1 A '# TORCHLIGHT REVOLUTION The TORCHLIGHT Series of Napoleonic Romances I .REVOLUTION II .LOVE in .AMBITION IV .SUCCESS V .VICTORY VI .TRIUMPH vn .GLORY ,VIII . .ARROOANCE IX ..STORM X . .RETREAT XI . .DEFEAT XII ..THE END E. P. BUTTON & COMPANY The TORCHLIGHT Series of Napoleonic Romances REVOLUTION BY LEONIE AMINOFF » . J * » ■> i a ■> - c > 1 ' J J J J J > ra .> ' J ' ' ' ' ' ' ' i-"-". a ' J NEW YORK E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 681 Fifth Avenue Copyright, 1921, By E. P. Button & Company All Bights Reserved First printing, May, ig^l Second printing. May, 1922 I « 4"*wt^ PBINTED IN THE tTNITED STATES OF AMEBIC A AUTHOR'S NOTE TN offering her work to the pubhc, partly in honor of Napoleon's centenary, May, 1921, the author begs to say that she has not only relied on the statistical state- ments taken from the vast bulk of Napoleonic literature^ but also on the personal point of view, which, to an imagi- native mind, is of greater importance. She has called her work Torchlight. It may not be a good title — not that titles matter — but surely it is symbolic of her attitude? Without some kind of light we poor human beings are in a sad way, and an artist is frankly lost. The human mind resembles a torch — we like the idea of a torch now burn- ing sullenly, now bursting into a flame of purest light ! In this particular volume Napoleon is shown in the first stage of his wonderful career against a more or less de- tailed background of the French Revolution, which, as it were, ploughs a passage for his advance. Even he would have failed in a world of peace. The book is inscribed to the author's twin sister, Sylvia, and her three little daughters, Nadine, Pamela, and Flora. McDougall, who have taken flattering interest in the work, most of it written under the ancient roofs of Provender (their home) in the Black Prince's own chamber, so called since that valiant knight (1346) occupied it, on his way to join his father's standard in France. •-1 CONTENTS FACE Author's Note >. s > > ^ BOOK I: REVOLUTION Chapter One . . . .:..,••••&:• ^ Chapter Two . • . > • > . • • >: > • " Chapter Three . . .. > • • • • • • >- ^° Chapter Four . . .. >: . > • • • >: • • 29 Chapter Five ........... a • 34 Chapter Six . . >. .>.... :•: • • 39 Chapter Seven . >: y >; . . . • >. >. • ^^ Chapter Eight ..; >; ;•• .. • • • •: :*. is- • ^^ Chapter Nine . . ..; > >. • •; • a k > • ^^ Chapter Ten . ... ;•; .•; i^ i • .«. i*: >j i>j > "' Chapter Eleven ..... . . . • k i*. • "^^ Chapter Twelve . . ... ... .• >. :•. ls. 'a •. • "^ Chapter Thirteen . >; [., >, l-i; [•: [_•: i: >. • 91 Chapter Fourteen .... ..; >. [«:>;• • 99 Chapter Fifteen . . >. . ..... . . .107 Chapter Sixteen . .; . ... . > :.j >; >. • .114 Chapter Seventeen . ;. ..■ Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen .. . . Chapter Twenty .... Chapter Twenty-one •. >; l*: > • 1^2 vii 123 130 140 145 vm CONTENTS Chapter Twenty-two . Chapter Twenty-three Chapter Twenty-four Chapter Twenty-five . Chapter Twenty-six PAGI 162 168 173 180 183 BOOK II: TERROR Chapter Twenty-seven 195 Chapter Twenty-eight 201 Chapter Twenty-nine 206 Chapter Thirty 209 Chapter Thirty-otste 216 Chapter Thirty-two 222 Chapter Thirty -three 231 Chapter Thirty-four 234 Chapter Thirty-five 244 Chapter Thirty-six 257 Chapter Thirty-seven 272 Chapter Thirty-eight 287 Chapter Thirty-nine 292 Chapter Forty 306 Chapter Forty-one 314 Chapter Forty-two ........... 325 Chapter Forty-three . . . > 337 Chapter Forty-four , ■, . . . 345 Chapter Forty-five ...,.,■.... 359 BOOK I REVOLUTION D TORCHLIGHT CHAPTER I jURING the inaugural ceremony of affianced love Terezia held herself apart with charming modesty. She veiled her eyes from the too ardent gaze of Devin. She clasped her hands together under mamma's tearful harangue. She wished mamma at Jericho. Why make a fuss about an extraordinarily commonplace situation.'' Everyone married. Marriage was the first step of any importance in life. From the bridal altar the road led in many directions. Terezia, half-listening to mamma and to the marquis's choked commentaries, grew thoughtful. She looked very lovely, very young, very innocent. With a final embrace which effectually included both the lovers, Marie-Antoinette left the room somewhat hastily. She had just remembered some trifling detail of her dinner- table which hadn't pleased her. She would speak to Chris- tina at once. What on earth had made Pedro fold the napkins in such an outlandish pattern? Swans were all the fashion and sufficiently elaborate, but tall, spiky, inse- cure turrets of an impossible architecture were, to put it plainly, "real horrors." ... On his knees sank the lover, stretching out beseeching arms, rolling his eyes in a fearful endeavor to look attractive. "Angel," he moaned. It was the saddest exliibition. Terezia, overcome by bashfulness (or was it laughter?), turned her back draperies to his languishing gaze, and, to do something, began rearranging the flowers on the chim- ney-piece. It was more than mortal lover could endure. A costumier of the first rank might have found consola- 4 TORCHLIGHT tion in admiring the charming folds of a rose-pink dress which charmingly revealed the lines of a charming figure. . . . Devin had no artistic talent to help him in his hour of need — he was all heart, and that tender organ was being lacerated by indifference. The marquis, fired by rage, did a fine stroke of business. He leapt to his feet, caught the lady backwards, and twist- ing her round — just as easily as she had been twisting the long-suffering roses — faced her all burning, all aglow — "wild" as she told her deeply impressed Claire the follow- ing morning, "and he kissed me all over." He succeeded in impressing her. "Mademoiselle," he said presently, "I will be your slave, your humble watchful slave, I'll ask nothing in return but this" (he kissed her slender fingers). "I ask your for- giveness — but you sent me mad. You are the most beau- tiful creature in the world." The first transport over, she led him to a little sofa, sat down beside him, and looked at him ^ath the eye of a con- noisseur who has recently purchased an article of doubtful value. Couldn't she have done better? He was certainly very ugly — but there was warmth in the little man. How he loved her! Terezia smiled. She felt just a little sorry for him. It was twilight, and in the grateful shadows of the big room one hardly noticed his red hair or even the color of his unfortunate skin . . . she would make him give greater attention to his appearance . . . oh, he would "do" very well. "I love you, dear Devin," she murmured. "I intend to be ideally happy. Presently I'll go upstairs to bed — I am just a little bit tired, which is only reasonable. To be engaged is such a very new sensation and I'll sleep so soundly and dream of my little Devin." He drew himself up. He was by no means "little" in his own consideration. He considered himself a fine figure of a man. His "unfortunate" skin deepened in color. Tere- zia, with a woman's quick intuition, remedied her fault. REVOLUTION 5 "There is only one thing which makes me nervous," she began. (That was as it ought to be.) Fontenay smiled ten- derly. "Whenever you have anything on your mind, darling, always remember to tell me." "Indeed I will." "My little lamb !" The lamb cuddled a shade closer to M. de Fontenay. She looked up at him shyly. "Oh, you great big tyrant, I am afraid of you ! When you look at me — I feel all — so." She shivered. He was alaraied. "I have been too hasty," he mur- mured. "I have startled my dear lamb. I'll be more gentle in future. On my word of honor as a nobleman you can trust me !" He sat very upright and puffed out his narrow chest. " 'Faith' is the watchword of our House." "I am greatly obliged, monsieur. To tell you the truth, it is rather an ordeal to marry into such a distinguished family, ^^^at would you say if your little lamb makes an exhibition of herself.'"' "I'll kiss her and forgive her." He pressed her fingers. "Dear little hand worthy of royal jewels. Are you fond of gems, mademoiselle.