IX THE TURN OF JAVOGUES

Barabant spent the remainder of the morning in rambling through the markets, skirting the shores of the river, seeking everywhere the thoughts of the people, listening to their ambitions, their desires, and their hopes. Toward noon he drifted among a throng of masons who, dispersing languidly over blocks of stone, were crowding into the nearest café.

"Salutations, citoyens!" he cried to them, according to the custom of free greetings that obtained. At the sight of the sling he still wore they hailed him warmly, asking:

"You got that at the Tuileries, citoyen?"

"Why, I know him," one suddenly exclaimed; and pushing to the front, he cried, "You are the Citoyen Barabant who spoke so well in the Place de la Grève." He turned to his comrades: "Aye, he can talk, too."

"Bring him in!"

"Citoyen, eat with us."

"Yes, join us, comrade," echoed a swarthy Picard, throwing his arms about Barabant, who, nothing loath, answered:

"Gladly, citoyens."

They took possession of a corner in the café, calling the other occupants—two coal-carriers and a seller of lemonade.

While the soup was devoured one or another would turn to Barabant with a wink or a laugh, crying:

"It was glorious, eh, the taking of the Tuileries?"

"We fought well—the Sans-Culottes."

"The fat Louis was trembling that day!"

As they fell to eating their long loaves of bread, spread with cheese and washed down with an execrable mixture of wine and water, groups of two or three sauntered in, to smoke and discuss, among whom Barabant recognized the Marseillais who had borne him in the square. Javogues, greeted uproariously, in turn perceived Barabant.

"Why, it is my little orator!" he cried, and was advancing with open arms to infold him in a bear-like hug, when his eyes encountered the sling. "Mordieu," he exclaimed, "you were wounded!"

"Slightly."

Contenting himself with a wring of the hand, Javogues settled his body into a seat opposite, exclaiming: "There is a patriot, citoyens; I'll vouch for him!"

A chorus of grunts and a bobbing of heads showed Barabant the value of such an indorsement. Across the table his companions cried to him:

"He's a terrible fellow, eh, the Citoyen Javogues? No hesitation about him."

"That's the kind of men we want!"

They finished eating, and sprawled back to discuss.

"What I want to know is, where are we going?" Javogues demanded.

"We are going nowhere; we are rooted."

"The Convention does nothing but discuss."

"What's the use of overturning the throne, after all?"

"We must have the Republic!"

"What say you, Citoyen Barabant?"

"I say no step backward!" A lull gave him the attention of the room. "We must advance or perish. If we lack in daring, we deserve to perish. The Revolution, comrades, as I see it, is not against an unworthy king or any king: it is to reconstruct society. Citoyens, there is but one true end: the Nation must be one family. No more classes, no more titles, no more king, no more first estate, no more third estate. We are brothers, brothers all in one family—France!"

"There's the word!" Javogues cried, amid the salvo of glasses and bravos that acclaimed the speaker. "And out with all lying, plotting priests!"

A chorus approved.

"Right!"

"That's it!"

"Now you're talking!"

"Curse the blackcoats!"

"What has kept us down all these centuries? What? Tell me that! The Church! What has been the ally of the aristocrats? The Church! What taught us to be content with our lot, with fetters, with a crust, with the yoke of taxation? The Church!"

"Aye, the Church!"

"Down with it!"

"Down with the lie!"

"Bah, the Church! the Church! I too was fool enough to believe in it." Javogues swept his huge fist over their heads, and crashing it upon the table, shouted, "There is no God!"

A few mumbled approval, more laughed, while one voice cried:

"There he is again, with his God!"

"I tell you, it is with such superstitions that they enslave us!" Javogues drew back, defiant and aroused, and assembling his anger, he thundered again, as though to bear down all opposition, "There is no God!"

The laughter increased, while another scoffer cried:

"Well, if there is, he does us little good."

To this all agreed. Barabant, smiling, added:

"Citoyen, one thing at a time. Let us depose Capet first."

They arose amid laughter, Javogues's protests lost in the confusion. Barabant, impelled to enthusiasm by the ardor of these laborers, opened his arms and exclaimed:

"Comrades, when Frenchmen are united, we fear no foreigner. What nation has ever fraternized as we? We all are brothers, all working for the great end. When we grumble at delays, let us not forget what the Revolution has made us!"

Then the voice of Javogues arose:

"Brothers, before we separate, let us embrace!"

With one impulse, such as countless times animated the populace in these days of exaltation, the group fell into one another's arms. Javogues, extending his hands covered with soot, exclaimed:

"Glorious emblems!"

Barabant echoed the cry, but as they moved off he surreptitiously brushed away the stains, asking, to distract his companion's attention:

"And Dossonville, did you get him?"

"He escaped—for the time."

"Are you sure it was he? Did you see him again?"

"What difference does it make whether I saw him or not?" Javogues answered impatiently. "I know he was there."

"How?" Barabant asked, in astonishment.

"By the look in his eyes the day I met him. That is all I need to tell an aristocrat!"

Barabant, seeing the impossibility of swaying the fanatic by reason, kept silent until they parted.

In the Rue Maugout, la Mère Corniche cried to him from her tenebrous sentry-box:

"One moment, citoyen." The window-hinges spoke and a shadowy head appeared. "There's a tall fellow above in your room."

"In the uniform of the National Guard?"

"That's it."

Barabant, who had left Javogues too recently to derive any pleasure from a visit of Dossonville, was hastening away when again the querulous voice halted him.

"Not so fast, citoyen."

"Well, what? I'm in a hurry."

"You've seen the Citoyen Marat?"

"Marat?"

"What! you've not presented your letter?"

"Oh, my letter!" Barabant cried, and hastily covering his mistake, said: "But that was days ago."

"You didn't forget to speak of me?"

