No Surrender! A Tale Of The Rising in La Vendee

[Stone]

Chapter 15: In Disguise

Leigh returned into the house with his sister.

"Cheer up, Patsey," he said; "it is very hard parting, but I have every hope that they will succeed in getting safely home. Francois is a sharp fellow. They have a good stock of food, and they won't have to go into any village and, being only two, they will have a far better chance of crossing the river than if they kept with the others."

"How they are fighting!" Patsey said, a few minutes later.

Indeed the roar of musketry was unceasing, and was mingled with the louder cracks of the field guns.

"Our men are holding their own," Leigh replied. "The firing is no nearer than it was half an hour ago.

"Now, you had better lie down, Patsey. I will keep a sharp lookout and, the moment I see any signs of our men retiring, we will mount. I know there is no chance of your sleeping, but it will rest you to lie down, and we shall have a long ride before us, tomorrow."

Patsey nodded, but after he had gone out she did not lie down, but threw herself on her knees by the couch, and prayed for the safety of her husband. Hour after hour passed. From time to time Leigh returned and, towards morning, told Patsey that it was time that they should mount.

"Our men have not begun to give way yet," he said, "but they say that Kleber's division has just arrived. There is a lull in the fighting at present, but no doubt they will relieve the division that has been fighting all night, and our men cannot hope to hold out for long. I have just brought the horses round to the door. Now, I will strap the valises on while you wrap Louis up warmly."

In five minutes they started for the point agreed on. Before they reached it, the firing broke out again with increased violence. In an hour numbers of men began to make their way past them. One of them halted. He was one of Jean's tenants.

"Ah! madame," he said, as he recognized her--for it was now broad daylight--"I fear that all is lost. You had best ride at once. The Blues will not come just yet, for la Rochejaquelein, with four or five hundred of his best followers, will hold the place till the last, so as to give us time to get away."

"Did you see my husband, Leroux?"

"He was with the general, madame. They and the horsemen charged again and again, whenever the Blues pushed forward."

"Thank God he is safe so far!" Patsey said. "Goodbye, Leroux; we may not meet again."

"We shall meet in heaven, madame," the man said reverently. "They may take away our country, they may kill our cures, they may destroy our churches, but they cannot take away our God. May He protect you, madame!" and, pressing the hand she held out to him, he hurried on.

Faster and faster the fugitives passed them, but for an hour the combat continued unabated; then the exulting shouts of the Blues showed that they were making way. The gallant band of Vendeans were not, indeed, retiring; but they were being annihilated. Patsey had said but little during the anxious time of waiting. From time to time she murmured:

"Will he never come? Oh, God, send him to us!"

Presently a mounted officer rode past.

"Ride on! ride on!" he shouted. "The Blues will be here in a minute!"

"We must go, Patsey," Leigh said as, without drawing rein, the officer rode on.

"No, no; wait a few minutes, Leigh. He will surely come soon."

Presently, however, a number of peasants, their faces blackened with powder, ran past.

"The Blues are on our heels!" they shouted. "They will be here in a minute; they are but a hundred yards away."

"Come, Patsey," Leigh said. "Remember your promise. We must go; it is madness waiting any longer."

And as he spoke one of the peasants, running past, fell dead, shot by a musket ball from the rear. Leigh seized Patsey's bridle and, setting his own horse in motion, they rode on. They were but just in time for, before they had ridden two hundred yards Leigh, looking round, saw the Republicans issuing from the town.

"Pull yourself together, Patsey!" Leigh exclaimed. "We may have their cavalry after us, in a minute or two. Remember, Jean trusts you to carry out his instructions."

Patsey drew herself up, struck the horse with her whip, and galloped on at full speed. They soon left the road followed by the rest of the fugitives, and turned down one leading east. The din of battle had ceased now, but a scattered fire of musketry showed that the enemy were engaged in their usual work of shooting all who fell into their hands.

After riding for an hour at full speed they drew rein at a wood and, entering it, dismounted and put on their disguises. They had no fear now of pursuit. The enemy's cavalry must have made a very long march to reach the town, and their horses must be worn out by their previous exertions; while their own had had forty-eight hours' rest, during which time they had been well fed and cared for. Moreover, any pursuit that was made would be in the direction taken by the bulk of the fugitives.

Mounting again, they rode on. It was but a narrow country road that they were traversing and, during the day, they only passed through two or three small hamlets.

"Are the brigands coming this way?" they were asked.

