Before telling you how the Chevalier de Vaudrey got out of Caen and how he fared forth to his love, it is meet that the reader should understand the rapidly changing conditions that converted the New France into a veritable h.e.l.l on earth.

After the Fall of the Bastille, and even after the mob's sortie on Versailles which enforced the royal family's return to Paris where they lived in the Tuileries, it was the hope of the moderate patriots that const.i.tutional monarchy might prevail.

These hopes were dashed, first, by royalty's intrigues and double-dealing, and, secondly, through the pressure of the revolting emigres and the threat of foreign invasion that welded all the defenders of France, w.i.l.l.y-nilly, into a traitor-crushing and invader-defying Republic.

Of all the personages of that unhappy time, the locksmithing King Louis XVI least understood what was going on about him.

A true Bourbon with an ancestry of nearly a thousand years' possession of the French throne, he never learned anything and never forgot anything. He played at being a limited monarch but his sympathies were naturally with the riffled aristocrats--the n.o.bility whose privileges had been taken away, their estates commandeered, their chateaux fired or sacked, and themselves obliged to flee for their lives to the protection of the foreigner.

Not comprehending the nature of the Storm that wiped out old tyranny, Louis dangerously rode the Storm, he could not guide it. His lack of understanding is sadly shown in the closing scene at Versailles when they brought him news of the people's coming.

"Mais, c'est une revolte. Why, that is a revolt!" exclaimed the bewildered monarch.

"No, Sire," replied the Minister gravely, "'tis not a revolt. It is a revolution!"

Within a few hours the yelling maenads and bold satyrs of the sansculottes possessed the gorgeous Salon de la Paix, whilst the King and his family were on their way to Paris....

Then followed many weary months of royalist intrigue, plot and counter plot, secret d.i.c.kers with foreign Powers, attempts at escape, fresh indignities by the mob, until at last Royalty is suspended from its function, becomes the prisoner instead of the ruler. Turned out of the Tuileries, Louis and Marie Antoinette are no longer King and Queen--henceforth Citizen and Citizeness Capet. At the end of dreadful imprisonments, looms for the hapless pair the dread Scaffold....

A real Republic teeters for a short period on the crest of the Revolutionary wave. Men are mad with the joy over the new thought of universal brotherhood. Little do Danton and the other Utopians realize that the Pageant of Brotherhood is but the prelude of a new Despotism.

For a dark ring of foes--spurred to invasion by the King's misfortunes--surrounds France on every side. Within, the cry re-echoes: "The traitors to the prisons!" and all the aristocrats as yet at large are hunted down and put in durance.

As Minister of Justice, Danton, the idol of the people, acts quickly to subdue aristocracy, and ceaselessly organizes--organizes--organizes the raw republican levies into troops fit to resist the advancing Prussians, Austrians and Savoyards.

Lashed to uncontrollable rage by the preliminary successes of the invading Prussians, the Paris proletariat break into the prisons and ma.s.sacre the unfortunate members of the n.o.bility there immured. Few are spared. Young equally with the old--girls and women no less than the sterner s.e.x--the n.o.ble, the wise, the cultivated, the beautiful, are murdered in cold blood. The September Ma.s.sacres shock moderates everywhere with the feeling that France is at last running amuck--the mad dog of the Nations.

Yes, France now is running amuck--'ware of her when she strikes!

Lafayette and other moderates--indeed, several of the Generals commanding the patriot armies have fled over the border, disgusted with the national rabies, utterly unable to quench it.

The patriot ranks close up. The wilder element of the sansculottes grasps the helm of State. In the desperate need of a dictatorship to cope against the foreign invasion, Danton procures from the Legislature absolute power for a little inner group, the Committee of Public Safety.

Working on the pa.s.sions of the people, worming himself into favor by denouncing moderate suspects and advocating the extremest measures, our sly acquaintance of the faubourg lodgings--Maximilien Robespierre--becomes the head of this Committee--thereby the Tyrant of France.

The foreign foe is indeed driven back, but at what a cost! The rule of Robespierre's fanatical minority that has seized the State, inaugurates the dreadful Reign of Terror. The great Revolutionary leader Danton--Minister of Justice in the earlier time--has himself caused to be established the Revolutionary Tribunal for the quick trial of the public's foes, and the guillotine for the guilty.

Robespierre uses it as a ready forged weapon for destroying all who do not think as he does.

In this storm-wracked world Jacques-Forget-Not is now a great judge and a most fanatical patriot. The avenger of the de Vaudreys heads the Revolutionary Tribunal. He is in his glory now, for the aristocrats that the mobs overlooked are sent in batches to the guillotine--on the most trifling charges, or finally without accusation at all. The mere fact of being an aristocrat is a capital offence!

And in and among these slaughters is intermixed the destruction of Robespierre's personal and political rivals--a work in which the vengeful Jacques-Forget-Not studies and obeys every whim of his master, for does not Jacques also have private grudges as yet unpaid?

... But Danton remains a popular hero. For his work in driving back the foreign foe, he is upraised in chair of state by the mult.i.tudes, heading a huzzaing procession and preceded by young girls strewing flowers.

None of the b.l.o.o.d.y butchery has been Danton's. He has been too busy fighting Prussia, Austria and Savoy. Today, as he sits in the chair of state acknowledging the acclamations, his heart wells in grat.i.tude to Henriette who had once saved his life--no face of treasured memory so dear as hers!

[Ill.u.s.tration: LOVE, MASTER OF HEARTS.]

Confessedly, under the New Tyranny, there is nothing to engage the great heart and soul. Sick of the murderous scramble for pelf and power, he withdraws from most political activity, though still able to exert a wide influence.

About this time twenty-two political rivals of Robespierre--the Girondists--were sent by one decree to the guillotine. Danton, vainly pleading for mercy, saw that the Committee of Safety machine was being made an instrument of slaughter. "France must be purged of all vice!"

was Robespierre's sanctimonious reply to his pa.s.sionate protest. Not long after, the rival masters of France faced one another in the hall of the Revolutionary Tribunal, whereof Jacques-Forget-Not was President.

"Well works this Tribunal you established, Danton!" said Robespierre, in glee at the increasing number of executions.

"It was established," replied the pock-marked man solemnly, "to punish the enemies of the people. Now through you--Robespierre--France rivers with innocent blood!"

... G.o.d help our hero and heroine if they should encounter its dread fury!

CHAPTER XXI

ADVENTURES OF A PILGRIM

Some parts of France continued to be held by the royalists after the establishment of the Republic.

Insurrectionary war raged in the provinces, particularly the stubborn war of La Vendee, and certain loyal fortresses like Caen managed to resist capture.

It was thus as a prisoner of the royalist faction, and quite out of touch with worldshaking events, that our young hero Chevalier Maurice de Vaudrey lived through the earlier period of the Revolution.

A love-message from him through Picard to Henriette--an unsuccessful attempt to escape; a glimpse of the still handsomely frizzed and powdered head gazing through trefoil Gothic window on the outer sunshine and liberty:--such is all that we may see of de Vaudrey's strangely trussed up life during this time.

He was still enshrined in the heart of the little seamstress in the Paris faubourg, still dear to his aunt the Countess who with her husband was an emigre beyond the borders. Otherwise, no hermit nor solitary was more completely effaced from the world.

The first light of hope was brought to Caen by a messenger from the Countess, who had managed to smuggle through a letter or two and a small box of gold.

"I dare not advise you," his kind Aunt wrote. "Escape into France would invite your death as an aristocrat. On the other hand, if you make use of the accompanying pardon signed by your uncle the Count, the Governor of Caen will probably enroll you for the inhuman and useless war of La Vendee. Take the money, my dear Nephew, and use it as you deem best--the messenger will secure it for you outside the prison until you need it!"

De Vaudrey pondered, as his Aunt advised. But, really, there was but the one course for him! To win through, disguised, at whatever peril, to Henriette; to find her and Louise; to save them from that black welter of the Revolution, and guide them out of the country to the loving care of the Countess and the repentant Count: yes, such was the course that both Love and Duty dictated. He would begin it that night, aided by his faithful friend the messenger.

"Hand part of the gold," he whispered the Countess's agent, "to some rustic carter on whom you can rely. Bring another part here and give it to a keeper whom I shall point out to you!"

The impromptu little plot worked perfectly. The friendly keeper, having gotten a peep at the ex-Police Prefect's letter of pardon, needed but the clincher argument of the gold in order to aid de Vaudrey's escape. A rope over the wall, and even a plank across the moat, were mysteriously provided. In the last silent watch of the night, the go-between (who had been waiting) conducted the escaped prisoner to the carter's cavern. Already the East was showing the ghostly light of the first faint streaks of dawn.

Having breakfasted in the cave and put his few belongings into a pack, de Vaudrey with the two others stepped out of the dark hole into the growing light.

The carter pointed to the Chevalier's frizzled locks and elegant if faded dress. "They would take you up at the first village crossing on that!" he remarked. "Your get-up gives you away."

The Chevalier retired to a new toilette. Within, were the primitive resources of rustic wardrobe. As he emerged again from the cavern, old boon companions would indeed have been startled by the guise he now wore.

Beautiful apparel, cane, wig, lorgnette and snuffbox were in the discard. The frizzled locks were gone, revealing long straight black hair which was crowned by a shabby tricorne hat. The Chevalier's elegant form was covered by an ill-fitting ragged black suit, which a pair of dusty shoes well matched. Across one shoulder he carried a pack stick, to which a thoroughly disreputable-looking small black bundle was fastened.

"You'll do now," said the rustic. "Remember you're only a helper on a carter's journey to Paris."

Rustic and helper took their leave of the go-between by plunging through a wide but shallow stream. When they had emerged at the farther bank, they felt secure that their steps could not be traced.