"What weak and tender creatures you all are!" said Simon's wife, with a shrug. "It is very plain that they fed you on milk when you were young. But my mother nursed me with hate. I was scarcely ten years when they shot my father, and not a day pa.s.sed after that without my mother's telling me that we must avenge his murder on the whole lineage of the king. I had to swear that I would do it. She gave me, for my daily food, hatred against the aristocrats; it was the meat to my sauce, the sugar to my coffee, the b.u.t.ter to my bread! I lived and throve upon it. Look at me, and see what such fare has made of me! Look at me! I am not yet twenty-four years old, and yet I have the appearance of an old woman, and I have the feeling and the experience of an old woman! Nothing moves me now, and the only thing that lives and burns in my heart is revenge.

Believe me, were I in your place I should know how to exasperate the Austrian; I should succeed in drawing out her tears."

"Well, and how would you begin? Really, I should like to know how to bring this incarnation of pride to weeping."

"Has not she children?" asked Madame Simon, with a horrible calmness. "I would torture and provoke the children, and that would soon make the heart of the woman humble and pliable. Oh, she may count herself happy that I am not in your place, and that her children are not under my tender hands. But if it ever happens that I can lay my fingers upon the shoulders of the little wolves, I will give them something that will make them cry out, and make the old wolf howl with rage. I will show her as little favor then as she showed when my poor mother and I were begging for my dear father! Go up, go up and try at once. Plague the children, and you will see that that will make the Austrian pliable."

"That is fine talk," muttered Tison, as she went up the staircase, "but she has no children, while I have a daughter, a dear, good daughter. She is not with me, but with my mother in Normandy, because she can be taken better care of there than here. It is better for the good child that she has not gone through these evil days full of blood and grief with us. But I am always thinking of her, and when one of these two children here looks up to me so gravely with great, open eyes, it always makes me think of my Solonge. She has exactly such large, innocent eyes, and that touches my heart so that I cannot be harsh with the children. They, of course, are not at all to blame for having such bad, miserable parents, who have treated the people shamefully, and made them poor and wretched. No, they have had nothing to do with it, and I cannot be severe with the children, for I am always thinking of my little Solonge! I will provoke the Austrian woman as much as I can, but not the children--no, not the children!"

Meanwhile, Mistress Simon had taken her place upon the chair near the open door in the porter's lodge, and sat there with her cold, immovable face staring into empty s.p.a.ce with her great coal-black, glistening eyes, while her hands were busily flying, making the polished knitting-needles click against each other.

She was still sitting there, when at last her husband came down the stairs to open the outer door of the Temple, conduct his friends past the inner court, and to bring back the two officials who were to keep guard during the night.

They pa.s.sed the knitter with a friendly salutation and a bit of pleasantry--Toulan stopping a moment to ask the woman after her welfare, and to say a few smooth words to her about her courage and her great force of character.

She listened quietly, let him go on with his talk, and when he had ended, slowly raised her great eyes from her knitting to him.

"You are a traitor," she said, with coldness, and without any agitation. "Yes, you are a traitor, and you, too, will have your turn at the guillotine!"

Toulan paled a little, but collected himself immediately, took leave of the knitter with a smile, and hastened after the officials, who were waiting for him at the open door--the two who were to hold the watch during the night having already entered.

Simon closed the door after them, exchanged a few words with them, and then went into his lodge to join his rigid better half.

"This has been a pleasant afternoon, and it is a great pity that it is gone, for I have had a very good time. We have played cards, sung, smoked, and Toulan has made jokes and told stories, and made much fun. I always wonder where he gets so many fine stories, and he tells them so well that I could hear him day and night. Now that he is gone, it seems tedious and dull enough here. Well, we must comfort ourselves that to-morrow will come by and by."

"What do you mean by that?" asked his wife, sternly.

"What sort of a day do you expect to-morrow to be?"

"A pleasant day, my dear Heloise, for Citizen Toulan will have the watch again. I begged him so long, that he at last promised to exchange with Citizen Pelletan, whose turn regularly comes to- morrow. Pelletan is not well, and it would be very hard for him to sit up there all day, and, besides, he would be dreadfully stupid.

It is a great deal pleasanter to have Toulan here with his jokes and jolly stories, and so I begged him to come and take Pelletan's place. He is going to accommodate me and come."

His wife did not answer a word, but broke out in a burst of shrill, mocking laughter, and with her angry black eyes she scrutinized her husband's red, bloated face, as though she were reading him through and through.

"What are you laughing at?" he asked, angrily. "I would like to be beyond hearing when you give way in that style. What are you laughing at?"

"Because I wonder at you, you Jack," she answered sharply. "Because you are determined to make an a.s.s of yourself, and let dust be thrown in your eyes, and put yourself at the disposal of every one who soaps you over with smooth words."

"Come," said Simon, "none of that coa.r.s.eness! and if you--"

"Hist!" she answered, commandingly. "I will show you at once that I have told you the truth, and that you are making an a.s.s of yourself, or at least that you are on the point of doing so. Now, listen."

The knitter laid her work aside, and had a long conversation in a whisper with her husband. When it ended, Simon stood up wearing a dark look, and walked slowly backward and forward in the little room. Then he stopped and shook his fist threateningly at the room above. "She shall pay for this," he muttered--" by G.o.d in heaven!

she shall pay for this. She is a good-for-nothing seducer! Even in prison she does not leave off coquetting, and flirting, and turning the heads of the men! It is disgraceful, thoroughly disgraceful, and she shall pay for it! I will soon find means to have my revenge on her!"

During the whole evening Mistress Tison did not leave her place behind the gla.s.s door for a moment, and at each stolen glance which the queen cast thither she always encountered the malicious, glaring eyes of the keeper, directed at her with an impudent coolness.

At last came the hour of going to bed--the hour to which the queen looked impatiently forward. At night she was at least alone and unguarded. After the death of the king, it had been found superfluous to trouble the officials with the wearisome night- watches, and they were satisfied, after darkness had set in and the candles were lighted, with locking the three doors which led to the inner rooms.

Did Marie Antoinette weep and moan at night, did she talk with her sister, did she walk disconsolately up and down her room?--the republic granted her the privilege. She could, during the night at least, have a few hours of freedom and of solitude.

But during the night Marie Antoinette did not weep or moan; this night her thoughts were not directed to the sad past, but to the future; for the first ray of hope which had fallen upon her path for a long time now encountered her.

"To escape, to be free!" she said, and the shadow of a smile flitted over her face. "Can you believe it? Do you consider it possible, sister?"

"I should like to believe it," whispered Elizabeth, "but there is something in my heart that reminds me of Varennes, and I only pray to G.o.d that He would give us strength to bear all the ills they inflict upon us. We must, above all things, keep our calmness and steadfastness, and be prepared for the worst as well as the best."

"Yes, you are right, we must do that," said Marie Antoinette, collecting herself. "When one has suffered as we have, it is almost more difficult to hope for good fortune than to prepare for new terrors. I will compel myself to be calm. I will read Toulan's plan, once more, and will impress it word for word upon my memory, so as to burn the dangerous sheet as soon as possible."

"And while you are doing that I will unwind the ball that Toulan brought us, and which certainly contains something heavy," said the princess.

"What a grand, n.o.ble heart! what a lofty character has our friend Toulan!" whispered the queen. "His courage is inexhaustible, his fidelity is invincible, and he is entirely unselfish. How often have I implored him to express one wish to me that I might gratify, or to allow me to give him a draft of some amount! He is not to be shaken- -he wants nothing, he will take nothing. Ah, Elizabeth, he is the first friend, of all who ever drew toward me, who made no claims and was contented with a kind word. When I implored him yesterday to tell me in what way I could do him a service, he said: 'If you want to make me happy, regard me always as your most devoted and faithful servant, and give me a name that you give to no one besides. Call me Fidele, and if you want to give me another remembrancer than that which will always live in my heart, present me, as the highest token of your favor, with the little gold smelling-bottle which I saw you use in the Logograph box on that dreadful day.' I gave him the trinket at once. He kneeled down in order to receive it, and when he kissed my hand his hot tears fell upon it. Ah, Elizabeth, no one of those to whom in the days of our happiness I gave jewels, and to whom I gave hundreds of thousands, cherished for me so warm thanks as Toulan--no, as Fidele--for the poor, insignificant little remembrancer."

"G.o.d is good and great," said the princess, who, while the queen was speaking, was busily engaged in unwinding the thread; "in order that we might not lose faith in humanity and confidence in man, He sent us in His mercy this n.o.ble, true-hearted one, whose devotion, disinterestedness, and fidelity were to be our compensation for all the sad and heart-rending experiences which we have endured. And, therefore, for the sake of this one n.o.ble man let us pardon the many from whom we have received only injury; for it says in the Bible that, for the sake of one righteous man, many sinners shall be forgiven, and Toulan is a righteous man."

"Yes, he is a righteous man, blessings on him!" whispered the queen.

Then she took the paper in her hand, and began to read the contents softly, repeating every sentence to herself, and imprinting every one of those hope-bringing words upon her memory; and while she read, her poor, crushed heart gradually began to beat with firmer confidence, and to embrace the possibility of realizing the plan of Toulan and finding freedom in flight.

During this time Princess Elizabeth had unwound the thread of the ball, and brought to light a little packet enveloped in paper.

"Take it, my dear Antoinette," she said, "it is addressed to you."

Marie Antoinette took it and carefully unfolded the paper. Then she uttered a low, carefully-suppressed cry, and, sinking upon her knees, pressed it with its contents to her lips.

"What is it, sister?" cried the princess, hurrying to her. "What does Toulan demand?"

The queen gave the paper to the princess. "Read," she said--"read it, sister."

Elizabeth read: "Your majesty wished to possess the relics which King Louis left to you. They consist of the wedding-ring of his majesty, his little seal, and the hair which the king himself cut off. These three things lay on the chimney-piece in the closed sitting-room of the king. The supervisor of the Temple took them from Clery's hand, to whom the king gave them, and put them under seal. I have succeeded in getting into the sitting-room; I have opened the sealed packet, taken out the sacred relics, put articles of similar character in their place, and sealed it up again. With this letter are the relics which belong to your majesty, and I swear by all that is sacred and dear to me--I swear by the head of my queen, that they are the true articles which the blessed martyr, King Louis XVI., conveyed to his wife in his testament. I have stolen them for the exalted heir of the crown, and I shall one day glory in the theft before the throne of G.o.d." [Footnote: Goncourt, "

Histoire de Marie Antoinette," p. 384.]

"See, Elizabeth," said the queen, unfolding the little things, each one of which was carefully wrapped in paper--"see, there is his wedding-ring. There on the inside are the four letters, 'M. A. A.

A., 19th April, 1770.' The day of our marriage!--a day of joy for Austria as well as for France! Then--but I will not think of it. Let me look further. Here is the seal! The cornelian engraved on two sides. Here on one side the French arms; as you turn the stone, the portrait of our son the Dauphin of France, with his helmet on his head. Oh! my son, my poor dear child, will your loved head ever bear any other ornament than a martyr's crown; will G.o.d grant you to wear the helmet of the warrior, and to battle for your rights and your throne? How pleased my husband was when on his birthday I brought him this seal! how tenderly his looks rested upon the portrait of his son, his successor! and now--oh, now! King Louis XVI. cruelly, shamefully murdered, and he who ought to be the King of France, Louis XVII., is nothing but a poor, imprisoned child--a king without a crown, without hope, without a future!"

"No, no, Antoinette," whispered Elizabeth, who had kneeled before the queen and had tenderly put her arms around her--" no, Antoinette, do not say that your son has no hope and no future.

Build upon G.o.d, hope that the undertaking which we are to-morrow to execute will lead to a fortunate result, that we shall flee from here, that we shall be free, that we shall be able to reach England.

Oh, yes, let us hope that Toulan's fine and bold plan will succeed, and then it may one day be that the son of my dear brother, grown to be a young man, may put the helmet on his head, gird himself with the sword, reconquer the throne of his fathers, and take possession of it as King Louis XVII. Therefore let us hope, sister."

"Yes, therefore let us hope" whispered the queen, drying her tears.

"And here at last," she continued, opening the remaining paper, "here is the third relic, the hair of the king! --the only thing which is left us of the martyr king, the unfortunate husband of an unfortunate wife, the pitiable king of a most pitiable people! Oh, my king! they have laid your poor head that bore this white hair-- they have laid it upon the scaffold, and the axe, the dreadful axe-- "

The queen uttered a loud shriek of horror, sprang up, and raised both her hands in conjuration to Heaven, while a curse just trembled on her lips. But Princess Elizabeth threw herself into her arms, and pressed on the cold, quivering lips of the queen a long, fervent kiss.

"For G.o.d's sake, sister," she whispered, "speak softly. If Tison heard your cry, we are lost. Hush! it seems to me I hear steps, hide the things. Let us hurry into bed. Oh, for G.o.d's sake, quick!"

She huddled the papers together, and put them hastily into her bosom, while Marie Antoinette, gathering up the relics, dashed into her bed.

"She is coming," whispered Elizabeth, as she slipped into her bed.

"We must pretend to be asleep."