In the Name of Liberty: A Story of the Terror Read online

  III

  CITOYENNE NICOLE

  Toward six o'clock the next morning, when la Mere Corniche and herbroom alone were stirring, there appeared at a gabled window that brokethrough the crust of the roofs, the figure of a young girl, who, aftera glance down at the quiet courtyard and the windows void of life,remained to give the final touches to a scattering of golden hair.

  The air was still young, and in the skies the multifarious tints of thedawn had not quite faded as the burly sun bobbed up among the distantchimney-tops. She ensconced herself in the window, running her handswith indolent movements through the meshes as though reluctant to leavethe flash and play of the sun amid its lusters. She was young andpretty, and she knew it, and, with a frank enjoyment, she let the longlocks slip through her fingers or brought them caressingly against hercheek.

  Though from her figure she could not have been more than eighteen, yetin the poise of her head and in the subtile smile, full of grace andpiquancy, there showed the coquetry of the woman who plans to pleasethe masculine eye.

  Suddenly she sprang back, leaving the window vacant. A moment laterthere emerged opposite the thoughtful face of Barabant. Unaware of herproximity, he swept the courtyard with an indifferent look, and drawingfrom his pocket the three sous that alone remained to him, he fell intoa deep meditation.

  Presently the sprightly eyes and mischievous profile of the girlreturned, cautiously, as though awaiting a challenge. Then, as in theabstraction of his mood he continued to be oblivious to her presence,she advanced to fuller view.

  Gradually her curiosity became excited by an evident conflict in hismoods. At one moment he pulled a long, somber face, and at the nexthe lapsed into laughter. As human nature cannot endure in silence thespectacle of someone laughing to himself, the girl, unable longer torestrain her interest, called to him with that melody which is naturalto the voice of a maiden:

  "Well, citoyen, are you going to laugh or cry?"

  At her banter, Barabant started up so suddenly that one of the souswhich he had been regarding meditatively slipped from his fingers,bounded on the roof, rolled along the gutter, and disappeared in thewater-hole.

  "Diable! there goes my dinner!"

  "How so?" the girl said, repressing her laugh at his long face.

  "I had three; one for lunch, one for dinner, and one for some purchasesI intend to make."

  "Dame! citoyen, three are not many sous."

  Barabant drew himself up proudly. "Plenty, after to-night."

  "When your banker returns?"

  "Exactly."

  "And I have made you lose your dinner: a bad beginning for neighbors,Citoyen--?"

  "Citoyen Eugene Barabant. Citoyenne--?"

  "Nicole."

  "Nicole--?"

  "Heavens, isn't Nicole enough? One name is all we need; besides, itwould take me too long to find out the other."

  As she said this, she smiled so unaffectedly that Barabant, forgettingthe pangs of hunger, looked on admiringly.

  "You are a philosopher, Nicole. And what do you do--if it is notindiscreet to ask?"

  She understood perfectly the hesitancy, but laughed without a trace ofdisconcertion.

  "Oh, I work hard; I am a bouquetiere. Which reminds me, I must be offto the flower-market."

  However, she lingered a moment. "And you, citoyen?"

  "Traveler," Barabant said, with a superb wave of his hand, and thenexploded in laughter at the thought. "Citoyenne, tell me something."

  "Speak."

  "Have you ever fasted a day?"

  "Hundreds of times."

  "If you have but one meal in sight, when is the best time to take it?"

  "In the middle of the day; something may happen before dinner."

  Barabant made a wry face.

  "Seriously, how much have you?"

  He held up the two sous.

  "Two sous, and you speak of buying a meal,--a crumb of bread!"

  "Perhaps," Barabant admitted, "meal is an exaggeration."

  "Come, you are a good fellow," Nicole said, nodding approvingly. "Youhave the right spirit. I have made you lose one dinner; it is onlyright that I should make reparation. Will you lunch with me?"

  To her amusement, he drew up proudly at the thought of accepting afavor from her. She smiled at this show of pride, liking it, buttrusting in the bloom and charm of her youth to defeat it. She did nottrust in vain. After a brief conflict which showed clearly the weaksurrender, he ended by smiling in turn.

