The republic was magnanimous enough to comply with this request.



CHAPTER XXI.

TOULAN.

The citizen Toulan is on guard again at the Temple, and this time with his friend Lepitre. He is so trustworthy and blameless a republican, and so zealous a citizen, that the republic gives him unconditional confidence. The republic had appointed him as chief of the bureau for the control of the effects of emigres. Toulan is, besides, a member of the Convention; and it is not his fault that, on the day when the decision was made respecting the king's life or death, he was not in the Assembly. He had been compelled at that time to make a journey into the provinces, to attach the property of an aristocrat who had emigrated. Had Toulan been in Paris, he would naturally have given his voice in favor of the execution of the king. He says this freely and openly to every one, and every one believes him, for Toulan is an entirely unsuspected republican. He belongs to the sans-culottes, and takes pride in not being dressed better than the meanest citizen. He belongs to the friends of Marat, and Simon the cobbler is always happy when Toulan has the watch in the Temple; for Toulan is such a jovial, merry fellow, he can make such capital jokes and laugh so heartily at those of others. They have such fine times when Toulan is there, and the sport is the greatest when his friend Lepitre is with him on service in the Temple. Then the two have the grandest sport of all; they even have little plays, which are so funny that Simon has to laugh outright, and even the turnkey Tison, and his wife, forget to keep guard, and leave the glass door through which they have been watching the royal family, in order to be spectators at Toulan's little farces.

"These are jolly days when you are both in the Temple," said Simon, "and you cannot blame me if I like to have you here, and put you on service pretty often."

"Oh, we do not blame you for that," said Toulan, "on the other hand, we particularly like being with you, you are such a splendid fellow!"

"And then," adds Lepitre to this, "it is so pleasant to see the proud she-wolf and her young ones, and to set them down a little. These people, when they were living in the Tuileries, have turned up their noses at us often enough, and acted as if we were only dust that they must blow away from their exalted presence. It is time that they should feel a little that they are only dust for us to blow away!"

"Yes, indeed," chimed in Toulan, "it is high time that they should feel it!"

"And you both understood that matter capitally," said Simon, with a laugh, "I always see that it particularly provokes the queen to have you on service, and I like that, and I am especially glad to have you here."

"I've thought out a joke for to-day," said Toulan. "I will teach the widow to smoke. You know, brother Simon, that she always pretends not to be able to bear the smell of tobacco, she shall learn to bear it. I will hand her a paper cigarette to-day, and tell her that if she does not want us to smoke, she must smoke with us."

"Splendid joke!" said Simon, with a loud laugh. "But there's one thing to be thought of about that," said Lepitre, reflectively. "the widow Capet might perhaps promise to smoke, if we would tell her that we would never smoke afterward. But then we should not keep our word, of course."

"What! you say we should not keep our word!" said Toulan, in amazement. "We are republicans; more than that, we are sans- culottes! and shall we not keep our word? ought we not to be better than the cursed aristocrats, that never kept their word to the people? How can you disgrace us and yourself so much? Ask our noble friend and brother Simon, whether he is of the opinion that a free man ought not to keep his word, even if he has only given it to a woman in prison."

"I am of that opinion," said Simon, with dignity. "I swore to myself that the king should lose his head, and I kept my word. I promised the she-wolf that she should be hanged, and I hope to keep this promise too. If I keep my word to her in what is bad, I must do so also in what is good. If a republican promises any thing, he must hold to it."

"Right, Simon, you are a noble and wise man. It remains fixed, then, that the queen shall smoke, but if we have our joke out, we shall not smoke any more."

"I will put up a placard on the door: 'Smoking forbidden in the anteroom of the she-wolf.'"

"Good," cried Toulan, "that is worthy of you."

"Let us go up now," said Simon, "the two other sentries are up- stairs already, they will wonder that you come so late, but I do like to chat with you. Come on, let's go up. I'll stay there to see the joke. But wait a moment, there is something new. It has been proposed that not so many guards are needed to watch the Capets, and that it has the appearance as if the government was afraid of these howling women and this little monkey, whom the crazy royalists call King Louis XVII. It is very likely that they will reduce the guard to two."

"Very good," said Toulan, approvingly.—"What's the use of wearying out so many other men and condemning them to such idleness? We cannot be making jokes all the time; and then again it is not pleasant always looking on these people's long faces."

"So only two guards," said Lepitre; "but that seems to me rather too few, for what if the widow should succeed in winning them over and getting them to help her escape?"

"Impossible!" cried Simon, "she'll never come around me, and as long as I have my eyes open, she and her brood will never get away. No one can come down the staircase without my hearing and seeing it, for you know my rooms are near the stairs, and the door is always open and I am always there, and then there is the turnkey Ricard, who watches the door that leads to the court like a cerberus. Then there are three sentries at the doors leading from the inner court to the outer one, and the four sentries at the doors leading from the outer court to the street. No, no, my friends, if the she-wolf wants to escape she must use magic, and make wings grow on her shoulders and fly away."

"That is good, I like that," said Toulan, springing up the staircase.

"And that settles my doubts too," said Lepitre. "I should think two official guards would suffice, for it is plain that she cannot escape. Simon is on the look-out, and it is plain that the she-wolf cannot transform herself into an eagle."

"Well said," laughed Simon; "here we are before the door, let's go in and have our fun."

He dashed the door open noisily, and went into the room with the two men. Two officials were sitting in the middle of the room at the table, and were actively engaged playing cards. Through the open door you could look into the sitting-room of the Capet family. The queen was sitting on the divan behind the round table, clothed in her sad suit of mourning, with a black cap upon her gray locks.

She was busy in dictating an exercise to the dauphin from a book which she held in her hand. The prince, also clad in black and with a broad crape about his arm, sat upon a chair by her side. His whole attention was directed to his work, and he was visibly making an effort to write as well as possible, for a glowing red suffused hia cheeks.

On the other side of the queen sat Madame Elizabeth; near her the Princess Maria Theresa, both busy in preparing some clothing for the queen.

No one of the group appeared to notice the loud opening of the door, no one observed the entering forms, or cast even a momentary glance at them.

But Toulan was not contented with this; he demanded nothing less than that the she-wolf should look at him. He hurried through the anteroom with a threatening tread, advanced to the door of the sitting-room, and stopped upon the threshold, making such a deep and ceremonious bow, and swinging his arm so comically, that Simon was compelled to laugh aloud.

"Madame," cried Toulan, "I have the inexpressible honor of greeting your grace."

"He is a brick, a perfect brick," roared Simon.

Lepitre had gone to the window, and turned his back upon the room; he was perhaps too deficient in spirit to join in the joke. Nobody paid any attention to him; nobody saw him take a little packet from his coat-pocket, and slide it slowly and carefully behind the wooden box that stood beneath the window.

"Madame," cried Toulan, in a still louder voice, "I fear your grace has not heard my salutation."

The queen slowly raised her eyes, and turned them to the man who was still standing upon the threshold. "I heard it," she said, coldly, "go on writing, my son." And she went on in the sentence that she had just then begun to dictate.

"I am so happy at being heard by Madame Veto that I shall have to celebrate it by a little bonfire!"—said Toulan, taking a cigar from his breast-pocket. "You see, my friends, that I am a very good courtier, though I have the honor to be a sans-culottes. In the presence of handsome ladies I only smoke cigars! Hallo! bring me a little fire."

One of the officials silently passed him his long pipe. Toulan lighted his cigar, placed himself at the threshold, and blew great clouds of smoke into the chamber.

The ladies still continued to sit quietly without paying any attention to Toulan. The queen dictated, and the dauphin wrote. The queen only interrupted herself in this occupation, when she had to cough and wipe her eyes, which the smoke filled with tears.

Toulan had followed every one of her movements with an amused look. "Madame does not appear to take any pleasure in my bonfire!" he said. "Will madame not smoke?"

The queen made no reply, but quietly went on with her dictation.

"Madame," cried Toulan, laughing loudly, "I should like to smoke a pipe of peace with you, as our brown brethren in happy, free America do—madame, I beg you to do me the honor to smoke a pipe of peace with me."

A flash lightened in the eyes which the queen now directed to Toulan. "You are a shameless fellow!" she said.

"Hear that," said Simon, "that is what I call abusing you."

"On the contrary, it delights me," cried Toulan, "for you will confess that it would be jolly if she should smoke now, and I tell you, she will smoke."

He advanced some paces into the room, and made his deep bow again.

"He understands manners as well as if he had been a rascally courtier himself," said Simon, laughing. "It is a splendid joke."

The two princesses had arisen at the entrance of Toulan, and laid their sewing-work aside. A ball of white cotton had fallen to the ground from the lap of one of them, and rolled through the room toward Toulan.

He picked it up, and bowed to the princesses. "May I view this little globe," he said, "as a reminder of the favor of the loveliest ladies of France? Oh, yes, I see in your roguish smile that I may, and I thank you," said Toulan, pressing the round ball to his lips, and then putting it into his breast-pocket.

"He plays as well as the fellows do in the theatre," said Simon, laughing.

"Go into our sleeping-room," said Marie Antoinette, turning to the princesses. "It is enough for me to have to bear these indignities— go, my son, accompany your aunt."

The dauphin stood up, pressed a kiss upon the hand of his mother, and followed the two princesses, who had gone into the adjoining apartment.

