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CHAPTER X
The two men had sat for a long while facing each other, one doing all the talking, the other listening eagerly.
"Early this morning we turned the horses loose in a field and reached the barrier on foot," said Barrington. "We came in with the crowd, two abusive men quarreling with a market woman over some petty transaction regarding vegetables. I assure you, Monsieur de Lafayette, I never used such coarse language to a woman before in all my life. She played her part excellently. They laughed at us at the barrier, and we entered still quarreling. The rest was easy."
So he finished his long story, which had begun with his personal affairs in Virginia, and ended with the account of mademoiselle's flight from the Lion d'Or on the Soisy road.
Lafayette had listened without interrupting the narrative, now he rose slowly, and, crossing the room, looked down into the street.
"Is it possible that, in spite of your protestations, you are not pleased to see me?" Barrington asked, after a pause.
"Yes and no, an enigmatical answer, but the only true one I can give," said Lafayette, turning to his companion and putting both hands upon his shoulders. "The face is still the face of the boy I knew, and of whom I have thought often; there is exactly that courage and daring in you which I then perceived would one day assert themselves. Richard Barrington has grown into just the kind of man I expected, and on that account I am delighted to see him. But there is no place for him in France, there is no work for an honorable volunteer; besides which, he has already managed to slip into a very maelstrom of danger, and for that reason I am sorry he has come."
"I find the Marquis de Lafayette much altered when I hear him speak in such a tone of despair."
Lafayette smiled, and gently pushed Richard into a chair.
"That I do not despair easily, as a rule, may convince you that I am not troubled without reason. The country is in the hands of fanatics, there is no foreseeing what the end may be. On every side of us are enemies, but we are our own worse foes. We are split into factions, fighting and disputing with one another; the very worst of us are gaining the predominant power, and those who have honestly striven to bring good out of evil have been driven to the wall and are struggling for their lives."
"Yet you say my sword is useless."
"As useless as the wooden toy weapon of a boy," was the answer. "To-day I am of no account. At any moment I am likely to be seized by some of the very men who have been my supporters, some trumped up charge preferred against me, and then—then forty-eight hours or less may suffice to close the account."
"You are in immediate danger?" asked Barrington.
"A condition I share with nearly every honest man in France. It is not known that I am in Paris. I am supposed to be with the army. I came secretly, having affairs to settle in case of the worst happening. I may find it necessary to cross the frontier, as so many others have done, and after the part I have played am not likely to find much welcome."
"You know, monsieur, that I would do anything to help you."
"My dear Richard, I know that; but you must not overburden yourself. By bringing mademoiselle here you have not brought her into a place of safety. You should have persuaded her to stay in Beauvais."
"I did my best."
"And for the moment you have saved her. That is something. Now set your fertile brain to work, Richard, and scheme how to get her back to Beauvais again."
"But Bruslart—"
Lafayette silenced him with a look, as the door opened and Jeanne entered. She had washed the stains from her face, and changed her attire. Both men rose, and Lafayette placed a chair for her.
"You have braved so much, mademoiselle, that one does not fear to speak the truth to you," said the Marquis. "I have been explaining to Monsieur Barrington that this house is no safe refuge for you. Things have changed rapidly since you left Paris."
"I know. We have not been without news at Beauvais," said Jeanne.
"I would to God you had never been persuaded to leave so safe a retreat. I am aware, mademoiselle, that you dislike me. You would call me a renegade from my order. It is true. I had dreams of a reformed, a regenerated France; my strivings toward these dreams have ended in failure."
"I think I can refrain from disliking a man who has the courage of his opinions," said Jeanne, quietly. "Had I had my own way I should not have fled from Paris. We were too easily alarmed, and our fear placed a weapon in the hands of our enemies."
"At least, mademoiselle, accept the position now. The weapon is in the hands of the people, and they are using it. Those who would have held them in check are powerless. Be advised. Let me, with the help of my friend here, do my best to get you safely back to Beauvais. After last night's adventure, you will be looked for high and low. While the hunt in the city is keen, it may be easy to slip out unobserved. Every moment we delay the difficulty increases."
"Has not Monsieur Barrington informed you of my purpose in coming to Paris?"
"He has."
"Do you imagine I shall go without fulfilling that purpose? Monsieur de Lafayette, I thank you for your advice, which I know is honestly given. I thank you for having me here, even for so short a time, for I know the risks you run. I have many friends in Paris. Will you help me to reach one of them?"
"What friends?"
"Monsieur Normand."
"He has been in the Conciergerie some weeks, mademoiselle."
"Madame de Lentville, then."
"Also in prison," answered Lafayette. "She was caught in her endeavor to leave Paris less than a week ago."
"Monsieur Bersac," said Jeanne, but not speaking so readily.
"In heaven, mademoiselle. The dwellers in the suburbs beyond the Seine remembered that he once called them idlers, accused them of thriving on other men's industry. The people have a long memory."
