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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Which?, by Ernest Daudet
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Which?
+       or, Between Two Women
+
+Author: Ernest Daudet
+
+Translator: Laura E. Kendell
+
+Release Date: June 14, 2007 [EBook #21838]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHICH? ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Martin Pettit and
+the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
+https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+WHICH?
+
+OR,
+
+BETWEEN TWO WOMEN.
+
+
+BY ERNEST DAUDET.
+
+
+TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH
+BY LAURA E. KENDALL.
+
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+     "WHICH? OR, BETWEEN TWO WOMEN," is the latest and most powerful
+     novel from the pen of the celebrated French novelist, Ernest
+     Daudet. It is fully worthy of its famous author's great reputation,
+     for a more absorbing and thrilling romance has seldom been
+     published. The interest begins at once with the flight of the gypsy
+     mother with her child and her death in the Château de Chamondrin,
+     where the friendless little one is received and cared for. The plot
+     is simple and without mystery, but never, perhaps, were so many
+     stirring incidents crowded within the covers of a novel. The scene
+     is laid in Paris and the country, and some of the most striking
+     events of the times are vividly reproduced. The reader is given a
+     very realistic glimpse of Paris, and part of the action takes place
+     in that historic prison, the Conciergerie, where nobles and others
+     accused of crimes against the French Republic were confined.
+     History and fiction are adroitly mingled in the excellent novel,
+     which may be termed a double love story in that two women are
+     passionately attached to one man. On the thrilling adventures and
+     heart experiences of this trio the romance turns, and the reader's
+     attention is kept constantly riveted to the exciting narrative. The
+     other characters are all naturally drawn, and the book as a whole
+     is one of the best and most absorbing novels that can be found. It
+     will delight everybody.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+                               NEW YORK:
+                   W. L. ALLISON COMPANY, PUBLISHERS,
+                                 1893.
+
+
+                              COPYRIGHT:
+
+                     BY T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS.
+
+                                 1887.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+WHICH?
+
+"WHICH? OR, BETWEEN TWO WOMEN," _is the title of a new, very thrilling
+and intensely interesting novel, by Ernest Daudet, one of the best known
+and most widely read of the living French novelists. A highly romantic,
+attractive and touching love story, in which a gypsy girl of great
+beauty and heroism, named Dolores, and Antoinette de Mirandol, an
+heiress, are rivals for the possession of Philip de Chamondrin, the
+hero, forms the main theme, and it is most skilfully and effectively
+handled. About this double romance of the heart are clustered a series
+of exceedingly stirring episodes, many of which are historic. The
+adventures of Philip, Dolores and Antoinette in Paris are graphically
+described and hold the reader spell-bound. The book is highly dramatic
+from beginning to end, and especially so that portion where the
+Conciergerie prison and its noble inmates are depicted. Very stirring
+scenes also are the attack on the Château de Chamondrin, Coursegol's
+struggle with Vauquelas and Bridoul's rescue of the condemned prisoners
+on the Place de la Révolution. But the entire novel is exceedingly
+spirited, exciting and absorbing, and every character is finely drawn.
+"Which? or, Between Two Women," should be read by all who relish an
+excellent novel._
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+Chapter.                                           Page.
+
+      I. THE BOHEMIANS                                21
+
+     II. THE CHATEAU DE CHAMONDRIN                    36
+
+    III. THE CHILDHOOD OF DOLORES                     53
+
+     IV. PERTAINING TO LOVE MATTERS                   73
+
+      V. IN WHICH HISTORY IS MINGLED WITH ROMANCE    105
+
+     VI. PARIS IN 1792                               131
+
+    VII. CITIZEN JEAN VAUQUELAS                      163
+
+   VIII. AN EPISODE OF THE EMIGRATION                179
+
+     IX. THE MOVING CURTAIN                          193
+
+      X. COURSEGOL'S EXPLOITS                        209
+
+     XI. THE CONCIERGERIE                            220
+
+    XII. ANTOINETTE DE MIRANDOL                      238
+
+   XIII. LOVE'S CONFLICTS                            249
+
+    XIV. THE THUNDERBOLT                             263
+
+     XV. THE LAST FAREWELL                           284
+
+    XVI. IN THE CHÉVREUSE VALLEY                     304
+
+
+
+
+WHICH?
+
+BY ERNEST DAUDET.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+THE BOHEMIANS.
+
+
+Early one morning in the month of March, 1770, a woman bearing in her
+arms a new-born infant, was hastening along the left bank of the Garden,
+a small river that rises in the Cevennes, traverses the department of
+the Gard, and empties into the Rhone, not far from Beaucaire. It would
+be difficult to find more varied and picturesque scenery than that which
+borders this stream whose praises have been chanted by Florian, and
+which certainly should not be unknown to fame since it was here the
+Romans constructed the Pont du Gard, that gigantic aqueduct which
+conveyed the waters of Eure to Nîmes.
+
+The woman of whom we speak was at that moment very near the famous Pont
+du Gard--which is only a short distance from the spot on which the
+little village of Lafous now stands, and directly opposite Remoulins, a
+town of considerable size situated on the right bank of the river--and
+at a point where the highway from Nîmes to Avignon intersects the road
+leading up from the villages that dot the river banks. The woman paused
+on reaching the place where these roads meet, not to take breath, but to
+decide which course she should pursue. But she did not hesitate long.
+After casting an anxious glance behind her, she hastened on again,
+directing her steps toward the Pont du Gard, which was distant not more
+than half a mile.
+
+The air was very cold; the wind had been blowing furiously all night,
+and at day-break it was still raging, ruffling the water, bending the
+trees, snatching up great clouds of dust, and moaning and shrieking
+through the clumps of willows that bordered the stream, while immense
+masses of gray and white clouds scudding rapidly across the sky,
+imparted to it the appearance of a tempest-tossed ocean. Some of these
+clouds were so low that they seemed almost to touch the earth as they
+rushed wildly on, pursued by the fury of the gale, and assuming strange
+and fantastic forms in their erratic course. Undeterred by the violence
+of the tempest, the stranger advanced steadily, apparently with but one
+aim in view: to reach her journey's end with all possible expedition in
+order to protect her sleeping infant from the inclemency of the weather.
+
+She was a young woman, not yet twenty years of age. Her luxuriant golden
+hair hung in wild disorder from the brilliant-hued kerchief that was
+bound about her head; and her garments were as remarkable for their
+peculiarity of form as for their diversity of color. She wore a short,
+full dress of blue de laine bordered with yellow, and confined at the
+waist by a red silk girdle. Over this, she wore a gray cape of coarse
+woollen stuff. Her legs were bare, and her feet were protected only by
+rude sandals, held in place by leathern thongs. Many rents, more or less
+neatly repaired by the aid of thread or if material of another color,
+revealed the fact that these faded garments had been in long and
+constant use. Even the sandals were so dilapidated that the feet of
+their wearer were upon the ground. Her whole attire, in short, was
+wretched and poverty-stricken in the extreme.
+
+But no face could be more charming. Her pure and delicate features shone
+out from their framework of golden hair with marvellous beauty, in spite
+of the sorrow and fatigue which had left their impress upon her face.
+Her eyes, shaded by long dark lashes and dewy with tears, were
+remarkably beautiful and expressive. The sunburn that disfigured her
+charming face, her exquisitely formed hands and her tiny feet, which
+were scarcely larger than those of a child, extended no further. Upon
+those portions of her body that were protected by her clothing, her skin
+was white and delicate, and scarcely colored by the young blood that
+coursed through her veins. Such was this woman, and it would have been
+difficult to divine her origin if the tambourine that hung at her
+girdle, and the hieroglyphics embroidered upon her sleeves had not
+revealed it beyond all question.
+
+Tiepoletta, for that was her name, belonged to one of those wandering
+tribes that leave Spain or Hungary each spring to spend some months in
+Southern France, advancing as far as Beaucaire, Avignon and
+Arles--sleeping as fate wills, under the arches of bridges, in
+tumbledown barns, or in the open air; living sometimes by theft, but
+oftener by their own exertions; the men dealing in mules and in rags;
+the women telling fortunes, captivating young peasants, extorting money
+from them, and selling glassware of their own manufacture--the children
+imploring charity. These people, scattered throughout Europe--these
+people, whose manner of life is so mysterious and whose origin is more
+mysterious still--seem to be closely allied both to the Moors and to the
+Hindoos, not only in appearance but in their phlegm, fanaticism and
+rapacity. Such of our readers as have travelled in Southern Europe must
+have frequently encountered these Bohemians, who come from no one knows
+where only to disappear again like the swallows at the approach of
+winter.
+
+Their language is a mixture of the Spanish and the Sclavonic. Some
+jabber a little French. The men are generally athletic, very dark
+complexioned and have strong, energetic features, wavy hair and sonorous
+voices. The women, when young, are remarkably beautiful; but like all
+who lead an exposed and migratory life, they become hideous before they
+are thirty. They live in families or tribes, each family consisting of
+fifteen or twenty members, and obeying the orders of the oldest woman,
+who is dignified by the title of queen, and from whose decisions there
+is no appeal, though she, in turn, owes allegiance to one great queen.
+These Bohemians are tolerated in the countries through which they pass;
+but people seldom enter into any closer relations with them than are
+necessary to effect the purchase of a horse or mule, or to obtain a
+prediction concerning the future. They know the feeling of repulsion
+they inspire, so they seldom approach thickly settled districts, and
+only the women and children venture into the villages to solicit alms.
+
+It was to this race that Tiepoletta belonged; and though the color of
+her hair, the delicacy of her features and the fairness of her skin did
+not accord with her supposed origin, her memory hinted at nothing that
+did not harmonize with what had been told her concerning her parentage.
+It is not the aim of this story to investigate the truth or the falsity
+of this assertion. That Tiepoletta had Bohemian blood in her veins; that
+she had, as a child, been stolen from her friends; that she was the
+fruit of some mysterious love affair; all these hypotheses were equally
+plausible, but there was nothing to prove that the first was not the
+true one, nor had her imagination ever engaged in a search for any
+other; but the people of her tribe seemed to suspect that she was of
+different blood, for they evidently regarded her with aversion.
+Preserved from the pernicious counsels and examples of those around her
+by some secret instinct, she had remained pure. With the aid of a book
+picked up on the roadside, she had learned to read and to speak a few
+French words. This was more than enough to convince her companions that
+she was haughty and proud. When she was a child, they beat her
+unmercifully because she refused to beg. As she grew older, she had a
+most cruel enemy in her beauty, which was the cause of much of her
+misery. Subjected to temptations to which she saw young girls around her
+yield without a thought, she escaped only by a miracle, but it brought
+down upon her, anger, hatred and cruel vengeance. She increased these by
+refusing to choose a husband from among the young men with whom she had
+been reared.
+
+They resolved to compel her to marry one of her companions. She fled,
+but they succeeded in recapturing her without much difficulty. They then
+shut her up, telling her that she should remain a prisoner until she
+promised obedience. It was the most trying time of her whole life. Beset
+on every side, beaten, buffetted, tyrannized over, fed on food that was
+only fit for a dog, she would certainly have died in the struggle had
+not destiny sent her a protector in the person of Borachio, a young man
+about twenty-five years of age, whose heart was touched by her
+misfortunes.
+
+He was so bold, so strong and so terrible in his anger that the whole
+tribe stood in awe of him. He took compassion on their victim and
+compelled her tormentors to cease their persecution. Tiepoletta was not
+ungrateful, and she afterward married her preserver to the great disgust
+of the young girls of the tribe, with whom Borachio was a great
+favorite.
+
+According to custom, the queen solemnized the marriage without delay;
+and at nineteen Tiepoletta had a master whose coarse tenderness was
+sweet, indeed, in comparison with the harsh treatment to which she had
+been subjected heretofore. But this happiness was destined to be of
+short duration. Borachio was found dead upon the roadside one morning,
+his breast pierced by eight dagger thrusts. Envious of his beauty, his
+authority and his lovely young wife, one of his comrades had
+assassinated him and made Tiepoletta a widow some time before she was to
+become a mother. Six months went by, during which they seemed to respect
+her grief. Then, in a cave near the Pont du Gard, she gave birth to a
+daughter. The very next evening, while she was lying, half asleep, on
+some straw on the floor of the cave, with her child beside her, she
+overheard a conversation that was going on outside. They were talking of
+her. She listened eagerly. Picture her fear and horror when she heard
+them scheming to deprive her of her infant and then drive her from their
+midst, thus ridding the tribe of a useless member and retaining
+Borachio's child. It was Corcovita, the mother of the poor heart-broken
+creature, who was the strongest advocate of this shameful outrage.
+
+"We shall leave here to-morrow to go to Avignon," said she. "We must
+obtain possession of the child and then find an opportunity to abandon
+Tiepoletta on the road."
+
+This plan gave general satisfaction, and Corcovita was charged with its
+execution. Tiepoletta had heard enough. Wild with terror she endeavored
+to devise some means of escape from this new peril, and during the long
+watches of the night she finally resolved to flee with her child. The
+next morning at day-break the little band was on its way. A seat in the
+carriage was offered to Tiepoletta. She accepted it, knowing she must
+save all her strength if she would carry her plan into successful
+execution.
+
+After a long march, they paused at nightfall to encamp near Avignon.
+Tiepoletta, a prey to the most intense anxiety, had detected the
+interchange of divers signs that convinced her they were only waiting
+for her to fall asleep to steal her child from her. She watched. At
+eight o'clock the men had gone to stroll around the suburbs of the city;
+the old women were dozing; the young people were laughing and teasing
+one another, and the children were sound asleep. Tiepoletta profited by
+a moment when no one was observing her to steal from the camp on
+tip-toe. She proceeded perhaps a hundred paces in this way, then, seized
+with sudden fright, she began to run, holding her child pressed close to
+her heart; fancying she heard her mother's voice behind her, she rushed
+wildly on, never pausing until she sank exhausted on the lonely road.
+
+She had pursued her flight for more than an hour without even asking
+herself where she was going, and with no thought save that of escaping
+from her persecutors. She was now beyond their reach. Still she could
+not dismiss her fears. Dreading pursuit, she soon resumed her journey,
+turning her steps in the direction of the Pont du Gard, in the hope
+that her former companions would not think of looking for her there, and
+that she might find in the cave they had just deserted a little straw
+upon which she could rest her weary limbs, and some fragments of food
+that would keep her alive until she had decided upon her future course.
+She walked all night. When she found herself near the Pont du Gard day
+was breaking.
+
+The wind was still blowing; but the clouds had scattered before its
+violence like a flock of frightened sheep, and a pale light was
+beginning to shine upon the drenched fields. Gloomy and majestic in its
+century-old impassibility, the Pont du Gard--a colossus upheld by two
+mountains, and accustomed to defy alike the tempest and the ravages of
+time--seemed to laugh at the gale which beat against its massive pillars
+and rushed into its gigantic arches with a sound like thunder. These
+strong yet graceful arches seem so many frames through which the
+astonished eyes of the traveller seize the landscape bit by bit: the
+quiet valley, watered by the Gardon, the luxuriant green of the willows,
+the clear waves dancing along over their sandy bed, the blue sky
+reflected there, the mountains that border the horizon.
+
+Nothing can be more wildly beautiful than this secluded spot, which is
+as silent and lonely as if it had never been trodden by the foot of man.
+Judging from the prodigality with which nature has lavished her riches
+here, it would seem that she wishes the sole credit of this superb
+panorama. The massive aqueduct alone attests the existence of man.
+Looming up in its mighty grandeur--the imperishable monument of a
+departed civilization, and the only one of its kind--the beholder feels
+that it is no unworthy rival of the works of Deity.
+
+But the majestic scene made no impression upon Tiepoletta. That poor
+creature, fainting with hunger and fatigue, did not even notice the
+grandeur around her. With half-closed eyes, arms cramped by the weight
+of the precious burden upon which she now maintained her hold only by a
+superhuman effort, and lips parched by the wind, she plodded on with a
+measured, automatic step. She was hungry; she was thirsty; she was
+shivering with the cold. Her feet were swollen; but her sufferings were
+forgotten when she neared her journey's end. She passed under the Pont
+du Gard. The path on the other side of the aqueduct winds along between
+the base of the cliffs and the bed of the stream. Under one of these
+cliffs nature has hewn out a grotto of such liberal dimensions that the
+people of the neighborhood assemble there on fête days to dance and make
+merry.
+
+It was there the Bohemians had encamped a few days before; it was there
+Tiepoletta had given birth to the tiny creature whom she had just
+rescued from the heartless wretches who had conspired to despoil a
+mother of her child. This comfortless cavern where she had suffered so
+much seemed to her now a Paradise, in which she would be content to
+dwell forever.
+
+She rushed into the cave. The sunlight illumined only a small portion of
+the grotto; the rest of it was veiled in shadow. Tiepoletta glanced
+around her and uttered a cry of joy. In one dim corner she discerned a
+little straw, enough, however, to serve as a bed. She laid her sleeping
+infant upon it, covered the child with her mantle; then gathering up a
+few bits of bread and some half-picked bones which had been left upon
+the floor of the cave, she proceeded to appease her hunger. When this
+was satisfied, she ran to the river, quenched her thirst, bathed her
+sore and bleeding feet, and then returned to the cave after walking
+about awhile in the sunlight to warm herself. Flinging herself down upon
+the straw, she covered herself with her tattered garments as best she
+could, and drawing her child to her gave it the breast. The little one
+roused from its slumber uttered a moan and applied its pale lips to the
+bosom upon which it was dependent for sustenance; but it soon exhausted
+the supply of milk, whose abundance had been greatly diminished by the
+fatigues of the preceding night, and again fell asleep.
+
+Then, in the midst of this profound silence and solitude, Tiepoletta,
+providentially rescued from her persecutors, experienced an intense joy
+that made her entirely forget the hardships she had just undergone.
+There were undoubtedly new misfortunes in store for her. She must,
+without delay, find some way to earn her own living and that of her
+child; but their wants were few. Birds and Bohemians are accustomed to
+scanty fare. She could work: she was accustomed to labor: she was inured
+to fatigue. Besides, who would be so hard-hearted as to refuse her bread
+when she said: "I am willing to earn it." This artless creature, whose
+ambition was so modest, consoled her troubled mind with these hopes, and
+trembled only when she thought of those from whom she had just fled. No
+one had ever told Tiepoletta that there was a God. She did not know how
+to pray; nevertheless, in the refuge she had found, her soul lifted
+itself up in fervent adoration to the unknown God whose power had
+protected her, though she was ignorant of His existence and of His name.
+It was in the midst of this feverish exaltation of spirit that sleep
+overcame her before she had even thought to ask herself what she should
+do on awaking.
+
+For several hours she slumbered on undisturbed, but suddenly she woke.
+She fancied she heard in her sleep a frightful noise like the rumbling
+of heavy thunder, a noise which mingled with the shrieks of the wind and
+finally drowned them entirely. At first she thought she must be the
+victim of some terrible dream. But the sound grew louder and louder.
+This was no dream; it was reality. She sprang to her feet, seeking some
+loophole of escape from the unknown peril that threatened her. Above the
+tumult she could distinguish human cries. She thought these must come
+from her pursuers. But no; these distant voices were calling for succor.
+She caught up her child and ran from the cave. A grand but terrible
+sight met her gaze and riveted her to the spot in motionless horror.
+
+The Gardon had overflowed its banks. With the rapidity that
+characterizes its sudden inundations and transforms this peaceful stream
+into the most impetuous of torrents, the water had risen over the banks
+that border it and flooded the fields, sweeping away everything that
+stood in its path. This water now laved the feet of the young Bohemian;
+and as far as the eye could reach she could see nothing but a mass of
+boiling, turbulent waves, bearing on their crests floating fragments of
+houses and furniture, as well as trees, animals and occasionally human
+bodies. The cries she had heard came from some women who had been
+overtaken by the torrent while engaged in washing their linen at the
+river, and who had taken refuge upon a rock on the side of the now
+inundated road.
+
+The river continued to rise. This immense volume of water was vainly
+seeking an outlet through the narrow defile formed by the hills and
+which ordinarily sufficed for the bed of the Gardon; but, finding the
+passage inadequate now, it dashed itself violently against the rocks and
+against the supports of the aqueduct which haughtily defied the furious
+flood; then, converted into a mass of seething foam, it returned over
+the same road it had just traversed until it met the new waves that were
+being constantly formed by the current. It was the shock of this meeting
+that caused the noise which had roused Tiepoletta from her slumber. A
+stormy sea could not have appeared more angry, or formed more formidable
+billows. One might have called it a fragmentary episode of the universal
+deluge.
+
+Five minutes more than sufficed to give Tiepoletta an idea of the extent
+of the inundation. She stood with wild eyes and unbound hair, the
+picture of terror and dismay. Suddenly an enormous wave broke not far
+from her with the roar of a wild beast, and the water dashed up to her
+very feet. She pressed her child closer to her breast and recoiled.
+Another wave dashed up, blinding her with its spray. Would the water
+invade the cave? Her blood froze in her veins. Frenzy seized her. This
+new misfortune, added to those she had suffered during the past three
+days, was more than she could bear. From that moment she acted under the
+influence of actual madness caused by her terror. She must flee. But by
+what road? To reach either of the neighboring villages was impossible.
+The foaming waters covered the entire plain.
+
+Suddenly Tiepoletta recollected that on the summit of the hill above her
+there was a château which the Bohemians had visited sometimes in pursuit
+of alms. She could reach it by means of a broad footpath that
+intersected the road only a few yards from the grotto. It was there she
+resolved to go for shelter. But to reach this path she must walk through
+the raging flood. She did not hesitate. Each moment of delay aggravated
+her peril, and might place some insurmountable barrier between her and
+her only chance of salvation. She lifted her skirts, fastened her child
+upon her back and bravely waded into the torrent.
+
+What agony she endured during that short journey. The water was higher
+than her waist; the ground was slippery; the current, rapid and
+capricious. It required an indomitable will to sustain her--to keep her
+from yielding twenty times to the might of this unchained monster.
+Frequently she was obliged to pause in order to regain her breath. The
+struggle lasted only ten minutes, but those ten minutes seemed so many
+ages. At last she reached the path leading to the château. She was
+saved!
+
+She let fall her tattered skirts about her slender limbs, and, without
+wasting time in looking back upon the perilous road she had just
+traversed, she hastened up the hill. A few moments later she reached the
+door of the château in a plight most pitiable to behold. It was time. A
+moment more and her limbs trembling with excitement and exhaustion,
+would have refused to sustain her. She fell on her knees and deposited
+her burden upon some tufts of heather; then with a mighty effort she
+seized and pulled a chain suspended at the side of the door. The sound
+of a bell was instantly heard. As if her strength had only waited until
+this moment to desert her, she fell to the ground unconscious at the
+very instant the door opened.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+THE CHATEAU DE CHAMONDRIN.
+
+
+The man who appeared at the door was young, and, in spite of his swarthy
+complexion and formidable moustache, his features and the expression of
+his eyes indicated frankness and benevolence. His garb was that of a
+soldier rather than a servant, but the arms of the Marquis de
+Chamondrin, the owner of the château, were embroidered in silver upon
+it. On seeing the unconscious Tiepoletta and the child so quietly
+sleeping beside her, he could not repress a cry of astonishment and
+dismay.
+
+"What is it, Coursegol?" inquired a gentleman who had followed him.
+
+"Look, sir," replied Coursegol, pointing to Tiepoletta.
+
+"Is she dead?" exclaimed the Marquis, springing forward; then, deeply
+impressed by the beauty of the unconscious girl, he knelt beside her and
+placed his hand upon her heart. It still throbbed, but so feebly that he
+could scarcely count its pulsations. The Marquis rose.
+
+"She lives," said he, "but I do not know that we shall save her. Quick,
+Coursegol, have her and her child brought in and apply restoratives."
+
+"Oh, the child is doing very well," replied the servitor. "All it needs
+is a little milk; for to-day, one of our goats must be its nurse."
+
+As he spoke Coursegol summoned a servant to whom he confided the infant;
+then, taking the mother in his strong arms, he carried her up-stairs and
+placed her on a bed.
+
+Coursegol was thirty years of age. Born in the château, where his father
+and his grandfather before him had served the Marquis de Chamondrin, he
+had shared the childish sports of the lad who afterwards became his
+master. He absolutely worshipped the Marquis, regarding him with a
+veritable idolatry that was compounded of respect and of love. Outside
+of the château and its occupants, there was nothing that could interest
+or attract this honest fellow. His heart, his intelligence and his life
+were consecrated to his master's service. In the neighboring villages he
+so lauded the name of Chamondrin that no one dared to let fall in his
+presence any word that did not redound to the glory and honor of
+Coursegol's idolized master. He had no particular office at the château,
+but he superintended everything, assuming the duties of lodge-keeper,
+gardener, major-domo and not unfrequently those of cook. It was he who
+instructed the son of the Marquis in the arts of horsemanship and of
+fencing, for he had served two years in His Majesty's cavalry and
+thoroughly understood these accomplishments. He was also an adept in the
+manufacture of whistles from willow twigs, in the training of dogs,
+falcons and ferrets, in snaring birds, in the capture of butterflies and
+in skipping stones.
+
+He had already begun to teach Philip--his master's son, a bright boy of
+five--all these accomplishments. He had some knowledge of medicine also;
+and, as he had spent much of his life in the fields, he had become
+acquainted with the names and properties of many plants and herbs; and
+this knowledge had often been called into requisition for the benefit of
+many of the people as well as the animals of the neighborhood. Never had
+his skill been needed more than now, for poor Tiepoletta had not
+recovered consciousness, and her rigidity and the ghastly pallor which
+had overspread her features seemed to indicate that she had already been
+struck with death.
+
+Anxious to resuscitate her, Coursegol set energetically to work, but not
+without emotion. It was the first time he had ever exercised his skill
+on a woman, and this pure and lovely face had made a deep impression on
+his heart. He would willingly have given a generous share of his own
+blood to hear Tiepoletta speak, to see her smile upon him.
+
+"Look, sir," said he, "how beautiful she is! She certainly cannot be
+twenty years old. Her skin is as fine as satin, and what hair! Could
+anything be more lovely?"
+
+While he spoke, Coursegol was endeavoring to unclose the teeth of the
+gypsy in order to introduce a few drops of warm, sweetened wine through
+her pallid lips. Then he rubbed the feet of the unfortunate woman
+vigorously with hot flannels.
+
+"They are sore and swollen!" he added. "She must have come a long
+distance!"
+
+"Is she recovering?" asked the Marquis, who stood by, watching
+Coursegol's efforts.
+
+"I do not know; but see, sir, it seemed to me that she moved."
+
+The Marquis came nearer. As he did so Tiepoletta opened her eyes. She
+looked anxiously about her, then faintly murmured a few words in a
+strange tongue.
+
+"She speaks," said the Marquis, "but what does she say? She seems
+frightened and distressed."
+
+"She wishes to see her child," exclaimed Coursegol, departing on the
+run.
+
+During his absence Tiepoletta regained her senses sufficiently to
+recollect what had happened; but she was so weak that she could scarcely
+speak. Still, when Coursegol appeared with the child in his arms, she
+smiled and extended her hands.
+
+"Kiss her, but do not take her," said the Marquis. "You are not strong
+enough for that yet."
+
+Tiepoletta understood and obeyed. Then she said gently in bad French:
+
+"My Dolores."
+
+"Dolores! That is a pretty name!" remarked Coursegol, pleased to hear
+the poor woman speak.
+
+"You will keep her, will you not?" said Tiepoletta, entreatingly. "You
+will not give her to those who will maltreat her? Make an honest girl of
+her. Teach her not to scorn the poor gypsies. Tell her that her father
+and her mother belonged to that despised race."
+
+She uttered these phrases slowly, speaking, not without difficulty,
+French words that would clearly express her meaning.
+
+"Have no fears," replied Coursegol. "The child shall want for nothing.
+Rest in peace."
+
+"Yes," she repeated, "rest in death."
+
+"She talks of dying!" exclaimed the Marquis. The words had hardly left
+his lips when the woman rose and extended her arms. Her features
+contracted; her large eyes seemed to start from her head; she placed her
+hand upon her heart, uttered a shrill cry and fell back upon the bed. It
+was the work of an instant. Coursegol and the Marquis both sprang
+forward, lifted her, and endeavored to restore her, but in vain. The
+unfortunate Tiepoletta was dead. Her heart had broken like a fragile
+vase, shattered by the successive misfortunes she had undergone. A great
+tear fell from the eyes of Coursegol.
+
+"Poor woman!" said he.
+
+"What shall we do with the child?" inquired the Marquis. "I would like
+to keep her and rear her. Heaven has sent her here; but who will act as
+a mother to the poor little waif? The condition of the Marquise renders
+it impossible for her to do so."
+
+As he spoke, his voice trembled with emotion. It was not only because he
+was touched by the sight before him, but because the words he had
+uttered reminded him of his own misfortunes.
+
+"If Monsieur le Marquis would but grant my request," said Coursegol,
+timidly.
+
+"What is your request?"
+
+"I have no wife, no child. The little apartment that I occupy is very
+gloomy when M. Philip is not with me. If you will consent to it, Dolores
+shall be my daughter."
+
+"Your daughter, but who would take care of her?"
+
+"Oh! I will attend to that. I know some very worthy people in Remoulins.
+The woman has a young child. She will have milk enough for this little
+thing too. I will entrust the child to her for a time."
+
+"Very well; I have no objection, Coursegol," replied the Marquis. "Take
+the child, if you wish. As for the mother, may her soul rest in peace!
+She probably had no faith in religion; but I am sure she was guilty of
+no sin. I shall request the curé of Remoulins to allow her body to
+repose in his cemetery. I will now inform the authorities of what has
+occurred."
+
+With these words, the Marquis left the room; and Coursegol, after
+covering the face of the dead with reverent hands, knelt and prayed for
+her as well as for the orphan who had been confided to his care.
+
+The Château de Chamondrin was scarcely a century old. Erected on the
+site of a feudal castle which had been demolished because it threatened
+to fall into ruins, the present structure was destitute of the massive
+towers, moats and drawbridges that characterize the ancient castle. The
+building was square and enclosed an immense court; it was only two
+stories high, and the upper story was surrounded by a veranda. Such had
+been the very simple plan executed by the architect; and the result had
+been an unpretentious abode, but one to which the color of the bricks
+used in its construction, the delicate columns that supported the
+windows and doors and the graceful pavilions placed at each of the four
+corners lent an air of extreme elegance.
+
+The building occupied the entire plateau on the brow of the hill and
+commanded a superb view of the Garden; while the park and farm-lands,
+vineyards and forests pertaining to the château covered the hill itself.
+This property was now the only possession of the house of Chamondrin,
+one of the oldest in Languedoc and Provence. It was not always thus.
+There had been a time when "As rich as a Chamondrin" was a proverb in
+the region thereabout. In those days this illustrious family had
+countless vassals and unbounded wealth, and enjoyed an income that
+enabled it for many successive generations to play a conspicuous rôle,
+first at the Court of Provence and later at the Court of France. The
+grandfather and father of the present Marquis lived to see the end of
+this proverbial opulence. They both led careers of extravagance and
+dissipation, taking part in all the gayeties and follies of the court.
+The grandfather was one of the favorite companions of Philippe
+d'Orleans; and wine, cards and women killed him when he should have been
+still in the prime of life.
+
+His son did not learn wisdom from his father's example. He in his turn
+became the friend of the Regent, and to repair his shattered fortunes he
+engaged, at the advice of Lau, in those disastrous financial enterprises
+that paved the way for the Revolution. He failed completely in his
+ventures, left Paris insolvent, and took refuge in the Château de
+Chamondrin, where he hoped to escape the wrath of his creditors. But
+they complained to the king, and brought such influence to bear upon him
+that Louis XV., the Well-beloved, who had just ascended the throne,
+informed the Marquis de Chamondrin that he would allow him three months
+in which to choose between the payment of his debts and incarceration in
+the Bastile. The Marquis did not hesitate long. He sold all his property
+with the exception of this château and paid his debts. But when this
+plebeian duty was accomplished, it left him in receipt of an extremely
+modest income. Poverty had fallen upon this house at the very time that
+the favor of the king was withdrawn from it, and this two-fold
+misfortune was quickly followed by the birth of a son and the loss of
+his wife.
+
+These afflictions completely prostrated this man who was wholly
+unprepared to meet them. He shut himself up in his château, and there,
+far from the pleasures for which he pined, far from the friends who had
+forgotten him, cursing God and man for his misfortunes, he lapsed into a
+misanthropy that rendered him nervous and eccentric almost to madness.
+He lived twenty years in this way, apparently taking no pleasure or
+interest in his son, whose youth was gloomy and whose education was
+entrusted entirely to the curé of a neighboring village. He died in
+1765, in the middle of the eighteenth century, the first half of which
+had proved so fatal to the prosperity of his house.
+
+His son, Hector--the same who had sheltered Tiepoletta--found himself,
+when he became of age, the owner of a name famous in the courts of
+Europe and upon many a field of battle, of an income of five thousand
+pounds and of the Château de Chamondrin. He was a gentle, serious young
+man of very simple tastes. He quickly resigned himself to the
+situation. After a close examination of the condition of affairs, he
+resolved to devote his life and all his efforts to the restoration of
+the glory of his name. He married, two years after the death of his
+father, the daughter of an impoverished Provençal nobleman, a lady whose
+domestic virtues seemed likely to aid him in the execution of his plans.
+He brought his wife home the day after their marriage and then said to
+her:
+
+"My dear Edmée, you have entered a family which for the past forty years
+has been subjected to reverses which can only be repaired by great
+self-denial on our part. We cannot hope to enjoy the fruits of our
+labors ourselves, but our children, should God grant us any, may enjoy
+them, and it is for their sakes that we must endeavor to restore the
+house of Chamondrin to its former splendor and opulence; and since you
+have consented to share my humble lot I hope that you will unite your
+efforts with mine to lay aside each year a sum that will enable our
+oldest son, when he arrives at the age of manhood, to make a respectable
+appearance at court where he will perhaps be fortunate enough to win the
+king's favor, our only hope."
+
+"You will ever find me ready to second you in your efforts," replied the
+young wife.
+
+A son and a daughter were born to them during the two years that
+followed. Nor were these their only blessings. The crops were abundant
+and their savings considerable. The life of the young couple was serene
+and happy. The Marquis was hopeful; the Marquise, a charming and most
+lovable creature, shared his hopes. Undoubtedly their life in this
+isolated château was often lonely and monotonous. The winters were very
+long; but the Marquis read a great deal, hunted and superintended his
+farms with the diligence of a peasant. The Marquise, too, was obliged to
+have a finger in the pie, to use a common expression. She directed the
+affairs of her household with as much care and economy as the plainest
+bourgeoise and seemed to live only to second the efforts of her husband.
+If resignation is the chief element of happiness, they were happy at the
+Château de Chamondrin.
+
+Four years passed in this way. Little Philip was growing finely; he had
+passed safely through the perils of teething and was beginning to talk.
+
+"We will make a fine gentleman of him," said the Marquis. "He will
+create a sensation at court; the king will give him command of a
+regiment, and he will marry some rich heiress. As for this young lady,"
+he added, caressing his daughter who was named Martha, "if we cannot
+give her a dowry we will obtain an appointment as lady abbess for her."
+
+The Marquise encouraged her dear Hector in these projects with her
+sweetest smile; but a terrible accident, followed by a catastrophe no
+less horrible, destroyed these delightful dreams and brought desolation
+to this happy home.
+
+Towards the close of the year 1769, Martha, the youngest child, began to
+lose her fine color and faded so rapidly that her parents became
+alarmed. They passed long nights at the bedside of the little sufferer,
+who seemed to be a victim of a sort of nervous debility or exhaustion.
+One night the Marquise volunteered to watch while her husband slept,
+and, in administering some medicine to her child, mistook the vial and
+poisoned her. Martha died and it was impossible to conceal the cause of
+her death from the grief-stricken mother. Her despair was even more
+poignant than that of her husband for with hers was mingled a frightful
+remorse which all the tenderness of the Marquis could not assuage. This
+despair caused an attack of fever from which she recovered, but which
+left her in a still more pitiable condition. A profound calm had
+succeeded the paroxysms of fever; and her sorrow no longer betrayed
+itself in sobs and lamentations, but only in silent tears and
+heart-breaking sighs. These alarming symptoms soon revealed the truth:
+reason had fled. For hours at a time poor Edmée rocked to and fro, with
+a bundle of rags clasped tightly to her breast, crooning over it the
+same lullaby she had been wont to sing over her sleeping child.
+
+Physicians summoned from Avignon, Nîmes and Montpellier tried in vain to
+overcome this deep despondency, which was far more dangerous than
+frenzy. Their skill was powerless; they could not give the Marquis even
+the slightest ray of hope. It was not long before the Marquise became
+frightfully pale and emaciated, while her mind was more than ever under
+the control of the monomania which saw her daughter in all the objects
+that surrounded her. She took, by turns, flowers, articles of clothing
+and of furniture, lavishing every mark of affection upon them and
+calling them by the most endearing names until their insensibility
+dispelled the illusion and she cast them aside with loathing to seek
+elsewhere the child for which she mourned.
+
+These afflictions, the rapidity with which they had followed one another
+and their magnitude impaired the health of the Marquis. He fell ill in
+his turn, and for more than a month Coursegol thought the shadow of
+death was hovering over his master. But the Marquis was young and
+strong; and the thought that if he succumbed his son would be left an
+orphan produced a salutary reaction. He was soon on his feet again, and,
+though he was always sad, he accepted his misfortunes bravely and
+resolved to live for his son's sake.
+
+These events occurred about a year before Tiepoletta dragged herself to
+the door of the château to die in Coursegol's arms, confiding her
+daughter to his care.
+
+After he had prayed for the departed, Coursegol rose, took up little
+Dolores and went out into the court-yard, calling:
+
+"Master Philip! Master Philip!"
+
+The little fellow, who was playing in charge of one of the
+servant-maids, came running to answer the summons. He was now four years
+old. His pretty and rather delicate face was surrounded by a profusion
+of brown curls, and his large eyes revealed an intelligence and
+thoughtfulness unusual in a child of his age. He talked well enough to
+make himself clearly understood, and understood all that was said to him
+in reply.
+
+"See this pretty baby!" said Coursegol, displaying Dolores.
+
+"A doll!" exclaimed Philip, clapping his hands in rapture.
+
+"Yes, in flesh and blood," replied Coursegol; "a doll that cries, that
+will grow and talk to you and amuse you."
+
+"When?" demanded Philip.
+
+"When she grows up."
+
+"Then make her grow up immediately," ordered the little autocrat.
+
+Then, seizing Coursegol's hand, he dragged him to the kitchen, for he
+wished to show every one his newfound treasure without delay. A crowd of
+servants soon gathered around Philip and Coursegol. The latter was
+explaining how the infant had come into his possession, and every one
+was marvelling at the strangeness of the adventure, when the Marquise
+suddenly appeared. The poor creature was always closely followed by a
+woman who was ordered never to lose sight of her mistress. She wandered
+about the château, never noisy or troublesome, but recognizing no one,
+not even her husband or her own child. She now advanced towards the
+little group which respectfully divided to make way for her. One could
+scarcely imagine a more pitiable sight than that presented by this
+beautiful young woman, whose haggard eyes, unbound hair and disordered
+garments revealed her insanity in spite of her attendant's efforts to
+keep her neatly dressed. At that moment, she was holding a piece of wood
+tightly to her bosom, and was singing softly as she advanced with
+measured steps as if trying to lull this supposed child to sleep.
+Suddenly she paused, threw the fragment of wood far from her and burst
+into tears.
+
+All the spectators of this scene stood motionless, overcome with pity,
+though they witnessed a similar spectacle each day and many times a day.
+Little Philip in his terror clung closely to Coursegol. The Marquise
+passed, looked at him, and, shaking her head, murmured:
+
+"That is not what I am looking for!" Suddenly she stopped as if riveted
+to the spot. Her eyes had fallen upon the sleeping Dolores cradled in
+Coursegol's arms. There was such an intentness in her gaze, she was
+regarding the child with so much persistence, that a strange thought
+flashed through the mind of the faithful servant.
+
+"Good Heavens!" he exclaimed, "might it be possible? Retire," he said,
+hastily, addressing those around him; "take Master Philip away and call
+the Marquis."
+
+They obeyed: all the servants vanished; the Marquise alone remained.
+Then Coursegol deposited the child upon a wide bench that stood against
+the wall, and, departing in his turn, ran to conceal himself behind a
+window where he could see his mistress without being seen. It was there
+the Marquis found him.
+
+"Ah! sir," exclaimed Coursegol on beholding his master, "I believe
+madame is saved. Heaven has inspired me. But what if I am mistaken?" he
+added, anxiously. "What if she should kill the poor little thing?"
+
+"What do you say? What have you done? Run and take the child from her.
+Have we not had misfortunes enough already? Go, I tell you!"
+
+"It is too late!" replied Coursegol, terribly excited. "Look!"
+
+After devouring Dolores with her eyes for several moments, the Marquise
+gently approached her with outstretched arms, her face strangely altered
+by the emotion that filled her heart. Curiosity, surprise and fear were
+imprinted upon her features. She leaned over the child and scrutinized
+it anew; then, with an eager movement, seized it, pressed it to her
+bosom and started as if to run away with it. But when she had gone
+perhaps twenty paces, she paused and looked around as if to assure
+herself that no one was following her. The Marquis and Coursegol were
+standing at the half-open window, not daring to breathe, so great was
+their anxiety. Suddenly they saw the Marquise press little Dolores still
+closer to her heart, and imprint frenzied kisses upon her brow, while
+for the first time for many a long month beneficent tears flowed from
+her eyes. At the same time she exclaimed in a clear, strong voice:
+
+"Hector, my daughter! I have found my daughter!"
+
+The agitated Marquis sprang towards her. She saw him approaching and
+advanced to meet him, laughing and crying and displaying the child;
+then, overcome by the violence of her emotion, she fell in his extended
+arms, devoid of consciousness.
+
+"She is saved!"' said Coursegol, who had followed his master.
+
+"Ah, Coursegol, can it be true?" demanded the Marquis, who could
+scarcely believe his own eyes.
+
+"Did she not recognize you? Did she not speak to you? Her madness
+disappeared as soon as her maternal instincts were re-awakened."
+
+They carried the Marquise to her chamber and laid her upon the bed. In
+obedience to Coursegol's directions a cradle was placed in her room and
+the infant deposited in it; then the devoted servant mounted a horse and
+started for Nîmes in quest of a physician.
+
+When he returned at the end of three hours, accompanied by the doctor,
+the Marquise had regained consciousness. They had shown her the sleeping
+Dolores and, reassured by the sight of the child, she had fallen asleep.
+Occasionally she roused a little and those around her heard her murmur:
+
+"My daughter! my daughter!"
+
+Then, raising herself upon her elbow, she watched the babe in silent
+ecstasy until overcome with exhaustion she again closed her eyes in
+slumber.
+
+"I can be of no service here," said the physician. "Her reason has
+returned unquestionably; and her weakness will be overcome by good care
+and absolute quiet."
+
+It was in this way that the Marquise was restored to her right mind.
+From that day her hold upon life slowly but surely strengthened; she
+recognized her husband and her son, and it was not long before they
+could without danger reveal the circumstances attendant upon Dolores'
+arrival at the château. Three months later her recovery was complete.
+
+One morning the Marquis sent for Coursegol.
+
+"I gave you Dolores," said he, abruptly; "will you not return her to me?
+Henceforth she shall be my daughter."
+
+"She is my daughter as well," replied Coursegol, "but you may take her,
+sir. Though I relinquish her to you, I do not lose her since I shall
+live near her, and we can both love her."
+
+The Marquis de Chamondrin offered his hand to Coursegol, thus consenting
+to the compact that gave Dolores two protectors; and so the daughter of
+the gypsy, though she had lost her parents, was not an orphan.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+THE CHILDHOOD OF DOLORES.
+
+
+Dolores passed a happy childhood in the Château de Chamondrin, where she
+was loved, petted and caressed as if she had been the little Martha
+whose loss had deprived the Marquise of reason for many dreary months.
+Nothing was left undone to render the illusion complete in the eyes of
+the members of the household and in her own. The first companion of her
+childish play was Philip, who called her sister; and she pillowed her
+fair head on the bosom of the Marquise without a shadow of fear and
+fondly called her mother. The Marquise loved her as devotedly as she had
+loved her own daughter; Coursegol regarded her with an affection whose
+fervor was mingled with the deference he owed to the children of his
+master. As for the servants, they treated Philip and Dolores with equal
+respect; and there were no relatives or friends of the family who did
+not take pleasure in exhibiting their fondness for the little creature
+whose presence had cured the Marquise of the most terrible of maladies.
+
+It is true that Dolores was such a lovely child no one could help loving
+her. She promised to resemble her mother. She had the same luxuriant
+golden hair, the same large, dark eyes, the same energy, the same
+sweetness of disposition and of voice. The Marquis and Coursegol, who
+had seen the gypsy, and who still remembered her, were often struck by
+the strong resemblance that seemed to make Tiepoletta live again in
+Dolores. The child also possessed the same tender heart, vivid
+imagination and honorable instincts. Her mind absorbed with marvellous
+facility the instruction which she received from the Marquis and which
+she shared with his son. She had a wonderful memory, and what she
+learned seemed to be indelibly imprinted upon her mind. She was loving
+in disposition, docile and sweet-tempered, and had already won the love
+of all who came in contact with her.
+
+Philip actually worshipped his little sister. He was five years her
+senior, a large, noisy, almost coarse boy, rather vain of his birth and
+of the authority which enabled him to lord it over the little peasants
+who sometimes played with him. But these faults, which were destined to
+be greatly modified by time, concealed a thoroughly good heart and
+disappeared entirely when he was with Dolores.
+
+It was amusing to see the tenderness and care with which he surrounded
+her. If they were walking together in the park, he removed all the
+stones which might hurt her tiny feet or cause her to stumble. If a
+dainty morsel fell to his share at the table, he transferred it from his
+plate to that of Dolores. If they dressed her in any new garment, he was
+never weary of admiring her, of telling her how beautiful she was, and
+of fondling her luxuriant golden curls. If it was necessary to punish
+Philip, they had only to deprive him of the society of Dolores. But
+unfortunately this punishment, the most severe that could be inflicted
+upon him, grieved his sister as much as it did him, so it was used
+rarely and only in grave cases. One of the favorite amusements of the
+two children was to walk with Coursegol, and this was not a delight to
+them alone, for that faithful fellow was never so happy as when roving
+about the fields with them.
+
+Often, during those lovely spring mornings that are so charming in the
+south, they descended the hill and strolled along the banks of the
+Garden. The delicately-tinted willows that grew on the banks drooped
+over the stream, caressing it with their flexible branches. Above the
+willows, fig trees, olives and vineyards covered the base of the hill
+with foliage of a darker hue, which in turn contrasted with the still
+deeper green of the cypress trees and pines that grew upon the rocky
+sides of the cliff. This luxuriant vegetation, of tints as varied as
+those of an artist's palette, mirrored itself in the clear waters below
+together with the arches of the massive Pont du Gard, whose bold yet
+graceful curves were festooned with a dense growth of creeping vines.
+
+Coursegol called the children's attention to the beauties of the scene,
+thus awakening in their young hearts appreciation of the countless
+charms of nature. They played in the sand; they fished for silver carp;
+hunted for birds' nests among the reeds. There were merry shouts of
+laughter, continual surprises and numberless questions. In answering
+these, all Coursegol's rather primitive but trusty knowledge on
+scientific subjects was called into requisition. When they returned
+home they were obliged to pass the cave, and Dolores, who knew nothing
+of her history, often entered it in company with Philip if they found it
+unoccupied by the much-dreaded gypsies.
+
+At certain seasons of the year, early in the spring and late in the
+summer, roving bands of Bohemians encamped on the banks of the Gardon,
+and Philip and Dolores took good care not to approach them, especially
+after an evening when an old gypsy woman, struck perhaps by the child's
+resemblance to Tiepoletta, pointed Dolores out to some of the tribe who
+went into ecstasies over her beauty. One of the gypsies approached the
+children to beg, which so terrified them that they clung frantically to
+Coursegol, who found it difficult to reassure them.
+
+These pleasant rambles, the lessons which she recited to her adopted
+father, the religious instruction she received from the Marquise and
+long hours of play with Philip made up the life of Dolores. Day
+succeeded day without bringing anything to break the pleasant monotony
+of their existence, for the capture of a mischievous fox, an encounter
+with some harmless snake, or the periodical overflow of the Gardon could
+scarcely be dignified by the name of an event: yet these, or similar
+incidents furnished the children with topics of conversation for weeks
+together.
+
+They took little interest in the news that came from Paris, and though
+they sometimes observed a cloud on the brow of the Marquis, or tears in
+the eyes of his wife, they were ignorant of the cause. Nor was it
+possible for them to understand the gravity of the political situation
+or the well-founded fears of the Royalists, which were frequently
+mentioned in the letters received at the château.
+
+Thirteen serene and happy years passed after Dolores became the adopted
+daughter of the Marquis de Chamondrin, before she made her first
+acquaintance with real sorrow. She had grown rapidly and her mental
+progress had kept pace with her physical development. She promised to be
+an honor to her parents and to justify them in their determination to
+keep her with them always.
+
+But the Marquis had not lost sight of the projects formed years before
+in relation to his son's future. As we have previously stated, the
+Marquis, even before the birth of his son, dreamed of restoring in him
+and through him the glory of the house of Chamondrin--a glory which had
+suffered an eclipse for more than a quarter of a century. It was now
+time to carry these plans into execution. Philip was eighteen, a
+vigorous youth, already a man in stature and in bearing, endowed with
+all the faults and virtues of his race, but possessed of more virtues
+than faults and especially of an incontestable courage and a profound
+reverence for the name he bore. The Marquis had about decided that the
+time to send him to Paris had come. He had been preparing for this event
+for some months and, thanks to the economy in which he had been so
+admirably seconded by his wife, he had laid by a very considerable
+amount; enough to supply Philip's wants for five years at least--that
+is, until he would be in a position to obtain some office at court or a
+command in the army.
+
+But the Marquis had taken other measures to insure his son's success. He
+had appealed to family friends, and through the Chevalier de Florian, an
+occasional guest at the château, he had received an assurance that
+Philip would find an earnest champion in the Duke de Penthieore. Fortune
+seemed inclined to smile on the young man; nevertheless the Marquis was
+beset with doubts, for all this occurred in the year 1783, just as the
+hostility to the king was beginning to manifest itself in an alarming
+manner, and the Marquis asked himself again and again if this was a
+propitious moment to send so young a man, almost a boy, into a divided
+and disaffected court--a court, too, that was subjected to the closest
+espionage on the part of a people already deeply incensed and irritated
+by the scandal and debauchery of the nobility, and utterly insensible to
+the king's well-meant efforts to institute a much-needed reform.
+
+But the birth of the Dauphin, which occurred that same year, dissipated
+M. de Chamondrin's doubts. He was completely reassured by the enthusiasm
+of a nation, which, even in its dire extremity, broke into songs of
+rejoicing over the new-born heir. Philip's departure was decided upon.
+
+The young people had been aware of their father's intentions for some
+time. They knew the hour of separation was approaching, and the tears
+sprang to their eyes whenever any allusion to Philip's intended
+departure was made in their presence; but, with the characteristic
+light-heartedness of youth, they dismissed the unwelcome thought from
+their minds, and in present joys forgot the sorrow the future held in
+store for them. But the flight of time is rapid, and that which causes
+us little anxiety because it was the future, that is, a possibility,
+becomes the present, in other words, reality. One day the Marquis, not
+without emotion, made known his plans to his wife and afterwards to his
+son. Philip was to start for Paris at the close of autumn, or in about
+two months, and Coursegol was to accompany him. This news carried
+despair to the heart of Dolores, for she loved Philip devotedly. Had he
+not been her brother, her protector, and the sharer of all her joys
+since she was old enough to talk? Could it be she was about to lose him?
+
+In spite of all their efforts to conceal the fact, the grief was
+general. The departure of Philip would be a sore trial to all the
+inmates of the château. Dolores was inconsolable. A dozen times a day,
+the Marquise, conquering her own sadness, endeavored to console Dolores
+by descanting on the advantages Philip would derive from this journey;
+but the poor girl could understand but one thing--that her brother was
+to leave her for an indefinite time. For several days before his
+departure she scarcely left his side. How many plans were made to be
+carried into execution on his return! How many bright hopes were mingled
+with the sadness of those last hours! Philip, who had become grave and
+serious as befitted his new rôle, declared that he would never forget
+Dolores--that he should love her forever. The hours flew swiftly by and
+the day appointed for the separation came all too quickly for those who
+were awaiting and dreading it.
+
+The morning that Philip was to start his father sent for him. The young
+man was in the court-yard, superintending the preparations for
+departure. The servants, superintended by Coursegol, were fastening the
+trunks upon the carriage that was to convey the travellers and their
+baggage to Avignon, where places had been bespoken for them in the coach
+which was then the only mode of conveyance between Marseilles and Paris.
+
+Dolores was standing near Coursegol. Her red eyes, still moist with
+tears, and her pale face showed that her sorrow had made sleep
+impossible during the previous night; but, in spite of this, she looked
+so lovely that Philip was more deeply impressed by her beauty than he
+had ever been before. He kissed her tenderly, as he tried to console
+her.
+
+"Ah! Philip, why do you leave us?" she exclaimed, reproachfully.
+
+"Because it is necessary both for your sake and mine," he responded. "Do
+you not know my father's plans? And if he commands me to go, must I not
+obey?"
+
+"That is what I was just telling mademoiselle," began Coursegol. "I
+explained to her that the Marquis, your father, was acting wisely in
+sending you to court. You will soon make a fortune there, and then you
+will return to us laden with laurels and with gold. Shall we not be
+happy then, mademoiselle?"
+
+Even while speaking thus, Coursegol found it very difficult to conceal
+his own emotion, for though he was pleased to accompany Philip, it cost
+him a bitter pang to part with Dolores. Rescued by him, reared under his
+very eyes, he loved her as devotedly as he would have loved a child of
+his own, had the thought of any other family than that of his master
+ever occurred to him.
+
+But his words and Philip's caresses seemed to comfort Dolores. Her sobs
+ceased and she dried her tears; but, as Philip was about to leave her in
+obedience to a summons from his father, she suddenly exclaimed:
+
+"Will you not forget me in the midst of the splendor that will surround
+you? Will you not cease to love me?"
+
+"Forget you! Cease to love you!" replied Philip, with a shudder, as if
+such a fear expressed at such a moment was an evil omen. "I shall never
+forget you! I shall never cease to love you!"
+
+He was about to say still more when he saw his mother approaching. He
+led Dolores gently to her, kissed them both, and hastened to join his
+father.
+
+The latter was pacing to and fro in his chamber, thoughtful and sad, for
+the departure of his son made his heart heavy with grief.
+
+"You sent for me, father," said Philip.
+
+"Yes, my son," responded the Marquis, seating himself and motioning his
+son to a chair beside him. "I wish to say a few words to you. You are
+about to leave me, Philip. In a few hours you will be your own master. I
+shall no longer be near you; nor will your mother be at hand to advise
+you. Moreover, you are deprived of our counsel and experience just when
+you most need them, at a time when your life must undergo a radical
+change and you are beset with difficulties. I have decided that
+Coursegol shall accompany you, for his judgment may be of service to you
+in the absence of ours. You must regard his advice as that of a friend
+rather than of a servant; but do not accept his counsels or the counsels
+of any other person without reflection. There are cases, it is true, in
+which one must decide hastily. If you have not time to consult those in
+whom you repose confidence, you must be guided by your own judgment; and
+in order that you may not err, engrave upon your heart the words I am
+about to utter."
+
+The Marquis paused a moment, then resumed:
+
+"'God, your country and the king'--this should be your motto. You are
+about to go out into the world. You will meet many fanatics, atheists
+and libertines. Shun their example; do not be led astray by their
+sophistries, and before you speak or act, ask yourself if what you are
+about to say or do does not conflict with the respect you owe to your
+religion, to France and to your king."
+
+This was the general tenor of the conversation, which lasted nearly an
+hour. His father, it is true, told him nothing he had not heard already.
+His advice was nothing more than a resumé of the lessons he had always
+taught him; but Philip was deeply moved, and he promised with an emotion
+closely akin to ardent enthusiasm that he would never depart from the
+line of conduct his father had marked out for him.
+
+Then the Marquis, with a sudden change of tone, said to his son:
+
+"Since you are about to leave home, perhaps for several years, I will
+tell you a secret which I should no longer withhold."
+
+"What is it?" demanded Philip, in surprise.
+
+"Dolores is not your sister!"
+
+"Dolores not my sister! Then--"
+
+Philip paused. He dare not utter the thought that had suddenly entered
+his mind. On hearing the Marquis' words and learning the truth in regard
+to Dolores from his lips, he had experienced an emotion of joy. If he
+had given expression to what was passing in his soul, his father would
+have heard these words:
+
+"Dolores not my sister! Then she shall be my wife!"
+
+But he controlled himself and his father little suspected the emotion
+caused by this revelation. The Marquis related the history of Dolores in
+detail, and Philip could scarcely believe his ears when he heard that
+the charming girl was the offspring of one of those Bohemians he had
+frequently seen by the roadside.
+
+"You must not love her the less," said the Marquis in conclusion. "She
+has filled Martha's place in our hearts; we owe to her your mother's
+restoration to reason. We should always love and cherish her. She has no
+suspicion of the truth; and I wish her to remain in ignorance until I
+think proper to acquaint her with the facts."
+
+"Oh! I shall never cease to love her," replied Philip, quickly, thus
+repeating to his father the promise he had made to Dolores a few moments
+before.
+
+Then, agitated by the news he had heard, he left the Marquis and
+rejoined Dolores. He wished to see her alone once more before his
+departure. When he approached her, his heart throbbed wildly.
+
+"She is not my sister," he said to himself, exultantly.
+
+She seemed to him an entirely different being. For the first time he
+observed that she had exquisitely formed hands of marvellous whiteness
+for the first time he shrank from the light of the dark eyes uplifted to
+his. He wished that Dolores knew the secret of her birth, and that she
+could hear him once again say:
+
+"I love you!"
+
+It was a new emotion to the pure and artless heart of an eighteen-year
+old lad; and, yielding to its influence, Philip threw his arms about
+Dolores, and, pressing her to his heart, said tenderly:
+
+"I shall always love you--always--I swear it! Remember this promise.
+Some day you will understand it better."
+
+Dolores looked at him in astonishment. Though she was deeply moved she
+made no reply, but throwing her arms around his neck she kissed him
+again and again, thus unconsciously arousing a new passion in what had
+been the soul of a child only a few moments before, but what had
+suddenly become the soul of a man.
+
+But the hour of departure had come. The char-a-banc drawn by two strong
+horses was in waiting at the base of the hill. They were to walk down
+the hill with Philip and bid him farewell there. Philip gave his arm to
+his mother; Dolores walked between Coursegol and the Marquis, with an
+expression of profound sorrow upon her features.
+
+An air of sadness and gloom pervaded everything. It was the close of
+autumn; the air was full of withered leaves; they rustled beneath the
+tread at every step, and the wind moaned drearily through the pines.
+
+"Take care of your health," said the Marquise.
+
+"Write to me," pleaded Dolores.
+
+"Be brave and upright," said the father; then all three, turning as if
+with one accord to Coursegol, placed Philip under his protection.
+
+Again they embraced their beloved; again they wept; then one more
+embrace, one last kiss, and he was gone. The carriage that bore him away
+was hidden from their sight by clouds of dust, and the loving hearts
+left behind sadly wondered if this cruel parting was not, after all, a
+dream.
+
+Dolores, in spite of her earnest efforts to fill the void that had been
+made in her life, spent a month in tears. A deep despair seemed to have
+taken possession of her heart. In vain her adopted parents endeavored to
+divert her mind; in vain they concealed their own grief to console her;
+in vain they lavished a wealth of tenderness upon her; she would not be
+consoled and her silent sorrow revealed a soul peculiarly sensitive to
+suffering.
+
+It was Philip who persuaded her to conquer this despondency; for he,
+even at a distance, exerted a much more powerful influence over her
+than either the Marquis or his wife. His first letter, which arrived
+about a month after his departure, was more potent in its effects than
+all the efforts of her adopted parents. It was to Dolores that Philip
+had written. He described his journey to Paris; the cordial welcome he
+had received from the Duke de Penthieore and the Princess de Lamballe,
+to whom he had been presented by the Chevalier de Florian; the
+condescension this Princess had displayed in taking him to Versailles,
+and in commending him to the kindly notice of Marie Antoinette and Louis
+XVI.; the promises made by their majesties, and lastly the promptitude
+with which the Duke, as a proof of his interest, had attached him to his
+own household. So Philip was on the highway to wealth and honor at last.
+The Princess de Lamballe had evinced a very decided interest in him; he
+enjoyed the friendship of the Chevalier de Florian and would soon
+accompany the Duke de Penthieore to Brittany. Moreover, these kind
+friends were only waiting until he should attain the age of twenty to
+request the king to give him command of a company in one of his
+regiments.
+
+This good news filled the heart of the Marquis with joy. He immediately
+wrote to the Duke, thanking him for his kindness, and that gentleman in
+his reply, manifested such an earnest desire to insure Philip's success
+that the Marquis and his wife were consoled for their son's absence by
+the thought of the brilliant career that seemed to be in store for him.
+As for Dolores, what comforted her was not so much her brother's
+success as the expressions of affection with which his letter was
+filled. All his happiness and all his good fortune were to be shared
+with her. It was for her sake he desired fame, in order that he might
+make her proud and happy. Thus Philip expressed the still confused
+sentiments that filled his young heart, though he did not betray the
+secret that his father had confided to him.
+
+This letter seemed to restore to Dolores the natural light-heartedness
+of youth. She no longer lamented her brother's absence, but spent most
+of her time in writing to him, and in perusing and re-perusing his
+letters. The months passed, but brought nothing to disturb the
+tranquillity of this monotonous existence. At the end of two years
+Philip announced that he had been appointed to the command of a company
+of dragoons. This appointment, which he owed entirely to the kindness of
+the Princess de Lamballe and the Duke de Penthieore, was only the first
+step. The queen had promised not to forget him and to prove her interest
+in some conclusive manner. That he might not be obliged to leave his
+young master, Coursegol asked and obtained permission to enlist in the
+same regiment.
+
+Two more years passed.
+
+It would be a difficult task to describe Dolores as she appeared in
+those days. The cleverest pen would be powerless to give an adequate
+conception of her charms. Her simple country life had made her as strong
+and vigorous as the sturdy young trees that adorned the landscape ever
+beneath her eyes. In health and strength she was a true daughter of the
+Bohemians, a race whose vigor has never been impaired by the luxuries
+and restraints of civilization. She had not the olive complexion and
+fiery temper of her father, but she had inherited from her mother that
+delicate beauty and that refinement of manner which made it almost
+impossible for one to believe that Tiepoletta was the daughter of
+Corcovita.
+
+Dolores was as energetic as her father and as lovely as her mother. Her
+brilliant dark eyes betrayed an ardent temperament and unusual power of
+will. She was no fragile creature, but a healthy, spirited, beautiful
+young girl, the robust scion of a hardy and fruitful tree. Had she been
+reared among the gypsies, she might have been coarsely handsome; but
+education had softened her charms while it developed her intellect, and
+though but seventeen she was already one of those dazzling beauties who
+defy description and who eclipse all rivals whenever they appear. The
+soul was worthy of the casket that enshrined it; and the reader who
+follows this narrative to its close cannot fail to acknowledge the
+inherent nobility of this young girl, who was destined to play a rôle as
+heroic as it was humble in the great drama of the Revolution, and whose
+devotion, purity, unselfishness and indomitable courage elevated her
+high above the plane of poor, erring humanity.
+
+Had it not been for Philip's prolonged absence, Dolores would have been
+perfectly happy at this period of her life. Separated from their son,
+the Marquis and his wife seemed to regard her with redoubled
+tenderness. Her wishes were their law. To amuse her, they took her to
+Nîmes, to Montpellier and to Avignon; and she was everywhere welcomed as
+the daughter of the great house of Chamondrin, whose glory had been
+veiled in obscurity for a quarter of a century, only to emerge again
+more radiant than ever. Dolores was really happy. She was looking
+forward to a speedy meeting with her beloved Philip; and he shared this
+hope, for had he not written in a recent letter: "I expect to see you
+all soon and to spend several weeks at Chamondrin, as free from care and
+as happy as in days gone by?" In a still later letter Philip said: "I am
+eager to start for home, but sometimes the journey seems to be attended
+by many difficulties. Should it prove an impossibility, I shall expect
+to see you all in Paris."
+
+So either in Chamondrin, or in Paris, Dolores would soon embrace her
+brother. This thought intoxicated her with happiness, and her impatience
+led her to interrogate the Marquis.
+
+"Why does Philip speak of his return as impossible?" she asked again and
+again. "What does he fear?"
+
+"There may be circumstances that will detain him at his post near the
+king," replied the Marquis, sadly, but evasively.
+
+In the letters which he, himself, received from his son, the latter
+spoke freely of the danger that menaced the throne. There was, indeed,
+abundant cause of alarm to all thoughtful and observant minds, and
+especially to men who were living like the Marquis in the heart of the
+provinces, and who were consequently able to judge understandingly of
+the imminence of the peril. Of course, no person could then foresee the
+catastrophes which were to succeed one another so rapidly for several
+years; but a very general and undeniable discontent prevailed throughout
+the entire kingdom, a discontent that could not fail to engender
+misfortunes without number.
+
+The year 1788 had just opened under the most unfavorable auspices.
+Marepas, Turgot, Necker and Calonne had held the reins of power in turn,
+without being able to restore the country to peace and prosperity. Their
+efforts proving powerless from divers causes they had been dismissed in
+disgrace; some through the intrigues of the court; some by reason of
+their own incapacity. Brienne was now in office; but he was no more
+fortunate than his predecessors. Instead of subsiding, the discord was
+continually on the increase.
+
+The convention of leading men, upon which Calonne had based such
+flattering hopes, adjourned without arriving at any satisfactory result.
+The treasury was empty; and, as the payment of government obligations
+was consequently suspended, the murmurs of the people became long and
+loud. Parliament refused to notice the royal edicts, and the army showed
+open hostility to the court. In the provinces, poverty everywhere
+prevailed; and the dissatisfaction was steadily increasing.
+
+The condition of affairs in Southern France was extremely ominous. At
+Nîmes, the religious factions, which were as bitterly at variance as
+they had been at the time of the revocation of the Edict of Nantes had
+arrayed themselves in open warfare one against the other. Avignon, eager
+to shake off the pontifical yoke and annex itself to France, was the
+scene of daily outbreaks. As the Château de Chamondrin was situated
+between these two cities, its inmates could not fail to be aware of
+these dissensions.
+
+Conventions were held in most of the large towns, and the situation of
+the country was discussed with much heat and bitterness. The nobility
+and clergy, who trembled for their threatened privileges, and the
+people, who had suffered so long and so uncomplainingly, took part in
+these discussions; and their utterances betrayed great intolerance on
+the one side and excessive irritation on the other. The discontent had
+reached a class which, up to that date, had been allowed no voice in the
+management of affairs; but now, the peasants, oppressed by taxes as
+exorbitant as they were unjust, began to cast angry and envious glances
+at the nobility. The hovel was menacing the castle; and France seemed to
+be on the watch for some great event.
+
+In the midst of this general perturbation, the king, anxious and
+undecided, was running from one adviser to another, listening to all
+kinds of counsel, consenting to all sorts of intrigues and making a
+thousand resolutions without possessing the requisite firmness to carry
+any good one into execution.
+
+The Marquis de Chamondrin was a witness to some of these facts. The
+letters of his son revealed others. He was extremely anxious in regard
+to the future, and more than once Dolores and his wife saw his brow
+overcast and his eyes gloomy.
+
+A letter received from Philip early in May, 1788, increased his
+disquietude. It was written on the day following the arrest of
+Esprémenil. Philip had witnessed the disturbance; had seen the people
+applaud the officers of the municipal government, and insult the
+representatives of royal authority. He described the scene in his letter
+to his father. The Marquis, at the solicitation of Dolores, read her
+Philip's letter and made her the confidante of his fears. She understood
+now why Philip's return had been postponed. After this, she took a deep
+interest in the progress of events not so much on account of their
+gravity, which she did not comprehend as clearly as her adopted parents,
+but because Philip was a witness of them, and because his return
+depended upon a peaceful solution of the difficulty. She could not
+foresee that an event, as sorrowful as it was unexpected, would soon
+recall him to Chamondrin.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+PERTAINING TO LOVE MATTERS.
+
+
+A fortnight later, Philip, who was stationed at Versailles with his
+command, received the following letter from Dolores:
+
+
+     "It is my sad duty, my dear Philip, to inform you of the
+     irreparable misfortune which has just befallen us. Summon all your
+     fortitude, my dear brother. Your mother died yesterday. The blow
+     was so sudden, the progress of the malady so rapid, that we could
+     not warn you in time to give you the supreme consolation of
+     embracing for the last time her whom we mourn, and who departed
+     with the name of her son upon her lips.
+
+     "Only four days ago she was in our midst, full of life, of strength
+     and of hope. She was talking of your speedy return, and we rejoiced
+     with her. One evening she returned from her accustomed walk a
+     trifle feverish and complaining of the cold. It was a slight
+     indisposition which was, unfortunately, destined to become an
+     alarming illness by the following day. All our efforts to check the
+     disease were unavailing; and we could only weep and bow in
+     submission to the hand that had smitten us.
+
+     "Weep then, my dear Philip, but do not rebel against the will of
+     God. Be resigned. You will have strength, if you will but remember
+     the immortal life in which we shall be united forever. It is this
+     blessed hope that has given me strength to overcome my own sorrow,
+     to write to you, and to bestow upon your father the consolation of
+     which he stands so sorely in need. Still, I shall be unable to
+     assuage his grief if his son does not come to my assistance. You
+     must lose no time, Philip. The Marquis needs you. In his terrible
+     affliction, he calls for you. Do not delay.
+
+     "Now to you, whom I called my brother only yesterday, I owe an
+     avowal. Perhaps you have already learned my secret. I know the
+     truth in regard to my birth. Before her death, the Marquise told me
+     the details of that strange adventure which threw me, an orphan and
+     a beggar, upon the mercy of your parents. Just as she breathed her
+     last sigh, your father threw himself in my arms, weeping and
+     moaning. He called me by the tenderest names, as if wishing to find
+     solace for his grief in the caresses of his child. I fell at his
+     feet.
+
+     "'I know all, sir,' I cried.
+
+     "'What! She has told you!' he exclaimed. 'Ah, well! Would you
+     refuse me your affection at a moment like this?'
+
+     "'Never!' I cried, clasping my arms about his neck.
+
+     "'I shall never leave him, Philip. I will do my best to make his
+     old age happy and serene, and since I continue to be his daughter,
+     it is for you to decide whether or not I shall still be your
+     sister.
+                                             "DOLORES."
+
+
+A few hours after the receipt of this letter, which carried desolation
+to his heart, Philip, accompanied by Coursegol, left Versailles for
+Chamondrin. In spite of the ever increasing gravity of the political
+situation it had not been difficult for him to obtain leave of absence
+for an indefinite time on account of the bereavement that summoned him
+to his father's side and might detain him there. He made the journey in
+a post-chaise, stopping only to change horses.
+
+Dolores was little more than a child when they parted and they had been
+separated more than four years, but absence had not diminished the love
+that was first revealed to him on the day he left the paternal roof, and
+the thought of meeting her again made his pulses quicken their
+throbbing. Time and change of scene had proved powerless against the
+deep love and devotion that filled his heart, and he was more than ever
+determined to wed the companion of his youth; and now that she was no
+longer ignorant of the truth concerning her birth, he could press his
+suit as a lover. As the decisive moment approached, the moment when
+Dolores' answer would make or mar the happiness of his life, he
+experienced a profound emotion which was increased by the host of
+memories that crowd in upon a man when he returns to his childhood's
+home after a long absence to find some one of those he loved departed
+never to return.
+
+Philip thought of the mother he would never see again, of his father,
+heart-broken and desolate, of Dolores, whose grief he understood. His
+sadness increased in proportion as he approached the Pont du Gard. Yet
+the road was well-known to him; the trees seemed to smile upon their old
+companion as if in greeting, and the sun shone with more than its usual
+brightness as if to honor his return. How many times he had journeyed
+from Avignon to Chamondrin on such a day as this! Every object along the
+roadside awakened some pleasant recollection; but the joy of again
+beholding his beloved home and these familiar scenes was clouded by
+regret, doubts and uncertainty; and Philip was far from happy. During
+their journey, Coursegol had done his best to cheer his young master,
+but as they neared Chamondrin he, too, became a victim to the melancholy
+he had endeavored to dissipate.
+
+At last the post-chaise rolled noisily under one of the arches of the
+Pont du Gard, and a few moments later the horses, panting and covered
+with foam after climbing the steep ascent, entered the court-yard of the
+château.
+
+The Marquis and Dolores, who were waiting for supper to be served, had
+seated themselves on the terrace overlooking the park. The sound of
+carriage wheels drew them into the court-yard just as Philip and
+Coursegol were alighting. There was a cry of joy, and then the long
+separated friends embraced one another. It would be impossible to
+describe this meeting and the rapture of this return.
+
+It was Dolores whom Philip saw first. Her wonderful beauty actually
+startled him. Four years had transformed the child into an exquisitely
+and lovely young girl. Her delicate features, her golden hair, her
+lustrous dark eyes, her vermillion lips, her musical yet penetrating
+voice, her willowy figure and her beautifully shaped hands aroused
+Philip's intense admiration. A pure and noble love had filled his heart
+during his absence, and had exerted a powerful and restraining influence
+over his actions, his thoughts, his hopes and his language. He had
+endowed his idol with beauty in his fancy, but, beautiful as he had
+pictured her, he was obliged to confess on beholding her that the
+reality surpassed his dreams, and he loved her still more ardently.
+
+The Marquis led his son to the drawing-room. He, too, wished to observe
+the changes that time had wrought in Philip. He scrutinized him closely
+by the light of the candles, embraced him, and then looked at him again
+admiringly. His son was, indeed, the noble heir of an illustrious race.
+
+They talked of the past and of the dead. They wept, but these were not
+the same bitter tears the Marquis had shed after his bereavement. The
+joy of seeing his son consoled him in a measure, and death seemed to him
+less cruel because, when he was surrounded by his children, his faith
+and his hope gathered new strength.
+
+The first evening flew by on wings. Philip, to divert his father,
+described the stirring events and the countless intrigues of which the
+court had been the theatre; and together they talked of the hopes and
+the fears of the country. Philip spoke in the most enthusiastic terms of
+the kind-hearted Duke de Penthieore who had aided him so much in life,
+of the Chevalier de Florian, and of the charming Princess de Lamballe
+who had become the favorite friend of the queen. Dolores did not lose a
+word of the conversation, and gave her love and homage unquestioningly
+to those Philip praised even though they were strangers to her. She
+admired the soundness of judgment her adopted brother displayed in his
+estimate of people and of things, and the eloquence with which he
+expressed his opinions.
+
+Coursegol was present. Often by a word he completed or rectified the
+statements of his young master, and Dolores loved him for the devotion
+testified by his every word. As for him, notwithstanding the familiarity
+which had formerly characterized his daily relations with the girl, he
+felt rather intimidated by her presence, though his affection for her
+was undiminished.
+
+About eleven o'clock the Marquis rose and, addressing his son, said:
+
+"Do you not feel the need of rest?"
+
+"I am so happy to see you all again that I am not sensible of the
+slightest fatigue," replied Philip, "and I have so many things to tell
+and to ask Dolores that I am not at all sleepy."
+
+"Ah, well, my dear children, talk at your ease. As for me, I will
+retire."
+
+And the Marquis, after tenderly embracing them, quitted the room,
+followed by Coursegol. Philip and Dolores were left alone together.
+There was a long silence. Seated beside an open window, Dolores, to
+conceal her embarrassment, fixed her eyes upon the park and the fields
+that lay quiet and peaceful in the bright moonlight of the clear and
+balmy summer evening. Philip, even more agitated, paced nervously to and
+fro, seeking an opportunity to utter the avowal that was eager to leave
+his lips. At last, he summoned the necessary courage, and, seating
+himself opposite Dolores, he said:
+
+"You wrote me a long letter. You asked me to bring you the response.
+Here it is."
+
+Dolores looked up and perceived that he was greatly agitated. This
+discovery increased her own embarrassment, and she could not find a word
+to say in reply. Philip resumed:
+
+"But, first, explain the cause of the coldness betrayed by that letter.
+Why did you address me so formally? Why did you not call me your brother
+as you had been accustomed to do in the past?"
+
+"How was I to know that you would not regard me as a stranger, as an
+intruder?" responded Dolores, gently.
+
+"An intruder! You!" exclaimed Philip, springing up. "I have known the
+truth for more than four years and never have I loved you so fondly!
+What am I saying? I mean that from the day I first knew the truth I have
+loved you with a far greater and entirely different love!"
+
+Dolores dare not reply. How could she confess that she, too, since she
+learned she was not his sister, had experienced a similar change of
+feeling? Philip continued:
+
+"You asked me if I would consent to still regard you as a sister. My
+sister, no! Not, as my sister, but as my wife, if you will but consent!"
+
+"Your wife!" exclaimed Dolores, looking up at him with eyes radiant with
+joy.
+
+Then, as if fearing he would read too much there, she hastily covered
+them with her trembling hands. The next instant Philip was on his knees
+before her, saying, eagerly:
+
+"I have cherished this hope ever since the day that my father made me
+acquainted with your history. I told myself that we would never part,
+that I should always have by my side the loved one I had so long called
+sister, the gentle girl who had restored my mother's reason, who had
+cheered her life, consoled her last moments, and comforted my desolate
+father in his bereavement! Dolores, do not refuse me; it would break my
+heart!"
+
+She could not believe her ears. She listened to Philip's pleading as if
+in a dream, and he, alarmed by her silence, added:
+
+"If my mother were here, she would entreat you to make me happy."
+
+Suddenly Dolores remembered the projects which had been confided to her
+by the Marquis, who had often made her his confidante--those projects in
+which Philip's marriage with a rich heiress of illustrious birth played
+such an important part. And yet, in the presence of the profound love
+she had inspired and which she shared, she had not courage to make
+Philip wretched by an immediate refusal, or to renounce the hope that
+had just been aroused in her heart.
+
+"In pity, say no more!" she exclaimed, hastily. "We are mad!"
+
+"Why is it madness to love you?" demanded Philip.
+
+"Listen," she replied. "I cannot answer you now. Wait a little--I must
+have time to think--to consult my conscience and my heart. You also must
+have time for reflection."
+
+"I have reflected for four years."
+
+"But I have never before thought of the new life you are offering me."
+
+"Do you not love me?"
+
+"As a sister loves a brother, yes; but whether the love I bear you is of
+a different character I do not yet know. Go now, my dear Philip," she
+added, endeavoring by calming herself to calm him; "give me time to
+become accustomed to the new ideas you have awakened in my mind. They
+will develop there, and then you shall know my answer. Until that time
+comes, I entreat you to have pity on my weakness, respect my silence and
+wait."
+
+Philip instantly rose and said:
+
+"The best proof of love that I can give you is obedience. I will wait,
+Dolores, I will wait, but I shall hope."
+
+Having said this he retired, leaving her oppressed by a vague sorrow
+that sleep only partially dispelled.
+
+During the days that followed this conversation, Philip, faithful to his
+promise, made no allusion to the scene we have just described. For four
+years he had buried his secret so deeply in his own heart that even
+Coursegol had not suspected it, so he did not find it difficult to
+continue this rôle under the eyes of his father; and, though the burden
+he imposed upon himself had become much heavier by reason of the
+presence of Dolores, his hopes supplied him with strength to endure it.
+
+For his hopes were great! Youthful hearts have no fear. He was not
+ignorant of his father's plans; but he told himself that his father
+loved him too much to cause him sorrow, and that he would probably be
+glad to sacrifice his ambitious dreams if he could ensure the happiness
+of both his children. Philip was sure of this. If he invoked the memory
+of his mother and the love she bore Dolores, the Marquis could not
+refuse his consent. He confidently believed that before six mouths had
+elapsed he should be married and enjoying a felicity so perfect as to
+leave nothing more to be desired. Cheered by this hope, he impatiently
+awaited the decision of Dolores, happy, however, in living near her, in
+seeing her every day, in listening to her voice and in accompanying her
+on her walks. He watched himself so carefully that no word revealed the
+real condition of his mind, and not even the closest observer of his
+language and actions could have divined the existence of the sentiments
+upon which he was, at that very moment, basing his future happiness.
+
+Dolores was grateful to him for his delicacy and for the faithfulness
+with which he kept his promise. She appreciated Philip's sacrifice the
+more because she was obliged to impose an equally powerful restraint
+upon herself in order to preserve her own secret. She loved him. All
+the aspirations of an ardent and lofty soul, all the dreams of a pure
+felicity based upon a noble affection were hers; and Philip's avowal,
+closely following the revelations of the dying Marquise, had convinced
+her that her happiness depended upon a marriage in accordance with the
+dictates of her heart, and that the one being destined from all eternity
+to crown her life with bliss unspeakable was Philip. Reared together,
+they thoroughly understood and esteemed each other; they had shared the
+same joys and the same impressions. There was a bond between them which
+nothing could break, and which made their souls one indissolubly. In her
+eyes, Philip was the handsomest, the most honorable, the most noble and
+the most perfect of men. Was not this love? Why then did Dolores persist
+in her silence when her lover was anxiously waiting to learn his fate?
+Simply because she feared to displease the Marquis. She owed everything
+to his generosity. She had no fortune. If she became Philip's wife, she
+could confer upon the house of Chamondrin none of those advantages which
+the Marquis hoped to gain from a grand alliance, and for the sake of
+which he had condemned himself to a life of obscurity and privation.
+Would he ever consent to a marriage that so ruthlessly destroyed his
+ambitious dreams? And if he did not consent, how terrible would be her
+position when compelled to choose between the love of the son and the
+wrath of the father! And, even if he consented, would it not cost him
+the most terrible of sacrifices? Shattered already by the untimely death
+of his wife, would he survive this blow to his long-cherished hopes?
+Such were the sorrowful thoughts that presented themselves to the mind
+of Dolores and deprived her of the power to speak. She dare not make
+Philip a confidant of her fears; and to declare that she did not love
+him was beyond her strength. Even when the impossibility of this
+marriage became clearly apparent to her, she had not courage to lie to
+her lover and to trample her own heart underfoot. One alternative
+remained: to reveal the truth to the Marquis. But this would imperil
+all. A secret presentiment warned her if she, herself, disclosed the
+truth, that it would be to her that the Marquis would appeal in order to
+compel Philip to renounce his hopes, since it was in her power to
+destroy them by a single word. Day followed day, and Dolores, beset
+alternately by hopes and fears, was waiting for fate to solve the
+question upon which her future happiness depended.
+
+Two mouths later, the Marquis was summoned to Marseilles by a cousin,
+who was lying at the point of death. He departed immediately,
+accompanied by Philip. This cousin was the Count de Mirandol. The master
+of a large fortune which he had accumulated in the colonies, a widower
+of long standing and the father of but one child, a girl of eighteen,
+who would inherit all his wealth, he had returned to France, intending
+to take up his permanent abode there. He had been afflicted for years by
+a chronic malady, contracted during his long sea voyages, and he
+returned to his native land with the hope that he should find there
+relief from his sufferings. But he had scarcely landed at Marseilles
+when he was attacked by his old malady in an aggravated form. He could
+live but a few days, and realizing his condition, and desiring to find a
+protector for his daughter, his thoughts turned to his cousin, the
+Marquis de Chamondrin. Although he had scarcely seen the Marquis for
+thirty years, he knew him sufficiently well not to hesitate to entrust
+his daughter to his cousin's care.
+
+The Marquis did not fail him. He accepted the charge that his relative
+confided to him, closed the eyes of the dying man, and a few days
+afterwards he and Philip returned to the château, accompanied by a young
+girl clad in mourning. The stranger was Mademoiselle Antoinette de
+Mirandol.
+
+Endowed with a refined and singularly expressive face, Antoinette,
+without possessing any of those charms which imparted such an
+incomparable splendor to the beauty of Dolores, was very attractive. She
+was a brunette, rather frail in appearance and small of stature; but
+there was such a gentle, winning light in her eyes that when she lifted
+them to yours you were somehow penetrated and held captive by them; in
+other words, you were compelled to love her.
+
+"I bring you a sister," the Marquis said to Dolores, as he presented
+Antoinette. "She needs your love and sympathy."
+
+The two girls tenderly embraced each other. Dolores led her guest to the
+room which they were to share, and lavished comforting words and
+caresses upon her, and from that moment they loved each other as fondly
+as if they had been friends all their lives.
+
+Cruelly tried by the loss of her benefactress and by her mental
+conflicts on the subject of Philip, Dolores forgot her own sorrows and
+devoted herself entirely to the task of consoling Antoinette. It was not
+long before the latter became more cheerful. This was the work of
+Dolores. They talked of their past, and Dolores concealed nothing from
+her new friend. She confessed, without any false shame or false modesty,
+that she had entered the house of the Marquis as a beggar. Antoinette,
+in her turn, spoke of herself. She knew nothing of France. Her childhood
+had been spent in Louisiana; and she talked enthusiastically of the
+lovely country she had left. Dolores, to divert her companion's thoughts
+from grief, made Philip tell her what he knew about Paris Versailles and
+the court, and the Marquis, not without design probably, did his best to
+place in the most favorable light those attributes of mind and of heart
+that made Philip the most attractive of men. Like another Desdemona
+charmed by the eloquence of Othello, it was while listening to Philip
+that Antoinette first began to love him.
+
+After a month's sojourn at Chamondrin, she came to the conclusion that
+Philip was kind, good, irresistible in short; and she was by no means
+unwilling to become the Marquise de Chamondrin. Nor did she conceal
+these feelings from Dolores, little suspecting, how she was torturing
+her friend by these revelations. It was then that the absolute
+impossibility of a marriage with Philip first became clearly apparent
+to Dolores. Antoinette's confession was like the flash of lightning
+which suddenly discloses a yawning precipice to the traveller on a dark
+and lonely road. She saw the insurmountable barrier between them more
+distinctly than ever before. Could she compete with Antoinette? Yes; if
+her love and that of Philip were to be considered. No; if rank, wealth,
+all the advantages that Antoinette possessed, and which the Marquis
+required in his son's bride, were to be taken into consideration.
+
+What a terrible night Dolores spent after Antoinette's confession! How
+she wept! What anguish she endured! The young girls occupied the same
+room and if one was unconscious of the sufferings of her companion, it
+was only because Dolores stifled her sobs. She was unwilling to let
+Antoinette see what she termed "her weakness." She felt neither hatred
+nor envy towards her friend, for she knew that Antoinette was not to
+blame. She wept, not from anger or jealousy, but from despair.
+
+Since she had been aware of Philip's affection for her, she had
+cherished a secret hope in spite of the numerous obstacles that stood in
+the way of their happiness. Time wrought so many changes! The bride whom
+the Marquis was seeking for his son had not yet been found. She had
+comforted herself by reflections like these. Now, these illusions had
+vanished. The struggle was terrible. One voice whispered: "You love; you
+are beloved. Fight for your rights, struggle, entreat--second Philip's
+efforts, work with him for the triumph of your love. Resist his
+father's will, and, though you may not conquer at once, your labors will
+eventually be crowned with success." But another voice said: "The
+Marquis was your benefactor, the Marquise filled your mother's place.
+Had it not been for them you would have been reared in shame, in
+ignorance and in depravity. You would never have known parental
+tenderness, the happiness of a home or the comforts and luxuries that
+have surrounded you from your childhood. Is it too much to ask that you
+should silence the pleadings of your heart in order not to destroy their
+hopes?" The first voice retorted: "Philip will be wretched if you desert
+him. He will regret you, he will curse you and you will spend your life
+in tears, blaming yourself for having sacrificed his happiness and yours
+to exaggerated scruples." But the second voice responded: "Antoinette
+will console Philip. If he curses you at first, he will bless you later
+when he learns the cause of your refusal. As for you, though you may
+weep bitterly, you will be consoled by the thought that you have done
+your duty." Such were the conflicts through which Dolores passed; but
+before morning came she had resolved to silence her imagination and the
+pleadings of her heart. Resigned to her voluntary defeat, she decided
+not to combat this growing passion on the part of Antoinette, but to
+encourage it. She believed that Philip would not long remain insensible
+to the charms of her friend, and in that case she could venture to
+deceive him and to declare that she did not love him.
+
+Three months passed in this way; then Philip, weary of waiting for the
+reply that was to decide his fate, but not daring to break his promise
+and interrogate Dolores directly, concluded to at least make an attempt
+to obtain through Antoinette the decision that would put an end to his
+intolerable suspense. Knowing how fondly these young girls loved each
+other, and how perfect was their mutual confidence, he felt sure that
+Antoinette would not refuse to intercede for him.
+
+This project once formed, he began operations by endeavoring to
+ingratiate himself into the good graces of Mademoiselle de Mirandol. Up
+to this time, he had treated her rather coolly, but he now changed his
+tactics and showed her many of those little attentions which he had
+hitherto reserved for his adopted sister. It was just as Antoinette was
+becoming too much interested in Philip for her own peace of mind that
+she noticed his change of manner. She misunderstood him. Who would not
+have been deceived? During their rambles, Philip seemed to take pleasure
+in walking by her side. Every morning she found beside her plate a
+bouquet which he had culled. He never went to Avignon or to Nîmes
+without bringing some little souvenir for her. What interpretation could
+she place upon these frequent marks of interest? Her own love made her
+credulous. After receiving many such attentions from him, she fancied
+she comprehended his motive.
+
+"He loves me," she said one evening to Dolores.
+
+The latter thought her bereft of her senses. Could it be possible that
+Philip had forgotten his former love so soon? Was he deceiving her when
+he pressed his suit with such ardor? Impossible! How could she suppose
+it even for a moment? Still Dolores could not even imagine such a
+possibility without a shudder. After the struggle between her conscience
+and her heart, she had secretly resolved that Philip should cease to
+love her, that she would sacrifice herself to Mademoiselle de Mirandol,
+to whose charms he could not long remain insensible and whom he would
+eventually marry. Yes; she was ready to see her own misery consummated
+without a murmur; but to be thus forgotten in a few weeks seemed
+terrible.
+
+"If this is really so," she thought, "Philip is as unworthy of
+Antionette as he is of me. But it cannot be. She is mistaken."
+
+Was Antoinette deceiving herself? To set her mind at rest upon this
+point, Dolores questioned her friend in regard to the acts and words
+which she had interpreted as proofs of Philip's love for her.
+Mademoiselle de Mirandol revealed them to her friend; and Dolores was
+reassured. The attentions that had been bestowed upon the ward of the
+Marquis de Chamondrin by that gentleman's son did not assume in the eyes
+of Dolores that importance which had been attributed to them by her more
+romantic and enthusiastic companion; nevertheless, she was careful not
+to disturb a conviction that caused Antoinette so much happiness.
+
+The following day, as Mademoiselle de Mirandol was leaving her room, she
+encountered Philip in the hall.
+
+"I wish to speak with you," he said, rapidly and in low tones as he
+passed her. "I will wait for you in the park near the Buissieres."
+
+His pleasant voice rung in Antoinette's ears long after he had
+disappeared, leaving her in a state of mingled ecstasy and confusion.
+Her cheeks were flushed and her heart throbbed violently. She hurried
+away to conceal her embarrassment from Dolores, who was following her,
+and soon went to join Philip at the Buissieres. This was the name they
+had bestowed upon a hedge of tall bushes to the left of the park, and
+which enclosed as if by two high thick walls a quiet path where the
+sun's rays seldom or never found their way. It was to this spot that
+Antoinette directed her steps, reproaching herself all the while for the
+readiness with which she obeyed Philip, and looking back every now and
+then to see if any one was observing her.
+
+She soon arrived at the Buissieres; Philip was awaiting her. On seeing
+her approach, he came forward to meet her. She noticed that his manner
+was perfectly composed, that his features betrayed no emotion, and that
+he was smiling as if to assure her that what he desired to tell her was
+neither solemn nor frightful in its nature. Antoinette was somewhat
+disappointed. She had expected to find him pale and nervous, and with
+his hair disordered like the lovers described in the two or three
+innocent romances that had chanced to fall into her hands.
+
+"Excuse me, Mademoiselle, for troubling you," began Philip, without the
+slightest hesitation; "but the service you can render me is of such
+importance to me, and the happiness of my whole life is so dependent
+upon it, that I have not scrupled to appeal to your generosity."
+
+"In what way can I serve you?" inquired Mademoiselle de Mirandol, whose
+emotion had been suddenly calmed by this preamble, so utterly unlike
+anything she had expected to hear.
+
+"I am in love!" began Philip.
+
+She trembled, her embarrassment returned and her eyes dropped. Philip
+continued:
+
+"She whom I love is charming, beautiful and good, like yourself. You
+surely will not contradict me, for it is Dolores whom I love!"
+
+Why Antoinette did not betray her secret, she, herself, could not
+understand when she afterwards recalled the circumstances of this
+interview. She did, however, utter a stifled cry which Philip failed to
+hear. She felt that she turned very pale, but her change of color was
+not discernible in the shadow. It was with intense disappointment that
+she listened to Philip's confession. He told her that he had loved
+Dolores for more than four years, but that she had known it only a few
+months, and that she hod made no response to his declaration of love. He
+had waited patiently for her answer, but he could endure this state of
+cruel uncertainty no longer, and he entreated Mademoiselle de Mirandol
+to intercede for him, and to persuade Dolores to make known her decision
+to her adorer. Antoinette promised to fulfil his request. She promised,
+scarcely knowing what she said, so terrible was the anguish that filled
+her heart. She desired only one thing--to make her escape that she might
+be at liberty to weep. How wretched he was! Coming to this rendezvous
+with a heart full of implicit confidence, she had met, instead of the
+felicity she expected, the utter ruin of her hopes. This revulsion of
+feeling proved too much for a young girl who was entirely unaccustomed
+to violent emotions of any kind. She blamed herself bitterly,
+reproaching herself for her love as if it had been a crime, and regarded
+her disappointment as a judgment upon her for having allowed herself to
+think of Philip so soon, after her father's death.
+
+At last Philip left her, and she could then give vent to her sorrow.
+Soon jealously took possession of her heart. Incensed at Dolores, who
+had received her confidence without once telling her that Philip's love
+had long since been given to her, Antoinette hastened to her rival to
+reproach her for her duplicity.
+
+"Antoinette, what has happened?" exclaimed Dolores, seeing her friend
+enter pale and in tears.
+
+"I have discovered my mistake. It is not I who am beloved, it is you;
+and he has been entreating me to plead his cause and to persuade you to
+give him an answer that accords with his wishes! What irony could be
+more bitter than that displayed by fate in making me the advocate to
+whom Philip has applied for aid in winning you? Ah! how deeply I am
+wounded! How terrible is my shame and humiliation! You would have spared
+me this degradation if you had frankly told me that Philip loved you
+when I first confided my silly fancies to you. Why did you not confess
+the truth? It was cruel, Dolores, and I believed you my friend, my
+sister!"
+
+Sobs choked her utterance and she could say no more. Dolores, who had
+suffered and who was still suffering the most poignant anguish,
+nevertheless felt the deepest sympathy for her unhappy friend. She
+approached her, gently wiped away her tears and said:
+
+"It is true that Philip loves me, that he quite recently avowed his love
+and that I refused to engage myself to him until I had had time for
+reflection; but it is equally true that after an examination of my heart
+I cannot consent to look upon him as other than a brother. I shall never
+be his wife; and if I have postponed the announcement of my decision, it
+was only because I dislike to pain him by destroying the hopes to which
+he still seemed to cling."
+
+"What! he loves you and you will not marry him?" cried Antoinette,
+amazed at such an avowal.
+
+"I shall not marry him," replied Dolores. "And now will you listen to my
+confession? On seeing you arrive at the château, I said to myself: 'Here
+is one who will be a suitable wife for Philip; and if my refusal renders
+him unhappy, the love of Antionette will console him!'"
+
+"You thought that!" exclaimed Mademoiselle de Mirandol, throwing her
+arms around her friend's neck. "And I have so cruelly misjudged you!
+Dolores, can you ever forgive me?"
+
+A brave smile, accompanied by a kiss, was the response of Dolores; then
+she added:
+
+"I not only forgive you, but I will do my best to insure your
+happiness. Philip shall love you."
+
+"Alas!" said Antoinette, "how can he love me when his heart is full of
+you, when his eyes follow you unceasingly? You are unconsciously a most
+formidable rival, for Philip will never love me while you are by my side
+and while he can compare me with you."
+
+"I will go away if necessary."
+
+"What, leave your home! Do you think I would consent to that? Never!"
+cried Antoinette.
+
+"But I can return to it the very day your happiness is assured. When you
+are Philip's wife you will go to Paris with him, and I can then return
+to my place beside the Marquis."
+
+"Dolores! How good you are, and how much I love you!" exclaimed
+Mademoiselle de Mirandol, clasping her friend in her arms.
+
+The words of Dolores had reassured her, had revived her hopes and dried
+her tears. When left alone, Dolores, exhausted by the ordeal through
+which she had just passed, could at first form no plans for the future.
+She comprehended but one thing--she was still beloved. Philip's
+faithfulness and the intensity of the love which had just been revealed
+to her rendered the sacrifice still more difficult. It seemed to her she
+would never have strength to accomplish it.
+
+"It must be done," she said to herself, finally.
+
+And shaking off her weakness, she went in search of the Marquis. They
+had a long conversation together. Dolores told him the whole truth. It
+was through her that the Marquis learned that she was loved by Philip,
+and that she loved him in return, but, being unwilling to place any
+obstacle in the way of the plans long since formed with a view to the
+restoration of the glory of the house of Chamondrin, she had renounced
+her hopes and yielded her place and her rights to Antoinette. The
+Marquis had not the courage to refuse the proffered sacrifice, though he
+fully realized the extent of it. His dearest wishes were about to be
+realized. While he lamented the fate to which Dolores had condemned
+herself, he was grateful for a decision that spared him the
+unpleasantness of a contest with his son, and which insured that son's
+marriage to a rich heiress. Still, when Dolores told him that she had
+decided to leave Chamondrin not to return until after Philip's marriage,
+he refused at first to consent to a separation.
+
+"But it is necessary," replied Dolores. "So long as Philip sees me here,
+he will not relinquish his hopes. I am certain that he will not consent
+to renounce me unless he believes there is an impassable barrier between
+us, unless he believes me dead to the world and to love. Besides, you
+would surely not require me to live near one whom I wish to forget. I
+shall spend two years in a convent, and then I will return to you."
+
+M. de Chamondrin, touched by this heroism whose grandeur Dolores, in her
+simplicity, did not seem to comprehend, pressed her to his heart in a
+long embrace, covering her face with kisses and murmuring words of
+tenderness and gratitude in her ears. When they separated, he was not
+the least moved of the two. Dolores next went in search of Philip. She
+found him at the Buissieres, the same place where he had entreated
+Antoinette to intercede for him a few hours before.
+
+He saw her approaching.
+
+"She is coming to pronounce my sentence," he thought.
+
+She was very calm. The sadness imprinted on her face did not mar its
+serenity.
+
+"Antoinette has spoken to me," she said, firmly, but quietly. "The fear
+of making you unhappy has until now deterred me from giving you the
+answer for which you have been waiting; but after the events of this
+morning, I must speak frankly."
+
+This introduction left Philip no longer in doubt. He uttered a groan, as
+with bowed head he awaited the remainder of his sentence.
+
+"Courage, Philip," Dolores continued: "Do not add to my sorrow by making
+me a witness of yours. Since the day you opened your heart that I might
+read there the feelings that burdened it, I have been carefully
+examining mine. I wished to find there signs of a love equal to yours; I
+have sought for them in vain. I love you enough to give you my blood and
+my happiness, my entire life. I have always loved you thus--loved you
+with that sisterly devotion that is capable of any sacrifice. But is
+this the love you feel? Is this the love you would bestow upon me? No;
+and, as you see, my heart has remained obstinately closed against the
+passion which I have inspired in you, and it would ever remain closed
+even if I consented to unite myself with you more closely by the bonds
+of marriage. If I was weak enough to listen to you and to yield to your
+wishes, I should only bring misery upon both of us."
+
+"Alas!" murmured Philip, "I cannot understand this."
+
+"How can I forget that for eighteen long years I have regarded you as a
+brother?" said Dolores, vainly endeavoring to console him. "Moreover,
+such a marriage would be impossible! Would it not be contrary to the
+wishes of your father? Would it not detract from the glory of the name
+you bear?"
+
+"And what do the glory of my name and the wishes of my father matter to
+me?" exclaimed Philip, impetuously. "Was I brought into the world to be
+made a victim to such absurd prejudices? For four years I have lived
+upon this hope. It has been destroyed to-day. What have I to look
+forward to now? There is nothing to bind me to life, for, if your
+decision is irrevocable, I shall never be consoled."
+
+"Do not forget those who love you."
+
+"Those who love me! Where are they? I seek for them in vain. Do you mean
+my father, who has reared me with a view to the gratification of his own
+selfish ambition? Is it you, Dolores, who seem to take pleasure in my
+sufferings? My mother, the only human being who would have understood,
+sustained and consoled me, she is no longer here to plead my cause."
+
+Wild with grief and despair, he was about to continue his reproaches,
+but Dolores, whose powers of endurance were nearly exhausted, summoned
+all her courage and said coldly, almost sternly:
+
+"You forget yourself, Philip! You are ungrateful to your father and to
+me; but even if you doubt our affection, can you say the same of
+Antoinette?"
+
+"Antoinette!"
+
+"She loves you with the tenderest, most devoted affection. She has said
+as much to me, and now that you know it, will you still try to convince
+yourself that there are only unfeeling hearts around you?"
+
+Philip, astonished by this revelation, became suddenly silent. He
+recollected that he had confided his hopes and fears to Mademoiselle de
+Mirandol that very morning; and when he thought of the trying position
+in which he had placed her, and of what she must have suffered, his pity
+was aroused.
+
+"If her sorrow equals mine, she is, indeed, to be pitied," he said,
+sadly.
+
+"Why do you not try to assuage your own sorrow by consoling her?" asked
+Dolores, gently.
+
+These words kindled Philip's anger afresh.
+
+"What power have I to annihilate the memory of that which at once charms
+and tortures me?" he exclaimed. "Can I tear your image from its shrine
+in my heart and put that of Antoinette in its place? Do you think that
+your words will suffice to destroy the hopes I have cherished so long?
+Undeceive yourself, Dolores. I am deeply disappointed, but I will not
+give you up. I will compel you to love me, if it be only through the
+pity which my despair will inspire in your heart."
+
+These frenzied words caused Dolores the most poignant anguish without
+weakening her determination in the least. She felt that she must destroy
+the hope to which Philip had just alluded--that this was the only means
+of compelling him lo accept the love of Antoinette; so she said,
+gravely:
+
+"I love you too much, Philip, to desire to foster illusions which will
+certainly never be realized. My decision is irrevocable; and if you
+still doubt the truth of my words, I will frankly tell you all. I am
+promised----"
+
+"Promised!" exclaimed Philip, with a menacing gesture for the unknown
+man who had dared to become his rival. "Promised!" he repeated. "To
+whom?"
+
+"To God!" responded Dolores, gently. "I have just informed your father
+of my determination to enter a convent!"
+
+Philip recoiled in horror and astonishment; then covering his face with
+his hands he fled through the lonely park, repeating again and again the
+name of her whom he so fondly loved but who would soon be lost to him
+forever. For some moments, Dolores remained motionless on the spot where
+she had just renounced her last hope of earthly happiness. Her eyes
+followed Philip in his frenzied flight, and, when he disappeared, she
+stretched out her hands with a gesture of mingled longing and despair.
+But the weakness that had made this courageous soul falter for an
+instant soon vanished. She lifted her eyes toward Heaven as if imploring
+strength from on high and then walked slowly in the direction of the
+château. Suddenly, at a turn in the path, she met Coursegol. She had not
+time to conceal her face and he saw her tears. The memory of the past
+and the affection that filled his heart emboldened him to question one
+whom he regarded in some degree, at least, as his own child.
+
+"Why do you weep, my dear Mademoiselle?" he asked, with anxious
+solicitude.
+
+This question did not wound Dolores; on the contrary it consoled her.
+She had found some one in whom she could confide. There are hours when
+the heart longs to pour out its sorrows to another heart that
+understands and sympathizes with its woes. Coursegol made his appearance
+at a propitious moment. Dolores regarded him with something very like
+filial affection; she had loved him devotedly even when she supposed
+herself the daughter of the Marquis de Chamondrin, and now that she knew
+her origin she regarded the son of a peasant as equal in every respect
+to a descendent of the gypsies, so she did not hesitate to open her soul
+to him. She told him of the conflicts through which she had passed and
+the suffering they had caused her. She acknowledged the ardent love that
+had given her courage and strength to sacrifice her own happiness; and
+she wept before the friend of her childhood as unrestrainedly as she
+would have wept before her own father.
+
+"I have been expecting this," said Coursegol, sadly. "Poor children, the
+truth was revealed too soon. You should have been left in ignorance
+until one of you was married. Then you would not have thought of
+uniting your destinies. Your mutual friendship would not have been
+transformed into an unfortunate passion and all this misery would have
+been avoided."
+
+"It would have been far better," replied Dolores.
+
+"And now what do you intend to do?" inquired Coursegol.
+
+"I shall enter a convent and remain there until Philip marries."
+
+"You in a convent! You, who are so gay, so full of life and health and
+exuberant spirits, immure yourself in a cloister! Impossible!"
+
+"There is no alternative," said Dolores, repeating to Coursegol what she
+had already said to the Marquis.
+
+"I see that you must leave this house, but why do you select a cloister
+for your retreat?"
+
+"Where else could I, alone and unprotected, find a refuge?"
+
+"Do you not know that Coursegol is your friend, and that he is ready to
+leave everything and follow you? Where do you wish to go? I will
+accompany you; I will serve and defend you. I have some little property
+and it is entirely at your disposal."
+
+He made this offer very simply, but in a tone that left no possible
+doubt of his sincerity. Though she was touched by his devotion, Dolores
+firmly refused. She explained that his place was at the château, and
+that, as she expected to return there herself after Philip's marriage, a
+convent would be the safest and most dignified retreat she could enter.
+
+"So be it, then," responded Coursegol; "but should you ever change your
+plans, remember that my life, my little fortune and my devotion are
+yours, to use as you see fit."
+
+His emotion, as he spoke, was even greater than hers.
+
+Early in the year 1789 Dolores entered the convent of the Carmelites in
+Arles, not as a postulant--for she did not wish to devote herself to a
+religious life--but as a boarder, which placed a barrier between her and
+Philip for the time being, but left her free to decide upon her future.
+
+Her departure filled Philip with despair. The death of Dolores could not
+have caused him more intense sorrow. For was she not dead to him? She
+had carefully concealed the fact that her sojourn at the convent would
+not be permanent. He supposed she had buried herself there forever. He
+mourned for her as we weep for those that death wrests from us,
+destroying their lives and our happiness at a single blow; but the very
+violence of his grief convinced his father that he was not inconsolable.
+There are sorrows that kill; but, if they do not kill when they first
+fall upon us, we recover; and this would be the case with Philip. The
+certainty that Dolores would never belong to another, that she had
+refused him only to give herself to God, was of all circumstances the
+one most likely to console him. The presence of Antoinette--who honestly
+believed all Dolores had said concerning the state of her heart and the
+purely sisterly affection she felt for her adopted brother--and the
+timid, shrinking love of the young girl also aided not a little in
+assuaging his grief. However ardent your passion may be, you become
+reconciled to disappointment when the object of your love refuses your
+affection only to consecrate herself to God, and when she leaves with
+you as a comforter a companion who is her equal in gentleness and in
+goodness, if not in energy and nobility of character. Without entering
+into other details, this sufficiently explains how Philip's passionate
+grief came to abate in violence.
+
+He wished to leave Chamondrin the very next day after the departure of
+Dolores, and to return to Versailles where his regiment was still
+stationed; but his father's entreaties induced him to abandon this
+project. The Marquis assured him that he could not live abandoned by
+both Dolores and his son, so Philip remained. This was one advantage
+gained for the Marquis. The causes previously referred to and
+Antoinette's charms accomplished the rest. Philip began to regard their
+marriage without aversion; but he would not consent to abruptly cast off
+one love for another. Time was needed for the transition. Even as he
+would have mourned for Dolores dead, he wished to mourn the Dolores he
+had lost, and to wait until his wounded heart was healed. He gave his
+father and also Mademoiselle de Mirandol to understand that, while he
+did not reject the idea of this union which seemed so pleasing to them,
+he must be allowed to fix the date of it. His will was law with both;
+the Marquis wisely concealed his impatience; Antoinette displayed great
+discretion, and matters were moving along smoothly when political events
+which had become more and more grave in character suddenly complicated
+the situation.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+IN WHICH HISTORY IS MINGLED WITH ROMANCE.
+
+
+The real awaking of the country, the real beginning of the Revolution
+dates from the year 1789. What France had endured for half a century
+every one knows. Every one also knows that, becoming weary of poverty,
+of the tyranny of the powerful, of the weakness of the king, of the
+squandering of her treasure and of the intrigues of those in authority,
+and compelled to find a remedy within herself, the country demanded the
+convocation of the États Généraux. The government at last decided to
+accede to the entreaties that were heard on every side; and it was
+during the early part of the year 1789 that France was called upon to
+elect her representatives; while, from one end of the kingdom to the
+other, there was a general desire for a great and much needed reform.
+
+The south did not take a less active part in this movement than the rest
+of the country. Provence and Languedoc were shaken to their centres. In
+all the region round about the Gardon--at Nîmes, in Beaucaire in Arles,
+in Remoulins--political clubs were formed. The condition of the
+peasantry, who had previously been condemned to a sort of slavery,
+suddenly changed. The weak became the strong; the timid became the
+audacious; the humble became the proud; and from the mouth of an
+oppressed people issued a voice demanding liberty. This movement had
+been ripe for some time among the lower classes, but it suddenly burst
+forth and revealed itself in all its mighty power in the convocation of
+the États Généraux.
+
+In Nîmes and the surrounding country, the agitation caused by this great
+event was increased by the remembrance of the religious warfare that had
+been waged there between the Protestants and Catholics for more than a
+century. This enmity blazed out afresh, greatly aggravating the
+bitterness naturally caused by the elections. Were not these last a mere
+pretext invented by one sect to conceal their evil designs against the
+other? Was it only a conflict between the champions of the old and of
+the new régime, or were these excited men eager to take up arms one
+against the other, mere fanatics ready to condemn others to martyrdom
+and to accept it themselves? History has not yet decided this important
+question; and sectarian passion has not yet allowed an impartial critic
+to be heard. Still, it is a well-known fact that throughout the province
+of Languedoc, and notably in Nîmes, the political excitement was of the
+most virulent character. Blood flowed there even sooner than in Paris.
+The massacres at Nîmes preceded the celebrated massacres of September by
+more than two years; and in Avignon, though this city was as yet French
+only in its situation and in the language of its inhabitants, the reign
+of terror was at its height in the mouth of October, 1791.
+
+In 1789, while the elections were in progress, signs of these coming
+events began to manifest themselves. In Nîmes the Catholics and
+Protestants were bitterly denouncing one another, quarrelling over the
+local offices, and striving in every possible way to gain the
+ascendancy. The Marquis de Chamondrin was a Catholic, but he was very
+tolerant and liberal in his opinions. One of his ancestors, at the
+imminent risk of exile, had boldly opposed the revocation of the Edict
+of Nantes. The Marquis shared the opinions of his ancestor; despotism
+found no champion in him. He had read the philosophers of his time, and
+he was convinced that equality in rights if not in fortunes could be
+established between men. He recognized the necessity of reform, but he
+detested violence; and he exerted all his influence to secure
+moderation, to reconcile opponents and to draw men together. Thus at
+Nîmes, on more than one occasion, he had prevented the effusion of
+blood. But the passions were so strongly excited in that locality at
+that time that his efforts as a moderator gained him but one thing,
+isolation. He drew down upon himself the hatred of those whom he wished
+to calm; he did not even win the friendship of those whom he desired to
+protect, and who, unless their peril was extreme, boldly declared that
+they were able to protect themselves. His popularity, cleverly
+undermined by his enemies, soon became impaired, and, weary of the
+dissensions in which he was embroiled in spite of all his efforts, he
+shut himself up in his château, resolving to keep a philosophical watch
+over events, but to take no part in them.
+
+A few days later, the États Généraux assembled at Versailles; but their
+time was spent in bickerings and in sterile discussions while oppressed
+and panting France vainly awaited the salutary reforms they were
+expected to effect. From May, the date of their meeting, to the immortal
+night of the Fourth of August, when the nation entered upon an era that
+was to atone for so many disasters, one event succeeded another with
+bewildering rapidity. The victorious resistance of the Third Estate to
+the pretensions of the nobility and clergy; the proclamation of the
+king; the movement of the French Guards; their imprisonment; their
+deliverance by the people; the intrigues of the Orleans party; the
+taking of the Bastile; the death of Foulon and of Berthier came one
+after another to accelerate the progress of the revolutionary movement
+which was already advancing rapidly.
+
+In 1790, famine was at the gates of Paris and threatened to spread over
+all France. Armed brigands, taking advantage of the general disorder,
+began to lay waste the provinces. In many parts of the country, the
+peasants joined them; in others, they resisted them. These brigands
+attacked the châteaux, they burned several and pillaged others. Finally,
+dread of a foreign foe was added to all these fears, and the people
+accused the nobility of calling a foreign nation to their assistance.
+
+These are some of the many events that served to distract Philip de
+Chamondrin's mind from his disappointment and delay his marriage to
+Antoinette de Mirandol. Anxious as the Marquis was to hasten this
+union, he shared the general apprehension too strongly to urge his son
+to marry at such a time. The inmates of the château were troubled and
+depressed. Gloomy news from the outer world reached them daily. The
+king's life was believed to be in danger. A dozen times Philip had
+almost decided to start for Versailles to die, if need be, in the
+service of his sovereign; but Coursegol succeeded in convincing him that
+his presence was a necessity at Chamondrin, and that he could not go
+away without leaving the Marquis and Antoinette exposed to the gravest
+peril. Coursegol had several reasons for dissuading his young master
+from his purpose, the chief of which was that he did not wish to go
+himself. In case of actual danger, he could be of great service to the
+Marquis. Thanks to his plebeian origin, to his many acquaintances and to
+his reputation as a good fellow in Nîmes and in Beaucaire, he could
+mingle with the crowd, converse with the peasantry, question the
+artisans and discover their temper and plans. In case the château was
+attacked, he would also be able to make many friends for the Marquis and
+call quite a number of defenders to his aid. Then, too, he could not
+endure the thought of going so far from Arles while Dolores was there,
+alone and defenceless, and might need his protection at any moment.
+
+So Philip did not go, but together with his father and Coursegol he
+began to make arrangements for the defence of the château. They
+augmented their force by the addition of three or four men upon whose
+fidelity they could implicitly rely. Coursegol was also promised the
+services of several peasants. The Marquis frequently visited the little
+town of Remoulins, that lay a few miles from the château on the other
+side of the Gardon, and he still had a few warm friends there, some of
+whom had desired to send him to the États Généraux. They, too, promised
+to come to his assistance in case of an attack on the castle. If the
+former masters of Chamondrin had been tyrants this was now forgotten.
+The large possessions which would have endowed them with feudal rights
+were theirs no longer. For several years Dolores and the Marquise de
+Chamondrin had endeavored to obliterate the memory of the past by
+visiting the poor and the sick around them, and Antoinette de Mirandol
+had perpetuated the memory of their good deeds by imitating their
+example.
+
+Hence they had nothing to apprehend from those in their immediate
+neighborhood; but they had every reason to fear the many lawless bands
+that were now scouring that region of country, ostensibly attracted
+there by the fair that was to be held at Beaucaire in the month of
+July--bands of armed and desperate men, who plundered and pillaged and
+lived by rapine. The Bohemians, too, who passed the Pont du Gard each
+spring and autumn, inspired the inmates of the château with no slight
+dread, as it seemed more than likely they would take advantage of the
+general disorder that prevailed to commit depredations upon any isolated
+dwellings that tempted their cupidity. Moreover, north of Nîmes there
+were several villages whose fanatical and intensely excited inhabitants
+were strongly urged by their leaders to make an attack upon the
+Catholics, who were accused of opposition to the reform movement. It was
+rumored that these people intended to march upon Nîmes, burn the city
+and put its population to the sword. Was there not good reason to fear
+that these men, if they succeeded in this undertaking, would take it
+into their heads to spread death and destruction beyond the walls of
+Nîmes. No apprehension was ridiculous, no prudence was exaggerated at a
+time when all France trembled.
+
+Such were the causes that had induced the Marquis and his son to prepare
+for an attack on the castle. In spite of their precautions, they could
+not conceal these preparations from Antoinette. She courageously
+assisted them, almost thankful for the perils that menaced their safety,
+since they detained Philip at the château. She loved him even more
+devotedly than ever, and, if she shuddered sometimes at the thought that
+a life so precious to her might be endangered at any moment, she
+comforted herself by thinking she would at least have the consolation of
+dying with him.
+
+But the Marquis was beset by many scruples. He felt that he did wrong to
+expose Antoinette to such danger, since she did not yet belong to his
+family and since he had promised her dying father to protect her and her
+fortune until the day of her marriage. He finally decided to send her to
+England, which she would find a safer retreat than the Château de
+Chamondrin. He confided this project to Antoinette, but he had scarcely
+broached the subject when, the girl interrupted him with these words:
+
+"If you love me, do not separate me from Philip!"
+
+The Marquis could not resist this entreaty. Antoinette remained.
+
+While these events were taking place at the château, Dolores, immured in
+the convent at Arles, was patiently awaiting the termination of the
+imprisonment she had voluntarily imposed upon herself. After a sojourn
+of several months in this saintly house, she experienced a great relief.
+Solitude had calmed her sorrow. She still suffered, she would always
+suffer, but she gathered from her faith and from noble resolutions
+bravely accomplished that peace and resignation which a merciful Heaven
+bestows upon all sad hearts that appeal to it of aid.
+
+Dolores, as we have said before, entered the convent not as a novice,
+but as a boarder. From the founding of the institution, that is to say,
+from the beginning of the seventeenth century, the Carmelite nuns of
+Arles, in obedience to the wishes of their foundress, to whose
+liberality they owed the building and grounds which they occupied, had
+offered an asylum to all gentlewomen who, from one cause or another,
+desired to dwell in the shelter of those sacred walls without obeying
+the rules of the order. Disconsolate widows, mothers mourning the loss
+of their children, and orphans affrighted by the world found a peaceful
+home there and a quiet life which was not unfrequently a step towards
+the cloister.
+
+When Dolores went to live at the convent, the boarders were seven in
+number, all older than herself. They accorded a cordial welcome to the
+young girl, who was soon at ease in their midst. Their life was very
+simple. They lived in the convent, but not within the cloister. Rising
+at six in the morning, they attended service in the chapel with the nuns
+from whom they were separated by a grating. Between the hours of morning
+and evening service they were at liberty to spend their time in whatever
+way they chose. They all ate at the same table. Dolores spent her time
+in working for the needy and for the institution. She made clothing for
+poor children; she embroidered altar cloths for the chapel; she visited
+the sick and destitute. Thus her life was peacefully devoted to prayer
+and good works. She frequently received tidings from the château,
+sometimes through letters written by the Marquis, sometimes through
+Coursegol, who came to see her every month. She took a lively interest
+in all that pertained to those whom she had left only to give them a new
+proof of her affection and devotion. When Coursegol visited her, she
+invariably spoke of her longing to return to Chamondrin. She hoped that
+Philip and Antoinette would soon be married, and that she would be able
+to go back to the loved home in which her happy childhood had been
+spent. These hopes were never to be realized; that beloved home she was
+destined never to behold again.
+
+Early in June, Coursegol, in accordance with his usual habit, left the
+château to pass a few days in Arles. He reached the city on the
+fourteenth, and, after visiting Dolores, left for home on the morning of
+the sixteenth.
+
+He made the journey on foot. The sky was slightly veiled by fleecy,
+white clouds that tempered the heat of the sun. The road between Arles
+and Nîmes is charming, and Coursegol walked blithely along, inhaling
+with delight the fresh morning breeze that came to him laden with the
+vivifying fragrance of the olive and cypress. As he approached
+Beaucaire, a pretty village on the bank of the Rhone, he noticed that an
+unusual animation pervaded the place. Groups of peasants stood here and
+there, engaged in excited conversation; every face wore an expression of
+anxiety. He thought at first that these people must be going or
+returning from some funeral; but he soon noticed that many were armed,
+some with guns, some with scythes. On reaching the centre of the town,
+he found the market-place full of soldiers; officers were giving excited
+orders. It looked as if the town were arming to defend itself.
+
+"What does all this mean?" inquired Coursegol, addressing a little group
+of townspeople.
+
+"Why, do you not know what has happened?" one man replied, in evident
+astonishment.
+
+"I have heard nothing. I have just arrived from Arles."
+
+"Nîmes has been pillaged. The peasantry from the Cevennes have descended
+upon the city and massacred three hundred people--laborers, bourgeois,
+priests and nuns. They are now masters of the place, and it is feared
+that a detachment of them is coming in this direction. We are making
+ready to receive them."
+
+"What! Have they advanced beyond Nîmes?" inquired Coursegol, appalled by
+this news.
+
+"Some of them advanced last night as far as the Pont du Gard. There
+they sacked and burned the Château de Chamondrin!"
+
+A ghastly pallor overspread Coursegol's features; he uttered a cry of
+horror.
+
+"What is the matter?" asked the man who had just apprised him of this
+terrible calamity.
+
+"My masters!--where are my masters?" cried poor Coursegol.
+
+Then, without waiting for the response which no one could give, he
+darted off like a madman in the direction of the Pont du Gard.
+
+Although the events that took place in Nîmes early in 1790 have never
+been clearly explained by an impartial historian, we have reason to
+suppose that the public sentiment prevailing there at the time was
+unfavorable to the Revolution. The Catholics of the south became
+indignant when they learned that the Assembly wished to reform the
+Catholic Church without consulting the Pope. From that day, they were
+the enemies of the Revolution. Their protests were energetic, and from
+protests they passed to acts. The Catholics took up arms ostensibly to
+defend themselves against the Protestants, but chiefly to defend their
+menaced religion. The Protestants, who were in communication with their
+religious brethren in Paris and Montauban, were also ready to take the
+field at any moment. A regiment was quartered in the city. The
+sympathies of the officers were with the Catholics, who represented the
+aristocracy in their eyes; the soldiers seemed to favor the
+Protestants--the patriots. This division brought a new element of
+discord into the civil war. This condition of affairs lasted several
+months. A conflict between some of the National Guards--Catholics--and a
+company of dragoons was the signal for a struggle that had become
+inevitable. The Protestants of Nîmes sided with the dragoons; the
+Catholics espoused the cause of the National Guards. Several of these
+last were killed. This happened on the 13th of June. The following day,
+bands of peasants, summoned to the aid of the Protestants from the
+country north of Nîmes, descended upon the city. They entered it in an
+orderly manner, as if animated by peaceful intentions; but many of the
+men were either half-crazed fanatics or wretches who were actuated by a
+desire for plunder. They ran through the streets, becoming more and more
+excited until their fury suddenly burst forth and they rushed wildly
+about the city, carrying death and devastation in their track. There was
+a Capuchin monastery at Nîmes. They invaded this first, slaying the
+priests at the foot of the altar in the church that still retains the
+ineffaceable stain of their blood. The assassins then hastened to the
+monastery of the Carmelites. The monks had fled. They sacked the church,
+and then plundered a number of private houses. The bandits showed no
+mercy. They opened a vigorous cannonade upon the tower of Froment where
+many had taken refuge. In three days three hundred persons perished.
+
+At the news of these massacres a cry of rage and terror rose from the
+Catholic villages on the banks of the Rhone and the Gardon. The cry was
+this:
+
+"They are slaughtering our brothers at Nîmes!"
+
+The influential men immediately assembled and counselled the frightened
+and indignant populace to take up arms in their own defence. The tocsin
+was sounded, and in a few hours several hundred men had assembled near
+the Pont du Gard, ready to march upon Nîmes and punish the wretches who
+had slain the innocent and defenceless. By unanimous consent the Marquis
+de Chamondrin was made one of the leaders of this hastily improvised
+army. He accepted the command with a few eloquent words, urging his men
+to do their duty, and the army took up its line of march. Some gypsies,
+who chanced to be near the Pont du Gard at the time, brought up the
+rear, hoping that the fortunes of war would gain them an entrance into
+the city of Nîmes that they might pillage and steal without restraint.
+
+This manifestation of wrath on the part of the inhabitants of the
+surrounding country terrified the assassins, and most of them took to
+flight; but those who lived in Nîmes and who were alarmed for their own
+safety and that of their families resolved to avert the blow that
+menaced them.
+
+There are traitors in every party, men ready to sell or to be sold; men
+for whom treason and infamy are pathways to wealth. There were some of
+these men in the Catholic ranks, and promises of gold induced them to go
+out and meet the approaching army and assure its leaders that order was
+re-established at Nîmes and that their entrance into the city would only
+occasion a fresh outbreak. These emissaries accomplished their mission;
+and that same evening all these men who had left home that morning
+thirsting for vengeance returned quietly to their firesides.
+
+But, unfortunately, the Marquis de Chamondrin had taken such an active
+part in this demonstration that he had deeply incensed the assassins;
+and the more ferocious of them resolved to wreak vengeance upon him by
+pillaging and burning his château. A conspiracy was organized, and the
+following night about forty men of both parties, or rather the scum and
+refuse of both, started for Chamondrin. They knew the castle had but a
+small number of defenders, and that Coursegol, the most formidable of
+these, was absent at the time. They also knew that the isolated
+situation of the château afforded its inmates little chance of succor,
+and that, if they could succeed in surprising it, they could accomplish
+their work of destruction before the inhabitants of Remoulins and the
+surrounding villages could come to the aid of the Marquis and his
+household. The plan was decided upon in a few hours; and the disorder
+that prevailed throughout the country, the inertness of the authorities
+and the want of harmony among the soldiery, all favored its execution.
+
+About nine o'clock in the evening, the bandits stole quietly out of
+Nîmes. They reached the Pont du Gard a little before midnight and halted
+there to receive their final instructions before ascending the hill upon
+the summit of which stood the Château de Chamondrin.
+
+Here, they were joined by a dozen or more Bohemians who were encamped
+near by, the same men who had accompanied the Catholics on their
+expedition that same morning. They approached the bandits in the hope
+that a new army was in process of organization for an attack upon the
+city, and that they might accompany it. When they saw the band proceed
+in the direction of the château, they straggled along in the rear. Like
+hungry vultures, they seemed to scent a battle from which they might
+derive some profit.
+
+The household at Chamondrin chanced to be astir late that evening. The
+Marquis, Philip, Antoinette, the curé of Remoulins and two or three
+landed proprietors living in the vicinity were in the drawing-room.
+After such a day of excitement, no one could think of sleep. They were
+discussing the events that had occurred at Nîmes, and deploring the
+death of the victims. They were anxiously asking if the blood that had
+been shed would be the last, and were endeavoring to find means to
+prevent the repetition of such a calamity. When the clock struck the
+hour of midnight, the curé of Remoulins, an energetic old man named
+Peretty, rose to return to the village. The other visitors, whose homes
+lay in the same direction and whose carriages were waiting in the
+court-yard, followed his example. Suddenly a frightened cry broke the
+silence of the night. Followed by the others present, Philip rushed to
+the door. The cry had come from the man who guarded the gate.
+
+"We are attacked!" exclaimed this man on seeing Philip.
+
+At a glance the latter understood the extent and the imminence of their
+danger. The bright moonlight revealed a terrible sight. The besiegers
+had found only one opening through which they could effect an entrance
+into the château; but even there a heavy gate composed of strong iron
+bars opposed their passage. This gate was very high, and the bars were
+securely fastened to each other, while the top was surmounted by sharp
+pickets. Still, the bandits were not discouraged. Half-crazed with fury
+and with wine, they climbed this formidable barrier with the hope of
+leaping over it. It seemed to bend beneath their weight. The massive
+bolts trembled, the ponderous hinges creaked, as fifty or more
+repulsive-looking wretches, the majority of them clad in rags, hurled
+themselves against the gate, uttering shrieks of baffled rage. One would
+have supposed them wild beasts trying to break from their cage.
+
+"To arms!" cried Philip.
+
+He ran to the lower hall, which was used as an armory. His father, the
+visitors and the servants, who were all devoted to the Chamondrin
+family, followed him, while Antoinette stood watching in alarm this
+formidable horde of invaders.
+
+The Abbé Peretty advanced towards the intruders.
+
+"What do you desire, my friends?" he asked, calmly.
+
+"Open the gates!" responded the less excited among the crowd.
+
+"We want Chamondrin's head!" exclaimed others.
+
+"Have you any just cause of complaint against the Marquis?" persisted
+the abbé, striving to calm the furious throng.
+
+"Death to the aristocrats!" the crowd responded with one voice.
+
+One man went so far as to point his gun at the venerable priest, who,
+without once losing his sang-froid, recrossed the court-yard, keeping
+his face turned towards the excited band outside, and rejoined his
+companions, who under the leadership of the Marquis and Philip were just
+emerging from the hall, armed to the teeth.
+
+"They will not listen to reason," said the Abbé Peretty, calmly!
+
+"Then we will defend ourselves, and woe be unto them!"
+
+As he uttered these words, the Marquis turned to Mademoiselle de
+Mirandol, around whom the women of the château were crowding,
+half-crazed with terror.
+
+"Go into the house; your place is not here," said he.
+
+"My place is by your side!" replied Antoinette.
+
+"No, my dear Antoinette; it is madness to expose yourself unnecessarily.
+I know you are courageous, but you can be of far greater service to us
+by quieting these poor, shrieking creatures."
+
+While this conversation was going on, Philip advanced to the gate. It
+still resisted the efforts of the assailants, some of whom were
+endeavoring to climb over the roofs of the pavilions that stood on
+either side of the entrance to the château.
+
+"I command you to retire!" cried Philip.
+
+Angry threats of "Death" resounded afresh.
+
+"Then I hold you responsible for any disasters that may occur!" Philip
+replied.
+
+At the same moment the impetuous youth raised his gun and fired,
+wounding one of the men who had climbed the gate and was preparing to
+leap down into the court-yard. Imprecations broke forth anew and the
+combat began. Nothing could be heard but a vigorous fusillade,
+accompanied by the shouts of the besiegers and the besieged. These last
+were so few in number that they dare not dispatch one of their little
+company to Remoulins for aid. Besides, they were not sure that the band
+now assailing them would not be followed by others that would waylay
+their messenger; but they hoped that their shouts and the sound of the
+firing would arouse the inhabitants of the sleeping town. The Marquis
+fought with the desperation of a man who is defending his outraged
+fireside, and Philip struggled with the energy of despair. He was
+fighting for his father and for Antoinette. He shuddered when he thought
+of the horrible fate that awaited the young girl if these brutes, more
+formidable than any wild beasts, were victorious. Even the Abbé Peretty
+had armed himself. The servants and the friends of the house conducted
+themselves like heroes, but, unfortunately, Coursegol was far from
+Chamondrin, and the defenders of the château sadly missed his valiant
+arm.
+
+The assailants were still crowding against the gate, uttering howls of
+fury. They were poorly armed. Only a few had guns, the others brandished
+hatchets and pickaxes, crying:
+
+"Tear down the gate!"
+
+But, when the firing began, they left this dangerous position and
+retired perhaps twenty feet, where they hid behind the trees, firing at
+random, sometimes trying to advance, but always driven back with loss.
+Five or six of them were already stretched upon the grass, but the
+defenders of the castle were unhurt. The gypsies had retreated to a
+safe distance, where they stood impatiently awaiting the conclusion of
+the struggle, ready to fall upon the vanquished as soon as they became
+unable to defend themselves.
+
+Meanwhile Antoinette, surrounded by four or five women, was upon her
+knees in the drawing-room, praying fervently, her heart sick with
+anguish and fear. How ardently she wished herself a man that she might
+fight by Philip's side! The firing suddenly ceased. Philip entered the
+room. His face was pale, but stained here and there by smoke and powder;
+his head was bare; his clothing disordered. Grief and despair were
+imprinted upon his countenance.
+
+"We must fly!" he exclaimed.
+
+And taking Antoinette by the hand he led her through the long corridor
+opening into the park. The frightened women followed them. In the park
+they met the defenders of the château, carrying a wounded man in their
+arms.
+
+Antoinette uttered a cry of consternation.
+
+"Ah! I would have fought until death!" exclaimed Philip, despairingly,
+"but we were overpowered; the gate was torn down; my father was wounded.
+He must be saved from the hands of the bandits at any cost, so we were
+forced to retreat."
+
+Antoinette walked on like one in a frightful dream. If Philip had not
+supported her she would have fallen again and again. They walked beside
+the Marquis, who was still conscious, though mortally wounded in the
+breast. When he saw his son and Antoinette beside him, he looked at them
+with sorrowful tenderness, and even attempted to smile as if to
+convince them that he was not suffering.
+
+The little band proceeded with all possible speed to a small
+summer-house concealed in the pines and shrubbery. Nothing could be more
+mournful than this little procession of gloomy-visaged men and weeping
+women, fleeing through the darkness to escape the assassins who were now
+masters of the castle, destroying everything around them and making
+night hideous with their ferocious yells. At last they reached the
+summer-house. The Marquis was deposited upon a hastily improvised bed;
+the Abbé Peretty, assisted by Philip and Antoinette, attempted to dress
+his wound; and two men started in the hope of reaching Remoulins by a
+circuitous route, in order to bring a physician and call upon the
+inhabitants of the village for aid.
+
+An hour went by; it seemed a century. In the gloomy room where these
+unfortunates had taken refuge no sound broke the stillness save the
+moans of the Marquis and the voice of the Abbé Peretty, as he uttered
+occasional words of consolation and encouragement to assuage the mute
+anguish of Philip and the despair of the weeping Antoinette. Then all
+was still again.
+
+Philip's agony was terrible. His father dying; his home in the hands of
+vandals, who were ruthlessly destroying the loved and cherished objects
+that had surrounded him from infancy, Antoinette, crushed by the
+disasters of this most wretched night, this was the terrible picture
+that rose before him. To this torture was added the despair caused by a
+sense of his utter powerlessness. Gladly would he have rushed back to
+the château to die there, struggling with his enemies, but he was
+prevented by the thought of Antoinette, who was now dependent upon him
+for protection. He was engrossed in these gloomy thoughts when a strange
+crackling sound attracted his attention, and at the same moment a man,
+who had ventured out into the park to watch the proceedings of the enemy
+rushed back, exclaiming:
+
+"They are burning the château!"
+
+The tidings of this new misfortune overpowered Philip and almost bereft
+him of reason. He ran to the door. A tall column of flame and smoke was
+mounting to the sky; the trees were tinged with a crimson light, and the
+crackling of the fire could be distinctly heard above the hooting and
+yelling of the infuriated crowd. His eyes filled with tears, but he was
+dashing them away preparatory to returning to his father when the Abbé
+Peretty joined him.
+
+"Courage, my poor boy!" said the good priest.
+
+"I will be brave, sir. I can cheerfully submit to the loss of our
+possessions, but to the death of my father, I----"
+
+He could not complete the sentence. The abbé, who had lost all hope, was
+silent for a moment; then he said:
+
+"There is something I must no longer conceal from you. After the château
+is destroyed, I fear these wretches will search the park in order to
+discover our retreat. I do not fear for myself. I shall remain with the
+Marquis. They will respect a dying man and a white-haired priest; but
+you, Philip, must remain here no longer. Make your escape with
+Mademoiselle de Mirandol without delay."
+
+"I cannot abandon my father," replied Philip. "If our hiding-place is
+discovered, we will defend ourselves--we will fight until death!"
