CHAPTER XV.
THE LAST FAREWELL.
While these events were taking place in the Tribunal, Antoinette deMirandol awoke later than usual to find her friend absent; but thediscovery caused her little surprise, for this was not the first timethat Dolores, who was a much earlier riser than herself, had left thecell without disturbing her slumbers. Antoinette dressed herself withall possible speed, but it was nearly twelve o'clock before she wasready to go down to the main hall in search of Dolores. She did not seeher in the hall or in the corridors, and she entered the refectorycertain that her friend was already seated at the table where they hadtaken their meals since the increasing coldness of the weather haddriven them from their cell in the daytime. She cast a quick glancethrough the dining-hall. The prisoners were chatting gayly over theirmeagre fare, as if wishing to console themselves for the plainness oftheir food by the cheerfulness and brilliancy of their conversation.Dolores was not there.
The discovery brought with it a feeling of vague alarm; not thatAntoinette had any suspicion of the truth, but because she was seizedwith a grim presentiment of approaching misfortune. She hastily turnedaway and started in pursuit of Philip, hoping to find Dolores with him.She soon met him, but he was alone.
"Dolores? where is Dolores?" she cried.
"I have not seen her," replied Philip, surprised at the question, andalarmed by Antoinette's manner.
"My God!" the girl whispered, turning suddenly pale; then, overcome withan inexplicable terror, she stood silent and motionless.
"What has happened?" cried Philip. "You frighten me."
"A terrible misfortune, I fear," she gasped.
She tottered and would have fallen had not Philip supported her; but shefinally recovered her composure sufficiently to explain the cause of heralarm. The presentiment which had assailed the girl also assailed him.Together, they began a frantic search for their missing friend,exploring every nook and corner of that portion of the prison in whichthey were allowed to circulate, and questioning their acquaintances, whoeither through compassion or through ignorance gave them no informationconcerning Dolores. Suddenly, at a turn in the corridor, theyencountered Aubry.
"What! do you not know?" he asked, stupefied with amazement.
"Know what?" cried Philip, impetuously.
"That Citoyenne Dolores was ordered to appear before the Tribunal at teno'clock this morning."
Two cries rang out on the still air: a cry of rage from Philip, a cry ofanguish from Antoinette; then, with tears and exclamations of despairthey entreated Aubry to explain. All he could tell them was that Doloreshad informed him the evening before that she had been summoned beforethe Tribunal; that she had requested him to inform Coursegol of thefact; that she had left her cell, that morning, at nine o'clock, calmand beautiful; that she had held a long conversation with Coursegol, whowas waiting for her below, after which she had left the prison to go tothe Tribunal in company with several others.
This intelligence plunged Philip and Antoinette into a state ofindescribable despair. Unable to utter a word, they looked at each otherin wild but speechless terror; and yet, in the anguish that wrung theirhearts, their thoughts followed the same course. Both were askingthemselves why Dolores had concealed the truth from them; why she hadnot allowed them to die with her. It would have been so sweet to departtogether from a world from which all light seemed to have fled! Whowould have been cruel enough to refuse them the happiness of ascendingthe scaffold together?
"She feared to cause us pain," said Philip, at last. "She departedalone, not realizing that by doing so she caused us greater anguish thanshe would have done had she told us the frightful truth."
As he said this, Aubry, who had left them a moment before, returned.
"The prisoners have come back. Citoyenne Dolores is with them in theHall of the Condemned. She wishes to see you."
"In the Hall of the Condemned!" repeated Antoinette.
