Adieu, brother! Embrace your wife tenderly for me.
I have taken Oliver away. I may not at present let you into my plans; but of one thing be assured, the solution is honorable for all. I am and shall remain worthy of your esteem and affection. Do not seek for the present to fathom what has become of me, and have no uneasiness over my fate. You shall receive a letter from me every week, until the day, close at hand, it may be, or perhaps far away, when I can return to you, dear brother, dear sister, never to leave you again.
While awaiting that day so much to be desired, continue, both of you, to love me—for never shall I have so much needed your affection.
VICTORIA.
CHAPTER XXV.
ROYALIST BARBARITIES.
The following extracts from my diary will help to trace the course of the important political events occurring in Paris between the 31st of May and the 1st of November, 1793.
June 5, 1793.—Rejoice in the day of the 31st of May, sons of Joel. It means safety for the Republic, certain triumph for the Revolution. Aroused as one body, the population of Paris, embracing more than a hundred and twenty thousand citizens in arms, has succeeded in securing, solely by the moral pressure of its patriotism, the suspension of the Girondin Representatives. The greater part of these went into voluntary exile. The people of Paris remained under arms for five whole days—from May 31 to June 4.
June 6, 1793.—A singular chance placed in my hands to-day a note written by Robespierre. I hastened to take a copy, as it was of the greatest interest. It sums up in a few firm and concise lines the policy which he purposes henceforth to impress upon the Jacobin party, which, since the 31st of May, is master of power:
There must be one will.
In order that it may be Republican, there must be Republican ministers, Republican journals, Republican deputies, a Republican government. The Republic can not establish itself save with honest and Republican officials.
The foreign war is a deadly scourge so long as the body politic is suffering from the convulsions of revolution, and from divided counsels. The present insurrection must be sustained until the proper measures be taken to save the Republic. The people must rally to the Convention, and the Convention must serve the will of the people. The insurrection must extend further and further, on the same plan; the sans-culottes must be paid and remain in the cities. They must be furnished with arms, encouraged, and enlightened.
JUNE 7, 1793.—I received this day a letter from Victoria, in fulfilment of her promise to write me each week. Not to mention the profound grief her absence caused us, our uneasiness over her was extreme, in spite of the assurances she gave us in her farewell letter. She now informed me that Oliver's health was improving, and that his spirits were returning. She did not despair of bringing him back to reason and the practice of his civic duties. She was living, she told me, at some distance from the capital; and she could not yet disclose to us the mainsprings of her mysterious conduct, and the reticence of her correspondence.
JUNE 10, 1793.—The majority of the Convention has just made recognition of the value of the passive insurrection of May 31, by adopting the appended resolution:
The National Convention declares that in the days of May 31 to June 4 the general revolutionary council of the Commune and the people of Paris powerfully co-operated to save the liberty, the unity and the indivisibility of the Republic.
JULY 12, 1793.—Upon a report from the committee rendered by St. Just, the Girondin members of the Convention were on the 10th of July declared traitors to the country, and outlawed. Several other adherents of that party were sent before the revolutionary tribunal.
JULY 19, 1793.—Last Saturday, July 13, Marat was assassinated, between seven and eight in the evening. His assailant was Marie Anne Charlotte Corday D'Armans, the daughter of an ex-nobleman, whose usual abode was Caen, one of those hot-beds of federal insurrection fomented by the Girondins. Simulating the role of a victim who besought assistance and protection from the Friend of the People, Charlotte Corday solicited an interview with him. Worn out and unwell, Marat was taking a bath, but yielding to compassion for the young girl who implored his aid, he consented to receive her. Introduced into his presence, Charlotte Corday struck him with a knife. He died almost instantly. I record this new assassination as an abominable crime! The beauty, the youth, the resolute character of Charlotte Corday in no wise lessen her guilt. It is vain to compare her with Brutus. He struck down Caesar, the undoubted tyrant of his country, whereas the patriotism of Marat, the Friend of the People, had never been called into question. Taken to-day before the revolutionary court presided over by Fouquier-Tinville, the accused woman confessed her connection with the Girondin party, of which she plainly was the instrument. She prided herself on having dealt Marat his death blow, the condign punishment, she said, for his crimes. Unanimously condemned by the jury to death, Charlotte Corday suffered on the scaffold the penalty for homicide.
The universal consternation of the patriots as they learned of the murder of the Friend of the People was an additional proof of the immense influence exercised by this extraordinary man over their heads and hearts. All over Paris these verses were placarded:
| People, Marat is dead, the lover of the land; |
| Your friend, your aid, the hope of all who would be free |
| Is fallen 'neath the blow of an accursed band; |
| Weep—but remember, avenged must he be! |
This morning I received a letter from Victoria. She informs me that Oliver's health is being restored, and that he soon will prove to me that my affection for him was not misplaced. In a few lines in his own hand at the end of Victoria's letter, Oliver himself repeated the same pledges. What is her project? I know not. She has at least saved the unhappy boy from suicide.
JULY 30, 1793.—The royalist and "federalist" insurrection of Lyons, Marseilles, Toulon and Bordeaux against the Republic and the Convention has assumed a more threatening aspect through the war that broke out in the Vendee, and which is spreading amid scenes of ungovernable ferocity. Read, sons of Joel, and shudder at the atrocious reprisals, the nameless horrors, committed by the Vendeans under the leadership of their priests and the ex-nobles. If the law of retaliation, that savage and barbarous law, is ever applied to the Chouans and Vendeans by the avengers of the patriots, let the responsibility fall upon the heads of these madmen themselves.
