Maurice could not have been quicker, had he even possessed wings. The streets were crowded, but Maurice only remarked the crowd as it retarded his course. It was said everywhere that the Convention was besieged; that the majesty of the people was offended through its representatives, whom they prevented from coming out; and of this there seemed some probability, as the ring of the tocsin was heard, and the thunder of the cannon sounding an alarm. But what at this moment, to Maurice, mattered either the tocsin or the cannon? What cared he whether the deputies were or were not able to come out, when the prohibition did not extend to him? So he quickened his pace, that was all. While running, he pictured to himself Geneviève waiting at the little window overlooking the garden, in order to see him; and that she would perceive him far off; and then her smile, more than ever charming, would welcome him back again.
Dixmer also was no doubt informed of this happy return, and would tender him his coarse, large hand, so frank and loyal in its greeting. He loved Dixmer; now even his love almost extended to Morand with his black locks and his green spectacles, behind which he fancied he could see the glitter of his brilliant but saturnine eyes.
He loved the whole world, for he was happy, and would willingly have showered flowers on the heads of all mankind that they might be as happy as himself.
But for once he was deceived. Poor Maurice! he deceived himself, as a man generally does when he reckons according to his wishes.
Instead of the sweet smile awaiting Maurice, which was to receive him when he would be seen from afar, Geneviève had determined on meeting Maurice with the most distant politeness,--a feeble rampart with which to oppose the torrent that threatened to invade her heart. She had retired to her chamber on the first floor, and did not intend coming down till sent for.
Alas! she also deceived herself.
Dixmer alone was not deceived; he watched for Maurice through a wired lattice, and smiled ironically.
Morand was gravely occupied in dyeing black some tails which are placed on white cat-skin to imitate ermine.
Maurice pushed open the little door of the alley, to enter unceremoniously through the garden; as of old, the door opening rang a little bell which indicated the arrival of Maurice.
Geneviève, who had stationed herself behind the closed window, started, and let fall the curtain she had drawn on one side.
The first sensation experienced by Maurice on entering his friend's house was disappointment. Not only was Geneviève absent from the window on the ground-floor, but on entering the little salon where he had uttered his last adieu, he found her not, and was compelled to announce himself, as if an absence of three weeks' duration had transformed him into a stranger. His heart was oppressed.
It was Dixmer whom Maurice first saw. He came forward, and embraced him with exclamations of joy.
Geneviève then came down. She had tried in vain to restore some color to her pallid cheek; but before she had proceeded twenty steps the blood receded to her heart.
Maurice saw Geneviève appear in the shadow of the door; he advanced toward her smiling, intending to kiss her hand, and then only perceived how sadly she was changed. She on her part noticed with anxiety the attenuated frame of Maurice, and his fevered look of wild excitement.
"You are here then, sir," said she, in a voice whose emotion she could not subdue.
She had determined to address him with perfect indifference.
"Good-day, Citizen Maurice; why have your visits been so rare of late?"
This fickleness appeared more strange still to Maurice, and now what a shadow was cast upon all!
Dixmer cut short this examination, and put an end to all reciprocal reproaches by ordering dinner to be served; it was nearly two o'clock. They passed into the _salle-à-manger_, where Maurice saw a cover was placed for him. Then the Citizen Morand arrived, dressed in the same chestnut-colored coat and in the same waistcoat--he always wore his green spectacles--and white frilled shirt, and had the same long thick black hair. Maurice felt so well-disposed toward him that he wondered now when he had Morand before him that he should have ever felt the least concern about his rivalry at a distance. In short, what probability was there that Geneviève loved this little chemist? He was in love, and in consequence a fool to allow such folly to enter into his head.
Besides, the moment would have been badly chosen for jealousy. Maurice carried within his waistcoat pocket Geneviève's last letter, and his heart, bounding with joy, beat beneath it.
Geneviève had recovered her serenity. There is this peculiarity in the organization of women, that the present is able to efface all hues of the past, and distances all fears for the future.
Geneviève felt happy, having resumed her self-command: that is to say, she became calm and dignified, though still kind,--another shade which Maurice had not the requisite skill to comprehend. Lorin would have found the explanation in "Parny," in "Bertin," or the "Gentil Bernard."
The conversation turned upon the Goddess Reason. The fall of the Girondins, and the new mode of worship by which the kingdom of heaven had fallen to the lot of the distaff were the prevailing topics of the day. Dixmer pretended he should not have been sorry to see this unparalleled honor offered to Geneviève. Maurice felt inclined to laugh. Geneviève, however, concurred in the opinion of her husband, while Maurice regarded them both with astonishment, wondering that patriotism could so far mislead a sensible man like Dixmer and a woman of so poetical and refined a nature as Geneviève.
Morand developed the theory of female politicians. He cited Théroigne de Méricourt, the heroine of the 10th of August, and Madame Roland, the "Soul" of the Girondins. Then, _en passant_, he launched out against the "Tricoteuses." These words made Maurice smile. It was, however, a cruel joke against these female patriots that they were latterly termed "the female leeches of the guillotine."
