vivid satisfiction flashed over her flushed, handsome face. ' Yon really are ignorant of her whereabouts ? ' she asked, between suspicion and joy. ' She really is not with you, then % If you dare to deceive me, you know what to expect ! ' she added, clenching and brandishing her fist. De Pelven paid her no attention. He was deep in thought. ' Look here,' he said presently. ' You have made a mis- take in not warning me of her absence. Take care that you do not make another, or you will suflfer for it. If she come back you will receive her kindly, and ask no questions ; but let me know at once — at once, do you hear ? ' The sullen ci'imson flush mounted again to the village's bi'ow. * I have had enough of these aristocrats already,' she answered savagely. ' The neighbours begin to talk.' ' You will do as you are told,' said De Pelven, looking at her, and speaking in the quiet, peremptory tone of one who nevei- admits that it is possible for anyone to disobey him. * You have your instructions, and will act accordingly.' ' The citizen Pelven foi-gets that we ai-e all equal now,* she retorted, jealousy again getting the upper hand. * If I chose to tell anyone that he has been concealing two aris- tocrats under false names for the last five months . . . what is bred in the bone comes out in the flesh, and for all he chooses to say he belongs to the ci-devants himself ' ' And suppose you did say all this ^ ' said De Pelven, with the same fixed and steady look. ' Suppose you were so un- advised as to say it ? ' he repeated, as she made no immediate answer. She quailed visibly, but glared at him savagely. ' Why, then the citizen might find that when one has only one head FOILED. 139 to thi'ow away, it is better to be friends Avitb Theroigne La- fai'ge.' ' Take the warning home to yoiu'self,' he answered calmly, ' If Y>-e were not friends, should I have placed these women under your surveillance, and trusted you to report all they did to me ] ' ' That Ls true . . . after all , when she is here I know what passes,' said Thei'oigne, iji a milder tone. ' Yes, and I prefer to be your friend than to be forced to be your enemy, citoyenne.' There was a softening in his voice like a caress, and as she looked at him he smiled. The woman was one of the fuiies of the Revolution, coarse and passionate, with an instinctive desire to pull down everything richer, better, purer than her- self, and a boundless hatred of the upper classes, yet this I'C- fined man of the world was a sort of demi-god to her ; she worshipped him, and crouched befoie him as a panther might before the keeper whom it both loved and feared, and never- theless might some day spring upon and rend to pieces. She had been invaluable to him as a means of influencing her club, and her information of the intentions and movements of the faubourgs had gone not a little way in gaining for him that reputation for foresight and knowledge of the mob which had made him essential to one leider after another in the Revolution. ' We are friends, my good Theroigne, are we not 1 ' he repeated, and she answered, as if in spite of herself, ' It shall be as you choose.' ' I shall come here to-morrow. I want to know how the people will take Danton's ai-rest, if Robespien-e decide on it.' ' You shall have news. After all, Theroifme Lafarge is of a httle more use to you than that imbecile girl, who would rather be kissed by the holy guillotine than you ! ' she answered, with a glow of triumjih in her eyes. ' The Dantonists brave us, it seems ; they talk of mercy, of s^^aring innocent heads, vile poltroons !— is anyone innocent ? The rejiublic needs blood. Danton is a bad citizen ; he is rich, he takes gold with both hands from anyone who likes to buy him ; he has con- spii-ed with Dumouriez and the Brissotius ! I do not love Robespien-e, no ! he stops shoi-t, he beUeves in. a Supreme Being; what is that but a king, and therefore a tyrant under 140 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. anotlier name, I ask you 1 "We have dethrcaed both the kings of earth and the King of heaven ! We want no divinity but ourselves. No monarchy above if we mean to have a republic below ! But we cannot spare Maximil ien, and since he and Danton cannot agree, Danton must die.' De Pelven had listened with fixed attention, while the orator of the Societe Revolutionnaire perorated with the vehement gestures po natui-al to her that she used them un- consciously. ' So ! ' he said. ' Then the f lubourgs will not rise and deliver Danton, if he should call upon them ? ' ' The people will be angry, very angiy ; he is their idol, but they will do nothing. Do they ever deliver anyone? And they will perceive the strength of the Comite in its daring to strike Danton.' ' That is true. I thank you, my good friend ; keep me informed how the pulse of the faubourgs beats.' ' And you Avill not fail to come to-morrow ? ' ' I will not fail.' * You see that you cannot do without me ! Do you want anything suggested to the Societe 1 any plan supported 1 ' ' On the contrary. I want merely to be sui*e which way the cuiTent is flowing. The Rue St. Honore gi'ows weaiy of the executions. The householders declare that the daily pro cession of the condemned disgusts lodgers, prevents the apart- ments from being let ; I saw blinds studiously drawn down, and shops shut at four o'clock yesterday and to-day.' ' White-livered patriots,' exclaimed the indignant The- roigne. * Let them beware ! What ! these aristoci-ats have oppressed as a thousand yeai-s, and a few months of bloodshed on our pai-t seems too long % ' * If it were only the aristocrats,' suggested De Pelven. ' Wlioever is richer than I, whoever has what I need and have not, is an aristocrat to me. What right has he to possess more than another? If the people are getting blase, give them .something to whet their appetites. Let more heads fall daily let that lazy pig Fouquier Tinville give us a spectacle. For me there is no sight so delightful as to see an aristocrat die ! ' De Pelven went away full of thought which almost drove Edmee out of his mind. He had wide and anxious questions FOILED. 141 in hand ; he was in the secret of Eobespien-e's intentions as to the Dantonists, and was taxing all his saf;acity and knowledge of his native pro-'.-ince of La Vendee to foresee tho tactics of the EoyalLst leaders, and advise the generals of the Republican troops sent down against them. Soon, however, his mind reveited whether he would or not to Edmee's dis- appearance. As long as Mademoiselle de St. Aignau was in the Luxembourg he thought that Edmee would not fail to visit the gardens, and for many days after he spent hoiu's there, and set spies to watch in his absence, growing almost frenzied with ii-ritation and anxiety as no news came. That she was not in the Luxemljourg, in Les Carmes, in the Con- ciergerie or any of the other pr-isons he had asceitained, but if alive and free the problem was inexplicable why she remained unseen and unheard. Nor did it seem likely, if Alain had found her, that he should make no elTort to learn anything of his aunt. Balmat's good sense was a match for De Pelven's subt e brains ! He had foreseen this danger, and insisted that she should be content with such news as he could brincr her of Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, whom he contrived to see occasional'y, having indeed free run of the prisons, and findiiag an excuse for visiting her in taking the portraits now of one, now another, of the changing inmates who shared her I'oom and its single mattress. De Pelven, as he walked in the gar- dens, where leaves now began to open and turf to grow green with spring verdure, meditated on j^lans where hundieds of lives were concerned, and by which the politics not only of France but of Europe would be intluenced, but always was on the alert for any sign of Edmee, but always in vain. Once he thought he had a gb'mpse of the slender young figure, but a second glance showed him that it was the heart-broken young wife of Camille Desmoulins, looking up Avith gestuies of despaii' at the palace where her husl)and and Danton were now both captives. He went up to her and .said softly, ' You can do him no good thus ; go home ; you have children, do not throw away your life.' ' What is it worth to me now 1 ' she cried, turning upon him a face so worn and wild that he started at the change a few da3's had wrought ; ' the cowards will murder me as they 142 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. ■will my Camille ; let them ! they forget that r tvoman's blood swept the Tarqiiins from Rome ! ' and then, with a sudden, inconsistent, touching return to hope, she held up her finger to make him Ksten to the deep murmur of the crowd, kept back by the sentinels, but sui-ging near the walJs, to catch tlio sound of Danton's voice as he thundered an harangue as if in the tribune, to his fellow-prisoners. 'Do you see? do you hear ? the people gather ; Danton is their idol ; they will not let him porii;h, and he will save my husband. Yes, I will speak to them myself ; I will remind them of all he has done for the causa of liberty, for mankind — they will not let my Camille die ! ' The rosy colour flushed into her face ; her sweet, appealing looks, Ler expressive gestures, her white dress and loosened hair gave her an indescribable charm, enhanced by the ex- treme youthfulness of her appearance. De Pelven shook his head, and with a few murmured words turned away, while she again gazed upwards at the windows, and clasped her hands with a cry of joy as she sprang forward, suddenly see'ng the face which she sought pressed against the glass, with a sign of hand and head wliich showed her that she was seen. ' She is dangerous ! ' De Pelven thought, observing her from afar, for he did not care to be seen in lengthened com- munication with the wife of Desmoulins. ' If she were really to appeal to the people during the trial, it would be just the spark without which the powder will be threatening all dan- gerous possibilities, yet innocuous. Robespierre must be warned in time.' And then, having brought his thoughts on public matters into shape and oi-der, he gave a brief space to that pi-obleiu of finding Edmee which daily exasperated and haunted him more and more persistently, until he found li's cool and practise ' bi'ain beginning to be over-mastei'ed by the strain of a fixed idea " which beset him sleeping or waking, while the suspicion that after all she was with Alain at times almost ma:ldened him. He was no longer young ; he was of an esseatially cold tempera- ment ; he was one of those men whose destiny it is to give little and receive enormously, almost without the trouble of holding out h's hand, but he had no%v plunged headlong into the flood of passion, and found himself carried away helpless. 'TUE incorruptible: 143 CHAPTER XYIIL 'the INCOIIRUPTIBLE.' Four yeai's earlier Maximilien Robespierre was only known as a lawyer of little promise, and by a few stilted verses, which he had published from time to time. Then, coming to Palis as a deputy to the National Assembly, he became noticed as a jjersistent speaker, whom as yet no one wished to liear. He was small, plain, with a penetrating voice, an unprepos- sessing manner, and was utterly insignificant in the eyes of all men. No one guessed that in this man was the soul of the Revolution, and that it would be, and justly, more closely associated in the futiu-a with his name than Avith that of Marat, Danton, Hebert, or Desmoulins. In those four years RobespieiTe had risen step by step into public notice, \intil by the spring of 1794 his name became at once the most popu- lar and the most dreaded of any then in power. Danton was the favourite of the masses ; they rejoiced in his stentorian eloquence ; tliey imderstood and sympathised in his coarse vices ; they embi'aced him as one of themselves, but Robes- pien-e was mighty in the double and iiTesistible sti-ength of a fanatic who always sees his goal and goes dii'ectly towards it, unimpeded by any scruples whatev^er, and of a man proved indifferent to any bribe, whether wealth, pleasure, power, or place. Such a phenomenon as was presented by this French puritan might well astound a nation accustomed to the shame- less conniption of the higher classes, the unblushing misuse of public money, the unconcealed greed of \\iQfermiers generals, and the oppression of monopolies. RobespieiTe had held his own way, leading each party until it would go no further, then, sacrificing it, and leading on another. He had studiously held aloof from the massacres in the j^iison, and for such as Theroigne Lafarge ' did not go far enough,' since he carefidly obsei*ved a legality in his manner of blood-shedding which the * Septembiiseurs ' despised, but he never hesitated to cast the head of anyone, however close or dear to him, who imiieded 144 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. his schemes or dwaifed his pre-eminence, to the executioner. Living a life of Spartan simpiicity in the house of an aviLsun, he pursued his course ruthless and tranquil, almost worship])ed by some who, thor.gh destined to be v/ounded to the quick by him, yet spoke of him half a eentuiy later as the typo of \'ii"tue and inconiiptibility, while to the gi'eater part of man- kind his name was never to be uttered without a shudder of loathing. De Pelven himself, by profession a student of cha- racter, looked w4th something like awe, though it woul 1 not have been De Pelven had not a tinge of contempt mingled with his feelings, on this strange product of the Revohxtion, the man of one idea, not sanguinaiy from actual delight in blood, like Marat, not animated by hatred against the sins and insolence of theii" class, like the Lameths, but, as the world instinctively felt, more to be dreaded, more to be con- demned, than any of his fellow-rei)ubUcans. Yery few were admitted into his intimacy ; he might, and indeed did, snatch a short time to spend in the evenings with the family in whose hoiiss he lived, one of whose daughters was his betrothed, but the man who uttered such innumerable speeches, who wrote even more than he spoke, who was in- cessantly consu'tsd, implored, soutjht after, had little time for domestic life. Camille Desmoulins had been one of the friends to whom his door was always open, but the wavering, boast- ing, vehement Camille had crossed his path and thwarted his projects, and Robespieire knew him no more, Madame Poland was another, but her hour had a^so come. When De Pelven sought him ia his gaiTet, wliich looked out on a carpenter's yard, whence came an incessant sound of saws and hammers, he found him sitting as usual at a table loaded with reports, denunciations, pamphlets, a copy of the ' Contrat Social,' a bundle of the newspaper which Desmoulins had called * le vieux Cordelier,' and a gi-eat heap of manuscripts, written in a small, careful hand, and much corrected. A volume of PoiTSseau lay open, close to his hand, and an eary rose b'oom'^d in a cup, among half-a-dozen letters lately finished. Before him was a sheet of paper, covered with names, which ho was carefully considering, marking some with one piu- jDrick, and others with two. Those with one prick were the •THE incorruptible: 145 names of people v.'liom lie suspected to be dangerous ; those with two such as he knew to bo so. The marks to these last were so many death-waiTants. He had just pricked the double sign against the name of "Westsmiann, who had be- come suspiciously popular by his militaiy exploits since the da}"" when he fii'st came into public notice as a leader in the attack on. the Tuileries of August 10, when De Pelven entered. As he heard his step, RobespieiTe raised his pecu- liar, deep-set eyes, and a pale, steely ray shot out of them. Neither of these men thoroughly understood the other, but to De Pelven RobespieiTe offered a study of singular interest, while to Robespierre De Pelven was a man as indiffei'ent to bribes as himself, and endowed with extraordinaiy sagacity. Many a time, he knew, had De Pelven warned him of some unseen rock, some danger ahead, which otherwise would have shipwrecked him. He motioned him to take one of the four chairs which the room contained, and, while arranging his lace shirt-frill, waited for him to speak, looking at lij m thi-ough half-closed eyes, with a cat-like watchfulness. ' The Chouans are making hot work in Brittany,' ob- served De Pelven, seating himself. ' It seems that they have cut to pieces another of Thurrcau's garx-ison.' ' In spite of the amnesty which you urged our granting to the Venieans ! ' * La Vendee is quiet enough. Charette can do Kttle there now. But you may remember I suggested that Carrier would make it slippery walking if he kept the streets ankle-deep in blood. There should be a cei-tain meas\ire in all things, and if the sheep are to be bi-ought back willingly into the fold, it is not the butcher who should be sent to drive them.' ' You speak as Phelippeaux did, and Danton,' answered Eobespierre, gloomily. ' This transfer of the war to Brittany Ls a gi-eat misfortune ; by your report the country is likely to be singularly fatal to troops who do not know it, and the in- habitants brutally sup?rstitious — the smugglers too, you de- clare, all Royalists ! How is that? Who suffered more under the old rd'gime 1 ' ' They prefer known q\\}^ to unknown, it woidd seem.' ' Otherwise the i^olitical horizon is clearing, and Europe 146 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. trembles before the glorious victories of our troops ; but -what of England r ' There is danger brewing there.' * What ! more danger from those treacherous iTisulaiirs ? ' asked Robespierre, quickly. * What are they saying now in their Senate? ' * Not saying, but doing. One of our agents in. London warns me that Puisage has opened communications ^vith the English Government.' 'And what wUl the effect heV asked Eobespien-e, with visible emotion. ' Watch the coast well, and there "wt^II be no need to ask,* replied De Pelven, diily. ' Grant no permission to any emigre to return, have eveiy man of mark among the exiles in England watch erl, and resolve either to let Brittany keep its priests and its customs unmolested, or exterminate the whole population.' ' ThiuTeau's infernal columns will look to that. Brittany is a hotbed of supei-st.'tion and fanaticism ; it must be purged by blood.' ' It seems to me hardly consistenlr^ith our doctrine of perfect equality, but it is unquestionably happy for the war that the Convention passed that measure decreeing that eveiy officer in command shall be able to read and write,' remarked De Pelven, with a little sarcasm. ' When I was in Anjou 1 saw two thoroughly well-planned expeditions fail. One because the commander mistook a river on the map for a road, and the other because a captain could not read the instructions sent him from head-quarters.' ' Danton kept hjiiiDing on the cruelties, as he called them, in Anjou and Poitou,' said Robespien-e, who seemed unable to keep the fallen Republican's name out of the conversation. * He was becoming merciful, except indeed to me ; I heard that he said, " If Maximilien dared attack me, I would tear out his heart with my own hands ! " Is that true 1 ' De Pelven nodded. ' Good ! He said nearly the same thing in this very room. The colossus stood yonder, gi-asping that cha'r — see, he broke it ! — gesticulating and declaiming as if he had been in the tribune, until it was evident ' ' That he was too tall by a head,' suggested De Pelven. 'THE incorruptible: 147 * Just so. And therefore ' He handed the long list of names to De Pelven, who lifted his eyebrows with an inquiring look at the name of General Westermann, \>\\t on PiobespieiTe's sign that the ma,tter was decided, did not seem to think it worth discussion, and returned the paper, saying * Only one mai*k against Tallien 1 Beware of that man.' ' Ah, he warned Danton — they came here together,' said Kobespieri-e, with a dangerous gleam in his pale, shifting blue eyes, and he leaned his pointed chin on his hand, and looked earnestly at De Pelven. ' When they left me he nrged Ds.nton to go straight to the Convention and gain its ear, but Danton said the time had not yet come." Tallien '3 time had not come either — yet.' And then, with a suppressed eagerness — ' Do they talk of Danton much 1 ' * Assirredly, but a fortnight hence they will have forgotten liim.' ' Is there anyone else who occupies men's minds 1 ' ' Only yourself.' EobespieiTe's face relaxed its habitual concentrated and anxious watchfulness ; he smiled well pleased. ' Danton cast a mighty shadow,' he said, ' b\it soon he v/ill not need more room in the ditch of the cemetery de Mousseaux tlian other people. It is ciirious ! Hush, I hear someone.' It was Diiplay, the nephew of the joiner in whose hous3 they were, and Pobespien'e's secretary. He brought a letter, and laid it before RobespieiTe, saying, ' It is said to be urgent,' and withdrew. RobespieiTe loved no auditors, when he and De Pelven ■were together, not even Simon Duplay, or his betrothed, Cornelia, who worshipped him. De Pelven knew the hand- writing, and watched him with close and curious attention, while he read the rash, impetuous, pathetic appeal in which Lucile Desmoulins alternately recalled old kindly memories, and Tipbraided the false friend, and yet could not believe that he would let her husband perish, ' A true woman's letter ! ' was his only comment, as he laid it down, so that his companion might read it if he thought^ it worth while to give his time to such a ti'ifle. De Pelven did think it worth while, and it touched him, in spite of his conviction that her fate was inevitable. 148 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. ' Poor child ! ' lie said, 'it is a pity that she must follow her husband ! ' ' She ou.!:;^ht to be in the L\ixemboiirg instead of her hus- band. But for her he would not lae there,' said Robespierre, taking the rose from its glass, and smelling it delicately. ' Tliat retrogi-ade movement, that weak compassion for the guilty, after going the lengths he had not hesitated to do, had a woman at the bottom of it. Roland's wife was the soul of the Gironde, and this Lucile inspired Camille and his party. No woman is worth anything in a sustained move- ment. They go too far at first ; they are invaluable, as JNIirabeau perceived, at the beginning of a revolution, but they stop short : they never can cany a thing to its logical end. They ruin a cause just when it is succeeding.' ' You must either free Camille or arrest Lucile. She is very young, very beautiful, she will appeal to the people dm-ing the trial, and mischief will come of it.' 'You are right : alas! my rose is overblown,' said Ro- bespierre, replacing the flower in its vase, whence its petals fell in a crimson shower on the list where he had just marked Lucilo's name. ' You notice no discontent among the people ] ' he added, with a shade of uneasiness. ' Discontent ? As I came here I heard one man say to another, " I am on the sunny side of the wall now ; you shall hear of me some day," and the other answered, " Thanks to til 3 Revolution. Where would you or I be if the old barriera of caste still existed % " ' A singular expression of mingled and contradictoiy feel- ings passed over the face of Robespien-e. ' " Thanks to the Revolution," they did not name me, then?' ' Bon ! he has destroyed all that overshadowed his fame ; •will he annihilate the Revolution now % ' thought De Pelven, with secret amusement, answering aloud, ' WHien men s})eak of the Revolution, the vii-tuous RobespieiTe is in every man's mind.' * Is it so 1 — Danton has declared that his name will have a place in the Pantheon of History, and I too have tried to serve mankind. But Fouche has seemed disquieted of late ; there have been fewer denunciations, though we have raised the reward.' • TEE INCORR UPTIBLE. ' 149 * Possibly not many remain to denounce.' ' Not many, c'.tii:en Pelven ! A thousand heads miglit yet iiiW, and we should not have freed the countiy from this fruitful monster of aristocracy, a cursed seed which lies so th'ckly in the gi'ound that but for incessant watchfulness a fresh crop would spring iip, as numerous, as dangerous as ever ! It is this endless necessity for destroying it which prevents my being able to give my energies to my true work of purifying the morals and habits of the commimity. See here, read this measure which I propose to have passed on the first occasion, obliging everyone to state the amouiat of his fortune, how he gained it, his age, his profession, and what h.8 contributes to patriotic objects.' ' Dear friend,' said De iPelven, in his cool and sarcastic tone, ' believe me, it is far safer to arrest a dozen Baiitons than to introduce such measures as these.' ' All that has been hitherto done was but to cLaa* the ground. A few months hence the v/orld will stand amazed at the sight of a Republic such as Eome and Greece uever saw ! ' said Robespierre, and his eyes glowed and kindled, his meagre ligure seemed to dilate as he spoke. ' The world does so already, I imagine,' said De Pelven, with scarcely disgiiised ii'ony, yet struggling in vain against the ascendancy which Robespierre always exercised over him when they were together. ' But I dare not occupy more of your time — which belongs to the people, to mankind. Stay, surely I had something to say ... I have it ; I want a warrant of release for a person now in the Luxemboux-g, arrested by mistake, a cousin of mine.' ' A woman 1 ' ' Yes — a middle-aged woman,' added De Pelven, seeing Robespierre's siispicious frown. ' I need her at liberty ] her arrest disconcerts my plans.' ' It is not then from any weak pity that you desire her release 1 ' ' Not in the least. She may be guillotined immediately for aught I cai-e when she has enabled me to discover twe- people of whom I have lost sight. ' You — a member of the Comite de Surety Generale, with 150 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. all its means of investigation at your command, with agents all over Pai-is, yes, for anything I know, in the very house of Catherine Th(^os herself ' — Robesi^ierre paused, and looked at him with his singular, covert glance, and De Pelven winced, fpeling himself shrink before that scnitiny into a mere, small, commonplace plotter. ' Yon pretend to need this woman's release in order to find these peojile ! ' * This Valentine St. Aignan serves me as one of those agents,' said De Pelven, adding inwardly, ' Tiger-cat ! va ! I will make you drop a prey for once.' ' Ha ! — the woman for whom I s'gned a protection % And who are the people whom you want to find ] ' ' Her nephew, emigre, lately returned to Paris, possibly hr're still, and a girl, who doubtless knows his movements. If the aunt were free, they would communicate with her.' ' Is then the law not observed ordering all householdrrs to put outside their doors an exact account of every inmate, age, name, birthplace, and profession 1 ' ' Observed, yes, though no law ever was framed that could not be evaded, but on the whole this is obeyed, and a cm-ious study the manner is in which it is followed out. The rich and the well-boin write all this mmutely, on the smallest sheet of paper they can, and post it up as high as they dare. Some aga'n fasten the placard by a nail, or a wafer, so that the wind blows it about, and makes it difiicult to read.' * That shall be looked to. Well 1 ' ' Another set, the purest aristocrats or the timid, write it large, and add " Vive la Hepublique ! " It is easy to I'ead the chai-acter of a householder by observing these bills ! ' ' There is no one like you for such details,' said lioljes- pierre, "i^ith genuine admiiation, for such minutiae as these had an especial attraction for him. ' You are ideally in- valuable, citizen Pelven. Hei-e is your warrant, but recollect that this woman is under surveillance ; use her, but remember she belongs to the Pepublic, and eveiy drop of blood shed by an aristocrat a'ds to purge its old pollution. Yv^'hat do you want, Cornelia 1 ' His betrothed advanced reluctantly and timidly into the room. ' I am gi'ieved to intenaii^t you, Maximilien, but several deputies from the Departments wait to see you,* she 'THE incobruptible: 151 said, leaning affectionately on his chair. ' Thej crowd to visit the " iiicorruijtible Robespierre." ' ' It is well. Come again, my friend, when you have news for me. Let these men enter at once, my Cornelia.' De Pelven always breathed freer when he left Robes- pierre's presence. For him, as for all who came within his immediate influence, this man had a deadly fascination, an inexplicable attiaction such as a serpent is said to possess. ' If I stayed long with him he would mould me like Avax,' De Pelven muttered, angrily. * I know not if it be his genius, or some sjiell such as I have smiled at in old tales, or that he is in such teirible earnest, v\^hile I ■. And yet he must fall, fall soon, all tends that way.' De Pelven stopped as he went down the stairs, and looked out at the carpenter's yard, and the great saw movmg suggestively up and down at one end. ' Fall ! But what a fall it will be ! How he trans- cends all otheis ! ' and he mentally enumerated the other leadei-s of the Revolution, only to see them dwarfed by the one whom he had just quitted. The deputies were coming up, in all the coai'seness of ulti-a-Republican costume ; he glanced at them, and laughed inwardly as he wondered what they would think of the marked politeness and dainty neat- ness of their idol, as he saw them cast displeased and astonished looks at himself and each other, evidently taking him for some aristocrat, come to besiege Robespierre with a petition. A puppet-show, representing a little guillotine in operation on a set of puppets, was performed at the do^r to an admiring audience of all the gamins of the quarter, who were accompanying the spectacle with the popular aii- of ' Dansons la guillotine,' sung with gi^eat Adgour and unani- mity. De Pelven shrugged his shoulders as he went by. ' Yes, yes,' lie said to himself, ' we are in full reign of terror, but some day it must end, must, and will be succeeded by a second, only that will be the Terreur Blanche,' and he went on his way refl.ecting as he often now did, on what his course must be if the Royalists gained the upper hand again. ' And that would not be long delayed,' he continued, ' if there were a single man among them capable of being a soldier or a despot. But who is there? The Orleans 152 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. princes] Too young. The King's brothei-s ? Bah, they are good at nothing but handling a knife and fork. Who then is there 1 And a despot we must have, that is clrar. The French have been used to be ridden, and bridled and spuired so long that in the end they will find it their only regime, and hail the first despot with genius enough to deal with them as a driver, only he must know how to i;se and I'atter GUI- national weaknesses, and have no inij,ossible theoiies of ideal peifection, like our iMaximihen yonder. The only question is who the man will be.' For even the far-sighted De Pelven could not predict that the despot whom he saw to be a necessary link in the chain of events was that young Corsican general who just then was in imminent danger of losing his head, thanks to the enmity of his fellow-countryman, Salicetti. CHAPTER XIX. UNCAGED. Close confinement in the crowded prison, and scanty fare, wei-e beginning to tell on the health of Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, if not on her spii-its, though it was surprising to herself how soon she grew accustomed to the knowledge that at any moment she might be summoned to cease the conver- sation in which she was engaged, or lay down the hand at whist which she was taking, and stand the mock trial ending almost certainly with a sentence of death, as every hour some of her companions were called to do. She so cntii-cly ex- pected this resiilt that she had cut her hair short, to prevent the executioner from doing so on the scaffold, and it was with such incredulovis astonishment that she heard the news of her release, when a tui-nkey summoned her, that she ex- claimed, ' There must be some mistake ! ' De Pelven Avas in the court-yard below, with a carriage, and no time was allowed for farewells to her fellow-prisoners, as much asto- UNCAGED. 153 nished as herself, for he wished as little to be said or known of such an unwonted act of clemency as possible, aware that Robespierre honestly reproached himself for weakness in sparing an aristocrat, and secretly feared the result to his popularity if the tale got abroad. Mademoiselle de St. Aignan had imagined that Ealmat must in some incompi'ehensible way have compassed her de- liverance, for though too much in dread of mouchards, who might overhear and report what passed, to say much, he had contrived to convey his opinion of De Pelven to her, and exact a promise that she v/ould observe absolute secresy as to Edmee's movements, for it was easy to foresee that De Pelven would try to leai-n them through her, though Balmat had not dreamed of the more subtle move of settmg her fi-ee, nor guessed that this De Pelven, who seldom spoke in the Convention, and took no leading part in the Comite de Sui'ete Generale, had the power to demand her release and olitain it. At the discovery of who her liberator was, a great revulsion took, place in her feelings, and she could only hold his hand, and litter some hiu'ried words of gratitude as he placed her m^Q fiacre. 'You look ill, dear mademoiselle,' he said gently, ob- serving her pallor and altered countenance. * You have been suftering, I fear.' ' Of an illness which I fully believed would tei'm'nate fotally, my coiisin ! It is the usual end of it in the Luxem- bourg. I can hardly yet believe myse'f free ! If you knew how many in this fortnight I have seen go forth to de ! Young and old, men and women ; more than once three generations together, or a whole family, happier, it seemed, than those of whom one was taken and the other left ! And yet,' she added, with a sudden rebound into her natural gaiety. ' I would not have you think it was all teais and la- mentations yonder. I assure you we, who were not ati secret, had charming httle whist parties, delightful conversation. All the best society of Par's is there ; indeed, it is only in the prisons that good society and i-eal conA-ersation is now to be found ! Elsewhere people monologue or det;laim, or discuss pohtics with low-bied vehemence ; there we spoke of litera- 154 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. tnre, and art, and news v.'itliout undue excitement ; it was delightful to meet once more with good manneis, and the old coiirtesy and gaiety of ])eople comme il/aut.' ' Alas, my cousin, I fear you will I'egiet quitting your captivity ! ' ' No, not quite that, De Pelven ; there were certainly drawbacks, I admit that, I can afford to admit it now. There — que voulcz vous ! had one begun to ginimble one would have done nothing else.' And for a short t'me she was silent, resuming with, ' Do you know I comprehend, as I never did when I used to read Eousseau and the Encyclo- pedists and dabble in ideal reforms, how all this anarchy has come about ? Sometimes I really think we deserve all we have got, though it is an awful retribution, and falls on many innocent people. Ah, the sins of the forefathers . . . truly they are, visited, and the day of reckoning has come in our time.' ' You are a greater philosopher than I knew, my cousin,* said De Pelven, all the v/hile considering how best to sur- prise what she knew of Edmee. ' I will tell you who my teacher has been — a poor Hochellois, a Protestant printer. Of coiuse he did not be- long to any of oui- sets, — there is a most democratic mixtui'e in the Luxembourg, but they fall jiatuially into separate groups, and never mingle. People of his own rank he held aloof from ; he seemed to ha-\'e done with the woi-ld. I noticed the man's foce ; he had a strangely still and hearb- broken look ; did not speak two words from morning till night, and read a little old black book which he had managed to smxiggle in with him ; I thought it a " Livre dTIeures," but it turned out to be a Bible. He interested me.' * No one has been more checkmated by the course of the Hevolution than the Protestants,' said De Pelven, with a smile, while he bided his time to introduce the subject of Edmee. ' The poor wietches expected liberty, equality, and all the rest of the catechism ; the democi-ats held oiit theii- aims to them, believing them prepared to go all lengths, made one, a ceitain Eabaut, take a leading part in the Assembly, but they shipv/recked themselves, as they have UNCAGED. 155 always done, by their obstinate convictions, and one fine day they 'found all" their "temples" shut, and themselves perse- cuted like the rest.' * Yes, they have convictions,' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, too much occupied with her subject to not ce the sneer. ' It was strange to meet such liberty of thought with such deep faith. This man was not grieving for him- self, but for France. " I had dreamed of a republic such as the world never saw," he said to me, " and it has ended in this ! " ' ' The first part of his remark is precisely what Robes- pierre said to me yesterday,' observed De Pelven : ' a little ■while hence he will conclude as your printer did.' ' Do not name that monster in the same breath with my poor friend ! It all sovmds very little interesting to you, but to me it was a revelation. Good heavens ! how those Hugue- nots have suffered, and we hardly realised their existence ! Betrayed, tortm-ed, mmxlered, all in tlie name of God and the Church, by Christian men, — their pastors hanged, their gentry beheaded, their children forced into convents, the galleys awaiting all who tried to escape— and th's conducted, urged on by priests ! AVe are in the midst of a reign of terror now, but they have known one lasting longer, and more base in its injustice than even this ! And when the States met in '89, what did the clergy urge? — ' ' I know what they did not urge ; they suggested no re- foi-ms among themselves, and did not at all desire to sacrifice any of their levenues to lessen the national debt.' ' Not they ! All they could find to suggest was a fresh edict aga'rist the Protestants ! ' ' Dear cousin, your sojourn in the Liixembourg has made a heretic of you ! ' ' No, no, I never pretended to be a fervent Catliolic, Init I am no heretic, thouTh I have learned a few thin-'s lat'.'lyc At all events you grant that forcing the Huguenots to emigrate was a fatal blunder 1 "We have lost in them an educated middle clas:-;, v.'ho would have balanced these visionary fanatics.' ' Yes, it would have been for their interest.' 156 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. ' Very "n-ell ! there is no sin in having interest and duty sometimes on the same side. And it seems that they educate — these Protestants ! they educate, Tvhile our clergy hold ignorance the only safe state for the masses. They all think what young Chateaubriand — you recollect him 1 — the son of the Marquis of Comboiirg — once said to me, " The press will destroy the old world," but unlike him, boy as he was, they have not the sense to see that the press is indestructible. Ah, by-the-by, I met in the Luxembourg a i-elation of his, Madame de Belveser, of whom you know the conversation was so witty that her coixfessor declai-ed every sin she told him of was an epigram. I do not know when I have met so many old acquaintances. But now we are tete-a-tete in a fiacre, where no one can overhear, tell me how public matters stand.' ' You were not pei-haps aware that you had Danton as a fellow-prisoner.' ' Danton ! Then his was the voice of thunder which we heard in another part of the pa' ace. Is it possible ] Eobes- pien-e then stands pi-e-eminent and alone 1 What will he do ] * De Pelven only shrugged his shoulders. Why, v,-e have nearly rim through all possible changes — Hoyalism, Pveform, the Gironde, the Montague ; what re- mains ■? ' ' The worship of the strongest.' ' Then let us bow to Death, cousin, for only his power remains imshaken.' ' These are gloomy thoughts, dear mademoiselle, and I fear that I have news that will not cheer you. That poor Edmee, the day aft«r yoiu" an-est she disappeared.' ' Ah, to be si.u'3. How am I to let her know ? But it matteis little ; she will cei'tainly learn in a day or two, and return to me. Th°se days make one strangely suspicious and tm grateful,' said iSIa demoiselle de St. Aignan, with a mi:stiu-e of remorse and of vexation against Balmat for having misle'^' her with regard to De Pelven. ' You know then whei"e she is 1 ' ' Yes — no— that is, she is perfectly safe, but he never hap- pened to say where he lives, and it did not occur to me to ask. UXCAGED. 157 One has to be so cautions since the charge of conspiring in piison has been devLsecL' ' She is then with the Chevalier ? ' asked Pe Pelven, on whose ear the masculine pronoiin which had escaped Made- moiselle de St. Aiojnan had fallen with startling effect. ' Mj nephew ? Mais non ! he is not in Paris, as far as I know. Surely yon hare no reason to think so s ' ' On the contrary, but with whom then ? ' * Ah, that I mtist not say, until I gain peiTaission. But you will not have long to wait. I imagine. If I could have foreseen that yon would deliver me, I should of course have never given a piomise of silence. She is with friends — very safe friends, but not veiy wise, it would seem. He ceriainy has once lieen sti"angely mistaken.' she ad;led. laying her hand on De Pehen's, with a remoi'seful gi-atitude which he did not at all undei"stand. ' My dear cousin,' he answered, again stung by that un- welcome pronoun, ' I had no idea that you had any friends in Paris but myself.' ' It was a surprise to me, deai* De Pelven, I assiu"e you.' 'Allow me to question whether you indeed have any able efficiently to protect you unless it is I, but to do so I must know all. Recollect how slippeiy the gi'ound we walk on is ! ' ' I know it — I know it. Tliis promise is unfortunate. But tell me, did vou . . . how did von so crreatlv alarm the child?' De Pelven perfectly nndei-stood what she meant, and that she could not bring hei-self to put it into plain words. ' She misunderstood me. You know I cannct admit that the tie you spoke of is more than a legal fiction ; it is univer- sally held so ; see the number of divorces which take place eveiy day ! Despairing as I did at that moment for you, doubting whether even I could protect her. feeling too the position of a gud alone in Paiis was full of danger. I confess to having urged her to accept my friend.' 'Ah, I undei-stand, and the foolish child imagined ... I see it all ! ' said [Mademoiselle de St. Aicnau. bui-sting into a hearty fit of laughter ; ' I will set this straight. But no more of your fiiend, my cousin. I explained my sentiments on 158 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. that point before, though perhaps the situation justified you. If Alain could hut have taken her when he was in Paris ! . . . and yet I do not know what I should do witliout her. One grows extraordinarily fond of her ; she will never he only a little loved. To you I daresay she seems only a little proviv- ciali ; you are a man of the world, u&el to beautiful and witty women, but I assine you in some eyes she will be absolute'y lovely, have a fascination really dangerous ! It is jvist one of those things which some will feel to their hearts' core, while others stand wondering what they see to bewitch them.' ' You are no doubt right, my cousin. See, we are anuved.' * Ah, already ! I wish she were here to we'come me ! The poor cliild, she does not know that I am fi ee ; she is no doubt grieving for me, trembling to look in the " Moniteur " lest my name should appear in the death-list.' ' As a rule, no one is ever doing what we imagine, dear mademoiselle,' said De Pelven, as he he'ped her to alight. * The chances therefore are that Mademoiselle Edmee and her companion are very well amused, and dining together at some cafe.' Mademoiselle de St. Aignan did not hear. She was look- ing round with a sort of curiosity, and nodding with good- humoured triumph to Madame Lafarge, who stood at her kitchen-door, with eyes like black river-pools, watching her pass. ' There is one who hoped never to see me again,' remarked Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, as they toiled up the long flights of staii-s. ' What a coarse, handsome virago it is ! Cousin, you cannot imagine how singular the sensation is of return- ing here, and seeing all again wliich I thought I had quitted for ever. It is incredibly difiicult either to believe that I am here, or that this morning I fully expected to go to the guillotine.' And she passed her hand over her hair. ' I have been so long without necessaries that I shall feel the retui-n to my possessions luxiuy. But what is this seal on the cupboard and boxes'? One would say it was made Avith a button.' * Very probably ; the seal of the nation is apt to be m,"vde now-a-days with a sou, or whatever comes first to hand. At UNCAGED. 159 first it was a mnch more formal affair. This house is in the section Mutius Scfevola : T will look to all this. Where is that imbecile, old Lafarge 1 he keeps out oi t je way as if all were not right. Is it safe? the wine I sent you — is it here?' ' How, cousin ! you cannot mean that the virtuous Eevo- lutionary Committee help themselves to the effects of the poor citizen whom they are forced to arrest 1 fi done ! what vile and unpatriotic suspicions ! ' laughed Mademoiselle de St. Aignan. ' All seems safe, and we may venture to break the national seal ? I think I can reproduce it if necessary.' If it had not been for the mysterious ' he ' who so unex- pectedly appeared on the scene, De Pelven would have felt that he was again master of the situation. Even as it was, he knew that in the retm-n of Mademoiselle de St. Aignan he had recoveied the clue to Edmee's movements, but he taxed his brain in vain to discover who could have told her of Alain's presence in Paris, or how she could have had news of Edmee. If the jailers of the Luxemboiu-g were to be trusted on these points, he ought to have had information. That no one but himself had g\qv visited his protefjees in ]\Iadame Lafarge's house he felt cei-tain. That Edmee's iiight was unpremeditated he could not doubt, and it was evident that only some hasty jwomise induced Mademoiselle de St. Aignan to keep him iu'the dark. Her unsuspiciousness was almost the most perplexing part of the affair. De Pelven was well used to hold the threads of many complicated matters in his hands, and give each fall and minute attention, but now his head was far from cool, his judgment was troubled ; ho had never before been influenced by a strong personal interest. He began to feel with great irritation that he could not ti ust himself or free his mind fiom this matter, and even as he sat in the Palais de Justice, listening to the trial of Danton and Camille Desmoulins, the question of who Edmee's unknown protector could be would dart micalled into his mind, and make his pulses beat faster fir than the thunders of Danton's voice, or even those parting words of his which many pre-^ent felt to be prophetic, ' 1 diag Eobesploiie after me in my fall I 160 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. CHAPTER XX. balmat's conspiracy. If no man can bs justly called poor but he who lacks common- sense, then Balmat had no right to be so counted, though he had a hard fight to provide his daily bread. He was cautious and slow, but he possessed a calm and dispassionate judgment, which enabled him to encounter even such an adversary as De Pelven, especially when working in what was light to him, while to his opponent it was at the best a distracting twliight. On going to the Luxembourg, a few days aftsr the release of Mademo:s9lle de St. Aignan, he was encountered by the little son of the head turnkey, who was fond of hini, and always ran to demand a sketch of some object which his childish fancy suggested, whenever Balmat came. The young Swiss, pai-tly because he was really fond of childi-en, and pai-tly from policy, used readily to gratify the child, and vras s.tting in the turnkey's own room on the rez de cJumssee, when the father came in, holding his heavy bunch of keys. ' No more visits to the detenus for you, citizen Balmat,' said he, patting his little son's head ; ' ah ha, Marius, make the most of this chance, my son.' ' How so, citizen Gracchus 1 ' asked Balmat, his heait beating faster with the fear that his having been a medium of communicafon between the prisoners and the outer world had been discovered. ' We have orders to redouble our vigilance, to exclude all newspapei-s, and let no one in, unless indesd as a prisoner, and you have no great desire to enter on those term-,, I imagine"? We have had tv/o ex-marquises, a count, a couple of abbes, and a pair of fine ladies, all brought here this morning in one fiacre ! One of the ladies comp'.ainei of a mijrahi?; wo told her we had a sure cure for headache here,' said the turnkey, with a laugh, and an expressive movement of the hand across his throat. ' You would have thought she was soin" to faint ! There will be hot work now Camille and BALMATS CONSPIRACY. 161 Danton are disposed of. Do you miss no one here '? Eonoit ha'! been an-ested.' ' Benoit ' ' exclaimed Balmat, dropping his crayon. Benoit was the concierge of the Lirxembourg, an old man who had from the first shown as much mildness and compassion to the prisoners as he dared, and foi'med a strong contrast to most officials in the prisons. ' On what chai-ge 1 ' added Balmat, taking the crayon fr'om the impatient Marius, to whom the Garde Rationale whom the Swiss was sketching seemed much moie impoi-tant than Benoit's history. ' For hiding some money at the request of a detenu ; it was not the fact, for he had sent word to the Public Accuser that he had this sum, belonging to such a one, newly guil- lotmed, in charge. But Lenain, he who denounced him, you undei'stand, hoped to get released by making up this charge ; howevei', all that came of it is that Lenain stays in prison, and Benoit is arrested, and the seals put on all his possessions.' ' Who is to i-eplace him 1 ' asked Balmat, after a short silence. Both the men knew each other's feelings perfectly, but so general was the mistrust engendered by the times that neither would admit them to the other. ' Well — they say Couthon means to send us Guiard,' answered the turnkey', imable to refrain fi-om making a grimace, as he named the infamous concierge of a prison at Lyons. Balmat began another drawing for little Marius, and said, ' There is one portrait I should have liked to add to my collection ; it is a handsome head, and would have pleased the citizen Lebon ; that woman in the entresol which used to be a hayloft.' ' As for that you ai-e too late for the market.' ' How too late 1 ' asked Balmat, hastily. ' No, not that way,' answered the turnkey, with a laugh, and the same gesture which he bad used before to comijlete his meaning. ' She must have powerful friends, that ci-devant. A fellow who looked a true cl-dcvrint himse'f, if ever I saw one — and I have seen a good many, you must allow, in these last two years, came here one moi-ning lately, with a waiTant 1Q2 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. of release in due form in his hand, and though we all had a look at it we could find nothing amiss, and she had to be set free. Strange, is it not 1 She is in luck, the hrigande, for we are gouig to have shai-p work, very sharp, they say ; the vu'tuous RobespieiTe keeps us at it.' The next three paonths were fidly to bear out what citizen Gracchus predicted. Balmat gave the sketch of a mounted soldier which he had just completed to the little lad, and stroked his black curls. ' So then, I must say good-bye to you, my boy, I am sorry ; no one likes my pictures so well as you ! ' ' My father shall shut you up with the others, and then you can di^aw for me all day long,' suggested the child. ' What do you say to that plan, citizen 1 ' laughed the timikey. ' Listen, my son, thou must keep all these draw- ings, and some day thy good friend will be a gi'eat painter, and then thou wilt say, " These the famous Balmat did for me when I was a boy ; " dost thou hear 1 ' He spoke in jest, but without intention of mocking Balmat, on whose face, however, there came a c'oud of pain. ' Fare- well, my little Marius ; farewell, citizen Gracchus,' he said, gathering his crayons up. ' Good morning, friend ; I thank you for your kindness to the lad. He has fine times of it ; the women prisoners all pet and spoil him when I let him run among them ; you see many of them are mothers, and mothers are the same all the world over, it seems, even if they ai^e aristocrats.' Balmat tied up his portfolio, and walked out of the Luxembourg, while the hoarse voice of a newsvendor shouted under the walls, ' List of sixty or eighty winners in the lottery of the holy guillotine ! ' No wistful faces crowded to the windows to-day ; the prisoners had been shut up in theii- rooms, and forbidden to look out under pain of losing the few privileges allowed them. Balmat could but be re- lieved that Mademoiselle de St. Aignan was out of siich evil days as were evidently at hand, but her release was un- qviestionably due to De Pelven, and Balmat was asking himself what the motive coidd have been. Too few knew De Pelven intimately for Balmat to have succeeded in learning BALMAT'S CONSPIRACT. 163 much about him, but among David's pupils were many- violent young Republicans, and one, a close friend of Camille Desmoulins, and just now consequently in no small danger, had heard and seen enough of De Pelven to show Balmat that he had to deal with a dark and subtle schemer, scarcely to be intiuenced by tenderness or remorse. If, therefore, he had obtained the freedom of Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, it was with some ulterioi- motive, probably regarding Edmee. To see Mademoiselle de St. Aignan undiscovered and quickly, and m-ge silence and secresy on her was Balmat's first thought ; but his plan developed as he reflected ; and after he had taken counsel with Edmee, and a madcap friend of his, another fellow-pupil in David's atelier, of opposit3 opinions to almost all the rest, who even in these times scarcely con- cealed his ultra-Royalist opinions, later became a ' muscadin a cadenettes,' and for the p'easuie of a prank, especially if spiced by the chance of outwitting a Jacobin, would any day have been charmed to risk his head. That Edmee should return to the Lafai'ge house was out of the ([uestion ; that Mademoiselle de St. Aignan shoidd hold herself indefinitely bound to secresy was not to be hoped. Balmat felt hurried along much faster than he liked ; if any- thing were to be done it must be attempted at once, and if jwssible Mademoiselle de St. Aignan must be ti-ansferred to the Maison Cx-ocq ; but this p^au appeared so beset witli difii- culties that neither the slow, Swiss mind of Balmat, nor the readier one of Edmee, spurred though it was by longing to see Mademoiselle de St. Aignan again, and by the fear of falling afresh into De Pelven's power, could devise any hopeful scheme. Balmat and Edmee had become veiy like bi-other and sister in these perilous days, she clinging to him as her only stay and counselloi", and he full of kindly pity and liking for the girl thus tlii'own on his hands. They called their land- lady into council, but though generously ready to take her share of danger, she could suggest nothing. ' Do what you will, my children,' sa!d she, looking at them benevolently, ' I am a Repidjlican, as you know, but as long as I live I will do my best to save the unfoi'tunate, no matter what coloui's they wear, white or tri-coloixr, it is all one to 1G4 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. IMadelon Crocq. Only do not fail, that would be unpardon- al)Ie,' and tliei'ewitli she left them, and they heard her vehe- menently .scolding her liusl)and below, a thing so nnusiial, though he constantly deserved it, that it turned their thoughts for a moment fiom their own concerns, but they soon began again to discuss what was to be done. ' We must not fail ; Madelon is quite i-ight ; it would cost all our heads,' Balmat said. 'Ah, how mucli you are i-isking for strangers ! ' said Edmee. * Ah, bah ! ' was all Balmat's I'eply, ' what are we in the world for but to help one another? I will go and ta^k to my friend Isnavd ; he has ideas, he will suggest something, and pei-haps the more audacious the better.' Edmee stood alone for awhile at the window of the room which she i-ented in this house. She had had no heai-t to make it comfortable, and as yet realised too little the hope of seeing Mademoiselle de St. Aignan in it to trouble herself about its discomfort. All her youth had passed under the influence of feai', and no later experiences would eftace the effects of those early impi-essions. As she stood thinking thoughts which soon became prayers, she dared not ask that Balmat might succeed ; she only murmured a petition that they might bo enabled to bear all the pains Avhich God might be pleased that day to send them. There were not many sounds now in the house to dLsti-act her thoughts. On the same floor lived a husband and wife A\-ith several children, who seemed very poor ; the man had been a painter of armorial bearings, and was of course thrown out of employment very early in the Revolution ; the wife had worked in a lace-factory, but no less than twelve were now closed, for a fatal blow had been struck at the lace-workers all unconsciously even befoie Re- publican austerity of costume became fiist fashionable and then prudential, when Marie Anto'nette inti-oduced simplicity and Indian muslin instead of point. Edmee knew by experience that some people wore lace still, for she had eained a little money by selling and mending it, but, as a trade, lace-making was dead. She wondeied sometimes how these people con- trived to live, bu.t saw nothing of them, unless they chanced to meet on the stairs, though she had often watched the chil- BALM AT 8 CONSPIRACY. 