AN EPISODE UNDER THE TERROR

 BY

 HONORE DE BALZAC

 Translated By Clara Bell and others

 DEDICATION

 To Monsieur Guyonnet-Merville. 

 Is it not a necessity to explain to a public curious to know everything, how I came to be sufficiently learned in the law to carry on the business of my little world? And in so doing, am I not bound to put on record the memory of the amiable and intelligent man who, meeting the Scribe (another clerk-amateur) at a ball, said, "Just give the office a turn; there is work for you there, I assure you"? But do you need this public testimony to feel assured of the affection of the writer?

 DE BALZAC. 

 AN EPISODE UNDER THE TERROR

On the 22nd of January, 1793, towards eight o'clock in the evening, anold lady came down the steep street that comes to an end opposite theChurch of Saint Laurent in the Faubourg Saint Martin. It had snowed soheavily all day long that the lady's footsteps were scarcely audible;the streets were deserted, and a feeling of dread, not unnatural amidthe silence, was further increased by the whole extent of the Terrorbeneath which France was groaning in those days; what was more, theold lady so far had met no one by the way. Her sight had long beenfailing, so that the few foot passengers dispersed like shadows in thedistance over the wide thoroughfare through the faubourg, were quiteinvisible to her by the light of the lanterns. 

She had passed the end of the Rue des Morts, when she fancied that shecould hear the firm, heavy tread of a man walking behind her. Then itseemed to her that she had heard that sound before, and dismayed bythe idea of being followed, she tried to walk faster toward a brightlylit shop window, in the hope of verifying the suspicions which hadtaken hold of her mind. 

So soon as she stood in the shaft of light that streamed out acrossthe road, she turned her head suddenly, and caught sight of a humanfigure looming through the fog. The dim vision was enough for her. Forone moment she reeled beneath an overpowering weight of dread, for shecould not doubt any longer that the man had followed her the whole wayfrom her own door; then the desire to escape from the spy gave herstrength. Unable to think clearly, she walked twice as fast as before, as if it were possible to escape from a man who of course could movemuch faster; and for some minutes she fled on, till, reaching apastry-cook's shop, she entered and sank rather than sat down upon achair by the counter. 

A young woman busy with embroidery looked up from her work at therattling of the door-latch, and looked out through the squarewindow-panes. She seemed to recognize the old-fashioned violet silkmantle, for she went at once to a drawer as if in search of somethingput aside for the newcomer. Not only did this movement and theexpression of the woman's face show a very evident desire to be ridas soon as possible of an unwelcome visitor, but she even permittedherself an impatient exclamation when the drawer proved to be empty. Without looking at the lady, she hurried from her desk into the backshop and called to her husband, who appeared at once. 

"Wherever have you put?----" she began mysteriously, glancing at thecustomer by way of finishing her question. 

The pastry-cook could only see the old lady's head-dress, a huge blacksilk bonnet with knots of violet ribbon round it, but he looked at hiswife as if to say, "Did you think I should leave such a thing as thatlying about in your drawer?" and then vanished. 

The old lady kept so still and silent that the shopkeeper's wife wassurprised. She went back to her, and on a nearer view a sudden impulseof pity, blended perhaps with curiosity, got the better of her. Theold lady's face was naturally pale; she looked as though she secretlypractised austerities; but it was easy to see that she was paler thanusual from recent agitation of some kind. Her head-dress was soarranged as to almost hide hair that was white, no doubt with age, forthere was not a trace of powder on the collar of her dress. Theextreme plainness of her dress lent an air of austerity to her face, and her features were proud and grave. The manners and habits ofpeople of condition were so different from those of other classes informer times that a noble was easily known, and the shopkeeper's wifefelt persuaded that her customer was a _ci-devant_, and that she hadbeen about the Court. 

"Madame, " she began with involuntary respect, forgetting that thetitle was proscribed. 

But the old lady made no answer. She was staring fixedly at the shopwindows as though some dreadful thing had taken shape against thepanes. The pastry-cook came back at that moment, and drew the ladyfrom her musings, by holding out a little cardboard box wrapped inblue paper. 

