V
A FINE BIT OF WORK
I
"Sh!... sh!... It's the Englishman. I'd know his footstep anywhere--"
"God bless him!" murmured petite maman fervently.
Pere Lenegre went to the door; he stepped cautiously and with thatstealthy foot-tread which speaks in eloquent silence of daily, hourlydanger, of anguish and anxiety for lives that are dear.
The door was low and narrow--up on the fifth floor of one of the hugetenement houses in the Rue Jolivet in the Montmartre quarter of Paris. Anarrow stone passage led to it--pitch-dark at all times, but dirty, andevil-smelling when the concierge--a free citizen of the newdemocracy--took a week's holiday from his work in order to spend wholeafternoons either at the wineshop round the corner, or on the Place duCarrousel to watch the guillotine getting rid of some twenty aristocratsan hour for the glorification of the will of the people.
But inside the small apartment everything was scrupulously neat andclean. Petite maman was such an excellent manager, and Rosette was busyall the day tidying and cleaning the poor little home, which PereLenegre contrived to keep up for wife and daughter by working fourteenhours a day in the government saddlery.
When Pere Lenegre opened the narrow door, the entire framework of it wasfilled by the broad, magnificent figure of a man in heavy caped coat andhigh leather boots, with dainty frills of lace at throat and wrist, andelegant chapeau-bras held in the hand.
Pere Lenegre at sight of him, put a quick finger to his own quiveringlips.
"Anything wrong, vieux papa?" asked the newcomer lightly.
The other closed the door cautiously before he made reply. But petitemaman could not restrain her anxiety.
"My little Pierre, milor?" she asked as she clasped her wrinkled handstogether, and turned on the stranger her tear-dimmed restless eyes.
"Pierre is safe and well, little mother," he replied cheerily. "We gothim out of Paris early this morning in a coal cart, carefully hiddenamong the sacks. When he emerged he was black but safe. I drove the cartmyself as far as Courbevoie, and there handed over your Pierre and thosewhom we got out of Paris with him to those of my friends who were goingstraight to England. There's nothing more to be afraid of, petitemaman," he added as he took the old woman's wrinkled hands in both hisown; "your son is now under the care of men who would die rather thansee him captured. So make your mind at ease, Pierre will be in England,safe and well, within a week."
Petite maman couldn't say anything just then because tears were chokingher, but in her turn she clasped those two strong and slender hands--thehands of the brave Englishman who had just risked his life in order tosave Pierre from the guillotine--and she kissed them as fervently as shekissed the feet of the Madonna when she knelt before her shrine inprayer.
Pierre had been a footman in the household of unhappy Marie Antoinette.His crime had been that he remained loyal to her in words as well as inthought. A hot-headed but nobly outspoken harangue on behalf of theunfortunate queen, delivered in a public place, had at once marked himout to the spies of the Terrorists as suspect of intrigue against thesafety of the Republic. He was denounced to the Committee of PublicSafety, and his arrest and condemnation to the guillotine would haveinevitably followed had not the gallant band of Englishmen, known as theLeague of the Scarlet Pimpernel, succeeded in effecting his escape.
What wonder that petite maman could not speak for tears when she claspedthe hands of the noble leader of that splendid little band of heroes?What wonder that Pere Lenegre, when he heard that his son was safemurmured a fervent: "God bless you, milor, and your friends!" and thatRosette surreptitiously raised the fine caped coat to her lips, forPierre was her twin-brother, and she loved him very dearly.
But already Sir Percy Blakeney had, with one of his characteristiccheery words, dissipated the atmosphere of tearful emotion whichoppressed these kindly folk.
"Now, Papa Lenegre," he said lightly, "tell me why you wore such asolemn air when you let me in just now."
"Because, milor," replied the old man quietly, "that d----d concierge,Jean Baptiste, is a black-hearted traitor."
Sir Percy laughed, his merry, infectious laugh.
