The Martins Of Cro' Martin, Vol. II (of II)

“Nay, nay,” said the Duchess, in a tone of apology, “the matter is not so serious as all this. Every one now is terrified. This disturbance, the soldiery, the vast crowds that beset the streets, have all produced so much excitement that even a few words spoken at random are enough to cause fear. It is one of Kate’s fancies to terrorize thus over weak minds. She has the cruel triumph of not knowing what fear is. In a word, it is a mere trifling event, sure to be forgotten in the midst of such scenes as we are passing through.”

This attempt at explanation, poured forth with rapid utterance, did not produce on Lady Dorothea the conviction it was intended to impose, and her Ladyship received the last adieus of the Duchess with a cold and stately formality; and then, as the door closed after her, turned to Kate Henderson, and said, – “I want your explanation of all this. Let me have it.”

“It is easily given, my Lady,” said Kate, calmly. And then, in a voice that never trembled nor varied, she narrated briefly the scene which had just occurred, not extenuating in the slightest her own share in the transaction, or offering a single syllable of excuse.

“And you, being who and what you are, dared thus to outrage the best blood of France!” exclaimed Lady Dorothea, trembling all over with passion.

“Perhaps, my Lady, if I sought for an apology, it would be in the fact of being who and what I am.”

“And do you imagine that after conduct such as this, after exposing me to a partnership in the shame that attaches to yourself, that you are any longer to enjoy the shelter of my roof?”

“It never occurred to me to think of that, madam,” said Kate, with an ill-repressed scorn.

“Then it is for me to remind you of it,” said her Ladyship, sternly. “You shall, first of all, write me an humble apology for this vulgar tirade, this outrage upon my company, and then you shall leave the house. Sit down there, and write as I shall dictate to you.”

Kate seated herself with an air of implicit obedience at a writing-table, and took up a pen.

“Write,” cried Lady Dorothea, sternly. “Begin, ‘My Lady.’ No. ‘I approach your Ladyship for the last time.’ No, not that. ‘If the sincere sorrow in which I pen these lines.’ No. Do it yourself. You best can express the shame your heart should feel in such a moment. Let the words be your own!”

Kate leaned over the paper and wrote rapidly for a few seconds. Having finished, she read over the lines, and seemed to reflect on them.

“Show me that paper!” cried Lady Dorothea, impatiently. But, without obeying the command, Kate said, – “Your Ladyship will not be able to leave Paris for at least forty hours. By that time the Monarchy will have run its course in France. You will probably desire, however, to escape from the scenes of turbulence sure to ensue. This will secure you a free passage, whichever road you take.”

“What raving is all this?” said Lady Dorothea, snatching the paper from her hand, and then reading aloud in French, – “‘The authorities are required to aid and tender all assistance in their power to Lady Dorothea Martin and all who accompany her, neither giving nor suffering any opposition to be given to her or them in the prosecution of their journey.’

(Signed) “Jules Lagrange,

“‘Minister of Police ad interim’

“And this in your own hand, too!” exclaimed Lady Dorothea, contemptuously.

“Yes, madam; but it will entitle it to the seal of the Prefecture, and entitle you to all that it professes.”

“So that I have the honor to shelter within my walls a chief of this insurrection, – if it be worthy of such a name; one in the confidence of this stupid canaille, who fancy that the fall of a Monarchy is like a row in a guinguette!”

“Your Ladyship is no longer in a position to question me or arraign my actions. Before two days are over, the pageant of a king will have passed off the stage, and men of a different stamp take the direction of affairs. One of these will be he whose name I have affixed to that paper, – not without due warranty to do so. Your Ladyship may or may not choose to avail yourself of it.”

“I spurn the imposition,” said Lady Dorothea, tearing it in fragments. “So poor a cheat could not deceive me. As for yourself – ”

“Oh, do not bestow a thought upon me, my Lady. I can suffice for my own guidance. I only wait for morning to leave this house.”