That terrible word rang in their ears like the thud of the executioner'saxe. With hearts torn with anguish and despair, they wended their way tothe grim hall below. When they entered it, they found the doomedprisoners scattered about the room, striving to conquer their emotion,and to summon up all their strength for the terrible ordeal from whichthey were separated by only three short hours. Those who, like Dolores,had relatives or friends in the prison, had sent for them; but those whocould count on no loving farewell, sat silent and mournful, castingglances of envy upon their more fortunate companions. Some asked andobtained permission to go to their cells in order to write a last letterto their friends, or give directions concerning the few articles thatremained at their disposal. Some had ordered choice viands and rarewines, not wishing to die before they had again enjoyed the pleasures ofthe table, in default of something better; while coming and going in themidst of them, were the clerks of the Tribunal, the executioner'sassistants and the turnkeys of the prison, who hung about, hoping thecondemned would bestow some gratuity upon them before leaving theprison. Dolores had seated herself upon a bench that stood against thewall. The passion of weeping to which she had yielded after Coursegol'sheroic deed, had calmed her. He was standing by her side, looking downupon her with a in which there was neither bitterness nor Nothing couldbe more peaceful than the delicate features of the young girl and theenergetic face that bent over her, though traces of the tears which hadbeen wrung from them in a moment of despair were still visible.
Antoinette, followed by Philip, rushed toward Dolores, threw herself ather feet, and, resting her head on the lap of her friend, sobbedunrestrainedly.
"Antoinette, do not, I entreat you, deprive me of courage at a momentwhen I stand so greatly in need of it," said Dolores.
"How cruel in you not to have told us!" cried Antoinette.
"I wished to save you pain. We must be resigned and submit to the fatethat awaits us; and we must not allow emotion to deprive us of thestrength to die bravely and courageously."
As she spoke, Dolores compelled Antoinette to rise and take a seatbeside her; then she talked to her gently, but firmly. Their rolesseemed to be changed; she who was about to die, consoled her whose lifewas spared. While this conversation was going on between Antoinette andDolores, Philip, terribly pale, questioned Coursegol and learned fromhim what had taken place. He envied this devoted servant who was aboutto die with Dolores. He vainly strove to discover some means by which hecould draw down upon his own head the wrath of the accusateur,Fouquier-Tinville, and be sent at once to the scaffold. Coursegol toldhis story simply and modestly. Rendered desperate by the condemnation ofDolores, he resolved to share her fate, feeling no desire to survivethe loss of one so dear to him.
"How greatly preferable your destiny is to mine!" cried Philip,bitterly. "Would I could die in your place."
Dolores heard these words, and leaving Antoinette, she approached Philipand said:
"Do not speak thus, Philip. To-day, God declares His will to you.Unintentionally, I was an obstacle to the fulfilment of the vows you hadmade. God recalls me to Him. You long to die with me, you say. You mustnot die, you must live, for your life belongs to one who has put hertrust in you. Your life belongs to her, and your name; and no one ismore worthy than Antoinette to bear your name."
Philip passionately interrupted her:
"I am no saint, I am a man! Why do you talk to me of promises and ofduty? Whatever I may have said, whatever I may have promised, if I havenot told you that I loved you, if I have not told you that I shouldalways love you, I have lied. Read my--heart; you will behold your name,your name alone, written there; and tell me, courageous creature,noble-hearted woman, how can one stifle the aspirations of a love whichhas been the only joy, the only torment of one's life? Remember thepast, Dolores--our childhood, the blissful existence in which love wasfirst awakened in our hearts. I do not know what was passing in yours;but mine has nourished but one thought, cherished but one hope: tobelong to you and to possess you. Upon this hope have I lived. It hasbeen the strength and the wea
kness of my life; its deepest sorrow andits purest joy."
While he was thus speaking in low tones that he might not be overheard,Antoinette, after exchanging a few remarks with Coursegol, approachedthem. Not a single word uttered by Philip had escaped her, and herterror-stricken eyes and drawn features betrayed her agony.
"Was this dream of mine so unutterably wild and hopeless?" continuedPhilip, not perceiving Antoinette, and refusing to heed Dolores' warningsign. "Does a man display a culpable ambition when he longs for a calmand happy life with an adored wife who is worthy of him? And yet, thefirst time I spoke of this love, you said to me: 'Antoinette loves you;marry her;' and when I still pleaded, you added: 'I belong to God.'"
"Was this not the truth?" asked Dolores, timidly.
