The Project Gutenberg eBook of When a Cobbler Ruled the King, by Augusta Huiell Seaman.

About the tradition of the "Lost Dauphin" there hovers a romance and charm perennially new, and history contains perhaps no more appealing little figure than that of Louis XVII of France.

At the time when the tempest of the French Revolution submerged the throne of the Bourbon monarchy, Louis Charles, royal Dauphin, was but a child of seven. On his sunny head, for the space of three years, the Terror wreaked its vengeance; and at the age of ten, it would have been difficult to recognize in the forlorn little captive of the Temple Tower, aged by imprisonment and abuse, and experienced in many forms of suffering, the once light-hearted and lovely child of Versailles and the Tuileries.

History in its most accepted form has chosen to close this regrettable chapter with the death of the little prince at the age of ten, and while still in his unjust captivity. With the receding years, however, there has arisen a not unreasonable doubt of this premature ending. Evidences strangely convincing have come to light, revealing a possibility of his having been rescued, spirited away from his native land, and allowed to live out the alloted number of his days in peaceful obscurity.

There are few of us who do not welcome this possibility, who do not relish the thought that his watchful and heartless tormentors may have been cleverly hoodwinked. And added to our pleasure in a happier fate for this much-wronged child of monarchy, is the delightful romance and mystery with which a possible escape and an existence thenceforth incognito has surrounded the history of the "Lost Dauphin." In the field of fiction the subject affords an all but endless variety of solution, and numerous are the romances woven about the person of "Little Capet." Curiously enough, few if any of these novels are quite suitable for younger readers, though the subject is one that should have a special appeal for the hearts of youth, since the chief personality is a child of peculiarly winning characteristics, and one who endured diversified and exciting vicissitudes.

Such a story I have striven to relate in When a Cobbler Ruled the King , endeavoring to present a picture, faithful as far as it goes, of the historical and political situation. It may add to the interest of the story to know that except for the persons of "Jean," "La Souris" and "Prevôt," who are pure fiction, there is not one character in the book but has a counterpart in history. These characters are in the main obscure enough to admit of much latitude in fictitious presentation. The Citizeness Clouet, of number 670 rue de Lille, was actually the laundress for the Temple Tower, and her little daughter was occasionally introduced into the prison by Commissary Barelle to play with the captive prince. Had there been schemes of escape concocted by the few friends remaining to royalty, as doubtless there were, it would be scarcely strange if the laundress had been involved in them.

Be these things as they may, it is to be hoped that the history of the throneless, crownless, ill-used child-king, Louis XVII of France, will make its own appeal to the hearts of all childhood.

ILLUSTRATIONS

IN THE DAUPHIN'S GARDEN

CHAPTER I

IN THE DAUPHIN'S GARDEN

"Oh, Jean! I am doing my best, but your legs are so long, and you take such great strides that I can scarcely keep up!"

Two children, a well-grown, long-limbed boy of twelve, and a little girl of scarcely more than seven, were hurrying hand-in-hand along the Rue St. Honoré, on a brilliant May morning in the year 1792. Paris on that day resembled, more than anything else, a great bee-hive whose swarming population buzzed hither and thither under the influence of angry excitement and general unrest. [Pg 4] The two youngsters were bubbling over with the same eager restlessness that agitated their elders. They pushed their way through throngs of men in red liberty-caps, soldiers in uniforms of the National Guard, and women in tri-coloured skirts and bodices. Poor little Yvonne, panting and tired, struggled to keep up with the striding gait of her larger companion.

"If you don't hurry," said Jean, "we shall not see the little 'Wolf-Cub' out for his walk, and I want a look at him!"

"I don't know,—I've never seen him," answered Jean, "but he must be pretty ugly if he's the son of a monster,—and that's what they call our Citizen King!"

They turned into a narrow lane with but few houses on either side. At one end stood the church of St. Roch, and at the other lay the park of the Tuileries, in the centre of which rose the royal palace. [Pg 5]

"This is called the Rue du Dauphin because the little monster comes through it when he goes to church," remarked Jean.

"Well, I think he can't be so very dreadful if he goes to church," protested Yvonne.

When they reached the park, they turned and ran along the edge till they came to the side flanked by the river Seine. Here they were stopped by a low wooden fence decorated with festoons of tri-coloured ribbons and bunting. In a small plot of ground behind this fence, a little boy could be seen digging up the ground about some flower-beds. He was a really beautiful child and his age evidently did not much exceed seven years. Great blue eyes looked out of a face whose expression was one of charming attractiveness. His silky golden-brown hair fell in curls about his shoulders, and he was dressed in the uniform of a tiny National Guard, with a small jewelled sword hanging at his side. [Pg 6] About his feet a handsome, coal-black spaniel romped, shaking his long ears that almost trailed on the ground, barking and biting at the spade in his master's hand.

Jean stopped and looked over the fence. His snapping black eyes grew soft at the sight of the group within. What boyish heart does not yearn toward a dog!

"That's a fine little spaniel you have there, Citizen Boy!" he remarked. "What do you call him?" The child inside the fence looked up with a pleased smile.

"His name is Moufflet. Isn't he a beauty? Don't you want to pet him?" The little boy lifted the wriggling animal to the fence while Jean put out his hand and stroked the long, curly ears.

"Jean! Jean! lift me up! I want to see him too!" begged Yvonne who was so short that her head barely came to the top of the fence. Jean reached down, and with his strong arms swung her to a seat on his shoulder. [Pg 7]

"Oh, you beautiful thing!" she exclaimed. "And what a pretty little boy, too! I like you, boy!" The little fellow laughed with pleasure.

"And I like you also!" he declared. "Don't you want some flowers? I gathered some for my mother this morning, but I think there are enough left to make you a nice bouquet." Dropping the dog, he ran hither and thither gathering from one bush and another, till he had collected quite a large mass of blossoms. These he handed to the little girl, saying:

"I am Yvonne Marie Clouet," she answered, burying her face in the fragrant bunch, "and I thank you!"

Jean, however, was growing restless. This was all very pleasant, but it was not that for which he had stolen a holiday from the services of the Citizeness Clouet, risking thereby the prospect of certain punishment, and had hurried through two miles of hot streets to [Pg 8] see. He leaned across the fence toward the boy, and spoke in a half-whisper:

"I say, Citizen Boy, do you happen to know whereabouts we can get a sight of the little 'Wolf-Cub'?" The child looked startled.

"Why, you must know!—the son of that monster, the Citizen King!" The little fellow drew back proudly. His blue eyes grew dark with anger, and he laid his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"I am the Dauphin of France! And my father the King is not a monster! He is a good man!" Jean was so astonished that he let go his hold of Yvonne, who all but toppled from her perch on his shoulder.

"But—but—" he stammered, "you are not a bit like what they said! What does all this mean? I—I like you! I don't care if you are the Dauphin! Say, will you forgive me, little Citizen Prince?" The generous heart of the royal child was as quick to forgive [Pg 9] as it was to take offence, and he held out his hand with a charming smile. Jean took it, glanced furtively around, and shook it heartily.

"I hope no one sees me doing this!" he muttered. The Dauphin, now all restored to good humour, seated himself on an upturned box and nursed his knees with his clasped hands.

"Let us talk awhile!" he begged. "I do not see any children now, except my sister, and I'm often very lonely. Please tell me your name."

"I am called Jean Dominique Mettot," answered his new friend. "That is the name they gave me in the Foundling Hospital from which the Citizeness Clouet took me."

"Oh, did you come from the Foundling Hospital?" eagerly replied the Dauphin. "Why, I used to go there often with the Queen, my mother. We brought food and money for the sick children. I loved to go there! I never wanted to come away!" [Pg 10]

"Did the Citizeness Queen really go there?" marvelled Jean. "Why, she can't be such a bad one, after all!" The Dauphin's face grew sad.

"Do you know," he said, "I believe that people say a great many false things about my father and mother because they do not know the truth,—they do not know how really good they are!"

"Oh, they say bad enough things!" remarked Jean, cheerfully. "You ought to hear a man they call Citizen Marat! He gets up on a bench in our street and tells the people that the king and queen are starving them just for the pastime of hearing them howl for bread,—that they like that kind of music!"

"It is not true! It is not true!" repeated the Dauphin with tears in his eyes. "Oh, if you could only see my father, you would not think so!" Then, glancing over his shoulder he exclaimed gladly, "Why, here he is now!" Jean made a movement to put [Pg 11] down Yvonne and take to his heels, but the Dauphin begged him to stay. They all stood silent, watching the approach of a large, stout man who walked slowly with his hands clasped behind him. His face was gentle, thoughtful and kindly. Across his coat were stretched the ribbons of several royal orders.

"Father!" called the Dauphin when the King drew near enough. "These are my little new friends, Yvonne and Jean. Won't you speak to them?" The King smiled at his son and came over to the fence.

"Good-morning, my children!" he said kindly, laying a hand on Jean's shoulder. "I am glad to know and greet the friends of my son." Jean looked up into the fatherly eyes, and noticed the sad lines about the gentle mouth. He was sorely puzzled in his boyish heart. Certainly this was not the horrible monster such as he had heard the King described in the Faubourg St. Antoine. The boy was thoroughly in sympathy with the downtrodden people who were rising at last [Pg 12] to claim their liberty and a few other inalienable human rights. But there was something wrong somewhere! At any rate, this royal gentleman had that about him which compelled his reverence and trust. Snatching off his red liberty-cap, Jean bent his knee and kissed the hand of Louis XVI of France!

"Yvonne," remarked Jean, as they strolled homeward, "we—at least I will have to pay for this little holiday!"

"Oh, Jean, I'm sorry! I ought to take part of the punishment, for I made you take me," sympathised Yvonne.

"Mother Clouet won't beat you , you can warrant, but this is the day when I should have carried the wash to the Rue du Bac," explained her companion. "Oh, well! I have had my dance, now I must pay the fiddler!" It was evident that this was not Jean's first attempt at playing truant. Then a new thought struck him and he stopped short. [Pg 13]

"Well, I do too, and yet I suppose I ought not, if I am to be a good citizen of the Nation. Kings are wrong! We've had enough kings, and they've trodden us under foot and robbed us of our rights for centuries. And yet this little fellow might make a good one. Who knows! And there's his father, too—the Citizen King. How did you like him?"

"He seemed very, very kind," answered Yvonne, "and very sad. I felt sorry for him. And I don't believe all the things they say about him, either. Why did you kiss his hand, Jean?"

"I don't know! Something made me. Perhaps it's because he is so different from what we thought. But, see here, Yvonne! Let me tell you that if anyone finds out how we feel, or that I kissed his hand, our heads won't be safe on our shoulders! Do you [Pg 14] know that?" The child made a frightened gesture of assent.

"Then keep it to yourself!" said Jean, shortly. They walked on in silence, and with dragging steps. It was plain that they were in no hurry to get home.

"I'd certainly like to. We will try to go soon,—as soon as I can make up my mind to another beating!" answered Jean, whimsically. Then in a more sober manner:

"He's lonesome, poor little fellow! It's a shame for the people to take away his liberty and keep him cooped up in that palace without any little friends, I say!"

They turned at length into the Rue de Lille, a narrow, dirty street, rather deserted at the time, since most of the inhabitants were off at the Place de la Révolution, singing the "Marseillaise," shouting for Danton, or dancing the Carmagnole. At the door of the house numbered "670," stood a woman in a [Pg 15] short cotton dress and wooden shoes. She was shading her eyes and looking far up the street, in the direction opposite to that from which the children were approaching.

"There's Mère Clouet now!" whispered Jean. Suddenly the woman turned, caught sight of the pair, and made a dash at Jean who ducked, slid aside and came out unharmed quite behind the enraged laundress. But Mère Clouet was agile, and moreover well acquainted with Jean's system of manœuvres!

"Ah, you rascal!" she shouted, catching him deftly by the collar. "You will run away for the whole day, and leave me to carry home the wash myself! You will entrap my little Yvonne and force her to accompany you, scaring her good mother almost beyond her wits lest the child come to harm! To bed you go this night with never a bite or a sup, and lucky you'll be if there's a whole bone in your lazy, idle body!"

With her great, muscular arms she shook [Pg 16] Jean till his teeth clicked together, dropping him only when sheer exhaustion compelled her. Poor Yvonne stood by, trembling, wide-eyed and frightened. Citizeness Clouet having temporarily disposed of Jean, turned her attention to her daughter.

"And as for thee, naughty little mouse!—" Then her eyes fell for the first time on the flowers.

"But by all the saints, where did you get that magnificent bouquet, child? Never since I was a girl in Normandy have I seen such blossoms, except on the altars in the churches at Eastertide!"

"Why, Mother, the dear little Citizen Dauphin gave them to me!" exclaimed Yvonne. Then she cast a frightened glance at Jean, remembering too late his warning on the way home. Jean himself trembled, and expected that Mère Clouet would break into a torrent of abuse and invective against the little prince. But to their astonishment she replied: [Pg 17]

"The poor little fellow! Well do I remember how his mother brought him to the great church of Notre Dame when he was but a tiny baby. You, Yvonne, were also but a few months old, and I carried you out with me to see the sight. The Queen in her carriage held him up that all the people might see him, and how the crowds sang and shouted for joy! Who would have thought that in seven years they would be keeping him a prisoner in his own palace and calling him names! These are marvellous times! But tell me how you came to see him. 'Tis quite a jaunt from here to the Tuileries."

Encouraged by her mother's relenting mood, Yvonne told the story of their morning, described the Dauphin, the King and even Moufflet. Jean too forgot that he was in disgrace, and added his say to the tale at frequent intervals. Then Yvonne cast all caution to the winds.

"Mother," she ended, "I love the little Citizen Dauphin, and I'm sorry for his father [Pg 18] the Citizen King, and I don't care if you do know it! So does Jean!"

"Hush, hush, precious one!" exclaimed her mother in alarm. "The walls may have ears! Never say that thought aloud if you do not wish us all to be made acquainted with the sharp edge of La Guillotine! But tell me, what else said the little lad?"

"He said, Citizeness Clouet," broke in Jean, "just when we were coming away, that if we were ever in need or trouble, his good parents the King and Queen would help us out if they could. Do you know, I believe that if you were to ask them, they would give you the money to pay the taxes that you said would be due next month, and that you could never pay. Then we would not be turned out of the house. Why don't you ask it?" But Mère Clouet was incredulous.

"The little Prince is all very well," she remarked scornfully, "but his father and mother are a different matter. They have ground the poor under their heel for many [Pg 19] years, and they only do an act of charity when there may be a crowd around to see and applaud it. Trust me, Jean and Yvonne, the King and Queen would set the soldiery upon us were we to come and demand money!" But Jean was far from convinced.

"If you would only try!" he begged. "They seemed so kind to-day. Come [Pg 20] with us to-morrow, and see the little fellow! At least it can do no harm!"

"Well, we shall see!" she conceded. "But tell no one about this, or,—" and she made a sign indicative of the instability of their heads. "And [Pg 21] now, sit you down to your supper, Yvonne. And you, idle good-for-nothing, sit you down also, since you have paid with your chattering tongue for your day's wickedness!"

JEAN MEETS WITH A THIN YOUNG MAN

CHAPTER II

JEAN MEETS WITH A THIN YOUNG MAN

When the Dauphin came to dig in his garden next morning, he found his new friends again at the fence, accompanied by a woman.

"Little Citizen Prince, this is my mother," said Yvonne, "and we have persuaded her to come with us and beg you to fulfil the promise that you gave for your good father and mother yesterday. She is indeed in sore need of help." The Dauphin came to the fence and gave Mother Clouet his hand with his own peculiarly winning smile.

"Good Madame Clouet, my mother will be walking here in a little while. Will you not wait and speak to her yourself? I know she will be glad to help you." Now Mère Clouet bore no animosity toward this little prince,—on [Pg 24] the contrary, she admired and almost loved him,—but she was plainly reluctant to meet the Queen who appealed in no way to her sympathies. But there seemed nothing else to be done, so she drew aside while the children chatted together and romped with Moufflet. Presently, hearing voices, the Dauphin left his friends, ran along one of the walks, and came back leading a lady and a young girl of thirteen.

"This is my Mother-Queen, and this is my sister, Marie-Thérèse," he announced. "Mother, these are the new friends that I told you of yesterday, and this is Yvonne's mother. She wishes to ask something of you."

"Good Mistress Clouet," said the Queen gently, "whatever I can do for you I will, if you will but make known your request." Her voice was soft and penetratingly sweet, and her face, framed in waving hair whitened by sorrow, was full of a strange beauty veiled by overwhelming sadness. Here was something [Pg 25] entirely different from the haughty sovereign that Mère Clouet had expected to meet, and she was overcome by surprise and bashfulness, but she managed to stammer out her request.

"Your Majesty," she faltered, "my good man when he died, left me the house I live in, but though I work hard,—I am a laundress,—I have been unable to do more than provide our three mouths with bread. Jean here I adopted from the Foundling Hospital to help me with my work. But his mouth is wide!—he eats quantities unknown, and hardly does he pay for his keep! For three years past I have been unable to pay the taxes, so great is their amount, and now they threaten to turn me out and keep the house, if I do not pay up every sou next month. For myself, I would go uncomplainingly, but how can I rob the little Yvonne of a roof to shelter her!" Tears came into the woman's eyes as she clasped tighter her little daughter's hand. "So I must beg for my daughter's [Pg 26] sake, but Madame I trust that some day I may repay it, for I would not be under obligations, even to a queen!" The Queen was sincerely touched by this revelation of mingled pride and mother-love.

"I know how you feel, Mistress Clouet. I should not be ashamed to do the same for my own children. How much is the amount?" The laundress shuddered, as with bated breath she named the sum,—a fortune in her eyes.

"I have not the money with me to-day, but come to-morrow and the Dauphin shall give it to you. I do not walk out every day. God bless you and the little Yvonne, and Jean also!" She held out her little white hand, and Mère Clouet, moved by a gratitude and respect the like of which she would not yesterday have believed she could experience, took it in both her rough, work-worn ones. And so they stood a moment gazing at each [Pg 27] other, the proud, beautiful Marie Antoinette, and Citizeness Clouet, the woman of the people, hand locked in hand across the tri-coloured fence.

"Some day I will repay you!" declared Mère Clouet. "It may not be in money, but it shall be in service. We are of the people, and our hearts and sympathies are with the people. But this is a debt of gratitude which we three shall never forget. We will repay you!"

After this event, Jean was sorely perplexed. He talked his trouble over with Mère Clouet who seemed more kindly disposed toward him since the load of debt had been lifted from her shoulders, and her mind had been set at rest about a home for her beloved Yvonne.

"I do not now know how to act," he told her. "My heart is still all for the people [Pg 28] and the cause of our Liberty, yet I do truly love the little prince, and even the King and Queen. And I fear from the things I have heard, that the people will sometime do them harm."

"Let your sympathies still be with the people," counselled Mère Clouet wisely. "We are not royalists, and our heads will not be safe should we appear so! But that need not prevent your loyal friendship for these royal ones, only you must keep it very secret. Heaven help us should it be discovered! I pray God that the royalty may be left in peace, or at least be allowed to depart from the country unharmed when the time comes. We may not desire their sway, but we should not menace their personal safety."

"Well, at least," answered Jean, "it will do no harm for me to keep posted as to what the popular intention toward them may be. And for this, I could learn best what I wish at one of the political clubs,—the Cordeliers [Pg 29] or the Jacobins. But none except the initiated are allowed to enter. However, I'm going to watch my chance and try!" True to this resolve, he informed Mère Clouet one evening:

"I shall go to the Rue St. Honoré to-night and linger near the Jacobin Club. We shall see what we shall see!" And he was off before she could even protest at the lateness of the hour.

The way from the Rue de Lille to the Rue St. Honoré was not long, but it was varied by sights and sounds only to be witnessed in Paris during one of her revolutions. More than once Jean caught the infection from some shouting group, and snatching outstretched hands, joined in the wild dance of the Carmagnole. Then again he would pause before a gesticulating orator madly haranguing his audience from a bench or improvised platform. The air was filled with shouts of "Vive la Nation!" "Vive Danton!" "A bas le Roi!" Jean drank it all in, his [Pg 30] boyish bosom filled with pride at the thought of this strange, new liberty. Yet at the cry, "Down with the King!" his heart would grow sick with the menace that it carried for his benefactors.

At last he reached the Rue St. Honoré and stood before the great stone building, so long the peaceful retreat of the Dominican Monks, now given over to the strongest political society of the day,—the Jacobin Club. Men were passing through its well-guarded doorway, each separately interviewed for a moment by a crabbed, ill-disposed doorkeeper. Each as he passed this watchful sentinel, exhibited a card or murmured some magic password. Jean possessed neither a card nor the knowledge of the proper watchword, but he was not to be daunted by either lack. Boldly he marched up the steps, and would have walked straight into the hall, had not the doorkeeper seized him wrathfully by the collar. No one else was passing in at that moment. [Pg 31]

"I am a good citizen who loves liberty, and I demand to be admitted to this meeting!" replied Jean, hopefully.

"Well, of all outrages!" gasped the astounded doorkeeper. "Begone, you young scamp! The Nation has little use for such as you!" He released the boy's collar, and pursued him down the steps with a thick cane he had snatched up. Jean, deeming flight his wisest course, took to his heels and was speedily beyond the premises. But so rapid was his retreat that before he was aware of it, he had butted plumply into someone who was coming in the opposite direction, and the concussion knocked the stranger flat on his back!

"Oh, I beg your pardon!" entreated Jean, breathlessly, assisting his victim to rise.

"You would make a splendid catapult on a field of artillery!" answered the stranger who proved to be a short and exceedingly [Pg 32] thin young man. He was wrapped in an old grey great-coat, though the weather was May, and warm. A round, shabby black hat was pulled over his eyes. His hair was arranged in a slovenly manner, and hung about his ears. In the lamplight his face was sallow, with high cheek-bones and a very prominent chin. But he had, so Jean thought, the most extraordinary eyes in the world. They were deepset, grey and piercing, and fixed one with a look as sharp as a sword. Jean felt that, had the man's lips commanded him to throw himself into the fire, those eyes would have compelled him to obey!

"Perhaps you will explain the cause for this unwarrantable attack on a peaceful citizen!" said the stranger as he brushed his coat.

"Indeed I meant no harm, nor even knew what I was about, since I was occupied in being forcibly put out of the Jacobin Club!" laughed the boy. [Pg 33]

"And why should you want to be in the Jacobin Club!" demanded the stranger. Jean was on his guard at once.

"All good citizens must wish to be present at meetings so important," he replied airily. "I merely had a curiosity to know what was going on!" The young man fixed him with his brilliant eyes, and Jean felt the blood mount guiltily to his cheeks.

"There's something deeper than that!" he remarked coolly. "I can see it! What are your real reasons? Are you a royalist?"

"Well, it doesn't make a sou's difference to me !" his new companion declared. "I'm neither a royalist, nor am I a republican, nor, for that matter, even a Frenchman. But I happen to have a ticket for the Jacobins myself to-night, and since you're so interested, and have even graciously condescended to knock me down, I'll take you in with me!" Here was a stroke of luck indeed! Jean was [Pg 34] instant in expressing his delight, and the two climbed together the steps down which he had so lately fled in ignominy. The gatekeeper scolded and muttered, but there was nothing to do but let him pass, since a man with a card vouched for him.

The boy never forgot that night. He reached home and the Rue de Lille long after midnight, encountering Mère Clouet at the door. She had been very uneasy, and was inclined to be somewhat wrathful at the lateness of the hour. But Jean was too excited to care.

"Don't scold, Mère Clouet!" he entreated. "I've gotten into the Jacobin Club at last!"

"Every bit!" he answered. "Give me a bite to eat, good mother, and I'll tell you all about it."

"Always hungry!" she muttered, but nevertheless she gave him a generous slice of bread and jam. Between great mouthfuls, [Pg 35] he told the story of his forcible encounter with the thin young man and its sequel,—his admission to the club.

"Ah, but it was a wonderful night for me!" he continued. "Such speeches did I hear from Citizen Marat who is its president, and from one, Robespierre, whose voice, they say, has greater weight than any, and also from Citizen Danton, the president of the Cordeliers, who came this evening with many more of his own club! Much of what they said was hard for me to understand, but one thing I learned that it is well to know.

"The citizens of the Faubourg St. Antoine are planning a fête for the twentieth of June (that's the day after to-morrow), in which they will form a procession and march to the palace to present a petition to the King. That, of course, is all very well, but let me tell you what I heard whispered about by Santerre, the brewer, who is to lead them. Each sans-culotte is to carry a pike, and he [Pg 36] thinks that when the King sees forty thousand pikes assembled about his door that he will become alarmed. Then will be the time to lead a general insurrection and demand that he resign his throne and crown or else force him to it. Is it not outrageous thus to take advantage of him unfairly?" Mère Clouet was alarmed and indignant.

"It is indeed!" she declared. "I believe the King means to do the right thing by his people, but the country is becoming mob-ruled. It is only the scum of Paris, of which that Santerre is a good sample, who would sanction such plans! But sadly do I fear that they will do the royal family harm!"

"And so do I," replied Jean, "and therefore I intend to march with the mob on the twentieth. Who knows but I may be in some way useful to the poor little Citizen Dauphin!"

"But," continued Mère Clouet, "it was kind of that strange young man to take you [Pg 37] into the club to-night! Did you learn who he may be?"

"Indeed I did!" answered the boy. "All through the meeting he sat with his arms folded and his strange eyes fixed on the speakers. Once, when [Pg 38] Santerre harangued us, I heard him mutter, ' Canaille! ' and another time when Robespierre was speaking, he whispered to me, 'That is a man of power, but—one should beware!' When we left the club, we parted on [Pg 39] the Rue St. Honoré, and he said, 'Perhaps you will tell me your name, young sir. You seem a lad of spirit!' When I had informed him, he told me his own. 'Tis a strange one, and has a foreign sound,—Napoleon [Pg 40] Bonaparte!"

IN WHICH THE DAUPHIN WEARS THE RED CAP

CHAPTER III

IN WHICH THE DAUPHIN WEARS THE RED CAP

There is nothing in this world so fickle as a Parisian mob! A breath, a word, a gesture even, can often turn it aside from its most murderous purpose, and bring it worshipping to the very feet of those it sought but a moment before to destroy!

The great palace of the Tuileries was crowded to suffocation. Hordes of savage men, women, and even children from the poorest quarters of Paris, thronged, jostled and fought one another to get a sight of their hated sovereigns. A small company of soldiers strove in vain to clear the rooms and defend the royalty from the taunts and insults of the populace. Outside the palace, a still greater section of the mob, unable to force an entrance, shrieked for something [Pg 42] spectacular, even to demanding the heads of the royal family. It was a wild, turbulent scene!

Jean had kept his word. Throughout the four hours' march along the Rue St. Honoré, on that memorable twentieth of June, he had stayed closely by that great giant of a Santerre, who finally gave him his heavy pike to carry. At the palace gate the mob forced the doors with a rush, and Jean, by virtue of being in the van with the brewer, entered among the first. Up the Grand Staircase they hurried, pell-mell, dragging a piece of cannon with them, and using hatchets, commenced to force the door behind which it was rumoured that the King was hiding. Doubtless the mob expected to find him cowering in terror behind a few faithful soldiers. What then was their amazement when the panels of the door fell in, to behold him standing directly before them, calm and unmoved!

"Here I am!" announced Louis XVI. [Pg 43] "Had you waited but a moment, you might have entered the door without destroying it. What do you wish with me?" The rabble fell back a pace, in enforced respect. Jean crept behind some of the tallest, not wishing the King to perceive him and misinterpret his intentions.

"We have here a decree concerning the rights of the people!" announced one, Legendre, a butcher, who had constituted himself their spokesman. "We wish you to sanction it!"

"This," said the King quietly, "is neither the place nor the time for me to do that. You know that I will do all which your new Constitution requires of me!" His kingly dignity quite changed the attitude of the turbulent throng.