"You mean that while he has been pocketing bribes from me, he hasdenounced me to the Committee."
Pere Lenegre nodded: "I only heard it this morning," he said, "from oneor two threatening words the treacherous brute let fall. He knows thatyou lodge in the Place des Trois Maries, and that you come herefrequently. I would have given my life to warn you then and there,"continued the old man with touching earnestness, "but I didn't knowwhere to find you. All I knew was that you were looking after Pierre."
Even while the man spoke there darted from beneath the Englishman'sheavy lids a quick look like a flash of sudden and brilliant light outof the lazy depths of his merry blue eyes; it was one of those glancesof pure delight and exultation which light up the eyes of the truesoldier when there is serious fighting to be done.
"La, man," he said gaily, "there was no cause to worry. Pierre is safe,remember that! As for me," he added with that wonderful insouciancewhich caused him to risk his life a hundred times a day with a shrug ofhis broad shoulders and a smile upon his lips; "as for me, I'll lookafter myself, never fear."
He paused awhile, then added gravely: "So long as you are safe, my goodLenegre, and petite maman, and Rosette."
Whereupon the old man was silent, petite maman murmured a short prayer,and Rosette began to cry. The hero of a thousand gallant rescues hadreceived his answer.
"You, too, are on the black list, Pere Lenegre?" he asked quietly.
The old man nodded.
"How do you know?" queried the Englishman.
"Through Jean Baptiste, milor."
"Still that demmed concierge," muttered Sir Percy.
"He frightened petite maman with it all this morning, saying that heknew my name was down on the Sectional Committee's list as a 'suspect.'That's when he let fall a word or two about you, milor. He said it isknown that Pierre has escaped from justice, and that you helped him toit.
"I am sure that we shall get a domiciliary visit presently," continuedPere Lenegre, after a slight pause. "The gendarmes have not yet been,but I fancy that already this morning early I saw one or two of theCommittee's spies hanging about the house, and when I went to theworkshop I was followed all the time."
The Englishman looked grave: "And tell me," he said, "have you gotanything in this place that may prove compromising to any of you?"
"No, milor. But, as Jean Baptiste said, the Sectional Committee knowabout Pierre. It is because of my son that I am suspect."
The old man spoke quite quietly, very simply, like a philosopher who haslong ago learned to put behind him the fear of death. Nor did petitemaman cry or lament. Her thoughts were for the brave milor who had savedher boy; but her fears for her old man left her dry-eyed and dumb withgrief.
There was silence in the little room for one moment while the angel ofsorrow and anguish hovered round these faithful and brave souls, thenthe Englishman's cheery voice, so full of spirit and merriment, rang outonce more--he had risen to his full, towering height, and now placed akindly hand on the old man's shoulder:
"It seems to me, my good Lenegre," he said, "that you and I haven't manymoments to spare if we mean to cheat those devils by saving your neck.Now, petite maman," he added, turning to the old woman, "are you goingto be brave?"
"I will do anything, milor," she replied quietly, "to help my old man."
"Well, then," said Sir Percy Blakeney in that optimistic, light-heartedyet supremely authoritative tone of which he held the secret, "you andRosette remain here and wait for the gendarmes. When they come, saynothing; behave with absolute meekness, and let them search your placefrom end to end. If they ask you about your husband say that you believehim to be at his workshop. Is that clear?"
"Quite clear, milor," replied petite maman.
"And you, Pere Lenegre," continued the Englishman, speaking now withslow and
careful deliberation, "listen very attentively to theinstructions I am going to give you, for on your implicit obedience tothem depends not only your own life but that of these two dear women. Goat once, now, to the Rue Ste. Anne, round the corner, the second houseon your right, which is numbered thirty-seven. The porte cochere standsopen, go boldly through, past the concierge's box, and up the stairs toapartment number twelve, second floor. Here is the key of theapartment," he added, producing one from his coat pocket and handing itover to the old man. "The rooms are nominally occupied by a certainMaitre Turandot, maker of violins, and not even the concierge of theplace knows that the hunchbacked and snuffy violin-maker and themeddlesome Scarlet Pimpernel, whom the Committee of Public Safety wouldso love to lay by the heels, are one and the same person. The apartment,then, is mine; one of the many which I occupy in Paris at differenttimes," he went on. "Let yourself in quietly with this key, walkstraight across the first room to a wardrobe, which you will see infront of you. Open it. It is hung full of shabby clothes; put theseaside, and you will notice that the panels at the back do not fit veryclosely, as if the wardrobe was old or had been badly put together.Insert your fingers in the tiny aperture between the two middle panels.These slide back easily: there is a recess immediately behind them. Getin there; pull the doors of the wardrobe together first, then slide theback panels into their place. You will be perfectly safe there, as thehouse is not under suspicion at present, and even if the revolutionaryguard, under some meddle-some sergeant or other, chooses to pay it asurprise visit, your hiding-place will be perfectly secure. Now is allthat quite understood?"
"Absolutely, milor," replied Lenegre, even as he made ready to obey SirPercy's orders, "but what about you? You cannot get out of this house,milor," he urged; "it is watched, I tell you."
"La!" broke in Blakeney, in his light-hearted way, "and do you think Ididn't know that? I had to come and tell you about Pierre, and now Imust give those worthy gendarmes the slip somehow. I have my roomsdownstairs on the ground floor, as you know, and I must make certainarrangements so that we can all get out of Paris comfortably thisevening. The demmed place is no longer safe either for you, my goodLenegre, or for petite maman and Rosette. But wherever I may be,meanwhile, don't worry about me. As soon as the gendarmes have been andgone, I'll go over to the Rue Ste. Anne and let you know whatarrangements I've been able to make. So do as I tell you now, and inHeaven's name let me look after myself."
Whereupon, with scant ceremony, he hustled the old man out of the room.
Pere Lenegre had contrived to kiss petite maman and Rosette before hewent. It was touching to see the perfect confidence with which thesesimple-hearted folk obeyed the commands of milor. Had he not savedPierre in his wonderful, brave, resourceful way? Of a truth he wouldknow how to save Pere Lenegre also. But, nevertheless, anguish grippedthe women's hearts; anguish doubly keen since the saviour of Pierre wasalso in danger now.
When Pere Lenegre's shuffling footsteps had died away along the flaggedcorridor, the stranger once more turned to the two women.
"And now, petite maman," he said cheerily, as he kissed the old woman onboth her furrowed cheeks, "keep up a good heart, and say your prayerswith Rosette. Your old man and I will both have need of them."
He did not wait to say good-bye, and anon it was his firm footstep thatechoed down the corridor. He went off singing a song, at the top of hisvoice, for the whole house to hear, and for that traitor, Jean Baptiste,to come rushing out of his room marvelling at the impudence of the man,and cursing the Committee of Public Safety who were so slow in sendingthe soldiers of the Republic to lay this impertinent Englishman by theheels.
II
A quarter of an hour later half dozen men of the Republican Guard, withcorporal and sergeant in command, were in the small apartment on thefifth floor of the tenement house in the Rue Jolivet. They had demandedan entry in the name of the Republic, had roughly hustled petite mamanand Rosette, questioned them to Lenegre's whereabouts, and not satisfiedwith the reply which they received, had turned the tidy little hometopsy-turvy, ransacked every cupboard, dislocated every bed, table orsofa which might presumably have afforded a hiding place for a man.
Satisfied now that the "suspect" whom they were searching for was not onthe premises, the sergeant stationed four of his men with the corporaloutside the door, and two within, and himself sitting down in the centreof the room ordered the two women to stand before him and to answer hisquestions clearly on pain of being dragged away forthwith to the St.Lazare house of detention.