"No, for you loved me and you sacrificed yourself for the sake of somefoolish scheme upon the accomplishment of which my father would not haveinsisted if, sustained by you, I had ventured to confess the truth. Youwould not consent to this; you left us: then, Providence once morebrought us face to face. This time, you granted me a hope only to takeit from me again when Antoinette reappeared. Now, behold your work. Hereare all three of us equally miserable; you, in dying; I, in survivingyou; Antoinette, in loving me."
"I am glad to die," replied Dolores, who had regained her firmness andcomposure.
"Then why did you not allow me to share this happiness? Yesterday, whenyou received the fatal news, why did you not say to me: 'We have beenunhappy here on earth; death will save us from many and undeservedmisfortunes; come, let us die together.'"
"What! be the cause of your death?"
"It would be less cruel than to leave me behind you. Do you know what mylife will be when I can no longer hope to see you again here below? Onelong supplication for death to quickly relieve me of the burden ofexistence."
"Philip, Philip!" murmured Dolores, reproachfully. "Can it be you whospeak thus, you who have linked a soul to yours; you who are a husbandalready, for at the bedside of your dying father did not you andAntoinette kneel together to receive the blessing of God's anointedpriest?"
Philip made no reply.
"You have reproached me," continued Dolores, "and why? Who is the realculprit here? Is it I? Have I not always discouraged you? Have I notalways told you that duty stood between us? Have I not always striven toconvince you that your hopes were futile? Had not you, yourself,renounced them? Then, why should I reproach myself? Besides, I have notsought death. I die because Heaven wills it, but I am resigned, and ifthis resignation is any evidence of courage, let it strengthen andreanimate your soul. Bravely act the only part that is worthy of yourpast, of your heart and of your name. There, and there only yoursoul-will find happiness and peace."
Philip's anger vanished before such words as these. He was no longerirritated, but entirely overcome. Suddenly a sob resounded behind them.They turned. Antoinette was upon her knees.
"Pardon," said she, in a voice broken with sobs.
Dolores sprang forward to raise her.
"Philip, do you forgive me?" entreated Antoinette.
He too was weeping. He extended his hand to the young girl, who took itand covered it with her tears.
"Spare me, spare me!" exclaimed Dolores. "You rend my soul now when Ihave need for all my strength. Your grief and despair at my fate leadyou both beyond reality. You, my dear friend, my dear sister Antoinette,have received a sacred promise which you, Philip, made freely and withthe intention to fulfil it. That is the only thing you must remembernow."
She uttered these words in a sweet and penetrating voice, and with anenergy that calmed and silenced both of them. She spoke of the chiefduties of life, of the necessity of resignation, devotion andself-denial.
"I wish to carry with me to the grave," she added, "the assurance thatyou will console each other after my death by loving each other inremembrance of me."
And they promised all that she asked, for it was impossible to resist somuch grace, so much eloquence and so much humility. Then she took fromher pocket the order of release which Coursegol had obtained throughVauquelas. She handed this to Philip.
"There is your freedom," she resumed. "With the assistance of Bridoul,who will aid you in Coursegol's stead, this paper will enable you toescape from prison. You will be conducted to a safe retreat where youcan await the fall of these wicked men and the triumph of truth and ofvirtue. That hour will surely come; for the future does not belong tothe violent and audacious; it is for the meek, the generous, the good."
She conversed with them an hour longer, then begged them to leave her.She desired to prepare for death. Antoinette's sobs and Philip's despairincreased in violence.
"Have pity on me!" she entreated. "Before I go, I will call you to bidyou a last farewell."
They left her. She remained alone with the other prisoners who had beencondemned to death. Among them was the priest of whom we have alreadyspoken; the same who had consoled and blessed her. He was seated in acorner of the room and many of the poor creatures, whose moments onearth were now numbered, had knelt before him to confess their sins andreceive absolution. Dolores followed the example of her companions inmisfortune. Purified by suffering and sanctified by the approach ofdeath, her full confession revealed such nobility of character that theworthy priest was filled with admiration.
"Now I am ready," she said to Coursegol. "Death may come."
"So young and so beautiful, and to die!" he exclaimed, sadly.
"Are you going to bewail my fate?" she inquired, with a smile. "It isunnecessary, for I am very happy."