^" "Moderately so, monsieur. Papa has kindly given me a few pretty ornaments." She fingered the pearls round her neck. "These are considered rather fine." "Nothing to what I intend to give you. You will have the use of my heirloom jewels — most of them were brought into my family by Marie de Rohan, who married one of my ancestors in the reign of Louis XIII." "Ah!" said Terezia, warmly. "Dear big tyrant, your little lamb does love you, very much." CHAPTER II 'TpEREZIA held out her arms. Her ruffles were of real ■*• Mechlin — her dress a shadow chintz muslin of a thin- ness warranted to stand no laundry. Round her throat she wore a narrow velvet band with a diamond slide, on her bare feet a pair of black velvet slippers with diamond half-moons — "Only paste, my angel." This latter remark was addressed to her best friend, Mademoiselle Claire de Cardilac, after the young ladies had kissed each other with effusion. Claire very often tnpped in to pay dear Terezia a morning call. She lived quite close by, in the gloomy great stone mansion facing the Bank of France, which prospect gave the house and the family, as Claire was fond of say- ing, a solidity beyond reproach. Claire was also an only daughter. Her father had a minor post at court, which the family considered extremely important. Terezia shared completely her friend's feel- ings on the subject. It was delightful to have the entree. One day, perhaps, Claire would be selected to wait upon the queen, to carry her little pails of frothy cream, and dab the royal butter on the little marble slabs when majesty played at work. To play at work! What a delightfully easy task! Terezia envied her friend. Claire loved Terezia. Claire was seventeen, but she was a baby compared to the "big beauty" (who was only fif- teen). She wasn't a beauty, the little Claire; her dark hair wasn't famous ; her nose might have been better ; her moutli a trifle smaller — but oh, it couldn't have been more good-natured. She would have run all Terezia's errands (had she been allowed) ; in a word, she adored Terezia. There are many such friendships in this world. Beauti- ful belief on one side, beautiful condescension on the other ; C REVOLUTION 7 take my 'word for it, the former is, as a rule, as unjustifi- able as the latter. Claire was as good as gold — the most unselfish little girl in Paris, and clever in her way — alto- gether desirable as wife, mother, or friend. But she was ignored. No one noticed la petite la. She was lost in the flaming aureole of Terezia's magnificence, a little humble satellite — good enough (when the beauty felt disposed) to receive her confidences. Half, if not three parts, of the joy of making "con- quests" is the telling of the oft-repeated tale. Claire had during the last year lived in a vortex of agonizing sus- pense. Terezia was daring — greatly daring. . . . "I have made up my mind to marry," declared Terezia, sinking down on the chaise longue — "Give me my polisher, there's a darling. Oh, it is somewhere — I had it just a minute ago ; my nails are too disgraceful for words." "Don't bite them." "Can't you find it?'» "Here it is. What lovely roses !'* "Who sent them, guess?'* "Monsieur de Listenay." "That old horror ! I always give his roses to Christina, No matter how beautiful they are, Christina gets them. She invariably burns them. She hates de Listenay's flow- ers ; she is a terror, is Christina. She always finds me out. Come here, come here." Claire ran across the room. 'Yes?" she said, bending over her friend. 'I met him last night," she whispered. "Antoine de Boisgaloup?" "Yes, Georges will cut his head off if he hears the truth. He is studying hard at the military college. He writes the most adorable letters. Where is his last one? — on my work table, angel. Do read it, if you care to. He has made friends with a thin, sulky youth who works like the very devil. You admire industry, Claire? Georges shall introduce you to this paragon. He'll love you. He'll marry you. I have a thousand things to tell you.' j> 8 TORCHLIGHT "Don't bite jour nails, Terezia, dear, you will ruin them." "True, I am a fool. The paragon's name is Napoleon Bonaparte — if you want to know." "It does not interest me in the least. However, I admire his energy." Terezia yawned and kicked one foot. The slipper fell off. "My feet are charming," she said. "They are beautiful. You are so lovely, Terezia." "I suppose I am. It is a great responsibility. Thank your stars you are only presentable." "Don't flatter me. I am frankly ugly. Did you ever see such lank, distressful hair? When I marry I'll wear a wig two feet high. You won't know me. I shall look so tall and dignified." Terezia sat up. "I said he'd propose!'* "Yes." "Are you pleased .f'" *'Mamma and papa are satisfied." "Little fool ! Look at me. I have accepted Monsieur de Fontenay." Claire screamed. "Oh, but he is not worth such an honor. He is red-haired — he is short, he is vain." Terezia nodded. "Perfectly true, my friend. But he has an excellent position. He has a charming country house, and 'Madame la marquise de Fontenay' sounds respectable. I'll be received at court, and hold my own salon. I shall be a great lady." She blew a kiss to the gilt Cupid over her bed. "And I intend to make the best of my opportunities." She rose to her feet and clasped Claire in her arms. "You have never grasped my ambi- tions, my soaring, towering ambitions. I want to live, to live!" She almost screamed. "What is the good of hav- ing a matchless body and a matchless face if you don't dazzle your world?" She nodded her head. "Ill eat every crumb of my cake — the sugar first. It is an inherited taste. Mamma loves sugar." She laughed sardonically. "I frighten you, pcmvre petite? I am wild to-day, Claire ; REVOLUTION 9 I want to start at once, at once ! Life never waits. I want to fly ! There, kiss me, darling. When I am tired you shall console me." "I thought you loved Georges?" Terezia laughed and drew Claire on to the sofa. ''En- fin," she said, "I love him, he is a dear boy, but you must admit he is no parti. Why, he stands in deadly terror of that horrid mother of his, Madame de Boisgaloup. Even at the most burning moments he never forgets her acid tongue. She is as sour as vinegar. Why shouldn't Georges love me.'' It is so natural. I have run risks for his sake solely to spite tante Louise. Do you remember the day I crept through the pantry window, and my lace petticoat caught on a nail, and Madame de Boisgaloup found the lace, and nearly thrashed me? She shook, my dear, trembled with rage. Mamma looked as if she was being gently run over by a heavy cart " "Don't, Terezia ; Madame de Carrabus is an angel of goodness." "So she is, but wearisome. I wish angels didn't cry so much. Tears ruin the complexion." "Are you serious. ?" "About mamma's complexion.'"' "No, no. In marrying de Fontenay." "Stop to lunch and stay on to dinner. I will take no refusal. Then you'll have the pleasure of watching a unique courtship. He is far too terrified of his happiness to speak ; he only gapes, rubs his red mop, and gapes. At the end of an hour's gaping he'll blurt out, with fierce unexpectedness, 'Mademoiselle, vous etes tres belle.' It is as good as a play." "You must not make fun of him. No doubt he is better than he looks." ■ "We'll hope so." "Terezia, do you love him?" "Of course not. How could you love a little red-haired, man who gapes?" "Why consider him?" 10 TORCHLIGHT m 'Silly child, I am not going to repeat myself." "He sent you those roses?" said Claire sadly. Terezia gleefully shut her eyes. "Exactly. As he has got red hair, he sends me red roses. Isn't it splendid?" "Is he of good family?" *'A marquis." Claire sighed. "I know I shall hate him." "You couldn't hate anyone. Don't bother your little head. We'll get along famously. What is the time? Twelve o'clock. We lunch at one. I must dress. Kiss me, Claire. You are a darling. If I hate him very much I'll pass him on to you. Monsieur le cousin will of course object — but you are always kind." Claire's soft brown eyes were full of tears. She spoke with emotion. "This is no matter for fun," she said earnestly. "I want to assure myself of your happiness." "Pouff," said Terezia. "Set 3'our mind at ease. I in- tend to have a good time." It was quite a dinner-party, including Monsieur Georges de Marmont, le marquis Devin de Fontenay — to give him his full title — who sat next Terezia (a wonder in bleu tendre lavishly draped; in her yellow hair, combed high in the Spanish style, a dark rose — red — nodded over her shell-Hke ear; another rose — blush-white — at her slender waist ; her fingers bare, her arms bare, her neck discreetly veiled; the rise and the fall of her ungirdled bosom, the flash of her eyes, her vivacious mouth, her white teeth were the cynosure of all eyes and mamma's obvious pride and the admiration of M. Alexandre de Lameth. He eyed the blush-white rose at Terezia's bosom with passionate affec- tion — his gift . . .), Madame Lameth — a sparkling bru- nette who did not in the least mind her young husband's flirtations ; that firebrand, Mirabeau — a rare guest at any dinner-party — heaven knows how Marie-Antoinette had landed him at her table — silent as an oyster, and as hard to open — and last but not least Comte de Ravoral, a man of genius, and cynical beyond report (which gave him a REVOLUTION 11 rope of immeasurable length). He was quite bald and showed his originality by not disguising the fact. He was very elegantly dressed, his coat fitted faultlessly — hid- ing not a line of his shrunken figure, his hands were a marvel of well- tended wrinkles and tinted nails ; his mouth was loose, inclined to hang at the comers, but when he talked and smiled this little defect was not apparent. He was fond of saying that only in repose is the face un- masked. Report had it that he slept behind bed-curtains carefully pinned together. He was never taken unawares, — M. le comte. He was known to be poor, but he invari- ably appeared a rich man. He dined out frequently — they said, because he could not afford to breakfast — he never denied a lie nor admitted a truth. In truth a very able man. As he said himself, he had the misfortune to live at the wrong time. He would have had a remarkable career if he had been born twenty years before his esti- mable parents* marriage or forty years after — as it was he was sandwiched between two epochs. He sometimes talked of the glory of Louis XIV.'s reign, and he was equally feeling when dilating on the prospects of Madame de Lameth's youngest-born — a veritable cherub in long clothes. Madame de Lameth encouraged the old man. Her one desire was to be amused. He — le vieux comte — was so wickedly amusing. . . . Madame de Carrabus, very fat, very gorgeous in orange satin — and black Chantilly — beamed on the company. She sat at the head of the oval table, behind a tall epergne of solid gold filled with water-lilies. Two small "aquariums'* sunk in moss, containing gold-fish in pei^etual motion, gave a clou to the table. There was also some really magnificent fruit sent with the compliments of M. de Lis- tenay, who had been unavoidably prevented from accepting Madame de Cai-rabus' kind invitation. (As a matter of fact he hadn't had the heart to face his successful rival.) The dinner was gay and of excellent quality, the wine recherche. If you entertain the elite you cannot do less. There was a whisper in Paris, a faint, faint whisper, that 12 TORCHLIGHT Carrabus' affairs weren't quite so rosy as for instance the delectable peach facing M. de Fontenay. That infatuated lover had at a mere rumor — no thicker than air — gone expri's to Madame Carrabus and begged (on his knees) for the honor of her daughter's hand without a sou of dot. Such sterling love touched the good lady. She had with warmth extended a fat hand, raised the supplicant to his feet and promised to write without delay on the matter to Carrabus. Yesterday, thanks to M. Carrabus' promptness, she had been able to give him a satisfactory answer. Devin urged an early marriage. What had they to wait for? He had said as much to mamma, before dinner, overwhelmed by giddy good-fortune. At dinner he looked even more vacant than usual, ^and never ceased to "gape" at his beloved. Terezia, when she remembered, vouchsafed her affianced lover a few tender glances. Once, when all the table was listening to Mirab^^au's lightning wit, she clasped her fiance's hot hand in her own, and whispered a fond nothing in his protruding ear. Then she glanced across at Claire — charming in simple white — with a woebegone expres- sion. . . . M. de Ravoral (who was not listening to Mira- beau and detested him) intercepted the glance and laughed captiously. The old cynic only partially envied red- headed Fontenay his giddy good-fortune. Alas, wit unless amusing is sand-colored. He was in- sufferably dull, poor de Fontenay — insufferably mean, and to crown God's work he had a temper of ten fiends. His mother (God rest her soul) ought to have known how to set about her son's education, once she had realized the color of his hair — she had brought him up on a mild system which had totally disagreed with his coloring. Now, at thirty-odd, he was a veritable tyrant, suspicious, jeal- ous, untruthful, and with it all, tongue-tied except in the intimacy of his home. Once safely married Terezia would have her eyes opened and her hands tied. . . . What a superb creature! The count shut his piercing REVOLUTION 13 eyes the better to visualize her incomparable promise — after all she was barely full-growii. He considered her at say five-and-twenty — after eleven years' tutelage at the fount of flattery and adulation! By that time she would try to realize her own woi'th. . . . (Terezia at this period veiled her knowledge in public.) He hoped there wouldn't be a large family — he felt jealous of her perfect figure — too many babies invariably spoil a woman's shape. He glanced at Marie- Antoinette. . . . Sacre blew! — what a criminal inheritance ! "Mademoiselle," he said, with a poignant look of sorrow in liis eyes, "I drink to your future. May I beg of you to take care of yourself." Terezia smiled, slightly astonished. She promised she would do her best. By some tacit understanding, very shortly after coffee had been served in the green salon Madame Carrabus' friends took a formal farewell of their kind hostess. As a rule it was understood that cards, wine, and music were at the disposal of any (or all) of the guests whO' desired to pass their evening until Pedro, assisted by Christina (she very conscious of her fashionable apron and a youthful cap all ribbons and lace — a gift of the delighted Terezia, who loved Christina's rather comical appearance in her best headdress), had solemnly handed round tea and cakes — very weak tea and we may be sure very fanciful cakes. Marie-Antoinette used to watch the heavily-laden silver trays with hospitable concern. Had Christina allowed enough.'' Great heavens ! Once she had forffotten to slice the chocolate cake. Who would venture to cut it.'' To Marie- Antoinette's intense mortification it had passed the round of the company and out through the great folding doors, in the wake of Joseph's gorgeous livery, entirely untouched. She had sliivered ; unspeak- able ! She had rushed out on the heels of her guests to lecture Christina, all agog with righteous indignation, and that good woman had stared at her excited mistress and! calmly assured her that it hadn't mattered in the least. H TORCHLIGHT and that there had been plenty of other good things to eat. Marie- Antoinette had almost danced with impotent rage. "They will laugh at me," she had said. "They will say I don't know how to behave — in short that I am a provin- cial!" Christina at this juncture had in great haste fetched burnt feathers and smelling-salts. At the next entertainment she had cut the cake in such huge slices that Marie- Antoinette was obliged to reprimand "such vulgar display," and assure her faithful Christina that people in good society had no taste for "coarse eating." . . . Chris- tina had not said one word in self-justification, but in- wardly she had vowed that in future she would go her own way and let her mistress swoon to her heart's content before she hurried after remedies. To-day nothing untoward happened. At dinner, M. Mirabeau had bent an attentive ear to his hostess's reminiscences. "I know, sir, I have grown fat. Fifteen years ago there was not a prettier girl in all Bayonne. I could pick and choose my lovers as you might plunge a stick in an ant- heap and gather a handful of insects by a twist of the wrist." She paused for breath. "What is the good of going over old ground? When the ball is cracked it will no longer bounce." She sighed heavily, and fanned her- self. "The summer heats are early this year," she said. "Christina, be good and fetch me an iced drink. When your heart is sad there is great consolation in food. In JBayonne, I lived on air and roses and kisses." "I do not doubt your word, madame." Marie-Antoinette stared dreamily in front of her. The great room was carefully shuttered. From the street be- low came the tramp of horses' hoofs