Sisar Rosa 🕵️‍♀️🔍 – Wilkie Collinsin Klassikkotrilleri

🎧 Tervetuloa kuuntelemaan *Sisar Rosa* – Wilkie Collinsin jännittävää ja vangitsevaa klassikkotrilleriä! 📚 Tämän mestariteoksen myötä sukellamme viktoriaanisen ajan salaisuuksiin, salaperäisiin juoniin ja henkilöiden arvoituksiin.

-Sisar Rosa 🕵️‍♀️🔍 – Wilkie Collinsin Klassikkotrilleri[https://youtu.be/ggGLX7Vsxy8]

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00:00:34 Chapter 1.
00:46:12 Chapter 2.
01:11:52 Chapter 3.
01:30:52 Chapter 4.
02:08:17 Chapter 5.
02:30:24 Chapter 6.
03:06:12 Chapter 7.

Sister Rosa is a suspenseful and psychologically addictive story written by Wilkie Collins, which takes the reader into the dark and mysterious atmosphere of 19th century England. The main character of the story, a young woman, is forced to confront family secrets and unexpected turns in her life. The opening scene leads us into a mysterious world where trust and suspicion struggle with each other. This story holds the reader in its grip from beginning to end, and its twists and turns reveal surprising truths and hidden dangers. Listen and dive into the exciting world of Sister Rosa. Chapter 1. Very well, Mr. Guillaume; what else is new this evening? Nothing, to my knowledge, Mr. Justin, except that Miss Rosa is getting married tomorrow. Very grateful, my venerable old friend, for such an amusing and unexpected answer to my question. Considering that I am the servant of Mr. Danville, who plays that important part of the bridegroom in the little wedding comedy you refer to, I think I can assure you, without offence, that your news is, so far as it concerns me, of the most ancient quality. Take a pinch of snuff, Mr. Guillaume, and pardon me if I inform you that my question referred to general news, and not to the private affairs of the two families whose financial interests we have the honor to promote. I do not understand what you mean by such talk as ‘promote financial interests,’ Mr. Austin. I am the servant of Mr. Louis Trudaine, who lives here with his sister, Miss Rosa . You are the servant of Mr. Danville, whose excellent mother has arranged a marriage between him and my young mistress. As we are both servants, the most amusing news that can interest us is that which concerns the happiness of our masters. I have nothing to do with public affairs; and being men of the old school, I consider the management of my own affairs the chief thing in life. If our domestic, family affairs do not interest you, allow me to express my displeasure about it, and wish you a very pleasant evening. Forgive me, good sir, but I do not attach the least value to that old school, and I cannot bear people who are only concerned with their own affairs. Nevertheless, I, like you, express my displeasure, and wish you a pleasant evening; and I hope to find you reformed in temper, dress, manners, and appearance, the next time I have the honor of seeing you. Farewell, Monsieur Guillaume, and long live triviality! This conversation took place on a beautiful summer evening in the year seventeen hundred and eighty-nine, in front of some small buildings on the banks of the Seine, about a mile from the city of Rouen. The one speaker was thin, old, hideous, and shabbily dressed; the other was fat, young, and pompous, and dressed in the most splendid servant’s dress of that age. The last days of real gentility were approaching throughout the civilized world; and Mr. Justin was, in his own way, a living picture of the fading splendor of that age, in the perfection of his dress. When the old servant had gone, he stood for a few moments, with a very proud look, surveying the little house in front of which the conversation had taken place. Judging from the windows, it could not contain more than six or eight rooms in all. There was no stable or outbuilding, but instead there was a storeroom attached to one end of the building, and at the other end a low, long room made of variegated boards. One of the windows of this room had been left uncovered , and from this one could look into the room, where, on a sort of large kitchen table, were seen bottles filled with strangely colored liquids, strangely shaped copper and other metal utensils, and a large cooking stove and other objects, all of which clearly showed that the room was used as a chemical workshop. Well, some kind of thing, when our bride’s brother amuses himself in such a place by boiling potions in sauce pans, muttered Mr. Justin, peering into the room. I am the least sensitive man in the whole world; but I must confess that I would not wish us to be connected by marriage with a practitioner of the art of pharmacy. Ugh! I can smell it through the sauna. So saying, Mr. Justin turned his back in disgust on the laboratory and set off towards the rocks by the river. Coming out of the garden belonging to the house, he walked up the charming hill along a winding path. Having reached the highest point, the whole wide landscape of the Seine with its beautiful green islands, striped banks, sailing boats and beach huts here and there opened up before him. To the west, where the plain was visible beyond the more distant riverbanks, the whole landscape glowed in the brown of the setting sun. To the east, long shadows and intervals of darker light, a golden glow flickering on the rough surface of the water, and the motionless red glow of the windows of the huts, reflecting the rays of the sun that fell on them, tempted the eye to look farther and farther, along the windings of the Seine, until it was finally stopped by the towers and pinnacles of Rouen and the vast group of buildings, with the wooded mountains rising behind them as a backdrop. Beautiful to look at in every way, this landscape was almost supernaturally lovely this evening in the splendor of the sun. None of its charms, however, affected the servant; he stood yawning, his hands clasped, looking neither to right nor to left, but gazing straight ahead at a small hollow in the rock, beyond which the precipice gradually began. Here a bench had been placed, and three persons—an old lady, a gentleman, and a young maiden—sat on it, watching the sunset, and so with their backs to Monsieur Justin. Near them stood two gentlemen, also looking at the river and the distant landscape. These five persons alone attracted the attention of the servant, as if there were no other objects around him. There they are, he said to himself, in a sullen tone. Madame Danville on the same seat; my master, the bridegroom, doing his duty by her side; Mademoiselle Rosa, the bride, again, quietly by her side; Monsieur Trudaine, the amateur chemist and brother of the bride, affectionately next to her; and Monsieur Lomaque, our strange housekeeper, officially the continuation of the whole company. There they are all, indeed, incomprehensibly wasting their time, silently gazing into nothing! Yes, continued Monsieur Justin, raising his eyes as if weary, and looking quickly, first up the river towards Rouen, then down the river towards the setting sun; yes, plague take them, have been looking at nothing, real nothingness, all this time. Mr. Justin began to yawn again; and, returning to the garden, he sat down in one of the arbours, and there began to rub his mat with a calm mind. If the servant had come nearer to the persons whom he had been observing from a distance, and if he had had a finer power of observation, he could hardly have failed to notice that the bride and groom of the morrow, and their companions on either side of them , that is, all, were, in greater or less degree, under the influence of some secret anxiety, which made their conversation, their movements, and even the expressions on their faces, seem feigned. Mrs. Danville— a good-looking, elegantly dressed old woman, with bright eyes and a suspicious manner—appeared quite calm and happy as long as her attention was fixed on her son. But when she turned from him to her fiancée, a restlessness immediately appeared in her face—a restlessness that changed into displeasure and even disgust whenever she looked at Miss Trudaine’s brother. Likewise, her son, who was all smiles and happiness when talking to his future wife, apparently changed in his manner and look, just as his mother changed when Mr. Trudaine’s presence, especially the blood on his face, was present. The lad, on the other hand—that quiet, dry, thin Lomaque, with his humble manner and red-rimmed eyes—never glanced at his master’s brother-in-law without immediately turning restlessly to look away, and stood otherwise thoughtful, digging a hole in the grass with his long, pointed walking stick. Even the bride herself, that beautiful, innocent girl, whose manner was so childish and timid, showed a kind of natural excitement as well as the others. Suspicion, if not pain, shadowed her face from time to time; and the hand that her lover held trembled a little and became restless when she happened to look into her brother’s eyes. And yet, strangely enough, there was nothing repulsive, but on the contrary, much to be desired , in the look and manner of the person whose presence seemed to have such a strangely oppressive effect on the wedding party. Louis Trudaine was an exceedingly handsome man. His look was exceedingly kind and gentle; his manner irresistibly attracted by its direct, manly firmness and stability. His words, when he happened to speak, seemed to be of as little offensive a quality as his look; for he opened his mouth only politely to answer questions that were directly addressed to him. Judging from his sad voice and the mournful gentleness that darkened his kind and steady look when it happened to his sister, his thoughts were neither happy nor hopeful. But he did not reveal them; he did not confide his secret sorrow, whatever it might have been , to any of his companions. Although he was sober and composed, there seemed to be something reproachful and disheartening about his presence, which had a distressing effect on the minds of everyone near him, and darkened the eve of the wedding for both bride and groom. As the sun gradually sank below the horizon, the central discourse became more and more diluted. After a long silence, the groom was the first to begin a new subject. Rosa, my beloved, said he, this lovely sunset is a good omen for our marriage, it promises another beautiful day tomorrow. The bride smiled and blushed. Do you really believe in omens, Charles? said she. My dear, interrupted the old lady, before her son could answer; if Charles believes in omens, it is no laughing matter. You will soon understand things better when you become his wife, and will not judge his opinions in the smallest details with the same eyes as the vain beliefs of the common people. His assurances are on such solid grounds in all matters— so solid that if I thought he really believed in omens, I would certainly force my mind to believe them too. I beg your pardon, madame,” began Rosa, trembling; I only meant—“ My dear child, do you know so little of the world that you think I can be offended— Let Rosa speak,” said the young man. He turned to his mother , nastily, almost like a spoiled child, as he uttered these words. The mother had looked at her son with gentle and proud eyes until now. Now she turned her eyes from him in astonishment; she pondered for a moment, showing a sudden confusion that seemed quite foreign to her nature, then whispered in his ear: ” Am I to blame, Charles, for trying to make him respect you? ” Her son had no interest in the question. She simply repeated roughly: “Let Rosa speak. I really had nothing to say,” stammered the young girl, becoming more and more embarrassed. ” But you did!” There was such an impolite twinkle in her voice, such a nasal wisdom in her manner, as she spoke these words, that her mother cautiously tugged at her arm and whispered, “Hsh!” The steward, Mr. Lomaque, and the brother, Mr. Trudaine, both looked at her . looked inquiringly at the bride, as these words came from the bridegroom’s mouth. The bride seemed more frightened and astonished than angry or offended. A strange smile crossed Lomaque’s smooth face as she looked down with a pretense at the ground, and made another hole in the grass with the sharp end of her stick. Trudaine turned suddenly away, and took a few steps with a sigh; she returned and seemed to begin to speak, but Danville interrupted her in her intention. Forgive me, Rosa, she said; I am so suspicious of anything that seems in the least discourteous to you, that I was almost angry for nothing. He kissed his bride’s hand very tenderly and affectionately, as he begged forgiveness; but there was a secret expression in his eyes , which was at odds with the enthusiasm of his manner. No one noticed it except that attentive and humble Monsieur Lomaque, who smiled to himself again and dug his hole in the grass more diligently. I think Monsieur Trudaine wanted to say something, said Madame Danville. Perhaps we shall hear what he was going to say. It was nothing, Madame, replied Trudaine politely. I had only intended to take upon myself the reproach of Rosa’s lack of respect for the believers in omens, by acknowledging that I had always advised her to laugh at all kinds of magic. You would be a mocker of magic, said Danville, turning suddenly to her. You who have built a laboratory; you who are the devotees of the secret knowledge of chemistry, the seekers after the ‘Water of Life.’ On my word of honor, you amaze me! There was a mocking politeness in his voice, his look, and his manner , as he uttered these words, which his mother and also his guardian, Mr. Lomaque, perfectly understood the explanation. The former touched his son’s arm again and whispered: “Be careful!” The latter suddenly became very serious and stopped digging a hole in the grass. Rosa did not hear Mrs. Danville’s warning, and did not notice the change in Lomaque. She looked at her brother and waited with a cheerful, affectionate smile for his answer. The brother nodded his head as if to reassure his sister, before he spoke again to Danville. “You have rather dreamy ideas about chemical experiments,” he said calmly. ” My work has so little to do with what you call secret information that the whole world may see it if it thinks it worth while.” The only ‘Water of Life’ I know is a calm heart and a contented mind. Both of these I have found years ago, when Rosa and I first came to live together in the house down there. There was a quiet sadness in her voice that spoke much more to her sister than the words she spoke. Tears came to Rosa’s eyes; she turned for a moment from her lover, and seized her brother’s hand. Don’t speak, Louis, as if you were going to leave your sister, for—” Her lips began to tremble, and she stopped abruptly. She is more angry than ever at you for taking her sister away from her!” whispered Madame Danville in her son’s ear. “Ush! for God’s sake, don’t be so mean,” she added suddenly, rising from her seat, and looking at Trudaine, her manner clearly showing anger and pain. Before she could speak, the old servant Guillaume appeared, and announced that the coffee was ready. Mrs. Danville again said Ush! and quickly seized one of her son’s arms, offering the other to Rosa. “Charles!” said the young girl, with astonishment at how your face has turned red, and how your arm trembles! Danville controlled himself in a moment, smiled, and said to her. ” Can you guess what, Rosa? I was thinking of tomorrow.” As he spoke, he walked very close to the gate, on his way back to the house with the women. The smile returned to Mr. Lomaque’s smooth face, and a strange light flashed in his red-rimmed eyes, as he began to dig another hole in the lawn. ” Won’t you come in and have some coffee?” asked Trudaine, touching her the arm of the vaud. Mr. Lomaque flinched a little, and left his stick in the ground. A thousand thanks, good sir, said he; may I be permitted to follow you? I confess this lovely evening makes me a little reluctant to leave this place just now. Ah! the sweetness of nature—I know the road as well as you do, Mr. Trudaine: I know it here. So saying, Lomaque laid one hand upon his heart, with the other drawing his stick up from the grass. He had looked as little at the scenery or the setting sun as Mr. Justin himself. They sat down on an empty bench side by side; and then a disagreeable silence followed. The humble Lomaque was too careful to forget the place where he was, and to begin a new subject of conversation. Trudaine’s mind was fixed on the beauty of nature, and she was very little disposed to talk. It was, however, necessary, for the sake of common courtesy , to say something. Hardly even checking her own words, Trudaine began in her daily conversation. “I am sorry, Monsieur Lomaque, that we have not had more opportunity of becoming better acquainted. I feel myself greatly indebted,” said the steward, “to the venerable Madame Danville for having chosen me to accompany her here from her son’s farm near Lyons, and for having procured for me the honor of entering into this acquaintance.” It was as if a sudden fit of blepharitis had struck both Monsieur Lomaque’s eyes as he uttered these polite words. His enemies were wont to say that whenever he was particularly pretentious or particularly cunning, he always resorted to the weakness of his eyes, and thus avoided that severe test of innocence which requires looking steadily into the eyes of the person with whom he is speaking. ” I was greatly pleased to hear you mention my late father’s name, while we were at dinner, with great respect,” continued Trudaine, as if she had forcibly resolved to prolong the main speech. “Did you know him?” “I am indirectly indebted to your excellent father,” replied the steward, “for the position in which I now find myself. At a time when the word of a wealthy and worthy man was necessary to save me from poverty and ruin, your father uttered this word. Since then, in my own small circumstances, I have been prosperous, until at last I rose to the rank of superintendent of Mr. Danville’s estate . Forgive me–but your talk of your present circumstances surprises me a little. Your father, I believe, was a merchant, just as Danville’s father was a merchant; the only difference between them was that one had a bad fortune, and the other won a large fortune. “Why do you say, then, that your present position is an honor to you? Have you never heard?” cried Lomaque, with great astonishment, ” or have you heard, but forgotten, that Madame Danville is descended from some of the noble families of France. Has she never told you, as she often has to me, that she condescended to marry her deceased husband, and that her chief hope in life is to have her family, which has long since become extinct on the male side, restored to her son, the titles of which she has been so long in power? ” “Yes,” replied Trudaine; “I remember hearing something of that, but I did not pay much attention to it at the time, because I hold such hopes as you speak of in very little esteem. You have lived many years in the service of Danville, Monsieur Lomaque, have you—” He paused for a moment in thought, and then continued, looking the vot directly in the eyes, “have you noticed in him a good and gentle master?” Lomaque’s thin lips seemed to close instinctively, as if he would never speak again. He bowed—Trudaine waited— he bowed again. Trudaine waited a third time. Lomaque looked at Trudaine for a moment quite steadily; then his eyes began to grow weak again . You seem to have some special reason, he remarked quietly, if I may say so without offence, to ask me this. I speak frankly, in spite of everything, with everyone, continued Trudaine; and although you are a stranger, I want to speak frankly with you too. I confess that I have a special reason for asking you this, – a reason that concerns the most expensive and everyday matters. As she uttered the last words, her voice trembled for a moment, but she continued firmly: From the very beginning, from the moment my sister and Danville were united, I considered it my duty to express my own feelings without concealing them; my conscience and my feelings towards Rosa urged me to express my thoughts frankly to the last, even if this frankness should annoy or offend others. When we first became acquainted with Mrs. Danville, and when I first noticed that Rosa accepted her son’s compliments favorably, I was astonished, and although I had to exert myself, I could not conceal this astonishment from my sister. Lomaque, who had been very attentive until now, started at this and raised his hands in astonishment. You are surprised, I hear you say? You are surprised, Monsieur Trudaine, that a young lady should accept the compliments of such a young gentleman, who possesses all the beauty and perfection of a Frenchman of noble upbringing ! You are surprised that such a dancer, such a singer, such an orator, such a famous charmer of women as Monsieur Danville is, should arouse any reluctance in the heart of Mademoiselle Rosa! Oh! Monsieur Trudaine, the venerable Monsieur Trudaine, it is almost impossible to believe. Lomaque’s eyes became very weak, and blinked incessantly as he uttered this admonition. At last he raised his hands again and looked inquiringly around him, silently appealing to all nature. When, after a little while, the matter had progressed further, Trudaine continued, disregarding this interruption; when the offer of marriage was made, and when I learned that Rosa had consented to it in her own heart, I resisted and could not conceal my objections— For heaven’s sake! interrupted Lomaque again, clasping his hands together with an astonished look; what objections? what possible objections against a young and well-bred man, of an impossibly large fortune and an impeccable character? I have heard of those objections and objections: I know that they have angered others; and I constantly ask myself what those objections can be? God knows that I have often tried to banish them from my mind, as fanciful and impossible, said Trudaine, but I have not succeeded. It is impossible, in your presence, for me to explain thoroughly what my feelings have been from the beginning towards the gentleman whom you serve. Let it be enough if I tell you that I cannot, not even now, be convinced of the purity of his feelings for my sister, and that I have—against my own will, against my firm will to trust Rosa’s choice perfectly—a bad suspicion of his character and the quality of his mind, a suspicion which now, on the eve of the wedding, grows into a real terror. A long secret suffering, a doubt, and an indecision force this confession out of me, Monsieur Lomaque, almost carelessly and against all the customs of society. You have lived for years under the same roof with this man; you have seen him at the most unworthy moments of his private life. I do not tempt you to confide in me—I only ask whether you can make me happy by telling me that I have done your master the most terrible injustice by my opinions of him? I beg you to take my hand and tell me, if you can, with all due respect, that my sister will not jeopardize the happiness of her life by marrying Monsieur Danville! He held out his hand as he spoke. Under some strange change, Lomaque happened at that very moment to look at those beauties of nature which he so greatly admired. Indeed, Monsieur Trudaine, indeed such an appeal on your part, with such a “At this moment, it astonishes me.” Having gone so far, he fell silent, and said no more. “When we first sat here together, it was not my intention at all to make such appeals, not at all to speak to you as I have spoken,” continued the other. “My words have escaped me, in speaking to you, almost by accident—you must forgive me for them. I cannot expect others, Mr. Lomaque, to appreciate and understand my feelings for Rosa. We two have lived together alone in the world: father, mother, family, all died long ago and left us. I am so much older than my sister that I am accustomed to consider myself more her father than her brother. My whole life, my dearest hopes, all my highest aspirations have been united with her.” My boyhood was already over when my mother placed my little sister’s hand in mine and said on her deathbed: ‘Louis, be to her what I have been, for she has no one left to turn to but you.’ From that time on, the passions and ambitions of other men have not been my passions or ambitions. Sister Rosa — as we were all accustomed to call her in those bygone days, and as I still prefer to call her — Sister Rosa has been the only goal, the only happiness, the only real consolation, the only precious prize in my life. I have lived in this poor hut, this remote hermit’s life, as in Paradise, because Sister Rosa, my innocent, happy, bright-eyed Eva, has lived here with me. Even if her chosen husband had been the same one I would have chosen, this forced abdication from her would have been the bitterest, the most bitter trial. As things stand, thinking what I think, and fearing what I fear, judge for yourselves what my thoughts may have been on the eve of her marriage; and you will understand why and for what purpose I made that appeal which astonished you a moment ago, but which cannot astonish you now. Speak if you will—I can say no more. He sighed bitterly; his head sank down, and the hand which he had offered to Lomaque trembled as he withdrew it and let it fall to his side. Vouti was not a man accustomed to hesitation, but now he hesitated. He was not accustomed to being at a loss for words, but now he stammered badly in the beginning of his answer. Suppose I should answer, he began quietly; Suppose I were to say that you have judged him wrongly, would my testimony really be strong enough to dispel the opinions, or rather the suspicions, which have been established in you for months? Suppose, on the other hand, that my master had small— here Lomaque hesitated before he uttered the next word—small —weaknesses, if I may say so; but only supposing, remember that! weaknesses—and suppose I had noticed them, and I wished to confide them to you, what use would such a declaration be now, at the eleventh hour, when Mademoiselle Rosa has given her heart and the wedding is fixed for the morrow? No, no! believe me— Trudaine suddenly looked up. I thank you, Monsieur Lomaque, for your reminder. As you say, it is now too late to question, and therefore too late to trust others. My sister has chosen; and my lips will henceforth be sealed with regard to the chosen one. The future is in God’s hands: whatever it may be, I hope I am strong enough to bear what comes my way, with the manliness and patience of a man! I beg your pardon, Mr. Lomaque, for having thoughtlessly troubled you with questions which I had no right to ask. Let us go back to the rooms—I will show you the way. Lomaque’s lips opened, then closed again: he bowed obligingly, and his yellow face whitened for a moment. Trudaine walked along the path, silent, back to the house: the steward followed quietly a few steps behind, muttering quietly to himself. Her father saved me, murmured Lomaque; it is true, and it will not do any good: her father saved me; and now, here I am—no! too late!—too late to speak—too late to act— too late to do anything! An old servant came to meet them, quite close to the room. My young mistress has just sent me to invite you to coffee, sir, said Guillaume. She has kept coffee warm for you , and another cup for Monsieur Lomaque. The waiter started—this time with real surprise. For me! he exclaimed. Mademoiselle Rosa has troubled herself by keeping coffee warm for me? The old servant stared at him; Trudaine stopped and looked back. What is so strange, he asked, in such a common courtesy on the part of my sister? Excuse me, Monsieur Trudaine, replied Lomaque; you have not lived in such circumstances as I have, you are not an old man without friends, you have a stable position in the world, and you are accustomed to being respected by people. I am not. This is the first time in my life that I have found myself the object of a young lady’s courtesy; and this astonished me. I beg your pardon again— please, let us go in. Trudaine made no reply to this strange explanation. She was a little surprised at it, however; and was still more surprised when she entered the drawing-room, when she saw Lomaque go straight to her sister, and—apparently not noticing that Danville was at that moment sitting at the piano, singing—make her a very confused but customary speech of thanks for the cup of coffee. Rosa looked on in astonishment, and half-suppressed her laughter as she listened to him. Mrs. Danville, who was sitting next to her, looked ashen, and quietly struck the boulevard’s arm with her fan. “Please be quiet while my son has sung,” he said. Lomaque bowed slightly, stepped to a table in the corner, and took the newspaper from it. If Madame Danville had noticed the expression on Lomaque’s face as she turned, her proud, aristocratic mind would perhaps have been a little disconcerted. Danville had finished his song, had left the piano, and was talking quietly to his fiancée; Madame Danville added a word to the central discourse now and then; Trudaine was sitting separately at the other end of the room, thoughtfully reading a letter which she had taken from her pocket, when Lomaque, who was still reading his newspaper, suddenly uttered an exclamation which interrupted all in the room and made them look up. “What is it?” asked Danville impatiently. ” Am I disturbing you if I explain this?” asked Lomaque, his eyes growing very weak again, and turning respectfully to Madame Danville. ” You have already disturbed us,” said the old woman, scornfully, “so much the same if you speak now. There is a passage in the Scientific Notices which has greatly delighted me, and which must surely be delightful news to everyone here.” So saying, Lomaque looked with a pointed glance at Trudaine, and then read the following lines from the notice: Academy of Sciences in Paris. — We have been greatly pleased to learn that the vacant chair of professorship in chemistry has been offered to a man whose modesty has prevented his scientific merits from becoming sufficiently famous in the world. The members of the Academy have long known that he has made several of the most remarkable discoveries in the advancement of chemistry that have been made in recent years—discoveries for which he has, with an excellent, one might almost say, reprehensible modesty, allowed others to claim the credit without penalty. No man in any office is more fully entitled to receive from the State the dignity and office of honor than the gentleman we are referring to—Mr. Louis Trudaine. Before Lomaque could look at the audience to see what effect his news had, Rosa had already rushed to her brother. and kissed her in a frenzy of joy. “Dear Louis,” she cried, clapping her hands, “let me be the first to congratulate you! How proud and happy I am. You will of course accept the professorship.” Trudaine, who had suddenly and somewhat astonishedly put her letter back into her pocket at the moment when Lomaque began to read, seemed at a loss for an answer. She patted her sister’s hand absently and said, “I have not yet decided; do not ask me why, my Rosa—not now, not now at all.” Confusion and anxiety appeared on her face as she asked her sister to return to her chair. Is a professor of chemistry considered worthy of a gentleman?” asked Madame Danville, without the least sympathy for Lomaque’s news. ” Of course not,” replied her son, with a mocking laugh; such a one must work and make himself useful—what gentleman is he? Charles! cried the old lady, blushing with anger. Hoh! cried Danville, turning his back on her; now that is enough chemistry. Lomaque! you have now begun to read the news, try to find something amusing to read. What is the latest news from Paris? Are there any more signs of a general insurrection? Lomaque began to check the news from another place. There is little, very little hope of restoring calm, he said. Necker, the Minister of the People, has been dismissed from his post. Proclamations against public meetings have been circulated all over Paris. The Swiss Guard has been posted on the Champs Elysées with four cannons. More is not yet known, but the worst is feared. The quarrel between the nobility and the people is growing more and more threateningly, almost every moment. Here he stopped and placed the newspaper on the table. Trudaine took it from it and shook her head ominously, looking at the passage that had just been read. Oh! cried Madame Danville. The people, indeed! Let those four cannons come in good Latin, let the Swiss Guard do their work, and we shall never hear any more of that people! My advice is not to be too sure of it, said her son carelessly; there are too many people in Paris to fire on the Swiss Guard for it to go so comfortably. Do not hold your heads up too aristocratically, my mother, until we know for sure which way the wind is blowing. Perhaps I shall one day bow as low to King Mouka as you did to King Louis XV in your youth! He smiled politely as he finished his speech, and opened his snuff-box. His mother rose from her chair, her face red with disgust. I will not hear you talk like that—it terrifies me, it upsets my mind! she cried, with violent excitement. No, no! I will not hear any more of that. I will not sit here and hear my son, whom I love, mock the most sacred of ideas, and mock the memory of the anointed king. Is it my thanks for having consented and come here, against all forms of decency, on the eve of the wedding? I will endure this no longer; I will follow my own will and go my own way. I command you, my son, to escort me back to Rouen. We are without a groom, and have no business here to spend the night in the bride’s house. You will not meet each other until you meet at church. Justin! my carriage. Lomaque, fetch my hat; Monsieur Trudaine! thanks for your hospitality; I hope to reward you the first time you are in our vicinity. My young lady; put on your beautiful look tomorrow, which will be in keeping with your wedding splendor; “Remember that my son’s bride must be a testimony to my son’s good sense of beauty. Justin! my carriage— slut, rascal, scoundrel, where is my carriage! My mother looks beautiful when she is excited, doesn’t she, Rosa?” said Danville, opening his snuff-box as the old lady hurried out of the room. “Why do you look so frightened, my dear,” he added, taking Rosa’s hand with a gentle, timid look, allow me to assure you, without the slightest reason. My mother has only this one vain belief, and this one weak point, Rosa my dear. You will notice that she is as gentle as a dove, as long as it is not her custom to offend her pride. What is it! to-night at least you must not part from me with such a look. He stooped and whispered in the girl’s ear some bridegroom’s witticism, which immediately brought the blush back to the bride’s cheeks. Oh, how Rosa loves him—how ardently she loves him, thought her brother, watching her from the corner of the room where she sat alone, and noticing the smile that brightened her flushed face as Danville kissed her hand and set off on his journey. Lomaque, who had remained unshakenly cold during the madame’s outburst of anger ; Lomaque, whose attentive eye had observed, mockingly, what effect that scene between mother and son would have on Trudaine and her sister, was the last to say his farewell. Bowing to Rosa with a strange grace in his manner, which was ill-suited to her wrinkled, thin face, he held out his hand to her brother. I did not take your hand when we sat together on that bench, he said, may I now? Trudaine gave him her hand politely but silently. You will think differently of me some time in the world. Adding these words in a whisper, Mr. Lomaque bowed once more to the bride and went out for ever. A few minutes after the door had closed, brother and sister were silent. The last evening that we shall be together here at home! that was the thought that filled both their minds. Rosa was the first to speak. Hesitating a little, as she approached her brother, she said to him sadly: ” I am sorry for what happened to Mrs. Danville, Louis. Does it make you think ill of Charles? I can forgive Mrs. Danville’s anger,” replied Trudaine evasively, because she was speaking of an honest assurance. Honest? repeated Rosa sadly, “–honest?–ah, Louis! I know you think contemptuously of Charles’ assurances, when you speak thus of his mother. ” Trudaine smiled and shook her head; but Rosa did not notice this disapproving movement–she only stood looking sadly and thoughtfully into his face. Her eyes began to water; she suddenly threw her arms around her brother’s neck and whispered to him: “Oh, Louis, Louis! how I would teach you to look at Charles with my eyes! ” Her brother felt her tears on his face as he spoke, and tried to comfort him. You must teach me, Rosa—you must. Don’t be so idle now; we must refresh our minds, or how can you look your best for to-morrow? He released her arm from his neck and gently led her to sit down on a chair. At that moment there was a knock at the door; Rosa’s maidservant came to ask her mistress some question about the wedding. No interruption could have been more welcome than this at this moment. It forced Rosa to think for a moment about the necessary steps; and it gave her brother an opportunity to go to his study. He sat down at his desk, doubtful and sorrowful, and placed the letter from the Academy of Sciences open before him. Leaving aside the elegant sentences it contained, he stopped only to examine the following lines at the end: ” During the first three years of your professorship, you must reside in Paris or its vicinity for nine months of the year, for the purpose of giving lectures and inspecting experiments in the laboratories.” The letter in which these lines were found offered him a position which, in his modest self-contempt, he had never dreamed of obtaining: it promised him the opportunity of carrying out, with complete freedom, experiments which he could never have hoped to carry out in his own little study, with his own meager means. with his means; and yet there he sat, doubting whether he would accept the position of honor and advantage offered him—doubting for the sake of his sister’s happiness! Nine months of the year in Paris, he said to himself sadly; and Rosa is a woman living in Lyons. Oh! if I could cast out of my heart my sorrow for her, and could banish from my mind my apprehensions of her future—how cheerfully would I not answer this letter, accepting the confidence which is reposed in me! He paused for a moment and reflected. What his thoughts were were evident in his face, which grew paler and paler, and in his eyes, whose lustre grew darker and darker. If that gnawing suspicion, from which I cannot free myself, were to come true, that mute prophecy of impending misfortune would be fulfilled—I know not when—if it were to come to pass, which God forbid, how soon would he not long for a friend, a protector near him, a ready refuge in the hour of misfortune! Where would he then find shelter or security? In the company of that passionate wife? In the company of her husband’s relatives and friends ? The thought of this heart-wrenching thought terrified him; and opening a blank sheet of paper, he dipped his pen in ink. Be to her all that I have been, Louis, he murmured to himself, recounting his mother’s last words, and beginning the letter as he spoke them. It was soon ready. It expressed, in the most respectful terms, his gratitude for the offer made to him, but at the same time an announcement that he could not accept it, owing to family circumstances which it was unnecessary to explain. The superscription was written, the letter sealed: all that was left was to put it in the post-box which was beside him. Having arrived at this last decisive transaction, he was left in doubt. He had told Lomaque, and had firmly believed himself, that he had conquered all his ambition for the happiness of his sister. He felt now, for the first time, that he had only lulled it to sleep —he found that the letter from Paris had awakened it. His reply was written, he held the mail-bag in his hand; and at that moment the whole battle was to be fought again— fought when he was least fit for it! Under ordinary circumstances he was not the man to put off his business for a time; but he did it now. Night brings advice: I will wait till to-morrow, he said to himself, put the letter of refusal in his pocket, and hurried out of the laboratory. Without mercy that important morrow came: helplessly, for better or for worse, that important vow of marriage was pronounced. Charles Danville and Rosa Trudaine were now man and wife. The prediction, based on the lovely sunset of the previous evening, had not failed. The wedding day was cloudless. The wedding had all gone pleasantly, and had also satisfied Mrs. Danville. He arrived at Trudaine’s house with the bridal party , all smiles and brightness. To the young man she was friendship itself. My dear girl, said the old lady, patting her on the cheeks with her fan in pleasure. My dear girl! you have been beautiful this morning—you have given good evidence of my son’s sense of beauty. Indeed, you have pleased me, my child! go up there now and put on your everyday dress; and trust in my motherly love as long as you make Charles happy. It had been decided that the bride and groom should spend their favorite week in Britain and then return to the farm near Danville, Lyons . The journey was made in haste, as it is customary for such journeys. The carriages had left—Trudaine, after standing a long time watching them depart, returned quickly to the rooms—the dust raised by the rolling carts had disappeared as it pleased—there was nothing to look at—anymore—but there stood Monsieur Lomaque on the road in front of the house; idle, as if he were a free man —calm, as if such worries as calling out Madame Danville’s carriage—and escorting Madame Danville back to Lyons could not have been left to him. Idle and restless, silently wringing his hands, silently nodding his head in the direction in which the bride and groom had driven, the dreamy old man stood on the highway. Suddenly a footstep approaching from the house seemed about to wake him. Once more he looked along the road as if he had expected to see the carriage of the newlyweds. Poor girl!—oh poor girl! said Monsieur Lomaque quietly to himself, and turned to see who was approaching him from the room. It was only the postman with a letter in his hand and a mailbag under his arm. Is there any news from Paris, my friend? asked Lomaque. Very bad news, monsieur, answered the postman. Camille Desmoulins has appealed to the people at the Palais Royal—they fear a revolt there . Only a revolt! Lomaque mockingly imitated. What good government does not fear worse! Are there any letters? he added suddenly, changing the subject of the conversation. There is no house, said the postman,—only one of the houses that Monsieur Trudaine gave. It is hardly worth putting, he added, turning the letter over in his hand, in the post-bag, is it? Lomaque looked over his shoulder as he spoke, and saw that the letter was for the President of the Academy of Sciences in Paris. I should like to know whether he has accepted the place or declined, thought the postman, nodding his head to the postman and continuing his way towards the house. Trudaine met him at the door, who said to him quickly: “You are going back to Lyons with Madame Danville, I suppose?” “To-day,” replied Lomaque. “ If you happen to hear of any room of the young man in Lyons or its vicinity,” continued the other, lowering his voice and speaking more rapidly, “you would do me a favor if you would let me know.” Lomaque promised; but before he could add the question which was already on his tongue, Trudaine had disappeared into the room. The young man’s lodgings! repeated the steward, standing alone on the steps. In or near Lyons! Aha! Monsieur Trudaine, I add up your young man’s lodgings and your speech to me last night, and I get a sum which is, I think, more or less exactly right. You have not accepted Paris’s offer, and I think I can guess the reason. He paused thoughtfully, and shook his head with knowing displeasure, chewing his lips. ” All is indeed bright in that sky,” he continued after a moment, looking up at the brilliant noonday sky. All is indeed bright there; but I think I see a little cloud already rising in the sky of a family—a little cloud which is covered with much, and which I for my part shall carefully observe. Chapter 2. Five years had passed since Monsieur Lomaque had stood thoughtfully at the gate of Trudaine’s house, watching the departure of the carriage of the bride and groom, and mournfully contemplating the future relations of the couple. Great events had passed over that family sky, in which he had prophetically noticed a small threatening cloud. Greater events had passed over the sky of France. What was the rebellion of five years ago against the revolution now– which had overthrown the throne, overthrown princes and dominions; which had placed its own crownless and heirless kings and advisors on the throne, and bloodily plucked them down from there again by the dozen; which had raged and raged unbridled, in a cruel passion, until at last one king alone could control and restrain it for a little while. This king’s name was Terror, and one thousand seven hundred and ninety- four is the year of his reign. Mr. Lomaque, who is no longer a bailiff, sits alone in a room that looks like an office in one of the public buildings of Paris. It is another July evening, as beautiful as the evening when he and Trudaine sat on that bench together, from which one can look out over the lovely view of the Seine. The window of the room is open, and a slight, cool breeze blows through it. But Lomaque breathes with difficulty, as if he was still troubled by the stifling heat of the midday heat; and on his face one could see signs of sorrow and anxiety as he now and then glanced absently down into the street. The times in which he lived were in themselves such as could make a man’s face sad. During this terrible reign of Terror there was not a living person in the whole city of Paris who, when he arose in the morning, could be sure that he would not fall into the hands of spies, under accusation, into imprisonment, or even to the scaffold before nightfall. Such times certainly test a man’s mind; but Lomaque did not think of them now, nor was he anxious about them. From the pile of papers before him on the old desk, he had just taken up one that had carried his thoughts back to the past, and to the incidents that had occurred since he had stood alone on the steps of Trudaine’s room, anticipating future events. More quickly than he had anticipated, these incidents had come. In less time than he had previously thought, came that miserable misfortune which Rosa’s brother had foreseen as a distinct possibility , and which demanded all the patience, manliness, and self-sacrifice that he could muster for his sister’s sake. By small steps downward, from bad to worse, Rosa’s manly character showed itself more and more clearly almost every day. Occasional carelessness ended in habitual neglect; careless avoidance changed into cold hostility; from small insults ripened great slanders—these were the cruel signs by which Rosa realized that she had exposed and lost everything while still a young wife—these were the undeserved sorrows that befell her when she was unprotected, that would have left her unprotected had not the compromising love of her brother brought help and support. Trudaine had from the beginning consecrated herself to the reception of such trials as she was now to suffer; and she accepted them manfully, in spite of the persecution of her mother as well as the insults of her son. This difficult task was only made easier when, in the course of time, the general disorder mingled with private concerns. Then the public calamities that attracted attention became a relief to the family misery. Then the sole purpose and legacy of Danville’s life began to be to conduct his affairs so wisely that he could move with the advancing revolutionary current without harm—how far, he did not care, as long as he saved his property and life from danger.