XIV
THE LAST ON THE LIST
As Nicole, in the hall of the Porte-Libre, stopped aghast at thisapparition of their enemy, Cramoisin perceived her, and scuttlinghurriedly forward, cried in triumph:
"Bonjour, Nicole. What luck, eh? Well, aren't you going to say goodday?"
"Bonjour," she answered hastily.
"And Barabant, too," he cried. "Better still, and so glad to see me!Bonjour, Barabant."
"Ah, it's you, hypocrite!" Barabant answered scornfully.
There was a movement of incredulity and alarm among the prisoners, whohastened to withdraw from them. Cramoisin, as though whipped across theface, fell back, scowling and cursing, while Nicole, seizing Barabant'sarm, cried:
"Barabant, what have you done?"
"Nicole," he answered, "do you remember what Goursac said when theyarrested him?"
"No."
"'They are liberating me.' Well, I too wish to be free. I have livedlike a dog for months. That is ended. I will not cringe before thisbully, who will send us to-morrow to the guillotine."
"Then you are determined to die?"
"Yes."
"So be it."
They took their places at the long table, huddling among the famishedand the fever-racked, while the scullions brought in pails therevolting food. Anxious to learn the position of Cramoisin, Nicole wasabout to question her neighbor, an abbe whose kindly look encouragedher, when Cramoisin, suddenly appearing at her shoulder, exclaimed:
"Eh, Nicole, my dear, if you want to know what I am doing here, ask me.I'll tell you. I am the secretary of the Conspiration. I keep a listof all the good conspirators and I see that they are rewarded. I bringgood luck. I've been here but a week and we've guillotined forty!"
"You know him?" the priest asked as the bully swaggered down the line,and Nicole perceived the slight movement with which he drew away.
"He is our bitterest enemy."
"Pardon," he murmured, regarding her with compassion.
"We expect death," she answered quietly.
"What he says is true," he added in a whisper. "Since he has been herethey have taken forty of us. He makes out the lists every night. Welive at his pleasure."
"Does he live among us?" she asked, with a quickened interest.
Again Cramoisin returned, strutting with bombastic gestures, crying tothe room:
"I am the friend of Fouquier. Fouquier promised me to-day that in twomore weeks we could put out a sign, 'To let.' Isn't he kind to us,though? He's very sympathetic, is Fouquier. And I am his friend--I,Eugene Franz Cramoisin. He honors me with his confidence. Eat in peace.I'll speak to him about you. Don't worry."
He swaggered on, vaunting his intimacy, loudly assuring them he broughtgood luck.
Nicole anxiously repeated her question.
"He keeps up the farce of being a prisoner," her neighbor answered.
"Where does he lodge?"
"Near you, where the new arrivals are put."
"Sangdieu!" rose again the voice of Cramoisin, who, farther down, hadhalted at the side of a woman. "The herring is rotten. Do you not seeit? Come, you must complain."
"It is all I need," came the faint answer. "I am not hungry."
"Bah, you aristocrats, you haven't the courage of dogs!" He returnedto another: "And you, young man, they treat you badly, eh? Shall Icomplain to Fouquier?"
The youth, who had imprudently met his eye, instantly dropped his head;but Cramoisin, amid the jeers of the turnkeys, with a pretense oflistening for his answer, exclaimed:
"What's that you say? Robespierre is a scoundrel?"
"I said nothing!"
"Then you thought it, and thoughts are offenses!"
Arrived opposite Barabant, he planted himself with folded arms andcried:
"Well, Citoyen Barabant, the food's good, eh?"
Pushing back his plate, Barabant likewise folded his arms and answeredwith a sneer:
"Do you think so?"
"To me it is delicious!"
"That's not astonishing,--it's the food of swine!"
A murmur rumbled over the hall, rising to weak cries of protests:
"No."
"He slanders it."
"We don't think so, citoyen."
Others implored Barabant to be silent, trembling at his rash speech,that would suffice to empty the prison. Under pretense of upbraidinghim, they surrounded him, beseeching him to have a thought of theirdanger. Yielding to their terror, Barabant remained silent; but when,after the meal, they had dispersed to their rooms, he exclaimed:
"Ah, that did me good! I feel I am a man again. Nicole, to-night Ishall sleep soundly for the first time in months, knowing that afterto-morrow I may sleep more soundly."
Waiting barely long enough to assure herself of his unconsciousness,Nicole withdrew from his side and stole down the corridor, seekinguntil she found under a door a slit of light.
At her soft entrance Cramoisin started up in alarm from the desk wherehe had been preparing his list, and placed the chair between them.
"I am not come to harm you," she said disdainfully. Still for a momenthe eyed her in doubt, before he was reassured. He grumbled:
"What do you want?"
From where she was she could see the list, and at its head the one nameshe dreaded to find.
"Read, if you wish," he said indifferently. "It will give you pleasure."
There were ten names in all, Barabant's being the first, and hers wasnot of the number.
"I have something to ask of you."
"Ask."