"What is the matter, citoyenne?" he asked. 

"Nothing, nothing, my friends, " she answered, in a gentle voice. Shelooked up at the man as she spoke, as if to thank him by a glance; butshe saw the red cap on his head, and a cry broke from her. "Ah! _You_have betrayed me!"

The man and his young wife replied by an indignant gesture, thatbrought the color to the old lady's face; perhaps she felt relief, perhaps she blushed for her suspicions. 

"Forgive me!" she said, with a childlike sweetness in her tones. Then, drawing a gold louis from her pocket, she held it out to thepastry-cook. "That is the price agreed upon, " she added. 

There is a kind of want that is felt instinctively by those who knowwant. The man and his wife looked at one another, then at the elderlywoman before them, and read the same thoughts in each other's eyes. That bit of gold was so plainly the last. Her hands shook a little asshe held it out, looking at it sadly but ungrudgingly, as one whoknows the full extent of the sacrifice. Hunger and penury had carvedlines as easy to read in her face as the traces of asceticism andfear. There were vestiges of bygone splendor in her clothes. She wasdressed in threadbare silk, a neat but well-worn mantle, and daintilymended lace, --in the rags of former grandeur, in short. The shopkeeperand his wife, drawn two ways by pity and self-interest, began bylulling their consciences with words. 

"You seem very poorly, citoyenne----"

"Perhaps madame might like to take something, " the wife broke in. 

"We have some very nice broth, " added the pastry-cook. 

"And it is so cold, " continued his wife; "perhaps you have caught achill, madame, on your way here. But you can rest and warm yourself abit. "

"We are not so black as the devil!" cried the man. 

The kindly intention in the words and tones of the charitable couplewon the old lady's confidence. She said that a strange man had beenfollowing her, and she was afraid to go home alone. 

"Is that all!" returned he of the red bonnet; "wait for me, citoyenne. "

He handed the gold coin to his wife, and then went out to put on hisNational Guard's uniform, impelled thereto by the idea of making someadequate return for the money; an idea that sometimes slips into atradesman's head when he has been prodigiously overpaid for goods ofno great value. He took up his cap, buckled on his sabre, and came outin full dress. But his wife had had time to reflect, and reflection, as not unfrequently happens, closed the hand that kindly intentionshad opened. Feeling frightened and uneasy lest her husband might bedrawn into something unpleasant, she tried to catch at the skirt ofhis coat, to hold him back, but he, good soul, obeying his charitablefirst thought, brought out his offer to see the lady home, before hiswife could stop him. 

"The man of whom the citoyenne is afraid is still prowling about theshop, it seems, " she said sharply. 

"I am afraid so, " said the lady innocently. 

"How if it is a spy? . . . A plot? . . . Don't go. And take the boxaway from her----"

The words whispered in the pastry-cook's ear cooled his hot fit ofcourage down to zero. 

"Oh! I will just go out and say a word or two. I will rid you of himsoon enough, " he exclaimed, as he bounced out of the shop. 

The old lady meanwhile, passive as a child and almost dazed, sat downon her chair again. But the honest pastry-cook came back directly. Acountenance red enough to begin with, and further flushed by thebake-house fire, was suddenly blanched; such terror perturbed him thathe reeled as he walked, and stared about him like a drunken man. 

"Miserable aristocrat! Do you want to have our heads cut off?" heshouted furiously. "You just take to your heels and never showyourself here again. Don't come to me for materials for your plots. "

He tried, as he spoke, to take away the little box which she hadslipped into one of her pockets. But at the touch of a profane hand onher clothes, the stranger recovered youth and activity for a moment, preferring to face the dangers of the street with no protector saveGod, to the loss of the thing she had just paid for. She sprang to thedoor, flung it open, and disappeared, leaving the husband and wifedumfounded and quaking with fright. 

