The Knight of Maison-Rouge_ A Novel of Marie Antoinette - Alexandre Dumas [173]
“And I’ll find him,” thought Maurice. “For if he wants to save the poor woman, he’ll show himself; if he wants to finish her off, he’ll insult her. I’ll find the bastard and it’ll be a sorry day for him when I do!”
The morning of the day on which the facts we are about to lay before the reader occurred, Maurice had gone to set himself up at the place du Tribunal Révolutionnaire. Lorin was still asleep. He was woken up by a great racket at the door composed of women’s voices and the butts of rifles. He threw a frightened glance around the room, like any man surprised and hoping to persuade himself that nothing compromising was in sight.
Four sectionaries, two gendarmes, and a commissioner came bursting in all at once. This visit was so momentous that Lorin hastened to throw on his clothes as quickly as possible.
“Are you arresting me? “he asked.
“Yes, citizen Lorin.”
“And why is that?”
“Because you are suspect.”
“Ah! That’s only fair!”
The commissioner scribbled a few words at the bottom of the arrest sheet.
“Where is your friend?” he said.
“Which friend is that?”
“Citizen Maurice Lindey.”
“At his place, I guess,” said Lorin.
“No, he’s not, he’s staying here.”
“He is? I’ll be damned! Do have a look around, and if you find him …”
“Here’s the denunciation,” said the commissioner. “It is quite explicit.”
He handed Lorin a piece of paper with hideous handwriting and baffling spelling. The denunciation claimed that citizen Lindey was seen every morning coming out of citizen Lorin’s abode and that he was under arrest as suspect. The denunciation was signed: Simon.
“Surprise, surprise! But the cobbler won’t be cobbling much longer,” said Lorin, “if he keeps moonlighting like this. Two jobs! Stool pigeon and boot-soler both! What a Caesar is our Monsieur Simon.…” He burst out laughing.
“Citizen Maurice!” said the commissioner. “Where is citizen Maurice? We order you to hand him over.”
“Even when I tell you he’s not here?”
The commissioner went into the next room, then climbed up into a small loft where Lorin’s officieux lodged. Finally he opened the door of a room below, but there was no trace of Maurice. On the kitchen table, though, a freshly penned letter attracted the commissioner’s attention. It was from Maurice; he had dropped it there as he went out that morning without waking his friend, even though they shared the same bed. It read:
“I’m off to the Tribunal; eat without me, I won’t be back until tonight.”
“Citizen,” said Lorin, “as keen as I am to obey you, you understand I can’t follow you in my shirttails.… Please permit my officieux to dress me.”
“Aristocrat!” said a voice. “He has to be helped to put his drawers on.…”
“My God, yes!” said Lorin. “I’m like citizen Dagobert,2 I am. Notice I didn’t say king.”
“Go ahead,” said the commissioner, “but make it snappy.”
The officieux came down from his loft to assist his master to get dressed. Lorin’s aim was not exactly to have a valet de chambre dress him. It was to ensure that nothing that happened escaped the officieux, so that he could later tell Maurice all about it.
“Now, messieurs … pardon, citizens … now, citizens, I’m ready and I’ll follow you. But please let me take with me the latest volume of Monsieur Demoustier’s Lettres à Emilie.3 I haven’t read it yet and it will help me survive the boredom of captivity.”
“Your captivity?” erupted Simon, who had now become a municipal officer in turn. He happened to enter at that point with four sectionaries in tow. “It won’t be long coming. You feature in the trial of the woman who tried to help the Austrian woman get away. She’s being judged today.… You’ll be judged tomorrow, after you’ve testified.”
“Cobbler,” said Lorin with gravity, “you’re sewing your soles on too fast.”
“Yes, but what a nice leather knife I’ve got!” replied Simon with a ghastly smile. “You’ll see, you’ll get yours, my pretty grenadier.” Lorin gave a shrug.
“Well then, are we going?