cellar."
"True," I returned. "I was about to ask."
"Well, well," said Des Illes. "A few words here, where they will havethe more interest, and then let us mount, and end the tale with suchmemories as these good wines may suggest."
"This way," said the Duke to me. "Let me show you something." Ifollowed him to the end of the cellar, where, to my surprise, I saw bythe light of his lantern a door heavily built and guarded by a bar ofwood. This he lifted, and as he opened the door, and we gazed into thedeep darkness beyond, he said: "I show you a passageway into thecatacombs of Paris, of which this cave must have been a part until builtoff to be made a cellar somewhere in the reign of Louis XV. And stay.Look at this"; and, turning aside, he showed me, as it lay on a cask, acobwebbed bit of something.
"What is it?" I said.
"A woman's glove--and it has been here since 1794."
"The rest were better told in a less somber place," said St. Maur. "Letus go." Upon this we went up the stairs and out into the air. As wecrossed through the barren shrubbery, each with his lantern and a littlebasket of wine, I thought that probably Paris could show no strangersight than this sunken garden-space dark with box, the gentlemen intheir dress of another time, and we two Yankees wondering what it allmeant.
When at length we reentered M. Des Illes's drawing-room a brighter firewas on the hearth than is common in France. About it M. Des Illes setwith care, in their cradles, the half-dozen bottles we had fetched fromthe cellar. I ventured to say that it would be long before they werewarm enough to drink; but the Duke said that was quite a modern notion,and that he liked to warm his wine on the tongue. It seemed to me odd;but I am told it was once thought the thing to have red wines of thetemperature of the cellar. When the wine was set at a correct distancefrom the fire, and the blaze heartened a little with added fuel, M. DesIlles excused himself, and, returning after some twenty minutes,explained that he had been arranging a dressing for the salad, but thatit would be an hour before supper could be made ready.
"That," I said, "will give us full leisure to ask some questions."
"_Pardie!_" said St. Maur. "Had I been you, by this time I should haveasked fifty."
"No doubt," laughed his father; and then, turning to us, "Usually whenwe dress as you see, we are alone--Des Illes and I at least--men of aforgotten past. But to-night friendly chance has sent you here, and itwere but courteous that we explain what may seem absurd. M. Des Illeswill tell you the story."
"It is many years since I heard it," said St. Maur. "I shall be wellpleased to hear it once more."
"But it is long."
"_Fi donc_, my friend. The wine will be the better for waiting," saidthe Duke; "and, after all, some one must tell these gentlemen. As forme, I should spoil a good story."
Then Pierce and I said how delighted we should be to listen, but indeedwe little knew how strange a tale we were to hear.
"It shall be as the Duke likes," said M. Des Illes. "Let us move nearerto the fireside. It is chilly, I think." Upon this we drew to the fire.Our host added a small fagot of tender twigs, so that a brief blaze wentup and lit the dark velvets and jet buttons of the company.
"You will all have heard it," said Des Illes; "but it is as you desire.It will be new to our friends."
"And surely strange," said the Duke's son.
"My memory may prove short, Duke. If I fail, you will kindly aid me."
"Ah, my friend, neither your wine nor your memory has failed. But makehaste, or your supper will be spoiled while we await a tale which isslow in coming."
"The things I shall speak of took place in the month of July, 1794.Alas! this being now 1853, I was in those days close to eleven years ofage. My good Duke, here, was himself some two years younger. My fatherhad been purveyor of wines to the Court, as his father had been, and Imay say, too, that we were broken-down nobles who liked better this wayof earning a meal than by clinging to the skirts of more lucky men of nobetter blood than we.
"There had been in the far past some kindly relation between my Duke'speople and my own, and how it came about I know not, but my grandmother,when the old Duchess died, would have it she must nurse the little Duke,and hence between him, as he grew up, and my father was the resemblanceoften seen between brothers of one milk. We were all of us, my motherand father and I, living in this house when my story begins, andalthough in secret we were good servants of the King, we were quietlyprotected by certain Jacobins who loved good wine. In fact, we did verywell and kept our heads from Madame Guillotine, and from suspicion ofbeing enemies of the country, until the sad thing chanced of which I ammade to tell the history.