Petite maman smoothed out her apron, crossed her arms before her, andlooked the sergeant quite straight in the face. Rosette's eyes were fullof tears, but she showed no signs of fear either, although hershoulder--where one of the gendarmes had seized it so roughly--wasterribly painful.
"Your husband, citizeness," asked the sergeant peremptorily, "where ishe?"
"I am not sure, citizen," replied petite maman. "At this hour he isgenerally at the government works in the Quai des Messageries."
"He is not there now," asserted the sergeant. "We have knowledge that hedid not go back to his work since dinner-time."
Petite maman was silent.
"Answer," ordered the sergeant.
"I cannot tell you more, citizen sergeant," she said firmly. "I do notknow."
"You do yourself no good, woman, by this obstinacy," he continuedroughly. "My belief is that your husband is inside this house, hiddenaway somewhere. If necessary I can get orders to have every apartmentsearched until he is found: but in that case it will go much harder withyou and with your daughter, and much harder too with your husband thanif he gave us no trouble and followed us quietly."
But with sublime confidence in the man who had saved Pierre and who hadgiven her explicit orders as to what she should do, petite maman, backedby Rosette, reiterated quietly:
"I cannot tell you more, citizen sergeant, I do not know."
"And what about the Englishman?" queried the sergeant more roughly, "theman they call the Scarlet Pimpernel, what do you know of him?"
"Nothing, citizen," replied petite maman, "what should we poor folk knowof an English milor?"
"You know at any rate this much, citizeness, that the English milorhelped your son Pierre to escape from justice."
"If that is so," said petite maman quietly, "it cannot be wrong for amother to pray to God to bless her son's preserver."
"It behooves every good citizen," retorted the sergeant firmly, "todenounce all traitors to the Republic."
"But since I know nothing about the Englishman, citizen sergeant--?"
And petite maman shrugged her thin shoulders as if the matter had ceasedto interest her.
"Think again, citizeness," admonished the sergeant, "it is yourhusband's neck as well as your daughter's and your own that you arerisking by so much obstinacy."
He waited a moment or two as if willing to give the old woman time tospeak: then, when he saw that she kept her thin, quivering lipsresolutely glued together he called his corporal to him.
"Go to the citizen Commissary of the Section," he commanded, "and askfor a general order to search every apartment in No. 24 Rue Jolivet.Leave two of our men posted on the first and third landings of thishouse and leave two outside this door. Be as quick as you can. You canbe back here with the order in half an hour, or perhaps the committeewill send me an extra squad; tell the citizen Commissary that this is abig house, with many corridors. You can go."
The corporal saluted and went.
Petite maman and Rosette the while were still standing quietly in themiddle of the room, their arms folded underneath their aprons, theirwide-open, anxious eyes fixed into space. Rosette's tears were fallingslowly, one by one down her cheeks, but petite maman was dry-eyed. Shewas thinking, and thinking as she had never had occasion to thinkbefore.
She was thinking of the brave and gallant Englishman who had savedPierre's life only yesterday. The sergeant, who sat there before her,had asked for orders from the citize
n Commissary to search this bighouse from attic to cellar. That is what made petite maman think andthink.
The brave Englishman was in this house at the present moment: the housewould be searched from attic to cellar and he would be found, taken, andbrought to the guillotine.
The man who yesterday had risked his life to save her boy was inimminent and deadly danger, and she--petite maman--could do nothing tosave him.
Every moment now she thought to hear milor's firm tread resounding onstairs or corridor, every moment she thought to hear snatches of anEnglish song, sung by a fresh and powerful voice, never after to-day tobe heard in gaiety again.
The old clock upon the shelf ticked away these seconds and minutes whilepetite maman thought and thought, while men set traps to catch afellow-being in a deathly snare, and human carnivorous beasts laylurking for their prey.