"Well, prove it then!" demanded a bold [Pg 44] voice, and its owner handed the King a red cap on the point of a pike. Jean held his breath, wondering what the monarch would do now. But Louis XVI deemed this neither the time nor the place to resist what was after all but a symbol. He lifted the cap, and with a dignified gesture, placed it on his head. Further than that, he even poured some liquor from a bottle offered to him, and drank to the nation, though there were a thousand chances that he had been presented with poison. After that he was loudly applauded, and there was plainly no reason to fear an attack upon his person.

But now Jean became anxious for the safety of the little prince, and pushed his way from the room to ascertain what he could concerning the other members of the royal family. At the door of the council hall he heard it said that within could be seen the "Austrian Wolf," as they called the Queen. Truly enough, there she was at the end of the room. Jean's heart gave a bound at the [Pg 45] sight of the group. Fenced in by a long table stood Marie Antoinette, her head high, her great eyes flashing, her cheeks deathly pale. On one side of her stood young Marie-Thérèse, pale also, but brave and unflinching, her hand clasped in her mother's. And on the table, supported by his mother's arm, stood the Dauphin. In his face was mingled astonishment and fright, and he turned his eyes constantly toward his mother, as if to read in her countenance the meaning of this amazing invasion.

For a time nothing but confusion reigned. Cries of "Down with the Austrian Wolf!" mingled with shouts of "Vive Santerre!" "Vivent les Sans-culottes!" "Vive le Faubourg St. Antoine!" Then suddenly there was silence. A huge woman pushed her way through the crowd, threw her red woollen liberty-cap on the table and cried:

"If thou art so fond of the nation, thou Austrian Wolf, let thy son wear the red cap of liberty!" [Pg 46]

"Yes, yes!" shrieked the crowd. "Crown the little Wolf-Cub with the red cap, and give him some tri-coloured ribbons to wear!" Someone threw down the ribbons beside the cap. The Queen turned to one of the guards standing close by.

"Place the cap on his head!" she commanded, and the grenadier did so, setting it on the boy's brown curls; then he tied the ribbons in his button-hole. The little fellow, hardly comprehending whether this might be in sport or insult, smiled uncertainly. The multitude shouted and applauded, and more confusion ensued. Jean, taking advantage of the racket, slipped to the front, and placed himself directly before the Dauphin. The little prince at once recognised him, but before he should show that he did, Jean leaned across the table and shouted "Vive la nation!" and then in an undertone whispered: "I am only here to help you! What can I do?" The Dauphin's face lit up with a smile [Pg 47] of understanding, and without an instant's hesitation he murmured:

"Find Moufflet!" Comprehending well the boy's anxiety for his pet, Jean passed on, melted into the crowd and quickly scurried away, darting here and there, in and out of all the rooms to which he could find admittance. But it was like hunting for a needle in a haystack. Chance alone finally favoured him. As he passed a thickly-packed group in one of the corridors, he thought he distinguished a faint yelp. In another moment he knew that he was not mistaken. Hating anything that was royal property, a crowd of rough sans-culottes had surrounded the poor shivering animal, for lack of being able to get any nearer its master.

"Here, Jacques!" called one ruffian, "give me your pike and I'll finish him!" He was just about to spear the frightened, yelping ball of fluff, when Jean broke madly through the crowd. [Pg 48]

"Give him to me!" he commanded. "He's just the kind of a dog I want! I'll teach him to bark for Liberty, Equality and Fraternity!" The crowd laughed, patted Jean's head approvingly, and handing Moufflet over to his protection, hurried off to seek other prey. The dog whined his recognition of a former friend, and tried to hide under the boy's jacket.

But Jean could not carry the little thing around in his arms, and at the same time restore him to his master, that was plain. Where could he place him so that the little animal might remain in safety? He looked about him in despair. There was not a corner or the smallest cubby-hole where it would be secure. Suddenly he remembered that in one of the rooms now deserted, he had opened a door of what seemed to be a large closet. He hurried to the spot and found just the hiding-place he needed. Thrusting Moufflet into the darkness, he commanded:

"You be a good dog! Lie down and be [Pg 49] quiet!" As if comprehending the situation completely, the dog crawled into a far corner, curled up and lay shivering and silent. Jean closed the door, turned the key, and ran back to the council-hall. Meanwhile, what had taken place in his absence?

For many minutes the Dauphin stood crowned with the heavy woollen cap, while the crowd hooted, laughed and jeered. The day was very hot, and the perspiration streamed down his face and dampened his curls. His mother pressed him closer to her, whispering him to be brave a little longer. As she did so, a young woman in front called out:

"How proud and haughty that Austrian is! How she hates us!" The girl was pretty, and her expression mild and gentle. The Queen wondered at the contrast between her appearance and her words. For the first time that day, she opened her lips and answered:

"I do not hate you, my friend! Why [Pg 50] should I? But I am afraid that you hate me, though I have done you no wrong!" The young woman began to feel a little ashamed.

"No, no! I do not mean that you hate me ," she replied, "but the nation. You love only Austria from whence you came!"

"You poor child!" answered the Queen. "They have told you that and you believe it, but it is not true! I came from Austria when I was a very young girl, to marry the King. But since then I have forgotten the land of my birth. I love only France! Why, see! am I not the mother of your future king?" and she pointed to the Dauphin. "I love all my French people, and I only wish them to be happy!" The girl was so touched by the Queen's gentle, reproachful manner, that the tears came into her eyes.

"Oh, pardon me, Madame! I did not know you!" she begged. "I see now that you are not as wicked as they said!" It was then that the humour of the mob changed. Women and men who had been the fiercest, [Pg 51] wept at the grief in the Queen's words and looks. They pressed about the table, admiring the bravery of Marie Antoinette and the beauty of her children. Cries of "Down with the Queen!" gave place to words of praise and admiration for her courage. Even the big, brutal Santerre was touched.

"Take off that cap from the little fellow's head!" he ordered. "Don't you see how hot he is?" And then to the Queen he whispered: "Have no fear, Madame! I will send away the people in peace!"

It was then that Jean returned to the room, amazed at the changed aspect of affairs. Under Santerre's direction the throng began to file out past the royal family, contenting themselves with kindly looks and words, or rough ones, as their changeable tempers dictated. Jean was among the last to leave, and he had only time to whisper in a very low voice as he passed the prince,

"It's all right! The closet in the next room!" But by the grateful smile of his little [Pg 52] Highness, Jean knew that the Dauphin had both heard and understood.

Outside, on the terrace of the Tuileries, other events of interest appeared to be happening, and Jean lingered to witness them. A man standing on an armchair at a window in the palace, was addressing the crowds below. It proved to be Pétion, the Mayor of Paris, and he was bidding the mob disperse peaceably now that the King had been interviewed. While Jean was looking up, he felt himself clapped on the shoulder, and a voice exclaimed:

"Well, if here is not my young friend the catapult!" and turning, he found himself face to face with the thin young man. "And what may you be doing here? Helping to mob the King?" Now Jean could scarcely have explained why, but something about this young man both invited and compelled his confidence, and he had the instinctive feeling that confidence in him would not be misplaced. So he boldly declared: [Pg 53]

"No, Citizen Bonaparte, indeed I have been far from mobbing the King. I am not a royalist, and I wish to be a true patriot, but I feel that the people are not dealing rightly with the King, and that they will yet allow the rabble to do him an ill turn!"

"Well said!" agreed the young man, heartily. "My opinion to a dot! My friend, I am a Corsican by birth, and I have aided in the unsuccessful fight for Corsica's liberty, but now I believe I will adopt a new country and become a French patriot. The situation in this land appeals to me. My heart thrills when I see an oppressed people rising to throw off the yoke of the oppressor! And you are right when you say that, groping in the twilight of their first new liberties, the people are not dealing justly with their king. But, look you, my friend! Their king means well, only he is making the biggest mistake a monarch ever made! He is yet their monarch! He should show it! The people bow to force, to power, and to that alone. See [Pg 54] him now!" and he pointed to a window where Louis XVI, still crowned with the red cap, was surveying the throng below.

"Never should he have allowed them to put on him that emblem!" continued Bonaparte vehemently. "Never should he have countenanced this invasion of his palace! It was madness! Had he turned a few cannon upon them, and blown a hundred or more of this rabble to pieces, the rest would have taken to their heels and fled with respect for him in their hearts! As it is now, they have none! Mark my words!—worse will come, and he will live to regret his forbearance!"

Jean marvelled at the fire that flashed from those grey eyes. Instinct told him that here was a man born to command, and he felt drawn to the stranger by a feeling of intense admiration.

"I came here to-day through curiosity," he continued, "but what did you in the palace, my young friend?" And Jean, in his new trust, told the whole story of his attachment [Pg 55] to the little Dauphin, and the debt of gratitude the Clouets owed to the Queen. When he had finished his auditor remarked:

"You are a faithful soul, my little friend, and I admire your spirit of [Pg 56] gratitude. I too am genuinely sorry for the royal family. But I fear you have set yourself a hard road to travel, between your patriotism and your friendship for royalty. Beware of the many pitfalls that beset you! I am staying at the Rue Cléry, number 548, over the tobacconist's. Come [Pg 57] and see me sometimes. Fortune is not dealing with me so very lavishly just at present, and I should be grateful for your bright companionship while I am far from my family and friends!"

ON TERRIBLE AUGUST TENTH

CHAPTER IV

ON TERRIBLE AUGUST TENTH

Jean speedily availed himself of the invitation from Bonaparte to visit him. A few evenings after June twentieth, he went to the Rue Cléry, ascended to a room over the tobacconist's shop, and found Bonaparte reading by the light of a single candle. The room was empty of all but the barest necessities, and it was evident that its occupant was having a hard struggle to make ends meet. But Bonaparte seemed pleased at the visit of his new friend, and the two were soon engaged in lively conversation.

That night Jean heard the story of this young man's life. He told the eager, sympathetic lad how he had been born of a fine family in Corsica; how his father had lost all in [Pg 60] the vain struggle for Corsican liberty; how he, Napoleon, a poor shy, proud boy had been sent to the military school at Brienne where he suffered agonies of wounded pride among his richer classmates; how at fifteen he had spent a year at the military school of Paris, suffering similar humiliation because of his poverty, and at sixteen was appointed second lieutenant of a regiment of artillery at Valence; how, soon after, his father died, leaving practically on his shoulders the responsibility of a mother, four brothers and three sisters! how he left the army and for a time devoted himself to straightening out his family affairs; how he had returned to the army, but encouraged by the breaking out of the Revolution in 1789, he had again attempted to aid in freeing Corsica, and for this reason had lost his place in the French army. Now he was hoping to regain it, but in the present disturbed condition of affairs, could obtain little attention from the authorities. In the meantime he was struggling [Pg 61] along, poor as a church mouse, making the barest kind of a living by doing a little writing. All this information was not imparted at once, but came out by degrees in the course of their conversation. Jean drank it in with intense interest.

"But the tide will turn!" ended Bonaparte. "Something tells me that I was born under a fortunate star. Things will be different some day!" And catching the proud flash from his wonderful eyes, Jean had no doubt of it!

As the days went on, Jean was drawn by an irresistible fascination more and more into the society of "the thin young man," as he often spoke of him to Mère Clouet and Yvonne. One evening, as he ran up the stairs of Rue Cléry, number 548, Napoleon's first greeting was:

"I've something to tell you that will interest you, Jean! I've been to the Jacobins again. There's a bloody insurrection planned for August tenth! They are going [Pg 62] to mob the palace, dethrone the King, seize the Dauphin, and make all the royal family prisoners. Santerre is at the head of it, and Danton, of course, at the bottom! You'd better look sharp for your royal friends!"

"Oh!" said Jean thankfully, "I'm so glad you warned me. I shall be there, at least, and see what I can do to help them! I can't of course do much, but—who knows!"

"But, see here, my lad," answered Bonaparte, laying his hand on the boy's shoulder, "you must not go alone! You are hardly more than a child yet, and these are perilous times. I'd be anxious for your safety. Promise me that you will not go without me! Together, we may be a protection for each other." Jean gave his word, deeply touched that his new friend should exhibit such thoughtfulness for his welfare.

Meanwhile, gloomy days had ensued for Louis Charles, royal Dauphin of France. [Pg 63] His little garden where he longed to dig among the flower-beds and romp with Moufflet was forbidden him. Once only since the hateful day of June twentieth, he had gone there accompanied by his mother. But the shouts and threats of the crowd behind the fence, quickly drove them into the palace again for safety.

Distrust and suspicion were in the very air! For the people of Paris, like a sullen, angry dog that has obtained a bone only to have it snatched away again, felt that they had been defeated of their purpose on the day they besieged the Tuileries. They were laying dark plans to repeat the expedition, which this time, they vowed, should not fail. Just at present they were only lying in wait till the time should be fully ripe.

The Dauphin roamed from room to room in the castle, pressed his face to the windows and gazed with envy at the Park, brilliant with sunshine, and at the throngs of common people who were free to come and go as they [Pg 64] pleased. He wondered whether Jean and Yvonne ever came to the garden now. Once he thought he distinguished the boy among the strolling crowds but he could not be sure. The King and Queen were preoccupied and sad. His aunt, Madame Elizabeth, was much with them, and had little time to give to his amusement. Even his sister sometimes forgot to romp and frolic with him as had been her wont. To all it was a season of breathless suspense.

And then the fatal day arrived. On the night of August ninth, after his supper, the Queen went to the Dauphin's room where he was being put to bed, to kiss him good-night. Tears stood in her eyes as she clasped him more closely than usual.

"There is some danger, we have heard, but perhaps not immediate. You would not understand if I explained it, little son!"

"But can you not stay with me this evening?" [Pg 65] he begged. "I am so lonesome, and everyone is so sad!"

"That I would love to do, but I must be with your father. He needs me most. Do not be afraid, for we shall be near you."

For a long time the boy lay sleepless, pondering his mother's words. What did it all mean, anyway! His childish mind strove in vain to comprehend why the French people should hate his parents so. There must certainly be something very wrong somewhere! Sleep refused to come to his tired little brain, and the hours passed slowly by.

Suddenly he was startled by the strokes of a bell sounding far across the city. It was the great tocsin of the Cordeliers Club, striking the general alarm. Immediately it was answered by bells from all sections, mingled with cannon-shots and the hoarse cries of an infuriated mob. Nearer and nearer came the racket, and then the tumult became general both within and without the palace. The Dauphin was hurriedly dressed, [Pg 66] and joined his parents, sister and aunt in another room. The King alone seemed calm.

"Come," said he, "we must all visit the soldiers who are defending the palace and encourage them! Are you afraid, my son?"

"Indeed no, Father!" answered the boy. "Let us go at once!" and he seized the King's hand in his own. Down the stairs and from room to room they passed, the King, calm and gentle as ever, speaking words of encouragement to the few defenders who remained with them. The grand gallery of the palace was filled with the troops of the Swiss Guard. As the royal family passed, the captain snatched up the Dauphin, lifted the child high above his head, and shouted:

"Long live the King and the King's son!" Wild huzzas broke from every throat, but their enthusiasm was short-lived. For without was approaching a sinister clamour. Horrible cries, chiefly "The Crown or the King's head!" "Deposition or Death!" resounded [Pg 67] on all sides. At that moment there burst into the room the procureur-general, who approached the king crying:

"Sire, the danger is beyond all expression! All Paris is in arms! Resistance is impossible! They demand that you resign the throne! It is death to you and yours if you refuse!" Louis XVI gave one last despairing look about him. He feared nothing for his own life, but he refused to risk those of his loved ones.

"It is done!" he said gravely. "I make the last sacrifice! Do with me what you will!" And so fell the ancient monarchy of France!

It was quarter past six in the morning, when the sad procession wended its way from the abode of its ancestors forever. Louis XVI went first with Madame Elizabeth. Marie Antoinette followed, leading her two children by the hand. The Dauphin looked [Pg 68] back constantly, dragging at his mother's hand.

"Oh, Mother, can I not wait and find Moufflet?" he pleaded. "I must not leave him behind! I know just where he is!"

"No, no!" she exclaimed. "You would be killed if you went back! Be a brave boy and make up your mind to part with Moufflet!" Tears stood in the little fellow's eyes, and he struggled hard to keep them from falling. A few trickled down, however, and he dashed them away, lest someone should think them caused by fear. "My poor Moufflet!" he thought, when he saw the mob forcing its entrance into the Tuileries. Could he have known that in the midst of the bloodthirsty rabble was his little friend Jean, he would have been both amazed and sorely troubled.

But how did Jean get there! All the evening of August ninth, he had been uneasy, and found it almost unendurable to stay quietly [Pg 69] at home with Mère Clouet and Yvonne. Excitement was in the air! A great event was about to occur, and when the tocsin of the Cordeliers sounded the first stroke, he was off like a rocket to the Rue Cléry.

"Citizen Bonaparte!" he clamoured, hammering on that young man's closed door. "Come! come! They are about to assault the Tuileries! Here I am as I promised!" Bonaparte came out dressed, after what seemed an age to Jean, and the two hurried into the street and were instantly carried almost off their feet in the swirling human current sweeping toward the Tuileries. Men, women and children, chiefly of the lowest scum of Paris, carried pikes, knives, hatchets, bludgeons,—anything that might serve as a weapon of offence. "Death to the King!" "Down with the Austrian Wolf!" "To the guillotine with Royalty!" were the predominating cries.

Into the Rue St. Honoré, through the Pont Neuf and the Pont Royal they poured, ever [Pg 70] increasing in numbers and ferocity. Almost without volition on their part, Bonaparte and Jean were carried along by the throng that swept through the Rue St. Honoré, and in the first faint dawn of morning, they, with the crowds, drove through the ill-guarded palace gates, and stood before the long windows. Pressed close to the wall of the palace, the two friends witnessed the departure of the royal family, and Jean even guessed at the meaning of the little Dauphin's despairing, backward looks.

"Citizen Bonaparte," he whispered, "I see plainly that we can do nothing now to help the royal ones, since they have placed themselves in the care of the National Assembly, and will probably be safe. But I would like to save that poor little fellow's pet, if it be possible. What do you think?"

Before Bonaparte could reply, there was an exchange of volleying shots between the outside mob, and the inner defenders. With a roar of exasperation, the rabble flung itself [Pg 71] at the doors and windows using the hatchets, and when these gave way, the throng poured into the palace. For a moment Jean and Bonaparte were hurried along in the rush, and then at some sudden obstruction were forcibly separated, and Jean found himself alone amid a scene of indescribable confusion and danger.

The mob, first inhumanly butchered the Swiss Guard who had remained to defend the palace, then turned its attention to pillaging and destroying, with ruthless indiscrimination, the carefully hoarded treasures of this kingly mansion, and when this grew wearisome, attempted to set fire to different parts of the building. In such a reign of confusion, members of the mob frequently failed to discriminate among their victims, and often turned their weapons upon their own numbers.

Now Jean saw no reason for uselessly exposing himself to murder, and he looked about for the safest and most convenient [Pg 72] place to hide. It occurred to him that the closet where he had placed Moufflet on that memorable twentieth of June, would afford the best shelter. Making his way through the crush with the greatest difficulty, he at last reached the room, and managed to slip unobserved into this retreat, closing the door and locking it on the inside. The space was small, and no sooner had he crouched down in the farthest corner, than he felt something warm and soft under his hand. For a moment it startled him, and then, with a stifled cry, he clasped the fluffy mass to his heart.

"Moufflet!" he breathed, and the dog licked his face in an ecstasy of delighted recognition. Then he realised that the Dauphin must have placed him once more in this retreat, when the first alarm was heard. He felt almost happy. Here was half his plan accomplished! Now if he could only find Bonaparte, and they could get away unharmed, all would be well. He was just about to emerge from his hiding-place with [Pg 73] Moufflet under his coat, when horrible shouts filled the room, and he quickly decided to remain where he was.

"Search this room! Search this room!" shrieked hoarse voices. "There may be aristocrats hiding here!" Then someone pulled at the door of his retreat. "Here's a locked door!" called a rough fellow. "A hatchet,—quick!" The splintered wood fell in with a crash, and shrieking with delight, they dragged Jean out of the closet. Thirsting for blood, the ruffians cared not, by this time, whether he was an aristocrat or one of their own number. He was hiding!—that was enough! A bloody hand grasped his collar, and another with a meat-axe was raised over his head. Jean was too paralysed with terror to do anything but wonder just how long it would take that axe to descend, when suddenly he saw it dashed from his assailant's hand, and a well-known voice shouted:

"Fool! Don't you know a good sans-culotte [Pg 74] when you see one? I believe you'd murder your own brother!" The ruffian backed away, apologised sheepishly, and darted off into the crowd. And with a glad cry of recognition, Jean found himself in the arms of Bonaparte!

"A close one for you, lad!" was all his rescuer had time to say. To the end of his days, Jean could never tell just how they two struggled out of that palace of horrors, nor how he managed to keep his grip on the frightened, shivering, squirming Moufflet. But at last they found themselves beyond the walls, and near the bank of the Seine. In sheer exhaustion they dropped to the ground and lay there in the sultry morning sun for over an hour, happy merely to be alive and whole, after the experiences of that dreadful day.

And elsewhere the hours of this memorable day wore on, filled with a series of confused events through which the Dauphin and his family moved, as through some horrible [Pg 75] nightmare. The child knew not their meaning, and could only occasionally grasp at the import of the drama. Three long, terribly uncomfortable days were passed in the great hall of the Assembly filled with representatives of the people. During all this time the royal family was crowded into a tiny hot room at the side where they were nearly stifled by the intense heat and discomfort, their hearts constantly trembling at the horrible sounds made by the mob raging without the building. Three weary nights were passed in the tiny cells in another building where they were taken to sleep.

The Assembly seemed to have great difficulty in deciding what to do with their superfluous ex-monarch! Some,—they were the fiercest,—wanted him killed immediately, as that would save them all further trouble and expense. Some thought that he and his family should be sent out of the country into exile. This was opposed because they said he might raise an army, march back and regain [Pg 76] his throne. Others were in favour of allowing him to live in retirement at the Luxembourg, a smaller palace than the Tuileries. This too was frowned down, because they thought it too luxurious and comfortable, and besides had underground passages to other parts of the city, through which he might escape. Finally they grew weary of the discussion.

"Oh, let us send him to the old Temple Tower, and keep him there! That is good enough for him!" And so it was decided. Two large carriages were procured, and the King, his family, and a few faithful servants were driven across the city, through the pitiless, mocking crowds, to the gloomy prison where they were to pass so many weary months and even years. The Dauphin, seated on his father's knee, looked out at the mob, shouting its frenzy of joy at their monarch's abasement.

"No, dear son," answered the forgiving Louis XVI. "They are not [Pg 78] wicked,—only mistaken!"

When at last the courtyard of the Temple was reached, the carriages halted and the occupants stepped out. The yard was filled with soldiers [Pg 79] commanded by Santerre (but yesterday made a general!) yet no one helped them to alight. As they walked to the entrance, no man removed his hat, and when Santerre addressed the King, he forgot to say "Your Majesty," or "Sire." At the doorway they paused a second, but they did not look [Pg 80] back. The crowd shouted "Vive la Nation!" They passed inside, and the door was shut on the humiliation of the dethroned monarch!

A DOMICILIARY VISIT

CHAPTER V

A DOMICILIARY VISIT

"This country is going to the dogs!" It was Bonaparte who spoke, striding up and down thoughtfully, his head bent, his hands clasped behind him. The two friends were taking an evening stroll in the Jardin des Plantes, and discussing, of course, the affairs of the nation, which were the only matters that interested anyone in those stirring days.

"Yes, the country, and especially this city is going to the dogs, and I think I'll leave it!" Jean was thoroughly startled.

"I believe I'll go home to Corsica," replied Bonaparte. "I love my home, and I've always been happy there, poor though it is. [Pg 82] And besides, my sister Elisa has been a student at the royal school of St. Cyr. I have just received word that this school was closed and suppressed by the Assembly on August sixteenth. So I must go there and take Elisa home. I don't want to return. Paris is a horrible place!"

"But what shall I do without you?" wailed Jean. "You are my best friend! I have almost no others in these dreadful days."

"Come with me, then!" generously responded Bonaparte. "Have you never thought of becoming a soldier? I have received news of my reinstatement in the army, and I would gladly take you with me."

"Ah, but would I not love to do so!" answered the boy sadly. "It has ever been my secret wish to serve my country in the army, and in these days when we are struggling for liberty, I desire it beyond everything. But how can I leave Mère Clouet and Yvonne? The good mother has cared for me ever since she took me, a homeless waif from [Pg 83] the Foundling Hospital, and it would be wrong to leave her and the little Yvonne unprotected in this mad city. It is true I am young, but I am all they have! And besides, I have set my heart on being of service to the poor little Citizen Dauphin in prison, if I can. We owe that debt to him and to his parents, who helped us in our hour of need."

"You speak truly!" said Bonaparte. "Your family is your first concern, and nothing appeals to me more than the desire to pay a debt, whether of money or gratitude. But should the opportunity ever come, I'll take you with me in the army, lad, for I like your spirit. Would that Paris had in her many more such!

"But Paris is insane, blood-intoxicated!" he went on thoughtfully. "It is amazing how blind she has become to the real peril! She seems to think that the whole danger to her new liberty comes from within her midst, in the persons of suspected royalists. Whereas, look you! France is really [Pg 84] menaced from without by the foreign powers Austria and Prussia, whose armies are threatening our borders everywhere. These powers think that the conquest of this nation will be a mere summer picnic, because she is internally torn by a great Revolution. What the country needs is a head ! Oh, for someone who could mass all her squabbling factions in one united whole, and lead her to a glorious victory!"

So declaimed Bonaparte on this dusky, starlit night in the Jardin des Plantes. What if the curtain of the future could have rolled back for an instant and revealed to Jean's astonished gaze this same shabby young man, eight years later! He is the hero of a hundred, victorious battles! He has raised the perishing land of France and set her on the highest pinnacle of power in the world! He is the emperor of his country and the king of Italy! He has made his impoverished brothers and sisters kings and queens. He is at once feared, obeyed and [Pg 85] adored! He has truly fulfilled his destiny! But the stars twinkled down on the Jardin des Plantes. Out of Paris rose the subdued murmur of an ever restless populace. The two friends walked together in silence for a space, and the future still darkly guarded the wonderful secret!

Suddenly the stillness of the night was broken by a roll of drums from the Rue Saint Victor. In an instant everyone was hurrying in that direction, realising that it was a signal of importance. Jean and Bonaparte lost no time in joining the ranks of the curious. What they learned that night served to add in no way to their peace of mind.

It seemed that the brain of Danton, ever fertile in inventing outrageous and unbearable measures, had hatched a new scheme. This was no less than to apprehend all aristocrats who had been concealing themselves since August tenth, all who had belonged to the late Court or were in any way connected [Pg 86] with it, and all who were suspected of royalistic sympathies. This was to be effected by a series of domiciliary visits . At the roll of the drums, all citizens were to repair at once to their homes and remain there two days, during which time they would be personally visited by a committee of surveillance. Suspicious evidences found in any house, would subject all its inmates to immediate imprisonment.

"You are to disperse at once!" ended the soldier who delivered this message. "By ten o'clock not a soul must be abroad! Citizens, retire at once to your homes!"

"Outrage! Unwarrantable outrage! This is worse than the Bourbon tyranny!" muttered Bonaparte, as the two separated, for it lacked but half an hour of the required time. "But go cautiously, Jean, when the inspectors visit your house! Remember, you've something incriminating there!"

When the following morning dawned, Paris was a singular sight! Streets that had been [Pg 87] populous with passing throngs and carriages, or swarming with the crowded masses of the poor, were silent and deserted. Everyone sought the vain protection of his own roof, which was soon to prove no protection at all, and waited in fearful expectation for the threatened visit. No one, were he never so innocent, could be certain of immunity. Valuable property was hurriedly concealed, and persons who had the slightest reason to think themselves objects of suspicion were carefully hidden, some even going so far as to have themselves nailed up within the walls of their houses!

