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 ANNETTE 
 
 A TALE. 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM FREDERICK DEACOX, 
 
 MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR, 
 
 THE HON. SIR T. N. TALFOURD, D.C.L. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON: 
 COLBURN AND CO., PUBLISHERS, 
 
 GREAT MARLBOEOUGH STREET. 
 1852.
 
 LONDON': 
 
 Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street.
 
 8£3 
 I>337a 
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR 
 
 OF THE LATE 
 
 WILLIAM FREDERICK DEACON, 
 
 BY 
 
 SIR T. N. TALFOUKi), D.C.L. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 The Author of the following Romance was 
 my school-fellow at Reading School, and, after 
 the interval of a few years which succeeded our 
 school-days, renewed his acquaintance with me, 
 and allowed me the enjoyment of cordial friend- 
 ship with him till he died, in 1845. Amidst 
 the lahours of periodical literature by which he 
 supported his family, he slowly and carefully 
 composed this work, in the hope of making a 
 considerable addition to the little fund which 
 he struggled to provide for them; and died 
 when it was scarcely completed. Circumstances 
 devoid of general interest have delayed its 
 appearance till now, when an opportunity of 
 
 B 2
 
 4 PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 presenting it to the world opens with a pros- 
 pect of its realizing, in some measure, the hope 
 with which it was written ; and I gladl}^ embrace 
 the occasion to pay a late and brief, but faithful, 
 tribute to his memory. 
 
 William Frederick Deacon was born on the 
 26th of July, 1799, in Caroline Place, Meck- 
 lenburgh Square, where his father, a highly 
 respectable merchant, then resided ; and was 
 the eldest of six children. When about eleven 
 years of age, he was placed at Reading School, 
 then in the height of the prosperity to which it 
 had been raised from a slender foundation, by 
 the excellent scholar who presided over it for 
 more than fifty years. There may have been 
 scholars of more extensive learning than Doctor 
 Valpy ; but there has rarely, if ever, lived a 
 better school- master — one who has more emi- 
 nently possessed the faculty of imparting know- 
 ledge and inspiring the love of learning — one 
 who has combined more of that authority which 
 the proud are happy to obey with the power of 
 winning regard ; and, therefore, no one whose 
 image has been more reverently cherished by 
 his pupils. His scholastic system was marked
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. 5 
 
 by a peculiarity of his own invention — which it 
 may not be easy to defend as part of the 
 machinery for the acquisition of scholarship, but 
 which produced happy results in the education 
 of the affections. 
 
 The performance of certain official duties, 
 the attainment of certain grades of advance- 
 ment, the success of certain exercises, were 
 rewarded by some " trivial fond records" entered 
 in the Doctor's school-book denominated Exemp- 
 tions — which were contrasted in that book with 
 the sable entry of impositions imposed on one 
 day in the week to be absolutely due on the 
 con-esponding day of the next — and which could 
 not only be employed at the will of the fortunate 
 possessor to exempt him from the penalties of 
 any default or misdeed (except a transgression of 
 the bounds of morahty or the playground), but 
 which were transferable to his class-fellows or to 
 any boys of a lower class ; and if, by virtue of 
 their liberal apphcation, the impositions of one 
 entire day could be expunged, those which 
 became due on the day next after it vanished ; 
 so that if the impositions of the three first days 
 of the week could be obliterated, the entire
 
 6 PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 week's record, how black soever in its three last 
 days, was made blank, and the school started 
 on its course without the shadow of a single 
 fear. This achievement was performed by the 
 elder boys urging and assisting the junior delin- 
 quents to pay their imposed dues in advance, 
 and in case of failure, by applying the needful 
 exemption to absolve the small individual and 
 promote the common object of a general 
 amnesty and the holiday which graced it. 
 
 This transfer of indulgences, by which a senior 
 boy, rich in the rewards of good works, could 
 save a youngster from punishment, suggested 
 feelings in the junior classes towards the elder 
 very unlike those which have been attributed to 
 the system of fagging (which was wholly dis- 
 allowed among us), and in the instances of the 
 Reading boys, not only promoted those attach- 
 ments which class-fellows so often form, but 
 caused feelings of regard to spring up between 
 youths of different ages which are comparatively 
 rare in public schools. 
 
 Poor Deacon, who was several years my 
 junior, became first known to me by his 
 need of the "Exemptions" with which my
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. 7 
 
 class was endowed, and by the affecting gra- 
 titude — far beyond the occasion — with which 
 he accepted the means of absolution for his 
 defaults. He was a slender boy, tall for his 
 age and naturally graceful, with dark eyes and 
 dirty hands ; gay, light-hearted and heedless ; 
 quick of apprehension and sensibility ; often 
 neglecting his regular lessons to devour works 
 of fiction ; indukin^: thus the most insidious 
 form of idleness, but gifted with remarkable in- 
 tellectual activity to recover lost time, when 
 the common welfare of the school required the 
 removal of a tissue of impositions from the 
 Doctor's book. I recal him now, through the 
 vista of forty years, on one sad morning, when 
 the school broke up for breakfast, hanging his 
 head over a low worm-eaten desk, after a vain 
 attempt to indite a Latin theme, peremptorily 
 due at the next school-time, and the failure of 
 which would (as available exemptions were 
 exhausted) be certainly followed by that extreme 
 punishment, which having become of rare 
 occurrence was regarded with mysterious terror. 
 An elder boy took pity on his distress, and gave 
 up the half-hour's interval between the school-
 
 8 PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 time and his breakfast to sit beside him, and 
 help ' him to a satisfactory completion of his 
 task, which was finished just as tbe school-bell 
 began to ring for the dreaded hour. The elder 
 lad was surprised to see him wiping large tears 
 from his cheeks with well-inked fingers, and 
 said : 
 
 '* Why, Deacon, what is the matter with 
 you ; the exercise will pass very well ?" 
 
 " It is not that," blubbered out the junior ; 
 " I can't help it, it is because you are too kind 
 to me." 
 
 This peculiar touch of the hysterica passio 
 was scarcely regarded at the time ; but I recal 
 it now as an exception to the rule of school-boy 
 life, which in its exuberance of buoyant spirits 
 and thoughtless gaiety, acquires an insensibility 
 to the gentler impressions ; a touch of nature 
 which could scarcely have been found except 
 under such discipline of the aifections as precept 
 gave, and example enforced, at Reading. 
 
 T left Deacon at school when I quitted it, and 
 did not hear of him afterwards for some years. 
 Soon after I thus lost sight of him, he suffered 
 a great misfortune in the death of his mother,
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. 9 
 
 by whom his susceptible disposition was 
 thoroughly understood, and w^hose influence 
 was required to temper it with grave thought 
 and earnest pui-pose. When about sixteen 
 years of age, he was taken from school and 
 entered by his father, who intended him for the 
 Church, at St. Catherine's HaE, Cambridge. 
 There he pursued his studies with desultory 
 ardour — successfully in the acquisition of class- 
 ical scholarship, for which he had imbibed an 
 earnest love and fine taste under Doctor Valpy's 
 teaching — but not in the direction which led to 
 the honours of Cambridge. The consequence 
 was that, although not stained with gross 
 dissipation, he failed to fulfil the hopes which 
 his father had cherished when he sent him to 
 the University at the sacrifice which is involved 
 in such a course, where a large family is main- 
 tained with a moderate income. While his 
 refined taste, and conversational powers endeared 
 him to the junior members of the University, 
 and induced them to regard him as a young 
 man of rare promise, they did not advance his 
 progress in that way which his father desired 
 that he should take ; and eventually he quitted
 
 10 PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 College and the prospect of the sacred profession, 
 and came to London. There my acquaintance 
 with him was renewed; I found him as gay 
 and light-hearted as when I left him at Reading, 
 but endowed with an extensive knowledge of 
 elegant literature, and an accuracy of scholar- 
 ship far beyond what 1 had expected from the 
 efforts and the indications of his boyhood. 
 
 Mr. Deacon was not in the condition of a 
 youth, starting on a literary career, without 
 any other resources than those of untried 
 ability ; for he received an allowance from his 
 grandmother of £100 a-year, which he 
 enjoyed till she died, in 1829. He brought 
 to London a poem composed at Cambridge, 
 entitled, " Hacho, or the Spell of St. Wilten," 
 which, with minor effusions of young enthu- 
 siasm, he offered to various eminent publishers 
 in succession, with the customary failure. He 
 found, at last, a very honest and kind publisher 
 in Mr. William Hone, who after having been 
 raised for a time into dangerous celebrity by 
 his forensic contests with Lord Ellenborough, 
 had subsided into his proper character — that 
 of a modest bookworm — and now, established
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. 11 
 
 as a bookseller in a small shop on Ludgate 
 Hill, avoided the political associations which 
 had perilled and advanced him, and dealt chiefly 
 in the old English books which he loved to 
 peruse. Although the parodies, for the publica- 
 tion of which he was exalted into the position 
 of a martyr, were irreverent and offensive, he 
 intended no blasphemy in publishing them ; and 
 the boldness of his triumphant defence was not 
 inspired by any natural audacity, but by the des- 
 peration to which he w^as impelled more by the 
 urgent wants of a starving family, than by fear of 
 personal suffering. He afterwards led a laborious 
 and blameless life, producing those pleasant mis- 
 cellanies to which Charles Lamb contributed, and 
 which Southey honoured with his praise. 
 
 From his shop, " Hacho " issued, printed 
 on coarse paper, bound in unsightly boards, 
 and heralded by no friendly criticism ; but it 
 succeeded to an extent which would now seem 
 scarcely possible to any poem published without 
 the name of an established author ; for it 
 yielded an available surplus. It is an avowed 
 imitation of Sir Walter Scott's romantic poems 
 — a metrical tale, of which the incidents are
 
 12 PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 thrown far back into the antiquity of Scotland 
 — and in which supernatural agency, appropriate 
 to the era, is gracefully employed. Written in 
 the octosyllabic verse, with intermixtures of 
 lyrical movement, it is without originality of 
 style ; but there is a frequent richness in the 
 imagery, and a various harmony in the odes, 
 which indicated promise of rare poetic excel- 
 lence. But to the development of the vein of 
 poetry which gleamed out in " Hacho," a 
 laborious education of the eye and the mind 
 were requisite ; and, at that period of life, Mr. 
 Deacon did not command that power of 
 strenuous labour which is as necessary to the 
 cultivation of the imaginative faculty as to the 
 attainment of excellence in the most abstruse 
 science. The promise, therefore, of this work — 
 remarkable as the production of a youth of 
 nineteen — was not fulfilled by the composition 
 of any other poem of serious interest ; but Mr. 
 Deacon was induced, by lighter inspirations, to 
 exercise his talents in that ephemeral line of 
 composition which speedy publication and im- 
 mediate praise render most fascinating to young 
 authors.
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. 13 
 
 The next literary work which Mr. Deacon 
 attempted was, therefore, one requiring the 
 most constant outlay of talent and promising 
 the quickest returns ; for it was nothing less 
 exciting or exhausting than a daily journal, 
 without politics or scandal, entitled : " The 
 Dejeune, or Companion for the Breakfast 
 Table," issued every morning at eight o'clock, 
 price two-pence. The first number appeared 
 on the 21st of October, 1820; the numbers 
 reached the end of a volume on the 15 th of 
 December following, when the honeymoon of 
 periodical lucubration being over, the daily issue 
 dropped to three times a-week, and soon after 
 ceased. The wonder is how the little paper 
 lasted so long, supplied almost entirely by the 
 invention of a youth of twenty-one, who brought 
 no experience of men or manners to aid it, but 
 which, like the sculp tui'es in Christebelle, was 
 " all made out of the carver's brain." Lively 
 talent and quick sensibility gleam through its 
 pages, and would render the long-forgotten 
 volume in which they are collected very 
 agreeable to any traveller who might find it on 
 a rainy day, and would render it suggestive of
 
 14 PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 grave thought to any one who regards " the 
 first sprightly musings " of youthful talent with 
 anxious anticipation of " the dregs of waning 
 life." 
 
 The publishers, who joined Mr. Deacon in 
 this gallant and forlorn adv^enture, were Messrs. 
 Gold and Northouse, who had just started 
 into the " great trade" in that centre of 
 theatrical interest, Great Russell Street, Covent 
 Garden, and had boldly put forth a "London 
 Magazine" to rival that which, under the same 
 name, had recently been commenced by Mr. 
 Baldwin. Never, perhaps, did any periodical 
 begin with ampler resources than those which 
 Baldwin had secured — including Charles Lamb, 
 producing every month an " Essay of Elia" — 
 Hazlitt communicating his " Table Talk," rich 
 in golden thought, and gaily disporting in dra- 
 matic criticism — John Hamilton Reynolds light- 
 ing up various aspects of many-coloured life with 
 airy fancy — Barry Cornwall with his earnest 
 sweetness of thought and style — Darley thun- 
 dering on the modern Drama criticism so bold 
 and vigorous as might almost startle it into 
 new life — and the flaunting vivacity of one
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. 15 
 
 who then, under the signature of " James 
 Weathercock," luxuriated in artistic imperti- 
 nence, and whose terrible deeds have since in- 
 vested with frightful interest his true name of 
 Wainwright ; all being under the direction of 
 John Scott, a perfect model of an editor. 
 But the prospects of these contributors were 
 speedily saddened by the death of Scott, who 
 fell a victim to the most absurd of guilty 
 fashions applied to the most absurd use — a 
 duellist of a literary quarrel, in which the 
 gentleman by whose hand he fell had no share, 
 and who was connected with the dispute only 
 by the kindest and noblest affections. 
 
 This calamity gave to Messrs. Gold and 
 Northouse the semblance of an opening for 
 their " London Magazine ;" and they proceeded 
 to advertise it with vigour. Mr. Northouse, 
 the junior partner of the firm, a young man of 
 lively parts, and Mr. Deacon, were the chief 
 contributors to the Opposition's Magazine ; but 
 it did not long keep up a show of rivalry to 
 that of Paternoster Row; and Great Russell 
 Street has long forgotten it, and its energetic 
 publishers.
 
 16 PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 Wearied with the excitement of such a life 
 in London as these occupations denote, and 
 perhaps feeling his strength sinking beneath 
 them, Mr. Deacon sought retirement in South 
 Wales. He took a cottage in the beautiful 
 village of Llangadock ; fished in the pools, and 
 rambled over the mountains ; and read Horace 
 and Sophocles, and wrote when the fancy served. 
 From this retreat, in September, 1821, he 
 addressed Sir Walter Scott, personally a 
 stranger to him, but whose works he had 
 chiefly admired among those of contemporary 
 poets ; communicated to him his position ; and 
 besought his opinion of sketches and essays 
 which accompanied his letter, his advice for 
 the future, and an introduction to *' Black- 
 wood's Magazine." It will be seen from the 
 two following letters, which this communication 
 produced, with what prompt and considerate 
 kindness, the essays and fortunes of a young 
 stranger were regarded by the Mighty Minstrel 
 — not then known as the author of Waverley^ — 
 but engaged, at that time, in secret composition 
 of the great series of novels by which he has 
 enriched humanity.
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. 17 
 
 MR. SCOTT TO MR. DEACON. 
 
 " Sir, 
 " I received your packet only two days since, and 
 by this may apologize for any delay in reply, as it 
 happened to be addressed to my house in Edinburgh. 
 The favourable idea I am inclined to form of your 
 talents, from the specimen you have sent me, induces 
 me to regret much that I see no chance of my being 
 useful to you in the way you point at. I have no 
 connexion with Mr. Blackwood's Magazine in the way 
 of recommendation or otherwise, nor do I know by 
 whom it is conducted, unless it be by Mr. Blackwood 
 himself. I know him, however, sufficiently to send 
 him your productions, but I dare hardly augur any 
 very favourable result. London, the great mart of 
 literature, as of everything else, is the only place where 
 it is possible for a man to support himself by periodical 
 writings. In our country an editor can get so much 
 gratuitous and voluntary assistance, that he hardly 
 cares to be at the expense of maintaining a regular 
 corps of labourers. I shall be happy if Mr. Blackwood 
 makes a distinction in your favour, were it but to give 
 you some time to look round you, and to choose some 
 more steady mode of life than the chance of this 
 precarious mode of employment, which must necessarily 
 make your comforts, if not your existence, dependent 
 on the caprice of the public and tyranny of booksellers 
 and editors. 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 18 PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 " An expression of your letter leads me to think you 
 have in your option some commercial situation, which 
 you reject in consequence of your love for the Muses. 
 If this be so, let me conjure you to pause and to 
 recollect that independence, the only situation in which 
 man's faculties have full scope, and his mind full 
 enjoyment, can only be attained by considerable 
 sacrifices. The commencement of every profession is 
 necessarily dull and disagreeable to youths of lively 
 genius ; but every profession has its points of interest 
 when the mind comes to view it divested of its technical 
 details. I was as much disgusted with the introductory 
 studies of the law as you can be with those of commerce, 
 and it cost me many a bitter hour before I could bend 
 my mind to them. But I made a virtue of necessity, 
 and was in due time rewarded by finding that I could 
 very well unite my love of letters with my professional 
 duty, and that, set at ease on the score of providing 
 for my family, I had more respectability in the eyes 
 of the public, more freedom of intellect and sunshine of 
 mind than I could have had with all the uncertainty, 
 dependence and precarious provision which are the lot 
 of men of literature who have neither profession nor 
 private fortune. 
 
 " What you mention frankly of your irregularities at 
 College implies, I sincerely hope, the intention of 
 repressing all tendency to such eccentricities in future. 
 Take my advice, and carry your self-control a little 
 further. Keconcile yourself with your father, and 
 subdue your inclinations to his. Your road to literary
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. 19 
 
 distinction will be as easy from the counting-house as 
 from a Welsh valley, for the world does not ask where 
 but what a man writes. You will acquire a steady 
 income, and in all probability an honourable inde- 
 pendence, and when your head is grey, you may lay it 
 on a pillow made soft by your own industry, and by the 
 recollection that you have discharged the duty of a son, 
 by the sacrifice of a predominant taste to the will of 
 your parent. If I thought my own interference could 
 be likely to be of use, I have so much regard for your 
 situation as a young gentleman of talents who seems 
 too much disposed to give way to a generous but 
 irregular love of literature, and so much for that of 
 your father, whose feelings I can judge of by msiking 
 his case my own, that if you choose to give me a 
 direction and your permission, I would take the liberty 
 to write to your father and try to make up matters 
 betwixt you, an intrusion which my years and situation 
 might perhaps induce him to excuse. 
 
 '* Perhaps, Sir, I may have exceeded the hmits of the 
 sphere to which you meant me to limit my opinion in 
 offering it upon these points ; but you must hold the 
 intent, which is most sincerely kind, as an excuse, 
 
 " And believe me, Sir, 
 
 " Your well-wisher and humble servant, 
 
 (Signed) '* WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 " Abbotsford, near Melburn, N. B., 
 "Sept. 1821. 
 
 c 2
 
 20 PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 "P.S. Your proposal to go to South America I 
 cannot but consider as a circuitous and protracted mode of 
 suicide, rendered more guilty than the ordinary mode, 
 by the chance of your being engaged in some scenes 
 of violence to others before you become a victim 
 yourself." 
 
 MR. SCOTT TO MR. DEACON. 
 
 " Sir, 
 *' I am favoured with your letter, and although at all 
 times a slow and unwilling correspondent, I answer 
 it in course that I may entreat you to put the real 
 meaning on my former letter. So far as regards your 
 literary productions, I meant exactly what my words 
 express, and no more : delicacy is an excellent thing, 
 but sincerity from age to youth is much more valuable, 
 and I never allow the former to come in the way of the 
 last. I really think your sketches have indications of 
 very considerable talent ; a little immature, perhaps, 
 and formed too much upon the imitation of what has 
 made a just and natural impression on you, but such as, 
 if cultivated with patience and care, may attain to 
 excellence. This is my real opinion, and I am far from 
 desiring you to give up literature. On the contrary, 
 I would advise you strongly to persevere in the cultiva- 
 tion of your mind, for every step in knowledge, properly
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. 21 
 
 considered and well used, is, or should be, a step in 
 happiness. The mind is the garden in the fable, which 
 the old man bequeathed to his sons, intimating that 
 it contained a treasure. They brushed it with care, 
 and found neither gold nor silver, but were amply 
 rewarded by the crop which it produced. What I 
 warned you against was, considering literature as a 
 trade by which you proposed to hve, exclusive of other 
 exertions for your support. A more feverish and a 
 more miserable condition than that of writing at the 
 will of a bookseller, frittering away useful talents in 
 the hasty and crude attempts to provide for the passing 
 day, I cannot well conceive. On the other hand, he 
 who limits his expense within such bounds as a pro- 
 fessional income, however small, can afford him, is 
 independent both of the bookseller and the pubHc, and 
 may, if he has talents, by writing on what he likes and 
 when he likes, be the conjuror who commands the 
 devil instead of the witch who serves him. I am glad 
 you dispense with my sending your Essays to the 
 Magazine, as I think you may do something better. 
 Your time is now your own, honourably and fairly ; 
 so since your father does not insist on your entering 
 the counting-house, employ it to purpose. Avoid 
 dissipation as well of the mind as of the body, and 
 give your time manfully to study ; your character will 
 become firmer, and your views of life more sunny. 
 " It signifies perhaps little what study you choose ; 
 that to which your taste most addicts you, or for which 
 your situation affords the greatest faciUties, will of
 
 22 PREFATORY MEMOIR. . 
 
 course be most preferable. But do not throw away 
 hope, or discontinue exertion, because you do not at 
 once find yourself in the front rank of literature. Time, 
 labour, and above all attention to character, are all 
 necessary in our hard-working day to acquire any 
 position of celebrity ; and after all the public confers 
 it very capriciously. Yet, in my long experience, I 
 have seldom seen a man of real talent drop to leeward, 
 except through his own fault. 
 
 " I give you joy. Sir, of being at least partially 
 reconciled to your father ; time and your own estab- 
 lished character will (if you follow my advice) do the 
 rest, and I think it likely he will find some outlet in 
 life for you, for a father can seldom maintain his 
 resentment long where the cause of displeasure is 
 removed. In one word. Sir, take resolution and take 
 hope to your assistance. Do not think yourself a 
 blockhead, or sit down in inactivity because you have 
 met with a share of that ill-fortune in early youth of 
 which all men have a portion ere life's long day is 
 ended, 
 
 " And believe me. Sir, 
 
 " Your sincere friend and well-wisher, 
 (Signed) " WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 " Abbotsford, 
 
 " Sept. 31. 1821.'^
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. 23 
 
 *'P.S. I should not omit to return you my thanks 
 for having taken in good part what I felt it my duty 
 to say to you. This has not uniformly happened to me 
 in similar circumstances." 
 
 Mr. Deacon appreciated the wisdom and the 
 kindness of these letters as they deserved ; and 
 always spoke of Sir Walter (whom, I believe, 
 he never saw) with the most ardent gratitude ; 
 but he did not adopt the advice thus given, 
 so far as to transfer his attentions from literature 
 to commerce ; but the partial estrangement be- 
 tween his father and himself ceased as his 
 reputation as an author advanced, and indi- 
 cated his moral progress. 
 
 In 1822, he published a volume of clever 
 sketches of the manners and scenery of Wales, 
 under the title of " The Innkeeper's Album," 
 With, some profit and more applause ; and in 
 1824 produced a Httle volume entitled " War- 
 reniana," which met with much greater success. 
 It consists of a series of burlesque imitations 
 of the style of the most popular of the living 
 wTiters, inspired to sing the praises of Warren's 
 Blacking, with a mock debate in the House of 
 Commons on the same brilliant theme. A
 
 24 PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 few of the poetical imitations may rival some 
 of the " Rejected Addresses," and that of Mr. 
 Canning's most ornate style in the mock debate 
 is very happy ; while the imitations of Brougham 
 and some minor patriots have little resemblance 
 to the originals. This small volume, being 
 published by the house of Longman, appeared 
 with advantages which its predecessors wanted ; 
 it was favourably noticed by the principal reviews ; 
 and obtained a satisfactory sale. It was fol- 
 lowed by another collection of Essays and Tales, 
 entitled " November Nights, " which also 
 brought some profit and much praise to its 
 author. 
 
 On the death of his grandmother in 1829, 
 Mr. Deacon lost the annuity which had till 
 then assisted his literary eiforts, and was driven 
 to depend wholly upon them. He had then 
 returned to London ; and, being at first with- 
 out any regular engagement, endured the 
 vicissitudes attendant on such a position, 
 which at last induced him to accept the situa- 
 tion of assistant in a school at Dulwich. How 
 little suited a temperament like his to the 
 duties of such a position were, may be judged
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. 25 
 
 by those who recollect the catechetical inter- 
 rogatories administered to George Primrose, 
 when he purposed to obtain such an ushership, 
 and who are informed that Mr. Deacon des- 
 cribed the reality as corresponding to the 
 picture they suggest ; and he soon left it. 
 Fortunately however, he had become a cor- 
 respondent of the " Sun" newspaper ; and, 
 in the midst of his difficulties, formed a con- 
 nexion with that journal as the contributor 
 of its literary criticism, which continued till his 
 death, and gave him a substantial provision. By 
 the Proprietor of that newspaper, he was always 
 treated with considerate kindness ; he appreciated 
 Mr. Deacon's talents, and respected his feel- 
 ings even when they verged on fastidiousness ; 
 and to the constancy of that gentleman's esteem, 
 he principally owed the comfort of his life. 
 
 A certainty of employment was rendered 
 more essential to Mr. Deacon by his marriage 
 with a very estimable young lady, and the birth 
 of three children, to whom he was most fondly 
 attached, and the superintendence of whose 
 education was one of his chief pleasures. To 
 improve the income by which they were sup-
 
 •^ 26 PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 ported, and to make some provision for their 
 entrance into life, was his principal anxiety ; and 
 this induced him to make efforts sometimes 
 beyond his strength. Besides his regular 
 engagement with the " Sun," he contributed 
 largely to '* Blackwood's Magazine," frequently 
 in a series of papers, one of which, " The Pic- 
 ture Gallery," was continued at intervals in 
 1837, 1838 and 1839, with the approbation 
 of its richly gifted Editor, Professor Wilson. 
 In 1835, he published a humorous tale, in two 
 volumes, under the title of " The Exile of Erin, 
 or the Sorrows of a Bashful Irishman," a plea- 
 sant history of an Irish Gil Bias, with some 
 satirical notices of prominent Irish patriots, 
 somewhat extravagant, but wholly untinged by 
 ill-nature. There is a description of an Irish 
 trial, which leads to the transportation of the 
 hero, in which a vivid caricature of O'Connell 
 is given, extremely amusing but extremely un- 
 just ; for the great Agitator is represented as 
 taking the occasion of defending the prisoner 
 on a charge of felony, to defy the presiding 
 judge, and to declaim on the VvTongs of 
 Ireland, woefully to the prejudice of the
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. 2? 
 
 client's chance of acquittal. This was quite a 
 mistake ; whatever were the demerits of Mr. 
 O'Connell's agitations, he was always most dis- 
 creet and faithful as an advocate, bringing all 
 his marvellous power over the sympathies of 
 men to aid his client's cause, but never risking 
 it by an allusion to any topic which would not 
 aid him. This w^ork received great praise from 
 all critical quarters in which it was noticed ; 
 sold well ; and was republished in America, where 
 it was largely bought, to the fame, but of course 
 not to the profit, of the author. 
 
 Although Mr. Deacon's talents, thus devoted 
 solely to literature, were not rewarded by afflu- 
 ence, I do not think his history can be quoted 
 as an example of the justice of those large and 
 general w^arnings which have often been put 
 forth against its adoption as a means of sub- 
 sistence. Having regard to his delicate health 
 and excitable temperament, I doubt whether he 
 would have attained greater honour or enjoyed 
 more happiness, or left his family in better 
 fortune, if he had taken any other path of life. 
 Constant confinement to the labours of the desk 
 W'ould have probably led to an earlier develop- 
 ment of the seeds of disease ; and shut from
 
 28 PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 the Church by an honest consciousness that he 
 had no mission for Her holy offices, without 
 stamina for the labours of the bar, or nerve for 
 the study and practice of medicine, he could 
 scarcely have obtained so comfortable a liveli- 
 hood by any other course. He lived for many 
 years in a pleasant cottage in Malvern Terrace, 
 Islington, in the unobtrusive enjoyment of inde- 
 pendence produced by honourable labour ; and 
 although some three weeks' visit with his wife 
 and children to the sea-side, in the autumn, was 
 the only holiday in which he indulged, he 
 enjoyed it with great relish. 
 
 Reviewing his course, I venture to suggest that 
 lamentations over the miseries of a literary life, 
 though often individually true in regard to the 
 persons who make them, and wisely anticipated 
 by Sir Walter Scott in the circumstances sub- 
 mitted to him, are not just in general application. 
 They are often produced by one of tw^o causes : 
 the peculiar temptations which the bright aspects 
 of literature hold out to persons wholly destitute 
 of requisite taste to embrace it, and the selfish 
 improvidence of others, who lay on literature 
 the blame of indiscretion, which would have 
 produced equal calamity in any other depart-
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. 29 
 
 ment of society, without the same means of 
 awakening sympathy. 
 
 Every one whose situation has enabled him 
 to judge of the quahtieations of the multitude of 
 young men who, believing themselves to be 
 endowed with extraordinary talent, desire the 
 opportunity of emerging from the ranks in Hfe 
 to which Providence has called them, in order 
 that they may 'witch the world with noble 
 authorship, has been surprised to tind how 
 rarely any gleam of an original vein is discern- 
 ible in the carefully copied specimens on wliich 
 his judgment is prayed, and hnw often they 
 arc destitute even of meaning and grammar. 
 He will find, perhaps, a comedy in five acts, 
 with a prologue and epilogue, ready for repre- 
 sentation, and a cast of characters complete for 
 one of the theatres (in which the unhappy 
 reader is surmised to have influence), consisting 
 of ordinary dialogue, without an attempt at 
 wit, and illumined only by puns, " few and 
 far between." Or his advice will be solicited 
 as to the disposal of a tragedy, which the 
 author supposes he has written in blank verse, 
 because he has commenced each line with a
 
 30 PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 capital letter, but obviously without even knowing 
 the number of syllables which that easiest mode 
 of composition usually requires. 
 
 These are extreme, though not very unusual 
 cases ; but the instances in which a mere facility 
 of rhyming is mistaken for the poetic faculty 
 abound ; and each aspirant is ready, with the 
 slightest encouragement, and sometimes with- 
 out any, to enter on a literary life. There is, 
 no doubt, a period in youth when the common 
 poetry of our nature is busy within us all, and 
 when it is no ignoble error to mistake the new- 
 born love of excellence for the power of pro- 
 ducing it ; which may account for the ambition 
 of many aspirants after literary distinction ; but 
 still the mistake of many is a perplexing riddle. 
 
 Now if these temptations induce persons, 
 wholly unqualified, to rush into print, and 
 the result is neglect and misery, their disasters 
 supply no proof that literature, adopted by 
 persons endowed with reasonable ability, and 
 pursued in the proper line with steadiness, is 
 necessarily a desperate profession. Still less 
 are the misfortunes which improvidence brings 
 on individuals who have succeeded in obtaining
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. 31 
 
 a share of the public favour, proof of the gene- 
 ral charge they advance. Their difficulties are 
 not peculiar to the author's calling, and would 
 have awaited them in any other. If a man, 
 in any department of life, spends more than 
 he earns, he must soon be immersed in embar- 
 rassment ; and if he spends all that he earns, 
 and dies in the prime of life, he must leave 
 his family destitute ; these are not the inci- 
 dents of literature, but belong equally to all 
 who have to carve out their own fortunes. 
 It is a hard thing, even for a prudent man, 
 who marries without fortune, and attains a 
 moderate income by successful industry, to 
 make any provision for his family, unless he 
 is spared to be old ; and the children of a 
 literary man, who is stricken in the midst of 
 life, only share a common lot. In one respect, 
 men who, even without the highest genius, 
 pursue the work of literature with industry and 
 honour, have a just advantage over labourers 
 in other professions when misfortune overtakes 
 them, that they have a claim on the society 
 which their works have gladdened or instructed, 
 like that which belongs to personal friendship.
 
 3*2 PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 I do not, therefore, think that my lively school- 
 fellow made a bad choice when he devoted 
 himself to the press ; or that his efforts were 
 ill-requited by fortune. If his health had been 
 stronger, I believe he would, even at the age 
 when he died, have acquired a fair provision 
 for his widow and children. What he could 
 do he did — he provided for their comfort while 
 able to work — and conscientiously abstained 
 from touching a little fund which would have 
 contributed to his ease. A legacy of a few 
 hundred pounds in the funds, which fell to 
 Mr. Deacon some years before his death, and 
 which he might have applied in obtaining 
 repose and change of scene, he scrupulously 
 maintained entire ; and very slender as it was 
 as a provision, the sense that he was about to 
 leave it unbroken, with the hope that the 
 work now submitted to the world would in- 
 crease it, consoled him in his last illness. 
 
 The delicacy of Mr. Deacon's health, and the 
 modesty of his nature, induced him generally to 
 abstain from society in his latter years. I was 
 one of the very few old friends whom he 
 visited; and succeeded, much less rarely than
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. 33 
 
 I wished, in drawing him from his study. 
 When in the society of those to whom he was 
 attached, however, he was as gay and lively as 
 in his first glow of youthful success ; and took a 
 deep and unenvying interest in the progress of 
 his early friends. After a rapid decline of six 
 weeks, he died on the 18th of March, 1845, at 
 his house in Malvern Terrace, surrounded by his 
 family, in the forty-sixth year of his age. 
 
 The following just tribute to his memory 
 was paid the next day by the "Sun" newspaper, 
 with which he had been so long connected : 
 
 " Mr. Deacon's death will be a great loss to 
 the literature of the day. He was a distin- 
 guished writer in some of our best periodicals, 
 well known to the first literary characters of the 
 age, and admired as a chaste and elegant 
 scholar ; well acquainted with the writings of 
 the ancients, and not sui-passed by any in his 
 intimate knowledge of the remarkable works 
 which have issued from the press during 
 the present century. His judgment and taste 
 as a critic were never surpassed ; he was just, 
 but rarely severe ; he felt the difficulty of 
 writing, made allowance for the faults and 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 defects of others ; was always happy when he 
 could praise, and more distressed perhaps than 
 the author himself whom he was compelled to 
 blame. He was employed for nearly twenty 
 years on the " Sun" newspaper. We have, 
 therefore, had reason to know him well ; and w^e 
 willingly pay this tribute to his memory." 
 
 The " Morning Chronicle" of the next day, 
 after quoting this paragraph from the " Sun," 
 added : 
 
 " Let us add, having known Mr. Deacon 
 intimately, that he was more than a tasteful 
 critic, an accomplished scholar, and an ele- 
 gant writer — he was all these — but he was 
 also a high-minded gentleman, a kind hus- 
 band, and an anxious parent." 
 
 With the exception of the following work, 
 which was composed at such intervals as urgent 
 duties allowed, Mr. Deacon's writings of late 
 years were chiefly critical. His early tales and 
 sketches have remarkable vivacity ; they almost 
 always commence admirably, but are not so 
 often worked out with sustained vigour, and are 
 sometimes hurried towards the close, as if the 
 author were eager " for fresh fields and pastures
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. 35 
 
 new." His criticisms are replete with beauty and 
 truth — written with apparent rapidity and ease, 
 but with unfailing elegance — resembling in 
 variety of illustration and graceful copiousness 
 of language those of the prince of critics, 
 Jeffrey. Scattered through the numbers of a 
 daily journal, and often applied to subjects 
 long forgotten, they have shared the fate, from 
 which such essays, however brilliant, are rarely 
 exempted, and have passed beyond hope of 
 revival. It will be satisfactory to his few 
 surviving friends if this work, constructed on 
 a wider basis, should, by its success, pro- 
 mise a Ion O'er duration to his fame than that 
 which it will hold, while they shall remain, 
 among their most affectionate recollections. 
 
 T. N. T. 
 
 LONDOX, 1852. 
 
 D 2
 
 ANNETTE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The great French Revolution of 1789 which 
 was hailed with such enthusiasm by the larger 
 portion of the people labouring under the 
 manifold oppressions of the feudal system, 
 caused — at least in its earlier stages — but little 
 excitement in the rude, sequestered district of 
 La Vendee. There, feudalism had never dis- 
 played itself in an oppressive form, for the 
 nobles and principal landowners hved among 
 their tenantry and peasantry, like fathers among 
 their children; exhibiting neither pride nor
 
 38 ANNETTE. 
 
 ostentation, indulging in no other luxury than 
 that of hospitality, and in no other amusement 
 than the chase, to which they were passionately 
 addicted, and in which their dependents were 
 allowed to share equally with themselves. 
 
 In the hest sense of the term, the feudal 
 lord, or Seigneur, as he was called, was a 
 father and a friend to those over whom he w^as 
 placed in authority. He held constant and 
 familiar intercourse with them ; counselled them 
 in their little domestic matters ; acted as their 
 lawyer, and occasionally even as their physician ; 
 shared in their agricultural losses as well as 
 their gains ; attended at their weddings, where 
 it was his wont to give away the bride ; and on 
 Sundays and holidays, and more especially on 
 his hunting expeditions, which, singularly 
 enough, were always announced by the Cure 
 from the pulpit, he assembled as many of his 
 retainers as he could accommodate in his 
 chateau, where the members of his family 
 mingled with them, dancing with them in the 
 barn or court-yard, according to the season ; and 
 the day was wound up by merry, and not 
 seldom boisterous, festivities.
 
 ANNETTE. 39 
 
 Of the luxurious habits and fashions of the 
 capital, the Seigneur was not unfrequently 
 wholly ignorant. In early youth, perhaps, he 
 might have visited Paris, joined in the courtly 
 society of his peers, and made his bow at Ver- 
 sailles and the Tuileries ; but in after life he 
 w^as as closelv wedded to his home as a Higfh- 
 land chieftain of the old school, living in a style 
 of simplicity, and even homcHness, which had 
 long disappeared from every other quarter of 
 the kingdom. His famUy estate had no orna- 
 mented park, trim gardens, or architectural 
 embellishments to boast of; but, generally 
 speaking, was nothing more than a clumsy, old- 
 fashioned chateau, surrounded with orchards, 
 farm-houses and cottages for the household 
 labourers. 
 
 Like the English squire of the days of 
 George III., the Vendean Seigneur was fond of 
 the generous stimulus supplied by the wine-cup ; 
 he seldom, however, drank to excess ; and 
 though frank and bluff in manner, had none of 
 that revolting coarseness so common among 
 our provincial gentry of the last century. In 
 his notions of loyalty he was as enthusiastic as
 
 40 ANNETTE. 
 
 he was disinterested. The monarch was, in his 
 eyes, a being holding a place midway between 
 man and the Deity, whose behests, be they 
 what they might, must be obeyed at all hazards; 
 and this sentiment of mingled duty and 
 reverence he diligently impressed on his family 
 and dependents. It was to these Vendean 
 nobles that the unhappy Louis XVI. looked for 
 help, when, after the death of Mirabeau and 
 the emigration of a great portion of the aris- 
 tocracy, he found himself, like Sampson, 
 " shorn of all his strength." 
 
 The peasantry of La Vendee partook of the 
 character of their Seigneurs, with this marked 
 difference however, that they were strangely 
 alive to superstitious influences, and had great 
 faith in miracles. When the effects of the 
 Revolution reached them, and the flames of civil 
 war were lighted up throughout the province, 
 this credulity, aggravated by the cruel suffer- 
 ings they were constantly compelled to undergo, 
 was carried to a degree bordering on madness. 
 
 The chief occupation of this iTide and simple 
 people, at the time when our story opens, was 
 agriculture, and their favourite amusement the
 
 ANNETTE. 41 
 
 wolf, the boar, or the stag-hunt, in which, as 
 has been already observ^ed, they joined on equal 
 terms with their Seigneurs. Sir Walter Scott 
 has observed that there are historical grounds 
 for supposing that the Vendeans are descended 
 from tlie Huns, Vandals, and Picts, who sub- 
 dued the western parts of France, adding that 
 *' their form and complexion support this 
 opinion, giving strong indications that they are 
 neither of Gallic nor Frank descent." They 
 are indeed — or rather were — particularly dis- 
 tinguished from the rest of their countrymen 
 by their dislike of all innovations, their taciturn 
 habits, and more especially by their love of 
 drinking, w4iich, says a writer who knew them 
 well, " was the sin that most easily beset them." 
 As a body, they were undoubtedly the happiest 
 and most contented of the French peasantry, 
 for there were no odious nor unequal taxes to 
 engender jealousies and heart-burnings among 
 them; and accordingly their nobles had no 
 sooner summoned them to take up arms in 
 defence of the monarchy, after the famous 
 10th of August, than they obeyed with a 
 readiness and unanimity which showed that 
 they considered the cause their own.
 
 42 ANNETTE. 
 
 One great reason of the .ignorance and sim- 
 plicity of these people, was the utter absence of 
 large cities and trading towns in La Vendee. 
 Even the most populous of the latter seldom 
 contained more than two thousand inhabitants ; 
 and the villages were little better than a rude 
 cluster of some five or six farm-houses, and 
 about as many cottages, which stood at a con- 
 siderable distance from each other. Nantes was 
 looked on as the capital of the province ; but it 
 was situated on its very edge, and was chiefly 
 resorted to by those who lived in the neighbour- 
 hood, and who consequently were a more busy 
 and civilized class than those who dwelt in the 
 interior. Among these last, news circulated but 
 slowly, for rarely did the traveller find his way 
 to their more secluded towns and villages, the 
 facilities of communication being few, only one 
 great road traversing the country — that, namely, 
 from Nantes to Rochelle. 
 
 As regards the external appearance of La 
 Vendee, its surface may be said to consist of a 
 series of low hills and narrow winding valleys, 
 watered by innumerable streams. It abounds 
 in woods and thickets — whence it has been 
 called the Bocage — and contains one or two
 
 ANNETTE. 43 
 
 forests, which afford- excellent opportunities for 
 boar-hunting. The ground is mostly in pas- 
 turage, being but indifferently adapted to the 
 plough, and it is divided into small enclosures, 
 each of which is surrounded by tall luxuriant 
 hedges. The cross-roads, which are numerous, 
 and in winter serve as channels for torrents, are 
 sadly perplexing to those unacquainted with the 
 country, for they cross each other at the end of 
 almost every field, and wind in so capricious, 
 and labyrinthine a manner, among the hills and 
 through the valleys, that even the natives, says 
 M. de Bournissaux, are apt to miss the track 
 when they venture to any distance from their 
 own dwellings. 
 
 Such was La Vendee, which half a century 
 ago was scarcely even known to us by name, 
 and such the character of its Seigneurs and 
 peasantry, at the period to which the present tale 
 refers. Of late years, and more particularly 
 since the restoration of the Bourbons, great 
 changes have taken place, both in the aspect of 
 the country, and the physical and moral con- 
 dition of its inhabitants. New roads have been 
 made, and canals and bridges formed, for the
 
 44 ANNETTE. 
 
 purpose of facilitating communication ; habits 
 more in unison with those of the rest of France, 
 have been introduced ; the religious spirit of the 
 people has lost much of its wild fanatical 
 character ; and few could recognise in the 
 lively sagacious Vendean of 1840, the stern 
 grave, undaunted enthusiast of 1793. From 
 the above brief sketch, the reader will be better 
 able to understand what follows.
 
 ANNETTE. 45 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 It was towards the close of a warm day in 
 the May of 1791, that two French horsemen 
 arrived at a small village in the province of La 
 Vendee, and one of them dismounting at the 
 nearest dwelling that presented itself, which was 
 a pretty farm-house, little, if at all, superior to a 
 Welch cottage, with an odd flat tile roof, 
 inquired of a young peasant who chanced to 
 he standing at the door, cleaning his musket, 
 which was the nearest road to the chateau of 
 the Marquis de Chatillon. The reply was by 
 no means encouraging, for it was to the effect 
 that the chateau was full four leagues off, and 
 that to travellers unaccustomed to the country 
 the way was very difficult to find.
 
 46 ' ANNETTE. 
 
 " Four leagues !" exclaimed the stranger who 
 had put the question, and who, though dressed 
 in the plain attire of a private gentleman, had 
 quite a military air and bearing, "we shall 
 never get there to night with these horses. 
 Harkee, my good fellow," he continued, ad- 
 dressing the peasant, who stood eyeing him with 
 mingled respect and curiosity, " can we be fur- 
 nished with fresh horses in this out-of-the-way 
 village of yours ?" 
 
 " I don't think, Monseigneur," was the 
 answer, " that there are any to be had nearer 
 than the next village, which is a league to the 
 northward, out of your line of road. But if 
 you'll come in, and wait a short time, I'll take 
 the horses round to the shed, and after they've 
 had some food and rest no doubt they'll do the 
 distance." 
 
 This proposal was acceded to, and the first 
 spokesman making a sign to his companion to 
 alight and follow him, went into the farm-house, 
 while the peasant led the jaded animals round 
 to a cattle-shed which stood in the rear of the 
 house. 
 
 An elderly female who had been standing in
 
 ANNETTE. 47 
 
 the door-way- listening to this conversation, met 
 the travellers on their entrance, and ushered 
 thenn with simple and ready courtesy into a 
 large kitchen, near the window of w^hich sate a 
 pretty, coquettish looking girl; neatly attired in 
 a white cap edged with hlack, that set off her 
 face to great advantage, and a hrilliant scarlet 
 handkerchief carelessly thrown over her bosom, 
 below which appeared a small jet cross, sus- 
 pended from a ribbon that encircled her neck. 
 As the strangers came in, she just rose to make 
 them an obeisance, and then quietly resumed 
 her work, which was spinning coarse flax. 
 
 When the travellers had seated themselves, 
 the elder of the two females, taking for granted 
 that they stood as much in need of refresh- 
 ment as their horses, began busthng about 
 with great eagerness ; and in a few minutes 
 drew a table towards them, on which she placed 
 some dried fruits, bread, cheese, and a jug 
 of thin sour wine. Their appetites, sharpened 
 by a long ride, were by no means fastidious, 
 and they set to at these homely viands with 
 infinite good will; while, every now and then, 
 the horseman whom I have already noticed
 
 48 ANNETTE. 
 
 as wearing the aspect of a soldier of rank, kept 
 pacing compliments to the rosy little damsel by 
 the window, ^vhich caused her to blush and 
 smile in a way that showed she was not alto- 
 gether displeased. 
 
 " Aye, she is a good girl," said the unsophis- 
 ticated old dame, patting her fondly on the 
 head, " and deserves all the kind words that 
 can be bestowed on her : and she's going to be 
 man'ied next week," a remark which caused 
 the gii'l to hang her head, and ply her wheel 
 ^^^th more activity than ever. 
 
 " And the happy bridegroom, I presume, is 
 the young man who has just left us," observed 
 the first speaker. 
 
 " Yes, he is Jeannette's cousin : it will be a 
 merry" affair, won't it, Jeannette?" 
 
 " No doubt, dame ; and you, I'll answer for 
 it, will be among the merriest of the party." 
 
 " I hope so, for Fve no cause to complain. 
 The Seigneur behaves kindly to us, and our 
 grass lands seldom fail, though this year the 
 drought has somewhat injm-ed them ; but it will 
 be better next year. And so you're going to 
 the chateau ?"
 
 ANNETTE. 49 
 
 " You know the Marquis, then ?" inqmred 
 the traveller. 
 
 " Know him !" answered the loquacious old 
 lady, "do I know myself ? Do I know little 
 Jeannette here, who has lived vvith me ever since 
 she was a child? Sure, every one in the 
 Bocage knows the Marquis ; and we all love 
 him, too, and would gladly lay down our lives 
 for him, which is but right, seeing that he is 
 our lawful Seigneur." 
 
 While this conversation was going forward, 
 an amusing interlude was being played by the 
 other horseman, who had not yet opened his 
 mouth, except to discuss his meal, and the 
 pretty arch peasant-girl, The former made 
 many efforts to catch her eye, by nods, winks, 
 and sundry significant gestures; but his vir- 
 tuous endeavours were unavailing, for though 
 Jeannette, with the quick tact of womanhood, 
 at once fathomed his meaning, she looked most 
 provokingly unconconscious, so much to his 
 annoyance, that shifting his seat with a glance 
 of huge disdain, he at length fairly turned his 
 back on her, a movement which occasioned her 
 no little secret diversion. 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 ANNETTE. 
 
 The young farmer here entered the room, 
 with intelligence that the horses had been well 
 looked to, and that now, after an hour's rest, he 
 thought they might venture to continue their 
 journey. 
 
 The travellers rose at this intimation, and 
 bidding adieu to Jeannette and their hostess, 
 who declined with an unaffected air, not devoid 
 of dignity, the money which one of them 
 pressed upon her, resumed their route ; having 
 received such directions as would enable them 
 to keep in the right track until they reached the 
 next village, where they were told they would 
 be again compelled to halt and make inquiries. 
 
 The two strangers whom I have thus abruptly 
 introduced to my readers' notice, were the Count 
 de Sevrac, an officer attached to the body- 
 guard of Louis XVI, and his confidential valet, 
 Jacques — a dapper, lively, talkative, young 
 fellow, as self-conceited as a Parisian domestic 
 is apt to be, and fond of boasting of his influence 
 with the fair sex. But, despite this weakness 
 of character, he had a kindly heart, which, com- 
 bined with his ready address, and the fact of his 
 having been in the Count's family ever since he
 
 ANNETTE. 51 
 
 was a boy, made him a favourite with his mas- 
 ter, who allowed him greater freedom of speech 
 than he would have done under ordinary cir- 
 cumstances. Two feelings held nearly equal 
 sway over Jacques's mind. One was his attach- 
 ment to the Count — the other, his sympathy 
 with the revolutionary changes in progress 
 throughout France. And, indeed, the period 
 was one which might well have called forth his 
 most sanguine expectations, for the " fierce 
 democracy" were fully awakened to a conscious- 
 ness of their growing power, and the aristocracy, 
 alarmed by the popular tokens of dislike to their 
 order, which daily became more unequivocal, 
 had, in a great degree — those at least among 
 them who had not yet emigrated — laid asiae 
 their pompous style of living; and whether sta- 
 tionary in the capital, or joiu'neying in the pro- 
 vinces, had adopted the manners, together with 
 the exterior, of the middle, and sometimes even 
 of the lower classes. 
 
 " Well, Jacques," observed the Count, as 
 they pursued their way at a brisk trot through 
 the stragghng village, " I think you will now 
 admit that I was light in coming by the dili- 
 
 E 2 
 
 l^M/VEnsfTV OF
 
 52 ANNETTE. 
 
 gence as far as Nantes. Had we taken horse 
 from Paris, as you suggested, or travelled in my 
 own carriage, we should scarcely have gone ten 
 miles in safety. Did you not hear the hoarse 
 rabble-shouts that rose about us at every town 
 we passed through, of Vivent les Sans-Cu- 
 lottes ? Ah, Jacques, the days are gone by, I 
 fear for ever, when a French nobleman could 
 show himself as such in public. There was but 
 one man, Mirabeau, who could have saved us ; 
 and he is dead. But why do I speak of these 
 things to you ? you can have no great interest 
 in them." 
 
 " Monsieur le Comte is right," repKed the 
 valet, with an air of assumed deference, "it is 
 not for one like me to worry my poor brain 
 about public affairs." 
 
 " Well said, Jacques," rejoined his master 
 with a smile ; " that is the most sensible re- 
 mark you have made since we left Paris." 
 
 Thus encouraged, the valet resumed more 
 familiarly, " Perhaps Monseigneur will allow me 
 to ask him why he has quitted Paris for a bar- 
 barous country like this, at a time when his 
 Majesty, as I have heard, has need of all his
 
 ANNETTE. 53 
 
 friends ?" for Jacques had quitted the hustle and 
 gaiety of the capital with much regret, and was, 
 besides, bursting with curiosity. 
 
 " Ask me nothing," replied the Count sternly, 
 " but confine yourself to your own duties ; 
 enough that it was my pleasure to quit Paris, 
 and bid you accompany me." 
 
 A long silence followed this rebuke, during 
 which the horsemen had pushed through the 
 village and were entering upon a grassy plain 
 of small extent, at the further end of which was 
 a range of low, green hills, one or two of which 
 appeared crowned with the ruins of castles. A 
 narrow strip of road, of the most primitive for- 
 mation, ran right through the centre of this 
 level space, and in some places where the soil 
 was rather marshy, trunks and branches of trees 
 had been laid across it, and the interstices filled 
 up by stones, clay, and masses of turf, by way 
 of giving it solidity. The travellers followed its 
 course, their horses frequently stumbling as they 
 proceeded, till they reached the base of the high 
 lands, where the road to all appearance termi- 
 nated, and left them in no little perplexity. As, 
 however, they had been told to keep in as
 
 54 ANNETTE. 
 
 Straight a line as possible, they ascended the 
 hill, which was thickly clothed with short, fresh 
 grasses, and on reaching the summit and look- 
 ing about them, they discovered another small 
 path, which led them down into the midst of a 
 cluster of fields, each of which was enclosed with 
 hedges. In the distance were seen thick, dark 
 woods, amidst which peeped forth, here and 
 there, the flat tile-roof of a farm-house, a white, 
 naked cliff, or the steeple of some village church 
 gleaming brightly in the evening sun. 
 
 " A strange, wild neighbourhood, this," said 
 the Count de Sevrac, "one could scarcely sup- 
 pose oneself travelling in France." 
 
 "True," replied his valet, shrugging his 
 shoulders, and looking unutterable things ; " but 
 what could Monseigneur expect from a country 
 where the ladies — as we saw just before we 
 entered the village — ride about in carriages 
 drawn by oxen, and stare at us as if we were 
 wild beasts ? They are little better than savages, 
 and I dare say, never so much as heard of 
 Paris ! There was that poor, ignorant creature^ 
 Jeannette, as they called her at the farm-house, 
 would you believe it, when I civilly wished her
 
 ANNETTE. 55 
 
 good night, she looked as puzzled as if I were 
 speaking in a foreign language." 
 
 This was said in pique, for Jacques had not 
 yet forgotten or forgiven the wound inflicted 
 on his vanity by Jeannette's refusal to take the 
 slightest notice of him. 
 
 " She is a pretty, modest girl, and I will not 
 have her found fault with. Remember," added 
 the Count gravely, *' you arc not now in Paris, 
 and must suit your behaviour — especially to 
 wards the women — accordingly." 
 
 " I will observe what you say," replied the 
 valet, for he was well aware that, although his 
 master in general allowed him great latitude, 
 there were points on which he exacted from him 
 the strictest obedience. 
 
 " Yes, Jacques," resumed the Count de 
 Sevrac, "it is my pleasure that you conduct 
 yourself quietly and decorously while you remain 
 with me in La Vendee. In no other part of 
 France have I met with such kindness and 
 courtesy, as I have experienced since we entered 
 the Bocage. Did you mark the difference of 
 manner among the people after we left Nantes 
 this morning ? I did, and was agreeably sur- 
 prised by the change."
 
 56 ANNETTE. 
 
 " A change, indeed, Monseigneur ! They 
 don't talk, or dress, or look, or act like French- 
 men. But it all comes of their living so far 
 from Paris — and to harness oxen to their 
 coaches too ! Who would have believed such a 
 thing possible in France ?" 
 
 " Monstrous !" replied the Count, good- 
 humouredly, " yet there was a day, Jacques, 
 when you first entered into my service, at 
 Rheims, when you knew quite as little about 
 Paris as these poor people." 
 
 " Very true," rejoined the valet, pertly, " but 
 for all that, I never thought of making an ox 
 do the duty of a horse, which is going quite 
 against the nature of things. I was not so 
 ignorant as that, I hope." 
 
 While they were thus conversing, evening stole 
 on, the bright orange sky of the west had faded 
 to a leaden tint, and the breeze, which had been 
 languid all day, began to freshen, and sweep 
 before it large, watery masses of clouds. In- 
 stinctively the travellers quickened their pace, 
 in the hope of reaching some house or village 
 where they might make further enquiries, or be 
 furnished with a guide to the chateau, before 
 darkness should settle down on earth. But no
 
 ANNETTE. 5? 
 
 signs of a habitation appeared ; the fields, too, 
 which stretched away far and wide on either 
 side of them, were deserted, the labourers having 
 all concluded their out-of-door w^ork for the day, 
 so that they had no other resource than to per- 
 severe in their present course and follow the 
 windings of a rugged cross-road, worn in a soft, 
 clayey soil, between rows of pollards and high 
 hedges which, in places, turned an untrained 
 arch above their heads. 
 
 Having toiled a considerable time along this 
 execrable apology for a road, across which lay 
 numerous shallow pools, they came to a spot 
 where it sloped by a gradual descent into a 
 secluded hollow, whence two other roads 
 branched off right and left. Here the Count 
 halted, till his servant, who was some yards in 
 the rear, his horse being encumbered with the 
 weight of a heavy valise wiiich was strapped 
 on behind him to the saddle, should come up ; 
 when, after consulting together for a few 
 minutes, they decided on taking the left-hand 
 road, as looking more like a beaten track ; but 
 so frequent and puzzling were its sharp, angular 
 turns that, as they jogged along, they more than
 
 58 ANNETTE. 
 
 once debated the propriety of making their way 
 back to the village. 
 
 To add to their embarrassment, twilight fell 
 around them, clothing all things in its dim, 
 grey mantle. Soon afterwards, a few heavy 
 drops began pattering on the leaves and 
 branches on either side of them, and hardly 
 had they got under shelter in a place where the 
 tall spreading trees grew thickest above their 
 heads, when down came the rain, hissing and 
 spluttering so viciously, as threatened to break 
 through their leafy roof and drench them to the 
 skin. Fortunately, in about a quarter of an 
 hour the shower abated as suddenly as it had 
 commenced, and they got ready to move on 
 again, and had advanced about a hundred yards, 
 when, at a fresh bend of the road, they met a 
 man who was journeying on horseback to the 
 village they had so lately quitted. 
 
 " Halloo, friend," exclaimed the Count, halt- 
 ing, as did also the person to whom this was 
 addressed, " can you tell me whether I am in 
 the right road to the Chateau de Chatillon ?" 
 
 " Yes ; but you are some distance off it yet," 
 replied the countryman.
 
 ANNETTE. 59 
 
 " Some distance ! How far ?" 
 
 " Between three and four leagues." 
 
 " Impossible ! We were told nearly the same 
 at the last village, and we have ridden at least 
 two leagues since then." 
 
 It is astonishing how one's road makes a 
 point of lengthening, as if from sheer spite, 
 when one is tired, and anxious to come to an 
 end of one's journey. The last individual of 
 whom a belated traveller makes inquiries, inva- 
 riably gives the same, or nearly the same, answer 
 as to distance, as that given by the preceding 
 one, so that the further we go, the further we 
 still appear to have to go. 
 
 " Is there any house or village near us," re- 
 sumed the Count de Sevrac, " where w^e can 
 procure the services of a guide ?" 
 
 " Lavalliere is nearly a league further on," 
 was the reply, " and there you will be sure to 
 find some one who will show you the way to the 
 chateau." 
 
 " But how to get there, is the question. Are 
 we to foUow the windings of this zig-zag bye- 
 path ?" 
 
 " Yes ; until you come to where it branches 
 off in three directions — "
 
 60 ANNETTE. 
 
 " Three directions — Diable !" muttered Jac- 
 ques between his teeth. 
 
 "You must then take that turn," continued 
 the man, " which inclines most to the left, and 
 which will lead you through the wood to La- 
 valliere. Good night, Messieurs." 
 
 " Lead us through the wood 1" exclaimed 
 Jacques, pettishly, as the countryman trotted off, 
 " that's easy enough said ; but when once we've 
 got into this cursed wood, how are we to get 
 out of it again." 
 
 " There may be some difficulty, I grant," 
 observed his master, " but we must do our best ; 
 so push forward, Jacques, we have not a mo- 
 ment to lose." 
 
 Again they set forward, but only to encounter 
 fresh difficulties, for it was now quite dark, the 
 moon not having yet risen ; and their horses 
 kept stumbling incessantly from fatigue as well 
 as from the rugged nature of the road, which 
 was here soft and yielding, and there, as hard 
 as if fashioned out of granite. The Count 
 moved on in silence, every now and then jost- 
 ling up against some projecting branch of elm 
 or pollard ; while his servant, by way of keep- 
 ing up his spirits, hummed the butt-end of an
 
 ANxNETTE. 61 
 
 opera tune which he had heard in Paris. Sud- 
 denly he stopped short in the midst of a scien- 
 tific quaver, and his master, who was by his side, 
 hearing a crash, accompanied by a fall, as of 
 some heavy substance, called out, " Jacques, is 
 that you ?" 
 
 A faint, querulous voice replied in the 
 affirmative. 
 
 " Where are you ?" 
 
 " Here, at the bottom of a ditch ; a branch 
 of a tree caught me in front, and knocked me 
 off my horse in an instant. Sacre ! diable !" 
 
 " Well, get up — get up," rejoined the Count, 
 who could not refrain from laughing at his 
 valet's ridiculous mishap. 
 
 " I wish I could ; but I am stuck full- 
 length, and as fast as wax in this slush," and he 
 made one or two desperate efforts to rise, but 
 the soft, rich mud had sucked him in so 
 effectually, that not until his companion had 
 dismounted to his assistance, could he get upon 
 his legs again. 
 
 The next step was to find the horse, which 
 was easily done, for the jaded animal was 
 standing quietly by the road-side ; and having
 
 6-2 ANNETTE. 
 
 got into their saddles again, the Count desired 
 Jacques, who was giving vent to his feelings in 
 a brisk volley of execrations, to keep as close as 
 he could to the left-hand side of the road ; and 
 himself setting the example, they were not long 
 in reaching the turn to which they had been 
 directed, and which at the distance of about a 
 quarter of a league, opened on a small woody 
 tract of land. 
 
 No sooner had they entered upon this tract, 
 than they perceived something glimmering 
 among the trees, and riding up in the direction 
 whence t appeared, they found that it proceeded 
 from a lamp, which was darting its rays through 
 a cottage window. 
 
 Directing his valet to take charge of the 
 horses, the Count dismounted at the door of 
 this humble tenement, which was in a most 
 ruinous condition, and knocked gently for admit- 
 tance. As no answer was returned to his 
 summons, he peeped in at the broken casement, 
 and saw a solitary female figure, dressed in the 
 most squalid attire, kneeling before a small 
 crucifix, which was attached to the wall, appa- 
 rently in an agony of supplication. So absorbed
 
 ANNETTE. 63 
 
 was she in her devotions, that not until the 
 Count had given three or four brisk taps, first 
 against the door, and secondly, against the 
 casement, did she become aware of his presence, 
 when rising abruptly from her knees, she went 
 to the door, threw it open, and stood with her 
 dark eyes flashing with indignation before De 
 SevTac. 
 
 Her commanding manner, contrasting so 
 strangely with the abject penury that sur- 
 rounded her, together with the style of her 
 countenance, which though stamped with the 
 impress of grief and sickness, still bore traces of 
 former beauty, took the Count by surprise ; 
 and before he could recover from his astonish- 
 ment, she said : 
 
 " Whence this intrusion ? What has brought 
 a stranger here at such an hour, to disturb the 
 sohtude of a feeble, sorrowing woman ?" 
 
 " Believe me, I did not mean to intrude," 
 exclaimed the Count, with an air of respect. 
 
 " Go, then, and let me no longer be troubled 
 with your presence." 
 
 " Yet hear me but for one moment," expos- 
 tulated the Count, " seeing a light
 
 64 ANNETTE. 
 
 window as I rode past, and being wholly igno- 
 rant of my road to the next village, I dis- 
 mounted to make inquiries." 
 
 " They are answered in a word," interrupted 
 the woman impatiently, " your way Hes straight 
 on : now leave me, for your manner and your 
 appearance are alike torture to me. Leave me, 
 stranger — I entreat — T command you," and her 
 eye blazed with the fierce light of a maniac's, 
 as she motioned him to the door with an 
 impetuous wave of her arm. 
 
 " But one word more — the village — " 
 
 " Not a word ;" and so saying, she shut the 
 door violently in his face. 
 
 " Singular creature this !" muttered De 
 Sevrac to himself, as he hurried forward with 
 Jacques through the wood, *' very unlike people 
 in her class of life. And she must have been 
 handsome once ; but grief, or ill health, or both 
 perhaps combined, have bowed her form, and 
 wasted her to a mere shadow. She's some 
 wandering devotee, I suppose, whom fanaticism 
 has driven mad ; I have heard of such, but 
 never met with one 'till now. Poor thing, it's 
 a thousand pities; I fear she has not long to
 
 ANNETTE. 65 
 
 live ;" and with these words the cool, disci- 
 plined man of the w^orld dismissed the subject 
 from his mind. 
 
 On gaining the extremity of the wood, 
 which was but of no considerable extent, and 
 thinly stocked with trees, the travellers beheld 
 lights twinkling in the distance, and urging on 
 their horses with whip and spur, they at length 
 arrived at the village of Lavallierc, where they 
 procured a lad about twelve years of age for a 
 guide ; and the Count de Sevrac mounted him 
 before him on his own horse, as being the least 
 distressed of the two. 
 
 Shortly after they lost sight of Lavallierc, the 
 road began greatly to improve, leading over 
 high, heathy downs covered with broom and 
 furze, across which the wind blew with most 
 exhilarating freshness. The tall, leafy hedges 
 which had so long shut in their view, had now 
 all disappeared ; and the sky having cleared up, 
 they were enabled to catch a glimpse of the 
 surrounding landscape, which touched and 
 softened by the mellowing radiance of a full 
 summer moon, showed to considerable advan- 
 tage. Before them, and at no great distance, 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 ANNETTE. 
 
 appeared a small cluster of buildings, above 
 which rose one that looked like the chateau they 
 were in quest of. On either side, extending to 
 the farthest point of sight, were deep, black 
 woods, in which this quarter of La Vendee 
 abounds ; while immediately about them lay 
 shelving pasturage lands, dotted in one place by 
 isolated granite crags, and in another, by small 
 patches of copse-wood. Occasionally the wind 
 brought to their ear the tinkling of many 
 streamlets sHpping down the slopes into the low 
 lands, which the travellers had just passed, or 
 the faint, shy note of some bird from the copses 
 near them ; but otherwise, all was perfect still- 
 ness. 
 
 When they had ridden about half a league 
 upon these open downs, the guide, addressing 
 the Count, said, '* There's the chateau !" — a 
 remark which so delighted Jacques, who was 
 one picturesque mass of mud from head to foot, 
 that in the heedless impulse of the moment, 
 he struck up the Ca ira, which reaching his 
 master's aristocratic ears, drew down a reproof 
 in such severe terms, that the abashed valet held 
 silence during the remainder of the journey.
 
 ANNETTE. 6? 
 
 A few minutes more brought the party 
 within full view of the chateau, which was a 
 clumsy, spacious, old-fashioned pile, approached 
 by a broad avenue of trees, at whose extremity 
 was an archway, with the armorial bearings of 
 the Chatillons above it. Throug-h this the 
 travellers passed into the court-yard, and on 
 ringing at the bell, they were saluted by the 
 barking of innumerable dogs, and the clamour 
 of many voices, male as well as female ; and 
 presently the door was opened, and two men 
 appeared with lights, one of whom took charge 
 of the horses, while the other, a portly, grave, 
 silver-haired man — no less a personage, in 
 short, than the maitre-dlidtel — after waiting 
 respectfully until the Count had communicated 
 his name, went in and informed the Marquis of 
 his arrival. 
 
 He returned almost immediately, and direct- 
 ing the mud-bedaubed Jacques and the guide 
 to go round to the rear of the chateau, which 
 was the part appropriated to the household, 
 preceded the Count along a broad low passage, 
 which opened into a variety of chambers on either 
 side, and was terminated by a door in the 
 
 F 2
 
 68 ANNETTE. 
 
 centre of an apartment that ran the entire 
 length of the building. Here De Sevrac was 
 met by his host, who w^elcomed him cordially 
 to the chateau, led him to the upper end of 
 the room, and seating him at a table between 
 himself and the Cure, with whom he had just 
 been busy at backgammon, ordered his maitre- 
 d'hotel to bring in supper and some wine. 
 While these pleasant orders are in progress, we 
 will take the opportunity of saying a few words 
 about the nobleman who issued them.
 
 ANNETTE. 69 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The Marquis de Chatillon, the head of one 
 of the oldest and most influential families in La 
 Vendee, was at this period nearly fifty years of 
 age, though from his hale, hearty look, and 
 athletic frame, he might have passed for ten 
 years younger. His manners were simple, 
 almost homely ; his nature frank, hasty, and 
 impetuous ; he was convivial in his habits ; and 
 like all the Seigneurs of the province, he was 
 enthusiastic in his devotion to the monarch, 
 and the equestrian order to which he belonged. 
 
 His parents having died during his infancy, 
 he had been brought up by his grandfather, 
 who had attained high military distinction under 
 Louis XIV., but had subsequently fallen a victim 
 to the intrigues of the War Minister, Louvois,
 
 70 ANNETTE. 
 
 to whom he had rendered himself obnoxious. 
 In consequence of this, he had quitted the court 
 and the army in disgust, and retired to the 
 comparative solitude of La Vendee, where he 
 devoted the greatest portion of his time to the 
 education of his only grandchild. On the old 
 man's death — for while living, he would have 
 done his best to prevent it — the young Marquis 
 hurried up to Paris, presented himself at Ver- 
 sailles, and mingled much in the gay, dissipated 
 society of the court. It was in these circles that 
 he first met with the Chevalier de Chantereau, 
 a handsome, insinuating adventurer, about his 
 own age, whose polished address made him a 
 general favourite with the privileged classes, 
 notwithstanding his origin, which was equivocal, 
 and his want of fortune, which compelled him 
 to have recourse to the gaming-table. With 
 this accomplished young man, who to his other 
 courtly requisites added that of being an adroit 
 sycophant, the Marquis de Chatillon speedily 
 became intimate ; and it was out of this inti- 
 macy that the only poignant suffering he had 
 ever known, arose. The circumstance was as 
 foUows :
 
 ANNETTE. 71 
 
 In the family of the Spanish ambassador 
 there was a lovely, high-spirited girl, whom the 
 envoy's wife had brought with her from Madrid, 
 and introduced into the fashionable salons of 
 Paris as her friend and protegee. As such, Louise 
 de Padilla everywhere experienced the most flat- 
 tering reception ; and the uncommon graces of her 
 person, aided by his knowledge of her influence 
 over the lady of the Spanish minister, made such 
 an impression on the aspiring De Chantereau,that 
 he tasked his utmost powers of pleasing, in the 
 hope of prevailing on her to accept the off'er of 
 his hand. Possibly he might have succeeded — 
 for he was one well calculated to ensnare the 
 senses of a giddy Spanish girl of sixteen — but 
 for the Marquis de Chatillon, who no sooner 
 beheld Louise, than he, too, became deeply 
 smitten with her beauty ; and being ignorant of 
 his friend's intentions, proposed, and was ac- 
 cepted by the fair foreigner, chiefly at the 
 instigation of the Ambassador's lady, whose 
 pride was gratified by her protegee's elevation. 
 
 For about two years, during which he never 
 failed to pay a long annual visit to La Vendee^ 
 the Marquis lived happily with Louise, who
 
 72 ANNETTE. 
 
 was some six or seven years his junior, and 
 by whom he had one son. He still kept up 
 his acquaintance with the Chevalier, who, to 
 all appearance, bore his disappointment with 
 equanimity, or at any rate, did not allow it 
 to estrange him from his successful rival. 
 
 Towards the close of the third year, how- 
 ever, dissensions began to arise between the 
 married couple. Louise was fond of the society 
 of the French capital, and the homage of the 
 Versailles courtiers; while her husband, more 
 unsophisticated in his tastes, and beginning now 
 to weary of courtly frivolities, sighed for the 
 quiet of La Vendee, and was never so happy 
 as when dwelling among his tenantry, exercis- 
 ing the rites of hospitality, after the social 
 fashion of the province, and indulging in the 
 wild excitement of the chase. 
 
 The consequence of such discrepancies of 
 taste between husband and wife may be anti- 
 cipated. Being both of impassioned natures 
 they knew not how to give way one to the 
 other ; Louise insisted on residing altogether 
 at Paris, having a perfect horror of the mstic 
 manners of the Vendean noblesse and gentry ;
 
 ANNETTE. 73 
 
 while the Marquis, whose temperament was 
 not without a spice of jealousy, as resolutely 
 insisted on withdrawing her from the flatteries 
 of the most profligate court in Europe. Find- 
 ing, however, his efforts fruitless, his altercar 
 tions with his wife daily became more frequent ; 
 the artful De Chantereau, w^ho professed to act 
 as the friend of both parties, tending not a 
 little to widen the breach by his insidious bear- 
 ing towards them. 
 
 So matters continued for upwards of four 
 months, when Louise, fancying herself unjustly 
 treated by the Marquis, whom, notwithstanding 
 their disputes, she fondly loved, and being in- 
 duced by the wily persuasions of her former 
 suitor to believe that De Chatillon no longer 
 entertained the slightest afl'ection for her — 
 Louise, thus deceived, and being prompted by 
 pride and rage, in an evil hour lent a too will- 
 ing ear to the Chevalier, to whose arms she 
 fled from the shelter of her husband's roof, 
 from which time to the present — a period of 
 nearly twenty years — he had never once seen 
 or heard of her. 
 
 The discovery of his wife's flight fell like a
 
 74 ANNETTE. 
 
 thunder-bolt on the unprepared Marquis. He 
 instantly decided on sending a challenge to the 
 treacherous De Chantereau, with the fixed deter- 
 mination that one only should quit the field 
 alive; but the adventurer had taken the pre- 
 caution to conceal himself; and the injured 
 husband, justly attributing this to cowardice, 
 took care so effectually to expose him, as that 
 he should never again be able to show his face 
 in the gay and gallant circles of Paris, in whose 
 eyes, to shrink from the personal consequences 
 of a liaison, was to commit the most unpar- 
 donable of crimes. 
 
 Having thus, in part, satisfied his revenge, 
 De Chatiilon, disgusted with the world, broke 
 up his Parisian establishment, and returned to 
 the Bocage with his son, who was now ap- 
 proaching his third year. Here, for several 
 weeks he remained in a state of sullen seclu- 
 sion, haunted by the recollection of his young 
 and beautiful wife; but the healing effects of 
 time gradually made themselves felt ; he became 
 more tranquil and resigned, and by way of 
 diverting thought, resorted with greater alacrity 
 than ever to his favourite amusement of the
 
 ANNETTE. 75 
 
 chase; and passed his evenings in a round of 
 festivity with his neighbours. From this uni- 
 form course of hfe he departed but on one 
 occasion — namely, on the coronation of the 
 present King and Marie Antoinette, the former 
 of whom, when Dauphin, had treated him with 
 much affability ; but as soon as etiquette would 
 permit, after the conclusion of the august cere- 
 mony, he went back to his chateau, w^ith the 
 intention of never again quitting it. 
 
 Meanwhile, the younger De Chatillon throve 
 apace, and his father's conduct tow^ards him 
 exhibited a singular mixture of fondness and 
 indifference, not unaccountable under the pecu- 
 liar circumstances of the case ; for shortly after 
 Louise's elopement, a rumom* had been spread 
 abroad, and had of course reached the Mar- 
 quis's ears, that Alphonse was not his own 
 son, but the illegitimate offspring of De Chan- 
 tereau. He did not give absolute credence to 
 this slander, but neither did he wholly disbe- 
 Heve it; and not being able to make up his 
 mind on the subject, he was too often, in his 
 conduct towards his child, carried away by the 
 impulse, kindly or otherwise, of the moment.
 
 76 ANNETTE. 
 
 When Alphonse reached a proper age, his 
 father engaged as his tutor a gentleman named 
 Servette, a native of Nantes, who was an able 
 scholar, fond of the study of politics, and an 
 ardent admirer of the principles of the Ame- 
 rican Revolution, which, under the auspices 
 of Washington, had then recently achieved a 
 glorious triumph. This gentleman did every 
 possible justice to his young pupil, who loved 
 him sincerely, and looked up to him for counsel 
 on all occasions. Under such superintendence, 
 Alphonse became a very passable classical 
 scholar ; and by imbuing him with a taste 
 for general reading, and more especially by 
 introducing him to the acquaintance of a 
 w^ealthy merchant of Nantes — whose family 
 consisted of his wife, who was an English- 
 woman, and one daughter — Servette induced 
 his pupil to turn his attention to our difficult 
 language, in which he made such progress, 
 that by the time he reached his seventeenth 
 year, he was enabled, not only to read English, 
 but even to converse in it with accuracy, if 
 not elegance. 
 
 Living in a state of almost utter solitude —
 
 ANNETTE. 77 
 
 for his father seldom interfered with his pur- 
 suits — his tutor was Alphonse's chief compa- 
 nion; but on the breaking out of the Revolu- 
 tion, in 1789, that gentleman — delighted, as 
 were all other enlightened Frenchmen with the 
 prospects of regeneration held out to their 
 country — set out to Paris, leaving his pupil 
 to the society of his friends at Nantes, with 
 whom he spent a great portion of his time, 
 and with whom he was now staying on a 
 visit. 
 
 Alphonse was now verging upon his twenty- 
 thii'd year. He was a fine, personable young 
 fellow, of a brave and chivalrous character, and 
 possessed of quick sensibilities. His intellect, 
 too, was of an elevated cast, and having few, 
 or none, of those strong aristocratic prejudices, 
 so common among the French noblesse of that 
 day, he was prepared to welcome the advent 
 of the Revolution, as holding out a promise 
 of great benefits to France — a sentiment, bye 
 the bye, which he was compelled to keep secret 
 from the Marquis, who would have regarded it 
 as a proof of his son's utter degeneracy; but 
 he was by no means prepared for the popular
 
 78 ANNETTE. 
 
 excesses that so quickly followed the assembly 
 of the States' General; and as for a Republic, 
 he. would have shuddered at the bare idea of 
 such an innovation ; for, like all his ancestors, 
 he cherished profound reverence for the monar- 
 chical principle. There were several young 
 French noblemen of Alphonse's way of think- 
 ing ; but the scenes of confusion and bloodshed 
 which took place after the death of Mirabeau, 
 frightened them out of their liberal theories, 
 and forced some to rally round the throne, 
 and others to emigrate to Coblentz.
 
 ANNETTE. 79 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The maitre-d^hdtel made no unnecessary 
 delay in preparing supper ; and the Count de 
 Sevrac, notwithstanding that he had taken off 
 the sharp edge of appetite at the farm-house, 
 acquitted himself with very creditable energy ; 
 while his host, who had already dispatched his 
 own early meal, looked on with a smile of 
 approval, encouraging him to persevere, in such 
 terms as, " Go on — go on ; never heed appear- 
 ances here ; I know well what a traveller's appe- 
 tite is. Try that Bordeaux, it's far better than 
 your famous Clos Vougeot. Come, I'll set you 
 the example." And the Marquis poured him- 
 self out a full glass of the generous wine. 
 
 De Sevrac having finished bis repast, his
 
 80 ANNETTE. 
 
 host asked him many questions about his 
 father, with whom he had been acquainted 
 during his first visit to Paris ; and receiving 
 for answer that he was dead, expressed his 
 astonishment in a manner that highly amused 
 his guest. 
 
 " Dead ! Very odd ; I'm sure he could not 
 have been ten years my senior, and I have no 
 thoughts of dying yet. He should have come 
 down here, and then he would have been as 
 hearty as I am at this moment, for the Bocage 
 was always favourable to long life. And so 
 your father is dead, you say ; well, it can't be 
 helped, we must all go some time or other." 
 
 " That's very true," observed the Count, with 
 meritorious gravity. 
 
 "You came by way of Nantes, of course," 
 said De Chatillon. 
 
 " I did so, and have encountered fatigues 
 and perils enough," remarked the Count archly, 
 " to set me up as an enterprising traveller for 
 life. Such roads as I had to scramble over ! 
 labyrinths, rather, twisting and twirhng, and 
 leading every way but the right. Then your 
 peasantry ! Really, Marquis, there is an origi-
 
 ANNETTE. 81 
 
 nality in their manners and costume quite 
 enlivening to one accustomed to the monotonous 
 civilization of the rest of France. They eyed 
 us as we passed by, as though we had dropped 
 from the moon. One woman in particular, if 
 woman she be, I shall never forget ;" and the 
 speaker went on, in a strain of sprightly raillery, 
 to describe his encounter with the strange 
 female in the cottage by the wood- side. 
 
 ** I know wliom you mean," repHed the Mar- 
 quis, " I have often heard of her ; she is a 
 poor, half-witted creature; a gipsy, or some- 
 thing of that sort, who has lived, and I believe 
 from choice, in that solitary hovel where you 
 saw her, for the last twelve months and more. 
 When she first came among us, I had some 
 difficulty in preventing her neighbours from 
 molesting her ; for they took it into their wise 
 heads that she was a witch ; but they are now 
 used to her reserved ways, and even furnish 
 her, among them, with the means of subsistence. 
 But enough of this — what news do you bring 
 from Paris, Count ?" 
 
 " Bad as bad can be. The canaille are lords 
 of the ascendant, a^d he has most authority 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 ANNETTE. 
 
 whose voice is loudest in the clubs. But this 
 can be no news to you." 
 
 *' Partly so, partly not, but quite bad enough 
 to make an honest Frenchman curse the hour 
 he was born and the country that gave him 
 birth. I had heard of some of the frantic de- 
 crees of the Assembly, and the insolence of that 
 rebellious rabble, the National Guard, just as if 
 France needed any other guard than that which 
 her own aristocracy could furnish her with !" 
 
 " But remember, Marquis, that best and 
 most legitimate guard has deserted her." 
 
 " How so ?" 
 
 "Is it possible you have not heard of the 
 emigration of our noblesse .^" 
 
 " I am aware that many famiHes of rank have 
 fled the country ; but surely the majority remain." 
 
 " Not so, it is the majority that have de- 
 serted their king; but few now rally round 
 him, and these few are constantly exposed to 
 the pikes and daggers of the sans-culottes. I 
 myself have heard hundreds of these ruffians 
 clamouring at the gates of the Tuileries for a 
 Republic." 
 
 " A Republic !" exclaimed the horror-stricken
 
 ANNETTE. 83 
 
 Marquis, turning fiercely round to the attentive 
 Cure, " my God ! do you hear that ? But were 
 they not instantly cut down? Did not every 
 loyal citizen rise and repel the insult ? Oh, for 
 the good old days of the Bastille ! France was 
 France then." 
 
 The Count, whose ideas of loyalty were of a 
 practical and somewhat selfish character, and 
 who at thirty-two years of age — for he was no 
 older— was as consummate a man of the world 
 as though his judgment had been strengthened 
 and disciplined by the experience of twice as 
 many years, could not but smile at his host's 
 ardour, which betrayed such a perfect ignorance 
 of the temper of the times. He took care, 
 however, not to be observed, and merely replied, 
 "loyalty, my friend — such loyalty, at least, as 
 you allude to — is now little better than a name. 
 The prevailing cry of the capital, and of all the 
 cities and towns through which I passed on my 
 way here, is now, " Vive la liberte !" and asso- 
 ciated with it, " A bas les aristocrats !" 
 
