Then the scheme was to wait till a day when Cortey should be on duty as commissary, and Michonis also on guard among the sentinels, both at the same time. They would probably be obliged to wait quite a while for this, as the two men's turns did not coincide often. That day all the men on sentry at the staircase of the Tower were to wear long, military capes above their uniforms. When the hour came, late at night, Michonis was to take these capes from some of them, and put them on three royal women. In this disguise the Princesses with guns in their hands, would be incorporated among a patrol, and in their midst they would surround the child-king. Cortey was to command the patrol, and under the pretence of investigating some imaginary disturbance in the street, would have the great inner gates of the courtyard opened for them. Once outside the walls, their safety would be almost certain.

A carriage was to be waiting in the Rue Charlot. Jean was to be allowed to drive this, and take the fugitives near to the Rue de Lille. Then they would get out and make their way un.o.btrusively to the home of Citizeness Clouet. Here they would rest secure for the night, and in the morning escape in _sans-culotte_ costumes to a ship that would leave the port of Havre next night. The plan seemed perfectly thought out, and to Jean it appeared that success was certain.

While the three conspirators were whispering at the table, suddenly a shadow fell across the floor from the open doorway. With a little shiver of distrust, Jean turned round and faced the rat-like eyes of La Souris!

He had, however, the presence of mind to appear very unconcerned, and invited Coudert to be seated at another table. The two men rose to leave, and before they went Jean remarked aloud:

"Citizens, you have entertained me vastly this afternoon with your tales of La Guillotine! I hope you will come again to help me pa.s.s a dull hour! What will you take, Citizen Coudert?" But in spite of his apparent unconcern, his heart misgave him somewhat, for though La Souris said nothing to alarm him, he watched the boy more suspiciously than ever. He hurried home that night to Mere Clouet and Yvonne, with joy and fear mingled in his heart, and told them all the wonderful news, and the two Clouets spent some happy days thereafter, preparing for their royal guests.

The time pa.s.sed while they were waiting for the auspicious day, and the conspirators were careful not to be seen too much in each others'

company. Once, however, when Forget and Michonis happened to meet and exchange a few low-whispered words in the courtyard, if they had looked behind them, they would have noticed a little, wiry, evil-faced creature skulking around the corner of the building near which they stood. Jean, the lynx-eyed, from his vantage ground in the tavern doorway, caught sight of La Souris' suspicious manoeuvres. He left the door, and strolled nonchalantly--past his friends, singing loudly, "Allons, enfants de la patrie!" Just when he was opposite them he muttered between his teeth, "'Ware La Souris!" and sauntered on. The two men parted, and were careful not to meet again.

At last the long-looked-for day arrived. Michonis and Cortey were both on duty, and also twenty-eight loyal soldiers, among whom was Forget.

All during the day nothing occurred to mar their plans, and Jean hugged himself and chuckled with delight. Night came and all was well. Michonis was at his post in the prisoners' apartments, while his colleagues rested, lounged or played _tric-trac_ in the council-room below. Simon alone was not among them, having been absent from the Tower for several hours. This was looked upon as a favourable omen.

At ten o'clock Jean hastened home to the Rue de Lille, donned the costume of a coachman, which, as he was growing wondrously tall and large, did not fit him ill, and leaving Mere Clouet and Yvonne tingling with suppressed excitement, hurried to one of the dark and deserted streets nearby. True to appointment, there stood a carriage driven by a liveried coachman. At the whispered word, "_De Batz_," the man got down, a.s.sisted Jean to climb up in his place, promised to be at the same spot two hours hence, and disappeared. Jean drove away, not proceeding straight to the Rue Charlot, but by a wide and devious route that took him first over a large part of that section of Paris. When he entered the Rue Charlot at the appointed time, eleven-thirty, it was quiet and dark.

Here he halted, and sat for nearly half an hour, feverish with impatience for the royal party to arrive. Presently he heard soft steps coming down the street, and his heart began to beat violently. But as the steps drew nearer, he beheld a little, wizened figure that had something strangely familiar about it, and his heart beat more violently still when he recognised his old enemy, La Souris! Nearer and nearer he drew with his queer, mouse-like manner, peering sharply to the right and left, and Jean began to hope that he would pa.s.s the waiting carriage without paying it any particular heed. But, no!--Citizen Coudert stopped directly before it, measured up the driver with his crafty eyes, and inquired:

"Is this carriage hired?" Jean thanked his stars for the broad hat that shaded his face, and the scarf that m.u.f.fled him to the chin. He made his voice as deep as possible and replied:

"Yes, citizen! It is engaged for the evening!"