"Ah! Citizen Morand," said Dixmer, "we respect patriotism even when it is mistaken."
"As for me," said Maurice, "as far as I know of patriotism, I always find the women sufficiently good patriots, when not too high aristocrats."
"You are quite right," said Morand; "and as for myself, I frankly confess I consider a woman very contemptible when she affects the demeanor of a man, and a man a coward, unworthy of the name, when he insults a woman, even were she his bitterest enemy."
Morand was gradually drawing Maurice on to delicate ground. Maurice on his side replied by an affirmative sign. The lists being opened, Dixmer, like the sounding herald, added,--
"One moment, one moment, Citizen Morand; you except, I hope, those women who are known enemies of the nation?"
A silence of some moments succeeded this "parry and thrust" to the response of Morand and the sign of Maurice. Maurice first interrupted the silence.
"Let us except no one," said he, sadly; "those females who have been enemies to the nation are now, it appears to me, sufficiently punished."
"You allude to the prisoners of the Temple,--to the Austrian, the sister and daughter of Capet?" cried Dixmer, with a rapidity which deprived his words of all expression.
Morand changed color while awaiting the reply of the young Republican, seeming to sink his nails into his breast in the intensity of his interest.
"Just so," said Maurice, "it is of them I am speaking."
"Who?" said Morand, in stifled tones. "Is what they say, true?"
"What do they say?" demanded the young man.
"That the prisoners are cruelly maltreated, sometimes even by those whose duty it is to protect them."
"There are individuals," said Maurice, "who do not deserve the name of men. There are some cowards who, totally deficient in real courage, retain a desire to torture the vanquished in order to persuade themselves that they are the conquerors."
"You are not one of those men, Maurice, I am quite certain," said Geneviève.
"Madame," replied Maurice, "I who now speak to you mounted guard near the scaffold on which perished the late king. My drawn sabre in my hand, I was prepared to slay any one who attempted to rescue him. Notwithstanding, on his approach I removed my hat, and turning toward my men said,--
"'Citizens, I here warn you that I shall run my sword through the body of the first man that insults the king.'
"And I defy any one to assert that a single shout was heard to proceed from my company. From my hand first emanated those ten thousand placards affixed to the walls of Paris after the king's return from Varennes,--
"'Whoever acknowledges the king shall be flogged. Whoever insults the king shall be hanged.'"
"Well," continued Maurice, without noticing the deep impression his words had produced on his listeners,--"well, I have proved to you that I am a frank, good patriot, that I hate all kings and their partisans. Yet I declare, notwithstanding my opinion, which is nothing short of a firm conviction, that, notwithstanding the certainty I feel that the Austrian is in a great measure the cause of the miseries that desolate France, never, never shall any man,--let him be who he may, even Santerre himself,--insult the ex-queen in my presence."
"Citizen," said Dixmer, shaking his head as if he disapproved of so much hardihood, "are you aware you ought to be very sure of us before you make such declarations in our presence?"
"I make them before you, and would do so before all the world, Dixmer; and I will add, she may perhaps perish on the same scaffold as her husband, but I am not one to fear a woman; on the contrary, I have a kindly regard for all those who are weaker than myself."
"And the queen, Monsieur Maurice?" demanded Geneviève, timidly; "has she sometimes evinced her sense of this delicacy, to which she is so little accustomed?"
"The prisoner has thanked me several times for my consideration for her, Madame."
"Then she must expect your turn to guard with pleasure?"
"I believe she does, Madame," replied Maurice.
"Then," said Morand, tremulous as a woman, "since you have confessed what no one nowadays confesses,--that you have a generous heart,--you will not surely persecute the children either?"
"I!" said Maurice; "ask the infamous Simon the weight of the arm of the municipal before whom he had the audacity to beat the little Capet."
This answer produced a spontaneous movement at Dixmer's table. All the guests rose respectfully; Maurice alone remained seated, and had not the slightest idea that he had elicited this mark of admiration.
"Why, what on earth is the matter?" said he, astonished.
"I thought some one called from the manufactory," said Dixmer.
"No," said Geneviève; "at first I thought so too; but we are mistaken." And all resumed their seats.
"Ah! it is you then, Citizen Maurice," said Morand, in a tremulous voice, "who are the municipal so much talked about, and who so nobly defended a child."
"Talked about?" said Maurice, with the utmost _naïveté_.
"Yours is a noble heart," said Morand, rising from the table. That he might give way to his feelings, he retired to the manufactory, as if some pressing business there awaited him.
"Yes, Citizen," replied Dixmer; "they do speak about it, and it should be said that all those possessed of brave, generous hearts applaud without knowing you."
"And let him remain unknown," said Geneviève. "The glory he would acquire would be replete with danger."
Thus in this singular conversation, without knowing it, each had contributed his word of heroism, devotion, and sensibility. There had been love and admiration which could not be expressed in words.