"It is the thought of the sacrifice you have accomplished that rendersyou thus happy!"
"Hush!" she said, quickly. "Who has spoken to you of a sacrifice? Itmust never be mentioned. Antoinette and Philip must never know that Idied in place of another."
"A saint might utter words like those," he murmured. Then beholding hercheerful, courageous and inspired with the holy enthusiasm of themartyrs, he added: "I am glad to die with you. You will open the portalsof Heaven for me; and I will cling so closely to you, pure soul, thatthey will let me follow you in."
Thus were these two souls elevated to the grandest heroism by the verysimplicity of their devotion. There was certainly not a drop of nobleblood in the veins of either of them, and yet they went to meet deathvaliantly, like saints.
It was three o'clock, and a lovely winter's day. The sky was clear andthe sun radiant.
"We have fine weather for our journey to the scaffold," thoughtCoursegol.
Dolores was absorbed in prayer. Her heart ascended to God in ferventsupplication that He would bless her sacrifice, and make it redound tothe peace and happiness of the two beloved friends that were leftbehind. Suddenly, several men entered the hall: the executioner and hisassistants. Moans and cries of terror arose from the condemned.
"Already!" exclaimed a young woman, who had until now borne herselfcourageously.
She fainted. She was half-dead with fear when she was carried up thesteps of the guillotine an hour later. Dolores lost none of hercomposure on beholding the executioner. She quietly removed her hat; andwhile the three assistants cut off the hair of the prisoners around her,she unbound the magnificent golden tresses which enveloped her like arippling veil. There was a universal shudder when the scissors despoiledthat charming head of its superb adornment; and Coursegol could notrepress an exclamation of wrath at this act of barbarity. Doloreschecked him with a gesture.
"I would like to have my hair," she said to the assistant executioner,pointing to the tresses lying upon the floor.
"It belongs to me," he responded, roughly. "That is the custom."
"Will this suffice to pay for it?" inquired Dolores, showing him a ringthat she wore upon one of her fingers.
"Undoubtedly."
"Very well, I will buy it then."
The man gathered up the golden curls and handed them to Dolores.
"It is a pity," she said, gently and with a tinge of sadness. "Theybecame me well."
r /> It was her only sign of regret for the sad fate to which her youth andbeauty were condemned.
When she saw that the moment of departure was near at hand, she askedto see Philip and Antoinette again. They had been standing just outsidethe door, half-crazed with grief. They entered, followed by Aubry, who,though accustomed to such scenes, was deeply moved. It was to him thatshe turned first.
"I thank you for all your kindness," she said to him. "On my arrival atthe prison, I confided a cross to your keeping."
"Here it is. I return it to you, citoyenne."
"Keep it, my friend; it will remind you of a prisoner to whom you showedcompassion, and who will pray for you."
"Oh, citoyenne, I could have done no less!" faltered the poor man.
Then Dolores turned to Antoinette and Philip. Their despair verged uponmadness. That of Antoinette was violent, and vented itself in moans andtears; that of Philip was still more terrible, for the wretched manseemed to have grown ten years older in the past few hours.
"Farewell, my dear friends," said Dolores, cheerfully. "Do not mourn.Try to think that I am going on a journey, and to a country where youwill soon come to join me. In its relations to life, death is nothingmore."
But, while she was thus endeavoring to console them, her own tearsmingled with theirs. She took them both in her arms, and clasped them toher heart in a close embrace.
"Love each other always, and do not forget me."
These were her last words of counsel.
Coursegol approached. Philip opened his arms.
"Coursegol," said he, "you are a man and an old soldier. Death has noterrors for you; you will lose none of your calmness. Take good care ofher to the last, will you not?"
"That she might not be compelled to go alone was why I resolved to diewith her," replied Coursegol, simply.
"Dolores, give me your blessing."
It was Antoinette who spoke.
"Yes, my sister, I bless thee!"
And Dolores extended her hand over the grief-stricken head of herfriend.
"En route! en route!"
This cry was uttered by a stentorian voice. The moment of parting hadcome. One last kiss was exchanged.