"Dear aunt," whispered the dauphin, "is this bad man the good friend who—"

"Hush!" whispered Madame Elizabeth, "hush! Madame Tison is listening."

And, in fact, at the glass-door, which led from the sleeping-room to the little corridor, stood Madame Tison, looking with sharp, searching glances into the chamber.

After the princesses had left the room, Toulan approached still closer to the queen, and taking a cigar from his breast-pocket, he handed it to the queen. "Take it, madame," he said, "and do me the honor of smoking a duet with me!"

"I do not smoke, sir," replied the queen, coolly and calmly. "I beg you to go into the anteroom. The Convention has not, so far as I understand, ordered the officers of the guard to tarry in my sitting-room."

"The Convention has not ordered it, nor has it forbidden it. So I remain!"

He took a chair, seated himself in the middle of the room, and rolled out great clouds of smoke, which filled Simon with unspeakable delight when they compelled Marie Antoinette to cough violently.

"Madame Capet, you would not be so sensitive to smoke if you would only join me. I beg you, therefore, to take this cigar."

The queen repeated calmly, "I do not smoke."

"You mistake, madame, you do smoke."

"See the jolly fellow," exclaimed Simon, "that is splendid."

"I will show you at once that you do smoke," continued Toulan. "Madame, if you will do me the honor to join me in smoking a cigar, I will give you my word as a republican and a sans-culottes, that neither I nor my brothers will ever smoke here again."

"I do not believe you," said the queen, shaking her head.

"Not believe me? Would you believe it if the citizen Simon were to repeat it?"

"Yes," said the queen, fixing her great, sad eyes upon Simon, "if the citizen Simon should confirm it, I would believe it, for he is a trustworthy man, who I believe; never breaks his word."

"Oh! only see how well the Austrian understands our noble brother Simon," cried Lepitre.

"Yes, truly, it seems so," said Simon, who had been flattered by this praise to consent to what he had no inclination for. "Well, I give my word to Widow Capet, as a republican and a sans-culottes, that there shall be no smoking in the anteroom after this time, if she will do my friend Toulan the favor of smoking a pipe of peace with him."

"I believe your word," said the queen, with a gentle inclination of her head; and then turning to Toulan, she continued, "sir—"

"There are no 'sirs' here, only 'citizens,'" interrupted the cobbler.

"Citizen Toulan," said the queen, changing her expression, "give me the cigar, I see that I was wrong, I do smoke!"

Simon cried aloud with laughter and delight, and could scarcely control himself, when, kneeling before the queen, as the players do in the grand plays at the theatre, he handed her a cigar.

But he did not see the supplicatory look which Toulan fixed upon the queen; he did not see the tears which started into his eyes, nor hear her say, during his inordinate peals of laughter, "I thank you, my faithful one!"

"Is it enough if I take the cigar in my mouth, or must I burn it?" asked the queen.

"Certainly, she must burn it," cried Simon. "Light the cigar for her, Citizen Toulan."

Toulan drew a bit of paper from his pocket, folded it together, kindled it, and gave it to the queen. Then, as soon as the dry cigar began to burn, he put out the light, and threw it carelessly upon the table.

The queen put the little smoking cigarette into her mouth. "Bravo, bravo!" shouted the officials and Simon.

"Bravo, Citizen Toulan is a perfect brick! He has taught Widow Capet how to smoke."

"I told you I would," said Toulan, proudly. "Widow Capet has had to comply with our will, and that is enough. You need not go on, madame. You have acknowledged our power, and that is all we wanted. That is enough, Simon, is it not? She does not need to smoke any longer, and we, too, must stop."

"No, she does not need to smoke any longer, and there will be no more smoking in the antechamber."

The queen took the paper cigarette from her mouth, put out the burning end, and laid the remaining portion in her work-basket.

"Citizen Toulan," said she, "I will keep this cigar as a remembrancer of this hour, and if you ever smoke here again, I shall show it to you."

"I should like to see this Austrian woman doubting the word of a sans-culottes," cried Simon.

"And I too, Simon," replied Toulan, going back into the anteroom. "We will teach her that she must trust our word. You see that I am a good teacher."

"An excellent one," cried Simon; "I must compliment you on it, citizen. But if you have no objections, we will play a game or two of cards with the citizens here."

"All right," replied Toulan. "But I hope you have got the new kind of cards, which have no kings and queens on them. For, I tell you, I do not play with the villanous old kind."

"Nor I," chimed in Lepitre. "It makes me mad to see the old stupids with their crowns on that are on the old kind of cards."

"You are a pair of out-and-out republicans," said Simon, admiringly. "Truly, one might learn of you how a sans-culottes ought to bear himself."

"Well, you can calm yourselves about these, brothers," said one of the officials; "we have no tyrant-cards—we have the new cards of the republic. See there! instead of the king, there is a sans- culottes; instead of the queen, we have a 'knitter,' [Footnote: The market-women and hucksters had the privilege of claiming the first seats on the spectators' platform, near the guillotine. They sat there during the executions, knitting busily on long stockings, while looking at the bloody drama before them. Every time that a head was cut off and dropped into the basket beneath the knife, the women made a mark in their knitting-work, and thus converted their stockings into a kind of calendar, which recorded the number of persons executed. From this circumstance the market-women received the name of "knitters."] and for the jack, we have a Swiss soldier, for they were the menials of the old monarchy." [Footnote: Historical.-See "Memoires de la Marquise de Crequi," vol. III.]

"That is good; well, we will play then," cried Toulan, with an air of good-humor.

They all took their places at the table, while the queen took up the sewing on which the princesses had been engaged before.

After some time, when the thread with which she was sewing was exhausted, Marie Antoinette raised her eyes and turned them to the men, who had laid their pipes aside, and were zealously engaged upon their cards. The mien of the queen was no longer so calm and rigidly composed as it had been before, and when she spoke, there was a slight quivering discernible in her voice.

"Citizen Toulan," she said, "I beg you to give me the ball of thread again. I have no more, and this dress is in a wretched condition; I must mend it."

Toulan turned toward her with a gesture of impatience.

"You disturb me, madame, and put me out in the game. What are you saying?"

"I asked you, Citizen Toulan, to give me the thread again, because, without it, I cannot work."

"Oh! the ball which little Miss Capet gave me a short time ago. And so you won't let me keep a remembrance of the pretty girl?"

"I must mend this dress," said the queen, gently.

"Well, if you must, you must," growled Toulan, rising.

"Wait a moment, brothers, till I carry her the ball."

"What do you want to get up for?" asked Simon.

"You can throw it from here."

"Or give it a roll like a ball," added Lepitre.

"That is a good idea," cried Toulan, "I'll have a little game of nine-pins. I am quite at home there, and can do it well. Now look sharp! I will contrive to roll the ball between the four feet of the table, and strike the foot of the queen."

"There is no queen," cried Lepitre, passionately.

"I am speaking of the game, Citizen Lepitre; do me the pleasure of not making yourself an ass. Now look, and see me roll it as I said!"

"Well, go ahead; we should like to see you do it," cried Simon.

"Yes, we would like to see you do it," chimed in the officials, laying down their cards.

Toulan now drew out of his breast-pocket a black ball of silk, and counted "One, two, three!" He then gave it a skilful roll across the floor. With attention and laughing looks, they all watched it take its course across the waxed floor, as it moved just where Toulan had said it would.

"Bravo, bravo!" shouted the men, as the ball struck the foot of the queen, who stooped down slowly and picked it up.

"Toulan is a jolly good fellow," cried Simon, striking the table with his fists in an ecstasy of delight. "But I declare it seems to me that the ball is a good deal larger now than it was before."

"It may be," answered Toulan, emphatically. "Every thing grows and enlarges itself, that a true and genuine sans-culottes carries next to his heart."

"Well said," replied Lepitre. "But listen to me, I want to make a proposition to you. I must say that it is hard work—playing cards without smoking."

"I find it so, too," sighed Toulan.

"I rather think we all do," chimed in the others.

"But we must keep our word, or else the she-wolf will think that we republicans are no better than the aristocrats were!"

"Yes, we must keep our word," said Lepitre, "and that is why I wanted to make the proposition that we go out and establish ourselves in the entry. We can put the table close to the door, and then we are certainly safe—that no one can step in. What do you say, brother Simon?"

"I say that it is a very good plan, and that we will carry it into execution directly. Come, friends, let us take up the table, and carry it out. If the dogs are on the watch outside, the badger does not creep out of his house. Come, it is much pleasanter out there, and we are not ambitious of the honor of looking at Widow Capet all the time. We are perfectly satisfied, if we do not see her. I hope there will be an end of this tedious service, and that she will soon go to the place whither Louis Capet has already gone."

"Or," cried Toulan, laughing, "she must change herself into an eagle, and fly out of the window. Come, brothers, I long for my pipe. Let us carry the table out into the entry."

Simon opened the door that led out upon the landing, the officials took up the table, and Toulan and Lepitre the wooden stools. One quick look they cast into the room of the queen, whose eyes were turned to them. A sudden movement of Lepitre's hand pointed to the bench beneath the window: a movement of Toulan's lips said "To- morrow;" then they both turned away; went with their stools out upon the landing, and closed the door.

The queen held her breath and listened. She heard them moving the chairs outside, and pushing the table up against the door, and detected Simon's harsh voice, saying, "Now that we have put a gigantic wooden lock on the door, let us smoke and play."

The queen sprang up. "God bless my faithful one," whispered she; "yes, God bless him!"

She went hastily into the anteroom, pressed her hand in behind the bench beneath the window, took out the package which Lepitre had placed there, and with a timid, anxious look, stepped back into her room. Here she unfolded the bundle. It consisted of a boy's soiled dress, an old peruke, and an old felt hat.

The queen looked at it with the utmost attention; then, after casting one long, searching look through the room, she hastened to the divan, pushed back the already loosened cover of the seat, concealed the things beneath it, and then carefully smoothed down the upholstery again.

She now hurried to the door of the sleeping-room, and was going to open it hastily. But she bethought herself in time. Her face showed too much emotion, her voice might betray her. Madame Tison was certainly lurking behind the glass door, and might notice her excitement. Marie Antoinette again put on her ordinary sad look, opened the door slowly and gravely, and quietly entered the sleeping-room. Her great eyes, whose brightness had long since been extinguished by her tears, slowly passed around the chamber, rested for a moment on the glass door, descried behind it the spying face of Tison, and turned to the two princesses, who were sitting with the dauphin on the little divan in the corner.

"Mamma," asked the boy, "are the bad men gone?"

"Do not call them so, my child," replied Marie Antoinette, gently. "These men only do what others order them to do."

"Then the others are bad, mamma," said the boy, quickly. "Oh, yes, very bad, for they make my dear mamma weep so much."

"I do not weep about them," answered his mother. "I weep because your father is no more with us. Think about your father, my son, and never forget that he has commanded us to forgive his and our enemies."

"And never to take vengeance on them," added the boy, with a grave look beyond his years, as he folded his hands. "Yes, I have sworn it to my dear papa, and I shall keep my word. I mean never to take vengeance on our enemies."

"Sister," said the queen, after a pause, "I want to ask you to help me a little in my work. You know how to mend, and I want to learn of you. Will you come into the sitting-room?"

"And we, too, mamma," asked the dauphin, "may we not stay here? Theresa has promised to tell me an interesting story if I did my examples in arithmetic correctly, and I have done them."

"Well, she may tell you the story. We will leave the door open so that we can see you; for you know, my children, you are now the only comfort left to your aunt and me. Come, sister!"

She turned slowly and went into the next room, followed by Madame Elizabeth.

"Why, what does this mean?" asked the princess, in amazement, as she saw the anteroom deserted and the door closed.

"All his work, Elizabeth—all the work of this noble, faithful Toulan. He went through a whole farce in order to get the people out of here, and to make them swear that they never would smoke after this in the anteroom. Oh, I shall never be able to repay him for what he has done for us at the peril of his life."

"We will pray for him every morning and evening," replied the pious Elizabeth. "But tell me, sister, did Toulon keep our ball of thread?"

"Yes, sister, and succeeded in giving me another in exchange for it. Here it is. To-night, when the guards are asleep, we will unwind it and see what it contains. But here are other important things which we must examine. Here, this half-burned light and this cigarette! Let us be on the watch that no one surprise us."

She went again to the threshold of the sleeping-room. "Can you hear me talk, children? Nod with your head if you heard me. Good. If Tison comes in, speak to her loudly, and call her by name, so that we may hear."

"And now, sister," she continued, turning to the table, "let us see what Toulan has sent us. First, the cigar-light!"

She unfolded the paper, one side of which was burned, and showed a black, jagged edge.

"A letter from M. de Jarjayes," she said, and then, in a subdued voice, she hastily read: "I have spoken with the noble messenger whom you sent to me with a letter. He has submitted his plan to me, and I approve it entirely, and am ready to undertake any thing that is demanded of me in behalf of those to whom my life, my property, and my blood belong, and who never shall have occasion to doubt my fidelity. The 'true one' will bring you to-morrow every thing that is needful, and talk the matter over with you.—J." "And now the cigarette," said the queen, taking it out of her basket.

"Let us first tear the paper to pieces," said Princess Elizabeth, warningly.

"No, no, Tison would find the bits, and think them suspicious. I will hide the paper in my dress-pocket, and this evening when we have a light we will burn it. Quickly now, the cigar!"

"A paper cigarette!" said Elizabeth.

"Yes, and see on the outer paper, 'Unroll carefully!'"

And with extreme caution Marie Antoinette removed the external covering. Beneath it was another, closely written over; this the queen proceeded to unfold.

"What is it?" asked the Princess Elizabeth, impatiently.

"See," said Marie Antoinette, with a faint smile:

"'Plan for the escape of the royal family. To learn by heart, and then to burn.' Oh! sister, do you believe that escape is possible for us?"

At this instant Simon was heard outside, singing with his loud, coarse voice:

"Madame a sa tour monte Ne salt quand descendra, Madame Veto la dansera." [Footnote: "Madame will take her turn, She knows not when it will come, But Madame Veto will swing."]

The queen shuddered, and Madame Elizabeth folded her hands and prayed in silence.

"You hear the dreadful answer, sister, that this sans-culotte gives to my question! Well, so long as there is a breath left within us we must endeavor to save the life of King Louis XVII. Come, sister, we will read this plan for our escape, which the faithful Toulan has made."



CHAPTER XXII.

THE PLAN OF THE ESCAPE.

Marie Antoinette and Madame Elizabeth listened again at the door, and as Simon was just then beginning a new verse of his ribald song, they carefully unrolled the paper and spread it out before them.

"Read it to me, sister," said the queen. "My eyes are bad and pain me very much; and then the words make more impression when I hear them than when I read them; I beg you therefore to read it."

In a light whisper the princess began to read "The Plan of Escape." "The queen and Princess Elizabeth must put on men's clothes. The necessary garments are already in their possession, for T. and L. have within the last few days secreted them in the cushions and mattresses. In addition, the queen receives to-day a dirty, torn boy's suit and a peruke, and a pair of soiled children's shoes. These are for the dauphin and Madame Royale; and if the queen looks attentively at the things, she will find that they are exact copies of the clothing in which the two children appear who always accompany the lamplighter into the tower and assist him in lighting the lamps. So much for the clothing. The plan of escape is as follows: To-morrow evening, at six o'clock, the royal children will change their dress in the little tower next to the chamber of the queen. In their soiled costume they will remain within the tower, whither it is known that Tison and his wife never come, and will wait there until some one gives them a signal and calls them. Toulan and Lepitre will arrange to have the watch again to-morrow in the tower. At a quarter before seven in the evening, Toulan will give a pinch of snuff to Madame Tison and her husband, who are both passionately fond of it, and they will speedily take it as they always do. This pinch of snuff will consist entirely of colored opium. They will fall into a heavy sleep, which will last at least seven hours, and during this times the flight of all the members of the royal family must be accomplished—"

"Wait a moment, sister," whispered the queen, "I feel dizzy, and my heart beats violently, as if we were engaged now in the very execution of the plan. It seems to me as if, in the darkness of the dreadful night which surrounds us, a glimmer of hope was suddenly appearing, and my eyes are blinded with it. Oh, sister, do you really think it possible that we can escape this place of torment?"

"Escape we will certainly, my dear sister," answered Elizabeth, gently, "but it lies in God's hands whether it is our bodies or our souls only that will escape. If we do not succeed, they will kill us, and then our freed souls will ascend to God. Oh, my noble queen and sister, let us pray that God would give us courage and steadfastness to hope in Him and to conform to His will."

"Yes, sister, let us pray," said the queen, folding her hands, and reverentially bending her head. Then after a pause, in which they could hear from without the noisy laughter of Simon and his comrades, the queen raised herself up, and her countenance had regained its wonted calm and grave expression.

"And now, Elizabeth, read on further. Let us hear the continuation of the plan."

Madame Elizabeth took the paper and read on in a whispering voice: "As soon as Tison and his wife have fallen asleep, the queen and Madame Elizabeth will put on their clothes. Over the men's garments they will throw the cloaks which Toulan brought yesterday, and these cloaks will disguise their gait and size. But care must be taken that the tri-colored sashes of the commissaries which Lepitre brought yesterday with the admission-cards of the same authorities, should peep out from beneath the cloaks so as to be visible to every one. Thus arrayed, the two ladies will pass by the sentry, showing him the card as they go out (meanwhile talking with Lepitre), leave the Temple, and go with Lepitre to the Rue de la Conderie, where M. de Jarjayes will be waiting to conduct the ladies farther."

"But the children," whispered the queen, "do the children not accompany us? Oh! they ought not to think that I would leave this place while my dear children are compelled to remain here. What is to be done with the children, Elizabeth?"

"We shall soon learn that, sister; allow me to read on. 'At seven o'clock, as soon as the guard is changed, a man disguised as a lamplighter, with his tin filler in his hand, will appear at the gate of the Temple, knock loudly and demand of the guard that his children, who had this day been taking care of the lantern, should be allowed to come out. On this, Toulan will bring the dauphin and Madame Royale in their changed costume, and while delivering them over to the supposed lamplighter he will scold him soundly for not taking care of the lanterns himself, but giving it to the children. This is the plan whose execution is possible and probable, if every thing is strictly followed. Before the affair is discovered, there will be at least seven hours' advantage and the royal family will be able, with the passes already secured by M. Jarjayes, to be a long way off before their flight will be discovered by Tison. In a secure house, whither Toulan will lead them, the royal family will find simple citizen's clothing. Without exciting any stir, and accompanied by Messieurs Jarjayes and Toulan, they will reach Normandy. A packet-boat furnished by an English friend lies in readiness to receive the royal family and take them to their—' "

"Good-day, Madame Tison!" cried the dauphin loudly, "good-day, my dear Madame Tison!"

Madame Elizabeth hastily concealed the paper in her bosom, and Marie Antoinette had scarcely time to hide the ball of thread in her pocket, when Tison appeared upon the threshold of the door, looked with her sharp lynx-eyes around, and then fixed them upon the two ladies.

She saw that Marie Antoinette did not display her accustomed dignified calmness, and that Elizabeth's pale cheeks were unusually red.

"Something is going on," said the spy to herself, "and what does it mean that to-day the commissaries are not in the anteroom, and that they let these women carry on their chattering entirely unwatched?"

"Madame has been reading?" asked Tison, subjecting every object upon the table before which the ladies were sitting, to a careful scrutiny. "Madame has been reading," she repeated; "I heard paper rattling, and I see no book."

"You are under a mistake," replied Madame Elizabeth, "we have not been reading, we have been sewing; but supposing we were reading, is there any wrong in that? Have they made any law that forbids that?"

"No," answered Tison, "no—I only wondered how people could rattle paper and there be none there, but all the same—the ladies of course have a right to read, and we must be satisfied with that."

And she went out, looking right and left like a hound on the scent, and searching every corner of the room.

"I must see what kind of officials we have here to-day," said Tison to herself, slipping through the little side-door and through the corridor; "I shouldn't wonder if it were Toulan and Lepitre again, for every time when they two—right!" she ejaculated, looking through the outer door, "right! it is they, Toulan and Lepitre. I must see what Simon's wife has to say to that."

She slipped down the broad staircase, and passed through the open door into the porter's lodge. Madame Simon, one of the most savage of the knitters, had shortly returned from the guillotine, and was sitting upon her rush chair, busily counting on a long cotton stocking which she held in her hand.

"How many heads to-day?" asked Tison.

Madame Simon slowly shook her head, decorated with a white knit cap.

"It is hardly worth the pains," she said dismally,—"the machine works badly, and the judges are neglectful. Only five cars to-day, and on every one only seven persons." "What!" cried Tison, "only thirty-five heads to-day in all?"

"Yes, only thirty-five heads," repeated Madame Simon, shaking her head; "I have just been counting on my stocking, and I find only thirty-five seam-stitches, for every seam-stitch means a head. For such a little affair we have had to sit six hours in the wet and cold on the platform. The machine works too slowly, I say— altogether too slowly. The judges are easy, and there is no more pleasure to be derived from the executions."

"They must be stirred up," said Tison with a fiendish look; "your husband must speak with his friend, citizen Marat, and tell him that his best friends the knitters, and most of all, Simon's wife, are dissatisfied, and if it goes on so, the women will rise and hurry all the men to the guillotine. That will stir them up, for they do respect the knitters, and if they fear the devil, they fear yet more his proud grandmother, and every one of us market-women and knitters is the devil's grandmother."

"Yes, they do respect us and they shall," said Madame Simon, setting her glistening needles in motion again, and working slowly on the stocking; "I will myself speak with citizen Marat, and believe me, I will fire him up, and then we shall have better play, and see more cars driven up to the guillotine. We must keep our eyes well open, arid denounce all suspicious characters."

"I have my eyes always open," cried Tison, with a coarse laugh, "and I suspect traitors before they have committed any thing. There, for example, are the two officials, Toulan and Lepitre, do you have confidence in them?"

"I have no confidence in them whatever, and I have never had any confidence in them," answered Madame Simon, with dignity, and setting her needles in more rapid motion. "In these times you must trust nobody, and least of all those who are so very earnest to keep guard over the Austrian woman; for a true republican despises the aristocracy altogether too much to find it agreeable to be with such scum, and shows it as much as he can, but Toulan is always wanting to be there. Wait a moment, and I will tell you how many times Toulan and Lepitre have kept guard the present month."

She drew a little memorandum-book from her reticule, which hung by black bands from her brown hairy arm, and turned over the leaves. "There, here it is," she said.

"To-day is the 20th of February, and the two men have already kept guard eight times the present month. That is three times as many as they need to do. Every one of the officials who were appointed to keep guard in the Temple is obliged to serve only once a week, and both of these traitors are now here for the eighth time. And my husband is so stupid and so blinded that he believes this prattler Toulan when he tells him he comes here merely to be with citizen Simon; but they cannot come round me with their talk; they cannot throw dust in my eyes. I shall keep them open, wide open, let me tell you."

"They are not sitting inside in the antechamber to-day," whispered Tison, "but outside on the landing, and they have closed the door of the anteroom, so that the Austrian has been entirely alone and unobserved these hours."

"Alone!" cried the knitter, and her polished needles struck so violently against each other that you could hear them click. "My husband cannot be to blame for that; Toulan must have talked him into it, and he must have a reason for it; he must have a reason, and if it is only from his having pity upon her, that is enough and more than enough to bring him under suspicion and to build an accusation upon. He must be removed, say I. There shall no such compassionate worms as he creep into the Temple. I will clear them out—I will clear them out with human blood!"

She looked so devilish, her eyes glared so with such a cruel coldness, and such a fiendish smile played upon her pale, thin lips, that even Madame Tison was afraid of her, and felt as if a cold, poisonous spider was creeping slowly over her heart.

"They are sitting still outside, you say?" asked Madame Simon, after a pause.

"Yes, they are still sitting outside upon the landing, and the Austrian woman is at this time alone unwatched with her brood, and she will be alone for two hours yet, for there is no change of guard till then."

"That is true, yes, that is true," cried the knitter, and her nostrils expanded like those of the hyena when on the scent of blood. "They will sit up there two hours longer, playing cards and singing stupid songs, and wheedling my monkey of a husband with their flatteries, making him believe that they love him, love him boundlessly, and they let themselves be locked into the Temple for his sake, and—oh! if I had them here, I would strangle them with my own hands! I would make a dagger of every one of my knitting-needles and thrust it into their hearts! But quiet, quiet," she continued in a grumbling tone, "every thing must go on in a regular way. Will you take my place here for half an hour and guard the door? I have something important to do, something very important."

"It will be a very great honor," replied Madame Tison, "a very great honor to be the substitute of one so well known and respected as you are, of whom every one knows that she is the best patriot and the most courageous knitter, whose eyelashes never quiver, and who can calmly go on with her stitches when the heads fall from the guillotine into the basket."

"If I did tremble, and my eyelashes did quiver, I would dash my own fists into my eyes!" said Madame Simon, with her hard coarse voice, rising and throwing her thin, threadbare cloak over her shoulders. "If I found a spark of sympathy in my heart, I would inundate it with the blood of aristocrats till it should be extinguished, and till that should be, I would despise and hate myself, for I should be not only a bad patriot, but a bad daughter of my unfortunate father. The cursed aristocrats have not only brought misery on our country and people, but they murdered my dear good father. Yes, murdered I say. They said he was a high traitor. And do you know why? Because he told aloud the nice stories about the Austrian woman, who was then our queen, which, had been whispered into his ear, and because he said that the king was a mere tool in the hands of his wife. They shot my good, brave father for what he had said, and which they called treason, although it was only the naked truth. Yet I will not work myself into a passion about it, and I will only thank God that that time is past, and I will do my part that it shall not come back. And that is why we must be awake and on our guard, that no aristocrat and no loyalist tie left, but that they all be guillotined, all! There, take your place on my chair, and take my knitting-work. Ah! if it could speak to you as it does to me—if it could tell you what heads we two have seen fall, young and old, handsome, distinguished—it would be fine sport for you and make you laugh. But good-by just now! Keep a strict lookout! I shall come back soon."

And she did come back soon, this worthy woman, with triumphant bearing and flashing eyes, looking as the cat looks when it has a mouse in its soft velvety paws, and is going to push its poisonous claws into the quivering flesh. She took her knitting-work up and bade Tison to go up again to her post.

"And when you can," she said, "just touch the Austrian woman a little, and pay her off for being so many hours unwatched. In that way you will merit a reward from the people, and that is as well as deserving one of God. Provoke her—provoke the proud Austrian!"

"It is very hard to do it," said Tison, sighing—"very hard, I assure you, for the Austrian is very cold and moderate of late. Since Louis Capet died, the widow is very much changed, and now she is so uniform in her temper that it seems as if nothing would provoke or excite her."

"What weak and tender creatures you all are!" said Simon's wife, with a shrug. "It is very plain that they fed you on milk when you were young. But my mother nursed me with hate. I was scarcely ten years when they shot my father, and not a day passed after that without my mother's telling me that we must avenge his murder on the whole lineage of the king. I had to swear that I would do it. She gave me, for my daily food, hatred against the aristocrats; it was the meat to my sauce, the sugar to my coffee, the butter to my bread! I lived and throve upon it. Look at me, and see what such fare has made of me! Look at me! I am not yet twenty-four years old, and yet I have the appearance of an old woman, and I have the feeling and the experience of an old woman! Nothing moves me now, and the only thing that lives and burns in my heart is revenge. Believe me, were I in your place I should know how to exasperate the Austrian; I should succeed in drawing out her tears."