"I do not ask that we be sent to the guillotine together," she said,planning cunningly to avoid one danger. "That would be too great aconsolation for you to accord us. Exchange my name for Barabant's."
"Nini," he said, watching her with covetous, blinking eyes. "I don'tintend to let you go."
"If you will send me instead," she cried; "if you swear it, swear tospare him, I will give you a secret that will earn you the gratitude ofFouquier."
"You are too pretty," he said, with a smirk; "when one is as pretty asthat, one is a patriot."
"You will not accept?"
"What, after this evening?"
"Citoyen," she cried, "he is in a delirium! It was the fever."
"Yes, indeed."
"Citoyen, he admitted to me that it was unjust."
"He shall go. You I'll keep."
"Citoyen Cramoisin," Nicole said coldly, "you can never make me belongto you, if that is your purpose. You are not Javogues, and I killedJavogues. Do you understand?"
Before the fire in her eyes Cramoisin shrank away, mumbling:
"You are more difficult than the women of the aristocrats."
"I give you my secret!" Nicole cried in despair. "Use it for your owngood. I did not kill Javogues because he pursued me; I killed him todestroy a tyrant. Place my name there instead of Barabant's, and I willaffirm it before the Tribunal. You will have the credit of discoveringa plot. Fouquier will reward you."
"Is that your secret?" Cramoisin said contemptuously. "Nothing new inthat."
"What! You knew," she cried, "and held back my name?"
"Bah! When one is dead, one is no longer a patriot."
"Citoyen Cramoisin, listen. If you will put my name on the list insteadof Barabant's, I'll give you all the money I have."
To her joy, he looked up with a sudden interest.
"How much have you?"
"Twenty livres."
At the mention of this amount, which Nicole had managed to preserve,his eye became eloquent; but suddenly controlling himself, he asked:
"Paper?"
"Gold."
"You have it with you?"
"Yes."
"Let's see it."
"When you agree."
"It is right to be merciful," he said at last, with a sigh. "But Icannot spare him more than one day."
"For a week?" she pleaded.
He shook his he
ad.
"Six days--five?"
"Impossible!"
"Cramoisin, for pity's sake, four?"
"Never, never!"
"Cramoisin, by your hope of salvation!"
"I'll give you three; not another hour."
He stretched out his hand.
"No; erase first."
He took off the name of Barabant and substituted, "The woman Nicole."
"What did you write?"
"The woman Nicole."
"Put the Citoyenne Nicole Barabant."
"What! You are his wife?"
"Put it down."
"There! Give me the money."
"And you will keep Barabant's name until the 10th of Thermidor?" shesaid solemnly.
"Yes."
"Swear it."
"I swear it."
"On your honor."
"There, on my honor, then! Give me the money."
She gave it to him, and suddenly casting herself on her knees, shecried hysterically:
"Thanks, thanks! You have a heart, I know. You will keep your word. Youcan pity. You can be merciful. Thanks! Thanks!"
Catching the ugly, cruel hands in hers, she covered them with herkisses and her tears. Then, escaping, she fled down the corridor,returning to bed, but not to sleep.
* * * * *
In the morning Barabant awoke, to find her eyes open and the sunlightin the room.
"How well I slept!" he said, springing up. Going to the window, hespread his hands into the beam of the sun that entered. "That feelsgood. Tiens, you have a strange look! What is it? You are not afraid?"
"No," she answered, smiling.
"Well, what then?"
"I have something--"
"Why, you're all wrought up," he said, in surprise, as she stopped.
"Barabant, I ask you only because there is no hope of life. Barabant,I--"
"Why, mignonne, what is it? What has happened?"
She threw herself in his arms, sobbing:
"Barabant, I want to be a wife!"
The moments that he held her in stupefaction were moments of agony toher. He put her from him, looking in amazement at the tear-stained face.
"Idiot that I am!" he cried suddenly. "That is what has been tormentingyou!"
Waiting only for the accent of his voice, she sprang back, trembling,not daring to look at him.
"Then you will?" she cried, stretching out her hands to him. "Then youwill?"
"Of course!"
Into his arms she threw herself, sobbing with the poignant ecstasy ofjoy, while he listened, still uncomprehending.
"That means so much to you?" he said. "But I always considered you asmy wife."
Even in her emotion his simplicity drew from her a smile.
"Since when have you had this idea?"
"From the beginning."
"True?"
"Yes."
"From--"
"From the afternoon of the 10th of August; but I did not realize itthen."
The correction summed up all her history.
All at once Barabant, rousing himself from his amazement, said:
"But how are we to be married?"
"Do you remember the abbe next to us?"
"Yes."
"I will ask him."
"Do you think he will do it?" he said doubtfully.
"I know how to convince him."
He kissed her and drew her away from him.
"Shall I go?" she said. "Now?"
"Fly!"
* * * * *
She was away a long time. When she reappeared with the priest she saidtimidly:
"I have taken very long. I wanted to confess. It did me good. Does thatannoy you?"
"No," he said smilingly; and looking at the face of her companion, hesaid to himself: "She has made him cry."