"Farewell, farewell! We shall meet again in Heaven!"
And Dolores tore herself from their clinging arms. Coursegol followedher, but not so quickly that he failed to see Antoinette swoon with acry of heart-broken anguish, and Philip spring forward to support her. Acart was awaiting the victims in the court-yard of the prison. Thetwelve who were doomed to death took their places in it with their handsbound behind their backs. A number of soldiers on horseback and some onfoot acted as an escort. They fell into line and the little processionstarted.
From the Conciergerie to the Place de la Revolution the cart wasfollowed by a hooting, jelling crowd of men, women and children, whosang coarse songs and hurled insults in the faces of their victims.These last seemed insensible to the indignities heaped upon them. On oneside of the cart an aged man and a youth were seated side by side.Crowded close one against the other, they did not, along the entireroute, once cease to cry: "Vive le Roi!" One of their companions, aRepublican, accused of _Moderantisme_, regarded them with an air ofironical compassion. A priest stood in the centre of the cart,surrounded by three women, reciting prayers and canticles with them.Dolores, who was leaning upon Coursegol's shoulder, seemed to beentirely unconscious of what was passing around her. Grief, cold,fatigue and the rough jolting of the vehicle had reduced her to acondition of pitiable weakness. Coursegol was distressed to see her inthis state, and to be powerless to succor her. He did not think ofhimself; he thought only of her.
When they came in sight of the Place de la Revolution, where theterrible guillotine towered up grim and ghastly against the horizon,Dolores trembled, and, closing her eyes, whispered:
"I am afraid!"
"Oh! my dearest little one, do not lose courage," said Coursegol, withall a father's tenderness. "I am here, but I can do nothing to save youfrom these horrors. But be brave and hopeful. Only a moment more and weshall find peace in the grave and in the arms of our blessed Lord."
The cart jolted onward through the dense and jeering crowd until itreached the foot of the steps leading to the awful guillotine. The agedman and his youthful companion were yet crying "Vive le Roi!" TheRepublican, accursed of _Moderantisme_, was still regarding them with anair of ironical compassion. The priest was yet reciting prayers andcanticles with the three women. None of these unfortunates paid theslightest attention either to the hooting mob or the dreadful doom fromwhich but a few instants separated them.
The cart suddenly stopped and the condemned were roughly ordered toleave it. They did so mechanically and without resistance. Theexecutioner's assistants seized upon them, dragging them into an openspace, as if, instead of human beings, they had been merely dumbanimals, awaiting slaughter in a butcher's shambles. The sans-culottescheered; the tricoteuses, seated in knots, clapped their hands wildly insavage joy, delighted that more blood was speedily to be spilled. It wasan appalling scene, steeped in horror.
Coursegol moved towards Dolores to put his arm about her and sustain hertrembling form. He was rudely pulled back by the assistant who had himin charge.
"If you are a man and have a heart, show some mercy!" he pleaded. "Letme go to my daughter who is about to die!"
The assistant gave a demoniac scowl.
"There is no mercy for the enemies of the Republic!" he snarled. "Remainwhere you are!"
Dolores glanced at Coursegol tenderly. The utmost thankfulness was inher look. But she uttered not a word. She felt that speech would merelyaugment her companion's misery and her own.
Those of the mob who were near enough to catch the assistant's brutalreply to Coursegol applauded it. Their hearts seemed turned to stone.Not a morsel of pity or human feeling was left in them. They were likeso many wild beasts eager to lap blood.
The executioner had bared his brawny arms for his fiendish task. Hisface glowed with intense satisfaction.
"Come," said he, addressing his assistants. "We are wasting the Nation'stime and keeping hosts of patriots waiting for their just revenge. Deathto the enemies of the Republic!"
An officer unfolded a soiled and crumpled paper. He began to call thedeath-roll.
The aged Royalist went to the guillotine first. In an instant the hugeknife descended; his life blood gushed forth and his head fell into thebasket. The executioner grasped the head by its white locks and held itup, streaming with gore, to the gaze of the howling concourse.
