The Trampling of the Lilies Part 33

Robespierre had returned in hot haste to Paris upon receiving Varennes'

message, and he repaired straight to the house of La Boulaye.

Caron was in his dressing-gown when Robespierre was ushered into his study, and the sight of that greenish complexion and the small eyes, looking very angry and menacing, caused the song that the young man had been humming to fade on his lips.

"You, Maximilien!" he exclaimed.

"Your cordial welcome flatters me," sneered the Incorruptible, coming forward. Then with a sudden change of voice: "What is that they tell me you have done, miserable?" he growled.

It would have been a madness on Caron's part to have increased an anger that was already mounting to very pa.s.sionate heights. Contritely, therefore, and humbly he acknowledged his fault, and cast himself upon the mercy of Robespierre.

But the Incorruptible was not so easily to be shaken.

"Traitor that you are!" he inveighed. "Do you imagine that because it is yours to make high sounding speeches in the Convention you are to conspire with impunity against the Nation? Your loyalty, it seems, is no more than a matter of words, and they that would keep their heads on their shoulders in France to-day will find the need for more than words as their claim to be let live. If you would save your miserable neck, tell me what you have done with this d.a.m.ned aristocrat."

"He is gone," answered La Boulaye quietly.

"Don't prevaricate, Caron! Don't seek to befool me, Citizen-deputy. You have him in hiding somewhere. You can have supplied him with no papers, and a man may not travel out of France without them in these times. Tell me--where is he?"

"Gone," repeated La Boulaye. "I have set him free, and he has availed himself of it to place himself beyond your reach. More than that I cannot tell you."

"Can you not?" snarled Robespierre, showing his teeth. "Of what are you dreaming fool? Do you think that I will so easily see myself cheated of this dog? Did I not tell you that rather would I grant you the lives of a dozen aristocrats than that of this single one? Do you think, then, that I am so lightly to be baulked? Name of G.o.d? Who are you, La Boulaye, what are you, that you dare thwart me in this?" He looked at the young man's impa.s.sive face to curb his anger. "Come, Caron," he added, in a wheedling tone. "Tell me what you have done with him?"

"I have already told you," answered the other quietly.

As swift and suddenly as it changed before did Robespierre's humour change again upon receiving that reply. With a snort of anger he strode to the door and threw it open.

"Citizen-lieutenant!" he called, in a rasping voice.

"Here, Citizen," came a voice from below.

"Give yourself the trouble of coming up with a couple of men. Now, Citizen La Boulaye," he said, more composedly, as he turned once more to the young man, "since you will not learn reason you may mount the guillotine in his place."

Caron paled slightly as he inclined his head in silent submission. At that moment the officer entered with his men at his heels.

"Arrest me that traitor," Maximilien commanded, pointing a shaking finger at Caron. "To the Luxembourg with him."

"If you will wait while I change my dressing-gown for a coat, Citizen-officer," said La Boulaye composedly, "I shall be grateful."

Then, turning to his official, "Brutus," he called, "attend me."

He had an opportunity while Brutus was helping him into his coat to whisper in the fellow's ear:

"Let her know."

More he dared not say, but to his astute official that was enough, and with a sorrowful face he delivered to Suzanne, a few hours later, the news of La Boulaye's definite arrest and removal to the Luxembourg.

At Brutus's description of the scene there had been 'twixt Robespierre and Caron she sighed heavily, and her lashes grew wet.

"Poor, faithful La Boulaye!" she murmured. "G.o.d aid him now."

She bore the news to d'Ombreval, and upon hearing it he tossed aside the book that had been engrossing him and looked up, a sudden light of relief spreading on his weak face.

"It is the end," said he, as though no happier consummation could have attended matters, "and we have no more to wait for. Shall we set out to-day?" he asked, and urged the wisdom of making haste.

"I hope and I pray G.o.d that it may not be the end, as you so fondly deem it, Monsieur," she answered him. "But whether it is the end or not, I am resolved to wait until there is no room for any hope."

