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Book online «The Parisians — Complete by Baron Edward Bulwer Lytton Lytton (beautiful books to read TXT) 📖». Author Baron Edward Bulwer Lytton Lytton
He retreated to the masked door and disappeared.
Marc le Roux, the porter or custos of that ruinous council-hall, alarmed at the explosion of the pistol, had hurried into the room, and now stood unheeded by the door with mouth agape, while Lebeau thus curtly dissolved the assembly. But when the president vanished through the secret doorway, Le Roux also retreated. Hastily descending the stairs, he made as quickly as his legs could carry him for the mouth of the alley in the rear of the house, through which he knew that Lebeau must pass. He arrived, panting and breathless, in time to catch hold of the ex-president’s arm. “Pardon, citizen,” stammered he, “but do I understand that you have sent the Council of Ten to the devil?”
“I? Certainly not, my good Paul; I dismiss them to go where they like. If they prefer the direction you name, it is their own choice. I declined to accompany them, and I advise you not to do so.”
“But, citizen, have you considered what is to become of Madame? Is she to be turned out of the lodge? Are my wages to stop, and Madame to be left without a crust to put into her soup?”
“Not so bad as that; I have just paid the rent of the baraque for three months in advance, and there is your quarter’s pay, in advance also. My kind regards to Madame, and tell her to keep your skin safe from the schemes of these lunatics.” Thrusting some pieces of gold into the hands of the porter, Lebeau nodded his adieu, and hastened along his way.
Absorbed in his own reflections, he did not turn to look behind. But if he had, he could not have detected the dark form of the porter, creeping in the deep shadow of the streets with distant but watchful footsteps.
CHAPTER, IX.
The conspirators, when left by their president, dispersed in deep, not noisy resentment. They were indeed too stunned for loud demonstration; and belonging to different grades of life, and entertaining different opinions, their confidence in each other seemed lost now that the chief who had brought and kept them together was withdrawn from their union. The Italian and the Atheist slunk away, whispering to each other. Grimm reproached Ferrier for deserting Dombinsky and obeying Lebeau. Ferrier accused Grimm of his German origin, and hinted at denouncing him as a Prussian spy. Gaspard le Noy linked his arm in Monnier’s, and when they had gained the dark street without, leading into a labyrinth of desolate lanes, the Medicin des Pauvres said to the mechanic: “You are a brave fellow, Monnier. Lebeau owes you a good turn. But for your cry, ‘We are not assassins,’ the Pole might not have been left without support. No atmosphere is so infectious as that in which we breathe the same air of revenge: when the violence of one man puts into action the anger or suspicion of others, they become like a pack of hounds, which follow the spring of the first hound, whether on the wild boar or their own master. Even I, who am by no means hot-headed, had my hand on my case-knife when the word ‘assassin’ rebuked and disarmed me.”
“Nevertheless,” said Monnier, gloomily, “I half repent the impulse which made me interfere to save that man. Better he should die than live to betray the cause we allowed him to lead.”
“Nay, mon ami, speaking candidly, we must confess that he never from the first pretended to advocate the cause for which you conspired. On the contrary, he always said that with the fall of the Empire our union would cease, and each become free to choose his own way towards his own after-objects.”
“Yes,” answered Armand, reluctantly; “he said that to me privately, with still greater plainness than he said it to the Council. But I answered as plainly.”
“How?”
“I told him that the man who takes the first step in a revolution, and persuades others to go along with him, cannot in safety stand still or retreat when the next step is to be taken. It is ‘en avant’ or ‘a la lanterne.’ So it shall be with him. Shall a fellow-being avail himself of the power over my mind which he derives from superior education or experience,—break into wild fragments my life, heretofore tranquil, orderly, happy,—make use of my opinions, which were then but harmless desires, to serve his own purpose, which was hostile to the opinions he roused into action,—say to me, ‘Give yourself up to destroy the first obstacle in the way of securing a form of society which your inclinations prefer,’ and then, that first obstacle destroyed, cry, ‘Halt! I go with you no further; I will not help you to piece together the life I have induced you to shatter; I will not aid you to substitute for the society that pained you the society that would please; I leave you, struggling, bewildered, maddened, in the midst of chaos within and without you’? Shall a fellow-being do this, and vanish with a mocking cry: ‘Tool! I have had enough of thee; I cast thee aside as worthless lumber’? Ah! let him beware! The tool is of iron, and can be shaped to edge and point.” The passion with which this rough eloquence was uttered, and the fierce sinister expression that had come over a countenance habitually open and manly, even when grave and stern, alarmed and startled Le Noy. “Pooh, my friend!” he said, rather falteringly, “you are too excited now to think justly. Go home and kiss your children. Never do anything that may make them shrink from their father. And as to Lebeau, try and forget him. He says he shall disappear from Paris. I believe him. It is clear to me that the man is not what he seemed to us. No man of sixty could by so easy a sleight of hand have brought that giant Pole to his knee. If Lebeau reappear it will be in some other form. Did you notice that in the momentary struggle his flaxen wig got disturbed, and beneath it I saw a dark curl. I suspect that the man is not only younger than he seemed, but of higher rank—a conspirator against one throne, perhaps, in order to be minister under another. There are such men.”
Before Monnier, who seemed struck by these conjectures, collected his thoughts to answer, a tall man in the dress of a sous lieutenant stopped under a dim gas-lamp, and, catching sight of the artisan’s face, seized him by the hand, exclaiming, “Armand, mon frere! well met; strange times, eh? Come and discuss them at the cafe de Lyon yonder over a bowl of punch. I’ll stand treat.”
“Agreed, dear Charles.”
“And if this monsieur is a friend of yours, perhaps he will join us.”
“You are too obliging, Monsieur,” answered Le Noy, not ill-pleased to get
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