"Well, and how would you begin? Really, I should like to know how to bring this incarnation of pride to weeping."

"Has not she children?" asked Madame Simon, with a horrible calmness. "I would torture and provoke the children, and that would soon make the heart of the woman humble and pliable. Oh, she may count herself happy that I am not in your place, and that her children are not under my tender hands. But if it ever happens that I can lay my fingers upon the shoulders of the little wolves, I will give them something that will make them cry out, and make the old wolf howl with rage. I will show her as little favor then as she showed when my poor mother and I were begging for my dear father! Go up, go up and try at once. Plague the children, and you will see that that will make the Austrian pliable."

"That is fine talk," muttered Tison, as she went up the staircase, "but she has no children, while I have a daughter, a dear, good daughter. She is not with me, but with my mother in Normandy, because she can be taken better care of there than here. It is better for the good child that she has not gone through these evil days full of blood and grief with us. But I am always thinking of her, and when one of these two children here looks up to me so gravely with great, open eyes, it always makes me think of my Solonge. She has exactly such large, innocent eyes, and that touches my heart so that I cannot be harsh with the children. They, of course, are not at all to blame for having such bad, miserable parents, who have treated the people shamefully, and made them poor and wretched. No, they have had nothing to do with it, and I cannot be severe with the children, for I am always thinking of my little Solonge! I will provoke the Austrian woman as much as I can, but not the children—no, not the children!"

Meanwhile, Mistress Simon had taken her place upon the chair near the open door in the porter's lodge, and sat there with her cold, immovable face staring into empty space with her great coal-black, glistening eyes, while her hands were busily flying, making the polished knitting-needles click against each other.

She was still sitting there, when at last her husband came down the stairs to open the outer door of the Temple, conduct his friends past the inner court, and to bring back the two officials who were to keep guard during the night.

They passed the knitter with a friendly salutation and a bit of pleasantry—Toulan stopping a moment to ask the woman after her welfare, and to say a few smooth words to her about her courage and her great force of character.

She listened quietly, let him go on with his talk, and when he had ended, slowly raised her great eyes from her knitting to him.

"You are a traitor," she said, with coldness, and without any agitation. "Yes, you are a traitor, and you, too, will have your turn at the guillotine!"

Toulan paled a little, but collected himself immediately, took leave of the knitter with a smile, and hastened after the officials, who were waiting for him at the open door—the two who were to hold the watch during the night having already entered.

Simon closed the door after them, exchanged a few words with them, and then went into his lodge to join his rigid better half.

"This has been a pleasant afternoon, and it is a great pity that it is gone, for I have had a very good time. We have played cards, sung, smoked, and Toulan has made jokes and told stories, and made much fun. I always wonder where he gets so many fine stories, and he tells them so well that I could hear him day and night. Now that he is gone, it seems tedious and dull enough here. Well, we must comfort ourselves that to-morrow will come by and by."

"What do you mean by that?" asked his wife, sternly.

"What sort of a day do you expect to-morrow to be?"

"A pleasant day, my dear Heloise, for Citizen Toulan will have the watch again. I begged him so long, that he at last promised to exchange with Citizen Pelletan, whose turn regularly comes to- morrow. Pelletan is not well, and it would be very hard for him to sit up there all day, and, besides, he would be dreadfully stupid. It is a great deal pleasanter to have Toulan here with his jokes and jolly stories, and so I begged him to come and take Pelletan's place. He is going to accommodate me and come."

His wife did not answer a word, but broke out in a burst of shrill, mocking laughter, and with her angry black eyes she scrutinized her husband's red, bloated face, as though she were reading him through and through.

"What are you laughing at?" he asked, angrily. "I would like to be beyond hearing when you give way in that style. What are you laughing at?"

"Because I wonder at you, you Jack," she answered sharply. "Because you are determined to make an ass of yourself, and let dust be thrown in your eyes, and put yourself at the disposal of every one who soaps you over with smooth words."

"Come," said Simon, "none of that coarseness! and if you—"

"Hist!" she answered, commandingly. "I will show you at once that I have told you the truth, and that you are making an ass of yourself, or at least that you are on the point of doing so. Now, listen."

The knitter laid her work aside, and had a long conversation in a whisper with her husband. When it ended, Simon stood up wearing a dark look, and walked slowly backward and forward in the little room. Then he stopped and shook his fist threateningly at the room above. "She shall pay for this," he muttered—" by God in heaven! she shall pay for this. She is a good-for-nothing seducer! Even in prison she does not leave off coquetting, and flirting, and turning the heads of the men! It is disgraceful, thoroughly disgraceful, and she shall pay for it! I will soon find means to have my revenge on her!"

During the whole evening Mistress Tison did not leave her place behind the glass door for a moment, and at each stolen glance which the queen cast thither she always encountered the malicious, glaring eyes of the keeper, directed at her with an impudent coolness.

At last came the hour of going to bed—the hour to which the queen looked impatiently forward. At night she was at least alone and unguarded. After the death of the king, it had been found superfluous to trouble the officials with the wearisome night- watches, and they were satisfied, after darkness had set in and the candles were lighted, with locking the three doors which led to the inner rooms.

Did Marie Antoinette weep and moan at night, did she talk with her sister, did she walk disconsolately up and down her room?—the republic granted her the privilege. She could, during the night at least, have a few hours of freedom and of solitude.

But during the night Marie Antoinette did not weep or moan; this night her thoughts were not directed to the sad past, but to the future; for the first ray of hope which had fallen upon her path for a long time now encountered her.

"To escape, to be free!" she said, and the shadow of a smile flitted over her face. "Can you believe it? Do you consider it possible, sister?"

"I should like to believe it," whispered Elizabeth, "but there is something in my heart that reminds me of Varennes, and I only pray to God that He would give us strength to bear all the ills they inflict upon us. We must, above all things, keep our calmness and steadfastness, and be prepared for the worst as well as the best."

"Yes, you are right, we must do that," said Marie Antoinette, collecting herself. "When one has suffered as we have, it is almost more difficult to hope for good fortune than to prepare for new terrors. I will compel myself to be calm. I will read Toulan's plan, once more, and will impress it word for word upon my memory, so as to burn the dangerous sheet as soon as possible."

"And while you are doing that I will unwind the ball that Toulan brought us, and which certainly contains something heavy," said the princess.

"What a grand, noble heart! what a lofty character has our friend Toulan!" whispered the queen. "His courage is inexhaustible, his fidelity is invincible, and he is entirely unselfish. How often have I implored him to express one wish to me that I might gratify, or to allow me to give him a draft of some amount! He is not to be shaken- -he wants nothing, he will take nothing. Ah, Elizabeth, he is the first friend, of all who ever drew toward me, who made no claims and was contented with a kind word. When I implored him yesterday to tell me in what way I could do him a service, he said: 'If you want to make me happy, regard me always as your most devoted and faithful servant, and give me a name that you give to no one besides. Call me Fidele, and if you want to give me another remembrancer than that which will always live in my heart, present me, as the highest token of your favor, with the little gold smelling-bottle which I saw you use in the Logograph box on that dreadful day.' I gave him the trinket at once. He kneeled down in order to receive it, and when he kissed my hand his hot tears fell upon it. Ah, Elizabeth, no one of those to whom in the days of our happiness I gave jewels, and to whom I gave hundreds of thousands, cherished for me so warm thanks as Toulan—no, as Fidele—for the poor, insignificant little remembrancer."

"God is good and great," said the princess, who, while the queen was speaking, was busily engaged in unwinding the thread; "in order that we might not lose faith in humanity and confidence in man, He sent us in His mercy this noble, true-hearted one, whose devotion, disinterestedness, and fidelity were to be our compensation for all the sad and heart-rending experiences which we have endured. And, therefore, for the sake of this one noble man let us pardon the many from whom we have received only injury; for it says in the Bible that, for the sake of one righteous man, many sinners shall be forgiven, and Toulan is a righteous man."

"Yes, he is a righteous man, blessings on him!" whispered the queen. Then she took the paper in her hand, and began to read the contents softly, repeating every sentence to herself, and imprinting every one of those hope-bringing words upon her memory; and while she read, her poor, crushed heart gradually began to beat with firmer confidence, and to embrace the possibility of realizing the plan of Toulan and finding freedom in flight.

During this time Princess Elizabeth had unwound the thread of the ball, and brought to light a little packet enveloped in paper.

"Take it, my dear Antoinette," she said, "it is addressed to you."

Marie Antoinette took it and carefully unfolded the paper. Then she uttered a low, carefully-suppressed cry, and, sinking upon her knees, pressed it with its contents to her lips.

"What is it, sister?" cried the princess, hurrying to her. "What does Toulan demand?"

The queen gave the paper to the princess. "Read," she said—"read it, sister."

Elizabeth read: "Your majesty wished to possess the relics which King Louis left to you. They consist of the wedding-ring of his majesty, his little seal, and the hair which the king himself cut off. These three things lay on the chimney-piece in the closed sitting-room of the king. The supervisor of the Temple took them from Clery's hand, to whom the king gave them, and put them under seal. I have succeeded in getting into the sitting-room; I have opened the sealed packet, taken out the sacred relics, put articles of similar character in their place, and sealed it up again. With this letter are the relics which belong to your majesty, and I swear by all that is sacred and dear to me—I swear by the head of my queen, that they are the true articles which the blessed martyr, King Louis XVI., conveyed to his wife in his testament. I have stolen them for the exalted heir of the crown, and I shall one day glory in the theft before the throne of God." [Footnote: Goncourt, " Histoire de Marie Antoinette," p. 384.]