The brigands of the Vendee themselves gave the signal and set the example for murder and massacre. Machecoul was the theater of scenes of horror. Eight hundred patriots were hatcheted to pieces. Several were buried alive. The women were forced to witness the torture of their husbands; then, together with their children, they were spiked hand and foot to the doors of their dwellings, where they expired under the blows and stabs of the assassins. The parish curate, who had taken the oath to the Constitution, was impaled on a spit, and marched through the streets and public places of Machecoul with his genitals cut off. Finally, still breathing, he was nailed to the liberty tree. A Vendean priest celebrated the mass standing in blood and upon mutilated corpses. In the swamps of Niort six hundred children of Nantes were rounded up, massacred, and atrociously mutilated. At Chollet the brigands repeated the frightful scenes of Machecoul. They put the patriots through the most terrible tortures before depriving them of their lives. There, also, they nailed the women and children alive to their house-doors, and made their bosoms a target for their bayonets. They put to the torture everywhere those patriots whom they found, or persons who would not bear arms against the Republic. When they captured Saumur, all who bore the reputation of patriot perished amid indescribable tortures. The women, their children in their arms, were thrown from the windows, and the tigers in the streets poniarded them. The agonies which they made our brave defenders undergo were no less cruel; the least barbarous was to slay them with ball or bayonet; but the most common was to hang them feet uppermost from trees and kindle bonfires under their heads; or to nail them alive to the trees; or to place cartridges in their mouths or nostrils and explode them. It is impossible to take a step in the Vendee without opening new perspectives of torture to the eye. Here, at the entrance of one village, are exposed to our view brave defenders of the Republic hewed to pieces or spiked to the doors of their dwellings. There, the fringe of trees at the edge of a wood displays to us the disfigured forms of our brave brothers hanged from the branches, their bodies half burned. Yonder, we discern their lifeless corpses bound, nailed to trees, to pieces of timber, mutilated, riddled with wounds, their faces burned and baked. Nor did the brigands confine themselves to these inhuman tortures. They filled their country ovens with our defenders, kindled the fires, and left them to expire slowly in this atrocious agony. Recently these cannibals have invented a new manner of torture; they cut off the noses, hands and feet of their prisoners, shut them in their dark caves, and abandon them to perish of hunger.
The distinguished patriot Chalier, at the head of a list of eighty-three, was led to the scaffold at Lyons. The instrument worked poorly. Chalier was twice mutilated. The cruelties of the royalists and parishioners of Lyons will call down great calamities upon the city.
AUGUST 2, 1793.—Often did my sister and I wonder at receiving no news from Prince Franz of Gerolstein, our relative, and one of the most ardent of the Illuminati. The secret of Franz's silence has just been revealed to me. An officer of the garrison of Mayence, long a prisoner in the duchy of Deux Ponts, adjoining the principality of Gerolstein, informed me to-day that for four years, the length of time since Franz left us, the latter was held in a state prison by order of his father, the reigning prince. So did Franz of Gerolstein expiate in harsh captivity his sympathy with the new ideas.
AUGUST 4, 1793.—The Convention passed yesterday a decree of marked Socialist and revolutionary character:
The National Convention, in consideration of the evils which monopolists inflict upon society by their murderous speculations in the most pressing necessaries of life and upon the public misery, decrees:
Article 1.—Monopoly is a capital crime....
Article 8.—Eight days from the publication and proclamation of the present law, those who have not made the prescribed declarations shall be held to be monopolists, and, as such, be punished with death; their goods shall be confiscate, and also the merchandise and food-stuffs seized in their possession.
AUGUST 7, 1793.—The law against monopolies has had its effect upon the produce and stock jobbers. All food-stuffs have fallen considerably in price.
With redoubled energy the Convention is turning its attention to the dangers which threaten the Republic. News is brought that among the Vendeans have been uncovered the widow of Louis Capet, a large number of non-juring priests, and several imprisoned ex-nobles. The following decrees are passed:
The National Assembly denounces, in the name of the outraged humanity of all nations, and even of the English people, the cowardly, perfidious and atrocious conduct of the British government, which is instigating and paying for the employment of assassination, poison, arson, and every imaginable crime, for the triumph of tyranny and the annihilation of the rights of man.
Marie Antoinette is taken before the tribunal extraordinary. From there she is at once transferred to the Conciergerie Prison:
All the individuals of the Capet family are to be deported outside of the territory of the Republic, with the exception of the two children of Louis Capet and those members of the family who are under the sword of the law. Elizabeth Capet may not be deported until after the trial of Marie Antoinette.
Also:
The tombs and mausoleums of the old Kings, erected in the Church of St. Denis, in the temples, and in other places throughout the whole extent of the Republic, shall be destroyed on the 10th of August next, and their ashes thrown to the winds.
AUGUST 8, 1793.—Up to date Victoria, true to her promise, has written me regularly every week in her own name and that of Oliver. He, she says, is treading with firm step the path of duty. My sister raises not the veil of mystery in which she has enshrouded herself since she quit our house. She announces that she is going to suspend her correspondence, but that if anything untoward intervenes she will inform me of it at once.
AUGUST 23, 1793.—Allied Europe is increasing the masses of troops she is hurling on our frontiers, here menaced, there already invaded. O Fatherland! you appeal to the heroism of your children; your call shall be heard. The Committee of Public Safety, among whose most influential members are Robespierre, St. Just and Couthon, increases its vigilance. The Convention passes decree upon decree, brief, pointed, courageous, like the roll of the drum beating the charge:
The National Convention, having heard the report of its Committee of Public Safety, decrees:
Article 1.—Until the moment when the foreign hordes and all the enemies of the Republic shall have been driven out of the land, all French people are under permanent requisition for the service of the armies.
The young men shall go to the front; the married men shall forge arms and transfer supplies; the women shall make tents and uniforms, and serve in the hospitals; the children shall pull lint, and the old men shall betake themselves to the public places to kindle the courage of the warriors, keep alive hatred for Kings, and promote the unity of the Republic.
The French people will soon present to the tyrants a united front. The effect produced to-day by the latest decrees of the Convention was immense, indescribable. Thanks to God! the consignment of arms I was charged with making will be finished in a few days. I will be able to rejoin the army. Castillon and I have enrolled in one of the battalions of our Parisian volunteers.
SEPTEMBER 18, 1793.—Since the commencement of this month, Terror is the order of the day. Terror reigns; but to whom impute this fatal necessity, if not to the enemies of the fatherland? The Republic struck only after she had been outraged; she attacked not, she but defended. She obeyed the supreme law of self-preservation, the common right of an individual and a body social. The Terror is reducing our enemies within to impotence.
OCTOBER 17, 1793.—Yesterday the revolutionary tribunal sentenced Marie Antoinette to death, in these words:
The court, in accord with the unanimous verdict of the jury, in accordance with its right as public investigator and accuser, and in conformity with the laws which it has cited, condemns the said Marie Antoinette, of Lorraine in Austria, widow of Louis Capet, to the penalty of death. It declares, conformably to the law of the 10th of March last, that her goods, if any she have within the confines of French territory, be confiscate to the benefit of the nation. It orders that, at the request of the public ministry, the present sentence be executed upon the Place of the Revolution, and printed and posted throughout the Republic.
