The Knight of Maison-Rouge_ A Novel of Marie Antoinette - Alexandre Dumas [135]
Even in ’93 there were, as you see, moments when people addressed each other formally and forgot to call each other citizen.
“I want you to let me down there,” said citizen Théodore.
“What for?”
“What’s it to you?”
The clerk looked at the man who had made this request with sheer astonishment. But there was a spark of real intelligence in that look as well, or so the object of his astonishment felt. He lowered his gun.
“Would you turn down the chance to make your fortune?”
“I don’t know; no one’s ever made me a proposition on the subject.”
“Well then, let me be the first.”
“You’re offering to make my fortune?”
“Yes.”
“What do you mean by fortune?”
“Fifty thousand livres in gold, say: money is thin on the ground, and fifty thousand livres in gold is worth a million today. So I’m offering you fifty thousand livres.”
“To let you go down there?”
“Yes—but on condition that you come with me and help me do what I have to do there.”
“But what will you do there? In five minutes, the tunnel will be packed with soldiers who’ll arrest you.”
Citizen Théodore was struck by the gravity of his words.
“Can you stop the soldiers from going down?”
“I don’t know how; I can’t think, I’m trying to think of a way, but I can’t.”
And it was clear the clerk was bringing all his perspicacity to bear on a problem that was worth fifty thousand livres to him to solve.
“What about tomorrow?” asked citizen Théodore. “Can we get down there then?”
“Yes, no doubt; but before that they’re going to put an iron gate in the tunnel—one that’ll go all the way across, and for greater security it’s been decided that the gate will go all the way to the roof, and it will be solid and it won’t have a door.”
“Then we need to find some other way,” said citizen Théodore.
“Yes, we need to find some other way,” said the clerk. “Let’s think.”
As you can see from the collective pronoun with which citizen Gracchus expressed himself, there was already an alliance between him and citizen Théodore.
“That’s my problem,” said Théodore. “What is it you do at the Conciergerie?”
“I’m a wicket clerk.”
“Which means?”
“That I open doors and shut them.”
“Do you sleep there?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“You eat there?”
“Not always. I have time off.”
“And then?”
“I make use of it.”
“How?”
“To court the lady who runs the cabaret, the Puits-de-Noé—she’s promised to marry me when I have twelve hundred francs.”
“Where is this Puits-de-Noé located?”
“Near the rue de la Vieille-Draperie.”
“Perfect.”
“Quiet, monsieur!”
The patriot strained to hear.
“Ah! Ah!” he said. “Do you hear?”
“Yes … footsteps.”
“They’re coming back. You can see we wouldn’t have had time.” That we was becoming more and more conclusive.
“True. You’re a brave lad, citizen; I’ve got the feeling you’re predestined for great things.”
“Like what?”
“Being rich one day.”
“May God hear you!”
“So you believe in God?”
“Sometimes, now and again. Today, for instance …”
“Yes?”
“I’d gladly believe.”
“Then believe,” said citizen Théodore, popping ten louis in the clerk’s hand.
“Christ!” said the clerk, staring at the gold by the light of his lantern. “So it’s serious?”
“It doesn’t get more serious.”
“What do I have to do?”
“Be at the Puits-de-Noé tomorrow, I’ll tell you what I need you to do then. What’s your name?”
“Gracchus.”
“Well then, citizen Gracchus, between now and tomorrow, get yourself fired by Richard the concierge.”
“Fired? What about my job?”
“Do you count on remaining a clerk once you’ve got fifty thousand francs to yourself?”
“No, but at least as a clerk and a poor man, I’m pretty sure of not being guillotined.”
“Sure?”
“As good as; whereas if I’m rich and free …”
“You’ll hide your money and go and court a tricoteuse instead of the woman who runs the Puits-de-Noé.”
“Well then, enough said.”
“Tomorrow, at the cabaret.”
“What time?”
“Six o’clock in the evening.”
“You’d better fly, quick, here they come.… I say fly, since I suppose you came down from the roof.”
“See you tomorrow,” Théodore repeated before making good his escape.
It was, indeed, just in