The Chevalier De Maison Rovge

Western Star, Issue 2216, 24 June 1898, Page 5

The Chevalier De Maison Rovge

CHAPTER XXXVlll.— Continued.

o! this tragedy, and in the meantime* Fouqnier Tinville, that fatal accuser, had resolved not to neglect the new mode of accusation which Simon had promised to place in his hands. The day after he and Simon, had met in the Salle des Pas-Pcrdns, the noise of arms still continued to startle the prisoner who remained in the temple. These' prisoners were Mme. Elizabeth Royale, -v and the child, who, after having been! ‘called “Your majesty," from his cradle, '■*V now styled the “ little Capet.” General Ilonriot, with his tri-colored plume, his splendid horse, and large sword, followed by several of the National Guard, dismounted, and entered the dungeon whore the royal child languished. By the general's side walked a registrar of a very unprepvossefbing appearance, carrying a writing desk, a large roll of paper, and waving in his hand a pen of immoderate length. Behind the scribe walked the public accuser. We have seen, we know, and shall find that, at a still later period, this dry, jaundiced, cold man, with his blood-shot eyes, made tremble before him the ferocious Hcnriot, even when cased in hie armor. Several National Guards and a lieutenant followed them. Simon, smiling hypocritically, and holding his bonnet in one hand, and his shoemaker’s stirrup in the other, walked before to show them, the way. They arrived at a very dirty chamber, spacious and cold, at the end of which, seated upon his bod, was the young Louis, i|ri a state of immobility. . When wo have seen the jioor child fleeing from the brutal anger of Simon, ho still retained a species of vitality, resenting the unworthy treatment of the shoemaker of the temple ; he fled, ho wept, he prayed ; then he feared and suffered, but still he hoped. But now both fear ajid hope vanished; without doubt the suffering still existed, but if it still remained, the infant martyr, whom they had made pay alter so cruel a fashion for his parents? faults, buried it in the depths of Ms heart, and veiled it under an appearance of total insensibility, and did not even raise bis head when the commissioners walked up to him. Without further ceremony they instantly installed themselves. The public accuser seated himself at the head of the bed, Simon at the foot, the registrar near the window, the National Guard and their lieutenants on the side, and rather in i the shade. Those among them who regarded the little prisoner with the slightest interest or even curiosity, remarked the child’s pallor, his extraordinary ambonpoint, resulting from his bloated appearance and the curvature of his logs, of which the joints began already to swell. “ The child is very ill,” said the lieutenant, with on assurance that caused Fouqnier to turn round, though already seated, and prepared to question his victim. The little Capet raised his eyes to diacover who had uttered these words, and recognized the same young man who had already once before saved him from Simon’s cruelty in the court of the temple. A sweet and intelligent glance shot from his deep blue eye, ami that was all. “ Ah, ah ! is that you, Citizen Louis ?” said Simon, thus calling the attention of Fouqnier Tiuville to the friend of Maurice. “ Myself, Citizen Simon,” said Louis, with his usual nonchalance. And as Louis, though always ready to face danger, was not a man uselessly to seek it, lie availed himself of this circumstance to bow to Fouqnier Tiuville, which salutiou was jiolitely returned. “ You observed, I think, citizen,” said the public accuser, “that the child was ill; are you a doctor?” “ I have studied medicine, at least, if I am not a medical man.” “ Well, ajid what do you discover in him ?” “ What symptoms do you mean ?” said Louis. “ Yes.” “ I find the cheeks ami eyes puffed up, the Lands thin anil white, the knees swollen ; and were I to feel his pulse, I should certainly count eight or ninety pulsations in a minute.” The child appeared insensible to the enumeration of his sufferings. And to what docs science attribute the condition of the prisoner?” Louis rubbed the tip of his nose, murmuring : “ Phyllis wants to make me speak, . I am not the least inclined. Ma foi ! citizen,” replied he, “ I am not sufficiently acquainted with the little Cajiet's constitution to reply. However—” Simon lent an attentive ear, and laughed iu his sleeve to find his enemy so near committing himself. “However,” said Louie, “I think he does not have sufficient exercise.” ' i Deiieve the little scoundrel,” Bifid Simon, “does not choose to walk.” The child remained quite unmoved by this apostrophe of the shoemaker. Fouquier Tiuville, arose, advanced to Louis, and addressed some words to him in a. low tone. No one hoard the words, ; but it was evident they assumed the form of interrogatories. “Oh, oh! do you believe that, citizen? It is a serious charge for a mother—” “Under any circumstances, we shall ; find out. .Simon pretends he had heard him say so, and has engaged to make ! him acknowledge it.” “ This would be frightful,” said Louis ; I “but indeed it is impossible; the Austrian is not exempt from sin. and, right I or wrong, does not concern me ; they have made her out a Mossalina, hut, not content with that, they wish to i make her an Agrippina, I must acknowledge it appears to me rather hard.” i “ That is what lias been reported by Simon.” said the Impassible Fouqnier. j

