The romance of the sword; a Napoleonic novel

Contents

' PROLOGUE.

CHAPTER PAGE

I. — The “ White Heron” Tavern, 5

Part First. The Betrothal Gift

I. — The Restaurant of the Three Mile-Stones, . . 78

II. — The Black Cross, 93

III. — A Visit from Pichegru, 103

IV. — A Dinner-party, 109

V. — Our Lady of Thermidor, 118

VI. — Charlotte and Robert, 135

VII.— The Lion in Love 147

VIII. — Republicans and Sectionists, 159

IX. — In which Caligula is captain and Pichoux watchman, 168

X. — The 13th Vendemiaire, 176

XI. — Debtor and Creditor, 181

XII.— At the Home of Barras, 187

XHI. — In which General Bonaparte makes Madame Pichoux

weep, 193

XIV.— The Sacrifice 202

XV. — What Josephine Bonaparte did not expect to find in

the basket containing her wedding gifts, . . 208

Part Second. Treason

I.— Story of an act of treason, 214

II. — In which Pichoux commits a folly, his wife a reckless act, Caligula takes a journey, and Charlotte makes a mayonnaise, 220

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER PAGE

III. — Citizeness Bonaparte, 229

IV. — The interrupted dance, 237

V. — The Festival of Victory, 245

VI.— At Venice, 255

VII.— In which Madame Pichoux’s curiosity serves to reveal

an act of treason, 265

VIII.— “Scripta manent,” 275

IX.— Grandfather and Grandson, 284

X. — The price of a jewel, . . . . . 292

XI. — In which love again conquers a hero, . . . 300

Part Third. The Affair In The Rue Saint-nicaise

I. — The passing years, 306

II. — The Monkey’s Tavern, . ^ 313

III. — In which love flutters its wings 324

IV. — In which Saint-Rejant revealed his plans, . . 332

V.— First performance of Haydn’s “Creation,” . . 338

VI. — Bonaparte and Fouche, 343

VII. — Kerouan’s disclosures, 352

Part Fourth. The Duke D’enghien

I. — In which Monsieur de Talleyrand appears on the

scene, 361

II. — Ettenheim, 369

HI.— The Arrest, 377

IV. — The Talisman, 389

V. — Samuel the Jew and Consul Bonaparte, . . 400

VI. -A Forced Play 413

VIL— IntheFog, 421

VIH. — What happened at the same time at Vincennes and

Malmaison, 430

IX. — In the Devil’s Tower, 441

X. — The Execution, 450

XI. — Emperor, 455

THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD.

PEOLOGTJE.

CHAPTER I. THE “white heron” TAVERN

In the year 1793 London presented a peculiar aspect, which has been noted by the historians of the period.

The son of Chatham, who had become the soul of the Coalition, stimulating the Continental Powers to overthrow the Revolution, was arming troops in all quarters.

Around his forces gathered the French emigrants; first those who, denying Louis XVI. and the States General the right of modifying the exercise of the Royal power and restricting the privileges of the nobility and the clergy, would not even witness what they termed the audacious revolutionary usurpations, and during 1789, 1790, and 1791 went to solicit the intervention of neighboring powers; secondly, the laggards — Royalists who having remained in Prance so long as the throne of Louis XVI. existed, had crossed the frontier only to escape the threats and the blows of the conventional dictatorship.

London, thus rendered the centre of military activity and politics shaped to suit the circumstances, felt the effects upon its customs, but found no cause for com-

THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD.

plaint, every change being but another opportunity for making money. In fact, notwithstanding the Income Tax, the city had never experienced so great an increase in its receipts, nor the workman such regularity in the payment of his wages. Never had the shops had so many customers, or the shopkeepers realized such handsome profits.

Among those who had most cause to congratulate themselves upon this new state of affairs were the tavern-keepers and the usurers — the former by speculating in the liquor furnished to the daily contingent of recruits ; the latter in the presence of young Frenchmen accustomed to luxury and pleasure who, in the haste of departure, had not been able to provide themselves with sufficient sums.

Several of the taverns which were most famous at that time existed a few years ago.

Some of us have seen the Blue Crown, where Thomas Brown, the famous engraver on stone, performed his exploits. Above the bar hung his faded portrait, whose only remaining portions were his deep yellow vest, rumpled shirt-front, red nose, and top-boots, made just like those of his political idol. Fox. Here, besides Thomas Brown, the leaders of the party met every evening — Cobbett, Hunt, Sir Francis Burdett, Bentham — and here the militia-men were enlisted.

