At the moment they left the table, Dixmer was told that his notary awaited him in his study. He excused himself to Maurice; besides, he was accustomed to leave him thus, and proceeded to attend his man of business.
He was negotiating for the purchase of a small house, Rue de la Corderie, facing the garden of the Temple. It was rather, as to the rest, a lot than a house that Dixmer was purchasing, for the present building was in a state of dilapidation; but it was his intention to rebuild it.
The bargain had not been delayed with the proprietor; that same morning the notary had seen him and agreed to pay 19,500 francs. He therefore brought the agreement for signature, and came to receive the requisite money for the purchase, as the proprietor would that day clear out the building that the workmen might commence operations on the morrow.
The contract signed, Dixmer and Morand accompanied the notary to the Rue de la Corderie, to view this new acquisition; for they had purchased without seeing it.
It was a house situated near where No. 20 now stands,--three stories in height, and surmounted by a curved roof. The lower part at one time had been let to a wine-merchant, and contained some most excellent cellarage.
The proprietor, above all things, vaunted his cellars; they were the best part of the house. Dixmer and Morand appeared to attach very little interest to these cellars, yet both, as if from mere politeness, descended with the proprietor into what he called his vaults.
An exception to the general rule, he had not exaggerated. The cellars were magnificent; one of them extended under the Rue de la Corderie, and from this cellar they could hear the carriages roll over their heads.
Dixmer and Morand did not appear to appreciate this advantage. They even spoke of filling them up, observing that however convenient they might be to a wine-merchant, they became perfectly useless to honest burgesses, who intended to occupy the whole of the house.
After the cellars they visited the first, second, and third story; from the third they completely over-looked the garden of the Temple. It was, as usual, invaded by the National Guard, who enjoyed this privilege, since the queen never walked there now.
Dixmer and Morand recognized their friend, the Widow Plumeau, with her usual activity, doing the honors of her tavern; but doubtless their anxiety to be in their turn remembered by her was not very great, as they kept themselves concealed behind the proprietor, while he expatiated on the advantages of this view, at once so varied and agreeable.
The purchaser then wished to see the attics.
The proprietor, doubtless, was unprepared for this demand, since he had not got the key; but soothed by the bundle of bills shown him, he descended to search for it.
"I was not deceived," said Morand, "and this house will answer our purpose exactly."
"And what do you say to the vaults?"
"That it is an interposition of Providence, which will spare us two days' labor at least."
"Do you think that it is in the direction of the cantine?"
"It inclines a little to the left; but that is of no consequence."
"But," said Dixmer, "how will you be able to follow your subterranean line with the certainty of its terminating where you wish?"
"Rest assured," said Morand; "that is my affair."
"If we were every day to give a signal from here that we are watching?"
"But from the platform the queen could not see it; for the attics alone are as high as the platform, and I am doubtful even about them."
"Never mind," said Dixmer, "either Maury or Toulan may see it from some opening, and they will inform the queen."
And Dixmer tied several knots in a white calico curtain, passing it backward and forward before the window as if shaken by the wind.
Then both, as if impatient to visit the attic, awaited the proprietor's return on the staircase, having first closed the door, not wishing to afford the worthy man a sight of his waving curtain.
The garrets, as Morand had foreseen, did not reach the height of the summit of the tower. This was at once an advantage and disadvantage,--a disadvantage, because they could not communicate by signs with the queen; and an advantage, because the very impracticability alone disarmed all suspicion. The highest houses were naturally the objects of the strictest surveillance.
"It is necessary, either by means of Toulan, Maury, or Tison's daughter, to find some way to tell her to keep upon the watch," murmured Dixmer.
"I have thought of that," said Morand.
They descended; the notary waited in the salon with the contract signed.
"It is all right," said Dixmer; "the house suits me; so hand over to the proprietor the sum of 19,500 francs in payment, and let him give a receipt."
The proprietor did so, first scrupulously counting the money.
"You understand, Citizen," said Dixmer, "the principal clause, that the house must be vacated this evening; that, in short, I must put the workmen in to-morrow."
"Well, Citizen, I agree to do so. You can take the keys this evening at eight o'clock; all will be free."
"Pardon me," said Dixmer, "but did you not tell me, Citizen Notary, there was a way out leading into the Rue Portefoin?"
"Yes, Citizen," said the proprietor; "but I had it closed; for having only one official, the poor devil had too much fatigue, being obliged to watch both doors. But it is so built up that at any time it can be re-opened in two hours at least. Would you wish to convince yourselves, citizens?"