"Ah! Then you cannot take me to the Rue St. Denis?"

"No, citizen! I'm sorry!"

"Good-night, then!" growled Coudert as he moved off, and Jean responded with a shiver of apprehension. This strange individual's manner was so peculiar that one could never guess what were his real thoughts.

Something about it all made the boy perfectly certain that La Souris did not want a carriage to take him anywhere. But why he should inquire, and how much he suspected, or whether he suspected at all, Jean could not, for the life of him, determine! Another quarter of an hour pa.s.sed.

At last the silence of the night was broken by the stern command of a guard, and the clanking open of a great gate. Then indeed Jean's heart leaped into his throat, and he felt a.s.sured of success. But instead of a party of five, one man came running at top speed down the street. When he was near enough, Jean recognised the Baron.

"Quick!" whispered De Batz. "Drive like the wind!"

"Where?" demanded Jean in despair.

"To the Barriere St. Denis! I must get out of Paris!" and De Batz jumped in, closing the door softly.

The drive through Paris to the entrance called the Barriere St. Denis was the most bewildering Jean had ever taken. All the way he was wondering what could have happened, how the plot had been discovered, and whether this would affect the welfare and safety of all concerned.

That La Souris was at the bottom of it, somehow, he had not a doubt. But nothing could be ascertained before the carriage reached its destination. When the Baron finally alighted, he pressed Jean's hand and thanked him for his quiet, efficient service.

"It's a mystery to me!" he said in explanation. "All seemed to be going so well until nearly midnight. Then that devil of a Simon entered the guard-room with his usual infernal racket, and demanded that we have a roll-call of the guards. He turned to Cortey and snarled,--'I'm especially glad to see you here, Citizen Cortey! I wouldn't be easy without _you_!' Then I saw plainly that the whole thing was discovered.

Ah! but for a moment I had a wild desire to blow out that surly rascal's brains! But reason told me that this would, far from mending matters, only serve to incriminate us all. So I managed to keep perfectly calm while the roll was called. Then Simon went upstairs, probably to interview Michonis, and left Cortey in charge of us. While he was gone, Cortey pretended that he heard a disturbance in the street, organised a patrol of eight (including myself), and we came out to investigate it.

Thus I escaped. Cortey is a brave man and true! His patrol will number only seven when he returns! Well, it is a grief to me that it has failed but be of good courage, lad! I shall live to hatch more plots and, trust me, you shall take a part! I pray that none of you suffer for this, but I think you will not, as our tracks are well covered. I cannot stay longer! G.o.d bless you, and good-bye!" The brave man slipped away in the darkness, leaving Jean to drive wearily back to where he was to deliver the carriage to the coachman, and then plod home on foot to the Rue de Lille.

His heart was almost too heavy to care what became of him, and he hated to face the disappointment of Mere Clouet and Yvonne. Their sorrow at the failure of their hopes was all and more than he had pictured it. But after a while, when they had talked it all over and were preparing to retire for the night, Yvonne made a sign to her mother, and then turned to Jean:

"We have a surprise for you!"

"What is it?" he asked without much enthusiasm, for he was too weary and disgusted to care about lesser matters. Mere Clouet disappeared into another room for a moment, and returning, with a quick movement deposited something in his lap. Jean almost tumbled out of his chair!

"_Moufflet!_" he gasped. "How?--when?--where?--" The little animal fairly smothered him with caresses, and the light of happiness came back to the boy's eyes.

"Listen!" cried Yvonne. "About eleven o'clock this evening, we were sitting here, when suddenly I heard a strange scratching at the door. I thought perhaps you had returned with the royal ones and were giving us a signal, so I ran to open the door, when there jumped right into my arms this little Moufflet! He was breathless with running and covered with mud and dirt. Oh, how glad he seemed to see us! I gave him a bath and fed him well, and he has been sleeping ever since. How _do_ you suppose he came here?"

"He must have escaped in some way from La Souris, though I can't imagine how!" replied Jean. "And, goodness knows! he's had a run, clear from the other side of Paris! It's a wonder he ever found us again! But we must be right careful of him, now. If La Souris should discover him here again, he'll swear I stole him!