"See, Elizabeth," said the queen, unfolding the little things, each one of which was carefully wrapped in paper—"see, there is his wedding-ring. There on the inside are the four letters, 'M. A. A. A., 19th April, 1770.' The day of our marriage!—a day of joy for Austria as well as for France! Then—but I will not think of it. Let me look further. Here is the seal! The cornelian engraved on two sides. Here on one side the French arms; as you turn the stone, the portrait of our son the Dauphin of France, with his helmet on his head. Oh! my son, my poor dear child, will your loved head ever bear any other ornament than a martyr's crown; will God grant you to wear the helmet of the warrior, and to battle for your rights and your throne? How pleased my husband was when on his birthday I brought him this seal! how tenderly his looks rested upon the portrait of his son, his successor! and now—oh, now! King Louis XVI. cruelly, shamefully murdered, and he who ought to be the King of France, Louis XVII., is nothing but a poor, imprisoned child—a king without a crown, without hope, without a future!"

"No, no, Antoinette," whispered Elizabeth, who had kneeled before the queen and had tenderly put her arms around her—" no, Antoinette, do not say that your son has no hope and no future. Build upon God, hope that the undertaking which we are to-morrow to execute will lead to a fortunate result, that we shall flee from here, that we shall be free, that we shall be able to reach England. Oh, yes, let us hope that Toulan's fine and bold plan will succeed, and then it may one day be that the son of my dear brother, grown to be a young man, may put the helmet on his head, gird himself with the sword, reconquer the throne of his fathers, and take possession of it as King Louis XVII. Therefore let us hope, sister."

"Yes, therefore let us hope" whispered the queen, drying her tears. "And here at last," she continued, opening the remaining paper, "here is the third relic, the hair of the king! —the only thing which is left us of the martyr king, the unfortunate husband of an unfortunate wife, the pitiable king of a most pitiable people! Oh, my king! they have laid your poor head that bore this white hair— they have laid it upon the scaffold, and the axe, the dreadful axe— "

The queen uttered a loud shriek of horror, sprang up, and raised both her hands in conjuration to Heaven, while a curse just trembled on her lips. But Princess Elizabeth threw herself into her arms, and pressed on the cold, quivering lips of the queen a long, fervent kiss.

"For God's sake, sister," she whispered, "speak softly. If Tison heard your cry, we are lost. Hush! it seems to me I hear steps, hide the things. Let us hurry into bed. Oh, for God's sake, quick!"

She huddled the papers together, and put them hastily into her bosom, while Marie Antoinette, gathering up the relics, dashed into her bed.

"She is coming," whispered Elizabeth, as she slipped into her bed. "We must pretend to be asleep."

And in fact Princess Elizabeth was right. The glass-door, which led from the sleeping-room of the children to the little corridor, and from there to the chamber of Mistress Tison, was slowly and cautiously opened, and she came with a lamp in her hand into the children's room. She stood near the door, listening and spying around. In the beds of the children she could hear the long-drawn, calm breathing, which indicated peaceful slumbers; and in the open, adjoining apartment, in which the two ladies slept, nothing was stirring.

"But I did hear a sound plainly," muttered Tison. "I was awaked by a loud cry, and when I sat up in bed I heard people talking."

She stole to the beds of the children, and let the light fall upon their faces. "They are sleeping soundly enough," she muttered, "they have not cried or spoken, but we will see how it is in the other room." Slowly, with the lamp in her hand, she crept into the neighboring apartment. The two ladies lay motionless upon their beds, closing their eyes quickly when Mistress Tison crossed the threshold, and praying to God for courage and steadfastness.

Tison went first to the bed of Princess Elizabeth and let the lamp fall full upon her face. The glare seemed to awaken her. "What is it?" she cried, "what has happened? sister, what has happened? where are you, Marie Antoinette?"

"Here, here I am, Elizabeth," cried the queen, rising suddenly up in bed, as if awakened. "Why do you call me, and who is here?"

"It is I," muttered Tison, angrily. "That is the way if one has a bad conscience! One is startled then with the slightest sound."

"We have no bad conscience," said Elizabeth, gently, "but you know that if we are awakened from sleep we cry out easily, and we might be thinking that some one was waking us to bring us happy tidings."

"I hope so," cried Tison, with a scornful laugh, "Happy news for you! that means unhappy and sad news for France and for the French people. No, thank God! I did not waken you to bring you any good news."

"Well," said the queen, gently, "tell us why you have wakened us and what you have to communicate to us."

"I have nothing at all to communicate to you," growled Tison, "and you know best whether I wake you or you were already awake, talking and crying aloud. Hist! it is not at all necessary that you answer, I know well enough that you are capable of lying. I tell you my ears are open and my eyes too. I let nothing escape me; you have talked and you have cried aloud, and if it occurs again I shall report it to the supervisor and have a watch put here in the night again, that the rest of us may have a little quiet in the night-time, and not have to sleep like the hares, with our eyes open."

"But," said the princess gently, "but dear woman—"

"Hush!" interrupted Tison, commandingly, "I am not your 'dear woman,' I am the wife of Citizen Tison, and I want none of your confidence, for confidence from such persons as you are, might easily bring me to the scaffold."

She now passed through the whole room with her slow, stealthy tread, let the light fall upon every article of furniture and the floor, examined all the objects that lay upon the table, and then, after one last threatening look at the beds of the two ladies, went slowly out. She stopped again at the cribs of the children, and looked at them with a touch of gentleness. "How quietly they sleep!" the whispered. "They lie there exactly as they lay before. One would think they were smiling in their sleep—I suppose they are playing with angels. I should like to know how angels come into this old, horrid Temple, and what Simon's wife would say if she knew they came in here at night without her permission. See, see," she continued, "the boy is laughing again, and spreading out his hands, as if he wanted to catch the angels. Ah! I should like to know if my dear little Solange is sleeping as soundly as these children, and whether she smiles in her sleep and plays with angels; I should like to know if she dreams of her parents, my dear little Solange, and whether she sometimes sees her poor mother, who loves her so and yearns toward her so tenderly that" [Footnote: This Mistress Tison, the cruel keeper of the queen, soon after this fell into lunacy, owing both to her longings after her daughter and her compunctions of conscience for her treatment of the queen. The first token of her insanity was her falling upon her knees before Marie Antoinette, and begging pardon for all the pain she had occasioned, and amid floods of tears accusing herself as the one who would be answerable for the death of the queen. She then fell into such dreadful spasms, that four men were scarcely able to hold her. They carried her into the Hotel Dieu, where she died after two days of the most dreadful sufferings and bitter reproaches of herself.—See Goncourt, p. 280. ]

She could not go on; tears extinguished her utterance, and she hastened out, to silence her longings on the pillow of her bed.

The ladies listened a long time in perfect silence; then, when every thing was still again, they raised themselves up softly, and began to talk to each other in the faintest of whispers, and to make their final preparations for the flight of the morrow. They then rose and drew from the various hiding-places the garments which they were to use, placed the various suits together, and then tried to put them on. A fearful, awful picture, such as a painter of hell, such as Breugel could not surpass in horror!—a queen and a princess, two tender, pale, harmless women, busied, deep in the night, as if dressing for a masquerade, in transforming themselves into those very officials who had led the king to the scaffold, and who, with their pitiless iron hands, were detaining the royal family in prison!

There they stood, a queen, a princess, clad in the coarse, threadbare garments of republican officials, the tri-colored sashes of the "one indivisible republic" around their bodies, their heads covered with the three-cornered hats, on which the tri-colored cockade glittered. They stood and viewed each other with sad looks and heavy sighs. Ah, what bright, joyous laughter would have sprung from the lips of the queen in the days of her happiness, if she had wanted to hide her beauty in such attire for some pleasant masquerade at Trianon! What charming sport it would have been then and there! How would her friends and courtiers have laughed! How they would have admired the queen in her original costume, which might well have been thought to belong to the realm of dreams and fantasies! A tri-colored cockade—a figment of the brain—a tri- colored sash—a merry dream! The lilies rule over France, and will rule forever!

No laughter resounded in the desolate room, scantily lighted with the dim taper—no laughter as the queen and the princess put on their strange, fearful attire. It was no masquerade, but a dreadful, horrible reality; and as they looked at each other wearing the costume of revolutionists, tears started from the eyes of the queen; the princess folded her hands and prayed; and she too could not keep back the drops that slowly coursed over her cheeks.

The lilies of France are faded and torn from the ground! From the palace of the Tuileries waved the tri-color of the republic, and in the palace of the former Knights Templars is a pale, sad woman, with gray hair and sunken eyes, a broken heart, and a bowed form. This pale, sad shadow of the past is Marie Antoinette, once the Queen of France, the renowned beauty, the first woman in a great kingdom, now the widow of an executed man, she herself probably with one foot—

No, no, she will be saved! God has sent her a deliverer, a friend, and this friend, this helper in her need, has made every thing ready for her flight.



CHAPTER XXIII.

THE SEPARATION.

Slowly and heavily the hours of the next day rolled on. Where was Toulan? Why did he not come? The queen waited for him the whole of that long, dreadful day in feverish expectation. She listened to every sound, to every approaching step, to every voice that echoed in the corridor. At noon Toulan had purposed to come to take his post as guard. At six, when the time of lighting the lamps should arrive, the disguises were to be put on. At seven the carefully and skilfully-planned flight was to be made.

The clock in the tower of the Temple had already struck four. Toulan had not yet come, and the guards of the day had not yet been relieved. They had had a little leisure at noon for dinner, and during the interim Simon and Tison were on guard, and had kept the queen on the rack with their mockery and their abusive words. In order to avoid the language and the looks of these men, she had fled into the children's room, to whom the princess, in her trustful calmness and unshaken equanimity, was assigning them lessons. Marie Antoinette wanted to find protection here from the dreadful anxiety that tortured her, as well as from the ribald jests and scurrility of her keepers. But Mistress Tison was there, standing near the glass window, gazing in with a malicious grin, and working in her wonted, quick way upon the long stocking, and knitting, knitting, so that you could hear the needles click together.

The queen could not give way to a word or a look. That would have created suspicion, and would, perhaps, have caused an examination to be made. She had to bear all in silence, she had to appear indifferent and calm; she had to give pleasant answers to the dauphin's innocent questions, and even compel a smile to her lips when the child, reading in her looks, by the instinct of love, her great excitement, tried to cheer her up with pleasant words.

It struck five, and still Toulan did not come. A chill crept over her heart, and in the horror which filled her she first became conscious how much love of life still survived in her, and how intensely she had hoped to find a possibility of escape.

Only one last hour of hope left! If it should strike six, and he should not come, all would be lost! The doors of her prison would be closed forever—never opening again excepting to allow Marie Antoinette to pass to the guillotine.

Mistress Tison had gone, and her cold, mocking face was no longer visible behind the glass door. The guards in the anteroom had also gone, and had closed the doors behind them. The queen was, therefore, safe from being watched at least! She could fall upon her knees, she could raise her hands to God and wrestle with Him in speechless prayer for pity and deliverance. She could call her children to herself, and press them to her heart, and whisper to them that they must be composed if they should see something strange, and not wonder if they should have to put on clothing that they were not accustomed to.

"Mamma," asked the dauphin, in a whisper, "are we going to Varennes again?"

The queen shuddered in her inmost soul at this question, and hid her quivering face on the faithful breast of the princess.

"Oh, sister, I am suffocating with anxiety," she said. "I feel that this hour is to decide the lives of us all, and it seems to me as if Death were already stretching out his cold hand toward me. We are lost, and my son, my unhappy son, will never wear any other than the martyr's crown, and—"

The queen was silent, for just then the tower-clock began to strike, slowly, peacefully, the hour of six! The critical moment! The lamplight must come now! If it were Toulan, they might be saved. Some unforeseen occurrence might have prevented his coming before; he might have borrowed the suit of the bribed lamplighter in order to come to them. There was hope still—one last, pale ray of hope!

Steps upon the corridor! Voices that are audible!

The queen, breathless, with both hands laid upon her heart, which was one instant still, and then beat with redoubled rapidity, listened with strained attention to the opening of the door of the anteroom. Princess Elizabeth approached her, and laid her hand on the queen's shoulder. The two children, terrified by some cause which they could not comprehend, clung to the hand and the body of their mother, and gazed anxiously at the door.

The steps came nearer, the voices became louder. The door of the anteroom is opened—and there is the lamp-lighter. But it is not Toulan—no, not Toulan! It is the man who comes every day, and the two children, are with him as usual.

A heavy sigh escaped from the lips of the queen, and, throwing her arms around the dauphin with a convulsive motion, she murmured:

"My son, oh, my dear son! May God take my life if He will but spare thine!"

Where was Toulan? Where had he been all this dreadful day? "Where was Fidele the brave, the indefatigable?

On the morning of the day appointed for the flight, he left his house, taking a solemn leave of his Marguerite. At this parting hour he told her for the first time that he was going to enter upon the great and exalted undertaking of freeing the queen and her children, or of dying for them. His true, brave young wife had suppressed her tears and her sighs to give him her blessing, and to tell him that she would pray for him, and that if he should perish in the service of the queen, she would die too, in order to be united with him above.

Toulan kissed the beaming eyes of his Marguerite with deep fooling, thanked her for her true-hearted resignation, and told her that he had never loved her so much as in this hour when he was leaving her to meet his death, it might be, in the service of another lady.

"At this hour of parting," he said, "I will give you the dearest and most sacred thing that I possess. Take this little gold smelling- bottle. The queen gave it to me, and upon the bit of paper that lies within it Marie Antoinette wrote with her own hand, 'Remembrancer for Fidele.'

Fiddle is the title of honor which my queen has given me for the little service which I have been able to do for her. I leave this little gift for you as that which, next to your love, is the most sacred and precious thing to me on earth. If I die, preserve it for our son, and give it to him on the day when he reaches his majority. Tell him of the time when I made this bequest to him, in the hope that he would make himself worthy of it, and live and die as a brave son of his country, a faithful subject and servant of his king, who, God willing, will be the son of Marie Antoinette. Tell him of his father; say to him that I dearly loved you and him, but that I had devoted my life to the service of the queen, and that I gave it freely and gladly, in conformity with my oath. I have not told you about these things before, dear Marguerite—not because I doubted your fidelity, but because I did not want you to have to bear the dreadful burden of expectation, and because I did not want to trouble your noble soul with these things. And now I only tell you this much: I am going away to try to save the queen. If I succeed, I shall come back for a moment this evening at ten o'clock. If I remain away, if you hear nothing from me during the whole night, then—"

"Then what?" asked Marguerite, throwing her arms around him, and looking into his face anxiously. "Say, what then?"

"Then I shall have died," he said, softly, "and our child will be an orphan! Do not weep, Marguerite! Be strong and brave, show a cheerful face to our neighbors, our friends, and the spies! But observe every thing! Listen to every thing! Keep the outer door open all the time, that I may be able to slip in at any moment. Have the little secret door in my room open too, and the passageway down into the cellar always free, that I may slip down there if need be. Be ready to receive me at any time, to hide me, and, it may possibly be, others who may come with me!"

"I shall expect you day and night," she whispered, "so long as I live!"

"And now, Marguerite," he said, pressing her tenderly to his heart, "one last kiss! Let me kiss your eyes, your beautiful dear eyes, which have always glanced with looks of love, and which have always given me new inspiration. Farewell, my dear wife, and God bless you for your love and fidelity!"

"Do not go, my precious one! Come once more to the cradle of our boy and give him a parting kiss!"

"No, Marguerite, that would unman me, and to-day I must be strong and master of myself. Farewell, I am going to the Temple!"

And, without looking at his wife again, he hurried out into the street, and turned his steps toward his destination. But just as he was turning the very next corner Lepitre met him, pale, and displaying great excitement in his face.

"Thank God!" he said, "thank God that I have found you. I wanted to hasten to you. We must flee directly—all is discovered. Immediate flight alone can save us!"

"What is discovered?" asked Toulan. "Speak, Lepitre, what is discovered?"

"For God's sake, let us not be standing here on the streets!" ejaculated Lepitre. "They have certainly sent out the constables to arrest us. Let us go into this house here, it contains a passage through to the next street. Now, listen! We are reported. Simon's wife has carried our names to the Committee of Public Safety as suspicious persons. Tison's wife has given out that the queen and her sister-in-law have won us both over, and that through our means she is kept informed about every thing that happens. The carpet- manufacturer, Arnault, has just been publicly denouncing us both, saying that Simon's wife has reported to him that we both have conducted conversation with the prisoners in low tones of voice, and have thereby been the means of conveying some kind of cheering information to the queen. [Footnote: Literally reproduced here.—See Concourt, "Histoire de Marie Antoinette," p. 290.] On that, our names were stricken from the list of official guards at the Temple, and we are excluded from the new ward committee that is forming to- day."

"And is that all?" asked Toulan, calmly. "Is that all the bad news that you bring? Then the projected flight is not discovered, is it? Nothing positive is known against us? Nothing more is known than the silly and unfounded denunciations of two old women?"

"For God's sake, do not use such idle words as these!" replied Lepitre. "We are suspected, our names are stricken from the ward list. Is not that itself a charge against us? And are not those who come under suspicion always condemned? Do not laugh, Toulan, and shake your head!

Believe me, we are lost if we do not flee; if we do not leave Paris on the spot and conceal ourselves somewhere. I am firmly resolved on this, and in an hour I shall have started, disguised as a sans- culotte. Follow my example, my friend. Do not throw away your life foolhardily. Follow me!"

"No," said Toulan, "I shall stay. I have sworn to devote my life to the service of the queen, and I shall fulfil my oath so long as breath remains in my body. I must not go away from here so long as there is a possibility of assisting her. If flight is impracticable to-day, it may be effected at some more favorable time, and I must hold myself in readiness for it."

"But they will take you, I tell you," said Lepitre, with a downcast air. "You will do no good to the queen, and only bring yourself to harm."

"Oh, nonsense! they will not catch me so soon," said Toulan, confidently. "Fortune always favors the bold, and I will show you that I am brave. Go, my friend, save yourself, and may God give you long life and a contented heart! Farewell, and be careful that they do not discover you!"

