In the Name of Liberty: A Story of the Terror

  VII

  THE MADNESS OF JEALOUSY

  The victory was to the woman, but it was a victory fraught with menace.Nicole understood her danger, but in her anxiety she adopted the wrongdefense. On the stairway she infolded Barabant with her arm, seekingto communicate to his depressed body the gaiety and relief in hers,while with all the artifices of the woman who feels herself menaced shesought to belittle the importance of the scene, little realizing thedeep wound to the pride of Barabant.

  "It was for me you did it," she whispered. "You would not leave me. Ialone understood."

  He did not answer, and once in their room, fell into a chair, buryinghis head in his hands. Alarmed at his obstinate silence, Nicole,groping for the right attitude, began to reason, walking the floor inher earnestness.

  "After all, mon ami, that is what the Terrorists want--to guillotinethe Moderates. Goursac was foolish; he played into the hands of hisenemies. You are wise. The duty of the Moderates is to keep silent, topreserve themselves for the good of the Nation. How can you serve theNation without your head? The times will change, mon ami, and you'll behere to help set things aright."

  "Oh, that voice," cried Barabant, "I hear it always."

  "Mon ami, you are suffering!" she exclaimed. "I know. I understand."

  She threw herself at his feet, trying to separate his hands, seeking totake his head upon her shoulder; but Barabant resisted, saying:

  "No, Nicole, no; leave me to myself."

  "Don't put me away," she begged. "You are suffering; let me share it."

  He took her hands from his neck and compelled her to rise. She went tothe window, twice turning to look at the dejected figure that remainedunaware of her glances.

  "I have made a blunder. Yes, I have made a blunder," she said toherself, pressing her hand against her lips to quell the rising sob."He blames me."

  The next morning she received another shock when he informed her thathe wished to be alone all day.

  "Then we don't lunch together?" she cried, frightened.

  "Not to-day."

  Not daring to contradict him, she let him go without a word.

  "He blames me. He blames me," she told herself, until all at once, likea thunderclap, came the thought: "Or is it only a pretext?"

  Her judgment tumbled before the suggestion, and on the moment she wassurrounded by the old doubts. She hurried out, morbidly sensitive tothe glances of the concierge, of the loiterers before the cabaret, ofthe bouquetieres her comrades; seeing everywhere mocking glances orlooks of sympathy. Despite Barabant's wish and her better judgment, shescoured his haunts with the one desire to know what he was doing.

  After a day of agony spent in fruitless travel, she returned to theirroom, without a glimpse of Barabant. Having prepared the meal, shesat down before the fire to wait impatiently the hour of seven, whenhe would return. Beside her chair she placed a redingote of his andsewing-material. In the disorder of her mind all her naturalness haddeparted, and seeking everything with artifices, she wished him tocome upon her as she watched their supper and busied herself with hiswardrobe.

  "That will soften his resentment, perhaps," she thought. "And thateverything may be cheerful, I must be singing."

  So, when later the stairs gave out the sounds of footsteps, shehurriedly possessed the mending, humming as she sewed; but the stepsceased two flights below. The redingote slipped from her hands, thesong stopped, and, overcome with disappointment, she cried:

  "Oh, mon Dieu, it is not he!"

  When seven arrived and she began to be anxious, she consoled herselfwith the thought that the effect would be better if he found herwaiting without complaint. A burning smell warned her that the dinnerwas spoiling. She removed the pots from the fire, placing them forwarmth in the ashes, and, abandoning all thought of the picture she hadimagined, went to the window, where she remained, pressing her handsagainst her temples, staring into the misty night.

  At nine o'clock she returned into the middle of the room, and lookingabout at the scene of her happiness, she said with conviction:

  "It is ended!"

  Traveling ceaselessly back and forth like a panther, she cried: "Yes,yes, it is ended!" Still, as long as she repeated it, she continued tohope, and at each fancied creak she ran to the landing, leaning overto catch his first footfall. But when she returned, she still said:

  "No, no; I knew it. It is ended--ended!"

  At ten she ceased to repeat it,--she was convinced. She collapsed onthe bed, brain and body incapable of effort, while the cruel minutes,in their inexorable procession, inflicted each a separate torture.

  When midnight announced itself, the last thread of hope snapped withinher. She bounded up, lit a candle, descended the flight, and enteredthe room, calling, "Goursac!"

  She had forgotten the arrest. The fact appeared to her as an evil omen,presaging calamity.

  In fear of the sepulchral stillness, she fled back, rushing in a panicto her room, where she gazed about helplessly, asking herself what shewas to do. All at once, at the window, staring at her old room, shecried:

  "If it is Louison!" And emitting an "Ah!" that had in it the note ofmurder, she passed out of the window.

  The night was filled with fog, out of which descended the sharp stingof rain. She moved slowly, her body pressed to the roof, seeing withher fingers until the dormer-window struck against her foot. Once intoLouison's room, she crept to the bed, stretching out her hand. It wasempty.

  "Oh! oh! oh!"

