In the Name of Liberty: A Story of the Terror

  IX

  AS DID CHARLOTTE CORDAY

  Behind Dossonville the riot and the tumult fell to a whisper; thetitanic upheaval ended with the walls. Above, the night was solemn andgentle, and the Seine, toward which he bore Nicole, unconscious of therevolt, flowed with the serenity of ages. Depositing the girl on abench, he busied himself with recalling her to the quiet world.

  When consciousness returned, it was by flashes where the incoherentwords, jumbled and wild, showed she was still in the saturnalia,preparing to spring at the hated figure of the Marseillais. Fearingthat her cries would attract a crowd, Dossonville shook her. She openedher eyes, saw him, and sat up, seeking to assemble her thoughts. Then agroan escaped her as memory returned.

  "Ah, my friend," she said pitifully, "why did you stop me? It was themoment."

  She put down her feet, smoothed her dress, and stood up, whileDossonville, rising, said peremptorily:

  "Where are you going now?"

  "Home. Give me your arm. You were too strong; I am tired."

  "Nicole," Dossonville began, in the hope of diverting her mood, "let usreason a little. That is not the Revolution: that is the scum. Judge itnot by that."

  "You say that," she answered wearily--"you?"

  "Aye, the Revolution has proved too immense, and the leaders too weak.It has rolled over them; but the world is its path, and time will rightit."

  But Nicole, despite all his artifices, refused to say another worduntil in the Rue Maugout he cried sternly:

  "Nicole, what do you intend to do?"

  "Is that so difficult to guess?"

  "Nicole! You are not going to take your life!"

  "My life?" she answered, shaking her head. "That is all that is left tome to use."

  "Javogues's?"

  She took his hands, smiling, and said:

  "To-night I was mad and you could stop me; now I am calm and you can donothing. Good night. Forgive me if I have endangered your life. Goodnight, my friend, good night."

  * * * * *

  From the profound sleep of exhaustion Nicole, the next morning,struggled to open her eyes with the echo of Goursac's name sounding inher ears.

  "Nicole! He, Citoyenne Nicole!"

  She rushed to the window, and, leaning far out, beheld below in themisty court the abhorrent figures of the three Tapedures. At herappearance they sent up the exultant shout: "Goursac dies to-day!"

  "To-day," she repeated dully, watching their departure without emotion.

  It was still early, and the weak sun, filtering through the fogs ofthe November morning, cast yellow shadows where shadows showed atall. Silent and calm, the girl withdrew and began to dress. Withinher soul the torment of the last days had given place to quiet. Whatshe had recoiled from doing as an individual now appeared easy to heras the instrument of a high vengeance. In her now were the revoltof womanhood, the anger of the Christian, and the resolution of aCharlotte Corday, which is the resolution of a people.

  Slowly and with great care she dressed, examining herself often,selecting her best attire, and as she dressed she began to sing,wondering the while that she could feel so light-hearted. From thebureau she took her dagger and a ring that Barabant had left, slippingit on her finger, saying wistfully:

  "Poor Barabant. I might have betrayed you. Ah, I shall make reparation."

  In the elevation of her soul he seemed very distant, and the roomof her happiness, as she paused meditatively, unreal and no more apart of her life. She went to the bed and knelt, closing her eyes andstretching up her clasped hands. Suddenly she took the dagger from herbreast and placed it as a cross before her, fastening her eyes upon itas her lips repeated her prayers.

  She rose, passed out of the room, and without a tremor descended thestairs. But at Goursac's landing the sound of voices below compelledher to halt and withdraw into the room. In the turning her skirt caughton a splinter and was torn.

  "Ah, what a misfortune!" she said to herself, unconscious of theincongruity of her words. "My best skirt, too."

  Her mind, before the immense decision, took refuge in trifles. Shesought a pin and occupied herself with hiding the rent, while from timeto time she exclaimed impatiently:

  "They are taking a long time!"

  Unable to remain still, she passed out to the landing, whence, fancyingthat she had detected the name of Barabant, she stole down the steps asfar as the turn would permit, shrinking against the dark walls. Almostimmediately the door opened and the voice of Javogues said:

  "He shall not escape, I promise it! Within three days Barabant shalllook through the little window of Mother Guillotine!"

