When Maurice came to himself, he looked around, but saw only the gloomy, dirty alleys extending to his right and left. He essayed to find out exactly where he was, that he might recognize it again; but his mind was disturbed, the night was dark, and the moon, which for a moment had appeared to light up the lovely face of the fair unknown, had again retired behind the clouds. The young man, after a moment of cruel incertitude, retraced his steps toward his own house, situated in the Rue de Roule.
Arriving at the Rue Sainte Avoie, Maurice was much surprised at the number of patrols in motion in that quarter of the Temple.
"What is the matter now, Sergeant?" inquired he, of the chief of patrol, who, all on the alert, had just been thoroughly searching the Rue des Fontaines.
"What is it?" said the sergeant. "It is this, _mon officier_. It was intended this night to carry off the woman Capet, and the whole nest besides."
"How was that?"
"A band of Royalists had, I do not know how, procured the password, and introduced themselves into the Temple in the costume of chasseurs of the National Guard. Fortunately, he who represented the corporal, when speaking to the officer on guard, addressed him as 'Monsieur.' He sold himself,--the aristocrat!"
"The devil!" said Maurice; "and have they not arrested the conspirators?"
"No. The Royalists reached the street, and dispersed."
"And is there any hope of capturing any of these fellows?"
"There is only one among the number of sufficient importance to arrest,--that is the chief, a very slight man, who had been introduced among the men on guard by one of the municipals of the service. We gave the villain chase, but he found a door behind, and fled through the Madelonnettes."
Under any other circumstances, Maurice would have remained for the rest of the night with the patriots who guarded the safety of the Republic; but since one short hour, love of country was no longer his sole engrossing thought. He continued his way, and the tidings he had just learned were soon banished from his mind by the recent stirring events in which he had himself taken so active a part. Besides, these pretended attempts at rescue had become very frequent, and the patriots themselves were aware that under certain circumstances politicians made use of them to advance their own ends; therefore, this news caused our young Republican no great disquietude.
On returning home, Maurice found his "official" (at this epoch they had no longer servants),--Maurice, say we, found his official waiting, but who, while waiting, had fallen asleep, and while sleeping snored uneasily. He awoke him, and with all due regard for his fellow-man, made him pull off his boots, then dismissed him, that he might not interrupt his cogitations, and jumping into bed, it being very late, and he also having youth on his side, slept soundly, notwithstanding the preoccupation of his thoughts.
The next day he discovered a letter on his _table-de-nuit_. This letter was written in a clear, elegant hand, but unknown to him. He looked at the seal. Engraved on it was the single English word, "Nothing." The letter merely contained these words, "Thank you. Everlasting gratitude in exchange for everlasting forgetfulness." Maurice summoned his domestic (the true patriot never rang, the bell denoted servility; indeed, many officials only entered the service of their masters on this express condition).
The official of Maurice had received, nearly thirty years before, at the baptismal font, the name of John; but in '92 he was, by private authority, rebaptized (John savoring of Aristocracy and Deism), and now called himself "Scævola."
"Scævola," demanded Maurice, "do you know where this letter came from?"
"No, Citizen."
"Who brought it to you?"
"The concierge."
"And who brought it to him?"
"A messenger, no doubt, since it has no post-mark."
"Go down, and request the concierge to walk up."
The concierge complied, because it was Maurice who made the request, and he was much beloved by all the officials with whom he was concerned in any way; but at the same time the concierge declared that had it been any other tenant, he should have asked him to walk down.
The concierge was called Aristide.
Maurice interrogated him. It was a stranger who had brought the letter, about eight in the morning. The young man multiplied his questions, and varied them in every possible shape, but could elicit nothing further. Maurice requested his acceptance of six francs, also desiring, if this stranger again presented himself, that he would follow him, without appearing to do so, and inform him (Maurice) where he went.
We hasten to say, that, much to the satisfaction of Aristide, who felt himself rather insulted by this proposition, the man returned no more.
Maurice remained alone, crushing the letter with vexation; he drew the ring from his finger, and placed it with the crumpled letter upon the _table-de-nuit_, then turned toward the wall, with the foolish idea of sleeping afresh; but at the end of an hour Maurice, relinquishing his attempted coolness, kissed the ring and re-read the letter. The ring was a splendid sapphire; the letter, as we have said, was a charming little billet, displaying its aristocracy in every line.