"As you will," he sighed wearily, "The issue of it all will probably be the loss of our heads. But even that might be more easily accomplished than to impart reason to a woman."

"Or unselfishness, it seems, to a man," she returned, as she swept angrily from the room.

CHAPTER XXII. THE TRIBUNAL

At the Bar of the Revolutionary Tribunal stood Deputy Caron La Boulaye upon his trial for treason to the Nation and contravention of the ends of justice. Fouquier-Tinvillle, the sleuth-hound Attorney-General, advanced his charges, and detailed the nature of the young revolutionist's crime. But there was in Fouquier-Tinvillle's prosecution a lack of virulence for once, just as among La Boulaye's fellows, sitting in judgment, there was a certain uneasiness, for the Revolution was still young, and it had not yet developed that Saturnian habit of devouring its own children which was later to become one of its main features.

The matter of La Boulaye's crime, however, was but too clear, and despite the hesitancy on the part of the jury, despite the unwonted tameness of Tinvillle's invective, the Tribunal's course was well-defined, and admitted of not the slightest doubt. And so, the production of evidence being dispensed with by Caron's ready concurrence and acknowledgment of the offence, the President was on the point of formally asking the jury for their finding, when suddenly there happened a commotion, and a small man in a blue coat and black-rimmed spectacles rose at Tinvillle's side, and began an impa.s.sioned speech for the defence.

This man was Robespierre, and the revolutionists sitting there listened to him in mute wonder, for they recalled that it was upon the Incorruptible's own charge their brother-deputy had been arrested.

Ardently did Maximilien pour out his eloquence, enumerating the many virtues of the accused and dwelling at length upon his vast services to the Republic, his. .h.i.therto unfaltering fidelity to the nation and the people's cause, and lastly, deploring that in a moment of weakness he should have committed the indiscretion which had brought him where he stood. And against this thing of which he was now accused, Robespierre bade the Deputies of the jury balance the young man's past, and the much that he had done for the Revolution, and to offer him, in consideration of all that, a chance of making atonement and regaining the position of trust and of brotherly affection which for a moment he had forfeited.

The Court was stirred by the address. They knew the young sans-culotte's worth, and they were reluctant to pa.s.s sentence upon him and to send him to the death designed for aristocrats and traitors. And so they readily p.r.o.nounced themselves willing to extend him the most generous measure of mercy, to open their arms and once more to clasp to their hearts the brother who had strayed and to reinstate him in their confidence and their councils. They pressed Robespierre to name the act of atonement by which he proposed La Boulaye should recover his prestige, and Robespierre in answer cried:

"Let him repair the evil he has done. Let him neutralise the treachery into which a moment of human weakness betrayed him. Let him return to us the aristocrat he has attempted to save, and we will forget his indiscretion and receive him back amongst us with open arms, as was the prodigal son received."

There was a salvo of applause. Men rose to their feet excitedly, and with arms outstretched in Caron's direction they vociferously implored him to listen to reason as uttered by the Incorruptible, to repent him and to atone while there was yet time. They loved him, they swore in voices of thunder, each seeking to be heard above his neighbour's din, and it would break their hearts to find him guilty, yet find him guilty they must unless he chose the course which this good patriot Maximilien pointed out to him.

La Boulaye stood pale but composed, his lips compressed, his keen eyes alert. Inwardly he was moved by this demonstration of goodwill, this very storm of fraternity, but his purpose remained adamant, and when at last the President's bell had tinkled his noisy judges into silence, his voice rose clear and steady as he thanked them for leaning to clemency on his behalf.

"Helas," he ended, "words cannot tell you how deeply I deplore that it is a clemency of which I may not avail myself. What I have done I may not undo. And so, Citizens, whilst I would still retain your love and your sympathy, you must suffer me to let justice take its course. To delay would be but to waste your time the Nation's time."

"But this is rank defiance," roared Tinvillle, roused at last into some semblance of his habitual bloodthirstiness. "He whose heart can be so insensible to our affections merits no clemency at this bar."

And so the President turned with a shrug to his colleagues, and the verdict was taken. The finding was "Guilty," and the President was on the point of pa.s.sing sentence, when again Robespierre sprang to his feet. The Incorruptible's complexion looked sicklier than its wont, for mortification had turned him green outright. A gust of pa.s.sion swept through his soul, such as would have made another man call for the death of this defiant youth who had withstood his entreaties. But such was Robespierre's wonderful command of self, such was his power of making his inclinations subservient to the ends he had in view that he had but risen to voice a fresh appeal.

He demanded that the sentence should be pa.s.sed with the reservation that the accused should have twenty-four hours for reflection. Should he at the end of that time be disposed to tell them where the ci-devant Vicomte d'Ombreval was to be found, let them reconsider his case. On the other hand, should he still continue obdurate by the noon of to-morrow, then let the sentence be consummated.

There was some demur, but Robespierre swept it fiercely aside with patriotic arguments. La Boulaye was a stout servant of the Nation, whom it must profit France to let live that he might serve her; Ombreval was a base aristocrat, whose death all true Republicans should aim at encompa.s.sing. And so he won the day in the end, and when the sentence of death was pa.s.sed, it was pa.s.sed with the reservation that should the prisoner, upon reflection, be inclined to show himself more loyal to France and the interests of the Republic by telling them how Ornbreval might be recaptured, he would find them still inclined to mercy and forgiveness. Allowing his eyes to stray round the Court at that moment, La Boulaye started at sight of an unexpected face. It was Mademoiselle de Bellecour, deathly pale and with the strained, piteous look that haunts the eyes of the mad. He shivered at the thought of the peril to herself in coming into that a.s.sembly; then, recovering himself, he turned to his judges.

"Citizen-President, Citizens all, I thank you; but I should be unappreciative of your kindness did I permit you to entertain false hopes. My purpose is unalterable."

"Take him away," the President commanded impatiently, and as they removed him Mademoiselle crept from the Court, weeping softly in her poignant grief, and realising that not so much for the President's ear as for her own had La Boulaye uttered those words. They were meant to fortify her and to give her courage with the a.s.surance that Ombreval would not be betrayed. To give her courage! Her lip was twisted into an oddly bitter smile at the reflection, as she stepped into her cabriolet, and bade the driver return to Choisy. Caron was doing this for her.

He was casting away his young, vigorous life, with all its wealth of promise, to the end that her betrothed--the man whom he believed she loved--might be spared. The greatness, the n.o.bility of the sacrifice overwhelmed her. She remembered the thoughts that in the past she had entertained concerning this young revolutionist. Never yet had she been able to regard him as belonging to the same order of beings as herself-not even when she had kissed his unconscious lips that evening on the Ridge road. An immeasurable gulf had seemed to yawn between them--the gulf between her n.o.bility and his base origin. And now, as her carriage trundled out of Paris and took the dusty high road, she shuddered, and her cheeks burned with shame at the memory of the wrong that by such thoughts she had done him. Was she, indeed, the n.o.bler? By accident of birth, perhaps, but by nature proper he was a.s.suredly the n.o.blest man that ever woman bore.

In the Place de la Revolution a gruesome engine they called the guillotine was levelling all things, and fast establishing the reign of absolute equality. But with all the swift mowing of its b.l.o.o.d.y scythe, not half so fast did it level men as Mademoiselle de Bellecour's thoughts were doing that afternoon.

So marked was the disorder in her countenance when she reached Choisy that even un.o.bservant Ombreval whom continuous years of self-complacency had rendered singularly obtuse--could not help but notice it, and--fearing, no doubt, that this agitation might in some way concern himself--he even went the length of questioning her, his voice sounding the note of his alarm.