For two days Mère Clouet, Yvonne and Jean remained within doors in nerve-racking uncertainty, trembling at the slightest sound, or the faintest cry in the streets. For they had in their midst, as Bonaparte had said, "something most incriminating,"—the pretty, coal-black spaniel of Louis Charles, so lately imprisoned and deprived of his title.

"What shall we do with Moufflet, when the [Pg 88] committee of surveillance comes?" whispered Yvonne, who with all the others, instinctively lowered her voice in this time of peril, lest the very walls betray her.

"Leave that to me!" commanded Jean. "I've decided what I shall do and say, only be sure you do not contradict me, either by word or action!"

"I wish we could have hidden the little animal," sighed Mère Clouet, "but of course it would have been useless to try. He would surely betray both himself and us by some bark or whine!" So the hours wore away. The two days of suspense drew to an end, and the Clouet family were beginning to hope they had escaped the ordeal, when at dusk that night, a thundering knock was heard at the door.

"That's a gayer greeting than we get at [Pg 89] most places!" answered a high nasal voice as the door was opened. And without further ceremony there tramped in six huge pikemen, headed by one of the committee of surveillance,—the owner of the nasal voice. He was a singularly unprepossessing specimen of humanity, thin, wiry, short of stature, evil-faced, with little, claw-like hands. He had a curious habit of slinking about with soft, noiseless steps and a watchful look in his beady eyes that reminded one irresistibly of a mouse. The pikemen addressed him as Citizen Coudert.

"Pikemen, do your duty," he commanded, "while I question these people!" And while the pikemen tramped through the house, emptying drawers, boxes and barrels, thumping the walls and floors, tearing up clothing and destroying china on the pretence of a more thorough search, Citizen Coudert proceeded to put the inmates upon a rack of torturing questions. He had just touched upon the ticklish subject of sympathy for the [Pg 90] ex-king and the royal family, when a shout from one of the pikemen announced the discovery of Moufflet, curled up in a distant corner.

"That's a dog I'll swear I saw at the Tuileries garden many a day this past year, with the little Wolf-Cub! I know dogs well, and am never mistaken in one!" Jean's heart was in his throat, but he maintained an indifferent air.

"Aha! is it so!" snarled Coudert, rubbing his claw-like hands, and with a gleam very like satisfaction in his beady eyes. "Answer me in regard to this dog, if you please, young sir! Is he the property of that Wolf-Cub brat?" Then Jean played his boldest card.

"He was, I suppose, Citizen Coudert, but he's mine now! And when you hear how I got him, you will say I did well, and acted worthily as a good republican citizen. I went with the throng to the palace on June twentieth, to see the sights. There I found [Pg 91] this little dog, and I said to myself,—'Won't it be a fine joke on royalty to take this animal and train him in good republican ways!' So I caught him and carried him home." Citizen Coudert looked incredulous.

"You do not believe me, Citizen," continued Jean eagerly, "but hark! I will prove it! Here, Moufflet! Bark for Liberty!" The little animal ran to him, crouched, and barked once. "Now for Equality!" Moufflet barked twice. "Now for Fraternity!" The dog gave three short, sharp barks, then sat up and lifted its paws to beg. And Mère Clouet and Yvonne realised now why Jean had been diligently training the intelligent animal in this new accomplishment during the past two days of seclusion.

"Bravo!" applauded the pikeman. "That's a rare trick for a royalist dog! You've done well, my boy! I imagine we've no fault to find with you!"

"Be silent, Citizen Prevôt!" growled Coudert. "Pay attention to your own duties, [Pg 92] and leave these things to me! Now, young sir, this is all very well, but what business had you to appropriate to yourself any property that belongs to the people at large? This dog should have been delivered to the Assembly. He is valuable, and might have been sold and the money turned to helping our starving poor. Hand him over to me! I will do what is right with him, but I'm going to keep a strict watch over you, do you understand? You have given me cause to be suspicious of you! Here, Prevôt, carry this dog! To the next house, pikemen!"

It was all Jean could do to be silent and submissive under this act of injustice and outrage, but imploring glances from Mère Clouet and Yvonne helped him to hold his tongue. The committee of surveillance left the house, accompanied by yelps of protest from Moufflet, struggling in the grip of Prevôt. When they were gone, Jean tramped up and down the room in a fury of rage and disappointment. [Pg 93]

"That sneak of a Coudert!" he exploded. "Has he any more right to that dog than we have? He'll never give it to the Assembly, that I know! He wants it for himself, or else he just took it for the sake of robbing us! And now I cannot restore Moufflet to his little master, as I had hoped some day to do!"

"Hush! hush!" begged Mère Clouet. "We were lucky to have gotten off without being dragged to prison! Had it not been for that dog's trick, which you were clever enough to teach him, I doubt not but we would have all been in La Conciergerie within an hour!" But Jean was not to be passified by such reasoning, and he went to bed in wrath and tears, and Yvonne followed his example.

Events, however, shortly came to pass that made him sincerely thankful they were all yet alive and going about with heads still secure on their shoulders. The domiciliary visits of the last of August had so filled to overflowing every prison in the city with victims (sad to say, for the most part [Pg 94] absolutely innocent of the crimes imputed to them!) that a still more horrible plan was determined upon by those two arch fiends of the Revolution, Marat and Danton,—one which should at once clear the prisons for more victims, and strike such terror to the hearts of any remaining royalists as to suppress absolutely all further tendencies in this direction. This was nothing more nor less than a general massacre of all the prisoners without trial, justice or mercy.

At two o'clock on Sunday, September 2, 1792, this wholesale slaughter commenced, and for five days the prisons of Paris were scenes of unspeakable and indescribable carnage till at last they were empty. Never was there in history so revolting a sacrifice of innocent lives. Twelve thousand victims perished, and with this fearful prelude, the Reign of Terror began!

Three days later, Jean went to make his farewell visit to his friend Bonaparte, now no longer a resident of the Rue Cléry, for [Pg 95] he had in the meantime brought his sister to the city from St. Cyr, and was staying at the little hotel De Metz in the Rue du Mail. Bonaparte introduced the boy to his sister, a slender, rather pretty girl of fifteen in the tight-fitting black taffeta cap of the St. Cyr school. As she had little to say for herself, Bonaparte suggested that she remain in her room, while he and Jean repaired for a walk to their favourite spot, the Jardin des Plantes. Once there, Jean reported to him the outrages of their domiciliary visit and discussed with him the horrors of the past few days.

"Oh, Citizen Bonaparte," he ended, "I am sorely tempted to go away with you and join the army! I want to fight for better things for France. This is not liberty, here in Paris! It is oppression and butchery! But I dare not leave yet! I feel that I have a sacred trust to fulfil! Yet all has gone wrong! Moufflet is stolen and I shall never see him again. We are constantly in danger from [Pg 96] that spying Coudert; it was only yesterday that I saw him again sneaking about our street! To help the royal family seems utterly impossible. And now you are going to leave me too,—you who once saved my life, and to whom I can never be grateful enough!"

"I am sorry, little Jean! I truly am!" answered his friend. "Many things call me away, but cheer up! The tide will turn, and there is no telling [Pg 97] what you may yet do—or what I may yet be! I tell you I believe in my fortunate star! But one thing I will say to you, my lad. You have a brave loyal spirit, than which I admire nothing more heartily. I like [Pg 98] you, and I will surely come back some day,—and who knows what we may yet do together! Au revoir now! Be true to your trust, and don't forget the friend you once made by butting him flat on his back!" Jean could not even answer. He seized the young man's hands, kissed them [Pg 99] passionately, and with a sob fled down one of the long, green alleys of the Jardin. Could he have guessed how long it would be before he and this thin young man with the marvellous eyes should meet again, his despair would have been deeper yet. But that also was guarded with the secret of the future! [Pg 100]

ENTER THE COBBLER,—EXIT THE KING

CHAPTER VI

ENTER THE COBBLER,—EXIT THE KING

The warm September sun shone dazzlingly on the pavement before the buvette or tavern of Père Lefèvre. This shop was situated in the outer courtyard of the Temple Tower, and enjoyed the trade of all the soldiers, guards and commissaries employed in guarding the imprisoned king and his family. Père Lefèvre sat in a chair outside the door, nodding in the sunshine, for it was mid-afternoon and trade was dull.

Presently through the great gate and down the courtyard strolled a boy, whistling vigorously the "Ça ira!" He was a little over twelve years of age, strong and long-limbed. His eyes and hair were black, and his curls [Pg 102] were surmounted by a red liberty-cap. Such a racket did he make, that Père Lefèvre was awakened from his nap.

"Good afternoon, Citizen!" said the boy. "You look comfortable and happy! Business must be pretty poor to give you so much leisure!"

"Business is good enough, most of the time!" snapped Père Lefèvre. "I'm rushed to death in the morning and evening. Just now, however, the soldiers are all on duty, and it is not the hour for the commissaries' visit."

"Why don't you get someone to help you?" inquired the boy. "At your age it is not good for the health to get about so lively!"

"Help,—indeed!" growled Père Lefèvre. "Gladly would I, but the young boys are all too busy running about the streets and dancing the Carmagnole to pay attention to sober work. These are demoralising times for the young!"

"I imagine you are just the man for me, [Pg 103] then," replied the boy. "The good woman I live with shoved me into the street this morning, and bade me not return till I had found employment for not less than seven francs a week. What do you say to that, my friend?"

"I say the saints must have sent you to me in my hour of need, and stay you shall for seven francs a week! But you must be here at six in the morning, and leave no earlier than ten at night."

"Done!" cried Jean, for of course it was he. "And now set me to work at once, lest I find time to regret our bargain!"

When Jean came back to the Rue de Lille that night, he was bubbling over with excitement and news.

"Oh, what do you think?" he exclaimed. "News!—the best of news! I am waiter at the tavern of Père Lefèvre, and have learned all about the situation of the ex-king and his family. The shop is crowded in the evening with soldiers and commissaries, and [Pg 104] they do nothing but gossip over their suppers about what goes on in the Tower.

"Ah! their poor, fallen Majesties! It must be terrible for them! They are called no longer 'King' and 'Queen,' but 'tis 'Monsieur Capet' and 'Madame Capet' and the 'Little Capets'!—nothing but 'Capet, Capet,' every other word! Then they are watched and guarded every moment. There are two rogues, Tison and his wife, who are hired to do nothing but watch, watch, watch, spy on every word, sneak behind them at unexpected moments to see that they are not writing to anyone outside, listen to all their conversation, and search them every night and morning lest they have concealed weapons about them, or some means of escape!

"Think of it!—they prevented the King from teaching his son the multiplication table, because they said it might contain a cipher for communicating with friends outside! They took away the Queen's embroidery-work because they thought she might be [Pg 105] sewing into it a secret language! They search every article of food that goes into the Tower, even cutting open loaves of bread and cake! Ah, it is horrible!

"The King and Queen and Madame Elizabeth spend their time in reading or teaching the children. Sometimes they take a walk in the tiny garden that is all enclosed by a high wall. To-day I heard the little fellow shout, as he romped there with his sister. There is talk too, in the tavern, that they are going to separate the King from his family, and keep him shut up by himself. After that they will bring him to trial, condemn him to death, and then!—" The thought was almost too much for the tender-hearted Jean, and he turned away lest the others should see the tears in his eyes.

"But do you think," questioned Yvonne, "that you will sometime get a chance to speak to the little fellow, and tell him that we still love him, and would do what we can to aid him?" [Pg 106]

"I do not know yet," said Jean, "but I am going to try. He is so closely guarded, that it is all but impossible for even one within the Tower to make the slightest sign to him,—so well do those cats of Tisons perform their task. I can only wait and try, and meanwhile keep my eyes and ears open to all that goes on. I think some of the guards are more friendly to the unfortunates than others. If I am not mistaken, one or two are even royalists in disguise. If there should ever be any plans made for their escape you may warrant that I shall be helping! Royalist I may not be, but I am even willing to be taken for one in order to help my friends. But here's a piece of news that's not so good! Citizen Coudert is one of the commissaries of the Tower! He was not there to-day, but I heard his name mentioned, by chance. You should hear how they all speak of him! He has reminded more people than ourselves of a mouse, and [Pg 107] hence they call him La Souris! But we must beware!"

Jean had not been long in the service of Père Lefèvre, before he became a general favourite. His friendly smile, his gay rejoinders, his sharp wit and his ready willingness won him many admirers. Few days went by when he did not dance on one of the tables, and sing the "Marseillaise" in his fresh young voice, for the benefit of an applauding audience. He even drew unaccustomed outsiders to the little tavern, and Père Lefèvre began to think he had drawn a prize when he hired the lively lad.

"He's worth seven francs and more," he would mutter, "even if he does crawl behind the counter and sleep away half his time!" But Jean was not as idle as Père Lefèvre supposed. He had his shrewd eyes always open, and his quick ears ready to catch the slightest whisper. Many a time when the tavern-keeper thought him sleeping behind [Pg 108] the counter, he was in reality only "playing possum," and listening all the while to the low-muttered conversations of the soldiers or municipals of the Tower. In this way he learned much, that no one ever suspected him of knowing.

Strangely enough, Citizen Coudert, or La Souris as he was universally though not openly called, exhibited no special interest in the boy's position as waiter here, nor in his close proximity to the royal prisoners. But Jean was perfectly certain that La Souris was keeping him under the strictest watch, nevertheless. He longed to ask him what had become of his little Moufflet, but dared not exhibit the slightest interest in a subject so dangerous.

But there was yet another of all the throng that frequented the tavern, who struck Jean with a thrill of dread, whenever he entered the shop. This was Simon, once a cobbler in the Rue des Cordeliers, now a commissary of the Tower. He was a medium-sized, [Pg 109] square-built man of about fifty-seven years, with great, powerful limbs, a tanned face framed by coarse black hair that was always hanging in his eyes, and a heavy beard. His eyes were ugly and malicious, and he was never seen without a short black pipe between his teeth. His manner was gruff and insolent, especially when he spoke of the royal prisoners. Jean's hands itched to choke him, particularly on one day when he flung himself into a chair, and exploded in the following fashion:

"That Capet creature! What do you think he has done to-day? Handed me a paper on which was written,—'The King wishes such and such articles for his wardrobe! The Queen desires some more linen, etc!' I said to him,—'Capet, don't you understand that we have abolished kings and queens? This nation is a republic now! Alter that memorandum as quickly as you can!' He replied that I could hand it to his valet and he would attend to it. The insolent [Pg 110] object! Those Capets! Kinging and queening themselves in spite of everything! I'll teach them a few lessons!"

Jean could not rid himself of the impression that this man was to play some dreadful part in the lives of the unhappy prisoners, and as time proved, he was not mistaken.

Meanwhile the months were passing, and events were hastening on toward the dark deed which our Jean could neither delay nor prevent,—the trial, condemnation and execution of Louis XVI. At last it came! The Republic pronounced him guilty of conspiring against the liberty of his people, and of endeavouring to endanger their safety by defending himself.

Poor King! His only crime had been that of being born a monarch, his heritage the wrongs committed by generations of his ruling ancestors, and his misfortune that he was utterly unable to cope with the situation in which fate had placed him. Never was a trial conducted that was so much of [Pg 111] a farce! The King was allowed two lawyers to defend his cause, but his condemnation was a foregone conclusion—even to himself. He was sentenced to lay down his life the very next day, the twenty-first of January, 1793. The new Republic had stained her glorious liberty by this great injustice, and therefore she dared lose no time in executing the sentence.

It must not, however, be supposed that the royal sufferers had no friends, that they were abandoned by all. Many royalists in the same city yet remained alive after the massacre of September, and would have laid down their lives to save the monarch they had never renounced. But they were overwhelmingly outnumbered by their enemies and rendered practically helpless. And even the good Republicans deemed this an outrage on personal liberty and deplored it, but the Terror kept them silent. Outside of Paris, whole sections of France still declared for the king. One especially, La Vendée, was [Pg 112] engaged in raising an army to defend his cause. Meanwhile, mob-ruled Paris held him in the very heart of her, helpless, a prisoner, condemned to die!

Jean never forgot that dreadful day! 'Twas early in the morning, and the tavern was crowded. In the courtyard stood the carriage waiting for the doomed monarch, while all pressed close to the doors and windows to see the better. Simon, the cobbler, harangued the crowd in his strident voice, and bade them rejoice that they were at last to be rid of so great a tyrant.

A roll of drums announced the coming of the fallen monarch. He crossed the courtyard on foot, pale but erect, calm and brave. Twice he turned and looked back toward the Tower, in farewell to all he held dear. At the entrance gate he stepped into the carriage and the door was shut. A great shout led by Simon went up from all but Jean. The cobbler, noticing his silence, grasped him by the collar. [Pg 113]

"Shout, you monkey! Rejoice for the death of Capet! What? Are you a royalist?" he hissed. Jean did not dare to disobey. With a bursting [Pg 114] heart, he snatched off his liberty-cap, threw it in the air, and cried: "Vive la République!" Simon, satisfied, let him go. He darted through the crowd unnoticed, and running madly, sought his home in the Rue de [Pg 115] Lille. There on good Mère Clouet's broad bosom he sobbed out his shame and sorrow for hours, and did not return to the tavern that day.

At quarter past ten o'clock, a dreadful shout rang out from the Place de la Révolution, mingled with the ringing of bells and the booming of cannon. Louis XVI was no more! Paris congratulated herself that at last [Pg 116] she was rid of monarchy. But back in the Tower, a little frightened lad wept and shuddered on his mother's bosom,—a throneless, crownless boy-king, called Louis XVII of France!

THE SCHEME OF THE BARON DE BATZ

CHAPTER VII

THE SCHEME OF THE BARON DE BATZ

"If we could only find someone among the sans-culottes where they could hide over one night,—someone who is at heart a sympathiser! That is all wanting to perfect the plan!"

Two men in sans-culotte costume were seated at a small table in the restaurant of Père Lefèvre. Both were faces hitherto unfamiliar in the tavern. One was that of a young man, and was bold, keen and daring. His older companion's was of a more common type, but was distinguished by kindly blue eyes. They leaned across the table and spoke in low whispers with their heads close together. The little room was otherwise deserted, for Père Lefèvre nodded outside in [Pg 118] the morning sun. He had tended to the wants of his two customers with many muttered complaints about "that idle, good-for-nothing vagabond of a Jean, who was probably lying asleep somewhere!" Then he went back to his own nap.

The younger man, who had spoken last, tapped his fingers on the table impatiently, and waited for his companion to reply.

"I know of no one just now who would be safe," replied the other, "but wait a few days and perhaps we shall find one in time." Suddenly they were both startled to see the body of a boy wriggle noiselessly from behind an old screen and crawl toward them. He was covered with dust and cobwebs, and his eyes blazed excitedly.

"Citizens," he whispered, "I know of one who will serve you right well! Trust me!" The men looked at each other in astonishment and alarm. Had their cherished plans then, been overheard by this fierce little Republican who danced the Carmagnole and [Pg 119] sang the "Ça ira!" with such grim delight? If so, all was lost! But Jean hastened to reassure them:

"I beg you to trust me, citizen friends! It is true I am not a royalist, but we love the little fellow and his good mother. Once she gave us heaven-sent help, and we have sworn to aid her if we could. For this I took service in the tavern. For this I have listened to every word of conversation that men carry on here in low tones, when Père Lefèvre thinks I am asleep. For this opportunity I have prayed,—oh, long, long months! Trust me, gentlemen!" The boy's words and looks were so earnest and sincere that the two men felt certain that he could be trusted with their secret, and must be, since he had discovered so much. The younger one took him by the shoulder:

"Swear by God and the late martyred King that you will be faithful!" he commanded. And Jean vowed to be faithful.

"Now," said the man, "how do you think [Pg 120] you can help us, since you have discovered so much?"

"Mère Clouet, with whom I live," declared Jean, "will joyfully open her house to the royal ones, and shelter them safely. She has the reputation for being one of the stanchest sans-culottes in the Rue de Lille, and none would ever suspect her!"

"It is the very thing!" exclaimed the two men. "It is a godsend!" Then in whispers they elaborated to Jean all the details of the plan for the escape of the Queen, her sister and the two children from the Tower. This is the plot that the boy had discovered, and in which he was to take so important a part.

There was in Paris a loyal and daring royalist, the Baron de Batz, who schemed so cleverly for the release of his sovereign that he was never discovered, even when it chanced that his plans failed. He, it seemed, was the younger of the two men whom Jean had overheard. He contrived to be present everywhere, seen nowhere, and had the most [Pg 121] trusty agents and spies in his service. He also had many retreats and secure hiding-places in Paris, the principal one being at the house of a grocer named Cortey, who was a commissary at the Tower, and at heart a sympathiser with the royal sufferers. Through him, De Batz discovered another royalist, one Michonis, a soldier of the Temple guard. The three together had perfected a bold scheme of escape.

They had arranged that the first time Cortey should be on duty among the commissaries, he should enroll De Batz as his colleague for the day, under the name of Citizen Forget, and thus gain his admission to the Temple Tower. This had already been done, and De Batz, or Forget as he was now called, had studied the situation for several days, discovering about thirty men among the soldiery who would be faithful to the cause.

Then the scheme was to wait till a day when Cortey should be on duty as commissary, and Michonis also on guard among the [Pg 122] sentinels, both at the same time. They would probably be obliged to wait quite a while for this, as the two men's turns did not coincide often. That day all the men on sentry at the staircase of the Tower were to wear long, military capes above their uniforms. When the hour came, late at night, Michonis was to take these capes from some of them, and put them on three royal women. In this disguise the Princesses with guns in their hands, would be incorporated among a patrol, and in their midst they would surround the child-king. Cortey was to command the patrol, and under the pretence of investigating some imaginary disturbance in the street, would have the great inner gates of the courtyard opened for them. Once outside the walls, their safety would be almost certain.

A carriage was to be waiting in the Rue Charlot. Jean was to be allowed to drive this, and take the fugitives near to the Rue de Lille. Then they would get out and make [Pg 123] their way unobtrusively to the home of Citizeness Clouet. Here they would rest secure for the night, and in the morning escape in sans-culotte costumes to a ship that would leave the port of Havre next night. The plan seemed perfectly thought out, and to Jean it appeared that success was certain.

While the three conspirators were whispering at the table, suddenly a shadow fell across the floor from the open doorway. With a little shiver of distrust, Jean turned round and faced the rat-like eyes of La Souris! He had, however, the presence of mind to appear very unconcerned, and invited Coudert to be seated at another table. The two men rose to leave, and before they went Jean remarked aloud:

"Citizens, you have entertained me vastly this afternoon with your tales of La Guillotine! I hope you will come again to help me pass a dull hour! What will you take, Citizen Coudert?" But in spite of his apparent unconcern, his heart misgave him [Pg 124] somewhat, for though La Souris said nothing to alarm him, he watched the boy more suspiciously than ever. He hurried home that night to Mère Clouet and Yvonne, with joy and fear mingled in his heart, and told them all the wonderful news, and the two Clouets spent some happy days thereafter, preparing for their royal guests.

The time passed while they were waiting for the auspicious day, and the conspirators were careful not to be seen too much in each others' company. Once, however, when Forget and Michonis happened to meet and exchange a few low-whispered words in the courtyard, if they had looked behind them, they would have noticed a little, wiry, evil-faced creature skulking around the corner of the building near which they stood. Jean, the lynx-eyed, from his vantage ground in the tavern doorway, caught sight of La Souris' suspicious manœuvres. He left the door, and strolled nonchalantly—past his friends, singing loudly, "Allons, enfants de la [Pg 125] patrie!" Just when he was opposite them he muttered between his teeth, "'Ware La Souris!" and sauntered on. The two men parted, and were careful not to meet again.

At last the long-looked-for day arrived. Michonis and Cortey were both on duty, and also twenty-eight loyal soldiers, among whom was Forget. All during the day nothing occurred to mar their plans, and Jean hugged himself and chuckled with delight. Night came and all was well. Michonis was at his post in the prisoners' apartments, while his colleagues rested, lounged or played tric-trac in the council-room below. Simon alone was not among them, having been absent from the Tower for several hours. This was looked upon as a favourable omen.

At ten o'clock Jean hastened home to the Rue de Lille, donned the costume of a coachman, which, as he was growing wondrously tall and large, did not fit him ill, and leaving Mère Clouet and Yvonne tingling with suppressed excitement, hurried to one of the [Pg 126] dark and deserted streets nearby. True to appointment, there stood a carriage driven by a liveried coachman. At the whispered word, " De Batz ," the man got down, assisted Jean to climb up in his place, promised to be at the same spot two hours hence, and disappeared. Jean drove away, not proceeding straight to the Rue Charlot, but by a wide and devious route that took him first over a large part of that section of Paris. When he entered the Rue Charlot at the appointed time, eleven-thirty, it was quiet and dark.

Here he halted, and sat for nearly half an hour, feverish with impatience for the royal party to arrive. Presently he heard soft steps coming down the street, and his heart began to beat violently. But as the steps drew nearer, he beheld a little, wizened figure that had something strangely familiar about it, and his heart beat more violently still when he recognised his old enemy, La Souris! Nearer and nearer he drew with his [Pg 127] queer, mouse-like manner, peering sharply to the right and left, and Jean began to hope that he would pass the waiting carriage without paying it any particular heed. But, no!—Citizen Coudert stopped directly before it, measured up the driver with his crafty eyes, and inquired:

"Is this carriage hired?" Jean thanked his stars for the broad hat that shaded his face, and the scarf that muffled him to the chin. He made his voice as deep as possible and replied:

"Good-night, then!" growled Coudert as he moved off, and Jean responded with a shiver of apprehension. This strange individual's manner was so peculiar that one could never guess what were his real thoughts. Something about it all made the boy perfectly certain [Pg 128] that La Souris did not want a carriage to take him anywhere. But why he should inquire, and how much he suspected, or whether he suspected at all, Jean could not, for the life of him, determine! Another quarter of an hour passed. At last the silence of the night was broken by the stern command of a guard, and the clanking open of a great gate. Then indeed Jean's heart leaped into his throat, and he felt assured of success. But instead of a party of five, one man came running at top speed down the street. When he was near enough, Jean recognised the Baron.

"To the Barriére St. Denis! I must get out of Paris!" and De Batz jumped in, closing the door softly.

The drive through Paris to the entrance called the Barriére St. Denis was the most bewildering Jean had ever taken. All the [Pg 129] way he was wondering what could have happened, how the plot had been discovered, and whether this would affect the welfare and safety of all concerned. That La Souris was at the bottom of it, somehow, he had not a doubt. But nothing could be ascertained before the carriage reached its destination. When the Baron finally alighted, he pressed Jean's hand and thanked him for his quiet, efficient service.

"It's a mystery to me!" he said in explanation. "All seemed to be going so well until nearly midnight. Then that devil of a Simon entered the guard-room with his usual infernal racket, and demanded that we have a roll-call of the guards. He turned to Cortey and snarled,—'I'm especially glad to see you here, Citizen Cortey! I wouldn't be easy without you !' Then I saw plainly that the whole thing was discovered. Ah! but for a moment I had a wild desire to blow out that surly rascal's brains! But reason told me that this would, far from mending [Pg 130] matters, only serve to incriminate us all. So I managed to keep perfectly calm while the roll was called. Then Simon went upstairs, probably to interview Michonis, and left Cortey in charge of us. While he was gone, Cortey pretended that he heard a disturbance in the street, organised a patrol of eight (including myself), and we came out to investigate it. Thus I escaped. Cortey is a brave man and true! His patrol will number only seven when he returns! Well, it is a grief to me that it has failed but be of good courage, lad! I shall live to hatch more plots and, trust me, you shall take a part! I pray that none of you suffer for this, but I think you will not, as our tracks are well covered. I cannot stay longer! God bless you, and good-bye!" The brave man slipped away in the darkness, leaving Jean to drive wearily back to where he was to deliver the carriage to the coachman, and then plod home on foot to the Rue de Lille.