+
+The priest said no more, and they both returned to the bedside of the
+Marquis. On seeing them, the latter, addressing his son, inquired:
+
+"The château is on fire, is it not?"
+
+Philip's reply seemed to cause the Marquis intense anguish; but, after a
+moment, he motioned to his son to come nearer; then he said.
+
+"Listen, Philip. You must leave France. This unhappy country is about to
+enter upon a series of misfortunes which neither you nor I can foresee,
+and of which you will certainly be a victim if you remain here. You must
+depart, Philip. Think, my son, you will be the sole heir of the house of
+Chamondrin."
+
+"You will recover, father."
+
+"No; death is close at hand. It is so near that I cannot deceive myself;
+so, Philip, I wish you to grant one of my dearest wishes. I wish, before
+I die, to feel assured that the family of Chamondrin will be
+perpetuated. Consent to marry Antoinette."
+
+Philip, as we have said before, had already tacitly consented to this
+marriage. Since he had lost all hope of winning Dolores, the thought of
+wedding another was no longer revolting to him.
+
+"I am ready to obey you, father," he replied, "but will you allow me to
+remind you that Mademoiselle de Mirandol is rich and that I have
+nothing."
+
+The Marquis checked him and, calling Antoinette, said in a voice that
+was becoming weaker and weaker:
+
+"Antoinette, Philip is poor; his position is gone; the favor of the king
+will avail him nothing in the future, and the power has passed into the
+hands of our enemies; nevertheless, will you consent to marry him?"
+
+"If he desires it," exclaimed Mademoiselle de Mirandol, "and never was I
+so grateful for my wealth!"
+
+Philip pressed the hand of the noble girl, and the face of the Marquis
+was transfigured with joy in spite of his agony. Then M. de Chamondrin
+resumed:
+
+"You must leave the country, my children, and marry as soon as
+circumstances will permit. You must stay in foreign lands until France
+recovers her reason. Promise to obey me."
+
+They promised in voices choked with sobs.
+
+"Abbé," continued the Marquis, "bless these children!"
+
+Without exchanging another word, Philip and Antoinette, in obedience to
+the wishes of the dying man, knelt before the priest. The latter,
+employing the solemn formula which makes bride and bridegroom
+indissolubly one, asked Mademoiselle de Mirandol if she would accept
+Philip as her husband, and Philip if he would take Antoinette for his
+wife, and when they had answered in the affirmative, he added:
+
+"I cannot here, and under such circumstances, unite you by the bonds of
+marriage; but until the vows you have just exchanged can be consecrated
+by the church, I, as the witness of this covenant, shall pray God to
+bless you."
+
+"I am satisfied," said the Marquis, faintly. "Father, grant me
+absolution."
+
+Antoinette and Philip remained upon their knees. A quarter of an hour
+later the Marquis expired. Just as he breathed his last, the same man
+who discovered the firing of the château, and who had again returned to
+the park to watch the movements of the enemy, burst into the room.
+
+"They are searching the park! They are coming this way!" he cried,
+breathlessly.
+
+The curé, who had been engaged in prayer, rose.
+
+"Fly!" he exclaimed.
+
+"My place is here!" replied Philip.
+
+Antoinette gave him a look of approval.
+
+"In the name of the Father, who has commanded you to love, I order you
+to fly!"
+
+And, as he spoke, the priest pointed to the door.
+
+"But who will give him burial?" exclaimed Philip.
+
+"I will; go!" replied the abbé.
+
+Antoinette and Philip were compelled to obey.
+
+The priest was left alone with the lifeless body of M. de Chamondrin. He
+knelt, and, as calmly as if he were in his own presbytery, recited the
+prayers the church addresses to Heaven for the souls of the dead. The
+flickering light of a nearly consumed candle dimly illumined the room.
+The world without was bathed in a flood of clear moonlight. The
+marauders ran about the park, shouting at the top of their voices,
+uprooting plants and shrubbery, breaking the statuary and the marble
+vases, and expending upon inanimate objects the fury they were unable to
+vent upon the living.
+
+Suddenly, one of them discovered the summer-house. The door was open; he
+entered. Some of his comrades followed him. A priest with white, flowing
+locks rose at their entrance, and, pointing to the couch upon which the
+dead body of the Marquis was reposing, said:
+
+"Death has passed this way! Retire--"
+
+He was not allowed to complete his sentence. A violent blow from an axe
+felled him to the ground, his skull, fractured. They trampled his body
+under foot, then one of the assassins applied a burning torch to the
+floor. The flames rose, licking each portion of the building with their
+fiery tongues. Then the shameless crowd departed to continue their work
+of destruction. The sacking of the château occupied three hours. The
+pillagers had not retired when the approach of the National Guard of
+Remoulins, coming too late to the assistance of the Marquis, was
+discovered by one of the ruffians, and they fled in every direction to
+escape the punishment they merited.
+
+When Coursegol, wild with anxiety, reached the château on the day that
+followed this frightful scene, only the walls remained standing. Of the
+imposing edifice in which he was born there was left only bare and
+crumbling walls. The farm-house and the summer-house had shared the same
+fate; and in the park, thickly strewn with prostrate trees and debris, a
+crowd of gypsies and beggars were searching for valuables spared by the
+fire. Coursegol could not repress a cry of rage and despair at the
+sight; but how greatly his sorrow was augmented when he learned that two
+dead bodies, those of the Marquis and of the Abbé Peretty had been
+discovered half-consumed in the still smoking ruins.
+
+Were Philip and Antoinette also dead? No one knew.
+
+One person declared that he saw them making their escape. This
+uncertainty was more horrible to Coursegol than the poignant reality
+before his eyes. He flung himself down upon the seared turf, and there,
+gloomy, motionless, a prey to the most frightful despair, he wept
+bitterly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+PARIS IN 1792.
+
+
+On the third of September, 1792, about eleven o'clock in the morning, a
+tall, stalwart man, with an energetic face and sunburned hands, and
+accompanied by a young woman, might have been seen approaching the
+Barriere du Trone. Both were clad in the garb worn by the peasantry of
+southern France. The young woman wore the costume of a Provençale
+peasant girl, and carried upon her arm a short, dark cloak, which she
+used as a protection against the cool night air, but which she did not
+require now in the heat of the day. The man wore a suit of black
+fustian, a foxskin cap, blue stockings and heavy shoes. The expression
+of weariness imprinted upon their features and the dust that covered
+their garments proved that their journey had been long. As they neared
+the gateway, the man, who was carrying a heavy valise in his hand,
+paused to take breath. His companion followed his example, and, as they
+seated themselves by the roadside, she cast an anxious glance at the
+city.
+
+"Do you think they will allow us to pass?" she murmured, frightened
+already at the thought of being subjected to the examination of the
+soldiers who guarded the gate.
+
+"Are not our passports all right?" demanded her companion. "If we
+wished to leave Paris it would be quite another matter; but as we merely
+desire to enter the city, there will be no difficulty. Have no fears,
+Mademoiselle; they will not detain us long at the gate."
+
+"Coursegol, stop calling me Mademoiselle. Call me your daughter. If you
+do not acquire the habit of doing so, you will forget some day and then
+all will be discovered."
+
+"I know my rôle, and I shall play it to perfection when we are before
+strangers, but, when we are alone, I cannot forget that I am only your
+servant."
+
+"Not my servant; but my friend, my father. Have you not always felt for
+me the same affection and solicitude you would have entertained for your
+own daughter?"
+
+Coursegol responded only by a look; but this look proved that Dolores
+had spoken the truth and that the paternal love, of which he had given
+abundant proofs in the early part of this history, had suffered no
+diminution.
+
+"If you had only been willing to listen to me," he remarked, after a few
+moment's silence, "we should have remained in the village where the
+coach stopped. There we could have awaited a more propitious opportunity
+to reach our journey's end."
+
+"I was too eager to reach the city. It seems to me that, in approaching
+Paris, I am nearing Philip and Antoinette. If they are still living, we
+shall certainly find them in Paris."
+
+"Oh! they are living; I am sure of it; but is it not likely that they
+have emigrated? In that case, why should we remain in a city that is so
+full of danger for us?"
+
+"We can lead a quiet and retired life there! No one will know us and we
+shall have better facilities for obtaining news in Paris than in a
+village. My heart tells me that we are not far from our friends."
+
+"God grant it, my child," responded Coursegol; "and if, as I hope,
+Bridoul has not forgotten his friend of former days, we shall soon be
+safe in his house."
+
+"Are you not sure of his friendship?" inquired Dolores, anxiously.
+
+"Can we place implicit confidence in any one as times are now?" returned
+Coursegol. "Bridoul was my comrade in the army. He loved me, and he was
+devoted to Monsieur Philip, our captain. But to-day the remembrance of
+such a friendship is a crime. It must be forgotten; and fear sometimes
+renders the bravest hearts cowardly and timorous. Still, I do not
+believe Bridoul has changed. But we shall soon know. Now, let us go on,
+my dear daughter, and show no anxiety if they question us at the gate."
+
+"Have no fear, father," replied Dolores, with a smile.
+
+Coursegol picked up his valise, and boldly approached the gate. Dolores
+followed him, striving to quiet the throbbings of her heart; she was
+more troubled in mind now than she had been during the whole of the long
+journey. As they were passing through the gateway, a sentinel stopped
+them and made them enter a small house occupied by the detachment of the
+National Guard, which was deputized to watch over the safety of Paris
+from this point. The post was commanded by a young lieutenant, a mere
+boy with a beardless face. On seeing a beautiful girl enter, followed by
+an aged man, he rose, and turning to his soldiers:
+
+"What is the meaning of this?" he inquired.
+
+"I wish to enter the city, lieutenant," volunteered Coursegol, without
+waiting to be questioned.
+
+"Enter Paris! You have chosen a nice time! There are many people in it
+who would be only too glad to make their escape. Who is this citoyenne?"
+added the officer, pointing to Dolores.
+
+"That is my daughter."
+
+"Be seated, citoyenne," said the lieutenant, politely offering Dolores
+his own chair.
+
+She accepted it, and the examination continued.
+
+"From whence do you come?"
+
+"From Beaucaire."
+
+"Afoot?"
+
+"No, citizen; we left the coach at Montgeron. The driver had no other
+passengers, and, when he heard of the troubles in Paris, he declared he
+would wait there until they were over. His coach was loaded with
+merchandise, and he feared it would be taken from him."
+
+"Does he take patriots for bandits?" exclaimed the officer, angrily. "If
+I am on guard here when his coach enters the city, he will receive the
+lesson he deserves. You said you had passports, I think?"
+
+"Here they are!"
+
+The officer took the papers that Coursegol handed him and examined them
+carefully.
+
+"These papers were drawn up two years ago," said he. "Where have you
+spent these years?"
+
+"My daughter has been ill and we were obliged to stop at numerous places
+on the way. We made long sojourns at Dijon and at Montereau; but you
+will notice, citizen, the passports bear the endorsement of the
+authorities of those towns."
+
+"So I perceive. Very well, you will be taken before the Commissioners
+and if your papers prove all right, as I believe they are, you will be
+allowed to remain in the city."
+
+The young lieutenant turned away to give an order to one of his
+soldiers; then suddenly he approached Coursegol and said kindly, in a
+low voice:
+
+"You seem to be worthy people, and I should be very sorry if any
+misfortune happened to you. Paris is not a safe abode just now.
+Yesterday they began to put the prisoners to death, and, perhaps, you
+and your daughter would do well to wait until the fury of the populace
+is appeased."
+
+"But we belong to the people," replied Coursegol. "We have nothing to
+fear; moreover, I know a good patriot who will be responsible for us if
+necessary: Citizen Bridoul, who keeps a wine-shop on the Rue Antoine."
+
+"At the sign of the Bonnet Rouge?" cried the officer.
+
+"The very same," replied Coursegol, boldly, though until now he had been
+ignorant of the sign which distinguished his friend Bridoul's
+establishment.
+
+"Bridoul is a true patriot. Thanks to him, you will incur no risk! You
+will now be conducted to the Commissioners."
+
+"Many thanks for your kindness, lieutenant," said Coursegol.
+
+And taking Dolores' arm in his, he followed the soldier who was to
+conduct them to the municipal authorities. There, they underwent a fresh
+examination, and Coursegol responded as before. As people who desired to
+enter Paris at such a time could hardly be regarded with suspicion,
+Coursegol and Dolores were walking freely about the streets of the city
+a few moments later, surprised and alarmed at the sights that met their
+eyes at every turn. The last witnesses of the grand revolutionary drama
+are disappearing every day. Age has bowed their heads, blanched their
+locks and enfeebled their memories. Soon there will remain none of those
+whose testimony might aid the historian of that stormy time in his
+search after truth; but among the few who still survive and who in the
+year 1792 were old enough to see and understand and remember, there are
+none upon whom the recollection of those terrible days in September is
+not indelibly imprinted. Since the tenth of August, Paris had been
+delivered up to frenzy and bloodshed. The arrest of the royal family,
+the rivalry between the Commune and the Convention, the bitter debates
+at the clubs and the uprising of the volunteers were more than enough to
+throw the great city into a state of excitement, disorder and terror.
+Business was paralyzed; the stores were for the most part closed; the
+aristocratic portions of the city deserted; emigration had deprived
+France of thousands of her citizens; the streets were filled with a
+fierce, ragged crowd; the luxury upon which the artisan depended for a
+livelihood was proscribed; famine was knocking at the gates; gold had
+disappeared; places of amusement were broken up; the gardens and the
+galleries of the Palais-Royal alone remained--the only rendezvous
+accessible to those who, even while looking forward to death,
+frantically desired to enjoy the little of life that remained. Such was
+the aspect of affairs in Paris.
+
+With the last days of August came the news of the capture of Longwy by
+the Prussians, the siege of Terdun, and the warlike preparations of
+Russia and Germany. This was more than enough to excite the terror of
+the Parisians and to arouse their anger against those whom they called
+aristocrats and whom they accused of complicity with the enemies of the
+nation.
+
+On the 29th of August, by the order of the Commune, the gates were
+closed. It was impossible to enter Paris without a passport endorsed by
+examiners appointed for the purpose. No one was allowed to leave the
+city on any pretext whatever. The Parisians were virtually prisoners.
+Every house, every apartment was visited by inspectors. Rich and poor
+were alike compelled to submit. Every suspicious article was seized, and
+the man in whose dwelling it was discovered was arrested. The inspectors
+performed their tasks with unnecessary harshness, ruthlessly destroying
+any valuable object upon which they could lay their hands. They rapped
+upon the walls to see if they contained any secret hiding-place; they
+pierced the mattresses with their swords and poignards. After these
+visits thousands of citizens were arrested and conducted to the Hotel
+de Ville, where many were detained for thirty hours without food,
+awaiting their turn to appear before the members of the Commune. After
+their examination some were released; others were thrown into the
+prisons, which were soon crowded to such a degree that there was not
+room for a single newcomer by the first of September. If room could not
+be found, room must be made; and the following day, the second of
+September, twenty-four prisoners, chiefly priests, were led before the
+mayor, adjudged guilty of treason, crowded into fiacres and taken to the
+Abbaye, where they were executed immediately on their arrival.
+
+After this, their first taste of blood, the executioners hastened to the
+Châtelet and to the Conciergerie, where they wrought horrors that the
+pen refuses to describe, sentencing to death the innocent and the guilty
+without giving them any opportunity to defend themselves. Night did not
+appease the fury of the butchers. On the third of September they killed
+again at the Abbaye, at the Force and at the Bernardins prisons; and on
+the fourth they continued their work of death at La Salpêtriere and
+Bicêtre.
+
+For three days the tocsin sounded. Bands of sans-culottes and
+tricoteuses, thirsting for blood, traversed the streets, uttering cries
+of death; and no one seemed to think of checking their sanguinary fury.
+A prey to a truly remarkable panic, when we consider the relatively
+small number of assassins, the terrified citizens remained shut up in
+their houses. The National Assembly seemed powerless to arrest the
+horrors of these tragical hours; the Commune seemed to favor them.
+
+Of all those days that inspire us with such horror, even now, after the
+lapse of nearly a century, the darkest was that which witnessed the
+execution of the Princesse de Lamballe, who perished for no other crime
+than that of love for the queen. Beheaded, and thrown at first upon a
+pile of corpses, her body was afterwards despoiled of its clothing and
+exposed to the view of an infamous mob. One of the bandits dared to
+separate from this poor body, defiled with mud, and later by the hands
+of its murderers, the lovely head that had surmounted it; others,
+dividing it with a brutality that nothing could soften, quarrelled over
+the bleeding fragments. Then began a frightful massacre. Like wild
+beasts, bearing these spoils of the head as trophies of victory, the
+band of assassins rushed down the Rue de Sicile to carry terror to the
+heart of Paris.
+
+It was nearly noon when Coursegol and Dolores, having passed the
+Bastile, entered the Rue Saint Antoine to find a dense crowd of men,
+women and ragged children yelling at one another and singing coarse
+songs. Some of the National Guard were among the throng; and they were
+stopped every few moments by the people to shout: "Vive la Nation!" the
+patriotic cry that lent courage to the hearts of the soldiers of the
+Republic nobly fighting for the defence of our frontiers, but which had
+been caught up and was incessantly vociferated by the ruffians who
+inaugurated the Reign of Terror. All carriages that attempted to pass
+through this moving crowd were stopped, and their occupants were obliged
+to prove their patriotism by mingling their acclamations with those of
+the mob. The audacity and brutality of the sans-culottes knew no bounds.
+Woe to him who allowed his face to betray his sentiments, even for a
+moment! Terror, pity, sadness, these were crimes to be cruelly expiated.
+
+Coursegol had hesitated to enter the Rue Saint Antoine. He feared to
+come in contact with this excited multitude, but the more alarming the
+great city which she saw for the first time appeared to Dolores, the
+more anxious she was to find shelter at Bridoul's house. But Bridoul's
+house was in the Rue Saint Antoine; and, to reach it, it was absolutely
+necessary to make their way through the crowd, or to wait until it had
+dispersed. But when would it disperse? Was it not dangerous to remain
+much longer without an asylum and a protector? This thought terrified
+Dolores, and, longing to reach her place of destination, she urged
+Coursegol to proceed.
+
+At first, they advanced without much difficulty, following the throng
+that seemed to be wending its way in the same direction as themselves;
+but when they had passed the Palais-Royal, they were obliged to slacken
+their pace, and soon to stop entirely. The crowd formed an impassable
+barrier against which they were pressed so closely by those behind that
+Dolores was nearly suffocated, and Coursegol, to protect her, placed her
+before him, extending his arms to keep off the excited throng.
+
+In the midst of the tumult which we have attempted to describe,
+Coursegol was troubled, not so much by the impatience of Dolores as by
+the doubts that beset him when he thought of Bridoul. He had not seen
+the latter for three years. He only knew that his comrade, on quitting
+the army, had purchased a wine merchant's establishment; but, on hearing
+that his former friend sold his merchandise at the sign of the Bonnet
+Rouge, he asked himself in alarm if he would not find, instead of a
+friend, a rabid patriot who would refuse to come to the aid of the
+ex-servant of a Marquis. These reflections had made him silent and
+anxious until now; but, finding his progress checked by the crowd, the
+thought of inquiring the cause of this excitement occurred to him.
+Addressing a man who was standing a few steps from him, and who, judging
+from his impassive features, seemed not to share the emotions of which
+he was a witness, Coursegol inquired:
+
+"What is going on, my friend?"
+
+"What is going on!" replied the stranger, not without bitterness. "They
+are carrying the head of the Princesse de Lamballe through the streets
+of Paris!"
+
+Coursegol could not repress a movement of horror and of pity. On several
+occasions, when he had accompanied Philip to the house of the Duke de
+Penthieore, he had seen the Princess who had befriended his young
+master. At the same time, the thought that Dolores might be obliged to
+witness such a horrible exhibition frightened him, and he resolved to
+find some way to spare the girl the shameful spectacle that the eager
+crowd was awaiting. Suddenly Dolores, who had been standing on the same
+spot for some time, discovered that the soil beneath her feet had become
+wet and slippery, and, turning to Coursegol, she said:
+
+"I am standing in water."
+
+Coursegol drew back and forced the crowd to give way a trifle, so
+Dolores could have a little more standing-room. Thanks to his exertions,
+she could breathe once more; but, chancing to look down upon the ground,
+she uttered an exclamation of consternation.
+
+"Blood! It is blood!" she exclaimed, in horror.
+
+Coursegol's eyes followed hers. She was not mistaken. She was standing
+in a pool of blood, and not far off lay a body that the crowd had
+trampled upon only a few moments before.
+
+"But where are we?" murmured the terrified Coursegol.
+
+The man to whom he had previously spoken drew a little nearer and said:
+
+"You are, perhaps, a hundred paces from the prison where they executed
+the prisoners scarcely an hour ago."
+
+Then, drawing still nearer, so that no one save Coursegol could hear
+him, he added:
+
+"Advise that young girl not to cry out again as she did just now. If
+some of these fanatics had heard her, she would have fared badly!"
+
+At that very moment, the crowd resumed its march. The man disappeared.
+When Coursegol, agitated by these horrors which were so new to him,
+turned again to speak to Dolores, he saw that she had fainted in his
+arms. The poor man glanced despairingly about him. Suddenly his eyes
+fell upon a sign hanging over a shop on the opposite side of the street.
+This sign represented a red Phrygian cap upon a white ground, and above
+it was written in large red letters: "Le Bonnet Rouge." For a quarter of
+an hour he had been standing directly opposite Bridoul's establishment.
+He uttered a cry of joy, lifted Dolores in his strong arms, and, in a
+stentorian voice, exclaimed:
+
+"Make way! Make way, good citizens! My daughter has fainted!"
+
+The Provençale costume worn by Dolores deceived the persons who would
+otherwise have impeded Coursegol's progress.
+
+"He is from Marseilles," some one cried.
+
+Just at that time the Marseillais were heroes in the eyes of all good
+patriots. The unusual height of Coursegol strengthened the illusion.
+
+"Yes," remarked another, "he is one of the Marseillais who have come to
+the aid of the Parisians."
+
+The crowd opened before him. He soon reached the shop over which hung
+the sign of the "Bonnet Rouge" and entered it. There were but few
+customers in the large saloon. He placed Dolores in a chair, ran to the
+counter, seized a glass of water, returned to the girl and bathed her
+forehead and temples. In a moment she opened her eyes.
+
+"My dear child, are you better?" he asked.
+
+"Yes, yes, my good Coursegol," replied Dolores. Then she added: "Yes,
+father, but I was terribly frightened."
+
+"The citoyenne was crushed in the crowd!" said a voice behind Coursegol.
+He turned and saw a woman who was still young. Suddenly he recollected
+that Bridoul was married.
+
+"Are you not Citoyenne Bridoul?" he asked.
+
+"Certainly, Cornelia Bridoul."
+
+"Where is your husband?"
+
+"Here he is."
+
+Bridoul appeared. He had followed his wife in order to see the young
+Provençale who had been brought into his shop.
+
+"Do you know me?" inquired Coursegol.
+
+"Can it be Coursegol?"
+
+"Yes; I am your brother-in-law; this young girl is your niece. We have
+just arrived from Beaucaire. I will explain everything by and by."
+
+Bridoul cast a hasty glance around him. No one was observing them. The
+few who had been sitting at the table had risen and gone to the door,
+attracted there by the increasing tumult without.
+
+"Take the young lady into the back room," Bridoul whispered to his wife.
+"There will be a crowd here in a moment."
+
+The latter made haste to obey. It was time. In another moment Dolores
+would have been obliged to witness an even more horrible spectacle than
+that upon which her eyes had rested a short while before. The shop was
+suddenly taken by storm. Several men with repulsive faces, long hair
+and cruel eyes, and whose clothing was thickly spattered with blood,
+entered the saloon, followed by a yelling crowd. People mounted on
+chairs and tables to obtain a look at them. They were the city
+executioners. They ordered wine which Bridoul hastened to place before
+them. One carried in his hand the newly decapitated head of a woman,
+whose fair hair was twined round his bare arm. Before drinking his wine
+he placed the head upon the counter. Coursegol closed his eyes to shut
+out the ghastly sight. He had recognized the features of the Princesse
+de Lamballe. When the men had finished their wine, one said:
+
+"Now we will have the hair of this citoyenne dressed so that Marie
+Antoinette will recognize her."
+
+And addressing Bridoul, he added:
+
+"Is there any hair-dresser in this neighborhood?"
+
+"About a hundred paces from here, on the Place de la Bastille," replied
+Bridoul.
+
+"On! on!" shouted the executioners.
+
+And taking the head of the unfortunate Princess they departed,
+accompanied by the crowd that had followed them from the prison. A few
+moments later the saloon was empty. Bridoul hastened into the back room.
+Coursegol followed him. Fortunately the two women had not seen what had
+occurred, and, thanks to Cornelia Bridoul's friendly offices, Dolores
+had regained her composure.
+
+"First of all, are you classed among the suspected characters?" the wine
+merchant inquired of Coursegol. "Are you trying to escape from your
+pursuers? Must I conceal you?"
+
+"No," replied Coursegol "We have come to Paris in the hope of finding
+Monsieur Philip."
+
+"Our old captain?"
+
+"The same," answered Coursegol, at once recounting the events with which
+the reader is already familiar. When the recital was ended, Bridoul
+spoke in his turn.
+
+"I am willing to swear that the captain is not in Paris. If he were, he,
+like all the rest of the nobles, would have been in great danger; and in
+peril, he would certainly have thought of his old soldier, Bridoul, for
+he knows he can rely upon my devotion."
+
+"Ah! you have not changed!" cried Coursegol, pressing his friend's hand.
+
+"No, I have not changed. As you knew me so will you find me. But, my
+good friend, we must be prudent. You did well to come to my house. You
+and your daughter must remain here. You are relatives of mine; that is
+understood. Later, we can make other arrangements; but this evening I
+shall take you to the political club to which I belong. I will introduce
+you as my brother-in-law, a brave patriot from the south."
+
+"But what the devil shall I do at the club?" inquired Coursegol.
+
+"What shall you do there? Why, you will howl with the wolves; that is
+the only way to save yourself from being eaten by them!"
+
+But Coursegol demurred.
+
+"M. Bridoul is right," urged Dolores, timidly.
+
+"Niece, you are wise to take your uncle's part," remarked Bridoul; "but
+you must take care not to call me monsieur. That is more than enough to
+send you to prison as times are now."
+
+"Is everything a crime then?" cried Coursegol.
+
+"Everything," answered Bridoul, "and the greatest crime of all would be
+to remain at home while all good patriots are listening to the friends
+of the people in the political meetings. You will be closely watched,
+for we are surrounded by spies; and if any act of yours arouses the
+slightest suspicion we shall all go to sleep on the straw in the
+Conciergerie or the Abbaye, until we are sent to the block!"
+
+Coursegol uttered a groan.
+
+"Why do you sigh?" asked Bridoul. "All this does not prevent me from
+doing a service to such as deserve it. On the contrary, I should be rich
+if the number of thousand louis I possess equalled the number of lives I
+have saved since the tenth of August!"
+
+"Hush, husband!" said Madame Bridoul, quickly. "What if some one should
+hear you!"
+
+"Yes, yes, Cornelia, I will be prudent. Here we are all good patriots,
+worthy sans-culottes, ever ready to cry: 'Vive la Nation!'"
+
+As he spoke Bridoul returned to his shop, for several customers were
+coming in.
+
+The former dragoon was over forty years of age. He was small of stature,
+and in no way resembled one's ideal of a brave cavalier. His short
+limbs, his protruding stomach, his enormous arms and his fat hands gave
+him, when he was not moving about, the appearance of a penguin in
+repose. The large head covered with bushy gray hair, that surmounted
+his short body imparted to him really an almost grotesque look; but so
+much kindness shone in his eyes, and his voice was so rich and genial
+that one instantly divined a brave man beneath this unattractive
+exterior and was irresistibly attracted to him. Twenty-five years of his
+existence had been spent in the service of the king. He had cheerfully
+shed his blood and risked his life, and, thanks to the shrewdness he had
+displayed in his dealings with recruiting officers, he was now the
+possessor of several thousand francs. This little fortune enabled him to
+leave the army and to marry. A pretty shop-girl on the Faubourg du
+Roule, whose beautiful eyes, as he, himself, expressed it, had pierced
+his heart from end to end, consented, though she was much his junior, to
+a union of their destinies. In 1789 the newly married couple purchased
+the stock of a wine-shop, over the door of which, after the 10th of
+August, they prudently hung the sign of the "Bonnet Rouge."
+
+At heart, Bridoul and his wife were still ardent royalists. They
+bitterly deplored the imprisonment of Louis XVI. and his family, but
+they were governed by a feeling which soon became general, and under the
+empire of which most of the events of this bloody period were
+accomplished. They were afraid. It would not do for them to be classed
+with suspected persons, so they did not hesitate to violate their
+conscience and their heart by openly professing doctrines which they
+secretly abhorred, but which gave them the reputation of irreproachable
+patriots. Hence the "Bonnet Rouge" soon became the rendezvous of the
+Revolutionists of that quarter; and through them Bridoul acquired
+information with regard to their plans that enabled him to save the
+lives of many citizens. Fear had made him cautious but not cowardly; and
+he was fortunate enough to find in his wife a valuable auxiliary whose
+resolution, courage and coolness were never failing. After this
+explanation, not one will be surprised at the welcome this worthy couple
+accorded Dolores and Coursegol. They were ever ready to do good and to
+succor the distressed.
+
+The evening after her arrival, Dolores was installed in a chamber over
+the shop. Coursegol occupied a small room adjoining this chamber. They
+could reach their apartments without passing through the saloon; so
+Dolores and Coursegol were not compelled to mingle against their will
+with the crowd of customers that filled the wine-shop during the day. It
+was decided that they should all take their meals at a common table,
+which was to be served in the back shop where Bridoul and his wife
+slept. It was also decided that Dolores should lay aside the Provençale
+costume which she had worn on her arrival in Paris, and dress like a
+daughter of the people. Everything that would be likely to attract
+attention must be scrupulously avoided, for the beauty of Dolores had
+already awakened too much interest on the part of curious customers.
+
+The following Sunday morning, Dolores, who felt certain that Cornelia
+Bridoul was a devout Christian, said to her:
+
+"At what hour do you go to church? I would like to accompany you?"
+
+"To church! For what?" asked Cornelia, evidently surprised.
+
+"To hear mass."
+
+"Would you listen to a mass celebrated by a perjured priest?"
+
+And, as Dolores looked at her in astonishment, Cornelia added:
+
+"The sacred offices are now celebrated only by renegade priests, who
+have forsaken the tenets of the church to render allegiance to the
+constitution."
+
+But that same evening after supper, as Dolores was about retiring to her
+chamber, Cornelia, who was sitting with her guest in the room in the
+rear of the shop, while Bridoul and Coursegol were closing the saloon,
+said to her:
+
+"This morning you were regretting that you could not attend church. I
+have been informed that an aged saint, who has found shelter with some
+worthy people in the neighborhood, will celebrate mass this evening."
+
+"Oh! let us go!" cried Dolores.
+
+"Very well, you shall go; Coursegol will accompany us; Bridoul will
+remain at home and take care of the house."
+
+A few moments later, Dolores, Cornelia and Coursegol, provided with the
+pass that all good patriots were obliged to carry if they were in the
+streets of Paris after ten o'clock at night, stole out of the wine-shop
+and turned their steps toward the Place Royale. The streets which they
+traversed, looking back anxiously now and then to make sure that they
+were not followed, were dark and almost deserted. It was only
+occasionally that they met little groups of two or three persons, who
+passed rapidly, as if they distrusted the other passers-by. A policeman
+stopped our friends. They displayed their passes, and he allowed them to
+pursue their way without further questions. At last, they reached the
+Place Royale, and turned into a side street. At a half-open door stood a
+man clad in a blouse, and wearing a red cap. Cornelia said a few words
+to him in a low tone.
+
+"Pass in," was his response.
+
+He stepped aside. Dolores and Cornelia hastily entered, but Coursegol,
+who was to watch in the street, remained outside. The two women ascended
+to the fifth floor, and at last reached a door which was guarded as the
+one below had been. Cornelia gave the password and they entered. They
+traversed several rooms and finally found themselves in a spacious
+apartment dimly lighted by two candles. There were no windows, and the
+only means of lighting and ventilating the room was a sky-light; but
+this was now covered with heavy linen, undoubtedly for the purpose of
+concealing what was passing within from any spy who might be seized with
+a fancy for a promenade on the roof. At one end of the room, and
+separated from it by a thick curtain, was an alcove. There were about
+twenty people, mostly women, in the room. Every one stood silent and
+motionless, as if awaiting some mysterious event. When the clock struck
+eleven, a voice from behind the curtain said: "Close the doors."
+
+The man on guard obeyed and came and took his place with the others, who
+with one accord fell upon their knees. At the same instant, the curtains
+parted, revealing the interior of the alcove in which stood a lighted
+altar surmounted by a cross of dark wood. At the foot of the altar stood
+an old white-haired priest, arrayed in sacerdotal robes, and assisted by
+two young men who acted as a choir. The service began. Dolores could not
+restrain her tears. After a few moments she became calmer and began to
+pray. She prayed fervently for Philip, for Antoinette, for all whom she
+loved and for herself. The ceremony was short. The priest addressed a
+brief exhortation to his audience. The time of pomp and of long sermons
+had gone by. At any moment they might be surprised, and the life of
+every one present would have been in danger had they been arrested in
+that modest room which had become for the nonce the only asylum of the
+proscribed Romish Church.
+
+When the service was concluded, the curtains were again drawn and the
+worshippers withdrew, not without depositing in a box an offering for
+the venerable priest who had officiated. Just as Dolores and Cornelia
+were leaving the room, the brave old man passed them. He was arrayed in
+the garb of a worthy patriot, and was so effectually disguised that they
+would not have recognized him if he had not addressed them. As for the
+altar, it had disappeared as if by enchantment.
+
+So, either in this house or in some other, Dolores regularly attended
+the offices of her church. Not a Sunday passed that Cornelia did not
+conduct her to some mysterious retreat, where a little band of
+brave-hearted Christians met to worship together. She was in this way
+made familiar with heroic deeds which gave her courage to brave the
+dangers that threatened every one in those trying days, and she was thus
+initiated into a sort of league, formed without previous intent, for the
+purpose of providing a means of escape for those who were in danger of
+becoming the victims of the dread and merciless Committee of Public
+Safety. It was in this way that she was led to accompany Cornelia one
+evening when the latter went to carry food to a nobleman whose life was
+in danger, and who was concealed in the neighborhood of the Invalides,
+and, on another occasion, to aid in the escape of an old man who had
+been condemned to die. The enthusiasm of Dolores was so great that she
+often exposed herself to danger imprudently and unnecessarily. She was
+proud and happy to assist the Bridouls in their efforts, and she
+conceived for them an admiration and an affection which inspired her
+with the desire to equal them in their noble work to which they had so
+bravely consecrated themselves.
+
+But Coursegol, ignorant of most of the dangers to which Dolores exposed
+herself, or who knew of them only when it was too late to blame her for
+her temerity, had not lost sight of the motives which had induced him
+to accompany the girl on her expedition to Paris.
+
+What they had aimed to do, as the reader doubtless recollects, was to
+find Philip de Chamondrin and Antoinette de Mirandol, who had both been
+missing since the death of the Marquis and the destruction of the
+château. Though Bridoul persisted in declaring that his former captain
+was not in Paris, Coursegol was not discouraged. For three months he
+pursued an unremitting search. He found several men who, like himself,
+had formed a part of M. de Chamondrin's company. He succeeded in
+effecting an entrance to the houses of some of the friends whom his
+master had visited during his sojourn in Paris. He frequented public
+places. He might have been seen, by turn, in the Jacobin Club, in the
+galleries of the Convention, at the Palais Égalité, in every place where
+he would be likely to find any trace of Philip; but nowhere could he
+discover the slightest clew to his whereabouts. Every evening on his
+return home, after a day of laborious search, he was obliged to admit
+his want of success to Dolores. She listened sadly, then shook her head
+and said:
+
+"Bridoul is right. Philip and Antoinette have left the country; we shall
+never see them again. After all, it is, perhaps, for the best, since
+they are in safety."
+
+But, even while she thus attempted to console herself, Dolores could not
+conceal the intense sorrow and disappointment that filled her heart,
+and which were caused, not so much by the absence of her friends as by
+the mystery that enshrouded their fate. If it be misery to be separated
+from those we love, how much greater is that misery when we know nothing
+concerning their fate, and do not even know whether they are dead or
+alive! Dolores loved Antoinette with all a sister's tenderness, and
+Philip, with a much deeper and far more absorbing passion, although she
+had voluntarily sacrificed her hopes and forced herself to see in him
+only a brother. She had paid for the satisfaction of knowing that he was
+happy and prosperous with all that made life desirable; and this
+uncertainty was hard to bear.
+
+"Come, come, my child, do not weep," Coursegol would say at times like
+these. "We shall soon discover what has become of them."
+
+"They are in England or in Germany," added Bridoul, "probably quite as
+much distressed about you as you are about them. You will see them again
+some day. Until then, have patience."
+
+More than four months had passed when it was suddenly announced that the
+king, who had been a prisoner in the Temple for some time, was to be
+brought to trial. It was also rumored that a number of noblemen had
+eluded the vigilance of the authorities and had entered Paris resolved
+upon a desperate attempt to save him at the very last moment.
+
+Coursegol's hope revived. He felt certain that Philip would not hesitate
+to hazard his life in such an enterprise if he were still alive; and it
+was in the hope of meeting him that he attended the trial of the
+unfortunate monarch, and that, on the twentieth day of January, he
+accompanied Bridoul to the very steps of the guillotine. The king was
+beheaded; no attempt was made to rescue him. Then Coursegol decided upon
+a step which he had been contemplating for some little time.
+
+It will be remembered that Philip on his first arrival in Paris, had
+been attached to the household of the Duke de Penthieore, into which he
+had been introduced by the efforts of the Chevalier de Florian. The duke
+was the only member of the royal family who had remained in France
+unmolested. He owed this fortunate exemption of which the history of
+that epoch offers no similar example, to his many virtues and especially
+to his well known benevolence. Since the death of his daughter-in-law,
+the Princess de Lamballe, whom he had been unable to save from the hands
+of the executioners, he had lived with his daughter, the Duchess of
+Orleans at the Château de Bisy, in Vernon. He was living there, not as a
+proscribed man but as a prince, ill, broken-hearted at the death of his
+relatives, almost dying, surrounded by his friends and protected from
+the fury of the Revolutionists by the veneration of the inhabitants of
+Vernon, who had displayed their reverence by planting with great pomp,
+in front of the good duke's château, a tree of liberty crowned with this
+inscription: "A Tribute to Virtue;" and who evinced it still more
+strongly a little later by sending a deputation to his death-bed to
+implore him before his departure from earth, to bless the humble
+village in which his last days had been spent.
+
+One morning, Coursegol, having obtained a passport through Bridoul,
+started for Vernon. This village is situated a few leagues from Paris on
+the road to Normandy. Coursegol, who in his double rôle of peasant and
+soldier was accustomed to walking, made the journey afoot, which enabled
+him to see with his own eyes the misery that was then prevailing in the
+provinces as well as in Paris. It was horrible. On every side he saw
+only barren and devastated fields, and ragged, starving villagers,
+trembling with fear. The revolution which had promised these poor
+wretches deliverance and comfort, had as yet brought them only
+misfortunes.
+
+Coursegol reached Vernon that evening, spent the night at an inn, and
+the next morning at sunrise, repaired to the duke's château. That good
+old man had long been in the habit of receiving all who desired to speak
+with him, so it was easy for Coursegol to obtain an interview. He was
+ushered into a hall where several persons were already waiting, and
+through which the duke was obliged to pass on his way to attend morning
+services in the chapel.
+
+At ten o'clock, the duke appeared. Coursegol, who had not seen him for
+several years, found him greatly changed. But the face surrounded by
+white floating locks had not lost the benign expression which had always
+characterized it; and he displayed the same simplicity of manner that
+had always endeared him to the poor and humble. When he entered the
+hall, the people who had been waiting for him, advanced to meet him.
+They were mostly noblemen who owed their lives to his influence, and
+who, thanks to him, were allowed to remain in France unmolested. He
+listened to them with an abstracted air, glancing to the right and left
+while they offered him their homage. Suddenly he perceived Coursegol who
+was standing at a little distance awaiting his turn. He stepped toward
+him and said:
+
+"What do you desire, my friend?"
+
+Coursegol bowed profoundly.
+
+"Monseigneur," he replied, "I am the servant of the Marquis Philip de
+Chamondrin, who once had the honor to belong to your household."
+
+"Chamondrin! I remember him perfectly; a brave young man for whom my
+poor Lamballe obtained a commission as captain of dragoons. I had news
+of him quite recently."
+
+"News of him!" exclaimed Coursegol, joyfully. "Ah! Monseigneur, where is
+he? How is he?"
+
+"Are you anxious to know?" inquired the duke.
+
+"Your highness shall judge."
+
+And Coursegol briefly recounted the events that had separated him from
+Philip, and told the duke how Dolores and himself had come to Paris in
+the hope of finding him. His recital must have been both eloquent and
+pathetic, for when it was concluded tears stood in the eyes of the
+listeners.
+
+"Ah! What anxiety the young girl must have suffered!" exclaimed the
+prince; "but I can reassure her. Yes; I recently received a letter from
+the Marquis de Chamondrin. It shall be given to you and you shall carry
+it to his sister. She will be indebted to me for a few hours of
+happiness. My dear Miromesnil," added the duke, addressing an old man
+who was standing near, "will you look in my correspondence of the month
+of October for a letter bearing the signature of Chamondrin? When you
+find it, give it to this worthy man."
+
+Coursegol began to stammer out his thanks, but, without heeding them,
+the duke came still nearer and said, in a low voice:
+
+"Does Mademoiselle de Chamondrin require aid of any sort?"
+
+"No, monseigneur," replied Coursegol.
+
+"Do not forget that I am ready to come to her assistance whenever it is
+necessary; and assure her of my sincere sympathy."
+
+Having uttered these words, the kind-hearted prince passed on, leaning
+upon the arm of a nobleman connected with his household. Coursegol,
+elated by the certainty that Philip was alive, could scarcely restrain
+his impatience; but he waited for the promised letter, which would prove
+to Dolores that those she loved were still on earth. In a few moments M.
+de Miromesnil returned. He held the precious letter in his hand and gave
+it to Coursegol, who hastily perused it. It was dated in London, and had
+been addressed to the duke soon after the death of Madame de Lamballe.
+It contained no allusion to Mademoiselle de Mirandol, and Philip said
+but little about himself; still was it not an unspeakable relief to him
+to feel that he was alive and to know in what country he was sojourning.
+
+Eager to place this letter in the hands of Dolores, Coursegol started
+for home immediately; but, instead of returning as he came, he took
+passage in the diligence that plied between Rouen and Paris; and that
+same evening, after so many months of dreary waiting, he was able to
+relieve the anxiety that Dolores had felt regarding her brother's fate.
+The girl's joy was intense, and she devoutly thanked God who had revived
+her faith and hope just as she was beginning to despair. If Coursegol
+had listened to her, they would have started for London without delay,
+so eager was she to rejoin Philip and Antoinette whom she supposed
+married. But Coursegol convinced her of the absolute impossibility of
+this journey. They could reach the sea only by passing through the
+greatest dangers.
+
+"Besides," added Coursegol, "what does this letter prove? That M. Philip
+is safe and well, of course; but it does not prove that he is still in
+London."
+
+"Coursegol is right!" remarked Bridoul. "Before you think of starting,
+you must write to M. Philip."
+
+"But can letters pass the frontier more easily than persons?" asked
+Dolores.
+
+"Oh, I will take care of all that. If you wish to write, I know a
+gentleman who is going to England and who will take charge of your
+letter."
+
+"Then I will write," said Dolores, with a sigh. "I would have preferred
+to go myself, but since that is impossible----"
+
+She paused, resolved to wait in patience.
+
+Coursegol breathed freely again. He feared she would persist in her
+determination to go, and that he would be obliged to tell her that their
+resources were nearly exhausted and would not suffice to meet the costs
+of such a long and difficult journey, every step of which would demand a
+lavish expenditure of money.
+
+Since the destruction of Chamondrin, Dolores had been entirely dependent
+upon Coursegol's bounty. The latter had possessed quite a snug little
+fortune, inherited from his parents; but a sojourn of fifteen months at
+Beaucaire and more than a year's income expended on the journey to Paris
+had made great inroads in his little capital. Fortunately, on arriving
+in Paris, the generous hospitality of the Bridouls had spared him the
+necessity of drawing upon the remnant of his fortune. This amounted now
+to about twelve hundred francs. Still, he felt that he could not remain
+much longer under the roof of these worthy people without trespassing
+upon their kindness and generosity, for they firmly refused to accept
+any remuneration; and Coursegol was anxiously wondering how he could
+support Dolores when this money was exhausted. He confided his anxiety
+to Bridoul; but the latter, instead of sharing it, showed him that such
+a sum was equivalent to a fortune in times like those.
+
+"Twelve hundred francs!" said he. "Why that is more than enough for the
+establishment of a lucrative business or for speculation in assignats
+which, with prudence, would yield you a fortune."
+
+It was good advice. Gold and silver were becoming scarce; and assignats
+were subject to daily fluctuations that afforded one an excellent
+opportunity to realize handsome profits, if one had a little money on
+hand and knew how to employ it to advantage.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+CITIZEN JEAN VAUQUELAS.
+
+
+In April, 1793, about eight months after his arrival in Paris, Coursegol
+went one evening to the Palais Égalité. The establishment, which had
+formerly been known as the Palais Royal, had at that epoch a splendor
+and an importance of which its present appearance gives but a faint
+conception. One should read in the journals of those days the
+description of the galleries ever filled with an eager, bustling throng
+attracted by the excitement and the unwholesome amusements always to be
+found there. Mercier, in sharp, almost indignant language, gives us a
+vivid picture of the famous resort. Gambling-dens, dance-halls, shops
+devoted to the sale of the most reckless and infamous productions,
+restaurants and wine-shops were to be seen on every side. The spirit of
+speculation and gambling raged with inconceivable violence. Vice sat
+enthroned there, and when evening came the immense establishment was
+densely crowded by a throng of people thirsting for pleasure, and
+circling round and round in the brilliantly-lighted galleries to the
+sound of the violins that mounted to the ears of the promenaders from
+the dance-halls in the basement below.
+
+Coursegol frequently visited the Palais Égalité. At the instance of
+Bridoul he had speculated a little in assignats which were constantly
+fluctuating in value. It was the only negotiation in which Coursegol
+would consent to embark. He might have trafficked in the estates of the
+Émigres which the Republic was selling at a merely nominal price; but he
+had no desire to become the owner of what he considered stolen property.
+After a few evenings spent in the Palais Égalité, Coursegol became
+acquainted with most of the brokers who transacted business there. They
+were stout, well-fed, jovial men, whose self-satisfied and flourishing
+appearance seemed a stinging irony hurled in the face of the poor
+wretches who were perishing of hunger in the Faubourgs of Paris. They
+could be seen rushing about the garden and through the galleries, giving
+orders to their subordinates whose duty it was to find new clients, and
+to allure unsophisticated provincials, that they might rob them of their
+money to cast it into the gulf in which the fortunes of so many had been
+swallowed up.
+
+These unprincipled persons resorted to the basest means to dupe those
+who trusted them. They called wine and reckless women to their aid, and
+thus disarmed the unsuspecting men who came to the money market with the
+hope of doubling their capital. In the Palais Égalité, conspiracies were
+formed not only against the Republic but against the fortunes, the
+place, and even the lives of its citizens. Still even the dread
+Committee of Public Safety were powerless to discover the formidable
+enemies that concealed themselves there. That Coursegol was not
+irretrievably lost the instant he crossed the threshold of this
+mysterious and dangerous cavern was due entirely to Bridoul, who had
+volunteered to act as his guide and protector. Bridoul possessed a very
+considerable amount of influence. He presented his comrade to some of
+the fortunate speculators, and recommended him to them to such purpose
+that several of them took Coursegol under their protection.
+Quick-witted, endowed with remarkable energy and tact, and inspired by
+an ardent desire to acquire wealth for the sake of Dolores, he rendered
+them important services on more than one occasion by lending his obscure
+and modest name to conceal operations in which a well-known personage
+could not have embarked without peril.
+
+Coursegol was only a peasant; but he had served in the army a long time,
+and contact with others had sharpened his wits, while the excellent
+judgment of his old master, the Marquis de Chamondrin, had not failed to
+exert a most beneficial effect upon his intellectual development. Hence,
+though it was not without hesitation that he entered upon a career so
+entirely new to him, he at least brought with him not only honesty,
+prudence and tact, but a coolness which could not but contribute notably
+to his success in those perturbed times.
+
+On the evening to which we have alluded he went to the Palais Égalité as
+usual. It was after nightfall, and the restaurants were filled to
+overflowing with crowds of excited people glad to forget in the
+distractions of play, of speculation and of good cheer the woes of the
+country and their own degradation. Some were eagerly buying tickets that
+would entitle them to seats in the Théâtre de la République, only a
+hundred paces distant; others were buying the daily papers. Some were
+promenading with that careless gayety that never deserts the French even
+in their darkest days, while they insolently eyed the shameless women,
+who, with bold gaze and naked shoulders, stood there endeavoring to
+attract the attention of the passers-by. Others rushed to the gambling
+saloons, already dreaming of the stroke of good fortune that would
+enlarge the rolls of assignats with which their pockets were filled.
+
+Some promenaders approached each other with mysterious proposals, and
+afterwards repaired to the garden where they could converse undisturbed.
+It was there that many confidential interviews were held, it was there
+that the most diverse hopes had birth; it was there that the Royalists,
+the friends and the relatives of the Émigrés or of suspected persons
+incarcerated in prison plotted for the return of the Bourbons or for the
+deliverance of the poor wretches whose lives hung upon a thread. There,
+too, the spies in the employ of the Committee of Public Safety, or of
+the Commune, flitted about, trying to discover any secret that might be
+hostile to the Republic. Sometimes gloomy visaged men or women with pale
+and anxious looks were seen hurrying through the crowd; some man who
+had been vainly seeking bread for his children; some woman whose husband
+was in the Luxembourg or in the Abbaye prisons, awaiting the dread fiat
+of the Revolutionary Tribunal.
+
+These livid and despairing faces were the only blemishes upon the
+exuberant gayety that prevailed; but no one saw them and the poor
+wretches disappeared without exciting either anger or pity.
+
+The eyes of Coursegol were accustomed to this spectacle, so he walked
+coolly through the galleries heedless of the tumult around him and
+paused only when he met a group of acquaintances who were discussing the
+news of the day. Suddenly some one tapped him on the shoulder. He
+turned.
+
+"Is that you, Citizen Vauquelas?"
+
+"I wish to speak to you, Coursegol."
+
+At the same time the man who had just interrupted Coursegol's promenade
+took him by the arm and led him toward the garden. He was clad in black
+and enveloped in a large cloak that would have made him look like a
+priest had it not been for the high hat, ornamented with the national
+cockade, which proved him a patriot of the middle class. His thin,
+emaciated face, deeply furrowed with wrinkles indicated that he had long
+since passed his sixtieth birthday; but there was nothing else in his
+appearance that betokened old age. His form was so erect, his eye so
+clear, his step so firm, that one, not seeing his face, would have
+thought him still in the prime of life.
+
+On entering the garden, Vauquelas glanced around, but, seeing no place
+which he deemed sufficiently retired, he seemed to change his plan.
+
+"I fear that these trees have ears," said he, "and what I wish to say to
+you must not be overheard."
+
+And without saying more, he led the way to the Café Corazza. They
+entered it. The saloon was filled with people, eating and drinking while
+they read the papers or indulged in heated political discussions. One
+man had mounted a table and was delivering a long discourse. He was
+endeavoring to convince his listeners that France was being betrayed by
+the secret agents sent to Paris by the Émigrés. His was no new theme;
+buy the orator displayed so much energy that his audience was polite
+enough to seem pleased with his efforts. Vauquelas, who appeared to be
+perfectly at home, crossed the room to whisper a word in the ear of the
+man who was standing at the cashier's desk. This man, who proved to be
+the proprietor of the establishment, at once conducted Vauquelas to a
+private room. Coursegol followed, and, the proprietor having taken his
+departure, the two men found themselves alone.
+
+"I have been contemplating the proposition I am about to make you for
+several months," Vauquelas then began. "The very first time I saw you, I
+made up my mind that you were the man to aid me in the projects I had
+long since formed, but which had not been carried into execution for
+want of an assistant in whom I could implicitly confide. But before I
+trusted you with my plans, I wished to know you; so I have studied you
+closely while you were unconscious of my scrutiny. I have admired the
+prudence you have displayed in all your business transactions. You suit
+me; and if you see fit to accede to the proposition I am about to offer
+for your consideration, our fortunes are made."
+
+"I am listening, Citizen Vauquelas," replied Coursegol, "but I may as
+well tell you that it will be useless to confide your plans to me if
+they are not perfectly honest."
+
+"You shall judge," rejoined Vauquelas, not appearing in the least
+wounded by Coursegol's remark. "Last month the Republic passed a decree
+against the Émigrés, ordering the confiscation of their property for the
+benefit of the nation. This measure has been carried into execution, and
+the government is now the possessor of a large amount of such property.
+These lands will be sold at public auction, and will fall into all sorts
+of hands. They will be divided and parceled out, and the rightful owners
+when they return to France will have no power to take possession of the
+property that once belonged to them. Very well--now I have wondered if
+the purchase of a portion of this property would not be both profitable
+and a praiseworthy action."
+
+"And why?" inquired Coursegol, who had been listening attentively.
+
+"The reason is plain," replied Vauquelas. "Will it not be for the
+interest of the exiled owners that their estates should be bought on the
+most favorable possible terms, and properly cared for. The brigands who
+are now in power will fall some day; and then the Émigrés will return.
+Will they not be glad to find their property in good and careful hands,
+and to be able to regain possession of it by paying the trifling sum
+which the government received for it?"
+
+Coursegol did not reply at once, he was reflecting.
+
+"The transactions would be honest enough," he said at last; "but if you
+purchase the lands of the government to-day and sell them later to their
+owners at the same price you paid for them, where would your profit come
+in?"
+
+"I would pay for them in assignats; their owners would pay me in gold."
+
+Vauquelas uttered these last words with an air of triumph; then, as if
+fearing Coursegol's objections, he made haste to develop his scheme.
+
+"The assignats have already undergone a very considerable depreciation.
+With fifty thousand francs in gold one can, to-day, purchase at least
+two hundred thousand francs in assignats; and the depreciation will
+become much greater. There is a piece of property in the Faubourg
+Saint-Germain which will be ostensibly sold for two millions by the
+Republic, but which will really cost the purchaser only two hundred
+thousand francs; and, by and by, the owner will have no difficulty in
+disposing of it again for the ostensible price he paid for it, and it
+will be only natural and right that he should demand gold in payment."
+
+"And in what way could I be of service to you?" Coursegol timidly
+inquired.
+
+"By lending me your name. We will buy sometimes in your name, sometimes
+in mine, so we shall not arouse suspicion."
+
+"But where shall we find the money?"
+
+Vauquelas arose and, without the slightest hesitation, replied:
+
+"Since I have begun to give you my confidence, I will hide nothing. Come
+with me."
+
+Vauquelas, as we have said before, had arrived at the trying age of
+three-score and ten, which, for the majority of men, is the age of
+decrepitude, that sinister forerunner of death; but time had neither
+bowed his head nor enfeebled his intellect. The clearness of his mind
+and the vigor of his limbs indicated that he was likely to be one of
+those centenarians who carry their years so lightly that they make us
+think with regret of that golden age in which the gods could confer
+immortality upon man. His eye still flashed with all the ardor of youth;
+and in his breast glowed a fire which age was powerless to quench.
+Vauquelas had formerly been a magistrate in Arras. A widower, without a
+child for whose fate he was compelled to tremble, he had seen the
+approach of the Revolution and the Reign of Terror without the slightest
+dismay; and the tenth of August found him in Paris, drawn there by the
+desire to increase his by no means contemptible fortune, and to win the
+favor of those who were then in power.
+
+He had taken up his abode in a modest mansion at the extremity of the
+Faubourg du Roule. The house stood in the centre of a garden, which was
+protected from the gaze of the curious by high walls that surrounded it
+on every side. Served by an old woman whom he had brought from Arras, he
+apparently lived the life of a recluse who desires to remain a stranger
+to the changes and emotions of the moment, and to end his days in peace
+and quietness. He received no visitors; and the people in the
+neighborhood thought him a poor man who had lost his family and
+squandered his money in unfortunate speculations. He never left the
+house until evening and always returned very late at night. A
+sans-culotte, who lived near by and whose suspicions had been aroused,
+followed him one evening. He fancied him a conspirator, he saw him enter
+the Palais Égalité, speak to several persons who seemed to listen to him
+with extreme deference, and afterwards repair to the house of one of the
+most influential members of the Committee of Public Safety, where he
+remained until two o'clock in the morning, and then returned home. The
+self-constituted spy concluded that he had to deal with one of the
+Committee's secret agents; and he was inspired with such wholesome awe
+that he decided to push his investigations no further.
+
+In reality, Vauquelas was nothing more nor less than a man tormented by
+an unappeasable thirst for wealth. He had only one passion: a passion
+for gold. It was this that urged him--in spite of a fortune that would
+have satisfied his modest wants ten times over--into all kinds of
+financial ventures. It was this that had suggested to him the idea of
+ingratiating himself with the men who were in power, and thus gain their
+friendship, their influences and protection. In all the acts of the
+government, in the great events that succeeded one another day after
+day, he saw only an opportunity for speculation. Whether peace or war
+prevailed; whether the people obeyed the Commune or Convention; whether
+they worshipped the Supreme Being or the Goddess of Reason; whether the
+men condemned to death were innocent or guilty mattered little to him.
+These things interested him only by the effect they might produce on the
+money-market. So he had allied himself in turn with the Girondists and
+with the Jacobins. He had loaned money to Mirabeau; he had speculated
+with Barras and with Tallien, always placing himself at the service of
+those who held the power or seemed likely to hold it in the future.
+
+Such was the man whose confidence Coursegol had won by his honesty and
+sagacity. He appeared in the pathway of Vauquelas just as the latter had
+arrived at the conclusion that further speculation in assignats would be
+extremely hazardous, and just as he was looking about him for some
+reliable man who would join him in enterprises of a different and much
+safer nature. In those perilous times it was hard to find a person in
+whom one could implicitly confide. Denunciation, that fatal weapon that
+lay within the reach of every hand, was frequently made the instrument
+of personal vengeance. No one was beyond its reach; and Vauquelas was
+not disposed to reveal his plans to a man who would be likely to betray
+them or him.
+
+It was about eight o'clock when the two men left the Café and the
+Palais Égalité, and entered one of the cabriolets that stood before the
+theatre, a few steps below.
+
+In about twenty minutes, the carriage stopped not far from the
+Folies-Bergères. When the driver had been paid and dismissed, Vauquelas
+and Coursegol traversed the unoccupied ground that lay between the Rue
+du Roule and the Champs-Élysées. The place was dark and deserted. A few
+houses, surrounded by gardens, skirted the street. Superb residences
+have since been erected there and Boulevards have been opened; but at
+the time of which we write this Faubourg resembled a street in a quiet
+country village. It was here that Vauquelas lived. As the two men were
+approaching the house by a path shaded with lindens, pruned into the
+same uniformity as those at Versailles, an enormous dog sprang out upon
+them, barking ferociously. With a word, Vauquelas quieted him; then,
+turning to Coursegol, he said, smiling:
+
+"This is the guardian of my dwelling. If need be, he can hold a band of
+robbers at bay."
+
+They reached the house and were admitted by the old servant, who
+conducted them to the drawing-room.
+
+"Give me a lantern and then go to bed, my good woman," said Vauquelas.
+
+She disappeared, but soon returned, bearing in one hand a double
+candlestick which she placed upon a table, and in the other the lantern
+for which her master had called.
+
+"Follow me," said Coursegol's host.
+
+Coursegol obeyed. They left the drawing-room, passed through several
+small and shabbily furnished apartments, and at last entered a small
+passage. Vauquelas opened a door and Coursegol saw a narrow stairway
+winding down into the cellar.
+
+"This is my wine-cellar and it is well stocked," said Vauquelas, with a
+smile.
+
+He spoke only the simple truth. Countless casks ranged along the wall
+and long shelves filled with dusty bottles attracted Coursegol's
+attention; but he could scarcely understand why Vauquelas had brought
+him there if he had nothing else to show him. Suddenly the latter
+exclaimed:
+
+"You asked me just now if I had money enough for the enterprise I
+proposed to you. You shall judge for yourself, for I am going to reveal
+my secret."
+
+As he spoke he seized a spade that stood near by, removed a few shovels
+full of earth and disclosed a large white stone slab, in the centre of
+which was an iron ring which enabled him to lift it.
+
+"Look!" said he.
+
+Coursegol bent over the opening and looked in. He saw a large iron box
+buried in the earth and filled with sacks of gold. The bright metal
+gleamed through the meshes of the coarse bags, dazzling the eye of the
+beholder with its golden glory. Vauquelas seemed to enjoy Coursegol's
+surprise; but it was in vain that he tried to discover the slightest
+vestige of envy or avarice in the face of his visitor. Coursegol was
+astonished, and perhaps dazzled by the sight of so much wealth, but no
+evil thought entered his mind. Vauquelas breathed more freely. He had
+just subjected the man upon whom he had bestowed his confidence to a
+decisive test, and he had emerged from it victorious.
+
+"There are two millions here," he remarked.
+
+"Two millions! Do they belong to you?"
+
+"They belong to me."
+
+"And you are not satisfied! You wish to acquire more!"
+
+"Oh! it is a question of health to me. If I stopped work I should soon
+die; and I wish to live--life is good!"
+
+There was a moment's silence, and Vauquelas looked tenderly at his
+treasure.
+
+"Moreover, as I have told you, we shall not only make money, but perform
+a most commendable action," he remarked after a little. "We will
+purchase some of those fine houses on the Faubourg Saint-Germain, which
+have been confiscated by the government in their masters' absence. We
+will take good care of them. In some hands, they would soon fall to
+ruin; but in ours they will increase in value, and when their former
+owners return, they will find their homes in the same condition as when
+they left them. They will buy them from us, and they will be ever
+grateful to us. Come, my boy, make up your mind. Will you become my
+partner in this enterprise?"
+
+"I accept your offer," replied Coursegol. He saw his fortune assured in
+a few years, and Dolores forever out of the reach of want.
+
+"Do you know how to write?" Vauquelas inquired.
+
+"Not very well."
+
+"That is bad. We must keep an account of our business operations; it
+will not do to take any one else into our confidence, and I cannot do
+the work myself. My eyesight is not very good."
+
+"I will do my best," replied Coursegol, mentally cursing his ignorance.
+
+Suddenly another plan flashed through his brain.
+
+"Ah! now I have it," he exclaimed, eagerly. "This work that you cannot
+do and that I should do so badly can be entrusted to my daughter."
+
+"Your daughter! You have a daughter! You have never told me that you
+were a married man."
+
+Coursegol was silent for a moment; he seemed to hesitate.
+
+"I will return confidence for confidence," he said finally.
+
+Then he related the history of Dolores, and his own. When it was ended,
+Vauquelas rubbed his hands joyfully.
+
+"She will not betray us," said he. "Ah well! Everything is for the
+best."
+
+He covered the box in which his gold was concealed with earth, and then
+the two men returned to the drawing-room. They remained in earnest
+conversation for some time, Vauquelas disclosing his plans for the
+future, the other listening and proffering occasional but judicious
+suggestions. It was after midnight when they separated.
+
+Coursegol walked home. Twice he was stopped by the patrols, but, thanks
+to the credentials he carried with him, he was allowed to pursue his
+way unmolested. A week later, Dolores and Coursegol left Bridoul's house
+to take up their abode in that of Vauquelas. The parting was a sad one.
+Cornelia Bridoul loved Dolores as fondly as the latter loved her; still
+they would have frequent opportunities to see each other, and this
+thought greatly alleviated their sorrow.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+AN EPISODE OF THE EMIGRATION.
+
+
+On the first Sunday in the month of September, 1793, about ten o'clock
+in the morning, a young girl clad in mourning emerged from the doorway
+of a pretty cottage in the suburbs of London. She slowly descended the
+broad and handsome steps that led up to the dwelling, passed through the
+garden, and having opened the gate, gazed anxiously in the direction of
+the city.
+
+She was a brunette, rather fragile in appearance, and petite in stature;
+and though she was not really beautiful, hers was a sympathetic and
+altogether charming face. The air of elegance that characterized her
+person and her attire, the whiteness of her hands, and her delicate and
+refined features, all indicated that she was a person of gentle birth.
+She did not appear to be more than twenty years of age. By the anxiety
+with which her large blue eyes scanned the horizon, it was easy to
+divine that she was expecting some loved one; but it was also evident
+that he did not come quickly enough to suit her desires, for she seemed
+restless and impatient.
+
+"What if he should not come?" she murmured. As if these words had been
+heard, a voice responded:
+
+"Do not be impatient, dear Antoinette. M. Philip said he would be here
+to-day, but did not mention the hour; and the day has scarcely begun.
+You will see him, never fear."
+
+The lady who had just spoken had used the English language. She was a
+kind, motherly looking person, past middle age. Understanding the young
+girl's anxiety, she had joined her with the desire to appease it.
+Antoinette replied, not without some bitterness:
+
+"I am quite sure that we shall see him, dear Mrs. Reed; but have I not a
+right to be impatient? Has it not been three weeks since he was here?"
+
+"You do not know what important interests may have detained him in
+London."
+
+Antoinette shook her head; then, after casting another glance at the
+deserted road, she sadly returned to the house. Mrs. Reed followed her,
+trying to divert her mind and make her forget the sorrow and anxiety
+caused by Philip's long absence. The two ladies entered a small, but
+prettily furnished parlor and seated themselves at a round table, upon
+which a servant had just deposited a smoking tea-urn, some empty cups
+and some bread and butter. Just then, a very stout man entered the room.
+It was Mr. Reed, the master of the house. He strongly resembled his
+wife; there was the same age, the same corpulence, the same kind and
+benevolent expression of countenance.
+
+"Ah, well! mademoiselle," he remarked to the young girl, pouring out a
+cup of tea, "this is a fête day, is it not? You are expecting Monsieur
+Philip?"
+
+Antoinette made no response. Mrs. Reed answered for her.
+
+"Mademoiselle Antoinette is afraid her cousin will not keep his word."
+
+"She is wrong then," quietly remarked Mr. Reed, who was now standing by
+the window, sipping his tea, "she is wrong, for here he is!"
+
+Antoinette sprang up, uttering a cry of joy. She was about to rush out
+to meet Philip, but the latter did not give her time. He entered almost
+immediately, and Antoinette flew to his arms. All her doubts, all her
+griefs were forgotten! Ah! If the hour of separation is cruel when it
+sounds in the ears of those who love, how sweet is the hour that
+reunites them! Antoinette clung rapturously to Philip's breast, and Mr.
+and Mrs. Reed, wishing to allow the young people to enjoy each other's
+society undisturbed, left the room; but before he went, Mr. Reed said to
+Philip:
+
+"You will spend the day and dine with us, will you not?"
+
+"Ah! how gladly would I do so! But I shall be obliged to leave in an
+hour!"
+
+Mr. Reed stood motionless for a moment, actually stupefied with
+astonishment.
+
+"What! you are going to leave me so soon?" cried Antoinette,
+despairingly.
+
+"I will explain my reasons," replied Philip.
+
+Mr. Reed bowed and followed his wife, who had just disappeared.
+
+Two years had passed since Philip fled with Antoinette from the burning
+château and from the bedside of his dying father. On quitting the scene
+of the catastrophe that destroyed the home of his childhood, Philip
+accompanied by Mlle. de Mirandol repaired to Valence. There, a friend of
+the Chamondrin family furnished them with the means to pursue their
+journey to England, which country they gained after many perils and
+vicissitudes.
+
+London served as a refuge for many of the Émigrés, but Philip had chosen
+the capital of Great Britain as a retreat for Antoinette, principally
+because he knew that a portion of Mlle. de Mirandol's fortune was in the
+hands of a banker in that city, and because it would be easy there to
+obtain news from Louisiana, where the heiress of M. de Mirandol still
+owned considerable property.
+
+After their perilous journey was concluded and they were safely
+established in England, the agitation caused by the great disaster which
+had deprived them of so much that they loved was succeeded by a relative
+calm which gave them an opportunity to look their situation in the face.
+They both found it exceedingly embarrassing. Antoinette remembered only
+that she loved Philip, and that, in obedience to the request of his
+dying father, he had solemnly promised to marry her. She was simply
+waiting for him to fulfil this promise, and already regarded herself as
+his wife.
+
+As for Philip, he inwardly cursed this promise. His thoughts were
+constantly occupied with Dolores; he said to himself that since the
+convents had been broken up, she must be free if she were still alive;
+and he would not believe that she was dead. He was certain that she was
+still alive, that Coursegol had remained with her to protect her, and
+that the day of their meeting was near at hand. These thoughts made his
+heart rebel against the yoke he had striven to impose upon it; for no
+matter what attempts may be made to destroy it, hope will not die in a
+heart that loves sincerely. It resists time and the sternest ordeals.
+Death alone can, not destroy it, but transform it, by associating
+realization with the delights of a future life which shall know no
+blight or decay.
+
+Still, Philip dare not speak frankly to Mlle. de Mirandol. He loved her
+with true brotherly affection; and his courage failed him when he
+thought of the misery his confession would cause this loving and artless
+girl. Moreover, the promise he had made to his father was ever on his
+mind, arousing constant sorrow and remorse. He resolved, therefore, to
+gain time, if possible. With this aim in view, he had a long
+conversation with Antoinette a few days after their arrival in London.
+Without referring to the engagement which he had a just right to
+consider irrevocable, he requested that its accomplishment should be
+deferred until his period of mourning had expired. He pleaded the tragic
+death of his father and the uncertainty that still enshrouded the fate
+of Dolores and of Coursegol as reasons for delay; and Antoinette
+consented. He then gave her to understand that, as they were not
+married, it was not proper for them to remain under the same roof, and
+told her that he had found a pleasant home for her with some worthy
+people who resided in the environs of London and who, as they had no
+children of their own, would be glad to have a young girl with them as a
+boarder. Antoinette consented to this arrangement also; and this
+explains her installation in the Reed household. Mr. Reed was formerly a
+merchant, but had retired from business to spend his last years in quiet
+and comfort. The situation of the French Émigrés had aroused the
+sympathy of the kind-hearted man and his wife, so Philip's proposition
+was gladly accepted, and they petted and spoiled the young girl
+entrusted to their charge as if she had been their own daughter.
+
+Philip remained in London; but once a week he came to spend a day with
+Antoinette; and the hours that Mlle. de Mirandol thought so delightful
+flew by all too swiftly for her. They never spoke of the future. Philip
+carefully avoided any allusion to that subject; but they talked of the
+past and of Dolores whose fate was still veiled in mystery.
+
+Sometimes, accompanied by Mrs. Reed, Antoinette visited the poor Émigrés
+who had taken refuge in London, and relieved their necessities. She also
+requested Philip, who had charge of her property, never to refuse aid to
+any of her countrymen or countrywomen who asked it of him; and in the
+benefits she quietly conferred upon the needy around her she found some
+consolation for her own sorrow and anxiety. As for Philip, he had
+plunged into the active and feverish life led by most of the Émigrés, as
+if he desired to drown his own doubts and regrets in bustle and
+excitement.
+
+London was then the rendezvous of a great proportion of those who had
+fled from the Reign of Terror. Princes, noblemen, prelates and ladies of
+rank, who were striving to console themselves for the hardships of exile
+by bright dreams of the future, had assembled there. They plotted
+against the Republic; they planned descents upon France, attacks upon
+Paris, movements in La Vendée, and the assassination of Robespierre and
+his friends; but all these schemes were rendered fruitless by the spirit
+of rivalry and of intrigue that prevailed. They were all united upon the
+result to be attained, but divided as to the means of attaining it. In
+this great party there were a thousand factions. They quarreled at a
+word; they slandered one another; they patched up flimsy
+reconciliations. French society had taken with it into exile all its
+faults, vanities, frivolities and ignorance. Philip de Chamondrin did
+not forsake this circle, though he inwardly chafed at the weakness of
+purpose that was exhibited on every side; but here he could live in a
+constant fever of excitement and could forget his personal griefs and
+anxieties. This was not the case with Antoinette, however, and if Philip
+had hoped that by living apart from him and seeing him only at rare
+intervals she would soon cease to love him, he was mistaken.
+Antoinette's heart did not change. She waited, and had it not been for
+the events that hastened the solution of the difficulty, she would have
+waited always; and though she suffered deeply, she concealed her grief
+so carefully that even the friends with whom she lived and who loved her
+as tenderly as if she had been their daughter were deceived. All
+Philip's attempts to destroy her love for him proved fruitless. Her
+heart once given was given irrevocably. Nor did she possess that
+experience which would have enabled her to see that she was not beloved.
+She attributed Philip's coldness to the successive misfortunes that had
+befallen him; and she was waiting for time to assuage his sorrow and
+awaken feelings responsive to her own.
+
+Under these circumstances one can easily understand why she had awaited
+Philip's coming with such feverish impatience. Three weeks had passed
+since she had seen him; and all Mrs. Reed's caresses and well-meant
+attempts at consolation had failed to overcome her chagrin. Philip had
+come at last! She had sprung forward to meet him without making any
+effort to conceal the joy awakened by the prospect of a day spent with
+him, and she had hardly done this when the young man announced that he
+must leave in an hour.
+
+"Will you explain the cause of this hasty departure?" she said, as soon
+as they were alone.
+
+Her voice trembled and her lovely eyes were dim with tears.
+
+"I am leaving you, Antoinette, to go where duty calls me," replied
+Philip, gravely.
+
+"Duty? What duty?"
+
+"The queen is still imprisoned in the Temple. It is said that she will
+soon be sentenced to death. I have formed the project of wresting her
+from the hands of her enemies, of rescuing her from their sanguinary
+fury."
+
+"Alone?" cried Antoinette, overcome with terror at the thought of the
+dangers Philip would incur.
+
+"Six of us have resolved to save her or die! We go together. A vessel is
+to convey us to the coast of Brittany. From there we shall make our way
+to Paris as best we can."
+
+"But what can you do, you, so few in number?"
+
+"God will be with us," replied Philip. "Besides, we shall find friends
+in Paris who will gladly join our little band."
+
+On hearing these words which proved that Philip's determination was
+immovable, Antoinette could not control her emotion. She sank into an
+arm chair, covered her pale face with her trembling hands and burst into
+tears.
+
+"Do not weep so bitterly, my dear Antoinette," said Philip, touched by
+her despair and kneeling beside her.
+
+"Why did you not consult me before engaging in this mad and perilous
+undertaking?" she said, at last. "You are leaving me, abandoning me
+without even asking what my fate will be when I no longer have you to
+protect me; without thinking how I shall suffer in your absence, and
+forgetting that if you should be killed I too should die!"
+
+Philip, deeply moved, took her hands and said, gently:
+
+"Be comforted; I shall not die; you will see me again soon. Do you not
+feel that I should be dishonored if I shrank from the task that is
+before me? Could you respect a man who might be justly accused of
+cowardice and of failure to perform his duty. The queen was formerly my
+benefactress; how can I stand here to-day, and make no effort to rescue
+her from death?"
+
+"But if you should die!"
+
+This cry betrayed Antoinette's love in all its passionate intensity, and
+it found an echo in Philip's heart.
+
+"I shall not be killed," said he, trying to make Mlle. de Mirandol share
+the conviction that animated his own mind; then, seeing her so sad and
+heart-broken at his departure, he added, with mingled remorse and
+tenderness:
+
+"When I return, the fulfilment of the promise I made you shall be no
+longer delayed."
+
+He had not referred to this subject before for a long time, and these
+few words carried unspeakable comfort to Antoinette's heart.
+
+"I have no right to detain you," said she. "Go! May you succeed and soon
+return. I shall pray for you."
+
+They conversed some time longer. Philip, who had until then, taken
+charge of Antoinette's business interests, told her that he had decided
+to entrust them until his return to Mr. Reed. He knew her protector to
+be an honest man in whom she could place perfect confidence; still, he
+felt that it was not only proper, but necessary, to acquaint the girl
+with the extent of her resources and the condition of her affairs. After
+he had done this, he asked to see Mr. and Mrs. Reed. He recommended
+Mlle. de Mirandol to their care, and for the first time revealed the
+fact that she was his betrothed. So at the moment of separation, he
+forced himself to render the pang of parting less bitter to her. The
+hope of approaching happiness did much to assuage Antoinette's grief,
+and Philip was scarcely gone before she began to forget the past in
+dreams of the future.
+
+The six weeks that followed Philip's departure were weeks of constant
+anxiety and alarm. Antoinette could not close her eyes to the perils
+that threatened Philip on every side. The reports that reached London in
+regard to the condition of affairs in Paris were not calculated to
+reassure her. She heard of the active surveillance exercised by the
+Committee of Public Safety, and of the terrible punishment inflicted
+upon those who were guilty of no crime save that of being regarded with
+suspicion. She was in constant fear lest some misfortune had happened to
+Philip. Every night and every morning she prayed for him. He was ever in
+her thoughts; and she was continually trying to divine where he was and
+what he was doing. Every day she looked eagerly for a letter which would
+relieve her anxiety, but in vain. No news came, and she was forced to be
+content with such rumors as Mr. Reed could collect for her in the city.
+
+On the twenty-second of October that good man did not return until
+unusually late in the evening. Antoinette was awaiting him, her heart
+oppressed by the gloomiest forebodings. When he entered the room she saw
+that he was greatly agitated.
+
+"You have heard bad news!" she exclaimed, wildly.
+
+Mr. Reed did not attempt to deny it. He told Antoinette that the
+unfortunate queen of France had been put to death on the sixteenth, just
+six days before.
+
+"They have killed her!" exclaimed the horrified girl.
+
+She shuddered to think of Philip's probable fate. Since the queen was
+dead, the conspiracy which Philip had organized must have failed; and if
+it had failed, the conspirators had undoubtedly been discovered and
+arrested! This thought brought a deathlike pallor to her cheeks. Her
+friends saw her totter; they sprang forward to support her and she sank
+into their arms wild with anguish and despair.
+
+"Tell me all!" she entreated.
+
+"Alas! I know so little," responded kind-hearted Mr. Reed. "The queen
+was sentenced on the sixteenth and beheaded the same day. Several
+persons are now in prison, charged with a conspiracy to rescue her and
+place her son upon the throne. I could learn nothing further."
+
+"That is enough!" she cried. "Philip is in prison!"
+
+She was silent a moment; then suddenly she said, in a firm voice:
+
+"I must start at once."
+
+The husband and wife uttered an exclamation of dismay.
+
+"Start, and why?" demanded Mr. Reed.
+
+"To join Philip."
+
+"But it is walking straight into the jaws of death!" said Mrs. Reed.
+
+Antoinette only repeated even more firmly than before:
+
+"I must go at once!"
+
+Then she broke into a passion of sobbing. Mrs. Reed took her in her
+arms, dried her tears, and tried to reassure her, lavishing every
+endearment upon the unhappy girl.
+
+"My dear child," said she, "your lover confided you to our care; we
+cannot let you go. Besides, how do you know that your betrothed has not
+escaped the dangers you fear for him? He is young, strong and clever.
+Perhaps at this very moment he is on his way back to you."
+
+Antoinette made no reply; but she shook her head despondently, as if to
+give Mrs. Reed to understand that she had no hope. Still, she did not
+rebel against her guardian's decision. Mrs. Reed conducted her to her
+chamber, persuaded her to undress, and did not leave her until the girl
+had fallen asleep. But her slumber was of short duration. It was
+scarcely midnight when Antoinette awoke with a start from a frightful
+dream. Philip had appeared to her, his hands bound behind his back, his
+neck bare, his hair cut short. He was clad in the lugubrious garb of the
+condemned, and he called her name in a voice wild with entreaty.
+
+"Oh! I will go--I will go to save him or to die with him!"
+
+This cry was upon her lips when she woke. She sprang up, hastily dressed
+herself, took the little money that chanced to be in her possession,
+and some or her jewels, and when the first gleam of daylight illumined
+the sky, animated by a saint-like courage, she furtively left the roof
+that had sheltered her for three long years. When Mrs. Reed entered the
+young girl's room a few hours later, she found only a letter apprising
+her of Antoinette's fixed determination to go to the rescue of her
+lover, and thanking her most gratefully for her care and love. Mr. Reed
+hastened to London, hoping to overtake the fugitive. Vain attempt! His
+search was fruitless. Antoinette had disappeared.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+THE MOVING CURTAIN.
+
+
+Several months had passed since Dolores and Coursegol had taken up their
+abode in the house of Citizen Vauquelas. Coursegol, engrossed in the
+business matters which he had undertaken in concert with Vauquelas, went
+out every day, frequenting the Clubs, the Convention and the Palais
+Égalité. Dolores, on the contrary, seldom left the refuge that chance
+had provided for her. If she sometimes ventured into the heart of the
+city, it was only to visit Cornelia Bridoul or to accompany her to a
+stealthily said mass, solemnized in an obscure chamber by some
+courageous priest who dared for conscience's sake to bid defiance to the
+Committee of Public Safety, and who would have paid the penalty of
+disobedience with his blood, had he been discovered.
+
+The life of Dolores was extremely lonely and sad. Deprived of companions
+of her own age, and oppressed with anxiety concerning the fate of those
+who were so dear to her, she grew pale and wan like a plant deprived of
+sunlight; the old joyous, sonorous ring was gone from her voice and from
+her laugh. She had suffered so much during the past three years that she
+no longer cherished any hope of happiness in the future; and, instead
+of the bright dreams that are wont to gladden the slumber of young
+girls, sad memories of the past haunted her restless nights. Those whom
+she had loved and lost appeared before her as in a vision--the Marquise
+de Chamondrin, who had lavished upon her all a mother's care and
+tenderness; the Marquis, whose affection had filled her early years with
+joy; Philip and Antoinette, the brother and sister of her
+adoption--these appeared and vanished without awaking in her sorrowing
+heart any emotion save that of the profound anguish of separation. Look
+which way she would for comfort, she could find none; and she was
+condemned to bear her heavy burden alone. Those days of universal
+distrust were not propitious for the birth and development of new
+friendships; nor were Vauquelas and Coursegol such companions as Dolores
+needed to cheer and encourage her. During the few short hours that
+Coursegol spent at home, he was always absorbed in his calculations; and
+as for Vauquelas, though he treated her with rather cold respect, it was
+difficult to ascertain his real feelings toward her, for his furrowed
+face betrayed none of his impressions; and Dolores instinctively felt
+that she could not look to him for the consolation of which she stood so
+greatly in need. Her mornings were spent over the account-books, which
+had been entrusted to her charge; at noon, she partook of a solitary
+repast, and it was only at dinner that she saw Coursegol and her host.
+
+One stormy evening in October, she was sitting in her chamber, a room
+upon the first-floor, opening into the garden by a glass door over
+which hung a heavy curtain. It was about nine o'clock. Vauquelas and
+Coursegol had gone out; the servants had retired, and Dolores was quite
+alone. Seated in a low chair before the fire, she was busying herself
+with her embroidery; but it was easy to see that her thoughts were not
+upon her work. She was brooding over the past and wondering in what
+quarter of the globe she might hope to find her lost friends.
+
+"What are they doing?" she wondered. "Are they thinking of me? Are they
+happy?"
+
+And as these questions suggested many others, she sank into a profound
+reverie.
+
+Suddenly the wind gave a loud shriek without, and the branches of the
+trees in the garden creaked and groaned as the tempest buffeted them and
+tossed them to and fro. Dolores shivered, partly from fear, partly from
+nervousness. As she did so, another gust, more furious than the first,
+filled the air with its weird voices. It sounded like the roar of the
+angry sea. A cloud of dust entered through the glass door which was
+partially concealed by the heavy curtain. The light flickered, and the
+smoke poured out into the room from the fire-place. At the same time
+Dolores heard, or fancied she heard, a sound like that made by the
+closing of a door.
+
+"They have forgotten to shut that door," thought Dolores; and she rose
+to repair the omission, but suddenly paused, astonished and almost
+frightened. She saw the curtain move, not as if in obedience to the
+wind, but as if an invisible hand had shaken it.
+
+"Heavens! there is some one behind the curtain!"
+
+That a robber should have effected an entrance into the house at that
+hour of the night was not at all impossible; and this was the first
+thought that entered her mind. She recollected, too, that Vauquelas and
+Coursegol had just gone out, that the servants were in bed and that she
+was to all intents and purposes alone in the house. The feminine mind is
+quick to take fright; and night and solitude increased the terror which
+is so easily aroused by a fevered imagination. Her usual courage
+deserted her; she turned pale and her lips quivered.
+
+"How foolish!" she said to herself, the next instant. "Who would think
+of entering here at such an hour? It must have been the wind. I will
+close the door."
+
+And struggling against the fear that had taken possession of her, she
+stepped quickly forward, but paused again. She could plainly discern a
+human form in the shadow behind the curtain.
+
+"Oh! this is terrible!" she murmured, pressing her hand upon her heart.
+
+Then she said, in a trembling voice:
+
+"Who is there?"
+
+There was no response. Summoning all her courage, she made two steps
+forward, seized the curtain and lifted it. Leaning against the glass
+door, which was now firmly closed, stood a man. Dolores was so terrified
+that she dare not raise her eyes to his face.
+
+"Who are you?" she demanded.
+
+The words had scarcely left her lips when the man sprang forward,
+crying:
+
+"Dolores! Dolores!"
+
+"Philip!"
+
+Then, with a wild cry of rapturous delight, she flung herself in the
+arms of her lover from whom she had been parted three long weary years.
+They clung to each other a moment without uttering a word, completely
+overcome with emotion. It was Philip, but Philip grown older and
+thinner. His face was unshaven and his clothing disordered, and he was
+frightfully pale. When she saw the ravages time and suffering had made
+upon the face of the man she loved, Dolores burst into tears.
+
+"Oh Dolores!" sighed Philip, "have I really found you again after all
+these years!"
+
+She smiled and wept as he devoured her with his eyes, then stepped by
+him and after satisfying herself that the door was securely closed and
+locked, she lowered the curtain and led Philip to an arm chair near the
+fire.
+
+"Do you find me changed?" she asked.
+
+"You are even more beautiful now than in the past!"
+
+She blushed and turned away her face, then suddenly inquired: "How
+happens it you are here, Philip?"
+
+"I came to Paris with a party of noblemen to rescue the queen from the
+hands of her executioners. We failed; she died upon the guillotine. My
+companions were arrested; I alone succeeded in making my escape--"
+
+"Then you are pursued--you are a fugitive. Perhaps they are even now
+upon your track!"
+
+"For a week I have been concealed in the house of a kind-hearted man
+who had taken compassion on my misery. I hoped to remain there until I
+could find an opportunity to make my escape from Paris. Day before
+yesterday, he told me that he was suspected of sheltering some enemy of
+the nation, and that his house was liable to be searched at any moment
+by Robespierre's emissaries, and that I must flee at once if I did not
+desire to ruin him. I obeyed and since that time I have been wandering
+about the streets of Paris, hiding in obscure nooks, living like a dog,
+and not daring to ask aid of any one for fear I should be denounced.
+This evening, half-dead with hunger and cold, I was wondering if it
+would not be better to deliver myself up when, only a few steps from
+here, I met a man who was formerly in the employ of the Duke de
+Penthieore, and to whom I had once rendered an important service.
+Believing that he had not forgotten it, I approached him and told him
+who I was. The wretch cursed me, and tried to arrest me. The instinct of
+self-preservation lent me fresh strength. I struggled with him and
+knocked him down, and while he was calling for help, I ran across the
+unoccupied ground near the house. A low wall suddenly rose before me. I
+leaped over it, and found myself in this garden. I saw the light from
+your window; the door stood open. I entered and God has willed that the
+hours of agony through which I have just passed should lead me to you.
+Ah! now I can die. Now that I have seen you again, Dolores, I can die
+content!"
+
+"Why do you talk of dying?" exclaimed Dolores. "Since you are here, you
+are saved! You shall remain!"
+
+She paused suddenly, recollecting that the house was not hers; Philip
+noticed her hesitation.
+
+"Am I in your house?" he asked.
+
+"No; you are in the house of Citizen Vauquelas, Coursegol's business
+partner."
+
+"Vauquelas! How unfortunate!"
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because, unless there are two individuals by that name, the master of
+this house is the friend of Robespierre, and one of the men who aided in
+the discovery of the plot formed by my companions and myself for the
+rescue of the queen."
+
+Dolores uttered a cry and hid her face in her hands.
+
+"What shall we do?" she murmured.
+
+"Is not Coursegol here?"
+
+"He will not return until late at night."
+
+"He would have found some way to conceal me until to-morrow."
+
+"I will conceal you in his room," said Dolores. "No one enters it but
+himself. I will await his return and tell him you are there."
+
+Philip approved this plan.
+
+"But you said just now that you were hungry;" exclaimed Dolores. "Ah!
+how unfortunate it is that the servants are in bed."
+
+She hastily left the room, and Philip, worn out with excitement, hunger
+and fatigue, remained in the arm chair in which Dolores had placed him.
+She soon returned, laden with bread, wine, and a piece of cold meat,
+which she had been fortunate enough to find in the kitchen. She placed
+these upon a small table, which she brought to Philip's side. Without a
+word, the latter began to eat and drink with the eagerness of a
+half-famished man. Dolores stood there watching him, her heart throbbing
+wildly with joy while tears of happiness gushed from her burning eyes.
+
+Soon Philip was himself again. The warmth and the nourishing food
+restored his strength. A slight color mounted to his cheeks, and a
+hopeful smile played upon his lips. Not until then, did Dolores venture
+to utter the name that had been uppermost in her thoughts for some
+moments.
+
+"You have told me nothing of Antoinette."
+
+This name reminded Philip of the sacred bond of which Dolores was
+ignorant, and which had never seemed to him so galling as now.
+
+"Antoinette!" he replied. "She is living near London in the care of some
+friends to whom I have confided her."
+
+"Is she your wife?" inquired Dolores, not daring to meet Philip's eyes.
+
+"No."
+
+"But your father's wishes--"
+
+"In pity, say no more!" interrupted Philip, "If I had not found you
+again, if I had had certain proofs that you were no longer alive, I
+might, perhaps, have married Antoinette, but now--"
+
+"Now?"
+
+"She will never be my wife!"
+
+"Does she no longer love you?"
+
+Philip's head drooped. There was a long silence; suddenly he glanced up.
+
+"Why should I conceal it from you longer, Dolores? I love you; I love
+you as I loved you in years gone by when I first dared to open my heart
+to you; and since that time, in spite of the barriers between us, I have
+never ceased to love you. Nor can our love be a sin in the sight of
+Heaven since it is God's providence, in spite of your will, that brings
+us together again to-day. And I swear that nothing shall separate us
+now!"
+
+Dolores had no strength to reply to such language, or to destroy the
+hopes which seemed even stronger now than in the past, and far more
+precious since three years of absence had not sufficed to extinguish
+them in the faithful and impassioned heart of her lover. Philip
+continued:
+
+"Ah! if I could but tell you how miserable I have been since we have
+been separated. My Dolores, did you not know when you left the château
+in which we had grown up together to offer as a sacrifice to God the
+love you shared, did you not know that you took away a part of myself
+with you?"
+
+"Stop!" she entreated, sinking into a chair and burying her face in her
+hands.
+
+But he would not listen.
+
+"Since that day," he continued, "my life has been wretched. In vain I
+have striven to drive from the heart which you refused to accept the
+memory of your grace and your beauty; in vain have I striven to listen
+with a complaisant ear to Antoinette, whom you commanded me to accept as
+my wife. Do you not see that this sacrifice is beyond my strength. I
+cannot do it--I love her as a sister, but you----"
+
+Dolores interrupted him. Suddenly quieted, and recalled to a
+recollection of duty by some mysterious inspiration, she rose, and in a
+gentle and firm voice said:
+
+"Philip, I must hear no more. I belong to God, and you, yourself, are no
+longer free. Antoinette----"
+
+"Would you compel me to hate her?"
+
+The cry frightened Dolores and awakened in her heart a tender pity for
+the unfortunate man whom she adored, even while she wrung his soul with
+anguish.
+
+"Ah well! do not marry her," she replied, "if the union that your father
+desired is a greater sacrifice than you have strength to make; but do
+not hope that I shall ever be weak enough to yield to your entreaties.
+Whether you love her or whether you detest her, Antoinette will forever
+stand between us."
+
+On hearing these words, Philip sprang wildly to his feet, then sank back
+in his chair and, concealing his face in his hands, broke into
+passionate sob.
+
+The girl's powers of endurance were almost exhausted; but she still
+retained energy enough to attempt to put an end to this trying scene.
+
+"The hour when the master of the house usually returns is fast
+approaching," she resumed. "He must not find you here. I will take you
+to Coursegol's room; you will be safe there."
+
+But Philip would not heed her. He wept like a child, and, in a voice
+broken with sobs, he cried:
+
+"Ah, the sacrifice you demand is too much to ask of any human creature!
+God does not require it of us. If after creating us for each other it is
+His will that we should live forever apart and be eternally miserable,
+why has He united us to-night? Is not our meeting providential? Dolores,
+your decision cannot be irrevocable."
+
+It required all her courage and determination to repress the loving
+words that rose to her lips from her overflowing heart.
+
+"Come, Philip," she pleaded, striving to give a maternal tone to her
+voice.
+
+"But promise me----"
+
+"Ah well! to-morrow,----" she said, quietly, doing her best to calm him.
+
+She succeeded. Philip rose, ready to follow her. She had already taken a
+candle from the table when footsteps were heard in the adjoining room.
+
+"Good Heavens! it is Vauquelas! We are lost!"
+
+"He will not enter here, perhaps," whispered Philip.
+
+With a gesture, Dolores imposed silence: then she waited and listened,
+hoping that Vauquelas would pass on to his own room without pausing. Her
+hopes were not realized. Vauquelas rapped twice at the door.
+
+"May I come in, Citoyenne Dolores?"
+
+"No, I am in bed."
+
+"Get up quickly then, and open the door. A man was seen to leap over the
+wall that separates the garden from the street. He must be prowling
+about the house. They are in pursuit of him. The police are coming."
+
+"I am getting up," replied Dolores, anxious to gain time, and racking
+her brain to discover some means of escape for Philip.
+
+"The night is very dark," he whispered. "I will go into the garden and
+conceal myself there until the soldiers have searched the house and
+gone."
+
+Dolores nodded her approval, and went on tip-toe to the glass door to
+open it and let Philip out. She turned the knob, softly opened the door,
+and stepped aside to let him pass. The next instant she uttered a cry of
+dismay, for she saw five members of the National Guard approaching the
+house, beating the shrubbery that bordered the path through which they
+were advancing with the butt ends of their muskets. She recoiled in
+horror, for before she could prevent it Philip stepped out and stood for
+an instant plainly visible in the light that streamed through the open
+door ere he perceived them. As soon as they saw him, they raised their
+guns and took aim.
+
+"Do not fire!" he exclaimed. "I surrender!"
+
+And he paused, awaiting their approach. At the same moment Vauquelas
+entered the room by the other door. Dolores cast a despairing look at
+Philip, then involuntarily stepped to his side as if to protect him.
+There was a moment's silence caused by surprise on the one side and
+terror on the other. Philip was filled with consternation not that his
+courage failed him, but because he was appalled by the thought of the
+danger in which he had involved Dolores.
+
+As for Vauquelas, he glanced from one to the other in evident anger and
+astonishment. The presence of the soldiers, and the thought of the
+suspicions to which he--ardent patriot though he was--might be exposed
+on account of this stranger's arrest in his house irritated him not a
+little. He was about to vent his wrath and indignation upon Philip when
+the sergeant in command interposed, and addressing the young man, said,
+harshly;
+
+"What are you doing in this house, you rascal? Who are you?"
+
+Philip attempted to reply, but Vauquelas did not give him time.
+
+"Who is he?" he exclaimed. "It is easy to answer that question. Some
+enemy of the Republic, you may be sure, who has sought shelter in my
+house at the risk of compromising the honor of this young girl, and my
+reputation as well."
+
+Dolores trembled; then sacrificing, not without a terrible effort, her
+maidenly delicacy and modesty she said: "You are mistaken, Citizen
+Vauquelas. This man is my husband!"
+
+"Your husband! Are you married?"
+
+"I had a special reason for keeping the fact a secret from every one."
+
+"But Coursegol--"
+
+"Even he is ignorant of it," answered Dolores, with downcast eyes.
+
+"Married! married!" repeated Vauquelas mechanically, while Philip drew
+nearer to Dolores and, in a voice audible to her alone, murmured:
+
+"Ah! cruel one, had you uttered those words sooner, we should not be
+here now."
+
+Dolores made no response. She cast a beseeching look upon Vauquelas. At
+a word from him the soldiers would have departed; but he remembered the
+history of Dolores which Coursegol had confided to him, and he said to
+himself that the adopted daughter of the late Marquis de Chamondrin
+would not be likely to marry other than a nobleman, and that this
+nobleman must be an implacable enemy to the new order of things, and
+consequently one of those men whom the Committee of Public Safety were
+so relentlessly pursuing. That such a person should be found in his
+house augured ill for his patriotism and might cost him his influence
+over Robespierre, so it was necessary to strike a crushing blow if he
+wished to emerge from this ordeal unscathed.
+
+"Why have you concealed your marriage from me?" he inquired, turning to
+Dolores.
+
+"For purely personal reasons."
+
+"And why does your husband steal into my house like a robber, instead of
+entering by the door?"
+
+"Because we wished to keep our marriage a secret."
+
+"All this is not very clear," remarked the sergeant; then addressing
+Philip, he demanded:
+
+"What is your name, and from whence do you come?"
+
+And seeing Philip hesitate, the man continued:
+
+"The citizen and this young woman will follow us to the station-house.
+They can explain matters to the officials there; and if no blame
+attaches to them, they will be immediately set at liberty."
+
+"Yes, yes, take them away," cried Vauquelas, glad of any decision that
+would remove the soldiers from his house.
+
+Then Dolores comprehended that the falsehood to which she had resorted
+had not only failed to save Philip but had probably cost her her own
+life. For herself, she did not care. She had long ago sacrificed for his
+sake that which was a thousand times dearer than life; and now her only
+regret was for him. But Philip would not accept the sacrifice. When he
+saw that both Dolores and himself were to be placed under arrest, he
+exclaimed:
+
+"This young girl has uttered a falsehood. She did it, probably, to save
+a stranger whom she would have forgotten in a few hours. I am not her
+husband, and that I have been found in her room is simply due to the
+fact that I took refuge here a few moments ago from a pursuer. I am the
+Marquis de Chamondrin. I am an Émigré and a conspirator!"
+
+"Ah, he is lost! he is lost!" murmured Dolores.
+
+On hearing Philip's confession, Vauquelas sprang towards him, wild with
+rage.
+
+"You call yourself Philip de Chamondrin?" he demanded.
+
+"That is my name."
+
+"Then you are the adopted brother of this young girl, and if you, an
+Émigré and a conspirator, are here, it can only be because she is your
+accomplice. Vile wretch! to make my house a rendezvous for the enemies
+of the Nation!"
+
+Anger crimsoned his cheeks and glittered in his eyes. He actually
+frothed with rage.
+
+"Arrest them! Arrest them both!" he exclaimed.
+
+Philip, who had supposed he could save Dolores by the confession he had
+just made, could not repress a movement of wrath and despair.
+
+"You will regret this, sir," he said, haughtily.
+
+"There could be no greater misfortune than to shelter aristocrats like
+you under my roof. I am a patriot; I love the Republic. France, first of
+all! Citizens, this is a dangerous man. This so-called nobleman has been
+plotting to save the queen and to place the little Capet upon the
+throne. As for this young woman, she is a viper who has repaid my
+hospitality with treachery. Take them away!--and so perish the enemies
+of the Nation!"
+
+He uttered these words with great energy and enthusiasm as if he wished
+to give convincing proofs of his patriotism. The soldiers were
+consulting together; presently they formed into two squads. One division
+took Dolores in charge; the other took Philip, and they were led away.
+It was then nearly eleven o'clock.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+COURSEGOL'S EXPLOITS.
+
+
+Coursegol returned home about midnight. In accordance with his usual
+custom he was passing through the lower hall without stopping on his way
+to his room on the floor above, when he heard some one call him. He
+recognized the voice of Vauquelas, but it seemed to proceed from the
+chamber occupied by Dolores. Surprised that the latter was not in bed at
+this late hour, and fearing she was ill, he hastily entered her room.
+Vauquelas was there alone, pale, nervous and excited. The girl's bed had
+not been disturbed. Her absence struck Coursegol at once.
+
+"Where is Dolores?" he asked, quickly.
+
+"Coursegol, why did you not tell me she was receiving Philip de
+Chamondrin here?" was his friend's only response.
+
+"She receiving M. Philip!" cried Coursegol, greatly astonished.
+
+"Yes, here in my house; here in this chamber. They were discovered
+here."
+
+"Then M. Philip is still alive!"
+
+"Unfortunately for me, he is still alive."
+
+"What do you mean?" inquired Coursegol, who as yet understood but one
+thing--that his master was not dead.
+
+"I mean that Dolores, whom I received into my house at your request, has
+been sheltering here, at the risk of compromising and ruining me, Philip
+de Chamondrin, one of the prime movers in a conspiracy formed for the
+purpose of saving the widow Capet."
+
+"Ah! I understand," murmured Coursegol, at once divining that Philip
+being pursued had taken refuge in the house of Vauquelas, and had found
+Dolores there. "Ah, well! citizen, the young man must not remain here.
+We will help him to make his escape and no one will be the wiser--"
+
+"It is too late!"
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Both have been arrested; he, for conspiring against the government,
+she, as his accomplice."
+
+Coursegol uttered a terrible oath: then, turning to Vauquelas and
+seizing him by the collar, he cried:
+
+"It was you, wretch, who betrayed them!"
+
+"You are choking me!" groaned Vauquelas, breathless in Coursegol's
+violent grasp.
+
+"Tell me where they are!" thundered Coursegol. "I must see them. Where
+are they?"
+
+"Release me," gasped Vauquelas.
+
+This time Coursegol obeyed; but he stood before Vauquelas, angry and
+menacing. The latter trembled. He had not foreseen that Coursegol would
+hold him accountable for the arrest of Philip and Dolores.
+
+"Explain and quickly!" cried Coursegol.
+
+"The soldiers came to the house in pursuit of young Philip, who had
+taken refuge in this room. To save him, Dolores said she was his wife.
+Philip, fearing she would be compromised, denied her statement; and as
+their explanation did not seem sufficiently clear, they were both taken
+to prison."
+
+"Could you not have vouched for them--declared that they were friends of
+yours?"
+
+"I did all I could to save them," whined Vauquelas.
+
+"You lie! you lie! I tell you, you lie! It was you who betrayed them! I
+am sure of it. You trembled for your life, for your money. Woe be unto
+you!"
+
+And Coursegol accompanied those words with a gesture so menacing that
+Vauquelas, believing his last hour had come, fell on his knees begging
+for mercy. But Coursegol seemed pitiless.
+
+"Poor children! that death should overtake them just as Providence had
+united them. Wretch! fool! you were less merciful than destiny."
+
+"Have pity!"
+
+"Had you any pity on them? No! Ah well! you shall die!"
+
+And drawing from his pocket a dagger that he always carried with him,
+Coursegol raised it above the old man's head.
+
+"But if I promise to save them--"
+
+The hand of Coursegol, raised to strike, fell.
+
+"You will save them! That is only another lie. How can you save them?
+The prisons of the Republic release their victims only to send them to
+the guillotine."
+
+"I will bribe the jailers to let them escape."
+
+"The jailers are not the only masters: and who among them would expose
+himself to almost certain death for the sake of your money?"
+
+"Then I will do still better," replied Vauquelas. "I will bribe the
+judges of the Revolutionary Tribunal, and they will acquit your
+friends."
+
+"Useless! these judges will demand that the money shall be paid in
+advance! and as soon as they have it in their grasp, they will condemn
+the prisoners."
+
+"What can I do then?"
+
+"There is no help for the misfortune, and it is because you are the
+cause of it that I am going to wreak my vengeance upon you!"
+
+"Stop, stop! I will go to Robespierre."
+
+"He will refuse your petition."
+
+"No! my influence over him is all-powerful. I have means to compel him
+to grant my request."
+
+"Even when you ask for the release of one of the leaders of the
+conspiracy to save the queen?"
+
+"Yes; he will not refuse me."
+
+Coursegol reflected a moment. Vauquelas, still on his knees before him,
+looked up, trying to read his fate in the stern face above him.
+
+"Listen," said Coursegol at last. "I will spare your life on certain
+conditions. It depends upon yourself whether you are to live or die."
+
+"Name them. I will obey!" murmured Vauquelas, servilely, beginning to
+breathe freely once more.
+
+"To-morrow by sunset, I must receive from you a blank order signed by
+Robespierre which will enable me to obtain the release of two
+prisoners."
+
+"You shall have it."
+
+"I also desire that Robespierre shall remain in ignorance of the names
+of the prisoners who are to be released."
+
+"He shall not know."
+
+"Under these conditions, your life is yours. Only do not attempt to
+deceive me. I know that it is in your power to obtain an order for my
+arrest and thus save yourself from the chastisement you so richly
+deserve."
+
+"Can you believe--"
+
+Vauquelas could not finish his sentence. He stammered and blushed,
+feeling that his most secret thoughts had been divined.
+
+"But to prevent that, it is here in this house that I shall await your
+return; and if to-morrow the soldiers, guided by you, come here to
+arrest me, they will find me in the cellar where your wealth is
+concealed; and it is I who will have the pleasure of initiating them
+into the secrets of your patriotic life."
+
+Vauquelas uttered an exclamation of mingled astonishment and dismay.
+
+"It is here," repeated Coursegol, "that I shall wait to receive from
+your hands the order of release that you have promised me. Now, it is
+for you to decide whether you will live or die."
+
+As he spoke, Coursegol pushed open the door leading to the cellar used
+by Vauquelas as the repository of his riches and disappeared. Vauquelas
+rose from his kneeling posture, filled with consternation by what he had
+just heard. The extremity to which he was reduced was a cruel one; he
+must bribe the incorruptible Robespierre. When he made the promise to
+Coursegol he did not intend to fulfil it: he intended to denounce him;
+but the shrewdness of his partner had placed him in a most embarrassing
+position. He was obliged to keep his promise, but he could do it only by
+compromising his influence and his reputation; and yet there was no help
+for it since Coursegol could ruin him by a single word. How much he
+regretted that the strength and vigor of his youth were now paralyzed by
+age. If he had been twenty years younger, how desperately he would have
+struggled with the man who had suddenly become a formidable enemy! What
+an effort he would have made to kill him and thus silence him forever.
+But such a plan was no longer feasible; nothing was left for him but
+submission. About an hour after Coursegol left him, he went to his room
+to obtain the rest of which he stood so greatly in need. He threw
+himself upon the bed; but sleep refused to come to his relief. At
+daybreak he was upon his feet once more. He wished, before leaving the
+house, to see Coursegol again. The latter had slept with his pistol in
+his hand, guarding the strong-box upon which his life as well as the
+lives of Dolores and Philip depended.
+
+"Have you the order?" inquired Coursegol.
+
+"I am going for it," responded Vauquelas, meekly.
+
+"Do not return without it if you wish to leave this place alive."
+
+Vauquelas hastily retired. Robespierre lived on the Rue Saint Honoré.
+Thither Vauquelas went, wondering under what form he should present his
+petition. The friendship existing between this celebrated man and
+himself was lively and profound. It had its origin in former relations,
+in services mutually rendered, and in common interests, but so far as
+Robespierre was concerned, he would never allow friendship to conflict
+with what he considered his duty. Even in his most cruel decisions, he
+was honest and sincere. He was deeply impressed with a sense of his
+responsibility and no consideration foreign to what he regarded as the
+welfare of the Nation could move him. He never granted a pardon; he
+never allowed his heart to be touched with compassion; and when one
+reads his history, it is hard to decide which is most horrible, the acts
+of his life or the spirit of fanaticism that inspired them. Vauquelas
+understood the character of the man with whom he had to deal, and felt
+that there was no hope of exciting Robespierre's pity by the recital of
+the misfortunes of Philip and Dolores, or by an explanation of the
+embarrassing position in which he found himself; so he finally decided
+to resort to strategy to obtain what he desired.
+
+When he reached the house, he found that Robespierre had just gone out.
+Vauquelas did not seem at all annoyed. He entered the office--that dread
+place from which emanated those accusations that carried death and
+despair to so many households. The visitor was well-known to the
+servants of the household and he was permitted to roam about at will. As
+he declared his intention of awaiting Robespierre's return, the servant
+who ushered him into the room withdrew, leaving him quite alone. He
+hastened to Robespierre's desk and began rummaging among the papers with
+which it was strewn, keeping one eye all the while upon the door lest
+some one should enter and detect him. There were intended orders, lists
+of proscriptions, documents and reports from the provinces, as well as
+police reports, but Vauquelas paid no attention to these. He continued
+his search until Robespierre's signature on the bottom of a blank sheet
+of paper met his eyes, and drew from him an exclamation of joy.
+
+This sheet was the last belonging to a police report which had been
+approved by the committee, and the only one upon which the clerk to whom
+the copying of the document had been entrusted had as yet written
+nothing. It was upon this sheet that Robespierre had placed his
+signature. His name, written by his own hand and ornamented with the
+flourish which he always appended to his signature, lay upon the
+immaculate whiteness of the paper like a blood stain. Without the
+slightest hesitation, Vauquelas tore this precious page loose from the
+others; then in a feigned hand he wrote these words "Permission to leave
+the prison is hereby granted to the man and woman bearing this order."
+These lines written above the signature transformed the paper into the
+safe-conduct which Coursegol had demanded. Greatly agitated by the
+audacious act he had just accomplished, Vauquelas placed the document he
+had fabricated in his pocket, hid the mutilated report in the bottom of
+a desk drawer under a pile of memorandum books; then, after giving his
+agitation time to subside, he left the house, lingering a moment to chat
+with those on guard at the door, and remarking as he left them:
+
+"I have not time to wait just now; I will call again."
+
+But as soon as he had gained the street he quickened his pace, as if
+fearing pursuit. On reaching home he hastened to the cellar and,
+addressing Coursegol who had not once quitted his post, he said:
+
+"Here is what you desired. Go!"
+
+Coursegol took the paper without a word, scrutinized it closely to
+convince himself that the signature was genuine: then satisfied with his
+examination he replied:
+
+"I am going with the hope that I shall be able to save Dolores and
+Philip; but do not consider yourself forgiven for the injury you have
+done them. Remember this; if my efforts fail and any harm befalls them
+it is on you that my vengeance will fall."
+
+He rose to go; then changing his mind, he added:
+
+"For six months we have worked together, and as I shall probably need a
+good deal of money to carry this undertaking to a successful
+termination, I wish you to give me my share of the profits."
+
+"Make your own estimate," replied Vauquelas, who was too thoroughly
+frightened to haggle as to terms.
+
+"Give me fifty thousand francs; half in gold, half in assignats."
+
+Vauquelas breathed a sigh of relief. He had feared that Coursegol would
+demand an amount ten times as large. He counted out fifty thousand
+francs. Coursegol put the assignats in his pocket, and secreted the
+gold in a leather belt he wore; then without another word, he started in
+quest of Philip and Dolores.
+
+How could he reach them? He must first discover where they were. Prisons
+were very numerous in those days. There were the Luxembourg, the Abbaye,
+the Force, the Carmes, the Madelonnettes, Saint-Lazare and many others.
+In which of them were Philip and Dolores immured? Had they been sent to
+the same prison or had they been separated? Vauquelas had been unable to
+furnish any information on this subject, and Coursegol could only
+conjecture. He repaired immediately to the house of the Bridouls, where
+he made arrangements to remain for a time. He apprised these tried
+friends of the events that had occurred since the evening before.
+Cornelia could not restrain her tears when she heard that her young
+friend was in prison. As for Bridoul, he soon decided upon the course to
+be pursued. In most of the prisons there were many persons charged with
+no particular offence. It was not at all probable that they would ever
+be brought to trial, and, in spite of the surveillance to which they
+were subjected, they enjoyed comparative freedom. They were not
+absolutely forbidden to hold communication with the world outside, and
+if they possessed pecuniary resources it was possible for them to
+purchase the good-will of the jailers and to obtain permission to
+receive letters, food and even visits from their friends. It may have
+been that the number of prisons and of prisoners prevented the
+maintenance of very severe discipline; it may have been that the
+Committee of Public Safety, having decided to execute all convicted
+prisoners, did not desire to exercise a too rigid surveillance. However
+this may have been, many of the prisoners were in daily communication
+with the outer world. Wives and children obtained permission to visit
+their husbands and fathers without much difficulty; and there had been
+established, for the convenience of the prisoners, a corps of regularly
+appointed messengers who came and went at all hours of the day on
+condition that they paid the jailers a certain percentage on their
+earnings. Coursegol was ignorant of these details, but Bridoul
+acquainted him with them.
+
+"One of these messengers is a friend of mine," added Bridoul, "and for a
+fair compensation, he will consent to take you with him as his
+assistant. In his company, you can visit the different prisons without
+the slightest danger."
+
+This plan delighted Coursegol. That same evening they made the desired
+arrangement with the man of whom Bridoul had spoken. The next day, he
+began his search, and three days later he ascertained that Dolores was
+confined in the Conciergerie and Philip in the Madelonnettes.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+THE CONCIERGERIE.
+
+
+After their arrest Philip and Dolores were taken to the nearest
+station-house and ushered into a room where three persons, arrested like
+themselves during the evening, were awaiting examination. Unfortunately
+the official charged with conducting these investigations had already
+gone home. As he would not return until the next morning, the sergeant
+of police decided that the prisoners must pass the night there. Some
+mattresses were spread upon the floor for those who chose to use them.
+Dolores refused to lie down. She seated herself in a broken-down arm
+chair which Philip obtained for her, not without considerable
+difficulty, and declared that she would spend the night there. Philip
+placed himself on a stool at her feet and thus they waited the break of
+day.
+
+Their companions were stretched upon their couches fast asleep, and the
+night, which promised to be heavy with cruel wakefulness and fatigue,
+passed like some delightful dream.
+
+They could not close their eyes to the fate that was in store for them.
+Philip had plotted to save the queen; he had returned from his refuge in
+foreign lands solely for this purpose. By sheltering him, Dolores had
+become his accomplice. Such crimes would meet with, no indulgence. In
+the morning they would be interrogated by an official, whose mind had
+been poisoned against them in advance, and who would show no mercy to
+their youth. Accused of desiring the overthrow of the Republic and the
+return of the Bourbons, they would be sent to prison, taken from their
+cells to the Revolutionary Tribunal, and condemned to the guillotine.
+Such was the summary mode of procedure during the Reign of Terror. To
+hope that any exception would be made in their case was folly. All that
+was left for them, therefore, was to prepare to die. If the prospect of
+such a fate brought the tears to their eyes at first, it was not because
+either of them was wanting in courage. No, it was only for the fate that
+was to befall the other that each wept. But when they had talked
+together, and learned that they were mutually resigned, their sorrow was
+appeased; and as if their sentence had already been pronounced, they
+thought only of making their last hours on earth pass as calmly and
+sweetly as possible.
+
+"Why should I fear to die?" said Dolores, when Philip tried to encourage
+her by hopes in which he himself had not the slightest confidence.
+"Death has terrors only for those who leave some loved one behind them;
+but when I am gone, who will be left to mourn for me? Antoinette? Have I
+not for a long time been the same as dead to her? I can leave the world
+without creating a void in any heart, without causing any one a pang.
+Hence I can, without regret, go to seek the eternal rest for which I
+have sighed so long."
+
+"Have you truly longed for death?" asked Philip.
+
+"I have seen so many loved ones fall around me," replied Dolores, "my
+eyes have witnessed so many sorrows, I have suffered so much, and my
+life since my happy childhood has been so unspeakably lonely and sad
+that I have often and often entreated God to recall me to Himself."
+
+"But, Dolores, if you had only listened to me when I pleaded in vain, if
+you had but placed your hand in mine, what misery we should have been
+spared."
+
+"It would not have averted our misfortunes."
+
+"No; but we might have borne them together, and after our sorrows found
+consolation in each other."
+
+"I could not be your wife."
+
+"Is it true, then, that you do not love me?"
+
+Dolores made no answer. Emboldened by the solemn calmness of these
+moments which were, as they supposed, ushering them into eternity,
+Philip continued:
+
+"Whenever I pressed my suit, you pleaded my father's wishes as an excuse
+for not listening to my prayers. To gratify a foolish ambition he
+desired me to marry Antoinette. Ah, well! my father's will no longer
+stands between us; and the engagement that binds me to her is broken by
+the changed situation in which we find ourselves. We are free now in the
+shadow of death. Will you not tell me the truth? Will you not open your
+heart to me as I have opened mine to you?"
+
+Dolores listened, her glowing eyes riveted upon Philip's face, her
+bosom heaving with emotion. The words; "We are free now in the shadow of
+death," rang in her ears. She felt that she could not refuse her lover
+the last joy and consolation that he claimed; and that she, whose past
+had been one long sacrifice of her happiness and of her hopes, had a
+right to reveal the secret so long buried in her soul. Gently, almost
+solemnly, these words fell from her lips:
+
+"Listen, Philip, since you ask me for the truth, now, at this supreme
+hour, I have always loved you as I love you now; and I love you now as
+ardently as I am beloved!"
+
+There was so much tenderness in her manner that Philip sprang up, his
+eyes sparkling with rapture.
+
+"And this is the avowal you have refused to make for five long years!"
+he cried. "I knew that my love was returned. You have confessed it; and
+if I were compelled to give my life in exchange for the happiness of
+hearing this from your lips, I should not think that I paid too dearly
+for it. But you have restored my energy and my courage. I feel strong
+enough, now, to defy the whole world in a struggle for the felicity that
+is rightfully ours. We shall live, Dolores, to belong to each other, to
+comfort each other."
+
+"Do not, I entreat you, ask me to live," exclaimed Dolores, "since the
+certainty of death alone decided me to speak."
+
+"But," pleaded Philip, "if I should succeed in rescuing you from the
+peril that surrounds us, would you be more rigorous than destiny? Would
+you not feel that God smiled upon our love, and that it was He who had
+mercifully united us again?"
+
+"Philip! Philip!" murmured Dolores. She could say no more, but yielding
+at last to the sweet power of the love against which she had struggled
+so long, she laid her weary head upon the heart that worshipped her with
+such a tender and all-absorbing passion.
+
+It was nine o'clock in the morning when the officer who was to conduct
+the examination made his appearance. The expectations of Philip and
+Dolores were realized. He questioned them hastily, listened to the
+report of the sergeant who had arrested them, took a few notes, then
+ordered the culprits to be sent, one to the Conciergerie, the other to
+the Madelonnettes.
+
+"Can we not be together?" asked Philip, filled with dismay by the
+prospect of a separation.
+
+"The Committee will decide. For the present, I shall be obliged to
+separate you" was the officer's reply.
+
+Philip approached Dolores.
+
+"Do not lose courage," he whispered. "I shall soon rejoin you."
+
+Dolores was to be taken to the Conciergerie.
+
+Several gendarmes formed her escort. At her request, one of them sent
+for a carriage. She entered it and her guards seated themselves opposite
+her and on the box with the driver. To reach the Conciergerie, they
+were obliged to pass the Palais de Justice. Upon the steps of the
+palace, not far from the prison, was a crowd of women that assembled
+there every day to witness the departure of the prisoners who were
+condemned to death. They saw Dolores when she alighted from the
+carriage, and immediately began to clap their hands and utter shrill
+cries of delight. She was compelled to pass through a storm of hisses,
+gibes and insults in making her way to the prison; and it was not
+without considerable difficulty that the men acting as her escort
+protected her from the infuriated throng. At last the dread door opened
+before her. She was ushered into the office, a small room where the
+prison register was kept. Her full name and age were recorded by the
+clerk, and she was then placed in charge of one of the jailers, who was
+ordered to find accommodations for her in that part of the prison over
+which he had jurisdiction.
+
+"I have two favors to ask of you," Dolores said to this man, whose
+benevolent face inspired her with confidence.
+
+"What do you desire, citoyenne?"
+
+"First, to have a cell to myself, if possible. I will pay for it."
+
+"That will be a difficult matter; but I think I can arrange it. And what
+else?"
+
+"I wish to send a letter to a person who is very dear to me."
+
+"His name?"
+
+"Coursegol. He lives at the house of Citizen Vauquelas, where I was
+living myself when I was arrested in his absence. You may see the
+contents of the letter and assure yourself that it contains nothing
+objectionable."
+
+"Very well," replied the jailer, moved with compassion by the
+misfortunes of this beautiful young girl. "I will conduct you to a cell
+where you will be alone, and where you will have an opportunity to write
+your letter."
+
+As he spoke, he led Dolores to a small room on the second floor, lighted
+by a grated window, opening upon the court-yard.
+
+"You can remain here as long as you like. No one shall come to trouble
+you. Meals are served in the refectory, unless a prisoner desires them
+in his own apartment, at a charge of six francs per day."
+
+"I shall have no money until the letter I am about to write reaches its
+destination," said Dolores. "It took all I had to pay for the carriage
+that brought me here."
+
+"I will give you credit," replied the jailer. "No no; do not thank me.
+It always pays to be accommodating. I will now go for pen, ink and
+paper."
+
+The worthy man withdrew but soon returned, bringing the desired
+articles. Dolores wrote a hasty note to Coursegol, informing him of her
+arrest and that of Philip, and begging him to send her some money at
+once. The jailer promised that the letter should be delivered some time
+during the day. Then he departed. Dolores, left in solitude, fell upon
+her knees and prayed for Philip. She had never loved him so fondly as
+now; and the misfortune that had befallen her would have been nothing
+had it been alleviated by the joy of knowing that her lover was near
+her.
+
+She spent the day alone, and she was really surprised at her own
+calmness. Comforted by the immortal hopes that are ever awakened in the
+Christian's soul by the prospect of death, and elevated to an ideal
+world by the exciting events of the previous evening and by the eloquent
+confession of Philip, as well as by her own, life seemed despicable,
+unworthy of her; and she felt that she could leave it without a regret.
+Toward evening, the jailer returned. He brought back the letter she had
+given him. Coursegol could not be found; he was no longer with
+Vauquelas, and the latter knew nothing of his whereabouts.
+
+This news brought Dolores back to the stern reality of her situation.
+She feared that Coursegol had excited the anger of Vauquelas by his
+threats, and that he had drawn down some misfortune upon himself.
+Moreover, the disappearance of her protector cut off her pecuniary
+resources; and as the prisoners could not obtain the slightest favor
+without the aid of gold, she was deprived of the means to alleviate the
+hardships of her lot. The jailer pitied her distress.
+
+"Do not worry, citoyenne," he said to Dolores. "You shall have your
+meals here, and you shall not be disturbed. By and by, you will be able
+to compensate me for my services."
+
+Grateful for this unexpected kindness, Dolores removed a small cross set
+with diamonds which she wore about her neck, and, offering it to the
+jailer, said:
+
+"Accept this as security for the expense that I shall cause you. If I
+die, you can keep it; if I live, I will redeem it."
+
+The man refused at first; but the girl's entreaties conquered his
+scruples, and he finally accepted it.
+
+"What is your name?" she asked.
+
+"I am called Aubry. You will find me ever ready to serve you,
+citoyenne."
+
+Such were the incidents that marked our heroine's arrival at the
+Conciergerie. This first day in prison passed slowly. She did not leave
+her cell, but toward evening Aubry brought up two dishes which were as
+unpleasing to the taste as to the eye. As he placed them before her and
+saw the movement of disgust which Dolores could not repress, Aubry was
+almost ashamed of the meagre fare.
+
+"Things here are not as they were in your château," he remarked, rather
+tartly.
+
+"No matter, my good Aubry, I am content;" responded Dolores, pleasantly.
+
+She ate the food, however, for she had fasted since the evening before;
+then, drawing the table to the wall pierced by the small, high window,
+she mounted it to obtain a few breaths of fresh air. She opened the
+sash; the breeze came in through the heavy bars, but Dolores could only
+catch a glimpse of the gray sky already overcast by the mists of
+evening.
+
+An hour later, Dolores was sleeping calmly; and the next morning, as if
+to render her first awakening in prison less gloomy, a bright sunbeam
+peeped in to salute her.
+
+When Aubry entered about ten o'clock with her breakfast, she was
+walking about her cell.
+
+"Citoyenne," he began; "I must tell you that as I was leaving the
+prison, this morning, I met a man who inquired if I had seen, among the
+prisoners, a pretty young girl with golden hair and dark eyes. The
+description corresponded with you in every particular."
+
+"Describe the man," said Dolores, eagerly.
+
+"He was very tall; he had gray hair, and he seemed to be in great
+trouble."
+
+"It was Coursegol--the person for whom my letter was intended. Shall you
+see him again?"
+
+"His evident distress excited my pity, and I promised to aid him in his
+search. He agreed to come to the office at ten o'clock this morning,
+ostensibly to seek employment in the prison; and I promised to make some
+excuse for taking you there at the same hour, so you can see each other;
+but you are not to exchange a word or even a sign of recognition."
+
+So in a few moments Dolores found herself face to face with Coursegol.
+Of course, they did not attempt to exchange a single word: but, by a
+look, Coursegol made her understand that he was employing every effort
+to effect her deliverance; and she returned to her cell cheered by the
+thought that a devoted heart was watching over her and over Philip. The
+next day, when she was least expecting it, the door opened and Coursegol
+entered.
+
+"I have taken Aubry's place to-day," he remarked.
+
+Dolores sprang towards him, and he clasped her in his arms. They had
+been separated only three days, but those three days had seemed a
+century to both.
+
+"Have you seen Philip?" inquired Dolores.
+
+"I saw him yesterday, after leaving here, my child."
+
+"Is he still in the Madelonnettes?"
+
+"Yes; but next week he will be brought here."
+
+Nothing could have afforded Dolores greater pleasure than this
+intelligence; and she gratefully thanked the protector whose devotion
+thus alleviated the hardships of her lot; then he told her what had
+occurred since her arrest, and how he had compelled Vauquelas to obtain
+an order for the release of those he had betrayed.
+
+"This order is now in my possession," he continued; "but it cannot be
+used until Philip is an inmate of the same prison in which you are
+confined. He will be here in a few days and then you can both make your
+escape. In the meantime I will make all the necessary arrangements to
+enable you to leave Paris as soon as you are set at liberty."
+
+This interview, which lasted nearly an hour, literally transformed
+Dolores. For the first time in many years she allowed herself to
+contemplate the possibility of happiness here below; and the grave and
+solemn thoughts that had been occupying her mind gave place to bright
+anticipations of a blissful future with Philip.
+
+For the first time since her arrival at the Conciergerie, she went down
+into the public hall. This hall was separated only by an iron grating
+from the long and narrow corridor upon which the cells assigned to the
+men opened, and in which they spent most of their time. It was against
+this grating that they leaned when they wished to converse with their
+lady friends; and, during the day, it not unfrequently happened that the
+doors were left open, and prisoners of both sexes were allowed to mingle
+together. Then, ladies and gentlemen promenaded gayly to and fro;
+acquaintances exchanged greetings; and handsome men and beautiful women
+chatted as blithely as if they were in their elegant drawing-rooms.
+
+The ancient nobility of France thus entered its protest against the
+persecutions of which it was the victim, and convinced even its
+bitterest enemies that it was not lacking in spirit and in courage in
+the very jaws of death. All the historians who have attempted a
+description of the prison life of that time unite in declaring that
+contempt of death was never evinced more forcibly than by the victims of
+that bloody epoch.
+
+The ladies displayed habits of luxury that were worthy of the days of
+the Regency. In the morning they generally appeared in bewitching
+négligés; in the afternoon they made more careful and elegant toilettes,
+and when evening came they donned the costly, trailing robes which they
+had worn at Court, only a few short weeks before. Those who, by the
+circumstances attendant upon their arrest, had been prevented from
+bringing a varied assortment of dresses with them, expended any amount
+of energy and ingenuity in their attempts to rival their more fortunate
+companions in the splendor of their costumes. Hence, the prison
+resembled a ball-room rather than an antechamber of death. The ladies
+were coquettish and bewitching; the men were gallant and impassioned;
+and more than one love was born in those days of alternate hope and
+terror--more than one love whose ardor was not impaired by fears for the
+morrow, and whose delights sweetened the last hours of those who shared
+it. There was, of course, little real enjoyment or happiness in those
+clays which were constantly disturbed by the arrival of new victims. One
+came mourning for her children; another, for her husband. At intervals,
+the jailer appeared to summon those condemned to die. Heart-rending
+shrieks and despairing farewells attended these separations; the
+executioner led away his victims, and all was over. Those who remained
+filled up the ranks, and, looking at one another with an anguish that
+deprived them of none of their courage, whispered:
+
+"Who of us will die to-morrow?"
+
+But a secret flame burned in every heart, imparting strength to the weak
+and resignation to the strong. Cowardice was as rare as voluntary
+sacrifice was common; and that which rendered the sight of such
+fortitude and courage in the presence of danger still more touching, was
+the tender sympathy that united all the prisoners, without regard to
+former differences in social position.
+
+It was about two o'clock in the afternoon when Dolores, reassured by her
+interview with Coursegol, made her appearance in the hall frequented by
+the inmates of the prison. More than a hundred persons had gathered
+there. They were now scattered about in little groups; and the
+conversation was very animated. Here sat an ancient dowager, delighting
+some gentlemen with piquant anecdotes of the Court of Louis XV.; there,
+stood a jovial priest, composing rhymes for the amusement of a
+half-dozen young girls; at a little distance were several statesmen,
+earnestly discussing the recent acts of the Convention--all doing their
+best to kill time, as travellers detained at some wayside inn strive to
+divert one another, while they wait for the sunshine that will enable
+them to pursue their journey.
+
+Dolores was not remarked at first among the crowd of prisoners. Each day
+brought so many new faces there that one more unfortunate excited little
+comment. But soon this young girl, who seemed to be entirely alone, and
+who gazed half-timidly, half-curiously, at the scene before her,
+attracted the attention of several prisoners. A woman, endowed with such
+rare loveliness of form and feature as Nature had bestowed upon Dolores,
+cannot long remain unnoticed. Her golden hair lay in soft rings upon her
+smooth, open brow, and drooped in heavy braids upon her white neck. Her
+dark brown dress and the little fichu knotted at the waist behind, were
+very simple in texture and in make; but she wore them with such grace,
+and there was such an air of elegance and distinction in her bearing,
+that she soon became an object of general curiosity.
+
+"What! So young, so beautiful, and in prison!" said one.
+
+"Youth and beauty do not soften the hearts of tigers!" another replied.
+
+A murmur of pity was heard as she passed, and some young men placed
+themselves in her path in order to obtain a closer look at her. Not
+until then did she note the sensation she had created. She became
+embarrassed, and took a step backward as if to retire; but, at that very
+moment, a lady, still young, in spite of the premature whiteness of her
+locks, approached her and said:
+
+"Why do you draw back, my child? Do we frighten you?"
+
+"No, madame," replied Dolores; "but I am a stranger, and, finding,
+myself alone among so many, I thought to retire to my own cell; but I
+will gladly remain if you will act as my protectress."
+
+"Take my arm, my dear. I will present you to my friends here. I am the
+Marquise de Beaufort. And you?"
+
+"My name is Dolores. I have neither father nor mother. The Marquis de
+Chamondrin adopted me; and I was reared in his house as his own
+daughter."
+
+"The Marquis de Chamondrin? Why! his son Philip----"
+
+"My adopted brother! You know him, madame?"
+
+"He is one of my friends and often came to my salon--when I had a
+salon," added the Marquise, smiling.
+
+"Philip emigrated," remarked Dolores, "but unfortunately, he recently
+returned to France. He, with several other gentlemen, attempted to save
+the queen. He was with me, yesterday, when we were arrested; he, as an
+Émigré; I, for giving him shelter."
+
+This short explanation sufficed to awaken the liveliest sympathy among
+her listeners. She was immediately surrounded and respectfully entreated
+to accept certain comforts and delicacies that those who had money were
+allowed to purchase for themselves. She refused these proffered
+kindnesses; but remained until evening beside the Marquise de Beaufort,
+who seemed to take an almost motherly interest in the young girl.
+
+The days that followed were in no way remarkable; but Dolores was deeply
+affected by scenes which no longer moved her companions. Every evening a
+man entered, called several persons by name and handed them a folded
+paper, a badly written and often illegible scrawl in which not even the
+spelling of the names was correct, and which, consequently, not
+unfrequently failed to reach the one for whom it was intended. This was
+an act of accusation. The person who received it was allowed no time to
+prepare his defence, but was compelled to appear before the
+Revolutionary Tribunal the following day, and on that day or the next,
+he was usually led forth to die.
+
+How many innocent persons Dolores saw leave the prison never to return!
+But the victims, whatever might be their age or sex, displayed the same
+fortitude, courage and firmness. They met their doom with such proud
+audacity that those who survived them, but who well knew that the same
+fate awaited them, in their turn, watched them depart with sad, but not
+despairing, eyes.
+
+These scenes, of which she was an almost hourly witness, strengthened
+the soul of Dolores and increased her distaste for life and her scorn of
+death. Still, she experienced a feeling of profound sorrow when, on the
+morning of the ninth day of her captivity, she was obliged to bid
+farewell to the Marquise de Beaufort, who, in company with the former
+abbess of the Convent of Bellecombe, in Auvergne, and a venerable
+priest, had been summoned before the Tribunal. They were absent scarcely
+three hours; they returned, condemned. Their execution was to take place
+that same day at sunset. They spent the time that remained, in prayer;
+and Dolores, kneeling beside them, wept bitterly.
+
+"Do not mourn, my dear child," said the Marquise, tenderly. "I die
+without regret. There was nothing left me here on earth. I have lost my
+husband, my son--all who were dear to me. I am going to rejoin them. I
+could ask no greater happiness."
+
+She spoke thus as she obeyed the call of the executioner, who summoned
+her and her companions to array themselves for their final journey. When
+her toilet was completed, she knelt before the aged priest.
+
+"Bless me, my father!" said she.
+
+And the priest, who was to die with her, extended his hands and blessed
+her. When she rose, her face was radiant. She took Dolores in her arms.
+
+"Farewell, my child;" she said, tenderly. "You are young. I hope you
+will escape the fury of these misguided wretches. Pray for me!"
+
+And as the prisoners crowded around her with outstretched hands, she
+cried, cheerfully:
+
+"Au revoir, my friends, au revoir!"
+
+She was led away. Just as she was disappearing from sight, she turned
+once more and sent Dolores a last supreme farewell in a smile and kiss.
+Then, in a clear, strong voice, that rang out like a song of victory,
+she cried:
+
+"Vive le Roi!"
+
+The very next day Dolores saw two young men led out to die. Their
+bearing was no less brave than that of the Marquise. They were not
+royalists. They died accused of Modérantisme, that frightful word with
+which the revolution sealed the doom of so many of its most devoted
+children. The Marquise de Beaufort had cried: "Vive le Roi!" They cried:
+
+"Vive la République!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+ANTOINETTE DE MIRANDOL.
+
+
+A fortnight had elapsed since Dolores first entered the Conciergerie. In
+the many trying experiences through which she had been obliged to pass,
+she had been sustained by the hope of a speedy meeting with Philip. She
+dare not believe that Coursegol's efforts, or even the order of release
+which he had obtained through Vauquelas, could save them; but it seemed
+to her if she could only see her lover once more before she died, she
+could mount the scaffold without a regret.
+
+One morning, on entering the public hall, she saw Coursegol behind the
+grating in the corridor. She hastened to him, and he whispered through
+the bars that Philip was to be brought to the Conciergerie the next day.
