"And our engagements with our cousin of Austria?" said the Queen, after an instant's silence, "for I will not conceal from you, Monsieur, that since Varennes I have no hope save in our allies."
"Were it not better that you should depend for your safety on your own subjects, Madame?" asked Calvert.
The King agreed with him and said so at once, but it was with reluctance that the Queen gave her consent to the enterprise.
"It is a noble plan and a hazardous one, and we thank you, Monsieur, and those other gentlemen who are imperilling their lives to insure our safety, but I confess to you," said her Majesty, sadly, "that I sanction the undertaking and enter into it, not in the hope that the first part of it will succeed—alas! I distrust our generals and troops too deeply for that—but in the belief that once out of Paris we may ultimately be able to take refuge with our friends beyond the frontier."
As she spoke, there came a hurried tapping at the door, and, almost before permission to enter had been given, Beaufort appeared. He signed hastily to Calvert to depart, and on a silent gesture of dismissal from the King and Queen, he followed the young nobleman from the room through a door opposite to the one by which he had been admitted. Hurrying past endless antechambers, down marble stairways, and through long corridors, Calvert at length found himself at a little gate which gave upon the Carrousel. This Beaufort unlocked and, giving the password to the Swiss sentry who stood without, the two young men at length found themselves on the Quai des Tuileries. There, after a moment's hurried conversation, during which Calvert told Beaufort of the result of the momentous interview with the King and Queen, the two parted, the young Frenchman returning to the palace and Calvert making his way as quickly as possible back to the Legation, where Mr. Morris anxiously awaited him.
CHAPTER XXII
MR. CALVERT STARTS ON A JOURNEY
The Queen's consent having been obtained, Calvert set out upon his journey to the frontier the next day. He would have carried a lighter heart had he felt better assured of the good faith of the King and Queen. Louis had given his consent readily enough and had approved heartily of the plan, for it had ever been against his real wishes to call in the aid of the allies, but Calvert knew too well how little he dared rely on the King's firmness or courage. As for the Queen, he could only hope that the continued representations of Beaufort, Favernay, and others about her Majesty cognizant of the enterprise and the confidence she had expressed in himself, would confirm her in her resolution to help carry the undertaking through to a successful termination.
Mr. Calvert first made his way with all possible expedition back to Maubeuge, where he reported to Lafayette the result of his interview with their Majesties and received from him letters to certain officers who were to be taken into the enterprise and whose commands were to be won over if possible.
"Her Majesty can surely no longer doubt my good faith," said Lafayette, bitterly, to Calvert. "Success, death, or flight is all that is left to me now."
With these letters Calvert proceeded on his way to Namur, Givet, and Trèves, where different detachments of Lafayette's troops were garrisoned. He was made welcome at every mess-table, and his scheme was received with such enthusiasm that it seemed almost an unnecessary precaution to cross the frontier and seek a possible asylum for the Royal Family in case the great plan failed. But the very enthusiasm of some of these young officers caused Calvert to fear for the success of the enterprise. So loud-tongued were they in their loyalty, with such imprudence did they drink toasts to their Majesties and the success of the undertaking, that Calvert, himself so calm and silent, was both disgusted and alarmed.
With the enthusiastic promise of allegiance to the plan on their own part and that of their regiments, Calvert quitted the society of these officers, and, certain of the hearty co-operation of enough troops to make the safety of the King and Queen amply assured, he proceeded, by way of the Mozelle, to Coblentz. He arrived at that city on the 26th of July, and was immediately granted an interview with the great Prince-Elector of Trèves, but recently established in his splendid new palace on the Rhine, and the commander-in-chief of the allied army, his Grace the Duke of Brunswick.
Though Calvert had journeyed with all possible speed, he was come a day too late, and he heard with inexpressible alarm and chagrin of the imprudent manifesto issued by the Duke but the day before. Surely no other great general of the world ever made so colossal, so fatal a blunder. In that arrogant and sanguinary manifesto could be heard the death-knell of the unhappy King of France, or so it seemed to Calvert, who was so deeply impressed with the rashness and danger of his Grace's diplomacy that he made no attempt to conceal the alarm he felt. This open disapproval so offended the Duke and his friend, the Prince-Elector, that the latter received Calvert's proposals with the utmost coldness, and would make no promise to receive the royal fugitives in case it became necessary. Perhaps, too, he was weary of royal guests. Seeing that nothing was to be got from the Elector, Calvert hurried on to Worms through that beautiful Rhine country which he had once traversed so leisurely and delightfully with Mr. Morris.