"So perish all who hate France and liberty!" he shouted.
His shout was taken up and repeated from one end of the Place de laRevolution to the other.
"So perish all who hate France and liberty!"
It was a sublime mockery of justice, a deliberate treading under foot ofall the rights of man. The sans-culottes and the tricoteuses rivaledeach other in the loudness and strength of their applause.
The youthful Royalist was the next victim, and the preceding scene withall its horrors was repeated.
Then the Republican, accused of _Moderantisme_, met his fate, then thepriest, and then, one by one, the three women, each execution having asimilar finale.
Dolores and Coursegol alone were left of all the condemned. They lookedat each other, encouraging each other to be brave by signs and glances.
The officer with the death-roll read Dolores' name. Coursegol bowed hishead, trembling in every limb. The supreme moment had come. The faintinggirl was dragged forward. Her foot was already on the first step of theguillotine platform, when suddenly there was a great commotion in thecrowd and a stentorian voice cried out:
"In the name of the Republic, hold!"
At the same instant the throng parted like a wave of the ocean and threemen appeared at the foot of the guillotine. Two of them were clerks fromRobespierre's bureau, clad in the well-known uniform and wearing therevolutionary cockade. The third was Bridoul. He wore the dress of theterribl
e Committee of Public Safety. It was he who had uttered thestentorian cry:
"In the name of the Republic, hold!"
The assistant who was dragging Dolores forward paused, astounded. Theexecutioner dropped his arms to his sides and glanced at the three menin speechless amazement. An interruption of the guillotine's deadly workwas something that had never yet come his knowledge or experience in thebloody days of the Reign of Terror. He could not comprehend it. Thesuddenly silenced mob was equally unable to grasp the situation. Whatcould be the matter? Had the flinty and inexorable Robespierre turnedfainthearted at last? No! That was impossible! The patriots waited withopen mouths for an explanation of this bewildering phenomenon.
As for Dolores, she saw nothing, heard nothing. At the foot of theguillotine steps she had fainted dead away in the assistant's arms.
Coursegol had seen Bridoul and heard his words, but they were as much ofan enigma to him as to the rest. How was it that Bridoul was withRobespierre's clerks, and how was it that he wore the dress of theCommittee of Public Safety? Coursegol, however, realized one thing--thatBridoul had in some inexplicable way acquired power and had come at thelast moment to save Dolores and himself!
Meanwhile Bridoul and the clerks had mounted the guillotine steps andwere standing on the platform of death, facing the awed and amazed mob.Bridoul produced a huge document and held it up to the people. On it wasseen the great red seal of the Republic. At the bottom, those nearestcould make out the well-known signature of Robespierre!
Bridoul proceeded to read the document. It declared that a mistake hadbeen made in the condemnation of Citoyenne Antoinette de Mirandol andCitoyen Coursegol, that they were altogether innocent of any crimewhatever against the Republic, and ordered them to be set at libertyimmediately.
A subdued murmur followed the reading of this surprising paper, but,though the mob was dissatisfied and disappointed, no one dare disputethe command of the formidable and dreaded Dictator!
Bridoul folded the precious document and placed it in his pocket; thenhe turned to the assistant who was supporting Dolores and ordered him todeliver his charge to Robespierre's clerks; the man at once obeyed.
Bridoul then came down from the platform and went to Coursegol. Thelatter began at once to question him.
"Hush!" said he. "Not a word now! I will explain all in time! For thepresent the girl and yourself are safe! That must suffice you! Come withme!"
A carriage was waiting a few paces away. Bridoul led Coursegol to it andthither also Dolores was borne by the two clerks, who, after placing heron a seat, bowed respectfully to Bridoul and departed.
"We are going to my house," said Bridoul, as the vehicle started off atthe top of its horses' speed, the crowd leaving it an open passage.
Dolores revived and opened her eyes just as they reached the wine-shop.
CHAPTER XVI.
IN THE CHEVREUSE VALLEY.
