The Knight of Maison-Rouge_ A Novel of Marie Antoinette - Alexandre Dumas [164]
Missus Hyacinth was called Missus Madeleine once upon a time; but she had accepted the name of a flower in exchange for her name, just as Father Girard had accepted the title of citizen in place of that of priest.
At her master’s invitation, Missus Hyacinth bustled off down the steps of the small garden where the entrance gate was. She pulled the bolts and a very pale, very agitated young man, but one with a sweet and honest countenance, presented himself.
“Monsieur Father Girard?” he said.
Hyacinth examined the newcomer’s disheveled clothes, long beard, and nervous tremor and it all seemed most inauspicious.
“Citizen,” she said, “there is no monsieur here and no father.”
“Pardon me, madame,” the young man corrected himself, “I mean the ‘server’ of Saint-Landry.”
Despite her patriotism, Hyacinth was impressed by the use of the term madame, which you wouldn’t have used those days to address an empress; yet she answered brusquely.
“You can’t see him; he’s reading his breviary.”
“In that case I’ll wait,” replied the young man.
“But,” said Missus Hyacinth, reverting in the face of his persistence to the initial bad impression of the young man, “you’ll be waiting for nothing, citizen; he’s been called to the Conciergerie and will be leaving this instant.”
The young man went a whiter shade of pale, or rather went from pale to livid.
“So it’s true!” he murmured, then added more loudly: “That’s exactly why I’ve come to see citizen Girard, madame.”
While he was speaking, he’d managed to get inside, gently, it’s true, but firmly, and to bolt the gate behind him; and despite the entreaties and even the threats of Missus Hyacinth, he got into the house and penetrated as far as the priest’s room. When the priest spotted him he gave a cry of surprise.
“Pardon me, Monsieur Father,” the young man blurted in a rush, “but I must talk to you about something very serious. Could I please speak to you in private?”
The old priest knew great suffering when he saw it. He could read a whole saga of passion in the expression on the young man’s face, hear the ultimate anguish in his feverish voice.
“Leave us, Missus Hyacinth,” the curé said.
The young man watched impatiently as the housekeeper, who was used to participating in her master’s secrets, hesitated to withdraw; when she had finally shut the door, he spoke.
“Monsieur curé, you will first want to know who I am. I will tell you. I am an outlaw; I am a man condemned to death, one who lives only through sheer daring. I am the Knight of Maison-Rouge.”
The priest gave a shudder of fear from his great armchair.
“Oh, you have nothing to fear,” said the Knight. “No one saw me come in, and anyone who might have seen me wouldn’t have recognized me. I’ve changed a lot in the last two months.”
“But what is it you want, citizen?” asked the juror priest.
“You are going to the Conciergerie this morning, are you not?”
“Yes, I’ve been summoned by the concierge.”
“Do you know why?”
“Someone sick, someone dying, someone condemned to death, perhaps.”
“You said it: yes, a woman condemned to death awaits you.”
The old priest looked at the Knight in amazement.
“But do you know who the woman is?”
Maison-Rouge went on.
“No … I don’t.”
“Well, the woman is the Queen!”
The priest gave a cry of pain.
“The Queen? Oh! My God!”
“Yes, monsieur, the Queen! I asked around and found out who the priest was they were going to send her. I learned that it was you and I came running.”
“What do you want of me?” asked the priest, alarmed at the Knight’s crazed tone.
“I want … Want is not the word, monsieur! I’ve come to beg you, to implore you, to beseech you.”
“But what for?”
“To get me in with you to see Her Majesty.”
“Oh! But you’re mad!” cried the father. “You’ll get me killed! You’ll get yourself killed!”
“You have nothing to fear.”
“The poor woman has been condemned and that’s it for