—His mother, who remained steadfastly true to her old-fashioned opinions, in spite of all danger, could pray and rebuke, could talk of honor and manhood and honesty—the son would not listen, or would listen only to laugh. As he had taken the wrong path with his wife, so he was now inclined to take the wrong path with the world. Years passed; destructive changes, like a hurricane, were constantly tearing at the old order of government of France; and yet Danville happily changed with the changing times. The first days of the reign of terror were approaching; in state and private life—high and low— every man suspected his brother. Danville, though he was resourceful, also found himself at last under suspicion by the general government in Paris, chiefly through his mother. This was his first state defeat, and in a thoughtless moment of rage and annoyance he let Lomaque suffer the wrath which it kindled. Suspicioned himself, he began to doubt his viceroy. His mother excited this suspicion.—Lomaque was dismissed from his office. In former times such a victim would have been a failure—under the new circumstances he became quite fit to perform a state function in the world. Lomaque was poor, quick-witted, taciturn, and not too perceptive. He was a good patriot, he had good friends who loved his country, enough ambition, a cunning feline courage, and he had nothing to fear—he came to Paris. There were opportunities for success enough for men of his kind. He was waiting for such an opportunity. It came; he made the best of it ; he won the favor of the cruel Fonqvier Tinville and obtained a position in the Secret Police. Danville’s anger, however, evaporated: he regained the use of that intelligent mind which had hitherto served him so well, and sent for the dismissed servant. It was too late. Lomaque was already in a position to demand that he clear himself of suspicion—perhaps even to put his head on the block. Worse than this was that anonymous letters were sent to him, urging him to show his patriotism as soon as possible by some irresistible exposure, and to silence his mother, whose insane directness would probably cost him his life before long. Danville knew her so well that he knew that there was only one way to save her, and thereby save himself. The mother had always opposed emigration; but now her son insisted that he should take the first opportunity to leave France, when more peaceful times would come. The mother would probably have risked her own life ten times more than to obey her son; but she did not dare to put her son’s life in danger at the same time; and she yielded for her son’s sake. Partly by secret stratagems, partly by shameless fraud, Danville procured for him such papers and permits as would enable him to get out of France by Marseilles. Even now she hesitated to leave until she knew what her son’s intentions were for the future. Danville showed her a letter which he had just sent to Robespierre himself, in which he defended his suspected patriotism, and with indignation asked to be allowed to show it in some office, however small, in the service of the cruel triumvirate which then ruled, or rather terrified, France. Seeing this letter, Madame Danville calmed down. She said goodbye to her son and finally set off, accompanied by a faithful servant, for Marseilles. Danville’s intention in sending the letter to Paris was no other than to save himself by patriotic boasting. He had fallen as if from the clouds when he received the responsibility of being caught at his word, and ordered to come to the capital to accept a position from the government of the day. Nothing helped in this except obedience. He therefore journeyed to Paris, taking his wife with him, even in the midst of danger . He was then in open hostility with Trudaine; and the greater the pain and anxiety he could bring a brother to for his sister, the more he liked it. Trudaine , faithful to her trust and love, in spite of all dangers and persecutions , followed them; and in the same street where they had their residence in Paris, during the dangerous period of the Reign of Terror, was also her apartment. Danville was astonished to accept the offer of his service— he was still more astonished to find that the post assigned to him was that of a superintendent in the same office of the Secret Police where Lomaque was the clerk. Robespierre and his colleagues had weighed their man’s worth—he had enough money and local value—he was worth investigating. They knew in what respect he was to be suspected, and how they could use him to their advantage. The actions of the Secret Police were those which befitted a man of a brutal, resourceful nature; and the honest use of this intelligence in the office which he had obtained was well assured by the presence of Lomaque in office. The banished servant was his own. to spy on a suspicious master. It so happened that in the secret police of Paris, during the reign of terror, Lomaque’s former master was still his master in name only—in public a superintendent to whom he was accountable—in private a suspicious man, whose least words and deeds he was officially ordered to keep an eye on. Lomaque’s face grew more and more sad and gloomy as he now reflected on the changes and misfortunes of the past five years . When the bell of the nearby church struck seven, he was awakened from these thoughts. He arranged the papers scattered before him—looked towards the door as if expecting someone to come —then, finding himself alone, began to examine the writing which had first brought to his mind that long series of gloomy thoughts. The few lines found in it were written in secret characters and its content was as follows: Please note that your superior, Danville, was last week allowed to be away on some business of his own in Lyons, and that he is not expected back for a day or two. In his absence, hurry up with Trudaine’s business. Gather all the evidence and be ready to take action yourself as soon as you receive the order. Do not leave the office until you receive further information from me. If you have a copy of the private instructions you wrote me concerning Danville, send it to my house. I want to refresh my memory. Your original letter has been burned. Here the letter of notification abruptly ended. As he folded it and put it in his pocket, Lomaque sighed. This was otherwise a rare expression of emotion in him. He leaned against the back of his chair and tapped his nails on the table. Suddenly there was a soft knock at the door of the room, and eight or ten men—apparently the holders of the new French Inquisition—calmly entered, and stood in order against the wall. Lomaque nodded to two of them. Picard and Magloire, come and sit at this desk. I will need you when the others are gone. With that, Lomaque handed some sealed and overwritten letters to the other men waiting in the room, who received them silently, bowed, and went out. A sudden onlooker would have thought them to be clerks receiving the certificates of goods to be sent from the merchant. Who could have guessed that the issuing and receiving of accusations, orders of arrest, and sentences of death— the delivery of condemned human beings to be fed to that all-devouring Guillotine, the executioner used during the French Revolution—could have been carried on so calmly and carelessly, with such cold-hearted official habits! Turning to the two men seated at the desk, Lomaque said: “Well, do you have those memoranda with you now?” They answered in the affirmative. Picard, you have the first charges in this Trudaine affair; you must read them first. I have already sent the official notices; but we must read the evidence from the beginning to be sure that nothing has been omitted. If any changes are to be made, now is the time to make them. Read them, Picard, and do them as quickly as possible. Upon receiving this invitation, Picard drew from his pocket some long strips of paper and began to read from them the following: Minutes, containing the collected evidence against Louis Trudaine, who is believed, on the accusation made by the Citizen Commander Danville , to be guilty of hostility to the sacred cause of liberty, and of insubordination to the sovereignty of the people. 1 The person under suspicion is under secret investigation, and the following facts have been discovered. He was observed to have visited twice during the night several houses on the Rue de la Clergy. On the first night he carried with him money, on the second, documents. He returned without either. These facts have been learned from a citizen whom Trudaine has taken as his assistant in the affairs of his household, those who were called servants in the time of the Tyrants, this man is a good lover of his country, to whom one can entrust the keeping of Trudaine’s affairs. 2 The inhabitants of the house on the Rue de la Papiste are very numerous, and in some respects they are less well known to the government than would be desirable. It has been found difficult to obtain certain information about it or about the persons whom Trudaine has visited, without resorting to imprisonment. 3 The arrest has been considered premature, the operation being so early, because it would probably prevent the development of a conspiracy and give warning to the guilty, so that they might perhaps escape. The order has therefore been given to inspect them only for the present, and to wait. 4 The citizen-in-charge Danville leaves Paris for a short time. The duty of keeping an eye on Trudaine has therefore been taken from the undersigned and given to his accomplice, Magloire. — Signed: Picard. Confirmed by name: Lomaque. Having read so far, the policeman placed his papers on the desk, waited a moment for orders, and went out when he did not receive them. There was no change in the sadness and anxiety expressed on Lomaque’s face. He still tapped painfully with his nails on the desk and did not even look at the other policeman when he asked him to read his report. Magloire pulled out strips of paper similar to Picard’s and read from them in the same hurried, businesslike, monotonous voice: Trudaine’s case. Continuation of the minutes. Civil agent Magloire has been ordered to continue the watch on Trudaine, and the following important information has been obtained to be added to the previous ones. 1 It seems that Trudaine intends to make a third secret visit to the house on the Rue du Papist. Special measures have been taken to enable her to closely examine her actions, and the result has been that another person has been found to be involved in the supposed conspiracy. This person is Trudaine’s sister, and the wife of the Civil Warden Danville. Oh, poor man!—he is lost! muttered Lomaque, sighing to himself, and moving restlessly from side to side in his old, worn-out armchair. Magloire was evidently not accustomed to sighs, interruptions, and expressions of grief from that party, for the chief constable was usually very unmoved. He looked up from his paper in astonishment. Go on, Magloire! cried Lomaque, indignantly. Why the devil don’t you go on? “Immediately, citizen,” replied Magloire humbly, and continued: “At Trudaine’s house, the involvement of Danville’s wife in her brother’s secret projects has been discovered through the vigilance of the aforementioned patriotic citizen. The conversations of these two suspicious persons take place only between themselves and in whispers. Little has been heard; but this little is sufficient to prove that she is fully aware of her brother’s intention to go for the third time to the house on the Rue Papiston . It has also been learned that she must await his return and that only then will she return to her own house alone. The most severe measures have been adopted to keep an eye on the house on the Rue Papiston. It has been learned that Trudaine’s visits were intended for a man and a woman known to the owner and the other residents by the name of Duboit. They live on the fourth floor.” It is now impossible, during the investigation of the matter, to enter their room or to examine Citizen Dubois and his wife, without causing us a harmful disturbance and commotion in that house and its neighborhood. A policeman was left to keep an eye on the place until the search and arrest warrants were received. Their receipt was prevented by chance. When they were finally received, both the man and the wife were found to be absent. No trace of them has been found to this day. 4 The owner of the house was immediately arrested, as was the policeman who was sent to inspect the house. The owner of the house declares that he knows nothing of the inhabitants of his house. It is thought, however, that he was involved in the conspiracy, and also that the papers which Trudaine carried for the citizens Dubois were forged passports. It is not impossible that they have already succeeded in getting out of France with these and the money. Steps have been taken to apprehend them in case they have not yet crossed the border. No further information has yet been received about them. 5 Trudaine and her sisters are under constant surveillance; and the undersigned is waiting to receive further orders, and is ready to carry them out. — Signed: Magloire. Confirmed by name: Lomaque. Having woken up from reading his memoirs, Magloire placed them on the writing table. He was clearly a popular man in the office and confident in his position; for he dared to make a remonstrance, and did not immediately leave the room silently like his predecessor Picard. When Citizen Danville returns to Paris, he began, he will be astonished to find that in accusing his wife’s brother, he has also unwittingly accused his own wife. Lomaque looked at him suddenly, with that old weakness in his eyes which had made them look so strange on several occasions. Magloire understood the meaning of this omen, and would have been embarrassed if he had not been a policeman. Now he recovered a step or two from the table and said nothing. My friend Magloire, said Lomaque, winking gently, your last reminder seems to me a veiled question. I always ask others directly—I never answer my own questions. You want to know, citizen, what secret reason our chief has for bringing a case against his wife’s brother? Why don’t you try to find it yourself by thinking. It will be an excellent exercise for you, my friend Magloire—an excellent exercise after hours. Are there any other orders? asked Magloire in his fury. None concerning the declarations just read, replied Lomaque. I know of nothing to change or add after hearing them again. But I have a little memorandum ready for you at once. Sit down at the other table, friend Magloire; I like you very much, provided you are not curious—sit down, I beg you. Thus politely addressing the policeman in his gentlest voice, Lomaque took out his pocketbook, and from it a small letter, which he opened and read through attentively. It was marked: Private instructions to the Chief Danville, and its contents were otherwise as follows:—The undersigned can firmly assure, having long known the family life of Danville, that his reasons for helping his wife’s brother to come forward are purely private, and that they are not in the least connected with matters of state. Briefly speaking, the matter is this: — Louis Trudaine was from the beginning opposed to his sister’s marriage to Danville, suspecting the latter’s character and mind. The marriage, however, took place, and the brother kept his temper and awaited the consequences, taking the precaution of moving to live near his sister, to act as a mediator, if need be, between the possible crimes of the husband and the sufferings of the wife. The consequences were worse than his worst forebodings, and demanded the mediation for which he had prepared. He is an unbreakable, patient, and blameless man, and has made the protection and comfort of his sister the aim of his life. He does not give his brother-in-law the slightest reason for a public quarrel with himself. He cannot be deceived, angered, or weary; and he is superior to Danville in every respect–in conduct, in temper, and in ability. In these circumstances it is needless to say that her brother-in-law’s hatred of her is of the most implacable kind, and it is equally needless to refer to the very obvious causes of the disclosure. As to the suspicious facts with which not only Trudaine but also her sister have been accused, The undersigned regrets that he cannot, beyond this, understand or explain them. In this preparatory position, the matter seems to be shrouded in an impenetrable mystery. Lomaque read these lines through to his own signature at the end. This was the copy of the Secret Instructions which he had been asked to read in the document which he had examined before the two policemen entered the room. Reluctantly and, as it seemed, reluctantly, he wrapped the letter in a new sheet of paper and was about to seal it, when a knock at the door stopped him. Come in, he cried harshly; and the man, in working clothes and dusty, entered the room, whispered a word or two in his ear, shook his head and went out. Lomaque started at the whisper; and opening his letter again, he wrote quickly under his signature: “I have just learned that Danville has hastened to return to Paris and is expected to come this evening.” Having written these lines, he sealed the letter, wrote an inscription, and gave it to Magloire. The policeman looked at the inscription as he left the room—it was to Citizen Robespierre, Rue Saint Honoré. Left alone, Lomaque rose from his seat and paced restlessly back and forth, biting his nails. Danville will return this evening, he said to himself; and the decisive moment will come with him. Trudaine would be a conspirator! Sister Rosa, as it was her custom to call her a conspirator! Ah! conspiracy can hardly be the answer to the riddle this time. What is it? He paced back and forth a couple of times in silence—then stood before the open window and looked at the small portion of sky that could be seen from the buildings along the street. Five years ago, he said, Trudaine spoke to me on that bench from which one could admire the Seine; and Sister Rosa kept the coffee warm for poor old ugly-faced Lomaque. Now I am officially obliged to suspect them both; perhaps to imprison them; perhaps—I wish that this office had been given to someone else. I would not—I would not at all ! He returned to his desk and sat down to examine his papers with the stern look of a man who has determined to drive away troublesome thoughts by very hard work. For more than an hour he worked diligently, occasionally biting off a piece of dry bread and chewing it. Then he paused for a moment in his work and began to think again. Gradually the evening began to grow dim and the room to grow dark. Perhaps we shall get through this evening, at last—who knows? said Lomaque, ringing the table-bell to get light. Candles were brought; and at the same time Magloire, the policeman, returned, bringing a small sealed letter. It contained a letter of arrest, and a thin triangular letter, which looked more like a love letter or a woman’s invitation than anything else. Lomaque opened the letter curiously, and read the following neatly written lines, under which were Robespierre’s initials—VR—and the letters were beautifully made ciphers. Arrest Trudaine and her sister this evening. On further reflection, I am not quite sure whether Danville will return so early as to be present, which would perhaps be even better. He cannot have any idea of ​​his wife’s capture. Keep a close eye on him when this happens, and send me a private report of it . I fear he is a wicked man; and I detest Vice above all. Have I any other work to do this evening? asked Magloire, yawning. “Only one capture,” replied Lomaque. “Gather your men, and when you are ready, have the carriages waiting at the gate. We were just going to supper,” muttered Magloire to himself, as he left. “May those nobles be put to shame! They are all in such a hurry to be guillotined that they will not allow a man so “A long time to even eat in peace! It won’t get anywhere now,” muttered Lomaque, with a sad look putting the arrest warrant and the triangular letter into his pocket. His father was my salvation; he himself greeted me as if I were his equal; his sister treated me as if I were a gentleman, as they said in those days; and now—” He paused and wiped his forehead—then opened his desk, took out a bottle of liquor, and poured himself a glass of the liquid, which he drank slowly, in small sips. Do other people become softer-hearted in old age? said he. At least I seem to be becoming so. Manliness! manliness! what is to be done will be done. Even if I were to risk my head here, I could not prevent their arrest. There is not a man in the entire civil service who would not be ready to do it, if I did not want to. ” At that moment the vibration of a cart was heard outside. “There’s the carriage,” cried Lomaque, putting back his bottle and taking off his hat. “Since this arrest must happen anyway, it’s all the same to them, even if I do it. ” Comforting himself as best he could with this thought, Chief Constable Lomaque blew out the candles and left the room. Chapter 3. Knowing nothing of her husband’s decision to return to Paris a day earlier than he had promised when he left, Sister Rosa left her lonely home to spend the evening with her brother. They had talked together long after sunset, and had let the darkness creep in unnoticed, as people like to do when they are in a calm, family conversation. It so happened, by a strange coincidence, that just as Lomaque was blowing out his candles in his office, Rosa was lighting a reading lamp in her brother’s apartment. The pains and sorrows of five years had sadly changed her appearance. Her face seemed thinner and longer; the once sweet white and red of her cheeks had gone; her body had already, from some weakness, become a little stooped, which could be noticed when she walked. Her manner had lost its maidenly beauty, only to become unnaturally calm and languid. Of all her charms, which had so unfortunate consequences, but at the same time so innocently, charmed her heartless husband, only one remained— the charming charm of her voice. If now and then a note of sorrow mingled with it, its calm, natural charm nevertheless remained. From the destruction of all other charms, this one charm had survived unchanged! Her brother—though his face seemed gnawed by care and his manner sadder than before, seemed less changed. In a weaker building material, cracks are the first to be noticed. That idol of the world, Beauty, spends her weakest and shortest life in the temple where we most desire to worship her. And do you really think, Louis, that our dangerous enterprise is happily ended at this moment? said Rosa sadly, lighting the lamp and placing the glass dome over it. What a relief it is even to hear you say that you think we have succeeded at last! I only said I hope, Rosa, replied her brother. Well, hope is also a precious word from your mouth, Louis,—a precious word to hear from anyone in this terrible city, and in these days of Terror. He fell silent suddenly, seeing his brother raise his hand in warning. They looked at each other in silence and listened. The sound of footsteps along the side of the room—which ceased for a moment just at the door—then came again—came through the open window. There was nothing else to be heard, neither outside nor inside, to disturb the silence of the evening—the deathly silence of fear that had reigned in Paris for many months. One of the strange characteristics of this time was that even the footsteps that passed by, which sounded a little strange in the darkness of the evening, was already an object of suspicion, both brother and sister—so natural a cause of suspicion that they ceased speaking as if for a natural reason, without exchanging a word in explanation, until the sound of those strange steps had subsided. Louis, continued Rosa, lowering her voice to a whisper, when nothing more was heard, when shall I tell our secret to my husband? Not yet! said Trudaine seriously. Not a word, not a hint of it, until I give permission. Remember, Rosa, that you promised to be silent from the beginning. It all depends on whether you keep your promise sacred until I release you from it. I will keep it sacred; I will indeed, in spite of everything, no matter what I feel like, she answered. That is quite enough to reassure me—and now, my dear, let us talk of something else. Those walls may have ears, and perhaps that closed door there is no security. He looked at it uneasily as he spoke. I have gradually come to the same opinion as you, Rosa, of my new servant—there is something cunning in his face. I wish I had been as quick to notice it as you were. Rosa looked at him in fear. Has he done anything suspicious ? Have you noticed him spying on you? Tell me the worst, Louis.