They joined hands, kneeling before the black-robed figure in the warmroom, pervaded with the sunlight that the bars on the window could notarrest. He made them man and wife, and blessed them, and, bending, putout his hands to raise the woman. But almost immediately, with a smilethat was of the compassionate master, he ceased his attempts and stolefrom the room.
* * * * *
"Tell me one thing," Barabant asked.
"What is it?"
"Why did you not ask before?"
"I could not ask. Now it makes no difference."
"But why?"
Again and again, through their solitary afternoon, as they waited, nowsilent, now questioning each other, he returned to his query withoutsuccess. At five o'clock, perceiving in her body an involuntaryshudder, he said:
"You're not afraid of to-morrow?"
"No. So many others have gone." She had a superstitious idea of God andanother world, confused, simple, and sufficient. Thinking of Javogues,she added: "The abbe said I should be saved. Do you believe it?"
"Yes," he answered, respecting her faith. "I shall not fear, either."
"I know," she answered dreamily.
"She does not think of me," he thought. Then wishing to talk ofhimself, he said:
"It is life that I regret. I ought to have done so much."
"I wanted to give you that," she said at last, feeling in the air theapproach of the last hour. "I wanted to die for you. That was my dream.You would have revered my memory and I should have been happy."
"Why do you say that?" he said, frowning. "And what do you mean?"
"I am only an ignorant girl," she said. "I could not long have beenyour companion."
"You are wrong," he cried vehemently, repeating it several times, "andyou do me an injustice."
She yielded, and asked the question that had been on her lips a dozentimes:
"Truly, Eugene, you would have married me?"
"Can you doubt it, Nicole?"
"You are good, very good." She smiled, satisfied to bear this promiseaway with her, but in her heart she was not quite convinced. "You havebeen very kind."
He was glad at such a moment to own a good action.
"Do you know, it's good to have you," he said slowly, a moment awed bythe thought of the morrow. "I do not fear, but I am glad you are to bewith me."
"Yes, I know."
All at once she sprang up, trembling from head to foot, crying:
"Do you hear?"
"The bell?"
"It is six."
"What! you are trembling?"
"Kiss me."
She threw herself into his arms, clutching him to her, while he, inbewilderment, said:
"But I don't understand."
"Hold me, Eugene, hold me!" she cried. "Don't let me go!"
She kissed him, holding his head in her hands, and the kiss awakenedin him the memory of that first meeting of their lips, in the darkstairway, under the weak torch. He placed his arm about her waist,drawing her gently down the corridor, and believing that her courage atthe last had failed her, he whispered as they went:
"Do not fear, little one. I am with you. I'll have courage for usboth."
The prisoners assembled in the great hall, listless and dragging theirsteps, searching among themselves with anxious or mechanical curiosity,seeking to divine the chosen. Soon from the courtyard rumbled thewheels of the arriving cart.
Presently, faint at first, down the distant corridor fell the stepof the turnkey, approaching slowly, as though to prolong the cruelsuspense. With a crash the gates were flung open, and, flanked by twomastiffs, holding in his hand the fatal roll, the jailer suddenlyconfronted every eye. Without pause, the monotonous, singing voiceopened the long, dreary preamble, finished it, and, rising to a shout,began the list:
"The Citoyenne Nicole Barabant!"
A sigh of relief escaped the girl, and her head fell on the shoulderof Barabant; but her ears, deaf to the cries of sorrow, to thelamentations of mothers and wives, to the screams of astonishmentand despair that woke the silent hall, followed anxi
ously the roll,counting:
"Seven--eight--nine!"
At the tenth she relaxed, and her arms wound about the neck of Barabantin the last long embrace, violent with the pang of parting. Suddenly,with a cry of despair, she tore herself from him,--an eleventh name wasbeing read:
"The Citoyen Eugene--"
Something extraordinary had happened; the jailer had stopped inindecision. Nicole, in the agony of her mind, saw but one face--themocking face of Cramoisin--against an opposite pillar.
"The Citoyen Eugene Franz Cramoisin!"
The sneer dropped out; the face grew livid. On all sides astoundedcries went up:
"Cramoisin?"
"Impossible!"
"Cramoisin arrested!"
Nicole, understanding nothing but that Barabant was saved, hearing onlyBarabant's voice demanding like a madman to be taken, fell into hisarms, crying:
"No, no, it is not a mistake! It is I who have saved you. Barabant!Barabant! It is as I wanted it! Remember me, Barabant! Don't forget me!The abbe will tell you all. Barabant--Barabant!"
They tore her from his arms and swept her away, still stretching outthe unavailing fingers, still calling:
"Barabant! Barabant!"
The weeping and the wailing died behind the clashing gates. A woman,catching her in her arms, supported her down the unending corridor,whispering:
"Lean on me. I have no one."
They entered the courtyard and climbed into the chariot, where afew prisoners sadly and indifferently watched their arrival. Therepresently two turnkeys, laughing boisterously, bore out and dumpedbeside them the body of Cramoisin, who had fainted.