“And it is to a city in such a state as this you would confide yourself. Truly, mademoiselle, Republicanism has a right to be proud of you. You are no half-convert to its principles.”

“Am I again to say, my Lady, that your control over me has ceased?”

“It has not. It shall not cease till I have restored you to the humble roof from which I took you,” said Lady Dorothea, passionately. “Your father is our creature; he has no other subsistence than what we condescend to bestow on him. He shall know, when you re-enter his doors, why and for what cause you are there. Till that time come, you are, as you have been, in my service.”

“No, my Lady, the tie between us is snapped. Dependence is but a sad part at the best; but so long as it is coupled with a certain show of respect it is bearable. Destroy that, and it is mere slavery, abject and degrading. I cannot go back to your Ladyship’s service.” And she gave to the last word an emphasis of intense scorn.

“You must and you shall,” said Lady Dorothea. “If you are forgetful of what it is your duty to remember, I am not. Here you shall remain; without,” added she, in an accent of supreme contempt, “your counsel and direction shall be sought after by the high and mighty individuals who are so soon to administer the affairs of this nation.”

The loud roll of a drum, followed by the louder clank of sabres and musketry, here startled the speakers; and Kate, hastening to the window, opened it, and stepped out upon the balcony. Day was just dawning; a gray half-light covered the sky, but the dark shadows of the tall houses still stretched over the Place. Here, now, the troops were all in motion; a sudden summons having roused them to form in rank. The hasty character of the movement showed that some emergency was imminent, – a fact confirmed by the frequent arrival and departure of orderlies at full speed.

After a brief interval of preparation the infantry formed in column, and, followed by the artillery and cavalry, moved out of the Place at a quick step. The measured tramp of the foot-soldiers, the clattering noise of the train and the dragoons could be heard long after they had passed out of sight; and Kate stood listening eagerly as to what would come next, when suddenly a man in plain clothes rode hastily from one of the side-streets into the centre of the Place. He looked around him for a moment or two, and then disappeared. Within a few seconds after, a dull, indistinct sound seemed to rise from the ground, which swelled gradually louder and louder, and at last grew into the regular footfall of a great multitude moving in measured time; and now a vast crowd poured into the Place, silent and wordless. On they came from the various quarters that opened into the square, – men, for the most part clad in blouses or in the coarse garb of laborers. They were armed either with musket or sword, and in many instances wore the cross-belt of the soldier. They proceeded at once to barricade the square at its opening into the Rue de la Paix, – a work which they accomplished with astonishing speed and regularity; for, while Kate still looked, a formidable rampart was thrown up across the entire street, along which a line of armed men was stationed, every one of whom, by his attitude and gesture, betrayed the old discipline of a soldier’s life. Orders were given and obeyed, movements made, and dispositions effected, with all the regularity and precision of regular troops; and by the ready obedience of all, and the steady attitude observed, it was easy to see that these men were trained to arms and to habits of discipline. Not less evident was it that they who commanded them were not new to such duties. But, more important than all such signs was the fact that here and there through the mass might be seen the uniform of a soldier, or the epaulette of an officer, showing that desertion to the ranks of the people had already begun.

Kate was so occupied in attentive observation of the scene that she had not noticed the arrival of another person in the apartment, and whose voice now suddenly attracted her. It was Martin himself, hastily aroused from his bed by his servant, who in great alarm told him that the capital was in open revolt, the king’s troops beaten back, and the people victorious everywhere. “There ‘s not a moment to lose,” cried he; “we must escape while we can. The road to Versailles is yet in possession of the troops, and we can take that way.”

Lady Dorothea, partly overcome by the late scene, partly stunned by the repeated shocks she experienced, made no reply whatever; and Martin, judging from the expression of her features the anxiety she was suffering, hastily added, “Let me see Kate Henderson, – where is she?”

Lady Dorothea merely pointed towards the balcony, but did not utter a word.