There he found Monsieur le Prince de Condé, with whom he had a long audience. This great leader of the emigrant forces, being apprised of Calvert's embassy, approved heartily of that scheme which would make the King openly join issue with his nobles, and sent the young man on with all speed to Kehl with secret letters for Monsieur de Vioménil. This General, under Monsieur de Condé's orders, was stationed with trusty troops from Luckner's command at the little town of Kehl, opposite Strasburg, and was deep in secret negotiations with officers of the garrison for the capitulation of that city and the entry of the emigrant army. These intrigues had been going on for some time, and so crafty were Vioménil's plans (he was the greatest diplomat the émigrés could boast), and so successful was Monsieur de Thessonnet, aide-de-camp to the Prince de Condé, in carrying them out, that when Calvert arrived at head-quarters the possession of Strasburg by the emigrant forces seemed to be a question of only a few days. 'Twas in this belief that Monsieur de Condé had despatched Calvert to Monsieur de Vioménil, who joined in the enterprise with the utmost enthusiasm and confidence. So assured was he of the success of his own undertaking that he spoke of it almost as if 'twere already an accomplished triumph, even going to the length of showing the young man the method of attack and occupation traced upon the plan of the city; at this street a regiment was to be stationed; at that gate a body of cavalry was to enter—as though he were master of fate and naught could interfere with his plans. So confident was Vioménil, and so impregnable a defence did Strasburg seem to offer for the King should misfortune overtake him, that Calvert set out on his journey back to Maubeuge the following day buoyed up with the belief that should the army refuse its allegiance and support the King would find, at any rate, a safe asylum at Strasburg. But already Brunswick's ill-advised manifesto was at work overthrowing these well-laid plans, which were to come to nothing, as were his own, unhappily, though for a different reason.
At Maubeuge, where he arrived on the 1st of August, gloomy forebodings in regard to the disastrous effects of his Grace of Brunswick's manifesto were fully shared by Lafayette and those officers committed to the conspiracy. Indeed, Lafayette was in the greatest anxiety and dismay.
"We must force our hand," he said to Calvert. "There is not a moment to lose. This cursed, imprudent, vainglorious mandate of Brunswick's has set the whole country by the ears, for all Paris and the army believes, aye, knows, that the King had cognizance of it before it was issued. The Queen has usually been the double dealer, but this time I think they have both had a hand in it, although these letters from your wife, which, according to our agreement, I have opened, assure us that their Majesties are still of a mind to trust to the issue of our plan and are ready to make the trial at any moment."
"What success have you had with the army?" asked Calvert.
"Much. I can count on a dozen regiments—Saurel, Marbois, Pelletet, and their commands will go with me. I have favorable news, too, from Namur and Tréves; but there is no more time, I think, to gain over others. We must work with what we have. The advices from Paris make it plain that the King is all but lost," and he laid before Calvert a budget of despatches lately arrived by couriers from the capital. "You will see for yourself in what a ferment the city is, and how bitterly hostile is the attitude of Assembly and people to the King."
"And what do you hear from Beaufort, Monciel, and the rest who are working with the members of the Assembly?" asked Calvert, who had heard nothing on his long journey, though he had kept their Majesties informed of his own movements.
"Here is Beaufort's letter—it reached me yesterday," replied Lafayette. "He reports a sufficient number engaged on our side by bribery or interest to insure the King's departure—only it must be instantly, instantly, or all is lost."
"Then I will go at once to Paris," said Calvert, "and report all ready here, and the great step must be taken if it is ever to be."
"It cannot be too soon."
"And have you made all arrangements?"
"This is my plan," says the General, laying a military map of France upon the table before Calvert.
"The King must ask permission to retire to Compiègne for a few days—'tis, as you know, one of his Majesty's favorite residences, hence the request will seem natural. Three days preceding that request (and which, I think, cannot be later than the 9th) I will order several of the most loyal regiments under Saurel and Marbois to proceed to Laon to invest that fortress. I will march with these troops myself, and at La Capelle, which, as you see, is about six leagues from Compiègne, will order them to proceed to the latter point instead of to Laon. The King will find a loyal army surrounding his château of Compiègne when he arrives."
"And if the Assembly refuses to let him leave Paris?"
"Then he and the Queen on that same evening must escape disguised—she is a good actress, Ned, and did not play Beaumarchais's comedies at the little Trianon for nothing; the King will have more trouble—to Courbevoie, where a detachment of the Swiss Guard will be found to escort their Majesties to Compiègne. We must make sure of Bachman, who is, I think, of the King's cause, and must have his promise to detail his Guard at Courbevoie and hold them in readiness. His troops will be strengthened by a regiment under Marbois, which will push on from Compiègne to meet them. Should all go well and his Majesty's request be granted, you must instantly send an aide-de-camp to intercept Marbois and turn him back to Compiègne. Though I do not doubt Bachman's loyalty, 'tis well to be on the safe side, so that thou, Ned, and Favernay, and other of the King's friends must be at Courbevoie to aid his Majesty's flight and see that no treachery is done. We must trust Beaufort to accompany the King to the Assembly and stay beside their Majesties to see that our plans do not miscarry within the palace. And now what dost thou think of the great enterprise?"
