THE street had, in the first place, appeared empty and deserted to Billot and Pitou, because the dragoons, being engaged in the pursuit of the great body of the fugitives, had turned into the market of St. Honor, and had followed them up the Rue Louis—le—Grand and the Rue Gaillon. But as Billot advanced towards the Palais Royal, roaring instinctively, but in a subdued voice, the word “Vengeance!” men made their appearance at the corners of the streets, at the end of alleys, and from under the carriage gateways, who, at first, mute and terrified, looked around them, but being at length assured of the absence of the dragoons, brought up the rear of this funereal march, repeating, first in hollow whispers, but soon aloud, and finally with shouts, the word “Vengeance! vengeance!”
Pitou walked behind the farmer, carrying the Savoyard's black cap in his hand.
They arrived thus, in gloomy and fearful procession, upon the square before the Palais Royal, where a whole people, drunk with rage, was holding council, and soliciting the support of French soldiers against the foreigners.
“Who are these men in uniform?” inquired Billot, on arriving in front of a company who were standing with grounded arms, stopping the passage across the square, from the gate of the palace to the Rue de Chartres.
“They are the French Guards!” cried several voices.
“Ah!” exclaimed Billot, approaching them, and showing them the body of the Savoyard, which was now a lifeless corpse,—“Ah! you are Frenchmen, and you allow us to be murdered by these Germans!”
The French Guards drew back with horror.
“Dead?” murmured a voice from within their ranks.
“Yes, dead! dead! assassinated!—he and many more besides!”
“By the Royal German Dragoons. Did you not hear the cries, the firing, the galloping of their horses?”
“Yes, yes, we did!” cried two or three hundred voices. “They were butchering the people on the Place Vendôme!”
“And you are part of the people, by Heaven, you are!” cried Billot, addressing the soldiers. “It is therefore cowardly in you to allow your brothers to be butchered.”
“Cowardly!” exclaimed several threatening voices in the ranks.
“Yes, cowardly! I have said it, and I repeat the word. Come, now,” continued Billot, advancing three steps towards the spot from whence these murmurs had proceeded; “well, now, will you not kill me, in order to prove that you are not cowards?”
“Good that is all well, very well,” said one of the soldiers. “You are a brave fellow, my friend. You are a citizen, and can do what you will; but a military man is a soldier, do you see, and he must obey orders.”
“So that,” replied Billot, “ if you received orders to fire upon us,—that is to say, upon unarmed men,—you would fire, you who have succeeded the men of Fontenoy, who gave the advantage to the English by telling them to fire first!”
“As to me, I know that I would not fire, for one,” said a voice from the ranks.
“Nor I!—Nor I!” repeated a hundred voices.
“Then see that others do not fire upon us,” cried Billot. “To allow the Germans to butcher us is just the same thing as if you slaughtered us yourselves.”
“The dragoons! the dragoons!” cried several voices at the same time that the crowd, driven backwards, began to throng the square, flying by the Rue de Richelieu.
And there was heard the distant sound of the galloping of heavy cavalry upon the pavement, but which became louder at every moment.
“To arms! to arms!” cried the fugitives.
“A thousand gods!” cried Billot, throwing the dead body of the Savoyard upon the ground, which he had till then held in his arms; “give us your muskets, at least, if you will not yourselves make use of them.”
“Well, then, yes; by a thousand thunders, we will make use of them!” said the soldier to whom Billot had addressed himself, snatching out of his hand his musket, which the other had already seized. “Come, come! let us bite our cartridges, and if the Austrians have anything to say to these brave fellows, we shall see!”
“Yes, yes, we'll see!” cried the soldiers, putting their hands into their cartouche—boxes and biting off the ends of their cartridges.
“Oh, thunder!” cried Billot, stamping his feet; “and to think that I have not brought my fowling—piece! But perhaps one of those rascally Austrians will be killed, and then I will take his carbine.”
“In the mean time,” said a voice, “take this carbine; it is ready loaded.”
And at the same time an unknown man slipped a richly mounted carbine into Billot's hands.
At that instant the dragoons galloped into the square, riding down and sabring all that were in their way.
The officer who commanded the French Guards advanced four steps.