"Thanks, it is not necessary," said Dixmer, "I attach no importance to this way out; it is useless to me."
They then both left, having for the third time reminded the landlord of his promise that the apartments should be empty at eight o'clock that evening.
At nine o'clock they both returned, followed by five or six men at a distance, of whom, in the confusion then reigning in Paris, no one took any notice. They both entered first. The landlord had kept his word; the house was totally empty.
They closed the shutters with the greatest care, and with the aid of a tinder-box, lighted some wax candles which Morand had taken in his pocket.
Then one after another the six men entered. These were the ordinary guests of the master-tanner, the same contrabandists who one evening wished to kill Maurice, but had now become his friends.
They closed the doors, and descended into the vault.
This vault, so contemptuously treated during the day, had become at night the most important part of the house.
Having first stopped up every crevice through which a curious eye might penetrate to the interior, Morand placed a cask upright, and began to trace with a crayon geometrical lines upon a piece of paper.
While he was thus engaged, his companions, conducted by Dixmer, left the house, following the Rue de la Corderie, and at the corner of the Rue de Beauce stopped before a covered carriage. In this carriage was a man who silently distributed to each one the instrument of a pioneer,--to one a spade, to another a mattock, to this one a lever, to that a pick-axe; each man concealed his tool under his overcoat, or mantle. The miners retraced the road to the small house, and the carriage disappeared.
Morand had finished his calculation.
He went straight to an angle of the cave.
"There," said he, "dig!"
And the work of deliverance immediately commenced.
* * * * *
The situation of the unhappy prisoners in the Temple became daily more serious and hourly more wretched. For an instant the queen, Madame Elizabeth, and Madame Royale had indulged some hope. The municipals Toulan and Lepître, touched with compassion for the august prisoners, had evinced some interest in them. At first little habituated to the marks of sympathy, the poor women were suspicious; but suspicion ceases to exist where there is hope. Besides, what now could happen to the queen, separated from her son by a prison, from her husband by death? To follow him to the scaffold,--this idea had possessed her for some time, and she had now become accustomed to it.
The first time Toulan and Lepître returned on guard, the queen particularly requested, if they really felt any interest in her misfortunes, they would describe to her the last moments of the king. This was putting their sympathy to a sad test. Lepître had assisted at the execution; he obeyed the order of the queen.
The queen demanded the journals containing the report of the execution. Lepître promised to bring them when next on guard; it would be his turn again in three weeks. In the king's time they had at the Temple four municipals; the king dead, they had only three,-- one to watch during the day, two during the night. Toulan and Lepître invented a stratagem, that they might always keep watch together at night.
The hours of guard were drawn by lot; they wrote on one ballot "day," on two others "night." Each drew his ballot from a hat, and chance decided the night-watch.
Every time that Toulan and Lepître were on guard they wrote "day" on three ballots, and presented the hat to the municipal they wished to oust, and he, thrusting his hand into the improvised urn, necessarily drew forth a ballot on which was inscribed "day." They then destroyed the other two, murmuring against the hazard which always decreed them the most wearisome watch of the two,--that is to say, the night.
When the queen was sure of her guards she corresponded with the Chevalier de Maison-Rouge. Then an escape was attempted, but the attempt was detected. The queen and Madame Elizabeth were to flee disguised as municipal officers, with cards that would be provided for them. As to the two children,--that is to say, Madame Royale and the young dauphin,--they had remarked that the man who came to light the lamps of the Temple was always accompanied by two children, of the same age apparently as the Princess Royale and the dauphin. It was therefore arranged that Turgy, of whom we have previously spoken, should dress himself as the lamp-lighter, and carry away the prince and princess.
We will mention in a few words who Turgy was.
Turgy was an old waiter of the king's, introduced at the Temple with part of the family from the Tuileries, for the king had at first been permitted a well-appointed table. The first month this consideration cost the nation thirty or forty thousand francs.
It may easily be understood this prodigality could not last. The Commune decreed otherwise. They dismissed the chefs, the cooks, and scullions; one single man-servant only was retained,--that man was Turgy.
He was naturally the medium of communication between the prisoners and their partisans, for Turgy was permitted to go out, and consequently was enabled to forward their letters, and introduce the replies. These billets were generally twisted round the stoppers of the _carafes_ containing the milk of almonds brought to the queen and Madame Elizabeth. They were written with lemon-juice, and perfectly illegible till held near the fire.