"I think it cannot fail of success, if their Majesties will but do their part, and that they will at last appreciate the Marquis de Lafayette at his true value," says Calvert, warmly.
"I think I shall get small credit in that quarter," replies Lafayette, smiling a little sarcastically. "Nor do I feel that I deserve much. 'Tis to thee and to Mr. Morris that the King's gratitude is due, and if Louis XVI is saved from his enemies it will be by the courage and generosity of two American gentlemen," he says, very nobly. "'Twas Mr. Morris's shrewd wit which first set the enterprise afoot, and 'tis thy coolness and bravery which has carried it so far on its way to success. I could not have moved hand or foot in the matter without you two."
After fixing upon the 9th of August as the day on which his Majesty should repair to the Assembly to make his request, and arranging some further details of communication between the army at Compiègne and the troops at Courbevoie, Calvert, in spite of his fatigue (he had ridden for two days and the better part of two nights), set out at once for Paris, where he arrived on the morning of the 5th.
As he feared, he found the city in a state of the greatest agitation. The different sections of Paris had demanded the dethronement of the King, and the temper of the people was so hostile toward their ruler that his Majesty's friends were of the opinion that their plan to save him must be put to the test instantly or all would be lost. Mr. Calvert met those gentlemen (there were five in all besides Calvert—Monciel, Brémond, Beaufort, Favernay, and d'Angrémont) at Monsieur de Monciel's, together with Mr. Morris, who, although he obeyed the letter of the law he had laid down for himself, could not, to save his life, refrain from being a spectator, if a silent one, at those deliberations in which he was so profoundly interested. 'Twas agreed by these gentlemen, who were all impatient of any delay, that the date, the 9th, set by Lafayette, should be adopted for the trial of the great enterprise, and Monsieur de Favernay was instantly despatched to the frontier to acquaint him of this decision. Beaufort and d'Angrémont, who had knowledge of all that passed within the palace, were to prepare the King's address to the Assembly and to urge upon their Majesties the necessity of the speedy trial of that plan to which they had committed themselves. This was no easy business, for, since the unfortunate flight to Varennes, both the King and the Queen hesitated to trust themselves to their friends or to take any step, the failure of which would but add to the misfortunes they already had to bear.
Brémond and Monciel were to renew their efforts to insure the King's departure by the Assembly and to make assurance doubly sure in that quarter; while as for Calvert, he was to sound Bachman, gain his allegiance to the King's cause, and engage him to detain his Swiss Guard at Courbevoie to aid the King's flight should it be necessary.
With these arrangements fully agreed upon, the gentlemen separated, Calvert going to the Legation for a talk with Mr. Morris (though he would not stop there for fear of compromising him should the enterprise bring him into peril) and then to the guard-room of the palace, where he found the captain of the Swiss troop. 'Twas easy enough to engage Bachman in Calvert's plan, for he was already devoted to the royal cause, and his troops would follow him wherever he led. He entered enthusiastically into the hazardous scheme, agreeing to detail certain regiments at Courbevoie under his own command on the evening of the 9th of August to act as an escort for their Majesties as far as Compiègne if necessary.
When this affair was satisfactorily settled and reported to the other conspirators for the King's safety, Calvert made his way to the hotel in the rue Richelieu, at which he had stayed with Mr. Morris, and sought the first repose he had known for nearly fifty-six hours.
During the days of the 6th, 7th, and 8th of August, Mr. Calvert and those other devoted friends of the King who were plotting for his safety were kept in the greatest state of alarm by the wildest and most sanguinary rumors of conspiracies to storm the palace and murder the Royal Family. 'Twas only too evident that the temper of the mob could not be counted on from one hour to the next, and that the King must be got out of Paris at all hazards. No step could be taken until the 9th, however, when Lafayette would be at Compiègne, and, in the meantime, those gentlemen engaged in the service of his Majesty were busy trying to prepare the way for the King's removal from the capital. The sums of money which were continually brought to Mr. Morris by Monciel, Brémond, and others were expended in bribing those who might stand in the way of the King's departure or else invested by him for the future use of their Majesties, a rigid account of all of which was given by Mr. Morris to the young Duchesse d'Angoulême when he had audience with her Royal Highness at Vienna, years after, and when the tragedy which he had so ardently tried to avert had been consummated. Mémoires and addresses for the King were hastily drawn up by Calvert, Monciel, and Beaufort, assisted by Mr. Morris, who, in the terrible excitement and danger of those last two days preceding the final step, threw prudence to the winds and lent his aid morning and night to the enterprise.