"But, oh!" he thought, "if only the little fellow could have come to-night and found his pet here!"

THE COBBLER TAKES COMMAND

CHAPTER VIII

THE COBBLER TAKES COMMAND

No one ever knew just how it came about that the scheme of the Baron De Batz had failed. La Souris was firmly believed to be the one who had discovered it, though whether he had really become acquainted with the facts, or only suspected a plot could not be ascertained. All the conspirators could discover was that during the day, one of the grenadiers not in the plot had found a folded paper lying outside the courtyard. It contained but one sentence,--"Beware! Michonis will betray you to-night!" The soldier handed this to Simon, who immediately took steps to prevent all action, and had Michonis brought up before the Commune.

But wary Michonis had cleverly covered up his tracks! There was no evidence of guilt found upon him or any of his companions. He answered openly and calmly all incriminating questions, and seemed so earnestly and candidly interested in the welfare of the Republic, that the Commune decided Simon must have been mistaken, in spite of the note.

This, however, irritated Simon beyond measure! He doubled all the guards at the Tower. Then he went whining to the great Republican leader, Robespierre, complaining that he had unearthed evidence of many plots to carry off the royal child, proclaim him King of France, and overthrow the Republic. Between the two they so manoeuvred that in consequence of these rumours, the Committee of Public Safety issued a decree:--the boy must be separated from his mother, kept in an apartment by himself, and put in charge of some tutor to be chosen by the Convention.

Then came the question who should take charge of him, who should be given the important task of educating his royal ideas in the principles of the Republic? Who but Simon, the zealous commissary that had been so active in thwarting all schemes of release! Yes, let Simon have charge of this tender life, and let his wife be there to a.s.sist him and minister to the bodily wants of this carefully reared, tenderly nurtured little son of a monarch! So it was decreed!

It was about ten o'clock on the night of July third, 1793. Louis XVI had been dead nearly six months. In their room in the Tower sat the Queen, Madame Elizabeth and little Marie-Therese. The two older women were sewing, or rather vainly attempting to darn and patch their much-worn clothes, for the Republic saw fit to provide them with no new ones. The fair young girl of fifteen was reading aloud. All were dressed in neat black gowns, their mourning-costume for the late king.

Over in a corner, in a small bed with no curtains about it, slept the little Louis Charles. His mother had carefully hung up a dark shawl to shield his eyes from the light and shut off the draughts. Once he stirred in his sleep and sighed heavily. Marie-Therese stopped reading, and all glanced toward the bed.

"Poor little fellow!" sighed his mother. "His life is not very happy now!"

"But how brave he is!" said Madame Elizabeth. "He never complains a bit, he tries so hard to be cheerful and keep us all in good spirits, and how tenderly he always speaks of his father!"

"Is it not strange," added Marie-Therese, "how he never speaks now of our happy life at Versailles, (how far away that all seems!) and he never even mentions the Tuileries, for fear it will make us sad! For one so young, he is very, very thoughtful!"

"G.o.d grant that he may have happier years in store for him in the future!" sighed Marie Antoinette. "But, whatever comes, I pray that he may never sit on the throne of France! Nothing but sorrow could come of it!" She shuddered, and after a moment's silence they all continued their work. Suddenly there was a loud sound outside on the staircase,--a heavy tread of feet, a hideous clanking of bolts and bars unfastened.

The three women looked at one another in dismay. But they thought it was only another of the insulting searches to which they were obliged to submit so frequently, and at such uncertain hours. The last door opened, and six munic.i.p.als entered.

"We are come with an order from the Committee of Public Safety," said their spokesman, in a loud, brutal manner. "The son of Louis Capet is to be separated from his family. Give him up to us at once!" Poor Marie Antoinette could not believe her senses. Separated from his mother! A little child of only eight! They could not be so cruel!

"It is not possible!" she cried, trembling. "You have got the order wrong! It cannot be true! He is so young, so weak! He needs my care!"

Her anguish softened for a moment even the hearts of the rough munic.i.p.als.

"Here is the decree," they said, more gently. "We did not make it,--it was the Convention. We are only here to carry it out and we cannot help ourselves." The three women placed themselves before the child's bed.

They defended it with their bodies, they sobbed, they prayed, they implored, they humbled themselves to the utmost. All to no purpose!