and the rumbling of heavy carriages. Mirabeau had talked on in his usual half-satirical, half- serious manner. His voice always soothed Marie-Antoi- nette. M. Mirabeau explained some of his reasons for coming to Paris (the unimportant ones). REVOLUTION 15 M. de Fontenaj was the most abstemious of all. He was either too much in love or too nervous to eat. At dinner his cold salmon trout had remained untouched, and he had eaten his ice at one gulp, and had very nearly died in consequence ; Terezia had gently slapped his back, which made him, as it were, die over again. Through tear-blis- tered e^'es he had regarded his divinity . . . when he recovered himself he refused the cheese and biscuits. Tere- zia with charming gaiety tried to persuade him. He shook his head — another choking fit, and he'd impair his dignity for ever. He stuffed his napkin into his mouth — a most undignified gesture. "Merci, merci, ma belle." Terezia nibbled her biscuit and thin slice of Gorgonzola cheese with the air of a delighted little mouse. She was enjoying herself hugely. M. Mirabeau had actually dis- covered her presence. (Had she known it, he had a great weakness for women.) He had paid her a compliment! M. de Lameth had never ceased to look at her with his beseecliing, beautiful blue eyes. Old Ravoral was more than usually audacious and amusing — and then, of course, beside her sat her incomparable Fontenay . . . altogether a charming dinner. . . . As they passed out of the lofty dining-room, Terezia released M. de Fontenay's trembling arm, and ran up to "her darling Claire." "Oh," she whispered, "what do you think of him? Doesn't he gape like a big, big, hungry fish? — pouff ! to think I am the little fish he is after. . . . Hush! Not a word! I love him! I adore him!" She opened her mouth wide. Old Ravoral, leading mamma into the drawing-room, turned round and mouthed back at her. She put her hands to her eyes. "Spare me!" she cried. He did not catch what she said. He preened his neck round, but mamma sailed him into the green salon before he could make a suitable retort. He bowed his hostess to a sofa, where she took her place beside Madame de Lameth. The young girls, of course, seated themselves on chairs. "Do be careful," implored Claire, "they will hear you.'* "Tant mieux," said Terezia, 16 TORCHLIGHT crossing her little feet and looking at them affectionatelj. "Aren't thej lovelj?" she said. Up came M. de Lameth. "I have been in Hades all dinner," he murmured in the beauty's ear. "I regret jour possible discomfort, monsieur," said Terezia. "Here is a cool corner." She swept her skirts aside. She had seated herself on a gilded cane bench, with her back to her ornate inlaid harp and a flaming group of azaleas. She possessed the artistic sense without wliich the most beautiful woman alive is less than perfect. She played with a little lace handkerchief — passing it through her fingers. Then quickly, before Mirabeau could discover her imprudence, she slipped it into Lameth's capacious pocket. "Your wife's," she mur- mured demurely. Ravoral looked up. Madame de Lameth laughed de hon coeur. Alexandre was quite at liberty to keep Terezia's handkerchief as long as it pleased him. His eyes said unspeakable things. Terezia sliivered. "Won't you play something?" she murmured. "Not now," he whispered, "ma toute belle, ma bien aimee." Again Madame de Lameth laughed de hon coeur. Old Ravoral knew very well what she was laughing at, and he exerted himself to turn her attention. He succeeded at last. She forgot the harp, the azaleas, the golden girl in pink, the channing man in blue. As to le petit Fontenay, he did not pretend to forget anything. He did notliing but gape at the tantalizing vision opposite him. Poor Claire in vain tried to show him some really channing prints and gravures — he'd have none of them. His round, slightly protruding eyes were fixed on the highly artistic tout ensemble opjxvsite. However, his agony of jealousy was not prolonged un- reasonably. As we have said, the general company — in- cluding Claire — very soon took their leave with all the compliments of the day. "That indescribable devil In blue," to quote M. de Fontenay's mental definition of Madame de Lameth's husband, was obliged to follow his REVOLUTION 17 smiling wife. She kissed Marie- Antoinette, and she kissed Terezia — "My dear," she said to the young girl, "all my felicitations. Your mother has just been telling me of M. de Fontenay's great good fortune. How happy he looks!" (Devin was scowling like a satyr.) "We must leave you to yourselves. Come, Alexandre, bid mademoi- selle good-bye." M. de Lameth ceremoniously bowed over the young girl's extended hand. "Au revoir, mademoiselle." "Au revoir, monsieur." They both at that moment hated the bonds of conven- tion. CHAPTER III IN 1785 life spelled amusement. Terezia found herself on her first arrival in Paris, that is to say three years before her engagement, in her ele- ment. She had a glorious time. You can be sure when she walked abroad, demurely beside fat mamma, she at- tracted considerable attention. Who was she? Where did she come from.^ What youth, what brilliancy, what pos- sibilities ! With her sleepy half-veiled eyes she was not slow in returning the inquisitive inquiring male glances which met hers with frank admiration. She was so tall, so gold and white, with a touch of carmine here and there in the right places. She carried herself with self-assurance. Undoubt- edly a young lady of distinguished family? (Yes, un- doubtedly.) First of all she was made "presentable." Madame Car- rabus was only too anxious to strike a note of extreme elegance. From morning till noon, and from noon till evening the ladies spent their time shopping, buying hats and trying on dresses. The dressmakers, assured of M. de Carrabus' inexhaustible resources (in Spain), were only too anxious to please their clients, and, as a con- sideration, raised their prices. Marie-Antoinette, bom of thrifty bourgeois parents, was horrified with a true Frenchwoman's horror of ex- travagance. Poor dear Marie- Antoinette ! She would have loved to contrive and save, and make two lumps of sugar do for three — that was her nature — but fate had willed it otherwise. With a heavy reticule on her arm, con- taining gold, scent, cosmetics and chocolate, she wended her way through the fasliionable streets of Paris, per- spiring, and a spendthrift ! 18 REVOLUTION 19 Terezia had not inherited her worthy mother's nature. She did not mind spending money. She thought it undig- nified of mamma to inquire the cost of an article before purchasing it. She blushed when mamma gasped at the price, clutching her reticule tighter than ever. "Paris is a nest of thieves," said mamma. "We are rich," said Terezia with unanswerable truth. "Why make a fuss? Besides, that little gown suits me to perfection." When duly dressed our debutante was introduced in a certain set — alas, Madame de Boisgaloup's acquaintances did not include the haute noblesse, but she knew very nice people indeed, — distinguished, charming, witty, good-look- ing. Marie-Antoinette every Sunday with praiseworthy regularity wrote a budget of news to her husband, who was detained by pressure of business in Madrid. Carrabus smiled when he received these naive epistles. The only thing which really delighted him was Terezia's personal success. He impressed on his wife that she must remember the girl's youth, and above all give attention to the proper finishing of her education. "Knowledge is of incredible importance" (he wrote). "Not when you are beautiful" (she answered in return), which was rather sage philosophy from the pen of a good-natured fool. The great Carrabus, with all his scintillating gifts of mind and speech, was very pleased to applaud his wife's wit. True, he wasn't often called upon to exert himself. Span those full years, those much exposed, much be- written years — 1785-1791 — what do they not represent of audacity and excitement, bloodshed and horror, and sheer brutal vitality ? A pity they have been run to death for our purpose. Who can hope to throw a new light on such a well-worn topic.'' And yet here is our scheme — to show you the expected from Terezia's point of view (and she was always in the limelight), to show you a living, breathing, actual woman ■ — precocious, a devil undoubtedly, but a creature of swift transitions, great energy, and undeniable looks. Look