The writer of these lines spent two months in the city below the Zodiac tavern, where Ugo Foscolo, who, during the Revolution, played in London the part which Lord Byron performed in Italy, wrote the tragedy of “Ajax,” an allegorical composition, in which Ajax became General Moreau and Agamemnon Bonaparte.

THE “white heron” TAVERN.

The Zodiac, for ten years, was the meeting-place of the Scotch volunteers.

The improvement of the Strand caused the destruction of the tavern of the Four Thieves, the favorite meeting-place of the Chouans, when they crossed the Channel to carry on their plotting more easily. But at the present day one can seat one’s self two steps from the Lyceum Theatre in the White Heron, which has continued to be sufficiently well known because the English aristocracy, who are fond of maintaining old customs, do not disdain to stop there in remembrance of the breakfast which George III. once ate under its roof.

Another reason that the tavern-keeper prospered as well as the pawnbroker is that the tavern-keeper and the money-lender were usually one and the same person. The pale ale was the pretext, and the note the actual merchandise — without taking into account the whiskey and the brandy, whose effects, by rendering fhe borrower more eager, permitted the trader in gold to be more exacting.

This was the case at the Blue Crown, the Zodiac, the Four Thieves, and the White Heron. The fame of the latter, however, far surpassed that of the others; the principal reasons were these :

The White Heron had been built in the style of the taverns of the sixteenth century, a period when London, whose houses were built of wood, presented a curious mixture of Italian and Gothic architecture. It was a large house, with a peaked roof, each story of which, encroaching upon the lower one, thrust into the street its joists ornamented with huge masks, its long carved water-spouts, and its Gothic gloom. The entrance was through a small door, above which hung, creaking, an

THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD.

iron sign bearing a painting of a white heron trying to catch a frog in the bottom of a bottle of gin. Having crossed the threshold, one entered a large room furnished with movable oak tables- and stools. Around the walls bottles and glasses glittered in the rays of ten lights, an unusual luxury.

The imagination might conjure up soldiers in brown cloaks, servants in blue liveries, apprentices in flat caps, discharged troopers, policemen in tanned-leather mantles, cavaliers with spurs four inches long — the cavaliers who, in the sixteenth century, quarrelled for seats at the Globe Theatre when “ Hamlet” was played . Their places were filled by officers in red cloaks, who desired to earn a title to the gratitude of Pitt by fighting less for their country than for his ideas ; young emigrants, dressed in coats cut in the French fashion, eager to get news from Paris, Normandy, Brittany, or la Vendee, and trying to forget for a few hours, under the influence of beer or alcohol, the hardships of exile and the threats of the future.

Such customers became an easy prey to the landlord of the White Heron, the Jew Samuel. One should have seen the zeal with which he urged on the four employees who brought up the wine and filled the glasses, the skill with which, at the height of the bustle, he glided into the midst of the French revellers, questioned them about their situation, and answered their requests when the offer of service did not proceed from him. After the loan was promised, he beckoned to his victim to follow him, and, after telling him to say nothing to the others, led him out of the room into an office separated from the drinkers by a little courtyard, where the discussion was commenced in earnest. Need I add that

THE “white heron” TAVERN.

Samuel always gained the advantage? In spite of the fabulist, necessity is not even ingenious.

Finally the host of the White Heron had a third string to his bow.

He played the spy for the benefit of the Convention.

But, let me hasten to add in his favor, he did this work gratuitously.

Samuel, who was a native of France, had seen his family suffer from the obloquy with which the Jews were so long loaded, and had retained a deep hatred for his persecutors, personified in the nobility and the clergy.

The day that the Constituent Assembly gave to the Jews the rights of citizenship Samuel was won over to the Revolution. He sought the men who had liberated him and his race, expressed his gratitude and, in return, offered to place at their disposal the information which he could gather in London.

“ I ask no other recompense for my services,” he said, “ than the satisfaction of preventing the return of our tormentors.”

The proposal was accepted, and the compact made.

To-day the White Heron was crowded with people. News had just come from the Vosges, where the priests and nobles maintained great influence. It was said that the nobles of Alsace had determined to follow Wurmser’s army, and had spread from Wissembourg to the environs of Strasburg ; it was rumored that Hoche would march on Besangon. Some were making predictions ; others, with a chart before them, were discussing the operations. Samuel was listening, unable to conceal a smile of gratification whenever a victory of the revolutionary forces was mentioned.

THE KOMAHCE OF THE SWORD.

When night began to close in, the conversation grew more animated. A group composed of four emigrants and two English officers made the loudest uproar. The Frenchmen affirmed that, by marching on the Meuse, Dumouriez might have defeated Clairfayt; the officers bellowed that Clairfayt was invincible.

Farther on, three abbes, with noses redder than a cardinal’s robe, were disputing about the system of defence adopted by Malesherbes in the trial of Louis XVI. — not that they doubted the result, for they were sure that even the Jacobins would not dare to condemn the king, but from love of method and argument. The youngest thought it ridiculous that people should trouble themselves about principles of law before incompetent judges ; the next to the eldest considered it humiliating that facts ascribed by adventurers to a royal lady should be brought up; the oldest, who was evidently more intoxicated than the two others, was weeping for regret that he was not a soldier, which he would have been but for the meagreness of military fare.

His sobs — for certain drams of whiskey elicited sobs — provoked shouts of laughter from two farmers-general who, during the past fortnight, had been urged by their vanity to vie with a couple of Irish sailors famed for the capacity of their stomachs.

Here and there were heard songs, oaths, snatches of the Marseillaise to the tune of a jig, imprecations against Robespierre produced by the imagination of William Lee, an Oxford poetaster, who for a few pence would caricature his man. And watching the whole scene amid a cloud of smoke and dust was Samuel, his hair as gray and closely curled as the wool of a Kent sheep; his little gray eyes sparkling with malice; his

THE “white HEROK” TAYERH.

hooked nose projecting over a long white beard; Samuel, impatiently twitching his long brown overcoat when the waiters were not quick enough, or unbuttoning and rebuttoning it, according to his habit, before beginning to bargain with a customer.

The clock in the Chapel of the Evangelists struck eleven, and the guests rose, left the taproom, and dispersed.

Samuel attended to the closing of the tavern and then went to his own chamber.

Fifteen minutes after, the knocker rapped three times.

Samuel took a lantern and went to the door.

“ Who is there?”

“ Open.”

“ Why?”

“ A French gentleman, in need of money, would like to talk with you.”

“At this hour?”

“ He has chosen it lest he should be recognized.”

“ Very well; I’ll open the door.”

The key turned twice in the lock.

“ Follow me.”

The stranger entered the tavern, crossed a courtyard and went into the office, where Samuel scanned the visitor.

He was a man of good height, whose unusual spareness was redeemed by his perfect grace of carriage. The face, aristocratically small, was animated by very penetrating eyes; the lines around the mouth showed repressed arrogance. He did not remove his hat, and a dark cloak concealed his dress.

Wearied by so long a scrutiny and disturbed by a

THE KOMAHCE OF THE SWO^RD.

gesture of surprise from Samuel, the newcomer, in his turn, scrutinized the Jew.

The latter resolved to break the silence.

“ May I know to whom I have the honor of speaking?”

“ The Count de Miremont. ”

“ Ah !” said Samuel, stroking his beard.

“ I have come on somewhat delicate business.”

“A loan?”

“ Upon a pledge.”

“ Can I see it?”

Count de Miremont hesitated an instant, half-opened his cloak, and drew out a long package carefully wrapped.

Samuel took off the covering and saw a sword, which he examined slowly, like a man who cares more for the material worth of an article than its artistic value.

Yet it was a superb weapon. On the blade were the words, “ Given hy God for the King,^^ and in the hilt was set a diamond of remarkable size and flawless brilliancy.

While Samuel was turning the weapon in his hands his visitor’s face changed singularly, expressing by turns humiliation and rage. When Samuel read the inscription a second time, the count could not repress a gesture of impatience.

“Well? What sum will you advance upon it?”

The Jew returned the sword without averting his eyes from the weapon.

“Fifty thousand francs.”

“The diamond is worth three hundred thousand.”

“You want ”

“Twice what you offer.”

“ A hundred thousand ! Impossible.”

THE “white heron” TAVERN.

“Why?”

“Because I haven’t them.”

“ It is said that you possess millions.”

“People exaggerate. For more than six months I have bled at every vein to oblige my countrymen. If his Majesty King Louis XVI. does net reconquer his throne, I shall be a ruined man, utterly ruined. It will not be the first time that the French nobility has beggared a child of Moses,” he added, looking his visitor fixedly in the eyes. “ But at least, so far as I am concerned, this would be the last — I shouldn’t have a penny left. Allow me to look at the sword again.”

Samuel examined it a second time.