His heart was almost too heavy to care [Pg 131] what became of him, and he hated to face the disappointment of Mère Clouet and Yvonne. Their sorrow at the failure of their hopes was all and more than he had pictured it. But after a while, when they had talked it all over and were preparing to retire for the night, Yvonne made a sign to her mother, and then turned to Jean:

"What is it?" he asked without much enthusiasm, for he was too weary and disgusted to care about lesser matters. Mère Clouet disappeared into another room for a moment, and returning, with a quick movement deposited something in his lap. Jean almost tumbled out of his chair!

" Moufflet! " he gasped. "How?—when?—where?—" The little animal fairly smothered him with caresses, and the light of happiness came back to the boy's eyes.

"Listen!" cried Yvonne. "About eleven o'clock this evening, we were sitting here, when suddenly I heard a strange scratching [Pg 132] at the door. I thought perhaps you had returned with the royal ones and were giving us a signal, so I ran to open the door, when there jumped right into my arms this little Moufflet! He was breathless with running and covered [Pg 133] with mud and dirt. Oh, how glad he seemed to see us! I gave him a bath and fed him well, and he has been sleeping ever since. How do you suppose he came here?"

"He must have escaped in some way from La Souris, though I can't imagine how!" replied Jean. "And, goodness knows! he's had a run, clear from the other side of Paris! It's a wonder he ever found us again! But we must [Pg 134] be right careful of him, now. If La Souris should discover him here again, he'll swear I stole him!

"But, oh!" he thought, "if only the little fellow could have come to-night and found his pet here!"

THE COBBLER TAKES COMMAND

CHAPTER VIII

THE COBBLER TAKES COMMAND

No one ever knew just how it came about that the scheme of the Baron De Batz had failed. La Souris was firmly believed to be the one who had discovered it, though whether he had really become acquainted with the facts, or only suspected a plot could not be ascertained. All the conspirators could discover was that during the day, one of the grenadiers not in the plot had found a folded paper lying outside the courtyard. It contained but one sentence,—"Beware! Michonis will betray you to-night!" The soldier handed this to Simon, who immediately took steps to prevent all action, and had Michonis brought up before the Commune.

But wary Michonis had cleverly covered [Pg 136] up his tracks! There was no evidence of guilt found upon him or any of his companions. He answered openly and calmly all incriminating questions, and seemed so earnestly and candidly interested in the welfare of the Republic, that the Commune decided Simon must have been mistaken, in spite of the note.

This, however, irritated Simon beyond measure! He doubled all the guards at the Tower. Then he went whining to the great Republican leader, Robespierre, complaining that he had unearthed evidence of many plots to carry off the royal child, proclaim him King of France, and overthrow the Republic. Between the two they so manœuvred that in consequence of these rumours, the Committee of Public Safety issued a decree:—the boy must be separated from his mother, kept in an apartment by himself, and put in charge of some tutor to be chosen by the Convention.

Then came the question who should take [Pg 137] charge of him, who should be given the important task of educating his royal ideas in the principles of the Republic? Who but Simon, the zealous commissary that had been so active in thwarting all schemes of release! Yes, let Simon have charge of this tender life, and let his wife be there to assist him and minister to the bodily wants of this carefully reared, tenderly nurtured little son of a monarch! So it was decreed!

It was about ten o'clock on the night of July third, 1793. Louis XVI had been dead nearly six months. In their room in the Tower sat the Queen, Madame Elizabeth and little Marie-Thérèse. The two older women were sewing, or rather vainly attempting to darn and patch their much-worn clothes, for the Republic saw fit to provide them with no new ones. The fair young girl of fifteen was reading aloud. All were dressed in neat black gowns, their mourning-costume for the late king.

Over in a corner, in a small bed with no [Pg 138] curtains about it, slept the little Louis Charles. His mother had carefully hung up a dark shawl to shield his eyes from the light and shut off the draughts. Once he stirred in his sleep and sighed heavily. Marie-Thérèse stopped reading, and all glanced toward the bed.

"But how brave he is!" said Madame Elizabeth. "He never complains a bit, he tries so hard to be cheerful and keep us all in good spirits, and how tenderly he always speaks of his father!"

"Is it not strange," added Marie-Thérèse, "how he never speaks now of our happy life at Versailles, (how far away that all seems!) and he never even mentions the Tuileries, for fear it will make us sad! For one so young, he is very, very thoughtful!"

"God grant that he may have happier years in store for him in the future!" sighed Marie Antoinette. "But, whatever comes, I [Pg 139] pray that he may never sit on the throne of France! Nothing but sorrow could come of it!" She shuddered, and after a moment's silence they all continued their work. Suddenly there was a loud sound outside on the staircase,—a heavy tread of feet, a hideous clanking of bolts and bars unfastened. The three women looked at one another in dismay. But they thought it was only another of the insulting searches to which they were obliged to submit so frequently, and at such uncertain hours. The last door opened, and six municipals entered.

"We are come with an order from the Committee of Public Safety," said their spokesman, in a loud, brutal manner. "The son of Louis Capet is to be separated from his family. Give him up to us at once!" Poor Marie Antoinette could not believe her senses. Separated from his mother! A little child of only eight! They could not be so cruel!

"It is not possible!" she cried, trembling. [Pg 140] "You have got the order wrong! It cannot be true! He is so young, so weak! He needs my care!" Her anguish softened for a moment even the hearts of the rough municipals.

"Here is the decree," they said, more gently. "We did not make it,—it was the Convention. We are only here to carry it out and we cannot help ourselves." The three women placed themselves before the child's bed. They defended it with their bodies, they sobbed, they prayed, they implored, they humbled themselves to the utmost. All to no purpose!

"Come, come!" at length remonstrated the head of the band. "Give over this disturbance! They are not going to kill the child! He will be safe and in good hands." He approached the bed and seized the heavy shawl which fell on the boy, waking him suddenly and completely enveloping him. He shrieked aloud in his sudden fright and clung to his mother, crying: [Pg 141]

But the municipals were growing weary of the scene. "If you do not let him go peaceably," they warned, "we will call the guard and take him by force!" Then the Queen begged that he should be left at least over that night, that she should be allowed to see him at meals each day. In vain! In despair the three women began to dress him. Never did a toilet take so long! They lingered over each garment, passed his shoes from hand to hand, put them on and took them off again, thinking in this way to delay the time of parting a few moments.

"Hurry, hurry!" commanded the officials. "We cannot wait all night!" At length it was completed. The Queen took her son, all trembling and frightened, sat him on a chair, kneeled down before him, and clasped both his hands in hers.

"Dear little child of mine, we are about to part! I know not when we shall see each [Pg 142] other again, but when I am not with you, remember always your duty. Never forget that it is the good God who is putting you to this test! Be good and patient, brave and straightforward, and your father will bless you from Heaven where he is gone!" Then she kissed him and gave him to the municipals. But the little fellow broke from them, rushed to her again and clasped her knees with his arms. With the tears streaming down her cheeks, she released his hold. "Go, my son! You must obey me!" Grasping his arm, the leader dragged him, still looking backward, from the room. The women strained their gaze till they could see him no longer, and the door was shut!

Down in the room below, in the apartment formerly occupied by Louis XVI, a thick-set, dark man was striding about, smoking an evil-smelling pipe. The door opened, and some municipals entered with a sobbing boy. They spoke a few words to the man and then went out, leaving Louis XVII alone with his [Pg 143] tutor. He recognised at once Simon the cobbler, whom he had frequently seen before, and for whom he entertained an unconquerable aversion.

"Sit down on that chair, Little Capet!" commanded the cobbler, without removing his pipe from his mouth. The child obeyed.

"Now there are a few things I want you to understand," said Simon, striding up and down before him, puffing out great clouds of smoke, "and we might as well make them plain in the beginning. In the first place, you are to be called nothing but Little Capet! Do you comprehend that?" The boy made no answer, but only choked and coughed, for the unaccustomed smoke almost strangled him. Simon laughed aloud at his plight.

"Next, you are to obey implicitly every order that I give you. I'm master, now! Do you understand?" Still no answer.

"Lastly, you are to forget all about your royal fol-de-rols, and learn carefully from me how to conduct yourself as a good citizen [Pg 144] of this great and glorious Republic. I'll teach you! Oh, I'll teach you well!" The boy's continued silence irritated him beyond measure.

"Answer me, you little pig!" he shouted, grasping him by the collar. And for the first time in his life, the son of a king, the gentle loving child who had never before had a rough hand laid on him, was shaken to and fro by the cobbler's muscular arm. He sobbed and caught his breath, but still persisted in a stubborn silence. Simon now perceived that in this frail little body, he had an iron will to cope with, and mentally bracing himself, he vowed to break it or perish in the attempt.

Then ensued a frightful struggle! The cobbler scolded, threatened, raged, tramped about the room, and finally resorted to blows. The little king set his teeth and endured to the last, but he would not open his lips. It was far into the night when Simon, furious but exhausted, threw the boy on his [Pg 145] bed in a dark corner, and left him to sob out his grief, pain and despair till morning.

The next day appeared on the scenes, Madame Simon, the cobbler's wife. She was very little, very fat and very ugly. Her face and hands were brown like Simon's, and she always wore a cap tied with red ribbons, and a blue apron. She was rough, coarse-mannered and common like her husband, but unlike him, she was inclined to be a little more kindly toward their captive.

The young King took no more notice of her than he had of Simon. For two days he would touch neither food nor drink, persisting always in his obstinate silence. On the third day some municipals came to pay a visit of inspection. Rushing to them, the child demanded with blazing eyes:

"Where is the law by which you keep me from my mother? Show me the law! I wish to see it!" The men only laughed, but Simon dragged him away, exclaiming:

"Silence, Little Capet! What do you know [Pg 146] about the law, young fool?" When the visitors had gone, he continued:

"Now that I see you have not forgotten how to speak, I shall teach you to shout 'Vive la République!' and dance the Carmagnole. We will make a brave little patriot of you!"

Time went on, and gradually the poor child learned that stubbornness would prove of little avail, so he resigned himself to his cruel master with as good grace as he could. He never forgot, however, that he was a king, and his actions were always dignified and manly. His mother, failing in her demand to see him, had his books and playthings sent down, that he might both amuse himself and continue his studies. The things were all dumped into a corner in a heap. Simon 'pooh-poohed' at the books and used their pages to light his pipe. The toys he either stepped on or threw away, as the fancy took him.

"I'll give thee something to amuse thee, [Pg 147] and instruct thee too!" he volunteered one day, and presented his charge with a little concertina. "Now pipe away on that! Thy wolf of a mother can play, and thy dog of an aunt can sing. Thou shalt learn to accompany them! It will be a fine racket!" Louis Charles pushed the instrument away from him. The coarse remarks about his mother and aunt stung him to the quick. "I do not wish it!" he said quietly. Simon was furious! He had taken the trouble to make the little wretch a gift, and it was scorned!

"Peste! You shall suffer for this!" he threatened. And suffer the poor child did for many a long day, in consequence of that refusal. Yet no brutality ever induced him to touch the hated instrument. Simon finally gave it up.

When he entered under the cobbler's yoke, the little king had worn a suit of black clothes, in memory of his father. Simon's [Pg 148] jealous eye was not long in perceiving that the child was fond of these clothes, since his mother had fashioned them.

"It's time you left those off!" he announced one day. "I'll have no one about me mourning for old Capet! We'll have a gay little new suit made for you!" Louis begged and pleaded to no avail. A few days after, he was arrayed in a little coat and trousers of the Revolutionary red, and a bright red liberty-cap. The boy donned the suit sadly but without resistance. But when it came to the liberty-cap, nothing would induce him to let it be placed on his head. He fought and struggled wildly against wearing the headdress of his father's murderers. It was only through Madame Simon's interference that the cobbler gave up the contest.

"Come, come!" she said. "Let be! Another time perhaps, he will listen to reason!" The child gave her a grateful glance that she never forgot. [Pg 149]

In addition to his other hardships, the young king was obliged to wait on his two captors, and run at their beck and call like the meanest servant. He performed his tasks without a murmur, and counted himself fortunate if he were not rewarded by a kick, or a cuff on the ear.

One morning while it was yet dark, Louis XVII awoke on his hard truckle-bed. All days now were bad enough and sad enough, but he somehow had a presentiment that this one would be worse than the rest. He rose shivering, lighted a little foot-stove, and took it to Madame Simon's bed as he had been directed to do. She scolded him sleepily for not bringing it sooner, and his heart ached as he recalled how he used to lay a bouquet from his garden at Versailles on his mother's bed every morning. Oh, the hideous difference! After his scanty breakfast, he caught the eye of Simon fastened upon him, with some new, malignant interest in its gaze.

"Thou art bewigged like a royal [Pg 150] courtier!" growled the cobbler, passing his rough hand over the silky curls. "'Tis little like a good Republican's head. This must go!" With a huge pair of shears, he hacked into the thick hair with great, jagged strokes. In a few moments the curls all lay on the floor, and Louis Charles stood like a shorn lamb, heartbroken but tearless, before his tormentor. Then the cobbler took his charge down to the courtyard for his daily breath of fresh air. Some [Pg 151] of the soldiers, at the sight of the poor, ill-cropped head, laughed immoderately. Only one commissary, Meunier, said regretfully:

"Oh, don't you see! We are playing at a game of despoiling kings!" chuckled Simon. Again the soldiers laughed. The child, always peculiarly sensitive to mockery, hung his head and turned away, losing all desire to run about with his football. He was glad when Simon took him in [Pg 153] again.

That night the cobbler made him drink two glasses of bad wine. As he had heretofore never touched anything but water, it made him stupid and heavy. Perhaps he did not quite understand what was happening. Perhaps his spirit was at last beginning to break. But, at any rate, when Simon [Pg 154] said to him:

"Now here's your nice red cap! Put it on!" the boy, worn out with struggling, yielded at last.

"Ah! Now thou art a true sans-culotte !" cried Simon in triumph. And he crowned the shorn head of Louis XVII with the badge of the Commune!

HOW YVONNE SAW THE KING

CHAPTER IX

HOW YVONNE SAW THE KING

Meantime, Jean in the tavern had not been idle. His quick eyes, keen ears and alert wits were ever on the watch. During the past month he had made a friend, and hatched a little scheme of his own. The friend was Citizen Barelle, one of the many and ever-changing commissaries of the Tower. Barelle often came into the little tavern after his duties for the day were over, and not infrequently Jean heard him speak with sincere regret of the present condition of the wretched little monarch and his brutal tutor. These remarks made Jean feel certain that Barelle possessed not only a kindly heart and quickly aroused sympathies, but that he would also be easily disposed [Pg 156] to render the necessary help. He resolved to take this man at least partially into his confidence.

Therefore when a favourable opportunity presented itself one afternoon, and he had Barelle to himself in the little eating-room, he opened the subject cautiously.

"Citizen Barelle, I see you are a friend of the little fellow over yonder! So am I!" Barelle showed some astonishment at this disclosure. He replied:

"If you are, my lad, you had best say little about it in public! But why do you speak of it to me?" Then Jean told him how the queen had once rendered them help in their distress, and how they had grieved at the misfortune of their royal benefactors. He said nothing of his determination to aid them to escape if he could, but he did suggest this:

"Mère Clouet would be very glad to do the laundry work for the Tower. I see that the position is vacant since Citizeness Pataud [Pg 157] left here last week. Perhaps you could have her appointed. And then, would it not be possible, when she and little Yvonne come with the clothes, to have Yvonne taken up to play with the little fellow once in a while? You say he is so lonely, and has no pleasures. There could surely be no harm in that!" Barelle considered for a while, gravely.

"You are a kind little chap!" he said at last, "and a grateful one too! Yes, we need a laundress badly, and no doubt they will be glad to have found one so soon. I will use what influence I have. But about the little Yvonne,—we must see later!" The next week it was all settled. Mère Clouet was notified of her appointment as laundress to the Tower, and Barelle whispered to Jean that he thought they could manage it about Yvonne.

Jean was ecstatic at the success of his scheme! So was the good Mère Clouet, and as for Yvonne,—she never slept a wink the night before she went for the first time, so [Pg 158] excited was she over the prospect! Jean gave her a long list of instructions early that morning, before he departed for Père Lefèvre's. Among them, these were the principal ones:

"Don't let anyone see by your words or actions that you know him or have seen him before! And don't let anyone overhear what you tell him!" Yvonne promised, understanding thoroughly the necessity for the utmost caution. She and her mother packed the clothes in a great basket, hired a carriage for a franc, and were driven to the Temple. At the outer courtyard the carriage was stopped by a sentry on duty, and they were obliged to carry the heavy basket across to the door of the inner courtyard. Yvonne saw Jean standing in the doorway of the tavern, but, with a prudence beyond her years, she refrained from noticing him in any way, as likewise did her mother.

At the inner gate they were again halted. Here Citizeness Clouet must stop, as she was [Pg 159] allowed to go no further. Every article of clothes must be taken from the basket and minutely examined to see that they contained no hidden writing or messages from the outer world. This was a long and tiresome process. While it was being completed, Citizen Barelle called to Yvonne:

"Come with me and romp with the little fellow upstairs awhile! You are not afraid, are you?"

"I think not!" she replied, putting her hand in his. And they climbed the gloomy, guarded stairs together. At the door of the room on the second floor Barelle gave a command to the sentry, the clanking bolts and chains were drawn, the door opened, and they stood in the presence of Louis XVII of France! Yvonne could scarcely believe her eyes! Had she not known whom she was going to see, she would never have recognised him. Remembering the beautiful boy in the Tuileries garden, the laughing, dimpled face, the long curls of golden-brown, the round [Pg 160] graceful limbs, the sweet trusting blue eyes, she shrank back and drew in her breath with almost a sob.

On a chair in a corner sat the unhappy monarch. His little body, grown thin and wasted by captivity and ill-treatment, was clad in a startling red suit. On his shorn, jagged hair rested a liberty-cap. His cheeks were sunken and pale, and his eyes red with weeping. Over him towered the burly form of the cobbler.

"Sing that song about the 'Austrian Wolf,' you wretched little cub, or I'll throttle you!" he threatened.

"I will never sing such a thing about my mother, if you should beat me to death!" answered the child, quietly but firmly. Simon put out his great, hairy hand to grasp the boy's collar.

"There, there, Simon!" interposed Barelle. "Leave off your instructions for a while, and have a game of billiards with me. See, I've brought this little youngster to play [Pg 161] with the boy, and give you some freedom! You don't have much leisure time now." Simon, exceedingly flattered by what he deemed Barelle's thoughtfulness for him, acquiesced at once. The two men went to a billiard-table at the other end of the room, leaving the children together.

"You're right about my time!" grumbled the cobbler as they chalked their cues. "I don't have a moment to myself. I'm tied to that cub every minute of the day, and I'm just as much a prisoner as he is. I tell you I can't stand it very long! It's bad for my health! It's driving me crazy! Why, look you! I could not go to Marat's funeral, and I even missed the great anniversary fête in the Champ de Mars on August tenth! I'm tired of it!"

But how fared it with Yvonne and the little king? For a moment after Simon left him, the child remained motionless, his head sunk on his breast, sobs only half under control heaving his chest. Then he raised his [Pg 162] head and looked at Yvonne. He gave a great start of recognition and delight, and would have uttered a glad cry, had not Yvonne laid her finger on her lips, glanced at the two men, and shaken her head. The boy understood the action. His adversity had taught him only too well, the necessity for caution. Yvonne boldly took the initiative. Stepping up to him, and speaking so that she could be heard by the cobbler, she said:

"Little Capet, don't you want to play a game of tag with me? You shall try to catch me. I do not think you can!" She sprang away from him, and he jumped from his chair with a new and unaccustomed lightness, to chase her round and round the room. Presently she allowed herself to be caught. Under cover of much loud shouting and laughter, she managed to whisper:

"Yes," he replied. "He is lost,—dead!" [Pg 163] Yvonne noticed that the cobbler was eyeing them suspiciously.

"Now I'll catch you!" she called loudly. And Louis Charles obediently broke into a run, she following, till they were both breathless. Then she caught him.

"Moufflet is not dead!" she murmured. "Jean found him in the Tuileries the night you left it." Question after question crowded to the boy's lips, but he dared not satisfy his curiosity at once.

"Have you not some other game we can play?" asked Yvonne. "Ah! here is a checker-board. I'm tired of running so let us play this!" They arranged the board on a chair and commenced to move the pieces, quarrelling loudly with each other every moment or two. Under cover of this noisy talk, Yvonne, in short scraps of sentences told the boy the story of how Jean rescued Moufflet from the Tuileries, how La Souris had wrongfully taken him away, and how he had since returned. She assured the child that they [Pg 164] were keeping the little animal with the hope of some day returning him to his master. She also told him how Jean worked in the tavern in order to be nearby, how her mother did the laundry-work for the royal prisoners, and how she was to be allowed to come and play with him once in a while, through the kindness of Citizen Barelle.

The little, heart-sick boy grew radiant with a delight which he dared not exhibit, lest it be discovered by his watchful tormentor. In the short time he asked many questions about his mother, sister and aunt. These Yvonne answered by smiling and pointing to the room above to indicate that all was well with them. He inquired after Jean and his beloved dog, and sent many messages to his faithful friend. But the time was all too short.

"A moment!—only a moment, till we finish this game!" implored Louis Charles. [Pg 165] The good-natured commissary agreed, and turned once more to engage Simon's attention.

"Yvonne," whispered the boy, "I love you and Jean and your mother. Tell them so for me, and that I thank them!" Yvonne signified that she would, and pressed a little packet into his hand.

"Hide it!" she commanded. "'Tis a curl of Moufflet's hair. I thought you would like to have it, perhaps." He slipped it inside his blouse with a grateful look.

"I'll hide it in my mattress, and I do thank you for it. Good-bye, Yvonne! Oh, come again soon!"

"I will," she promised, "as soon as they will let me. Good-bye, poor little King!" And as Barelle led her away, she called back: "Good-bye, Little Capet!" But the child heard only her last whispered, "poor little King," and he gratefully pressed the packet of Moufflet's hair to his heart.

Four weeks had passed in which Marie [Pg 166] Antoinette had heard not a word concerning the welfare of her little son,—weeks of fear, uncertainty, and foreboding, terrible in their dragging length. Each day she eagerly questioned the visiting municipals, but they answered merely that he was well and studying with a tutor.

At length circumstances favoured her, and help arrived from an unexpected quarter. This was nothing less than the astonishing change of disposition in the spy Tison and his wife. Madame Tison fell suddenly very ill, and in her sickness begged the Queen's pardon for all her former meanness and spite. Marie Antoinette forgave her freely, but the poor woman's mind had become so unsettled through remorse, that she had to be moved from the Tower to a hospital. Then Tison himself entreated the Queen's forgiveness:

"I never knew you till you came here. I never dreamed what noble, true characters you all were, till I was set to act as a spy [Pg 167] upon you! Oh, forgive me also!" Tison it was then, who came to the Queen's aid in her hour of need. Making himself acquainted with all that he could gather about her son's welfare, he gave her daily accounts of all that he thought would interest her. More than this, he showed her a loophole in the wall, tiny it is true, but through which she could sometime catch a glimpse of her boy as he passed up the stairs daily to take the air on the turret.

She was deeply shocked when she learned in whose care her tender child had been placed, and horrified when she saw his appearance through her loophole, clad in the red suit of the Commune. But once as he passed, she heard him humming softly the air of a little cradle-song she used to sing him:

By this she knew that his thoughts were still [Pg 168] with her, and her heart was a trifle comforted.

But a great change was to come. At two o'clock in the morning, on the first of August, 1793, the Queen was awakened and told that she must prepare to leave the Temple Tower. She was transferred to the prison of [Pg 169] La Conciergerie where she was kept two months and a half in a small, damp cell. After that she was obliged to undergo a trial that was even more of a flimsy mockery than the one accorded to Louis XVI. "Anything, anything to be rid of her!" was the one idea of this terrible tribunal. [Pg 170] The end, like her husband's, was a foregone conclusion. On the sixteenth of October, she bravely, calmly, proudly gave up her life, happy in being reunited at last with her beloved husband, regretting only that [Pg 171] she must leave her children to so uncertain a fate.

In the Tower of the Temple wept and waited poor Madame Elizabeth and Marie-Thérèse, all in ignorance of the Queen's fate. And on the floor below, also waited the persecuted child, who did not even know that his [Pg 172] mother was gone from the room above, where he loved to think of her as watching over him.

THE BLOW FALLS

CHAPTER X

THE BLOW FALLS

On a night toward the end of October, 1793, Jean was walking slowly and thoughtfully home from the tavern to the Rue de Lille. His day's work was over and it was long past ten o'clock. He was in no special hurry, for he had many things to think over and he felt that he could do this better by himself and in the open. None of his thoughts were particularly happy. It was but a week since the Queen had given up her life on the guillotine, and his heart ached with pity and horror for her sorrowful end. The little King, doubtless all in ignorance of his loss, was constantly more and more cruelly treated by the cobbler, whose already evil temper was now thoroughly demoralised by his own enforced imprisonment. [Pg 174]

Then too, the condition of Paris was appalling. The Terror was at its height, the prisons were overflowing with "suspects," and the guillotine claimed daily a sickening array of victims. Robespierre ruled the Convention with a hand of iron, and ruthlessly sacrificed to La Guillotine all who stood in his way.

Jean had heard no news from his friend Bonaparte except a brief note some time before, saying that he was in Marseilles with all his family (which had left Corsica forever), and that he was again in the army. And there was yet another problem weighing on the boy's mind. Tison, with whom he had established quite a friendship since the spy's strange conversion, had come to him two days before with a request. It seemed that the Queen, before she was taken to La Conciergerie, had entrusted to Tison a little book of prayers that she wished in some way to be conveyed to her son. Tison had promised faithfully to accomplish this mission if possible, [Pg 175] but had as yet been unable to do so, as he was never admitted to Simon's room.

Then he bethought himself of Yvonne, and of how she came occasionally to play there, and he remembered that Jean had once confided to him the tale of her first admittance. Here then was the solution! He came to Jean and begged him to see that the book was in some way delivered, and had only that morning placed the precious parcel in the boy's keeping. This Jean felt to be a sacred trust, more so than ever now that the Queen was dead. He determined that Yvonne must take it on the morrow when she went with her mother and the laundry. Barelle would be on duty that day, and would very likely gain her entrance.

One more vague fear troubled him. La Souris had never, by word or sign, indicated that he concerned himself in the least about the boy, since the memorable night when the plot of the Baron de Batz had failed. But of late the man was constant in his hovering [Pg 176] about the tavern, and the very fact that he seemed to avoid speaking to the boy purposely, made Jean most uneasy. It was as though a sword were suspended above his head, and might fall at any unexpected moment.

All these thoughts served to depress the spirits of this usually lively lad. He walked soberly, his head bent, looking neither to the right nor left, his hands jammed in his trousers pockets. The street he traversed was alive with people and bright with the lights from many shop-windows. But presently he turned into one that was quite deserted, and almost pitch dark by contrast. He had not proceeded far in this black lane before he became aware of stealthy steps following him. His first impulse was to take to his heels and run at top speed, but he wisely decided to do no such thing. Instead he stopped abruptly and demanded:

"Who is following me? What do you want?" The stealthy footfalls ceased for a [Pg 177] moment, then out of the shadow stepped a huge figure.