Hsh! hsh! my dear sister, not so loudly. Do not make yourself so uneasy; he has done nothing suspicious. Send him away—I pray you, send him away, before it is too late! And he will betray me, for revenge, the very night he leaves here. You forget that servants and masters are now of equal value. It is as if I had no servant at all. There is a citizen living with me who, by his economic work, is putting me in a debt of gratitude, which gratitude I must show in money. No! no! if I do something, I must try to make him give me up. But we have already got into a boring subject of conversation—what if I change the subject again? You will find on that table in the corner a little book—tell me what you think of it. The book was Corneille’s play The Cid, beautifully bound in my blue book-covers. Rosa was excited to praise it. I found it in a bookshop yesterday, said her brother, and I bought it to give it to you. Corneille is not a writer who brings anyone into unpleasant situations, not even in these times. Don’t you remember once saying, in the old days, that you were ashamed of not knowing very little about our greatest dramatic writer? Rosa remembered well, and smiled as happily as in former times at her gift. There are some good cartoons in it at the beginning of each act, continued Trudaine, with a careful air, directing her sister’s attention to the pictures, and then suddenly rose from her side, seeing that she had taken pleasure in looking at them. She went to the window—listened—pushed aside the window-curtain and looked into the street in either direction. There was not a living soul to be seen. I must be mistaken, she thought, and returned quickly to her sister; but I certainly thought I was being followed in the street today. I wonder, said Rosa, still looking at her book, I wonder whether my husband will let me go to see ‘Le Cid’ when it is first shown? No! cried a voice at the door, no, not even if you fall on your knees to beg him! Rosa turned in that direction with a cry of distress. There stood her husband on the threshold, squinting at her, hat on and hands shoved in his pockets. The hard-working servant announced his arrival, with an impudent smile, in the silent interval that followed his appearance. The citizen, the foreman Danville, to visit the citizen, his wife, said the man mockingly, bowing to his master. Rosa looked at her brother, then took a few steps towards the door. This was “An unexpected arrival,” she said in a weak voice; “has something happened?” We—we were not expecting you. Her voice became very weak as she saw her husband approaching, pale to the lips with suppressed anger. “How dare you come here after hearing what I told you?” she asked quickly in a low voice. Rosa’s whole body trembled at her husband’s words, as if he had struck her. The blood rose to her brother’s face when he noticed it, but he restrained himself, and, seizing his sister’s hand, led her to sit down in one of the armchairs. “I forbid you to sit in this house,” said Danville, still approaching; “I command you to come out of here with me! Do you hear? I command you!” He stepped closer to his wife, but he noticed Trudaine’s eyes staring at him fiercely, and stopped. Rosa jumped up and threw herself between them. Oh, Charles, Charles! she said to her husband. Come to an agreement with Louis this evening, and be gentle with me again—I have reason to demand much of you, though you cannot imagine it! He turned his face away and laughed contemptuously. Rosa tried to speak again, but Trudaine touched her arm and cast a warning glance at her. Signs of warning! cried Danville; secret signs of warning between you! As he looked suspiciously at his wife, his eye fell on Trudaine’s gift book, which Rosa, without knowing it, still held in her hand. What book is it? he asked. It is not like a play by Corneille, replied Rosa; Louis has just given it to me. At this explanation Danville’s suppressed anger burst forth . Give it back to her! he cried in his fury. You must not take any gift from her; the poison of the family spy stains everything he touches. Give it back to him! Rosa hesitated. You will not? He snatched the book from her, uttering a curse—threw it on the floor and set his foot on it. Oh, Louis Louis! For God’s sake speak! Trudaine took a step forward as the book flew to the ground. At the same moment her sister threw her arm around her body. She stopped, turning from scarlet to pale. No! no! Louis, said Rosa, holding her tighter; not after five years of patience. No—no! Silently she withdrew her arm. You are right, my dear sister. Do not be afraid, it is all over now. So saying she pushed her sister away from her and silently picked up the book from the floor. Shouldn’t this offend you too? said Danville with a wicked smile. You have a strange nature—another man would have challenged me to a duel! Trudaine looked at her seriously; took his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the soiled covers of the book with it. If I could wipe the stains of your blood from my conscience as easily as I can wipe the stains of your boots from this book, he said calmly, this would be your last moment. Don’t cry, Rosa, he continued, turning again to his sister; I want to keep your book for you, so that you can take it yourself. You mean to do this! You mean to do that! cried Danville, growing more and more angry, and letting his anger overcome even his intelligence. Speak with less confidence of the future—you do not know what it will bring you. Control your tongue when you speak in my presence; the day will come when you will need my help—my help, do you hear? Trudaine turned her face away from her sister, as if she were afraid to show it to her at the moment these words were uttered. The man who followed me to-day was a spy— a spy sent by Danville! the thought flashed through his mind, but he did not utter it. A moment’s silence followed; then in the stillness of the evening came the distant rumble of a cart. This sound came nearer and nearer—came quite close, and paused beneath the window. Danville hurried to the window and looked out searchingly. I have not hastened my return in vain. I would not have been present at this capture at any price, he thought, peering out into the darkness. There were stars in the sky, but there was no moonlight that night. He could not recognize the carriages or the persons who were getting out of them; and he turned back towards the room. His wife had sunk into some armchairs—her brother was putting a book in the cupboard which he had promised to keep for his sister. In this deathly silence the sound of footsteps ascending the stairs was heard with painful distinctness. At last the door opened softly. Citizen Danville, health and fraternity! said Lomaque, standing in the doorway, the policemen behind him. Where is Citizen Louis Trudaine? he continued, beginning in the usual manner. Rosa pushed herself up from her chair; but her brother’s hand covered her lips before she could speak. My name is Louis Trudaine, he answered. Charles! cried his sister, tearing herself away from him and appealing to her husband, who are these people? What are they doing here? Her husband made no reply. Louis Trudaine, said Lomaque, drawing a warrant from his pocket, in the name of the Republic I arrest you. Rosa, come back here, cried Trudaine. It was too late; she had already untied, and in the thoughtlessness of horror she seized her husband’s arm. Save him! she cried. Save him, for all that you hold dear in the world! You are that man’s superior, Charles —order him out of the room! Danville roughly tore his hand from his arm. Lomaque is doing his duty. Yes, he added, with a triumphant look at Trudaine, yes, doing his duty. Look at me as much as you like—your gaze cannot move me. I have betrayed you! I confess it—I praise it! I have saved myself from an enemy and the state from a bad citizen. Remember your secret visit to the house on Papist Street ! His wife uttered a cry of horror. She seized her husband’s arm again with both her hands—those weak, trembling hands that seemed suddenly to have acquired the strength and vigor of a man. Come here—come here! I must and I will speak to you! She drew him with great force into some empty corner of the room. Deathly pale and with a look of horror, she rose on tiptoe and pressed her lips to her husband’s ear. At this moment Trudaine cried out to her: Rosa, if you speak, I am lost. She stopped in her tracks, hearing her brother’s voice, let go of her husband’s hand, and looked at her brother trembling. Rosa, continued Trudaine, you have promised, and your promise is sacred. If you value honor and love me, come here—come here and be silent. He held out his hand. Rosa rushed to him; and, leaning her head against his breast, she burst into bitter tears. Danville turned restlessly to the policemen. Take away your prisoner, he said; you have already fulfilled your duty here. Only half, replied Lomaque, fiercely looking at him. Rosa Danville— My wife! cried the other. What to my wife? Rosa Danville, Lomaque continued pitilessly, you are under the same captivity as Louis Trudaine. Rosa raised her head suddenly from her brother’s breast. Trudaine’s strength had fled—she trembled. Rosa heard him murmur to himself: Rosa too! No, my God! I did not expect that. She heard these words and sobbed away the tears from her eyes, and kissed him, saying: I am glad of it, Louis. Together we dared—together we shall suffer. I am glad of it! Danville looked doubtfully at Lomaque, when the first shock of astonishment had passed. Impossible! he cried. I have never accused my wife. There is some mistake here: you have exceeded your authority. Silence! said Lomaque, fiercely and majestically. Silence, citizen, and give credit to the decision of the Republic! You villain! show me the warrant of arrest! said Danville. Who has dared to accuse my wife? You are! said Lomaque, turning to him with a contemptuous laugh. You —and the villain’s name back to you! You, by accusing her brother! Aha! We are strict in our duties; we do not waste our time in calling names—we make observations. If Trudaine is guilty, your wife is an accomplice in her crime. We know it; and we will arrest her. I oppose this arrest, cried Danville. I am the chief here. Who opposes me? The unyielding chief constable did not answer. A new rumble from the street reached his ears. He rushed to the window and looked out inquiringly. Who opposes me? cried Danville again. Listen! cried Lomaque, raising his hand. Speak, and listen! The sound of the feet of the people in the crowd began to be heard as he spoke. The voices of the people, who were humming the Marseillaise in a low, monotonous voice, were solemnly united with the sound of heavy, regular steps. The light of the firecrackers began to flash red more and more clearly under the dim starry sky. Do you hear that? Do you see the firecrackers approaching? cried Lomaque, pointing joyfully into the street. Glory to the national anthem and to the man in whose hand is the happiness of all France! Hats off, Citizen Danville! Robespierre is passing by. His
bodyguards, those fierce ones, are escorting him with firecrackers to the Jacobin Club! –Who would oppose you, you said? Your master and mine; the man whose signature is under this warrant—the man who, with the stroke of a pen, can send both our heads rolling together into the guillotine! Shall I shout at him as he passes the house? Shall I tell him that Captain Danville opposes me in carrying out the arrest? Shall I? Shall I? And in the greatness of his contempt, Lomaque seemed to grow even in stature, as he thrust the warrant of arrest before Danville’s eyes, and pointed to the signature with the handle of his cane. Rosa looked up in horror as Lomaque uttered his last words—looked, and saw her husband flinch before the signature of the warrant of arrest as if the guillotine itself had appeared before him. Her brother felt her falter in his hands, and greatly feared how his sister’s strength and composure could endure if the terror and delay of the arrest should continue to torment her mind any longer . Courage, Rosa; courage! said he. You have behaved nobly: you must not waver now. No, no! Not a word more. Not a word until I am able to think clearly again and decide what is best. Courage, my dear sister: our lives depend on it. Citizen, he continued, turning to Lomaque, “perform your task,—we are ready.” The heavy footsteps outside grew louder and louder; the song was heard more distinctly every moment; the blaze of the burning firecrackers again illuminated the dark street. Taking the offer of the hat to Trudaine as an excuse, Lomaque stepped very close to her, and turning his back on Danville, whispered: ” I have not forgotten the evening before the wedding, nor the bench by the river.” Before Trudaine could answer he had taken Rosa’s overcoat and hat from the hands of one of his assistants and helped her put them on. Danville, still pale and trembling, seeing these preparations for departure, went up to his wife and said a few words to her; but he spoke softly, and the approaching sound of footsteps and the hum of the song prevented his words from being heard. A curse escaped his lips, and in an unbridled rage he struck his fist on the table beside him. “Seals have been placed on every rebel in this room and bedroom,” said Magloire, approaching Lomaque, who nodded his head and motioned for him to call the other policemen to the door. “Ready,” cried Magloire, immediately advancing with his men and raising his hand. his voice to make his words heard. Where? Robespierre and his Fierce Strikers were just passing the room. The smoke of burning fire-pipes wafted through the window into the room; the footsteps of the men passing by were clattering louder and louder against the ground; the low rumble of the Marseillais had grown into a distinctly audible song; Lomaque looked for a moment at his arrest order, and then replied: To the prison of St. Lazare! Chapter 4. The chief jailer of St. Lazare stood in the hall outside the prison, two days after the arrest in Trudaine’s apartment, smoking his morning pipe. Looking towards the gate of the courtyard, he saw the gate open and a man with special privileges enter, whom he immediately recognized as the chief constable of the Second Department of the Secret Police. “How, my friend Lomaque,” cried the jailer, stepping into the yard, “what has brought you here this morning? Have you any business, or have you come for pleasure? For pleasure, this time, my fellow-citizen. I have an hour or two to spare for a walk. I found myself in the vicinity of the prison, and I could not help coming here to see how my friend, the chief jailer, was faring.” Lomaque spoke with a most wonderful gaiety and animation. His eyes were troubled by a great weakness and a disease of the blinkers; but he smiled, nevertheless, with the most cheerful air of a scoundrel. Those old enemies of his, who always suspected him most when weakness most troubled his eyes, would not have believed a word of the friendly speech he had made, and would have considered it certain that his visit to the chief jailer was really for some other secret purpose. How shall I fare?” said the jailer, shaking his head. Too much work, my friend,—too much work. There is no idle time in our department. Even my guillotine has become too slow for us! Have you sent your prison pastries to be examined this morning? asked Lomaque, looking quite carefree. No; they are just about to leave, replied the other. Come and see them. He spoke just as if the prisoners were some collection of pictures to be viewed, or a suit of clothes just finished. Lomaque nodded, still with that happy solemnity on his face. The jailer showed the way into the inner hall; and pointing sleepily with the butt of his pipe, he said: Our morning pastries, my citizen, just ready to be baked. In several corners of the hall were crowded more than thirty men and women, of all classes and ages, some staring about them with a look of desperate sorrow, some laughing and playing carelessly. Near them a group of guards belonging to the Patriots walked lazily, smoking cigarettes, spitting and cursing. Between the Patriots and the prisoners sat on a steaming chair another jailer–a hunchbacked man; with an impossibly large red moustache–finishing his gluttony, devouring large beans, which he stabbed from a dish with a knife and washed down with long sips from a bottle of wine. Lomaque seemed to be watching this disgusting spectacle carelessly, but in a few minutes his sharp eyes had scanned the faces of every prisoner and noticed Trudaine and her sister standing together at the back of the crowd. Well, Apollo! cried the chief jailer, addressing his junior officer with a cheerful prison nickname, “don’t go around with that rubbish of yours all day long! And now, my friend: I have permission to be away on business in my department this afternoon, so your business will be to read the list of my guillotine and mark the prisoners’ doors before the carriages arrive tomorrow morning. Use the bottle carefully, Apollo, today; use the bottle carefully, so that there will be no confusion on the list of those condemned to death tomorrow. Isn’t this the thirsty July air—my citizen?” said Lomaque, leaving the chief jailer, and patting his hunchback. in the most friendly manner on the shoulders. How have you all thrown together your baking today without order! Shall I help you to get them in order? My time is entirely at your disposal. This morning is my holiday! Ha! ha! ha! what a cheerful little fellow he is to spend his holiday morning! exclaimed the chief jailer, as Lomaque— apparently completely abandoning his usual character, delighted by an hour of unexpected leisure—began to push and shove the prisoners into line, making merry culinary speeches, at which not only the servants, but also many of his own victims—the carefree victims of a carefree tyranny—laughed heartily. Continuing this maddening service to the end , Lomaque had an opportunity of coming so near Trudaine that he could give her a sign with his eyes, before he seized her by the neck as he had done with the others. “Well, a steady troop,” cried Lomaque, scolding Trudaine. “Now keep in line and remember to keep pace with your young wife. Take heart, my lady! in this world one gets used to everything, even the guillotine!” As Lomaque spoke and pushed at the same time, Trudaine felt a piece of paper slip between her neck and her scarf. Courage!” she whispered, squeezing her sister’s hand, as she saw her horror at the feigned outrage of Lomaque’s joke. Surrounded by a group of Patriot Guard guards, the prisoner procession slowly passed through the outer courtyard on its way to the revolutionary court; the hunchbacked jailer followed behind. Lomaque was about to follow them a short distance, but the chief jailer hospitably urged him to come back. “What is your hurry?” he said. Now that the incorrigible drunkard, my second lieutenant, has gone on his journey with his pastry, I may indeed ask you to come into the room and taste a little wine. Thank you, replied Lomaque; but I feel better listening to the trial today. How about I come back later? What time do you go to your department? Two o’clock, or what? Very well! I will see if I can get here just after one. So saying, he shook his head and went out of the courtyard. The bright sunshine in the castle courtyard made him blink more than usual! If one of his old enemies had been with him, he would have thought to himself: If you are going to come back at all, Citizen Lomaque, it will not be after one! On his way, the chief constable met some friends of the police department in the street , who delayed his progress, so that when he arrived at the revolutionary court the trials were just beginning. The chief piece of furniture in the courtroom was a long wooden table covered with a green woolen cloth. At the head of this table sat the president with his court, their hats on, and behind them a motley crowd of patriots who had something to do officially with the legal matters that were now to be brought up. Next to the front of the table was an area separated by railings for the audience, with a loft above it. The audience was represented on this occasion by a group of women, all sitting together on a bench , knitting stockings, sewing shirts and children’s clothes, as calmly as if they were at home. On the other side of the table, farthest from the great door, was a platform built of boards, separated by railings, where the incessant noise from the window and from the voices of those who were talking could be heard in the hall when Lomaque entered. He was a man of privilege here as in the prison cell; and he entered the room by a special door, so that he had to pass by and around the platform of prisoners before he could take his place behind the president’s chair. Trudaine, who was standing with her sister at the extreme end of the crowd of prisoners, nodded her head as a sign when Lomaque happened to glance at her for a moment. On his way to court, he had had the opportunity of reading the paper which the chief constable had put in his pocket. between his neckerchief. It read as follows: I have just learned where Citizen Dubois and his wife are now. You have no other choice but to confess everything. In this way you are accusing a citizen of the government, and you are making him believe that, if his own life is dear to him, he will do everything to save you and your sister. Having reached the president’s chair, Lomaque noticed the two loyal subordinates, Magloire and Picard, who were waiting among the assembled patriotic officials to give their testimony to the court. Behind them stood Sergeant Danville , leaning against the wall. No one spoke to him, and he to no one. Suspicion and uncertainty were visible in every feature of his face; the irritability of a restless mind was expressed in his slightest movement— even when he occasionally wiped his face, on which the sweat rose in large drops, with his handkerchief. Silence! shouted the appointed usher, a hoarse-voiced man in spiked boots, with an impossibly large sword at his belt and a stick in his hand. Silence to the Citizen President! he said again, banging his stick on the table. The President rose to his feet, and declared the day’s session to be begun; then sat down again. The momentary silence that followed was broken by a sudden uproar among the prisoners from the platform. Two guards ran towards it. There was the thud of a heavy body falling—shouts of terror from some of the female prisoners —then there was deathly silence again, broken only by a guard who strode across the hall with a bloody knife in his hand, and placed it on the table. Citizen President, he said, I have to report that a prisoner has just stabbed himself to death. There was a murmured cry of—Isn’t that right? from the female spectators , as they resumed their work. Suicides in court were not uncommon during the Reign of Terror. Name? asked the President, calmly taking up his pen and opening a book. Martigué, answered the hunchbacked jailer, coming up to the table. What title? Formerly the royal coachman of the tyrant Capet. The charge? Secret designs in the prison cell. The President shook his head, and wrote in the book:—Martigué, coachman. Accused of secret designs in the prison cell. Delayed the execution of the law by suicide. The act is considered a full confession of the crime. The property is taken to the state. In the first Thermidor, in the second year of the Republic. Silence! cried the man with the lead-tipped stick, while the President hung a sheet of paper over the writing and motioned to the jailer that he should take the dead body away, and then closed the book. Is there anything special to announce this morning? asked the President, looking at the crowd behind him. There is one, said Lomaque, stepping up to the President’s chair. Would it be proper for you, my citizens, to take up the matter of Louis Trudaine and Rosa Danville first? Two of my men have been assigned here as guests , and their time is precious to the Republic. The President noticed the list of names before him, and gave it to the crier, or conductor, placing the first and second in front of Louis Trudaine and Rosa Danville. As Lomaque returned to his former place behind the President’s chair, Danville approached him and whispered: “Rumor has it that you have received information about Citizen Dubois. Is that true? Do you know who they are? ” Yes, replied Lomaque; but I have higher orders to keep this information to myself, at this very moment. The eagerness with which Danville asked his questions, and the disappointment he showed when he received no satisfactory answer, were of such a nature as to convince the attentive chief constable that Danville was really as ignorant as he appeared to be of the Dubois man and woman. This secret was, in any case, still an inexplicable secret to Danville. Louis Trudaine! Rosa Danville! cried the conductor, banging his cane on the table for the second time. Both, obeying the command, stepped forward to the railing of the prisoners’ platform. The first glance at her judges, the first terror at feeling herself the object of the merciless curiosity of the audience, seemed to overcome Rosa’s strength. She turned from deathly pale to scarlet, then pale again, and hid her face against her brother’s shoulders. How steadily she heard her brother’s heart beating! Tears filled her eyes, thinking that her brother feared only his illness! Now! said the president, writing their names. Whose informants? Magloire and Picard stepped forward to the table. The former replied— Citizen Sergeant Danville. The answer created a great uproar among both prisoners and audience. Accused of what? continued the president. A male prisoner for secret designs against the Republic; female prisoner, of criminal knowledge of it. Present your evidence in the same order. Picard and Magloire opened their minutes containing the evidence, and read to the President the same particulars which they had previously read to Lomaque. Very well, said the President, when they had finished. We need not trouble ourselves with anything else but inquiring who the citizens Dubois are, and that information you will surely be prepared to give. Have you heard the evidence? he continued, turning to the prisoners; while Picard and Magloire spoke to each other in low tones, and looked in astonishment at the chief constable, who stood silent behind them. Have you heard the evidence, you prisoners? Have you anything to say? If you wish to speak, remember that the time of this court is of great value, and you must not waste it. I ask to speak, on my own behalf and that of my sister, replied Trudaine. My intention is to save the time of the court by making a confession. The quiet murmuring that had been heard from the female audience a little while before ceased as soon as he uttered the word: confession. In the silence of death his low, calm voice penetrated the farthest corners of the courtroom, as he, restraining himself so that no one would notice the death struggle of hope that was taking place within him, continued his speech with the following words: I confess my secret visits to the house on Papistonkatu. I confess that the persons whom I visited are indicated in the certificates. And finally, I confess that my purpose in these visits to them was to help them in their intention of leaving France. If I had done this for political reasons, to the political detriment of the present government, I admit that I would be guilty of such conspiracies against the Republic, of which I am accused.