at 20 TORCHLIGHT her career — dipping from the commonplace to sordidness — from sordidness to theatrical sublimity, "Notre Dame de Septembre," "Notre Dame de Directoire," and slipping off to dull and princely respectability after a long life of debauchery. It is giving the plot away with a vengeance and maybe hunting you off the track? Who knows what lies before us? Anyhow, such as it is, the story has to be written — for the greater part as it happened. Truth carries her own flag. Terezia never forgot her first impressions of Paris. She had leaned as far as she could out of the dusty traveling carriage to gain a glimpse of all the wonders. Paris was a far gayer, far brighter city than Madrid. And yes, it didn't smell nearly as evilly. She found the Rue St. Honore most imposing — the shops, the pedes- trians, even the beggars came in for a due share of notice. In default of her sleepy mamma's attention, she had to address her ecstatic remarks to Christina, who sat facing her ladies, holding on to a valise — probably containing madame's diamonds, or madame's sugar cakes. Christina had been born in the Rue du Bac thirty-five years ago. She knew Paris. She could (an' she would) have pointed out the chief sights to her young lady (she'd nursed her from a baby). But Christina was, as she ex- pressed it, shaken to her marrow by the infernal jolting of the lumbering vehicle. She was tired and cross, and to all Terezia's eager questions she answered in toneless monosyllables. "I'll bite your head off if you don't tell me what that is," the young beauty cried, shaking Christina's arm. "What could it be, mam'selle, but the palace of the king?" "Do you think he is there now?" "I don't know." "What a quaint bridge all covered with shops, little tiny shops. Do you hear them fighting? Look at that man ; why, he is as black as ink and nearly naked. Chris- REVOLUTION 21 tina, he will kill someone with that pole!" Terezia shut her eyes. "Are we safely over?" she asked presently. '"Yes," said Christina in the same dull voice. They left fashionable Paris behind them, and, even as the sun dipped in the muddy Seine, they drew up with a jerk, which effectually woke Marie- Antoinette, in front of a tall gray house on the Quai St. Louis. Pedro, the footman, rang a hoarse-throated bell. The great iron gates of the courtyard swung back. The gatekeeper's wife, a homely woman dressed in deepest black, curtsied to the ladies. Over the front door waved a bale of black dull cloth, surrounding two wax lights in dim lanterns, which gleamed ineffectually in the rays of the setting sun. Terezia looked around her fearfully, as she followed mamma out of the carriage into the entrance hall, which was narrow, gloomy and also draped in black. ''''Tiens! the great misfortune," said Marie-Antoinette, "Who is dead.?" The major-domo, old and silver-haired, let his stave rattle on the stone flooring. *'The master. Monsieur de Boisgaloup," he replied. Marie-Antoinette, who was vainly trying to order her hair and arrange her veil, exclaimed anxiously: "My hus- band wrote making his arrangements. We were to accept the hospitality of his old friend. I wouldn't inconvenience madame for worlds ! Tell us, good man, the name of a decent inn. Stop the carriage ! Christina — see, the idiots are unstrapping the luggage. We cannot in decency stay here." At last she had her veil free and revealed her heated, worried face. "Paris is as hot as an oven," she said. "Oo-uff, for a glass of iced water!'* Before the old servant could answer, a little lady — spare as a robin, dark, vivacious, dressed in deep widow's weeds, with an enormous white lawn tippet and cuffs to match — flung herself into Marie-Antoinette's arms. "Welcome," she gasped. "Welcome." The ladies kissed each other. 22 TORCHLIGHT Marie- Antoinette overflowed with condolences and ejac- ulations. She would not derange dear Louise. What a tragedy — only ill seven days? and (comparatively) such a young man ; handsome and charming ! He was fat — too fat," said Madame de Boisgaloup. The heat carried him off, the heat and dysentery. He grieved not to be able to meet you. He charged me with all manner of messages." *'It tears my heart," said Marie- Antoinette ; ever a facile weeper, she let her tears rain on the smooth muslin bosom of the little widow. "You have children?" "Two boys, great big boys ; they must make friends with your little girl." Madame de Boisgaloup searched the dim hall with her sharp little eyes. She almost laughed, so great was her astonishment, when she discovered Terezia. "You never prepared me for this," she said. "She might well be seven- teen, a marriageable young lady, and I was expecting a child to pet and hold in my empty arms." She gave a hand to each of her guests. "You must be tired and you will want to see your rooms, and you, my great big girl, must go to bed at once. How old are you?" "Twelve years, madame." "Mon Dieu ! And she towers over me." She led them into a big prim salon with three tall win- dows facing the^ river. To the left were the congested buildings of the lie St. Louis and the exquisite spiral of the Sainte Chapelle. The Boisgaloups lived in the oldest quarter of the town. The light was fairly good in the big room in spite of its somber hangings. The family portraits were shrouded in black cloth, and all the furniture was covered in white linen sheeting, to match the calico-hung walls. Terezia shivered. The room struck damp and cold with an indescribable odor of withered flowers, wax lights and death. "There stood his coffin. My poor Antoine was only buried yesterday. His funeral oration was magnificent REVOLUTIOiV 23 and cost me a hundred livres In doles to the poor, exclusive of the masses for his soul and a thousand incidental ex- penses. I have spared no money. I even called in the king's physician, and his fee is enormous. He could do nothing but shake his head and approve of Jordain's treat- ment. And my poor Antoine groaned. It is horrible to watch suffering, horrible. When they told me he was dead I praised God." *'I share your feelings," said Marie- Antoinette, sitting down precisely in the middle of the long hard settee under the defunct gentleman's portrait. He was portrayed wear- ing his legal robes and looked highly important. On either side of him hung two charming portraits. Terezia stared at these pictures, and wondered if the young girl in a pink hooped skirt, wearing her natural brown curls, with rosy lips and dimpled cheeks, could be her hostess. Terezia's relentless young eyes noticed Ma- dame de Boisgaloup's withered, lemon-tinted skin, brought into sharp contrast by her hideous black head-dress (which completely enveloped her hair), and the stiff muslin ker- chief pinned by a mourning brooch — two cross-bones and a skull framed in dull ebony — placed exactly beneath her pointed chin. It was Terezia's first Introduction to death. She shiv- ered again. She felt quite sure M. de Boisgaloup ought to have died a month earlier or a month later. He had behaved with no consideration for his Spanish guests. Terezia made big eyes at her mother, who was reveling in the details of the deceased gentleman's illness. The little widow, who had seated herself beside her visitor, possessed herself of one of her large white hands and while gently stroking it poured out, in an unbroken stream, her infor- mation. Marie-Antoinette continually nodded her head. At last Terezia felt convinced that either it or her insecure bonnet must come off. Terezia was also convinced that grown-up people, par- ticularly elderly ladies, were very tiresome. She walked over to the window. She longed to open it. 24 TORCHLIGHT but didn't dare. The atmosphere was stifling. Where were the boys, she wondered? And where was she going to sleep.'' She hoped she would be given a proper bed. She hated lying anyhow on a sitting-room sofa and being obliged to get up and dress early in the morning , . , she would insist on a bed, she would stir up heaven and earth until a bed was provided for her. Her legs ached. They had been cramped in the carriage with all mamma's packages and parcels. Marie- Antoinette remembered that she was dusty, tired and hot. An overwhelming thirst possessed her. As dear Louise was counting the funeral wreaths, and the names of the distinguished guests who had attended the funeral banquet, she wetted her lips with her tongue and exclaimed, "Christina has a wonderful recipe for lemonade: two lem- ons, a dash of sherry, a thimbleful of any sweet liqueur handy, half-a-dozen crystallized cherries, two bay leaves and iced water." The last words were spoken with great emphasis. Her hostess immediately took the hint (stiffly). "Terezia," she exclaimed. "There is the bell-rope — to the left, child — mind my best Sevres vase. Ciel — a touch is sufficient !" A loud sonorous peal sounded throughout the house. Terezia had pulled the bell-rope with a vengeance! She was burning for action. She wouldn't have minded in the least if Madame de Boisgaloup's cherished vase had been knocked to pieces. In the face of such a deplorable acci- dent the ladies must have interrupted their gruesome con- versation. Who cared a straw about the horrid old man's S3Tnptoms and his nasty illness? It made her feel sick to listen to them. He was much better dead. Presently, refreshed by a cup of cold water, served with strawberry juice, and a moderate supply of wafer biscuits, Marie-Antoinette allowed herself to be conducted to her apartments. Terezia followed on tiptoe, all excitement to know where she was to sleep . . . she would insist on a bed. . . ... REVOLUTION 25 Marie- Antoinette had told her that little girls, when pay- ing visits, slept anywhere, where most convenient ; they were given a pillow and a quilt — bon Dieu, they could choose for themselves a sofa (if vacant) or they could lie on the floor or on three chairs, or on the linen chest, ia the wood-box — tiens, little girls slept anywhere. . . . Terezia, after receiving this valuable information one day during their interminable drive, had remained quite silent. Well, anyhow she would marry at her first oppor- tunity. According to mamma, married ladies were given the luxury of beds, and sheets and fine lace and satin quilts and dear little gilt Cupids to hold back the silk bed draper- ies. To gain such grace Terezia felt herself willing to marry the ugly postihon who had lost one eye and who squinted villainously with the one left him. Marie-Antoinette had laughed at her daughter's airs and graces. She had said she was altogether too fastid- ious — the next thing she would demand would be scented baths and toilet powder, and jewels and her box at the opera. What were young girls coming to.'' It was not seemly. Marie-Antoinette preached her homily to deaf ears. Mamma was hopelessly old-fashioned. Terezia had shaken her splendid plaits with a contemptuous toss of her head. Youth stands for much in the eyes of youth, . . . Madame de Boisgaloup's best spare room was quite a fine apartment. Yes, a splendid bed, carved white and gilt wood, green brocade panels and curtains to match; a lovely suite of modern furniture (Louis XVI.), a bu- reau supplied with an oval toilet mirror set in silver, and, in one* corner, a commode with a china basin — the size of a small rose-bowl — and- a ewer to match. "How charming," said Marie-Antoinette. "And even flowers." Against the white paneled walls Madame de Boisgaloup had set a big jardiniere of white roses and red carnations. "I thought you'd like them, dear Marie-Antoinette," said the widow, applying her enormous handkerchief io ^6 TORCHLIGHT her bright little eyes. "They arrived this morning with M. de Listenay's compliments. He has such taste. They were intended for my poor dear Antoine. He'd mistaken the day. The cemetery is such a long way off, and I thought you would appreciate them better than he could. You must see M. de Listenay's famous gardens. They say the queen envies him." "Thank you," murmured Marie- Antoinette. "I appre- ciate the warmth of your heart. Terezia, tliank madame for her great kindness." Terezia curtsied. Madame de Boisgaloup clasped her hands together, hav- ing first folded her handkercliief, and replaced it in her pocket. "Take off your hat, child," she said. Terezia obeyed her. *'And your pelerine. We haven't worn these things for five years in Paris." Marie- Antoinette blushed more hotly than ever. Of all ithings to be accused of being unfashionable ! Sorrow had made the estimable Louise bitter. They would soon rectify [their wardrobes. M. Carrabus had supplied them with a substantial sum of ready money and a munificent letter of credit. She looked at her young daughter dressed in her flow- ered, hooped satin dress of richest brocade; noted her lace under-sleeves, her immaculate throat and her sulky expres- sion. The little one looked tired. "All is light and air in Paris," said the widow. "The thinnest of silks and taffetas are worn ; Chinese crepes and English muslins ; the queen has set a fashion of expensive simplicity. A shower wiU ruin a costly dress in a few moments. The dressmakers are doing a wonderful trade. Thanks to the genius of dear M. Calonne — he is longing to make your acquaintance — we are again rich in France, incomparably rich! Calonne is a veritable conjurer. My dear, he arrived in the nick of time. There were stories about — terrible stories — people dying of starvation " 'God help them !" murmured Marie- Antoinette. m REVOLUTION 27 "Menacing the king's majesty, insulting the nobles. And the nobles themselves are at their wits* end for ade- quate supplies. They have had, in a great many cases, to sell their personal effects, their silver, their jewels, and they have parted with their daughters for next to nothing. If you cannot provide a dot you cannot expect a match, you must take what offers. Incredible stories " She paused for breath. "But you must be tired — I will leave you, dear Marie- Antoinette. Supper will be ready at ten o'clock." "You are too kind," said Marie-Antoinette, conducting her friend to the door, who whispered in her ear, "My con- gratulations. She is lovely. It is a thousand pities my mourning prevents me from introducing her into society. It would have been such a pleasure. Twelve! Impos- sible!" "Terezia is well grown for her age," said Marie- Antoi- nette with placid satisfaction. "I married at fifteen." "That is over-young. No girl ought to marry before sixteen." "Terezia will marry long before that, and to tell you the truth" (she lowered her voice), "I will not hinder the child from making a suitable marriage. She is terribly headstrong and already gives me untold anxiety. Every man who sees her loves her." "And she?" "She returns their love — up to a certain point, of course." "My poor friend !" Madame de Boisgaloup blew a kiss through the chinlc of the door. "Au revoir, mes cheres amies." Hardly had she closed the door before Terezia, on the point of bursting into tears, called, in suffocating accents, "Christina! Where are you, Christina?" A tiny door in the paneling opened unexpectedly. Chris- tina ran hurriedly towards her nursling. "What is it, precious?" Her tone was all anxiety, all sympathy. "Where am I to sleep, Christina?" sobbed Terezia. «1 28 TORCHLIGHT won't sleep in the same bed as mamma. She always rolls on me " '"There, there," said Christina. "Come, I will show 3^ou. It is a lovely little virgin bower, and when I get the window opened it will smell as fresh as a May morning." Terezia quickly followed the maid through the little paneled door and found herself in a good-sized cupboard, arranged with hooks and wide shelves. Right at the top was a tiny dormer window hung with a little home-spun blind of coarse red and white linen. The top shelf was supplied with a mattress and a pillow. *'Is it a bed.'