  "But how'll you find him?" replied the querulous voice of la MereCorniche. "Some one has transferred him from the Luxembourg."

  "Never fear. I'll search the prisons and drag him out, in spite of allthe Dossonvilles in Paris."

  "But when?"

  "This morning. There, will that satisfy you, old patriot?"

  A grunt came for all reply, and the next moment the ascending flightcreaked with the weight of the concierge.

  Nicole, thus threatened with immediate discovery, seized her dagger ina desperate resolve, but the advance stopped and the voice of la MereCorniche whispered:

  "Nicole has gone out, hasn't she?"

  "No, she is above."

  "Then it is better to wait."

  To the inexpressible relief of the trembling girl, the old woman turnedand descended. Left in security, Nicole resumed her composure. Withoutfear of failure, without once debating the means she should employ,confident that all that was essential was to be in the presence of thetyrant, she descended, entering the room so softly that Javogues turnedwith a startled:

  "Who's that?"

  "Nicole."

  "What are you stealing in like a cat for?"

  "I have come to speak with you."

  "Speak."

  "Why do you persecute Barabant?"

  "He is a traitor!"

  "But he said he was not a Girondin."

  "He lied."

  "But what is his offense?"

  "He would show mercy to the aristocrats."

  "Mercy!" she cried. "Have you forgotten to whom you owe your life? Youdid not scorn his mercy!"

  Instead of the expected explosion, Javogues, without resentment,replied:

  "Because I remembered that I did not listen when they told me Barabantwas contre-revolutionnaire. I have done a great wrong: I consideredmyself instead of the Nation." He rose with the glance of the fanatic."Yes, I am guilty--I, Javogues! But I will denounce myself. If theNation decides that I must be punished, let my head warn others againstmoderation!"

  "Javogues," cried Nicole, recoiling, "have you not a drop of humanblood in you? Have you pity for nothing? Does not the sight of all theblood spilled on the guillotine satisfy you?"

  "Satisfy me?" he laughed. He elevated his arms, repeating it witha clap of laughter. "That little pool of blood satisfy me? Only aninundation can purify France. Twenty executions a day would not satisfyme. The guillotine is too merciful for traitors. I would drown themby hundreds--these aristocrats--these rich--these Moderates who havecrushed us for ages. If those we smite are not guilty, their fatherswere! We must be revenged on the ages."

  Then addressing Nicole furiously, he cried: "See here, my girl; if youtalk of moderation, you'll go, too!"

  There was a moment's silence. Then suddenly, from below, she heard thevoice of Dossonville calling:

  "Nicole! Ho, Nicole!"

  Without was life; within the dim room, martyrdom.

  "Then you think," she said, looking down, "that Barabant is guilty?"

  "He shall die!"

  She was smiling with a deceitful smile as she answered:

  "You are perhaps right. Moderation is wrong. We have suffered much."

  "Well said!" Javogues cried. "There speaks the patriot."

  "Nicole! Nicole, come down
!" cried the voice without.

  "It is that traitor Dossonville," Nicole said, still smiling. "He doesnot know that Goursac is to die to-day. Call it down to him. That willenrage him."

  With a gleam of joy, Javogues turned to the window; but before he hadmade two steps, Nicole, bounding forward, buried her dagger betweenthe vast shoulders. The hands went frantically into the air, a hideoussound choked in the throat, and, spinning around, the great bulktottered and collapsed at her feet. A moment before was martyrdom, nownothing but horror.

  Hysterical, panic-stricken, holding out her hand before her,--the handthat bore the curse of blood,--the girl fled from the room, shrieking:

  "I have killed him!"

  At each flight, shivering as though the specter pursued, she repeated:

  "I have killed him! I have killed him!"

  She rushed from the doorway into the court, haggard, stretching awaythe accusing hand, and streaked across the court into the arms ofDossonville, screaming always:

  "I have killed him!"

  Above, the face of Javogues, purple and choking, appeared a moment atthe window, and fell back, crying:

  "Help! Help!"

  From the four walls the windows put forth frightened heads. Twoor three half-dressed figures came tumbling into the court. ButDossonville, seizing the maddened girl, rushed her away through thepassage and up the street before the startled lodgers could divine whathad happened.