  "Only," he cried, "I accept it as a loan."

  "Heavens! but I didn't intend to pay, myself," she protested, wellpleased with her victory. "If you think dinners are to be had only forpay you are not a Parisian yet."

  "In that case, I accept."

  "Meet me, then, at eleven o'clock, Place de la Republique, CitoyenBarabant."

  "I shall be there an hour ahead!"

  At the door of the next room she called, "Louison!" drumming quietlywith her fingers. Receiving no answer, she entered. The bed was vacant,undisturbed. Without surprise, and with even a certain satisfaction atbeing freed from the company of her friend, she passed down and outinto the streets on her way to the Marche des Fleurs.

  As she went, with many an energetic toss of her head interspersedwith pensive smiles, she turned over in her mind the impressions ofher first encounter, with the confidence of the woman who at thefirst exchange of glances feels her power. He had shown his admirationwithout timidity, which would have been vexatious, or forwardness,which would have been unendurable. She liked his show of pride, andmore that he had yielded before the temptation of her eyes. Thattribute sent her straying into the thousand and one pleasurable pathswith which her ardent imagination filled the future.

  At the flower-markets her preoccupation was so evident that shewas compelled to run the fire of banter. She bore the ordeal withequanimity, hurrying away with buoyant step and eyes alert, impatientfor the morning to pass.

  She passed along the boulevards, disposing of her cockades amongregular customers, until at length she arrived at her destination, theCafe Procope. There, mounted on a chair, a short, roly-poly ragamuffin,with bloated, pouter cheeks and squinting, almond eyes, was reading themorning bulletins in such thunderous tones that one readily divinedthe crier of carriages, whose voice had been trained in the battle ofstreet sounds.

  Among those assembled at the tables, she directed her way to where agruff, gaunt man, sunk in a capacious redingote, was heralding herapproach with a look of welcome.

  "Good morning, Papa Goursac," she said, slipping into a waiting seat."Here's your cockade,--the best, as usual!"

  "There, take your drink," he answered, showing her the glass. He rousedhimself from his attitude of whimsical inspection, turning to her alook that belied the stern voice. "Well, and what luck to-day?"

  "The best," she said, showing him her lightly laden basket.

  "Of course you did not notice the new lodger," said Goursac,scornfully. His bushy eyebrows and looming beak seemed so grim thatNicole with difficulty suppressed a laugh.

  "Indeed," she said, pretending ignorance to plague him, "is there a newlodger?"

  "Yes, but he's a doctor, old as I am, so he'll not interest you."

  "What a bad humor you are in," she said, enjoying his wrath. "As thoughyou did not interest me!"

  "You know what I mean."

  Aware of his suspicious scrutiny, she continued. "What a pity! Whycouldn't he have been a young fellow? Ah, mon Dieu, what time is it?"

  "Why do you want to know?" growled Goursac. "Whom are you going tomeet?"

  "The old doctor, of course," she answered, laughing as she escaped.

  As she passed in front, the ragamuffin was still roaring the news.

  "Heavens, Jambony," she cried, "there is no need to let the foreignersknow what is taking place!"

  "Citoyenne, you exaggerate," the carriage-crier answered; "I am onlywhispering."

  "Then, my dear Jambony, just think your thoughts. I am sure they willbe loud enough!"

  In great good humor, she began to work her way in the direction of thewrecked Bastille, and perhaps from the very elevation of her spirits,good luck quickly emptied her basket. Thus freed, she lapsed into thespectator, flattening her nose against the shop-windows or driftinglazily from knot to knot of discussion.

  All at once, when she was wandering from the thoroughfares among atangle of silent, murky alleys, a child's scream brought her to anattentive halt. The cries redoubled. Without a thought of personaldanger, she plunged recklessly down the alley in the direction of theappeals. Under the bulging shadow of a balcony a girl was struggling inthe clutches of a mountebank, while, from a box on the ground, a monkeywas adding its shrill chatter to the broil.

  At Nicole's charge the man released the girl with an oath and sprangback against the wall. At the sight of the shriveled-parchment face andthe familiar leer Nicole burst out, in astonishment:

  "Ah, Cramoisin, I might have known it was you!" She replaced in herbelt the knife she had drawn, facing him with the whips of her scorn.

  "Women are too strong for you, then! You must match your strength withchildren. Bravo! my brave fellow, you are the victor at last. Waituntil I sing your praises. You shall become famous, tamer of children!"

  "Vixen!" shrieked the mountebank, stung to words by her gadding. Heshook a lean fist at her, crying, "Thy turn'll come!"

  "And I who thought you were pining away for love of me!" she continuedmercilessly. "Fickle Cramoisin! There, be off, be off, do you hear, orI shall be tempted to chastise you!"

  Cramoisin, not disdaining the offer of retreat, slung his mountebank'sbox on his back and scurried off, the ape on his shoulder chatteringback at them with communicated fear.

  Nicole turned. A slip of a girl, half child, half savage, was regardingher from round, wolfish eyes, shrinking against the wall. "There,there, ma petite," she said, "there is nothing to cry about. ThatCramoisin is as weak as a leaf; you could have pushed him over with afinger. And your knife?"

  The girl, still sobbing, shook her head.

  "Heavens! child, you are not fit to be abroad. There, stop crying, Itell you. I do not like to hear it." But perceiving that the girl wasthoroughly unnerved, she abandoned her note of command, and, envelopingher with her arm, said gently: "Come, mon enfant, I promise you thereis nothing more to fear. Cramoisin is as much afraid of me as the fatLouis of the Citoyen Marat. I'll take you under my protection. You arenothing but a child; no wonder the brute has frightened you. Come,what's your name?"

  "Genevieve."

  "How old?"

  "Fifteen."

  "But that is almost a woman! Why, I am but eighteen. One must be gay,that is all, and have a bit of a temper."

  Seeing that the girl was recovering, she continued for a while herlight tone. "And where do you live?"

  "38 Rue Maugout."

  "Impossible! Since when?"

  "Two months."

  "How curious! And I have never noticed you."

  "I am not very big."

  "Bah, you are big enough and old enough, only you need some hints.See there!" With a deft hand she drew in the dress over the hips andloosened it at the throat. "You have really a good figure, but youdon't know it. You must be coquette before you can be a woman. Infuture I'll keep an eye on you. Where do you sleep?"

  "In the cellar."

  "I thought so. Sleep with me to-night, then; there's room enough. Allright now? I must be going."

  Genevieve caught her hand and covered it with kisses.

  "There, kiss my cheek," Nicole said, affected by her display ofgratitude. "What a baby! You shall stay with me. Until to-night, then."

  All at once she remembered her engagement, and on the moment,forgetting the new partnership so lightly contracted, she hurried away,with such good will that she arrived exactly on time. As this was notto her liking, she screened herself in the crowd, seeking Barabant. Shefound him soon, approaching, still immersed in his projected articleand betraying his preoccupation by such scowls and sudden gestures thatthe passers-by would have taken him for demented had not the spectaclebeen one familiar to their eyes.

  "Ah, mon Dieu!" Nicole said to herself, "I thought I'd found a man, andhe turns out a philosopher. Also, he does not seem very much occupiedin looking for me!"

  She stepped forward to meet him, saying mischievously: "Well, have yousettled the affairs of the nation? What furor on an empty stomach,Citoyen Eugene!"

  Barabant returned to earth quickly, not a little ashamed at the flightsof his imagination, and his laugh betrayed his discomfiture as he said:

  "It helps one to forget the vacancy."

  Nicole leading the way, they hurried through the thronged streets,scenting at every step the inviting odor of soups and stews, until theyarrived at a large tavern, or brasserie, around which was a thick crowdstruggling for admission.

  "Have you heard of Santerre?" Nicole said. "A very wise man who hasdiscovered that the seat of popularity lies in the stomach."

  "The Romans placed all the affections there."

  "Ah, you've had an education," Nicole said, with a new respect."There's Santerre."

  Before the entrance a huge mass of a man, boisterous in his hospitalityand his laughter, was distributing enormous hand-shakes.

  Nicole saluted him with evident familiarity.

  "I have brought you a patriot to dinner, citoyen!"

  Santerre winced a bit and grumbled:

  "Eh, Nicole, and you have brought yourself along."

  "Vive Santerre!" the girl cried, with a laugh. "Citoyen Barabant hasjust arrived, and the first thing he asked was to see the famous leaderof the Faubourg St. Antoine."

  "At lunch-time, of course," said Santerre, with a shrug. "Pass in andeat."

  Nicole seized Barabant by the hand and entered the restaurant, alreadycrowded with the self-invited guests of the leader's ready hospitality.They found a corner table and settled down to a quiet inspection of thenoisy room.

  Masons, carters, and laborers preponderated, while a smattering ofyoung lawyers and journalists circulated from table to table, withready hand-shakes, to take up the conversation or clink a glass intoasts to the dozen subjects most in favor. Above the din of plates andcutlery, cutting the hum of voices, the toasts emerged sharply.

  "To the Bonnets Rouges!"

  "To the good Sans-Culottes!"

  "A bas les Tyrans!"

  "Vive la Constitution!"

  "Vive Santerre!"

  "Long life to our host!"

  At times the Carmagnole, at times some popular ballad of the day, wouldstart from a corner, and gathering headway, would gradually run throughthe noise of the room until, absorbing all other sounds, it ended in agale. Whereupon there would be a clatter of knives and glass, shouts of"Bravo!" laughter, and more drinking.

  Barabant was too susceptible a nature not to respond to the magnetismof such surroundings. His look regained all its ardor of the morning,until Nicole regarded him with a new interest. He had the long, narrowforehead of the period, marked with thoughtfulness and curiosity. Thenose was high-bridged, the nostrils were sensitive and dilating withemotion. The gray eyes were shrewd, kind, gay, and noting, with themobility and charm of the enthusiast, but, in their repose, withoutthat impress of authority and earnestness of purpose which give to theman of imagination the genius of leadership.

  "Come, citoyen," Nicole said, at the end of her inspection, "tell mesomething about yourself. I am filled with curiosity."

  "Ma foi, Nicole," Barabant answered, "it's not much. I was atFontainebleau; I'm now in Paris. I had an uncle who disapproved of myideas; he showed me the door, I declared his goods confiscate, andhere I am, not a bit depressed,--with but one debt," he added as anafterthought.

  "Debts are aristocratic; renounce them."

  "The trouble is, I can't rid myself of the creditor, though I pay himover and over."

  Nicole raised her glance in surprise, but Barabant added, smiling, "Itis my stomach, and a persistent creditor he is."

  Nicole laughed gaily. "There, touch hands," she cried. "You are thephilosopher." Persisting in her inquiry, she continued encouragingly:"You have a father?"

  Barabant smiled. "And a mother, too. And now no more questions, Nicole,for I shall refuse them."

  She drew back with a little movement of pique, but yielding to hernatural moods, she lifted her eyebrows and, with her charming smile,said with frankness:

  "Ah, you are legitimate, then. I have only a mother; that is to say, Ihad. She is dead now. I don't remember her. God rest her soul."

  A little movement of superstition passed over her face and she crossedherself. "My father was a sergeant of the line, so they tell me." Shethrew out the palms of her hands. "Who knows? It might as well be arag-picker, or a prince, for all the good it does me."

  "Diable!" Barabant exclaimed, regarding her more closely. "You don'tseem to be cast down."

  "Oh, no; it's only this year I've been by myself. I was brought up bymy aunt--Aunt Berthe. What a woman!" She shook her head grimly. "When Icame in late she beat me,--oh, but solidly, firmly." She grimaced and,with the instinct of acting that is of the people, drew her hand acrossher shoulder, as though still smarting under the sting. "And do youknow how it ended?"

  "Well, how?"

  "It ended by my taking the cane from her one night and laying it overher. Oh, such a beating! I was striking for old scores. Aie! aie! Afterthat, you understand, I couldn't return."

  "I understand."

  "So I took a room next to Louison."

  Barabant raised his eyebrows in question.

  "Louison? She's a comrade. You will see her." She stopped. "We aregood friends, only I--well--I don't know." Nicole, who conversedabundantly with her shoulders, raised them again. "When you're rich youcan choose; but with us, we take what's nearest. We must have some oneto gossip with, to weep with, to laugh with, to confide a little in,and so we take what we can get. That's how it is." Suddenly she haltedsuspiciously. "Are you a patriot?" she asked point-blank.

  "You'd have thought so last night." Barabant, remembering the drubbinghe had escaped the night before, grinned and nodded. At his descriptionof the cafe Nicole showed great interest.

  "You said that, and escaped with your life from that den ofaristocrats!" she exclaimed, in horror, for she had the popular ideathat aristocrats were ogres and inhuman monsters. At the first wordsdescriptive of his rescue she cried:

  "Dossonville; beyond a doubt, Dossonville!"

  "What, do you know him?" said Barabant. "Who and what is he?"

  "Now you have asked me a question. What is Dossonville?" Suddenly shebecame serious. "He is a mystery to me and to more than me. Frankly, Ido not know his party, and don't believe any one else does. He is hereand there, with the patriots one moment and the court the next; butwhether he is acting for one side or for neither, no one knows. And herescued you!" She meditated a moment. "That sounds like a patriot; butthen, what was he doing in such a place?"

  The crowd became more boisterous as the wine-jugs grew lighter; seeingwhich, Nicole rose and made a sign to him to follow. In the front roomshe stopped before a vat on which, his huge body astride, Santerre wasbandying jests with the crowd. Nicole, approaching, whispered:

  "Is it for to-night?"

  The brewer affected not to understand her.

  "Look here, my big fellow," she said, with the familiarity of the day,"do you want me to cry it from the housetops? Will you understand menow?"

  "I don't know when it is to be, or if it will ever be." He sank hisvoice. "The leaders are wavering; only the tocsin can tell."

  "We assemble by sections?"

  Santerre nodded.

  Nicole, only half satisfied, turned away.

  Barabant, who had overheard enough to form a conjecture, kept hiscounsel; but Nicole, approving his discretion, imparted the information.

  "They say we are to storm the Tuileries. But every one hangs back. Theyare in a panic at the last moment."

  "Why, it is folly; think of the National Guard!" Barabant exclaimed.

  "I see well you have just arrived. The National Guard, indeed! We arethe National Guard. It is only the Swiss we have to fear."

  They had gained the right bank of the Seine, and paused from time totime to watch the water-carriers filling their casks in the river, andthe loiterers angling sleepily in the shadow of the boats.

  Barabant, despite the fires of patriotic fervor, had for some timeforgotten his mission in the contemplation of the fresh cheeks and thefree carriage of his companion, more and more beguiled from his taskof righting the wrongs of the nation by this gipsy of the streets whotraversed the rough paths of fortune with such perfect bonhomie.

  Nicole, happening to look up, met an unmistakable fixture of gaze,and divined the workings of his mind. She withdrew slightly and saidreprovingly: "Not too fast, Citoyen Barabant; we are not in theprovinces."

  Barabant defended himself.

  "My dear Nicole, I have committed no offense. I have done nothing butwish. Judge my acts; my thoughts are not offenses."

  "You are not slow at an answer, citoyen," said Nicole, amused. "There,take my hand if you wish. Only, not too fast."

  He took her hand, and together they went joyfully through Paris,laughing like two children of the people.

  "Barabant, I like you," she said from time to time. "You are a goodfellow." Once she added naively, "You know, all the same, it is lonelyat times." Then, with a laugh, "Allons, comrade!"

  She led him through the boulevards, pointing out celebrities atevery step, showing him the cafes, Feuillantes or Jacobin. They wereconstantly halted by the sudden assembly of a crowd to listen to somesinger perched on a chair above their shoulders, intoning his ballads.

  Presently Nicole said: "Barabant, do you not feel something in theatmosphere--something extraordinary?"

  He sharpened his wits and gradually began to distinguish currentsin the crowd, and it seemed to him that there was some subtlecommunication by furtive glances of inquiry and nods of intelligence.

  "I believe it will be for to-night," she whispered.

