Robert Tournay Part 48

"Are you ready, citizen colonel?"

Tournay gave a quick glance at their window. St. Hilaire rose to a sitting posture.

"Citizen colonel," he said, "will you take my hand at parting?"

Tournay stepped to his bedside. Outwardly calm, the two prisoners clasped hands. Tournay felt the hard substance of steel against his palm.

Giving no sign of his surprise, he shook his head sadly. "It is useless," he said.

"Good-by, citizen colonel," said St. Hilaire carelessly, as one might bid adieu to a chance acquaintance. "I am thinner than you, and I may grow still more so if they keep me here many days longer." He gave an imperceptible glance of the eye in the direction of the window.

The colonel turned away while the file slid up his coat sleeve.

"I am ready, citizen officers," he said.

The two gendarmes preceded him into the corridor. As he stepped over the threshold, Gendarme Pierre caught him quickly by the wrist and the next instant had the file in his own possession.

It was done so adroitly and quickly that Tournay could have offered no resistance even had he been so inclined. The other gendarme was not even aware of what took place.

"I like a clever trick," said Pierre with a chuckle.

"You are quite a magician," was Tournay's rejoinder.

The tall gendarme gave his grim chuckle. "I am called Pierre the prestidigitateur," he said, "though you are yourself fairly adept at palming. What have you been doing with this little plaything?" he continued, as they walked down the corridor.

"You mean 'What did I intend to do with it?' do you not?"

The gendarme examined the file carefully.

"No, I mean what have you been using it on," he said.

Tournay was silent.

"Oh, you need not hesitate to speak; it will be found out."

Tournay shrugged his shoulders, and made no reply.

"Well, you are right," said the gendarme. "It is for us to find out."

And he relapsed into a silence that was not broken until they reached the conciergerie.

"You will hardly escape from this place though you had a whole workshop of tools," he said grimly at parting.

Tournay realized the truth of this statement, for he was now in the most dreaded of all the prisons of Paris, and he knew well what his transfer foreshadowed.

Tournay had no certain means of knowing whether their attempt to cut their way out of the Luxembourg had been discovered; and he still cherished the slight hope that St. Hilaire might be able to escape from the Luxembourg with the a.s.sistance of Gaillard.

Had they both escaped, St. Hilaire and he had formed a daring plan to rescue the Republic from the hands of those who were destroying it. And now, even though it was frustrated, he could not help going over all the details in his mind, although the thought of their complete failure added to his misery.

The news of the arrest of General Hoche had reached Tournay's ears some time before, and although it had caused him great pain to learn of the misfortune that had befallen his chief, he felt that the event would embitter the army, and that they would the more readily give their support to any plan that would of necessity liberate Hoche.

This plan had been made for Tournay to reach the army and enlist the officers in his support; then return to Paris with a sufficient force at his back to destroy the tyrants and overawe that part of the Commune that still idolized them. That would give an opportunity for the cooler and more moderate heads in the convention to come to the front, restore order, and form a stable government based upon the const.i.tution.

St. Hilaire, meanwhile, was to remain in hiding; but the first approach of the national troops and the first blast of the counter-revolution was to be the signal for him to appear in the faubourgs, supported by all the followers he could muster, armed with all the eloquence he could command, to move the people to action, and fan to white heat the flame of opposition to the Terrorists which was already smouldering on every side.

But now all the fabric of the carefully spun scheme had been blown roughly aside by one puff of adverse wind.

Once in the conciergerie, a prisoner was not kept in uncertainty for any length of time. The next day after his transfer Tournay was summoned for trial. At first he attempted to defend himself with all the eloquence which the justice of his case called forth. All the fire of his nature was aroused, and as he spoke the attention of the crowded court room was held as if by a spell. Murmurs of applause rose from the mult.i.tude, even among those who had come in the hope of seeing him judged guilty.

But upon his judges he made no visible effect. They refused to call his witnesses. They suppressed the applause, and cutting short his defense hastened to conclude his trial. Tournay saw the futility of his defense.

He read the verdict in the eyes of the judges, and sat down.

After the verdict had been given he was taken back to the conciergerie, "sentenced to die within eight and forty hours."

"Oh, for a month of freedom!" he cried inwardly, as he reentered the prison. "For one short month of liberty! After that time had pa.s.sed I would submit to any death uncomplainingly."

Withdrawing to the further end of the corridor where he was permitted to walk for a short time, he sat down by a rough table where some of the lighter-hearted prisoners had, in earlier days, beguiled the time at cards. Here he rested his head upon his arm and sat motionless.

Then his thoughts returned to Edme, or rather continued to dwell upon her, for no matter what he did or spoke or thought, no matter how absorbing the occupation of the hour, she was always in his mind, the consciousness of her presence was ever in his heart.

"Oh, for one little month of liberty," he cried aloud, "to make one attempt to rescue France, and to see you, Edme, once again!" He rose from his seat with a gesture of despair, and turning, saw her standing there before him. He stood in silence, looking at her as if she were the creation of his fancy, stepped for a moment from the shadow of the gray walls to melt into nothingness, should he, by speaking, break the spell.

She came toward him, putting her finger to her lips as a sign of caution. "Speak low," she whispered, "lest they hear you!"

"Mademoiselle de Rochefort," he replied in a low voice, "is this really you? In G.o.d's name tell me how you come to be here?"

"I have come to you," she answered simply, putting her hands in his.

"When I heard that you had been arrested and put in prison, I knew that I should come and find you. You see all France was not wide enough to keep me from you."

"Then you are not a prisoner?" he exclaimed joyfully.

"No, I came in of my own free will. No one suspects who I am."

"Merciful G.o.d, do you know the risk you run? Why have you done this?"

"Have you not risked your life more than once for my sake? Did you think that Edme de Rochefort would do less for you?"

"Edme!"

For a moment the prison walls vanished. His shattered plans were forgotten. The redemption of the Republic became as nothing; he only knew that Edme de Rochefort had proved beyond all human doubt her love for him, and that it was her loyal, loving heart he could feel throbbing, as he pressed her to his breast.

Only for a moment, then the full realization of the terrible risk she ran smote him with redoubled force. He turned pale. She had never seen him so deadly white before, and it frightened her.

"Hush," he whispered before she could speak, and stepping cautiously to the grated door he peered out between the bars. As far as the elbow of the corridor, he could see no one. With a sigh of relief he came back to her. His fears for her safety restored the activity of his mind.

"It is dangerous for you to go about the city. The merest accident, the slightest inquiry in regard to you might lead to your detection."

"I will be very careful," she replied submissively.