Part 11 (2/2)
”One and all, we are prepared to shed our blood for the success of this plan,” cried the Viscount of Mirabeau, swelling with enthusiasm. ”To battle!”
”Has this plan the approval of the King?” asked Victoria. ”Can one count on his resolution?”
”The Queen but awaits the hour of putting it into practice to inform his Majesty of it,” answered the Count. ”Nevertheless, the King has already consented to the a.s.sembling of a corps of the army at Versailles. That is a first step gained.”
”But if the King should refuse to follow the plan? What course do you then expect to take?” persisted Victoria.
”It will go through without the consent of Louis XVI. If necessary, we shall proceed to depose him. Then Monseigneur the Count of Provence will be declared Lieutenant-General of the kingdom, and the Queen, Regent, with a council of unbending royalists. Then we shall see courts-martial and firing squads in permanence! Volleys unceasing!”
”It is done for royalty if the court dare put its plan, into execution,”
muttered Victoria to herself. ”To-morrow the Bastille will be taken.”
Then, rising, her face glowing with animation, and holding her gla.s.s aloft, she called, in her brilliant voice:
”To the death of the Revolution! To the re-establishment of Royalty! To the triumph of the Church! To the Queen!”
And catching her fire, the whole company, with one voice, cried:
”Death to the Revolution!”
”Meet me to-morrow morning at Versailles, gentlemen, in battle,” cried Plouernel.
And all except the Abbot shouted back the reply:
”In battle! We shall all be at Versailles to deal the people its death-blow!”
The sarcastic coolness of the priest sat the Count ill. ”Are you stricken dumb, Abbot,” he inquired, ”or do you lack confidence in our plan?”
”No, I have not the slightest confidence in your plans,” answered the prelate calmly. ”Your party is marching from bl.u.s.terings to retreats, and on to its final overthrow, which will be that of the monarchy. But we shall be there, we the 'shaven-heads,' the 'priestlets,' as you dub us; the 'creatures of the Church,' 'hypocrites and Pharisees,' to repair your blunders, you block-heads, you lily-livers! We of the frock and ca.s.sock contemn you!”
This deliverance of the Abbot was followed by a storm of indignant cries from the a.s.sembled guests. Threats and menaces rose high.
”By heaven!” shouted Barrel Mirabeau, ”if you were not a man of the cloth, Abbot, you would pay dear for your insults!”
”Let him rave,” said the Cardinal, shrugging his shoulders, ”let him rave, this hypocrite of the vestry-room, this rat of the Church, this Jesuit!”
”Mademoiselle Guimard awaits his Eminence in her carriage!” called out a lackey, stepping into the room.
”The devil! The devil!” muttered his Eminence the Cardinal as he rose to go. ”I clean forgot my Guimard in the midst of my political cares.
Well, I must go to face the anger of my tigress!”
The banquet broke up. The guests left the table, and gathered in little groups before parting, still carrying on the discussion of the evening.
Only Abbot Morlet stood apart, and as he let his sardonic glance travel from group to group, he muttered to himself grimly:
”Simpleton courtiers! Imbecile cavaliers! Stupid prelates! Go to your Oeil-de-Boeuf! Go to Versailles--go! To-morrow the dregs of the populace will have felled their first head. The appet.i.te for killing comes by killing. As to that foreign Marchioness, of whom it is well to have one's doubts, if it becomes advisable to get rid of her, her handsome head with its black hair will look well on the end of a pike some of these days. So let's be off. I must prepare that bully of a Lehiron, the old usher of the parish of St. Medard, to call together to-night his band of rascals, ready for anything. And then to get ready my disguise and that of my G.o.d-son, little Rodin!”
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