 " Liberty " rejoined the Marquis scornfully. 
 *' Bah ! What liberty do we want, but that of 
 maintaining our rights and privileges as nobles ?" 
 
 G 2
 
 84 ANNETTE. 
 
 '' We ! you seem to forget that we are no 
 longer recognized as an independent and in- 
 fluential body in the state. Not only our ex- 
 clusive privileges, but our very titles and 
 armorial bearings are formally abolished." 
 
 " So I've heard — so I've heard," exclaimed 
 the Marquis impatiently, " but no matter, 
 despite this resolution of the Assembly, v^e are, 
 what we ever were, and ever will be — the right 
 rulers of France. Rely on it, this revolution — 
 as they call it — is a mere revolt, and wiU be at 
 an end the instant the people return to their 
 senses. I care not what you say to the con- 
 trary ; it will — it must be so. It is not in 
 reason to suppose that the monarchy of a 
 thousand years, the most powerful and abso- 
 lute in Europe, should be upset in a few 
 months ; and by whom ? by a handful of 
 canaille, whose tongues have always been 
 sharper than their swords, the curs ! A revo- 
 lution ! No, Count, not just yet ; the mob 
 may clamour as they please, but the faubourgs 
 of Paris are not France. I feel it by myself; 
 and what I feel, millions of others feel also," 
 and the sanguine loyalist looked with an air of
 
 ANNEITE. 85 
 
 self-confidence at the Count, as much as to say, 
 " there, answer that, if you can !" 
 
 Alas, it was overweening confidence like this, 
 on the part of some of the French nohlesse ; 
 the affected liberality of others ; and the dis- 
 trust and abject apprehension of a third party, 
 that served more than anything else to pre- 
 cipitate the awful crisis of the revolution. 
 When the higher ranks should have ad- 
 vanced, they stood stock-still ; when they 
 should have boldly exhibited themselves in 
 the van of the movement, they cither slunk 
 into the rear, or raising the coward's cry of 
 " sauve qui pent !" left their king and country 
 to shift for themselves. True, that with all 
 their exertions, had they even acted together 
 as one man, instinct with one will, they could 
 never have wholly checked the democratic 
 movement ; but they might at least, by dis- 
 creetly succumbing to so much of it as could 
 not, and ought not to have been arrested, have 
 given it a right direction. But they were split 
 into factions, while their enemies — however 
 they may have differed afterwards — were unani- 
 mous. Hence the sweeping away, as by a
 
 86 ANNETTE. 
 
 furious equinoctial tide, of the entire aristo- 
 cratic body throughout France. 
 
 It is not to be supposed that the Marquis 
 felt at heart all the confidence which he so 
 glibly expressed to his guest. In naoments of 
 reflection he was not without uneasiness; but 
 the storm was yet at . a distance, and he was 
 not the man nicely to calculate its duration 
 and severity, until it absolutely rattled about his 
 ears. Besides, all his recollections were of the 
 days of Louis XV., when, though her political 
 system was rotten to the core, France wore a 
 smiling and even majestic aspect. The con- 
 viction therefore with which he usually solaced 
 himself was, that things must soon right them- 
 selves ; and thus he went on dreaming, and 
 would have gone on dreaming to his dying 
 day, had not events awoke him rudely from his 
 torpor, and summoned him with a voice of 
 thunder into the field of active duty. 
 
 "Well, Marquis," resumed the Count, " be this 
 popular uproar, revolution, or be it revolt, one thing 
 is certain, that if not vigorously counteracted, it 
 will ere long pull down the monarchy. And 
 that brings me to the purport of my visit here."
 
 ANNETTE. 87 
 
 " Why, you came to see an old friend of your 
 father, did you not? or perhaps — as I know 
 you courtiers are not over steady in your adhe- 
 rence to family intimacies — merely to see our 
 mode of living in the Bocagc. Bye the bye, we 
 have a boar hunt to-morrow," continued the 
 speaker, dropping into a style of conversation 
 more congenial to him than politics, " and such 
 marksmen as are our peasantry ! once put them 
 on their mettle, and they'll give your sans- 
 culottes such a taste of their skill, as will soon 
 quiet them. A revolution ! Pooh, pooh, 
 Count. What, if our nobles have fled ? It 
 is only to return terrible in their wrath as 
 lions. And, then, is not our queen a 
 daughter of Austria ? What say you to that, 
 hey?" 
 
 The Count made no other reply to this 
 tirade, than by throwing out a hint that he 
 would wish to speak alone with his host ; 
 whereupon the Cure, who had taken no part 
 in the conversation, rose and wished the party 
 good night, w^hich he had no sooner done, than 
 De Sevrac also rose from his seat, and after 
 looking along the passage to ascertain that there 
 were no listeners, shut the door, and resumed
 
 88 ANNETTE. 
 
 his positiorij his host regarding him the while 
 with looks of the utmost surprise. 
 
 *' How now, Count ?" said he, " wherefore 
 all this caution ? We are not used to be so 
 very discreet here, for we say little that we 
 w^ould care for the whole world knowing — but 
 I forgot, you are a courtier and a politician," 
 and the blunt Vendean Seigneur smiled, as if 
 he did not think the better of him for being so. 
 
 " I have come here," said De Sevrac, gravely 
 and emphatically, " charged with an express 
 commission from his Majesty." 
 
 " From — his — Majesty !" repeated the Mar- 
 quis slowly, bowing between each word with 
 profound reverence. 
 
 *' Yes, from his Majesty," rejoined the Count, 
 *' who having always ranked you among his 
 best friends, has frequently of late expressed 
 his surprise that you have never once presented 
 yourself at court since the day of his corona- 
 tion. You see, Marquis, his memory never 
 fails him with those he loves." 
 
 Tears stood in the Marquis's eyes, as he 
 replied, "And does his Majesty condescend to 
 remember the rude Vendean noble ? Strange ! 
 he was little better than a mere boy when I
 
 ANNETTE. 89 
 
 first had the honour of his notice. And a most 
 promising youth he was too ! I recollect as 
 distinctly as if it were but yesterday, when we 
 were all out shooting together at !Meudon, that 
 he brought down more birds than anv two of 
 the cleverest shots among us. And to think 
 that he should have kept me in mind so long ! 
 What a memory — what a kind and gracious 
 master !" 
 
 The Count de Sevrac had speculated on this 
 loyal outburst, and immediately returned to the 
 charge. " The King," he said, " well re- 
 members when you were at the Court of 
 Louis XV. about the time of your mar- 
 riage." 
 
 " Enough — enough. Monsieur le Comte," 
 interrupted the Marquis, shuddering, and with 
 darkened brow ; " and what is the message 
 with which the King has entrusted you ? But 
 first let me show my sense of his Majesty's 
 condescension," and filling his goblet to the 
 brim, and shouting out, "Vive le Roi !" tiE 
 the old roof rang again, he tossed off the con- 
 tents at a draught. 
 
 It w^as curious to mark the contrast that the
 
 90 ANNETTE. 
 
 Count and his host presented at this moment. 
 The former was calm, self-possessed and inac- 
 cessible, apparently, to any sort of emotion ; 
 the latter was restless and excited, his eye 
 flashing with pride and pleasure, and his lip 
 quivering with an agitation that he could not, 
 and did not attempt to conceal. 
 
 Having allowed the Marquis sufficient time 
 to regain his self-control, the Count renewed 
 the conversation as follows : 
 
 " In the last audience wdth which his Ma- 
 jesty was pleased to honour me, and at which 
 the Queen alone was present, he desired me 
 to seek you out in your retirement, and say 
 that, if your son were still living — as he must 
 now be of a fit age to enter upon public life — 
 it was his wish that he should come to Paris, 
 and be presented to him, when he would take 
 an opportunity of giving him an honourable 
 post in his household ; ' For,' added he, with 
 a smile, in which the Queen joined, ' the son 
 of so loyal a nobleman as the Marquis de 
 Chatillon, will never be unfaithful to the trust 
 reposed in him.' " 
 
 " My son," rejoined the Marquis, '' must
 
 'ANNETTE. 91 
 
 always be proud to obey the King's commands ; 
 but, to say the truth, I fear that a court life 
 is the one of all others for which he is least 
 qualified. He is quiet and studious in his 
 habits, and like his grandfather and myself, 
 has no relish for the bustle of the capital. He 
 was brought up under a Monsieur Servette, 
 a great scholar — quite a book-w^orm — who, I'm 
 afraid, has turned his brain. I was wrong to 
 leave them so much together ; I should have 
 looked after his education myself." 
 
 *' You don't mean to say that your son has 
 imbibed any of the vile principles of the day 
 under this tutor !" 
 
 " God forbid !" replied the Marquis, warmly. 
 " I would a thousand times rather see him in 
 his coffin, than know that he was tainted with 
 such a cursed plague-spot. But the thing is 
 impossible, for he would not dare to hold any 
 principles but such as I approved. No, I can 
 answer for him as 1 w^ould for myself." 
 
 " I am glad to hear you say so, for then 
 there can be no objection to his returning with 
 me to Paris, and making his appearance at 
 court, which is the surest way to cure him
 
 92 ANNETTE. 
 
 of those bookish notions that you complain 
 of." 
 
 " Justly observed, Count ; it is, indeed, high 
 tinfie that Alphonse should mix actively with 
 society, as his ancestors have done before him. 
 How else did I acquire my knowledge of the 
 world?" 
 
 This remark elicited an arch smile from 
 De Sevrac, and his host went on to say, " I 
 trust Alphonse may acquit himself with credit 
 in his new career; but, as I observed just 
 now, I have my doubts, for he has very odd 
 ways with him. Would you believe it, I have 
 never yet been ahle to prevail on him to ac- 
 company me either on a stag or a boar- 
 hunt 1" 
 
 " Shall we see him to-night ?" 
 
 " No, for he is at present staying at Nantes, 
 with some of his tutor's friends, to whom he 
 seems to have taken a great fancy. I have 
 never seen them myself, but I incline to think 
 well of them, because Alphonse tells me they 
 are thorough Royalists." 
 
 " And when will your son return, Mar- 
 quis ?"
 
 ANNETTE. 93 
 
 " I cannot exactly say ; he only left me a few 
 days ago, but if he do not return in a week 
 or so, I will send a courier to summon him 
 home." 
 
 " Do so, for I must be in Paris again within 
 a fortnight, or three weeks at furthest. And 
 now, havino: delivered to vou the Kind's mes- 
 sage, I have to add a few words from the 
 Queen, who desired me to assure you of her 
 esteem, and to express her conviction that when 
 circumstances should demand it, and I fear they 
 will soon, you would not fail in your duty to 
 the throne. La Vendee and Bretagne, Mar- 
 quis, rank high in the estimation of all loyalists, 
 and you are eminent among their gallant 
 Seigneurs." 
 
 " Her Majesty," replied the gratified De 
 Chatillon, " has but to command to be obeyed. 
 At the very first intimation of the royal will, 
 my brother chiefs and myself will summon our 
 ten, twenty, aye, thirty thousand men into the 
 field." 
 
 " Thanks — thanks, my gallant friend. Her 
 Majesty anticipated your ready acquiescence in 
 her wishes, when she said to me at my audience
 
 94 ANNETTE. 
 
 of leave, * Tell the Marquis De Chatillon how 
 delighted the King will be to see him at the 
 Tuileries ; but should circumstances prevent 
 him from coming, let him at least be repre- 
 sented by his son.' " 
 
 The Marquis paused for an instant, as if 
 undecided what answer to make. " Go !" he 
 exclaimed, " and why not ? But no — no, what 
 should I do at court, ignorant as I am of all 
 the changes that have taken place since my 
 time ? I should be the butt of the courtiers 
 and the women, weak fools as they are, for 
 my rough habits and love of plain speak- 
 ing." • 
 
 " Do not sneer at the women, Marquis," 
 replied De Sevrac, gaily ; " remember the Queen 
 is of that despised sex." 
 
 " The Queen, Monsieur le Comte, is my 
 Sovereign, and were all the false, fawning sex 
 like her — but no more of this ; in a word, I am 
 too old and stubborn to play the courtier, so 
 must depute my son in my stead." 
 
 " Be it as you will ; but pray be ready to 
 act when the fitting season arrives ; apd, above 
 all, do not be too hasty, for a premature move-
 
 ANNETTE. 95 
 
 mcnt might be attended with the most fatal 
 consequences." 
 
 " 1 understand you," replied De Chatillon ; 
 and after some further conversation immate- 
 rial to the purposes of our narrative, the friends 
 separated for the night. 
 
 m'
 
 96 ANNETTE. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The Count de Sevrac, who was a man of 
 active habits, rose at an early hour next morn- 
 ing, and made his way into the room where 
 he had supped the previous night ; but finding 
 no one there, he concluded that his host was 
 not yet up, so went out for a stroll into the 
 court-yard of the chateau till breakfast should 
 be ready. The building was one very unlike 
 those noblemen's houses to which he had been 
 accustomed, and he regarded it with no slight 
 surprise. Its architecture was of a most irre- 
 gular character, and it had as many points 
 and angles as Don Quixotte's horse, Rosinante. 
 There was neither lawn nor park attached to 
 it; no trim alcoves, terrace-walks, statues, nor 
 fountains ; but in the rear was a large garden,
 
 ANNETTE. 97 
 
 bounded by an orchard, and serving the pur- 
 poses rather of utility than ornament. Imme- 
 diately about it were cottages and farm-houses, 
 with rick-yards and ricks close to them, of 
 such an eccentric shape as would have sorely 
 perplexed an English agriculturist. Adjoining 
 these farms were a range of small slips of 
 meadow^s, on which some cattle w^ere pastur- 
 ing, but from their lean, poetic appearance, it 
 would seem that the soil from which they 
 derived their subsistence was as unprofitable 
 as that of Parnassus. As the Count stood, 
 marking the difference between this unsightly 
 estate and his own elegant one near Rheims, 
 his valet approached him from the rear of the 
 chateau. 
 
 " You are on the stir betimes this morning, 
 Jacques," observed the Count. 
 
 " I was compelled to rise, Monseigneur ; for 
 the wind howled so dismally down the chimney, 
 and rattled so against the windows, that I could 
 hardly get an hour's rest, not\\ithstanding my 
 fatigue." 
 
 " And so, now, you've come out to admire the 
 beauties of the chateau?" rejoined his master. 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 ANNETTE. 
 
 " That's soon done," said Jacques, flippantly, 
 " singular place, indeed ! But everything's 
 singular here ! — so unlike our chateau at 
 Rheims ! And the Seigneur's household are 
 all so formal, too — though they pass the wine- 
 cup freely enough; I must say that for 
 them." 
 
 " Ay, and it was the wine-cup, I suppose, 
 that occasioned that loud laughter which I 
 heard once or twice while I was seated with 
 the Marquis at supper ?" 
 
 *' Oh, that was the girls' doing ; they're a 
 thousand times pleasanter than the men, and 
 laughed heartily when I told them some of 
 my Paris adventures. But the women and 
 I always get on very well together. Ah, if 
 these poor things had but the advantage of 
 a Paris education, what might they not be 
 made ! — at least, one or two of them, with 
 their pretty eyes and round, rosy faces. But 
 as it is, they are sad ignorant creatures; and 
 that fat, grave, old-fashioned maitre-d' hotel is 
 so strict with them, that — " 
 
 " So much the better, Jacques ; for then you 
 will be compelled to demean yourself with
 
 ANNETTE. 99 
 
 prudence, and keep in view the warning I 
 gave you yesterday." 
 
 The valet looked knowingly after his master, 
 as he turned on his heel, on saying this, and 
 went back into the chateau; and gently whis- 
 tling his favourite " Ca ira /" so that he should 
 not be overheard, thus gave vent, at intervals, 
 to his meditations : " He's a kind master, the 
 Count, and has far less pride than even this 
 old fool of a maitre-d'hotel here, who thought 
 fit to read me a lecture last night, because 
 I praised little Victorine's dark eyes. Yes, 
 and he places confidence in me, and has a 
 high opinion of my shrewdness ; and so he 
 may well have, for Jacques Drouet sees further 
 than Monsieur le Comte de Sevrac has any 
 idea of. See further ! yes, yes, I warrant I 
 see that things are all being turned topsy- 
 turvy in France, and that the people are about 
 to get all they want. And why not ? Why 
 should the aristocrats be allowed to have every- 
 thing their own way ? Down with them, I 
 say!" here he looked cautiously about him, 
 " down with them all, except the Count, and 
 him rU take under my protection when the 
 
 H 2
 
 100 ANNETTE. 
 
 people's day comes. And now I'll go in and 
 say soft things to old Pierre's niece, pretty 
 Mademoiselle Victorine. Ah, Jacques, Jac- 
 ques ! why art thou so irresistible ?" and he 
 walked away with that indescribable look and 
 gait so characteristic of a coxcombical French 
 valet. 
 
 De Sevrac, meanwhile, had re-entered the 
 breakfast-room, and was amusing himself with 
 looking at the family pictures that lined both 
 sides of the dusky, oak-wainscoted walls, when 
 some one lightly tapped him on the shoulder. 
 He turned, and beheld the Marquis. 
 
 " That's a clever painting. Count," said the 
 latter, pointing up to a full-length portrait of 
 a French general, attired in the formal costume 
 of Louis XIV., " it's a likeness of my grand- 
 father, who accompanied the Grand Monarque 
 on his Dutch campaign, and would have been 
 created a marshal, only for an unlucky mis- 
 understanding he had with Louvois; so in a 
 fit of disgust he bade adieu to active service, 
 and came down here to spend the remainder 
 of his days in peace and quiet. How well I 
 recollect the old man, with his tall, stately
 
 ANNETTE. 101 
 
 fio:ure, and his milk-white hairs ! He was 
 very kind to me, and often, when he happened 
 to be out of spirits — for he had many sad 
 moments — would place me on his knees, and 
 warn me against the intrigues of courts, and 
 advise me, if I valued peace of mind, to con- 
 tent myself with a country life. Had I but 
 taken warning by him," continued the speaker, 
 with an involuntary sigh, " much suffering had 
 been spared me ! But come, Count, breakfast 
 awaits us, and that is better than my egotism ;" 
 saying which, he led the way to the head of 
 the room, where, in a recess near a window, 
 a table was spread with a variety of choice 
 edibles. 
 
 Shortly after the repast was over, several of 
 the Marquis's tenants, duly announced by old 
 Pierre, the maitre-d' hotel, came in, as was their 
 wont, to consult him respecting certain disputes 
 which they had had with their neighboui's, for 
 they looked up to him, not only as their 
 Seigneur, but also as their legal adviser, from 
 whose verdict, dispassionate as it generally was, 
 they never dreamed of appealing. 
 
 The Count was much entertained by this, to
 
 ] 02 ANNETTE. 
 
 him, novel scene. The complainants told their 
 story without equivocation or reserve ; and the 
 Marquis, after subjecting them to a pretty strict 
 examination, and sometimes summoning wit- 
 nesses, gave his decisions with an air of grave, 
 judicial authority, and then dismissed the 
 parties. 
 
 When they had gone, De Chatillon observing 
 his guest's surprise, said to him, laughingly : 
 " You see, Count, we have quite a fashion of 
 our own in these matters." 
 
 " But suppose the parties interested choose 
 to dissent from your verdict ; what then ?" 
 
 " Dissent !" exclaimed the Marquis, " dissent 
 from the just decision of their Seigneur ! No, 
 things have not come to that pass yet. We 
 sanction no such doings here, however it may 
 be elsewhere." 
 
 " But have you no regular lawyers among 
 you?" 
 
 " Not one ; such an animal would be as 
 great a phenomenon in the Bocage, as a cro- 
 codile or an alligator. But now that I have 
 disposed of these good people's business, what 
 say you to accompanying me to church, and
 
 ANNETTE. 103 
 
 afterwards to a boar-hunt ? We shall have rare 
 sport in the forest." 
 
 The Count agreed, and the horses having 
 been got ready, they set out for the church of 
 the district. A portion of the Marquis's house- 
 hold slowly followed on foot, and were joined 
 from time to time by a body of the neighbour- 
 ing farmers and peasantry, nearly all of whom 
 were armed with fowHng-pieces. 
 
 The road w^as, in part, the same as that 
 which the Count had traversed the preceding 
 night, but a short distance from the hut of the 
 gipsy-woman, it branched off in a north-west 
 direction, towards some small farms, among 
 which stood the church ; and about a league 
 beyond that, stretched the wide- spreading thicket, 
 where the country assumed a savage, unculti- 
 vated aspect, admirably calculated for the 
 sportsman's purposes. 
 
 The Marquis and his guest alighted at the 
 church portal, and were followed^ into the 
 homely pile by several of the former's re- 
 tainers, while others went off in different 
 directions to the thicket, there to await, each 
 at his allotted post, the arrival of the Seigneur.
 
 104 ANNETTE. 
 
 As soon as this last, together with De Sevrac^ 
 had entered the family seat, which was railed 
 off from all the other seats in the church — an 
 aristocratic distinction already done away with 
 in the other parts of France — the service com- 
 menced, and was wound up hy a brief exhor- 
 tation addressed by the Cure to his flock, 
 w^herein he impressed on them the duty of im- 
 plicitly obeying the commands of their lawful 
 Seigneurs. This ended, the worthy man, 
 putting on a more familiar manner, informed 
 his congregation that a boar-hunt was ap- 
 pointed to take place that day ; and imme- 
 diately set an example of locomotion, by 
 hastening out of the church, and seizing 
 hold of the first man's musket that presented 
 itself, while his hearers followed, with ill- 
 suppressed eagerness, at his heels. 
 
 The day was a delightful one, warm, but 
 not sultry, for a lively breeze was stirring, and 
 the fleecy clouds that floated high in heaven, 
 just sufficed to temper the fervid rays of the 
 sun, now approaching its meridian. As De 
 Chatillon and his companion rode leisurely 
 along, the former, who was in one of his
 
 ANNETTE. 105 
 
 happiest moods, had a kind word and a 
 smile to bestow on every one whom he met; 
 and his courtesies were returned with a fear- 
 less familiarity that astonished the more ex- 
 clusive Count. 
 
 '' You seem surprised at our manners," said 
 the Marquis, in reply to some observation 
 let drop by the other; "but for my part, I 
 would not exchange the pleasure of making 
 these poor simple people happy, for the 
 proudest prospects that the court could hold 
 out to me. There is not a peasant we have 
 passed to-day, who would hesitate to lay down 
 his life in my ser\dce, for we are linked to- 
 gether by the strongest of all ties — mutual 
 interest and affection. Far different, and as- 
 suredly far less tranquil, was my lot when 
 your father and I first met in the salons 
 of the Due de Choiseul. I dare say 
 you have often heard him talk of those 
 days—" 
 
 The Marquis was here interrupted by the 
 approach of a young, sun-burnt farmer, from 
 the neighbouring village of Lavalliere, who 
 stopped him with a blunt request that he
 
 106 ANNETTE. 
 
 would be present at his wedding, which was 
 to take place within a few weeks. 
 
 "And so you really are going to get mar- 
 ried!" exclaimed his good-humoured Seigneur. 
 " Silly fellow, what could have prompted you to 
 such a rash act ?" 
 
 " Mademoiselle Mannette," replied the youth 
 gravely, " is a very — " 
 
 " Of course, every maid is an angel ; it is 
 only when she gets married that she turns out 
 to be the devil. However, young blood will 
 not be advised, so go your ways, Jules, go your 
 ways, and tell Mannette that I will not forget 
 her when the proper time amves." 
 
 The delighted Jules withdrew, and the party 
 rode on at a brisk pace, and quickly reached 
 the thicket, which differed from the small, 
 scanty wood which De Sevrac had passed the 
 day before on his way to the chateau, inas- 
 much as it was thickly overgrown with under- 
 wood, and full of large, spreading forest-trees, 
 which here formed avenues spreading into beau- 
 tiful vistas ; and there, opened into small, rich, 
 sunny glades, carpeted with the greenest turf 
 The Seigneur's arrival was the signal for a
 
 ANNETTE. 107 
 
 body of hunters who were scattered about the 
 outskirts, to dash forward with their dogs into 
 the wood ; and he himself and his companion, 
 having been furnished with boar-spears, dis- 
 mounted from their horses, of which two men 
 took charge, and occupied themselves by keep- 
 ing a vigilant look-out at the edge of the 
 forest. 
 
 While they were thus engaged, the fierce 
 yelping of dogs, the shouts of the hunters, and 
 the discharge of several guns in succession, an- 
 nounced that a boar was roused from his lair, 
 and was beginning to show sport. As the 
 sounds at first came from the heart of the 
 thick wood, it was not yet known in what 
 quarter the brute would make his egress ; but 
 soon they drew nearer, and satisfied the Seig- 
 neur that he was rushing out in the direction 
 where he and his friend had posted themselves. 
 " Be ready with your spear," he said, addressing 
 De Sevrac, " for I can tell by his roar that he 
 is near at hand." 
 
 " Look to yourself, Marquis, look to yourself 
 — quick, here he comes." 
 
 The caution was only just in time, for while
 
 108 ANNETTE. 
 
 the Seigneur was turning round to his com- 
 panion, who stood about twenty paces off him, 
 to see that he was prepared, the ferocious brute, 
 hotly pursued by men and dogs, came up, his 
 mouth covered with foam, and his red eyes 
 glistening with malignity ; and De Chatillon 
 standing right in his path, he made a sudden 
 dash at him— so sudden, indeed, that but for 
 the Count's intervention, who, seeing the im- 
 minent peril, had rushed forward and transfixed 
 the boar with his spear, the Marquis would 
 infallibly have been gored, and perhaps have 
 lost his life. 
 
 While the animal lay writhing on the ground, 
 grinding his white tusks and uttering a savage 
 growl of defiance, the dogs fastened on him, 
 like so many wolves ; but such was his pro- 
 digious strength that, wounded and bleeding as 
 he was, and quivering in his last convulsions, 
 he tore open the throat of one, and ripped up 
 the beUy of a second, who dropped dead beside 
 him. 
 
 The Seigneur continued the sport for some 
 hours longer, during which two more boars 
 were roused, one of which contrived to make
 
 ANNETTE. 109 
 
 his escape, and the other was not dispatched 
 until three spears had been broken in his body ; 
 and then the signal of recal having been given 
 by the Marquis's chief huntsman, and the bodies 
 of the slain animals slung triumphantly on poles 
 which were carried aloft on men's shoulders, the 
 whole party separated, some going off to their 
 respective abodes, and others returning in strag- 
 gling groups to the chateau, some on horseback 
 and some on foot, there to end the day in 
 feasting and merry-making. 
 
 De Chatillon and the Count were amonn; the 
 last to quit the forest, and were already far 
 advanced on their way home, and within half 
 a mile of the gipsy's cottage, when they saw two 
 men bearing in their arms a female who was to 
 all appearance lifeless, and a third, standing by 
 the roadside holding a couple of horses, from 
 which it was evident the others had just dis- 
 mounted. 
 
 Hastily riding up to him, the Marquis in- 
 quired what was the matter, and was answered : 
 *' It's the gipsy woman, Seigneur ; I was walk- 
 ing along, when I saw her a short way before 
 me, in the middle of the road, stopping as if to
 
 110 ANNETTE. 
 
 take breath ; and presently up canne those two 
 horsemen, on their return from the boar-hunt, 
 galloping at such a furious rate that, before 
 she could get clear of them, they knocked her 
 down, and rode over her. I heard them call 
 out, but I suppose she could not hear them, 
 and they could not draw up in time." 
 
 " Scandalous negligence !" exclaimed the 
 Marquis. " Is the poor creature much hurt ?" 
 
 " Yes, Seigneur ; she must be bruised all 
 over, for both horses, I think, trampled on 
 her ; and when I reached . her, I found her 
 quite senseless, with the blood gushing from 
 her mouth. The horsemen, however, did all 
 they could, for they instantly got down, and 
 are now taking her to her cottage." 
 
 "And the moment the fellow^s return," re- 
 plied De Chatillon, " be sure you teU one or 
 both of them to ride off to Lavalliere for 
 medical aid. Tell them to lose not a minute ; 
 and say, also, that it is my order that they 
 procure the assistance of some nurse, who may 
 look carefully after the poor woman; I myself 
 wiU either call or send to-morrow, to ascertain 
 that she has every attention paid her," and with
 
 ANNETTE. 1 1 1 
 
 these words, the Seigneur and the Count rode 
 on. 
 
 At the chateau, meantime, all was laughter 
 and festivity in the barn where the holiday- 
 meeting was held. The portly maitre-d' hotel 
 was usually the person selected to preside and 
 maintain order on these occasions, which the 
 Seigneur frequently honoured by his presence ; 
 but just now, his whole attention was engrossed 
 by the Count, who was desirous of again talk- 
 ing over the business that had brought them 
 together, and gleaning information from his 
 host, respecting the extent of his available re- 
 sources, and those of the neighbouring Seig- 
 neurs, in the event of a rising in La Vendee. 
 
 When the good wine had begun to circulate 
 among the holiday-makers, the " mirth grew 
 fast and furious," and nowhere so much so as 
 in that quarter where our friend Jacques was 
 located, whose extravagant complimentary ad- 
 dresses to the female portion of the company, 
 created a strong sensation among them ; while 
 they drew down on him, from time to time, the 
 dignified remonstrances of the maitre-d' hotel, 
 Pierre, who, being of Flemish or rather of Dutch
 
 1 1 2 ANNETTE. 
 
 extraction, had very sedate, precise notions of 
 gallantry, and was remarkable for his strict 
 ideas of decorum and subordination. 
 
 Such being the case, it may be imagined 
 what was this worthy official's horror and indig- 
 nation, when the tables having been removed 
 and a space cleared for a dance, the mercurial 
 Jacques, excited by the wine he had been drink- 
 ing, which rendered him totally forgetful of his 
 master's orders, gathered a knot of young men 
 and girls about him, and began enlightening 
 them on the subject of the mob-risings at Paris, 
 the downfall of the aristocrats and the approach- 
 ing emancipation of the people. *' We shall all 
 have our rights shortly," he said, " and every 
 pretty girl will get a husband, with lots of 
 money to support her." 
 
 " Do you mean to say. Monsieur Jacques," 
 replied Pierre's favourite niece, " that we shall 
 all get rich husbands ?" 
 
 " Yes, my sweet little Victorine, and as many 
 as you choose. The aristocrats have had it all 
 their own way hitherto, and it is our turn 
 now." 
 
 " Here's doctrine !" exclaimed the astounded
 
 ANNETTE. 1 1 3 
 
 Pierre, with uplifted hands and eyes. " Forty 
 years and more, man and boy, have I lived 
 in this household, and never yet heard a single 
 syllable about the people and their rights. Hold 
 your tongue, you prating coxcomb," he con- 
 tinued, no longer able to control his passion, 
 when he found that his remonstrances produced 
 no effect on the thoughtless, loquacious valet. 
 
 " I scorn to answer you," replied Jacques, 
 sneeringly, " for you're only fit to drive out old 
 women in carriages drawn by oxen." 
 
 " Mon Dieu ! do 1 hear aright ?" exclaimed 
 the maitre-d' hotel, looking first at one and then 
 at another of the tittering group. 
 
 " Poor gentleman ! I pity and forgive you," 
 rejoined the valet, with an inimitable expression 
 of lofty commiseration in his countenance ; and 
 then abruptly flying off from politics to gal- 
 lantry, he took the word of command out of 
 Pierre's mouth, ordered the music to strike up, 
 and seizing on the unreluctant Victorine, he 
 began twirling her round in the dance, and 
 between whiles, imprinting a sonorous salute 
 upon her lips, much to the bewilderment of the 
 more bashful young farmers who stood by, and 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 1 14 ANNETTE. 
 
 who, in the simplicity of their hearts, knew not 
 which most to admire and envy, the elastic 
 spirits, or the immeasurable impudence of the 
 Parisian valet. 
 
 All this time, Pierre — who in his own estima- 
 tion was scarcely inferior to the Marquis — stood 
 perfectly speechless and aghast. His dignity 
 was outraged, his nice sense of decorum was 
 shocked ; his niece and heiress had been sum- 
 marily kissed before his face, and he himself 
 had been treated just as if he were nobody ! 
 Never before had such a series of unparalleled 
 affronts been put upon him. And the worst of it 
 was, that all the company had been the eye-wit- 
 nesses of his humiliation. This was the finish- 
 ing blow to his self-consequence ; and accord- 
 ingly, before the dancing had become general, 
 the old man, his whole frame trembling with 
 mingled shame and rage, peremptorily broke up 
 the party, despite the clamorous entreaties of 
 Jacques, w^ho grew absolutely furious at the idea 
 of such a violation of the rights of man. 
 
 The Marquis and his guest w^ere seated at 
 supper, engaged in earnest conversation, when 
 the maitre-d' hotel came in, and advancing
 
 ANNETTE. 115 
 
 slowly and solemnly towards his master, asked 
 him, in faltering accents, if he might speak a 
 word with him. 
 
 " Speak ! to be sure. But what's the matter 
 with you, Pierre? You look as grave as if 
 you'd come from a funeral rather than a 
 feast." 
 
 " Seigneur," said the old man, in tones 
 fraught with deep dejection, " I have now been 
 upwards of forty years attached to your house- 
 hold. Your honoured father — nay, your grand- 
 father, who brought me with him from Holland 
 shortly after the close of the Dutch cam- 
 paign—" 
 
 " Hey-day, Pierre 1" replied the Marquis, " if 
 you're going to begin your story with my grand- 
 father, you won't have finished it to-night." 
 
 " I was merely going to observe, Seigneur, 
 that having been so many years in your service, 
 I had hoped to have died in it." 
 
 " And what is to prevent it, Pierre ?" asked 
 the Marquis, his curiosity roused by this exor- 
 dium. 
 
 " The horrible, the incredible insults that 
 have been put upon me this night," exclaimed 
 
 I 2
 
 I 1 6 ANNETTE. 
 
 the mattre-d' hotel, with increased solemnity of 
 manner. " I have been treated as if I were any 
 common man ; and it has so sunk me in my 
 own esteem, that I feel that I have nothing 
 left but to quit the scene of my disgrace. All 
 the household laugh at me, and I am become an 
 object of pity to the very women. Seigneur, I 
 cannot bear it," and tears sprang to the old 
 man's eyes. 
 
 " Be composed, Pierre," replied the Marquis, 
 '' and rely on it, whoever has offered you insult, 
 shall be dismissed from my service." 
 
 " I have been called, in the hearing of the 
 whole household," continued the maitre-d' hotel 
 with an emphasis that he intended to be awful, 
 '"a bullock-driver! * Yes, bullock-driver was the 
 word. Victorine heard it, the bailiff heard it, 
 the maitre de cuisine heard it — we all heard it." 
 
 " And who was the offender ?" asked De 
 Chatillon, scarcely able to suppress a smile, 
 notwithstanding his servant's grief. 
 
 " Jacques, Monsieur le Comte's valet." 
 
 " My valet !" exclaimed De Sevrac. " Then 
 the fellow shall make you, here in my presence, 
 an ample apology."
 
 ANNETTE. 1 1 7 
 
 Greatly reassured by this promise, Pierre 
 went on with his narrative in a calmer manner. 
 " I was subjected to these gross insults," he said, 
 " because I rebuked the young man for his 
 behaviour towards the females, w^hom he teased 
 and tumbled about in a way shocking to think 
 of. Not only this. Seigneur, but he had the 
 astonishing impudence to make love to them 
 all, one after the other ! With my own eyes I 
 witnessed the scandalous transaction ; and before 
 I had time to interfere, he had positively kissed 
 not less than tliree of them, my niece Victorine 
 among the number ; and what's most extra- 
 ordinary is, that the hussies seemed to think all 
 the better of him for it ! If I had not seen 
 the thing myself, I would not have believed 
 it possible." 
 
 De Sevrac here burst out into a fit of 
 laughter, in which he was followed by his 
 host, who, perceiving the old man's vexation, 
 said, by way of humouring him : " Come, come, 
 don't worry yourself about this matter so, 
 Pierre, for I promise you that Jacques's con- 
 duct shall not be repeated. But you should 
 try to make allowances for his folly ; remember, 
 we have all been young once."
 
 118 ANNETTE. 
 
 " And I am certain," archly added the Count, 
 " that the day has been, Pierre — and that not 
 so very long since — when you would have 
 enjoyed a sly romp wath the w^omen, quite as 
 well as this scapegrace servant of mine." 
 
 " In those days, Monsieur le Comte, which 
 you are pleased to remind me of," exclaimed 
 the maitre-d' hotel, with formal gravity, " young 
 men went about these affairs in a far more 
 decorous manner than they do now. If they 
 wanted to go a- wooing, they gave a respectful 
 hint beforehand; but this revolutionary mode 
 of courting, without * by your leave,' or ' will 
 you permit me ?' or ' shall I have the honour ?' 
 but snatching a kiss, as if one had a right to 
 it ! — as if it were one's own property, offends 
 every rule of decency ! The age. Seigneur, is 
 wofully changed from what it was when we 
 were at court, in the days of Louis XV. I 
 recollect — " 
 
 " The age is indeed changed, Pierre," ob- 
 served his master, " nevertheless, we must try 
 and make the best of it; and I'll take care 
 that Jacques offers you every atonement in his 
 power, for to insult you, is to insult me." 
 
 The maitre'd'hStel bowed low at this gra-
 
 ANNETTE. 1 1 9 
 
 cious intimation, and added : " But this is not 
 the worst, Seigneur. Not only has Jacques 
 conducted himself towards the women in the 
 way I have mentioned, but he has also been 
 putting strange notions into the men's heads, 
 and talking all sorts of nonsense about the 
 oppressions of the nobles, and the rights of 
 the sovereign people. 1 assure you, Seigneur, 
 it made my hair stand on end to hear him 
 go on so." 
 
 The Marquis's face here blazed like crimson. 
 All his good-humour forsook him in an instant, 
 and striking the table vehemently, he thundered 
 out : " The meddling, mischievous fool ! And 
 did he dare to talk in this fashion to my 
 tenantry ? People, indeed ! What should the 
 people have to do but obey ? I'll ' people' him 
 with a vengeance ! — call in the fellow !" 
 
 " Leave me to deal with him," said the 
 Count ; " and I'll answer for it, he will be in 
 no hurry to chatter again on this subject." 
 
 The maitre-d' hotel quitted the room, and 
 almost immediately reappeared with Jacques, 
 whom he found sitting in the kitchen, 'sulking 
 over the unceremonious break-up of the party.
 
 120 ANNETTE. 
 
 On coming into the Count's presence, De 
 Sevrac addressed him in harsher terms than 
 he had ever yet permitted himself to use : 
 " Listen to me, fellow !" he said, " and for the 
 last time. 1 warned you once before how you 
 demeaned yourself while in this country, and 
 now I find you have paid so little attention to 
 my caution, that you have not only deeply 
 affronted this worthy man," pointing to Pierre, 
 " but, moreover, you have had the audacity to 
 instil into the minds of the Marquis de Cha- 
 tillon's household and tenantry, the pestilent 
 doctrines you have picked up in Paris. Now, 
 if I did not know that your head were more to 
 blame than your heart in this matter, I would 
 dismiss you without an hour's delay. As it is, 
 I insist on your apologizing to Pierre for your 
 insolence towards him ; and bear this in mind, 
 that the very next time I hear so much as a 
 whisper against you, you cease to find a master 
 and a protector in me." 
 
 The crest-fallen valet was about to enter into 
 some sort of defence of his behaviour, when the 
 Marquis interrupted him sternly with : " Not a 
 v^rord, fellow — I will not hear a word; do as
 
 ANNETTE. 121 
 
 your master bids you, or prepare to quit the 
 chateau this night." 
 
 With infinite reluctance Jacques stammered 
 out the required apology, and then took his 
 departure from the room, followed by the 
 maitre-d'hdtel, who did not attempt to con- 
 ceal his satisfaction at the turn that the affair 
 had taken.
 
 122 ANNETTE. 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 The maitre-d' hotel and Jacques had hardly 
 left the apartment, when a loud knocking was 
 heard at the door leading into the courtyard, 
 accompanied by a furious ringing of the bell ; 
 and on the door being opened, a peasant from 
 Lavalliere entered in breathless haste, and in- 
 sisted on being ushered into the presence of the 
 Marquis, as he had a message of consequence to 
 deliver to him. 
 
 ''The Seigneur will see no one to-night," 
 replied Pierre, who had halted in the hall, on 
 hearing this request, " for he is busy with the 
 Count de Sevrac, so you must delay your com- 
 munication until to-morrow." 
 
 " I must see him this instant," exclaimed 
 the messenger.
 
 ANNETTE. 123 
 
 " Impossible," rejoined the pertinacious old 
 man. 
 
 " Well, then, since I cannot speak with him, 
 go and show him this ring," and the peasant 
 placed a handsome diamond ring in Pierre's 
 hands. 
 
 " Uncommonly beautiful — must have cost a 
 world of money," exclaimed the maitre-d' hotel, 
 holding the trinket close up to his eyes. " You 
 say right, my friend, this ring must indeed be 
 shown to the Marquis, for I've no doubt it's 
 one he's lost himself; he was always very care- 
 less about these sort of things." 
 
 The moment the Seigneur's eyes fell upon 
 the diamond ring, he turned pale, his whole 
 frame quivered, while he exclaimed in tremu- 
 lous accents : " Who gave you this, Pierre ?" 
 
 " It was given me by a man who desired me 
 to tell you that he had a communication of im- 
 portance to make." 
 
 Without another word the agitated Marquis 
 hurried out into the hall, and addressing the 
 messenger, said : " How came this ring into 
 your possession ?" 
 
 " The poor woman who lives in the hut by
 
 1 24 ANNETTE. 
 
 the wood-side, gave it me, and charged me 
 to deliver it into your hands, and say that she 
 must see you this night without delay, or it 
 would he too late." 
 
 " Go and order the groom to saddle my 
 horse," exclaimed the Marquis, calling aloud 
 to Pierre. 
 
 " At this hour. Seigneur !" 
 
 " Do as I command you, without a word," 
 replied his master authoritatively. 
 
 The maitre-dliStel departed to execute the 
 Seigneur's orders ; and the latter, with as much 
 calmness as he could muster, pleaded unexpected 
 business to the Count, as an excuse for leaving 
 him so abruptly ; and then hastening back to 
 the hall, at the door of which he found his 
 groom waiting with the horse ready saddled, he 
 mounted, and was off like lightning, much to 
 the astonishment of Pierre, who endeavoured, 
 but in vain, to obtain a solution of the mystery 
 from the messenger. 
 
 The night was chill and cloudy, neither moon 
 nor stars were to be seen, and as the Marquis 
 urged his steed forward at a furious pace 
 resembling that of the spectre huntsman, his
 
 ANNETTE. 125 
 
 thoughts took the gloomy hue of the hour, and 
 many a bitter sigh escaped him, despite his 
 efforts to repress it. That well-remembered 
 ring ! With what a world of painftd associa- 
 tions was it inextricably linked ! Roused by its 
 magic influence, Memory travelled back through 
 a lengthened waste of years, and the rude 
 Vendean chief was once again at the splendid 
 court of Versailles — young, ardent, susceptible, 
 and knowing nought of sorrow but the name. 
 What a change had come o\'er his nature since 
 then ! The star of Hope had set, the romance 
 of life had departed, and coarser and more worldly 
 feelings had long since filled up the space they 
 had left vacant in his mind. On — on he flew, 
 as though speed of motion alone had power to 
 keep down the tumult of his soul — on through 
 the village — across the uplands — past the wood 
 — and now, arrived at his journey's end, he fas- 
 tens his breathless horse bv the bridle to the 
 nearest tree, and enters the wretched hovel. 
 
 Stretched on an old truckle-bed, the ghastly 
 impress of death stamped on every feature of 
 her face, lay the object of whom De ChatiUon 
 was in search. Nothing could be more forlorn
 
 126 ANNETTE. 
 
 than her condition. The wind blew keenly in 
 through the broken casement and the chinks of 
 the crazy door ; the few blankets that covered 
 her were quite threadbare ; and the only article 
 of furniture in the hut, with the exception of 
 the bed and a small crucifix hung against the 
 wall, was a ricketty table, whereon stood a small 
 lamp, revealing the forms of two women who 
 sate, one on each side the sufferer, administer- 
 ing from time to time a few drops of a cordial 
 which she was with difficulty prevailed on to 
 swallow. 
 
 " Is he come yet ?" enquired the wretched 
 creature, her eyes wandering wistfully about the 
 room. 
 
 " I am here," said the Marquis, advancing to 
 the foot of the bed. 
 
 " Oh, that voice — that voice !" exclaimed the 
 sufferer, clasping her hands together, while a 
 convulsive spasm passed over her face. 
 
 " Her mind is wandering. Seigneur," said 
 one of the attendants, in an under-tone. " The 
 Cure, who has just left us, says, that the shock she 
 received to-day is fatal, and that he doubts 
 whether she will survive till morning."
 
 ANNETTE. 127 
 
 " Leave me alone with the Marquis de 
 Chatillon," exclaimed the stricken woman, 
 " my last words must be breathed into his ear 
 alone." 
 
 Her nurses, who were the wives of two of 
 the neighbouring peasants, w^ould fain have 
 demurred to this request, thinking that it 
 proceeded from aberration of mind ; but on a 
 signal from the Seigneur, they rose without a 
 word, and quitted the hovel. 
 
 When they were gone, the Marquis, seating 
 himself by the bed-side, said, in tones tremu- 
 lous from suppressed agitation : 
 
 " Tell me, woman, 1 implore you, how you 
 came by that ring. It was my first gift to — " 
 
 " Your wife, Louise." 
 
 " Ha ! How know you that ?" 
 
 " From her own lips !" 
 
 *' Curse her — curse her !" interrupted De 
 Chatillon impetuously, for at that moment the 
 sense of his wrongs as a husband revived in 
 his mind with all its former keenness. 
 
 " Oh, do not curse her," faltered the sufferer, 
 turning her wan, beseeching eyes on the Mar- 
 quis. " You do not know what she has
 
 128 ANNETTE. 
 
 suffered' — how deep, how lasting has been her 
 remorse. Wasted by the constant pressure of 
 sickness — steeped in poverty to the very lips — 
 an agonizing sense of what she was, and is, for 
 ever gnawing at her heart — homeless, houseless, 
 without a friend or companion on earth, even 
 her God turning a deaf ear to her supplications 
 — do not, in mercy do not, curse one so 
 wretched, so abandoned of all." 
 
 " And where is my — I mean, where is she 
 now ?" asked De Chatillon abruptly. 
 
 " Here, beside you, on her death-bed !" 
 replied Louise, covering her face with her hands, 
 and giving way to such a burst of anguish 
 as seemed to threaten her instant dissolution. 
 
 On receiving this unexpected communication, 
 the Marquis started from his seat, and hurriedly 
 paced the room, as though to shake off the 
 bewildering effects produced on his brain by the 
 discovery. It was indeed a bewildering dis- 
 covery, for none could recognise in the wasted, 
 friendless outcast the once beautiful Louise de 
 Padilla. Alas ! there is no mask so effectual 
 as that which grief throws over the counten- 
 ance.
 
 ANNETTE. 129 
 
 « 
 
 " You refuse me your forgiveness !" con- 
 tinued the remorse-stricken wife. "Well, I 
 deserve that it should be so, but yet if you 
 did but know what 1 have gone through, silent 
 and uncomplaining, for years, you would not 
 withhold from me at least your pity. Pray, 
 draw near me, and for once — but once — speak 
 to me — look on me — as you used to do in the 
 days that are past. I ask you not to take me 
 home — home !" she repeated, while the tears 
 flowed down her cheeks, " how strangely that 
 word sounds ! Home ! What home have I 
 but the grave ? Marquis de ChatiUon — hus- 
 band — Alphonse — it is a dying woman that 
 addresses you ! In a few hours — and God 
 speed the moment ! — this crushed spirit will be 
 at rest ; but ere I pass away from your sight, 
 as for years I have from your memory, give me 
 to know, if it be only by a look, that I am 
 forgiven. See, I have no pride now ; my very 
 heart grovels in the dust beneath your feet," 
 and she stretched forth her hands towards her 
 husband, who stood leaning with downcast eyes 
 against the wall. 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 1 30 ANNETTE. 
 
 " What, not one word ?" resumed the peni- 
 tent. " Oh, De Chatillon, carry back your 
 recollection to that day when, as we stood 
 together beside the fountain at Versailles, you 
 gave me that ring," pointing to the glittering 
 trinket which, on first hearing his wife's name 
 mentioned, the Marquis had flung indignantly 
 on the table ; "I was a young — a happy bride 
 then, and as you placed it on my finger, you 
 said, ^Be this a pledge, Louise, of undying 
 love between us.' You may have forgotten 
 the words, but on my heart they are indelibly 
 engraved." 
 
 This allusion roused all the Marquis's fiercest 
 passions. 
 
 " Woman !" he exclaimed, grinding his teeth 
 as he spoke, " can you remind me of those 
 words without a burning blush of shame ? 
 Who was the first to break the compact ? Did 
 I not maintain steadfast and inviolate the faith 
 pledged you, in the face of Heaven, at the 
 altar ? Did I not sacrifice my every wish to 
 yours, and suffer you to mould me as you 
 pleased ? Even the wildest suggestions of your
 
 ANNETTE. 1 3 i 
 
 woman's vanity — fool that I was to be so 
 blindly trusting ! — were laws to me ; and how 
 have I been repaid ?" 
 
 " I cannot speak — let that ring speak for 
 me ; it was your own free gift, and is all that 
 is left to remind me that I was once happy and 
 beloved." 
 
 " The ring !" interrupted the Marquis, with 
 a laugh of bitter scorn, " look, here is the 
 value T set on the bauble," and snatching it 
 from the table, he dashed it to the ground, 
 and crushed it to atoms beneath his tread. 
 
 The humble, abased creature breathed a sigh 
 so deep as she beheld this act, that life seemed 
 issuing with it ; but recovering herself by a 
 strong effort, she murmured in a tone of voice 
 whose very calmness spoke of settled despair : 
 
 " It is as I feared — all is over — there is no 
 longer a hope." 
 
 " None," replied the Marquis sullenly. 
 
 " Go, then, Alphonse — go, I would not have 
 you see me die ; but when the last struggle 
 is ended, and she who has wronged you can 
 wrong you no more, come back, and casting 
 one brief glance on her inanimate form, ask 
 
 K 2
 
 132 ANNETTE. 
 
 yourself this question : ' Should I not have 
 shown more mercy ?' Go, for there is a sure 
 monitor within that warns me my hour draws 
 nigh." 
 
 But De Chatillon stirred not ; his feet seemed 
 rooted to the spot. 
 
 Snatching eagerly at this faint hope of relentr 
 ing, Louise continued : 
 
 " Though I have deeply injured you, yet I 
 am not quite so guilty as you imagine ; we have 
 both been grossly deceived." 
 
 " Deceived ! How ? Speak !" 
 
 " It is a revolting story," said the penitent, 
 with a shudder, raising herself with difficulty 
 on her straw pillow, " but it must be told," and 
 with an endeavour at composure which caused 
 her much suffering, she commenced as follows : 
 " You remember the Chevalier de Chantereau, 
 whom you once thought your friend. He it 
 was who, from mixed motives of hate and 
 jealousy, first engendered discord between us. 
 He bribed my confidential maid to drop into 
 my too credulous ear that you had ceased to 
 love me, and that the sole cause of your often- 
 expressed wish to quit Paris and return to La
 
 ANNETTE. 133 
 
 Vendee was, that you had formed an attach- 
 ment there to the daughter of one of your 
 tenants ; and he himself took care to give 
 effect to the calumny by assuming an air of 
 profound pity and respect whenever accident or 
 design brought him into my presence. Think 
 what I must have suffered when day after day 
 this story was repeated in my hearing ! For a 
 long time — ^judging of your feelings by my 
 own — 1 treated it with disdain ; but when a 
 forged letter was purposely thrown in my way, 
 wherein, writing to the Due de Choiseul, you 
 were made to boast of your new liaison, I could 
 withhold my belief no longer ; and maddened 
 b}' your altered manner, and too proud, alas ! to 
 seek an explanation, in a moment of rage and 
 despair, I was prevailed on to — but too well you 
 know the sequel." 
 
 " The traitor — the lying, heartless traitor !" 
 exclaimed De Chatillon, his eyes blazing with 
 fury, " he, too, led me to believe that my 
 confidence in you was wholly misplaced — but 
 go on, go on." 
 
 " We quitted Paris for an obscure retreat on 
 the Spanish frontier, for the Chevalier, as
 
 134 ANNETTE. 
 
 cowardly as he was treacherous, dreaded the 
 effects of your vengeance. O God ! the 
 remorse — the agony — the humiliation of that 
 moment when I was fatally and for ever un- 
 deceived as to the nature of the wretch's feel- 
 ings towards me ! Impatient of his seclusion 
 from the gay world, he soon began to m.ake 
 me the victim of his spleen; nay, he cursed 
 me for the very love which he said had lured 
 him to his ruin ; tiU one day, roused to fierce 
 hatred by his taunts, I snatched up his sword, 
 which lay on a chair near him, and he fell, 
 weltering in his blood, at my feet." 
 
 As Louise thus spoke, a gleam of that 
 proud, impetuous spirit which had formerly so 
 distinguished her, flashed across her counten- 
 ance, but quickly subsided again into the expres- 
 sion of deep, subdued melancholy which her 
 features had worn for so many years. 
 
 " The instant the blow was struck," resumed 
 the sufferer, " I rushed from the spot, and in a 
 state bordering on phrenzy, made my way across 
 the frontier, and thence to Madrid, where my 
 rigid and haughty relatives, who had heard my 
 story, indignant at the disgrace I had brought
 
 ANNETTE. 135 
 
 on them, and anxious as much as possible to 
 conceal it from the world, gave out that I was 
 mad, and caused me to be imprisoned as such 
 at Valladolid, whence, after a dreary confinement 
 of years, T managed to effect my escape ; and 
 from that time to the present, by way of doing 
 penance for my crimes, I have wandered a hope- 
 less, half-crazed outcast over France, subsisting, 
 like a mendicant, on charity, and so utterly 
 broken in spirit as to be thankful for the alms 
 tossed to me by those whom I would once 
 scarcely have deigned to acknowledge as my 
 fellow-creatures. Thus seven weary years rolled 
 away, and still found me a restless wanderer, 
 but as sickness fell on me, and grief anticipating 
 the work of age made me old and helpless before 
 my time, I became conscious that my career 
 was drawing to a close, and resolved to wear 
 away the wi-etched remnant of my life here in 
 this once-despised neighbourhood ; and — as the 
 chief part of my self-inflicted penance — never to 
 reveal myself, never to supplicate your forgive- 
 ness, or seek to bestow a mother's embrace 
 on my boy, till my last hour should arrive. 
 Alphonse, that welcome hour is come ; and now 
 nought remains, but that once more I sue to
 
 136 ' ANNETTE. 
 
 you for pardon. Oh, let me not plead in vain, 
 but think of our child, and for his dear sake, 
 forgive his erring mother !" and exhausted with 
 the exertions she had made to maintain compo- 
 sure, and struggle against the agitation that 
 shook her fearfully at some portions of her 
 confession, the penitent's eyes closed, and she 
 lay motionless on the bed, as though life had 
 quitted its frail tenement. 
 
 In this state she remained for nearly an hour, 
 when by means of some drops of a cordial which 
 her attendants had left on the table, and which 
 the Marquis now forced down her throat, she 
 began to revive a little, and smiled faintly when 
 she saw how he was employed. 
 
 Seizing the opportunity of his wife's restora- 
 tion to consciousness, De Chatillon bending over 
 her, exclaimed in agitated accents : 
 
 " I almost dread to ask — report said that 
 Alphonse — but I did not believe it, though the 
 horrid thought w^ould at times cross my mind — 
 speak, I conjure you, you know what I would 
 ask." 
 
 " Marquis de Chatillon," replied Louise, 
 crossing her hands on her bosom, and uplifting 
 her eyes to heaven, " as there is a God above
 
 ANNETTE. 137 
 
 US, in whose awful presence I shall soon appear, 
 that child is your own. I never wronged you, 
 even in thought, till the day when I was led to 
 believe that your affections were wholly estranged 
 from me." 
 
 " Blessings on you for those words," exclaimed 
 De Chatillon fervently, " for they have removed 
 a mountain from my heart, Louise," and taking 
 his wife's offered hand, he pressed it warmly 
 between his own. 
 
 " Again — call me Louise again — your Louise. 
 Your voice was changed of late, but now once 
 more I recognise its tones. Speak to me, 
 Alphonse — husband !" 
 
 " Louise," rejoined the Marquis, " from my 
 soul I forgive you ; if you have erred, I too 
 have not been blameless ; come, then, poor 
 penitent, and lay your head upon my breast ; it is 
 long since you have had such a pillow." 
 
 " My strength fails," said the dying woman, 
 her voice sinking to a w^hisper, " but — but I die 
 happy since my last moments are cheered by 
 your forgiveness." 
 
 " Die !" exclaimed her astonished husband, 
 as if now, for the first time, awakened to a
 
 138 ANNETTE. 
 
 sense of his wife's danger. " Good God, what 
 have I been thinking of all this while ! Let me 
 fly for aid to Lavalliere — my horse is close at 
 hand, and I will be back — " 
 
 " Too late — too late — no human means can 
 avail me now/' replied Louise, retaining him by 
 the hand with as strong a grasp as her weakness 
 would allow. 
 
 " Not so, while there is life, there is hope," 
 and the Marquis again strove to extricate him- 
 self from her grasp, but when he saw the agony 
 that the idea of his leaving the hut occasioned 
 her, he was constrained to stay. 
 
 " My child — my dear iVlphonse," muttered 
 Louise, looking beseechingly into her husband's 
 face, " would that I could see him — I would not 
 reveal myself — no, he should know in me but 
 the nurse of his childhood — but it cannot be — 
 I feel that it cannot be," she kept repeating in 
 tones broken by sobbing. 
 
 " He will return home in a few days, perhaps 
 to-morrow, Louise, and then you shall see him." 
 
 " To-morrow ! there is no morrow for me ; 
 yet I could have wished — but since it cannot 
 be, tell my child, not the history of his mother's
 
 ANNETTE. 139 
 
 shame, no, I could not endure that he should 
 hear that, but how fervent, how lasting, was 
 my affection for him. Tell him to think of me 
 with fondness ; and when he passes the spot 
 where I am buried, to halt, and offer up a prayer 
 for the repose of my soul. Do not quit me, 
 love, 'till all is over," and feebly pressing her 
 husband's hand against her heart, Louise closed 
 her eyes, and seemed, by the slight movement 
 of her lips, as though she were engaged in 
 earnest supplication to Heaven. 
 
 After a lapse of a few minutes, she again 
 addressed the Marquis : 
 
 " I have but one more request to make," 
 she said, scarcely able to find utterance : '* let 
 me not be buried in the? vault of the De Chatil- 
 lons, but in the churchyard of Lavalliere, with- 
 out parade of any kind ; and, above all, let 
 there be no show of mourning at the chateau, 
 so that the relationship between us may still 
 remain a secret, and my son not be compelled 
 to blush for his parent." 
 
 The Marquis made no reply to this entreaty ; 
 his strong sense of family pride would have 
 induced him at once to accede to it ; but justice
 
 140 ANNETTE. 
 
 and humanity said : No, you have forgiven your 
 wife ; be generous then, brave the strictures of 
 the world, acknowledge her at least in death, 
 and pay the fitting respect to her ashes. 
 
 Louise, rightly interpreting the motives of 
 her husband's silence, again besought him to 
 accede to her request : " 'Tis the last I shall 
 ever make," she observed, " and must not be 
 refused. A prayer read above my grave, a 
 handful of dust strewed upon my coffin, are 
 all I now ask. The very idea of pompous funeral 
 rites for such as I, is horrible." 
 
 " Be it as you will, Louise," rejoined the 
 Marquis, strongly affected by his wife's disin- 
 terested generosity, "yet I could have wished it 
 had been otherwise." 
 
 " And to this you solemnly pledge your- 
 self?" 
 
 The Marquis bowed his head in assent, but 
 it was evident, from his embarrassed manner, 
 that he did not yield without a sore struggle 
 against the promptings of his heart. 
 
 A wan smile that flitted over his wife's coun- 
 tenance, attested the satisfaction she derived 
 from this promise. But this was almost the
 
 ANNETTE. 141 
 
 last symptom of consciousness she evinced. 
 Her physical powers, completely worn out by 
 the sewSere trial to w^hich she had subjected them 
 during this painful interview, refused to rally 
 again ; she drew her breath with more and 
 more difficulty ; a dull film came over her eyes ; 
 her brain began to wander, and she imagined 
 herself standing beside the fountain at Versailles, 
 gazing delighted on the ring which her husband 
 was placing on her finger. 
 
 So she continued for hours, while De ChatiUon 
 kept anxious vigil by her side, momentarily ex- 
 pecting the return of her attendants, whom he 
 would himself have gone out to seek, had he 
 not been fearful she might have discovered his 
 absence. From time to time, as he cast his 
 eyes, now upon his unconscious wife, and now 
 upon the comfortless dwelling wherein she lay, 
 an acute feeling of regret, and even of remorse, 
 escaped him, that he had not done more to 
 alleviate her lot, even when he only knew her 
 as a forlorn stranger. How too, was it that 
 he had not, on his first entrance into the hut, 
 discovered her dying state, and done his best 
 to soothe her, instead of heaping on her un-
 
 142 ANNETTE. 
 
 availing reproaches ? Alas ! he was so full 
 of his own passionate thoughts and disquietudes 
 that he had no leisure to think of, or feel for, 
 another ! 
 
 He was roused from these gloomy reflections 
 by his wife's convulsive efforts to raise herself, 
 so as to recline her head upon his breast. It 
 was the last struggle of expiring nature. 
 
 "Alphonse," she murmured, but in so low 
 a tone that he was compelled to stoop close 
 down to hear, " where are you ? I see you 
 not — it is cold, very cold — dearest Alphonse, 
 it is Louise who speaks — do not forget your — " 
 and with these words, her spirit passed away 
 from earth. 
 
 The deep, solemn hush about him, broken 
 only by the rustling of the wind among the 
 trees, first impressed the Marquis with th^ con- 
 viction that the wife so long lost, so late found, 
 was again and for ever torn from him. Oh, 
 what would he not have given to have been able 
 to recal her to consciousness but for one brief 
 hour, while he expressed his contrition for the 
 reproaches that had so wrung her heart ! But 
 she was gone. Yes, the dim lamp which he
 
 ANNETTE. 143 
 
 held close to her pale, thin face, warned him 
 she would wake no more. And this was the 
 end of one who in youth had been the pride 
 of a coui't — the idol of friends — lovely, inno- 
 cent, and happy ! Night with her sable train 
 of shadows passed off, and the young day 
 springing from the east, came smiling in at the 
 casement, and still the widower sate, half-stupi- 
 fied, beside the body. FeeHngs to which he 
 had been for years a stranger pressed with 
 crushing weight upon his heart ; and the rough, 
 jovial Vendean Seigneur, who but the day 
 before would have scorned the idea of such 
 sensibility, now softened to more than woman's 
 weakness, sobbed convulsively like a child. Long 
 and earnestly he perused the features of his un- 
 awakening wife ; they were changed more 
 from grief than age ; and as he called to mind 
 all she had gone through since they last parted 
 — her strange, forlorn mode of hfe, and the 
 intense agony and abasement of spirit that had 
 suggested her cruel, self-inflicted penance, he 
 felt that he — the too-late relenting husband — 
 had most need of forgiveness. Thus he sate, 
 a subdued, stricken man, till recalled to a sense
 
 144 ANNETTE. 
 
 of his situation by the return of the nurses, 
 he started up, and covering his face with his 
 hands, rushed from the hut. 
 
 Within a week from the period of her 
 decease, Louise was consigned to her last 
 resting-place. The funeral, as she had desired, 
 was strictly private, and the Marquis, who 
 attended as chief mourner, rose wonderfully in 
 the estimation of all who knew — or fancied 
 they knew — the circumstances of the case, for 
 his humane attentions to the poor gipsy woman. 
 Oh, with what altered feelings would he have 
 looked down upon her humble grave, could he 
 but have foreseen the stern tragedy that was 
 soon to be enacted there !
 
 ANNETTE. 145 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 It is a fertile subject for reflection, to consider 
 the wonderful variety of events that are every- 
 where taking place at one and the same period of 
 time. At the very hour when one man is mourning 
 the wreck of all his hopes, another is rejoicing 
 in their fulfilment. While one unit is blotted 
 out from humanity, another is added to its 
 sum total. Here, the bell tolls for a funeral, 
 there, it rings merrily out for a bridal. Not 
 an hour passes over our heads, but is fraught 
 with weal or woe — is cursed or blessed by hun- 
 dreds, millions of our fellow-creatures. There 
 is no pause, no halting, in the great action of 
 existence. Grief and joy, health and sickness, 
 hfe and death, are for ever simultaneously at 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 ANNETTE. 
 
 work. Historians expatiate on the startling 
 vicissitudes of years and centuries ; what volumes 
 might not be written on the strange contrasts 
 and changes presented by one single hour ! 
 
 At the very same hour when the grave closed 
 over the remains of the ill-starred Louise de 
 Chatillon, her only son, Alphonse, was strolling 
 with a young female companion along one of 
 those pleasant walks by the banks of the Loire, 
 which abound in the environs of the flourishing 
 and picturesque city of Nantes. The girl was 
 exquisitely beautiful, of a graceful and slender 
 figure, with an oval form of countenance, lit up 
 by such large, soft black eyes, as might have 
 become an houri. Her luxuriant tresses were 
 of the same raven hue, and wantoned in pro- 
 fusion about a neCk white as Parian marble; 
 and she moved by her companion's side with 
 the elastic step of one of the Dryads of Grecian 
 fable, pausing every now and then, as if to direct 
 his attention to the cheerful scenery about 
 them : the broad, clear stream, dotted with islets 
 whereon stood the villas and pleasure-gardens 
 of the wealthier citizens, and the green meadows, 
 sloping hills, and majestic ruins of the feudal
 
 ANNETTE. 147 
 
 castle of the old Dukes of Bretagne — all of 
 which objects, though seen and admired, per- 
 haps, a hundred times before, were now invested 
 with peculiar softness and beauty by the mellow 
 radiance flung over them by the evening sun. 
 
 Annette Delille was the daughter of a wealthy 
 merchant of Nantes, who, in the course of one 
 of his frequent trips to England — for previously 
 to the Revolution, Nantes carried on nearly as 
 thriving a commercial intercoui'se with this 
 country as Bordeaux now does — had married 
 the orphan niece of a London citizen, a man of 
 considerable opulence, but of rough manners 
 and uncultivated mind. The match was a clan- 
 destine one, for Mr. Danton, the young lady's 
 uncle, professed — in the true spirit of a John 
 Bull of the old school — to hold all Frenchmen 
 in contempt. In process of time, however, his 
 prejudices against Delille, if not wholly removed, 
 w^ere at least much softened, the more so when 
 he heard that the latter made an afl'ectionate 
 husband, and, to quote his own favourite ex- 
 pression, was " well to do in the world :" and 
 at last he became so far reconciled to him, as to 
 offer him the accommodation of his house when- 
 
 L 2
 
 148 ANNETTE. 
 
 ever business summoned him from Nantes to 
 London. 
 
 Of this offer Delille gladly availed himself, 
 and not unfrequently his wife, accompanied by 
 Annette, who was much liked by her great- 
 uncle, would take up their residence with him 
 for weeks and weeks together. Since the death 
 of Mrs. Delille, however, which occurred when 
 her daughter w^as in her twelfth year, her hus- 
 band had never once quitted Nantes, but had 
 withdrawn altogether from commerce, and now 
 lived the quiet life of a country gentleman ; 
 respected by all his fellow-citizens, and devoting 
 himself to the education of Annette, who had 
 just completed her eighteenth year, and at a 
 period when education was by no means general 
 among French ladies of the middle class, was 
 remarkable for the variety of her accomplish- 
 ments. She had been long acquainted with 
 Alphonse, who had been first brought to her 
 father's house by his tutor, Servette, an old 
 friend of the family ; and the young people — 
 then mere boy and girl — had early imbibed an 
 affection for each other, which gathered strength 
 with each successive visit Alphonse paid to
 
 ANNETTE. 149 
 
 Nantes. Of late years, and more particularly 
 since his tutor's departure for Paris, the youth 
 had been a constant guest of the Delilles, and 
 was uniformly treated by the elder one \\ith a 
 kindness, that helped to make him amends for 
 the indifference so often testified towards him 
 by his own father. 
 
 " Annette," said Alphonse, as they slowly 
 pursued their way along the banks of the Loire, 
 " this hasty summons from the Marquis bodes, 
 I fear, no good. It cannot be that he is unweU, 
 or the courier would have said so ; but when 1 
 catechized him, not an hour since, on the sub- 
 ject, he merely replied that the Count de Sevrac 
 had arrived about a week or ten days ago at the 
 chateau, and that I must return thither without 
 delay. Your father thinks that I shall be sent 
 off to Paris, with a view, perhaps, to my enter- 
 ing the army ; and gladly would 1 go, were it 
 not that I leave you behind. What if I refuse ? 
 The Marquis has seldom deigned to consult my 
 wishes on any occasion. Speak, Annette, and 
 tell me how I shall act ?" 
 
 " Obey the Marquis, Alphonse, without con- 
 sidering any one else. If it be his wish that
 
 150 ANNETTE. 
 
 you should set out for Paris, go without a mur- 
 mur ; you will have many opportunities of 
 revisiting the chateau, ar^d then you can again 
 ride over here, and be my father's guest. He 
 will always be delighted to see you, for you 
 know he looks upon you almost in the light of 
 a son." 
 
 " Return ! Ah ! Annette, you know not how 
 long it may be before I come back to the Bo- 
 cage. Paris, they say, is just now in a volcanic 
 state, and who can tell what part I may be 
 called upon to play? My father, an enthu- 
 siastic royalist of the old regime, may possibly 
 have found means to procure me some situation 
 about the person of the King, such as many of 
 my ancestors have held ; and if so. Heaven 
 knows when we shall meet again !" 
 
 " It cannot be helped, Alphonse ; you must 
 go whither your duty calls you." 
 
 " How easily do you say this, Annette ! I 
 could not speak so coolly were it you who were 
 about to quit Nantes." 
 
 " If I speak with calmness, it is for your 
 good. I should take shame on myself Were I, 
 on an important occasion like the present, to
 
 ANNETTE. 151 
 
 consult only my own inclinations. Besides, I 
 do not think it at all likely that your absence 
 will be prolonged beyond a few months. When 
 Paris is tranquil again, and the country settled 
 dow^n — " 
 
 " Foolish girl ! you S]icak now as I have 
 sometimes heard the Marquis speak, when talk- 
 ing to the Cure about the present state of things 
 in the capital. Because the occasional clamour 
 of the mob here at Nantes, within the last year 
 or so, has as yet led to no serious results, he 
 thinks that the ferment in Paris is equally super- 
 ficial in its character. But your father regards 
 matters differently. He knows well that the 
 ,storm has long been brewing, and is justly 
 apprehensive of the consequences. My tutor, 
 too, foresaw it, for he told me so himself, in the 
 very last conversation I had with him." 
 
 "I am not able to discuss the question, Al- 
 phonse, and can only repeat that I feel assured 
 we shall shortly meet again." 
 
 " And should it really be so," rejoined her 
 companion, gathering confidence from her 
 words, " will you then, dearest girl, suffer me to 
 caU you mine. Your father w^ould surely not
 
 152 ANNETTE. 
 
 object ; for, as you told me but a few minutes 
 ago, he already looks on me as his son." 
 
 " Alphonse," replied the blushing girl, "though 
 I grieve to cause you pain, yet I will not buoy 
 you up with false hopes. My father, it is true, 
 entertains a sincere regard for you ; there is 
 another, too," and she looked fondly in his face, 
 " who is certainly not indifferent to your hap- 
 piness ; but ere we can be more to each other 
 than we now ure, the Marquis's consent must 
 be gained." 
 
 " Unkind Annette ; you know my father's 
 prejudices on the score of family." 
 
 " I do, and though of course I cannot share 
 them, yet I feel that, as far as you and I are 
 concerned, they must be submitted to. Would 
 you have me, the daughter of a French gentle- 
 man, proud, and deservedly so, of the unsuUied 
 integrity of his life, intrude myself into a family 
 that would scorn me ? Never ! There is 
 humiliation in the very idea." 
 
 " And is this the love, Annette, which you 
 have so often confessed for me? I thought 
 you had more regard for my happiness." 
 
 " And it is because I feel deeply interested in
 
 ANNETTE. 153 
 
 your welfare, that I will not be tempted to take 
 a step which might be your min. Never will 
 I be the cause of sowing dissension between 
 father and son." 
 
 The calm but decided manner in which this 
 was said, convinced Alphonse that further 
 entreaty would be useless ; accordingly, he made 
 no reply, but walked on for some time in moody 
 silence ; whereupon his companion, gently press- 
 ing his arm, exclaimed in a soft, beseeching 
 tone of voice, that made instant way to his 
 heart : 
 
 "Do not be angry with me; I am sure I 
 have given you no cause, as you yourself will 
 acknowledge when you come seriously to reflect 
 on what I have said." 
 
 " I am not angry, but — " 
 
 " Why do you hesitate to speak your thoughts ? 
 But I can guess what is passing in your mind. 
 Come, now, be frank, Alphonse, and say at 
 once that I am a mere creature of caprice, who 
 will cease to care for you the instant you have 
 quitted my sight." 
 
 " Oh, Annette, how could you suppose for a 
 moment that such a thought crossed my mind ?
 
 1 54 ANNETTE. 
 
 I was only going to observe that it was sorrow, 
 not anger, I felt at your decision. But though 
 you refuse to accede to my wishes, at least you 
 will promise that when I am gone you will bear 
 me constantly in remembrance, as I shall you. 
 Never, for one instant, amid the stir and bustle 
 of Paris — should such be my destination — will 
 your dear image cease to present itself to my 
 mind. Annette, w^e have now known each 
 other many years; as boy and girl we have 
 played and studied together ; my tutor was our 
 common friend ; your father is our common 
 parent ; I conjure you, then, as you cherish 
 these recollections, to keep me ever uppermost 
 in your thoughts. They say that women are 
 capricious, and their hearts prone to change ; 
 but you will not, love, will you ?" 
 
 Affected by her lover's fervour, the disinte- 
 rested, warm-hearted girl turned on him a 
 glance so full of tenderness, that he was at 
 once reassured. Nevertheless, he could not 
 help recurring to the old theme. 
 
 " Annette," he said, " if you would but aban- 
 don your resolution, and consent to be mine — " 
 
 " Say no more, I beseech you, on this sub-
 
 ANNETTE. 155 
 
 ject," replied Annette, "you have already had 
 my answer, and for your sake it is that I will 
 not retract my decision." 
 
 "Where shall I be this time next week?" 
 resumed Alphonse, " far away from La Vendee, 
 perhaps never to come back." 
 
 " Do not say never y x\lphonse ; the word 
 never sounds so mournfully in my ear," and 
 unconsciously her small white hand was pressed 
 closer on his arm, as though, despite the 
 acknowledged necessity of separation, she would 
 still retain him by her side. 
 
 By this time they had re-entered the city, 
 and on passing by the cathedral, saw a large 
 crowd, consisting chiefly of the lower orders, 
 listening eagerly to the latest news from the 
 capital, which a young man in the garb of a 
 mechanic was reading aloud to them from a 
 Parisian journal. The mob seemed much 
 excited, and their shouts and threatening ges- 
 tures so alarmed Annette, that she hurried her 
 companion past them, nor once slackened her 
 pace until she reached home. 
 
 It being Alphonse's last night, the party did 
 not separate till late, and until he had extorted
 
 156 ANNETTE. 
 
 a promise from Delille, a mild, quiet old gentle- 
 man, that he would communicate with him by 
 letter, and that Annette should occasionally con- 
 tribute a postscript. When he rose at an 
 early hour next morning, he found her alone, 
 waiting his presence in the breakfast-room ; her 
 spirits were greatly depressed, but her lover's 
 soothing attentions restored her to something 
 like composure ; again and again he assured 
 her of his unalterable affection, and was pro- 
 ceeding to enforce his assurances by that most 
 pleasant process of ratiocination — a kiss, when 
 Delille's entrance cut him short in the flow^er of 
 his logic. 
 
 Immediately the repast was over, Alphonse 
 bade adieu to his friends, mounted his horse, 
 and, accompanied by the messenger who had 
 brought the summons for his recall, set forward 
 on his return to the chateau.
 
 ANNETTE. 15' 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A WEEK had now elapsed since De Se\Tac's 
 arrival at the chateau, during which period he 
 had, with the activity peculiar to his character, 
 visited many of the most influential Vendean 
 Seigneurs, and even crossed the Loire into 
 Brittany, for the purpose of ascertaining the 
 state of pubhc opinion in that province. He 
 found the majority of its leading men strongly 
 disposed towards the monarchy, and filled with 
 distrust of the proceedings of the Constituent 
 Assembly ; but it was not without considerable 
 difficulty that he prevailed on them to rise in 
 arms on the first summons they should receive 
 from the court ; for the Breton and Vendean 
 noblesse were, generally speaking, a pacific class
 
 158 ANNETTE. 
 
 of men, who were not to be effectually roused 
 till the dangers, of which they had heard so 
 much, approached their own neighbourhood. 
 
 It w^as fortunate for the Marquis that his 
 guest was thus busily engaged, for the unex- 
 pected discovery and death of his wife had given 
 him so severe a shock, that he would have been 
 wholly unable to discharge the rites of hospi- 
 tality. Indeed, until the day of the funeral, he 
 rigidly confined himself to his own chamber, 
 notwithstanding the entreaties of old Pierre, 
 who, finding meal after meal that he brought 
 up sent away scarcely touched, made sure that 
 his master was in a bad way, and implored him 
 to take active out-door exercise, as the only 
 means of re-establishing his health. What con- 
 firmed the maitre-d^ hotel in his belief, was the 
 unusual circumstance of the Seigneui''s dispatch- 
 ing a messenger to order his son home, which 
 he did on the morning of his wife's interment ; 
 and thus persuaded of his master's ill health — 
 for he never dreamed of his relationship to 
 Louise, but attributed his attendance as chief 
 mourner entirely to the natural kindliness of his 
 heart-— Pierre walked about the house with an
 
 ANNETTE. 159 
 
 air of such sad solemnity as highly diverted 
 Jacques, who, whenever the old man's back was 
 turned, made a point of ridiculing him before 
 Victorine and the other females of the establish- 
 ment. 
 
 Late at night, when De Chatillon having paid 
 the last tribute of respect to his wife's memory, 
 had retired to his bed-chamber, oppressed with 
 mournful recollections, the Count returned from 
 his flying trip into the adjacent province of 
 Britanny. When he met his host the following 
 morning, he could perceive — notwithstanding 
 the latter's endeavours to assume a cheerful 
 aspect — that something had occurred- to disquiet 
 him during his brief absence, for he had quitted 
 the chateau about an hour before the Marquis 
 had returned from his 4fi9i> interview with 
 Louise; but with the tact of the man of the 
 world he affected not to perceive any alteration 
 in his manner, and began talking of the pro- 
 mises of support he had received from all the 
 Seigneurs whom he had visited, in so lively and 
 sanguine a strain as tended greatly to revive De 
 Chatillon's drooping spirits, by diverting the 
 channel of his thoughts.
 
 1 60 ANNETTE. 
 
 At night-fall Alphonse arrived, after a brisk 
 day's ride from Nantes, and was cordially greeted 
 by the Count, and received by his father, not as 
 of old, with careless indifference, scarcely a ques- 
 tion asked as to where he had been, or who 
 were his companions, but with the most marked 
 kindness. Delighted with such an unwonted 
 reception, the tears sprang to the young man's 
 eyes, and for the first time for many a long 
 year, he felt that he had indeed a parent. 
 
 " Welcome, my boy," exclaimed the Marquis, 
 endeavouring to hide his feelings beneath a show 
 of eagerness and curiosity, "it is little more 
 than a week since you left the chateau, yet 
 already it seems an age. And so you have been 
 staying at Nantes with the Delilles ! There 
 must be some great attraction there to take you 
 so often from home. Delille, I think I've heard 
 you say, is one of the most respectable persons 
 in that city — " 
 
 " He is so, and he is also a generous, friendly, 
 enlightened — " 
 
 " No doubt — no doubt," interrupted the Mar- 
 quis, " but, Alphonse, I have now other com- 
 panions for you. My friend here, the Count de
 
 ANNETTE. 1 6 1 
 
 Sevrac, with whose father I was well acquainted 
 many years ago, returns to Paris to-morrow, 
 after a short visit to the Bocage, whither he came 
 on an important state affair," — this was said 
 with an air of dignified emphasis — " and it is 
 my wish that you accompany him back to the 
 capital, which will give you an opportunity of 
 seeing the world, and forming connexions more 
 suited to your rank than Delille, though his 
 uniform kindness to you deserves and obtains 
 my regard." 
 
 " I am surprised at what you say, father," 
 replied Alphonse, " for I have often heard you 
 express your dislike of Parisian society, and tell 
 me that I lost nothing by not being famihar 
 with it." 
 
 " True, my boy," exclaimed the Seigneur, 
 with a sigh, " I have said so more than once, 
 and perhaps I had some cause — however, let 
 that pass ; enough now to state that it is neces- 
 sary you set out with the Count to-morrow for 
 Paris." 
 
 " Where it is not impossible," ' observed De 
 Sevrac, " that you may be speedily summoned 
 to a post of high honour, perhaps of danger." 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 ANNETTE. 
 
 " And, provided it be one of honour," re- 
 joined Alphonse with animation, " I care not 
 for the danger, hut will grapple with it face to 
 face, as becomes the race from which I spring." 
 
 " My noble boy !" exclaimed the delighted 
 Marquis, *' there spoke a true De Chatillon. 
 How like you are to your grandfather ! I 
 wonder I never discovered the resemblance be- 
 fore." 
 
 " I can say nothing about that," observed the 
 Count ; " but he is the exact image of yourself. 
 I was struck with the likeness the minute he 
 entered the room." 
 
 " So he is^ — so he is," replied his father, 
 chuckling at the idea of his son's resemblance to 
 himself; " people have told me so a hundred 
 times, but I never paid much attention to what 
 they said ; but now I am convinced of it. Ah, 
 x\lphonse, my child ! I fear I have much indif- 
 ference, not to say unkindness, to atone for." 
 
 The Count de Sevrac, ignorant of what had 
 taken place during his absence from the chateau, 
 regarded this ebullition merely as a proof of the 
 Marquis's satisfaction that Alphonse had so 
 readily agreed to his wishes ; and as he marked
 
 ANNETTE. 163 
 
 the young man's handsome and intelligent coun- 
 tenance, he did not feel at all surprised at his 
 father's manifest pride in him. 
 
 Alphonse's preparations for the journey were 
 soon completed, and the Marquis furnished him 
 with an order on his Paris banker for whatever 
 sums might be needful during his stay there ; 
 and on the following day the party, to the huge 
 delight of Jacques, who was heartily tired of La 
 Vendee, took their departure from the chateau. 
 
 " Farewell," said the Count, embracing his 
 host ; " I assure you, since I have been here, I 
 have learned quite to envy you, for you live sur- 
 rounded by those you love, and who love you ; 
 while I go to scenes of tumult and anarchy, 
 where friend scarce trusts friend, and factious 
 hate embitters all one's best feelings. Farewell, 
 Marquis, it may be for ever ; but whether we 
 meet again or not, remember your promise ! I 
 need not be told how great your influence is 
 throughout the district, and I feel that, at the 
 fitting juncture, you will so exert that influence, 
 as to entitle yourself to their Majesties' lasting 
 gratitude." 
 
 " I will," replied the Seigneur ; " the King 
 
 M 2
 
 1 64 ANNETTE. 
 
 has only to issue his commands to tiiat effect, 
 and I and mine will rush to arms, as my grand- 
 father did in the glorious days of — " 
 
 " Thanks, my friend, a thousand thanks," 
 exclaimed the Count, hastily vaulting into his 
 saddle, by way of cutting short his host's story, 
 which he had good reason to fear would be a 
 long one. 
 
 The Marquis then turned to his son. 
 
 "Adieu, my boy," said he, fondly pressing 
 him to his breast, " be true to whatever trust 
 may be reposed in you, and, above all, never 
 forget that you are a De Chatillon. We shall 
 write often to each other — adieu," and so saying, 
 the Seigneur, not daring to trust himself with 
 further speech, turned back into the chateau, 
 and the travellers rode off.
 
 ANNETTE. 165 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 When they reached Nantes, the travellers 
 resigned their horses to the custody of one oi 
 the Marquis's servants, who had accompanied 
 them with Alphonse's valise, and stepping into 
 the diligence, which w^as just about starting for 
 Paris, were whirled away to the capital, where 
 they arrived after a tedious journey, unmarked 
 by any incident of moment, and repaired to the 
 Count's lodging ; for, like most of the resident 
 aristocrats, De Sevrac had disposed of his mag- 
 nificent hotel, dismissed the major part of his 
 household, and adopted such a style of living as 
 might least expose him to the jealous scrutiny 
 of the sans- culottes. 
 
 The first thing Alphonse did, was to procure
 
 166 ANNETTE. 
 
 apartments as near as possible to his friend ; 
 and having succeeded in his task, he next 
 directed his steps to his father's banker, Mon- 
 sieur Delaborde, a homely, unpretending man 
 of business, somewhat advanced in years, who 
 furnished him with funds sufRcient for his cur- 
 rent expenses ; asked him many questions about 
 the Marquis, whom he observed he had not 
 seen since the day of the present King's coro- 
 nation, and gave him much well-meant advice 
 touching the course of conduct he should pur- 
 sue while residing in the capital. 
 
 " I trust, my young friend, if so you will per- 
 mit me to call you/' he said, " I trust you have 
 not come here with the view of taking a decided 
 part in any of the political squabbles of the day. 
 These are not times for such an experiment, 
 which would most probably have no other result 
 than your own ruin. Look on, if you please, as 
 an unconcerned spectator, but bew^are of med- 
 dling as a partisan. The Marquis, I doubt not, 
 as a man of good common sense, has already 
 advised you to the same effect." 
 
 " On the contrary," replied Alphonse, smiling 
 at Delaborde's notion of his father's character.
 
 ANNETTE. 167 
 
 "as an enthusiastic royalist, he has insisted on 
 my attaching myself to the court." 
 
 " A very rash speculation," said the banker, 
 gravely shaking his head. 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 " Because nothing is to be gained by it, the 
 court having no longer any suitable pensions or 
 appointments to bestow on its adherents." 
 
 " But I want neither place nor pension," in- 
 terrupted Alphonse. 
 
 " Indeed !" replied Dclaborde, who was a 
 mere man of the counting-house, and had no 
 notion of disinterested loyalty, " well, that is 
 very creditable to your patriotism, but it is not 
 the true principle of business." 
 
 " Perhaps not ; but the laws of honour, not 
 the principles of business, will regulate my con- 
 duct," rejoined Alphonse with some warmth. 
 
 " Mere moonshine — the romance of youth," 
 said the banker drily ; " where is the honour, to 
 say nothing of the prudence, of your attaching 
 yourself to a cause by which you can gain little 
 or nothing, and may possibly lose all. When 
 you have reached my years, my young friend, 
 you will think very differently on these matters."
 
 168 ANNETTE. 
 
 " I presume, Monsieur Delaborde, you are of 
 opinion that the people are the winning party." 
 
 " Why, judging from present indications, I 
 should be inclined to say they are ; but there's 
 no knowing," added the discreet man of busi- 
 ness, "and therefore I should be sorry to com- 
 mit myself by any premature expression of 
 opinion." 
 
 " None can wish more fervently than I do," 
 said Alphonse, " that the people should win all 
 that they have a right to win ; but if they have 
 their privileges, so also has the court ; and thus 
 thinking, it is my intention — should the oppor- 
 tunity be afforded me — to tender my services to 
 his Majesty ; for, from w^hat I have heard and 
 read lately, I am satisfied that the democrats 
 have already more power than they know how 
 to use. But do not misunderstand me. Though 
 I am a stanch Royalist, yet I am no bigot, and 
 hate despotism quite as cordially as even La- 
 fayette can do," with which words, Alphonse 
 took leave of Delaborde, and after calling at the 
 Count's lodgings, who was absent on duty at 
 the Tuileries, he went home, and occupied himself 
 in writing letters to his father and the Delilles.
 
 ANNETTE. 169 
 
 It was not till the fourth day after his arrival 
 in Paris, that Alphonse was able to see his friend 
 De Sevrac. But he had not been unoccupied 
 in the interim. He was never weary of w^an- 
 dering about the city, the splendour and variety 
 of whose public buildings struck him with asto- 
 nishment ; and not less v\'as he surprised at the 
 absence of all showy equipages, and gaily-dressed 
 people in the streets, so different from what he 
 had been prepared to expect, and which origi- 
 nated, partly in the fears of the aristocracy, and 
 partly in that affectation of republican simphcity, 
 which was already beginning to develop itself 
 among the mass of the populace. But what 
 most astonished the young man, was the quiet 
 and even forlorn aspect that the Tuileries pre- 
 sented. The days of its court magnificence was 
 gone, and nothing indicated that it w^as the 
 abode of royalty, but a stately Garde du Corps, 
 w4io was sullenly pacing to and fro in front of 
 the grand entrance. Alphonse was so struck 
 with the air of gloom and solitude that hung 
 over this celebi'ated palace, that he could not 
 help dw^elling on the subject to the Count, when, 
 pursuant to a message delivered to him by
 
 170 ANNETTE. 
 
 Jacques, he made his appearance at that noble- 
 man's residence. 
 
 " You may well be surprised," replied De 
 Sevrac, coolly, " but this is among the least of 
 the changes that have taken place within the 
 last three years." 
 
 " But does not the King still continue to 
 hold his court at the Tuileries ?" inquired the 
 young man. 
 
 " Court !" exclaimed the Count, " there is 
 nothing worthy of the name now. His Majesty 
 lives in retirement, giving audience to none but 
 his ministers, and the few nobles who still 
 remain by his side, and who come and go as 
 quietly as possible, without the slightest show 
 of parade or ceremony. But tell me, how have 
 you been disposing of your time lately ? I 
 suppose you thought I had forgotten you ; but 
 the truth is, I have been in such close attend- 
 ance at the Tuileries, every day since my return, 
 that I have not had an hour to spare. His 
 Majesty's indisposition, too, which confines him 
 to his private apartments — " 
 
 " What, is the King ill ? I trust there is no 
 cause for apprehension."
 
 ANNETTE. 171 
 
 " No, it is merely a general physical languor, 
 induced by anxiety of mind. Had it not been 
 for this, he would have commanded your attend- 
 ance at the palace before now, for he is aware 
 that you are in Paris, and made many inquiries 
 after you and your father. And this brings me 
 to the subject of the household appointment 
 that we spoke of. At present, the thing cannot 
 be managed, for the Assembly have just passed 
 a resolution, which puts it out of the King's 
 power to make a suitable provision for you. We 
 cannot even attach you to his body-guard, for 
 its numbers are abridged, and I fear will shortly 
 be replaced by the National Guard." 
 
 " Since this is the case, then, and I am no 
 longer likely to be of use in Paris, 1 may as 
 well return to the Bocage," replied Alphonse, his 
 disappointment softened by the idea of shortly 
 again seeing Annette. 
 
 " Return !" exclaimed De Sevrac, with an air 
 of grave surprise, " return ! And to what ? 
 To a" life of inglorious ease and obscurity, at the 
 very moment when every man, who has a spark 
 of honour or courage in his nature, feels it his 
 most sacred duty to rally round the throne, and
 
 172 ANNETTE. 
 
 either triumph with it, or perish with it. Can 
 you possibly dream of returning at such a crisis ; 
 and all because you happen to have met Vx^ith 
 a trifling disappointment ? For shame ! — for 
 shame ; I did not think you required to be 
 bribed to do your duty !" 
 
 " Count de Sevrac, you mistake me," replied 
 Alphonse, with animation, " upon my soul you 
 do. I care nothing for the loss of the house- 
 hold appointment. It was not that which 
 brought me to Paris. No, I am here because 
 my father so willed it; and if by continuing 
 here I can be of the slightest use to his Majesty, 
 I care not how lengthened is my stay." 
 
 " Well said, my young friend, I was certain I 
 misunderstood you. But to the point. You 
 can be of service — of great service — to your 
 King, and it was to tell you this, and also to 
 point out to you the means of rendering him 
 assistance, that I sent for you here to-day. You 
 are aware, perhaps, of the system of espionage 
 kept up by the Assembly over his Majesty — " 
 
 " How then can one so utterly without in- 
 fluence as I am be of use to him ?" inquired 
 Alphonse, interrupting his friend's observations.
 
 ANNETTE. 173 
 
 " I will tell you. There are certain distin- 
 guished members of the household now in their 
 turn of attendance at the Tuileries, who are 
 anxious, without loss of time, to quit Paris, and 
 join the emigrants on the frontier. The King 
 is equally desirous that they should set out, pur- 
 posing through them to communicate with the 
 Princes at Coblentz ; but as their persons are 
 well known, and they are supposed to exercise 
 undue influence over the royal mind, he is appre- 
 hensive that their sudden departure from the 
 palace, if not contrived with the utmost skill 
 and secresy, will — in the present feverish state 
 of men's minds — give rise to suspicions that 
 some new court intrigue is on foot. Now what 
 is required of you is this — to keep a careful 
 watch in that quarter of the Tuileries whence 
 the party I allude to intend making their escape, 
 so that none may be cognisant of their flight 
 but those who, like ourselves, are concerned in 
 it. How say you? Are you willing to assist 
 in furthering this scheme ?" 
 
 " Most gladly will I do so," replied Al- 
 phonse ; " but how comes it that I am selected 
 for this task ? Why is not the watch con-
 
 1 74 ANNETTE. 
 
 fided to you, who are so much better acquainted 
 with the ways of the court ?" 
 
 " Because I am too well known to all the 
 retainers at the Palace, as the King's friend 
 and adviser. Were I, therefore, to appear in 
 the matter, or be seen stealing out with a 
 disguised party by a back-door at night, sus- 
 picion would instantly be awakened. With you 
 it is different; you are a stranger — a mere 
 private individual, who, if surprised on your 
 watch, which is not likely, may turn aside 
 distrust far more readily than I could." 
 
 " And when is this scheme to be carried 
 into execution ?" 
 
 " This very night." 
 
 *' And may I inquire the names of the par- 
 ties ?" 
 
 " Oh, certainly : they are the Due de Beau- 
 villiers, the Duchess, her sister, and two chil- 
 dren. At present, I have neither time nor 
 authority to make any further communica- 
 tion," and as he said this, the Count bade 
 adieu to his young friend, observing that he 
 was going to the palace to concert the final 
 arrangements for the party's departure, and
 
 ANNETTE. 175 
 
 should be back in the afternoon, till when he 
 requested Alphonse not to quit the apart- 
 ment. 
 
 When he was gone, De Chatillon amused 
 himself with a volume of Voltaire's tales, which 
 he took down from the shelf of a small book- 
 case, and had just finished the perusal of 
 " L'Ingenu," w^hen the Count returned. He 
 was in high spirits, and instantly ordered an 
 early dinner, by way, as it would seem, of 
 helping to pass away the time, for he ate little 
 or nothing himself, and Alphonse, whose mind 
 was much excited by the task he had so un- 
 expectedly been called upon to perform, was 
 almost as abstemious. 
 
 When the attendant had left the room, De 
 Sevrac informed his companion that every ar- 
 rangement had been made to ensure the safe 
 departure of the Duke and his party, and then 
 gliding from the subject, he began discoursing 
 on indifferent matters, with an air of non- 
 chalance , which a more experienced observer 
 than De Chatillon would have seen was but 
 put on, to conceal the workings of an anxious 
 spirit.
 
 176 ANNETTE. 
 
 Thus they sate, chatting on every subject 
 but that which engrossed their thoughts, until 
 the deepening gloom of the apartment warned 
 them that the day was gone. The Count's 
 restlessness, notwithstanding the pains he took 
 to conceal it, now began visibly to increase, 
 and walking to the window, he said : " Fortune 
 favours us, for the sky is overcast, and neither 
 moon nor stars are to be seen — another hour, 
 and then let Lafayette and his rebel colleagues 
 look to themselves !" 
 
 The anxiously expected hour at length ar- 
 rived; and then De Sevrac, referring to his 
 watch, rang the bell for his valet. 
 
 " Where is Jacques ?" he asked of a servant 
 who answered the summons. 
 
 " I know not, Monseigneur ; he went out 
 early in the afternoon, and has not yet re- 
 turned." 
 
 " The incorrigible rascal ! I must get rid of 
 him; for his head seems completely turned, 
 and neither advice nor remonstrance make the 
 slightest impression on him ; but no matter, 
 go and get me 2, fiacre ^ 
 
 Within a brief space the servant returned,
 
 ANNETTE. 177 
 
 with intelligence that the fiacre was at the 
 door; and the Count and Alphonse entered 
 it, the fornner ordering the driver to halt at 
 a certain spot which he mentioned in the 
 immediate vicinity of the Tuileries. 
 
 As they went along, De Sevrac explained to 
 his companion the specific duty required of 
 him. 
 
 " You will station yourself," said he, " at the 
 end of a passage leading to the apartments of 
 the King's domestics, whither I shall conduct 
 you. At the opposite extremity of this passage, 
 which opens directly into the street, you will 
 perceive a small private door on the left-hand 
 side ; and you are to keep your attention fixed 
 on it, till you see the Duke, his sister, and his 
 children come out, when you will advance to- 
 wards them — first ascertaining that no other 
 person is nigh — and ask them for the pass- word. 
 They will reply " De Chatillon," which will 
 satisfy you that they are the right party ; and 
 you will then, with as little delay and noise as 
 possible, see them safely out of the palace, and 
 close the door gently behind them. Soon after- 
 wards, the Duchess will come out alone; you 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 ANNETTE. 
 
 will put to her the same question that you put 
 to the others, and she will make you the same 
 answer, whereupon you will give her your arm, 
 and hurry her off as quickly as you can to the 
 Petit Carousel. Here you will find the rest of 
 the party, together with a coachman, awaiting 
 your arrival ; and to the latter you are to resign 
 the custody of the lady, whom he will imme- 
 diately convey to a carriage hard by ; you must, 
 however, take care not to quit the spot until 
 the whole party have driven off, when you will 
 make the best of your way to my lodgings, 
 where you will find me eagerly expecting your 
 return. You understand me, Alphonse ?" 
 
 " Perfectly." 
 
 "Then pray have all your wits about you, 
 for you know not how much depends on the 
 issue of this night's work. But whatever you 
 do, be careful of the Duchess. Repress any 
 disposition she may show to converse; and, 
 above all, avoid crowds, for her Grace's person 
 is well known, and were her disguise once to be 
 detected, the Royal Family would lose the only 
 remaining chance they have of communicating 
 with their allies beyond the frontier. But see,
 
 ANNETTE. 1 79 
 
 the fiacre has stopped ; so let us get out, for we 
 are near the palace." 
 
 Having quitted the vehicle, the two friends 
 proceeded towards the Tuileries, the Count 
 leading the way and purposely selecting the 
 most retired streets. On arriving at the gates 
 of the palace, he addressed a few words to the 
 sentinel on duty, and was forthwith admitted 
 into the court-yard. Alphonse, by his directions, 
 followed close to his heels, and they ascended 
 the grand staircase, on the top of w^hich, and 
 lounging against a magnificent balustrade, stood 
 a young officer of the body-guard, who seemed 
 to be acquainted with De Se^Tac, and offered 
 no interruption to his progress ; though he 
 assured him that if he wished to see the King 
 he would be disappointed, for his Majesty was 
 indisposed, and had retired to the Queen's pri- 
 vate apartments for the night. 
 
 Following his guide in silence, Alphonse, 
 after traversing a spacious suite of rooms, de- 
 scended another and inferior staircase, situated 
 apparently at one of the extremities of the 
 palace, in the humblest and most retired quarter, 
 which terminated in a long, narrow passage, lit 
 
 N 2
 
 180 ANNETTE. 
 
 by a solitary and not very brilliant lamp. Here 
 De Sevrac came to a halt, and turning cau- 
 tiously round to ascertain that no one was 
 within sight or hearing, said in a low tone of 
 voice : " This is the passage I spoke to you of, 
 and yonder is the door at which the party will 
 come out. You cannot possibly mistake it, for 
 it is the last one on the left-hand side, within a 
 yard or two of the street-door fronting us." 
 They were standing at the foot of the staircase, 
 just at the commencement of the long, straight 
 passage. " Now keep a strict w^atch ; turn 
 back any intruder that may attempt to pass 
 you, for which I give you the authority of the 
 Comptroller of the Household ; and be sure you 
 lose not a moment, and exercise your utmost 
 caution in escorting the Duchess to the Carousel. 
 Adieu, I dare stay no longer, for this is no place 
 for one like me to be seen in," and with quick 
 and noiseless steps, the Count re-ascended the 
 staircase, and was quickly lost to sight. 
 
 He had no sooner disappeared than Alphonse 
 commenced his watch, standing with folded 
 arms against the wall, between the passage and 
 the staircase, so that he could command an un-
 
 ANNETTE. 181 
 
 interrupted view of both to their full extent, 
 and listening attentively so as to catch even the 
 slightest sound. He heard nothing, however, 
 but now and then the distant clapping of a door, 
 or the confused hum of voices, and rattling of 
 coaches in the street. 
 
 After remaining motionless at his post for 
 nearly half an hour, his quick ear caught the 
 sound of footsteps, and presently he saw a 
 gentleman dressed in black slowly descending 
 the staircase towards him. As he drew near, 
 he cast a hasty, suspicious glance about him, 
 and on gaining the spot where the young 
 sentinel stood, he looked him steadily in the 
 face, and without saying a word, passed him, 
 and continued his way along the passage. De 
 Chatillon immediately hastened after him, w^here- 
 upon the intruder stopped, and exclaimed with 
 an air of authority, " How is this, young man ? 
 Do you know who I am ?'* 
 
 ''' No," replied Alphonse ; " but be you who 
 you may, you must not pass this way." 
 
 *' But I must pass. I belong to his 
 Majesty's household, and if you attempt to 
 stop me, you do so at your peril."
 
 182 ANNETTE. 
 
 " I cannot help it ; I must obey my 
 orders." 
 
 '* And pray who gave you those orders ?" 
 inqmred the gentleman authoritatively, " tell 
 me at once, or I will summon the guard." 
 
 Apprehensive from the individual's manner, 
 w^ho, he felt persuaded was a person of dis- 
 tinction about the court, that he would put 
 his threat into execution, and by so doing, mar 
 the scheme which the Count had so much at 
 heart, Alphonse replied, though not without 
 visible embarrassment : " My orders were given 
 me by- — but before I say more, 1 must know 
 whom I am addressing." 
 
 " You are a discreet youth," said the gen- 
 tleman with an encouraging smile ; " but you 
 need not fear telling me your authority ; look, 
 here is the King's own signet-ring, which will 
 satisfy you that you are speaking to a friend 
 of his Majesty." 
 
 Alphonse glanced at the glittering trinket, 
 which was held up close to him, and replied : 
 ''As you tell me this is the King's signet- 
 ring, I presume that it is so, and therefore 
 1 have no hesitation in savins: that I
 
 ANNETTE. 183 
 
 received my orders from the Count de Se- 
 vrac." 
 
 " Humph, I guessed as much. Well, young 
 man, now that you are satisfied I am no mere 
 officious intruder, I suppose I may pass on to 
 yonder door." 
 
 " I dai'e not even now say yes ; I fear I 
 have said too much — " Before he could com- 
 plete the sentence, a noise was heard as of 
 some one treading hastily along a distant 
 galler}^, on which the gentleman whispered: 
 " Don't he alarmed, young Sir, you shall not 
 incur danger on my account, for I see that 
 you are faithful to the trust that the Count 
 has reposed in you — would that others were 
 like you !" He then, without making any 
 further attempt to pass on to the door, re- 
 turned \iith cautious steps the same way he 
 came. 
 
 On his departure, Alphonse returned to his 
 post, where he kept guard for a considerable 
 time longer, musing now on his last interview 
 with Annette Delille, and now on the strange 
 fate that had so suddenly transferred him from 
 the sylvan retirement of La Vendee to the
 
 184 ANNETTE. 
 
 heart of a crowded and tumultuous capital. 
 While he thus stood, absorbed in reverie, he 
 heard a clock strike in a remote quarter of the 
 palace, and ere the sound had died away, the 
 chandelier that lit that portion of the gallery 
 which opened on the staircase disappeared, as 
 though it were drawn up through the roof; and 
 now, nothing but a dim light in the centre of 
 the passage remained between him and utter 
 darkness. Presently he fancied he heard the 
 unclosing of a door, and immediately moved 
 towards the one on which he had been told to 
 keep a wary eye. He was not mistaken ; the 
 door was gradually and cautiously opened, and 
 a man's head thrust through the aperture. 
 The stranger looked vigilantly in the direction 
 of the staircase, and seeing Alphonse, came out 
 into the passage accompanied by a ♦lady and 
 two children ; he was dressed like one of the 
 King's valets, but notwithstanding his evident 
 disguise, De Chatillon had no difficulty in recog- 
 nizino; the individual who had accosted him 
 about an hour before. 
 
 " We are alone, T think," observed the Duke, 
 addressing Alphonse.
 
 ANNETTE. 185 
 
 " Not a soul has passed since you left me. 
 But," added the young man, seeing the party 
 make a move towards the street-door, " have 
 you no pass-word to give ? I dare not let you 
 depart without." 
 
 " De Chatillon," replied the other with a 
 courteous smile ; on hearing which, Alphonse 
 accompanied the Duke to the door, which he 
 quickly proceeded to unlock, and gently push- 
 ing the lady and the children before him into 
 the street, said, as he himself followed : " Young 
 man, there is yet another, who demands your 
 care. Be vigilant, therefore, and prompt in 
 your movements ; and remember, w^e shall soon 
 meet again, when you will hnd that I know 
 how to be grateful." 
 
 De Chatillon carefully closed the door after 
 the Duke and resumed his original position ; 
 but he had not been in it above ten minutes, 
 when the side-door was again opened, and a 
 lady, of a tall and majestic figure made her 
 appearance, clad in a neat but homely attire. 
 Persuaded that she was the Duchess de Beau- 
 villiers, the young man put to her the same 
 question that he had previously put to the
 
 186 ANNETTE. 
 
 Duke, and receiving the same answer, respect- 
 fully offered her his arm, which she accepted 
 without hesitation, and they passed out into 
 the street, without a word being spoken on 
 either side. 
 
 The street into which the passage opened 
 was narrow and dark, and to Alphonse's great 
 relief, almost deserted ; but as he turned out of 
 it into a broader and better lighted one, the 
 scene became more busy, and crowds, chiefly of 
 the lower classes, passed him, wearing the 
 bonnet rouge, and chanting patriotic songs with 
 a fierce energy of manner, that caused his com- 
 panion to grasp his arm convulsively, as though 
 she apprehended her life was in danger. They 
 were pursuing their course with unrelaxing 
 speed, when a neighbouring church clock chimed 
 the first quarter after ten. The lady started 
 at the sound, and whispering her fears that 
 they would be too late, hurried Alphonse down 
 a long, winding lane, which seemed emptied of 
 all its inhabitants. Imagining from her alert 
 and unhesitating manner that she was perfectly 
 familiar with the road, the young man offered 
 no opposition to her guidance ; but he was soon
 
 ANNETTE. 187 
 
 compelled to interfere, and hint his belief that 
 they had lost their way. 
 
 " Ha ! indeed," exclaimed the Duchess, im- 
 petuously ; " have you misled me, then, in order 
 to betray me ?" 
 
 " Lady," rejoined Alphonse, gravely, " I am 
 incapable of such baseness. The fault, allow 
 me to say so, is your own. I was fearful we 
 were going wrong, but you appeared to be 
 so confident of your road, that I took for 
 granted you were acquainted with it." 
 
 " You are right, young man ; I am to 
 l)lame, not you; but I was desirous to avoid 
 those horrid crowds." 
 
 As De Chatillon made no answer, the 
 Duchess, concluding that she had deeply 
 wounded his sense of honour, added in her 
 most winning manner : " Forgive my hasty 
 speech ; I meant not to affront you, for I 
 feel persuaded that it is not from such as 
 you that I need dread treachery ; but how 
 very vexatious ! What is to be done now?" 
 
 " If time will admit of our going back," 
 said Alphonse, " I can easily get again into 
 the right track, for I know the Carousel, but
 
 188 ANNETTE. 
 
 we seem involved here in a perfect labyrinth 
 of streets." 
 
 "No, no, v^e have not a minute to spare," 
 replied the Duchess. 
 
 " In that case, then, you had better v^alk 
 slowly on, while I go and make inquiry at 
 that shop over the way." 
 
 " Do so, but pray, pray be quick, for every- 
 thing depends on dispatch." 
 
 Quick as lightning Alphonse darted across 
 the street, and having ascertained the right 
 direction, returned to his companion's side, 
 whom he urged forward at a pace resembling 
 rather a run than a walk. As they drew near 
 the Louvre, they saw a carriage slowly coming 
 towards them, with attendants walking beside 
 it with torches which threw a broad red glare 
 across the road. 
 
 " It is Lafayette !" exclaimed the Duchess in a 
 deeply agitated tone ; " if he sees us we are lost." 
 
 " This way, lady, this way," said De Cha- 
 tillon eagerly ; " let us conceal ourselves here," 
 and he lead her to the wickets of the Louvre, 
 beneath which he placed hei', and took his 
 station by her side.
 
 ANNETTE. 189 
 
 When the carriage had passed on, they 
 emerged from their hiding place, and quickly 
 reached the Petit Carousel. A young man, 
 dressed like a coachman, and who appeared to 
 have been long on the look-out, no sooner 
 beheld the Duchess, than he rushed up to 
 her, and exclaiming in an under-tone : " Thank 
 God you are come at last, Madame ; you know 
 not what uneasiness you have occasioned us 
 all !" led the w^ay to a coach which was in 
 waiting hard by, and in which the rest of the 
 party were already seated. 
 
 When the Duchess had taken her place 
 in the carriage, she said, turning to Alphonse, 
 who stood close by the open window : " Fare- 
 well, young man ; you have this night done 
 such good service as none here will ever forget ; 
 farewell, and when you next see the Count, 
 tell him he shall hear from us at the very 
 earliest opportunity." As she spoke these 
 words, she courteously waved her hand to 
 him, and the next instant the coach drove off. 
 Alphonse w^atched it until it had disappeared, 
 and then went back to De Sevrac's lodgings. 
 
 " Almost eleven o'clock," said the Count,
 
 190 ANNETTE. 
 
 referring to a watch in his hand ; "I began 
 to fear that our scheme had miscarried, but I 
 can read in your eye that we have succeeded." 
 
 " We have so, but not without difficulty." 
 
 " And you saw the party all safely seated in 
 the carriage '?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And waited at the Carousel till it drove 
 off." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Very good ; now look at me. Do I betray 
 any symptom of exultation at the tidings you 
 have brought ? Is my cheek flushed, my eye 
 brighter, or my voice more excited in conse- 
 quence ?" 
 
 " I see no change from your usual manner," 
 replied Alphonse, surprised at these abrupt ques- 
 tions. 
 
 " Yet at this very moment, when I appear 
 to you so calm and even indifferent," said De 
 Sevrac, " my heart is literally bounding with 
 joy; but experience in the world's ways has 
 taught me the necessity of practising self-com- 
 mand, which you also must study to acquire, if 
 you would hope to turn to account the glorious
 
 ANNETTE. 1 9 1 
 
 chances of preferment which the events of 
 to-night have thrown in your way." 
 
 " I don't understand you, Count ; what pos- 
 sible influence can the Duke's flight from France 
 have on my fortunes?" 
 
 " Duke 1" exclaimed De Be\Tac, with energy, 
 " there was no Duke in the case, or Duchess 
 either." 
 
 " Who then were the party ?" 
 
 " Cannot you guess ?" 
 
 " My God !" said Alphonse, after a moment's 
 reflection, " can it be possible that I have been 
 aiding in the escape of — " 
 
 " The Royal Family of France !" rejoined the 
 Count, " 'tis even so. The lady whom you 
 escorted to the Carousel was indeed no other 
 than the Queen herself, the illustrious Marie 
 Antoinette ! I w^ould have told you this 
 before, but I feared that the intelligence might 
 create a flutter and agitation of spirits, fatal to 
 that cool self-possession so essential to the suc- 
 cess of our scheme. Hence the feigned names 
 of the Duke and Duchess de Beamilliers. But 
 let me hear your account of matters ?" 
 
 " I have little to say, in addition to what you
 
 192 ANNETTE. 
 
 already know," observed De Chatillon, when he 
 had recovered from the astonishment which his 
 friend's communication had caused him. He 
 then spoke of the wearisome and protracted 
 w^atch he had kept, which was interrupted onl}^ 
 by the King's sudden appearance in the passage, 
 and was proceeding to inquire the reason of 
 such strange conduct on the part of his Majesty, 
 when the Count stopped him with : " 'Tis just 
 like Louis ; I could have sworn he would have 
 acted so. Oh, when will he learn to discrimi- 
 nate between friends and foes ! You ask me 
 why he sought an interview with you. Because, 
 not satisfied with my representations, he was 
 determined to judge for himself of your trust- 
 worthiness. But the Queen — she showed none 
 of this petty feeling of distrust? She relied 
 implicitly on you, did she not ?" 
 
 " Without the slightest hesitation," replied 
 Alphonse. 
 
 " I knew she would, for her's is a truly heroic 
 spirit. Would that Louis possessed half her 
 loftiness of character and energy of purpose !" 
 
 When, in continuation, De Chatillon stated 
 how they had lost their way, and what alarm
 
 ANNETTE. 193 
 
 the Queen felt, lest she should have been dis- 
 covered by some of the followers of Lafayette, 
 the Count exclaimed with a shudder : " 'Twas 
 indeed a hazardous moment, but, thank God, 
 all has turned out well. Now let the anarchists 
 tremble !" he added fiercelv, shakino^ his clenched 
 hand above his head. " Take heed, Lafayette ! 
 Girondists, Jacobins, beware ; your heads sit 
 but loosely on your shoulders. Yes, the fac- 
 tions shall be crushed to atoms, for the King is 
 no longer a slave, but fi-ee to act as becomes 
 a French monarch. With the Emperor's forty 
 thousand men in Flanders and Alsace, with the 
 Swiss marching on Lyons, the Piedmontese 
 threatening Dauphine, Prussia and Spain co- 
 operating with us, England neutral, the Count 
 d'Ai'tois at Goblentz, and the gallant Bouille 
 with his camp at Montmedy — with brave allies 
 like these, what may we not hope for ? And 
 La Vendee, boy ! We will but wait till the 
 King has crossed the frontier, and then, while I 
 set out for Coblentz, you shall rejoin your 
 father, and summon the whole province to 
 arms. My life on it, we shall conquer, and 
 
 ours shall be no bloodless " 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 1 94 ANNETTE. 
 
 The Count's sanguine day-dreams were sud- 
 denly dispelled by an uproar, as of people 
 quarrelling in the hall, and before he had time 
 to ascertain the cause of such a disturbance, the 
 door was thrown violently open, and in strutted 
 his scapegrace valet, Jacques, as full of drink 
 and democracy as a Parisian patriot could rea- 
 sonably desire to be. 
 
 " So you've been at your old tricks again," 
 said De Sevrac, sternly addressing the intruder. 
 " How dare you venture into my presence in 
 such a condition ?" 
 
 "Monsieur le Comte," hiccupped Jacques, 
 assuming an air of tipsy bravado, " you once 
 gave me a warning, and now I am come to 
 give you one." 
 
 The Count stared, but did not condescend 
 to make any answer, and the valet mistaking 
 the cause of his silence, exclaimed : " You're a 
 ruined man. Monsieur le Comte, a ruined man," 
 he repeated, with grotesque emphasis. " You 
 may stare, but it's true for all that. We've 
 borne with the aristocrats long enough ; and 
 our club says, and the great Marat says, and we 
 all say, that it's now the people's turn. And
 
 ANNETTE. 195 
 
 SO it is ; and we're going to do away with all 
 laws and taxes, and have our own way in 
 everything. And if you'll join us, and help us 
 to put down our oppressors, you shan't want 
 my good word with — " 
 
 " A truce with this frantic nonsense, fool 1" 
 said the Count, half inclined to laugh, notwith- 
 standing his indignation at the fellow's audacity. 
 
 " Frantic nonsense !" rejoined Jacques, with 
 quite a theatrical start ; " and fool, too ! mean- 
 ing me, of course. Well, we'll hear what they 
 say at the club, when I tell them that one of 
 their chief speakers — " 
 
 "Tiu-n this drunken fool out of the house, 
 and take care that he never enters it again," 
 said De Sevrac, beckoning to another of his 
 servants w^ho had been hngering at the door 
 during the discussion. 
 
 On hearing this order, Jacques burst out into 
 a vehement tirade against all aristocrats; but 
 ere he could finish it to his satisfaction, he 
 found himself standing alone in the street, half 
 strangled, and with his coat hanging in tatters 
 upon his back. 
 
 The foregoing scene caused De Chatillon 
 
 o 2
 
 196 ANNETTE. 
 
 much diversion, and he laughed heartily at the 
 desperate but fruitless efforts which Jacques 
 made to free himself from the tenacious grasp 
 of the servant. When they were again left to 
 themselves, the Count, observing his mirth, 
 said : "In that drunken, turbulent fellow, 
 exquisitely ridiculous as is his conduct, you 
 have a very fair specimen of the popular dema- 
 gogues of the day, with this difference, that 
 he is more fool than knave, more to be pitied 
 and laughed at than hated or feared. God 
 help me, what must be the cause when such 
 are the advocates !"
 
 ANNETTE. 197 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Within ten hours from the period of the 
 King's flight, the news became generally known 
 throughout Paris, and produced an electric sen- 
 sation among all classes. Frequent mobs of 
 imperfectly breeched patriots thronged the 
 Palais Royal, and the various approaches to 
 the Tuileries ; the cafes and restaurants were 
 crowded to suffocation with open-mouthed 
 gossips hungering and thirsting for the daily 
 journals; and the Royalists were seen con- 
 gratulating each other in every quarter of the 
 Faubourg St. Germain. 
 
 But of all parties, the Girondists,"^ who con- 
 
 * A powerful political party in the Legislature ; so 
 called, because the majority of them were deputies from 
 the department of the Giroude.
 
 iy8 ANNETTE. 
 
 stituted a large portion of the Legislativ^e As- 
 sembly, and had strong hopes of forcing their 
 way into the ministry, were the most interested ; 
 and while the conscientious but feeble Lafayette 
 contented himself with dispatching emissaries in 
 pursuit of the royal fugitives, the deputies of 
 the Gironde instructed their agents in the diffe- 
 rent clubs and journals to hint at the question 
 of the King's deposition, while their more vigo- 
 rous rivals, the Jacobins, openly proclaimed the 
 necessity of such a measure. 
 
 Alphonse's old tutor, Servette, was a forcible 
 and eloquent writer in the service of the 
 Girondist party, whose leaders held him in 
 high esteem, especially Roland and his cele- 
 brated wife. As the young man was ac- 
 quainted with his place of abode, for he had 
 received frequent letters from him since his 
 departure from the chateau, he took the oppor- 
 tunity of renewing his intercourse with him ; 
 and on the day after the King's flight, he went 
 to the Rue St. Jacques, the street where his 
 tutor resided. 
 
 He found Servette seated in his library, and 
 busily engaged in writing at a table covered
 
 ANNETTE. 199 
 
 with journals, pamphlets, and manuscripts. He 
 was a mild, thoughtful man, pale and thin, with 
 a slight stoop in his shoulders, and flowing, 
 milk-white hair, which, while it added to the 
 interest of his appearance, made him look ten 
 years older than he really was. Like Bailly, 
 whom he resembled in kindliness and simplicity 
 of nature, he was an enthusiastic advocate for 
 the revolution, but being better versed in books 
 than men, was ill-qualified, except as a writer, 
 to take an active part in that great popular 
 movement. And so was it with the rest of 
 the Girondist party. With the single exception 
 of the worldly, matter-of-fact Roland, they were 
 mere visionaries — perfectibility men, of lettered 
 minds indeed, and exemplary habits — but no- 
 thing more. Alas, how much mischief has been 
 done with the best intentions to society by poli- 
 ticians and philosophers of this stamp ! 
 
 Servette welcomed his pupil with the greatest 
 cordiality ; inquired how he had left their 
 mutual friends, the Delilles — not forgetting a 
 sly allusion to the pretty Annette ; how long 
 he had been in Paris; and what had brought 
 him to that hot-bed of bustle and tumult.
 
 200 ANNETTE. 
 
 "The Delilles were all well when I left 
 them," replied Alphonse ; " and as for me, I 
 came here in the hope of obtaining a situation 
 in the royal household, through the influence 
 of the Count de Sevrac. My father was par- 
 ticularly desirous that I should gain the ap- 
 pointment, but I have been disappointed." 
 
 '* I am glad of it," said Servette, " for the 
 King's service is one from which little honour 
 is to be derived. You have heard of course of 
 his Majesty's flight ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ; as I came along, the people were 
 talking of nothing else." 
 
 " They say that it had been long premedi- 
 tated, and that the Queen — but what ails you ? 
 You appear agitated," and the speaker looked 
 kindly at his young friend, whose embarrassment 
 was visible in his countenance. 
 
 " I am quite well," replied Alphonse, fearful 
 of betraying his secret, " but — but I could not 
 hear the Queen's name mentioned without emo- 
 tion, so generous, so high-minded, as even her 
 enemies allow her to be." 
 
 " She is certainly not devoid of good quali- 
 ties," observed Servette, " but she is rash and
 
 ANNETTE. 20 1 
 
 headstrong ; and if it be really true that it is 
 at her instigation the King has taken this disas- 
 trous step, she has done more injury to royalty 
 than she will ever be able to repair. For my 
 own part, I hope that Louis may succeed in 
 crossing the frontier, for it will save him much 
 suffering, and the Legislature much embarrass- 
 ment ; but should he be intercepted in his 
 flight, and compelled to return to Paris, there 
 will be but one chance left him of retrieving 
 his position. Let him throw- himself boldly 
 and unreservedly into the arms of the popular 
 party, the Girondists, for instance — " 
 
 "The Girondists!" exclaimed De Chatillon : 
 " to resign the government into their hands, 
 would be to pull down and reconstruct the 
 whole fabric of monarchy." 
 
 " And wherefore not ? The old regime is 
 worn out." 
 
 " x\nd henceforth, I presume, the Girondists 
 are to be lords of the ascendant !" 
 
 " Not so ; the great national party to which 
 it is my pride to belong, demand no undue 
 ascendancy for themselves, but merely fair play 
 for all classes. And mark my words — they
 
 202 ANNETTE. 
 
 will obtain that just demand as sure as night 
 follows day. You may smile, but events will 
 prove that I am no false prophet. The spirit 
 of an enlightened freedom is abroad ; men 
 now know the rights which formerly they but 
 guessed at ; and should those rights be much 
 longer withheld, the monarchy, already verging 
 on its decline, will sink to rise no more. God 
 grant that it may not set in blood !" 
 
 " Rights !" replied Alphonse, " I know of 
 no rights that the Crown withholds from the 
 people. On the contrary, so far as I can un- 
 derstand, it has made concession after conces- 
 sion, till it has hardly anything left to concede. 
 In short, at this present moment, the governing 
 power is the mob ; and is it fit that they should 
 be our rulers ?" 
 
 " Not our rulers, for that would be sub- 
 stituting one tyranny for another — King Stork 
 for King Log, as iEsop says in one of his 
 happiest apologues. Bye the bye, do you re- 
 member how often I warned you, when we 
 used to exult together in the triumphs of 
 Washington, that the example set by America 
 would be infectious? You see I was right in
 
 ANNETTE. 203 
 
 my prediction. Believe me, my dear Al- 
 phonse," continued Servette with impressive 
 energy, *' this outbreak, as the court party 
 still persist in calling it, is no partial or evanes- 
 cent explosion ; it is a mighty, national im- 
 pulse — the manifestation of a sublime purpose, 
 the effects of which will not be confined to France, 
 but will be felt throughout Europe, thrilling to 
 its heart's core." 
 
 " When you talk of a national impulse," 
 rejoined De Chatillon indignantly, " I think of 
 the treacherous murder of Delauney ; of the 
 mob-cry against the priests and nobles, ' a 
 la lanterne ;' of the bleeding heads stuck on 
 pikes, and carried before the royal carriage 
 during the night journey from Versailles; and 
 am filled with wonder — to say the least — at 
 your adoption of such a phrase." 
 
 " Ah, Alphonse," replied Servette, mildly 
 rebuking him, " your sympathies, I see, are 
 exclusively with the privileged classes ; you 
 have no tear to bestow on the vast body of 
 the people, whose existence has for centuries 
 been a blank, or worse than a blank — one 
 long, hopeless scene of suffering. Now is
 
 204 ANNETTE. 
 
 this generous, think you? Is it in accord- 
 ance with the dictates of an enlarged huma- 
 nity?" 
 
 " Surely, Monsieur Servette, you will not 
 attempt to justify such atrocities as I have 
 alluded to !" 
 
 " Heaven forbid ! But, remember, the 
 people took no part in them; they were the 
 acts of a ruffian mob — the very dregs of the 
 capital. But granting, for argument's sake, 
 that it were otherwise, before you utterly 
 condemn such deeds, think of the long series 
 of maddening provocations that gave rise to 
 them. Think of the exactions of the feudal 
 system, of the tyrannical lettres de cachet, 
 of the demoralizing orgies of the Pare aux Cerfs, 
 of the reckless extravagance and methodical 
 profligacy of the court, with their necessary 
 consequences, a bankrupt exchequer, and a 
 denationalized aristocracy; — think, I say, of 
 these things, and if you cannot justify, at 
 least cease to wonder at the bloody retribution 
 to which they have led." 
 
 " I trust the time will never come," said De 
 Chatillon, " when T shall cease to deplore and
 
 ANNETTE. 205 
 
 wonder at the anarchy and licentiousness now 
 raging in this capital." 
 
 " I can enter into your feelings, Alphonse, for 
 I too once had my doubts and fears of the great 
 political problem now in the course of solution ; 
 but subsequent reflection, aided by experience, 
 has convinced me of the absolute necessity of 
 the experiment. But a truce to such matters 
 for the present. You say you entertain a dis- 
 like to the Girondists." 
 
 " Only as statesmen, for it would be impos- 
 sible to dislike or despise men of such private 
 worth and splendid ability as Roland, Vergniaud 
 and Brissot, whose speeches I am in the daily 
 habit of reading, and never without wonder at 
 the talent they exhibit. Men like them — how- 
 ever erroneous may be their theories of govern- 
 ment — can yet have nothing in common with 
 Danton, Marat, and the rest of the rabble 
 leaders." 
 
 " Since such are your feelings, then," ob- 
 served Servette, " you can have no objection to 
 accompany me to Roland's to-morrow night. 
 He lives just over the way, and you will have 
 an opportunity of seeing his highly-gifted wife,
 
 206 ANNETTE. 
 
 and many of the ablest men in Paris. You 
 need not be alarmed for your political opinions/' 
 added the speaker good-humouredly, " we shall 
 make no attempt to shake your faith ; though 
 you may take this as a truth, that the Girondists, 
 dangerous as you imagine their views to be, are 
 far better friends to the King than the selfish 
 aristocrats who have hitherto influenced his 
 actions/' 
 
 Curious to see some of the celebrated men 
 whose names were then in every one's mouth, 
 yet resolved not to mingle with any of their 
 party projects, Alphonse accepted Servette's in- 
 vitation ; and at the appointed hour went with 
 him to Roland's house.
 
 ANNETTE. 207 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Nothing could be more unassuming than 
 the interior of Roland's house; the rooms, in 
 particular, wherein he received his guests, were 
 furnished in the plainest, and even homeliest 
 fashion ; and the dress and manner of the host 
 were equally unostentatious, for he was a man 
 who — in imitation of Franklin, as was supposed 
 — affected a more than republican simplicity. 
 His air was grave and somewhat austere, and he 
 spoke in a curt, sententious manner, without 
 the slightest parade of eloquence. Far diiferent 
 was his celebrated wife. She was of a lively, 
 ardent nature ; was learned without being arro-
 
 208 ANNETTE. 
 
 gant or pedantic; and was in the habit of 
 seasoning her conversation with apt touches of 
 sarcasm, which she threw out without effort and 
 without malice. Her manners were frank and 
 conciliatory ; and she was regarded as a sort of 
 oracle by the powerful party to which she 
 belonged, and which indeed was chiefly kept 
 together by her consummate address. 
 
 As Alphonse and his friend entered the salon, 
 this illustrious lady — whose name will be long 
 held in respectful remembrance, if only for the 
 serene courage and dignity that marked her 
 conduct on the scafl'old — was engaged in con- 
 versation with a remarkably handsome young 
 man who stood next her ; and by the flashing 
 of her full dark eye, and the smile that played 
 round her mouth, it was clear that his remarks 
 deeply interested her. 
 
 " Who is that lady ?" inquired De Chatillon 
 in a whisper of his companion. 
 
 " Madame Roland," replied Servette ; " and 
 the gentleman beside her is Barbaroux, a fiery 
 young Marsellois, who is a constant attendant 
 at her soirees. Let us join them." 
 
 With this he led Alphonse up to Madame
 
 ANNETTE. 209 
 
 Roland, and introduced him to her as an old 
 friend and pupil of his own, which procured 
 him a gracious reception from the lady. 
 
 Barbaroux had been speculating on the pro- 
 bability of the King's capture, and hoping that 
 it might not take place, as it would put the 
 Assembly in a very embarrassing position, when 
 Madame Roland observed: 
 
 " Yet should Louis succeed in making: his 
 escape, the reforms so auspiciously commenced 
 must of necessity be interrupted, if not wholly 
 stopped, for he will be sure to throw himself 
 into the arms of Austria, and assisted by the 
 Prussians and the emigrants, will return at the 
 head of an overwhelming force, and restore 
 matters to the state in which they were pre- 
 vious to the assembly of the States-Gene- 
 ral." 
 
 "He may strive to do so," exclaimed Ser- 
 vette, "but the endeavour will be a hopeless 
 one." 
 
 " Hopeless indeed !" said Barbaroux with ani- 
 mation, " for absolutism in France is dead 
 without a chance of resurrection. As for Prus- 
 sian or Austrian interference, let us but be true 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 ANNETTE. 
 
 to ourselves, and not all Europe in arms shall 
 prevail against us." 
 
 Madame Roland smiled at Barbaroux's fer- 
 vour, and asked Alphonse if he entertained the 
 same conviction. 
 
 " Most certainly I do," was the rejoinder. 
 " I should be but an unworthy Frenchman were 
 I not confident of my country's success in a 
 good cause ; but I will not answer for her 
 triumph in a bad one." 
 
 " My young friend here," interposed Servette, 
 "who is but lately arrived from La Vendee, has 
 not yet been able to divest himself of certain 
 opinions which, conscientious as they are, cannot 
 be maintained by argument, wherefore," he 
 added with an arch look, " he is somewhat shy 
 of discussing them. Is it not so ?" 
 
 Alphonse rejoined modestly : 
 
 " I cannot undertake to cope with you in 
 reasoning. Monsieur Servette" — for he enter- 
 tained great respect for his old master's intellect 
 — " but I must say I do not share in the popu- 
 lar distrust of the King. What his Majesty 
 ought in justice to do, that, I doubt not, he is 
 prepared to do."
 
 ANNETTE. 211 
 
 '' Never !" exclaimed Barbaroux scornfiilly, 
 " there is neither honour nor justice to be found 
 in—" 
 
 " Hush — hush," interrupted Madame Roland, 
 in her most conciliatory manner, " we must have 
 no political quarrels here." She then turned the 
 conversation on a recent pamphlet by Camille 
 Desmouhns, observing : " It is full of point and 
 antithesis, and for a certain free and easy play 
 of wit, is almost worthy of Voltaire. But I 
 cannot approve the sentiments, for they are those 
 of an anarchist, not a rational lover of liberty." 
 
 " He is but a lad yet," remarked the kindly 
 and tolerant Servette, " and is scarcely aware of 
 the tendency of his own writings." 
 
 " So his pamphlet assures me," replied the 
 lady, " for presumption and inexperience are 
 stamped on every page." 
 
 " He w^ill learn discretion as he growls older," 
 observed Servette. 
 
 "True," said Madame Roland, "but the 
 mischief will be done before he reaches the age 
 of discretion, which, judging by this, his last 
 and worst production, seems, like the horizon, 
 to fly before him as he advances." 
 
 p 2
 
 2 1 2 ANNETTE. 
 
 " Whom are you speaking of V" inquired Ro- 
 land, who at that moment joined the circle. 
 
 " Camille Desmoulins," said Barbaroux. 
 
 " Ay, I have heard of the vain, headstrong 
 stripling ; he styles himself attorney-general to 
 the lamp-post, I think." 
 
 " I grant you he is rash and self-conceited," 
 remarked Barbaroux " yet you must acknow- 
 ledge, Roland, that he possesses considerable 
 wit and eloquence." 
 
 " Nonsense, nonsense," replied Roland, " Ca- 
 mille wants the staple of all eloquence — common 
 sense. Instead of dealing with facts and prac- 
 tical matters, he goes voyaging through the 
 airy, barren realms of fancy. He is lively, it is 
 true, and at times brilliant ; but remember the 
 old adage — all is not gold that glitters." 
 
 Barbaroux was about making a reply to these 
 disparaging remarks on Camille Desmoulins, 
 when a gentleman entered the salon, and walk- 
 ing straight up to Roland, addressed him in 
 such a deferential and obsequious manner as 
 induced Alphonse to regard him with more 
 than ordinary attention. He was rather short 
 of stature, of a slender make, and a livid and
 
 ANNETTE. 2 1 3 
 
 bilious complexion ; his eyes, ^Yhich at times 
 wore a singular expression of distrust and fear, 
 were dull and sunk in their sockets, and there 
 was a constant blinking of the lids, arising 
 apparently from some nervous affection. His 
 dress was smart and even foppish. He wore a 
 large frill, plaited with extreme neatness, a light- 
 blue, embroidered waistcoat, and a shevvy, well- 
 fitting coat, in which not a wrinkle was to 
 be seen. His hair was dressed in the most 
 careful stvle, and he had several costlv ring:s on 
 his fingers, which he took care to exhibit w^hile 
 tapping a massive gold snuff-box, which was 
 seldom out of his hands. In his address he 
 was stiff and embarrassed, reserved of speech, 
 and when speaking to Roland, studiously avoided 
 looking him in the face. 
 
 Struck with the stranger's manner, and not 
 less so by his dress, which was wholly at 
 variance with the taste of the day, De Chatillon 
 inquired of Servette who he was, and was 
 answered : " His name is RobespieiTe, and he 
 is just now patronized by our host, who, though 
 he thinks him much too violent in his opinions,
 
 214 ANNETTE. 
 
 has a great notion of his integrity. He was 
 first brought under Roland's notice by a clever 
 juvenile essay, which he wrote in 1785, against 
 the Punishment of Death, and which gained 
 the prize awarded by the Royal Society of 
 Metz. At present, he is one of the principal 
 orators at the Jacobin Club, but his position 
 is a precarious one, however flattering to his 
 vanity ; and hence, while avowing himself a 
 zealous democrat, he takes care to conciliate 
 Roland, and through him the Girondists ; 
 so that, in case of need, he may have useful 
 friends at his elbow. I cannot bring myself to 
 like him, for I suspect that he is playing a 
 deeper game than people are aware of. Mark 
 him now, while talking to Madame. See how 
 he casts his eyes on the ground whenever she 
 looks steadily at him." 
 
 " We have been speaking of Camille's last 
 pamphlet," said Madame Roland, addressing 
 Robespierre, " have you read it ?" 
 
 " In part I have," replied Robespierre in a 
 harsh, croaking voice, " but I do not like the 
 flippant manner in which he discusses grave
 
 ANNETTE. 215 
 
 subjects. A nation's wrongs are not fit themes 
 for merriment, though the heartless Voltaire 
 thought otherwise." 
 
 *' Heartless Voltaire !" exclaimed Madame 
 Roland. 
 
 " I mean, as compared with his rival Rous- 
 seau," observed Robespierre. 
 
 '* I presume, then," rt-joined the lady, " you 
 are a disciple of the recluse philosopher of 
 Ermenonville." 
 
 Robespierre replied in the affirmative, where- 
 upon Madame Roland said : " I cannot applaud 
 your discrimination in selecting such a wayward 
 visionary for your model. His philosophy, I 
 admit, is specious enough ; but when you come 
 to analyze it, you find that it is a mere com- 
 pound of selfishness and egotism. Rousseau's 
 nature was essentially deficient in elevation and 
 purity of sentiment. He was the slave uf 
 maudhn vanity, which he mistook for real feel- 
 ings ; and imagined himself a philosopher, when 
 he was nothing more than a weaver of paradox 
 and sophistry. His works advocate, not liberty 
 but licence, and lay the axe to the root of all
 
 2 1 6 ANNETTE. 
 
 that is most august and estimable in the social 
 system." 
 
 "It is with pain I differ from you," replied 
 Robespierre obsequiously ; " but I conceive Rous- 
 seau to be the greatest man that modern times 
 have produced ; and were it ever to be my 
 proud lot to exercise an influence over the 
 destinies of France, I should certainly take his 
 ' Contrat Social' as my text-book." 
 
 " A happy idea !" said Madame Roland 
 ironically, " with one only drawback, that it has 
 not so much as a glimmering of reason to 
 recommend it ; but this, perhaps, constitutes 
 its chief excellence in your eyes," a remark 
 w^hich stung Robespierre to the quick, for he 
 was a man of inordinate vanity, and had a 
 special dread of ridicule. He was careful, how- 
 ever, to conceal his feelings, and made no 
 other answer than by a wordy, common-place 
 panegyric on the spirit of philanthropy that 
 pervaded Rousseau's works. 
 
 " Our friend Roland, I fear, thinks Robes- 
 pierre the ardent philanthropist he would wish 
 to appear," whispered Servette to Alphonse ;
 
 ANNETTE. 2 1 7 
 
 " but trust mc, the time is not far distant when 
 that man will fling back the cause of liberty full 
 half a century. But I will have my eye on 
 him." 
 
 Apparently, Robespierre was aware that he 
 was the subject of remark ; fur although he could 
 not overhear what was said, inasmuch as Ser- 
 vette and Alphonse were at the moment stand- 
 ing a few feet apart from Roland, yet he threw 
 on the former a glance that seemed to say : " I 
 understand you, and the day is coming when 
 you shall find that I do." 
 
 A brisk, intelligent-looking individual here 
 entered the room, and De Chatillon observed 
 him attentively, when he learned that he was 
 Brissot, one of the most active leaders of the 
 Girondist party, and as favourite a speaker in 
 the Assembly as the more noisy and energetic 
 Danton was in the club of the Cordehers. 
 
 " Have you heard the news ?" he exclaimed, 
 addressing the company generally. 
 
 " News ! What news ?" inquired Barbaroux 
 and several others, gathering round him. 
 
 *' The arrest of the Royal Family ! There is
 
 2 1 8 ANNETTE. 
 
 a rumour abroad to that effect, but I cannot 
 undertake to say whether it be true or false." 
 
 These tidings caused considerable excitement ; 
 but there was one man who, to all appearance, 
 heard them unmoved — and that one was Robes- 
 pierre ; he asked no questions, but stood apart 
 from the animated group of which Brissot 
 formed the centre, with his eyes fixed on the 
 ground, as though he were engrossed with far 
 other considerations ; but Servette, who watched 
 him narrowly, could perceive by the changing 
 colour of his cheek, and the slight, unconscious 
 quivering of his lips» that he took the deepest 
 personal interest in the news, notwithstanding 
 his evident desire to assume an aspect of indif- 
 ference. 
 
 " Who told you that the King was arrested ?" 
 asked Roland of Brissot. 
 
 " I heard it from one of Lafayette's staff." 
 
 " It cannot be true," observed Roland, after a 
 pause. 
 
 " Why not ?" said Barbaroux. 
 
 " Because it is too soon yet to have any 
 positive intelligence."
 
 ANNETTE. 219 
 
 " So I think," remarked Madame Roland. 
 " What say you, Monsieui' Robespierre ?" 
 
 " I can only say," replied Robespierre, 
 awakened from his reverie by this sudden 
 appeal to him, " that I hope the report may 
 be true, for though personally I can have 
 no interest in the matter, yet as far as the 
 cause of freedom is concerned, I am persuaded 
 that the tyrant's capture will be of intinite 
 benefit to that glorious cause," and he flou- 
 rished emphatically on the word " glorious," 
 just as a well-trained singer shakes on some 
 particular syllable at the close of a ballad. 
 
 Madame Roland smiled at this patriotic 
 clap-trap; but her husband, who had a dis- 
 taste for tine speeches, heard it with manifest 
 impatience, observing : " Oh, ay ! the cause 
 is glorious enough ; but its greatest recom- 
 mendation with me is its common-sense." 
 
 " You had Franklin in your thoughts when 
 you said that," remarked Brissot. 
 
 " I was not aware of it," rejoined Roland ; 
 " but it is not unlikely, for he and I think ahke 
 on many points. He had a great respect for
 
 220 ANNETTE. 
 
 common-sense, and so have I. He considered 
 it rather a scarce commodity among legislators, 
 and so do I." 
 
 "But I was not alluding to any general 
 coincidence of opinion between you and him," 
 said Brissot, " but to a particular anecdote 
 which was told me by one of his friends, and of 
 w^hich your answer to Robespierre reminded me." 
 
 " Pray let me hear it," exclaimed Madame 
 Roland, " for 1 am interested in everything 
 that regards Dr. Franklin." 
 
 " He w^as talking one day," continued Brissot, 
 "wdth several members of Congress on the 
 subject of the American Revolution, when 
 observing that each vied with the other in 
 the warmth of his eulogiums on its glorious 
 character, he suddenly checked their ardour 
 by saying : ' Pooh, pooh ! what had our 
 struggle to do with glory ? Common-sense 
 was its guiding principle. If we must take 
 praise to ourselves, let it be for having fought, 
 like rational folks, for the substance of en- 
 lightened legislation, not, like fools, for such 
 a mere shadow as glory.' "
 
 ANNETTE. 221 
 
 " There is a world of sound practical wisdom 
 in that retort of Franklin," observed Roland. 
 
 " More wisdom than sentiment," rejoined 
 Brissot ; " but such was the character of the 
 great American statesman's intellect. He had 
 no sympathy with, no conception of, any nobler 
 principle of action than common-sense. To the 
 quickening impulses of ambition, whether lite- 
 rary or political, he was a totid stranger, and 
 he would have derided as puerile vanity that 
 passionate desire to be honourably remembered 
 in after-ages, which is the parent of all that 
 is really great in our nature. Franklin's worldly 
 sagacity was, I grant you, remarkable, so also 
 were his pliilosophic and scientific attainments ; 
 but he had not a spark of that imagination 
 wiiich quickens into life the culd abstractions 
 of th(* understanding ; or of tliat loftiness of 
 thought which appeal's to be then only in its 
 element, when it has gained the height at 
 which ordinary intellects grow dizzy. I re- 
 member him telling me, when I last saw him 
 in Philadelphia, the particulars of the experiment 
 which he made at midnight, on a solitary
 
 222 ANNETTE. 
 
 moor, and in the midst of a thunder-storm, 
 to attract and conduct the lightning from the 
 clouds which were crashing ahove his head. 
 The experiment was in every respect a me- 
 morable one, involving the boldest philosophic 
 discovery of the age, and peculiarly calculated 
 to kindle the imagination, and suggest a train 
 of the sublimest reflections ; yet Franklin told 
 the anecdote as coldly, as drily, and as me- 
 thodically, as if it were the veriest common- 
 place — as if, indeed, he had been speaking 
 of his toilet or his dinner." 
 
 " He was telling you a fact," said Roland, 
 " and you would not have had him tell it you 
 as a fiction." 
 
 " Assuredly not," rejoined Brissot ; " but I 
 would have had his feelings and his fancy take 
 an equal share with his understanding in the 
 narrative. In a word, I would have had him 
 clothe his Truth — and such a Truth, too ! — in 
 garments worthy of its majesty — in the impe- 
 rial purple of the imagination ; and not place 
 it before me like some trite, familiar fact, 
 without even a fio:-leaf to cover its nakedness.
 
 ANNETTE. 223 
 
 A philosopher's mind should not be always 
 dwelling on the literal and the practical ; it 
 should have wings to fly with — " 
 
 " Say, rather, it should have legs to stand 
 upon," retorted Roland, and, weary of a dis- 
 cussion wholly foreign to his tastes, he drew 
 Brissot aside, and commenced a conversation 
 with him on the subject of Lafayette's last 
 address to the National Guard of Paris. 
 
 Chagrined and annoyed at the report of the 
 King's capture, De Chatillon now prepared to 
 quit the soiree, when, on casting his eyes 
 towards the door, he became aware that a 
 person whom Robespierre had joined but a 
 few minutes before, was fixing on him (Al- 
 phonse) a stern gaze of scrutiny. 
 
 There was so much ill- will expressed in the 
 stranger's countenance, that the young man 
 could not refrain from questioning Sfervette 
 respecting him ; but the only answer he got 
 was : "1 know not his name, but I suppose 
 from his acquaintance with Robespierre, that 
 he is some stormy orator at the Jacobins or 
 Cordeliers." 
 
 " How then came he here ? I understood
 
 224 ANNETTE. 
 
 from you that Roland's party discountenanced 
 the violence of these men." 
 
 " So we do ; but, situated as we now are, 
 we cannot afford to separate wholly from them. 
 We must temporize and conciliate." 
 
 "And can you reconcile such conduct to a 
 strict sense of duty ?" 
 
 " Unquestionably ; for, intemperate as they 
 are, we have, nevertheless, more points in com- 
 mon with these men than we have with the 
 court party." 
 
 The stranger whose presence at the soiree 
 had led to these remarks, withdrew his glance 
 when he found that it had been noticed, which 
 gave Alphonse a better opportunity of observing 
 him. He was, apparently, about fifty years of 
 age, and the style of his features showed that 
 in youth he must have been handsome; but 
 his inflamed eyes, and white, bloated face now 
 wore quite a revolting expression — the result 
 of long habits of gross debauchery. As he 
 passed by Alphonse, in order to pay his 
 respects to Madame Roland, who had joined 
 Brissot and her husband, he chanced to hear 
 Servette pronounce the word " De Chatillon,"
 
 ANNETTE. 225 
 
 when he started as if an adder had stung him, 
 but instantly recovered himself, and moved on 
 to the lady's side. 
 
 " That man," said Servette, struck with the 
 malignant expression of his countenance, " must 
 owe you a deep grudge. Did you observe how 
 he started when I happened to address you as 
 De Chatillon ? I suppose he is one of those 
 infuriate demagogues who cannot hear an aris- 
 tocratic name pronounced without flying into a 
 passion." 
 
 " He must be a desperate demagogue, in- 
 deed, if he hate me, without knowing me, 
 merely because I prefix ' De' to my name;" 
 and without deigning to take any further 
 notice of the incident, Alphonse quitted the 
 party, leaving his friend Servette behind 
 him. 
 
 As he passed the Palais Royal, which, as 
 usual, was thronged with people, he saw one 
 of those itinerant declaimers, who were to be 
 met w4th in every quarter of Paris, mounted 
 on a low stool, and haranguing the mob, in 
 ver}' indifl'erent grammar, on their rights, 
 privileges and dignity. Thinking that the 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 ANNETTE. 
 
 man's voice was familiar to him, Alphonse 
 drew as close to him as the crowd would 
 permit, when he found, to his great surprise, 
 that the orator was no less distinguished a 
 personage than the Count de Sevrac's valet, 
 Jacques, who, on being dismissed from his 
 master's service, had turned patriot, and was 
 by no means without a chance of eminence 
 in that line, if one might judge by the favour 
 with which his clap-traps were received by his 
 auditors ! 
 
 And this, thought De Chatillon, as he slowly 
 resumed his route, this is patriotism — or at least 
 is so considered by nine-tenths of the popula- 
 tion of this mighty capital ! Ah, Servette, my 
 kind old friend and preceptor, whom as a man 
 I revere, but whom as a politician I deplore, 
 I much fear that your apprehensions will be 
 realized, and that this monarchy of a thousand 
 years will ere long set in blood !
 
 ANNETTE 227 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 When the news of the King's capture became 
 confirmed, a delirium of joy took possession of 
 all the most ardent spirits in Paris. Danton at 
 the Cordeliers boldly insisted on his imprison- 
 ment, and the proclamation of a Repubhc ; and 
 the cautious Robespierre spoke to the same effect 
 at the Jacobins, though in more guarded and 
 mystical language, and always by way of hypo- 
 thesis, for he felt that the Girondists were yet 
 too strong for him, and this party were unwil- 
 ling to resort to extremities, so long as a chance 
 remained of their being able to prevail on Louis 
 to adopt their views of a Constitutional Govern- 
 ment. At the theatres, every sentiment of the 
 shghtest republican tendency was vociferously 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 ANNETTE. 
 
 applauded ; and busts, crowned mth laurel, of 
 Phocion, Brutus, and other Greek and Roman 
 statesmen, were paraded about the principal 
 streets. 
 
 On the morning of the day on which the 
 royal family were expected to arrive in Paris, the 
 populace were astir from day-break. Every 
 window in the direction which it was supposed 
 the cavalcade would take had its occupant, and 
 even the roofs of the houses were crowded. As 
 the day advanced, couriers were seen hurrying 
 to and from Lafayette's head-quarters, whence 
 messengers were dispatched every half-hour to 
 the Assembly with accounts of the reception 
 which the royal party were experiencing on their 
 approach to the capital. 
 
 De Chatillon, sharing in the general fever, 
 joined the immense crowd that thronged the 
 grand entrance to the Tuileries, and was listen- 
 ing with mingled scorn and indignation to the 
 coarse abuse lavished on the Queen by two 
 working-men near him, when a squadron of the 
 National Guard came riding along with intelli- 
 gence that the King had reached the Champs 
 Elysees, and might be momentarily expected.
 
 ANNETTE. 229 
 
 Forthwith, a deep, stern, ominous silence pre- 
 vailed among the mighty multitude, affecting 
 Alphonse with far deeper sadness than the 
 wildest uproar would have caused. "While he 
 stood musing on this marked indication of a 
 settled purpose in men's minds, another troop 
 of the guard approached, and presently Lafayette, 
 followed by his staff, drew up in front of the 
 palace. Scarcely had he done so, when the 
 cavalcade came in sight, advancing at a walking 
 pace, and was received by the populace with 
 their hats on, and wdth a gloomy silence as of 
 the grave. 
 
 With considerable difficulty Alphonse con- 
 trived to elbow his way through the dense 
 crowd, close to the gates of the Tuileries, so 
 that when the royal carriage stopped, he was 
 able to obtain a clear view — the windows being 
 down in consequence of the excessive heat — of 
 the illustrious party. The King maintained his 
 usual dull look of apathy ; but there was an 
 expression of anguish, and even despair, in the 
 countenance of the Queen, that went to the 
 young man's heart. As she hurriedly descended 
 the steps of the coach, her eye caught his, and
 
 230 ANNETTE. 
 
 recognizing in him the assistant in her escape 
 from the Tuileries, she testified her sense of 
 his presence by a courteous inclination of the 
 head, which he returned with a bow of the 
 profoundest reverence. 
 
 Some fiery sans-culottes, who had observed 
 this action, and who seemed impatient of the 
 long restraint which, in compliance with La- 
 fayette's orders, they had put upon their 
 feelings, seized this opportunity of giving vent 
 to their patriotic wrath. 
 
 " Down with the aristocrat 1" cried a ruffian, 
 who stood behind Alphonse. 
 
 " He is a spy of the Austrian Committee 1" 
 exclaimed another. " I saw him make a sign 
 to the Queen. Down with him !" and he 
 grasped De Chatillon by the collar. 
 
 " Yes," replied the high-spirited young Royal- 
 ist, " you did see me make a sign to her 
 Majesty ; but it was merely in token of my 
 respect and sympathy for her misfortunes : and 
 where is the true Frenchman who would not 
 have done the same ? Hands off, fellow !" and 
 he raised his arm to strike his aggressor to the 
 earth.
 
 ANNETTE. 231 
 
 " Down with him ! — the spy — the aristo- 
 crat !" cried a hundred hoarse voices, and, at 
 the words, such a rush was made at Alphonse, 
 that, excited as the mob were about him, and 
 communicating the infection of their example 
 to those at a more remote distance, he would 
 infallibly have been torn Hmb from limb, had 
 not the guards who w^re posted at the palace 
 gates interfered to restore order. 
 
 By their aid, De Chatillon was at length 
 rescued from his perilous position, and a space 
 being cleared for him, he lost no time in 
 making his escape ; and had got as far as the 
 Carousel, when he overtook Servette, who, 
 Hke himself, had mingled among the crowd, 
 and was now on his return to the Rue St. 
 Jacques. 
 
 As the two friends walked on together, 
 Alphonse mentioned to his companion the 
 brutal treatment he had experienced from the 
 canaille^ adding, with warmth : " And these 
 are the people whom you and your party 
 represent as being fit to receive liberty in its 
 purest form ! I really am astonished, Mon- 
 sieur Servette, how, with those refined notions
 
 232 ANNETTE. 
 
 of justice and freedom which you have so often 
 endeavoured to instil into my mind, you can 
 dream of espousing the cause of such a herd 
 of immitigable ruffians !" 
 
 " Alphonse," rephed Servette, " I do not 
 espouse the cause of ruffians ; hut I can make 
 allowances for excited passions, especially when 
 they are played on by designing demagogues 
 for their own selfish purposes. You should 
 not blame, but pity these poor, thoughtless 
 wretches ; for, believe me, they are mere tools. 
 In you, and such as you, they have been 
 artfully taught to recognize an incarnation of 
 despotism; hence, in attacking you, they ima- 
 gine that they are attacking an evil principle. 
 It is from sheer ignorance that they offend, 
 not from any inherent brutahty." 
 
 " And is their ignorance, then, to be held 
 as justifying their brutaUty ?" 
 
 " I am far from saying that popular excesses 
 are to be justified ; but I do again repeat that, 
 in this instance, they admit of palliation. If 
 the mob now exhibit the ferocity of half-eman- 
 cipated serfs, such ruthless conduct is the 
 inevitable result of the tyranny that has en-
 
 ANNETTE. 233 
 
 slaved them for ages. Blame then the court 
 and its confederate aristocracy, not the mise- 
 rable victims of their oppression. Why are 
 the lower classes so happy and contented in 
 La Vendee? Because they live — and have 
 lived for years — under the sway of beneficent 
 Seigneurs. Do you suppose human nature is 
 different there from what it is in other parts 
 of France ? No ; like causes produce like 
 effects all the world over." 
 
 Thus conversing, they continued to walk on 
 till they came to the site of the Bastille, now 
 indicated by a large open square, in one corner 
 of which there still lay a few detached frag- 
 ments of the walls of that gloomy fortress. 
 De Chatillon gazed for some minutes in silence 
 on these scanty vestiges of one of Absolu- 
 tism's strongholds, whereupon his companion 
 observed : " You may well be thoughtful, 
 Alphonse, for a sight like this is calculated 
 to awaken many grave reflections. What a 
 tenible spectacle of feudal tyranny has been 
 here exhibited for centuries ! How many a 
 poor wretch has here sighed away years in 
 hopeless captivity, cut off from friends, kin-
 
 234 ANNETTE. 
 
 dred, home, and all that gives life its value, 
 merely to gratify the vindictive passions of 
 irresponsible authority ! Oh, could those ruins 
 but be informed v^ith speech, vv^hat mournful 
 tales could they not relate of blighted hopes 
 and broken hearts ! Wit, beauty, genius, 
 high-souled youth and philosophic age, have 
 here alike been immured as in a sepulchre ; for 
 Tyranny, when once its fears or its jealousies 
 have been provoked, never forgets or forgives. 
 Alphonse," continued the speaker, in agitated 
 tones, " you wonder — I know you do — how 
 one so studious, so peaceable, and so far ad- 
 vanced on his road to the grave as I am, can 
 advocate with such ardour the cause, of what 
 you deem, Licentiousness. Listen. Many years 
 ago, I had a friend, brave, generous, enlight- 
 ened, like yourself; of rare promise, of aspiring 
 character ; but* indiscreet, alas ! from the mere 
 excess of his animal spirits. All who knew 
 him, loved and admired him; but none more 
 than L One day an arch, sportive sally against 
 Madame du Barri, which had gone the round 
 of the Parisian salons, was traced to my friend. 
 Instantly a lettre de cachet was procured
 
 ANNETTE. 235 
 
 against him, and he was torn, at midnight, 
 from the arms of his young wife. Inquiry 
 after inquiry was instituted, hut none ever 
 knew what became of him. Twenty years 
 elapsed ; the struggle between Might and Right 
 had commenced ; and then the mystery of his 
 disappearance was unravelled. On the capture 
 of the Bastille, I penetrated with the crowd 
 into its cells, and in one of the gloomiest of 
 these, what think you I beheld ?" 
 
 " I can guess," replied Alphonse, " and feel 
 quite as indignant as yourself at such a mon- 
 strous stretch of authority." 
 
 " I beheld," resumed Servette with increased 
 emotion, " a grey-headed old man seated in a 
 wooden chau', his head reclining on a table 
 whereon stood the day's untasted meal. As I 
 approached, he looked up, and then in this 
 feeble, prematurely aged wretch, I recognized 
 my once light-hearted friend ! But he knew 
 me not ; his fine intellect was eclipsed for ever ; 
 and though I bore him to my own house, 
 tended him with the utmost care, and tried 
 every means I could think of to bring back 
 some fragment, how^ever imperfect, of recol-
 
 236 ANNETTE. 
 
 lection, my efforts were vain, for he survived 
 his liberation but one short month, and never 
 knew to whom he was indebted for it. Poor 
 Victoire ! How intense must have been the 
 agony of spirit that could have overthrown so 
 vigorous a mind ! I can imagine him seated 
 in his lonely cell, watching day by day the 
 varying shadows of the sun, which rose and 
 set in vain for him ; listening to the busy hum 
 of life without, that fell like the sea's distant 
 murmur on his ear ; weeping bitterly in the 
 dreary watches of the night, at the thought of 
 that young and loving wife whom he was never 
 more to see ; or wandering in dreams over the 
 hills of his native Languedoc, to be roused, 
 perhaps, by the striking of the prison clock — 
 his only comforter, for it warned him he was an 
 hour nearer to his grave !" 
 
 Overpowered by the recollection of his friend, 
 Servette here made a pause, and averted his 
 head to wipe away the tears that were starting 
 to his eyes. He soon, however, recovered his 
 self-possession, and continued : " Forgive an 
 old man's weakness, but whenever I call to 
 mind my friend, as I first knew him, and as
 
 ANNETTE. 237 
 
 I last saw him, my heart swells almost to 
 bursting. But — thanks to a beneficent Pro- 
 vidence ! — such atrocities can never again be 
 perpetrated with impunity in France. The 
 long reign of Despotism draws to a close. 
 From the very spot where we now stand, a 
 warning spirit has gone forth against it — the 
 voice of outraged humanity has pronounced 
 its doom. Yes," added the speaker, in a 
 strain of solemn enthusiasm, " the dawn of a 
 better day is breaking in the east, and the 
 future stands revealed to my imagination, star- 
 crowned, and radiant with glory, when man, 
 for so many ages the oppressor, shall become 
 the benefactor of his fellow-man ; do reverence 
 at the shrine of peace which is happiness, and 
 of truth which is religion ; keep firm to the 
 dictates of his enlarged understanding, as the 
 planets keep their courses ; recognize and enforce 
 no absolute authority save that of justice and 
 reason; and bow the knee only to Omnipo- 
 tence." 
 
 " You are an optimist, I perceive," observed 
 De Chatillon, affected more than he was willing
 
 238 ANNETTE. 
 
 to avow, by the impassioned fervour with which 
 Servette expressed himself. 
 
 " I have always had faith in human nature," 
 replied the sanguine and lofty-minded old man, 
 " and despite the sneers of the sceptics of Vol- 
 taire's school, am firmly of opinion that its 
 tendency is to good, instead of evil. But 
 I do not wish to weary you with a long 
 homily," he added, dropping into his usual 
 familiar manner, " so let us return, for I am 
 to meet Brissot this afternoon on matters of 
 consequence." 
 
 The friends parted at the door of Servette's 
 house, when x\lphonse, not having seen De 
 Sevrac for some days, walked on to his lodg- 
 ings, musing by the way on the sentiments 
 which he had just heard — sentiments which he 
 could not but admire, for he recognized in them 
 much that was just and noble, however difficult 
 it might be to act upon them, in the present 
 circumstances of France, or indeed under any 
 circumstances. 
 
 The young man found the Count reclining 
 on a sofa, with his hand pressed against his
 
 ANNETTE. 239 
 
 forehead, as though he were engrossed with 
 the consideration of some theme of moment. 
 Though little more than a week had elapsed 
 since De Chatillon had seen him, yet a striking 
 change had taken place in his appearance. 
 His cheeks were pale and haggard, the fire 
 of his eye was dim, and his whole demeanour 
 was that of a man worn down by mental dis- 
 quietude. 
 
 He started up on seeing his visitor, and 
 exclaimed in accents of mingled grief and 
 bitterness : " So, all our fine schemes have 
 come to nothing — the King is here, and the 
 canaille triumph ! Who could have antici- 
 pated such a result, so well arranged as were 
 our plans ? But I can guess who made them 
 miscarry — it w^as the King, whose conscience, 
 perhaps, smote him for lea\ing such affec- 
 tionate and dutiful subjects !" and the Count 
 laughed loud in scorn. "Alphonse," he con- 
 tinued, laying his hand on the young man's 
 shoulder, " take this warning from a ruined 
 man, never have any political transactions with 
 a fool, even though that fool be — I cannot help 
 it, it must out — your own sovereign !"
 
 240 ANNETTE. 
 
 " But you cannot yet be sure that it was 
 the King who caused the scheme to mis- 
 carry." 
 
 "I am as sure of it as I am of my own 
 existence. Have I not had experience of his 
 vacillation ; and have not all made the same 
 complaint of him, who have ever been admitted 
 to his secret councils ? Not a popular move- 
 ment has taken place for the last two years, 
 that has not been precipitated by his folly. 
 You know, I suppose, that the Assembly have 
 decided on keeping him a close prisoner in his 
 palace — a preliminary step, of course, to his 
 dethronement." 
 
 " Yes, I read the debate on the question, in 
 one of the daily papers." 
 
 " And such being the fact, all my hopes are 
 blasted. Had Louis escaped, and re-entered 
 France at the head of the allies, the Marshal's 
 baton had been mine ; or if not that, a high — 
 perhaps the highest — post in the new ministry. 
 And now, here I am, associated with a cause 
 from which I can never hope to derive the 
 slightest advantage. 'Tis enough to drive one 
 mad to think of it."
 
 ANNETTE. 24 1 
 
 De Chatillon always knew that the Count 
 was a man of the world, but he at least gave 
 him credit for being disinterested in his loyalty ; 
 but now he discovered that he was acted on by 
 selfish considerations ; and could not help con- 
 trasting his feeHngs with those of the lofty- 
 natured Servette. Judging from his silence, 
 that he shared in his vexation, De Sevrac went 
 on to say : " You may well feel for me, my 
 friend, for my disappointment is yours ; what 
 might you not have been, had we suc- 
 ceeded !" 
 
 " I was not thinking of my o^^^l prospects," 
 answered Alphonse. 
 
 The Count stared, but made no reply ; some 
 new project seemed suddenly to have crossed 
 his brain, and after a pause, during which he 
 appeared b\u*ied in deep thought, and as if 
 unconscious of his visitor's presence, he mut- 
 tered in low but audible tones : " Hah, a good 
 thought ! Why not make cause with the 
 Girondists? They will soon be the ruling 
 party, and something perhaps might be done 
 with them — but no, there is but faint hope in 
 that quarter. Well, say Orleans. Impossible ; 
 he has identified himself too closely with the 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 ANNETTE. 
 
 Jacobins; and they and I can never act in 
 concert. There is nothing then to be done but 
 to remain quiet, and trust to the chapter of 
 accidents. 'Twould be imprudent to break with 
 the court party, for though at present luck is 
 against them, yet the game is not wholly — 
 Hah, Alphonse ! you there? I thought you 
 were gone," and the Count turned with ill- 
 concealed displeasure to De Chatillon, whose eyes 
 had been fixed on him during his soliloquy with 
 an expression of grave surprize. 
 
 Mastering his vexation, however, by a strong 
 effort, and putting on as unembarrassed a 
 manner as his ruffled temper would allow, the 
 Count observed : " You must not think that I 
 have altogether lost my senses, Alphonse — as I 
 perceive by your countenance you seem half- 
 inclined to do-^because I happen to have been 
 talking nonsense just now ; it was a mere whim 
 of the moment — nothing more;" and having 
 succeeded, as he conceived, by this clumsy 
 artifice in lulling his friend's distrust, he added, 
 " the truth is, my mind is somewhat unhinged 
 by this sad affair of the King's capture ; but a 
 few days' quiet will bring me round, and then 
 we will again set our wits to work, and see
 
 ANNETTE. 243 
 
 what can be done to promote that glorious 
 cause which we have both so much at heart,'* 
 and so saying, he threw himself listlessly on 
 the sofa, and pleaded a violent head-ache. 
 Alphonse took the hint, and left the room, his 
 regard for the Count not a little dis- 
 turbed by this unexpected development of 
 character. 
 
 R 2
 
 244 ANNETTE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 De Chatillon, had now been almost a year 
 in Paris, and since his interview with the Count, 
 which is described in the foregoing chapter, 
 had seen nothing of him, for he had quitted 
 the capital in disgust, and retired to his country 
 seat near Rheims. Meantime, though he had 
 but a faint hope of being able to distinguish 
 himself in the King's service, or even of being 
 admitted to his presence, Alphonse bore his 
 disappointment with equanimity, enjoying 
 Servette's society, and frequently accompanying 
 him to Roland's, whose sagacious wife was fully 
 capable of appreciating his good qualities of 
 head and heart ; she respected, even while she 
 regretted, his chivalrous devotion to royalty.
 
 ANNETTE. 245 
 
 which she could see, was the result of ciixum- 
 stances, rather than of an enlightened convic- 
 tion. She held many good-humoured arguments 
 with him on this subject, and might perhaps 
 have succeeded in converting him, at least 
 partially, to her own view^s of government, had 
 not the brutal conduct of the rabble towards the 
 King on their first memorable assault on the 
 Tuileries, which took place about this time, 
 confirmed all his w^avering predilections in 
 favour of the monarchy. 
 
 Being well supplied with funds by his banker, 
 Delaborde, Alphonse was enabled to enter into 
 all the various amusements which a crow^ded 
 and luxurious capital offers — and never was 
 Paris, though distracted with factions, fuller 
 and gayer than now — but he had no relish for 
 general dissipation, confining himself to the 
 society of the select few, and dedicating his 
 solitary hours to his father and the Delilles, 
 with both of whom he kept up an active cor- 
 respondence. 
 
 For the last four or five months, however, he 
 had received no replies to his frequent letters, 
 either from the Marquis or Monsieur Delille ; 
 and this protracted silence, coupled with rumours
 
 246 ANNETTE. 
 
 of disturbances that had recently taken place at 
 Nantes, occasioned him such uneasiness, that, 
 despite his father*s wish that he should remain 
 where he was, as long as there existed the 
 slightest chance of his being of use to his 
 Sovereign, he was meditating a departure from 
 Paris, when an unexpected event occurred, 
 which compelled him to abandon his design, 
 and remain for some time longer in that 
 city. 
 
 He was seated one night at the Opera listening 
 to Beaumarchais* delightful " Figaro," when he 
 thought he perceived in a front box on the opposite 
 side of the theatre, the stranger whom he had seen 
 on his first visit to Roland's house. Alphonse 
 could hardly be mistaken in the man's identity, 
 for he had encountered him once or twice since 
 in the streets, on which occasions he appeared 
 as though he would gladly have fastened a 
 quarrel on him, could he have found a suitable 
 pretext ; and now to confirm his conjecture, he 
 saw that the recognition was mutual, and that 
 the stranger's glance was fixed on him with the 
 same malignant expression that had once before 
 attracted Servette's notice. Eager to know 
 who the individual was, and the cause of his
 
 ANNETTE. 247 
 
 manifest hatred towards him, De Chatillon 
 decided on going round to his box, and boldly 
 demanding an explanation of his extraordinary 
 conduct ; but as he was in the act of rising 
 from his seat, the unknown, conjecturing — as 
 his manner indicated — the young man's pur- 
 pose, abruptly quitted the theatre. 
 
 Thus disappointed, Alphonse quietly re- 
 seated himself, and remained till the close of 
 the night's performances, when he slowly bent 
 his steps homew^ards. At about two hundred* 
 yards' distance from the theatre, two men 
 muffled up in dark cloaks, and one of whom 
 resembled the unknown — so at least De 
 Chatillon imagined, from a moment's glimpse 
 of his countenance — hurried past him, and then 
 turning round, folio w^ed cautiously at his heels. 
 Assassination being by no means unfrequent at 
 this distracted period in Paris, the young man's 
 suspicions were instantly awakened, and he 
 halted at the end of the street, as if considering 
 which was his right direction, but in reality to 
 allow the strangers to overtake and get before 
 him, which they did, and disappeared beneath 
 a neighbouring arch- way. 
 
 Upon this ^Llphonse moved on again, taking.
 
 248 ANNETTE. 
 
 however, a circuitous by-road to his lodgings, 
 so as to mislead the strangers, in case they 
 should still be on the look-out. For some 
 time he saw no more of them, and concluded, 
 therefore, that his impression as to their inten- 
 tions was an erroneous one ; but as he was 
 passing along a dark street — or rather a strag- 
 gling cluster of houses, in one of the less 
 frequented parts of the city, he heard the sound 
 of half-suppressed voices not far off him. One 
 side of the street was composed of mean, 
 irregular buildings, some of which were roofless, 
 and the majority in a sad, ruinous condition ; 
 and the other was formed by a low wall which 
 bounded an open space, perhaps a field or a 
 garden. It was from behind this wall that the 
 whisperings came, whence the young man con- 
 cluded that two, or possibly more, men were 
 concealed there. 
 
 His first idea was to retrace his steps, for the 
 spot was dark and lonely, and the houses 
 uninhabited, as he guessed from the absence of 
 even a glimmering of light in them ; but when 
 he began to reflect on his position, he recollected 
 that it was quite as hazardous to go back as to 
 go forward, for he was now half-way down the
 
 ANNETTE. 249 
 
 street ; he thought it best, therefore, to continue 
 his course, keeping his hand on his sword, in 
 order to be prepared for any assault that might 
 be made on him. When he reached the nar- 
 rowest part of the street, he distinctly heard the 
 words : " Now — now — we have him now — do 
 not hesitate to take his life, for he is a Knight 
 of the Dagger* — a bigoted aristocrat, and the 
 worst enemy of the people ;" and immediately 
 afterwards two men, one of whom was his un- 
 known foe, leaped at a bound over the wall, 
 and rushed upon him. 
 
 The first who came up with him, made a 
 vigorous pass at him with his sword, but 
 Alphonse, being on his guard, and possessing 
 much skill with his weapon, parried the thrust, 
 and in so doing, knocked the assailant's sword 
 out of his hand, who, with the cowardly instinct 
 of an assassin, did not attempt to regain posses- 
 sion of it, and renew the conflict, but took 
 directly to his heels. 
 
 The second man, who had till now stood 
 aloof, as if he felt that his assistance was 
 
 * A popular term of reproach applied to the King's 
 friends — more especially to those who held household 
 appointments at the Tuileries.
 
 250 ANNETTE. 
 
 unnecessary, astonished and enraged at his com- 
 panion's sudden flight, attacked De Chatillon 
 with all the fury that the most envenomed 
 hatred could inspire, and for some time the 
 conflict continued doubtful; but at length, in 
 making a rush at his antagonist, the young man 
 received a thrust in the fleshy part of his sword- 
 arm, and he would probably have been soon 
 disabled, and in consequence have lost his life, 
 but that the sound of approaching footsteps 
 alarmed the stranger, who retreated in the 
 utmost haste, muttering, as he retired, between 
 his clenched teeth : " You have escaped me this 
 once ; but, mark me, I will not lose sight of 
 my revenge !" 
 
 De Chatillon waited only to bind his handker- 
 chief round his arm, to stop the effusion of 
 blood, and then, under an impression that his 
 opponent had retreated into one of the ruined 
 houses nearest him, and being bent on bringing 
 him to a strict account, even at the hazard of 
 his own life, he darted into the first door which 
 he found open, and which led into a sort of 
 hall, the wooden floor of which was broken in 
 several places, and creaked and bent at every 
 step he took. Arrived at the end of this
 
 ANNETTE. 251 
 
 passage, which was so narrow that, by stretch- 
 ing out both arms, he could touch the walls on 
 either side, he became satisfied that no one was 
 concealed there, so groped his way on to a small 
 back court-yard, at the extremity of which were 
 two or three loose stone-steps. Here his further 
 progress was checked by an oaken door, that had 
 once been of prodigious strength, but was now 
 partially rotten from age, pierced by many holes, 
 and with a large crevice directly above the lock. 
 Alphonse was about to attempt forcing open 
 this door, but the sound of many voices from 
 within induced him to desist from his intention ; 
 and applying his eye closely to the crevice, he 
 took a survey of the scene before him. A for- 
 midable spectacle met his gaze ! The door 
 opened into a low, spacious, comfortless apart- 
 ment, that looked as though it had been 
 originally intended for a cellar ; and was lighted 
 by a solitary lamp which hung from the cracked 
 and mildewed ceiling. In the centre of the room 
 stood a large oblong table, whereon were several 
 wine-jugs, horn-cups, glasses, &c. ; in fact, all 
 the appearances of men drinking. Ranged round 
 the table, were naked wooden benches, and on 
 these sat some fifteen or twenty of the most
 
 252 ANNETTE. 
 
 squalid and ferocious wretches Alphonse had 
 ever seen. There were no symptoms of jovial 
 festivity among them ; their countenances wore 
 an expression stern and inexorable ; and a 
 savage scowl lowered on each brow, as though 
 they were discussing some act of atrocity already 
 perpetrated, or about to be perpetrated. All 
 were armed, some with pikes, and others with 
 swords, daggers, and pistols ; and all wore the 
 bonnet rouge. At the upper end of the table, 
 facing the door, sate a tall, athletic young man, 
 whose dress and bearing denoted that he was 
 of superior station to the rest of the party, and 
 who appeared to officiate as President ; and 
 behind him, was a narrow recess or niche in 
 the wall, before which hung a plain black cloth 
 reaching from the ceiling to the floor. 
 
 As well as his position would allow, Alphonse 
 examined attentively the countenances of this 
 band of desperadoes, in the expectation of dis- 
 covering the stranger among them ; but he was 
 not there, though at the further end of the table 
 De Chatillon observed a face that was well- 
 known to hini. While he was endeavouring to 
 recollect who this individual was, and when, and 
 under what circumstances he had met him, the
 
 ANNETTE. 253 
 
 President abruptly started up fi'om an oaken 
 chair in which he was seated, and commanding 
 silence in an imperious tone, commenced an 
 energetic harangue, not deficient in a certain 
 terse, rude eloquence common enough among 
 the rabble orators of that day, and full of 
 such patriotic clap-traps as were best calculated 
 to ensure the sympathies, and inflame the 
 passions of his audience. " Citizens," he ex- 
 claimed, " since we last met, the grand confe- 
 deration of which we form a branch, has 
 increased tenfold in this capital. The faubourg 
 St. Antoine alone can now number not less 
 than a dozen secret societies, who have all 
 taken the same oath as ourselves, and are 
 all inspired by the same godlike love of liberty. 
 The great Danton, too, is with us ; and Marat — 
 the glorious Marat ! — whose warning voice is 
 daily lifted up in our behalf, conjuring us to be 
 united as one man, for in union alone is strength. 
 What, shall our oppressors combine for evil, and 
 we not combine for good ? Shall Tyranny have 
 her myriad defenders, and Freedom be without 
 a friend ? Never ! We are sworn to do her 
 bidding — we are leagued to do it — and we will 
 not desist till it be done. Citizens, the proud
 
 254 ANNETTE. 
 
 day of victory is at hand ! See, then, that ye 
 be not found wanting ; but strike and spare not, 
 for Liberty must be baptized in blood. Yes, 
 our tyrants must be exterminated root and 
 branch. We must show ourseh^es terrible in 
 our wrath, and march to the sanctuary of Free- 
 dom over thousands of mangled bodies. Tis 
 not our own injuries only that we are called on to 
 revenge, but those of France, our common 
 mother. She it is who now cries to us for 
 redress, and perish every thought but that of 
 exacting a bloody retribution from her enemies ! 
 
 " Tremble, tyrants, tremble ! The voice of a 
 confederated people has willed your doom, and 
 w^hat they will, who shall dare gainsay ? For cen- 
 turies have your hateful chains been wound round 
 our limbs, clanking sweet music in your ears. 
 When we sued to you for pity, you spurned us 
 as the vile worm beneath your feet. When w^e 
 insisted on our rights, your reply was, the rack, 
 the dungeon, and the scaffold. But we are 
 your slaves no longer ! We stand, erect in the 
 strength and dignity of emancipated manhood, 
 prepared to a man to perish, but never — never 
 again to submit our necks to your yoke. 
 
 " Yet a few days, citizens, and w^e march to
 
 ANNETTE. 255 
 
 our crowning victory ! Be ready, then, to strike 
 the decisive blow; and remember, when the 
 tricolor floats above the Tuileries, and tyranny 
 lies vanquished at our feet, that he who spares 
 an aristocrat, is a traitor to our cause, and shall 
 die the death of one. No mercy to the 
 wretches — show no mercy to them, I say, for in 
 the day of their power they showed us none. 
 I have done. Vive la Liberte ! A bas les 
 aristocrats !" 
 
 When the President had concluded his 
 phillipic, which was received throughout with 
 a tempest of acclamation, he filled a large horn- 
 cup to the brim with wine, and calling on all 
 his associates to do the same, an order which 
 they obeyed with alacrity, he drank : " Health to 
 our new confederate, and may he soon have his 
 wish, destruction to all tyrants !" 
 
 Another shout of applause followed this 
 toast; and when the party had drained their 
 glasses, and the din of voices had subsided, the 
 President turning towards an individual at his 
 elbow — in whom Alphonse had by this time 
 recognized our old acquaintance, Jacques — 
 addressed him briefly to the eff'ect, that he should 
 be faithful, at all risks, to the oath he had taken
 
 256 ANNETTE. 
 
 to maintain the interests of the secret society 
 of which he was now become a member ; and 
 then quitting his chair, and stationing himself 
 in front of the covered recess, the speaker 
 ordered Jacques to come and take his stand beside 
 him, and placing a dagger in his hand, exclaimed: 
 " The rules of our society ordain, that all new 
 members should give a practical proof of their 
 devotion to the people's cause, so that we may 
 know how far they are to be relied on ; say, is 
 it not so, friends ?" 
 
 " Yes," was the reply of one and all of the 
 party. 
 
 " Behold, then," resumed the President, 
 addressing Jacques, " here stands one of those 
 tyrants whom you have sworn to pursue to the 
 death ! Strike, and strike boldly to the heart !" 
 and as he said this, he drew aside the curtain, 
 and displayed a figure dressed like an aristocrat, 
 with his arms pinioned to his side, standing 
 erect in the recess. 
 
 Notwithstanding that death confronted him 
 in its most appalling form, the helpless victim 
 uttered no supplications for mercy, but silent 
 and motionless awaited the stroke that was to 
 dismiss him from the world. Not thus tranquil
 
 ANNETTE. 257 
 
 was his intended murderer, who twice raised the 
 instrument of death, and twice let it drop, 
 unable to perpetrate the atrocious act. At last, 
 rendered desperate by the fierce clamour of his 
 impatient colleagues, and the still more signifi- 
 cant menaces of the President, he uplifted his 
 arm for the third time to strike, when Alphonse 
 unable longer to preserve his self-control, ex- 
 claimed : " Hold, wretch !" and made a strenuous 
 effort to wTench open the door, which, however, 
 was barred and bolted on the inside. 
 
 "Who spoke?" inquired the President, 
 raising his voice to its loudest pitch, so as to 
 be heard by all the clamorous assembly. 
 
 " I heard nothing," replied several ruffians 
 at once " but the shaking and clattering of 
 that crazy old door in the wind." 
 
 " ril swear I heard some one cry out ' hold !' " 
 rejoined the President ; " who was it ?" 
 
 " 'Twas mere fancy — nothing more," observed 
 a brawny, beetle-browed fellow who stood near 
 him. "But you're always so full of your 
 fancies, Jagault." 
 
 "Well, I suppose I was mistaken," rephed 
 the President; and again addressing Jacques, 
 who still held the dagger in his uplifted hand, 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 ANNETTE. 
 
 and whose ashen countenance and trembling 
 limbs showed that he too had heard the warning 
 voice, he said : " What do you stand there 
 for, staring as if you were looking on a ghost ? 
 Strike, I say !" 
 
 No longer daring to refuse obedience, and 
 summoning up what little energy remained 
 to him, the agitated Jacques buried his weapon 
 in the breast of his ^dctim; the curtain was 
 then immediately drawn over the recess, and 
 the unwilling murderer staggered back into 
 his seat, amid loud bursts of laughter from 
 his ruffian associates. 
 
 " Monsters !" shouted Alphonse, w^hoUy for- 
 getting in the distraction of his feelings the 
 imminent danger to which he was exposing 
 himself; "you shall answer with your lives for 
 this atrocity," and he applied his utmost force 
 to the door, which, though it shook and rattled 
 vehemently, still resisted all his furious endea- 
 vours to force it oif the hinges. 
 
 His words, uttered in the loudest tones of 
 rage and horror, and more especially the noise 
 he made in his attempts to force an entrance 
 into the room, produced an electrical effect on 
 the conspirators. They turned on each other
 
 ANNETTE. 259 
 
 glances of wonder not unmingled with fear, 
 and eaeh man instinctively laid his hand on 
 the weapon he bore; but for a minute or so 
 none stirred nor spoke. 
 
 The President's voice was the first to break 
 the silence. " We are betrayed !" he exclaimed. 
 " The police are on us. To your arms, citizens : 
 let us sell our lives dearly !" 
 
 As he spoke, a general i-ush w^as made to 
 the door; and to add to the confusion, the 
 rusty chain by which the lamp was suspended 
 from the ceiling, suddenly broke from the hook 
 to which it was attached. Dow^n came both 
 chain and lamp with a heavy clatter upon the 
 table, cmshing to atoms several of the wine- 
 jugs, cups, and glasses; and immediately all 
 was profound darkness. 
 
 Alphonse, meantime, whom the rush of the 
 armed party to the door had awakened to a 
 sense of the extreme peril of his situation, 
 seized the opportunity of effecting his escape, 
 while the foremost ruffians were withdrawing 
 the bolts and bars ; and favoured by the obscu- 
 rity of the night, he succeeded in making his 
 way out of the house unperceived ; and darting 
 over the wall on the opposite side of the street, 
 
 s 2
 
 260 ANNETTE. 
 
 concealed himself behind it, till the alarmed 
 conspirators had all hurriedly dispersed in 
 various directions, when he ventured forth from 
 his hiding-place, and getting again into the 
 right track, called a fiacre, which quickly con- 
 veyed him to his own lodgings. 
 
 No sooner had he set foot in his apartment, 
 than the pain arising from his wound, combined 
 with the recollection of the horrid act he had 
 witnessed, produced such an effect on his system 
 that he fell fainting on the floor, in which state 
 he was found by his servant, who lost not a 
 moment in procuring the services of a surgeon, 
 by whose prompt exertions Alphonse was 
 restored to animation ; and his wound having 
 been dressed, he went to bed, but not to sleep, 
 for his brain seemed on fire, and his thoughts 
 were constantly dwelling on the events of the 
 last two hours. 
 
 Towards morning, however, in consequence 
 of the narcotic he had been prevailed on to 
 swallow, he fell into a heavy slumber, not 
 refreshing, but disturbed by confused and 
 ghastly visions. The image of the man he 
 had seen miu-dered, stood by his bedside. His 
 eye was fixed on him with a hard, stony stare ;
 
 ANNETTE. 261 
 
 his limbs were fast stiffening in death; and 
 the assassin's dagger still stuck in his cloven 
 heart. Suddenly his lineaments altered to 
 those of the inscrutable stranger; life began 
 to stir within him ; and with a laugh of fiendish 
 joy, he bent over the unarmed sleeper, clutched 
 him by the throat, and buried his sword in 
 his breast. Again the vision changed, and 
 Alphonse was floating — smothering in a sea 
 of blood. The clouds above him wore the 
 same crimson hue, and strange phantom shapes 
 robed in winding-sheets, seemed to look down 
 from them, and mock his terrors, as after 
 being dashed from rock to rock, he was slowly 
 swallowed up by the waters ! 
 
 It was late in the morning before Alphonse 
 awoke from these horrid visions, and sitting up 
 in bed, he endeavoured to clear his brain of the 
 crowd of terrible images that beset it. " They 
 were but dreams !" he exclaimed, laughing at 
 himself for his fears, as he wiped the cold, 
 clammy perspiration from his brow; never- 
 theless, mere dreams as they were, they still 
 retained such a hold on his mind, that for 
 hours afterwards he was unable to shake off 
 their benumbing influence.
 
 262 ANNETTE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 De Chatillon's first care, on recovering 
 from the effects of his wound, was to go and 
 acquaint Servette with the particulars of the 
 murder, of which he had been the eye-witness, 
 in order that they might concert some scheme 
 for bringing the guilty parties to justice ; and 
 also to consult with him respecting the stranger, 
 whose deadly enmity towards him, he was more 
 than ever at a loss to account for. 
 
 As usual, he surprized the old man in his 
 study, where he was seated with a pair of dusty 
 horn spectacles on his nose, poring over some 
 hints for a new constitution, which had been 
 drawn up by Condorcet, and were then being 
 handed about in manuscripts among the Giron- 
 dists. So intent was he on his occupation, that
 
 ANNETTE. 263 
 
 he did not at first notice his visitor ; and even 
 when he becanie aware of his presence, fixed on 
 him a glance of the most naive bewilderment ; 
 for at the moment, he had actually forgotten 
 his name, and would probably have forgotten 
 his own also, had the question been suddenly 
 put to him ! 
 
 " You don't remember me, I see !" replied 
 the young man, smiling at the good old opti- 
 mist's absence of mind ; " my name is De 
 Chatillon, but I am usually called Alphonse by 
 my friends." 
 
 " True — true ; and to think that I shouldn't 
 have recollected you ! Bless me, how odd ! 
 But where are my spectacles ? No wonder I 
 didn't recognize your features ;" and Servette 
 began fumbling about in his pockets, and 
 among the heap of papers that lay strewed on 
 the table before him. 
 
 " Your spectacles are where they should be — 
 on your nose !" 
 
 " Dear me ! so they are ; well, who'd have 
 thought it ? But, come, sit down — sit down. 
 A noble project of government this of Condor- 
 cet's — what expanded and philosophic views ! 
 Well may Brissot and Roland — "
 
 264 ANNETTE. 
 
 "Never mind Brissot and Roland now, my 
 friend," said Alphonse ; " but just oblige me 
 with a short and attentive hearing ;" and with- 
 out further preamble, he detailed all the cir- 
 cumstances of the murder which he had seen 
 perpetrated by Jacques, at the instigation of his 
 fellow-conspirators ; and of the attack that had 
 been made on his own life by the stranger. 
 
 Servette was greatly shocked at the intelli- 
 gence. " Monstrous — monstrous !" he ex- 
 claimed. " Deeds like these are enough to 
 disgust one with the very name of Frenchman. 
 It is clear, from their own account, that the 
 wretches form one of those secret societies 
 w^hich now swarm in Paris. But who could 
 have thought it possible that they would have 
 murdered an unarmed man in cold blood ? As 
 for the stranger's assault on you — " 
 
 " Assault ! It was a cowardly, premeditated 
 attempt at assassination, which failed only by 
 chance. Who can the villain be ? And what 
 cause of enmity can I have given him ?" 
 
 " I cannot answer your question further than 
 by saying that you are an aristocrat, and there- 
 fore an object of hatred to every lawless ruffian 
 in the capital. I will take care, however, that
 
 ANNETTE. 265 
 
 the whole case shall be represented in the 
 proper quarter, though, from the time that 
 has elapsed since its occurrence, and the in- 
 efficiency of the constituted authorities, I fear 
 that interference will be useless." 
 
 " But if the stranger cannot be discovered, 
 the murderer, at least, can be arrested and 
 punished. I know his name ; and can swear 
 to his person." 
 
 Servette shook his head. " If he be a 
 member of one of the secret societies, there 
 will be great difficulty in finding out his abode ; 
 still greater in bringing him to justice. You 
 know not the power of these reckless dema- 
 gogues, who have their spies in all quarters." 
 
 " And what arms these ruffians with such 
 power, but the language held in the Assembly 
 and the journals by those who miscall them- 
 selves patriots? Your Girondists, Monsieur 
 Servette, though I may respect them as private 
 individuals, have, as a public party, much to 
 answer for. Who is it that is continually 
 trying to ^^^den the breach between the people 
 and the monarchy ? ^^llo, but your vaunted 
 leader, Brissot, the rashest and most intem- 
 perate — "
 
 266 ANNETTE. 
 
 " Softly, softly," replied Servette, laying his 
 hand kindly on De Chatilbn's arm. " Brissot, 
 like the rest of us, is but the tool of circum- 
 stances, and those circumstances have been 
 solely created by the court. Do you suppose 
 his republican theories would have the slightest 
 effect on the people, if it were not for their dis- 
 trust of Louis and his advisers ? Believe me, 
 Alphonse, Brissot is only powerful because the 
 King is insincere." 
 
 " Insincere he is not ; vacillating he may be 
 — and I fear is, too much so for his honour 
 and safety — but be he what he may, I will 
 not fall away from his side, or be found 
 among his detractors at this, his season of 
 extremity." 
 
 " It is indeed a season of extremity, not only 
 for Louis, but for all who take part with him. 
 Even now, while I speak, thousands and tens of 
 thousands of Frenchmen are meditating the 
 expediency of dethroning a monarch who can- 
 not go back, and who will not go forward; 
 who does just enough to whet expectation, but 
 not enough to satisfy it. Heaven help the 
 country ! I fear it has a terrible ordeal to pass 
 through, before it settles down into tranquillity.
 
 ANNETTE. 267 
 
 Hark ! what sound is that ?" and they both 
 rushed to the window. 
 
 The street below them, as far as the sight 
 could extend, was thronged with an excited 
 multitude of all classes, and in the middle of 
 the road marched a body of five hundred men, 
 attired in a strange costume, and chanting in 
 deep, sonorous tones, the famous Marseillaise 
 Hymn, the chorus of which, " Aux armes, 
 citoyens !" was caught up by the people with an 
 enthusiasm approaching to phrenzy. 
 
 Servette's eyes kindled, as he beheld this 
 animated spectacle. " Mark them," he said, as 
 they passed underneath the window, with the 
 slow and measured tread of trained soldiers, 
 " how manly is their bearing ! How determined 
 the expression of their keen, flashing eyes ! 
 With what energy they chant that noble 
 hymn, which might almost rouse the dead to 
 action !" * 
 
 " Who are they ?" inquired Alphonse, unable 
 to take his eyes off the strangers, whose proud 
 carriage, stern looks, and picturesque costume, 
 acted on his imagination like a spell, " who are 
 they ?" he repeated. " Never yet have I seen a 
 body of men whose appearance gave me such a
 
 268 ANNETTE. 
 
 vivid conception of those fiery spirits whom 
 Rienzi summoned to arms against the nobles 
 of Rome ! They look more like Italians than 
 Frenchmen." 
 
 " They are a band of patriots from Mar- 
 seilles," replied Servette, " and have come up to 
 Paris to tender their assistance to the people. 
 They have been long expected, and now that 
 they have arrived, events will stride on at a 
 giant's pace. See, their fellow-citizen, young 
 Barbaroux, is marching at their head !" 
 
 De Chatillon's heart sunk within him at this 
 reply; he turned thoughtfully away from the 
 window, and when the mighty mass had passed 
 by, on their way to the seat of legislature, he 
 took a cold leave of Servette, and repaired to the 
 lodgings of the Count de Sevrac, who he learned 
 had returned the day before from his protracted 
 stay in the countrj^, intending, through him, to 
 renew his offer of services to the King. 
 
 Within a few paces of his own door he en- 
 countered Jacques, who was no longer the 
 dapper, self-conceited coxcomb ; but slovenly in 
 his dress, pale and care-worn, with a nervous 
 tremour in his limbs, that indicated extreme 
 agitation of mind.
 
 ANNETTE. 269 
 
 " Wretch !" exclaimed Alphonse, confronting 
 him with looks of fury, " what brings you here ? 
 Is it to perpetrate another murder ? But you 
 shall not escape this time," and seizing hold of 
 him by the collar, he began dragging him 
 towards his own lodgings, with the view of 
 keeping him a close prisoner there, until he 
 could consign him to the custody of the proper 
 authorities. 
 
 " Murderer !" rejoined the astonished Jacques, 
 " it is to prevent murder that I have sought 
 you out to-day ; so loosen your hold on me, 
 and I will willingly accompany you home, for," 
 looking timidly round him, " I dare not be seen 
 talking to one of your appearance in the street. 
 Oh, Monsieur de Chatillon, I have much of 
 moment to say to you." 
 
 The earnestness of his manner impressed 
 Alphonse with a conviction of Jacques's sin- 
 cerity, and accordingly he made no further 
 effort to detain him, but bidding him precede him 
 into the house, he followed, keeping a watchful 
 eye on his movements ; and when they had 
 entered his sitting-room, he addressed the 
 trembling ex- valet in these terms : '* You tell 
 me you are no murderer ; I would fain believe
 
 270 ANNETTE. 
 
 you, for though I know you to be fickle, and 
 ungrateful, I never imagined you could be 
 guilty of taking the life of a helpless fellow- 
 creature. But mark me, fellow, I myself saw 
 you, not ten nights ago, strike a dagger into the 
 heart of one who, I am certain, could never have 
 injured you. You start, as if the charge were 
 false ; but I could not have been mistaken in 
 your person, for I was standing concealed at 
 the ceUar-door at the very moment when the 
 blow was struck." 
 
 " Can it be possible ?" exclaimed Jacques ; 
 " yours, then, w^as the warning voice that bade 
 me stay my arm ?" 
 
 " It was, and you confess your crime, 
 wretch !" 
 
 " Never — never ! I am no murderer — I 
 never was — I never will be one. The figure you 
 beheld was no living being, but an emblem of 
 aristocratic tyranny, so contrived as to represent 
 life. The idea was suggested by Marat, and 
 has been adopted by all the secret societies of 
 the faubourg St. Antoine, as a means of fami- 
 liarizing their more scrupulous members with 
 the work of blood." 
 
 *' Were you aware of this at the time ?'*
 
 ANNETTE. 271 
 
 " I was." 
 
 " What, then, occasioned the excessive agi- 
 tation I witnessed in you ?" 
 
 " I was horror-struck, because at the moment 
 the dagger was placed in my hand, I remembered 
 that I had taken an oath to act towards all aris- 
 tocrats who should oppose the people's will, as I 
 acted tow^ards that effigy." 
 
 " And you intend to keep that oath ?" 
 
 " I will not," replied Jacques, with unwonted 
 energy of manner ; '* for it was wrung from me 
 before I was aware of its import, and when I 
 had been so plied with drink as to have lost all 
 self-control. An oath taken under such cir- 
 cumstances I will not consider as binding on 
 my conscience." 
 
 " Your conscience !" said Alphonse, with a 
 sneering laugh. 
 
 " Yet, if I disobey," resumed the unhappy 
 man, relapsing into his former terrors, " my 
 life will pay the forfeit. Why — oh, w^hy did 
 1 ever leave my kind, my generous master ?" 
 
 " 'Tis too late to ask yourself that question 
 now," replied De Chatillon, pitying even while 
 he despised this miserable victim of self-conceit. 
 
 " I was led astray," continued Jacques, " by
 
 272 ANNETTE. 
 
 the fine talk I heard everywhere about men 
 being all equals ; but since I have leagued 
 myself with the Maratists — as most of the 
 secret societies call themselves — I am become 
 such a slave, that I dare not even call my 
 thoughts my own. And 'tis these societies, 
 Monsieur de Chatillon, that I wish to speak 
 to you about. The other evening the one to 
 which I belong held a final meeting, at which 
 it was agreed that they should join their con- 
 federates in the different faubourgs, and march 
 on the Tuileries to-morrow night, the 10th of 
 August. I said nothing at the time, but 
 instantly made up my mind that I would seek 
 an interview with you, in the hope that you 
 might be able to give the Count timely warning, 
 and to save his life, for in case of resistance, 
 it is intended to massacre every soul in the 
 palace " 
 
 " Dreadful !" exclaimed Alphonse, half-stupi- 
 fied by this communication. " And pray, fellow, 
 do you mean to take part in this infernal project ?" 
 
 " No ; I shall be at the Bicetre, where I 
 am now going to take up my residence ; for 
 I've been appointed under-jailor of the prison, 
 through the agency of a member of our society.
 
 ANNETTE. 273 
 
 who recommended me to Petion. They tell 
 me," added Jacques, in a low tone of voice, 
 as if he feared to speak out his convictions, 
 " they tell me I shall soon have enough to do 
 there ; and I believe them, men of blood as 
 they are. Oh, what would I not give that 
 I had never left the Count de Sevrac's service ! 
 Farewell, Monseigneur. I have come at the 
 hazard of my life to say thus much, and now 
 I must be gone; so farewell. Do not think 
 harshly of me, but believe that I have erred 
 more from thoughtlessness than design." 
 
 " To-morrow night !" muttered De Chatillon, 
 when Jacques had left him to himself; " assault 
 the palace to-morrow night ! Be it so ; but 
 forewarned is forearmed, and the ruffianly 
 canaille shall be made to see — aye and feel 
 too — that Louis is aware of their designs, 
 and prepared to give them a far different 
 reception to that which they experienced last 
 June. But what if this fellow's communication 
 should be false? Traitor, as he is, to all 
 parties, his statement is not much to be de- 
 pended on. Yet he must be right, for he 
 can have no motive in deceiving me ; besides, 
 the arrival of the Marseillois, coupled with 
 
 VOL. I. ^ T
 
 274 ANNETTE. 
 
 that vile demagogue's speech, which I over- 
 heard the other night, are vouchers for the 
 truth of his statement. So, now to seek 
 out the Count, who, from all that I can learn, 
 is the only one of the King's advisers qualified 
 to — Ah, De Sevrac!" continued the young 
 man, as the door of his apartment opened, 
 and the very indi\ddual of whom he was going 
 in quest, entered, " welcome, a thousand wel- 
 comes ! This visit is as opportune as it is 
 unexpected. You have been so long absent 
 from. Paris, that I began to think you had 
 emigrated, and despaired of ever seeing you 
 again." 
 
 " Nor would you have seen me again, at 
 least not here," rephed the Count, warmly 
 returning his friend's embrace, " had not cir- 
 cumstances forced me back upon this hot-bed 
 of faction. Towards the close of last year, 
 wearied of the secluded and inactive life I led 
 at my chateau, I had an idea of joining the 
 Princes at Coblentz, and next I thought of acting 
 as a volunteer in the Prussian army, in either 
 of which cases we should probably never again 
 have met; but what I heard soon afterwards 
 of the distracted councils of the emigrants.
 
 ANNETTE. 275 
 
 and of the headstrong conduct of the Duke 
 of Bmnswick, convinced me that I did well 
 to abandon both schemes, and continue quiet 
 at home, till the approach of better times 
 should enable me to resume active life with 
 credit to myself and advantage to the poor 
 King. But, alas ! my friend," pursued the 
 Count, in desponding tones, " I have learned 
 too late that those times will never arrive ; 
 and I now acknowledge the justice of Brissot's 
 remark, that there is no longer a chance for 
 monarchy in France. It is not Paris alone that 
 is mad for change, the whole country has caught 
 the infection — " 
 
 " You do not mean to include Rheims and 
 its neighbourhood in this sweeping charge ; 
 I have always been given to understand that 
 the people there were remarkable for their 
 loyalty." 
 
 " Yes," rejoined De Sevrac, " even at Rheims, 
 the inhabitants — I speak of the better classes, 
 as well as the mere rabble — think, talk, dream 
 of nothing but the sovereignty of the people. 
 For some time, however, they graciously per- 
 mitted me, though an aristocrat and a royalist, 
 to remain unmolested at my chateau, seeing that 
 
 T 2
 
 276 ANNETTE. 
 
 my habits were retired and inoffensive ; but about 
 the middle of last month, some agents of the 
 Jacobin Club found their way to Rheims, and 
 the consequence of their incendiary addresses 
 was, that the peasants of the district — ■ 
 even those on my own estate, to whom I have 
 ever been a considerate landlord — rose in a 
 body, and burned my chateau, and would have 
 burned me too, had I not given them the 
 slip, and fled in disguise from the home that 
 had sheltered my family for two hundred years. 
 So now here I am in Paris, a ruined man, 
 with nothing that I can call my own, but a 
 small sum at our friend Delaborde's, and my 
 family jewels, which I saved at the risk of 
 my life from the conflagration ! Well, the 
 King himself is not much more happily situated, 
 as he assured me this morning, when I went 
 to pay my respects at the palace; but that 
 is cold comfort — " 
 
 " The King's life is not worth four-and- 
 twenty hours' purchase," exclaimed Alphonse, 
 hastily interrupting the Count. 
 
 " Not quite so bad as that," replied De 
 Sevrac, smiling at his companion's sudden 
 energy, " though indeed there is a rumour
 
 ANNETTE. 277 
 
 abroad that the mob intend to assault the 
 Tuileries again in a few days." 
 
 "To-morrow night — perhaps this very 
 night !" 
 
 " Humph ; do you know this on good au- 
 thority, or do you merely go by report ?" 
 
 " On the best authority, and the wretches 
 who are to attack the palace, intend, in case of 
 resistance, to massacre all the inmates — not 
 excepting even the royal family." 
 
 " Indeed !" replied the Count, with earnest- 
 ness : " this must be inquired into. But who 
 was your informant, for you do not, I think, 
 move in circles where you are likely to get sure 
 information ?" 
 
 " Jacques was my informant." 
 
 " What, my old scapegrace valet, Jacques ? 
 But how came he to communicate with you, of 
 ail others, on the subject?" 
 
 In reply, Alphonse mentioned the discovery he 
 had accidentally made of the nocturnal proceed- 
 ings of the secret society, and the subsequent 
 communication of the remorse-stricken Jacques ; 
 whereupon the Count, whose spirits seemed to 
 rise at the prospect of danger, exclaimed : " I 
 must go without a moment's loss of time, and
 
 278 ANNETTE. 
 
 report this matter to the Kmg, so that he may 
 not, as on the former occasion, be taken una- 
 wares. The ministers sit daily in council at the 
 Tuileries; and who knows, if they can hut be 
 prevailed upon to urge Louis to a decisive course 
 of action, but that events will take a turn in our 
 favour ! Doubtless, the people will swarm by 
 thousands at the palace gates ; but the Swiss 
 Guard are true ; and there is more real courage 
 in one of those trained soldiers, than in a 
 hundred of the greasy mob. Let us take heart, 
 then, my friend, for while there is life, there is 
 hope; and should we succeed in beating back 
 the besiegers, the King will be placed in a firmer 
 position than he has occupied since the death of 
 Mirabeau. I must leave you now, but pray do 
 not stir out, till you see or hear from me, which 
 w^ill be to-night or to-morrow morning at 
 furthest," and without waiting for an answ^er, 
 De Sevrac turned on his heel, and hurried from 
 the house.
 
 ANNETTE. 279 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 The state of Paris was at this period more 
 critical, and the prospects of the court party 
 more deplorable, than they had been since the 
 assembling of the States-General in 1789. An 
 insurrectional committee was formed in the very 
 heart of the capital, holding daily communica- 
 tion with the agents of Danton, who was now 
 become the most formidable demagogue in 
 France ; and this committee had its secret 
 partizans in every faubourg, by whose means 
 a band of desperadoes were gathered together, 
 ready, at the first hint from head-quarters, to 
 perpetrate any enormity. While the leaders of 
 the insurrection were discussing the best means 
 of proceeding, the premature publication of a
 
 280 ANNETTE. 
 
 most insolent and menacing manifesto put forth 
 by the Duke of Brunswick, and dated from the 
 obnoxious neighbourhood of Coblentz, brought 
 matters to an immediate crisis ; and the com- 
 mittee, exasperated to the highest degree, de- 
 cided that a general rising of the populace 
 should take place on the 10th of August. 
 ' On the afternoon of that eventful day, 
 Alphonse was seated alone in his room, having 
 been all the morning in momentary expectation 
 of a message or a visit from De Sevrac. But 
 hours rolled on, and still he came not ; and the 
 young man was beginning to think that he had 
 forgotten him, when a hasty step was heard on 
 the staircase, and presently the Count entered. 
 
 " You are very late !" exclaimed Alphonse. 
 " I have been expecting you for hours ; and 
 indeed had almost given you up." 
 
 " I could not help it," replied De Sevrac. 
 " 1 have only just left the Tuileries, whither 
 the King commands your attendance." 
 
 " Of course you acquainted his Majesty with 
 the intelligence I communicated to you." 
 
 " I did so ; but he had had some previous 
 intimation of the fact, and has in consequence 
 gathered round him the few whom he thinks
 
 ANNETTE. 281 
 
 he may rely on. No doubt, as you have once 
 before served him \Yith prudence and fidelity, 
 and he has a high idea of Vendean loyalty, he 
 w^ill station you near his person. But, come ; 
 it is time for us to be on the move." 
 
 " But — but — " said the young man, hesi- 
 tating. 
 
 "But what?" interrupted the Count, impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 " I have no court dress ready ; and I have 
 heard say, that it is contrary to etiquette for any 
 one to be publicly presented, for the first time, 
 except in — " 
 
 " Court dress !" exclaimed De Sevrac, with a 
 sneering laugh, " who thinks of such etiquette 
 now ? Look at me ; you see I have purposely 
 selected for the day's wear my plainest attire ; 
 and so must you, for now^ that you have dra\Mi 
 my attention to the matter, I perceive that your 
 equipment is much too — I will not say aristo- 
 cratic, but what is equally offensive to the mul- 
 titude — much too trim for the occasion. My 
 good friend, that fine plaited frill and that 
 glossy blue coat will never do. Before we have 
 gone a dozen yards, we shall have a rascally 
 mob after us, thirsting for our patrician blood."
 
 282 ANNETTE. 
 
 " I have worn them hitherto without moles- 
 tation," said Alphonse. 
 
 " That may be ; but to-day is not like any 
 other day. You must positively try to look a 
 little more like a sans-culotte ; for the cry 
 against the aristocrats is fiercer now than ever 
 it was. Here, take this — this will do famously," 
 and snatching up an old travelling cloak that 
 lay on a chair, and which Alphonse had brought 
 with him from La Vendee, he flung it round the 
 young man, and led the way down into the street. 
 
 They walked on at a rapid ])ace, and De 
 Sevrac bade his companion obser^^e the savage, 
 inexorable demeanour of the crowds who 
 thronged the great thoroughfares. All be- 
 tokened an immediate crisis. In one place 
 there was a vast mob of women and lads, 
 whom a tall, swarthy virago — the notorious 
 Theroigne de Merincourt — dressed in a man's 
 hat and coat, was haranguing, with a pistol in 
 each hand; in another, stood a sullen group 
 of red-capped porters and mechanics, variously 
 armed with rusty firelocks, swords, and blud- 
 geons with sharp pieces of iron fastened on 
 to the end of them, commenting on the last 
 number of Marat's journal; and in a third
 
 ANNETTE. 283 
 
 place, the two royalists met, and had some 
 trouble in extricating themselves from a noisy 
 detachment of desperadoes, who were marching 
 along with banners, whereon were inscribed : 
 " The Constitution or Death !"— " Down with 
 the Austrian Committee !" and other popular 
 demands of the hour. Some of these vaga- 
 bonds held up ragged breeches, by way of 
 flags ; and their leader bore aloft a calf's 
 heart on the point of a pike, which he as- 
 sured the by-standers w^as the veritable heart 
 of an aristocrat — a refined piece of drollery that 
 occasioned huge delight. 'Twas a terrible — 
 an awful spectacle which the streets of Paris 
 presented on this memorable day. The shops 
 were shut ; business of all sort was suspended ; 
 and the few respectable individuals who dared 
 to come abroad, were marked as aristocrats, 
 and subjected to gross insult. 
 
 When the Count and his friend reached the 
 Place du Carousel, which, instead of the im- 
 mense court now extending from the body of 
 the palace to the gate and from one wing to 
 another, then contained numerous small courts 
 separated by walls and houses, with ancient 
 wickets opening from each of them into
 
 284 ANNETTE. 
 
 the Carousel — when the two royalists reached 
 this place, they found all the avenues swarming 
 with sans-culottes, who were still more tumul- 
 tuous than any they had yet met, and were only 
 prevented from breaking out into bloody ex- 
 cesses by the presence of some well-known 
 municipal officers in whom, as friends of 
 Petion, they placed implicit confidence. At 
 the entrance of the Tuileries, a small detach- 
 ment of the National Guard was drawn up, 
 looking exceedingly sulky and embarrassed, as 
 if undetermined what course of conduct to 
 pursue in the crisis which they saw was close 
 at hand. The great gates were closed ; but the 
 Count, on making himself known to the sentinel 
 on duty — a veteran soldier who had served 
 under Bouille — was readily admitted, and, fol- 
 lowed by Alphonse, made his way direct to the 
 royal apartments. 
 
 At the door of the presence chamber stood 
 the usher- in- waiting, a formal, elder beau of 
 the times of Louis XV., dressed according to 
 the exactest court etiquette, who no sooner 
 caught sight of De Sevrac and Alphonse, than 
 he said, glancing uneasily at their homely attire: 
 " I dare not venture to exclude you from the
 
 ANNETTE. 285 
 
 presence, Monsieur le Comte ; but your friend," 
 he added, shrugging his shoulders, " cannot 
 enter in that disrespectful costume." 
 
 " But he must enter," replied De Sevrac ; 
 " for his Majesty himself has expressly com- 
 manded his attendance." 
 
 The courtly master of the ceremonies bowed 
 low at this intimation, and offered no further 
 opposition ; but as they passed on, he could 
 not refi'ain from muttering, in the spirit of one 
 who has sustained a severe shock: " No point- 
 ruffles — not even a buckle in their shoes ! 
 Good God ! what will this wretched country 
 come to !" 
 
 In the presence chamber two or three of the 
 ministers were in attendance, together with 
 several members of the household, and officers 
 of the National and Swiss Guards. The former 
 were seated at a table covered with letters and 
 official documents, which they were perusing 
 with visible uneasiness ; and of the rest, some 
 were lounging up and down the apartment, and 
 others were standing in groups near the window, 
 conversing together in whispers. Ahuost im- 
 mediately after De Sevrac and his companion 
 entered, a bustle was heard without ; the mi-
 
 286 ANNETTE. 
 
 nisters rose from their seats ; the rest of the 
 company ceased talking; and presently a pow- 
 dered and periwigged usher — one of the few 
 relics of pageantry that Louis had yet left — 
 threw open the folding-doors of an inner apart- 
 ment, exclaiming : " The King — the King !'' 
 
 The eyes of Alphonse were directed with 
 eager interest to the august personage w^ho now 
 slowly and thoughtfully entered the room. He 
 was of middle height, inclining to corpulence, 
 and easy, hut far from dignified in his move- 
 ments ; the natural expression of his full, fleshy 
 countenance was a sort of insipid good-humour 
 — some would have said, sheer mental imbecility ; 
 but at present, it w^ore a look of peevishness and 
 irresolution, which, considering the circum- 
 stances of his case, it was painful to contem- 
 plate. His hair was carefully dressed ; a single 
 star was on his breast ; and his clothes wT.re 
 embroidered in the ancient court fashion. As 
 he advanced into the chamber, his eyes wan- 
 dered listlessly over the circle, but suddenly 
 encountering De Chatillon, he stopped, and 
 signed to him and the Count to approach. 
 
 " This, Sire," said De Sevrac, " is the young 
 Alphonse de Chatillon, w^hom I have so often
 
 ANNETTE. 287 
 
 mentioned to your Majesty. He has long been 
 waiting an opportunity to express to you in 
 person his sentiments of loyalty." 
 
 ^' We are already much indebted to him," 
 replied the King, holding forth his hand, which 
 Alphonse knelt and kissed with a respect to 
 which the humbled monarch had long been a 
 stranger, " and have now again to thank him 
 for the communication which he caused yester- 
 day to be conveyed to us through you, De 
 Sevrac. We knew your father, young man, 
 in other and happier days ; and should it ever 
 be in our power to requite his and your attach- 
 ment to our person, you may rely on our sense 
 of gratitude. For the present, we retain you 
 near us, for our situation is such as to require 
 the assistance of all our friends ; and we hope 
 shortly to be able to enrol you in our house- 
 hold. Where is Mandat ?" continued the King 
 raising his voice, and looking anxiously round 
 the room. 
 
 " Here, Sire," said the Commandant of the 
 National Guard, stepping forth from the group 
 who were standing near the window. 
 
 " I presume, Monsieur Mandat," observed 
 the King, " that you have made every prepara-
 
 288 ANNETTE. 
 
 tion for the defence of the palace that time and 
 circumstances admit of." 
 
 "I have so, please your Majesty," replied 
 Mandat, bowing. 
 
 "And what is the extent of our available 
 means ?" pursued Louis. 
 
 " 1 grieve to say, Sire, that w^e can muster 
 at the utmost but nine hundred of the Swiss 
 Guard, and rather more than one battahon of 
 the National Guard, whom I have posted, some 
 in the courts, and others in the garden. I 
 have issued orders also that one piece of can- 
 non be planted in the court of the Swiss, and 
 three in the central court ; and 1 have stationed 
 some advanced posts of gensd'armes at the 
 colonade of the Louvre, and the Hotel de Ville ; 
 but I fear," he added, with a sigh, " that they 
 cannot be depended on." 
 
 "Not depended on!" exclaimed the King, 
 with a burst of petulance that he could not 
 restrain ; " and are you to be depended on ?" 
 
 " My duty to your Majesty I know, and shall 
 discharge, being persuaded that it will not be 
 such as shall infringe the constitution," rejoined 
 Mandat, respectfully but firmly, for he was a 
 determined constitutionahst.
 
 ANNETTE. 289 
 
 " Do but your duty, and we shall be satisfied," 
 replied Louis, and seating himself at the head 
 of the table, he conversed for a brief space with 
 his ministers, whom he ordered to resume their 
 places ; read over a few documents which they 
 presented for his signature ; and then yawning, 
 as if already wearied with the fatigue and 
 drudgery of business, he rose, and retired to 
 the Queen's apartments. 
 
 The King had hardly withdrawn, when a 
 mob of noisy, reckless courtiers, attended by 
 several of Louis's most attached servants, 
 entered, armed grotesquely with the first 
 weapons they could lay hands on. Some carried 
 daggers ; others, pistols fastened to their waist 
 by pocket-handkerchiefs ; and Monsieur de 
 Souplet, one of the royal equerries, and a page 
 of the household, instead of muskets, carried on 
 their shoulders the tongs belonging to the King's 
 ante-chamber, which — obsreves Madame Cam- 
 pan in her Memoirs — "they had broken, and 
 divided between them." 
 
 Imminent as was the danger, a laugh burst 
 from the spectators at this ludicrous exhibi- 
 tion. 
 
 " We are now sure of victory," said one 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 ANNETTE. 
 
 courtier to another, " for those tongs are irresist- 
 ible. Oh, that Danton's nose were between 
 them !" 
 
 A variety of similar irrelevant flippancies 
 were bandied about, especially among the 
 younger courtiers, who unable to comprehend 
 the full hazard of their situation, amused them- 
 selves by telling scandalous court anecdotes, 
 and mimicking the manners of some of the 
 more popular speakers in the Assembly, greatly 
 to the annoyance of the more rational portion 
 of the company, who in vain implored them to 
 quit the room, or at any rate to deport them- 
 selves with decency. 
 
 " There is nothing to be done with fools like 
 these," whispered the Count to Alphonse. 
 
 " I fear not indeed." 
 
 " And yet the King is much influenced by 
 them, because they fall in with all his caprices, 
 and encourage the Queen's known detestation of 
 the leaders of the movement party. When 
 such are the cherished advisers of royalty, who 
 can be surprized that the palace is one scene of 
 discord, confusion, and bewilderment ?" 
 
 A messenger here came from Louis to sum- 
 mon the ministers to the Queen's private apart-
 
 ANNETTE. 291 
 
 ments, whither they immediately repaired ; 
 while De Se\Tac and Alphonse accompanied 
 Mandat on his tour of inspection through the 
 Tuileries, the remainder of the company stroll- 
 ing at large ahout the palace, for all conventional 
 etiquette was hanished, and all distinctions of 
 place and rank lost sight of in the general 
 excitement of the hour. 
 
 Thus were the several parties occupied, till 
 nearly midnight, when as Mandat and his tw^o 
 associates were re-entering the presence-chamber 
 after completing their tour of inspection, they 
 heard the loud clang of the tocsin, and the 
 drum beating to arms in all quarters. 
 
 " It is the knell of the monarchy," said the 
 Commandant, gravely. 
 
 " Yet we will not perish without a struggle," 
 impetuously exclaimed Alphonse. 
 
 " Right ; w^e will struggle," said the Count ; 
 " but I fear for the result with forces such as 
 ours." 
 
 " The Swiss Guard at any rate are faithful," 
 observed Mandat. 
 
 " But there is no confidence to be placed in 
 the National Guard ; we have enemies among 
 them, even in the palace." 
 
 u 2
 
 292 ANNETTE. 
 
 While De Sevrac was speaking, the King, 
 with the members of the council in his train, 
 again came into the chamber, having just 
 finished the last meal he was destined to take 
 in the home of his ancestors. Addressing the 
 Commandant, he said: "We have not yet decided, 
 Monsieur Mandat, respecting the best course to 
 pursue in this exigency. Some of our ministers 
 are of opinion that we should not wait till we are 
 besieged, but at once sally forth on the insur- 
 gents. What are your impressions ?" 
 
 " Will your Majesty," interposed Alphonse, 
 laying his hand on his sword, " permit me to go 
 out with the attacking party ?" 
 
 " Silence, young man," said the King, but 
 not unkindly, " older heads than yours must 
 decide this matter." 
 
 " My opinion is, " observed Mandat, " that 
 the instant the faubourgs are in motion, and 
 one party marches by the Pont Neuf along the 
 quay of the Tuileries, we unhesitatingly attack 
 them. Trusting that my views would meet 
 with your Majesty's concurrence, I have already 
 given directions to that effect." 
 
 " You have !" exclaimed the King, looking 
 sternly and distrustfully at the Commandant.
 
 ANNETTE. 293 
 
 " and who told you to do so ? Am I no longer 
 Sovereign, or are you in chief authority here ? 
 Beware, Mandat ; we know that, as a con- 
 stitutionalist, you bear no great love to the 
 throne." 
 
 The Count here interposed by saying: " Mon- 
 sieur Mandat, Sire, is right." 
 
 " We will think of your scheme then ; 
 perhaps we were too hasty just now." 
 
 " Think, Sire !" pursued the Commandant, 
 it is too late for thought. Listen ! cannot your 
 Majesty hear the distant thunder of the cannon 
 that warns us the insurgents are mustering their 
 powders ? Oh, Sire, let me conjure you, as you 
 value your own safety and that of your august 
 family, to take the advice of one who has no 
 interest in deceiving you, and is ready to perish 
 in your service ! Decision alone can save us 
 now\ Two hours hence, and it may be too 
 late !" 
 
 As he ceased speaking, a deafening shout was 
 heard of, " To arms — to arms !" 
 
 The King started at the sound. " Well, 
 Mandat," he said, in tones husky from agitation, 
 "be it as you would have it." 
 
 The Commandant, followed, as before, by
 
 294 ANNETTE. 
 
 De Sevrac and Alphonse, withdrew from the 
 royal presence, but the door had not closed on 
 them, when the feeble, irresolute monarch 
 called them back. " Stay, my friends, stay," 
 he said, imploringly, " this is a hazardous 
 scheme, and may involve the ruin of all dear to 
 me. Yet why should we not attempt it ? Yes, 
 we will, but no — no ; there are thousands to 
 our hundreds — perhaps conciliation and a 
 show of forbearance may soften these angry 
 spirits ;" and thus muttering, the King threw 
 himself into a chair, making no other reply to 
 the urgent entreaties of his ministers who, 
 with the Count, besought him to take the advice 
 of Mandat, than by continually repeating : " It 
 is never too late to prevent bloodshed." 
 
 While the doomed monarch thus sate, with 
 his face buried in his hands, the picture of 
 hopeless imbecility, a message came from the 
 new municipality which had just been formed 
 at the Hotel de Ville, summoning Mandat, as 
 Commandant of the National Guard, before 
 them, in consequence of a report that he had 
 ordered the royal troops to fire on the people. 
 As this order was couched in peremptory terms, 
 and to have disobeyed it would have been to
 
 ANNETTE. 295 
 
 infringe one of the laws of the constitution, 
 Mandat had no alternative but to comply. 
 " Farewell, Sire," he said, kneeling at the King's 
 feet, overcome by a sad presentiment of his 
 impending fate, "farewell, I go to death, but 
 my greatest grief is, that your Majesty has not 
 seen fit to adopt the only course that can save the 
 monarchy. Farewell, Count ; farewell, young 
 De Chatillon ; gentlemen all, farewell ; my fall 
 precedes yours but a few hours !" 
 
 " Is he gone ?" exclaimed the King, rising 
 abruptly from his seat, as Mandat withdrew 
 from the chamber. 
 
 " He is," replied De Sevrac with mournful 
 earnestness, " never to return." 
 
 " You are wrong, Monsieur le Comte," 
 rejoined the King angrily, " quite wrong. The 
 forbearance of the troops here, under his com- 
 mand, will convince the municipality, that 
 Mandat bears no hostility to the people; and 
 he will be back within the hour. Harm him ! 
 They dare not do it. Yet why do I say so, 
 with the recollection of poor Delaunay on my 
 mind ?" and dropping again into his chair, the 
 weak-minded monarch abandoned himself to his 
 former dejection.
 
 296 ANNETTE. 
 
 It was now verging towards morning, and 
 confusion still reigned throughout the Tuileries. 
 All talked of the necessity of action, yet none 
 knew how to act, with the exception of De 
 Sevrac, whose proposal to put himself at the 
 head of the Swiss Guard, sally forth on the 
 advancing besiegers, and risk all on one des- 
 perate charge, met with no more favourable 
 reception than Mandat's project. The King, 
 indeed, seemed well-nigh past the power of 
 coming to any decision whatever; and kept 
 restlessly wandering about the palace, now 
 going to the Queen's apartments under the pre- 
 text of allaying her apprehensions; and now 
 returning into the presence-chamber, which the 
 members of the council regarded as their head- 
 quarters for the night. As to the younger 
 courtiers who had been so speech- valiant a short 
 while before, their energies were now quite 
 exhausted, and they either threw themselves 
 along chairs and sofas, where they fell fast asleep, 
 or waited in sullen apathy the catastrophe to 
 whose horrors they appeared at last to be fully 
 awakened. How different the scene which the 
 Tuileries now presented, to that which it was 
 wont to exhibit but four years since ! Then,
 
 ANNETTE. 297 
 
 its lofty halls and state rooms, illumined by 
 magnificent lustres, and lined with officers in 
 the gorgeous uniforms of the Gardes du Corps, 
 were nightly crowded with courtiers, all smiles 
 and sunshine, and with lovely w^omen blazing 
 with jewels, here listening to strains of volup- 
 tuous music, and there, moving in the mazy 
 windings of the dance, or lending an eager ear 
 to the flatteries of young and gallant nobles. 
 Now, all this was at an end ; and none traversed 
 the gloomy and deserted halls, where rank, and 
 wealth, and beauty had so often bowed, willing 
 slaves, before the shrine of power, but a few terror- 
 stricken individuals who flitted to and fro like 
 spectres, startled even by the echo of their own 
 footsteps, and listening to each successive dis- 
 charge of cannon that pealed from the floating 
 battery on the Seine, as the convict listens to 
 the bell that tolls the hour of his execution. 
 
 Another hour passed away, and now the 
 Kine: was about to be roused from his state of 
 lethargic bewilderment by one of the crudest 
 shocks he had yet sustained ; for a messenger 
 of the court mshed in breathless haste into 
 the presence-chamber, crying out at the top of 
 his voice : " The King — where is the King ?"
 
 298 ANNETTE. 
 
 " What are your tidings ?" inquired the agi- 
 tated monarchy looking up from his seat at the 
 head of the council board. 
 
 " Oh, Sire, Mandat is murdered, and they are 
 bearing his bleeding head to the palace ?" 
 
 "Murdered, say you?" exclaimed Louis, 
 aghast with horror, " oh, my poor Mandat, 
 what a price have you paid for your fidelity !" 
 
 '* Revenge — revenge. Sire, this most atro- 
 cious deed," said Alphonse, his face crimson 
 with rage. 
 
 Before Louis could reply to this impassioned 
 appeal, a second messenger arrived with news 
 that the insurgents headed by the Marseillois 
 and Breton federalists were on full march for 
 the palace, and that some pieces of artillery 
 were already pointed against it. 
 
 " Now, Sir," exclaimed De Sevrac, " now or 
 never is the time to act." 
 
 " I fear indeed that blood must now be shed, 
 but perhaps if I show myself on the balcony, 
 and reason with these misguided men, I may 
 effect some good." 
 
 The ministers to whom these words were 
 addressed, made no answer ; for the brutal 
 murder of Mandat seemed to have deprived
 
 ANNETTE. 299 
 
 them, for the time, of all power of utterance. 
 But not thus quiescent was the Count de 
 Sevrac, who exclaimed, " Reason with assassins, 
 Sire ! Reason with the ocean in a storm — with 
 the famished tiger who is crouching for his 
 spring — with the madman who holds his dag- 
 ger to your hreast — you may as well hope to 
 reason with one or all of these, as with wretches 
 who are thirsting for your blood, and attribute 
 your forbearance to nothing but excess of weak- 
 ness." 
 
 " You are bold. Monsieur le Comte," re- 
 plied Louis, haughtily, " this is not fit language 
 to hold in my presence." 
 
 "It is the language of truth. Sire, however 
 unsuitcd to — " 
 
 The Count's further speech was put an end 
 to by the entrance of the Queen and her young 
 family, who had been endeavouring to snatch a 
 few hours' slumber, but had been roused up by 
 the loud shouts of the populace outside the 
 palace gates. 
 
 The descriptions of historians and contem- 
 porary memoir-writers have made the world 
 acquainted with the person and manners of this 
 illustrious Princess. Peltier and Madame
 
 300 ANNETTE. 
 
 Campan — the latter of whom knew her well 
 — :speak with unwonted animation of her 
 majestic air, her finely-chiselled bust, and the 
 ever- varying expression of her countenance; 
 and Burke, who had seen her when Dauphiness 
 at Versailles, has recorded the impression her 
 singular beauty made on him, in the most 
 eloquent passage of his " Reflections." Sorrow 
 had now dimmed the lustre of her cheek, tinged 
 her luxuriant tresses with grey, and bowed her 
 stately figure; but enough still remained of 
 grace and loveliness to rivet the admiring gaze 
 of all who beheld her. 
 
 As with the serene dignity of a Juno she 
 advanced into the presence-chamber, the first 
 person whom she noticed was Alphonse, and 
 despite the perils of her position, her true 
 woman's nature experienced a momentary thrill 
 of gratified pride, when she observed the deep 
 respect and admiration with which he knelt 
 before her. 
 
 Having addressed to him a few gracious 
 words, not one of which but made a profound 
 impression on the young man's mind, she 
 turned to the King, and said, " Will not your 
 Majesty go down and review the troops in the
 
 ANNETTE. 30 1 
 
 court? I am told that they have been some 
 hom-s anxiously awaiting your presence." 
 
 " Be it so," replied Louis, to whom his wife's 
 slightest wish was as a law ; and motioning to 
 the Count, Alphonse, and some others of his 
 adherents to accompany him, he descended the 
 staircase, preceded by the Queen and her 
 children. 
 
 At the sight of the monarch, loud cries of 
 "Vive le Roi !" burst from the assembled 
 veterans, who were standing ready in their 
 ranks, waiting but the royal command to act on 
 the offensive. 
 
 Once more De Sevrac urged him to give the 
 order. " If your Majesty," said he, " will but 
 summon up the energy of your ancestors ; 
 mount your horse, and charge at the head of 
 the troops, I will answer for a \dctory. Not a 
 soldier here but will shed the last drop of his 
 blood in your cause." 
 
 The Queen added her entreaties to those of 
 the Count, and for a moment he seemed willing 
 to comply. His cheek flushed, his eye sparkled, 
 and his hand unconsciously sought his sword ; 
 and this being observed by the soldiers on duty, 
 so animated them that they renewed their cries
 
 302 ANNETTE. 
 
 of " Vive le Roi !" the ardent Alphonse making 
 himself heard ahove them all. But, alas ! the 
 King's energy was but a transient flash, for 
 just when the Queen and those who stood 
 round him, thought he was going to act, the 
 terrific shouts of " En avant !" from the insur- 
 gents, who announced that the hour of assault 
 had arrived, brought back all his former alarm 
 and indecision. 
 
 " I will go," said the excited monarch — for it 
 was energy of character rather than physical 
 courage he wanted — " I will go and show 
 myself at the window to these rebellious men ; 
 and if they have one spark of justice or feeling 
 left, they may be induced to respect their So- 
 vereign's last appeal." 
 
 " All is lost 1" observed the Queen, in an 
 undertone to De Sevrac. 
 
 " You are right. Madam," replied the Count, 
 with a sigh. 
 
 " Monsieur le Comte," rejoined the Queen, 
 " and you, too, De Chatillon, go with the King, 
 and remain by his side ; for me, I have no 
 longer a hope but to perish in the bosom of my 
 children ;" and the high-minded woman, whose 
 heart swelled with ill-disguised indignation at
 
 ANNETTE. 303 
 
 the vacillating conduct of her husband, with- 
 drew again, with the young Dauphin and his 
 sister, to her private apartments, while the 
 troops remained below in the court-yard, 
 sullen, disheartened, and ignorant how to act. 
 Louis, in the interim, made his way back 
 to the interior of the palace, and lost not a 
 moment in exhibiting himself at one of the 
 front windows, where he beheld a spectacle 
 calculated to extinguish whatever hopes he 
 might have entertained from adopting a con- 
 ciliatory course of conduct. All the main ap- 
 proaches to the Tuileries were choked up with 
 people, above whose heads rose a forest of pikes, 
 spears, and banners, while the torches which 
 many of them held up, and which contrasted 
 strangely with the cold, grey, unsettled light of 
 the morning, threw a ghastly glare on the faces 
 of the ferocious rabble, that gave them the 
 aspect of demons. In front of the palace gates 
 were drawn up several pieces of artillery, with 
 gunners standing near them ; and directly 
 behind them w^as a closely-wedged group of 
 sans-culottes, conspicuous by their naked, 
 bloody arms, and still more, by their deafening 
 yells and frantic gestures. One of these
 
 304 ANNETTE. 
 
 wretches bore aloft on a pike the head of 
 Mandat still dripping with blood ; and every 
 time he waved it to and fro, a roar came up 
 from those about him, like that of the ocean in 
 a storm, which, blended with the ringing of the 
 church bells — the thunder of the alarm-guns — 
 the roll of the drums — the inspiring chorus of 
 the Marseillaise Hymn — the clash of steel — the 
 clatter of the artillery-waggons — and the inces- 
 sant cry of " To arms !" from the thousands 
 upon thousands who kept pouring in one rapid 
 continuous tide down the narrow streets and 
 courts of the Carousel — produced an effect on 
 the imagination of Alphonse which haunted 
 him for years. 
 
 As soon as this mighty multitude got sight 
 of the King, they were hushed to stillness, as if 
 they expected he would address them, and were 
 desirous to know the purport of his speech ; a 
 few faint cries of " Vive le Roi !" however, 
 which proceeded from some old grenadiers of 
 the guard who had got mixed up among the 
 crowd, had the effect of provoking a reaction ; 
 first, a few menacing cries were heard of 
 *' Down with Monsieur Veto !" and then at a 
 given signal from a hideous, half-naked ruffian
 
 ANNETTE. 305 
 
 with a huge hatchet in his hand, who \vas 
 mounted on the shoulders of his neighbours, 
 and seemed to act as one of the mob-leaders, 
 the whole living mass broke out into such 
 terrific yells of execration, that they rang 
 through every quarter of the palace, and 
 brought the Queen in alarm to the balcony, 
 which she induced her husband to quit. 
 
 The next instant the ministers who had 
 remained behind in the council-chamber, and 
 w^hose repeated consultations during the night had 
 produced no result, owing to the King's infirmity 
 of purpose, now came to him in a body, and 
 announced the decision at which they had finally 
 arrived — namely, that as the palace was untena- 
 ble against the assailants, since the chance of 
 success offered by Mandat's scheme was aban- 
 doned, the royal family should retire for pro- 
 tection into the Constituent Assembly, for their 
 lives would be in the greatest peril, should the 
 Tuileries be taken by storm. 
 
 When the Queen was made acquainted with 
 this decision, her lip curled with scorn, and 
 drawing herself up to her full height, she 
 exclaimed in tones of bitter contempt : " Shame 
 on the ministers who can dare make such a 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 ANNETTE. 
 
 proposal, and shame on those who can agree 
 to it ! Sire, we will not so humiliate ourselves. 
 As for me, rather than crouch a suppliant to 
 a set of men who have ever treated me with 
 insult, I will be nailed to the walls of the 
 palace ! Gentlemen, you are answered." 
 
 " Gracious Madam," said the Count, stepping 
 forward, and addressing the high-minded Prin- 
 cess with marked respect and sympathy, "let 
 me implore you to adopt the course recom- 
 mended by his Majesty's ministers ; 'tis painful, 
 I admit, but it is the only alternative that 
 inexorable circumstances have left you. For 
 your children's sake be advised." 
 
 A brisk discharge of cannon, and the crash 
 of innumerable hatchets, were here heard at 
 the outer gates of the palace. 
 
 " Quick, Sire, decide — oh God, they come !" 
 exclaimed several of the ministers, crowding 
 about the royal family. 
 
 " Save yourself. Sire," said an officer of 
 the household, bursting into the chamber ; "a 
 detachment of the National Guard have just de- 
 serted their ranks, and gone over to the enemy !" 
 
 This last stunning blow completely bereft 
 the King of what little self-possession he had
 
 ANNETTE. 307 
 
 to lose. His cheeks whitened, his arms dropped 
 heavily by his side, and there was an expression 
 in his large, dull eye, as he turned with a vacant 
 stare from one to another of those about him, 
 that gave the idea of a feeble mind tasked 
 beyond its capacity, and shocked into sudden 
 idiotcy. Far otherwise was it with the Queen. 
 Calmly, and with unblenched countenance, she 
 heard the fatal tidings; but hers was not 
 the calmness of an obtuse, lethargic nature, 
 but of high moral courage, wound up to the 
 extreme point of tension. Aware of the w^hole 
 extent of her danger, she yet exhibited no 
 further sense of apprehension, than by pressing 
 her children closer to her side — an act of 
 which she was at the time unconscious, but of 
 which the Count, who alone observed it, has- 
 tened to take advantage, by again entreating 
 her to quit the palace, if she would save the 
 lives of those most dear to her. 
 
 *'Urge me no farther," replied the Queen, 
 impatiently, " I cannot — will not consent to 
 become an object of pity and contempt to 
 base and ungenerous enemies. 1 have lived 
 in honour, and in honour I w^ill die." 
 
 " And your children, Madam !" persisted 
 
 x 2
 
 308 ANNETTE. 
 
 De Sevrac, " can you endui^e to see thcoo 
 helpless and innocent creatures butchered in 
 your very presence — to see their last dying 
 glance fixed reproachfully on the parent who 
 could, but would not, save them ? Oh, think 
 again, ere it be too late !" 
 
 This forcible and direct appeal made instant 
 way to' the royal mother's heart. Tears sprang 
 to her eyes, as she looked down upon the trem- 
 bling Dauphin and his sister ; and after a brief 
 but violent struggle between her strong sense 
 of pride as a Queen, and her tenderer feelings 
 as a parent, she said, in a voice which excess 
 of emotion rendered almost inaudible : " Let 
 us depart, Sire, since it must be so." Leading 
 the way, she slowly descended the stairs, but 
 when she reached the court, turned to cast one 
 sad, parting look at the splendid pile where 
 her happiest and proudest days had been spent, 
 but which she was never again to enter ; while 
 the rest of the circle, aware that if they accom- 
 panied the King to the Assembly, they would 
 irritate it still further against him, remained 
 behind in the presence-chamber, with no other 
 expectation than that the fate of Mandat would, 
 within an hour, be theirs.
 
 ANNETTE. 309 
 
 " There he goes !" whispered De Sevrac to 
 his young friend, pointing contemptuously to the 
 retreating figure of Louis ; " there he goes, with- 
 out a thought or a care for those he leaves 
 behind him, though it is his imbecility that has 
 sealed their doom ! Well, gentlemen, what are 
 we to do now? To repel the assault is im- 
 possible ; to defend ourselves successfully for 
 any length of time, equally so." 
 
 While the royalist party were discussing this 
 vital question, and the Count, who had fully 
 made up his mind that the destruction of all 
 w^as inevitable, was listening with an air of 
 gloomy composure to their suggestions, the 
 rabble forced the palace gates, and burst into 
 the court where the Swiss Guard were drawn 
 up, with the exception of the few who w^ere 
 escorting the royal fugitives to the place where 
 the Constituent Assembly held its sittings. 
 The sight of these veterans, whose aspect de- 
 noted stern and indomitable resolution, for a 
 brief while kept the van of the insurgents in 
 check; but the rear quickly forced them for- 
 ward, and a musket fired by one of the mob, 
 which shot a Swiss stone-dead, so exasperated 
 his comrades, that disregarding the orders which
 
 310 ANNETTE. 
 
 the King had given them on crossing the court, 
 they poured in a close, destructive volley, that 
 scattered the canaille in all directions. Ashamed, 
 however, of having heen repulsed by a mere 
 handful of men, the latter rallied in an instant ; 
 and such was the fury of the assault, that they 
 bore down all before them, and the majority of 
 the Swiss were massacred, amid the shouts of 
 the rabble, who pressed forward with renewed 
 energy into the interior of the palace. 
 
 When the sounds of this murderous conflict 
 — which, owing to the overwhelming force of 
 the mob, was decided in a few minutes — reached 
 the ears of the ministers, they put a summary 
 stop to their discussion, and flew to that more 
 retired quarter of the palace usually appropriated 
 to the King's servants; but De Sevrac and 
 Alphonse, less overcome by their fears, deter- 
 mined on forcing their way down into the court, 
 and boldly confronting their destiny in the ranks 
 of the brave Swiss. Before, however, they 
 could put their scheme into execution, they were 
 met at the door by several of this devoted band, 
 who had escaped from the scene of slaughter, 
 and who acquainted them with the fate of their 
 comrades.
 
 ANNETTE. 311 
 
 "Do you really mean to say that they are 
 massacred ?" inquired the astonished Count. 
 " Impossible ! 'Tis scarcely a quarter of an 
 hour since the King left the palace ; and then 
 the mob had not even forced the gates !" 
 
 " The royal family," replied a Swiss officer, 
 " had only just quitted the court, when the 
 insurgents broke in. The conflict, murderous 
 as it was, lasted but a few minutes, for we were 
 too weak — far too weak," he repeated, with 
 emotion, " to offer a lengthened resistance ; 
 and now the victorious populace have spread 
 themselves throughout the Tuileries, and will 
 be here immediately." 
 
 " Then let us remain where w^e are," said 
 De Sevrac ; " and if w^e can but hold out a 
 short time, orders may come from the Assembly 
 to put a stop to this w^holesale carnage," with 
 which words, assisted by Alphonse and the 
 Swiss, he began barricading the closed door with 
 chairs, tables, and every niassive article of furni- 
 ture he could lay hands on. 
 
 Thus busily w^ere the party employed, when 
 a stunning uproar vras heard without ; and a 
 female voice exclaimed, in piercing accents : 
 " Help — help ! They are murdering me !"
 
 312 ANNETTE. 
 
 Quick as thought Alphonse flew to the door, 
 and drawing away a table which the moment 
 before he had placed against it, he gave ad- 
 mittance to the wretched suppliant, who was 
 one of the Queen's maids of honour ; but it 
 was too late, for as the door opened, she fell 
 covered with blood at the entrance, while a 
 horde of infuriate ruffians rushed over her 
 inanimate body, and poured like a torrent into 
 the apartment. 
 
 The first who entered dropped, pierced 
 through the heart by the ready sword of De 
 Chatillon, whose companions followed up the 
 attack with such spirit, that the insurgents, un- 
 prepared for resistance, thinking that it must 
 have ceased with the destruction of the Swiss 
 Guard, gave way ; and before they could rally, 
 the whole gallant party had cut their way out 
 into the passage. 
 
 At the foot of the grand staircase they en- 
 countered a group of those courtiers who had 
 been so valiant a few hours before, but were 
 now wringing their hands, and exhibiting every 
 token of abject despair. " Oh, Monsieur le 
 Comte !" exclaimed one of these imbecile brag- 
 garts; "for mercy's sake help us to escape
 
 ANNETTE. 313 
 
 from this slaughter-house. We will abide im- 
 plicitly by your directions." 
 
 " Take your own course, gentlemen, and 
 fight your own battles," replied De Sevrac, 
 sternly. " I have no sword for such as you ; 
 for it is your rash councils that have precipitated 
 this catastrophe." 
 
 " But we know not how^ to act ; nor whither 
 to betake ourselves," said another of the peti- 
 tioners. '' We dare not venture into the court ; 
 for some of the assassins are still there, stripping 
 and mangling the murdered Swiss." 
 
 These words operated like electricity on the 
 few survivors of that gallant band, who reco- 
 vered from their first alarm, and perhaps some- 
 what ashamed of their flight, now darted 
 forward into the court, resolved to rescue the 
 bodies of their comrades from the gross indig- 
 nities of the canaille ; and the terror-smitten 
 courtiers, unaw^are of the cause of this sudden 
 excitement on the part of the Swiss, and taking 
 for granted that they were retreating to some 
 known place of safety, followed them as mecha- 
 nically as a flock of sheep follow the movements 
 of their leader. 
 
 De Sevrac and his friend were now left to
 
 314 ANNETTE. 
 
 themselves ; and the former, whose self-posses- 
 sion had not once deserted him during this 
 appalling crisis, said : " You remember, Al- 
 phonse, the private passage where you kept 
 watch on the night of the King's escape ? If 
 we can but reach that, I think w^e may manage 
 to make good our retreat from the Tuileries. 
 How say you ? Shall we try ? Trust me, it 
 is our only chance." 
 
 " Certainly," replied De ChatiUon ; and 
 without another word, the two royalists re- 
 mounted the grand staircase, whence they pro- 
 ceeded by a private way w^ell known to the 
 Count, but which had as yet escaped the notice 
 of the insurgents, towards the passage in ques- 
 tion, their feelings kept painfully on the stretch, 
 by the screams and groans of the wounded, and 
 the loud crashing of doors, as room after room 
 was forced open and ransacked by the mob, 
 who, having murdered all whom they could 
 lay hands on in the royal family's apartments, 
 and shattered all the gorgeous furniture to 
 atoms, were now pursuing the work of death 
 and destruction in another quarter of the 
 palace. 
 
 On coming to the head of a long, narrow
 
 ANNETTE. 3 1 5 
 
 gallery, at the farther end of which was the 
 staircase that led down to the private passage, 
 Alphonse, who was in advance, nearly stumbled 
 over some three or four dead bodies of the 
 insurgents, who, it was evident, had perished 
 in a desperate conflict with the household, this 
 being the quarter assigned to the head cooks, 
 and valets, and pages of the back- stairs. 
 
 Halting beside the corpses : " De Sevrac," 
 exclaimed the young man, eagerly, " a good 
 idea strikes me ; let us put on the red caps and 
 flannel-jackets of these lifeless wretches ; none 
 will know us in such a disguise, and when we 
 reach the passage door, should there happen to 
 be — which is most likely — a crowd outside, 
 they will mistake us for sans-culottes, and give 
 us free egress." 
 
 The Count readily caught at the idea, and 
 having disguised themselves, and taken the 
 additional precaution to substitute the pikes 
 of the slain ruffians for their own swords, 
 the friends moved on towards the door, 
 which, however, was locked and bolted; and 
 without was a vociferous multitude striving 
 hard to force an entrance. 
 
 " Brave citizens !" exclaimed De Sevrac,
 
 316 ANNETTE. 
 
 raising his voice so as to be heard by the 
 besiegers, and appealing to them in their own 
 favourite style, " help ! break open the door ; 
 the tyrants' myrmidons are behind us ; and if 
 you do not assist us, we shall be slaughtered." 
 
 Deceived by these words into a belief that it 
 was some of their own fraternity who required 
 their aid, the mob plied their pikes, hatchets, 
 and bludgeons with redoubled zeal ; and the 
 iron fastenings of the door yielding gradually to 
 their tremendous assaults, the disguised royalists 
 forced themselves through the aperture, and 
 were welcomed with acclamations by their sup- 
 posed coadjutors, from whose greasy embraces 
 they had no little trouble in extricating them- 
 selves. 
 
 The fury of the assault was now greatly 
 moderated, for the populace were in full pos- 
 session of the palace, and there were few victims 
 left on whom they could wreak their vengeance. 
 The work of pillage and destruction, however, 
 still continued ; but not content with this, a set 
 of drunken miscreants resolved to fire the 
 Tuileries, and to efface every vestige of the 
 superb edifice. Already the sheds contiguous 
 to the outer courts were in a blaze, and the
 
 ANNETTE. 317 
 
 flames were beginning to spread to the palace, 
 which they threatened to wrap in one wide, 
 general conflagration. At this moment a 
 gigantic figure waving a tricolor in his right 
 hand, appeared at the balcony where King 
 Louis had so lately stood. It was the terrible 
 demagogue, Danton, w^ho, with Santerre, Wes- 
 termann, and other rabble leaders, had been 
 actively interfering to put a stop to the pillage 
 and massacre. " Citizens !" he exclaimed — 
 and his stentorian voice awed to stillness the 
 immense multitude who heard him — "brave 
 citizens, rejoice, for tyranny is overthrown, and 
 freedom triumphs ! The tricolor, our national 
 flag, the emblem of hope and liberty — the un- 
 conquered tricolor will in a few minutes wave 
 over the home of the detested Bourbons ; and 
 at the signal, couriers will start off to carry the 
 glorious tidings of our victory to every quarter 
 of emancipated France. Shout, then, citizens, 
 shout, and give free vent to your joy, for as 
 you sowed the seeds, so you shall reap the 
 harvest of this triumph !" A deafening shout 
 here bui'st forth from thousands and tens of 
 thousands of hoarse sans-culottes, for as Danton
 
 318 ANNETTE. 
 
 ceased speaking, the tricolor was hoisted on 
 the summit of the Tuileries — and thus, amid 
 the renewed discharge of cannon, the fall of 
 blazing roofs, the groans of the dying, and the 
 frantic yells of the conquerors, went down the 
 absolute monarchy of a thousand years, like 
 some proud ship of war in the midst of storm 
 and tempest, never more to rear its head in 
 France ! 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 
 
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