But no political motives inspired me, and no political obligation prompted me to do what has brought me before this court. The persons whom I helped to leave France have no political significance, nor any connection with political affairs. It was purely for private reasons of influence that I showed this humanity towards them and others—a humanity which a good republican may feel without becoming a traitor to the happiness of his country. Are you ready to tell the court who these citizens Dubois really are? asked the president anxiously. I am ready, replied Trudaine. But first I want to say a few words about my sister, who stands here before this court accused with me. His voice began to become unsteady; and only now did his face begin to change color, when Rosa lifted her face from his shoulders and looked at him painfully. I pray that the court may declare my sister innocent of all complicity in the crime of which I am accused –, he continued. Having spoken frankly about myself, I can demand that my words about her be believed when I affirm that she has not helped me and could not have helped me. If there is a reason; it is it is mine alone; if there is punishment, let it be mine alone to bear. He stopped suddenly and was astonished. It was easy for him not to look at Rosa, but he could not escape any test of self-control if Rosa spoke. Just as he uttered the last sentence, Rosa lifted her face from his shoulders again, and whispered painfully: No, no, Louis! Not this sacrifice, after all the other sacrifices —not this, even if you force me to speak to them! He abruptly pulled his hand away from his brother and stepped forward to the railing, where he stood looking at those present and at the same time being looked at by all. The railing trembled with the trembling of his hands as he held on to them for support! His hair hung like pudding on his shoulders; his face had acquired a strange firmness; his sweet blue eyes, which were otherwise so gentle, had taken on a gleam of horror. A murmur of curiosity and wonder was heard among the women. Some rose restlessly from their seats, others cried: “Listen, listen! he is going to speak!” He spoke. Bright and clear was that sweet voice, sweeter than ever in grief, above the other sounds—above the raw roar and the whispering hiss. Mr. President—the poor woman began gravely. Her next words could not be heard over the women’s whistles. ” Oh! nobility, nobility! Not at all your accursed titles here!” was their shrill cry to him. He was not frightened by these cries, nor by the violent movements that followed; he looked gravely about him, that strange firmness still in his face. He would have spoken again, despite the uproar and the expressions of disgust, but his brother’s voice was louder than his own. Citizen, President, cried his brother, I have not finished yet. I beg to be allowed to finish my confession. I beg the right to be indifferent to my sister’s words. The anxiety and terror of the last few days have confused her understanding. She cannot answer for her words —I declare it publicly, in the hearing of the whole court. The blood rose again to his pale face as he uttered this declaration. Even at this crucial moment the man’s noble heart reproached him for that betrayal, although the motive for it was to save his sister’s life. Let him speak! let him speak! cried the women, when Rosa, without touching or looking at her brother, as if she had not heard what he was saying, tried a second time to address the judges, despite Trudaine’s interruption. Silence! cried the man with the cane. Silence, you women! The citizen president intends to speak. The prisoner Trudaine has the right to speak, said the president; and may continue her confession. If the female prisoner intends to speak, she may speak afterwards. I command both the accused to deliver their case to me promptly, or they will make their case worse and not better. I command the audience to be silent; and if they do not obey me, I intend to drive the audience out. Now, prisoner Trudaine, I beg you to continue. Not a word more about your sister; let her speak for herself. Now the matter between you and us concerns Mr. and Mrs. Dubois. Are you or are you not prepared to tell the court who they are? I declare again that I am prepared to speak, replied Trudaine . Citizen Dubois is a servant. Mrs. Dubois is the mother of the man who has denounced me—Chief Danville. The noise of hundreds of voices speaking, shouting, and growling at the same time followed this statement of the answer. Not a man in the whole courtroom could have restrained his astonishment. It affected the prisoners who stood on their platform, it affected the shouter himself, even the judges of the court who had been carefree and silent in their chairs a moment before . As the ringing finally came to a halt, it ceased in the twinkling of an eye when someone from the crowd behind the president’s chair, shouting: Make way! Chief Danville has taken a bad turn! A loud whisper and a murmur of voices interrupting each other followed; then a movement of officialdom in the crowd; then a gesticulating silence; then suddenly Danville appeared alone before the table. His glance, as he turned his pale face towards the audience, silenced and stopped them just as they were about to start a new uproar. Every one leaned forward, eager to hear what he had to say. His lips moved; but the words that issued from them were heard only by those who happened to be sitting very near him. Having spoken, he left the table, leaning on a policeman, who seemed to be leading him towards the private door of the court, and thus towards the prisoners’ platform. He stopped, however, halfway, turned his face abruptly away from the prisoners, and, pointing to the public door on the other side of the hall, allowed himself to be led out into the open air that way. When he had gone , the president said, speaking partly to Trudaine and partly to the audience: Citizen Sergeant Danville has become ill from the heat in this hall. He has gone out at my request, under the care of a policeman, to take some fresh air; assuring me that he would return and throw light on this strange and suspicious fact which the prisoner has now brought to light. If the accused Trudaine has any further information to give me, I order him to leave it until Citizen Danville returns. This matter must first be settled before any other matters can be brought up. However, that the time of the court may not be wasted, I will give the female prisoner permission to take this opportunity to speak of any matters concerning herself which she may wish to communicate to the judges. Make that man shut up! Take him out of the courtroom! Gag him! Take him to the guillotine! Such cries were heard from the audience after the president had fallen silent. They all referred to Trudaine, who had made a last desperate effort to silence her sister, and which attempts the spectators had noticed. If the prisoner says another word to her sister, take her away, said the president, turning to the guards standing around the stage. Good! we shall hear him at last. Hush! hush! cried the women, settling themselves comfortably on their benches, and preparing to resume their work. Rosa Danville, the court awaits to hear you, said the president, crossing his legs and leaning back in his large armchair. During the last five minutes of tumult and disturbance Rosa had stood in the same position for a moment. That strange solemn expression had changed once in her face. When her husband came to the table and stood there alone for all to see, her lips trembled a little, and a fine shade of blush passed quickly over her face. That slight change was no longer visible—she was paler, quieter, and more changed than ever, as she looked at the President and said this: I will follow my brother’s example and make my confession as he did. I would have preferred that he had spoken for me; but he is too easily persuaded to say anything but what he thinks will save me from his punishment. I will not be saved unless he comes also. Where he goes when he leaves here, I will go; what he suffers, I will suffer; if he is condemned to death, I hope God will give me strength to die humbly with him! And now I will state what my part is in the matter of which my brother is accused: — Some time ago he told me that he had seen my husband’s mother in Paris, dressed as a poor woman, and had spoken to her and forced her to reveal herself. Up to this point we had all kept It was certain that he had left France because he held old-fashioned opinions, which it was dangerous for people to hold now; we thought he had left France before we came to Paris. He told my brother that he had indeed gone with the old trusted servant of the family as his help and protector as far as Marseilles; and that , finding it unexpectedly difficult to get further there, he had thought that God was thus warning him not to leave his son, whom he loved so dearly, and from whom he had only parted with great reluctance. Abandoning his intention of waiting for calmer times in exile, he resolved to go to Paris and hide there, knowing that his son had also gone there. He took the name of his old and honest servant—his servant, who to the last refused to leave him without a protector; and she intended to live in the strictest secrecy and quite apart from others, watching, unknown, the success of her son, and ready, on receiving the news, to make herself known to him as soon as the state of affairs would permit her to be happily united with her beloved child. My brother considered this enterprise very dangerous, both to himself, to his son, and also to that venerable old man who had put his head on the line for the benefit of his mistress . I thought the same; and at an unfortunate moment I said to Louis: ‘Will you try secretly to help my mother-in-law on her journey, and see that her faithful servant does indeed escort her out of France this time?’ I did wrong in asking my brother to do this, for I did it from a selfish reason—a reason connected with my married life, which is not happy. I had not succeeded in winning my husband’s gentleness, and he treated me badly. My brother, who has always loved me much more tenderly, I fear, than I ever deserved; my brother showed me still greater tenderness when he saw my husband treat me roughly. This created a hatred between them. My idea, in asking my brother to do what I have mentioned, was that if we could at least prevent my mother-in-law, without danger to my husband, from endangering herself and her son, we would, when the time came to speak of what we had done, appear in my husband’s eyes in a new and better light. I would have shown how well I deserved his love, and Louis would have shown how well he deserved his brother-in-law’s gratitude; and so we would have made our home happy at last, and all three of us would have lived together in favor with each other. This was my idea; and when I told it to my brother, and asked him whether it would be a great danger, without thinking of his tenderness and pity for me, he said: ‘No!’ He had so accustomed me to accept sacrifices for the sake of my happiness, that I allowed him to expose himself to danger by helping me in my little family affair. I now bitterly regret this; I ask his pardon with all my heart. If he is declared innocent, I will try by my conduct to show myself more deserving of his love. If he is found guilty, I will also go to the scaffold, and die with my brother, who risked his life for my sake. He ended as calmly as he had begun; and turned once more to his brother. As she turned her face from the court and looked at him, a few tears came to her eyes, and her face showed some of that old grace of form and sweetness of expression. Her brother let her take his hand; but she seemed to mean to avoid his anxious glance. Her head sank down upon her breast; she breathed heavily; her face became gloomy and distorted, as if she had suffered great physical pain. She stooped a little, and leaning her elbow against the railing in front of her, she covered her face with her hand; and so she suffocated his rising pain, he forced back the burning tears into his heart. The audience had listened to Rosa in silence and remained equally silent after she had finished. This was a rare show of favor from the people of the tyranny. The President looked back at his colleagues, and shook his head doubtfully. This explanation of the female prisoner makes the matter very confusing and difficult, he said. Is there anyone in the courtroom here, he added, looking at the persons behind his chair, who knows where the mother and servant of the chief Danville are now? Lomaque stepped forward from the summons and stood beside the table. What now, citizen police? continued the President, looking fiercely at him, has the heat overcome you too? A gust of wind reached him, citizen president, just as the female prisoner had concluded her explanation, explained Magloire, intruding with trepidation. Lomaque’s glance at his subordinate sent him back directly behind the group of officials; then he spoke, in a lower voice than usual: “I have received information about the mother and servant of the foreman Danville , and I am ready to answer any questions that may be put to me. Where are they now?” asked the president. It is known that the mother and her servant have crossed the frontier, and are believed to have travelled to Cologne. But since they entered Germany, the Republican authorities have of course had only uncertain information about their whereabouts. Have you any information about the old servant’s conduct during his stay in Paris? I have enough information to prove that he was not the kind of man who could be considered an object of political suspicion. He seems to have been exclusively slavishly engaged in the interests of that woman, performing for her all the usual duties of a servant in private life; and to have deceived the neighbors by pretending to be equal with her in public. Have you any reason to believe that Sergeant Danville knew of his mother’s first intention to flee France? I conclude that from what the prisoner has said, and from other reasons which it is not proper to state in court. There is no doubt that evidence would not be obtained if I were allowed time to correspond with the authorities of Lyon and Marseille. At this moment Danville returned to the courtroom, and, having come to the table, stood right next to the chief constable. They looked each other steadily in the eyes for a moment. He has recovered from the shock of Trudaine’s reply, thought Lomaque, stepping back to his former place. His hands tremble; his face is pale; but I can see the regained self-control in his eyes; and I already fear the consequences. Citizen President, began Danville, I beg to know whether anything has happened during my absence which would offend my honor and cast doubt on my patriotism? He spoke with apparent coldness, but he looked at no one. His eyes were fixed on the green woolen garment on the table before him. The female prisoner has given an explanation which concerns herself and her brother in the first place, replied the President; but which also reveals a previous intention of your mother to break the laws in force by emigrating from France. This part of the confession contains some doubtful facts which, unfortunately, concern you— They will no longer be doubtful—by my own answer I will make them certain things! cried Danville, holding out his hand dramatically, and looking up for the first time. Citizen President, I confess it with the fearless directness of a good patriot; I knew of my mother’s first intention to flee France. Whistles and cries of disgust followed this confession. These at first made her tremble; but she managed to control herself before the silence “Citizens, you have heard the confession of my crime,” he continued, turning to the audience with desperate assurance; “hear now how I have atoned for this on the altar of my country.” He waited at the end of this sentence until the clerk of the court had written it on the document of justice. ” Write faithfully, letter by letter!” cried Danville, pointing solemnly to the opened page of the book. Life and death depend on my words. The clerk dipped his pen in the ink and nodded his head to indicate that he was ready. Danville spoke: “In these days of French glory and trial,” he continued, forcing his voice to show deep emotion, “what are all good citizens most sacredly bound to do? To sacrifice their dearest private feelings and hobbies for the sake of their public duties!” When my mother first attempted to break the law against emigration, by fleeing from France, I erred in that heroic sacrifice which unshakable patriotism demanded of me. My position was more terrible than that of Brutus in condemning his own son. I had not the same Roman valor. I erred, citizens, I erred as Coriolanus did when his noble mother discussed with him the happiness of Rome! For this erring I deserved to be expelled from republican society; but I escaped the punishment I deserved—I rose to the honor of receiving an office in the government. Time passed; and again my mother attempted to flee from France. Again the necessary permission put my citizenship to the test. How did I accept this second trial? By atonement for my former weakness, which atonement was as terrible as the trial itself! Citizens, you are horrified; but you will clap your hands in approval, while you tremble. Citizens, look! and remember, when you look at the evidence read at the beginning of this trial. There stands the enemy of his country, who used cunning to help my mother escape; here stands the patriotic boy, whose voice was the first, the only voice, to denounce him for this crime. As he spoke, he pointed at Trudaine, then struck his chest , then crossed his arms and looked fiercely at the audience. Do you affirm, cried the President, that you knew , when you denounced Trudaine, that she would help your mother escape? I affirm it, replied Danville. The pen which the President was holding dropped from his hand when he heard this answer; his colleagues were startled and looked at each other in silence. Monster! monster! was first heard on the prisoners’ platform, but the murmur spread at once to the audience, and the cries grew into a general uproar; the most cruel republican women in the audience seats finally united with the proudest noblewomen on the prison platform. Even in this midst of the most terrible discord, in this time of the fiercest hostility, that feeling of nature showed its old heavenly magic power; the maternal feeling that unites all the world was awakened. Among the few persons in this courtroom who immediately guessed in advance what effect Danville’s answer would have on the decision of this case, Lomaque was one. His yellow face whitened as he looked towards the prisoners’ platform. They are lost, he muttered to himself, stepping out of the crowd in which he had hitherto stood. Lost! The lie that has saved that villain’s head has taken from them the slightest spark of hope. Nothing can prevent the passing of sentence. –Danville’s terrible fortitude has brought them to the guillotine! With these words he hurried out through the door near the platform, which led to the waiting room for the prisoners. Rosa’s head sank again against her brother’s shoulders. She was startled, and she leaned back weakly against the arm which her brother extended to support her. One of the female prisoners tried to help Trudaine as she consoled her; but her husband the perfection of the treachery seemed to have gnawed at him to the heart. He whispered once in his brother’s ear,—Louis! I humbly go to die—nothing but death has remained to me since I have stooped so low as to have loved that man. He uttered these words, and closed his eyes languidly, and said no more. Another question, and you may go, said the president, turning to Danville: Did you know of your wife’s complicity in her brother’s schemes? Danville thought doubtfully for a moment, remembered that there were strangers in the courtroom who could testify to his words and conduct on the night of his wife’s capture, and this time resolved to speak the truth. I did not know of it, he replied; strangers might be called here to testify that I was away from Paris when my wife’s complicity was discovered. Though he could heartlessly restrain his nature, the public outcry after his previous answer had disconcerted him. He spoke now in a low voice, standing with his back to the spectators, and fixing his eyes again on the green tablecloth. Prisoners! Have you any remonstrance to make, any evidence to produce which might weaken the explanation by which Citizen Danville has cleared himself of suspicion? asked the President. He has cleared himself by the most abominable lie, replied Trudaine. If his mother could be obtained and brought here, her testimony would show it. Can you produce any other evidence in support of your assertion?’ asked the President. ‘ I cannot. Citizen Sergeant Danville, you are at liberty to go. Your explanation will be left with the authority to which you are officially responsible. If you deserve the civic crown more than your Roman valor, or— Having gone this far, the president stopped suddenly, as if he did not wish to give himself up to criticism too soon, and said again.—You may go. Danville immediately left the courtroom, again by the public door. A murmur from the ladies’ benches followed him, which, however, soon ceased when the president was seen to close his book and turn to his fellow officers. Judgment! was now a general whisper. Hsh, hsh —judgment! After a few minutes of discussion with the persons behind him , the president rose to his feet, and pronounced the following weighty words:—Louis Trudaine and Rosa Danville; the revolutionary court, having heard the accusation against you, and having examined your answers to it, finds you both guilty, and sentences you to the penalty of death. Having pronounced the sentence with these words, he sat down again, and marked the names of the two first condemned on the list of prisoners. Immediately afterwards the next matter was brought up, and a new trial again excited the curiosity of the audience. Chapter 5. The waiting room of the Revolutionary Court was a dreary naked shelter, with a dirty stone floor and benches along the walls. The windows were high and barred, and two guards stood by the outer door leading to the street. Coming from the courtroom to this dreary refuge , Lomaque found it completely empty. Solitude was just what he wanted at that moment. He remained in the waiting room, he walked slowly from one end of the room to the other on the dirty stone, talking earnestly and incessantly to himself. After a while, the door leading to the courtroom opened and the hunchbacked jailer appeared, ushering in Trudaine and Rosa. You are to wait here, said the little man, until the rest have been tried and sentenced; and then you will all go back to the prison in one group. Ha, citizen! he continued, noticing Lomaque at the other end of the hall, and going up to him . Here yet, or so! If you intend to remain here any longer, I have a small request to make. “I am in no hurry,” said Lomaque, looking at both prisoners. “Good thing!” cried the hunchback, wiping his mouth with his hand; “I am parched with thirst, and I shall surely die if I do not get my neck to dip into that wine-shop across the street. Will you keep a close eye on that man and woman while I am gone, will you? It is the easiest thing of all—there are guards outside, the windows are barred, the court-room is so near that you can hear the shout! Will you do me this good work? I am very glad of this opportunity. That is what a good friend does—and, remember, if I am asked, you must say that I had to leave the court for a few moments, and left my business to you. ” With that the hunchbacked jailer hurried into the wine-shop. He had scarcely disappeared before Trudaine came across the room and seized Lomaque by the arm. Save him, he whispered; now is the opportunity—save him! His face was flushed—his eyes seemed haggard—his spirit, which Lomaque felt in his cheeks as he spoke, was burning hot. Save him! he said again, shaking Lomaque by the arm, and pulling him towards the door. Remember the debt of gratitude you owe to my father— remember our conversation on that bench by the river—remember what you yourself said to me on the night of my capture— lose no time in reflection—save him and leave me without a word! If I die alone, I may die as a man should—if he steps on the scaffold beside me, my heart cannot bear it —I shall die a coward’s death! I have lived for his life—let me die for it, and I will die happy! He tried to speak more, but the violence of his excitement prevented it. He could only shake Lomaque’s arm continually, and point to the bench on which Rosa sat—her head sunk upon her breast, her hands folded feebly upon her knees. There are two armed guards outside the door—the windows are barred—you have no weapons—and if you did, the guard-room is just across the road, and the courtroom is on the other. Escape from this room is impossible, replied Lomaque. Impossible! said the other in fury. You traitor! you coward! Can you see her sitting there helpless—her life is already slipping away with every passing moment—and coldly tell me that escape is impossible? In the fury of her grief and hopelessness, she raised her severed hand menacingly as she spoke. Lomaque seized her wrist and led her to a window, the panes of which were open. “You are not in your right mind now,” said the chief constable, gravely; “the pain and fear of your sister’s fate have confused your clear sense. Try to settle down and listen to me. I have something important to say,” Trudaine looked at him doubtfully. “Important,” continued Lomaque, “for it concerns your sister’s fate at this terrible moment of decision.” This reminder had the effect of a moment. Trudaine’s outstretched arm bent down, and a sudden change took place in her face. ” Wait a moment,” she said in a weak voice; and turning away, she leaned against the wall and pressed her hot forehead against the cold, damp stone. She did not raise her head until she had composed herself, and could say calmly: “Speak–I am ready to hear, and therefore with full reason, that I may ask your pardon for what I have just said.” When I left the courtroom and came into this room, Lomaque began in a low whisper; I could think of no way to help you and your sister. I could not help but grieve that the confession, which I had considered your best defense and which I had come to advise you at the Château St. Lazare, did not help. Since then, an idea has occurred to me that might help—so wild, so uncertain an idea—the success of which “It depends so much on chance circumstances that I will not believe it of you except on one condition. State your condition! I agree in advance. Promise on your honor that you will not say a word to your sister of what I am about to tell you until I give you permission to speak. Promise me that when you see the approaching hour of death terrifying her tonight, you will restrain yourselves so much as not to speak a word of hope to her. I ask this because there are ten—twenty—fifty chances against the one that there is hope. I cannot but promise,” replied Trudaine. Lomaque took out his pocketbook and pencil before he began to speak again. ” I will go into the particulars as soon as I have first asked you the strange question,” said he. You have been a great chemical experimenter in your time—are you calm enough at such a terrible moment to answer a question that has something to do with chemistry? You seem puzzled. Let me ask you my question at once. Is there any liquid, or powder, or combination of several substances, known that will erase the writing from the paper and leave no trace behind? Certainly! But is that the whole question? Is there not a greater difficulty—? No. Write the prescription of the substances, whatever they may be, on this paper, said the other, giving him a pocket-book. Write it in it, and also prescribe the exact use of the substance. Trudaine obeyed. This is the first step, continued Lomaque, putting the book into his pocket, to accomplish my project—my uncertain project, remember that! Listen now; I am about to put my