"You are angry with me, Toulan," said Lepitre. "You consider me cowardly. But I tell you, you are foolhardy, and your folly will plunge you into destruction."

"I am not angry with you, Lepitre, and you shall not be with me. Every one must do as best he can, and as his heart and his head dictate to him. One is not the better for this, and another the worse. Farewell, my friend! Take care for your own safety, for it is well that some faithful ones should still remain to serve the queen, and I know that you will serve her when she needs your help."

"Then give me your hand in parting, my friend. And if at last you come to the conclusion to flee, come to Normandy, and in the village of Lerne, near Dieppe, you will find me, and my father will receive you, and you shall be treated as if you were my brother."

"Thanks, my friend, thanks! One last shake of the hand. There! Now you are away, and I remain here."

Toulan went out into the street, walked along with a cheerful face, and repaired at once to the hall where the Committee of Safety were sitting.

"Citizens and brothers," he said, in aloud, bold voice, "I have just been informed that I have been brought under suspicion and denounced. Friends have warned me to betake to flight. But I am no coward, I have no bad conscience, and therefore do not fly, but come here and ask you is this true? Is it possible that you regard me as no patriot, and as a traitor?"

"Yes," answered President Hobart, with a harsh, hard voice, "you are under suspicion, and we mistrust you. This shameful seducer, this she-wolf Marie Antoinette has cast her foxy eyes upon you, and would doubtless succeed if you are often with her. We have therefore once for all taken your name from the list of the official guards in the Temple, and you will no longer be exposed to the wiles of the Austrian woman. But besides this, as the second denunciation has been made against you to-day, and as it is asserted that you are in relations with aristocrats and suspected persons, we have considered it expedient, in view of the common safety, to issue a warrant for your apprehension. An officer has just gone with two soldiers to your house, to arrest you and bring you hither. You have simply anticipated the course of law by surrendering yourself. Officer, soldiers, here!"

The persons summoned appeared, and put Toulan under arrest, preparatory to taking him to prison.

"It is well," said Toulan, with a noble calmness. "I know that the time will come when you will regret having so abused a true patriot; and I hope, for the peace of your consciences, that there will be a time then to undo the evil which you are doing to me to-day, and that my head will then be on my shoulders, that my lips may be able to testify to you what my heart now dictates, that I forgive you! You are in error about me, yet I know that you are acting not out of enmity to me, but for the weal of the country, and out of love for the great, united republic. As the true and tenderly loving son of this noble, exalted mother, I forgive you for giving ear to my unrighteous accusers, and, even if you shed my innocent blood, my dying wish will be a blessing on the republic."

"Those are noble and excellent words," said Hobart, coldly. "But if deeds speak in antagonism to words, we cannot let the latter beguile us out of our sense, but we must give heed to justice."

"That is the one only thing that I ask," cried Toulan, brightly. "Let justice be done, my brothers, and I shall very soon he free, and shall come out from an investigation like a spotless lamb. I make no resistance. Come, my friends, take me to prison! I only ask for permission to be escorted first to my house, to procure a few articles of clothing to use during my imprisonment. But I urge pressingly that my articles may be sealed up in my presence. For when the man of the house is not at home, it fares badly with the safety of his property, and I shall be able to feel at ease only when the seal of the republic is upon my possessions. I beg you therefore to allow my paper and valuables to be sealed in my presence. You will thus be sure that my wife and my friends have not removed any thing which might be used against me, and my innocence will shine out the more clearly. I beg you therefore to comply with my wish."

The members of the committee consulted with one another in low tones, and the chairman then announced to Toulan that his wish would be complied with, and that an escort of soldiers might accompany him to his house, to allow him to procure linen and clothing, and to seal his effects and papers in their presence.

Toulan thanked them with cheerful looks, and went out into the street between the two guards. As they were on the way to his house, he talked easily with them, laughed and joked; but in his own thoughts he said to himself, "You are lost! hopelessly lost, if you do not escape now. You are the prey of the guillotine, if the gates of the prison once close upon you; therefore escape, escape or die." While he was thus laughing and talking with the soldiers, and meanwhile thinking such solemn thoughts, his sharp black eyes were glancing in all directions, looking for a friend who might assist him out of his trouble. And fortune sent him such a friend!—Ricard, Ionian's most trusted counsellor, the abettor of his plans. Toulan called him with an animated face, and in loud tones told him that he had been denounced, and therefore arrested; and that he was only allowed to go to his house to procure some clothing.

"Come along, Ricard," he said. "They are going to put my effects under seal, and you have some papers and books on my writing-table. Come along, and take possession of your own things, so that they may not be sealed up as mine."

Ricard nodded assent, and a significant look told Toulan that his friend understood him, and that his meaning was, that Ricard should take possession of papers that might bring Toulan under suspicion. Continuing their walk, they spoke of indifferent matters, and at last reached Toulan's house. Marguerite met them with calm bearing. She knew that every cry, every expression of anxiety and trouble, would only imperil the condition of her husband, and her love gave her power to master herself.

"Ah! are you there, husband?" she said, with a smile, how hard to her no one knew. "You are bringing a great deal of company."

"Yes, Marguerite," said Toulan, with a smile, "and I am going to keep on with this pleasant company to prison."

"Oh!" she cried, laughing, "that is a good joke! Toulan, the best of patriots, in prison! Come, you ought not to joke about serious matters."

"It is no joke," said one of the guards, solemnly. "Citizen Toulan is arrested, and is here only to procure some articles of clothing, and have his effects put under seal."

"And to give back to his friend Ricard the books and papers that belong to him," said Toulan. "Come, let us go into my study, friends."

"There are my books and papers," cried Ricard, as they went into the next room. He sprang forward to the writing-table, seized all the papers lying upon it, and tried to thrust them into his coat-pocket. But the two soldiers checked him, and undertook to resist his movement. Ricard protested, a loud exchange of words took place—in which Marguerite had her share—insisting that all the papers on the table belonged to Ricard, and she should like to see the man who could have the impudence to prevent his taking them.

Louder and louder grew the contention; and when Ricard was endeavoring again to put the papers into his pocket, the two soldiers rushed at him to prevent it. Marguerite tried to come to his assistance, and in the effort, overthrew a little table which stood in the middle of the room, on which was a water-bottle and some glasses. The table came down, a rattle of broken glass followed, and amid the noise and outcries, the controversy and violence, no one paid attention to Toulan; no one saw the little secret door quietly open, and Toulan glide from view.

The soldiers did not notice this movement, but Marguerite and Ricard understood it well, and went on all the more eagerly with their cries and contentions, to give Toulan time to escape by the secret passage.

And they were successful. When the two guards had, after long searching, discovered the secret door through which the escape had been effected, and had rushed down the hidden stairway, not a trace of him was to be seen.

Toulan was free! Unhindered, he hastened to the little attic, which he had, some time before, hired in the house adjacent to the Temple, put on a suit of clothes which he had prepared there, and remained concealed the whole day.

As Marie Antoinette lay sleepless upon her bed in the night that followed this vain attempt at flight, and was torturing herself with anxious doubts whether Fidele had fallen a victim to his devotion, suddenly the tones of a huntsman's horn broke the silence; Marie Antoinette raised herself up and listened. Princess Elizabeth had done the same; and with suspended breath they both listened to the long-drawn and plaintive tones which softly floated in to them on the wings of the night. A smile of satisfaction flitted over their pale, sad faces, and a deep sigh escaped from their heavy hearts.

"Thank God! he is saved," whispered Marie Antoinette.

"Is not that the melody that was to tell us that our friend is in the neighborhood?"

"Yes, sister, that is the one! So long as we hear this signal, we shall know that Toulan is living still, and that he is near us."

And in the following weeks the prisoners of the Temple often had the sad consolation of hearing the tones of Toulan's horn; but he never came to them again, he never appeared in the anteroom to keep guard over the imprisoned queen. Toulan did not flee! He had the courage to remain in Paris; he was constantly hoping that an occasion might arise to help the queen escape; he was constantly putting himself in connection with friends for this object, and making plans for the flight of the royal captives.

But exactly what Toulan hoped for stood as a threatening phantom before the eyes of the Convention—the flight of the prisoners in the Temple. They feared the queen even behind those thick walls, behind the four iron doors that closed upon her prison! They feared still more this poor child of seven years, this little king without crown and without throne, the son of him who had been executed. The Committee of Safety knew that people were talking about the little king in the Temple, and that touching anecdotes about him were in circulation. A bold, reckless fellow had appeared who called himself a prophet, and had loudly announced upon the streets and squares, that the lilies would bloom again, and that the sons of Brutus would fall beneath the hand of the little king whose throne was in the Temple. They had, it is true, arrested the prophet and dragged him to the guillotine, but his prophecies had found an echo here and there, and an interest in the little prince had been awakened in the people. The noble and enthusiastic men known as the Girondists were deeply solicitous about the young royal martyr, and the application of this expression to the little dauphin, made in the earnest and impassioned speeches before the Convention, melted all hearers to tears and called out a deep sympathy.

The Convention saw the danger, and at once resolved to be free from it. On the 1st of July 1793, that body issued a decree with the following purport: "The Committee of Public Safety ordains that the son of Capet be separated from his mother, and be delivered to an instructor, whom the general director of the communes shall appoint."