+Dolores was overcome with joy at this news.
+
+"As soon as M. Philip arrives here," added Coursegol; "we will arrange
+to make use of the order of release and to remove you from prison."
+
+"Will that be possible?" inquired Dolores.
+
+"Certainly. All prisoners who are set at liberty are released by order
+of the Committee; and the order given me by Vauquelas is a fac-simile of
+those always used."
+
+"With this difference, however: the names of those to be released have
+not yet been inserted," objected Dolores.
+
+"What of that?" exclaimed Coursegol, "I will insert the names myself,
+and then the order will be in favor of citoyen and citoyenne
+Chamondrin."
+
+"But if we should succeed in escaping from this prison, Coursegol, where
+shall we go?"
+
+"To Bridoul's at first, where you will be safe for at least twenty-four
+hours. From there I shall conduct you to a cottage in the Forest of
+Chévreuse, some little distance from Versailles. The place is almost a
+wilderness; no one will ever think of looking for us there."
+
+Coursegol's words made a deep impression upon the girl's mind. After
+resigning herself to an eternal separation from the object of her love;
+after trampling her own heart and all her hopes of happiness under foot,
+and just as her peace, her future, her very life itself seemed
+irretrievably lost, hope sprang up from the ruins like some gorgeous
+flower and unfolded its brilliant petals one by one before her wondering
+and enraptured eyes.
+
+"And Antoinette?" some one asks, "Had Dolores forgotten Antoinette's
+right to Philip's devotion?" No; the reader knows how heroically Dolores
+had sacrificed her happiness for her friend's sake, and how earnestly
+she had endeavored to compel Philip to fulfil his father's wishes; but
+when Philip met her at the house of Vauquelas after their long
+separation, he made no allusion to the recent promise which bound him
+more closely than ever to Mlle. de Mirandol; and, knowing that Dolores
+was aware of the engagement which had formerly existed between himself
+and Antoinette, he did his best to make that bond appear of a trivial
+nature in order to induce her to listen to his suit with favor. So he
+had merely told Dolores that he did not love Antoinette, that he could
+never love Antoinette, that it was she, Dolores, whom he passionately
+adored and whom he was resolved to make his wife. If we remember the
+influence such words as these could not fail to exercise over the mind
+of Dolores, and the influence exerted by the peculiar circumstances of
+their meeting, and by the perils that surrounded them; if we recollect,
+too, that Antoinette was far away and presumably beyond the reach of
+danger or of want, it is easy to understand how they came to forget
+everything but their own happiness, and to regard their marriage--until
+now deemed an impossibility--as a most natural and proper thing.
+
+It was in this condition of mind that Dolores listened to Coursegol's
+description of the little house in the Chévreuse valley, in which they
+were to take refuge; but the vision of happiness conjured up by his
+words was rudely dispelled by a sudden commotion around her which
+recalled her to the grim reality of the dangers that still threatened
+her on every side. The jailer was reading the names of the prisoners who
+were to appear before the Revolutionary Tribunal the next day.
+
+That evening, when Dolores re-entered her cell, eagerly longing for the
+morrow which would bring Philip once more to her side, she was followed
+by Aubry, who was carrying a small iron bedstead which he placed near
+the one occupied by Dolores.
+
+"What are you doing?" inquired the young girl.
+
+"I am placing a bed here for the companion I shall be compelled to give
+you to-morrow, citoyenne. I have resorted to every sort of stratagem to
+gratify your desire to be alone, but now there is no help for it. We are
+expecting a party of prisoners from La Vendée. There are several women
+among them; and some place must be found for them, although the prison
+is filled to overflowing. While you were down-stairs the inspector came
+here and ordered me to put another prisoner in this cell. It is
+annoying, but, never mind; when the new-comers arrive I will choose your
+room-mate, and you will be pleased with her."
+
+This intelligence was exceedingly unwelcome to Dolores, but the hope of
+seeing Philip the next day greatly mitigated her regret. She had just
+left her bed the next morning, when she heard footsteps in the corridor.
+She hastily completed her toilet, and had hardly done so when the key
+turned in the lock. The door opened and Aubry entered. He was not alone;
+but Dolores could not distinguish the features of the lady who
+accompanied him, on account of the dim light and the thick veil that
+shrouded her face.
+
+"Here is your companion," Aubry whispered to Dolores. "I hope you will
+be pleased with my selection. Poor little thing, she seems worn out and
+terribly dejected."
+
+The stranger, without lifting her veil, had seated herself upon her bed
+in an attitude which indicated intense fatigue or despondency. Aubry
+gave her a few directions to which she listened abstractedly, without
+replying or even looking at the jailer, who then withdrew. Dolores,
+after a moment, approached the stranger and said:
+
+"Since we are to be together for a time more or less long, shall we not
+be friends?"
+
+At the sound of the girl's voice, the stranger trembled; then she rose
+and looked Dolores full in the face with a strange intentness.
+
+"Shall we not be friends!" she repeated. "Dolores, do you not know me?"
+
+It was Dolores' turn to tremble. She clasped her hands, uttered a cry of
+astonishment in which one could detect both consternation and joy; then,
+springing forward, she hastily lifted the veil which hid the face of the
+speaker.
+
+"Antoinette! Antoinette!"
+
+"Dolores, you here!"
+
+They were again in each other's arms after four long years of
+separation, kissing each other, questioning each other, smiling and
+weeping by turns.
+
+"Tell me about yourself!" cried Antoinette.
+
+"All in good time, my dearest," replied Dolores. "First, lie down and
+rest. You look weary and are pale with fatigue."
+
+"I was travelling all night!"
+
+Dolores helped her remove her damp clothing and made her lie down upon
+her own bed; then she left her a moment to ask Aubry to bring a cup of
+coffee to her weary friend. That worthy man exhibited his accustomed
+zeal, and soon the two young-girls, one reclining on her couch, the
+other seated by her bedside were talking of the past. But their
+conversation had hardly begun when Antoinette inquired:
+
+"Have you seen Philip?"
+
+A slight pallor overspread the cheeks of Dolores, but the next instant
+she responded, calmly:
+
+"I have seen Philip. He, too, has been arrested, and he will be brought
+here to-day."
+
+Antoinette was eager to know the circumstances of Philip's arrest.
+Dolores related them, and to do so she was obliged to give her companion
+some account of her own life since she left the Château de Chamondrin
+four years before. Antoinette was affected to tears by the story of her
+friend's misfortunes. She interrupted her again and again to pity and
+caress her, and Dolores could not summon up courage to speak of her love
+for Philip, or of what had passed between them.
+
+Then, it was Antoinette's turn to speak of herself and of her own past;
+and she soon revealed the fact that Philip had solemnly plighted his
+troth to her at last. She also told her friend that she could not endure
+her life in England, separated from him, and that anxiety for his safety
+had induced her to leave the Reed mansion by stealth and come to France
+in quest of him.
+
+In London, she had sought the protection of the Chevalier de Millemont,
+an aged nobleman, and Philip's devoted friend. That gentleman, after
+vainly attempting to dissuade her, at last consented to make such
+arrangements as would enable her to reach France in safety. It was
+through his efforts that Antoinette was allowed to take passage in a
+small vessel that was sent to bear a message from the princes to La
+Vendée. On reaching the coast of Brittany where the vessel landed, she
+and her travelling companions parted. She was eager to reach Paris, but
+found that the journey would be no easy task. She finally succeeded in
+finding a man who agreed to take her as far as Nantes in his carriage.
+He procured two passports, one for his own use, and in which he figured
+as a grain merchant; the other for Antoinette, who was represented to be
+his daughter. Unfortunately, they stopped for refreshments at a small
+village near Nantes; and Antoinette's unmistakable air of distinction
+and the whiteness of her hands led people to suspect that she was not
+the child of a petty village merchant. The man discovered this; his
+fears were aroused, and while Antoinette was sitting in the parlor of
+the inn, he harnessed his horses and drove off at full speed. This
+cowardly desertion filled the girl with dismay. On finding herself
+alone, she could not conceal her disquietude, and this increased the
+suspicions that had already been aroused. The inn-keeper, who was a
+zealous patriot, compelled her to go with him to the district
+Commissioner. Her presence of mind deserted her; and her incoherent
+replies and her reticence caused her arrest. The Commissioner intended
+to send her to Nantes; but she begged so hard to be sent to Paris,
+instead, that he finally granted her request. That same evening a party
+of prisoners from La Vendée passed through the village; and Antoinette
+was entrusted to the care of the officer in charge of them. After a long
+and painful journey, she at last reached Paris, where the Conciergerie
+opened to receive her.
+
+Such was the story she related to Dolores. The latter listened to it in
+silence. When it was ended, she said to her friend:
+
+"Now you must sleep and regain your strength. Have no fears, I will
+watch over you."
+
+"If I could only see Philip!" sighed Antoinette.
+
+"You shall see him; I promise you that."
+
+Antoinette submissively closed her eyes and soon fell asleep. Dolores
+sat motionless, her thoughts busy with what she had just heard. In all
+this narrative she had clearly understood only two things: first, that
+it was the hope of discovering and saving Philip, whom she still
+passionately loved, that had induced Mlle. de Mirandol to make this
+journey which had terminated so disastrously, and secondly, that Philip
+only a few weeks before had solemnly renewed an engagement which he had
+concealed from her.
+
+"What shall I do?" asked the poor girl, as she remembered with a
+breaking heart her blissful dreams of the evening before.
+
+Her own great love stood face to face with that of Antoinette. Which
+should be sacrificed? Antoinette's most assuredly, since Philip loved
+Dolores. But she dare not contemplate such a solution of the problem.
+
+"What!" she thought; "after the Marquis de Chamondrin has reared me as
+his own child, I repay his kindness by encouraging his son to disobey
+his last wishes? No, no! It is impossible! He made him promise to marry
+Antoinette; and Philip did promise, first his father and afterwards
+Antoinette. What does it matter if he does love me! When he no longer
+sees me, he will forget me! Antoinette will again become dear to him.
+They will be happy. What am I, that I should destroy the plans that were
+so dear to the heart of my benefactor? Have I not made one sacrifice,
+and can I not make another? Come, Dolores, be brave, be strong! If you
+wed Philip, Antoinette will be miserable. Her disappointment would break
+her heart; and all your life long, the phantom form of the dear sister
+whose happiness you had wrecked would stand between your husband and
+yourself. She is innocent; she does not even know that I love Philip. I
+have never admitted it to her; I have always concealed the truth. She
+will be happy; she will feel no remorse, and she will cause peace,
+resignation and love to descend with healing wings upon the heart of him
+she so fondly loves."
+
+Never was there a nobler example of self-denial and renunciation. She
+had only to utter a single word and Philip was hers forever; but if she
+must pain Antoinette's tender heart, and fail in respect to her
+benefactor in order to win happiness, she would have none of it. Such
+were her reflections as she watched over her sleeping friend.
+
+"Ah!" she murmured, as she sadly gazed upon her; "why did you not
+remain in England? Why did you come here? You little know how much
+misery you have caused me!"
+
+One cannot wonder that a rebellious cry rose from her tortured heart;
+but the cry did not escape her lips. It was stifled in her inmost soul
+with the hopes she had just relinquished forever. Suddenly the door
+opened, and the jailer entered. It was now about ten o'clock in the
+morning.
+
+"There is a prisoner below who has just arrived, and who wishes to see
+you, citoyenne."
+
+"It is he!" thought Dolores, turning pale at the thought of meeting
+Philip again.
+
+Nevertheless, she armed herself with courage, and went down-stairs with
+a firm step to welcome Philip. He was awaiting her with feverish
+impatience. On seeing her, he uttered a cry of joy and sprang forward,
+crying:
+
+"Dolores, Dolores, at last we meet never again to part!"
+
+"Never?" she asked, faintly.
+
+"Do you not remember my words? If God, who has united us once more,
+after a long and cruel separation, saves us from the dangers that
+threaten us with destruction, shall you not believe that he smiles upon
+our love? Ah, well! thanks to Coursegol, we shall succeed in making our
+escape from this place. We shall soon be free!"
+
+"And what is to be Antoinette's fate?'
+
+"Antoinette?"
+
+Dolores looked him full in the eyes and said, with all the firmness she
+could command:
+
+"You left Antoinette in England, Philip, promising to marry her on your
+return. She is now in France, in Paris, in this prison. She comes to
+claim the fulfilment of your promise."
+
+While Dolores was speaking, Philip's face underwent an entire change, so
+great was the surprise and emotion caused by this intelligence. When she
+had finished, he could make no response; he could only lean against the
+wall of the prison, speechless and motionless.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+LOVE'S CONFLICTS.
+
+
+What Philip had just heard filled his heart with grief and
+consternation. How had Antoinette succeeded in reaching Paris? What had
+been her object in coming? Dolores repeated the story exactly as
+Antoinette had told it. When it was ended she simply added:
+
+"Philip, why did you not tell me of the engagement that existed between
+you? What! you left Antoinette scarcely six weeks ago--left her,
+promising to marry her on your return, and now you entreat me to be your
+wife!"
+
+Philip hastily interrupted her.
+
+"Ah, Dolores, do not reproach me. I have been neither false nor
+treacherous. There has been a terrible, a fatal mistake. Yes, separated
+from you, convinced that I should never see you again--that you were
+dead or forever lost to me, I made Antoinette the same promise I made my
+father four years ago, when I believed you consecrated to God; but when
+I found you once more, you whom I adore, how could I forget that you
+first--that you alone, possessed my heart? Even as a child, I loved you
+as one loves a wife, not as one loves a sister; and this passion has
+grown with my growth, and strengthened with my strength, until it has
+become the ruling power of my life."
+
+"Alas!" murmured Dolores.
+
+"And when a thrice-blessed change has brought us together once more, now
+that I can at last cover your dear hands with kisses, and feast my
+hungry eyes upon your beauty, you would forbid me in the name of
+Antoinette to tell you what has been in my heart so many years? No,
+Dolores, no. You are strong, I know. You possess sufficient energy and
+determination to conquer yourself and to remain apparently cold and
+unmoved while your heart is writhing in anguish; but I have no such
+fortitude. I cannot hide my suffering; I love you, I must tell you so."
+
+As he spoke, Philip became more and more agitated. Tears gathered in his
+eyes and his features worked convulsively.
+
+"Do you not see," he resumed, after a short silence, "that the scruples
+which led us to conceal the truth were the causes of all our misery? If,
+hand in hand, we had knelt before him and said: 'Father, we love each
+other, give us your blessing,' he would have been content."
+
+"You are mistaken, Philip. Just before I left for the convent, I told
+the Marquis with my own lips of your love for me, and he did not bid me
+stay."
+
+Philip stood as if stupefied.
+
+"My father knew--"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And yet, on his deathbed, he compelled me to promise that I would marry
+Antoinette!"
+
+"He thought you would forget me."
+
+"Can those who truly love ever forget?" cried Philip. "But what is to be
+done?" he asked.
+
+Dolores made no response. She stood before him with eyes downcast that
+he might not see the conflict which was raging in her soul. Philip took
+advantage of her hesitation to plead his cause anew.
+
+"Listen, Dolores; it is not right that we should all sacrifice ourselves
+to my father's ambition; and if I wed Antoinette, still loving you, I
+cannot make her happy. Besides, what would become of you?"
+
+"But if I listen to you, what will become of Antoinette?"
+
+"She will forget. She loves me because she met me before she met any
+other young man, before she had seen the world; but she will soon forget
+me. After a few tears that cannot compare in bitterness with those that
+I have shed, and with those I shall shed, if I am compelled to give you
+up, she will bestow her love elsewhere."
+
+"Do not wrong her, Philip. For four long years she has considered
+herself your wife in the sight of God, and now you would leave her to
+mourn your infidelity!"
+
+"My infidelity!"
+
+"Yes, Philip, for you have plighted your troth to her. You have made no
+promise to me."
+
+"And you?"
+
+"I have promised nothing."
+
+"But your silence the other evening when I entreated you to grant my
+suit--was not your silence then an avowal?"
+
+"You misunderstood me!" replied Dolores, courageously.
+
+The girl could endure no more; her strength was exhausted; but her
+decision was made, and her sole aim now was to assure Antoinette's
+happiness by compelling Philip to marry her. She said, gently:
+
+"Coursegol must bring the order of release by the aid of which you and I
+were to leave the prison. It will be of service when we plan
+Antoinette's escape."
+
+Philip uttered an exclamation of remonstrance. She pretended not to hear
+it and continued:
+
+"You will go with her. When you are once outside these walls, thanks to
+Coursegol, it will be easy for you to reach a place of safety. I do not
+ask you to marry Antoinette as soon as you have left me; but when time
+has calmed the fever that is now raging in your heart, and peace has
+descended upon your troubled soul, you will bravely fulfil the promise
+you have made, as befits an honest man. This is my request."
+
+Philip shook his head.
+
+"What is to be your fate?" he inquired.
+
+"If I ever leave this prison, or rather, if I escape the guillotine, I
+shall go to some foreign land and there, resuming the vocation to which
+I have consecrated myself, I shall pass the remainder of my life in a
+convent where I shall pray for you. But I shall not take the vows of
+eternal seclusion from the world; and if, some day, you feel strong
+enough to endure my presence without danger to your peace of mind, I
+will see you again, Philip, and give your children a second mother by
+the renewal of my friendship with Antoinette."
+
+"I refuse to obey you! No; I will not marry Antoinette, and since you
+would compel me to do so, she shall decide what course I ought to
+pursue. I will tell her all; I will tell her that we love each other,
+that we have always loved each other."
+
+"Hush!" said Dolores, beseechingly; "she must never know--you have no
+right to reveal a secret that is as much mine as it is yours."
+
+Their conversation had lasted some time. The yard and the hall that
+opened into it were beginning to fill with the inmates of the prison.
+They came down from their cells by no means certain that evening would
+find them still alive; and yet this uncertainty did not mar the serenity
+of their features or of their minds. Several, on passing Philip and
+Dolores, looked at them with evident curiosity, as if anxious to know
+the theme of such an animated conversation.
+
+"I must return to Antoinette," said Dolores. "I will bring her down with
+me, and I entreat you, in the name of your love, to say nothing that
+will cause her pain. There is no haste. We are in prison, and, in spite
+of Coursegol's efforts, none of us may succeed in making our escape. An
+act of accusation may fall upon one of us, if not upon all three of us,
+at any moment. What the future has in store for us we do not know, but
+let us not embitter the present by reproaches and differences. Let us
+live here, as we lived at Chamondrin, in perfect harmony, encouraging
+and sustaining one another in our misfortunes, so we can endure them
+cheerfully, and wait with patience until time shall solve this
+difficulty for us."
+
+"What energy you possess!" replied Philip, gladly accepting this
+proposal, since it gave him a gleam of hope.
+
+Dolores left him to go to Antoinette, and Philip mingled with the other
+prisoners, among whom he found many noblemen and titled ladies whose
+acquaintance he had made at court and at the house of the Duke de
+Penthieore. Antoinette was just waking when Dolores returned to the cell
+they shared in common, and she did not notice the emotion that was still
+visible on her friend's face. She smiled, extended her hand and kissed
+her.
+
+"Philip?" she asked.
+
+This was the first word she uttered.
+
+"Philip has come. I have seen him; he is waiting for you below."
+
+This news made Antoinette spring hastily to her feet; and arm in arm the
+two girls went down to join Philip. Dolores felt Antoinette's heart
+throb violently, so deeply was she moved by the thought of seeing him
+whom she regarded as her betrothed. She flew to his arms with such
+artless delight that he was really touched with remorse when he
+remembered that, only a moment before, he had almost hated this lovely
+young girl whose only fault was her love for him.
+
+"Poor child," he said, almost tenderly, "why did you not remain in
+England? Why did you expose yourself to such danger?"
+
+"Was it not my duty to come to you that I might die with you? When,
+after vainly waiting a fortnight for news of you, I heard of the death
+of the queen, I said to myself that, in your fruitless efforts to save
+her, you must have incurred great peril, and that you had probably been
+arrested. You see that I was not mistaken. So I started to find you, and
+I deem myself fortunate to be with you once more."
+
+This response, which Dolores heard distinctly, was only another proof of
+the promises Philip had made to Antoinette. These promises, consecrated
+as they had been by the blessing of the Abbé Peretty, beside the
+deathbed of the Marquis de Chamondrin, seemed of so sacred a nature in
+the eyes of Antoinette that she really felt it her duty to treat Philip
+as if their marriage was an accomplished fact.
+
+Dolores glanced at Philip; her look seemed to say:
+
+"Would you dare to tell her that you do not love her? No; think only of
+making yourself worthy of her, and of assuring the happiness to which
+she is justly entitled."
+
+Philip was greatly embarrassed. Antoinette seemed to expect that he
+would greet her arrival with some word expressive of joy or of love;
+but, in spite of his efforts, he could not utter a word. The presence of
+Dolores from whom he could no longer conceal the truth, intimidated him
+and rendered him mute. Some minutes passed thus. The prisoners were
+passing and repassing. Those who had been surprised by the arrival of
+Philip a short time before, were now wondering who this young girl, for
+whom Dolores evinced all a sister's tenderness, could be.
+
+We have already said that each of the prisons which had been crowded
+with victims by the Reign of Terror was a faithful reproduction of the
+aristocratic society of Paris, now decimated by death and by exile, but
+which was famous for its intrigues, its wit, its indiscretions, its
+luxury and its gallantries. Behind the prison bars the ladies still
+remained grandes dames; the men, courtiers: and neither sex had lost any
+of its interest in small events as well as great. On the contrary, the
+monotony of prison life and the desire to kill time intensified this
+interest so natural to the French mind. An incident of trifling
+importance furnished them with a topic of conversation for hours. The
+new dress in which the duchess had appeared, the pleasure with which the
+marquise seemed to receive the attentions of the chevalier, interested
+this little world, which had not been cured of its frivolity by its
+misfortunes, as much as the heroism which the last person condemned had
+displayed on ascending the scaffold.
+
+This serves to explain how and why a general curiosity was awakened by
+the appearance of Antoinette de Mirandol. A few moments before, they had
+noticed the Marquis de Chamondrin engaged in animated conversation with
+Dolores. The malicious scented an intrigue; the ladies undertook the
+defence of Dolores; the old people remembered that she had been educated
+with Philip, and thought it quite natural that they should have much to
+say to each other after a long separation; but when Dolores, after
+absenting herself a few moments, returned with a charming young girl
+upon her arm, a stranger, whom she led straight to Philip, every one
+was eager to know the name of the new-comer. They watched the group
+with evident curiosity, as if trying to divine what was passing; they
+commented on the emotion betrayed in Philip's face, and the
+acquaintances of Dolores were anxiously waiting for an opportunity to
+question her.
+
+"I think we are creating quite a sensation," Dolores said, at last, in a
+low tone and with a smile.
+
+Philip turned, and seeing they were the subject of universal comment,
+and desiring an opportunity to collect his scattered thoughts, he said:
+
+"We will meet again presently."
+
+Then, without another word, he left them.
+
+Dolores looked at Antoinette. She was very pale, and she trembled
+violently. Dolores led her gently back to the cell which they occupied
+in common. When Antoinette found herself again alone with her friend she
+made no attempt to restrain her tears.
+
+"He did not even answer me," she sobbed. "My arrival seemed to cause him
+sorrow rather than joy."
+
+"It is because he loves you and it makes him wretched to see you
+threatened by the same dangers that surround us," replied Dolores,
+striving to console her.
+
+"Does he love me? I am quite sure, had I been in his place, that I
+should have awaited his coming with impatience and greeted him with joy.
+I should have seen in it only a proof of love, and I should have
+forgotten the dangers he had incurred in the rapture of meeting. When
+two persons love, there is no sorrow so great as to be separated by
+death. The one who survives can but be wretched for the rest of his
+life; and the kindest and most generous wish the departing soul can
+frame is that the loved one left behind, may soon follow."
+
+Dolores made no reply. She understood the deep despondency which had
+taken possession of Antoinette's mind. Her own sorrow was no less
+poignant, but it was mitigated by a feeling of serenity and resignation,
+which was constantly gaining strength now that what has just passed had
+convinced her of the necessity of her sacrifice; and, from that moment,
+there reigned in the heart of Dolores, a boundless self-abnegation, a
+constant desire to insure the happiness of her friend by the surrender
+of her own. The remainder of the day passed uneventfully. Dolores and
+Antoinette made only one more visit to the hall below, and then Philip
+avoided them.
+
+"He is suffering," said Antoinette. "What troubles him?"
+
+She could learn this only by learning, at the same time, that Philip was
+not only indifferent to her, but that his love was given to Dolores. The
+latter, faithful to her vow, carefully concealed Philip's secret from
+her friend. That evening, before they retired, the two girls talked long
+and sadly of the past. They lived over again the happy hours they had
+spent together; and when, overcome with weariness, sleep at last
+overtook them, they fancied themselves once more in the Château de
+Chamondrin. Dolores was listening to the Marquis, as he divulged the
+hopes he had centred on Philip, and planned a noble and wealthy alliance
+which would restore the glory of his name. But Antoinette's thoughts
+had taken a different course. When she awoke in the morning, her mind
+reverted to the days which had immediately followed her arrival at the
+château five years before--the days when love suddenly sprang up and
+blossomed in her soul. Then, she recalled a morning when Philip
+requested an interview with her. She believed herself beloved, and stole
+to the trysting-place in a transport of unspeakable joy. What
+consternation filled her heart when Philip told her of his love for
+Dolores, and entreated her to plead his cause! The painful impression
+produced by this scene gradually faded after Dolores left the château to
+enter the convent at Avignon, and when Antoinette saw Philip becoming,
+each day, more and more favorably disposed toward herself; but now this
+impression returned again even more strongly and vividly than before,
+and awakened fresh sorrow and despair in the poor girl's soul. Philip's
+desire to postpone their marriage and his failure to keep his promises
+were now explained. The cold reception he had accorded her enlightened
+the poor child as to the real sentiments of the man whom she only
+yesterday regarded as her husband. She found herself in the same
+position she had occupied years before; the same danger threatened her
+happiness with destruction--Philip loved Dolores. When the revelation
+burst upon her, she could not repress a moan, and burying her face in
+her pillow, she sobbed and wept unheard by Dolores, who was sleeping
+peacefully only a few feet from her. All the pangs of anguish that had
+tortured her five years before now returned; and her suffering was even
+more poignant, for her love had increased and her hopes had grown
+stronger. Her first outbreak of despair was followed by a season of
+calmness which enabled her to decide upon her future course; and, after
+fighting against her doubts and fears for a long time, she finally
+concluded to go to Dolores and ascertain the extent of her misfortune
+from this faithful friend. The first gray light of morning was stealing
+into the gloomy cell when Antoinette arrived at this conclusion, and the
+next moment she was up and dressed. She approached the bed upon which
+Dolores was lying, still asleep. Antoinette seated herself at the foot
+of the bed and waited. It was her pale face and eyes swimming with tears
+that first met her companion's gaze when she awoke.
+
+"You have been weeping, Antoinette?" she exclaimed with tender
+solicitude.
+
+"Yes; I have passed a miserable night."
+
+"Why? How?"
+
+"Philip's indifference has wounded me to the heart!"
+
+"Do not grieve about that, my dearest. What you think indifference, is
+perhaps, an excess of tenderness. Philip regrets that you did not remain
+in England. The terrible position in which you are placed grieves and,
+at the same time, irritates him."
+
+She thus endeavored to quiet Antoinette's suspicions, but the latter
+could no longer be deceived. She heard her to the end; then she asked.
+
+"Are you sure that these are really Philip's sentiments? Is it not more
+probable that there is another love in his heart?"
+
+"Another love!" repeated Dolores, frightened by these words; "do not
+believe it. Philip is your betrothed husband; he knows it. He is as
+conscious of his present as of his future duties; and he loves you
+only."
+
+"You are wrong, Dolores. It is you he loves!"
+
+"Loves me! Who has told you this?"
+
+"So it is true! Ah! I was sure of it," murmured Antoinette. "He has met
+you again after a separation of four years, and I am forgotten."
+
+Dolores rose, took her friend in her arms as if she were a child, and
+said gently:
+
+"Be comforted, I entreat you. Your imagination deceives you and leads
+you far from the truth. It is possible that Philip, on meeting me again,
+was moved by some of the emotions that are often awakened in the heart
+by memories of the past; but these emotions are fleeting and do not
+endanger your happiness. If Philip once cherished fancies that troubled
+your peace, you know that my departure sufficed to cure him of them; and
+should these foolish fancies revive, my departure will again suffice to
+dispel them and to restore to you the heart to which you, and you alone,
+have an inalienable claim."
+
+These words reassured Antoinette. She ceased to weep, and her whole
+heart seemed to go out in gratitude to Dolores. The latter continued:
+
+"If God wills that we recover our freedom, you shall depart with Philip.
+As for me, I shall take refuge in some convent in a foreign land. My
+place is there, and I solemnly assure you that I shall never marry."
+
+"Ah! how I thank you!" cried Antoinette. "You have restored my
+happiness and my peace of mind."
+
+Love is selfish, and Antoinette knew nothing of Dolores' struggles. She
+did not attempt to fathom the motives of her friend, and relieved by the
+assurance she had just received, and no longer doubting her ability to
+regain her lost influence over Philip, she passed suddenly from the
+poignant suffering we have described to a state of peaceful security.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+THE THUNDERBOLT.
+
+
+Three days passed, leaving the situation of affairs unchanged.
+Antoinette and Dolores saw Philip but seldom, though they were living
+under the same roof, so persistently did he avoid them. If he chanced to
+enter the hall when they were there, he took refuge with some of the
+groups of gentlemen, where the two girls would not be likely to approach
+him unless they had something of great importance to communicate to
+their ungracious friend.
+
+What Philip utterly lacked, after the events recounted in the last
+chapter, was resignation. He felt, that Dolores was irrevocably lost to
+him, and that even if she left the prison alive, she would instantly
+place an impassable barrier between them; but though he was convinced of
+this, he could not make up his mind to submit to a decision that
+destroyed all his hopes of happiness; so he hoped and despaired by
+turns, sometimes assuring himself that he could find words sufficiently
+eloquent to move Dolores, sometimes admitting with a sort of desperation
+that nothing could shake the firmness of the young girl who had resolved
+to sacrifice her happiness for the sake of duty.
+
+Antoinette and Dolores respected his sadness and his evident desire for
+solitude. They spent most of their time together in their own little
+room, happy in being again united, and bearing the trials that beset
+them on every side with wonderful fortitude. Each evening found them
+astonished that they had not been summoned before the Revolutionary
+Tribunal; and each evening they said, not without anguish:
+
+"The summons will come, perhaps, to-morrow."
+
+The fourth day after Philip's arrival at the Conciergerie, Aubry, the
+jailer, who had shown Dolores so much kindness and attention, obtained
+leave of absence for the day, and engaged Coursegol to take his place.
+Once before he had made a similar arrangement, and Coursegol had thus
+been able to spend almost an entire day with Dolores.
+
+His anxiety to see her now, was increased by his desire to fix upon a
+plan whereby he could rescue her and also Philip from the danger that
+threatened them. He brought with him the order in which he had inserted
+their names, and which would set "Citoyen and Citoyenne Chamondrin" at
+liberty. He was not aware of Antoinette's arrest, and when he entered
+the cell and saw Mlle. de Mirandol, he uttered an exclamation of dismay.
+
+"You here, mademoiselle!" he cried.
+
+"Yes, I have been here three days."
+
+"But the order releases only two persons!" he exclaimed, sorrowfully.
+
+Antoinette did not understand him; she had heard nothing about the order
+to which he alluded; but Dolores quickly approached Coursegol and said,
+hurriedly, in a low voice:
+
+"Not another word. Give me the order. When the proper time comes, it
+shall be used by those who have the best right to it."
+
+Coursegol reluctantly obeyed. He was convinced that Dolores would
+concentrate all her efforts upon the deliverance of Philip and
+Antoinette; and he almost hated the latter who, for the second time,
+imperiled the life and happiness of one so dear to him.
+
+"Before, it was her presence in the château that prevented the marriage
+of my dear Dolores to the man she loved; to-day, after I have worked so
+hard to secure their liberty and the realization of their hopes, it is
+she who destroys all my plans," he thought. Perhaps he would have given
+vent to his feelings had not Dolores, who seemed to read what was
+passing in his mind, made an imperative sign; so he withdrew and went to
+join Philip, and to tell him that the order was in the hands of Dolores.
+
+"It will not be used," said Philip, sadly. "If it would open the prison
+doors for two women, I could induce them to go; but since I must go out
+with one of them, and as neither will consent to save her life at the
+cost of the other's, we shall all remain."
+
+"Then all my efforts will be lost," cried Coursegol, despairingly; "and
+I shall be compelled to see you perish after I have accomplished
+miracles in order to save you."
+
+And tears of anger and disappointment sprang to his eyes.
+
+Philip calmed him by explaining how impossible it would be for two to
+avail themselves of an opportunity to escape and abandon their friend
+to her fate. If one was forsaken by the others, eternal remorse would be
+the portion of those who deserted her; hence, they must make their
+escape together or await the dénouement.
+
+Coursegol promised to do his best to obtain an order which could be used
+by three persons; and he left the prison towards evening, telling his
+friends that he would see them again in a few days and even sooner, if
+possible.
+
+While he was there, Antoinette, Dolores, and Philip had repaired, as if
+by common consent, to the main hall; and when he had gone, the three
+young people found themselves together.
+
+"Shall we still persist in shunning one another?" Antoinette asked
+Philip.
+
+"No, no," he replied, touched by the tender sorrow in her voice; "let us
+be together while we can; then, should death be our portion, we shall
+not be obliged to regret that we have not consecrated to friendship the
+few moments left at our disposal."
+
+"That is well, Philip," rejoined Dolores, and as she could say no more
+in Antoinette's presence without revealing the secret she wished to
+conceal, she extended her hand to her friend as if in approval of his
+decision.
+
+They remained together until the usual signal warned the prisoners that
+they must retire to their cells and extinguish their lights; but no
+allusion was made to the order of release. Philip and Dolores seemed to
+have tacitly agreed to conceal from Antoinette the fact that her
+unforeseen arrival had prevented their immediate restoration to liberty.
+
+The next morning Dolores went down to the public hall, and there held a
+long conversation with Philip.
+
+"Since God has united us here," she said to him; "let us enjoy the time
+he has given us, and allow no differences to creep in between us and
+destroy the peace and harmony that are our only consolation. I do not
+wish to know your feelings, whatever they may be. You must constantly
+bear in mind these two things, Philip--that I can never, never be your
+wife, and that you owe Antoinette reparation. This is the duty that life
+imposes upon you. So accept your destiny, and no longer pain us by the
+sight of your despondency. It only renders me miserable and it can
+change nothing."
+
+Philip listened with bowed head to these firm words. He said to himself:
+
+"She is right. Why should we concern ourselves about the future, since
+the present allows me to remain by her side? We are ever on the
+threshold of the grave, here. Alas! we must escape from the shadow of
+death that is hanging over us before we make any plans for the future."
+
+But he was touched, and while he mentally resolved to keep his love and
+his hopes a secret in his own heart, he bowed over the hand of Dolores,
+and raising it to his lips, said:
+
+"You speak wisely, my sister. I will be worthy of you."
+
+This day was the first that passed happily for the three whose
+life-history we are attempting to relate. Unfortunately, this
+long-sought happiness was to endure but for a day. The very next
+afternoon after the just described, all the prisoners were assembled in
+the main hall. It was the last of December, and night comes quickly in
+winter. It was only four o'clock, and already the gathering twilight
+warned the prisoners that the hour for returning to their cells was fast
+approaching.
+
+Suddenly there was a movement in the crowd. The prisoners nearest the
+door pushed against those who were further away, and soon they found
+themselves ranged along the wall, while a large vacant space was left in
+the centre of the room.
+
+A man had just entered. He was attired in black, and he wore a large red
+cockade on his hat. In his hand he held a roll of papers. Four soldiers
+accompanied him. It was easy to recognize in this personage a clerk of
+the Revolutionary Tribunal; and it was his duty as an officer of that
+body, to visit the prisons and read the names of those condemned to
+death and of those who were summoned to appear before the Tribunal to
+answer the charges against them. Like an avenging spirit, he appeared
+every day at the same hour, rigid, inflexible, cruel, deaf to
+supplications and tears, a grim avant-courier of the executioner,
+selecting his victims and marking them for death.
+
+Accustomed as they were to see him, his appearance among the prisoners
+always caused a thrill of horror. There was so much youth, beauty,
+innocence, grace, and devotion there! Why should they be doomed? They
+were enemies to whom? To what projects were they an obstacle? Useless
+questions! It is because Robespierre laid his merciless hand upon the
+good, upon the weak and upon the timid that his name will be eternally
+held in execration by all generous hearts.
+
+When this official entered, Antoinette and Philip, who were as yet
+unversed in the customs of the prison, were pushed back by the crowd
+into the yard, without understanding why. Dolores, who knew what was to
+come, remained in the hall and chanced to be in the foremost row.
+
+The clerk came forward, unrolled a long list and began to read in a loud
+voice the names of all who were to appear before the Tribunal the
+following day. What a strange medley of names! Names of plebeians and of
+nobles; of nuns and of priests; of royalists and of republicans; of old
+men and of children; of men and of women; it was all the same, provided
+the guillotine was not compelled to wait for its prey.
+
+Each time a prisoner's name was called a murmur, more or less prolonged
+according as the rank, the age or the sex of the victim inspired more or
+less sympathy or pity, ran through the crowd. Then, the person named
+came forward and received from the hands of the official a paper,
+enumerating the real or imaginary crimes with which he was charged and
+ordering him to appear before his judges the following day. If his
+father, his wife or his children were in prison with him, the air was
+filled with tears and lamentations.
+
+One could hear such words as these:
+
+"If they had but taken me!"
+
+"Would I could die in your stead!"
+
+These heart-breaking scenes began even before the departure of the
+officer, and generally lasted the entire night until the hour of final
+adieu; but if the prisoner designated was alone and without family, he
+came forward with a firm step, stoically accepted his sentence of death,
+and hummed a lively air as he returned to the crowd where a dozen
+unknown, but friendly, hands were extended as if to encourage and
+strengthen him.
+
+Dolores had been a sympathetic witness of many such scenes, and that
+evening she was neither more nor less moved than on previous occasions.
+The eyes and the heart soon become accustomed to anything. But suddenly
+she trembled. Those near her saw her totter and turn pale. She had just
+heard the officer call the name of Antoinette de Mirandol. She glanced
+around her but did not see her friend. Antoinette was with Philip,
+outside the door. She did not reply to her name. The clerk repeated it
+in a still louder voice.
+
+"Antoinette de Mirandol," he repeated a third time.
+
+Dolores stepped forward.
+
+"Here I am," said she. "Pardon me, I did not hear at first."
+
+"Are you Citoyenne Mirandol?"
+
+"The same."
+
+This generous response, twice repeated, caused a murmur of admiration,
+surprise and consternation among those who knew Dolores. She did not
+hear it, but her eyes glowed with heroic resolve as, with a firm hand,
+she took the act of accusation extended to her, and slowly returned to
+her place.
+
+The name of Antoinette to which she had just responded was the last
+upon the sad list.
+
+"All whose names I have called will be tried to-morrow morning at ten
+o'clock."
+
+With these words, the messenger of the Tribunal withdrew. Then came a
+sigh of relief from those who had not been summoned.
+
+The friends of Dolores assembled around her.
+
+"Unfortunate child, what have you done?" asked one.
+
+"Are you, then, so anxious to die?"
+
+"Why did you go forward when it was not your name that he called?"
+
+She glanced calmly at her questioners; then, in a voice in which
+entreaty was mingled with the energy that denotes an immutable resolve,
+she said:
+
+"I beg that no one will interfere in this matter, or make me unhappy by
+endeavoring to persuade me to reconsider my decision. Above all, I
+earnestly entreat you to keep my secret."
+
+No one made any response. The wish she had expressed was equivalent to a
+command; and as such, deeds of heroism were not uncommon, the one which
+she had performed so bravely, and which would cost her her life, was
+forgotten in a few moments by her companions in misfortune, who were
+naturally absorbed in the question as to when their own turn was to
+come.
+
+Dolores passed through the little group that had gathered around her,
+each person stepping aside with a grave bow to make way for her, and
+rejoined Antoinette and Philip, who knew nothing of what had taken
+place. When she appeared before them no trace of emotion was visible
+upon her face, and she had concealed the fated paper beneath the fichu
+that covered her bosom. She chatted cheerfully with her friends until
+the sound of the drum warned the prisoners that they must retire to
+their cells. Then, she smilingly extended her hand to Philip.
+
+"Good-night!" she said, simply.
+
+And taking Antoinette's arm in hers, she led her back to the cell they
+occupied in common. Antoinette entered first, leaving Dolores alone an
+instant in the main corridor. The latter turned and swiftly retraced her
+steps. She was seeking Aubry, the jailer. She soon met him. He, too, was
+ignorant of all that had occurred.
+
+"Where are you going?" he inquired, in a half-good-natured,
+half-grumbling tone.
+
+"I was looking for you," Dolores replied. "I must send a message to
+Coursegol this very night."
+
+"I am not sure that I can get permission to leave the prison."
+
+"You must," she eagerly rejoined. "It is absolutely necessary that I see
+Coursegol to-morrow morning at nine o'clock. If he comes later, he will
+not find me here."
+
+And as Aubry looked at her in astonishment, she added:
+
+"I am to appear to-morrow before the Tribunal."
+
+"You! I hoped they had forgotten you."
+
+"Hush! not a word to any one, above all, to the young girl who shares
+my cell. If you have any regard for me, give my message to Coursegol.
+You will do a good deed for which you shall be rewarded."
+
+She left the kind-hearted jailer without another word, and hastened back
+to the cell where Antoinette was awaiting her.
+
+Dolores passed the night in a profound and peaceful slumber and awoke
+with a heart overflowing with pure and holy joy at the thought that she
+was about to heroically crown a life devoted to duty and to abnegation.
+She did not underrate the sacrifice she was to make; but she knew that
+the death would not be without moral grandeur, and even while she
+comprehended that she had exceeded the limit of the obligations which
+duty imposed upon her, she felt no agitation, no regret.
+
+She rose early and arrayed herself with more than usual care. The dress
+she selected was of gray cashmere. Her shoulders were covered with a
+silk fichu of the same color, knotted behind at the waist. Upon her head
+she wore one of the tall, plumed felt hats in fashion at the time, and
+from which her golden hair descended in heavy braids upon her white
+neck. Never had she been more beautiful. The light of immortality seemed
+to beam in her lovely face; and the serenity of her heart, the
+enthusiasm that inspired her and the fervor of her religious faith
+imparted an inexpressible charm to her features. When her toilet was
+completed, she knelt, and for an hour her soul ascended in fervent
+aspiration to the God in whom she had placed her trust. Her heart was
+deeply touched: but there were no tears in her eyes.
+
+"Death," she thought, "is only a journey to a better life. In the
+unknown world to which my soul will take flight, I shall rejoin those
+whom I love and who have gone before: the Marquis, whose benevolence
+sheltered me from misery and want; his wife, who lavished all a mother's
+tenderness upon me; my mother, herself, who died soon after giving me
+birth. For those I leave behind me I shall wait on high, watching over
+them, and praying for their peace and happiness."
+
+These consoling thoughts crowded in upon her as if to strengthen her in
+her last moments by hopes which render the weakest natures strong and
+indomitable, even before the most frightful suffering. She rose calm and
+tranquil, and approached Antoinette's bedside. She was sleeping soundly.
+Dolores looked at her a moment with loving, pitying eyes.
+
+"May my death assure your happiness," she murmured, softly; "and may
+Philip love you as fondly as I have loved him!"
+
+She left the cell. In the corridor, she met Aubry, who was in search of
+her.
+
+"Your friend Coursegol is waiting for you below," he said, sadly.
+
+"Oh! thank you," she quickly and cheerfully rejoined.
+
+She hastened down. Coursegol was there. He was very pale, his face was
+haggard, and his eyes were terribly swollen. Warned the evening before
+by Aubry, the poor man had spent the entire night in the street,
+crouching against the wall of the prison, weeping and moaning while he
+waited for the hour when he could see Dolores.
+
+"What do I hear, mademoiselle," he exclaimed, on meeting her. "You are
+summoned before the Tribunal! Oh! it is impossible. There must be some
+mistake. They can accuse you of no crime, nor can they think of
+punishing you as if you had been an Émigré or a conspirator."
+
+"Nevertheless, I received a summons yesterday and also a paper
+containing the charge against me."
+
+"Alas, alas!" groaned Coursegol, "why did you not listen to me? Why have
+you not made use of the order I procured for you? You would now be at
+liberty and happy."
+
+"But Antoinette had no means of escape."
+
+"And what do I care for Mademoiselle de Mirandol? She is nothing to me,
+while you are almost my daughter. If you die, I shall not survive you. I
+have accomplished miracles to insure your escape from prison. I also
+flattered myself that I had assured your life's happiness, but by your
+imprudence you have rendered all my efforts futile. Oh, God is not
+just!"
+
+"Coursegol, in pity say no more!"
+
+But he would not heed her. He was really beside himself, and he
+continued his lamentations and reproaches with increasing violence,
+though his voice was choked with sobs. He gesticulated wildly; he formed
+a thousand plans, each more insane than the preceding. Now, he declared
+his intention of forcibly removing Dolores; now he declared he would
+appeal to the judges for mercy; again he swore that Vauquelas should
+interfere in her behalf. But the girl forbade any attempt to save her.
+
+"No, my good Coursegol," she said; "the thought of death does not
+appall me; and those who mourn for me will find consolation in the hope
+of meeting me elsewhere."
+
+"And do you think this hope will suffice for me?" cried Coursegol.
+"Since I took you from the breast of your dying mother on the threshold
+of the Château de Chamondrin, I have loved you more and more each day. I
+lived for you and for you alone. My every hope and ambition were centred
+in you. You were my joy, my happiness, the only charm life had for me;
+and to see you condemned, you, the innocent--"
+
+Sobs choked his utterance.
+
+"Show me the charges against you," he demanded, suddenly.
+
+"What is the use?" rejoined Dolores, desiring to conceal the truth from
+him until the last.
+
+"I wish to know the crimes of which you are accused," persisted
+Coursegol. "There are no proofs against you. I will find a lawyer to
+defend you--if need be, I, myself will defend you."
+
+"It would be useless, my friend. Your efforts would only compromise you,
+without saving me."
+
+As she spoke, she heard quick footsteps behind her. She turned. The
+officer who was there the evening before had returned to conduct the
+prisoners to the Tribunal. He began to call their names.
+
+"Farewell, farewell," murmured Dolores, huskily.
+
+In this parting from the friend who had loved her so long and
+faithfully, she experienced the first pang of anguish that had assailed
+her heart since she had decided to sacrifice her own life for
+Antoinette's sake.
+
+"Not farewell," responded Coursegol, "but au revoir!"
+
+And without another word, he departed.
+
+Dolores glanced around the hall; but saw nothing of Philip or
+Antoinette. She was greatly relieved, for she had feared that their
+emotion would unnerve her; but now she could reasonably hope to carry
+with her to the grave the secret of the devotion which was to cost her
+her life. She did not wish Philip ever to know that she had died in
+place of Antoinette, lest her friend should become hateful in his sight,
+and Antoinette herself be condemned to eternal remorse.
+
+It was now nine o'clock, and about twenty persons had assembled in the
+hall. The majority of them were unfortunates who, like Dolores, were to
+appear that morning before the tribunal; but all did not enjoy a
+serenity like hers. One, a young man, seated upon a chair, a little
+apart from his companions, allowed his eyes to rove restlessly around
+without pausing upon any of the objects that surrounded him. Though his
+body was there, his mind assuredly, was far away. He was thinking,
+doubtless, of days gone by, memories of which always flock into the
+minds of those who are about to die; not far from him, a venerable man
+condemned to death, was striving to conquer his emotion in order to
+console a young girl--his daughter--who hung about his neck, wiping
+bitterly; there, stood a priest, repeating his breviary, pausing every
+now and then to reply to each of the prisoners who came to implore the
+benediction which, according to the tenets of the Romish Church,
+insures the soul the eternal joys of Paradise. So these prisoners, all
+differently occupied, were grouped about the hall; and those who were to
+die displayed far more fortitude and resignation than those who would
+survive them. Dolores approached the priest.
+
+"Father," said she, "on returning from the Tribunal, I shall beg you to
+listen to my confession and to grant me absolution."
+
+As he looked upon this beautiful young girl who confronted death so
+calmly and serenely, the priest closed his book and said, in a voice
+trembling with compassion:
+
+"What! are you, too, a victim for the guillotine? You cannot be a
+conspirator. Do these wretches respect nothing?"
+
+"I am glad to die," Dolores said, simply.
+
+Did he comprehend that this resignation concealed some great sacrifice?
+Perhaps so. He looked at her with admiration, and bowed respectfully
+before her, as he replied:
+
+"You set us all an example of courage, my child. If you are condemned, I
+will give you absolution; and I shall ask you to address to Him, who
+never turns a deaf ear to the petitions of the innocent, a prayer for
+me."
+
+There was so much sadness in his voice that all the sympathies of
+Dolores were aroused. She pitied those who were doomed to die without
+even remembering to weep over her own sad fate.
+
+When the name of Mademoiselle de Mirandol was called, Dolores stepped
+forward as she had done the evening before, and took her place with the
+other prisoners between the double file of soldiers who were to conduct
+them to the Tribunal. Then the gloomy cortége started. When they entered
+the court-room a loud shout rent the air. The hall was filled with
+sans-culottes and tricoteuses who came every day to feast their eyes
+upon the agony of the prisoners, and to accompany them to the
+guillotine. Never was there such an intense and long-continued thirst
+for blood as prevailed in those horrible days.
+
+The prisoners were obliged to pass through this hooting and yelling
+crowd, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that the soldiers
+protected them from its violence. Several wooden benches occupied the
+space between the bar and the chairs of the judges; and upon these the
+prisoners were seated, eleven on each bench and so close together that
+it was almost impossible for them to make the slightest movement. On
+their right stood the arm chair of the prosecuting attorney, or
+"accusateur;" on their left, were the seats of the jurors. Ten minutes
+passed, and the noise and confusion increased until it became positively
+deafening. Suddenly, a door opened and the court entered. The judges
+came first, dressed in black, with plumed hats, and with red sashes
+about their waists. The government attorney took his seat; the jurors
+installed themselves noisily in their places, and the session began.
+
+Nothing could be more summary than the proceedings of this tribunal.
+The prisoner at the bar was generally ignorant of the charges against
+him, for the so-called act of accusation was in most cases, a scrap of
+paper covered with cramped and illegible hand-writing that frequently
+proved undecipherable. The president read a name. The person designated,
+rose and replied to such questions as were addressed to him. If the
+responses were confused, the prisoner's embarrassment was regarded as a
+conclusive proof of his guilt; if they were long, he was imperiously
+ordered to be silent. Witnesses were heard, of course; but those who
+testified in favor of the accused were roughly handled. Then the
+prosecuting attorney spoke five minutes, perhaps; the jury rendered its
+verdict, and the judge sentenced the prisoner or set him at liberty as
+the case might be. That day, eleven persons were tried and condemned to
+death in less than two hours. Dolores' turn came last.
+
+"Your name?" asked the president.
+
+"Antoinette de Mirandol."
+
+As she made this reply, she heard an ill-suppressed cry behind her. She
+turned quickly, and saw Coursegol. He was leaning upon the arm of
+Bridoul, and his hands were clenched and his face flushed. He now
+comprehended, for the first time, the girl's heroic sacrifice. Fearing
+he would betray her, she gave him a warning glance, as if to impose
+silence. It was unnecessary. He well knew that any statement of the real
+facts would be useless now; and that the truth would ruin Antoinette
+without saving Dolores. Such mistakes were not rare during the Reign of
+Terror. Almost daily, precipitancy caused errors of which no one was
+conscious until it was too late to repair them. Only a few days before,
+a son had been condemned in place of his father; and another unfortunate
+man had paid with his head, for the similarity between his name and that
+of another prisoner in whose stead he had been summoned before the
+Tribunal, and with whom he was executed; for Fouquier-Tinville, not
+knowing which was the real culprit, chose rather to doom two innocent
+men to death than to allow one guilty man to escape. Dolores was
+sentenced to be beheaded under the name of Antoinette de Mirandol When
+her sentence was pronounced, the business of the Court was concluded,
+and the judges were about to retire when suddenly a man made his way
+through the crowd to the bar, and cried a stentorian voice:
+
+"The sentence you have just pronounced is infamous. You are not judges,
+but assassins and executioners."
+
+Then he crossed his arms upon his breast and glowered defiance on the
+indignant and wrathful judges.
+
+"Arrest that man!" thundered the public accusateur.
+
+Two gendarmes sprang forward, and the officer who had just spoken added:
+
+"Citizen judges, I place this prisoner at your bar. Question him that
+the citizen jurors may decide upon his fate."
+
+It was Coursegol, who, hearing Dolores condemned, had suddenly resolved
+not to survive her, but to die with her.
+
+"Unfortunate man!" murmured the young girl, and for the first time that
+morning her eyes filled with tears.
+
+Coursegol looked at her as if to ask if she thought him worthy of her.
+In answer to the question put by the chief judge, he curtly replied:
+
+"It is useless to seek any other explanation of my conduct than that
+which I am about to give. I am weary of the horrors which I have
+witnessed. I hate the Republic and its supporters. I am a Royalist; and
+I have no other wish than to seal with my blood, the opinions I have
+here proclaimed.
+
+"Citizen jurors," cried his accuser, angrily; "I ask for this man a
+punishment which shall be an example to any who may desire to imitate
+him."
+
+"He is mad!" objected one of the jurors.
+
+"No, I am not mad!" cried Coursegol. "Down with the Republic and long
+live the King!"
+
+There was such boldness in this defiance that a profound stillness made
+itself felt in the crowded hall. Judges and jurors conferred together in
+wrathful whispers. In a few moments, Coursegol was condemned to suffer
+death upon the guillotine for having been guilty of the heinous crime of
+insulting the court in the exercise of its functions, and of uttering
+seditious words in its presence. Then he approached Dolores. She was
+sobbing violently, entirely overcome by this scene which had moved her
+much more deeply than her own misfortunes.
+
+"Forgive me, mademoiselle," said he, "for being so bold as to resolve
+not to survive you; but even in death, my place is beside you."
+
+"My friend! my protector! my father!" sobbed Dolores.
+
+And yielding to an irresistible impulse, she threw herself into
+Coursegol's arms. He held her pressed tightly to his breast until he was
+ordered to make ready to start for the prison with the other victims.
+They were to remain there until the hour of execution.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+THE LAST FAREWELL.
+
+
+While these events were taking place in the Tribunal, Antoinette de
+Mirandol awoke later than usual to find her friend absent; but the
+discovery caused her little surprise, for this was not the first time
+that Dolores, who was a much earlier riser than herself, had left the
+cell without disturbing her slumbers. Antoinette dressed herself with
+all possible speed, but it was nearly twelve o'clock before she was
+ready to go down to the main hall in search of Dolores. She did not see
+her in the hall or in the corridors, and she entered the refectory
+certain that her friend was already seated at the table where they had
+taken their meals since the increasing coldness of the weather had
+driven them from their cell in the daytime. She cast a quick glance
+through the dining-hall. The prisoners were chatting gayly over their
+meagre fare, as if wishing to console themselves for the plainness of
+their food by the cheerfulness and brilliancy of their conversation.
+Dolores was not there.
+
+The discovery brought with it a feeling of vague alarm; not that
+Antoinette had any suspicion of the truth, but because she was seized
+with a grim presentiment of approaching misfortune. She hastily turned
+away 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, and
+alarmed by Antoinette's manner.
+
+"My God!" the girl whispered, turning suddenly pale; then, overcome with
+an 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 she
+finally recovered her composure sufficiently to explain the cause of her
+alarm. 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 which
+they were allowed to circulate, and questioning their acquaintances, who
+either through compassion or through ignorance gave them no information
+concerning Dolores. Suddenly, at a turn in the corridor, they
+encountered 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 ten
+o'clock this morning."
+
+Two cries rang out on the still air: a cry of rage from Philip, a cry of
+anguish from Antoinette; then, with tears and exclamations of despair
+they entreated Aubry to explain. All he could tell them was that Dolores
+had informed him the evening before that she had been summoned before
+the Tribunal; that she had requested him to inform Coursegol of the
+fact; that she had left her cell, that morning, at nine o'clock, calm
+and beautiful; that she had held a long conversation with Coursegol, who
+was waiting for her below, after which she had left the prison to go to
+the Tribunal in company with several others.
+
+This intelligence plunged Philip and Antoinette into a state of
+indescribable despair. Unable to utter a word, they looked at each other
+in wild but speechless terror; and yet, in the anguish that wrung their
+hearts, their thoughts followed the same course. Both were asking
+themselves why Dolores had concealed the truth from them; why she had
+not allowed them to die with her. It would have been so sweet to depart
+together from a world from which all light seemed to have fled! Who
+would have been cruel enough to refuse them the happiness of ascending
+the scaffold together?
+
+"She feared to cause us pain," said Philip, at last. "She departed
+alone, not realizing that by doing so she caused us greater anguish than
+she 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 the
+Hall 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's
+axe. With hearts torn with anguish and despair, they wended their way to
+the grim hall below. When they entered it, they found the doomed
+prisoners scattered about the room, striving to conquer their emotion,
+and to summon up all their strength for the terrible ordeal from which
+they were separated by only three short hours. Those who, like Dolores,
+had relatives or friends in the prison, had sent for them; but those who
+could count on no loving farewell, sat silent and mournful, casting
+glances of envy upon their more fortunate companions. Some asked and
+obtained permission to go to their cells in order to write a last letter
+to their friends, or give directions concerning the few articles that
+remained at their disposal. Some had ordered choice viands and rare
+wines, not wishing to die before they had again enjoyed the pleasures of
+the table, in default of something better; while coming and going in the
+midst of them, were the clerks of the Tribunal, the executioner's
+assistants and the turnkeys of the prison, who hung about, hoping the
+condemned would bestow some gratuity upon them before leaving the
+prison. Dolores had seated herself upon a bench that stood against the
+wall. The passion of weeping to which she had yielded after Coursegol's
+heroic deed, had calmed her. He was standing by her side, looking down
+upon her with a in which there was neither bitterness nor Nothing could
+be more peaceful than the delicate features of the young girl and the
+energetic face that bent over her, though traces of the tears which had
+been wrung from them in a moment of despair were still visible.
+
+Antoinette, followed by Philip, rushed toward Dolores, threw herself at
+her feet, and, resting her head on the lap of her friend, sobbed
+unrestrainedly.
+
+"Antoinette, do not, I entreat you, deprive me of courage at a moment
+when 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 fate
+that awaits us; and we must not allow emotion to deprive us of the
+strength to die bravely and courageously."
+
+As she spoke, Dolores compelled Antoinette to rise and take a seat
+beside her; then she talked to her gently, but firmly. Their roles
+seemed to be changed; she who was about to die, consoled her whose life
+was spared. While this conversation was going on between Antoinette and
+Dolores, Philip, terribly pale, questioned Coursegol and learned from
+him what had taken place. He envied this devoted servant who was about
+to die with Dolores. He vainly strove to discover some means by which he
+could draw down upon his own head the wrath of the accusateur,
+Fouquier-Tinville, and be sent at once to the scaffold. Coursegol told
+his story simply and modestly. Rendered desperate by the condemnation of
+Dolores, he resolved to share her fate, feeling no desire to survive
+the 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 Philip
+and 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 had
+made. God recalls me to Him. You long to die with me, you say. You must
+not die, you must live, for your life belongs to one who has put her
+trust in you. Your life belongs to her, and your name; and no one is
+more 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 of
+duty? Whatever I may have said, whatever I may have promised, if I have
+not told you that I loved you, if I have not told you that I should
+always 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 which
+has been the only joy, the only torment of one's life? Remember the
+past, Dolores--our childhood, the blissful existence in which love was
+first awakened in our hearts. I do not know what was passing in yours;
+but mine has nourished but one thought, cherished but one hope: to
+belong to you and to possess you. Upon this hope have I lived. It has
+been the strength and the weakness of my life; its deepest sorrow and
+its purest joy."
+
+While he was thus speaking in low tones that he might not be overheard,
+Antoinette, after exchanging a few remarks with Coursegol, approached
+them. Not a single word uttered by Philip had escaped her, and her
+terror-stricken eyes and drawn features betrayed her agony.
+
+"Was this dream of mine so unutterably wild and hopeless?" continued
+Philip, not perceiving Antoinette, and refusing to heed Dolores' warning
+sign. "Does a man display a culpable ambition when he longs for a calm
+and happy life with an adored wife who is worthy of him? And yet, the
+first 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 some
+foolish scheme upon the accomplishment of which my father would not have
+insisted if, sustained by you, I had ventured to confess the truth. You
+would not consent to this; you left us: then, Providence once more
+brought us face to face. This time, you granted me a hope only to take
+it from me again when Antoinette reappeared. Now, behold your work. Here
+are all three of us equally miserable; you, in dying; I, in surviving
+you; Antoinette, in loving me."
+
+"I am glad to die," replied Dolores, who had regained her firmness and
+composure.
+
+"Then why did you not allow me to share this happiness? Yesterday, when
+you received the fatal news, why did you not say to me: 'We have been
+unhappy here on earth; death will save us from many and undeserved
+misfortunes; 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 my
+life will be when I can no longer hope to see you again here below? One
+long supplication for death to quickly relieve me of the burden of
+existence."
+
+"Philip, Philip!" murmured Dolores, reproachfully. "Can it be you who
+speak thus, you who have linked a soul to yours; you who are a husband
+already, for at the bedside of your dying father did not you and
+Antoinette kneel together to receive the blessing of God's anointed
+priest?"
+
+Philip made no reply.
+
+"You have reproached me," continued Dolores, "and why? Who is the real
+culprit here? Is it I? Have I not always discouraged you? Have I not
+always told you that duty stood between us? Have I not always striven to
+convince you that your hopes were futile? Had not you, yourself,
+renounced them? Then, why should I reproach myself? Besides, I have not
+sought death. I die because Heaven wills it, but I am resigned, and if
+this resignation is any evidence of courage, let it strengthen and
+reanimate your soul. Bravely act the only part that is worthy of your
+past, of your heart and of your name. There, and there only your
+soul-will find happiness and peace."
+
+Philip's anger vanished before such words as these. He was no longer
+irritated, 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 it
+and covered it with her tears.
+
+"Spare me, spare me!" exclaimed Dolores. "You rend my soul now when I
+have need for all my strength. Your grief and despair at my fate lead
+you both beyond reality. You, my dear friend, my dear sister Antoinette,
+have received a sacred promise which you, Philip, made freely and with
+the intention to fulfil it. That is the only thing you must remember
+now."
+
+She uttered these words in a sweet and penetrating voice, and with an
+energy that calmed and silenced both of them. She spoke of the chief
+duties of life, of the necessity of resignation, devotion and
+self-denial.
+
+"I wish to carry with me to the grave," she added, "the assurance that
+you will console each other after my death by loving each other in
+remembrance of me."
+
+And they promised all that she asked, for it was impossible to resist so
+much grace, so much eloquence and so much humility. Then she took from
+her pocket the order of release which Coursegol had obtained through
+Vauquelas. 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 to
+escape from prison. You will be conducted to a safe retreat where you
+can await the fall of these wicked men and the triumph of truth and of
+virtue. That hour will surely come; for the future does not belong to
+the 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 despair
+increased in violence.
+
+"Have pity on me!" she entreated. "Before I go, I will call you to bid
+you a last farewell."
+
+They left her. She remained alone with the other prisoners who had been
+condemned to death. Among them was the priest of whom we have already
+spoken; the same who had consoled and blessed her. He was seated in a
+corner of the room and many of the poor creatures, whose moments on
+earth were now numbered, had knelt before him to confess their sins and
+receive absolution. Dolores followed the example of her companions in
+misfortune. Purified by suffering and sanctified by the approach of
+death, her full confession revealed such nobility of character that the
+worthy 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 is
+unnecessary, for I am very happy."
+
+"It is the thought of the sacrifice you have accomplished that renders
+you thus happy!"
+
+"Hush!" she said, quickly. "Who has spoken to you of a sacrifice? It
+must never be mentioned. Antoinette and Philip must never know that I
+died in place of another."
+
+"A saint might utter words like those," he murmured. Then beholding her
+cheerful, courageous and inspired with the holy enthusiasm of the
+martyrs, he added: "I am glad to die with you. You will open the portals
+of Heaven for me; and I will cling so closely to you, pure soul, that
+they will let me follow you in."
+
+Thus were these two souls elevated to the grandest heroism by the very
+simplicity of their devotion. There was certainly not a drop of noble
+blood in the veins of either of them, and yet they went to meet death
+valiantly, like saints.
+
+It was three o'clock, and a lovely winter's day. The sky was clear and
+the sun radiant.
+
+"We have fine weather for our journey to the scaffold," thought
+Coursegol.
+
+Dolores was absorbed in prayer. Her heart ascended to God in fervent
+supplication that He would bless her sacrifice, and make it redound to
+the peace and happiness of the two beloved friends that were left
+behind. Suddenly, several men entered the hall: the executioner and his
+assistants. Moans and cries of terror arose from the condemned.
+
+"Already!" exclaimed a young woman, who had until now borne herself
+courageously.
+
+She fainted. She was half-dead with fear when she was carried up the
+steps of the guillotine an hour later. Dolores lost none of her
+composure on beholding the executioner. She quietly removed her hat; and
+while the three assistants cut off the hair of the prisoners around her,
+she unbound the magnificent golden tresses which enveloped her like a
+rippling veil. There was a universal shudder when the scissors despoiled
+that charming head of its superb adornment; and Coursegol could not
+repress an exclamation of wrath at this act of barbarity. Dolores
+checked 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 ring
+that 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. "They
+became me well."
+
+It was her only sign of regret for the sad fate to which her youth and
+beauty were condemned.
+
+When she saw that the moment of departure was near at hand, she asked
+to see Philip and Antoinette again. They had been standing just outside
+the door, half-crazed with grief. They entered, followed by Aubry, who,
+though accustomed to such scenes, was deeply moved. It was to him that
+she turned first.
+
+"I thank you for all your kindness," she said to him. "On my arrival at
+the 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 showed
+compassion, 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 upon
+madness. That of Antoinette was violent, and vented itself in moans and
+tears; that of Philip was still more terrible, for the wretched man
+seemed 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 you
+will soon come to join me. In its relations to life, death is nothing
+more."
+
+But, while she was thus endeavoring to console them, her own tears
+mingled with theirs. She took them both in her arms, and clasped them to
+her 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 no
+terrors for you; you will lose none of your calmness. Take good care of
+her to the last, will you not?"
+
+"That she might not be compelled to go alone was why I resolved to die
+with 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 her
+friend.
+
+"En route! en route!"
+
+This cry was uttered by a stentorian voice. The moment of parting had
+come. One last kiss was exchanged.
+
+"Farewell, farewell! We shall meet again in Heaven!"
+
+And Dolores tore herself from their clinging arms. Coursegol followed
+her, but not so quickly that he failed to see Antoinette swoon with a
+cry of heart-broken anguish, and Philip spring forward to support her. A
+cart was awaiting the victims in the court-yard of the prison. The
+twelve who were doomed to death took their places in it with their hands
+bound behind their backs. A number of soldiers on horseback and some on
+foot acted as an escort. They fell into line and the little procession
+started.
+
+From the Conciergerie to the Place de la Révolution the cart was
+followed by a hooting, jelling crowd of men, women and children, who
+sang coarse songs and hurled insults in the faces of their victims.
+These last seemed insensible to the indignities heaped upon them. On one
+side 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 entire
+route, once cease to cry: "Vive le Roi!" One of their companions, a
+Republican, accused of _Modérantisme_, regarded them with an air of
+ironical 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 be
+entirely unconscious of what was passing around her. Grief, cold,
+fatigue and the rough jolting of the vehicle had reduced her to a
+condition of pitiable weakness. Coursegol was distressed to see her in
+this state, and to be powerless to succor her. He did not think of
+himself; he thought only of her.
+
+When they came in sight of the Place de la Révolution, where the
+terrible 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, with
+all a father's tenderness. "I am here, but I can do nothing to save you
+from these horrors. But be brave and hopeful. Only a moment more and we
+shall find peace in the grave and in the arms of our blessed Lord."
+
+The cart jolted onward through the dense and jeering crowd until it
+reached the foot of the steps leading to the awful guillotine. The aged
+man and his youthful companion were yet crying "Vive le Roi!" The
+Republican, accursed of _Modérantisme_, was still regarding them with an
+air of ironical compassion. The priest was yet reciting prayers and
+canticles with the three women. None of these unfortunates paid the
+slightest attention either to the hooting mob or the dreadful doom from
+which but a few instants separated them.
+
+The cart suddenly stopped and the condemned were roughly ordered to
+leave it. They did so mechanically and without resistance. The
+executioner's assistants seized upon them, dragging them into an open
+space, as if, instead of human beings, they had been merely dumb
+animals, awaiting slaughter in a butcher's shambles. The sans-culottes
+cheered; the tricoteuses, seated in knots, clapped their hands wildly in
+savage joy, delighted that more blood was speedily to be spilled. It was
+an appalling scene, steeped in horror.
+
+Coursegol moved towards Dolores to put his arm about her and sustain her
+trembling form. He was rudely pulled back by the assistant who had him
+in charge.
+
+"If you are a man and have a heart, show some mercy!" he pleaded. "Let
+me 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. "Remain
+where you are!"
+
+Dolores glanced at Coursegol tenderly. The utmost thankfulness was in
+her look. But she uttered not a word. She felt that speech would merely
+augment her companion's misery and her own.
+
+Those of the mob who were near enough to catch the assistant's brutal
+reply to Coursegol applauded it. Their hearts seemed turned to stone.
+Not a morsel of pity or human feeling was left in them. They were like
+so many wild beasts eager to lap blood.
+
+The executioner had bared his brawny arms for his fiendish task. His
+face glowed with intense satisfaction.
+
+"Come," said he, addressing his assistants. "We are wasting the Nation's
+time and keeping hosts of patriots waiting for their just revenge. Death
+to the enemies of the Republic!"
+
+An officer unfolded a soiled and crumpled paper. He began to call the
+death-roll.
+
+The aged Royalist went to the guillotine first. In an instant the huge
+knife descended; his life blood gushed forth and his head fell into the
+basket. The executioner grasped the head by its white locks and held it
+up, 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 la
+Révolution to the other.
+
+"So perish all who hate France and liberty!"
+
+It was a sublime mockery of justice, a deliberate treading under foot of
+all the rights of man. The sans-culottes and the tricoteuses rivaled
+each other in the loudness and strength of their applause.
+
+The youthful Royalist was the next victim, and the preceding scene with
+all its horrors was repeated.
+
+Then the Republican, accused of _Modérantisme_, met his fate, then the
+priest, and then, one by one, the three women, each execution having a
+similar finale.
+
+Dolores and Coursegol alone were left of all the condemned. They looked
+at each other, encouraging each other to be brave by signs and glances.
+
+The officer with the death-roll read Dolores' name. Coursegol bowed his
+head, trembling in every limb. The supreme moment had come. The fainting
+girl was dragged forward. Her foot was already on the first step of the
+guillotine platform, when suddenly there was a great commotion in the
+crowd 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 three
+men appeared at the foot of the guillotine. Two of them were clerks from
+Robespierre's bureau, clad in the well-known uniform and wearing the
+revolutionary cockade. The third was Bridoul. He wore the dress of the
+terrible Committee of Public Safety. It was he who had uttered the
+stentorian cry:
+
+"In the name of the Republic, hold!"
+
+The assistant who was dragging Dolores forward paused, astounded. The
+executioner dropped his arms to his sides and glanced at the three men
+in speechless amazement. An interruption of the guillotine's deadly work
+was something that had never yet come his knowledge or experience in the
+bloody days of the Reign of Terror. He could not comprehend it. The
+suddenly silenced mob was equally unable to grasp the situation. What
+could be the matter? Had the flinty and inexorable Robespierre turned
+fainthearted at last? No! That was impossible! The patriots waited with
+open mouths for an explanation of this bewildering phenomenon.
+
+As for Dolores, she saw nothing, heard nothing. At the foot of the
+guillotine steps she had fainted dead away in the assistant's arms.
+
+Coursegol had seen Bridoul and heard his words, but they were as much of
+an enigma to him as to the rest. How was it that Bridoul was with
+Robespierre's clerks, and how was it that he wore the dress of the
+Committee of Public Safety? Coursegol, however, realized one thing--that
+Bridoul had in some inexplicable way acquired power and had come at the
+last moment to save Dolores and himself!
+
+Meanwhile Bridoul and the clerks had mounted the guillotine steps and
+were 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 was
+seen the great red seal of the Republic. At the bottom, those nearest
+could make out the well-known signature of Robespierre!
+
+Bridoul proceeded to read the document. It declared that a mistake had
+been made in the condemnation of Citoyenne Antoinette de Mirandol and
+Citoyen Coursegol, that they were altogether innocent of any crime
+whatever against the Republic, and ordered them to be set at liberty
+immediately.
+
+A subdued murmur followed the reading of this surprising paper, but,
+though the mob was dissatisfied and disappointed, no one dare dispute
+the command of the formidable and dreaded Dictator!
+
+Bridoul folded the precious document and placed it in his pocket; then
+he turned to the assistant who was supporting Dolores and ordered him to
+deliver his charge to Robespierre's clerks; the man at once obeyed.
+
+Bridoul then came down from the platform and went to Coursegol. The
+latter began at once to question him.
+
+"Hush!" said he. "Not a word now! I will explain all in time! For the
+present the girl and yourself are safe! That must suffice you! Come with
+me!"
+
+A carriage was waiting a few paces away. Bridoul led Coursegol to it and
+thither also Dolores was borne by the two clerks, who, after placing her
+on a seat, bowed respectfully to Bridoul and departed.
+
+"We are going to my house," said Bridoul, as the vehicle started off at
+the 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 CHÉVREUSE VALLEY.
+
+
+The first thing Dolores saw was the kindly face of Cornelia Bridoul, who
+was bending over her with tears of joy in her eyes. The good woman had
+been waiting at the door of the "Bonnet Rouge" and had sprang into the
+carriage the moment it stopped. Dolores was still very faint and utterly
+bewildered. She glanced at Cornelia, at Bridoul and then at Coursegol.
+Then she swooned again. Taking her in his arms, the wine-shop keeper
+carried her to the chamber she had formerly occupied, where he placed
+her upon the bed, leaving his wife to bestow such care on her as in her
+weak condition she might require. This done, he repaired to the back
+shop, where, by his direction, Coursegol had preceded him.
+
+"You want to know what all this means and how it was accomplished," said
+he, as he entered the room and carefully closed the door behind him. "I
+am now ready to tell you. But first you must have something to
+strengthen you, for you have just passed through a trial sufficient to
+break down even Hercules himself."
+
+As he spoke he took a flask of brandy from a closet and filled glasses
+for his companion and himself. After they had drunk the liquor and
+seated themselves, he continued:
+
+"Time is precious, and it will not do for Dolores and yourself to
+remain long here, or, for that matter, in Paris! You are safe for the
+moment, but at what instant you may again be in deadly peril it is
+impossible to say! I have succeeded in cheating the guillotine of its
+prey, and I will tell you how in as few words as I can. When I learned
+that Dolores was in prison and heard of your own arrest, I determined to
+move heaven and earth to save you, but was at a loss to know either
+where to turn or what to do. Just at that critical juncture word was
+brought me that I had been chosen a member of the Committee of Public
+Safety, on the recommendation of no less a personage than Robespierre
+himself, and that the Dictator wished to see me at once. I saw my
+opportunity and hastened to him without an instant's delay.
+
+"Robespierre received me cordially and informed me that I could be of
+the greatest service to him and the Republic. I answered that as a true
+patriot I was not only willing but anxious to do all that lay in my
+power. He smiled and said that he had a mission of the utmost importance
+to entrust to me, that he had selected me for it because of my
+well-known zeal for the Nation's welfare and my equally well-known
+integrity. I bowed, and he went on to say that certain members of the
+Committee of Public Safety were plotting against himself and the
+continuance of his power. My mission was to win over those members to
+his interest and restore harmony in the Committee. I accepted the
+mission and succeeded.
+
+"The Dictator's delight and exultation were boundless. He told me to
+name the price of my distinguished service and, whatever it might be, it
+should instantly be paid. He undoubtedly expected that I would demand
+money and position, but I demanded neither. I simply asked for his
+warrant, under his own signature and the great seal of the Republic, to
+save from prison and the guillotine two of my friends who were accused
+of crimes of which they were entirely innocent. Robespierre was
+surprised. He hesitated; then he asked the names of my friends. I gave
+them 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 of
+his clerks and have it at once carried into effect. You may well imagine
+that I did not let the grass grow under my feet. I took the precious
+document and, accompanied by the clerks, fairly flew to the
+Conciergerie, where I had learned you were confined previous to going to
+the guillotine.
+
+"When I arrived I was informed, to my terror and dismay that the cart
+laden with the condemned had already started for the Place de la
+Révolution and that Dolores and yourself were among the victims. I
+procured a carriage and with my companions drove at headlong speed to
+the very steps of the guillotine. The rest you know. Now, Robespierre is
+treacherous and forgetful of services when his end has been attained. He
+may revoke his warrant and order your re-arrest at any moment. Hence I
+say that time is precious and that it will not do for you to remain long
+either here or elsewhere in Paris. You must seek safety as soon as
+possible in the little cottage in the Chévreuse valley, where the
+Dictator and his myrmidoms will not think of searching for you. This is
+imperative!"
+
+Coursegol grasped his friend's hand.
+
+"You are a man, Bridoul!" said he. "You have saved our lives and won our
+undying gratitude! We will follow your advice to the letter! But you
+must do something more. Antoinette de Mirandol and Philip de Chamondrin
+are still in the Conciergerie. They have an order for their release, but
+cannot use it without your help. You must aid them to escape and join us
+in the Chévreuse valley!"
+
+"I will do it!" said Bridoul, solemnly. "I swear it!"
+
+"Enough," replied Coursegol. "Dolores and myself will leave for the
+refuge this very night!"
+
+Madame Bridoul was summoned and acquainted with the decision that had
+been reached. She reported that Dolores had recovered consciousness and
+strength and would be ready for the departure when required.
+
+"One thing more," said Coursegol to Bridoul and his wife. "Neither
+Philip nor Antoinette must know that we have escaped the guillotine
+until they find us alive and well in the Chévreuse valley!"
+
+This was agreed to, and, at nightfall, Coursegol and Dolores, provided
+with the requisite passports, quitted Paris. In due time they reached
+the little cottage in the Chévreuse 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 release
+wrested from Vauquelas, succeeded in obtaining their freedom. No sooner
+were they out of the Conciergerie than they hastened to the refuge
+provided for them in the Chévreuse valley. What pen can describe their
+joy and gratitude to God when, on their arrival, they found that the
+little cottage contained two other tenants, and that those tenants were
+their beloved friends whom they had mourned as victims of the hideous
+guillotine?
+
+Dolores, after the first transports of delight at the reunion were over,
+endeavored to continue her rôle of martyr and to induce Philip to keep
+his promise to her to marry Antoinette, but the latter had greatly
+changed since that dreadful parting at the Conciergerie. She had become
+capable of as great a sacrifice as Dolores, and firmly refused to stand
+longer between Philip and the woman he had loved for so many years. She
+still loved Philip, it is true, but her love had grown pure and
+unselfish--it was now a sister's love, not that of a woman who wished to
+be his wife.
+
+To say that Philip was overjoyed by this unexpected turn of affairs is
+only to state the simple truth.
+
+Dolores at first demurred, urging the wish of the late Marquis, also
+that she was devoted to God, but Antoinette's only reply was to join
+their hands and bless them, and Dolores finally consented to the
+marriage 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 at
+the ceremony besides the bride and groom and the officiating priest.
+Shortly afterwards the Marquis de Chamondrin and his wife, accompanied
+by Coursegol, Antoinette and the Bridouls, the latter having sold their
+wine-shop, went to England and from there to Louisiana, where Mlle. de
+Mirandol owned extensive estates. Antoinette decided to remain in
+Louisiana, having persuaded Madame Bridoul to take charge of her house
+and Bridoul to assume the management of her business.
+
+Philip and Dolores spent ten years in America and then returned to
+France. They had two children, a son and a daughter, the latter named
+Antoinette, and their life, though always slightly tinged with
+melancholy, was serene and peaceful. After his return to his native
+land, Philip rebuilt the Château de Chamondrin and took up his permanent
+abode there, determined to lead the life of a country gentleman and
+student and to take no part in the political controversies of the time,
+nor could he be induced to reconsider this decision though he was twice
+offered a seat in the Chamber of Deputies. After the exciting and
+terrible scenes of the Reign of Terror through which he had passed, he
+longed for quiet and repose. Coursegol was made the steward of his
+estate and managed it with such shrewdness and intelligence that Philip
+became rich and all the prestige of the Chamondrins was restored.
+
+In the month of May, 1822, while in Paris, to which city he had been
+called by important business, the Marquis de Chamondrin met an old
+nobleman who had been a fellow prisoner in the Conciergerie. They talked
+together a long time over the past and the frenzy, perils and heroism
+which had stamped those eventful days, and a chance word, let fall by
+his companion, first acquainted Philip with the fact that Dolores had
+endeavored to sacrifice her own life in order to save that of Antoinette
+de Mirandol. The Marquis de Chamondrin turned pale as death and pressed
+his hand convulsively against his heart, but he speedily recovered his
+color and self-possession and the old nobleman did not even suspect the
+emotion to which his revelation had given rise.
+
+Philip never mentioned the knowledge he had acquired to his wife, but
+his love and reverence for her were vastly augmented by it, and,
+whenever he thought of the sacrifice that God in His mercy had not
+permitted to be made, he murmured to himself:
+
+"Dolores has a noble and heroic soul! An angel from Heaven could not
+have acted more grandly!"
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Which?, by Ernest Daudet
+
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+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of Which? or, Between Two Women, by Ernest Daudet.
+    </title>
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Which?, by Ernest Daudet
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Which?
+       or, Between Two Women
+
+Author: Ernest Daudet
+
+Translator: Laura E. Kendell
+
+Release Date: June 14, 2007 [EBook #21838]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHICH? ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Martin Pettit and
+the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
+https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<h1>WHICH?</h1>
+
+<h3>OR,</h3>
+
+<h2>BETWEEN TWO WOMEN.</h2>
+
+<h2>BY ERNEST DAUDET.</h2>
+
+<h4>TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH<br />BY LAURA E. KENDALL.</h4>
+
+<p class="tbrk">&nbsp;</p>
+
+<hr class="smler" />
+
+<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">Which? or, Between Two Women</span>," is the latest and most powerful
+novel from the pen of the celebrated French novelist, Ernest
+Daudet. It is fully worthy of its famous author's great reputation,
+for a more absorbing and thrilling romance has seldom been
+published. The interest begins at once with the flight of the gypsy
+mother with her child and her death in the Ch&acirc;teau de Chamondrin,
+where the friendless little one is received and cared for. The plot
+is simple and without mystery, but never, perhaps, were so many
+stirring incidents crowded within the covers of a novel. The scene
+is laid in Paris and the country, and some of the most striking
+events of the times are vividly reproduced. The reader is given a
+very realistic glimpse of Paris, and part of the action takes place
+in that historic prison, the Conciergerie, where nobles and others
+accused of crimes against the French Republic were confined.
+History and fiction are adroitly mingled in the excellent novel,
+which may be termed a double love story in that two women are
+passionately attached to one man. On the thrilling adventures and
+heart experiences of this trio the romance turns, and the reader's
+attention is kept constantly riveted to the exciting narrative. The
+other characters are all naturally drawn, and the book as a whole
+is one of the best and most absorbing novels that can be found. It
+will delight everybody.</p></blockquote>
+
+<hr class="smler" />
+
+<p class="tbrk">&nbsp;</p>
+
+<h3>NEW YORK:<br />W. L. ALLISON COMPANY, <span class="smcap">Publishers</span>,<br />1893.</h3>
+
+<p class="tbrk">&nbsp;</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h4>COPYRIGHT:<br />BY T. B. PETERSON &amp; BROTHERS.<br />1887.</h4>
+
+<p class="tbrk">&nbsp;</p>
+
+<hr class="smler" />
+
+<p class="tbrk">&nbsp;</p>
+
+<h1>WHICH?</h1>
+
+<p>"<span class="smcap">Which? or, Between Two Women</span>," <i>is the title of a new, very thrilling
+and intensely interesting novel, by Ernest Daudet, one of the best known
+and most widely read of the living French novelists. A highly romantic,
+attractive and touching love story, in which a gypsy girl of great
+beauty and heroism, named Dolores, and Antoinette de Mirandol, an
+heiress, are rivals for the possession of Philip de Chamondrin, the
+hero, forms the main theme, and it is most skilfully and effectively
+handled. About this double romance of the heart are clustered a series
+of exceedingly stirring episodes, many of which are historic. The
+adventures of Philip, Dolores and Antoinette in Paris are graphically
+described and hold the reader spell-bound. The book is highly dramatic
+from beginning to end, and especially so that portion where the
+Conciergerie prison and its noble inmates are depicted. Very stirring
+scenes also are the attack on the Ch&acirc;teau de Chamondrin, Coursegol's
+struggle with Vauquelas and Bridoul's rescue of the condemned prisoners
+on the Place de la R&eacute;volution. But the entire novel is exceedingly
+spirited, exciting and absorbing, and every character is finely drawn.
+"Which? or, Between Two Women," should be read by all who relish an
+excellent novel.</i></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>CONTENTS.</h2>
+
+<hr class="smler" />
+
+<div class="index">
+<ul>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#CHAPTER_I">I.</a></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE BOHEMIANS</li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#CHAPTER_II">II.</a></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE CHATEAU DE CHAMONDRIN</li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#CHAPTER_III">III.</a></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE CHILDHOOD OF DOLORES</li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">IV.</a></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;PERTAINING TO LOVE MATTERS</li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#CHAPTER_V">V.</a></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;IN WHICH HISTORY IS MINGLED WITH ROMANCE</li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#CHAPTER_VI">VI.</a></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;PARIS IN 1792</li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#CHAPTER_VII">VII.</a></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;CITIZEN JEAN VAUQUELAS</li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">VIII.</a></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;AN EPISODE OF THE EMIGRATION</li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#CHAPTER_IX">IX.</a></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE MOVING CURTAIN</li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#CHAPTER_X">X.</a></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;COURSEGOL'S EXPLOITS</li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#CHAPTER_XI">XI.</a></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE CONCIERGERIE</li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#CHAPTER_XII">XII.</a></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;ANTOINETTE DE MIRANDOL</li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">XIII.</a></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;LOVE'S CONFLICTS</li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">XIV.</a></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE THUNDERBOLT</li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#CHAPTER_XV">XV.</a></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE LAST FAREWELL</li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">XVI.</a></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;IN THE CH&Eacute;VREUSE VALLEY</li>
+</ul>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p>
+
+<h1>WHICH?</h1>
+
+<h2>BY ERNEST DAUDET.</h2>
+
+<hr class="smler" />
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE BOHEMIANS.</h3>
+
+<p>Early one morning in the month of March, 1770, a woman bearing in her
+arms a new-born infant, was hastening along the left bank of the Garden,
+a small river that rises in the Cevennes, traverses the department of
+the Gard, and empties into the Rhone, not far from Beaucaire. It would
+be difficult to find more varied and picturesque scenery than that which
+borders this stream whose praises have been chanted by Florian, and
+which certainly should not be unknown to fame since it was here the
+Romans constructed the Pont du Gard, that gigantic aqueduct which
+conveyed the waters of Eure to N&icirc;mes.</p>
+
+<p>The woman of whom we speak was at that moment very near the famous Pont
+du Gard&mdash;which is only a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> short distance from the spot on which the
+little village of Lafous now stands, and directly opposite Remoulins, a
+town of considerable size situated on the right bank of the river&mdash;and
+at a point where the highway from N&icirc;mes to Avignon intersects the road
+leading up from the villages that dot the river banks. The woman paused
+on reaching the place where these roads meet, not to take breath, but to
+decide which course she should pursue. But she did not hesitate long.
+After casting an anxious glance behind her, she hastened on again,
+directing her steps toward the Pont du Gard, which was distant not more
+than half a mile.</p>
+
+<p>The air was very cold; the wind had been blowing furiously all night,
+and at day-break it was still raging, ruffling the water, bending the
+trees, snatching up great clouds of dust, and moaning and shrieking
+through the clumps of willows that bordered the stream, while immense
+masses of gray and white clouds scudding rapidly across the sky,
+imparted to it the appearance of a tempest-tossed ocean. Some of these
+clouds were so low that they seemed almost to touch the earth as they
+rushed wildly on, pursued by the fury of the gale, and assuming strange
+and fantastic forms in their erratic course. Undeterred by the violence
+of the tempest, the stranger advanced steadily, apparently with but one
+aim in view: to reach her journey's end with all possible expedition in
+order to protect her sleeping infant from the inclemency of the weather.</p>
+
+<p>She was a young woman, not yet twenty years of age. Her luxuriant golden
+hair hung in wild disorder from the brilliant-hued kerchief that was
+bound about<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> her head; and her garments were as remarkable for their
+peculiarity of form as for their diversity of color. She wore a short,
+full dress of blue de laine bordered with yellow, and confined at the
+waist by a red silk girdle. Over this, she wore a gray cape of coarse
+woollen stuff. Her legs were bare, and her feet were protected only by
+rude sandals, held in place by leathern thongs. Many rents, more or less
+neatly repaired by the aid of thread or if material of another color,
+revealed the fact that these faded garments had been in long and
+constant use. Even the sandals were so dilapidated that the feet of
+their wearer were upon the ground. Her whole attire, in short, was
+wretched and poverty-stricken in the extreme.</p>
+
+<p>But no face could be more charming. Her pure and delicate features shone
+out from their framework of golden hair with marvellous beauty, in spite
+of the sorrow and fatigue which had left their impress upon her face.
+Her eyes, shaded by long dark lashes and dewy with tears, were
+remarkably beautiful and expressive. The sunburn that disfigured her
+charming face, her exquisitely formed hands and her tiny feet, which
+were scarcely larger than those of a child, extended no further. Upon
+those portions of her body that were protected by her clothing, her skin
+was white and delicate, and scarcely colored by the young blood that
+coursed through her veins. Such was this woman, and it would have been
+difficult to divine her origin if the tambourine that hung at her
+girdle, and the hieroglyphics embroidered upon her sleeves had not
+revealed it beyond all question.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p><p>Tiepoletta, for that was her name, belonged to one of those wandering
+tribes that leave Spain or Hungary each spring to spend some months in
+Southern France, advancing as far as Beaucaire, Avignon and
+Arles&mdash;sleeping as fate wills, under the arches of bridges, in
+tumbledown barns, or in the open air; living sometimes by theft, but
+oftener by their own exertions; the men dealing in mules and in rags;
+the women telling fortunes, captivating young peasants, extorting money
+from them, and selling glassware of their own manufacture&mdash;the children
+imploring charity. These people, scattered throughout Europe&mdash;these
+people, whose manner of life is so mysterious and whose origin is more
+mysterious still&mdash;seem to be closely allied both to the Moors and to the
+Hindoos, not only in appearance but in their phlegm, fanaticism and
+rapacity. Such of our readers as have travelled in Southern Europe must
+have frequently encountered these Bohemians, who come from no one knows
+where only to disappear again like the swallows at the approach of
+winter.</p>
+
+<p>Their language is a mixture of the Spanish and the Sclavonic. Some
+jabber a little French. The men are generally athletic, very dark
+complexioned and have strong, energetic features, wavy hair and sonorous
+voices. The women, when young, are remarkably beautiful; but like all
+who lead an exposed and migratory life, they become hideous before they
+are thirty. They live in families or tribes, each family consisting of
+fifteen or twenty members, and obeying the orders of the oldest woman,
+who is <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>dignified by the title of queen, and from whose decisions there
+is no appeal, though she, in turn, owes allegiance to one great queen.
+These Bohemians are tolerated in the countries through which they pass;
+but people seldom enter into any closer relations with them than are
+necessary to effect the purchase of a horse or mule, or to obtain a
+prediction concerning the future. They know the feeling of repulsion
+they inspire, so they seldom approach thickly settled districts, and
+only the women and children venture into the villages to solicit alms.</p>
+
+<p>It was to this race that Tiepoletta belonged; and though the color of
+her hair, the delicacy of her features and the fairness of her skin did
+not accord with her supposed origin, her memory hinted at nothing that
+did not harmonize with what had been told her concerning her parentage.
+It is not the aim of this story to investigate the truth or the falsity
+of this assertion. That Tiepoletta had Bohemian blood in her veins; that
+she had, as a child, been stolen from her friends; that she was the
+fruit of some mysterious love affair; all these hypotheses were equally
+plausible, but there was nothing to prove that the first was not the
+true one, nor had her imagination ever engaged in a search for any
+other; but the people of her tribe seemed to suspect that she was of
+different blood, for they evidently regarded her with aversion.
+Preserved from the pernicious counsels and examples of those around her
+by some secret instinct, she had remained pure. With the aid of a book
+picked up on the roadside, she had learned to read and to speak a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> few
+French words. This was more than enough to convince her companions that
+she was haughty and proud. When she was a child, they beat her
+unmercifully because she refused to beg. As she grew older, she had a
+most cruel enemy in her beauty, which was the cause of much of her
+misery. Subjected to temptations to which she saw young girls around her
+yield without a thought, she escaped only by a miracle, but it brought
+down upon her, anger, hatred and cruel vengeance. She increased these by
+refusing to choose a husband from among the young men with whom she had
+been reared.</p>
+
+<p>They resolved to compel her to marry one of her companions. She fled,
+but they succeeded in recapturing her without much difficulty. They then
+shut her up, telling her that she should remain a prisoner until she
+promised obedience. It was the most trying time of her whole life. Beset
+on every side, beaten, buffetted, tyrannized over, fed on food that was
+only fit for a dog, she would certainly have died in the struggle had
+not destiny sent her a protector in the person of Borachio, a young man
+about twenty-five years of age, whose heart was touched by her
+misfortunes.</p>
+
+<p>He was so bold, so strong and so terrible in his anger that the whole
+tribe stood in awe of him. He took compassion on their victim and
+compelled her tormentors to cease their persecution. Tiepoletta was not
+ungrateful, and she afterward married her preserver to the great disgust
+of the young girls of the tribe, with whom Borachio was a great
+favorite.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p><p>According to custom, the queen solemnized the marriage without delay;
+and at nineteen Tiepoletta had a master whose coarse tenderness was
+sweet, indeed, in comparison with the harsh treatment to which she had
+been subjected heretofore. But this happiness was destined to be of
+short duration. Borachio was found dead upon the roadside one morning,
+his breast pierced by eight dagger thrusts. Envious of his beauty, his
+authority and his lovely young wife, one of his comrades had
+assassinated him and made Tiepoletta a widow some time before she was to
+become a mother. Six months went by, during which they seemed to respect
+her grief. Then, in a cave near the Pont du Gard, she gave birth to a
+daughter. The very next evening, while she was lying, half asleep, on
+some straw on the floor of the cave, with her child beside her, she
+overheard a conversation that was going on outside. They were talking of
+her. She listened eagerly. Picture her fear and horror when she heard
+them scheming to deprive her of her infant and then drive her from their
+midst, thus ridding the tribe of a useless member and retaining
+Borachio's child. It was Corcovita, the mother of the poor heart-broken
+creature, who was the strongest advocate of this shameful outrage.</p>
+
+<p>"We shall leave here to-morrow to go to Avignon," said she. "We must
+obtain possession of the child and then find an opportunity to abandon
+Tiepoletta on the road."</p>
+
+<p>This plan gave general satisfaction, and Corcovita was charged with its
+execution. Tiepoletta had heard<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> enough. Wild with terror she endeavored
+to devise some means of escape from this new peril, and during the long
+watches of the night she finally resolved to flee with her child. The
+next morning at day-break the little band was on its way. A seat in the
+carriage was offered to Tiepoletta. She accepted it, knowing she must
+save all her strength if she would carry her plan into successful
+execution.</p>
+
+<p>After a long march, they paused at nightfall to encamp near Avignon.
+Tiepoletta, a prey to the most intense anxiety, had detected the
+interchange of divers signs that convinced her they were only waiting
+for her to fall asleep to steal her child from her. She watched. At
+eight o'clock the men had gone to stroll around the suburbs of the city;
+the old women were dozing; the young people were laughing and teasing
+one another, and the children were sound asleep. Tiepoletta profited by
+a moment when no one was observing her to steal from the camp on
+tip-toe. She proceeded perhaps a hundred paces in this way, then, seized
+with sudden fright, she began to run, holding her child pressed close to
+her heart; fancying she heard her mother's voice behind her, she rushed
+wildly on, never pausing until she sank exhausted on the lonely road.</p>
+
+<p>She had pursued her flight for more than an hour without even asking
+herself where she was going, and with no thought save that of escaping
+from her persecutors. She was now beyond their reach. Still she could
+not dismiss her fears. Dreading pursuit, she soon resumed her journey,
+turning her steps in the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>direction of the Pont du Gard, in the hope
+that her former companions would not think of looking for her there, and
+that she might find in the cave they had just deserted a little straw
+upon which she could rest her weary limbs, and some fragments of food
+that would keep her alive until she had decided upon her future course.
+She walked all night. When she found herself near the Pont du Gard day
+was breaking.</p>
+
+<p>The wind was still blowing; but the clouds had scattered before its
+violence like a flock of frightened sheep, and a pale light was
+beginning to shine upon the drenched fields. Gloomy and majestic in its
+century-old impassibility, the Pont du Gard&mdash;a colossus upheld by two
+mountains, and accustomed to defy alike the tempest and the ravages of
+time&mdash;seemed to laugh at the gale which beat against its massive pillars
+and rushed into its gigantic arches with a sound like thunder. These
+strong yet graceful arches seem so many frames through which the
+astonished eyes of the traveller seize the landscape bit by bit: the
+quiet valley, watered by the Gardon, the luxuriant green of the willows,
+the clear waves dancing along over their sandy bed, the blue sky
+reflected there, the mountains that border the horizon.</p>
+
+<p>Nothing can be more wildly beautiful than this secluded spot, which is
+as silent and lonely as if it had never been trodden by the foot of man.
+Judging from the prodigality with which nature has lavished her riches
+here, it would seem that she wishes the sole credit of this superb
+panorama. The massive aqueduct alone attests the existence of man.
+Looming up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> in its mighty grandeur&mdash;the imperishable monument of a
+departed civilization, and the only one of its kind&mdash;the beholder feels
+that it is no unworthy rival of the works of Deity.</p>
+
+<p>But the majestic scene made no impression upon Tiepoletta. That poor
+creature, fainting with hunger and fatigue, did not even notice the
+grandeur around her. With half-closed eyes, arms cramped by the weight
+of the precious burden upon which she now maintained her hold only by a
+superhuman effort, and lips parched by the wind, she plodded on with a
+measured, automatic step. She was hungry; she was thirsty; she was
+shivering with the cold. Her feet were swollen; but her sufferings were
+forgotten when she neared her journey's end. She passed under the Pont
+du Gard. The path on the other side of the aqueduct winds along between
+the base of the cliffs and the bed of the stream. Under one of these
+cliffs nature has hewn out a grotto of such liberal dimensions that the
+people of the neighborhood assemble there on f&ecirc;te days to dance and make
+merry.</p>
+
+<p>It was there the Bohemians had encamped a few days before; it was there
+Tiepoletta had given birth to the tiny creature whom she had just
+rescued from the heartless wretches who had conspired to despoil a
+mother of her child. This comfortless cavern where she had suffered so
+much seemed to her now a Paradise, in which she would be content to
+dwell forever.</p>
+
+<p>She rushed into the cave. The sunlight illumined only a small portion of
+the grotto; the rest of it was veiled in shadow. Tiepoletta glanced
+around her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> and uttered a cry of joy. In one dim corner she discerned a
+little straw, enough, however, to serve as a bed. She laid her sleeping
+infant upon it, covered the child with her mantle; then gathering up a
+few bits of bread and some half-picked bones which had been left upon
+the floor of the cave, she proceeded to appease her hunger. When this
+was satisfied, she ran to the river, quenched her thirst, bathed her
+sore and bleeding feet, and then returned to the cave after walking
+about awhile in the sunlight to warm herself. Flinging herself down upon
+the straw, she covered herself with her tattered garments as best she
+could, and drawing her child to her gave it the breast. The little one
+roused from its slumber uttered a moan and applied its pale lips to the
+bosom upon which it was dependent for sustenance; but it soon exhausted
+the supply of milk, whose abundance had been greatly diminished by the
+fatigues of the preceding night, and again fell asleep.</p>
+
+<p>Then, in the midst of this profound silence and solitude, Tiepoletta,
+providentially rescued from her persecutors, experienced an intense joy
+that made her entirely forget the hardships she had just undergone.
+There were undoubtedly new misfortunes in store for her. She must,
+without delay, find some way to earn her own living and that of her
+child; but their wants were few. Birds and Bohemians are accustomed to
+scanty fare. She could work: she was accustomed to labor: she was inured
+to fatigue. Besides, who would be so hard-hearted as to refuse her bread
+when she said: "I am willing to earn it." This artless creature,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> whose
+ambition was so modest, consoled her troubled mind with these hopes, and
+trembled only when she thought of those from whom she had just fled. No
+one had ever told Tiepoletta that there was a God. She did not know how
+to pray; nevertheless, in the refuge she had found, her soul lifted
+itself up in fervent adoration to the unknown God whose power had
+protected her, though she was ignorant of His existence and of His name.
+It was in the midst of this feverish exaltation of spirit that sleep
+overcame her before she had even thought to ask herself what she should
+do on awaking.</p>
+
+<p>For several hours she slumbered on undisturbed, but suddenly she woke.
+She fancied she heard in her sleep a frightful noise like the rumbling
+of heavy thunder, a noise which mingled with the shrieks of the wind and
+finally drowned them entirely. At first she thought she must be the
+victim of some terrible dream. But the sound grew louder and louder.
+This was no dream; it was reality. She sprang to her feet, seeking some
+loophole of escape from the unknown peril that threatened her. Above the
+tumult she could distinguish human cries. She thought these must come
+from her pursuers. But no; these distant voices were calling for succor.
+She caught up her child and ran from the cave. A grand but terrible
+sight met her gaze and riveted her to the spot in motionless horror.</p>
+
+<p>The Gardon had overflowed its banks. With the rapidity that
+characterizes its sudden inundations and transforms this peaceful stream
+into the most <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>impetuous of torrents, the water had risen over the banks
+that border it and flooded the fields, sweeping away everything that
+stood in its path. This water now laved the feet of the young Bohemian;
+and as far as the eye could reach she could see nothing but a mass of
+boiling, turbulent waves, bearing on their crests floating fragments of
+houses and furniture, as well as trees, animals and occasionally human
+bodies. The cries she had heard came from some women who had been
+overtaken by the torrent while engaged in washing their linen at the
+river, and who had taken refuge upon a rock on the side of the now
+inundated road.</p>
+
+<p>The river continued to rise. This immense volume of water was vainly
+seeking an outlet through the narrow defile formed by the hills and
+which ordinarily sufficed for the bed of the Gardon; but, finding the
+passage inadequate now, it dashed itself violently against the rocks and
+against the supports of the aqueduct which haughtily defied the furious
+flood; then, converted into a mass of seething foam, it returned over
+the same road it had just traversed until it met the new waves that were
+being constantly formed by the current. It was the shock of this meeting
+that caused the noise which had roused Tiepoletta from her slumber. A
+stormy sea could not have appeared more angry, or formed more formidable
+billows. One might have called it a fragmentary episode of the universal
+deluge.</p>
+
+<p>Five minutes more than sufficed to give Tiepoletta an idea of the extent
+of the inundation. She stood with wild eyes and unbound hair, the
+picture of terror<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> and dismay. Suddenly an enormous wave broke not far
+from her with the roar of a wild beast, and the water dashed up to her
+very feet. She pressed her child closer to her breast and recoiled.
+Another wave dashed up, blinding her with its spray. Would the water
+invade the cave? Her blood froze in her veins. Frenzy seized her. This
+new misfortune, added to those she had suffered during the past three
+days, was more than she could bear. From that moment she acted under the
+influence of actual madness caused by her terror. She must flee. But by
+what road? To reach either of the neighboring villages was impossible.
+The foaming waters covered the entire plain.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly Tiepoletta recollected that on the summit of the hill above her
+there was a ch&acirc;teau which the Bohemians had visited sometimes in pursuit
+of alms. She could reach it by means of a broad footpath that
+intersected the road only a few yards from the grotto. It was there she
+resolved to go for shelter. But to reach this path she must walk through
+the raging flood. She did not hesitate. Each moment of delay aggravated
+her peril, and might place some insurmountable barrier between her and
+her only chance of salvation. She lifted her skirts, fastened her child
+upon her back and bravely waded into the torrent.</p>
+
+<p>What agony she endured during that short journey. The water was higher
+than her waist; the ground was slippery; the current, rapid and
+capricious. It required an indomitable will to sustain her&mdash;to keep her
+from yielding twenty times to the might of this unchained monster.
+Frequently she was obliged to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> pause in order to regain her breath. The
+struggle lasted only ten minutes, but those ten minutes seemed so many
+ages. At last she reached the path leading to the ch&acirc;teau. She was
+saved!</p>
+
+<p>She let fall her tattered skirts about her slender limbs, and, without
+wasting time in looking back upon the perilous road she had just
+traversed, she hastened up the hill. A few moments later she reached the
+door of the ch&acirc;teau in a plight most pitiable to behold. It was time. A
+moment more and her limbs trembling with excitement and exhaustion,
+would have refused to sustain her. She fell on her knees and deposited
+her burden upon some tufts of heather; then with a mighty effort she
+seized and pulled a chain suspended at the side of the door. The sound
+of a bell was instantly heard. As if her strength had only waited until
+this moment to desert her, she fell to the ground unconscious at the
+very instant the door opened.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE CHATEAU DE CHAMONDRIN.</h3>
+
+<p>The man who appeared at the door was young, and, in spite of his swarthy
+complexion and formidable moustache, his features and the expression of
+his eyes indicated frankness and benevolence. His garb was that of a
+soldier rather than a servant, but the arms of the Marquis de
+Chamondrin, the owner of the ch&acirc;teau, were embroidered in silver upon
+it. On seeing the unconscious Tiepoletta and the child so quietly
+sleeping beside her, he could not repress a cry of astonishment and
+dismay.</p>
+
+<p>"What is it, Coursegol?" inquired a gentleman who had followed him.</p>
+
+<p>"Look, sir," replied Coursegol, pointing to Tiepoletta.</p>
+
+<p>"Is she dead?" exclaimed the Marquis, springing forward; then, deeply
+impressed by the beauty of the unconscious girl, he knelt beside her and
+placed his hand upon her heart. It still throbbed, but so feebly that he
+could scarcely count its pulsations. The Marquis rose.</p>
+
+<p>"She lives," said he, "but I do not know that we shall save her. Quick,
+Coursegol, have her and her child brought in and apply restoratives."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, the child is doing very well," replied the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> servitor. "All it needs
+is a little milk; for to-day, one of our goats must be its nurse."</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke Coursegol summoned a servant to whom he confided the infant;
+then, taking the mother in his strong arms, he carried her up-stairs and
+placed her on a bed.</p>
+
+<p>Coursegol was thirty years of age. Born in the ch&acirc;teau, where his father
+and his grandfather before him had served the Marquis de Chamondrin, he
+had shared the childish sports of the lad who afterwards became his
+master. He absolutely worshipped the Marquis, regarding him with a
+veritable idolatry that was compounded of respect and of love. Outside
+of the ch&acirc;teau and its occupants, there was nothing that could interest
+or attract this honest fellow. His heart, his intelligence and his life
+were consecrated to his master's service. In the neighboring villages he
+so lauded the name of Chamondrin that no one dared to let fall in his
+presence any word that did not redound to the glory and honor of
+Coursegol's idolized master. He had no particular office at the ch&acirc;teau,
+but he superintended everything, assuming the duties of lodge-keeper,
+gardener, major-domo and not unfrequently those of cook. It was he who
+instructed the son of the Marquis in the arts of horsemanship and of
+fencing, for he had served two years in His Majesty's cavalry and
+thoroughly understood these accomplishments. He was also an adept in the
+manufacture of whistles from willow twigs, in the training of dogs,
+falcons and ferrets, in snaring birds, in the capture of butterflies and
+in skipping stones.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p><p>He had already begun to teach Philip&mdash;his master's son, a bright boy of
+five&mdash;all these accomplishments. He had some knowledge of medicine also;
+and, as he had spent much of his life in the fields, he had become
+acquainted with the names and properties of many plants and herbs; and
+this knowledge had often been called into requisition for the benefit of
+many of the people as well as the animals of the neighborhood. Never had
+his skill been needed more than now, for poor Tiepoletta had not
+recovered consciousness, and her rigidity and the ghastly pallor which
+had overspread her features seemed to indicate that she had already been
+struck with death.</p>
+
+<p>Anxious to resuscitate her, Coursegol set energetically to work, but not
+without emotion. It was the first time he had ever exercised his skill
+on a woman, and this pure and lovely face had made a deep impression on
+his heart. He would willingly have given a generous share of his own
+blood to hear Tiepoletta speak, to see her smile upon him.</p>
+
+<p>"Look, sir," said he, "how beautiful she is! She certainly cannot be
+twenty years old. Her skin is as fine as satin, and what hair! Could
+anything be more lovely?"</p>
+
+<p>While he spoke, Coursegol was endeavoring to unclose the teeth of the
+gypsy in order to introduce a few drops of warm, sweetened wine through
+her pallid lips. Then he rubbed the feet of the unfortunate woman
+vigorously with hot flannels.</p>
+
+<p>"They are sore and swollen!" he added. "She must have come a long
+distance!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p><p>"Is she recovering?" asked the Marquis, who stood by, watching
+Coursegol's efforts.</p>
+
+<p>"I do not know; but see, sir, it seemed to me that she moved."</p>
+
+<p>The Marquis came nearer. As he did so Tiepoletta opened her eyes. She
+looked anxiously about her, then faintly murmured a few words in a
+strange tongue.</p>
+
+<p>"She speaks," said the Marquis, "but what does she say? She seems
+frightened and distressed."</p>
+
+<p>"She wishes to see her child," exclaimed Coursegol, departing on the
+run.</p>
+
+<p>During his absence Tiepoletta regained her senses sufficiently to
+recollect what had happened; but she was so weak that she could scarcely
+speak. Still, when Coursegol appeared with the child in his arms, she
+smiled and extended her hands.</p>
+
+<p>"Kiss her, but do not take her," said the Marquis. "You are not strong
+enough for that yet."</p>
+
+<p>Tiepoletta understood and obeyed. Then she said gently in bad French:</p>
+
+<p>"My Dolores."</p>
+
+<p>"Dolores! That is a pretty name!" remarked Coursegol, pleased to hear
+the poor woman speak.</p>
+
+<p>"You will keep her, will you not?" said Tiepoletta, entreatingly. "You
+will not give her to those who will maltreat her? Make an honest girl of
+her. Teach her not to scorn the poor gypsies. Tell her that her father
+and her mother belonged to that despised race."</p>
+
+<p>She uttered these phrases slowly, speaking, not without difficulty,
+French words that would clearly express her meaning.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p><p>"Have no fears," replied Coursegol. "The child shall want for nothing.
+Rest in peace."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," she repeated, "rest in death."</p>
+
+<p>"She talks of dying!" exclaimed the Marquis. The words had hardly left
+his lips when the woman rose and extended her arms. Her features
+contracted; her large eyes seemed to start from her head; she placed her
+hand upon her heart, uttered a shrill cry and fell back upon the bed. It
+was the work of an instant. Coursegol and the Marquis both sprang
+forward, lifted her, and endeavored to restore her, but in vain. The
+unfortunate Tiepoletta was dead. Her heart had broken like a fragile
+vase, shattered by the successive misfortunes she had undergone. A great
+tear fell from the eyes of Coursegol.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor woman!" said he.</p>
+
+<p>"What shall we do with the child?" inquired the Marquis. "I would like
+to keep her and rear her. Heaven has sent her here; but who will act as
+a mother to the poor little waif? The condition of the Marquise renders
+it impossible for her to do so."</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke, his voice trembled with emotion. It was not only because he
+was touched by the sight before him, but because the words he had
+uttered reminded him of his own misfortunes.</p>
+
+<p>"If Monsieur le Marquis would but grant my request," said Coursegol,
+timidly.</p>
+
+<p>"What is your request?"</p>
+
+<p>"I have no wife, no child. The little apartment that I occupy is very
+gloomy when M. Philip is not with me. If you will consent to it, Dolores
+shall be my daughter."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p><p>"Your daughter, but who would take care of her?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! I will attend to that. I know some very worthy people in Remoulins.
+The woman has a young child. She will have milk enough for this little
+thing too. I will entrust the child to her for a time."</p>
+
+<p>"Very well; I have no objection, Coursegol," replied the Marquis. "Take
+the child, if you wish. As for the mother, may her soul rest in peace!
+She probably had no faith in religion; but I am sure she was guilty of
+no sin. I shall request the cur&eacute; of Remoulins to allow her body to
+repose in his cemetery. I will now inform the authorities of what has
+occurred."</p>
+
+<p>With these words, the Marquis left the room; and Coursegol, after
+covering the face of the dead with reverent hands, knelt and prayed for
+her as well as for the orphan who had been confided to his care.</p>
+
+<p>The Ch&acirc;teau de Chamondrin was scarcely a century old. Erected on the
+site of a feudal castle which had been demolished because it threatened
+to fall into ruins, the present structure was destitute of the massive
+towers, moats and drawbridges that characterize the ancient castle. The
+building was square and enclosed an immense court; it was only two
+stories high, and the upper story was surrounded by a veranda. Such had
+been the very simple plan executed by the architect; and the result had
+been an unpretentious abode, but one to which the color of the bricks
+used in its construction, the delicate columns that supported the
+windows and doors and the graceful pavilions placed at each of the four
+corners lent an air of extreme elegance.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p><p>The building occupied the entire plateau on the brow of the hill and
+commanded a superb view of the Garden; while the park and farm-lands,
+vineyards and forests pertaining to the ch&acirc;teau covered the hill itself.
+This property was now the only possession of the house of Chamondrin,
+one of the oldest in Languedoc and Provence. It was not always thus.
+There had been a time when "As rich as a Chamondrin" was a proverb in
+the region thereabout. In those days this illustrious family had
+countless vassals and unbounded wealth, and enjoyed an income that
+enabled it for many successive generations to play a conspicuous r&ocirc;le,
+first at the Court of Provence and later at the Court of France. The
+grandfather and father of the present Marquis lived to see the end of
+this proverbial opulence. They both led careers of extravagance and
+dissipation, taking part in all the gayeties and follies of the court.
+The grandfather was one of the favorite companions of Philippe
+d'Orleans; and wine, cards and women killed him when he should have been
+still in the prime of life.</p>
+
+<p>His son did not learn wisdom from his father's example. He in his turn
+became the friend of the Regent, and to repair his shattered fortunes he
+engaged, at the advice of Lau, in those disastrous financial enterprises
+that paved the way for the Revolution. He failed completely in his
+ventures, left Paris insolvent, and took refuge in the Ch&acirc;teau de
+Chamondrin, where he hoped to escape the wrath of his creditors. But
+they complained to the king, and brought such influence to bear upon him
+that Louis XV., the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span>Well-beloved, who had just ascended the throne,
+informed the Marquis de Chamondrin that he would allow him three months
+in which to choose between the payment of his debts and incarceration in
+the Bastile. The Marquis did not hesitate long. He sold all his property
+with the exception of this ch&acirc;teau and paid his debts. But when this
+plebeian duty was accomplished, it left him in receipt of an extremely
+modest income. Poverty had fallen upon this house at the very time that
+the favor of the king was withdrawn from it, and this two-fold
+misfortune was quickly followed by the birth of a son and the loss of
+his wife.</p>
+
+<p>These afflictions completely prostrated this man who was wholly
+unprepared to meet them. He shut himself up in his ch&acirc;teau, and there,
+far from the pleasures for which he pined, far from the friends who had
+forgotten him, cursing God and man for his misfortunes, he lapsed into a
+misanthropy that rendered him nervous and eccentric almost to madness.
+He lived twenty years in this way, apparently taking no pleasure or
+interest in his son, whose youth was gloomy and whose education was
+entrusted entirely to the cur&eacute; of a neighboring village. He died in
+1765, in the middle of the eighteenth century, the first half of which
+had proved so fatal to the prosperity of his house.</p>
+
+<p>His son, Hector&mdash;the same who had sheltered Tiepoletta&mdash;found himself,
+when he became of age, the owner of a name famous in the courts of
+Europe and upon many a field of battle, of an income of five thousand
+pounds and of the Ch&acirc;teau de Chamondrin. He was a gentle, serious young
+man of very simple tastes.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> He quickly resigned himself to the
+situation. After a close examination of the condition of affairs, he
+resolved to devote his life and all his efforts to the restoration of
+the glory of his name. He married, two years after the death of his
+father, the daughter of an impoverished Proven&ccedil;al nobleman, a lady whose
+domestic virtues seemed likely to aid him in the execution of his plans.
+He brought his wife home the day after their marriage and then said to
+her:</p>
+
+<p>"My dear Edm&eacute;e, you have entered a family which for the past forty years
+has been subjected to reverses which can only be repaired by great
+self-denial on our part. We cannot hope to enjoy the fruits of our
+labors ourselves, but our children, should God grant us any, may enjoy
+them, and it is for their sakes that we must endeavor to restore the
+house of Chamondrin to its former splendor and opulence; and since you
+have consented to share my humble lot I hope that you will unite your
+efforts with mine to lay aside each year a sum that will enable our
+oldest son, when he arrives at the age of manhood, to make a respectable
+appearance at court where he will perhaps be fortunate enough to win the
+king's favor, our only hope."</p>
+
+<p>"You will ever find me ready to second you in your efforts," replied the
+young wife.</p>
+
+<p>A son and a daughter were born to them during the two years that
+followed. Nor were these their only blessings. The crops were abundant
+and their savings considerable. The life of the young couple was serene
+and happy. The Marquis was hopeful; the Marquise, a charming and most
+lovable creature,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> shared his hopes. Undoubtedly their life in this
+isolated ch&acirc;teau was often lonely and monotonous. The winters were very
+long; but the Marquis read a great deal, hunted and superintended his
+farms with the diligence of a peasant. The Marquise, too, was obliged to
+have a finger in the pie, to use a common expression. She directed the
+affairs of her household with as much care and economy as the plainest
+bourgeoise and seemed to live only to second the efforts of her husband.
+If resignation is the chief element of happiness, they were happy at the
+Ch&acirc;teau de Chamondrin.</p>
+
+<p>Four years passed in this way. Little Philip was growing finely; he had
+passed safely through the perils of teething and was beginning to talk.</p>
+
+<p>"We will make a fine gentleman of him," said the Marquis. "He will
+create a sensation at court; the king will give him command of a
+regiment, and he will marry some rich heiress. As for this young lady,"
+he added, caressing his daughter who was named Martha, "if we cannot
+give her a dowry we will obtain an appointment as lady abbess for her."</p>
+
+<p>The Marquise encouraged her dear Hector in these projects with her
+sweetest smile; but a terrible accident, followed by a catastrophe no
+less horrible, destroyed these delightful dreams and brought desolation
+to this happy home.</p>
+
+<p>Towards the close of the year 1769, Martha, the youngest child, began to
+lose her fine color and faded so rapidly that her parents became
+alarmed. They passed long nights at the bedside of the little sufferer,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span>
+who seemed to be a victim of a sort of nervous debility or exhaustion.
+One night the Marquise volunteered to watch while her husband slept,
+and, in administering some medicine to her child, mistook the vial and
+poisoned her. Martha died and it was impossible to conceal the cause of
+her death from the grief-stricken mother. Her despair was even more
+poignant than that of her husband for with hers was mingled a frightful
+remorse which all the tenderness of the Marquis could not assuage. This
+despair caused an attack of fever from which she recovered, but which
+left her in a still more pitiable condition. A profound calm had
+succeeded the paroxysms of fever; and her sorrow no longer betrayed
+itself in sobs and lamentations, but only in silent tears and
+heart-breaking sighs. These alarming symptoms soon revealed the truth:
+reason had fled. For hours at a time poor Edm&eacute;e rocked to and fro, with
+a bundle of rags clasped tightly to her breast, crooning over it the
+same lullaby she had been wont to sing over her sleeping child.</p>
+
+<p>Physicians summoned from Avignon, N&icirc;mes and Montpellier tried in vain to
+overcome this deep despondency, which was far more dangerous than
+frenzy. Their skill was powerless; they could not give the Marquis even
+the slightest ray of hope. It was not long before the Marquise became
+frightfully pale and emaciated, while her mind was more than ever under
+the control of the monomania which saw her daughter in all the objects
+that surrounded her. She took, by turns, flowers, articles of clothing
+and of furniture, lavishing every mark of affection upon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> them and
+calling them by the most endearing names until their insensibility
+dispelled the illusion and she cast them aside with loathing to seek
+elsewhere the child for which she mourned.</p>
+
+<p>These afflictions, the rapidity with which they had followed one another
+and their magnitude impaired the health of the Marquis. He fell ill in
+his turn, and for more than a month Coursegol thought the shadow of
+death was hovering over his master. But the Marquis was young and
+strong; and the thought that if he succumbed his son would be left an
+orphan produced a salutary reaction. He was soon on his feet again, and,
+though he was always sad, he accepted his misfortunes bravely and
+resolved to live for his son's sake.</p>
+
+<p>These events occurred about a year before Tiepoletta dragged herself to
+the door of the ch&acirc;teau to die in Coursegol's arms, confiding her
+daughter to his care.</p>
+
+<p>After he had prayed for the departed, Coursegol rose, took up little
+Dolores and went out into the court-yard, calling:</p>
+
+<p>"Master Philip! Master Philip!"</p>
+
+<p>The little fellow, who was playing in charge of one of the
+servant-maids, came running to answer the summons. He was now four years
+old. His pretty and rather delicate face was surrounded by a profusion
+of brown curls, and his large eyes revealed an intelligence and
+thoughtfulness unusual in a child of his age. He talked well enough to
+make himself clearly understood, and understood all that was said to him
+in reply.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p><p>"See this pretty baby!" said Coursegol, displaying Dolores.</p>
+
+<p>"A doll!" exclaimed Philip, clapping his hands in rapture.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, in flesh and blood," replied Coursegol; "a doll that cries, that
+will grow and talk to you and amuse you."</p>
+
+<p>"When?" demanded Philip.</p>
+
+<p>"When she grows up."</p>
+
+<p>"Then make her grow up immediately," ordered the little autocrat.</p>
+
+<p>Then, seizing Coursegol's hand, he dragged him to the kitchen, for he
+wished to show every one his newfound treasure without delay. A crowd of
+servants soon gathered around Philip and Coursegol. The latter was
+explaining how the infant had come into his possession, and every one
+was marvelling at the strangeness of the adventure, when the Marquise
+suddenly appeared. The poor creature was always closely followed by a
+woman who was ordered never to lose sight of her mistress. She wandered
+about the ch&acirc;teau, never noisy or troublesome, but recognizing no one,
+not even her husband or her own child. She now advanced towards the
+little group which respectfully divided to make way for her. One could
+scarcely imagine a more pitiable sight than that presented by this
+beautiful young woman, whose haggard eyes, unbound hair and disordered
+garments revealed her insanity in spite of her attendant's efforts to
+keep her neatly dressed. At that moment, she was holding a piece of wood
+tightly to her bosom, and was singing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> softly as she advanced with
+measured steps as if trying to lull this supposed child to sleep.
+Suddenly she paused, threw the fragment of wood far from her and burst
+into tears.</p>
+
+<p>All the spectators of this scene stood motionless, overcome with pity,
+though they witnessed a similar spectacle each day and many times a day.
+Little Philip in his terror clung closely to Coursegol. The Marquise
+passed, looked at him, and, shaking her head, murmured:</p>
+
+<p>"That is not what I am looking for!" Suddenly she stopped as if riveted
+to the spot. Her eyes had fallen upon the sleeping Dolores cradled in
+Coursegol's arms. There was such an intentness in her gaze, she was
+regarding the child with so much persistence, that a strange thought
+flashed through the mind of the faithful servant.</p>
+
+<p>"Good Heavens!" he exclaimed, "might it be possible? Retire," he said,
+hastily, addressing those around him; "take Master Philip away and call
+the Marquis."</p>
+
+<p>They obeyed: all the servants vanished; the Marquise alone remained.
+Then Coursegol deposited the child upon a wide bench that stood against
+the wall, and, departing in his turn, ran to conceal himself behind a
+window where he could see his mistress without being seen. It was there
+the Marquis found him.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! sir," exclaimed Coursegol on beholding his master, "I believe
+madame is saved. Heaven has inspired me. But what if I am mistaken?" he
+added,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> anxiously. "What if she should kill the poor little thing?"</p>
+
+<p>"What do you say? What have you done? Run and take the child from her.
+Have we not had misfortunes enough already? Go, I tell you!"</p>
+
+<p>"It is too late!" replied Coursegol, terribly excited. "Look!"</p>
+
+<p>After devouring Dolores with her eyes for several moments, the Marquise
+gently approached her with outstretched arms, her face strangely altered
+by the emotion that filled her heart. Curiosity, surprise and fear were
+imprinted upon her features. She leaned over the child and scrutinized
+it anew; then, with an eager movement, seized it, pressed it to her
+bosom and started as if to run away with it. But when she had gone
+perhaps twenty paces, she paused and looked around as if to assure
+herself that no one was following her. The Marquis and Coursegol were
+standing at the half-open window, not daring to breathe, so great was
+their anxiety. Suddenly they saw the Marquise press little Dolores still
+closer to her heart, and imprint frenzied kisses upon her brow, while
+for the first time for many a long month beneficent tears flowed from
+her eyes. At the same time she exclaimed in a clear, strong voice:</p>
+
+<p>"Hector, my daughter! I have found my daughter!"</p>
+
+<p>The agitated Marquis sprang towards her. She saw him approaching and
+advanced to meet him, laughing and crying and displaying the child;
+then, overcome by the violence of her emotion, she fell in his extended
+arms, devoid of consciousness.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p><p>"She is saved!"' said Coursegol, who had followed his master.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, Coursegol, can it be true?" demanded the Marquis, who could
+scarcely believe his own eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Did she not recognize you? Did she not speak to you? Her madness
+disappeared as soon as her maternal instincts were re-awakened."</p>
+
+<p>They carried the Marquise to her chamber and laid her upon the bed. In
+obedience to Coursegol's directions a cradle was placed in her room and
+the infant deposited in it; then the devoted servant mounted a horse and
+started for N&icirc;mes in quest of a physician.</p>
+
+<p>When he returned at the end of three hours, accompanied by the doctor,
+the Marquise had regained consciousness. They had shown her the sleeping
+Dolores and, reassured by the sight of the child, she had fallen asleep.
+Occasionally she roused a little and those around her heard her murmur:</p>
+
+<p>"My daughter! my daughter!"</p>
+
+<p>Then, raising herself upon her elbow, she watched the babe in silent
+ecstasy until overcome with exhaustion she again closed her eyes in
+slumber.</p>
+
+<p>"I can be of no service here," said the physician. "Her reason has
+returned unquestionably; and her weakness will be overcome by good care
+and absolute quiet."</p>
+
+<p>It was in this way that the Marquise was restored to her right mind.
+From that day her hold upon life slowly but surely strengthened; she
+recognized her husband and her son, and it was not long before they
+could without danger reveal the circumstances <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>attendant upon Dolores'
+arrival at the ch&acirc;teau. Three months later her recovery was complete.</p>
+
+<p>One morning the Marquis sent for Coursegol.</p>
+
+<p>"I gave you Dolores," said he, abruptly; "will you not return her to me?
+Henceforth she shall be my daughter."</p>
+
+<p>"She is my daughter as well," replied Coursegol, "but you may take her,
+sir. Though I relinquish her to you, I do not lose her since I shall
+live near her, and we can both love her."</p>
+
+<p>The Marquis de Chamondrin offered his hand to Coursegol, thus consenting
+to the compact that gave Dolores two protectors; and so the daughter of
+the gypsy, though she had lost her parents, was not an orphan.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE CHILDHOOD OF DOLORES.</h3>
+
+<p>Dolores passed a happy childhood in the Ch&acirc;teau de Chamondrin, where she
+was loved, petted and caressed as if she had been the little Martha
+whose loss had deprived the Marquise of reason for many dreary months.
+Nothing was left undone to render the illusion complete in the eyes of
+the members of the household and in her own. The first companion of her
+childish play was Philip, who called her sister; and she pillowed her
+fair head on the bosom of the Marquise without a shadow of fear and
+fondly called her mother. The Marquise loved her as devotedly as she had
+loved her own daughter; Coursegol regarded her with an affection whose
+fervor was mingled with the deference he owed to the children of his
+master. As for the servants, they treated Philip and Dolores with equal
+respect; and there were no relatives or friends of the family who did
+not take pleasure in exhibiting their fondness for the little creature
+whose presence had cured the Marquise of the most terrible of maladies.</p>
+
+<p>It is true that Dolores was such a lovely child no one could help loving
+her. She promised to resemble her mother. She had the same luxuriant
+golden hair, the same large, dark eyes, the same energy, the same<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>
+sweetness of disposition and of voice. The Marquis and Coursegol, who
+had seen the gypsy, and who still remembered her, were often struck by
+the strong resemblance that seemed to make Tiepoletta live again in
+Dolores. The child also possessed the same tender heart, vivid
+imagination and honorable instincts. Her mind absorbed with marvellous
+facility the instruction which she received from the Marquis and which
+she shared with his son. She had a wonderful memory, and what she
+learned seemed to be indelibly imprinted upon her mind. She was loving
+in disposition, docile and sweet-tempered, and had already won the love
+of all who came in contact with her.</p>
+
+<p>Philip actually worshipped his little sister. He was five years her
+senior, a large, noisy, almost coarse boy, rather vain of his birth and
+of the authority which enabled him to lord it over the little peasants
+who sometimes played with him. But these faults, which were destined to
+be greatly modified by time, concealed a thoroughly good heart and
+disappeared entirely when he was with Dolores.</p>
+
+<p>It was amusing to see the tenderness and care with which he surrounded
+her. If they were walking together in the park, he removed all the
+stones which might hurt her tiny feet or cause her to stumble. If a
+dainty morsel fell to his share at the table, he transferred it from his
+plate to that of Dolores. If they dressed her in any new garment, he was
+never weary of admiring her, of telling her how beautiful she was, and
+of fondling her luxuriant golden curls. If it was necessary to punish
+Philip, they had only to deprive<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> him of the society of Dolores. But
+unfortunately this punishment, the most severe that could be inflicted
+upon him, grieved his sister as much as it did him, so it was used
+rarely and only in grave cases. One of the favorite amusements of the
+two children was to walk with Coursegol, and this was not a delight to
+them alone, for that faithful fellow was never so happy as when roving
+about the fields with them.</p>
+
+<p>Often, during those lovely spring mornings that are so charming in the
+south, they descended the hill and strolled along the banks of the
+Garden. The delicately-tinted willows that grew on the banks drooped
+over the stream, caressing it with their flexible branches. Above the
+willows, fig trees, olives and vineyards covered the base of the hill
+with foliage of a darker hue, which in turn contrasted with the still
+deeper green of the cypress trees and pines that grew upon the rocky
+sides of the cliff. This luxuriant vegetation, of tints as varied as
+those of an artist's palette, mirrored itself in the clear waters below
+together with the arches of the massive Pont du Gard, whose bold yet
+graceful curves were festooned with a dense growth of creeping vines.</p>
+
+<p>Coursegol called the children's attention to the beauties of the scene,
+thus awakening in their young hearts appreciation of the countless
+charms of nature. They played in the sand; they fished for silver carp;
+hunted for birds' nests among the reeds. There were merry shouts of
+laughter, continual surprises and numberless questions. In answering
+these, all Coursegol's rather primitive but trusty knowledge on
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span>scientific subjects was called into requisition. When they returned
+home they were obliged to pass the cave, and Dolores, who knew nothing
+of her history, often entered it in company with Philip if they found it
+unoccupied by the much-dreaded gypsies.</p>
+
+<p>At certain seasons of the year, early in the spring and late in the
+summer, roving bands of Bohemians encamped on the banks of the Gardon,
+and Philip and Dolores took good care not to approach them, especially
+after an evening when an old gypsy woman, struck perhaps by the child's
+resemblance to Tiepoletta, pointed Dolores out to some of the tribe who
+went into ecstasies over her beauty. One of the gypsies approached the
+children to beg, which so terrified them that they clung frantically to
+Coursegol, who found it difficult to reassure them.</p>
+
+<p>These pleasant rambles, the lessons which she recited to her adopted
+father, the religious instruction she received from the Marquise and
+long hours of play with Philip made up the life of Dolores. Day
+succeeded day without bringing anything to break the pleasant monotony
+of their existence, for the capture of a mischievous fox, an encounter
+with some harmless snake, or the periodical overflow of the Gardon could
+scarcely be dignified by the name of an event: yet these, or similar
+incidents furnished the children with topics of conversation for weeks
+together.</p>
+
+<p>They took little interest in the news that came from Paris, and though
+they sometimes observed a cloud on the brow of the Marquis, or tears in
+the eyes of his wife, they were ignorant of the cause<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>. Nor was it
+possible for them to understand the gravity of the political situation
+or the well-founded fears of the Royalists, which were frequently
+mentioned in the letters received at the ch&acirc;teau.</p>
+
+<p>Thirteen serene and happy years passed after Dolores became the adopted
+daughter of the Marquis de Chamondrin, before she made her first
+acquaintance with real sorrow. She had grown rapidly and her mental
+progress had kept pace with her physical development. She promised to be
+an honor to her parents and to justify them in their determination to
+keep her with them always.</p>
+
+<p>But the Marquis had not lost sight of the projects formed years before
+in relation to his son's future. As we have previously stated, the
+Marquis, even before the birth of his son, dreamed of restoring in him
+and through him the glory of the house of Chamondrin&mdash;a glory which had
+suffered an eclipse for more than a quarter of a century. It was now
+time to carry these plans into execution. Philip was eighteen, a
+vigorous youth, already a man in stature and in bearing, endowed with
+all the faults and virtues of his race, but possessed of more virtues
+than faults and especially of an incontestable courage and a profound
+reverence for the name he bore. The Marquis had about decided that the
+time to send him to Paris had come. He had been preparing for this event
+for some months and, thanks to the economy in which he had been so
+admirably seconded by his wife, he had laid by a very considerable
+amount; enough to supply Philip's wants for five years at least&mdash;that
+is, until he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> would be in a position to obtain some office at court or a
+command in the army.</p>
+
+<p>But the Marquis had taken other measures to insure his son's success. He
+had appealed to family friends, and through the Chevalier de Florian, an
+occasional guest at the ch&acirc;teau, he had received an assurance that
+Philip would find an earnest champion in the Duke de Penthieore. Fortune
+seemed inclined to smile on the young man; nevertheless the Marquis was
+beset with doubts, for all this occurred in the year 1783, just as the
+hostility to the king was beginning to manifest itself in an alarming
+manner, and the Marquis asked himself again and again if this was a
+propitious moment to send so young a man, almost a boy, into a divided
+and disaffected court&mdash;a court, too, that was subjected to the closest
+espionage on the part of a people already deeply incensed and irritated
+by the scandal and debauchery of the nobility, and utterly insensible to
+the king's well-meant efforts to institute a much-needed reform.</p>
+
+<p>But the birth of the Dauphin, which occurred that same year, dissipated
+M. de Chamondrin's doubts. He was completely reassured by the enthusiasm
+of a nation, which, even in its dire extremity, broke into songs of
+rejoicing over the new-born heir. Philip's departure was decided upon.</p>
+
+<p>The young people had been aware of their father's intentions for some
+time. They knew the hour of separation was approaching, and the tears
+sprang to their eyes whenever any allusion to Philip's intended
+departure was made in their presence; but, with the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> characteristic
+light-heartedness of youth, they dismissed the unwelcome thought from
+their minds, and in present joys forgot the sorrow the future held in
+store for them. But the flight of time is rapid, and that which causes
+us little anxiety because it was the future, that is, a possibility,
+becomes the present, in other words, reality. One day the Marquis, not
+without emotion, made known his plans to his wife and afterwards to his
+son. Philip was to start for Paris at the close of autumn, or in about
+two months, and Coursegol was to accompany him. This news carried
+despair to the heart of Dolores, for she loved Philip devotedly. Had he
+not been her brother, her protector, and the sharer of all her joys
+since she was old enough to talk? Could it be she was about to lose him?</p>
+
+<p>In spite of all their efforts to conceal the fact, the grief was
+general. The departure of Philip would be a sore trial to all the
+inmates of the ch&acirc;teau. Dolores was inconsolable. A dozen times a day,
+the Marquise, conquering her own sadness, endeavored to console Dolores
+by descanting on the advantages Philip would derive from this journey;
+but the poor girl could understand but one thing&mdash;that her brother was
+to leave her for an indefinite time. For several days before his
+departure she scarcely left his side. How many plans were made to be
+carried into execution on his return! How many bright hopes were mingled
+with the sadness of those last hours! Philip, who had become grave and
+serious as befitted his new r&ocirc;le, declared that he would never forget
+Dolores&mdash;that he should love her forever. The hours flew swiftly by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> and
+the day appointed for the separation came all too quickly for those who
+were awaiting and dreading it.</p>
+
+<p>The morning that Philip was to start his father sent for him. The young
+man was in the court-yard, superintending the preparations for
+departure. The servants, superintended by Coursegol, were fastening the
+trunks upon the carriage that was to convey the travellers and their
+baggage to Avignon, where places had been bespoken for them in the coach
+which was then the only mode of conveyance between Marseilles and Paris.</p>
+
+<p>Dolores was standing near Coursegol. Her red eyes, still moist with
+tears, and her pale face showed that her sorrow had made sleep
+impossible during the previous night; but, in spite of this, she looked
+so lovely that Philip was more deeply impressed by her beauty than he
+had ever been before. He kissed her tenderly, as he tried to console
+her.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! Philip, why do you leave us?" she exclaimed, reproachfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Because it is necessary both for your sake and mine," he responded. "Do
+you not know my father's plans? And if he commands me to go, must I not
+obey?"</p>
+
+<p>"That is what I was just telling mademoiselle," began Coursegol. "I
+explained to her that the Marquis, your father, was acting wisely in
+sending you to court. You will soon make a fortune there, and then you
+will return to us laden with laurels and with gold. Shall we not be
+happy then, mademoiselle?"</p>
+
+<p>Even while speaking thus, Coursegol found it very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> difficult to conceal
+his own emotion, for though he was pleased to accompany Philip, it cost
+him a bitter pang to part with Dolores. Rescued by him, reared under his
+very eyes, he loved her as devotedly as he would have loved a child of
+his own, had the thought of any other family than that of his master
+ever occurred to him.</p>
+
+<p>But his words and Philip's caresses seemed to comfort Dolores. Her sobs
+ceased and she dried her tears; but, as Philip was about to leave her in
+obedience to a summons from his father, she suddenly exclaimed:</p>
+
+<p>"Will you not forget me in the midst of the splendor that will surround
+you? Will you not cease to love me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Forget you! Cease to love you!" replied Philip, with a shudder, as if
+such a fear expressed at such a moment was an evil omen. "I shall never
+forget you! I shall never cease to love you!"</p>
+
+<p>He was about to say still more when he saw his mother approaching. He
+led Dolores gently to her, kissed them both, and hastened to join his
+father.</p>
+
+<p>The latter was pacing to and fro in his chamber, thoughtful and sad, for
+the departure of his son made his heart heavy with grief.</p>
+
+<p>"You sent for me, father," said Philip.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, my son," responded the Marquis, seating himself and motioning his
+son to a chair beside him. "I wish to say a few words to you. You are
+about to leave me, Philip. In a few hours you will be your own master. I
+shall no longer be near you; nor will your mother be at hand to advise
+you. Moreover, you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> are deprived of our counsel and experience just when
+you most need them, at a time when your life must undergo a radical
+change and you are beset with difficulties. I have decided that
+Coursegol shall accompany you, for his judgment may be of service to you
+in the absence of ours. You must regard his advice as that of a friend
+rather than of a servant; but do not accept his counsels or the counsels
+of any other person without reflection. There are cases, it is true, in
+which one must decide hastily. If you have not time to consult those in
+whom you repose confidence, you must be guided by your own judgment; and
+in order that you may not err, engrave upon your heart the words I am
+about to utter."</p>
+
+<p>The Marquis paused a moment, then resumed:</p>
+
+<p>"'God, your country and the king'&mdash;this should be your motto. You are
+about to go out into the world. You will meet many fanatics, atheists
+and libertines. Shun their example; do not be led astray by their
+sophistries, and before you speak or act, ask yourself if what you are
+about to say or do does not conflict with the respect you owe to your
+religion, to France and to your king."</p>
+
+<p>This was the general tenor of the conversation, which lasted nearly an
+hour. His father, it is true, told him nothing he had not heard already.
