Robert Tournay Part 9

"Why arrest a young woman merely because her father went to England as an emissary of Louis Capet more than three years ago?"

Danton shrugged his shoulders. Tournay continued.

"In view of the length of time which has elapsed, in view of the absolute lack of result from the baron's mission, in view of the youth and innocence of this girl, will you not endeavor to have this order rescinded?"

"Why do you desire it so strongly?" demanded Danton, laying down his pen for the first time.

"Because I have known her from a child. I was born on the de Rochefort estate," was the prompt reply.

"Is that all?" asked Danton.

"No, it is not the only reason. I abhor this dragging of the weak and innocent into the political whirlpool. We do not need to make war upon women. I have protested against this before now, and I tell you again that we are disgracing the Republic by the crimes committed in its name.

You are all-powerful with the ma.s.ses, Jacques, your voice is always listened to,--why do you not put an end to the atrocities, which instead of decreasing, are growing worse daily? Where is your eloquence? Where is your power? How can you sit pa.s.sively by and see these horrors? Are they done with your sanction? Can it be that a man with your strength can take a pleasure in crushing the weak and defenseless?"

"Would to G.o.d that I had the power to stop it," cried Danton. "Do you think that I take pleasure in the arrest of innocent young women? Do you think that it is with delight that I see our prisons crowded with thousands whose only crime is to have been born among the aristocrats?"

He rose and paced the floor savagely. "You talk of my power with the people. You say they listen to my voice. To keep that power I must remain in advance. If once I lag behind it is gone forever. We have given life to this terrible creature the Revolution, and we must march before it. If we falter it will crush us too."

"Let it crush us then," cried Tournay, springing to his feet. "I will no longer be driven by it."

Danton looked at him a moment with kindly eyes, then shook his head and said mournfully: "And France, what would she do without me? All I have done has been done for her sake. And I do not regret what has been done," he continued, resuming his former manner. "No, when I see what we have done I regret nothing. That the innocent have perished, I know, and I deplore it. That the innocent must still perish is inevitable. But what is the blood of a few thousand to wash out the cruelty of ages?

What are the cries of a few compared with the groans of millions throughout the centuries! Even now the allied armies of all Europe are thundering at the doors of France. We cannot pause now. They have dared us to the combat, and in return, as gage of battle, we have hurled them down the bleeding head of a king. We must go on."

Then sinking into his seat, he said quietly, "No, Robert, my friend, let Robespierre and his followers have their way in these small matters for a little while longer. What are the lives of a few peachy-cheeked girls weighed against the destiny of a nation?" And he took up his pen.

Tournay sat in silent thought for a few minutes. He saw that it would be useless to say more. After Danton's pen had labored heavily over a few pages, he exclaimed, "Jacques!"

"Well?"

"Will you procure me a pa.s.sport from the Committee of Public Safety which will take me to the German frontier?"

"Are you going to run away?" asked Danton, still busy over his work.

"Whatever happens, I shall never leave France," replied Tournay quietly.

"Very well," said Danton, ringing a bell. "I never shall suspect your patriotism, but there are those who might if you talked to them as you have to me."

As his secretary appeared in answer to the summons, he took up a sheet of paper to write the order.

"Make it for Colonel Robert Tournay and wife," said Tournay carelessly, leaning over his shoulder.

Danton looked up at him suddenly. "I did not know you were married," he said.

Tournay made no reply.

Danton wrote a few lines rapidly. "Take this to the secretary of the Committee of Public Safety," he said to his clerk, "and return with an answer in half an hour."

In less than that time the man returned with the information that the secretary was away and would not return until two o'clock that afternoon.

"Will that do?" asked Danton, turning to Tournay.

"And it is now ten," said Tournay rather impatiently. "It will have to do, I am afraid."

"I will send it to your lodgings the moment it comes in," said Danton, resuming his work.

"Very well, do so, and many thanks. If I am not there have it left with the friend who shares my lodgings." Tournay quitted the office and hastened home, stopping on the way at a stable where his horse was quartered, to give instructions that the animal be saddled and brought to his door without delay.