“ I do not doubt that Simon has said all this. There are some men who stick at nothing, even the most impossible accusations. But do you not find,’ said lonia, fixing his eyes steadily on Fouquier. “do you not find—you, an intelligent and upright man, possessed! with a strong mind—that to inquire of a child concerning such eircumstan es as those which all the most natural and most sacred laws of nature command us to respect, is to insult the whole human nature in the person of a child?” The accuser did not frown, but took a note from his pocket and showed it to Louis.

“ The convention enjoins me to in form,” said he ; “ the rest does not concern me. I inform."

“ It is just,” said Louis ; “ and I declare that if this child acknowledges—”

And the young man shook his head, express! ve of disgust. “ Besides,” continued Fouquier, “it is not oidy upon the denunciation of Simon that we proceed; the accusation is public.”

And Fouquier drew a second paper from his pocket. This was a nnmhey of a work entitled. “ Le Pore Duchesne,” which, as it is well known, was writ-

ten by Hebert. The accusation indeed api>eared there in full. “ It is written amd even printed,” said Louis, “ but till I hear a similar declaration oroved from the Lips of the child—

A TALE OF THE REIGN OF TERROR.

mind, 1 mean voluntarily, freely, and without menace, notwithstanding Simon and Hebert. I shall disbelieve it, ranch as you in reality do yourself.” Simon impatiently awaited the issue of this conversation. The miserable creature was not aware of the power exercised upon a,u intelligent man, the looks which he receives from the crowd, expressive either of sympathy or subtle hatred. But Fouqnier Tiuville had felt the keen observance of Louis, and waa anxious to be fully understood by him. “ The examination is now about to commence,” said the public accuser. “ Register, resume your pen.”

This individual, who came to draw out the proces-verhal, was waiting, like

“wild you reply, you wolf’s cub?” Henriot, Simon, a,nd all the rest, till the colloquy between Fouqnier and Louis had ceased. The child alone appeared perfectly a stranger to the scene in which he was soon to become the principal actor, and had withdrawn the look which for a.n instant had gleamed with such bright intelligence.

“Silence,” said Hcnriot, “tho Citizen Fouqnier is going to interrogate the child.”

“ Capet,” said the public accuser, “ do you know what has become of your mother 7”

The little Louis turned from an ashy paleness to a brilliant rod, but made no reply. “ Did you hear me, Capet ?”

He still remained silent. “Oh ! ho hears well enough.” said Simon, “ only ho is like the ape. he will not reply for fear lie should bo taken for a man, and so made to work.” “ Really. Capet,” said Henriot, “ it is the commission from tho convention that interrogates you. You must show obedience to its laws.”

The child turned pnjo, but did not reply. Simon made a frantic gesture of rage. With natures so stupid and brutal as his. anger becomes madness, more especially when accompanied by symptoms of drunkenness. “Will you reply, you wolf’s enh 7” showing him tho strap.

“ Be quiet. Simon,” said Fouqnier Tinvillc; “ you have not the parole.”

’This word, which had taken its rise from the Revolutionary Tribunal, had escaped him. “Do you hear, Simon ?” said Louis. “This is the second time you have been told this in my presence ; the first was when you accused Tison’s daughter, whom you had the pleasure of bringing to the scaffold.” Simon was silent. “ Does, your mother love you, Capet ?” asked Fouqnier. SI ill the same silence. “ They say not,” continued the accuser.

Something like a ghastly smile passed over the child’s pale lips. “ But then. I say,” roared! Simon, “ he has told me she loves him too much.” “ Look here, Simon,” saidi Louis, “ you are angry that the little Capet chatters so much when you are together, and remains silent before company today.” “Oh 1 if we were together,” said Simon.

“ Yes, if you were alone ; but unfortunately, you arc not alone. Oh! if you were brave Simon, excellent patriot, how you would belabor the poor child, hey ? But you arc not alone, and dare pot show your rage before honest men Hike ns, who know that the ancients, whom we endeavor to take for our models, respected all who were weak. You dare not, for you are not valiant, my worthy man, when you have children of five feet six inches to combat with.” “Oh 1” muttered Simon, grinding his teeth.

“Capet,” said Fouqnier, “have you confided any secrets to Simon ?” The child never turned round, hut his face assumed an expression of irony impossible to describe. “About your mother?” continued Fououier.

A look of supreme contempt passed over Ills countenance.

“ Kcidy, yes or no,” cried Hcnriot. “ Say yes.” roared Simon, holding his leather stirrup over the child’s head. The child shuddered, but made no movement to avoid the blow. Those present uttered a cry expressive of their disgi#t. Louis did more. Before the wretch could lower his arm he darted forward and seized him by the wrist.

“ Will you let me go ?” roared Simon, purple with rage.

“ There is no harm,” said Fouquier, “in a mother loving her child. Tell uh in what way your mother loved, you, Capet. It may be useful to her.” The young prisoner started at the idea of being useful to his mother. “She loves me as a mother loves her son, monsieur,” said lie ; “ there are not two ways for mothers to love their sons, or sons to love their mothers.”

“ And I. little se.ri>ent, declare that yon have told me your mother—” “ You have dreamed that,” interrupted Louis, quietly : “ you must often have the nightmare, Simon.”

“Louis, Louie,” growled Simon, grinding his teeth. “ Yes, again, Louis. There is no way of heating Louis, since he chastises the wicked ; there is no way to denounce him for what ho did in arresting your arm, as it was due before General Henriot and Fouquier Tinville, who approved it, and they are not lukewarm in the cause.* There is, then, no way to bring him to the guillotine, as you did poor Heloise Tison. It is very grevious, very vexatious, very enraging; still it'is so, my poor Simon.” “ Too laic ! too late!” replied the shoemaker, with his mocking laugh. “ Yes, dear friends,” said Louis; “ I hoj»e, with the help of the Supremo Being— Ah ! you exacted I was going to say with the help; of God, but I hope, with 'the assistance of the Supreme Being and my sword, to disembowel you first : but more aside, Simon you jxreveut me from seeing.” “ Brigand !” “Be silent; you plrevent me from hcar-

And Louis silenced him with n< threatening Simon clinched his black hands aqd shook his fists, but qs

Louis had told him, he was obliged to keep within hounds. “ Now he has begun to speak,” said Hcnriot : “ho will continue, no doubt. Go on, Fouqnier.” “ Will you reply now ?” demanded Fauquier. The child returned to his former silence. “You see, citizen, you see.” said Pinion, “ the obstinacy of the child is strange.” troubled in spite of himself u.t this royal firmness.

“ He is badly advised,” said Louis. “ By whom ?” demanded Henriot. “By his patron.” “Do you accuse mo ?” cried Simon, “do you denounce mo ? Ah ! that is curious—”

“ Take it coolly.” said Fouqnier. Then turning toward the child, who. as wo. have said, remained perfectly insensible, “My child,” said he l , “ reply to tfie National Commission : do not aggravate your situation by refusing us any useful information. You have spoken to the Citizen Simon about your mother, how you caress her and love her, how she caresses and loves you ?” Louis threw a, glance around the assembly, which gleamed with hatred when it rested on Simon, hut ho did not reply.

“Do yon feel yourself unhappy ?” demanded the accuser, “are you uncomfortably lodged, and badly fed, and unkindly treated ? Would you wish more liberty, bettor food, another prison, another guardian? Would you like a. horse to ride upon and some companions of your own ago ?” Louis still maintained the profound silence he had only onco broken —to defend his mother. The commission was utterly confounded at so much firmness and intelligence evinced by a child.

“Those kings,” said Hcnriot. in a low voice. “ what a race ! They arc like tigers, and all the young ones inherit their wickedness.” “ How are wo to write the proces-ver-hal ?” asked the registrar, much embarrassed. “ As there is no charge, Simon, there is nothing to write,” said Louis ; “ that will settle your affair exactly.” Simon again shook his fist at his implacable enemy. Louis began to laugh. “ You will not laugh like* that the. day you will sneeze in tlie sack,” said Simon, drunk with fury. “ I do not know whether I shall precede or follow you in tho little ceremony yra menace me with,” said Louis ; “ but tiffs I do know, that many will laugh when your turn comes, Gods ! —I have spoken in the plural, gods I—you will not he ugly thou, Simou; you will he hideous.” And Louis retired behind the commission, with a fresh hurst of laughter. The commission having nothing more to attend to, withdrew, when the poor child, released from his tormentors, threw himself upon the bed and began to sing a, melancholy song which had been a great favorite of hifl deceased father.

