The Knight of Maison-Rouge_ A Novel of Marie Antoinette - Alexandre Dumas [183]
He looked everywhere for Dixmer to caution him to remain silent, but Dixmer had quite naturally moved and could not be found.
Geneviève was brought to the chair of the accused, but she had already declared during the preliminary hearing that neither she nor her husband had any accomplices. So you can imagine how he beamed his thanks at the poor woman when he saw her go by on her way to the Tribunal. But after she had gone by and he had popped back into the office for a moment to retrieve a file citizen Fouquier-Tinville had requested, he suddenly saw Dixmer coming toward him, looking cool, calm, and collected. The vision petrified him.
“Oh!” he cried as though he’d seen a ghost.
“Don’t you recognize me?” the vision asked.
“Of course I do. You are citizen Durand, or rather citizen Dixmer.”
“So I am.”
“But are you dead, citizen?”
“Not yet, as you can see.”
“I mean you’re going to be arrested.”
“Who do you think’s going to arrest me? No one knows who I am.”
“But I know who you are and I only have to say the word and you’ll be guillotined.”
“And I, I only have to say two words and you’ll be guillotined with me.”
“That’s horrible, what you’re saying!”
“No, it’s logical.”
“But what’s this about? Come on, tell me! Hurry up—the less time we spend talking together the less danger for either of us.”
“The situation is this. My wife is going to be condemned, right?”
“I’m afraid that’s right! Poor woman!”
“Well then, I want to see her one last time to say good-bye.”
“Where?”
“In the Hall of the Dead!”
“You’d dare go in there?”
“Why not?”
“Oh!” said the registrar, goose bumps sprouting at the very idea of such a thing.
“There must be a way,” Dixmer persisted.
“To get into the Hall of the Dead? Yes, no doubt.”
“How?”
“You get yourself a pass.”
“And where do you get these passes?”
The registrar went pale as a corpse and stammered:
“The passes, where do you get them—is that what you asked?”
“I’m asking where you procure them,” replied Dixmer. “I think the question is clear enough.”
“You procure them … here.”
“Oh, really! And who usually signs them?”
“The registrar.”
“But you are the registrar.”
“Yes, I know, it’s me.”
“Fancy that! What a stroke of luck!” said Dixmer, helping himself to a seat. “You will sign a pass for me.”
The registrar gave a start.
“You’re asking me for my head, citizen,” he said.
“No I’m not! I’m asking you for a pass, that’s all.”
“I’m going to have you arrested, you miserable creep!” said the registrar, gathering all his energy.
“Go ahead!” said Dixmer. “But the instant you do, I’ll denounce you as my accomplice, and instead of going into the infamous Hall all on my own, I’ll take you with me.”
The registrar went white.
“Oh, you mongrel!” he said.
“There’s no mongrel about it,” said Dixmer. “I need to speak to my wife and I’m asking you for a pass so I can reach her.”
“Come now, is it really so essential that you speak to her?”
“It would seem to be, wouldn’t it, I’m risking my neck to do it.”
The reasoning seemed plausible to the registrar; Dixmer could see that the man was rattled.
“Come on,” Dixmer said, “don’t worry, no one will be any the wiser. For Christ’s sake, there must be other cases similar to this from time to time, surely.”
“It’s rare. There’s not a lot of competition.”
“Well then, we can change that. That’s all I’m asking for—if it can be done.”
“It can be done, all right. You enter through the door of the condemned; you don’t need a pass for that. Then, when you’ve spoken to your wife, call me and I’ll escort you out.”
“Not bad!” said Dixmer. “Unfortunately, there’s a story doing the rounds.”
“What?”
“The story about a poor hunchback who took the wrong door and, thinking he was entering Archives, wound up in the room we’re talking about. But since he came in through the door of the condemned instead of through the main door, and as he didn’t have a pass that would confirm his identity once he was