“Hilloa, there, gentlemen dragoons!” cried he; “halt there, if you please!”
Whether the dragoons did not hear, or whether they did not choose to hear, or whether they could not at once arrest the violent course of their horses, they rode across the square, making a half—wheel to the right, and ran over a woman and an old man, who disappeared beneath their horses' hoofs.
“Fire, then, fire!” cried Billot.
Billot was standing close to the officer. It might have been thought that it was the latter who had given the word.
The French Guards presented their guns, and fired a volley, which at once brought the dragoons to a stand.
“Why, gentlemen of the Guards,” said a German officer, advancing in front of his disordered squadron, “do you know that you are firing upon us?”
“Do we not know it?” cried Billot; and he fired at the officer, who fell from his horse.
Then the French Guards fired a second volley, and the Germans, seeing that they had on this occasion to deal, not with plain citizens, who would fly at the first sabrecut, but with soldiers, who firmly waited their attack, turned to the right—about, and galloped back to the Place Vendôme, amidst so formidable an explosion of bravoes and shouts of triumph, that several of their horses, terrified at the noise, ran off with their riders, and knocked their heads against the closed shutters of the shops.
“Long live the French Guards!” cried the people.
“Long live the soldiers of the country!” cried Billot.
“Thanks,” replied the latter. “We have smelt gunpowder, and we are now baptized.”
“And I, too,” said Pitou, “I have smelt gunpowder.”
“And what do you think of it?” inquired Billot.
“Why, really, I do not find it so disagreeable as I had expected,” replied Pitou.
“But now,” said Billot, who had had time to examine the carbine, and had ascertained that it was a weapon of some value, “but now, to whom belongs this gun?”
“To my master,” said the voice which had already spoken behind him. “But my master thinks that you make too good use of it to take it back again.”
Billot turned round, and perceived a huntsman in the livery of the Duke of Orleans.
“And where is your master?” said he.
The huntsman pointed to a half—open Venetian blind, behind which the prince had been watching all that had passed.
“Your master is then on our side?” asked Billot. “With the people, heart and soul,” replied the huntsman.
“In that case, once more, 'Long live the Duke of Orleans!'“ cried Billot. “My friends, the Duke of Orleans is with us. Long live the Duke of Orleans!”
And he pointed to the blind behind which the prince stood.
Then the blind was thrown completely open, and the Duke of Orleans bowed three times.
After which the blind was again closed.
Although of such short duration, his appearance had wound up the enthusiasm of the people to its acme.
“Long live the Duke of Orleans!” vociferated two or three thousand voices.
“Let us break open the armorers' shops!” cried a voice in the crowd.
“Let us run to the Invalides!” cried some old soldiers. “Sombreuil has twenty thousand muskets.”
“To the Hôtel de Ville!” exclaimed several voices. “Flesselles the provost of the merchants, has the key of the depôt in which the arms of the Guards are kept. He will give them to us.”
“To the Hôtel de Ville!” cried a fraction of the crowd.
And the whole crowd dispersed, taking the three directions which had been pointed out.
During this time the dragoons had rallied round the Baron de Besenval and the Prince de Lambesq, on the Place Louis XV.
Of this Billot and Pitou were ignorant. They had not followed either of the three troops of citizens, and they found themselves almost alone in the square before the Palais Royal.
“Well, dear Monsieur Billot, where are we to go next, if you please?” said Pitou.
“Why,” replied Billot, “I should have desired to follow those worthy people,—not to the gunmakers' shops, since I have such a beautiful carbine, but to the Hôtel de Ville or to the Invalides. However, not having come to Paris to fight, but to find out the address of Doctor Gilbert, it appears to me that I ought to go to the College of Louis—le—Grand, where his son now is; and then, after having seen the doctor, why, we can throw ourselves again into this seething whirlpool.” And the eyes of the farmer flashed lightning.
“To go in the first place to the College of Louisle—Grand appears to me quite logical,” sententiously observed Pitou; “since it was for that purpose that we came to Paris.”
“Go, get a musket, a sabre, a weapon of some kind or other from some one or other of those idle fellows who are lying on the pavement yonder,” said Billot, pointing to one out of five or six dragoons who were stretched upon the ground; “and let us at once go to the college.”