  The cry was of something collapsing in her soul. Without returning toher room, she sped down the stairs, through the two courts, and intothe street. In her unheeding rush, she turned to the right, missingBarabant, who was at the moment returning from the opposite direction.

  When she could run no longer, she dropped into a walk until, recoveringher breath, she broke again into a run. At the street corners thebracketed lanterns suffused the fog with a floating radiance thatguided her over the glistening, slippery stones. The mist thatthreatened the world with a destiny of gloom, the rain that gatheredon her eyelashes and weighted her hair, she welcomed as the fittingtouch to her misery; but the chill abated not a jot of the fever in herveins. Out of the blurred night occasionally long lines of watchersemerged, crouching under shawls, hugging the walls to escape the rain.A dozen brutish arms snatched at her, but eluding all, she arrived,panting and trembling, at her destination, crying to the servant whoanswered her knock:

  "Citoyenne, is this the Committee of Safety?"

  "Yes."

  "I must see them."

  "Do you come to denounce some one?"

  "I do."

  "Enter."

  Nicole found herself in a hall.

  "Name, citoyenne?"

  "The Citoyenne Nicole, bouquetiere. The Citoyen Couthon will know me."

  The servant passed to a door at the back and knocked timidly. At thesecond repetition a voice cried:

  "Come in."

  The door opened on a group of men about a table littered with papers.

  "What is it?"

  "A citoyenne who wishes to make a denunciation."

  "Name?"

  "The Citoyenne Nicole, bouquetiere."

  "Tiens! I know her," exclaimed a voice. The spokesman, on thisevidence, gave a sign of permission to the servant, who ushered inNicole.

  A voice said approvingly:

  "Look--she is pretty."

  "Haven't the time."

  Several, attracted by the exclamation, gave her a casual glance; therest, without raising their heads, continued the low hum of theirconference. From the farther side a man wrapped in blankets, deformed,infirm, seized with sudden chills, greeted her.

  "Well, Nicole, you've come to denounce some one? That's right."

  "Citoyen Couthon," Nicole blurted, "I--"

  At the aspect of these machine-like men industriously busy with thelists that fed the guillotine, all her anger dissolved--she could notpronounce th
ere the name she had loved.

  "Well, well," Couthon said encouragingly, "you want to denounce whom?Come, let us get at it. Not the Citoyen Eugene Barabant, at least," hesaid, with a good-natured leer.

  The sound of that name in this spot, without pity, terrified Nicole;she now sought only an excuse to retreat.

  "What name's that?" cried a little man from the table. "EugeneBarabant? Wait a moment; wait a moment. Let me search."

  Couthon lounged to the side of the speaker, who, turning to hisneighbor, demanded the list of suspects to be arrested, while Nicole,flattened against the wall, dazed by a sudden fear, remained tremblingat the snatches of conversation that reached her.

  "A man offered me one thousand livres to-day if I'd slip in the name ofhis wife."

  "That was cheap!"

  "Heron is becoming insupportable. He's sent in the name of every one inhis building. To-day it's the woman above him."

  "She makes too much noise, no doubt."

  "What's the difference? The Nation needs the funds. We must coin moneyon the Place de la Revolution; the guillotine is the mint of theNation."

  "You're a financier."

  "I'm proud of it. Guillotine the rich--there's my finance."

  Couthon raised his head.

  "That's strange; I too thought I'd seen the name."

  The others, attracted by his exclamation, asked:

  "What name?"

  "Barabant. Eugene Barabant."

  A small man spoke up.

  "Denounced last night by the Citoyen Javogues and an old hag the sizeof a child. Do you remember?"

  A chorus of assent greeted him.

  "Barabant denounced!" Nicole cried. "Barabant denounced!" She extendedher hand. "La Mere Corniche?"

  "That's the name."

  "Come, Nicole, a lover is easily replaced. I've sacrificed two alreadyto the Nation," Couthon cried. "Don't lose your time; denounce yoursuspect. We are short to-night."

  "A pretty patriot like that has right to a dozen suspects," criedanother, amid laughter.

  Overwhelmed, dizzy, and horror-stricken, she shook her head, felt withher hands until she found the door, and, backing from the room, fledfrom the house--fled back through the ghostly city.

  Goursac's door was opened; Genevieve herself, with solemn face flushedwith the light of her candle, was waiting for her.

  "Tell me quick!" she cried, apprehending what had happened.

  "You know, then?"

  "Know what?"

  "Barabant has been arrested."

  She recoiled to the wall shrieking:

  "Arrested!"

  "An hour ago."

  "Where?"

  "Here."

  "Here? Then he came back?"

  "Yes."

  Without waiting to hear more, she fled to their room. The lantern hehad lighted shone over the stone floor, the cheerless walls, and thekinks in the roof. It was all empty--terribly empty. On the bed sheperceived the belt and the coat he had left. Forgetting her jealousy,her anger, her mission, remembering only that he had returned, knowingonly that her dream was ended, she stretched out her helpless arms andcried:

  "Barabant! Barabant!"

  Then, overcome with hunger, weariness, and the ravages of her emotion,she slipped to the floor in a heap.