"They killed him?"
"At the door of his own house. There is a lantern over it."
There was silence for some moments. The color, faded from Jeanne's face, and the tears came into her eyes. She forced them back with a great effort.
"There is the Vicomte de Morlieux," she said, suddenly.
"Alas, mademoiselle, only last night he was the center of a yelling mob which passed beneath these windows bearing him to the Temple. He is accused, I believe, of assisting the King's flight, and with showing courage when the Tuileries was attacked. Surely you understand your danger?"
Barrington had looked from one to the other as they spoke, admiring the woman's courage, wondering if it were necessary for Monsieur le Marquis to give her such precise information. He knew she was courageous, but was it wise to try her so severely as this?
"You have said the people remember," Jeanne said slowly; "they will recollect, then, that I have done something for the poor. I never thought to boast of my charity, but I will make capital out of it."
"Unfortunately, the people do not remember good works so easily," Lafayette answered. "Believe me, such faith is only grasping at a straw."
"My faith is strong. I shall find a lodging in Paris. I have been a market woman already; if necessary, I can sink to a lower level. Of my own will I shall not leave Paris again until I have contrived to set Lucien Bruslart free."
"He is not a prisoner, mademoiselle. I have already sent for him."
"Is that safe?" asked Barrington, quickly. "For you, I mean?"
"I think so. At any rate, it was necessary."
"Do you say he is not a prisoner?" said Jeanne.
"He may be here at any moment," said Lafayette.
"Have we been deceived?" Barrington exclaimed.
"I cannot tell," Lafayette answered. "It is true that Monsieur Bruslart was in the Conciergerie, but he speedily convinced the authorities that a mistake had been made. I believe he is considered a thorough patriot now."
Jeanne looked at Barrington, who met her gaze unflinchingly.
"I have told you all I know," he said quietly, answering the question in her eyes.
There was a silence which was broken by the heavy opening and closing of the street door.
"Doubtless that is Monsieur Bruslart," said Lafayette. "You would wish to be alone with him, mademoiselle, so we will leave you for a little while. I can only hope that his advice will support mine. You may count on me to do all I can to secure your safety."
Barrington made no promise as he followed the Marquis from the room, but his eyes met Jeanne's again for a moment. A curious and sudden conviction came to her that she had at least one friend in Paris, who was able and willing to help her. She was encouraged and strengthened. For an instant she seemed to feel the grasp of his hand as she had done when she ran beside him last night.
Lucien Bruslart's brain had worked busily since the message reached him. He was glad Pauline had not been with him to hear it. She was such a jealous little termagant. He entered the room the moment after Lafayette and Barrington had left it by another door.
"Jeanne!"
"You sent for me, Lucien. I have come."
He bent his head, and taking her hand raised it to his lips. At that moment he had no thought for Pauline. Yet he felt there was something lacking in Jeanne's greeting. He would make her understand directly.
"How good of you!" he murmured. "Tell me of your journey. Last night, strangely enough, I heard of you, and since then have been in a fever of unrest."
"You heard of me! At the Lion d'Or?"
"Were you there? No, that is not what I heard. It was a strange place to lodge you in. Tell me everything."
"Tell me first why you sent for me," she answered. "It is not so very long since I left Paris; yet, in some way, you have grown unfamiliar."
"It is this perhaps," and he laughed as he touched the tri-color which he wore. "You are unfamiliar too. We are both masquerading."
He told her the history of his imprisonment and of his release; he laughed as he explained that his safety lay in appearing to be a good patriot, and grew serious as he told her with lowered voice that, under this deceit, he was working night and day for the King, the imprisoned nobility, and for the emigrés.
"I was in danger, Jeanne, grave danger, but I did not send for you. Do you imagine I would have brought you into peril on any pretext?"
"You promised to send for me if you were in danger. It was a compact."
"One that any man would feel himself justified in breaking. Rouzet, poor fellow, acted without my knowledge. He was from the first very fearful for my safety, and to ease his mind I showed him the trinket and told him of our compact. Directly I was arrested and taken to the Conciergerie he must have planned to come to Beauvais."
"But how did the trinket come into his possession? I thought you always wore it."
"I did, but in such a hurry were they to arrest me that they came while I was yet in bed. I had to dress with two men watching me, and I left the gold star in a drawer."
"And Rouzet found it?"
"How else could he have started to ride to Beauvais with it?" said Lucien. "Truly, Jeanne, you seem as hard to convince as if you were really a market woman suspecting every purchaser of trying to get the better of her in a bargain."
"Forgive me, but I have come through such a maze of deceit that full belief is difficult," she answered. "Have you no friend named Mercier?"
"Half the ragged fellows passing in the street might claim friendship with me, so well do I play the part of patriot; but I am not conscious of having a friend of that name."
"There is such a man, and his knowledge of you is intimate. He brought me the gold star."
"Tell me the whole story, Jeanne. I may find a clew in it."
He listened to the tale, asking no questions. There was excitement in his face as she recounted her adventure at the Lion d'Or and her rescue by Barrington. It was simply told, yet dramatically, and Lucien's face flushed and paled. This beautiful woman had passed through this terrible experience because she loved him.
"They shall pay for it," he said, between his closed teeth, it was the only thought in his mind at the moment—"they shall pay, by Heaven! they shall."
His earnestness pleased her. This was the Lucien she knew.
"What was it you heard of me last night?" she asked.
"I was told that Rouzet had been watched and followed, that he had been killed on the high road, and the star stolen; that no message could possibly have reached you at Beauvais. It is evident there are others who have plotted to bring you into danger."
"And succeeded," she answered.
"You must be placed in safety without delay, Jeanne. These scoundrels will follow you hot-footed to Paris."
"Monsieur de Lafayette has advised me to return to Beauvais."
"Excellent advice, but impossible. A little while ago his name might have been a safeguard, but his day is over. He clings too persistently to a rock which the rising tide is covering. I have another plan. Tell me, is this man Barrington to be trusted?"
"Trusted!"
She spoke so quickly and certainly that Lucien started. He was inclined to resent such a tone used in the defense of another man.
"There is a wealth of eloquence in the word as you utter it, Jeanne."
"It is only his courage which has made this meeting possible," she said quietly.
"Many a man who is not to be trusted is full of courage," Lucien returned. "One gets skeptical in these days, and I have your safety to think of. You must let me form my own judgment of this man when I see him."
"I hear them coming now."
The Marquis and Barrington entered.
"I was surprised to hear you were in Paris, monsieur," said Bruslart to Lafayette.
"I am here, a private affair. I trust monsieur will forget he has seen me. Under the circumstances it seemed necessary to let you know that mademoiselle was here."
"I am greatly in your debt. You may certainly count on my forgetfulness."
"And you must pardon this interruption," said Lafayette, "but I am fearful of delay. Doubtless you agree with me, Monsieur Bruslart, that it would be best for mademoiselle to leave Paris at once."
"Yes, if such a thing were possible," Bruslart answered. "As I have told mademoiselle, her presence here is not of my contriving. Fearing for my safety, my servant started for Beauvais. He is dead, poor fellow, but he has unwillingly played into the hands of others. For some days at least I believe it would be most dangerous for mademoiselle to attempt to leave Paris. I have a safer plan. A friend I can trust implicitly will hide her for the time being. A couple of hours will suffice to make arrangements."
"I doubt whether this house is safe even for that two hours," answered Lafayette. "If there is a suspicion how mademoiselle was rescued, and it is hardly possible there should not be, my house is certain to be searched. My friend Barrington has mentioned my name since his arrival in France."
"I propose to take mademoiselle with me," Lucien answered. "She will be safe at my lodging until I have arranged with my friend."
"Are you sure of that?"
"Monsieur de Lafayette, do you think I would run the risk unless I were certain?"
"Your interest in mademoiselle is well known, Monsieur Bruslart, and we know that patriots do not always trust each other."
"Have you any other plan?" Bruslart asked.
"I should try and get out of Paris at once," Lafayette answered.
"And my services are at your disposal, monsieur," said Barrington.
"I thank you," Lucien returned, "not only for your proffered help, but for all you have done for this lady. Jeanne, which will you do: attempt to leave Paris or take my advice?"
"I am in your hands, Lucien," she said.
"Then we will go at once. There is a back entrance to this house, I believe, Monsieur de Lafayette. We will go that way if you will allow us. We are safest on foot, I think."
"I will show you the way," answered the Marquis.
"For the moment, Monsieur Barrington, I cannot use your services," said Bruslart; "but I may be only too glad to do so presently. Naturally you will be anxious to know that mademoiselle is in safety. Will you do me the honor to call upon me to-night?"
"The honor will be mine," Barrington answered.
"Come, Jeanne. Will you show us the way, monsieur?"
Lafayette went to the door, and Jeanne crossed the room to Barrington.
"I have no words to thank you," she said. "For what I did at Beauvais I humbly ask your pardon."
"I am always at your service, mademoiselle. Please believe this and use me in your need."
She was gone, and Barrington was alone, staring at the doorway through which she had passed. A tangle of thoughts was in his brain, one loose end uppermost. He had not moved when Lafayette returned.
"Is that man honest?" asked Barrington. It was the loose end in the tangle which prompted the question.
"Yes, surely. She is the woman he loves."
"Only God knows the villainy of some men."
Lafayette laid his hand on his arm.
"Friend Richard, can it be that he is not the only man who loves her?"
"She is a woman, and in Paris."
"Ah, yes, enough truly to cause any man anxiety," answered Lafayette. "Now I am going to send a trusted servant with you to find you a secure lodging. This house is no safe place for you either. I would we were looking out across Chesapeake Bay together."