165 dren playing among the gi-ass in tlie cemetery, on which her window looked out. They were there now. The pale-faced eldest gild was amusing two little ones ; Edmee saw her pick a dandelion-head, and make the youngest blovv' away the fluffy seeds. ' Count how many yeai'S it will be before thou ai-t married, Mariette,' Edmee could hear her say, and then the little sister blew like an infant ^Eolus, and all the light see'Js floated abi'oad over the bioken tombs. ' But I shall not marry at all then ! ' the yoimger said, with a face of the deepest dis- appointment. Edmee's attention was called av/ay fi-om them by the entrance of Madelon Ci-ocq, whose homely face looked hot and indignant, and her Auvergnate head-dresg was all awry. She gave it a vigoious pull into its place, by way of working off" her excitement. ' Excuse me, citoyenne,' said she, * that I went away in a hurry, without hearing what that good Balmat counted on doing. Ah, you do not yet know % Good ; he is wise, that young man, he reflects ; there are not many like him. What a pity he is a Protestant, but what would one have ! — every- one has some fault. You do not ask why I went away so suddenly '\ ' ' I thought that Georges had come in and wanted his dinner.' ' Georges — no — .' Georges was Madelon's nephew, a broad- shouldered fellow, with a beard and long haii', who was a fa- vourite model in David's atelier, for a Hercules, a Jupitei-. or a gladiator, as the case might be, and who otherwise gained his living as porter on the quais. ' He knows how to tako care of himself. — I blush to tell you ... I heai-d my husband down belov/, and wanted to speak to him ; wliat do I see ! he wears his working dress, he has his tools out, as if it were not the blessed Sunday. I exclaim ; he replies that thei-e is no Sunday now, the Convention have decreed this long while that we shall only observe Decadi, a feast of man's making. I reply, " Good, I am no Royalist, as thou knowest ; I Ij^hyq fait for myself how the nobles oppress the poor and eat oiu- heai'ts, but I am a Christian, and as long as we li^■e together thou wilt wear thy best coat on the Sunday, and do no work. Amij.;e thyself, if thon wilt, but work, no, and speak not to 166 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. Madelon Crocq of thy Decadis ! " So he had to put his cob- bling away, and I paid no attention to his grumbling, bnt lit his pipe, and gave him half a bottle of wine. I let him wear a hideoiis i-ed and bine cravat, as you know, and he is welcome to grow the biggest pair of whiskers he can, but work on Sunday, no ! ' ' He will not object to my aunt's coming here, dear Ma- delon 1 ' asked Edmee, aware tliat when Crocq came home from the cafe, having drunk much more than was good for him, he would declare that his wife wanted to have him guil- lotined, and must get rid of her lodger on the second floor. ' Object ... it may be, but after all it is my house ; I bought it with my own savings, for as for him he never had the gift of economy, and if I choose, she shall come. His ob- jections are the least of my cares.' ' You, a Republican, venture so much for strangers and Royalists ! ' ' See then, my pretty one,' said Madelon, knitting fast as she spoke, ' all Republicans are not like the black monsters who sit in the Convention, think not that. A Republican ! yes — if you had lived in my village, and seen how many died of hunger eveiy year, yet dai'cd not touch a head of the game which devoured our little fields, where we had sowed our sav- ings and our hearts, see you, foi- one loves one's bit of ground like one's life, — how we dared not weed this crop lest we should disturb the young parti-idges, nor grow coi-n on that gi-ound because there the convent cows had grazing-right — if yo\i Ivnew how all was taxed and tolled, at feiiy and market, and at every turn — ah, and how no one cared for us, whether we lived or died, and what a bad seigneur could do, and did do, thou wouldest understand better why I am against the nobles. God never made one man ex^iressly that he nught tiample on another ! ' ' But He made rich and poor, and I do not see that any- one is better ofi' now ! ' ' Wait, my little one, wait. Winter must come before spring ; are we to set right all that is come and gone wi-ong with gloved hands 1 Ah, I have wept for the King, and though Marie Antoinette did us much harm, and would have brought BALMAT'8 CONSPlltAC'Y. 167 foreign troops upon us, I wept for her too, but all are mad now ; we must have patience and wait.' ' They did not wish for change in my village, till it was put into their heads,' persisted Edmee. ' Pei'haps they were too downtrodden to feel that they were trampled on ; I have seen that too,' said Madelon, with so stern a look that Edm6e recoiled, startled, and turned away with a sort of aversion. Each was speaking from personal feeling ; they could not sympathise, but the woman, who yet had suffered tenfold moi-e than Edmee, was more ready to make allowances than the girl, whom she fully believed a born aristocrat. ' Poor little thing ! ' she continued, with I'ougli tenderness ; ' how should you feel what I do, you who are under foot now, and know nothing of what we have been bearing time out of mind ; but we are not all Hel:)prts and Marats, va ! Thou knowest I bear no malice to the aiistocrats, though my uncle was hung for being a contrehan- dier en saulnage, and my father was ruined because he ti-ied to have jiistice on an employe of the Government, who took his horse by foi-ce. What was the consequence ? the answer came down from Paris, as we chanced to leai'n, " Tlie employe was wrong, but quash the suit ; it will not do to allow that a Government official can be called to account." ' But to Edmee the wrongs of those with whom she had cast in her lot were too keenly present to allow for the feel- ings of those who had the oppression of centuries to revenge. She was spai'ed the necessity of an answer by the entrance of Balmat, whom neither at first knew, so changed was he by the costume of a Garde Nationale which he had assumed. Pie was a little embai-rassed by their laughter and exclamations, and explained his plan very brielly ; it had been suggested by his friend, who had immediately proposed to cany off Mademoiselle de 8t. Aignan by a feigned arrest, and urgently desired to do so himself. This Balmat would not allow, but he thought the plan good, borrowed tlie uniform from an acquaintance who did not trouljle himself to ask why it was required, and came back to tell Edmee that he was about to go to the Maison Lafarge at once, siace from what she had told him it was an \inlikely hour for De Pelven tq be there. 168 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. Isnard, he added, was resolved to have a hand in it, and had somewhere found an obliging coachman, who ]^:lA lent him a fiacre, which he insisted on driving to fetch Mademoisolle do St. Aignan in. They were gi-ave enough when they under- stood that the attempt was to l>e made at once. Its failure would be fatal to all concerned, but Edmee could only sit and endure tlje suspense as best she might. CHAPTER XXI. AN EXCHANGE OF PRISONERS. Balmat found his friend Isnai'd on the box of a tumble-doAvn oVd fiacre, disguised to perfection as a coachman. His talent for acting, and his powers of looking like anyone but himself, had more than once saved his life in these dangerous days ; he had not only deceived those sent to arrest him into Ijp- lieving that the man before them was not he whom they sought, but had assumed the character now of one, now of another well-known p^^triot with such success that his sayings and doings had been quoted as theirs by no means always to their satisfaction. When he appeared in his natural cha- racter his mobile, plastic featui'es were of a delicate and rather distinguished type, not uncommon in. Western France. Balmat thought him a hare-brained, light-hearted scapegTace. He had not fathomed Isnard, nor indeed was it in his nature to understand the capacities for revenge, the deadly vin- dictiveness lying deep under the surface. ' Make haste then ! ' he heard him say in a quick, low voice, when Balmat came out of the Maison Crocq ; ' we shall have hai-d work to get back ; the Faubourg St. Antoiae is moving ! ' Balmat jumped iuto t\ie fiacre, and as they drove along he saw sigTis which showed that Isnard was right ; an un- usual stu- prevailed ; heads clustered at the wmdows, groups stood at every street^^corner, looking up and down ; women canae to their doors, and answered to Isnard's call of enquuy AN EXCHANGE OF PRISONERS. 1^9 to know what was on foot, that they were ' waiting to see the insurrection pass,' and all along the Rue St. Honore and the Palais Royal the shopkeepers were hastily closing their shutters, and barricacUug their doors ; every salon and cafe was shut, while under the lime-trees in the garden cannon were ranged, and a great number of armed men stood con- sulting. Isnard looked back through the open window behind him as he drove on fast, and said, ' There will be fine plundering theie for the fauboui-g ! ' and Balmat, a watch- makei-'s son, could not but mentally calculate how much ruin would shortly be wrought among the clocks, watches, orna- ments, and jewels which filled the gay shops of the Palais Royal, loiown since the Revolution took possession of it as Palais Egalite, if the Faubourg St. Antoine indeed poured out its fierce and starving myriads to attack them. Already the tramp of innumerable feet, the deep hum of approaching voices, sometimes rising into a hoarse roar, the dull and heavy vibration of cannon dragged along the boule- vards and quais, and occasional bvirsts of the ' Marseillaise,' sung by a thousand voices, were heard in the distance. The Palais Royal, unable to divine the cause of this onslaught, only by chance learning its danger, closed its barricades with the speed of terror, and prepared for battle. Paris was all at once, without any warning whatever, on the brink of a civil war, which, once kindled, must spread from street to street and house to house, until litei ally quenched in blood ; and so sudden, so unexpected was the situation that no one had even informed the Convention, sitting in debate on national affairs in a hall of the Tuileries, unconscious of what was liappening close by. At another time Ealmat would have got out of the way as fast as possible, and Isnard have plunged into the thickest of the combat, but both were now fully occupied with the enterprise on hand, and chiefly desired to get back to the IMaison Crocq while it was possible. They drove un- molested past the threatened quarter, for the streets here were perfectly empty, the besiegers not yet arrived, the besieged behind their entrenchments. There was something very strange and ominous in this pause and livisli, while the air was full of an electric thrill of coming danger, and distant 170 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. sounds told of the gathering storm. To return through those street? half-an-hour later would be a difficult thing indeed. ' Hark ! They have a mind to spare the national razor a little work,' said Isnard, turning his head again to speak to Balmat, ' all the city will he in a blare before we get back. But what can have put the match ! ' and as Balmat made no answer, quite unable to divine how the patriotic Palais Boyal, with its Girondist Cafe de Chartres and its Dantonist Cafe de Foy, could have offended, he added, ' "We shall never be able to drive back. If we get her I shall go as near to the Passage de I'Orme as I can ; then you must take her on foot. I will look after the^acre.' ' If I can do nothing else I will take her to the cloister of the Augusthis,' said Balmat, who, for want of a better place, had made himself a rude studio in the cloister of the desecrated church, and his fi'iend nodded and urged on his horse. The excitement had not yet readied the by-street where wq,s the ]\Iaison Lafarge, though already the whole population of the Faubom\g St. Antoine was pouring down the Rue des Droits do I'Homme and the adjacent streets, armed with bayonets and sabres, pikes, clubs, hatchets, and guns ; old and young pressing on together, unifoi'ms mingled with ragged car- magnoles, women carrying their infants, or dragging along older children clinging to their skirts, a gaunt, fierce, hollow- eyed, and terrible throng, pouring out of cellars and garrets, and workshops, ready for fire and massacre, yet moving on with that instinct of order which characteri.'-:ed all these popular outbreaks, and betrayed that they were guided by unseen, powerful hands. From every stieet recruits rushed to swell the advancing coliunns, and weie welcomed with a thunder of acclamations and a new raising of the ' INIar.seil- laise.' The besieged in the Palais Royal saw the first of the insurgent bands appear, headed by its banners, at the same moment that Balmat was knocking at the Lafargo hoiise door, which old Lafarge timidly opened, and followed him as he mounted the stairs as rapidly as he covdd, glad that Theroigne had not admitted him. Mademoiselle de St. Aignan was sitting alone, missing Edmee exceedingly, and very near regretting in earnest that gay and brilliant company in the AN EXCHANGE OF PRISONERS. 171 LuxemlDOUi^o- which had transported thither the lively wit and the leckless immorality of the many, together with the deep piety and resignation of the few. 8he did not at first recognise Balmat, and he had tiine to make lier a sign which she understood, while saying in an official tone, ' Here is a mandate of arrest ; you will follow me at once.' ' Willingly,' she answered, rising up with a smile, and seeing that all enquiries must wait. ' May I take any of my property *? ' ' What you will, so long as you do it in five minutes. You, citi;en, will be answerable for the rest,' Balmat added to Lafarge ; and then as it occurred to him that the old man's attention might be happily employed by something to his own advantage — ' there seems to be wine and food in that cup- board ; you aie at liberty to make use of it.' ' Ah, the Eepublic is a good mother ! ' ansv.-ered Lafarge, delighted, and he tottered to the cupboard to count the wine bottles, while Mademoiselle de St. Aignan made up a bundle in such haste that she afterwards found more muslin kerchiefs and lace caps in it than anything else, whi'e Balmat, seeing Edmea's lace-cushion and paint-box, quietly took possession of them. ' Now your papers ; they will be required,' he said, and led the way downstairs, followed by his wondering cap- tive, while old Lafarge sat down on the sofix, tenderly contem- plating first the contents of the cvipboard, whose doors he had left open, and then the arm-chair, from whose use he had been debaned since Mademoiselle de St. Aignan returned. ' She may, however, come back ; she has once ! ' he said presently, his face of satisfaction falling. ' Perhaps I had better take it to my own i-oom ... if she should leturn I can say it was wanted for the service of the nation ; ' and by-and-by he put the plan into execution, conveying the heavy arm-chair down the successive flights of stairs, like a feeble and aged ant, which has undertaken to di'ag home a burden far beyond its strength, but by dint of perseverance succeeds at last. As Balmat and Mademoiselle de St. Aignan reached the passage leading to the street-door, Thei-oigne rushed out upon them from some distant room, for the first time aware of what 172 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. was going on. Balmat felt her black eyes upon him, and grew very uncomfortable, though his stolid countenance toM noth'ngof it, and he ansYvered her hasty questions composedly enough. ' You are no Frenchman ! ' cried she, with angry suspicion, * you speak like a foreigner, you are a spy of Pitt and Cobourg, in league with this scHerate . . . your accent betrays you ! ' ' Everyone has not the advantage of being a born Parisian, like you, citoyenne,' replied Balmat, taking hold of Mademoi- selle de St. Aiguan, and trying to get past; ' move a little, I pray you ; I am in haste.' ' See, madame, there is some mistake, is it not so ? I cannot surely be arrested again,' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, hoping to disarm her suspicion by seeming reluctant to go. Theroigne only cast a fierce and contemptuous glance on her, and turned again on Balmat. 'Show me your order, scoundrelly traitor!' she cried, with a gesture antl attitude which was wasted on the phleg- matic Swiss, who held out in .silence a warrant correct enough to have deceived a more experienced eye than that of Theroigne, for Isnard had foreseen this possibility, and drawn it up in due form. Heading plainer handwriting than his would have been a difiicu.ty to Theroigne, who studied it with . anger and doubt increased by the effort of deciphering it. 'I have seen one before, and that had some printing on it ; this is aU pattes de motiche ! ' said she, barring the way. ' Probably all the printed ones we: e used up,' suggested Balmat, g'ad to see Isnard look in, with an impatient call. ' 'Tis not I who detain you ; the citoyenne here refuses to let me pass.' ' How then, my charmer ! the thing is impossible,' cried Isnard from the doorway. ' Theroigne Lafarge oppose bring- ing an aristocrat to justice ! What woiild the Comite Eevo- lutionnaire say, I ask you 1 and how come you to be lingering heie,' he persisted, overpowering her loud and angry demand of how he knew her, ' when the Faubourg St. Antoine has learned that those rascals of the Palais Egalite have mounted the white cockade and tiu-ned Royalists ! What ! not believe me? me, Pvegulus Favard, of the section Des Piques? Ask AN EKGEANGE OF PRISONERS. I73 all yo\ir neighbours then if it be not so. As soon as ever I have conducted this biigande of a ci-devant to Les Caimes I shall go and lend my arm to the patriots yonder.' The shouts of people running down the street bore out his asseition ; the news of the intended attack on the Palais Eoyal had spi-ead far and wide. Theroigne stood vuicertain, glaring at Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, as if the instinct of hatred warned her that her j^rey was slipping out of her clutch. ' I will go too then,' said she, suddenly, ' and see this woman in. Les Carmes with my own eyes.' And she seated herself in the fiacre, and awaited the others. There was no choice but to follow. A call from her would have brought a dozen people round, and destroyed all chance of escape. Balmat put Mademoiselle de St. Aignan in, without daring to answer her anxious and enquiring looks even by a glance, and jumj^ed up beside Isnard, who drove back more slowly than he had come, for the streets were now full of hurrjdng crowds, and he was not sorry for the opportunity of exchanging a few words with Balmat. ' We must get into the thick of it, and shake her off somehow in the tumidt,' he said, paying no attention to Theroigne's head protruded from the window, and her shouts that he was not going the right way. and no one heeded her in the ci-owds running by, but sucldeny the mob grew so dense that they could get no further, and had to draw \ip ; the space before the palace was filled Avith a sea of heads, wliich seemed to waver backwards and forwards, and instead of the sharp ring of musketry or boom of cannon there was a great hush of expectation, broken by a single voice, which seemed parleying with the besieged. Only a word or two reached the outer circle of the throng, and the answers from the palace were equally inaudible, but they were caught by those nearest, and repeated, a deafening cry of joy and applause rose up ; men flung their hats aloft and waved the banners of the sections ; women shrieked with ecstasy ; the multitude swayed to and fro, the gates of the Pa'ais Eoyal were flung open, and those within rushed forth to embrace and fraternise with their enemies of a moment before. From end to end of the Bue St. Honore and all through the palace gardens the mob, freniied with delight at) 174 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. just before it had been -with rage, danced, sang, shouted, ponrcd into the Tuiieries, and thundered at the dooi's of the room where the Convention were sitting, all iinconocious of what had passed, to call on the representatives of the nation to shai'e theii' joy. Theroigne, carried away by the nmvei'sal excitement, had sprung out oi t\\e fiacre, though still holding the door fast, and screamed with the rest ; Isnard, from his perch, waved his red cap, and looked keenly round for a chance of freeing himself from her, and Mademoiselle de St. Aignan asked Balmat, who had got in to reassure her, ' Are they all raving mad ? is it an emeute or a fete of univei-sal brotherhood ? ' ' The JIaratistes wanted to revenge Marat's death, and set everyone at his neighbour's throat,' he answered, having picked up enough to understand what had hajjpened, ' and assured the faubourg that the merchants of the Pa'ais were wearing the white cockade. They marched down as you see, but before they could come to blows someone with a grain of sense proposes to see if the thing be so ; they find it is a fable ; all hei-e are good patriots . . . it Ls cleared up, they mingle, embrace with tears as you see . . . Yonder come the members of the Convention . . . what luck ! we have only just escaped civil war, and only see how much there is to plunder ! ' Just then, while the enthusiasm was at its height, and the members of the Convention were embracing and embraced amid deafening applause, Isnard jumped down, recognising two gens-d'armes in the crowd, who however did not know him in the least, though they had twice tried to find and arrest him, and thrust the warrant into the hand of one ' Arrest her,' he whispered, pointing to Theroigne, * she belongs to the Comite Revolutionnaire. Quietly, you vinder: stand ; Fouche wants her out of the way. Pay no attention to anything she says.' The men nodded significantly. Arrests were so frequent and informal that they would hardly have asked for the waiTant, and the female clubs, headed by the infamous Pose Lacombe, had made themselves so insupportable a pest to the Convention that this order seemed the most natural thing in the world. Before Theroigne knew what was happening to BETWEEN FLOOD AND EBB. 175 her she was in their grasp ; her furious shrieks and struggles were unnoticed in the tumult of rejoicing. Isnard did not wait to see the result of his coup de main ; he shut the door of the fiacre with a triumphant clap, led his horse as best he could through the crowd into a side street, and then drove off at speed to the MaLson Crocq, where Edmee was watching in the utmost anxiety. Before Mademoiselle de St. Aignan could alight she was at the door. ' Dear aunt ! dear aunt ! ' she whispered, clasping her close, with wet eyes, and Mademoiselle de St. Aignan gave back her caresses almost equally moved. Isnard drove away exultant ; Balmat and Edmee conducted INIademoiselle de St. Aignan upstairs full of thankfulness. Outside the tide of rejoicing swelled higher and higher ; Paris was illuminated, and the streets thronged till late at night by a crowd who sang, drank, danced and howled for joy, as if fear and poverty and danger at home and abroad were things of the past. Isnard walked about with the rest, looking so inilike what he had done in the morning that when he lit upon one of tho gens-d'armes whom he had impressed into his service, the man accepted his proposal that they should drink to the Palais Egalite, and the Faubourg St. Antoine, and the Re- public one and indivisible, without any suspicion that they had ever met before, and was easily beguiled into relating how he had conveyed a prisoner that afternoon to Les Carmes who had given him more trouble than any, gentle or simple, whom he had ever before had to do with, and who was now safely lodged there under the name of Valentino St. Aignan. CHAPTER XXII. BETWEEIT FLOOD AND EBB. The guillotine was busier than ever after the death of Danton, and IMademoiselle de St. Aignan fult herself pre- served from death, when she leained from the ' ]\Ioniteur' 176 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. that twenty-seven prisoners had been taken to execution in one day fiom the Luxembourg alone. The lines from Eacine, which Edmee had read her, were only too feeble to describe the state of terror and danger prevailing all thi-ongh France. Sometimes a list of prisoners especially obnoxious to the Con- vention, or to some one of its members, was given ; some- times the victims were taken haph azai'd fi-om all the eighteen provinces of Paris. The Convention had created a living monster in the guillotine, whose hunger must be daily ap- peased by lai'ger and larger sacrifices, lest it should devom- its masters. Fouquier Tinville presided over the holocausts, and by the beginning of June no one knew how many heads fell daily. Cruelty seemed in the air, and the thii-st for violent emotions only grew with what it fed on. There were some eyes which noted this, and wondered how the increasing diffi- culty was to be met. Bread and the games had ever been a Parisian cry, and bread was growing scarcer and scarcer, employment more difficult to obtain; half Paris was living on potatoes, though not long before all the efforts of j)oor Louis XVI. to make the vegetable popular had failed ; tho male population was flocking to the army ; the women stood fierce and hungry at the bakers' doors, or besieged the Ateliers de la Guerre to demand work ; and if the executions failed to amuse all this population, a counter-revolution would ensue. The symptoms were ominous. From different paits of the city came complaints that the dead, flmig into pits, poisoned the aii', though no one had ever thought of annoy- ance or danger arising fi-om the hundredfold greater numbers biiried regularly every year in the same cemeteries ; and tho Faubourg St. Antoine showed its displeasure when the gtiil- lotine was i-enioved thei-e from the Place de Concord, or Place de la Revolution, as it was now called, where it had stood near the gi-eat plaster statue of Libeity, designed in an unfor- tunate moment by David, who v/as sculptor as well as painter. De Pelven was one of those watching the signs of the times narrowly and uneasily. It was nothing to a serenely philosophical mind like his which party triumj^hed ; he had been unmoved by the tumult of indignation and hope, of en- thusiasm and battle in '89, and had looked on with the same calm analysis of the situation ever since, but though neither BE 2' WEEN FLOOD AND EBB. 177 Royalist nor Democrat at heart he was too deeply involved with the Republican pai-ty to transfer himself easily to any other. The tremendous current had hurried him further than he desii-ed ; no swimmer, however strong, could resist it and live. He was sitting in his little salon, making notes in cipher in a small book, with a v/orn and haggard look on his face, which had become habitual to it in the last few weeks, when, very little to his satisfaction, there entered Heron, the accredited police-agent to the Comite de Surete, and the secret spy of Eobespierre. De Pelven had it as much at heart as Robespierre himself not to be known to communi- cate with the police. All i-eports were conveyed to safe places, where he inspected them ; he did not keep a single paper which could have compromised him in his house, where the mob or the gens-d'armes might have penetrated at any moment Vv'jthout ssiz'ng anything but the little book full of cipher, which he cai-ried about his person, and if he required an in- tsrview with any police-officer, it was always given in some secure and unsuspected place, such as the Maison Lafarge. Unlike Robespieii'e he had no personal animosities, no fear of some rival overshadowing his renown, and never denounced anyone, though he always found someone else to do it if any- body thwarted or endangered his projects. No one di-eamed of applying to him the dangerous epithet of ' Accuser iia chief with which Robespierre had been branded, and his only perils hithei-to had been through a reputation for uupati-iotic cle- mency. He appeai'ed as a matter of course at tlie Jacobins, and was one of the nine members of the Committee of Public Safety, which had almo.st iinlimited power, deliberating hx secret, controlling the Ministry, and even able to suspend the decrees of the Convention, and he had organised Robcspiei-re's secret police, of whose existence veiy few knew, though the results of then* creation were universally felt, but as far as possible he kept out of sight, content with unsuspected power, and well aware that shoidd it be dragged to light, half would vanLsh, and a swarm of enemies rise on all sides. It was therefore a displeased and enquiring look which he turned on the pale and troubled face of Heron, who answered by a gesture, and an exclamation of ' They are at it again ! Tlicy are resolved to strike RobespieiTe through his friends.' 178 'NOBLESSE OBLIGE. ' How ! have you been denounced a second time ?' asked De Pelven, instantly perceiving the gi'avity of the cii-cnm- stance ; for a suspicion had got abroad that Heron was Eobes- pieiTe's right hand, and ah'eady members of the Convention who dared not yet attack ' The Incorruptible ' had tried to destroy his tool. ' Yes, and who can hope to escape twice 1 This evening they proposf\ to denounce me again, and yon also.' ' Tog' 'hAT?' asked De Pelven, changing coloui-. ' That is well ' •■ I . . . I know from whose hand that blow must come ut it is premature ; Robes])ieiTe must stand by 113 for his OAvn sake ; he cannot do without us.' ' You think so 1 you really think so 1 ' faltered Heron, studying De Pelven 's countenance, where he had detected the expression of dLscomfiture, without guessing that it was not the danger Ijut the association with himself wliich perturbed De Pelven. ' Undoubtedly ; if he should desert us he would be de fenceless.' ' Bnt he dreads nothing so much as being supposed to rely on the police ! ' said Heron. ' You see no one is safe now . . . the tide seems tiuming, and what coiild be done in such a case % The Terror cannot be made more formidable than it is.' ' That is our weak point. It has been allowed to reach the maximum ; there is nothing left to di'ead, and people are getting used to it.' ' But it would be madness to tiy mercy,' said Heron, in great alarm. ' That plan has already destroyed Danton, and all who have tried it. And this evening ... I was told that Bourdon means to accuse us of possessing blank warrants of arrest, with which we gratify private animosities, a terrible charge — and its being false makes no difierence ! ' * It must be prevented ; I must get possession of the tribune before Boiuxlon, and occupy the Convention ■with other matters. I have news from an agent with the army ; Kleber has been driven back across the Sambre . . . stay, there is good news to throw into the other scale ; Thugut is gi'owing sick of the war ; he advisers Austria to withdraw BETWEEN FLOOD AND EBB. I'J'g' lier troops from Flanders . . . PicliegTU will have it all his own way a week hence.' ' What £rood fortune ! thev will be able to think of no- thing else ! ' said Heron, infinitely relisved. * Either very bad or veiy good news would have done, but both at once ! . . . what luck ! And your information is always extraordinarily trustworthy, citizen Pelven,' he added, with a touch of dis- contented envy. ' But our army . . . how does it take Eoche's imprisonment 1 ' * 111 ; the army is terribly democratic,' saiu De Pelven, smiling slightly, ' though it has strongly res?nted the order to dismiss all aristocrats from the ranks. It does not seem to have been thoroughly obeyed,' and he opened his note-book, where he had set down the names of various men of nob'e ^iith, who, forced to emigxate, had joined the a.rmy which was indomitably struggling with the allied forces gathered by Europe against revolutionary France. His eye rested for a moment on one which chanced to be of especial interest to him — that of Alain de St. Aignan, showing not only that he had altered his plan of escaping to England, but certainly was not in Pai'is. ' You are sure that if even yet we should be denounced Robespierre will stand by us 1 ' asked Heron again, returning to a subject which had much greater interest for him than public affau's. The prospect of being guillotined seemed to be singularly disagreeab'e to him, though he had helped a multitude of people to find that road out of the world with the utmost composure. ' I have said so already. But Robespieire should be, are. He leans too much on that broken stafi:" the piivistly party. He has always protected it on the sly, and his project of liberty of worship, his fete of the iiltre Supreme is alienating numbers who think that to be successful the Revolution must be auti-christian. The name of an Etre Sujiremo has a sus- piciously monarchical sound about it.' ' So I have told him a hundred times, citizen,' siiid Heron mournfully, ' but he v/ill not listen.' ' Ho wants to create, v/hile the others want to destroy—' there is an immense pleasure in destructiou. Well, citizen •^■•180 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. \^ Heron, you may be tranquil, no haiTa "will come to either of lis to-night v.t all events, bnt allow me to observe that you committed a grave impiiulence in coming here uncalled for ; it would suggest that we concerted plans together. Do not let it happen again. If you roquii-e to communicate with me, send a messenger whom you can trust — there is that Jolin who was a weaver, and finds it pay better to work for the police and agitate the sections, send him. I like that ma».' Heron rose to go, with an uneasy sigh. He had un- limited belief in De Pelven's power, and did not doubt that he would slip tlirough any net, however fine its meshes, but was it not i^ossiblc that one might be less fortunate than the other 1 If a victim had to be olTered wp, it would cei-tainly be Heron rather than De Pelven. He turned back at the door, to give a note which he had taken from the hand of a messenger who hurried away as soon as it was delivered, * From some prisoner ! ' muttered the experienced agent of police, as he noted the manner of delivery, and the look of the missive, and lie lingered with professional cuiiosity to see what came of it, but he was quite unprepared for the eftect on De Pelven, whose self-control he had imagined beyond being shaken. The news that a denmiciation from a man li ze Boiu'don de I'Oise was hanguig over his head had lefo him completely unmoved, but scarcely had he cast his eyes qu the short, ill-spelled letter than he started up, white with fury. ' Tricked ! befooled ! ' he cried, with his eyes still upon it. ' Who can have organised this 1 ' then seeing Heron, he recovered himself, and turned on him a look so coldly thicptening that the spy slunk away cowed, though full of intense car osity. De Pelven kjiew well that his life depanded on his fore- stalling and defeating the measures of those who were strildng at Robispierre through him, yet he put off all steps to ensure his safety imtil he had hurried to Les Carmes, whence The- roisruD bad succeeded in sending him the news of her aiTest and detention in the place of Z.Iademoiselle de St. Aignan. He could learn little from her beyond the bai*e facts, as un- accountable to liim as to her, except that he saw that the mysterious ' he ' of whom Mademoiselle de St. Aignan had BETWEEN FLOOD AND EBB. 18L dropped a hint mtist be concerned in it. De Pelven troubled hixnjelf little nbout Theroigne, having weightier matters than her imprisonment on hand, but, telling her that when tried she must find witnesses to shov^^ that she had been arrastcd in the place of another person, left her, unheeding her remonstrance that she should probably he executed with- out going through the ceremony of a trial at all, or parish in another such massacre as had already once made the name of L-TS Carmes odious. All turned out as he had foreseen at the Convention ; his enemies delayed the attack v/hich they had prepared, for public attention v/as absorbed by the private intelligence brought forward by De Pelven, vrhich indicated a new and unexpected turn in the fluctuating fortunes of the campaign, and a tacit admission that France, beggared, revolutionised, distract;d, could yet hold her own, with her ardent, inex- p?i'ienced young armies, against the veteran soldiers of Europe^ So occupied Vv^as the whole assembly, from the lilontagne to the Di'oite with the news that they had little attention to spare for a member who appealed for a, hearing to read a re- poit full of anxious and weighty matter from his departuient of the state of anarchy prevailing there and elsewhere. The complaint was ans weired by a brief order that certain culprits named in the report shoiild be sent to Paris to stand their trial. De Pelven found some interest in this hasty debate, if no one else did, when amongst the j^laces named as espe- cially unfortunate he caught the name of the Commune of St. Aignan, and gathered that it was tyrannised over by a man risen from the people, who was acting, according to the complaint lodged against him, ' like a seigneur.' It seemed that he had the habit of imprisoning imder trivial accusations any neighbom^s who had money, and obliging them to buy then- liberty at five or six hiincli-ed li\'i-es each ; that he had obliged the peasants to labour unpaid on the ' biens uationaux ' which he had acquired iii the last year ; that he bought wheat cheap to sell dear, and finally that he had prevented the ex-parish piiest from marrj-ing as a good patriot should, and even shut up the girl on whom this honest man had set his affections. All this betrayed a state of things \ery far from, 182 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. satisfactoiy, and was but too true a picture of the condition of many depaitmeuts, but it was the name of the oftendei* wliich riveted the interest of Do Pclven, for he had learned it from Edmee, in those conversations which seemed now to have taken place long ago, though in reality only a few months had passed since he met her at Mortemart. It was Jacc^ues Pierre Leroux. CHAPTER XXIII. BEMINISCENCES * No, I cannot see it,' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, witli a hasty, impetuous gesture. ' You may say what you like, child, and I know that you fully believe every woi'd of it, but I tell you the thing is im])ossible. There are things which a gentleman cannot do. Tell me that he is a gamestei', immoial, cruel, and I will believe it. I have seen all that in my time ; you may be that and yet be a gentleman still, but that De Pelven should have been cogiiisant of my arrest, have intended to use it as a weapon against you, that ] can- not credit.' ' But, dear aunt, he did not even take the trouble to deny it,' urged Edmee. • Ta, ia ! ma charmante ! You misundar.stood him. Have I not already explained to you that it was for a friend he pleaded to me 1 You have no experience of these sort of tilings ; you mistook him, otherwise why did he pi'ocure my release 1 He had no easy task to do it either, and he laugh- ingly told me that if it were known he should never have another peaceful moment, for his door would be besieged vrith women, imploi-ing him to use his influence to gain the free- dom of theii" relations. The men in power are absolutely afraid of liberiitiug anyone on that very account. Yv'hat must he think of my disappearance ! he ought to be set at ease at once, and I shall write immediately to him.' BEMimSGENCES. 183 Edmee looked despairingly at Balmat. The argnment v/as no new one ; it had been repeated dail_y ever since Made- moiselle de St. Aignan came to the Maison Crocq. She either could not or would not believe in De Pelven's treason, and his visits and agreeable conversation were a great loss to her ; the society of honest Balmat and Madelon Crocq was a poor substitute for that of De Pelvon. ' I should think that Madame Alain wa-s likely to know what this Pelven said to her better than anyone else, espe- cially as no one else heard it,' observed pjalmat, who had been on the point of going out, but paused to come to Edmee's aid. ' My good Balmat, this is a matter with which you have nothing to do ; outsiders should not mix themselves up with family aftairs ; go you to yo\xr painting,' answered Mademoi- selle de St. Aignan, Avith good-humoured hauteur. ' When a man has risked his life in a business, it can hardly be said that he has nothing to do with it,' returned Balmat, not a whit abashed ; and the remark was so just that for a moment it silenced her, though, as she afterwards said to Edmee, the roturier peeped out in thus indelicately recalling the obligation which she lay under. Balmat, quite unconscious of his offence, took advantage of the silence to add, ' I hear some things now and then of the man ' ' If you mean my cousin, M. de Pelven, I should know him better by that name,' interposed Mademoiselle de St. Aignnn ' "Which bear out all that Madame Edmee says,' con- tinued Balmat, who seemed fated this morning to sin without discovering it ; ' we are out of his grasp for the time, but a bloodhound has not a keener scent ; it will be a mii-acle if he do not find us. Till then, let it alone and be thankful, say I. Let him who has a waxen head keep out of the sunshine ! ' And he went out, his portfolio under his arm. ' Are you go'ng to David's atelier 1 ' Edmee asked, as be was closing the door. ' No, they do not pose the model to-day. If 1 am wanted you will find me at the Augustins.' ' Where does he say 1 ' asked Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, di'opping a subject in which she felt herself worsted. 184 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. ' He cannot see to draw in his garret overhead, so he has made a sort of studio in the cloister of the Augustins. I have been there . . . Ah, mademoiselle, Avhat a sight the chiu'ch is ! the painted glass gone, the wind and rain beating in, the high altar shattered to jiieces, and a statue of Liberty in the red cap fastened against one of the pillars ! I found a corner where I could kneel and pray ; I go there sometimes, but once I was so terrified, a man came in without my noticing him, and said " How ! you hold to those mouldy old superstitions ! we will guillotine you ! " but he went away laugiiing. Balmat was full of fear for me, however.' ' Do you say that he has his atelier there 1 ' ' Yes, in a corner sheltered from the weather, and where lie has contrived to make a good light. It was terribly cold in winter, he says ; the brush would drop from his fingers without his feeling it, but he has a will strong enough to dry uj) the Seine ! he persisted. I hope that he will not be tiu'ned out when the monuments and all the other things from convents and churches are taken there. It is to be made a National Museum, he says — the poor church ! ' ' Does he draw well, this young man 1 ' ' Ah, it is so sad antl strange ! He adores his art ; he has loved it all his life, and he draws wonderfidly with crayon or chai-coal, but the moment he takes a brush and tries to paint, or above all to compose, he can do nothing. He says that David encoiu-ages him to persevei-e, and study severely the antique, but that it is only out of kindness, and it breaks his heart ! ' ' Poor fellow ! ' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, really touched, * that explains his anxious and sorrowful looks. How does he live 1 ' ' Very hardly ; he has made a little money by portraits ; his sketches are astonishingly faithfid, as you know, and also he works between- whiles at watch-making, with a compatriot whom he knows here. Sometimes he has even helped Madelon's nephew, that black-bearded man, to carry loads on the quais. He would starve, I think, sooner than ask help from his family, for to send him here his sisters were forced to diminish their little dowries.' REMINISCENCES. 185 ' You seem to know all about him, child ! ' ' Yes, I do,' answered Edmee, simply ; ' he has told me all about liis early life in Switzerland, and his family, and we have talked a great deal about his prospects. He was so good to me in the dreadful days when you were in the Ijuxembourg ! ' 'That is all very well, ma toiUe belle, but do not forget that you are the Comtesse de St. Aignan, and our good Balmat a watchmaker's son,' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, who, in spite of her interest in the Huguenot printer, had come out of prison a great deal more of an aristocrat than she went in. ' One can expect nothing else in a man not ne, but really h's want of tact, his hrusqtierie, are trying. To call a person of good birth " that man," for instance, as he did just now ! ' ' I think because he is a Swiss and is used to a Republic he neither hates nor respects a title as people do here,' said Edmee, who, if she had not learned to sympathise, had at least begun to imderstand through Balmat what the feelings of a temperate Republican were. ' Well ... it may be so,' and then, as if the svibject had reminded her of her fellow-prisoner, Mademoiselle de St. Aignan added, 'I saw my poor printer's name in the " ]\Ioniteur " yesterday,* next to the Abbe de Beaumont's. When I left the Luxembourg, the poor abbe ran after me with my snuff-box, which I had dropped, and said " Adieu, dear Mademoiselle ; you go forth to freedom, and I shall go forth to investigate the great Perhaps ! " I used to know him a little formerly, — the best card-player I ever met, but he would never play for money ; when the abbe played the stakes had to be a dozen of To(|uay, or a Perigord ]jie.' ' Ah, mademoiselle, how different your life was then ! how hnrd this must seem to you !' said Edmee, glancing sor- rowfully round at the miserably furnished room, which her resources were far too scanty to allow her to improve. ' Not so much as you tliink, my child. My father was one of the poorest of men in France when I was a yoiuig thing ; it was not till I was gi'own u]) that we inherited the fortune gained by an luicle in Ameiica — not great ricjies, you understand, but enough to raise us into alnuence, and 18G NOBLESSE OBLIGE. then my eldest brotlier luarrieil a wealthy heiress : my fathei* hesitated for some time, but at last gave his consent, &s my motlier had it gi-eatlyat heart.' ' Hesitate 1 whetlicr Monsieur your brother should many my iru imothcr I' cried Edmce. ' ^'> hy yes, for after all thoiiuh the nohlestue de role has always Ijeen highly esteemetl, it ha.s never }iad the enti-ees at Vei-siiilles, or the privileccos which we. the nohlfsae de rcpee, iidie it . . . that is u thing of coui-se. Still, it was very dif- ferent from maiTving into a linancial circle ; that would liave 1 r •:! out of the question. It was a strangely lonely life that i .v\, now J look back, ^ly brother was with his i-cgiment, and hardly ever came home. I was the youngest of all. My sister Petronillo l>ecame a nun, Lucile a canoness — then there wci-<3 only four mastei-s left in the chiiteau, my father and mother, myself, and the old uncle of wliom 1 have often told you, house servants — a cook, my mother's maid, two lacqueys and a coachman. My fatlier had an old lioi'se and a hound ; ho went out li.-^liing or .shooting every day when it was lino. War, duels, and the chaso were the projfcr occupations of a gentleman, he u.sed to siy.' ' And you, mademoi.sel!e ? ' ' I ran alx)ut in an old frock, patched all over, with my hair knotted on the toj) of my head, and an iron collar, covoi-od with black velvet, round my neck, to make mc hold myself u]>. Sunday was our gi-e:\t day, for then my mother ami I went to the parish clniix;h. It was all gay as a cemeteiy ! Sometimes .some gentleman of the neighbourhood would ride up. and stay all night ; my mother did not like the liohereavx to see oiir poverty, but my father used to .'^ay 'iwbl''sse pass 7 rich'sse ; poverty could not make us rot?irif)'s, and welcomed anyone who chose to come, it did not happen twice in a twelvemonth. Then they talked about local matters, or the war in Hanover ... it made a change, after all. The cure ^■.'.inc^ to p'ay at bow]s with my father on a Sunday afternoon ; as for us, we prayed and did tajiestry work from ycai's end to year's end.' She paused, recalling those bygone days with a smix and a sigh. 'Yes, it was dull enough!' she con- tinued preseut^.y. ' Not a sound in the chateau but the great REMINISCENCES. 187 bell when it rang at noon for dinner, and tlie sparrows cliii^p- ing and scolding the hawks which bviilt in the tower. The sparrows have the best of it in these days, they have di'iven the hawks out ! ' ' But did you never go from home, mademoiselle \ ' asked Sdmee, who, remembering the chateau in the gay days of its last owners, could hardly believe in this earlier state, which (phe now heard described. ' Never, child, we never thought of such a thing. I do not recollect the old herllnrjot ever being used. Our only gaiety was the annual fair ; then our vassals came to fetch the seigneurial banner, and set it up in the midst ; we chil- dren used to go down and hope that my father would buy us something, but he never did . . . Still, it was a gay sight, and we enjoyed it ... It was iraportant to us too, for every head t>f cattle paid so much to the Seigneur. My father was not a hard man, but he held to all his rights; he looked upon it as a duty to his order, and could not forgive those Seigneurs who allowed old customs and taxes to fall into disuse. And that was our only amusement.' ' Mademoiselle,' said Edmee, with a smile, * I think you would almost have welcomed the Revolution ! ' ' My dear child ! ' answered j\Iademoiselle de St. Aignan, energetically, ' you do not know how truly you are speaking ! I am convinced that the ennui of people's lives had a great deal to do with the satisfaction with which at first the Revolution was hailed. It afforded something to discuss ; then we were afraid of those brigands against whom the ilSTational Guard was formed, a,nd who never existed ... it was so amusing to be frightened ! ' ' We have had a great deal of such amusement since ! ' ' Too much ; one is hlase with it now, but then — they are coming, they are not coming — they are at hand, they have been seen — no, they will not be here till to-morrow — and fin^Jly the brigands never came at all, but the Garde ISTationale was formed, and that fact remained, and that is all which is important. Of course I had ceased to be young when all this began; after all it is but a very few years wheu 188 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. one comes to thmfc of it, but there were manv still leadins such lives as I had, and feeling as I should have felt. j\Iy father had died years before, happiiy for him ; the changes would have killed him. That Matthieu do Montmorenci and a De Noailles should have pi'oposcd to abolish titles would have been a^one the death of him. All the world was mad then, but what a generous madness it was ! And to think where we have drifted to now 1 ' ' How will it end ? ' murmured Edmee, * and will the emigres ever return 1 ' 'Eetui'n! of course they will, and when one whom we know does so, I shail have a great deal to tell him of the tenderness and care which a certain little e^\ showed his provoking old aunt.' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, draw- ing Edmee to her. ' He ough'. to love you for that alone, my child.' Edmee sighed. Somehow she did not wish for Alain's love as a leturn for what she had done ; it seemed too like a debt of honour which Alain must needs pay. Alain had grown very real to her ; she could hai-dly tell why ; Balmat had talked of him ; De Pelven had taught her to contrast his conduct with the Chevalier's, verygieatly to the advantage of the latter, but yet this was not the explanation. Love sometimes feeds on itself in absence, and grows strong in so doing ; pei-haps it was so with her, for Edmee's was essentially a romantic nature. ' I wonder if he ever thinks of me ? ' she would say to herself, and from the little which she knew or could learn, she constructed an Alain to whom she felt her.self curiously responsible. She was roused from thoughts of him by Mademoiselle de St. Aignan 's question, ' How does the purse hold out, child % All going out and none coming in makes it very light, I fear.' Edmee could not deny it, and the fact was a grave one, for she did not see how to refill it. She hastily took up a muslin handkerchief which she was embroidering for a shop whei-e Madelon had found her employment, and felt guilty that she had wasted at least half-an-hour in talk. Unfortunately Mademoiselle de St. Aignan did not like to see her at work when she wanted to talk and be listened to. REMINISCENCES. 189 ' I detest those muslin rags,' sa.id she, impatiently. * I do believe that those flimsy stuffs were the beginning of all the troubles. There never would have been a revolution if people had kept to brocade and pointdace. I recollect the scandal when the Coui-t took to India muslin, and we in the provinces could hardly believe it. I have heard that the Duchesse de Lauzan received a present from her gi-andmother, the Marechale de Luxembourg, of an apron of sailcloth, trhnmed with point, as a protest against the new fashions, but it was of no use ; people took to ch'esses of soupirs etoitffes, and caps of conquete assures. But if you must toil all day, I would rather see you paint. Alain has a gi-eat taste for painting ; he could not openly indulge it, for his father thought it unbecoming a man of rank ; but I believe he pursued it in secret.' ' And, indeed, I would rather paint,' answered poor Edmee, with a wistful look towards her pallet and colour- box ; ' but who cares to buy anything but necessaries now ! ' ' Yo;i are wrong, child ; neither money nor morals seem worth care in times like these. I saw that even in the short time I was in the Luxembourg. Things were bad enough, Heaven knows, before '89. I was in Paris for a few months, and the state of things amazed me ; the magistracy were ashamed of their jjrofession ; their wives wanted to be great lad.es ; there was no I'eligion ; if the Saviour were named in a sermon, it must be as the great Lawgiver of the Christians. . . . You might ape an Englishman, an American, only not be a simple Frenchman ; but now it is " Let lis eat and dr!nk, for to-morrow we die." One lady said to me in the Luxembourg, '• If I am cruel to him to-day, I may have no time to make up for it to-morrow ! " No, never could I have imagined such a state of things — it was as if the end of the world were at hand — and everyone, except a few who were vez'itable saints — crazy with recklessness.' ' I hope to sell a little more lace ; some people wear it st'll, and Madelon has found me a purchaser ; she cannot sell her own, though she makes it beautifully, because before coni'ng to Paris she had unfortunately swoi-n on the gospels only to supply one particidar j^erson, who used to come to 190 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. her village, and hwj all that the women made there, and she does not know what has become of him.' ' Indaed ! It is remarkable, for she has the little fault of loving money, our good Maielon, and, I fear, m'ght turn us into the street if we could not pay our rent, which is, more- over, not small .' ' T do not think that she would do that, though she docs make us pay highly. She is patient with those poor people in the rooms next us, and lets the wife pay by doing little services, when they cannot otherwise.' ' I taimot say; I think if she had to pay her own ransom, she would prefer dying to part with the money,' .^aid I\Iade- moiselle de St. Aignan ; ' but she is a good woman, though plain, a vrai jamhon, no shape at all ! Still, I would rather sec her than that Theroigne.' Edmee shuddered. She could not forget the hideous details, the vile language inflicted on her by their former laiidladv. She thought that rather than face her again she would almost take refuge in the Conciergerie itself. CHAPTER XXIY A HECOGNITION. Of all the startling and absorbing events which had filled the last two years, and they had assuredly been neither few nor far between, none, perhaps, had more occupied Paris than that festival whose very name startled all ears, the Fete of the Etre Supreme, which Robespierre had decreed for the 7th of Jvme. ' The idea,' he had paid, in a speech as fervent as the one in which some yeais before he had pleaded for the total abolition of capital pmiishment, ' the idea of the Supi-eme Being, and of the immoitahty of the soul is a con- tinual call to justice ; it is theiefore a social and lejiublican principle.' Hebert had proclaimed athe'sm ; the leading A RECOGNITION 101 Gii-ondins had urged the Convention to banish the name of tlie Divinity from the constitution ; Dauton had 'aasjhed to Fcorn the thought of another world, and a Judge of men ; Robespierre, therefore, before whom all thes? men had suc- cessively fallen, stood forth as the champion of Providence. The sensation produced by this step, not only in France, but throughout Europe, was as indesciibable as it was complicated. Numbers hoped that it foretold the end of the Revolution, aud already in imagination saw the desecrated chui'chef re-opened, and persecution a thing of the pa,st, while others passionately recoiled fi-om seeing the cause of re igion upheld by such a champion, and others again scarcely suppressed the'r bui-ning rage and disgust at seeing the first step taken towai-ds restoi'ing that Christianity which the clergy had taught them to confound with the stake, with opposition to progress, Avith tyranny of conscience, and light and useless lives, led at the expense of othei's, so that while one would cry with naive wonder and joy, ' What a giand decree ! there is to be a God!' another with passionate tears exclaimed, 'That scoundi-el Robespieii-e ! he has determined that we shall have a SujDreme Being ! ' Echoes of all these various phases of feeling reached the JNIaison Crocq, though in general politics v/ei-e little discussed there, for Pere Crocq was either jovial at his ca,fe, oi' smok- ing sullenly in his kitchen, and Madelon far too busy to con- cern herself with such subjects ; lier black-bearded nej^hew, Michonnet, too, troubled himself little with them ; in fact, for two years or more a great indifference to politics had fallen on the Parisians ; the meetings of the sections had gradually become deserted, except by those bribed to attend them ; the novelty of having a hand in governing themselves had gone off, and the people had relapsed into the habit, learned through centmies, of allowing evei-ything to be settled foi- them, and accepting it passively. There had been a moment when even the club of the Jacol^ins seemed dying out ; but Robespierre had galvanised it into new I'fe with tei-rible success. The Parisians had grown tired of public aflau's, as they have of a great many things, befoi-e and since. Some, like Balmat, were too much absorbed in private con- 19:3 KOBLFSSE OBLIGE. cprns to care for anytking beyond them. He had come to Paris to learn to paint, and David's atelier was his world. This fete, however, had a great interest for him, though as a religious ceremony he regarded it with wondering ])ity ; all the details were p'anned by his master, David, ' Commissaire de la Convention,' who had been altogether carried away by the excitement of the times, without any rooted convictions, had A'oted the King's death, and declaimed in honour of ^larat after death, and was entrusted with the organisation of all the Republican fetes. His fame as an artist stood so high that men of all lanks and of every shade of o})inion agi'ocd to see in David only the best painter ot the day, and flocked to his atelier, from the aristocratic Comte de Forbin to the ultra-Republican Dubois, who outraged even the little de- cency of language and manners then expected. One thing in common he and they all had, a vague but immense belief in the future, and all, unconscioiLS that with few excej>tions they were destined to die young and unknown to fame, fully l>elieve:l themselves destined to regenerate the world. Balmat, indeed, was an exception ; but then he was of anoth?r race and temperament to his fellow-pupils. It was a period of brief and fervid life of exultation, soon to die into darkness, though its effects continue to this day. David represented the tastes and opinions of the general public, and both led and was led by it. Thence came his strength and his weakness, but no one yet saw how much was false and temporary in his popularity, for he was facile princeps among tlie painters of France, and the fame of his pupils, Gros and Geric^iult, was scarcely dawning. Since David was, to his pupils at all events, the chief figure in the pi-ogramme of June 7th, Balmat took it as a mattor of coui-se that he must be present too, as did Jd chon- uet, since he was a favourite model, and would have felt it a slight to the great master, if his presence did not grace the scene, though Isnard and othei-s had not spared their jests when he thus stated the case. Michonnet knew too well what was due to himself and David, to be moved, renounced a day's work to attend the fete. jMadelon shrugged her shoulders and held her tongue, too sensible to waste words, but mutter- i A RECOGNITlOIl 193 ing, 'Grand imbecile, va ! foi- me 1 go not to cHte hetisol' and stayed at home, rather to the disappointment of IMade- moiselle de St. Aignan, who was immensely entertained by the whole thing, and though she would as soon have gone to one of the low pei'formances in the Palais Royal theatre as have condescended to be present at Ptobespierre's fete, very much wished for a more detailed and lively account than she was likely to get from Ealmat, whose foi-te, as she observed, w?.s not narration. To Edmee, as to thousands of others, the v.