"In the spring of 1793 the Duke, my father's foster-brother, came oneday from the country in disguise, and with him this same Duke Henri yousee here to-day. I do not now know precisely what had taken place, butI believe the Duke was deep in some vain plots to save the Queen, andwished to be free for a time from the care of his boy. At all events,Duke Henri, a very little fellow, was left with us and became our cousinfrom Provence. He had a great opinion of his dignity, this dear Duke, inthose days, and was like enough to get us all into trouble.
"Early in July 1794 my father was much disturbed in mind. I often sawhim at night carrying things into the plant-house, where my mothernursed a few pots of flowers. There was cause, indeed, to trouble anyone, what with the merciless guillotine and the massacres. As for us,too, we knew pretty well that at last we were becoming "suspects."
"One evening--it was the 19th of July--my father was away nearly allday, a thing for him quite out of the common. About dusk he came home,and after a few words in haste to my mother called us to help him. Onthis we were set to work carrying bottles of milk, cheese, bread, andcold meats in baskets to the plant-house, where my father took them fromus. Then we went back and forth with blankets, pillows, and more thingsthan I can now recall. After this, it being night, we were told to waitin the house, but no explanation was given us as to what these unusualpreparations meant."
"It was this house, this same house," said Duke Henri; "when we had doneall that was required of us we sat within doors, wondering what it wasfor."
"The next day, being July 20th about noon, we boys were playing in thegarden when I saw my mother come through the window, and heard her cryout: 'It is ruin, it is ruin; my God, it is ruin!' A moment after camemy father with the Duke de St. Maur--Duke Philip, of course. The Dukewas speaking vehemently as we boys ran to hear. 'I came to say that Iam going to England. I have not a moment. I fear I may have beenfollowed. I grieve to have fetched this trouble upon you.'
"My mother was vexed indeed, and spoke angrily; but my father said, 'No;trouble has been close for days, and the house is watched. For me,there need be no real fear. I have friends, and should be set freequickly, but the Duke!--'
"In the end they would not let Duke Philip go, and urged that now itwould bring about a greater peril for all of us if he were caught goingout or were seen to come forth.
"'There is a better way,' cried my father. 'Quick! Let us all go downto the lower cave.' The Duke remonstrated, but was cut short, for myfather said, 'If you have compromised us, I must judge now what isbest.' And so the Duke gave in, and we were all hurried into theplant-house and down the stairs to the first cellar, where were many ofthe things so long made ready. My father opened the larger trap, andbegan with great haste to carry down, with our help, all he had left inthe cellar above. Every one aided, and it was no sooner done than weheard a noise in the house, or beyond it. 'The officers!' said myfather. 'Now you are all safe, and I shall soon come for you.'
"He stood a moment, seeming to hesitate, while my mother and the Dukeprayed him to come down and close the trap; but at last he said, 'No; itwere better my way,' and shut down the door.
"I heard a great clatter of barrel-staves falling on the trap. I thinkhe had seen the need to take this precaution, and it was this made himrun for us and for his friend a perilous risk; his fear, I mean, thatunless h
idden, the trap would easily be seen by any one who chanced toenter the upper cellar. I should have said that my father lifted thetrap a little and cried, 'The good God help thee, Claire!' Then we wereat once in darkness, and again the staves were replaced, as one couldeasily hear. I heard my mother sob, but the one-year-old baby shecarried screamed loudly, and this, I think, took up her attention for atime. I was on the stone staircase when my father went by me saying,'Be good to thy mother.' I sat still awhile, and, the baby ceasing tocry, we remained thus for a time silent in this appalling darkness, likehunted things, with the terror of the time