admiration, for he had been careful to tell her of the great people he had seen and played with, and describe the gilded saloons which he frequented, and the simple woman had starved herself to make him look decent and respectable, that he might take the place she thought him entitled to. But now? Of his own free will he had joined the people! Of his own free will he was about to attack and kill those whom the simple Annette loved and admired! She had not known the extent of Pinard's previous ingratitude. She had heard him gloat over Virginie's impending arrest. How he got his knowledge? Now this appeared clear before her. He had failed before, and was preparing another form of vengeance. How could she warn her friends? It was past nine when a loud noise caused Pinard to start to his feet. It was the générale being beat. 'Eh!' he cried. 'What is that? Arms? What are we doing? I recollect-the people! The sovereign people are awake! and I was asleep! Want of civism, Pinard!-distressing want of civism. Must be punished-How? Drums making a great noise! Have they found me asleep? No, only stupid old Annette! Must fall in, though.' Here he staggered to Annette's washing trough, and, dipping his head into the dirty, soapy water, splashed it over his face; the soap got into his eyes and made them smart terribly. 'Annette! a thousand devils! What poison hast thou here? Help, Annette! I cannot see.' Annette seized a pitcher of clear water, and, holding his head over the trough, poured it over him. Pinard rose, breathless, but partially sobered. 'Good!' he cried; 'I feel myself again. Put on thy things, woman, and come with me.' 'What for?' asked Annette, with a rebellious look new to Pinard. He gazed at her for one minute, then, with his shut fist, struck her. 'Thou askest what for; because I bid thee,' said Pinard, with a laugh. Thou wast a Jacobin once, and fond of attending executions. That was for thy amusement; now thou must come and see this for mine. No words, woman. Come.' Annette stood undetermined for a moment. Then, with quick impulse, she huddled on her clothes. 'I am ready,' she said surlily. Pinard had girt on his sword and placed his pistols in his belt. 'Good!' he said. 'Now march-on with you.' As Annette descended the stairs she heard him stumbling down after her. ، 'The devil take the whole sex,' he grumbled. A moment ago she was refusing to go, and now she flies like a uhlan.' Annette emerged from the door to find a large body of women passing, crying, 'Bread! bread!' She paused on the threshold ; but Pinard, coming behind her, pushed her into the street. 'To it, woman; join thy sex. Long live the sovereign people!' Annette paused no longer, but joined the crowd in which she seemed qualified to take her place. Gaunt and haggard, with her eye newly swollen from the recent blow, and her hair untidy and uncombed, she had a wild look in her face which procured her instant sympathy with the viragos in whose company she found herself. 'Come, mother,' they cried, 'on to the Convention. Bread! bread!' ، 'Yes; to the Convention!' cried Annette. To the Convention!' She quickly found herself in the front rank hurrying on amid shouts and yells. It was ten o'clock on the 1st Prairial (April 20) as the crowd of women surged on to the Tuileries. The guards seeing nothing but women hesitated and let them pass, and on rushed the screaming, gesticulating, mad creatures, till the hall of the Convention itself was filled with them. Then succeeded a confusion never before witnessed. Women sitting in the place of the legislators. Women in the Tribune itself, women everywhere, and all shouting, 'Bread! bread!' CHAPTER LXIII. ATTACK AND DEFENCE. AND where was Annette? As the women broke through the chain of sentries she hung back, and, turning to her right, sped through the garden of the Tuileries and dashed up the wellknown street where Virginie lived. The café was already open. Jacques's satellites were dusting and arranging everything for the busy time, when, between eleven and mid-day, the place was usually crowded. Already one or two men had arrived and had seated themselves, when Annette rushed into the place. 'Shut up your house!' she cried. Where is good M. le Blanc? Let me see him at once.' The men in the café thought she was mad and gathered round her, and Jacques, who was in the adjoining kitchen, ran into the room to see what was the matter. As soon as she saw him she darted forward. 'Save your life and that of madame,' she cried. 'Do you not know me? I came once before. Pinard; remember Pinard. Shut up your house-quick! quick!' Jacques grew pale and trembled; his nerve was gone. 'Know her? I have every reason to know her and believe her,' said Jacques in a bewildered way. Hear their shouts, 'Then shut your house, quick! quick! they are coming,' urged Annette once more. In the distance shouts were already heard. Jacques and his assistants darted to the door and the shutters were quickly up. In his terror he would have shut in the two or three men who were in the café, but La Beauce appeared at that moment, and with a cool head cross-examined Annette, and arranged everything for the best. One of the gentlemen who had come for an early déjeuner was luckily known at the head-quarters of the Section, and him La Beauce begged to warn the authorities of the intended assault. He then strengthened the doors and windows to the best of his ability, placing the tables and chairs against them, and waited the result. He would have sent the women out of the house, but to that Virginie would not consent. She, however, allowed Célimène to retire with little Jacques to her old retreat on the sixth floor in Pierre's rooms, while she herself took Annette to her apartment on the entresol to try and comfort her. The poor creature now poured out all her woes, all the insults and bad usage she had borne in silence she now proclaimed. She sobbed forth her simple faith in Pinard and her awaking from her dream. May I never see him again,' she cried. 