“But these arms,” said Pitou, hesitating, “they are not mine.”
“Who, then, do they belong to?” asked Billot.
“They belong to the people,” rejoined Billot.
And Pitou, yielding implicitly to the opinion of the farmer, whom he knew to be a man who would not rob a neighbor of a grain of millet, approached with every necessary precaution the dragoon who happened to be the nearest to him, and after having assured himself that he was really dead, took from him his sabre, his musketoon, and his cartouche—box.
Pitou had a great desire to take his helmet also, only he was not quite certain that what Father Billot had said with regard to offensive weapons extended to defensive accoutrements.
But while thus arming himself, Pitou directed his ears towards the Place Vendôme.
“Ho, ho!” said he, “it appears to me that the Royal
Germans are coming this way again.”
And in fact the noise of a troop of horsemen returning at a foot—pace could be heard. Pitou peeped from behind the corner of the coffee—house called La Regence, and perceived, at about the distance of the market of St. Honoré, a patrol of dragoons advancing, with their musketoons in hand.
“Oh, quick, quick!” cried Pitou, “here they are, coming back again.”
Billot cast his eyes around him to see if there was any means of offering resistance. There was scarcely a person in the square.
“Let us go, then,” said he, “to the College Louis—le—Grand.”
And he went up the Rue de Chartres, followed by Pitou, who, not knowing the use of the hook upon his belt, was dragging his long sabre after him.
“A thousand thunders!” exclaimed Billot; “why, you look like a dealer in old iron. Fasten me up that lath there.”
“Why, so, by Heaven!—there!” said Billot. And he hooked Pitou's long sabre up to his belt, which enabled the latter to walk with more celerity than he could have done but for this expedient.
They pursued their way without meeting with any impediment, till they reached the Place Louis XV.; but there Billot and Pitou fell in with the column which had left them to proceed to the Invalides, and which had been stopped short in its progress.
“Well!” cried Billot, “what is the matter?”
“The matter is, that we cannot go across the Bridge Louis XV.”
“But you can go along the quays.”
“All passage is stopped that way, too.”
“And across the Champs Élysées?”
“Then let us retrace our steps, and go over the bridge at the Tuileries.”
The proposal was a perfectly natural one, and the crowd, by following Billot, showed that they were eager to accede to it. But they saw sabres gleaming half—way between them and the Tuileries Gardens. The quay was occupied by a squadron of dragoons.
“Why, these cursed dragoons are, then, everywhere,” murmured the farmer.
“I say, my dear Monsieur Billot,” said Pitou, “I believe that we are caught.”
“Pshaw! they cannot catch five or six thousand men; and we are five or six thousand men, at least.”
The dragoons on the quay were advancing slowly, it is true, at a very gentle walk; but they were visibly advancing.
“The Rue Royale still remains open to us. Come this way; come, Pitou.”
Pitou followed the farmer as if he had been his shadow. But a line of soldiers was drawn across the street, near the St. Honoré gate.
“Ah, ah!” muttered Billot; “you may be in the right, friend Pitou.”
“Hum!” was Pitou's sole reply.
But this word expressed, by the tone in which it had been pronounced, all the regret which Pitou felt at not having been mistaken.
The crowd, by its agitation and its clamors, proved that it was not less sensible than Pitou of the position in which it was then placed.
And, in fact, by a skilful manoeuvre, the Prince de Lambesq had surrounded not only the rebels, but also those who had been drawn there from mere curiosity, and by preventing all egress by the Bridge Louis XV., the quays, the Champs Élysées, the Rue Royale, and Les Feuillants, he had enclosed them in a bow of iron, the string of which was represented by the walls of the Tuileries Gardens, which it would be very difficult to escalade, and the iron gate of the Pont Tournant, which it was almost impossible to force.
Billot reflected on their position; it certainly was not a favorable one; however, as he was a man of calm, cool mind, full of resources when in danger, he cast his eyes around him, and perceiving a pile of timber lying beside the river,—
“I have an idea,” said he to Pitou: “come this way.”
Pitou followed him, without asking him what the idea was.
