Robert Tournay Part 44

"I would trust my manager with my life, so I leaned forward to his ear.

'I am Gaillard, hunted, proscribed, but always your old friend Gaillard.

Call me Citizen Michelet.' He gave me a look for which I could have taken him to my heart, there in his bureau, and hugged him.

"'Citizen Michelet,' he said, 'there is a place of a doorkeeper which you can have. The pay is small, fifteen francs the week, but it may suffice your needs.' I knew it was five francs more than old Gaspard received,--the doorkeeper who drank himself to death,--and I took the place gladly. When one is old, my nephew, one does not despise even fifteen francs," and Gaillard looked pathetically into Tournay's face.

"Now I sit every evening at the stage door of the theatre and see the familiar faces pa.s.s in and out. They do not recognize me; but they are beginning to address kindly nods and occasional words to old Michelet.

"I found a vacant room to let on the ground floor of No. 15 Rue des Mathurins, so I took the lodging and live there quietly. I am on the best of terms with the gendarmes, and I talk with them out of my window, where we exchange pinches of snuff and other like civilities."

"My dear friend"--began Tournay.

"You might as well call me uncle," interrupted Gaillard, "to accustom yourself to it, for under this guise I shall visit you again."

"My dear _uncle_, it is like a draught of wine to a thirsty man to hear you talk. It is like a ray of suns.h.i.+ne to see your wrinkled old face."

"I hope to be the ray of suns.h.i.+ne to light you out of this prison," said Gaillard.

"I'm afraid that will be a difficult matter," replied Tournay. "I am not so clever as you in wearing disguises."

"You will wear no disguise," answered Gaillard. "Are you in a cell by yourself?" he asked in the next breath.

"No, strange to say I have a companion, Citizen St. Hilaire."

"That is not so bad; only we shall have to include him in our plans,"

replied Gaillard. "You can trust him?"

"Implicitly."

"When I lean forward over my stick," said Gaillard, "run your hand stealthily up the back of my head under my long hair. Now."

Tournay did as he was bid.

"Do you feel it?"

"I feel something hard, like a little file."

"Good! You could not expect a chest of tools; the jailer searched me thoroughly. Untie that little file from the hair. Can you do it?"

"I think so."

"I tied it quite firmly for fear it would fall out. Do not be afraid of pulling my hair, but do not pull the wig off. You may take both hands,--the turnkey is not paying any attention,--as if you were arranging your old uncle's coat collar."

"I'll have it in a moment. There!"

"Slip this up your sleeve, my colonel. Now a few questions and remarks.

How many bars has your window?"

"Four."

"How long will it take you to file them all?"

Tournay considered. "We could only work in any safety in the middle of the night, perhaps four hours in the twenty-four."

"How long do you think it will take you to cut through the four bars?"

Tournay thought for a moment. "We can work only at intervals in the dead of night," he replied, "so it may take several days."

"Good! In four days I will bring you a rope."

"In G.o.d's name, Gaillard, how can you manage to bring a rope into this place?"

"I am not certain of that point yet, but I shall manage it," was the cool rejoinder.

"My dear Gaillard, I believe you. If you were to promise me to bring a spire of Notre Dame wrapped up in gold paper I should expect to see it at the appointed hour. With a rope in our possession and the bars cut, we can get down the forty feet to the yard beneath. But there is the sentry, and the difficulty of escape from the yard!"

"I will take care of the sentry and the escape," replied Gaillard, "and in four days I shall be here again. Meanwhile cut through the bars so that you can push them out of place at any moment. Attention; here comes the turnkey.

"Good-by, my nephew. Be of good cheer. A good patriot need have no fear," said Gaillard in a quavering voice.

"Good-by, my uncle," rejoined Tournay as he went back to his cell. "I shall see you then next week at the same hour," he called out through the bars of the door.

"Yes."

"Well, then, good-by again. Mind the step. Be careful lest my uncle trip, citizen turnkey; he is old and rather venturesome for one of his years."

CHAPTER XXI

CITIZENESS PRIVAT

"Agatha," said Mademoiselle de Rochefort, "I am going back to Paris."

Agatha turned and looked at her mistress in the greatest surprise.

"Do I understand you, mademoiselle, or am I dreaming? It is impossible that you could have said"--

"I am going back to Paris."

Edme repeated the words quietly, but there was a decision in her manner which Agatha understood full well. She gave a gasp of consternation and sank into a chair, fixing her wide-open eyes upon Edme's face, while she waited to hear more.

Edme was seated in her bedroom in the Castle of Hagenhof. It was evening, and two candles, one upon the dressing-table, the other upon a stand at Agatha's side, gave to the room a mild half-light. The curtains were not yet drawn, and through the large cas.e.m.e.nt the stars gleamed softly.

"During the five months we have lived in absolute quiet and security here at Hagenhof," Edme continued, looking out of the window at the forest of pine trees that stretched away from the castle like a sea of ink, "we have been completely shut off from the world outside, hearing almost nothing of the events taking place there."

"That was your wish, was it not?" asked Agatha as Edme paused.

Mademoiselle de Rochefort did not make any direct reply, but continued speaking as if she was answering her own thoughts, rather than conversing with her maid.