III
Another quarter of an hour went by. Petite maman and Rosette had hardlymoved. The shadows of evening were creeping into the narrow room,blurring the outlines of the pieces of furniture and wrapping all thecorners in gloom.
The sergeant had ordered Rosette to bring in a lamp. This she had done,placing it upon the table so that the feeble light glinted upon the beltand buckles of the sergeant and upon the tricolour cockade which waspinned to his hat. Petite maman had thought and thought until she couldthink no more.
Anon there was much commotion on the stairs; heavy footsteps were heardascending from below, then crossing the corridors on the variouslandings. The silence which reigned otherwise in the house, and whichhad fallen as usual on the squalid little street, void of traffic atthis hour, caused those footsteps to echo with ominous power.
Petite maman felt her heart beating so vigorously that she could hardlybreathe. She pressed her wrinkled hands tightly against her bosom.
There were the quick words of command, alas! so familiar in France justnow, the cruel, peremptory words that invariably preceded an arrest,preliminaries to the dragging of some wretched--often whollyharmless--creature before a tribunal that knew neither pardon nor mercy.
The sergeant, who had become drowsy in the close atmosphere of the tinyroom, roused himself at the sound and jumped to his feet. The door wasthrown open by the men stationed outside even before the authoritativewords, "Open! in the name of the Republic!" had echoed along the narrowcorridor.
The sergeant stood at attention and quickly lifted his hand to hisforehead in salute. A fresh squad of some half-dozen men of theRepublican Guard stood in the doorway; they were under the command of anofficer of high rank, a rough, uncouth, almost bestial-looking creature,with lank hair worn the fashionable length under his greasychapeau-bras, and unkempt beard round an ill-washed and bloated face.But he wore the tricolour sash and badge which proclaimed him one of themilitary members of the Sectional Committee of Public Safety, and thesergeant, who had been so overbearing with the women just now, hadassumed a very humble and even obsequious manner.
"You sent for a general order to the sectional Committee," said thenew-comer, turning abruptly to the sergeant after he had cast a quick,searching glance round the room, hardly condescending to look on petitemaman and Rosette, whose very souls were now gazing out of theiranguish-filled eyes.
"I did, citizen commandant," replied the sergeant.
"I am not a commandant," said the other curtly. "My name is Rouget,member of the Convention and of the Committee of Public Safety. Thesectional Committee to whom you sent for a general order of searchthought that you had blundered somehow, so they sent me to put thingsright."
"I am not aware that I committed any blunder, citizen," stammered thesergeant dolefully. "I could not take the responsibility of making adomiciliary search all through the house. So I begged for fullerorders."
"And wasted the Committee's time and mine by such nonsense," retortedRouget harshly. "Every citizen of the Republic worthy of the name shouldknow how to act on his own initiative when the safety of the nationdemands it."
"I did not know--I did not dare--" murmured the sergeant, obviouslycowed by this reproof, which had been delivered in the rough,overbearing tones peculiar to these men who, one and all, had risen fromthe gutter to places of importance and responsibility in thenewly-modelled State.
"Silence!" commanded the other peremptorily. "Don't waste any more of mytime with your lame excuses. You have failed in zeal and initiative.That's enough. What else have you done? Have you got the man Lenegre?"
"No, citizen. He is not in hiding here, and his wife and daughter willnot give us any information about him."
"That is their look-out," retorted Rouget with a harsh laugh. "If theygive up Lenegre of their own free will the law will deal leniently withthem, and even perhaps with him. But if we have to search the house forhim, then it means the guillotine for the lot of them."
He had spoken these callous words without even looking on the twounfortunate women; nor did he ask them any further questions just then,but continued speaking to the sergeant:
"And what about the Englishman? The sectional Committee sent down somespies this morning to be on the look-out for him on or about this house.Have you got him?"
"Not yet, citizen. But--"
"Ah ca, citizen sergeant," broke in the other brusquely, "meseems thatyour zeal has been even more at fault than I had supposed. Have you doneanything at all, then, in the matter of Lenegre or the Englishman?"
