Part 11 (1/2)
At first, they advanced without much difficulty, following the throng that seemed to be wending its way in the same direction as themselves; but when they had pa.s.sed the Palais-Royal, they were obliged to slacken their pace, and soon to stop entirely. The crowd formed an impa.s.sable barrier against which they were pressed so closely by those behind that Dolores was nearly suffocated, and Coursegol, to protect her, placed her before him, extending his arms to keep off the excited throng.
In the midst of the tumult which we have attempted to describe, Coursegol was troubled, not so much by the impatience of Dolores as by the doubts that beset him when he thought of Bridoul. He had not seen the latter for three years. He only knew that his comrade, on quitting the army, had purchased a wine merchant's establishment; but, on hearing that his former friend sold his merchandise at the sign of the Bonnet Rouge, he asked himself in alarm if he would not find, instead of a friend, a rabid patriot who would refuse to come to the aid of the ex-servant of a Marquis. These reflections had made him silent and anxious until now; but, finding his progress checked by the crowd, the thought of inquiring the cause of this excitement occurred to him.
Addressing a man who was standing a few steps from him, and who, judging from his impa.s.sive features, seemed not to share the emotions of which he was a witness, Coursegol inquired:
”What is going on, my friend?”
”What is going on!” replied the stranger, not without bitterness. ”They are carrying the head of the Princesse de Lamballe through the streets of Paris!”
Coursegol could not repress a movement of horror and of pity. On several occasions, when he had accompanied Philip to the house of the Duke de Penthieore, he had seen the Princess who had befriended his young master. At the same time, the thought that Dolores might be obliged to witness such a horrible exhibition frightened him, and he resolved to find some way to spare the girl the shameful spectacle that the eager crowd was awaiting. Suddenly Dolores, who had been standing on the same spot for some time, discovered that the soil beneath her feet had become wet and slippery, and, turning to Coursegol, she said:
”I am standing in water.”
Coursegol drew back and forced the crowd to give way a trifle, so Dolores could have a little more standing-room. Thanks to his exertions, she could breathe once more; but, chancing to look down upon the ground, she uttered an exclamation of consternation.
”Blood! It is blood!” she exclaimed, in horror.
Coursegol's eyes followed hers. She was not mistaken. She was standing in a pool of blood, and not far off lay a body that the crowd had trampled upon only a few moments before.
”But where are we?” murmured the terrified Coursegol.
The man to whom he had previously spoken drew a little nearer and said:
”You are, perhaps, a hundred paces from the prison where they executed the prisoners scarcely an hour ago.”
Then, drawing still nearer, so that no one save Coursegol could hear him, he added:
”Advise that young girl not to cry out again as she did just now. If some of these fanatics had heard her, she would have fared badly!”
At that very moment, the crowd resumed its march. The man disappeared.
When Coursegol, agitated by these horrors which were so new to him, turned again to speak to Dolores, he saw that she had fainted in his arms. The poor man glanced despairingly about him. Suddenly his eyes fell upon a sign hanging over a shop on the opposite side of the street.
This sign represented a red Phrygian cap upon a white ground, and above it was written in large red letters: ”Le Bonnet Rouge.” For a quarter of an hour he had been standing directly opposite Bridoul's establishment.
He uttered a cry of joy, lifted Dolores in his strong arms, and, in a stentorian voice, exclaimed:
”Make way! Make way, good citizens! My daughter has fainted!”
The Provencale costume worn by Dolores deceived the persons who would otherwise have impeded Coursegol's progress.
”He is from Ma.r.s.eilles,” some one cried.
Just at that time the Ma.r.s.eillais were heroes in the eyes of all good patriots. The unusual height of Coursegol strengthened the illusion.
”Yes,” remarked another, ”he is one of the Ma.r.s.eillais who have come to the aid of the Parisians.”
The crowd opened before him. He soon reached the shop over which hung the sign of the ”Bonnet Rouge” and entered it. There were but few customers in the large saloon. He placed Dolores in a chair, ran to the counter, seized a gla.s.s of water, returned to the girl and bathed her forehead and temples. In a moment she opened her eyes.
”My dear child, are you better?” he asked.
”Yes, yes, my good Coursegol,” replied Dolores. Then she added: ”Yes, father, but I was terribly frightened.”
”The citoyenne was crushed in the crowd!” said a voice behind Coursegol.