"Come, now, la Mère Corniche, I'm not an ingrate!"

"And what did he say?"

"It brought tears to his eyes."

"Truly?"

"Pardi! The Citoyen Marat has a heart."

Barabant, on the staircase, congratulated himself on his escape from a bad position, little realizing the danger of the present one, and excusing the subterfuge on the light pretext of giving pleasure to the old woman. He hurriedly determined to say nothing to Dossonville of his danger, preferring first to question him.

Dossonville, the greetings over, announced his purpose with the question:

"Well, young pamphleteer, what have you ready?"

Barabant replied by tapping his arm.

"I see,—at the Tuileries?"

"You were there, of course?"

"What Frenchman wasn't?"

Barabant, noticing the equivocation, pressed him.

"With what section, citoyen?"

"I was with no section."

"Within or without the Tuileries?"

Dossonville rose up.

"Again! I thought you were convinced at Santerre's."

"You do not answer my question," Barabant insisted.

"Why do you ask it?"

"Because, Citoyen Dossonville, there are those who claim to have seen you among the defenders."

"What's that? Who says that?" At once Dossonville was all alertness.

Barabant repeated, adding: "If it is so, citoyen, no matter for what reasons you were present, you cannot ignore the danger you run if recognized."

As though to confirm the warning, the stairway suddenly gave out the hurried fall of feet, the door opened, and Nicole appeared, breathless and frightened.

"Citoyen Dossonville," she cried, "I come to warn you! Javogues is below!"

Dossonville threw a glance to the window, his hand going to his pistol. Then correcting himself, he said:

"So this is your trap, is it?"

"I am not a spy," Barabant disclaimed indignantly. "You have an escape by the roof; the gutter is solid; once opposite—"

"Yes, yes," Nicole added; "pass into my room, through the hall, and out!"

"You mistake me," Dossonville interrupted. "I have nothing to fear. Go to the landing. They may stop on the way."

Barabant obeyed. Dossonville, turning his back, snatched a paper from his redingote, rolled it into a ball, and tossed it into the gutter.

He looked a moment at the astonished girl, then shrugging his shoulders, he committed himself to her mercy with a wave of his hand. Already from below came the rush of feet. With a sudden inspiration, Dossonville divested himself of his pistols and sword, laying them conspicuously on the bed. Then retreating as far away as the room permitted, he seated himself and folded his arms, facing the horrified girl with a calm smile, as though to say:

"Dispose of my life!"

Nicole, struggling between her patriotism and her womanly instincts, heard Barabant calling from the landing:

"Who is there?"

"Javogues."

"What do you seek?"

The next moment half a dozen Marseillais stormed into the room, while Javogues, at the head, shouted:

"When he moves to escape, shoot him down!"

But on the instant Dossonville, erect and holding out his hands, cried:

"I am unarmed; my weapons are on the bed. I submit. There is no need of murder. What is the accusation?"

Javogues, baffled at the turn, still greedily covered the prisoner with his pistol, but his face showed indecision and the longing for a pretext.

"Lower your pistol," Dossonville continued calmly. "Citoyen Barabant, I call you to witness that I surrendered willingly and am now under the protection of the Nation. On what charges do you, without warrants, arrest an officer of the National Guard?"

Javogues unwillingly dropped his weapon. But immediately, his anger rising at being so thwarted, he advanced and, as though to crush his enemy, thundered out:

"Dog of an aristocrat! I'll tell you. I arrest you for firing on the Nation from the Tuileries."

"What, Citoyen Javogues!" Barabant cried indignantly. "If you have taken this step on the evidence you gave me, I declare it an outrage!"

One of the band spoke up:

"I saw him, too,—I, with my own eyes,—firing on us with the Swiss."

"Citoyen, you are mistaken," Dossonville replied. Then realizing the danger he ran, he continued rapidly, "At what hour?"

"Nine o'clock."

"At nine you have said!" Dossonville cried triumphantly, extending his arms. "Citoyens, I demand to be taken at once to prison. The moment such an accusation is made I insist upon my right to vindicate myself. At nine o'clock I was in the presence of the Citoyen Marat. Take me to the Abbaye and let the Friend of the People answer for me. Citoyen Barabant, I shall need you too."

The effect of that powerful name was tremendous; even Javogues was stunned at the sudden counter, and sullenly gave the order to descend. Even Nicole, tortured by the crisis, remained still in doubt. She made a step forward as though to reveal what she had seen, but meeting the eye of the prisoner, she halted before its eloquence, and, bowing her head, allowed them to pass. Dossonville signaled Barabant to place himself behind him, and thus they plunged down the pit, where twice Barabant thought he caught the sound of a chuckle. But when they emerged into daylight, the face of Dossonville remained inscrutable.

At the prison of the Abbaye they entered without difficulty. There the gate stood open day and night. At the desk, when the accusation had been read and the alibi announced, Dossonville extended his hand to Barabant and said:

"Thanks, citoyen. You need trouble yourself no more."

"No more!" Barabant exclaimed, in astonishment, for he had expected to testify to the meeting with Santerre.

Dossonville smiled grimly and, with a curious twist of his back, said:

"My back itched a little in such company, especially in that devil's descent of yours, where little slips might occur. You were necessary to my peace of mind! Thanks, citoyen."

Then, as he was about to be led away, he turned to the turnkey and cried rapidly.

"Citoyen, it is useless to disturb the good Friend of the People. He will pardon me if I used his name to insure a hearing before a properly constituted court of justice." Then with his silent, parted grin, he added, "My true defense I shall present at the proper time."

He disappeared in custody, not before he had sent a glance of malicious enjoyment toward his enemy, who, astounded, did not immediately recover. When he did, it was with the rage of the wounded lion suddenly surprised by the trap.