"No," Leigh replied. "They are fighting at Le Mans. If they are beaten they won't come this way, but will make south. We thought it best to leave the town. When fighting is going on in the streets it is time for quiet people to be off."

They rode forty miles before night, and then entered a wood; having agreed that, until they got farther away from the scene of action, and struck the road running south, it would be better not to enter any place where they would be questioned. Choosing an open space among the trees, Leigh took off the bridles to let the horses pluck what grass they could, after giving to each a hunch of bread from their store. Then he returned, with the blankets that had been rolled up and fastened behind the saddles.

"Now, Patsey, you must eat something and drink some wine. You must keep up your strength, for the sake of Louis and Jean."

Patsey had spoken very few words during the day. She shook her head. "I will try for Louis's sake," she said; "as to Jean--" and she stopped.

"As to Jean," he said, "we have every reason to hope for the best. Many things may have happened to prevent his joining us. The Blues may have pushed in between his party and us, and he may have found that he could not rejoin us. His horse may have been shot and he obliged to fly on foot. He has gone through all these battles from the first, and has never been wounded. Why should we suppose that he has not done the same now? I feel sure that if he had lost his horse he would not have tried to join us, for he would have thought that he would have hampered our escape.

"Jean is full of resources, and has everything in his favour. He is not like the others, who have but one aim, to get back to La Vendee and die there, and whose way is barred by the Loire. He has all France open to him and, if he gains a port, has but to get some sailor clothes to pass unnoticed. He is well provided with money, and has everything in his favour. When he once gets away from Le Mans, the road would be open, for we may be sure that the enemy will all gather in the rear of the remains of our army."

"I see all that," Patsey said; "and if I were but sure that he got safely away, I should feel comparatively easy. However, Leigh, I will try and look at the best side of things. If Jean is killed he has died gloriously, doing his duty till the last. If he is not, he will some day be restored to me."

"That is right, dear," he said. "You have always been so hopeful and cheery, through all this business, that I am sure you will keep up your courage now. We have every reason to hope and, for my part, I confidently expect to see Jean, safe and sound, when we arrive home. Now let us set to; we both want something badly."

Patsey did her best and, being indeed faint from hunger, having eaten nothing since the evening before, she felt all the better and stronger when she had finished her meal; and was able to chatter cheerfully to little Louis, who had ridden before Leigh all day, and who was now just beginning to talk. Then they spread a blanket on the ground and, lying down together for warmth, covered themselves with the rest of their wraps; and Leigh was glad to find, by her steady breathing, that the fatigue of the last twenty-four hours had sufficed to send his sister to sleep, in spite of her grief at her separation from her husband.

The next day they crossed the road leading to Tours, between Chateaudun and Chartres. Once over this there was no longer any occasion for haste. There was no fear of their connection with the struggle in the west being suspected, and they had now only to face the troubles consequent on travelling unprovided with proper papers.

Late that evening they entered the town of Artenay, on the main road from Paris to Orleans, coming down upon it from the north side. Here they entered a quiet inn. The landlord was a jovial, pleasant-faced man of some sixty years of age; and his wife a kind, motherly-looking woman. As usual, the travellers signed the names they had agreed upon in the book kept for the purpose, Patsey retaining her own name, and he signing as Lucien Porson.

The landlady, seeing that Patsey was completely worn out, at once took her off to her room.

"Ah! I thought that monsieur was too young to be madame's husband," the landlord said.

Leigh laughed.

"I am her brother," he said. "Her husband is a sailor, and she is to join him at Toulon."

"I see the resemblance," the landlord said. "It is a long journey indeed for her, and with a child under two years old, and in such weather.

"But you forget that such a place as Toulon no longer exists. It has been decreed that the town that received the English and resisted the Republic is to be altogether destroyed, except of course the arsenal, and is henceforth to be known as 'the town without a name.'"

The tone, rather than the words, convinced Leigh that his host was not an admirer of the present state of things. Leigh shrugged his shoulders slightly, and said, with a smile:

"Perhaps France will change her own name. Surely a Republic cannot put up with the name that has been associated, for centuries, with kings."

The landlord brought his hand down, with a heavy smack, on Leigh's shoulder.

"Ah," he said, "I see that you are too young, as I am too old, to care for the present changes. With anyone in the town I should not venture to say anything; but I am sure, by your face, that you can be trusted."

"And I can say the same to you, landlord."

"Are your papers, by the by, in good order?"