+His advice was nothing more than a resum&eacute; of the lessons he had always
+taught him; but Philip was deeply moved, and he promised with an emotion
+closely akin to ardent enthusiasm that he would never depart from the
+line of conduct his father had marked out for him.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p><p>Then the Marquis, with a sudden change of tone, said to his son:</p>
+
+<p>"Since you are about to leave home, perhaps for several years, I will
+tell you a secret which I should no longer withhold."</p>
+
+<p>"What is it?" demanded Philip, in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"Dolores is not your sister!"</p>
+
+<p>"Dolores not my sister! Then&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Philip paused. He dare not utter the thought that had suddenly entered
+his mind. On hearing the Marquis' words and learning the truth in regard
+to Dolores from his lips, he had experienced an emotion of joy. If he
+had given expression to what was passing in his soul, his father would
+have heard these words:</p>
+
+<p>"Dolores not my sister! Then she shall be my wife!"</p>
+
+<p>But he controlled himself and his father little suspected the emotion
+caused by this revelation. The Marquis related the history of Dolores in
+detail, and Philip could scarcely believe his ears when he heard that
+the charming girl was the offspring of one of those Bohemians he had
+frequently seen by the roadside.</p>
+
+<p>"You must not love her the less," said the Marquis in conclusion. "She
+has filled Martha's place in our hearts; we owe to her your mother's
+restoration to reason. We should always love and cherish her. She has no
+suspicion of the truth; and I wish her to remain in ignorance until I
+think proper to acquaint her with the facts."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! I shall never cease to love her," replied<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> Philip, quickly, thus
+repeating to his father the promise he had made to Dolores a few moments
+before.</p>
+
+<p>Then, agitated by the news he had heard, he left the Marquis and
+rejoined Dolores. He wished to see her alone once more before his
+departure. When he approached her, his heart throbbed wildly.</p>
+
+<p>"She is not my sister," he said to himself, exultantly.</p>
+
+<p>She seemed to him an entirely different being. For the first time he
+observed that she had exquisitely formed hands of marvellous whiteness
+for the first time he shrank from the light of the dark eyes uplifted to
+his. He wished that Dolores knew the secret of her birth, and that she
+could hear him once again say:</p>
+
+<p>"I love you!"</p>
+
+<p>It was a new emotion to the pure and artless heart of an eighteen-year
+old lad; and, yielding to its influence, Philip threw his arms about
+Dolores, and, pressing her to his heart, said tenderly:</p>
+
+<p>"I shall always love you&mdash;always&mdash;I swear it! Remember this promise.
+Some day you will understand it better."</p>
+
+<p>Dolores looked at him in astonishment. Though she was deeply moved she
+made no reply, but throwing her arms around his neck she kissed him
+again and again, thus unconsciously arousing a new passion in what had
+been the soul of a child only a few moments before, but what had
+suddenly become the soul of a man.</p>
+
+<p>But the hour of departure had come. The char-a-banc drawn by two strong
+horses was in waiting at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> the base of the hill. They were to walk down
+the hill with Philip and bid him farewell there. Philip gave his arm to
+his mother; Dolores walked between Coursegol and the Marquis, with an
+expression of profound sorrow upon her features.</p>
+
+<p>An air of sadness and gloom pervaded everything. It was the close of
+autumn; the air was full of withered leaves; they rustled beneath the
+tread at every step, and the wind moaned drearily through the pines.</p>
+
+<p>"Take care of your health," said the Marquise.</p>
+
+<p>"Write to me," pleaded Dolores.</p>
+
+<p>"Be brave and upright," said the father; then all three, turning as if
+with one accord to Coursegol, placed Philip under his protection.</p>
+
+<p>Again they embraced their beloved; again they wept; then one more
+embrace, one last kiss, and he was gone. The carriage that bore him away
+was hidden from their sight by clouds of dust, and the loving hearts
+left behind sadly wondered if this cruel parting was not, after all, a
+dream.</p>
+
+<p>Dolores, in spite of her earnest efforts to fill the void that had been
+made in her life, spent a month in tears. A deep despair seemed to have
+taken possession of her heart. In vain her adopted parents endeavored to
+divert her mind; in vain they concealed their own grief to console her;
+in vain they lavished a wealth of tenderness upon her; she would not be
+consoled and her silent sorrow revealed a soul peculiarly sensitive to
+suffering.</p>
+
+<p>It was Philip who persuaded her to conquer this despondency; for he,
+even at a distance, exerted a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> much more powerful influence over her
+than either the Marquis or his wife. His first letter, which arrived
+about a month after his departure, was more potent in its effects than
+all the efforts of her adopted parents. It was to Dolores that Philip
+had written. He described his journey to Paris; the cordial welcome he
+had received from the Duke de Penthieore and the Princess de Lamballe,
+to whom he had been presented by the Chevalier de Florian; the
+condescension this Princess had displayed in taking him to Versailles,
+and in commending him to the kindly notice of Marie Antoinette and Louis
+XVI.; the promises made by their majesties, and lastly the promptitude
+with which the Duke, as a proof of his interest, had attached him to his
+own household. So Philip was on the highway to wealth and honor at last.
+The Princess de Lamballe had evinced a very decided interest in him; he
+enjoyed the friendship of the Chevalier de Florian and would soon
+accompany the Duke de Penthieore to Brittany. Moreover, these kind
+friends were only waiting until he should attain the age of twenty to
+request the king to give him command of a company in one of his
+regiments.</p>
+
+<p>This good news filled the heart of the Marquis with joy. He immediately
+wrote to the Duke, thanking him for his kindness, and that gentleman in
+his reply, manifested such an earnest desire to insure Philip's success
+that the Marquis and his wife were consoled for their son's absence by
+the thought of the brilliant career that seemed to be in store for him.
+As for Dolores, what comforted her was not so much her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> brother's
+success as the expressions of affection with which his letter was
+filled. All his happiness and all his good fortune were to be shared
+with her. It was for her sake he desired fame, in order that he might
+make her proud and happy. Thus Philip expressed the still confused
+sentiments that filled his young heart, though he did not betray the
+secret that his father had confided to him.</p>
+
+<p>This letter seemed to restore to Dolores the natural light-heartedness
+of youth. She no longer lamented her brother's absence, but spent most
+of her time in writing to him, and in perusing and re-perusing his
+letters. The months passed, but brought nothing to disturb the
+tranquillity of this monotonous existence. At the end of two years
+Philip announced that he had been appointed to the command of a company
+of dragoons. This appointment, which he owed entirely to the kindness of
+the Princess de Lamballe and the Duke de Penthieore, was only the first
+step. The queen had promised not to forget him and to prove her interest
+in some conclusive manner. That he might not be obliged to leave his
+young master, Coursegol asked and obtained permission to enlist in the
+same regiment.</p>
+
+<p>Two more years passed.</p>
+
+<p>It would be a difficult task to describe Dolores as she appeared in
+those days. The cleverest pen would be powerless to give an adequate
+conception of her charms. Her simple country life had made her as strong
+and vigorous as the sturdy young trees that adorned the landscape ever
+beneath her eyes. In<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> health and strength she was a true daughter of the
+Bohemians, a race whose vigor has never been impaired by the luxuries
+and restraints of civilization. She had not the olive complexion and
+fiery temper of her father, but she had inherited from her mother that
+delicate beauty and that refinement of manner which made it almost
+impossible for one to believe that Tiepoletta was the daughter of
+Corcovita.</p>
+
+<p>Dolores was as energetic as her father and as lovely as her mother. Her
+brilliant dark eyes betrayed an ardent temperament and unusual power of
+will. She was no fragile creature, but a healthy, spirited, beautiful
+young girl, the robust scion of a hardy and fruitful tree. Had she been
+reared among the gypsies, she might have been coarsely handsome; but
+education had softened her charms while it developed her intellect, and
+though but seventeen she was already one of those dazzling beauties who
+defy description and who eclipse all rivals whenever they appear. The
+soul was worthy of the casket that enshrined it; and the reader who
+follows this narrative to its close cannot fail to acknowledge the
+inherent nobility of this young girl, who was destined to play a r&ocirc;le as
+heroic as it was humble in the great drama of the Revolution, and whose
+devotion, purity, unselfishness and indomitable courage elevated her
+high above the plane of poor, erring humanity.</p>
+
+<p>Had it not been for Philip's prolonged absence, Dolores would have been
+perfectly happy at this period of her life. Separated from their son,
+the Marquis and his wife seemed to regard her with redoubled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span>
+tenderness. Her wishes were their law. To amuse her, they took her to
+N&icirc;mes, to Montpellier and to Avignon; and she was everywhere welcomed as
+the daughter of the great house of Chamondrin, whose glory had been
+veiled in obscurity for a quarter of a century, only to emerge again
+more radiant than ever. Dolores was really happy. She was looking
+forward to a speedy meeting with her beloved Philip; and he shared this
+hope, for had he not written in a recent letter: "I expect to see you
+all soon and to spend several weeks at Chamondrin, as free from care and
+as happy as in days gone by?" In a still later letter Philip said: "I am
+eager to start for home, but sometimes the journey seems to be attended
+by many difficulties. Should it prove an impossibility, I shall expect
+to see you all in Paris."</p>
+
+<p>So either in Chamondrin, or in Paris, Dolores would soon embrace her
+brother. This thought intoxicated her with happiness, and her impatience
+led her to interrogate the Marquis.</p>
+
+<p>"Why does Philip speak of his return as impossible?" she asked again and
+again. "What does he fear?"</p>
+
+<p>"There may be circumstances that will detain him at his post near the
+king," replied the Marquis, sadly, but evasively.</p>
+
+<p>In the letters which he, himself, received from his son, the latter
+spoke freely of the danger that menaced the throne. There was, indeed,
+abundant cause of alarm to all thoughtful and observant minds, and
+especially to men who were living like the Marquis in the heart<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> of the
+provinces, and who were consequently able to judge understandingly of
+the imminence of the peril. Of course, no person could then foresee the
+catastrophes which were to succeed one another so rapidly for several
+years; but a very general and undeniable discontent prevailed throughout
+the entire kingdom, a discontent that could not fail to engender
+misfortunes without number.</p>
+
+<p>The year 1788 had just opened under the most unfavorable auspices.
+Marepas, Turgot, Necker and Calonne had held the reins of power in turn,
+without being able to restore the country to peace and prosperity. Their
+efforts proving powerless from divers causes they had been dismissed in
+disgrace; some through the intrigues of the court; some by reason of
+their own incapacity. Brienne was now in office; but he was no more
+fortunate than his predecessors. Instead of subsiding, the discord was
+continually on the increase.</p>
+
+<p>The convention of leading men, upon which Calonne had based such
+flattering hopes, adjourned without arriving at any satisfactory result.
+The treasury was empty; and, as the payment of government obligations
+was consequently suspended, the murmurs of the people became long and
+loud. Parliament refused to notice the royal edicts, and the army showed
+open hostility to the court. In the provinces, poverty everywhere
+prevailed; and the dissatisfaction was steadily increasing.</p>
+
+<p>The condition of affairs in Southern France was extremely ominous. At
+N&icirc;mes, the religious factions,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> which were as bitterly at variance as
+they had been at the time of the revocation of the Edict of Nantes had
+arrayed themselves in open warfare one against the other. Avignon, eager
+to shake off the pontifical yoke and annex itself to France, was the
+scene of daily outbreaks. As the Ch&acirc;teau de Chamondrin was situated
+between these two cities, its inmates could not fail to be aware of
+these dissensions.</p>
+
+<p>Conventions were held in most of the large towns, and the situation of
+the country was discussed with much heat and bitterness. The nobility
+and clergy, who trembled for their threatened privileges, and the
+people, who had suffered so long and so uncomplainingly, took part in
+these discussions; and their utterances betrayed great intolerance on
+the one side and excessive irritation on the other. The discontent had
+reached a class which, up to that date, had been allowed no voice in the
+management of affairs; but now, the peasants, oppressed by taxes as
+exorbitant as they were unjust, began to cast angry and envious glances
+at the nobility. The hovel was menacing the castle; and France seemed to
+be on the watch for some great event.</p>
+
+<p>In the midst of this general perturbation, the king, anxious and
+undecided, was running from one adviser to another, listening to all
+kinds of counsel, consenting to all sorts of intrigues and making a
+thousand resolutions without possessing the requisite firmness to carry
+any good one into execution.</p>
+
+<p>The Marquis de Chamondrin was a witness to some of these facts. The
+letters of his son revealed others.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> He was extremely anxious in regard
+to the future, and more than once Dolores and his wife saw his brow
+overcast and his eyes gloomy.</p>
+
+<p>A letter received from Philip early in May, 1788, increased his
+disquietude. It was written on the day following the arrest of
+Espr&eacute;menil. Philip had witnessed the disturbance; had seen the people
+applaud the officers of the municipal government, and insult the
+representatives of royal authority. He described the scene in his letter
+to his father. The Marquis, at the solicitation of Dolores, read her
+Philip's letter and made her the confidante of his fears. She understood
+now why Philip's return had been postponed. After this, she took a deep
+interest in the progress of events not so much on account of their
+gravity, which she did not comprehend as clearly as her adopted parents,
+but because Philip was a witness of them, and because his return
+depended upon a peaceful solution of the difficulty. She could not
+foresee that an event, as sorrowful as it was unexpected, would soon
+recall him to Chamondrin.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2>
+
+<h3>PERTAINING TO LOVE MATTERS.</h3>
+
+<p>A fortnight later, Philip, who was stationed at Versailles with his
+command, received the following letter from Dolores:</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>"It is my sad duty, my dear Philip, to inform you of the
+irreparable misfortune which has just befallen us. Summon all your
+fortitude, my dear brother. Your mother died yesterday. The blow
+was so sudden, the progress of the malady so rapid, that we could
+not warn you in time to give you the supreme consolation of
+embracing for the last time her whom we mourn, and who departed
+with the name of her son upon her lips.</p>
+
+<p>"Only four days ago she was in our midst, full of life, of strength
+and of hope. She was talking of your speedy return, and we rejoiced
+with her. One evening she returned from her accustomed walk a
+trifle feverish and complaining of the cold. It was a slight
+indisposition which was, unfortunately, destined to become an
+alarming illness by the following day. All our efforts to check the
+disease were unavailing; and we could only weep and bow in
+submission to the hand that had smitten us.</p>
+
+<p>"Weep then, my dear Philip, but do not rebel<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> against the will of
+God. Be resigned. You will have strength, if you will but remember
+the immortal life in which we shall be united forever. It is this
+blessed hope that has given me strength to overcome my own sorrow,
+to write to you, and to bestow upon your father the consolation of
+which he stands so sorely in need. Still, I shall be unable to
+assuage his grief if his son does not come to my assistance. You
+must lose no time, Philip. The Marquis needs you. In his terrible
+affliction, he calls for you. Do not delay.</p>
+
+<p>"Now to you, whom I called my brother only yesterday, I owe an
+avowal. Perhaps you have already learned my secret. I know the
+truth in regard to my birth. Before her death, the Marquise told me
+the details of that strange adventure which threw me, an orphan and
+a beggar, upon the mercy of your parents. Just as she breathed her
+last sigh, your father threw himself in my arms, weeping and
+moaning. He called me by the tenderest names, as if wishing to find
+solace for his grief in the caresses of his child. I fell at his
+feet.</p>
+
+<p>"'I know all, sir,' I cried.</p>
+
+<p>"'What! She has told you!' he exclaimed. 'Ah, well! Would you
+refuse me your affection at a moment like this?'</p>
+
+<p>"'Never!' I cried, clasping my arms about his neck.</p>
+
+<p>"'I shall never leave him, Philip. I will do my best to make his
+old age happy and serene, and since I continue to be his daughter,
+it is for you to decide whether or not I shall still be your
+sister.</p>
+
+<p class="right">"<span class="smcap">Dolores</span>."</p></blockquote>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p><p>A few hours after the receipt of this letter, which carried desolation
+to his heart, Philip, accompanied by Coursegol, left Versailles for
+Chamondrin. In spite of the ever increasing gravity of the political
+situation it had not been difficult for him to obtain leave of absence
+for an indefinite time on account of the bereavement that summoned him
+to his father's side and might detain him there. He made the journey in
+a post-chaise, stopping only to change horses.</p>
+
+<p>Dolores was little more than a child when they parted and they had been
+separated more than four years, but absence had not diminished the love
+that was first revealed to him on the day he left the paternal roof, and
+the thought of meeting her again made his pulses quicken their
+throbbing. Time and change of scene had proved powerless against the
+deep love and devotion that filled his heart, and he was more than ever
+determined to wed the companion of his youth; and now that she was no
+longer ignorant of the truth concerning her birth, he could press his
+suit as a lover. As the decisive moment approached, the moment when
+Dolores' answer would make or mar the happiness of his life, he
+experienced a profound emotion which was increased by the host of
+memories that crowd in upon a man when he returns to his childhood's
+home after a long absence to find some one of those he loved departed
+never to return.</p>
+
+<p>Philip thought of the mother he would never see again, of his father,
+heart-broken and desolate, of Dolores, whose grief he understood. His
+sadness increased in proportion as he approached the Pont du<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> Gard. Yet
+the road was well-known to him; the trees seemed to smile upon their old
+companion as if in greeting, and the sun shone with more than its usual
+brightness as if to honor his return. How many times he had journeyed
+from Avignon to Chamondrin on such a day as this! Every object along the
+roadside awakened some pleasant recollection; but the joy of again
+beholding his beloved home and these familiar scenes was clouded by
+regret, doubts and uncertainty; and Philip was far from happy. During
+their journey, Coursegol had done his best to cheer his young master,
+but as they neared Chamondrin he, too, became a victim to the melancholy
+he had endeavored to dissipate.</p>
+
+<p>At last the post-chaise rolled noisily under one of the arches of the
+Pont du Gard, and a few moments later the horses, panting and covered
+with foam after climbing the steep ascent, entered the court-yard of the
+ch&acirc;teau.</p>
+
+<p>The Marquis and Dolores, who were waiting for supper to be served, had
+seated themselves on the terrace overlooking the park. The sound of
+carriage wheels drew them into the court-yard just as Philip and
+Coursegol were alighting. There was a cry of joy, and then the long
+separated friends embraced one another. It would be impossible to
+describe this meeting and the rapture of this return.</p>
+
+<p>It was Dolores whom Philip saw first. Her wonderful beauty actually
+startled him. Four years had transformed the child into an exquisitely
+and lovely young girl. Her delicate features, her golden hair, her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>
+lustrous dark eyes, her vermillion lips, her musical yet penetrating
+voice, her willowy figure and her beautifully shaped hands aroused
+Philip's intense admiration. A pure and noble love had filled his heart
+during his absence, and had exerted a powerful and restraining influence
+over his actions, his thoughts, his hopes and his language. He had
+endowed his idol with beauty in his fancy, but, beautiful as he had
+pictured her, he was obliged to confess on beholding her that the
+reality surpassed his dreams, and he loved her still more ardently.</p>
+
+<p>The Marquis led his son to the drawing-room. He, too, wished to observe
+the changes that time had wrought in Philip. He scrutinized him closely
+by the light of the candles, embraced him, and then looked at him again
+admiringly. His son was, indeed, the noble heir of an illustrious race.</p>
+
+<p>They talked of the past and of the dead. They wept, but these were not
+the same bitter tears the Marquis had shed after his bereavement. The
+joy of seeing his son consoled him in a measure, and death seemed to him
+less cruel because, when he was surrounded by his children, his faith
+and his hope gathered new strength.</p>
+
+<p>The first evening flew by on wings. Philip, to divert his father,
+described the stirring events and the countless intrigues of which the
+court had been the theatre; and together they talked of the hopes and
+the fears of the country. Philip spoke in the most enthusiastic terms of
+the kind-hearted Duke de Penthieore who had aided him so much in life,
+of the Chevalier de<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> Florian, and of the charming Princess de Lamballe
+who had become the favorite friend of the queen. Dolores did not lose a
+word of the conversation, and gave her love and homage unquestioningly
+to those Philip praised even though they were strangers to her. She
+admired the soundness of judgment her adopted brother displayed in his
+estimate of people and of things, and the eloquence with which he
+expressed his opinions.</p>
+
+<p>Coursegol was present. Often by a word he completed or rectified the
+statements of his young master, and Dolores loved him for the devotion
+testified by his every word. As for him, notwithstanding the familiarity
+which had formerly characterized his daily relations with the girl, he
+felt rather intimidated by her presence, though his affection for her
+was undiminished.</p>
+
+<p>About eleven o'clock the Marquis rose and, addressing his son, said:</p>
+
+<p>"Do you not feel the need of rest?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am so happy to see you all again that I am not sensible of the
+slightest fatigue," replied Philip, "and I have so many things to tell
+and to ask Dolores that I am not at all sleepy."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, well, my dear children, talk at your ease. As for me, I will
+retire."</p>
+
+<p>And the Marquis, after tenderly embracing them, quitted the room,
+followed by Coursegol. Philip and Dolores were left alone together.
+There was a long silence. Seated beside an open window, Dolores, to
+conceal her embarrassment, fixed her eyes upon the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> park and the fields
+that lay quiet and peaceful in the bright moonlight of the clear and
+balmy summer evening. Philip, even more agitated, paced nervously to and
+fro, seeking an opportunity to utter the avowal that was eager to leave
+his lips. At last, he summoned the necessary courage, and, seating
+himself opposite Dolores, he said:</p>
+
+<p>"You wrote me a long letter. You asked me to bring you the response.
+Here it is."</p>
+
+<p>Dolores looked up and perceived that he was greatly agitated. This
+discovery increased her own embarrassment, and she could not find a word
+to say in reply. Philip resumed:</p>
+
+<p>"But, first, explain the cause of the coldness betrayed by that letter.
+Why did you address me so formally? Why did you not call me your brother
+as you had been accustomed to do in the past?"</p>
+
+<p>"How was I to know that you would not regard me as a stranger, as an
+intruder?" responded Dolores, gently.</p>
+
+<p>"An intruder! You!" exclaimed Philip, springing up. "I have known the
+truth for more than four years and never have I loved you so fondly!
+What am I saying? I mean that from the day I first knew the truth I have
+loved you with a far greater and entirely different love!"</p>
+
+<p>Dolores dare not reply. How could she confess that she, too, since she
+learned she was not his sister, had experienced a similar change of
+feeling? Philip continued:</p>
+
+<p>"You asked me if I would consent to still regard<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> you as a sister. My
+sister, no! Not, as my sister, but as my wife, if you will but consent!"</p>
+
+<p>"Your wife!" exclaimed Dolores, looking up at him with eyes radiant with
+joy.</p>
+
+<p>Then, as if fearing he would read too much there, she hastily covered
+them with her trembling hands. The next instant Philip was on his knees
+before her, saying, eagerly:</p>
+
+<p>"I have cherished this hope ever since the day that my father made me
+acquainted with your history. I told myself that we would never part,
+that I should always have by my side the loved one I had so long called
+sister, the gentle girl who had restored my mother's reason, who had
+cheered her life, consoled her last moments, and comforted my desolate
+father in his bereavement! Dolores, do not refuse me; it would break my
+heart!"</p>
+
+<p>She could not believe her ears. She listened to Philip's pleading as if
+in a dream, and he, alarmed by her silence, added:</p>
+
+<p>"If my mother were here, she would entreat you to make me happy."</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly Dolores remembered the projects which had been confided to her
+by the Marquis, who had often made her his confidante&mdash;those projects in
+which Philip's marriage with a rich heiress of illustrious birth played
+such an important part. And yet, in the presence of the profound love
+she had inspired and which she shared, she had not courage to make
+Philip wretched by an immediate refusal, or to renounce the hope that
+had just been aroused in her heart.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p><p>"In pity, say no more!" she exclaimed, hastily. "We are mad!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why is it madness to love you?" demanded Philip.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen," she replied. "I cannot answer you now. Wait a little&mdash;I must
+have time to think&mdash;to consult my conscience and my heart. You also must
+have time for reflection."</p>
+
+<p>"I have reflected for four years."</p>
+
+<p>"But I have never before thought of the new life you are offering me."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you not love me?"</p>
+
+<p>"As a sister loves a brother, yes; but whether the love I bear you is of
+a different character I do not yet know. Go now, my dear Philip," she
+added, endeavoring by calming herself to calm him; "give me time to
+become accustomed to the new ideas you have awakened in my mind. They
+will develop there, and then you shall know my answer. Until that time
+comes, I entreat you to have pity on my weakness, respect my silence and
+wait."</p>
+
+<p>Philip instantly rose and said:</p>
+
+<p>"The best proof of love that I can give you is obedience. I will wait,
+Dolores, I will wait, but I shall hope."</p>
+
+<p>Having said this he retired, leaving her oppressed by a vague sorrow
+that sleep only partially dispelled.</p>
+
+<p>During the days that followed this conversation, Philip, faithful to his
+promise, made no allusion to the scene we have just described. For four
+years he had buried his secret so deeply in his own heart that even
+Coursegol had not suspected it, so he did not find it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> difficult to
+continue this r&ocirc;le under the eyes of his father; and, though the burden
+he imposed upon himself had become much heavier by reason of the
+presence of Dolores, his hopes supplied him with strength to endure it.</p>
+
+<p>For his hopes were great! Youthful hearts have no fear. He was not
+ignorant of his father's plans; but he told himself that his father
+loved him too much to cause him sorrow, and that he would probably be
+glad to sacrifice his ambitious dreams if he could ensure the happiness
+of both his children. Philip was sure of this. If he invoked the memory
+of his mother and the love she bore Dolores, the Marquis could not
+refuse his consent. He confidently believed that before six mouths had
+elapsed he should be married and enjoying a felicity so perfect as to
+leave nothing more to be desired. Cheered by this hope, he impatiently
+awaited the decision of Dolores, happy, however, in living near her, in
+seeing her every day, in listening to her voice and in accompanying her
+on her walks. He watched himself so carefully that no word revealed the
+real condition of his mind, and not even the closest observer of his
+language and actions could have divined the existence of the sentiments
+upon which he was, at that very moment, basing his future happiness.</p>
+
+<p>Dolores was grateful to him for his delicacy and for the faithfulness
+with which he kept his promise. She appreciated Philip's sacrifice the
+more because she was obliged to impose an equally powerful restraint
+upon herself in order to preserve her own secret. She<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> loved him. All
+the aspirations of an ardent and lofty soul, all the dreams of a pure
+felicity based upon a noble affection were hers; and Philip's avowal,
+closely following the revelations of the dying Marquise, had convinced
+her that her happiness depended upon a marriage in accordance with the
+dictates of her heart, and that the one being destined from all eternity
+to crown her life with bliss unspeakable was Philip. Reared together,
+they thoroughly understood and esteemed each other; they had shared the
+same joys and the same impressions. There was a bond between them which
+nothing could break, and which made their souls one indissolubly. In her
+eyes, Philip was the handsomest, the most honorable, the most noble and
+the most perfect of men. Was not this love? Why then did Dolores persist
+in her silence when her lover was anxiously waiting to learn his fate?
+Simply because she feared to displease the Marquis. She owed everything
+to his generosity. She had no fortune. If she became Philip's wife, she
+could confer upon the house of Chamondrin none of those advantages which
+the Marquis hoped to gain from a grand alliance, and for the sake of
+which he had condemned himself to a life of obscurity and privation.
+Would he ever consent to a marriage that so ruthlessly destroyed his
+ambitious dreams? And if he did not consent, how terrible would be her
+position when compelled to choose between the love of the son and the
+wrath of the father! And, even if he consented, would it not cost him
+the most terrible of sacrifices? Shattered already by the untimely death
+of his wife, would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> he survive this blow to his long-cherished hopes?
+Such were the sorrowful thoughts that presented themselves to the mind
+of Dolores and deprived her of the power to speak. She dare not make
+Philip a confidant of her fears; and to declare that she did not love
+him was beyond her strength. Even when the impossibility of this
+marriage became clearly apparent to her, she had not courage to lie to
+her lover and to trample her own heart underfoot. One alternative
+remained: to reveal the truth to the Marquis. But this would imperil
+all. A secret presentiment warned her if she, herself, disclosed the
+truth, that it would be to her that the Marquis would appeal in order to
+compel Philip to renounce his hopes, since it was in her power to
+destroy them by a single word. Day followed day, and Dolores, beset
+alternately by hopes and fears, was waiting for fate to solve the
+question upon which her future happiness depended.</p>
+
+<p>Two mouths later, the Marquis was summoned to Marseilles by a cousin,
+who was lying at the point of death. He departed immediately,
+accompanied by Philip. This cousin was the Count de Mirandol. The master
+of a large fortune which he had accumulated in the colonies, a widower
+of long standing and the father of but one child, a girl of eighteen,
+who would inherit all his wealth, he had returned to France, intending
+to take up his permanent abode there. He had been afflicted for years by
+a chronic malady, contracted during his long sea voyages, and he
+returned to his native land with the hope that he should find there
+relief from his sufferings.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> But he had scarcely landed at Marseilles
+when he was attacked by his old malady in an aggravated form. He could
+live but a few days, and realizing his condition, and desiring to find a
+protector for his daughter, his thoughts turned to his cousin, the
+Marquis de Chamondrin. Although he had scarcely seen the Marquis for
+thirty years, he knew him sufficiently well not to hesitate to entrust
+his daughter to his cousin's care.</p>
+
+<p>The Marquis did not fail him. He accepted the charge that his relative
+confided to him, closed the eyes of the dying man, and a few days
+afterwards he and Philip returned to the ch&acirc;teau, accompanied by a young
+girl clad in mourning. The stranger was Mademoiselle Antoinette de
+Mirandol.</p>
+
+<p>Endowed with a refined and singularly expressive face, Antoinette,
+without possessing any of those charms which imparted such an
+incomparable splendor to the beauty of Dolores, was very attractive. She
+was a brunette, rather frail in appearance and small of stature; but
+there was such a gentle, winning light in her eyes that when she lifted
+them to yours you were somehow penetrated and held captive by them; in
+other words, you were compelled to love her.</p>
+
+<p>"I bring you a sister," the Marquis said to Dolores, as he presented
+Antoinette. "She needs your love and sympathy."</p>
+
+<p>The two girls tenderly embraced each other. Dolores led her guest to the
+room which they were to share, and lavished comforting words and
+caresses upon her, and from that moment they loved each<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> other as fondly
+as if they had been friends all their lives.</p>
+
+<p>Cruelly tried by the loss of her benefactress and by her mental
+conflicts on the subject of Philip, Dolores forgot her own sorrows and
+devoted herself entirely to the task of consoling Antoinette. It was not
+long before the latter became more cheerful. This was the work of
+Dolores. They talked of their past, and Dolores concealed nothing from
+her new friend. She confessed, without any false shame or false modesty,
+that she had entered the house of the Marquis as a beggar. Antoinette,
+in her turn, spoke of herself. She knew nothing of France. Her childhood
+had been spent in Louisiana; and she talked enthusiastically of the
+lovely country she had left. Dolores, to divert her companion's thoughts
+from grief, made Philip tell her what he knew about Paris Versailles and
+the court, and the Marquis, not without design probably, did his best to
+place in the most favorable light those attributes of mind and of heart
+that made Philip the most attractive of men. Like another Desdemona
+charmed by the eloquence of Othello, it was while listening to Philip
+that Antoinette first began to love him.</p>
+
+<p>After a month's sojourn at Chamondrin, she came to the conclusion that
+Philip was kind, good, irresistible in short; and she was by no means
+unwilling to become the Marquise de Chamondrin. Nor did she conceal
+these feelings from Dolores, little suspecting, how she was torturing
+her friend by these revelations. It was then that the absolute
+impossibility of a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span>marriage with Philip first became clearly apparent
+to Dolores. Antoinette's confession was like the flash of lightning
+which suddenly discloses a yawning precipice to the traveller on a dark
+and lonely road. She saw the insurmountable barrier between them more
+distinctly than ever before. Could she compete with Antoinette? Yes; if
+her love and that of Philip were to be considered. No; if rank, wealth,
+all the advantages that Antoinette possessed, and which the Marquis
+required in his son's bride, were to be taken into consideration.</p>
+
+<p>What a terrible night Dolores spent after Antoinette's confession! How
+she wept! What anguish she endured! The young girls occupied the same
+room and if one was unconscious of the sufferings of her companion, it
+was only because Dolores stifled her sobs. She was unwilling to let
+Antoinette see what she termed "her weakness." She felt neither hatred
+nor envy towards her friend, for she knew that Antoinette was not to
+blame. She wept, not from anger or jealousy, but from despair.</p>
+
+<p>Since she had been aware of Philip's affection for her, she had
+cherished a secret hope in spite of the numerous obstacles that stood in
+the way of their happiness. Time wrought so many changes! The bride whom
+the Marquis was seeking for his son had not yet been found. She had
+comforted herself by reflections like these. Now, these illusions had
+vanished. The struggle was terrible. One voice whispered: "You love; you
+are beloved. Fight for your rights, struggle, entreat&mdash;second Philip's
+efforts,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> work with him for the triumph of your love. Resist his
+father's will, and, though you may not conquer at once, your labors will
+eventually be crowned with success." But another voice said: "The
+Marquis was your benefactor, the Marquise filled your mother's place.
+Had it not been for them you would have been reared in shame, in
+ignorance and in depravity. You would never have known parental
+tenderness, the happiness of a home or the comforts and luxuries that
+have surrounded you from your childhood. Is it too much to ask that you
+should silence the pleadings of your heart in order not to destroy their
+hopes?" The first voice retorted: "Philip will be wretched if you desert
+him. He will regret you, he will curse you and you will spend your life
+in tears, blaming yourself for having sacrificed his happiness and yours
+to exaggerated scruples." But the second voice responded: "Antoinette
+will console Philip. If he curses you at first, he will bless you later
+when he learns the cause of your refusal. As for you, though you may
+weep bitterly, you will be consoled by the thought that you have done
+your duty." Such were the conflicts through which Dolores passed; but
+before morning came she had resolved to silence her imagination and the
+pleadings of her heart. Resigned to her voluntary defeat, she decided
+not to combat this growing passion on the part of Antoinette, but to
+encourage it. She believed that Philip would not long remain insensible
+to the charms of her friend, and in that case she could venture to
+deceive him and to declare that she did not love him.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p><p>Three months passed in this way; then Philip, weary of waiting for the
+reply that was to decide his fate, but not daring to break his promise
+and interrogate Dolores directly, concluded to at least make an attempt
+to obtain through Antoinette the decision that would put an end to his
+intolerable suspense. Knowing how fondly these young girls loved each
+other, and how perfect was their mutual confidence, he felt sure that
+Antoinette would not refuse to intercede for him.</p>
+
+<p>This project once formed, he began operations by endeavoring to
+ingratiate himself into the good graces of Mademoiselle de Mirandol. Up
+to this time, he had treated her rather coolly, but he now changed his
+tactics and showed her many of those little attentions which he had
+hitherto reserved for his adopted sister. It was just as Antoinette was
+becoming too much interested in Philip for her own peace of mind that
+she noticed his change of manner. She misunderstood him. Who would not
+have been deceived? During their rambles, Philip seemed to take pleasure
+in walking by her side. Every morning she found beside her plate a
+bouquet which he had culled. He never went to Avignon or to N&icirc;mes
+without bringing some little souvenir for her. What interpretation could
+she place upon these frequent marks of interest? Her own love made her
+credulous. After receiving many such attentions from him, she fancied
+she comprehended his motive.</p>
+
+<p>"He loves me," she said one evening to Dolores.</p>
+
+<p>The latter thought her bereft of her senses. Could it be possible that
+Philip had forgotten his former<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> love so soon? Was he deceiving her when
+he pressed his suit with such ardor? Impossible! How could she suppose
+it even for a moment? Still Dolores could not even imagine such a
+possibility without a shudder. After the struggle between her conscience
+and her heart, she had secretly resolved that Philip should cease to
+love her, that she would sacrifice herself to Mademoiselle de Mirandol,
+to whose charms he could not long remain insensible and whom he would
+eventually marry. Yes; she was ready to see her own misery consummated
+without a murmur; but to be thus forgotten in a few weeks seemed
+terrible.</p>
+
+<p>"If this is really so," she thought, "Philip is as unworthy of
+Antionette as he is of me. But it cannot be. She is mistaken."</p>
+
+<p>Was Antoinette deceiving herself? To set her mind at rest upon this
+point, Dolores questioned her friend in regard to the acts and words
+which she had interpreted as proofs of Philip's love for her.
+Mademoiselle de Mirandol revealed them to her friend; and Dolores was
+reassured. The attentions that had been bestowed upon the ward of the
+Marquis de Chamondrin by that gentleman's son did not assume in the eyes
+of Dolores that importance which had been attributed to them by her more
+romantic and enthusiastic companion; nevertheless, she was careful not
+to disturb a conviction that caused Antoinette so much happiness.</p>
+
+<p>The following day, as Mademoiselle de Mirandol was leaving her room, she
+encountered Philip in the hall.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p><p>"I wish to speak with you," he said, rapidly and in low tones as he
+passed her. "I will wait for you in the park near the Buissieres."</p>
+
+<p>His pleasant voice rung in Antoinette's ears long after he had
+disappeared, leaving her in a state of mingled ecstasy and confusion.
+Her cheeks were flushed and her heart throbbed violently. She hurried
+away to conceal her embarrassment from Dolores, who was following her,
+and soon went to join Philip at the Buissieres. This was the name they
+had bestowed upon a hedge of tall bushes to the left of the park, and
+which enclosed as if by two high thick walls a quiet path where the
+sun's rays seldom or never found their way. It was to this spot that
+Antoinette directed her steps, reproaching herself all the while for the
+readiness with which she obeyed Philip, and looking back every now and
+then to see if any one was observing her.</p>
+
+<p>She soon arrived at the Buissieres; Philip was awaiting her. On seeing
+her approach, he came forward to meet her. She noticed that his manner
+was perfectly composed, that his features betrayed no emotion, and that
+he was smiling as if to assure her that what he desired to tell her was
+neither solemn nor frightful in its nature. Antoinette was somewhat
+disappointed. She had expected to find him pale and nervous, and with
+his hair disordered like the lovers described in the two or three
+innocent romances that had chanced to fall into her hands.</p>
+
+<p>"Excuse me, Mademoiselle, for troubling you," began Philip, without the
+slightest hesitation; "but the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>service you can render me is of such
+importance to me, and the happiness of my whole life is so dependent
+upon it, that I have not scrupled to appeal to your generosity."</p>
+
+<p>"In what way can I serve you?" inquired Mademoiselle de Mirandol, whose
+emotion had been suddenly calmed by this preamble, so utterly unlike
+anything she had expected to hear.</p>
+
+<p>"I am in love!" began Philip.</p>
+
+<p>She trembled, her embarrassment returned and her eyes dropped. Philip
+continued:</p>
+
+<p>"She whom I love is charming, beautiful and good, like yourself. You
+surely will not contradict me, for it is Dolores whom I love!"</p>
+
+<p>Why Antoinette did not betray her secret, she, herself, could not
+understand when she afterwards recalled the circumstances of this
+interview. She did, however, utter a stifled cry which Philip failed to
+hear. She felt that she turned very pale, but her change of color was
+not discernible in the shadow. It was with intense disappointment that
+she listened to Philip's confession. He told her that he had loved
+Dolores for more than four years, but that she had known it only a few
+months, and that she hod made no response to his declaration of love. He
+had waited patiently for her answer, but he could endure this state of
+cruel uncertainty no longer, and he entreated Mademoiselle de Mirandol
+to intercede for him, and to persuade Dolores to make known her decision
+to her adorer. Antoinette promised to fulfil his request. She promised,
+scarcely knowing what she said, so terrible was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> the anguish that filled
+her heart. She desired only one thing&mdash;to make her escape that she might
+be at liberty to weep. How wretched he was! Coming to this rendezvous
+with a heart full of implicit confidence, she had met, instead of the
+felicity she expected, the utter ruin of her hopes. This revulsion of
+feeling proved too much for a young girl who was entirely unaccustomed
+to violent emotions of any kind. She blamed herself bitterly,
+reproaching herself for her love as if it had been a crime, and regarded
+her disappointment as a judgment upon her for having allowed herself to
+think of Philip so soon, after her father's death.</p>
+
+<p>At last Philip left her, and she could then give vent to her sorrow.
+Soon jealously took possession of her heart. Incensed at Dolores, who
+had received her confidence without once telling her that Philip's love
+had long since been given to her, Antoinette hastened to her rival to
+reproach her for her duplicity.</p>
+
+<p>"Antoinette, what has happened?" exclaimed Dolores, seeing her friend
+enter pale and in tears.</p>
+
+<p>"I have discovered my mistake. It is not I who am beloved, it is you;
+and he has been entreating me to plead his cause and to persuade you to
+give him an answer that accords with his wishes! What irony could be
+more bitter than that displayed by fate in making me the advocate to
+whom Philip has applied for aid in winning you? Ah! how deeply I am
+wounded! How terrible is my shame and humiliation! You would have spared
+me this degradation if you had frankly told me that Philip loved you
+when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> I first confided my silly fancies to you. Why did you not confess
+the truth? It was cruel, Dolores, and I believed you my friend, my
+sister!"</p>
+
+<p>Sobs choked her utterance and she could say no more. Dolores, who had
+suffered and who was still suffering the most poignant anguish,
+nevertheless felt the deepest sympathy for her unhappy friend. She
+approached her, gently wiped away her tears and said:</p>
+
+<p>"It is true that Philip loves me, that he quite recently avowed his love
+and that I refused to engage myself to him until I had had time for
+reflection; but it is equally true that after an examination of my heart
+I cannot consent to look upon him as other than a brother. I shall never
+be his wife; and if I have postponed the announcement of my decision, it
+was only because I dislike to pain him by destroying the hopes to which
+he still seemed to cling."</p>
+
+<p>"What! he loves you and you will not marry him?" cried Antoinette,
+amazed at such an avowal.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall not marry him," replied Dolores. "And now will you listen to my
+confession? On seeing you arrive at the ch&acirc;teau, I said to myself: 'Here
+is one who will be a suitable wife for Philip; and if my refusal renders
+him unhappy, the love of Antionette will console him!'"</p>
+
+<p>"You thought that!" exclaimed Mademoiselle de Mirandol, throwing her
+arms around her friend's neck. "And I have so cruelly misjudged you!
+Dolores, can you ever forgive me?"</p>
+
+<p>A brave smile, accompanied by a kiss, was the response of Dolores; then
+she added:</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p><p>"I not only forgive you, but I will do my best to insure your
+happiness. Philip shall love you."</p>
+
+<p>"Alas!" said Antoinette, "how can he love me when his heart is full of
+you, when his eyes follow you unceasingly? You are unconsciously a most
+formidable rival, for Philip will never love me while you are by my side
+and while he can compare me with you."</p>
+
+<p>"I will go away if necessary."</p>
+
+<p>"What, leave your home! Do you think I would consent to that? Never!"
+cried Antoinette.</p>
+
+<p>"But I can return to it the very day your happiness is assured. When you
+are Philip's wife you will go to Paris with him, and I can then return
+to my place beside the Marquis."</p>
+
+<p>"Dolores! How good you are, and how much I love you!" exclaimed
+Mademoiselle de Mirandol, clasping her friend in her arms.</p>
+
+<p>The words of Dolores had reassured her, had revived her hopes and dried
+her tears. When left alone, Dolores, exhausted by the ordeal through
+which she had just passed, could at first form no plans for the future.
+She comprehended but one thing&mdash;she was still beloved. Philip's
+faithfulness and the intensity of the love which had just been revealed
+to her rendered the sacrifice still more difficult. It seemed to her she
+would never have strength to accomplish it.</p>
+
+<p>"It must be done," she said to herself, finally.</p>
+
+<p>And shaking off her weakness, she went in search of the Marquis. They
+had a long conversation together. Dolores told him the whole truth. It
+was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> through her that the Marquis learned that she was loved by Philip,
+and that she loved him in return, but, being unwilling to place any
+obstacle in the way of the plans long since formed with a view to the
+restoration of the glory of the house of Chamondrin, she had renounced
+her hopes and yielded her place and her rights to Antoinette. The
+Marquis had not the courage to refuse the proffered sacrifice, though he
+fully realized the extent of it. His dearest wishes were about to be
+realized. While he lamented the fate to which Dolores had condemned
+herself, he was grateful for a decision that spared him the
+unpleasantness of a contest with his son, and which insured that son's
+marriage to a rich heiress. Still, when Dolores told him that she had
+decided to leave Chamondrin not to return until after Philip's marriage,
+he refused at first to consent to a separation.</p>
+
+<p>"But it is necessary," replied Dolores. "So long as Philip sees me here,
+he will not relinquish his hopes. I am certain that he will not consent
+to renounce me unless he believes there is an impassable barrier between
+us, unless he believes me dead to the world and to love. Besides, you
+would surely not require me to live near one whom I wish to forget. I
+shall spend two years in a convent, and then I will return to you."</p>
+
+<p>M. de Chamondrin, touched by this heroism whose grandeur Dolores, in her
+simplicity, did not seem to comprehend, pressed her to his heart in a
+long embrace, covering her face with kisses and murmuring words of
+tenderness and gratitude in her ears. When<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> they separated, he was not
+the least moved of the two. Dolores next went in search of Philip. She
+found him at the Buissieres, the same place where he had entreated
+Antoinette to intercede for him a few hours before.</p>
+
+<p>He saw her approaching.</p>
+
+<p>"She is coming to pronounce my sentence," he thought.</p>
+
+<p>She was very calm. The sadness imprinted on her face did not mar its
+serenity.</p>
+
+<p>"Antoinette has spoken to me," she said, firmly, but quietly. "The fear
+of making you unhappy has until now deterred me from giving you the
+answer for which you have been waiting; but after the events of this
+morning, I must speak frankly."</p>
+
+<p>This introduction left Philip no longer in doubt. He uttered a groan, as
+with bowed head he awaited the remainder of his sentence.</p>
+
+<p>"Courage, Philip," Dolores continued: "Do not add to my sorrow by making
+me a witness of yours. Since the day you opened your heart that I might
+read there the feelings that burdened it, I have been carefully
+examining mine. I wished to find there signs of a love equal to yours; I
+have sought for them in vain. I love you enough to give you my blood and
+my happiness, my entire life. I have always loved you thus&mdash;loved you
+with that sisterly devotion that is capable of any sacrifice. But is
+this the love you feel? Is this the love you would bestow upon me? No;
+and, as you see, my heart has remained obstinately closed against the
+passion which I have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> inspired in you, and it would ever remain closed
+even if I consented to unite myself with you more closely by the bonds
+of marriage. If I was weak enough to listen to you and to yield to your
+wishes, I should only bring misery upon both of us."</p>
+
+<p>"Alas!" murmured Philip, "I cannot understand this."</p>
+
+<p>"How can I forget that for eighteen long years I have regarded you as a
+brother?" said Dolores, vainly endeavoring to console him. "Moreover,
+such a marriage would be impossible! Would it not be contrary to the
+wishes of your father? Would it not detract from the glory of the name
+you bear?"</p>
+
+<p>"And what do the glory of my name and the wishes of my father matter to
+me?" exclaimed Philip, impetuously. "Was I brought into the world to be
+made a victim to such absurd prejudices? For four years I have lived
+upon this hope. It has been destroyed to-day. What have I to look
+forward to now? There is nothing to bind me to life, for, if your
+decision is irrevocable, I shall never be consoled."</p>
+
+<p>"Do not forget those who love you."</p>
+
+<p>"Those who love me! Where are they? I seek for them in vain. Do you mean
+my father, who has reared me with a view to the gratification of his own
+selfish ambition? Is it you, Dolores, who seem to take pleasure in my
+sufferings? My mother, the only human being who would have understood,
+sustained and consoled me, she is no longer here to plead my cause."</p>
+
+<p>Wild with grief and despair, he was about to continue his reproaches,
+but Dolores, whose powers of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> endurance were nearly exhausted, summoned
+all her courage and said coldly, almost sternly:</p>
+
+<p>"You forget yourself, Philip! You are ungrateful to your father and to
+me; but even if you doubt our affection, can you say the same of
+Antoinette?"</p>
+
+<p>"Antoinette!"</p>
+
+<p>"She loves you with the tenderest, most devoted affection. She has said
+as much to me, and now that you know it, will you still try to convince
+yourself that there are only unfeeling hearts around you?"</p>
+
+<p>Philip, astonished by this revelation, became suddenly silent. He
+recollected that he had confided his hopes and fears to Mademoiselle de
+Mirandol that very morning; and when he thought of the trying position
+in which he had placed her, and of what she must have suffered, his pity
+was aroused.</p>
+
+<p>"If her sorrow equals mine, she is, indeed, to be pitied," he said,
+sadly.</p>
+
+<p>"Why do you not try to assuage your own sorrow by consoling her?" asked
+Dolores, gently.</p>
+
+<p>These words kindled Philip's anger afresh.</p>
+
+<p>"What power have I to annihilate the memory of that which at once charms
+and tortures me?" he exclaimed. "Can I tear your image from its shrine
+in my heart and put that of Antoinette in its place? Do you think that
+your words will suffice to destroy the hopes I have cherished so long?
+Undeceive yourself, Dolores. I am deeply disappointed, but I will not
+give you up. I will compel you to love me, if it be only through the
+pity which my despair will inspire in your heart."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p><p>These frenzied words caused Dolores the most poignant anguish without
+weakening her determination in the least. She felt that she must destroy
+the hope to which Philip had just alluded&mdash;that this was the only means
+of compelling him lo accept the love of Antoinette; so she said,
+gravely:</p>
+
+<p>"I love you too much, Philip, to desire to foster illusions which will
+certainly never be realized. My decision is irrevocable; and if you
+still doubt the truth of my words, I will frankly tell you all. I am
+promised&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Promised!" exclaimed Philip, with a menacing gesture for the unknown
+man who had dared to become his rival. "Promised!" he repeated. "To
+whom?"</p>
+
+<p>"To God!" responded Dolores, gently. "I have just informed your father
+of my determination to enter a convent!"</p>
+
+<p>Philip recoiled in horror and astonishment; then covering his face with
+his hands he fled through the lonely park, repeating again and again the
+name of her whom he so fondly loved but who would soon be lost to him
+forever. For some moments, Dolores remained motionless on the spot where
+she had just renounced her last hope of earthly happiness. Her eyes
+followed Philip in his frenzied flight, and, when he disappeared, she
+stretched out her hands with a gesture of mingled longing and despair.
+But the weakness that had made this courageous soul falter for an
+instant soon vanished. She lifted her eyes toward Heaven as if imploring
+strength from on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> high and then walked slowly in the direction of the
+ch&acirc;teau. Suddenly, at a turn in the path, she met Coursegol. She had not
+time to conceal her face and he saw her tears. The memory of the past
+and the affection that filled his heart emboldened him to question one
+whom he regarded in some degree, at least, as his own child.</p>
+
+<p>"Why do you weep, my dear Mademoiselle?" he asked, with anxious
+solicitude.</p>
+
+<p>This question did not wound Dolores; on the contrary it consoled her.
+She had found some one in whom she could confide. There are hours when
+the heart longs to pour out its sorrows to another heart that
+understands and sympathizes with its woes. Coursegol made his appearance
+at a propitious moment. Dolores regarded him with something very like
+filial affection; she had loved him devotedly even when she supposed
+herself the daughter of the Marquis de Chamondrin, and now that she knew
+her origin she regarded the son of a peasant as equal in every respect
+to a descendent of the gypsies, so she did not hesitate to open her soul
+to him. She told him of the conflicts through which she had passed and
+the suffering they had caused her. She acknowledged the ardent love that
+had given her courage and strength to sacrifice her own happiness; and
+she wept before the friend of her childhood as unrestrainedly as she
+would have wept before her own father.</p>
+
+<p>"I have been expecting this," said Coursegol, sadly. "Poor children, the
+truth was revealed too soon. You should have been left in ignorance
+until one of you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> was married. Then you would not have thought of
+uniting your destinies. Your mutual friendship would not have been
+transformed into an unfortunate passion and all this misery would have
+been avoided."</p>
+
+<p>"It would have been far better," replied Dolores.</p>
+
+<p>"And now what do you intend to do?" inquired Coursegol.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall enter a convent and remain there until Philip marries."</p>
+
+<p>"You in a convent! You, who are so gay, so full of life and health and
+exuberant spirits, immure yourself in a cloister! Impossible!"</p>
+
+<p>"There is no alternative," said Dolores, repeating to Coursegol what she
+had already said to the Marquis.</p>
+
+<p>"I see that you must leave this house, but why do you select a cloister
+for your retreat?"</p>
+
+<p>"Where else could I, alone and unprotected, find a refuge?"</p>
+
+<p>"Do you not know that Coursegol is your friend, and that he is ready to
+leave everything and follow you? Where do you wish to go? I will
+accompany you; I will serve and defend you. I have some little property
+and it is entirely at your disposal."</p>
+
+<p>He made this offer very simply, but in a tone that left no possible
+doubt of his sincerity. Though she was touched by his devotion, Dolores
+firmly refused. She explained that his place was at the ch&acirc;teau, and
+that, as she expected to return there herself after Philip's marriage, a
+convent would be the safest and most dignified retreat she could enter.</p>
+
+<p>"So be it, then," responded Coursegol; "but should<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> you ever change your
+plans, remember that my life, my little fortune and my devotion are
+yours, to use as you see fit."</p>
+
+<p>His emotion, as he spoke, was even greater than hers.</p>
+
+<p>Early in the year 1789 Dolores entered the convent of the Carmelites in
+Arles, not as a postulant&mdash;for she did not wish to devote herself to a
+religious life&mdash;but as a boarder, which placed a barrier between her and
+Philip for the time being, but left her free to decide upon her future.</p>
+
+<p>Her departure filled Philip with despair. The death of Dolores could not
+have caused him more intense sorrow. For was she not dead to him? She
+had carefully concealed the fact that her sojourn at the convent would
+not be permanent. He supposed she had buried herself there forever. He
+mourned for her as we weep for those that death wrests from us,
+destroying their lives and our happiness at a single blow; but the very
+violence of his grief convinced his father that he was not inconsolable.
+There are sorrows that kill; but, if they do not kill when they first
+fall upon us, we recover; and this would be the case with Philip. The
+certainty that Dolores would never belong to another, that she had
+refused him only to give herself to God, was of all circumstances the
+one most likely to console him. The presence of Antoinette&mdash;who honestly
+believed all Dolores had said concerning the state of her heart and the
+purely sisterly affection she felt for her adopted brother&mdash;and the
+timid, shrinking love of the young girl also aided not a little in
+assuaging his grief. However ardent your passion may be, you become
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>reconciled to disappointment when the object of your love refuses your
+affection only to consecrate herself to God, and when she leaves with
+you as a comforter a companion who is her equal in gentleness and in
+goodness, if not in energy and nobility of character. Without entering
+into other details, this sufficiently explains how Philip's passionate
+grief came to abate in violence.</p>
+
+<p>He wished to leave Chamondrin the very next day after the departure of
+Dolores, and to return to Versailles where his regiment was still
+stationed; but his father's entreaties induced him to abandon this
+project. The Marquis assured him that he could not live abandoned by
+both Dolores and his son, so Philip remained. This was one advantage
+gained for the Marquis. The causes previously referred to and
+Antoinette's charms accomplished the rest. Philip began to regard their
+marriage without aversion; but he would not consent to abruptly cast off
+one love for another. Time was needed for the transition. Even as he
+would have mourned for Dolores dead, he wished to mourn the Dolores he
+had lost, and to wait until his wounded heart was healed. He gave his
+father and also Mademoiselle de Mirandol to understand that, while he
+did not reject the idea of this union which seemed so pleasing to them,
+he must be allowed to fix the date of it. His will was law with both;
+the Marquis wisely concealed his impatience; Antoinette displayed great
+discretion, and matters were moving along smoothly when political events
+which had become more and more grave in character suddenly complicated
+the situation.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2>
+
+<h3>IN WHICH HISTORY IS MINGLED WITH ROMANCE.</h3>
+
+<p>The real awaking of the country, the real beginning of the Revolution
+dates from the year 1789. What France had endured for half a century
+every one knows. Every one also knows that, becoming weary of poverty,
+of the tyranny of the powerful, of the weakness of the king, of the
+squandering of her treasure and of the intrigues of those in authority,
+and compelled to find a remedy within herself, the country demanded the
+convocation of the &Eacute;tats G&eacute;n&eacute;raux. The government at last decided to
+accede to the entreaties that were heard on every side; and it was
+during the early part of the year 1789 that France was called upon to
+elect her representatives; while, from one end of the kingdom to the
+other, there was a general desire for a great and much needed reform.</p>
+
+<p>The south did not take a less active part in this movement than the rest
+of the country. Provence and Languedoc were shaken to their centres. In
+all the region round about the Gardon&mdash;at N&icirc;mes, in Beaucaire in Arles,
+in Remoulins&mdash;political clubs were formed. The condition of the
+peasantry, who had previously been condemned to a sort of slavery,
+suddenly changed. The weak became the strong; the timid became the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span>
+audacious; the humble became the proud; and from the mouth of an
+oppressed people issued a voice demanding liberty. This movement had
+been ripe for some time among the lower classes, but it suddenly burst
+forth and revealed itself in all its mighty power in the convocation of
+the &Eacute;tats G&eacute;n&eacute;raux.</p>
+
+<p>In N&icirc;mes and the surrounding country, the agitation caused by this great
+event was increased by the remembrance of the religious warfare that had
+been waged there between the Protestants and Catholics for more than a
+century. This enmity blazed out afresh, greatly aggravating the
+bitterness naturally caused by the elections. Were not these last a mere
+pretext invented by one sect to conceal their evil designs against the
+other? Was it only a conflict between the champions of the old and of
+the new r&eacute;gime, or were these excited men eager to take up arms one
+against the other, mere fanatics ready to condemn others to martyrdom
+and to accept it themselves? History has not yet decided this important
+question; and sectarian passion has not yet allowed an impartial critic
+to be heard. Still, it is a well-known fact that throughout the province
+of Languedoc, and notably in N&icirc;mes, the political excitement was of the
+most virulent character. Blood flowed there even sooner than in Paris.
+The massacres at N&icirc;mes preceded the celebrated massacres of September by
+more than two years; and in Avignon, though this city was as yet French
+only in its situation and in the language of its inhabitants, the reign
+of terror was at its height in the mouth of October, 1791.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p><p>In 1789, while the elections were in progress, signs of these coming
+events began to manifest themselves. In N&icirc;mes the Catholics and
+Protestants were bitterly denouncing one another, quarrelling over the
+local offices, and striving in every possible way to gain the
+ascendancy. The Marquis de Chamondrin was a Catholic, but he was very
+tolerant and liberal in his opinions. One of his ancestors, at the
+imminent risk of exile, had boldly opposed the revocation of the Edict
+of Nantes. The Marquis shared the opinions of his ancestor; despotism
+found no champion in him. He had read the philosophers of his time, and
+he was convinced that equality in rights if not in fortunes could be
+established between men. He recognized the necessity of reform, but he
+detested violence; and he exerted all his influence to secure
+moderation, to reconcile opponents and to draw men together. Thus at
+N&icirc;mes, on more than one occasion, he had prevented the effusion of
+blood. But the passions were so strongly excited in that locality at
+that time that his efforts as a moderator gained him but one thing,
+isolation. He drew down upon himself the hatred of those whom he wished
+to calm; he did not even win the friendship of those whom he desired to
+protect, and who, unless their peril was extreme, boldly declared that
+they were able to protect themselves. His popularity, cleverly
+undermined by his enemies, soon became impaired, and, weary of the
+dissensions in which he was embroiled in spite of all his efforts, he
+shut himself up in his ch&acirc;teau, resolving to keep a philosophical watch
+over events, but to take no part in them.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p><p>A few days later, the &Eacute;tats G&eacute;n&eacute;raux assembled at Versailles; but their
+time was spent in bickerings and in sterile discussions while oppressed
+and panting France vainly awaited the salutary reforms they were
+expected to effect. From May, the date of their meeting, to the immortal
+night of the Fourth of August, when the nation entered upon an era that
+was to atone for so many disasters, one event succeeded another with
+bewildering rapidity. The victorious resistance of the Third Estate to
+the pretensions of the nobility and clergy; the proclamation of the
+king; the movement of the French Guards; their imprisonment; their
+deliverance by the people; the intrigues of the Orleans party; the
+taking of the Bastile; the death of Foulon and of Berthier came one
+after another to accelerate the progress of the revolutionary movement
+which was already advancing rapidly.</p>
+
+<p>In 1790, famine was at the gates of Paris and threatened to spread over
+all France. Armed brigands, taking advantage of the general disorder,
+began to lay waste the provinces. In many parts of the country, the
+peasants joined them; in others, they resisted them. These brigands
+attacked the ch&acirc;teaux, they burned several and pillaged others. Finally,
+dread of a foreign foe was added to all these fears, and the people
+accused the nobility of calling a foreign nation to their assistance.</p>
+
+<p>These are some of the many events that served to distract Philip de
+Chamondrin's mind from his disappointment and delay his marriage to
+Antoinette de Mirandol. Anxious as the Marquis was to hasten this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>
+union, he shared the general apprehension too strongly to urge his son
+to marry at such a time. The inmates of the ch&acirc;teau were troubled and
+depressed. Gloomy news from the outer world reached them daily. The
+king's life was believed to be in danger. A dozen times Philip had
+almost decided to start for Versailles to die, if need be, in the
+service of his sovereign; but Coursegol succeeded in convincing him that
+his presence was a necessity at Chamondrin, and that he could not go
+away without leaving the Marquis and Antoinette exposed to the gravest
+peril. Coursegol had several reasons for dissuading his young master
+from his purpose, the chief of which was that he did not wish to go
+himself. In case of actual danger, he could be of great service to the
+Marquis. Thanks to his plebeian origin, to his many acquaintances and to
+his reputation as a good fellow in N&icirc;mes and in Beaucaire, he could
+mingle with the crowd, converse with the peasantry, question the
+artisans and discover their temper and plans. In case the ch&acirc;teau was
+attacked, he would also be able to make many friends for the Marquis and
+call quite a number of defenders to his aid. Then, too, he could not
+endure the thought of going so far from Arles while Dolores was there,
+alone and defenceless, and might need his protection at any moment.</p>
+
+<p>So Philip did not go, but together with his father and Coursegol he
+began to make arrangements for the defence of the ch&acirc;teau. They
+augmented their force by the addition of three or four men upon whose
+fidelity they could implicitly rely. Coursegol was also<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> promised the
+services of several peasants. The Marquis frequently visited the little
+town of Remoulins, that lay a few miles from the ch&acirc;teau on the other
+side of the Gardon, and he still had a few warm friends there, some of
+whom had desired to send him to the &Eacute;tats G&eacute;n&eacute;raux. They, too, promised
+to come to his assistance in case of an attack on the castle. If the
+former masters of Chamondrin had been tyrants this was now forgotten.
+The large possessions which would have endowed them with feudal rights
+were theirs no longer. For several years Dolores and the Marquise de
+Chamondrin had endeavored to obliterate the memory of the past by
+visiting the poor and the sick around them, and Antoinette de Mirandol
+had perpetuated the memory of their good deeds by imitating their
+example.</p>
+
+<p>Hence they had nothing to apprehend from those in their immediate
+neighborhood; but they had every reason to fear the many lawless bands
+that were now scouring that region of country, ostensibly attracted
+there by the fair that was to be held at Beaucaire in the month of
+July&mdash;bands of armed and desperate men, who plundered and pillaged and
+lived by rapine. The Bohemians, too, who passed the Pont du Gard each
+spring and autumn, inspired the inmates of the ch&acirc;teau with no slight
+dread, as it seemed more than likely they would take advantage of the
+general disorder that prevailed to commit depredations upon any isolated
+dwellings that tempted their cupidity. Moreover, north of N&icirc;mes there
+were several villages whose fanatical and intensely excited inhabitants
+were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> strongly urged by their leaders to make an attack upon the
+Catholics, who were accused of opposition to the reform movement. It was
+rumored that these people intended to march upon N&icirc;mes, burn the city
+and put its population to the sword. Was there not good reason to fear
+that these men, if they succeeded in this undertaking, would take it
+into their heads to spread death and destruction beyond the walls of
+N&icirc;mes. No apprehension was ridiculous, no prudence was exaggerated at a
+time when all France trembled.</p>
+
+<p>Such were the causes that had induced the Marquis and his son to prepare
+for an attack on the castle. In spite of their precautions, they could
+not conceal these preparations from Antoinette. She courageously
+assisted them, almost thankful for the perils that menaced their safety,
+since they detained Philip at the ch&acirc;teau. She loved him even more
+devotedly than ever, and, if she shuddered sometimes at the thought that
+a life so precious to her might be endangered at any moment, she
+comforted herself by thinking she would at least have the consolation of
+dying with him.</p>
+
+<p>But the Marquis was beset by many scruples. He felt that he did wrong to
+expose Antoinette to such danger, since she did not yet belong to his
+family and since he had promised her dying father to protect her and her
+fortune until the day of her marriage. He finally decided to send her to
+England, which she would find a safer retreat than the Ch&acirc;teau de
+Chamondrin. He confided this project to Antoinette, but he had scarcely
+broached the subject when, the girl interrupted him with these words:</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p><p>"If you love me, do not separate me from Philip!"</p>
+
+<p>The Marquis could not resist this entreaty. Antoinette remained.</p>
+
+<p>While these events were taking place at the ch&acirc;teau, Dolores, immured in
+the convent at Arles, was patiently awaiting the termination of the
+imprisonment she had voluntarily imposed upon herself. After a sojourn
+of several months in this saintly house, she experienced a great relief.
+Solitude had calmed her sorrow. She still suffered, she would always
+suffer, but she gathered from her faith and from noble resolutions
+bravely accomplished that peace and resignation which a merciful Heaven
+bestows upon all sad hearts that appeal to it of aid.</p>
+
+<p>Dolores, as we have said before, entered the convent not as a novice,
+but as a boarder. From the founding of the institution, that is to say,
+from the beginning of the seventeenth century, the Carmelite nuns of
+Arles, in obedience to the wishes of their foundress, to whose
+liberality they owed the building and grounds which they occupied, had
+offered an asylum to all gentlewomen who, from one cause or another,
+desired to dwell in the shelter of those sacred walls without obeying
+the rules of the order. Disconsolate widows, mothers mourning the loss
+of their children, and orphans affrighted by the world found a peaceful
+home there and a quiet life which was not unfrequently a step towards
+the cloister.</p>
+
+<p>When Dolores went to live at the convent, the boarders were seven in
+number, all older than herself. They accorded a cordial welcome to the
+young girl,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> who was soon at ease in their midst. Their life was very
+simple. They lived in the convent, but not within the cloister. Rising
+at six in the morning, they attended service in the chapel with the nuns
+from whom they were separated by a grating. Between the hours of morning
+and evening service they were at liberty to spend their time in whatever
+way they chose. They all ate at the same table. Dolores spent her time
+in working for the needy and for the institution. She made clothing for
+poor children; she embroidered altar cloths for the chapel; she visited
+the sick and destitute. Thus her life was peacefully devoted to prayer
+and good works. She frequently received tidings from the ch&acirc;teau,
+sometimes through letters written by the Marquis, sometimes through
+Coursegol, who came to see her every month. She took a lively interest
+in all that pertained to those whom she had left only to give them a new
+proof of her affection and devotion. When Coursegol visited her, she
+invariably spoke of her longing to return to Chamondrin. She hoped that
+Philip and Antoinette would soon be married, and that she would be able
+to go back to the loved home in which her happy childhood had been
+spent. These hopes were never to be realized; that beloved home she was
+destined never to behold again.</p>
+
+<p>Early in June, Coursegol, in accordance with his usual habit, left the
+ch&acirc;teau to pass a few days in Arles. He reached the city on the
+fourteenth, and, after visiting Dolores, left for home on the morning of
+the sixteenth.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p><p>He made the journey on foot. The sky was slightly veiled by fleecy,
+white clouds that tempered the heat of the sun. The road between Arles
+and N&icirc;mes is charming, and Coursegol walked blithely along, inhaling
+with delight the fresh morning breeze that came to him laden with the
+vivifying fragrance of the olive and cypress. As he approached
+Beaucaire, a pretty village on the bank of the Rhone, he noticed that an
+unusual animation pervaded the place. Groups of peasants stood here and
+there, engaged in excited conversation; every face wore an expression of
+anxiety. He thought at first that these people must be going or
+returning from some funeral; but he soon noticed that many were armed,
+some with guns, some with scythes. On reaching the centre of the town,
+he found the market-place full of soldiers; officers were giving excited
+orders. It looked as if the town were arming to defend itself.</p>
+
+<p>"What does all this mean?" inquired Coursegol, addressing a little group
+of townspeople.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, do you not know what has happened?" one man replied, in evident
+astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>"I have heard nothing. I have just arrived from Arles."</p>
+
+<p>"N&icirc;mes has been pillaged. The peasantry from the Cevennes have descended
+upon the city and massacred three hundred people&mdash;laborers, bourgeois,
+priests and nuns. They are now masters of the place, and it is feared
+that a detachment of them is coming in this direction. We are making
+ready to receive them."</p>
+
+<p>"What! Have they advanced beyond N&icirc;mes?" inquired Coursegol, appalled by
+this news.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p><p>"Some of them advanced last night as far as the Pont du Gard. There
+they sacked and burned the Ch&acirc;teau de Chamondrin!"</p>
+
+<p>A ghastly pallor overspread Coursegol's features; he uttered a cry of
+horror.</p>
+
+<p>"What is the matter?" asked the man who had just apprised him of this
+terrible calamity.</p>
+
+<p>"My masters!&mdash;where are my masters?" cried poor Coursegol.</p>
+
+<p>Then, without waiting for the response which no one could give, he
+darted off like a madman in the direction of the Pont du Gard.</p>
+
+<p>Although the events that took place in N&icirc;mes early in 1790 have never
+been clearly explained by an impartial historian, we have reason to
+suppose that the public sentiment prevailing there at the time was
+unfavorable to the Revolution. The Catholics of the south became
+indignant when they learned that the Assembly wished to reform the
+Catholic Church without consulting the Pope. From that day, they were
+the enemies of the Revolution. Their protests were energetic, and from
+protests they passed to acts. The Catholics took up arms ostensibly to
+defend themselves against the Protestants, but chiefly to defend their
+menaced religion. The Protestants, who were in communication with their
+religious brethren in Paris and Montauban, were also ready to take the
+field at any moment. A regiment was quartered in the city. The
+sympathies of the officers were with the Catholics, who represented the
+aristocracy in their eyes; the soldiers seemed to favor the
+Protestants&mdash;the patriots.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> This division brought a new element of
+discord into the civil war. This condition of affairs lasted several
+months. A conflict between some of the National Guards&mdash;Catholics&mdash;and a
+company of dragoons was the signal for a struggle that had become
+inevitable. The Protestants of N&icirc;mes sided with the dragoons; the
+Catholics espoused the cause of the National Guards. Several of these
+last were killed. This happened on the 13th of June. The following day,
+bands of peasants, summoned to the aid of the Protestants from the
+country north of N&icirc;mes, descended upon the city. They entered it in an
+orderly manner, as if animated by peaceful intentions; but many of the
+men were either half-crazed fanatics or wretches who were actuated by a
+desire for plunder. They ran through the streets, becoming more and more
+excited until their fury suddenly burst forth and they rushed wildly
+about the city, carrying death and devastation in their track. There was
+a Capuchin monastery at N&icirc;mes. They invaded this first, slaying the
+priests at the foot of the altar in the church that still retains the
+ineffaceable stain of their blood. The assassins then hastened to the
+monastery of the Carmelites. The monks had fled. They sacked the church,
+and then plundered a number of private houses. The bandits showed no
+mercy. They opened a vigorous cannonade upon the tower of Froment where
+many had taken refuge. In three days three hundred persons perished.</p>
+
+<p>At the news of these massacres a cry of rage and terror rose from the
+Catholic villages on the banks of the Rhone and the Gardon. The cry was
+this:</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p><p>"They are slaughtering our brothers at N&icirc;mes!"</p>
+
+<p>The influential men immediately assembled and counselled the frightened
+and indignant populace to take up arms in their own defence. The tocsin
+was sounded, and in a few hours several hundred men had assembled near
+the Pont du Gard, ready to march upon N&icirc;mes and punish the wretches who
+had slain the innocent and defenceless. By unanimous consent the Marquis
+de Chamondrin was made one of the leaders of this hastily improvised
+army. He accepted the command with a few eloquent words, urging his men
+to do their duty, and the army took up its line of march. Some gypsies,
+who chanced to be near the Pont du Gard at the time, brought up the
+rear, hoping that the fortunes of war would gain them an entrance into
+the city of N&icirc;mes that they might pillage and steal without restraint.</p>
+
+<p>This manifestation of wrath on the part of the inhabitants of the
+surrounding country terrified the assassins, and most of them took to
+flight; but those who lived in N&icirc;mes and who were alarmed for their own
+safety and that of their families resolved to avert the blow that
+menaced them.</p>
+
+<p>There are traitors in every party, men ready to sell or to be sold; men
+for whom treason and infamy are pathways to wealth. There were some of
+these men in the Catholic ranks, and promises of gold induced them to go
+out and meet the approaching army and assure its leaders that order was
+re-established at N&icirc;mes and that their entrance into the city would only
+occasion a fresh outbreak. These emissaries accomplished<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> their mission;
+and that same evening all these men who had left home that morning
+thirsting for vengeance returned quietly to their firesides.</p>
+
+<p>But, unfortunately, the Marquis de Chamondrin had taken such an active
+part in this demonstration that he had deeply incensed the assassins;
+and the more ferocious of them resolved to wreak vengeance upon him by
+pillaging and burning his ch&acirc;teau. A conspiracy was organized, and the
+following night about forty men of both parties, or rather the scum and
+refuse of both, started for Chamondrin. They knew the castle had but a
+small number of defenders, and that Coursegol, the most formidable of
+these, was absent at the time. They also knew that the isolated
+situation of the ch&acirc;teau afforded its inmates little chance of succor,
+and that, if they could succeed in surprising it, they could accomplish
+their work of destruction before the inhabitants of Remoulins and the
+surrounding villages could come to the aid of the Marquis and his
+household. The plan was decided upon in a few hours; and the disorder
+that prevailed throughout the country, the inertness of the authorities
+and the want of harmony among the soldiery, all favored its execution.</p>
+
+<p>About nine o'clock in the evening, the bandits stole quietly out of
+N&icirc;mes. They reached the Pont du Gard a little before midnight and halted
+there to receive their final instructions before ascending the hill upon
+the summit of which stood the Ch&acirc;teau de Chamondrin.</p>
+
+<p>Here, they were joined by a dozen or more Bohemians who were encamped
+near by, the same men who had accompanied the Catholics on their
+expedition<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> that same morning. They approached the bandits in the hope
+that a new army was in process of organization for an attack upon the
+city, and that they might accompany it. When they saw the band proceed
+in the direction of the ch&acirc;teau, they straggled along in the rear. Like
+hungry vultures, they seemed to scent a battle from which they might
+derive some profit.</p>
+
+<p>The household at Chamondrin chanced to be astir late that evening. The
+Marquis, Philip, Antoinette, the cur&eacute; of Remoulins and two or three
+landed proprietors living in the vicinity were in the drawing-room.
+After such a day of excitement, no one could think of sleep. They were
+discussing the events that had occurred at N&icirc;mes, and deploring the
+death of the victims. They were anxiously asking if the blood that had
+been shed would be the last, and were endeavoring to find means to
+prevent the repetition of such a calamity. When the clock struck the
+hour of midnight, the cur&eacute; of Remoulins, an energetic old man named
+Peretty, rose to return to the village. The other visitors, whose homes
+lay in the same direction and whose carriages were waiting in the
+court-yard, followed his example. Suddenly a frightened cry broke the
+silence of the night. Followed by the others present, Philip rushed to
+the door. The cry had come from the man who guarded the gate.</p>
+
+<p>"We are attacked!" exclaimed this man on seeing Philip.</p>
+
+<p>At a glance the latter understood the extent and the imminence of their
+danger. The bright moonlight revealed a terrible sight. The besiegers
+had found only<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> one opening through which they could effect an entrance
+into the ch&acirc;teau; but even there a heavy gate composed of strong iron
+bars opposed their passage. This gate was very high, and the bars were
+securely fastened to each other, while the top was surmounted by sharp
+pickets. Still, the bandits were not discouraged. Half-crazed with fury
+and with wine, they climbed this formidable barrier with the hope of
+leaping over it. It seemed to bend beneath their weight. The massive
+bolts trembled, the ponderous hinges creaked, as fifty or more
+repulsive-looking wretches, the majority of them clad in rags, hurled
+themselves against the gate, uttering shrieks of baffled rage. One would
+have supposed them wild beasts trying to break from their cage.</p>
+
+<p>"To arms!" cried Philip.</p>
+
+<p>He ran to the lower hall, which was used as an armory. His father, the
+visitors and the servants, who were all devoted to the Chamondrin
+family, followed him, while Antoinette stood watching in alarm this
+formidable horde of invaders.</p>
+
+<p>The Abb&eacute; Peretty advanced towards the intruders.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you desire, my friends?" he asked, calmly.</p>
+
+<p>"Open the gates!" responded the less excited among the crowd.</p>
+
+<p>"We want Chamondrin's head!" exclaimed others.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you any just cause of complaint against the Marquis?" persisted
+the abb&eacute;, striving to calm the furious throng.</p>
+
+<p>"Death to the aristocrats!" the crowd responded with one voice.</p>
+
+<p>One man went so far as to point his gun at the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> venerable priest, who,
+without once losing his sang-froid, recrossed the court-yard, keeping
+his face turned towards the excited band outside, and rejoined his
+companions, who under the leadership of the Marquis and Philip were just
+emerging from the hall, armed to the teeth.</p>
+
+<p>"They will not listen to reason," said the Abb&eacute; Peretty, calmly!</p>
+
+<p>"Then we will defend ourselves, and woe be unto them!"</p>
+
+<p>As he uttered these words, the Marquis turned to Mademoiselle de
+Mirandol, around whom the women of the ch&acirc;teau were crowding,
+half-crazed with terror.</p>
+
+<p>"Go into the house; your place is not here," said he.</p>
+
+<p>"My place is by your side!" replied Antoinette.</p>
+
+<p>"No, my dear Antoinette; it is madness to expose yourself unnecessarily.
+I know you are courageous, but you can be of far greater service to us
+by quieting these poor, shrieking creatures."</p>
+
+<p>While this conversation was going on, Philip advanced to the gate. It
+still resisted the efforts of the assailants, some of whom were
+endeavoring to climb over the roofs of the pavilions that stood on
+either side of the entrance to the ch&acirc;teau.</p>
+
+<p>"I command you to retire!" cried Philip.</p>
+
+<p>Angry threats of "Death" resounded afresh.</p>
+
+<p>"Then I hold you responsible for any disasters that may occur!" Philip
+replied.</p>
+
+<p>At the same moment the impetuous youth raised his gun and fired,
+wounding one of the men who had climbed the gate and was preparing to
+leap down into the court-yard. Imprecations broke forth anew and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>
+combat began. Nothing could be heard but a vigorous fusillade,
+accompanied by the shouts of the besiegers and the besieged. These last
+were so few in number that they dare not dispatch one of their little
+company to Remoulins for aid. Besides, they were not sure that the band
+now assailing them would not be followed by others that would waylay
+their messenger; but they hoped that their shouts and the sound of the
+firing would arouse the inhabitants of the sleeping town. The Marquis
+fought with the desperation of a man who is defending his outraged
+fireside, and Philip struggled with the energy of despair. He was
+fighting for his father and for Antoinette. He shuddered when he thought
+of the horrible fate that awaited the young girl if these brutes, more
+formidable than any wild beasts, were victorious. Even the Abb&eacute; Peretty
+had armed himself. The servants and the friends of the house conducted
+themselves like heroes, but, unfortunately, Coursegol was far from
+Chamondrin, and the defenders of the ch&acirc;teau sadly missed his valiant
+arm.</p>
+
+<p>The assailants were still crowding against the gate, uttering howls of
+fury. They were poorly armed. Only a few had guns, the others brandished
+hatchets and pickaxes, crying:</p>
+
+<p>"Tear down the gate!"</p>
+
+<p>But, when the firing began, they left this dangerous position and
+retired perhaps twenty feet, where they hid behind the trees, firing at
+random, sometimes trying to advance, but always driven back with loss.
+Five or six of them were already stretched upon the grass, but the
+defenders of the castle were unhurt. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> gypsies had retreated to a
+safe distance, where they stood impatiently awaiting the conclusion of
+the struggle, ready to fall upon the vanquished as soon as they became
+unable to defend themselves.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile Antoinette, surrounded by four or five women, was upon her
+knees in the drawing-room, praying fervently, her heart sick with
+anguish and fear. How ardently she wished herself a man that she might
+fight by Philip's side! The firing suddenly ceased. Philip entered the
+room. His face was pale, but stained here and there by smoke and powder;
+his head was bare; his clothing disordered. Grief and despair were
+imprinted upon his countenance.</p>
+
+<p>"We must fly!" he exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>And taking Antoinette by the hand he led her through the long corridor
+opening into the park. The frightened women followed them. In the park
+they met the defenders of the ch&acirc;teau, carrying a wounded man in their
+arms.</p>
+
+<p>Antoinette uttered a cry of consternation.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! I would have fought until death!" exclaimed Philip, despairingly,
+"but we were overpowered; the gate was torn down; my father was wounded.
+He must be saved from the hands of the bandits at any cost, so we were
+forced to retreat."</p>
+
+<p>Antoinette walked on like one in a frightful dream. If Philip had not
+supported her she would have fallen again and again. They walked beside
+the Marquis, who was still conscious, though mortally wounded in the
+breast. When he saw his son and Antoinette beside him, he looked at them
+with sorrowful tenderness, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> even attempted to smile as if to
+convince them that he was not suffering.</p>
+
+<p>The little band proceeded with all possible speed to a small
+summer-house concealed in the pines and shrubbery. Nothing could be more
+mournful than this little procession of gloomy-visaged men and weeping
+women, fleeing through the darkness to escape the assassins who were now
+masters of the castle, destroying everything around them and making
+night hideous with their ferocious yells. At last they reached the
+summer-house. The Marquis was deposited upon a hastily improvised bed;
+the Abb&eacute; Peretty, assisted by Philip and Antoinette, attempted to dress
+his wound; and two men started in the hope of reaching Remoulins by a
+circuitous route, in order to bring a physician and call upon the
+inhabitants of the village for aid.</p>
+
+<p>An hour went by; it seemed a century. In the gloomy room where these
+unfortunates had taken refuge no sound broke the stillness save the
+moans of the Marquis and the voice of the Abb&eacute; Peretty, as he uttered
+occasional words of consolation and encouragement to assuage the mute
+anguish of Philip and the despair of the weeping Antoinette. Then all
+was still again.</p>
+
+<p>Philip's agony was terrible. His father dying; his home in the hands of
+vandals, who were ruthlessly destroying the loved and cherished objects
+that had surrounded him from infancy, Antoinette, crushed by the
+disasters of this most wretched night, this was the terrible picture
+that rose before him. To this torture was added the despair caused by a
+sense of his utter powerlessness. Gladly would he have rushed back to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span>
+the ch&acirc;teau to die there, struggling with his enemies, but he was
+prevented by the thought of Antoinette, who was now dependent upon him
+for protection. He was engrossed in these gloomy thoughts when a strange
+crackling sound attracted his attention, and at the same moment a man,
+who had ventured out into the park to watch the proceedings of the enemy
+rushed back, exclaiming:</p>
+
+<p>"They are burning the ch&acirc;teau!"</p>
+
+<p>The tidings of this new misfortune overpowered Philip and almost bereft
+him of reason. He ran to the door. A tall column of flame and smoke was
+mounting to the sky; the trees were tinged with a crimson light, and the
+crackling of the fire could be distinctly heard above the hooting and
+yelling of the infuriated crowd. His eyes filled with tears, but he was
+dashing them away preparatory to returning to his father when the Abb&eacute;
+Peretty joined him.</p>
+
+<p>"Courage, my poor boy!" said the good priest.</p>
+
+<p>"I will be brave, sir. I can cheerfully submit to the loss of our
+possessions, but to the death of my father, I&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>He could not complete the sentence. The abb&eacute;, who had lost all hope, was
+silent for a moment; then he said:</p>
+
+<p>"There is something I must no longer conceal from you. After the ch&acirc;teau
+is destroyed, I fear these wretches will search the park in order to
+discover our retreat. I do not fear for myself. I shall remain with the
+Marquis. They will respect a dying man and a white-haired priest; but
+you, Philip, must remain<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> here no longer. Make your escape with
+Mademoiselle de Mirandol without delay."</p>
+
+<p>"I cannot abandon my father," replied Philip. "If our hiding-place is
+discovered, we will defend ourselves&mdash;we will fight until death!"</p>
+
+<p>The priest said no more, and they both returned to the bedside of the
+Marquis. On seeing them, the latter, addressing his son, inquired:</p>
+
+<p>"The ch&acirc;teau is on fire, is it not?"</p>
+
+<p>Philip's reply seemed to cause the Marquis intense anguish; but, after a
+moment, he motioned to his son to come nearer; then he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen, Philip. You must leave France. This unhappy country is about to
+enter upon a series of misfortunes which neither you nor I can foresee,
+and of which you will certainly be a victim if you remain here. You must
+depart, Philip. Think, my son, you will be the sole heir of the house of
+Chamondrin."</p>
+
+<p>"You will recover, father."</p>
+
+<p>"No; death is close at hand. It is so near that I cannot deceive myself;
+so, Philip, I wish you to grant one of my dearest wishes. I wish, before
+I die, to feel assured that the family of Chamondrin will be
+perpetuated. Consent to marry Antoinette."</p>
+
+<p>Philip, as we have said before, had already tacitly consented to this
+marriage. Since he had lost all hope of winning Dolores, the thought of
+wedding another was no longer revolting to him.</p>
+
+<p>"I am ready to obey you, father," he replied, "but will you allow me to
+remind you that Mademoiselle de Mirandol is rich and that I have
+nothing."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p><p>The Marquis checked him and, calling Antoinette, said in a voice that
+was becoming weaker and weaker:</p>
+
+<p>"Antoinette, Philip is poor; his position is gone; the favor of the king
+will avail him nothing in the future, and the power has passed into the
+hands of our enemies; nevertheless, will you consent to marry him?"</p>
+
+<p>"If he desires it," exclaimed Mademoiselle de Mirandol, "and never was I
+so grateful for my wealth!"</p>
+
+<p>Philip pressed the hand of the noble girl, and the face of the Marquis
+was transfigured with joy in spite of his agony. Then M. de Chamondrin
+resumed:</p>
+
+<p>"You must leave the country, my children, and marry as soon as
+circumstances will permit. You must stay in foreign lands until France
+recovers her reason. Promise to obey me."</p>
+
+<p>They promised in voices choked with sobs.</p>
+
+<p>"Abb&eacute;," continued the Marquis, "bless these children!"</p>
+
+<p>Without exchanging another word, Philip and Antoinette, in obedience to
+the wishes of the dying man, knelt before the priest. The latter,
+employing the solemn formula which makes bride and bridegroom
+indissolubly one, asked Mademoiselle de Mirandol if she would accept
+Philip as her husband, and Philip if he would take Antoinette for his
+wife, and when they had answered in the affirmative, he added:</p>
+
+<p>"I cannot here, and under such circumstances, unite you by the bonds of
+marriage; but until the vows you have just exchanged can be consecrated
+by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> the church, I, as the witness of this covenant, shall pray God to
+bless you."</p>
+
+<p>"I am satisfied," said the Marquis, faintly. "Father, grant me
+absolution."</p>
+
+<p>Antoinette and Philip remained upon their knees. A quarter of an hour
+later the Marquis expired. Just as he breathed his last, the same man
+who discovered the firing of the ch&acirc;teau, and who had again returned to
+the park to watch the movements of the enemy, burst into the room.</p>
+
+<p>"They are searching the park! They are coming this way!" he cried,
+breathlessly.</p>
+
+<p>The cur&eacute;, who had been engaged in prayer, rose.</p>
+
+<p>"Fly!" he exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>"My place is here!" replied Philip.</p>
+
+<p>Antoinette gave him a look of approval.</p>
+
+<p>"In the name of the Father, who has commanded you to love, I order you
+to fly!"</p>
+
+<p>And, as he spoke, the priest pointed to the door.</p>
+
+<p>"But who will give him burial?" exclaimed Philip.</p>
+
+<p>"I will; go!" replied the abb&eacute;.</p>
+
+<p>Antoinette and Philip were compelled to obey.</p>
+
+<p>The priest was left alone with the lifeless body of M. de Chamondrin. He
+knelt, and, as calmly as if he were in his own presbytery, recited the
+prayers the church addresses to Heaven for the souls of the dead. The
+flickering light of a nearly consumed candle dimly illumined the room.
+The world without was bathed in a flood of clear moonlight. The
+marauders ran about the park, shouting at the top of their voices,
+uprooting plants and shrubbery, breaking the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> statuary and the marble
+vases, and expending upon inanimate objects the fury they were unable to
+vent upon the living.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly, one of them discovered the summer-house. The door was open; he
+entered. Some of his comrades followed him. A priest with white, flowing
+locks rose at their entrance, and, pointing to the couch upon which the
+dead body of the Marquis was reposing, said:</p>
+
+<p>"Death has passed this way! Retire&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>He was not allowed to complete his sentence. A violent blow from an axe
+felled him to the ground, his skull, fractured. They trampled his body
+under foot, then one of the assassins applied a burning torch to the
+floor. The flames rose, licking each portion of the building with their
+fiery tongues. Then the shameless crowd departed to continue their work
+of destruction. The sacking of the ch&acirc;teau occupied three hours. The
+pillagers had not retired when the approach of the National Guard of
+Remoulins, coming too late to the assistance of the Marquis, was
+discovered by one of the ruffians, and they fled in every direction to
+escape the punishment they merited.</p>
+
+<p>When Coursegol, wild with anxiety, reached the ch&acirc;teau on the day that
+followed this frightful scene, only the walls remained standing. Of the
+imposing edifice in which he was born there was left only bare and
+crumbling walls. The farm-house and the summer-house had shared the same
+fate; and in the park, thickly strewn with prostrate trees and debris, a
+crowd of gypsies and beggars were searching for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> valuables spared by the
+fire. Coursegol could not repress a cry of rage and despair at the
+sight; but how greatly his sorrow was augmented when he learned that two
+dead bodies, those of the Marquis and of the Abb&eacute; Peretty had been
+discovered half-consumed in the still smoking ruins.</p>
+
+<p>Were Philip and Antoinette also dead? No one knew.</p>
+
+<p>One person declared that he saw them making their escape. This
+uncertainty was more horrible to Coursegol than the poignant reality
+before his eyes. He flung himself down upon the seared turf, and there,
+gloomy, motionless, a prey to the most frightful despair, he wept
+bitterly.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2>
+
+<h3>PARIS IN 1792.</h3>
+
+<p>On the third of September, 1792, about eleven o'clock in the morning, a
+tall, stalwart man, with an energetic face and sunburned hands, and
+accompanied by a young woman, might have been seen approaching the
+Barriere du Trone. Both were clad in the garb worn by the peasantry of
+southern France. The young woman wore the costume of a Proven&ccedil;ale
+peasant girl, and carried upon her arm a short, dark cloak, which she
+used as a protection against the cool night air, but which she did not
+require now in the heat of the day. The man wore a suit of black
+fustian, a foxskin cap, blue stockings and heavy shoes. The expression
+of weariness imprinted upon their features and the dust that covered
+their garments proved that their journey had been long. As they neared
+the gateway, the man, who was carrying a heavy valise in his hand,
+paused to take breath. His companion followed his example, and, as they
+seated themselves by the roadside, she cast an anxious glance at the
+city.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think they will allow us to pass?" she murmured, frightened
+already at the thought of being subjected to the examination of the
+soldiers who guarded the gate.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p><p>"Are not our passports all right?" demanded her companion. "If we
+wished to leave Paris it would be quite another matter; but as we merely
+desire to enter the city, there will be no difficulty. Have no fears,
+Mademoiselle; they will not detain us long at the gate."</p>
+
+<p>"Coursegol, stop calling me Mademoiselle. Call me your daughter. If you
+do not acquire the habit of doing so, you will forget some day and then
+all will be discovered."</p>
+
+<p>"I know my r&ocirc;le, and I shall play it to perfection when we are before
+strangers, but, when we are alone, I cannot forget that I am only your
+servant."</p>
+
+<p>"Not my servant; but my friend, my father. Have you not always felt for
+me the same affection and solicitude you would have entertained for your
+own daughter?"</p>
+
+<p>Coursegol responded only by a look; but this look proved that Dolores
+had spoken the truth and that the paternal love, of which he had given
+abundant proofs in the early part of this history, had suffered no
+diminution.</p>
+
+<p>"If you had only been willing to listen to me," he remarked, after a few
+moment's silence, "we should have remained in the village where the
+coach stopped. There we could have awaited a more propitious opportunity
+to reach our journey's end."</p>
+
+<p>"I was too eager to reach the city. It seems to me that, in approaching
+Paris, I am nearing Philip and Antoinette. If they are still living, we
+shall certainly find them in Paris."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p><p>"Oh! they are living; I am sure of it; but is it not likely that they
+have emigrated? In that case, why should we remain in a city that is so
+full of danger for us?"</p>
+
+<p>"We can lead a quiet and retired life there! No one will know us and we
+shall have better facilities for obtaining news in Paris than in a
+village. My heart tells me that we are not far from our friends."</p>
+
+<p>"God grant it, my child," responded Coursegol; "and if, as I hope,
+Bridoul has not forgotten his friend of former days, we shall soon be
+safe in his house."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you not sure of his friendship?" inquired Dolores, anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>"Can we place implicit confidence in any one as times are now?" returned
+Coursegol. "Bridoul was my comrade in the army. He loved me, and he was
+devoted to Monsieur Philip, our captain. But to-day the remembrance of
+such a friendship is a crime. It must be forgotten; and fear sometimes
+renders the bravest hearts cowardly and timorous. Still, I do not
+believe Bridoul has changed. But we shall soon know. Now, let us go on,
+my dear daughter, and show no anxiety if they question us at the gate."</p>
+
+<p>"Have no fear, father," replied Dolores, with a smile.</p>
+
+<p>Coursegol picked up his valise, and boldly approached the gate. Dolores
+followed him, striving to quiet the throbbings of her heart; she was
+more troubled in mind now than she had been during the whole of the long
+journey. As they were passing through the gateway, a sentinel stopped
+them and made them enter a small house occupied by the detachment of the
+National<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> Guard, which was deputized to watch over the safety of Paris
+from this point. The post was commanded by a young lieutenant, a mere
+boy with a beardless face. On seeing a beautiful girl enter, followed by
+an aged man, he rose, and turning to his soldiers:</p>
+
+<p>"What is the meaning of this?" he inquired.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish to enter the city, lieutenant," volunteered Coursegol, without
+waiting to be questioned.</p>
+
+<p>"Enter Paris! You have chosen a nice time! There are many people in it
+who would be only too glad to make their escape. Who is this citoyenne?"
+added the officer, pointing to Dolores.</p>
+
+<p>"That is my daughter."</p>
+
+<p>"Be seated, citoyenne," said the lieutenant, politely offering Dolores
+his own chair.</p>
+
+<p>She accepted it, and the examination continued.</p>
+
+<p>"From whence do you come?"</p>
+
+<p>"From Beaucaire."</p>
+
+<p>"Afoot?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, citizen; we left the coach at Montgeron. The driver had no other
+passengers, and, when he heard of the troubles in Paris, he declared he
+would wait there until they were over. His coach was loaded with
+merchandise, and he feared it would be taken from him."</p>
+
+<p>"Does he take patriots for bandits?" exclaimed the officer, angrily. "If
+I am on guard here when his coach enters the city, he will receive the
+lesson he deserves. You said you had passports, I think?"</p>
+
+<p>"Here they are!"</p>
+
+<p>The officer took the papers that Coursegol handed him and examined them
+carefully.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p><p>"These papers were drawn up two years ago," said he. "Where have you
+spent these years?"</p>
+
+<p>"My daughter has been ill and we were obliged to stop at numerous places
+on the way. We made long sojourns at Dijon and at Montereau; but you
+will notice, citizen, the passports bear the endorsement of the
+authorities of those towns."</p>
+
+<p>"So I perceive. Very well, you will be taken before the Commissioners
+and if your papers prove all right, as I believe they are, you will be
+allowed to remain in the city."</p>
+
+<p>The young lieutenant turned away to give an order to one of his
+soldiers; then suddenly he approached Coursegol and said kindly, in a
+low voice:</p>
+
+<p>"You seem to be worthy people, and I should be very sorry if any
+misfortune happened to you. Paris is not a safe abode just now.
+Yesterday they began to put the prisoners to death, and, perhaps, you
+and your daughter would do well to wait until the fury of the populace
+is appeased."</p>
+
+<p>"But we belong to the people," replied Coursegol. "We have nothing to
+fear; moreover, I know a good patriot who will be responsible for us if
+necessary: Citizen Bridoul, who keeps a wine-shop on the Rue Antoine."</p>
+
+<p>"At the sign of the Bonnet Rouge?" cried the officer.</p>
+
+<p>"The very same," replied Coursegol, boldly, though until now he had been
+ignorant of the sign which distinguished his friend Bridoul's
+establishment.</p>
+
+<p>"Bridoul is a true patriot. Thanks to him, you will incur no risk! You
+will now be conducted to the Commissioners."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p><p>"Many thanks for your kindness, lieutenant," said Coursegol.</p>
+
+<p>And taking Dolores' arm in his, he followed the soldier who was to
+conduct them to the municipal authorities. There, they underwent a fresh
+examination, and Coursegol responded as before. As people who desired to
+enter Paris at such a time could hardly be regarded with suspicion,
+Coursegol and Dolores were walking freely about the streets of the city
+a few moments later, surprised and alarmed at the sights that met their
+eyes at every turn. The last witnesses of the grand revolutionary drama
+are disappearing every day. Age has bowed their heads, blanched their
+locks and enfeebled their memories. Soon there will remain none of those
+whose testimony might aid the historian of that stormy time in his
+search after truth; but among the few who still survive and who in the
+year 1792 were old enough to see and understand and remember, there are
+none upon whom the recollection of those terrible days in September is
+not indelibly imprinted. Since the tenth of August, Paris had been
+delivered up to frenzy and bloodshed. The arrest of the royal family,
+the rivalry between the Commune and the Convention, the bitter debates
+at the clubs and the uprising of the volunteers were more than enough to
+throw the great city into a state of excitement, disorder and terror.
+Business was paralyzed; the stores were for the most part closed; the
+aristocratic portions of the city deserted; emigration had deprived
+France of thousands of her citizens; the streets were filled with a
+fierce, ragged<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> crowd; the luxury upon which the artisan depended for a
+livelihood was proscribed; famine was knocking at the gates; gold had
+disappeared; places of amusement were broken up; the gardens and the
+galleries of the Palais-Royal alone remained&mdash;the only rendezvous
+accessible to those who, even while looking forward to death,
+frantically desired to enjoy the little of life that remained. Such was
+the aspect of affairs in Paris.</p>
+
+<p>With the last days of August came the news of the capture of Longwy by
+the Prussians, the siege of Terdun, and the warlike preparations of
+Russia and Germany. This was more than enough to excite the terror of
+the Parisians and to arouse their anger against those whom they called
+aristocrats and whom they accused of complicity with the enemies of the
+nation.</p>
+
+<p>On the 29th of August, by the order of the Commune, the gates were
+closed. It was impossible to enter Paris without a passport endorsed by
+examiners appointed for the purpose. No one was allowed to leave the
+city on any pretext whatever. The Parisians were virtually prisoners.
+Every house, every apartment was visited by inspectors. Rich and poor
+were alike compelled to submit. Every suspicious article was seized, and
+the man in whose dwelling it was discovered was arrested. The inspectors
+performed their tasks with unnecessary harshness, ruthlessly destroying
+any valuable object upon which they could lay their hands. They rapped
+upon the walls to see if they contained any secret hiding-place; they
+pierced the mattresses with their swords and poignards. After these
+visits<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> thousands of citizens were arrested and conducted to the Hotel
+de Ville, where many were detained for thirty hours without food,
+awaiting their turn to appear before the members of the Commune. After
+their examination some were released; others were thrown into the
+prisons, which were soon crowded to such a degree that there was not
+room for a single newcomer by the first of September. If room could not
+be found, room must be made; and the following day, the second of
+September, twenty-four prisoners, chiefly priests, were led before the
+mayor, adjudged guilty of treason, crowded into fiacres and taken to the
+Abbaye, where they were executed immediately on their arrival.</p>
+
+<p>After this, their first taste of blood, the executioners hastened to the
+Ch&acirc;telet and to the Conciergerie, where they wrought horrors that the
+pen refuses to describe, sentencing to death the innocent and the guilty
+without giving them any opportunity to defend themselves. Night did not
+appease the fury of the butchers. On the third of September they killed
+again at the Abbaye, at the Force and at the Bernardins prisons; and on
+the fourth they continued their work of death at La Salp&ecirc;triere and
+Bic&ecirc;tre.</p>
+
+<p>For three days the tocsin sounded. Bands of sans-culottes and
+tricoteuses, thirsting for blood, traversed the streets, uttering cries
+of death; and no one seemed to think of checking their sanguinary fury.
+A prey to a truly remarkable panic, when we consider the relatively
+small number of assassins, the terrified citizens remained shut up in
+their houses. The National<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> Assembly seemed powerless to arrest the
+horrors of these tragical hours; the Commune seemed to favor them.</p>
+
+<p>Of all those days that inspire us with such horror, even now, after the
+lapse of nearly a century, the darkest was that which witnessed the
+execution of the Princesse de Lamballe, who perished for no other crime
+than that of love for the queen. Beheaded, and thrown at first upon a
+pile of corpses, her body was afterwards despoiled of its clothing and
+exposed to the view of an infamous mob. One of the bandits dared to
+separate from this poor body, defiled with mud, and later by the hands
+of its murderers, the lovely head that had surmounted it; others,
+dividing it with a brutality that nothing could soften, quarrelled over
+the bleeding fragments. Then began a frightful massacre. Like wild
+beasts, bearing these spoils of the head as trophies of victory, the
+band of assassins rushed down the Rue de Sicile to carry terror to the
+heart of Paris.</p>
+
+<p>It was nearly noon when Coursegol and Dolores, having passed the
+Bastile, entered the Rue Saint Antoine to find a dense crowd of men,
+women and ragged children yelling at one another and singing coarse
+songs. Some of the National Guard were among the throng; and they were
+stopped every few moments by the people to shout: "Vive la Nation!" the
+patriotic cry that lent courage to the hearts of the soldiers of the
+Republic nobly fighting for the defence of our frontiers, but which had
+been caught up and was incessantly vociferated by the ruffians who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>
+inaugurated the Reign of Terror. All carriages that attempted to pass
+through this moving crowd were stopped, and their occupants were obliged
+to prove their patriotism by mingling their acclamations with those of
+the mob. The audacity and brutality of the sans-culottes knew no bounds.
+Woe to him who allowed his face to betray his sentiments, even for a
+moment! Terror, pity, sadness, these were crimes to be cruelly expiated.</p>
+
+<p>Coursegol had hesitated to enter the Rue Saint Antoine. He feared to
+come in contact with this excited multitude, but the more alarming the
+great city which she saw for the first time appeared to Dolores, the
+more anxious she was to find shelter at Bridoul's house. But Bridoul's
+house was in the Rue Saint Antoine; and, to reach it, it was absolutely
+necessary to make their way through the crowd, or to wait until it had
+dispersed. But when would it disperse? Was it not dangerous to remain
+much longer without an asylum and a protector? This thought terrified
+Dolores, and, longing to reach her place of destination, she urged
+Coursegol to proceed.</p>
+
+<p>At first, they advanced without much difficulty, following the throng
+that seemed to be wending its way in the same direction as themselves;
+but when they had passed the Palais-Royal, they were obliged to slacken
+their pace, and soon to stop entirely. The crowd formed an impassable
+barrier against which they were pressed so closely by those behind that
+Dolores was nearly suffocated, and Coursegol, to protect her, placed her
+before him, extending his arms to keep off the excited throng.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p><p>In the midst of the tumult which we have attempted to describe,
+Coursegol was troubled, not so much by the impatience of Dolores as by
+the doubts that beset him when he thought of Bridoul. He had not seen
+the latter for three years. He only knew that his comrade, on quitting
+the army, had purchased a wine merchant's establishment; but, on hearing
+that his former friend sold his merchandise at the sign of the Bonnet
+Rouge, he asked himself in alarm if he would not find, instead of a
+friend, a rabid patriot who would refuse to come to the aid of the
+ex-servant of a Marquis. These reflections had made him silent and
+anxious until now; but, finding his progress checked by the crowd, the
+thought of inquiring the cause of this excitement occurred to him.
+Addressing a man who was standing a few steps from him, and who, judging
+from his impassive features, seemed not to share the emotions of which
+he was a witness, Coursegol inquired:</p>
+
+<p>"What is going on, my friend?"</p>
+
+<p>"What is going on!" replied the stranger, not without bitterness. "They
+are carrying the head of the Princesse de Lamballe through the streets
+of Paris!"</p>
+
+<p>Coursegol could not repress a movement of horror and of pity. On several
+occasions, when he had accompanied Philip to the house of the Duke de
+Penthieore, he had seen the Princess who had befriended his young
+master. At the same time, the thought that Dolores might be obliged to
+witness such a horrible exhibition frightened him, and he resolved to
+find some way to spare the girl the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> shameful spectacle that the eager
+crowd was awaiting. Suddenly Dolores, who had been standing on the same
+spot for some time, discovered that the soil beneath her feet had become
+wet and slippery, and, turning to Coursegol, she said:</p>
+
+<p>"I am standing in water."</p>
+
+<p>Coursegol drew back and forced the crowd to give way a trifle, so
+Dolores could have a little more standing-room. Thanks to his exertions,
+she could breathe once more; but, chancing to look down upon the ground,
+she uttered an exclamation of consternation.</p>
+
+<p>"Blood! It is blood!" she exclaimed, in horror.</p>
+
+<p>Coursegol's eyes followed hers. She was not mistaken. She was standing
+in a pool of blood, and not far off lay a body that the crowd had
+trampled upon only a few moments before.</p>
+
+<p>"But where are we?" murmured the terrified Coursegol.</p>
+
+<p>The man to whom he had previously spoken drew a little nearer and said:</p>
+
+<p>"You are, perhaps, a hundred paces from the prison where they executed
+the prisoners scarcely an hour ago."</p>
+
+<p>Then, drawing still nearer, so that no one save Coursegol could hear
+him, he added:</p>
+
+<p>"Advise that young girl not to cry out again as she did just now. If
+some of these fanatics had heard her, she would have fared badly!"</p>
+
+<p>At that very moment, the crowd resumed its march. The man disappeared.
+When Coursegol, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>agitated by these horrors which were so new to him,
+turned again to speak to Dolores, he saw that she had fainted in his
+arms. The poor man glanced despairingly about him. Suddenly his eyes
+fell upon a sign hanging over a shop on the opposite side of the street.
+This sign represented a red Phrygian cap upon a white ground, and above
+it was written in large red letters: "Le Bonnet Rouge." For a quarter of
+an hour he had been standing directly opposite Bridoul's establishment.
+He uttered a cry of joy, lifted Dolores in his strong arms, and, in a
+stentorian voice, exclaimed:</p>
+
+<p>"Make way! Make way, good citizens! My daughter has fainted!"</p>
+
+<p>The Proven&ccedil;ale costume worn by Dolores deceived the persons who would
+otherwise have impeded Coursegol's progress.</p>
+
+<p>"He is from Marseilles," some one cried.</p>
+
+<p>Just at that time the Marseillais were heroes in the eyes of all good
+patriots. The unusual height of Coursegol strengthened the illusion.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," remarked another, "he is one of the Marseillais who have come to
+the aid of the Parisians."</p>
+
+<p>The crowd opened before him. He soon reached the shop over which hung
+the sign of the "Bonnet Rouge" and entered it. There were but few
+customers in the large saloon. He placed Dolores in a chair, ran to the
+counter, seized a glass of water, returned to the girl and bathed her
+forehead and temples. In a moment she opened her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear child, are you better?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p><p>"Yes, yes, my good Coursegol," replied Dolores. Then she added: "Yes,
+father, but I was terribly frightened."</p>
+
+<p>"The citoyenne was crushed in the crowd!" said a voice behind Coursegol.
+He turned and saw a woman who was still young. Suddenly he recollected
+that Bridoul was married.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you not Citoyenne Bridoul?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly, Cornelia Bridoul."</p>
+
+<p>"Where is your husband?"</p>
+
+<p>"Here he is."</p>
+
+<p>Bridoul appeared. He had followed his wife in order to see the young
+Proven&ccedil;ale who had been brought into his shop.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know me?" inquired Coursegol.</p>
+
+<p>"Can it be Coursegol?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; I am your brother-in-law; this young girl is your niece. We have
+just arrived from Beaucaire. I will explain everything by and by."</p>
+
+<p>Bridoul cast a hasty glance around him. No one was observing them. The
+few who had been sitting at the table had risen and gone to the door,
+attracted there by the increasing tumult without.</p>
+
+<p>"Take the young lady into the back room," Bridoul whispered to his wife.
+"There will be a crowd here in a moment."</p>
+
+<p>The latter made haste to obey. It was time. In another moment Dolores
+would have been obliged to witness an even more horrible spectacle than
+that upon which her eyes had rested a short while before. The shop was
+suddenly taken by storm. Several men with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> repulsive faces, long hair
+and cruel eyes, and whose clothing was thickly spattered with blood,
+entered the saloon, followed by a yelling crowd. People mounted on
+chairs and tables to obtain a look at them. They were the city
+executioners. They ordered wine which Bridoul hastened to place before
+them. One carried in his hand the newly decapitated head of a woman,
+whose fair hair was twined round his bare arm. Before drinking his wine
+he placed the head upon the counter. Coursegol closed his eyes to shut
+out the ghastly sight. He had recognized the features of the Princesse
+de Lamballe. When the men had finished their wine, one said:</p>
+
+<p>"Now we will have the hair of this citoyenne dressed so that Marie
+Antoinette will recognize her."</p>
+
+<p>And addressing Bridoul, he added:</p>
+
+<p>"Is there any hair-dresser in this neighborhood?"</p>
+
+<p>"About a hundred paces from here, on the Place de la Bastille," replied
+Bridoul.</p>
+
+<p>"On! on!" shouted the executioners.</p>
+
+<p>And taking the head of the unfortunate Princess they departed,
+accompanied by the crowd that had followed them from the prison. A few
+moments later the saloon was empty. Bridoul hastened into the back room.
+Coursegol followed him. Fortunately the two women had not seen what had
+occurred, and, thanks to Cornelia Bridoul's friendly offices, Dolores
+had regained her composure.</p>
+
+<p>"First of all, are you classed among the suspected characters?" the wine
+merchant inquired of Coursegol. "Are you trying to escape from your
+pursuers? Must I conceal you?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p><p>"No," replied Coursegol "We have come to Paris in the hope of finding
+Monsieur Philip."</p>
+
+<p>"Our old captain?"</p>
+
+<p>"The same," answered Coursegol, at once recounting the events with which
+the reader is already familiar. When the recital was ended, Bridoul
+spoke in his turn.</p>
+
+<p>"I am willing to swear that the captain is not in Paris. If he were, he,
+like all the rest of the nobles, would have been in great danger; and in
+peril, he would certainly have thought of his old soldier, Bridoul, for
+he knows he can rely upon my devotion."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! you have not changed!" cried Coursegol, pressing his friend's hand.</p>
+
+<p>"No, I have not changed. As you knew me so will you find me. But, my
+good friend, we must be prudent. You did well to come to my house. You
+and your daughter must remain here. You are relatives of mine; that is
+understood. Later, we can make other arrangements; but this evening I
+shall take you to the political club to which I belong. I will introduce
+you as my brother-in-law, a brave patriot from the south."</p>
+
+<p>"But what the devil shall I do at the club?" inquired Coursegol.</p>
+
+<p>"What shall you do there? Why, you will howl with the wolves; that is
+the only way to save yourself from being eaten by them!"</p>
+
+<p>But Coursegol demurred.</p>
+
+<p>"M. Bridoul is right," urged Dolores, timidly.</p>
+
+<p>"Niece, you are wise to take your uncle's part,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> remarked Bridoul; "but
+you must take care not to call me monsieur. That is more than enough to
+send you to prison as times are now."</p>
+
+<p>"Is everything a crime then?" cried Coursegol.</p>
+
+<p>"Everything," answered Bridoul, "and the greatest crime of all would be
+to remain at home while all good patriots are listening to the friends
+of the people in the political meetings. You will be closely watched,
+for we are surrounded by spies; and if any act of yours arouses the
+slightest suspicion we shall all go to sleep on the straw in the
+Conciergerie or the Abbaye, until we are sent to the block!"</p>
+
+<p>Coursegol uttered a groan.</p>
+
+<p>"Why do you sigh?" asked Bridoul. "All this does not prevent me from
+doing a service to such as deserve it. On the contrary, I should be rich
+if the number of thousand louis I possess equalled the number of lives I
+have saved since the tenth of August!"</p>
+
+<p>"Hush, husband!" said Madame Bridoul, quickly. "What if some one should
+hear you!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes, Cornelia, I will be prudent. Here we are all good patriots,
+worthy sans-culottes, ever ready to cry: 'Vive la Nation!'"</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke Bridoul returned to his shop, for several customers were
+coming in.</p>
+
+<p>The former dragoon was over forty years of age. He was small of stature,
+and in no way resembled one's ideal of a brave cavalier. His short
+limbs, his protruding stomach, his enormous arms and his fat hands gave
+him, when he was not moving about, the appearance of a penguin in
+repose. The large head covered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> with bushy gray hair, that surmounted
+his short body imparted to him really an almost grotesque look; but so
+much kindness shone in his eyes, and his voice was so rich and genial
+that one instantly divined a brave man beneath this unattractive
+exterior and was irresistibly attracted to him. Twenty-five years of his
+existence had been spent in the service of the king. He had cheerfully
+shed his blood and risked his life, and, thanks to the shrewdness he had
+displayed in his dealings with recruiting officers, he was now the
+possessor of several thousand francs. This little fortune enabled him to
+leave the army and to marry. A pretty shop-girl on the Faubourg du
+Roule, whose beautiful eyes, as he, himself, expressed it, had pierced
+his heart from end to end, consented, though she was much his junior, to
+a union of their destinies. In 1789 the newly married couple purchased
+the stock of a wine-shop, over the door of which, after the 10th of
+August, they prudently hung the sign of the "Bonnet Rouge."</p>
+
+<p>At heart, Bridoul and his wife were still ardent royalists. They
+bitterly deplored the imprisonment of Louis XVI. and his family, but
+they were governed by a feeling which soon became general, and under the
+empire of which most of the events of this bloody period were
+accomplished. They were afraid. It would not do for them to be classed
+with suspected persons, so they did not hesitate to violate their
+conscience and their heart by openly professing doctrines which they
+secretly abhorred, but which gave them the reputation of irreproachable
+patriots. Hence the "Bonnet<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> Rouge" soon became the rendezvous of the
+Revolutionists of that quarter; and through them Bridoul acquired
+information with regard to their plans that enabled him to save the
+lives of many citizens. Fear had made him cautious but not cowardly; and
+he was fortunate enough to find in his wife a valuable auxiliary whose
+resolution, courage and coolness were never failing. After this
+explanation, not one will be surprised at the welcome this worthy couple
+accorded Dolores and Coursegol. They were ever ready to do good and to
+succor the distressed.</p>
+
+<p>The evening after her arrival, Dolores was installed in a chamber over
+the shop. Coursegol occupied a small room adjoining this chamber. They
+could reach their apartments without passing through the saloon; so
+Dolores and Coursegol were not compelled to mingle against their will
+with the crowd of customers that filled the wine-shop during the day. It
+was decided that they should all take their meals at a common table,
+which was to be served in the back shop where Bridoul and his wife
+slept. It was also decided that Dolores should lay aside the Proven&ccedil;ale
+costume which she had worn on her arrival in Paris, and dress like a
+daughter of the people. Everything that would be likely to attract
+attention must be scrupulously avoided, for the beauty of Dolores had
+already awakened too much interest on the part of curious customers.</p>
+
+<p>The following Sunday morning, Dolores, who felt certain that Cornelia
+Bridoul was a devout Christian, said to her:</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p><p>"At what hour do you go to church? I would like to accompany you?"</p>
+
+<p>"To church! For what?" asked Cornelia, evidently surprised.</p>
+
+<p>"To hear mass."</p>
+
+<p>"Would you listen to a mass celebrated by a perjured priest?"</p>
+
+<p>And, as Dolores looked at her in astonishment, Cornelia added:</p>
+
+<p>"The sacred offices are now celebrated only by renegade priests, who
+have forsaken the tenets of the church to render allegiance to the
+constitution."</p>
+
+<p>But that same evening after supper, as Dolores was about retiring to her
+chamber, Cornelia, who was sitting with her guest in the room in the
+rear of the shop, while Bridoul and Coursegol were closing the saloon,
+said to her:</p>
+
+<p>"This morning you were regretting that you could not attend church. I
+have been informed that an aged saint, who has found shelter with some
+worthy people in the neighborhood, will celebrate mass this evening."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! let us go!" cried Dolores.</p>
+
+<p>"Very well, you shall go; Coursegol will accompany us; Bridoul will
+remain at home and take care of the house."</p>
+
+<p>A few moments later, Dolores, Cornelia and Coursegol, provided with the
+pass that all good patriots were obliged to carry if they were in the
+streets of Paris after ten o'clock at night, stole out of the wine-shop
+and turned their steps toward the Place<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> Royale. The streets which they
+traversed, looking back anxiously now and then to make sure that they
+were not followed, were dark and almost deserted. It was only
+occasionally that they met little groups of two or three persons, who
+passed rapidly, as if they distrusted the other passers-by. A policeman
+stopped our friends. They displayed their passes, and he allowed them to
+pursue their way without further questions. At last, they reached the
+Place Royale, and turned into a side street. At a half-open door stood a
+man clad in a blouse, and wearing a red cap. Cornelia said a few words
+to him in a low tone.</p>
+
+<p>"Pass in," was his response.</p>
+
+<p>He stepped aside. Dolores and Cornelia hastily entered, but Coursegol,
+who was to watch in the street, remained outside. The two women ascended
+to the fifth floor, and at last reached a door which was guarded as the
+one below had been. Cornelia gave the password and they entered. They
+traversed several rooms and finally found themselves in a spacious
+apartment dimly lighted by two candles. There were no windows, and the
+only means of lighting and ventilating the room was a sky-light; but
+this was now covered with heavy linen, undoubtedly for the purpose of
+concealing what was passing within from any spy who might be seized with
+a fancy for a promenade on the roof. At one end of the room, and
+separated from it by a thick curtain, was an alcove. There were about
+twenty people, mostly women, in the room. Every one stood silent<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> and
+motionless, as if awaiting some mysterious event. When the clock struck
+eleven, a voice from behind the curtain said: "Close the doors."</p>
+
+<p>The man on guard obeyed and came and took his place with the others, who
+with one accord fell upon their knees. At the same instant, the curtains
+parted, revealing the interior of the alcove in which stood a lighted
+altar surmounted by a cross of dark wood. At the foot of the altar stood
+an old white-haired priest, arrayed in sacerdotal robes, and assisted by
+two young men who acted as a choir. The service began. Dolores could not
+restrain her tears. After a few moments she became calmer and began to
+pray. She prayed fervently for Philip, for Antoinette, for all whom she
+loved and for herself. The ceremony was short. The priest addressed a
+brief exhortation to his audience. The time of pomp and of long sermons
+had gone by. At any moment they might be surprised, and the life of
+every one present would have been in danger had they been arrested in
+that modest room which had become for the nonce the only asylum of the
+proscribed Romish Church.</p>
+
+<p>When the service was concluded, the curtains were again drawn and the
+worshippers withdrew, not without depositing in a box an offering for
+the venerable priest who had officiated. Just as Dolores and Cornelia
+were leaving the room, the brave old man passed them. He was arrayed in
+the garb of a worthy patriot, and was so effectually disguised that they
+would not have recognized him if he had not addressed them. As for the
+altar, it had disappeared as if by enchantment.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p><p>So, either in this house or in some other, Dolores regularly attended
+the offices of her church. Not a Sunday passed that Cornelia did not
+conduct her to some mysterious retreat, where a little band of
+brave-hearted Christians met to worship together. She was in this way
+made familiar with heroic deeds which gave her courage to brave the
+dangers that threatened every one in those trying days, and she was thus
+initiated into a sort of league, formed without previous intent, for the
+purpose of providing a means of escape for those who were in danger of
+becoming the victims of the dread and merciless Committee of Public
+Safety. It was in this way that she was led to accompany Cornelia one
+evening when the latter went to carry food to a nobleman whose life was
+in danger, and who was concealed in the neighborhood of the Invalides,
+and, on another occasion, to aid in the escape of an old man who had
+been condemned to die. The enthusiasm of Dolores was so great that she
+often exposed herself to danger imprudently and unnecessarily. She was
+proud and happy to assist the Bridouls in their efforts, and she
+conceived for them an admiration and an affection which inspired her
+with the desire to equal them in their noble work to which they had so
+bravely consecrated themselves.</p>
+
+<p>But Coursegol, ignorant of most of the dangers to which Dolores exposed
+herself, or who knew of them only when it was too late to blame her for
+her temerity, had not lost sight of the motives which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> had induced him
+to accompany the girl on her expedition to Paris.</p>
+
+<p>What they had aimed to do, as the reader doubtless recollects, was to
+find Philip de Chamondrin and Antoinette de Mirandol, who had both been
+missing since the death of the Marquis and the destruction of the
+ch&acirc;teau. Though Bridoul persisted in declaring that his former captain
+was not in Paris, Coursegol was not discouraged. For three months he
+pursued an unremitting search. He found several men who, like himself,
+had formed a part of M. de Chamondrin's company. He succeeded in
+effecting an entrance to the houses of some of the friends whom his
+master had visited during his sojourn in Paris. He frequented public
+places. He might have been seen, by turn, in the Jacobin Club, in the
+galleries of the Convention, at the Palais &Eacute;galit&eacute;, in every place where
+he would be likely to find any trace of Philip; but nowhere could he
+discover the slightest clew to his whereabouts. Every evening on his
+return home, after a day of laborious search, he was obliged to admit
+his want of success to Dolores. She listened sadly, then shook her head
+and said:</p>
+
+<p>"Bridoul is right. Philip and Antoinette have left the country; we shall
+never see them again. After all, it is, perhaps, for the best, since
+they are in safety."</p>
+
+<p>But, even while she thus attempted to console herself, Dolores could not
+conceal the intense sorrow and disappointment that filled her heart,
+and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> which were caused, not so much by the absence of her friends as by
+the mystery that enshrouded their fate. If it be misery to be separated
+from those we love, how much greater is that misery when we know nothing
+concerning their fate, and do not even know whether they are dead or
+alive! Dolores loved Antoinette with all a sister's tenderness, and
+Philip, with a much deeper and far more absorbing passion, although she
+had voluntarily sacrificed her hopes and forced herself to see in him
+only a brother. She had paid for the satisfaction of knowing that he was
+happy and prosperous with all that made life desirable; and this
+uncertainty was hard to bear.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, come, my child, do not weep," Coursegol would say at times like
+these. "We shall soon discover what has become of them."</p>
+
+<p>"They are in England or in Germany," added Bridoul, "probably quite as
+much distressed about you as you are about them. You will see them again
+some day. Until then, have patience."</p>
+
+<p>More than four months had passed when it was suddenly announced that the
+king, who had been a prisoner in the Temple for some time, was to be
+brought to trial. It was also rumored that a number of noblemen had
+eluded the vigilance of the authorities and had entered Paris resolved
+upon a desperate attempt to save him at the very last moment.</p>
+
+<p>Coursegol's hope revived. He felt certain that Philip would not hesitate
+to hazard his life in such an enterprise if he were still alive; and it
+was in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> hope of meeting him that he attended the trial of the
+unfortunate monarch, and that, on the twentieth day of January, he
+accompanied Bridoul to the very steps of the guillotine. The king was
+beheaded; no attempt was made to rescue him. Then Coursegol decided upon
+a step which he had been contemplating for some little time.</p>
+
+<p>It will be remembered that Philip on his first arrival in Paris, had
+been attached to the household of the Duke de Penthieore, into which he
+had been introduced by the efforts of the Chevalier de Florian. The duke
+was the only member of the royal family who had remained in France
+unmolested. He owed this fortunate exemption of which the history of
+that epoch offers no similar example, to his many virtues and especially
+to his well known benevolence. Since the death of his daughter-in-law,
+the Princess de Lamballe, whom he had been unable to save from the hands
+of the executioners, he had lived with his daughter, the Duchess of
+Orleans at the Ch&acirc;teau de Bisy, in Vernon. He was living there, not as a
+proscribed man but as a prince, ill, broken-hearted at the death of his
+relatives, almost dying, surrounded by his friends and protected from
+the fury of the Revolutionists by the veneration of the inhabitants of
+Vernon, who had displayed their reverence by planting with great pomp,
+in front of the good duke's ch&acirc;teau, a tree of liberty crowned with this
+inscription: "A Tribute to Virtue;" and who evinced it still more
+strongly a little later by sending a deputation to his death-bed to
+implore him before his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> departure from earth, to bless the humble
+village in which his last days had been spent.</p>
+
+<p>One morning, Coursegol, having obtained a passport through Bridoul,
+started for Vernon. This village is situated a few leagues from Paris on
+the road to Normandy. Coursegol, who in his double r&ocirc;le of peasant and
+soldier was accustomed to walking, made the journey afoot, which enabled
+him to see with his own eyes the misery that was then prevailing in the
+provinces as well as in Paris. It was horrible. On every side he saw
+only barren and devastated fields, and ragged, starving villagers,
+trembling with fear. The revolution which had promised these poor
+wretches deliverance and comfort, had as yet brought them only
+misfortunes.</p>
+
+<p>Coursegol reached Vernon that evening, spent the night at an inn, and
+the next morning at sunrise, repaired to the duke's ch&acirc;teau. That good
+old man had long been in the habit of receiving all who desired to speak
+with him, so it was easy for Coursegol to obtain an interview. He was
+ushered into a hall where several persons were already waiting, and
+through which the duke was obliged to pass on his way to attend morning
+services in the chapel.</p>
+
+<p>At ten o'clock, the duke appeared. Coursegol, who had not seen him for
+several years, found him greatly changed. But the face surrounded by
+white floating locks had not lost the benign expression which had always
+characterized it; and he displayed the same simplicity of manner that
+had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> always endeared him to the poor and humble. When he entered the
+hall, the people who had been waiting for him, advanced to meet him.
+They were mostly noblemen who owed their lives to his influence, and
+who, thanks to him, were allowed to remain in France unmolested. He
+listened to them with an abstracted air, glancing to the right and left
+while they offered him their homage. Suddenly he perceived Coursegol who
+was standing at a little distance awaiting his turn. He stepped toward
+him and said:</p>
+
+<p>"What do you desire, my friend?"</p>
+
+<p>Coursegol bowed profoundly.</p>
+
+<p>"Monseigneur," he replied, "I am the servant of the Marquis Philip de
+Chamondrin, who once had the honor to belong to your household."</p>
+
+<p>"Chamondrin! I remember him perfectly; a brave young man for whom my
+poor Lamballe obtained a commission as captain of dragoons. I had news
+of him quite recently."</p>
+
+<p>"News of him!" exclaimed Coursegol, joyfully. "Ah! Monseigneur, where is
+he? How is he?"</p>
+
+<p>"Are you anxious to know?" inquired the duke.</p>
+
+<p>"Your highness shall judge."</p>
+
+<p>And Coursegol briefly recounted the events that had separated him from
+Philip, and told the duke how Dolores and himself had come to Paris in
+the hope of finding him. His recital must have been both eloquent and
+pathetic, for when it was concluded tears stood in the eyes of the
+listeners.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! What anxiety the young girl must have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> suffered!" exclaimed the
+prince; "but I can reassure her. Yes; I recently received a letter from
+the Marquis de Chamondrin. It shall be given to you and you shall carry
+it to his sister. She will be indebted to me for a few hours of
+happiness. My dear Miromesnil," added the duke, addressing an old man
+who was standing near, "will you look in my correspondence of the month
+of October for a letter bearing the signature of Chamondrin? When you
+find it, give it to this worthy man."</p>
+
+<p>Coursegol began to stammer out his thanks, but, without heeding them,
+the duke came still nearer and said, in a low voice:</p>
+
+<p>"Does Mademoiselle de Chamondrin require aid of any sort?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, monseigneur," replied Coursegol.</p>
+
+<p>"Do not forget that I am ready to come to her assistance whenever it is
+necessary; and assure her of my sincere sympathy."</p>
+
+<p>Having uttered these words, the kind-hearted prince passed on, leaning
+upon the arm of a nobleman connected with his household. Coursegol,
+elated by the certainty that Philip was alive, could scarcely restrain
+his impatience; but he waited for the promised letter, which would prove
+to Dolores that those she loved were still on earth. In a few moments M.
+de Miromesnil returned. He held the precious letter in his hand and gave
+it to Coursegol, who hastily perused it. It was dated in London, and had
+been addressed to the duke soon after the death of Madame de Lamballe.
+It <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>contained no allusion to Mademoiselle de Mirandol, and Philip said
+but little about himself; still was it not an unspeakable relief to him
+to feel that he was alive and to know in what country he was sojourning.</p>
+
+<p>Eager to place this letter in the hands of Dolores, Coursegol started
+for home immediately; but, instead of returning as he came, he took
+passage in the diligence that plied between Rouen and Paris; and that
+same evening, after so many months of dreary waiting, he was able to
+relieve the anxiety that Dolores had felt regarding her brother's fate.