Throughout her trial Marie Antoinette maintained an air of calmness and assurance. She left the audience chamber after the pronouncement of sentence without evincing the slightest emotion, or uttering a word to judges or jurors. She mounted the scaffold at half past four in the morning. Only a few spectators were present.
October 18, 1793.—The Convention has superseded the old calendar with a new one, based on the observations of exact science. The new names for the months are as poetic, harmonious, and above all as rational, as the old ones were barbarous and senseless, borrowed, as they were in part from the fetes and rulers of the Roman Empire, in part from a pagan theocracy. The decree of the Convention is as follows:
Article 1.—The era of the French dates from the foundation of the Republic, which took place the 22nd of September, 1792, of the common era, on which day the sun arrived at the true autumnal equinox, and entered the sign Libra at nine hours, eighteen minutes, thirty seconds, Paris Observatory.
Article 2.—The common year is abolished from civil usage.
Article 3.—Each year commences at midnight of the day on which falls the true autumnal equinox, for the Observatory of Paris....
Article 7.—The year is divided into twelve equal months of thirty days each. After the twelve months follow five days to complete the ordinary year. These five days belong to no month.
Article 8.—Each month in divided into three equal parts of ten days each, which are called decades.
Article 9.—The names of the days of the decade are: Primidi, Duodi, Tridi, Quartidi, Quintidi, Sextidi, Septidi, Octidi, Nonidi, Decadi.
The names of the months are,
For Autumn:
Vendemiaire (the Vintage month, September 22 to October 21), Brumaire (the Foggy month, October 22 to November 20), Frimaire (the Frosty month, November 21 to December 20).
For Winter:
Nivose (the Snowy month, December 21 to January 19), Pluviose (the Rainy month, January 20 to February 18), Ventose (the Windy month, February 19 to March 20).
For Spring:
Germinal (the Budding month, March 21 to April 19), Floreal (the Flowery month, April 20 to May 19), Prairial (the Pasture month, May 20 to June 18).
For Summer:
Messidor (the Harvest month, June 19 to July 18), Thermidor (the Hot month, July 19 to August 17), Fructidor (the Fruit month, August 18 to September 16).[13]
12th BRUMAIRE, YEAR II (November 2, 1793).—The detail of arms is completed, and Castillon and I leave day after to-morrow to join at Lille the Seventh Battalion, Paris Volunteers.
CHAPTER XXVI.
A REVOLUTIONARY OUTPOST.
On the 5th Nivose of the year II (December 25, 1793), an advance post of the main body of the Army of the Republic lay in military occupancy of an isolated tavern some quarter of a league's distance from Ingelsheim, a French burg about twelve leagues from Strasburg. Hoche and Pichegru, the Generals of the detachments called "of the Rhine and Moselle," had removed their headquarters to Ingelsheim, after several advantages gained over Marshal Wurmser, the Duke of Brunswick and the Prince of Condé. The republican troops were bivouacked about the city. The light of their campfires struggled with difficulty through the mists of a black winter's night. A line of scouts and pickets covered the position of the post, which was composed of a company of the Seventh Battalion, Paris Volunteers, among whom were John Lebrenn and his foreman Castillon.
The company was gathered in the large hall of the inn, and in the kitchen, where blazed a great fire. The greater part of the men, worn out with fatigue, sought repose on beds of fresh straw laid along the walls, making shift to use their knapsacks as pillows. Others furbished their arms, or blacked their cartridge-boxes; still others were mending their dilapidated garments or exercising their wits to cobble their shoes into a semblance of serviceableness; for neither the stores of the army nor draughts on nature sufficed to clothe and shoe all the citizens called to the flag in the last levies, or to replenish their wardrobes against the havocs of war. Few, indeed, of the volunteers, wore the complete uniform decreed by the Convention and which was already covered with the glory of so many victories. This consisted of a coat of deep blue, with facings and trimmings of red, and large white lapels, which left displayed the vest of white cloth, like the trousers; black knit leggins, with leather buttons, reaching to the knee; a flat three-cornered hat, surmounted with a plume of red horse-hair, falling beside the cockade; and a knapsack of white calf or buffalo-skin. Only the most recent recruits to the battalion were dressed correctly in accord with the decree.
The company was in command of a captain named Martin, a pupil of the painter David, the Convention member. Martin had enrolled after the days of September and at once left for the front. He had already advanced through all the elective ranks. Twice wounded, full of bravery and dash, and knowing how to win obedience in the moment of action, Captain Martin showed himself always jovial, open, and engaging in his relations with the volunteers. Although he had now followed war for fifteen months, David's young pupil did not renounce his former profession. He only awaited peace to lay down his sword, take up his brushes, and attempt to open a new field in his art by depicting the battles of the Revolution, and episodes of camp life. Seated at one corner of a table that was lighted by an iron lamp, Captain Martin was even now amusing himself with sketching, in a little pocket sketch-book, the figure, at once pitiable and grotesque, of the frightened innkeeper. Although a native of Alsace, the latter spoke an unintelligible dialect, and understood no French. Castillon, who was addressing him, indicated with a gesture a young volunteer in spick-and-span new uniform, scrupulously combed and shaven, and altogether looking, as they say, as if he had stepped out of a band-box, and explained:
"This citizen asks for twenty bottles of Moselle wine, to be paid for, of course. Isn't what I'm saying to you clear enough—barbarian!"
To which the innkeeper, multiplying his manifestations of distress, replied in an agonizing jargon.
"But, Gott's t'under, ve vant vine! Ve temant vine of you!" retorted Castillon impatiently, assuming a German patois in the hope of making himself understood.
It was Captain Martin who cut the gordian knot and ended the already too-long debate. Hastily outlining in his sketch-book a bottle and a glass, he waved the drawing under mine host's eyes together with an assignat[14] which he drew from his pocket. The Alsatian gave a sigh of relief, motioned that he at last comprehended, and was about to scamper off to his cellar when the captain held him back, and, to prevent any further misunderstanding, drew the figure 20 underneath the picture of the bottle. To this new intelligence the tavernkeeper responded with uncouth contortions of delight, and a formidable "Yah!"
"The animal!" exclaimed Castillon, shrugging his shoulders, "why couldn't he answer like that right off!" And addressing himself to the new recruit: "If our innkeeper weren't such a booby, we would have been able to drink your welcome to the battalion half an hour ago, Citizen Duresnel."
"True; but then we would have already drunk it, while now we have still in store the pleasure of putting it down," replied Duresnel thickly, as if he had a hot potato in his mouth, and dropping all his r's like one who had never seen Paris.
"Ho, ho! You come in time, comrade," replied a volunteer banteringly. "We're going to have a fight to-morrow, you'll see what it is to go under fire. We'll have a brush of it!"
"That's what I came for," Duresnel made answer in his muffled voice; "only—and you will laugh at me, citizens—I confess to you—never having smelled gunpowder, I am afraid—"
"Which? What?" cried the troop in chorus, greatly amused at the babyishness of the young Parisian. "What are you afraid of? Come, comrade, explain yourself."
"Damn! citizens—I am afraid—of being afraid!"
The answer provoked an explosion of hilarity. Without being in the least put out of countenance, Duresnel added: "Yes, wo'd of honor, citizens; never having been in action, and not knowing what effect it will have upon me, I am afraid of being afraid. That's very simple."
"Bravo, comrade," interjected Captain Martin, "it is not always those who make a flourish of their swords in advance who prove the most heady. Your modesty is a good omen; in consequence of which I wager that to-morrow you will take your baptism of fire bravely, with a cry of Long live the Republic! Just have a little confidence in yourself."
"You're a good fellow, captain; I shall do my best. For, wo'd of honor, it would be disagreeable to me to know that I am a coward, after having posted from Paris to join the battalion."
"You came by post?" exclaimed Castillon. "You must have been in a hurry to get here!"
"Surely; I had already lost so much time. First I was at the quarters of the battalion in the barracks of Picpus, where I learned a little of the drill, after which I took a stage coach to reach Strasburg. Then, taking advantage of the escort which accompanied Representatives St. Just and Lebas to Ingelsheim, I rejoined the battalion, and here I am."
"A beaker of Moselle will give you courage, comrade," said Captain Martin, full of interest in the young man; and seeing at that moment the host return with two baskets bursting with bottles: "Come, friends, let us drink a welcome to Citizen Duresnel. Drink, comrades, to the extermination of Kings, priests, Jesuits, and aristocrats."
"Thanks, captain, I drink nothing but water;" and seeing on the sideboard a water-jug, Duresnel poured himself out a glassful. Then raising his bumper, he replied: "To the health of my brave companions of the Seventh Battalion, Volunteers of Paris! To the extermination of all monarchs! To the lamp-post with the aristocrats!—Captain," continued Duresnel, "since you are my military superior, I have a favor to ask of you."
"Granted in advance, on one condition."
"And what's that, if you please, captain?"
"That you thee-and-thou us, myself and our comrades, as we thee-and-thou you. It is a mark of political fraternity."
"Very well, captain. Here, then, is the request I wish to make of you: I am now a soldier of the Army of the Rhine and Moselle. It seems to me I should take more pleasure of the business if I knew whereabouts we were in the war. Otherwise I should be like a man starting to read a story in the middle, and unable to understand a word, since he does not know the beginning."
"What you say is in point, comrade. I shall do the right thing by your request at one of our next watches."
At this moment the attention of the volunteers was drawn to a new personage who entered the inn-hall. This individual wore the uniform of a mounted cannonier, and the insignia of chief quartermaster. His dress, like that of the volunteers, bore many a patch. His face was of a strikingly martial cut, his long moustaches were covered with hoar-frost. On entering the room he delivered the military salute, and said briskly:
"Good even, citizens. Have you room for a moment at fire and lamplight for a mounted artilleryman of the Army of the Rhine?"
"By heaven, yes!" replied Castillon, stepping away from the fireplace to make room for the newcomer; then gazing at him curiously, he added: "But tell me, comrade, this doesn't seem to be the first time we two have met?"
"Quite likely not," replied the cannonier, in turn searching Castillon's features. "In fact, listen here, we met on an occasion which is, by heaven, difficult to forget—a meeting without its like!"
"Last year, on the second of September—"
"At the prison of La Force!"
"When we purged it of the priests, the holy shaven-pates, and the aristocrats."
"Comrade, you are James Duchemin," cried Captain Martin, seizing him by the hand. "I heard your name pronounced in the National Assembly along with the other names of those who had given themselves to the fatherland. I admire your devotion. You offered all you possessed—your life and your two horses."
"Ah, you were at the Assembly that day?"
"Aye, I came from the Abbey."
"Where you also did work?"
"A fatal and terrible necessity. I believed so then and think so still. Death to the aristocrats and priests! But how one does meet! Come, a glass of wine, my old friend."
"That is not to be refused, comrade. I am frozen numb," returned Duchemin; and added, in a tone of bitter recrimination, "That brigand of a Reddy!"
"Of what 'Reddy' do you speak, friend?"
"Oh, that is the name of one of the horses I gave to the country. We were enrolled, my two beasts and I, in '92, in the Second Battalion, Flying Artillery. But my other horse, my Double-grey, was missing from roll call after the battle of Watignies, because of a little impediment in the way of a four-pound cannon ball, which he received in the belly while one of the servants of my darling Carmagnole was riding him."
"What, you have a sweetheart whom you call Carmagnole? The idea is a droll one!"
"That is how I christened the four-pounder I had charge of in my battery. Ah, citizens," added Duchemin, in reply to the volunteers' mirth at his explanation, "if you only knew that beautiful little piece! Such an amorous little mouth—to spit fire and cannon balls at the nose of the Austro-Prussians and the other Ostrogoths."
"Come, come, old chap, do you take us for marines?" said Castillon, laughingly. "Do you want to give us the idea that pieces of artillery in general—and Carmagnole in particular—have characters!"
"Whether they have characters! Just ask your good cannoniers about that, you'll hear their answer. There are slatterns of pieces on whom you can never depend for a good shot. Whereas with Carmagnole—never a caprice. You train her so many lines' elevation—she'll fire just so high; so many lines' depression—she'll fire low. An angel of a spit-fire! A very love!"
"Comrades," chimed in Captain Martin gaily, "captivated by the character, the virtues and the bravery of Citizeness Carmagnole, I propose her health, and that of the brave artillerymen of the Army of the Rhine."
"To the health of Carmagnole! To the health of the artillerymen of the Rhine!" chorused the volunteers, draining their glasses with Duchemin. Touched by this proof of sympathy for his cannon and his brothers in arms, the latter in turn raised his own glass and cried:
"Thanks, comrades, thanks! I shall convey your good wishes to Carmagnole, and I can tell you that in to-morrow's battle we shall be neither slothful nor over-hot, but just right. Meanwhile, I drink in her name and mine: To the health of the brave men of the Army of the Moselle. To the relief of Landau! Long live the Republic! To the lamp-post with the aristocrats, the black-caps, and all the Jesuits!"