Billot advanced towards the timber, and seizing the end of a large block, said to Pitou, “ Help me to carry this.”
Pitou, for his part, without questioning him as to his intentions, caught hold of the other end of the piece of timber. He had such implicit confidence in the farmer, that he would have gone down to the infernal regions with him, without even making any observation as to the length of the descent or the depth of the abyss.
They were soon upon the quay again, bearing a load which five or six men of ordinary strength would have found difficult to raise.
Strength is always a subject of admiration to the mob, and although so compactly huddled together, they made way for Billot and Pitou.
Then, as they felt convinced that the manuvre which was being accomplished was one of general interest, some men walked before Billot, crying, “Make way! make way!”
“Tell me now, Father Billot,” inquired Pitou, after having carried the timber some thirty yards, “are we going far?”
“As far as the gate of the Tuileries.”
“Ho! ho!” cried the crowd, who at once divined his intention.
And it made way for them more eagerly even than before.
Pitou looked about him, and saw that the gate was not more than thirty paces distant.
“I can reach it,” said he, with the brevity of a Pythagorean.
The labor was so much the easier to Pitou from five or six of the strongest of the crowd taking their share in the burden.
The result of this was a very notable acceleration in their progress.
In five minutes they had reached the iron gate.
“Come, now,” cried Billot, “clap your shoulders to it, and all push together.”
“Good!” said Pitou. “I understand it now. We have just made a warlike engine; the Romans used to call it a ram.”
“Now, my boys,” cried Billot, “once, twice, thrice!” And the joist, directed with a furious impetus, struck the lock of the gate with resounding violence.
The soldiers who were on guard in the interior of the garden hastened to resist this invasion. But at the third stroke the gate gave way, turning violently on its hinges, and through that gaping and gloomy mouth the crowd rushed impetuously.
From the movement that was then made, the Prince de Lambesq perceived at once that an opening had been effected which allowed the escape of those whom he had considered as his prisoners. He was furious with disappointment. He urged his horse forward in order the better to judge of the position of affairs. The dragoons who were drawn up behind him imagined that the order had been given to charge, and they followed him. The horses, going off at full speed, could not be suddenly pulled up. The men, who wished to be revenged for the check they had received on the square before the Palais Royal, scarcely endeavored to restrain them.
The prince saw that it would be impossible to moderate their advance, and allowed himself to be borne away by it. A sudden shriek uttered by the women and children ascended to heaven crying for vengeance against the brutal soldiers.
A frightful scene then occurred, rendered still more terrific by the darkness. Those who were charged upon became mad with pain; those who charged them were mad with anger.
Then a species of defence was organized from the top of a terrace. Chairs were hurled down on the dragoons. The Prince de Lambesq, who had been struck on the head, replied by giving a sabre—cut to the person nearest to him, without considering that he was punishing an innocent man instead of a guilty one, and an old man more than seventy years of age fell beneath his sword.
Billot saw this man fall, and uttered a loud cry. In a moment his carbine was at his shoulder. A furrow of light for a moment illuminated the darkness, and the prince had then died, had not his horse, by chance, reared at the same instant.
The horse received the ball in his neck, and fell.
It was thought that the prince was killed; the dragoons then rushed into the Tuileries, pursuing the fugitives, and firing their pistols at them.
But the fugitives, having now a greater space, dispersed among the trees.
Billot quietly reloaded his carbine.
“In good faith, Pitou,” said he, “I think that you were right. We really have arrived in the nick of time.”
“If I should become a bold, daring fellow!” said Pitou, discharging his musketoon at the thickest group of the dragoons. “It seems to me not so difficult as I had thought.”
“Yes,” replied Billot; “but useless courage is not real courage. Come this way, Pitou, and take care that your sword does not get between your legs.”
“Wait a moment for me, dear Monsieur Billot; if I should lose you I should not know which way to go. I do not know Paris as you do: I was never here before.”
“Come along, come along,” said Billot; and he went by the terrace by the water—side, until he had got ahead of the line of troops, which were advancing along the quay; but this time as rapidly as they could, to give their aid to the Lambesq dragoons, should such aid be necessary.
When they reached the end of the terrace, Billot seated himself on the parapet and jumped on to the quay.