"Frankly, we have no papers."

The landlord gave a low whistle, expressive of surprise and consternation.

"And how do you expect to travel, monsieur? How you have got so far as this, I cannot make out; for at any tavern where you put up you might, of course, have been asked for them."

"We have not put up at any towns, as yet; but have slept at little places, where no questions were asked."

"But you can't get on like that, monsieur. Even in the small villages, they are on the watch for suspected persons. You must have papers of some sort."

"That is all very well," Leigh said; "the question is, where to get them?"

"What story do you mean to tell?"

"If we had been stopped anywhere on our way here, we should have said that we belonged to Le Mans; that, like most of the other inhabitants, we fled before the Vendeans entered, and in such haste that I forgot all about papers; and indeed could not have got them, had I thought of it, as all the authorities had fled before we did."

"That story, added to your appearance and that of madame as respectable citizens, might succeed sometimes, with those who are not anxious to show their zeal; but as most of these functionaries are so, you would probably, if it was a village, be sent on under a guard to the next town, and if it were a town would be thrown into prison. And you know, to get in a prison in our days is--"

"Equivalent to a sentence of death," Leigh put in as he hesitated.

"You must get papers somehow--something that would pass at any rate in the villages, where as often as not there is not a man who can read. I will see what I can do. A cousin of mine is clerk to the mayor. He is a good fellow, though he has to pretend to be a violent supporter of the Convention.

"I don't know how you are situated, monsieur, but times are hard, and all salaries terribly in arrears; and when they are paid it is in assignats, and I need hardly say that when you pay in assignats you don't buy cheap."

"We have money," Leigh said, "and I would pay any reasonable sum, in gold, for proper papers."

"Sapristi! You might almost tempt the maire himself, by offering him gold. Only he would suspect that you must have more hidden away, and that by arresting you, he could make himself master of the whole, instead of only a part; but since you offer gold, I have no doubt that my cousin would not mind running some little risk. How much shall I say, monsieur?"

"I would, if necessary, give forty louis."

"That is more than his yearly salary," the innkeeper said; "half of that would be ample. I will go to him at once. It is important that you should get papers of some kind, for at any moment anyone might come in and demand to see them."

"Here are ten louis. I have more sewn up in my saddle, and can give him the other ten later on, when I get an opportunity to go to the stable unnoticed."

"That will do very well, monsieur. I will be off at once."

It was an hour before he returned, and Leigh and Patsey had just finished supper. As there were two or three other persons in the room he said nothing, but signified by a little nod that he had succeeded. A quarter of an hour later the other customers, having finished their meal, went out.

"Here are your papers," he said, as he handed a document to Leigh.

It was a printed form, blanks being left for the names, description, and the object of journey.

"Arthenay Mairie,

"To all concerned--

"It is hereby testified that citizen Lucien Porson, and his sister citoyenne Martin, both of good repute and well disposed to the Republic, natives of this town of Arthenay, are travelling, accompanied by a child of the latter, to Marseilles, whither they go on family affairs, and to join citoyenne Martin's husband, a master mariner of that town."

The destination had been altered when they heard of the state of things at Toulon. The document was purposed to be signed by the maire, under his official seal.

"There is only one difficulty," the landlord said, as Leigh and Patsey warmly thanked him; "and that is that, although it will pass you when you have once left this town, it would be dangerous to use it here; and you may at any moment be asked for it. But my cousin, who is a charming fellow, pointed out the difficulty to me, and said: 

"'The best thing will be for me to take a couple of men, and pay the official visit to him, myself.'

"I expect that he will be here in a few minutes."

"Then, as the stableman has gone out at last--at least I see no lights there--I will go and get the rest of the money."

"Yes, I met him a hundred yards off, on my way back. There is no one about. I will take a lantern and go out with you."

In ten minutes they returned, Leigh having the ten louis required in his pocket. A quarter of an hour later the door opened, and a man wearing the scarf which showed him to be an officer of the municipality entered, followed by two men with the cockade of the Republic in their hats.

"This is citizen Porson and citoyenne Martin, his sister," the landlord, who accompanied the party, said.

The functionary walked up to the table and said gruffly, "Your papers, citizen."

Leigh handed him the document. He glanced through it.

"That is right," he said. "Citizen Porson and citoyenne Martin, of the arrondissement of Paris, travelling to Marseilles, duly signed by the maire of the arrondissement and duly sealed. That is all in order. We are obliged to be particular, citizen; there are many ill disposed to the Republic travelling through the country."

