Part 37 (1/2)

It was the fall of the evening, and the moon, almost in its full, had already arisen, dividing the sky with the last lights of sunset. We had turned to the left on reaching the river, our faces towards the Chatelet, whose square grey walls frowned over the Pont au Change.

Here and there the cloud edges still flamed in gold, that slowly faded to a fleecy silver-white before the moonlight. To our left was the long row of gabled houses, some of them seven storeys or more in height, that stretched, a jagged outline of pointed roofs and overhanging turrets, to the Rue St. Denis, there to be split up in the labyrinth of streets between St. Denis, St. Martin, and the purlieus of the Marais and the Temple. Above the houses peered the square tower of St. Jacques de la Boucherie, and in the weird half light the river droned along to our right. A grey, creeping mist was slowly covering the faubourgs and the Ile de la Cite. Through this, as it quivered onwards, one saw a limitless sea of roofs; and sharp and clear, for they were still in light, stood out the lofty campaniles of Ste.

Chapelle and St. Severin. But what caught the eye and arrested the glance was that which rose from the very heart of the great city; for there, looming vast and immense, the stately pile of Notre Dame brooded over Paris.

Mademoiselle s.h.i.+vered on my arm. ”Oh, monsieur, these streets, these houses, this immense city, they oppress me like a very spirit of evil!”

”Courage!” I answered. ”In two hours we will have left the spirit of evil behind.”

And she sighed to herself as we pressed forward. We had pa.s.sed the Vallee de Misere and the Gloriette, and had now come to the fish market. It was here, amidst the raucous cries of buyers and sellers, that the crowd forced us to stop for a little. I drew my companion into the shadow of a booth, and as I did so I heard a fragment of talk between two men a little to one side of us.

”You think it will be successful?”

”Not one will escape. They are like rats in a trap.”

The speaker laughed, and I would have sworn I knew the voice.

Mademoiselle had heard too, and her eyes were s.h.i.+ning like stars.

”Do you hear that?” she whispered quickly. ”Quick! Let us hasten!”

I held her back for a little, until the two had pa.s.sed before us. As the light from the booth fell on them I saw that I was right--the last speaker was Camus, but the other man I knew not.

”Now, across!” I said, as the two were lost in the crowd, and with that I hurried mademoiselle to the other side of the road.

”Monsieur,” she said, ”these men were talking of us, of my people, I mean--I feel sure of it--and we are too late.”

”Not yet!” And I tried to rea.s.sure her, but my heart was full of misgiving. In its wonderful way her woman's instinct had warned her, and I, knowing what I did know, feared the worst despite all my a.s.surances to her to the contrary.

It was night when we reached the Rue des Mathurins, for the way was long. Narrow and dark, the street wound before us. On one side the upper storeys of the houses were white with moonlight; but the opposite side was in shadow, and all around us was a velvet darkness, except where, here and there, a lamp, hanging to a rope slung across the street, cast a feeble and uncertain glow. Some dim figures moved before us, and occasionally we heard a footfall behind. That was all.

We had come to the fifth door on our right. It lay in the black darkness, faced by the huge blank wall of the Mathurins, and not a ray gleamed from any of the windows. All was silent as the grave.

”This is the place,” I said, and we stopped.

”Are you sure?” whispered mademoiselle. ”It looks deserted; perhaps they have been warned.”

But, even as she spoke, we heard faint voices singing. The sound seemed to rise from beneath our feet, and m.u.f.fled and far distant rose the sweet, solemn chant of the Huguenot hymn: ”When Israel went forth from Egypt.”

”They are there!” And mademoiselle's fingers tightened on my arm.

For answer I was about to step up to the door when hurrying feet came towards us. I pulled mademoiselle back into the deepest shadow, and as I did so two dark figures appeared, and halted before the door. Like us, all unknowing we were so near, they stopped too, listening to the hymn, and after a little one of the two began to sing.

”Hus.h.!.+” said the other; but the singer answered fiercely:

”I care not, nor do I fear to give my testimony to the Lord.”

But now the hymn ended, and the two went to the door. This was my chance, and so, with mademoiselle on my arm, I boldly stepped up and joined them. They turned on us as we came; but I allayed their fears.

”Messieurs, we have come as you have. See! There is a lady with me.”

”Then you are well come,” answered one, and with that he tapped softly at the door. A shutter opened, and a voice asked: