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I Will Repay

B >> Baroness Emmuska Orczy >> I Will Repay




As Déroulède emerged into the open, the light from a swinging lantern in
the doorway fell upon his face. The foremost of the crowd recognised
him; a howl of execration went up to the cloud-covered sky, and a
hundred hands were thrust out in deadly menace against him.

It seemed as if they whished to tear him to pieces.

"_A la lanterne! A la lanterne! le traître!_"

He shivered slightly, as if with the sudden blast of cold, humid air,
but he stepped quietly into the cart, closely followed by Juliette.

The strong escort of the National Guard, with Commandant Santerre and
his two drummers, had much ado to keep back the mob. It was not the
policy of the revolutionary government to allow excesses of summary
justice in the streets: the public execution of traitors on the Place
de la Révolution, the processions in the tumbrils, were thought to be
wholesome examples for other would-be traitors to mark and digest.

Citizen Santerre, military commandant of Paris, had ordered his men to
use their bayonets ruthlessly, and, to further overawe the populace, he
ordered a prolonged roll of drums, lest Déroulède took it into his head to
speak to the crowd.

But Déroulède had no such intention: he seemed chiefly concerned in
shielding Juliette from the cold; she had been made to sit in the cart
beside him, and he had taken off his coat, and was wrapping it round
her against the penetrating rain.

The eye-witnesses of these memorable events have declared that, at a
given moment, he looked up suddenly with a curious, eager expression in
his eyes, and then raised himself in the cart and seemed to be trying
to penetrate the gloom round him, as if in search of a face, or perhaps
a voice.

"_A la lanterne! A la lanterne!_" was the continual hoarse cry of the
mob.

Up to now, flanked in their rear by the outer walls of the Palais de
Justice, the soldiers had found it a fairly easy task to keep the crowd
at bay. But there came a time when the cart was bound to move out into
the open, in order to convey the prisoners along, by the Rue du Palais,
up to the Luxembourg Prison.

This task, however, had become more and more difficult every moment.
The people of Paris, who for two years had been told by its tyrants
that it was supreme lord of the universe, was mad with rage at seeing
its desires frustrated by a few soldiers.

The drums had been greeted by terrific yells, which effectually drowned
their roll; the first movement of the cart was hailed by a veritable
tumult.

Only the women who squatted round the gallows had not moved from their
position of vantage; one of these Mægæras was quietly readjusting
the rope, which had got out of place.

But all the men and some of the women were literally besieging the
cart, and threatening the soldiers, who stood between them and the
object of their fury.

It seemed as if nothing now could save Déroulède and Juliette from an
immediate and horrible death.

"_A mort! A mort! A la lanterne les traîtres!_"

Santerne himself, who had shouted himself hoarse, was at a loss what to
do. He had sent one man to the nearest cavalry barracks, but
reinforcements would still be some little time coming; whilst in the
meanwhile his men were getting exhausted, and the mob, more and more
excited, threatened to break through their line at every moment.

There was not another second to be lost.

Santerre was for letting the mob have its way, and he would willingly
have thrown it the prey for which it clamoured; but orders were orders,
and in the year I. of the Revolution it was not good to disobey.

At this supreme moment of perplexity he suddenly felt a respectful
touch on his arm.

Close behind him a soldier of the National Guard - not one of his own
men - was standing at attention, and holding a small, folded paper in
his hand.

"Sent to you by the Minister of Justice," whispered the soldier
hurriedly. "The citizen-deputies have watched the tumult from the
Hall; they say, you must not lose an instant."

Santerre withdrew from the front rank, up against the side of the cart,
where a rough stable lantern had been fixed. He took the paper from
the soldier's hand, and, hastily tearing it open, he read it by the dim
light of the lantern.

As he read, his thick, coarse features expressed the keenest
satisfaction.

"You have two more men with you?" he asked quickly.

"Yes, citizen," replied the man, pointing towards his right; "and the
Citizen-Minister said you would give me two more."

"You'll take the prisoners quietly across to the Prison of the Temple -
you understand that?"

"Yes, citizen; Citizen Merlin has given me full instructions. You can
have the cart drawn back a little more under the shadow of the portico,
where the prisoners can be made to alight; they can then given into my
charge. You in the meantime are to stay here with your men, round the
empty cart, as long as you can. Reinforcements have been sent for, and
must soon be here. When they arrive you are to move along with the
cart, as if you were making for the Luxembourg Prison. This manoeuvre
will give us time to deliver the prisoners safely at the Temple."

The man spoke hurriedly and peremptorily, and Santerne was only too
ready to obey. He felt relieved at thought of reinforcements, and glad
to be rid of the responsibility of conducting such troublesome
prisoners.

The thick mist, which grew more and more dense, favoured the new
mamoeuvre, and the constant roll of drums drowned the hastily given
orders.

The cart was drawn back into the deepest shadow of the great portico,
and whilst the mob were howling their loudest, and yelling out frantic
demands for the traitors, Déroulède and Juliette were summarily ordered to
step out of the cart. No one saw them, for the darkness here was
intense.

"Follow quietly!" whispered a raucous voice in their ears as they did
so, "or my orders are to shoot you where you stand."

But neither of them had any wish for resistance. Juliette, cold and
numb, was clinging to Déroulède, who had placed a protecting arm round her.

Santerne had told off two of his men to join the new escort of the
prisoners, and presently the small party, skirting the walls of the
Palais de Justice, began to walk rapidly away from the scene of the
riot.

Déroulède noted that some half-dozen men seemed to be surrounding him and
Juliette, but the drizzling rain blurred every outline. The blackness
of the night too had become absolutely dense, and in the distance the
cries of the populace grew more and more faint.





CHAPTER XXVIII

The unexpected.


The small party walked on in silence. It seemed to consist of a very
few men of the National Guard, whom Santerne had placed under the
command of the soldier who had transmitted to him the orders of the
Citizen-Deputies.

Juliette and Déroulède both vaguely wondered whither they were being led;
to some other prison mayhap, away from the fury of the populace. They
were conscious of a sense of satisfaction at thought of being freed
from that pack of raging wild beasts.

Beyond that they cared nothing. Both felt already the shadow of death
hovering over them. The supreme moment of their lives had come, and
had found them side by side.

What neither fear nor remorse, sorrow nor joy, could do, that the great
and mighty Shadow accomplished in a trice.

Juliette, looking death bravely in the face, held out her hand, and
sought that of the man she loved.

There was not one word spoken between them, not even a murmur.

Déroulède , with the unerring instinct of hs own unselfish passion,
understood all that the tiny hand wished to convey to him.

In a moment everything was forgotten save the joy of this touch.
Death, or the fear of death, had ceased to exist. Life was beautiful,
and in the soul of these two human creatures there was perfect peace,
almost perfect happiness.

With one grasp of the hand they had sought and found one another's
soul. What mattered the yelling crowd, the noise and tumult of this
sordid world? They had found one another, and, hand-in-hand,
shoulder-to-shoulder, they had gone off wandering into the land of
dreams, where dwelt neither doubt nor treachery, where there was
nothing to forgive.

He no longer said: "She does not love me - would she have betrayed me
else?" He felt the clinging, trustful touch of her hand, and knew
that, with all her faults, her great sin and her lasting sorrow, her
woman's heart, Heaven's most priceless treasure, was indeed truly his.

And she knew that he had forgiven - nay, that he had naught to forgive
- for Love is sweet and tender, and judges not. Love is Love - whole,
trustful, passionate. Love is perfect understanding and perfect peace.

And so they followed their escort whithersoever it chose to lead them.

Their eyes wandered aimlessly over the mist-laden landscape of this
portion of deserted Paris. They had turned away from the river now,
and were following the Rue des Arts. Close by on the right was the
dismal little hostelry, "La Cruche Cassée," where Sir Percy Blakeney
lived. Déroulède, as they neared the place, caught himself vaguely
wondering what had become of his English friend.

But it would take more than the ingenuity of the Scarlet Pimpernel to
get two noted prisoners out of Paris to-day. Even if...

"Halt!"

The word of command rang out clearly and distinctly through the
rain-soaked atmosphere.

Déroulède threw up his head and listened. Something strange and
unaccountable in that same word of command had struck his sensitive ear.

Yet the party had halted, and there was a click as of bayonets or
muskets levelled ready to fire.

All had happened in less than a few seconds. The next moment there was
a loud cry:

"_A moi,_ Déroulède! 'tis the Scarlet Pimpernel!"

A vigorous blow from an unseen hand had knocked down and extinguished
the nearest street lantern.

Déroulède felt that he and Juliette were being hastily dragged under an
adjoining doorway even as the cheery voice echoed along the narrow
street.

Half-a-dozen men were struggling below in the mud, and there was a
plentiful supply of honest English oaths. It looked as if the men of
the National Guard had fallen upon one another, and had it not been for
those same English oaths perhaps Déroulède and Juliette would have been
slower to understand.

"Well done, Tony! Gadzooks, Ffoulkes, that was a smart bit of work!"

The lazy, pleasant voice was unmistakable, but, God in heaven! where
did it come from?

Of one thing there could be no doubt. The two men despatched by
Santerne were lying disabled on the ground, whilst three other soldiers
were busy pinioning them with ropes.

What did it all mean?

"La, friend Déroulède! you had not thought, I trust, that I would leave
Mademoiselle Juliette in such a demmed, uncomfortable hole?"

And there, close beside Déroulède and Juliette, stood the tall figure of
the Jacobin orator, the bloodthirsty Citizen Lenoir. The two young
people gazed and gazed, then looked again, dumfounded, hardly daring to
trust their vision, for through the grime-covered mask of the gigantic
coal-heaver a pair of merry blue eyes was regarding them with
lazy-amusement.

"La! I do look a miserable object, I know," said the pseudo
coal-heaver at last, "but 'twas the only way to get those murderous
devils to do what I wanted. A thousand pardons, mademoiselle; 'twas I
brought you to such a terrible pass, but la! you are amongst friends
now. Will you deign to forgive me?"

Juliette looked up. Her great, earnest eyes, now swimming in tears,
sought those of the brave man who had so nobly stood by her and the man
she loved.

"Blakeney..." began Déroulède.

But Sir Percy quickly interrupted him:

"Hush, man! we have but a few moments. Remember your are in Paris
still, and the Lord only knows how we shall all get out of this
murderous city to-night. I have said that you and mademoiselle are
among friends. That is all for the moment. I had to get you together
, or I should have failed. I could only succeed by subjecting you and
mademoiselle to terrible indignities. Our League could plan but one
rescue, and I had to adopt the best means at my command to have you
condemned and led away together. Faith!" he added, with a pleasant
laugh, "my friend Tinville will not be pleased when he realises that
Citizen Lenoir has dragged the Citizen-Deputies by the nose."

Whilst he spoke he had led Déroulède and Juliette into a dark and narrow
room on the ground floor of the hostelry, and presently he called
loudly for Brogard, the host of this uninviting abode.

"Brogard!" shouted Sir Percy. "Where is that ass Brogard? La! man,"
he added as Citizen Brogard, obsequious and fussy, and with pockets
stuffed with English gold, came shuffling along, "where do you hide
your engaging countenance? Here! another length of rope for the
gallant soldiers. Bring them in here, then give them that potion down
their throats, as I have prescribed. Demm it! I wish we need not have
brought them along, but that devil Santerre might have been suspicious
else. They'll come to no harm, though, and can do us no mischief."

He prattled along merrily. Innately kind and chivalrous, he wished to
give Déroulède and Juliette time to recover from their dazed surprise.

The transition from dull despair to buoyant hope had been so sudden: it
had all happened in less than three minutes.

The scuffle had been short and sudden outside. The two soldiers of
Santerne had been taken completely unawares, and the three young
lieutenants of the Scarlet Pimpernel had fallen on them with such
vigour that they had hardly had time to utter a cry of "Help!"

Moreover, that cry would have been useless. The night was dark and
wet, and those citizens who felt ready for excitement were busy mobbing
the Hall of Justice, a mile and a half away. One or two heads had
appeared at the smal windows of the squalid houses opposite, out it was
too dark to see anything, and the scuffle had very quickly subsided.

All was silent now in the Rue des Arts, and in the grimy coffee-room of
the Cruche Cassée two soldiers of the National Guard were lying bound and
gagged, whilst three others were gaily laughing, and wiping their
rain-soaked hand and faces.

In the midst of them all stood the tall, athletic figure of the bold
adventurer who had planned this impudent coup.

"La! we've got so far, friends, haven't we?" he said cheerily, "and
now for the immediate future. We must all be out of Paris to-night, or
the guillotine for the lot of us to-morrow."

He spoke gaily, and with that pleasant drawl of his which was so well
known in the fashionable assemblies of London; but there was a ring of
earnestness in his voice, and his lieutenants looked up at him, ready
to obey him in all things, but aware that danger was looming
threateningly ahead.

Lord Anthony Dewhurst, Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, and Lord Hastings, dressed
as soldiers of the National Guard, had played their part to perfection.
Lord Hastings had presented the order to Santerre, and the three young
bucks, at the word of command from their chief, had fallen upon and
overpowered the two men whom the commandant of Paris had despatched to
look after the prisoners.

So far all was well. But how to get out of Paris? Everyone looked to
the Scarlet Pimpernel for guidance.

Sir Percy now turned to Juliette, and with the consummate grace which
the elaborate etiquette of the times demanded, he made her a courtly
bow.

"Mademoiselle de Marny," he said, "allow me to conduct you to a room,
which though unworthy of your presence will, nevertheless, enable you
to rest quietly for a few minutes, whilst I give my friend Déroulède
further advice and instructions. In the room you will find a disguise,
which I pray you to don with all haste. La! they are filthy rags, I
own, but your life and - and ours depend upon your help."

Gallantly he kissed the tips of her fingers, and opened the door of an
adjoining room to enable her to pass through; then he stood aside, so
that her final look, as she went, might be for Déroulède.

As soon as the door had closed upon her he once more turned to the men.

"Those uniforms will not do now," he said peremptorily; "there are
bundles of abominable clothes here, Tony. Will you all don them as
quickly as you can? We must all look as filthy a band of
_sansculottes_ to-night as ever walked the streets of Paris."

His lazy drawl had deserted him now. He was the man of action and of
thought, the bold adventurer who held the lives of his friends in the
hollow of his hand.

The four men hastily obeyed. Lord Anthony Dewhurst - one of the most
elegant dandies of London society - had brought forth from a dank
cupboard a bundle of clothes, mere rags, filthy but useful.

Within ten minutes the change was accomplished, and four dirty, slouchy
figures stood confronting their chief.

"That's capital!" said Sir Percy merrily.

"Now for Mademoiselle de Marny."

Hardly had he spoken when the door of the adjoining room was pushed
open, and a horrible apparition stood before the men. A woman in
filthy bodice and skirt, with face covered in grime, her yellow hair,
matted and greasy, thrust under a dirty and crumpled cap.

A shout of rapturous delight greeted this uncanny apparition.

Juliette, like the true woman she was, had found all her energy and
spirits now that she felt that she had an important part to play. She
woke from her dream to realise that noble friends had risked their
lives for the man she loved and for her.

Of herself she did not think; she only remembered that her presence of
mind, her physical and mental strength, would be needed to carry the
rescue to a successful end.

Therefore with the rags of a Paris _tricotteuse_ she had also donned
her personality. She played her part valiantly, and one look at the
perfection of her disguise was sufficient to assure the leader of this
band of heroes that his instructions would be carried through to the
letter.

Déroulède too now looked the ragged _sansculotte_ to the life, with bare
and muddy feet, frayed breeches, and shabby, black-shag spencer. The
four men stood waiting together with Juliette, whilst Sir Percy gave
them his final instructions.

"We'll mix with the crowd," he said, "and do all that the crowd does.
It is for us to see that that unruly crowd does what we want.
Mademoiselle de Marny, a thousand congratulations. I entreat you to
take hold of my friend Déroulède's hand, and not to let go of it, on any
pretext whatever. La! not a difficult task, I ween," he added, with
his genial smile; "and yours, Déroulède, is equally easy. I enjoin you to
take charge of Mademoiselle Juliette, and on no account to leave her
side until we are out of Paris."

"Out of Paris!" echoed Déroulède, with a troubled sigh.

"Aye!" rejoined Sir Percy boldly; "out of Paris! with a howling mob at
our heels causing the authorities to take double precautions. And
above all remember, friends, that our rallying cry is the shrill call
of the sea-mew thrice repeated. Follow it until you are outside the
gates of Paris. Once there, listen for it again; it will lead you to
freedom and safety at last. Aye! Outside Paris, by the grace of God."

The hearts of his hearers thrilled as they heard him. Who could help
but follow this brave and gallant adventurer, with the magic voice and
the noble bearing?

"And now _en route!" said Blakeney finally, "that ass Santerre will
have dispersed the pack of yelling hyenas with his cavalry by now.
They'll to the Temple prison to find their prey; we'll in their wake.
_A moi,_ friends! and remember the sea-gull's cry."

Déroulède drew Juliette's hand in his.

"We are ready," he said; "and God bless the Scarlet Pimpernel."

Then the five men, with Juliette in their midst, went out into the
street once more.





CHAPTER XXIX

Père Lachaise.


It was not difficult to guess which way the crowd had gone; yells,
hoots, and hoarse cries could be heard from the farther side of the
river.

Citizen Santerne had been unable to keep the mob back until the arrival
of the cavalry reinforcements. Within five minutes of the abduction of
Déroulède and Juliette the crowd had broken through the line of soldiers,
and had stormed the cart, only to find it empty, and the prey
dissappeared.

"They are safe in the Temple by now!" shouted Santerne hoarsely, in
savage triumph at seeing them all baffled.

At first it seemed as if the wrath of the infuriated populace, fooled
in its lust for vengeance, would vent itself against the commandant of
Paris and his soldiers; for a moment even Santerre's ruddy cheeks had
paled at the sudden vision of this unlooked for danger.

Then just as suddenly the cry was raised.

"To the Temple!"

"To the Temple! To the Temple!" came in ready response.

The cry was soon taken up by the entire crowd, and in less than two
minutes the purlieus of the Hall of Justice were deserted, and the Pont
St Michel, then the Cité and the Pont au Change, swarmed with the
rioters. Thence along the north bank of the river, and up the Rue du
Temple, the people still yelling, muttering, singing the "_Ça ira,_" and
shouting: "_A la lanterne! A la lanterne!"

Sir Percy Blakeney and his little band of followers had found the Pont
Neuf and the adjoining streets practically deserted. A few stragglers
from the crowd, soaked through with the rain, their enthusiasm damped,
and their throats choked with the mist, were sulkily returning to their
homes.

The desultory group of six _sansculottes_ attracted little or no
attention, and Sir Percy boldly challenged every passer-by.

"The way to the Rue du Temple, citizen?" he asked once or twice, or:

"Have they hung the traitor yet? Can you tell me, citizeness?"

A grunt or an oath were the usual replies, but no one took any further
notice of the gigantic coal-heaver and his ragged friends.

At the corner of one of the cross streets, between the Rue du Temple
and the Rue des Archives, Sir Percy Blakeney suddenly turned to his
followers:

"We are close to the rabble now," he said in a whisper, and speaking in
English; "do you all follow the nearest stragglers, and get as soon as
possible into the thickest of the crowd. We'll meet again outside the
prison - and remember the sea-gull's cry."

He did not wait for an answer, and presently disappeared in the mist.

Already a few stragglers, hangers-on of the multitude, were gradually
coming into view, and the yells could be distinctly heard. The mob had
evidently assembled in the great square outside the prison, and was
loudly demanding the object of its wrath.

The moment for cool-headed action was at hand. The Scarlet Pimpernel
had planned the whole thing, but it was for his followers and for
those, whom he was endeavouring to rescue from certain death, to help
him heart and soul.

Déroulède's grasp tightened on Juliette's little hand.

"Are you frightened, my beloved?" he whispered.

"Not whilst you are near me," she murmured in reply.

A few more minutes' walk up the Rue des Archives and they were in the
thick of the crowd. Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, Lord Anthony Dewhurst, and
Lord Hastings, the three Englishmen, were in front; Déroulède and Juliette
immediately behind them.

The mob itself now carried them along. A motley throng they were,
soaked through with the rain, drunk with their own baffled rage, and
with the brandy which they had imbibed.

Everyone was shouting; the women louder than the rest; one of them was
dragging the length of rope, which might still be useful.

"_Ça ira! ça ira! A la lanterne! A la lanterne! les traîtres!"

And Déroulède, holding Juliette by the hand, shouted lustily with them:

"_Ça ira!_"

Sir Andrew Ffoulkes turned, and laughed. It was rare sport for these
young bucks, and they all entered into the spirit of the situation.
They all shouted "_A la lanterne!_" egging and encouraging those around
them.

Déroulède and Juliette felt the intoxication of the adventure. They were
drunk with the joy of their reunion, and seized with the wild, mad,
passionate desire for freedom and for life... Life and love!

So they pushed and jostled on in the mud, followed the crowd, sang and
yelled louder than any of them. Was not that very crowd the great
bulwark of their safety?

As well have sought for the proverbial needle in the haystack, as for
two escaped prisoners in this mad, heaving throng.

The large open space in front of the Temple Prison looked like one
great, seething, black mass.

The darkness was almost thick here, the ground like a morass, with
inches of clayey mud, which stuck to everything, whilst the sparse
lanterns, hung to the prison walls and beneath the portico, threw
practically no light into the square.

As the little band, composed of the three Englishmen, and of Déroulède,
holding Juliette by the hand, emerged into the open space, they heard a
strident cry, like that of a sea-mew thrice repeated, and a hoarse
voice shouting from out the darkness:

"_Ma foi!_ I'll not believe that the prisoners are in the Temple now!
It is my belief, friends, citizens, that we have been fooled once more!"

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