'Let me stay with you, madame. I can work. I will slave for you, only let me be with someone whom I can respect and love. When I first saw you, you recollect, it was at a trial of the "suspects." I was then mad, it was with fear. I went to the Place de la Révolution and saw their heads fall, and felt no terror, except for myself. I thought that, when the Mère Annette was seen always among patriotic women, among the tricoteuses, she could not be suspected. It was you, madame, who first roused my better feelings. Do you remember telling me how you prayed for monsieur? Then my man came home, and you spoke kindly to me, and gave me delicacies for him to bring him back to health. I told him what you had done, yet it was he who denounced you. I know it now. And to-day he would kill you if he could-you who fed him and brought him back to life! Let me never see him again!' As she was speaking the noise in the street below became greater. 'Bread! bread! and the Constitution of 1793,' shouted many voices of people rushing on to the Convention. Then, gradually the crowd seemed to pause. Looking through the windows, darkened by the closed shutters, Virginie could see a man haranguing them. It was Pinard. He pointed to the house, and the two women, eagerly listening, heard him say: ، There lives one of them. He feeds these insolent aristocrats, giving them all the delicacies of the season, while you, my friends, have to starve on a miserable pittance which barely suffices to keep life in you. For once you shall have a hearty meal. Down with his door! There you will find plenty. Death to the traitor if he resist! Follow me!' 'It is he,' whispered the affrighted Annette. They heard the hoarse response of the crowd, they saw it surging its way led by Pinard himself. At that moment Jacques le Blanc came into the room, with him was La Beauce. 'It is in vain you try to dissuade me,' cried Jacques in an excited voice. 'I will try and stop them. I am a simple bourgeois and know how to speak to my equals. Let me alone then.' 'It is madness,' cried the Comte. The doors will hold out till aid arrives, and even at the worst, Jean and I being well armed can hold the crowd back.' 'I will speak!' cried Jacques excitedly, and rushing to the window he began undoing the shutters. At that moment the howling crowd arrived down below. Pinard advanced to the door and knocked loudly. 'Open!' he cried. 'Open to the sovereign people.' His gait was still unsteady and his voice thick through drink. Jacques threw back the shutters and appeared to the crowd. 'What want you, my friends?' he shouted. 'I am an honest bourgeois as you are. I work to get my living.' 15 'It's the man himself, Jacques le Blanc, the entertainer of aristocrats to whom the good Robespierre would have given his due,' replied Pinard. 'I am no aristocrat,' answered Jacques. 'Then,' shouted Pinard, 'open to the sovereign people!' My friends,' expostulated Jacques, 'do not believe that man.' 'Silence!' cried Pinard. 'Down with the door! You will find bread there in plenty.' A roar from the people followed. 'Scoundrel!' cried Jacques beside himself with rage. See you the aristocrat? I will make short work of him,' and drawing out a pistol he levelled it at Jacques. The entresol was but fifteen feet from the pavement and Jacques's life would have fallen had that pistol but fulfilled its duty. But the flint fell without any result. 'Down with him and his door!' shouted Pinard furiously, and immediately a shower of stones and bricks fell on the house. The people rushed at the doors and with some large stones tried to force them in. The noise outside was fearful. Those who could not get near enough to aid in the forcing an entrance shouted, yelled, gesticulated and threw missiles of all kinds. Jacques himself fell back struck with a large stone on the head. Many more showered into the room, smashing the mirrors and furniture of which Jacques had been so proud. La Beauce dragged the poor fellow out of reach of the missiles, and, handing him over to Virginie's care, rushed downstairs to the point of danger. There he found Jean, Pierre, and a couple of the serving-men, the two last pale with terror. The moment was a critical one. they could hear the roar of the crowd and the battering of the doors and windows. Every blow resounded through the empty rooms. Although La Beauce had strengthened the door and shutters by placing the tables against them, he knew they could not hold out long. Would relief soon come? By the side of the door, which being the largest aperture was the most dangerous, stood Jean, with his large cavalry sabre in his hand, watching as a cat watches a mousehole. Pierre stood bravely by his side with a meat axe. There, too, La Beauce waited. He had two pistols and his sword. Outside 'It is better, in a crowd, to use cold steel,' muttered Jean without taking his eye from the door. 'Thou art right,' answered the Comte, and he replaced his pistol in his belt and grasped his sword. |