Читать книгу The Whites and the Blues - Alexandre Dumas - Страница 25

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On hearing the tumult, which increased as the crowd approached the Hôtel de la Lanterne, Madame Teutch appeared at the door. By the light of the torches with which some of the more enthusiastic were provided, she recognized her two guests and the sergeant-major, Augereau, whom they were bringing back in triumph.

The fear which Tétrell had sown among the populace was bearing its fruits; the harvest was ripe, and he was reaping hatred.

About thirty kind-hearted men proposed to Pierre Augereau that they should watch over the safety of his pupil, thinking it very possible that Tétrell would profit by the darkness to do him an ill turn. But the sergeant-major thanked them, saying that he himself would watch over his young friend's safety, and would answer for him. But, in order to retain the good-will of the people, which might be useful to them later, the sergeant-major thought it would be wise to offer the leaders of the escort a glass of punch, or some hot wine.

No sooner was the proposal made than they proceeded to invade the kitchen of the Lanterne, and to warm the wine, melt the sugar, and mix the beverage. It was midnight when they parted with cries of, "Long live the Republic!" interspersed with hearty handclasps, and strong oaths of alliance defensive and offensive.

But when the last one was gone, when the door was shut behind them, and the shutters closed so carefully that not even a ray of light could escape through them, Augereau grew very grave, and turning to Eugene said: "Now, my young pupil, we must think of your safety."

"What! of my safety? Didn't you just say that I had nothing to fear and that you would answer for my safety?"

"Certainly, I will answer for you, but on the condition that you do what I say."

"And what do you want me to do? I hope you don't intend to suggest some act of cowardice."

"Monsieur le Marquis," said Augereau, "I must have no more of those suspicions, or, by the Republic, you and I will quarrel."

"Come, my good Pierre, don't get angry. What do you want me to do?"

"I have no confidence in a man who disguises himself with a nose like that when it is not carnival time. In the first place, he will not fight."

"Why won't he fight?"

"Because he looks to me like a great coward."

"Yes, but suppose he does fight?"

"If he fights, there is nothing more to say; you risk only a ball or a sword-thrust. But if he doesn't, you risk having your head cut off, and that is what I wish to prevent."

"How?"

"By taking you with me to the barracks of the volunteers of Paris: he won't come after you there, I warrant."

"Hide? Never."

"Tush! My little friend," said the sergeant-major, "don't say such things before Pierre Augereau, whose courage cannot be questioned. No, you will not hide, you will simply wait there. That's all."

"What shall I wait for?"

"Citizen Tétrell's seconds."

"His seconds? He will send them here, and I won't know that they have come, since I won't be here."

"And little Charles? He runs no danger, and what was he put on earth for except to bring us word of what happens? Heavens! what a hard customer you are, and what difficulties you put in a fellow's way."

"And the first thing that happens, no matter how insignificant, you will come to the barracks and tell us, won't you, Charles?"

"I give you my word of honor."

"And now," said Augereau, "to the left!"

"Where are we going?"

"To the barracks."

"Through the court?"

"Through the court."

"And why not by the door?"

"Because if we go by the door some curious fellow might be watching, who would follow us just for fun, to see where we were going; while if we go by the court, I know of a certain little gate that leads to a lane where nothing passes, not even a cat. From lane to lane we will reach the barracks, and no one will know where the turkeys perch."

"You will remember your promise, Charles?"

"Although I am two years younger than you, Eugene, my honor is as good as yours; and, besides, the experiences of to-day have made me feel as old as you. Good-by and sleep well; Augereau will take care of your person and I of your honor."

The two boys clasped hands; and the sergeant-major almost broke Charles's fingers, he shook them so hard; then he drew Eugene out into the court, while Charles, with a slight grimace of pain, tried to separate his fingers. This operation finished, he took his candle and the key to his room as usual, and went upstairs.