"Do not be afraid!" a voice whispered, as the figure drew near. "I am Citizen Prevôt, the pikeman, who helped to search your house over a year ago!" Jean was astonished and not a little alarmed. He knew Prevôt to be an almost constant attendant of his enemy, La Souris, and he could not imagine whether to expect an attack from this giant or a friendly advance. Prevôt hastened to reassure him:

"I am following you with the friendliest intentions, believe me! I always liked you for your cleverness in teaching that little dog his trick, and I've news that will interest you to-night. I followed you from the tavern, but I dared not address you till we came to this dark street, for fear of— him ! He's a born spy! It's the sole ambition of his life to get someone into trouble,—you know whom I mean!—and I hate him as I hate the devil! But I have to serve him,—that's my [Pg 178] living and likewise the safety of my neck! Now, in the first place, let me ask you did your little dog ever get back to you?"

"Well, I do," returned Prevôt, "for I let him out of the house that night. The poor little beast had been pining away for weeks and weeks. He would eat almost nothing, and when we tried to make him do that clever trick, he would only lie down and whine. It was plain that his heart was breaking. So, one night when he was out on some spying expedition, I quietly opened the door, and the little animal was off and away like a flash. I supposed he would get back to you. My soul! But I had to stand a tirade from him when he came back, for I represented to him how the beast must have sneaked out unawares!"

"I can never thank you enough!" said Jean gladly. "We all love the little thing so!" [Pg 179]

"But that's not all I have to say," went on Prevôt. "And the rest is more serious! Do you know that he has been keeping an eye on you for a long time? Well, he has had his suspicions that you were mixed up in one or two things concerning those in the Tower, but he could never be quite certain till this morning, when he caught you in communication with Tison, and saw Tison hand you something, secretly. Then he put two and two together, and became convinced that you were in some plot to aid those Capets. My lad, to-day he denounced you to the authorities! To-morrow morning you will be arrested and then off with you to La Conciergerie,—and you can imagine the rest! Tison is to be treated to the same attention, only he will probably go to some other prison. Then said I to myself, that fellow is too bright a young chap to afford a mouthful to La Guillotine, and I'm going to give him at least a warning! Cut away to-night, young Jean! If you start at once without [Pg 180] even going home, by to-morrow you can be far out of Paris and the reach of him !"

Jean's heart almost stopped beating at the news, yet, singularly enough, so long had he been expecting the blow, that when it fell his one thought was, "It has come at last!" He could not even command words in which to thank this kind-hearted sans-culotte for his timely warning. But Prevôt understood and grasped his hand:

"Don't try to thank me, lad! Make haste to get away, and to-morrow morning there will be one victim the less, thank heaven! I must return at once, for he will be missing me, and of course suspecting something! Adieu!" And he was gone before the boy could open his lips.

For many minutes Jean stood there in the darkness, striving to collect his thoughts. What was he to do! Circumstance having thus opened the way for him, combining his safety with one of his most cherished wishes, it was an almost irresistible temptation to [Pg 181] flee from Paris, seek out his hero and friend in Marseilles, and become a soldier of France. It was a situation that would have tested the courage and loyalty of many an older and more experienced mind. But turn and twist it as he would, the position admitted of one outcome only, for him. Did he take good Citizen Prevôt's advice and escape before morning, what would be the inevitable result? Simply this—that Mère Clouet and Yvonne would be suspected of complicity with him, and they would, without doubt, take his place in one of the overflowing prisons. That they should suffer while he went scot-free was unthinkable. And of course they could not all attempt to escape,—that would mean certain apprehension with its inevitable results. On the other hand, did he stand his ground, go about his usual duties to-morrow and accept his arrest as if innocent, there was one chance in a hundred that he might be so considered, and ultimately set free. And even at the worst, [Pg 182] no matter what happened to him, Mère Clouet and Yvonne would probably escape suspicion.

Then there was one other consideration,—the dead Queen's little book of prayers that he held concealed, in trust for her misused son. That must be delivered at all cost, and in order to facilitate this he must go on to the Rue de Lille and entrust it to Yvonne. No!—the longer he thought about it, the plainer his duty became. He must accept with the best grace possible what fate had in store for him, execute the mission that had been entrusted to him, and see that no harm came through him, to those who stood for all the family that he could claim in this world. Once arrived at this conclusion, his heart actually felt lighter. With all due gratitude to Prevôt, he hurried home, determined to act on the morrow as though in complete ignorance of what awaited him.

But when he reached the Rue de Lille, it was with a very grave face. So unlike his [Pg 183] usual gay self was he, that Mère Clouet was alarmed. Jean, however, told her nothing. He ate his late supper, fed Moufflet, and tried hard to act as though all were as usual. But when the Citizeness Clouet had left the room for a time, Jean drew Yvonne aside and took her into his confidence.

"Do not tell good Mère Clouet yet," he ended. "She must go to-morrow with the laundry, and I want her to know nothing, till afterward!" Poor little Yvonne grew white with terror.

"Oh, Jean," she whispered, "nothing must happen to you! We love you so! How could we live without you!"

"Perhaps nothing more serious than a few days' detention will happen, little one," he answered, "but we must always be prepared. Now let me tell you what you must do. Here is the packet. You cannot get it out of your hands too soon! Do they ever search you when you go to the little fellow?" [Pg 184]

"Then you can probably get it to him safely. It is small thank heaven!—and easily concealed. Few about the place connect me with you and your mother, so if I am taken, make no inquiries for me except of Barelle or Meunier,—he is also a friend,—for your own heads would not then be safe! Trust in God, Yvonne, to save me! I cannot think He will suffer me to come to harm. Take good care of Moufflet, and give my love to Mère Clouet. Good-night, Yvonne!" It is scarcely necessary to add that two people in number 670 Rue de Lille slept but little that night!

Next morning Jean hurried off to work as though nothing of importance was to happen that day. The hours of the morning drifted heavily by, and his heart was in his mouth at every unusual sound. He saw Mère Clouet and Yvonne arrive with the laundry and leave after their usual stay. Yvonne [Pg 185] looked frightened and was plainly trembling, but by the imperceptible nod she gave him, he guessed that her mission was accomplished. Noon came, and still nothing had happened. But about one o'clock, three gendarmes came into the tavern and ordered some wine. Scarcely were they finished with their refreshment, when one of them laid a heavy hand on Jean's shoulder.

"I arrest you in the name of the Republic!" was all he said, but Jean knew that the blow had fallen at last. A wondering and regretful group gathered about to see this favourite led away to some unknown but only too well-imagined fate. Even Père Lefèvre parted from his little waiter with quite a show of sympathy. It seemed a long journey from the Temple to the Palais de Justice, and the gendarmes said not a word all the way. The procession aroused little interest in the passers-by, for arrests were too common in those days to cause any excitement. Arriving at the Palais de Justice, [Pg 186] they entered through the great Cour du Mai, and led the boy to a large office where were seated many clerks at work. His name was entered and a gendarme assured the clerks that the charge had already been noted so that it only remained to thrust him within the walls of the prison. Without further ado, he was led down a gloomy staircase, a gate was opened and shut, and Jean was fast in La Conciergerie!

He found himself in a spacious courtyard filled to overflowing with a throng of helpless humanity of every degree from the lowest to the highest. Among them were nobles, authors, priests, bankers, merchants, bakers, farmers, mechanics, sans-culottes even, and vagabonds, all rubbing elbows, existing in daily fear and trembling, and almost starved on the inadequate rations they received. That afternoon a crier came to the gate and read aloud the list of that day's victims to the Guillotine. Amid sobs and cries, that batch of prisoners passed out of the dungeon [Pg 187] forever, only to be replaced by a fresh installment before evening.

Recognising none of his fellow-prisoners, Jean established himself in a convenient corner, and amused himself by noting the vast difference in the way that different classes of victims behaved themselves in their terrible incarceration. Strangely enough, the class that seemed most unconcerned was the nobility. A little party of them were grouped together in a corner, and from their actions they might have been safely at home enjoying each others' society without a thought of fear. Four of them were engaged in playing a stately game of cards. When the crier of the afternoon read, among others, the name of one of these players, Jean was astonished to see the man rise, apologise politely to the others for his enforced absence, and request another friend to take his place while he was away. Then he bowed and departed, as though death were not awaiting him outside that fatal gate! Others [Pg 188] were not less collected. These aristocrats seemed to pride themselves on ignoring the hideous peril of their position.

People in other walks of life were not always so self-contained. Here and there women, and even men sobbed and shivered for hours at a stretch, and a shriek of anguish from some doomed victim was no unusual occurrence. Others seemed frozen dumb with apprehension, while yet others laughed and sang and played at boisterous games, striving recklessly to forget their precarious nearness to trouble.

When evening came, and the prisoners were to be locked into their crowded cells for the night, four noisy, stupid, half-tipsy jailers entered, accompanied by several savage dogs, and there was a great to-do while the roll of the victims was being called. A badly spelled, incorrect list was passed from hand to hand among the jailers, a wrong name was called, to which, of course, no one responded. The turnkeys all swore in chorus, [Pg 189] and tried another with no better success!

"Here, citizens," suggested Jean the irrepressible, "give me that list, and I'll help you get it straight!" They were only too glad of some assistance, and willingly handed it to him. Jean called off the names, while the person to whom each belonged marched before the guards and assured them of his or her identity. When this performance had been gone through four times, the muddled keepers were at length convinced that they had all safely locked in.

"Thanks, little rat!" they told Jean. "We will remember you another time!" and the great gates were shut and barred for the night. Jean found himself in a narrow cell in company with seven other persons completely unknown to him, and they all slept together on a filthy mattress of straw. Next day, however, Jean was removed from the common hall and placed in a tiny, uncomfortable cell by himself. [Pg 190]

"It's because you are a dangerous conspirator, and it has been commanded [Pg 191] to keep you in solitary confinement!" he was told.

"Here's a pretty pass!" thought Jean. "How plainly we see the finger of [Pg 192] La Souris in this pie!" And he sat down on his straw mattress to think it over.

EXIT THE COBBLER

CHAPTER XI

EXIT THE COBBLER

Louis Charles Capet sat on his rough wooden chair by a table, anxiously eyeing the door, and listening nervously for the slightest sound. Simon was not with him, having gone up on the platform by himself for a little airing. Madame Simon sat knitting in another corner of the room. Just for a while the child was enjoying one of his rare intervals of peace, free from violence, insult and terror.

Had one watched him, it would soon have become evident that he was waiting for something,—waiting, longing, with every nerve tense, for some desired event. It was the day that the laundry should come back, and the child knew it. Therefore with all his heart he was hoping for one of those infrequent [Pg 194] visits with Yvonne, the sole pleasure in his weary little existence. It was long since she last came to him.

For a while nothing was heard in the room but the click of Madame Simon's knitting-needles, and the chirp and flutter of five or six canaries in a big gilt cage on the table. It was through the goodness of the kind-hearted Meunier, another commissary, that the child had been allowed this plaything. Pitying his forlorn and empty life, Meunier had obtained permission to have placed in the room a gilt cage that he had found in the store-room of the Temple. This cage contained an artificial canary, which when wound up would whistle the air, "O Richard! O, my king!"

At first Louis Charles was immensely pleased with this toy, thinking that the bird was alive and a captive like himself. But when he discovered that it was only an automaton, he lost all interest and apathetically refused to be entertained by it. Then [Pg 195] good-natured Meunier scoured the neighbourhood and brought him some live canaries to put with the mechanical one.

"These, at least, are real birds!" the child cried gleefully, and kissed each one as it was put into the cage. "I shall try to tame them!" From that time he had always a pleasing occupation with his feathered captives. He fed them, cleaned the cage, and clapped his hands with delight when they all started to sing, accompanying the toy one in his tune of the "King's March." One little fellow seemed tamer than the rest, never failed to come when the boy chirped to it, and even perched fearlessly on his shoulder. This one he called "La Petite," and had tied a tiny pink ribbon around its leg.

But the birds were rather quiet just now, hopping about and twittering softly. Suddenly in the silence of the room there sounded the rasping of bolts undrawn, the clanking of chains and the hoarse command of the sentries. The door queued. The boy's heart [Pg 196] almost stood still in the intensity of his expectation. Would she come? Was Yvonne just beyond the door? With a stifled cry of joy he recognised the sound of her voice, and knew that his desire was to be fulfilled. When she entered he thought she looked grave, and not nearly so buoyant as was her wont. Poor Yvonne! At that very moment she was sick with fear for Jean's yet unknown fate.

Wishing to rid herself at once of the packet, and deeming Simon's absence the most favourable moment, she thrust it into his hand under the table.

"From your mother! Hide it quickly!" she whispered. Watching Barelle and Madame Simon who were talking together, he slipped to his bed, and shoved the packet into a small hole in the mattress, returning noiselessly to Yvonne. Then he said aloud:

"I have something for you, Yvonne. It is not much, but I wish you to take and enjoy it!" And he handed her a small, shrivelled [Pg 197] pear. Little Yvonne was sincerely touched by this gift. She knew how small an amount the poor child got to eat, and she could not bear to deprive him of even this miserable little piece of fruit.

"Oh, I ought not take it!" she said. "You need it more than I!" But Louis Charles eagerly pressed her to accept, and even Madame Simon turned to intervene:

"Take it! take it, little girl! The little fellow has been saving it for a week to give to you. He will be sorely grieved if you refuse!" With tears in her eyes, Yvonne accepted the pitiful gift.

"And now show me your birds! How pretty they are!" she said. But the boy had a question to ask. "My mother! How is she?" he whispered. Poor little fellow! He did not dream that his mother, long since removed from the Tower, had so recently gone to her eternal repose. Even the cruel-hearted cobbler had spared him that blow, and Yvonne would sooner have had her [Pg 198] tongue cut out than be the one to impart such news. So she only smiled and pointed to the ceiling. And Louis Charles, reassured, turned to show her his birds.

He whistled and sang to them, and started the toy-bird playing its tune. This encouraged all the feathered flock to warble and soon there was a gay little concert in the dingy prison room. The children clapped their hands and laughed with delight. In the midst of this the door suddenly opened, and Simon entered, followed by some new municipals who were making their first tour of inspection.

"What's this! What's this!" exclaimed one, more ferociously zealous than the rest, as he approached the cage. The live birds all ceased their music, but the ill-fated automaton went on with its song, "O, Richard! O, my king!"

"Kings! kings! Here's a pretty state of affairs! How comes such a thing here? There are no more kings!" Then he noticed [Pg 199] the ribbon around the leg of the boy's favourite. "And what's this! Here's a decorated bird! Here's a privileged character! Here's an aristocrat , I suppose!" He burst open the door of the cage, and seizing the offending songster, roughly tore off the "Order." Then he threw it violently from him. Poor Louis Charles was watching the treatment of his pet. He sat rooted to his chair with frightened eyes, and a little sob escaped him when the man cast the bird from him. But he knew better than to utter one word in defence of his favourite. Experience had taught him that such a course would conspire even sooner, to bring about the defeat of any wish he might express.

"Take these things away!" ordered the new municipal, and Simon quickly removed the cage from the room. Then the municipal turned his attention to Yvonne.

"Who is this, and why, pray, is she here?" he stormed. Barelle explained Yvonne's presence. [Pg 200]

"Away with her! This is all against the rules!" he shouted, and poor Yvonne was hustled off before she could even say good-bye to her friend. In her heart she knew that she would never be allowed to come again.

Louis Charles cried himself to sleep that night, in the agony of the day's double disappointment. To be robbed at once of his birds and Yvonne was a crushing blow. But he woke in the night, remembered the packet his mother had sent him, drew it out and opened it. Though he could see nothing, by touch he recognised the prayer-book he had so often seen in his mother's hands. Reassured by her love and thought for him, he kissed it reverently. After that he thrust it back in its hiding-place, and went to sleep calmed and comforted.

He never saw his birds again, nor did Yvonne ever enter the door of his hated prison as the gloomy weeks passed, yet strange events were preparing which were [Pg 201] to make radical changes in the life of Louis XVII. These events related chiefly to the cobbler Simon. The long confinement had been telling on his robust health, and stretching his nerves to an irritable tension. For confined he was, as surely and closely as the little king himself. He was there to guard "Little Capet" every moment of the time, and was being handsomely paid for it. Therefore every request to go out for a while, change scene and air or witness some festival of the Republic, was sternly refused by the Council-General. Madame Simon also grew restive, though she was allowed more freedom than her husband.

At length the time came when the cobbler felt he could endure it no longer. He liked his work,—nothing pleased him more than to maltreat this little prince of the blood,—and he liked his pay even better. But more than all he wanted freedom, and that he could not have with the position of tutor to "Little Capet." Consequently on the fifth of January, [Pg 202] 1794, he handed in his resignation, and was released from a situation now become hateful to him.

A few days after, there was a great noise and confusion in the Tower. The cobbler and his wife were about to leave it. The child-prisoner could scarcely believe his senses! Was his terrible tormentor really going? Was he actually to be left in peace? He sat motionless and silent, watching their operations, while a frenzy of joy surged within him. At length all was in readiness, and there was no excuse for further delay. Madame Simon, who had never cherished her husband's hard feeling for the child, approached him, pressed his hand kindly and said:

"I do not know when I shall see you again, Little Capet, but good-bye!" Simon heard her, and added a farewell of his own that was quite characteristic of him.

"Ah, you little toad! I suppose you're glad to be rid of me, aren't you! But you [Pg 203] won't get out of this hole, I can tell you, and you may do worse than have Simon the cobbler about you!" With this he pressed his hand heavily on the child's head, almost drawing from him a cry of pain. Then the door was shut, and Simon the cobbler went out of the life of Louis XVII forever!

All that day the boy was left alone to amuse himself at will, seeing none but Caron the cook who brought him his meals. In breathless expectation he awaited whatever might happen next. Who could tell! He might even be sent to his mother! Next day, however, another surprise awaited him.

The Council-General, it seemed, found great difficulty in replacing Simon. In fact, they declared that his counterpart could not be found, and so he should have no successor. They determined instead, to try the effect of absolute solitude for a time on the little sovereign.

Perhaps we wonder why, since the child's existence was so troublesome to them, they [Pg 204] did not kill him outright, as they had his royal parents. But no! Such a crime would not befit a Republic "always great and generous!" They did not go about slaughtering innocent children whose only offence was that of having been born to the purple! By no means! They would make a great pretence of caring for and guarding him, but in time he should simply fade away, disappear, be lost to public interest. Or, in plainer words, he should die a natural death, brought about by systematic ill-treatment and neglect. The first stage had already been accomplished by the cobbler. The second was about to begin.

On the morning of the following day, into the room walked carpenters and workmen. What were they about to do, wondered the boy? He was soon to discover. First they moved his bed into a dark little back room that adjoined the large one. Then they cut down the door between to about breast-height, and criss-crossed the open upper part [Pg 205] with heavy iron bars. In the middle of this they made a wicket or hole closed by other movable bars, and fastened with an enormous padlock.

Louis Charles was then commanded to enter. He did so, and the door was shut and fastened unalterably by every device of which they could think. And so he was left, having no communication with the outer world save the little wicket. Through this was passed his coarse meals, and whatever necessaries they thought fit to allow him. Through this also he sent out whatever he wished removed. The cell was lighted only by a lantern hung in the room outside, whose feeble rays scarcely penetrated beyond the bars of the door. He was allowed no books, no playthings, no occupation of any kind except to keep his cell clean with an old broom.

For the first few days, in spite of the utter desolation of his surroundings, the boy was contented, even happy. His young life had [Pg 206] for the past six months been so constantly harried by the cruel cobbler and merciless municipals, that he was devoutly thankful for the peace and rest of his solitude. One of the first things he did was to draw his mother's prayer-book from its hiding-place, and try in the dim light to decipher some of the prayers she had so often repeated with him. This he had never dared to do when the cobbler had charge of him. Then he examined the glossy curl of Moufflet's hair, and wondered whether he should some day see his pet once more. When in want of other occupation, he would sweep his cell again and again, and make and re-make his bed.

His meals were handed to him twice a day. Coarse, ill-cooked fare it was, and very little of that,—some watery soup, a small morsel of meat, a loaf of stale bread and a pitcher of water. He never saw the one who brought it, for the wicket was so arranged as to hide the face outside. The commissaries changed [Pg 207] daily, and their visits were always after nightfall. They would come to his wicket and call loudly, "Little Capet, are you there?" "Yes!" he would reply. "Well, go to bed then! You can't have any more light!" they would shout, and extinguish the lantern in the next room.

And so the time passed! Louis Charles soon lost all track of the [Pg 208] dragging days and weeks, but this solitude began to tell frightfully on his strength, and he grew almost too weak to move about. Upstairs, just above him, his sister and aunt knew nothing of his troubles. They only knew that Simon was gone, for they heard no more dreadful shouting and scolding, nor the plaintive child's voice singing the songs of the Revolution at his jailer's command. But one dark night, Madame Elizabeth received a summons to appear before the terrible tribunal. And she also [Pg 209] went out of the Temple, never to return, for she was shortly to travel the same dark way that the King and Queen had gone before her. Little Marie-Thérèse was also left in solitude.

And so for a space of several months must we leave the three children, [Pg 210] each to a solitary cell, one in the Conciergerie, and two in the Temple Tower.

A FRIEND RE-ENTERS AND EVENTS MOVE ON

CHAPTER XII

A FRIEND RE-ENTERS AND EVENTS MOVE ON

On the morning of July first, 1794, Jean sat on the edge of his straw mattress, listening intently for the slightest sound in the corridor without. He had been in the Conciergerie over eight months. How he had come to be left so long without undergoing a trial was a mystery to him, except that it might be explained by the fact of his age. Under fifteen, the Republic considered people as children, and these they did not punish with death. Over it, he would have to suffer as an adult. Now his fifteenth birthday having occurred the day before, he held himself in readiness for trouble!

How he had endured those long, dreary weeks, he could scarcely himself have told. [Pg 212] Sometimes it seemed as though the solitude, combined with his fears for his loved ones and himself, and the despair at this frustration of all his hopes, would deprive him of his reason. But Jean was a lad of many and varied resources! For one thing he had made friends with his jailers on the very first day, and had lost no opportunity since to improve their acquaintance. With them he held long conversations, and tried thus to learn as much as possible of the state of affairs in the city. But the turnkeys, though friendly, were rather chary of information, and Jean gleaned but little intelligence in this direction. Yesterday, however, one of them had casually dropped a remark that filled him with an unreasoning joy:

"We are hideously crowded now, and there's no place to be longer reserved for solitary confinement. So by to-morrow you may have a lodger, my friend!" Jean dared not exhibit the pleasure this announcement caused him. To see and speak to a human [Pg 213] being other than these almost inhuman monstrosities, the turnkeys, was almost too good to be true!

"Oh, well! I'll not object, only do not crowd in too many, I beg!" he replied with greatest indifference. But his heart sang in a very jubilee of thanksgiving. Therefore was he waiting in breathless expectancy, for either one of two events,—a companion in his solitude, or a call to himself face the tribunal of justice and its almost certain result. Which would it be?

He waited till noon in eager suspense, but the corridor remained silent. Jean began to be very impatient. He longed for anything to break the monotony of this waiting, even were it to mean his own call to judgment. At last, about two o'clock, voices were heard along the corridor, tramping footfalls, the hoarse growl of the turnkeys, and finally the unbolting of the cell-door. But his joy was beyond all words when the two turnkeys flung into the room a stranger, and closed the [Pg 214] door with a bang and the cheerful remark:

"There you are! Keep each other company till you go to make your call on Mistress Guillotine!" The stranger fell heavily on the bed, as though in a stupor, and so remained for many minutes. While in this state, Jean had time to look him over and judge what manner of companion he had been given. The man was clothed in the peasant costume, evidently of Picardy. His face was covered with a five days' growth of beard, and his expression indicated no large amount of wits. As he lay on the mattress, he seemed overcome by a very paroxysm of terror. When he appeared to be somewhat recovered, Jean broke the conversational ice:

"And what may be your crime against the Republic, Citizen Friend?" The peasant started at the sound of his voice, sat up and gave the boy a scrutinising look. Then his face underwent the strangest transformation Jean had ever seen. The stupid expression vanished, the eyes sparkled brilliantly, [Pg 215] and a smile played about the bearded mouth. In that instant Jean recognised him.

"Hush!" whispered the Baron, as he wrung the boy's hand. "This is luck indeed! I knew that you had been sent here, but I thought regretfully, that you had long since perished!" Jean explained the supposed reason that he had been so far spared.

"Oh," said De Batz, "it's not under my right name that I have been arrested, as you probably surmise. Of course, I'm still devoted to the cause of rescuing my little king, but up till now all my plans have failed, chiefly through just such misfortunes as that which spoiled the one in which you took part. But there is something on foot now,—or will be soon,—that is of greater scope than any yet conceived!

"As to how I came here?—well, I was [Pg 216] prowling this morning about the Temple, in this disguise of a peasant of Picardy, seeking to obtain some needful information. For this purpose I engaged a guard in conversation, in the course of which he remarked that the country was going to the Evil One! 'Not going , but there already!' I responded, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned, and confronted—who but Simon the cobbler!

"'That's a remark inimical to the Republic!' he roared. 'For that I order your arrest!' And in two seconds I was in the grasp of a couple of gendarmes who hustled me, followed by Simon, to this prison. Simon made the charge, and I gave the name of Antoine Lecoste. The rest you know! And for such offences are thousands of poor wretches doomed to death in these glorious days!"

"But what a misfortune," sighed Jean, "that you should be so imperilled when you are the soul of the noble schemes for releasing [Pg 217] the little fellow! You stand about one chance in a million of being acquitted, from all I hear!"

"Do not fear for me, lad! One can never tell what may happen, of course, but, hark you! I have a band of trusty followers, and in view of the very thing that has happened, my arrest, we concerted, some time ago, a plan to rescue me if I am caught and condemned, even were I on the way to the very scaffold itself. And trust me, Jean, should it so fall out that we travel that road together, you shall share my rescue. If I go before you and am rescued, I will surely devise some scheme for your escape when your time comes. Only, if you are called to go before me, heaven alone can aid you!" Jean pressed his hand with a gratitude too deep for words.

"Meanwhile," ended the Baron, "it is best that we do not seem too intimate, when our jailers are around. What a horrible place this is! How long have you been [Pg 218] here?" And Jean gave him a history of his imprisonment. The two talked nearly all that night. Jean had heard practically no news from the outer world in all the eight months, and he learned now much that astonished him. One of the events most amazing to him was the resignation of Simon from his post of tutor to Louis XVII, and the young king's solitary confinement. The other was that Danton, the great original Terrorist leader had perished on the scaffold as far back as April.

"How came it about?" inquired Jean in wonder. "I cannot understand it! He was head and front of every thing!"

"Simple enough, in these days!" responded De Batz. "It is like the mountainous waves of the sea. One towers above all for a moment, only to be overtopped by the one behind it next instant. Robespierre became both tired and jealous of his great friend and compatriot, and decided to get rid of him. Nothing easier! He denounced Danton [Pg 219] to the Convention, and he was tried and condemned by the very tribunal he had himself instituted. Right here in the Conciergerie at that! You should have seen him during his trial! He sat and made paper pellets which he threw at his judges! Oh, Danton was a cool one, and he died bravely! But, let me tell you something. Robespierre's turn is coming next! The people are weary of him and his underhand ways, and 'tis whispered that he wishes to sweep all others out of his path and make himself Dictator. But it won't do! They are furious at him for causing Danton's death,—his closest friend, mind you!—and something is going to happen. The pot is on the point of boiling. It will take but a few days at most for it to boil over. And let me tell you who will be the next man of the hour,—Barras! He is already very popular. Keep your eye on Barras, Jean!"

Two days passed, and the friends were left unmolested. During this time they exchanged [Pg 220] thoughts on many subjects, and waited with apprehension lest one or the other should be called away, and strove to pass the hours as best they might. Jean begged De Batz to tell him what was the new plan for rescuing Louis XVII.

"That I cannot tell you just yet," said the Baron. "For it is not perfected, and I am under oath to reveal nothing. But if we get out of this alive, be sure that you will hear more about it later. But one thing I will say. I may have to disappear for a time to another part of France. If I am not in Paris, find Caron ! You know who he is?" Jean nodded assent. Then he asked about how they were to escape.