Once outside in the street, she started away at a quick walk; but herstrength soon failed her. She heard the sound of the snow crunchingunder a heavy step, and knew that the pitiless spy was on her track. She was obliged to stop. He stopped likewise. From sheer terror, orlack of intelligence, she did not dare to speak or to look at him. Shewent slowly on; the man slackened his pace and fell behind so that hecould still keep her in sight. He might have been her very shadow. 

Nine o'clock struck as the silent man and woman passed again by theChurch of Saint Laurent. It is in the nature of things that calm mustsucceed to violent agitation, even in the weakest soul; for if feelingis infinite, our capacity to feel is limited. So, as the stranger ladymet with no harm from her supposed persecutor, she tried to look uponhim as an unknown friend anxious to protect her. She thought of allthe circumstances in which the stranger had appeared, and put themtogether, as if to find some ground for this comforting theory, andfelt inclined to credit him with good intentions rather than bad. 

Forgetting the fright that he had given the pastry-cook, she walked onwith a firmer step through the upper end of the Faubourg Saint Martin;and another half-hour's walk brought her to a house at the cornerwhere the road to the Barriere de Pantin turns off from the mainthoroughfare. Even at this day, the place is one of the leastfrequented parts of Paris. The north wind sweeps over theButtes-Chaumont and Belleville, and whistles through the houses (theHovels rather), scattered over an almost uninhabited low-lying waste, Where the fences are heaps of earth and bones. It was adesolate-looking place, a fitting refuge for despair and misery. 

The sight of it appeared to make an impression upon the relentlesspursuer of a poor creature so daring as to walk alone at night throughthe silent streets. He stood in thought, and seemed by his attitude tohesitate. She could see him dimly now, under the street lamp that senta faint, flickering light through the fog. Fear gave her eyes. Shesaw, or thought she saw, something sinister about the stranger'sfeatures. Her old terrors awoke; she took advantage of a kind ofhesitation on his part, slipped through the shadows to the door of thesolitary house, pressed a spring, and vanished swiftly as a phantom. 

For awhile the stranger stood motionless, gazing up at the house. Itwas in some sort a type of the wretched dwellings in the suburb; atumble-down hovel, built of rough stones, daubed over with a coat ofyellowish stucco, and so riven with great cracks that there seemed tobe danger lest the slightest puff of wind might blow it down. Theroof, covered with brown moss-grown tiles, had given way in severalplaces, and looked as though it might break down altogether under theweight of the snow. The frames of the three windows on each story wererotten with damp and warped by the sun; evidently the cold must findits way inside. The house standing thus quite by itself looked likesome old tower that Time had forgotten to destroy. A faint light shonefrom the attic windows pierced at irregular distances in the roof;otherwise the whole building was in total darkness. 

Meanwhile the old lady climbed not without difficulty up the rough, clumsily built staircase, with a rope by way of a hand-rail. At thedoor of the lodging in the attic she stopped and tapped mysteriously;an old man brought forward a chair for her. She dropped into it atonce. 

"Hide! hide!" she exclaimed, looking up at him. "Seldom as we leavethe house, everything that we do is known, and every step iswatched----"

"What is it now?" asked another elderly woman, sitting by the fire. 

"The man that has been prowling about the house yesterday and to-day, followed me to-night----"

At those words all three dwellers in the wretched den looked in eachother's faces and did not try to dissimulate the profound dread thatthey felt. The old priest was the least overcome, probably because heran the greatest danger. If a brave man is weighed down by greatcalamities or the yoke of persecution, he begins, as it were, bymaking the sacrifice of himself; and thereafter every day of his lifebecomes one more victory snatched from fate. But from the way in whichthe women looked at him it was easy to see that their intense anxietywas on his account. 

"Why should our faith in God fail us, my sisters?" he said, in low butfervent tones. "We sang His praises through the shrieks of murderersand their victims at the Carmelites. If it was His will that I shouldcome alive out of that butchery, it was, no doubt, because I wasreserved for some fate which I am bound to endure without murmuring. God will protect His own; He can do with them according to His will. It is for you, not for me that we must think. "

"No, " answered one of the women. "What is our life compared to apriest's life?"