^" asked Terezia doubtfully. *'What else.?" said Christina stoutly. "And a very comfortable bed, too." CHAPTER IV CHRISTINA was well aware of her young lady's "go- ings on." She knew why her mistress, after four months' residence under the roof of Madame Boisgaloup, took a cordial farewell of her friend, and installed herself in her own appartement. There had been friction on both sides, tears, reproaches, vows, forgiveness (and broken promises galore from Terezia). Georges Boisgaloup had at sight fallen head over ears in love with the brilliant blonde, which was but natural. His younger brother was not slow in contracting the fever, and their rivalry gave infinite delight to Terezia. The bright-eyed widow at last discovered a very apparent situation. She scolded every inmate of her household. The lovers were obliged to meet by stealth, which only added to their delight. Christina knew and held her tongue, and pulled her young lady's hair mercilessly at night. Terezia didn't care. Out she crept to the back garden on every plausible excuse. She liked both brothers impartially, and it was heaven to kiss by moonlight and whisper in terrified accents of the future. . . . Madame de Boisgaloup told Marie- Antoinette her true opinion of her lovely daughter. "She ought to be kept under lock and key," said she. "Indeed, yes," said Marie-Antoinette. "Didn't I tell you the very first evening that she's a handful?" "More than a handful," said dear Louise. The docile Terezia was whisked to society functions "to distract her and give her new impressions." She was like wax. The Due de Listenay — the gentleman who had sent her a basket of white roses and carnations by a somewhat unusual channel — fell an easy victim to her charms. He was rich and charming, but beyond allowing him to make 29 30 TORCHLIGHT his intentions extremely plain, Terezia would have none of him — he was too obvious. She recalled her youth. She was too young for an engagement. Mamma agreed. Widow Boisgaloup had a different opinion. The upshot of this disagreement was that the ladies decided to set up their own establishment. "God bless you, dear friend," said Louise, heaving a sigh of relief as she watched the gorgeous new coach of the Carrabus' roll down the ill-paved street. Terezia very gracefully waved her hand to the widow, now less funereal. She had discarded the "weepers" from her head in favor of a lace head-dress including two lace lappets which fluttered gently in the early morning breeze. Marie-Antoinette was busy drying her eyes. Christina, facing her ladies, kept her eyes piously fixed on the slender spire of the Sainte Chapelle. They moved into rooms befitting their station — you may be sure as fine and ornate as money could procure. Terezia — that forward, precocious minx — had insisted on having not only a bed to herself, but also a bedroom ! She delighted herself in furnishing it according to her own taste. The bed — narrow and white as befitted a jeune fille — was nevertheless a decorative object in a room all decoration. I wish you could have seen Terezia's bed- room — she occupied it only for a year and a month or so • — the very walls were garlanded with hand-painted roses, and fat little Cupids smiled from a lofty and exceedingly blue ceiling. The tall windows were draped with lace cur- tains festooned with dashing rosettes of rose satin ribbon ; on the toilette table, en suite, there glittered a whole regi- ment of glass bottles and various toilet implements and painted sachets and silver-gilt brushes. Close to her bed, on its own little pedestal, there was a Sevres lady in painted china — she sat by a table, fast asleep, her little red-slip- pered feet peeping beneath a froth of china lace; her gen- erously-displayed bosom rising from another fall of lace which partly concealed a tiny letter. It was a charming little piece. REVOLUTION 31 The carpet, which almost covered the parquet floor, was as pink as a flowering May tree, woven in one piece with a medalHon centre. The sofas and chairs were of gilded cane, with masses of cushions stuffed with down and cov- ered with ivory satin, a tone darker than the creamy walls. There were brackets on the walls, holding Terezia's select library, and Terezia's souvenirs, and Terezia's collection of fans; a jardiniere filled with flowering plants; and a work-table — a gem — stuffed with rainbow silks and cobweb muslins and thin bright needles and a tiny thimble and a pair of scissors, sharp as anything. Terezia never used her coquet work-table ; it was there to impress her female friends. Of course she received in her bedroom, and she drank her morning chocolate in bed, raising herself on one dim- pled elbow, smiling up at the "darling Cupid" (richly gilt) festooning her lace bed-curtains which were lined with shell-pink muslin. Having finished her chocolate, she would stretch her long fair limbs under the cosy warmth of her pink satin quilt, and maybe play with the edge of her real-lace edged sheet. She was lazy, was Terezia. Often and often Christina would whip like a thunderstorm into her young lady's highly-perfumed chamber and rout her out of bed. "You will get as fat as a pig," she would menace. And Terezia, flushed, warm, indescribably lovely, would seek her absurd little slippers in no time. She did not want "to get fat." A year later, papa, the great financier, arrived in Paris. Terezia met him in a wonderful new dress, swept him a curtsy of truly regal magnificence, had her hair confined to her classic head by two gold daggers, and looked, in short, the perfection of budding womanhood. Papa was immensely pleased. He had had a trying business year. His blue bills still fluttered, but the storai was practically over, the storm of adulation and envy. Only malice sur- vived. His Spanish majesty, backed by some of his chief 32 TORCHLIGHT advisers, was asking questions. M. de Carrabus was seri- ously displeased with his Spanish majesty. Even kings can ask too much, and he (Carrabus) had worked so hard to please everybody. It was indeed a pleasant relaxation to forget vexatious state problems and babble nonsense with his delightful daughter. (He'd see she'd get her dot safe and sound out of the debacle.) He had not been a day in Paris before he had inter- viewed his bankers and arranged matters to his satisfac- tion. I Had Terezia been quite a good little girl during his ab- sence, attended to her lessons, been early to bed and early to rise.f* To all these paternal questions Terezia replied in the affirmative, witli, her engaging yet vastly dishonest smile. Only Christina, the humble watch-dog Christina, knew *'mam'selle" was telling dear papa a pack of falsehoods. The time in Paris had certainly not passed as tran- quilly for Terezia as Carrabus had been given to under- stand. . . . "It is impossible to keep our daughter always at her tasks. I permit her now and again the relaxation of the society agreeable to her. She is fond of dancing and making new acquaintances, and she had a most flatter- ing reception. . . .'* So wrote Marie- Antoinette in her stiff, stilted French. Papa couldn't help admiring his daughter's charming taste and charming room (it was an interieur to please the most fastidious), but he would have preferred greater sim- plicity. He did not want liis girl spoiled. Mamma raised her meek hands at this : — "She spoils herself," said she. Another word of wisdom from the mouth of a fool. [ Papa heard all the news, interviewed some of Terezia's admirers, administered his parental authority, insisted on obedience, religion and love, and considered that money and rank were worth attention from a matrimonial point of view. Then his own affairs called him back to troublesome REVOLUTION 33 Spain. His last evening in Paris was melancholy. Marie- Antoinette wept. Terezia clasped her father's neck with such protesting vigor that he was nigh to choking. "I love you, papa," she murmured. "Stay and take care of your own Terezia." He gently parted the too ardent arms — they were bare and round and firm as mar- ble. "It cannot be, my darling. Live well — take care of yourself," he said hoarsely. BHnd, blind papa! Such needless advice to daughter Terezia. She flung herself at his feet in a pose of ravishing grace — as M. de Fontenay would say — and murmured that if papa left for Spain she'd die, die of sorrow and wounded affection. He looked very concerned. Looking up sharply he dis- covered the placid Marie-Antoinette actually sniffing. *'Stuff and nonsense," said Marie-Antoinette. "It will take more than that to kill our daughter." "Our daughter" — in her ravishing attitude in her cling- ing makeshift robe — she was en deshabille — moaned like a little crushed dove, just a wee pipe, but nevertheless in- finitely touching. The great financier very properly scolded his wife. "Take care of her," he said sternly. "She is of frailer stuff than you." "God knows it," said Marie- Antoinette piously. And here, rising to her full height — like an angel in a cloud of clinging white — Terezia moved across the car- peted floor and embraced her mother very ardently. *'FaLther," she said, "I can trust her. She loves me, even as I love her. ..." There was an irresistible glamor about the young girl. Marie-Antoinette beamed as a midday sun. "Enfin, que voulez-vous?" she said. "She has a heart of gold," and she returned her daughter's embrace warmly. CHAPTER V GEORGES DE BOISGALOUP sat with his head In his