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“I know; it’s not to try to save her that I want to see her. It’s … Just listen to me, Father; you’re not listening to me.”

“I’m not listening to you because you’re asking me to do the impossible. I’m not listening to you because you’re acting as though you’re deranged,” said the old man. “I’m not listening to you because you’re frightening me.”

“Father, don’t worry,” said the young man, trying to calm down a bit. “Father, believe me, I haven’t lost my mind! The Queen is finished, I know; but if I could just prostrate myself at her knees, for just one second, it would save my life. If I don’t see her I’ll kill myself, and since you know the cause of my despair, you will have killed both my body and my soul at once.”

“Son, son,” said the priest, “you’re asking me to sacrifice my life! Think about it: old as I am, my existence is still indispensable to many unfortunate souls. Old as I am, to go looking for death myself is to commit suicide.”

“Don’t refuse me, Father,” replied the Knight. “Listen! You need a server, an acolyte; take me along, bring me with you.”

The priest tried to rally his firmness, which was beginning to waver.

“No,” he said. “No, I would be failing in my duties. I swore an oath to the Constitution and I swore in all sincerity, with my heart, my soul, and my conscience, to support the Revolution. The woman condemned is a guilty queen. I would accept dying if my death were useful to my fellows; but I do not want to fail in my duty.”

“But,” cried the Knight, beside himself, “I tell you, I repeat, I swear that I don’t want to save the Queen. Listen, I swear on this Bible, on that crucifix, I swear I’m not going to the Conciergerie to prevent her from dying.”

“Well then, what do you want?” asked the old man, moved by that note of despair that cannot be feigned.

“Listen,” said the Knight, whose soul seemed to burst forth from his mouth. “She was my protectress, my liege lady; she has a certain attachment to me. Seeing me in her final hour will be, I’m sure, a consolation for her.”

“That’s all you want?” asked the priest, his resolve shaken by the irresistible tone.

“Absolutely all.”

“You’re not cooking up some plot to try to free the condemned woman?”

“None. I am a Christian, Father, and if there’s a shadow of a lie in my heart, if I hope for her to live, if I am working toward that end in any way, may God punish me with eternal damnation.”

“No, no! I can’t promise you anything,” said the priest, his mind once more haunted by all the great and numberless dangers of such recklessness.

“Listen, Father,” said the Knight in a tone of deep suffering, “I’ve spoken to you so far as a dutiful son. I’ve spoken to you only from charitable Christian feelings. Not a bitter word, not one threat has passed my lips, and yet my head is in turmoil; and yet my blood is boiling with fever; and yet despair is gnawing at my heart; and yet I am armed. See? I have a dagger.”

And the young man drew from his breast a fine gleaming blade, which threw a livid reflection over his trembling hand. The priest jumped nimbly back.

“Do not fear,” said the Knight with a sad smile. “Others, knowing you to be so faithful to your word, would have frightened you into swearing an oath. No, all I did was beg you, that’s all; and I beg you again, my hands joined in prayer, my forehead to the floor: do what you can so that I can see her for one moment. And take this—it’s your guarantee.”

He pulled out of his pocket a note, which he presented to abbé Girard, who unfolded it and read the following words:

I, Armand, Knight of Maison-Rouge, declare, in God’s name and upon my honor, that I have, by the threat of death, forced the worthy curé of Saint-Landry to take me to the Conciergerie despite his refusal to do so and his strong repugnance for the task. In witness whereof, I have signed,

MAISON-ROUGE

“All right!” said the priest. “But swear to me again that you won’t do anything stupid; it’s not enough for me that my life be saved. I’m also responsible for yours.”

“Oh! Don’t worry about me!” said the Knight. “You agree to do