"We shall raise the siege of Landau, or die!" enthusiastically acclaimed the volunteers. "Long live the Republic!"
"Well, indeed, wo'd of honor, I don't believe I am going to have any fear at all to-morrow!" exclaimed Duresnel, electrified by the ardor of his comrades. "Long live the Republic! Death to the aristocrats and down with the skull caps!"
"Citizen Duresnel," replied Captain Martin, smiling, "you will see that it is not such a devil of an undertaking to go under fire the first time, surrounded by gallant comrades."
"Faith, captain, I begin to believe it," replied Duresnel, while Castillon said, addressing Duchemin:
"See there, old fellow, your love for Carmagnole has interfered with your telling us your troubles with your horse, that brigand Reddy, formerly so patriotic a fellow, as you told us, and whom you suspect of having been bought over by a peck of oats given him by an agent of Pitt and Coburg."
"Well, comrades, to return to Reddy, yes, I say that dumb animal is a patriot at heart. Judge for yourselves: Lately, at the affair of Kaiserslautern, we were tearing along at a gallop with one wing of my battery, to take up our position. I was helping along with the flat of my saber two wretches of drivers who had charge of the team of six that drew Carmagnole, and who looked out of sorts at going into action. Suddenly a squadron of Prussian Uhlans, until then hidden by a rise in the ground, broke cover and charged upon us. We were supported by a squad of the famous Third Hussars. We met at full tilt. But right in the middle of the embroglio my brave Reddy seized the horse of a Uhlan by the mane. Reddy did not let go his hold—he lost his footing in the crush—he fell, and me with him. There I was, pinned under him; but thanks to the intervention of the famous pair of the Third Hussars, I was able to escape. This was the first time I saw those two inseparables of the Army of the Rhine, Victor and Oliver, two heroic fellows!"
"These two cavalrymen are called, you say, Oliver and Victor?" and Castillon continued thoughtfully to himself. "A singular idea those two names suggest. What if the gallant pair should be our apprentice and our master's sister! Despite the strangeness of the disguise, it is said there are in the army many patriotic women who enrolled to follow their lovers to the war—"
While Castillon was thus reflecting, the report of a firearm rang out about a hundred paces from the inn. One of the pickets had fired. Captain Martin at once spoke to an under-officer:
"Sergeant, take four men and go see what is up out there. It must be comrade Lebrenn who fired that shot."
"Perhaps he got a bead on some spy within the lines," suggested Duchemin, as the sergeant hastened out with his guard.
The incident, however, passed almost unnoticed by Castillon, who, preoccupied with his own thoughts concerning the "pair" in the Third Hussars approached Duchemin and asked:
"Comrade, did you ever see the two brave cavalrymen you spoke of, again?"
"Yes, often. After Kaiserslautern our battery was attached to their division."
"How old would you say Oliver was?"
"He is eighteen or so; black haired, with blue eyes. He is a fine looking hussar; but in respect of beauty, his companion takes the shine out of him."
"Victor is also a pretty boy, then?"
"He is too good looking for a man. What an air of authority! What an eye of fire!"
"No more doubt of it," murmured Castillon to himself. "It is Citizeness Victoria and Oliver, who have joined the hussars!"
At this moment the sergeant and his squad returned, minus one man who had relieved John Lebrenn at his post. A man and a boy of ten or eleven, dressed as Alsatian peasants, were marched in by the volunteers.
The two seemed perfectly calm as they entered the inn-hall. They did not even shudder when John Lebrenn announced:
"Captain, I think we have laid our hands on a couple of spies."
"And how did they fall into our picket lines, comrade Lebrenn?" asked Captain Martin.
"I had posted my sentries, captain. The mist was so thick I could not see the lights of the inn from my position. The ground, hardened by the frost, carried sounds clearly. All at once I heard at some distance the steps of men coming almost directly at me. I could distinguish also that they wore wooden shoes. I could see nothing, but I cried: 'Halt! Who goes there?' At the challenge the two individuals attempted to flee, but they failed to perceive a patch of ice, on which their wooden shoes slipped. The noise of their fall reached me distinctly. I fired my gun to give the alarm, and plunged in their direction. I reached the pair just as they regained their feet. I grabbed the man by his collar, the boy by his frock. They tried at first to break away, but soon realizing that I had a tough grip, they offered no further resistance. The man addressed me in some unintelligible jargon. Then my comrades ran up, and we bring you the catch."
"You young brigand, you are swallowing a paper!" cried Captain Martin, rushing, but too late, upon little Rodin; for he it was, unrecognized by John Lebrenn as the latter had seen him but once before, and briefly, the day of the taking of the Bastille, when the vicious youngster had attempted to make away with the annals of the Lebrenn family. Needless to say, the man accompanying him, and also unknown to the company of volunteers, was his "sweet" god-father, his "gentle" god-father, his "dear" god-father Abbot Morlet. The wretched youngster had just the minute before quickly carried to his mouth one of his hands, which he had up till then held hidden beneath his coat.
"Search the knaves!" ordered Captain Martin. And quickly raising little Rodin's blouse, he saw that the young one held his left hand tightly shut. The captain pried it open, and some fragments of torn paper fell to the floor. John Lebrenn and Castillon discovered nothing upon the reverend Father Morlet. Carefully the captain pieced together the scraps of paper he had gotten from the Jesuit's god-son, but found nothing but figures. After a moment's examination he cried:
"No doubt of it! The man and his brat are emissaries of the enemy. The letter of which they were the bearers is in cipher, except two names which I find in the fragments—Condé, and then another of which some letters seem to be missing;" and drawing nearer to the lamp, Captain Martin added, "It is something like Plouar—Plouer—"
"Plouernel! without a doubt!" exclaimed John Lebrenn. "This ex-Count of Plouernel, former colonel in the French Guards, was aide-de-camp to the Duke of Brunswick, and must now be serving in the Emigrant ranks of the Prince of Condé."
"Which is all the more probable since the corps of ex-nobles forms part of Wurmser's army which is to attack us at daybreak," replied Captain Martin, while John Lebrenn muttered to himself: "To-morrow, perhaps, I shall find myself again face to face, arms in hand, with that descendant of the Nerowegs whose life I saved last year."