"I have told you, citizen," retorted the sergeant sullenly, "that Ibelieve Lenegre to be still in this house. At any rate, he had not goneout of it an hour ago--that's all I know. And I wanted to search thewhole of this house, as I am sure we should have found him in one of theother apartments. These people are all friends together, and will alwayshelp each other to evade justice. But the Englishman was no concern ofmine. The spies of the Committee were ordered to watch for him, and whenthey reported to me I was to proceed with the arrest. I was not set todo any of the spying work. I am a soldier, and obey my orders when I getthem."
"Very well, then, you'd better obey them now, citizen sergeant," wasRouget's dry comment on the other man's surly explanation, "for you seemto have properly blundered from first to last, and will be hard put toit to redeem your character. The Republic, remember, has no use forfools."
The sergeant, after this covert threat, thought it best, apparently, tokeep his tongue, whilst Rouget continued, in the same aggressive,peremptory tone:
"Get on with your domiciliary visits at once. Take your own men withyou, and leave me the others. Begin on this floor, and leave your sentryat the front door outside. Now let me see your zeal atoning for yourpast slackness. Right turn! Quick march!"
Then it was that petite maman spoke out. She had thought and thought,and now she knew what she ought to do; she knew that that cruel, inhumanwretch would presently begin his tramp up and down corridors and stairs,demanding admittance at every door, entering every apartment. She knewthat the man who had saved her Pierre's life was in hiding somewhere inthe house--that he would be found and dragged to the guillotine, for sheknew that the whole governing body of this abominable Revolution wasdetermined not to allow that hated Englishman to escape again.
She was old and feeble, small and thin--that's why everyone called herpetite maman--but once she knew what she ought to do, then her spiritoverpowered the weakness of her wizened body.
Now she knew, and even while that arrogant member of an execratedmurdering Committee was giving final instructions to the sergeant,petite maman said, in a calm, piping voice:
"No need, citizen sergeant, to go and disturb all my friends andneighbours. I'll tell you where my husband is."
In a moment Rouget had swung round on his heel, a hideous gleam ofsatisfaction spread over his grimy face, and he said, with an uglysneer:
"So! you have thought better of it, have you? Well, out with it! You'dbetter be quick about it if you want to do yourselves any good."
"I have my daughter to think of," said petite maman in a feeble,querulous way, "and I won't
have all my neighbours in this house madeunhappy because of me. They have all been kind neighbours. Will youpromise not to molest them and to clear the house of soldiers if I tellyou where Lenegre is?"
"The Republic makes no promises," replied Rouget gruffly. "Her citizensmust do their duty without hope of a reward. If they fail in it, theyare punished. But privately I will tell you, woman, that if you save usthe troublesome and probably unprofitable task of searching thisrabbit-warren through and through, it shall go very leniently with youand with your daughter, and perhaps--I won't promise, remember--perhapswith your husband also."
"Very good, citizen," said petite maman calmly. "I am ready."
"Ready for what?" he demanded.
"To take you to where my husband is in hiding."
"Oho! He is not in the house, then?"
"No."
"Where is he, then?"
"In the Rue Ste. Anne. I will take you there."
Rouget cast a quick, suspicious glance on the old woman, and exchangedone of understanding with the sergeant.
"Very well," he said after a slight pause. "But your daughter must comealong too. Sergeant," he added, "I'll take three of your men with me; Ihave half a dozen, but it's better to be on the safe side. Post yourfellows round the outer door, and on my way to the rue Ste. Anne I willleave word at the gendarmerie that a small reinforcement be sent on toyou at once. These can be here in five minutes; until then you are quitesafe."
Then he added under his breath, so that the women should not hear: "TheEnglishman may still be in the house. In which case, hearing us depart,he may think us all gone and try to give us the slip. You'll know whatto do?" he queried significantly.
