XI
THE MAN WITH THE LANTERN
Then between Nicole and Barabant began one of those subtle conflicts ofthe sexes in which the one who loves the more unselfishly is foredoomedto defeat. Until the night of the execution Nicole had combated thevery thought of love. Her flight at the staircase was the last spark ofresistance. She had drunk of the cup, the poison was in her veins. Thenext morning she resigned herself to the bitter, determined, cost whatit might, to have her hour of happiness.
She gave up the struggle against herself, but began another tosafeguard her happiness. Her intuitions told her to resist--thatthe longer he was compelled to woo, the more he would prize her. Inher uneasy doubts she had recourse to coquetry, but that coquetrywhich is unselfish and pathetic, and is nothing but the instinct ofself-preservation.
To Barabant, who neither knew the depth of her longings, nor could haveunderstood them had he known, the hesitation and delays of Nicole wereincomprehensible. Resolved to meet her with like tactics, he assumedtoward her the attitude of a comrade, avoiding all expression ofsentiment.
Nicole readily fathomed the artifice. She countered by an equal showof indifference, leaving him always after a moment's conversation.Barabant retaliated by devoting himself anew to Louison.
The manoeuver brought Nicole back. It was the one move she had notforeseen. It threw her into a panic of jealousy. Not that she did notunderstand his motive, but she feared, from his being thrown withLouison, results of which he had no thought. She admitted her mistakeand relinquished the struggle. She returned uneasily to him, showinghim from time to time, by a word or gesture, that he had only to ask.Barabant, blind to the extent of the change, though instinctivelyperceiving its import, redoubled his attentions to Louison; treatingNicole always as a comrade, hailing her joyfully, gay and charmingin her company, but saying never a word of what she now impatientlysought.
Meanwhile events had been hurrying on the inevitable conflict betweenthe Commune and the Convention. On the 25th of August the news of thetreacherous surrender of Longwy to the Prussian army ran through thearteries of Paris as an inflaming poison. The Nation rose from thefall in the fury of its anger and wounded pride. From the windows ofthe Hotel de Ville an immense banner rolled its folds over the city,bearing the inspiring inscription:
"The Fatherland is in danger!"
From all sides recruits rushed in to swell the legions of defense. Thecity, as though the enemy were already at its gates, converted itselfinto a camp, established posts and sentries, while at all hours thestreets shook under the footfall of passing patrols. Searching partiesran from house to house, filling the prisons with suspected aristocrats.
The Convention, urged to abolish the monarchy and establish theRepublic, hesitated. Only the Commune was resolute, vociferous, andimplacable, shouting for the massacre of the traitors at home beforemarching against those abroad.
Lafayette deserting, Verdun rumored betrayed, traitors everywhere,--inthe army of Brunswick, in the Assembly, in Paris,--nothing but a greatexample could strike terror in the hearts of aristocrats at home andabroad. What that example was, so clamorously demanded, few doubtedwho beheld the frenzied crowds that infested the gates of the prisons,gloating over the list of prisoners there exposed.
In the midst of these alarms, to the dismay of Goursac, Javogues tookup his residence in the landing below them. Shortly after, Nicolereported another disquieting fact: la Mere Corniche had closed hercellar, refusing admission to all. Occasionally Barabant saw Javoguesrunning the streets at the head of searching parties, in a whirlwind ofdisheveled forms and rushing torches, while the room of the Marseillaiswas filled with uncouth figures in secret gathering, of whose characterBarabant, knowing the temperament of Javogues, had no doubt.
On the night of the 1st of September Barabant, who had enrolled forthe defense of the city, began his patrol at the junction of the RueSt. Antoine and the great, gloomy square where had stood the fortressof the Bastille. The mass of citizens, foreseeing the massacre on themorrow, had retired early, barring the doors, leaving the streets tobe swept by restless bands of the lawless: vultures stirred up by theprospect of carrion.
The hours lagged, and the tramp of his step seemed endless toBarabant. His reflections were bitter; for him, the Girondin, it wasnot simply the massacre of aristocrats, but the fall of his party, thathe apprehended.
At twelve Nicole was to join him for the remaining hour. There wasstill three quarters of an hour before she would come. The increasingsound of voices restored him to the consciousness of his trust.
Soon a party of five emerged, preceded by a small muffled figuregliding with feverish steps ahead, as a flame devours its path.Barabant, following them on his beat, strove to recall the familiarstride of the leader. The patrol approaching him from the oppositedirection cried:
"Is it you, Citoyen Sentry?"
The figure advancing assumed human shape.
"He, you are alone to-night?"
"Until twelve."
"You are lucky." He shifted his musket and laughed. "Mine leaves mealone to-night. We had a bit of a quarrel. I had to break a bottle overher head. And now, the devil take it! I have to stand guard alone." Headded angrily: "That's the way with women."