+The girl's joy was intense, and she devoutly thanked God who had revived
+her faith and hope just as she was beginning to despair. If Coursegol
+had listened to her, they would have started for London without delay,
+so eager was she to rejoin Philip and Antoinette whom she supposed
+married. But Coursegol convinced her of the absolute impossibility of
+this journey. They could reach the sea only by passing through the
+greatest dangers.</p>
+
+<p>"Besides," added Coursegol, "what does this letter prove? That M. Philip
+is safe and well, of course; but it does not prove that he is still in
+London."</p>
+
+<p>"Coursegol is right!" remarked Bridoul. "Before you think of starting,
+you must write to M. Philip."</p>
+
+<p>"But can letters pass the frontier more easily than persons?" asked
+Dolores.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I will take care of all that. If you wish to write, I know a
+gentleman who is going to England and who will take charge of your
+letter."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p><p>"Then I will write," said Dolores, with a sigh. "I would have preferred
+to go myself, but since that is impossible&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>She paused, resolved to wait in patience.</p>
+
+<p>Coursegol breathed freely again. He feared she would persist in her
+determination to go, and that he would be obliged to tell her that their
+resources were nearly exhausted and would not suffice to meet the costs
+of such a long and difficult journey, every step of which would demand a
+lavish expenditure of money.</p>
+
+<p>Since the destruction of Chamondrin, Dolores had been entirely dependent
+upon Coursegol's bounty. The latter had possessed quite a snug little
+fortune, inherited from his parents; but a sojourn of fifteen months at
+Beaucaire and more than a year's income expended on the journey to Paris
+had made great inroads in his little capital. Fortunately, on arriving
+in Paris, the generous hospitality of the Bridouls had spared him the
+necessity of drawing upon the remnant of his fortune. This amounted now
+to about twelve hundred francs. Still, he felt that he could not remain
+much longer under the roof of these worthy people without trespassing
+upon their kindness and generosity, for they firmly refused to accept
+any remuneration; and Coursegol was anxiously wondering how he could
+support Dolores when this money was exhausted. He confided his anxiety
+to Bridoul; but the latter, instead of sharing it, showed him that such
+a sum was equivalent to a fortune in times like those.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p><p>"Twelve hundred francs!" said he. "Why that is more than enough for the
+establishment of a lucrative business or for speculation in assignats
+which, with prudence, would yield you a fortune."</p>
+
+<p>It was good advice. Gold and silver were becoming scarce; and assignats
+were subject to daily fluctuations that afforded one an excellent
+opportunity to realize handsome profits, if one had a little money on
+hand and knew how to employ it to advantage.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2>
+
+<h3>CITIZEN JEAN VAUQUELAS.</h3>
+
+<p>In April, 1793, about eight months after his arrival in Paris, Coursegol
+went one evening to the Palais &Eacute;galit&eacute;. The establishment, which had
+formerly been known as the Palais Royal, had at that epoch a splendor
+and an importance of which its present appearance gives but a faint
+conception. One should read in the journals of those days the
+description of the galleries ever filled with an eager, bustling throng
+attracted by the excitement and the unwholesome amusements always to be
+found there. Mercier, in sharp, almost indignant language, gives us a
+vivid picture of the famous resort. Gambling-dens, dance-halls, shops
+devoted to the sale of the most reckless and infamous productions,
+restaurants and wine-shops were to be seen on every side. The spirit of
+speculation and gambling raged with inconceivable violence. Vice sat
+enthroned there, and when evening came the immense establishment was
+densely crowded by a throng of people thirsting for pleasure, and
+circling round and round in the brilliantly-lighted galleries to the
+sound of the violins that mounted to the ears of the promenaders from
+the dance-halls in the basement below.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p><p>Coursegol frequently visited the Palais &Eacute;galit&eacute;. At the instance of
+Bridoul he had speculated a little in assignats which were constantly
+fluctuating in value. It was the only negotiation in which Coursegol
+would consent to embark. He might have trafficked in the estates of the
+&Eacute;migres which the Republic was selling at a merely nominal price; but he
+had no desire to become the owner of what he considered stolen property.
+After a few evenings spent in the Palais &Eacute;galit&eacute;, Coursegol became
+acquainted with most of the brokers who transacted business there. They
+were stout, well-fed, jovial men, whose self-satisfied and flourishing
+appearance seemed a stinging irony hurled in the face of the poor
+wretches who were perishing of hunger in the Faubourgs of Paris. They
+could be seen rushing about the garden and through the galleries, giving
+orders to their subordinates whose duty it was to find new clients, and
+to allure unsophisticated provincials, that they might rob them of their
+money to cast it into the gulf in which the fortunes of so many had been
+swallowed up.</p>
+
+<p>These unprincipled persons resorted to the basest means to dupe those
+who trusted them. They called wine and reckless women to their aid, and
+thus disarmed the unsuspecting men who came to the money market with the
+hope of doubling their capital. In the Palais &Eacute;galit&eacute;, conspiracies were
+formed not only against the Republic but against the fortunes, the
+place, and even the lives of its citizens. Still even the dread
+Committee of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> Public Safety were powerless to discover the formidable
+enemies that concealed themselves there. That Coursegol was not
+irretrievably lost the instant he crossed the threshold of this
+mysterious and dangerous cavern was due entirely to Bridoul, who had
+volunteered to act as his guide and protector. Bridoul possessed a very
+considerable amount of influence. He presented his comrade to some of
+the fortunate speculators, and recommended him to them to such purpose
+that several of them took Coursegol under their protection.
+Quick-witted, endowed with remarkable energy and tact, and inspired by
+an ardent desire to acquire wealth for the sake of Dolores, he rendered
+them important services on more than one occasion by lending his obscure
+and modest name to conceal operations in which a well-known personage
+could not have embarked without peril.</p>
+
+<p>Coursegol was only a peasant; but he had served in the army a long time,
+and contact with others had sharpened his wits, while the excellent
+judgment of his old master, the Marquis de Chamondrin, had not failed to
+exert a most beneficial effect upon his intellectual development. Hence,
+though it was not without hesitation that he entered upon a career so
+entirely new to him, he at least brought with him not only honesty,
+prudence and tact, but a coolness which could not but contribute notably
+to his success in those perturbed times.</p>
+
+<p>On the evening to which we have alluded he went to the Palais &Eacute;galit&eacute; as
+usual. It was after<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> nightfall, and the restaurants were filled to
+overflowing with crowds of excited people glad to forget in the
+distractions of play, of speculation and of good cheer the woes of the
+country and their own degradation. Some were eagerly buying tickets that
+would entitle them to seats in the Th&eacute;&acirc;tre de la R&eacute;publique, only a
+hundred paces distant; others were buying the daily papers. Some were
+promenading with that careless gayety that never deserts the French even
+in their darkest days, while they insolently eyed the shameless women,
+who, with bold gaze and naked shoulders, stood there endeavoring to
+attract the attention of the passers-by. Others rushed to the gambling
+saloons, already dreaming of the stroke of good fortune that would
+enlarge the rolls of assignats with which their pockets were filled.</p>
+
+<p>Some promenaders approached each other with mysterious proposals, and
+afterwards repaired to the garden where they could converse undisturbed.
+It was there that many confidential interviews were held, it was there
+that the most diverse hopes had birth; it was there that the Royalists,
+the friends and the relatives of the &Eacute;migr&eacute;s or of suspected persons
+incarcerated in prison plotted for the return of the Bourbons or for the
+deliverance of the poor wretches whose lives hung upon a thread. There,
+too, the spies in the employ of the Committee of Public Safety, or of
+the Commune, flitted about, trying to discover any secret that might be
+hostile to the Republic. Sometimes gloomy visaged men or women with pale
+and anxious looks<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> were seen hurrying through the crowd; some man who
+had been vainly seeking bread for his children; some woman whose husband
+was in the Luxembourg or in the Abbaye prisons, awaiting the dread fiat
+of the Revolutionary Tribunal.</p>
+
+<p>These livid and despairing faces were the only blemishes upon the
+exuberant gayety that prevailed; but no one saw them and the poor
+wretches disappeared without exciting either anger or pity.</p>
+
+<p>The eyes of Coursegol were accustomed to this spectacle, so he walked
+coolly through the galleries heedless of the tumult around him and
+paused only when he met a group of acquaintances who were discussing the
+news of the day. Suddenly some one tapped him on the shoulder. He
+turned.</p>
+
+<p>"Is that you, Citizen Vauquelas?"</p>
+
+<p>"I wish to speak to you, Coursegol."</p>
+
+<p>At the same time the man who had just interrupted Coursegol's promenade
+took him by the arm and led him toward the garden. He was clad in black
+and enveloped in a large cloak that would have made him look like a
+priest had it not been for the high hat, ornamented with the national
+cockade, which proved him a patriot of the middle class. His thin,
+emaciated face, deeply furrowed with wrinkles indicated that he had long
+since passed his sixtieth birthday; but there was nothing else in his
+appearance that betokened old age. His form was so erect, his eye so
+clear, his step so firm, that one, not seeing his face, would have
+thought him still in the prime of life.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p><p>On entering the garden, Vauquelas glanced around, but, seeing no place
+which he deemed sufficiently retired, he seemed to change his plan.</p>
+
+<p>"I fear that these trees have ears," said he, "and what I wish to say to
+you must not be overheard."</p>
+
+<p>And without saying more, he led the way to the Caf&eacute; Corazza. They
+entered it. The saloon was filled with people, eating and drinking while
+they read the papers or indulged in heated political discussions. One
+man had mounted a table and was delivering a long discourse. He was
+endeavoring to convince his listeners that France was being betrayed by
+the secret agents sent to Paris by the &Eacute;migr&eacute;s. His was no new theme;
+buy the orator displayed so much energy that his audience was polite
+enough to seem pleased with his efforts. Vauquelas, who appeared to be
+perfectly at home, crossed the room to whisper a word in the ear of the
+man who was standing at the cashier's desk. This man, who proved to be
+the proprietor of the establishment, at once conducted Vauquelas to a
+private room. Coursegol followed, and, the proprietor having taken his
+departure, the two men found themselves alone.</p>
+
+<p>"I have been contemplating the proposition I am about to make you for
+several months," Vauquelas then began. "The very first time I saw you, I
+made up my mind that you were the man to aid me in the projects I had
+long since formed, but which had not been carried into execution for
+want of an assistant in whom I could implicitly confide. But before I
+trusted you with my plans, I wished to know you; so I have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> studied you
+closely while you were unconscious of my scrutiny. I have admired the
+prudence you have displayed in all your business transactions. You suit
+me; and if you see fit to accede to the proposition I am about to offer
+for your consideration, our fortunes are made."</p>
+
+<p>"I am listening, Citizen Vauquelas," replied Coursegol, "but I may as
+well tell you that it will be useless to confide your plans to me if
+they are not perfectly honest."</p>
+
+<p>"You shall judge," rejoined Vauquelas, not appearing in the least
+wounded by Coursegol's remark. "Last month the Republic passed a decree
+against the &Eacute;migr&eacute;s, ordering the confiscation of their property for the
+benefit of the nation. This measure has been carried into execution, and
+the government is now the possessor of a large amount of such property.
+These lands will be sold at public auction, and will fall into all sorts
+of hands. They will be divided and parceled out, and the rightful owners
+when they return to France will have no power to take possession of the
+property that once belonged to them. Very well&mdash;now I have wondered if
+the purchase of a portion of this property would not be both profitable
+and a praiseworthy action."</p>
+
+<p>"And why?" inquired Coursegol, who had been listening attentively.</p>
+
+<p>"The reason is plain," replied Vauquelas. "Will it not be for the
+interest of the exiled owners that their estates should be bought on the
+most favorable possible terms, and properly cared for. The brigands who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span>
+are now in power will fall some day; and then the &Eacute;migr&eacute;s will return.
+Will they not be glad to find their property in good and careful hands,
+and to be able to regain possession of it by paying the trifling sum
+which the government received for it?"</p>
+
+<p>Coursegol did not reply at once, he was reflecting.</p>
+
+<p>"The transactions would be honest enough," he said at last; "but if you
+purchase the lands of the government to-day and sell them later to their
+owners at the same price you paid for them, where would your profit come
+in?"</p>
+
+<p>"I would pay for them in assignats; their owners would pay me in gold."</p>
+
+<p>Vauquelas uttered these last words with an air of triumph; then, as if
+fearing Coursegol's objections, he made haste to develop his scheme.</p>
+
+<p>"The assignats have already undergone a very considerable depreciation.
+With fifty thousand francs in gold one can, to-day, purchase at least
+two hundred thousand francs in assignats; and the depreciation will
+become much greater. There is a piece of property in the Faubourg
+Saint-Germain which will be ostensibly sold for two millions by the
+Republic, but which will really cost the purchaser only two hundred
+thousand francs; and, by and by, the owner will have no difficulty in
+disposing of it again for the ostensible price he paid for it, and it
+will be only natural and right that he should demand gold in payment."</p>
+
+<p>"And in what way could I be of service to you?" Coursegol timidly
+inquired.</p>
+
+<p>"By lending me your name. We will buy <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>sometimes in your name, sometimes
+in mine, so we shall not arouse suspicion."</p>
+
+<p>"But where shall we find the money?"</p>
+
+<p>Vauquelas arose and, without the slightest hesitation, replied:</p>
+
+<p>"Since I have begun to give you my confidence, I will hide nothing. Come
+with me."</p>
+
+<p>Vauquelas, as we have said before, had arrived at the trying age of
+three-score and ten, which, for the majority of men, is the age of
+decrepitude, that sinister forerunner of death; but time had neither
+bowed his head nor enfeebled his intellect. The clearness of his mind
+and the vigor of his limbs indicated that he was likely to be one of
+those centenarians who carry their years so lightly that they make us
+think with regret of that golden age in which the gods could confer
+immortality upon man. His eye still flashed with all the ardor of youth;
+and in his breast glowed a fire which age was powerless to quench.
+Vauquelas had formerly been a magistrate in Arras. A widower, without a
+child for whose fate he was compelled to tremble, he had seen the
+approach of the Revolution and the Reign of Terror without the slightest
+dismay; and the tenth of August found him in Paris, drawn there by the
+desire to increase his by no means contemptible fortune, and to win the
+favor of those who were then in power.</p>
+
+<p>He had taken up his abode in a modest mansion at the extremity of the
+Faubourg du Roule. The house stood in the centre of a garden, which was
+protected from the gaze of the curious by high walls that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span>surrounded it
+on every side. Served by an old woman whom he had brought from Arras, he
+apparently lived the life of a recluse who desires to remain a stranger
+to the changes and emotions of the moment, and to end his days in peace
+and quietness. He received no visitors; and the people in the
+neighborhood thought him a poor man who had lost his family and
+squandered his money in unfortunate speculations. He never left the
+house until evening and always returned very late at night. A
+sans-culotte, who lived near by and whose suspicions had been aroused,
+followed him one evening. He fancied him a conspirator, he saw him enter
+the Palais &Eacute;galit&eacute;, speak to several persons who seemed to listen to him
+with extreme deference, and afterwards repair to the house of one of the
+most influential members of the Committee of Public Safety, where he
+remained until two o'clock in the morning, and then returned home. The
+self-constituted spy concluded that he had to deal with one of the
+Committee's secret agents; and he was inspired with such wholesome awe
+that he decided to push his investigations no further.</p>
+
+<p>In reality, Vauquelas was nothing more nor less than a man tormented by
+an unappeasable thirst for wealth. He had only one passion: a passion
+for gold. It was this that urged him&mdash;in spite of a fortune that would
+have satisfied his modest wants ten times over&mdash;into all kinds of
+financial ventures. It was this that had suggested to him the idea of
+ingratiating himself with the men who were in power, and thus gain their
+friendship, their influences and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> protection. In all the acts of the
+government, in the great events that succeeded one another day after
+day, he saw only an opportunity for speculation. Whether peace or war
+prevailed; whether the people obeyed the Commune or Convention; whether
+they worshipped the Supreme Being or the Goddess of Reason; whether the
+men condemned to death were innocent or guilty mattered little to him.
+These things interested him only by the effect they might produce on the
+money-market. So he had allied himself in turn with the Girondists and
+with the Jacobins. He had loaned money to Mirabeau; he had speculated
+with Barras and with Tallien, always placing himself at the service of
+those who held the power or seemed likely to hold it in the future.</p>
+
+<p>Such was the man whose confidence Coursegol had won by his honesty and
+sagacity. He appeared in the pathway of Vauquelas just as the latter had
+arrived at the conclusion that further speculation in assignats would be
+extremely hazardous, and just as he was looking about him for some
+reliable man who would join him in enterprises of a different and much
+safer nature. In those perilous times it was hard to find a person in
+whom one could implicitly confide. Denunciation, that fatal weapon that
+lay within the reach of every hand, was frequently made the instrument
+of personal vengeance. No one was beyond its reach; and Vauquelas was
+not disposed to reveal his plans to a man who would be likely to betray
+them or him.</p>
+
+<p>It was about eight o'clock when the two men<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> left the Caf&eacute; and the
+Palais &Eacute;galit&eacute;, and entered one of the cabriolets that stood before the
+theatre, a few steps below.</p>
+
+<p>In about twenty minutes, the carriage stopped not far from the
+Folies-Berg&egrave;res. When the driver had been paid and dismissed, Vauquelas
+and Coursegol traversed the unoccupied ground that lay between the Rue
+du Roule and the Champs-&Eacute;lys&eacute;es. The place was dark and deserted. A few
+houses, surrounded by gardens, skirted the street. Superb residences
+have since been erected there and Boulevards have been opened; but at
+the time of which we write this Faubourg resembled a street in a quiet
+country village. It was here that Vauquelas lived. As the two men were
+approaching the house by a path shaded with lindens, pruned into the
+same uniformity as those at Versailles, an enormous dog sprang out upon
+them, barking ferociously. With a word, Vauquelas quieted him; then,
+turning to Coursegol, he said, smiling:</p>
+
+<p>"This is the guardian of my dwelling. If need be, he can hold a band of
+robbers at bay."</p>
+
+<p>They reached the house and were admitted by the old servant, who
+conducted them to the drawing-room.</p>
+
+<p>"Give me a lantern and then go to bed, my good woman," said Vauquelas.</p>
+
+<p>She disappeared, but soon returned, bearing in one hand a double
+candlestick which she placed upon a table, and in the other the lantern
+for which her master had called.</p>
+
+<p>"Follow me," said Coursegol's host.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p><p>Coursegol obeyed. They left the drawing-room, passed through several
+small and shabbily furnished apartments, and at last entered a small
+passage. Vauquelas opened a door and Coursegol saw a narrow stairway
+winding down into the cellar.</p>
+
+<p>"This is my wine-cellar and it is well stocked," said Vauquelas, with a
+smile.</p>
+
+<p>He spoke only the simple truth. Countless casks ranged along the wall
+and long shelves filled with dusty bottles attracted Coursegol's
+attention; but he could scarcely understand why Vauquelas had brought
+him there if he had nothing else to show him. Suddenly the latter
+exclaimed:</p>
+
+<p>"You asked me just now if I had money enough for the enterprise I
+proposed to you. You shall judge for yourself, for I am going to reveal
+my secret."</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke he seized a spade that stood near by, removed a few shovels
+full of earth and disclosed a large white stone slab, in the centre of
+which was an iron ring which enabled him to lift it.</p>
+
+<p>"Look!" said he.</p>
+
+<p>Coursegol bent over the opening and looked in. He saw a large iron box
+buried in the earth and filled with sacks of gold. The bright metal
+gleamed through the meshes of the coarse bags, dazzling the eye of the
+beholder with its golden glory. Vauquelas seemed to enjoy Coursegol's
+surprise; but it was in vain that he tried to discover the slightest
+vestige of envy or avarice in the face of his visitor. Coursegol was
+astonished, and perhaps dazzled by the sight of so much wealth, but no
+evil thought entered his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> mind. Vauquelas breathed more freely. He had
+just subjected the man upon whom he had bestowed his confidence to a
+decisive test, and he had emerged from it victorious.</p>
+
+<p>"There are two millions here," he remarked.</p>
+
+<p>"Two millions! Do they belong to you?"</p>
+
+<p>"They belong to me."</p>
+
+<p>"And you are not satisfied! You wish to acquire more!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! it is a question of health to me. If I stopped work I should soon
+die; and I wish to live&mdash;life is good!"</p>
+
+<p>There was a moment's silence, and Vauquelas looked tenderly at his
+treasure.</p>
+
+<p>"Moreover, as I have told you, we shall not only make money, but perform
+a most commendable action," he remarked after a little. "We will
+purchase some of those fine houses on the Faubourg Saint-Germain, which
+have been confiscated by the government in their masters' absence. We
+will take good care of them. In some hands, they would soon fall to
+ruin; but in ours they will increase in value, and when their former
+owners return, they will find their homes in the same condition as when
+they left them. They will buy them from us, and they will be ever
+grateful to us. Come, my boy, make up your mind. Will you become my
+partner in this enterprise?"</p>
+
+<p>"I accept your offer," replied Coursegol. He saw his fortune assured in
+a few years, and Dolores forever out of the reach of want.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know how to write?" Vauquelas inquired.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p><p>"Not very well."</p>
+
+<p>"That is bad. We must keep an account of our business operations; it
+will not do to take any one else into our confidence, and I cannot do
+the work myself. My eyesight is not very good."</p>
+
+<p>"I will do my best," replied Coursegol, mentally cursing his ignorance.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly another plan flashed through his brain.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! now I have it," he exclaimed, eagerly. "This work that you cannot
+do and that I should do so badly can be entrusted to my daughter."</p>
+
+<p>"Your daughter! You have a daughter! You have never told me that you
+were a married man."</p>
+
+<p>Coursegol was silent for a moment; he seemed to hesitate.</p>
+
+<p>"I will return confidence for confidence," he said finally.</p>
+
+<p>Then he related the history of Dolores, and his own. When it was ended,
+Vauquelas rubbed his hands joyfully.</p>
+
+<p>"She will not betray us," said he. "Ah well! Everything is for the
+best."</p>
+
+<p>He covered the box in which his gold was concealed with earth, and then
+the two men returned to the drawing-room. They remained in earnest
+conversation for some time, Vauquelas disclosing his plans for the
+future, the other listening and proffering occasional but judicious
+suggestions. It was after midnight when they separated.</p>
+
+<p>Coursegol walked home. Twice he was stopped by the patrols, but, thanks
+to the credentials he carried<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> with him, he was allowed to pursue his
+way unmolested. A week later, Dolores and Coursegol left Bridoul's house
+to take up their abode in that of Vauquelas. The parting was a sad one.
+Cornelia Bridoul loved Dolores as fondly as the latter loved her; still
+they would have frequent opportunities to see each other, and this
+thought greatly alleviated their sorrow.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2>
+
+<h3>AN EPISODE OF THE EMIGRATION.</h3>
+
+<p>On the first Sunday in the month of September, 1793, about ten o'clock
+in the morning, a young girl clad in mourning emerged from the doorway
+of a pretty cottage in the suburbs of London. She slowly descended the
+broad and handsome steps that led up to the dwelling, passed through the
+garden, and having opened the gate, gazed anxiously in the direction of
+the city.</p>
+
+<p>She was a brunette, rather fragile in appearance, and petite in stature;
+and though she was not really beautiful, hers was a sympathetic and
+altogether charming face. The air of elegance that characterized her
+person and her attire, the whiteness of her hands, and her delicate and
+refined features, all indicated that she was a person of gentle birth.
+She did not appear to be more than twenty years of age. By the anxiety
+with which her large blue eyes scanned the horizon, it was easy to
+divine that she was expecting some loved one; but it was also evident
+that he did not come quickly enough to suit her desires, for she seemed
+restless and impatient.</p>
+
+<p>"What if he should not come?" she murmured. As if these words had been
+heard, a voice responded:</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p><p>"Do not be impatient, dear Antoinette. M. Philip said he would be here
+to-day, but did not mention the hour; and the day has scarcely begun.
+You will see him, never fear."</p>
+
+<p>The lady who had just spoken had used the English language. She was a
+kind, motherly looking person, past middle age. Understanding the young
+girl's anxiety, she had joined her with the desire to appease it.
+Antoinette replied, not without some bitterness:</p>
+
+<p>"I am quite sure that we shall see him, dear Mrs. Reed; but have I not a
+right to be impatient? Has it not been three weeks since he was here?"</p>
+
+<p>"You do not know what important interests may have detained him in
+London."</p>
+
+<p>Antoinette shook her head; then, after casting another glance at the
+deserted road, she sadly returned to the house. Mrs. Reed followed her,
+trying to divert her mind and make her forget the sorrow and anxiety
+caused by Philip's long absence. The two ladies entered a small, but
+prettily furnished parlor and seated themselves at a round table, upon
+which a servant had just deposited a smoking tea-urn, some empty cups
+and some bread and butter. Just then, a very stout man entered the room.
+It was Mr. Reed, the master of the house. He strongly resembled his
+wife; there was the same age, the same corpulence, the same kind and
+benevolent expression of countenance.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, well! mademoiselle," he remarked to the young girl, pouring out a
+cup of tea, "this is a f&ecirc;te day, is it not? You are expecting Monsieur
+Philip?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p><p>Antoinette made no response. Mrs. Reed answered for her.</p>
+
+<p>"Mademoiselle Antoinette is afraid her cousin will not keep his word."</p>
+
+<p>"She is wrong then," quietly remarked Mr. Reed, who was now standing by
+the window, sipping his tea, "she is wrong, for here he is!"</p>
+
+<p>Antoinette sprang up, uttering a cry of joy. She was about to rush out
+to meet Philip, but the latter did not give her time. He entered almost
+immediately, and Antoinette flew to his arms. All her doubts, all her
+griefs were forgotten! Ah! If the hour of separation is cruel when it
+sounds in the ears of those who love, how sweet is the hour that
+reunites them! Antoinette clung rapturously to Philip's breast, and Mr.
+and Mrs. Reed, wishing to allow the young people to enjoy each other's
+society undisturbed, left the room; but before he went, Mr. Reed said to
+Philip:</p>
+
+<p>"You will spend the day and dine with us, will you not?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! how gladly would I do so! But I shall be obliged to leave in an
+hour!"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Reed stood motionless for a moment, actually stupefied with
+astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>"What! you are going to leave me so soon?" cried Antoinette,
+despairingly.</p>
+
+<p>"I will explain my reasons," replied Philip.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Reed bowed and followed his wife, who had just disappeared.</p>
+
+<p>Two years had passed since Philip fled with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span>Antoinette from the burning
+ch&acirc;teau and from the bedside of his dying father. On quitting the scene
+of the catastrophe that destroyed the home of his childhood, Philip
+accompanied by Mlle. de Mirandol repaired to Valence. There, a friend of
+the Chamondrin family furnished them with the means to pursue their
+journey to England, which country they gained after many perils and
+vicissitudes.</p>
+
+<p>London served as a refuge for many of the &Eacute;migr&eacute;s, but Philip had chosen
+the capital of Great Britain as a retreat for Antoinette, principally
+because he knew that a portion of Mlle. de Mirandol's fortune was in the
+hands of a banker in that city, and because it would be easy there to
+obtain news from Louisiana, where the heiress of M. de Mirandol still
+owned considerable property.</p>
+
+<p>After their perilous journey was concluded and they were safely
+established in England, the agitation caused by the great disaster which
+had deprived them of so much that they loved was succeeded by a relative
+calm which gave them an opportunity to look their situation in the face.
+They both found it exceedingly embarrassing. Antoinette remembered only
+that she loved Philip, and that, in obedience to the request of his
+dying father, he had solemnly promised to marry her. She was simply
+waiting for him to fulfil this promise, and already regarded herself as
+his wife.</p>
+
+<p>As for Philip, he inwardly cursed this promise. His thoughts were
+constantly occupied with Dolores; he said to himself that since the
+convents had been broken up, she must be free if she were still alive;
+and he would not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> believe that she was dead. He was certain that she was
+still alive, that Coursegol had remained with her to protect her, and
+that the day of their meeting was near at hand. These thoughts made his
+heart rebel against the yoke he had striven to impose upon it; for no
+matter what attempts may be made to destroy it, hope will not die in a
+heart that loves sincerely. It resists time and the sternest ordeals.
+Death alone can, not destroy it, but transform it, by associating
+realization with the delights of a future life which shall know no
+blight or decay.</p>
+
+<p>Still, Philip dare not speak frankly to Mlle. de Mirandol. He loved her
+with true brotherly affection; and his courage failed him when he
+thought of the misery his confession would cause this loving and artless
+girl. Moreover, the promise he had made to his father was ever on his
+mind, arousing constant sorrow and remorse. He resolved, therefore, to
+gain time, if possible. With this aim in view, he had a long
+conversation with Antoinette a few days after their arrival in London.
+Without referring to the engagement which he had a just right to
+consider irrevocable, he requested that its accomplishment should be
+deferred until his period of mourning had expired. He pleaded the tragic
+death of his father and the uncertainty that still enshrouded the fate
+of Dolores and of Coursegol as reasons for delay; and Antoinette
+consented. He then gave her to understand that, as they were not
+married, it was not proper for them to remain under the same roof, and
+told her that he had found a pleasant home for her with some worthy
+people who resided in the environs of London<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> and who, as they had no
+children of their own, would be glad to have a young girl with them as a
+boarder. Antoinette consented to this arrangement also; and this
+explains her installation in the Reed household. Mr. Reed was formerly a
+merchant, but had retired from business to spend his last years in quiet
+and comfort. The situation of the French &Eacute;migr&eacute;s had aroused the
+sympathy of the kind-hearted man and his wife, so Philip's proposition
+was gladly accepted, and they petted and spoiled the young girl
+entrusted to their charge as if she had been their own daughter.</p>
+
+<p>Philip remained in London; but once a week he came to spend a day with
+Antoinette; and the hours that Mlle. de Mirandol thought so delightful
+flew by all too swiftly for her. They never spoke of the future. Philip
+carefully avoided any allusion to that subject; but they talked of the
+past and of Dolores whose fate was still veiled in mystery.</p>
+
+<p>Sometimes, accompanied by Mrs. Reed, Antoinette visited the poor &Eacute;migr&eacute;s
+who had taken refuge in London, and relieved their necessities. She also
+requested Philip, who had charge of her property, never to refuse aid to
+any of her countrymen or countrywomen who asked it of him; and in the
+benefits she quietly conferred upon the needy around her she found some
+consolation for her own sorrow and anxiety. As for Philip, he had
+plunged into the active and feverish life led by most of the &Eacute;migr&eacute;s, as
+if he desired to drown his own doubts and regrets in bustle and
+excitement.</p>
+
+<p>London was then the rendezvous of a great <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span>proportion of those who had
+fled from the Reign of Terror. Princes, noblemen, prelates and ladies of
+rank, who were striving to console themselves for the hardships of exile
+by bright dreams of the future, had assembled there. They plotted
+against the Republic; they planned descents upon France, attacks upon
+Paris, movements in La Vend&eacute;e, and the assassination of Robespierre and
+his friends; but all these schemes were rendered fruitless by the spirit
+of rivalry and of intrigue that prevailed. They were all united upon the
+result to be attained, but divided as to the means of attaining it. In
+this great party there were a thousand factions. They quarreled at a
+word; they slandered one another; they patched up flimsy
+reconciliations. French society had taken with it into exile all its
+faults, vanities, frivolities and ignorance. Philip de Chamondrin did
+not forsake this circle, though he inwardly chafed at the weakness of
+purpose that was exhibited on every side; but here he could live in a
+constant fever of excitement and could forget his personal griefs and
+anxieties. This was not the case with Antoinette, however, and if Philip
+had hoped that by living apart from him and seeing him only at rare
+intervals she would soon cease to love him, he was mistaken.
+Antoinette's heart did not change. She waited, and had it not been for
+the events that hastened the solution of the difficulty, she would have
+waited always; and though she suffered deeply, she concealed her grief
+so carefully that even the friends with whom she lived and who loved her
+as tenderly as if she had been their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> daughter were deceived. All
+Philip's attempts to destroy her love for him proved fruitless. Her
+heart once given was given irrevocably. Nor did she possess that
+experience which would have enabled her to see that she was not beloved.
+She attributed Philip's coldness to the successive misfortunes that had
+befallen him; and she was waiting for time to assuage his sorrow and
+awaken feelings responsive to her own.</p>
+
+<p>Under these circumstances one can easily understand why she had awaited
+Philip's coming with such feverish impatience. Three weeks had passed
+since she had seen him; and all Mrs. Reed's caresses and well-meant
+attempts at consolation had failed to overcome her chagrin. Philip had
+come at last! She had sprung forward to meet him without making any
+effort to conceal the joy awakened by the prospect of a day spent with
+him, and she had hardly done this when the young man announced that he
+must leave in an hour.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you explain the cause of this hasty departure?" she said, as soon
+as they were alone.</p>
+
+<p>Her voice trembled and her lovely eyes were dim with tears.</p>
+
+<p>"I am leaving you, Antoinette, to go where duty calls me," replied
+Philip, gravely.</p>
+
+<p>"Duty? What duty?"</p>
+
+<p>"The queen is still imprisoned in the Temple. It is said that she will
+soon be sentenced to death. I have formed the project of wresting her
+from the hands of her enemies, of rescuing her from their sanguinary
+fury."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p><p>"Alone?" cried Antoinette, overcome with terror at the thought of the
+dangers Philip would incur.</p>
+
+<p>"Six of us have resolved to save her or die! We go together. A vessel is
+to convey us to the coast of Brittany. From there we shall make our way
+to Paris as best we can."</p>
+
+<p>"But what can you do, you, so few in number?"</p>
+
+<p>"God will be with us," replied Philip. "Besides, we shall find friends
+in Paris who will gladly join our little band."</p>
+
+<p>On hearing these words which proved that Philip's determination was
+immovable, Antoinette could not control her emotion. She sank into an
+arm chair, covered her pale face with her trembling hands and burst into
+tears.</p>
+
+<p>"Do not weep so bitterly, my dear Antoinette," said Philip, touched by
+her despair and kneeling beside her.</p>
+
+<p>"Why did you not consult me before engaging in this mad and perilous
+undertaking?" she said, at last. "You are leaving me, abandoning me
+without even asking what my fate will be when I no longer have you to
+protect me; without thinking how I shall suffer in your absence, and
+forgetting that if you should be killed I too should die!"</p>
+
+<p>Philip, deeply moved, took her hands and said, gently:</p>
+
+<p>"Be comforted; I shall not die; you will see me again soon. Do you not
+feel that I should be dishonored if I shrank from the task that is
+before me? Could you respect a man who might be justly accused<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> of
+cowardice and of failure to perform his duty. The queen was formerly my
+benefactress; how can I stand here to-day, and make no effort to rescue
+her from death?"</p>
+
+<p>"But if you should die!"</p>
+
+<p>This cry betrayed Antoinette's love in all its passionate intensity, and
+it found an echo in Philip's heart.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall not be killed," said he, trying to make Mlle. de Mirandol share
+the conviction that animated his own mind; then, seeing her so sad and
+heart-broken at his departure, he added, with mingled remorse and
+tenderness:</p>
+
+<p>"When I return, the fulfilment of the promise I made you shall be no
+longer delayed."</p>
+
+<p>He had not referred to this subject before for a long time, and these
+few words carried unspeakable comfort to Antoinette's heart.</p>
+
+<p>"I have no right to detain you," said she. "Go! May you succeed and soon
+return. I shall pray for you."</p>
+
+<p>They conversed some time longer. Philip, who had until then, taken
+charge of Antoinette's business interests, told her that he had decided
+to entrust them until his return to Mr. Reed. He knew her protector to
+be an honest man in whom she could place perfect confidence; still, he
+felt that it was not only proper, but necessary, to acquaint the girl
+with the extent of her resources and the condition of her affairs. After
+he had done this, he asked to see Mr. and Mrs. Reed. He recommended
+Mlle. de Mirandol to their care, and for the first time revealed the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span>
+fact that she was his betrothed. So at the moment of separation, he
+forced himself to render the pang of parting less bitter to her. The
+hope of approaching happiness did much to assuage Antoinette's grief,
+and Philip was scarcely gone before she began to forget the past in
+dreams of the future.</p>
+
+<p>The six weeks that followed Philip's departure were weeks of constant
+anxiety and alarm. Antoinette could not close her eyes to the perils
+that threatened Philip on every side. The reports that reached London in
+regard to the condition of affairs in Paris were not calculated to
+reassure her. She heard of the active surveillance exercised by the
+Committee of Public Safety, and of the terrible punishment inflicted
+upon those who were guilty of no crime save that of being regarded with
+suspicion. She was in constant fear lest some misfortune had happened to
+Philip. Every night and every morning she prayed for him. He was ever in
+her thoughts; and she was continually trying to divine where he was and
+what he was doing. Every day she looked eagerly for a letter which would
+relieve her anxiety, but in vain. No news came, and she was forced to be
+content with such rumors as Mr. Reed could collect for her in the city.</p>
+
+<p>On the twenty-second of October that good man did not return until
+unusually late in the evening. Antoinette was awaiting him, her heart
+oppressed by the gloomiest forebodings. When he entered the room she saw
+that he was greatly agitated.</p>
+
+<p>"You have heard bad news!" she exclaimed, wildly.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span></p><p>Mr. Reed did not attempt to deny it. He told Antoinette that the
+unfortunate queen of France had been put to death on the sixteenth, just
+six days before.</p>
+
+<p>"They have killed her!" exclaimed the horrified girl.</p>
+
+<p>She shuddered to think of Philip's probable fate. Since the queen was
+dead, the conspiracy which Philip had organized must have failed; and if
+it had failed, the conspirators had undoubtedly been discovered and
+arrested! This thought brought a deathlike pallor to her cheeks. Her
+friends saw her totter; they sprang forward to support her and she sank
+into their arms wild with anguish and despair.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me all!" she entreated.</p>
+
+<p>"Alas! I know so little," responded kind-hearted Mr. Reed. "The queen
+was sentenced on the sixteenth and beheaded the same day. Several
+persons are now in prison, charged with a conspiracy to rescue her and
+place her son upon the throne. I could learn nothing further."</p>
+
+<p>"That is enough!" she cried. "Philip is in prison!"</p>
+
+<p>She was silent a moment; then suddenly she said, in a firm voice:</p>
+
+<p>"I must start at once."</p>
+
+<p>The husband and wife uttered an exclamation of dismay.</p>
+
+<p>"Start, and why?" demanded Mr. Reed.</p>
+
+<p>"To join Philip."</p>
+
+<p>"But it is walking straight into the jaws of death!" said Mrs. Reed.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p><p>Antoinette only repeated even more firmly than before:</p>
+
+<p>"I must go at once!"</p>
+
+<p>Then she broke into a passion of sobbing. Mrs. Reed took her in her
+arms, dried her tears, and tried to reassure her, lavishing every
+endearment upon the unhappy girl.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear child," said she, "your lover confided you to our care; we
+cannot let you go. Besides, how do you know that your betrothed has not
+escaped the dangers you fear for him? He is young, strong and clever.
+Perhaps at this very moment he is on his way back to you."</p>
+
+<p>Antoinette made no reply; but she shook her head despondently, as if to
+give Mrs. Reed to understand that she had no hope. Still, she did not
+rebel against her guardian's decision. Mrs. Reed conducted her to her
+chamber, persuaded her to undress, and did not leave her until the girl
+had fallen asleep. But her slumber was of short duration. It was
+scarcely midnight when Antoinette awoke with a start from a frightful
+dream. Philip had appeared to her, his hands bound behind his back, his
+neck bare, his hair cut short. He was clad in the lugubrious garb of the
+condemned, and he called her name in a voice wild with entreaty.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! I will go&mdash;I will go to save him or to die with him!"</p>
+
+<p>This cry was upon her lips when she woke. She sprang up, hastily dressed
+herself, took the little money that chanced to be in her possession,
+and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> some or her jewels, and when the first gleam of daylight illumined
+the sky, animated by a saint-like courage, she furtively left the roof
+that had sheltered her for three long years. When Mrs. Reed entered the
+young girl's room a few hours later, she found only a letter apprising
+her of Antoinette's fixed determination to go to the rescue of her
+lover, and thanking her most gratefully for her care and love. Mr. Reed
+hastened to London, hoping to overtake the fugitive. Vain attempt! His
+search was fruitless. Antoinette had disappeared.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE MOVING CURTAIN.</h3>
+
+<p>Several months had passed since Dolores and Coursegol had taken up their
+abode in the house of Citizen Vauquelas. Coursegol, engrossed in the
+business matters which he had undertaken in concert with Vauquelas, went
+out every day, frequenting the Clubs, the Convention and the Palais
+&Eacute;galit&eacute;. Dolores, on the contrary, seldom left the refuge that chance
+had provided for her. If she sometimes ventured into the heart of the
+city, it was only to visit Cornelia Bridoul or to accompany her to a
+stealthily said mass, solemnized in an obscure chamber by some
+courageous priest who dared for conscience's sake to bid defiance to the
+Committee of Public Safety, and who would have paid the penalty of
+disobedience with his blood, had he been discovered.</p>
+
+<p>The life of Dolores was extremely lonely and sad. Deprived of companions
+of her own age, and oppressed with anxiety concerning the fate of those
+who were so dear to her, she grew pale and wan like a plant deprived of
+sunlight; the old joyous, sonorous ring was gone from her voice and from
+her laugh. She had suffered so much during the past three years that she
+no longer cherished any hope of happiness in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> future; and, instead
+of the bright dreams that are wont to gladden the slumber of young
+girls, sad memories of the past haunted her restless nights. Those whom
+she had loved and lost appeared before her as in a vision&mdash;the Marquise
+de Chamondrin, who had lavished upon her all a mother's care and
+tenderness; the Marquis, whose affection had filled her early years with
+joy; Philip and Antoinette, the brother and sister of her
+adoption&mdash;these appeared and vanished without awaking in her sorrowing
+heart any emotion save that of the profound anguish of separation. Look
+which way she would for comfort, she could find none; and she was
+condemned to bear her heavy burden alone. Those days of universal
+distrust were not propitious for the birth and development of new
+friendships; nor were Vauquelas and Coursegol such companions as Dolores
+needed to cheer and encourage her. During the few short hours that
+Coursegol spent at home, he was always absorbed in his calculations; and
+as for Vauquelas, though he treated her with rather cold respect, it was
+difficult to ascertain his real feelings toward her, for his furrowed
+face betrayed none of his impressions; and Dolores instinctively felt
+that she could not look to him for the consolation of which she stood so
+greatly in need. Her mornings were spent over the account-books, which
+had been entrusted to her charge; at noon, she partook of a solitary
+repast, and it was only at dinner that she saw Coursegol and her host.</p>
+
+<p>One stormy evening in October, she was sitting in her chamber, a room
+upon the first-floor, opening<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> into the garden by a glass door over
+which hung a heavy curtain. It was about nine o'clock. Vauquelas and
+Coursegol had gone out; the servants had retired, and Dolores was quite
+alone. Seated in a low chair before the fire, she was busying herself
+with her embroidery; but it was easy to see that her thoughts were not
+upon her work. She was brooding over the past and wondering in what
+quarter of the globe she might hope to find her lost friends.</p>
+
+<p>"What are they doing?" she wondered. "Are they thinking of me? Are they
+happy?"</p>
+
+<p>And as these questions suggested many others, she sank into a profound
+reverie.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly the wind gave a loud shriek without, and the branches of the
+trees in the garden creaked and groaned as the tempest buffeted them and
+tossed them to and fro. Dolores shivered, partly from fear, partly from
+nervousness. As she did so, another gust, more furious than the first,
+filled the air with its weird voices. It sounded like the roar of the
+angry sea. A cloud of dust entered through the glass door which was
+partially concealed by the heavy curtain. The light flickered, and the
+smoke poured out into the room from the fire-place. At the same time
+Dolores heard, or fancied she heard, a sound like that made by the
+closing of a door.</p>
+
+<p>"They have forgotten to shut that door," thought Dolores; and she rose
+to repair the omission, but suddenly paused, astonished and almost
+frightened. She saw the curtain move, not as if in obedience to the
+wind, but as if an invisible hand had shaken it.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span></p><p>"Heavens! there is some one behind the curtain!"</p>
+
+<p>That a robber should have effected an entrance into the house at that
+hour of the night was not at all impossible; and this was the first
+thought that entered her mind. She recollected, too, that Vauquelas and
+Coursegol had just gone out, that the servants were in bed and that she
+was to all intents and purposes alone in the house. The feminine mind is
+quick to take fright; and night and solitude increased the terror which
+is so easily aroused by a fevered imagination. Her usual courage
+deserted her; she turned pale and her lips quivered.</p>
+
+<p>"How foolish!" she said to herself, the next instant. "Who would think
+of entering here at such an hour? It must have been the wind. I will
+close the door."</p>
+
+<p>And struggling against the fear that had taken possession of her, she
+stepped quickly forward, but paused again. She could plainly discern a
+human form in the shadow behind the curtain.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! this is terrible!" she murmured, pressing her hand upon her heart.</p>
+
+<p>Then she said, in a trembling voice:</p>
+
+<p>"Who is there?"</p>
+
+<p>There was no response. Summoning all her courage, she made two steps
+forward, seized the curtain and lifted it. Leaning against the glass
+door, which was now firmly closed, stood a man. Dolores was so terrified
+that she dare not raise her eyes to his face.</p>
+
+<p>"Who are you?" she demanded.</p>
+
+<p>The words had scarcely left her lips when the man sprang forward,
+crying:</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p><p>"Dolores! Dolores!"</p>
+
+<p>"Philip!"</p>
+
+<p>Then, with a wild cry of rapturous delight, she flung herself in the
+arms of her lover from whom she had been parted three long weary years.
+They clung to each other a moment without uttering a word, completely
+overcome with emotion. It was Philip, but Philip grown older and
+thinner. His face was unshaven and his clothing disordered, and he was
+frightfully pale. When she saw the ravages time and suffering had made
+upon the face of the man she loved, Dolores burst into tears.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh Dolores!" sighed Philip, "have I really found you again after all
+these years!"</p>
+
+<p>She smiled and wept as he devoured her with his eyes, then stepped by
+him and after satisfying herself that the door was securely closed and
+locked, she lowered the curtain and led Philip to an arm chair near the
+fire.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you find me changed?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"You are even more beautiful now than in the past!"</p>
+
+<p>She blushed and turned away her face, then suddenly inquired: "How
+happens it you are here, Philip?"</p>
+
+<p>"I came to Paris with a party of noblemen to rescue the queen from the
+hands of her executioners. We failed; she died upon the guillotine. My
+companions were arrested; I alone succeeded in making my escape&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Then you are pursued&mdash;you are a fugitive. Perhaps they are even now
+upon your track!"</p>
+
+<p>"For a week I have been concealed in the house<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> of a kind-hearted man
+who had taken compassion on my misery. I hoped to remain there until I
+could find an opportunity to make my escape from Paris. Day before
+yesterday, he told me that he was suspected of sheltering some enemy of
+the nation, and that his house was liable to be searched at any moment
+by Robespierre's emissaries, and that I must flee at once if I did not
+desire to ruin him. I obeyed and since that time I have been wandering
+about the streets of Paris, hiding in obscure nooks, living like a dog,
+and not daring to ask aid of any one for fear I should be denounced.
+This evening, half-dead with hunger and cold, I was wondering if it
+would not be better to deliver myself up when, only a few steps from
+here, I met a man who was formerly in the employ of the Duke de
+Penthieore, and to whom I had once rendered an important service.
+Believing that he had not forgotten it, I approached him and told him
+who I was. The wretch cursed me, and tried to arrest me. The instinct of
+self-preservation lent me fresh strength. I struggled with him and
+knocked him down, and while he was calling for help, I ran across the
+unoccupied ground near the house. A low wall suddenly rose before me. I
+leaped over it, and found myself in this garden. I saw the light from
+your window; the door stood open. I entered and God has willed that the
+hours of agony through which I have just passed should lead me to you.
+Ah! now I can die. Now that I have seen you again, Dolores, I can die
+content!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why do you talk of dying?" exclaimed Dolores. "Since you are here, you
+are saved! You shall remain!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span></p><p>She paused suddenly, recollecting that the house was not hers; Philip
+noticed her hesitation.</p>
+
+<p>"Am I in your house?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"No; you are in the house of Citizen Vauquelas, Coursegol's business
+partner."</p>
+
+<p>"Vauquelas! How unfortunate!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because, unless there are two individuals by that name, the master of
+this house is the friend of Robespierre, and one of the men who aided in
+the discovery of the plot formed by my companions and myself for the
+rescue of the queen."</p>
+
+<p>Dolores uttered a cry and hid her face in her hands.</p>
+
+<p>"What shall we do?" she murmured.</p>
+
+<p>"Is not Coursegol here?"</p>
+
+<p>"He will not return until late at night."</p>
+
+<p>"He would have found some way to conceal me until to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>"I will conceal you in his room," said Dolores. "No one enters it but
+himself. I will await his return and tell him you are there."</p>
+
+<p>Philip approved this plan.</p>
+
+<p>"But you said just now that you were hungry;" exclaimed Dolores. "Ah!
+how unfortunate it is that the servants are in bed."</p>
+
+<p>She hastily left the room, and Philip, worn out with excitement, hunger
+and fatigue, remained in the arm chair in which Dolores had placed him.
+She soon returned, laden with bread, wine, and a piece of cold meat,
+which she had been fortunate enough to find in the kitchen. She placed
+these upon a small table,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> which she brought to Philip's side. Without a
+word, the latter began to eat and drink with the eagerness of a
+half-famished man. Dolores stood there watching him, her heart throbbing
+wildly with joy while tears of happiness gushed from her burning eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Soon Philip was himself again. The warmth and the nourishing food
+restored his strength. A slight color mounted to his cheeks, and a
+hopeful smile played upon his lips. Not until then, did Dolores venture
+to utter the name that had been uppermost in her thoughts for some
+moments.</p>
+
+<p>"You have told me nothing of Antoinette."</p>
+
+<p>This name reminded Philip of the sacred bond of which Dolores was
+ignorant, and which had never seemed to him so galling as now.</p>
+
+<p>"Antoinette!" he replied. "She is living near London in the care of some
+friends to whom I have confided her."</p>
+
+<p>"Is she your wife?" inquired Dolores, not daring to meet Philip's eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"No."</p>
+
+<p>"But your father's wishes&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"In pity, say no more!" interrupted Philip, "If I had not found you
+again, if I had had certain proofs that you were no longer alive, I
+might, perhaps, have married Antoinette, but now&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Now?"</p>
+
+<p>"She will never be my wife!"</p>
+
+<p>"Does she no longer love you?"</p>
+
+<p>Philip's head drooped. There was a long silence; suddenly he glanced up.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p><p>"Why should I conceal it from you longer, Dolores? I love you; I love
+you as I loved you in years gone by when I first dared to open my heart
+to you; and since that time, in spite of the barriers between us, I have
+never ceased to love you. Nor can our love be a sin in the sight of
+Heaven since it is God's providence, in spite of your will, that brings
+us together again to-day. And I swear that nothing shall separate us
+now!"</p>
+
+<p>Dolores had no strength to reply to such language, or to destroy the
+hopes which seemed even stronger now than in the past, and far more
+precious since three years of absence had not sufficed to extinguish
+them in the faithful and impassioned heart of her lover. Philip
+continued:</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! if I could but tell you how miserable I have been since we have
+been separated. My Dolores, did you not know when you left the ch&acirc;teau
+in which we had grown up together to offer as a sacrifice to God the
+love you shared, did you not know that you took away a part of myself
+with you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Stop!" she entreated, sinking into a chair and burying her face in her
+hands.</p>
+
+<p>But he would not listen.</p>
+
+<p>"Since that day," he continued, "my life has been wretched. In vain I
+have striven to drive from the heart which you refused to accept the
+memory of your grace and your beauty; in vain have I striven to listen
+with a complaisant ear to Antoinette, whom you commanded me to accept as
+my wife. Do you not see that this sacrifice is beyond my strength. I
+cannot do it&mdash;I love her as a sister, but you&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span></p><p>Dolores interrupted him. Suddenly quieted, and recalled to a
+recollection of duty by some mysterious inspiration, she rose, and in a
+gentle and firm voice said:</p>
+
+<p>"Philip, I must hear no more. I belong to God, and you, yourself, are no
+longer free. Antoinette&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Would you compel me to hate her?"</p>
+
+<p>The cry frightened Dolores and awakened in her heart a tender pity for
+the unfortunate man whom she adored, even while she wrung his soul with
+anguish.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah well! do not marry her," she replied, "if the union that your father
+desired is a greater sacrifice than you have strength to make; but do
+not hope that I shall ever be weak enough to yield to your entreaties.
+Whether you love her or whether you detest her, Antoinette will forever
+stand between us."</p>
+
+<p>On hearing these words, Philip sprang wildly to his feet, then sank back
+in his chair and, concealing his face in his hands, broke into
+passionate sob.</p>
+
+<p>The girl's powers of endurance were almost exhausted; but she still
+retained energy enough to attempt to put an end to this trying scene.</p>
+
+<p>"The hour when the master of the house usually returns is fast
+approaching," she resumed. "He must not find you here. I will take you
+to Coursegol's room; you will be safe there."</p>
+
+<p>But Philip would not heed her. He wept like a child, and, in a voice
+broken with sobs, he cried:</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, the sacrifice you demand is too much to ask of any human creature!
+God does not require it of us. If after creating us for each other it is
+His will that we should live forever apart and be eternally miserable<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span>,
+why has He united us to-night? Is not our meeting providential? Dolores,
+your decision cannot be irrevocable."</p>
+
+<p>It required all her courage and determination to repress the loving
+words that rose to her lips from her overflowing heart.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, Philip," she pleaded, striving to give a maternal tone to her
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>"But promise me&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah well! to-morrow,&mdash;&mdash;" she said, quietly, doing her best to calm him.</p>
+
+<p>She succeeded. Philip rose, ready to follow her. She had already taken a
+candle from the table when footsteps were heard in the adjoining room.</p>
+
+<p>"Good Heavens! it is Vauquelas! We are lost!"</p>
+
+<p>"He will not enter here, perhaps," whispered Philip.</p>
+
+<p>With a gesture, Dolores imposed silence: then she waited and listened,
+hoping that Vauquelas would pass on to his own room without pausing. Her
+hopes were not realized. Vauquelas rapped twice at the door.</p>
+
+<p>"May I come in, Citoyenne Dolores?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, I am in bed."</p>
+
+<p>"Get up quickly then, and open the door. A man was seen to leap over the
+wall that separates the garden from the street. He must be prowling
+about the house. They are in pursuit of him. The police are coming."</p>
+
+<p>"I am getting up," replied Dolores, anxious to gain time, and racking
+her brain to discover some means of escape for Philip.</p>
+
+<p>"The night is very dark," he whispered. "I will go into the garden and
+conceal myself there until the soldiers have searched the house and
+gone."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p><p>Dolores nodded her approval, and went on tip-toe to the glass door to
+open it and let Philip out. She turned the knob, softly opened the door,
+and stepped aside to let him pass. The next instant she uttered a cry of
+dismay, for she saw five members of the National Guard approaching the
+house, beating the shrubbery that bordered the path through which they
+were advancing with the butt ends of their muskets. She recoiled in
+horror, for before she could prevent it Philip stepped out and stood for
+an instant plainly visible in the light that streamed through the open
+door ere he perceived them. As soon as they saw him, they raised their
+guns and took aim.</p>
+
+<p>"Do not fire!" he exclaimed. "I surrender!"</p>
+
+<p>And he paused, awaiting their approach. At the same moment Vauquelas
+entered the room by the other door. Dolores cast a despairing look at
+Philip, then involuntarily stepped to his side as if to protect him.
+There was a moment's silence caused by surprise on the one side and
+terror on the other. Philip was filled with consternation not that his
+courage failed him, but because he was appalled by the thought of the
+danger in which he had involved Dolores.</p>
+
+<p>As for Vauquelas, he glanced from one to the other in evident anger and
+astonishment. The presence of the soldiers, and the thought of the
+suspicions to which he&mdash;ardent patriot though he was&mdash;might be exposed
+on account of this stranger's arrest in his house irritated him not a
+little. He was about to vent his wrath and indignation upon Philip when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span>
+the sergeant in command interposed, and addressing the young man, said,
+harshly;</p>
+
+<p>"What are you doing in this house, you rascal? Who are you?"</p>
+
+<p>Philip attempted to reply, but Vauquelas did not give him time.</p>
+
+<p>"Who is he?" he exclaimed. "It is easy to answer that question. Some
+enemy of the Republic, you may be sure, who has sought shelter in my
+house at the risk of compromising the honor of this young girl, and my
+reputation as well."</p>
+
+<p>Dolores trembled; then sacrificing, not without a terrible effort, her
+maidenly delicacy and modesty she said: "You are mistaken, Citizen
+Vauquelas. This man is my husband!"</p>
+
+<p>"Your husband! Are you married?"</p>
+
+<p>"I had a special reason for keeping the fact a secret from every one."</p>
+
+<p>"But Coursegol&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Even he is ignorant of it," answered Dolores, with downcast eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Married! married!" repeated Vauquelas mechanically, while Philip drew
+nearer to Dolores and, in a voice audible to her alone, murmured:</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! cruel one, had you uttered those words sooner, we should not be
+here now."</p>
+
+<p>Dolores made no response. She cast a beseeching look upon Vauquelas. At
+a word from him the soldiers would have departed; but he remembered the
+history of Dolores which Coursegol had confided to him, and he said to
+himself that the adopted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> daughter of the late Marquis de Chamondrin
+would not be likely to marry other than a nobleman, and that this
+nobleman must be an implacable enemy to the new order of things, and
+consequently one of those men whom the Committee of Public Safety were
+so relentlessly pursuing. That such a person should be found in his
+house augured ill for his patriotism and might cost him his influence
+over Robespierre, so it was necessary to strike a crushing blow if he
+wished to emerge from this ordeal unscathed.</p>
+
+<p>"Why have you concealed your marriage from me?" he inquired, turning to
+Dolores.</p>
+
+<p>"For purely personal reasons."</p>
+
+<p>"And why does your husband steal into my house like a robber, instead of
+entering by the door?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because we wished to keep our marriage a secret."</p>
+
+<p>"All this is not very clear," remarked the sergeant; then addressing
+Philip, he demanded:</p>
+
+<p>"What is your name, and from whence do you come?"</p>
+
+<p>And seeing Philip hesitate, the man continued:</p>
+
+<p>"The citizen and this young woman will follow us to the station-house.
+They can explain matters to the officials there; and if no blame
+attaches to them, they will be immediately set at liberty."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes, take them away," cried Vauquelas, glad of any decision that
+would remove the soldiers from his house.</p>
+
+<p>Then Dolores comprehended that the falsehood to which she had resorted
+had not only failed to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> save Philip but had probably cost her her own
+life. For herself, she did not care. She had long ago sacrificed for his
+sake that which was a thousand times dearer than life; and now her only
+regret was for him. But Philip would not accept the sacrifice. When he
+saw that both Dolores and himself were to be placed under arrest, he
+exclaimed:</p>
+
+<p>"This young girl has uttered a falsehood. She did it, probably, to save
+a stranger whom she would have forgotten in a few hours. I am not her
+husband, and that I have been found in her room is simply due to the
+fact that I took refuge here a few moments ago from a pursuer. I am the
+Marquis de Chamondrin. I am an &Eacute;migr&eacute; and a conspirator!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, he is lost! he is lost!" murmured Dolores.</p>
+
+<p>On hearing Philip's confession, Vauquelas sprang towards him, wild with
+rage.</p>
+
+<p>"You call yourself Philip de Chamondrin?" he demanded.</p>
+
+<p>"That is my name."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you are the adopted brother of this young girl, and if you, an
+&Eacute;migr&eacute; and a conspirator, are here, it can only be because she is your
+accomplice. Vile wretch! to make my house a rendezvous for the enemies
+of the Nation!"</p>
+
+<p>Anger crimsoned his cheeks and glittered in his eyes. He actually
+frothed with rage.</p>
+
+<p>"Arrest them! Arrest them both!" he exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>Philip, who had supposed he could save Dolores by the confession he had
+just made, could not repress a movement of wrath and despair.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span></p><p>"You will regret this, sir," he said, haughtily.</p>
+
+<p>"There could be no greater misfortune than to shelter aristocrats like
+you under my roof. I am a patriot; I love the Republic. France, first of
+all! Citizens, this is a dangerous man. This so-called nobleman has been
+plotting to save the queen and to place the little Capet upon the
+throne. As for this young woman, she is a viper who has repaid my
+hospitality with treachery. Take them away!&mdash;and so perish the enemies
+of the Nation!"</p>
+
+<p>He uttered these words with great energy and enthusiasm as if he wished
+to give convincing proofs of his patriotism. The soldiers were
+consulting together; presently they formed into two squads. One division
+took Dolores in charge; the other took Philip, and they were led away.
+It was then nearly eleven o'clock.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2>
+
+<h3>COURSEGOL'S EXPLOITS.</h3>
+
+<p>Coursegol returned home about midnight. In accordance with his usual
+custom he was passing through the lower hall without stopping on his way
+to his room on the floor above, when he heard some one call him. He
+recognized the voice of Vauquelas, but it seemed to proceed from the
+chamber occupied by Dolores. Surprised that the latter was not in bed at
+this late hour, and fearing she was ill, he hastily entered her room.
+Vauquelas was there alone, pale, nervous and excited. The girl's bed had
+not been disturbed. Her absence struck Coursegol at once.</p>
+
+<p>"Where is Dolores?" he asked, quickly.</p>
+
+<p>"Coursegol, why did you not tell me she was receiving Philip de
+Chamondrin here?" was his friend's only response.</p>
+
+<p>"She receiving M. Philip!" cried Coursegol, greatly astonished.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, here in my house; here in this chamber. They were discovered
+here."</p>
+
+<p>"Then M. Philip is still alive!"</p>
+
+<p>"Unfortunately for me, he is still alive."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean?" inquired Coursegol, who as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> yet understood but one
+thing&mdash;that his master was not dead.</p>
+
+<p>"I mean that Dolores, whom I received into my house at your request, has
+been sheltering here, at the risk of compromising and ruining me, Philip
+de Chamondrin, one of the prime movers in a conspiracy formed for the
+purpose of saving the widow Capet."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! I understand," murmured Coursegol, at once divining that Philip
+being pursued had taken refuge in the house of Vauquelas, and had found
+Dolores there. "Ah, well! citizen, the young man must not remain here.
+We will help him to make his escape and no one will be the wiser&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"It is too late!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"Both have been arrested; he, for conspiring against the government,
+she, as his accomplice."</p>
+
+<p>Coursegol uttered a terrible oath: then, turning to Vauquelas and
+seizing him by the collar, he cried:</p>
+
+<p>"It was you, wretch, who betrayed them!"</p>
+
+<p>"You are choking me!" groaned Vauquelas, breathless in Coursegol's
+violent grasp.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me where they are!" thundered Coursegol. "I must see them. Where
+are they?"</p>
+
+<p>"Release me," gasped Vauquelas.</p>
+
+<p>This time Coursegol obeyed; but he stood before Vauquelas, angry and
+menacing. The latter trembled. He had not foreseen that Coursegol would
+hold him accountable for the arrest of Philip and Dolores.</p>
+
+<p>"Explain and quickly!" cried Coursegol.</p>
+
+<p>"The soldiers came to the house in pursuit of young<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> Philip, who had
+taken refuge in this room. To save him, Dolores said she was his wife.
+Philip, fearing she would be compromised, denied her statement; and as
+their explanation did not seem sufficiently clear, they were both taken
+to prison."</p>
+
+<p>"Could you not have vouched for them&mdash;declared that they were friends of
+yours?"</p>
+
+<p>"I did all I could to save them," whined Vauquelas.</p>
+
+<p>"You lie! you lie! I tell you, you lie! It was you who betrayed them! I
+am sure of it. You trembled for your life, for your money. Woe be unto
+you!"</p>
+
+<p>And Coursegol accompanied those words with a gesture so menacing that
+Vauquelas, believing his last hour had come, fell on his knees begging
+for mercy. But Coursegol seemed pitiless.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor children! that death should overtake them just as Providence had
+united them. Wretch! fool! you were less merciful than destiny."</p>
+
+<p>"Have pity!"</p>
+
+<p>"Had you any pity on them? No! Ah well! you shall die!"</p>
+
+<p>And drawing from his pocket a dagger that he always carried with him,
+Coursegol raised it above the old man's head.</p>
+
+<p>"But if I promise to save them&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>The hand of Coursegol, raised to strike, fell.</p>
+
+<p>"You will save them! That is only another lie. How can you save them?
+The prisons of the Republic release their victims only to send them to
+the guillotine."</p>
+
+<p>"I will bribe the jailers to let them escape."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p><p>"The jailers are not the only masters: and who among them would expose
+himself to almost certain death for the sake of your money?"</p>
+
+<p>"Then I will do still better," replied Vauquelas. "I will bribe the
+judges of the Revolutionary Tribunal, and they will acquit your
+friends."</p>
+
+<p>"Useless! these judges will demand that the money shall be paid in
+advance! and as soon as they have it in their grasp, they will condemn
+the prisoners."</p>
+
+<p>"What can I do then?"</p>
+
+<p>"There is no help for the misfortune, and it is because you are the
+cause of it that I am going to wreak my vengeance upon you!"</p>
+
+<p>"Stop, stop! I will go to Robespierre."</p>
+
+<p>"He will refuse your petition."</p>
+
+<p>"No! my influence over him is all-powerful. I have means to compel him
+to grant my request."</p>
+
+<p>"Even when you ask for the release of one of the leaders of the
+conspiracy to save the queen?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; he will not refuse me."</p>
+
+<p>Coursegol reflected a moment. Vauquelas, still on his knees before him,
+looked up, trying to read his fate in the stern face above him.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen," said Coursegol at last. "I will spare your life on certain
+conditions. It depends upon yourself whether you are to live or die."</p>
+
+<p>"Name them. I will obey!" murmured Vauquelas, servilely, beginning to
+breathe freely once more.</p>
+
+<p>"To-morrow by sunset, I must receive from you a blank order signed by
+Robespierre which will enable me to obtain the release of two
+prisoners."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p><p>"You shall have it."</p>
+
+<p>"I also desire that Robespierre shall remain in ignorance of the names
+of the prisoners who are to be released."</p>
+
+<p>"He shall not know."</p>
+
+<p>"Under these conditions, your life is yours. Only do not attempt to
+deceive me. I know that it is in your power to obtain an order for my
+arrest and thus save yourself from the chastisement you so richly
+deserve."</p>
+
+<p>"Can you believe&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Vauquelas could not finish his sentence. He stammered and blushed,
+feeling that his most secret thoughts had been divined.</p>
+
+<p>"But to prevent that, it is here in this house that I shall await your
+return; and if to-morrow the soldiers, guided by you, come here to
+arrest me, they will find me in the cellar where your wealth is
+concealed; and it is I who will have the pleasure of initiating them
+into the secrets of your patriotic life."</p>
+
+<p>Vauquelas uttered an exclamation of mingled astonishment and dismay.</p>
+
+<p>"It is here," repeated Coursegol, "that I shall wait to receive from
+your hands the order of release that you have promised me. Now, it is
+for you to decide whether you will live or die."</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke, Coursegol pushed open the door leading to the cellar used
+by Vauquelas as the repository of his riches and disappeared. Vauquelas
+rose from his kneeling posture, filled with consternation by what he had
+just heard. The extremity to which he was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> reduced was a cruel one; he
+must bribe the incorruptible Robespierre. When he made the promise to
+Coursegol he did not intend to fulfil it: he intended to denounce him;
+but the shrewdness of his partner had placed him in a most embarrassing
+position. He was obliged to keep his promise, but he could do it only by
+compromising his influence and his reputation; and yet there was no help
+for it since Coursegol could ruin him by a single word. How much he
+regretted that the strength and vigor of his youth were now paralyzed by
+age. If he had been twenty years younger, how desperately he would have
+struggled with the man who had suddenly become a formidable enemy! What
+an effort he would have made to kill him and thus silence him forever.
+But such a plan was no longer feasible; nothing was left for him but
+submission. About an hour after Coursegol left him, he went to his room
+to obtain the rest of which he stood so greatly in need. He threw
+himself upon the bed; but sleep refused to come to his relief. At
+daybreak he was upon his feet once more. He wished, before leaving the
+house, to see Coursegol again. The latter had slept with his pistol in
+his hand, guarding the strong-box upon which his life as well as the
+lives of Dolores and Philip depended.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you the order?" inquired Coursegol.</p>
+
+<p>"I am going for it," responded Vauquelas, meekly.</p>
+
+<p>"Do not return without it if you wish to leave this place alive."</p>
+
+<p>Vauquelas hastily retired. Robespierre lived on the Rue Saint Honor&eacute;.
+Thither Vauquelas went,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> wondering under what form he should present his
+petition. The friendship existing between this celebrated man and
+himself was lively and profound. It had its origin in former relations,
+in services mutually rendered, and in common interests, but so far as
+Robespierre was concerned, he would never allow friendship to conflict
+with what he considered his duty. Even in his most cruel decisions, he
+was honest and sincere. He was deeply impressed with a sense of his
+responsibility and no consideration foreign to what he regarded as the
+welfare of the Nation could move him. He never granted a pardon; he
+never allowed his heart to be touched with compassion; and when one
+reads his history, it is hard to decide which is most horrible, the acts
+of his life or the spirit of fanaticism that inspired them. Vauquelas
+understood the character of the man with whom he had to deal, and felt
+that there was no hope of exciting Robespierre's pity by the recital of
+the misfortunes of Philip and Dolores, or by an explanation of the
+embarrassing position in which he found himself; so he finally decided
+to resort to strategy to obtain what he desired.</p>
+
+<p>When he reached the house, he found that Robespierre had just gone out.
+Vauquelas did not seem at all annoyed. He entered the office&mdash;that dread
+place from which emanated those accusations that carried death and
+despair to so many households. The visitor was well-known to the
+servants of the household and he was permitted to roam about at will. As
+he declared his intention of awaiting <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span>Robespierre's return, the servant
+who ushered him into the room withdrew, leaving him quite alone. He
+hastened to Robespierre's desk and began rummaging among the papers with
+which it was strewn, keeping one eye all the while upon the door lest
+some one should enter and detect him. There were intended orders, lists
+of proscriptions, documents and reports from the provinces, as well as
+police reports, but Vauquelas paid no attention to these. He continued
+his search until Robespierre's signature on the bottom of a blank sheet
+of paper met his eyes, and drew from him an exclamation of joy.</p>
+
+<p>This sheet was the last belonging to a police report which had been
+approved by the committee, and the only one upon which the clerk to whom
+the copying of the document had been entrusted had as yet written
+nothing. It was upon this sheet that Robespierre had placed his
+signature. His name, written by his own hand and ornamented with the
+flourish which he always appended to his signature, lay upon the
+immaculate whiteness of the paper like a blood stain. Without the
+slightest hesitation, Vauquelas tore this precious page loose from the
+others; then in a feigned hand he wrote these words "Permission to leave
+the prison is hereby granted to the man and woman bearing this order."
+These lines written above the signature transformed the paper into the
+safe-conduct which Coursegol had demanded. Greatly agitated by the
+audacious act he had just accomplished, Vauquelas placed the document he
+had fabricated in his pocket, hid the mutilated report in the bottom of
+a desk<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> drawer under a pile of memorandum books; then, after giving his
+agitation time to subside, he left the house, lingering a moment to chat
+with those on guard at the door, and remarking as he left them:</p>
+
+<p>"I have not time to wait just now; I will call again."</p>
+
+<p>But as soon as he had gained the street he quickened his pace, as if
+fearing pursuit. On reaching home he hastened to the cellar and,
+addressing Coursegol who had not once quitted his post, he said:</p>
+
+<p>"Here is what you desired. Go!"</p>
+
+<p>Coursegol took the paper without a word, scrutinized it closely to
+convince himself that the signature was genuine: then satisfied with his
+examination he replied:</p>
+
+<p>"I am going with the hope that I shall be able to save Dolores and
+Philip; but do not consider yourself forgiven for the injury you have
+done them. Remember this; if my efforts fail and any harm befalls them
+it is on you that my vengeance will fall."</p>
+
+<p>He rose to go; then changing his mind, he added:</p>
+
+<p>"For six months we have worked together, and as I shall probably need a
+good deal of money to carry this undertaking to a successful
+termination, I wish you to give me my share of the profits."</p>
+
+<p>"Make your own estimate," replied Vauquelas, who was too thoroughly
+frightened to haggle as to terms.</p>
+
+<p>"Give me fifty thousand francs; half in gold, half in assignats."</p>
+
+<p>Vauquelas breathed a sigh of relief. He had feared that Coursegol would
+demand an amount ten times as large. He counted out fifty thousand
+francs. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span>Coursegol put the assignats in his pocket, and secreted the
+gold in a leather belt he wore; then without another word, he started in
+quest of Philip and Dolores.</p>
+
+<p>How could he reach them? He must first discover where they were. Prisons
+were very numerous in those days. There were the Luxembourg, the Abbaye,
+the Force, the Carmes, the Madelonnettes, Saint-Lazare and many others.
+In which of them were Philip and Dolores immured? Had they been sent to
+the same prison or had they been separated? Vauquelas had been unable to
+furnish any information on this subject, and Coursegol could only
+conjecture. He repaired immediately to the house of the Bridouls, where
+he made arrangements to remain for a time. He apprised these tried
+friends of the events that had occurred since the evening before.
+Cornelia could not restrain her tears when she heard that her young
+friend was in prison. As for Bridoul, he soon decided upon the course to
+be pursued. In most of the prisons there were many persons charged with
+no particular offence. It was not at all probable that they would ever
+be brought to trial, and, in spite of the surveillance to which they
+were subjected, they enjoyed comparative freedom. They were not
+absolutely forbidden to hold communication with the world outside, and
+if they possessed pecuniary resources it was possible for them to
+purchase the good-will of the jailers and to obtain permission to
+receive letters, food and even visits from their friends. It may have
+been that the number of prisons and of prisoners prevented the
+maintenance of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> very severe discipline; it may have been that the
+Committee of Public Safety, having decided to execute all convicted
+prisoners, did not desire to exercise a too rigid surveillance. However
+this may have been, many of the prisoners were in daily communication
+with the outer world. Wives and children obtained permission to visit
+their husbands and fathers without much difficulty; and there had been
+established, for the convenience of the prisoners, a corps of regularly
+appointed messengers who came and went at all hours of the day on
+condition that they paid the jailers a certain percentage on their
+earnings. Coursegol was ignorant of these details, but Bridoul
+acquainted him with them.</p>
+
+<p>"One of these messengers is a friend of mine," added Bridoul, "and for a
+fair compensation, he will consent to take you with him as his
+assistant. In his company, you can visit the different prisons without
+the slightest danger."</p>
+
+<p>This plan delighted Coursegol. That same evening they made the desired
+arrangement with the man of whom Bridoul had spoken. The next day, he
+began his search, and three days later he ascertained that Dolores was
+confined in the Conciergerie and Philip in the Madelonnettes.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE CONCIERGERIE.</h3>
+
+<p>After their arrest Philip and Dolores were taken to the nearest
+station-house and ushered into a room where three persons, arrested like
+themselves during the evening, were awaiting examination. Unfortunately
+the official charged with conducting these investigations had already
+gone home. As he would not return until the next morning, the sergeant
+of police decided that the prisoners must pass the night there. Some
+mattresses were spread upon the floor for those who chose to use them.
+Dolores refused to lie down. She seated herself in a broken-down arm
+chair which Philip obtained for her, not without considerable
+difficulty, and declared that she would spend the night there. Philip
+placed himself on a stool at her feet and thus they waited the break of
+day.</p>
+
+<p>Their companions were stretched upon their couches fast asleep, and the
+night, which promised to be heavy with cruel wakefulness and fatigue,
+passed like some delightful dream.</p>
+
+<p>They could not close their eyes to the fate that was in store for them.
+Philip had plotted to save the queen; he had returned from his refuge in
+foreign lands solely for this purpose. By sheltering him, Dolores<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> had
+become his accomplice. Such crimes would meet with, no indulgence. In
+the morning they would be interrogated by an official, whose mind had
+been poisoned against them in advance, and who would show no mercy to
+their youth. Accused of desiring the overthrow of the Republic and the
+return of the Bourbons, they would be sent to prison, taken from their
+cells to the Revolutionary Tribunal, and condemned to the guillotine.
+Such was the summary mode of procedure during the Reign of Terror. To
+hope that any exception would be made in their case was folly. All that
+was left for them, therefore, was to prepare to die. If the prospect of
+such a fate brought the tears to their eyes at first, it was not because
+either of them was wanting in courage. No, it was only for the fate that
+was to befall the other that each wept. But when they had talked
+together, and learned that they were mutually resigned, their sorrow was
+appeased; and as if their sentence had already been pronounced, they
+thought only of making their last hours on earth pass as calmly and
+sweetly as possible.</p>
+
+<p>"Why should I fear to die?" said Dolores, when Philip tried to encourage
+her by hopes in which he himself had not the slightest confidence.
+"Death has terrors only for those who leave some loved one behind them;
+but when I am gone, who will be left to mourn for me? Antoinette? Have I
+not for a long time been the same as dead to her? I can leave the world
+without creating a void in any heart, without causing any one a pang.
+Hence<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> I can, without regret, go to seek the eternal rest for which I
+have sighed so long."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you truly longed for death?" asked Philip.</p>
+
+<p>"I have seen so many loved ones fall around me," replied Dolores, "my
+eyes have witnessed so many sorrows, I have suffered so much, and my
+life since my happy childhood has been so unspeakably lonely and sad
+that I have often and often entreated God to recall me to Himself."</p>
+
+<p>"But, Dolores, if you had only listened to me when I pleaded in vain, if
+you had but placed your hand in mine, what misery we should have been
+spared."</p>
+
+<p>"It would not have averted our misfortunes."</p>
+
+<p>"No; but we might have borne them together, and after our sorrows found
+consolation in each other."</p>
+
+<p>"I could not be your wife."</p>
+
+<p>"Is it true, then, that you do not love me?"</p>
+
+<p>Dolores made no answer. Emboldened by the solemn calmness of these
+moments which were, as they supposed, ushering them into eternity,
+Philip continued:</p>
+
+<p>"Whenever I pressed my suit, you pleaded my father's wishes as an excuse
+for not listening to my prayers. To gratify a foolish ambition he
+desired me to marry Antoinette. Ah, well! my father's will no longer
+stands between us; and the engagement that binds me to her is broken by
+the changed situation in which we find ourselves. We are free now in the
+shadow of death. Will you not tell me the truth? Will you not open your
+heart to me as I have opened mine to you?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span></p><p>Dolores listened, her glowing eyes riveted upon Philip's face, her
+bosom heaving with emotion. The words; "We are free now in the shadow of
+death," rang in her ears. She felt that she could not refuse her lover
+the last joy and consolation that he claimed; and that she, whose past
+had been one long sacrifice of her happiness and of her hopes, had a
+right to reveal the secret so long buried in her soul. Gently, almost
+solemnly, these words fell from her lips:</p>
+
+<p>"Listen, Philip, since you ask me for the truth, now, at this supreme
+hour, I have always loved you as I love you now; and I love you now as
+ardently as I am beloved!"</p>
+
+<p>There was so much tenderness in her manner that Philip sprang up, his
+eyes sparkling with rapture.</p>
+
+<p>"And this is the avowal you have refused to make for five long years!"
+he cried. "I knew that my love was returned. You have confessed it; and
+if I were compelled to give my life in exchange for the happiness of
+hearing this from your lips, I should not think that I paid too dearly
+for it. But you have restored my energy and my courage. I feel strong
+enough, now, to defy the whole world in a struggle for the felicity that
+is rightfully ours. We shall live, Dolores, to belong to each other, to
+comfort each other."</p>
+
+<p>"Do not, I entreat you, ask me to live," exclaimed Dolores, "since the
+certainty of death alone decided me to speak."</p>
+
+<p>"But," pleaded Philip, "if I should succeed in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> rescuing you from the
+peril that surrounds us, would you be more rigorous than destiny? Would
+you not feel that God smiled upon our love, and that it was He who had
+mercifully united us again?"</p>
+
+<p>"Philip! Philip!" murmured Dolores. She could say no more, but yielding
+at last to the sweet power of the love against which she had struggled
+so long, she laid her weary head upon the heart that worshipped her with
+such a tender and all-absorbing passion.</p>
+
+<p>It was nine o'clock in the morning when the officer who was to conduct
+the examination made his appearance. The expectations of Philip and
+Dolores were realized. He questioned them hastily, listened to the
+report of the sergeant who had arrested them, took a few notes, then
+ordered the culprits to be sent, one to the Conciergerie, the other to
+the Madelonnettes.</p>
+
+<p>"Can we not be together?" asked Philip, filled with dismay by the
+prospect of a separation.</p>
+
+<p>"The Committee will decide. For the present, I shall be obliged to
+separate you" was the officer's reply.</p>
+
+<p>Philip approached Dolores.</p>
+
+<p>"Do not lose courage," he whispered. "I shall soon rejoin you."</p>
+
+<p>Dolores was to be taken to the Conciergerie.</p>
+
+<p>Several gendarmes formed her escort. At her request, one of them sent
+for a carriage. She entered it and her guards seated themselves opposite
+her and on the box with the driver. To reach the Conciergerie, they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span>
+were obliged to pass the Palais de Justice. Upon the steps of the
+palace, not far from the prison, was a crowd of women that assembled
+there every day to witness the departure of the prisoners who were
+condemned to death. They saw Dolores when she alighted from the
+carriage, and immediately began to clap their hands and utter shrill
+cries of delight. She was compelled to pass through a storm of hisses,
+gibes and insults in making her way to the prison; and it was not
+without considerable difficulty that the men acting as her escort
+protected her from the infuriated throng. At last the dread door opened
+before her. She was ushered into the office, a small room where the
+prison register was kept. Her full name and age were recorded by the
+clerk, and she was then placed in charge of one of the jailers, who was
+ordered to find accommodations for her in that part of the prison over
+which he had jurisdiction.</p>
+
+<p>"I have two favors to ask of you," Dolores said to this man, whose
+benevolent face inspired her with confidence.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you desire, citoyenne?"</p>
+
+<p>"First, to have a cell to myself, if possible. I will pay for it."</p>
+
+<p>"That will be a difficult matter; but I think I can arrange it. And what
+else?"</p>
+
+<p>"I wish to send a letter to a person who is very dear to me."</p>
+
+<p>"His name?"</p>
+
+<p>"Coursegol. He lives at the house of Citizen Vauquelas, where I was
+living myself when I was arrested<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> in his absence. You may see the
+contents of the letter and assure yourself that it contains nothing
+objectionable."</p>
+
+<p>"Very well," replied the jailer, moved with compassion by the
+misfortunes of this beautiful young girl. "I will conduct you to a cell
+where you will be alone, and where you will have an opportunity to write
+your letter."</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke, he led Dolores to a small room on the second floor, lighted
+by a grated window, opening upon the court-yard.</p>
+
+<p>"You can remain here as long as you like. No one shall come to trouble
+you. Meals are served in the refectory, unless a prisoner desires them
+in his own apartment, at a charge of six francs per day."</p>
+
+<p>"I shall have no money until the letter I am about to write reaches its
+destination," said Dolores. "It took all I had to pay for the carriage
+that brought me here."</p>
+
+<p>"I will give you credit," replied the jailer. "No no; do not thank me.
+It always pays to be accommodating. I will now go for pen, ink and
+paper."</p>
+
+<p>The worthy man withdrew but soon returned, bringing the desired
+articles. Dolores wrote a hasty note to Coursegol, informing him of her
+arrest and that of Philip, and begging him to send her some money at
+once. The jailer promised that the letter should be delivered some time
+during the day. Then he departed. Dolores, left in solitude, fell upon
+her knees and prayed for Philip. She had never loved him so fondly as
+now; and the misfortune that had befallen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> her would have been nothing
+had it been alleviated by the joy of knowing that her lover was near
+her.</p>
+
+<p>She spent the day alone, and she was really surprised at her own
+calmness. Comforted by the immortal hopes that are ever awakened in the
+Christian's soul by the prospect of death, and elevated to an ideal
+world by the exciting events of the previous evening and by the eloquent
+confession of Philip, as well as by her own, life seemed despicable,
+unworthy of her; and she felt that she could leave it without a regret.
+Toward evening, the jailer returned. He brought back the letter she had
+given him. Coursegol could not be found; he was no longer with
+Vauquelas, and the latter knew nothing of his whereabouts.</p>
+
+<p>This news brought Dolores back to the stern reality of her situation.
+She feared that Coursegol had excited the anger of Vauquelas by his
+threats, and that he had drawn down some misfortune upon himself.
+Moreover, the disappearance of her protector cut off her pecuniary
+resources; and as the prisoners could not obtain the slightest favor
+without the aid of gold, she was deprived of the means to alleviate the
+hardships of her lot. The jailer pitied her distress.</p>
+
+<p>"Do not worry, citoyenne," he said to Dolores. "You shall have your
+meals here, and you shall not be disturbed. By and by, you will be able
+to compensate me for my services."</p>
+
+<p>Grateful for this unexpected kindness, Dolores removed a small cross set
+with diamonds which she wore about her neck, and, offering it to the
+jailer, said:</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span></p><p>"Accept this as security for the expense that I shall cause you. If I
+die, you can keep it; if I live, I will redeem it."</p>
+
+<p>The man refused at first; but the girl's entreaties conquered his
+scruples, and he finally accepted it.</p>
+
+<p>"What is your name?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"I am called Aubry. You will find me ever ready to serve you,
+citoyenne."</p>
+
+<p>Such were the incidents that marked our heroine's arrival at the
+Conciergerie. This first day in prison passed slowly. She did not leave
+her cell, but toward evening Aubry brought up two dishes which were as
+unpleasing to the taste as to the eye. As he placed them before her and
+saw the movement of disgust which Dolores could not repress, Aubry was
+almost ashamed of the meagre fare.</p>
+
+<p>"Things here are not as they were in your ch&acirc;teau," he remarked, rather
+tartly.</p>
+
+<p>"No matter, my good Aubry, I am content;" responded Dolores, pleasantly.</p>
+
+<p>She ate the food, however, for she had fasted since the evening before;
+then, drawing the table to the wall pierced by the small, high window,
+she mounted it to obtain a few breaths of fresh air. She opened the
+sash; the breeze came in through the heavy bars, but Dolores could only
+catch a glimpse of the gray sky already overcast by the mists of
+evening.</p>
+
+<p>An hour later, Dolores was sleeping calmly; and the next morning, as if
+to render her first awakening in prison less gloomy, a bright sunbeam
+peeped in to salute her.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span></p><p>When Aubry entered about ten o'clock with her breakfast, she was
+walking about her cell.</p>
+
+<p>"Citoyenne," he began; "I must tell you that as I was leaving the
+prison, this morning, I met a man who inquired if I had seen, among the
+prisoners, a pretty young girl with golden hair and dark eyes. The
+description corresponded with you in every particular."</p>
+
+<p>"Describe the man," said Dolores, eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>"He was very tall; he had gray hair, and he seemed to be in great
+trouble."</p>
+
+<p>"It was Coursegol&mdash;the person for whom my letter was intended. Shall you
+see him again?"</p>
+
+<p>"His evident distress excited my pity, and I promised to aid him in his
+search. He agreed to come to the office at ten o'clock this morning,
+ostensibly to seek employment in the prison; and I promised to make some
+excuse for taking you there at the same hour, so you can see each other;
+but you are not to exchange a word or even a sign of recognition."</p>
+
+<p>So in a few moments Dolores found herself face to face with Coursegol.
+Of course, they did not attempt to exchange a single word: but, by a
+look, Coursegol made her understand that he was employing every effort
+to effect her deliverance; and she returned to her cell cheered by the
+thought that a devoted heart was watching over her and over Philip. The
+next day, when she was least expecting it, the door opened and Coursegol
+entered.</p>
+
+<p>"I have taken Aubry's place to-day," he remarked.</p>
+
+<p>Dolores sprang towards him, and he clasped her in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> his arms. They had
+been separated only three days, but those three days had seemed a
+century to both.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you seen Philip?" inquired Dolores.</p>
+
+<p>"I saw him yesterday, after leaving here, my child."</p>
+
+<p>"Is he still in the Madelonnettes?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; but next week he will be brought here."</p>
+
+<p>Nothing could have afforded Dolores greater pleasure than this
+intelligence; and she gratefully thanked the protector whose devotion
+thus alleviated the hardships of her lot; then he told her what had
+occurred since her arrest, and how he had compelled Vauquelas to obtain
+an order for the release of those he had betrayed.</p>
+
+<p>"This order is now in my possession," he continued; "but it cannot be
+used until Philip is an inmate of the same prison in which you are
+confined. He will be here in a few days and then you can both make your
+escape. In the meantime I will make all the necessary arrangements to
+enable you to leave Paris as soon as you are set at liberty."</p>
+
+<p>This interview, which lasted nearly an hour, literally transformed
+Dolores. For the first time in many years she allowed herself to
+contemplate the possibility of happiness here below; and the grave and
+solemn thoughts that had been occupying her mind gave place to bright
+anticipations of a blissful future with Philip.</p>
+
+<p>For the first time since her arrival at the Conciergerie, she went down
+into the public hall. This hall was separated only by an iron grating
+from the long and narrow corridor upon which the cells assigned to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> the
+men opened, and in which they spent most of their time. It was against
+this grating that they leaned when they wished to converse with their
+lady friends; and, during the day, it not unfrequently happened that the
+doors were left open, and prisoners of both sexes were allowed to mingle
+together. Then, ladies and gentlemen promenaded gayly to and fro;
+acquaintances exchanged greetings; and handsome men and beautiful women
+chatted as blithely as if they were in their elegant drawing-rooms.</p>
+
+<p>The ancient nobility of France thus entered its protest against the
+persecutions of which it was the victim, and convinced even its
+bitterest enemies that it was not lacking in spirit and in courage in
+the very jaws of death. All the historians who have attempted a
+description of the prison life of that time unite in declaring that
+contempt of death was never evinced more forcibly than by the victims of
+that bloody epoch.</p>
+
+<p>The ladies displayed habits of luxury that were worthy of the days of
+the Regency. In the morning they generally appeared in bewitching
+n&eacute;glig&eacute;s; in the afternoon they made more careful and elegant toilettes,
+and when evening came they donned the costly, trailing robes which they
+had worn at Court, only a few short weeks before. Those who, by the
+circumstances attendant upon their arrest, had been prevented from
+bringing a varied assortment of dresses with them, expended any amount
+of energy and ingenuity in their attempts to rival their more fortunate
+companions in the splendor of their costumes. Hence, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> prison
+resembled a ball-room rather than an antechamber of death. The ladies
+were coquettish and bewitching; the men were gallant and impassioned;
+and more than one love was born in those days of alternate hope and
+terror&mdash;more than one love whose ardor was not impaired by fears for the
+morrow, and whose delights sweetened the last hours of those who shared
+it. There was, of course, little real enjoyment or happiness in those
+clays which were constantly disturbed by the arrival of new victims. One
+came mourning for her children; another, for her husband. At intervals,
+the jailer appeared to summon those condemned to die. Heart-rending
+shrieks and despairing farewells attended these separations; the
+executioner led away his victims, and all was over. Those who remained
+filled up the ranks, and, looking at one another with an anguish that
+deprived them of none of their courage, whispered:</p>
+
+<p>"Who of us will die to-morrow?"</p>
+
+<p>But a secret flame burned in every heart, imparting strength to the weak
+and resignation to the strong. Cowardice was as rare as voluntary
+sacrifice was common; and that which rendered the sight of such
+fortitude and courage in the presence of danger still more touching, was
+the tender sympathy that united all the prisoners, without regard to
+former differences in social position.</p>
+
+<p>It was about two o'clock in the afternoon when Dolores, reassured by her
+interview with Coursegol, made her appearance in the hall frequented by
+the inmates of the prison. More than a hundred persons<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> had gathered
+there. They were now scattered about in little groups; and the
+conversation was very animated. Here sat an ancient dowager, delighting
+some gentlemen with piquant anecdotes of the Court of Louis XV.; there,
+stood a jovial priest, composing rhymes for the amusement of a
+half-dozen young girls; at a little distance were several statesmen,
+earnestly discussing the recent acts of the Convention&mdash;all doing their
+best to kill time, as travellers detained at some wayside inn strive to
+divert one another, while they wait for the sunshine that will enable
+them to pursue their journey.</p>
+
+<p>Dolores was not remarked at first among the crowd of prisoners. Each day
+brought so many new faces there that one more unfortunate excited little
+comment. But soon this young girl, who seemed to be entirely alone, and
+who gazed half-timidly, half-curiously, at the scene before her,
+attracted the attention of several prisoners. A woman, endowed with such
+rare loveliness of form and feature as Nature had bestowed upon Dolores,
+cannot long remain unnoticed. Her golden hair lay in soft rings upon her
+smooth, open brow, and drooped in heavy braids upon her white neck. Her
+dark brown dress and the little fichu knotted at the waist behind, were
+very simple in texture and in make; but she wore them with such grace,
+and there was such an air of elegance and distinction in her bearing,
+that she soon became an object of general curiosity.</p>
+
+<p>"What! So young, so beautiful, and in prison!" said one.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span></p><p>"Youth and beauty do not soften the hearts of tigers!" another replied.</p>
+
+<p>A murmur of pity was heard as she passed, and some young men placed
+themselves in her path in order to obtain a closer look at her. Not
+until then did she note the sensation she had created. She became
+embarrassed, and took a step backward as if to retire; but, at that very
+moment, a lady, still young, in spite of the premature whiteness of her
+locks, approached her and said:</p>
+
+<p>"Why do you draw back, my child? Do we frighten you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, madame," replied Dolores; "but I am a stranger, and, finding,
+myself alone among so many, I thought to retire to my own cell; but I
+will gladly remain if you will act as my protectress."</p>
+
+<p>"Take my arm, my dear. I will present you to my friends here. I am the
+Marquise de Beaufort. And you?"</p>
+
+<p>"My name is Dolores. I have neither father nor mother. The Marquis de
+Chamondrin adopted me; and I was reared in his house as his own
+daughter."</p>
+
+<p>"The Marquis de Chamondrin? Why! his son Philip&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"My adopted brother! You know him, madame?"</p>
+
+<p>"He is one of my friends and often came to my salon&mdash;when I had a
+salon," added the Marquise, smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"Philip emigrated," remarked Dolores, "but unfortunately, he recently
+returned to France. He, with several other gentlemen, attempted to save
+the queen.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> He was with me, yesterday, when we were arrested; he, as an
+&Eacute;migr&eacute;; I, for giving him shelter."</p>
+
+<p>This short explanation sufficed to awaken the liveliest sympathy among
+her listeners. She was immediately surrounded and respectfully entreated
+to accept certain comforts and delicacies that those who had money were
+allowed to purchase for themselves. She refused these proffered
+kindnesses; but remained until evening beside the Marquise de Beaufort,
+who seemed to take an almost motherly interest in the young girl.</p>
+
+<p>The days that followed were in no way remarkable; but Dolores was deeply
+affected by scenes which no longer moved her companions. Every evening a
+man entered, called several persons by name and handed them a folded
+paper, a badly written and often illegible scrawl in which not even the
+spelling of the names was correct, and which, consequently, not
+unfrequently failed to reach the one for whom it was intended. This was
+an act of accusation. The person who received it was allowed no time to
+prepare his defence, but was compelled to appear before the
+Revolutionary Tribunal the following day, and on that day or the next,
+he was usually led forth to die.</p>
+
+<p>How many innocent persons Dolores saw leave the prison never to return!
+But the victims, whatever might be their age or sex, displayed the same
+fortitude, courage and firmness. They met their doom with such proud
+audacity that those who survived them, but who well knew that the same
+fate awaited them, in their turn, watched them depart with sad, but not
+despairing, eyes.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span></p><p>These scenes, of which she was an almost hourly witness, strengthened
+the soul of Dolores and increased her distaste for life and her scorn of
+death. Still, she experienced a feeling of profound sorrow when, on the
+morning of the ninth day of her captivity, she was obliged to bid
+farewell to the Marquise de Beaufort, who, in company with the former
+abbess of the Convent of Bellecombe, in Auvergne, and a venerable
+priest, had been summoned before the Tribunal. They were absent scarcely
+three hours; they returned, condemned. Their execution was to take place
+that same day at sunset. They spent the time that remained, in prayer;
+and Dolores, kneeling beside them, wept bitterly.</p>
+
+<p>"Do not mourn, my dear child," said the Marquise, tenderly. "I die
+without regret. There was nothing left me here on earth. I have lost my
+husband, my son&mdash;all who were dear to me. I am going to rejoin them. I
+could ask no greater happiness."</p>
+
+<p>She spoke thus as she obeyed the call of the executioner, who summoned
+her and her companions to array themselves for their final journey. When
+her toilet was completed, she knelt before the aged priest.</p>
+
+<p>"Bless me, my father!" said she.</p>
+
+<p>And the priest, who was to die with her, extended his hands and blessed
+her. When she rose, her face was radiant. She took Dolores in her arms.</p>
+
+<p>"Farewell, my child;" she said, tenderly. "You are young. I hope you
+will escape the fury of these misguided wretches. Pray for me!"</p>
+
+<p>And as the prisoners crowded around her with outstretched hands, she
+cried, cheerfully:</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span></p><p>"Au revoir, my friends, au revoir!"</p>
+
+<p>She was led away. Just as she was disappearing from sight, she turned
+once more and sent Dolores a last supreme farewell in a smile and kiss.
+Then, in a clear, strong voice, that rang out like a song of victory,
+she cried:</p>
+
+<p>"Vive le Roi!"</p>
+
+<p>The very next day Dolores saw two young men led out to die. Their
+bearing was no less brave than that of the Marquise. They were not
+royalists. They died accused of Mod&eacute;rantisme, that frightful word with
+which the revolution sealed the doom of so many of its most devoted
+children. The Marquise de Beaufort had cried: "Vive le Roi!" They cried:</p>
+
+<p>"Vive la R&eacute;publique!"</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2>
+
+<h3>ANTOINETTE DE MIRANDOL.</h3>
+
+<p>A fortnight had elapsed since Dolores first entered the Conciergerie. In
+the many trying experiences through which she had been obliged to pass,
+she had been sustained by the hope of a speedy meeting with Philip. She
+dare not believe that Coursegol's efforts, or even the order of release
+which he had obtained through Vauquelas, could save them; but it seemed
+to her if she could only see her lover once more before she died, she
+could mount the scaffold without a regret.</p>
+
+<p>One morning, on entering the public hall, she saw Coursegol behind the
+grating in the corridor. She hastened to him, and he whispered through
+the bars that Philip was to be brought to the Conciergerie the next day.
+Dolores was overcome with joy at this news.</p>
+
+<p>"As soon as M. Philip arrives here," added Coursegol; "we will arrange
+to make use of the order of release and to remove you from prison."</p>
+
+<p>"Will that be possible?" inquired Dolores.</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly. All prisoners who are set at liberty are released by order
+of the Committee; and the order given me by Vauquelas is a fac-simile of
+those always used."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p><p>"With this difference, however: the names of those to be released have
+not yet been inserted," objected Dolores.</p>
+
+<p>"What of that?" exclaimed Coursegol, "I will insert the names myself,
+and then the order will be in favor of citoyen and citoyenne
+Chamondrin."</p>
+
+<p>"But if we should succeed in escaping from this prison, Coursegol, where
+shall we go?"</p>
+
+<p>"To Bridoul's at first, where you will be safe for at least twenty-four
+hours. From there I shall conduct you to a cottage in the Forest of
+Ch&eacute;vreuse, some little distance from Versailles. The place is almost a
+wilderness; no one will ever think of looking for us there."</p>
+
+<p>Coursegol's words made a deep impression upon the girl's mind. After
+resigning herself to an eternal separation from the object of her love;
+after trampling her own heart and all her hopes of happiness under foot,
+and just as her peace, her future, her very life itself seemed
+irretrievably lost, hope sprang up from the ruins like some gorgeous
+flower and unfolded its brilliant petals one by one before her wondering
+and enraptured eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"And Antoinette?" some one asks, "Had Dolores forgotten Antoinette's
+right to Philip's devotion?" No; the reader knows how heroically Dolores
+had sacrificed her happiness for her friend's sake, and how earnestly
+she had endeavored to compel Philip to fulfil his father's wishes; but
+when Philip met her at the house of Vauquelas after their long
+separation, he made no allusion to the recent promise which bound<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> him
+more closely than ever to Mlle. de Mirandol; and, knowing that Dolores
+was aware of the engagement which had formerly existed between himself
+and Antoinette, he did his best to make that bond appear of a trivial
+nature in order to induce her to listen to his suit with favor. So he
+had merely told Dolores that he did not love Antoinette, that he could
+never love Antoinette, that it was she, Dolores, whom he passionately
+adored and whom he was resolved to make his wife. If we remember the
+influence such words as these could not fail to exercise over the mind
+of Dolores, and the influence exerted by the peculiar circumstances of
+their meeting, and by the perils that surrounded them; if we recollect,
+too, that Antoinette was far away and presumably beyond the reach of
+danger or of want, it is easy to understand how they came to forget
+everything but their own happiness, and to regard their marriage&mdash;until
+now deemed an impossibility&mdash;as a most natural and proper thing.</p>
+
+<p>It was in this condition of mind that Dolores listened to Coursegol's
+description of the little house in the Ch&eacute;vreuse valley, in which they
+were to take refuge; but the vision of happiness conjured up by his
+words was rudely dispelled by a sudden commotion around her which
+recalled her to the grim reality of the dangers that still threatened
+her on every side. The jailer was reading the names of the prisoners who
+were to appear before the Revolutionary Tribunal the next day.</p>
+
+<p>That evening, when Dolores re-entered her cell, eagerly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> longing for the
+morrow which would bring Philip once more to her side, she was followed
+by Aubry, who was carrying a small iron bedstead which he placed near
+the one occupied by Dolores.</p>
+
+<p>"What are you doing?" inquired the young girl.</p>
+
+<p>"I am placing a bed here for the companion I shall be compelled to give
+you to-morrow, citoyenne. I have resorted to every sort of stratagem to
+gratify your desire to be alone, but now there is no help for it. We are
+expecting a party of prisoners from La Vend&eacute;e. There are several women
+among them; and some place must be found for them, although the prison
+is filled to overflowing. While you were down-stairs the inspector came
+here and ordered me to put another prisoner in this cell. It is
+annoying, but, never mind; when the new-comers arrive I will choose your
+room-mate, and you will be pleased with her."</p>
+
+<p>This intelligence was exceedingly unwelcome to Dolores, but the hope of
+seeing Philip the next day greatly mitigated her regret. She had just
+left her bed the next morning, when she heard footsteps in the corridor.
+She hastily completed her toilet, and had hardly done so when the key
+turned in the lock. The door opened and Aubry entered. He was not alone;
+but Dolores could not distinguish the features of the lady who
+accompanied him, on account of the dim light and the thick veil that
+shrouded her face.</p>
+
+<p>"Here is your companion," Aubry whispered to Dolores. "I hope you will
+be pleased with my selection. Poor little thing, she seems worn out and
+terribly dejected."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span></p><p>The stranger, without lifting her veil, had seated herself upon her bed
+in an attitude which indicated intense fatigue or despondency. Aubry
+gave her a few directions to which she listened abstractedly, without
+replying or even looking at the jailer, who then withdrew. Dolores,
+after a moment, approached the stranger and said:</p>
+
+<p>"Since we are to be together for a time more or less long, shall we not
+be friends?"</p>
+
+<p>At the sound of the girl's voice, the stranger trembled; then she rose
+and looked Dolores full in the face with a strange intentness.</p>
+
+<p>"Shall we not be friends!" she repeated. "Dolores, do you not know me?"</p>
+
+<p>It was Dolores' turn to tremble. She clasped her hands, uttered a cry of
+astonishment in which one could detect both consternation and joy; then,
+springing forward, she hastily lifted the veil which hid the face of the
+speaker.</p>
+
+<p>"Antoinette! Antoinette!"</p>
+
+<p>"Dolores, you here!"</p>
+
+<p>They were again in each other's arms after four long years of
+separation, kissing each other, questioning each other, smiling and
+weeping by turns.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me about yourself!" cried Antoinette.</p>
+
+<p>"All in good time, my dearest," replied Dolores. "First, lie down and
+rest. You look weary and are pale with fatigue."</p>
+
+<p>"I was travelling all night!"</p>
+
+<p>Dolores helped her remove her damp clothing and made her lie down upon
+her own bed; then she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> left her a moment to ask Aubry to bring a cup of
+coffee to her weary friend. That worthy man exhibited his accustomed
+zeal, and soon the two young-girls, one reclining on her couch, the
+other seated by her bedside were talking of the past. But their
+conversation had hardly begun when Antoinette inquired:</p>
+
+<p>"Have you seen Philip?"</p>
+
+<p>A slight pallor overspread the cheeks of Dolores, but the next instant
+she responded, calmly:</p>
+
+<p>"I have seen Philip. He, too, has been arrested, and he will be brought
+here to-day."</p>
+
+<p>Antoinette was eager to know the circumstances of Philip's arrest.
+Dolores related them, and to do so she was obliged to give her companion
+some account of her own life since she left the Ch&acirc;teau de Chamondrin
+four years before. Antoinette was affected to tears by the story of her
+friend's misfortunes. She interrupted her again and again to pity and
+caress her, and Dolores could not summon up courage to speak of her love
+for Philip, or of what had passed between them.</p>
+
+<p>Then, it was Antoinette's turn to speak of herself and of her own past;
+and she soon revealed the fact that Philip had solemnly plighted his
+troth to her at last. She also told her friend that she could not endure
+her life in England, separated from him, and that anxiety for his safety
+had induced her to leave the Reed mansion by stealth and come to France
+in quest of him.</p>
+
+<p>In London, she had sought the protection of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> Chevalier de Millemont,
+an aged nobleman, and Philip's devoted friend. That gentleman, after
+vainly attempting to dissuade her, at last consented to make such
+arrangements as would enable her to reach France in safety. It was
+through his efforts that Antoinette was allowed to take passage in a
+small vessel that was sent to bear a message from the princes to La
+Vend&eacute;e. On reaching the coast of Brittany where the vessel landed, she
+and her travelling companions parted. She was eager to reach Paris, but
+found that the journey would be no easy task. She finally succeeded in
+finding a man who agreed to take her as far as Nantes in his carriage.
+He procured two passports, one for his own use, and in which he figured
+as a grain merchant; the other for Antoinette, who was represented to be
+his daughter. Unfortunately, they stopped for refreshments at a small
+village near Nantes; and Antoinette's unmistakable air of distinction
+and the whiteness of her hands led people to suspect that she was not
+the child of a petty village merchant. The man discovered this; his
+fears were aroused, and while Antoinette was sitting in the parlor of
+the inn, he harnessed his horses and drove off at full speed. This
+cowardly desertion filled the girl with dismay. On finding herself
+alone, she could not conceal her disquietude, and this increased the
+suspicions that had already been aroused. The inn-keeper, who was a
+zealous patriot, compelled her to go with him to the district
+Commissioner. Her presence of mind deserted her; and her incoherent
+replies and her reticence caused her arrest. The Commissioner intended<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span>
+to send her to Nantes; but she begged so hard to be sent to Paris,
+instead, that he finally granted her request. That same evening a party
+of prisoners from La Vend&eacute;e passed through the village; and Antoinette
+was entrusted to the care of the officer in charge of them. After a long
+and painful journey, she at last reached Paris, where the Conciergerie
+opened to receive her.</p>
+
+<p>Such was the story she related to Dolores. The latter listened to it in
+silence. When it was ended, she said to her friend:</p>
+
+<p>"Now you must sleep and regain your strength. Have no fears, I will
+watch over you."</p>
+
+<p>"If I could only see Philip!" sighed Antoinette.</p>
+
+<p>"You shall see him; I promise you that."</p>
+
+<p>Antoinette submissively closed her eyes and soon fell asleep. Dolores
+sat motionless, her thoughts busy with what she had just heard. In all
+this narrative she had clearly understood only two things: first, that
+it was the hope of discovering and saving Philip, whom she still
+passionately loved, that had induced Mlle. de Mirandol to make this
+journey which had terminated so disastrously, and secondly, that Philip
+only a few weeks before had solemnly renewed an engagement which he had
+concealed from her.</p>
+
+<p>"What shall I do?" asked the poor girl, as she remembered with a
+breaking heart her blissful dreams of the evening before.</p>
+
+<p>Her own great love stood face to face with that of Antoinette. Which
+should be sacrificed? Antoinette's most assuredly, since Philip loved
+Dolores. But she dare not contemplate such a solution of the problem.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span></p><p>"What!" she thought; "after the Marquis de Chamondrin has reared me as
+his own child, I repay his kindness by encouraging his son to disobey
+his last wishes? No, no! It is impossible! He made him promise to marry
+Antoinette; and Philip did promise, first his father and afterwards
+Antoinette. What does it matter if he does love me! When he no longer
+sees me, he will forget me! Antoinette will again become dear to him.
+They will be happy. What am I, that I should destroy the plans that were
+so dear to the heart of my benefactor? Have I not made one sacrifice,
+and can I not make another? Come, Dolores, be brave, be strong! If you
+wed Philip, Antoinette will be miserable. Her disappointment would break
+her heart; and all your life long, the phantom form of the dear sister
+whose happiness you had wrecked would stand between your husband and
+yourself. She is innocent; she does not even know that I love Philip. I
+have never admitted it to her; I have always concealed the truth. She
+will be happy; she will feel no remorse, and she will cause peace,
+resignation and love to descend with healing wings upon the heart of him
+she so fondly loves."</p>
+
+<p>Never was there a nobler example of self-denial and renunciation. She
+had only to utter a single word and Philip was hers forever; but if she
+must pain Antoinette's tender heart, and fail in respect to her
+benefactor in order to win happiness, she would have none of it. Such
+were her reflections as she watched over her sleeping friend.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></p><p>"Ah!" she murmured, as she sadly gazed upon her; "why did you not
+remain in England? Why did you come here? You little know how much
+misery you have caused me!"</p>
+
+<p>One cannot wonder that a rebellious cry rose from her tortured heart;
+but the cry did not escape her lips. It was stifled in her inmost soul
+with the hopes she had just relinquished forever. Suddenly the door
+opened, and the jailer entered. It was now about ten o'clock in the
+morning.</p>
+
+<p>"There is a prisoner below who has just arrived, and who wishes to see
+you, citoyenne."</p>
+
+<p>"It is he!" thought Dolores, turning pale at the thought of meeting
+Philip again.</p>
+
+<p>Nevertheless, she armed herself with courage, and went down-stairs with
+a firm step to welcome Philip. He was awaiting her with feverish
+impatience. On seeing her, he uttered a cry of joy and sprang forward,
+crying:</p>
+
+<p>"Dolores, Dolores, at last we meet never again to part!"</p>
+
+<p>"Never?" she asked, faintly.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you not remember my words? If God, who has united us once more,
+after a long and cruel separation, saves us from the dangers that
+threaten us with destruction, shall you not believe that he smiles upon
+our love? Ah, well! thanks to Coursegol, we shall succeed in making our
+escape from this place. We shall soon be free!"</p>
+
+<p>"And what is to be Antoinette's fate?'</p>
+
+<p>"Antoinette?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span></p><p>Dolores looked him full in the eyes and said, with all the firmness she
+could command:</p>
+
+<p>"You left Antoinette in England, Philip, promising to marry her on your
+return. She is now in France, in Paris, in this prison. She comes to
+claim the fulfilment of your promise."</p>
+
+<p>While Dolores was speaking, Philip's face underwent an entire change, so
+great was the surprise and emotion caused by this intelligence. When she
+had finished, he could make no response; he could only lean against the
+wall of the prison, speechless and motionless.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2>
+
+<h3>LOVE'S CONFLICTS.</h3>
+
+<p>What Philip had just heard filled his heart with grief and
+consternation. How had Antoinette succeeded in reaching Paris? What had
+been her object in coming? Dolores repeated the story exactly as
+Antoinette had told it. When it was ended she simply added:</p>
+
+<p>"Philip, why did you not tell me of the engagement that existed between
+you? What! you left Antoinette scarcely six weeks ago&mdash;left her,
+promising to marry her on your return, and now you entreat me to be your
+wife!"</p>
+
+<p>Philip hastily interrupted her.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, Dolores, do not reproach me. I have been neither false nor
+treacherous. There has been a terrible, a fatal mistake. Yes, separated
+from you, convinced that I should never see you again&mdash;that you were
+dead or forever lost to me, I made Antoinette the same promise I made my
+father four years ago, when I believed you consecrated to God; but when
+I found you once more, you whom I adore, how could I forget that you
+first&mdash;that you alone, possessed my heart? Even as a child, I loved you
+as one loves a wife, not as one loves a sister; and this passion has
+grown with my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> growth, and strengthened with my strength, until it has
+become the ruling power of my life."</p>
+
+<p>"Alas!" murmured Dolores.</p>
+
+<p>"And when a thrice-blessed change has brought us together once more, now
+that I can at last cover your dear hands with kisses, and feast my
+hungry eyes upon your beauty, you would forbid me in the name of
+Antoinette to tell you what has been in my heart so many years? No,
+Dolores, no. You are strong, I know. You possess sufficient energy and
+determination to conquer yourself and to remain apparently cold and
+unmoved while your heart is writhing in anguish; but I have no such
+fortitude. I cannot hide my suffering; I love you, I must tell you so."</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke, Philip became more and more agitated. Tears gathered in his
+eyes and his features worked convulsively.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you not see," he resumed, after a short silence, "that the scruples
+which led us to conceal the truth were the causes of all our misery? If,
+hand in hand, we had knelt before him and said: 'Father, we love each
+other, give us your blessing,' he would have been content."</p>
+
+<p>"You are mistaken, Philip. Just before I left for the convent, I told
+the Marquis with my own lips of your love for me, and he did not bid me
+stay."</p>
+
+<p>Philip stood as if stupefied.</p>
+
+<p>"My father knew&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"And yet, on his deathbed, he compelled me to promise that I would marry
+Antoinette!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span></p><p>"He thought you would forget me."</p>
+
+<p>"Can those who truly love ever forget?" cried Philip. "But what is to be
+done?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>Dolores made no response. She stood before him with eyes downcast that
+he might not see the conflict which was raging in her soul. Philip took
+advantage of her hesitation to plead his cause anew.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen, Dolores; it is not right that we should all sacrifice ourselves
+to my father's ambition; and if I wed Antoinette, still loving you, I
+cannot make her happy. Besides, what would become of you?"</p>
+
+<p>"But if I listen to you, what will become of Antoinette?"</p>
+
+<p>"She will forget. She loves me because she met me before she met any
+other young man, before she had seen the world; but she will soon forget
+me. After a few tears that cannot compare in bitterness with those that
+I have shed, and with those I shall shed, if I am compelled to give you
+up, she will bestow her love elsewhere."</p>
+
+<p>"Do not wrong her, Philip. For four long years she has considered
+herself your wife in the sight of God, and now you would leave her to
+mourn your infidelity!"</p>
+
+<p>"My infidelity!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Philip, for you have plighted your troth to her. You have made no
+promise to me."</p>
+
+<p>"And you?"</p>
+
+<p>"I have promised nothing."</p>
+
+<p>"But your silence the other evening when I entreated you to grant my
+suit&mdash;was not your silence then an avowal?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span></p><p>"You misunderstood me!" replied Dolores, courageously.</p>
+
+<p>The girl could endure no more; her strength was exhausted; but her
+decision was made, and her sole aim now was to assure Antoinette's
+happiness by compelling Philip to marry her. She said, gently:</p>
+
+<p>"Coursegol must bring the order of release by the aid of which you and I
+were to leave the prison. It will be of service when we plan
+Antoinette's escape."</p>
+
+<p>Philip uttered an exclamation of remonstrance. She pretended not to hear
+it and continued:</p>
+
+<p>"You will go with her. When you are once outside these walls, thanks to
+Coursegol, it will be easy for you to reach a place of safety. I do not
+ask you to marry Antoinette as soon as you have left me; but when time
+has calmed the fever that is now raging in your heart, and peace has
+descended upon your troubled soul, you will bravely fulfil the promise
+you have made, as befits an honest man. This is my request."</p>
+
+<p>Philip shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>"What is to be your fate?" he inquired.</p>
+
+<p>"If I ever leave this prison, or rather, if I escape the guillotine, I
+shall go to some foreign land and there, resuming the vocation to which
+I have consecrated myself, I shall pass the remainder of my life in a
+convent where I shall pray for you. But I shall not take the vows of
+eternal seclusion from the world; and if, some day, you feel strong
+enough to endure my presence without danger to your peace of mind, I
+will see you again, Philip, and give your children a second mother by
+the renewal of my friendship with Antoinette."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span></p><p>"I refuse to obey you! No; I will not marry Antoinette, and since you
+would compel me to do so, she shall decide what course I ought to
+pursue. I will tell her all; I will tell her that we love each other,
+that we have always loved each other."</p>
+
+<p>"Hush!" said Dolores, beseechingly; "she must never know&mdash;you have no
+right to reveal a secret that is as much mine as it is yours."</p>
+
+<p>Their conversation had lasted some time. The yard and the hall that
+opened into it were beginning to fill with the inmates of the prison.
+They came down from their cells by no means certain that evening would
+find them still alive; and yet this uncertainty did not mar the serenity
+of their features or of their minds. Several, on passing Philip and
+Dolores, looked at them with evident curiosity, as if anxious to know
+the theme of such an animated conversation.</p>
+
+<p>"I must return to Antoinette," said Dolores. "I will bring her down with
+me, and I entreat you, in the name of your love, to say nothing that
+will cause her pain. There is no haste. We are in prison, and, in spite
+of Coursegol's efforts, none of us may succeed in making our escape. An
+act of accusation may fall upon one of us, if not upon all three of us,
+at any moment. What the future has in store for us we do not know, but
+let us not embitter the present by reproaches and differences. Let us
+live here, as we lived at Chamondrin, in perfect harmony, encouraging
+and sustaining one another in our misfortunes, so we can endure them
+cheerfully, and wait with patience until time shall solve this
+difficulty for us."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span></p><p>"What energy you possess!" replied Philip, gladly accepting this
+proposal, since it gave him a gleam of hope.</p>
+
+<p>Dolores left him to go to Antoinette, and Philip mingled with the other
+prisoners, among whom he found many noblemen and titled ladies whose
+acquaintance he had made at court and at the house of the Duke de
+Penthieore. Antoinette was just waking when Dolores returned to the cell
+they shared in common, and she did not notice the emotion that was still
+visible on her friend's face. She smiled, extended her hand and kissed
+her.</p>
+
+<p>"Philip?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>This was the first word she uttered.</p>
+
+<p>"Philip has come. I have seen him; he is waiting for you below."</p>
+
+<p>This news made Antoinette spring hastily to her feet; and arm in arm the
+two girls went down to join Philip. Dolores felt Antoinette's heart
+throb violently, so deeply was she moved by the thought of seeing him
+whom she regarded as her betrothed. She flew to his arms with such
+artless delight that he was really touched with remorse when he
+remembered that, only a moment before, he had almost hated this lovely
+young girl whose only fault was her love for him.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor child," he said, almost tenderly, "why did you not remain in
+England? Why did you expose yourself to such danger?"</p>
+
+<p>"Was it not my duty to come to you that I might die with you? When,
+after vainly waiting a fortnight for news of you, I heard of the death
+of the queen, I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> said to myself that, in your fruitless efforts to save
+her, you must have incurred great peril, and that you had probably been
+arrested. You see that I was not mistaken. So I started to find you, and
+I deem myself fortunate to be with you once more."</p>
+
+<p>This response, which Dolores heard distinctly, was only another proof of
+the promises Philip had made to Antoinette. These promises, consecrated
+as they had been by the blessing of the Abb&eacute; Peretty, beside the
+deathbed of the Marquis de Chamondrin, seemed of so sacred a nature in
+the eyes of Antoinette that she really felt it her duty to treat Philip
+as if their marriage was an accomplished fact.</p>
+
+<p>Dolores glanced at Philip; her look seemed to say:</p>
+
+<p>"Would you dare to tell her that you do not love her? No; think only of
+making yourself worthy of her, and of assuring the happiness to which
+she is justly entitled."</p>
+
+<p>Philip was greatly embarrassed. Antoinette seemed to expect that he
+would greet her arrival with some word expressive of joy or of love;
+but, in spite of his efforts, he could not utter a word. The presence of
+Dolores from whom he could no longer conceal the truth, intimidated him
+and rendered him mute. Some minutes passed thus. The prisoners were
+passing and repassing. Those who had been surprised by the arrival of
+Philip a short time before, were now wondering who this young girl, for
+whom Dolores evinced all a sister's tenderness, could be.</p>
+
+<p>We have already said that each of the prisons which had been crowded
+with victims by the Reign<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> of Terror was a faithful reproduction of the
+aristocratic society of Paris, now decimated by death and by exile, but
+which was famous for its intrigues, its wit, its indiscretions, its
+luxury and its gallantries. Behind the prison bars the ladies still
+remained grandes dames; the men, courtiers: and neither sex had lost any
+of its interest in small events as well as great. On the contrary, the
+monotony of prison life and the desire to kill time intensified this
+interest so natural to the French mind. An incident of trifling
+importance furnished them with a topic of conversation for hours. The
+new dress in which the duchess had appeared, the pleasure with which the
+marquise seemed to receive the attentions of the chevalier, interested
+this little world, which had not been cured of its frivolity by its
+misfortunes, as much as the heroism which the last person condemned had
+displayed on ascending the scaffold.</p>
+
+<p>This serves to explain how and why a general curiosity was awakened by
+the appearance of Antoinette de Mirandol. A few moments before, they had
+noticed the Marquis de Chamondrin engaged in animated conversation with
+Dolores. The malicious scented an intrigue; the ladies undertook the
+defence of Dolores; the old people remembered that she had been educated
+with Philip, and thought it quite natural that they should have much to
+say to each other after a long separation; but when Dolores, after
+absenting herself a few moments, returned with a charming young girl
+upon her arm, a stranger, whom she led straight to Philip, every one
+was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> eager to know the name of the new-comer. They watched the group
+with evident curiosity, as if trying to divine what was passing; they
+commented on the emotion betrayed in Philip's face, and the
+acquaintances of Dolores were anxiously waiting for an opportunity to
+question her.</p>
+
+<p>"I think we are creating quite a sensation," Dolores said, at last, in a
+low tone and with a smile.</p>
+
+<p>Philip turned, and seeing they were the subject of universal comment,
+and desiring an opportunity to collect his scattered thoughts, he said:</p>
+
+<p>"We will meet again presently."</p>
+
+<p>Then, without another word, he left them.</p>
+
+<p>Dolores looked at Antoinette. She was very pale, and she trembled
+violently. Dolores led her gently back to the cell which they occupied
+in common. When Antoinette found herself again alone with her friend she
+made no attempt to restrain her tears.</p>
+
+<p>"He did not even answer me," she sobbed. "My arrival seemed to cause him
+sorrow rather than joy."</p>
+
+<p>"It is because he loves you and it makes him wretched to see you
+threatened by the same dangers that surround us," replied Dolores,
+striving to console her.</p>
+
+<p>"Does he love me? I am quite sure, had I been in his place, that I
+should have awaited his coming with impatience and greeted him with joy.
+I should have seen in it only a proof of love, and I should have
+forgotten the dangers he had incurred in the rapture of meeting. When
+two persons love, there is no sorrow so great as to be separated by
+death. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> one who survives can but be wretched for the rest of his
+life; and the kindest and most generous wish the departing soul can
+frame is that the loved one left behind, may soon follow."</p>
+
+<p>Dolores made no reply. She understood the deep despondency which had
+taken possession of Antoinette's mind. Her own sorrow was no less
+poignant, but it was mitigated by a feeling of serenity and resignation,
+which was constantly gaining strength now that what has just passed had
+convinced her of the necessity of her sacrifice; and, from that moment,
+there reigned in the heart of Dolores, a boundless self-abnegation, a
+constant desire to insure the happiness of her friend by the surrender
+of her own. The remainder of the day passed uneventfully. Dolores and
+Antoinette made only one more visit to the hall below, and then Philip
+avoided them.</p>
+
+<p>"He is suffering," said Antoinette. "What troubles him?"</p>
+
+<p>She could learn this only by learning, at the same time, that Philip was
+not only indifferent to her, but that his love was given to Dolores. The
+latter, faithful to her vow, carefully concealed Philip's secret from
+her friend. That evening, before they retired, the two girls talked long
+and sadly of the past. They lived over again the happy hours they had
+spent together; and when, overcome with weariness, sleep at last
+overtook them, they fancied themselves once more in the Ch&acirc;teau de
+Chamondrin. Dolores was listening to the Marquis, as he divulged the
+hopes he had centred on Philip, and planned a noble and wealthy alliance
+which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> would restore the glory of his name. But Antoinette's thoughts
+had taken a different course. When she awoke in the morning, her mind
+reverted to the days which had immediately followed her arrival at the
+ch&acirc;teau five years before&mdash;the days when love suddenly sprang up and
+blossomed in her soul. Then, she recalled a morning when Philip
+requested an interview with her. She believed herself beloved, and stole
+to the trysting-place in a transport of unspeakable joy. What
+consternation filled her heart when Philip told her of his love for
+Dolores, and entreated her to plead his cause! The painful impression
+produced by this scene gradually faded after Dolores left the ch&acirc;teau to
+enter the convent at Avignon, and when Antoinette saw Philip becoming,
+each day, more and more favorably disposed toward herself; but now this
+impression returned again even more strongly and vividly than before,
+and awakened fresh sorrow and despair in the poor girl's soul. Philip's
+desire to postpone their marriage and his failure to keep his promises
+were now explained. The cold reception he had accorded her enlightened
+the poor child as to the real sentiments of the man whom she only
+yesterday regarded as her husband. She found herself in the same
+position she had occupied years before; the same danger threatened her
+happiness with destruction&mdash;Philip loved Dolores. When the revelation
+burst upon her, she could not repress a moan, and burying her face in
+her pillow, she sobbed and wept unheard by Dolores, who was sleeping
+peacefully only a few feet from her. All the pangs of anguish that had
+tortured her five years before<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> now returned; and her suffering was even
+more poignant, for her love had increased and her hopes had grown
+stronger. Her first outbreak of despair was followed by a season of
+calmness which enabled her to decide upon her future course; and, after
+fighting against her doubts and fears for a long time, she finally
+concluded to go to Dolores and ascertain the extent of her misfortune
+from this faithful friend. The first gray light of morning was stealing
+into the gloomy cell when Antoinette arrived at this conclusion, and the
+next moment she was up and dressed. She approached the bed upon which
+Dolores was lying, still asleep. Antoinette seated herself at the foot
+of the bed and waited. It was her pale face and eyes swimming with tears
+that first met her companion's gaze when she awoke.</p>
+
+<p>"You have been weeping, Antoinette?" she exclaimed with tender
+solicitude.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; I have passed a miserable night."</p>
+
+<p>"Why? How?"</p>
+
+<p>"Philip's indifference has wounded me to the heart!"</p>
+
+<p>"Do not grieve about that, my dearest. What you think indifference, is
+perhaps, an excess of tenderness. Philip regrets that you did not remain
+in England. The terrible position in which you are placed grieves and,
+at the same time, irritates him."</p>
+
+<p>She thus endeavored to quiet Antoinette's suspicions, but the latter
+could no longer be deceived. She heard her to the end; then she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you sure that these are really Philip's sentiments? Is it not more
+probable that there is another love in his heart?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span></p><p>"Another love!" repeated Dolores, frightened by these words; "do not
+believe it. Philip is your betrothed husband; he knows it. He is as
+conscious of his present as of his future duties; and he loves you
+only."</p>
+
+<p>"You are wrong, Dolores. It is you he loves!"</p>
+
+<p>"Loves me! Who has told you this?"</p>
+
+<p>"So it is true! Ah! I was sure of it," murmured Antoinette. "He has met
+you again after a separation of four years, and I am forgotten."</p>
+
+<p>Dolores rose, took her friend in her arms as if she were a child, and
+said gently:</p>
+
+<p>"Be comforted, I entreat you. Your imagination deceives you and leads
+you far from the truth. It is possible that Philip, on meeting me again,
+was moved by some of the emotions that are often awakened in the heart
+by memories of the past; but these emotions are fleeting and do not
+endanger your happiness. If Philip once cherished fancies that troubled
+your peace, you know that my departure sufficed to cure him of them; and
+should these foolish fancies revive, my departure will again suffice to
+dispel them and to restore to you the heart to which you, and you alone,
+have an inalienable claim."</p>
+
+<p>These words reassured Antoinette. She ceased to weep, and her whole
+heart seemed to go out in gratitude to Dolores. The latter continued:</p>
+
+<p>"If God wills that we recover our freedom, you shall depart with Philip.
+As for me, I shall take refuge in some convent in a foreign land. My
+place is there, and I solemnly assure you that I shall never marry."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span></p><p>"Ah! how I thank you!" cried Antoinette. "You have restored my
+happiness and my peace of mind."</p>
+
+<p>Love is selfish, and Antoinette knew nothing of Dolores' struggles. She
+did not attempt to fathom the motives of her friend, and relieved by the
+assurance she had just received, and no longer doubting her ability to
+regain her lost influence over Philip, she passed suddenly from the
+poignant suffering we have described to a state of peaceful security.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE THUNDERBOLT.</h3>
+
+<p>Three days passed, leaving the situation of affairs unchanged.
+Antoinette and Dolores saw Philip but seldom, though they were living
+under the same roof, so persistently did he avoid them. If he chanced to
+enter the hall when they were there, he took refuge with some of the
+groups of gentlemen, where the two girls would not be likely to approach
+him unless they had something of great importance to communicate to
+their ungracious friend.</p>
+
+<p>What Philip utterly lacked, after the events recounted in the last
+chapter, was resignation. He felt, that Dolores was irrevocably lost to
+him, and that even if she left the prison alive, she would instantly
+place an impassable barrier between them; but though he was convinced of
+this, he could not make up his mind to submit to a decision that
+destroyed all his hopes of happiness; so he hoped and despaired by
+turns, sometimes assuring himself that he could find words sufficiently
+eloquent to move Dolores, sometimes admitting with a sort of desperation
+that nothing could shake the firmness of the young girl who had resolved
+to sacrifice her happiness for the sake of duty.</p>
+
+<p>Antoinette and Dolores respected his sadness and his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> evident desire for
+solitude. They spent most of their time together in their own little
+room, happy in being again united, and bearing the trials that beset
+them on every side with wonderful fortitude. Each evening found them
+astonished that they had not been summoned before the Revolutionary
+Tribunal; and each evening they said, not without anguish:</p>
+
+<p>"The summons will come, perhaps, to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>The fourth day after Philip's arrival at the Conciergerie, Aubry, the
+jailer, who had shown Dolores so much kindness and attention, obtained
+leave of absence for the day, and engaged Coursegol to take his place.
+Once before he had made a similar arrangement, and Coursegol had thus
+been able to spend almost an entire day with Dolores.</p>
+
+<p>His anxiety to see her now, was increased by his desire to fix upon a
+plan whereby he could rescue her and also Philip from the danger that
+threatened them. He brought with him the order in which he had inserted
+their names, and which would set "Citoyen and Citoyenne Chamondrin" at
+liberty. He was not aware of Antoinette's arrest, and when he entered
+the cell and saw Mlle. de Mirandol, he uttered an exclamation of dismay.</p>
+
+<p>"You here, mademoiselle!" he cried.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I have been here three days."</p>
+
+<p>"But the order releases only two persons!" he exclaimed, sorrowfully.</p>
+
+<p>Antoinette did not understand him; she had heard nothing about the order
+to which he alluded; but Dolores quickly approached Coursegol and said,
+hurriedly, in a low voice:</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span></p><p>"Not another word. Give me the order. When the proper time comes, it
+shall be used by those who have the best right to it."</p>
+
+<p>Coursegol reluctantly obeyed. He was convinced that Dolores would
+concentrate all her efforts upon the deliverance of Philip and
+Antoinette; and he almost hated the latter who, for the second time,
+imperiled the life and happiness of one so dear to him.</p>
+
+<p>"Before, it was her presence in the ch&acirc;teau that prevented the marriage
+of my dear Dolores to the man she loved; to-day, after I have worked so
+hard to secure their liberty and the realization of their hopes, it is
+she who destroys all my plans," he thought. Perhaps he would have given
+vent to his feelings had not Dolores, who seemed to read what was
+passing in his mind, made an imperative sign; so he withdrew and went to
+join Philip, and to tell him that the order was in the hands of Dolores.</p>
+
+<p>"It will not be used," said Philip, sadly. "If it would open the prison
+doors for two women, I could induce them to go; but since I must go out
+with one of them, and as neither will consent to save her life at the
+cost of the other's, we shall all remain."</p>
+
+<p>"Then all my efforts will be lost," cried Coursegol, despairingly; "and
+I shall be compelled to see you perish after I have accomplished
+miracles in order to save you."</p>
+
+<p>And tears of anger and disappointment sprang to his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Philip calmed him by explaining how impossible it would be for two to
+avail themselves of an opportunity<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> to escape and abandon their friend
+to her fate. If one was forsaken by the others, eternal remorse would be
+the portion of those who deserted her; hence, they must make their
+escape together or await the d&eacute;nouement.</p>
+
+<p>Coursegol promised to do his best to obtain an order which could be used
+by three persons; and he left the prison towards evening, telling his
+friends that he would see them again in a few days and even sooner, if
+possible.</p>
+
+<p>While he was there, Antoinette, Dolores, and Philip had repaired, as if
+by common consent, to the main hall; and when he had gone, the three
+young people found themselves together.</p>
+
+<p>"Shall we still persist in shunning one another?" Antoinette asked
+Philip.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no," he replied, touched by the tender sorrow in her voice; "let us
+be together while we can; then, should death be our portion, we shall
+not be obliged to regret that we have not consecrated to friendship the
+few moments left at our disposal."</p>
+
+<p>"That is well, Philip," rejoined Dolores, and as she could say no more
+in Antoinette's presence without revealing the secret she wished to
+conceal, she extended her hand to her friend as if in approval of his
+decision.</p>
+
+<p>They remained together until the usual signal warned the prisoners that
+they must retire to their cells and extinguish their lights; but no
+allusion was made to the order of release. Philip and Dolores seemed to
+have tacitly agreed to conceal from Antoinette the fact that her
+unforeseen arrival had prevented their immediate restoration to liberty.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span></p><p>The next morning Dolores went down to the public hall, and there held a
+long conversation with Philip.</p>
+
+<p>"Since God has united us here," she said to him; "let us enjoy the time
+he has given us, and allow no differences to creep in between us and
+destroy the peace and harmony that are our only consolation. I do not
+wish to know your feelings, whatever they may be. You must constantly
+bear in mind these two things, Philip&mdash;that I can never, never be your
+wife, and that you owe Antoinette reparation. This is the duty that life
+imposes upon you. So accept your destiny, and no longer pain us by the
+sight of your despondency. It only renders me miserable and it can
+change nothing."</p>
+
+<p>Philip listened with bowed head to these firm words. He said to himself:</p>
+
+<p>"She is right. Why should we concern ourselves about the future, since
+the present allows me to remain by her side? We are ever on the
+threshold of the grave, here. Alas! we must escape from the shadow of
+death that is hanging over us before we make any plans for the future."</p>
+
+<p>But he was touched, and while he mentally resolved to keep his love and
+his hopes a secret in his own heart, he bowed over the hand of Dolores,
+and raising it to his lips, said:</p>
+
+<p>"You speak wisely, my sister. I will be worthy of you."</p>
+
+<p>This day was the first that passed happily for the three whose
+life-history we are attempting to relate. Unfortunately, this
+long-sought happiness was to endure<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> but for a day. The very next
+afternoon after the just described, all the prisoners were assembled in
+the main hall. It was the last of December, and night comes quickly in
+winter. It was only four o'clock, and already the gathering twilight
+warned the prisoners that the hour for returning to their cells was fast
+approaching.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly there was a movement in the crowd. The prisoners nearest the
+door pushed against those who were further away, and soon they found
+themselves ranged along the wall, while a large vacant space was left in
+the centre of the room.</p>
+
+<p>A man had just entered. He was attired in black, and he wore a large red
+cockade on his hat. In his hand he held a roll of papers. Four soldiers
+accompanied him. It was easy to recognize in this personage a clerk of
+the Revolutionary Tribunal; and it was his duty as an officer of that
+body, to visit the prisons and read the names of those condemned to
+death and of those who were summoned to appear before the Tribunal to
+answer the charges against them. Like an avenging spirit, he appeared
+every day at the same hour, rigid, inflexible, cruel, deaf to
+supplications and tears, a grim avant-courier of the executioner,
+selecting his victims and marking them for death.</p>
+
+<p>Accustomed as they were to see him, his appearance among the prisoners
+always caused a thrill of horror. There was so much youth, beauty,
+innocence, grace, and devotion there! Why should they be doomed? They
+were enemies to whom? To what projects were they an obstacle? Useless
+questions!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> It is because Robespierre laid his merciless hand upon the
+good, upon the weak and upon the timid that his name will be eternally
+held in execration by all generous hearts.</p>
+
+<p>When this official entered, Antoinette and Philip, who were as yet
+unversed in the customs of the prison, were pushed back by the crowd
+into the yard, without understanding why. Dolores, who knew what was to
+come, remained in the hall and chanced to be in the foremost row.</p>
+
+<p>The clerk came forward, unrolled a long list and began to read in a loud
+voice the names of all who were to appear before the Tribunal the
+following day. What a strange medley of names! Names of plebeians and of
+nobles; of nuns and of priests; of royalists and of republicans; of old
+men and of children; of men and of women; it was all the same, provided
+the guillotine was not compelled to wait for its prey.</p>
+
+<p>Each time a prisoner's name was called a murmur, more or less prolonged
+according as the rank, the age or the sex of the victim inspired more or
+less sympathy or pity, ran through the crowd. Then, the person named
+came forward and received from the hands of the official a paper,
+enumerating the real or imaginary crimes with which he was charged and
+ordering him to appear before his judges the following day. If his
+father, his wife or his children were in prison with him, the air was
+filled with tears and lamentations.</p>
+
+<p>One could hear such words as these:</p>
+
+<p>"If they had but taken me!"</p>
+
+<p>"Would I could die in your stead!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span></p><p>These heart-breaking scenes began even before the departure of the
+officer, and generally lasted the entire night until the hour of final
+adieu; but if the prisoner designated was alone and without family, he
+came forward with a firm step, stoically accepted his sentence of death,
+and hummed a lively air as he returned to the crowd where a dozen
+unknown, but friendly, hands were extended as if to encourage and
+strengthen him.</p>
+
+<p>Dolores had been a sympathetic witness of many such scenes, and that
+evening she was neither more nor less moved than on previous occasions.
+The eyes and the heart soon become accustomed to anything. But suddenly
+she trembled. Those near her saw her totter and turn pale. She had just
+heard the officer call the name of Antoinette de Mirandol. She glanced
+around her but did not see her friend. Antoinette was with Philip,
+outside the door. She did not reply to her name. The clerk repeated it
+in a still louder voice.</p>
+
+<p>"Antoinette de Mirandol," he repeated a third time.</p>
+
+<p>Dolores stepped forward.</p>
+
+<p>"Here I am," said she. "Pardon me, I did not hear at first."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you Citoyenne Mirandol?"</p>
+
+<p>"The same."</p>
+
+<p>This generous response, twice repeated, caused a murmur of admiration,
+surprise and consternation among those who knew Dolores. She did not
+hear it, but her eyes glowed with heroic resolve as, with a firm hand,
+she took the act of accusation extended to her, and slowly returned to
+her place.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span></p><p>The name of Antoinette to which she had just responded was the last
+upon the sad list.</p>
+
+<p>"All whose names I have called will be tried to-morrow morning at ten
+o'clock."</p>
+
+<p>With these words, the messenger of the Tribunal withdrew. Then came a
+sigh of relief from those who had not been summoned.</p>
+
+<p>The friends of Dolores assembled around her.</p>
+
+<p>"Unfortunate child, what have you done?" asked one.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you, then, so anxious to die?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why did you go forward when it was not your name that he called?"</p>
+
+<p>She glanced calmly at her questioners; then, in a voice in which
+entreaty was mingled with the energy that denotes an immutable resolve,
+she said:</p>
+
+<p>"I beg that no one will interfere in this matter, or make me unhappy by
+endeavoring to persuade me to reconsider my decision. Above all, I
+earnestly entreat you to keep my secret."</p>
+
+<p>No one made any response. The wish she had expressed was equivalent to a
+command; and as such, deeds of heroism were not uncommon, the one which
+she had performed so bravely, and which would cost her her life, was
+forgotten in a few moments by her companions in misfortune, who were
+naturally absorbed in the question as to when their own turn was to
+come.</p>
+
+<p>Dolores passed through the little group that had gathered around her,
+each person stepping aside with a grave bow to make way for her, and
+rejoined <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span>Antoinette and Philip, who knew nothing of what had taken
+place. When she appeared before them no trace of emotion was visible
+upon her face, and she had concealed the fated paper beneath the fichu
+that covered her bosom. She chatted cheerfully with her friends until
+the sound of the drum warned the prisoners that they must retire to
+their cells. Then, she smilingly extended her hand to Philip.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-night!" she said, simply.</p>
+
+<p>And taking Antoinette's arm in hers, she led her back to the cell they
+occupied in common. Antoinette entered first, leaving Dolores alone an
+instant in the main corridor. The latter turned and swiftly retraced her
+steps. She was seeking Aubry, the jailer. She soon met him. He, too, was
+ignorant of all that had occurred.</p>
+
+<p>"Where are you going?" he inquired, in a half-good-natured,
+half-grumbling tone.</p>
+
+<p>"I was looking for you," Dolores replied. "I must send a message to
+Coursegol this very night."</p>
+
+<p>"I am not sure that I can get permission to leave the prison."</p>
+
+<p>"You must," she eagerly rejoined. "It is absolutely necessary that I see
+Coursegol to-morrow morning at nine o'clock. If he comes later, he will
+not find me here."</p>
+
+<p>And as Aubry looked at her in astonishment, she added:</p>
+
+<p>"I am to appear to-morrow before the Tribunal."</p>
+
+<p>"You! I hoped they had forgotten you."</p>
+
+<p>"Hush! not a word to any one, above all, to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> young girl who shares
+my cell. If you have any regard for me, give my message to Coursegol.
+You will do a good deed for which you shall be rewarded."</p>
+
+<p>She left the kind-hearted jailer without another word, and hastened back
+to the cell where Antoinette was awaiting her.</p>
+
+<p>Dolores passed the night in a profound and peaceful slumber and awoke
+with a heart overflowing with pure and holy joy at the thought that she
+was about to heroically crown a life devoted to duty and to abnegation.
+She did not underrate the sacrifice she was to make; but she knew that
+the death would not be without moral grandeur, and even while she
+comprehended that she had exceeded the limit of the obligations which
+duty imposed upon her, she felt no agitation, no regret.</p>
+
+<p>She rose early and arrayed herself with more than usual care. The dress
+she selected was of gray cashmere. Her shoulders were covered with a
+silk fichu of the same color, knotted behind at the waist. Upon her head
+she wore one of the tall, plumed felt hats in fashion at the time, and
+from which her golden hair descended in heavy braids upon her white
+neck. Never had she been more beautiful. The light of immortality seemed
+to beam in her lovely face; and the serenity of her heart, the
+enthusiasm that inspired her and the fervor of her religious faith
+imparted an inexpressible charm to her features. When her toilet was
+completed, she knelt, and for an hour her soul ascended in fervent
+aspiration to the God in whom she had placed her trust. Her heart was
+deeply touched: but there were no tears in her eyes.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span></p><p>"Death," she thought, "is only a journey to a better life. In the
+unknown world to which my soul will take flight, I shall rejoin those
+whom I love and who have gone before: the Marquis, whose benevolence
+sheltered me from misery and want; his wife, who lavished all a mother's
+tenderness upon me; my mother, herself, who died soon after giving me
+birth. For those I leave behind me I shall wait on high, watching over
+them, and praying for their peace and happiness."</p>
+
+<p>These consoling thoughts crowded in upon her as if to strengthen her in
+her last moments by hopes which render the weakest natures strong and
+indomitable, even before the most frightful suffering. She rose calm and
+tranquil, and approached Antoinette's bedside. She was sleeping soundly.
+Dolores looked at her a moment with loving, pitying eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"May my death assure your happiness," she murmured, softly; "and may
+Philip love you as fondly as I have loved him!"</p>
+
+<p>She left the cell. In the corridor, she met Aubry, who was in search of
+her.</p>
+
+<p>"Your friend Coursegol is waiting for you below," he said, sadly.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! thank you," she quickly and cheerfully rejoined.</p>
+
+<p>She hastened down. Coursegol was there. He was very pale, his face was
+haggard, and his eyes were terribly swollen. Warned the evening before
+by Aubry, the poor man had spent the entire night in the street,
+crouching against the wall of the prison, weeping and moaning while he
+waited for the hour when he could see Dolores.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span></p><p>"What do I hear, mademoiselle," he exclaimed, on meeting her. "You are
+summoned before the Tribunal! Oh! it is impossible. There must be some
+mistake. They can accuse you of no crime, nor can they think of
+punishing you as if you had been an &Eacute;migr&eacute; or a conspirator."</p>
+
+<p>"Nevertheless, I received a summons yesterday and also a paper
+containing the charge against me."</p>
+
+<p>"Alas, alas!" groaned Coursegol, "why did you not listen to me? Why have
+you not made use of the order I procured for you? You would now be at
+liberty and happy."</p>
+
+<p>"But Antoinette had no means of escape."</p>
+
+<p>"And what do I care for Mademoiselle de Mirandol? She is nothing to me,
+while you are almost my daughter. If you die, I shall not survive you. I
+have accomplished miracles to insure your escape from prison. I also
+flattered myself that I had assured your life's happiness, but by your
+imprudence you have rendered all my efforts futile. Oh, God is not
+just!"</p>
+
+<p>"Coursegol, in pity say no more!"</p>
+
+<p>But he would not heed her. He was really beside himself, and he
+continued his lamentations and reproaches with increasing violence,
+though his voice was choked with sobs. He gesticulated wildly; he formed
+a thousand plans, each more insane than the preceding. Now, he declared
+his intention of forcibly removing Dolores; now he declared he would
+appeal to the judges for mercy; again he swore that Vauquelas should
+interfere in her behalf. But the girl forbade any attempt to save her.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span></p><p>"No, my good Coursegol," she said; "the thought of death does not
+appall me; and those who mourn for me will find consolation in the hope
+of meeting me elsewhere."</p>
+
+<p>"And do you think this hope will suffice for me?" cried Coursegol.
+"Since I took you from the breast of your dying mother on the threshold
+of the Ch&acirc;teau de Chamondrin, I have loved you more and more each day. I
+lived for you and for you alone. My every hope and ambition were centred
+in you. You were my joy, my happiness, the only charm life had for me;
+and to see you condemned, you, the innocent&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Sobs choked his utterance.</p>
+
+<p>"Show me the charges against you," he demanded, suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>"What is the use?" rejoined Dolores, desiring to conceal the truth from
+him until the last.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish to know the crimes of which you are accused," persisted
+Coursegol. "There are no proofs against you. I will find a lawyer to
+defend you&mdash;if need be, I, myself will defend you."</p>
+
+<p>"It would be useless, my friend. Your efforts would only compromise you,
+without saving me."</p>
+
+<p>As she spoke, she heard quick footsteps behind her. She turned. The
+officer who was there the evening before had returned to conduct the
+prisoners to the Tribunal. He began to call their names.</p>
+
+<p>"Farewell, farewell," murmured Dolores, huskily.</p>
+
+<p>In this parting from the friend who had loved her so long and
+faithfully, she experienced the first pang of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> anguish that had assailed
+her heart since she had decided to sacrifice her own life for
+Antoinette's sake.</p>
+
+<p>"Not farewell," responded Coursegol, "but au revoir!"</p>
+
+<p>And without another word, he departed.</p>
+
+<p>Dolores glanced around the hall; but saw nothing of Philip or
+Antoinette. She was greatly relieved, for she had feared that their
+emotion would unnerve her; but now she could reasonably hope to carry
+with her to the grave the secret of the devotion which was to cost her
+her life. She did not wish Philip ever to know that she had died in
+place of Antoinette, lest her friend should become hateful in his sight,
+and Antoinette herself be condemned to eternal remorse.</p>
+
+<p>It was now nine o'clock, and about twenty persons had assembled in the
+hall. The majority of them were unfortunates who, like Dolores, were to
+appear that morning before the tribunal; but all did not enjoy a
+serenity like hers. One, a young man, seated upon a chair, a little
+apart from his companions, allowed his eyes to rove restlessly around
+without pausing upon any of the objects that surrounded him. Though his
+body was there, his mind assuredly, was far away. He was thinking,
+doubtless, of days gone by, memories of which always flock into the
+minds of those who are about to die; not far from him, a venerable man
+condemned to death, was striving to conquer his emotion in order to
+console a young girl&mdash;his daughter&mdash;who hung about his neck, wiping
+bitterly; there, stood a priest, repeating his breviary, pausing every
+now and then to reply to each of the prisoners who came to implore the
+benediction which, according to the tenets of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> Romish Church,
+insures the soul the eternal joys of Paradise. So these prisoners, all
+differently occupied, were grouped about the hall; and those who were to
+die displayed far more fortitude and resignation than those who would
+survive them. Dolores approached the priest.</p>
+
+<p>"Father," said she, "on returning from the Tribunal, I shall beg you to
+listen to my confession and to grant me absolution."</p>
+
+<p>As he looked upon this beautiful young girl who confronted death so
+calmly and serenely, the priest closed his book and said, in a voice
+trembling with compassion:</p>
+
+<p>"What! are you, too, a victim for the guillotine? You cannot be a
+conspirator. Do these wretches respect nothing?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am glad to die," Dolores said, simply.</p>
+
+<p>Did he comprehend that this resignation concealed some great sacrifice?
+Perhaps so. He looked at her with admiration, and bowed respectfully
+before her, as he replied:</p>
+
+<p>"You set us all an example of courage, my child. If you are condemned, I
+will give you absolution; and I shall ask you to address to Him, who
+never turns a deaf ear to the petitions of the innocent, a prayer for
+me."</p>
+
+<p>There was so much sadness in his voice that all the sympathies of
+Dolores were aroused. She pitied those who were doomed to die without
+even remembering to weep over her own sad fate.</p>
+
+<p>When the name of Mademoiselle de Mirandol<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> was called, Dolores stepped
+forward as she had done the evening before, and took her place with the
+other prisoners between the double file of soldiers who were to conduct
+them to the Tribunal. Then the gloomy cort&eacute;ge started. When they entered
+the court-room a loud shout rent the air. The hall was filled with
+sans-culottes and tricoteuses who came every day to feast their eyes
+upon the agony of the prisoners, and to accompany them to the
+guillotine. Never was there such an intense and long-continued thirst
+for blood as prevailed in those horrible days.</p>
+
+<p>The prisoners were obliged to pass through this hooting and yelling
+crowd, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that the soldiers
+protected them from its violence. Several wooden benches occupied the
+space between the bar and the chairs of the judges; and upon these the
+prisoners were seated, eleven on each bench and so close together that
+it was almost impossible for them to make the slightest movement. On
+their right stood the arm chair of the prosecuting attorney, or
+"accusateur;" on their left, were the seats of the jurors. Ten minutes
+passed, and the noise and confusion increased until it became positively
+deafening. Suddenly, a door opened and the court entered. The judges
+came first, dressed in black, with plumed hats, and with red sashes
+about their waists. The government attorney took his seat; the jurors
+installed themselves noisily in their places, and the session began.</p>
+
+<p>Nothing could be more summary than the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span>proceedings of this tribunal.
+The prisoner at the bar was generally ignorant of the charges against
+him, for the so-called act of accusation was in most cases, a scrap of
+paper covered with cramped and illegible hand-writing that frequently
+proved undecipherable. The president read a name. The person designated,
+rose and replied to such questions as were addressed to him. If the
+responses were confused, the prisoner's embarrassment was regarded as a
+conclusive proof of his guilt; if they were long, he was imperiously
+ordered to be silent. Witnesses were heard, of course; but those who
+testified in favor of the accused were roughly handled. Then the
+prosecuting attorney spoke five minutes, perhaps; the jury rendered its
+verdict, and the judge sentenced the prisoner or set him at liberty as
+the case might be. That day, eleven persons were tried and condemned to
+death in less than two hours. Dolores' turn came last.</p>
+
+<p>"Your name?" asked the president.</p>
+
+<p>"Antoinette de Mirandol."</p>
+
+<p>As she made this reply, she heard an ill-suppressed cry behind her. She
+turned quickly, and saw Coursegol. He was leaning upon the arm of
+Bridoul, and his hands were clenched and his face flushed. He now
+comprehended, for the first time, the girl's heroic sacrifice. Fearing
+he would betray her, she gave him a warning glance, as if to impose
+silence. It was unnecessary. He well knew that any statement of the real
+facts would be useless now; and that the truth would ruin Antoinette
+without saving Dolores. Such mistakes were not rare during the Reign of
+Terror.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> Almost daily, precipitancy caused errors of which no one was
+conscious until it was too late to repair them. Only a few days before,
+a son had been condemned in place of his father; and another unfortunate
+man had paid with his head, for the similarity between his name and that
+of another prisoner in whose stead he had been summoned before the
+Tribunal, and with whom he was executed; for Fouquier-Tinville, not
+knowing which was the real culprit, chose rather to doom two innocent
+men to death than to allow one guilty man to escape. Dolores was
+sentenced to be beheaded under the name of Antoinette de Mirandol When
+her sentence was pronounced, the business of the Court was concluded,
+and the judges were about to retire when suddenly a man made his way
+through the crowd to the bar, and cried a stentorian voice:</p>
+
+<p>"The sentence you have just pronounced is infamous. You are not judges,
+but assassins and executioners."</p>
+
+<p>Then he crossed his arms upon his breast and glowered defiance on the
+indignant and wrathful judges.</p>
+
+<p>"Arrest that man!" thundered the public accusateur.</p>
+
+<p>Two gendarmes sprang forward, and the officer who had just spoken added:</p>
+
+<p>"Citizen judges, I place this prisoner at your bar. Question him that
+the citizen jurors may decide upon his fate."</p>
+
+<p>It was Coursegol, who, hearing Dolores condemned, had suddenly resolved
+not to survive her, but to die with her.</p>
+
+<p>"Unfortunate man!" murmured the young girl,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> and for the first time that
+morning her eyes filled with tears.</p>
+
+<p>Coursegol looked at her as if to ask if she thought him worthy of her.
+In answer to the question put by the chief judge, he curtly replied:</p>
+
+<p>"It is useless to seek any other explanation of my conduct than that
+which I am about to give. I am weary of the horrors which I have
+witnessed. I hate the Republic and its supporters. I am a Royalist; and
+I have no other wish than to seal with my blood, the opinions I have
+here proclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>"Citizen jurors," cried his accuser, angrily; "I ask for this man a
+punishment which shall be an example to any who may desire to imitate
+him."</p>
+
+<p>"He is mad!" objected one of the jurors.</p>
+
+<p>"No, I am not mad!" cried Coursegol. "Down with the Republic and long
+live the King!"</p>
+
+<p>There was such boldness in this defiance that a profound stillness made
+itself felt in the crowded hall. Judges and jurors conferred together in
+wrathful whispers. In a few moments, Coursegol was condemned to suffer
+death upon the guillotine for having been guilty of the heinous crime of
+insulting the court in the exercise of its functions, and of uttering
+seditious words in its presence. Then he approached Dolores. She was
+sobbing violently, entirely overcome by this scene which had moved her
+much more deeply than her own misfortunes.</p>
+
+<p>"Forgive me, mademoiselle," said he, "for being so bold as to resolve
+not to survive you; but even in death, my place is beside you."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span></p><p>"My friend! my protector! my father!" sobbed Dolores.</p>
+
+<p>And yielding to an irresistible impulse, she threw herself into
+Coursegol's arms. He held her pressed tightly to his breast until he was
+ordered to make ready to start for the prison with the other victims.
+They were to remain there until the hour of execution.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE LAST FAREWELL.</h3>
+
+<p>While these events were taking place in the Tribunal, Antoinette de
+Mirandol awoke later than usual to find her friend absent; but the
+discovery caused her little surprise, for this was not the first time
+that Dolores, who was a much earlier riser than herself, had left the
+cell without disturbing her slumbers. Antoinette dressed herself with
+all possible speed, but it was nearly twelve o'clock before she was
+ready to go down to the main hall in search of Dolores. She did not see
+her in the hall or in the corridors, and she entered the refectory
+certain that her friend was already seated at the table where they had
+taken their meals since the increasing coldness of the weather had
+driven them from their cell in the daytime. She cast a quick glance
+through the dining-hall. The prisoners were chatting gayly over their
+meagre fare, as if wishing to console themselves for the plainness of
+their food by the cheerfulness and brilliancy of their conversation.
+Dolores was not there.</p>
+
+<p>The discovery brought with it a feeling of vague alarm; not that
+Antoinette had any suspicion of the truth, but because she was seized
+with a grim presentiment of approaching misfortune. She hastily turned<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span>
+away and started in pursuit of Philip, hoping to find Dolores with him.
+She soon met him, but he was alone.</p>
+
+<p>"Dolores? where is Dolores?" she cried.</p>
+
+<p>"I have not seen her," replied Philip, surprised at the question, and
+alarmed by Antoinette's manner.</p>
+
+<p>"My God!" the girl whispered, turning suddenly pale; then, overcome with
+an inexplicable terror, she stood silent and motionless.</p>
+
+<p>"What has happened?" cried Philip. "You frighten me."</p>
+
+<p>"A terrible misfortune, I fear," she gasped.</p>
+
+<p>She tottered and would have fallen had not Philip supported her; but she
+finally recovered her composure sufficiently to explain the cause of her
+alarm. 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 which
+they were allowed to circulate, and questioning their acquaintances, who
+either through compassion or through ignorance gave them no information
+concerning Dolores. Suddenly, at a turn in the corridor, they
+encountered Aubry.</p>
+
+<p>"What! do you not know?" he asked, stupefied with amazement.</p>
+
+<p>"Know what?" cried Philip, impetuously.</p>
+
+<p>"That Citoyenne Dolores was ordered to appear before the Tribunal at ten
+o'clock this morning."</p>
+
+<p>Two cries rang out on the still air: a cry of rage from Philip, a cry of
+anguish from Antoinette; then,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> with tears and exclamations of despair
+they entreated Aubry to explain. All he could tell them was that Dolores
+had informed him the evening before that she had been summoned before
+the Tribunal; that she had requested him to inform Coursegol of the
+fact; that she had left her cell, that morning, at nine o'clock, calm
+and beautiful; that she had held a long conversation with Coursegol, who
+was waiting for her below, after which she had left the prison to go to
+the Tribunal in company with several others.</p>
+
+<p>This intelligence plunged Philip and Antoinette into a state of
+indescribable despair. Unable to utter a word, they looked at each other
+in wild but speechless terror; and yet, in the anguish that wrung their
+hearts, their thoughts followed the same course. Both were asking
+themselves why Dolores had concealed the truth from them; why she had
+not allowed them to die with her. It would have been so sweet to depart
+together from a world from which all light seemed to have fled! Who
+would have been cruel enough to refuse them the happiness of ascending
+the scaffold together?</p>
+
+<p>"She feared to cause us pain," said Philip, at last. "She departed
+alone, not realizing that by doing so she caused us greater anguish than
+she would have done had she told us the frightful truth."</p>
+
+<p>As he said this, Aubry, who had left them a moment before, returned.</p>
+
+<p>"The prisoners have come back. Citoyenne Dolores is with them in the
+Hall of the Condemned. She wishes to see you."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span></p><p>"In the Hall of the Condemned!" repeated Antoinette.</p>
+
+<p>That terrible word rang in their ears like the thud of the executioner's
+axe. With hearts torn with anguish and despair, they wended their way to
+the grim hall below. When they entered it, they found the doomed
+prisoners scattered about the room, striving to conquer their emotion,
+and to summon up all their strength for the terrible ordeal from which
+they were separated by only three short hours. Those who, like Dolores,
+had relatives or friends in the prison, had sent for them; but those who
+could count on no loving farewell, sat silent and mournful, casting
+glances of envy upon their more fortunate companions. Some asked and
+obtained permission to go to their cells in order to write a last letter
+to their friends, or give directions concerning the few articles that
+remained at their disposal. Some had ordered choice viands and rare
+wines, not wishing to die before they had again enjoyed the pleasures of
+the table, in default of something better; while coming and going in the
+midst of them, were the clerks of the Tribunal, the executioner's
+assistants and the turnkeys of the prison, who hung about, hoping the
+condemned would bestow some gratuity upon them before leaving the
+prison. Dolores had seated herself upon a bench that stood against the
+wall. The passion of weeping to which she had yielded after Coursegol's
+heroic deed, had calmed her. He was standing by her side, looking down
+upon her with a in which there was neither bitterness nor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> Nothing could
+be more peaceful than the delicate features of the young girl and the
+energetic face that bent over her, though traces of the tears which had
+been wrung from them in a moment of despair were still visible.</p>
+
+<p>Antoinette, followed by Philip, rushed toward Dolores, threw herself at
+her feet, and, resting her head on the lap of her friend, sobbed
+unrestrainedly.</p>
+
+<p>"Antoinette, do not, I entreat you, deprive me of courage at a moment
+when I stand so greatly in need of it," said Dolores.</p>
+
+<p>"How cruel in you not to have told us!" cried Antoinette.</p>
+
+<p>"I wished to save you pain. We must be resigned and submit to the fate
+that awaits us; and we must not allow emotion to deprive us of the
+strength to die bravely and courageously."</p>
+
+<p>As she spoke, Dolores compelled Antoinette to rise and take a seat
+beside her; then she talked to her gently, but firmly. Their roles
+seemed to be changed; she who was about to die, consoled her whose life
+was spared. While this conversation was going on between Antoinette and
+Dolores, Philip, terribly pale, questioned Coursegol and learned from
+him what had taken place. He envied this devoted servant who was about
+to die with Dolores. He vainly strove to discover some means by which he
+could draw down upon his own head the wrath of the accusateur,
+Fouquier-Tinville, and be sent at once to the scaffold. Coursegol told
+his story simply and modestly. Rendered desperate by the condemnation of
+Dolores, he resolved to share her fate,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> feeling no desire to survive
+the loss of one so dear to him.</p>
+
+<p>"How greatly preferable your destiny is to mine!" cried Philip,
+bitterly. "Would I could die in your place."</p>
+
+<p>Dolores heard these words, and leaving Antoinette, she approached Philip
+and said:</p>
+
+<p>"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 had
+made. God recalls me to Him. You long to die with me, you say. You must
+not die, you must live, for your life belongs to one who has put her
+trust in you. Your life belongs to her, and your name; and no one is
+more worthy than Antoinette to bear your name."</p>
+
+<p>Philip passionately interrupted her:</p>
+
+<p>"I am no saint, I am a man! Why do you talk to me of promises and of
+duty? Whatever I may have said, whatever I may have promised, if I have
+not told you that I loved you, if I have not told you that I should
+always love you, I have lied. Read my&mdash;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 which
+has been the only joy, the only torment of one's life? Remember the
+past, Dolores&mdash;our childhood, the blissful existence in which love was
+first awakened in our hearts. I do not know what was passing in yours;
+but mine has nourished but one thought, cherished but one hope: to
+belong to you and to possess you. Upon this hope have I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> lived. It has
+been the strength and the weakness of my life; its deepest sorrow and
+its purest joy."</p>
+
+<p>While he was thus speaking in low tones that he might not be overheard,
+Antoinette, after exchanging a few remarks with Coursegol, approached
+them. Not a single word uttered by Philip had escaped her, and her
+terror-stricken eyes and drawn features betrayed her agony.</p>
+
+<p>"Was this dream of mine so unutterably wild and hopeless?" continued
+Philip, not perceiving Antoinette, and refusing to heed Dolores' warning
+sign. "Does a man display a culpable ambition when he longs for a calm
+and happy life with an adored wife who is worthy of him? And yet, the
+first 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.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Was this not the truth?" asked Dolores, timidly.</p>
+
+<p>"No, for you loved me and you sacrificed yourself for the sake of some
+foolish scheme upon the accomplishment of which my father would not have
+insisted if, sustained by you, I had ventured to confess the truth. You
+would not consent to this; you left us: then, Providence once more
+brought us face to face. This time, you granted me a hope only to take
+it from me again when Antoinette reappeared. Now, behold your work. Here
+are all three of us equally miserable; you, in dying; I, in surviving
+you; Antoinette, in loving me."</p>
+
+<p>"I am glad to die," replied Dolores, who had regained her firmness and
+composure.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span></p><p>"Then why did you not allow me to share this happiness? Yesterday, when
+you received the fatal news, why did you not say to me: 'We have been
+unhappy here on earth; death will save us from many and undeserved
+misfortunes; come, let us die together.'"</p>
+
+<p>"What! be the cause of your death?"</p>
+
+<p>"It would be less cruel than to leave me behind you. Do you know what my
+life will be when I can no longer hope to see you again here below? One
+long supplication for death to quickly relieve me of the burden of
+existence."</p>
+
+<p>"Philip, Philip!" murmured Dolores, reproachfully. "Can it be you who
+speak thus, you who have linked a soul to yours; you who are a husband
+already, for at the bedside of your dying father did not you and
+Antoinette kneel together to receive the blessing of God's anointed
+priest?"</p>
+
+<p>Philip made no reply.</p>
+
+<p>"You have reproached me," continued Dolores, "and why? Who is the real
+culprit here? Is it I? Have I not always discouraged you? Have I not
+always told you that duty stood between us? Have I not always striven to
+convince you that your hopes were futile? Had not you, yourself,
+renounced them? Then, why should I reproach myself? Besides, I have not
+sought death. I die because Heaven wills it, but I am resigned, and if
+this resignation is any evidence of courage, let it strengthen and
+reanimate your soul. Bravely act the only part that is worthy of your
+past, of your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> heart and of your name. There, and there only your
+soul-will find happiness and peace."</p>
+
+<p>Philip's anger vanished before such words as these. He was no longer
+irritated, but entirely overcome. Suddenly a sob resounded behind them.
+They turned. Antoinette was upon her knees.</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon," said she, in a voice broken with sobs.</p>
+
+<p>Dolores sprang forward to raise her.</p>
+
+<p>"Philip, do you forgive me?" entreated Antoinette.</p>
+
+<p>He too was weeping. He extended his hand to the young girl, who took it
+and covered it with her tears.</p>
+
+<p>"Spare me, spare me!" exclaimed Dolores. "You rend my soul now when I
+have need for all my strength. Your grief and despair at my fate lead
+you both beyond reality. You, my dear friend, my dear sister Antoinette,
+have received a sacred promise which you, Philip, made freely and with
+the intention to fulfil it. That is the only thing you must remember
+now."</p>
+
+<p>She uttered these words in a sweet and penetrating voice, and with an
+energy that calmed and silenced both of them. She spoke of the chief
+duties of life, of the necessity of resignation, devotion and
+self-denial.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish to carry with me to the grave," she added, "the assurance that
+you will console each other after my death by loving each other in
+remembrance of me."</p>
+
+<p>And they promised all that she asked, for it was impossible to resist so
+much grace, so much eloquence and so much humility. Then she took from
+her pocket the order of release which Coursegol had obtained through
+Vauquelas. She handed this to Philip.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span></p><p>"There is your freedom," she resumed. "With the assistance of Bridoul,
+who will aid you in Coursegol's stead, this paper will enable you to
+escape from prison. You will be conducted to a safe retreat where you
+can await the fall of these wicked men and the triumph of truth and of
+virtue. That hour will surely come; for the future does not belong to
+the violent and audacious; it is for the meek, the generous, the good."</p>
+
+<p>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 despair
+increased in violence.</p>
+
+<p>"Have pity on me!" she entreated. "Before I go, I will call you to bid
+you a last farewell."</p>
+
+<p>They left her. She remained alone with the other prisoners who had been
+condemned to death. Among them was the priest of whom we have already
+spoken; the same who had consoled and blessed her. He was seated in a
+corner of the room and many of the poor creatures, whose moments on
+earth were now numbered, had knelt before him to confess their sins and
+receive absolution. Dolores followed the example of her companions in
+misfortune. Purified by suffering and sanctified by the approach of
+death, her full confession revealed such nobility of character that the
+worthy priest was filled with admiration.</p>
+
+<p>"Now I am ready," she said to Coursegol. "Death may come."</p>
+
+<p>"So young and so beautiful, and to die!" he exclaimed, sadly.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span></p><p>"Are you going to bewail my fate?" she inquired, with a smile. "It is
+unnecessary, for I am very happy."</p>
+
+<p>"It is the thought of the sacrifice you have accomplished that renders
+you thus happy!"</p>
+
+<p>"Hush!" she said, quickly. "Who has spoken to you of a sacrifice? It
+must never be mentioned. Antoinette and Philip must never know that I
+died in place of another."</p>
+
+<p>"A saint might utter words like those," he murmured. Then beholding her
+cheerful, courageous and inspired with the holy enthusiasm of the
+martyrs, he added: "I am glad to die with you. You will open the portals
+of Heaven for me; and I will cling so closely to you, pure soul, that
+they will let me follow you in."</p>
+
+<p>Thus were these two souls elevated to the grandest heroism by the very
+simplicity of their devotion. There was certainly not a drop of noble
+blood in the veins of either of them, and yet they went to meet death
+valiantly, like saints.</p>
+
+<p>It was three o'clock, and a lovely winter's day. The sky was clear and
+the sun radiant.</p>
+
+<p>"We have fine weather for our journey to the scaffold," thought
+Coursegol.</p>
+
+<p>Dolores was absorbed in prayer. Her heart ascended to God in fervent
+supplication that He would bless her sacrifice, and make it redound to
+the peace and happiness of the two beloved friends that were left
+behind. Suddenly, several men entered the hall: the executioner and his
+assistants. Moans and cries of terror arose from the condemned.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span></p><p>"Already!" exclaimed a young woman, who had until now borne herself
+courageously.</p>
+
+<p>She fainted. She was half-dead with fear when she was carried up the
+steps of the guillotine an hour later. Dolores lost none of her
+composure on beholding the executioner. She quietly removed her hat; and
+while the three assistants cut off the hair of the prisoners around her,
+she unbound the magnificent golden tresses which enveloped her like a
+rippling veil. There was a universal shudder when the scissors despoiled
+that charming head of its superb adornment; and Coursegol could not
+repress an exclamation of wrath at this act of barbarity. Dolores
+checked him with a gesture.</p>
+
+<p>"I would like to have my hair," she said to the assistant executioner,
+pointing to the tresses lying upon the floor.</p>
+
+<p>"It belongs to me," he responded, roughly. "That is the custom."</p>
+
+<p>"Will this suffice to pay for it?" inquired Dolores, showing him a ring
+that she wore upon one of her fingers.</p>
+
+<p>"Undoubtedly."</p>
+
+<p>"Very well, I will buy it then."</p>
+
+<p>The man gathered up the golden curls and handed them to Dolores.</p>
+
+<p>"It is a pity," she said, gently and with a tinge of sadness. "They
+became me well."</p>
+
+<p>It was her only sign of regret for the sad fate to which her youth and
+beauty were condemned.</p>
+
+<p>When she saw that the moment of departure was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> near at hand, she asked
+to see Philip and Antoinette again. They had been standing just outside
+the door, half-crazed with grief. They entered, followed by Aubry, who,
+though accustomed to such scenes, was deeply moved. It was to him that
+she turned first.</p>
+
+<p>"I thank you for all your kindness," she said to him. "On my arrival at
+the prison, I confided a cross to your keeping."</p>
+
+<p>"Here it is. I return it to you, citoyenne."</p>
+
+<p>"Keep it, my friend; it will remind you of a prisoner to whom you showed
+compassion, and who will pray for you."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, citoyenne, I could have done no less!" faltered the poor man.</p>
+
+<p>Then Dolores turned to Antoinette and Philip. Their despair verged upon
+madness. That of Antoinette was violent, and vented itself in moans and
+tears; that of Philip was still more terrible, for the wretched man
+seemed to have grown ten years older in the past few hours.</p>
+
+<p>"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 you
+will soon come to join me. In its relations to life, death is nothing
+more."</p>
+
+<p>But, while she was thus endeavoring to console them, her own tears
+mingled with theirs. She took them both in her arms, and clasped them to
+her heart in a close embrace.</p>
+
+<p>"Love each other always, and do not forget me."</p>
+
+<p>These were her last words of counsel.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span></p><p>Coursegol approached. Philip opened his arms.</p>
+
+<p>"Coursegol," said he, "you are a man and an old soldier. Death has no
+terrors for you; you will lose none of your calmness. Take good care of
+her to the last, will you not?"</p>
+
+<p>"That she might not be compelled to go alone was why I resolved to die
+with her," replied Coursegol, simply.</p>
+
+<p>"Dolores, give me your blessing."</p>
+
+<p>It was Antoinette who spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, my sister, I bless thee!"</p>
+
+<p>And Dolores extended her hand over the grief-stricken head of her
+friend.</p>
+
+<p>"En route! en route!"</p>
+
+<p>This cry was uttered by a stentorian voice. The moment of parting had
+come. One last kiss was exchanged.</p>
+
+<p>"Farewell, farewell! We shall meet again in Heaven!"</p>
+
+<p>And Dolores tore herself from their clinging arms. Coursegol followed
+her, but not so quickly that he failed to see Antoinette swoon with a
+cry of heart-broken anguish, and Philip spring forward to support her. A
+cart was awaiting the victims in the court-yard of the prison. The
+twelve who were doomed to death took their places in it with their hands
+bound behind their backs. A number of soldiers on horseback and some on
+foot acted as an escort. They fell into line and the little procession
+started.</p>
+
+<p>From the Conciergerie to the Place de la <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span>R&eacute;volution the cart was
+followed by a hooting, jelling crowd of men, women and children, who
+sang coarse songs and hurled insults in the faces of their victims.
+These last seemed insensible to the indignities heaped upon them. On one
+side 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 entire
+route, once cease to cry: "Vive le Roi!" One of their companions, a
+Republican, accused of <i>Mod&eacute;rantisme</i>, regarded them with an air of
+ironical 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 be
+entirely unconscious of what was passing around her. Grief, cold,
+fatigue and the rough jolting of the vehicle had reduced her to a
+condition of pitiable weakness. Coursegol was distressed to see her in
+this state, and to be powerless to succor her. He did not think of
+himself; he thought only of her.</p>
+
+<p>When they came in sight of the Place de la R&eacute;volution, where the
+terrible guillotine towered up grim and ghastly against the horizon,
+Dolores trembled, and, closing her eyes, whispered:</p>
+
+<p>"I am afraid!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! my dearest little one, do not lose courage," said Coursegol, with
+all a father's tenderness. "I am here, but I can do nothing to save you
+from these horrors. But be brave and hopeful. Only a moment more and we
+shall find peace in the grave and in the arms of our blessed Lord."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span></p><p>The cart jolted onward through the dense and jeering crowd until it
+reached the foot of the steps leading to the awful guillotine. The aged
+man and his youthful companion were yet crying "Vive le Roi!" The
+Republican, accursed of <i>Mod&eacute;rantisme</i>, was still regarding them with an
+air of ironical compassion. The priest was yet reciting prayers and
+canticles with the three women. None of these unfortunates paid the
+slightest attention either to the hooting mob or the dreadful doom from
+which but a few instants separated them.</p>
+
+<p>The cart suddenly stopped and the condemned were roughly ordered to
+leave it. They did so mechanically and without resistance. The
+executioner's assistants seized upon them, dragging them into an open
+space, as if, instead of human beings, they had been merely dumb
+animals, awaiting slaughter in a butcher's shambles. The sans-culottes
+cheered; the tricoteuses, seated in knots, clapped their hands wildly in
+savage joy, delighted that more blood was speedily to be spilled. It was
+an appalling scene, steeped in horror.</p>
+
+<p>Coursegol moved towards Dolores to put his arm about her and sustain her
+trembling form. He was rudely pulled back by the assistant who had him
+in charge.</p>
+
+<p>"If you are a man and have a heart, show some mercy!" he pleaded. "Let
+me go to my daughter who is about to die!"</p>
+
+<p>The assistant gave a demoniac scowl.</p>
+
+<p>"There is no mercy for the enemies of the Republic!" he snarled. "Remain
+where you are!"</p>
+
+<p>Dolores glanced at Coursegol tenderly. The utmost<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> thankfulness was in
+her look. But she uttered not a word. She felt that speech would merely
+augment her companion's misery and her own.</p>
+
+<p>Those of the mob who were near enough to catch the assistant's brutal
+reply to Coursegol applauded it. Their hearts seemed turned to stone.
+Not a morsel of pity or human feeling was left in them. They were like
+so many wild beasts eager to lap blood.</p>
+
+<p>The executioner had bared his brawny arms for his fiendish task. His
+face glowed with intense satisfaction.</p>
+
+<p>"Come," said he, addressing his assistants. "We are wasting the Nation's
+time and keeping hosts of patriots waiting for their just revenge. Death
+to the enemies of the Republic!"</p>
+
+<p>An officer unfolded a soiled and crumpled paper. He began to call the
+death-roll.</p>
+
+<p>The aged Royalist went to the guillotine first. In an instant the huge
+knife descended; his life blood gushed forth and his head fell into the
+basket. The executioner grasped the head by its white locks and held it
+up, streaming with gore, to the gaze of the howling concourse.</p>
+
+<p>"So perish all who hate France and liberty!" he shouted.</p>
+
+<p>His shout was taken up and repeated from one end of the Place de la
+R&eacute;volution to the other.</p>
+
+<p>"So perish all who hate France and liberty!"</p>
+
+<p>It was a sublime mockery of justice, a deliberate treading under foot of
+all the rights of man. The sans-culottes and the tricoteuses rivaled
+each other in the loudness and strength of their applause.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span></p><p>The youthful Royalist was the next victim, and the preceding scene with
+all its horrors was repeated.</p>
+
+<p>Then the Republican, accused of <i>Mod&eacute;rantisme</i>, met his fate, then the
+priest, and then, one by one, the three women, each execution having a
+similar finale.</p>
+
+<p>Dolores and Coursegol alone were left of all the condemned. They looked
+at each other, encouraging each other to be brave by signs and glances.</p>
+
+<p>The officer with the death-roll read Dolores' name. Coursegol bowed his
+head, trembling in every limb. The supreme moment had come. The fainting
+girl was dragged forward. Her foot was already on the first step of the
+guillotine platform, when suddenly there was a great commotion in the
+crowd and a stentorian voice cried out:</p>
+
+<p>"In the name of the Republic, hold!"</p>
+
+<p>At the same instant the throng parted like a wave of the ocean and three
+men appeared at the foot of the guillotine. Two of them were clerks from
+Robespierre's bureau, clad in the well-known uniform and wearing the
+revolutionary cockade. The third was Bridoul. He wore the dress of the
+terrible Committee of Public Safety. It was he who had uttered the
+stentorian cry:</p>
+
+<p>"In the name of the Republic, hold!"</p>
+
+<p>The assistant who was dragging Dolores forward paused, astounded. The
+executioner dropped his arms to his sides and glanced at the three men
+in speechless amazement. An interruption of the guillotine's deadly work
+was something that had never yet come his knowledge or experience in the
+bloody days<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> of the Reign of Terror. He could not comprehend it. The
+suddenly silenced mob was equally unable to grasp the situation. What
+could be the matter? Had the flinty and inexorable Robespierre turned
+fainthearted at last? No! That was impossible! The patriots waited with
+open mouths for an explanation of this bewildering phenomenon.</p>
+
+<p>As for Dolores, she saw nothing, heard nothing. At the foot of the
+guillotine steps she had fainted dead away in the assistant's arms.</p>
+
+<p>Coursegol had seen Bridoul and heard his words, but they were as much of
+an enigma to him as to the rest. How was it that Bridoul was with
+Robespierre's clerks, and how was it that he wore the dress of the
+Committee of Public Safety? Coursegol, however, realized one thing&mdash;that
+Bridoul had in some inexplicable way acquired power and had come at the
+last moment to save Dolores and himself!</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile Bridoul and the clerks had mounted the guillotine steps and
+were 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 was
+seen the great red seal of the Republic. At the bottom, those nearest
+could make out the well-known signature of Robespierre!</p>
+
+<p>Bridoul proceeded to read the document. It declared that a mistake had
+been made in the condemnation of Citoyenne Antoinette de Mirandol and
+Citoyen Coursegol, that they were altogether innocent of any crime
+whatever against the Republic, and ordered them to be set at liberty
+immediately.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span></p><p>A subdued murmur followed the reading of this surprising paper, but,
+though the mob was dissatisfied and disappointed, no one dare dispute
+the command of the formidable and dreaded Dictator!</p>
+
+<p>Bridoul folded the precious document and placed it in his pocket; then
+he turned to the assistant who was supporting Dolores and ordered him to
+deliver his charge to Robespierre's clerks; the man at once obeyed.</p>
+
+<p>Bridoul then came down from the platform and went to Coursegol. The
+latter began at once to question him.</p>
+
+<p>"Hush!" said he. "Not a word now! I will explain all in time! For the
+present the girl and yourself are safe! That must suffice you! Come with
+me!"</p>
+
+<p>A carriage was waiting a few paces away. Bridoul led Coursegol to it and
+thither also Dolores was borne by the two clerks, who, after placing her
+on a seat, bowed respectfully to Bridoul and departed.</p>
+
+<p>"We are going to my house," said Bridoul, as the vehicle started off at
+the top of its horses' speed, the crowd leaving it an open passage.</p>
+
+<p>Dolores revived and opened her eyes just as they reached the wine-shop.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI.</h2>
+
+<h3>IN THE CH&Eacute;VREUSE VALLEY.</h3>
+
+<p>The first thing Dolores saw was the kindly face of Cornelia Bridoul, who
+was bending over her with tears of joy in her eyes. The good woman had
+been waiting at the door of the "Bonnet Rouge" and had sprang into the
+carriage the moment it stopped. Dolores was still very faint and utterly
+bewildered. She glanced at Cornelia, at Bridoul and then at Coursegol.
+Then she swooned again. Taking her in his arms, the wine-shop keeper
+carried her to the chamber she had formerly occupied, where he placed
+her upon the bed, leaving his wife to bestow such care on her as in her
+weak condition she might require. This done, he repaired to the back
+shop, where, by his direction, Coursegol had preceded him.</p>
+
+<p>"You want to know what all this means and how it was accomplished," said
+he, as he entered the room and carefully closed the door behind him. "I
+am now ready to tell you. But first you must have something to
+strengthen you, for you have just passed through a trial sufficient to
+break down even Hercules himself."</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke he took a flask of brandy from a closet and filled glasses
+for his companion and himself. After they had drunk the liquor and
+seated themselves, he continued:</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span></p><p>"Time is precious, and it will not do for Dolores and yourself to
+remain long here, or, for that matter, in Paris! You are safe for the
+moment, but at what instant you may again be in deadly peril it is
+impossible to say! I have succeeded in cheating the guillotine of its
+prey, and I will tell you how in as few words as I can. When I learned
+that Dolores was in prison and heard of your own arrest, I determined to
+move heaven and earth to save you, but was at a loss to know either
+where to turn or what to do. Just at that critical juncture word was
+brought me that I had been chosen a member of the Committee of Public
+Safety, on the recommendation of no less a personage than Robespierre
+himself, and that the Dictator wished to see me at once. I saw my
+opportunity and hastened to him without an instant's delay.</p>
+
+<p>"Robespierre received me cordially and informed me that I could be of
+the greatest service to him and the Republic. I answered that as a true
+patriot I was not only willing but anxious to do all that lay in my
+power. He smiled and said that he had a mission of the utmost importance
+to entrust to me, that he had selected me for it because of my
+well-known zeal for the Nation's welfare and my equally well-known
+integrity. I bowed, and he went on to say that certain members of the
+Committee of Public Safety were plotting against himself and the
+continuance of his power. My mission was to win over those members to
+his interest and restore harmony in the Committee. I accepted the
+mission and succeeded.</p>
+
+<p>"The Dictator's delight and exultation were <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span>boundless. He told me to
+name the price of my distinguished service and, whatever it might be, it
+should instantly be paid. He undoubtedly expected that I would demand
+money and position, but I demanded neither. I simply asked for his
+warrant, under his own signature and the great seal of the Republic, to
+save from prison and the guillotine two of my friends who were accused
+of crimes of which they were entirely innocent. Robespierre was
+surprised. He hesitated; then he asked the names of my friends. I gave
+them 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 of
+his clerks and have it at once carried into effect. You may well imagine
+that I did not let the grass grow under my feet. I took the precious
+document and, accompanied by the clerks, fairly flew to the
+Conciergerie, where I had learned you were confined previous to going to
+the guillotine.</p>
+
+<p>"When I arrived I was informed, to my terror and dismay that the cart
+laden with the condemned had already started for the Place de la
+R&eacute;volution and that Dolores and yourself were among the victims. I
+procured a carriage and with my companions drove at headlong speed to
+the very steps of the guillotine. The rest you know. Now, Robespierre is
+treacherous and forgetful of services when his end has been attained. He
+may revoke his warrant and order your re-arrest at any moment. Hence I
+say that time is precious and that it will not do for you to remain long
+either here or elsewhere in Paris. You must seek safety as soon as
+possible in the little cottage in the Ch&eacute;vreuse valley<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span>, where the
+Dictator and his myrmidoms will not think of searching for you. This is
+imperative!"</p>
+
+<p>Coursegol grasped his friend's hand.</p>
+
+<p>"You are a man, Bridoul!" said he. "You have saved our lives and won our
+undying gratitude! We will follow your advice to the letter! But you
+must do something more. Antoinette de Mirandol and Philip de Chamondrin
+are still in the Conciergerie. They have an order for their release, but
+cannot use it without your help. You must aid them to escape and join us
+in the Ch&eacute;vreuse valley!"</p>
+
+<p>"I will do it!" said Bridoul, solemnly. "I swear it!"</p>
+
+<p>"Enough," replied Coursegol. "Dolores and myself will leave for the
+refuge this very night!"</p>
+
+<p>Madame Bridoul was summoned and acquainted with the decision that had
+been reached. She reported that Dolores had recovered consciousness and
+strength and would be ready for the departure when required.</p>
+
+<p>"One thing more," said Coursegol to Bridoul and his wife. "Neither
+Philip nor Antoinette must know that we have escaped the guillotine
+until they find us alive and well in the Ch&eacute;vreuse valley!"</p>
+
+<p>This was agreed to, and, at nightfall, Coursegol and Dolores, provided
+with the requisite passports, quitted Paris. In due time they reached
+the little cottage in the Ch&eacute;vreuse valley in safety.</p>
+
+<p>About a fortnight after the supposed execution of Dolores and Coursegol,
+Philip and Antoinette, with the aid of Bridoul and the order of release
+wrested from Vauquelas, succeeded in obtaining their freedom. No<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> sooner
+were they out of the Conciergerie than they hastened to the refuge
+provided for them in the Ch&eacute;vreuse valley. What pen can describe their
+joy and gratitude to God when, on their arrival, they found that the
+little cottage contained two other tenants, and that those tenants were
+their beloved friends whom they had mourned as victims of the hideous
+guillotine?</p>
+
+<p>Dolores, after the first transports of delight at the reunion were over,
+endeavored to continue her r&ocirc;le of martyr and to induce Philip to keep
+his promise to her to marry Antoinette, but the latter had greatly
+changed since that dreadful parting at the Conciergerie. She had become
+capable of as great a sacrifice as Dolores, and firmly refused to stand
+longer between Philip and the woman he had loved for so many years. She
+still loved Philip, it is true, but her love had grown pure and
+unselfish&mdash;it was now a sister's love, not that of a woman who wished to
+be his wife.</p>
+
+<p>To say that Philip was overjoyed by this unexpected turn of affairs is
+only to state the simple truth.</p>
+
+<p>Dolores at first demurred, urging the wish of the late Marquis, also
+that she was devoted to God, but Antoinette's only reply was to join
+their hands and bless them, and Dolores finally consented to the
+marriage that at her heart's core she so ardently desired.</p>
+
+<p>Philip and Dolores were quietly united in wedlock a few weeks later.
+Coursegol, the Bridouls and Antoinette were the only persons present at
+the ceremony besides the bride and groom and the officiating priest.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span>
+Shortly afterwards the Marquis de Chamondrin and his wife, accompanied
+by Coursegol, Antoinette and the Bridouls, the latter having sold their
+wine-shop, went to England and from there to Louisiana, where Mlle. de
+Mirandol owned extensive estates. Antoinette decided to remain in
+Louisiana, having persuaded Madame Bridoul to take charge of her house
+and Bridoul to assume the management of her business.</p>
+
+<p>Philip and Dolores spent ten years in America and then returned to
+France. They had two children, a son and a daughter, the latter named
+Antoinette, and their life, though always slightly tinged with
+melancholy, was serene and peaceful. After his return to his native
+land, Philip rebuilt the Ch&acirc;teau de Chamondrin and took up his permanent
+abode there, determined to lead the life of a country gentleman and
+student and to take no part in the political controversies of the time,
+nor could he be induced to reconsider this decision though he was twice
+offered a seat in the Chamber of Deputies. After the exciting and
+terrible scenes of the Reign of Terror through which he had passed, he
+longed for quiet and repose. Coursegol was made the steward of his
+estate and managed it with such shrewdness and intelligence that Philip
+became rich and all the prestige of the Chamondrins was restored.</p>
+
+<p>In the month of May, 1822, while in Paris, to which city he had been
+called by important business, the Marquis de Chamondrin met an old
+nobleman who had been a fellow prisoner in the Conciergerie. They talked
+together a long time over the past and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> frenzy, perils and heroism
+which had stamped those eventful days, and a chance word, let fall by
+his companion, first acquainted Philip with the fact that Dolores had
+endeavored to sacrifice her own life in order to save that of Antoinette
+de Mirandol. The Marquis de Chamondrin turned pale as death and pressed
+his hand convulsively against his heart, but he speedily recovered his
+color and self-possession and the old nobleman did not even suspect the
+emotion to which his revelation had given rise.</p>
+
+<p>Philip never mentioned the knowledge he had acquired to his wife, but
+his love and reverence for her were vastly augmented by it, and,
+whenever he thought of the sacrifice that God in His mercy had not
+permitted to be made, he murmured to himself:</p>
+
+<p>"Dolores has a noble and heroic soul! An angel from Heaven could not
+have acted more grandly!"</p>
+
+<p class="tbrk">&nbsp;</p>
+
+<h4>THE END.</h4>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Which?, by Ernest Daudet
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@@ -0,0 +1,8655 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Which?, by Ernest Daudet
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Which?
+       or, Between Two Women
+
+Author: Ernest Daudet
+
+Translator: Laura E. Kendell
+
+Release Date: June 14, 2007 [EBook #21838]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHICH? ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Martin Pettit and
+the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
+https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+WHICH?
+
+OR,
+
+BETWEEN TWO WOMEN.
+
+
+BY ERNEST DAUDET.
+
+
+TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH
+BY LAURA E. KENDALL.
+
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+     "WHICH? OR, BETWEEN TWO WOMEN," is the latest and most powerful
+     novel from the pen of the celebrated French novelist, Ernest
+     Daudet. It is fully worthy of its famous author's great reputation,
+     for a more absorbing and thrilling romance has seldom been
+     published. The interest begins at once with the flight of the gypsy
+     mother with her child and her death in the Chateau de Chamondrin,
+     where the friendless little one is received and cared for. The plot
+     is simple and without mystery, but never, perhaps, were so many
+     stirring incidents crowded within the covers of a novel. The scene
+     is laid in Paris and the country, and some of the most striking
+     events of the times are vividly reproduced. The reader is given a
+     very realistic glimpse of Paris, and part of the action takes place
+     in that historic prison, the Conciergerie, where nobles and others
+     accused of crimes against the French Republic were confined.
+     History and fiction are adroitly mingled in the excellent novel,
+     which may be termed a double love story in that two women are
+     passionately attached to one man. On the thrilling adventures and
+     heart experiences of this trio the romance turns, and the reader's
+     attention is kept constantly riveted to the exciting narrative. The
+     other characters are all naturally drawn, and the book as a whole
+     is one of the best and most absorbing novels that can be found. It
+     will delight everybody.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+                               NEW YORK:
+                   W. L. ALLISON COMPANY, PUBLISHERS,
+                                 1893.
+
+
+                              COPYRIGHT:
+
+                     BY T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS.
+
+                                 1887.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+WHICH?
+
+"WHICH? OR, BETWEEN TWO WOMEN," _is the title of a new, very thrilling
+and intensely interesting novel, by Ernest Daudet, one of the best known
+and most widely read of the living French novelists. A highly romantic,
+attractive and touching love story, in which a gypsy girl of great
+beauty and heroism, named Dolores, and Antoinette de Mirandol, an
+heiress, are rivals for the possession of Philip de Chamondrin, the
+hero, forms the main theme, and it is most skilfully and effectively
+handled. About this double romance of the heart are clustered a series
+of exceedingly stirring episodes, many of which are historic. The
+adventures of Philip, Dolores and Antoinette in Paris are graphically
+described and hold the reader spell-bound. The book is highly dramatic
+from beginning to end, and especially so that portion where the
+Conciergerie prison and its noble inmates are depicted. Very stirring
+scenes also are the attack on the Chateau de Chamondrin, Coursegol's
+struggle with Vauquelas and Bridoul's rescue of the condemned prisoners
+on the Place de la Revolution. But the entire novel is exceedingly
+spirited, exciting and absorbing, and every character is finely drawn.
+"Which? or, Between Two Women," should be read by all who relish an
+excellent novel._
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+Chapter.                                           Page.
+
+      I. THE BOHEMIANS                                21
+
+     II. THE CHATEAU DE CHAMONDRIN                    36
+
+    III. THE CHILDHOOD OF DOLORES                     53
+
+     IV. PERTAINING TO LOVE MATTERS                   73
+
+      V. IN WHICH HISTORY IS MINGLED WITH ROMANCE    105
+
+     VI. PARIS IN 1792                               131
+
+    VII. CITIZEN JEAN VAUQUELAS                      163
+
+   VIII. AN EPISODE OF THE EMIGRATION                179
+
+     IX. THE MOVING CURTAIN                          193
+
+      X. COURSEGOL'S EXPLOITS                        209
+
+     XI. THE CONCIERGERIE                            220
+
+    XII. ANTOINETTE DE MIRANDOL                      238
+
+   XIII. LOVE'S CONFLICTS                            249
+
+    XIV. THE THUNDERBOLT                             263
+
+     XV. THE LAST FAREWELL                           284
+
+    XVI. IN THE CHEVREUSE VALLEY                     304
+
+
+
+
+WHICH?
+
+BY ERNEST DAUDET.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+THE BOHEMIANS.
+
+
+Early one morning in the month of March, 1770, a woman bearing in her
+arms a new-born infant, was hastening along the left bank of the Garden,
+a small river that rises in the Cevennes, traverses the department of
+the Gard, and empties into the Rhone, not far from Beaucaire. It would
+be difficult to find more varied and picturesque scenery than that which
+borders this stream whose praises have been chanted by Florian, and
+which certainly should not be unknown to fame since it was here the
+Romans constructed the Pont du Gard, that gigantic aqueduct which
+conveyed the waters of Eure to Nimes.
+
+The woman of whom we speak was at that moment very near the famous Pont
+du Gard--which is only a short distance from the spot on which the
+little village of Lafous now stands, and directly opposite Remoulins, a
+town of considerable size situated on the right bank of the river--and
+at a point where the highway from Nimes to Avignon intersects the road
+leading up from the villages that dot the river banks. The woman paused
+on reaching the place where these roads meet, not to take breath, but to
+decide which course she should pursue. But she did not hesitate long.
+After casting an anxious glance behind her, she hastened on again,
+directing her steps toward the Pont du Gard, which was distant not more
+than half a mile.
+
+The air was very cold; the wind had been blowing furiously all night,
+and at day-break it was still raging, ruffling the water, bending the
+trees, snatching up great clouds of dust, and moaning and shrieking
+through the clumps of willows that bordered the stream, while immense
+masses of gray and white clouds scudding rapidly across the sky,
+imparted to it the appearance of a tempest-tossed ocean. Some of these
+clouds were so low that they seemed almost to touch the earth as they
+rushed wildly on, pursued by the fury of the gale, and assuming strange
+and fantastic forms in their erratic course. Undeterred by the violence
+of the tempest, the stranger advanced steadily, apparently with but one
+aim in view: to reach her journey's end with all possible expedition in
+order to protect her sleeping infant from the inclemency of the weather.
+
+She was a young woman, not yet twenty years of age. Her luxuriant golden
+hair hung in wild disorder from the brilliant-hued kerchief that was
+bound about her head; and her garments were as remarkable for their
+peculiarity of form as for their diversity of color. She wore a short,
+full dress of blue de laine bordered with yellow, and confined at the
+waist by a red silk girdle. Over this, she wore a gray cape of coarse
+woollen stuff. Her legs were bare, and her feet were protected only by
+rude sandals, held in place by leathern thongs. Many rents, more or less
+neatly repaired by the aid of thread or if material of another color,
+revealed the fact that these faded garments had been in long and
+constant use. Even the sandals were so dilapidated that the feet of
+their wearer were upon the ground. Her whole attire, in short, was
+wretched and poverty-stricken in the extreme.
+
+But no face could be more charming. Her pure and delicate features shone
+out from their framework of golden hair with marvellous beauty, in spite
+of the sorrow and fatigue which had left their impress upon her face.
+Her eyes, shaded by long dark lashes and dewy with tears, were
+remarkably beautiful and expressive. The sunburn that disfigured her
+charming face, her exquisitely formed hands and her tiny feet, which
+were scarcely larger than those of a child, extended no further. Upon
+those portions of her body that were protected by her clothing, her skin
+was white and delicate, and scarcely colored by the young blood that
+coursed through her veins. Such was this woman, and it would have been
+difficult to divine her origin if the tambourine that hung at her
+girdle, and the hieroglyphics embroidered upon her sleeves had not
+revealed it beyond all question.
+
+Tiepoletta, for that was her name, belonged to one of those wandering
+tribes that leave Spain or Hungary each spring to spend some months in
+Southern France, advancing as far as Beaucaire, Avignon and
+Arles--sleeping as fate wills, under the arches of bridges, in
+tumbledown barns, or in the open air; living sometimes by theft, but
+oftener by their own exertions; the men dealing in mules and in rags;
+the women telling fortunes, captivating young peasants, extorting money
+from them, and selling glassware of their own manufacture--the children
+imploring charity. These people, scattered throughout Europe--these
+people, whose manner of life is so mysterious and whose origin is more
+mysterious still--seem to be closely allied both to the Moors and to the
+Hindoos, not only in appearance but in their phlegm, fanaticism and
+rapacity. Such of our readers as have travelled in Southern Europe must
+have frequently encountered these Bohemians, who come from no one knows
+where only to disappear again like the swallows at the approach of
+winter.
+
+Their language is a mixture of the Spanish and the Sclavonic. Some
+jabber a little French. The men are generally athletic, very dark
+complexioned and have strong, energetic features, wavy hair and sonorous
+voices. The women, when young, are remarkably beautiful; but like all
+who lead an exposed and migratory life, they become hideous before they
+are thirty. They live in families or tribes, each family consisting of
+fifteen or twenty members, and obeying the orders of the oldest woman,
+who is dignified by the title of queen, and from whose decisions there
+is no appeal, though she, in turn, owes allegiance to one great queen.
+These Bohemians are tolerated in the countries through which they pass;
+but people seldom enter into any closer relations with them than are
+necessary to effect the purchase of a horse or mule, or to obtain a
+prediction concerning the future. They know the feeling of repulsion
+they inspire, so they seldom approach thickly settled districts, and
+only the women and children venture into the villages to solicit alms.
+
+It was to this race that Tiepoletta belonged; and though the color of
+her hair, the delicacy of her features and the fairness of her skin did
+not accord with her supposed origin, her memory hinted at nothing that
+did not harmonize with what had been told her concerning her parentage.
+It is not the aim of this story to investigate the truth or the falsity
+of this assertion. That Tiepoletta had Bohemian blood in her veins; that
+she had, as a child, been stolen from her friends; that she was the
+fruit of some mysterious love affair; all these hypotheses were equally
+plausible, but there was nothing to prove that the first was not the
+true one, nor had her imagination ever engaged in a search for any
+other; but the people of her tribe seemed to suspect that she was of
+different blood, for they evidently regarded her with aversion.
+Preserved from the pernicious counsels and examples of those around her
+by some secret instinct, she had remained pure. With the aid of a book
+picked up on the roadside, she had learned to read and to speak a few
+French words. This was more than enough to convince her companions that
+she was haughty and proud. When she was a child, they beat her
+unmercifully because she refused to beg. As she grew older, she had a
+most cruel enemy in her beauty, which was the cause of much of her
+misery. Subjected to temptations to which she saw young girls around her
+yield without a thought, she escaped only by a miracle, but it brought
+down upon her, anger, hatred and cruel vengeance. She increased these by
+refusing to choose a husband from among the young men with whom she had
+been reared.
+
+They resolved to compel her to marry one of her companions. She fled,
+but they succeeded in recapturing her without much difficulty. They then
+shut her up, telling her that she should remain a prisoner until she
+promised obedience. It was the most trying time of her whole life. Beset
+on every side, beaten, buffetted, tyrannized over, fed on food that was
+only fit for a dog, she would certainly have died in the struggle had
+not destiny sent her a protector in the person of Borachio, a young man
+about twenty-five years of age, whose heart was touched by her
+misfortunes.
+
+He was so bold, so strong and so terrible in his anger that the whole
+tribe stood in awe of him. He took compassion on their victim and
+compelled her tormentors to cease their persecution. Tiepoletta was not
+ungrateful, and she afterward married her preserver to the great disgust
+of the young girls of the tribe, with whom Borachio was a great
+favorite.
+
+According to custom, the queen solemnized the marriage without delay;
+and at nineteen Tiepoletta had a master whose coarse tenderness was
+sweet, indeed, in comparison with the harsh treatment to which she had
+been subjected heretofore. But this happiness was destined to be of
+short duration. Borachio was found dead upon the roadside one morning,
+his breast pierced by eight dagger thrusts. Envious of his beauty, his
+authority and his lovely young wife, one of his comrades had
+assassinated him and made Tiepoletta a widow some time before she was to
+become a mother. Six months went by, during which they seemed to respect
+her grief. Then, in a cave near the Pont du Gard, she gave birth to a
+daughter. The very next evening, while she was lying, half asleep, on
+some straw on the floor of the cave, with her child beside her, she
+overheard a conversation that was going on outside. They were talking of
+her. She listened eagerly. Picture her fear and horror when she heard
+them scheming to deprive her of her infant and then drive her from their
+midst, thus ridding the tribe of a useless member and retaining
+Borachio's child. It was Corcovita, the mother of the poor heart-broken
+creature, who was the strongest advocate of this shameful outrage.
+
+"We shall leave here to-morrow to go to Avignon," said she. "We must
+obtain possession of the child and then find an opportunity to abandon
+Tiepoletta on the road."
+
+This plan gave general satisfaction, and Corcovita was charged with its
+execution. Tiepoletta had heard enough. Wild with terror she endeavored
+to devise some means of escape from this new peril, and during the long
+watches of the night she finally resolved to flee with her child. The
+next morning at day-break the little band was on its way. A seat in the
+carriage was offered to Tiepoletta. She accepted it, knowing she must
+save all her strength if she would carry her plan into successful
+execution.
+
+After a long march, they paused at nightfall to encamp near Avignon.
+Tiepoletta, a prey to the most intense anxiety, had detected the
+interchange of divers signs that convinced her they were only waiting
+for her to fall asleep to steal her child from her. She watched. At
+eight o'clock the men had gone to stroll around the suburbs of the city;
+the old women were dozing; the young people were laughing and teasing
+one another, and the children were sound asleep. Tiepoletta profited by
+a moment when no one was observing her to steal from the camp on
+tip-toe. She proceeded perhaps a hundred paces in this way, then, seized
+with sudden fright, she began to run, holding her child pressed close to
+her heart; fancying she heard her mother's voice behind her, she rushed
+wildly on, never pausing until she sank exhausted on the lonely road.
+
+She had pursued her flight for more than an hour without even asking
+herself where she was going, and with no thought save that of escaping
+from her persecutors. She was now beyond their reach. Still she could
+not dismiss her fears. Dreading pursuit, she soon resumed her journey,
+turning her steps in the direction of the Pont du Gard, in the hope
+that her former companions would not think of looking for her there, and
+that she might find in the cave they had just deserted a little straw
+upon which she could rest her weary limbs, and some fragments of food
+that would keep her alive until she had decided upon her future course.
+She walked all night. When she found herself near the Pont du Gard day
+was breaking.
+
+The wind was still blowing; but the clouds had scattered before its
+violence like a flock of frightened sheep, and a pale light was
+beginning to shine upon the drenched fields. Gloomy and majestic in its
+century-old impassibility, the Pont du Gard--a colossus upheld by two
+mountains, and accustomed to defy alike the tempest and the ravages of
+time--seemed to laugh at the gale which beat against its massive pillars
+and rushed into its gigantic arches with a sound like thunder. These
+strong yet graceful arches seem so many frames through which the
+astonished eyes of the traveller seize the landscape bit by bit: the
+quiet valley, watered by the Gardon, the luxuriant green of the willows,
+the clear waves dancing along over their sandy bed, the blue sky
+reflected there, the mountains that border the horizon.
+
+Nothing can be more wildly beautiful than this secluded spot, which is
+as silent and lonely as if it had never been trodden by the foot of man.
+Judging from the prodigality with which nature has lavished her riches
+here, it would seem that she wishes the sole credit of this superb
+panorama. The massive aqueduct alone attests the existence of man.
+Looming up in its mighty grandeur--the imperishable monument of a
+departed civilization, and the only one of its kind--the beholder feels
+that it is no unworthy rival of the works of Deity.
+
+But the majestic scene made no impression upon Tiepoletta. That poor
+creature, fainting with hunger and fatigue, did not even notice the
+grandeur around her. With half-closed eyes, arms cramped by the weight
+of the precious burden upon which she now maintained her hold only by a
+superhuman effort, and lips parched by the wind, she plodded on with a
+measured, automatic step. She was hungry; she was thirsty; she was
+shivering with the cold. Her feet were swollen; but her sufferings were
+forgotten when she neared her journey's end. She passed under the Pont
+du Gard. The path on the other side of the aqueduct winds along between
+the base of the cliffs and the bed of the stream. Under one of these
+cliffs nature has hewn out a grotto of such liberal dimensions that the
+people of the neighborhood assemble there on fete days to dance and make
+merry.
+
+It was there the Bohemians had encamped a few days before; it was there
+Tiepoletta had given birth to the tiny creature whom she had just
+rescued from the heartless wretches who had conspired to despoil a
+mother of her child. This comfortless cavern where she had suffered so
+much seemed to her now a Paradise, in which she would be content to
+dwell forever.
+
+She rushed into the cave. The sunlight illumined only a small portion of
+the grotto; the rest of it was veiled in shadow. Tiepoletta glanced
+around her and uttered a cry of joy. In one dim corner she discerned a
+little straw, enough, however, to serve as a bed. She laid her sleeping
+infant upon it, covered the child with her mantle; then gathering up a
+few bits of bread and some half-picked bones which had been left upon
+the floor of the cave, she proceeded to appease her hunger. When this
+was satisfied, she ran to the river, quenched her thirst, bathed her
+sore and bleeding feet, and then returned to the cave after walking
+about awhile in the sunlight to warm herself. Flinging herself down upon
+the straw, she covered herself with her tattered garments as best she
+could, and drawing her child to her gave it the breast. The little one
+roused from its slumber uttered a moan and applied its pale lips to the
+bosom upon which it was dependent for sustenance; but it soon exhausted
+the supply of milk, whose abundance had been greatly diminished by the
+fatigues of the preceding night, and again fell asleep.
+
+Then, in the midst of this profound silence and solitude, Tiepoletta,
+providentially rescued from her persecutors, experienced an intense joy
+that made her entirely forget the hardships she had just undergone.
+There were undoubtedly new misfortunes in store for her. She must,
+without delay, find some way to earn her own living and that of her
+child; but their wants were few. Birds and Bohemians are accustomed to
+scanty fare. She could work: she was accustomed to labor: she was inured
+to fatigue. Besides, who would be so hard-hearted as to refuse her bread
+when she said: "I am willing to earn it." This artless creature, whose
+ambition was so modest, consoled her troubled mind with these hopes, and
+trembled only when she thought of those from whom she had just fled. No
+one had ever told Tiepoletta that there was a God. She did not know how
+to pray; nevertheless, in the refuge she had found, her soul lifted
+itself up in fervent adoration to the unknown God whose power had
+protected her, though she was ignorant of His existence and of His name.
+It was in the midst of this feverish exaltation of spirit that sleep
+overcame her before she had even thought to ask herself what she should
+do on awaking.
+
+For several hours she slumbered on undisturbed, but suddenly she woke.
+She fancied she heard in her sleep a frightful noise like the rumbling
+of heavy thunder, a noise which mingled with the shrieks of the wind and
+finally drowned them entirely. At first she thought she must be the
+victim of some terrible dream. But the sound grew louder and louder.
+This was no dream; it was reality. She sprang to her feet, seeking some
+loophole of escape from the unknown peril that threatened her. Above the
+tumult she could distinguish human cries. She thought these must come
+from her pursuers. But no; these distant voices were calling for succor.
+She caught up her child and ran from the cave. A grand but terrible
+sight met her gaze and riveted her to the spot in motionless horror.
+
+The Gardon had overflowed its banks. With the rapidity that
+characterizes its sudden inundations and transforms this peaceful stream
+into the most impetuous of torrents, the water had risen over the banks
+that border it and flooded the fields, sweeping away everything that
+stood in its path. This water now laved the feet of the young Bohemian;
+and as far as the eye could reach she could see nothing but a mass of
+boiling, turbulent waves, bearing on their crests floating fragments of
+houses and furniture, as well as trees, animals and occasionally human
+bodies. The cries she had heard came from some women who had been
+overtaken by the torrent while engaged in washing their linen at the
+river, and who had taken refuge upon a rock on the side of the now
+inundated road.
+
+The river continued to rise. This immense volume of water was vainly
+seeking an outlet through the narrow defile formed by the hills and
+which ordinarily sufficed for the bed of the Gardon; but, finding the
+passage inadequate now, it dashed itself violently against the rocks and
+against the supports of the aqueduct which haughtily defied the furious
+flood; then, converted into a mass of seething foam, it returned over
+the same road it had just traversed until it met the new waves that were
+being constantly formed by the current. It was the shock of this meeting
+that caused the noise which had roused Tiepoletta from her slumber. A
+stormy sea could not have appeared more angry, or formed more formidable
+billows. One might have called it a fragmentary episode of the universal
+deluge.
+
+Five minutes more than sufficed to give Tiepoletta an idea of the extent
+of the inundation. She stood with wild eyes and unbound hair, the
+picture of terror and dismay. Suddenly an enormous wave broke not far
+from her with the roar of a wild beast, and the water dashed up to her
+very feet. She pressed her child closer to her breast and recoiled.
+Another wave dashed up, blinding her with its spray. Would the water
+invade the cave? Her blood froze in her veins. Frenzy seized her. This
+new misfortune, added to those she had suffered during the past three
+days, was more than she could bear. From that moment she acted under the
+influence of actual madness caused by her terror. She must flee. But by
+what road? To reach either of the neighboring villages was impossible.
+The foaming waters covered the entire plain.
+
+Suddenly Tiepoletta recollected that on the summit of the hill above her
+there was a chateau which the Bohemians had visited sometimes in pursuit
+of alms. She could reach it by means of a broad footpath that
+intersected the road only a few yards from the grotto. It was there she
+resolved to go for shelter. But to reach this path she must walk through
+the raging flood. She did not hesitate. Each moment of delay aggravated
+her peril, and might place some insurmountable barrier between her and
+her only chance of salvation. She lifted her skirts, fastened her child
+upon her back and bravely waded into the torrent.
+
+What agony she endured during that short journey. The water was higher
+than her waist; the ground was slippery; the current, rapid and
+capricious. It required an indomitable will to sustain her--to keep her
+from yielding twenty times to the might of this unchained monster.
+Frequently she was obliged to pause in order to regain her breath. The
+struggle lasted only ten minutes, but those ten minutes seemed so many
+ages. At last she reached the path leading to the chateau. She was
+saved!
+
+She let fall her tattered skirts about her slender limbs, and, without
+wasting time in looking back upon the perilous road she had just
+traversed, she hastened up the hill. A few moments later she reached the
+door of the chateau in a plight most pitiable to behold. It was time. A
+moment more and her limbs trembling with excitement and exhaustion,
+would have refused to sustain her. She fell on her knees and deposited
+her burden upon some tufts of heather; then with a mighty effort she
+seized and pulled a chain suspended at the side of the door. The sound
+of a bell was instantly heard. As if her strength had only waited until
+this moment to desert her, she fell to the ground unconscious at the
+very instant the door opened.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+THE CHATEAU DE CHAMONDRIN.
+
+
+The man who appeared at the door was young, and, in spite of his swarthy
+complexion and formidable moustache, his features and the expression of
+his eyes indicated frankness and benevolence. His garb was that of a
+soldier rather than a servant, but the arms of the Marquis de
+Chamondrin, the owner of the chateau, were embroidered in silver upon
+it. On seeing the unconscious Tiepoletta and the child so quietly
+sleeping beside her, he could not repress a cry of astonishment and
+dismay.
+
+"What is it, Coursegol?" inquired a gentleman who had followed him.
+
+"Look, sir," replied Coursegol, pointing to Tiepoletta.
+
+"Is she dead?" exclaimed the Marquis, springing forward; then, deeply
+impressed by the beauty of the unconscious girl, he knelt beside her and
+placed his hand upon her heart. It still throbbed, but so feebly that he
+could scarcely count its pulsations. The Marquis rose.
+
+"She lives," said he, "but I do not know that we shall save her. Quick,
+Coursegol, have her and her child brought in and apply restoratives."
+
+"Oh, the child is doing very well," replied the servitor. "All it needs
+is a little milk; for to-day, one of our goats must be its nurse."
+
+As he spoke Coursegol summoned a servant to whom he confided the infant;
+then, taking the mother in his strong arms, he carried her up-stairs and
+placed her on a bed.
+
+Coursegol was thirty years of age. Born in the chateau, where his father
+and his grandfather before him had served the Marquis de Chamondrin, he
+had shared the childish sports of the lad who afterwards became his
+master. He absolutely worshipped the Marquis, regarding him with a
+veritable idolatry that was compounded of respect and of love. Outside
+of the chateau and its occupants, there was nothing that could interest
+or attract this honest fellow. His heart, his intelligence and his life
+were consecrated to his master's service. In the neighboring villages he
+so lauded the name of Chamondrin that no one dared to let fall in his
+presence any word that did not redound to the glory and honor of
+Coursegol's idolized master. He had no particular office at the chateau,
+but he superintended everything, assuming the duties of lodge-keeper,
+gardener, major-domo and not unfrequently those of cook. It was he who
+instructed the son of the Marquis in the arts of horsemanship and of
+fencing, for he had served two years in His Majesty's cavalry and
+thoroughly understood these accomplishments. He was also an adept in the
+manufacture of whistles from willow twigs, in the training of dogs,
+falcons and ferrets, in snaring birds, in the capture of butterflies and
+in skipping stones.
+
+He had already begun to teach Philip--his master's son, a bright boy of
+five--all these accomplishments. He had some knowledge of medicine also;
+and, as he had spent much of his life in the fields, he had become
+acquainted with the names and properties of many plants and herbs; and
+this knowledge had often been called into requisition for the benefit of
+many of the people as well as the animals of the neighborhood. Never had
+his skill been needed more than now, for poor Tiepoletta had not
+recovered consciousness, and her rigidity and the ghastly pallor which
+had overspread her features seemed to indicate that she had already been
+struck with death.
+
+Anxious to resuscitate her, Coursegol set energetically to work, but not
+without emotion. It was the first time he had ever exercised his skill
+on a woman, and this pure and lovely face had made a deep impression on
+his heart. He would willingly have given a generous share of his own
+blood to hear Tiepoletta speak, to see her smile upon him.
+
+"Look, sir," said he, "how beautiful she is! She certainly cannot be
+twenty years old. Her skin is as fine as satin, and what hair! Could
+anything be more lovely?"
+
+While he spoke, Coursegol was endeavoring to unclose the teeth of the
+gypsy in order to introduce a few drops of warm, sweetened wine through
+her pallid lips. Then he rubbed the feet of the unfortunate woman
+vigorously with hot flannels.
+
+"They are sore and swollen!" he added. "She must have come a long
+distance!"
+
+"Is she recovering?" asked the Marquis, who stood by, watching
+Coursegol's efforts.
+
+"I do not know; but see, sir, it seemed to me that she moved."
+
+The Marquis came nearer. As he did so Tiepoletta opened her eyes. She
+looked anxiously about her, then faintly murmured a few words in a
+strange tongue.
+
+"She speaks," said the Marquis, "but what does she say? She seems
+frightened and distressed."
+
+"She wishes to see her child," exclaimed Coursegol, departing on the
+run.
+
+During his absence Tiepoletta regained her senses sufficiently to
+recollect what had happened; but she was so weak that she could scarcely
+speak. Still, when Coursegol appeared with the child in his arms, she
+smiled and extended her hands.
+
+"Kiss her, but do not take her," said the Marquis. "You are not strong
+enough for that yet."
+
+Tiepoletta understood and obeyed. Then she said gently in bad French:
+
+"My Dolores."
+
+"Dolores! That is a pretty name!" remarked Coursegol, pleased to hear
+the poor woman speak.
+
+"You will keep her, will you not?" said Tiepoletta, entreatingly. "You
+will not give her to those who will maltreat her? Make an honest girl of
+her. Teach her not to scorn the poor gypsies. Tell her that her father
+and her mother belonged to that despised race."
+
+She uttered these phrases slowly, speaking, not without difficulty,
+French words that would clearly express her meaning.
+
+"Have no fears," replied Coursegol. "The child shall want for nothing.
+Rest in peace."
+
+"Yes," she repeated, "rest in death."
+
+"She talks of dying!" exclaimed the Marquis. The words had hardly left
+his lips when the woman rose and extended her arms. Her features
+contracted; her large eyes seemed to start from her head; she placed her
+hand upon her heart, uttered a shrill cry and fell back upon the bed. It
+was the work of an instant. Coursegol and the Marquis both sprang
+forward, lifted her, and endeavored to restore her, but in vain. The
+unfortunate Tiepoletta was dead. Her heart had broken like a fragile
+vase, shattered by the successive misfortunes she had undergone. A great
+tear fell from the eyes of Coursegol.
+
+"Poor woman!" said he.
+
+"What shall we do with the child?" inquired the Marquis. "I would like
+to keep her and rear her. Heaven has sent her here; but who will act as
+a mother to the poor little waif? The condition of the Marquise renders
+it impossible for her to do so."
+
+As he spoke, his voice trembled with emotion. It was not only because he
+was touched by the sight before him, but because the words he had
+uttered reminded him of his own misfortunes.
+
+"If Monsieur le Marquis would but grant my request," said Coursegol,
+timidly.
+
+"What is your request?"
+
+"I have no wife, no child. The little apartment that I occupy is very
+gloomy when M. Philip is not with me. If you will consent to it, Dolores
+shall be my daughter."
+
+"Your daughter, but who would take care of her?"
+
+"Oh! I will attend to that. I know some very worthy people in Remoulins.
+The woman has a young child. She will have milk enough for this little
+thing too. I will entrust the child to her for a time."
+
+"Very well; I have no objection, Coursegol," replied the Marquis. "Take
+the child, if you wish. As for the mother, may her soul rest in peace!
+She probably had no faith in religion; but I am sure she was guilty of
+no sin. I shall request the cure of Remoulins to allow her body to
+repose in his cemetery. I will now inform the authorities of what has
+occurred."
+
+With these words, the Marquis left the room; and Coursegol, after
+covering the face of the dead with reverent hands, knelt and prayed for
+her as well as for the orphan who had been confided to his care.
+
+The Chateau de Chamondrin was scarcely a century old. Erected on the
+site of a feudal castle which had been demolished because it threatened
+to fall into ruins, the present structure was destitute of the massive
+towers, moats and drawbridges that characterize the ancient castle. The
+building was square and enclosed an immense court; it was only two
+stories high, and the upper story was surrounded by a veranda. Such had
+been the very simple plan executed by the architect; and the result had
+been an unpretentious abode, but one to which the color of the bricks
+used in its construction, the delicate columns that supported the
+windows and doors and the graceful pavilions placed at each of the four
+corners lent an air of extreme elegance.
+
+The building occupied the entire plateau on the brow of the hill and
+commanded a superb view of the Garden; while the park and farm-lands,
+vineyards and forests pertaining to the chateau covered the hill itself.
+This property was now the only possession of the house of Chamondrin,
+one of the oldest in Languedoc and Provence. It was not always thus.
+There had been a time when "As rich as a Chamondrin" was a proverb in
+the region thereabout. In those days this illustrious family had
+countless vassals and unbounded wealth, and enjoyed an income that
+enabled it for many successive generations to play a conspicuous role,
+first at the Court of Provence and later at the Court of France. The
+grandfather and father of the present Marquis lived to see the end of
+this proverbial opulence. They both led careers of extravagance and
+dissipation, taking part in all the gayeties and follies of the court.
+The grandfather was one of the favorite companions of Philippe
+d'Orleans; and wine, cards and women killed him when he should have been
+still in the prime of life.
+
+His son did not learn wisdom from his father's example. He in his turn
+became the friend of the Regent, and to repair his shattered fortunes he
+engaged, at the advice of Lau, in those disastrous financial enterprises
+that paved the way for the Revolution. He failed completely in his
+ventures, left Paris insolvent, and took refuge in the Chateau de
+Chamondrin, where he hoped to escape the wrath of his creditors. But
+they complained to the king, and brought such influence to bear upon him
+that Louis XV., the Well-beloved, who had just ascended the throne,
+informed the Marquis de Chamondrin that he would allow him three months
+in which to choose between the payment of his debts and incarceration in
+the Bastile. The Marquis did not hesitate long. He sold all his property
+with the exception of this chateau and paid his debts. But when this
+plebeian duty was accomplished, it left him in receipt of an extremely
+modest income. Poverty had fallen upon this house at the very time that
+the favor of the king was withdrawn from it, and this two-fold
+misfortune was quickly followed by the birth of a son and the loss of
+his wife.
+
+These afflictions completely prostrated this man who was wholly
+unprepared to meet them. He shut himself up in his chateau, and there,
+far from the pleasures for which he pined, far from the friends who had
+forgotten him, cursing God and man for his misfortunes, he lapsed into a
+misanthropy that rendered him nervous and eccentric almost to madness.
+He lived twenty years in this way, apparently taking no pleasure or
+interest in his son, whose youth was gloomy and whose education was
+entrusted entirely to the cure of a neighboring village. He died in
+1765, in the middle of the eighteenth century, the first half of which
+had proved so fatal to the prosperity of his house.
+
+His son, Hector--the same who had sheltered Tiepoletta--found himself,
+when he became of age, the owner of a name famous in the courts of
+Europe and upon many a field of battle, of an income of five thousand
+pounds and of the Chateau de Chamondrin. He was a gentle, serious young
+man of very simple tastes. He quickly resigned himself to the
+situation. After a close examination of the condition of affairs, he
+resolved to devote his life and all his efforts to the restoration of
+the glory of his name. He married, two years after the death of his
+father, the daughter of an impoverished Provencal nobleman, a lady whose
+domestic virtues seemed likely to aid him in the execution of his plans.
+He brought his wife home the day after their marriage and then said to
+her:
+
+"My dear Edmee, you have entered a family which for the past forty years
+has been subjected to reverses which can only be repaired by great
+self-denial on our part. We cannot hope to enjoy the fruits of our
+labors ourselves, but our children, should God grant us any, may enjoy
+them, and it is for their sakes that we must endeavor to restore the
+house of Chamondrin to its former splendor and opulence; and since you
+have consented to share my humble lot I hope that you will unite your
+efforts with mine to lay aside each year a sum that will enable our
+oldest son, when he arrives at the age of manhood, to make a respectable
+appearance at court where he will perhaps be fortunate enough to win the
+king's favor, our only hope."
+
+"You will ever find me ready to second you in your efforts," replied the
+young wife.
+
+A son and a daughter were born to them during the two years that
+followed. Nor were these their only blessings. The crops were abundant
+and their savings considerable. The life of the young couple was serene
+and happy. The Marquis was hopeful; the Marquise, a charming and most
+lovable creature, shared his hopes. Undoubtedly their life in this
+isolated chateau was often lonely and monotonous. The winters were very
+long; but the Marquis read a great deal, hunted and superintended his
+farms with the diligence of a peasant. The Marquise, too, was obliged to
+have a finger in the pie, to use a common expression. She directed the
+affairs of her household with as much care and economy as the plainest
+bourgeoise and seemed to live only to second the efforts of her husband.
+If resignation is the chief element of happiness, they were happy at the
+Chateau de Chamondrin.
+
+Four years passed in this way. Little Philip was growing finely; he had
+passed safely through the perils of teething and was beginning to talk.
+
+"We will make a fine gentleman of him," said the Marquis. "He will
+create a sensation at court; the king will give him command of a
+regiment, and he will marry some rich heiress. As for this young lady,"
+he added, caressing his daughter who was named Martha, "if we cannot
+give her a dowry we will obtain an appointment as lady abbess for her."
+
+The Marquise encouraged her dear Hector in these projects with her
+sweetest smile; but a terrible accident, followed by a catastrophe no
+less horrible, destroyed these delightful dreams and brought desolation
+to this happy home.
+
+Towards the close of the year 1769, Martha, the youngest child, began to
+lose her fine color and faded so rapidly that her parents became
+alarmed. They passed long nights at the bedside of the little sufferer,
+who seemed to be a victim of a sort of nervous debility or exhaustion.
+One night the Marquise volunteered to watch while her husband slept,
+and, in administering some medicine to her child, mistook the vial and
+poisoned her. Martha died and it was impossible to conceal the cause of
+her death from the grief-stricken mother. Her despair was even more
+poignant than that of her husband for with hers was mingled a frightful
+remorse which all the tenderness of the Marquis could not assuage. This
+despair caused an attack of fever from which she recovered, but which
+left her in a still more pitiable condition. A profound calm had
+succeeded the paroxysms of fever; and her sorrow no longer betrayed
+itself in sobs and lamentations, but only in silent tears and
+heart-breaking sighs. These alarming symptoms soon revealed the truth:
+reason had fled. For hours at a time poor Edmee rocked to and fro, with
+a bundle of rags clasped tightly to her breast, crooning over it the
+same lullaby she had been wont to sing over her sleeping child.
+
+Physicians summoned from Avignon, Nimes and Montpellier tried in vain to
+overcome this deep despondency, which was far more dangerous than
+frenzy. Their skill was powerless; they could not give the Marquis even
+the slightest ray of hope. It was not long before the Marquise became
+frightfully pale and emaciated, while her mind was more than ever under
+the control of the monomania which saw her daughter in all the objects
+that surrounded her. She took, by turns, flowers, articles of clothing
+and of furniture, lavishing every mark of affection upon them and
+calling them by the most endearing names until their insensibility
+dispelled the illusion and she cast them aside with loathing to seek
+elsewhere the child for which she mourned.
+
+These afflictions, the rapidity with which they had followed one another
+and their magnitude impaired the health of the Marquis. He fell ill in
+his turn, and for more than a month Coursegol thought the shadow of
+death was hovering over his master. But the Marquis was young and
+strong; and the thought that if he succumbed his son would be left an
+orphan produced a salutary reaction. He was soon on his feet again, and,
+though he was always sad, he accepted his misfortunes bravely and
+resolved to live for his son's sake.
+
+These events occurred about a year before Tiepoletta dragged herself to
+the door of the chateau to die in Coursegol's arms, confiding her
+daughter to his care.
+
+After he had prayed for the departed, Coursegol rose, took up little
+Dolores and went out into the court-yard, calling:
+
+"Master Philip! Master Philip!"
+
+The little fellow, who was playing in charge of one of the
+servant-maids, came running to answer the summons. He was now four years
+old. His pretty and rather delicate face was surrounded by a profusion
+of brown curls, and his large eyes revealed an intelligence and
+thoughtfulness unusual in a child of his age. He talked well enough to
+make himself clearly understood, and understood all that was said to him
+in reply.
+
+"See this pretty baby!" said Coursegol, displaying Dolores.
+
+"A doll!" exclaimed Philip, clapping his hands in rapture.
+
+"Yes, in flesh and blood," replied Coursegol; "a doll that cries, that
+will grow and talk to you and amuse you."
+
+"When?" demanded Philip.
+
+"When she grows up."
+
+"Then make her grow up immediately," ordered the little autocrat.
+
+Then, seizing Coursegol's hand, he dragged him to the kitchen, for he
+wished to show every one his newfound treasure without delay. A crowd of
+servants soon gathered around Philip and Coursegol. The latter was
+explaining how the infant had come into his possession, and every one
+was marvelling at the strangeness of the adventure, when the Marquise
+suddenly appeared. The poor creature was always closely followed by a
+woman who was ordered never to lose sight of her mistress. She wandered
+about the chateau, never noisy or troublesome, but recognizing no one,
+not even her husband or her own child. She now advanced towards the
+little group which respectfully divided to make way for her. One could
+scarcely imagine a more pitiable sight than that presented by this
+beautiful young woman, whose haggard eyes, unbound hair and disordered
+garments revealed her insanity in spite of her attendant's efforts to
+keep her neatly dressed. At that moment, she was holding a piece of wood
+tightly to her bosom, and was singing softly as she advanced with
+measured steps as if trying to lull this supposed child to sleep.
+Suddenly she paused, threw the fragment of wood far from her and burst
+into tears.
+
+All the spectators of this scene stood motionless, overcome with pity,
+though they witnessed a similar spectacle each day and many times a day.
+Little Philip in his terror clung closely to Coursegol. The Marquise
+passed, looked at him, and, shaking her head, murmured:
+
+"That is not what I am looking for!" Suddenly she stopped as if riveted
+to the spot. Her eyes had fallen upon the sleeping Dolores cradled in
+Coursegol's arms. There was such an intentness in her gaze, she was
+regarding the child with so much persistence, that a strange thought
+flashed through the mind of the faithful servant.
+
+"Good Heavens!" he exclaimed, "might it be possible? Retire," he said,
+hastily, addressing those around him; "take Master Philip away and call
+the Marquis."
+
+They obeyed: all the servants vanished; the Marquise alone remained.
+Then Coursegol deposited the child upon a wide bench that stood against
+the wall, and, departing in his turn, ran to conceal himself behind a
+window where he could see his mistress without being seen. It was there
+the Marquis found him.
+
+"Ah! sir," exclaimed Coursegol on beholding his master, "I believe
+madame is saved. Heaven has inspired me. But what if I am mistaken?" he
+added, anxiously. "What if she should kill the poor little thing?"
+
+"What do you say? What have you done? Run and take the child from her.
+Have we not had misfortunes enough already? Go, I tell you!"
+
+"It is too late!" replied Coursegol, terribly excited. "Look!"
+
+After devouring Dolores with her eyes for several moments, the Marquise
+gently approached her with outstretched arms, her face strangely altered
+by the emotion that filled her heart. Curiosity, surprise and fear were
+imprinted upon her features. She leaned over the child and scrutinized
+it anew; then, with an eager movement, seized it, pressed it to her
+bosom and started as if to run away with it. But when she had gone
+perhaps twenty paces, she paused and looked around as if to assure
+herself that no one was following her. The Marquis and Coursegol were
+standing at the half-open window, not daring to breathe, so great was
+their anxiety. Suddenly they saw the Marquise press little Dolores still
+closer to her heart, and imprint frenzied kisses upon her brow, while
+for the first time for many a long month beneficent tears flowed from
+her eyes. At the same time she exclaimed in a clear, strong voice:
+
+"Hector, my daughter! I have found my daughter!"
+
+The agitated Marquis sprang towards her. She saw him approaching and
+advanced to meet him, laughing and crying and displaying the child;
+then, overcome by the violence of her emotion, she fell in his extended
+arms, devoid of consciousness.
+
+"She is saved!"' said Coursegol, who had followed his master.
+
+"Ah, Coursegol, can it be true?" demanded the Marquis, who could
+scarcely believe his own eyes.
+
+"Did she not recognize you? Did she not speak to you? Her madness
+disappeared as soon as her maternal instincts were re-awakened."
+
+They carried the Marquise to her chamber and laid her upon the bed. In
+obedience to Coursegol's directions a cradle was placed in her room and
+the infant deposited in it; then the devoted servant mounted a horse and
+started for Nimes in quest of a physician.
+
+When he returned at the end of three hours, accompanied by the doctor,
+the Marquise had regained consciousness. They had shown her the sleeping
+Dolores and, reassured by the sight of the child, she had fallen asleep.
+Occasionally she roused a little and those around her heard her murmur:
+
+"My daughter! my daughter!"
+
+Then, raising herself upon her elbow, she watched the babe in silent
+ecstasy until overcome with exhaustion she again closed her eyes in
+slumber.
+
+"I can be of no service here," said the physician. "Her reason has
+returned unquestionably; and her weakness will be overcome by good care
+and absolute quiet."
+
+It was in this way that the Marquise was restored to her right mind.
+From that day her hold upon life slowly but surely strengthened; she
+recognized her husband and her son, and it was not long before they
+could without danger reveal the circumstances attendant upon Dolores'
+arrival at the chateau. Three months later her recovery was complete.
+
+One morning the Marquis sent for Coursegol.
+
+"I gave you Dolores," said he, abruptly; "will you not return her to me?
+Henceforth she shall be my daughter."
+
+"She is my daughter as well," replied Coursegol, "but you may take her,
+sir. Though I relinquish her to you, I do not lose her since I shall
+live near her, and we can both love her."
+
+The Marquis de Chamondrin offered his hand to Coursegol, thus consenting
+to the compact that gave Dolores two protectors; and so the daughter of
+the gypsy, though she had lost her parents, was not an orphan.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+THE CHILDHOOD OF DOLORES.
+
+
+Dolores passed a happy childhood in the Chateau de Chamondrin, where she
+was loved, petted and caressed as if she had been the little Martha
+whose loss had deprived the Marquise of reason for many dreary months.
+Nothing was left undone to render the illusion complete in the eyes of
+the members of the household and in her own. The first companion of her
+childish play was Philip, who called her sister; and she pillowed her
+fair head on the bosom of the Marquise without a shadow of fear and
+fondly called her mother. The Marquise loved her as devotedly as she had
+loved her own daughter; Coursegol regarded her with an affection whose
+fervor was mingled with the deference he owed to the children of his
+master. As for the servants, they treated Philip and Dolores with equal
+respect; and there were no relatives or friends of the family who did
+not take pleasure in exhibiting their fondness for the little creature
+whose presence had cured the Marquise of the most terrible of maladies.
+
+It is true that Dolores was such a lovely child no one could help loving
+her. She promised to resemble her mother. She had the same luxuriant
+golden hair, the same large, dark eyes, the same energy, the same
+sweetness of disposition and of voice. The Marquis and Coursegol, who
+had seen the gypsy, and who still remembered her, were often struck by
+the strong resemblance that seemed to make Tiepoletta live again in
+Dolores. The child also possessed the same tender heart, vivid
+imagination and honorable instincts. Her mind absorbed with marvellous
+facility the instruction which she received from the Marquis and which
+she shared with his son. She had a wonderful memory, and what she
+learned seemed to be indelibly imprinted upon her mind. She was loving
+in disposition, docile and sweet-tempered, and had already won the love
+of all who came in contact with her.
+
+Philip actually worshipped his little sister. He was five years her
+senior, a large, noisy, almost coarse boy, rather vain of his birth and
+of the authority which enabled him to lord it over the little peasants
+who sometimes played with him. But these faults, which were destined to
+be greatly modified by time, concealed a thoroughly good heart and
+disappeared entirely when he was with Dolores.
+
+It was amusing to see the tenderness and care with which he surrounded
+her. If they were walking together in the park, he removed all the
+stones which might hurt her tiny feet or cause her to stumble. If a
+dainty morsel fell to his share at the table, he transferred it from his
+plate to that of Dolores. If they dressed her in any new garment, he was
+never weary of admiring her, of telling her how beautiful she was, and
+of fondling her luxuriant golden curls. If it was necessary to punish
+Philip, they had only to deprive him of the society of Dolores. But
+unfortunately this punishment, the most severe that could be inflicted
+upon him, grieved his sister as much as it did him, so it was used
+rarely and only in grave cases. One of the favorite amusements of the
+two children was to walk with Coursegol, and this was not a delight to
+them alone, for that faithful fellow was never so happy as when roving
+about the fields with them.
+
+Often, during those lovely spring mornings that are so charming in the
+south, they descended the hill and strolled along the banks of the
+Garden. The delicately-tinted willows that grew on the banks drooped
+over the stream, caressing it with their flexible branches. Above the
+willows, fig trees, olives and vineyards covered the base of the hill
+with foliage of a darker hue, which in turn contrasted with the still
+deeper green of the cypress trees and pines that grew upon the rocky
+sides of the cliff. This luxuriant vegetation, of tints as varied as
+those of an artist's palette, mirrored itself in the clear waters below
+together with the arches of the massive Pont du Gard, whose bold yet
+graceful curves were festooned with a dense growth of creeping vines.
+
+Coursegol called the children's attention to the beauties of the scene,
+thus awakening in their young hearts appreciation of the countless
+charms of nature. They played in the sand; they fished for silver carp;
+hunted for birds' nests among the reeds. There were merry shouts of
+laughter, continual surprises and numberless questions. In answering
+these, all Coursegol's rather primitive but trusty knowledge on
+scientific subjects was called into requisition. When they returned
+home they were obliged to pass the cave, and Dolores, who knew nothing
+of her history, often entered it in company with Philip if they found it
+unoccupied by the much-dreaded gypsies.
+
+At certain seasons of the year, early in the spring and late in the
+summer, roving bands of Bohemians encamped on the banks of the Gardon,
+and Philip and Dolores took good care not to approach them, especially
+after an evening when an old gypsy woman, struck perhaps by the child's
+resemblance to Tiepoletta, pointed Dolores out to some of the tribe who
+went into ecstasies over her beauty. One of the gypsies approached the
+children to beg, which so terrified them that they clung frantically to
+Coursegol, who found it difficult to reassure them.
+
+These pleasant rambles, the lessons which she recited to her adopted
+father, the religious instruction she received from the Marquise and
+long hours of play with Philip made up the life of Dolores. Day
+succeeded day without bringing anything to break the pleasant monotony
+of their existence, for the capture of a mischievous fox, an encounter
+with some harmless snake, or the periodical overflow of the Gardon could
+scarcely be dignified by the name of an event: yet these, or similar
+incidents furnished the children with topics of conversation for weeks
+together.
+
+They took little interest in the news that came from Paris, and though
+they sometimes observed a cloud on the brow of the Marquis, or tears in
+the eyes of his wife, they were ignorant of the cause. Nor was it
+possible for them to understand the gravity of the political situation
+or the well-founded fears of the Royalists, which were frequently
+mentioned in the letters received at the chateau.
+
+Thirteen serene and happy years passed after Dolores became the adopted
+daughter of the Marquis de Chamondrin, before she made her first
+acquaintance with real sorrow. She had grown rapidly and her mental
+progress had kept pace with her physical development. She promised to be
+an honor to her parents and to justify them in their determination to
+keep her with them always.
+
+But the Marquis had not lost sight of the projects formed years before
+in relation to his son's future. As we have previously stated, the
+Marquis, even before the birth of his son, dreamed of restoring in him
+and through him the glory of the house of Chamondrin--a glory which had
+suffered an eclipse for more than a quarter of a century. It was now
+time to carry these plans into execution. Philip was eighteen, a
+vigorous youth, already a man in stature and in bearing, endowed with
+all the faults and virtues of his race, but possessed of more virtues
+than faults and especially of an incontestable courage and a profound
+reverence for the name he bore. The Marquis had about decided that the
+time to send him to Paris had come. He had been preparing for this event
+for some months and, thanks to the economy in which he had been so
+admirably seconded by his wife, he had laid by a very considerable
+amount; enough to supply Philip's wants for five years at least--that
+is, until he would be in a position to obtain some office at court or a
+command in the army.
+
+But the Marquis had taken other measures to insure his son's success. He
+had appealed to family friends, and through the Chevalier de Florian, an
+occasional guest at the chateau, he had received an assurance that
+Philip would find an earnest champion in the Duke de Penthieore. Fortune
+seemed inclined to smile on the young man; nevertheless the Marquis was
+beset with doubts, for all this occurred in the year 1783, just as the
+hostility to the king was beginning to manifest itself in an alarming
+manner, and the Marquis asked himself again and again if this was a
+propitious moment to send so young a man, almost a boy, into a divided
+and disaffected court--a court, too, that was subjected to the closest
+espionage on the part of a people already deeply incensed and irritated
+by the scandal and debauchery of the nobility, and utterly insensible to
+the king's well-meant efforts to institute a much-needed reform.
+
+But the birth of the Dauphin, which occurred that same year, dissipated
+M. de Chamondrin's doubts. He was completely reassured by the enthusiasm
+of a nation, which, even in its dire extremity, broke into songs of
+rejoicing over the new-born heir. Philip's departure was decided upon.
+
+The young people had been aware of their father's intentions for some
+time. They knew the hour of separation was approaching, and the tears
+sprang to their eyes whenever any allusion to Philip's intended
+departure was made in their presence; but, with the characteristic
+light-heartedness of youth, they dismissed the unwelcome thought from
+their minds, and in present joys forgot the sorrow the future held in
+store for them. But the flight of time is rapid, and that which causes
+us little anxiety because it was the future, that is, a possibility,
+becomes the present, in other words, reality. One day the Marquis, not
+without emotion, made known his plans to his wife and afterwards to his
+son. Philip was to start for Paris at the close of autumn, or in about
+two months, and Coursegol was to accompany him. This news carried
+despair to the heart of Dolores, for she loved Philip devotedly. Had he
+not been her brother, her protector, and the sharer of all her joys
+since she was old enough to talk? Could it be she was about to lose him?
+
+In spite of all their efforts to conceal the fact, the grief was
+general. The departure of Philip would be a sore trial to all the
+inmates of the chateau. Dolores was inconsolable. A dozen times a day,
+the Marquise, conquering her own sadness, endeavored to console Dolores
+by descanting on the advantages Philip would derive from this journey;
+but the poor girl could understand but one thing--that her brother was
+to leave her for an indefinite time. For several days before his
+departure she scarcely left his side. How many plans were made to be
+carried into execution on his return! How many bright hopes were mingled
+with the sadness of those last hours! Philip, who had become grave and
+serious as befitted his new role, declared that he would never forget
+Dolores--that he should love her forever. The hours flew swiftly by and
+the day appointed for the separation came all too quickly for those who
+were awaiting and dreading it.
+
+The morning that Philip was to start his father sent for him. The young
+man was in the court-yard, superintending the preparations for
+departure. The servants, superintended by Coursegol, were fastening the
+trunks upon the carriage that was to convey the travellers and their
+baggage to Avignon, where places had been bespoken for them in the coach
+which was then the only mode of conveyance between Marseilles and Paris.
+
+Dolores was standing near Coursegol. Her red eyes, still moist with
+tears, and her pale face showed that her sorrow had made sleep
+impossible during the previous night; but, in spite of this, she looked
+so lovely that Philip was more deeply impressed by her beauty than he
+had ever been before. He kissed her tenderly, as he tried to console
+her.
+
+"Ah! Philip, why do you leave us?" she exclaimed, reproachfully.
+
+"Because it is necessary both for your sake and mine," he responded. "Do
+you not know my father's plans? And if he commands me to go, must I not
+obey?"
+
+"That is what I was just telling mademoiselle," began Coursegol. "I
+explained to her that the Marquis, your father, was acting wisely in
+sending you to court. You will soon make a fortune there, and then you
+will return to us laden with laurels and with gold. Shall we not be
+happy then, mademoiselle?"
+
+Even while speaking thus, Coursegol found it very difficult to conceal
+his own emotion, for though he was pleased to accompany Philip, it cost
+him a bitter pang to part with Dolores. Rescued by him, reared under his
+very eyes, he loved her as devotedly as he would have loved a child of
+his own, had the thought of any other family than that of his master
+ever occurred to him.
+
+But his words and Philip's caresses seemed to comfort Dolores. Her sobs
+ceased and she dried her tears; but, as Philip was about to leave her in
+obedience to a summons from his father, she suddenly exclaimed:
+
+"Will you not forget me in the midst of the splendor that will surround
+you? Will you not cease to love me?"
+
+"Forget you! Cease to love you!" replied Philip, with a shudder, as if
+such a fear expressed at such a moment was an evil omen. "I shall never
+forget you! I shall never cease to love you!"
+
+He was about to say still more when he saw his mother approaching. He
+led Dolores gently to her, kissed them both, and hastened to join his
+father.
+
+The latter was pacing to and fro in his chamber, thoughtful and sad, for
+the departure of his son made his heart heavy with grief.
+
+"You sent for me, father," said Philip.
+
+"Yes, my son," responded the Marquis, seating himself and motioning his
+son to a chair beside him. "I wish to say a few words to you. You are
+about to leave me, Philip. In a few hours you will be your own master. I
+shall no longer be near you; nor will your mother be at hand to advise
+you. Moreover, you are deprived of our counsel and experience just when
+you most need them, at a time when your life must undergo a radical
+change and you are beset with difficulties. I have decided that
+Coursegol shall accompany you, for his judgment may be of service to you
+in the absence of ours. You must regard his advice as that of a friend
+rather than of a servant; but do not accept his counsels or the counsels
+of any other person without reflection. There are cases, it is true, in
+which one must decide hastily. If you have not time to consult those in
+whom you repose confidence, you must be guided by your own judgment; and
+in order that you may not err, engrave upon your heart the words I am
+about to utter."
+
+The Marquis paused a moment, then resumed:
+
+"'God, your country and the king'--this should be your motto. You are
+about to go out into the world. You will meet many fanatics, atheists
+and libertines. Shun their example; do not be led astray by their
+sophistries, and before you speak or act, ask yourself if what you are
+about to say or do does not conflict with the respect you owe to your
+religion, to France and to your king."
+
+This was the general tenor of the conversation, which lasted nearly an
+hour. His father, it is true, told him nothing he had not heard already.
+His advice was nothing more than a resume of the lessons he had always
+taught him; but Philip was deeply moved, and he promised with an emotion
+closely akin to ardent enthusiasm that he would never depart from the
+line of conduct his father had marked out for him.
+
+Then the Marquis, with a sudden change of tone, said to his son:
+
+"Since you are about to leave home, perhaps for several years, I will
+tell you a secret which I should no longer withhold."
+
+"What is it?" demanded Philip, in surprise.
+
+"Dolores is not your sister!"
+
+"Dolores not my sister! Then--"
+
+Philip paused. He dare not utter the thought that had suddenly entered
+his mind. On hearing the Marquis' words and learning the truth in regard
+to Dolores from his lips, he had experienced an emotion of joy. If he
+had given expression to what was passing in his soul, his father would
+have heard these words:
+
+"Dolores not my sister! Then she shall be my wife!"
+
+But he controlled himself and his father little suspected the emotion
+caused by this revelation. The Marquis related the history of Dolores in
+detail, and Philip could scarcely believe his ears when he heard that
+the charming girl was the offspring of one of those Bohemians he had
+frequently seen by the roadside.
+
+"You must not love her the less," said the Marquis in conclusion. "She
+has filled Martha's place in our hearts; we owe to her your mother's
+restoration to reason. We should always love and cherish her. She has no
+suspicion of the truth; and I wish her to remain in ignorance until I
+think proper to acquaint her with the facts."
+
+"Oh! I shall never cease to love her," replied Philip, quickly, thus
+repeating to his father the promise he had made to Dolores a few moments
+before.
+
+Then, agitated by the news he had heard, he left the Marquis and
+rejoined Dolores. He wished to see her alone once more before his
+departure. When he approached her, his heart throbbed wildly.
+
+"She is not my sister," he said to himself, exultantly.
+
+She seemed to him an entirely different being. For the first time he
+observed that she had exquisitely formed hands of marvellous whiteness
+for the first time he shrank from the light of the dark eyes uplifted to
+his. He wished that Dolores knew the secret of her birth, and that she
+could hear him once again say:
+
+"I love you!"
+
+It was a new emotion to the pure and artless heart of an eighteen-year
+old lad; and, yielding to its influence, Philip threw his arms about
+Dolores, and, pressing her to his heart, said tenderly:
+
+"I shall always love you--always--I swear it! Remember this promise.
+Some day you will understand it better."
+
+Dolores looked at him in astonishment. Though she was deeply moved she
+made no reply, but throwing her arms around his neck she kissed him
+again and again, thus unconsciously arousing a new passion in what had
+been the soul of a child only a few moments before, but what had
+suddenly become the soul of a man.
+
+But the hour of departure had come. The char-a-banc drawn by two strong
+horses was in waiting at the base of the hill. They were to walk down
+the hill with Philip and bid him farewell there. Philip gave his arm to
+his mother; Dolores walked between Coursegol and the Marquis, with an
+expression of profound sorrow upon her features.
+
+An air of sadness and gloom pervaded everything. It was the close of
+autumn; the air was full of withered leaves; they rustled beneath the
+tread at every step, and the wind moaned drearily through the pines.
+
+"Take care of your health," said the Marquise.
+
+"Write to me," pleaded Dolores.
+
+"Be brave and upright," said the father; then all three, turning as if
+with one accord to Coursegol, placed Philip under his protection.
+
+Again they embraced their beloved; again they wept; then one more
+embrace, one last kiss, and he was gone. The carriage that bore him away
+was hidden from their sight by clouds of dust, and the loving hearts
+left behind sadly wondered if this cruel parting was not, after all, a
+dream.
+
+Dolores, in spite of her earnest efforts to fill the void that had been
+made in her life, spent a month in tears. A deep despair seemed to have
+taken possession of her heart. In vain her adopted parents endeavored to
+divert her mind; in vain they concealed their own grief to console her;
+in vain they lavished a wealth of tenderness upon her; she would not be
+consoled and her silent sorrow revealed a soul peculiarly sensitive to
+suffering.
+
+It was Philip who persuaded her to conquer this despondency; for he,
+even at a distance, exerted a much more powerful influence over her
+than either the Marquis or his wife. His first letter, which arrived
+about a month after his departure, was more potent in its effects than
+all the efforts of her adopted parents. It was to Dolores that Philip
+had written. He described his journey to Paris; the cordial welcome he
+had received from the Duke de Penthieore and the Princess de Lamballe,
+to whom he had been presented by the Chevalier de Florian; the
+condescension this Princess had displayed in taking him to Versailles,
+and in commending him to the kindly notice of Marie Antoinette and Louis
+XVI.; the promises made by their majesties, and lastly the promptitude
+with which the Duke, as a proof of his interest, had attached him to his
+own household. So Philip was on the highway to wealth and honor at last.
+The Princess de Lamballe had evinced a very decided interest in him; he
+enjoyed the friendship of the Chevalier de Florian and would soon
+accompany the Duke de Penthieore to Brittany. Moreover, these kind
+friends were only waiting until he should attain the age of twenty to
+request the king to give him command of a company in one of his
+regiments.
+
+This good news filled the heart of the Marquis with joy. He immediately
+wrote to the Duke, thanking him for his kindness, and that gentleman in
+his reply, manifested such an earnest desire to insure Philip's success
+that the Marquis and his wife were consoled for their son's absence by
+the thought of the brilliant career that seemed to be in store for him.
+As for Dolores, what comforted her was not so much her brother's
+success as the expressions of affection with which his letter was
+filled. All his happiness and all his good fortune were to be shared
+with her. It was for her sake he desired fame, in order that he might
+make her proud and happy. Thus Philip expressed the still confused
+sentiments that filled his young heart, though he did not betray the
+secret that his father had confided to him.
+
+This letter seemed to restore to Dolores the natural light-heartedness
+of youth. She no longer lamented her brother's absence, but spent most
+of her time in writing to him, and in perusing and re-perusing his
+letters. The months passed, but brought nothing to disturb the
+tranquillity of this monotonous existence. At the end of two years
+Philip announced that he had been appointed to the command of a company
+of dragoons. This appointment, which he owed entirely to the kindness of
+the Princess de Lamballe and the Duke de Penthieore, was only the first
+step. The queen had promised not to forget him and to prove her interest
+in some conclusive manner. That he might not be obliged to leave his
+young master, Coursegol asked and obtained permission to enlist in the
+same regiment.
+
+Two more years passed.
+
+It would be a difficult task to describe Dolores as she appeared in
+those days. The cleverest pen would be powerless to give an adequate
+conception of her charms. Her simple country life had made her as strong
+and vigorous as the sturdy young trees that adorned the landscape ever
+beneath her eyes. In health and strength she was a true daughter of the
+Bohemians, a race whose vigor has never been impaired by the luxuries
+and restraints of civilization. She had not the olive complexion and
+fiery temper of her father, but she had inherited from her mother that
+delicate beauty and that refinement of manner which made it almost
+impossible for one to believe that Tiepoletta was the daughter of
+Corcovita.
+
+Dolores was as energetic as her father and as lovely as her mother. Her
+brilliant dark eyes betrayed an ardent temperament and unusual power of
+will. She was no fragile creature, but a healthy, spirited, beautiful
+young girl, the robust scion of a hardy and fruitful tree. Had she been
+reared among the gypsies, she might have been coarsely handsome; but
+education had softened her charms while it developed her intellect, and
+though but seventeen she was already one of those dazzling beauties who
+defy description and who eclipse all rivals whenever they appear. The
+soul was worthy of the casket that enshrined it; and the reader who
+follows this narrative to its close cannot fail to acknowledge the
+inherent nobility of this young girl, who was destined to play a role as
+heroic as it was humble in the great drama of the Revolution, and whose
+devotion, purity, unselfishness and indomitable courage elevated her
+high above the plane of poor, erring humanity.
+
+Had it not been for Philip's prolonged absence, Dolores would have been
+perfectly happy at this period of her life. Separated from their son,
+the Marquis and his wife seemed to regard her with redoubled
+tenderness. Her wishes were their law. To amuse her, they took her to
+Nimes, to Montpellier and to Avignon; and she was everywhere welcomed as
+the daughter of the great house of Chamondrin, whose glory had been
+veiled in obscurity for a quarter of a century, only to emerge again
+more radiant than ever. Dolores was really happy. She was looking
+forward to a speedy meeting with her beloved Philip; and he shared this
+hope, for had he not written in a recent letter: "I expect to see you
+all soon and to spend several weeks at Chamondrin, as free from care and
+as happy as in days gone by?" In a still later letter Philip said: "I am
+eager to start for home, but sometimes the journey seems to be attended
+by many difficulties. Should it prove an impossibility, I shall expect
+to see you all in Paris."
+
+So either in Chamondrin, or in Paris, Dolores would soon embrace her
+brother. This thought intoxicated her with happiness, and her impatience
+led her to interrogate the Marquis.
+
+"Why does Philip speak of his return as impossible?" she asked again and
+again. "What does he fear?"
+
+"There may be circumstances that will detain him at his post near the
+king," replied the Marquis, sadly, but evasively.
+
+In the letters which he, himself, received from his son, the latter
+spoke freely of the danger that menaced the throne. There was, indeed,
+abundant cause of alarm to all thoughtful and observant minds, and
+especially to men who were living like the Marquis in the heart of the
+provinces, and who were consequently able to judge understandingly of
+the imminence of the peril. Of course, no person could then foresee the
+catastrophes which were to succeed one another so rapidly for several
+years; but a very general and undeniable discontent prevailed throughout
+the entire kingdom, a discontent that could not fail to engender
+misfortunes without number.
+
+The year 1788 had just opened under the most unfavorable auspices.
+Marepas, Turgot, Necker and Calonne had held the reins of power in turn,
+without being able to restore the country to peace and prosperity. Their
+efforts proving powerless from divers causes they had been dismissed in
+disgrace; some through the intrigues of the court; some by reason of
+their own incapacity. Brienne was now in office; but he was no more
+fortunate than his predecessors. Instead of subsiding, the discord was
+continually on the increase.
+
+The convention of leading men, upon which Calonne had based such
+flattering hopes, adjourned without arriving at any satisfactory result.
+The treasury was empty; and, as the payment of government obligations
+was consequently suspended, the murmurs of the people became long and
+loud. Parliament refused to notice the royal edicts, and the army showed
+open hostility to the court. In the provinces, poverty everywhere
+prevailed; and the dissatisfaction was steadily increasing.
+
+The condition of affairs in Southern France was extremely ominous. At
+Nimes, the religious factions, which were as bitterly at variance as
+they had been at the time of the revocation of the Edict of Nantes had
+arrayed themselves in open warfare one against the other. Avignon, eager
+to shake off the pontifical yoke and annex itself to France, was the
+scene of daily outbreaks. As the Chateau de Chamondrin was situated
+between these two cities, its inmates could not fail to be aware of
+these dissensions.
+
+Conventions were held in most of the large towns, and the situation of
+the country was discussed with much heat and bitterness. The nobility
+and clergy, who trembled for their threatened privileges, and the
+people, who had suffered so long and so uncomplainingly, took part in
+these discussions; and their utterances betrayed great intolerance on
+the one side and excessive irritation on the other. The discontent had
+reached a class which, up to that date, had been allowed no voice in the
+management of affairs; but now, the peasants, oppressed by taxes as
+exorbitant as they were unjust, began to cast angry and envious glances
+at the nobility. The hovel was menacing the castle; and France seemed to
+be on the watch for some great event.
+
+In the midst of this general perturbation, the king, anxious and
+undecided, was running from one adviser to another, listening to all
+kinds of counsel, consenting to all sorts of intrigues and making a
+thousand resolutions without possessing the requisite firmness to carry
+any good one into execution.
+
+The Marquis de Chamondrin was a witness to some of these facts. The
+letters of his son revealed others. He was extremely anxious in regard
+to the future, and more than once Dolores and his wife saw his brow
+overcast and his eyes gloomy.
+
+A letter received from Philip early in May, 1788, increased his
+disquietude. It was written on the day following the arrest of
+Espremenil. Philip had witnessed the disturbance; had seen the people
+applaud the officers of the municipal government, and insult the
+representatives of royal authority. He described the scene in his letter
+to his father. The Marquis, at the solicitation of Dolores, read her
+Philip's letter and made her the confidante of his fears. She understood
+now why Philip's return had been postponed. After this, she took a deep
+interest in the progress of events not so much on account of their
+gravity, which she did not comprehend as clearly as her adopted parents,
+but because Philip was a witness of them, and because his return
+depended upon a peaceful solution of the difficulty. She could not
+foresee that an event, as sorrowful as it was unexpected, would soon
+recall him to Chamondrin.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+PERTAINING TO LOVE MATTERS.
+
+
+A fortnight later, Philip, who was stationed at Versailles with his
+command, received the following letter from Dolores:
+
+
+     "It is my sad duty, my dear Philip, to inform you of the
+     irreparable misfortune which has just befallen us. Summon all your
+     fortitude, my dear brother. Your mother died yesterday. The blow
+     was so sudden, the progress of the malady so rapid, that we could
+     not warn you in time to give you the supreme consolation of
+     embracing for the last time her whom we mourn, and who departed
+     with the name of her son upon her lips.
+
+     "Only four days ago she was in our midst, full of life, of strength
+     and of hope. She was talking of your speedy return, and we rejoiced
+     with her. One evening she returned from her accustomed walk a
+     trifle feverish and complaining of the cold. It was a slight
+     indisposition which was, unfortunately, destined to become an
+     alarming illness by the following day. All our efforts to check the
+     disease were unavailing; and we could only weep and bow in
+     submission to the hand that had smitten us.
+
+     "Weep then, my dear Philip, but do not rebel against the will of
+     God. Be resigned. You will have strength, if you will but remember
+     the immortal life in which we shall be united forever. It is this
+     blessed hope that has given me strength to overcome my own sorrow,
+     to write to you, and to bestow upon your father the consolation of
+     which he stands so sorely in need. Still, I shall be unable to
+     assuage his grief if his son does not come to my assistance. You
+     must lose no time, Philip. The Marquis needs you. In his terrible
+     affliction, he calls for you. Do not delay.
+
+     "Now to you, whom I called my brother only yesterday, I owe an
+     avowal. Perhaps you have already learned my secret. I know the
+     truth in regard to my birth. Before her death, the Marquise told me
+     the details of that strange adventure which threw me, an orphan and
+     a beggar, upon the mercy of your parents. Just as she breathed her
+     last sigh, your father threw himself in my arms, weeping and
+     moaning. He called me by the tenderest names, as if wishing to find
+     solace for his grief in the caresses of his child. I fell at his
+     feet.
+
+     "'I know all, sir,' I cried.
+
+     "'What! She has told you!' he exclaimed. 'Ah, well! Would you
+     refuse me your affection at a moment like this?'
+
+     "'Never!' I cried, clasping my arms about his neck.
+
+     "'I shall never leave him, Philip. I will do my best to make his
+     old age happy and serene, and since I continue to be his daughter,
+     it is for you to decide whether or not I shall still be your
+     sister.
+                                             "DOLORES."
+
+
+A few hours after the receipt of this letter, which carried desolation
+to his heart, Philip, accompanied by Coursegol, left Versailles for
+Chamondrin. In spite of the ever increasing gravity of the political
+situation it had not been difficult for him to obtain leave of absence
+for an indefinite time on account of the bereavement that summoned him
+to his father's side and might detain him there. He made the journey in
+a post-chaise, stopping only to change horses.
+
+Dolores was little more than a child when they parted and they had been
+separated more than four years, but absence had not diminished the love
+that was first revealed to him on the day he left the paternal roof, and
+the thought of meeting her again made his pulses quicken their
+throbbing. Time and change of scene had proved powerless against the
+deep love and devotion that filled his heart, and he was more than ever
+determined to wed the companion of his youth; and now that she was no
+longer ignorant of the truth concerning her birth, he could press his
+suit as a lover. As the decisive moment approached, the moment when
+Dolores' answer would make or mar the happiness of his life, he
+experienced a profound emotion which was increased by the host of
+memories that crowd in upon a man when he returns to his childhood's
+home after a long absence to find some one of those he loved departed
+never to return.
+
+Philip thought of the mother he would never see again, of his father,
+heart-broken and desolate, of Dolores, whose grief he understood. His
+sadness increased in proportion as he approached the Pont du Gard. Yet
+the road was well-known to him; the trees seemed to smile upon their old
+companion as if in greeting, and the sun shone with more than its usual
+brightness as if to honor his return. How many times he had journeyed
+from Avignon to Chamondrin on such a day as this! Every object along the
+roadside awakened some pleasant recollection; but the joy of again
+beholding his beloved home and these familiar scenes was clouded by
+regret, doubts and uncertainty; and Philip was far from happy. During
+their journey, Coursegol had done his best to cheer his young master,
+but as they neared Chamondrin he, too, became a victim to the melancholy
+he had endeavored to dissipate.
+
+At last the post-chaise rolled noisily under one of the arches of the
+Pont du Gard, and a few moments later the horses, panting and covered
+with foam after climbing the steep ascent, entered the court-yard of the
+chateau.
+
+The Marquis and Dolores, who were waiting for supper to be served, had
+seated themselves on the terrace overlooking the park. The sound of
+carriage wheels drew them into the court-yard just as Philip and
+Coursegol were alighting. There was a cry of joy, and then the long
+separated friends embraced one another. It would be impossible to
+describe this meeting and the rapture of this return.
+
+It was Dolores whom Philip saw first. Her wonderful beauty actually
+startled him. Four years had transformed the child into an exquisitely
+and lovely young girl. Her delicate features, her golden hair, her
+lustrous dark eyes, her vermillion lips, her musical yet penetrating
+voice, her willowy figure and her beautifully shaped hands aroused
+Philip's intense admiration. A pure and noble love had filled his heart
+during his absence, and had exerted a powerful and restraining influence
+over his actions, his thoughts, his hopes and his language. He had
+endowed his idol with beauty in his fancy, but, beautiful as he had
+pictured her, he was obliged to confess on beholding her that the
+reality surpassed his dreams, and he loved her still more ardently.
+
+The Marquis led his son to the drawing-room. He, too, wished to observe
+the changes that time had wrought in Philip. He scrutinized him closely
+by the light of the candles, embraced him, and then looked at him again
+admiringly. His son was, indeed, the noble heir of an illustrious race.
+
+They talked of the past and of the dead. They wept, but these were not
+the same bitter tears the Marquis had shed after his bereavement. The
+joy of seeing his son consoled him in a measure, and death seemed to him
+less cruel because, when he was surrounded by his children, his faith
+and his hope gathered new strength.
+
+The first evening flew by on wings. Philip, to divert his father,
+described the stirring events and the countless intrigues of which the
+court had been the theatre; and together they talked of the hopes and
+the fears of the country. Philip spoke in the most enthusiastic terms of
+the kind-hearted Duke de Penthieore who had aided him so much in life,
+of the Chevalier de Florian, and of the charming Princess de Lamballe
+who had become the favorite friend of the queen. Dolores did not lose a
+word of the conversation, and gave her love and homage unquestioningly
+to those Philip praised even though they were strangers to her. She
+admired the soundness of judgment her adopted brother displayed in his
+estimate of people and of things, and the eloquence with which he
+expressed his opinions.
+
+Coursegol was present. Often by a word he completed or rectified the
+statements of his young master, and Dolores loved him for the devotion
+testified by his every word. As for him, notwithstanding the familiarity
+which had formerly characterized his daily relations with the girl, he
+felt rather intimidated by her presence, though his affection for her
+was undiminished.
+
+About eleven o'clock the Marquis rose and, addressing his son, said:
+
+"Do you not feel the need of rest?"
+
+"I am so happy to see you all again that I am not sensible of the
+slightest fatigue," replied Philip, "and I have so many things to tell
+and to ask Dolores that I am not at all sleepy."
+
+"Ah, well, my dear children, talk at your ease. As for me, I will
+retire."
+
+And the Marquis, after tenderly embracing them, quitted the room,
+followed by Coursegol. Philip and Dolores were left alone together.
+There was a long silence. Seated beside an open window, Dolores, to
+conceal her embarrassment, fixed her eyes upon the park and the fields
+that lay quiet and peaceful in the bright moonlight of the clear and
+balmy summer evening. Philip, even more agitated, paced nervously to and
+fro, seeking an opportunity to utter the avowal that was eager to leave
+his lips. At last, he summoned the necessary courage, and, seating
+himself opposite Dolores, he said:
+
+"You wrote me a long letter. You asked me to bring you the response.
+Here it is."
+
+Dolores looked up and perceived that he was greatly agitated. This
+discovery increased her own embarrassment, and she could not find a word
+to say in reply. Philip resumed:
+
+"But, first, explain the cause of the coldness betrayed by that letter.
+Why did you address me so formally? Why did you not call me your brother
+as you had been accustomed to do in the past?"
+
+"How was I to know that you would not regard me as a stranger, as an
+intruder?" responded Dolores, gently.
+
+"An intruder! You!" exclaimed Philip, springing up. "I have known the
+truth for more than four years and never have I loved you so fondly!
+What am I saying? I mean that from the day I first knew the truth I have
+loved you with a far greater and entirely different love!"
+
+Dolores dare not reply. How could she confess that she, too, since she
+learned she was not his sister, had experienced a similar change of
+feeling? Philip continued:
+
+"You asked me if I would consent to still regard you as a sister. My
+sister, no! Not, as my sister, but as my wife, if you will but consent!"
+
+"Your wife!" exclaimed Dolores, looking up at him with eyes radiant with
+joy.
+
+Then, as if fearing he would read too much there, she hastily covered
+them with her trembling hands. The next instant Philip was on his knees
+before her, saying, eagerly:
+
+"I have cherished this hope ever since the day that my father made me
+acquainted with your history. I told myself that we would never part,
+that I should always have by my side the loved one I had so long called
+sister, the gentle girl who had restored my mother's reason, who had
+cheered her life, consoled her last moments, and comforted my desolate
+father in his bereavement! Dolores, do not refuse me; it would break my
+heart!"
+
+She could not believe her ears. She listened to Philip's pleading as if
+in a dream, and he, alarmed by her silence, added:
+
+"If my mother were here, she would entreat you to make me happy."
+
+Suddenly Dolores remembered the projects which had been confided to her
+by the Marquis, who had often made her his confidante--those projects in
+which Philip's marriage with a rich heiress of illustrious birth played
+such an important part. And yet, in the presence of the profound love
+she had inspired and which she shared, she had not courage to make
+Philip wretched by an immediate refusal, or to renounce the hope that
+had just been aroused in her heart.
+
+"In pity, say no more!" she exclaimed, hastily. "We are mad!"
+
+"Why is it madness to love you?" demanded Philip.
+
+"Listen," she replied. "I cannot answer you now. Wait a little--I must
+have time to think--to consult my conscience and my heart. You also must
+have time for reflection."
+
+"I have reflected for four years."
+
+"But I have never before thought of the new life you are offering me."
+
+"Do you not love me?"
+
+"As a sister loves a brother, yes; but whether the love I bear you is of
+a different character I do not yet know. Go now, my dear Philip," she
+added, endeavoring by calming herself to calm him; "give me time to
+become accustomed to the new ideas you have awakened in my mind. They
+will develop there, and then you shall know my answer. Until that time
+comes, I entreat you to have pity on my weakness, respect my silence and
+wait."
+
+Philip instantly rose and said:
+
+"The best proof of love that I can give you is obedience. I will wait,
+Dolores, I will wait, but I shall hope."
+
+Having said this he retired, leaving her oppressed by a vague sorrow
+that sleep only partially dispelled.
+
+During the days that followed this conversation, Philip, faithful to his
+promise, made no allusion to the scene we have just described. For four
+years he had buried his secret so deeply in his own heart that even
+Coursegol had not suspected it, so he did not find it difficult to
+continue this role under the eyes of his father; and, though the burden
+he imposed upon himself had become much heavier by reason of the
+presence of Dolores, his hopes supplied him with strength to endure it.
+
+For his hopes were great! Youthful hearts have no fear. He was not
+ignorant of his father's plans; but he told himself that his father
+loved him too much to cause him sorrow, and that he would probably be
+glad to sacrifice his ambitious dreams if he could ensure the happiness
+of both his children. Philip was sure of this. If he invoked the memory
+of his mother and the love she bore Dolores, the Marquis could not
+refuse his consent. He confidently believed that before six mouths had
+elapsed he should be married and enjoying a felicity so perfect as to
+leave nothing more to be desired. Cheered by this hope, he impatiently
+awaited the decision of Dolores, happy, however, in living near her, in
+seeing her every day, in listening to her voice and in accompanying her
+on her walks. He watched himself so carefully that no word revealed the
+real condition of his mind, and not even the closest observer of his
+language and actions could have divined the existence of the sentiments
+upon which he was, at that very moment, basing his future happiness.
+
+Dolores was grateful to him for his delicacy and for the faithfulness
+with which he kept his promise. She appreciated Philip's sacrifice the
+more because she was obliged to impose an equally powerful restraint
+upon herself in order to preserve her own secret. She loved him. All
+the aspirations of an ardent and lofty soul, all the dreams of a pure
+felicity based upon a noble affection were hers; and Philip's avowal,
+closely following the revelations of the dying Marquise, had convinced
+her that her happiness depended upon a marriage in accordance with the
+dictates of her heart, and that the one being destined from all eternity
+to crown her life with bliss unspeakable was Philip. Reared together,
+they thoroughly understood and esteemed each other; they had shared the
+same joys and the same impressions. There was a bond between them which
+nothing could break, and which made their souls one indissolubly. In her
+eyes, Philip was the handsomest, the most honorable, the most noble and
+the most perfect of men. Was not this love? Why then did Dolores persist
+in her silence when her lover was anxiously waiting to learn his fate?
+Simply because she feared to displease the Marquis. She owed everything
+to his generosity. She had no fortune. If she became Philip's wife, she
+could confer upon the house of Chamondrin none of those advantages which
+the Marquis hoped to gain from a grand alliance, and for the sake of
+which he had condemned himself to a life of obscurity and privation.
+Would he ever consent to a marriage that so ruthlessly destroyed his
+ambitious dreams? And if he did not consent, how terrible would be her
+position when compelled to choose between the love of the son and the
+wrath of the father! And, even if he consented, would it not cost him
+the most terrible of sacrifices? Shattered already by the untimely death
+of his wife, would he survive this blow to his long-cherished hopes?
+Such were the sorrowful thoughts that presented themselves to the mind
+of Dolores and deprived her of the power to speak. She dare not make
+Philip a confidant of her fears; and to declare that she did not love
+him was beyond her strength. Even when the impossibility of this
+marriage became clearly apparent to her, she had not courage to lie to
+her lover and to trample her own heart underfoot. One alternative
+remained: to reveal the truth to the Marquis. But this would imperil
+all. A secret presentiment warned her if she, herself, disclosed the
+truth, that it would be to her that the Marquis would appeal in order to
+compel Philip to renounce his hopes, since it was in her power to
+destroy them by a single word. Day followed day, and Dolores, beset
+alternately by hopes and fears, was waiting for fate to solve the
+question upon which her future happiness depended.
+
+Two mouths later, the Marquis was summoned to Marseilles by a cousin,
+who was lying at the point of death. He departed immediately,
+accompanied by Philip. This cousin was the Count de Mirandol. The master
+of a large fortune which he had accumulated in the colonies, a widower
+of long standing and the father of but one child, a girl of eighteen,
+who would inherit all his wealth, he had returned to France, intending
+to take up his permanent abode there. He had been afflicted for years by
+a chronic malady, contracted during his long sea voyages, and he
+returned to his native land with the hope that he should find there
+relief from his sufferings. But he had scarcely landed at Marseilles
+when he was attacked by his old malady in an aggravated form. He could
+live but a few days, and realizing his condition, and desiring to find a
+protector for his daughter, his thoughts turned to his cousin, the
+Marquis de Chamondrin. Although he had scarcely seen the Marquis for
+thirty years, he knew him sufficiently well not to hesitate to entrust
+his daughter to his cousin's care.
+
+The Marquis did not fail him. He accepted the charge that his relative
+confided to him, closed the eyes of the dying man, and a few days
+afterwards he and Philip returned to the chateau, accompanied by a young
+girl clad in mourning. The stranger was Mademoiselle Antoinette de
+Mirandol.
+
+Endowed with a refined and singularly expressive face, Antoinette,
+without possessing any of those charms which imparted such an
+incomparable splendor to the beauty of Dolores, was very attractive. She
+was a brunette, rather frail in appearance and small of stature; but
+there was such a gentle, winning light in her eyes that when she lifted
+them to yours you were somehow penetrated and held captive by them; in
+other words, you were compelled to love her.
+
+"I bring you a sister," the Marquis said to Dolores, as he presented
+Antoinette. "She needs your love and sympathy."
+
+The two girls tenderly embraced each other. Dolores led her guest to the
+room which they were to share, and lavished comforting words and
+caresses upon her, and from that moment they loved each other as fondly
+as if they had been friends all their lives.
+
+Cruelly tried by the loss of her benefactress and by her mental
+conflicts on the subject of Philip, Dolores forgot her own sorrows and
+devoted herself entirely to the task of consoling Antoinette. It was not
+long before the latter became more cheerful. This was the work of
+Dolores. They talked of their past, and Dolores concealed nothing from
+her new friend. She confessed, without any false shame or false modesty,
+that she had entered the house of the Marquis as a beggar. Antoinette,
+in her turn, spoke of herself. She knew nothing of France. Her childhood
+had been spent in Louisiana; and she talked enthusiastically of the
+lovely country she had left. Dolores, to divert her companion's thoughts
+from grief, made Philip tell her what he knew about Paris Versailles and
+the court, and the Marquis, not without design probably, did his best to
+place in the most favorable light those attributes of mind and of heart
+that made Philip the most attractive of men. Like another Desdemona
+charmed by the eloquence of Othello, it was while listening to Philip
+that Antoinette first began to love him.
+
+After a month's sojourn at Chamondrin, she came to the conclusion that
+Philip was kind, good, irresistible in short; and she was by no means
+unwilling to become the Marquise de Chamondrin. Nor did she conceal
+these feelings from Dolores, little suspecting, how she was torturing
+her friend by these revelations. It was then that the absolute
+impossibility of a marriage with Philip first became clearly apparent
+to Dolores. Antoinette's confession was like the flash of lightning
+which suddenly discloses a yawning precipice to the traveller on a dark
+and lonely road. She saw the insurmountable barrier between them more
+distinctly than ever before. Could she compete with Antoinette? Yes; if
+her love and that of Philip were to be considered. No; if rank, wealth,
+all the advantages that Antoinette possessed, and which the Marquis
+required in his son's bride, were to be taken into consideration.
+
+What a terrible night Dolores spent after Antoinette's confession! How
+she wept! What anguish she endured! The young girls occupied the same
+room and if one was unconscious of the sufferings of her companion, it
+was only because Dolores stifled her sobs. She was unwilling to let
+Antoinette see what she termed "her weakness." She felt neither hatred
+nor envy towards her friend, for she knew that Antoinette was not to
+blame. She wept, not from anger or jealousy, but from despair.
+
+Since she had been aware of Philip's affection for her, she had
+cherished a secret hope in spite of the numerous obstacles that stood in
+the way of their happiness. Time wrought so many changes! The bride whom
+the Marquis was seeking for his son had not yet been found. She had
+comforted herself by reflections like these. Now, these illusions had
+vanished. The struggle was terrible. One voice whispered: "You love; you
+are beloved. Fight for your rights, struggle, entreat--second Philip's
+efforts, work with him for the triumph of your love. Resist his
+father's will, and, though you may not conquer at once, your labors will
+eventually be crowned with success." But another voice said: "The
+Marquis was your benefactor, the Marquise filled your mother's place.
+Had it not been for them you would have been reared in shame, in
+ignorance and in depravity. You would never have known parental
+tenderness, the happiness of a home or the comforts and luxuries that
+have surrounded you from your childhood. Is it too much to ask that you
+should silence the pleadings of your heart in order not to destroy their
+hopes?" The first voice retorted: "Philip will be wretched if you desert
+him. He will regret you, he will curse you and you will spend your life
+in tears, blaming yourself for having sacrificed his happiness and yours
+to exaggerated scruples." But the second voice responded: "Antoinette
+will console Philip. If he curses you at first, he will bless you later
+when he learns the cause of your refusal. As for you, though you may
+weep bitterly, you will be consoled by the thought that you have done
+your duty." Such were the conflicts through which Dolores passed; but
+before morning came she had resolved to silence her imagination and the
+pleadings of her heart. Resigned to her voluntary defeat, she decided
+not to combat this growing passion on the part of Antoinette, but to
+encourage it. She believed that Philip would not long remain insensible
+to the charms of her friend, and in that case she could venture to
+deceive him and to declare that she did not love him.
+
+Three months passed in this way; then Philip, weary of waiting for the
+reply that was to decide his fate, but not daring to break his promise
+and interrogate Dolores directly, concluded to at least make an attempt
+to obtain through Antoinette the decision that would put an end to his
+intolerable suspense. Knowing how fondly these young girls loved each
+other, and how perfect was their mutual confidence, he felt sure that
+Antoinette would not refuse to intercede for him.
+
+This project once formed, he began operations by endeavoring to
+ingratiate himself into the good graces of Mademoiselle de Mirandol. Up
+to this time, he had treated her rather coolly, but he now changed his
+tactics and showed her many of those little attentions which he had
+hitherto reserved for his adopted sister. It was just as Antoinette was
+becoming too much interested in Philip for her own peace of mind that
+she noticed his change of manner. She misunderstood him. Who would not
+have been deceived? During their rambles, Philip seemed to take pleasure
+in walking by her side. Every morning she found beside her plate a
+bouquet which he had culled. He never went to Avignon or to Nimes
+without bringing some little souvenir for her. What interpretation could
+she place upon these frequent marks of interest? Her own love made her
+credulous. After receiving many such attentions from him, she fancied
+she comprehended his motive.
+
+"He loves me," she said one evening to Dolores.
+
+The latter thought her bereft of her senses. Could it be possible that
+Philip had forgotten his former love so soon? Was he deceiving her when
+he pressed his suit with such ardor? Impossible! How could she suppose
+it even for a moment? Still Dolores could not even imagine such a
+possibility without a shudder. After the struggle between her conscience
+and her heart, she had secretly resolved that Philip should cease to
+love her, that she would sacrifice herself to Mademoiselle de Mirandol,
+to whose charms he could not long remain insensible and whom he would
+eventually marry. Yes; she was ready to see her own misery consummated
+without a murmur; but to be thus forgotten in a few weeks seemed
+terrible.
+
+"If this is really so," she thought, "Philip is as unworthy of
+Antionette as he is of me. But it cannot be. She is mistaken."
+
+Was Antoinette deceiving herself? To set her mind at rest upon this
+point, Dolores questioned her friend in regard to the acts and words
+which she had interpreted as proofs of Philip's love for her.
+Mademoiselle de Mirandol revealed them to her friend; and Dolores was
+reassured. The attentions that had been bestowed upon the ward of the
+Marquis de Chamondrin by that gentleman's son did not assume in the eyes
+of Dolores that importance which had been attributed to them by her more
+romantic and enthusiastic companion; nevertheless, she was careful not
+to disturb a conviction that caused Antoinette so much happiness.
+
+The following day, as Mademoiselle de Mirandol was leaving her room, she
+encountered Philip in the hall.
+
+"I wish to speak with you," he said, rapidly and in low tones as he
+passed her. "I will wait for you in the park near the Buissieres."
+
+His pleasant voice rung in Antoinette's ears long after he had
+disappeared, leaving her in a state of mingled ecstasy and confusion.
+Her cheeks were flushed and her heart throbbed violently. She hurried
+away to conceal her embarrassment from Dolores, who was following her,
+and soon went to join Philip at the Buissieres. This was the name they
+had bestowed upon a hedge of tall bushes to the left of the park, and
+which enclosed as if by two high thick walls a quiet path where the
+sun's rays seldom or never found their way. It was to this spot that
+Antoinette directed her steps, reproaching herself all the while for the
+readiness with which she obeyed Philip, and looking back every now and
+then to see if any one was observing her.
+
+She soon arrived at the Buissieres; Philip was awaiting her. On seeing
+her approach, he came forward to meet her. She noticed that his manner
+was perfectly composed, that his features betrayed no emotion, and that
+he was smiling as if to assure her that what he desired to tell her was
+neither solemn nor frightful in its nature. Antoinette was somewhat
+disappointed. She had expected to find him pale and nervous, and with
+his hair disordered like the lovers described in the two or three
+innocent romances that had chanced to fall into her hands.
+
+"Excuse me, Mademoiselle, for troubling you," began Philip, without the
+slightest hesitation; "but the service you can render me is of such
+importance to me, and the happiness of my whole life is so dependent
+upon it, that I have not scrupled to appeal to your generosity."
+
+"In what way can I serve you?" inquired Mademoiselle de Mirandol, whose
+emotion had been suddenly calmed by this preamble, so utterly unlike
+anything she had expected to hear.
+
+"I am in love!" began Philip.
+
+She trembled, her embarrassment returned and her eyes dropped. Philip
+continued:
+
+"She whom I love is charming, beautiful and good, like yourself. You
+surely will not contradict me, for it is Dolores whom I love!"
+
+Why Antoinette did not betray her secret, she, herself, could not
+understand when she afterwards recalled the circumstances of this
+interview. She did, however, utter a stifled cry which Philip failed to
+hear. She felt that she turned very pale, but her change of color was
+not discernible in the shadow. It was with intense disappointment that
+she listened to Philip's confession. He told her that he had loved
+Dolores for more than four years, but that she had known it only a few
+months, and that she hod made no response to his declaration of love. He
+had waited patiently for her answer, but he could endure this state of
+cruel uncertainty no longer, and he entreated Mademoiselle de Mirandol
+to intercede for him, and to persuade Dolores to make known her decision
+to her adorer. Antoinette promised to fulfil his request. She promised,
+scarcely knowing what she said, so terrible was the anguish that filled
+her heart. She desired only one thing--to make her escape that she might
+be at liberty to weep. How wretched he was! Coming to this rendezvous
+with a heart full of implicit confidence, she had met, instead of the
+felicity she expected, the utter ruin of her hopes. This revulsion of
+feeling proved too much for a young girl who was entirely unaccustomed
+to violent emotions of any kind. She blamed herself bitterly,
+reproaching herself for her love as if it had been a crime, and regarded
+her disappointment as a judgment upon her for having allowed herself to
+think of Philip so soon, after her father's death.
+
+At last Philip left her, and she could then give vent to her sorrow.
+Soon jealously took possession of her heart. Incensed at Dolores, who
+had received her confidence without once telling her that Philip's love
+had long since been given to her, Antoinette hastened to her rival to
+reproach her for her duplicity.
+
+"Antoinette, what has happened?" exclaimed Dolores, seeing her friend
+enter pale and in tears.
+
+"I have discovered my mistake. It is not I who am beloved, it is you;
+and he has been entreating me to plead his cause and to persuade you to
+give him an answer that accords with his wishes! What irony could be
+more bitter than that displayed by fate in making me the advocate to
+whom Philip has applied for aid in winning you? Ah! how deeply I am
+wounded! How terrible is my shame and humiliation! You would have spared
+me this degradation if you had frankly told me that Philip loved you
+when I first confided my silly fancies to you. Why did you not confess
+the truth? It was cruel, Dolores, and I believed you my friend, my
+sister!"
+
+Sobs choked her utterance and she could say no more. Dolores, who had
+suffered and who was still suffering the most poignant anguish,
+nevertheless felt the deepest sympathy for her unhappy friend. She
+approached her, gently wiped away her tears and said:
+
+"It is true that Philip loves me, that he quite recently avowed his love
+and that I refused to engage myself to him until I had had time for
+reflection; but it is equally true that after an examination of my heart
+I cannot consent to look upon him as other than a brother. I shall never
+be his wife; and if I have postponed the announcement of my decision, it
+was only because I dislike to pain him by destroying the hopes to which
+he still seemed to cling."
+
+"What! he loves you and you will not marry him?" cried Antoinette,
+amazed at such an avowal.
+
+"I shall not marry him," replied Dolores. "And now will you listen to my
+confession? On seeing you arrive at the chateau, I said to myself: 'Here
+is one who will be a suitable wife for Philip; and if my refusal renders
+him unhappy, the love of Antionette will console him!'"
+
+"You thought that!" exclaimed Mademoiselle de Mirandol, throwing her
+arms around her friend's neck. "And I have so cruelly misjudged you!
+Dolores, can you ever forgive me?"
+
+A brave smile, accompanied by a kiss, was the response of Dolores; then
+she added:
+
+"I not only forgive you, but I will do my best to insure your
+happiness. Philip shall love you."
+
+"Alas!" said Antoinette, "how can he love me when his heart is full of
+you, when his eyes follow you unceasingly? You are unconsciously a most
+formidable rival, for Philip will never love me while you are by my side
+and while he can compare me with you."
+
+"I will go away if necessary."
+
+"What, leave your home! Do you think I would consent to that? Never!"
+cried Antoinette.
+
+"But I can return to it the very day your happiness is assured. When you
+are Philip's wife you will go to Paris with him, and I can then return
+to my place beside the Marquis."
+
+"Dolores! How good you are, and how much I love you!" exclaimed
+Mademoiselle de Mirandol, clasping her friend in her arms.
+
+The words of Dolores had reassured her, had revived her hopes and dried
+her tears. When left alone, Dolores, exhausted by the ordeal through
+which she had just passed, could at first form no plans for the future.
+She comprehended but one thing--she was still beloved. Philip's
+faithfulness and the intensity of the love which had just been revealed
+to her rendered the sacrifice still more difficult. It seemed to her she
+would never have strength to accomplish it.
+
+"It must be done," she said to herself, finally.
+
+And shaking off her weakness, she went in search of the Marquis. They
+had a long conversation together. Dolores told him the whole truth. It
+was through her that the Marquis learned that she was loved by Philip,
+and that she loved him in return, but, being unwilling to place any
+obstacle in the way of the plans long since formed with a view to the
+restoration of the glory of the house of Chamondrin, she had renounced
+her hopes and yielded her place and her rights to Antoinette. The
+Marquis had not the courage to refuse the proffered sacrifice, though he
+fully realized the extent of it. His dearest wishes were about to be
+realized. While he lamented the fate to which Dolores had condemned
+herself, he was grateful for a decision that spared him the
+unpleasantness of a contest with his son, and which insured that son's
+marriage to a rich heiress. Still, when Dolores told him that she had
+decided to leave Chamondrin not to return until after Philip's marriage,
+he refused at first to consent to a separation.
+
+"But it is necessary," replied Dolores. "So long as Philip sees me here,
+he will not relinquish his hopes. I am certain that he will not consent
+to renounce me unless he believes there is an impassable barrier between
+us, unless he believes me dead to the world and to love. Besides, you
+would surely not require me to live near one whom I wish to forget. I
+shall spend two years in a convent, and then I will return to you."
+
+M. de Chamondrin, touched by this heroism whose grandeur Dolores, in her
+simplicity, did not seem to comprehend, pressed her to his heart in a
+long embrace, covering her face with kisses and murmuring words of
+tenderness and gratitude in her ears. When they separated, he was not
+the least moved of the two. Dolores next went in search of Philip. She
+found him at the Buissieres, the same place where he had entreated
+Antoinette to intercede for him a few hours before.
+
+He saw her approaching.
+
+"She is coming to pronounce my sentence," he thought.
+
+She was very calm. The sadness imprinted on her face did not mar its
+serenity.
+
+"Antoinette has spoken to me," she said, firmly, but quietly. "The fear
+of making you unhappy has until now deterred me from giving you the
+answer for which you have been waiting; but after the events of this
+morning, I must speak frankly."
+
+This introduction left Philip no longer in doubt. He uttered a groan, as
+with bowed head he awaited the remainder of his sentence.
+
+"Courage, Philip," Dolores continued: "Do not add to my sorrow by making
+me a witness of yours. Since the day you opened your heart that I might
+read there the feelings that burdened it, I have been carefully
+examining mine. I wished to find there signs of a love equal to yours; I
+have sought for them in vain. I love you enough to give you my blood and
+my happiness, my entire life. I have always loved you thus--loved you
+with that sisterly devotion that is capable of any sacrifice. But is
+this the love you feel? Is this the love you would bestow upon me? No;
+and, as you see, my heart has remained obstinately closed against the
+passion which I have inspired in you, and it would ever remain closed
+even if I consented to unite myself with you more closely by the bonds
+of marriage. If I was weak enough to listen to you and to yield to your
+wishes, I should only bring misery upon both of us."
+
+"Alas!" murmured Philip, "I cannot understand this."
+
+"How can I forget that for eighteen long years I have regarded you as a
+brother?" said Dolores, vainly endeavoring to console him. "Moreover,
+such a marriage would be impossible! Would it not be contrary to the
+wishes of your father? Would it not detract from the glory of the name
+you bear?"
+
+"And what do the glory of my name and the wishes of my father matter to
+me?" exclaimed Philip, impetuously. "Was I brought into the world to be
+made a victim to such absurd prejudices? For four years I have lived
+upon this hope. It has been destroyed to-day. What have I to look
+forward to now? There is nothing to bind me to life, for, if your
+decision is irrevocable, I shall never be consoled."
+
+"Do not forget those who love you."
+
+"Those who love me! Where are they? I seek for them in vain. Do you mean
+my father, who has reared me with a view to the gratification of his own
+selfish ambition? Is it you, Dolores, who seem to take pleasure in my
+sufferings? My mother, the only human being who would have understood,
+sustained and consoled me, she is no longer here to plead my cause."
+
+Wild with grief and despair, he was about to continue his reproaches,
+but Dolores, whose powers of endurance were nearly exhausted, summoned
+all her courage and said coldly, almost sternly:
+
+"You forget yourself, Philip! You are ungrateful to your father and to
+me; but even if you doubt our affection, can you say the same of
+Antoinette?"
+
+"Antoinette!"
+
+"She loves you with the tenderest, most devoted affection. She has said
+as much to me, and now that you know it, will you still try to convince
+yourself that there are only unfeeling hearts around you?"
+
+Philip, astonished by this revelation, became suddenly silent. He
+recollected that he had confided his hopes and fears to Mademoiselle de
+Mirandol that very morning; and when he thought of the trying position
+in which he had placed her, and of what she must have suffered, his pity
+was aroused.
+
+"If her sorrow equals mine, she is, indeed, to be pitied," he said,
+sadly.
+
+"Why do you not try to assuage your own sorrow by consoling her?" asked
+Dolores, gently.
+
+These words kindled Philip's anger afresh.
+
+"What power have I to annihilate the memory of that which at once charms
+and tortures me?" he exclaimed. "Can I tear your image from its shrine
+in my heart and put that of Antoinette in its place? Do you think that
+your words will suffice to destroy the hopes I have cherished so long?
+Undeceive yourself, Dolores. I am deeply disappointed, but I will not
+give you up. I will compel you to love me, if it be only through the
+pity which my despair will inspire in your heart."
+
+These frenzied words caused Dolores the most poignant anguish without
+weakening her determination in the least. She felt that she must destroy
+the hope to which Philip had just alluded--that this was the only means
+of compelling him lo accept the love of Antoinette; so she said,
+gravely:
+
+"I love you too much, Philip, to desire to foster illusions which will
+certainly never be realized. My decision is irrevocable; and if you
+still doubt the truth of my words, I will frankly tell you all. I am
+promised----"
+
+"Promised!" exclaimed Philip, with a menacing gesture for the unknown
+man who had dared to become his rival. "Promised!" he repeated. "To
+whom?"
+
+"To God!" responded Dolores, gently. "I have just informed your father
+of my determination to enter a convent!"
+
+Philip recoiled in horror and astonishment; then covering his face with
+his hands he fled through the lonely park, repeating again and again the
+name of her whom he so fondly loved but who would soon be lost to him
+forever. For some moments, Dolores remained motionless on the spot where
+she had just renounced her last hope of earthly happiness. Her eyes
+followed Philip in his frenzied flight, and, when he disappeared, she
+stretched out her hands with a gesture of mingled longing and despair.
+But the weakness that had made this courageous soul falter for an
+instant soon vanished. She lifted her eyes toward Heaven as if imploring
+strength from on high and then walked slowly in the direction of the
+chateau. Suddenly, at a turn in the path, she met Coursegol. She had not
+time to conceal her face and he saw her tears. The memory of the past
+and the affection that filled his heart emboldened him to question one
+whom he regarded in some degree, at least, as his own child.
+
+"Why do you weep, my dear Mademoiselle?" he asked, with anxious
+solicitude.
+
+This question did not wound Dolores; on the contrary it consoled her.
+She had found some one in whom she could confide. There are hours when
+the heart longs to pour out its sorrows to another heart that
+understands and sympathizes with its woes. Coursegol made his appearance
+at a propitious moment. Dolores regarded him with something very like
+filial affection; she had loved him devotedly even when she supposed
+herself the daughter of the Marquis de Chamondrin, and now that she knew
+her origin she regarded the son of a peasant as equal in every respect
+to a descendent of the gypsies, so she did not hesitate to open her soul
+to him. She told him of the conflicts through which she had passed and
+the suffering they had caused her. She acknowledged the ardent love that
+had given her courage and strength to sacrifice her own happiness; and
+she wept before the friend of her childhood as unrestrainedly as she
+would have wept before her own father.
+
+"I have been expecting this," said Coursegol, sadly. "Poor children, the
+truth was revealed too soon. You should have been left in ignorance
+until one of you was married. Then you would not have thought of
+uniting your destinies. Your mutual friendship would not have been
+transformed into an unfortunate passion and all this misery would have
+been avoided."
+
+"It would have been far better," replied Dolores.
+
+"And now what do you intend to do?" inquired Coursegol.
+
+"I shall enter a convent and remain there until Philip marries."
+
+"You in a convent! You, who are so gay, so full of life and health and
+exuberant spirits, immure yourself in a cloister! Impossible!"
+
+"There is no alternative," said Dolores, repeating to Coursegol what she
+had already said to the Marquis.
+
+"I see that you must leave this house, but why do you select a cloister
+for your retreat?"
+
+"Where else could I, alone and unprotected, find a refuge?"
+
+"Do you not know that Coursegol is your friend, and that he is ready to
+leave everything and follow you? Where do you wish to go? I will
+accompany you; I will serve and defend you. I have some little property
+and it is entirely at your disposal."
+
+He made this offer very simply, but in a tone that left no possible
+doubt of his sincerity. Though she was touched by his devotion, Dolores
+firmly refused. She explained that his place was at the chateau, and
+that, as she expected to return there herself after Philip's marriage, a
+convent would be the safest and most dignified retreat she could enter.
+
+"So be it, then," responded Coursegol; "but should you ever change your
+plans, remember that my life, my little fortune and my devotion are
+yours, to use as you see fit."
+
+His emotion, as he spoke, was even greater than hers.
+
+Early in the year 1789 Dolores entered the convent of the Carmelites in
+Arles, not as a postulant--for she did not wish to devote herself to a
+religious life--but as a boarder, which placed a barrier between her and
+Philip for the time being, but left her free to decide upon her future.
+
+Her departure filled Philip with despair. The death of Dolores could not
+have caused him more intense sorrow. For was she not dead to him? She
+had carefully concealed the fact that her sojourn at the convent would
+not be permanent. He supposed she had buried herself there forever. He
+mourned for her as we weep for those that death wrests from us,
+destroying their lives and our happiness at a single blow; but the very
+violence of his grief convinced his father that he was not inconsolable.
+There are sorrows that kill; but, if they do not kill when they first
+fall upon us, we recover; and this would be the case with Philip. The
+certainty that Dolores would never belong to another, that she had
+refused him only to give herself to God, was of all circumstances the
+one most likely to console him. The presence of Antoinette--who honestly
+believed all Dolores had said concerning the state of her heart and the
+purely sisterly affection she felt for her adopted brother--and the
+timid, shrinking love of the young girl also aided not a little in
+assuaging his grief. However ardent your passion may be, you become
+reconciled to disappointment when the object of your love refuses your
+affection only to consecrate herself to God, and when she leaves with
+you as a comforter a companion who is her equal in gentleness and in
+goodness, if not in energy and nobility of character. Without entering
+into other details, this sufficiently explains how Philip's passionate
+grief came to abate in violence.
+
+He wished to leave Chamondrin the very next day after the departure of
+Dolores, and to return to Versailles where his regiment was still
+stationed; but his father's entreaties induced him to abandon this
+project. The Marquis assured him that he could not live abandoned by
+both Dolores and his son, so Philip remained. This was one advantage
+gained for the Marquis. The causes previously referred to and
+Antoinette's charms accomplished the rest. Philip began to regard their
+marriage without aversion; but he would not consent to abruptly cast off
+one love for another. Time was needed for the transition. Even as he
+would have mourned for Dolores dead, he wished to mourn the Dolores he
+had lost, and to wait until his wounded heart was healed. He gave his
+father and also Mademoiselle de Mirandol to understand that, while he
+did not reject the idea of this union which seemed so pleasing to them,
+he must be allowed to fix the date of it. His will was law with both;
+the Marquis wisely concealed his impatience; Antoinette displayed great
+discretion, and matters were moving along smoothly when political events
+which had become more and more grave in character suddenly complicated
+the situation.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+IN WHICH HISTORY IS MINGLED WITH ROMANCE.
+
+
+The real awaking of the country, the real beginning of the Revolution
+dates from the year 1789. What France had endured for half a century
+every one knows. Every one also knows that, becoming weary of poverty,
+of the tyranny of the powerful, of the weakness of the king, of the
+squandering of her treasure and of the intrigues of those in authority,
+and compelled to find a remedy within herself, the country demanded the
+convocation of the Etats Generaux. The government at last decided to
+accede to the entreaties that were heard on every side; and it was
+during the early part of the year 1789 that France was called upon to
+elect her representatives; while, from one end of the kingdom to the
+other, there was a general desire for a great and much needed reform.
+
+The south did not take a less active part in this movement than the rest
+of the country. Provence and Languedoc were shaken to their centres. In
+all the region round about the Gardon--at Nimes, in Beaucaire in Arles,
+in Remoulins--political clubs were formed. The condition of the
+peasantry, who had previously been condemned to a sort of slavery,
+suddenly changed. The weak became the strong; the timid became the
+audacious; the humble became the proud; and from the mouth of an
+oppressed people issued a voice demanding liberty. This movement had
+been ripe for some time among the lower classes, but it suddenly burst
+forth and revealed itself in all its mighty power in the convocation of
+the Etats Generaux.
+
+In Nimes and the surrounding country, the agitation caused by this great
+event was increased by the remembrance of the religious warfare that had
+been waged there between the Protestants and Catholics for more than a
+century. This enmity blazed out afresh, greatly aggravating the
+bitterness naturally caused by the elections. Were not these last a mere
+pretext invented by one sect to conceal their evil designs against the
+other? Was it only a conflict between the champions of the old and of
+the new regime, or were these excited men eager to take up arms one
+against the other, mere fanatics ready to condemn others to martyrdom
+and to accept it themselves? History has not yet decided this important
+question; and sectarian passion has not yet allowed an impartial critic
+to be heard. Still, it is a well-known fact that throughout the province
+of Languedoc, and notably in Nimes, the political excitement was of the
+most virulent character. Blood flowed there even sooner than in Paris.
+The massacres at Nimes preceded the celebrated massacres of September by
+more than two years; and in Avignon, though this city was as yet French
+only in its situation and in the language of its inhabitants, the reign
+of terror was at its height in the mouth of October, 1791.
+
+In 1789, while the elections were in progress, signs of these coming
+events began to manifest themselves. In Nimes the Catholics and
+Protestants were bitterly denouncing one another, quarrelling over the
+local offices, and striving in every possible way to gain the
+ascendancy. The Marquis de Chamondrin was a Catholic, but he was very
+tolerant and liberal in his opinions. One of his ancestors, at the
+imminent risk of exile, had boldly opposed the revocation of the Edict
+of Nantes. The Marquis shared the opinions of his ancestor; despotism
+found no champion in him. He had read the philosophers of his time, and
+he was convinced that equality in rights if not in fortunes could be
+established between men. He recognized the necessity of reform, but he
+detested violence; and he exerted all his influence to secure
+moderation, to reconcile opponents and to draw men together. Thus at
+Nimes, on more than one occasion, he had prevented the effusion of
+blood. But the passions were so strongly excited in that locality at
+that time that his efforts as a moderator gained him but one thing,
+isolation. He drew down upon himself the hatred of those whom he wished
+to calm; he did not even win the friendship of those whom he desired to
+protect, and who, unless their peril was extreme, boldly declared that
+they were able to protect themselves. His popularity, cleverly
+undermined by his enemies, soon became impaired, and, weary of the
+dissensions in which he was embroiled in spite of all his efforts, he
+shut himself up in his chateau, resolving to keep a philosophical watch
+over events, but to take no part in them.
+
+A few days later, the Etats Generaux assembled at Versailles; but their
+time was spent in bickerings and in sterile discussions while oppressed
+and panting France vainly awaited the salutary reforms they were
+expected to effect. From May, the date of their meeting, to the immortal
+night of the Fourth of August, when the nation entered upon an era that
+was to atone for so many disasters, one event succeeded another with
+bewildering rapidity. The victorious resistance of the Third Estate to
+the pretensions of the nobility and clergy; the proclamation of the
+king; the movement of the French Guards; their imprisonment; their
+deliverance by the people; the intrigues of the Orleans party; the
+taking of the Bastile; the death of Foulon and of Berthier came one
+after another to accelerate the progress of the revolutionary movement
+which was already advancing rapidly.
+
+In 1790, famine was at the gates of Paris and threatened to spread over
+all France. Armed brigands, taking advantage of the general disorder,
+began to lay waste the provinces. In many parts of the country, the
+peasants joined them; in others, they resisted them. These brigands
+attacked the chateaux, they burned several and pillaged others. Finally,
+dread of a foreign foe was added to all these fears, and the people
+accused the nobility of calling a foreign nation to their assistance.
+
+These are some of the many events that served to distract Philip de
+Chamondrin's mind from his disappointment and delay his marriage to
+Antoinette de Mirandol. Anxious as the Marquis was to hasten this
+union, he shared the general apprehension too strongly to urge his son
+to marry at such a time. The inmates of the chateau were troubled and
+depressed. Gloomy news from the outer world reached them daily. The
+king's life was believed to be in danger. A dozen times Philip had
+almost decided to start for Versailles to die, if need be, in the
+service of his sovereign; but Coursegol succeeded in convincing him that
+his presence was a necessity at Chamondrin, and that he could not go
+away without leaving the Marquis and Antoinette exposed to the gravest
+peril. Coursegol had several reasons for dissuading his young master
+from his purpose, the chief of which was that he did not wish to go
+himself. In case of actual danger, he could be of great service to the
+Marquis. Thanks to his plebeian origin, to his many acquaintances and to
+his reputation as a good fellow in Nimes and in Beaucaire, he could
+mingle with the crowd, converse with the peasantry, question the
+artisans and discover their temper and plans. In case the chateau was
+attacked, he would also be able to make many friends for the Marquis and
+call quite a number of defenders to his aid. Then, too, he could not
+endure the thought of going so far from Arles while Dolores was there,
+alone and defenceless, and might need his protection at any moment.
+
+So Philip did not go, but together with his father and Coursegol he
+began to make arrangements for the defence of the chateau. They
+augmented their force by the addition of three or four men upon whose
+fidelity they could implicitly rely. Coursegol was also promised the
+services of several peasants. The Marquis frequently visited the little
+town of Remoulins, that lay a few miles from the chateau on the other
+side of the Gardon, and he still had a few warm friends there, some of
+whom had desired to send him to the Etats Generaux. They, too, promised
+to come to his assistance in case of an attack on the castle. If the
+former masters of Chamondrin had been tyrants this was now forgotten.
+The large possessions which would have endowed them with feudal rights
+were theirs no longer. For several years Dolores and the Marquise de
+Chamondrin had endeavored to obliterate the memory of the past by
+visiting the poor and the sick around them, and Antoinette de Mirandol
+had perpetuated the memory of their good deeds by imitating their
+example.
+
+Hence they had nothing to apprehend from those in their immediate
+neighborhood; but they had every reason to fear the many lawless bands
+that were now scouring that region of country, ostensibly attracted
+there by the fair that was to be held at Beaucaire in the month of
+July--bands of armed and desperate men, who plundered and pillaged and
+lived by rapine. The Bohemians, too, who passed the Pont du Gard each
+spring and autumn, inspired the inmates of the chateau with no slight
+dread, as it seemed more than likely they would take advantage of the
+general disorder that prevailed to commit depredations upon any isolated
+dwellings that tempted their cupidity. Moreover, north of Nimes there
+were several villages whose fanatical and intensely excited inhabitants
+were strongly urged by their leaders to make an attack upon the
+Catholics, who were accused of opposition to the reform movement. It was
+rumored that these people intended to march upon Nimes, burn the city
+and put its population to the sword. Was there not good reason to fear
+that these men, if they succeeded in this undertaking, would take it
+into their heads to spread death and destruction beyond the walls of
+Nimes. No apprehension was ridiculous, no prudence was exaggerated at a
+time when all France trembled.
+
+Such were the causes that had induced the Marquis and his son to prepare
+for an attack on the castle. In spite of their precautions, they could
+not conceal these preparations from Antoinette. She courageously
+assisted them, almost thankful for the perils that menaced their safety,
+since they detained Philip at the chateau. She loved him even more
+devotedly than ever, and, if she shuddered sometimes at the thought that
+a life so precious to her might be endangered at any moment, she
+comforted herself by thinking she would at least have the consolation of
+dying with him.
+
+But the Marquis was beset by many scruples. He felt that he did wrong to
+expose Antoinette to such danger, since she did not yet belong to his
+family and since he had promised her dying father to protect her and her
+fortune until the day of her marriage. He finally decided to send her to
+England, which she would find a safer retreat than the Chateau de
+Chamondrin. He confided this project to Antoinette, but he had scarcely
+broached the subject when, the girl interrupted him with these words:
+
+"If you love me, do not separate me from Philip!"
+
+The Marquis could not resist this entreaty. Antoinette remained.
+
+While these events were taking place at the chateau, Dolores, immured in
+the convent at Arles, was patiently awaiting the termination of the
+imprisonment she had voluntarily imposed upon herself. After a sojourn
+of several months in this saintly house, she experienced a great relief.
+Solitude had calmed her sorrow. She still suffered, she would always
+suffer, but she gathered from her faith and from noble resolutions
+bravely accomplished that peace and resignation which a merciful Heaven
+bestows upon all sad hearts that appeal to it of aid.
+
+Dolores, as we have said before, entered the convent not as a novice,
+but as a boarder. From the founding of the institution, that is to say,
+from the beginning of the seventeenth century, the Carmelite nuns of
+Arles, in obedience to the wishes of their foundress, to whose
+liberality they owed the building and grounds which they occupied, had
+offered an asylum to all gentlewomen who, from one cause or another,
+desired to dwell in the shelter of those sacred walls without obeying
+the rules of the order. Disconsolate widows, mothers mourning the loss
+of their children, and orphans affrighted by the world found a peaceful
+home there and a quiet life which was not unfrequently a step towards
+the cloister.
+
+When Dolores went to live at the convent, the boarders were seven in
+number, all older than herself. They accorded a cordial welcome to the
+young girl, who was soon at ease in their midst. Their life was very
+simple. They lived in the convent, but not within the cloister. Rising
+at six in the morning, they attended service in the chapel with the nuns
+from whom they were separated by a grating. Between the hours of morning
+and evening service they were at liberty to spend their time in whatever
+way they chose. They all ate at the same table. Dolores spent her time
+in working for the needy and for the institution. She made clothing for
+poor children; she embroidered altar cloths for the chapel; she visited
+the sick and destitute. Thus her life was peacefully devoted to prayer
+and good works. She frequently received tidings from the chateau,
+sometimes through letters written by the Marquis, sometimes through
+Coursegol, who came to see her every month. She took a lively interest
+in all that pertained to those whom she had left only to give them a new
+proof of her affection and devotion. When Coursegol visited her, she
+invariably spoke of her longing to return to Chamondrin. She hoped that
+Philip and Antoinette would soon be married, and that she would be able
+to go back to the loved home in which her happy childhood had been
+spent. These hopes were never to be realized; that beloved home she was
+destined never to behold again.
+
+Early in June, Coursegol, in accordance with his usual habit, left the
+chateau to pass a few days in Arles. He reached the city on the
+fourteenth, and, after visiting Dolores, left for home on the morning of
+the sixteenth.
+
+He made the journey on foot. The sky was slightly veiled by fleecy,
+white clouds that tempered the heat of the sun. The road between Arles
+and Nimes is charming, and Coursegol walked blithely along, inhaling
+with delight the fresh morning breeze that came to him laden with the
+vivifying fragrance of the olive and cypress. As he approached
+Beaucaire, a pretty village on the bank of the Rhone, he noticed that an
+unusual animation pervaded the place. Groups of peasants stood here and
+there, engaged in excited conversation; every face wore an expression of
+anxiety. He thought at first that these people must be going or
+returning from some funeral; but he soon noticed that many were armed,
+some with guns, some with scythes. On reaching the centre of the town,
+he found the market-place full of soldiers; officers were giving excited
+orders. It looked as if the town were arming to defend itself.
+
+"What does all this mean?" inquired Coursegol, addressing a little group
+of townspeople.
+
+"Why, do you not know what has happened?" one man replied, in evident
+astonishment.
+
+"I have heard nothing. I have just arrived from Arles."
+
+"Nimes has been pillaged. The peasantry from the Cevennes have descended
+upon the city and massacred three hundred people--laborers, bourgeois,
+priests and nuns. They are now masters of the place, and it is feared
+that a detachment of them is coming in this direction. We are making
+ready to receive them."
+
+"What! Have they advanced beyond Nimes?" inquired Coursegol, appalled by
+this news.
+
+"Some of them advanced last night as far as the Pont du Gard. There
+they sacked and burned the Chateau de Chamondrin!"
+
+A ghastly pallor overspread Coursegol's features; he uttered a cry of
+horror.
+
+"What is the matter?" asked the man who had just apprised him of this
+terrible calamity.
+
+"My masters!--where are my masters?" cried poor Coursegol.
+
+Then, without waiting for the response which no one could give, he
+darted off like a madman in the direction of the Pont du Gard.
+
+Although the events that took place in Nimes early in 1790 have never
+been clearly explained by an impartial historian, we have reason to
+suppose that the public sentiment prevailing there at the time was
+unfavorable to the Revolution. The Catholics of the south became
+indignant when they learned that the Assembly wished to reform the
+Catholic Church without consulting the Pope. From that day, they were
+the enemies of the Revolution. Their protests were energetic, and from
+protests they passed to acts. The Catholics took up arms ostensibly to
+defend themselves against the Protestants, but chiefly to defend their
+menaced religion. The Protestants, who were in communication with their
+religious brethren in Paris and Montauban, were also ready to take the
+field at any moment. A regiment was quartered in the city. The
+sympathies of the officers were with the Catholics, who represented the
+aristocracy in their eyes; the soldiers seemed to favor the
+Protestants--the patriots. This division brought a new element of
+discord into the civil war. This condition of affairs lasted several
+months. A conflict between some of the National Guards--Catholics--and a
+company of dragoons was the signal for a struggle that had become
+inevitable. The Protestants of Nimes sided with the dragoons; the
+Catholics espoused the cause of the National Guards. Several of these
+last were killed. This happened on the 13th of June. The following day,
+bands of peasants, summoned to the aid of the Protestants from the
+country north of Nimes, descended upon the city. They entered it in an
+orderly manner, as if animated by peaceful intentions; but many of the
+men were either half-crazed fanatics or wretches who were actuated by a
+desire for plunder. They ran through the streets, becoming more and more
+excited until their fury suddenly burst forth and they rushed wildly
+about the city, carrying death and devastation in their track. There was
+a Capuchin monastery at Nimes. They invaded this first, slaying the
+priests at the foot of the altar in the church that still retains the
+ineffaceable stain of their blood. The assassins then hastened to the
+monastery of the Carmelites. The monks had fled. They sacked the church,
+and then plundered a number of private houses. The bandits showed no
+mercy. They opened a vigorous cannonade upon the tower of Froment where
+many had taken refuge. In three days three hundred persons perished.
+
+At the news of these massacres a cry of rage and terror rose from the
+Catholic villages on the banks of the Rhone and the Gardon. The cry was
+this:
+
+"They are slaughtering our brothers at Nimes!"
+
+The influential men immediately assembled and counselled the frightened
+and indignant populace to take up arms in their own defence. The tocsin
+was sounded, and in a few hours several hundred men had assembled near
+the Pont du Gard, ready to march upon Nimes and punish the wretches who
+had slain the innocent and defenceless. By unanimous consent the Marquis
+de Chamondrin was made one of the leaders of this hastily improvised
+army. He accepted the command with a few eloquent words, urging his men
+to do their duty, and the army took up its line of march. Some gypsies,
+who chanced to be near the Pont du Gard at the time, brought up the
+rear, hoping that the fortunes of war would gain them an entrance into
+the city of Nimes that they might pillage and steal without restraint.
+
+This manifestation of wrath on the part of the inhabitants of the
+surrounding country terrified the assassins, and most of them took to
+flight; but those who lived in Nimes and who were alarmed for their own
+safety and that of their families resolved to avert the blow that
+menaced them.
+
+There are traitors in every party, men ready to sell or to be sold; men
+for whom treason and infamy are pathways to wealth. There were some of
+these men in the Catholic ranks, and promises of gold induced them to go
+out and meet the approaching army and assure its leaders that order was
+re-established at Nimes and that their entrance into the city would only
+occasion a fresh outbreak. These emissaries accomplished their mission;
+and that same evening all these men who had left home that morning
+thirsting for vengeance returned quietly to their firesides.
+
+But, unfortunately, the Marquis de Chamondrin had taken such an active
+part in this demonstration that he had deeply incensed the assassins;
+and the more ferocious of them resolved to wreak vengeance upon him by
+pillaging and burning his chateau. A conspiracy was organized, and the
+following night about forty men of both parties, or rather the scum and
+refuse of both, started for Chamondrin. They knew the castle had but a
+small number of defenders, and that Coursegol, the most formidable of
+these, was absent at the time. They also knew that the isolated
+situation of the chateau afforded its inmates little chance of succor,
+and that, if they could succeed in surprising it, they could accomplish
+their work of destruction before the inhabitants of Remoulins and the
+surrounding villages could come to the aid of the Marquis and his
+household. The plan was decided upon in a few hours; and the disorder
+that prevailed throughout the country, the inertness of the authorities
+and the want of harmony among the soldiery, all favored its execution.
+
+About nine o'clock in the evening, the bandits stole quietly out of
+Nimes. They reached the Pont du Gard a little before midnight and halted
+there to receive their final instructions before ascending the hill upon
+the summit of which stood the Chateau de Chamondrin.
+
+Here, they were joined by a dozen or more Bohemians who were encamped
+near by, the same men who had accompanied the Catholics on their
+expedition that same morning. They approached the bandits in the hope
+that a new army was in process of organization for an attack upon the
+city, and that they might accompany it. When they saw the band proceed
+in the direction of the chateau, they straggled along in the rear. Like
+hungry vultures, they seemed to scent a battle from which they might
+derive some profit.
+
+The household at Chamondrin chanced to be astir late that evening. The
+Marquis, Philip, Antoinette, the cure of Remoulins and two or three
+landed proprietors living in the vicinity were in the drawing-room.
+After such a day of excitement, no one could think of sleep. They were
+discussing the events that had occurred at Nimes, and deploring the
+death of the victims. They were anxiously asking if the blood that had
+been shed would be the last, and were endeavoring to find means to
+prevent the repetition of such a calamity. When the clock struck the
+hour of midnight, the cure of Remoulins, an energetic old man named
+Peretty, rose to return to the village. The other visitors, whose homes
+lay in the same direction and whose carriages were waiting in the
+court-yard, followed his example. Suddenly a frightened cry broke the
+silence of the night. Followed by the others present, Philip rushed to
+the door. The cry had come from the man who guarded the gate.
+
+"We are attacked!" exclaimed this man on seeing Philip.
+
+At a glance the latter understood the extent and the imminence of their
+danger. The bright moonlight revealed a terrible sight. The besiegers
+had found only one opening through which they could effect an entrance
+into the chateau; but even there a heavy gate composed of strong iron
+bars opposed their passage. This gate was very high, and the bars were
+securely fastened to each other, while the top was surmounted by sharp
+pickets. Still, the bandits were not discouraged. Half-crazed with fury
+and with wine, they climbed this formidable barrier with the hope of
+leaping over it. It seemed to bend beneath their weight. The massive
+bolts trembled, the ponderous hinges creaked, as fifty or more
+repulsive-looking wretches, the majority of them clad in rags, hurled
+themselves against the gate, uttering shrieks of baffled rage. One would
+have supposed them wild beasts trying to break from their cage.
+
+"To arms!" cried Philip.
+
+He ran to the lower hall, which was used as an armory. His father, the
+visitors and the servants, who were all devoted to the Chamondrin
+family, followed him, while Antoinette stood watching in alarm this
+formidable horde of invaders.
+
+The Abbe Peretty advanced towards the intruders.
+
+"What do you desire, my friends?" he asked, calmly.
+
+"Open the gates!" responded the less excited among the crowd.
+
+"We want Chamondrin's head!" exclaimed others.
+
+"Have you any just cause of complaint against the Marquis?" persisted
+the abbe, striving to calm the furious throng.
+
+"Death to the aristocrats!" the crowd responded with one voice.
+
+One man went so far as to point his gun at the venerable priest, who,
+without once losing his sang-froid, recrossed the court-yard, keeping
+his face turned towards the excited band outside, and rejoined his
+companions, who under the leadership of the Marquis and Philip were just
+emerging from the hall, armed to the teeth.
+
+"They will not listen to reason," said the Abbe Peretty, calmly!
+
+"Then we will defend ourselves, and woe be unto them!"
+
+As he uttered these words, the Marquis turned to Mademoiselle de
+Mirandol, around whom the women of the chateau were crowding,
+half-crazed with terror.
+
+"Go into the house; your place is not here," said he.
+
+"My place is by your side!" replied Antoinette.
+
+"No, my dear Antoinette; it is madness to expose yourself unnecessarily.
+I know you are courageous, but you can be of far greater service to us
+by quieting these poor, shrieking creatures."
+
+While this conversation was going on, Philip advanced to the gate. It
+still resisted the efforts of the assailants, some of whom were
+endeavoring to climb over the roofs of the pavilions that stood on
+either side of the entrance to the chateau.
+
+"I command you to retire!" cried Philip.
+
+Angry threats of "Death" resounded afresh.
+
+"Then I hold you responsible for any disasters that may occur!" Philip
+replied.
+
+At the same moment the impetuous youth raised his gun and fired,
+wounding one of the men who had climbed the gate and was preparing to
+leap down into the court-yard. Imprecations broke forth anew and the
+combat began. Nothing could be heard but a vigorous fusillade,
+accompanied by the shouts of the besiegers and the besieged. These last
+were so few in number that they dare not dispatch one of their little
+company to Remoulins for aid. Besides, they were not sure that the band
+now assailing them would not be followed by others that would waylay
+their messenger; but they hoped that their shouts and the sound of the
+firing would arouse the inhabitants of the sleeping town. The Marquis
+fought with the desperation of a man who is defending his outraged
+fireside, and Philip struggled with the energy of despair. He was
+fighting for his father and for Antoinette. He shuddered when he thought
+of the horrible fate that awaited the young girl if these brutes, more
+formidable than any wild beasts, were victorious. Even the Abbe Peretty
+had armed himself. The servants and the friends of the house conducted
+themselves like heroes, but, unfortunately, Coursegol was far from
+Chamondrin, and the defenders of the chateau sadly missed his valiant
+arm.
+
+The assailants were still crowding against the gate, uttering howls of
+fury. They were poorly armed. Only a few had guns, the others brandished
+hatchets and pickaxes, crying:
+
+"Tear down the gate!"
+
+But, when the firing began, they left this dangerous position and
+retired perhaps twenty feet, where they hid behind the trees, firing at
+random, sometimes trying to advance, but always driven back with loss.
+Five or six of them were already stretched upon the grass, but the
+defenders of the castle were unhurt. The gypsies had retreated to a
+safe distance, where they stood impatiently awaiting the conclusion of
+the struggle, ready to fall upon the vanquished as soon as they became
+unable to defend themselves.
+
+Meanwhile Antoinette, surrounded by four or five women, was upon her
+knees in the drawing-room, praying fervently, her heart sick with
+anguish and fear. How ardently she wished herself a man that she might
+fight by Philip's side! The firing suddenly ceased. Philip entered the
+room. His face was pale, but stained here and there by smoke and powder;
+his head was bare; his clothing disordered. Grief and despair were
+imprinted upon his countenance.
+
+"We must fly!" he exclaimed.
+
+And taking Antoinette by the hand he led her through the long corridor
+opening into the park. The frightened women followed them. In the park
+they met the defenders of the chateau, carrying a wounded man in their
+arms.
+
+Antoinette uttered a cry of consternation.
+
+"Ah! I would have fought until death!" exclaimed Philip, despairingly,
+"but we were overpowered; the gate was torn down; my father was wounded.
+He must be saved from the hands of the bandits at any cost, so we were
+forced to retreat."
+
+Antoinette walked on like one in a frightful dream. If Philip had not
+supported her she would have fallen again and again. They walked beside
+the Marquis, who was still conscious, though mortally wounded in the
+breast. When he saw his son and Antoinette beside him, he looked at them
+with sorrowful tenderness, and even attempted to smile as if to
+convince them that he was not suffering.
+
+The little band proceeded with all possible speed to a small
+summer-house concealed in the pines and shrubbery. Nothing could be more
+mournful than this little procession of gloomy-visaged men and weeping
+women, fleeing through the darkness to escape the assassins who were now
+masters of the castle, destroying everything around them and making
+night hideous with their ferocious yells. At last they reached the
+summer-house. The Marquis was deposited upon a hastily improvised bed;
+the Abbe Peretty, assisted by Philip and Antoinette, attempted to dress
+his wound; and two men started in the hope of reaching Remoulins by a
+circuitous route, in order to bring a physician and call upon the
+inhabitants of the village for aid.
+
+An hour went by; it seemed a century. In the gloomy room where these
+unfortunates had taken refuge no sound broke the stillness save the
+moans of the Marquis and the voice of the Abbe Peretty, as he uttered
+occasional words of consolation and encouragement to assuage the mute
+anguish of Philip and the despair of the weeping Antoinette. Then all
+was still again.
+
+Philip's agony was terrible. His father dying; his home in the hands of
+vandals, who were ruthlessly destroying the loved and cherished objects
+that had surrounded him from infancy, Antoinette, crushed by the
+disasters of this most wretched night, this was the terrible picture
+that rose before him. To this torture was added the despair caused by a
+sense of his utter powerlessness. Gladly would he have rushed back to
+the chateau to die there, struggling with his enemies, but he was
+prevented by the thought of Antoinette, who was now dependent upon him
+for protection. He was engrossed in these gloomy thoughts when a strange
+crackling sound attracted his attention, and at the same moment a man,
+who had ventured out into the park to watch the proceedings of the enemy
+rushed back, exclaiming:
+
+"They are burning the chateau!"
+
+The tidings of this new misfortune overpowered Philip and almost bereft
+him of reason. He ran to the door. A tall column of flame and smoke was
+mounting to the sky; the trees were tinged with a crimson light, and the
+crackling of the fire could be distinctly heard above the hooting and
+yelling of the infuriated crowd. His eyes filled with tears, but he was
+dashing them away preparatory to returning to his father when the Abbe
+Peretty joined him.
+
+"Courage, my poor boy!" said the good priest.
+
+"I will be brave, sir. I can cheerfully submit to the loss of our
+possessions, but to the death of my father, I----"
+
+He could not complete the sentence. The abbe, who had lost all hope, was
+silent for a moment; then he said:
+
+"There is something I must no longer conceal from you. After the chateau
+is destroyed, I fear these wretches will search the park in order to
+discover our retreat. I do not fear for myself. I shall remain with the
+Marquis. They will respect a dying man and a white-haired priest; but
+you, Philip, must remain here no longer. Make your escape with
+Mademoiselle de Mirandol without delay."
+
+"I cannot abandon my father," replied Philip. "If our hiding-place is
+discovered, we will defend ourselves--we will fight until death!"
+
+The priest said no more, and they both returned to the bedside of the
+Marquis. On seeing them, the latter, addressing his son, inquired:
+
+"The chateau is on fire, is it not?"
+
+Philip's reply seemed to cause the Marquis intense anguish; but, after a
+moment, he motioned to his son to come nearer; then he said.
+
+"Listen, Philip. You must leave France. This unhappy country is about to
+enter upon a series of misfortunes which neither you nor I can foresee,
+and of which you will certainly be a victim if you remain here. You must
+depart, Philip. Think, my son, you will be the sole heir of the house of
+Chamondrin."
+
+"You will recover, father."
+
+"No; death is close at hand. It is so near that I cannot deceive myself;
+so, Philip, I wish you to grant one of my dearest wishes. I wish, before
+I die, to feel assured that the family of Chamondrin will be
+perpetuated. Consent to marry Antoinette."
+
+Philip, as we have said before, had already tacitly consented to this
+marriage. Since he had lost all hope of winning Dolores, the thought of
+wedding another was no longer revolting to him.
+
+"I am ready to obey you, father," he replied, "but will you allow me to
+remind you that Mademoiselle de Mirandol is rich and that I have
+nothing."
+
+The Marquis checked him and, calling Antoinette, said in a voice that
+was becoming weaker and weaker:
+
+"Antoinette, Philip is poor; his position is gone; the favor of the king
+will avail him nothing in the future, and the power has passed into the
+hands of our enemies; nevertheless, will you consent to marry him?"
+
+"If he desires it," exclaimed Mademoiselle de Mirandol, "and never was I
+so grateful for my wealth!"
+
+Philip pressed the hand of the noble girl, and the face of the Marquis
+was transfigured with joy in spite of his agony. Then M. de Chamondrin
+resumed:
+
+"You must leave the country, my children, and marry as soon as
+circumstances will permit. You must stay in foreign lands until France
+recovers her reason. Promise to obey me."
+
+They promised in voices choked with sobs.
+
+"Abbe," continued the Marquis, "bless these children!"
+
+Without exchanging another word, Philip and Antoinette, in obedience to
+the wishes of the dying man, knelt before the priest. The latter,
+employing the solemn formula which makes bride and bridegroom
+indissolubly one, asked Mademoiselle de Mirandol if she would accept
+Philip as her husband, and Philip if he would take Antoinette for his
+wife, and when they had answered in the affirmative, he added:
+
+"I cannot here, and under such circumstances, unite you by the bonds of
+marriage; but until the vows you have just exchanged can be consecrated
+by the church, I, as the witness of this covenant, shall pray God to
+bless you."
+
+"I am satisfied," said the Marquis, faintly. "Father, grant me
+absolution."
+
+Antoinette and Philip remained upon their knees. A quarter of an hour
+later the Marquis expired. Just as he breathed his last, the same man
+who discovered the firing of the chateau, and who had again returned to
+the park to watch the movements of the enemy, burst into the room.
+
+"They are searching the park! They are coming this way!" he cried,
+breathlessly.
+
+The cure, who had been engaged in prayer, rose.
+
+"Fly!" he exclaimed.
+
+"My place is here!" replied Philip.
+
+Antoinette gave him a look of approval.
+
+"In the name of the Father, who has commanded you to love, I order you
+to fly!"
+
+And, as he spoke, the priest pointed to the door.
+
+"But who will give him burial?" exclaimed Philip.
+
+"I will; go!" replied the abbe.
+
+Antoinette and Philip were compelled to obey.
+
+The priest was left alone with the lifeless body of M. de Chamondrin. He
+knelt, and, as calmly as if he were in his own presbytery, recited the
+prayers the church addresses to Heaven for the souls of the dead. The
+flickering light of a nearly consumed candle dimly illumined the room.
+The world without was bathed in a flood of clear moonlight. The
+marauders ran about the park, shouting at the top of their voices,
+uprooting plants and shrubbery, breaking the statuary and the marble
+vases, and expending upon inanimate objects the fury they were unable to
+vent upon the living.
+
+Suddenly, one of them discovered the summer-house. The door was open; he
+entered. Some of his comrades followed him. A priest with white, flowing
+locks rose at their entrance, and, pointing to the couch upon which the
+dead body of the Marquis was reposing, said:
+
+"Death has passed this way! Retire--"
+
+He was not allowed to complete his sentence. A violent blow from an axe
+felled him to the ground, his skull, fractured. They trampled his body
+under foot, then one of the assassins applied a burning torch to the
+floor. The flames rose, licking each portion of the building with their
+fiery tongues. Then the shameless crowd departed to continue their work
+of destruction. The sacking of the chateau occupied three hours. The
+pillagers had not retired when the approach of the National Guard of
+Remoulins, coming too late to the assistance of the Marquis, was
+discovered by one of the ruffians, and they fled in every direction to
+escape the punishment they merited.
+
+When Coursegol, wild with anxiety, reached the chateau on the day that
+followed this frightful scene, only the walls remained standing. Of the
+imposing edifice in which he was born there was left only bare and
+crumbling walls. The farm-house and the summer-house had shared the same
+fate; and in the park, thickly strewn with prostrate trees and debris, a
+crowd of gypsies and beggars were searching for valuables spared by the
+fire. Coursegol could not repress a cry of rage and despair at the
+sight; but how greatly his sorrow was augmented when he learned that two
+dead bodies, those of the Marquis and of the Abbe Peretty had been
+discovered half-consumed in the still smoking ruins.
+
+Were Philip and Antoinette also dead? No one knew.
+
+One person declared that he saw them making their escape. This
+uncertainty was more horrible to Coursegol than the poignant reality
+before his eyes. He flung himself down upon the seared turf, and there,
+gloomy, motionless, a prey to the most frightful despair, he wept
+bitterly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+PARIS IN 1792.
+
+
+On the third of September, 1792, about eleven o'clock in the morning, a
+tall, stalwart man, with an energetic face and sunburned hands, and
+accompanied by a young woman, might have been seen approaching the
+Barriere du Trone. Both were clad in the garb worn by the peasantry of
+southern France. The young woman wore the costume of a Provencale
+peasant girl, and carried upon her arm a short, dark cloak, which she
+used as a protection against the cool night air, but which she did not
+require now in the heat of the day. The man wore a suit of black
+fustian, a foxskin cap, blue stockings and heavy shoes. The expression
+of weariness imprinted upon their features and the dust that covered
+their garments proved that their journey had been long. As they neared
+the gateway, the man, who was carrying a heavy valise in his hand,
+paused to take breath. His companion followed his example, and, as they
+seated themselves by the roadside, she cast an anxious glance at the
+city.
+
+"Do you think they will allow us to pass?" she murmured, frightened
+already at the thought of being subjected to the examination of the
+soldiers who guarded the gate.
+
+"Are not our passports all right?" demanded her companion. "If we
+wished to leave Paris it would be quite another matter; but as we merely
+desire to enter the city, there will be no difficulty. Have no fears,
+Mademoiselle; they will not detain us long at the gate."
+
+"Coursegol, stop calling me Mademoiselle. Call me your daughter. If you
+do not acquire the habit of doing so, you will forget some day and then
+all will be discovered."
+
+"I know my role, and I shall play it to perfection when we are before
+strangers, but, when we are alone, I cannot forget that I am only your
+servant."
+
+"Not my servant; but my friend, my father. Have you not always felt for
+me the same affection and solicitude you would have entertained for your
+own daughter?"
+
+Coursegol responded only by a look; but this look proved that Dolores
+had spoken the truth and that the paternal love, of which he had given
+abundant proofs in the early part of this history, had suffered no
+diminution.
+
+"If you had only been willing to listen to me," he remarked, after a few
+moment's silence, "we should have remained in the village where the
+coach stopped. There we could have awaited a more propitious opportunity
+to reach our journey's end."
+
+"I was too eager to reach the city. It seems to me that, in approaching
+Paris, I am nearing Philip and Antoinette. If they are still living, we
+shall certainly find them in Paris."
+
+"Oh! they are living; I am sure of it; but is it not likely that they
+have emigrated? In that case, why should we remain in a city that is so
+full of danger for us?"
+
+"We can lead a quiet and retired life there! No one will know us and we
+shall have better facilities for obtaining news in Paris than in a
+village. My heart tells me that we are not far from our friends."
+
+"God grant it, my child," responded Coursegol; "and if, as I hope,
+Bridoul has not forgotten his friend of former days, we shall soon be
+safe in his house."
+
+"Are you not sure of his friendship?" inquired Dolores, anxiously.
+
+"Can we place implicit confidence in any one as times are now?" returned
+Coursegol. "Bridoul was my comrade in the army. He loved me, and he was
+devoted to Monsieur Philip, our captain. But to-day the remembrance of
+such a friendship is a crime. It must be forgotten; and fear sometimes
+renders the bravest hearts cowardly and timorous. Still, I do not
+believe Bridoul has changed. But we shall soon know. Now, let us go on,
+my dear daughter, and show no anxiety if they question us at the gate."
+
+"Have no fear, father," replied Dolores, with a smile.
+
+Coursegol picked up his valise, and boldly approached the gate. Dolores
+followed him, striving to quiet the throbbings of her heart; she was
+more troubled in mind now than she had been during the whole of the long
+journey. As they were passing through the gateway, a sentinel stopped
+them and made them enter a small house occupied by the detachment of the
+National Guard, which was deputized to watch over the safety of Paris
+from this point. The post was commanded by a young lieutenant, a mere
+boy with a beardless face. On seeing a beautiful girl enter, followed by
+an aged man, he rose, and turning to his soldiers:
+
+"What is the meaning of this?" he inquired.
+
+"I wish to enter the city, lieutenant," volunteered Coursegol, without
+waiting to be questioned.
+
+"Enter Paris! You have chosen a nice time! There are many people in it
+who would be only too glad to make their escape. Who is this citoyenne?"
+added the officer, pointing to Dolores.
+
+"That is my daughter."
+
+"Be seated, citoyenne," said the lieutenant, politely offering Dolores
+his own chair.
+
+She accepted it, and the examination continued.
+
+"From whence do you come?"
+
+"From Beaucaire."
+
+"Afoot?"
+
+"No, citizen; we left the coach at Montgeron. The driver had no other
+passengers, and, when he heard of the troubles in Paris, he declared he
+would wait there until they were over. His coach was loaded with
+merchandise, and he feared it would be taken from him."
+
+"Does he take patriots for bandits?" exclaimed the officer, angrily. "If
+I am on guard here when his coach enters the city, he will receive the
+lesson he deserves. You said you had passports, I think?"
+
+"Here they are!"
+
+The officer took the papers that Coursegol handed him and examined them
+carefully.
+
+"These papers were drawn up two years ago," said he. "Where have you
+spent these years?"
+
+"My daughter has been ill and we were obliged to stop at numerous places
+on the way. We made long sojourns at Dijon and at Montereau; but you
+will notice, citizen, the passports bear the endorsement of the
+authorities of those towns."
+
+"So I perceive. Very well, you will be taken before the Commissioners
+and if your papers prove all right, as I believe they are, you will be
+allowed to remain in the city."
+
+The young lieutenant turned away to give an order to one of his
+soldiers; then suddenly he approached Coursegol and said kindly, in a
+low voice:
+
+"You seem to be worthy people, and I should be very sorry if any
+misfortune happened to you. Paris is not a safe abode just now.
+Yesterday they began to put the prisoners to death, and, perhaps, you
+and your daughter would do well to wait until the fury of the populace
+is appeased."
+
+"But we belong to the people," replied Coursegol. "We have nothing to
+fear; moreover, I know a good patriot who will be responsible for us if
+necessary: Citizen Bridoul, who keeps a wine-shop on the Rue Antoine."
+
+"At the sign of the Bonnet Rouge?" cried the officer.
+
+"The very same," replied Coursegol, boldly, though until now he had been
+ignorant of the sign which distinguished his friend Bridoul's
+establishment.
+
+"Bridoul is a true patriot. Thanks to him, you will incur no risk! You
+will now be conducted to the Commissioners."
+
+"Many thanks for your kindness, lieutenant," said Coursegol.
+
+And taking Dolores' arm in his, he followed the soldier who was to
+conduct them to the municipal authorities. There, they underwent a fresh
+examination, and Coursegol responded as before. As people who desired to
+enter Paris at such a time could hardly be regarded with suspicion,
+Coursegol and Dolores were walking freely about the streets of the city
+a few moments later, surprised and alarmed at the sights that met their
+eyes at every turn. The last witnesses of the grand revolutionary drama
+are disappearing every day. Age has bowed their heads, blanched their
+locks and enfeebled their memories. Soon there will remain none of those
+whose testimony might aid the historian of that stormy time in his
+search after truth; but among the few who still survive and who in the
+year 1792 were old enough to see and understand and remember, there are
+none upon whom the recollection of those terrible days in September is
+not indelibly imprinted. Since the tenth of August, Paris had been
+delivered up to frenzy and bloodshed. The arrest of the royal family,
+the rivalry between the Commune and the Convention, the bitter debates
+at the clubs and the uprising of the volunteers were more than enough to
+throw the great city into a state of excitement, disorder and terror.
+Business was paralyzed; the stores were for the most part closed; the
+aristocratic portions of the city deserted; emigration had deprived
+France of thousands of her citizens; the streets were filled with a
+fierce, ragged crowd; the luxury upon which the artisan depended for a
+livelihood was proscribed; famine was knocking at the gates; gold had
+disappeared; places of amusement were broken up; the gardens and the
+galleries of the Palais-Royal alone remained--the only rendezvous
+accessible to those who, even while looking forward to death,
+frantically desired to enjoy the little of life that remained. Such was
+the aspect of affairs in Paris.
+
+With the last days of August came the news of the capture of Longwy by
+the Prussians, the siege of Terdun, and the warlike preparations of
+Russia and Germany. This was more than enough to excite the terror of
+the Parisians and to arouse their anger against those whom they called
+aristocrats and whom they accused of complicity with the enemies of the
+nation.
+
+On the 29th of August, by the order of the Commune, the gates were
+closed. It was impossible to enter Paris without a passport endorsed by
+examiners appointed for the purpose. No one was allowed to leave the
+city on any pretext whatever. The Parisians were virtually prisoners.
+Every house, every apartment was visited by inspectors. Rich and poor
+were alike compelled to submit. Every suspicious article was seized, and
+the man in whose dwelling it was discovered was arrested. The inspectors
+performed their tasks with unnecessary harshness, ruthlessly destroying
+any valuable object upon which they could lay their hands. They rapped
+upon the walls to see if they contained any secret hiding-place; they
+pierced the mattresses with their swords and poignards. After these
+visits thousands of citizens were arrested and conducted to the Hotel
+de Ville, where many were detained for thirty hours without food,
+awaiting their turn to appear before the members of the Commune. After
+their examination some were released; others were thrown into the
+prisons, which were soon crowded to such a degree that there was not
+room for a single newcomer by the first of September. If room could not
+be found, room must be made; and the following day, the second of
+September, twenty-four prisoners, chiefly priests, were led before the
+mayor, adjudged guilty of treason, crowded into fiacres and taken to the
+Abbaye, where they were executed immediately on their arrival.
+
+After this, their first taste of blood, the executioners hastened to the
+Chatelet and to the Conciergerie, where they wrought horrors that the
+pen refuses to describe, sentencing to death the innocent and the guilty
+without giving them any opportunity to defend themselves. Night did not
+appease the fury of the butchers. On the third of September they killed
+again at the Abbaye, at the Force and at the Bernardins prisons; and on
+the fourth they continued their work of death at La Salpetriere and
+Bicetre.
+
+For three days the tocsin sounded. Bands of sans-culottes and
+tricoteuses, thirsting for blood, traversed the streets, uttering cries
+of death; and no one seemed to think of checking their sanguinary fury.
+A prey to a truly remarkable panic, when we consider the relatively
+small number of assassins, the terrified citizens remained shut up in
+their houses. The National Assembly seemed powerless to arrest the
+horrors of these tragical hours; the Commune seemed to favor them.
+
+Of all those days that inspire us with such horror, even now, after the
+lapse of nearly a century, the darkest was that which witnessed the
+execution of the Princesse de Lamballe, who perished for no other crime
+than that of love for the queen. Beheaded, and thrown at first upon a
+pile of corpses, her body was afterwards despoiled of its clothing and
+exposed to the view of an infamous mob. One of the bandits dared to
+separate from this poor body, defiled with mud, and later by the hands
+of its murderers, the lovely head that had surmounted it; others,
+dividing it with a brutality that nothing could soften, quarrelled over
+the bleeding fragments. Then began a frightful massacre. Like wild
+beasts, bearing these spoils of the head as trophies of victory, the
+band of assassins rushed down the Rue de Sicile to carry terror to the
+heart of Paris.
+
+It was nearly noon when Coursegol and Dolores, having passed the
+Bastile, entered the Rue Saint Antoine to find a dense crowd of men,
+women and ragged children yelling at one another and singing coarse
+songs. Some of the National Guard were among the throng; and they were
+stopped every few moments by the people to shout: "Vive la Nation!" the
+patriotic cry that lent courage to the hearts of the soldiers of the
+Republic nobly fighting for the defence of our frontiers, but which had
+been caught up and was incessantly vociferated by the ruffians who
+inaugurated the Reign of Terror. All carriages that attempted to pass
+through this moving crowd were stopped, and their occupants were obliged
+to prove their patriotism by mingling their acclamations with those of
+the mob. The audacity and brutality of the sans-culottes knew no bounds.
+Woe to him who allowed his face to betray his sentiments, even for a
+moment! Terror, pity, sadness, these were crimes to be cruelly expiated.
+
+Coursegol had hesitated to enter the Rue Saint Antoine. He feared to
+come in contact with this excited multitude, but the more alarming the
+great city which she saw for the first time appeared to Dolores, the
+more anxious she was to find shelter at Bridoul's house. But Bridoul's
+house was in the Rue Saint Antoine; and, to reach it, it was absolutely
+necessary to make their way through the crowd, or to wait until it had
+dispersed. But when would it disperse? Was it not dangerous to remain
+much longer without an asylum and a protector? This thought terrified
+Dolores, and, longing to reach her place of destination, she urged
+Coursegol to proceed.
+
+At first, they advanced without much difficulty, following the throng
+that seemed to be wending its way in the same direction as themselves;
+but when they had passed the Palais-Royal, they were obliged to slacken
+their pace, and soon to stop entirely. The crowd formed an impassable
+barrier against which they were pressed so closely by those behind that
+Dolores was nearly suffocated, and Coursegol, to protect her, placed her
+before him, extending his arms to keep off the excited throng.
+
+In the midst of the tumult which we have attempted to describe,
+Coursegol was troubled, not so much by the impatience of Dolores as by
+the doubts that beset him when he thought of Bridoul. He had not seen
+the latter for three years. He only knew that his comrade, on quitting
+the army, had purchased a wine merchant's establishment; but, on hearing
+that his former friend sold his merchandise at the sign of the Bonnet
+Rouge, he asked himself in alarm if he would not find, instead of a
+friend, a rabid patriot who would refuse to come to the aid of the
+ex-servant of a Marquis. These reflections had made him silent and
+anxious until now; but, finding his progress checked by the crowd, the
+thought of inquiring the cause of this excitement occurred to him.
+Addressing a man who was standing a few steps from him, and who, judging
+from his impassive features, seemed not to share the emotions of which
+he was a witness, Coursegol inquired:
+
+"What is going on, my friend?"
+
+"What is going on!" replied the stranger, not without bitterness. "They
+are carrying the head of the Princesse de Lamballe through the streets
+of Paris!"
+
+Coursegol could not repress a movement of horror and of pity. On several
+occasions, when he had accompanied Philip to the house of the Duke de
+Penthieore, he had seen the Princess who had befriended his young
+master. At the same time, the thought that Dolores might be obliged to
+witness such a horrible exhibition frightened him, and he resolved to
+find some way to spare the girl the shameful spectacle that the eager
+crowd was awaiting. Suddenly Dolores, who had been standing on the same
+spot for some time, discovered that the soil beneath her feet had become
+wet and slippery, and, turning to Coursegol, she said:
+
+"I am standing in water."
+
+Coursegol drew back and forced the crowd to give way a trifle, so
+Dolores could have a little more standing-room. Thanks to his exertions,
+she could breathe once more; but, chancing to look down upon the ground,
+she uttered an exclamation of consternation.
+
+"Blood! It is blood!" she exclaimed, in horror.
+
+Coursegol's eyes followed hers. She was not mistaken. She was standing
+in a pool of blood, and not far off lay a body that the crowd had
+trampled upon only a few moments before.
+
+"But where are we?" murmured the terrified Coursegol.
+
+The man to whom he had previously spoken drew a little nearer and said:
+
+"You are, perhaps, a hundred paces from the prison where they executed
+the prisoners scarcely an hour ago."
+
+Then, drawing still nearer, so that no one save Coursegol could hear
+him, he added:
+
+"Advise that young girl not to cry out again as she did just now. If
+some of these fanatics had heard her, she would have fared badly!"
+
+At that very moment, the crowd resumed its march. The man disappeared.
+When Coursegol, agitated by these horrors which were so new to him,
+turned again to speak to Dolores, he saw that she had fainted in his
+arms. The poor man glanced despairingly about him. Suddenly his eyes
+fell upon a sign hanging over a shop on the opposite side of the street.
+This sign represented a red Phrygian cap upon a white ground, and above
+it was written in large red letters: "Le Bonnet Rouge." For a quarter of
+an hour he had been standing directly opposite Bridoul's establishment.
+He uttered a cry of joy, lifted Dolores in his strong arms, and, in a
+stentorian voice, exclaimed:
+
+"Make way! Make way, good citizens! My daughter has fainted!"
+
+The Provencale costume worn by Dolores deceived the persons who would
+otherwise have impeded Coursegol's progress.
+
+"He is from Marseilles," some one cried.
+
+Just at that time the Marseillais were heroes in the eyes of all good
+patriots. The unusual height of Coursegol strengthened the illusion.
+
+"Yes," remarked another, "he is one of the Marseillais who have come to
+the aid of the Parisians."
+
+The crowd opened before him. He soon reached the shop over which hung
+the sign of the "Bonnet Rouge" and entered it. There were but few
+customers in the large saloon. He placed Dolores in a chair, ran to the
+counter, seized a glass of water, returned to the girl and bathed her
+forehead and temples. In a moment she opened her eyes.
+
+"My dear child, are you better?" he asked.
+
+"Yes, yes, my good Coursegol," replied Dolores. Then she added: "Yes,
+father, but I was terribly frightened."
+
+"The citoyenne was crushed in the crowd!" said a voice behind Coursegol.
+He turned and saw a woman who was still young. Suddenly he recollected
+that Bridoul was married.
+
+"Are you not Citoyenne Bridoul?" he asked.
+
+"Certainly, Cornelia Bridoul."
+
+"Where is your husband?"
+
+"Here he is."
+
+Bridoul appeared. He had followed his wife in order to see the young
+Provencale who had been brought into his shop.
+
+"Do you know me?" inquired Coursegol.
+
+"Can it be Coursegol?"
+
+"Yes; I am your brother-in-law; this young girl is your niece. We have
+just arrived from Beaucaire. I will explain everything by and by."
+
+Bridoul cast a hasty glance around him. No one was observing them. The
+few who had been sitting at the table had risen and gone to the door,
+attracted there by the increasing tumult without.
+
+"Take the young lady into the back room," Bridoul whispered to his wife.
+"There will be a crowd here in a moment."
+
+The latter made haste to obey. It was time. In another moment Dolores
+would have been obliged to witness an even more horrible spectacle than
+that upon which her eyes had rested a short while before. The shop was
+suddenly taken by storm. Several men with repulsive faces, long hair
+and cruel eyes, and whose clothing was thickly spattered with blood,
+entered the saloon, followed by a yelling crowd. People mounted on
+chairs and tables to obtain a look at them. They were the city
+executioners. They ordered wine which Bridoul hastened to place before
+them. One carried in his hand the newly decapitated head of a woman,
+whose fair hair was twined round his bare arm. Before drinking his wine
+he placed the head upon the counter. Coursegol closed his eyes to shut
+out the ghastly sight. He had recognized the features of the Princesse
+de Lamballe. When the men had finished their wine, one said:
+
+"Now we will have the hair of this citoyenne dressed so that Marie
+Antoinette will recognize her."
+
+And addressing Bridoul, he added:
+
+"Is there any hair-dresser in this neighborhood?"
+
+"About a hundred paces from here, on the Place de la Bastille," replied
+Bridoul.
+
+"On! on!" shouted the executioners.
+
+And taking the head of the unfortunate Princess they departed,
+accompanied by the crowd that had followed them from the prison. A few
+moments later the saloon was empty. Bridoul hastened into the back room.
+Coursegol followed him. Fortunately the two women had not seen what had
+occurred, and, thanks to Cornelia Bridoul's friendly offices, Dolores
+had regained her composure.
+
+"First of all, are you classed among the suspected characters?" the wine
+merchant inquired of Coursegol. "Are you trying to escape from your
+pursuers? Must I conceal you?"
+
+"No," replied Coursegol "We have come to Paris in the hope of finding
+Monsieur Philip."
+
+"Our old captain?"
+
+"The same," answered Coursegol, at once recounting the events with which
+the reader is already familiar. When the recital was ended, Bridoul
+spoke in his turn.
+
+"I am willing to swear that the captain is not in Paris. If he were, he,
+like all the rest of the nobles, would have been in great danger; and in
+peril, he would certainly have thought of his old soldier, Bridoul, for
+he knows he can rely upon my devotion."
+
+"Ah! you have not changed!" cried Coursegol, pressing his friend's hand.
+
+"No, I have not changed. As you knew me so will you find me. But, my
+good friend, we must be prudent. You did well to come to my house. You
+and your daughter must remain here. You are relatives of mine; that is
+understood. Later, we can make other arrangements; but this evening I
+shall take you to the political club to which I belong. I will introduce
+you as my brother-in-law, a brave patriot from the south."
+
+"But what the devil shall I do at the club?" inquired Coursegol.
+
+"What shall you do there? Why, you will howl with the wolves; that is
+the only way to save yourself from being eaten by them!"
+
+But Coursegol demurred.
+
+"M. Bridoul is right," urged Dolores, timidly.
+
+"Niece, you are wise to take your uncle's part," remarked Bridoul; "but
+you must take care not to call me monsieur. That is more than enough to
+send you to prison as times are now."
+
+"Is everything a crime then?" cried Coursegol.
+
+"Everything," answered Bridoul, "and the greatest crime of all would be
+to remain at home while all good patriots are listening to the friends
+of the people in the political meetings. You will be closely watched,
+for we are surrounded by spies; and if any act of yours arouses the
+slightest suspicion we shall all go to sleep on the straw in the
+Conciergerie or the Abbaye, until we are sent to the block!"
+
+Coursegol uttered a groan.
+
+"Why do you sigh?" asked Bridoul. "All this does not prevent me from
+doing a service to such as deserve it. On the contrary, I should be rich
+if the number of thousand louis I possess equalled the number of lives I
+have saved since the tenth of August!"
+
+"Hush, husband!" said Madame Bridoul, quickly. "What if some one should
+hear you!"
+
+"Yes, yes, Cornelia, I will be prudent. Here we are all good patriots,
+worthy sans-culottes, ever ready to cry: 'Vive la Nation!'"
+
+As he spoke Bridoul returned to his shop, for several customers were
+coming in.
+
+The former dragoon was over forty years of age. He was small of stature,
+and in no way resembled one's ideal of a brave cavalier. His short
+limbs, his protruding stomach, his enormous arms and his fat hands gave
+him, when he was not moving about, the appearance of a penguin in
+repose. The large head covered with bushy gray hair, that surmounted
+his short body imparted to him really an almost grotesque look; but so
+much kindness shone in his eyes, and his voice was so rich and genial
+that one instantly divined a brave man beneath this unattractive
+exterior and was irresistibly attracted to him. Twenty-five years of his
+existence had been spent in the service of the king. He had cheerfully
+shed his blood and risked his life, and, thanks to the shrewdness he had
+displayed in his dealings with recruiting officers, he was now the
+possessor of several thousand francs. This little fortune enabled him to
+leave the army and to marry. A pretty shop-girl on the Faubourg du
+Roule, whose beautiful eyes, as he, himself, expressed it, had pierced
+his heart from end to end, consented, though she was much his junior, to
+a union of their destinies. In 1789 the newly married couple purchased
+the stock of a wine-shop, over the door of which, after the 10th of
+August, they prudently hung the sign of the "Bonnet Rouge."
+
+At heart, Bridoul and his wife were still ardent royalists. They
+bitterly deplored the imprisonment of Louis XVI. and his family, but
+they were governed by a feeling which soon became general, and under the
+empire of which most of the events of this bloody period were
+accomplished. They were afraid. It would not do for them to be classed
+with suspected persons, so they did not hesitate to violate their
+conscience and their heart by openly professing doctrines which they
+secretly abhorred, but which gave them the reputation of irreproachable
+patriots. Hence the "Bonnet Rouge" soon became the rendezvous of the
+Revolutionists of that quarter; and through them Bridoul acquired
+information with regard to their plans that enabled him to save the
+lives of many citizens. Fear had made him cautious but not cowardly; and
+he was fortunate enough to find in his wife a valuable auxiliary whose
+resolution, courage and coolness were never failing. After this
+explanation, not one will be surprised at the welcome this worthy couple
+accorded Dolores and Coursegol. They were ever ready to do good and to
+succor the distressed.
+
+The evening after her arrival, Dolores was installed in a chamber over
+the shop. Coursegol occupied a small room adjoining this chamber. They
+could reach their apartments without passing through the saloon; so
+Dolores and Coursegol were not compelled to mingle against their will
+with the crowd of customers that filled the wine-shop during the day. It
+was decided that they should all take their meals at a common table,
+which was to be served in the back shop where Bridoul and his wife
+slept. It was also decided that Dolores should lay aside the Provencale
+costume which she had worn on her arrival in Paris, and dress like a
+daughter of the people. Everything that would be likely to attract
+attention must be scrupulously avoided, for the beauty of Dolores had
+already awakened too much interest on the part of curious customers.
+
+The following Sunday morning, Dolores, who felt certain that Cornelia
+Bridoul was a devout Christian, said to her:
+
+"At what hour do you go to church? I would like to accompany you?"
+
+"To church! For what?" asked Cornelia, evidently surprised.
+
+"To hear mass."
+
+"Would you listen to a mass celebrated by a perjured priest?"
+
+And, as Dolores looked at her in astonishment, Cornelia added:
+
+"The sacred offices are now celebrated only by renegade priests, who
+have forsaken the tenets of the church to render allegiance to the
+constitution."
+
+But that same evening after supper, as Dolores was about retiring to her
+chamber, Cornelia, who was sitting with her guest in the room in the
+rear of the shop, while Bridoul and Coursegol were closing the saloon,
+said to her:
+
+"This morning you were regretting that you could not attend church. I
+have been informed that an aged saint, who has found shelter with some
+worthy people in the neighborhood, will celebrate mass this evening."
+
+"Oh! let us go!" cried Dolores.
+
+"Very well, you shall go; Coursegol will accompany us; Bridoul will
+remain at home and take care of the house."
+
+A few moments later, Dolores, Cornelia and Coursegol, provided with the
+pass that all good patriots were obliged to carry if they were in the
+streets of Paris after ten o'clock at night, stole out of the wine-shop
+and turned their steps toward the Place Royale. The streets which they
+traversed, looking back anxiously now and then to make sure that they
+were not followed, were dark and almost deserted. It was only
+occasionally that they met little groups of two or three persons, who
+passed rapidly, as if they distrusted the other passers-by. A policeman
+stopped our friends. They displayed their passes, and he allowed them to
+pursue their way without further questions. At last, they reached the
+Place Royale, and turned into a side street. At a half-open door stood a
+man clad in a blouse, and wearing a red cap. Cornelia said a few words
+to him in a low tone.
+
+"Pass in," was his response.
+
+He stepped aside. Dolores and Cornelia hastily entered, but Coursegol,
+who was to watch in the street, remained outside. The two women ascended
+to the fifth floor, and at last reached a door which was guarded as the
+one below had been. Cornelia gave the password and they entered. They
+traversed several rooms and finally found themselves in a spacious
+apartment dimly lighted by two candles. There were no windows, and the
+only means of lighting and ventilating the room was a sky-light; but
+this was now covered with heavy linen, undoubtedly for the purpose of
+concealing what was passing within from any spy who might be seized with
+a fancy for a promenade on the roof. At one end of the room, and
+separated from it by a thick curtain, was an alcove. There were about
+twenty people, mostly women, in the room. Every one stood silent and
+motionless, as if awaiting some mysterious event. When the clock struck
+eleven, a voice from behind the curtain said: "Close the doors."
+
+The man on guard obeyed and came and took his place with the others, who
+with one accord fell upon their knees. At the same instant, the curtains
+parted, revealing the interior of the alcove in which stood a lighted
+altar surmounted by a cross of dark wood. At the foot of the altar stood
+an old white-haired priest, arrayed in sacerdotal robes, and assisted by
+two young men who acted as a choir. The service began. Dolores could not
+restrain her tears. After a few moments she became calmer and began to
+pray. She prayed fervently for Philip, for Antoinette, for all whom she
+loved and for herself. The ceremony was short. The priest addressed a
+brief exhortation to his audience. The time of pomp and of long sermons
+had gone by. At any moment they might be surprised, and the life of
+every one present would have been in danger had they been arrested in
+that modest room which had become for the nonce the only asylum of the
+proscribed Romish Church.
+
+When the service was concluded, the curtains were again drawn and the
+worshippers withdrew, not without depositing in a box an offering for
+the venerable priest who had officiated. Just as Dolores and Cornelia
+were leaving the room, the brave old man passed them. He was arrayed in
+the garb of a worthy patriot, and was so effectually disguised that they
+would not have recognized him if he had not addressed them. As for the
+altar, it had disappeared as if by enchantment.
+
+So, either in this house or in some other, Dolores regularly attended
+the offices of her church. Not a Sunday passed that Cornelia did not
+conduct her to some mysterious retreat, where a little band of
+brave-hearted Christians met to worship together. She was in this way
+made familiar with heroic deeds which gave her courage to brave the
+dangers that threatened every one in those trying days, and she was thus
+initiated into a sort of league, formed without previous intent, for the
+purpose of providing a means of escape for those who were in danger of
+becoming the victims of the dread and merciless Committee of Public
+Safety. It was in this way that she was led to accompany Cornelia one
+evening when the latter went to carry food to a nobleman whose life was
+in danger, and who was concealed in the neighborhood of the Invalides,
+and, on another occasion, to aid in the escape of an old man who had
+been condemned to die. The enthusiasm of Dolores was so great that she
+often exposed herself to danger imprudently and unnecessarily. She was
+proud and happy to assist the Bridouls in their efforts, and she
+conceived for them an admiration and an affection which inspired her
+with the desire to equal them in their noble work to which they had so
+bravely consecrated themselves.
+
+But Coursegol, ignorant of most of the dangers to which Dolores exposed
+herself, or who knew of them only when it was too late to blame her for
+her temerity, had not lost sight of the motives which had induced him
+to accompany the girl on her expedition to Paris.
+
+What they had aimed to do, as the reader doubtless recollects, was to
+find Philip de Chamondrin and Antoinette de Mirandol, who had both been
+missing since the death of the Marquis and the destruction of the
+chateau. Though Bridoul persisted in declaring that his former captain
+was not in Paris, Coursegol was not discouraged. For three months he
+pursued an unremitting search. He found several men who, like himself,
+had formed a part of M. de Chamondrin's company. He succeeded in
+effecting an entrance to the houses of some of the friends whom his
+master had visited during his sojourn in Paris. He frequented public
+places. He might have been seen, by turn, in the Jacobin Club, in the
+galleries of the Convention, at the Palais Egalite, in every place where
+he would be likely to find any trace of Philip; but nowhere could he
+discover the slightest clew to his whereabouts. Every evening on his
+return home, after a day of laborious search, he was obliged to admit
+his want of success to Dolores. She listened sadly, then shook her head
+and said:
+
+"Bridoul is right. Philip and Antoinette have left the country; we shall
+never see them again. After all, it is, perhaps, for the best, since
+they are in safety."
+
+But, even while she thus attempted to console herself, Dolores could not
+conceal the intense sorrow and disappointment that filled her heart,
+and which were caused, not so much by the absence of her friends as by
+the mystery that enshrouded their fate. If it be misery to be separated
+from those we love, how much greater is that misery when we know nothing
+concerning their fate, and do not even know whether they are dead or
+alive! Dolores loved Antoinette with all a sister's tenderness, and
+Philip, with a much deeper and far more absorbing passion, although she
+had voluntarily sacrificed her hopes and forced herself to see in him
+only a brother. She had paid for the satisfaction of knowing that he was
+happy and prosperous with all that made life desirable; and this
+uncertainty was hard to bear.
+
+"Come, come, my child, do not weep," Coursegol would say at times like
+these. "We shall soon discover what has become of them."
+
+"They are in England or in Germany," added Bridoul, "probably quite as
+much distressed about you as you are about them. You will see them again
+some day. Until then, have patience."
+
+More than four months had passed when it was suddenly announced that the
+king, who had been a prisoner in the Temple for some time, was to be
+brought to trial. It was also rumored that a number of noblemen had
+eluded the vigilance of the authorities and had entered Paris resolved
+upon a desperate attempt to save him at the very last moment.
+
+Coursegol's hope revived. He felt certain that Philip would not hesitate
+to hazard his life in such an enterprise if he were still alive; and it
+was in the hope of meeting him that he attended the trial of the
+unfortunate monarch, and that, on the twentieth day of January, he
+accompanied Bridoul to the very steps of the guillotine. The king was
+beheaded; no attempt was made to rescue him. Then Coursegol decided upon
+a step which he had been contemplating for some little time.
+
+It will be remembered that Philip on his first arrival in Paris, had
+been attached to the household of the Duke de Penthieore, into which he
+had been introduced by the efforts of the Chevalier de Florian. The duke
+was the only member of the royal family who had remained in France
+unmolested. He owed this fortunate exemption of which the history of
+that epoch offers no similar example, to his many virtues and especially
+to his well known benevolence. Since the death of his daughter-in-law,
+the Princess de Lamballe, whom he had been unable to save from the hands
+of the executioners, he had lived with his daughter, the Duchess of
+Orleans at the Chateau de Bisy, in Vernon. He was living there, not as a
+proscribed man but as a prince, ill, broken-hearted at the death of his
+relatives, almost dying, surrounded by his friends and protected from
+the fury of the Revolutionists by the veneration of the inhabitants of
+Vernon, who had displayed their reverence by planting with great pomp,
+in front of the good duke's chateau, a tree of liberty crowned with this
+inscription: "A Tribute to Virtue;" and who evinced it still more
+strongly a little later by sending a deputation to his death-bed to
+implore him before his departure from earth, to bless the humble
+village in which his last days had been spent.
+
+One morning, Coursegol, having obtained a passport through Bridoul,
+started for Vernon. This village is situated a few leagues from Paris on
+the road to Normandy. Coursegol, who in his double role of peasant and
+soldier was accustomed to walking, made the journey afoot, which enabled
+him to see with his own eyes the misery that was then prevailing in the
+provinces as well as in Paris. It was horrible. On every side he saw
+only barren and devastated fields, and ragged, starving villagers,
+trembling with fear. The revolution which had promised these poor
+wretches deliverance and comfort, had as yet brought them only
+misfortunes.
+
+Coursegol reached Vernon that evening, spent the night at an inn, and
+the next morning at sunrise, repaired to the duke's chateau. That good
+old man had long been in the habit of receiving all who desired to speak
+with him, so it was easy for Coursegol to obtain an interview. He was
+ushered into a hall where several persons were already waiting, and
+through which the duke was obliged to pass on his way to attend morning
+services in the chapel.
+
+At ten o'clock, the duke appeared. Coursegol, who had not seen him for
+several years, found him greatly changed. But the face surrounded by
+white floating locks had not lost the benign expression which had always
+characterized it; and he displayed the same simplicity of manner that
+had always endeared him to the poor and humble. When he entered the
+hall, the people who had been waiting for him, advanced to meet him.
+They were mostly noblemen who owed their lives to his influence, and
+who, thanks to him, were allowed to remain in France unmolested. He
+listened to them with an abstracted air, glancing to the right and left
+while they offered him their homage. Suddenly he perceived Coursegol who
+was standing at a little distance awaiting his turn. He stepped toward
+him and said:
+
+"What do you desire, my friend?"
+
+Coursegol bowed profoundly.
+
+"Monseigneur," he replied, "I am the servant of the Marquis Philip de
+Chamondrin, who once had the honor to belong to your household."
+
+"Chamondrin! I remember him perfectly; a brave young man for whom my
+poor Lamballe obtained a commission as captain of dragoons. I had news
+of him quite recently."
+
+"News of him!" exclaimed Coursegol, joyfully. "Ah! Monseigneur, where is
+he? How is he?"
+
+"Are you anxious to know?" inquired the duke.
+
+"Your highness shall judge."
+
+And Coursegol briefly recounted the events that had separated him from
+Philip, and told the duke how Dolores and himself had come to Paris in
+the hope of finding him. His recital must have been both eloquent and
+pathetic, for when it was concluded tears stood in the eyes of the
+listeners.
+
+"Ah! What anxiety the young girl must have suffered!" exclaimed the
+prince; "but I can reassure her. Yes; I recently received a letter from
+the Marquis de Chamondrin. It shall be given to you and you shall carry
+it to his sister. She will be indebted to me for a few hours of
+happiness. My dear Miromesnil," added the duke, addressing an old man
+who was standing near, "will you look in my correspondence of the month
+of October for a letter bearing the signature of Chamondrin? When you
+find it, give it to this worthy man."
+
+Coursegol began to stammer out his thanks, but, without heeding them,
+the duke came still nearer and said, in a low voice:
+
+"Does Mademoiselle de Chamondrin require aid of any sort?"
+
+"No, monseigneur," replied Coursegol.
+
+"Do not forget that I am ready to come to her assistance whenever it is
+necessary; and assure her of my sincere sympathy."
+
+Having uttered these words, the kind-hearted prince passed on, leaning
+upon the arm of a nobleman connected with his household. Coursegol,
+elated by the certainty that Philip was alive, could scarcely restrain
+his impatience; but he waited for the promised letter, which would prove
+to Dolores that those she loved were still on earth. In a few moments M.
+de Miromesnil returned. He held the precious letter in his hand and gave
+it to Coursegol, who hastily perused it. It was dated in London, and had
+been addressed to the duke soon after the death of Madame de Lamballe.
+It contained no allusion to Mademoiselle de Mirandol, and Philip said
+but little about himself; still was it not an unspeakable relief to him
+to feel that he was alive and to know in what country he was sojourning.
+
+Eager to place this letter in the hands of Dolores, Coursegol started
+for home immediately; but, instead of returning as he came, he took
+passage in the diligence that plied between Rouen and Paris; and that
+same evening, after so many months of dreary waiting, he was able to
+relieve the anxiety that Dolores had felt regarding her brother's fate.
+The girl's joy was intense, and she devoutly thanked God who had revived
+her faith and hope just as she was beginning to despair. If Coursegol
+had listened to her, they would have started for London without delay,
+so eager was she to rejoin Philip and Antoinette whom she supposed
+married. But Coursegol convinced her of the absolute impossibility of
+this journey. They could reach the sea only by passing through the
+greatest dangers.
+
+"Besides," added Coursegol, "what does this letter prove? That M. Philip
+is safe and well, of course; but it does not prove that he is still in
+London."
+
+"Coursegol is right!" remarked Bridoul. "Before you think of starting,
+you must write to M. Philip."
+
+"But can letters pass the frontier more easily than persons?" asked
+Dolores.
+
+"Oh, I will take care of all that. If you wish to write, I know a
+gentleman who is going to England and who will take charge of your
+letter."
+
+"Then I will write," said Dolores, with a sigh. "I would have preferred
+to go myself, but since that is impossible----"
+
+She paused, resolved to wait in patience.
+
+Coursegol breathed freely again. He feared she would persist in her
+determination to go, and that he would be obliged to tell her that their
+resources were nearly exhausted and would not suffice to meet the costs
+of such a long and difficult journey, every step of which would demand a
+lavish expenditure of money.
+
+Since the destruction of Chamondrin, Dolores had been entirely dependent
+upon Coursegol's bounty. The latter had possessed quite a snug little
+fortune, inherited from his parents; but a sojourn of fifteen months at
+Beaucaire and more than a year's income expended on the journey to Paris
+had made great inroads in his little capital. Fortunately, on arriving
+in Paris, the generous hospitality of the Bridouls had spared him the
+necessity of drawing upon the remnant of his fortune. This amounted now
+to about twelve hundred francs. Still, he felt that he could not remain
+much longer under the roof of these worthy people without trespassing
+upon their kindness and generosity, for they firmly refused to accept
+any remuneration; and Coursegol was anxiously wondering how he could
+support Dolores when this money was exhausted. He confided his anxiety
+to Bridoul; but the latter, instead of sharing it, showed him that such
+a sum was equivalent to a fortune in times like those.
+
+"Twelve hundred francs!" said he. "Why that is more than enough for the
+establishment of a lucrative business or for speculation in assignats
+which, with prudence, would yield you a fortune."
+
+It was good advice. Gold and silver were becoming scarce; and assignats
+were subject to daily fluctuations that afforded one an excellent
+opportunity to realize handsome profits, if one had a little money on
+hand and knew how to employ it to advantage.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+CITIZEN JEAN VAUQUELAS.
+
+
+In April, 1793, about eight months after his arrival in Paris, Coursegol
+went one evening to the Palais Egalite. The establishment, which had
+formerly been known as the Palais Royal, had at that epoch a splendor
+and an importance of which its present appearance gives but a faint
+conception. One should read in the journals of those days the
+description of the galleries ever filled with an eager, bustling throng
+attracted by the excitement and the unwholesome amusements always to be
+found there. Mercier, in sharp, almost indignant language, gives us a
+vivid picture of the famous resort. Gambling-dens, dance-halls, shops
+devoted to the sale of the most reckless and infamous productions,
+restaurants and wine-shops were to be seen on every side. The spirit of
+speculation and gambling raged with inconceivable violence. Vice sat
+enthroned there, and when evening came the immense establishment was
+densely crowded by a throng of people thirsting for pleasure, and
+circling round and round in the brilliantly-lighted galleries to the
+sound of the violins that mounted to the ears of the promenaders from
+the dance-halls in the basement below.
+
+Coursegol frequently visited the Palais Egalite. At the instance of
+Bridoul he had speculated a little in assignats which were constantly
+fluctuating in value. It was the only negotiation in which Coursegol
+would consent to embark. He might have trafficked in the estates of the
+Emigres which the Republic was selling at a merely nominal price; but he
+had no desire to become the owner of what he considered stolen property.
+After a few evenings spent in the Palais Egalite, Coursegol became
+acquainted with most of the brokers who transacted business there. They
+were stout, well-fed, jovial men, whose self-satisfied and flourishing
+appearance seemed a stinging irony hurled in the face of the poor
+wretches who were perishing of hunger in the Faubourgs of Paris. They
+could be seen rushing about the garden and through the galleries, giving
+orders to their subordinates whose duty it was to find new clients, and
+to allure unsophisticated provincials, that they might rob them of their
+money to cast it into the gulf in which the fortunes of so many had been
+swallowed up.
+
+These unprincipled persons resorted to the basest means to dupe those
+who trusted them. They called wine and reckless women to their aid, and
+thus disarmed the unsuspecting men who came to the money market with the
+hope of doubling their capital. In the Palais Egalite, conspiracies were
+formed not only against the Republic but against the fortunes, the
+place, and even the lives of its citizens. Still even the dread
+Committee of Public Safety were powerless to discover the formidable
+enemies that concealed themselves there. That Coursegol was not
+irretrievably lost the instant he crossed the threshold of this
+mysterious and dangerous cavern was due entirely to Bridoul, who had
+volunteered to act as his guide and protector. Bridoul possessed a very
+considerable amount of influence. He presented his comrade to some of
+the fortunate speculators, and recommended him to them to such purpose
+that several of them took Coursegol under their protection.
+Quick-witted, endowed with remarkable energy and tact, and inspired by
+an ardent desire to acquire wealth for the sake of Dolores, he rendered
+them important services on more than one occasion by lending his obscure
+and modest name to conceal operations in which a well-known personage
+could not have embarked without peril.
+
+Coursegol was only a peasant; but he had served in the army a long time,
+and contact with others had sharpened his wits, while the excellent
+judgment of his old master, the Marquis de Chamondrin, had not failed to
+exert a most beneficial effect upon his intellectual development. Hence,
+though it was not without hesitation that he entered upon a career so
+entirely new to him, he at least brought with him not only honesty,
+prudence and tact, but a coolness which could not but contribute notably
+to his success in those perturbed times.
+
+On the evening to which we have alluded he went to the Palais Egalite as
+usual. It was after nightfall, and the restaurants were filled to
+overflowing with crowds of excited people glad to forget in the
+distractions of play, of speculation and of good cheer the woes of the
+country and their own degradation. Some were eagerly buying tickets that
+would entitle them to seats in the Theatre de la Republique, only a
+hundred paces distant; others were buying the daily papers. Some were
+promenading with that careless gayety that never deserts the French even
+in their darkest days, while they insolently eyed the shameless women,
+who, with bold gaze and naked shoulders, stood there endeavoring to
+attract the attention of the passers-by. Others rushed to the gambling
+saloons, already dreaming of the stroke of good fortune that would
+enlarge the rolls of assignats with which their pockets were filled.
+
+Some promenaders approached each other with mysterious proposals, and
+afterwards repaired to the garden where they could converse undisturbed.
+It was there that many confidential interviews were held, it was there
+that the most diverse hopes had birth; it was there that the Royalists,
+the friends and the relatives of the Emigres or of suspected persons
+incarcerated in prison plotted for the return of the Bourbons or for the
+deliverance of the poor wretches whose lives hung upon a thread. There,
+too, the spies in the employ of the Committee of Public Safety, or of
+the Commune, flitted about, trying to discover any secret that might be
+hostile to the Republic. Sometimes gloomy visaged men or women with pale
+and anxious looks were seen hurrying through the crowd; some man who
+had been vainly seeking bread for his children; some woman whose husband
+was in the Luxembourg or in the Abbaye prisons, awaiting the dread fiat
+of the Revolutionary Tribunal.
+
+These livid and despairing faces were the only blemishes upon the
+exuberant gayety that prevailed; but no one saw them and the poor
+wretches disappeared without exciting either anger or pity.
+
+The eyes of Coursegol were accustomed to this spectacle, so he walked
+coolly through the galleries heedless of the tumult around him and
+paused only when he met a group of acquaintances who were discussing the
+news of the day. Suddenly some one tapped him on the shoulder. He
+turned.
+
+"Is that you, Citizen Vauquelas?"
+
+"I wish to speak to you, Coursegol."
+
+At the same time the man who had just interrupted Coursegol's promenade
+took him by the arm and led him toward the garden. He was clad in black
+and enveloped in a large cloak that would have made him look like a
+priest had it not been for the high hat, ornamented with the national
+cockade, which proved him a patriot of the middle class. His thin,
+emaciated face, deeply furrowed with wrinkles indicated that he had long
+since passed his sixtieth birthday; but there was nothing else in his
+appearance that betokened old age. His form was so erect, his eye so
+clear, his step so firm, that one, not seeing his face, would have
+thought him still in the prime of life.
+
+On entering the garden, Vauquelas glanced around, but, seeing no place
+which he deemed sufficiently retired, he seemed to change his plan.
+
+"I fear that these trees have ears," said he, "and what I wish to say to
+you must not be overheard."
+
+And without saying more, he led the way to the Cafe Corazza. They
+entered it. The saloon was filled with people, eating and drinking while
+they read the papers or indulged in heated political discussions. One
+man had mounted a table and was delivering a long discourse. He was
+endeavoring to convince his listeners that France was being betrayed by
+the secret agents sent to Paris by the Emigres. His was no new theme;
+buy the orator displayed so much energy that his audience was polite
+enough to seem pleased with his efforts. Vauquelas, who appeared to be
+perfectly at home, crossed the room to whisper a word in the ear of the
+man who was standing at the cashier's desk. This man, who proved to be
+the proprietor of the establishment, at once conducted Vauquelas to a
+private room. Coursegol followed, and, the proprietor having taken his
+departure, the two men found themselves alone.
+
+"I have been contemplating the proposition I am about to make you for
+several months," Vauquelas then began. "The very first time I saw you, I
+made up my mind that you were the man to aid me in the projects I had
+long since formed, but which had not been carried into execution for
+want of an assistant in whom I could implicitly confide. But before I
+trusted you with my plans, I wished to know you; so I have studied you
+closely while you were unconscious of my scrutiny. I have admired the
+prudence you have displayed in all your business transactions. You suit
+me; and if you see fit to accede to the proposition I am about to offer
+for your consideration, our fortunes are made."
+
+"I am listening, Citizen Vauquelas," replied Coursegol, "but I may as
+well tell you that it will be useless to confide your plans to me if
+they are not perfectly honest."
+
+"You shall judge," rejoined Vauquelas, not appearing in the least
+wounded by Coursegol's remark. "Last month the Republic passed a decree
+against the Emigres, ordering the confiscation of their property for the
+benefit of the nation. This measure has been carried into execution, and
+the government is now the possessor of a large amount of such property.
+These lands will be sold at public auction, and will fall into all sorts
+of hands. They will be divided and parceled out, and the rightful owners
+when they return to France will have no power to take possession of the
+property that once belonged to them. Very well--now I have wondered if
+the purchase of a portion of this property would not be both profitable
+and a praiseworthy action."
+
+"And why?" inquired Coursegol, who had been listening attentively.
+
+"The reason is plain," replied Vauquelas. "Will it not be for the
+interest of the exiled owners that their estates should be bought on the
+most favorable possible terms, and properly cared for. The brigands who
+are now in power will fall some day; and then the Emigres will return.
+Will they not be glad to find their property in good and careful hands,
+and to be able to regain possession of it by paying the trifling sum
+which the government received for it?"
+
+Coursegol did not reply at once, he was reflecting.
+
+"The transactions would be honest enough," he said at last; "but if you
+purchase the lands of the government to-day and sell them later to their
+owners at the same price you paid for them, where would your profit come
+in?"
+
+"I would pay for them in assignats; their owners would pay me in gold."
+
+Vauquelas uttered these last words with an air of triumph; then, as if
+fearing Coursegol's objections, he made haste to develop his scheme.
+
+"The assignats have already undergone a very considerable depreciation.
+With fifty thousand francs in gold one can, to-day, purchase at least
+two hundred thousand francs in assignats; and the depreciation will
+become much greater. There is a piece of property in the Faubourg
+Saint-Germain which will be ostensibly sold for two millions by the
+Republic, but which will really cost the purchaser only two hundred
+thousand francs; and, by and by, the owner will have no difficulty in
+disposing of it again for the ostensible price he paid for it, and it
+will be only natural and right that he should demand gold in payment."
+
+"And in what way could I be of service to you?" Coursegol timidly
+inquired.
+
+"By lending me your name. We will buy sometimes in your name, sometimes
+in mine, so we shall not arouse suspicion."
+
+"But where shall we find the money?"
+
+Vauquelas arose and, without the slightest hesitation, replied:
+
+"Since I have begun to give you my confidence, I will hide nothing. Come
+with me."
+
+Vauquelas, as we have said before, had arrived at the trying age of
+three-score and ten, which, for the majority of men, is the age of
+decrepitude, that sinister forerunner of death; but time had neither
+bowed his head nor enfeebled his intellect. The clearness of his mind
+and the vigor of his limbs indicated that he was likely to be one of
+those centenarians who carry their years so lightly that they make us
+think with regret of that golden age in which the gods could confer
+immortality upon man. His eye still flashed with all the ardor of youth;
+and in his breast glowed a fire which age was powerless to quench.
+Vauquelas had formerly been a magistrate in Arras. A widower, without a
+child for whose fate he was compelled to tremble, he had seen the
+approach of the Revolution and the Reign of Terror without the slightest
+dismay; and the tenth of August found him in Paris, drawn there by the
+desire to increase his by no means contemptible fortune, and to win the
+favor of those who were then in power.
+
+He had taken up his abode in a modest mansion at the extremity of the
+Faubourg du Roule. The house stood in the centre of a garden, which was
+protected from the gaze of the curious by high walls that surrounded it
+on every side. Served by an old woman whom he had brought from Arras, he
+apparently lived the life of a recluse who desires to remain a stranger
+to the changes and emotions of the moment, and to end his days in peace
+and quietness. He received no visitors; and the people in the
+neighborhood thought him a poor man who had lost his family and
+squandered his money in unfortunate speculations. He never left the
+house until evening and always returned very late at night. A
+sans-culotte, who lived near by and whose suspicions had been aroused,
+followed him one evening. He fancied him a conspirator, he saw him enter
+the Palais Egalite, speak to several persons who seemed to listen to him
+with extreme deference, and afterwards repair to the house of one of the
+most influential members of the Committee of Public Safety, where he
+remained until two o'clock in the morning, and then returned home. The
+self-constituted spy concluded that he had to deal with one of the
+Committee's secret agents; and he was inspired with such wholesome awe
+that he decided to push his investigations no further.
+
+In reality, Vauquelas was nothing more nor less than a man tormented by
+an unappeasable thirst for wealth. He had only one passion: a passion
+for gold. It was this that urged him--in spite of a fortune that would
+have satisfied his modest wants ten times over--into all kinds of
+financial ventures. It was this that had suggested to him the idea of
+ingratiating himself with the men who were in power, and thus gain their
+friendship, their influences and protection. In all the acts of the
+government, in the great events that succeeded one another day after
+day, he saw only an opportunity for speculation. Whether peace or war
+prevailed; whether the people obeyed the Commune or Convention; whether
+they worshipped the Supreme Being or the Goddess of Reason; whether the
+men condemned to death were innocent or guilty mattered little to him.
+These things interested him only by the effect they might produce on the
+money-market. So he had allied himself in turn with the Girondists and
+with the Jacobins. He had loaned money to Mirabeau; he had speculated
+with Barras and with Tallien, always placing himself at the service of
+those who held the power or seemed likely to hold it in the future.
+
+Such was the man whose confidence Coursegol had won by his honesty and
+sagacity. He appeared in the pathway of Vauquelas just as the latter had
+arrived at the conclusion that further speculation in assignats would be
+extremely hazardous, and just as he was looking about him for some
+reliable man who would join him in enterprises of a different and much
+safer nature. In those perilous times it was hard to find a person in
+whom one could implicitly confide. Denunciation, that fatal weapon that
+lay within the reach of every hand, was frequently made the instrument
+of personal vengeance. No one was beyond its reach; and Vauquelas was
+not disposed to reveal his plans to a man who would be likely to betray
+them or him.
+
+It was about eight o'clock when the two men left the Cafe and the
+Palais Egalite, and entered one of the cabriolets that stood before the
+theatre, a few steps below.
+
+In about twenty minutes, the carriage stopped not far from the
+Folies-Bergeres. When the driver had been paid and dismissed, Vauquelas
+and Coursegol traversed the unoccupied ground that lay between the Rue
+du Roule and the Champs-Elysees. The place was dark and deserted. A few
+houses, surrounded by gardens, skirted the street. Superb residences
+have since been erected there and Boulevards have been opened; but at
+the time of which we write this Faubourg resembled a street in a quiet
+country village. It was here that Vauquelas lived. As the two men were
+approaching the house by a path shaded with lindens, pruned into the
+same uniformity as those at Versailles, an enormous dog sprang out upon
+them, barking ferociously. With a word, Vauquelas quieted him; then,
+turning to Coursegol, he said, smiling:
+
+"This is the guardian of my dwelling. If need be, he can hold a band of
+robbers at bay."
+
+They reached the house and were admitted by the old servant, who
+conducted them to the drawing-room.
+
+"Give me a lantern and then go to bed, my good woman," said Vauquelas.
+
+She disappeared, but soon returned, bearing in one hand a double
+candlestick which she placed upon a table, and in the other the lantern
+for which her master had called.
+
+"Follow me," said Coursegol's host.
+
+Coursegol obeyed. They left the drawing-room, passed through several
+small and shabbily furnished apartments, and at last entered a small
+passage. Vauquelas opened a door and Coursegol saw a narrow stairway
+winding down into the cellar.
+
+"This is my wine-cellar and it is well stocked," said Vauquelas, with a
+smile.
+
+He spoke only the simple truth. Countless casks ranged along the wall
+and long shelves filled with dusty bottles attracted Coursegol's
+attention; but he could scarcely understand why Vauquelas had brought
+him there if he had nothing else to show him. Suddenly the latter
+exclaimed:
+
+"You asked me just now if I had money enough for the enterprise I
+proposed to you. You shall judge for yourself, for I am going to reveal
+my secret."
+
+As he spoke he seized a spade that stood near by, removed a few shovels
+full of earth and disclosed a large white stone slab, in the centre of
+which was an iron ring which enabled him to lift it.
+
+"Look!" said he.
+
+Coursegol bent over the opening and looked in. He saw a large iron box
+buried in the earth and filled with sacks of gold. The bright metal
+gleamed through the meshes of the coarse bags, dazzling the eye of the
+beholder with its golden glory. Vauquelas seemed to enjoy Coursegol's
+surprise; but it was in vain that he tried to discover the slightest
+vestige of envy or avarice in the face of his visitor. Coursegol was
+astonished, and perhaps dazzled by the sight of so much wealth, but no
+evil thought entered his mind. Vauquelas breathed more freely. He had
+just subjected the man upon whom he had bestowed his confidence to a
+decisive test, and he had emerged from it victorious.
+
+"There are two millions here," he remarked.
+
+"Two millions! Do they belong to you?"
+
+"They belong to me."
+
+"And you are not satisfied! You wish to acquire more!"
+
+"Oh! it is a question of health to me. If I stopped work I should soon
+die; and I wish to live--life is good!"
+
+There was a moment's silence, and Vauquelas looked tenderly at his
+treasure.
+
+"Moreover, as I have told you, we shall not only make money, but perform
+a most commendable action," he remarked after a little. "We will
+purchase some of those fine houses on the Faubourg Saint-Germain, which
+have been confiscated by the government in their masters' absence. We
+will take good care of them. In some hands, they would soon fall to
+ruin; but in ours they will increase in value, and when their former
+owners return, they will find their homes in the same condition as when
+they left them. They will buy them from us, and they will be ever
+grateful to us. Come, my boy, make up your mind. Will you become my
+partner in this enterprise?"
+
+"I accept your offer," replied Coursegol. He saw his fortune assured in
+a few years, and Dolores forever out of the reach of want.
+
+"Do you know how to write?" Vauquelas inquired.
+
+"Not very well."
+
+"That is bad. We must keep an account of our business operations; it
+will not do to take any one else into our confidence, and I cannot do
+the work myself. My eyesight is not very good."
+
+"I will do my best," replied Coursegol, mentally cursing his ignorance.
+
+Suddenly another plan flashed through his brain.
+
+"Ah! now I have it," he exclaimed, eagerly. "This work that you cannot
+do and that I should do so badly can be entrusted to my daughter."
+
+"Your daughter! You have a daughter! You have never told me that you
+were a married man."
+
+Coursegol was silent for a moment; he seemed to hesitate.
+
+"I will return confidence for confidence," he said finally.
+
+Then he related the history of Dolores, and his own. When it was ended,
+Vauquelas rubbed his hands joyfully.
+
+"She will not betray us," said he. "Ah well! Everything is for the
+best."
+
+He covered the box in which his gold was concealed with earth, and then
+the two men returned to the drawing-room. They remained in earnest
+conversation for some time, Vauquelas disclosing his plans for the
+future, the other listening and proffering occasional but judicious
+suggestions. It was after midnight when they separated.
+
+Coursegol walked home. Twice he was stopped by the patrols, but, thanks
+to the credentials he carried with him, he was allowed to pursue his
+way unmolested. A week later, Dolores and Coursegol left Bridoul's house
+to take up their abode in that of Vauquelas. The parting was a sad one.
+Cornelia Bridoul loved Dolores as fondly as the latter loved her; still
+they would have frequent opportunities to see each other, and this
+thought greatly alleviated their sorrow.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+AN EPISODE OF THE EMIGRATION.
+
+
+On the first Sunday in the month of September, 1793, about ten o'clock
+in the morning, a young girl clad in mourning emerged from the doorway
+of a pretty cottage in the suburbs of London. She slowly descended the
+broad and handsome steps that led up to the dwelling, passed through the
+garden, and having opened the gate, gazed anxiously in the direction of
+the city.
+
+She was a brunette, rather fragile in appearance, and petite in stature;
+and though she was not really beautiful, hers was a sympathetic and
+altogether charming face. The air of elegance that characterized her
+person and her attire, the whiteness of her hands, and her delicate and
+refined features, all indicated that she was a person of gentle birth.
+She did not appear to be more than twenty years of age. By the anxiety
+with which her large blue eyes scanned the horizon, it was easy to
+divine that she was expecting some loved one; but it was also evident
+that he did not come quickly enough to suit her desires, for she seemed
+restless and impatient.
+
+"What if he should not come?" she murmured. As if these words had been
+heard, a voice responded:
+
+"Do not be impatient, dear Antoinette. M. Philip said he would be here
+to-day, but did not mention the hour; and the day has scarcely begun.
+You will see him, never fear."
+
+The lady who had just spoken had used the English language. She was a
+kind, motherly looking person, past middle age. Understanding the young
+girl's anxiety, she had joined her with the desire to appease it.
+Antoinette replied, not without some bitterness:
+
+"I am quite sure that we shall see him, dear Mrs. Reed; but have I not a
+right to be impatient? Has it not been three weeks since he was here?"
+
+"You do not know what important interests may have detained him in
+London."
+
+Antoinette shook her head; then, after casting another glance at the
+deserted road, she sadly returned to the house. Mrs. Reed followed her,
+trying to divert her mind and make her forget the sorrow and anxiety
+caused by Philip's long absence. The two ladies entered a small, but
+prettily furnished parlor and seated themselves at a round table, upon
+which a servant had just deposited a smoking tea-urn, some empty cups
+and some bread and butter. Just then, a very stout man entered the room.
+It was Mr. Reed, the master of the house. He strongly resembled his
+wife; there was the same age, the same corpulence, the same kind and
+benevolent expression of countenance.
+
+"Ah, well! mademoiselle," he remarked to the young girl, pouring out a
+cup of tea, "this is a fete day, is it not? You are expecting Monsieur
+Philip?"
+
+Antoinette made no response. Mrs. Reed answered for her.
+
+"Mademoiselle Antoinette is afraid her cousin will not keep his word."
+
+"She is wrong then," quietly remarked Mr. Reed, who was now standing by
+the window, sipping his tea, "she is wrong, for here he is!"
+
+Antoinette sprang up, uttering a cry of joy. She was about to rush out
+to meet Philip, but the latter did not give her time. He entered almost
+immediately, and Antoinette flew to his arms. All her doubts, all her
+griefs were forgotten! Ah! If the hour of separation is cruel when it
+sounds in the ears of those who love, how sweet is the hour that
+reunites them! Antoinette clung rapturously to Philip's breast, and Mr.
+and Mrs. Reed, wishing to allow the young people to enjoy each other's
+society undisturbed, left the room; but before he went, Mr. Reed said to
+Philip:
+
+"You will spend the day and dine with us, will you not?"
+
+"Ah! how gladly would I do so! But I shall be obliged to leave in an
+hour!"
+
+Mr. Reed stood motionless for a moment, actually stupefied with
+astonishment.
+
+"What! you are going to leave me so soon?" cried Antoinette,
+despairingly.
+
+"I will explain my reasons," replied Philip.
+
+Mr. Reed bowed and followed his wife, who had just disappeared.
+
+Two years had passed since Philip fled with Antoinette from the burning
+chateau and from the bedside of his dying father. On quitting the scene
+of the catastrophe that destroyed the home of his childhood, Philip
+accompanied by Mlle. de Mirandol repaired to Valence. There, a friend of
+the Chamondrin family furnished them with the means to pursue their
+journey to England, which country they gained after many perils and
+vicissitudes.
+
+London served as a refuge for many of the Emigres, but Philip had chosen
+the capital of Great Britain as a retreat for Antoinette, principally
+because he knew that a portion of Mlle. de Mirandol's fortune was in the
+hands of a banker in that city, and because it would be easy there to
+obtain news from Louisiana, where the heiress of M. de Mirandol still
+owned considerable property.
+
+After their perilous journey was concluded and they were safely
+established in England, the agitation caused by the great disaster which
+had deprived them of so much that they loved was succeeded by a relative
+calm which gave them an opportunity to look their situation in the face.
+They both found it exceedingly embarrassing. Antoinette remembered only
+that she loved Philip, and that, in obedience to the request of his
+dying father, he had solemnly promised to marry her. She was simply
+waiting for him to fulfil this promise, and already regarded herself as
+his wife.
+
+As for Philip, he inwardly cursed this promise. His thoughts were
+constantly occupied with Dolores; he said to himself that since the
+convents had been broken up, she must be free if she were still alive;
+and he would not believe that she was dead. He was certain that she was
+still alive, that Coursegol had remained with her to protect her, and
+that the day of their meeting was near at hand. These thoughts made his
+heart rebel against the yoke he had striven to impose upon it; for no
+matter what attempts may be made to destroy it, hope will not die in a
+heart that loves sincerely. It resists time and the sternest ordeals.
+Death alone can, not destroy it, but transform it, by associating
+realization with the delights of a future life which shall know no
+blight or decay.
+
+Still, Philip dare not speak frankly to Mlle. de Mirandol. He loved her
+with true brotherly affection; and his courage failed him when he
+thought of the misery his confession would cause this loving and artless
+girl. Moreover, the promise he had made to his father was ever on his
+mind, arousing constant sorrow and remorse. He resolved, therefore, to
+gain time, if possible. With this aim in view, he had a long
+conversation with Antoinette a few days after their arrival in London.
+Without referring to the engagement which he had a just right to
+consider irrevocable, he requested that its accomplishment should be
+deferred until his period of mourning had expired. He pleaded the tragic
+death of his father and the uncertainty that still enshrouded the fate
+of Dolores and of Coursegol as reasons for delay; and Antoinette
+consented. He then gave her to understand that, as they were not
+married, it was not proper for them to remain under the same roof, and
+told her that he had found a pleasant home for her with some worthy
+people who resided in the environs of London and who, as they had no
+children of their own, would be glad to have a young girl with them as a
+boarder. Antoinette consented to this arrangement also; and this
+explains her installation in the Reed household. Mr. Reed was formerly a
+merchant, but had retired from business to spend his last years in quiet
+and comfort. The situation of the French Emigres had aroused the
+sympathy of the kind-hearted man and his wife, so Philip's proposition
+was gladly accepted, and they petted and spoiled the young girl
+entrusted to their charge as if she had been their own daughter.
+
+Philip remained in London; but once a week he came to spend a day with
+Antoinette; and the hours that Mlle. de Mirandol thought so delightful
+flew by all too swiftly for her. They never spoke of the future. Philip
+carefully avoided any allusion to that subject; but they talked of the
+past and of Dolores whose fate was still veiled in mystery.
+
+Sometimes, accompanied by Mrs. Reed, Antoinette visited the poor Emigres
+who had taken refuge in London, and relieved their necessities. She also
+requested Philip, who had charge of her property, never to refuse aid to
+any of her countrymen or countrywomen who asked it of him; and in the
+benefits she quietly conferred upon the needy around her she found some
+consolation for her own sorrow and anxiety. As for Philip, he had
+plunged into the active and feverish life led by most of the Emigres, as
+if he desired to drown his own doubts and regrets in bustle and
+excitement.
+
+London was then the rendezvous of a great proportion of those who had
+fled from the Reign of Terror. Princes, noblemen, prelates and ladies of
+rank, who were striving to console themselves for the hardships of exile
+by bright dreams of the future, had assembled there. They plotted
+against the Republic; they planned descents upon France, attacks upon
+Paris, movements in La Vendee, and the assassination of Robespierre and
+his friends; but all these schemes were rendered fruitless by the spirit
+of rivalry and of intrigue that prevailed. They were all united upon the
+result to be attained, but divided as to the means of attaining it. In
+this great party there were a thousand factions. They quarreled at a
+word; they slandered one another; they patched up flimsy
+reconciliations. French society had taken with it into exile all its
+faults, vanities, frivolities and ignorance. Philip de Chamondrin did
+not forsake this circle, though he inwardly chafed at the weakness of
+purpose that was exhibited on every side; but here he could live in a
+constant fever of excitement and could forget his personal griefs and
+anxieties. This was not the case with Antoinette, however, and if Philip
+had hoped that by living apart from him and seeing him only at rare
+intervals she would soon cease to love him, he was mistaken.
+Antoinette's heart did not change. She waited, and had it not been for
+the events that hastened the solution of the difficulty, she would have
+waited always; and though she suffered deeply, she concealed her grief
+so carefully that even the friends with whom she lived and who loved her
+as tenderly as if she had been their daughter were deceived. All
+Philip's attempts to destroy her love for him proved fruitless. Her
+heart once given was given irrevocably. Nor did she possess that
+experience which would have enabled her to see that she was not beloved.
+She attributed Philip's coldness to the successive misfortunes that had
+befallen him; and she was waiting for time to assuage his sorrow and
+awaken feelings responsive to her own.
+
+Under these circumstances one can easily understand why she had awaited
+Philip's coming with such feverish impatience. Three weeks had passed
+since she had seen him; and all Mrs. Reed's caresses and well-meant
+attempts at consolation had failed to overcome her chagrin. Philip had
+come at last! She had sprung forward to meet him without making any
+effort to conceal the joy awakened by the prospect of a day spent with
+him, and she had hardly done this when the young man announced that he
+must leave in an hour.
+
+"Will you explain the cause of this hasty departure?" she said, as soon
+as they were alone.
+
+Her voice trembled and her lovely eyes were dim with tears.
+
+"I am leaving you, Antoinette, to go where duty calls me," replied
+Philip, gravely.
+
+"Duty? What duty?"
+
+"The queen is still imprisoned in the Temple. It is said that she will
+soon be sentenced to death. I have formed the project of wresting her
+from the hands of her enemies, of rescuing her from their sanguinary
+fury."
+
+"Alone?" cried Antoinette, overcome with terror at the thought of the
+dangers Philip would incur.
+
+"Six of us have resolved to save her or die! We go together. A vessel is
+to convey us to the coast of Brittany. From there we shall make our way
+to Paris as best we can."
+
+"But what can you do, you, so few in number?"
+
+"God will be with us," replied Philip. "Besides, we shall find friends
+in Paris who will gladly join our little band."
+
+On hearing these words which proved that Philip's determination was
+immovable, Antoinette could not control her emotion. She sank into an
+arm chair, covered her pale face with her trembling hands and burst into
+tears.
+
+"Do not weep so bitterly, my dear Antoinette," said Philip, touched by
+her despair and kneeling beside her.
+
+"Why did you not consult me before engaging in this mad and perilous
+undertaking?" she said, at last. "You are leaving me, abandoning me
+without even asking what my fate will be when I no longer have you to
+protect me; without thinking how I shall suffer in your absence, and
+forgetting that if you should be killed I too should die!"
+
+Philip, deeply moved, took her hands and said, gently:
+
+"Be comforted; I shall not die; you will see me again soon. Do you not
+feel that I should be dishonored if I shrank from the task that is
+before me? Could you respect a man who might be justly accused of
+cowardice and of failure to perform his duty. The queen was formerly my
+benefactress; how can I stand here to-day, and make no effort to rescue
+her from death?"
+
+"But if you should die!"
+
+This cry betrayed Antoinette's love in all its passionate intensity, and
+it found an echo in Philip's heart.
+
+"I shall not be killed," said he, trying to make Mlle. de Mirandol share
+the conviction that animated his own mind; then, seeing her so sad and
+heart-broken at his departure, he added, with mingled remorse and
+tenderness:
+
+"When I return, the fulfilment of the promise I made you shall be no
+longer delayed."
+
+He had not referred to this subject before for a long time, and these
+few words carried unspeakable comfort to Antoinette's heart.
+
+"I have no right to detain you," said she. "Go! May you succeed and soon
+return. I shall pray for you."
+
+They conversed some time longer. Philip, who had until then, taken
+charge of Antoinette's business interests, told her that he had decided
+to entrust them until his return to Mr. Reed. He knew her protector to
+be an honest man in whom she could place perfect confidence; still, he
+felt that it was not only proper, but necessary, to acquaint the girl
+with the extent of her resources and the condition of her affairs. After
+he had done this, he asked to see Mr. and Mrs. Reed. He recommended
+Mlle. de Mirandol to their care, and for the first time revealed the
+fact that she was his betrothed. So at the moment of separation, he
+forced himself to render the pang of parting less bitter to her. The
+hope of approaching happiness did much to assuage Antoinette's grief,
+and Philip was scarcely gone before she began to forget the past in
+dreams of the future.
+
+The six weeks that followed Philip's departure were weeks of constant
+anxiety and alarm. Antoinette could not close her eyes to the perils
+that threatened Philip on every side. The reports that reached London in
+regard to the condition of affairs in Paris were not calculated to
+reassure her. She heard of the active surveillance exercised by the
+Committee of Public Safety, and of the terrible punishment inflicted
+upon those who were guilty of no crime save that of being regarded with
+suspicion. She was in constant fear lest some misfortune had happened to
+Philip. Every night and every morning she prayed for him. He was ever in
+her thoughts; and she was continually trying to divine where he was and
+what he was doing. Every day she looked eagerly for a letter which would
+relieve her anxiety, but in vain. No news came, and she was forced to be
+content with such rumors as Mr. Reed could collect for her in the city.
+
+On the twenty-second of October that good man did not return until
+unusually late in the evening. Antoinette was awaiting him, her heart
+oppressed by the gloomiest forebodings. When he entered the room she saw
+that he was greatly agitated.
+
+"You have heard bad news!" she exclaimed, wildly.
+
+Mr. Reed did not attempt to deny it. He told Antoinette that the
+unfortunate queen of France had been put to death on the sixteenth, just
+six days before.
+
+"They have killed her!" exclaimed the horrified girl.
+
+She shuddered to think of Philip's probable fate. Since the queen was
+dead, the conspiracy which Philip had organized must have failed; and if
+it had failed, the conspirators had undoubtedly been discovered and
+arrested! This thought brought a deathlike pallor to her cheeks. Her
+friends saw her totter; they sprang forward to support her and she sank
+into their arms wild with anguish and despair.
+
+"Tell me all!" she entreated.
+
+"Alas! I know so little," responded kind-hearted Mr. Reed. "The queen
+was sentenced on the sixteenth and beheaded the same day. Several
+persons are now in prison, charged with a conspiracy to rescue her and
+place her son upon the throne. I could learn nothing further."
+
+"That is enough!" she cried. "Philip is in prison!"
+
+She was silent a moment; then suddenly she said, in a firm voice:
+
+"I must start at once."
+
+The husband and wife uttered an exclamation of dismay.
+
+"Start, and why?" demanded Mr. Reed.
+
+"To join Philip."
+
+"But it is walking straight into the jaws of death!" said Mrs. Reed.
+
+Antoinette only repeated even more firmly than before:
+
+"I must go at once!"
+
+Then she broke into a passion of sobbing. Mrs. Reed took her in her
+arms, dried her tears, and tried to reassure her, lavishing every
+endearment upon the unhappy girl.
+
+"My dear child," said she, "your lover confided you to our care; we
+cannot let you go. Besides, how do you know that your betrothed has not
+escaped the dangers you fear for him? He is young, strong and clever.
+Perhaps at this very moment he is on his way back to you."
+
+Antoinette made no reply; but she shook her head despondently, as if to
+give Mrs. Reed to understand that she had no hope. Still, she did not
+rebel against her guardian's decision. Mrs. Reed conducted her to her
+chamber, persuaded her to undress, and did not leave her until the girl
+had fallen asleep. But her slumber was of short duration. It was
+scarcely midnight when Antoinette awoke with a start from a frightful
+dream. Philip had appeared to her, his hands bound behind his back, his
+neck bare, his hair cut short. He was clad in the lugubrious garb of the
+condemned, and he called her name in a voice wild with entreaty.
+
+"Oh! I will go--I will go to save him or to die with him!"
+
+This cry was upon her lips when she woke. She sprang up, hastily dressed
+herself, took the little money that chanced to be in her possession,
+and some or her jewels, and when the first gleam of daylight illumined
+the sky, animated by a saint-like courage, she furtively left the roof
+that had sheltered her for three long years. When Mrs. Reed entered the
+young girl's room a few hours later, she found only a letter apprising
+her of Antoinette's fixed determination to go to the rescue of her
+lover, and thanking her most gratefully for her care and love. Mr. Reed
+hastened to London, hoping to overtake the fugitive. Vain attempt! His
+search was fruitless. Antoinette had disappeared.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+THE MOVING CURTAIN.
+
+
+Several months had passed since Dolores and Coursegol had taken up their
+abode in the house of Citizen Vauquelas. Coursegol, engrossed in the
+business matters which he had undertaken in concert with Vauquelas, went
+out every day, frequenting the Clubs, the Convention and the Palais
+Egalite. Dolores, on the contrary, seldom left the refuge that chance
+had provided for her. If she sometimes ventured into the heart of the
+city, it was only to visit Cornelia Bridoul or to accompany her to a
+stealthily said mass, solemnized in an obscure chamber by some
+courageous priest who dared for conscience's sake to bid defiance to the
+Committee of Public Safety, and who would have paid the penalty of
+disobedience with his blood, had he been discovered.