“ The diamond is evidently a fine one. Seventy-five thousand francs?”

“A hundred thousand.”

“A hundred thousand, then, on one condition.”

“ What is it?”

“ You must give me a letter worded : ‘To-day, January 26th, 1793, at ten minutes before midnight, I acknowledge having received from Monsieur Samuel the sum of one hundred and fifty thousand francs, in exchange for a sword (whose description will follow), which sword will become the property of the aforesaid Samuel if the hundred and fifty thousand francs are not returned to him on the 28th of January, 1793, before midnight. ’ ”

“That is, in forty-eight hours?”

“With ten minutes’ grace.”

“ Agreed.”

“Write the letter, then.”

The stranger again hesitated, while Samuel placed on a table ink, pen, and paper.

THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD.

“Everything is ready, sir; you have only to sit down.”

The visitor still delayed. After a visible struggle, he made up his mind and began to write at the dictation of Samuel, who meanwhile carefully locked up the sword in a chest.

When the contract was written, Samuel read it attentively.

“ Is anything lacking?”

“ Only the most important part.”

“What is that?”

“Your signature.”

“ It is there in full.”

Samuel planted himself in front of him and, striving to straighten his figure to the same height, said :

“ Monseigneur ”

“Monseigneur!” interrupted the stranger, whose face was overspread by a livid pallor. “ Why do you use that title?”

“You shall know,” replied Samuel. “Monseigneur, a few years ago, we were forbidden to weep over the ruins of Jerusalem. We were sold like beasts at the fair. In some cities we were forced to pay for the air we breathed, a florin per day, a ducat per hour. From Palm Sunday morning until Easter, we were forbidden to show ourselves. Every public officer could legally, according to judicial decrees, use insulting epithets to us. A Jew was compelled to pay for toll 12 deniers; a Jewess who was about to become a mother, 9; any other Jewess, 6; a dead Jew, 5 sols; a dead Jewess, 50 deniers, and a pig, 1 sol. In France, the responsibility for this rested with the Bourbons. Do you wish proofs? No. You know your own history.”

THE ‘‘white HEROK” TAVERH.

“ What are you aiming at?”

“You shall know. In 1784, the Alsatian subjects of King Louis XVI., who owed the Jews millions, invented receipts written in the Hebrew language. They had found nothing better to pay their debts. A deputation, to which I belonged, went to the King and explained the situation. The King had his two brothers with him that day ; he drove us from his presence, and his brothers smiled with an expression !■ shall never forget. Do you begin to understand? I left the King with my heart filled with implacable hatred, not for him alone, but for all who were his friends, and I prayed to God for vengeance. God heard me, since it has come. Monseigneur, and a terrible one! I have the right to say: In signing that paper ‘Count de Miremont,’ the Count d’ Artois committed a forgery.”

“Scoundrel!” cried Count d ’Artois, sinking into a chair.

“Ah, no, Monseigneur! The scoundrel is not I, who might keep both your sword and my money, and who will not do so, because, spite of my hatred, I am honest in business affairs. Here are the 100,000 francs.”

Then, while Count d’Artois took them with a trembling hand, Samuel added :

“The scoundrel is not the Jew who, in forty-eight hours, when you return the one hundred and fifty thousand francs, might answer: ‘Keep them, I will keep the pledge, which is worth double,’ and who will not do so, because, however great may be the insults he has to revenge, he possesses the honesty of usury. The scoundrel is the grandson of Saint Louis, who becomes a forger and, a second Judas, barters his sword for thirty pieces of silver.”

THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD.

Count d ’Artois sprang to his feet under the lash of this last insult. ,

Samuel took up his lantern, saying ceremoniously :

The business is settled, Monsieur de Miremont, and it is growing late.”

Count d’ Artois followed Samuel, who opened the door and, bowing, said :

“Be on your guard. The streets are not very safe.”

The brother of Louis XVI., making no reply, vanished in the darkness.

CHAPTER II. IN WHICH COUNT d’AVAILLAC MAINTAINS TRA- DITIONS

The following morning Count d’Artois sat before the fire, absorbed in thought.

The apartment was a large study in a mansion near Hyde Park. Low bookcases — above which hung two portraits, those of Henry IV. and the King of England — surrounded the four walls.

He was still pondering, when the entrance of his secretary roused him as if from a dream.

“What is it?”

“Monseigneur, M. d’Availlac, with several of his partisans, requests an interview.” Count d’Artois made a gesture of annoyance, but instantly controlled himself.