"One moment, citoyen. You saw the party pass just now?"
"Aye. Did you not recognize him?"
"Who?"
"Some one who'll be busy to-night,--the Citoyen Marat." He raised hisvoice cheerily and sang:
"Ah, ca ira, ca ira, ca ira; Les aristocrates a la lanterne! Ah, ca ira, ca ira, ca ira; Les aristocrates on les pendra.
"By to-morrow night there'll be no need of sentries!" he broke off."It's long, eh, when there's no one to keep you company? The devil takethe woman!" He shouldered his musket. "Citoyen, Salut et Fraternite."
He turned on his heel and joined the darkness, while back came theunmusical voice:
"Dansons la carmagnole, Vive le son, vive le son! Dansons la carmagnole, Vive le son--"
The rest lost itself faintly among distant roofs.
Barabant, recommencing his tedious pacing, returned to the Rue St.Antoine, where the sound of light footsteps warned him of the approachof a woman or a child.
"Can it be Nicole?" he thought hopefully, but his spirits fell as thewoman came on doubtfully in a wavering line.
"Good evening, citoyenne," he said gallantly. "There are not many ofyour sex abroad to-night, and alone."
The woman gave the countersign, "The 10th of August."
Barabant, seeing that she was not inclined to enter into aconversation, cried:
"Take pity on the patriot, citoyenne. The hours are dull."
But the woman, with only a slight shake of her head, passed quickly on.Barabant, thus repulsed, grumbled to himself:
"She is neither young nor pretty or she would have stopped." Butremembering the sentry he had left, he continued: "Perhaps it is thefair one with the broken head. If it is, she doesn't seem any tooeager. No, she's turned away."
Suddenly he drew himself up with an exclamation. He saw the woman haltas with the twinkle of a lantern the figure of a man joined her, whileto his astonishment she drew back in evident shrinking from her newcompanion.
Barabant, who had followed this scene with such intentness as to havebecome unaware of his surroundings, suddenly bounded back at the touchof a hand on his shoulder.
"What vigilance, Citoyen Barabant! What a model sentry!"
It was Louison who had stolen on him silently, and now stood mockinghim. To Barabant the apparition was so in keeping with the strangeimpression which the girl had made on him that he was too startled toanswer immediately.
"Why are you always afraid of me?" Louison said impatiently. "It isn'tpleasant to inspire terror."
Barabant excused himself, recounting the scene he had just witnessed;but Louison, not to be put off, returned to her question. "So I inspireyou with fear?"
&n
bsp; "The expression is exaggerated," Barabant returned evasively.
"Come, frankly, there is something about me that has repelled you?"She continued seeking the answer herself. "Was it the day we went tothe flower-market and I pretended anger? That was but play." Her eyessought his face, as though she could find its expression despite thedarkness. All at once she said, "It was at the guillotine?"
"That's true."
"I knew it; but why? I don't understand," she said almost angrily."What is there about me that gives such an impression? I am notconscious of it."
"First, answer me this," Barabant said, "and frankly. At an executionyou have no feeling of pity or horror, have you?"
"No," she answered thoughtfully. "Why?"
"Because it is too evident."
"How do I seem?" she said quickly.
"You seem utterly indifferent to any human suffering."
"That is true," she said slowly.
"It is not only that," Barabant continued, "but--how shall I say it?There seemed to be almost a fascination to you in the spectacle thatordinarily sickens the human heart."
"What!" the girl exclaimed, astonished, "are you not curious to see howa man can die?"
"Curious, yes; but the spectacle is disagreeable to me."
"Why? What is more ordinary and commonplace than death?"
Barabant, in despair of making her understand, remained silent.
"How curious! And when I am at an execution I look different from this?"
"Yes."
"I seem--?"
"Unhuman."
She tossed her head in displeasure and said sharply:
"I do not like that."
"I am frank."
Louison remained thoughtfully silent, perturbed and frowning. Thenlifting her head, she said gaily, in quite a different manner:
"Very well, then; I shall take care how you see me in future."
She turned in the direction of the Bastille, and fastening her glanceupon the ring of light, said:
"It seems to be going away. Perhaps we shall see the woman now."
"She comes faster this time," Barabant said as the sound of footstepswarned them of her approach.
The next moment a bundle of draperies passed them as a ship scuddingbefore a storm. Louison, watching the woman, closed her hand overBarabant's wrist, allowing an exclamation to escape her. Then,springing forward, she cried:
"Eh, mother! Wait a moment!"
The fleeting figure turned as though stung, then dashed wildly intothe darkness. Louison, with a bound, sprang after her, but suddenlyclapping her hand to her forehead, turned and broke past Barabant, whoheard only, as she shot on toward the Bastille, the words:
"The man with the lantern!"