-hole thing was a blasphemous parody, from which she shrank in horror, and she could hardly foi-give Balmat for his pro- posal to escort her. ' But you would s?e David,' he urged, siirp]-ised at her indignation, on which she had turned away almost ready to quarrel seriously with him. He had no time to stay to reason, and hurried off, while she was anxiously counting how much money remaiaed after paying the week's rent, due that day, and sure to be punctually claimed by Madelon. Indeed, her step was heard almost before Edmee had the money ready, but she came iu with red eyes, and so little of her usual alacrity in receiving her money that Made- moiselle de St. Aignan enquired in wonder what had troubled her. She struggled \n.t\x a sob befoi-e she could answer. ' It is Cvocq, madame. my man ... he has been listening again to some of his imbecile friends, who tell him that I keep him under my slipper, as if it were not all for his good, and he says . . . says ... he shall divorce me for " incomj^atibilite d'humeur.'" ' My poor Madelon ! ' cried Edmee, indignantly. * You who are so good a wife, and woi-k so hard to keep all straight ! ' ' Do I not, madame 1 Is it not so % But what does that count? A woman must go up and down the house, must tramp out in rain and mud all day, while the man is at his cafe, reading the Sentinelle de la Nation, and Avhen he comes home, does he say, "Art thou tired, ma bonne amie ?" not he ! It is " Where then is my sixpper 1 " " Give me money," the money which she has been working her ten fingers off to earn, and then he pockets it, v.dthout so much as a " Thank you," and well if she does not get a blow ! Ah, it is a hard life, that of a woman ! ' 194 NOBLESSE OBLIOE. ' But, after all, my good IVIadelon, yoii would be better off without him,' sugnjested Madomoiselle de St. Aignan. ' I am not so siu-e of that, madame,' answered iNladelon, hastily ; ' he is not much worse than others. It is veiy diffi- cult to 1h> a man, and imitate the saints.* ' But if you were free of him you would have all your earniaigs, and a quiet house.' * Yes, yes, no doubt, but it is of him that I think ! What will become of him if I am not there to take caie of him 1 If you only knew what a poor wretch he was before I married him, and to think that he may return to that condition ! It bi-eaks my heart!' and, throwing her aj)ron over her head, she went out sobbing aloud, and forgetting for once to count her money. Edm^e took her embroidery, hoping by industry to gain time to paint a little ; Balmat took gi-eiit and gene- rous delight in her talent, encouraged and advised her, and, though unsuccessful himself, proved an excellent critic. He had brought her that morning a handfid of lovely Juno roses, whoso deejx'st shades seemed only darkened light, which he had begged from an old ilower-painter, whom he luiew some- thing of, who lived, like many other artists, in the Louvre. Edmeo listened with delight to all that he could tell her, and longed to see the beautiful llowor-pieces of which Balmat spoke, but he did not give her the slightest hopes of being admitted into ]M. Latleur's studio, where no visitoi-s were por- mittfd. She gathered that this artist was old and peculiar, kind at heiii-t, under an a-ssumed misanthropy, making flowers take the place of friends and family, and would tliink to her- self, ' Balmat has no enterprise ! J f I had but time to pamt seiiously, I would somehow find the way into that atelier ! ' The need of daily bread kept her closely to her needle, but to please ^Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, she now came and sat at the window, where her aunt had p'aced herself, with the * jMoniteur' of that day on her lap, divided between its con- tents and observation of the animation which pervaded even the dull little street where they lived, known in those days as the Rue du Bon Patriote. All Paris was flocking to the fete, and rejoicing in the prospect of tranquillity and clemency which Ilobespierre's late speeches in the Convention had held out. A RECOONITION. 195 * See, there goes Pore Crocq ! ' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, ' sse his ear-rings and honnet rouge ! and there is iMichoaiiet, in a ne^v cravat : Jook at their bouquets ! — eveiy- one carries flowers or boughs ... it reaHy is very pretty. . . . That poor Madelon ! if she could but believe it, how- much better she would be without that husband of hers ! "Women are silly creatures. That pale thing on oui- floor, however, seems to live wcU with her hvisband. I have seen nothing of them lately, beyond the childi-en playing on the staii-s.' ' ]\Iadelon is talking to Madame Amat now ; do you not hear ? She seems angiy ; perhaps they cannot pay her. Ah, the poor husband is ill ; they want Madelon to go for a doctor.' Mademoiselle de St. Aisrnan was not att?ndinar. Her eyes had passed from the list of theatrical entertainments given in the ' Moniteur ' to the death-list, always given next it, and a name there had struck her. * What do you say ? Yes, cei-tainly. See what can be done,' she answered absently, her chief wish just then being to get rid of Edmee, who went aci"oss the landing to ask if she could help her poor neighbour, and Mademoiselle de St. Aignan hastily read a paragraph which she had discovered fui-ther on, announcing, in the usual inflate! style of the 'Moniteur' that the EepubKc had done justice on certa'n culprits found guilty of defrauding the nation to their own private advantage. Among.-?t them was the name of Jacques Leroux. ' An excellent thing ! ' was her inward comment, ' he woiild have been unsneakablv in the wav bv and by, if order ever come out of this chaos, and no doubt he richly deserved what he has got. Such a live father-in-law would have been a disgrace to the Chevalier, but a father-in-^ aw who was guillotined is rather comme il faxit. Still, thoiigh the child is not likely to regret him, it may be well she should not see aU this,' and Mademoiselle de St. Aignan got tho newspaper out of sight befoi-e Edmee came back. ' Madelon will not go,' she. said, looking troubled. * She says that she cannot leave the house when neither Crocq nor Michonnet is at home, and that poor Amat is seriously ill ! ' 106 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. ' "Would you have me leave the rez de chanssee empty, and on a flay like this, when all the thieves are astir, lookinEj for houses whose inhabitantss aie fools enout^h to desert them 1 ' cried Madelon ani^i-ily from the landinij-p^ace. Her own trouble had ma le her unsympathetic for those of others, 'Send your ijirl, nm bonne/' ' J have already told you thnt Vier:;ie is gone instead of me to work, since I could not Iwive my poor husband,* wailed the wife, wriniijini; hf-r hands. * Holy Vivc'in help us ! ho will d:e Wfore night unless we have ^I. Collot.' ' People do not die so easily as all that, and none of us get just what we want when we please,' said IVIadelon, ti^amping downstairs, the more surly because her conscience pricked hor. ' Has he been ill long ] ' Edmde a.sked, standing in her dooi'way. ' Not now, citoyenne, but once before he had a similar attack, and that good Dr. Collot, of whom you may have heai'd, cured him, V)ut he bade me send for him at once and lose no time if the attack returned. . . . See how ill he is ! ' Through the opposite door Edmee could .see the gaimt, iinshaven ligure, crouched in a chair, unable to suppre.s.s groans of pain, while several little children huddled together aflrighted. ' Is there nothing you can do 1 ' asked Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, coming forward. * Yes, a little ; I have poultices almost ready, but it is the doctor that we need ; he lives Rue Dubois, near the place de la Kevolutiou. If I could but leave my husband . . . but I dare not, as you see.' Her imploring eyas sought those of Edmee, who hesitated, struggling with her dislike and fear of going out this day, and into the very part of Paris where the throng would be gi'eatest, since tlie crowning scene of the fete was to take place in the Champ de Mars. ' I will go,' she said, at last ; ' dear aunt, you do not object 1 I v.ill not be long gone. "What number 1 ' She went downstairs and out of the house before her neighbour's thanks were ended ; Madelon saw her go, and A RE'JOGNITIOK 197 miitterod angrily, ' It is always those who make most noise who get most pity,' but she carried up a bowl of soup later, which the children Avere very glad of, even if the sick man. could not eat it, and after that a conviction came upon her that Crocq would come home with wiser thoughts than those he had gone away with, as indeed proved the case, and she fslt much more in charity with her suiToundings. Edmee, as she had expected, found all the world in the streets, with a gay and holiday air such as Paris always readily assumed, even in such times as these, and the green leaves and flowers carried by everyone made the streets like a shifting parterre. Garlands and flags hung from eveiy window, and wreathed eveiy balcony; gay and animated faces looked out from amid the frames of blossoms and foliage ; the air was full of the delicious scent of roses, which had been brought into the city from twenty leagues round, to adorn the houses and strew before the procession. There was a univei'sal hum of conversation, songs and laughter, but as she went along her ear caught remarks whose audacity astonished her. In fact, though spies were evei-ywhere, it was and always had been impossible to bridle Parisian tongues, and Robespieire could no more do it than the kings whom the French had learned to consider their worst enemies. The crowd of spectators poured out of every street, alley and house, and bore her easily along, while the general gaiety and excitement affected even her, little as she was attuned to them. She reached the house indicated to her, and was g'ad to find the physician at home, and to receive a promise that he would not fail to visit the Maison Crocq early in the day, but when she tried to make her way back against the stream, she found the attempt impossible. The throng was now so dense in the Rue St. Honore that she could only slip into a doorway and wait, an unwilling though far from vininterestecl spectator. As was joyfully observed, the guillotine had been removed from its usual place the eve n ing before, and as all fondly hoped for ever. Before the Tuileries a long arcade had been erected, garlanded with flowei"3 and foliage ; A\T.thin was the tribune and amj^hi- theatre prepared for the Convention, and the question ^saa t- 198 NOBLESSi: OBLTGB. h\\7.7.o:\ on all sides, what was to bo sjiiil oi* done from this tril^uue, which seeniod pvojiared for some special piu']:)Oi.e. Someone asserted that Kol)t>spierTe would proclaim a general amueaty from it, and the siiscestion ran at once through the crowd, and was received with a deep min-mur of delight which sliowed that Paris was weary of blood and weeping. AVhat indeed could be more ajjjiropriate to such a fete 1 The po))ular excitement rose hitxher every moment, and the tlirong <,Tew more and more den.se ; rumourd were circulated rapidly through the s]>ectators witliin the court^yard and gardens to the less fortunate ones outside, reporting what was takiug place. The memlters of the Convention were coming ; they were taking theii* seats ; the procession would soon arrive ; only llobespierre was not there ... he was still at home . . . no. he was coming, no. again; he wa.s breakfasting in the Pavilion dt; I'lore . . . breakfasting, while everyone was waiting ! . . . impossible. So it proved however, and tliough acc'amations from the mol) welcomed him as he hurried to his p'ace, his colleagues received him in dis- pleased and sigiiilicant silence, and scarcely listened to his ppeech, fragments of which alone reached the spectators. • Wliat is he saying I What dcjes he promi.se us ? ' cried those in tlie .streets, trying vainly to press into the interior of the Tuilerics. ' Let tyrants perish ] Good. What else 1 what else ? ' and a cliill of disappointment fell on all when nothing more definite could l>e gathered. The swa\"ing, shifting crowd brought now one wave, now another, of eager, upraised faces past the step whei-e Edmce stood, raised a little above the rest ; in the incessant murmiu's which reached lier eai-s she caught one which sent the blood to her heart with alarm ; a few bai"s, whistled low but distinctly, of the well-known Royalist aii-, ' O Eichard ] u mon roi I ' ' It can b-e no one but Isnard ! ' was her instant thought, and looking round, saw Isnard himself, whom she knew well from a poilrait of Pal mat's, and the glimpses she had had of him when he assisted in the elopement of Mademoiselle de St. Aignan No one had noticed his mad bravado ; he had a veiy pretty girl on his arm, and was speaking laughingly to her when Edmee touched him. He started and turned sharply round, with a A REGOGmTION. 199 hand on something in the breast of his coat, but liis mobile face lighted with a smile as he recognised her. ' Yon here ! ' he cried. A few words explained the cii-ciimstances, and he put the girl under his charge beside her, contriving to keep just belovN^ them, until they took pity and laughingly made room for him between them, as the crowd divided right and left, regardless of the mercileijs pressure inflicted on the ranl^s behind, to allow the procession to pass to the Champ de INIars. The members of the Convention led it. in a double column, with tricoloiu- plumes and scarfs, each caiTying a bouquet of poppies, corn-flowers, and ripe wheat ; one man, by chance or because the others had designedly fallen behind him, walked first and alone, and his dress, of a paler blue than his companions', his bouquet, still larger than theirs, increased the im])ression that he was master, and the others merely his attendants, but his stop was embarrassed, his eyes downcast; he raised them furtively as he went by the spot where Edmee stood, and the singular, snake-like look sent a cold shiidder over her ; she did not need Isnard's low, fierce, ' Ah, tyrant, your hour- has almost struck ! ' to tell her that it w^as Ilobes- pierre. No applause met him now ; the spectators were ab- sorbed in observing the ceremony. A voice a -one broke the silence by calling, ' Ilo6m for the Commissaii'e de la Conven- tion,' and David passed by, waving his hat with its long tricolour plume, and trying to make the different groups of Republican officers keep in theu* places. Edmee recognised him too ; she had already seen those hard black eyes and slightly distorted mouth in more than one of Ealmat's sketches, and did not need the explanation offered by her pretty companion of ' Louis David, our great artist ! ' — but she could scarcely give him a thought ; ner eyes seemed forced to follow Robespierre, as shuddering she whisperei, 'I feel as if a viper had touched me ! ' The girl beside her laughed gaily. ' Ah bah ! ' she cried, ' why will you let him spoil to-day to us 1 Let us enjoy ourselves; see how blue the sky is, how the sun shines ! hovv dehghtful a crowd is ! Ah, how comic are these grave messieiu's of the Convention, with their flowers and their plumes ! — see, one is looking at us . , . tie^ns ! one would say he knew us ... do you see 1 ' 200 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. Edmee had not heeded the gay chatter, but now Isnard said low, ' Who is that who looks across here ? ' and his peculiar tone made her look over the heads of the crowd to the meml.)ersof the Convention, still slowly tiliiii; past. ' Ah, heaven ! ' she faltered, turning white to her very lips, for the eyes fixed on her with a biuniufj, menacing look weie thos-o of Do I'elvcn. Isnard knew him too. ' Taia-fu, Luure ! ' he said hastily, to the gay girl at his side. ' That man is her enemy ... he can do nothing yet, he cannot leave his place, or send a .spy through this throng; we have time. Keep where you are,' he added to Edmec ; ' wait till the proces.sion has passed.' At tii-st the novelty, the gaiety of all around, the new feeling of having a girl of her own age, overliowing with light-heartedncss Ixside her had carried Kdmee away ; that brief moment of forgctf-ilness was now cruelly paid for. She could not imagine how it had never occurred either to her or Balmat that De I'elvcn must necessai-ily be in his place as national representative, and that he would not fail to see her. She stood imprisoned by the wall of hum.tn beings in front, still feeling his eyes on her, though he had passed on out of sight, scarcely conscious that the long })ro- cession was pa.«sing before the enchanted eyes of the spectators, who closed in behind it, and Hocked to the Champ de Mars, where a symbolical mountain had been erected, where the Convention and the musicians were to sit ; she saw with outward eyes and absent thoughts the thousands of deputies go by, .sent from all the sections of Paris, the old men l)caring vine boughs, the young branches of oak, the women tiowci's, a long array, twenty-five thousand persons, defiling towaitls the Champ de IMars, under the walls of the Louvie and the Tuilerles, across the square where the noblest blood of France had flowed like a river ; sunshine overhead, sweet aii* around, and as the multitude reached the appointed i^pot, trumjxits sounded, and every voice was raised in the hymn of prai.se to the Supreme Being, while fiowei-s were llung in profusion, mothei-s held up their- children, men waved their sabres, and Robespierre sat enthroned on the summit of the mountain, with the Convention and the multitude at his feet, with an ominous pallid smile, which changed into a momentary A RECOONITIOK 201 look like tliat of one who finds himself on the efl^fc of an abyss, as a voice in tlie countless throng said distinctly — ' Not content to be master, he makes himself God ! ' A little movement as of frightened people recoiling showed where the audacious speaker stood, but it was impossible to distinguish him. The crowd having streamed into the Place de la Concorde, left space for Isnard and his t^vo companions to leave their places. ' Take her at once to Giboult's shop, you know some of them there, and pass her through,' was IsnaVd's brief direction to the girl whom he was escorting, and he added to Edmee, 'Ask no directions, lest they should be questioned by-and-by ; go to the other door, turn right, then left, and then ask anyone for the Rue du bon Patriote. Adieu ! ' * But where shall I find you, onon chcr ?' asked his pretty friend. ' On the Place ... I will look out ' — and he was lost in the crowd, while Laure, good-naturedly laughing at this brusque desertion, led P_]dmee towards the large draper's shop which Isnard had spoken of. A word or two to the gr.->up who stood looking on at the door was recciA-od with smiling politeness, and sufficed' to explain that the demoiselle was afraid of the crowded streets, and desired to go home by a quieter way than the main thoroughfare, and Edmee took farewell of her new friend, and found herself in streets so quiet and deserted on this day that when she wanted to enquii'e her road, she could hardly find anyone to ask. The doctor had reacheil the Maison Crocq before her ; the sick man was in less pain, and but for the possible results of her expedition, Edmee would have been gladdened by the wife's thankfulness. It was not possible to tell Mademois^l'e de St. Aignan of her fears ; she only related, as w^el! as she could, what the order of the proceedings had been, and how she had encountered Isnard, and Mademoiselle de St. Aignan listened great' y amused and interested, and insisted on a further account from Ealmat, when he returned. Balmat had not much to say ; he reported that w^hen liobespierre set fii-e to the group of monsters representing Atheism, Egotism, and Nothingness, they bm-ned readily enough, but the statue 202 JVOBLESSE OBLIGE. of Liberty, instead of emerging pm-e and Hiir from the niins, when the veil which they had hidden her with was consumed, had come out as smoky iis a chimney-sweep, and that when Robespierre descended from the mountain he was even more livid than usual; his lips wore trembling, and he hurried away, with the Convention hurrying after him, and no one could understand what would happen next. Edmee related her meeting with Isnard, but waited for a private moment to tell Balmat her fears. He frowned at her pvai.ses of the pretty Laure. ' She is not a girl for you to know,' he answei-ed briefly, and changed the conversation, but after- wards said to Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, 'Isnard is no woise til an otheis, but do not let him como here.' * Why should he, my good Balmat 1 We are not likely to have any fui-ther acquaintance ! ' she answered, a little amused at the strait-laced views of the young Swiss, who could not unlearn the good and honest teaching of his home, though thrown into the whirlpool of Parisian life at cue of its most perilous moments. ' I do not know . . . when once one comes across people, it is odd how sure one is to meet them asjain.' said Balmat ; and the event proved him only too much in the right. CHAPTEE XXV. HIDE AND SEEK. The weeks which followed the Fete de I'fitre Supreme quenched all the hopes which had been raised by Robespierre's apparent inclination to clemency ; alarmed by the discontent which it excited among some of his colleagues, he forsot how dangerous are disappointe I hopes ; arrests came thicker, faster than ever ; at one time theie was a razzia on all that lemained of the high magistrature ; at another, all that still lingered of the Faubourg St. Germain was swept away. On HIDE AND SEEK. 203 cue occasion, about ten days after the fete, fifty victims, in the red shirt which had hitherto been the costume to mark assassins and pan-icides, perished togethei", under an a,ccusa- tion known to be fa'.se, and among them perished two whole famihes, not one member, old or young, escaping. But this spectacle, instead of strildng terror into Pans, at last called forth an ind'gnant protest from the public. ' It is too much ? it is atrocious ! ' was heard on all sides, in defiance of the danger in sympathising with the condemned ; and this re- vulsion of fe3ling was as strong among the lowest as the higher classes. Michonnet repoi'ted that a man known to him , a verj^ giant of strength and stolidity, had laid a wager to look on without emotion, as each of the long file of victims moved on to lay his head under the knife, and that he had never stirred a musc'e until the last, a girl scarcely beyoad childhood, a poor little ouvriere arrested in a garret on the sixth floor, had quietly taken her place uncalled, and asked the executioner gently, ' Is that right, monsieur 1 ' and then, as the axe fell, the great strong man had reeled and fallen back in a dead faint, and so was carried home If people like IVIichonnet's friend wei-e thus moved, it was cei'tain that others were not only shocked and scandalised, but that a re- action had begun. Robespierre felt it, and drew back, dangerous and suiien, apparently neglecting public affairs, scarcely showing himself at the Jacobins, absent from the Convention, but striking blow after blow from his den. But his power was shaken ; a shade of ridicule had attached itself to his later speeches ; the tears, the pathos v/hich he called to his aid had struck the Parisians, not as acting — that would have been suitable, even acceptable — but as bad acting, which was unpardonable. His hearers had smiled, and his enemies had caught at the weapons which he had unawares put into then" hands. It would have been useless to tax him with barbarity, such an accusation would have been commonplace, and added to his strength rather than lessened it, but no man, standing before a Parisian audience, however terrible, how- ever admirable he may be, can make himself absurd with impunity. Robespierre knew it, and had sent Fabre d' Eg- lantine to the guillotine because he dieaded his pitiless 204 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. mockery, but tliere were many Fabre d'Eglantines left in. Paris. Moreover, an enemy of a different soi't was mining the ecroiind under his feet, whom he hafl unaccountably for- gotten to behead, that Fouche, destined soon to rise to a bad eminence. Strange things leaked out through him, horrify- ing the devout, infuriating the Democrats, of blasphemous mysteries practised in the house of Rol^espierrc's tool, Cathe- rine Theos. The belief spread that he was aiming at dic- tatorship, perhaps monarchy. He answered the murmurs, faint as yet, but gathering sti-ength, by fresh measures to purge the Republic. Somehow or other, he always discovered that it was of those dangerous to himself that the RepuVjlic required purging. The atmosphere grew thicker every day With crime and horror, but the public, though cowed, was no longer absolutely dumb and passive. Events occuri-ed so fast and threateningly that the coolest heads gi-ew dizzy. The crimes of the Revolution seemed as it were to be represented by this one man, standing aloft, conspicuous above the rest, as he had done when he took the topmost seat on the moun- tain erected in the Champ de Mars. The idea unavoidably suggested was to cast him down. No one, not even those most in his confidence, knew how far he was aware of his danger, and no one, not even Fouche, plotting incessantly to bring it about, nor Tallien, whose hand was to deal the blow, nor De Pelven, carefully disentansrlinor the threads which connected them, but drawing away so gently that even the Argus eyes of Robespieii* did not detect him, foresaw how near the supreme moment was. In some respects De Pelven was following the same policy as Robespierre. He remained passive, awaiting the next tui'n in CA^ents, but he had made his value fully appai'ent to Fouche, of whose talents he had always had a very high opinion, and who looked on De Pelven as the man most likely to be useful to himse'.f in future days. They had not much commmiication, but they understood one another. His withdrawal fi-om a wider sphere of action gaA'e De Pelven the more leisure for prosecuting the search which he had never dropped after Edmee. The sight of her exactly when he was iruable to utilise it had lashed him into fury, HIDE AI^D SEEK. 205 and lie had songlit her since with a kind of frenzy. Some- times he visited the deserted Faubourg St. Geimain and the Chaussee d'Antin, where grass began to grow in tlie streets, and between the pavement of the courtyards of empty hotels; sometimes he spent houi-s in the maze of little streets round the Cite, watchinij, enquii-ing, observing the Avindows, mad- deiied with baffled endeavours, and growing more absorbed in the search each day that it lasted, but never again seeing the dark soft eyes which had dilated with terror at the sight of him or the face which had branched as he looked on it. Nor, for a long time, did he succeed in what he almost equally desii-ed to do — identifying Isnard. Edmee's real danger lay there, and he was too acute not to fix on this poiut and con- centrate his efforts on it. His searches for her were in obedience to the fierce craving to find her for himself, but it was Isnard whom he looked to as furnishing the clue to her retreat. To find a man whose name, dwelling, and profession were alike unknown .seemed unhopeful, but De Pelven had a well-founded belief in the power of will, patience, and the secret police at his disposal, and felt certam that ere long ho should learn all three. Edmee could not know from what quarter danger threat- ened her, but she had been inclined to believe that some misfortune must fall upon her to expiate the sin, however involuntarily, of having been present at tl»e blasphemous fete of the fetre Supreme. As days passed, however, and nothing happened, the impression wore off", and her nervous fears yielded to the delight which sprang from an idea brought home from the very spectacle which she felt it a sin to have seen. It was just then the fashion to carry large paper f;xns ; she had notice 1 dozens farled and unfurled whi e she stood looking on, and her artistic eye had been not only displeased by the unadorned surface, but scandalised by the waste of so much paper which might have been used for drawing on. Meditating later on this it occuri-ed to her that the fins might be covered with wreaths and groups. The thought gave her that thrill of joy known to the discoverer, whether of a world or a nevf thought, and she hastened to communicate it 2{)Q XOBL£t:SE OBLIOE. to Mademoiselle de St. Aignan and Balmat, who was nmcli taken with the idea, but told her that she would be more likely to hit public taste by groups of figures than by flowei'S alone. Her natural bent was for flower-painting, but she could draw figures with sufiic'ent facility to make it a plea- sure to her ; l:)esides, they could be garlanded ^^'ith flowers. Balmat suggested sulijects from ' Paul et Virginie,' and the poems of Ossian, just then the i-age in Paris, where they were hailed as * so primitive,' and admired with imquestioning faith and enthusiasm ; all DaWd's pupils sttidled them rap- turously, except indeed Balmat, who could not admu-e them, but was ashamed of himself, and borrowed a copy for Edmce fi'om liis "fellow-pupil, Maurice Quai, who had introduced them into the atelier. Edmee and Mademoiselle de St. Aignan were enraptured, and though Ealmat's inveterate good sense rendered him unable to agj ce \\*itli theii' praises, he heartily admired the result of Edmee's study of the poems, even on such an ungrateful material as her green paper fans, and found a large shop ready to buy as many as she could furnish. To her great joy she was now able to put aside her embroidery for her brush ; it was not indeed quite what she would have chosen, but still it was painting, and sometimes she had time for more serious work on canvas. Edmee needed nothing to make her art dearer, but Made- moiselle de St. Aignan had unawares made it more precious than ever by her casual mention of Alain's love of painting, inherited from his mother, who had Italian blood in her veins, and many tastes inherited from Italy. It had always been a matter of regret to her that her husband had shown a narrow and marked avei-sion to his son's pursuing the study of art seriously, though it had never occurred to her, any moi-e than to liim, that it was possible for a man of birth and fortune to pursue it as a profession. The taste which Edmee had always sho^v^l from her earliest childhood for painting had much pleased her, and she had forwarded and encoiu'aged it to the utmost, little guessing that one day the girl's talent would be the means of supporting not only her- self, but one of the family to which she owed her first lessons in art. That Alain should perhaps be Avorking like herself HIDE AND SEEK. 207 made a sweet and secret bond between Edmee and her young husband, of which she often thought, as she bent over her coloui's with looks which grew liappier every day, now that she could return to her true calling. She did not earn much, biit daily bread was secure, not only for herself, but what she thought more of, for Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, and she delighted in the task v/hich had gained it. Perhaps no hap- pier condition could have been found. Ealmat brought her flowers, sometimes she went to the Marche aux Fleurs and indulged herself in combining a bouquet; often Madame Amat, grateful for the kindness sho^vn when her husband was ill, begged some choice blossom from a brother, v/ho had a large garden, once belonging to some noble, now the property of the nation, from which he rented it. Even Michonnet would occasionally bring home a huge armful of leaves and flowers, with the best of intentions, and the least possible perception of what could be of any use, and Madelon took a lively in- terest in everything wliich Edmee produced, admiring with enthusiasm equally unfailing and uncritical. ' It is only too good to last ! ' Edmee would say, ' Oh, if only nothing would ever happen again ! ' a sentiment in which Mademoiselle de St. Aiguan was very far from concurring. Her hankering after !De Pelven was the thorn in Edmee's new-born peace. It was less the straitened circumstances than the inaction which tried her. Since her father's death she had led a very independent life, allowing herself to be accountable to no one, and enjoying unfettered dominion over her Httle kingdom at Mortemait. Besides this she had cultivated and literary tastes, and none of the-e could be satisfied in her present life, where society did not exist, and literature could only be obtained through the very question- able libraiy where books were to be hired from a married pi-iest, who had settled at the corner of the street, and adopted this means of eking out a livelihood. The novels of that day were not such as anyone with a gi'ain of self-respect could read, and he had little else on his shelves. Mademoiselle de St. Aignan would not own it, but life was very dull to her. Edmee's painting was her chief resource, and she could stand by watching her at work, and i-ecaiung anecdotes such 208 KODLESSE OBLIGE. as Erlmee lovo^l to hear. The little figure-pieces from ' Paul and Virginia' were especial favourites with her, for she had known Eernardin de St. Pierre in a visit to PiU'is. ' I was here with yoiu- godmother in '87,' she said once as she looked over Edmee, who was tlesigning the lost children, discovered in the forest, and brought home by rejoicing negi'oes. ' We had come with my brother, who had some lawsuits to see after, which, thanks to her relations, v.e gained . . . We know Vernet — Joseph, 1 moan ; he was seventy-three that year, and nevertheless he sent twelve pictiu-es to the Salon ! 'Wo went more than once to his studio, and I recollect seeing a jiainting, just begui), of Yiiginie's shipwieck ; one saw, hoAvever, that the hand was losing its skill. He told us how he had hindered Bemardin fiom throwing the manuscript into the tii-e. He had read it aloud in Mademoiselle Keeker's salon, and she had fidgotol all the v/hile, Buftbn only looked at his watch, Tlioraus went to sleep, M. Necker smiled sar- castically ... in short- it was a failure, and the poor author, then unknown to f ime, was in despair.' ' A failure ! " Paul and Virginia " a failure ! * ' Evt^n so, child, it was a novelty, and sometimes, when a novelty is good for anythiug, it requires courage frankly to admire it. You pledge youi-self, as it were, for its success. " ilea 1 it to me while I paint." Vernet sa"d, but soon he could not paint, he could only listen. " Publish ! publish ! " he cried, and wo all know the verdict which has since been pa3S3d on the little cJi"/ d'^uvre.' Madeiuoi33lle de St. Aignan possessed in 2)erfK'tion the delightful ai-t ' de raconter.' Edmee was never wearied of her reminiscences, and looked up now with a question intended to lead her on, when the words were arrested on her lips by hearing someone dashing up the stairs, the door was flung open, and as hastily shut, as Isnard rushed in, breathless. ' Hide me . . . find some place to conceal me ! ' he cried, hold ng the door fist, and looking round like a hunted animal. ' Heavens ! what has happened ] ' exclaimed iiSIademoiselle de St. Aignan, * who are you, monsiem-, and what can we do for you ] ' ' It is M. Isnard, aunt, who helped to bring you here . . . HIDE AND SEEK. 209 whom I met on the clay of that fearful fete,' said Edm^e, rising in great alarm. ' Yes, yes, and it is owing to that day, to that meeting, I am in this danger. That bloodhound Pelven has ha.d his eye on me ; he thinks to find you through me ... I have been watched and dogged, I knew it . . . Laiu-e has sent mo word. I had a message just now to bid me not come home . . . as I turned the corner of this street I saw two men in wait for me, and bai-ely gave them the slip. It is yon who have brought me into this danger, you must hide me ! ' He seemed frantic with terror, unable to listen, unable to hear reason. ' Alas, monsieur, how can we ! — look round, there is not a place to conceal anyone,' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, looking at the bai-e room. ' There is a wardrobe ! ' he answered, springing to the doors of the tall piece of furniture, and pulling them violently open. *Tt would be the fii'st place searched. If we owed you no gi-atitude, we should assuredly gladly help anyone in distress, but see — how can we 1 ' He did not listen. ' It is for you that I am in danger, save me, you must save me ! ' he repeated, and then, as steps were heard coming he rushed to the window, ready to fling himself out to ceitain death. ' It is Madelon, it is only our proprietaire,' exclaimed Edmee, and he understood enough to draw back, though his look and manner alarmed the two defenceless women even more than the danger which he had brought them into. Madelon had heard him fly upstaii-s, and was come to see who had entered so unceremoniously. Edmee told her how things stood. ' Isnard . . . my nephew has spoken of him,' said she. ' Yes, yes, I understand, he has got into trouble like other peop'e. Well, we must do what we can; I hid two j^eople before you came, in this very room, and I daresay he will not be the last. Here, help me, citoyen fugitive ; move out this wardrobe ; we must get it back as we can. Do you see,' as Isnard, calmed by the ready oflfer of a refuge, obeyed her, ^10 AOBLESSE OBLIGE. ' there is a deep doorway 1 No one would suspect it, and I will not say that it is loxiuious to live in it, since you can only stand upi'i^ht, but firet one priest, then another, were veiy jjlad to 1x3 there during the days of September. If you are willing to run the risk, I am, mesdames.' ' !My good Madelon ! that we are ! ' ' I\Iake haste then, monsieur ; I think I hear visitors dowustaii-3, alre;uly, who may not 1)0 welcome to you. Luckily my husb:md is out, and Michonnet is discreet. Ah, they know him ; they ai-e questioning him ... no matter.' The wai'drobo was scarcely in its place before the gens- d'armes entered. They observed the troubled faces of Edmee and Mademoiselle de St. Aignan suspiciously. ' Your cartes civil'.s, citoyonnes ? ' they asked. The cartes civilcs were un- exceptionably correct. It had never Ijeen difficidt to procure forged ones, as many Royalists, who hnunted the Palais Royal, and drank and gamed and conspired there, knew very well, but the gens-d'armes were satisfied, only asking, * What was the noise we heard just now 1 * The citoyenne here moved her table for a better light,' an.swered ^ladelon promptly. One of the men had a turn for liotauy, ai)parently. He stood looking with appi'oval at Edmee's flowers, and then coolly took up her painting, and called his comi-ade's atten- tion to the little half-tinished group of ligines. * Perhaps, citizen, you know the story?' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, amiably, ' the little book of Rernardin — ' .she stopped herself just in time before adding the forbidden de St. Pierre. ' Bernai'din ] he speaks in our section ; he is a good patriot ; you mean the shoemaker of Avhom eveiyone has heard ? our gi-eat orator,' said the man, evidently tiattei-ed. ' I did not know that he had written a book, but no doubt it is he. What is it about \ ' Mademoiselle de St. Aignan found herself called on to ' raconter ' unexpectedly. She did so with spii-it which de- , lighted the gens-d'armes and ]\IadeVn, and amazed Edmee, tremlding lest Isnard should betray his hiding-place by some sound. ' HIDE AND SEEK. 211 ' Thank you, citoyenne, it is as good as healing Bernardin speak. What a pity yon cannot come and make speeches at our section ; I'll answer for it you would be listened to ! — So Bernardin wrote that book . , . what a wonderful man he is ! ' ' Perhaps it was a relation,' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, suppressing a laugh with difficulty. ' The poor little gii-l ! ' said the man, and there were tears in his eyes, ' if I had been there I would have got her some- how safe to land, whether she liked or not. I will tell my wife that story, and our next girl shall be called Virginie, that's settled. See, Antoine, these are good patriots, they read Bernardin's books, and the little one makes very pretty p!ctui-os about them. I should like that fon myself.' ' It is at your service, citizen,' said Edmee, and he opened and shut it with great satisfaction, while his companion, who had had no cadeaxi, looked discontented, and obserA^ed, ' By their faces when we came in one would have said they had half-a-dozen aristocrats in hiding, and it is I who say so.' ' Bvxt, citizen, all of your profession are not so polite as vou ; we could not tell that we should have such agreeable visitors,' said IMademoiselle de St. Aignan. ' That is very true, and we are losing time wbi'e the rascal we are after runs fui'ther/ said the happy possessor of the fan. ' I should like to look in the cupboard first,' said his ally, throwing the doors open. ' Why a cat could not hide there . . . come, I say.' ' But there may be someone behind it.' He gave a pull ; Madelon advanced — ' Take care, citizen, let me help you ; you will pinch your fingers thus.' Perhaps she contrived that it should be so ; at all events he drew back, shaking his fingers with a malediction on the wardi'obe. ' Here, let me look ; nothing, as I thought,' said the giher man, ' but we have not searched overhead yet.' ^ He dragged his companion off, nui-sing his fingers. No one spoke until the men were lieard comin»_<;lown from Ba^- mat's empty room; and examining the Amats. Then they looked at each other, with unspeakable relief. Their hearts 212 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. sank a,2jaiii as the door opened, and the first of the gens-d'annes looked in, but it was only to say, ' Good day, citoyennes, it is all right, — a fan makes a good screen sometimes ! ' He laughed and ran doM-nsta'i-s after his companion. They did not know whether he had only said it to f lighten them, or if he had purposely shut his eyas. In any case the danger was over for the time. They released Isuard, who came out of his niche as cool as he had before been unnerved. ' 80 far so good,' he said, ' in a few de3pien-e had been accused of wantiui^ to be long instead of Capet — I daresay it was tiiie, for where there are slaves a tyranc is never Ion;,' away.' 'Is it— can it Ix; true? If that belief have sjn-ead he stands on the edge of his gravel' said ^Mademoiselle ile St. Aignan, instantly ixrceiviug liow ti-euienilous would be the eirect of such an jiccusatiijn. ' I know not,' answered ISIadelon, with provoking indif- ference ; ' liowcver tliat may l>o, it will not biing Crocq home eai'lier from tho estainiwt, I suppose.' ' But listen, only listen, aunt ! ' cried Edm6e, who had been Ifauiug from the window, regardless of the night air which nearly blew out the caudles, set there in obedience to the police ordoi-s. ' Hear how the noLse is increasing; it is like great waves of sound from every jiai-t of the city, and there — theie — surely that can bo nothing but cannon and ammuiution- waggons rolling pa-st the end of the street ! Oh, if we could but see I ' ' Ocitainly .something veiy sti-ange is happening,' said IMadelon, roused out of her ill-humour ; ' none of oin- men have come in, even Balmat, who is moi-e regular than a clock, anil — f;ices at every window, now, do you see, and before I came up there was a stir . , . but what numbers begin to lun down the street ! AMiat can it be ? ' ' What can it be ] ' re])eate J Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, and tho timid voice of their fellow-lodger, !Madame Amat, echoed the question, as she came in, with a child in her aims, and two more clinging to her skirts, and all the pale, anxious faces now crowding to everv window and door .•^eeme 1 to ask the same question, but the habitual fear in which everyone lived, the caution taught bv the times was such that not a single remark was exchanged across the nanow street, and all looked and listened in silence, or said a few words only auflible to their own families. ' There is Ba'mat ! ' Edmee exclaimed, feeling as if ho brought safety -n-itli him, but the flickering light of the can- dles showed Ids fece so pale and agitated that they stood in terror, and only iMadelon could ask, ' What is going on in tho town 1 Is there danger ? ' I THE ^TH OF THERMIDOR. 217 * God knows what will happen,' he answered, in a trem- bling voice ; ' have you then heard nothing 1 do you not know that Robespierre was accused in the Convention to-day ? the scene was frightful, they say ; he tried to get a hearing ; they would not listen ; the president rang his bell and shouted for silence every time he began to speak ; they howled and roared against him like madmen ; Thuriot told him that the l^lood of Danton was choking him when his voice failed — then Henriot hearing of his danger ga lops with the gendarmerie to de'iver him ; the guard at the Tuileries meet them with their bayonets ; then the Commune rise up for Eobespien'e, arrest the mes- sengers from the Convention, and have twenty-six cannon dragged to the Place de Greve . . . Eobespierre is in the Hotel de Yille, with his brother, and Cofiinhal and Couthon, and I know not v/hom besides ; all his adherents are gathered in the square, over two thousand' — he stopped breathless. The street below now resounded v.dth steps running by, and alternate shouts of ' Yive la Convention ! ' 'A has la Con- vention ! ' ' Vive la Commune ! ' from opposing factions, but no one stopped to dispute ; the battle was to be fought out elsewhere; all hurried on to the Place de Greve. ' Is it possible ! ' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, pale with awe. ' All this since this morning, and perhaps before to-morrow this monster may be overthrown ! ' ' Ah, there is Amat ! ' cried the wife, whose thoughts had been all the whi'e with her husband, and she ran out to meet him, presently I'eturning for a moment to say, ' Henriot is haramnrlnsr the Garde Kationa^.e on the Place du Carousel: if they listen to him all is lost — the Convention must perish", and then she hui-ried back, vaiuly trying to persuade her hus- ban^l not to go out again. * Let us go up on tlie roof ; we can see thence all over the Place de Greve,' said Madelon, and they followed, scrambling thi'ongh a tiap-door, to a flat part of the roof, where they clustered, gazing over the city, vvhose towers and domes rof-e dark into the sky, though the houses were full of lights, and torches flitted up and down the streets, sheddiug a yellow, wavei'ing light on the river, on the dark masses of men mov- ing along the quais, and on the serried crowd round the Hotel ;il8 li^ODLESHE OBLIGE. de Ville, where cannouiers were standing A\-itli lighted matches bv tlieir guns, and the gleam of the torclics mingled with the cold jmle starlight showed bristling pikes and bayonets, and tlio despei-ate and liaggard faces of the i-abble gathered to dofi'ud tlu-ir chief, whi'e from every quarter of the city tlie tramp of innumeral.'le feet came near and nearer to the attack. On the Place du Carousel, Henriot was desperately appea'ing to the National Guard, only to read in their sullen si enco that liobe5i)!erre's fate was sealed, and that of his friends with it. From \mknown liiding-placea. Royalists who hal been lurlcing in daily fear for theii- lives crept out, and urged on the j)Oj)u'aco agsiinst the Hotel de Ville, whi'e even more powerful was the stimulus sui)plied by the tears and supp'ications of fatliers and motliers, husbands and wives, who ha 1 relations among the 10,000 prisoners awaiting death in the prisons. With one of those tremendou.«, inconceivable revulsions wliich characterise Paris, Robespierre and all be- longing to him suddenly Ijecame the objects of nnivei-sal exe- cration ; to se"; 0, to destroy, to annihilate him and his party the cry of the throng ])ouring out to crush the insurgents in tlie Place de Greve. What would hapj;en next ? The first shot, nay, a mere nothing, the opening of a window, the lighting of a torch, and the troops of the Convention and the friends of Robespierre would be at each others' throats, and Paris deluge.] with b'ood, perhaps sacked and burned. On every roof where foot could stand spectators were clustering, gaing towards the Place de Gr6ve, in bi-eathless silence, too anxious for words. The heais of the advancing columns were seen debouching on the squaic : they ])aused ; neither side dared fire the first shot, and a deep, brief silence, more awful and intense than any sound, ensued. It was broken — sud- denly, unexpectedly — by a cry of ' Vive la Convention,' from the midst of the insurgent ranks, i-aised none knew by whom, but the effect was decisive ; a roar of app'ause from the Go- vernment troops drowned all token of dissent from the Robes- p ^irists ; another silence followed, interrupted tliis time by a single voice, addressing the insurgents, and audib e in the deep hush all over the square. Those on the roofs strainci their ears in vain ; they could on^y see that tlierc was a flue- TEE dTH OF THEBMIDOB. 219 tuating, uncei'tain movement round the Hotel de Ville, as if friends and foes were mingling, wlietliei- peaceably or not none could tell ; it was all a dark, sui'ging mass. ' The cannon are not fired,' murmured Edmee. That was all which they weie sure of; the shouts and cries might be those of joy or anger. The himdieds of anxious eyes bent on the squai-e could see nothing for many minutes but the heaving crowd ; after a time it seemed thinner ; there were empty spaces here and tliei-e, and though the cannon remained, tho^e of the insurgents facing the guns brought up by the Garde Nationale, the gunners had disap- peared. Madelon ran downsiau's to see if Crocq had returned, and ti-y to hear what was happening ; the otliers stood watch- ing until convinced that they could see nothing which would tell them anything more, and wearied out, they went back to their roo'^, but no one in the Maison Ci'ocq, or in hundreds of other ho\ise3 in Paris, went to bed that night. At day- break Ba'mat went out, promising to return soon, and Michounet came in, to find himself instantly surrounde 1 by aU the inhabitants of the house, demanding news of the night's events. From him they gatheied more or less of the arrest of Robesp'erre, the terrib'e scene wben the Garde Nationa'e seized him and las friends in the Hotel de Ville, and that they were now in the Conciergerie awaiting sen- tence of death. For a moment no one could speak ; then a sort of shriek of mingled joy and fear escaped every lip, em- braces, kisses, tears, broken words followed, a scene of confu- sion, gratitude, almost incredulous rapture, such as was beiug enacted all over I'aris, as if everyone fe!t his own life and that of his best beloved given back, when beyond hope of reprieve ; Paris only recognised the intensity of its terror by the intensity of its relief, but mingled with all was a sort of incredulous ama-^ement that such a thing was possible as that Robespierre could be thus cast do^vn.. ' How art thou fallen, O Lucifer, son of the morning ! ' was the thought in evey heait, and each would tm^n and ask his neighbour if indeed it -o'eie true, and shed tears of raptm-e at the assurance that it was so, that the death-day of the tyrant was come- that tyi-ant whom their own hands had set up. All Paris 220 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. was in the streets ; from adjacent windows, from roof-tops messa':;es were te'e<::i"aphed to tlie piisons, wliose inmates liad watclied in terror all through the evening and night, be'icv- ing themselves about to he murdered, and now flocVed to the windows, scarcely able to be'ieve that it was Eol e:5pierre, not themselves, whose last hour hal come, rea ling the atored coutlitiou of tliings in the huml)led, downcast air of their gaolers, and in the glad faces which looked at them fi-om with- out, some of friends, some of strangers, but all gratu^atoi'y a'ike. ]\Ieanwhile Eobesp'cvre, mute, impassive, giving no sign of pain either from tortured mind or shattered body, awaited the death which his less stoical companions were trorabling to meet. Neither as they passed through the streets, more thronged and by a more exulting crowd than even when Louis Seize went to liis death, nor wh.en, last of the condemned, he left the cart for the scaffold, did he show any emotion : once only his eye g'auced round, when a man standing near mur- mured, ' Yes, Robesjnerre, there is a God ! ' Physical agony wnmg one cry fiom him as the executioner roughly snatched away the haudkercldef which bound the jaw shuttered by a brutal shot fi-om a (Jarde in the Hotel de Ville, otherwise the stoic Republican died as he had lived, ca^m, immovable, terrible. And Paiis, mad with joy, rushed forth for wdiat was called a ' man'fest;ition promcuatoire,' and in the evening thronged to the theatres, to see Armida, with Tc'emaque for the ballot at the Opera, or the Combat of Thennopylie in the Cit6. So ended the 9th of Tliermidor. CHAPTER XXYIl. LAURE. ' Say what you will, I cannot understand it,' said Made- moiselle de St. Aignan. ' Robespierre is dead, and his friends LAUBE. 221 are dead too, or in hiding — you admit that, and yet power seems only to have passed li-om one set of assassins to another ! Whatever anyone may say, the Revolution was founded on truth and justice ; it taught brotherhood and equal rights for all men, it swept away the abuses of centuries, and yet it has come to this ! What livers of blood have been shed, and what crimes committed in the name of Libei"ty ! To be sure, we might say that of Christianity, or anything else with which men have to do, but now we seem to have got the deluge without the ark or the dove ! Poor Liberty ! she was married to the Revolution in '89, but there was a speedy divorce, for incompatibility cVJmmeur, I suppose. Well, well, go away^ child ; you have your screens and fans to take to Bautain's — do not let me keep you.' Edmee kissed her and went out, and Mademoiselle de St. Aignan sat ruminating an idea which had suddenly occm-red to her. Presently she did what she had never attempted since coming to the Maison Crocq — went out of it ; and when Edmee retiu'ned she found with great alarm an empty room, and no news of the absentee, except that INIade^on said she had heard someone go out, but could not leave the pieds de mouton d la pouloite which she was cooking to see who it was. Edmee cou d do nothing ; Balmat was at the atelier, and she could not possibly seek him among threescore unmannerly students, nor indeed could he have gone in search of Made- moiselle de St. Aignan, since no one knew whither she had gone, though an explanation of her absence occiu-red to Edmee which increased her trepidation ; it might be that she had settle! the vexed question whether any communication were to be held with De Pelven by going to see him. In the first boundless re ief of Robespierre's death all danger had seemed over, but Ba'mat, looking on with the dispassionate clear- sightedness of a foreigner, unconcerned with what was hap- pening, thought otherwise, and the event proved him right ; the Jacobins were as dangerous as ever, and though they re- leased those who were in prison on the 9th of Thermidor, they replaced them with others, and when the tide of oppression and bloodshed seemed retreating a great wave would sweep up over the whole shore, and carry everything away with it. 2:22 li^OBLESSE OBLIGE. The confusion in the country waa grrcater than ever, and it was increa-;c.l by Royalist p'ots, and the voncreance, stealthy in Paris, o])en in the ea,st of France, whicli they were taking on their enemies. Strange rumom-s began to spread of a secret society formed among them under tlie name of tho Compagnona de Jehu, bound to put to death ever}' Jacobin who fell into their hands, and diligences were constantly steppe .1 an 1 robbed by men whose air and di-ess showed them to be of the upper c asses. Edmce couUl not guess liow aU tliis would affect De Pelven, but she knew that to come again into contiict with him could bring nothing but trouble and jx'ril. She waited in increasing anxiety, until her fears were partially dispe'.led by hearing ^lademoiselle de St. Aignau's step. She came in, looking tired, excited, half amused, ac- companied by Isnard, who bowed to Edmee, saying, ' We have not met since the fall of tho monster. I have been occupieJ in composing his epitaph : — Pasamt, ne plenre pns son sort, Car s'il vivait tu serais mort. Do yon approve 1 ' ' Ah, monsieur, how I thank you for having brought home my dear aunt Siife'y I ' cried Edmce, too gla I to see Ma le- moiselle de St. Aiman safe to attend to what he said. ' Where have you l)eea ? ' * On a little business of my own, ma charmant'',' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, smiling to see how strongly Isnard's vanity was piqued by the neglect which his wit met with. He stood gloomy, 'ike a sulky child. ' After you went I had nothing sjiecial to do, so I bethought myself of \-i3iting my cousin.' ' Dear aunt ! how could you? And you have seen liira V ' No, he has quitted Paris.' ' Quitted Paris ! Are you sure ] * ' So his proprietaire says. His apartment is to let ; he ha.s gone to Poitou, where his family live, or did live.' * The Robespierrists are tasting what they made others taste so long,' said Isnard, suddenly and savagely. * Cher monsieur, you are mistaken if you think De Pelven LA URE. 223 was an adherent of Robespierre ; lie "was nothing of the kiacl, and I, -who know the man, answer for it. Robespien-e was never « i lely popular, as Mii-abeau was for instance, but his adherents were all fanatics, and that gave them enormous strength. De Pelven was no fanatic ; it was not in him. If he did good or did eAdl it was coldly, and without loving it.' * Anyhow he and I have a long account to settle ; he ^^^ll yet repent that he ever heard my name,' said Isnard, in the same tragical, gloomy manner, at which Mademoiselle de St. Aignan shrugged her shoulders. ' But what did you do, aunt ? where did you go V * I walked a little way — yes, I actually did ! ' said Ma^le- moiselle de St. Aignan, triumphant in her own dariug. ' Pre- sently I saw a fiacre, and hii-ed it, but I had not driven ha'f a mile when I confess I wished myself at home, for some forty or fifty vii-agoes rushed upon it — it seems thqt the driver had the misfortune to be husband to one of thfjj-ie megeres — ordering him to stop and take as many of them aa it would hold to the Convention. I assure you it was not agreeable to be surrounded by furies howling and shouting for bread and the Constitution of '93. I fully expected to see our Lafarge among them, and then Heaven knows what would have happened. There was nothing for it but to get out ; luckily they paid no attention to nie, and I was not far from De Pelven's old residence, and there stood monsieur in conversation with the concierge ; it seems he had business with De Pelven.' She looked v>dth curiosity at Isnard, but he volunteered no explanation beyond repeating, ' Yes, I told you we two had an account to sett'e !' ' Then you escorted my aunt back here, monsieur ] Ah, dear aunt, you have made me terribly anxious I ' * You see, ma honne,' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, half apologetically, ' I wanted to ask De Pelven if there be any hope of recovering my poor little estate at Mortemart ; monsieiu' here says no, I am sorry to say ; it must have been confiscated as Men cV emigre, which seems hard, I must say; and then again it is only through De Pelven that I see any means of communicating with my nej)hew. He might get 224 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. the chevalier's name raye, so that he might return. If you hear of ]M. de Pelven's being iu Paris, you will not fail to let me know, monsieur ? ' *I will not fi'i',' answered Isnard, with a janing laugh, which made Mademoiselle de St. Aignan draw herself up, displeave 1. •And you, monsieur'? you are no longer in danger? we have frequently wondered what had become of you,' said Edmee, and then she added in a lower tone, — 'And Laure? — I have thought of her so often ! ' She stoj)ped, frightened by the way in which he turned U2)on her. ' You do not mean tliat you have not heard ? ' he cried, angi-ily, as if unable to credit her ignorance of what was so important to himso'f. * I know nothing, indeed,' faltered Edmt'e. ' She is dead. You need not apk how. They could not find me ; they took her, and they shall pay for it. Every drop of her blood, every hair of her head, shall be paid for!' And then, throwing himself on a chair, and covering his fiice, he sobbed aloud. No one ever appreciated me as she did ! she knew what I was ! There was nothing she would not Lave sacrificed for my sake!' Edmee stood silent, sorrowing for the pretty gud whom she had seen .