Robert Tournay Part 32

Tournay took the proffered gla.s.s. The gentle gurgle down two throats told that St. Hilaire's health was drunk fervently if silently.

"With your permission I will propose a toast," said Tournay, as Gaillard emptied the last of the bottle into their gla.s.ses. The actor nodded.

"To the French Republic," exclaimed Tournay. "May victory still perch upon her banners."

"To the Republic," echoed Gaillard.

Again the gla.s.ses clinked over the small wooden table.

"As long as we have victory," continued Tournay, "what care we whether we be colonels, generals, or soldiers of the line? Our victories are the nation's. All are sharers in its glory."

"Long live the Republic!" they cried in concert, and set down their empty winegla.s.ses.

"Now I must fly to the theatre," exclaimed Gaillard; "you have made me late with your republics"--

"And I must to bed," said Tournay. "This morning's dawn found me in the saddle in order to reach the convention at an early hour."

"You have made a mistake, citizen sergeant," exclaimed Gaillard suddenly, as an officer of gendarmerie appeared at the open door. "The floor above is where you want to go."

"I want to see the Citizen Colonel Tournay," was the reply.

"I am he," said Tournay.

The sergeant awkwardly gave the military salute. "Here is a letter for you, citizen colonel."

Tournay took the paper, and the sergeant turned toward the door.

"Is there any answer required?" asked Tournay, as he broke the seal.

"None through me. Good-night, citizen colonel." And the heavy jack-boots were heard descending the stairs.

Gaillard began hurriedly to make a bundle of his theatrical costume, while Tournay broke the seal and glanced over the contents of the letter.

"Read this," he said, pa.s.sing the paper to Gaillard, who stood by his side, bundle under arm.

Gaillard read:--

To CITIZEN COLONEL ROBERT TOURNAY, Rue des Mathurins 15.

Will the patriotic citizen colonel call upon the humble and none the less patriotic citizen, Maximilian Robespierre, this evening at seven, to discuss affairs pertaining to the good of the nation? If the Citizen Tournay can come, no answer need be sent.

(Signed) MAXIMILIAN ROBESPIERRE.

17th Pluviose, Year II. of the French Republic, one and indivisible.

"He evidently takes it for granted that I will come, for his messenger waited for no answer," added Tournay.

"It's the sequel of this afternoon's inquiry," said Gaillard, as he returned it, "and too exquisitely polite for a plain citizen. What are you going to do?"

"I am going to see him, of course," replied Tournay. "It is the only way to find out what he wants."

Gaillard nodded. "That's true; I almost feel like going with you and remaining outside the door," and Gaillard placed his package on the table.

"That is unnecessary, my friend; I never felt more secure in my life. Go to your performance of Figaro and on your return you will find me here in this easy-chair, smoking one of your pipes."

Gaillard took up his bundle again. "Very well, but mind, if I do not find you seated in that arm-chair smoking a pipe I shall know you are in trouble."

Tournay laughed. "You will find me there, never fear. And now let us go out together."

"I am abominably late!" exclaimed Gaillard, as they parted at the corner. "The director will have the pleasure of collecting a fine from my weekly salary. Good-night--embrace me, my little war G.o.d! Au revoir,"

and the actor hurried down the street, whistling cheerfully.

CHAPTER XVI

BENEATH THE MASK

An atmosphere of secrecy seemed to pervade Robespierre's house, and Tournay, following the servant along the dimly lighted corridor, pa.s.sed his hand over his eyes, as one brushes away the fine cobwebs that come across the face in going through the woods.

The rustle of a gown fell upon his ear as he entered the salon, and at the further end of the apartment he saw a woman who had evidently risen at his entrance, and now stood irresolute, with one hand on the latch of a door leading into an adjoining room, as if she had intended making her exit un.o.bserved by him.

She stood in such a manner that the shadow of the half-open door fell across her face, but he could see that she was a young woman of small stature and well proportioned figure. At the sound of his voice she allowed her hand to fall from the latch, then lifting her head erect, walked toward him.

"La Liberte!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Tournay. He had not seen her since the day he had left her dancing on the cannon-truck, winecup in hand; but she still kept her girlish look, and except in her dress she had not greatly changed.

She still showed a partiality for bright colors, by her gown of deep crimson. But the material was of velvet instead of the simple woolen stuff she used to wear. Her hair, which had once curled about her forehead and been tossed about by the wind, was now coiled upon her head, from which a few locks, as if rebellious at confinement, had fallen on her neck and shoulders. She wore nothing on her head but a tricolored knot of ribbon, the color of the Republic.

"How does it happen that we meet here?" asked Tournay after a moment, during which he had gazed at her in surprise.

"Never mind about me for the present," she said, looking up in his face, half defiantly, half admiringly; for as he stood before her, framed in the open door, he was a striking picture, with his handsome, bronzed face and brilliant uniform.

"Let us speak of your affairs," she continued. "I am told the committee has ordered you to await its permission before returning to the army."

"How did you know that?" he demanded in surprise.

"Oh, I know many things that are going on in this strange world," and she gave the old toss of her head. "Now do not talk, but listen. You must return to the army. A soldier like you is at a disadvantage among these intriguers. They will suspect you for the simple reason that they suspect every one. You, who are accustomed to fight openly, will fall a victim to their wiles."

"My enemies may find that I can strike back," said Tournay quietly.

La Liberte shrugged her shoulders.

"Did you receive a letter this afternoon?" she asked quickly.

"Did you write that letter?"

"I never write letters," she answered significantly; "but if you received one and read it, you know the names of some of your enemies.