Reaching his house, he ran up the four flights of stairs that led to the little suite of rooms which he was sharing with his friend Gaillard.

Gaillard was a versatile fellow; he had been a poet, an actor, and a journalist. Sometimes the one and sometimes the other, as inclination prompted or destiny decreed.

Shortly after Tournay's first arrival at Paris, he had met Gaillard, who was then a journalist, at a public meeting. The chance acquaintance led to friendship. He had found the young writer in some financial straits and had rendered him such a.s.sistance as his own slender purse could afford.

Gaillard, who never forgot the favor, was devoted to his friend. He watched his career as a soldier with interest and pride, and now that Tournay had come to Paris for a few days, Gaillard had insisted that his small chambers should have the honor of sheltering the gallant officer of the Republic.

Gaillard was at present amusing crowds nightly at the Theatre of the Republic, where he was playing a series of comedy roles.

It was with satisfaction that Tournay, as he ascended the stairs, heard Gaillard's voice in the room, repeating the lines of his part for that evening's performance.

"Well, my brave colonel, how goes the convention to-day?" said Gaillard, as Tournay entered the room. "Has the Tribunal done me the honor to request that I be shaved by the guillotine?"

"I have not been to the convention to-day. Other business has prevented," replied Tournay, going into his bedroom and taking a pair of pistols from his wardrobe.

"No? then I must wait until I get to the club before I learn the exact number of the n.o.bility who are to patronize the national razor to-day."

"Are you in the piece for to-night, Gaillard?" asked Tournay, hardly hearing what his friend was saying.

"I am."

"That's unfortunate, for I wanted to ask a great service of you," said Tournay, as he proceeded to clean and load the weapon.

"Tell me what it is; I may be able to help you."

"I am going at once to La Thierry."

"La Thierry?" inquired Gaillard.

"Yes. It is my birthplace. I am going there on an important errand. I must start instantly. I cannot even wait for a paper which is to be sent to me here by Danton. I am perfectly willing to let you know that it is a pa.s.sport to the frontier, for myself and one other. The paper will not arrive until two o'clock, several hours after I am on the way. I must have a swift messenger follow with it and join me at the inn in the village of La Thierry."

"I will see that this is done," replied Gaillard. "Is that all?"

"That is all," said Tournay, hurrying from the room. On the threshold he turned. "Are you positive that you will be able to find a trustworthy messenger? Failure would be fatal."

"I swear to you to have it there," cried Gaillard, lifting up his arm and striking a dramatic att.i.tude.

Tournay knew that, despite his apparent frivolity, Gaillard possessed not only a loyal heart, but a clear head, and he felt that he could trust him thoroughly. Much relieved in mind, he descended the stairway and sprang upon his horse at the door. Since leaving Danton he had been thinking out a plan which he hoped would successfully save Mademoiselle Edme de Rochefort, but to carry it into effect he must reach La Thierry before Gardin. So putting spurs to his horse, he dashed through the streets at a pace which threatened the lives of a number of the good citizens. In a short time he was out of the gates, galloping along the road toward La Thierry at a tremendous pace. Then suddenly recollecting that the road to be traveled was a long one, he drew a tighter rein on his horse and slackened his speed.

"Thou must restrain thy ardor," he said, leaning forward and stroking the sleek neck of the animal affectionately; "thou hast a long journey before thee and must not break down under it."

At ten o'clock that night he drew up before the inn at Vallieres, just half the distance to La Thierry. He reluctantly saw that his horse had entirely given out. As for himself, he would have gone on if he could have obtained a fresh beast. He looked critically at those in the stable of the inn, and realized that with four hours' rest his own horse would bring him to his journey's end more readily than any of the sorry animals the landlord had to offer. Having come to this decision he threw himself fully dressed on a bed for a short sleep. He slept until two in the morning. Then, after a hasty cup of coffee, he was again in the saddle and continuing his journey.