But scarcely was he in bed before Madame Teutch entered on tiptoe, making signs to him that she had something important to tell him. The boy understood Madame Teutch's mysterious ways well enough by this time not to be surprised at seeing her, even at this unheard-of hour. She approached his bed, murmuring: "Poor little cherub!"

"Well, citizeness Teutch," asked Charles, laughing, "what is it this time?"

"I must tell you what has happened, even at the risk of alarming you."

"When?"

"While you were at the play."

"Did anything happen then?"

"I should think so! We had a visit."

"From whom?"

"The men who came here before about Ballu and Dumont."

"Well, I suppose they did not find them this time either."

"They did not come for them, my pet."

"For whom did they come, then?"

"They came for you."

"For me? And to what do I owe the honor of their visit?"

"It seems that they are looking for the author of that little note."

"In which I told them to get away as soon as possible?"

"Yes."

"Well?"

"Well, they visited your room, and searched through all your papers."

"That does not alarm me. They found nothing against the Republic."

"No, but they found one act of a tragedy."

"Ah! my tragedy of 'Théramène.'"

"They took it with them."

"The wretches! Fortunately I know it by heart."

"But do you know why they took it with them?"

"Because they found the verses to their taste, I presume."

"No, because they saw that the writing in the note was the same as that of the manuscript."

"Ah! this is getting serious."

"You know the law, my poor child; any one who gives shelter to a suspect, or helps him to escape—"

"Yes; it means death."

"Just hear the poor little fellow; he says that as he would, 'Yes, bread and jam.'"

"I say it thus, dear Madame Teutch, because it cannot possibly affect me."

"What can't affect you?"

"The death penalty."

"Why can't it affect you?"

"Because one must be sixteen years old to aspire to the honor of the guillotine."

"Are you sure, my poor child?"

"I have taken care to inform myself on the point. Besides, yesterday I read on the walls a new decree of citizen Saint-Just, forbidding the execution of any judgment until the account of the trial has been communicated to him, and he has questioned the convicted person. However—"

"What?" asked Madame Teutch.

"Wait. Here, give me some paper, and a pen and ink."

Charles took up a pen, and wrote:

Citizen Saint-Just, I have just been illegally arrested, and, having faith in your justice, I demand to be brought before you.

And he signed it.

"There, Madame Teutch," said he. "It is well to foresee every emergency in these times. If I am arrested, you must send that note to citizen Saint-Just."

"Good Lord! Poor little fellow, if such a mishap should befall you, I promise you to take it myself, and even if I have to wait all night in the anteroom I won't give it to any one but him."

"That is all that is necessary; and on the strength of that, citizeness Teutch, kiss me and sleep well—I will try to do the same."

Madame Teutch kissed her guest, and went away, murmuring: "In God's truth, there are no more children; here is one challenging citizen Tétrell, and the other demanding to be brought before citizen Saint-Just!"

Madame Teutch closed the door. Charles blew out the light and went to sleep.

The next morning, about eight o'clock, he was busy arranging his papers, which were more or less in disorder from the visitation of the previous night, when citizeness Teutch rushed into his room, crying: "Here they are! here they are!"

"Who?" asked Charles.

"The police, who have come to arrest you, poor dear child!"

Charles quickly concealed in the bosom of his shirt the second letter which his father had given him—the one to Pichegru; for he feared that it might be taken from him and not returned.

The police entered and informed the boy of the object of their visit. Charles declared himself ready to follow them.

As he passed the citizeness Teutch, he gave her a look, which signified: "Don't forget!"

She replied by a slight movement of the head, which meant: "Don't be afraid."

The police led the way on foot.

They were obliged to pass before Euloge Schneider's house in order to reach the prison. For a moment Charles thought of asking to be led before the man to whom he had brought a letter of recommendation, and with whom he had dined the day previous; but he saw the guillotine before the door, and near it an empty carriage, while on the doorstep stood Master Nicholas. Remembering what had occurred there, he shook his head in disgust, murmuring as he did so: "Poor Mademoiselle de Brumpt! God help her!"

The boy believed in God; it is true he was but a child.