own head in danger, to make it possible to save yours and your sister’s, by some slight trickery with the list of those condemned to death. Do not interrupt me! If I can save one, I can save the other. Not a word of gratitude! Wait until you feel the extent of your gratitude. I tell you frankly, at the outset, that the action I am about to undertake is motivated by both despair and pity . Silence! I demand it. We have little time; it is my business to speak, and you must listen. The President of the Court has put the death mark after your names on today’s list of prisoners. When the examinations are over and the list is completed , it will be brought into this room before you are taken to St. Lazare. It is then sent to Robespierre, who, having had a copy of it made as soon as it was delivered to him, keeps it for circulation among his fellow officers—St. Just and others . My duty is to deliver a copy of this copy first hand. The noble Robespierre himself, or someone he can absolutely trust, will compare this copy with the original list, and possibly with the copy as well, and it will then be sent to St. Lazare, without coming into my hands again. As soon as it is received, it will be read publicly at the bars of the prison, and will then remain with the jailer, who will use it when he goes about in the evening to mark with chalk the doors of the cells of the prisoners who are destined to be executed tomorrow. This duty I hope that hunchback will receive today, whom you saw me addressing. He is a notorious drunkard, and I intend to seduce him with a wine he rarely tastes. If I can—after the list has been read in public and before the doors of the booths have been marked—get him to sit down to his pipe, I promise to get him drunk, take the list from his pocket, and remove your names from it with the substance you have just written to me for the purpose. I will write all the names, one under the other, so irregularly enough on my copy that the blank space created by the removal will not be so easily noticed. If I succeed in this, your door will not be marked; and your names will not be called tomorrow morning when the carts of the guillotine come. Nowadays, when prisoners are pouring into the cells every day to be examined, and pouring out of the cells every day to be beheaded, you have the greatest chance in that general confusion of getting out of all the nosey questions, if you place your cards in the right place, for at least two weeks or ten days. Then— Very well! very well! cried Trudaine eagerly. Lomaque looked towards the door of the courtroom and lowered his voice to a low whisper before he continued: Then Robespierre’s own head may fall into the guillotine’s bag! The people are beginning to get tired of the Government of Terror. The Frenchmen of the party of Reason, who have been hiding for months in cellars and attics, have begun to come out secretly and confer, two and three together, in the darkness of the night. Robespierre has not dared to appear in the Committee for many weeks. He only speaks to the Jacobins in the company of his own friends. Rumor has it that Carnot has made a terrible discovery and that Tallien has made a miserable decision. Those who have been allowed to look behind the scenes see that the Reign of Terror is approaching in the last days. If Robespierre is defeated in the coming battle, you are saved—for the new government must be a government of the Pardon. If he wins, I have only postponed the day of your death and that of your sister, and put my own head under cover. Such are the possibilities—that is all I can do. He fell silent, and again Trudaine tried to speak in a way that would show that she was not unworthy of the sacrifice of death which Lomaque was about to make. But once again the chief policeman firmly and angrily stopped her. I tell you, for the third time, he said, I will not hear expressions of gratitude from you until I know whether I deserve them. It is true that I am indebted to your father for the kindness shown me at the right time —it is true that I have not forgotten what happened five years ago at your house by the river. I remember all of it, even those which you would consider very insignificant—that cup of coffee, for instance, which your sister kept as a present for me. I told you then that you would think better of me some day in the world. I know that you do now. But that is not all. You would gladly praise me for risking my life for you. I will not hear you, because my risking is of the lowest quality. I am tired of my life. I cannot look back with a cheerful mind. I am too old to look forward to what could be hoped for. There was something that night at your house, before the wedding—something in your speech, in your sister’s actions—that made me different. I have had days of gloom and self-accusation, from time to time, since then. I have been angry with my slavery, and my humility, and my duplicity, and my fawning first under one master, then under another. I have wished I could look back on my life, and console myself by noticing some good deed, as a thrifty man consoles himself by looking at his little savings in his box. I cannot do it; and yet I would. That longing comes upon me like a fit of disease, suddenly after indefinite vacations, from the most incomprehensible influences. A glance up at the blue sky —starry, arching over the buildings of this great city, looking out of my wine-room window at night— when a child’s voice suddenly falls upon my ear, I know not whence— the chirping of my neighbor’s little bird in its little cage—when some trifling thing awakens that longing in me in the twinkling of an eye. Miserable as I am, those few simple words your sister uttered to the judge cut through me like the stabs of a knife. Strange in a man like me, is it not? I wonder at it myself. My my life? Oh! I have hired it out to others, to be kicked by the scoundrels from one filth pit to another, like a ball at the foot of a football. It has occurred to me to give it a final kick myself, and throw it far enough away before it rests in the filth pit for ever. Your sister kept a good cup of coffee for me, and I will give her the reward of the courtesy of a bad life. You want to thank me for that? What madness! Thank me when I have done something useful. Don’t thank me for this! He snapped his fingers contemptuously as he spoke, and stepped out to the outer door to meet the jailer, who was presently returning. Well, asked the hunchback, has anyone asked for me? No, answered Lomaque; no one has been in the room. What kind of wine did you get? Yes—yes! Good in trouble, my friend—good in trouble. Oh! you would go to my wine shop, and taste a cask of wine from a vintage that is something! What wine shop? What vintage? I need not tell you now, but we shall probably meet again to-day. I hope to be at the prison in the afternoon. Shall I ask you? Good! I will not forget! With these words of farewell he went out; and did not even look back at the prisoners until they had closed the door behind him. Trudaine returned to her sister, afraid that her face would reveal what had passed in that strange conversation between Lomaque and her. But whatever change there might have been, Rosa did not seem to notice it. She was still strangely insensible to all external events. That patience, which is the courage of wives in all misfortunes, seemed now to be the only refreshing expression of spirit that kept the flame of life alive in her. When her brother sat down beside her, she simply took his hand and said: “Let us be together like this, Louis, until the time comes. I am not afraid of it. I have nothing but you to make me love life, and you will die too. Do you remember the time when I used to grieve that I had no child to comfort me? I was thinking here, a moment ago, how terrible it would be now if my wish had been fulfilled. It is a blessing to me, in this great misery, that I am childless! Let us talk of the past, Louis, while we can—not of my husband, nor of my marriage— only of the past when I was not yet a burden and a sorrow to you. ” The day wore on. One by one, two by two, and three by three, the condemned prisoners came out of the courtroom, and gathered in the waiting room. At two o’clock the list of those condemned to death was ready to be read. It was read, and a member of the court confirmed it as true; then the jailer took his prisoner back to St. Lazare. Evening came. The prisoners’ evening had been given; a copy of the death list had been read publicly before the bars; the doors of the cells were all locked. Since the day of their imprisonment, Rosa and her brother, partly through a gift, partly through the mediation of Lomaque, had been shut up in the same cell; and together they now awaited the terrible scene of the morrow. For Rosa, this scene was death—a death that she at least thought of with patience. In Trudaine’s mind, the immediate future was increasingly obscured by that uncertainty which is worse than death; that oppressive, terrible, pitiless delay which keeps the mind on the torture-bench, and which gnaws at the heart. During the long, inconsolable death-struggle of this terrible night, there came to her but one relief. Every nerve tension, the crushing weight of the terrible anxiety that hung over every thought , eased a little as Rosa’s physical strength began to give way under her mental fatigue — as her sad dying talk of happy times past quietly died away, and she laid her head on his shoulders, and let the angel of sleep carry her away for a little while, though the angel of death had already with wings overshadowed him. Morning came and a warm summer dawn. What had been left alive in the city ruled by terror awoke to this day fearfully; and still the uncertainty of the long night remained unabated. The hour drew near when the wagons would come to fetch the victims condemned the day before. Trudaine’s ear could distinguish the faintest sound in the echoing prison cell outside his cell. He went to listen near the door, and heard voices arguing behind it. Suddenly the bolts were pulled from the door, the key twisted in its hole, and he saw before him a hunchback and a lower prison guard. Look! muttered the latter in his trance, there they are, safe in their cell, just as I said; but I assure you once more that they were not on the list. What do you think when you reproach me for not having chalked their door last night at the same time as the others? “Ask me again to do your work, when you are too drunk to do it yourself! Shut up, and let me look at the list again! ” replied the hunchback, turning from the door and snatching a piece of paper from the other’s hand. “The devil take me if I understand this!” he cried, shaking his head, after carefully examining the list. “I could swear I read their names on the portico, last night, with my own lips; and now, no matter how long I look, I cannot find them here. Give me a sniff, my friend. Am I awake, or dreaming?—drunk, or lucid this morning? Lucid, I hope,” said a quiet voice behind him. “I was just stopping to see how you were doing after yesterday. How am I doing, Citizen Lomaque?” Turned to stone with astonishment. You yourselves guarded this man and this woman before me, in the waiting-room, yesterday morning; and as for myself, I could swear I read their names on the portcullis yesterday afternoon. Now, this morning, there is nothing like these names in the whole list! What do you think of this? And what do you think, interrupted the offended under-guard, of his impudence in scolding me for carelessly chalking the doors, when the man was too drunk to do it himself?—too drunk to know his right hand from his left! If I were not the best-natured man in the world, I should beg the chief warden. It is quite right of you to forgive him, and quite wrong of him to scold you, said Lomaque, in a persuasive manner. Take my advice, he continued, speaking familiarly to the hunchback, and do not trust too much to that treacherous memory of yours, after you had a little drink the day before. You cannot really read their names on the bars, you understand, for in that case they would of course be on the list. As for the waiting room of the courtroom, I will say a word to you: the chief constables know strange secrets. The president of the court judges and pardons in public; but there is another, under the authority of a thousand presidents, who from time to time judges and pardons in private. You can guess who. I will say nothing but advise you to keep your heads still, so that you do not concern yourself with anything but that list in your hand. Hold on to it, and no one can accuse you. Keep quiet about secrets that do not concern you, and—” Lomaque stopped, and, holding his hand like a sword, he pointedly passed it over the hunchback’s head. This movement, as well as the hints he had heard before, completely confused the little man. He stared at Lomaque in astonishment; he apologized rudely to the under-guard in a few words, and, turning his ugly head in a strange way, he stepped away, holding the death list crumpled in his hand. ” I would like to take a look at them, and see if they are really the same man and woman whom I guarded in the waiting room yesterday morning,” said Lomaque, grasping the door of the booth with his hand, just as while the guard on duty began to close it. Look in, as you please, said the man. You will surely find that drunkard as wrong about these as he is about everything else. Lomaque immediately exercised this right granted to him. He saw Trudaine sitting with her sister in the corner of the booth farthest from the door, presumably with the intention of preventing Rosa from hearing the conversation at the door. However, there was a restless look in her eyes, a growing blush on her cheeks, which showed that she knew at least vaguely that something strange was happening in the corridor. Lomaque motioned for Trudaine to come to the door, and whispered to her: The substance you prescribed worked well. You are saved for today. Tell your sister this news as gently as you can. Danville — He fell silent and listened until he could probably tell from the sound of the guard’s footsteps that he was walking at the other end of the corridor. Danville, he continued , having mingled with the crowd outside the gate yesterday, and having heard your names read, was arrested this evening by the secret order of Robespierre, and sent to the Temple. What charge will be brought against him, or when he will be brought for examination, is impossible to say. I only know that he is arrested. Hush! Do not speak now; my friend outside here will return. Remain calm—hope for everything from chance and a change in state; and console yourselves with the thought that you are both saved for tomorrow. And tomorrow? whispered Trudaine. Do not think of tomorrow, replied Lomaque, turning suddenly towards the door. Let tomorrow take care of itself. Chapter 6. One spring morning, in the year seventeen hundred and ninety- eight, the general mail coach running between Chalon-sur-Marne and Paris left one of its passengers at the first stopping place at Meaux. The traveler, who was an old man, went, after a moment’s thoughtful glance around him, to a small restaurant opposite the post office, called the “Kirjo the Horse,” and owned by the widow Duval , who was rightly praised as the most talkative old woman and the best maker of roast goose in the whole town. Although the traveler did not attract much attention in the eyes of the village idlers who were loitering on the road, and although the widow Duval greeted him with complete indifference, he was not so ordinary and everyday a guest as these peasants seemed to think. There had
also been a time when that quiet, old-fashioned, modest drinker, the “Kirjo the Horse,” had been entrusted with the deepest secrets of the Government of Terror, and had the right to attend the speeches of Maximilian Robespierre himself at any moment and at any time . The Widow Duval and those idlers in front of the post office would have been astonished indeed if some knowledgeable person from the capital had been present to tell them that this humble-looking old traveler, with his worn-out suitcase, was one of the former chief agents of the Paris Secret Police. Four years had passed since Lomaque had last been on official business of the Government of Terror. His shoulders had become more stooped, and his hair had all gone out, except on the sides and back. In some other respects, however, advancing age seemed to have improved rather than worsened his appearance. His cheeks looked healthier, his countenance more cheerful, his eyes brighter than they had ever been before. He also walked more briskly than in his former days in the police service; and his dress, if it did not at all seem that of a wealthy man, was at least cleaner and better kept than it had been during his time in the civil service in Paris. He sat down alone in the drawing-room of the restaurant, and when the hostess had gone to fetch the half-bottle of wine which he had asked for, he spent his time examining a dirty old card which he drew from a pile of papers in his pocket-book, on which was written the following: words: “When the times of unrest are over, do not forget those who remember you with eternal gratitude. Stop at the first post-office from Meaux, on the highway to Paris, and ask Citizen Maurice in the restaurant if you still wish to see or hear from us. I beg your pardon for asking,” said Lomaque, putting the card in his pocket as the widow Duval brought in the wine, “can you tell me if a person named Maurice lives anywhere near here? If I may say so?” said the short, voluble widow. “Of course I can! Citizen Maurice, and his amiable sister—whom we must not forget because you forgot to mention her—live ten minutes from my house. A charming residence, in a charming spot, and two most charming inhabitants—so quiet, so remote, and so wonderfully productive a place.” I provide them with everything,—fowls, eggs, bread, butter, vegetables, they don’t eat much of any kind, wine, which they don’t drink half of what would be healthy for them; in short, I provide for that little hermitage, and I love those two lovely hermits with all my heart. Oh! they have had their troubles, poor people, especially the sister, though they never speak of them. When they first came to live here in our neighborhood— I beg your pardon, citizen, but if you would only be so kind as to advise me— Which is three—no, four—no, three and a half years ago— in short, just after that man Satan Robespierre had become a head shorter than quite suitable for him, I said to my husband who was then making his end, poor man! ‘She is dying’—meaning the woman. However, she did not die. My birds, my eggs, my bread, my butter, my growth, and my wine, helped her through her illness—always in connection with the tender care of Citizen Maurice. Yes! yes! Let us be quick to acknowledge credit when it is due; let us never forget that Citizen Maurice contributed much to the recovery of the charming invalid, as well as the provisions and drinks from the Pied Horse. There she is, what a pretty little woman in what a pretty little cottage— Where? Will you be so good as to tell me where? And in excellent health, except now and then when she is seized with spasms of the vein-like nature, which, I think, are the consequences of a terrible fright—very likely in that accursed time of Terror, before they came from Paris—you don’t drink, good man! Why don’t you drink?—Very, very pretty to be of a pale complexion; the body perhaps too thin—let me pour your glass—but an angel in good nature, and it is truly touching to see how attached he is to Citizen Maurice— My citizen, my mistress! will you or will you not tell me where they live? You silly man! why didn’t you ask before, if you wanted to know? Finish your wine and come here to the door. Here is your money back and thanks for starting it, though you didn’t take much. Come here to the door, I say, and don’t interrupt me! You are an old man—can you see twenty fathoms away?—Oh, you can! Don’t be angry—it never does anyone any good. Now look back now, along the road where I point. Do you see a large pile of stones? Good. On the other side of the stone wall is a little groove—you can’t see it, but you can remember what I tell you? Good. You go along the path until you come to a river bank; along the river bank until you come to some bridges; then along the other river bank, crossing the bridge, until you come to an old water mill—a very valuable water mill! famous for miles around; artists from all over the world are always coming to draw it! Oh! how you have become hasty again! Can’t you wait? Impatient old man, what kind of life is this? your wife may suffer, if you have one like that! Remember the bridge! Oh, your poor wife and children, I pity them— your daughters exceedingly. Psst! psst! remember the bridge, you hasty old man, remember the bridge! Stepping out as quickly as he could, to escape hearing the clatter of the widow Duval’s tongue, Lomaque turned at the pile of stones onto the path that branched off from the highway, crossed the river, and came to the old watermill. Very near it was a dwelling-house—a plain wooden building, with a little garden in front. Lomaque’s keen eyes noted the natural arrangement of the flower-beds and the exquisite difficulty of the window-clothes behind the small windows of poor glass. This must be the place, he said to himself, as he knocked on the door with his stick. I can see the marks of his hands before I stepped over the threshold. The door opened. I beg your pardon, is it Citizen Maurice—? “Lomaque began at first, when he could not see clearly in the dark little hall. Before he could say more, his hand was seized, his suitcase was removed, and a very familiar voice cried out: “Welcome! a thousand, a thousand times welcome, at last! Citizen Maurice is not at home; but Louis Trudaine is taking his place, and is delighted, delighted, to see once more his best and dearest friend! I hardly knew you again. How you have become better-looking!” cried Lomaque when they entered the drawing-room of the apartment. “Remember that you see me after a long time free from pain. Since I came to live here, I have gone to rest in the evenings and have not been afraid in the mornings,” replied Trudaine. She went out into the hall as she spoke, and called from the stairs: “Rosa, Rosa! come here! The friend whom you have most earnestly hoped to meet has at last come.” He obeyed the invitation at once. The direct, friendly cordiality of his greeting , his firm decision, after the first questions had been exchanged, to help the stranger take off his cloak with his own hand, so confused and pleased Lomaque that he hardly knew where to turn, what to say. This puts more to the test, in a funny way, a lonely old man like me—he was about to add: than that unexpected courtesy of holding out the coffee cup , years ago; but remembering what memories even that insignificant fact could awaken, he stopped himself. More to the test than what? asked Rosa, as she led him to the chair. Ah! I forgot, the boredom of old age is already bothering me! he answered, a little embarrassed. I have not just recently become accustomed to the joy of seeing your charming face again. It was indeed amusing to look at this face now , after the time when Lomaque had last seen it. The old three years of rest had not been able to restore to Rosa the charm of youth which she had lost for ever during the Terror, yet it had not gone without leaving good traces of its healing effect. Although her cheeks had not regained their youthful plumpness, nor her skin its youthful fineness, her eyes had nevertheless regained much of their former charm, and her gaze had regained all its former pleasant cordiality. What secret sadness had remained in her face, and the apparent quietness in her manner, had remained unharmed and gentle, more indicative of what had once been than of what was now. It seemed, however, as if some of the restlessness and pain of past times had returned for a moment to their faces, when Trudaine, after they had all sat down, looked searchingly at Lomaque and asked: “Do you bring any news from Paris? ” “Nothing,” she replied; but excellent news instead from Rouen. I have heard, by chance, through my master, in whose service I have been since we parted, that your old house by the river is for rent again. Rosa sprang from her chair. Oh, Louis, if we could live there again . “Once! My flower garden?” she continued, turning to Lomaque. The last occupant has taken care of everything calmly, he replied. And the laboratory? added the brother. ” Left in its place,” said Lomaque. “Here is a letter in which all the particulars are precisely listed. You may trust it, for the letter is written by the person whose business it is to rent the room. ” Trudaine examined the letter carefully. ” The price is not beyond our means,” said she. “After three years of thrift here, we should give something of great amusement. Oh, what a happy day it will be when we get home again!” cried Rosa. “Please write to your friend at once,” she added, addressing Lomaque, “and tell him that we are taking the room before someone else gets there before us!” Lomaque nodded; and folding the letter in his usual formal form, he wrote a reminder on the side in his old formal manner. Trudaine noticed this and felt it to be a reminder of the past days of sorrow and terror. Her face became serious again as she said to Lomaque: Is this really all the good news you have of importance to tell us? Lomaque thought doubtfully and shifted in her chair. What other news I have, it will not get worse if you wait a little, she replied. I would like to ask you a few questions first about your sister and your relationship. Do you not mind my returning for a moment to the times when we last met? She turned this question to Rosa, who answered in the negative; but her voice seemed to change at the very word “No.” She turned her face to you as she spoke; and Lomaque noticed that her hand trembled as she took up some work from a nearby table, and suddenly set to it. We will talk as little as possible about those times, said Trudaine, looking deliberately at her sister; but we have a few things to ask you, in our turn; so that it is necessary to speak of those times at this time. Your sudden disappearance at the decisive moment of that terrible and dangerous time has not been fully explained to us. That little notice which you left helped us to guess what had happened, rather than to understand it. I can easily explain it now, replied Lomaque. The sudden overthrow of the Reign of Terror, which was a salvation to you, was a ruin to me. The new republican government was a government of pardon to all but Robespierre’s tail, so the talk was then. Every man who had been so impious or so unfortunate as to have been involved, in the least degree, in the machinery of the Reign of Terror, was threatened, and rightly, with the fate of Robespierre. I, with the others, was subjected to this threat of death. I deserved to die and would have humbly submitted to beheading, but for your illness. From the general course of things I knew that you would be set free; and though your rescue was the work of chance, I had an outward share in the work, in making it possible; and a desire arose in me to see you both free again with my own eyes—a selfish desire to see you living, breathing, a real testimony of the only good awakening of my heart, upon which I can look with satisfaction. This hope awakened in me a new desire to live. I determined to escape death, if it were possible. For ten days I was hidden in Paris. I then succeeded in getting out of Paris, and travelling safely to Switzerland, from which I must thank some remnants of the information which I had acquired through experience, while serving in the secret police. The rest of my story is so short and so soon told, that I may tell it at once. The only relative I knew to be alive was a cousin of mine whom I had never seen before, who was a silk merchant in Bern. I ingratiated myself with this man. He noticed my business acumen and that I was therefore I could be useful to him, and he took me in. I did whatever he pleased to assign me; I travelled on his business in Switzerland; I earned his confidence, and I gained it.