"Once outside the Abbaye de Chelles, I look upon myself as dead, "added the nun who had not left the house, while the Sister that hadjust returned held out the little box to the priest. 

"Here are the wafers . . . But I can hear some one coming up thestairs. "

At this, the three began to listen. The sound ceased. 

"Do not be alarmed if somebody tries to come in, " said the priest. "Somebody on whom we could depend was to make all necessaryarrangements for crossing the frontier. He is to come for the lettersthat I have written to the Duc de Langeais and the Marquis deBeauseant, asking them to find some way of taking you out of thisdreadful country, and away from the death or the misery that waits foryou here. "

"But are you not going to follow us?" the nuns cried under theirbreath, almost despairingly. 

"My post is here where the sufferers are, " the priest said simply, andthe women said no more, but looked at their guest in reverentadmiration. He turned to the nun with the wafers. 

"Sister Marthe, " he said, "the messenger will say _Fiat Voluntas_in answer to the word _Hosanna_. "

"There is some one on the stairs!" cried the other nun, opening ahiding-place contrived in the roof. 

This time it was easy to hear, amid the deepest silence, a soundechoing up the staircase; it was a man's tread on the steps coveredwith dried lumps of mud. With some difficulty the priest slipped intoa kind of cupboard, and the nun flung some clothes over him. 

"You can shut the door, Sister Agathe, " he said in a muffled voice. 

He was scarcely hidden before three raps sounded on the door. The holywomen looked into each other's eyes for counsel, and dared not say asingle word. 

They seemed both to be about sixty years of age. They had lived out ofthe world for forty years, and had grown so accustomed to the life ofthe convent that they could scarcely imagine any other. To them, as toplants kept in a hot-house, a change of air meant death. And so, whenthe grating was broken down one morning, they knew with a shudder thatthey were free. The effect produced by the Revolution upon theirsimple souls is easy to imagine; it produced a temporary imbecilitynot natural to them. They could not bring the ideas learned in theconvent into harmony with life and its difficulties; they could noteven understand their own position. They were like children whommothers have always cared for, deserted by their maternal providence. And as a child cries, they betook themselves to prayer. Now, in thepresence of imminent danger, they were mute and passive, knowing nodefence save Christian resignation. 

The man at the door, taking silence for consent, presented himself, and the women shuddered. This was the prowler that had been makinginquiries about them for some time past. But they looked at him withfrightened curiosity, much as shy children stare silently at astranger; and neither of them moved. 

The newcomer was a tall, burly man. Nothing in his behavior, bearing, or expression suggested malignity as, following the example set by thenuns, he stood motionless, while his eyes traveled round the room. 

Two straw mats laid upon planks did duty as beds. On the one table, placed in the middle of the room, stood a brass candlestick, severalplates, three knives, and a round loaf. A small fire burned in thegrate. A few bits of wood in a heap in a corner bore further witnessto the poverty of the recluses. You had only to look at the coating ofpaint on the walls to discover the bad condition of the roof, and theceiling was a perfect network of brown stains made by rain-water. Arelic, saved no doubt from the wreck of the Abbaye de Chelles, stoodlike an ornament on the chimney-piece. Three chairs, two boxes, and arickety chest of drawers completed the list of the furniture, but adoor beside the fireplace suggested an inner room beyond. 

The brief inventory was soon made by the personage introduced intotheir midst under such terrible auspices. It was with a compassionateexpression that he turned to the two women; he looked benevolently atthem, and seemed, at least, as much embarrassed as they. But thestrange silence did not last long, for presently the stranger began tounderstand. He saw how inexperienced, how helpless (mentallyspeaking), the two poor creatures were, and he tried to speak gently. 

"I am far from coming as an enemy, citoyennes----" he began. Then hesuddenly broke off and went on, "Sisters, if anything should happen toyou, believe me, I shall have no share in it. I have come to ask afavor of you. "

Still the women were silent. 

