The CHEVALIER DE MAISON ROVGE.

Pelorus Guardian and Miners' Advocate., Volume 9, Issue 50, 24 June 1898, Page 5 (Supplement)

The CHEVALIER DE MAISON ROVGE.

CHAPTER XXV.—Continued. ■win do sent to the Revolutionary Tribunal, and you know what becomes of those who are sent there.” “StailS aside,” said the woman Tison, ‘‘and let me pass.” “Where are you going ?” “To the conciergerie.” “What are you going there for ?” “To see her again.” "They will not allow yon to enter.” “They will peruit mo to lie at the door, to live there, to ficop there. I will remain there till she goes out, and then, at least, I shall see her once more.” “Suppose some one promised to restore you your child ?” “What is that you say ?” “I ask you, supposing a man were _ to < promise to give you back your child, would you do what this man required of you in return ?” “Everything for my chi'nJ; all for ray Heloisc 1” cried the woman, wringing her hands. “All, all, all !” “Listen,” Baid the unknown. “It ib God who now punishes you.” “And for what ?” “For the tortures you have inflicted so mercilessly on a poor mother as unhappy as yourself,” “Of whom do you speak ? What do you mean ?” “You have often driven the unhappy prisoner to the very verge of despair, where you are yourself at this moment, by your revelations and brutalities. God now punishes you for all this by conducting this daughter, whom you love so much, to the scaffold.” “You said there was some man who could save her; whore is this man ? what does ho want? what will he demand?” “This man requires ■‘hat you cease to persecute the queen, that you demand pardon for the outrages already commit-* ted against her, and if at a.ny time you perceive that this woman,who is also a weeping, despairing mother, by any urn tforseen ‘circumstances,or by gome miracle from Heaven, is upon the point of saving herself, instead of opposing her flight, you do all in your power to aid land abet it.” “Listen, citizen,” said the woman Tison “Yon are the man —is it not so?” “Well ?” “It is you who promises to save my child ?” The unknown remained silent. “Will yon engage to do it ? Will you promise ? Will you swear it ? Answer me.” “All that a man can do to save ; a woman I will do to save your daughter.” “He canuot save her,” cried the woman, uttering piercing cries, “he cannot save her. When he promised me he lied.” “Do what you can for the queen, and I will do all in my power lor your daughter.” “What care I for the queen ? She is not my daughter. If they must decapitate someone, it shall not be my daughter, it shall be her. They may cut jny throat so that they spare my child's. They may lead.me to the guillotine, so that they do not harm a hair off her head and I will go there singing : “ ‘Ah I ca ira, ca ira, ca ira.’ ” • And she commenced singing iu a frightful voice, then suddenly stopped short, and burst into a fit of frenzied laughter. The man in the mantle himself apppeared alarmed at this burst of folly, and retreated a step or two from her. “Ah, you shall not escape me thus,” said the woman Tison in despair, and retaining her hold of his mantle; “you shall not at a moment say, ‘Do this laid I will rescue your child/ and afterwards say, ‘perhaps.’ Will you save her?” “Yes.” “How ?” “The day she is conducted from the conciergere to tjie scaffold.” i “But why wait—why not fto-night ? this evening—this moment, even ?” “Because I cannot do so.” “Ah ! you know you cannot; you well know you cannot,” cried the woman Tison “But, as for me, I can.” “What can yon do ?” “I can persecute the prisoner, I can watch the queen, as you term her, aristocrat as you arc, and I can enter ‘the prison any hour of the day or night. All this will do. We wll see how much she will escape; we will see. Yes, we shall see, since they do not save my daughter, who ought to do so if they

