Part 44 (2/2)
”The matter is of the deepest concern--of infinite importance to us.”
”I have decided it. I am the guardian of your future, and I intend to remain so.”
”You are the lady head of the family and guardian of my future under the will of my father, but let me say without disrespect that I am a widow, and legally control my own right to dispose of my hand.”
”You think you could disobey me? I could easily see to that. The King would refuse to sign the contract of marriage, and there my power would only begin.”
”You cannot prevent us from at least marrying. The humblest French peasants have a right to that without any royal signature.”
”Yes I can, and I will show you the power of the old school!” cried the dame, straightening herself with an inconceivable triumph and shaking out the folds of her brocade. ”Monsieur de Lincy here knows well that I am right in preventing you from sacrificing your position. I call upon _his honour as a n.o.ble_ not to allow this disgrace to fall upon you. I call upon it to sustain the head of your house. I call upon it to reverence the wish of the dead and the will of the King. You admit me right and just, Monsieur de Lincy? I call upon your honour as a n.o.ble.
Answer me.”
”There is but one way of replying,” he returned slowly; and Cyrene in her very anguish showed her pride in his response to the fatal appeal to his honour.
”Well, then,” Madame cried, partaking in that pride and changing her manner to one of much kindliness, ”you have done well and are good children. Believe that my strictness shall endure no longer than is necessary. It is true that in the name of order I forbid your marriage, but I consent to your remaining affianced until these troubles of our country pa.s.s away or Monsieur obtains some establishment, no matter how small, if sufficient, and even though that should take as long as your lives may last. Kneel and receive an old woman's blessing.”
With what disappointed and mingled feelings they knelt before her and bowed to the conquest of nature by the Old _Regime_.
CHAPTER XLVI
THE PATRIOTS
At midnight the full moon, silver-gilt, touched the house-fronts of the Street of the Hanged Man. They lit the figure and slouched hat of Jude, who, carrying a package, slunk up to the door of the Gougeon shop and was admitted. The Big Bench were in session. The light of the tallow-dip seemed to concentrate itself on the wicked smile of the Admiral as he watched Jude opening the packages.
”Do you know who sent this, gentlemen?” the spy cried, enjoying the importance of being the bearer of some surprise.
”We are not gentlemen, and we do not know,” retorted Hache.
”It was a high personage, rowers--no less a personage than a prince--a royal prince.”
”What have _we_ to do with princes?”
”With the Duke of Orleans, much; rival to the throne, he is the friend of the people.”
”Ah, yes, the friend of the people, and he wants us for something. That is a good contract,” the Admiral interrupted. ”Whose windpipe does he want to cut, and what does he promise to pay for it?”
”Nothing so risky; only some shouting, and as for the pay, here, Admiral, is the nose of the dog,” and he handed him a full bag of coin.
The Admiral tore it open, and exhibited the metal to his greedy-eyed subordinates. Hache grabbed at a couple of the coins, and joyfully flipped them up to the ceiling.
”Now what does our friend the Duke of Orleans want? Our _friend_ the Duke of Orleans, _gentlemen_,” the Admiral added, smiling ironically.
”To wear these badges and shout for him,” replied Jude, displaying the contents of his parcel, a couple of dozen red woollen tuques.
”No objection,” the Admiral answered; ”no objection in the world, but what is the object?”
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