All was prepared for the escape, when one day Tison lighted his pipe with the paper-stopper of a _carafe_. As the paper burned, the writing became visible. He instantly extinguished the half-burned paper, and carried the remaining fragment to the Council of the Temple, when, being held near the fire, they could only read a few disjointed words, the other part being burned to ashes. But they recognized the hand-writing of the queen. Tison, being questioned, mentioned some slight marks of attention and sympathy he fancied he had observed on the part of Lepître and Toulan toward the prisoners. The two guards were immediately denounced to the municipality, and allowed no more to enter the Temple.
Turgy remained.
But suspicion was now excited to the highest degree. He was never left a single moment alone with the princesses. All communication with the exterior was now utterly impossible.
Madame Elizabeth had nevertheless one day given Turgy a little gold knife to clean, with which she used to cut fruit. Turgy suspected something, and when wiping the knife drew off the handle, and in the handle found a letter.
This letter contained an alphabet of signs.
He returned the knife to Madame Elizabeth; but a municipal then present prevented him, and in his turn securing the knife, took the blade and handle apart; but fortunately the letter was no longer there. The municipal nevertheless confiscated the knife.
It was at that time that the indefatigable Chevalier de Maison-Rouge meditated this second attempt, which they intended to carry into execution by means of the house which Dixmer had purchased.
The prisoners, however, had by degrees lost all hope. That day the queen, terrified by the noise in the streets which reached her ears, and learning from these cries that they were debating the trial of the Girondins, the last supporters of moderation, felt dreadfully depressed. The Girondins dead, the royal family lost their only defence in the Convention.
At seven o'clock the supper was served. The municipals examined every plate as usual, unfolded each napkin successively, searched the bread, the one with a fork, the other with his fingers, and concluded by breaking into pieces the macaroons and walnuts, for fear any letter should reach the prisoners. These precautions being concluded, the royal family were invited to their meal in these simple words: --
"Widow Capet, you may eat."
The queen shook her head, signifying she was not hungry. But at this moment Madame Royale advanced, as if to embrace her mother, and whispered,--
"Seat yourself at table, Madame. I fancied Turgy made a sign."
The queen, tremblingly, raised her head. Turgy was opposite to her. The napkin laid over his left arm, and with his right hand he touched his eye.
She immediately rose, without any further objection, and resumed her usual place at table.
The two municipals assisted at the meal, being strictly prohibited from leaving the princesses alone for an instant with Turgy.
The feet of the queen and Madame Elizabeth met, and pressed each other under the table.
As the queen was seated opposite Turgy, not one of his gestures escaped her notice; besides, they were all so natural that they neither could nor did inspire the municipals with any suspicion whatever.
At the removal of the supper the same precautions were used as before; the smallest pieces of bread were taken up and examined. After which, Turgy went out first, the two municipals following; the woman Tison remained.
This woman had become ferocious since her separation from her daughter, of whose fate she was totally ignorant. Every time the queen lavished a caress on Madame Royale, it threw her into an excess of rage almost bordering on frenzy; so much so, that the queen, who so well understood the griefs of a mother, often denied herself this consolation--now, alas! the only one left her--of pressing her daughter to her heart.
Tison came now to seek for his wife, who at first declared she would not leave till Widow Capet was in bed.
Madame Elizabeth then wished the queen good-night, and entered her chamber.
The queen and princess having also retired, Tison's wife took the candle and went out.
The municipals had already thrown themselves upon their beds in the corridor.
The moon, pale visitant of the unhappy princesses, shone through the window of the roof, casting her rays across the foot of the queen's bed.
For an instant everything remained calm and silent in the chamber.
Then a door turned softly on its hinges, a shadow passed across the rays of the moon, and approached the queen,--it was Madame Elizabeth.
"Did you notice?" said she, in a whisper.
"Yes," replied the queen.
"And you understood?"
"So well that I dare not believe it."
"Let us see; repeat the signs."
"First, then, he touched his eye to indicate he had some news for us; then he passed his napkin from his left to his right, which meant that they were occupied in our deliverance. Then he put his hand to his face, to signify that the expected aid would reach us from the interior, and not from a stranger; then when you asked him not to forget the milk of almonds to-morrow, he made two knots in his pocket-handkerchief. Thus it is again the Chevalier de Maison-Rouge,--noble-hearted man that he is."
"It is he," said Madame Elizabeth.
"Are you asleep, my child?" demanded the queen.
"No, _ma mère_," replied Madame Royale.
"Then pray for you know whom."
Madame Elizabeth quietly regained her chamber, and for some minutes during the silence of the night the soft, sweet voice of the youthful princess might be heard addressing her prayer to God. It was at that moment, at a signal from Morand, the first stroke of the pick-axe sounded in the small house at Rue de la Corderie.