could. Head for head. Do you like that? Marie Autoiuette has beeu queen. Heloise is only a poor girl. I know all this very well; but on the guillotiuo they are equals—all distinction ceases there.” “Well, it may be so,” said the man in the mantle. “But you perform your part, and I will fulfill mine.” “Swear.” “I swear it.” “But what do you swear?” anything you choose.” “Have you a child ? “No.” “Well, then,” said the woman, .in a disappointed tone, “by what can you swear ?” “Listen. I swear by God!” “Bah !” exclaimed the woman Tison, “you know very well they have demolished the ancient and have not yet decided on the new.” “I swear by the tomb of my father.” “Swear not by a tomb, for that is prophetic of evil. Oh, my God ! my God ! When 1 think that perhaps in three days I may swear by the tomb of my ichild also. My daughter! My poor Heloise!” cried the woman Tisou, frantically; till at the sound of her voice, raised + o a shrill scream, several windows were opened. At the sight of the opened windows, another man, who seemed to detach himself from the wall, advanced toward the first. “There is nothing can be done with this woman,” said he; “she is mad.” “No; she is a mother,” replied the former, and dragged his companion away. When she saw them leaving her, the woman Tison again returned to the subject. “Where are you going ?” cried she. “Are you going to rescue Heloise ? Wait for me, then; I will go with you. Wait for me; do wait for me.” And the poor wretch followed them, screaming, till at the corner of the nearest street she lost sight of them altogether; and not knowing which way to turn, she remained for an instant undepided, looking on everygide, when, see-

■ rirhev Tile- of 5 —'Terror-

Sng only in the silence af the night a double symbol of death, she uttered a cry of horror and fell on the pavement without sense or motion. The clock struck ten. During this time, and while the same hour was resounding from the temple clock, the queen, as usual, sat in her chamber, between her daughter and her sister. Near her was a Sighted lamp, concealed from the sight of the municipal by Mme. Royale, who protended to embrace her mother, who was reading over again a small billot written on the smallest piece of paper imaginable, and in characters so minute that her eyes, already blinded by her scalding tears, scarcely retained strength to decipher it. The billet contained the following lines ; “To-morrow, Tuesday, demand permission to walk in the garden ; this will be accorded without any difficulty as an order has been issued granting you this favor whenever you think proper to solicit it. After two or three turns, feign to feel fatigued, approach the cabin, and ask the widow Plumeau to allow yon to sit. down Then, in a moment, pretend to feel worse, and faint away. They will ther close all the doors, that they may be abb* to reader you assistance, and you will remain with Mine. Elizabeth and Madame Royale. Immediactely the trap door of the cellar will open. Precipitate yourself, yonr sister, yonr daughter through this aperture, and you are all throe saved.’” “Mon Dieu!’” said Mme. Royale, “our evil destiny tires in the pursuit.” “If this billet should prove only a trap,” said Mine. Elizabeth. “No, no,” said the queen; these characters have a'jways indicated to me the presence of a mysterious but equally brave and faithful friend.” “Is it the Chevalier ?” demanded Mine. Royale. “He, himself,”’ replied the queen. Mme. Elizabeth clasped her hands. “Let us each read the billet again, very softly," replied the queen, “so that it one of us forget any particulars, the others can supply them.” They all three re-read the letter, and had, just finished so doing, when they heard the door of their chamber turn slowly on its hinges. The two princesses turned round, the queen alone remained stationary, except by an imperceptible movement she raised her hand to her hair and bid khe billet in her head dre?s. It was a municipal who opened the door. “What is your business, monsieur ?” demanded Mme. Elizabeth aud Mme. Royale at the same moment. “Hum!” said the municipal, “it ap - pears to me that you retire very late to-night.” “Is there, then,” said the queen, with her usual dignity, “a