He was seated at the end of a dirty room, redolent of tobacco and candles, pretending to devour a plate of fish swimming in melted butter.
The room where he supped was nearly deserted; two or three habitués of the house alone remained after the rest, enjoying the privilege to which their daily visit to the establishment entitled them.
The tables were for the most part empty; but we ought to remark, in honor to the tavern of Noah's Well, that the stained tablecloths denoted the departure of a satisfactory number of satisfied guests.
The last three successively disappeared, and at about a quarter to eight our patriot found himself alone. Then, with true aristocratic disgust, he pushed away the greasy plate, which an instant before he had appeared to think[Pg 385] so delicious, and drew from his pocket a tablet of Spanish chocolate, which he ate slowly and with a very different expression to that we have seen him endeavor to give to his countenance.
From time to time, while eating his chocolate and black bread, he cast toward a glass door, shaded by a red and white checked curtain, anxious and impatient glances. Sometimes he interrupted his frugal repast to listen; in short, evinced an absence of mind sufficient to induce the mistress of the mansion—seated at her counter, and near the door on which the patriot so eagerly fixed his eyes—to conclude that she might without vanity consider herself the object of his preoccupation.
At length the door-bell sounded in a way that made him start; he drew the plate again before him, and without attracting the woman's observation, threw half the contents to a famished-looking dog, and the remainder to a cat, who treated the dog to some stinging strokes of her velvet paws.
The door opened, and a man entered, dressed almost the same as the patriot, with the exception of the hairy cap, which he had replaced with the red bonnet. An enormous bunch of keys hung from his girdle, from which also depended a sword.
"My soup! my half-pint!" cried the man, entering the public room without removing his bonnet, but merely saluting the mistress of the house by a slight inclination of his head. With a sigh of fatigue, he seated himself at a table adjoining that where our patriot was discussing his black bread and chocolate.
The mistress of the tavern, in consequence of the deference she entertained for the new-comer, rose herself to order the requisite viands.
[Pg 386]
The two men turned their backs to each other,—one to look into the street, the other toward the end of the room,—not a word was exchanged between them till the mistress of the tavern had disappeared.
When the door had closed behind her, by the light from a single candle, suspended from the end of an iron wire so as to divide the light equally between the two guests, the man in the bear-skin bonnet—thanks to the glass placed before him—at length saw that the room was deserted.
"Good-evening," said he to his companion, without turning round.
"Good-evening, sir!" said the new-comer.
"Well," asked the patriot, with the same affected indifference, "where are we now?"
"Well! it is done!"
"What is done?"
"As we agreed, I have had some conversation with Father Richard about the situation. I complained of swimming in the head, dimness of eyesight,—in short, of general ill-health."
"What then?"
"Father Richard called his wife, and she rubbed my temples with vinegar, and that revived me. Then, as we had arranged between us, I said that want of fresh air produced this swimming in the head, that I was of too full a habit, and that the duty at the Conciergerie, which contains at the present moment four hundred prisoners, was killing me."
"What did they say to that?"
"Richard's wife pitied me, but he showed me to the door."
"It was not enough to show you to the door."
"But wait! Then his wife, who is a good soul, re[Pg 387]proached him with having no heart, seeing that I was the father of a family."
"What did he say to that?"
"He said that she was right; but that the very first condition annexed to the situation of turnkey was to remain within the prison to which he was attached; that the Republic did not jest, but would without ceremony cut the throats of those who grew dizzy in the exercise of their duty."
"The devil!" exclaimed the patriot.
"And he was not far wrong either; for since the Austrian has been there, it is a perfect hell of surveillance. One would act the spy there upon his own father." The patriot here gave his plate to the dog to lick, who was directly bitten by the cat.
"Go on!" said he, without turning round.
"At last, sir, I began to groan, and to say that I felt very ill; asked concerning the infirmary, and said I was certain my children would die of hunger if my pay was stopped."
"And Father Richard?"
"The Father Richard replied that turnkeys had no business with children."
"But you had his wife on your side, I suppose?"
"Fortunately! She made a great to-do with her husband, reproached him with possessing a bad and hard heart, and Richard finished by saying to me,—
"'Well! Citizen Gracchus, speak to some one of your friends who will advance you something on your wages, present him to me, and I promise to accept him as your substitute.' Upon which I left him, saying,—
"'Very good, Father Richard, I will directly seek one.'"
"And you have found one, my brave fellow."
[Pg 388]
At this moment the mistress of the establishment entered, bringing the Citizen Gracchus his soup and half-pint.
This did not suit either the patriot or Gracchus, who evidently had still some communications to make to each other.
"Madame," said the turnkey, "I have received a slight remuneration from Father Richard to-day, which will permit me to treat myself to some better fare. So bring me a pork cutlet with cucumbers and a bottle of Burgundy wine; send your servant to fetch the one from the pork-butcher's, and bring me the other yourself fresh from the cellar."
The hostess immediately went to execute his orders.
"Well," said the patriot, "you are an intelligent fellow."
"So far intelligent that I do not hide from myself what, notwithstanding all your fine promises, will be the end of us both. Do you suspect what it may be?"
"Yes, perfectly."
"We both stake our necks."
"Do not be uneasy about mine."
"It is not yours, sir, I must confess, that causes me the greatest uneasiness."
"It is your own?"
"Yes."
"But what if I estimate it at double its worth?"
"Ah, sir, there is nothing more precious than one's neck!"
"Not yours."
"Why not mine?"
"At this moment at least."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I mean to say your neck is not worth a cent, seeing[Pg 389] that if I, for example, were an agent of the Committee of Public Safety, you would be guillotined to-morrow."
The turnkey suddenly turned round so abruptly that the dog barked at him.
He was as pale as death.
"Neither turn round nor turn pale about it," said the patriot, "but finish your soup quietly. I am not an agent, friend. Let me once enter the Conciergerie, install me in your situation, give me the keys, and to-morrow I will count out to you fifty thousand francs in gold."
"Is all this true?"
"Well, you have excellent security,—my head."
The turnkey considered for some seconds.
"Come," said the patriot, who could see him in the glass, "do not indulge in meditations of evil. If you denounce me, as you will only have done your duty, you will not receive a sou from the Republic; if you serve me, and on the contrary are deficient in this same duty to the Republic, as it is unjust in this world to do anything for nothing, I will give you fifty thousand francs."
"I understand perfectly," said the turnkey. "I have every inducement to do what you require, but I fear the results—"
"The results! And what have you to fear? I will not denounce you; very far from it."
"No doubt."
"The day after I am duly installed, take a turn through the Conciergerie, and I will count you twenty-five rolls each containing two thousand francs. These you can easily dispose of in your two pockets. With the money I will give you a ticket to leave France. You go, and wherever you are you will be, if not rich, at least independent."
[Pg 390]
"Well! it is settled, Monsieur, happen what may. I am a poor devil who never dabbled in politics. France has always got on very well without me, and will not perish through any fault of mine; if you do a wicked action so much the worse for you."
"At all events," said the patriot, "I think I shall never do worse than they are doing at this moment."
"Sir, permit me to decline passing an opinion upon the politics of the National Convention."
"You are a pattern of philosophy and indifference. When, however, will you present me to Father Richard?"
"This evening, if you please."
"Yes, certainly; but who am I?"
"My cousin Mardoche."
"Mardoche, then, let it be; the name pleases me. What trade?"
"A breeches-maker."
"Either breeches-maker or tanner. I have that at my fingers' ends."
"Are you a tanner?"
"I could be one."
"True."
"At what time will you present me?"
"In half an hour if you like."
"At nine o'clock then."
"When shall I have the money?"
"To-morrow."
"You must be enormously rich."
"I am in easy circumstances."
"A former nobleman? Is it not so?"
"What does it matter to you?"
"To possess money, and give it away to run the risk of being guillotined; surely the former nobility must be great blockheads."
[Pg 391]
"What would you have? Your red Republicans have too much sense to leave any for others."
"Hush! here is my wine."
"This evening, in front of the Conciergerie."
"All right."
The patriot paid his bill and went out. At the door his stentorian voice was heard,—
"Come, Citizen, quick! make haste with the pork cutlets; my cousin Gracchus is dying of hunger!"
"Mardoche is a good fellow," said the turnkey, tasting the wine poured out for him by the hostess, while she regarded him tenderly.
[Pg 392]