"Your account will not take long to settle, you old rascal," said Captain Martin to the Jesuit, gathering together the pieces of the despatch. "You will be conducted to headquarters and simply shot as a spy, after an examination by way of preface, of course. All the forms will be followed!"
The Jesuit, unmoved, seemed not to hear the captain's words, and made answer in a lingo invented by him for the occasion:
"Yes, yes, Rama o schlick! It is clear as day. Yes, you will be hanged!" replied Captain Martin imperturbably. Then he said to little Rodin, who stood no less stolid than his good god-father: "You commence your pretty trade quite young, you little scoundrel, you brigandette. Your audacity, your presence of mind don't seem to fail you in the least. No doubt they charged you with the despatch in the hope that even if arrested you would not be suspected of carrying it. You are too young to be shot, but we will first give your trousers a good dusting and then send you to a house of correction."
During this speech little Rodin showed himself the worthy pupil of his god-father and master. He did not wink an eyelid, although he kept his snaky optics fixed on the captain. Then, beating his chest with one hand with an air of compunction, he carried the other to each ear in turn and to his mouth, as a pantomimic indication that he was deaf and dumb.
"So, poor lad, you are deaf and dumb?" said the captain. "In that case you are free. Get out. May the devil take you."
But little Rodin remained motionless, not seeming to have heard. Instead, he made a new sign that he could neither hear nor speak, and heaved a most lamentable sigh. The sigh, the motions and the face of the boy were stamped with such an air of sincerity that Captain Martin and the brave volunteers who witnessed the scene began to believe that the Jesuit's god-son had indeed the use of neither faculty.
The captain continued: "If this little beggar is, indeed, as he seems to be, a deaf-mute, we shall send him to Abbot Sicard. He will have a splendid pupil!" Then, turning to the Jesuit: "But you, old rogue, who are neither dumb nor deaf, you shall be recompensed as you deserve! Come, off to headquarters!"
"Mira ta bi lou!" replied the Jesuit, simulating the impatience of a man tired of listening to gibberish.
"I understand perfectly," the captain said. "Be easy, you shall be well hanged." He thereupon turned to John Lebrenn, saying, "You, comrade, will take the prisoners to headquarters, and transmit these shreds of paper to the staff-officer to whom you give the account of your capture. One or two volunteers will accompany you to keep watch on the two rascals."
"Do not weaken your post, Citizen Captain," said Duchemin. "On my way back to my battery I shall accompany my comrade as far as the General's quarters."
Then John Lebrenn, noticing for the first time the cannonier whose patriotism had so strongly touched him a year before, cried out: "Citizen James Duchemin!"
"Present, comrade! But how the deuce did you know me?"
"I'll tell you on our way to the General's," replied John. And soon, taking the Jesuit by the collar while Duchemin seized little Rodin firmly by the hand, the volunteer and the artilleryman left the inn and set out towards the burg of Ingelsheim.
"The capture of the two spies prevented me from acquainting friend John with what I have discovered as to Citizeness Victoria and our apprentice Oliver," thought Castillon that night as he stretched himself out to rest on his pallet of straw. "Well, the confidence will come a little later!"
CHAPTER XXVII.
THE HEROINE IN ARMS.
The headquarters of General Hoche were established in the Commune Hall of the burg of Ingelsheim; soldiers and under-officers of various corps of the army, detailed as orderlies, awaited the commands of the General in a sort of vestibule leading to the room in which Hoche himself, together with his fellow-General Pichegru and their aides-de-camp, were in conference with St. Just, Lebas, Randon and Lacost, the Representatives of the people sent on special mission from the Convention to the Armies of the Rhine and Moselle. Among the various troopers seated about on the benches, and for the most part sleeping, overcome by the fatigues of the day, were two, a cavalryman and a quartermaster of the Third Hussars, who sat to one side of the folding door in earnest conversation. The manly beauty of one of them, his light brown complexion, the soft black down which shaded his upper lip, his thick eyelashes, his height, the squareness of his shoulders, and the fire and boldness of his glance, left no doubt but that it was Victoria, the missing sister of John Lebrenn. Her companion, who could be none other than the apprentice Oliver, seemed transfigured. His radiant youthful features now shone with hope and martial ardor. His large brilliant blue eyes seemed to mirror dazzling visions. One would have said it was Mars himself in the uniform of a hussar.
"With what impatience I await the morrow," he was saying to Victoria. "Here in my heart I feel that I shall either be killed or named sub-lieutenant on the field of battle. Hoche, our General-in-chief, was sub-lieutenant at twenty-two; I shall be an officer at eighteen! What a future opens before me!"
Dreaming of his martial career, the young soldier gazed long and silently into the golden picture it held up before him. Victoria observed him closely. An inscrutable smile overspread her lips, when suddenly, recalled from his revery by the recollections of love, Oliver blushed and added: "If I am made an officer, perhaps you will at last think me worthy of you, Victoria! Oh! what happiness! To merit the supreme gifts of your tenderness, or to die before your eyes!"
"You yield yourself too readily to the intoxication of glory," said Victoria, gravely reproaching him.
"Is not the glory of arms the most sublime of all?"
"Oliver, woe to those who, loving arms merely as arms, glory as glory, give way to such enticements. Their reason becomes clouded, their spirit becomes unsteeled, their patriotism falters. They grow ready to sacrifice right, liberty, dignity for that glory whose brilliancy oft conceals so much of mere low ambition, of abject servility, of shameful appetites, and vain and childish selfishness. Military chiefs are nearly all contemptible men, even under the republican regime."
"Victoria, how severe you are!" replied Oliver, sorrowfully. "Have I really merited this reproach?"
"When St. Just and Lebas came here to hold council with the Generals over to-morrow's battle, I noticed your hesitancy in giving, as customary, the military salute."
"Yes, I felt extreme repugnance toward saluting a commissioner of the Convention to the armies, because these people are in no way military. If some day I become a general, I shall never consent to submit my plans of campaign to a Representative of the people. No authority should precede that of a general in his army. That authority should be single, absolute, obeyed without discussion; he should be responsible to none for his acts. His soldiers should hear but one voice: his; know but one power: his."
"That is the language held by Dumouriez the eve of the day on which he betrayed the Republic," answered Victoria bitterly. Just then John Lebrenn and Duchemin entered, bringing in their prisoners.