"It is best that you should not know," said De Batz. "The manner of it will be attended with great risk, and you will come through it better if you are ignorant. Only, do not be surprised at anything that may happen!"

On the third day, the jailers entered the [Pg 221] cell at noon, accompanied by a court-crier. Jean and the Baron exchanged a look, for they knew that the fate of at least one of them was to be sealed that day. To their joy, both their names were read to appear before the tribunal. The jailers left them saying that they would be back in half an hour.

"This is a godsend!" exclaimed the Baron. "Nothing could have been better than that we should go out at the same time. If we are rescued it will be together, and if not,—well, at least we will die in each other's company!" The jailers came back in a few moments and bound the hands of the two behind their backs. In the courtyard they found a band of thirty more victims, in charge of a corps of gendarmes, all petrified into a very apathy of fearful anticipation. Strangely enough, there was not even a tear shed by the band of the condemned. The sobs and lamentations came wholly from the friends they were leaving. [Pg 222]

Out from the courtyard, and along dark galleries and passages they were herded like so many cattle, till at length they were pushed into the great gloomy room where sat the far-famed Tribunal of Terror. Three judges robed in black, wearing plumed hats, sat on a high platform, and scribbled occasional notes. A clerk called out the list of names, to which each prisoner responded. Then, one by one, the names were read again, and a charge against each was hastily gabbled over, which the prisoners scarcely heard and in nine cases out of ten did not understand. When asked if they had anything to say in their defence, each murmured calmly and hopelessly, "No!" After this, one of the judges rose and pronounced the sentence:

"You are all found guilty of conspiring against the Republic! I pronounce upon you the sentence of immediate death!"

There was no surprise and scarcely any interest created by this. Why should there be! They had expected it from the beginning! [Pg 223] For the most part they were as those already dead. The gendarmes hurried them out by another passage, and they came to an open gate, beyond which stood the tumbrils waiting for their daily load. Here a great crowd of the populace had collected. But where months ago they had hooted and jeered at the doomed ones, now the sympathy of the majority was with the victims, and the carts were loaded in a sorrowful silence, broken only by the occasional cry of some outsider who beheld a friend among the condemned.

Jean and De Batz were reserved for the last cart, and just before they entered, the boy saw his friend make an almost imperceptible motion of the head to a man in the crowd who instantly disappeared. "Courage!" whispered the Baron to his little comrade, as they were flung unceremoniously into the tumbril, accompanied by ten or twelve others. That ride was a thing to be remembered as one recalls a shuddering [Pg 224] nightmare. Crowded in as they were, Jean saw no possible hope of rescue, and the cart jolted on roughly through street after street. They had approached very near the Place de la Révolution and the termination of their ride, when a heavy cart that had driven in between them and the forward tumbril, suddenly broke down, a wheel flew off, and the way was completely blocked.

"Good!" muttered the Baron to Jean. "The first step is a success!" The driver of their tumbril swore roundly, but nothing could be done except drive back a block or two and proceed through a very narrow street, scarcely more than an alley. Meanwhile the crowd had forsaken them, and had hastened on to the guillotine, lest it be too late for the first of the day's executions. The last tumbril would doubtless arrive in good time without their assistance!

The narrow alley into which they now turned was lined with rickety wooden houses, and Jean noticed that De Batz watched one [Pg 225] of these narrowly, so he also kept his eye upon it. They had almost reached it when suddenly, out from it rushed ten or fifteen men, all shouting, swearing, lunging at each other with knives and bludgeons, apparently engaged in a fierce dispute that could only be settled by drawing blood. They surged about the tumbril, while the astonished driver sought to clear the way by flourishing his whip, and shouting for a free passage.

In the midst of all this confusion, Jean presently felt a knife inserted between the cords that bound his wrists, and in a second his hands were free. Then he saw that De Batz had likewise been released from his fetters. In the midst of the greatest racket he heard the Baron whisper:

"Slip down! Get among them!" Fortunately they were both seated at the rear end of the cart. Before Jean realised it, he was down and in the midst of the noisy group shouting and struggling like the rest. If the other inmates of the cart realised what [Pg 226] was happening, they were either too apathetic to care, or too glad that even a few might escape, to make any outcry. The struggling, fighting men, gradually ceased their blows and pretending to be appeased, gathered into a group, carefully concealing in their midst the Baron and Jean. The wrathful driver of the tumbril shook his fist at them, swore to have them all arrested later, gathered up his reins, and the cart lumbered heavily away, while he remained entirely in ignorance of the fact that his load was lighter by two! When it had disappeared, they all hurried into the house from whence the men had issued.

"Oh!" sobbed Jean, now that the terrible tension was relieved, "if we could only have saved the rest! It seems horrible that they should go on to what we have escaped!"

"It could not be done," said De Batz. "It was an awful risk even for one , and for two a still greater peril. But had there been more,—why all would have perished! You [Pg 227] yourself would not have been saved, had I not given my men a sign." The men now gathered about their leader, who congratulated them on the successful outcome of the plot.

"But we must not remain here," he ended. "One by one you must leave the [Pg 228] house, all but Jean and myself. It would not do for us to be seen in broad daylight so soon. We will hide in the cellar till to-night." Gradually the men dispersed, and till long after midnight, Jean and the Baron kept each other company in the dark cellar, for the house was an [Pg 229] abandoned one. At length the time came for them to part.

"Return to the Rue de Lille," ordered De Batz, "and keep hidden there for a few days. Things are going to happen, as I told you, and after that it may be safe to go out. I must leave Paris, perhaps for some time. But one injunction I leave with you,— find Caron ! No,—do not thank me, my boy, for helping you to this escape! It is only what we [Pg 230] owe to each other, and to Louis XVII! But thank God for helping us to accomplish it. Adieu! adieu! Find Caron! "

THE TENTH THERMIDOR

CHAPTER XIII

THE TENTH THERMIDOR

It would be impossible to describe the meeting between Jean and his loved ones on that memorable night. To Mère Clouet and Yvonne it seemed as though he had actually risen from the dead. For months they had received absolutely no news of him, or his fate. Yvonne confided to him that Mère Clouet had even gone to witness the daily executions at such times as she felt she could be away from necessary work, though the sight of them nearly killed her. But it seemed the only way in which she could learn whether the boy had yet been doomed to perish. As her work, however, compelled her to miss many days, she could never be certain that he had not been executed in her absence. [Pg 232]

For several days Jean remained securely hidden. It would have been far from safe for him to show his face out of doors, for his enemy, La Souris, was still very active. So he stayed indoors, played with Moufflet, and asked incessant questions about the long period of his imprisonment, striving to learn every detail of what had occurred in his absence.

While he was thus in hiding, Paris was full of strange mutterings and subdued excitement. People conversed in undertones in the streets, gesticulated freely and had heated arguments. Detachments of soldiers were stationed in every quarter, and an uprising of some kind was plainly expected. Jean remembered the words of the Baron de Batz, and scented trouble but could make little of what he slyly witnessed from the windows. In fact, people seemed themselves scarcely to comprehend the true cause of all this ferment. Naturally the unrest communicated itself to Mère Clouet and the [Pg 233] children. Yvonne begged to be allowed to go out and investigate but Mère Clouet and Jean would not hear of this. At last, on the afternoon of July twenty-eighth, Mère Clouet herself could no longer contain her curiosity.

"I am going out myself!" she announced. "I at least will be safe in the streets, and something unusual is happening to-day. Rest you here! I will come back shortly, and tell you all about it!" And she hurried away.

Now it must be explained that France, from the time of September, 1792, had determined to change the names of all the months, and number the years beginning from her birth as a Republic. Consequently this day of July 28, 1794, or the Tenth Thermidor, year II, as she called it, was destined to be a date long remembered in history.

In about two hours Mère Clouet came back. She was breathless, her eyes were flashing, and she was under the influence of some keen excitement. [Pg 234]

"My soul!" she exclaimed, sinking into a seat "What I have seen! What I have heard! What times we live in! You will scarcely believe me! I went to the Rue St. Honoré. It was filled with a shouting crowd. I asked a woman what was happening, and she looked at me as though she thought me insane for not knowing! 'Where have you been?' she cried. 'What! do you not know that Robespierre was yesterday condemned by the Convention for his barbarity, declared an outlaw, and naturally headed for the scaffold? Coward that he is! He tried to kill himself, but missed his aim and only wounded his jaw. He's on the way to the guillotine now, with a few others of a similar stripe,—Couthon, Henriot, St. Just! Curse him! Curse him! He put to death my husband and my father for no crime at all,—they were good Republicans! And Barras,—he's in command of all the forces of Paris, and will soon be at the head of the government, also. [Pg 235] He is at least a humane man! Ah, here comes the tumbril now!'

"Then a mighty roar went up from the crowd, a cart jolted up the street, and there sat that Robespierre, his hands tied behind him, and his wicked face bound up in a rag! Faugh! the sight turned me sick! But here's something else quite as wonderful! Directly beside him, cheek by jowl, sat (you'll never believe me!) that ruffian Simon the cobbler, in the very Carmagnole suit he used to wear in the Temple. His teeth fairly chattered with fright! Ah, but I wish the little fellow could have seen him! Was ever a punishment so well deserved!

"Never, in all my life have I witnessed such a sight! People sang for very joy, and even strangers embraced each other. They say that in some of the prisons, many were set free! I saw a man pay thirty francs for a newspaper telling how yesterday Robespierre was condemned! They say the Reign [Pg 236] of Terror is over! Thank God! Thank God!" And Mère Clouet, no longer able to control herself, sobbed in sheer ecstasy of joy.

The Reign of Terror was over, at last! In a few days that became apparent. Exiles flocked back to the country. Prisons gave up their "suspects" to the number of ten thousand. Families were reunited, and people who had been existing miserably in all sorts of hiding-places, came out of their seclusion. Paris became a city of resurrected hopes and homes.

On the morning of the Tenth Thermidor, Barras had made a tour of all the military posts of Paris, in the course of which he stopped at the Temple and inspected it. When he saw the condition in which poor little Louis XVII was kept in solitude, he was filled with pity, and announced that this must be improved, and that he would at once take steps to accomplish it. We will now see [Pg 237] what the Tenth Thermidor brought to this unfortunate little monarch.

Six months had passed since Louis Charles had been barred into his lonely cell. Not that he realised the time at all! One day dragged on wearily and gave place to the next, but he took no heed, and probably knew not whether his time of incarceration had been six months or as many years.

It was the twenty-eighth of July, 1794. For three days the child had lain inert upon his bed. Life had become absolutely insupportable to him. At the very moment when he had been compelled to rise and take in his morning meal, wishing that they would send in no more food so that he might die the quicker, Robespierre and Simon were passing through the streets in a tumbril to their well-deserved reward. But he knew it not!

That night the light of a candle shone through his wicket, and an unusually gentle voice called to him: "Capet! Little Capet! [Pg 238] Are you there?" "Yes!" he answered feebly.

"Can you not come here a moment?" the voice continued. But the boy was too weak to try, and too exhausted even to answer again. Then the light disappeared, and the gentle voice was silent. He passed the night in a feverish sleep. His poor limbs were wasted and thin, and great swellings on his knees and arms gave him unspeakable pain. No one would have recognised in him now even the pale captive of the cobbler, much less the beautiful boy of the Tuileries.

Next morning he was called again, by many voices this time, but he could make no response at all.

"He is dead!" he heard someone say. "Let us break down the door!" Forthwith, resounding blows rained on the barrier of his prison. When at length an entrance had been forced, several strange men entered.

"What a horrible place!" they all exclaimed, starting back in amazement and disgust [Pg 239] at the filth and vile odours, and the rats and mice scampering off in all directions. The child lay on the bed nervously watching every movement, wondering what new horror this invasion boded. The municipals put to him many questions about himself, but he had neither the strength nor the courage to answer them. Most of them concluded that he had either become deaf and dumb, or had lost his mind during his confinement Presently one of them noticed his untouched meal of the day before still on the table.

"Why do you not eat?" he demanded. The boy raised himself on his arm with a great effort.

"Because I wish to die!" he answered quietly. Tears rose to the eyes of one or two of his questioners, and after a hasty consultation they all left the room, closing the door but not barring it. After a while it opened again, and the child awoke from an uneasy sleep to find a slight, thin, kindly-faced little man bending over him. [Pg 240]

"I am Laurent," said the same gentle voice of the night before, "and I have come to take charge of you!" Some memory of the ungentle cobbler was aroused by the word "charge," and the boy shrank back nervously. Laurent divined his thought.

"Do not be afraid!" he went on in the same quiet voice. "I am not like Simon, poor child!" and a kindly hand was laid on the matted hair. Still the boy made no response. He was too sick, too weak, too listless, to care very much what might happen to him now, and he only desired to be left in peace.

But Laurent had him moved from his loathsome cell, and placed on a cot in the clean, airy outer room. With the assistance of Caron the cook, he bathed the child in warm water, put on fresh clothes, and gently tried to comb the tangles from his matted hair. Then Louis was given a little fresh fruit to eat, and some milk, in place of the horrible fare on which he had lived for six [Pg 241] months. After that Laurent left him to rest and sleep.

Words cannot paint the slowly growing amazement of Louis Charles at these changes. So long had he been left to cruel neglect that he could hardly yet comprehend how any kindness remained in the world. And six months of absolute silence had rendered him so unaccustomed to speech, that the good Laurent could not draw from him one word. Many a dumb grateful look had the child given him, but as yet his lips were silent. When Laurent came back with his meal in a few hours, he stroked the boy's head awhile.

"Do you feel better, Monsieur Charles?" he inquired. Used as he was to being addressed as "Little Capet," "Wolf-Cub" or worse, the respect and civility in this long-unused title was almost beyond belief! At length his tongue was unloosed.

"Yes, thank you, Monsieur!" he replied. And from that moment his heart went out to his new keeper. In a few days he was [Pg 242] better. Kindness, care, decent food and the human society of some well-disposed person revived the flame of life that had all but flickered out in his long solitude.

Citizen Laurent was by no means a royalist. On the contrary, his sympathies were entirely with the Republic. But his heart was so touched by the desperate plight of the little captive, that he resolved to render his condition as comfortable as possible. This had also been Barras's wish in placing him as guardian to the royal prisoner. Laurent himself was closely watched by the jealous municipals, and he could only be with the boy part of each day. Among other things, he decided that Louis Charles, to recover his health, must have exercise. So he sought, and finally obtained from Barras, permission to take him for an airing to the top of the Tower.

The little king could hardly believe his senses! He was going to see the sky again, to hear bird-voices, to smell the scent of [Pg 243] growing things! Too wonderful! Accompanied by Laurent and a guarding municipal, they made the ascent of the closely sentinelled stairs. The child, still weak and inactive, could hardly drag himself up the steps, anxious as he was to reach the top, so Laurent took him in his arms.

It was a warm, delightful evening. The sun had scarcely set, and the birds were twittering their good-night in the trees beyond the Temple. Up from the street came the calls of vendors, the shouts of drivers, and occasionally the gay laugh of some child at play. The little prince listened to it all and his eyes filled with tears of joy to think that at last he was permitted to breathe again the free air of heaven and see the blessed light, even though it hurt his eyes a great deal, used as they had been only to semi-darkness. Releasing Laurent's hand, he wandered around by himself for a few moments. Suddenly he bent down with a low cry of pleasure. "See! See!" he cried, pointing, and Laurent [Pg 244] looked down noticing only a few poor half-withered common little yellow flowers growing in the cracks of the stone walk. But the boy was on his hands and knees, gathering them eagerly.

The short time of outing over, Laurent led him down, still clasping [Pg 245] carefully the meagre little bouquet. At the door of the room on the third floor the boy stopped, pulling back at his keeper's hand with all his strength. Laurent understood! The boy wished to go in and see his [Pg 246] mother whom he thought was still there. Poor child! He little knew that only his sister was shut up in that room. It pained Laurent to refuse him, but to grant the wish was not in his power.

"No, I am not mistaking it!" answered the boy, terribly disappointed, and he walked down languidly. At his own door Laurent noticed that the child no longer carried his cherished flowers. He was about to ask what [Pg 248] had become of them when an instinct warned him to refrain. Louis Charles had dropped them, a withered but tender offering of love, at the door of his mother's room!

IN WHICH JEAN "FINDS CARON"

CHAPTER XIV

IN WHICH JEAN "FINDS CARON"

After the strange events of the last chapter, Jean went in and out freely, but he did not think it quite safe as yet, to return to the tavern of Père Lefèvre, till he could ascertain what had become of La Souris. A week later, Mère Clouet and Yvonne went to the Temple with the laundry, and returned with welcome news.

"Only think!" exclaimed Yvonne. "Barelle says that Citizen Coudert has not been seen since the Tenth Thermidor! As he was one of Robespierre's most trusted spies, he doubtless thought himself scarcely safe, for you know they are now imprisoning all who were connected with Robespierre. He will probably remain in hiding for some time!" [Pg 250]

So one day Jean returned to the tavern, in the hope of again taking up his duties as helper, and thus keeping in touch with the affairs of the little King. But Père Lefèvre had a surprise in store for him. He found to his intense chagrin, that his place had been usurped by a large, fat old woman, one Mother Matthieu, whose assistance Père Lefèvre declared he found more satisfactory than Jean's had ever been.

"She tends to her work, does Mother Matthieu!" insisted Père Lefèvre to the disappointed boy. "She does not sleep away half her time behind the counter, as you did, young monkey! And though she cannot whistle, and dance the Carmagnole on the tables, and she does indulge overmuch in snuff, she suits me better!" Jean turned away, discomfited, yet smiling in spite of himself, at the absurd fancy of waddling Mother Matthieu dancing the Carmagnole on the restaurant table! As he was leaving, he encountered at the door the burly form of [Pg 251] a man hurrying into the tavern, and recognised Caron, the cook of the Temple Tower kitchen. Here was a stroke of good fortune, for had he not been told to "find Caron"! And lately he had been racking his brains to think how this might be accomplished. But he did not wish outsiders to imagine that he had any business with the cook, so contented himself merely with a greeting.

"How now, stranger!" exclaimed the hearty Caron. "Never did I expect to see you again! But I suppose you were pardoned out after the Tenth Thermidor. But has the Conciergerie given you such a taste for prisons that you must needs be always near one?" and he grasped Jean's hand warmly.

"I wanted to see if Père Lefèvre would take me back," explained the crestfallen boy, "for I must be earning money and I liked it here. But he will not have me."

"That's bad!" sympathised Caron. "But cheer up! There may be other things!" [Pg 252] And he turned and went out at the boy's side. Once in the street, however, he grasped Jean's arm. "Were you ever told to find me ?" he whispered.

"Indeed yes!" answered Jean. "De Batz! We were in prison and escaped together! 'Find Caron'! were his parting words!"

"I thought so!" said Caron. "He has already told me much of you, and how you have been, and will yet be, useful to us. It's lucky we met just now, for I'm seldom out, and you could not get at me in the Temple. Now I'm going to tell you something. It's just as well that Père Lefèvre won't take you back, for I have a position for you right in the Tower. How would you like to be scullery-boy and assist me in the kitchen! I've lost my assistant, and have been doing all the grubbing work ever since. It's not very good pay, only five francs a week,—but it is something. Besides, the most important thing about it is that you will be in the Temple Tower !" Of [Pg 253] course Jean could not imagine himself refusing such an offer, which was one beyond his greatest hopes.

"Oh, I must first interview the Council, which will then appoint you if it sees fit. But never fear! I have considerable influence with those in authority, and I can almost certainly vouch that the place shall be yours. Come back in a week's time." That week seemed the longest Jean had ever spent, not even excepting the dreary days at the Conciergerie. Promptly at the expiration of the time he sought Caron, who had agreed to meet him at Père Lefèvre's.

"It's all right!" said Caron as soon as they met. "I had some trouble at first, because you had once been 'suspected' and put in prison. But I assured them that it was without foundation, and was the work of that sneaking La Souris, who is himself in hiding to save his skin. They did not hesitate long, [Pg 254] I can tell you! So come along with me now, and I'll show you the first things you will have to do."

Thus it was that Jean gained admission to the Temple Tower, that he became in fact a regular inmate, going home to the Rue de Lille only once a week. He soon made the acquaintance of Laurent, and was not long in discovering that kindly and humane as the King's new keeper was, he was not only a devoted Republican, but also strictly conscientious in discharging the duties the Republic had imposed on him, and would countenance no plans for his charge's escape.

Among Jean's duties was that of carrying up to the Tower room the captive's meals twice a day. At the door Laurent would relieve him of the tray, but he often caught sight of the boy in the room beyond. The first time this happened, Jean could scarcely believe that he saw correctly. This wan, emaciated, listless child the little king of his former acquaintance! Presently, however, [Pg 255] he heard the clear sweet voice address some question to Laurent, and then he recognised it to be identical with that of the Dauphin in the Tuileries garden. But his heart went out all the more to this white shadow of his former rosy friend, and he consecrated himself anew to the wronged child's service.

Louis XVII did not recognise this new face at the door. In fact he took but slight notice of the faces about him now, and moreover, Jean had grown a foot taller and had developed wonderfully in the two years of the Prince's imprisonment. And just for the present Jean deemed it more advisable that Louis Charles should not recognise him.

Many times since he entered on his new employment did Jean beg Caron to tell him what was the latest plan for rescuing the imprisoned king. But Caron always put him off with this remark:

"Do not inquire yet, my lad. Things are not in a state where it is possible to explain [Pg 256] the plans, but rest assured that you are to help, and the very fact of your having found me and obtained this position has all been counted on, and is a part of the scheme. You shall know more in time!" So Jean was obliged to possess his soul in patience.

When Laurent had been in the Tower about four months, he began to suffer from the same restraint that had finally conquered Simon,—he was wearied to death of his practical imprisonment. So he applied to the Convention for a colleague who should share his duties and relieve him at stated intervals. The Convention considered his request and at length appointed him a companion.

This colleague, Citizen Gomin by name, was a short, timid, quiet man of about forty, though he looked much older. He was not at all pleased at being assigned to this duty, but he dared not refuse, lest he become an object of suspicion. For he was very moderate in his opinions, leaning neither to the Republican nor the Royalist side. And to [Pg 257] be moderate in those days, was to be considered almost as bad as an out-and-out enemy of the Republic of France!

His heart, however, had long revolted at the unjust imprisonment of the royal children, and he won the little king's love immediately, by bringing him as a gift four potted plants, radiantly in bloom. The child was almost wild with delight at the sight of them. He kissed them, fondled them, examined each blossom separately, and then putting aside the three finest, he said to Gomin:

"Take these to my mother, please!" Poor Gomin gathered them up and carried them from the room without a word. And Louis Charles smiled to himself all that day, thinking of the pleasure he had given his mother. Who shall say that Marie Antoinette, looking down on her little son from that other world, did not smile too, and bless him in her heart!

So the months passed, till one night in January, 1795, as Jean was preparing to go [Pg 258] home for his weekly visit to the Rue de Lille, Caron laid his hand on the boy's arm.

" Because the time has come! " answered Caron, enigmatically. But Jean understood, and waited in breathless expectation. Later the two passed into the deserted streets about the Temple. Caron stopped suddenly in the shadow of a high wall, and grasped Jean's arm.

"Are you truly devoted to him ?" he asked in an undertone pointing to the Tower.

"So much so that you are willing to risk life, liberty, everything, in his cause?"

"Then come with me!" And Caron led the way through many winding, half-deserted streets, till at length they stood before a little [Pg 259] tumble-down hovel in a black, unsightly alley. Caron knocked on the door with three peculiar taps, two loud and one soft. The door was opened a moment later by an unseen hand, and someone demanded:

" And Louis XVII! Enter and be silent!" Jean was mystified beyond expression, but in his young enthusiasm he was eager for adventure of any kind, and one that related to his dearest hopes was all the more alluring. He entered with Caron, his heart beating high. In utter darkness they passed through rooms apparently empty, guided always by the unseen owner of the voice. Then they descended a stairway, and stood in what Jean took to be the cellar. Here the guide lighted a taper and bent to examine the floor. By the uncertain light, Jean perceived only that it was a man, and that his face was hidden by a black mask covering eyes, nose [Pg 260] and mouth. Presently he found an iron ring, lifted it, thereby pulling up a large stone, and disclosed another staircase reaching far down beyond the range of light.

"Oh, I'm not in the least afraid!" Jean assured him, and to tell the truth, he was enjoying himself immensely! Then the guide descended, Jean followed next, and Caron came last, closing the stone entrance after him. Guided by the little candle they groped their way down the stairs and along a passage or tunnel so narrow that even Jean could not walk upright in it, nor raise his arms far from his side. The tunnel seemed interminable, and moreover, tiny trickling streams of water slid down its sides at intervals. Jean was thankful when they ascended another stairway, and stood in another cellar. This one he could see was much larger than the first, and filled with casks and barrels, evidently of wine. Here their guide again halted them. [Pg 261]

"Put on these!" he commanded, and gave them two masks similar to his own. When these were adjusted he bade them go up the stairs, then he turned and went back through the tunnel, his duty being that of doorkeeper. Led by Caron they went upstairs, and knocked on a heavy door at the summit.

"The password!" demanded another voice. It was given and answered as before, and suddenly the two found themselves in a brilliantly lighted room. So dazzling was the intense light after the blackness through which they had been travelling, that Jean was for a moment almost blinded. When this sensation passed, he saw that they were in a large room furnished with chairs and a heavy centre-table. Everywhere were evidences of rich taste in decoration, and the apartment was doubtless in an abode of great wealth. Around the table were seated from twenty to twenty-five men all masked like themselves. At the head of the table sat the leader who turned at their entrance. [Pg 262]

"Welcome," he said, "and be seated!" Jean and Caron placed themselves in two vacant chairs. For several moments no one spoke. Then the man at the head rose.

"Brothers," he began, "since we are all here, we will delay no longer in opening our meeting. Unmask!" At this command every mask was removed except that of the leader, which he continued to wear throughout the session. Jean looked about him in complete amazement What did it all mean? Here were Barelle, Meunier, Gagnié, a former cook at the Tower, Debièrne the commissary who never failed to bring Louis Charles a toy whenever he visited him, and a host of others whom he knew but slightly. Most surprising of all, however, was the Baron de Batz seated directly across the table, who nodded an affectionate greeting and welcome to the boy. The masked leader looked about him, and his glance fell on Jean.

"There is a strange face among us! Who [Pg 263] is responsible for the stranger?" Caron rose.

"'Tis I who brought him. Jean Dominique Mettot is his name, my assistant in the kitchen. He is a devoted and loyal friend of the little king, and one who will be able to render us valuable service. I vouch for him!"

"Then let him be sworn!" replied the leader. The ceremony that followed was a curious one. The company all rose, and Jean was requested to stand upon the table. He climbed up assisted by the leader who held a lighted candle in his hand.

"We are the Brotherhood of Liberation!" announced the masked one. "Our sole aim and object is to free Louis XVII from his hateful, cruel and unjust captivity, and get him out of the country or to some place of safety. For this we have sworn to devote our lives! Since you desire to join us, you [Pg 264] must submit to being branded with the badge of our Order. If you flinch in the branding, you are not worthy to be admitted among us. Jean Dominique Mettot, hold out your left hand, palm downward!" Jean obeyed. The leader held close under it the flame of the candle. The boy's first impulse was to shrink back, but he clinched his teeth and endured to the end what seemed to him an unspeakable torture. Finally the leader removed the candle.

"You have stood the test bravely and well! You will now take the oath of loyalty with the rest. Hold up your branded hand!" Jean held up his scorched palm, and every man in the room raised his open left hand. In the palm of each was a small scar, made evidently in the same manner. The leader raised his hand also, and they all repeated aloud the creed of their band:

"By our branded hands we swear to devote our lives and all we hold dear to the cause of liberating Louis XVII from his captivity. [Pg 265] Likewise we swear that to the end of our lives we will never reveal these secrets, except with the permission of the entire band!" When this was over they dropped their hands and resumed their seats, and Jean was helped from the table. Barelle applied soothing liniments and bandages to his wounded hand, and the business of the meeting went forward.