The first thing Dolores saw was the kindly face of Cornelia Bridoul, whowas bending over her with tears of joy in her eyes. The good woman hadbeen waiting at the door of the "Bonnet Rouge" and had sprang into thecarriage the moment it stopped. Dolores was still very faint and utterlybewildered. She glanced at Cornelia, at Bridoul and then at Coursegol.Then she swooned again. Taking her in his arms, the wine-shop keepercarried her to the chamber she had formerly occupied, where he placedher upon the bed, leaving his wife to bestow such care on her as in herweak condition she might require. This done, he repaired to the backshop, where, by his direction, Coursegol had preceded him.
"You want to know what all this means and how it was accomplished," saidhe, as he entered the room and carefully closed the door behind him. "Iam now ready to tell you. But first you must have something tostrengthen you, for you have just passed through a trial sufficient tobreak down even Hercules himself."
As he spoke he took a flask of brandy from a closet and filled glassesfor his companion and himself. After they had drunk the liquor andseated themselves, he continued:
"Time is precious, and it will not do for Dolores and yourself toremain long here, or, for that matter, in Paris! You are safe for themoment, but at what instant you may again be in deadly peril it isimpossible to say! I have succeeded in cheating the guillotine of itsprey, and I will tell you how in as few words as I can. When I learnedthat Dolores was in prison and heard of your own arrest, I determined tomove heaven and earth to save you, but was at a loss to know eitherwhere to turn or what to do. Just at that critical juncture word wasbrought me that I had been chosen a member of the Committee of PublicSafety, on the recommendation of no less a personage than Robespierrehimself, and that the Dictator wished to see me at once. I saw myopportunity and hastened to him without an instant's delay.
"Robespierre received me cordially and informed me that I could be ofthe greatest service to him and the Republic. I answered that as a truepatriot I was not only willing but anxious to do all that lay in mypower. He smiled and said that he had a mission of the utmost importanceto entrust to me, that he had selected me for it because of mywell-known zeal for the Nation's welfare and my equally well-knownintegrity. I bowed, and he went on to say that certain members of theCommittee of Public Safety were plotting against himself and thecontinuance of his power. My mission was to win over those members tohis interest and restore harmony in the Committee. I accepted themission and succeeded.
"The Dictator's delight and exultation were boundless. He told me toname the price of my distinguished service and, whatever it might be, itshould instantly be paid. He undoubtedly expected that I would demandmoney and position, but I demanded neither. I simply asked for hiswarrant, under his own signature and the great seal of the Republic, tosave from prison and the guillotine two of my friends who were accusedof crimes of which they were entirely innocent. Robespierre wassurprised. He hesitated; then he asked the names of my friends. I gavethem and he showed further hesitation. Finally, he drew up the warrant,signed it, placed the great seal upon it, and directed me to take two ofhis clerks and have it at once carried into effect. You may well imaginethat I did not let the grass grow under my feet. I took the preciousdocument and, accompanied by the clerks, fairly flew to theConciergerie, where I had learned you were confined previous to going tothe guillotine.
"When I arrived I was informed, to my terror and dismay that the cartladen with the condemned had already started for the Place de laRevolution and that Dolores and yourself were among the victims. Iprocured a carriage and with my companions drove at headlong speed tothe very steps of the guillotine. The rest you know. Now, Robespierre istreacherous and forgetful of services when his end has been attained. Hemay revoke his warrant and order your re-arrest at any moment. Hence Isay that time is precious and that it will not do for you to remain longeither here or elsewhere in Paris. You must seek safety as soon aspossible in the little cottage in the Chevreuse valley, where theDictator and his myrmidoms will not think of searching for you. This isimperative!"
Coursegol grasped his friend's hand.
"You are a man, Bridoul!" said he. "You have saved our lives and won ourundying gratitude! We will follow your advice to the letter! But youmust do something more. Antoinette de Mirandol and Philip de Chamondrinare still in the Conciergerie. They have an order for their release, butcannot use it without your help. You must aid them to escape and join usin the Chevreuse valley!"
"I will do it!" said Bridoul, solemnly. "I swear it!"
"Enough," replied Coursegol. "Dolores and myself will leave for therefuge this very night!"
Madame Bridoul was summoned and acquainted with the decision that hadbeen reached. She reported that Dolores had recovered consciousness andstrength and would be ready for the departure when required.
"One thing more," said Coursegol to Bridoul and his wife. "NeitherPhilip nor Antoinette must know that we have escaped the guillotineuntil they find us alive and well in the Chevreuse valley!"
This was agreed to, and, at nightfall, Coursegol and Dolores, providedwith the requisite pass
ports, quitted Paris. In due time they reachedthe little cottage in the Chevreuse valley in safety.
About a fortnight after the supposed execution of Dolores and Coursegol,Philip and Antoinette, with the aid of Bridoul and the order of releasewrested from Vauquelas, succeeded in obtaining their freedom. No soonerwere they out of the Conciergerie than they hastened to the refugeprovided for them in the Chevreuse valley. What pen can describe theirjoy and gratitude to God when, on their arrival, they found that thelittle cottage contained two other tenants, and that those tenants weretheir beloved friends whom they had mourned as victims of the hideousguillotine?
Dolores, after the first transports of delight at the reunion were over,endeavored to continue her role of martyr and to induce Philip to keephis promise to her to marry Antoinette, but the latter had greatlychanged since that dreadful parting at the Conciergerie. She had becomecapable of as great a sacrifice as Dolores, and firmly refused to standlonger between Philip and the woman he had loved for so many years. Shestill loved Philip, it is true, but her love had grown pure andunselfish--it was now a sister's love, not that of a woman who wished tobe his wife.
To say that Philip was overjoyed by this unexpected turn of affairs isonly to state the simple truth.
Dolores at first demurred, urging the wish of the late Marquis, alsothat she was devoted to God, but Antoinette's only reply was to jointheir hands and bless them, and Dolores finally consented to themarriage that at her heart's core she so ardently desired.
Philip and Dolores were quietly united in wedlock a few weeks later.Coursegol, the Bridouls and Antoinette were the only persons present atthe ceremony besides the bride and groom and the officiating priest.Shortly afterwards the Marquis de Chamondrin and his wife, accompaniedby Coursegol, Antoinette and the Bridouls, the latter having sold theirwine-shop, went to England and from there to Louisiana, where Mlle. deMirandol owned extensive estates. Antoinette decided to remain inLouisiana, having persuaded Madame Bridoul to take charge of her houseand Bridoul to assume the management of her business.
Philip and Dolores spent ten years in America and then returned toFrance. They had two children, a son and a daughter, the latter namedAntoinette, and their life, though always slightly tinged withmelancholy, was serene and peaceful. After his return to his nativeland, Philip rebuilt the Chateau de Chamondrin and took up his permanentabode there, determined to lead the life of a country gentleman andstudent and to take no part in the political controversies of the time,nor could he be induced to reconsider this decision though he was twiceoffered a seat in the Chamber of Deputies. After the exciting andterrible scenes of the Reign of Terror through which he had passed, helonged for quiet and repose. Coursegol was made the steward of hisestate and managed it with such shrewdness and intelligence that Philipbecame rich and all the prestige of the Chamondrins was restored.
In the month of May, 1822, while in Paris, to which city he had beencalled by important business, the Marquis de Chamondrin met an oldnobleman who had been a fellow prisoner in the Conciergerie. They talkedtogether a long time over the past and the frenzy, perils and heroismwhich had stamped those eventful days, and a chance word, let fall byhis companion, first acquainted Philip with the fact that Dolores hadendeavored to sacrifice her own life in order to save that of Antoinettede Mirandol. The Marquis de Chamondrin turned pale as death and pressedhis hand convulsively against his heart, but he speedily recovered hiscolor and self-possession and the old nobleman did not even suspect theemotion to which his revelation had given rise.
Philip never mentioned the knowledge he had acquired to his wife, buthis love and reverence for her were vastly augmented by it, and,whenever he thought of the sacrifice that God in His mercy had notpermitted to be made, he murmured to himself:
"Dolores has a noble and heroic soul! An angel from Heaven could nothave acted more grandly!"
THE END.
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