the trampling of the lilies-第43节

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why；〃　he　demanded　reproachfully；　〃why　didn't　you　listen　to　me　when；
days　ago；　I　counselled　flight？〃

〃Because　it　neither　was；　nor　is；　my　intention　to　fly。〃

〃　What？〃　he　cried；　and；　his　jaw　fallen　and　his　eyes　wide；　he　regarded
her。　　Then　suddenly　he　caught　her　by　the　arm　and　shook　her　roughly。
〃Are　you　mad？〃　he　cried；　in　a　frenzy　of　anger　and　fear。　　〃Am　I　to
die　like　a　dog　that　a　scum　of　a　Republican　may　save　his　miserable
neck？　　Is　this　canaille　of　a　revolutionist　to　betray　me　to　his　rabble
Tribunal？〃

〃Already　have　I　told　you　that　you　need　fear　no　betrayal。〃

〃Need　I　not？〃　he　sneered。　　〃Ma　foi！　but　I　know　these　ruffians。　　There
is　not　an　ounce　of　honour　in　the　whole　National　Convention。〃

〃Fool！〃　she　blazed；　rising　and　confronting　him　with　an　anger　before
which　he　recoiled；　appalled。　　〃Do　you　dare　to　stand　there　and　prate
of　honour　…　you？　　Do　you　forget　why　he　stood　his　trial？　　Do　you
forget　why　he　is　dying；　and　can　you　not　see　the　vile　thing　that　you
are　doing　in　arguing　flight；　that　you　talk　of　honour　thus；　and　deny
his　claim　to　it？　　Mon　Dieu！　　Your　effrontery　stifles　me！　　La　Boulaye
was　right　when　he　said　that　with　us　honour　is　but　a　word　…　just　so
much　wind；　and　nothing　more。〃

He　stared　at　her　in　uncomprehending　wonder。　　He　drew　away　another
step。　　He　accounted　her　mad；　and；　that　he　might　humour　her；　he　put
by　his　own　fears　for　the　moment　…　a　wonderful　unselfishness　this　in
the　most　nobly…born　Vicomte　d'Ombreval。

〃My　poor　Suzanne；〃　he　murmured。　　〃Our　trouble　has　demoralised　your
understanding。　　You　take　a　false　view　of　things。　　You　do　not
apprehend　the　situation。〃

〃In　God's　name；　be　silent！〃　she　gasped。

〃But　the　time　is　not　one　for　silence；〃　he　returned。

〃So　I　had　thought；〃　quoth　she。　　〃Yet　since　you　can　be　silent　and
furtive　in　other　matters；　I　beg　that　you　will　be　silent　in　this
also。　　You　talk　in　vain；　Monsieur；　in　any　case。　　For　I　am　not　minded
to　leave　Choisy。　　If　you　urge　me　further　I　shall　burn　our　passport。〃

And　with　that　she　left　him；　to　seek　the　solitude　of　her　own　room。
In　a　passion　of　tears　she　flung　herself　upon　the　little　bed；　and
there　she　lay；　a　prey　to　such　an　anguish　as　had　never　touched　her
life　before。

And　now；　in　that　hour　of　her　grief；　it　came　to　her　…　as　the　sun
pierces　the　mist　…　that　she　loved　La　Boulaye；　that　she　had　loved
him；　indeed；　since　that　night　at　Boisvert；　although　she　had　stifled
the　very　thought；　and　hidden　it　even　from　herself；　as　being　unworthy
in　one　of　her　station　to　love　a　man　so　lowly…born　as　Caron。　　But
now；　on　the　eve　of　his　death；　the　truth　would　no　longer　be　denied。
It　cried；　perchance；　the　louder　by　virtue　of　the　pusillanimity　of
the　craven　below　stairs　in　whose　place　Caron　was　to　die；　but　anyhow；
it　cried　so　loudly　that　it　overbore　the　stern　voice　of　the　blood
that　had　hitherto　urged　her　to　exclude　the　sentiment　from　her　heart。
No　account　now　did　she　take　of　any　difference　in　station。　　Be　she
nobler　a　thousand　times；　be　he　simpler　a　thousand　times；　the　fact
remained　that　she　was　a　woman；　he　a　man；　and　beyond　that　she　did
not　seek　to　go。

Low　indeed　were　the　Lilies　of　France　when　a　daughter　of　the　race　of
their　upholders　heeded　them　so　little　and　the　caste　they　symbolised。

Henriette　came　to　her　that　afternoon；　and；　all　ignorant　of　the
sources　of　her　grief；　she　essayed　to　soothe　and　comfort　her；　in
which；　at　last；　she　succeeded。

In　the　evening　Ombreval　sent　word　that　he　wished　to　speak　to　her　…
and　that　his　need　was　urgent。　　But　she　returned　him　the　answer　that
she　would　see　him　in　the　morning。　　She　was　indisposed　that　evening；
she　added；　in　apology。

And　in　the　morning　they　met；　as　she　had　promised　him。　　Both　pale；
although　from　different　causes；　and　both　showing　signs　of　having
slept　but　little。　　They　broke　their　fast　together　and　in　silence；
which　at　last　he　ended　by　asking　her　whether　the　night　had　brought
her　reflection；　and　whether　such　reflection　had　made　her　appreciate
their　position　and　the　need　to　set　out　at　once。

〃It　needed　no　reflection　to　make　me　realise　our　position　better
than　I　did　yesterday；〃　she　answered。　　〃I　had　hoped　that　it　would
have　brought　you　to　a　different　frame　of　mind。　　But　I　am　afraid　that
it　has　not　done　so。〃

〃I　fail　to　see　what　change　my　frame　of　mind　admits　of；〃　he　answered
testily。

〃Have　you　thought；〃　she　asked　at　last；　and　her　voice　was　cold　and
concentrated；　〃that　this　man　is　giving　his　life　for　you？〃

〃I　have　feared；〃　he　answered；　with　incredible　callousness；　〃that　to
save　his　craven　skin　he　might　elect　to　do　differently　at　the　last
moment。〃

She　looked　at　him　in　a　mighty　wonder；　her　dark　eyes　open　to　their
widest；　and　looking　black　by　the　extreme　dilation　of　the　pupils。
So　vast　was　her　amazement　at　this　unbounded　egotism　that　it　almost
overruled　her　disgust。

〃You　cast　epithets　about　you　and　bestow　titles　with　a　magnificent
unconsciousness　of　how　well　they　might　fit　you。〃

〃Ah？　　For　example？〃

〃In　calling　this　man　a　craven；　you　take　no　thought　for　the　cowardice
that　actuates　you　into　hiding　while　he　dies　for　you？〃

〃Cowardice？〃　he　ejaculated。　　Then　a　flush　spread　on　his　face。　　〃Ma
foi；　Mademoiselle；〃　said　he；　in　a　quivering　voice；　〃your　words　betray
thoughts　that　would　be　scarcely　becoming　in　the　Vicomtesse　d'Ombreval。〃

〃That；　Monsieur；　is　a　point　that　need　give　you　little　thought。　　I　am
not　likely　to　become　the　Vicomtesse。〃

He　bestowed　her　a　look　of　mingling　wonder　and　anger。　　Had　he；　indeed；
heard　her　aright？　　Did　her　words　imply　that　she　disdained　the　honour？

〃Surely；〃　he　gasped；　voicing　those　doubts　of　his；　〃you　do　not　mean
that　you　would　violate　your　betrothal　contract？　　You　do　not　…　〃

〃I　mean；　Monsieur；〃　she　cut　in；　〃that　I　will　give　myself　to　no　man
I　do　not　love。〃

〃Your　immodesty；〃　said　he；　〃falls　in　nothing　short　of　the
extraordinary　frame　of　mind　that　you　appear　to　be　developing　in
connection　with　other　matters。　　We　shall　have　you　beating　a　drum
and　screeching　the　Ca　ira　in　the　streets　of　Paris　presently；　like
Mademoiselle　de　Mericourt。〃

She　rose　from　the　table；　her　face　very　white；　her　hand　pressing　upon
her　corsage。　　A　moment　she　looked　at　him。　　Then：

〃Do　not　let　us　talk　of　ourselves；〃　she　exclaimed　at　last。　　〃There　is
a　man　in　the　Conciergerie　who　dies　at　noon　unless　you　are
forthcoming　before　then　to　save　him。　　He　himself　will　not　betray
you　because　he　…　　No　matter　why；　he　will　not。　　Tell　me；　Monsieur；
how　do　you；　who　account　yourself　a　man　of　honour　above　everything；
intend　to　deal　with　this　situation？〃

He　shrugged　his　shoulders。

〃Once　he　is　dead　and　done　with　…　provided　that　he　does　not　first
betray　me　…　I　trust　that；　no　longer　having　this　subject　to　harp
upon；　you　will　consent　to　avail　yourself　of　our　passport；　and
accompany　me　out　of　France。〃

〃Honour　does　not　for　instance；　suggest　to　you　that　you　should　repair
to　the　Conciergerie　and　take　the　place　that　belongs　to　you；　and
which　another　is　filling？〃

A　sudden　light　of　comprehension　swept　now　into　his　face。

〃At　last　I　understand　what　has　been　in　your　mind　since　yesterday；
what　has　made　you　so　odd　in　your　words　and　manner。　　You　have　thought
that　it　was　perhaps　my　duty　as　a　man　of　honour　to　go　and　effect　the
rescue　of　this　fellow。　　But；　my　dear　child；　bethink　you　of　what　he
is；　and　of　what　I　am。　　Were　he　a　gentleman　…　my　equal　…　my　course
would　stand　clearly　defined。　　I　should　not　have　hesitated　a　moment。
But　this　canaille！　　Ma　foi！　let　me　beg　of　you　to　come　to　your　senses。
The　very　thought　is　unworthy　in　you。〃

〃I　understand　you；〃　she　answered　him；　very　coldly。　　〃You　use　a
coward's　arguments；　and　you　have　the　effrontery　to　consider　yourself
a　man　of　honour　…　a　nobleman。　　I　no　longer　marvel　that　there　is　a
revolution　in　France。〃

She　stood　surveying　him　for　a　moment；　then　she　quietly　left　the　room。
He　stared　after　her。

〃Woman；　woman！〃　he　sighed；　as　he　set　down　his　napkin　and　rose　in　his
turn。

His　humour　was　one　of　pitying　patience　for　a　girl　that　had　not　the
wit　to　see　that　to　ask　him　…　the　most　noble　d'Ombreval　…　to　die　that
La　Boulaye　might　live　was　very　much　like　asking　him　to　sacrifice
his　life　to　save　a　dog's。




CHAPTER　XXIII

THE　CONCIERGERIE


It　wanted　but　a　few　minutes　to　noon　as　the　condemned　of　the　day　were
being　brought　out　of　the　Conciergerie　to　take　their　places　in　the
waiting　tumbrils。　　Fourteen　they　numbered；　and　there　was　a　woman
amongst　them　as　composed　as　any　of　the　men。　　She　descended　the
prison　steps　in　nonchalant　conversation　with　a　witty　young　man　of
some　thirty　years　of　age；　who　had　been　one　of　the　ornaments　of　the
prerevolutionary　salons。　　Had　the　pair　been　on　the　point　of　mounting
a　wedding　coach　they　could　not　have　shown　themselves　in　better
spirits。

Aristocrats；　too；　were　the　remaining　twelve；　with　one　exception；　and
if　they　had　not　known　how　to　live；　at　least　they　could　set　a　very
splendid　example　of　how　to　die。　　They　came　mostly　in　pairs；　and　the
majority　of　them　emulating　the　first　couple　and　treating　the　whole
matter　as　a　pleasantry　that　rather　bored　them　by　the　element　of
coarseness　introduced　by　the　mob。　　One　or　two　were　pale；　and　their
eyes　wore　a　furtive；　frightened　look。　　But　they　valiantly　fought
down　their　fears；　and