In that night Jean learned much. In the first place he understood that there was a definite plot to release the little king,—a plot not confined to a few scattered souls not yet devoid of all humanity, but organised and countenanced by some high in authority, who however preferred that their identity should remain unknown. The details of the scheme were not yet fully worked out. But in the rough, the idea was to spirit away Louis XVII, hide him for a while in an unused upper part of the Temple, and substitute in his place some child resembling him that they would procure from one of the hospitals,—a [Pg 266] child so ill that he could not in all reason live very long. On the death of this sick child it would be officially proclaimed that Louis XVII was no more, and then the real boy could be taken away without very much fear of discovery.

Many things, however, stood for the present in the way of success. In the first place Laurent was an ardent Republican and too conscientious to consent to wink at such a scheme. Gomin as yet vacillated, but his sympathies would probably soon be gained. Then a sick child must be procured and smuggled into the Tower. No child had yet been discovered who sufficiently resembled Louis Charles, though Saintanac, a surgeon in the Society, was making a daily round of the hospitals to find one. It was a terribly difficult, unthinkably hazardous undertaking, for it would mean the lives of all were they discovered, and doubtless the certain death of the very one they sought to rescue. Yet all were eager, hopeful, enthusiastic! The [Pg 267] meeting broke up with a renewal of their oath of allegiance and they were dismissed in the same way that they had come, through the tunnel and the hovel in the alley.

When they were outside, Caron told Jean some additional items of [Pg 268] interest. The house they met in was that of the Marquis de Fenouil, an ardent royalist. It was the Marquis who had been responsible for the appointment of Gomin, whom he hoped would be converted to the cause. Caron said he was sure it was the Marquis who had led the meeting that night. They had various leaders who always remained masked, thereby avoiding absolute recognition, for they were frequently men prominent in [Pg 269] Republican authority. It was even whispered that the great Barras himself was sometimes behind that mask. It was also hinted that Barras had a secret interest in having the little prince removed to a remote [Pg 270] place of safety. But these things were not openly spoken of.

Jean went home that night to nurse his wounded hand, with his head in a whirl, but with immense hope and thankfulness in his heart!

LA SOURIS MEETS HIS MATCH

CHAPTER XV

LA SOURIS MEETS HIS MATCH

A month and a half had passed. Jean regularly attended the meetings of the Brotherhood, and in all that company there was no more active and enthusiastic worker than this youngest member of the league. By the middle of March many things had been accomplished and the rough details of the plot were nearing perfection.

In the first place, the Surgeon Saintanac had at last discovered a child suffering with a hopeless, incurable disease, and as like the little prince as could be wished in one so near death. The problem of smuggling him into the Tower was to be solved in this way. When Citizeness Clouet came with a basket of clean linen, the sick child was to be concealed [Pg 272] at the bottom. The day chosen for this must of course be one when the municipals on duty were mostly those of the Brotherhood, and the examination of the basket could thus be intentionally hasty and incomplete. Then the child would be hidden in an upper lumber room, till a favourable opportunity to have him exchange places with the King.

This opportunity was not far away, for Laurent had intimated to some of the municipals that he was about to resign his position as keeper of the royal child. His mother had recently died, family affairs were pressing, and in spite of his real affection for the boy, he felt that he had done his duty and that the time had come for his removal. His successor, a man named Citizen Lasne, was a staunch Republican, but this did not worry the Brotherhood, since they planned that the false king should be exchanged for the real one before his arrival.

One other most important point had been gained by the society. Gomin had at last [Pg 273] ceased his vacillating, and come out staunchly for the cause. Municipal Debièrne the toy-man, was responsible for this. Long and arduous had been his discussions, quiet and skilful his manipulations of the impressionable Gomin, till at length, inspired both by Debièrne's influence and his own very real sympathy for his pathetic little charge, he yielded. He was brought to the Brotherhood meeting, branded and sworn, and the cause was all but complete.

Great was the rejoicing on the night of Gomin's initiation into the Brotherhood, and a huge feast was partaken of in celebration of this most important event. Jean's delight was beyond all bounds, and he had hard work to contain his bubbling spirits, when he heard a piece of news that considerably dampened his ardour. It was Caron who told him. It had leaked out that La Souris was again walking about as if no harm could threaten him! After having disappeared for many months, he had managed to wriggle himself into [Pg 274] favour with someone in high authority, probably with the minor leader of the Convention, La Reveillière-Lepeaux, and was again expecting to resume his duties as municipal of the Tower.

"Look out!" warned Caron. "He has you particularly in his eye, Jean! He can't do you much harm personally, for you are under the protection of the Brotherhood. Your place here is secure. But he may be the death of the whole plot if we don't watch out!"

"I'll watch him like a cat!" declared the disgusted boy. "I'll keep him in sight every minute of the time he is in the Tower. Trust me! But, oh, why did he have to come back?"

The day was appointed at last for the first great move. Far in the night, on the twenty-sixth of March, Saintanac drove up in a tightly closed carriage to Citizeness Clouet's door. No one was about to see him carry [Pg 275] into the house a young boy of ten years, desperately ill and half delirious. This child, some nameless waif from one of the charity hospitals, bore a haunting, ghastly resemblance to the little captive of the Tower.

The surgeon administered to him a heavy dose of opium that would put him into a deep sleep for many hours, and left him in the care of Mère Clouet. She and Yvonne were both in the plot, of course, though it had not been deemed necessary that they should become sworn and branded members, since Jean vouched for them. Next morning they packed the unconscious child into the huge clothes-basket, carefully arranging the linen so that he should not be smothered. Then, with beating hearts and courage steeled to the utmost, they called a cab, in it deposited their heavy burden, and were driven to the Temple.

"Mother, mother!" gasped Yvonne, pressing her hands to her heart to still the [Pg 276] terrible thumping, "what will happen if La Souris is there and insists on examining the basket?"

"Trust in God, little one!" answered Mère Clouet. "Our cause is a just one and merciful. He will not suffer it to fail! Repeat the prayer for those in danger, child!" Yvonne's lips moved softly, and scarcely had she reached the "Amen!" when the carriage drew up at the outer courtyard.

Yvonne's presentiments were only too correct! To their horror and despair, the first face they saw as they entered with the basket, was the sly, evil, suspicious countenance of La Souris! His little, rat's eyes glittered under his almost hairless brows, and his claw-like hands twitched nervously as he reached for the basket. Debièrne and Meunier also stepped up and began to turn over the freshly ironed linen.

"Hold hard, friends! I will attend to this!" snapped La Souris. "You may look on and see that I do it thoroughly!" [Pg 277]

Yvonne and Mère Clouet almost fainted away with terror, but they set their teeth and endured it bravely. All trembled with despair, even the staunchest man in the group, yet they dared not utter one word of remonstrance. Layer after layer La Souris removed, shaking out each piece deliberately, and holding it to the light. The operation seemed interminable, and the suspense beyond all endurance! At length all but the last layer had been removed. Nothing but that and a sheet covered the body of the hidden child. Oh, was there not something that could stop that dreadful hand!

Just at this point, out from the kitchen across the courtyard stepped Jean, bearing in his hands a huge bowl of soup for the breakfast of the soldiers in the Tower. To carry this to the guard-room where the meal was served, he was obliged to pass directly through the group gathered at the door. Well he knew the meaning of those blenched faces, those hopeless, despairing eyes, but [Pg 278] he walked slowly by them all without a sign of recognition.

La Souris was kneeling before the basket, holding to the light a pillow-slip, when Jean passed directly behind him. With a studied carelessness, the boy deliberately tripped over the man's foot, lost his grip on the huge tureen, and skilfully managed to pour the entire steaming contents down the back of the unsuspecting municipal! With a hideous yell, La Souris dropped the linen and sprang to his feet.

"Oh! Pardon! pardon, Citizen! It was an accident!" shrieked Jean, assuming a well-feigned fright and dashing past him into the courtyard. La Souris, frenzied by the blistering of his back, and furious with rage at its perpetrator, tore after him, longing only to lay his hands on the agile lad. Round and round they flew, Jean ducking, doubling and evading with the skill of an accomplished Parisian gamin , while the soldiers gathered about laughing and applauding [Pg 279] the race. La Souris panted and shrieked for vengeance, but he was no match for this agile lad, and he stopped at last, exhausted by his exertion and his very real pain.

"Someone call a doctor!" he groaned. "I haven't an inch of skin left on my back!" Jean, the wily, was the first and most ardent to rush off at this command, and fetch the Temple surgeon. La Souris, faint with suffering, was removed to his house in a cab, having forgotten all about the basket which had long since been quietly and thankfully removed. During the excitement and noise, when everyone had rushed to the yard to witness the chase, the sick child had been carried to the attic and hidden away in a long-unused half-boarded-up lumber room. The basket was returned to Mère Clouet, and the plot so far was safe, thanks to the timely intervention of Jean. He was the hero of the hour that night at the Brotherhood, and thoroughly did he enjoy that honourable position. [Pg 280]

"But you've no idea," he declared, "how Caron and I worked to get that soup heated to the proper boiling pitch! I was watching at the window, when I wasn't cramming wood in the fire, and I certainly thought La Souris would have everything out of that basket before it was ready! It was Caron who thought of the soup!"

"Yes, but no one could have carried it out so well as Jean!" insisted the admiring Caron. "Whoever thought that La Souris would turn up just this day! The Evil One himself must have prompted him! Well, he's out of the way now for a spell, and that's a mercy!"

All this while the little captive king was living in total ignorance that there was such a thing as a plot for his escape. Release was something he had long given up as hopeless. Sometimes, even to his childish mind, it seemed as though death alone could free him from his long imprisonment. He was grieved and sad over the thought of [Pg 281] Laurent's approaching departure, for he had begun to cherish a real affection for this first kindly man who had come into his life in many a weary month. He dreaded to think who might take his place, though Gomin was still to be there. But Gomin had to give much of his time to the sister on the floor above.

On the night of March twenty-ninth, Laurent bade a tender farewell to Louis Charles. When the door at last closed behind him, the boy threw himself on his bed in a violent fit of weeping. It was here that Gomin found him when he came in later with his supper. Gomin himself was nervous, excited and ill at ease, for this was the appointed time for the second great move in the scheme of liberation. On him this time depended success!

For a while the child refused to eat anything. This distressed Gomin beyond measure, for it was important that the meal should be eaten, since it was heavily dosed with [Pg 282] opium. Nothing could be well accomplished unless the boy were rendered unconscious. At last, to please his keeper, Louis Charles swallowed the food though it almost choked him.

"You have worn yourself out with crying," answered Gomin. "You had better let me put you to bed at once." The boy complied, his eyelids sinking more and more each moment, and before he was half undressed he had fallen into a heavy slumber. But Gomin did not put him in bed. On the contrary, he wrapped him in a large shawl, and opening the door, made a sign to someone outside.

Barelle and Debièrne entered with a huge basket that at first seemed empty. When the door was closed, however, they removed a false bottom, and there lay the sick child, sleeping soundly but not drugged. Quick as a flash the change was made. The strange [Pg 283] boy lay in the little king's bed, clothed in the king's own gown and cap, and Louis XVII was placed at the bottom of the basket. The false bottom was again adjusted, and the remaining space piled with odds and ends of waste that had accumulated during Laurent's stay.

When the basket was filled, the two municipals carried it upstairs, telling the sentries who challenged them that they were going to place in the lumber room all the old truck that Laurent had left behind him, in order to clear the premises for Lasne. The sentries, after a hasty examination, passed them on without trouble. The attic of the Tower was a vast space more than half filled with every manner of cast-off articles that could have accumulated in a century past. Here they removed the rubbish from the basket, and lifted out the boy. Approaching the wooden partition they knocked softly, in the manner of the Brotherhood.

"All right!" whispered a familiar voice [Pg 284] from behind, and on removing a board the curly head of Jean appeared.

"Hand him in!" he said. With incredible difficulty they managed to squeeze the unconscious child through the small aperture. Behind the partition was a tiny space not more than six or seven feet in any direction. Within this space was a mattress on the floor, and nothing else. Jean laid the boy on the mattress, covered him, and called once more, "All right!" The two men drew the board into place, and no one would have suspected either that there was any space behind it, or what that space contained. Then they left the garret room, rejoicing in the success of the second great step, and Jean was left alone with his charge.

All night he sat by the bed watching. But morning came and no change had occurred. The drug still held the boy in its deadening grip. Jean ate his breakfast of half a loaf of bread, and washed it down with a pitcher of water. Then he continued his watch. [Pg 285] About noon the little king came to himself, but so deathly ill was he from the effects of the opium, that he noticed neither his changed surroundings nor his companion for many hours. Meanwhile Jean nursed him tenderly, and forced him to swallow a healing draught that had been left for the purpose by Saintanac. Toward night Louis Charles recovered himself sufficiently to be conscious of some radical change in his surroundings.

"Why is it so dark?" he demanded. "And who are you?" Then Jean put his arms around the boy, and whispered the whole story in his ear.

"I am Jean," he ended, "who has loved you ever since I first saw you in your little garden at the Tuileries! Will you not trust me?" For a time it seemed as if the child could hardly comprehend it all. The news was so sudden, so confusing! It was too wonderful! It was beyond belief that he should be free at last, and that his long-lost friend should be one of the chief actors in [Pg 286] that scheme of release! But something else troubled him.

"What of my mother and sister and aunt?" he inquired. "Will they also be released with me? I do not wish to go if they remain!" Jean was silent a moment. What should he reply? But the time was not yet ripe to reveal all the truth to this loving child.

"They will also be safe!" he answered. And satisfied with this, the little fellow put his head down on Jean's shoulder, and cried long and softly in the sheer excess of his joy.

Jean remained hidden with the boy for the next few days. He was supposed to be away on a leave of absence, so at the Tower his non-appearance was thus accounted for. During this time he warned Louis Charles that his position was a terribly dangerous one, and that he must keep absolutely quiet always, and not be afraid if he were left alone, for he, Jean, could not be with him all [Pg 287] the time. After his horrible six months of solitude, however, this new departure had little terror for a boy so inured to suffering. He promised joyfully to do all that was required of him.

"I cannot tell," answered Jean, "but as long as that poor little chap in your place down there remains alive. And goodness knows, that won't be very long, from the description they give of him!" Louis was genuinely interested in, and sorry for his counterpart.

"Do not waste much sympathy on him, dear friend," said Jean. "He is long past knowing even that he suffers, and death will be to him also a welcome release. Rest assured too that he is having better care here than he would get in a charity hospital! But now I must go. Be quiet and contented, and do not fear! I will come again to you as soon as it is possible. Meanwhile here is food [Pg 288] and drink for two days. Adieu!" And in some inexplicable manner Jean wriggled himself out of the absurdly small aperture, and closed the plank behind him.

For nearly two months and a half, Louis Charles remained hidden at the top of the Tower, waiting till the sick child below should breathe his last. During this time Jean was his frequent companion, and his only one. The boy did his best to amuse the lonely little prisoner, telling him long stories about Moufflet, Yvonne, the good Mère Clouet, and also about his own imprisonment in the Conciergerie, and his remarkable escape. The eyesight of the two children grew like an owl's in this semi-darkness, and they found after a while that they could see each other quite well. On one occasion, after they had talked a long while and fallen into silence, Louis Charles suddenly asked his companion what day of the month it was.

"The third of May, 1795," answered Jean, unsuspectingly. Louis was quiet for a while, [Pg 289] apparently struggling with some thought or half illusive recollection. Presently a flash of joy illuminated his face.

"Why! then it is my Aunt Elizabeth's birthday! How I wish I could go to her and give her my congratulations! But I suppose my mother will remember to do so for me!"

"Yes, yes!" returned Jean, but the words almost choked him, and he could think of nothing further to say. Something about his actions aroused his companion's suspicions. Turning on him squarely, Louis Charles demanded:

"Tell me all about my mother!" Jean felt that the time had at last arrived when it was expedient to conceal the facts no longer. Summoning all his courage, he replied softly:

"She is alive and safe here in the Tower!" For a moment the blow seemed too stupendous. The stricken child sat almost stunned. Then the catechism recommenced.

"They did not have the heart!" said Jean gently. This reply broke the ice of the little fellow's grief. Tears came to his relief, and he threw himself on the bed sobbing quietly. The struggle was long and severe, [Pg 292] and Jean left him to the sacredness of his sorrow unmolested. When the storm of sobs grew less and the tears had ceased, Jean took him in his big, brawny arms and comforted him almost as one would a tired baby. Then to divert his thoughts for a while, he told him all his experiences on the night of his first visit to the Brotherhood of Liberation, for this he had been permitted to do if he chose. The child's interest was at first languid, but gradually grew intense as the tale advanced. When [Pg 293] Jean recounted how he had been branded and sworn into the circle, Louis took in his own hands the branded palm of the older boy.

"And you went through all this for me?" he said in wonder. "Then will I never, never forget you, and I shall love you always, as I would my own [Pg 294] brother!" Stooping, he bent his head and touched the scar with his gentle lips!

THE LAST MOVE

CHAPTER XVI

THE LAST MOVE

On the night of the tenth of May, Jean attended a meeting of the Brotherhood. He expected nothing unusual to happen, and was prepared only to give an account of the little King's welfare during the last few days. He entered as usual, and found the great room full of masked figures. But one place remained vacant, and he slipped into it two minutes before the command for unmasking. In these two minutes he glanced at his right-hand companion, finding something vaguely familiar in the short, slight figure. Then came the order to unmask, and a second later Jean gave a little cry of joy and astonishment, for at his right hand sat his former well-beloved friend, Napoleon Bonaparte! [Pg 296]

Lean and sallow and poorly clad as ever, but with the same hauntingly brilliant eyes, it was as though not more than a day had passed since they last met. Bonaparte expressed a similar astonishment at beholding Jean, but the business-meeting being in full swing, they could exchange no more than a hearty hand-clasp under the table. But when the meeting was dismissed, Bonaparte invited Jean to walk home to his lodgings with him, and talk over their long period of separation.

"By all the saints! Jean, I should never know you! You have grown a foot at least! But this is a singular meeting! Yes, I am back in Paris," said Bonaparte. "I arrived to-day. Perhaps you wonder at finding me in the Brotherhood meeting, but I will tell you how it happened.

"You must know that at present I am a friend and protégé of Barras, who, by the way, was the leader to-night. Barras was a commissioner of the Convention at Marseilles [Pg 297] while I was there, and he used his influence to better the condition of my family. So of course I feel somewhat in his debt, though I partially helped to pay that off by the advice and assistance I gave at the siege of Toulon. But be that as it may, I have decided to attach myself to him. He is the man of the hour, and I must attach myself to something !

"Well, recently I received an appointment to come to Paris and command a brigade of infantry that is soon to stamp out the insurrection in La Vendée, but, though I came to Paris, I have refused the command. I have no taste for such butcher's work, and I consider it rather an insult to be given the infantry when I have always been with the artillery. Besides that my health is not good at present.

"So I went to Barras to-day, to acquaint him with these matters. He invited me to sup with him, and then later asked me if I seriously wished to render him a great [Pg 298] assistance. Naturally, as I still feel much under obligation to him, I replied that I certainly did so wish. He then told me that he relied on me as a man of honour not to reveal what I should hear if he took me to the meeting of a secret society. As he was leader for the evening, it would not be required that I become a sworn member as yet, and so I went—and met you! Privately I am glad enough to help that poor child to escape, for I think his inhuman detention has been one of the greatest outrages in history. But now tell me how it has fared with you since last we met?" Then Jean gave an account of the intervening year and a half. When he had ended, Bonaparte remarked:

"My boy, what you tell me makes me regard you more highly than ever, and I am not surprised to find you taking so prominent a part in this scheme. In fact I should have expected it. But let me whisper to you a few surmises that have occurred to me to-night. It was a curious meeting, that!—and [Pg 299] I amused myself by striving to divine the true motives of many of the leading characters.

"De Batz and other royalists there have of course but one hope,—to get Louis XVII out of the clutches of the Republic, no matter how, and then some day bring him back a victorious king. Then there are not a few staunch Republicans like Barelle, Meunier and Debièrne, who seem actuated only by the humane wish to rescue the little fellow from his cruel captivity.

"But one man there has a motive entirely different, and he is the head and front of it all. That man is Barras! Shall I tell you what is his motive? I have guessed it, though of course he never suspects. He sees in himself the coming man of power. True, he is powerful already, but he aims at higher things. He would rescue Louis XVII and remove him to some distant spot where he can find him if necessary. Later he will use him to dangle over the heads of the royalists [Pg 300] as a bait, and over the Republicans as a threat, so balancing his influence with both parties. And at last, at some expedient moment, Louis XVII will disappear forever, and Barras can make himself anything he wishes,—Dictator, Emperor, what not! It is a clever scheme!" Jean shook his head.

"I care not what the ultimate scheme of Barras may be," he vouchsafed, "if only the little fellow can get out of that horrible place! And if I can assist any, I shall only feel that I have done my duty by him and his dead mother!" So the two talked far into the night, and dawn was breaking when Jean went back to the Temple.

But how fared it in the room in the Tower, where a delirious little stranger masqueraded all unconsciously as Louis XVII of France?

For several days before the exchange was effected, Gomin had been writing daily in the Temple register, "Little Capet is ill!" This was quite true, as Louis Charles had been suffering with a severe cold. As Gomin expected, [Pg 301] no attention was paid to this report. On the day after the strange child was placed in his care, he wrote, "Little Capet is dangerously ill!" Still no one took any notice of it, and then Lasne, the new keeper arrived. Taking one look at the inert, stricken boy, he exclaimed:

"Can that really be the little Dauphin whom I remember so well having seen in the Park of the Tuileries? I should never recognise him! He must be terribly ill. Have you sent for a physician?"

"Yes," answered Gomin. "At least I have reported his sickness, but nothing has been done about it." That night Lasne wrote in the register, "Little Capet is so ill that it is feared he will not live!" Then, and not till then, did the authorities see fit to act on so unimportant a matter, and they designated physician Desault to attend the boy. Desault was not long in discovering that his services would be all but useless. The child was far beyond hope, and all he [Pg 302] could do was to ease any possible suffering. Desault himself was taken suddenly ill, not long after, and died a short time before the supposed prince. Two other physicians took his place, though they too felt assured that their services would not be needed long. At last, word was sent forth on the tenth of June, "Little Capet is dead!" The event not being considered as of any special importance by the public at large, it was ordered that he be buried as quickly and with as little ceremony as possible. This was done as directed, the reports were duly made out, and officially Louis XVII was no more!

But unofficially , in the little attic room, Louis XVII was very much alive, and wild with anxiety to be released from his long confinement! The time had come for the last step in this great undertaking, and circumstances had rendered that step far easier than the previous ones had been. In the first place, La Souris was well out of the [Pg 303] way, being still in a state where it would take months for him to leave his bed. Then, Louis XVII was considered dead and buried! Therefore, why take any further precautions for safe-guarding his empty prison, thought the authorities!

A few days after the little funeral procession had wended its way from the Tower, Jean and Caron went to the attic room to procure the great basket with the false bottom. They were going to remove some things from the room of the "Little dead Capet" to the rubbish pile upstairs. At the same hour, Mère Clouet and Yvonne were to call for the soiled linen in the now deserted room. It was all very simple! The sentries on the stairs took no notice whatever of their proceedings. When they deposited the basket in the room, Mère Clouet's big clothes-hamper was already standing there, having been brought in while they were upstairs. Quickly they took out the false bottom and lifted up Louis Charles. He was alert and [Pg 304] conscious this time, having begged hard not to be drugged.

"I will be so good!" he promised. "I will scarcely breathe! Oh, do let me go as I am, and see and hear everything!" So they granted his wish. The change of baskets did not take a moment. As the boy cuddled down in Mère Clouet's hamper, he took one last look about the room where he had suffered so much.

"Jean," he whispered, "I pray God that I may never see it again!" Then they buried him deep beneath a mound of linen.

"Then, an revoir!" returned Jean. He and Caron lifted the great burden to their shoulders and carried it downstairs. No one challenged them. No one was interested in the contents of a basket which they thought contained only the soiled clothes of a boy [Pg 305] now safely dead and buried! They shoved the huge hamper into the carriage, slammed the door carelessly on Citizeness Clouet and Yvonne, and called to the driver:

"Number six hundred and seventy Rue de Lille!" and the cab rolled away. It was all over, and the little captive of the Temple was free forever!

When Jean came home that night, he found the king busy hugging and kissing Moufflet, while Mère Clouet and Yvonne looked on admiringly. The boy was almost frantic with joy at being reunited with his long-lost pet, and the dog had certainly not forgotten his master, for he seemed as delighted as Louis Charles himself. For two days the little king lay hidden in the good keeping of Mère Clouet. On the second night, Jean took the boy off by himself, to have a last long talk with his friend.

"You know, little king," he said, "that much as we love you, we cannot keep you always here. That would not be safe or [Pg 306] right for you. Other kind though unknown friends have your interests at heart, and are coming to-night to take you to a place of greater safety."

"Oh, Jean," replied the frightened boy, "I do not want to leave you! I wish to stay here! There is no one now in the whole world that I really love besides my sister and yourselves. Why must I leave you? Where will they take me?"

"You will be in care of kindly people, that I am sure, though I do not know whom, nor do I know where you will be taken. But always you will have freedom and the best of care. Perhaps some day you will come back to live in Paris, when these troubled times are over. That will be a happy event to look forward to!"

"But my sister!" persisted the boy. "She is yet in the Tower. When will she be free also? When can I see her?"

"There is a rumour abroad that she will soon be released and sent to the court of [Pg 307] Austria, in return for certain important prisoners that the Austrians have lately captured from us. Perhaps you will be permitted to join her sometime, at your cousin's court." Louis Charles sat a long while, thinking it over.

"I suppose it must be so," he said at last, "since it is best. But I shall be very, very lonely! May I have a pair of scissors?" Jean opened his eyes at this strange request, but he procured a pair from the other room. Louis Charles took them, raised them to his head, and cut off three of his soft curls.

"This is for you, Jean!" he said. "It is all I have to give you. And these are for Madame Clouet and Yvonne. And now, there is one thing more that I wish you to do for me. I had thought to take the little Moufflet with me, and never, never part from him. But now I have decided that I shall give him to my sister, since she is soon to be free. She will perhaps be as lonely as I am and I want her to have something that [Pg 308] will give her pleasure and remind her of me! Will you do this for me, Jean?" The older boy was almost overwhelmed at the little fellow's generosity, knowing well what pain it must cost him to part again with the pet he had so lately recovered, and which was the sole remaining object that could remind him of happier days.

"I will surely do this, little friend!" answered Jean, and his voice shook as he spoke. "And we will all wait, watch, and look forward to the time when you may come back to us!"

"No one will look forward to it more than I," said the boy, "and yet something tells me that I shall never come back! But at least I shall never, never forget you, and all that you have suffered and sacrificed for my sake! And, Jean, neither will I ever forget that day in the attic room,—you know which one I mean!" Jean nodded. It was the only time that Louis Charles had ever since alluded to his mother, or to his great grief [Pg 309] at the news of her death. He kept his sorrow locked always tightly in his own breast.

Then came the parting with Mère Clouet and Yvonne. He gave them the little gift of his curls,—the only things he had to bestow,—thanked them over and over again, kissed them tenderly, and not a few tears of genuine sorrow were shed by every member of the room. Moufflet he kept hugged to his breast till the last. All waited in breathless suspense for the sound that was to indicate the time of parting,—the triple knock of the Brotherhood. At about two in the morning it came, the three soft taps so familiar to Jean. He opened the door cautiously, and there stood two men, masked in the fashion of the band.