"If I am annoying you--if--if I am intruding, speak freely, and I willgo; but you must understand that I am entirely at your service; thatif I can do anything for you, you need not fear to make use of me. I, and I only, perhaps, am above the law, since there is no King now. "

There was such a ring of sincerity in the words that Sister Agathehastily pointed to a chair as if to bid their guest be seated. SisterAgathe came of the house of Langeais; her manner seemed to indicatethat once she had been familiar with brilliant scenes, and hadbreathed the air of courts. The stranger seemed half pleased, halfdistressed when he understood her invitation; he waited to sit downuntil the women were seated. 

"You are giving shelter to a reverend father who refused to take theoath, and escaped the massacres at the Carmelites by a miracle----"

"_Hosanna_!" Sister Agathe exclaimed eagerly, interrupting thestranger, while she watched him with curious eyes. 

"That is not the name, I think, " he said. 

"But, monsieur, " Sister Marthe broke in quickly, "we have no priesthere, and----"

"In that case you should be more careful and on your guard, " heanswered gently, stretching out his hand for a breviary that lay onthe table. "I do not think that you know Latin, and----"

He stopped; for, at the sight of the great emotion in the faces of thetwo poor nuns, he was afraid that he had gone too far. They weretrembling, and the tears stood in their eyes. 

"Do not fear, " he said frankly. "I know your names and the name ofyour guest. Three days ago I heard of your distress and devotion tothe venerable Abbe de----"

"Hush!" Sister Agathe cried, in the simplicity of her heart, as shelaid her finger on her lips. 

"You see, Sisters, that if I had conceived the horrible idea ofbetraying you, I could have given you up already, more than once----"

At the words the priest came out of his hiding-place and stood intheir midst. 

"I cannot believe, monsieur, that you can be one of our persecutors, "he said, addressing the stranger, "and I trust you. What do you wantwith me?"

The priest's holy confidence, the nobleness expressed in every line inhis face, would have disarmed a murderer. For a moment the mysteriousstranger, who had brought an element of excitement into lives ofmisery and resignation, gazed at the little group; then he turned tothe priest and said, as if making a confidence, "Father, I came to begyou to celebrate a mass for the repose of the soul of--of--of anaugust personage whose body will never rest in consecrated earth----"

Involuntarily the abbe shivered. As yet, neither of the Sistersunderstood of whom the stranger was speaking; they sat with theirheads stretched out and faces turned towards the speaker, curiosity intheir whole attitude. The priest meanwhile, was scrutinizing thestranger; there was no mistaking the anxiety in the man's face, theardent entreaty in his eyes. 

"Very well, " returned the abbe. "Come back at midnight. I shall beready to celebrate the only funeral service that it is in our power tooffer in expiation of the crime of which you speak. "

A quiver ran through the stranger, but a sweet yet sober satisfactionseemed to prevail over a hidden anguish. He took his leaverespectfully, and the three generous souls felt his unspokengratitude. 

Two hours later, he came back and tapped at the garret door. Mademoiselle de Beauseant showed the way into the second room of theirhumble lodging. Everything had been made ready. The Sisters had movedthe old chest of drawers between the two chimneys, and covered itsquaint outlines over with a splendid altar cloth of green wateredsilk. 

The bare walls looked all the barer, because the one thing that hungthere was the great ivory and ebony crucifix, which of necessityattracted the eyes. Four slender little altar candles, which theSisters had contrived to fasten into their places with sealing-wax, gave a faint, pale light, almost absorbed by the walls; the rest ofthe room lay well-nigh in the dark. But the dim brightness, concentrated upon the holy things, looked like a ray from Heavenshining down upon the unadorned shrine. The floor was reeking withdamp. An icy wind swept in through the chinks here and there, in aroof that rose sharply on either side, after the fashion of atticroofs. Nothing could be less imposing; yet perhaps, too, nothing couldbe more solemn than this mournful ceremony. A silence so deep thatthey could have heard the faintest sound of a voice on the Routed'Allemagne, invested the night-piece with a kind of sombre majesty;while the grandeur of the service--all the grander for the strongcontrast with the poor surroundings--produced a feeling of reverentawe. 

The Sisters kneeling on each side of the altar, regardless of thedeadly chill from the wet brick floor, were engaged in prayer, whilethe priest, arrayed in pontifical vestments, brought out a goldenchalice set with gems; doubtless one of the sacred vessels saved fromthe pillage of the Abbaye de Chelles. Beside a ciborium, the gift ofroyal munificence, the wine and water for the holy sacrifice of themass stood ready in two glasses such as could scarcely be found in themeanest tavern. For want of a missal, the priest had laid his breviaryon the altar, and a common earthenware plate was set for the washingof hands that were pure and undefiled with blood. It was all soinfinitely great, yet so little, poverty-stricken yet noble, amingling of sacred and profane. 

The stranger came forward reverently to kneel between the two nuns. But the priest had tied crape round the chalice of the crucifix, having no other way of marking the mass as a funeral service; it wasas if God himself had been in mourning. The man suddenly noticed this, and the sight appeared to call up some overwhelming memory, for greatdrops of sweat stood out on his broad forehead. 

Then the four silent actors in the scene looked mysteriously at oneanother; and their souls in emulation seemed to stir and communicatethe thoughts within them until all were melted into one feeling of aweand pity. It seemed to them that the royal martyr whose remains hadbeen consumed with quicklime, had been called up by their yearning andnow stood, a shadow in their midst, in all the majesty of a king. Theywere celebrating an anniversary service for the dead whose body layelsewhere. Under the disjointed laths and tiles, four Christians wereholding a funeral service without a coffin, and putting up prayers toGod for the soul of a King of France. No devotion could be purer thanthis. It was a wonderful act of faith achieved without anafterthought. Surely in the sight of God it was like the cup of coldwater which counterbalances the loftiest virtues. The prayers put upby two feeble nuns and a priest represented the whole Monarchy, andpossibly at the same time, the Revolution found expression in thestranger, for the remorse in his face was so great that it wasimpossible not to think that he was fulfilling the vows of a boundlessrepentance. 

When the priest came to the Latin words, _Introibo ad altare Dei_, asudden divine inspiration flashed upon him; he looked at the threekneeling figures, the representatives of Christian France, and saidinstead, as though to blot out the poverty of the garret, "We areabout to enter the Sanctuary of God!"

These words, uttered with thrilling earnestness, struck reverent aweinto the nuns and the stranger. Under the vaulted roof of St. Peter'sat Rome, God would not have revealed Himself in greater majesty thanhere for the eyes of the Christians in that poor refuge; so true is itthat all intermediaries between God and the soul of man aresuperfluous, and all the grandeur of God proceeds from Himself alone. 

The stranger's fervor was sincere. One emotion blended the prayers ofthe four servants of God and the King in a single supplication. Theholy words rang like the music of heaven through the silence. At onemoment, tears gathered in the stranger's eyes. This was during the_Pater Noster_; for the priest added a petition in Latin, and hisaudience doubtless understood him when he said: "_Et remitte scelusregicidis sicut Ludovicus eis remisit semetipse_"--forgive theregicides as Louis himself forgave them. 

The Sisters saw two great tears trace a channel down the stranger'smanly checks and fall to the floor. Then the office for the dead wasrecited; the Domine salvum fac regem chanted in an undertone that wentto the hearts of the faithful Royalists, for they thought how thechild-King for whom they were praying was even then a captive in thehands of his enemies; and a shudder ran through the stranger, as hethought that a new crime might be committed, and that he could notchoose but take his part in it. 

The service came to an end. The priest made a sign to the sisters, andthey withdrew. As soon as he was left alone with the stranger, he wenttowards him with a grave, gentle face, and said in fatherly tones:

"My son, if your hands are stained with the blood of the royal martyr, confide in me. There is no sin that may not be blotted out in thesight of God by penitence as sincere and touching as yours appears tobe. "

At the first words the man started with terror, in spite of himself. Then he recovered composure, and looked quietly at the astonishedpriest. 

"Father, " he said, and the other could not miss the tremor in hisvoice, "no one is more guiltless than I of the blood shed----"

"I am bound to believe you, " said the priest. He paused a moment, andagain he scrutinized his penitent. But, persisting in the idea thatthe man before him was one of the members of the Convention, one ofthe voters who betrayed an inviolable and anointed head to save theirown, he began again gravely:

"Remember, my son, that it is not enough to have taken no active partin the great crime; that fact does not absolve you. The men who mighthave defended the King and left their swords in their scabbards, willhave a very heavy account to render to the King of Heaven--Ah! yes, "he added, with an eloquent shake of the head, "heavy indeed!--for bydoing nothing they became accomplices in the awful wickedness----"

"But do you think that an indirect participation will be punished?"the stranger asked with a bewildered look. "There is the privatesoldier commanded to fall into line--is he actually responsible?"

The priest hesitated. The stranger was glad; he had put the Royalistprecisian in a dilemma, between the dogma of passive obedience on theone hand (for the upholders of the Monarchy maintained that obediencewas the first principle of military law), and the equally importantdogma which turns respect for the person of a King into a matter ofreligion. In the priest's indecision he was eager to see a favorablesolution of the doubts which seemed to torment him. To prevent tooprolonged reflection on the part of the reverend Jansenist, he added:

"I should blush to offer remuneration of any kind for the funeralservice which you have just performed for the repose of the King'ssoul and the relief of my conscience. The only possible return forsomething of inestimable value is an offering likewise beyond price. Will you deign, monsieur, to take my gift of a holy relic? A day willperhaps come when you will understand its value. "

As he spoke the stranger held out a box; it was very small andexceedingly light. The priest took it mechanically, as it were, soastonished was he by the man's solemn words, the tones of his voice, and the reverence with which he held out the gift. 

The two men went back together into the first room. The Sisters werewaiting for them. 

"This house that you are living in belongs to Mucius Scaevola, theplasterer on the first floor, " he said. "He is well known in theSection for his patriotism, but in reality he is an adherent of theBourbons. He used to be a huntsman in the service of his Highness thePrince de Conti, and he owes everything to him. So long as you stay inthe house, you are safer here than anywhere else in France. Do not goout. Pious souls will minister to your necessities, and you can waitin safety for better times. Next year, on the 21st of January, "--hecould not hide an involuntary shudder as he spoke, --"next year, if youare still in this dreary refuge, I will come back again to celebratethe expiatory mass with you----"

He broke off, bowed to the three, who answered not a word, gave a lastlook at the garret with its signs of poverty, and vanished. 

Such an adventure possessed all the interest of a romance in the livesof the innocent nuns. So, as soon as the venerable abbe told them thestory of the mysterious gift, it was placed upon the table, and by thefeeble light of the tallow dip an indescribable curiosity appeared inthe three anxious faces. Mademoiselle de Langeais opened the box, andfound a very fine lawn handkerchief, soiled with sweat; darker stainsappeared as they unfolded it. 

"That is blood!" exclaimed the priest. 

"It is marked with a royal crown!" cried Sister Agathe. 

The women, aghast, allowed the precious relic to fall. For theirsimple souls the mystery that hung about the stranger grewinexplicable; as for the priest, from that day forth he did not eventry to understand it. 

Before very long the prisoners knew that, in spite of the Terror, somepowerful hand was extended over them. It began when they receivedfirewood and provisions; and next the Sisters knew that a woman hadlent counsel to their protector, for linen was sent to them, andclothes in which they could leave the house without causing remarkupon the aristocrat's dress that they had been forced to wear. Afterawhile Mucius Scaevola gave them two civic cards; and often tidingsnecessary for the priest's safety came to them in roundabout ways. Warnings and advice reached them so opportunely that they could onlyhave been sent by some person in the possession of state secrets. And, at a time when famine threatened Paris, invisible hands broughtrations of "white bread" for the proscribed women in the wretchedgarret. Still they fancied that Citizen Mucius Scaevola was only themysterious instrument of a kindness always ingenious, and no lessintelligent. 