=o shoi-t a time, yet could not forget, but her sympathy with Isnard was chilled by a sense of something uni-eal and egotistical in his emotion. ' Had she any relations, the poor child ? ' asked Made- moiselle de St. Aignan. ' Yes — a mother,' he answered, as if importimed by an idle and in-elevant question. * Poor mother — vou have no doubt seen her ? ' ' No — on the contrary. It would onJy make me suffer more cruelly, arid she was mine, mine — even her mother could not enter into my feelings.' Tears were streaming between his fingers. Presenty he raised his head and said, ' I was very true to her. Of course I was often tempted to be un- faltlifal, but I was always loyal to the poor child. It could not have continued, but it was veiy beautiful as long as it LA URE. 235 lasted, and now it will ever remain a lovely recollection. I shall never have the pain of finding that my feelings are changing. A time must have come when she no longer satis- fied me — it would have been very painful to us both ; we are spared that anguish. I comfort myself thus.' To Mademoiselle de St. Aignan it seemed a i-easonable and sensible mode of argument, and she chimed in with it, and he took Edmee's speechless indignation for sympathy which could find no words. ' Ah, you feel for me ; you understand me ! ' he said, as he took leave, kissing the hand which she could hardly force herself to yield to him. ' You will hear some day how I repaid the debt which I owe her murderer ! ' ' That yovmg man is a strange medley,' Mademoiselle de St. Aignan remai'ked, when he was gone. ' His sori-ow is all for himself, thovigh it is real in its way, and his vanity is so strong that it almost reconciles him to his soiTOW, so long as he can believe that it makes him the cential figure in the picture. Apparently it never occurs to him that he caused that poor thing's death by hiding himself as he did, and leaving her to meet the dangei-. But he is dai^gei'ous — I told you so before ; he will pique himself on exacting ven- geance for her, and the_ eclat of it will have an irresistible cba vui for him. I wonder whom he means to call to account ! ' UdiL-le had divined that De Pelven was the man. and sus- pected that he knew Isnard was lying in waii for him, and had left Paris as much on that account as because the friends of Robespierre were in danger, though she little guessed that he had betaken himself to INIortemart, whUe giving out that he had gone to Poitou, and was quietly living in Made- moiselle de St. Aiguau's house, partly as an unsuspected refuge, and pai'tly with a hope that he might there learn something about her movements, as he probably would but for Isnard's authoritative assertion that the property must have been sold. Edmee did not care to say even what she believed to be the fact, and only replied, ' It must have seemed veiy cruel to name Laure as I did ! ' 'Bah! how should you know, joefi^e] though to be sure one may safely suppose that all one's acquaintance have gone out of the world now-a-days, but only his enormous and 226 KOBLESSE OBLIGE, preposterous vanity could have imagined that of course all concerning himse.f must have needs i-oached our ears. I wonder who he is . . . atrocious manners, but he is ne, one sees that . . . Isnard ?— Isnard ?— ' ' Balmat says he is in some "way connected with the De Monfort family.' ' Wliat ! is it possible ? I know all about them ; a family proud as Lucifer ; they lived not far from some of my mother's re^ations, in an old chateau like a fortrers, lost among the woods, and were as fierce and savage as the wild boars in their foi'ests. A father, three sons, and a daughter. They never stirred off their own lands, and had a flavour of the middle ages about them. I recollect something told us once by some visitor to oui- chateau — the young men suspected that the sister, a girl who had never had any education or seen any gentleman but her fother and brotheis, had a penchant for a handsome garde-chasse. They asked no questions ; they did not shoot him, for that is an aristocrat sort of death, but they fell on the man and beat him to death ■\\-ith their guns.' 'Horrible! And she]' ' Oh, sent off to some convent, and there was an end of the matter. It wa^ on theii' own lands, and nobody's affair. The Baion de la Roche, who related the story to my father, merely obseived, " Cesgens vivent denous ; qu'importe s'ils meureiit par nous ! " I do not exactly see however liow this Isnard can belong to the De IMonforts. To be siu-e there are many way!} of belonging to a noble family, and if there be a hitch any- where it woiild explain his being such a violent aristocrat. He certainly lias just theii' vanity ; they believed that the world was created for them, and that everything they did was remaikable ; you often see it in people who live a solitary life, and never get oat of sight of themselves ; I suppose he has inherited the feeling, and some of their ferocity too. How bis eyes glared as he spoke of vengeance : did you observe it? ' ' Yes, but what a poor-spirited creature he is ! How can anyone call such a feeling as he described love 1 ' said Edmee, colouring vividly with indignation. ' Love ! what do you know about the matter, ma charmante 1 ' asked Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, quickly. LAURE. 227 ' I suppose that one may divine a little,' said PJdmee, coloiiring mora and more, well aware that she had toitch&d on a sunject about which a well bi'ought tip maiden was supposed to be utterly ignoi-ant. ' Well . . . after all, one- cannot treat yon as a mei-e child,' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, in an odd. puzzled, uncertain tone. ' As for me, I am a vieille fdle, 1 can almost consider myself a married woman. So it is not thus that you would wish to be loved, eh, petite 1 ' And she became silent, perhaps recalling past days when she too, in spite of the severely innocent education of a girl, bien clevee, had had her dreams, and waited for the return of one betrothed who never came back to her. It had not broken her heart in youth, nor saddened her middle age, but she had never forgotten that spring-time of youth and hope, and it had left a tinge of romance that she Avould greatly have liked to see renewed in Edmee's h'story. She betrayed the course which her thoughts had taken, by saying, ' It seems that the laws against the c ergy and the emvjres are as severe as ever. All the se'f-devotion which the priests have shown will not save their character in the popular eyes, and as for the emigres, if -they could come back what would become of those who had seized their lands % The Eevolu- tion has altered all the laws of property. Long before '89 the peasant loved a bit of land l?etter than his life, and he will never let go any that he has once gi'asped. No, I do not see how the emvjres are to return. And when they do, they will be unaware of the current in which the Revolution has set, and bent only on revenge — it must be so ! ' EJmee had seldom seen so weary and depressed a look on Mademoiselle de St. Aignan's face. She seemed to have had a new view of public affairs, which her good sense forced her to accept against her will. ' That young man,' she continued pi-esently, ' that Isnard, he is a tyj^e of the Royalists who ruined our cause. What does he care for truth, or liberty or patriotism 1 ISTo more than a peasant ! He is a Royalist because it is the aristocratic side, and because without a king there can be no noil ss", and he thinks that noble bii-th gives liim the right to commit 22H NOBLESSE OBLIGE. a'l the seven deadly sins without being called to account. To a man like that the lower classes do not exist. When I hear him talk I understand wliat we seem to the peop-e, and why they have no pity. It is not tliis or that individual whom they want to destroy, but our order.' ' I suppose so,' said Edmee leluctautly. ' See, child, many of these democrats are true patiiots, but short-windcil. "They are mostly in terrible earnest, and our c^ass has lost the power of being in earnest. These are evil day?) ... I am strange\y tired, perhaps that is why I see tilings look so black. But now tell me what you have been about. Another batch of fans, I see.' ' Yes, and a ])roposal to paint little boxes for bon-bons, with any designs I like, and they will be printed off ... I shall be well paid, and can gain much thus, I think . . . And oh, tlear aunt, I have made a discover}^ I am sure of it. Next door to Baiitaiu's is a picture dealer's ; I thought I would see if they would buy one of my flower pieces. It was presumptuous, but they did. The master of the shop, M. Pinard, praised it. But that is not the best. I saw there a flower ]iainting so perfect that I could only feel ashamed to have offered mine. INI. Pinard saw me studying it, .and smiled, saying I couhl not elioose a better model ; it was by a flower painter whose works are paid for enormously ; all the more that he would hardly be induced to part with them, but touched and retouched until his patrons tore them from him. There seemed to me something familiar in the handing, and looldng close, imagine what I saw — instead of a name in one coiner was a very minutt! lily.' ' The royal flower ! what audacity ! ' ' Ah, but do you know what it told me 1 The name of the artist. " The painter of that pictm-e is called Delys," I said. ** No," said Pinard, " he is an old artist who has rooms iu the Lou^Te ; he is called Lalleur." And then I saw it all ! It is M. Delys who use 1 to go to St. Aignan, whom I used to watch at work ! who gave me my fu'st colours . . . ho must have assumed the name of I.afleur. It is he of whom Ba^.mat speaks, who allows no one to enter his studio. But I shall find my way tliither, and astonish our Ealmat ; be LA UIIE. 229 sure you tell him nothing. But I tire you, clear aunt % ' she added, disappointed at the want of interest with wliich her eager tale seemed heai*d. ' No, no, petite, on the contrary ... I do not laiow what has happened to me. These ten days I seem to have grown more dull and tired. It is nothing. My expedition of to-day over-tu-ed me.' Edmee looked uneasily at her. It was very unhealthy weather, and an epidemic of low fever was pi'evalent, greatly increased by want of proper food and the general anxioii>-3 and nervous state of the public, but Mademoiselle de St. Aignan shook off her depression, and began discussing Edmee's news with her usual animation. Edmee was delighted by the dis- covery which she thought that she had made. She had long resolved to storm the fortress which Balmat declared impreg- nable, and now she had no longer any fears of failui-e, though M. Delys seemed to exaggerate the common habit of many artists of surroimcUng their labours with a kind of mystery. He could indeed hardly be expected to recollect the child who had formed but a very passing episode in his life, though he had so powerfully influenced hers ; but Edmee felt sure she should at least once_see the inside of his ateher, and fell asleep full of schemes for the morrow. They were not destined to be fulfilled. Morning found Mademoiselle de St. Aignan so unwell that Edmee could not leave her ; and it proved the l:)eginning of a tedious illness, lasting week after week with little perceptible change. ' I will never set my heart on anything again,' Edmee thought, with the feeling that it is sufiicient to desire a thing strongly to see it become impossible, which readily occurs to natiu-es pitched in a minor key ; but soon she could only think of her invalid. Those were weary months, full of the difiiculties of constant attendance on a sick bed, when combined with the pitiless necessity of gaining a livelihood. Mademoiselle de St. Aignau's cheerful spirit never failed ; she was the most patient and good-humoiu-ed of invalids, though in health her temper could be quick enough ; but Edmee's strength wiis sorely tried by anxious days, with work done in moments snatched from the sick room, and watchful nights. Madame 230 NOBLESSE oniAGE. Ataat gave what help she could, and Balmat tided her over many hard houi's ; Madelon too was ready to assist as far as she knew liow, but she had the peasaut rough-handedness and inability to cook or nurse. Her favourite remedy was hot wine with a candle melted in it, and she was mortally aiTronted at its being utterly declined by both niu'seaiid patient, and then she could not pardon Edmee's wasting money on a doctor, and having once or twice to beg her to wait for the rent in consequence. * If it had been someone who could have said a prayer over la mo.ladi, there would have been some sense in it,' she said, a prayer being a euphuism for a charm, ' but a doctor ! If we were sure she would get well there would be some sense in paying for mecUcine, but if she should die after all it will all have been wasted ! ' It seemed more than once during that winter as if, from Madelon's point of view, all the nursing and doctoring would be wasted. Death stood on the threshold of Mademoiselle de St. Aignan's room, and even seemed to enter and stand by her bed ; but with the new year came a turn for the better, reviving ho])es, increasing strength, and Edmee began at once to realise how tired and how glad she was. * You would not let me go, my child : yo'i have kept me, and I am right g'ad to have been kept,' Mademoiselle de St. Aignan said to her, when she fii'st left her bed for an. arm-chair, helped by Madelon'a strong arm, very readily proffered, ' but how have you got through tliis time 1 ' Edmee could not have told her. She had got tlii-ouKh it as people do, whose strength and nerves are taxed to their utmost, ^^'ithout realising the strain until it slackens. She found her chief dithculty wovild now be in putting aside the anxiety of ^Mademoiselle de St. Aignan about the Avhite looks which she could not disguise, and to hide that their purse had gi'own so empty that, weary or not, she must work doubly hard to re-fill it. It was Mademoiselle de St. Aignan who recurred to the project discussed before her illness, and urged her to seek M. De'ys. and after all it was rather to p' ease her than herself, that Edmee promised to do so. Madelon shook her head, and did Mademoiselle de St. Aignan no good hj OPEN SESAME. 231 her comments on Edmee's looks, uttered with the nasparing plainspokeunesD of her class, and Edmee was obliged to silence her by admitting that she did want aii* and rest, aad pro- mising to seek the old painter the first day that she could leave jMademoiselle de St. Aignan. CHAPTER XXYIII. OPEN SESAME. The Louvre in 1795 was more like an Augean stable than what it became a few years later, when the strong hand of Napoleon had cleared it, though even he found it a difficult task. Some attempt had been made by the Convention to establish a national museum there, the chief result of which had been wasting large sums of money. Great part of the palace was given up to artists, who had constructed a series of ateliers and chambers in the great unceiled galleries, lighted only from the court, and established there, not only their studios, but then* families. Anytliing more disordeidy, gloomy and comfortless than the Louvi-e and the Tuileries at this time it would be difficult to imagine, but no one appeared to think so, and a lodging in the former was greatly coveted, especially as it was given gratis. Here David had his atelier, and that of -his students ; here Van Sjjaedonck composed his beautiful flower pieces, Valenciennes painted his landscapes, and Ingres began to study art. Even in 1792 there had been an exhibition of pictures, and all through these troubled years art had struggled on, and in some degree shared in the new birth of all things in France, partaking of the faults and mistakes of the times, but shaking off traditional chains, and animated with fresh vigour. Through this stormy time M. Delys had worked unmolested, almost unconscious of the tempest raging outside of his atelier, absorbed in his delight- ful art, and content to produce s'ov>']y, so long as the result 2-dz NOBLESSE OBLIGE. satisfierl him. Sometimes he disappeared for days together, having left Paris to spend a week in the woods and tie'.ds, studying plants and flowers in their own haunts ; sometimes he procured subjects from the flower market, where he was a well-known customer. As Edmce crossed the Place du Louvre, so early that the milk-women, with great jars on their heads, were still crying ' La laitiere ! la laitiere ! allons vite ! ' and the sky was still pearly with the first dawn, she saw the old man, a solitary figure, coming in a contrary direction over the .silent square, and carefully chciishing a tuft of early primroses and moss, through which a spray of ivy wa3 twining. She recognised him at once hy his air and pecu'iar gait, and the lirown coat with gold buttons, and great pockets, stuffed full of plants, just as she had formerly seen him at St. Aignan's. How familiar it all seemed — the muslin ruffles, and the .shirt-frill stained with .snuff, and the round wig, pushed awry as of old. Her heart beat so fast with p easure and trej^idation, that her first low call was unheard, but the second time that she uttered his name he turned shai-jily. 'Who calls me so? Who are you, child? What do you want?' he asked irritably, and pushing his wig more crooked than e^'e^. ' ]My name is Lafleui- — Lafleur, do you hear ? I do not know you.' ' You do not recollect me, monsieur, but I have seen you formerly, at St. Aignan.' • But what do you want? what do you want? I have no time to lose,' he answered, offering her a few sous, much as he would have brushed away a troublesome fly. * Xot that, monsieur, something much greater,' replied Edmee with a half-laugh, and then he began to perceive that he had not a beggar to do with, and called his thoughts away with an effort from the primroses which he was con- templating as he went along, regardless of the worn and dangerous state of the pavement, or the risk of walking into the deep gutters in the middle of the streets. ' I used to see you paint at the chateau. You taught me a little, and gave me some colom-s, Madame de St. Aignan was my godmother.' OPEN SESAME. 233 ' I cannot recollect anything about yon,' said the old man, peevishly ; ' what is your name 1 ' * Edmee. Do you not recollect painting a branch of a new tree which Madame de St. Aignan had planted in the gardens 1 a tree with drooping yellow blossoms, a little like l>oats or butterflies "? You said there was but one other place where they were found in all France.' * The laburnum ... I begin to recollect,' said M. Delvs, more gently. The Coxmtess sent you to show me where they grew, saying, you knew every flower and tree in the grounds. Yes, it comes back to me. Does it still flourish % ' ' I think so, monsieur. Tiees and even flowers live longer than those who planted them.' ' Triis, true. Her god-daughter ... to be sure ; but you were a mere child,' said M. Delys, with evident suspicion of her identity. ' It is several years ago, monsieur.' * Ah, true ; one forgets, one forgets. Long enough to lay the Countess in her grave, and for many other things to happen — at least, so they tell me, but I never listen, I never listen,' he added, hurriedly; ' I know and care nothing of what passes beyond my atelier. The primroses blow still at all events, and very early too this year. Here am I letting you waste my time while my flowers fade.* He walked hastily on, but Edmee kept by his side, and apparently his mind was occupied by the recollections which she had evoked, for he said suddenly, 'Are you not the steward's daughter ] What has become of him ] Dead, no doubt, like the rest. And what are you doing in Paris'? You are not alone, I suppose 'i ' ' No, I have an. aunt with me.' * Edmee 1 — And a sweet voice,' he muttered audibly. * Strange that she should have that name. What is your sm-name, child 1 ' ' My father was called I^eroux.' * Well then, mademoiselle . . . tush ! citoyenne Leroux — ' * Pardon ! ' she interi-upted, tiu-ning red and pale, ' jiadame Alain.' ' What ! You are married ! impossible ! ' said the painter. 234 FODLESSE OBLIGE. surveying the slender, gii-lisli figiu-e witli xmconcealed sur- prise. * I am older than I look, monsieur.' * And how Ions; have you been married 1 ' 'It was in '93/ * And your husband 1 where is he ? ' ' I do not know what has become of him,' she stammered, casting down her eyes. ' He was obliged to leave me dii-ectly ... I have never soen him since.' * Bon ! what times ! ' mvitt^red the old man. * All is upside down. No douljt the husband was cai-ried off to the war, artisan or peasant he would have to go, and there are tlie owners of St. Aignan all gone too, who knows where ! Noliles and peasants all vanished equally . . . good heavens, what times ! She does not look like a peasant, tliis child . . . she is far more like a noble demoiselle . . . Well, why have you sought me] how did you find out an>i;hing about me?' ' I saw one of your beautiful paintings at Pinard's, where I had gone to ask if he would buy some daub of mine ; I knew your touch, and then I saw the lily which you always put in the corner — ' * Think of that ! she recognised my touch ! ' cried M. Delys, delighted ; ' Go on, ma bonne.' ' They assured me that the painting was by an artist named Lafleur, but I knew better, and found out where you lived. You are thinking me very daring, but you know I am a sort of pupil of yours,' said Edmee ; ' so here I am to ask a favour, a great favour.' 'And what"?' asked M. Delys, struck with the charm which her momentary smile had given toher delicate, mo m-n- ful countenance. * Ah, if you would let me study in your atelier ! ' ' Peste ! ' he exclaimed, much astonished. * Study in my atelier ! you are out of your senses, child.' ' Oh, I know that you admit no one, and have no pupils, but I am not a wicked boy, but industrious and well-be- haved ; I would light your fii'e and arrange your atelier — '' * Apelles forljid ! No one but poor Balmat shall do that OPEN SESAME. 335 ... an excellent Swiss, a good awk%vard fellow, who has made his way in, I know not how, and I have not the heart to forbid it.' Edmee laughed a little, knowing it was for her sake that Balmat had patiently ingi-atiated himself ^vith the old man, and brought away many useful hints and criticisms for her. ' Anyhow I must learn to paint better than I do now,' she said, ' and you mxist help me.' ' Why, she begins to order now ! ' said the old man, but he smiled. ' If she were but to call me " father " I should begin to think that my daughter ... I always felt that she would have inherited my talent, and perhaps even have de- veloped it fiu'ther. Ah, bah ! the whole morning ■will be g-one — do yovi think these things are settled in the streets % fetay, you shall see my atelier ; there can be no harm in that,' he murmured as if apologising to himself for some weakness. ' When she has heard my neighbours for ten minutes it will put such foolish fancies out of her head. Edmee ! why should she have precisely that name, I ask you ? ' Edmee followed him up a narrow dark staii'case leading from the little door by wliich they entered the Louvre to a studio which he' had inheiited from someone who had quitted it so suddenly for the wars or the scaffold that he had left most of liis possessions behind. M. Delys had left them undistm'bed. It Avas a far larger atelier than he needed, with bare grey vsalls, and a single window, some ten feet from the ground, and it had evidently belonged to a painter of David's school, for bronzes, a cvirule chaii', and Etruscan vases were mingled Avith plaster casts of heads and legs and arms. There was a sketch of some classic subject half-de- signed on an easel, pushed a.jide and forgotten behind a stove. On another easel, under the gi-rat window, so that the full sunlight fell on it, stood a lovely group of flowers which Van Spaedonck himself might have en vie 1. The primi-oscs just brought in were to form part of it. He laid them down with lovintj cai-e ; his thin finders seemed to caress them as he sprinkled them with water, while his companion siirveyed all around with keen interest. She felt as if she had found 236 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. her way into a new land, where everything was a revelation or a wonder, but her eye fell ou the painting ha"f finished under the window, and she uttered a cry of de ight. * Ah ! mon mattre, what a chef cVaiuvre!' she cried, with the sincei-est admiration. ' One sees the drops of rain glitter on those leaves ! that butterfly is j ust going to settle ! And how was it possible to find a blue so exactly the right shade for this flower % ' ' Hon ! she tliinks herself a critic ! ' said the painter, laugh- ing, but evidently well pleased by her enthusiastic delight. ' Do not speak to me of butterflies ; that one was the cause of my dismissing the only pupil whom 1 ever admitted here. He had talent, enormous talent, I own it, but I always doubted if he had that deep and timid love of Nature without which no one is ever permitted to enter her sanctuary. I suspected that he dulled his perceptions and blinded his eyos by pursuing art to gain money or fame — that he was no true worshipper, in short, for art is a priesthood, child, remember that, and we are at once priests and worshippers, or e'se pagans and exi'es from her temple. Last Decadi lie goes as he says to study landscape. I approve, but the next day he returns, enters here with a butteri'v pinned to his hat a ive and fluttering. I see this, I rise-^' Isl. De'ys grew so ex- cited by the mere recollection of the scene that he rose as he spoke with a threatening gestm-e, ' I exclaim, " Begone, un- feeling animal, heartless wretch ; go and become a butcher's apprentice, but abandon for ever the thought of becoming a priest of Nature, since you treat thus one of her most exquisite works ! " He went, or I should have thrown him down the staii-s. I must have snatched his hat from him, for I found it on the floor afterwards, and I drew the poor fly as you see, but talk to me of pupils after that ! ' * But I assure you, monsieur, I shall never come with a butterfly pinned to my hat,' said Edmee. He turned sharply towards her. ' Upon my word, if I thought you were laughing at me — ' he began, but his face relaxed as he met her smi!e, and he seemed studying her intently. ' Child, you look as if you had suffered much ! ' he said abruptly. OPEN SESAME. 237 ' Alas ! is there anyone in France who has not suffered in these last years'? You yourse'.f, dear master, have you not been obliged to change your name 1 ' ' True ; it vras discovered to be too aristocratic ; I was arrested on the strength of it, for the De is forbidden, and the ]ys a royal flower. Thanks to someone for whom I was executing a commission at the time I escaped, but I thought it best to get rid of a name which suited the times so ill' * Yet you still sign your paintings with a lily ? ' ' No one notices it, and it is a litt''e trick which it consoles me to play the good people v/ho govern us ; but hush ] this is a matter of life and death ; I forget in my atelier how things are going outside — but do you know, child, that the great David himse'f has late' yn^'^n'owly escaped the guillotinel' ' To which he had sent his long. It was too good for him !' cried the girl. 'What are you saying, foolish child 1 An artist like David is worth more •'hau .nnv crowne^l h-^n^^l I' said M. Delys, for a moment forgetting the royalist in the painter. * And yet . . . but these are not things to speak of Ah, you start — you hear a noise beloAv, eh 1 ' * What an uproar ! ' said Edmee, reassured by his tran- quillity. * Ah ha ! The pupils of David ; they are below me. Without doubt they are clioos'ng a position for the model and cannot agree on it. L'sten, jna petite, if you came here to me you would meet them aP, and you are young, you know, and they might play you tricks, lis vous font des caresses, Dts petits compliineus! he concluded, humming a couplet of an old song. ' Perhaps, but I think not. I have had for some time to earn my living as I could ; T have had to go at all hours among all kinds of people, but nothing ever happeno 1 to me. I think when people see someone who only thinks of her work they let her go her way. And besides you would say a little word about me to these gentlemen, would you not V she added coaxingly. 238 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. ' I might . . . We shall see. Where do you live ? Good, I wiU sea voiu' aunt this evenin'^.' * But, monsieur, the matter on^y concerns myself, that is needless,' said Edmee, visibly disconcerted and embarrassed. ' My aunt might not like it. She receives no visits.' ' Ta, fa ;' said i\I. De'ys, not a little surprised at Avhat seemed to him strange i)reteusion. ' Visits ! I want to see her on business, and examine with my own eyes what your capabiUties are. You liave dr-a wings 1 — sketches 1 Of course I must see her ; you are much too young to settle matters for yourse'f.' ' But, monsieur — ' ' Have you deceived me 1 ' he asked, suspiciously. ' I begin to think that there is neither aunt nor husband in the case, and that — ' ' Enough, monsieur, we shall expect you this evening. Only,' added Edmce, her tone of pride changing to supplica- tion, ' you promise not to speak of us to anyone ? No doubt we may seoni too humble to have enemies, "but ' ' Is there anyone so hai)i)y now ] ' asked the old man, brusquely. * We shall see, we shall see. Let me work, my floM-ers want me.' He seized his palette. Edmee stood unnoticed, watching the tints grow on the canvas, following each touch with such fasc'nated interest that she fjrgot the anxiety which had suddenly clouded her face. He remained silently occupied, until a tap at the door of the at-lier was followed by the entiance of Ba'mat, and did not look round so as to surprise the gay and mischievous pantomime with which Edmee responded to Balmat's speechless astonishment, but called out, ' Here, Balmat, what do you think of that ■ little lass wanting to be a pui^il of mine ! What do vou Fay to that r ' I th'nk if you do take her, citoyen, you will never want a model for a lily,' said Balmat, looking at the young ga-i, who with her small head set on a slender white^ieck° and long eyelashes, shadowing downcast eyes, did indeed suggest the idea of a statue of Purity. ' Tope la / I accei:)t her on the strength of the com- parison,' said M. Delys, delighted with this shadowy pretext OPEN SELLUIE. 230 for doing wliat he had already secretly resolved on. ' Do not let anyone snjipose it is a good action ; I hate good actions, I never do them, as you know, but if anyone resemble a flower, he or she possesses the quaHties of that plant ; I have long noticed it. So that is settled, and I must see what I can make of her.' ' We shall call this the Atelier du Lys henceforward,' said Balmat, avIio was perfectly aware, like everyone elf:e, of the old painter's real name, and liked to torment him byalhisions to it, which caused him to buzz angiily, like an ii'ritated wasp, since it was one of his many f;incies to choose to believe it entirely disguised and unknown. ' Get away to your easel unless you have something better to do with your time here than talk folly,' he answered, ' though for that matter you waste it there just as much,' and Balmat made a friendly sign to Edmee, and went away, but he looked suddenly downcast, and M. Delys muttered re- morsefally, ' There I have spoiled his day's work for him, poor fellow ! Just like me ! I shall make nothing of mine either after this ; what business has a crabbed old man to paint flowers 1 ' ' Do ycu think he will ever succeed 1 ' asked Edmee, with a irtrong conviction tliat the ' crabbedness ' was either a delusion, or all on the outside. * How should I know 1 his fingers seem dumb and lame ■when he handles a brush, yet there seems much promise . . . He's a good fellow, and takes the tricks of his fellow-students in the best part, though I once saw him overwhelmed with despair after they had invited him to breakfast, which they explained to him at the end was paid for by the sale of his watch.' ' They had taken it ! How shameful ! Did he value it so much 'I ' ' Ah bah, they are young, and it only came to him from some aunt or grandmother.' ' Did he ever get it back ?■ ' * I believe so,' answered M. Delys, very shortly, afraid that after all he miglit have to confess to a good action, since ho liimself had redeemed the watch, and no one ever ch-eaded a 240 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. bad action being brouglit home to him more than he did a good one, since it much interfered "with the character of cynic which he chose to play — indiftVrently enough at the best. — Edmcc guessed the truth, laughed in secret, and asked no more. ' Ah,' he broke out again a few minutes later, contem- plating his work, ' how wisely Chardin used to speak when he heard us criticising the ])aintings in the salon : " Gently, judge gently," he would say, "find the worst picture here, and then recollect that perhaps two thousand poor fellows have broken their brush to jiieces despairing even to do as ill as that ! " not better, mind you, b\it even as badly. He always declared that there was no education so laborious as that of a paiuter. Yon begin to draw at seven years old, and years later you are able to attempt the live model, and then it seems as if you had all to begin over again ! ' He became absorl^ed once more in his work, and scarcely noticed Edmee, when, at length aware of the lapse of time, she hastily bade him farewell. As she went down the little winding staircase the troubled look i-eturned to her face. She s'lU'kened her pace, and stood still at the bottom, thinking. There was now absohite silence in the atelier where Da\ad's pu])ils were working, for unable to agree on the pose to be given to the model, a deputation had sought him to request that he would come and decide the question, and everyone was now listening ^vith deep attention to his remarks. Tl,o si'ence did not last long ; a door opened and he came cut ; his black eyes rested on Edmee with a look of surprise, for a young girl alone in the Louvre was an unusual apparition. Her ej-es fell before his, with a feeling of rejjulsion, such as had thrilled through her, when she saw him during the Fete of the Etre Supreme. ' I wonder if Madame Chalgi-in's ghost haunts him ! ' she murmured, recollecting the inexplica- ble and criminal forgetfulness with wliich Da^^.d, urged at last into obtaining a pardon for the sister of Vernet, whom he had loved in vain and could not forgive, kept it through careless forgetfu'ness a day or tu'o, and learned when at last he sent it to her family that she had already perished. Scarcely was he out of sight when a long howl echoed thi'ough OPEN SESAME. 241 the atelier, tittered by a pupil who had been watching throuo-h a peep-hole in the door until a fresh nproar might decently recommence. M. Delys, overhead, fsmiled, and said to him- self, ' David is gone ; ' Edmee started and hurried away. She could not imngine how this band, as undisciplined as that ■wliich later assembled in the studio of Horace Vernet, could study to any purpose, and would have been greatly surprised had she seen how steadily many were coloui-ing and drawing, in the midst of noise, jests, and pranks of all kinds, but she was too anxious to think of anything but her own aftaii's as she returned to the Maison Crocq, through streets now fast filling with the usual busy and idle crowd which each day called into them, and linguig with the discordant voices of orange-sellers, calling ' Portugal ! Portugal ! ' fishermen shoutiug ' Des harengs qui glacent ! ' or ' Le maquereau n'est pas mort ! ' vendors of brooms, baked apples, vinegar, ink, and milk, who elbowed their way among the crowd, and mingled their shrill cries with those of a hundred other ambulatory merchants. Edmee had leai-ned the true Parisian art of slip- ping readily through all the obstacles which foot-passengers had to encounter, and reached the Maison Crocq long before she had settled the difficulty wliich was perplexing her. ]S'ot^\T.thstandiag the precocious experience which responsi- bility and anxiety and thought for herself and others had given her, she was still in some respects a child. She had not foi-eseen in the least that her request to M. Delys to receive her as a pupil would involve his becoming acquainted with her personal concerns, or meeting Mademoiselle de St. Aignan. 243 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. CHAPTER XXIX. 'should old acquaixtance be forgot.' It was never willingly that M. Delys troubled himself about anything outside the walls of his atelier, wheie he usually succeeded in forgetting the events which were convulsing all France. He shrank from coming in contact with them, and tried to avoid knowing what he was powerless to prevent, feeling the keen and irritable annoyance of a nervous and sensitive man when forced to do so, deluded himself into the belief that he was a philosopher and a misanthrope, and assured his friends in perfect good faith that he was a new Timcn. Their amused incredulity vexed him beyond measure, and his ingenuity was sorely taxed to explain away the nvimerous kind actions which he found himself constantly peifOrming. The visit of Edmee had awakened thoughts which had slumbered for yeai-s, and as he worked at his primroses he was recalling the pleasant days spent formerly at Chateau St. Aignan, where the host, though far from loving art as his wife did, had-feome knowledge of the subject, had travelled in Italy, and, well aware of the deplorable condition of pamting in France, could talk agi'eeably of its state in Holland, and even knew a little of the new-boi-n English school. It was his metier to be a connoisseur and patron, in a pleasant patrician way, and M. Delys had willingly accepted an invitation to spend a week occasionally at the chateau, and paint the rare flowei-s in the hothouses. It all came back to him now. ' What changes ! ' he was thinking ; ' who could have dreamed of them ] Yes, it was well she died, and yet I can never imagine her dead — so gracious, so charming ; she used to stand by me in that cashmere shawl looking at my painting, and always with something to say about it which sounded sweet from her lips. . . . Yes, I can see her now, leaning on her sou's arm, or look- ing at him — ah, it is only mothers who have the secret of such looks — or else she had her little god-daughter by the hand, that little Edmee, her namesake, no doubt — it was for her sake 'SHOULD OLD ACqUiilNTANCE BE FORGOT?' 243 I chose that name for my daughter, though I knew then as well as I do now no child of mine would ever bear it . . .A daughter ... if I had had one like Tintoretto, who loved her art, but loved her father better still, and would not be tempted away from him even by crowned heads . , . Strange that that little Edmee should find me out here ; I remember now that the Countess said she had a i-eal taste for painting. What flowers there were in those hothouses ! they were the Countess's passion, and doubtless they are dead or neglected. Acciu-sed revolution ! ' but there becoming aware that he had uttered this unpatriotic sentiment aloud, he g-anced round in alai'm. Only the bare walls had heard him, and with a sigh of relief he resumed his painting, which he only interrupted a few hours later, while he ate a very simp'e dinner, which he took from a cupboard in one coi'ner of the room. Balmat looked in once or twice, and silently attended to the stove, but did not speak, though curious to knoAv how Edmee had made her way in. Daylight fc«gan to fade, and the imwe^come moment ap- proached when it was no longer 2X)ssible to continue painting — always unwelcome, always decayed as long as possible. For fifty years he had spent day after day thus, with unwearied and increasing delight in his art. ' It is not bad — not at all bad,' he said at last, half aloud, as he rose and stood a little way from his ease\ to contemplate the group of flowei-s upon it. ' I have fairly caught the co our of that ha'f-opened rose ; one should never forget that a rose, strictly speaking, has no shadows, only deepened lights. But the bud . . . never shall I catch the modest air, full of promise and virginal mystery, of a rosebud. There is some secret in it which I shall never divine. What does a man know of an innocent young girl] and flower-buds and girls are closely related. Ah, that child ... I must go and find her. Poor little lily, she looks as if she had grown up in the shade,' murmured the old man, whose thoughts ran so much on flowers in his solitary life that sometimes he seemed to con- fuse them with human beings, or, on the other hand, reversed the case, and looked on htiman beings as plants. One of his favourite theories was that each individual had a countcrpai-t in the vegetable kingtlom. and he esteemed his actpaintance 244 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. accordiuff to the plant or blossom which they reminclecl him of. After eam with satisfac- tion when I had a good dinner set before him — and why not ? I know that he never had even a bottle of common wine in his preshyiere, and it was of no use sending him any, for he always found someone who wanted it more than himself. That poor abbe ! But you do not eat.' ' I have dined.' said Edmee, who had catena piece of bread on the way home, much drier and browner than what Made- moiselle de St. Aignan called necessary. ' I will have a cup of milk.' She came and went, watering the flowex's which she cher- ished in pnts, and smiling at the enjoyment with which Ma- demoiselle de St. Aignan ate her dinner, all the while dilating on the philosophy which she had acqiiii-ed. ' Xeres could not taste better to me than this coffee,' she said. * What a mistake we make in believing such a number of comforts necessary to us, and yet how soon they bscome indispensable ! You know how simple my early life was, and yet wdien oiu- fortunes improA'ed we began at once to imagine that we must have a number of attendants, and splendid furniture, and delicate dishes. I am g'ad to find, however, that all this never l^ecame really essential to me. I abandoned most of it when I went to ^Nlortemart, and I am not a whit less happy because I open doors for myseT, and wear no rouge. The on-y thing which I really miss is society. I really do think that now you are over-cautious, btit do as you like, you ahvays mean well, dear child, and childi-en always fancy themselves wiser than their elders.' She had not the least suspicion that had she beeu allowed ■SHOULD OLD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT T 24? to do as she liked ste would have been gmllotined long ere this. •' At all events I shall have someone to talk to if your old painter should come ; he will give one some idea how things are going.' Edmee looked at her anxiously, and almost repented having sought out M. Del vs. How many times had this ready sociability, this desii'e for someone with whom to con- verse, made her tremble ! ' I shall fancy myself taking a roh in a comedy,' continued Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, laughing like a child — as Edmee had never laughed in her life. ' I shall talk to him like any peasant ; thanks to my nurse I know our patois as well as I do French. You shall see that I puzzle him as if v/e wei-e at a masquerade. Get out you^r paintings, 'petite ; what have you that is most attractive % ' Many times that day Edmee looked at her drawings with increasing dissatisfaction, seeing every fault as she bad never done before, and losing sight more and more of their merits before the staircase creaked under the tread of M. Delys, who came in all out of bi'eath. ' You live rather too near the stars for common mortals lilce me,' said he, looking round him while he took the chair which she offered him. AlthoiTgh when he was not roused to interest he might have been deaf and blind for anything that he perceived, when his perceptions were awake they wei-e singularly clear and rapid, and he now looked round with a rapid scrutiny which took in all that the room contained. He saw poverty and industry there, for Edmee's brushes and colours lay beside a heap of boxes and fans, which she had been covering with little bouquets, or Watteau-like scenes. There were a few pots on the window-sill, filled with gay, common spring flowei'S, raised fiom a few sous' worth of seeds, or cuttings from some humble garden, and the aunt was there, as Edmee had said ; her back was to the light, so that he could not make out hei- features, but from her costume he judged her to be some honest peasant. ' It is all right ; the gii-1 told the truth,' said he audibly. 248 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. * Here is the aunt, and no lover ; they are honest and poor. What is yonr name, my good woman ] ' ' Valentin, monsieur, Citoyenne Valentin,' answered Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, suppressing her laughter with great difficulty. * So you come from St. Aignan ] I perceive that you speak the patois of La Bresse.' ' Yes, my good monsieur ; you are veiy kind to come and see poor people like us. Excuse the liberty which we have taken in asking you to come so high.' Her voice shook with stitled amusement ; he thought it was with emotion. ' Bon, hon, say no more aboiit it ; I wanted a walk ; I had nothing else to do. H I had, I should not be here. Why, you have let your spectacles fall, ma bonne.' ' Thanks, monsieur,' she answered, forgetting her part, and speaking in her natural voice, and with the manner of a lad}' accepting a little service vt-hich is her due. '>he tm-ned towards him to take the spectacles, which she had boiTowed fi-om ]\ladelon as a disguise, and a ray from the lamp fell on her face. M. Delys, already surprised by the change of voice and manner, started back confounded, then rose and bowed deeply, saying, ' Mademoiselle de St. Aignan ! ' ' Oh, this bad man has found me out ! ' cried she, gaily. * It is so long since I acted comedy that I have forgotten how to do it. Do not look troubled, my child, there is no harm done.' ' Why do you grudge me the joy of knowing Made- moiselle de St. Aignan safe and well ? ' said the painter, re- proachfully. ' You mistrust me, Madame Alain ! I am an old misanthrope, of couise ; no man lives to my age without being one, but you might have told me. I cannot get over it ! Mademoiselle de St. Aignan here, in this costume, tliis place ! ' ' We had to look as little aristocratic as possible, my dear monsieur, so I said " I'll be a peasant, if you like, but bour- geoise — no ! " and I put on this dress and cap, and am very comfortable in it. So you recognised me ! And yet I must look much older 1 ' 'SnOULD OLD ACQUAINTANCE BE FOTIGOTT 249 ' No one -wlio had seen Mademoiselle de St. Aignan could forget hei'.' ' Ah, you are bound to pay 80 ! But I know I must look an old woma,n now ; happily one gets iised gTadnaliy to one's face, but I am sure that if at sixteen we could ses wait we should be like at sixty, we should fall backwards wich consternation ! ' ' But how come you here % ' asked M. Delys, much moved, as he recalled her in the old life at St. Aignan. The poor room, which had seemed to him suitable enough for Edmee, all at once looked hardly fit for a human being. ' It will take too long to explain all that,' interposed Edmee. ' No, no, if monsieur care to hear. My tongue has grown quite rusty with want of exercise. Only imagine, dear monsieur, this child has been so fi-ightened by the events of these last years that she still insists on keeping me hidden, though I tell her that no one can want my head, which was never worth much, I daiesay — ■' * She is right, a thousand times ria^ht, mademoiselle. Your name alone is full of danger, and the meie sight of you would betray an aristocrat.' * You say so because I acted my part so bad'y just now — ■fi done, monsieur, you should not recall my failures,' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, by no means displeased by the very sincere compliment. ' At all events we lived for a time in a little town no great distance from Moulins, where I had a house which my brother the Count made over to me after my dear sister-in-law died — you remember her, monsieur 1 ' ' Remember ! Ah yes, who could forget her 1 Her very name has always sounded sweeter to me than any other.' Edmee looked with moistened eyes at the old man. ' Then we lived in a horrible house in one part of Paris, after that I had an experience of a place, which made me find this gaiTet charming— such is the life we have led.' ' And you have borne it all with such patience ! such gaiety ! ' exclaimed Edmee. 'It is thanks to you that we have lived at a''l, my poor child, for whatever I had saved out of the wreck of m.y for- 250 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. tune — all in rentes on the CiCrgy — came to an end long ago in my illness. Tliis child has worked day and night for me, monsieur.' The two women exchanged a look full of affection, and Edmee bent to kiss Mademoiselle de St. Aignan's forehead. ]\I. De1ys noticed the shoi-t curls which appeared below the peasant head-dress, and knew at once wliy the hair had been cut. ' You are then one of the few who have been arrested and yet escajjed ! ' he said, ' Iioav is it 3-ou never sought me till to- day 1 I might have been of some use.' * First of all, monsieur, it was only the painting in Pinard's shop whicli betrayed you, and then for months I could only think of my aunt's health. We had a double reason however for seeking you ; besides wanting to learn from you, we hoped — ' * We hoped to obtain certain information from you,' con- tinued Mademoisel'e de St. Aignan, as Edmee stopped in embarrassment. ' We thousrht that vou might suggest some means of having news of my nephew, who is in exile.' * Your nephew, M. le Chevaher, whom I remember at St. Aignan r ' Alas ! now Count instead of Chevalier, so^e heir of our name ; his father and brother are both dead.' * Unfortunately I never heard his name in any reports which have reached me. They are so few. I am the worst person whom you could app'y to.' ' But try to learn something ; I must have news of him,' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, who even yet had not learned how powerless her ' must ' had become, nor, with all her gi-acious good humour, lost the feeling that she honoured a rohirier by giving him anything to do for her. ' I was thinking of you.r family as I came here, made- moiselle ; if I recollect rightly there was a cousin, a M. de Pelven — one has heard his name occasionally in these last years — ' ' We want nothing fi'om M. de Pelven,' interrupted Edmee. 'SHOULD OLD ACQUALSTANGE BE FORGOT?' 251 ' My child, how iim-easoBable you are ! Can you imagine, monsieur, why she dreads my poor cousin as if he were all the Jacobins in one ? She imp'oies me, almost with tears, not to tell him where we are, and it really grieves me, for his kindness to us has been extreme ; he protected us at Moi'te- mart, and enabled us to get to Paris, where he used to visit us constantly, and gaA'e us every hope of obtaining ^sermisslon for my nephew to return.' ' Ah ! Of coiu'se you know the part which he has taken in public affairs 1 ' began M. Delys, hesitatingly, for he knew that diversity of political opinions had split vip the most attached families. ' Yes, yes, but his good heart led him astray ; he was not an enthusiast, far from it, but he made the same mistake as so many others, he thought it was enough to make laws for the nation, and then found they had to create a nation for the laws ! I feel sure that this was what misled him,' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, who had ha^f-unconsciously spent a good deal of time and ingenuity in whitewashing De Pelven to herse f. ' You have never met him ? A delightful man ! he had all the tradition of perfect ease and good breeding which is passing away so fast. Even if he merely said " Yes, madame," he said it as no one else could ! This Revolution will destroy good manners. Formerly well-bred people respected the views of others ; if they had no religion themselves, for instance, they never mocked at those who had. All that is altered now.' ' I am afraid that that is too true, mademoiselle.' * I do not mean that De Pelven was a saint or a hero, nor a genius of the first order,' continued Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, Avho mingled a great deal of shrewd common-sense with considerable obstinacy, ' but he is one of those men who, at a given moment, have j\ist the right sort of ta'ent for the occasion ; they always strike the right note, and that of itself makes them remarkable men. Others fail, who have more genius, because they make no allowance for soc'ety not being composed of saints and heroes, or expect to reach the promised land without first going through the deseit, or, on the other hand, they are alwaj's expecting that 252 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. someoBe will try to corrupt them. De Pelven never would make tlia,t sort of fatal mistake.' ' He is more likely to corrupt otliers ! ' murmured Edmee with a look of pain and anger which did not escape the old painter, who glanced at her, and said, ' I have not heard much about him, but I have occasionally met him in the salon of a lady for whom I painted two flower-pieces, and whose pictiu-e-gallery 1 undertook to arrange, and it seems to me that . . . Madame A-ain is wise.' ' I cannot understand either of you,' exclaimed Made- moiselle de St. Aignan, impatiently, ' but I give in, niece, I give in ! ' ' What does she call her 1 — my aunt— my niece — what is all this 1 ' said M. Delys, loud enough to be heard, and Edmee turned crimson. Mademoiselle de St. Aignan hesitated, and then exclaimed, ' Well, they say truth is always best ; any- how it can do no harm here. This child is my niece, mon- sieur, and my very dear niece too, because one day she saved my nephew's life by mariying him.' M. Delys sat dumb, too much astounded to find a word of answei'. CHAPTER XXX. THE BIRDS ARE FLOWN". Edmj^e was the first to speak. The astonishment of M. Delys seemed to have made a disagreeable impression on Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, who was silent, and looked annoyed and contrite. Edmee smiled at her, and turning to M. Delys, said with gi-ave dignity, which made him lose sight in a measui-e of the fact that she was only a steward's daughter, not even one of that honest bouigeois class which the noblesse held in such iitter disdain, ' Since you have heard so much, monsieur, you had better hear all. There is no one to blame — not even myself.' THE BIRDS ARE FLO WN. 253 * Yoii, my dear one ! you acted like the noble girl that you ai-e ! ' cried Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, and M. Delys, overwhelmed with astonishment, asked himself what ciicum- stances could possibly have bowed the St. Aignan pi'ide to approve of such a mesalliance. ' I feel the honour which you do me, madame,' he an- swered with respect, adopting quite unconsciously an entirely different tone to the young Comtesse de St. Aignan to that which he had used with little Edmee Leroux. ' Fii'st of all, monsieur,' interi-upted Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, drawing Edmee to her side, ' I must tell you that the Revolution brought dissension into our family as into many others. My poor bi-other was bent on joining the Princes, and my nephew would not fight against his countrymen, Re- publicans or not ' ' And he did well ! ' said M. Delys, emphatically. ' Unfortunately his father did not think so, and there wei'e very painful disputes between them. The Cheva'ier always leant to the views of his mother's family, and that annoyed the Count. Alas ! the closest ties have been shattered in these last years. Fijially, my brother determined to fly to Switzerland, the Chevalier was to join him after seeming cer- tain papers and money left at St. Aignan — unhappily the place had caught the re vokitionary fever — this child heaid the plans for his ari'est — ■ — ' ' Ah, monsiem-, his mother was my godmother ; she com- forted my own poor mother on her sick-bed — I loved her so deai-ly ! ' 'Madame la Comtesse was an angel,' said M. Delys. * The angels spread their wings and fled before the crimes of these years coiild begin.' ' True, and yet even now it is impossible not to regi-et her,' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan ; ' there are some losses which last one one's life, and leave our hearts and arms empty foi- ever. When I i-eflect how at the utmost it is but fugitive thoughts which after a time we give to the dead or the absent, it astonishes me that her loss is almost as fiesh to mo as ever. No, never shall I become reconciled to it. Well, they settle to airest my nephew at night, and Edmcc \ton- 254 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. ders how to save liim. She slips out and runs off to the chateau ' ' You understand, monsieur, that I had never seen him since his mothei-'s death, and he recollected my existence ag little as you did,' said Edmee, eagerly. The oM man bowed gravely. ' She was not in time to effect his escape,' continued Mademoiselle de St. Aignan. ' The people burst iji, found them together — there was a scandalous and cruel scene, you can imagine it for yourself; a thousand years in Piu-gatory would hardly ha\e been worse for this poor child ' ' I understand it all. They sp.ared him on condition that he mai-ried her.' ' Yes, monsieiu- ; he was so young that sui^ely life must have been dear to him, but I know he oiily thought of me,' and she lifted up her do^vllcast eyes with a light of exulta- tion in them. ' They walked all night to Mortemart, the poor chiVlren ; he could not stay, of couri^e, but he left this poor little one with me, and .since then Ave have heard nothing from him. Most unfortunately he did not know we were in Paris when for a .short time he returned here.' ' You see, monsieur,' .