"Of course, citizen," replied the sergeant.
"Now, then, citizeness--hurry up."
Once more there was tramping of heavy feet on stone stairs andcorridors. A squad of soldiers of the Republican Guard, with two womenin their midst, and followed by a member of the Committee of PublicSafety, a sergeant, corporal and two or three more men, excited muchanxious curiosity as they descended the steep flights of steps from thefifth floor.
Pale, frightened faces peeped shyly through the doorways at sound of thenoisy tramp from above, but quickly disappeared again at sight of thegrimy scarlet facings and tricolour cockades.
The sergeant and three soldiers remained stationed at the foot of thestairs inside the house. Then citizen Rouget roughly gave the order toproceed. It seemed strange that it should require close on a dozen mento guard two women and to apprehend one old man, but as the member ofthe Committee of Public Safety whispered to the sergeant before hefinally went out of the house: "The whole thing may be a trap, and onecan't be too careful. The Englishman is said to be very powerful; I'llget the gendarmerie to send you another half-dozen men, and mind youguard the house until my return."
IV
Five minutes later the soldiers, directed by petite maman, had reachedNo. 37 Rue Ste. Anne. The big outside door stood wide open, and thewhole party turned immediately into the house.
The concierge, terrified and obsequious, rushed--trembling--out of hisbox.
"What was the pleasure of the citizen soldiers?" he asked.
"Tell him, citizeness," commanded Rouget curtly.
"We are going to apartment No. 12 on the second floor," said petitemaman to the concierge.
"Have you a key of the apartment?" queried Rouget.
"No, citizen," stammered the concierge, "but--"
"Well, what is it?" queried the other peremptorily.
"Papa Turandot is a poor, harmless maker of volins," said the concierge."I know him well, though he is not often at home. He lives with adaughter somewhere Passy way, and only uses this place as a workshop. Iam sure he is no traitor."
"We'll soon see about that," remarked Rouget dryly.
Petite maman held her shawl tightly crossed over her bosom: her handsfelt clammy and cold as ice. She was looking straight out before her,quite dry-eyed and calm, and never once glanced on Rosette, who was notallowed to come anywhere near her mother.
As there was no duplicate key to apartment No. 12, citizen Rougetordered his men to break in the door. It did not take very long: thehouse was old and ramshackle and the doors rickety. The next moment theparty stood in the room which a while ago the Englishman had soaccurately described to pere Lenegre in petite maman's hearing.
There was the wardrobe. Petite maman, closely surrounded by thesoldiers, went boldly up to it; she opened it just as milor haddirected, and pushed aside the row of shabby clothes that hung there.Then she pointed to the panels that did not fit quite tightly togetherat the back. Petite maman passed her tongue over her dry lips before shespoke.
"There's a recess behind those panels," she said at last. "They slideback quite easily. My old man is there."
"And God bless you for a brave, loyal soul," came in merry, ringingaccent from the other end of the room. "And God save the ScarletPimpernel!"
These last words, spoken in English, completed the blank amazement whichliterally paralysed the only three genuine Republican soldiersthere--those, namely, whom Rouget had borrowed from the sergeant. As forthe others, they knew what to do. In less than a minute they hadoverpowered and gagged the three bewildered soldiers.
Rosette had screamed, terror-stricken, from sheer astonishment, butpetite maman stood quite still, her pale, tear-dimmed eyes fixed uponthe man whose gay "God bless you!" had so suddenly turned her despairinto hope.
How was it that in the hideous, unkempt and grimy Rouget she had not atonce recognised the handsome and gallant milor who had saved herPierre's life? Well, of a truth he had been unrecognisable, but now thathe tore the ugly wig and beard from his face, stretched out his finefigure to its full height, and presently turned his lazy, merry eyes onher, she could have screamed for very joy.
The next moment he had her by the shoulders and had imprinted twosounding kisses upon her cheeks.
