The Countess of Charny; or, The Execution of King Louis XVI

THE EMETIC

Rapid as was Maillard's gait, he could not catch up with his quarry, who had three things in his favor, namely: ten minutes' start, the darkness, and the number of passengers on the Carrousel, in the thick of whom he disappeared.

But when he got out upon the Tuileries quay, the ex-usher kept on, for he lived in the working-quarter, and it was not out of his way home to keep to the water-side.

A great concourse was upon the bridges, flocking to the open space before the Palace of Justice, where the dead were laid out for identification, and people sought for their dear ones, with hope, or, rather, fear.

Maillard followed the crowd.

At a corner there he had a friend in a druggist, or apothecary, as they said in those days. He dropped in there, sat down, and chatted of what had gone on, while the surgeons rushed in and about to get the materials they wanted for the injured; for among the corpses a moan, a scream, or palpable breathing showed that some wretch still lived, and he was hauled out and carried to the great hospital, after rough dressing.

So there was a great hubbub in the worthy chemist's store; but Maillard was not in the way; on such occasions they were delighted to see a patriot of the degree of a hero of the Bastile, who was balm itself to the lovers of liberty.

He had been there upward of a quarter of an hour, with his long legs tucked well under him and taking up as little room as possible, when a woman, of the age of thirty-eight or so, came in. Under the garb of most abject poverty, she preserved a vestige of former opulence, and a bearing of studied aristocracy, if not natural.

But what particularly struck Maillard was her marked likeness to the queen; he would have cried out with amaze but for his having great presence of mind. She held a little boy by the hand, and came up to the counter with an odd timidity, veiling the wretchedness of her garments as much as she could, though that was the more manifest from her taking extreme care of her face and her hands.

For some time it was impossible for her to make herself heard owing to the uproar; but at last she addressed the master of the establishment, saying:

"Please, sir, I want an emetic for my husband, who is ill."

"What sort do you want, citizeness?" asked the dispenser of drugs.

"Any sort, as long as it does not cost more than eleven cents."

This exact amount struck Maillard, for it will be remembered that eleven coppers were the findings in Beausire's pockets.

"Why should it not cost more than that?" inquired the chemist.

"Because that is all the small change my man could give me."

"Put up some tartar emetic," said the apothecary to an assistant, "and give it to the citizeness."

He turned to attend to other demands while the assistant made up the powder. But Maillard, who had nothing to do to distract his attention, concentrated all his wits on the woman who had but eleven cents.

"There you are, citizeness; here's your physic," said the drug clerk.

"Now, then, Toussaint," said the woman, with a drawl habitual to her, "give the gentleman the eleven cents, my boy."

"There it is," replied the boy, putting the pile of coppers on the counter. "Come home quick, Mamma Oliva, for papa is waiting."

He tried to drag her away, repeating, "Why don't you come quick? Papa is in such a hurry."

"Hi! hold on, citizeness!" cried the budding druggist; "you have only given me nine cents."

"What do you mean by only nine?" exclaimed the woman.

"Why, look here; you can reckon for yourself."

The woman did so, and saw there were just nine.

"What have you done with the other two coins, you wicked boy?" she asked.

"Me not know nothing about 'em," whimpered the child. "Do come home, Mamma Oliva!"

"You must know, for I let you carry the money."

"I must have lost 'em. But come along home," whined the boy.

"You have a bewitching little fellow there, citizeness," remarked Maillard; "he appears sharp-witted, but you will have to take care lest he become a thief."

"How dare you, sir! – a thief?" cried the woman called Oliva. "Why do you say such a thing, I should like to know?"

"Only because he has not lost the two cents, but hid them in his shoe."

"Me?" retorted the boy. "What a lie!"

"In the left shoe, citizeness – in the left," said Maillard.

In spite of the yell of young Toussaint, Mme. Oliva took off his left shoe and found the coppers in it. She handed them to the apothecary's clerk, and dragged away the urchin with threats of punishment which would have appeared terrible to the by-standers, if they had not been accompanied by soft words which no doubt sprung from maternal affection. Unimportant as the incident was in itself, it certainly would have passed without comment amid the surrounding grave circumstances, if the resemblance of the heroine to the queen had not impressed the witness. The result of his pondering over this was that he went up to his friend in drugs, and said to him, in a respite from trade:

"Did you not notice the likeness of that woman who just went out to – "

"The queen?" said the other, laughing.

"Yes; so you remarked it the same as I?"

"Oh, ever so long ago. It is a matter of history."

"I do not understand."

"Do you not remember the celebrated trial of 'The Queen's Necklace'?"

"Oh, you must not put such a question to an usher of the law courts – he could not forget that."

"Well, you must recall one Nicole Legay, alias Oliva."

"Oh, of course; you are right. She played herself as the queen upon the Prince Cardinal Rohan."

"While she was living with a discharged soldier, a bully and card-cheat, a spy and recruiter, named Beausire."

"What do you say?" broke out Maillard, as though snake-bitten.

"A rogue named Beausire," repeated the druggist.

"Is it he whom she styles her husband?" asked Maillard.

"Yes."