"Will you sit down, citizen, and take a glass of wine with me? Landlord, draw two stoups of wine for these two good citizens."

The two men followed the landlord out to the public room.

"I should think, Jeannette," Leigh said to his sister, "you had better to retire to bed. You have had a long day's ride, and must, I am sure, be tired out."

As soon as she had left the room, Leigh dropped the ten louis into the adjoint's hand.

"I thank you with all my heart," he said. "You have done a good action, and I can assure you that it can do no harm to the Republic, against whom I have no intention of conspiring. There is no fear, I suppose, that the maire's signature may be questioned?"

"There is no fear whatever of that, because the signature is precisely similar to that which occurs on all official documents. The maire is without doubt an excellent Republican, and a devoted servant of the Convention, but he is altogether ignorant of letters, and the consequence is that I sign all official documents for him. So you see there was no trouble whatever in filling in, signing, and sealing this letter. The only matter that concerned me was that, if by any chance you should be arrested as a suspect, possibly a demand might be made as to how you obtained this pass. However, even that did not trouble me greatly; for as I myself open and read the maire's letters, I should have no difficulty in keeping him altogether in the dark as to the purport of any letter that might come, and should myself pen an answer, with explanations which would no doubt be found satisfactory."

"And now can you tell me, sir, which in your opinion would be the best port for me to make to, to leave the country? It matters little whether we go by land or sea."

"It would be more easy for you to make your way to a port than across the frontier," the adjoint said, "but when you reach a port, your difficulties would but begin. In the first place, our trade with foreign countries is almost at a standstill, and every vessel that goes out is rigidly searched for concealed emigres.

"On the other hand, once across the frontier your troubles would be at an end; but every road is closely watched, every village is on the lookout, for the orders are precise that all persons leaving France shall be arrested and detained until in a position to prove their identity, and to place the truth of the reason given for journeying beyond all doubt. I do not say that it might not be possible to bribe peasants to take you by unfrequented paths over the Jura; but the journey would be arduous in the extreme, and probably impossible to be performed on horseback.

"But for my part, if I were in your position and desired to leave the country, I should go north instead of south. I should go in the first place to Paris, stay there in quiet lodgings for a little time until you became known, and you might then get your papers visaed to enable you to continue your journey to Calais or Dunkirk. Money will go just as far among the incorruptibles of Paris as it will here. You might obtain a passage down the Seine, to Rouen or Havre."

"That would certainly suit us best. I regret, now, that I had the paper made out for Marseilles."

"That can easily be remedied, monsieur. If you will walk back with me to the mairie, I will write a fresh paper out, and destroy the one I have given you. But what shall I say is your object in journeying to Paris? You are too young to be going to purchase goods and, indeed, would hardly be taking a woman and child with you for such a purpose.

"Now, monsieur, frankly tell me who you are. I have some relations in Paris, quiet bourgeois, who keep a small shop near the markets. If I were to give you a letter to them, saying that you have business in Paris, and have asked me to recommend someone who would provide you with quiet lodgings, no doubt they would willingly take you in. But I would not involve them in danger. You might be recognised as being members of some family who are proscribed, and in that case not only would my friends get into trouble but, as they would, of course, say that you were recommended to them by me, I might find myself in a very unpleasant position."

"There is no fear of anything of that sort. I and my sister are both English. She married the son of a merchant at Nantes, and I came over with her to learn the business. There have, as you know, been troubles in that part of France. We endeavoured to escape, but she was separated from her husband--who has, I greatly fear, been killed--and we, of course, are both anxious to rejoin our family in England."

"How long have you been in France, monsieur? You speak the language well."

"We have been over here nearly three years."

"Well, I do not think that there is any risk; unless, of course, you are caught in the act of trying to make your escape. But I think that it would be as well that my friends should be prepared for your coming. I know a man who is leaving for Paris tomorrow. I will give him my letter, and ask him to deliver it personally, as soon as he gets there; then you can follow, twenty-four hours later. Now that it is known that I have examined your papers, and found them correct, there will be no further inquiry about you and, at any rate, you could stay here for a day or two without any questions being asked."

"That would be an admirable plan, monsieur; and I cannot tell you how much I am obliged to you."

"Say no more about that, monsieur; you have paid me well for it and, moreover, I am not a bad fellow, though at present I am obliged to appear to be a strong supporter of the people in Paris. Now, if you will put on your hat and come along with me, I will leave you a short distance from the hotel de ville, to which I have access at all hours. I shall of course simply put, in the passport, that you are travelling to Paris on private matters, and that you will stay with your friend, citizen Tourrier, in the rue des Halles."

A quarter of an hour later Leigh returned to the auberge, furnished with the required paper. The adjoint had said, on handing it to him:

"I shall not come round tomorrow. We met as strangers yesterday, and it is as well I should not appear to be intimate with you. But should you find yourself in any difficulty, send for me at once, and I will soon set matters right."

"Is it all satisfactorily arranged, monsieur?" the hotel keeper asked, when Leigh returned.

"Perfectly. Your friend has done even more than he promised."

And he told him of the change that had been made in the plans.

"That is certainly better. I have been wondering, myself, how you would ever be able to get away from Marseilles. Now it seems comparatively easy. I have no doubt that my cousin's friends in Paris will be able to get you another pass, or to put you in the way of travelling to one of the ports; though no doubt it will be almost as difficult to get away, from there, as from Marseilles."

"I think that could be managed, landlord. I am a pretty good sailor, and there ought to be no great difficulty in getting hold of a boat and making out to sea and, when once away, I could steer for England, or get on board some vessel bound there."

He tapped at his sister's door. She was still up.

"You are very late, Leigh."

"Yes, but you will be able to sleep as long as you like tomorrow, as we are not going to start till next day, and are then going north instead of south. Our paper has been changed for Paris, instead of Marseilles; and we are going to the house of a cousin of the man who gave me the pass, so we shall be safe so far; and ought to have no difficulty, whatever, in journeying from there either to Havre or one of the northern ports. I will tell you all about it, tomorrow."

They passed the next day quietly, and both felt better for the short rest. In addition to the pass, the adjoint had given Leigh a note to his cousin. It was unsealed, and read:

"My dear Cousin,

"The bearer of this is Monsieur Porson, and his sister, Madame Martin, of whom I wrote to you. You will find them amiable people, who will give you but little trouble. I have assured them that they will find themselves very comfortable with you, and that you will do all in your power for them, for the sake of your affectionate cousin.

"Simon Valles,

"Adjoint to the maire of Arthenay."

They journeyed by easy stages, stopping at Etampes, Arpajon, and Longjumeau, and rode on the fourth day into Paris. They had no difficulty in finding the shop of Monsieur Tourrier. It was a grocer's and, as soon as they alighted from their horses, its owner came out and greeted them heartily.

"Madame and monsieur are both most welcome," he said. "I have received a letter from my cousin Simon. I am glad, indeed, to receive his friends. Fortunately our rooms upstairs are unlet. Strangers are rare in Paris, at present."

He called a boy from the shop, and told him to show Leigh the way to some stables near. He then entered the house, accompanied by Patsey with her child. Here she was received by Madame Tourrier, a plump-faced businesslike woman, and was not long in finding out that she was the real head of the establishment.

"I have got the rooms ready for you," she said. "We were surprised, indeed, to get a letter from Simon Valles; for he is a poor correspondent, though he generally comes to stay with us for three days, once a year. He is a good fellow, but it is a pity that he did not go into trade. He would have done better for himself than by becoming adjoint to the maire of Arthenay. It has a high sound, but in these days, when men are paid their salaries in assignats, it is but a poor living. However, I suppose that it is an easy life, for I don't think hard work would suit Simon. The last time he was up we tried to persuade him that he would do better here, but he laughed and said that people's heads were safer in Arthenay than they were in Paris. But that is folly; the Convention does not trouble itself with small shopkeepers. It knows well enough that we have work enough to do to earn our living, without troubling ourselves about politics; yet if the truth were known, a good many of us are better to do than some of those they call aristocrats. This is a busy quarter, you see, and we are close to the markets, and the country people who come in know that we sell good groceries, and on cheaper terms than they can get them in their villages. We should do better, still, if my husband would but bestir himself; but men are poor creatures, and I don't know what would become of them, if they had not us women to look after their affairs."

They now reached the rooms, which were small but comfortable, and the price which Madame Tourrier named seemed to Patsey to be very moderate.

"You see, your room is furnished as a sitting room also, madame, and you and your brother can talk over your affairs here. As to your meals, I could provide your cafe au lait in the morning, but I can't undertake to cook for you. But there are many good places, where you can obtain your meals at a cheap rate, in the neighbourhood. How long do you expect to remain in Paris?"