«aid Edmee, more cahnV, 'that we must find him and release him from a civil bond which to Catholics is nothing but a form. Divorce can be easily obtained, only he must return and seek it.' M. Delys looked at the elder lady, who answered by a glance which plainly said that this was by no means what she wished. He perceived that she had grown so attached to the gii-1 who had been her joy and support during this time of trial that she overlooked ber plebeian oi-igin. jNIoreover, though this did not strike him, to a trvie aristocrat every- thing not noble seemed much on a level, whether bourgeois or peasant, and a marriage with a financier's daughter would have appeared as great a mesalliance as with a steward's. ' Poor white flower ! ' said the painter, looking at Edmee, who cha rmed him more and more. ' I suspect that if you did not love your husband when you married, you have learned to do so since.' Foitunately, this time his thoughts wei'e not uttered audibly. THE BIRDS ARE FLOWN. 255 * I have sometimes wondered whether my ne]>hew can be supporting himself by painting,' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan. ' He had an hereditary love of it, and cannot now be serving "svith the army, since, De Pelven says, no aristo- crats were allowed to remain with it.' * I do not know whether we can quite tiust what he said ] ' added Edmee veiy low. ' He knew that you were the wife of M. de St. Aignan, madame 1 ' ' Perfectly well,' Edmee answered emphat'cally. ' This De Pelven must have been sorely tempted to lay his black hands on her — she is enchanting ! she steals into one's heart unawares,' thought the old man. ' What did you think that I could do for you, mesdames 1 ' /We thought that if he were ideally studying art he would probably be in Italy, and that you might hear of him through some mutual friend.' ' Then you only expressed a wish to be my pupil as a means of getting news of him ? ' * No, no, dear monsieur, if you think me worthy of such. an honoiu'. There have been female artists, you know — • Madame Vien, Madame Lebrun — only I must not spend all the day in your atelier, for I have my work for Pinard. I gain a good deal now ; I believe I could pay for my lessons ' ' What lessons 1 ' ' Why, yours, I hope.' ' You are dreaminst ! ' ' Are they so expensive 1 ' asked Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, astonished by the rough answer. * I never sell my lessons.' ' Then I have only to excuse myself for having asked the favour,' said Edmee, much vexed and surjmsed. * No, I never sell my teaching. I sometimes give it, I have already more money than I want. Let me see what you can do.' He had become only the art judge ; this was not the Cora- tesse de St. Aignan before him, but an aspirant to enter the sanctuary, and he frowned as he turned fi-om a group of flowers which he had studied for a long time in silence, to the fans and boxes which she humbly placed before him. Her 2r)6 IfOBLESSE OBLIGE. heart sank at ids protracted silence, nor was Ms tone re- a^surin^ when he suddenly be^an, ' What ! do you mean that you do tliLs kind of rubbish ? You have reached this pont vrithout a master, and you waste your time, you spoil your manner by paiutins boxes and fans ! It is shameful, it is unpardonab e, I tell you ! ' ' Dear master, we have to live,' said Edm^e, smiling, and much relieved. ' Live ! ' said the painter, contemptuously. * What is life to art? Is there not rubbish enough ah-eady in the world without adding to it? Live! No one can be aoi artist who cannot sacrifice himself.' ' But not other.'^,' said Edmee, lowering her voice as she looked towards Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, who was trying to comprehend why the old man was indignant, and asked in great disappointment, ' Does she paint badly then 1 I thouorht she did so well ! ' ' And so she does ! ' exclaimed M. Delys, remorsefully. * I am an old fool, that is all. Pardon my incivility, madam^.' ' I had rather you called me " mon enfant," as you did this morning,' said Edmee, with her irresistible sweetness. ' Or your pupil.' * So you shall be — both, dear child, both,' he answered, kissing the hand which she had put into his, and entirely for- getting the misanthropy on which he prided himself. ' Lis- ten, I have sevei-al rooms in the Lonvre ; you shall occupy them with Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, and everyone shall suppose you ai-e my daughter. You could not have a safer, more imsuspected asylum. For everyone you will be Madame Alain. Do you consent 1 ' * With all my heart, if my aunt agree.' ' Certainly, when one is asked to exchange a garret for the Lou\T."e one is hardly likely to decline,' laughed Mademoi- selle de St. Aignan. * Once before I lodged in a palace, but there I had no choice whether to accept or decline the invi- tation. I confess this is more acceptable. I only hope that I need not go on foot ; for I am .stout, as you see, and I find that high heels do not accord with walking. I tried once to do without them, but then I could not walk at all.' THE BIRDS ABB FLOWN. 257 ' We will arrange all that,' said M. Delys, delighted with his plan, and the radiant pleasm-e which lighted up Edmee's face. ' There ai e many reasons why the plan suits me — do not thank me, I beg, I detest thanks ; I suggest this simply for my own p'.easiu-e. I never do kindnesses, as you will find. You will work in my atelier and be my comimjnonne^ he added, smiling, and ]2dmee retui-ned the sxni e as she heard the familiar patois v/ord. * Yes, yes, so I will,' she answered. * And you will call me father The added, wistfully, but at that the bright look fled, for the word recalled nothing but what was painful. ' If you wish it,' she said reluctantly ; ' but I like mon mattre better.' As M. Delys left the room she detained him to whisper, * Piemember we are Madame Alain and Mademoiselle Valen- tin, and above all, let no word of us reach that M. de Pelven, of whom we spoke.' He nodded with full understanding, and she began making preparations for their sudden move, which was to take p-ace the next day, and must be broken to Madelon, who could not be expected to be well pleased. Madelon was far from pleased, but she was a reasonable woman, and juster than landladies usually are. ' Well, well,' she said, when the news had been imparted, ' it is everyone for himself in tliis world, and if you have a friend who will receive you, I sujjpose you will go, though it is a loss to me. I shall perhaps not let this room as well again, and I shall miss lajyetite, though no doubt after a time I shall get other lodgers. My rooms are never long empty. Madelon Crocq is v/ell known in the quarter.' ' To think we have been here so long, and the woman can let us go v.dth so little sentiment ! ' whispered Mademoiselle de St. Aignan to Edmee. ' And since you are decidedly going, after all perhaps it is best,' pursued Made^.on. ' I was in two minds whether to tell you or not, but this morning a fellow came here asking if I had rooms to let, and who my lodgers were, and whether I had not a young girl and a middle-agpd woman with me, and a dozen other questions.' * But who could he have been ? ' . • 258 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. * I know not ; some mouchard, I suppose.' * What did you tell him % ' * As little as possible, you may be sure ; b\it I could see he had been making enquii'ies in the quarter and knew sometliing.' ' Why did you not tell us at once ] ' ' It might have frightened you away, and lost me a good tenant, for that you really have been. I have nothing to complain of. And after all it may mean nothing ; one should not notice every little thing.' ' It means that De Pelven is again in Paris ! ' Edm^e said to hei-self, while IMadcmoiselle de 8t. Aignan was question- ing Madelon wii'.i more interest and amusement than anxiety, as to all which this supposed moucJiard had said and done, and the hours seemed terribly long to her until they were safely out of the IMaison Crocq, on their way to the Louvi-e, without having told Madelon what their destination was. Indeed that prudent woman declined to know it. ' What I have never heard I cannot tell,' said she, ' I ask no ques- tions. You have paid me well, and that is all which concerns me,' and she sco'ded her husband as he stood looking after the fiacre which conveyed her lodgers away, and told him there was no need to see which way it tiu-ned. She was sna})pish a^l day, and pulled the fiirnitui-e in the empty room about with unnecessary vigour, and answered shortly Avhen Madame Amat cried a little over the flowers which Edmee had bequeathed to her, but everyone accepted it as a matter of course that when jNIadelon was sony she should be cross. It was a gi-eat satisfaction to her to see the mouchard hanging about that cA^ening, watching the house. He did not appear again ; the neighbours told him that there had been a flitting that day from the Maison Crocq, and so De Pelven foimd that once more his prey had slipped thi'ough his fingers. BALMAT IN HIS STUDIO. 250 CHAPTER XXXL BALMAT IN HIS STUDIO. Although the Louvre was a palace, in some respects it re- sembled the Maison Crocq. Evil smells, noise, and disorder pervaded it, and the followers of the classic school, exaggerat- ing, as ahvays, the doctrines of their master, used to amuse themselves at the same time as they expressed their contempt for what they styled ' those unworthy Italians,' by playing tennis against the paintings put away and forgotten in the galleries. The Louvre had gone through its own special revolution since the days when a Court inhabited it ; an aristocracy still dwelt there, but it was the ai-istocracy of talent, often as piti- essly exclusive and overbearing as that of birth. JMademoi- selle de- St. Aignan and Edmee were added to the many artists' families already established there without exciting any ques- tion. Everyone knew, liked, and laughed pleasantly at the old paiater, whose oddities made him rather moie than less popular, and at any other time there would no doubt have been considerable sm-prise at this sudden apparition of his 'daughter,' v/ith an elderly lady, whom he called Mademoi- selle Valentin, and ti-eated with extreme deference. But now for several years everyone had been living in such peril and retii-ement that nobody knew or cared to knov/ his neigh- bour's concerns, and no appearance or disappearance excited much wonder. To all but Ba mat Edmee was M. Delys' daughter, and someone having heard that her husband's fate was unknovv^n, her position was at once recognised, and she was accepted as a permanent inhabitant of the ' Atelier du Lys,' as it was now universally called ; for Balmat's name for it took the fancy of his fellow-pupils, and not a few sketches were made surreptitiously or fi-oin memory of 'the white-armed daughter of Fingal,' as they named her, from the poems which were becoming a sort of text-book to the artists of that day. Mademoiselle de St. Aignan fitted admii-ably into the sin- 260 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. gular society in which she now found herself. She had, as Edmee knew, the happy faculty of adapting hei'self to all cir- cumstances, with an invincible good humour which had been priceless to them both, but there had been a time when her very lightheartedness had made her enemies. It was impos- sible for her to refrain from a jest. ' Let me say it, and then if I must I will ask pardon,' she would exclaim ; but in this artist-workl ready v/it or raillery only amused, and called forth retorts which she took in the best part. In o one could ever forget in conversing with her that she was a person of la bonne compagnie. A circle of men, young and old, was sure to gather round her of an evening, deserting for her far younger and prettier per-ions ; M. Delys had unawares created a salon when he installed Mademoiselle de St. Aignan in the Louvre, and she was by no means indifferent to the compli- ments of this literary and artistic world, where beauty or talent alone were prized. She was infinitely more popular than Edmec, who had other things to think of than to amuse or please, and cared nothing at all for admii-ation, to a degree which IMademoiselle de St. Aignan could not but feel an abso- lute fault and failm-e in a woman's first duty. Edmee v/as one to steal unawares into a few hearts, and reign there ever- more, and be amply satisfied with her kingdom, and to all outside of it she was culpably indifTerent, as Mademoiselle de St. Aignan observed with a distress almost comic to M. Delys, in one of their many confidential conversations. It was fortunate for him that politeness no longer put life in pei'il, for to save his head he could not have said ' tu ' to Mademoiselle de St. Aisrnan. He could not recover from his astonishment at her gay contentment when he thought in what different circumstances he had known her, and he admii-ed as surprising philosophy what was chiefly the effect of a happy disposition. If, however, it had been possible for him to quo.ri-el with her he would have done so every day which they spent together ; for she professed entire disbelief in the bad character which he loved to give himself, disputed the fact of his cynicism, and assured him that he had one of the kindest hearts in the world. Since respect would not allow him to contradict her flatly, he could only walk up and BAL3IAT IN HIS STUDIO. 2G1 down, pusliing his wig despairingly on one side, and protesting vehemently, to the delight of their audience ; for these scenes generally took place after his day's work was over, and a more or less niirnerous ch'cle of visitors was gathered in the room which he had furnished and made over to Mademoiselle de St. Aignan as her salon. ' What merit is there — can there be ra offering a home to a person who is — who is — in short who is my daughter's aunt 1 ' he would exclaim, growing hopelessly embarrassed as he recol- lected that he must not say who ' Mademoiselle Valentin ' was. This warfare amused Edmee not a little ; she was learn- ing to laugh as well as to paint. Never had the poor child led so peaceful a life, though haimted by the thought of the bond by which she was fettered. Sometimes she would call herself by the name which she was resolved never to bear, but which she loved so much. ' Edmee de St. Aignan,' she would whisper, with a sort of fear, not without its charm. * Ah, it is a pity ! . . .' and the sentence ended in a sigh. Daily she watched M. Delys' face to see if he had had any news, but none came, and perhaps the old artist, happy in the pupil whom he had so unexpectedly obtained, and not displeased with the new life which had sprung up aroimd liim, made no very strenuous efforts to obtain any, and gradually her art begao to alasorb her moi-e and more, leaving litt'e room for other thoughts. M. De'ys took such delisrht in her painting that he ha^f forgot his own, and wou'.d allow — unlieard of thing! — the flowers ])efore him to fade, while he advi.sed her what colours to use, or confided to her some method invented by himself of producing the transparent effect of a petal, or the vv^rinkled or lustrous surface of a leaf The only condition which he made on adopting her as pupil and daughter was that she should cease to work for anyone else, and she could not object, since, as her adopted father, he insisted on paying all the ex|)enses of herself and Mademoiselle de St. Aignan ; it made him happy, and on this point he was inflexib'e. A new life had begun for the old man, sbice his white li'y had taken root in his atelier, and he poured out all the tenderness which had been stored up in his heart almost unknown to himself, on the head of this girl, who seemed come to give 203 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. him the home affections which he had always longed for and never known, and to continue his fame. He made Mademoi- selle de St. Aignan smile hy his adoration of his pupi', hut she could not entirely concur in the satisfaction with which he saw Edraee's devotion to ai"t. ' It is fatal to her success in a social point of view,' she would urge. * She might as well be absorbed in a grande passion. In my nephew's absence I gi'ant you it may be a useful safeguard, but it is not natural ; she will be more the artist than the woman, and the question will be, will Alain care for her? A woman's chief duty is to charm.' * She haa not a beauty de passeporf,' M. Delys wouVl answer, with gi-eat impatience, ' but whoever has a soul must be enchanted with her.' ' Ah, my good friend, you forget what young men are. My nephew is young, all his illusions still fresh, he is full of life, of energy, he cannot have aiiy of the qualities of a husband. When one is over thii-ty, when a man has exhausted life, he fee^s that it is time to many, to settle down, even if he does not intend to live en bourgeois, a, hum- drum domestic life — but a young nob'e, like Alain — ' ' If he cannot appreciate our treasure, let him stay away or divorce her, mademoiselle ! ' cried M. De'ys, exasperated, though Mademoiselle de St. Aignan was only expressing sentiments perfectly in accord with the iisual manner of speak- ing and feeling of her class and time ; ' What ! he finds a lily ■with a golden heart only waiting to be gathei'ecl, and hesitates ! ' * You are romantic, my poor friend ! I know the world "better than you do. Now for my part I could wish that the child would spend a little time over accomplishments, such as dancing, instead of tliose perpetual paints of yours. It is of inestimable value to dance well — indispensable to men or women. I have known a most excellent, charming person fail to make a good impression, because he bowed awkwardly in the minuet, on a spectator whose approbation and esteem he would have given half his fortune to obtain. But that fh'st unhappy impression never coiild be effaced. It was im- possible. That excellent M. de Malesherbes himself ' — in the aadom' of her discoiu'se she had for a moment forgotten the BALMAT ZF HIS STUDIO. 263 tiasic associations connected with that venerated name of the good and bi-ave man, who from assured safety retiu-ned to plead in the defence of his King, and perished with all his family on the scaffold, but they returned upon her as M. De'ys involuntarily bent his head in reverence, and for a moment she was silent, but then, gaining additional strength from the deep respect wliich was universally felt for the subject of her moral, she resumed, 'Well, Marcel said of him to his father that considering the awkvrardness of his gait he would never get on either in the magistracy or the army. " He will never make a dancer as long as he lives," Marcel declared, " the only reasonable plan is to let him enter the Chui-ch." ' ' The event proved him wrong,' observed M. Delys drily. ' Yes, but what I want you to see is how much is felt to depend on good dancing. That feeling at least is unchanged, even in these days when Paris is become a place where a few madmen aie shut up, but a gi-eat many more are loose. Do you not see, dear monsieur, in these disorganised times we are absolutely bound to keep up civilised manners and habits 1 That is why I have resumed powder; it has always been held as a thing that civilised nations could not dispense with. Once re^ax aU those little matters, as foolish people call them, and it is like letting in that trickle of water which soon melts away the dyke which keeps out the sea.' M. Delys took off his round wig and contemplated it, as he was accustomed to do when an argument failed him, but he did not look convinced. ' On one thing at least we ai-e both agi'eed,' said Made- moiselle de St. Aignan, ' there shall be no other Countess than our little Edmee.' * Yes, certainly, yes . . . bixt she seems so contented, so happy as she is ; it is a vast pity to distract her thoughts from art ; she makes progi-ess, wonderful pi-ogi-ess, and if your nephew should return it might fill her mind with other things, but still 1 suppose one must put up with it.' ' Fill her mind with other things ! I should hope so. And tben I myself. My nephew is the only one left alive of my family now ; I. want him. Hush, there she is ; not a word of a,ll this. We are going to surprise our good Swiss in 264 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. his comical studio ; ho will give no account of himself or his doings, and Edmee thinks he looks out of spirits, so we sha'l go and cheer him. Imagine, that poor feVow was so poor last winter that he had to go to bed at five o'clock many evenings because he was too cold to sit up, and had no fuel or oil for his lamp ! We only found it out by accident — indeed, Edmee was too much occupied by my illness to think of any- thing else, and only learned it from his joy when someone or other paid him a trifle for keeping an atelier in order.' * He would not gain much by that,' grunted M. Delys, so snappishly that she instantly perceived who the benefactor had been, and playfal]y threatened him with her finger. ' Ah, the bad man ! the ci-uel cynic, who never does a charitable action ! have I met with him again 1 It is astonishing how he Ls always crossing my path ! ' ' I cannot have everything deep in dust, mademoiselle, and have no time to attend to such matter's myself. Dust is my greatest enemy — ruins oil-painting.' ' Yes, yes, I understand ! Adieu, since our fiacre waits.' The little expedition pleased and amused Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, who had a very kindly feeling towards Balmat, though she had not found him amusing, which was always a crime in her eyes, and Edmee had resolved to see for herse'f what were the hopes for the painting which she knew he had been secretly working at for months, too timid and dis- heartened to do so before his fellow-students, and only giving it such time as he could spfire from avowed work in the atelier with them. Happily for him no one but Isnai-d had ever discovered the refuge which he had found in the dese- crated cloister, and thei'e at least he could work unmolested by any outward and visible difficulties, though after all his worst foe was the hereditaiy depression always lying in wait to spiing out and seize him, and which was as certain in such a temperament to follow success as unsuccess, clutcliing its victim, and with a pitiless finger pointing out each fault and fiiilure, overwhelming him with the sense ' of incompletion in the face of what was won,' and veiling all merits just when all around would suppose him rejoicing in a completed task. The departure of Edmee from the Maison Crocq had been BALMAT IN HIS STUDIO. J>G5 a gTeat misfortune for Balmat, who lost in her his chief interest in daily life, the one person to whom he conkl speak freely of home, of difficulties, of discouragements, who was sure that he had talent, however rebellious, and out of the very happiness of her own pi-ogress sympathised keenly with those who seemed toiling in vain. He diil not often seek her in the Lou\i-e ; of an evening there was too gay a circle in Mademoiselle de St. Aignan's salon for him to feel at ease there, and they could only exchange a few v/ords when he came in according to old habit to arrange the atelier of M. Delys, and feed the stove. He missed Edmee exceedingly, but was too humble to guess that she could miss him, or how happy it was for her to have come in contact with so candid and pure a mind as his, whose faith was more tolerant, but perhaps moic securely rooted than her own : to know Balmat had widened her sympathies. At first indeed she shrank timidly from points on which they must disagree, and felt as if his heresy set an impassable gulf betv/een them, though she could not feel the horror and aversion which she might have done had they met accidentally in quiet times, nor did she experience the disdain of a born aristocrat for what she would have been taught to think ' a boui-geoise religion.' It was not through controversy, but through contact that she un- awares imbibed some of his \T.ews, and learned that be'owthe suiface his faith and hers rested on the same foundation. Intimate acquaintance with one of another land, educated in a way novel to her, covild not but enlarge her mind, but Balmat had done more for her than this. He had given her a sense of protection vvdiich had kept her from sinking under anxiety and loneliness, and had strengthened her wavermg belief in goodness and truth at a critical period of her life. Theii-s was a very pure and perfect friendship, founded on mutual esteem and affection, with gi-atitude on each side, though neither was fully aware what each had done for the other. The visit of the two ladies evidently startled him, but he received them cheerfully, and showed Mademoiselle do St. Aignan all the arrangements which he had made for his studio. Art was to him too sacred a thing for the idea to occur that be v/as profaning a consecrated place by thus 266 IfOBLESSE OBLIGE, establishing himself iii it, and indeed churches and cloisters •wore at that time turned to far less holy purjwses than this, and had few tenants as innocent and reverent as the young Swiss. His good sense always helped him effectually in all practical matters, and he had constructed a studio very cleveriy at little or no cost. There were only absolute neces- saries in it, but he had space and a well-managed light, and a half-finished painting stood on the easel. His visitors came to inspect it, jMademoiselle de St. Aignan vratching the face of Edniee to be guided to a just opinion, and Balmat watched it too, knowing well that though pei-sonal feeding would lead her to jixdge tenderly, honesty and love of art would be stronger still. It proved as he expected, for a look of iiTe- pressible disappointment stole over her countenance, as she stood contemplating the painting, whose cold, pale cori'ect- ness and flat smoothness of handling were peculiarly un- pleasing to an eye accustomed to delight in colour, and unversed in anatomical merits. Balmat's wistful look changed into a patient and humble resignation. ' I know your opinion already,' he said, then turning to Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, ' And what do you think of it, mademoiselle 1 ' ' I ! — I am no judge, my dear Balmat,' .she answered, add- ing later to Edmee in private, ' You know, ma hdh, I could not tell him I thought it liideous, though that is what it seemed to me — ' and after a fiu-ther considei'ation, she asked, * What is the subject ? ' * Thetis bearing armour to her son Achilles.' She looked at it again, evidently trying to find something agreeable to sav. 'I suppose it is only just begun"?' she suggested. 'One cannot tell yet what it will be, or perhaps it was your first picture ? ' The eyes of Balmat and Edmee met ; hei-s were full of sympathy, and he smiled, but it was a painful smile. ' Mademoiselle youi- aunt is a severe critic/ he said, un- consciously pushing his palette away. ' I am siu'e she would gi-eatly ]ike to see some of yoiu* sketches of every-day life, Jacques,' said Edmee, who some- times called him so when she wished especially to please or BALMAT m HIS STUDIO. 267 encourage him ; * do show her some,' and Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, aware that she had somehow said the wrong thing, hastened to express _gi-eat desire to see the sketches. Her assumed interest soon became real, for what Balmat now I placed before her were vigorous portraits of what she per- fectly understood, as forc-ble and Kving as his classical subject was lifeless. ' Why, siu-ely these are admirable ! ' she exclaimed, forget- ting to look to Edmee for leave to admire. ' I told you I was no judge, but these seem actually living. See, my child, this one wliich he calls " mon bel ceiilet," this gii'l selling flowers, how she turns her head, and looks up to offer her bouqiiets with a little inviting aii* — and here, this old woman sitting selling brooms ; I seem to have seen her a do?:en times, though that is only because she is so truly the broom-seller. This I understand. Show me some more, my dear Balmat.' ' They are indeed admirable, Jacques,' sa'd Edmee. ' How you have impioved ; you have overcome all your diiiiculty of dealing with colour in these sketches ; one never suspects you — forgive me, my good Balmat ! — vv'hen one sees these of being more the engraver than the painter.' ' It is unfortunate for me that I learned to enorrave watch- cases under my father,' said Balmat. ' I never can shake off the effects of that training.' * No, one sees it when you try to paint in David's manner, but not here.' ''But what is this 1 Ah, cidl how could you draw thLs % ' exclaimed Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, as Balmat placed before her a black robed figure, with hands hanging down but clasped together, and a look of tearless, unutterable woe, as of one crushed by guilt, but guilt not her own. * Antigone,' answered Balmat, shortly. * But that tells me nothing ! I know not — I have for- gotten who yoiu' Antigone was. Does Corneille speak of her % Take it away ! What is the use of painting such a thing % It vvill haunt me ! ' * It is wonderful ! ' said Edmee, low, and ho^.ding it fast. * Jacques, I had no idea you could paint thus ! You are a true painter ! ' 268 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. But Ealmat did not seem gladdened by the marvelling admiration with whidi Edmee gazed at the sketch. * I did not imagine it ; it is only a portrait,' he said, sighing. * A portrait ! and whose ] ' * I do not know. It was a fixce which I had a glimpse of in the Luxembourg, and it would not let me rest until I had it on canvas.' ' Ah, it is a portrait,' sa'd Edmee, much disappointed ; but after a pause she said, ' How excellently you have managed the light, and the simple, straight folds of the drapery, and yet they do not recall a model, or a statue's. There is more there than a mere porti-ait. Do you know, I think you have been making a mistake all this time ] Why do you persist in attempting classic subjects which nobody can put any heart into 1 We are not Greeks or Romans, and nover shall be, however hard we try — the Greeks and Romans are bmied, and we shall never bring them to life again, or forget we are French, and live in the eighteenth century.' Balmat shook his head, and remarked that without know- ing it she v>^as talking in a vei-y revolutionary manner. ' It is true, however,' observed Mademoiselle do St. Aisman ; ' we forc^et too much that nations and ideas die and are buried, and cannot be revived.' ' If I were you,' pursued Edmee, earnestly, ' I would make paintings from life, and nothing else ; from daily scenes which make one smile and sigh. That is what you are meant to do, it is evident.' ' Flower-gii-ls — gc'-gne 2Jetitsl ' said Balmat, shaking his head, with a sigh and a smile. ' Yes, I can do tliose — a j many pochades as you will.' ' And do them as veiy few can ! Your 2^ochades are superb ! It is clear that you ought to do them ! Did not that Da^^.d whom you worship say the other day to one of you that he wished you to paint according to your nature, and not against it 1 Did he not tell you that Natm-e was the only teacher who never eried ? ' ' Yes, you are right ; but what would our poor master say if all the i-esult of his efforts, of his teaching to make art BALMAT m BIS STUDIO. 269 return to its ancient pimty — he who is now striving to become more truly Greek, as he says — if a pupil of his took up a line like Boucher or Va''entin 1 ' said Balmat, dismayed by Edmee's audacity, and feeling to his lingers' ends the pi-obable sarcasms of David, whose imperious and domineering temper, combined with his great i-eputation, told very dis- advantageously on the humbler and moi-e timid of his scholai'S, even after they had long left his atelier. * No one wants you to paint like Boucher ! I hate his pictures, I never look at them. I want you to be like yourself. Show this Antigone to David ; see what he says — to please me, Jacques ! You have never done anything approaching licr. Do you hear me 1 What does it matter if she be but a portrait 1 After all you have rendered what you sav/ with wonderful energy and truth. I am tired of these cla'!;s:c subjects, all just alike, and reminding one of statues instead of human beings. It is clear that you should not waste time on what you do badly when there are things which you can do so v/ell.' ' It seems like lowering art, and rather than do that I would break my brush.' * I do not think so ; is there no poetry in everyday things 1 ' answered the gii-1, eagerly, all unconscious that she was urging the doctrines of a school one day to overthrovN^ all which David had taught. ' If I painted figuies and land- scape instead of tlowcrs, what a pretty pictxire I could make of a very common sight — the Feast of the Rogations. I would just put what I have seen at St. Aignan, the stream and the trees for a background, and the procession coming with our cure, and the sceurs, and the notables of the village, while the women and c;irls should be round the altar which they have built. Ah, how pretty we made our altar ! It was only a table from some cottage near, covered with a white sheet, and candlesticks and flowers, but it looked so fresh, so pui*e in the open air, v/ith a bower of green branches over it ; and how pleasant it was to go out and gather all the wild flowers we coald for it ! I do so miss the Jetrs /' she ended, sighing, for even leaving out of the question the deep want which the banishment of all signs of religion left 270 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. in inward life, the absence of all the pomp and ceremony •which, varied the Christian year, and satistiod the cra\dng for something less monotonous and sordid than daily life, caused a vast blank, especially to women. * I should like to paint that now ! ' said Balmat, with a generous feeling of taking the vanquished side ; ' but I suppose no one would dare to so much as look at it.' ' But do leave your Lives of Plutarch and Ossian, and paint as I tell you ! ' m-ged Edmee. ' Perhaps you are right ; I will thiak about it,' he answered ; but Edmee did not in the least guess Avith what an effort he admitted the thought that perhaps it would be his duty to renonnce the dreams of paiuliug great classic subjects, such as he believed true art dictated, for the humble walk which Edmee vu'ged. For the moment it was as if she had taken away his brush, and bade him paint no more. ' You read between whiles % ' said Mademoiselle do St. Aignan, taking up a little brown book, which he had laid aside, on a chair. ' Why . . . it is a Bible ! ' She looked at him with as much astonishment as if it had been the Koran. * Yes, I read it every day,' he answered simply. * You have read it daily in these times ? ' exclaimed Edmee, with a different but even greater astonishment. ' Certaiuly ; we always read a chapter or two at home, and my mother go.ve me this, her own co]">y ; you see it is old. She had it from her mother, and told me never to miss doiug so. I know tliey always tliink of me, and pray for mo after the reading.' ' But if anyone knew of it, you would have been — might still be — guillotiued as a " fanatic " ! ' 'Well, you yovu-self; have yon not risked as much in. wearing your cross ? ' * The gold cross which marraiuc gave me ? Of course I have worn it.' * Silly child ! I never guessed it, or I should never have permitted such rashness,' said MademoLsei]e de St. Aignan. Edmee smiled a little v.d!ful smile, and put her hand up to her bodice where the cross was hidden. BALM A T m HIS STUDl 0. 271 * And of course I have read my Bible — my Father's message to me. Besides,' continued Balmat, his face lighting up, ' if one wants poetical subjects, here they are ... as I said to them yesterday in the atelier, what ever came up to the description of Christ sitting luider the little alcove by the well, looking over the corn-fields under the Eastern skyi or with the little children gathering roiuid his knees 1 ' ' As you said in the atelier ! ' exclaimed Edmee, amazed beyond expression, for not only was it dangerous in the highest degree to make an open profession of f;aith at this time, but it requii-ed such coui-age as she could hardly imagine to have made it in such a company. * Yes, they Avere discussing Ossian and "VVerther, and Maurice Quai declared Ossian was gi-eater than Homer, and somehow they got to speaking of Italian religious pictures, and then of the Bible, and if any one of them ever read it, it was in some absm-d abridgment^but I do not think they had.* ' And then 1 ' asked Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, won- dering at the unconscious heroism of the quiet Balmat. ' Oh, they are good felloA\^s, after all . . . they said nothing at all for a moment, and then one and another came and shook hands with me.' . ' Wo are interrupting you too long,' said Edmee ; ' but remember what I have said.' ' There is no fear of my forgetting ! But you do not interrupt me ; Isnard was coming to sit for the hands. By-the-by, you had better go before he arrlvea.' * Why 1 Do you mistrust him 1 ' * Xot exactly ; but a man so vain is never to be trusted. One does not know what he may be led to do. I do not want to speak against him, for it is kind to let me paint his hands, since it saves me a model.' 'Ah ! but I have noticed he is vain of his hands; I dare say he likes to have them copied.' ' Then he is often gratified, for we all use his arms and hands in the atelier. Those of us who are best formed often pose for the others,' he explained to jMademoiselle de St. Aignan, ' but lie does not often come now ; he has gone over to Gu6rin, otherwise he would know where you live, which 2TZ KODLESSE OBLIGE. is a mysteiy to him. He came yesterday to me, and said he had been to the Maison Crocq, but you had left it ; there was a letter which he wanted to give you, and he left it in my charge ; I meant to have brought it to-night.' ' A letter ! how did he get it % Why, it was sent to Mor- temaii; . . .from whom can it bel Ah, my cousin, the o'd canon ; he escaped to England ! Then I have still some of my family left !' exclaimed Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, much moved, and while she read her letter Balmat told Edmee unheard that Isnard had vowed revenge on De Pelven, who was now agaia in Paris, and had succeeded in getting a room adjoining that which De Pelven now inhabited, and kept incessant Avatch on his proceedings. ' But it is all so childish ! ' said Balmat, impatiently. * I do not know how much of earnest there is in it ; he has taken so many into his confidence as to the revenge he means some day to have, that really he will be driven to do something, for fear of becoming a jest with them ; he has managed a spy- hole, through v/hich he can see all that De Pelven does, un- suspected, and this gives him extraordinary pleasure, though he never learns anything important.' ' Bvit how did he get this letter % ' * Hov/ De Pelven got it, I do not know, unless he has been at Mortemart, but I suspect that Isnard actually went into his room, and looked about for papers which might compromise him . . . found none, and took this to annoy him.' ' Good heavens ! ' interrupted Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, * to think of the dear old man's writing only to ask this ! Does he not knovr that to i-eceive a letter from an emigre is the most dangerous thing possible 1 Imagine that he writes to implore me to seek after his pedigree, v/hich he had had di^awn out, and entrusted to a friend at the time of his flight ! But he gives me one piece of important news ; Alain, my nephew, is in Ita^y, probably with Mesdames Adelaide and Victoii-e. He has, as we supposed, beguji to study painting, or rather to puisue it, for I believe he had already made con- siderable progress some years ago.' ' In Italy ! It must then be possible to have fui-ther news. Come, dear aunt, we must go.' M. DELYS MAKES A JOURNEY. 273 They had to walk a little way to the fiacre, waiting for them tinder an ai-chway ; it would have attracted too much attention to have had it drawn up near the chui-ch. When Balmat had put Mademoiselle de St. Aignan into it, making no reply to her desire that he would brmg Isnard to her salon, and discover how he had got the letter, he said aside to Edmee, * It is well that letter is out of De Pelven's hands. It might have been a dangerous weapon. But I think Isnard had better know nothing . . . and change his lodging as soon as he can ! ' CHAPTER XXXII. M. DELYS MAKES A JOURNEY. It was not an easy thing for Mademoiselle de St. Aignan and M. Delys to secure an uninteniipted tHe-d,-tete. She knew his dislike of being interrupted at his woi-k too well to invade his atelier, and even if she had done so they could not have conversed without attracting the attention of Edm^e, while again of an evening the salon was never empty. How- ever, they had agreed on a private signal Avliich should give notice when there was any weighty matter to be privately discussed, for both had plots and plajis tor Edmee's benefit, though they took difierent views of what was dcsii'able. These could not be tUscussed before her, and, having received the given signnl one morning, Mademoiselle de St. Aignan was not surprised to sec M. Delys appear during what were ordinarily his working hoin-s. He had evidently something important to say, but his first words surprised her, for they seemed entirely remote fi'om the subject which she anticipated. ' JNIademoiselle,' he began, bowing ceremoniously, and wait- ing as he always did for her permission to take a chair, for though most people seem scarcely themselves when removed from their familiar surrouncUngs, Mademoiselle de St. Aignan was always in his eyes " Grande dame," as in former days — ' Mademoiselle, I am gettuig an old man, and I have this day 274 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. heard of the death of two acquaintanceg, one older, one younger than myself. I may soon follow them.' * My dear friend ! why afflict yourself with such gloomy thoughts ! ' ' They are not gloomy, dear mademoiselle. When my time comes I hope to fall gently as the Avithered leaves do, without a storm. But it has made me think of our child. She will no doubt be able to support herself by painting, but her health might fail, or a time might come when she had no heart to paint, could do no tiling worth producing ; such times come in one's life,' he added, rather sadly, recalling past passages of his own history, and without perceiving the en- qumng and incredulous expression on the countenance of Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, to whom painting seemed the mere copying of a material fact, so that the mechanical skill once acquired, there could be no difficulty in producmg any quan- tity of work, at all times and seasons. ' Of course I shall leave her all I have,' he went on, ' she is my daughter, you know. I never thought to have anything so like a child of my own.' * But . . . you have spoken sometimes of a daughter 1 ' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, who had been often puzzled how to reconcile this with what she knew of his early life. * Yes, I dare say I have, but I never had one. Mine has been what I suppose people call a solitary life; my parents died years ago, years ago — ; I never married or wished to many ; a wife is not in my line, but I have often thought it would have been gi-eat happiness to have possessed a daughter who would have worked with me, and of whom I should have been proud. I have pictured her in the atelier until I really sometimes believed she was there, but I never found a name for her to my liking until I had the privilege of knowing madame your sister-in-law, and then I perceived at once that hers was the name I had been so long seeking. Yes, I have seen my Edmee, I am sui-e of it, leaning over me, looking at my work, but I never could see her paint, nor be sure that she had spoken. And then this child of ours came, and I never see the other now, nor miss her. My heart is filled now — filled now — there is no room for the other Edmee.' He spoke in a dreamy way, looking away from Mademoi- M. DELY8 MAKES A JOURNEY. 275 selle de St. Aignan, as if hard'y aware that she was there, listening with much marvel. * These artists ! these artists ! ' she was saying to herself, with some sympathy and very tender amusement. ' But I do not know why I am saying all this, mademoi- selle. Wliat I came to say was, first, I know you have business talents, and as it is for that dear child's sake, I venture to ask you to look into my money concerns ; all I know of them you will find put down in this little book, but I have no time or head for that sort of thing.' She took the account-book with a good deal of curiosity, for she imagined him necessarily a rich man, from the frugal mode of life which he had always followed, and the sums, very considerable for that day, which were paid for his flower pieces. She had often heard this asserted, ^vith an occasional hint that the old man's chief failing was avarice, and it was with great sm-piise that she now discovered how moderate were his means, though amply sufiicient for his wants, and even for those of the two new members of his family. ' I daresay I am called a miser,' he went on, as if replying to what was in her mind, * because I do not give to what everyone else does. ' Why should 1 1 That sort of ca es takes care of itself, but sometimes people come whom nobodv seems to he^p, and then I give — to get them off" my mind, you understand — to get them off" my mind.' ' Yes, yes, I imderstand,' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, refi-aining from tormenting him as usual, for she was a little angiy with herself for having given credence to such a charge against the childlike simple old man, whose large and kindly generosity no one dreamed of ; and to whom it seemed such a matter of coiu-se that he never thought about it. ' Like our- selves, for instance. But there you are, I know, Avell repaid by your pupil.' ' Mademoiselle, had I needed repayment, as you call it, I should have had it abundantly in the satisfaction of being of service to you. But I had something else to say. This Leroux is dead ? ' he had an old jea'ousy of Leroux, for being Edmee's father, and therefore as it were his own rival • — ' certainly dead ? He must have left money which should be hers. It would be well to ascertain this.' 276 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. ' And to ascertain where the title-deeds of the lands are. But who is to do it 1 ' ' Just so.' ' I should greatly like to know what has become of the chateau, and what the state of things is at St. Aignan, if Ave knew of anyone who could make enquii-ies discreetly.' ' Perhaps I may hear of someone, or somethmg might take me there.' ' You, dear friend ! If you ever contrived to get so far, you would certainly forget the way back ! ' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, who, with considerable reason, had the lowest possible opinion of M. Delys' power of taking care of him- self in daily life. ' You artists see a great deal which is hidden from ordinaiy mortals, and nothing of all which they perceive at once. By the way, what measuies have you taken to learn anything of my nephew 1 ' M. Delys had not much answer to make ; he felt in his guilty soul that he had made no great effox-t to ascertain any- thing about Alain, and the conversation ended, nor was any- thing more said as to a journey to St. Aignan for a consider- able time, until he suddenly announced that he could not complete a flower-piece which had been ordered by the bride of the young Geneial Bonaparte, befoie she joined him in North Italy, without a plant for which he had no study in his portfolios. His patroness was passionately fond of flowers, a:r 1 took a great and intelligent interest in the commission which she had given him, and he was desii'ous to please her, thoiigh as far as anyone could see the group would have been quite as beautuul without this particular plant, which grew, as he declared, only near St. Aignan. Edmee offered no opposition to his journey, though perplexed as to its real object, and deeply averse to any renewal of a connection with her old home. I\I. Delys was delighted at having found a pretext which disguised even from himself that he was going to make a long and troublesome joui-ney for a benevolent purpose, turned a deaf ear to some malicious comments which Mademoiselle de St. Aignan could not altogether le- frain from making, and set off to find his p^ant, and see how matters had gone in La Bresse. Mademoiselle de St. Aignan M. DELY8 MAKES A JOURNEY. 277 saw him go with but moderate satisfaction, and a conviction that if she coukl but have gone hei-self matters would have been much better managed, in which perhaps she was right, for the old painter had none of her ready-witted acuteness ; his mind was generally absorbed by his art, and could only perceive such facts as suited it; those which did not he ignored, or rather, to all intents and purposes, they did not exist as far as he was concerned. But affection for Edmee gave him clear-sightedness which would never have been roused for himself, and where her interests were concerned he could ]je keen and cautious. Tiavelling was still difficult in France, though, under the Directory, there weie no longer the injiumerable hindrances of a short time back placed in the way of procuring passports and permits of residence, the coche d'eau and the voiture jniblique had not yet begun again to communicate with any places off the gi-eat high roads. During the last ten years, while the corvees gradually fell into disuse, the roads had been falling more and more into dis- repair, the paved way in the middle growiug more ruinous, the mud on each side deej)er, and wheieas locomotion had at the best been difficult and even dangerous, in some places it was now absolutely imjwssible. The risk of highway robbers, and the discomfoit at the inns added to tlie reluctance with which a journey was under-taken, and a night passed in a ' carosse de voiture,' as the stage-coaches wers then called, was even less agi-eeable than one spent in the public dor- mitory of an inn, where travellers, landlord, and servants all slept together. M. Delys was a timid man, and such intercourse as this with his fellow-crcatnres was horril)le to him. There really was some foimdation for IMademoiselle de St. Aignan's persuasion that if he ever succeeded in finding his way to his destination he would never contrive to i-eturn, and Edmee grew uneasy about him as the limit which he had fixed for his absence was passed, and yet no news came of him. That he should wiite no one expected. To commit anything to writing, and risk its l)eing examined by eyes for which it was not meant was still universally and carefully avoided. Edmee worked as usual in the atelier, where no one disturbed her, and now that summer weather 278 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. Lad come there was no pretext for someone ti'om a neigli- boaring studio coming into beg for ' bi-aise ' from her stove, and M. Delys had put up a large placard on his door with the laconic annoimcement * Absent ! ' which prevented any invasion of buyers or connoisseui'S. Balmat was her only visitor. He never failed to come daily and ask if he could do anj^hing for her, and refresh himself by a little talk of his home, and his longing to be able to send his mother a little money. Once he had to tell her how he had received a hamper of little gifts, long delayed on the road, but none the less welcome. ' See, my mother knitted these stockings her- self ! ' he said, displaying them pi-oudly. ' No one knits as she does in the whole A'illage ! And my sisters have each made me something ; my brother has sent me some of his walnuts — here they are ; Mademoiselle your aunt likes walnvits, I know — As for father, he has put in a little money — dear old father ! — If I could only send him help instead of taking what he can ill spare I should be a happy fellow ! Would you like to see my mother's letter ] ' Edmee read it with gi-eat sympathy. ' Jacques, you ai'e a fortunate man to have such good parents,* she said. * Am I not 1 You see they do not forget me ; they pi'ay for me every night. And they know I am doing my best ; they never doubt that, though I have nothing to show for it.' * Jacques, I want you to let me do something. You know I have begun to earn money now ; M. Delys said my last picture was worthy of being sold ; hitherto he has only let me paint to learn ; I had so much to learn ! — ' ' It is of no use offering me money ; I cannot take it. This from home came exactly when I wanted it, and luj rent is cleai'ed off ; I can pay a model^ — ' * But w^ait till I ask you !- — I was not going to offer you money, unless in a way you cannot dislike. I want to buy one of your pictures.' ' That is only another way of doing it.' * Not at all. I really want it. I am going to give very little for it, oh, very little, M. Balmat! for as yet you are unknown, but I must make haste, for some day yoiu* pictures will be above my means — ' * "VV'Tien I am dead, perhaps ! * M. DELT8 MAKES A JOURNEY. 279 ' Before that, I hope and thiuk. Then I shall send it to your mother, and tell her how kind and true a friend her son has been to me and my aunt. Do you not think it will please herr ' Yes, dear old mother ! I cannot refuse such goodness. And they will not know it is nothing very grand.' ' I do hope, Jacques,' said Edmee, very seriously, ' that your heart is in what you paint I You are not all the while regi-etting it is not a classic subject which you have in hand ]' ' No, I enjoy my painting, or I would not do it at all. I did as you advised, after thinking it well over. I showed my work to David.' ' And he 1 ' asked Edmee, eagerly, aware how gi-eatly Balmat's peace of mind depended on David's opinion. ' He said I had overcome much of my difficulties as to coloiu", and that the lines of my figiu*es were harmonious and well arranged, but I could see he thought ai-t lowered by such a way of using it.' * What you draw is tiaie, and from nature, and ai-t rests on natm-e and truth ! Then you are going on bravely ] ' * Yes. I think it is the best that is in me to do.' ' And very good it is ! ' cried Edmee. ' Now see what I am doing ; I am afraid that the master will not be s;xtisfied with these roses. Is it best to get the light opaquely ujx)n the colours or transparently through them 1 ' And then they fell into discussing methods of working, and the manner of producing various effects, which lasted until Edmee dis- covered that it was dinner time, and prevailed, with some difficulty, on Balmat to stay and share her meal, which Mademoiselle de St. Aignan always came to partake of. Balmat always provoked her by the reluctance with which he met ler invitations ; he always seemed afraid of seeming to have timed his visits expressly to be asked to eat and drink. The more susceptible he was on this point, the surer Edmee felt that he had not money enough to afford liimself proper food. The solitude of the atelier began to gTow burdensome as the days slipped by, and she listened sometimes a little enviously to the outbursts of song and laughter from the 280 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. room below, where David's noisy pupils were more or less busy. She wtis very glad when, on coming in one morning, she saw M. Delys again instill led before his easel, painting the plant which, as he said, he had gone to St. Aignan to find. She advanced on tiptoe. ' Pan ! Pan ! ' said she laughingly, as she put her hands over his eyes, ami he recollected immediately the cliildLsh game common in that part of France, and kno%\'n as ' le jeu des lieui's,' and duly replied ' Who is there 1 ' ' It is I,' answered Edmee gaily. * Who may I heV ' The Archangel Gabriel.' * Wliat does he want 1 ' ' Not soucis^ at all events,' she answered, inteniipting the little jest suddenly. ' Dear master, how glad I am to see you ! What news do you bring? What have you seen at St. Aignan 1 ' * Nothing very cheei-ful. Eather show me what you have done in my absence ; I have waited for you before I ex- amined it ; besides I had to set to work to paint this flower. See, I brought it in wet mosses ; the whole plant, only look how delicate it is ; it ftides like a novice before the breath of the world. How it surA'ived what we went through I know not. The c;irosse was bad enough ; eight or ten people heaped inside a thing laden with baggage, so that eight horses could hardy drag it along, and at such close quarters that when one got down, one had to ask one's neighbours for one's arms and legs, and then I thought I had lost my purse, and pjxssed a tenible half-hour in consequence — never found it till night, when I discovered it in my boot ; I believe I put it thei-e ta,king it for my pocket. Let me see what you have been doing.' He rose and stood before the canvas on her easel, looking alternately at the half-finished gi-oup upon it and the fiowei'^ which she was copying, while an expression of pleased content came over his face, very pleasant to Edmee. ' Why, this is good, very good/ he said, after some time * Ma^'igolds, OJ cares. M. BELTS MAKES A JOURNEY. 281 thus spent. *' You have worked hard in the last year, very- hard. This is equal to Madame Val layer Coster, though she is a memljer of the Academy ; hut ohserve, these rough leaves require quite a cUfferent way of rendering to those. Always fill your mind with the character of a p^ant before you begin to paint it. You have not caught the poisonous, false aii' of the hellebore ; of course I know that it is difficult to seize the character of a plant so opposite to your own, but the artist comprehends things most opposed to his nature through the imao-ination — the imasination, not the heart.' ' I will try, dear master,' answered Edmee, smiling at the innocent mysticism of the old painter, and aware that she must wait for news of St. Aignan mitil he was in the mood to tell them. ' Weigh what I say, my dear child,' he continued ear- nestly. ' If you knew the world as I do '• — Edmee thought how Mademoiselle de St. Aignan would have laughed to her- self — ' you would discover with what marve'loiLs exactitude every human being has his counterpart in the vegetable kingdom. You may say that I should hardly find a parallel to this detestable hellebore' — he had his likes and disUkes among plants as strong or stronger than any which he felt for men and women. ' Pardon me, dear master,' said Edmee, who, when they were alone, always gave idm this title in preference to that of father. She could feel no tenderness for a name associated with Leroux. In destroying for her the meaning of father- hood he had done her a cruel injury, for like that of some men and most women her system of thought was uncon- sciously moulded by her own history. ' Pardon me, I myself know someone who has the same cold, false air of destruction, and who flourishes where better plants would perish.' ' But you have exactly entered into my meaning, my child ! There is nothing like a woman for seizing an idea at a bound ; a man would have hesitated or argued for an hour before comprehending me. I said that very thing to Maurice Quai, who calls himself a thinker, and pushes David's theories beyond what David himself dreamed of — would destroy all art since PhicUas, without exception, — a man who iv^aily has 282 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. a fine mind, and yet he listened — listened with a smile, which expressed nothing unless a soi-t of pity. Wlien a man does not apprehend your meaning he always thinks it yoiu' fault instead of his own. But who is your hellel jore ? ' * M. de Pelven.' * Ah ! ah ! yes, you are perfectly right ' and becoming suddenly thoughtful, he re'urued to his easel. Presently he said, ' Well, I got to St. Aignau.' ' And how has all fared there 1 ' ' Alas ! my child, it wrs^s a sad journey. The last time that I went that way the 1 arvest was being gathered in, the fields full of fiowers ; now one would suppose that war had passed over them. Ruined houses, chiu'ches closed or de- secrated, wounded men dragsing themselves through the vil- lages . . . And yet there seemed everywhere an inexplicable feeling of hope, of animation, as if the people regarded all this misery as a mere passing tril>uiation, which they could bear, because it delivered them from an intolerable burden. I cannot explain it ; I only tell you the impi-ession I received. In a village where the coach stopped one of the passengei-s cried, "Vive la Eepub'ique !" and everyone near joined, a wovmded man loudest of all, come home minus an arm and a leg!' * No one remembered you ] ' * Of course not. I stopped at the inn, and learned there that — it will be a shock, my dear child — yotir father is dead.' Edmee was silent. It was, a-s he had expected, a shock, all the more that she dared not look too closely into her feelings. ' The estates have been parcelled out, and partially sold, but it seems that it is not easy to get pm-chasers, as at first, especially if there be any notion that title-deeds may be brought out by-and-by by an old owner. Land is exti-aor- dinarily cheap ; a field for a sack of corn, they say. There seems to have been no one to keep order in the commune ; every man's cattle browse over the old seigneurial domain ; the forests are cut down — every fai'mer and peasant has one way or another got a bit of land, and wants more, if he only had the money. If the enemy wei-e at our gates, the peasant M. BELTS MAKES A JOURNEY. 283 would buy — buy. Things can never now go back to. what they were formerly.' * Has the chateau itself suffered much 1 ' * The peasants dance in the hall on Sundays, and their sabots have broken the tiles ; you can see too traces of wanton destruction ; there have been hatchets and pick-axes used hej-e and there, and one room evidently was on fire ; the flames have licked the walls and ceiling. I need not say that every bit of furniture has been carried oflf. I saw some of it at the inu.' * Whom did you see 1 ' * I had my tin box for plants, as you know, and everyone took me for an apothecary looking for his herbs. Your unc'e Grabian came out of the mill, and asked if I could recommend anything for his wife's complaints ... I gathered that her temper was what needed ciu-ing most. We had a good deal of talk ; he is an honest man, and I told him I knew you were alive, and might be commimicated with by a letter to the Maison Crocq — I was cautious, you see, for it seems some- one else had been down there, making eni|iiu.ies before me — he went away disappouited though.' 'Not. . .M. deSt.Aignanr * No, no, child ; do not look so startled.' *DePelven, then!' * Exactly, but since no one knew anything, he could learn nothing. Evidently he thought you might have returned home, scoundi'el that he is ! Grabian told me that his brother- in-law, Leroux, died fort gras, as they say there, and being an honest man, and fond of you, it seems, he wishes to make over all these savings ' * I want none of it. Who knows how ' * Listen, my child ; I know what you mean, but this money is justly yoiu-s, and would make you independent. I have little to leave ; illness might interfere with your own work, and it is not well to look to art as a means of gaining daily bread,' said M. Delys, with a vindictive recollection of the fans and bonhonieres. ' If you should leave your husband, you would accept nothing from him ] ' * No ; again you may never see him more, and then if Mademoiselle de St. Aignan remain with you — ' 284 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. * Remain ! "What can you mean 1 ' ' Why, yon do not suppose that if you renounce your, hus- band he will leave his aunt on youi* hands 1 ' ' I never thought of the possibility of our being separated. Am I to lose everything 1 ' said Edmee, with vehemence which startled M. Delys. ' No, it cannot, shall not be so.' ' You must not take it ill, my dear child, that I have ac- cepted your uncle's offers, and said you would write to him.* * I must consider,' she answered, and he looked at her tenderly, feeling Avith keen and vaiu regret how lonely this young life had been, and was, notwithstancUng his fond affec- tion, as he saw her thinking, with bent head, and hands folded together. Except Balmat she had never had anyone to take counsel with. ' "Will you not take yoiu* aunt's advice ] ' he asked at last, very gently. ' I linow exactly what she would say,' answered Edmee, faintly smiling. ' She would advise anything, no matter what, unless it w^ere absolutely dishonom-able, which she thought could add to my happiness.' And she added to her- self, ' What a help it must be to have someone to decide questions for one ! ' After another pause of thought she looked up, sajring, ' I consent.' ' ISTo one mth common-sense could hesitate ! ' said M. Delys, as decidedly as if he himself always acted according to its dictates. ' You will write to yom* uncle ; Balmat will receive the letter at the Maison Crocq, and now all is settled.' ' Yes,' said Edmee, passing her hand over her eyes as if to efface some inward vision. ' There was a mairiage going on in the villacje,' said M, Delys, hoping to find a. more agi'eeable subject, a .girl whom they called Mathurine Berthier, and a yoimg fellow whose name has escaped me — ' ' Mathurine Berthier ! the mayor's daughter.' * A gi-and affair, I assure you ; guns fired off on all sides, open house kept, everybody eating hLs fill and drinking to match, all the women crazy ^vith envy at the number of ors ' (ornaments) ' worn by the bride ; her gold chains were beyond coimting, rings, earrings — I daresay many an honest man's M. DELYS MAKES A JOURNEY. 285 fortune had been melted into them — all the villagers going and coming — ' ' That is just what I fancied my marriage would be,' said Edmee, with a smile very like a sigh, and then she shrank and shivei'ed, recalling in what strange circumstances it had really taken place ; the terror, the fm-y, the shame, and the jests that overwhelmed her, and then the long night walk mider stars dim with mist, the cold, yet kind attention of her young husband, while she couJd not tind a word of answer, and then that wild temptation to fling herself into the stream which they crossed, and so make an end of all their difficulties. She even seemed to perceive the keen fragrance of the herbs on which they had trodden. Her hand closed on a chain of hah- wliich hung around her neck, to which was suspended the golden cross that Balmat had spoken of; both were the gift of Madame de St. Aignan. ' Mathm-ine cou.ld only have a civil marriage,' she said. ' Or would it be possible — % ' ' To find a priest 1 I do not know. The bitter feeling against the priests is extraordinary — the peasants have got it into theii- heads that the Chiu'ch joined hands with the nobles to oppress them, and you know how such a notion would spread and take root.' ' My poor mother ! I have never been able to have a mass said for her soul — and now I ought ' — Edmee stopped ; she was thinking of Leroux * I could do that for him,' she added, as if relieved to find there were any filial duty possible to her. M. Delys hemmed and made no answer. It was with great effort that Edmee added — ' Did you hear anything of a man called Letumier 1 ' ' I suppose he got what he deserved, but it is a horrible story. In the day of victory one party is absolutely no better than another. In the first confusion alter Eobespierre's fall the aristocrats thought their tiu-n was come. At Lyons every Jacobin who could be foimd was massacred — this Letumier was there ; he was either thrown into the Ehoneor perished in a prison which was set on fire ... in fact the blind fury of revenge was such that it seems many Royalists perished among the Jacobins. The two sons of the Duke of 286 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. Orleans barely escaped massacre at Marseilles. Alas ! what can we say about the deeds of the Republicans who had cen- tui-ies of wronsfs to avenare after this ? ' Edmee drooped her head. She had no answer to make. * It is all so terrible ! ' she mm-mured. ' But tell me . . . many emigres have returned, we know that ; would it not be possible to have the name of M. de St. Aignan erased from the proscribed list 1 Have you tried ] ' ' I dare say more might be done . . . we will see/ answered M. Delys, with a guilty air, ' now let me paint, my child — we have talked enough.' CHAPTER XXXIII. AN ART PATRON. * What have you there 1 ' asked M. Delys, as Edm^e placed a small oil-painting in an advantageous position. * Where did that come from 1 ' ' It is Balmat's. I asked him to let me have it. I was sure that you would allow me to have it here, where someone may see it ; so many people come to your studio.' M. Delys had one day in the week on which he admitted visitors to liis studio. ' He can never have a chance of selling any of his pictui-es otherwise. Look — I know that you will not care for it, you will say that he does not finish highly enough, but see, it has real merit.' * Yes, yes,' said M. Delys, coming to examine the painting; * there is good quality there, honest work, the vine-trails on the wall are carefully done, and the colour of the leaves in- dicates the time of year very correctly, but I do not care for the sort of thing ; a lovers' quarrel— something which no doubt he saw in his Swiss village ; the lad and lass have met by the fomitain, and fallen out, and that is all ! ' ' No, indeed, dear master, that is not all,' argued Edmee, who, though sometimes shaken by the criticism which Ba' mat's pictures always met with, was never long moved from her ^.Y AliT PATRON. 287 conviction that he had real talent. * It is really well com- posed, and a little tragi-comedy. See, the yovmg man holds his pipe disconsolately, and sits awkward on the bench ; he would make it np if he could, but is too clumsy to know how, while the gud stands, turning away, alei-t and angry, more with his awkwardness than becaixse she was really vexed at first ; she feels it so stupid of him not to speak and set all right. See how well her green jar is painted, and the clear water flowing through the hollow tree-trunk — then the brown old chalet, and bit of wall. It is very good, mon mmtre ! ' While Edmee spoke there came a knock at the door, and, though it was not the day on which visitors were admitted, a stranger entered, on whose face the patronising customer was so plainly written that M. Delys muttered, ' He comes in as if I kept a shop, and he had only to order so many yards of cloth ! Sir, to what do I owe the honour of this visit ? ' ' Monsieur, I have lately bought the Hotel de Blanquefort. ... I am Guillaume Jobiu, of whom you may have heard, Jobin and Co. are known as well or better than most ci-devanfs,' said the visitor, in a tone which implied serene assiu'ance that he had but to name himself to be respectful 'y recognised. ' No, monsieur, I have not that advantage,' answered M. Delys, and Edmee could hardly suppress a smile at the effort which it cost him to utter even these words. A glance had told her that the citoyen Jobin was precisely what the old artist most dis'iked, a rich and consequential bourgeois. She knew perfectly that the very way in which their visitor was looking round the atelier was intolerable to M. Delys, who muttered between his teeth, ' Nouveau riche ! would one not say that he was appraising every article of furniture I I have been in the Hotel B'anquefort, monsieur, and had the happiness of knowing its former owner.' ' Ah, ah, its former owners ^vill find it the Hotel Jobin when they return, ... or rather if they return.' 'And why if, may I ask, monsieur? emigres return every day now.' ' That depends on whether they can get their names rayea, my good sir. If anyone of weight think it better for the nation that they should stay away a little longer, why, 288 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. the chances are that they do not find it altogether easy to gain permission. But that does not concern me. I bought the hotel as bien cVemigre, and I keep it. I shall be de- lighted to see you there, monsieur, and have your advice about my pictiu-es. It seems that there iised to be a gallery of paintings there, and people have persuaded my wife and daughter that the walls look bare without them. I myse'f do not care ; some pictm-es are pretty enough to look at, but bah ! what good does your painting and yoiu' music and what people call art do anyone, I ask you? We are none the warmer, or the better governed, or the richer for that kind of thiag ; we sleep none the sounder, nor live the longer for it, but I want the Hotel to look as it used ; my wife desires it, and my daughter too, — women have their fancies, and I am willing to let them have their way, even if it cost something,' said M. Jobiti, slapping his hand on his pocket, with a laugh which made M. Delys, already exasperated by the doctrines poured into his ears shrink up Avith disgust, and ask without turning to look at him, * Monsieur, I still have to learn how I can serve you ? ' ' Why, I want one of your paintings, to be siu-e ! Pinard sent me here, he says they are the best that can be had, and when I buy a thing I like it of good quaUty ; it answers in the end, and if one should wish to sell it, one gets one's money back.' * Piiiard sent you ! ' gi'owled ]M. Delys, in a voice which boded ill for the delinquent picture-dealer. ' Yes, that is, he said your work was the best he knew, so I have come to see for myself.' ' Did he not mention that visitors are only admitted to my atelier on Decarli 1 ' * I believe he did, but I had no time to lose, and I never trust anyone to do what I can do for myself. That is the maxim which has made me a rich man, monsieur. So here I am, but there does not seem much to see,' added M. Jobin, looking roimd ^dth some doubt and disappointment. ' You do not keep specimens hanging up then ? I thought I should see a number of your works hanging up, and take my choice. I know nothing of art, I have had more important things to AN ART PATRON. 289 think of, l3ut I know what I like — one does not need much teaching to understand that, and since I pay I have a right to have it. So, my dear monsieiu-, when you set about a painting for me ' ' Excuse me, monsieur, my time is fully occupied, I am already beset with more commissions than I know how to execute. Imbrcil'^, va ! even when I was pooi'est I wou^d have broken my brush sooner than paint for thee ! ' mut- tered the old man, his very eyebrows bristling with wi-ath. ' But monsieur ' * My time is promised, monsieur, promised ! ' ' But I have made up my mind to have one of your flower pieces, since Pinard tells me ' * Pinard is a fool ! he knows perfectly v/ell that if I had as many hands as Briareus I could not get through what I have to do in the next three years ! ' ' But you must have something done, or which could be painted in a week or two, monsieur ! ' ' A week or tv/o ! ' repeated M. Delys. ' " Je dis qu'il est un sot, mais c'est lui qui le prouve ! " ' * Monsieur probably does not know how long such a painting as he desii-es takes to execute,' interposed Edmeo, aTixious to stifle the quotation, which she had recognised at the first words. ' See, this leaf would take my father a day.' ' Ma foi ! if that is necessary your painting may well be dear ! It is true that your time is not so valuable as that of a business man. What a singular way of spending one's life, to daub colours on a piece of canvas ! and all to copy things which we can see anywhere without ]iaying for them ! It seems droll when one thinks of it. But, mademoiselle — ' he had hitherto paid no attention to Edraee — ' Since you aro monsieur's daughter your name is also Lafleur ! Then a picture of yours would be equally valuable, since it would have the same signature. All I want is to have something signed Lalleur in ray gallery.' ' I am afraid, monsieur, that connoisncui's Avould soon dis- cover the difierencc })otweeu my father's jtictures and mine, and besides I am fully occupied,' said Edme(;, with great 290 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. difficulty suppressing her amusement at this view of the matter, all tlie more tliat she heard a. succession of angry snorts from M. Delys, as he sat with his back turned to them. ' But here is a painting by an artist full of promise,' and she rose to point out and ex])]ain the picture of Balmat. * It Ls not then done by either of you,' said citoyen Jobin, on which a still angrier grunt escaped M. Delys, who was making believe to be engrossed in his work, but in reality far too much perturbed to attempt a stroke. * No, monsieur, we only paint flowers, but see how well this is done ; does it not recall some of Chardin's scenes, or Greuzel You miderstand the story of it, I am sure,' and the charming gface with which she explained the motif of the picture mollified even M. Delys, and made the would-be patron listen "svith interest. She thought that she had secured him as a purchaser, vmtil he so id, ' After all it seems that this young man is unknown ; how is one to be sui'e that his works are worth anything 1 ' ' Ask M. Pinard, anyone, monsieur ! You Avill have had the honour of discovering merit. Besides, you like this, and you said yourself that was the time test.' ' Ma foi! yes, but still one does not like to ri.sk anything. If one had ever heard his name. . . . Then you will not paint anything for me, monsieiu* % ' ' No, monsieur,' answered M. Delys, curtly. * Monsiem-, who is a business man, would not wish us to enter on engagements which we could not meet,' said Edmee. ' We artists have also our honour.' ' Upon my word, mademoiselle, you speak well ! Do you know, dear monsieur, you have a charming daughter ? Well, I must try elsewhere. Your servant, mademoi- selle,' and so he bowed liimself out, and had scarcely closed the door when M. Delys flung his brush from him in a trans- port of indignation, and starting up stamped about the atelier, clutching his wig in one hand, and making threaten- ing gestures with the other. ' Animal ! imbecile ! does he think I will profane my brush to do a stroke for him, or thine either 1 Dolt of a Pinard, what right had he to name me to such a fellow as this ? what art thou laughing at ? ' he AN ART PATRON. 291 exc''aimecl, stojiping sudden''y before Edmee, and regaixling hex- fiercely. ' Wliat, because I am au artist is it allovred to every idiot with money in his purse to enter my atelier, waste my time, weary my ears with his senseless talk, and presume to patronise me I A vulgar follow who would think a map and a landscape all the same, who considers art a toy fit perhaps for silly women ! . . . You are laughing still ! ' ' Dear master, whose fxult is that 1 But you were terribly rude, do you know 1 ' ' I am glad of it, I am glad of it ! ' and then, beginning to calm down, he rep'aced his wig, and said, 'After all it is I who am a fool to let such a poor creature distvu-b me, but he must have been very insupportable, since he could thus annoy a calm, moderate man like me' — Edmee's smi^e was wicked, but he did not detect it — ' the worst of it is that he has so tried my nerves that my morn- ing is lost. It is viseless to try to paint,' * I wish he would have bought poor Balmat's picture/ said Edmee, i-egretfully. ' Child, if you believe that sketch to have any Jiierit, rejoice that it has not fallen into such hands ! ' ' Ah, but worthier eyes Vv^ouid have seen it in his gallery, and Balmat would have been so thankful for the money ! It seems very difiicult to begin to sell one's pictures, unless in- deed one be as fortunate as I ; mine are accepted at once, as yom- pupil's.' ' On their own merits, too, dear child,' interrvipted M. Delys, who was as jealous for her reputation as for his own. ' But it is hard, very hard, to make a beginning. I ought to know it, for it was years before I sold one. Other artists had friends, got a commission from (Government — no luck came my way. I had to live on a crust, but I had no family and wanted little ; I could do it, and I did. Poor Balmat ! he is only at the beginning of his difliculties.' ' I tell him to remember that David tried five times for the Grand Prix <]e Pome.' ' He makes progress, he certainly does ; he is no longer a rapin. No,' said M. Delys, using the familiar word a])p!icd not only to new comers in a studio, but to those who after a 292 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. time give little promise of ultimate success. * How the poor lad must have worked ! It is not what I like — no, but there is great merit.' ' Ah ! you own it now, dear mnster ! ' cried Edmee, trium- phantly. ' That M. Jobiu would have done well to take it, would he not 1 ' Then, with an effort, ' Did you observe what he said about the former owners of the Hotsl de Blanquefort 'I their return "? ' ' That was one of the very things which made me disUke the fellow. The old o^\^lers were true aristocrats ; I like a I'cal aristocrat — always did.' '■ It seems that retm-ning or not returning is a matter of favour?' ' So it would appear.' ' And if anyone find it his interest to prevent an emigre's return, it can be effectually hindered.' ' Yes, that complicates matters,' said M. Delys, under- standing Yv'ith the quickness of affection whither her thoughts were tending. * But, after all . . . it seems such vanity to suppose M. de Pelven remembers me,' murmured Edmee, blushing crimson, as she alluded to a subject v/hich had Mtherto been only tacitly understood between them. ' He remembers . . . Yes, he remembers,' answered the old painter, brusquely. ' I have learned all I coukl about him — cautiously, you know, cautiously; and it seems he never lets go any plot or plan. He is quiet enovigh now ; perhaps he finds little to do under the Directoiy, or is watching the times ; but he is a dangerous man. It seems that that silly fellow Isuard presumed to act spy upon him . . . well, he has disappeared.' * Disappeared ! ' * Even so ; no doubt he is now inside some prison, or even on his way to Cayenne, with the last batch of depo7'tes.' ' Is it possible that Isnard should have ever thought of measuring himself with De Pelven ! ' ' You have had no answer yet from the unc^e Grabian 1 ' * No — it will come soon enough,' answered Edmee, with AN ART PATRON. 293 that clouded look which any mention of her old life always brought, and M. Delys took up his larush, and said no more. It seemed however as if what he had said had conjured up the expected letter from Edmee's uncle, for a few days after- wards it arrived, giving such information as enabled her to enter on possession of Leroux's money. But of the title-deeds of St. Aignan there was not a word. Apparently they were not among Leroux's hoards, and Edmee was keenly, feverishly disappointed. Some gladness however her money brought her. She knew how much Mademoiselle de St. Aignan had regi'etted her little property at Mortemart, and had long hoped to earn enough by her painting to buy it back. It had found no pui-chaser ; houses were less in request than land. M. Delys entered with delight into the scheme, and insisted on helping in every part of it, quite unaware how much he embaiTassed Edmee by his inexperience in all practical matters, and his susceptibiKty if he suspected he was not indispensable. It was a great satisfaction to him that the business had to be canned on in his name, as it would not have been prudent to let that of an aristocrat appear in it ; and he was happily convinced that it was entirely owing to his good manasjement that Edmee was at last able to offer the papers which gave possession of tlie liouse and garden to Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, who was touched even to tears. She had not shed one over their troubles, but they overflowed in this moment of surprise and pleasure. She began imme- diately to make schemes for re-visitmg Mortemart, and her movements were precipitated by news which at first sight might have rather appeared calculated to detain her in Paris. 294 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. CHAPTER XXXIY. IN THE ATELIER. 'Already? You are going already]' said M. Delys, as Edmee moved from lier easel. * You do not know how late it is, dear master. My aunt will wonder where I am. The day would seem long to her if I did not give her an hour or two in the afternoon now that she has not her menage to look after, as at Mortemart, and no visits to pay.' 'Yes, I suppose women do find a pleasiu-e in paying visits,' said M. Delys, shrugging his shoulders * And some men also, mon mattre.' ' Yes, some men, as you say. It used to seem the chief occupation formerly of those amphibious creatm-es, the abbes, men made to swim in the shallows of aristocracy, alM-ays haunting salons— the indispensables, as they were called— or of such soldiers as I remember seeing sometimes in the Blanquefort salons, that hotel which that common fellow said he had bought when he came here a while ago — ' ' Yes, I recollect,' said Edmee, amused at the vindictive- ness with which M. Delys still spoke of citoyen Jobin. ' The young Comtesse- was charming, it was her mother- in-law who encom-aged the swarm of idlers. I tell you I have seen a colonel and a captain enter together, each with a reticule by his side, and each take out a gold needle with which one began to embroider a floimce which the Dowager Countess had in hand, and the other worked at her tamboiu- frame, and better than she did — better than she did herself ! — But why need you go to your aunt so early 1 ' ' It is my usual time ; I hardly see her of an evening, so many people come to her soirees, and besides I like reading to her ; I should be soiTy to be nothing but a painter.' M. Delys grunted, and she saw that his susceptibility was wounded, ' It is not as if I were a man,' she continued ; ' a man's life is a sort of education, but a woman must learn from books.' IW THE ATELIER 295 ' TLere is sometLing in that,' said M. Delys, monified ; * and if it be for ycnr own pleasure I have nothing to say, but if it be for Mademoiselle de St. Aignan's, who is perfectly able to amuse herself, and has no conception of the devotion requii-ed by art, I gi-udge the time.' ' I know you do, dear master,' said Edmee, with a smile, for it was not easy to divide herself in two so as to content her two best friends, each of whom was unwilling to spare her to the other. 'But I paint better for a change of thought, and I had so little time to learn anytliing as a child ; after marraine died — you know what pains she took with me as long as she lived — no one taught me anything.' ' AVho is there 1 am I never to have a moment's peace 1 nothing but interruptions from morning to evening ! ' ex- claimed M. Delys, imgi-atefully oblivious of the long hoiu-s during wliich no one had disturbed him. ' It is only Balmat, mon maitre. Why, Balmat, what has happened 1 You look as if you had rubbed your face against the sun ! I declare you are an inch taller.' ' That is because I have had a great privilege,' said Bal- mat, as he closed the door noiselessly, well aware how any loud or unexpected sound jarred on the sensitive nerves of the old painter. ' I have been in the Ate'ier des Sabines ! ' * What ! what ! ' exclaimed M. Delys, turning sharply. * You ! David has allowed you to see his picture 1 ' ' You have been in the Atelier des Sabines ! ' cried Edmee, •with great interest, for the celebrated picture which David was known to have in hand in the great garret which had been allotted to his use for that purpose in the Louvre had been seen by very few, and in the art loving world it was a matter of great curiosity and excitement. Balmat had to give a minute account of the studio itself, of the sketches which David had made for his picture, and of the moment which he had selected in the history of the Sabine women can-ied off by the Eomans. ' I saw David at work, he was sketching in the figure of a child, one of a gi-oup,' Balmat said, in a low voice, as if still under the impression of awe-struck joy and gratitude which had made his heart beat fast when he found himself in those 296 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. honoured precincts. ' Franqiie, whom he allows to heip him, was at work too. I cannot say how gi-ancl the figure of Tatius is ! The only thing I daie question is his decision to make all the figures nvide, and the horses without curb or rein. But it is magTiificent, and will be thought moie, not less so in the days to come ! ' M. Delys was always as curious as a child about anything which caught his attention, and like a chiM, loved to obtain the minutest details regarding it, though utterly impatient of whatever lay without the circle of his interests, and it was not for some time that Edmee could enquire, * How came you to be so favoured, Jacques '] ' Balmat coloured like a girl. ' He — You know he always did say I could draw, and he values that immensely ; his teaching is founded on correct drawing. A sketch of mine pleased him ; he had told us all to di-aw some group or single figure, which might be useful to him in this picture. We laughed, but he was serious. Ah, you do not know how truly modest David is ! only his pupils do know it. He repeated that he would do his best to use anything of merit whicli we could produce — we have tried the sort of thing often before, but never with such a hope. And mine pleased him.' ' Oh, Jacques, how glad I am ! ' exclaimed Edm^e, hold- ing out her hand, with a dew of gladness in her sweet eyes. ' David used a sketch of yours ! ' said M. Delys, with un- disgiiised astonishment. * 3£on mattre ! yovi did not need that to assure you how well Balmat draws ! You are as bad as M. Jobin himself!' said Edmee, reproachfully. ' So I am, child, so I am,' answered M. Delys, with a gesture of vexation. ' But see you — somehow I never under- stood it thoioughly. David is going to introduce a sketch of yoms in the Sabines ! ' For the first time Balmat seemed to him something more than an excellent young Swiss, slow in manners and tongue ; he had not liked the naturalistic style of his paintings, and prejudice had really until now blinded him to their merit. It was a shaip lesson to Edmee on how hard it was to win a name, or make merit recognised without one. 7.y THE ATELIER. 297 . ' I mnst tell you that after all the attitude of my figure was only one which I once saw a model take involuntariy when tii-ed of posing,' said Balmat, with the old look which Edmee knew so well. ' I recollected it, and knew it after- wards.' ' Can you do that ? ' asked ]\I. Delys with interest. Evei-ything wliich Balmat did was worth heaiing now, since David thought so well of his talent as to employ an idea of his in the Sabines. ' Certainly. From a child I have had the habit of looking cai-efally at tilings, and reproducing them from memory — you may imagine I could not run and draw every time I wished it at home ! ' ' I should know anywhere that you were an artist,' said Edmee, looking at the honest Swiss face, redeemed from homeliness by the clear, observant look to which she alluded, * You see things. What a good face it is too ! ' she added in- wardly. ' Why, Jacques, everyone will want to see you ; you will lie questioned as if you had been to unknown lands ! and — though I think people might see their merit for them- selves — surely this will help to sell your pictures? ' 'How sor ' Why, when it is known that David thought so highly of you— — ■ ' How should it be known 1 No one will hear of it out- side of the atelier, and you do not suppose, I imagine, that I shall go about announcing it ? ' Edmee was silent, but M. Do'y^ exclaimed, ' You will be a fool if you do not, my lad. Do you suppose that if such a thing had happened to Franque, or Eichard, or Robin, they would not have announced it to all the foiu* wuids, and made a fortune out of it ] ' * I cannot say, but it is not my way,' answered Balmat, quietly, and Edmf^e resolved to learn the fact afresh from Franque, who often came to Miulemoiselle de St. Aignau's salon, so as to u.se it for Balmat's benotit, without broacli of confidence, but she knew that she must be cautious. All tlve other men whom she knew would have taken it as a matter of course to use interest and inlluence, and get oji by worship- 298 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. ping whatever star was in the ascendant, even if its beams were none of the purest ; but none of all this was possible to Balmat. 'He Ls a Swiss, you see!' Mademoiselle de St. Aignan would say, in explanation of some such perplexing fiict, and such as it was the explanation was undeniable. Thinking of someone very unlike him made Edmee ask, * You have heard nothing of Isnard 1 ' ' Nothing. It is very strange. He must have got into some scrape.' ' That is exceedingly likely,' said M. Delys. * How he kept his head on in '93 and '94 I cannot imagine, except that it was so empty that no one would have it, Imt it seems rather hard to lose it now. Since the five kings of France have sat on theii' curule chairs, with their tlesh-colovired breeches and regal mantles' — M. Delys was always disrespectful and spite- ful to the Dii-ectory- — ' we have had a soi-t of truce, but Heaven only knows what any day may bi-ing ! ' ' It is a good sign that letters come now with less delay, and seem less often examined,' said Balmat, and there was something in his voice which made Edmee look quickly at him. ' Yes,' he said, as if in answer to her unspoken question, * I have heard from Dubois, he who did not gain the grand prix,^ added Ba'mat, in explanation to M. Delys, ' but has gone nevertheless to study at Home. I had told him that I had reason to believe a friend of mine was in Italy, study- ing painting, and bade him send me word if he heard any- thincj, and it seems he has met with someone who knows St. A-ignan well.' ' Im hecile ! what need was there to meddle in the matter 1 ' gi'owled M. Delys aside, as he saw his vague hopes that nothing would be heard of Alain dashed to the groiuid. Edmee was too much moved to smile at this self-betrayal. * Why has he never tried to come home when so many have returned 1 ' she asked, in an unsteady voice. ' It seems that he has tried to have his name raye, and was assvired not only that it was hopeless, but that to draw attention to his emigration might endanger any of his family still in France.' 'Who told him that r /iV' THE ATELIER. 290 * As far as I can vinderstancl — Dubois himself had not met him, you know — it was M. de Pelven.' ' I knew it ! ' said Edmee, turning pale. * Am I always to stand between him and happiness 1 ' * We must overcome these difficulties. The Count is an artist ; we must get David to obtain permission for him to retm-n.' ' Impossible ! he would never accept a favoiu' from a regicide.' * You speak like a silly child,' interrupted M. Delys, all the more sharply that he felt not only irritable, but guilty. He will only see in David tlie painter who has regenerated art in France. He may even wish to be his pupil. Let me see : David has but few in his atelier just now ; Gros is leaving it ; Gerard is working independently — have you seen his Psyche, Balmaf? Suppose I try what David says toitr ' Try, dear master. You have told me all you know, Jacques 1 Then promise me, both of you, to say nothing to my aunt. Ah, you laiow how reluctant I am to delay the joy which she would feel' in learning that he is safe, may soon retm-n ; but you know too how she would try to prevent my giving him Ids liberty. Only let me see him, let me speak to him, and settle that, and then I will have the delight o saying that he has come back.' ' Stop, child, you must do as you like, but as to giA^ing him his liberty, as you choose to call it, I absolutely refuse to help you in that matter.' ' Ah, that is not necessary. I can act for myself in this. You promise too, Jacques 1 ' ' No one has a right to interfere, but I am sorry for your resolution,' answered Balmat, gravely, his instinct of law and duty ranging itself against her dc^(:ermination, but his conviction that each individual must b'e free to act according to his conscience withholding him from further interference. ' He must not retxirn to bondage ! — Hush, there is my aunt ; she cannot understand what has delayed me.' The high heels were tripping down the stairs, and Made- moiselle de St. Aignan appeared to demand whether Edm^e had forgotten the hour. 300 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. * And I am dying to know what there is in this packet wkich the nephew of Madelon Crocq has brought for Ealmat, but it comes from St. Aignan, and is therefore doubtless from your uncle, and for you, rua billf,' said she, handing over a packet to Edmee, who took it with the uncontrollable reluctance with which she always encountered anything con- nected with St. Aignan. She stood reading a letter which she found within it, and her fice betrayed unusual emotion. ' My uncle has sent me some papei's, found under a board in our old house,' she said, seeing general attention atti-acted to lier. ' He thought I had better ha\e them, though they uo not belong to me,' and she fastened them up with a manifest intention of giving no fni-ther explanation. It was never easy for anyone, even INIademoLselle do St. Aignan, to question Edmee, when she did not choose it, and M. Delys and Mademoiselle de St. Aignan could only exchange enquii*- ing and meaning looks. ' This good man of an luicle looks after your interests, it seems. Our friend here made a joiu-ney worth taking when he gave up so much of his valuable time on your behalf, ma charmante.' ' Mademoi elle, I am very glad to have served this child, but as you know my jom-ney had another object. As for the uncle, he appeared rather fond of our little gii-l — an odd thing, is it not ? and besides I ft>ncy him not ill-pleased to have a niece who is a Countess, Republican though he be.' ' Let me tell you that real Republicans are very rare crea- tures, dear monsieur. There must ]ye some, somewhere, but only once in a hundred years. Such a one is liberal enough in theory, but in practice he would throw his sl-aves to the lampreys, all of course to benefit the human race. And do you think I don't know that those democratic pupils of Da\4d's show a certain respect to rank 1 that M. de Forbin is looked iip to because he is a man of good birth, though they cut off the De and ignore his title % Allez, I am a better Republican than any of them, including David himself, for he beai-s a gi-udge to all nobly born, while I care nothing whether a man be a duke . or a charcoal-burner, so long as he is witty and agreea1)le.' ' Ah, dear aunt, an aristocrat like you cannot possibly Hi THE ATELIER. 301 understand how mucli easier it is for you to feel thus than for one of low hu-th ! ' said Edmee, making an effort to join in the conversation. ' Come in then ! Let everyone in the Louvre come in by all means,' said M. De^ys, exasjDerated, as a fresh knock came at the door. One of David's pupils entered, in classic cos- tume, white tunic and sandals. He bowed with an embarrassed ail- to JMademoiselle de St, Aignan, trying to look as if he had not heard the ' Juste ciel ! ' which escaped her lips at the sight of him. ' I hope you are not busy, monsieui*,' he said ; ' I want you to help some of us who have got into cUfficulties.' ' I never help anyone, and I dare say it is no more than you deserved. Busy ! — how should I be busy at this rate 1 Is this my atelier or not % ' ' What has happened, Ducis ? ' interposed Balmat. 'What always happens when a man dares to have an ideal, a system too lofty for the common herd. You know that we have long felt that a living, A^sible protestation against modern costume, modern customs was absolutely necessary ; we have attempted it singly for several years — ' * Vv^iy, it was you, monsieur, whom I remarked the first day I was in Paris ! ' cried Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, sud- denly recollecting the apparition which had so amazed her. ' Madame ! — ' Ducis bowed, evidently flattered. ' Now the number of those who think thus is gi-eatly increased ; we have banded together, and determined to teach the populace by the eye, and induce it to return to piimitive habits of thought and jife .' ' Good heavens, think of the climate ! ' exclaimed Made- moiselle de St. Aignan. ' Some costume siu-ely is advisable ?■ ' Ducis looked at her with austere reproach. His enthu- siasm was too genuine to be shaken, but he felt regi-et for her blinded state of mind. * Yes, yes, I know all that ; Quai has often deafened me with it,' said M. Delys. ' Is he in trouble ? ' ' No, but some who feel that even Maurice Quai does not fully carry out our principles resolved to live in the forest.3 aaid lead a primeval life.. They had just cut down a tree to 302 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. make a fii-e, when the gardes arrested them, took them to prisou — ' ' That is serious/ said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, en- chanted by tliis denouement. * That is not the worst, madame ! ' * But what then, monsieur 1 you a^arm me.* ' They cut then- hah- ! ' said Ducis, tragically. ' You laugh, madame, but long hair was one of the signs of our sect ; in itself it was a protestation against that barbarous thing called fashion.' ' I suppose that they cannot be released until someone of sufficient standing vouches for their patriotism,' said Ba^mat, ' And you imagine that I \n\\ mix myself up with this ridiculous business % ' cried M. Delys. * Go and ask David ; they are his pupils, not mine, thank Heaven ! ' * He is opposed to our sect, as you know.' * I tell vou I will have nothing to do with it. A set of fools and madmen ! ' Ducis turned to Balmat, and exchanged a few worda unheard, then, bowing, withdrew. Mademoiselle de St. Aignan burst into hearty laiigliter, which infected her com- panions. ' Will you explain M. DucLs' costume 1 ' she asked, as soon as she could speak. * A very good fellow ; it is only his way of protesting against the gi'oss and cumbersome ugliness of common life^ everyone ought to do the same,' said M. Delys, whom nothing woiild have induced to exchange his neat and soigne costume for any tunic ever woven. * Bon J at all events it is a costume, while David wants, by what I hear of his Sabines, to teach us to do without one altogether,' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan. ' I suppose he thinks when we come to that we shall believe ourselves in Paradise. No, never shall I get used to the idea of people walking about my poor Paris dressed like Greeks, and callmg themselves Agamemnon and Aiistides ! Balmat, bring Ducis this evening.' ' His costume is not more extraordinary than those of half- a-dozen years ago,' retorted M. Delys, who was in one of his most contradictory moods, ' I have seen ladies kneehug ia IN TUB ATELIER 303 their carriages with their heads out of window, because theii' coiffares were so high tliat they could not sit upright ! ' ' Ah bah ! you do not know a work of art when you sea it. Good-bye, ma petite, it is not worth while to begin our ■reading now; M. Delys v/ill give me his arm.' The narrow staircase forbade much show of gallantly, but when they were at the top Mademoiselle de St. Aignan placed herself between her companion and the stairs, barring ail chance of escape for him, lifted her finger and said, ' Now %ell me Avhat you have heard of my nephew. Don't deny it ; you have news. Do you think I do not know that child's face, and you yourself have a guilty look.' ' But, mademoiselle,' began M. Delys, depi^ecatingly, and looking rovmd with an evident intention of flight. Made- moiselle de St. Aignan instantly seized him by his ruffle, and held him captive. ' Don't talk to me of huts ; you know that your flowers are fading in the atelier ; it is nearly noon, and I have often heard you say that between noon and four o'clock no good work is ever done ; nature is at rest ; the sun's rays are at an angle unfavourable to creation — is it not so ] Exactly, Well then, instead of losing precious time, speak out.' Thus adjiu-ed, M. Delys spoke, not sorry to be obliged to do so. ' Listen, my old friend,' she answered, after a pause of reflection, ' my heart beats with joy at the thought of seeing my nephew again, but I have waited ncai-ly four years ; I can wait a. little longer. Do not speak to him of me ; let him see Edmee without knowing her ; take ham to your atelier.' ' But he will recognise her, and you know her fixed reso- lution.' ' Then tell him where I am. I shall go to visit my little domaua at Mortemai't. But I fancy she Avill find it more dilhcult than she thinks to tell him he is free. Let us gain. time, and mind that she does not discover how basely you have betrayed all this, to me. Oh yes, it was very base, but we all know you are too good-natured to refuse anything asked of you. Fi done I v/ould you pretend that you are not good- natured 1 Now what can be the use of denying what every- one knows 1 Adieu, my good friend, go and release the captives.' 304 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. It must have been sheer bewilderment at these unjust ac- cusations wliich upset all M. Delys' resolves, as expressed to Duels, for after a ge?.tm-e of despair he went off to see what could be done for the unlucky ' penseurs,' without there being any need for the mediation of Balmat, who was awaiting his return in the atelier. ' How you have improved ! ' he said to Edmee, looking at the flower-piece on which she had been engaged. ' Yes, so Eedoute said,' she answered, indifierently, though the praises of Kedoute, whose celebrity as a flower-painter was Eiu-opcan, had only the day before thrilled her with delight. * You do not seem to care ! ' ' iSTo, not just now,' said Edmee, for the first time feeling as if her art were unsatisfpng, and startled by some inward voice which asked what, should that fail her, she had left to fill her life 1 ' Yes, you make great progress, and you have worked for it. How beautiful these flowers are ! I came on a verse of a Psalm to-day which seemed meant for you : " Thou hast made me glad through Thy works." ' ' Ah, you have your Bible ; no one can take that from you, for if you were deprived of the Iwok, it is in your heart. But I seem to have lost everytliing — no altar, no priest, no holy days ! How can any good come to a country which has denied its God 1 ' ' There is a rumour that the churches may be soon re- opened.' * Oh, Jacques ! ' and Edmee . stood with clasped hands, quite silent. When she looked up, it was to say, * Will you take care of these for me, Jacques 1 It is strange they and your news from Home should come together. I mil tell you another time what to do with them. Balmat took the packet without a question. ' You are the best friend anyone ever had,' she said, gi-ate- fuUy. ' Perhaps, after all, things may tiu-n out better than one expected.' Balmat stood watcliing her while she resumed her paint- ing. Y/ith his own exquisite pleasure in David's praise still ficsh, he could not understand her apparent indillerence to Ilf THE ATELIER. 305 that of Eedout«, no less famous in his own line than was the historical painter in his. He thought in his humility that it was only because the encouragement came after long, almost hopeless waiting that it was so sweet; perhaps to Edmee, whose path in art as well as her canvas had been strewn with roses, it seemed less valuable. But Balmat had not discovered the true explanation. He felt as a man, and loved ai-t for itself; Edmee was an artist, but even more a woman, and her restless heart waking up cared little for what only con- cerned the mind. How wildly it could beat she had yet to learn ; her da%\aiing liking for De Pelven, struck dead almost before she was conscious of it, had not revealed it, but sho trembled already, like an Undine aware that some new, un- known, all-powerful force was about to possess her. Balmat comprehended her mood enough to leave her in peace, and they parted with only a mute sign of farewell when he fovind he could wait no longer for the retui-n of M. Delys. He guessed that the old man was taking measures for the release of the * penseurs,' and accordingly a couple of days later they reappeared in the atelier, to be welcomed with many unpity- iug jests. They brought some news with them ; one of them had discovered the tenant of the next cell to be Isnard, the vanished Isnard. They had been able to communicate suffi- ciently for Isnard to declare that he had neither been tried nor could learn on what charge he was detained. He was no gi'eat favourite in the atelier, where his moody vanity made him a butt who did not always respond harmlessly to tlie raillery spared to no one, but that a pupil of David's should be thus in durance vile roused a storm of indignation, and various plans were formed to obtain his freedom, none of Avhich when put to the proof seemed very hopeful. David did not take up the cause warmly, and none of the jiupils happened to know a member of the Dii-ectory. It was how- ever already something gained that they knew where Isnard was, and unless something should occur to put him out of their heads, there was A, fail' chance in the.se changing days that one or another would discover some key to his prison door. 306 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. CHAPTER XXXY. HOPES AND FEARS. The EepuWican painter Louis Da"\ad had an embarrassing past which he would faiu have forgotten, and persuaded others to forget. He was a man who, with a cold heart and but little imagination, was yet rapidly can-ied away by the impression of the moment, and at one time admired Mai-at and Jacobinism as uni-easoningly as he afterwards did the genius and the tyi-anny of Napoleon. He could scarcely be called inconsistent, for he had never possessed any fixed prin- ciples. Under the Directory, and with the recollection of those long, gloomy months spent in prison, with death hang- ing over him, his revolutionary fever altogether cooled, and when released and again popular, he willingly threw his segis over any Royalist who would accept his protection. Balmat's appeal on behalf of the young Comte de St. Aignan was readily listened to ; so changed were David's feelings that the aris- tocratic name alone spoke in the ownei-'s favour, though Balmat explained that his friend was of a family so distantly related to the Due de St. Aignan that the connection could scarcely be traced, and DaAdd mihesitatingly promised to use his intiuence in enablinsr Alain to return without dano;er. Some exiles had boldly retiu'ned without waiting for the ceremony of having their names struck off the fatal list which doomed them to death, but it was a hazardous step, and one not to be thought of in Alain's case, where there .was a dangerous enemy in the background. With some difficulty M. Delys had been induced to let Balmat negotiate the matter instead of appearing in it himself, lest De Pelven, hearing that someone was moving on Alain's behalf, should make enquiiies, and so come on Edmee's track. Her nervous fear of him was invincible, though she knew that in these changed and calmer times he could scarcely place her in actual danger. The sense of his power and of his a\t.I1 to HOPES AND FEARS. 307 harm her "and those whom she loved had so strongly im- pressed her that she shrank from his very name, independent of the shame and anger which it awoke from other causes. A new and unforeseen diiBculty appeared when the ques- tion ai'ose as to where Alain was. They knew that he had been in England, they had heard of him in Italy, but had no clue to his actual whereabouts. Balmat did not think this an insuperable obstacle. There was a freemasonry among artists, he said, which would sooner or later enable him to find out Avhere Alain was, and he set enqvaiiies on foot at once, through his friend in Eome, with a certainty that he should soon learn what he desired, which communicated it- self to Mademoiselle de St. Aignan and to Edmee, in whom it woke a tumult of feeling which amazed and frightened her, and made it so difficult to find that absorbing delight in her art which had never before failed her as to keep before her the doubt, I'epelled with vain impatience, as to whether art alone would suffice to fill her heai't and life. ' If things were once settled — if he had come and it were all done with, I shovild feel as I used,' she would repeat to herself, the more vehemently that all the time she knew that never again should she feel as she had once done, never know any more exactly that happy peacefulness which had entered her heai-t in the first days which she spent in the Atelier du Lys, nor lead the calm, unawakened life which had then fully contented her. Joy might crown her ; anguish might smite her like a sword ; hard- won resignation might be hers in the end, or weaiiness of all things ape its likeness, and bid her believe that exemption from siififering was happiness, but the gir'ish life of ' maiden meditation, fancy free,' had unawares slipped away from her for ever. She made little outward show of expectation or interest, biit there was a fitful flush on her cheek, a wistful look in her eyes which betrayed the troubled feelings that found no outward vent. Even in her dreams she was pursued by visions of Alain's suddenly en- tering the atelier, and recognising -her with astonishment — perhaps repugnance. She pictured the scene, waking aud sleeping, in so many ways that she believed herself prepared for everything which could possibly happen, forgetting that 308 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. the only thing which can be safely reckoned upon is the imprevK. On the other hand, Mademoiselle de St. Aignan made no secret of her eager hopes, and the impatience with which she was awaiting news of her nephew. She would not talk over her feelings with Balmat, who was only a watchmaker's son, and moi-eover scarcely a proper confidant for her perplexities as to the tie between Edmee and Alain, but she seized on M. Delys whenever she could, and exasperated him beyond belief with them, indifferent to the palpable fact that his chief desire was to ignore Alain, and hear and see nothing of this disturbing element in a life which to him, at all events, was perfectly satisfactory. ' Everything is upside down,' she would say ; ' there has been a hranli generale, but still some day we shall have the old ways back,' and she spoke with a settled conviction which made M. Delys shrug his shoulders, forgetting that so strong a conviction on the part of many units would go far to bring anything to pass. ' One really does not know what to expect now-a-days, but in our time no one ever supposed there could be any strong feeling between husband and wife. It would have been bad taste ; how could they have given full attention to entertaining their guests if they had been occupied with each other 1 No one can be agreeable who is preoccupied, as I have frequently toM that child Edmee. My brother rarely saw his wife ; he had his office about Court, and when she was at Versailles she had her guests to attend to, he, his. Yet they were happy enough. But I do not know whether such a life woixld content Edmee. She is romantic ; she belongs to her time.' ' Madame la Comtesse loved her children. She was a devoted mother.' ' True, but tmtil Jean Jacques and the reign of nature it was considered to be rather ho^irgeois. My brother was dis- pleased that she spent so much time at St. Aignan while the Chevalier was young, bui she persisted. I think that she felt her eldest son had been too much left to lacqueys, for really the governor whom his father chose for him was little else. My brother wished her to live at Versailles ; he hoped to HOPES AND FEARS. 