“Show them in,” he said, and Messieurs d’Availlac, d’Entraigues, de Chatillon, Bourmont, d’Antichamp, and d’Espomelles were ushered in.

Count d’Artois motioned to them to be seated, and invited Monsieur d’Availlac to be spokesman.

“ Have you any news from Monsieur de Flermont, Monseigneur?” d’Availlac began.

“I am expecting him to-da}^, if God has permitted him to succeed in his dangerous enterprise: to cross France, reach the King, who is a prisoner in the Temple, recross France and return here !”

“ Mon seigneur,” Count d’Availlac continued, “your 2 17

THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD.

partisans, of whom I am one, believe that we are losing time, and that the hour for action has arrived. Our news from France makes the situation clear. The parties are measuring their forces. On one side are the Girondists, accused of royalism, on the other the Jacobins, howling at the monarchy like hounds scenting the quarry, to say nothing of the perpetual conflict between the ideas of the Constituent Assembly and those of the Convention. One bold stroke and we shall descend upon France, create for ourselves a pathway through the midst of the struggles and dissensions, rescue the King, and consolidate forever the adherents of the royal banner. Am I not right, gentlemen?”

All nodded assent.

Count d ’Artois hesitated.

“ I expected nothing less from your fidelity and courage, and I thank you for the proposal. But what forces are at your command?”

‘‘Mon seigneur, there are twenty-five thousand emigrants here ready to die for our cause. At Ham, Monsieur has more than a hundred leaders, to whom the insurgents of Lyons and the South have offered troops. We have the army of Conde. We have the partisans in France, who only await a signal to join us. We have our agencies, which have hitherto escaped the vigilance of the Convention authorities, and we hold in reserve warm hearts and strong arms. Lastly, we have the Ven deans and Bretons.”

“Who represent them?”

“ Monseigneur, a deputation of some of their leaders arrived this morning from Brest and accompanied us here. Admit them, and you will be ”

Count d’Artois looked troubled.

COUNT d’AVAILLAC MAINTAINS TKADITIONS. 19

D’Availlac’s persistence disturbed him the more the more plainly he perceived the difficulty of remaining deaf to it.

Touching a bell, he said to his secretary :

“Introduce the deputation of the Vendeans and Bretons.”

Four men appeared, dressed in their holiday costume.

“Your names, gentlemen?” asked Count d’Artois.

“ Picot-Lemoelan, Coster Saint-Victor, Joyau, Carbon, surnamed Petit-F7'angois” they answered in turn.

“ Monsieur Picot-Lemoelan, I will hear you.”

“Monseigneur,” said the Breton, in stentorian tones, “ upon both banks of the Loire, in Brittany and the environs of Rennes, in Anjou, Upper and Lower Poitou, fifty thousand men, resolved on death, await the signal from you to march upon Paris. Cathelineau has already entered Cholet, seized arms enough to equip five thousand men, and made cartridges from the cartridges of cannon. In Bocage, Monsieur de la Rochejaquelein commands troops thrice blessed by our bishop. Charette is at the head of the army of the Marais, and has a chaplet blessed by the Pope. Here is more than is necessary to conquer the armies of the Republic— especially with the aid of the Virgin.”

Count d’Artois looked still more troubled.

“And who would command the expedition?”

“Should not you be our leader, Monseigneur?” replied d’Availlac.

“I? And why, if you please? Am I the elder? Is not Monsieur at Ham claiming his rights incessantly and so loudly that it might well occasion strife between us. Since he desires the honor, is it not just that he

THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD.

should brave the danger? Besides, do you not exaggerate the situation? The King is not yet sentenced. Malesherbes, Tronchet, and de Seze will maintain his inviolability. They will victoriously refute the charge of having shed French blood on the 10th of August by proving that the real aggressor was the people. Finally, if the King must become the victim of his judges, his banishment would bring him back among us, and then, with a dethroned sovereign for our leader, we should have a better chance of victory.”

“Monseigneur is deluding himself,” a voice murmured. “King Louis XVI. is dead.”

Every one turned toward the newcomer.

“Flermont!” cried Count d’Artois. “What are you saying? My brother ”

“ Died by the guillotine. Monseigneur. Your brother’s head fell under the knife of his executioners the very day I reached Paris.”

The noblemen made the sign of the cross; the Vendeans and Bretons threw themselves on their knees.

“Dead!” repeated Count d’Artois. “Dead! Like Charles I.? No! Charles had the honor of the axe. Dead by the guillotine !”