"Now, petite maman," he said gaily, "let us liberate the old man."
Pere Lenegre, from his hiding-place, had heard all that had been goingon in the room for the last few moments. True, he had known exactly whatto expect, for no sooner had he taken possession of the recess behindthe wardrobe than milor also entered the apartment and then and theretold him of his plans not only for pere's own safety, but for that ofpetite maman and Rosette who would be in grave danger if the old manfollowed in the wake of Pierre.
Milor told him in his usual light-hearted way that he had given theCommittee's spies the slip.
"I do that very easily, you know," he explained. "I just slip into myrooms in the Rue Jolivet, change myself into a snuffy and hunchbackviolin-maker, and walk out of the house under the noses of the spies. Inthe nearest wine-shop my English friends, in various disguises, are allready to my hand: half a dozen of them are never far from where I am incase they may be wanted."
These half-dozen brave Englishmen soon arrived one by one: one lookedlike a coal-heaver, another like a seedy musician, a third like acoach-driver. But they all walked boldly into the house and were soonall congregated in apartment No. 12. Here fresh disguises were assumed,and soon a squad of Republican Guards looked as like the real thing aspossible.
Pere Lenegre admitted himself that though he actually saw milortransforming himself into citizen Rouget, he could hardly believe hiseyes, so complete was the change.
"I am deeply grieved to have frightened and upset you so, petite maman,"now concluded milor kindly, "but I saw no other way of getting you andRosette out of the house and leaving that stupid sergeant and some ofhis men behind. I did not want to arouse in him even the faintest breathof suspicion, and of course if he had asked me for the written orderswhich he was actually waiting for, or if his corporal had returnedsooner than I anticipated, there might have been trouble. But eventhen," he added with his usual careless insouciance, "I should havethought of some way of baffling those brutes."
"And now," he concluded more authoritatively, "it is a case of getting
out of Paris before the gates close. Pere Lenegre, take your wife anddaughter with you and walk boldly out of this house. The sergeant andhis men have not vacated their post in the Rue Jolivet, and no one elsecan molest you. Go straight to the Porte de Neuilly, and on the otherside wait quietly in the little cafe at the corner of the Avenue until Icome. Your old passes for the barriers still hold good; you were onlyplaced on the 'suspect' list this morning, and there has not been a hueand cry yet about you. In any case some of us will be close by to helpyou if needs be."
"But you, milor," stammered pere Lenegre, "and your friends--?"
"La, man," retorted Blakeney lightly, "have I not told you before neverto worry about me and my friends? We have more ways than one of givingthe slip to this demmed government of yours. All you've got to think ofis your wife and your daughter. I am afraid that petite maman cannottake more with her than she has on, but we'll do all we can for hercomfort until we have you all in perfect safety--in England--withPierre."
Neither pere Lenegre, nor petite maman, nor Rosette could speak justthen, for tears were choking them, but anon when milor stood nearer,petite maman knelt down, and, imprisoning his slender hand in her brown,wrinkled ones, she kissed it reverently.
He laughed and chided her for this.
"'Tis I should kneel to you in gratitude, petite maman," he saidearnestly, "you were ready to sacrifice your old man for me."
"You have saved Pierre, milor," said the mother simply.
A minute later pere Lenegre and the two women were ready to go. Alreadymilor and his gallant English friends were busy once more transformingthemselves into grimy workmen or seedy middle-class professionals.
As soon as the door of apartment No. 12 finally closed behind the threegood folk, my lord Tony asked of his chief:
"What about these three wretched soldiers, Blakeney?"
"Oh! they'll be all right for twenty-four hours. They can't starve tillthen, and by that time the concierge will have realised that there'ssomething wrong with the door of No. 12 and will come in to investigatethe matter. Are they securely bound, though?"
"And gagged! Rather!" ejaculated one of the others. "Odds life,Blakeney!" he added enthusiastically, "that was a fine bit of work!"