309 advance his fortunes through her. Everj^hing was possible to a beautiful woman who would flatter and beg ; who could be so uncivil as to refuse her requests'? She could gahi abbeys, bishopi-ics, pensions for all her family by a smile and a compliment.' ' That was not the metier in which Madame la Comtesse excelled,' said M. Delys. ' She coidd do all things admii-ably but this.' ' And she had an unaccountable aversion to living in public and seeking favoui's. There was a touch of Jansenism in her family, you know, a something rigid Avhich one always detected, a frondeur spirit ; it is only the true ancient noblesse which breathes in coiu-ts as its nati\e atmosphere.' M. Delys grunted ; the implied criticism on Madame de 8t. Aiscnan made him for the time almost democratic. ' But if I could only divine what my nephew's wishes are,' pursued INIademoiselle de St. Aignan, aH unconscious of the semi-conversion which she had unintentionally effected, * I should be more at ease.' ' As for me I am more and more convinced, mademoiselle, that he had much better set her free.' ' But . . . does the child wish it % ' ' Wish it % wish it % We all know that she does.' ' I know nothing of the sort,' answered Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, decisively. It was a new and highly unwelcome idea to M. Delys, who had a little castle of the aii" of his own, which he meant to inhabit with Edmee when this troublesome episode should be past, and he strove against it, but it would not be driven away, and his affection for his adopted child making him un- usually clear-sighted, his wishes could not long blind him to the perception that it was for Alain's sake and not her own that she sought to dissolve the tie between them. Onco admitted, this discovery altered all his views and plans, but at first he declined to receive it, and virulently opposed what- ever Mademoiselle de St. Aignan advanced during all the rest of the convei-sation, piti'ess of her anxieties, which were really gi-eat. She loved Edmee, wished to secui-e her happi- ness, and pardoned her plebeian origin, but could not per- 310 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. suade herself that Alain would or could accept, luiless at the coM command of honour, a wife so unlike those gi"eat ladies Avhom she had been accustomed to look upon as models. Sho thought of some whom she had seen when in Paris in former days, with their stately graciousness, their airy talk, their habit of society from earliest years, trained to express by a bend or curtsey exactly the shade of poUteness due to a superior or an equal ; to an inferior or to someone who had not ' les grandes et les petites entrees ; ' to her who had been ennobled, or to another who, high-born herself, had married a degree below her own station. She recalled charming ladies who in half-a-year would spend seventy thousand francs more than theii' whole twelvemonths' income, and would have felt it ' l^ourgeois ' to think twice about it ; who owed sixty thousand francs to theii- shoemaker, and as much more to every one of their other * fournisseurs,' and smiled none the less serenely, and received their guests none the le?s gaily. Edmee was unlike any of these, who had been the ideals of what a great lady should be, up to the time when the flood came and swept them all away. Mademoiselle de St. Aignan would not have wished to change her in any respect, as far as she herself was concerned ; she saw in her a charming, pure- minded girl, sweeter, more innocent a thousand times than these, but when in fancy she looked through Alain's eyes she gi-ew critical and uneasy, and could not believe that he would be satisfied. And, in spits of the ordinary relations between husband and wife in her own rank which she had only too truly described, she could not reconcile herself to a mere mariage de convenance for Edmee, nor divest herself of the conviction that in such a case the gii-1 would be boundlessly miser-able, whatever A lain might be ; a man, of course, would find ways and means of consoling himself, but v/hat would remain for his wife, if that wife were Edmee ? and yet still more unpleasant was the thought of breaking the bond alto- gether. Edmee had deserved better things at their hands than this. Mademoiselle de St. Aignan really believed her- self a Liberal, and compared to most of her class, was so, and yet, unconsciously, she thought that to bear the name of St. Aignan was a recompense, due indeed, but sufiicient, for the self-devotion which Edmee had shown through all these years. HOPES AND FEARS. 311 Her nepliew's future, too, ^^as a vast perplexity to her. ' How is he to live % Even if he get the St. Aignan title- deed^! back — aud I fully believe that the child has them — he is a poor man/ she would argue. ' All his mother's property is completely, irretrievably lost to us, and my brother had, I know, heavy debts and mortgages on his own. And suppose he could return to the chateau, with or without Edmee, it would be an inexpressibly thorny position.' * If he have any turn for art, he must live by that, I sup- pose,' said M. Delys, peevishly, for the idea of making art a mere profession by which to gain money was peculiarly dis- tasteful to him. ' But that is out of the question ! It would be enough to make his father return from his gi-ave ! Once, at St. Aignan, when by some strange chance he visited the Chevalier's apartment, and found him painting, I well remember with what anger he flung the brushes and palette out of the window, exclaiming, " When one is called St. Aignan, mon- sieur, one does not — " but it is not worth repeating,' she added hastily, as she recollected that she was speaking to an artist. M. Delys, however, was not in the least offended. The feeling which she described was too entii-ely natural among the noblesse for him to dream of being annoyed. He took it as a matter of course. ' I am weary of it all, I tell you,' she added ; * I shall go next month and visit my dear old house at Morteniart. I am not fit for Paris life ; I am a provinciale ; my health is as luipardonably good as if I were a dame de la halle ; I never have a headache or the least touch of the vapeurs ; I am only adapted for country life. Besides, I am longing to see how my little property has fared ; it seems ten years since I left Mortemart. I shall make arrangements for going there.' M. Delys had no objection to make. In his heart he wished her away, for whi'e she had a wholesome belief that the affairs of Alain and Edmee were much more likely to right themselves if left alone, his firm conviction was that the best chance of unravelling this tangled skein lay in his being left to do it unhindered by the advice or presence of any coadj utor. 3U NOBLESSE OBLIGE. * But as for my nephew's return,* she went on, impatiently, * I do think it very extraordinary that you should persist in declining to use my cousin's influence. No one could help us so effectually, nor be more au coicrant of public affau's.' As usual when she touched on this subject M. Delys took refuge in silence and a pinch of snuff, and she felt under too gi'eat obligations to him to act dii'ectly against his will, though chafing at the obstacles imposed to her re-opening communications Avith De Pelven, whom she had ascertained, thi'ough some of those who frequented her sa^on, to be again in Paris. He had quietly returned, as soon as immediate danger had passed, taking a different lodging, and keeping himself out of sight, content to withdraw from public afi'airs for a time, convinced that the rei.gn of the Dii-ectory cou'd not last long, and watching with great interest the fast-rising fortunes of Napoleon. To such keen eyes the chances and probabilities of the future were already mapped out with sufficient distinctness. Although for the time apparently in- actiA-e, he was far from unoccupied. His employment, one which had always gi-eatly attracted him, was a series of expe- riments on electricity ; he had considerable scientific know- ledge, and had followed attentively that vast develoj^ment of science which had mai-ked the latter half of the centiu-y, and contributed largely, though indii-ectly, to the Eevolution. Well aware of its importance, the little company of whom he "was one looked down as disdainfully on the contemptuous Academic Francaise as that learned body did on the Academic des Sciences. De Peh^en was not too much occupied, how- ever, to forget to be on the alert for all which could touch a subject as important to him as ever. His desire to find Edmee had Kved unchanged during the many months during which he had lost sight of her ; if he ever, dui-ing some brief interval could believe it dying out, some mere trifle was sure to warn him that it had only slumbered to awake with nevr force. After every measiu-e to find her failed, and altered times lessened his means of search, he owned himself not baffled, but simply obliged to wait u^ntil something or other should again put him on the track. It came, with the infor- mation given him by someone whom he had set to watch HOPES AND FEARS. 313 whether any steps were taken in St. Aignan's behalf, and tho first warning that David had applied to have this name re- moved from the list of emigres sent De Pelven to thank him courteously for taking action in his cousin's beha'f, and enquire how he came to be interested in him. David, knowing nothing beyond the bare facts, answered that he had been re- quested to do so by one of his pupils, and De Pelven trans- ferred his enquiries to Balmat, whose bkmt good sense was a fair match for his subtlety, but De Pelven did more than extract the bare facts that the young Swiss had received kindness from Alain, and had heard of him lately as wishing to return to France ; he had his outgoings and incomings watched, and dii;:covering that he lived iu that Maison Crocq where there was strong reason to believe that Edmee had once dvrelt he felt sure that Ealmat, not Isnard, Avas the man who had saved Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, and pro- tected Edmee. From that moment Isnard became insigni- ficant in his eyes ; though contemptuously aware that he bad vowed ■\^engeance against him ; he had a careless, constitu- tional bravery which made such a matter as this absolutely indifferent to Mm, and thenceforward Isnard might be free or not ; De Pelven did not take the trouble to suggest that he should be released, but if his friends recollected to urge his cause, he might walk out of prison any day now, since nothing which he did could greatly affect the problem which once more began to possess De Pelven's mind. The link which he wanted was found, and yet it was not easy to discover more. Balmat seemed to have few friends ; he went to no cafe, he visited no women ; he seldom spent an hour anywhere except in the Louvre, where none but artists and their families lived ; it was impossible therefore that Edmee should be there, De Pelven thought, for a lodging in the Lovivre had always been a great and eagerly-sought favour, granted only to eminent painters and engravers. The letters sent to Edmee had all gone under cover to Balmat to the Maison Crocq, where, if anyone noticed them, they were supposed to have come from Switzerland. Do Pelven had hitherto desired Alain's absence ; he began now to regard his retui-n as the only means of solving the mystery 314 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. of Edmee's retreat. Alain in Paris, Edmee would certainly, if De Pelven comprehended her character at all, show her presence by communicating with him, or, if she did not, Made- moiselle de St. Aignan would. Far from opposing David's iniluence in favour of Alain, De Pelven, weighing all, desired his success, and wrote himself to Alain to tell him of the steps taken on his behalf. He had not told it to David, but he knew well where to find him. It was not the first time that they had had some communication. Long ere this he had convinced himself that Alain had had no hand in the Eoyalist plot wherein his father bad been concerned ; there was no deljt owing on that score, Imt until now his absence had seemed essential to De Pelven, and he had returned answers to his enquiries which had made the thought of re- turning to France highly distasteful to Alain. ISTow, how- ever, the weariness of exile, howsoever kind the strangers amongst whom he lived, the desire to see his country again, and realise what had really been passing during those five momentous years which he had spent in other lands, deprived of any sui-e sources of information, and among those who, seeing only the monstrous crimes of the Revolution, and knowing nothing of their causes, had even a gi'eater horror of them than many who had suffered personally, urged him to accept the overtures made him, and just about the time that Mademoiselle de St. Aignah had made all arrangements for revisiting her beloved little property at Mortemart, Alain de St. Aignan tui-ned his steps homewards. CHAPTER XXXVI. DE PELVEN GOES TO CHURCH. Alain de St. Aignan had been nearly five years absent from that France which htid forced emigration upon him as the on^y alternative from death. He had gone into exile, amazed and bewildered by the flood of misfortune which had in a day, in a moment, as it seemed, bereft him of name, rank, fortune, and DE PELVEN GOES TO CHURCH. 315 family, besto^vTng on him instead only a bond, unlooked-for and imdesired, which thenceforward must clog his steps wherever he moved. He came back as a man oVler than his years, one Avho had seen the world, and seen it with very different eyes from what he would have done had he remained a member of a privileged class, with a life already shaped out for him. He had lived in other countries, watched the working of other governments ; rude truths had met his ear, and work for daily bread, often uncertain and hard H" earned, had beenfami'iarto him. It would be hard to say what he felt as he a2;ain set foot on French soil. There was joy, there was bitterness; he was once more in his native country ; but what a new world this France seemed of which all these years he had known nothing but through refugees, furious against the new regime, or soldiers belonging to the army of Italy, whose acquaintance he had chanced to make, enthusiastic admirei-s of Napoleon. Every path once familiar to him had been chancred ; he had to learn the new ones. His birth had once placed him within reach of almost every social prize ; now his name and rank counted rather as a misfortune, if not a crime, which society held it his duty to atone -for as for as possible. Fvorvthing whic} once, as the popular pioverb had it, seemed ' stable as the Bastille,' had, like that very Bastille, been swept away, and by a torrent of blood. Institutions were amiilii atcd, families rooted out, or suiviving in but two or three scattered members, hai-d y aware of each other's existence. As far as he knew he was the only surviving St. Aignan. He came sti-aight to Paris, whei-e he intended to seek out De Pelven, before seeing anyone else, and here the immensity of the change first fully revealed itself to liim. Not only the very names of the streets, whether historical or aristocratic, were changed, but the inhabitants were even moi"e altered. Where were the files of carriages galloping on tlie roatl to Versailles'! Where was t-hat incessant clamour of chuich-I.ie Is v/hich used to mingle with those shouts of * Vive le Eoi ! ' which the Parisians used to boast lasted from, dawn to dawn? Whei'C were the crowds of guests and supplicants Hocking to the great hotels of Choiseul, Conde, De Noailies, and a hundred morel Where the ecclesiastics from the bishop to the cure ] the regi- 316 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. ments with their splendid officers passing throvigh the streets, and the gay and brilliant costumes where silver and gokl, blue, scarlet and peach-colour mingled 1 All that magnifi- cent, gay, frivolous world which used to be known as ' all Paris ' gone, and in its stead a studied coarseness of manners and costume, or a marked and defiant foppishness. Had Alain been less of a stranger he would easily have distin- guished the political opinions of those who passed him in the Streets ; the aristocrats were unquestionably gaining gi-ound over the Reds, who cast angiy and hostile looks on the huge white cravats and love-locks which the young ' Merveilleiix ' had adopted as a badge of theu* party, while the Royalists glanced with irritating and aggressive scorn on the rough or classic costumes, and headscropj^eda la Brutusof their enemies. Alain stood looking around him, debating what he should do next, astonished and perplexed by all he saw, and marvelling at the unconcern with which eveiyone biit himself passed by spots on which he could scarcely school himself to look calmly. Under the walls of the Tuileries, over the very .spot where the guillotine had stood, where King and Queen, princes, nobles, all that was once the pride of France had peiished, through streets where day after day but a little while ago the tum- brils had borne then* death-doomed loads, the tide of life flowed on, with absolute unconcern, as if these things had never been. He almost beieved himself dreaming. The last time he had stood in Paris was during the Reign of Ten-or ; how had everyday life so soon resumed its sway, that to out- ward appearance no one recollected those days 1 Another sign that times were rapidly changing from what he recalled soon showed itself. In the street where he had now made his way the passers-by seemed all going with a definite object in one direction, with an expectant, eager air which made him demand from a woman near whither they were going. She looked up hastily and suspiciously in his face, seemed reassured by what she saw, and answered low, but with a gi-eat glad- ness in her voice, ' You are a stranger 1 an exile perhaps ? You have come at a good moment; the Chiu-ch of Bonne Nouvelle is opened to-day ! the fii-st to be re-opened in Paris ! We do not know how the people will take it, "but the Direc- DE PELVEN GOES TO CHURCH. 317 toiy permit it. Ah, dear Jesus, to enter a clinrch again ! What happiness!' and wipino- joyful tears aAvay she hastened on, and Alaiji, ninch surprised and moved, followed the stream setting in the direction of the church so appropriately named. It was already so crowded that he coud only find a place near the doors, whence he could see the throng, whose deep emotion told of the great event which the reopen- ing of a consecrated building was to them. For nearly six years no one present had attended any religious service in such a place, yeai"S during which the very name of God was proscribed, when birth, man-iage, and death were alike un- blessed by any minister of religion, and France had public^ proclaimed herself atheist. The venerable priest who now stood before the altar was one who in the most imminent peril had refused to leave his flock ; the hand Avhich he raised in benediction was maimed, and told a tale of some ciiiel ill-usage ; the white-veiled gii-ls kneeling before him had been gathered in secresy and danger to be prepared for the confirmation which, if the mob allowed it, was to take place the next day ; the sister of charity who in the grey mornings had conducted them to hLs hiding-place had passed through a thousand dangers ; the congi-egation now met had wept, trembled, suf- fered for themselves, their dear ones, their country, and the times were yet so unquiet, the sense of danger so present, that women held up their little ones, exclaiming, ' Bless them ; let them have a priest's l)lessing whi^e they can ; it may be their only chance ! ' and a sjanpathetic thriil of tearful emo- tion ran through the crowd, now pressing not only in the church, biit covering the steps, and gathering thickly in the street below. The mass of those present were women, but here and there stood a man, and one of these, partly masked by a pillar, stood with folded arms and a look of such absorbed and concentrated watchfulness that Alain had noticctl it with interest, and a pereeption that here was some- thing altogether apart and out of keeping with the universal feeling, before recognising with much surprise the last person whom heshouklhave expected to see in such a place, and such a scene. ' De Pelven hei'e ! whom is he seeking ! ' Alain was asking himself, just as a slight eager change passed over the 318 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. pale face, as he looked over the heads of the kneeling crowd. Evidently he had detected whatever he was seeking, and Alain's eye involuntarily followed the same cUrection, but so dense was the throng that he could not be sure whether the object of De Pelven's search was a gii-1, quite unconscious of observation, di-essed in white, with a blue fillet in her abun- dant, shining hair, her face bowed and hidden in her slender hands. Presently she raised it, and there was a toucliing look of tearful hope and trust, as if a promise of something earnestly besought had come to her during her prayer. The office was concluding ; De Pelven di*ew a little back, as much out of sight as the press allowed, and as he did so his eyes fell on St. Aignan. He started visibly, with discomfiture almost beyond his poAver to conceal. ' A bad omen, if I believed iu omens— or anything else,' he murmured to himse'f, while he made a slight sign of recognition. He did not look aoain towards the slender knee'ing figure on which just before his ardent gaze had been fixed, and waited where he was until the congregation began to stream out of the chm-ch, with a joyfal, agitated buzz of voices, and he coukl approach Alain, who was waiting for him on the steps, and said, holding out his hand with an incredulous smile, ' Of all the many siu-prising things which I have encountered yet, to find you here is the most so.' ' I hoped to see someone there of whom I have lost sight for some time,' answered" De Pelven, cahnly. ' It is a gi-eat day for the women ! ' and while they took their way to hi^ apartment he turned the conversation to Alain's own affairs and prospects with interest unfeigned, for he greatly desired to understand them, though the motive was one wiiich he did not care to mention. Tliis meeting with a relation, after the isolation of exile, and the strange chances and changes of these last years woke in Alain a warmth and cordiality which under any other circumstances he could not possibly have felt for De Pelven. Tiiey met like survivors of a great danger ; for the time all chfferences of opinion and of character vanished t Alain saw in him nothing but tlie man who had held out a Land to help him to escape, when escaping meant life, a;nd another day on French soil death ; who had, as he believed. DE PELVEN GOES TO CHURCH. 319 " protected Maciemoiselle de St. Aignan to the utmost of his powei-, and at great personal risk, and who, as far as he knew, was the only relation still remaining to him. They entered the apai-tment of De Pelven, and looked at each other with a smile ; it seemed so long a time since they had met that each supposed the other must be greatly changed. It was not so altogether ; the elder man had not altered ; as Alain had last seen the pale, vv'eary countenance, so he beheld it again, but he himself looked much older \ there were lines drawn upright on his forehead which had been absent when last they met, and the expression of the mouth was gi-ave to sternness. De Pelven's face darkened. * A man whom women would love,' was his judgment, and then he said, pointing to a seat, ' So you began by joining the army on the frontiers'? ' 'After my father's death — Yes.' ' But you were too aristocratic 1 They would not have you even in the regiment of artists ] ' ' It seems so — I stayed as long as I could, and Hoche, who came up one day when I chanced to be sketching, proved a good friend to me, but after all I was better satisfied to be out of it.' ' Out of the army of defence ! An unpatriotic sentiment, mon cher.' ' To defend one's country would be a pleasanter business if it did not involve the risk of killing one's best friend or nearest relation. There were too many Frenchmen in the Austrian ranks.' * All traitors, you know ; only fit for food for powder or St. Guillotine.' ' The end of it was that I found poor De Ferias wounded on a field where some six hundred of ours and as many more of the enemy Jay dead and dying, helped him to escape, and but for Hoche should have been despatched myself as you suggest' * What possessed you to read liberty and fraternity in a way not undei-stood by the natif)n ! ' ' Hoclie got me oft", but advised me to leave the army, so I took up brush instead of sword, made my way to Italy, and was free to be what I had desii-ed all my life — an artist.' 320 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. ' You were not tempted to join the army of tlie Princes ? ' ' Ball ! That was a step that I conld not take, even to please my father.' ' The event proves you right. They have not been pre- cisely a success.' ' How should they ! Good. heavens ! will nothing teach people to read the signs of the times % Do you know that in that absurd army all the old etiquette was as far as possible strictly maintained, and that the volunteers who were not nobles — the very men who sacrificed most, Avere most abso- lutely loyal , were ordered to form a regiment apart, so as not to contaminate the well-born, and to wear a grey uniform instead of royal blue ! Is it wonderful that the soldiers of the Republic proved invincible 1 ' De Pelven gave his lov/, ironical laugh. * There are some lessons which royal birth incapacitates men from learning.' ' Lessons have come thick and fast, biit there has scarcely been time to learn them — one stands bewildered.' ' You recollect what Turgot said to the King when laying before him a plan of general education — " Sii-e, in ten years the nation will be so altered that no one will know it ! " He spoke more truly than he knew, only he had not exactly foreseen what the change would be. If he could return he would feel like a shepherd, who after a nap awakes to find his sheep turned into wolves. And then — let me see — you fe 1 in Avith a rich native of perfidious Albion, travelled with him, developing the barbarian's taste for art ; he bought your sketches, believed in your genius, finally took you to England. But do you mean that anyone else is equally deluded ? that you sell your paintings 1 ' * Even so,' answered Alain, laughing at the ail* of aston- ishment assumed by his cousin. ' It was said that you weie one of the train of the Mes- dames Adelaide and Victoire.' * No ; I paid my respects to the Princesses, when in Borne, as a matter of duty, but that little Court of theirs would not have suited me. I might have made some blunder as fatal as poor Rousard, a young artist who was a protege of theirs, and nearly sent them into a fit by appearing in what to their DE PEL YEN GOES TO CHURCH. 321 eyes was a tri-colour scarf, in Ms a cravat of most harmonious colours, bought at a country fair.' ' Hum ! Between ourselves, what are your intentions ] Your moderate Republicanism will not answer ; moderates always get crushed between the millstones of extreme parties. What do you mean to do when the right time comes 1 ' ' Do ! What remanis for the man who is unfortunate enough not to be able to hold extreme opinions % Even if I were a Royalist I am bound by the pledges which I gave on returning to France.' ' Bonds which sit lightly enough on a good many who have returned. As for me, I have serious thought of tiirning Royalist. I v/ant a new sensation. I have had enough of democrats, and now I begin to fear that I shall vegetate as I did before the Revolution broke out. How I blessed it ! Plots amuse me, if they are complicated enough, and the best now going on arc among the Royalists.' ' You have other amusements, it would seem,' said Alain, uncertain whether he spoke in jest or earnest, and not de- sirous to know, and he took up a treatise by Duplay, lying open on the table. ' Oh . . .' said De Pelven, with mock deprecation. ' Amuse- ments, yes, that is the right word. You recollect how Maury reminded us poor men of science that the mathematician and chemist are only known to a mere handful of pedants, while authors and orators like himself speak to the universe. It was Maury, too, who observed that the members of the Academy looked on us as merely their valets.' A silence fell on them ; all this time each had had a certain thought uppermost in his mind, and hesitated to vitter it. St. Aignan now asked abruptly, ' So you know notliing of my aimtr * Nothinc;, since, as I told you, she disappeared inexplic- ably from the I'cfugc which I had found her.' ' She may have escaped and returned to Mortemart. The little property there was her own, and she was very fond of it.' ' No. I went down there lately — some little time back, I mean, but nothing had been heard of her, and now the property is in other hands. I heard of its being sold not long since.' 323 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. 'And . . . tliatgii-1?' De Pelven shrufro-ed Ms shoulders. ' Then absohitely you know nothing of her fate % ' ' Mon cher, I have a fail- guess at it, since, as I sent you word, I saw her some time after Mademoiselle de St. Aignan was re-arrested — her fate could have been no other — walking with a young fellow wT.th whom she seemed on the best of terms. What could you expect 1 A girl who did not even love you, it seems — ' ' How should she 1 I told you the cu'cumstances of our marriage.' ' Well, can you suppose that all these years she would love no one else ? My dear cousin, you are idyllic ! How should she know you would ever retiu-n ] Peste ! What did you expect ? ' ' It is useless now to tell you,' answered Alain, gloomily, De Pelven watched him, seeking to divine the course of his thoughts, too deeply interested in the matter himself to be able to study the workiaig of Alain's mind with his usual discernment. ' Wlien I left France my marriage seemed a soi-t of doubtful di-eam,' said Alain, passing his hand over his eyes. * Then ' * You forgot all about it, just as the demoiselle did,' laughed De Pelven. ' I might have done so. As it was cii-cumstances made it suddenly a fact to me. Youi' letter shipwrecked my hopes.' Again De Pelven shi-ugged his shoulders and spread out his hands. ' I had supposed my aunt could take care of my wife for me, but it seems she had not been arrested when the gii'l dis- appeared ] ' ' That good aimt ! You chose an admirable giTardian ! She was completely deceived by her, but then she is so easily deceived that she beheves even in me, your poor cousin.' ' You have no suspicion who the man was 1 ' ' None ; he looked well-born enough ; she had the good taste not to desert you for a roturier, I fancy.' DE PELVEN GOES TO CHURCIL 323 Silence again fell on them ; De Pelven was seeemg to gatlier tlie broken and entangled skeins of his p^ans and wishes, which were much entangled by the ret^U'n of Alain sooner than he had anticipated ; something had been done in deepening the prejudice against Edmee, which he had already created, but a few words from Balmat, a meeting with Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, might undo his work. He had often been marvellously served by the chapter of acci- dents ; on the whole he had reason to expect it would tiu-n in his favour, but he found himself much less master of the situation than usual, and that at a time all important to him. His chief hope lay in Edmee's pride ; he thought she would avoid a personal interview, and merely signify by writing that Alain was free if he wished it, and that he would at once close with the sutjoestion De Pelven could not now doubt. No- thing but honour could ever have induced him to reclaim the bride, whose white, imploriug face of reluctance and terror was all which he could recall of her, and even that had be- come a dim memory. And yet De Pelven felt a strange regret that he had blackened her fair fame, and hated Alain all the more for being the cause that he had done so, ' Divorces are in fashion just now,' he suggested. * They are . . . fortunately,' answered Alain, briefly. He could not lay bare his feelings to De Pelven, who was studying him with cold and curious eyes. Inheriting the strong desire for domestic life which had characterised his mother, and made her, in the height of youth and beauty, leave Paris to seclude herself with her boy at St. Aignan, he had Hved enough after her death in the fashionable world to know the hollow thing which marriage usually was, and had seen one or two happy exceptions which also showed him what it might be. In those days everyone had a system, a theory, or an ideal. Alain had his, cherished, unguessed ; he believed in love ia married life. While the gay world thought it hourgeois, and the materialists explained it away in a fashion different but as complete, Alain dreamed of a wife who shotdd not be the fancy of a day, or the mere sharer of his name and rank, but a companion and fri(>nd, growing dearer as the years went on, and many joys and sorrows had 324 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. been shared between them. This was what Alain gained from the theories of family life and natural affections which were floating about in his boyhood, and working for good and ill in many different ways which Exjusseau never dreamed of, and the di-cam had been very sweet. There had been a day when it had fleeted into the bacligi-ound, but a sharp lesson had been read which he tooiv home, and profited by, and again the former vision reigned, only now with more power and a hope that a girl who could act as Edmee had done might reahse his ideal. The answer sent by De Pelven to the fii-st letter which he could safely write to him dashed this castle in the air rude'y to the ground. The bitterness whicli had overwhelmed him wlien he first read it came upon him afresh now that he heard spoken what he had already learned from the wi'itten words. ' I did what I could, as your heart seemed in the matter,* said De Pelven, careles.sly. ' I ascertained that nothing was known of the gud at St. Aignan. Apropos of that — do you mean to take any steps for recovering that property ] ' ' What would be the use ? I have no title to show to it, and if I had, I would not live there for many reasons. That business of my marriage — and besides, the peasantry would look on me as an enemy. For many a year to come they will hold every aristocrat their enemy. They have a thou- sand years of slavery to sremember.' ' If you remain in Paris, recollect that my rooms are at your sei-vice.' Alain thanked him and accepted, for a time at all events. Reluctantly enough he rose to visit David, and thank him for the steps which he had taken in his behalf. De Pelven saw him go with no Httle anxiety as to what he shoidd hear on his return, and a poignant regret that neither httres de cachet nor secret pohce still existed, by whose means he might have spuited Balmat out of the way. In Balmat he recognised the most dangerous point of the whole affair. A MEETING IN TEE ATELIER. 325 CHAPTEE XXXYII. A MEETING IN THE ATELIER. Alain's visit to David was not paid that day. He wanted solitude, time to understand his position, to p!an his f utixi-e, to comjDrehend the world in which he found himself — wanted, too, to escape from what he felt instinctively to be the hostile scrutiny of De Pelven, towards whom his old misti-ust began to awake, though all his cousia's acts had, as far as he knew, been uniformly friendly, and he received the information given him without questioning its truth. The next day he took a portfolio of oil sketches, and sought Balmat at the Maison Crocq, where he himself had been lodged during the brief, perilous visit to Paris which he had made between joining the army of defence and his father's death, but found that he was at the atelier ia the Louvre. Alain turned his steps thither to find him. The atelier used by David's students was just below that known as ' Les Horaces,' from the cele- brated picture painted there by David, who had since aban- doned it for one in the' top story of the Louvre, and installed two of his best pupils in it. The silence and order reigning in the students' atelier astonished Alain not a little ; the forty or fifty lads and men who occupied it were all hard at work, sitting or standing, those nearest the door copying fi-om casts, another more advanced set were painting at their easels on the left, and ranged in a semicii-cle about a low, large scaflTold, on which stood a live model, were a third division, studying from life. Only one voice br©ke the still- ness, a harsh, rasping voice, yet with considerable kindliness in it, which seemed criticising and laying down doctrines, as the speaker moved from easel to easel, listened to with respectful attention. Even the pupils nearest the door had only cast a rapid glance towards Alain as he entered, and then resumed their work, anxious to gain an approving word from theii- master, who was making a tour of inspection among them. Alain understood it immediately, and stood G2G NOBLESSE OBLIGE. •waiting until the progi-ess of the tournee should bring David towards him. ' Good, A^ery good; go on, Maurice,' Alain heai'd him say, as he reached the easel of Mamice Qnai ; and turning to the others, he added, ' There is one who will do great things if he chooses ; he loves nature and understands the antique,' and he passed to the next, leaving Maurice colouring with pleasure all over his thin, bearded face, while some of his companions murmured laughingly, * A victory for you to-day, old Don Quixote ! ' by ^diich name the en- thusiastic artist was known in the atelier. The next was less fortunate. He was painting with such ardour that he did not perceive the master standing beside him until David clapped him on the shoulder, exclaiming, * Cannot you wait u moment, Vincent ! the first thing that you, and you, and you,' pointing to several others, ' have to do is to forget every- thing you learned before you came here. You are all of you infected by the Academical mania. When pictures are made where there are no heads, no hands, no feet, you will beat us all ! Gent'.emen, the Academy teaches art as a profession ; make it such if you like, but here we study art for ai-t — Monsieur ! ' as he suddenly perceived St. Aignan, ' I fear you have been waiting some time 1 May I ask to whom I have the honour' to speak ] ' ' I have every reason to be delighted with the delay, since it has enabled me to hear Louis Da^dd give a lesson on the art in which he is so gi-eat a master,' said Alain, bowing. * I vvas on my way to ofier you my thanks for all which you have done on my behalf; but I came here to seek a friend — whom I see yonder. Balmat ! we meet again, thanks to you and to M. David.' Balmat had hurried from his place at the sound of St. Aignan's voice ; until then he had been too much absorbed in folloAving the master's remarks to see or hear anything else. ' How ! M. de St. Aignan ! ' said David, looking with manifest approval on Alain, ' I hope you intend to pay me a visit too 1 Perhaps I have something not without interest to show you. I am going to my atelier now, the Atelier de3 Sabines — if you care to accompany me — and you too, Balmat.' They bowed and followed him, exchanging a few cordial A MEETING IN THE ATELIER. 327 words as they did so. David hiimed up the stairs leading to his attic before them ; he had an nndisgixised vanity and desire for approbation rather childlike than childish, and made no attempt to conceal the eagerness with which he awaited Alain's apj)roval, pointing out whatever he considered called for inost praise, and claiming his assent with naive frankness. * I have undertaken to do a thing absolutely new,' he said, * I am leading art back to Greek principles. Wben I painted my Horaces and my Brutus, I was still under the influence of Roman art. But after all, what were the Romans to the Greeks in such matters ?■ Bai-barians ! novices ! My aim is now pure Greek art ; I think, as the Hellenes did, that form is all important ; the original idea is of far les'^ weight than the manner in which it is rendered. Ah, ah ! my Sabines will astonish a good many people ; is it not so, monsieur ? ' St. Aignan stood contemplating the famous picture with sincere admiration for the fine drawing, but with great dig- appointment in the colouring, and a perception that no miracle would ever breathe life into the coldly correct groups. For- tunately David was too eager to discuss the question whether there should be bits in the horses' mouths or not, and the advisability of undraped' figures, to perceive the shade of cold- ness in his praise, and had besides much to say about tlie schools of Italian painting, surprising his listenei-s by the warmth and reverence with which he alluded to those old masters whom his pupils so great' y disdained, and whcse example he himself was so far from following. Balmat's interest in the conversation was much lessened by his thoughts being full of Edmee. He would have given much could he have contrived to warn her how near Alain was, but it was impossible, and after all, perhaps, so best. Ealmat had no great belief in any good coming out of interference with other people's affairs, and therefore, when Alain took leave of David, he declined to accompany him to the Atelier du Lys, whither he took his way, having learned from Balmat that M. Delys, an old friend of Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, had been the moving spring in enabling him to return. His art was so supremely interesting to him that this visit to the Louvre, and the conversation with David, had banished all 328 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. other thoiiglits for the time ; he would willingly have made a toiir among all the other studios in the Louvre, and hia surprise and pleasure were gi-eat on learning his return to hav'e been effected through the old painter, whom he re- membered with the affectionate amusement which M. Delys awoke in all his acquaintance. Balmat returned to his easel, his disquiet unguessed ; Alain entered the Atelier du Lys. As he did so, Edmee paused in reading aloud a poem of Ossian to M. Delys, who was as enthusiastic on that score as any of the younger ai-tists. She looked more than ever like one of the white-armed daughters of Fingal,' as she sat with the sunlight on her hau\ For the moment the haunting expectation of Alain's return had left her, she was totally un{)repared for it, and it was only the sound of his voice, as he named himself, and the agitation of M. Delys which warned her that the moment so looked for, so feared, had come. The book fell from her hand ; he advanced and gave it back to lier with a bow, then continued to speak to M. Delys, who was so moved, so confused by the thought of Edmee, the sight of St. Aignan, and his own feelings that he was saying he knew not what^ and making all kinds of incoherent state- ments. Theii" voices seemed to come muffled to the ear of Edmee, who had let herself sink on a seat, terrified by hej- own sensations; the beating of her heart seemed stifling hei, and she gathered with gi-eat relief that she was luirecognised. Presently she heard M. Delys exclaim with a tone of great pleasure, ' Ah, Monsieiu- le Comte ! you are very like yoiu' mother ! Yes, wonderfully like ; ' and ventm-ing to look at him, Edmee saw the smile which illuminated Alain's face, and made M. Delys repeat, ' Her image ! what happiness to see you here, safe, well.' — All his objections to Alain had been blown away by that look of Madame de St. Aignan v.^hich Edmee too recognised at once, wondering that she had not seen it when they were together on that eventful riight, but then he had probably looked as unlike what he did now as she did to that bride whose face he had scarcely seen. She coidd hardly beKeve that this was the Alain of that time, and as for making herself known, some better moment must be found ; at present it was simply impossible. M. Delys A MEETING IN THE ATELIER. 329 was asking details of bis retiu'ii, and his plans, and he began to describe his life in Italy and England, where he had found a fine school of landscape-painting of which M. Delys had never before heard, and concerning which he remained very incredidous. ' England ! England ! Do not talk to me ol' it,' he exclaimed. 'All our misfortunes come from doctrines sent us from England, where they know better than to practise them. I hate the name of England ! They have no flower- painters there, I feel sure 1 No ! And deservedly ; did they not let Giovanni da Fiori die in a gan-et, of poverty and neglect, in the 1 7th century 1 ' Alain laughed, and went to study the pauiting on M. Delys' easel, tm-ning thence to that on Edmee's. * This is not done by you,' he said, looking at it with interest. ' No doubt — ' and he glanced towards her. 'Yes, my daughter's ; have I not a right to be proud of my pupil ] ' said M. Delys, nervously anxious to avoid an explanation. ' I have never seen any better done ; those of Rachel Keusch hei-self do not surpass them.' ' There are certain flowers v/hich she paints better than I do myself,' said M. Delys, delighted with the approbation ; ' look at those campanulas — they seem trembling in the wind. But you — show me what you have there ; Balmat, our good Swiss, tells me you paint landscape. Then, of coui-se, you are of Vernet's school 1 ' ' You shall see,' said Alain, opening his portfolio. David had been too much occupied with displaying his own works to notice it, but M. Delys spied it out immediately. Edmee rose, and removed her own canvas to make room for his. He thanked her, giving a momentary glance, withdrawn at once, as she changed colour, and seemed to shrink from observation. He began to get a little curious to hear her voice, for she had not spoken a word since he came in. ' Decidedly you do not follow Quai, who m'ges his friends to paint nothing under six feet high, and . , , But what is this 1 ' exclaimed M. Delys, aghast, ' this belongs to no school ; it is not painting ; it is unheard of — flat heresy, revolu- tionary, monsieur ! What can be the meaning of breaking 330 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. witla all ti-aditions of French art T And then, after a lonj? pause — ' Eut it is beautiful. Yes, beautiful, is it not, ma fill' 1 ' It was a view in southern Italy. The sun had set, but the sky was still ablaze, and distant hills seemed to quiver and melt into the glorious splendour. The light had left the foregiound, occupied by a dark marsh ; a solitary heron was fishing by a pool, round which tall reeds raised their feathery plumes. * The solitude was so profound that Edmee held her breath as she looked. 'Where have you leamed to paint like thisl' a^sked ;M. Delys, at last, recovering fi-om hi.s surprise. ' It is neither Yernet's style, nor Loutherlx)urg's ... it sins against all custom . . . those reeds are reeds, and that is a heron ; now the old rule was that it was bad taste to make trees or foliage or birds belong to any exact tribe ; the general effect alone should be given. What master have you followed ? ' ' A mistres.s — ^Nature herself,' said Alain, with a smile. * But I worked hard for years before I was free to make art niv business — I believe now that I prospei-ed the better for the difliculties and discouragements I met with — not few ! ' * It is not a composition] Y^'ou saw it under this sunset 1 Yes, yes, I feel it Avas so ; I never agreed with Diderot— a master in art criticism however ! who used to say that one could imagine in one's atelier fiir more beautiful scenes than any which nature offers, because there one could aiTange everything as one thought best, })ut still it is absolute here.sy to paint thus, is it not, my daughter 1 ' ' I do not know if it be heresy, but it certainly is a poem,' answered Edmee, to whom the sketch had been a revelation. Alain turned quickly towards her ; something in the sweet voice sti-uck him; he only saw a gi-aceful, brown-eyed girl, who seemed confused by has sudden movement. jSTothing in her recalled his terrified, shame-stricken bride, but he said smiling, * It is not the first time that we have met, mademoi- selle ' — and then, much siu-prised by her evident emotion, he hastened to add, ' I too was in the chm-ch of Bonne Nouveile this morning ' — and he could not resist adding, ' where [ also met a relation of mine — M. de Pelven.' A MEETING IN THE ATELIER. 331 * Was he there, monsieur ! ' said Edmee, scarcely reassured by finding that she was still unknown when new cause for alarm came upon her. * Has he the good fortune to be a friend of you.r father's ] ' * No, monsieur, our enemy.' She spoke low, but with concentrated feeling. St. Aignan could ask no more, and M. Delys, still occupied by the sketch, interrupted- — ' So you did it from nature 1 On the spot ? Ma foi, I could believe I had been there myself ! What do you think of it, my child ? ' ' I think that it tells both what the scene was, and what the artist felt,' answered Edmee, raising her eyes for an instant to the face of Alain, who thanked her with a smile. ' You pay me a high compliment, mademoiselle,' he said, * for tq paint what he sees, and to make the spectator enter into what he felt are the artist's two gi'eat aims.' ' But, my dear count — let me give you your title — it tickles my ear agreeably — you will not sell your pictiu-es,' said M. Delys. ' You think so 1 ' * I am certain of it. The French love what they call novelty, but in their hearts they detest anj^thing original. They require time to get reconciled to anything new in art ; they have now got used to our landscape-painters. You want to strike out a new route ; they will simply feel ill- used, a good beat-en road is so safe ! ' ' Then I shall sell my pictures to the English.' * Hush ! hush ! that is treason. You might as well shave with English razors. You, just retiu-ned, talking about our national enemies ! ' ' What, not to biing their money into France 1 ' * That might possibly excuse your commerce with them. But I must sit down ; I want to consider your sketches at my ease. Have you painted nothing but landscapes 1 ' ' Portraits sometimes. I had to Kve, you know.' * Brown Italians, blonde Englishwomen . . . Apropos, my dear count,' said M. Delys, who had quite a feminine love of hovering round a dangerous subject, ' I suppose you have not got married ? ' 333 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. ' I have no wife,' returned Alain veiy briefly, and with dai'kening face. ' All in good time,' said M. Delys, so mnch taken aback that he hardly knew what he was saying. Edmee, at whom he looked with penitent apology, showed no emotion ; she sat quite still, feeling as if a sudden blow had stunned her. She knew that Alain had changed the subject, and that M. De^ys had eagerly joined in ; the moments went by ; she rose quietly and went out, thanking St. Aignan, who had opened the door for her, by a silent bend of the head. He retvirned to the old painter, ' I congi-atulate you on the skill of mademoiselle your daughter.' ' You are very good . . . poor child,' stammered M. Delys, much embarrassed. ' But I ought to tell you — ' he stopped, without any idea of what he was going to say. ' Perhaps I should have said madame instead of mademoi- selle ? ' * Just so — yes. Madame Alain.' ' Ah ! ' Alain was a common Norman name, and awoke no suspicion in the mind of St. Aignan, to whom this girl was merely the daughter of M. Delys. * And your son-in- law is an artist too 1 ' ' Yes— that is — she has no husband. She is in . . . your own case.' Alain looked at him astonished, but vaguely guessing at some sad story, an early widowhood or a worthless husband, asked no more and dismissed the subject from his mind. He cared much more to recall mutual recollections of St. Aignan, and listen to the affectionate respect with which M. Delys spoke of the mother whom the son she had so fondly loved still missed and mourned. Edmee had gone to her own little room. It was a corner partitioned off from a large hall ; the lofty ceiling was painted with garlands, Cupids, and goddesses, and the walls were covered with faded hangings, on which some traces of gilding still remained. The high and narrow window, in whose deep embrasure she had seated herself, looked on the Seine, flow- ing far below. There were many such little apartments in this great hive of the Louvi-e. Edmee's room was almost as A MEETmO IN THE ATELIER. 333 simply furnished as that in the Maison Crocq, where M. Delys had found her; there was a little bed, a solitary chaii*, and a table on wMch she had thrown some embroidery, and a copy of Lemercier's ' Agamemnon,' which someone had lent her. The only luxury, if such it could be called, was the mass of bright flowers, opening in the window, up whose side she had trained ivy to climb ; a linnet, tamed for her by Balmat, hopped and chirped among them. The little egotist, like many another favourite, never saw how his mistress sank down, pale, overwhelmed, indignant. She thought that she had foreseen everything which could possibly happen in this fii-st interview, and not a smgle thing had occurred as she expected. Not only had she been uni-ecognised, but St. Aign^n had declared himself unembarrassed by any wife ' And with what a look, what a tone he had said it ! ' And why? why]' she asked herself the question in vain, losing herself in endless mazes of conjectiu-e, without approncr.ing the truth. The situation was strangely complicated. J-Tow ofler him the liberty which he appeared to think already his 1 But what a situation for them both ! Thf t ^.lere ci\'il bond, wliicli she had assumed to be so slight, suddenly seemed to her made of iron. They must face the difficulty some day ; when Mademoiselle de St. Aignan returned, if not before. And Balmat — why had he not warned her that Alain was at hand I Little by little indignation gave place to depression ; a deep disappointment filled her, though she could give no explanation of it to herself. She thought that she could on'y v/ait awhile in silence ; perhaps chance would give her the clue to the enigma, and every moment St. Aignan seemed to her less and less that young bridegi-oom of five years back. She could not tell Avhat to do. ' Luckily I do not love him ! ' she thought, and then broke itito stormy sobs, by way of proving it. Edmee rarely wept ; tears, far from relieving her, were only e?:haastijig, and when sh.e rose at la,<r her in England 1 ' * Yes, we first met there ; they were living at Eichmond ; she was occupied with organising means for helping other refugees, less well off than themselves, and I was able to be of some use to her, and saw her constantly.' Edmee sniessed the rest. He saw s-he did. Alain de St. Aignan was a man of refined and chivalrous feeling, but no one ever escaped totally unscathed by the sins of his time, and Madame de Blanquefort, a beautiful woman older than himself, had Ijeen the object of a passionate, respectful adora- tion, which had at last found vent in words. 'Do not imagine I was ever more in her eyes than a young man who, like everyone else, admired her exceedingly,' he said gravely 348 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. and earnestly. 'And yet no — that is scarcely true; ste proved an cxcelleut friend to me; she showed nie more esteem and kindness than perhaps she would to another. Her husband is a fine old man — between them they helped me through a dangerous crisis. It is gone by now, but I have the happiness of retaining both as my best friends.' * Gone by ? ' Edmee repeated, and her wistfid eyes were eloquent. ' That mad phase is assuredly gone by, but I look to Madame de Blanquefort as my best and kindest adviser. She knows the story of my life — one which, if you will, I shall tell you some day.' Edmee made no answer. It seemed to her noAv that she knew why he had repe-led the question of M. Delya as to his marriage. The veil which had thinly covered her eyes as to her own feelings was rudely torn away, and with a sort of despaii" she owned to herself that she loved him, while she ■was nothing to him — nothing — women endiu-e such agonies without flinching, and Alain did not guess her secret from look or tone, though when he offered her his hand in farewell he was startled by the icy coldness of hers. ' How cold you are on this hot day ! ' he exclaimed, de- taining the unwilling fingers. ' You spend too much time in the atelier; M. Delys never recollects that the life which suits him may not be equally good for you. Have you no friends whom you ever visit ? ' The solicitude was sweet to her. ' None,' she answered, smiling. ' I have no time for friends.' ' But surely you had some formerly ? Before you lived in Paris,' said Alain, with a strong desii'e to learn something of her history. She shook her head. He stood looking at her for a moment. Perhaps some discovery was taking place in his mind too. ' Will you have me for one ? ' he asked, very gently. ' You know most of my history ; I want to toll you the rest some day, and then may I not know yours in return ? I have heard nothing, except that you are married,' he added, lowering his voice, as if fearing to touch on a painful subject. * There is nothing worth telling,' she answered, the rosy colour flooding cheek and ]jrov\'. A GLIMPSE OF THE PAST. 349 'Did joxi call me, 7non pero, % ' Alain had not heard the call, but M. Delys looked round, and Edmee went to his side. She did not look round, but she knew very well that he had taken Ealmat's portfolio and was gone out of the atelier. Presently she made an excuse for doing the same, wrote a hasty note to Balmat, and sent it by a commissionnaire, Avho by-and-by brought her back a packet. She laid it on Alain's easel, with a slip of paper which she had fastened to it, and then said to JM. Delys, whose back was turned, ' lion maitre, a commissionnaire has brought a packet for Monsieur le Comte. Will you tell him. so, if he should come back this evening 1 ' Alain did return that evening, Avell pleased at the result of his errand to Madame de Blanfpiefort. Edmee was not in the atelier, and M. Delys was peevish. * She said she wanted fresh aii',' he explained, and that she should go to the Tuileries gardens. Fresh air ? I never knew her talk such nonsense before. I am bewitched this eveninsf ; nothinsr prospers with me ; here has this lily di-opped its petals just as I was studying how to give the gloss on them, and that leaf which I have been working on for an hour looks stiff, actually stiff. Fresh air ! as if there were not enough in a barrack of a place like this ! That rapid way of painting of yours has demoralised her ; she thinks that everybody else can get through work at the same rate. The light was absolutely perfect when this fancy seized her.' * She shall be punished by not hearing my good news to- night,' said Alain, amu.'ed. ' Ealmat's sketch — one which I showed to a friend — is sold, and well sold, and he may probably dispose of others. Besides, I have an order for one of his pictures.' * Our good Swiss ! That is well, I am glad of it — but this leaf does not satisfy me at all,' said M. Delys, who, Miough one of the kindest of men, could never al:)stract himself fiom his painting when a brush was in his hand. ' No, not at all —it—' ' Who brought this here ? ' asked Alain, so suddenly and shavply that M. Delj^s looked round startled. * Brought what] Wliat are you talking oil That packet ] liow shoxild I now ] A commissiounau-e, I believe,' and ho 350 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. returned to his rebellious leaf. Alain stood with the packet open in liis hand, thinldng much less of the title-deeds which it contained, than of the scrap of paper, on Avhich v/as written, * If M. le Comte de St. Aignan desu-e his Kberty he has only to claim it.' * I must see Balmat,' he said, again starth'r^g M. Delys. * Good evening.' ' See as many people as you please, only do not make me start again, there is a conspiracy against me to-day, and all these flowers are in it. Whom did you say you must see 1 ' But Alain was gone, and Edmee returning perceived that he had found the packet, and that it v/as gone too. Her attempts at questioning M. Delys brought her no information; he was quite unaware that anything had passed in his atelier that day moi-e important than the di'opping of his lily petals. CHAPTER XL. ENTRAPPED. There was so much surprise in the * Come in ! ' with which Balmat answered Alain's knock that it was evident visitors were scarce. The voice sounded feeble, and when Alain entered, his immediate preoccupation was driven out of his mind by the sight of Balmat lying in his bed, and looking very ill. He held out his hand with a smile, saying, * This is kind, I wondered whether anyone would miss me enough to come and see what had become of me.' ' How long have you been here 1 ' said Alain, sitting down beside him. ' Only since yesterday. I kept up as long as I could, but had to give in yesterday afternoon.' * Has no one been to look after you ? Have you seen no doctor !