A long silence followed.

All eyes were fixed upon Count d’Artois, who was lost in thought.

Spite of the grief which the news occasioned, they cherished the hope that the king’s assassination would rouse his brother to plans for vengeance and end an indecision which made them blush for him.

Suddenly Count d’Artois raised his head.

“ What is it?”

The secretary had just entered.

COUNT d’availlac maintains teaditions. 21

“A message from Toulon, Monseigneur.”

Seizing the note, he read its contents and exclaimed : “ Gentlemen, the plans of Providence are inscrutable. The King is dead, but Toulon is in the hands of the English.”

“ At last !” cried his partisans.

“Toulon captured by the English!” murmured d’Availlac.

“ The news is explicit^ ” Count d’ Artois sLdded.

“Toulon captured by the English,” d’Availlac repeated, “means France in the power of the foreigner.”

“ It is a dagger in the heart of the Republic !” said Monsieur de Bourmont.

“It is opening the road to return to Paris!” cried d ’Antichamp.

“ It is the throne of the Bourbons regained !” added Monsieur d’Entraigues. “I call you all to witness, gentlemen.”

And as all assented. Monsieur d’Availlac turning toward them, exclaimed :

“Am I listening to French noblemen? What? Did our ancestors gam their titles and coats of arms on battle-fields to see their descendants form a compact with the foreigner?”

“ Monsieur d’Availlac!” Count d’Artois interrupted.

“ Monseigneur, I beseech you to hear me and to believe that I speak but from my love for my princes and my native land. You have asked the foreigner for the renewal of political order. It was done at first through principle; but on reflection, he decided to work only#. for his own advantage. The armies of Prussia and Austria have just defeated the Republican troops at Kerwinde, Pirmasens, and Kaiserlauteru. Conde, Valenciennes,

THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD.

Le Quesnoy, and Landrecies have capitulated. These successes have increased the aspirations of the invaders. At the beginning of the war they were merely striving for the restoration of the monarchical principle. Now thej" dream of nothing less than the conquest and division of France. Gentlemen, I appeal to your consciences, I appeal to your memories. Finally, Monseigneur, you have not forgotten the torpor of the protectorates of the Cabinets of Vienna and Berlin ; and if your own memory fails, let me remind you of the day you entreated me to accompany you to the Court of St. Petersburg to solicit from the Empress Catherine more disinterested intervention.”

At this reminder Count d’ Artois involuntarily put his hand to his side, and d’Availlac noticed that he had changed the sword he formerly wore.

“On returning to London,” Count d’ Artois replied, “ I enumerated the troops at my disposal, as we have just done. But if I believed that, while the King lived, they would suffice, I was soon obliged to alter my mind when I examined our financial resources. To whom should I apply? To you, Monsieur d’Entraigues? You had just placed the little money you had left at the disposal of the Prince de Conde. To you. Monsieur d’Espomelles? You had left France with three thousand crowns, and that very day had summoned your tradesmen to ask for credit. To you. Monsieur de Flermont? But for the chances of the gaming-table, you would not have had enough to pay the expenses of your journey to Paris. You, Monsieur de Chatillon? The office your wife holds at the English Court barely supports you in the style that befits your station. Then I made a last essay. I begged Monsieur de Flermont to

COUNT d’AYAILLAC MAINTAINS TRADITIONS. 23

go to Paris, at the risk of his life, reach the King and obtain his signature, for which the Treasury of England consented to advance me ten millions. The King is dead. And,” he added, drawing d’Availlac aside, “I have pledged the sword, of which you know, to Samuel the Jew. If it is not redeemed by midnight to-morrow, the Jew will have the right to dispose of it.”

“The sword of ”

“ Hush !” interrupted Count d’ Artois. •“ If you love me, hush!”

Then, raising his voice, he added: “Well, Monsieur d’Availlac, do you still think we could do without the foreigner, and, besides his troops, dispense with his money?”

“Why did not Monseigneur apply to me? I have a million deposited in the Bank of England.”

“Because I knew what conditions you would impose the day that I became your debtor. Even now if, refusing to submit to them, I ask you to do me the favor to advance this million?”

“I should refuse, for reasons that your conscience will appreciate !”

Chapter III. Unexpected Aid

Count d’Artois and his companions were still under the influence of this scene when a voice exclaimed :

“ So we waste time in theatrical talk while the King is guillotined, thrones crumble, and God is insulted !”

A person of most extraordinary appearance came forward.