" Liberation! " they both replied, " and Louis XVII of France! " They were admitted at once, and saw the little king standing ready. In spite of their masks, Jean recognised the Baron de Batz and Bonaparte. [Pg 310] However, he knew it was best to hold no personal converse with them.

"I am!" answered the child simply and manfully. There were to be no tears now, no tempestuous parting. The tender farewell of the lonely boy to his dearest friends had all come before and was too sacred to be witnessed by strangers. He was a king now, and the royal blood that was in him rose to meet the occasion.

"Then come with us!" commanded the second masked figure. Louis XVII turned to give Moufflet a last caress and then addressed the strangers:

"I am ready! Lead the way!" They wrapped him in a long dark cloak, and making a sign to Jean to follow, the party left the house and proceeded on foot to the next street, where a carriage was waiting for them. The drive was made in absolute silence, but the little king sought and held [Pg 311] Jean's hand all the way. At the Rue Chantereine, number six, the carriage stopped before the door of a small but handsome mansion. All four ascended the steps, and De Batz rapped on the door with the knock of the Brotherhood. The door opened on a hallway perfectly dark, and a soft voice said:

"Follow me, gentlemen!" At once the door of a room beyond was opened, and a flood of light revealed the owner of the voice, a woman dressed in soft, clinging drapery, and of such sylph-like grace and sweetness of manner, that she almost took Jean's breath away!

"Is this little Louis Charles?" she asked. But without waiting for an answer, she knelt down and threw her arms about the astonished child.

"Do not fear, poor abused little king!" she crooned. "You will be safe with me, and I love you already!" And at a sign from her, the three others withdrew and left the [Pg 312] little king and his new protectress together. On leaving the house De Batz bade Bonaparte and Jean good-night, and went his own way. But the boy and his friend walked a few blocks together, before they separated.

"Tell me, Citizen Bonaparte," asked Jean, "who is that lovely lady with whom we left the little fellow?"

"That," answered Bonaparte, "is a great friend of Barras,—the [Pg 313] Vicomtesse Josephine de Beauharnais!"

When Jean returned to the Rue de Lille, he found Yvonne in tears, and Mère Clouet thoughtful but happy. He told them what had become of the king, but Yvonne would not be comforted.

"Oh, why did he have to leave us!" she sobbed. "We could have kept him [Pg 314] so well, and he would have been so happy here with us!"

"No, we could not have kept him!" retorted Jean. "He would not have been safe here long, and he is going to be very happy with that lovely lady!" Nevertheless he stood for a long time silent at the window, with [Pg 315] his back to the rest, looking steadily out at nothing. But Mère Clouet dropped to her knees, clasped her hands, and softly uttered this prayer:

"I praise and thank Thee, O God, that Thou hast permitted us at last to [Pg 316] repay this debt of gratitude to the poor Queen who is now with Thee!"

THE STAR OF NAPOLEON BONAPARTE

CHAPTER XVII

THE STAR OF NAPOLEON BONAPARTE

The days passed by after these events in a strange and unaccustomed quiet. Indeed the Clouet family could scarcely become used to the tranquillity, so habituated had it been to months of waiting, days of suspense, and hours of turmoil and agitation!

Jean continued in his place as Caron's assistant at the Tower for several weeks. This he did for two reasons,—because as yet he had nothing else in view in the way of occupation, and also because he had still one other duty to perform, in delivering Moufflet to Marie-Thérèse as Louis Charles had wished. The detention of this young princess in the Tower was soon to come to a close, as negotiations for her release and [Pg 318] dismissal to Austria were steadily progressing. Therefore it was only a question of choosing a favourable time, bringing Moufflet to Gomin, and letting him deliver the little animal.

The young girl's imprisonment was now far less rigid than it had been, so the admission of the dog would be no difficult matter. It was deemed wise by the Brotherhood that Marie-Thérèse should not be informed for the present of her brother's rescue (she had been told that he died on June tenth) but that Gomin should merely say that the dog had been found and kept for her by Jean.

This was done about the first of September, and Gomin reported that she had been fairly overcome with surprise and joy at having her brother's former pet so unexpectedly restored to her, and had sent Jean her heartiest thanks and a little embroidered handkerchief as a remembrance. She did not start for Austria till December, 1795, but when she went she was accompanied by [Pg 319] Caron, who had been a servant in the royal palace before the downfall of the monarchy, and who was happiest in serving all that remained of the royal family. Moufflet also went with her, and remained with her, it is said, as long as he lived.

In the early part of September, the Brotherhood of Liberation held a final meeting at which the society was permanently disbanded, its mission having been fulfilled. All, however, renewed the oath never to disclose the secret of the little king's escape and how it was accomplished, unless a time should ever come for him to reign over France. Jean learned that the boy had been removed to Croissy, the country home of the Vicomtesse Beauharnais, till he was strong enough to travel. Since then he had been taken to an obscure village in a remote corner of France, where he would live in seclusion and good care till such time as his presence might be deemed expedient in the political world,—if, indeed, such a time ever came! [Pg 320]

But there was one other transaction of the society that filled Jean with pride and joy. The Brotherhood as a whole, voted that the remaining funds in their treasury should be devoted to providing a pretty little home for Jean and his family in the near village of Meudon, and a comfortable income for the Citizeness Clouet during the remainder of her life, and Jean himself was to have a sum of one thousand francs to do with as he pleased! This was in recognition of the invaluable services they had all rendered in the escape of Louis XVII. It was to be settled and go into effect at the first of the coming year. Jean went home to his family that night with the good news, a proud and happy boy!

Meanwhile he had seen little of his friend Bonaparte since that young man's return to Paris. His own duties kept him rather closely confined to the Tower, and Bonaparte had now more friends in the city who claimed his attention. But besides that, his health [Pg 321] was poor, and he spent much time at this period, in gloomy and solitary retirement.

One day Jean, who was having a little holiday, thanks to the kindness of Caron, was passing the Corazza Coffee-house near the Palais-Royal when whom should he see sitting at one of the tables but Bonaparte with another young man. Bonaparte at once hailed his friend:

"Ho, Jean Mettot! Come and sit you down with us and share our mid-day meal! This is a fortunate meeting, and I want you to know Monsieur Junot. He's a brave fellow whose mettle I tried at Toulon! You two should know each other!" Jean, nothing loath, joined the little party, and listened with interest to their discussion of present political affairs.

"I do not know what this country is coming to, Jean!" said Bonaparte. "Public sentiment is like a pendulum! First it swings off to one extreme, as it did in '93, and then started back on the Tenth Thermidor. It [Pg 322] came to a happy medium just a short time after that, and now,—behold you!—off it goes in an entirely opposite direction, and the royalists are coming into favour again!"

"What's the trouble?" asked Jean. "I'm so busy that I've little time to give to political discussions, and one hears no news in that lonely hole of a Temple, nowadays! I wish you would explain it to me!"

"Why, the long and short of it is this," replied Bonaparte, obligingly. "Of course you know that on August twenty-second the Convention adopted a new Constitution for the year III. According to this Constitution, the Legislative power shall be an executive body of five Directors, a Council of Five Hundred, and a Council of the Ancients composed of two hundred and fifty members. That is all very well, but recently the Convention has added a new decree,—that two-thirds of the members of this new Legislature shall be chosen from themselves—the Convention—and only the remaining one-third [Pg 323] by the people at large. So the people naturally consider themselves slighted, and are yelling,—'Down with the Convention!'"

"But," interrupted Jean eagerly, "are not the people right? Is not that what a Republic is for? Was not that the principle for which the monarchy was overthrown and so much blood spilt?"

"Wait, wait, lad!" commanded Bonaparte. "You have not heard all yet! The people of France have had eight centuries of monarchy, and only three years of ruling themselves. They are enthusiastic, but also childish and fickle to the last degree, and are no more fit to be allowed to go their own way than so many babes! They must be guided a while longer by the men who planned and guided the Revolution,—the old Convention! But there's more behind it than that, and they are blind as moles who don't see it!

"The returned Royalists are hiding behind all these disgruntled citizens, and they are going to take advantage of and encourage an [Pg 324] uprising to overthrow the existing government. And what then?—Back will come monarchy again!" Jean was delighted with this clear yet simple explanation.

"Paris," continued Bonaparte, "is divided into forty-eight sections. Of these, every section but one has voted against the new decree; and while many of the sections are inactive, there are seven actually in arms against the Convention, and the worst of these is the Section Lepelletier. Mark my words, Jean! As sure as this is the first of October, there will be a crisis before the month is out! And what is more, something tells me this crisis will mean much for us three now sitting here so quietly, sipping our coffee!"

Bonaparte's prophecy proved true in every respect, except that the crisis came sooner than he had predicted. On the fourth of October, Paris was in a state of indescribable [Pg 325] confusion. Bells were sounding the "generale," that horrible call to insurrection. Streets were thronged with citizens rushing frenziedly to and fro shouting,—"Death to the Convention!" "Down with the Two-thirds!" Crowds of soldiers forced their way through the excited mobs, and skirmishing between the opposing parties could be heard in every quarter. But worse was yet to come!

Jean, compelled to pass the day at his duties in the Tower, was as restive as an imprisoned war-horse, and at eleven that night, Caron could no longer restrain him. Like a shot from a cannon, he was off in the driving rain, straight to the lodging of his friend and councillor, Bonaparte. On being admitted, he found that young man pacing up and down his narrow room with a curious excitement flaming in his brilliant eyes. On the table lay a map of Paris, and over it Bonaparte bent anxiously at every other turn.

"Oho!" he cried. "Another moment and [Pg 326] you would have missed me! But I might have known you'd come, with gunpowder scenting the air! You cannot guess who has just been here!"

"Oh, but I can," replied Jean. "For I passed him on the block,—Citizen General Barras!"

"Nothing less! You see the Sections have the Convention cooped up there in the Tuileries where they hold their sessions, in a state of siege. To-morrow the Sections will storm the Convention, and on that issue depends the continuance of the Republic. The Convention has about four or five thousand soldiers at its command, against fifty thousand Sectionists! Poor lookout,—that! [Pg 327] But I have a plan that will succeed if anything does, and Barras will support me in anything I order. He tested my worth at Toulon, my lad, and there will be hot work to-morrow!"

"Oh, Citizen Bonaparte,—I mean Citizen General !—let me go with you, I beg! I will serve you in any capacity you say, only let me be near you to-morrow!" Bonaparte thought a moment, then he answered:

"To-morrow, Jean, I am going to put you to a test! You have displayed courage, energy and skill in the secret work you have done for the Brotherhood. It now remains for me to see what you can do in the open. To-morrow will show! Come to me at the Tuileries in the morning, and I will give you work to do. Now I must go and report to the Convention at once. I believe my star is rising at last, Jean, and if so, I shall rise with it. And trust me, you shall not be forgotten!" For a moment his eyes gleamed [Pg 328] with the white fire of inspiration, then he wrapped his great-coat about him and was gone.

True to his tryst, Jean made all speed for the Tuileries next morning. He had difficulty enough in getting there, for the streets were so crowded with insurgents that a passage through them was all but impossible. However he got there by way of the Place Carrousel, and noticed that everywhere were barricades and cannon planted to defend the palace.

Where to find Bonaparte was now the question, and doubtless this would have been a matter of much difficulty, had not that young general come riding by on a tour of inspection, accompanied by Barras. Before Jean could even spring forward, Bonaparte recognised him, motioned him forward, and turned to Barras:

"Here is a young protégé of mine who is to see his first action. I must assign him to a post!" Then to Jean: [Pg 329]

"Well, never mind! Come with me. I'm going to place you as assistant to one of the gunners and you'll soon learn. Don't you desert that cannon, Jean, if it costs you your life to stick by it!"

"I will not desert!" Jean promised solemnly. Bonaparte led him through the Rue de Rivoli to the head of the Rue du Dauphin, where a cannon was pointed directly down the street at the steps of the church of St. Roch. To the gunner he said:

"Here's a lad to assist you, and learn a little, likewise!" The gunner looked up, and Jean recognised his old acquaintance, Prevôt!

"Ah, I know him, General!" answered the gunner, touching his cap. "And a brave one he is, too, as I can prove. He's welcome!" Bonaparte rode away, leaving [Pg 330] Jean to exchange reminiscences with his companion.

"Yes, I quitted the service of that rascal Coudert," said Prevôt, "right after the Tenth Thermidor, and entered the army where I've been ever since, and have seen some action, I can tell you! But I wish you'd explain to me why you didn't take advantage of that little hint I gave you once!"

"Well, you're a plucky one! And you certainly did for that old Coudert, so I've been told. They said it was an accident, but I have my suspicions about that! But say! Do you know, that old Coudert, that sneaking La Souris, lodges right up there!" and he pointed to the window of a small house facing on the Rue du Dauphin. "He'll hear fine work to-day,—perhaps he'll see it too. Who knows!" Then he proceeded to explain to Jean the workings of the great gun.

All that morning the opposing forces were [Pg 331] quiet, except for some light skirmishing, and so it continued into the afternoon. Jean saw no more of Bonaparte, and began to grow restless, wondering if there was really to be any battle. But at four o'clock a roar of musketry from the direction of the Hotel de Noailles was answered by another roar, and the business of the day began! In all his young life, Jean had never witnessed so confusing an affair. He could understand little of what others were doing, but he kept his attention closely on Prevôt, handing him ramrod, cotton or powder, as he directed. The big cannon, with a companion close beside it pointed directly down the short street to the steps of the church which were now crowded with Sectionists. In the windows of the houses all along the street, Sectionists were hiding with their death-dealing muskets. The cannon, however, had not yet been fired. Suddenly up rode Bonaparte.

"On the steps of St. Roch! Fire!" he commanded, and the two guns poured forth a [Pg 332] great volley of iron, mowing down the human harvest before them like scythes. The semi-circle of Sectionists on the church steps seemed to sink to the ground in a body for an instant, then more sprang forward and filled the vacant spaces. Jean's heart grew sick at the sight of this carnage, but he worked away at his duties, the perspiration streaming down his face and matting his black curls. Just as Prevôt was about to touch the match for the second charge, he clapped his hand to his side, gave a low groan, and sank in a heap by the gun.

Jean's heart fairly stood still with horror and pity, but some blind instinct caused him to look up at one of the houses. There in a window, stood, or rather hung, La Souris, his rat's face twisted into a horrible smile, a smoking musket in his hands. He was about to reload for another charge, and it was evident that the effort cost him considerable suffering in his scorched back. As Jean still looked, he finished and pointed the [Pg 333] musket directly at the boy by the gun. The natural instinct of self-preservation prompted this untried lad to take to his heels and get to shelter at once, but a second thought brought back Bonaparte's final warning,—"Stick to the gun, lad, if it costs you your life!"

"I'll stick!" he muttered, and clinched his teeth on the determination. Seizing the match from Prevôt's relaxed grasp, he blew on it to rekindle its flame, while he watched out of the corner of his eye the careful aim that La Souris was striving to accomplish with his none too steady grip. Then he laid that match to the touchhole and another rain of iron swept down the street. At this moment a regiment of Volunteers turned into the Rue du Dauphin at a run.

"Charge the steps of St. Roch!" ordered Bonaparte, appearing again very near the guns. As the regiment charged down the street with fixed bayonets, Bonaparte turned his eyes to Jean, and saw the boy standing [Pg 334] bravely by the gun, but with his eyes fixed in agony on a window above and close by. Following his glance, the general quickly perceived the cause of his distress. La Souris, having by this time arranged his aim to his satisfaction, was just about to pull the trigger.

It took Bonaparte but a second to snatch a musket from a passing soldier, aim it at the window—and fire! Citizen Coudert's musket clattered from the window to the ground, and he himself dropped from sight on the other side of the sill, and was seen and heard no more! After that the general wheeled his horse, galloped down the Rue de Rivoli, and Jean was left alone, dazed and thankful.

The remainder of the conflict he could never describe, for he did not see it. The Rue du Dauphin was swept clear of the enemy; if any Sectionists remained alive on the steps of St. Roch, they had taken refuge within the church, and the tide of battle surged to [Pg 335] another quarter, raging down the Rue St. Honoré.

Jean, having temporarily no work to do, turned his attention to Prevôt, whom he found to his joy not killed outright, but severely wounded in the thigh. It took him a long time to revive the unconscious gunner, and he had but just accomplished it when he heard resounding from the Park of the Tuileries terrific huzzas and cries of "Victory! Victory to the Convention!" Unable longer to contain his curiosity, he left Prevôt and rushed across the park to see what was going on. He was just in time to behold Bonaparte, escorted by Barras, enter the Tuileries in triumph to announce to the Convention the utter defeat of the Sectionists. When Napoleon Bonaparte came out again, he was General-in-chief of the Army of the Interior! Thus ended the famous fifth of October, 1795, better known, according to the reckoning of the Revolution, as the Thirteenth Vendémiaire! [Pg 336]

On the fourth of March, 1796, in the pretty new home at Meudon, where the Clouets now lived, Jean received a note from Bonaparte asking him to come at once to his hotel in the Rue Capucines as he had news to communicate. Naturally Jean let no grass grow under his heels in complying with this request.

He found Bonaparte pacing up and down the room as usual, but it was a very different room from the lodgings in which he had formerly existed, and for that matter, a rather different Bonaparte too, as well-groomed and handsomely garbed, as he had once been careless and ill-kempt in appearance.

"Jean," he began, "I've never told you how much I admired the way you held that gun, on the Thirteenth Vendémiaire, in spite of that leering devil above you. I suppose you thought I'd forgotten, for I really believe I haven't seen you since, affairs have been so pressing!" [Pg 337]

"You may! You saw her once,—the Vicomtesse Josephine de Beauharnais!" [Pg 338] Jean was delighted beyond words, and wished his friend the greatest happiness.

"But here's something else!" cried Bonaparte. "And this will interest you more! I've been appointed Commander-in-chief of the Army of Italy!"

"Oh, congratulations!" said Jean. "A thousand of them! I know how greatly you always wished for this position."

"But here's something else that will interest you most of all!" replied [Pg 339] Bonaparte laughing. "I appoint you my aide-de-camp and secretary, and you will be prepared to accompany me to Nice one week from to-day. Jean, Jean! my star has risen at last, and I feel that it will shine with a brilliant light before it goes to its setting!"

And Napoleon Bonaparte gleefully pinched the boy's ear, the first but by [Pg 340] no means the last time that Jean knew him to indulge in this singular pleasantry!

AFTER LONG YEARS

CHAPTER XVIII

AFTER LONG YEARS

In the month of June, 1806, the lieutenant of the Eighth Brigade of Light Artillery received, while on duty at the Imperial Palace of St Cloud, the following mysterious note:

Devoured with curiosity, he hastened to obtain a leave of absence from his Emperor, [Pg 342] who pinched his ear in giving it, inquired on what errand he was bound, and laughed when Jean blushed and stammered that he was not at liberty to explain.

Having made all speed to Havre, he had no difficulty in finding the ship "La Belle Gabrielle" which was preparing to set sail that evening, on its voyage to America. On inquiring for a Monsieur Durant, he was referred to cabin number twelve, which he reached and on whose door he knocked.

A tall, slim, gentle-faced young man of perhaps twenty years opened the door. Jean looked keenly at him for a moment, then gave a little gasp. For he realised in that instant that he stood before the former child of the Tower, Louis XVII of France! The young man drew him inside, closed the door, and the two stood for a long moment, hand clasped in hand, unable to utter a word. It was Louis Charles who at last broke the silence:

"You are much changed, and yet you seem [Pg 343] the same Jean of the Temple! Tell me about yourself!"

"Indeed," replied Jean, "you are much changed also, but you are beginning to resemble greatly the late king, your father!"

"So I think myself," laughed the young man, "and so think others, which has begun to prove rather troublesome. For that reason I am going to America, never to return. But I could not leave without seeing you once more!"

"No, never!" said Louis firmly. "Nothing would induce me to reign over France, even were the opportunity to present itself. And to reside here in a private capacity will scarcely be feasible much longer. I have lived a quiet life for the past ten years with kindly people in a far corner of France. I was placed with them by Barras, under the name of Charles Durant, by which name I have been known ever since. They thought [Pg 344] me an orphan of some good Parisian family, sent there to be away from the violent scenes of the Revolution. I was tenderly nursed back to health, and carefully educated. Many times lately has De Batz come secretly to me, and urged me to proclaim my identity and put myself at the head of the royalist cause, but I have steadily refused.

"The French nation murdered my father and mother! They will never be ruled by me! And to live here as a private citizen is becoming impossible because of my resemblance to my father. Again and again I have heard it remarked how closely I resemble Louis XVI in his younger days. It would soon be causing serious political complications, more particularly as I foresee that affairs are far from stable, even with such a man as your wonderful Emperor at their head! But in America I shall never be recognised, and there I can live the quiet, peaceful, useful life which I crave."

"But tell me," asked Jean, "have you [Pg 345] never seen your sister since her removal from the Tower?"

"No, never, for two reasons,—one of them rather curious! She will not believe that I am alive!"

"No, not strange, in a way. It was De Batz who informed her of my escape, after she went to England. But she refused to believe it, saying it was an impossibility,—that I had died in the Tower, and that anyone who claimed to be myself must be an impostor! But then, you see, she has attached herself to our uncle, my father's oldest brother, who, if the Bourbons ever returned to reign, would be the next in succession, Louis XVIII. And on that account I feel I can never forgive her, for he was always a cruel enemy of our mother, Queen Marie Antoinette, and caused her much grief. How my sister could endure to be even in his presence, I cannot understand, and this is the reason I wish never to see her again. But tell me, Jean, all about [Pg 346] yourself! And how is the good Madame Clouet and pretty little Yvonne?"

"It pains me to tell you," answered Jean, "that our dear Mère Clouet passed away a few months ago, after a severe illness. But for the last ten years she had lived a very happy life in our lovely little home at Meudon. That loss has left little Yvonne,—who is little no longer, but a beautiful young woman!—quite alone in the world, except for me. We grew up together as brother and sister, but now I have managed to persuade her to consider me in another light, and next month she is to become my wife! The Emperor has promised to give us a beautiful wedding!"

"Bravo, bravo!" cried Louis Charles. "A thousand happy wishes! Nothing could have pleased me better than this news!" And as he looked Jean over, noting his six feet of splendid brawn and muscle, his handsome black eyes and crisply curling hair, realising the cleverness and worth of this [Pg 347] fellow and the loyal, loving heart of him, Louis Charles did not wonder at the choice of Yvonne!

"But now tell me about your Emperor," he said. "You fairly worship him, I'm sure, and I do not blame you! And when did you get this?" He pointed to a Cross of the Legion of Honour on the young man's breast.

"He decorated me with that after the battle of Austerlitz, for something or other,—leading a charge, I guess!" replied Jean modestly. "I have been with him through every campaign since he took command of the Army of Italy, and I shall go with him through every other, as long as I live. I love him! Do you blame me?"

"No, I do not! He is the most wonderful man of modern history! He deserves all that he has achieved. He has done more for France in these ten years, than all the line of Bourbon kings ever dreamed of accomplishing. There is no particle of envy [Pg 348] in my heart that he is occupying a throne which should have been mine. It is an unstable throne at best! Let him be happy on it while he may, only let him beware lest too great ambition cause him to overreach the mark!"

Then the two drifted into talk of the past, and of the painful years of their childhood and early acquaintance. The hours, all too short, flew by, and at twilight the order was given to cast loose the ship and set sail. The two young men bade each other farewell in the cabin, for they could not endure that their parting should be witnessed on the common deck.

"Adieu, adieu, Jean!" murmured Louis Charles huskily. "I owe you a debt that a lifetime would be too short to repay! But for you I would have died long since, in that horrible place, and I believe that you and Yvonne are the only ones in this world who truly care for me now. My gratitude and love is all that I can give you, for I am poor [Pg 349] as regards worldly wealth. But I know you understand! You are being rewarded by another and more powerful hand than mine. Give my love to Yvonne, and my most earnest wishes for her happiness. In you she will have the husband she deserves!" Jean was almost too overcome to speak at all.

"I—I love you!" he stammered. "And I have always secretly hoped that sometime you would come back to live among us!"

"That is impossible, as you see," said the young man. "This parting is harder to me than I dare to tell you, for you are all that links me with my former life! Adieu, adieu, Jean!"

But Jean could trust himself no longer. He bent and kissed the hands of Louis Charles, and hastily left the cabin without another word. On the quay he watched, while the great ship drew in her cables, and moved majestically out into the tide. But ere the dark hull vanished entirely from [Pg 350] view, Jean perceived a white handkerchief fluttering from the railing of the afterdeck, and he knew it to be the last farewell of Louis XVII of France!

Jean lived to be a very old man, and he saw in his day many astonishing changes, and lived through a number of singular epochs in the history of his country. One of the most peculiar circumstances, however, that came under his ken was as follows:

In the course of the years, a rumour was wafted abroad (no one knew just how it started), that perhaps Louis XVII had not died as a child in the Tower, after all, but had escaped in some marvellous manner and was now living. Some believed this, and many more did not! But the strangest part of it was that in the course of ten years, no less than forty impostors arose, each claiming that he was the escaped Louis XVII, and demanding his right to the throne, for the [Pg 351] Bourbon monarchy had been restored for a time. Of these forty impostors, the claims of thirty-eight were so obviously and impudently preposterous, that they were at once detected as false. But there were two, Baron de Richmont and Count Naundorff, who really seemed to know an amazing amount about the little Dauphin's early life and affairs, and who told wonderful stories of their escape from the Tower. Count Naundorff's was singularly like what had really happened.

But there was always something lacking somewhere, some loose, ill-fitting stone in their carefully constructed fabrication. None of them ever gained much serious attention. Perhaps these two had at some time heard the story of the escape from a member of the Brotherhood who had been false to his oath. Who can tell!

Jean used to listen to these tales with interest, and not a few times he was called upon to interview personally, some brazen [Pg 352] claimant of the throne of France. One glance however, sufficed him, and his decision in the matter was always accepted as final. Not infrequently someone would say to him:

"How absurd of you to imagine that Louis XVII ever escaped from the Temple Tower! Why, he died there and was buried, as every record proves!"

Then Jean would clasp his hands, nod his head and smile patiently. But in his heart he whispered:

THE END

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHEN A COBBLER RULED THE KING ***

Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed.

Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark license, especially commercial redistribution.

START: FULL LICENSE

PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work (or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at www.gutenberg.org/license.

Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works

1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™ electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property (trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.

1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the United States and you are located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™ works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when you share it without charge with others.

1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any country other than the United States.

1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, copied or distributed:

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org . If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™ trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.

1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™ License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™.

1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project Gutenberg™ License.

1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website (www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works provided that:

• You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.”
• You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™ License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™ works.
• You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of receipt of the work.
• You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.

1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.

1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGE.

1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.

1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any Defect you cause.

Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™

Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.

Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit 501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.

The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact

Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations ($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate .

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.

Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works

Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.

Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.

Most people start at our website which has the main PG search facility: www.gutenberg.org .

This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™, including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.

I.	In the Dauphin's Garden
II.	Jean Meets With a Thin Young Man
III.	In Which the Dauphin Wears the Red Cap
IV.	On Terrible August Tenth
V.	A Domiciliary Visit
VI.	Enter the Cobbler—Exit the King
VII.	The Scheme of the Baron De Batz
VIII.	The Cobbler Takes Command
IX.	How Yvonne Saw the King
X.	The Blow Falls
XI.	Exit the Cobbler
XII.	A Friend Re-enters and Events Move on
XIII.	The Tenth Thermidor
XIV.	In Which Jean "Finds Caron "
XV.	La Souris Meets His Match
XVI.	The Last Move
XVII.	The Star of Napoleon Bonaparte
XVIII.	After Long Years

The King and his Family driven through the pitiless crowd
Sing that song about the Austrian wolf or I'll throttle you
He stood before the former child of the Tower—Louis XVII