It was only a couple of months ago that I left him; I only left my service to become, at my master’s own suggestion, agent for his son, who was also a silk merchant, in the town of Chalon sur Marne. In this merchant’s office I am a correspondent; and I only got to see you now because I took a trip to Paris to deal with some business for my master. It is hard work for one of my age, after having suffered so much in the world— but my hard work is innocent work. I need not bow down for every penny that I put in my pocket—I am not obliged to inform, to seduce, to spy on other people to be killed, to earn my bread, and to collect money so that I may go to my grave with honor. I am about to end my bad, cheap life innocently at last. It is a small thing, but it is something, nevertheless—and that satisfies a man at this age. I am happier than before, or, at least, less ashamed to look into the eyes of such people as you are. Hush! hush! interrupted Rosa, laying her hand on his arm. I cannot allow you to speak of yourself in that way, not even in jest. I spoke truly, answered Lomaque calmly; but I will not trouble you with another word of myself. My history is told. In full? asked Trudaine. He looked searchingly, almost suspiciously, at Lomaque as he asked. In full? he repeated. Your story is short, indeed, my good friend. Perhaps you have forgotten something of it? Again Lomaque shifted in his chair in thought. “Isn’t it a little hard to put up with an old man, when he is always being asked questions, and never answered?” he said to Rosa, very cheerful in his manner, but a little restless in his look. He won’t talk until we are alone, thought Trudaine. It is best to satisfy him. Well, well,” he said aloud, not whining. “I admit that it is your turn now to hear our story; and I will try my best to satisfy you. But before I begin,” he added, turning to his sister, “I want to point out, Rosa, that if you have any household chores to attend to up there— ” I know what you mean,” interrupted Rosa, suddenly taking up the work she had let fall into her lap; “but I am stronger than you think; I can listen to the worst you can tell me, quite calmly. Tell me, Louis; please, speak—I can very well stay to hear you.” You know what we suffered in the first days of our waiting, after your prank had succeeded, said Trudaine, turning to Lomaque. It was, I believe, on the evening of the same day on which we last saw you at St. Lazare, that the confused rumours of an approaching revolution in Paris first began to penetrate the walls of our prison. For the next few days the faces of our guards sufficiently showed that these rumours were true, and that the Moderate Party was really threatening to overthrow the Reign of Terror. We had scarcely had time to hope for anything from this blessed change, before the terrible news of Robespierre’s unsuccessful attempt at suicide, then of his conviction and beheading, reached us. The confusion which arose in the prison can scarcely be described. The examined and the unexamined prisoners were all together. From the day of Robespierre’s imprisonment no orders had been sent to the authorities, no death-list had been brought to the prison. The guards, frightened by the rumors that spread there that even the lowest servants of the tyrants would be held accountable and condemned with him, made no attempt to maintain order. A few of them—the hunchbacked man among the others—stumbled to escape at will. The disorder was so complete that when the agents of the new government arrived at St. Lazare, the prisoners were starving to death, deprived of the necessities of life. It was found impossible to investigate our affairs in particular. Sometimes the necessary documents had disappeared; sometimes the documents that were found were incomprehensible to the new investigators. They were finally obliged to hurry up from their work and call us forward by the dozen. Examined or not, we were all prisoners of the tyrant, we were all accused of conspiring against him, and we were all ready to hail the new government as the salvation of France. In nine cases out of ten, our best demands for release were derived from these relations. The men of the Stables and the Ninth of Thermidor trusted us, because Robespierre, Couthon, and St. Just had suspected us. Just as we had been irregularly imprisoned, so we were irregularly released. When my sister and I were examined, we were not even examined for five minutes. We were not even asked a probing question; I think we could have given our names without any danger. But I had previously advised Rosa that we should now take our mother’s surname—Maurice. As citizens Maurice, we stepped out of the prison; under that name we have since lived here in our hiding place. Our past peace has depended, and our future happiness depends , on our salvation from death being the deepest secret between the three of us. For a valid reason, which you can perfectly guess, Brother and Sister Maurice are not to know anything about Louis Trudaine and Rosa Danville, except that they were among the hundreds of victims who were beheaded during the Reign of Terror. He spoke this last sentence with a fine smile, and with the look of a man who thinks, contrary to his own feelings, that he is handling an important matter easily. Her face, however, suddenly darkened again as she looked, after the last words, at her sister. Her work had once more fallen upon her knees; her face was turned away, so that Trudaine could not see them; but she saw by the trembling of her folded hands, which sank upon her knees, and by the slight swelling of the veins in her neck, which she could not conceal from her brother, that the strong nerves of her boast had left her. Three years’ rest had not so much strengthened her as to enable her to hear her husband’s name pronounced, or to be present when the last days of mortal pain and terror were recalled, without showing horror in her face and manner. Trudaine seemed to be grieved, but not astonished at what she observed. Signing Lomaque to be silent, she rose and took Rosa’s hat from a near window. Well, Rosa, said she, the sun is shining, the sweet spring air calls us out. Let us go for a walk along the river. Why should we keep our old friend here, in a cramped little room, when we have miles of beautiful scenery to show him on the other side of the threshold? Come! it is treachery against Queen Nature to remain in the room on such a morning. Without waiting for an answer, he put the bonnet on his sister’s head, took her arm under his arm, and so they went out. Lomaque followed them, looking serious. I am glad that I did not show but the brightest part of my list of news in her presence, he thought. Her heart is not yet well. My speech would have touched her sorely, poor woman! I would have caused her great pain again if I had not kept my mouth shut! They walked for a while along the river, talking of trivial matters; then they returned to the living room. Rosa had by this time regained her strength, and could listen with devotion and joy to Lomaque’s cheerful description of his life as a clerk in Chalons sur Marne. They parted for a short time at the door of the room. Rosa went upstairs to the room from which her brother had called her down. Trudaine and Lomaque They set off again to walk along the riverbank. As if by consent, without a word to each other, they hurried from the vicinity of the living room; then they stopped suddenly, and looked intently into each other’s eyes—looked in silence for a moment. Trudaine spoke first. I thank you for sparing him, she began abruptly, he is not yet strong enough to hear of the new misfortune, unless I inform him first. Do you think I bring bad news, then? said Lomaque. I know it. When I saw your first glance at him, after we had all sat down in the drawing-room, I knew it. Speak! without fear, without caution, without unnecessary preamble. After three years of tranquility, if God’s will is to bring us sorrow again, I can calmly bear the trial; and, if need be, I can strengthen him to bear it too. I say again, Lomaque, speak plainly! I know your news is bad, for I know beforehand that the news is from Danville. You are right, my bad news is news from him. He has learned the secret of our escape from the guillotine’s jaws—? No—he has no idea of ​​it. He thinks—as his mother, as everyone thinks—that you were beheaded the day after the Revolutionary court sentenced you to death. Lomaque! you speak with certainty of this supposition of his—but you cannot be sure of it. I can, on the most necessary, the most terrible grounds— judging from Danville’s own actions. You have asked me to speak plainly—? I ask you again—I will stand by it! Your news, Lomaque— your news, without further ado! You will have it without further ado. Danville is just about to be married. When the answer was given, they both stood on the bank of the river and looked at each other again. The silence of death lasted for a moment. During this moment the water, rushing merrily in its stony bed, roared with an exceedingly loud sound, the song of the birds in the little forest by the river sounded exceedingly bright in both ears. A faint breath of wind, even in the warmth of the midday, passed coolly upon their cheeks, and the spring sunshine on their faces was as if it shone through the winter clouds. Let us set out, said Trudaine in a low voice. I expected bad news, but I do not bring it. Are you sure of what you are telling me? As sure as that stream flows by our side. Hear how I came to know this, and you will doubt it no more. Until last
week I knew nothing more of Danville than that his imprisonment, by order of Robespierre, was, as things turned out, the salvation of his life. He was imprisoned, as I told you, on the very evening that he heard your names read out from the list of those condemned to death at the prison gate. He remained in the Temple, unnoticed by those living outside, in the political confusion, just as you remained unnoticed at St. Lazare; and he took advantage of the same way in which you supported that well-timed insurrection which overthrew the Reign of Terror. I knew it, and I knew that he had come out of prison a persecuted victim of Robespierre—and more than three years passed without my knowing anything. Now listen. Last week I happened to be waiting in the shop of my master, Citizen Clairfait, for some papers to be taken to the office , when an old man entered with a sealed package, which he handed to some of the shop assistants, saying, “ Give this to Citizen Clairfait. What is the name?” said the shop assistant. The name is not so important, replied the old man; but if you wish, you may say my name. The parcel was brought by Citizen Dubois; and then he went out. His name, in connection with his old appearance, immediately attracted my attention. Does the man live in Chalons? I asked. No, said the shop-boy. He is here in the service of one of our good customers —an old lady of the past, named Danville. He is visiting our town. You may imagine how this answer astonished and puzzled me. The shop-boy could not answer any further questions; but the next day I was invited to dinner by my master, who, on account of his father’s illness, showed me the most excellent courtesy. On entering the room I found his wife just laying down a lavender-coloured lady’s sash, on which she had been sewing a great deal of embroidery —with silver thread, and to me it looked like a helmet and a shield. I am nothing, though you see what I am working on, Citizen Lomaque, said he; for I know that we can trust you. This sash was sent back to us by a customer;—a former emigrant lady of that old set of gentlemen. He now wants to have his family’s coat of arms sewn into this belt. It is a dangerous thing to do, even in these gracious democratic times, isn’t it? I said. That old lady, you must know, she said, is as proud as Lucifer; and having happily returned to France in this moderate republican era, she thinks she can practice her old follies with impunity. As she has been an excellent buyer with us, my husband thought it best to satisfy her wishes, without, however, leaving this task to some maid . We are not now living under the Reign of Terror, that is true; but there is no certainty. No, I answered. Excuse me, what is the name of that former emigrant? Danville, answered the mistress. He intends to wear this belt at his son’s wedding. At the wedding I shouted like a thunderbolt struck by fire. Yes, she said. What is there to be surprised about? From what I have heard, the boy, poor man, seems to make a good marriage bargain this time. His first wife took the guillotine from him during the Reign of Terror. Whom is he going to marry? I asked, still breathless. The daughter of General Berthelin. The general is a former nobleman by lineage, like that old lady, but as good a republican in his opinions as anyone else—a drunken, loudly swearing old soldier with a big sideburns; who snaps his fingers at his ancestors and says that all men are descended from Adam, who was the first real sans-culottes in the world. Actually: pantsless. The name of the equalitarians during the first French Revolution. In this way Clairfait’s wife joked all through dinner, but did not say anything more important. As I still had my old policeman habits, I began the next day to try to find out something myself. All I learned was this: Danville’s mother is staying with General Berthelin’s sister and daughter at Chalons; and Danville himself is expected to come every day to accompany them to Paris, where the marriage certificate will be signed at the General’s house. Having learned this, and finding that a hasty action would only help, I undertook, as I have already told you, to attend to my master’s business in Paris; I hastened my departure; and I stopped here on my way. –Be careful. I have not finished yet. Even if I hurry as much as I can, I cannot quite keep up with the wedding party. On my way here, we were overtaken by some carriages that were speeding along at full speed. I could not see into the carriage; but in the driver’s seat I recognized old Dubois. He did indeed pass me in the dust, but I am sure of him; and I said to myself, what I am telling you now is, there is no time to lose! “There’s no time to waste,” Trudaine replied firmly. ” Three years have passed,” she continued, in a lower voice, speaking more to herself than to Lomaque; three years since the day I walked my sister out of the prison gate, — three years since I said in my heart: I will be patient, and will not try to avenge myself. The wrongs done to us cry from earth to heaven; from man who does wrong, to God who heals. When the day of reckoning comes, let it be His day of vengeance, and not mine. In my heart I said these words — I have been faithful to those words, I have waited. The day has come, and I will fulfill the duties it demands of me. There was a moment’s silence before Lomaque spoke again. “Your sister?” he began doubtfully. “Only in that respect is my intention uncertain,” said the other earnestly. “If it were possible to leave her at will ignorant of this last trial, and leave this terrible task to me alone? I think it possible,” interrupted Lomaque. “Listen to what I advise.” We must go to Paris by stagecoach tomorrow morning, and we must take your sister with us—tomorrow there is still time: people do not write marriage licenses in the evening, after a long day’s journey. So we must go, and we must take your sister. Let me look after her in Paris, and leave it to me to look after her so that she does not know what you are doing. Go to General Berthelin’s house at such a time as Danville is there—we can get this information from the servants; appear before him without any previous warning; appear before him as a man risen from the dead; appear before him in the presence of all in the room, even if the room is full, and leave the man, under sudden astonishment , to betray and reveal himself . Say only three words, and your duty is fulfilled; you may return to your sister, and travel with her in safety to your lodgings at Rouen, or wherever you please, on the day on which you have made it impossible for her accursed husband to add any new evil to the list of his crimes. You forget the haste of going to Paris, said Trudaine. How shall we explain it without arousing suspicion in her? Believe me on this concern, replied Lomaque. Let us return to the room at once. Oh! not you, he added suddenly, as they turned to re- enter. There is something in your face that would deceive us. Let me return alone—I say you have gone to the restaurant to give some orders. Let us part now at once. You will calm your minds, you will be better off if you are alone— I know you well enough to know that. We must not waste a minute in explanations, minutes are precious on a day like this. When you can see your sister again, I will have had time to tell her what I want to tell her, and I will wait outside your room to tell you how it has been. He looked at Trudaine, and in his eyes there seemed to flash again some of that old, energetic genius that was noticeable when he was an official of the Government of Terror. Leave it to me , he said; and, beckoning with his hand, he set off quickly towards the living room. Nearly an hour passed before Trudaine dared to follow him. When at last he came to the path that led to the garden gate, he saw his sister waiting at the door of the room. Her face seemed unusually animated; and he hurried a few steps forward to receive her. Oh, Louis! said he, I have a confession to make, and I must ask you to hear it patiently to the end. You know, when our good Lomaque, though he was tired from his walk, at my request took as his first task the writing of that letter which would assure us of that dear old home on the banks of the Seine. When he had finished, he looked at me and said: ‘I should like to be present when you return happily to the house where I first saw you.’ ‘Oh, come, come with us!’ I said bluntly. ‘My being and my coming are not in my own power,’ replied he, ‘I have free time now to travel to Paris, it is true; but that time is not long—if only I were my own master’ —and then he fell silent. Louis! I remembered how indebted we are to him; I remembered that there could be no sacrifice which we would not gladly make for his sake; I felt the sweetness of his expressed hope; and perhaps I was a little impatient to see again my flower garden and the rooms in which we lived so happily. So I said to him: ‘I know for sure that Louis agrees with me that our time is yours, and that we will be very glad to time our departure so that you will have enough time to travel to come with us to Rouen. We would be worse than ungrateful—’ He stopped me. ‘You have always been good to me,’ said he; ‘it is not right for me to abuse your kindness now. No! no! you have some business to arrange before you can leave this place.’ ‘Not at all,’ said I– for we have none, as you know, Louis. ‘Why not? here is your furniture to begin with,’ said he. ‘A few chairs and tables which we have hired from the restaurant,’ I replied; ‘all we have to do is leave our keys with the landlady, and leave a letter for the owner of the room; and then–‘ He laughed. ‘To hear you talk like that, you would think you were as ready to go as I am!’ ‘Yes, we are,’ said I, ‘quite as ready, living as we do here.’ He shook his head; but you will not shake your head, Louis, I am sure, after hearing all my long story? You will not reproach me, will you?’ Before Trudaine could answer, Lomaque looked out of the window of the room. I have just told my brother everything, said Rosa, turning towards him. And what does he say? asked Lomaque. He says what I say, Rosa answered for her brother; that our time is your time—that of our best and dearest friend. Will it happen, then? asked Lomaque, with a meaningful look at Trudaine. Rosa looked uneasily at her brother: his face was much more serious than she had expected, but his answer cleared her of all doubt. You did quite right, my dear sister, to speak as you did, he said quietly. Then, turning to Lomaque, he added in a louder voice: it will happen. Chapter 7. Two days after the passenger carriages of which Lomaque had spoken had passed the mail carriages on the road to Paris , Madame Danville was sitting in a guest room a few blocks up the street from Grenelle, in a beautiful evening dress. After looking at the large gold watch that hung at his waist, and noticing that it was a quarter to two, he rang the handbell and said to the maid who had rushed in: I have five minutes more. Send Dubois to bring my chocolates. The old man appeared with great gaiety. After offering his mistress a cup of chocolates, he dared to use the right of speech that he had earned from his long and honest service, and made a courtly speech to the old lady. “I am delighted to see you looking so young and in such good spirits this morning,” he said, bowing deeply and with a fine smile of respect. “I think I have reason to be in good spirits on the day my son’s marriage is decided,” said Mrs. Danville, with a pleasant nod of her head. “Ah, Dubois, I shall live to see him with a noble title in his hand. The scoundrels have done their worst; The end of that accursed revolution is not far off; our dignity will soon be restored, and who then has a better chance of advancement at court than my son? He is of noble birth through his mother; he will be of noble birth through his wife. Yes, yes, let him The rough-mannered, zealous, old soldier father, however unnaturally republican his father may be, has a name that must raise my son to the rank of nobility. Count D’Anville with a D, you understand, Dubois! Count D’Anville, how beautiful it sounds! Lovely, madam—lovely. Oh! my young master’s second marriage begins with much better omens than the first. That reminder was an unfortunate reminder. Mrs. Danville looked inexpressibly angry, frowned, and rose hastily from her chair. Are you mad, you old fool? she cried indignantly; what do you mean by reminding me of those things on this very day? You were always brooding about those two miserable people who were beheaded, as if you thought I could have saved them. Weren’t you yourself present when I first met my son in the cold of the Time of Terror? Did you not hear my first words to him, when he told me the end of the affair? Were they not thus:— ‘Charles, I love you; but if I knew that you had let those two unfortunates, who exposed themselves to danger to save me, die, without daring to risk your life to save them, I would sooner pierce my heart than ever look at you or speak to you again!’—Did I not say so? And did he not answer: —’Mother, I risked my life for them. And I proved my sacrifice by exposing myself to imprisonment—I was imprisoned for my diligence, and then I could do nothing more!’ Did you not stand by and hear him answer thus, speaking in the power of noble emotion? Did you not know that he was really imprisoned in the Temple? Do you dare to think that we can be blamed after this? I am indebted to you, Dubois, but if you take offensive liberties with me—