new decree from the Commune, stating the hour at which I am to go to bed ?” “No, citoyenue,” said the .municipal ; “but if necessary, they will make oue.” “In the meantime, monsieur,” said Marie Autoiimette, “respect—l do not say the chamber of the queen—but that of a woman.” “Truly,” growled the municipal, “these aristocrats always speak as if they was something.” But, in the meantime, subdued by the haughty dignity of her prosperity, but which three years of suffering had calmed down, he withdrew. An instant afterward the lamp was extinguished, and the three females retired in darkness, as usual. The next morning at nine o’clock, the queen having reread the letter before she arose, in order that she might not misconstrue any of the instructions contained there, tore, it into almost invisible fragments. She then hastily finished her toilet, awoke her sister, and entered the chamber of the princess. A minute afterward she came out aud called the municipals on guard. “What do you want, citoypune ?” said one of them, appearing at the door, while the other did not even discontinue his breakfast to answer the royal appeal. “Monsieur,” said Marie Antoinette, “I have just left my daughter’s chamber, and found her very ill. Her limbs are swollen for want of exercise, and you know, monsieur, it is I who have doomed her to this life of inaction. I received permission to walk in the garden; but ia descending I must necessarily pass the door of the room occupied by my husband in his lifetime- When I made the attempt my heart failed me, and I had not courage to do so, and I have since limited my walks to the platform. Now, however. 1 find this exercise insufficient for my poor child. I, therefore, entreat you, Citizen Mnii.ici’vi I, in niv name, to claim of General Santerre the renewal of this privilege.” The queen had pronounced these words in a manner at once so mild, yet dignified, had so' strenuously avoided all allusions to anything that could wound the the_ feelings of the Republican, that he who had entered her presence with his head covered, as for the most part was th“i»cnstom of these men, gradually raised his bonnet-rouge, and said, when she had finished, bowed respectfully to her; “Rest assured, madame, your petition shall be laid before the citizen general.” Then, on retiring, as if to convince himself he had yielded to justice rather than weakness : “It is just,” said he, “after all; it is only right.” “What 'is lust ?” demanded the other municipal. “That this woman should be permitted to walk in the garden with her child, who is an invalid.” “Bah!” raid the other; “when she asks to be allowed to walk from the temple to La Place de la Revolution, that will be permitted her fast enough.” The queen heard these words, and turned very pale, but still drew from them fresh courage for the great attempt she meditated. The municipal finished his breakfast, and descended. The queen requested she might take hers in her daughter’s room, which was granted. Mme'. Royale, to confirm the statement concerning her ill-health, did not quit her bed; the queen and Mine. Elizabeth remained near her. At one o’clock, as usual, Santerre arrived. His coming was announced by the drums beating the march, and by tbo entrance of a fresh battalion, and other municipals, who came in their turn to relieve those on guard. When Santerre had fully reviewed the battalioa leaving, and the one about to take its place, and had paraded his large, heavylimbed horse round the court of the temple. ho stood still for a moment. This was for the purpose of receiving any claims, denunciations or requests. The municipal, availing himself of this halt, approached him. “Well, what do you want ?” said Santerre, brusquely. “Citizen,” said the municipal, “I come to entreat oa the part of the queen—” “Who is the queen?” interrupted Santerre. “True!” said the municipal, astonished at his own mistake. “What have I enid? I must bo mad. I came to speak on the part of Madame Veto.” “All iu good time,’ - said Santerre. “Now 1 understand you; what have you to say to me?” “The young Veto is ill, it appears, from want of proper air and exercise,” “Well, is it necessary again to bring this before the public? The nation grant-