The noble ladies in the garret could no longer doubt that theirprotector was the stranger of the expiatory mass on the night of the22nd of January, 1793; and a kind of cult of him sprung up among them. Their one hope was in him; they lived through him. They added specialpetitions for him to their prayers; night and morning the pious soulsprayed for his happiness, his prosperity, his safety; entreating Godto remove all snares far from his path, to deliver him from hisenemies, to grant him a long and peaceful life. And with this dailyrenewed gratitude, as it may be called, there blended a feeling ofcuriosity which grew more lively day by day. They talked over thecircumstances of his first sudden appearance, their conjectures wereendless; the stranger had conferred one more benefit upon them bydiverting their minds. Again, and again, they said, when he next cameto see them as he promised, to celebrate the sad anniversary of thedeath of Louis XVI. , he could not escape their friendship. 

The night so impatiently awaited came at last. At midnight the oldwooden staircase echoed with the stranger's heavy footsteps. They hadmade the best of their room for his coming; the altar was ready, andthis time the door stood open, and the two Sisters were out at thestairhead, eager to light the way. Mademoiselle de Langeais even camedown a few steps, to meet their benefactor the sooner. 

"Come, " she said, with a quaver in the affectionate tones, "come in;we are expecting you. "

He raised his face, gave her a dark look, and made no answer. Thesister felt as if an icy mantle had fallen over her, and said no more. At the sight of him, the glow of gratitude and curiosity died away intheir hearts. Perhaps he was not so cold, not so taciturn, not sostern as he seemed to them, for in their highly wrought mood they wereready to pour out their feeling of friendship. But the three poorprisoners understood that he wished to be a stranger to them; andsubmitted. The priest fancied that he saw a smile on the man's lips ashe saw their preparations for his visit, but it was at once repressed. He heard mass, said his prayer, and then disappeared, declining, witha few polite words, Mademoiselle de Langeais' invitation to partake ofthe little collation made ready for him. 

After the 9th Thermidor, the Sisters and the Abbe de Marolles could goabout Paris without the least danger. The first time that the abbewent out he walked to a perfumer's shop at the sign of _The Queen ofRoses_, kept by the Citizen Ragon and his wife, court perfumers. TheRagons had been faithful adherents of the Royalist cause; it wasthrough their means that the Vendean leaders kept up a correspondencewith the Princes and the Royalist Committee in Paris. The abbe, in theordinary dress of the time, was standing on the threshold of the shop--which stood between Saint Roch and the Rue des Frondeurs--when hesaw that the Rue Saint Honore was filled with a crowd and he could notgo out. 

"What is the matter?" he asked Madame Ragon. 

"Nothing, " she said; "it is only the tumbril cart and the executionergoing to the Place Louis XV. Ah! we used to see it often enough lastyear; but to-day, four days after the anniversary of the twenty-firstof January, one does not feel sorry to see the ghastly procession. "

"Why not?" asked the abbe. "That is not said like a Christian. "

"Eh! but it is the execution of Robespierre's accomplices. Theydefended themselves as long as they could, but now it is their turn togo where they sent so many innocent people. "

The crowd poured by like a flood. The abbe, yielding to an impulse ofcuriosity, looked up above the heads, and there in the tumbril stoodthe man who had heard mass in the garret three days ago. 

"Who is it?" he asked; "who is the man with----"

"That is the headsman, " answered M. Ragon, calling the executioner--the _executeur des hautes oeuvres_--by the name he had borne underthe Monarchy. 

"Oh! my dear, my dear! M. L'Abbe is dying!" cried out old MadameRagon. She caught up a flask of vinegar, and tried to restore the oldpriest to consciousness. 

"He must have given me the handkerchief that the King used to wipe hisbrow on the way to his martyrdom, " murmured he. " . . . Poor man!. . . There was a heart in the steel blade, when none was found in allFrance . . . "

The perfumers thought that the poor abbe was raving. 

PARIS, January 183l. 

ADDENDUM

The following personages appear in other stories of the Human Comedy. 

Beauseant, Marquis and Comte de Father Goriot

Ragon, M. And Mme. Cesar Birotteau