  He felt in her hand something nervous and exalted.

  "Were you at the taking of the Bastille?" he asked.

  "Yes. Wait till you see the women of Paris!" Her eyes grew large asthey lost themselves in recollection. Then suddenly she added: "But youhaven't seen the gardens of the Palais Royal, and the tree of the greencockades from which Desmoulins called us to arms!"

  Leading him into the historic garden, she showed him the chestnut-treesurrounded by a crowd of curious seekers, many of whom snatched up theleaves for mementos.

  Everywhere were swarms of children, shrieking high, shrill notes,running and leaping, dodging in and out of the most sedate groups, andstopping occasionally to mimic the swollen front and bombastic armof the hundred and one orators about whom swirled a hundred and oneeddies. Newsboys, racing ahead of their competitors, cried hoarselythe latest bulletins; while in their wake improvised orators mountedon tables and announced the news amid a gale of comments. Throughthe throng a score of flower-girls twisted their way, calling theirpatriotic cockades, nodding familiarly to Nicole, who from all sidesreceived salutations of deputies and orators.

  "You are well known," said Barabant, surprised at the range of heracquaintance.

  "Pardi, I should hope so," she answered, with a proud toss of herhead. "Bouquetieres are useful. We go everywhere, see everything. Weare the scouts of the Republic. I have influence, Barabant; I'll pushyou ahead," she added, with a determined nod. "Can you speak from thetribune?"

  "I have done so."

  "Good. You must go to the club. Speak out. Do not be afraid. I adorefire and spirit!" She looked at him critically. "You have the eyes andthe lips of the orator. Yes, I'm sure you can speak."

  Barabant thrilled at the inspiration in her eyes, and some of thefierce, exulting spirit, the unconquerable gaiety and daring of thisgamine, passed swiftly into his soul. Filled with the bombastic daringand sublime confidence of the patriot, he cried: "Give me the chance;give but the chance! They shall hear me--and listen!"

  Nicole had a wild impulse to embrace him, but, restraining herenthusiasm, she contented herself with passing from his hand to his arm.

  "How old are you?" she asked all at once.

  "I am twenty-four," Barabant said, with importance.

  "Why, you are a child."

  "Camille Desmoulins is not thirty."

  "True."

  "And what is six years?"

  "I hadn't thought of it," admitted Nicole. "I am eighteen; but in Parisat eighteen there is not much unlearned. Allons, les enfants." She drewup to his side, hanging a little on his arm. "Barabant, you are a luckyfellow," she said mischievously.

  Barabant, who perfectly understood her allusion to mean lucky inmeeting her, drew her closer as they elbowed their way out of thethrong. He bent his head to scrutinize her, while Nicole not tooconsciously accepted the gaze, confident in herself: she was young andshe was a Parisian. Her features were rather saucy than regular; herfigure, though full and graceful, was perhaps too perfect for eighteen,when a certain slenderness is a future guaranty. But the eyes of theyoung man do not look into the future. Barabant saw only--giving colorto her cheeks, a glow to the eye, and a spring to the foot--that bloomwhich is of youth and which speaks of eagerness and impatience toembrace life.

  Suddenly Nicole, seeking an interruption to this scrutiny, which,though delightful, had become embarrassing, exclaimed, "There's Louisonnow." She made a movement as though to free her arm, immediatelychecking it.

  Barabant, looking up, beheld the high eyebrows, the starting eyes, andthe curious, thin smile of the flower-girl who had spoken to him thenight before.

  She sent Nicole a greeting from her fingertips, and then perceivingBarabant, she accosted him with a smile of tolerant amusement.

  "Why, it's my little man from the country!" Nodding, she passed, withthe exclamation, "Bien vrai, you don't lose any time!"

  "What, you have already met her?" Nicole exclaimed, disengaging herarm, suddenly quieted and sobered.

  "In the Rue St. Honore, last night."

  A frown, swift as a thunderbolt, passed over Nicole's forehead. Shestopped, extended her hand, and said curtly, "I must go; good day."

  Barabant looked at her in dismay.

  "What has happened? What have I done?"

  She shook her head, and without further explanation disappeared.