Part 22 (2/2)

There was a shuffling of feet, a promise of quick and dangerous excitement, but Sabatier did not move, and Bruslart's eyes, as he quietly sipped his wine, looked over the rim of the gla.s.s at Boissin, who seemed confused and unable to bl.u.s.ter. There was a long pause which was broken by a man seated at another table.

”The breakage need not trouble you, Citizen Bruslart, your trouble will come when you have to explain how the aristocrat came to be in your lodgings.”

”Whether she entered by the door, or climbed in at the window, I cannot say, since I was not at home,” said Bruslart, with a smile. ”My servant must answer that question. What I want to know is, who is this aristocrat?”

In a moment every eye was turned upon him. Jacques Sabatier smiled.

”I was going to the prison to ask that question,” Bruslart went on. ”She is a woman, that I have heard of, but no more. I am interested enough to wonder whether she was an acquaintance of mine in the past.”

”An acquaintance!” and there was a chorus of laughter.

”It was Mademoiselle St. Clair,” said Boissin.

Lucien Bruslart did not start at the mention of the name, not an eye fixed upon him could detect the slightest trembling in his hand as he raised the gla.s.s to his lips and slowly drank the wine which was in it.

He knew perfectly well what a false move, or an ill-considered word, might mean to him. There was not a man in that company who did not hate the name of aristocrat, yet after their fas.h.i.+on, many of them had ties which they held sacred. The same man who could spend hours rejoicing in the bloodthirsty work of the guillotine would return home to kiss his wife, and play innocently with his children. Bruslart knew that to pity the aristocrat might be hardly more dangerous than to abuse the woman.

”Mademoiselle St. Clair. In the past she was more than an acquaintance,” he said.

”She is your lover,” said half a dozen voices together.

”She was,” corrected Bruslart, quietly, ”and therefore a little sentiment enters into the affair. I could almost wish it had been some other woman. That is natural, I think.”

”Ay; and it explains why she took shelter in your lodgings,” said Boissin.

”True, it does; and, so far as I remember, it is the only personal matter I have against her. I do not recall any other injury she has done me. I am afraid, citizens, she has some case against me, for I grew tired of her long ago.”

”She does not believe that, nor do I, for that matter,” said Boissin.

”What you believe is a matter of indifference to me, citizen,” returned Bruslart, ”and as for the woman--well, she is in the Abbaye. Not every man gets rid of his tiresome lovers as easily as I am likely to do. More wine, landlord. We'll drink long life to liberty and death to all aristocrats. And, Citizen Boissin, we must understand each other and become better friends. I accused you of entering my lodgings without invitation, now I invite you. Come when you will, you shall be welcome.

And, in the meanwhile, if there is any good patriot here who is a carpenter, and can spare time for a job, there is money to be earned. He shall mend my cabinet.”

CHAPTER XIII

THE BUSINESS OF RAYMOND LATOUR

The arrest of an aristocrat, or of some poor wretch who had no claim to the t.i.tle, but served just as well for a victim, was a common enough occurrence. In the first panic there had been a rush for safety across the frontier, but there were many who remained, either not foreseeing how grave the danger would become, or bravely determining to face the trouble. Some, like Monsieur de Lafayette, true patriots at heart, had attempted to direct the trouble, and being caught in its cyclonic fury were at grips with death and disaster; some, like Lucien Bruslart, having themselves or their friends to serve, openly threw in their lot with the people, playing the while a double game which kept them walking on the extreme edge of a precipice; and there were others who, finding their bravery and honesty of no avail, realizing that it was now too late to escape out of the country, hid themselves in humble lodgings, or were concealed in the homes of faithful servants. There were patriots who were ready to howl death to all aristocrats, and yet gave shelter to some particular aristocrat who had treated them well in the past.

Kindnesses little heeded at the time saved many a man in his hour of need.

To Richard Barrington that slowly moving coach, surrounded by a filthy, yelling mob, was a new and appalling thing; to Raymond Latour it was a very ordinary matter, a necessary evil that France might be thoroughly purged from its iniquity. When he laid his hand upon Barrington's arm, he had no idea who the prisoner in the coach was. Had he known, he might still have put out a restraining hand, realizing that to throw two lives away uselessly was folly, but in the wine shop afterward he would have treated his companion differently.

That morning he had waited patiently for the coming of Mademoiselle St.

Clair. He had made a last inspection of the rooms he had hired, satisfying himself that there was nothing left undone which it was in his power to do for her. Then he had gone to his own room and tried to read during the interval of waiting. His patience was strained to the limit when, at noon, Mercier and Dubois arrived alone. He had expected them long before. The delay had almost prepared him to hear that his plans had been frustrated, yet the two men who had entered, afraid of his anger, were surprised at the calmness with which he listened to their story.

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