CHAPTER XXXIX. THE BOUQUET OF VIOLETS. As it might he forsefn, the felicity of Genevieve and Maurice was not of long continuance. In the tempest which unchains the wind and hurls the thunders holt, the nest of the dove is shaken in tho tree where it had retired for shelter. Genevieve passed from one terror to am other. She no longer feared for Maisoit Rouge, she now trembled for Maurice. She knew her husband sufficiently well to feel convinced, the moment of his disappearance, he was saved, hut, sure of his safety, she thought now of her own. She dared not confine her griefs to tho man, the least timid, at this epoch whoa no one was devoid of fear, but it was plainly evinced by her red eyes and pallid checks. One day Maurice softly entered, so quietly, indeed, that Genevieve, buried iu a profound reverie, did not notice his entrance. He stopped upon tho threshold and saw Genevieve sitting immovable, her eyes fixed on vacancy, her hands lying listlessly on her knees, her head hanging pensively upon her bosom. He gazed at her for, a moment, with an eixprc! siou of sadness, for all that was passing in the young girl’s heart was suddenly revealed, as if he had road even to her latest thought. Ho stepped up to her. “You have censed to care for France, Genevieve ; confess it is so. You fly from the air yjau breathe, and not without the greatest reluctance will you even approach tho window.” “ Alas 1” said Genevieve, “ I know I cannot conceal my thoughts from yon, Maurice ; you have divined rightly.” “ It is, nevertheless, a fine country,” said the young man ; “ life is here important, and well occupied now. This basiling activity of the tribune, the dubs, the conspiracies, etc., renders sweeter the hours spent by our own fireside. One loves it the more ardently, maybe from the fear of not being able to love it on the morrow, for on the morrow one may have ceased to d,xi«t.” Genevieve shook her head. “An ungrateful country to serve,” siud. she. " Why so ?” “ Yes, you who have labored so much for the cause of liberty, are you not/ to-day more than half suspected ?” “ But yon, dear Genevieve,” said Maurice, with a look of tenderness, “ yon, a sworn enemy to tills liberty, you who have done so much against it, yon yet sleep peaceable and inviolate beneath the roof of a Republican, and there, you see, is my recompense.”

“Yes,” said Genevieve, “hut tha,t can not last long ; thaft which is wrong can not endure.”

“ What do yon mean ?” “ I moan to say that I, that is + o say, an aristocrat, that I who dream quietly, of the defeat of your party, and the ruin of our plans; I who conspire., even in your house, the return of tho ancient regime, I who, recognized, you would condemn to death and dishonor, pursuant to your opinions, at least ; I, Maurice, will not remain here as the evil genius of your house, I will not drag yon to tho scaffold.”

“ And whore would yon go, Gone vieve ?”

“ Where shall I go, Ma.nrico ? One day, when you arc out, 1 shall go and denounce myself, without saying where I come from.”

“Oh!” cried the young man, wounded to tho heart's core, “ already ungrateful.” “ No,” cried the young woman, throwing her arms round Maurice’s neck, “it is love, and the most devoted love,, I swear. I <1 i<l not wish my brother should he taken and slaughtered as a' rebel; I do not wish my lover to he arrested and guillotined as a. traitor.” “And you will do this, Genevieve ?”

“As truly as (there is a God in heaven,” replied the young woman ; “ besides, 1 not only experience iear, but remorse ;” and she bowed her head as if it were a harden too heavy to bo borne.

“Oh, Genevieve!” said Maurice. “You will understand all that I say, all that I feel, Maurice, for you ex-' perience remorse. You know I gavel myself to you while I belonged to another, and you have taken mo without my possessing the right to dispose of myself.”

“ Enough,” said Maurice, “ enough.” He turned pale, and a melancholy expression suffused his clear countenance, and firm resolution burned in bis clear eyes. “ I will show you, Genevieve, how entirely I love you,” said the young, man ; “ I will prove to you that no sacrifice is beyond my love. You hate France. Well, lot it be so. Wo will quit France.” Genevieve clapped her bauds, and regarded her lover with enthusiastic admiration.

“You will not deceive rno, Maurice?” murmured she.