Robert Tournay Part 8

"The king," mused the other; "do you believe in kings?"

"How do you mean?--'Do I believe in kings'?"

"Seventeen years ago," said the giant, "when only a boy, I stood in the cathedral at Rheims while the coronation of the king was taking place.

I had never seen a king before, and moved by a strong desire to see a being so exalted, I had walked many leagues to gratify my curiosity.

When I saw a pale-faced stripling kneel before the archbishop to receive the crown, I could hardly keep from bursting into loud laughter at the thought that such a puny creature could hold the destiny of a great nation in his hands. I have often thought of it since, and to this day it is as absurd as it was then."

"I think a nation should have a king," said Tournay, after a few moments' thought. "But he should reign in the interests of his people.

And of all the people, not a small part."

"And so you came down here to see that our little king did his duty,"

suggested the large man, smiling.

"I came here, as I have already said, because in my humble way I wanted to do something for my country."

"For your country?" repeated his companion interrogatively; "for the people?"

"Yes," answered Tournay, "the people,--the common people, to whom I belong; those who have never had a voice lifted up to speak for them, nor a hand to fight their battles."

"There is a voice to speak for them at last," replied the giant, his eyes shining with a fierce light. "France is full of them. From north to south, from east to west, they have been called and are answering. In the a.s.sembly their voices are heard. In every street in Paris their voices are heard. I can speak for them and I will; aye and fight for them too," and he lifted his ma.s.sive arm with a gesture which in its force seemed to indicate that alone he could fight for and win the people's cause. "Throughout France there are millions of arms which like mine are ready to strike down tyranny. Have no fear, my friend. The nation has found a champion in itself! The people have taken up their own cause!" The power of the man, his earnestness and energy, stirred Tournay to the depths of his soul. He looked with admiration at the lion-like figure standing before him. Then grasping the man's hand he said with earnestness:--

"I too am one of them,--I may not be of much use, still I am one. Will you show me how I can be of more service?"

"A stout arm and a brave heart are always worth much," replied the giant. "I like you, friend; your voice has the true ring in it. And where Jacques Danton likes he trusts. Come with me and I will tell you more."

CHAPTER IV

THE "BON PATRIOT"

Colonel Robert Tournay of the Republican army sat over his coffee in the cafe of the "Bon Patriot" one December morning in the year 1793 of the Gregorian Calendar, and the year 2 of the French Republic.

The four years that had pa.s.sed since the July afternoon, when he first entered Paris through the southern gate, had been full of stirring events in which Tournay had taken such an active part as to make the time equal to many years of an ordinary lifetime,--years which had drawn lines upon his forehead that are not usual upon the brow of twenty-six.

His figure was considerably heavier, but even more elastic and muscular, telling of a life of constant bodily exercise.

Shortly after his return to Paris from Versailles on the eventful day when the Demoiselle de la Liberte, accompanied by her forty thousand, brought the baker and his family back to their people, Tournay had enrolled himself in the National Guard to protect Paris and the country against foreign invasion.

From Paris to the army at the front was the next step, where he served with such bravery as to gain promotion to his present rank. Promotions were rapid in those days, and men rose from the lowest social ranks to the highest military positions, if they proved their fitness by valor and ability.

By the winter of '93 Tournay had won the shoulder-straps of a colonel, and had now been sent to Paris by General Hoche with dispatches to the National Convention. His dispatches had been delivered and he was waiting impatiently for the reply which he was to take back to the front. More than eighteen months had pa.s.sed since he had been in Paris, and the scenes in the city streets had a new charm for him. It was with a feeling of pride that he looked out from the windows of the "Bon Patriot" and saw the active, bustling crowds on the boulevards and realized that the Republic was an accomplished fact and that he had done his part toward creating it. And yet there was some sadness mingled with his pride. Although an ardent Republican he could not sympathize in all the horrors of the Revolution,--indeed he had been greatly shocked by them. Yet his long absence from Paris had prevented him from witnessing the worst phases of the reign of terror, and thus he could not fully realize them. He was, moreover, first of all, a man of the people. He had resented from childhood the cruelty and oppressions under which they had suffered, and his joy at the abolition of unjust laws, his pride in the a.s.sertion of equality for all men, overweighed his regret for the bloodshed that had accompanied the triumph of their cause and the gaining of the Republic.

