Waving good-byes to the other, the rustic and his man hastened to a stable where they loaded a provision wagon and attached a country Dobbin to the thills. Presently de Vaudrey, in his new character of the carter's a.s.sistant, was on the first stage of the long journey to the storm-wracked metropolis.

The carter's load was of so little value, the whole outfit so poverty-stricken, that neither country Royalist nor provincial Revolutionary saw fit to bother them.

Gradually the carter sold his wares in the smaller villages en route.

They wisely avoided the larger towns. The cart was nearly empty now.

Saleables had all been disposed of except a few apples.

"How are you and I going to get into Paris?" said the distinguished young aristocrat, whose respect for the Reuben had increased daily.

"Trust me!" said the other. His broad, moon-faced physiognomy masked the cunning of the fox. "I have this apple here--"

The carter eyed his a.s.sistant intently and winked solemnly as if to say: "That will do the trick!"

As they leave the open country behind and jog through the better settled regions immediately north of Paris, let us take our stand beside the "barrier" or outer gate which they are slowly approaching.

Judge Forget-Not and his fellows are inspecting the barriers. The voice of the Chief is heard speaking.

"Watch strictly that no aristocrats escape. Our new _law_ also condemns to death all who harbor an aristocrat."

The Inquisitor's face a.s.sumes a yet harsher expression as he addresses the guards: "Beware lest you yourselves be suspect!--Remember the sharp female 'Guillotine'!"

Forget-Not draws a significant hand across the throat. A shudder pa.s.ses through the more timid folk.

The coa.r.s.e-faced guards applaud and promise to use the utmost precautions. The judges move on, inspecting another part of the barrier.

CHAPTER XXII

ADVENTURES OF A PILGRIM (CONTINUED)

The farmer's cart nears the gate. The moon-faced Reuben is as impa.s.sive as ever. Though the tall a.s.sistant manages to keep his expression fairly immobile too, 'tis evident to us who know him that he labors under suppressed excitement. For the prize of his Great Quest is Henriette; the penalty of discovery and capture, Death!

The gallant young man does not hesitate, however. He has never shrunk from Danger's bright face, least of all would he shrink now when the pa.s.sing of a brief ordeal may well mean reunion with his beloved and her rescue from the welter of Paris. The Pilgrim's soul hungers and thirsts for her. After the great Sahara of imprisoned loneliness, how near the Oasis of love and rapture! How beautiful the prospect, if not indeed Mirage!

The rustic's helper dismounts with the farmer at the gate, and follows him into the office of the registrar. The farmer presents a pa.s.s.

"This is for one only," says the registrar at the gate, roughly. "The other cannot go through," he says, pointing to de Vaudrey, who tries to look as stupid and uncomprehending as possible.

The farmer hands a big red apple to the functionary. But the latter makes a gesture of refusal.

"Bite into it!" says the Rustic ingratiatingly.

The official bites at the top which comes off--a smooth and even slice. The centre of the apple is hollow. Within it are several gold coins.

Quickly the gatekeeper covers the golden apple with his hairy paw.

"Your papers are all right," he says gruffly, rapidly converting the figure 1 into a 2, and viseing the pa.s.s for two. He motions for both the man and the youth to go through.

The farmer and his follower drive in and mix with the crowd on the inside of the barrier. At this stage the farmer disappears from our history. But the face of the youth is noted by an eagle eye and recognized by a brain that does not forget!

The prowling Judge sees the Chevalier, though the Chevalier does not see him.

"Follow that man!" he says quietly to his deputies. "We shall catch him red-handed in some plot!"

Our little heroine had lived quietly for many months in the faubourg lodgings to which, perforce, she had to return after her vain visit to the Frochard cellar and her rough handling by the Carmognole rioters.

The little sparrow of a seamstress was quite undisturbed by the great events of the French Revolution, except as they had put everything at sixes and sevens and whirled away her own intimates in the mad whirligig.

The pock-marked man (whom she had sheltered overnight in this very place) was the Savior of the Country; the prying lodger Robespierre was the Chief of State. Of course she never saw them now, her small self would hardly dare address them! Sister Genevieve and the Doctor, who had told her about the Frochards' den, were no longer within her ken.

The weary months had dragged along. Notwithstanding the cheering message conveyed by Picard, her knight the Chevalier--so far as she knew--was still a prisoner of Caen. And the weary months had dragged their ball and chain of silence and despair still more wearingly in the failure of her many renewed attempts to find Louise. The blind sister was again swallowed up in the devouring city--the Frochards were fled.

Whither was Henriette to look--whither to turn?

A ray of light from the window glinted on the holy Book of books that the girl treasured. She opened it. A line read at random comforted her. Clasping the volume in her hands, she knelt in prayer, addressing G.o.d softly:

"Thou who hast said: 'I am the Light!' oh, show me the way!"

At the sound of a knock at the door, the girl rose from her supplications. Entered sad and dusty pilgrim, carrying his few belongings in bag suspended from shoulder stick. Now they dropped sharply to the floor, and the disguised Chevalier gazed long and earnestly upon his love.

Her eyes in turn were riveted on his sad, lean apparition, how terribly changed from the old debonair days! Kind sympathy spoke in her look and mien till the radiance of love, beginning in little ghosts of welcoming smiles at the corners of her mouth, broke into clear effulgence.

The Chevalier tottered forward. He collapsed into the nearest chair.

She put her arms around him and hovered there, comforting him with affectionate little hand pats and soft kisses.

Jacques-Forget-Not, the avenger of the de Vaudreys, had not been far behind during the pilgrim's tramp across the city. He had in fact sneaked back of him, seen the wanderer enter Henriette's door.

Standing at the head of the stair, he could almost overhear stray phrases of their talk, knew that they were quite within his power.

The s.h.a.ggy-haired one fairly gloated in his triumph. "Number One!" he hissed, raising a forefinger in token that de Vaudrey--the first of his Trinity of Hate--was in the net. "Two and Three shall come next!"

he whispered savagely, knuckling down two other fingers to mark his vengeance on the Count and Countess.

The s.h.a.ggy-haired Forget-Not hurried down the stairs, his gaunt features baleful with unholy glee. Pointing significantly overhead, he ordered a detail of his guards:

"Arrest de Vaudrey and all in that room!" The men at once proceeded to carry out the order.

The guard captain would have been equally at home in a pirate crew or at a land ma.s.sacre. Enormous black brows and heavy moustache accentuated his ferocity, the particolored Revolutionary garb and in particular the red-and-white striped pantaloons gave him a bizarre appearance like a pirate chief.

The detail were armed with muskets and bayonets. They clattered up the stairs and burst into Henriette's room.

The lovers seemed dazed rather than affrighted. They clasped each other again. With a little warning gesture Henriette bade Maurice say nothing when the captain addressed him as de Vaudrey.

The villain laid a heavy hand on his victim while two of the soldiers seized and pinioned his arms. "You are under arrest as a returned emigre!" the head pirate said.