Part 45 (1/2)

”There was a great battle fought. It was a full month afterward that I heard of it and of the glory won by Colonel Tournay. The Republicans were victorious. Had they been defeated, the restoration of the Monarchy would have been one step nearer. But the allies were defeated, their finest troops were sent flying back before the raw recruits. And I! Did I mourn the defeat of our allies as much as I rejoiced in Colonel Tournay's triumph? _The hero of Landau!_ That is what he was called.”

Then, turning toward Agatha, she exclaimed: ”How do you think they have rewarded him in France? They have thrown this hero into prison. They have kept him there for months. And I heard of it only to-night from the officers who returned with Colonel von Waldenmeer yesterday. They spoke of affairs in France. They said that the Republic is approaching its final doom. The leaders are now at discord. The terrible Danton has been sent to the guillotine. They said that the officers of the army are being suspected; mentioned Colonel Tournay's arrest, and then casually pa.s.sed on to other topics. I heard no more. I could not listen after that, and came up here as soon as I could withdraw from the table.

Agatha, I am going back to France.”

”Why are you going?” asked Agatha gently, fearing to antagonize her mistress in her present mood.

Again Edme looked out of the window at the swaying tops of the mournful pines. ”I cannot stay here,” she answered fiercely. ”The melancholy of the place is killing me.”

”Do not be a child, mademoiselle,” said Agatha in the tone of authority she sometimes employed in reasoning with her beloved mistress. ”If you are not happy here, we will leave. Perhaps we can go to Berlin, or to London. But never to France!”

”Twice has he risked his life for me,” said Edme, again speaking to herself. ”I owe so much to him, and have repaid him nothing.”

”All that is true,” persisted the cool-headed Agatha. ”He aided you because he had the power; if you could serve him, it would be different.

But you can do nothing. If you go to Paris, you will be arrested and guillotined. That is all. No, my dear mistress, you must not go.”

”I shall go,” answered Edme firmly. ”If I am apprehended, so much the worse.”

”You will only place yourself in peril,” cried Agatha. ”You must not go!”

”When Colonel Tournay parted from me,” said Edme impressively, ”he swore that we should some day meet again. He would keep his word if it were possible. Fate has decreed that he shall not come to me; she decrees, instead, that I shall go to him.”

”Mademoiselle,” cried Agatha in a horrified tone, ”what are you saying?

Think of your rank, think of your family, your pride of birth!”

”My rank!” laughed Edme scornfully. ”Did that avail me when I crossed the river Loire? My pride of birth! Did that protect and bring me safely out of France? A brave and loyal man was my sole protection. He is now in the greatest danger. I am going to him.”

There was a ring in her voice as she spoke that seemed to bid defiance to the long line of ancestry behind her.

”Now that you know that I am not to be swayed from my determination, will you go with me or remain here?”

”I shall go with you, mademoiselle.”

”We must leave here clandestinely, Agatha. I little thought, when the kindly Grafin von Waldenmeer took me under her roof, I should leave it like this.”

”We shall have to travel through France in the disguise of peasants, mademoiselle,” said Agatha.

”We have had some experience in that disguise, Agatha. You know how well I shall be able to play my part.”

From Hagenhof, starting at dead of night, the two women traveled to Paris. It took them three weeks to make the journey that they had once made in five days. But they were obliged to travel slowly, as became two women of their cla.s.s.

On the morning of the twentieth day they found themselves in the Rue Vaugirard in Paris, almost under the very shadow of the Luxembourg.

Agatha stopped before the doorway of a small house in the window of which a placard announced that lodgings were to let within.

”This is what we want, mademoiselle,” said the girl. ”I will knock here.”

A woman answered the summons. She was about forty years old, with stooping shoulders, and hands gnarled and twisted by hard work. Her skin was dark, but an unhealthy pallor was upon her face, which, thin and worn, was lightened by a pair of brilliant eyes.

”Can we obtain lodging here, good citizeness?” inquired Agatha. The woman did not reply at once, being busy looking at them closely with her bright eyes.