John did not see his sister sitting with Oliver beside the door. But the young woman, doubly surprised by meeting at once both her brother and the Jesuit Morlet, whom she immediately recognized through his rustic disguise, made at first a move to rush after John. But fearing lest he, unable to master his surprise, might compromise the secret of a transformation which she desired to guard, she checked herself, and whispered to Oliver, who was no less stupefied than she at the sight of his former master: "My brother has gone with that country fellow and the little boy into the room of the aides-de-camp. Go tell the cannonier Duchemin to meet me in the courtyard." Tossing her sword under her left arm with military ease, the young woman started for the door; and designating by a glance the other soldiers, she added, "I do not wish my first interview with my brother to take place before our comrades; his emotion would betray me."
"I obey, Victoria," sadly replied Oliver. "My surprise at meeting your brother in the army prevents me from asking you in what I deserve the cruel words you have but just addressed to me."
"My attachment for you, Oliver, compels me never to conceal the truth, harsh as it may be. That is the only means of forestalling results of which you perhaps have no premonition. We shall resume the conversation later," she added, as she left the vestibule, the pavement of which rang under her spurred boots.
The courtyard in front of the Commune Hall was a spacious one. On either side were ranged the horses of the couriers. The fog had lifted; the stars shone overhead. In the clear air of the crisp, cold night, Victoria soon beheld the artilleryman coming towards her. She advanced to meet him, saying: "I desired to speak to you, citizen, for the purpose of giving you some information upon that man and the young child whom you and a volunteer have just brought in as prisoners."
"They are two spies of Pitt and Coburg, who fell among our pickets and were arrested, only an hour ago, by one of our sentries, a Parisian."
"Is that Parisian named John Lebrenn?"
"What, do you know him, my brave hussar!" asked Duchemin.
"That I do. We are old friends. But here is my information: The man under arrest is a French priest, a Jesuit, an enemy of the Republic."
"A Jesuit! Ah, double brigand and black-cap! The gallows-bird!"
"His name is Abbot Morlet. It it urgent that you go at once and inform John Lebrenn of this circumstance; he no doubt will be a witness at the reverend's examination, which may even now be under way. The spy should be unmasked."
"The examiner will give the black-cap's tongue to the dogs if he answers in the gibberish he treated us to just now, in order to throw us off the scent."
"When he finds himself recognized, he will not be likely to persist in that ruse. Go, then, comrade, acquaint John Lebrenn with the fact that his prisoner is the Jesuit Morlet, whom he already knows by reputation. Then say to him that a trooper of the Third Hussars wishes to speak with him a moment, and awaits him here in the court."
"'Tis well. The two commissions will be fulfilled, as you request."
While awaiting her brother, Victoria paced thoughtfully up and down the courtyard. "Dear brother," she thought, "he has kept his promise. He would pay his debt of blood to the Republic, and here he is, a soldier. I can now unveil to him my mystery, and the object of my conduct in regard to Oliver."
Informed by Duchemin that a hussar of the Third wished to see him, John soon stepped out of the Commune Hall, and descrying a cavalryman of the designated regiment at some paces from the door, walked towards him, saying:
"Is it you, comrade, who sent me word by an under-officer of the artillery that you had something to say to me?"
"It is I," answered Victoria, taking two steps toward her brother. The latter, at first taken aback by surprise at hearing a voice which he believed he knew, now approached rapidly. Incapable of leaving him any longer in suspense, Victoria threw herself on the volunteer's neck, saying in a broken voice:
"Brother! Dear and tender brother! Pardon me the pain I have caused you!"
"All is forgotten now," murmured John, weeping with joy, and straining his sister to his breast. "At last I recover you, darling sister!"
"And soon, I hope, we shall be separated no more. My task draws to its close. And your worthy wife?"
"I heard from her only day before yesterday. She is well, and sustains my absence courageously. Ah, Charlotte is doubly dear to me now—for she is about to be a mother."
"How happy she must be!"
"In the midst of all her happiness, she still thinks of you. There is not one of her letters in which she does not mention you, and wonder at the mystery which has enveloped you for so many months. Good heaven, to find you here in the army, in uniform. I know not whether I am awake or dreaming. I can hardly collect my thoughts." And then after a moment's silence, John resumed: "Your pardon, sister. I am now calmer. I now believe I can divine the cause which led you to emulate those many heroines who are enlisted against the enemies of the Republic. Oliver—doubtless—serves in the same regiment with you? You were anxious to continue directing him, watching over him?"
"Yes, brother mine; and already, by his bravery and aptitude in war he has scaled the lower rounds of the ladder. A brilliant future is unrolled before him."
"Sister—" began John with some hesitancy, "the result is beyond what we hoped—but—"
"At what price have I obtained it? is it not, John? I can read your thoughts. I have no cause to blush for the means I have employed. The day of his attempted suicide, Oliver pledged me, as you know, that he would not make a second attempt within twenty-four hours. Before daybreak I rapped at his door. He had not retired. His face was as ominous as the evening before. 'Oliver,' I said to him, 'let us go at once.' 'Where are we going?' 'You shall know. You have promised me to renounce till night-fall your projects of suicide. It matters little to you where you pass your last day, here or elsewhere. Come.' Oliver followed me. We went to Sceaux, where I had once before spent some time, hoping to find relief in solitude from my griefs. Perhaps you have forgotten that when the chateau of Sceaux became national property, our good old patriot porter in St. Honoré Street became, by your recommendation to Cambon, one of the guardians of the domain. The fine old man occupies with his wife the ground floor of a pavilion situated near one of the gates of the estate. The second floor is vacant, and it was there I dwelt during my former sojourn in the place. To this abode I conducted Oliver. I presented him to the keeper and his wife as one of our relatives who had been ordered to the country for his health; I was to stay to take care of him. The good people received us with joy. They fitted up, from the relics in the furniture repository of the old mansion, a room for Oliver, and took upon themselves the task of preparing our meals. I had in the neighborhood of six hundred livres, which I had saved. That sum would suffice for all our needs for quite a while.
"My arrangements with the keeper concluded," continued Victoria, "I led Oliver out into the park. We had left Paris before dawn. By the time we arrived at Sceaux, nature had donned all the fragrant beauty of new-born day. The May morning sun cast his first radiant beams over those enchanted vistas. We walked in silence over the velvety lawns, whose richness was reflected in the little ponds that dotted them. Here were vases and statues of marble niched in the green of the hedges; yonder spouting fountains surrounded by immense rose-bushes then in full bloom. Their scent filled the air. These details may seem childish, brother, but they were all important."
"I can well see it; you hoped to reattach the poor boy to life by displaying to him, in that fine spring morning, nature in her most smiling aspect."