Sitting over his coffee, he recalled his early life at La Thierry. Since the day of his flight, he had never returned there, and with the exception of an annual letter from his father, who although a Royalist could not quite make up his mind to cast off his only son, he had no communication with the inhabitants of the chateau. From these occasional and brief epistles he had learned that the Baron de Rochefort had gone to England almost at the outbreak of the Revolution. In a more roundabout way he learned the cause of the baron's departure to be a secret mission to the Court of St. James on behalf of the tottering French monarchy. The mission had come to naught; the baron had fallen ill in London and died there a few months after his arrival.

Edme, his only child, was therefore left at La Thierry, where she lived in great seclusion, with Matthieu Tournay still in faithful attendance.

The marriage with the Marquis de Lacheville had never taken place. As the Revolution progressed and the de Rochefort fortune dwindled, the marquis's ardor, never at glowing heat, cooled perceptibly, and during the past two years nothing had been heard of him at the chateau. It was thought that he had either gone abroad or was living in seclusion in Paris.

Tournay had sometimes felt a little anxious as to the safety of Mademoiselle Edme and his father, but the letters he received from old Matthieu were rea.s.suring, and as the place was a secluded one and the family not known to have shared actively in the royalist cause, his anxieties had for some time been allayed and he thought of them now as likely to escape suspicion and to remain there in quiet obscurity.

Tournay was roused from his reverie by the conversation of two men at an adjoining table, or, more strictly speaking, a man and a boy, for the younger was not over seventeen years of age. His face was quite innocent of any beard. On his yellow curls he wore the red nightcap of the Jacobins and his belt was an a.r.s.enal of knives and pistols. Taking up a gla.s.s of beer he blew off the froth with a quick puff of the lips.

"Thus would I blow off the heads of all kings," he said in a voice that courted attention; "I give you a toast, comrade: death to every tyrant in Europe."

"I'll drink that toast willingly," answered the other, a big fellow, who despite his swagger and insolent manner, had a face bearing considerable traces of good looks. "But I should prefer to drink confusion to each in a separate gla.s.s, seeing that you are standing treat for the day," and he laughed at his own wit.

"The Revolution does not march quick enough to suit my fancy," he went on, turning his gla.s.s upside down to indicate that it needed replenishing, and then wiping the froth from the ends of his drooping brown mustache. "The convention is too slow in its work of purging the nation. Were it not for Robespierre we should make no progress. Why are there still aristocrats walking in the broad light of day?"

"Very few come out in the daylight, citizen," remarked the boy. "They creep out at night generally."

"Well, why are they allowed to live at all, young friend?" said the elder man, striking the table with his fist.

"Be patient, good Citizen Gonflou; the Committee of Public Safety has sent out a good batch of arrests within the last twenty-four hours,"

said the lad knowingly. "I have it from my brother, who has been charged with the execution of one."

"Your brother, Bernard Gardin?" inquired the other as he drained his gla.s.s. "Who is it now?"

"Bernard has gone down to our old home in the village of La Thierry to arrest a young aristocrat by the name of Edme de Rochefort," replied the boy.

"Oh, oh, a woman!" laughed Gonflou. "Well, I'm glad I've not got your brother's work. I'm too tender-hearted when it comes to be a question of women."

Tournay uttered an exclamation of surprise. The next instant he tipped over his coffee-cup with a clatter to cover up the betrayal of interest in the conversation, and in replacing it, managed to draw his chair nearer to the two men.

"When did he start?" was the inquiry of Gonflou.

"This morning at six. He will return in four days."

Recovered from the first shock, Tournay's resolution was immediate. Edme de Rochefort must be saved from arrest--and from the death that was almost certain to follow.

He was a man of action, accustomed to think quickly, and he began at once to devise means to save her. His first thought was of Danton. On this man's friendship he felt sure he could rely. His ability and willingness to a.s.sist him he resolved to test immediately.

The conversation between the two men at the adjoining table took another turn and he saw he was likely to hear no more on this subject, so he rose from his seat and hurried from the cafe. Ten minutes later he climbed the dark stairway that led to Danton's lodging. Here he found the Republican giant in his shirtsleeves,--a short pipe between his lips, bending over his writing table. He did not look up as Tournay took a chair at his elbow, but a nod from the ma.s.sive head showed that he was aware of his presence.

"Jacques," asked Tournay abruptly, "was an order for the arrest of a certain Citizeness Edme de Rochefort signed by the committee last night?"

Danton looked at him for a moment while he stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"Hum--de Rochefort? A daughter of the Baron Honore who went to England as emissary from the late monarchy? Yes, I believe the woman is to be arrested," was the reply.

"If I furnish you with abundant reason for it will you have the order rescinded at once?"

"I cannot," was the answer.

"Is there any other charge against the Citizeness de Rochefort except that she is the daughter of her father?"

"None that I know of."