“Oh, have I found you?” said Martin, stepping out upon the balcony. “You see what is doing, – I might say what is done,” added he; “for I believe the game is well-nigh decided. Nothing but an overwhelming force will now crush this populace. We must get away, and at once. Will you give the orders? Send for post-horses; tell them to pack up whatever they can, – direct everything, in fact. My Lady is too ill, – too much overcome to act, or think of anything. Our whole reliance is upon you.” While he was yet uttering these broken, disjointed sentences, he had drawn Kate by the arm within the room, and now stood beside Lady Dorothea’s chair. Her Ladyship raised her head and fixed her eyes upon Kate, who sustained the gaze calmly and steadily, nor by the slightest movement displayed one touch of any emotion. The glance, at first haughty and defiant, seemed at length to grow weaker under the unmoved stare of the young girl, and finally she bent down her head and sat as though overcome.

“Come, Dora,” said Martin, kindly, “rouse yourself; you are always equal to an effort when necessity presses. Tell Kate here what you wish, and she ‘ll do it.”

“I want no aid, – no assistance, sir. Miss Henderson is her own mistress, – she may do what, or go where she pleases.”

Martin made a sign to Kate not to mind what he believed to be the mere wandering of an over-excited brain; and then bending down over the chair, said, “Dear Dora, we must be active and stirring; the people will soon be masters of the capital, – for a while, at least, – and there is no saying what excesses they will commit.”

“Do not offend Miss Henderson, sir,” interposed Lady Dorothea; “she has equal confidence in their valor and their virtue.”

“What does this mean? – when did she fall into this state?” asked he, eagerly. And although only spoken in a whisper, Lady Dorothea overheard them, and said, – “Let her tell you. She can give you the very fullest explanation.”

“But, Dora, this is no time for trifling; we are here, in the midst of an enraged populace and a maddened soldiery. There, listen! – that was artillery; and now, hear! – the bells of the churches are sounding the alarm.”

“They are ringing the knell of the Monarchy!” said Kate, solemnly.

A hoarse, wild shout – aery like that of enraged wild beasts – arose from the Place beneath, and all rushed to the window to see what had occurred. It was a charge of heavy cavalry endeavoring to force the barricade; and now, vigorously repulsed by the defenders, men and horses were rolling on the ground in terrible confusion, while on the barricade itself a hand-to-hand conflict was raging.

“Sharp work, by George!” said a voice behind Kate’s shoulder. She turned and saw Captain Martin, who had just joined them unobserved.

“I thought you many a mile away,” said Kate, in a whisper.

“So I should have been,” replied he, in the same tone, “but I was n’t going to lose this. I knew it was to come off to-day, and I thought it would have been a thousand pities to be absent.”

“And are your wishes, then, with these gallant fellows?” said she, eagerly. “Do I hear you aright, that it was to aid them you remained? There! see how they bear down on the soldiery; they will not be restrained; they are crossing the barricade, and charging with the bayonet. It is only for liberty that men can fight thus. Oh that I were a man, to be amongst them!”

A stray shot from beneath here struck the architrave above their heads, and sent down a mass of plaster over them.

“Come, Dora, this is needless peril,” said Martin, drawing her within the room. “If you will not leave this, at least do not expose yourself unnecessarily.”

“But it is exactly to get away – to escape while there is time – that I came for,” said the Captain. “They tell me that the mob are getting the best of it, and, worse again, that the troops are joining them; so, to make sure, I ‘ve sent off Fenton to the post for horses, and I ‘m expecting him every moment. But here he is. Well, have you got the horses?”

“No, sir: the horses have all been taken by the people to mount orderlies; the postmaster, too, has fled, and everything is in confusion. But if we had horses the streets are impassable; from here to the Boulevard there are no less than five barricades.”

“Then what is to be done?” cried Martin.

“They say, sir,” replied Fenton, “that by gaining the outer Boulevard on foot, carriages and horses are easily found there, to reach Belleville, St. Germain, or Versailles.”