"Such indeed was my purpose. I observed Oliver closely. His looks, at first lorn and somber, brightened little by little. He breathed in with wide nostrils the morning ambrosia of the woods, the fields and the flowers. He rapturously bent his ear to catch the chirping of the birds nested in the foliage. His glance lost its heaviness, and again glowed with youthful buoyancy. He took new hold of life while abandoning himself to the sweet sensations awakened in him by the contemplation of nature. I sought to stir the most sensitive and delicate chords of the boy's being. My friendliness tempered what had up till then been stern and parental in my relations with him; I spoke to him now more as sister than as mother.
"'It would be paradise upon earth to live here,' he said.
"'Then let us settle in the village, Oliver.'
"'What! You consent to share this solitude with me?'
"'Most assuredly. Indeed, it was even with that hope that I brought you here.'
"He beamed with happiness. But suddenly, his face clouding again, he asked me sadly 'what I would be to him.' 'Your sister,' I told him. But seeing him continue to lose the brightness he had just regained, I added gaily:
"'Yesterday, my friend, I would consent to be nothing more than mother to you. To-day I am willing to rejuvenate myself sufficiently to become your sister. Is not that great progress?'
"'So,' he cried in a transport, 'you give me leave to hope?'
"'I give you permission to hope for what I hope myself, Oliver: that one day I may feel for you a sentiment more tender than that of fraternity. But it depends upon you still more than on me.'
"'What must I do?'
"'Become a man, Oliver; a man of whom I can be proud.'
"Oliver at first gave himself up with joy to this hope; but soon he again asked, with a shade of suspicion in his voice, 'You will not make me any promises—are you thinking, then, of forsaking me?'
"'Not at all, Oliver; and moreover, here is what I propose. We shall remain in this charming retreat until you are completely recovered, then we shall join the army, and enroll in the same regiment.' And in answer to a gesture of stupefaction from Oliver, I added, 'Shall I, do you imagine, be the first woman who shares the perils of our soldiers, with her secret locked under her uniform? I wish to see you rise from rank to rank. Then will come the day, perhaps soon, when some brilliant deed will raise you to the height I dream of for you, and to our common hope. Now, Oliver, choose between suicide and the glorious future I present to you.'"
"All is now explained, worthy and great-hearted sister," exclaimed John Lebrenn.
"I am now happy to note that my influence over Oliver diminishes daily. His warlike ardor, the intoxication of his early successes, the activity of camp life—all, according to my calculation, have combined to overcome his passion. I foresaw that love would be fleeting in that warlike soul, I sought above all to snatch him from suicide, from failure. I wished by a vague hope to rekindle his dying courage, initiate him into the career of arms, which his nature called him to, and by watching over him like a mother and sharing his soldier's life, to preserve him from the pitfalls that destroy so many young men. I wished, in fine, to affirm him in the path of justice and virtue, to develop his civic character, and to render still more fervent his love for the fatherland and the Republic. Then, this self-imposed duty once fulfilled, I reserve the means of casting Oliver upon the destiny which the future seems to hold for him. Such was my project. In part it is realized. The young man's passion for war is now his only amour. Accordingly, I will soon be able to leave him."
At this point in their conversation the brother and sister saw Jesuit Morlet and little Rodin file out of the Commune Hall, escorted by several soldiers. One of these carried a lantern. The artilleryman Duchemin brought up the rear.
"Hey, comrade!" called John Lebrenn to the quartermaster, as he approached him, while Victoria remained behind, "I have something to ask you."
"Speak, citizen."
"Do you know what they have decided about this doubly-dangerous spy, this minion of the Society of Jesus?"
"According to what I just heard, the black-cap will be shot to-morrow morning. They are taking him to the quarters of the Grand Provost of the army, who has charge of the execution; and as my battery is established near the Provost's quarters, I am acting as conduct to the agent of Pitt and Coburg."
One of Hoche's aides-de-camp now stepped precipitately out of the Commune Hall, hastened across the court, and ran in the direction of the General's quarters. A company of grenadiers stationed there at once caught up their arms and fell in line, drum at the right, officers at the head, and soon the four Representatives of the people, St. Just and Lebas, commissioners in extraordinary from the Convention to Strasburg, and Lacoste and Randon, commissioners to the Army of the Rhine and Moselle, descended the steps of the Commune Hall, preceded by several officers furnished with lanterns, and followed by Generals Hoche and Pichegru, and the superior officers of the divisions. The Representatives of the people wore hats, one side of which, turned up, was surmounted with a tricolor plume; their uniform coats were blue, with large unbroidered lapels, and crossed with a scarf in the national colors; over their trousers, which were blue like their coats, they had on heavy spurred boots, and cavalry sabers hung by their sides. St. Just walked before the others. He was of almost the same age as Hoche, about twenty-four. The two conversed in low tones, some steps ahead of the other Generals and Representatives. The features and attitudes of Hoche and St. Just, as revealed by the light of the lanterns, contrasted sharply. The republican General, of robust stature and with a bluff countenance, intelligent and resolute, which a glorious scar rendered all the more martial, displayed an insistence almost supplicating, as he addressed St. Just. The latter, of only medium height, with a high and proud forehead, accorded to the pleadings of Hoche a silent attention. His pale and firm-set features, set off by his long straight hair, gave to the man an air of sculptured impassivity. His life, his feeling, seemed concentrated in his burning glances.
"Brother, do you remark Oliver's countenance?" said Victoria. "Pride possesses it. He seems to regard as acts of servility the marks of respect shown by the officers to the Representatives of the people."
"Oliver's expression is indeed significant," replied John.
"Halloa! Courier of the Third Hussars!" one of the under-officers cried at that moment from the doorway, holding up a sealed packet. "To horse! A despatch to carry to Sultz."
"Present!" called back Victoria; then she continued in a voice filled with emotion, as she held out her hand to John,
"Adieu, brother, till to-morrow. Perchance the order of battle or the fortunes of war will bring us near each other."
"I hope—and fear it, sister," answered John, his eyes moist with tears, lest this should be the last time he was to see Victoria. "You have shown yourself valiant, devoted and generous in your conduct towards Oliver. Till to-morrow."
"Adieu, brother!" And Victoria hastened to receive the despatch, while John returned to the bivouac of the Paris Volunteers.
The despatch which Victoria carried to Sultz had been written by Hoche that very evening, and addressed to Citizen Bouchotte, Minister of War. It read: