Robert Tournay Part 37

CHAPTER XVIII

THE LUXEMBOURG

Robert Tournay breathed easier after having sent the message to Gaillard by La Liberte. Gaillard at least was not likely to become implicated; and the anonymous communication once destroyed, nothing of an incriminating nature would be found, should their lodging be visited.

Nevertheless, he could not repress a feeling of disquiet as the iron door of the Luxembourg clanked behind him and he found himself a prisoner.

The cell into which he was conducted was absolutely dark.

"It will not be so bad during the day," volunteered the jailer. "There is a small window that looks out on the courtyard." Tournay drew a sigh of thankfulness on hearing this.

"Your bed is near the door. Can you see it?" asked the jailer.

"I can feel for it," replied Tournay. "Yes, here it is."

"Very well, I will now lock you up safely. Pleasant dreams in your new quarters, citizen colonel." And with this parting salute the cheerful jailer went jingling down the corridor, leaving Tournay in the darkness, seated on the edge of his narrow bed, with elbows on knees and his chin resting in the palms of his hands.

Suddenly he sat up straight and listened attentively. The sound of regular breathing told him that he was not the sole occupant of the cell. "Whoever he may be, he sleeps contentedly," thought Tournay; "I may as well follow his good example." In a very few minutes a quiet concert of long-drawn breaths told of two men sleeping peacefully in the cell on the upper tier of the Luxembourg prison.

The little daylight that could struggle through the bars of the tiny window near the ceiling had long since made its appearance, when Robert Tournay opened his eyes next morning.

His fellow prisoner was already astir; and without moving, Tournay lay and watched him at his toilet. He was most particular in this regard.

Despite the diminutive ewer and hand basin, his ablutions were the occasion of a great amount of energetic scrubbing and rubbing, accompanied by a gentle puffing as if he were enjoying the luxury of a refres.h.i.+ng bath. After was.h.i.+ng, he wiped his face and hands carefully on a napkin correspondingly small. He proceeded with the rest of his toilet in the same thorough manner, as leisurely as if he had been in the most luxurious dressing-room. A wound in his neck, that was not entirely healed, gave him some trouble; but he dressed it carefully, and finally hid it entirely from sight by a clean white neckerchief which he took from a little packet in a corner of the room near the head of his bed.

Having adjusted the neckcloth to his satisfaction, he put on a well-brushed coat, and, sitting carelessly upon the edge of the table,--the room contained no chair,--he began to polish his nails with a little set of manicure articles which were also drawn forth from his small treasury of personal effects.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ADJUSTED THE NECKCLOTH TO HIS SATISFACTION]

The light from the slit of a window above his head fell on his face. It was thin and haggard, like that of a man who had undergone a severe illness, but, despite this fact, it was an attractive face, and the longer Tournay looked at it, the more it seemed to be familiar to him, recalling to his mind some one he had once known.

Suddenly the colonel sprung to his feet. "St. Hilaire!" he exclaimed aloud, answering his own mental inquiry.

St. Hilaire rose from his seat on the table and saluted Tournay graciously.

"I am what is left of St. Hilaire," he replied lightly. "And you are--For the life of me I cannot recall your name at the moment. Though I am fully aware that I have seen you more than once before this."

"My name is Robert Tournay."

"Of course. I should have remembered it. You must pardon my poor memory." Then, looking at him closely, he continued: "You wear the uniform of a colonel. You have won distinction, and yet I see you here in prison."

"It matters not how loyal a soldier or citizen one may be if one incurs the enmity or suspicion of Robespierre," was the answer.

"What you say is true, Colonel Tournay," said St. Hilaire.

"Do you also owe your arrest to him?" asked the colonel.

"No," replied St. Hilaire, resuming his former seat. "I became involved in a slight dispute with some of the gendarmerie about a certain question of--of etiquette. The altercation became somewhat spirited.

They lost their tempers. I nearly lost my life. When I regained consciousness I discovered what remained of myself here, and I am recovering as fast as could be expected, in view of the rather limited amount of fresh air and sunlight in my chamber."

Tournay thought of the brilliant and das.h.i.+ng Marquis Raphael de St.

Hilaire as he had seen him in his boyhood, and looked with deep interest at the figure sitting easily on the edge of the table in apparent contentment, cheerfully accepting misfortune with a smile, and parrying the arrows of adversity with the best of his wit, like the brave and sprightly gentleman he was.

"The resources here are somewhat limited," St. Hilaire continued. "But by placing the table against the wall and mounting upon it one can squeeze his nose between the bars of the window and get a glimpse of the courtyard beneath. Occasionally the jailer has taken me for a promenade there. It seems that we prisoners on the second tier are considered of more importance, or else it is feared that we are more likely to attempt to escape, for we are kept in closer confinement than those who are on the main floor. Although this may be construed as a compliment, it is nevertheless very tedious. But I am keeping you from your toilet by my gossip. I have left you half of the water in the pitcher. Pardon the small quant.i.ty. We will try to prevail upon our jailer to bring us a double supply in future. He is an obliging fellow, particularly if you grease his palm with a little silver."

Tournay accepted his share of the water with alacrity grateful for the courtesy that divides with another even a few litres of indifferently clean water in a prison cell.

After this toilet, and a breakfast of rolls and coffee, partaken together from the rough deal table, the two prisoners felt as if they had known each other for years.

The lines of their lives had frequently run near together during the years of the Revolution, yet in all that whirl of events had never crossed till now, since the summer day in the woods of La Thierry, when the Marquis de St. Hilaire had placed his hand upon the boy's shoulder and bade him save his life by flight.

By some common understanding, subtler than words, no reference to past events was made by either of them. They began their acquaintance then and there; the officer in the republican army, and the Citizen St.

Hilaire; fellow prisoners, who in spite of any misfortune that might overtake them would never falter in their devotion and loyalty to their beloved country, France, and who recognized each in the other a man of courage and a gentleman.

So the day pa.s.sed in discussing the victories of the armies, the oppression and tyranny practiced by the committee, and the prospects of the future.

A few days after Tournay's incarceration the turnkey came toward nightfall to give them a short time for recreation in the courtyard.

This, though far from satisfying, was hailed with pleasure by the prisoners, and especially by Tournay, who, accustomed to the violent exertion of the camp and field, chafed for want of exercise.

They were escorted along the upper corridor, whence they could look down into the main hall on the first floor of the Luxembourg. Here, those prisoners who were happy enough not to be confined under special orders, had the privilege of congregating during the hours of the day and early evening. Looking down upon this scene shortly after the supper hour, Tournay drew a breath of surprise. He felt for a moment as if he were transported back to the days before the Revolution and was looking upon a reception in the crowded salons of the chateau de Rochefort where the baron entertained as became a grand seigneur. The republican colonel turned a look of inquiry toward St. Hilaire. The latter gave a slight shrug as he answered:--

"The ladies dress three times a day and appear in the evening in full toilet. As for the men, they also wear the best they have. You will see that many wear suits which in better days would have been thrown to their lackeys. Now they are mended and remended during the day, that they may make their appearance at night, and defy the shadows of the gray stone walls and the imperfect candlelight quite bravely." And St.

Hilaire himself pulled a spotless ruffle below the sleeves of his well-worn coat.

"And so," mused Tournay, "they can find the heart to wear a gay exterior in such a place as this?"

"No revolution is great enough to change the feelings and pa.s.sions of human nature," replied St. Hilaire. "They only adapt themselves to new conditions. Here, within these walls, under the shadow of the guillotine, Generosity, Envy, Love, and Vanity play the same parts they do in the outer world. Affairs of the heart refuse to be locked out by a jailer's key, and these darkened recesses nightly resound with tender accents and the sighs of lovers. Bright eyes kindle sparks that only death can quench. Jealousy, also, is sometimes aroused, and I am told that even affairs of honor have taken place here."

"I should never have dreamed it possible," said the soldier, looking with renewed interest upon the moving picture at his feet; from which a sound of vivacious conversation arose like the multiplied hum of many swarms of bees.

St. Hilaire leaned idly with one arm on the gallery rail, while he flecked from his coat a few grains of dust with a cambric handkerchief.

Suddenly he straightened himself and grasped the railing tightly with both hands.

"Good G.o.d! can it be possible?" he exclaimed to himself.

Tournay looked at him, surprised by his sudden change of manner. St.

Hilaire did not notice him, but looked intently at some one in the hall below.

Tournay followed the direction of his companion's eyes and saw a young woman, with childish countenance, standing by the elbow of a woman who was seated in a chair occupied with some needlework.

"Countess d'Arlincourt," St. Hilaire continued sadly, speaking to himself. "I hoped that I had saved her."

The woman glanced upward, and her large blue eyes met St. Hilaire's gaze. After the first start of surprise her look expressed the deepest grat.i.tude, while his denoted interest and pity.

Then he turned away. "Come citizen jailer," he said, addressing the attendant, "lead us back to our cell."

As Tournay was about to follow St. Hilaire, he saw, to his amazement, the figure of de Lacheville standing apart from the rest, in the shadow of the wall, as if he preferred the gloomy companions.h.i.+p of his own thoughts to the society of his fellow beings in adversity.