■ ' asked Alain, looldng round the cheerless garret. * Madelon has not found out that I am laid up, I fmcy, ENTRAPPED. 351 and I could not make anyone else hear -without too much Q-ouble. A doctor ! what could he do ? '. * You have worked yourself to death ! ' ' I believe I have,' said Balmat, quietly. * It was all 1 could do.' * Those days are past, dear old friend. Yom* pictiu'es are beginning to sell.' ' Are they ! ' said Balmat, raising himself up, with a flush on his thin cheek, ' what do you mean % ' xVlain told bim how Madame de Blanquefort had gladly paid a liberal sum for the portrait of her mother, and had ordered one of his pictiu'es, but a look of disappointment came over Bal mat's face. * Ah ... as a sort of second pay- ment for the likeness.' ' No, no, why will you take it so, you provoking fellow 1 EecoUect I have a reputation as a connoisseur to keep up, and when she asked me if your oil paintmgs were as good as the crayon portraits I pledged myself for theii* merit.' ' It is not as a charity, St. Aignan 1 ' * No, on my word. Your pictures "only need once to be knoAvn to sell. I fully believe that the corner is turned, and you will be a successful man henceforward.' * Too late. You see I am a failure to the last,' said Balmat, with a patient smile ; ' you do not understand ? No, because you will not, dear St. Aignan. Do you not see that I shall never paint another stroke 1 It needs no doctor to tell me that ; I feel it,' and as Alain instinctively made some protest, ' Talk to me of yourself, that will do me mor« good than your kind little fiilsehoods.' * Yes, I have much to say ; but Balmat, toll mo — if you are as ill as you think, would you not see some of your family 1 You cannot hesitate as to means 1 Even if I were not here, a friend with a ])nrse all your own, there is this money of Madame do Blanquefort's — why not try returning to Switzerland 1 ' ' Do not speak to mo of Switzerland,' said Balmat, in a tone of sharp pain, and jjressing bis hand on his eyes. *I dream of it every night — ' but his look of patient cheerful- ness retm-ned immediately. * It woidd make no diflcrence in 3b-4 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. the end, only be a useless, selfish expense, and I should like, — ah, yon cannot cfiiesg what it would be to me to send home ti is money ... I hope I shall not live so long as to spend a great deal of it. They have spared and pinched for me, and now, to give this pleasure at the last! God is good to me. It will seem so much to them ; it will save my poor mother from always hearing that my going to Paris was a mistake in wliich she ought not to have encouraged me — Poor mother ! there will be an empty place for ever in her heart .' I have been trying to write to her — No, I must do it myself, as Alain with moistened eyes oftered to do it for him — ' I shall manage it by-and-by, there is no great hiuTy, I think, and she will like to have my letter. I thought it was coming to this some time ago. There are not a great many more miles of the journey to count, I fancy. Now, yourself? ' He spoke feebly, and with pauses, but the brooding me- lancholy seemed all gone ; the iluctuation of spirits which used to hai-ass him, especially aftei- mental exertion, had disappeared, yet there was no reluctance to face the truth, which forced itself more and more on Alain's mind, that, as Ealmat said, he had but few more miles of the journey of life to travel over. Privation, loneline-s, the change from a ftee country life to Paris, disappointment and home-sickness had sapped his strength, and taken away the desire for farther battle with fortime, though the gleam of prosperity v/hich came so late was Sweet to him. To Alain, in whom life was so strong that all his difficulties were rather a stimu- lus than a burden, and to whom after all it had been kind, giving more than it had taken away, since in depriving him of I'ank and state, fortune had set him free to follow success- fally the art which he loved, this serene submission was un- speakably sad and painful. His distress moved Balmat with pleased grateful surprise. ' Why, you cannot think how strange it seems that you should cai'O so much whether I live or die,' he said, laying his thin hand on St. Aignan's. ' I did not think that anyone here would, unless, i^erhaps . . . well, yes, slie would. I think I should like to be sure of her happiness,' he added, with a wistful look at Alain. ' It is thanks to her that I ' have got on till now. She has been dearer to me even than my sisters, I think.' ENTRAPPED. 353 Alain understood that lie was thinking of Edmde. ' You asked me just now to speak of myself,' he said ; ' if you can cai*e to hear, I have abundance to tell. Fb'st — look here. I fiimid these to-da,y on my easel — brought by a commission- raiio.' * The title-deeds of your property ! ' said Ealmat, who, though nevei- told, had guessed the contents of the packet. ' Yes — but that matters little. If I recover the St. Aignan estate, I must sell it ; I could not live there for a hundred reasons ; besides, it is heavily mortgaged. The important thing is that they were undoubtedly carried off by that rascal Leroux, and must afterwards have reached his daughter's hands. De Pelven tells me he got his desei ts by the guillotine. Poor child ! this restoruig of them reminds me strangely of her fatal generosity when she came to warn me. Thei-e must have been something fine in her.' * I have wondered you never named her,' said Ealmat, who had given much perplexed consideration to this question since the return of St. Aigiiau. ' I must tell 5'ou the reason, I suppose. You thought I had forgotten her ? ' * JSTo, not that. Some might, but I do not think you could.' * You are right, and I should have given my best efforts to finding her but for what I had already learned. She easily consoled herself in my absence. You may imagine the story — an every-day one.' * How ! Who dared lie thus 1 Who slandered her so to you 1 ' exclaimed Ealmat, with a flash of indignation which won a smile from Alain, in spite of himself. ' Why, yoxi saw even less of her than I did,' he said, * unless you met afterwards 1 What makes you so hot to champion her % ' ' I want to know who your informant was. Do Pelven 1 So ! T knew it.' * If you had not onqc said that yoiu' only women friends here were your landlady, and Delys' daugliter, I should cer- tainly think you knew this gii-l, Ealmat.' ' I have no others,' answered Ealmat, considering how far his promise of secresy to Edmco bomid him under tliis uu- to 354 FOBLESSE OBLIGE. expected aspect of events. ' But I think you very ready to credit stories to the disadvantaga of a girl who seems always to have acted a fine and generous part.' ' You mistrust my couran 1 So do I, v/ith no reason that I know of — but in this matter he can have no conceivable motive for deceiving me.' * Who can tay 1 ' Ealmat had resolved to betray nothing at this moment, but to communicate with Edmee. ' By what I know of him his motives are never easy to read, and there I should disbelieve every word against her if he swore it. A cirl who can act thus cannot have fallen so low.' * Look here,' said Alain, putting the slip of paper before him. * So ! ' said Ealmat again. ' And what do you mean to dor ' See her — sift the matter, if I knew how. But she has forgotten one little thing — her address.' ' So she has,' said Ealmat, laughing a little. ' No doubt in her hui-ry and agitation that never occurred to her.' ' lEuny ! agitation ! You di'aw largely on your imagina- tion, my friend.' ' It does not appear to me from the wording of this that she gi-eatly desii-es a divorce, except to set you free.' Alain i-ead the words again; it was a new light to him, not a welcome one. ' Do you yourself wish it % ' asked Balmat, eyeing him narrowly. ' 1 1- — If you ask me — yes. But let that alone. In any case I am in an intolerable position — altogether false and slippery. I go about apparently a free man, while — -What do you know of that daughter of old Delys 1 I can under- stauil nothing of her story.' If Alain thought that Ealmat would not see the connec- tion betvv^een the hasty outbreak with which his speech be- gan, and the studied carelessness of the end, he was mistaken. Balmat's eyes brightened, and he said, ' Stoiy 1 — Has she one !■ She is the best friend I ever l:"s.d. Eeople laugh at friendship between a man and woman, but I have good reason to believe EJ^TEAPPED. 355 in it. I wish she were happily married, for the old man has not a Hard's worth of worldly wisdom.' ' She is free then 1 I thought there was some husband, alive or dead, in the way.' ' You had better ask her,' said Balmat, ' but meanwhile, if I were you, I should let this business of finding out Avhence the papers come rest for the present. You must surely soon hear more. ISTo woman v/ill stop here. Having gone so far she will take another step, especially if ii-ritated by your silence. If I can I will get to the Atelier du Ly3 in a day or two, and learn v>'hether anytliiiig fresh has oc- ciuTed. It would be very kind if you would tell Da"vid why I am absent. Has anything hap^Dened among our fellows 1 Have you looked in lately ? ' ** Not much, except that someone, Isntird, I think they call him, has come back, released from prison, I believe.' * Isnard ! — That is news indeed, but do you know no- thing of the causes of his imprisonment 1 — he has not Ijceii to see M. DelysT ' I should not have thought there was much friendship between Delys and that raving, ranting fjUow, who seems always knitting his brows and tearing his hau', and lifting liis eyes to heaven — which he does not believe in.' ' Oh, that is the state of mind in which he has returned 1 and the others ! — they do not spare their jeers.' ' That you may be sure of,' said Alain, laugliing at tho recollection. ' L>id he know you were the cousin of De Pelven ? ' * No, how should he 1 Who does but yourself 1 — ' ' So much the better. He has a long-standing gi'udge against him.' ' I do not fancy it in him to do more than bluster,' said Alain, carelessly. * ^.'ou are wrong. He is capable of any mischief, if piqued enough, and it could be done in a moniout.' ' I have tii-ed you, dear Ealmat. What can I do before Igor ' Nothing, only come again soon, unless I appear.' 356 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. ' That I will,' said Alain, leaning over him with such tsndor compassion that Balmat's eyes filled with tears, ' Do not waste sorrow on me,' he said, brushing them away; ' I can dip, that is not hard, and it secui'es me from what I have feared — ' he turned very pale, but Alain's aftectionate pres- sure of the hand led him on — ' it has haunted me all these years ; I fought it as well as I could, but it was always there. One of my brothers . . . things went wrong with him, — he had the same fear, and he fought too, but the battle was too hard — -he — shot himself. I have thought I should end so too, do what I would, but that is gone by now, thank God.' It was the first glimpse that Alain had ever had of those troubled depths which lay under the poor fellow's quiet im- passive manner. He could only murmur some words of deep sympathy. * I thought to get away from it by work, but even that seemed to turn against me ; no one thought what I could do worth doing in the atelier, and it is hard to be'ieve in oneself against all the world ; besides, there are David's doctrines, you know — I could not work them out. But it is a,ll over now, and I did the best I could. You two — you and Edmee have been good friends to me, and you will miss me a little — as much and more than I deserve. It is odd, too, to tliink how little change one's death makes in the world ! — -Well, au revoir, dear St. Aignan. Tell Madelon to come up some time to-day.' Alain had already resolved not to leave the Maison Crocq until he had seen Madelon, and made provision that Balmat should not again be left without even a glass of water within reach. Madelon looked unpromising, and as if the illness of her lodger occui-red expressly to annoy her, and Alain im- patiently turned from her, and mounted to the floor where lived Edmee's old neighbours, the poor artisan and his wife, hoping to secure a kinder attendant in the Avoman, but wliile he was talking to her Madelon passed on her way up to Balmat's garret, and her voice could be heard in gentler tones than Alam had expected. I\Iadame Amat too promised to look to Balmat's comfort, and send her husband to summon St. Aignan should he seem worse, and Alain left the Maison ENTRAPPED. 357 Crocq somewhat better satisfied witli his Mend's chances of .;are and comfort than he had expected, and took his way to the apartment where he had established liimse^f, havino- soon fomid that he should prefer one of his own to sharing that of De Pelven, though strongly xn-ged by his cousin to remain with him. It was not altogether a welcome sight to see Do Pelven waiting for him there. ' At last ! I began to think you lost. It is nearly a week since I have seen you !— What have you been about 1 How do your affairs go on 1 ' ' Excellent'Y, if 3^ou speak of artistic matters.' * And the others 1 Any news of the false one ? * * Noticing definite.' * Some, I see. But I do not want to pry into your affau-s unless I can ssrve you.' Alam felt liimself imgi-acious without reason to a man who deserved something better from him, and, excejDt his own reluctance to admit De Pelven into his confidence, there was no reason why he should make a mystery of the event of the afternoon. ' Notliing definite, as you say,' repeated De Pelven, study- ing the scrap of paper, which Alain liad given him, while briefly narrating what had occurred. ' And now 1 ' ' yomehow or other she must be found.' * I might be able to help you — I do not know. Depend on my doing all I can, and let me know what happens.' ' What have you been doing since we met last 'I ' * Watching men building with old materials which have been shattered to pieces. Upon my word, some people do not seem aware tliat tbere has been a revolution ! By the way, you sec a good deal of that young nephew of the De Blan- queforts 1 ' Alain assented, a good deal siu-priscd at Do Pelven's knowledge of bis proceedmgs. * He is running himself and them into danger. The oVi man is in a dillicult position ; he has a hot head, generous impulses, was first idtra-revolutionist, then c((ua]]y violent the other way, and always for uiaintainiiig aristocracy, want- ing to ref(n-m the nobles and keep them, altciing nothing else. 358 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. Of course he had to emigrate, and now that he has returned, he is a marked man, under surveillance. In rea'ity he is perfectly harm'.ess, a man who would feel bound hand and foot by his promises and engagements to Government, but the nephew 1 — ' De Pelven paused enquiringly, Alain said nothing. ' The nephew — as Fouclie says — you know Fouche ] ' * A creature like a hyena in a coat ? Yes, I have seen him.' ' Fouche says that the young De Blanquefort is as hot- headed as his uncle, and weak, and easily led besides. I fancy you have beeii trying to keep him out of mischief, but there is no doing anything with fools, and he will be the ruin of all that fimily, This very day he is intending to be present at a loyalist meeting, on which Fouche is preparing to lay his hand ; the police have full information, and stand laughing while these imbeciles run their heads into the trap. It is a bad business for all concerned. If I had seen you sooner I would have given you a hint not to appear in public quite so often with Edouard de Blanquefort.' ' I must find him at once,' said Alain, unheeding the warning. * Where is he likely to be 1 There is a house where he often goes . . . the mistress is a very pretty woman, and always has a swarm of admireis round hei* — he may bo there.' . ' Very likely. In fact, I think he will be there,' said De Pe'.A'en, who was aware of what Alain did not know, that this house was a focus of political intrigue, and its mistress a fanatic Royalist. In fact, it was in her salon, under pretext of a social gathering, that the political meeting was to be held which the police were in wait for. * You will forgive my leaving you at once 1 The De Blanqueforts have been excellent friends to me ; I cannot let this foolish fellow destroy himself and them without trying to interpose. Thanks for the warning.' ' Do as you like, mon cher ; for my part I should not interfere, for if the young man do not compromise them to- day he certainly will to-morrow, and you yourself as a refugee may come in for a share of the danger. But act as you ALAm'S RANSOM. 359 think best,' said De Pelven, slirugging his shoulders ; and when Alain was gone he took out his watch, looked at it, and mvj-mm-ed, ' It is now seven o'clock; by eight there will be twenty more people in prison than there are now, including my cousin St. Aignan.' CHAPTEE XLI. Alain's ransom. * I -SHOULD be very glad to know what has become of oiu* friend,' said M. Delys, with annoyance, as he looked at the deserted easel where Alain should have been at work. * Absent all yesterday and half to-day ! He ought not to leave us thus with no explanation. I thought he might have gone into the country with De Forbin and Viucy ; several of David's pupils have been organising an excursion. You know David encourages their studying landscape from time to time, but Duels, whom I saw just now, says that he certahily did not go with them, though they waited for some time expecting him. Had you heard of any such plan ? ' ' Yes, he spoke of it,' said Edmee, who looked weary, nnd as if she had not slept, * but he said he should come in Ijcfoi-e starting, and bid us adieu. Besides here are his colours and brushes.' ' I cannot understand it,' repeated M. Delys, Avho had ceased to recollect any peculiar tie between the two young occupants of Ms atelier, and looked on Alam simply as a very promising artist. ' I begin to think that there is some- thing unreliable in him ; that rapid way of painting which he has is vuisatisfactory ; he accomplishes his day's work admirably, admirably, but his method of getting through it so fast is highly demoralising to othei-s. Bon ! do not start so at every noise ; you make me nervous, my child — you are not like yourself. There ! at last I hear his step. So, Monsieur le Comte — ' 360 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. ' No, that is not his step,' said Eclmee, who had been listening keenly ; * it is more like Ealmat's, only so slow. Perhaps he can give ns news of Monsiem' le Comte. Good afternoon, Bal mat. But oh ! how ill you seem ! ' she cried, forgetting all else in the shock which his haggard looks gave her. ' You ought to be iii yoiu* bed ! You should not have come up these stairs ! ' ' Yes, I know it,' said Balmat, wearily, as he let himself drop on the chair which she pushed towards him. ' Only two of you here to-day 1 ' ' As you see.' * For a whole day and a half the Count has not entered the atelier ! ' exclaimed M. Delys. ' To neglect thus a painting which he is pledged to send home to-morrow ! it is unheard of ! ' ' But you yourself, dear master — you do not always send home your paintings when they are expected,' observed Edm^e, somewhat resentful of the blame cast upon Alain. ' That is a different thing. There is no resemblance whatever between the two cases,' said M. Delys, without troubling lumself to explain wherein tliis difference consisted. * Kas he been to see you, Balmat 1 ' ' Two days ago. He seemed much preoccupied by some bus'ness,' said Ba^.mat, looking at Edmee, who coloured vividly. ' I have seen no one since but Isnard, the last person I expected — he came this morning in the strangest state, talking confusedly of vengeance satisfied, comrades who could jest at him no more, danger to himself, llight, and I know not what.' * As he did when he took refuge with my aunt and me I What has happened 1 ' * Bah ! he is a mere madman ; how can you pay any atten- tion to his folly 1 ' said M. Delys. ' There was some reality in it this time ; his terror for the consequences was unfeigned, and he wanted to borrow money — money of me ! — to escape to America.' ' I hope you gave liim none ! ' * I had none to give. St. Aignan tells me that some is coming ; but that is no matter now.' ALAIN'S BANSOM. 3G1 * All ! he has been with that Madame de Blanquefort ! ' thought Edmee, with the same keen pain which had seized her before ; and it was with forced calmness that she said aloud, ' So your portrait of Madame de Erissac is sold then % I am very glad.' ' Yes, but that is no matter now. I did not come hero to talk of myself. Look what was brought to the Maison Crocq just now, and delivered to me by a messenger who would not stay to be questioned. You see it is intended for you, not me.' Pie held out a piece of paper, on which was written in an unsteady hand, 'Alain de St. Aignan is in danger. If Edmee Leroux wish to learn more, she knows to whom to apply.' ' In danger ! What can this mean 1 ' paid Edmee, very pale. ' Do you know the writing ? ' asked Balmat, while M. Delys took the paper and examined it with exclamations of wonder and imjiatience. * De Pclven's.' * So I supposed. He doubtless assumed that I knew where you were, and that it would reach you.' ' But this is a trap, a manifest trap ! ' cried M. Dojys. * Docs he think us so imbecile as to run into it 1 St. Aignan is safe enough.' ' There is a toJk, Ducis tells me, of a plot among the nowly-returned Eoyalists,' said Balmat, shaking his head. * Some twenty or more have been arrested.' ' M. de St. Aignan can have nothing to do with that ! ' cried Edmee. ' His principles and his honour would all for- bid it.' ' But he had friends among these men . . . there is a young De Blanquefort of whom he has often spoken.' ' It can bo nothing but the vaguest accnsniion ! ' * Even that may be full of danger if Do Pelven wish him ill.' * True ! ' said poor Edmee. ' I cannot piece it together,' said Balmat, wearily. * If I rightly understood Isnard while he was stamping and raving 3G3 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. 1 alDOiit my room lie believed that lie had murdered De Pelven, or at least given him a death-blow, yet here is a missive from him this afternoon.' ' Serpents cannot be killed, unless you beat the life out of them,' said M. Delys. ' He gets St. Aignan out of the way, and trios to allure this child into his clutches, but he forgets she has friends now — a poor old father who will not let her run into danger.' ' Dear master, danger or not I must see him. It is true — tliis story ; Monsieur le Comto is in danger, and De Pelven alone can tell me where and how. Let us go.' ' Go ! and where 1 ' said M. Delys, bewildered. * To the Rue Hauteville, where M. de Pelven lives.* ' But after all, what do we know ] ' * I shall soon know all. Come. But, dear Jacques, rest. You are worn out ; you must eat and di'iuk.' The intensity of her agitation had calmed her. She paid no heed to Balmat's remonstrances, but cared tenderly for his comfort, letting the confused and incoherent ai'guments of M. Delys ])ass by like id^e wind. He found himself in the street before he well knew what had happened. * But, child, what are you about 1 ' he remonstrated. ' You who until now have liidden yourself so studiously from this man ! You who know so well what he is ! ' ' It is true,' she answered, in anxiety so feverish that she could not stand still as he paused, but di-ew him hastily along. ' Let us find a carriage — you are coming too !' ' Yes — yes — Ah, what a responsibility it is to be a father . . . even an adopted father,' sighed M. Del}s, submitting to be hurried on. ' Will you at least explain jour plans ? ' ' I have none, excc]3t to see De Pelven as soon as possible. There is & fiacre, mon pere. Bid the driver go fast.' Once in the fiacre she sat with her hands locked together, mute and motionless, taking counsel with herself, probably forgetful of the presence of her companion, who contemplated her with perplexity almost comic, askmg himself if this were indeed the Edmee iisually so calm and passive. The driver obeyed orders and went fast, with the hope of a 2^ourhoire ; the houses seemed to fly past on either side, and, J ALAIN'S RANSOM. 363 tliey had readied the Rue Haiiteville, then so lonely and un- frequented that robbery and murder wei-e not unusual events in and near it, and no one ventured through it at night un- armed, befoie I\I. Delys had decided how the step they were taking would be viewed by Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, whom Edmee had imperatively recalled the day before, and "who therefore miglit be soon expected. * We were so comfoi-table, so well settled to work ! What a pity tliis is !' he gi-oaned aloud, and Edmee, roused by the slackening speed of the can-iage, as the driver looked about for the house indicated, answered, ' In any case my aunt's return must have ended all that. 8ee, we are arrived.' A porter came to a.nswer the bell which M. Delys pulled with shaking hands and unnecessary violence. * Who are you, who ring thus ? ' he asked in a surly voice, * There is a dying man upstau-s — you choose a strange time to ring such a peal. What do you want 1 ' * I must see JM. de Pelven ! ' answered Edmee, at whom M. Delys had looked helplessly. ' M. de Pelven has something else to do than see visitors. Yesterday he was brought in stabbed in the back, and he has been dying ever since.' ' Dying or not I must see him.' * And what is your name, I should like to know ] ' * Madame de St. Aignan,' answered Edmee, naming herself thus for the first time. ' St. Aignan ! ' said the porter, hesitating and surprised. ' That is the name of another of our lodgers,' . . . and ho looked with more respect at Edmee, then turning to a servant, wlio came rapidly down the stairs, ' Jean, this lady asks to see thy master ; she will not be refused.' ' Kindly follow me,.madame,' said the man, very cour- teously. * My master expects you. Imhecile ' — to tlie porter — ' thou hast forgotten that I told thee this very morning a lady would come, and must be at once admitted. This way, madame.' ' He knew she would come ! It is some vile snare ! ' murmured M. Delys, following Edmee u]) the stau-s. She tui-ned as they entered a room into which a bed-chamber 364 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. opened. ' Stay here, dear master. You will be close by. Biit do not go further away.' ' Heaven forbid ! ' muttered M. De'ys, very uneasily. * You are running into the lion's mouth, and he may as well make a meal on me too.' Edmee, preceded by the valet, had passed on ; M. Delys followed her to the open door. He could see a niu-se move away, on an imperative gesture from the sick man, lying raised high on pillows, his dark glowing eyes making hia corpse-like pallor more striking. Even the lips were colour- less, and the hands lying on the sheet were like pale ivory. 4 s he saw Edmee stand in the doorway, those eager eyes seemed to flash and glow with double brilliance. He waved aside the doctor, who was bending over him, and speaking in a low, warning voice. ' I have conjured you up ! I knew I should,' he said, in a gasping, broken voice, Avhich betrayed extreme weakness. ' You have come at last of your own accord to seek me. I told you once that some day you would. Do you remember % ' ' M. de Pelven, where is my husband % ' asked Edmee, meeting his ardent gaze unshrinking. ' Yes, I know it is for his sake that you are here,' he answered, speaking with increasing difficulty, but devouring her with his eyes. ' No matter, since you are here.' ' I asked you where my husband is 1 ' she repeated. ' You have betrayed him.' * I have. Hush, Gaillard, my friend,' as the doctor beside him tried to silence him. ' A little sooner, a little later, what does it matter ] I am dying, and you know it. Yes, I betrayed St. Aignan, knowing that thus I should find you again. Danger threatens him. You come. It was well combined, but I calculated without this acciu'sed dagger- stroke.' ' Will you tell me where M. de St. Aignan is 1 You have much to expiate — more than I know, perhaps. Tell me how to save him, and I forgive all the past.' * Many thanks^ Madame la Comtesse. But I will be paid for the service which you demand. I am dying, as you see ; I have not two hours to live — is it not so, Gaillard 1 ' ALAINS RANSOM. 365 ' Not half-an-hour at this rate,' answered the young pLy iciiin. ' You hear. Gaillard can have no interest in deceiving yoiT. Besides, you. did not come alone ; I heard another step out there. Stay Avith me for the short time I have to live — there, in that arm-chau* ... I do not ask much, you see, and I will give you the means of saving St. Aignan, I will, on the faith of a gentleman.' She hesitated ; the physician whispered, ' Do not refuse ; he is dying fast ; I shall be near, and it is a dying man's last fancy.' It was much more, and Edmee knew it. The repugnance with which she remained here was indescribable ; she trem- bled under the singular gaze of those fixed eyes, which seemed to draw her towards him, and overmaster her will. But ... St. Aignan ! She met De Pelven's gaze proudly and cilmly, and sat down beside him, as he had directed. ' That is well,' he murmured, with a long sigh. * Thus I shall see you to the last.' And his face relaxed into rehef and satisfe-ct'on ; there was a strange tenderness in the expression which stole over it. ' It is thus that you would have watched me if you had been my wife, but you would have wept for me too ; you will not do that % No. I should have liked to see you spend a few tears for me. But stay, do not move ; what are the dreams of a dying man ? I should have loved you well, child, better than that man v/hom you called just now your husband ever will. I never loved any other woman. I have coui'ted many . . . You are the first whom I could not win . . . How was it ] "What) made you tm-n from me at Mortemart half won '( ' ' You call that love ! ' ' Yes, Edmee ; you do not believe it, you do not under- stand it, for you are still a child. I loved you for the proud innocence which you would have lost had you listened to me ; I have betrayed you, I have slandered you, but I loved you.' * Do not deceive me again ! You promised to tell me where M. de St. Aignan is,' implored Edmee, alarmed at tho increasing faintness of his voice. ' Do you believe that he loves you 1 ' 366 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. * What does it matter ! No ! He does not love me, perhaps he never will, but I will save him, I must, do you hear 1 ' ' You have met since he returned ! ' exclaimed De Pelven. with excitement which lent a passing strength. * It is not the old romantic desire to save a St. Aignan that spoke there. Where have you met 1 ' She made no answer. ' i should like to um^avel this web,* he murnuired, with a half smile at himself. ' It is hard to leave so promising a mystery unread.' And he seemed ost in speculating over what she had just sa:d, and putting what he knew or guessed together. She looked round in sQence. The disorder of the room spoke eloquently of the moment when the wounded owner had been carried in. The day waned ; its last rays mingled with those of a laicp, lighted perhaps to seal or burn papers ; its pale light gave a stiango, unearthly aspect to the corpse-like face of the dying man, now breathing with audible effort. ' Ah ! ' he whispered suddenly, in a tone of passionate regret, * I cannot see clearly ; ' and he passed his hand OA'er his eyes, as if once more to enable them to see the face so soon to become inv'sible to him for ever. * Well, I keep my promise . . . he is in the Conciergerie, and there, in that casket, you will find the means, if you like . . . what do I care now 1 While I lived it amused me a little, but now . . . ' A sort of remoi-se visited Edmee. ' Alas ! ' she said, * it is impossible to have a priest, but think — ' ' A priest ! For me ! ' said De Pelven, and the idea seemed so sovereignly amusing to him that he laughed softly. * For me ! Bah ! one dies as one has lived — Voltaire said it. All I ask is that hell, if there be one, may not resemble this Avorkl.' * But it is not yet too late,' urged Edmee, with a feeling that if he would only express some contrition there d light be a sort of hope. ' Cli^'d ! Is the heaven you believe in so easily entered that a few pious thoughts now, when life is encHng, will open its gates 1 If I got there, what should I do in such a region 1 Is there anytliing in me wliicli seems to you to fit ALAIN'S BANS02L 3G7 me for it 1 — Should I find you there 1 and would you be williug to be met by me when you arrived by-and-by 1 — How f^hould I accept now fables which I have never credited 1 If there be anything to learn, I shall learn it soon, if not — • why trouble myself about it 1 You have some concern for me then 1 ' Edmee drooped her head, dumb befoi-e the sarcastic, smil- ing scepticism of this deathbed. Her own faith seemed to fold its wings and shrink, even while, fuU of self-reproach, she sought what to say that might reach his heart. ' You do indeed divide us for ever ! ' she murmured. ' There is no need to bid me believe in hell since I leave you to De St. Aignan ! ' he answered, ' but I keep my word — Th^e casket.' Tiiinking that he wanted sometliing out of it she took the little box, unlocked it, and found it full of papers. His gesture showed her wMcli to take out, and a glance showed her that it was a list of names. ' Fouche seized most, not all, he cannot discover who they are,' she heard De Peiven say, and she looked enquii-ingly at him. ' You mean that this is the list of some still unknown to the police, who were mixed up in tlus plot 1 that I can get LI. de St. Aignan released in exchange for giving up tliisl And how is it that you know them? Did you organise this conspiracy and then draw back and leave these men to perish ? — It is treason ! ' cried Edmee, starting up. A faint red flushed De Pelven's sallow cheek. He could not speak audibly now, but his eyes with their still vivid light dwelt on her comitenance. ' Is this what you meant 'i Shall I buy my own happiness by making the mothers, the wives of these men as miserable as I am now 1 How should I dare meet my husband if I had freed him thus? There is nothing in all the world that Alain de St. Aignan tliinks worth a crime ! ' While she spoke vnth fevered vehemence she was holding the paper in her trembling fingers to the lamp ; it shriveiled into black charred fragments. Still trembling with excite- ment she tiu-ned to the bedside. ' M. Gaillard ! ' she cried 368 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. in teiTor, for De Pelven was va,iniy struggling to raise him- self, or to breathe. The doctor was stooping over liim before his name had escaped her ; the sick nm-se and M. Delys hiu'iied in. Notliing could be done to relieve those last struggles. ' Come away, my poor chiki,' said the old man, exceed- ingly agitated, ' This is dreadful.' ' I promised to stay to the end,' answered Edmee, pressing her hands on her heart, whose beating seemed choking her. The dying man heard her, for he smiled. * Here to the last,' he breathed, too faintly to be heard, and his hand moved feebly as if to seek hers. * And if not mi ne, at least not his.' There was silence among them all ; Edmee looked at the impalpable fragments of Avhat might have been St. Aignan's ransom. ' It is over,' said the physician's voice. * You have the consolation, madame, of ha^^.ng fulfilled his last wish.' ' Come, come, my daughter,' repeated M. Delys, taking her death-cold hands in his, ' You tremble like a leaf Not more than the poor old man did himself. She let herself be drawn from the room, while the nm-se and physician were speaking apart. ' He is m the Conciergerie. I might have saved him, but it cost too much,' she said like one in a di-eam. * How ! in the Conciergerie % St. Aignan ? ' * Yes, it cost too much. He would have been the first to ay so. Ah, take me home, take me home, dear master.* CHAPTER XLII. A FRIEND AT COURT. On reaching the Louvre M. Delys and Edmee involuntaiily 'm avoided the salon, which they were accustomed to associate A FlilBXD AT COURT. 369 with society and conversation, thougli since the departiu-e of Mademoiselle de St. Aignan it had been empty enough, and passed into the atelier, where they expected to find Balmat, but instead of being met by the young S-ndss, it was the face and voice of Mademoiselle de St. Aignan wliich gi-eeted them. Their surprise was gi-eat, since she had given them no reason to exjject her return so soon, and could not yet have received the letter which Edmee had impetuously sent off after leai-ning the existence of Madame de Blan- quefort. * Here I am,' she said, holding out her arms to Edmte. * I could no longer do without you, and I longed to embrace ny nephew, otherwise I was so well pleased yonder that decidedly I sbould be there still. I went exactly at the right time. Earlier I might have been subject to annoyance, for the reaction caused by the emigres' return was rather too strong, they seemed to tliink themselves masters of the situation, as if there never had been a revolution at all ; on this the Republicans lift up their heads ; the club Salm is opposed to that of Clichy ; proscriptions recom- mence ; we have not done with them, I fear, but only rumours reached me ... we have no gazettes at Moi-temai-t.' ' Dear aunt ! — It is not then my letter which brought you back % ' ' Letter ? no ! I never got it — You could not imagine the joy we feel, we, so marvellously escaped from deatli, at meeting again. Those whose very name one scarcely knows seem old friends ... we congi-atulate each other on being alive; we help one another — it is the golden age — metaphor ically. Few have much of the actual metal left. It will not last, I know it, but for the moment it is very sweet,' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, so fall of the subject which bad engrossed her dm-ing her absence, that as yet she could speak of nothing else. ' But where is Balmat ] ' asked M. Delys, equally occu- pied with his own concerns, and therefore feelmg all this wearisomely indifferent. ' We left him here.' ' Ah, that poor Balmat ! how miseraljly ill he seems ! I met him crawling downstairs, he would not remain lest he 370 NOBLESSE OBLIQE. should be unable to get home, and all I could leavn was that he had not seen my nephew to-day, and that you Ijoth were absent. Where have you been 1 Let me look at you, inignonne. Ah ! — Pray monsieiu-, what have you been dohig with this child, whom I trusted to you % ' &he asked, tm-niug impetuously on M. Delys. He could only answer by a de- precating gestiu-e, and stood looking like a criminal before his judge. ' Where is my nephew 1 Speak, monsieur ! ' ' In the Conciergerie.' ' How ! m the Conciergerie ! What does this mean * He has been ari'csted on the accusation of cunspiiang against the Government, falsely of course ; there can be no question of that,' said M. Delys, hoping to break xhe news gently. Mademoiselle de St. Aignan fell upon him instantly. * Heavens ! what is the use of such unnecessaiy details 1 how can you take so long to tell a simple story 1 do 1 not know that the accusation is false 1 Go on, monsieur, I beseech jow, or no, you speak, miynonne ; men never can explain anything.' ' We do not know much,' said Edmee, quietly, but there was a pallor and contraction of the muscles roiuid her mouth, and livid circles round her eyes which betrayed the sufierings through which she had been passing. ' M. de Pelven ' — she shuddered as she named him — ' organised or at least knew of this plot, and found means of involving Monsieur le Comte in it, though he had nothing whatever to do with it.' * I should think so ! My nephew has too much sense, though he is his father's son, to mix himself up with such ill-timed folly. If the Royalists succeeded in bruaging back the Bourbons, could they keep on the throne a week, when all is drifting anchorless ? To wait is then- only policy. But if, as you declare, De Pelven has got my nephew into the Con- ciergei-ie, he is bound either to get him out or to go there too. I shall go at once and tell him so. I presume that at last you will permit me to commmiicate with that poor De Pelven 1 ' ' Alas ! dear aunt, how shall I tell you . . . M. d« Pelven was brought home yesterday, wounded ' A FRIEND AT COURT. 371 * Another duel ! That foolish fiishion is reviving, one heai's of duels on all sides. Everyone has something to avenge, and Messieurs les RoyaJists are perpetually challeng- ing those who denounced their families or bought their lands.' * It was not a duel.' * ^Vhat then 1 An assassination ! You do not mean it ! What is known 1 ' * You recollect Isnard, and that poor girl, Laure, and his vows of vengeance for her death? He had made himself obnoxious to M. de Pelven, escaped, — she was arrested in his place and perished.' 'I recollect it all,' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, her usual tone of good-humoured irony changing to one much graVer ; * it was then to De Pelven that he alluded, and he has paid his debt thus ! And my cousin, was he seriously hurt ? "VVTiat ! ' as a look and sign from Edmee answered clearly enough — ' you do not mean that he is dead ? Dead ! And how do you know all this 1 ' Edmee had no choict b.^t to tell the history of that strange meeting and gloomy parting, and Mademoiselle de St. Aignan listened with profound astonishment. ' So you were right, he was not to be trusted,' she said at last. ' Who knows ' — and her mind glanced over the past rapidly putting all which she knew together. * I would willingly believe that he did a good and disin- terested action in procuring my release from the Luxem))ourg,' she added preseiatly, ' but who can say 1 So he loved you enough to lisk so much, sin so greatly for yoiir sake as this ! De Pelven capable ofa,(/ranrIe passion, and for you, mir/nonwi ! ' She looked at Edmee with odd interest and respect. 1 hat such a man as De Pelven should have loved her evidently raised hei' in the eyes of Mademoiselle de St. Aignan. She had the assurance which she had longed for, that the village girl could fascinate as if she had been born a great lady. ' My poor child, you have suiTered very nuich, and kept it all to yourrelf. As for my nephew, we must take coiinst;! what to do ; it is impossible that there should be any proofs against him, and now, thank Heaven, people are not condemned without i^roofs. He cannot have escaped so many dangers 372 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. to fall under a false accusation. It is unfortunate that just now so bitter a feeling should have been reawakened by the indiscretion of the nobles who have returned. As I travelled I heard two men talking over public afiau-s, and one men- tioned that General Augereau had ordered that anyone in his division who vei-bally or in writing used the word mon- sieur should be expelled from the army ! Judge from that ! But we are not such fanatics in Paris. If I only knew some- one in power ! ' ' M. de St. Aignan studiously avoided all political society,' said Edmee. ' He said that as an artist he had no occasion to concern himself with politics ; besides, the Republicans are now passing just such measures as a des- potism might ; forbidding the liberty of the press, punishing men for their private convictions — ' ' You are well acquamted with what is passing, ma belle. How did you learn it 1 ' ' I have heard M. de St. Aignan speak of it.' ' To whom ? ' * To me,' answered Edmee, with a sigh which Mademoiselle de St. Aignan could not understand. She was thinking how sweet those conversations had been, until she heard of Madame de B!anquefort. Alain's assm-ance that his passion had been but midsummer madness made far less impression than the fact that he had loved this beautiful, unknown en- chantress, who had returned to Paris. There was a long silence. M. Delys had sat silent and ruffled, very resentful of the set-down which he had so un- deservedly received at the hands of Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, and greatly shaken by the agitation of the last hours. He was forced to acknowledge to himself that he had grown an old man, and could not bear svich a strain with- out sufiering from it. He now rose, lighted a lamp, for the studio had grown dark, and began to walk up and down it. Scarcely, however, had he reached the fui-ther end wheie stood the easel on which he expected to see the canvas upon which he had been engaged before Edmee huriied him away than he uttered a ciy of terror, startling his companions out of then- troubled I'everie. A FRIEND A2 COURT. 373 * Someone has been here diunng my absence ! I am robbed ! I am a lost man ! ' he exclaimed in an agony, seizing his wig convulsively, and standing as if transfixed before the easel, widowed of the beautiful painting which he had left upon it. Edmee started up and went to him, and laughter returned to the eyes of Mademoiselle de St. Aignan as she more deUberately followed her. ' My pictui-e ! my picture ! my flowers ! where are my flowers 1 he stammered, looking with despau- around him. Ma fille . . . mademoiselle . . . where is my paintmg % ' ' But dear master, dear father, it is impossible that you should have been robbed of it,' remonstrated Edmee, amid his incoherent exclamations. ' Balmat was here, it seems, up ,to the very time of my aunt's ariiAal ; who could possibly have taken ' ' There have been thieves here, I tell you ! the canvas is gone ! ' x-epeated M. Delys. ' You aie quite right,' said Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, shaking her head with mock gravity and condolence. ' Great ladies are sometimes ax-rant thieves, dear monsieur, where paintings are concerned, and they lose patience. Someone who expected that picture to be finished six months ago, and who has waited perhaps twelve — such a little wliile, you know ! — and who says that she has besought, threatened, implored all in vain, came at last in person and took it.' * But this is infamous ! It is a scandalous theft, it de- fovves the giiillothie ! ' exclaimed the old avtist, going and coming as he spoke like one possessed. ' ]\Iy reputation is lost] I intended to bring that pictiue to perfection ; there was another year's work in it ! ' ' Precisely, and that was what Madame Bonaparte feared ! ' ' Indeed it was perfect already, dear master ! ' added Edmee. ' There was a year's more work to do ! What do I say 1 A year ! two ! three ! — I shall go and demand my pictuio back ; I will recover it at once ; it is mine, it is no one's but mine ! ' * You will do nothing of the sort, my good friend,' said 374 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. Mademo'selle de St. Aigiian, laying a firm hand on him, ' or at all events you will wait for to-morrow. Listen to me ; do you not see how aprojyos this is ? You shall go to the Rue Chautereine when we have thought it all well over, and say whatever you please as to your flowers, but above all you w.li speak to her of my nephew, and explain that he is a pa'nter, a bond file artist, not one who has merely taken it up as a gcigm pain, as my friend De Chalys took up making india-rubber shoes in exiie — and that he has no interest in politics. You will sm-ely know what to say to this lady, who adores flowers, it seems ; speak too of Edmee hei'e, and say that she helped you a littie in that beautiful group which ' ' Which might have been beautiful but for this abomin- able proceeding.' * You will say that Edmee implores her to grant her an interview, and try to imagine yourse'f speaking to a queen — they say that Madame Bonaparte loves to grant favours, it is so I'oyal ! — And besides she seems truly amiable. More- over, her husband is ambitious ; some say that he aims at supreme power, though he leads so quiet a life at present ' ' He, mademoiselle ! are you speaking of General Bona- parte % a fierce Republican ! ' ' That remains to be seen. Some say he is more like Ctesar than Brutus. It is unfortunate that he appeal's to detest the emigres ... no wonder, vv^ith their haiungues, and theu' brochiu'es, and their denial of his military gloiy. Stay — suppose instead of asking an audience we assumed the privilege, and the child went with you % You would not fear, my child % ' ' [Nothing could be so terrible as this afternoon,' said Edmee, smilmg faintly. * Madame Bonanarte is living Rue Chautereine. She is really very gracious, very elegant, and how the widow of a Beauharnais could so derojer as to marry a littie Coislcan officer passes my comprehension. But that is her aflaii', not oiu-s.' * iHow, mademoiselle ! ' interrupted M. Delys aga'n, * you call Bonaparte, our deliverer, our Alexander, a little Corsican ofiicer ! ' he spoke with absolute horror, for Bonaparte was now A FRIEND AT COURT. 375 the popular idol, and had awakened an absolute frenzy of enthusiasm by his escapes in his Italian campaign. ' She spent some time in the atelier,' continued Made- moiselle de St. Aignan, as if he had not spoken, ' and gi-eatly admired your work, my little one ... I told her you were the adopted daughter of our kind friend here.' ' Mademoiselle ! It seems to me that " daughter " alone would have been sufficient,' exclaimed M. Delys. ' Would you have me tell a little lie, my dear monsieur ? And after all,' for she perceived that he was really wounded, * lifter all, you dear, good, unreasonable man, the word only shows that she is your child by choice and affection, not merely by nature — is it not so % ' ' Thanks, mademoiselle,' said the old man, soothed and grafefiil, and he kissed her hand, while Edmee slid her slender fingers into his with a loving touch. ' You have taught me to feel there can be sweetness in the name of father,' she whispered, as she leant her head on his shoulder. ' There was an old friend of my nephew's with Madame Bonaparte, who seems intimate with her,' resumed Made- moiselle de St. Aignan, a Madame de Blancpiefort.' ' Madame de Blanquefort here ! That too ! ' miu-mured Edmee, feeling as if on this day every possible pang was to be endured. ' Did she expect to find Monsieur le Comte here 1 ' ' Apparently. A very agi-eeable woman of the l)est society. I enjoyed the half-hour these ladies spent hero much. It seems that the mother of I\Iadame de Blanquefort v/as in prison at the same time as Madame Bonaparte, and was very kind to her. This naturally makes a bond between them. We had a great deal of talk about my nephew, who seems to have had a home with the De Blanqueforts when, iu England.' ' Let us go, dear child ; I was forgett'ng my poor picture,' said M. Delys, ' do not let us lose another moment.' * My poor Edmee, are you aWe for this effort 1 Yv'ait till to-morrow, we will me to say nothing, ]']dmce ! — or no, rather lot mo tell you my history Ijcfore we part — I leaAc Paris to night.' She made a mute sign of assent. Ho resolutely di-opped 384 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. the slencler fingers whicli he had clasped, and put his hand over his eyes, speaking rapidly. ' Some six years ago like all the world I was about to be arrested. From prison to the guillotine there was but one step. A young girl of St. Aignan, a child of fifteen or sixteen perhaps, came to warn me, and was detected. What could a man of honour do but marry her and take her out of reach of her furious relations ] They let us go ; I took her to the only relative of mine left in France, obliged myself to quit the country at once, but fully intending to return as soon as possible, and complete the civil marriage by such a one as the Church requires.' ' But . . . this g^rl . . . could not hold you bound by a mere civil bond,' stammered Edmee. ' But I viewed myself as bound,' answered Alain, with sternness which betrayed his inward combat. ' I had in- tended to go to Mortemart, a little town where I had left her, before even thanking David, but I met my cousin De Pcdven ' ' Who hindered you ! ' exclaimed Edmee, in a tone of such indignant pain that Alain, misapprehending its meaning, could scarcely continue. * He had already given me news of her — such as it was — my aunt dead, my wife disappeared — it is useless to rejoeat the story.' ' He slandered her 1 And you believed what he said ? ' 'Like a fool — no, like an honourable man, who could not suspect such base treachery in the man who feigned to be anxious for the honour of our fiimily, who had done his best to have it respected ' ' Honour ! Did he even know what the word meant ? ' said Edmee, trying to command herself. ' I owe him this above all the rest, that he has gone be- yond my reach, and there is no I'eckoning with the dead,* said Alain, between his teeth. ' Then this was why you said you had no wife ? ' said Edmee, relieved from that weight of perplexity, but still burning with indignation against her calumniator. ' I told myself that she no longer existed for me ; that I should never marry ; I little guessed that I myself should nUSBAND AND WIFE. 385 tiu*n traitor to this iiolile girl. From what Madame Bonaparte tells me she must he in Paris, and with my aunt. I know not why she would say no more. IMy course is clear ; De Pelven probably deceived me as to the sale of the property at Mortemart ; I shall at all events surely learn something there which will enable me to trace her.' Edmee imderstood. He would not, could not go without this explanation ; he felt that he owed her this veiled con- fession of a love which perhaps he had himself only realised when this barrier appeai-ed to rise unexpectedly between them • he had studiously avoided asking even by look if she retm-ned it, but every change of countenance, every tone be- trayed unutterable legret and pain. Her heai't beat with ioy that he should thus act as much as with the happiness vvhijsh she scarcely daied face. ' Farewell ! ' he said low, bending over her. ' I have little indeed to offer to this poor child, but I must seek her, and my good aunt.' * There is no need to seek far,' interrupted a voice laughing through teai-s ; INIademoiselle de St. Aignan had entered unseen, followed by M.,Delys, and was holding out her hands to him. ' My dear, dear nephevv- ! yoii are I'estored to us ! ' It was one of those meetings both sweet and bitter of which theie were then so many. Both had passed through such trial and peril that they met as two saved from ship- wreck might, incredulous of each other's safety and of their own. * Ah, my deai- Count, thank this good friend who — now do not begui to contradict me monsieur ; but for this bad habit you would be' the most iHMiuct, the luust devoted, self- sacrificing fiiend in tlie woi-kl.' 'I! good he:iveus, what injustice!' cried the poor painter, liftuig up his hands apjiealuigly. ' And do not forget your bride for your old aunt,' added Mademoiselle de St. Aignan, half-laughing, ]ialf-we(^])ing. ' No, 1 am not so ungrateful,' answered Alaui, but in spite of himself he looked for h(!r whom he still believed to be the daughter of M. Delys. Theii' eyes met, and instead of the expression which he desu-ed, pci-hajjs, even while he 386 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. feared to discover, he saw her smile and blush with shy, exquisite happiness, as she held out her hand. * Thanks to this dear child,' began Mademoiselle de St. Aignan ' How ! it is you ! it is you, Edmee ! ' he exclaimed, dizzy with the sudden joy which flashed upon him, ' There ai-e things one dares not believe ! ' * You have waited until now to discover her ! To be sure you always believed she was our good friend's daughter.' * "What could I believe else 1 All combined to mislead me. But how was it possible to be so cruel as to tell me nothing just now ] ' said Alain, lowering his voice, . and taking her hand, with an accent of reproach, though it did not seem as if he would be implacable. ' But I have found you though you hid yourself so persistently. At least tell me that you do not regi'et being at last discovered 1 ' The look now raised to him was sufficient answer. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L9-32to-8,'57(.C8680s4)444 r" r^ iVA 1. i_rf i X 1. A-f ^-' ^— ' A «■ on a New System. Large quarto, 328 pages. Cloth, ^o. Half morocco, $8. Full morocco, $15. Levant or Russia,_with metal rims and lock, decorations and lettering full gold, $25.00, HENRY HOLT & CO., 25 Bond St., New York. Tl^irtTI X AXllt llJJXlllllliXlIlJXIJJL AiXIJJlX rtXiaaTIJ UlUll-il XllJLAJAlMX y J^ Tfiy>f«i««*i-tJA»y»T Jffssrs. Henry Holt Cr Co. have s;ycat pleasure in annouueing that tJiey have ineorporated in the Leisure Hour Serks a new impression of the Writings of Tiikodoke WiNTHRor. They trust that the eire/e of e. ucsouTHFRWRFninNAL library facility'" '""'"''''' """"""" " /./. AA 000 377 994 '.-at tion has jnaife the s time when all j riea has done, to J . jju one o the later g: •'i-afion of pat/iots auil mai tyrs. .nine I.! Hi .I ■ V-5 aev py GNEh ■ ART ^.. C AND THEORIES. electful fr.Mii his writiii{fs. ami translated by EuwaiUj L. BiK- . BOTANY, STRUC- C\ ('■ latter iHirtion hci!;.!,' an Ajia- ,' IMants. Troos, Shrubs. Or.liiiarv *he Northern aii>l Miildle I'niti'd IJy ArcrsT Kokiii.kh. M.I).. h'jft! of riiarmacv of the Cit.v «>{' jEHLER' CI C "URAL AN ') SYS' A'. .1,ical Key ■■ •"^lo [orbs, S' ' , ■•sse \ates, . (1 SSlS •.otessor th •j\v Vciik ilu;. KARL 3 ")E iSECTS. t^- ise )|)S ; f(U* * i ' ..ihv. ith fiftoo • a d si.x hi 'holt. ^1' II. THE STUDY OF injurious and beneficial to -Sehoolrt. and A^'rieultutists. did .seventy woodcuts. Fi'j'ik Pfi KARD _ iJFE Hi NULl'DINC MW '."opiou. lES OF ANIMALS, itrated. Svo. :fJ.."((l. ..://• EDIT low's OI- ARNOLD'S (MATHEWi \A^ORKS: K-avs in ciisti < l>M. I'Jnio. $.' 00. LllKl<\ II UK AM) IhKiMA. 1 On»o. .•{; 1 ..'lO. God AM) TMK IJiiti.i:. i'Jmo. !fl..")0. GREG'S LITERARY AND SOCIAL JUDGMENTS. 12)110. if •.'.()(). llNKiM V> ..F LiFK. !'2;no. f.MiO. HEtiRI HOLT & CO., Publishers, New Urk. Mfl %^ iT* LEISURE HOUR SERIES NOBLESSE OBLIGE BY THE AUTHOR OF "MLLE.MORF Henry HoLT&Co. Publishers New York