Early on the morning of the 9th, Favernay returned, worn by the fatigue of his long and rapid journey, with the news that Lafayette was on the march; that the troops would reach Compiègne by afternoon, and that he had left them at La Capelle. All being thus in readiness outside of the city, word was borne to his Majesty by Calvert in a secret interview, and after some persuasion, and the address to the legislators, prepared by Mr. Morris, being presented to his Majesty, he agreed to repair to the Assembly at six in the evening to make his request to be allowed to retire to Compiègne for a few days. In the early afternoon, and after every precaution possible had been taken to insure the success of the undertaking, Calvert, Brémond, and Favernay left the city, by different routes, for Courbevoie, agreeing to meet there at the caserne of the Swiss Guard to await the issue of the King's appeal to the Assembly and be ready to escort his Majesty by force, if necessary, to Compiègne, while Mr. Morris, deeming it best not to appear at the Assembly, remained at the Legation, anxiously waiting for news of the success or failure of the plan.
CHAPTER XXIII
WITHIN THE PALACE
The arrival of Calvert at the château with his message that all was in readiness for the taking of the final step, the decision for instant action thus forced upon his Majesty, and the excitement pervading the whole city, threw the King and Queen and those few about them who were in the secret into the greatest agitation. Her Majesty, especially, was in the cruellest apprehension, and, dismissing her other attendants, kept only Adrienne with her during that weary day, which, it seemed, would never end. She was the only soul the Queen could confide in, and the two frightened women clung to each other, waiting in terror for the issue of that day's great business. A hundred times did her Majesty change her mind about the expediency of risking further the displeasure of the Assembly and the people by this request to leave the capital; a hundred times did she revert to her former purpose of waiting for and trusting in the allies whose approach was now so near. It took all of Adrienne's courage and persuasiveness to bring the Queen back to her purpose of adhering to the enterprise afoot; she found herself arguing passionately in behalf of Calvert, and at length succeeded in again imbuing the Queen's mind with that faith in him which she herself had. 'Twas curious how that old trust she had felt and acknowledged long before she had loved him animated her now, mingled with a pride in him, a passionate devotion, which she had thought never to experience. As for the King, she saw but little of him, for he was either closeted with his ministers or else sat alone, silent and apathetic, as if in resignation of that fate thrust upon him.
Toward seven o'clock Beaufort and d'Angrémont were admitted, and, shortly after, his Majesty prepared to go with them to the Assembly. During the two hours which followed, a thousand hopes and fears agitated the two women left alone in a private chamber of the Queen's apartments. Her Majesty, unable to remain quiet, paced the room in the cruellest apprehension. At exactly nine the King entered, pale and alarmed-looking, and attended only by Beaufort. At sight of him the Queen arose and went to him with a little cry.
"They have refused—all is lost," says His Majesty, in a hollow voice.
"Impossible!" she exclaims, looking from the King to Beaufort, who stood by, deathly pale, also.
"It is only too true, your Majesty," says Beaufort, for the King seemed incapable of speech. "In spite of the enormous bribes offered and received, in spite of promises, in spite of his Majesty's address, which should have mollified all parties and inspired confidence, the temper of the Assembly, which had appeared favorable to his Majesty, suddenly changed and an outrageous scene took place; humiliations and insults and threats were heaped upon his Majesty, who retired as speedily as possible. D'Angrémont was arrested as we left the Assembly, which has refused to allow the departure of your Majesties, and there remains nothing but to try the last expedient."
The Queen stood gazing at the King and Beaufort, anger and despair written on every feature. Her eyes blazed, and into the lately colorless cheeks a deep crimson sprang.
"Impossible," she says again. "The traitors! To betray us at every turn! Surely there is no one so friendless as the King and Queen of France! And shall we trust ourselves again to flight? Oh, the horrors of that last ride!" She shuddered and sank into a chair. Adrienne knelt beside the despairing woman.
"All is ready—your Majesties have but to follow the instructions—to don the disguises prepared—once at Courbevoie all is secure," she says, speaking with the greatest energy and confidence and clasping the Queen's hand in her own.
Suddenly her Majesty started up. "Never—never!" she bursts out, beginning to pace up and down the small chamber. "Never will I again go through with the humiliation of flight and capture. Better death or imprisonment at the hands of this ungrateful, mad people!"
"But, your Majesty—" says Beaufort, beginning to speak, but the Queen interrupted him.
"I know what you would tell me, Beaufort," she stopped and spoke imperiously—"that this scheme is the best possible one, the only one, perhaps; that in this enterprise lies our only safety, but I cannot believe it! A thousand times would I rather trust myself to the allies!" she said, beginning to pace the floor again.
"I think 'tis not that alone which Monsieur de Beaufort would tell your Majesty," said Adrienne, rising from beside the chair where the Queen had been sitting. She stood straight and tall before the desperate Queen and spoke rapidly. "He would say, also, that there is a handful of brave gentlemen who have risked their lives to serve your Majesties, who are waiting now but a few miles away and the further opportunity of serving you. Every moment adds to their peril. Should your Majesties fail them, what will become of them?" She threw out her hands with an appealing gesture.