"That I cannot say, at present. My husband is a sailor, but I have not heard from him for a long time. At Arthenay there is but small opportunity of learning what happens outside, and it may be that I shall have to travel to Havre to obtain news of him; although I am troubled greatly by the fear that his ship has been lost, or captured by the English. We have never been in Paris before, and my brother naturally wishes to stay a short time, to see the sights."

Madame Tourrier shook her head.

"There are but few sights to see," she said. "The churches are all closed, or at least are turned into meeting places and clubs. It is not as it was before the troubles began; there are few amusements, and no reviews or pageants. I do not say that it is not better so. I have no opinion on such subjects. I have never once been to the hall of representatives. I have no time for such follies and, except on Sunday afternoons, I never stir out of doors. Still, no doubt, it will all be new to him, and as you have horses you can ride over to Versailles, and other places round. There is not much of that now; people think of nothing but the Convention, talk of nothing but of the speeches there, and of Robespierre and Saint Just and Danton. It seems to me that they are always quarrelling, and that nothing much comes of it.

"Now if you will excuse me, madame, I will go down to the shop again. My husband cannot be trusted there a minute and, if my back is turned, he will be selling the best sugar for the price of the worst, then we shall lose money; or the worst sugar for the price of the best, and then we shall lose customers."

So saying, she hurried away. In a few minutes Leigh came up.

"I was told where to find you," he said. "Madame is in the thick of business, and there were half a dozen customers waiting to be served. Monsieur was standing a few yards away from the front of the shop. It was he who gave me instructions for finding your room.

"'It is best,' he said, 'that madame should be asked no questions while she is busy. I always go out myself, when customers come in. She is one of the best of wives, and manages affairs excellently, but her temper is short. She likes to do things her own way and, as it pleases her, I never interfere with her.'"

"I think he is wise not to do so," Patsey laughed. "I can see already that she is mistress of the establishment. But from what I have seen at Nantes, I think that it is generally the women who look after the shops and mind the businesses. However, though she speaks sharply, I should say that she is a kind-hearted woman. However, we may be very thankful that we have obtained a shelter where we can live, safely and quietly, until we have fixed on our plans for the future."

But although Monsieur Tourrier was, in all matters connected with the business, but as a child in the hands of his wife, he was far better acquainted with what was passing around them; and when Leigh mentioned to him that he intended to ride out to Versailles, he at once warned him against doing so.

"My dear monsieur," he said, "I know nothing of the state of things at Arthenay, and for aught I know people may go out riding for pleasure there; but it would be little short of madness to attempt such a thing here. At present things have got to such a state that for any man to seem richer than another is, in itself, a crime. Here all must be on an equality. Were you to ride out, every man you pass would look askance at you. At the first village through which you rode you would be arrested, and to be arrested at present is to be condemned. There are no questions asked, the prisoners are brought in in bunches, and are condemned wholesale. I say nothing against the condemnation of the aristocrats; but when perhaps two or three aristocrats are brought up with half a dozen journalists, and a dozen others who may have been arrested merely out of spite, and are all condemned in five minutes, it is clear that the only way to live is to avoid being arrested, and the only way to avoid being arrested is to avoid attracting attention.

"If you were really going on a matter of business, it would be different, but to ride to Versailles merely to see the place would be regarded as ample proof that you were an aristocrat; and no one would regard your papers as anything but a proof that these had been obtained by fraud, and that you were either an aristocrat, or a spy of Pitt's, or a Girondist, and certainly an enemy of the Convention. Therefore, monsieur, if you wish to go anywhere, walk, or go out in a market cart, for to ride might be fatal."

"I will take your advice," Leigh said. "I did not think that things were so bad as that."

"They could not be worse, monsieur; it would be impossible. But we who are quiet men think that it cannot go on much longer; even the sans-culottes are getting tired of bloodshed. There is no longer a great crowd to see the executions, and the tumbrils pass along without insults and imprecations being hurled against the prisoners.

"The men of the Convention, having killed all the Girondists, are now quarrelling among themselves. Robespierre is still all powerful, but the party opposed to him are gaining in strength, and there is a feeling that, ere long, there will be a terrible struggle between them and, if Robespierre is beaten, there are many of us who think that the reign of terror will come to an end. We who are too insignificant to be watched talk these things over together, when we gather at our cafe, and there is no one but ourselves present; and even then we talk only in whispers, but we all live in hopes of a change, and any change must surely be for the better."