• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 705 0

in his tracks. His legs turned to jelly and he was forced to lean against the parapet of the bridge. After a few seconds, though, he got back his energy, that fabulous power that he had over himself in momentous circumstances, and he began to mingle among various clusters of people, asking questions and getting answers. He learned, for example, that ten minutes previously they had nabbed a young woman from 24, rue des Nonnandières, and that this young woman was most certainly guilty of the crime of which she was accused, since she had been caught in the act of packing her bags.

Morand found out what club the poor girl was to be interrogated in and learned that she had been brought to the main section, the Jacobins’ club. He set off without further ado.

The club was packed to the rafters by the time Morand got there, yet he managed to elbow and punch his way into one of the galleries. The first thing he saw was the tall and noble figure and disdainful countenance of Maurice, standing in the dock glaring witheringly at Simon as the cobbler held forth.

“Yes, citizens,” cried Simon, “yes, citizeness Tison accuses citizen Lindey and citizen Lorin. Citizen Lindey talks of some flower girl whom he wants to blame for his crime. But I can tell you now, the flower girl won’t be found. We’re dealing with a conspiracy hatched by a ring of aristocrats who keep pointing fingers at one another like the cowards they are. You saw how citizen Lorin flew the coop as soon as he was called on. Well, you won’t run into him now any more than you will the flower girl.”

“You’re lying, Simon,” cried a voice full of fury. “You’ll run into him all right, for here he is.” With that, Lorin burst into the room. “Make way!” he cried, knocking spectators out of the way. “Move!”

He made his way to the front and took a seat next to Maurice. Lorin’s entrance, made unaffectedly but with all the frankness and verve inherent in the young man’s nature, produced the greatest effect on the gallery, who began to clap and cheer “Bravo!”

Maurice was content to smile and give his friend his hand, as a man who has said to himself, “I’m sure I won’t be on my own in the dock for long.”

The spectators gazed upon the two dashingly handsome young men with visible interest, accused as they were by the revolting Temple cobbler as though by a demon jealous of youth and beauty.

The latter couldn’t help but notice that he was losing his audience thanks to the stark comparison. He resolved to strike a final blow.

“Citizens,” he screeched, “I demand that the generous citizeness Tison be heard, I demand that she speak, I demand that she accuse.”

“Citizens,” said Lorin, “I ask that beforehand the young flower girl, who has just been arrested and who will no doubt be brought before you, be heard.”

“No,” said Simon, “it’s just another false witness, some partisan of the aristocrats. Besides, citizeness Tison is just dying to enlighten the court.”

Meanwhile, Lorin had a few enlightening things to whisper to Maurice.

“Yes,” cried the gallery. “Yes, bring on the evidence of Mother Tison! Yes, yes, let her testify now!”

“Is citizeness Tison in the room?” asked the president.

“Of course she’s here!” cried Simon. “Citizeness Tison, say you’re here, then.”

“Here I am, my president,” said the jailer. “But if I give evidence, will they give me my daughter back?”

“Your daughter has nothing to do with the matter that concerns us,” said the president. “Give your evidence first, and then address yourself to the Commune to ask for your daughter again.”

“You hear that? The citizen president is ordering you to give your evidence,” cried Simon. “So give it to him: what are you waiting for?”

“One moment,” said the president, turning to Maurice. The calm of this man, ordinarily so fiery, amazed him. “One moment! Citizen municipal officer, don’t you have anything to say first?”

“No, citizen president; except that before calling a man like me a coward and a traitor, Simon would have done better to wait till he was better informed.”

“You reckon? You reckon?” repeated Simon in the sniggering