As Maurice re-read and examined it, the door opened. Maurice hastily replaced the ring on his finger, and concealed the note under his pillow. Was this the modesty of newly awakened love; or was it the shame of a patriot, who would not wish it to be known that he was in relation with people imprudent enough to write such a billet, of which the perfume alone was sufficient to compromise both the hand that penned it and the hand that received it?
He who entered was a young man attired as a patriot, but a patriot of surpassing elegance. His jacket was composed of fine cloth, his breeches of cashmere, and his stockings of fine striped silk. As to his bonnet, it might have shamed from the elegance of its form and splendid purple color even those of the Trojan Paris himself. Added to all this, he carried in his belt a pair of pistols of the royal manufacture of Versailles, and a short sabre like those of the pupils of Champ-de-Mars.
"Ah! thou sleepest, Brutus," said the new-comer, "and the country is in danger. _Fi, donc!_"
"No, Lorin," said Maurice, laughing, "I do not sleep, I dream."
"Yes, I understand, of Eucharis."
"Well, as for me, I cannot understand."
"Bah!"
"Of whom do you speak? Who is this Eucharis?"
"Why the woman--"
"What woman?"
"The woman of the Rue Saint Honoré,--the woman of the patrol, the unknown, the woman for whom you and I risked our heads last night."
"Oh, yes," said Maurice, who knew perfectly well what his friend would say, and only feigned ignorance, "the unknown."
"Well, who was she?"
"I know nothing about her."
"Was she pretty?"
"Pshaw!" said Maurice, pouting his lips disdainfully.
"A poor woman forgotten in some love adventure.
"Yes; weak creatures that we are, 'Tis Love that ever tortures man."
"Possibly," said Maurice, to whom such an idea was at this moment peculiarly repugnant, and who would have much preferred finding the unknown to be even a conspirator rather than a light woman.
"And where does she live?"
"I know nothing concerning her."
"Come, now; you know nothing, that's impossible!"
"Why so?"
"You escorted her back."
"She escaped from me at the Bridge Marie--"
"Escaped from you!" cried Lorin, with a roar of laughter; "a woman escape from you!
"Say, can the trembling dove elude The vulture,--tyrant of the air; The fawn, on whom the tiger rude Springs from his solitary lair."
"Lorin," said Maurice, "I wish you would accustom yourself to speak like other people. You annoy me horribly with your atrocious poetry."
"To speak like other people, indeed! Now, it appears to me I speak better than most people. I speak as the Citizen Demoustier, both in prose and poetry. As for my poetry, _mon cher_, I know a certain Emilie who does not consider it so bad. But to return to yours."
"My poetry!"
"No; your Emilie."
"Have I an Emilie?"
"Ah, ah! your gazelle may have turned tigress, and shown her teeth in a manner that may not have pleased you, although in love."
"I in love?" said Maurice, shaking his head.
"Yes, you in love.
"Deadly are the bolts of Jove, But deadlier far the shafts of love."
"Lorin," said Maurice, arming himself with a pipe-key which lay upon the table; "I swear that if you will spout verses I will whistle."
"Then let us talk politics; besides, that brought me here. Have you heard the news?"
"I know that Widow Capet wished to escape."
"Oh, that is nothing!"
"What more is there, then?"
"The famous Chevalier de Maison-Rouge is in Paris!"
"Is that true?" said Maurice, raising himself to a sitting posture. "When did he come?"
"Yesterday evening."
"But how?"
"Disguised as a chasseur of the National Guard. A woman who is thought to be an aristocrat, disguised as a woman of the people, took him the clothes to the barrier gate; an instant afterward they came in arm-in-arm. It was not till after they had passed that the suspicion of the sentinel was excited. He had seen the woman pass with a bundle and repass accompanied by a soldier, when it suddenly struck him something was wrong, and he ran after them. They had disappeared in a hôtel of the Rue Saint Honoré, where the door was opened as if by magic. The hôtel had a second point of egress, leading on to the Champs Elysées. _Bon soir_ to the Chevalier de Maison-Rouge and his companion; they had both vanished. Our rulers will demolish the hôtel and guillotine the proprietor, but that will not deter the chevalier from renewing the attempt which has hitherto failed; it is four months since his first failure, and yesterday was his second."
"Is he not arrested?" demanded Maurice.
"Ah! well. Yes, _mon cher_, as well attempt to stop Proteus, arrest Proteus; you know the trouble Aristæus had to accomplish it,--
"'Pastor Aristæus, fugiens Peneïa Tempe.'"
"Take care," said Maurice, carrying the key to his mouth.
"Take care yourself, for this time you will not whistle at me, but at Virgil."
"That is very true, and as long as you do not translate him I have nothing to say. Now, to return to the Chevalier de Maison-Rouge."
"We agree that he is a brave man."
"The fact is, that to undertake such things he must possess immense courage."
"Or intense adoration."
"Do you believe, then, in the love of the chevalier for the queen?"
"I do not believe it. I only mention what report says. Besides, she has turned the brains of so many others, that this would not be at all surprising. She once fascinated Barnave, they say."
"Never mind; the chevalier must have had confederates even in the Temple."
"Very possibly,--
"Love breaks through bars, And laughs at bolts."
"Lorin!"
"Ah! it is true."
"Then you think like the rest?"
"Why not?"
"Because according to your account the queen must have had already two hundred lovers."
"Two, three, four hundred. She is quite handsome enough for that. I do not say that she loves them; but in short, they love her. All the world beholds the sun, but the sun does not see all the world."
"You say, then, that the Chevalier de Maison-Rouge--"
"I say they are on his track at this moment, and if he escapes this time the bloodhounds of the Republic, he will be a cunning fox."
"And what does the Commune in all this affair?"
"The Commune is about to issue a decree, by which every house (like an open register) must display on the front the name of every inhabitant, both male and female. This is realizing the dream of the ancients,--why should there not be a window in every breast, that all the world may see what passes there?"
"An excellent idea that," said Maurice.
"To place windows in men's breasts?"
"No; but to place a list of names on every door."
Maurice felt, in fact, that this might be the means of assisting him to discover the unknown, or at least afford him some clew whereby he might be able to trace her.
"Is it not so?" said Lorin. "I have already betted this measure will secure us a batch of five hundred aristocrats. By the bye, we have received this morning, at our club, a deputation of enrolled Volunteers; they arrived conducted by our adversaries of last night, whom I had not abandoned till dead drunk,--they came, I tell you, with garlands of flowers and immortal crowns."
"Indeed," replied Maurice, laughing; "and how many were there?"
"They were thirty, and were shaved, wearing bouquets in their button-holes.
"'Citizens of the Club of Thermopyles,' said the orator, 'as true patriots, we wish the union of Frenchmen not to be interrupted by any misunderstanding; we therefore come to fraternize with you anew.'"
"Well, what then?"
"Then we again fraternized, and in this reiteration, as Diafoirus expresses himself, we raised an altar to the country, with the table of the secretary and two carafes in which the nosegays were deposited. As you were the hero of the feat, you were three times summoned to appear, that you might be crowned; but as you did not reply, seeing you were not present, and it was necessary to crown something, they crowned the bust of Washington. This was the order of the ceremony."
As Lorin concluded this statement, which at this epoch had nothing of burlesque, a noise was heard proceeding from the street; and drums, first heard in the distance, now approached nearer and nearer. This, at that period, was the common way of issuing general orders.
"What is all that?" said Maurice.
"The proclamation of the decree of the Commune," said Lorin.
"I will run to the station," said Maurice, leaping from his bed, and calling his servant to assist him.
"I will return home and go to bed," said Lorin. "I had not two hours' sleep last night, thanks to those outrageous Volunteers. If they only fight a little, let me sleep; but if they fight much, come and fetch me."
"But why are you so smart to-day?" said Maurice, eyeing him all over as he rose to withdraw.
"Because on my way here I am obliged to pass the 'Rue Béthisy,' and in the Rue Béthisy, on the third flat, is a window which always opens when I pass."
"Then you do not fear being taken for a fop?"
"I a fop! I am, on the contrary, known for a French sans-culotte. But one must make some sacrifice to the softer sex. The worship of the country does not exclude that of love; indeed, one commands the other:--
"Our Republicans profess We should follow ancient lore; Beauty we prize none the less, That we love our freedom more.
Dare to whistle to that, and I denounce you as an aristocrat. Adieu, _mon ami_."
Lorin held out his hand to Maurice, which the young secretary cordially shook, and went out thinking of a sonnet to Chloris.