cd her permission to walk in the garden, and she refused it. Boa, soil’.” “That is exactly it. She regrets this now, and requests you will permit her to do so.” “There is no difficulty about that. You all hear,” said Santerre, “that Capet’s wife will come down to walk in the garden. Now,” addressing the whole battalion, “take care she does not abuse this favor granted her by the nation, by making her escape over the walls, for if that happens I will cut off every one of your heads.” A roar of laughter followed this pleasantry of the citizen general. “Now that is settled,” said Santoi-re, “adieu. I am goiug to the Convention. It appears they are about to reunite Roland and Barbaroux, and the question is to deliver their passport to another world.” It was this intelligence that had put the citizen general in such good humor. He then galloped away. The battalion just quitted guard followed him, then the municipals also gave place to those who had received Santcrre's instructions regarding the queen. One of the municipals who went up to Marie Antoinette perceived, while thanking him, that her daughter turned from red to pale, while the sister seemed engaged in thanks to God. “Ah I” thought she, looking through the window toward heaven, “your soul reposes there, seigneur, but will your terrible doom be allowed to fall heavily upon us 7” “Thanks, monsieur,” said she, with that fascinating smile which had proved the ruin of Bernane, and turned the heads of so many of bis fellowmen, “thanks !” Then, turning round to her little dog, who leaped after her, walking on his bind legs, for ho well understood from the looks of his mistress, that something unusual was about to take place. “Come, Jet,” said she, wo are going for a walk.” The little animal began to frisk and jump, and after looking at the municipal attentively, comprehending, no doubt, that from this man originated the intelligence which bad made his mistress so happy, ran toward him, and wagging his long and silky tail, ventured even to caress him. This man, who perhaps might bo insensible to the prayers of a queen, could not resist the caresses of a little dog. “If only on account of this little boast, you should go out more frequently, Citojrenne Capet. Humanity commands us to take care of every creature.” “At what hour shall we go out, monsieur ?’ demanded the quean. “Do you not think the sun would do ns good ?” “You can go out when you please,” said the municipal; “there has been no restriction on the subject. If you like to go out at midday, as that is the time they change the sentinels, there will be less hustle in the court.” “Then let it be at midday,” said the queen, pressing her hand to her side to still the floating of her heart. And she regarded this man, who appeared to her less stern than his associates, and who, perhaps, for kindly yielding to the wishes of a prisoner, might fall a sacrifice to the conspiracy which they meditated. But at the moment when compassion was stealing over the heart of the woman, the mind of the queen was aroused. She thought of the corpses of her faithful friends strewed upon the floors of the palace on the 10th of August; she recalled to memory the 2nd of September, and the head of the Princess Lambelle, ca tried on a pike before her windows; she remembered the 21st of January, when her husband died upon the scaffold, the noise of the drums extinguishing his feeble voice; then again she thought of her son, whose cries of distress had more than once reached her ears, and her heart became hardened. “Alas !” cried she. ‘'misfortune is Uke the blood of the ancient Hydras—it is teemful of crops of futile evils i” CHAPTER XXVI. THE LITLTJ3 DOG JET. The mfiuicipal left to call his colleagues, and to read the proces-verbal left by the former municipals. The queen rt-ma’iueii alone with her sister and child. They all three guarded one another. Then Mine. Royale threw her arms around the queen and warmly embraced iier. Mine. Elizabeth approached her sister aud held out her hand. “Let us offer up our prayers to God,” said the queen, “but iu a manner that no oue hears us.” It was one of those fatal epochs when prayer, that natural hymn of piaise which God has implanted iu every human heart, became suspicious in the eyes of these men, since prayer is an act of praise aud acknowledgment for mercies received. But iu the ideas of these guardians hope and gratitude afforded subject for inquietude, since the queen could only hope tor flight, aud could thank God only for affording her tlie means of effecting it. This mental prayer concluded, ail three remained without uttering a word. Twelve o'clock struck, thou three quarters, then one. But the moment when the last stroke resounded from the bronze timbrel, the noise of arms was heard on the spiral staircase ascending to the queen. “They are relieving sentinels,” said she, “they come to seek us." She saw her sister and daughter turn very pale. “Courage 1” said she, trembling herself with emotion. “It is one o’clock.” said a firm voice below. “Let the prisoners descend.” “Wc are here, gentlemen,” replied the queen, who, with a sentiment almost of regret, embraced at a glance the black walls, aud the rude appurtenances which had been more or less the companions of her captivity. The first avickct opened, they gained the corridor, which, being dark, enabled the three captives to conceal their emotions. Before them frolicked little Jet; but when they arrived at the second—is to say, the door from which Marie Antoinette endeavored to turn her ejes—the faithful little animal first placed ins nose to the ground, then laid his head upon his paws, aud gave utterance to a succession of plaintive cries, which terminated iu a prolonged howl. The queen passed on quickly, not having strength sufficient to recall the dog, and supported herself against the wall: then, essaying to advance again a few steps, her limit! refused their office, and she felt herself compelled to stop. Her sister and daughter approached her, and for a few moments the three females remained motionless, forming a melancholy group, the mother resting her face upon the head of her daughter, when little Jot rejoined them. “Well 1” cried the voice, “do you or do you not mean to come down ?” “We are coming,” said the municipal, who had remained standing, respecting this grief in all its simplicity. “Let us go now,” said the queen, as she prepared to descend. When the prisoners had reached the bottom of the staircase, opposite the door, under which the sun shed its rays of bright gold, the rolling of the drum was heard summoning the guard; then a profound silence, the effect of curiosity, ensued, and the massive door opened, revolving slowly upon its creaking hinges. A woman was seated on the ground, or, rather, on the corner of the stone contiguous to this door. It was the woman Tison, whom the queen had not seen for four-amt-twenty hours, aud whose absence at supper the preceding evening, and at their morning's meal, had excited her surprise. The queen already caw the light, the trees, the garden, aud beyond the barrier which inclosed the garden htr eyes eagerly sought the little hut of the canteen, where her friends so impatiently awaited her coming; when, at the sound of footsteps, the woman removed her hands, aud the queen beheld a pub: and care-worn lace beneath the mass of gray, disheveled locks. The change wrought in these few hours was