Kilgorman Part 25

Need I tell you I had her in my arms in a moment; and after her her mother, who was not only frightened but hurt by the shock of the overturn.

That little moment was worth all the perils and risks of the past months; and if I could have had my own way, I would have stood there, with my little lady's hand clutching my arm, for a month.

It was impossible they could recognise me, with my back to the light, happening upon them in so unlooked-for a way. But when I said, "Trust to me, Miss Kit," her hand tightened on my sleeve with a quick pressure, and she said,--

"Barry! thank G.o.d we are safe now!"

I was a proud man that night as I fought my way through the crowd with two distressed ladies under my wing, and a fist and a foot for any one who so much as dared to touch the hem of their garments.

Mrs Gorman became so faint in a little that I was forced, as soon as we were out of the thick of the crowd, to call a vehicle.

The soldiers at the end of the street, when they saw who our party was, and heard that we were pa.s.sengers in the overturned carriage, let us go by; "for we had been already well overhauled at the barrier," said they.

Once clear--and she kept her hand on my arm all the time--Kit said,--

"Then you are alive still, Barry?"

"Ay, Miss Kit; and ready to die for you."

"This is a dreadful place!" said she with a shiver, looking up at the high houses we pa.s.sed; "but it was worse before you found us."

How could I help, by way of answer, touching her hand with mine, as if by accident?

"We are to go to the Hotel Lambert, Rue Boileau," said she; "and to- morrow we are to seek our kinsmen the Lestranges."

"I have found them," said I.

Here Mrs Gorman looked up.

"Found them? That is good; we shall have shelter at last."

"Alas, mistress," said I, "they have lost all their goods and are living in great poverty. It will be poor shelter."

Here the poor lady broke down.

"O Kit!" moaned she, "why did your father send us on this cruel journey?

Did he want to be rid of us before our time?"

"Nonsense, mother; he thought we should be safer here than among the Leaguers in Donegal. So we shall be--at least we have Barry to protect us."

Whereat we drove up at the Hotel Lambert.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

DAYS OF TERROR.

I confess, delighted as I was to find again my lady and my little mistress, I could have wished them anywhere but in Paris at such a time as this. How they reached the place at all it was difficult to understand, till I heard that they had crossed from Dublin under the escort of a prominent member of the Jacobin Club, with whom his honour had large dealings in the matter of arms, and who had provided the necessary pa.s.sports.

"Indeed," said Miss Kit, "the soldiers everywhere were so respectful to us that I think Monsieur Cazin must have pa.s.sed us off as his wife and daughter. At any rate he accompanied us into Paris, only quitting us at the barrier, and has promised to call on us at the hotel to-morrow. See here is his letter to the _maitre d'hotel_, in which he states that we are French ladies, kinswomen of his own."

The _maitre d'hotel_, when he read the letter, made no difficulty about admitting "_les citoyennes Cazin_" as he entered them in his book, and their valet. So for that night, at least, we were safe. And as both ladies spoke French fluently, and I tolerably, we pa.s.sed well enough for what we were not.

But I disliked the whole business, still more when I heard from some of the attendants in the hotel that this citizen Cazin was a man looked askance upon by some of his own party, and reputed to be both greedy and heartless.

If I could have had my own way, I would have tried that very night to get them out of the city they had been at so much trouble to reach. But they were worn-out with fatigue and anxiety, and were fain to lay their heads anywhere. Before the night was out their baggage, rescued from the overturned diligence, was brought to the hotel, labelled (as I could not help noticing) with the name "Cazin," which only involved us all in deeper complication and trouble.

Next day we waited for the promised visit from my ladies' travelling companion, but he never came. And in the evening we discovered the reason. The _maitre d'hotel_ demanded admission to their apartment and announced, with a roughness very different from his civility of the night before, that at the Convention that day several suspected persons had been denounced, among others the citizen Cazin, for having been in traitorous treaty with the enemies of the Republic. In a few hours it would become known that he had travelled to Paris with two ladies, and it was as much as his (my host's) neck was worth to allow those ladies to remain another hour in his house. Indeed his duty was to inform the authorities at once who his guests were.

Happily for us his hotel had been visited by the police only the night before--ere the travellers arrived--and he had not yet exposed their names on his list. But it was known that the baggage, delivered last night, bore the name of the suspected Cazin, and that was enough to ruin us all.

You may fancy the distress of the ladies at this news. All they could do was to hand one of their little rolls of _a.s.signats_ to the landlord, and promise that within an hour he should be rid of them.

"But the baggage," said mine host, who, in the midst of his perturbation, saw his way to a _solatium_ for himself; "I must detain that, and hand it over if required."

"But it is not Monsieur Cazin's; it is my lady's, who is no connection of the suspect," said I.

"If the ladies cannot part with their baggage," said mine host, fumbling the notes, "they must remain here with it. I confiscate it in the name of the Republic One and Indivisible."

It was no use arguing or appealing; our only hope lay in civility.

"Citizen host," said I, "is quite right, and the ladies are grateful for his consideration. Their name is Lestrange. They know nothing of Citizen Cazin or his baggage, and they bid adieu to the Hotel Lambert forthwith."

The cunning landlord, having gained his ends, returned to his civility.

"The ladies," said he, "are wise. But they will do well to put on the garments of plain citoyennes, which I can provide, in exchange for what they wear; otherwise they may be traced. That done, they will do well to leave my poor house on foot with the young Citoyen Lestrange," (here he pointed to me), "and forget to return."

It was good advice, though it went to my heart to see my mistresses further robbed. But when presently they appeared in the plain garb of common Parisiennes I confess I felt relieved, for no one who saw them would suspect them of being foreign ladies, though any one would be bound to admit they were two very fair women. As for me, I was not long in bartering my livery coat for the blue blouse of a workman; and thus that afternoon, as the light was beginning to fail, and all the world was talking of the execution of the beautiful Madame Roland, which was to take place in the morning, three humble persons quitted the side door of the Hotel Lambert and bent their steps dolefully towards the bridge that led across to the Quai near the Island of the City, once known as Quai Necker.

We hoped that here at least we should find a retreat until it was possible to consider what next should be done.

Leaving the ladies to inspect the stalls which lined the river, I ascended first to announce their arrival; but half-way up the long stairs I encountered a middle-aged woman with sour, haggard face, who demanded my business.

"I desire to see Madame Lestrange, who lives on the highest stage," said I.

"Madame Lestrange lives there no longer," said she with a shrug. "Last night she and her husband and their servant were put under arrest on the accusation of Depute Duport, for holding connection during his life with the traitor Sillery."

"Arrested!" exclaimed I, staggered at the news.

"Arrested," said she dryly, "and are now at the Austin Convent. To- morrow, perhaps, we may hear of them at the Place."

This was too terrible, but I durst not betray my horror.

"Then," said I, "if that is so, the top stage is vacant. I am seeking lodgings for my mother and sister and myself, and had hoped Madame Lestrange could have helped me."

"The top floor is vacant," said the woman, brightening up, for the calamity of the day had robbed her of her tenants, "to any one who can pay five francs a week."