"'Tis true," murmured the King. "It must not be said that we sacrificed the last of our friends," he said, smiling a little bitterly and looking at the Queen, who continued to pace the little room in the cruellest agitation.
"I pray your Majesties not to think of us," said Beaufort. "Your devoted friends and servants think only of what is best for your Majesties. 'Tis their opinion, as well as my own, that there is nothing left but flight."
"Never, never!" exclaimed the Queen, with increasing firmness.
"But think of the danger of remaining in Paris!" urged Beaufort. "We know not at what moment this insurrection prepared by the Jacobins may burst out, we know not at what moment this palace and the sacred persons of your Majesties may be at the mercy of an infuriated, insensate mob."
"Let them come—these dangers—these horrors," says the Queen, intrepidly; "they will bring Brunswick and the allies that much sooner to this Paris which I will not leave until they enter it." She stamped her foot upon the velvet carpet and clinched her white hands at her sides.
"Then your Majesty is resolved to give up the enterprise she has promised to support, to abandon those loyal servants who have depended upon her and his Majesty the King?" asks Adrienne, looking at the Queen, her face pale as marble and her eyes burning with indignation.
"Does Madame Calvert permit herself to question our actions?" says the Queen, turning imperiously upon her. Suddenly her beautiful eyes filled with tears. "Forgive me—you are right," she says. "'Tis our fate—our wretched fate—to seem to abandon and injure all who are brought near us, all who attempt to serve us. We cannot help ourselves—even now we must break our faith with these loyal friends, for now I see that after the refusal of the Assembly to allow us to leave Paris, 'twere madness to attempt to go. We would but increase the danger, the humiliation we already have to endure. The only wise course is to await Brunswick and the allies. I see now the folly of this plan of escape—indeed, I was never fully persuaded of its wisdom. The confidence I felt in this young American—his devotion to us and that of those other friends—blinded me to the dangers and difficulties of the undertaking."
"And the King?" asks Adrienne, turning from the Queen to his Majesty, who sat by, indecision and weariness and timidity written on all his heavy features.
"We dare not," he says, at length, apathetically. "The Queen is right—after the refusal by the Assembly to allow us to depart, after this new humiliation, it were worse than folly to think of escaping. We are surrounded by spies—treachery is within these very walls—how can we hope to get away? It is best to await our doom quietly here. What think you, Beaufort?" he asks.
"I implore your Majesty to make the effort," says Beaufort. "Once outside Paris, the Swiss Guards await you, Lafayette with his loyal regiments is even now at Compiègne——"
"Lafayette at Compiègne?—who knows?" says the Queen, gloomily, interrupting Beaufort again. "Monsieur de Lafayette hath betrayed us before and may do so again. I trust him not! To know that he has a share in this enterprise is to make me fear to pursue it! No, no," she goes on, shuddering and turning away. "St. Cloud and the 5th of October are too well remembered. I should have thought of all this before," she says, striking her hands together in an agony of doubt and despair. "It is too late now."
"And who will tell these gentlemen waiting at Courbevoie, and the regiments advancing from Compiègne at the risk of their lives, of this sudden change in your Majesties' plans? Should Monsieur d'Angrémont be induced to divulge their names they will inevitably be lost—their only hope is in immediate flight," says Adrienne, looking from the King, sunk in resigned silence, to the frantic, hapless Queen, and back again.
"Who but myself, Madame?" said Beaufort, advancing. "And if your Majesties are fully determined to go no further in this business, I will ask leave to withdraw and set out for Courbevoie at once. Every moment is precious, and an hour's delay may mean the loss of many lives."
"No, no, Beaufort, I cannot let you go," cried the King, starting up. "Nom de Dieu, I forbid you!—d'Angrémont is taken from me—there is no one in whom I can confide or trust—we must send another," he went on, incoherently, and raising his hand as if to check Beaufort's departure.
For an instant the Queen swept him a glance of disdain. 'Twas not timidity that made her falter. She could not understand the physical weakness of the King; with her the abandonment of the great undertaking was a matter of expediency, not of fear, and she deserted her friends as relentlessly from interest as he did from cowardice.
"There is no one, your Majesty—no one whom we can send. 'Tis too late to trust others with this great secret—"
"Then I will go," said Adrienne, suddenly stepping forward. "Send me—I am in the secret, I can be trusted! I can put on the disguise intended for your Majesty and go." She turned to the Queen and spoke eagerly and rapidly. "I fear nothing. Let me go, let me go!" She dropped on her knees before the Queen. "I must go—I must," she said, wildly.
"Is there no other?" asked the Queen, turning to Beaufort. "Surely we are not so destitute of friends that we must send this girl upon such a dangerous mission!" she said, sorrowfully.
"I implore your Majesty to let me go," said Adrienne, once more. "'Tis a service I would do myself as well as your Majesty," she went on, her white face suddenly covered with a burning blush.
The Queen looked at her keenly for a moment, and then she put out her hand with a sad, comprehending smile. "You may go," she said.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE TENTH OF AUGUST
According to agreement, Bremond sped instantly from the Assembly to Courbevoie with news of the fresh humiliation put upon the King and the outrageous scene which had taken place. He found Calvert, Monciel, Favernay, Bachman, and several officers of the Swiss Guard, upon whose loyalty they could depend, assembled in a room of the officers' quarters of the barracks, anxiously awaiting the issue of the day's events. He told his news amid a dead silence, broken only now and then by an exclamation of indignation or disappointment from one of the listeners. When he had finished speaking, Calvert turned to the little group, "Then, gentlemen," he says, "pursuant to the plan, the King's request having been denied, we may expect their Majesties here before ten, and shall have the honor of guarding them to Compiègne."
As he looked around upon the little company, there was not a face but expressed some secret doubt and misgiving. The King's timidity and vacillation were so well known that 'twas impossible not to question his good faith even in this last extremity. As ten o'clock passed and eleven and no message or sign of the royal fugitives came to the anxious, impatient watchers, those secret doubts and misgivings began to be openly expressed.
"'Tis the Austrian who has kept him, I will bet a hundred louis," said one of the Guard's officers, gloomily. "I never believed she would keep faith with us—she is too deeply committed to Brunswick—nor will she let the King do so." Even while he spoke there was a sound of someone's running hurriedly up the stairs—they were assembled in an upper room—and in an instant an orderly was hammering at the door, which was flung open by Monciel.
"A messenger for Monsieur Calvert," he says, saluting.
Calvert followed the man hastily down the steps to where a figure waited for him which made him start back with an exclamation of surprise and consternation.
Adrienne—for it was she—came forward, taking off the cap pulled over her eyes and letting fall the great cloak with which she had enveloped herself in spite of the intense heat, and appearing in the outrider's livery which was to have been the Queen's disguise.
"C'est moi," she says, hurriedly, and putting a finger to her lips, "and I am come to tell you that their Majesties have failed you—have abandoned the plan—and to implore you to escape while there is time." She stood straight and tall in her boy's clothes, but the dim light, falling upon her upturned face, showed it pale as death, and her voice trembled as she spoke.
"You are come to tell me this?" says Calvert, slowly, still staring at her as though scarce able to believe his senses. "And where is Beaufort?"
"The King refused to let him go; he is with his Majesty," she says, breathlessly—"d'Angrémont is taken—'tis reported that the palace is to be attacked to-night. The King and Queen will not come—the King is afraid to attempt the escape, and the Queen will rely on no one save the allies—we implored them in vain to come but they refused—they have failed you—save yourselves!" She leaned heavily against the door.
"It is quite certain?—they will not come?" asked Calvert. Adrienne shook her head.
"Then wait—come in here," he said, drawing her into a little anteroom. He ran back up the stairs and burst into the room he had just left, with an imprecation.
"Their Majesties have flashed in the pan," he said to the gentlemen who crowded about him. "'Tis no use to wait longer. D'Angrémont is taken. You, Monciel and Favernay, set out instantly to intercept Marbois's regiment and turn it back to Compiègne. You will go back with the troops and report to General de Lafayette what has happened. As for you, gentlemen," he says to the officers of the Guard, "not being needed here longer, you had best lead your men back with all speed to Paris to guard the palace. The attack is for to-night."
Almost before he had finished speaking the little company had vanished which it had taken such secrecy and courage and fidelity to call together; the great plan was overthrown which had taken such daring and patience and wealth to set afoot. Timidity and bad faith had, in a moment, destroyed what had taken so many weeks to build up, and for the future calamities the King and Queen of France were to bear, they had only themselves to thank.
Calvert ran down the stairs again quickly to the anteroom, where the boyish figure in the long cloak awaited him.
"Come," he said, briefly, and, ordering a fresh horse for the rider, whose mount was weary, almost without a word the two galloped back together under the fading stars to the city of tumult and horror and crime. And as they raced forward in silence, a thousand hopes and fears crowded in upon Calvert's mind, but he put them steadily from him, trying to think but of the King and Queen and if there might yet be help for them or service to render. Only as he looked at the pale face beside him, at the blue eyes, tired and strained now, a mad wonder would steal over him that she had done this thing. And with this wonder tugging at his heart and brain they pressed onward with all speed. They entered Paris as the first streaks of dawn were beginning to redden the sky, and in this rosy morning glow the haggard faces of the multitudes of men and women pacing the streets—for who could sleep during that awful night?—looked more haggard and wretched than ever before. Bands of armed ruffians marched through the streets from all sections of the city. 'Twas plain that some movement of importance was going forward.
The two riders made their way as quickly as possible past the Place du
Carrousel, where Calvert could see the faithful Swiss regiment at their
post, over the Pont Royal and so to the Faubourg St. Germain and the
American Legation.
"Mr. Morris's house is the only safe place in all this mad city, I think," he said to Adrienne. "I will leave you in his care while I go and see what has befallen the King and Queen."
Early as was the hour, the Legation was all astir, and Mr. Morris himself came out to meet Calvert and Adrienne as they dismounted. He had not been to bed during the night and looked harassed and weary. He drew them into the house, where they found a large company assembled. Madame de Montmorin was there, agony and terror written on her pallid face; the old Count d'Estaing, who had fought so gallantly in America; Dillon, Madame de Flahaut, and a dozen others, who had taken refuge with the American Minister during that terrible night.
"You see!" said Mr. Morris, in a low tone, to Calvert, and indicating the little group. "They have fled for protection here, but God knows whether even this spot will afford them safety! I call you to witness, Calvert, that if my protection of these persons should become a matter of reproach to me here, or at home (and I have reason to expect it will, from what I have already experienced), I call you to witness that I have not violated the neutrality of this place by inviting them here, but I will never put them out now that they are here, let the consequences be what they may!"
"Who could believe that you could act in any other way!" said Calvert, warmly, touched by the nobility and earnestness of Mr. Morris's manner, very different from his usual cynical one. "And I am come to put another in your charge until the Queen sends for her," he went on. "She has ridden through this terrible night—God knows how—to give us warning that the King and Queen have abandoned us and the great plan and have chosen to remain at the palace. I must go to the Tuileries and find out what has befallen their Majesties and then I will return."
"I know all," said Mr. Morris, bitterly. "I scarcely dared to hope that their Majesties would stand by us or their promises. 'Tis as I thought, my boy. Sacrifices and devotion, time and money have all been wasted in their behalf. So be it! I think no power can save them now. You have bravely done your share. Let this end it. And it were best that you should leave Paris at once. D'Angrémont has died nobly without revealing our secrets—he was murdered within two hours of his capture—but this is no safe place for you. Go to the Tuileries, if you will, but return to me as soon as possible. You have lost at the palace, but I think there is a reward waiting for you here at the Legation," he says, smiling a little and turning away.
Scarcely had Calvert left the Legation when he heard the alarm from the great bell of St. Germain l'Auxerrois—that fatal bell which had rung in the Massacre of St. Bartholomew two hundred and twenty years before—and almost immediately after there came the sounds of musketry and cannonading from the direction of the palace of the Tuileries. The attack had already begun, and Calvert thought with a thrill of horror of the fate that awaited Beaufort and those other loyal servants of their Majesties within the palace.
The fearful drama of that day is too well known to need repeating. On that day Louis XVI of France passed from history and the revolution was consummated. By the time Calvert had reached the Quai opposite the Louvre the battle was begun, the mob was forcing its way past the scattered National Guard, whose commander lay murdered on the steps of the Hôtel de Ville, past the stanch, true Swiss Guard, who, left without orders, stood, martyrs at their posts, ne sacramenti fidem fallerent, through the Carrousel up to the very palace itself. There, surrounded by seven hundred loyal gentlemen, whom he was to abandon as he had abandoned all his friends and servants, the King awaited his doom in apathetic resignation. It was impossible to reach his Majesty or to do aught for him, and Calvert could only look on from afar. There was no place in that fearful scene for an American. The French at last knew their power, had at last got the bit between their teeth, and no outside interference could stay that fearful pace. The mob surged about Calvert, increased every instant by fresh additions from the lowest quarters of the city, reinforced by deputations from the provinces. The firing from without grew quicker and quicker; from within fainter and less frequent, as those devoted servants of the King were shot down, until finally there was silence within the palace and the scarlet of the Swiss could be seen scattered and fleeing in every direction as the armed and triumphant mob pushed its way forward. Looking into the mad whirlwind of faces, Calvert saw the great, disfigured head, the massive shoulders of Danton, (but just come, on that fearful morning, to the fulness of his infamy and power), followed by Bertrand, battling his way beside his great leader.
"And 'twas for this I saved him!" said Calvert to himself. "Truly the ways and ends of Providence are inscrutable!"
He watched the terrible scene a long while, and then, seeing that he was powerless to aid those in the palace, he made his way back to the Legation with a beating heart. The great disappointment the night had brought, the failure of all those plans in which he had been so profoundly interested and for which he had hazarded so much, even the peril of the King and Queen, faded from before his mind as he thought of Adrienne and asked himself why she had risked her life to come to him. He saw her still galloping by his side, her face pale in the light of the full August moon, her dusky hair blown backward, the strange, inscrutable expression in her eyes.
She was not with the rest of the little company when Calvert once more entered the Legation. He found her in an upper chamber, where she stood alone beside an open window, looking out on the agitation and tumult of the city below. She had doffed her travel-stained boy's clothes and now wore a dress, which Madame de Montmorin had offered her, of some soft black stuff that fell in heavy folds about her slender young figure. As he entered she turned, hearing the sound, and their eyes met. He stood silent, trying to fathom the strange look on that pale face. It was the same beautiful face that he had seen in pictured loveliness that last night at Monticello, the same that he had seen in reality for the first time at Mr. Jefferson's levee at the Legation, and yet how changed! All the haughty pride, the caprice, the vanity, the artificiality were gone, and instead, upon the finely chiselled features and in the blue eyes, rested a serene, if melancholy beauty, a quiet nobility born of suffering. There rushed through Calvert's mind the thought that, after all, that loveliness had at last developed into all that was best and finest.
He stood thus looking at her in silence and thinking of these things, and then he went slowly forward, scarce knowing how to address her or explain his presence, who had so long avoided her.
"I am come," he says, at length, "to thank you for the great service that you have this night rendered me and those other gentlemen engaged with myself in the King's business. I dare not think what might have been the fate of us all had you not come to our assistance. Were they here they would, like myself, thank you with all their hearts."
"'Twas no great service," she says, "and I could scarce have done less for one who has done so much—who has sacrificed so much for me."
"I have sacrificed nothing," says Calvert, in a low, compassionate voice. "'Twas you who sacrificed yourself, and all in vain! Believe me, I suffered for you in that knowledge. I should not have let you—should have found a way, but I was weak and ill and scarcely struggled against the fate that gave you to me. I wish that 'twere as easy to undo the evil as for you to forget me."
"Forget you! I wish I could forget you. I have thought of you so much that sometimes I wish I could forget you entirely. But I think 'tis out of my power to do so now. I think I should have to be quite dead—and even then I do not know—I am not sure—if you should speak to me I think I would hear," she says, wildly, and covering her eyes with her hand.
He looked at the dark-robed figure, the dark head bowed on the heaving breast, and suddenly a joy such as he had never thought to feel ran through his veins. He went over to her, and, lifting the hand from the closed eyes, he put it to his lips.
"Adrienne," he says, tenderly and wonderingly, "you are crying! Why?"
"I am crying for so many things! For joy and despair and hope and dead love, because this means nothing to you and everything to me, because I love you and you love me not, because you once loved me—!" She stopped in an access of anguish and, sobbing, knelt before him. The humility of true love had at last mastered her.
"Not to me—not to me," he said, unsteadily, lifting her.
"And why not to you? There is no one so true, no one I honor so much! In my pride and ignorance I thought you were not the equal of these fine gentlemen who have abandoned their King and their country. But I have learned to know you, and my own heart, and what I have thrown away! I am not ashamed to say this—to own to you that I love you." She threw back her head and looked at Calvert with eyes that shone with a sorrowful light. "For you once told me that you loved me, and though I know I have lost that love, the memory that I once had it will stay with me and be my pride forever."
"'Tis yours still, believe me," said Calvert. "'Tis yours now and forever—forever." He put his arm around her and drew her to him. "Far or near I have loved you since the first day I saw you, but I never dreamed that you would come to care, and in my pride I swore I would never tell you of my love after that day in the garden at Azay."
"I must have been mad, I think," she said, wonderingly. "Mad to have laughed at you—mad to have thrown away your love. Ah, I have learned since then!"
"'Tis like a miracle that you should have come to care for me," said
Calvert, his lips upon her dark hair.
"The hour you left me I knew that I loved you. Oh, the agony of that knowledge and the thought that I would never see you again! Even then my pride would not let me tell you—I thought you would come again—and then—then when later you turned from me—my heart broke, I think—'twas quite numb—I was neither sorry nor glad—" She stopped again.
"Are you glad now, Adrienne?" asked Calvert, looking at her tenderly.
"Yes," she said, quietly.
"And will you be content to leave this France of yours and come with me to America? There is a home waiting for you there—'tis not a splendid place like those you know, but only a country house that stands near the noblest and loveliest river of the land, upon whose banks peace and happiness dwell." As he spoke, grim sounds of tumult, cannonading, fierce cries, and hoarse commands came to them from the hot, crowded street below, but they did not heed them—they were far away from that terrible, doomed city. Words were scarcely needed—they stood there soul to soul, alone in all the world, and happy.
"I am going back to that land of mine, where there is work for me to do. Will you not go with me? There is nothing more we can do here. The last chance to save their Majesties is gone. Will you leave this troubled, fated land and come with me to that other one, where I will make you forget the horrors, the sufferings you have endured in this—where I swear I will make you happy? Will you go to this America of mine?" he asked.
She gazed into the eyes she so loved and trusted with a glance as serene and true as their own.
"I will go," she said.