+
+The life of Dolores was extremely lonely and sad. Deprived of companions
+of her own age, and oppressed with anxiety concerning the fate of those
+who were so dear to her, she grew pale and wan like a plant deprived of
+sunlight; the old joyous, sonorous ring was gone from her voice and from
+her laugh. She had suffered so much during the past three years that she
+no longer cherished any hope of happiness in the future; and, instead
+of the bright dreams that are wont to gladden the slumber of young
+girls, sad memories of the past haunted her restless nights. Those whom
+she had loved and lost appeared before her as in a vision--the Marquise
+de Chamondrin, who had lavished upon her all a mother's care and
+tenderness; the Marquis, whose affection had filled her early years with
+joy; Philip and Antoinette, the brother and sister of her
+adoption--these appeared and vanished without awaking in her sorrowing
+heart any emotion save that of the profound anguish of separation. Look
+which way she would for comfort, she could find none; and she was
+condemned to bear her heavy burden alone. Those days of universal
+distrust were not propitious for the birth and development of new
+friendships; nor were Vauquelas and Coursegol such companions as Dolores
+needed to cheer and encourage her. During the few short hours that
+Coursegol spent at home, he was always absorbed in his calculations; and
+as for Vauquelas, though he treated her with rather cold respect, it was
+difficult to ascertain his real feelings toward her, for his furrowed
+face betrayed none of his impressions; and Dolores instinctively felt
+that she could not look to him for the consolation of which she stood so
+greatly in need. Her mornings were spent over the account-books, which
+had been entrusted to her charge; at noon, she partook of a solitary
+repast, and it was only at dinner that she saw Coursegol and her host.
+
+One stormy evening in October, she was sitting in her chamber, a room
+upon the first-floor, opening into the garden by a glass door over
+which hung a heavy curtain. It was about nine o'clock. Vauquelas and
+Coursegol had gone out; the servants had retired, and Dolores was quite
+alone. Seated in a low chair before the fire, she was busying herself
+with her embroidery; but it was easy to see that her thoughts were not
+upon her work. She was brooding over the past and wondering in what
+quarter of the globe she might hope to find her lost friends.
+
+"What are they doing?" she wondered. "Are they thinking of me? Are they
+happy?"
+
+And as these questions suggested many others, she sank into a profound
+reverie.
+
+Suddenly the wind gave a loud shriek without, and the branches of the
+trees in the garden creaked and groaned as the tempest buffeted them and
+tossed them to and fro. Dolores shivered, partly from fear, partly from
+nervousness. As she did so, another gust, more furious than the first,
+filled the air with its weird voices. It sounded like the roar of the
+angry sea. A cloud of dust entered through the glass door which was
+partially concealed by the heavy curtain. The light flickered, and the
+smoke poured out into the room from the fire-place. At the same time
+Dolores heard, or fancied she heard, a sound like that made by the
+closing of a door.
+
+"They have forgotten to shut that door," thought Dolores; and she rose
+to repair the omission, but suddenly paused, astonished and almost
+frightened. She saw the curtain move, not as if in obedience to the
+wind, but as if an invisible hand had shaken it.
+
+"Heavens! there is some one behind the curtain!"
+
+That a robber should have effected an entrance into the house at that
+hour of the night was not at all impossible; and this was the first
+thought that entered her mind. She recollected, too, that Vauquelas and
+Coursegol had just gone out, that the servants were in bed and that she
+was to all intents and purposes alone in the house. The feminine mind is
+quick to take fright; and night and solitude increased the terror which
+is so easily aroused by a fevered imagination. Her usual courage
+deserted her; she turned pale and her lips quivered.
+
+"How foolish!" she said to herself, the next instant. "Who would think
+of entering here at such an hour? It must have been the wind. I will
+close the door."
+
+And struggling against the fear that had taken possession of her, she
+stepped quickly forward, but paused again. She could plainly discern a
+human form in the shadow behind the curtain.
+
+"Oh! this is terrible!" she murmured, pressing her hand upon her heart.
+
+Then she said, in a trembling voice:
+
+"Who is there?"
+
+There was no response. Summoning all her courage, she made two steps
+forward, seized the curtain and lifted it. Leaning against the glass
+door, which was now firmly closed, stood a man. Dolores was so terrified
+that she dare not raise her eyes to his face.
+
+"Who are you?" she demanded.
+
+The words had scarcely left her lips when the man sprang forward,
+crying:
+
+"Dolores! Dolores!"
+
+"Philip!"
+
+Then, with a wild cry of rapturous delight, she flung herself in the
+arms of her lover from whom she had been parted three long weary years.
+They clung to each other a moment without uttering a word, completely
+overcome with emotion. It was Philip, but Philip grown older and
+thinner. His face was unshaven and his clothing disordered, and he was
+frightfully pale. When she saw the ravages time and suffering had made
+upon the face of the man she loved, Dolores burst into tears.
+
+"Oh Dolores!" sighed Philip, "have I really found you again after all
+these years!"
+
+She smiled and wept as he devoured her with his eyes, then stepped by
+him and after satisfying herself that the door was securely closed and
+locked, she lowered the curtain and led Philip to an arm chair near the
+fire.
+
+"Do you find me changed?" she asked.
+
+"You are even more beautiful now than in the past!"
+
+She blushed and turned away her face, then suddenly inquired: "How
+happens it you are here, Philip?"
+
+"I came to Paris with a party of noblemen to rescue the queen from the
+hands of her executioners. We failed; she died upon the guillotine. My
+companions were arrested; I alone succeeded in making my escape--"
+
+"Then you are pursued--you are a fugitive. Perhaps they are even now
+upon your track!"
+
+"For a week I have been concealed in the house of a kind-hearted man
+who had taken compassion on my misery. I hoped to remain there until I
+could find an opportunity to make my escape from Paris. Day before
+yesterday, he told me that he was suspected of sheltering some enemy of
+the nation, and that his house was liable to be searched at any moment
+by Robespierre's emissaries, and that I must flee at once if I did not
+desire to ruin him. I obeyed and since that time I have been wandering
+about the streets of Paris, hiding in obscure nooks, living like a dog,
+and not daring to ask aid of any one for fear I should be denounced.
+This evening, half-dead with hunger and cold, I was wondering if it
+would not be better to deliver myself up when, only a few steps from
+here, I met a man who was formerly in the employ of the Duke de
+Penthieore, and to whom I had once rendered an important service.
+Believing that he had not forgotten it, I approached him and told him
+who I was. The wretch cursed me, and tried to arrest me. The instinct of
+self-preservation lent me fresh strength. I struggled with him and
+knocked him down, and while he was calling for help, I ran across the
+unoccupied ground near the house. A low wall suddenly rose before me. I
+leaped over it, and found myself in this garden. I saw the light from
+your window; the door stood open. I entered and God has willed that the
+hours of agony through which I have just passed should lead me to you.
+Ah! now I can die. Now that I have seen you again, Dolores, I can die
+content!"
+
+"Why do you talk of dying?" exclaimed Dolores. "Since you are here, you
+are saved! You shall remain!"
+
+She paused suddenly, recollecting that the house was not hers; Philip
+noticed her hesitation.
+
+"Am I in your house?" he asked.
+
+"No; you are in the house of Citizen Vauquelas, Coursegol's business
+partner."
+
+"Vauquelas! How unfortunate!"
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because, unless there are two individuals by that name, the master of
+this house is the friend of Robespierre, and one of the men who aided in
+the discovery of the plot formed by my companions and myself for the
+rescue of the queen."
+
+Dolores uttered a cry and hid her face in her hands.
+
+"What shall we do?" she murmured.
+
+"Is not Coursegol here?"
+
+"He will not return until late at night."
+
+"He would have found some way to conceal me until to-morrow."
+
+"I will conceal you in his room," said Dolores. "No one enters it but
+himself. I will await his return and tell him you are there."
+
+Philip approved this plan.
+
+"But you said just now that you were hungry;" exclaimed Dolores. "Ah!
+how unfortunate it is that the servants are in bed."
+
+She hastily left the room, and Philip, worn out with excitement, hunger
+and fatigue, remained in the arm chair in which Dolores had placed him.
+She soon returned, laden with bread, wine, and a piece of cold meat,
+which she had been fortunate enough to find in the kitchen. She placed
+these upon a small table, which she brought to Philip's side. Without a
+word, the latter began to eat and drink with the eagerness of a
+half-famished man. Dolores stood there watching him, her heart throbbing
+wildly with joy while tears of happiness gushed from her burning eyes.
+
+Soon Philip was himself again. The warmth and the nourishing food
+restored his strength. A slight color mounted to his cheeks, and a
+hopeful smile played upon his lips. Not until then, did Dolores venture
+to utter the name that had been uppermost in her thoughts for some
+moments.
+
+"You have told me nothing of Antoinette."
+
+This name reminded Philip of the sacred bond of which Dolores was
+ignorant, and which had never seemed to him so galling as now.
+
+"Antoinette!" he replied. "She is living near London in the care of some
+friends to whom I have confided her."
+
+"Is she your wife?" inquired Dolores, not daring to meet Philip's eyes.
+
+"No."
+
+"But your father's wishes--"
+
+"In pity, say no more!" interrupted Philip, "If I had not found you
+again, if I had had certain proofs that you were no longer alive, I
+might, perhaps, have married Antoinette, but now--"
+
+"Now?"
+
+"She will never be my wife!"
+
+"Does she no longer love you?"
+
+Philip's head drooped. There was a long silence; suddenly he glanced up.
+
+"Why should I conceal it from you longer, Dolores? I love you; I love
+you as I loved you in years gone by when I first dared to open my heart
+to you; and since that time, in spite of the barriers between us, I have
+never ceased to love you. Nor can our love be a sin in the sight of
+Heaven since it is God's providence, in spite of your will, that brings
+us together again to-day. And I swear that nothing shall separate us
+now!"
+
+Dolores had no strength to reply to such language, or to destroy the
+hopes which seemed even stronger now than in the past, and far more
+precious since three years of absence had not sufficed to extinguish
+them in the faithful and impassioned heart of her lover. Philip
+continued:
+
+"Ah! if I could but tell you how miserable I have been since we have
+been separated. My Dolores, did you not know when you left the chateau
+in which we had grown up together to offer as a sacrifice to God the
+love you shared, did you not know that you took away a part of myself
+with you?"
+
+"Stop!" she entreated, sinking into a chair and burying her face in her
+hands.
+
+But he would not listen.
+
+"Since that day," he continued, "my life has been wretched. In vain I
+have striven to drive from the heart which you refused to accept the
+memory of your grace and your beauty; in vain have I striven to listen
+with a complaisant ear to Antoinette, whom you commanded me to accept as
+my wife. Do you not see that this sacrifice is beyond my strength. I
+cannot do it--I love her as a sister, but you----"
+
+Dolores interrupted him. Suddenly quieted, and recalled to a
+recollection of duty by some mysterious inspiration, she rose, and in a
+gentle and firm voice said:
+
+"Philip, I must hear no more. I belong to God, and you, yourself, are no
+longer free. Antoinette----"
+
+"Would you compel me to hate her?"
+
+The cry frightened Dolores and awakened in her heart a tender pity for
+the unfortunate man whom she adored, even while she wrung his soul with
+anguish.
+
+"Ah well! do not marry her," she replied, "if the union that your father
+desired is a greater sacrifice than you have strength to make; but do
+not hope that I shall ever be weak enough to yield to your entreaties.
+Whether you love her or whether you detest her, Antoinette will forever
+stand between us."
+
+On hearing these words, Philip sprang wildly to his feet, then sank back
+in his chair and, concealing his face in his hands, broke into
+passionate sob.
+
+The girl's powers of endurance were almost exhausted; but she still
+retained energy enough to attempt to put an end to this trying scene.
+
+"The hour when the master of the house usually returns is fast
+approaching," she resumed. "He must not find you here. I will take you
+to Coursegol's room; you will be safe there."
+
+But Philip would not heed her. He wept like a child, and, in a voice
+broken with sobs, he cried:
+
+"Ah, the sacrifice you demand is too much to ask of any human creature!
+God does not require it of us. If after creating us for each other it is
+His will that we should live forever apart and be eternally miserable,
+why has He united us to-night? Is not our meeting providential? Dolores,
+your decision cannot be irrevocable."
+
+It required all her courage and determination to repress the loving
+words that rose to her lips from her overflowing heart.
+
+"Come, Philip," she pleaded, striving to give a maternal tone to her
+voice.
+
+"But promise me----"
+
+"Ah well! to-morrow,----" she said, quietly, doing her best to calm him.
+
+She succeeded. Philip rose, ready to follow her. She had already taken a
+candle from the table when footsteps were heard in the adjoining room.
+
+"Good Heavens! it is Vauquelas! We are lost!"
+
+"He will not enter here, perhaps," whispered Philip.
+
+With a gesture, Dolores imposed silence: then she waited and listened,
+hoping that Vauquelas would pass on to his own room without pausing. Her
+hopes were not realized. Vauquelas rapped twice at the door.
+
+"May I come in, Citoyenne Dolores?"
+
+"No, I am in bed."
+
+"Get up quickly then, and open the door. A man was seen to leap over the
+wall that separates the garden from the street. He must be prowling
+about the house. They are in pursuit of him. The police are coming."
+
+"I am getting up," replied Dolores, anxious to gain time, and racking
+her brain to discover some means of escape for Philip.
+
+"The night is very dark," he whispered. "I will go into the garden and
+conceal myself there until the soldiers have searched the house and
+gone."
+
+Dolores nodded her approval, and went on tip-toe to the glass door to
+open it and let Philip out. She turned the knob, softly opened the door,
+and stepped aside to let him pass. The next instant she uttered a cry of
+dismay, for she saw five members of the National Guard approaching the
+house, beating the shrubbery that bordered the path through which they
+were advancing with the butt ends of their muskets. She recoiled in
+horror, for before she could prevent it Philip stepped out and stood for
+an instant plainly visible in the light that streamed through the open
+door ere he perceived them. As soon as they saw him, they raised their
+guns and took aim.
+
+"Do not fire!" he exclaimed. "I surrender!"
+
+And he paused, awaiting their approach. At the same moment Vauquelas
+entered the room by the other door. Dolores cast a despairing look at
+Philip, then involuntarily stepped to his side as if to protect him.
+There was a moment's silence caused by surprise on the one side and
+terror on the other. Philip was filled with consternation not that his
+courage failed him, but because he was appalled by the thought of the
+danger in which he had involved Dolores.
+
+As for Vauquelas, he glanced from one to the other in evident anger and
+astonishment. The presence of the soldiers, and the thought of the
+suspicions to which he--ardent patriot though he was--might be exposed
+on account of this stranger's arrest in his house irritated him not a
+little. He was about to vent his wrath and indignation upon Philip when
+the sergeant in command interposed, and addressing the young man, said,
+harshly;
+
+"What are you doing in this house, you rascal? Who are you?"
+
+Philip attempted to reply, but Vauquelas did not give him time.
+
+"Who is he?" he exclaimed. "It is easy to answer that question. Some
+enemy of the Republic, you may be sure, who has sought shelter in my
+house at the risk of compromising the honor of this young girl, and my
+reputation as well."
+
+Dolores trembled; then sacrificing, not without a terrible effort, her
+maidenly delicacy and modesty she said: "You are mistaken, Citizen
+Vauquelas. This man is my husband!"
+
+"Your husband! Are you married?"
+
+"I had a special reason for keeping the fact a secret from every one."
+
+"But Coursegol--"
+
+"Even he is ignorant of it," answered Dolores, with downcast eyes.
+
+"Married! married!" repeated Vauquelas mechanically, while Philip drew
+nearer to Dolores and, in a voice audible to her alone, murmured:
+
+"Ah! cruel one, had you uttered those words sooner, we should not be
+here now."
+
+Dolores made no response. She cast a beseeching look upon Vauquelas. At
+a word from him the soldiers would have departed; but he remembered the
+history of Dolores which Coursegol had confided to him, and he said to
+himself that the adopted daughter of the late Marquis de Chamondrin
+would not be likely to marry other than a nobleman, and that this
+nobleman must be an implacable enemy to the new order of things, and
+consequently one of those men whom the Committee of Public Safety were
+so relentlessly pursuing. That such a person should be found in his
+house augured ill for his patriotism and might cost him his influence
+over Robespierre, so it was necessary to strike a crushing blow if he
+wished to emerge from this ordeal unscathed.
+
+"Why have you concealed your marriage from me?" he inquired, turning to
+Dolores.
+
+"For purely personal reasons."
+
+"And why does your husband steal into my house like a robber, instead of
+entering by the door?"
+
+"Because we wished to keep our marriage a secret."
+
+"All this is not very clear," remarked the sergeant; then addressing
+Philip, he demanded:
+
+"What is your name, and from whence do you come?"
+
+And seeing Philip hesitate, the man continued:
+
+"The citizen and this young woman will follow us to the station-house.
+They can explain matters to the officials there; and if no blame
+attaches to them, they will be immediately set at liberty."
+
+"Yes, yes, take them away," cried Vauquelas, glad of any decision that
+would remove the soldiers from his house.
+
+Then Dolores comprehended that the falsehood to which she had resorted
+had not only failed to save Philip but had probably cost her her own
+life. For herself, she did not care. She had long ago sacrificed for his
+sake that which was a thousand times dearer than life; and now her only
+regret was for him. But Philip would not accept the sacrifice. When he
+saw that both Dolores and himself were to be placed under arrest, he
+exclaimed:
+
+"This young girl has uttered a falsehood. She did it, probably, to save
+a stranger whom she would have forgotten in a few hours. I am not her
+husband, and that I have been found in her room is simply due to the
+fact that I took refuge here a few moments ago from a pursuer. I am the
+Marquis de Chamondrin. I am an Emigre and a conspirator!"
+
+"Ah, he is lost! he is lost!" murmured Dolores.
+
+On hearing Philip's confession, Vauquelas sprang towards him, wild with
+rage.
+
+"You call yourself Philip de Chamondrin?" he demanded.
+
+"That is my name."
+
+"Then you are the adopted brother of this young girl, and if you, an
+Emigre and a conspirator, are here, it can only be because she is your
+accomplice. Vile wretch! to make my house a rendezvous for the enemies
+of the Nation!"
+
+Anger crimsoned his cheeks and glittered in his eyes. He actually
+frothed with rage.
+
+"Arrest them! Arrest them both!" he exclaimed.
+
+Philip, who had supposed he could save Dolores by the confession he had
+just made, could not repress a movement of wrath and despair.
+
+"You will regret this, sir," he said, haughtily.
+
+"There could be no greater misfortune than to shelter aristocrats like
+you under my roof. I am a patriot; I love the Republic. France, first of
+all! Citizens, this is a dangerous man. This so-called nobleman has been
+plotting to save the queen and to place the little Capet upon the
+throne. As for this young woman, she is a viper who has repaid my
+hospitality with treachery. Take them away!--and so perish the enemies
+of the Nation!"
+
+He uttered these words with great energy and enthusiasm as if he wished
+to give convincing proofs of his patriotism. The soldiers were
+consulting together; presently they formed into two squads. One division
+took Dolores in charge; the other took Philip, and they were led away.
+It was then nearly eleven o'clock.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+COURSEGOL'S EXPLOITS.
+
+
+Coursegol returned home about midnight. In accordance with his usual
+custom he was passing through the lower hall without stopping on his way
+to his room on the floor above, when he heard some one call him. He
+recognized the voice of Vauquelas, but it seemed to proceed from the
+chamber occupied by Dolores. Surprised that the latter was not in bed at
+this late hour, and fearing she was ill, he hastily entered her room.
+Vauquelas was there alone, pale, nervous and excited. The girl's bed had
+not been disturbed. Her absence struck Coursegol at once.
+
+"Where is Dolores?" he asked, quickly.
+
+"Coursegol, why did you not tell me she was receiving Philip de
+Chamondrin here?" was his friend's only response.
+
+"She receiving M. Philip!" cried Coursegol, greatly astonished.
+
+"Yes, here in my house; here in this chamber. They were discovered
+here."
+
+"Then M. Philip is still alive!"
+
+"Unfortunately for me, he is still alive."
+
+"What do you mean?" inquired Coursegol, who as yet understood but one
+thing--that his master was not dead.
+
+"I mean that Dolores, whom I received into my house at your request, has
+been sheltering here, at the risk of compromising and ruining me, Philip
+de Chamondrin, one of the prime movers in a conspiracy formed for the
+purpose of saving the widow Capet."
+
+"Ah! I understand," murmured Coursegol, at once divining that Philip
+being pursued had taken refuge in the house of Vauquelas, and had found
+Dolores there. "Ah, well! citizen, the young man must not remain here.
+We will help him to make his escape and no one will be the wiser--"
+
+"It is too late!"
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Both have been arrested; he, for conspiring against the government,
+she, as his accomplice."
+
+Coursegol uttered a terrible oath: then, turning to Vauquelas and
+seizing him by the collar, he cried:
+
+"It was you, wretch, who betrayed them!"
+
+"You are choking me!" groaned Vauquelas, breathless in Coursegol's
+violent grasp.
+
+"Tell me where they are!" thundered Coursegol. "I must see them. Where
+are they?"
+
+"Release me," gasped Vauquelas.
+
+This time Coursegol obeyed; but he stood before Vauquelas, angry and
+menacing. The latter trembled. He had not foreseen that Coursegol would
+hold him accountable for the arrest of Philip and Dolores.
+
+"Explain and quickly!" cried Coursegol.
+
+"The soldiers came to the house in pursuit of young Philip, who had
+taken refuge in this room. To save him, Dolores said she was his wife.
+Philip, fearing she would be compromised, denied her statement; and as
+their explanation did not seem sufficiently clear, they were both taken
+to prison."
+
+"Could you not have vouched for them--declared that they were friends of
+yours?"
+
+"I did all I could to save them," whined Vauquelas.
+
+"You lie! you lie! I tell you, you lie! It was you who betrayed them! I
+am sure of it. You trembled for your life, for your money. Woe be unto
+you!"
+
+And Coursegol accompanied those words with a gesture so menacing that
+Vauquelas, believing his last hour had come, fell on his knees begging
+for mercy. But Coursegol seemed pitiless.
+
+"Poor children! that death should overtake them just as Providence had
+united them. Wretch! fool! you were less merciful than destiny."
+
+"Have pity!"
+
+"Had you any pity on them? No! Ah well! you shall die!"
+
+And drawing from his pocket a dagger that he always carried with him,
+Coursegol raised it above the old man's head.
+
+"But if I promise to save them--"
+
+The hand of Coursegol, raised to strike, fell.
+
+"You will save them! That is only another lie. How can you save them?
+The prisons of the Republic release their victims only to send them to
+the guillotine."
+
+"I will bribe the jailers to let them escape."
+
+"The jailers are not the only masters: and who among them would expose
+himself to almost certain death for the sake of your money?"
+
+"Then I will do still better," replied Vauquelas. "I will bribe the
+judges of the Revolutionary Tribunal, and they will acquit your
+friends."
+
+"Useless! these judges will demand that the money shall be paid in
+advance! and as soon as they have it in their grasp, they will condemn
+the prisoners."
+
+"What can I do then?"
+
+"There is no help for the misfortune, and it is because you are the
+cause of it that I am going to wreak my vengeance upon you!"
+
+"Stop, stop! I will go to Robespierre."
+
+"He will refuse your petition."
+
+"No! my influence over him is all-powerful. I have means to compel him
+to grant my request."
+
+"Even when you ask for the release of one of the leaders of the
+conspiracy to save the queen?"
+
+"Yes; he will not refuse me."
+
+Coursegol reflected a moment. Vauquelas, still on his knees before him,
+looked up, trying to read his fate in the stern face above him.
+
+"Listen," said Coursegol at last. "I will spare your life on certain
+conditions. It depends upon yourself whether you are to live or die."
+
+"Name them. I will obey!" murmured Vauquelas, servilely, beginning to
+breathe freely once more.
+
+"To-morrow by sunset, I must receive from you a blank order signed by
+Robespierre which will enable me to obtain the release of two
+prisoners."
+
+"You shall have it."
+
+"I also desire that Robespierre shall remain in ignorance of the names
+of the prisoners who are to be released."
+
+"He shall not know."
+
+"Under these conditions, your life is yours. Only do not attempt to
+deceive me. I know that it is in your power to obtain an order for my
+arrest and thus save yourself from the chastisement you so richly
+deserve."
+
+"Can you believe--"
+
+Vauquelas could not finish his sentence. He stammered and blushed,
+feeling that his most secret thoughts had been divined.
+
+"But to prevent that, it is here in this house that I shall await your
+return; and if to-morrow the soldiers, guided by you, come here to
+arrest me, they will find me in the cellar where your wealth is
+concealed; and it is I who will have the pleasure of initiating them
+into the secrets of your patriotic life."
+
+Vauquelas uttered an exclamation of mingled astonishment and dismay.
+
+"It is here," repeated Coursegol, "that I shall wait to receive from
+your hands the order of release that you have promised me. Now, it is
+for you to decide whether you will live or die."
+
+As he spoke, Coursegol pushed open the door leading to the cellar used
+by Vauquelas as the repository of his riches and disappeared. Vauquelas
+rose from his kneeling posture, filled with consternation by what he had
+just heard. The extremity to which he was reduced was a cruel one; he
+must bribe the incorruptible Robespierre. When he made the promise to
+Coursegol he did not intend to fulfil it: he intended to denounce him;
+but the shrewdness of his partner had placed him in a most embarrassing
+position. He was obliged to keep his promise, but he could do it only by
+compromising his influence and his reputation; and yet there was no help
+for it since Coursegol could ruin him by a single word. How much he
+regretted that the strength and vigor of his youth were now paralyzed by
+age. If he had been twenty years younger, how desperately he would have
+struggled with the man who had suddenly become a formidable enemy! What
+an effort he would have made to kill him and thus silence him forever.
+But such a plan was no longer feasible; nothing was left for him but
+submission. About an hour after Coursegol left him, he went to his room
+to obtain the rest of which he stood so greatly in need. He threw
+himself upon the bed; but sleep refused to come to his relief. At
+daybreak he was upon his feet once more. He wished, before leaving the
+house, to see Coursegol again. The latter had slept with his pistol in
+his hand, guarding the strong-box upon which his life as well as the
+lives of Dolores and Philip depended.
+
+"Have you the order?" inquired Coursegol.
+
+"I am going for it," responded Vauquelas, meekly.
+
+"Do not return without it if you wish to leave this place alive."
+
+Vauquelas hastily retired. Robespierre lived on the Rue Saint Honore.
+Thither Vauquelas went, wondering under what form he should present his
+petition. The friendship existing between this celebrated man and
+himself was lively and profound. It had its origin in former relations,
+in services mutually rendered, and in common interests, but so far as
+Robespierre was concerned, he would never allow friendship to conflict
+with what he considered his duty. Even in his most cruel decisions, he
+was honest and sincere. He was deeply impressed with a sense of his
+responsibility and no consideration foreign to what he regarded as the
+welfare of the Nation could move him. He never granted a pardon; he
+never allowed his heart to be touched with compassion; and when one
+reads his history, it is hard to decide which is most horrible, the acts
+of his life or the spirit of fanaticism that inspired them. Vauquelas
+understood the character of the man with whom he had to deal, and felt
+that there was no hope of exciting Robespierre's pity by the recital of
+the misfortunes of Philip and Dolores, or by an explanation of the
+embarrassing position in which he found himself; so he finally decided
+to resort to strategy to obtain what he desired.
+
+When he reached the house, he found that Robespierre had just gone out.
+Vauquelas did not seem at all annoyed. He entered the office--that dread
+place from which emanated those accusations that carried death and
+despair to so many households. The visitor was well-known to the
+servants of the household and he was permitted to roam about at will. As
+he declared his intention of awaiting Robespierre's return, the servant
+who ushered him into the room withdrew, leaving him quite alone. He
+hastened to Robespierre's desk and began rummaging among the papers with
+which it was strewn, keeping one eye all the while upon the door lest
+some one should enter and detect him. There were intended orders, lists
+of proscriptions, documents and reports from the provinces, as well as
+police reports, but Vauquelas paid no attention to these. He continued
+his search until Robespierre's signature on the bottom of a blank sheet
+of paper met his eyes, and drew from him an exclamation of joy.
+
+This sheet was the last belonging to a police report which had been
+approved by the committee, and the only one upon which the clerk to whom
+the copying of the document had been entrusted had as yet written
+nothing. It was upon this sheet that Robespierre had placed his
+signature. His name, written by his own hand and ornamented with the
+flourish which he always appended to his signature, lay upon the
+immaculate whiteness of the paper like a blood stain. Without the
+slightest hesitation, Vauquelas tore this precious page loose from the
+others; then in a feigned hand he wrote these words "Permission to leave
+the prison is hereby granted to the man and woman bearing this order."
+These lines written above the signature transformed the paper into the
+safe-conduct which Coursegol had demanded. Greatly agitated by the
+audacious act he had just accomplished, Vauquelas placed the document he
+had fabricated in his pocket, hid the mutilated report in the bottom of
+a desk drawer under a pile of memorandum books; then, after giving his
+agitation time to subside, he left the house, lingering a moment to chat
+with those on guard at the door, and remarking as he left them:
+
+"I have not time to wait just now; I will call again."
+
+But as soon as he had gained the street he quickened his pace, as if
+fearing pursuit. On reaching home he hastened to the cellar and,
+addressing Coursegol who had not once quitted his post, he said:
+
+"Here is what you desired. Go!"
+
+Coursegol took the paper without a word, scrutinized it closely to
+convince himself that the signature was genuine: then satisfied with his
+examination he replied:
+
+"I am going with the hope that I shall be able to save Dolores and
+Philip; but do not consider yourself forgiven for the injury you have
+done them. Remember this; if my efforts fail and any harm befalls them
+it is on you that my vengeance will fall."
+
+He rose to go; then changing his mind, he added:
+
+"For six months we have worked together, and as I shall probably need a
+good deal of money to carry this undertaking to a successful
+termination, I wish you to give me my share of the profits."
+
+"Make your own estimate," replied Vauquelas, who was too thoroughly
+frightened to haggle as to terms.
+
+"Give me fifty thousand francs; half in gold, half in assignats."
+
+Vauquelas breathed a sigh of relief. He had feared that Coursegol would
+demand an amount ten times as large. He counted out fifty thousand
+francs. Coursegol put the assignats in his pocket, and secreted the
+gold in a leather belt he wore; then without another word, he started in
+quest of Philip and Dolores.
+
+How could he reach them? He must first discover where they were. Prisons
+were very numerous in those days. There were the Luxembourg, the Abbaye,
+the Force, the Carmes, the Madelonnettes, Saint-Lazare and many others.
+In which of them were Philip and Dolores immured? Had they been sent to
+the same prison or had they been separated? Vauquelas had been unable to
+furnish any information on this subject, and Coursegol could only
+conjecture. He repaired immediately to the house of the Bridouls, where
+he made arrangements to remain for a time. He apprised these tried
+friends of the events that had occurred since the evening before.
+Cornelia could not restrain her tears when she heard that her young
+friend was in prison. As for Bridoul, he soon decided upon the course to
+be pursued. In most of the prisons there were many persons charged with
+no particular offence. It was not at all probable that they would ever
+be brought to trial, and, in spite of the surveillance to which they
+were subjected, they enjoyed comparative freedom. They were not
+absolutely forbidden to hold communication with the world outside, and
+if they possessed pecuniary resources it was possible for them to
+purchase the good-will of the jailers and to obtain permission to
+receive letters, food and even visits from their friends. It may have
+been that the number of prisons and of prisoners prevented the
+maintenance of very severe discipline; it may have been that the
+Committee of Public Safety, having decided to execute all convicted
+prisoners, did not desire to exercise a too rigid surveillance. However
+this may have been, many of the prisoners were in daily communication
+with the outer world. Wives and children obtained permission to visit
+their husbands and fathers without much difficulty; and there had been
+established, for the convenience of the prisoners, a corps of regularly
+appointed messengers who came and went at all hours of the day on
+condition that they paid the jailers a certain percentage on their
+earnings. Coursegol was ignorant of these details, but Bridoul
+acquainted him with them.
+
+"One of these messengers is a friend of mine," added Bridoul, "and for a
+fair compensation, he will consent to take you with him as his
+assistant. In his company, you can visit the different prisons without
+the slightest danger."
+
+This plan delighted Coursegol. That same evening they made the desired
+arrangement with the man of whom Bridoul had spoken. The next day, he
+began his search, and three days later he ascertained that Dolores was
+confined in the Conciergerie and Philip in the Madelonnettes.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+THE CONCIERGERIE.
+
+
+After their arrest Philip and Dolores were taken to the nearest
+station-house and ushered into a room where three persons, arrested like
+themselves during the evening, were awaiting examination. Unfortunately
+the official charged with conducting these investigations had already
+gone home. As he would not return until the next morning, the sergeant
+of police decided that the prisoners must pass the night there. Some
+mattresses were spread upon the floor for those who chose to use them.
+Dolores refused to lie down. She seated herself in a broken-down arm
+chair which Philip obtained for her, not without considerable
+difficulty, and declared that she would spend the night there. Philip
+placed himself on a stool at her feet and thus they waited the break of
+day.
+
+Their companions were stretched upon their couches fast asleep, and the
+night, which promised to be heavy with cruel wakefulness and fatigue,
+passed like some delightful dream.
+
+They could not close their eyes to the fate that was in store for them.
+Philip had plotted to save the queen; he had returned from his refuge in
+foreign lands solely for this purpose. By sheltering him, Dolores had
+become his accomplice. Such crimes would meet with, no indulgence. In
+the morning they would be interrogated by an official, whose mind had
+been poisoned against them in advance, and who would show no mercy to
+their youth. Accused of desiring the overthrow of the Republic and the
+return of the Bourbons, they would be sent to prison, taken from their
+cells to the Revolutionary Tribunal, and condemned to the guillotine.
+Such was the summary mode of procedure during the Reign of Terror. To
+hope that any exception would be made in their case was folly. All that
+was left for them, therefore, was to prepare to die. If the prospect of
+such a fate brought the tears to their eyes at first, it was not because
+either of them was wanting in courage. No, it was only for the fate that
+was to befall the other that each wept. But when they had talked
+together, and learned that they were mutually resigned, their sorrow was
+appeased; and as if their sentence had already been pronounced, they
+thought only of making their last hours on earth pass as calmly and
+sweetly as possible.
+
+"Why should I fear to die?" said Dolores, when Philip tried to encourage
+her by hopes in which he himself had not the slightest confidence.
+"Death has terrors only for those who leave some loved one behind them;
+but when I am gone, who will be left to mourn for me? Antoinette? Have I
+not for a long time been the same as dead to her? I can leave the world
+without creating a void in any heart, without causing any one a pang.
+Hence I can, without regret, go to seek the eternal rest for which I
+have sighed so long."
+
+"Have you truly longed for death?" asked Philip.
+
+"I have seen so many loved ones fall around me," replied Dolores, "my
+eyes have witnessed so many sorrows, I have suffered so much, and my
+life since my happy childhood has been so unspeakably lonely and sad
+that I have often and often entreated God to recall me to Himself."
+
+"But, Dolores, if you had only listened to me when I pleaded in vain, if
+you had but placed your hand in mine, what misery we should have been
+spared."
+
+"It would not have averted our misfortunes."
+
+"No; but we might have borne them together, and after our sorrows found
+consolation in each other."
+
+"I could not be your wife."
+
+"Is it true, then, that you do not love me?"
+
+Dolores made no answer. Emboldened by the solemn calmness of these
+moments which were, as they supposed, ushering them into eternity,
+Philip continued:
+
+"Whenever I pressed my suit, you pleaded my father's wishes as an excuse
+for not listening to my prayers. To gratify a foolish ambition he
+desired me to marry Antoinette. Ah, well! my father's will no longer
+stands between us; and the engagement that binds me to her is broken by
+the changed situation in which we find ourselves. We are free now in the
+shadow of death. Will you not tell me the truth? Will you not open your
+heart to me as I have opened mine to you?"
+
+Dolores listened, her glowing eyes riveted upon Philip's face, her
+bosom heaving with emotion. The words; "We are free now in the shadow of
+death," rang in her ears. She felt that she could not refuse her lover
+the last joy and consolation that he claimed; and that she, whose past
+had been one long sacrifice of her happiness and of her hopes, had a
+right to reveal the secret so long buried in her soul. Gently, almost
+solemnly, these words fell from her lips:
+
+"Listen, Philip, since you ask me for the truth, now, at this supreme
+hour, I have always loved you as I love you now; and I love you now as
+ardently as I am beloved!"
+
+There was so much tenderness in her manner that Philip sprang up, his
+eyes sparkling with rapture.
+
+"And this is the avowal you have refused to make for five long years!"
+he cried. "I knew that my love was returned. You have confessed it; and
+if I were compelled to give my life in exchange for the happiness of
+hearing this from your lips, I should not think that I paid too dearly
+for it. But you have restored my energy and my courage. I feel strong
+enough, now, to defy the whole world in a struggle for the felicity that
+is rightfully ours. We shall live, Dolores, to belong to each other, to
+comfort each other."
+
+"Do not, I entreat you, ask me to live," exclaimed Dolores, "since the
+certainty of death alone decided me to speak."
+
+"But," pleaded Philip, "if I should succeed in rescuing you from the
+peril that surrounds us, would you be more rigorous than destiny? Would
+you not feel that God smiled upon our love, and that it was He who had
+mercifully united us again?"
+
+"Philip! Philip!" murmured Dolores. She could say no more, but yielding
+at last to the sweet power of the love against which she had struggled
+so long, she laid her weary head upon the heart that worshipped her with
+such a tender and all-absorbing passion.
+
+It was nine o'clock in the morning when the officer who was to conduct
+the examination made his appearance. The expectations of Philip and
+Dolores were realized. He questioned them hastily, listened to the
+report of the sergeant who had arrested them, took a few notes, then
+ordered the culprits to be sent, one to the Conciergerie, the other to
+the Madelonnettes.
+
+"Can we not be together?" asked Philip, filled with dismay by the
+prospect of a separation.
+
+"The Committee will decide. For the present, I shall be obliged to
+separate you" was the officer's reply.
+
+Philip approached Dolores.
+
+"Do not lose courage," he whispered. "I shall soon rejoin you."
+
+Dolores was to be taken to the Conciergerie.
+
+Several gendarmes formed her escort. At her request, one of them sent
+for a carriage. She entered it and her guards seated themselves opposite
+her and on the box with the driver. To reach the Conciergerie, they
+were obliged to pass the Palais de Justice. Upon the steps of the
+palace, not far from the prison, was a crowd of women that assembled
+there every day to witness the departure of the prisoners who were
+condemned to death. They saw Dolores when she alighted from the
+carriage, and immediately began to clap their hands and utter shrill
+cries of delight. She was compelled to pass through a storm of hisses,
+gibes and insults in making her way to the prison; and it was not
+without considerable difficulty that the men acting as her escort
+protected her from the infuriated throng. At last the dread door opened
+before her. She was ushered into the office, a small room where the
+prison register was kept. Her full name and age were recorded by the
+clerk, and she was then placed in charge of one of the jailers, who was
+ordered to find accommodations for her in that part of the prison over
+which he had jurisdiction.
+
+"I have two favors to ask of you," Dolores said to this man, whose
+benevolent face inspired her with confidence.
+
+"What do you desire, citoyenne?"
+
+"First, to have a cell to myself, if possible. I will pay for it."
+
+"That will be a difficult matter; but I think I can arrange it. And what
+else?"
+
+"I wish to send a letter to a person who is very dear to me."
+
+"His name?"
+
+"Coursegol. He lives at the house of Citizen Vauquelas, where I was
+living myself when I was arrested in his absence. You may see the
+contents of the letter and assure yourself that it contains nothing
+objectionable."
+
+"Very well," replied the jailer, moved with compassion by the
+misfortunes of this beautiful young girl. "I will conduct you to a cell
+where you will be alone, and where you will have an opportunity to write
+your letter."
+
+As he spoke, he led Dolores to a small room on the second floor, lighted
+by a grated window, opening upon the court-yard.
+
+"You can remain here as long as you like. No one shall come to trouble
+you. Meals are served in the refectory, unless a prisoner desires them
+in his own apartment, at a charge of six francs per day."
+
+"I shall have no money until the letter I am about to write reaches its
+destination," said Dolores. "It took all I had to pay for the carriage
+that brought me here."
+
+"I will give you credit," replied the jailer. "No no; do not thank me.
+It always pays to be accommodating. I will now go for pen, ink and
+paper."
+
+The worthy man withdrew but soon returned, bringing the desired
+articles. Dolores wrote a hasty note to Coursegol, informing him of her
+arrest and that of Philip, and begging him to send her some money at
+once. The jailer promised that the letter should be delivered some time
+during the day. Then he departed. Dolores, left in solitude, fell upon
+her knees and prayed for Philip. She had never loved him so fondly as
+now; and the misfortune that had befallen her would have been nothing
+had it been alleviated by the joy of knowing that her lover was near
+her.
+
+She spent the day alone, and she was really surprised at her own
+calmness. Comforted by the immortal hopes that are ever awakened in the
+Christian's soul by the prospect of death, and elevated to an ideal
+world by the exciting events of the previous evening and by the eloquent
+confession of Philip, as well as by her own, life seemed despicable,
+unworthy of her; and she felt that she could leave it without a regret.
+Toward evening, the jailer returned. He brought back the letter she had
+given him. Coursegol could not be found; he was no longer with
+Vauquelas, and the latter knew nothing of his whereabouts.
+
+This news brought Dolores back to the stern reality of her situation.
+She feared that Coursegol had excited the anger of Vauquelas by his
+threats, and that he had drawn down some misfortune upon himself.
+Moreover, the disappearance of her protector cut off her pecuniary
+resources; and as the prisoners could not obtain the slightest favor
+without the aid of gold, she was deprived of the means to alleviate the
+hardships of her lot. The jailer pitied her distress.
+
+"Do not worry, citoyenne," he said to Dolores. "You shall have your
+meals here, and you shall not be disturbed. By and by, you will be able
+to compensate me for my services."
+
+Grateful for this unexpected kindness, Dolores removed a small cross set
+with diamonds which she wore about her neck, and, offering it to the
+jailer, said:
+
+"Accept this as security for the expense that I shall cause you. If I
+die, you can keep it; if I live, I will redeem it."
+
+The man refused at first; but the girl's entreaties conquered his
+scruples, and he finally accepted it.
+
+"What is your name?" she asked.
+
+"I am called Aubry. You will find me ever ready to serve you,
+citoyenne."
+
+Such were the incidents that marked our heroine's arrival at the
+Conciergerie. This first day in prison passed slowly. She did not leave
+her cell, but toward evening Aubry brought up two dishes which were as
+unpleasing to the taste as to the eye. As he placed them before her and
+saw the movement of disgust which Dolores could not repress, Aubry was
+almost ashamed of the meagre fare.
+
+"Things here are not as they were in your chateau," he remarked, rather
+tartly.
+
+"No matter, my good Aubry, I am content;" responded Dolores, pleasantly.
+
+She ate the food, however, for she had fasted since the evening before;
+then, drawing the table to the wall pierced by the small, high window,
+she mounted it to obtain a few breaths of fresh air. She opened the
+sash; the breeze came in through the heavy bars, but Dolores could only
+catch a glimpse of the gray sky already overcast by the mists of
+evening.
+
+An hour later, Dolores was sleeping calmly; and the next morning, as if
+to render her first awakening in prison less gloomy, a bright sunbeam
+peeped in to salute her.
+
+When Aubry entered about ten o'clock with her breakfast, she was
+walking about her cell.
+
+"Citoyenne," he began; "I must tell you that as I was leaving the
+prison, this morning, I met a man who inquired if I had seen, among the
+prisoners, a pretty young girl with golden hair and dark eyes. The
+description corresponded with you in every particular."
+
+"Describe the man," said Dolores, eagerly.
+
+"He was very tall; he had gray hair, and he seemed to be in great
+trouble."
+
+"It was Coursegol--the person for whom my letter was intended. Shall you
+see him again?"
+
+"His evident distress excited my pity, and I promised to aid him in his
+search. He agreed to come to the office at ten o'clock this morning,
+ostensibly to seek employment in the prison; and I promised to make some
+excuse for taking you there at the same hour, so you can see each other;
+but you are not to exchange a word or even a sign of recognition."
+
+So in a few moments Dolores found herself face to face with Coursegol.
+Of course, they did not attempt to exchange a single word: but, by a
+look, Coursegol made her understand that he was employing every effort
+to effect her deliverance; and she returned to her cell cheered by the
+thought that a devoted heart was watching over her and over Philip. The
+next day, when she was least expecting it, the door opened and Coursegol
+entered.
+
+"I have taken Aubry's place to-day," he remarked.
+
+Dolores sprang towards him, and he clasped her in his arms. They had
+been separated only three days, but those three days had seemed a
+century to both.
+
+"Have you seen Philip?" inquired Dolores.
+
+"I saw him yesterday, after leaving here, my child."
+
+"Is he still in the Madelonnettes?"
+
+"Yes; but next week he will be brought here."
+
+Nothing could have afforded Dolores greater pleasure than this
+intelligence; and she gratefully thanked the protector whose devotion
+thus alleviated the hardships of her lot; then he told her what had
+occurred since her arrest, and how he had compelled Vauquelas to obtain
+an order for the release of those he had betrayed.
+
+"This order is now in my possession," he continued; "but it cannot be
+used until Philip is an inmate of the same prison in which you are
+confined. He will be here in a few days and then you can both make your
+escape. In the meantime I will make all the necessary arrangements to
+enable you to leave Paris as soon as you are set at liberty."
+
+This interview, which lasted nearly an hour, literally transformed
+Dolores. For the first time in many years she allowed herself to
+contemplate the possibility of happiness here below; and the grave and
+solemn thoughts that had been occupying her mind gave place to bright
+anticipations of a blissful future with Philip.
+
+For the first time since her arrival at the Conciergerie, she went down
+into the public hall. This hall was separated only by an iron grating
+from the long and narrow corridor upon which the cells assigned to the
+men opened, and in which they spent most of their time. It was against
+this grating that they leaned when they wished to converse with their
+lady friends; and, during the day, it not unfrequently happened that the
+doors were left open, and prisoners of both sexes were allowed to mingle
+together. Then, ladies and gentlemen promenaded gayly to and fro;
+acquaintances exchanged greetings; and handsome men and beautiful women
+chatted as blithely as if they were in their elegant drawing-rooms.
+
+The ancient nobility of France thus entered its protest against the
+persecutions of which it was the victim, and convinced even its
+bitterest enemies that it was not lacking in spirit and in courage in
+the very jaws of death. All the historians who have attempted a
+description of the prison life of that time unite in declaring that
+contempt of death was never evinced more forcibly than by the victims of
+that bloody epoch.
+
+The ladies displayed habits of luxury that were worthy of the days of
+the Regency. In the morning they generally appeared in bewitching
+negliges; in the afternoon they made more careful and elegant toilettes,
+and when evening came they donned the costly, trailing robes which they
+had worn at Court, only a few short weeks before. Those who, by the
+circumstances attendant upon their arrest, had been prevented from
+bringing a varied assortment of dresses with them, expended any amount
+of energy and ingenuity in their attempts to rival their more fortunate
+companions in the splendor of their costumes. Hence, the prison
+resembled a ball-room rather than an antechamber of death. The ladies
+were coquettish and bewitching; the men were gallant and impassioned;
+and more than one love was born in those days of alternate hope and
+terror--more than one love whose ardor was not impaired by fears for the
+morrow, and whose delights sweetened the last hours of those who shared
+it. There was, of course, little real enjoyment or happiness in those
+clays which were constantly disturbed by the arrival of new victims. One
+came mourning for her children; another, for her husband. At intervals,
+the jailer appeared to summon those condemned to die. Heart-rending
+shrieks and despairing farewells attended these separations; the
+executioner led away his victims, and all was over. Those who remained
+filled up the ranks, and, looking at one another with an anguish that
+deprived them of none of their courage, whispered:
+
+"Who of us will die to-morrow?"
+
+But a secret flame burned in every heart, imparting strength to the weak
+and resignation to the strong. Cowardice was as rare as voluntary
+sacrifice was common; and that which rendered the sight of such
+fortitude and courage in the presence of danger still more touching, was
+the tender sympathy that united all the prisoners, without regard to
+former differences in social position.
+
+It was about two o'clock in the afternoon when Dolores, reassured by her
+interview with Coursegol, made her appearance in the hall frequented by
+the inmates of the prison. More than a hundred persons had gathered
+there. They were now scattered about in little groups; and the
+conversation was very animated. Here sat an ancient dowager, delighting
+some gentlemen with piquant anecdotes of the Court of Louis XV.; there,
+stood a jovial priest, composing rhymes for the amusement of a
+half-dozen young girls; at a little distance were several statesmen,
+earnestly discussing the recent acts of the Convention--all doing their
+best to kill time, as travellers detained at some wayside inn strive to
+divert one another, while they wait for the sunshine that will enable
+them to pursue their journey.
+
+Dolores was not remarked at first among the crowd of prisoners. Each day
+brought so many new faces there that one more unfortunate excited little
+comment. But soon this young girl, who seemed to be entirely alone, and
+who gazed half-timidly, half-curiously, at the scene before her,
+attracted the attention of several prisoners. A woman, endowed with such
+rare loveliness of form and feature as Nature had bestowed upon Dolores,
+cannot long remain unnoticed. Her golden hair lay in soft rings upon her
+smooth, open brow, and drooped in heavy braids upon her white neck. Her
+dark brown dress and the little fichu knotted at the waist behind, were
+very simple in texture and in make; but she wore them with such grace,
+and there was such an air of elegance and distinction in her bearing,
+that she soon became an object of general curiosity.
+
+"What! So young, so beautiful, and in prison!" said one.
+
+"Youth and beauty do not soften the hearts of tigers!" another replied.
+
+A murmur of pity was heard as she passed, and some young men placed
+themselves in her path in order to obtain a closer look at her. Not
+until then did she note the sensation she had created. She became
+embarrassed, and took a step backward as if to retire; but, at that very
+moment, a lady, still young, in spite of the premature whiteness of her
+locks, approached her and said:
+
+"Why do you draw back, my child? Do we frighten you?"
+
+"No, madame," replied Dolores; "but I am a stranger, and, finding,
+myself alone among so many, I thought to retire to my own cell; but I
+will gladly remain if you will act as my protectress."
+
+"Take my arm, my dear. I will present you to my friends here. I am the
+Marquise de Beaufort. And you?"
+
+"My name is Dolores. I have neither father nor mother. The Marquis de
+Chamondrin adopted me; and I was reared in his house as his own
+daughter."
+
+"The Marquis de Chamondrin? Why! his son Philip----"
+
+"My adopted brother! You know him, madame?"
+
+"He is one of my friends and often came to my salon--when I had a
+salon," added the Marquise, smiling.
+
+"Philip emigrated," remarked Dolores, "but unfortunately, he recently
+returned to France. He, with several other gentlemen, attempted to save
+the queen. He was with me, yesterday, when we were arrested; he, as an
+Emigre; I, for giving him shelter."
+
+This short explanation sufficed to awaken the liveliest sympathy among
+her listeners. She was immediately surrounded and respectfully entreated
+to accept certain comforts and delicacies that those who had money were
+allowed to purchase for themselves. She refused these proffered
+kindnesses; but remained until evening beside the Marquise de Beaufort,
+who seemed to take an almost motherly interest in the young girl.
+
+The days that followed were in no way remarkable; but Dolores was deeply
+affected by scenes which no longer moved her companions. Every evening a
+man entered, called several persons by name and handed them a folded
+paper, a badly written and often illegible scrawl in which not even the
+spelling of the names was correct, and which, consequently, not
+unfrequently failed to reach the one for whom it was intended. This was
+an act of accusation. The person who received it was allowed no time to
+prepare his defence, but was compelled to appear before the
+Revolutionary Tribunal the following day, and on that day or the next,
+he was usually led forth to die.
+
+How many innocent persons Dolores saw leave the prison never to return!
+But the victims, whatever might be their age or sex, displayed the same
+fortitude, courage and firmness. They met their doom with such proud
+audacity that those who survived them, but who well knew that the same
+fate awaited them, in their turn, watched them depart with sad, but not
+despairing, eyes.
+
+These scenes, of which she was an almost hourly witness, strengthened
+the soul of Dolores and increased her distaste for life and her scorn of
+death. Still, she experienced a feeling of profound sorrow when, on the
+morning of the ninth day of her captivity, she was obliged to bid
+farewell to the Marquise de Beaufort, who, in company with the former
+abbess of the Convent of Bellecombe, in Auvergne, and a venerable
+priest, had been summoned before the Tribunal. They were absent scarcely
+three hours; they returned, condemned. Their execution was to take place
+that same day at sunset. They spent the time that remained, in prayer;
+and Dolores, kneeling beside them, wept bitterly.
+
+"Do not mourn, my dear child," said the Marquise, tenderly. "I die
+without regret. There was nothing left me here on earth. I have lost my
+husband, my son--all who were dear to me. I am going to rejoin them. I
+could ask no greater happiness."
+
+She spoke thus as she obeyed the call of the executioner, who summoned
+her and her companions to array themselves for their final journey. When
+her toilet was completed, she knelt before the aged priest.
+
+"Bless me, my father!" said she.
+
+And the priest, who was to die with her, extended his hands and blessed
+her. When she rose, her face was radiant. She took Dolores in her arms.
+
+"Farewell, my child;" she said, tenderly. "You are young. I hope you
+will escape the fury of these misguided wretches. Pray for me!"
+
+And as the prisoners crowded around her with outstretched hands, she
+cried, cheerfully:
+
+"Au revoir, my friends, au revoir!"
+
+She was led away. Just as she was disappearing from sight, she turned
+once more and sent Dolores a last supreme farewell in a smile and kiss.
+Then, in a clear, strong voice, that rang out like a song of victory,
+she cried:
+
+"Vive le Roi!"
+
+The very next day Dolores saw two young men led out to die. Their
+bearing was no less brave than that of the Marquise. They were not
+royalists. They died accused of Moderantisme, that frightful word with
+which the revolution sealed the doom of so many of its most devoted
+children. The Marquise de Beaufort had cried: "Vive le Roi!" They cried:
+
+"Vive la Republique!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+ANTOINETTE DE MIRANDOL.
+
+
+A fortnight had elapsed since Dolores first entered the Conciergerie. In
+the many trying experiences through which she had been obliged to pass,
+she had been sustained by the hope of a speedy meeting with Philip. She
+dare not believe that Coursegol's efforts, or even the order of release
+which he had obtained through Vauquelas, could save them; but it seemed
+to her if she could only see her lover once more before she died, she
+could mount the scaffold without a regret.
+
+One morning, on entering the public hall, she saw Coursegol behind the
+grating in the corridor. She hastened to him, and he whispered through
+the bars that Philip was to be brought to the Conciergerie the next day.
+Dolores was overcome with joy at this news.
+
+"As soon as M. Philip arrives here," added Coursegol; "we will arrange
+to make use of the order of release and to remove you from prison."
+
+"Will that be possible?" inquired Dolores.
+
+"Certainly. All prisoners who are set at liberty are released by order
+of the Committee; and the order given me by Vauquelas is a fac-simile of
+those always used."
+
+"With this difference, however: the names of those to be released have
+not yet been inserted," objected Dolores.
+
+"What of that?" exclaimed Coursegol, "I will insert the names myself,
+and then the order will be in favor of citoyen and citoyenne
+Chamondrin."
+
+"But if we should succeed in escaping from this prison, Coursegol, where
+shall we go?"
+
+"To Bridoul's at first, where you will be safe for at least twenty-four
+hours. From there I shall conduct you to a cottage in the Forest of
+Chevreuse, some little distance from Versailles. The place is almost a
+wilderness; no one will ever think of looking for us there."
+
+Coursegol's words made a deep impression upon the girl's mind. After
+resigning herself to an eternal separation from the object of her love;
+after trampling her own heart and all her hopes of happiness under foot,
+and just as her peace, her future, her very life itself seemed
+irretrievably lost, hope sprang up from the ruins like some gorgeous
+flower and unfolded its brilliant petals one by one before her wondering
+and enraptured eyes.
+
+"And Antoinette?" some one asks, "Had Dolores forgotten Antoinette's
+right to Philip's devotion?" No; the reader knows how heroically Dolores
+had sacrificed her happiness for her friend's sake, and how earnestly
+she had endeavored to compel Philip to fulfil his father's wishes; but
+when Philip met her at the house of Vauquelas after their long
+separation, he made no allusion to the recent promise which bound him
+more closely than ever to Mlle. de Mirandol; and, knowing that Dolores
+was aware of the engagement which had formerly existed between himself
+and Antoinette, he did his best to make that bond appear of a trivial
+nature in order to induce her to listen to his suit with favor. So he
+had merely told Dolores that he did not love Antoinette, that he could
+never love Antoinette, that it was she, Dolores, whom he passionately
+adored and whom he was resolved to make his wife. If we remember the
+influence such words as these could not fail to exercise over the mind
+of Dolores, and the influence exerted by the peculiar circumstances of
+their meeting, and by the perils that surrounded them; if we recollect,
+too, that Antoinette was far away and presumably beyond the reach of
+danger or of want, it is easy to understand how they came to forget
+everything but their own happiness, and to regard their marriage--until
+now deemed an impossibility--as a most natural and proper thing.
+
+It was in this condition of mind that Dolores listened to Coursegol's
+description of the little house in the Chevreuse valley, in which they
+were to take refuge; but the vision of happiness conjured up by his
+words was rudely dispelled by a sudden commotion around her which
+recalled her to the grim reality of the dangers that still threatened
+her on every side. The jailer was reading the names of the prisoners who
+were to appear before the Revolutionary Tribunal the next day.
+
+That evening, when Dolores re-entered her cell, eagerly longing for the
+morrow which would bring Philip once more to her side, she was followed
+by Aubry, who was carrying a small iron bedstead which he placed near
+the one occupied by Dolores.
+
+"What are you doing?" inquired the young girl.
+
+"I am placing a bed here for the companion I shall be compelled to give
+you to-morrow, citoyenne. I have resorted to every sort of stratagem to
+gratify your desire to be alone, but now there is no help for it. We are
+expecting a party of prisoners from La Vendee. There are several women
+among them; and some place must be found for them, although the prison
+is filled to overflowing. While you were down-stairs the inspector came
+here and ordered me to put another prisoner in this cell. It is
+annoying, but, never mind; when the new-comers arrive I will choose your
+room-mate, and you will be pleased with her."
+
+This intelligence was exceedingly unwelcome to Dolores, but the hope of
+seeing Philip the next day greatly mitigated her regret. She had just
+left her bed the next morning, when she heard footsteps in the corridor.
+She hastily completed her toilet, and had hardly done so when the key
+turned in the lock. The door opened and Aubry entered. He was not alone;
+but Dolores could not distinguish the features of the lady who
+accompanied him, on account of the dim light and the thick veil that
+shrouded her face.
+
+"Here is your companion," Aubry whispered to Dolores. "I hope you will
+be pleased with my selection. Poor little thing, she seems worn out and
+terribly dejected."
+
+The stranger, without lifting her veil, had seated herself upon her bed
+in an attitude which indicated intense fatigue or despondency. Aubry
+gave her a few directions to which she listened abstractedly, without
+replying or even looking at the jailer, who then withdrew. Dolores,
+after a moment, approached the stranger and said:
+
+"Since we are to be together for a time more or less long, shall we not
+be friends?"
+
+At the sound of the girl's voice, the stranger trembled; then she rose
+and looked Dolores full in the face with a strange intentness.
+
+"Shall we not be friends!" she repeated. "Dolores, do you not know me?"
+
+It was Dolores' turn to tremble. She clasped her hands, uttered a cry of
+astonishment in which one could detect both consternation and joy; then,
+springing forward, she hastily lifted the veil which hid the face of the
+speaker.
+
+"Antoinette! Antoinette!"
+
+"Dolores, you here!"
+
+They were again in each other's arms after four long years of
+separation, kissing each other, questioning each other, smiling and
+weeping by turns.
+
+"Tell me about yourself!" cried Antoinette.
+
+"All in good time, my dearest," replied Dolores. "First, lie down and
+rest. You look weary and are pale with fatigue."
+
+"I was travelling all night!"
+
+Dolores helped her remove her damp clothing and made her lie down upon
+her own bed; then she left her a moment to ask Aubry to bring a cup of
+coffee to her weary friend. That worthy man exhibited his accustomed
+zeal, and soon the two young-girls, one reclining on her couch, the
+other seated by her bedside were talking of the past. But their
+conversation had hardly begun when Antoinette inquired:
+
+"Have you seen Philip?"
+
+A slight pallor overspread the cheeks of Dolores, but the next instant
+she responded, calmly:
+
+"I have seen Philip. He, too, has been arrested, and he will be brought
+here to-day."
+
+Antoinette was eager to know the circumstances of Philip's arrest.
+Dolores related them, and to do so she was obliged to give her companion
+some account of her own life since she left the Chateau de Chamondrin
+four years before. Antoinette was affected to tears by the story of her
+friend's misfortunes. She interrupted her again and again to pity and
+caress her, and Dolores could not summon up courage to speak of her love
+for Philip, or of what had passed between them.
+
+Then, it was Antoinette's turn to speak of herself and of her own past;
+and she soon revealed the fact that Philip had solemnly plighted his
+troth to her at last. She also told her friend that she could not endure
+her life in England, separated from him, and that anxiety for his safety
+had induced her to leave the Reed mansion by stealth and come to France
+in quest of him.
+
+In London, she had sought the protection of the Chevalier de Millemont,
+an aged nobleman, and Philip's devoted friend. That gentleman, after
+vainly attempting to dissuade her, at last consented to make such
+arrangements as would enable her to reach France in safety. It was
+through his efforts that Antoinette was allowed to take passage in a
+small vessel that was sent to bear a message from the princes to La
+Vendee. On reaching the coast of Brittany where the vessel landed, she
+and her travelling companions parted. She was eager to reach Paris, but
+found that the journey would be no easy task. She finally succeeded in
+finding a man who agreed to take her as far as Nantes in his carriage.
+He procured two passports, one for his own use, and in which he figured
+as a grain merchant; the other for Antoinette, who was represented to be
+his daughter. Unfortunately, they stopped for refreshments at a small
+village near Nantes; and Antoinette's unmistakable air of distinction
+and the whiteness of her hands led people to suspect that she was not
+the child of a petty village merchant. The man discovered this; his
+fears were aroused, and while Antoinette was sitting in the parlor of
+the inn, he harnessed his horses and drove off at full speed. This
+cowardly desertion filled the girl with dismay. On finding herself
+alone, she could not conceal her disquietude, and this increased the
+suspicions that had already been aroused. The inn-keeper, who was a
+zealous patriot, compelled her to go with him to the district
+Commissioner. Her presence of mind deserted her; and her incoherent
+replies and her reticence caused her arrest. The Commissioner intended
+to send her to Nantes; but she begged so hard to be sent to Paris,
+instead, that he finally granted her request. That same evening a party
+of prisoners from La Vendee passed through the village; and Antoinette
+was entrusted to the care of the officer in charge of them. After a long
+and painful journey, she at last reached Paris, where the Conciergerie
+opened to receive her.
+
+Such was the story she related to Dolores. The latter listened to it in
+silence. When it was ended, she said to her friend:
+
+"Now you must sleep and regain your strength. Have no fears, I will
+watch over you."
+
+"If I could only see Philip!" sighed Antoinette.
+
+"You shall see him; I promise you that."
+
+Antoinette submissively closed her eyes and soon fell asleep. Dolores
+sat motionless, her thoughts busy with what she had just heard. In all
+this narrative she had clearly understood only two things: first, that
+it was the hope of discovering and saving Philip, whom she still
+passionately loved, that had induced Mlle. de Mirandol to make this
+journey which had terminated so disastrously, and secondly, that Philip
+only a few weeks before had solemnly renewed an engagement which he had
+concealed from her.
+
+"What shall I do?" asked the poor girl, as she remembered with a
+breaking heart her blissful dreams of the evening before.
+
+Her own great love stood face to face with that of Antoinette. Which
+should be sacrificed? Antoinette's most assuredly, since Philip loved
+Dolores. But she dare not contemplate such a solution of the problem.
+
+"What!" she thought; "after the Marquis de Chamondrin has reared me as
+his own child, I repay his kindness by encouraging his son to disobey
+his last wishes? No, no! It is impossible! He made him promise to marry
+Antoinette; and Philip did promise, first his father and afterwards
+Antoinette. What does it matter if he does love me! When he no longer
+sees me, he will forget me! Antoinette will again become dear to him.
+They will be happy. What am I, that I should destroy the plans that were
+so dear to the heart of my benefactor? Have I not made one sacrifice,
+and can I not make another? Come, Dolores, be brave, be strong! If you
+wed Philip, Antoinette will be miserable. Her disappointment would break
+her heart; and all your life long, the phantom form of the dear sister
+whose happiness you had wrecked would stand between your husband and
+yourself. She is innocent; she does not even know that I love Philip. I
+have never admitted it to her; I have always concealed the truth. She
+will be happy; she will feel no remorse, and she will cause peace,
+resignation and love to descend with healing wings upon the heart of him
+she so fondly loves."
+
+Never was there a nobler example of self-denial and renunciation. She
+had only to utter a single word and Philip was hers forever; but if she
+must pain Antoinette's tender heart, and fail in respect to her
+benefactor in order to win happiness, she would have none of it. Such
+were her reflections as she watched over her sleeping friend.
+
+"Ah!" she murmured, as she sadly gazed upon her; "why did you not
+remain in England? Why did you come here? You little know how much
+misery you have caused me!"
+
+One cannot wonder that a rebellious cry rose from her tortured heart;
+but the cry did not escape her lips. It was stifled in her inmost soul
+with the hopes she had just relinquished forever. Suddenly the door
+opened, and the jailer entered. It was now about ten o'clock in the
+morning.
+
+"There is a prisoner below who has just arrived, and who wishes to see
+you, citoyenne."
+
+"It is he!" thought Dolores, turning pale at the thought of meeting
+Philip again.
+
+Nevertheless, she armed herself with courage, and went down-stairs with
+a firm step to welcome Philip. He was awaiting her with feverish
+impatience. On seeing her, he uttered a cry of joy and sprang forward,
+crying:
+
+"Dolores, Dolores, at last we meet never again to part!"
+
+"Never?" she asked, faintly.
+
+"Do you not remember my words? If God, who has united us once more,
+after a long and cruel separation, saves us from the dangers that
+threaten us with destruction, shall you not believe that he smiles upon
+our love? Ah, well! thanks to Coursegol, we shall succeed in making our
+escape from this place. We shall soon be free!"
+
+"And what is to be Antoinette's fate?'
+
+"Antoinette?"
+
+Dolores looked him full in the eyes and said, with all the firmness she
+could command:
+
+"You left Antoinette in England, Philip, promising to marry her on your
+return. She is now in France, in Paris, in this prison. She comes to
+claim the fulfilment of your promise."
+
+While Dolores was speaking, Philip's face underwent an entire change, so
+great was the surprise and emotion caused by this intelligence. When she
+had finished, he could make no response; he could only lean against the
+wall of the prison, speechless and motionless.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+LOVE'S CONFLICTS.
+
+
+What Philip had just heard filled his heart with grief and
+consternation. How had Antoinette succeeded in reaching Paris? What had
+been her object in coming? Dolores repeated the story exactly as
+Antoinette had told it. When it was ended she simply added:
+
+"Philip, why did you not tell me of the engagement that existed between
+you? What! you left Antoinette scarcely six weeks ago--left her,
+promising to marry her on your return, and now you entreat me to be your
+wife!"
+
+Philip hastily interrupted her.
+
+"Ah, Dolores, do not reproach me. I have been neither false nor
+treacherous. There has been a terrible, a fatal mistake. Yes, separated
+from you, convinced that I should never see you again--that you were
+dead or forever lost to me, I made Antoinette the same promise I made my
+father four years ago, when I believed you consecrated to God; but when
+I found you once more, you whom I adore, how could I forget that you
+first--that you alone, possessed my heart? Even as a child, I loved you
+as one loves a wife, not as one loves a sister; and this passion has
+grown with my growth, and strengthened with my strength, until it has
+become the ruling power of my life."
+
+"Alas!" murmured Dolores.
+
+"And when a thrice-blessed change has brought us together once more, now
+that I can at last cover your dear hands with kisses, and feast my
+hungry eyes upon your beauty, you would forbid me in the name of
+Antoinette to tell you what has been in my heart so many years? No,
+Dolores, no. You are strong, I know. You possess sufficient energy and
+determination to conquer yourself and to remain apparently cold and
+unmoved while your heart is writhing in anguish; but I have no such
+fortitude. I cannot hide my suffering; I love you, I must tell you so."
+
+As he spoke, Philip became more and more agitated. Tears gathered in his
+eyes and his features worked convulsively.
+
+"Do you not see," he resumed, after a short silence, "that the scruples
+which led us to conceal the truth were the causes of all our misery? If,
+hand in hand, we had knelt before him and said: 'Father, we love each
+other, give us your blessing,' he would have been content."
+
+"You are mistaken, Philip. Just before I left for the convent, I told
+the Marquis with my own lips of your love for me, and he did not bid me
+stay."
+
+Philip stood as if stupefied.
+
+"My father knew--"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And yet, on his deathbed, he compelled me to promise that I would marry
+Antoinette!"
+
+"He thought you would forget me."
+
+"Can those who truly love ever forget?" cried Philip. "But what is to be
+done?" he asked.
+
+Dolores made no response. She stood before him with eyes downcast that
+he might not see the conflict which was raging in her soul. Philip took
+advantage of her hesitation to plead his cause anew.
+
+"Listen, Dolores; it is not right that we should all sacrifice ourselves
+to my father's ambition; and if I wed Antoinette, still loving you, I
+cannot make her happy. Besides, what would become of you?"
+
+"But if I listen to you, what will become of Antoinette?"
+
+"She will forget. She loves me because she met me before she met any
+other young man, before she had seen the world; but she will soon forget
+me. After a few tears that cannot compare in bitterness with those that
+I have shed, and with those I shall shed, if I am compelled to give you
+up, she will bestow her love elsewhere."
+
+"Do not wrong her, Philip. For four long years she has considered
+herself your wife in the sight of God, and now you would leave her to
+mourn your infidelity!"
+
+"My infidelity!"
+
+"Yes, Philip, for you have plighted your troth to her. You have made no
+promise to me."
+
+"And you?"
+
+"I have promised nothing."
+
+"But your silence the other evening when I entreated you to grant my
+suit--was not your silence then an avowal?"
+
+"You misunderstood me!" replied Dolores, courageously.
+
+The girl could endure no more; her strength was exhausted; but her
+decision was made, and her sole aim now was to assure Antoinette's
+happiness by compelling Philip to marry her. She said, gently:
+
+"Coursegol must bring the order of release by the aid of which you and I
+were to leave the prison. It will be of service when we plan
+Antoinette's escape."
+
+Philip uttered an exclamation of remonstrance. She pretended not to hear
+it and continued:
+
+"You will go with her. When you are once outside these walls, thanks to
+Coursegol, it will be easy for you to reach a place of safety. I do not
+ask you to marry Antoinette as soon as you have left me; but when time
+has calmed the fever that is now raging in your heart, and peace has
+descended upon your troubled soul, you will bravely fulfil the promise
+you have made, as befits an honest man. This is my request."
+
+Philip shook his head.
+
+"What is to be your fate?" he inquired.
+
+"If I ever leave this prison, or rather, if I escape the guillotine, I
+shall go to some foreign land and there, resuming the vocation to which
+I have consecrated myself, I shall pass the remainder of my life in a
+convent where I shall pray for you. But I shall not take the vows of
+eternal seclusion from the world; and if, some day, you feel strong
+enough to endure my presence without danger to your peace of mind, I
+will see you again, Philip, and give your children a second mother by
+the renewal of my friendship with Antoinette."
+
+"I refuse to obey you! No; I will not marry Antoinette, and since you
+would compel me to do so, she shall decide what course I ought to
+pursue. I will tell her all; I will tell her that we love each other,
+that we have always loved each other."
+
+"Hush!" said Dolores, beseechingly; "she must never know--you have no
+right to reveal a secret that is as much mine as it is yours."
+
+Their conversation had lasted some time. The yard and the hall that
+opened into it were beginning to fill with the inmates of the prison.
+They came down from their cells by no means certain that evening would
+find them still alive; and yet this uncertainty did not mar the serenity
+of their features or of their minds. Several, on passing Philip and
+Dolores, looked at them with evident curiosity, as if anxious to know
+the theme of such an animated conversation.
+
+"I must return to Antoinette," said Dolores. "I will bring her down with
+me, and I entreat you, in the name of your love, to say nothing that
+will cause her pain. There is no haste. We are in prison, and, in spite
+of Coursegol's efforts, none of us may succeed in making our escape. An
+act of accusation may fall upon one of us, if not upon all three of us,
+at any moment. What the future has in store for us we do not know, but
+let us not embitter the present by reproaches and differences. Let us
+live here, as we lived at Chamondrin, in perfect harmony, encouraging
+and sustaining one another in our misfortunes, so we can endure them
+cheerfully, and wait with patience until time shall solve this
+difficulty for us."
+
+"What energy you possess!" replied Philip, gladly accepting this
+proposal, since it gave him a gleam of hope.
+
+Dolores left him to go to Antoinette, and Philip mingled with the other
+prisoners, among whom he found many noblemen and titled ladies whose
+acquaintance he had made at court and at the house of the Duke de
+Penthieore. Antoinette was just waking when Dolores returned to the cell
+they shared in common, and she did not notice the emotion that was still
+visible on her friend's face. She smiled, extended her hand and kissed
+her.
+
+"Philip?" she asked.
+
+This was the first word she uttered.
+
+"Philip has come. I have seen him; he is waiting for you below."
+
+This news made Antoinette spring hastily to her feet; and arm in arm the
+two girls went down to join Philip. Dolores felt Antoinette's heart
+throb violently, so deeply was she moved by the thought of seeing him
+whom she regarded as her betrothed. She flew to his arms with such
+artless delight that he was really touched with remorse when he
+remembered that, only a moment before, he had almost hated this lovely
+young girl whose only fault was her love for him.
+
+"Poor child," he said, almost tenderly, "why did you not remain in
+England? Why did you expose yourself to such danger?"
+
+"Was it not my duty to come to you that I might die with you? When,
+after vainly waiting a fortnight for news of you, I heard of the death
+of the queen, I said to myself that, in your fruitless efforts to save
+her, you must have incurred great peril, and that you had probably been
+arrested. You see that I was not mistaken. So I started to find you, and
+I deem myself fortunate to be with you once more."
+
+This response, which Dolores heard distinctly, was only another proof of
+the promises Philip had made to Antoinette. These promises, consecrated
+as they had been by the blessing of the Abbe Peretty, beside the
+deathbed of the Marquis de Chamondrin, seemed of so sacred a nature in
+the eyes of Antoinette that she really felt it her duty to treat Philip
+as if their marriage was an accomplished fact.
+
+Dolores glanced at Philip; her look seemed to say:
+
+"Would you dare to tell her that you do not love her? No; think only of
+making yourself worthy of her, and of assuring the happiness to which
+she is justly entitled."
+
+Philip was greatly embarrassed. Antoinette seemed to expect that he
+would greet her arrival with some word expressive of joy or of love;
+but, in spite of his efforts, he could not utter a word. The presence of
+Dolores from whom he could no longer conceal the truth, intimidated him
+and rendered him mute. Some minutes passed thus. The prisoners were
+passing and repassing. Those who had been surprised by the arrival of
+Philip a short time before, were now wondering who this young girl, for
+whom Dolores evinced all a sister's tenderness, could be.
+
+We have already said that each of the prisons which had been crowded
+with victims by the Reign of Terror was a faithful reproduction of the
+aristocratic society of Paris, now decimated by death and by exile, but
+which was famous for its intrigues, its wit, its indiscretions, its
+luxury and its gallantries. Behind the prison bars the ladies still
+remained grandes dames; the men, courtiers: and neither sex had lost any
+of its interest in small events as well as great. On the contrary, the
+monotony of prison life and the desire to kill time intensified this
+interest so natural to the French mind. An incident of trifling
+importance furnished them with a topic of conversation for hours. The
+new dress in which the duchess had appeared, the pleasure with which the
+marquise seemed to receive the attentions of the chevalier, interested
+this little world, which had not been cured of its frivolity by its
+misfortunes, as much as the heroism which the last person condemned had
+displayed on ascending the scaffold.
+
+This serves to explain how and why a general curiosity was awakened by
+the appearance of Antoinette de Mirandol. A few moments before, they had
+noticed the Marquis de Chamondrin engaged in animated conversation with
+Dolores. The malicious scented an intrigue; the ladies undertook the
+defence of Dolores; the old people remembered that she had been educated
+with Philip, and thought it quite natural that they should have much to
+say to each other after a long separation; but when Dolores, after
+absenting herself a few moments, returned with a charming young girl
+upon her arm, a stranger, whom she led straight to Philip, every one
+was eager to know the name of the new-comer. They watched the group
+with evident curiosity, as if trying to divine what was passing; they
+commented on the emotion betrayed in Philip's face, and the
+acquaintances of Dolores were anxiously waiting for an opportunity to
+question her.
+
+"I think we are creating quite a sensation," Dolores said, at last, in a
+low tone and with a smile.
+
+Philip turned, and seeing they were the subject of universal comment,
+and desiring an opportunity to collect his scattered thoughts, he said:
+
+"We will meet again presently."
+
+Then, without another word, he left them.
+
+Dolores looked at Antoinette. She was very pale, and she trembled
+violently. Dolores led her gently back to the cell which they occupied
+in common. When Antoinette found herself again alone with her friend she
+made no attempt to restrain her tears.
+
+"He did not even answer me," she sobbed. "My arrival seemed to cause him
+sorrow rather than joy."
+
+"It is because he loves you and it makes him wretched to see you
+threatened by the same dangers that surround us," replied Dolores,
+striving to console her.
+
+"Does he love me? I am quite sure, had I been in his place, that I
+should have awaited his coming with impatience and greeted him with joy.
+I should have seen in it only a proof of love, and I should have
+forgotten the dangers he had incurred in the rapture of meeting. When
+two persons love, there is no sorrow so great as to be separated by
+death. The one who survives can but be wretched for the rest of his
+life; and the kindest and most generous wish the departing soul can
+frame is that the loved one left behind, may soon follow."
+
+Dolores made no reply. She understood the deep despondency which had
+taken possession of Antoinette's mind. Her own sorrow was no less
+poignant, but it was mitigated by a feeling of serenity and resignation,
+which was constantly gaining strength now that what has just passed had
+convinced her of the necessity of her sacrifice; and, from that moment,
+there reigned in the heart of Dolores, a boundless self-abnegation, a
+constant desire to insure the happiness of her friend by the surrender
+of her own. The remainder of the day passed uneventfully. Dolores and
+Antoinette made only one more visit to the hall below, and then Philip
+avoided them.
+
+"He is suffering," said Antoinette. "What troubles him?"
+
+She could learn this only by learning, at the same time, that Philip was
+not only indifferent to her, but that his love was given to Dolores. The
+latter, faithful to her vow, carefully concealed Philip's secret from
+her friend. That evening, before they retired, the two girls talked long
+and sadly of the past. They lived over again the happy hours they had
+spent together; and when, overcome with weariness, sleep at last
+overtook them, they fancied themselves once more in the Chateau de
+Chamondrin. Dolores was listening to the Marquis, as he divulged the
+hopes he had centred on Philip, and planned a noble and wealthy alliance
+which would restore the glory of his name. But Antoinette's thoughts
+had taken a different course. When she awoke in the morning, her mind
+reverted to the days which had immediately followed her arrival at the
+chateau five years before--the days when love suddenly sprang up and
+blossomed in her soul. Then, she recalled a morning when Philip
+requested an interview with her. She believed herself beloved, and stole
+to the trysting-place in a transport of unspeakable joy. What
+consternation filled her heart when Philip told her of his love for
+Dolores, and entreated her to plead his cause! The painful impression
+produced by this scene gradually faded after Dolores left the chateau to
+enter the convent at Avignon, and when Antoinette saw Philip becoming,
+each day, more and more favorably disposed toward herself; but now this
+impression returned again even more strongly and vividly than before,
+and awakened fresh sorrow and despair in the poor girl's soul. Philip's
+desire to postpone their marriage and his failure to keep his promises
+were now explained. The cold reception he had accorded her enlightened
+the poor child as to the real sentiments of the man whom she only
+yesterday regarded as her husband. She found herself in the same
+position she had occupied years before; the same danger threatened her
+happiness with destruction--Philip loved Dolores. When the revelation
+burst upon her, she could not repress a moan, and burying her face in
+her pillow, she sobbed and wept unheard by Dolores, who was sleeping
+peacefully only a few feet from her. All the pangs of anguish that had
+tortured her five years before now returned; and her suffering was even
+more poignant, for her love had increased and her hopes had grown
+stronger. Her first outbreak of despair was followed by a season of
+calmness which enabled her to decide upon her future course; and, after
+fighting against her doubts and fears for a long time, she finally
+concluded to go to Dolores and ascertain the extent of her misfortune
+from this faithful friend. The first gray light of morning was stealing
+into the gloomy cell when Antoinette arrived at this conclusion, and the
+next moment she was up and dressed. She approached the bed upon which
+Dolores was lying, still asleep. Antoinette seated herself at the foot
+of the bed and waited. It was her pale face and eyes swimming with tears
+that first met her companion's gaze when she awoke.
+
+"You have been weeping, Antoinette?" she exclaimed with tender
+solicitude.
+
+"Yes; I have passed a miserable night."
+
+"Why? How?"
+
+"Philip's indifference has wounded me to the heart!"
+
+"Do not grieve about that, my dearest. What you think indifference, is
+perhaps, an excess of tenderness. Philip regrets that you did not remain
+in England. The terrible position in which you are placed grieves and,
+at the same time, irritates him."
+
+She thus endeavored to quiet Antoinette's suspicions, but the latter
+could no longer be deceived. She heard her to the end; then she asked.
+
+"Are you sure that these are really Philip's sentiments? Is it not more
+probable that there is another love in his heart?"
+
+"Another love!" repeated Dolores, frightened by these words; "do not
+believe it. Philip is your betrothed husband; he knows it. He is as
+conscious of his present as of his future duties; and he loves you
+only."
+
+"You are wrong, Dolores. It is you he loves!"
+
+"Loves me! Who has told you this?"
+
+"So it is true! Ah! I was sure of it," murmured Antoinette. "He has met
+you again after a separation of four years, and I am forgotten."
+
+Dolores rose, took her friend in her arms as if she were a child, and
+said gently:
+
+"Be comforted, I entreat you. Your imagination deceives you and leads
+you far from the truth. It is possible that Philip, on meeting me again,
+was moved by some of the emotions that are often awakened in the heart
+by memories of the past; but these emotions are fleeting and do not
+endanger your happiness. If Philip once cherished fancies that troubled
+your peace, you know that my departure sufficed to cure him of them; and
+should these foolish fancies revive, my departure will again suffice to
+dispel them and to restore to you the heart to which you, and you alone,
+have an inalienable claim."
+
+These words reassured Antoinette. She ceased to weep, and her whole
+heart seemed to go out in gratitude to Dolores. The latter continued:
+
+"If God wills that we recover our freedom, you shall depart with Philip.
+As for me, I shall take refuge in some convent in a foreign land. My
+place is there, and I solemnly assure you that I shall never marry."
+
+"Ah! how I thank you!" cried Antoinette. "You have restored my
+happiness and my peace of mind."
+
+Love is selfish, and Antoinette knew nothing of Dolores' struggles. She
+did not attempt to fathom the motives of her friend, and relieved by the
+assurance she had just received, and no longer doubting her ability to
+regain her lost influence over Philip, she passed suddenly from the
+poignant suffering we have described to a state of peaceful security.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+THE THUNDERBOLT.
+
+
+Three days passed, leaving the situation of affairs unchanged.
+Antoinette and Dolores saw Philip but seldom, though they were living
+under the same roof, so persistently did he avoid them. If he chanced to
+enter the hall when they were there, he took refuge with some of the
+groups of gentlemen, where the two girls would not be likely to approach
+him unless they had something of great importance to communicate to
+their ungracious friend.
+
+What Philip utterly lacked, after the events recounted in the last
+chapter, was resignation. He felt, that Dolores was irrevocably lost to
+him, and that even if she left the prison alive, she would instantly
+place an impassable barrier between them; but though he was convinced of
+this, he could not make up his mind to submit to a decision that
+destroyed all his hopes of happiness; so he hoped and despaired by
+turns, sometimes assuring himself that he could find words sufficiently
+eloquent to move Dolores, sometimes admitting with a sort of desperation
+that nothing could shake the firmness of the young girl who had resolved
+to sacrifice her happiness for the sake of duty.
+
+Antoinette and Dolores respected his sadness and his evident desire for
+solitude. They spent most of their time together in their own little
+room, happy in being again united, and bearing the trials that beset
+them on every side with wonderful fortitude. Each evening found them
+astonished that they had not been summoned before the Revolutionary
+Tribunal; and each evening they said, not without anguish:
+
+"The summons will come, perhaps, to-morrow."
+
+The fourth day after Philip's arrival at the Conciergerie, Aubry, the
+jailer, who had shown Dolores so much kindness and attention, obtained
+leave of absence for the day, and engaged Coursegol to take his place.
+Once before he had made a similar arrangement, and Coursegol had thus
+been able to spend almost an entire day with Dolores.
+
+His anxiety to see her now, was increased by his desire to fix upon a
+plan whereby he could rescue her and also Philip from the danger that
+threatened them. He brought with him the order in which he had inserted
+their names, and which would set "Citoyen and Citoyenne Chamondrin" at
+liberty. He was not aware of Antoinette's arrest, and when he entered
+the cell and saw Mlle. de Mirandol, he uttered an exclamation of dismay.
+
+"You here, mademoiselle!" he cried.
+
+"Yes, I have been here three days."
+
+"But the order releases only two persons!" he exclaimed, sorrowfully.
+
+Antoinette did not understand him; she had heard nothing about the order
+to which he alluded; but Dolores quickly approached Coursegol and said,
+hurriedly, in a low voice:
+
+"Not another word. Give me the order. When the proper time comes, it
+shall be used by those who have the best right to it."
+
+Coursegol reluctantly obeyed. He was convinced that Dolores would
+concentrate all her efforts upon the deliverance of Philip and
+Antoinette; and he almost hated the latter who, for the second time,
+imperiled the life and happiness of one so dear to him.
+
+"Before, it was her presence in the chateau that prevented the marriage
+of my dear Dolores to the man she loved; to-day, after I have worked so
+hard to secure their liberty and the realization of their hopes, it is
+she who destroys all my plans," he thought. Perhaps he would have given
+vent to his feelings had not Dolores, who seemed to read what was
+passing in his mind, made an imperative sign; so he withdrew and went to
+join Philip, and to tell him that the order was in the hands of Dolores.
+
+"It will not be used," said Philip, sadly. "If it would open the prison
+doors for two women, I could induce them to go; but since I must go out
+with one of them, and as neither will consent to save her life at the
+cost of the other's, we shall all remain."
+
+"Then all my efforts will be lost," cried Coursegol, despairingly; "and
+I shall be compelled to see you perish after I have accomplished
+miracles in order to save you."
+
+And tears of anger and disappointment sprang to his eyes.
+
+Philip calmed him by explaining how impossible it would be for two to
+avail themselves of an opportunity to escape and abandon their friend
+to her fate. If one was forsaken by the others, eternal remorse would be
+the portion of those who deserted her; hence, they must make their
+escape together or await the denouement.
+
+Coursegol promised to do his best to obtain an order which could be used
+by three persons; and he left the prison towards evening, telling his
+friends that he would see them again in a few days and even sooner, if
+possible.
+
+While he was there, Antoinette, Dolores, and Philip had repaired, as if
+by common consent, to the main hall; and when he had gone, the three
+young people found themselves together.
+
+"Shall we still persist in shunning one another?" Antoinette asked
+Philip.
+
+"No, no," he replied, touched by the tender sorrow in her voice; "let us
+be together while we can; then, should death be our portion, we shall
+not be obliged to regret that we have not consecrated to friendship the
+few moments left at our disposal."
+
+"That is well, Philip," rejoined Dolores, and as she could say no more
+in Antoinette's presence without revealing the secret she wished to
+conceal, she extended her hand to her friend as if in approval of his
+decision.
+
+They remained together until the usual signal warned the prisoners that
+they must retire to their cells and extinguish their lights; but no
+allusion was made to the order of release. Philip and Dolores seemed to
+have tacitly agreed to conceal from Antoinette the fact that her
+unforeseen arrival had prevented their immediate restoration to liberty.
+
+The next morning Dolores went down to the public hall, and there held a
+long conversation with Philip.
+
+"Since God has united us here," she said to him; "let us enjoy the time
+he has given us, and allow no differences to creep in between us and
+destroy the peace and harmony that are our only consolation. I do not
+wish to know your feelings, whatever they may be. You must constantly
+bear in mind these two things, Philip--that I can never, never be your
+wife, and that you owe Antoinette reparation. This is the duty that life
+imposes upon you. So accept your destiny, and no longer pain us by the
+sight of your despondency. It only renders me miserable and it can
+change nothing."
+
+Philip listened with bowed head to these firm words. He said to himself:
+
+"She is right. Why should we concern ourselves about the future, since
+the present allows me to remain by her side? We are ever on the
+threshold of the grave, here. Alas! we must escape from the shadow of
+death that is hanging over us before we make any plans for the future."
+
+But he was touched, and while he mentally resolved to keep his love and
+his hopes a secret in his own heart, he bowed over the hand of Dolores,
+and raising it to his lips, said:
+
+"You speak wisely, my sister. I will be worthy of you."
+
+This day was the first that passed happily for the three whose
+life-history we are attempting to relate. Unfortunately, this
+long-sought happiness was to endure but for a day. The very next
+afternoon after the just described, all the prisoners were assembled in
+the main hall. It was the last of December, and night comes quickly in
+winter. It was only four o'clock, and already the gathering twilight
+warned the prisoners that the hour for returning to their cells was fast
+approaching.
+
+Suddenly there was a movement in the crowd. The prisoners nearest the
+door pushed against those who were further away, and soon they found
+themselves ranged along the wall, while a large vacant space was left in
+the centre of the room.
+
+A man had just entered. He was attired in black, and he wore a large red
+cockade on his hat. In his hand he held a roll of papers. Four soldiers
+accompanied him. It was easy to recognize in this personage a clerk of
+the Revolutionary Tribunal; and it was his duty as an officer of that
+body, to visit the prisons and read the names of those condemned to
+death and of those who were summoned to appear before the Tribunal to
+answer the charges against them. Like an avenging spirit, he appeared
+every day at the same hour, rigid, inflexible, cruel, deaf to
+supplications and tears, a grim avant-courier of the executioner,
+selecting his victims and marking them for death.
+
+Accustomed as they were to see him, his appearance among the prisoners
+always caused a thrill of horror. There was so much youth, beauty,
+innocence, grace, and devotion there! Why should they be doomed? They
+were enemies to whom? To what projects were they an obstacle? Useless
+questions! It is because Robespierre laid his merciless hand upon the
+good, upon the weak and upon the timid that his name will be eternally
+held in execration by all generous hearts.
+
+When this official entered, Antoinette and Philip, who were as yet
+unversed in the customs of the prison, were pushed back by the crowd
+into the yard, without understanding why. Dolores, who knew what was to
+come, remained in the hall and chanced to be in the foremost row.
+
+The clerk came forward, unrolled a long list and began to read in a loud
+voice the names of all who were to appear before the Tribunal the
+following day. What a strange medley of names! Names of plebeians and of
+nobles; of nuns and of priests; of royalists and of republicans; of old
+men and of children; of men and of women; it was all the same, provided
+the guillotine was not compelled to wait for its prey.
+
+Each time a prisoner's name was called a murmur, more or less prolonged
+according as the rank, the age or the sex of the victim inspired more or
+less sympathy or pity, ran through the crowd. Then, the person named
+came forward and received from the hands of the official a paper,
+enumerating the real or imaginary crimes with which he was charged and
+ordering him to appear before his judges the following day. If his
+father, his wife or his children were in prison with him, the air was
+filled with tears and lamentations.
+
+One could hear such words as these:
+
+"If they had but taken me!"
+
+"Would I could die in your stead!"
+
+These heart-breaking scenes began even before the departure of the
+officer, and generally lasted the entire night until the hour of final
+adieu; but if the prisoner designated was alone and without family, he
+came forward with a firm step, stoically accepted his sentence of death,
+and hummed a lively air as he returned to the crowd where a dozen
+unknown, but friendly, hands were extended as if to encourage and
+strengthen him.
+
+Dolores had been a sympathetic witness of many such scenes, and that
+evening she was neither more nor less moved than on previous occasions.
+The eyes and the heart soon become accustomed to anything. But suddenly
+she trembled. Those near her saw her totter and turn pale. She had just
+heard the officer call the name of Antoinette de Mirandol. She glanced
+around her but did not see her friend. Antoinette was with Philip,
+outside the door. She did not reply to her name. The clerk repeated it
+in a still louder voice.
+
+"Antoinette de Mirandol," he repeated a third time.
+
+Dolores stepped forward.
+
+"Here I am," said she. "Pardon me, I did not hear at first."
+
+"Are you Citoyenne Mirandol?"
+
+"The same."
+
+This generous response, twice repeated, caused a murmur of admiration,
+surprise and consternation among those who knew Dolores. She did not
+hear it, but her eyes glowed with heroic resolve as, with a firm hand,
+she took the act of accusation extended to her, and slowly returned to
+her place.
+
+The name of Antoinette to which she had just responded was the last
+upon the sad list.
+
+"All whose names I have called will be tried to-morrow morning at ten
+o'clock."
+
+With these words, the messenger of the Tribunal withdrew. Then came a
+sigh of relief from those who had not been summoned.
+
+The friends of Dolores assembled around her.
+
+"Unfortunate child, what have you done?" asked one.
+
+"Are you, then, so anxious to die?"
+
+"Why did you go forward when it was not your name that he called?"
+
+She glanced calmly at her questioners; then, in a voice in which
+entreaty was mingled with the energy that denotes an immutable resolve,
+she said:
+
+"I beg that no one will interfere in this matter, or make me unhappy by
+endeavoring to persuade me to reconsider my decision. Above all, I
+earnestly entreat you to keep my secret."
+
+No one made any response. The wish she had expressed was equivalent to a
+command; and as such, deeds of heroism were not uncommon, the one which
+she had performed so bravely, and which would cost her her life, was
+forgotten in a few moments by her companions in misfortune, who were
+naturally absorbed in the question as to when their own turn was to
+come.
+
+Dolores passed through the little group that had gathered around her,
+each person stepping aside with a grave bow to make way for her, and
+rejoined Antoinette and Philip, who knew nothing of what had taken
+place. When she appeared before them no trace of emotion was visible
+upon her face, and she had concealed the fated paper beneath the fichu
+that covered her bosom. She chatted cheerfully with her friends until
+the sound of the drum warned the prisoners that they must retire to
+their cells. Then, she smilingly extended her hand to Philip.
+
+"Good-night!" she said, simply.
+
+And taking Antoinette's arm in hers, she led her back to the cell they
+occupied in common. Antoinette entered first, leaving Dolores alone an
+instant in the main corridor. The latter turned and swiftly retraced her
+steps. She was seeking Aubry, the jailer. She soon met him. He, too, was
+ignorant of all that had occurred.
+
+"Where are you going?" he inquired, in a half-good-natured,
+half-grumbling tone.
+
+"I was looking for you," Dolores replied. "I must send a message to
+Coursegol this very night."
+
+"I am not sure that I can get permission to leave the prison."
+
+"You must," she eagerly rejoined. "It is absolutely necessary that I see
+Coursegol to-morrow morning at nine o'clock. If he comes later, he will
+not find me here."
+
+And as Aubry looked at her in astonishment, she added:
+
+"I am to appear to-morrow before the Tribunal."
+
+"You! I hoped they had forgotten you."
+
+"Hush! not a word to any one, above all, to the young girl who shares
+my cell. If you have any regard for me, give my message to Coursegol.
+You will do a good deed for which you shall be rewarded."
+
+She left the kind-hearted jailer without another word, and hastened back
+to the cell where Antoinette was awaiting her.
+
+Dolores passed the night in a profound and peaceful slumber and awoke
+with a heart overflowing with pure and holy joy at the thought that she
+was about to heroically crown a life devoted to duty and to abnegation.
+She did not underrate the sacrifice she was to make; but she knew that
+the death would not be without moral grandeur, and even while she
+comprehended that she had exceeded the limit of the obligations which
+duty imposed upon her, she felt no agitation, no regret.
+
+She rose early and arrayed herself with more than usual care. The dress
+she selected was of gray cashmere. Her shoulders were covered with a
+silk fichu of the same color, knotted behind at the waist. Upon her head
+she wore one of the tall, plumed felt hats in fashion at the time, and
+from which her golden hair descended in heavy braids upon her white
+neck. Never had she been more beautiful. The light of immortality seemed
+to beam in her lovely face; and the serenity of her heart, the
+enthusiasm that inspired her and the fervor of her religious faith
+imparted an inexpressible charm to her features. When her toilet was
+completed, she knelt, and for an hour her soul ascended in fervent
+aspiration to the God in whom she had placed her trust. Her heart was
+deeply touched: but there were no tears in her eyes.
+
+"Death," she thought, "is only a journey to a better life. In the
+unknown world to which my soul will take flight, I shall rejoin those
+whom I love and who have gone before: the Marquis, whose benevolence
+sheltered me from misery and want; his wife, who lavished all a mother's
+tenderness upon me; my mother, herself, who died soon after giving me
+birth. For those I leave behind me I shall wait on high, watching over
+them, and praying for their peace and happiness."
+
+These consoling thoughts crowded in upon her as if to strengthen her in
+her last moments by hopes which render the weakest natures strong and
+indomitable, even before the most frightful suffering. She rose calm and
+tranquil, and approached Antoinette's bedside. She was sleeping soundly.
+Dolores looked at her a moment with loving, pitying eyes.
+
+"May my death assure your happiness," she murmured, softly; "and may
+Philip love you as fondly as I have loved him!"
+
+She left the cell. In the corridor, she met Aubry, who was in search of
+her.
+
+"Your friend Coursegol is waiting for you below," he said, sadly.
+
+"Oh! thank you," she quickly and cheerfully rejoined.
+
+She hastened down. Coursegol was there. He was very pale, his face was
+haggard, and his eyes were terribly swollen. Warned the evening before
+by Aubry, the poor man had spent the entire night in the street,
+crouching against the wall of the prison, weeping and moaning while he
+waited for the hour when he could see Dolores.
+
+"What do I hear, mademoiselle," he exclaimed, on meeting her. "You are
+summoned before the Tribunal! Oh! it is impossible. There must be some
+mistake. They can accuse you of no crime, nor can they think of
+punishing you as if you had been an Emigre or a conspirator."
+
+"Nevertheless, I received a summons yesterday and also a paper
+containing the charge against me."
+
+"Alas, alas!" groaned Coursegol, "why did you not listen to me? Why have
+you not made use of the order I procured for you? You would now be at
+liberty and happy."
+
+"But Antoinette had no means of escape."
+
+"And what do I care for Mademoiselle de Mirandol? She is nothing to me,
+while you are almost my daughter. If you die, I shall not survive you. I
+have accomplished miracles to insure your escape from prison. I also
+flattered myself that I had assured your life's happiness, but by your
+imprudence you have rendered all my efforts futile. Oh, God is not
+just!"
+
+"Coursegol, in pity say no more!"
+
+But he would not heed her. He was really beside himself, and he
+continued his lamentations and reproaches with increasing violence,
+though his voice was choked with sobs. He gesticulated wildly; he formed
+a thousand plans, each more insane than the preceding. Now, he declared
+his intention of forcibly removing Dolores; now he declared he would
+appeal to the judges for mercy; again he swore that Vauquelas should
+interfere in her behalf. But the girl forbade any attempt to save her.
+
+"No, my good Coursegol," she said; "the thought of death does not
+appall me; and those who mourn for me will find consolation in the hope
+of meeting me elsewhere."
+
+"And do you think this hope will suffice for me?" cried Coursegol.
+"Since I took you from the breast of your dying mother on the threshold
+of the Chateau de Chamondrin, I have loved you more and more each day. I
+lived for you and for you alone. My every hope and ambition were centred
+in you. You were my joy, my happiness, the only charm life had for me;
+and to see you condemned, you, the innocent--"
+
+Sobs choked his utterance.
+
+"Show me the charges against you," he demanded, suddenly.
+
+"What is the use?" rejoined Dolores, desiring to conceal the truth from
+him until the last.
+
+"I wish to know the crimes of which you are accused," persisted
+Coursegol. "There are no proofs against you. I will find a lawyer to
+defend you--if need be, I, myself will defend you."
+
+"It would be useless, my friend. Your efforts would only compromise you,
+without saving me."
+
+As she spoke, she heard quick footsteps behind her. She turned. The
+officer who was there the evening before had returned to conduct the
+prisoners to the Tribunal. He began to call their names.
+
+"Farewell, farewell," murmured Dolores, huskily.
+
+In this parting from the friend who had loved her so long and
+faithfully, she experienced the first pang of anguish that had assailed
+her heart since she had decided to sacrifice her own life for
+Antoinette's sake.
+
+"Not farewell," responded Coursegol, "but au revoir!"
+
+And without another word, he departed.
+
+Dolores glanced around the hall; but saw nothing of Philip or
+Antoinette. She was greatly relieved, for she had feared that their
+emotion would unnerve her; but now she could reasonably hope to carry
+with her to the grave the secret of the devotion which was to cost her
+her life. She did not wish Philip ever to know that she had died in
+place of Antoinette, lest her friend should become hateful in his sight,
+and Antoinette herself be condemned to eternal remorse.
+
+It was now nine o'clock, and about twenty persons had assembled in the
+hall. The majority of them were unfortunates who, like Dolores, were to
+appear that morning before the tribunal; but all did not enjoy a
+serenity like hers. One, a young man, seated upon a chair, a little
+apart from his companions, allowed his eyes to rove restlessly around
+without pausing upon any of the objects that surrounded him. Though his
+body was there, his mind assuredly, was far away. He was thinking,
+doubtless, of days gone by, memories of which always flock into the
+minds of those who are about to die; not far from him, a venerable man
+condemned to death, was striving to conquer his emotion in order to
+console a young girl--his daughter--who hung about his neck, wiping
+bitterly; there, stood a priest, repeating his breviary, pausing every
+now and then to reply to each of the prisoners who came to implore the
+benediction which, according to the tenets of the Romish Church,
+insures the soul the eternal joys of Paradise. So these prisoners, all
+differently occupied, were grouped about the hall; and those who were to
+die displayed far more fortitude and resignation than those who would
+survive them. Dolores approached the priest.
+
+"Father," said she, "on returning from the Tribunal, I shall beg you to
+listen to my confession and to grant me absolution."
+
+As he looked upon this beautiful young girl who confronted death so
+calmly and serenely, the priest closed his book and said, in a voice
+trembling with compassion:
+
+"What! are you, too, a victim for the guillotine? You cannot be a
+conspirator. Do these wretches respect nothing?"
+
+"I am glad to die," Dolores said, simply.
+
+Did he comprehend that this resignation concealed some great sacrifice?
+Perhaps so. He looked at her with admiration, and bowed respectfully
+before her, as he replied:
+
+"You set us all an example of courage, my child. If you are condemned, I
+will give you absolution; and I shall ask you to address to Him, who
+never turns a deaf ear to the petitions of the innocent, a prayer for
+me."
+
+There was so much sadness in his voice that all the sympathies of
+Dolores were aroused. She pitied those who were doomed to die without
+even remembering to weep over her own sad fate.
+
+When the name of Mademoiselle de Mirandol was called, Dolores stepped
+forward as she had done the evening before, and took her place with the
+other prisoners between the double file of soldiers who were to conduct
+them to the Tribunal. Then the gloomy cortege started. When they entered
+the court-room a loud shout rent the air. The hall was filled with
+sans-culottes and tricoteuses who came every day to feast their eyes
+upon the agony of the prisoners, and to accompany them to the
+guillotine. Never was there such an intense and long-continued thirst
+for blood as prevailed in those horrible days.
+
+The prisoners were obliged to pass through this hooting and yelling
+crowd, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that the soldiers
+protected them from its violence. Several wooden benches occupied the
+space between the bar and the chairs of the judges; and upon these the
+prisoners were seated, eleven on each bench and so close together that
+it was almost impossible for them to make the slightest movement. On
+their right stood the arm chair of the prosecuting attorney, or
+"accusateur;" on their left, were the seats of the jurors. Ten minutes
+passed, and the noise and confusion increased until it became positively
+deafening. Suddenly, a door opened and the court entered. The judges
+came first, dressed in black, with plumed hats, and with red sashes
+about their waists. The government attorney took his seat; the jurors
+installed themselves noisily in their places, and the session began.
+
+Nothing could be more summary than the proceedings of this tribunal.
+The prisoner at the bar was generally ignorant of the charges against
+him, for the so-called act of accusation was in most cases, a scrap of
+paper covered with cramped and illegible hand-writing that frequently
+proved undecipherable. The president read a name. The person designated,
+rose and replied to such questions as were addressed to him. If the
+responses were confused, the prisoner's embarrassment was regarded as a
+conclusive proof of his guilt; if they were long, he was imperiously
+ordered to be silent. Witnesses were heard, of course; but those who
+testified in favor of the accused were roughly handled. Then the
+prosecuting attorney spoke five minutes, perhaps; the jury rendered its
+verdict, and the judge sentenced the prisoner or set him at liberty as
+the case might be. That day, eleven persons were tried and condemned to
+death in less than two hours. Dolores' turn came last.
+
+"Your name?" asked the president.
+
+"Antoinette de Mirandol."
+
+As she made this reply, she heard an ill-suppressed cry behind her. She
+turned quickly, and saw Coursegol. He was leaning upon the arm of
+Bridoul, and his hands were clenched and his face flushed. He now
+comprehended, for the first time, the girl's heroic sacrifice. Fearing
+he would betray her, she gave him a warning glance, as if to impose
+silence. It was unnecessary. He well knew that any statement of the real
+facts would be useless now; and that the truth would ruin Antoinette
+without saving Dolores. Such mistakes were not rare during the Reign of
+Terror. Almost daily, precipitancy caused errors of which no one was
+conscious until it was too late to repair them. Only a few days before,
+a son had been condemned in place of his father; and another unfortunate
+man had paid with his head, for the similarity between his name and that
+of another prisoner in whose stead he had been summoned before the
+Tribunal, and with whom he was executed; for Fouquier-Tinville, not
+knowing which was the real culprit, chose rather to doom two innocent
+men to death than to allow one guilty man to escape. Dolores was
+sentenced to be beheaded under the name of Antoinette de Mirandol When
+her sentence was pronounced, the business of the Court was concluded,
+and the judges were about to retire when suddenly a man made his way
+through the crowd to the bar, and cried a stentorian voice:
+
+"The sentence you have just pronounced is infamous. You are not judges,
+but assassins and executioners."
+
+Then he crossed his arms upon his breast and glowered defiance on the
+indignant and wrathful judges.
+
+"Arrest that man!" thundered the public accusateur.
+
+Two gendarmes sprang forward, and the officer who had just spoken added:
+
+"Citizen judges, I place this prisoner at your bar. Question him that
+the citizen jurors may decide upon his fate."
+
+It was Coursegol, who, hearing Dolores condemned, had suddenly resolved
+not to survive her, but to die with her.
+
+"Unfortunate man!" murmured the young girl, and for the first time that
+morning her eyes filled with tears.
+
+Coursegol looked at her as if to ask if she thought him worthy of her.
+In answer to the question put by the chief judge, he curtly replied:
+
+"It is useless to seek any other explanation of my conduct than that
+which I am about to give. I am weary of the horrors which I have
+witnessed. I hate the Republic and its supporters. I am a Royalist; and
+I have no other wish than to seal with my blood, the opinions I have
+here proclaimed.
+
+"Citizen jurors," cried his accuser, angrily; "I ask for this man a
+punishment which shall be an example to any who may desire to imitate
+him."
+
+"He is mad!" objected one of the jurors.
+
+"No, I am not mad!" cried Coursegol. "Down with the Republic and long
+live the King!"
+
+There was such boldness in this defiance that a profound stillness made
+itself felt in the crowded hall. Judges and jurors conferred together in
+wrathful whispers. In a few moments, Coursegol was condemned to suffer
+death upon the guillotine for having been guilty of the heinous crime of
+insulting the court in the exercise of its functions, and of uttering
+seditious words in its presence. Then he approached Dolores. She was
+sobbing violently, entirely overcome by this scene which had moved her
+much more deeply than her own misfortunes.
+
+"Forgive me, mademoiselle," said he, "for being so bold as to resolve
+not to survive you; but even in death, my place is beside you."
+
+"My friend! my protector! my father!" sobbed Dolores.
+
+And yielding to an irresistible impulse, she threw herself into
+Coursegol's arms. He held her pressed tightly to his breast until he was
+ordered to make ready to start for the prison with the other victims.
+They were to remain there until the hour of execution.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+THE LAST FAREWELL.
+
+
+While these events were taking place in the Tribunal, Antoinette de
+Mirandol awoke later than usual to find her friend absent; but the
+discovery caused her little surprise, for this was not the first time
+that Dolores, who was a much earlier riser than herself, had left the
+cell without disturbing her slumbers. Antoinette dressed herself with
+all possible speed, but it was nearly twelve o'clock before she was
+ready to go down to the main hall in search of Dolores. She did not see
+her in the hall or in the corridors, and she entered the refectory
+certain that her friend was already seated at the table where they had
+taken their meals since the increasing coldness of the weather had
+driven them from their cell in the daytime. She cast a quick glance
+through the dining-hall. The prisoners were chatting gayly over their
+meagre fare, as if wishing to console themselves for the plainness of
+their food by the cheerfulness and brilliancy of their conversation.
+Dolores was not there.
+
+The discovery brought with it a feeling of vague alarm; not that
+Antoinette had any suspicion of the truth, but because she was seized
+with a grim presentiment of approaching misfortune. She hastily turned
+away 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, and
+alarmed by Antoinette's manner.
+
+"My God!" the girl whispered, turning suddenly pale; then, overcome with
+an 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 she
+finally recovered her composure sufficiently to explain the cause of her
+alarm. 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 which
+they were allowed to circulate, and questioning their acquaintances, who
+either through compassion or through ignorance gave them no information
+concerning Dolores. Suddenly, at a turn in the corridor, they
+encountered 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 ten
+o'clock this morning."
+
+Two cries rang out on the still air: a cry of rage from Philip, a cry of
+anguish from Antoinette; then, with tears and exclamations of despair
+they entreated Aubry to explain. All he could tell them was that Dolores
+had informed him the evening before that she had been summoned before
+the Tribunal; that she had requested him to inform Coursegol of the
+fact; that she had left her cell, that morning, at nine o'clock, calm
+and beautiful; that she had held a long conversation with Coursegol, who
+was waiting for her below, after which she had left the prison to go to
+the Tribunal in company with several others.
+
+This intelligence plunged Philip and Antoinette into a state of
+indescribable despair. Unable to utter a word, they looked at each other
+in wild but speechless terror; and yet, in the anguish that wrung their
+hearts, their thoughts followed the same course. Both were asking
+themselves why Dolores had concealed the truth from them; why she had
+not allowed them to die with her. It would have been so sweet to depart
+together from a world from which all light seemed to have fled! Who
+would have been cruel enough to refuse them the happiness of ascending
+the scaffold together?
+
+"She feared to cause us pain," said Philip, at last. "She departed
+alone, not realizing that by doing so she caused us greater anguish than
+she 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 the
+Hall 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's
+axe. With hearts torn with anguish and despair, they wended their way to
+the grim hall below. When they entered it, they found the doomed
+prisoners scattered about the room, striving to conquer their emotion,
+and to summon up all their strength for the terrible ordeal from which
+they were separated by only three short hours. Those who, like Dolores,
+had relatives or friends in the prison, had sent for them; but those who
+could count on no loving farewell, sat silent and mournful, casting
+glances of envy upon their more fortunate companions. Some asked and
+obtained permission to go to their cells in order to write a last letter
+to their friends, or give directions concerning the few articles that
+remained at their disposal. Some had ordered choice viands and rare
+wines, not wishing to die before they had again enjoyed the pleasures of
+the table, in default of something better; while coming and going in the
+midst of them, were the clerks of the Tribunal, the executioner's
+assistants and the turnkeys of the prison, who hung about, hoping the
+condemned would bestow some gratuity upon them before leaving the
+prison. Dolores had seated herself upon a bench that stood against the
+wall. The passion of weeping to which she had yielded after Coursegol's
+heroic deed, had calmed her. He was standing by her side, looking down
+upon her with a in which there was neither bitterness nor Nothing could
+be more peaceful than the delicate features of the young girl and the
+energetic face that bent over her, though traces of the tears which had
+been wrung from them in a moment of despair were still visible.
+
+Antoinette, followed by Philip, rushed toward Dolores, threw herself at
+her feet, and, resting her head on the lap of her friend, sobbed
+unrestrainedly.
+
+"Antoinette, do not, I entreat you, deprive me of courage at a moment
+when 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 fate
+that awaits us; and we must not allow emotion to deprive us of the
+strength to die bravely and courageously."
+
+As she spoke, Dolores compelled Antoinette to rise and take a seat
+beside her; then she talked to her gently, but firmly. Their roles
+seemed to be changed; she who was about to die, consoled her whose life
+was spared. While this conversation was going on between Antoinette and
+Dolores, Philip, terribly pale, questioned Coursegol and learned from
+him what had taken place. He envied this devoted servant who was about
+to die with Dolores. He vainly strove to discover some means by which he
+could draw down upon his own head the wrath of the accusateur,
+Fouquier-Tinville, and be sent at once to the scaffold. Coursegol told
+his story simply and modestly. Rendered desperate by the condemnation of
+Dolores, he resolved to share her fate, feeling no desire to survive
+the 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 Philip
+and 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 had
+made. God recalls me to Him. You long to die with me, you say. You must
+not die, you must live, for your life belongs to one who has put her
+trust in you. Your life belongs to her, and your name; and no one is
+more 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 of
+duty? Whatever I may have said, whatever I may have promised, if I have
+not told you that I loved you, if I have not told you that I should
+always 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 which
+has been the only joy, the only torment of one's life? Remember the
+past, Dolores--our childhood, the blissful existence in which love was
+first awakened in our hearts. I do not know what was passing in yours;
+but mine has nourished but one thought, cherished but one hope: to
+belong to you and to possess you. Upon this hope have I lived. It has
+been the strength and the weakness of my life; its deepest sorrow and
+its purest joy."
+
+While he was thus speaking in low tones that he might not be overheard,
+Antoinette, after exchanging a few remarks with Coursegol, approached
+them. Not a single word uttered by Philip had escaped her, and her
+terror-stricken eyes and drawn features betrayed her agony.
+
+"Was this dream of mine so unutterably wild and hopeless?" continued
+Philip, not perceiving Antoinette, and refusing to heed Dolores' warning
+sign. "Does a man display a culpable ambition when he longs for a calm
+and happy life with an adored wife who is worthy of him? And yet, the
+first 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 some
+foolish scheme upon the accomplishment of which my father would not have
+insisted if, sustained by you, I had ventured to confess the truth. You
+would not consent to this; you left us: then, Providence once more
+brought us face to face. This time, you granted me a hope only to take
+it from me again when Antoinette reappeared. Now, behold your work. Here
+are all three of us equally miserable; you, in dying; I, in surviving
+you; Antoinette, in loving me."
+
+"I am glad to die," replied Dolores, who had regained her firmness and
+composure.
+
+"Then why did you not allow me to share this happiness? Yesterday, when
+you received the fatal news, why did you not say to me: 'We have been
+unhappy here on earth; death will save us from many and undeserved
+misfortunes; 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 my
+life will be when I can no longer hope to see you again here below? One
+long supplication for death to quickly relieve me of the burden of
+existence."
+
+"Philip, Philip!" murmured Dolores, reproachfully. "Can it be you who
+speak thus, you who have linked a soul to yours; you who are a husband
+already, for at the bedside of your dying father did not you and
+Antoinette kneel together to receive the blessing of God's anointed
+priest?"
+
+Philip made no reply.
+
+"You have reproached me," continued Dolores, "and why? Who is the real
+culprit here? Is it I? Have I not always discouraged you? Have I not
+always told you that duty stood between us? Have I not always striven to
+convince you that your hopes were futile? Had not you, yourself,
+renounced them? Then, why should I reproach myself? Besides, I have not
+sought death. I die because Heaven wills it, but I am resigned, and if
+this resignation is any evidence of courage, let it strengthen and
+reanimate your soul. Bravely act the only part that is worthy of your
+past, of your heart and of your name. There, and there only your
+soul-will find happiness and peace."
+
+Philip's anger vanished before such words as these. He was no longer
+irritated, 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 it
+and covered it with her tears.
+
+"Spare me, spare me!" exclaimed Dolores. "You rend my soul now when I
+have need for all my strength. Your grief and despair at my fate lead
+you both beyond reality. You, my dear friend, my dear sister Antoinette,
+have received a sacred promise which you, Philip, made freely and with
+the intention to fulfil it. That is the only thing you must remember
+now."
+
+She uttered these words in a sweet and penetrating voice, and with an
+energy that calmed and silenced both of them. She spoke of the chief
+duties of life, of the necessity of resignation, devotion and
+self-denial.
+
+"I wish to carry with me to the grave," she added, "the assurance that
+you will console each other after my death by loving each other in
+remembrance of me."
+
+And they promised all that she asked, for it was impossible to resist so
+much grace, so much eloquence and so much humility. Then she took from
+her pocket the order of release which Coursegol had obtained through
+Vauquelas. 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 to
+escape from prison. You will be conducted to a safe retreat where you
+can await the fall of these wicked men and the triumph of truth and of
+virtue. That hour will surely come; for the future does not belong to
+the 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 despair
+increased in violence.
+
+"Have pity on me!" she entreated. "Before I go, I will call you to bid
+you a last farewell."
+
+They left her. She remained alone with the other prisoners who had been
+condemned to death. Among them was the priest of whom we have already
+spoken; the same who had consoled and blessed her. He was seated in a
+corner of the room and many of the poor creatures, whose moments on
+earth were now numbered, had knelt before him to confess their sins and
+receive absolution. Dolores followed the example of her companions in
+misfortune. Purified by suffering and sanctified by the approach of
+death, her full confession revealed such nobility of character that the
+worthy 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 is
+unnecessary, for I am very happy."
+
+"It is the thought of the sacrifice you have accomplished that renders
+you thus happy!"
+
+"Hush!" she said, quickly. "Who has spoken to you of a sacrifice? It
+must never be mentioned. Antoinette and Philip must never know that I
+died in place of another."
+
+"A saint might utter words like those," he murmured. Then beholding her
+cheerful, courageous and inspired with the holy enthusiasm of the
+martyrs, he added: "I am glad to die with you. You will open the portals
+of Heaven for me; and I will cling so closely to you, pure soul, that
+they will let me follow you in."
+
+Thus were these two souls elevated to the grandest heroism by the very
+simplicity of their devotion. There was certainly not a drop of noble
+blood in the veins of either of them, and yet they went to meet death
+valiantly, like saints.
+
+It was three o'clock, and a lovely winter's day. The sky was clear and
+the sun radiant.
+
+"We have fine weather for our journey to the scaffold," thought
+Coursegol.
+
+Dolores was absorbed in prayer. Her heart ascended to God in fervent
+supplication that He would bless her sacrifice, and make it redound to
+the peace and happiness of the two beloved friends that were left
+behind. Suddenly, several men entered the hall: the executioner and his
+assistants. Moans and cries of terror arose from the condemned.
+
+"Already!" exclaimed a young woman, who had until now borne herself
+courageously.
+
+She fainted. She was half-dead with fear when she was carried up the
+steps of the guillotine an hour later. Dolores lost none of her
+composure on beholding the executioner. She quietly removed her hat; and
+while the three assistants cut off the hair of the prisoners around her,
+she unbound the magnificent golden tresses which enveloped her like a
+rippling veil. There was a universal shudder when the scissors despoiled
+that charming head of its superb adornment; and Coursegol could not
+repress an exclamation of wrath at this act of barbarity. Dolores
+checked 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 ring
+that 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. "They
+became me well."
+
+It was her only sign of regret for the sad fate to which her youth and
+beauty were condemned.
+
+When she saw that the moment of departure was near at hand, she asked
+to see Philip and Antoinette again. They had been standing just outside
+the door, half-crazed with grief. They entered, followed by Aubry, who,
+though accustomed to such scenes, was deeply moved. It was to him that
+she turned first.
+
+"I thank you for all your kindness," she said to him. "On my arrival at
+the 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 showed
+compassion, 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 upon
+madness. That of Antoinette was violent, and vented itself in moans and
+tears; that of Philip was still more terrible, for the wretched man
+seemed 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 you
+will soon come to join me. In its relations to life, death is nothing
+more."
+
+But, while she was thus endeavoring to console them, her own tears
+mingled with theirs. She took them both in her arms, and clasped them to
+her 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 no
+terrors for you; you will lose none of your calmness. Take good care of
+her to the last, will you not?"
+
+"That she might not be compelled to go alone was why I resolved to die
+with 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 her
+friend.
+
+"En route! en route!"
+
+This cry was uttered by a stentorian voice. The moment of parting had
+come. One last kiss was exchanged.
+
+"Farewell, farewell! We shall meet again in Heaven!"
+
+And Dolores tore herself from their clinging arms. Coursegol followed
+her, but not so quickly that he failed to see Antoinette swoon with a
+cry of heart-broken anguish, and Philip spring forward to support her. A
+cart was awaiting the victims in the court-yard of the prison. The
+twelve who were doomed to death took their places in it with their hands
+bound behind their backs. A number of soldiers on horseback and some on
+foot acted as an escort. They fell into line and the little procession
+started.
+
+From the Conciergerie to the Place de la Revolution the cart was
+followed by a hooting, jelling crowd of men, women and children, who
+sang coarse songs and hurled insults in the faces of their victims.
+These last seemed insensible to the indignities heaped upon them. On one
+side 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 entire
+route, once cease to cry: "Vive le Roi!" One of their companions, a
+Republican, accused of _Moderantisme_, regarded them with an air of
+ironical 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 be
+entirely unconscious of what was passing around her. Grief, cold,
+fatigue and the rough jolting of the vehicle had reduced her to a
+condition of pitiable weakness. Coursegol was distressed to see her in
+this state, and to be powerless to succor her. He did not think of
+himself; he thought only of her.
+
+When they came in sight of the Place de la Revolution, where the
+terrible 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, with
+all a father's tenderness. "I am here, but I can do nothing to save you
+from these horrors. But be brave and hopeful. Only a moment more and we
+shall find peace in the grave and in the arms of our blessed Lord."
+
+The cart jolted onward through the dense and jeering crowd until it
+reached the foot of the steps leading to the awful guillotine. The aged
+man and his youthful companion were yet crying "Vive le Roi!" The
+Republican, accursed of _Moderantisme_, was still regarding them with an
+air of ironical compassion. The priest was yet reciting prayers and
+canticles with the three women. None of these unfortunates paid the
+slightest attention either to the hooting mob or the dreadful doom from
+which but a few instants separated them.
+
+The cart suddenly stopped and the condemned were roughly ordered to
+leave it. They did so mechanically and without resistance. The
+executioner's assistants seized upon them, dragging them into an open
+space, as if, instead of human beings, they had been merely dumb
+animals, awaiting slaughter in a butcher's shambles. The sans-culottes
+cheered; the tricoteuses, seated in knots, clapped their hands wildly in
+savage joy, delighted that more blood was speedily to be spilled. It was
+an appalling scene, steeped in horror.
+
+Coursegol moved towards Dolores to put his arm about her and sustain her
+trembling form. He was rudely pulled back by the assistant who had him
+in charge.
+
+"If you are a man and have a heart, show some mercy!" he pleaded. "Let
+me 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. "Remain
+where you are!"
+
+Dolores glanced at Coursegol tenderly. The utmost thankfulness was in
+her look. But she uttered not a word. She felt that speech would merely
+augment her companion's misery and her own.
+
+Those of the mob who were near enough to catch the assistant's brutal
+reply to Coursegol applauded it. Their hearts seemed turned to stone.
+Not a morsel of pity or human feeling was left in them. They were like
+so many wild beasts eager to lap blood.
+
+The executioner had bared his brawny arms for his fiendish task. His
+face glowed with intense satisfaction.
+
+"Come," said he, addressing his assistants. "We are wasting the Nation's
+time and keeping hosts of patriots waiting for their just revenge. Death
+to the enemies of the Republic!"
+
+An officer unfolded a soiled and crumpled paper. He began to call the
+death-roll.
+
+The aged Royalist went to the guillotine first. In an instant the huge
+knife descended; his life blood gushed forth and his head fell into the
+basket. The executioner grasped the head by its white locks and held it
+up, 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 la
+Revolution to the other.
+
+"So perish all who hate France and liberty!"
+
+It was a sublime mockery of justice, a deliberate treading under foot of
+all the rights of man. The sans-culottes and the tricoteuses rivaled
+each other in the loudness and strength of their applause.
+
+The youthful Royalist was the next victim, and the preceding scene with
+all its horrors was repeated.
+
+Then the Republican, accused of _Moderantisme_, met his fate, then the
+priest, and then, one by one, the three women, each execution having a
+similar finale.
+
+Dolores and Coursegol alone were left of all the condemned. They looked
+at each other, encouraging each other to be brave by signs and glances.
+
+The officer with the death-roll read Dolores' name. Coursegol bowed his
+head, trembling in every limb. The supreme moment had come. The fainting
+girl was dragged forward. Her foot was already on the first step of the
+guillotine platform, when suddenly there was a great commotion in the
+crowd 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 three
+men appeared at the foot of the guillotine. Two of them were clerks from
+Robespierre's bureau, clad in the well-known uniform and wearing the
+revolutionary cockade. The third was Bridoul. He wore the dress of the
+terrible Committee of Public Safety. It was he who had uttered the
+stentorian cry:
+
+"In the name of the Republic, hold!"
+
+The assistant who was dragging Dolores forward paused, astounded. The
+executioner dropped his arms to his sides and glanced at the three men
+in speechless amazement. An interruption of the guillotine's deadly work
+was something that had never yet come his knowledge or experience in the
+bloody days of the Reign of Terror. He could not comprehend it. The
+suddenly silenced mob was equally unable to grasp the situation. What
+could be the matter? Had the flinty and inexorable Robespierre turned
+fainthearted at last? No! That was impossible! The patriots waited with
+open mouths for an explanation of this bewildering phenomenon.
+
+As for Dolores, she saw nothing, heard nothing. At the foot of the
+guillotine steps she had fainted dead away in the assistant's arms.
+
+Coursegol had seen Bridoul and heard his words, but they were as much of
+an enigma to him as to the rest. How was it that Bridoul was with
+Robespierre's clerks, and how was it that he wore the dress of the
+Committee of Public Safety? Coursegol, however, realized one thing--that
+Bridoul had in some inexplicable way acquired power and had come at the
+last moment to save Dolores and himself!
+
+Meanwhile Bridoul and the clerks had mounted the guillotine steps and
+were 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 was
+seen the great red seal of the Republic. At the bottom, those nearest
+could make out the well-known signature of Robespierre!
+
+Bridoul proceeded to read the document. It declared that a mistake had
+been made in the condemnation of Citoyenne Antoinette de Mirandol and
+Citoyen Coursegol, that they were altogether innocent of any crime
+whatever against the Republic, and ordered them to be set at liberty
+immediately.
+
+A subdued murmur followed the reading of this surprising paper, but,
+though the mob was dissatisfied and disappointed, no one dare dispute
+the command of the formidable and dreaded Dictator!
+
+Bridoul folded the precious document and placed it in his pocket; then
+he turned to the assistant who was supporting Dolores and ordered him to
+deliver his charge to Robespierre's clerks; the man at once obeyed.
+
+Bridoul then came down from the platform and went to Coursegol. The
+latter began at once to question him.
+
+"Hush!" said he. "Not a word now! I will explain all in time! For the
+present the girl and yourself are safe! That must suffice you! Come with
+me!"
+
+A carriage was waiting a few paces away. Bridoul led Coursegol to it and
+thither also Dolores was borne by the two clerks, who, after placing her
+on a seat, bowed respectfully to Bridoul and departed.
+
+"We are going to my house," said Bridoul, as the vehicle started off at
+the 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, who
+was bending over her with tears of joy in her eyes. The good woman had
+been waiting at the door of the "Bonnet Rouge" and had sprang into the
+carriage the moment it stopped. Dolores was still very faint and utterly
+bewildered. She glanced at Cornelia, at Bridoul and then at Coursegol.
+Then she swooned again. Taking her in his arms, the wine-shop keeper
+carried her to the chamber she had formerly occupied, where he placed
+her upon the bed, leaving his wife to bestow such care on her as in her
+weak condition she might require. This done, he repaired to the back
+shop, where, by his direction, Coursegol had preceded him.
+
+"You want to know what all this means and how it was accomplished," said
+he, as he entered the room and carefully closed the door behind him. "I
+am now ready to tell you. But first you must have something to
+strengthen you, for you have just passed through a trial sufficient to
+break down even Hercules himself."
+
+As he spoke he took a flask of brandy from a closet and filled glasses
+for his companion and himself. After they had drunk the liquor and
+seated themselves, he continued:
+
+"Time is precious, and it will not do for Dolores and yourself to
+remain long here, or, for that matter, in Paris! You are safe for the
+moment, but at what instant you may again be in deadly peril it is
+impossible to say! I have succeeded in cheating the guillotine of its
+prey, and I will tell you how in as few words as I can. When I learned
+that Dolores was in prison and heard of your own arrest, I determined to
+move heaven and earth to save you, but was at a loss to know either
+where to turn or what to do. Just at that critical juncture word was
+brought me that I had been chosen a member of the Committee of Public
+Safety, on the recommendation of no less a personage than Robespierre
+himself, and that the Dictator wished to see me at once. I saw my
+opportunity and hastened to him without an instant's delay.
+
+"Robespierre received me cordially and informed me that I could be of
+the greatest service to him and the Republic. I answered that as a true
+patriot I was not only willing but anxious to do all that lay in my
+power. He smiled and said that he had a mission of the utmost importance
+to entrust to me, that he had selected me for it because of my
+well-known zeal for the Nation's welfare and my equally well-known
+integrity. I bowed, and he went on to say that certain members of the
+Committee of Public Safety were plotting against himself and the
+continuance of his power. My mission was to win over those members to
+his interest and restore harmony in the Committee. I accepted the
+mission and succeeded.
+
+"The Dictator's delight and exultation were boundless. He told me to
+name the price of my distinguished service and, whatever it might be, it
+should instantly be paid. He undoubtedly expected that I would demand
+money and position, but I demanded neither. I simply asked for his
+warrant, under his own signature and the great seal of the Republic, to
+save from prison and the guillotine two of my friends who were accused
+of crimes of which they were entirely innocent. Robespierre was
+surprised. He hesitated; then he asked the names of my friends. I gave
+them 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 of
+his clerks and have it at once carried into effect. You may well imagine
+that I did not let the grass grow under my feet. I took the precious
+document and, accompanied by the clerks, fairly flew to the
+Conciergerie, where I had learned you were confined previous to going to
+the guillotine.
+
+"When I arrived I was informed, to my terror and dismay that the cart
+laden with the condemned had already started for the Place de la
+Revolution and that Dolores and yourself were among the victims. I
+procured a carriage and with my companions drove at headlong speed to
+the very steps of the guillotine. The rest you know. Now, Robespierre is
+treacherous and forgetful of services when his end has been attained. He
+may revoke his warrant and order your re-arrest at any moment. Hence I
+say that time is precious and that it will not do for you to remain long
+either here or elsewhere in Paris. You must seek safety as soon as
+possible in the little cottage in the Chevreuse valley, where the
+Dictator and his myrmidoms will not think of searching for you. This is
+imperative!"
+
+Coursegol grasped his friend's hand.
+
+"You are a man, Bridoul!" said he. "You have saved our lives and won our
+undying gratitude! We will follow your advice to the letter! But you
+must do something more. Antoinette de Mirandol and Philip de Chamondrin
+are still in the Conciergerie. They have an order for their release, but
+cannot use it without your help. You must aid them to escape and join us
+in the Chevreuse valley!"
+
+"I will do it!" said Bridoul, solemnly. "I swear it!"
+
+"Enough," replied Coursegol. "Dolores and myself will leave for the
+refuge this very night!"
+
+Madame Bridoul was summoned and acquainted with the decision that had
+been reached. She reported that Dolores had recovered consciousness and
+strength and would be ready for the departure when required.
+
+"One thing more," said Coursegol to Bridoul and his wife. "Neither
+Philip nor Antoinette must know that we have escaped the guillotine
+until they find us alive and well in the Chevreuse valley!"
+
+This was agreed to, and, at nightfall, Coursegol and Dolores, provided
+with the requisite passports, quitted Paris. In due time they reached
+the 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 release
+wrested from Vauquelas, succeeded in obtaining their freedom. No sooner
+were they out of the Conciergerie than they hastened to the refuge
+provided for them in the Chevreuse valley. What pen can describe their
+joy and gratitude to God when, on their arrival, they found that the
+little cottage contained two other tenants, and that those tenants were
+their beloved friends whom they had mourned as victims of the hideous
+guillotine?
+
+Dolores, after the first transports of delight at the reunion were over,
+endeavored to continue her role of martyr and to induce Philip to keep
+his promise to her to marry Antoinette, but the latter had greatly
+changed since that dreadful parting at the Conciergerie. She had become
+capable of as great a sacrifice as Dolores, and firmly refused to stand
+longer between Philip and the woman he had loved for so many years. She
+still loved Philip, it is true, but her love had grown pure and
+unselfish--it was now a sister's love, not that of a woman who wished to
+be his wife.
+
+To say that Philip was overjoyed by this unexpected turn of affairs is
+only to state the simple truth.
+
+Dolores at first demurred, urging the wish of the late Marquis, also
+that she was devoted to God, but Antoinette's only reply was to join
+their hands and bless them, and Dolores finally consented to the
+marriage 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 at
+the ceremony besides the bride and groom and the officiating priest.
+Shortly afterwards the Marquis de Chamondrin and his wife, accompanied
+by Coursegol, Antoinette and the Bridouls, the latter having sold their
+wine-shop, went to England and from there to Louisiana, where Mlle. de
+Mirandol owned extensive estates. Antoinette decided to remain in
+Louisiana, having persuaded Madame Bridoul to take charge of her house
+and Bridoul to assume the management of her business.
+
+Philip and Dolores spent ten years in America and then returned to
+France. They had two children, a son and a daughter, the latter named
+Antoinette, and their life, though always slightly tinged with
+melancholy, was serene and peaceful. After his return to his native
+land, Philip rebuilt the Chateau de Chamondrin and took up his permanent
+abode there, determined to lead the life of a country gentleman and
+student and to take no part in the political controversies of the time,
+nor could he be induced to reconsider this decision though he was twice
+offered a seat in the Chamber of Deputies. After the exciting and
+terrible scenes of the Reign of Terror through which he had passed, he
+longed for quiet and repose. Coursegol was made the steward of his
+estate and managed it with such shrewdness and intelligence that Philip
+became rich and all the prestige of the Chamondrins was restored.
+
+In the month of May, 1822, while in Paris, to which city he had been
+called by important business, the Marquis de Chamondrin met an old
+nobleman who had been a fellow prisoner in the Conciergerie. They talked
+together a long time over the past and the frenzy, perils and heroism
+which had stamped those eventful days, and a chance word, let fall by
+his companion, first acquainted Philip with the fact that Dolores had
+endeavored to sacrifice her own life in order to save that of Antoinette
+de Mirandol. The Marquis de Chamondrin turned pale as death and pressed
+his hand convulsively against his heart, but he speedily recovered his
+color and self-possession and the old nobleman did not even suspect the
+emotion to which his revelation had given rise.
+
+Philip never mentioned the knowledge he had acquired to his wife, but
+his love and reverence for her were vastly augmented by it, and,
+whenever he thought of the sacrifice that God in His mercy had not
+permitted to be made, he murmured to himself:
+
+"Dolores has a noble and heroic soul! An angel from Heaven could not
+have acted more grandly!"
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Which?, by Ernest Daudet
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