Oh, madam! I beg your pardon a thousand times. I was thoughtless; only thoughtless— Hush! Is my carriage at the gate?—Very well. Be ready to escort me. Your master has no time to return here. He is to meet me, for the execution of the deed of consent, at General Berthelin’s house at two o’clock sharp. Stop! Are there many people in the street? I do not wish to be looked at by the rabble as I enter my carriage. Dubois, with a contrite look, went to the window and looked out as the mistress entered the door. The street is almost empty, madam, he said. Only one man, a woman under his arm, has stopped to admire your carriage. They look like clean people, as far as I can see without my glasses. They are not scum, I say, madam, they are certainly not scum! Very well. Wait for me down there; and take a little silver with you; if those neat people may be suitable objects of charity. No other orders for the driver than to drive straight to the general’s house. In the company that had assembled at General Berthelin’s house to witness the signing of the marriage certificate, were to be seen, besides the persons concerned, a few young ladies who were friends of the bride, and some officers who had been her father’s partners in former times. The guests had dispersed into two pretty rooms adjoining each other—one was called in the house the drawing-room, the other the library. In the drawing-room was assembled the notary, with the deed ready, the bride, the young ladies, and most of the general’s friends. In the library room the other military guests were amusing themselves by playing billiards, while the signing of the deed was an event; Danville and his future father-in -law were walking together in the room; the former listening absently, the latter with all his usual eagerness, and more than usual using his barracks fillers. The general had taken it into his head to explain some passages in the marriage certificate to the groom, who , although he understood their form and content much better, had to explain them to him. as his father-in-law, to listen out of politeness. While the old soldier was still in the middle of his long and confused explanation, the clock on the library stove struck. It is two o’clock! exclaimed Danville, delighted at having some excuse to interrupt the conversation about the memorandum. It is two o’clock, and my mother is not yet here! What can delay her? Nothing, cried the general. Have you ever known a punctual woman, my boy? If we wait for your mother—and she is such a fierce and arrogant person that she would never forgive us if we did not—we shall not be able to write the memorandum in less than half an hour. No matter! let us continue this interrupted conversation. Where the hell was I when that accursed clock interrupted us with its strike? What now, Black Eye, what is the matter? This last question was addressed to Mademoiselle Berthelin, who at that moment hurried into the library from the drawing room. She was a large and rather manly woman, with extremely beautiful black eyes, black hair that grew very low on her forehead, and something of her father’s firmness and brutality in her manner of speaking. There is a stranger in the other room, grandpa, who wishes to see you. I believe the servants have ordered him upstairs, thinking him to be our guest. Shall I order him to be brought down again? A rude question! How should I know? Wait until I have seen him, my lady, and then I will answer you. So saying, the general turned on his heel and went into the drawing-room. His daughter would have followed him, but Danville seized her hand. Can you be so hard-hearted as to leave me here alone? he asked . What will become of my devoted friends in the other room, you selfish man, if I remain here with you? snapped the girl in reply, struggling to get away. “Call them here,” said Danville cheerfully, seizing his other hand. The maiden laughed and pulled her fiancé towards the drawing-room door. ” Come!” she cried, and let all the women see what a tyrant I am going to have for a husband. Come and show them what a stubborn, unreasonable, and unpleasant—” Her voice suddenly grew weak, her body trembled, and she became utterly powerless. Danville’s hand had in an instant become deadly cold in hers. The momentary contact of Danville’s fingers, as they were released from their grasp, sent a strange shiver through her body from the rush of her feet to her heels. She looked at her fiancé in horror, and saw his eyes staring into the drawing-room. Their gaze was so strange, so motionless, so terrible; from the other parts of his face all expression of spirit, all appreciable life and movement had vanished. They were a lifeless, lifeless mask—white paper. With a cry of terror she looked at what she seemed to be staring at, but could see nothing but the unknown stranger standing in the middle of the floor of the drawing-room. Before she could ask anything, before she could utter a word, her father came to her, seized Danville by the arm, and thrust his daughter roughly back into the library. Go in there and take the women with you, he said in a hurried, fierce whisper. To the library! he continued, turning to the women, and raising his voice. To the library, all of you, go with my daughter. The women, frightened by his conduct, obeyed him with great astonishment. As they hurried into the library, he motioned to the notary that he should follow them, and then closed the door between the two rooms. Stay where you are! he shouted to the old officers, who had risen to their feet. Stay where you are, I demand it! Whatever happens, Jacques Berthelin has done nothing of which he needs to be ashamed before his old friends and associates. You have seen the beginning; stay where you are and watch the end. As he spoke he stepped into the middle of the room. He had not yet released his grip on Danville’s arm—step by step they advanced together to where Trudaine stood. You have come to my room, and asked for my daughter to be your wife —and I have deigned to give her to you,” said the general, speaking calmly to Danville. “You told me that your first wife and her brother were beheaded three years ago during the Terror—and I believed you. Now, look at that man—look straight into his face. He has announced himself to me as your wife’s brother, and assures me that his sister is alive at this moment. One of you two has betrayed me. Which is it?” Danville tried to speak; but no sound came from his lips; he tried to wrench his arm free from the general’s grasp, but could not free the old soldier’s grave hand. Are you afraid? “Are you a coward? Can’t you look him in the eye?” asked the general, holding his arm more firmly. “Stop! stop!” interrupted an old officer, stepping forward. “Give him time. This may be some strange coincidence, which, under such circumstances, can throw a man’s head into confusion.” “Excuse me, citizen,” he continued, turning to Trudaine. “But you are an unknown stranger; you have given no proof that you are what you say you are.” “There is proof,” said Trudaine, pointing to Danville’s face. “Yes, yes,” continued the other; “he looks pale and astonished , yes, that is true. But I say again—let us not be too hasty: strange cases of coincidence are told, and this may be one of them!” As he spoke these words, Danville looked at him with a faint, humble look of gratitude, which could hardly be distinguished in his pale, terrified face. He bowed his head, muttered something, and gestured here and there with his free hand. “Look!” cried the old officer; look, Berthelin, he denies that the man is his wife’s brother. Do you hear that?” said the general to Trudaine. “Have you any evidence to refute his denial? If you have any, produce them at once. ” Before he could answer, the door leading from the drawing-room to the hall suddenly swung open, and Madame Danville—her fringe disheveled, her face pale with horror, a fitting contrast to her son’s —appeared on the threshold, old Dubois and a group of astonished and terrified servants behind her. “For God’s sake, don’t write! For God’s sake, get out!” he cried. I have seen your wife—a ghost or a real one, I know not which—but I have seen her. Charles! Charles! as true as Heaven is above us, I have seen your wife. You have seen her as a real person, living and breathing , just as you see her brother there,” said a grave, calm voice from the crowd of servants on the landing. “Let that man in, whoever he may be!” cried the general. Lomaque passed Madame Danville over the threshold. She trembled as he rushed past; then followed him, pressing herself against the wall, a few steps into the room. He looked first at his son— then at Trudaine—then at his son again. There was something in his presence that made everyone quiet. A sudden silence fell upon the whole company—a silence so profound that the eager, startled whispering of the women in the library , and the loud rustling of skirts, were heard from behind the closed door. Charles! said he, approaching quietly; why do you look at—? He stopped, and looked at his son again, more intently than before, then turned suddenly to Trudaine. You look at my son, my lord, said he, and I perceive contempt in your glance. By what right do you insult a man whose grateful feeling, from his mother’s debt of gratitude to you, has led him to lay down his life for the salvation of you and your sister? By what right have you considered the rescue of my son’s wife from the guillotine—a rescue which, despite all that I know against it, her noble diligence contributed to—in secret from my son? By what right, I beg to know, has your villainous secrecy brought us to the position in which we now stand before the master of this house? Trudaine’s face showed feelings of sorrow and pity as she spoke. She stepped back a few steps, and made no reply . The general looked at her with eager curiosity; and, releasing Danville’s arm, seemed about to speak; but Lomaque stepped forward at the same moment, and raised his hand to demand attention. ” I think I am expressing the will of citizen Trudaine,” said he, turning to Madame Danville, “if I advise this lady to demand an answer to her questions less publicly. Who are you, sir, who take the trouble to advise me?” he reminded her proudly. I have nothing to say to you, except that I stand by my word and want an answer. Who is this man? asked General Trudaine, pointing to Lomaque. A man who cannot be trusted, cried Danville, speaking audibly for the first time, and casting a look of bloody anger at Lomaque. One of Robespierre’s police agents. And in this way, capable of answering questions concerning the proceedings of Robespierre’s courts, remarked the former chief of police with his old official composure. That is true! cried the general; the man is right—let him speak. It cannot be helped, said Lomaque, looking at Trudaine; leave it to me—it is most fitting for me to speak. I was present, he continued in a louder voice, at the examination of Citizen Trudaine and his sister . They had been brought to justice on the information of Citizen Danville. I am certain that Danville, until the confession of the male prisoner explained the matter, knew nothing of the true nature of the crime with which Trudaine and her sister were accused. When it became known that they had secretly helped this lady to escape from France, and when Danville’s own head was therefore in danger, I myself heard him save his head by falsely assuring himself that he had known of Trudaine’s plot from the beginning— Do you mean to say, interrupted the general, that he declared, before a public court, that he had knowingly betrayed the man who stood accused of having saved his mother? I say so, replied Lomaque. A murmur of horror and disgust was heard from the guests present, at this answer. The minutes of the trial are still to be found to testify to the truth of my statement, he continued. As for the rescue of Citizen Trudaine and Danville’s wife from the guillotine, it was due to political events, to which there are still living witnesses, if one looks closely enough, and to a little prank of mine, which is unnecessary to recount here. And finally, as for their not giving any information about themselves after their rescue, I beg to inform you that the secrecy of the matter ceased as soon as it was known what was about to happen here; and that it was nothing more than a necessary and natural precaution on the part of Citizen Trudaine. For similar reasons we did not wish to bring his sister here, to spare her a terrible emotion and danger. What man with the least bit of sentimentality would allow her to look at such a husband as that? He looked around and pointed at Danville as he uttered this question. Before anyone in the room could speak a word, there was a low cry of lamentation: “My mistress!” my dear, dear mistress! and turned the attention of all to old man Dubois, and then to Madame Danville. He had leaned against the wall before Lomaque began to speak; but now he stood perfectly straight. He neither spoke nor moved. Not one of the bright ribbons of his disheveled head-dress even trembled. The old servant Dubois was kneeling beside him, kissing his cold right hand, rubbing it with his own. between her hands, exclaiming again: “Oh, my mistress, my dear, my dear mistress!” but her mistress did not seem to be aware of her presence. Only when her son approached a few steps towards her did she suddenly seem to wake up from that numbness of mental anguish. Then she quietly raised her free hand and beckoned him away from her. Danville stopped and tried to speak. He beckoned again with his hand, and his face began to show movement . His lips moved a little—he spoke. ” Be so kind to me, my lord, for the last time, as to remain silent. You and I have nothing to say to each other from now on. I am the daughter of a noble family and the widow of an honorable man. You are a traitor and a false witness; such as every honest man, every honest woman, would turn away with contempt. I refuse to be your mother!” Publicly, in the presence of these gentlemen, I say it: I have no son. He turned his back on her; and bowing to the other persons in the room, with the graceful elegance of bygone days, he quietly and gravely stepped to the door. Stopping here, he looked behind him; and for a moment the feigned fortitude of mind left him. With a weak, stifled cry, he seized the hand of the old servant, who still remained faithfully at his side; the latter began to hold her with both hands, and the lady’s head sank upon his shoulder. Help her! cried the general to the servants standing at the door. Help her, and take the lady into another room! The old man looked suspiciously at his mistress at those who were assisting him. In a strange, sudden jealousy, he shook hands with them. Home, he cried, she must come home, and I will take care of her. Away! you there—no one shall hold his head but Dubois. Down the stairs! down the stairs, to his carriage! he has no one left but me; and I say he must be taken home. When the door was closed, General Berthelin approached Trudaine, who had stood silent and aloof since Lomaque first appeared in the drawing-room. I will beg your pardon, said the old soldier; for I have offended you by harboring a momentary suspicion of you. For my daughter’s sake I am very sorry that we have not seen each other for some time ; but I thank you all the same for coming here, even at the eleventh hour. While he was speaking, one of his friends came up and said, touching his shoulder: Berthelin, may that rascal leave here? The general turned on his heel at once, and gestured contemptuously to Danville to follow him to the door. When they had come within earshot of the others, he spoke thus: “ Your brother-in-law has proved you a scoundrel, and your mother has rejected you, declaring you a liar. They have fulfilled their duty towards you; and now I have no other duty than to fulfill mine. When a man intrudes upon another’s family with a treacherous mind, and exposes the dignity of this daughter to danger, we soldiers have a very neat way of making him answerable for it. It is now exactly three o’clock; at five o’clock I and a friend of mine—” He paused, and looked around cautiously—then whispered the rest of what he was going to say in Danville’s ear—pushed the door open and pointed up the stairs. “Our business is done here,” said Lomaque, laying his hand on Trudaine’s arm. “Let us give Danville time to leave the house, and then let us go too. My sister! where is she?” asked Trudaine with some anxiety. “Be quite anxious about her.” I will tell you more when we come out. You will surely forgive me, said General Berthelin, addressing all present, his hand on the door of the library, if I leave you. I have bad news to deliver to my daughter, and private business to transact with a friend of mine. He nodded his head in farewell to the company with an old rascally in a way and went into the library. A few minutes later Trudaine and Lomaque left the house. You will find your sister waiting for you in your room at the hotel, said the latter. She knows nothing, nothing at all, of what has happened. But how was she known? asked Trudaine, curiously. Danville’s mother saw her. Surely she –? I arranged it so that she would be seen, but not seen. Our former experience with Danville was the reason why I thought it necessary to make this experiment, and my old policeman’s habit helped me to carry it out. I saw the carriage standing at the gate, and waited until the old lady came down. I walked your sister away as she entered the carriage, and walked her back near the window as it started. The twinkling of an eye did it; and all went as well as I had thought. Enough of that! Now go back to your sister. Stay in your room until the night post leaves for Rouen. I have already reserved two places for you. Go! take possession of your old rooms again, and leave me here to manage the affairs my master has entrusted to me, and to see how the affairs of Danville and his mother end. I will try somehow to find time to come and say goodbye to you in Rouen, even if I cannot stay there more than a day. What more! no thanks. Give me your hand. I was ashamed to take it eight years ago—now I can shake it heartily . There is your way; here is mine. Leave me to my silk and satin business, go to your sister’s and help her to arrange your travelling baggage. Three days had passed. It was evening. Rosa, Trudaine, and Lomaque were sitting together on a bench from which one can so well view the beautiful scenery of the bends of the Seine . The old familiar field of vision spreads before them, lovely as ever—unchanged, as if they had last looked upon it yesterday. They speak to each other sadly and in low voices. The same memories fill their hearts—memories which they keep from speaking, but whose effects each knows instinctively that the other feels. Sometimes one leads the central discourse, sometimes the other; but whoever speaks, the chosen subject of conversation is always, as if by mutual consent, a subject connected with the future. The evening is beginning to grow dim, and Rosa is the first to rise from the bench. Brother and sister look at each other with eyes that know a secret alliance, and Rosa says to Lomaque: “Will you follow me into the room,” she asked, “with as little delay as possible? I have something I would very much like to show you. ” Her brother is waiting because he is so far away that he cannot hear; and then asks anxiously what had happened in Paris since he and Rosa left. Your sister is free, replied Lomaque. The duel, then, took place? On the same day. They were both to be shot at the same time. His opponent’s counsel assures him that he was shaken with fear; his own counsel says that he resolved, in spite of how he had lived, to face death bravely by offering his life to the first shot of the man he had wounded. Which of these is true, I do not know. It is certain that he did not discharge his pistol; that his opponent’s first bullet felled him; and that he did not speak a word after that. And his mother? It is difficult to obtain information from there. Her doors are closed; her old servant attends her with the most devoted care. The doctor is always present; and it is said in the house that the disease from which she suffers attacks her mind more than her body. I received no further information. After this answer, both remained silent for a while — then rose from the bench and walked towards the room. Either you know how to prepare your sister to hear “What has happened?” asks Lomaque, seeing the lamplight shining from the drawing-room window. “I will wait until we are quite settled here—until the first festivities of our return are over, and the peaceful business of our daily life has begun again,” replied Trudaine. They entered the room. Rosa motioned for Lomaque to sit down beside her, and placed a pen and an open letter before her. “I have one last favor to ask of you,” she said, smiling. “I hope it will not take long to grant that request,” replied Lomaque; “for I have only this evening to be with you. Tomorrow morning, before you are up, I must be on my way back to Chalons. Will you write your name at the bottom of this letter?” continued Rosa, still smiling, and then give it to me to post. “Louis has dictated it and I have—written it, and it will be quite ready if you finish writing your name.” May I read it? Rosa nodded her head in agreement; and Lomaque read the following lines: Citizen. — I respectfully request to be informed that the business entrusted to me in Paris has been carried out. I must also ask your consent to my resignation from the office which I have held in your office. The kindness shown to me by yourself and your father gives me the courage to hope that you will kindly take note of the reasons for my resignation. Two friends of mine, who consider themselves in some way indebted to me, are anxious that I should spend the remainder of my life in the peace and security of their home. The cares of past years have united us as closely as if we were members of the same family. I am as much in need of the tranquillity and happiness of a home life as any other, having suffered a life like mine; and my friends so earnestly assure me that they will prepare the old man a comfortable chair by his hearth, that I cannot muster up the strength to part with them and refuse their offer. I therefore beg you to accept with favor the request for absolution which this letter contains, and at the same time the assurance of my sincere gratitude and respect. To Citizen Clairfait, Silk Merchant. Chalons sur Marne. Having read this, Lomaque turned to Trudaine and tried to speak, but the words would not come. He looked at Rosa and tried to smile; but his lips only trembled. He dipped his pen in the medicine, and placed it in his hand. He lowered his head abruptly over the paper, so that Rosa would not see his face; but as yet he did not write his name. Rosa placed her hand gently on his shoulder and whispered to him: I must, I must, now please ‘Sister Rosa.’ Her mind must now be followed, now that she has returned to her home. She did not answer anything — her head sank lower — she thought for a moment — then wrote her name at the end of the letter in a weak, trembling handwriting. Rosa quietly took the letter from the table. A few cranberries of tears were on the paper. Wiping them away with her handkerchief, she looked at her brother. They are the last she will ever shed, Louis, you and I will take care of that! Sister Rosa’s story ends with secrets that will linger in the mind for a long time. With this story, Wilkie Collins has succeeded in creating a masterpiece that combines psychological suspense and the classic narrative tradition. The fates of the characters are intertwined in a way that will not leave the listener cold. Thank you for listening to Sister Rosa. On the Audiobooks in Finnish channel, we will soon hear more classics that will take you to fascinating worlds. Come back to listen again, and let’s continue the journey together.