hands, hterally stunned. Terezia's letter fluttered at his feet. He was unconscious of the August heat, uncon- scious of time, unconscious of everything, except that Terezia was — married. If he had been on the spot this would never have happened ! She had been forced against her will to marry an ogre — his beautiful princess, the only girl he would ever love ! His life was over and done with . . . a fly tickled his nose, he whipped it passionately aside, another fly, hundreds of flies buzzed on the clouded window-panes, on the whitewashed walls, on the huge black slate, on the Doctor's pulpit, on his long black robe, hang- ing on a tarnished peg. It was insufl'erably close and hot, and the air was none too pure. Ventilation was undreamed of in the days prior to the Revolution. . . . How his thoughts chased each other — he remembered their first meeting — her shyness, her sweetness, her infinite variety . . . their first kiss . . . their last kiss . . . his mother's insensate anger and Terezia's surprising fortitude in the hour of peril. Then, as a menacing shadow, he saw his younger brother — she'd never wavered in her faith (he smiled wearily). He believed in her through thick and thin, in spite of much incriminating evidence he held to her stoutly — she could do no wrong . . . and then, owing to this hateful business of study, they had to part, to live on promises, to starve on hope — damned hope! He bent down and picked up the scented missive. With trembling lips he deciphered her somewhat immature writing. . . . "Georges, I am in despair, but circumstances be- yond my control have hurried this marriage. I can truth- 34 REVOLUTIOlSr 35 fully say that in marrying M. de Fontenay I can give him both my Respect and Esteem, but as you know my heart is not in the matter. I will always love you. Think of Terezia kindly . . . and if we meet? No, no! under the circumstances it would be insupportable ! My life is made ; my heart is broken. Of what account is my poor beauty except that it has given you, my cherished friend, some pleasure.'' My appearance no longer satisfies me — I am weary of everything on earth. Let us suffer together and bravely face our Destiny. "Terezia de Carrabus Fontenay." The hot tears welled in Georges' blue eyes. He had a fair and gentle appearance; slim and very tall^ he gave one the impression of delicacy. In reality he was strong as steel. He heard footsteps behind him. He rose hastily to his feet and met the half-cynical, half-siilky glance of his class- mate, Bonaparte. For some unknown reason he had taken a fancy to the thin, unpopular Corsican. There was something in the grip of his comrade's hand which thrilled Georges. Napoleon was poor and underfed, and yet he got through more solid work than any other youth at the Academy. He never boasted of his endurance. He never opened his lips unless he was obliged to — there was some- thing sinister about his appearance. Bonaparte laid his hand on Georges' shoulder. "Take it calmly whatever it is," he said, "and above all, try and conceal j^our feelings. You'll never get on in the world if you don't." "I don't care what happens to me," said Georges, brusquely. Napoleon sat down astride a chair, and folded his arms across the back — under lowering brows he stared at Georges. "Love is of no consequence at eighteen." The other started — "How dare you- 5» "Why tell me? Your secret is no secret." 36 TORCHLIGHT "I'll make a clean breast of it." He opened his left hand and showed Napoleon a little crushed letter, written on tinted paper with violet ink; it was faintly reminiscent of the scent of violets. "I adore her. This is to tell me that she is married. A simple enough story, and I daresay you will be inclined to laugh. If so, kindly do it behind my back." "I don't want to laugh. Why should I.^^ All women are alike." "Excuse me, you know nothing about the matter. This lady" — he tapped and carefully refolded Terezia's letter and placed it in his pocket-book — "is entirely original." "Is she beautiful.?" Georges nodded. "Is she young.''" Georges nodded. "Witty.?" "Yes !" "She returns your love.?" Georges bit his lips. "And you tell me she is original! Why, my dear Bois- galoup, she is as old as Eve." "Your reasoning wearies me. I ask you to respect my confidence." "I never speak unnecessarily." He dropped his arms and stood erect — a lean little figure. There were dark shadows round his eyes. "You have occasionally stood my friend." "That was nothing," said Boisgaloup, his fair skin red- dening. "It is an infernal shame to make fun of you." "It doesn't in the least affect me." "No.?" "I am here to learn. I shall be able to retaliate pres- ently. I have the instincts." "Much good they do you !" "Monsieur de Soissons is six foot three " The other smiled. "You won there. No one but I would back you against such odds." REVOLUTION 37 "You are very kind." "Don't be satirical. It is one of your worst traits. To tell you the truth, that is why the fellows don't like you. Whenever you can you ridicule them. You are clever enough to hurt them." "You are very kind." "There you are again! I'll have nothing to do with you ! Fight your own battles." Georges put his hands in his pockets, and glared at the great window. Bonaparte strode up and down the class-room. He kicked over a stool, and great was the clatter thereof. *'If you knew how I despised all your little prejudices, and your insufferable arrogance," he said, coming to a stand- still — his whole face aflame. "You are all as blind as bats. You see nothing, because you refuse to listen to reason. And the storm is coming. There will be a wild stampede one day and you will pray for your leader " "Ho, ho," sneered Boisgaloup, thorouglily aroused. "Whv don't you come forward and apply for the situa- tion?" Bonaparte leaned over Georges. "I wiU," he said. Boisgaloup bowed ironically. "I hope you'll conde- scend to offer me a post under you.'"' "I will." "A thousand thanks." Bonaparte yawned. "Forgive my plain speaking. Your acting is the feeblest stuff I have ever seen. I believe in your real side. Even in this tragic love affair you have my warmest sympathy." Boisgaloup lost all command of himself. He flung out his hand and rushed headlong out of the room. Bonaparte looked after him. For two or three minutes he stood immovable as a stone image. Then he turned and walked over to his desk. When the class, summoned by the great bell, some two hours later, filed into the hall they found him poring over his books. Soissons spoke to him, and received nothing but a glassy stare. Another youth 38 TORCHLIGHT humorously caught hold of his quill, and sent it spurting across in the direction of the learned Doctor's desk. "Wake up, old Methuselah!" he shouted in his ear. Na- poleon opened his pen-box and searched for another pen. The Doctor rapped his desk. "Silence, gentlemen!" CHAPTER VI TXZE have marched a year ahead. Much has happened, ^ * and the pot is still seething. There is talk in high places ; secret missions ; secret assignations — even the queen has lost some of her tranquil dairymaid calm. She still plays at butter-making, but she frequently looks to the door . . . the door is locked. Admittance only on parole. Unnecessary precaution — a game en plus, so says the fat and tranquil Louis — he has a noble, yea, a kingly presence, but sometimes (even as she loves him) the queen doubts him — no, not him — his methods. She has even tried to wake him up. "The times are bad — a little more energy, a spark more of royal contempt, of Bourbon pride, Louis ; it would not hurt and it might help matters." So speaks the queen. His majesty smiles. In two strides he covers her pri- vate boudoir — a tiny place, all gilding, festoons, and mir- rors — and the queen watches him narrowly in her looking- glass — he is administering justice to the dauphin; in make-belief wrath he asks the meaning of his royal high- ness's impertinence? His royal highness laughs the louder; he is not afraid of the king. "Is that as you would have it?" says Louis, floundering down on a tiny sofa and wiping his heated brow. "There is a storm brewing." He taps his chest. "I can hardly breathe. Come here, you little vagabond ! The king must be obeyed. . . . You see, your majesty, how they treat me? — it Is worrying." He turns towards the queen who is busy writing at her little desk. 39 40 TORCHLIGHT "What are you doing there, madame?" "I am writing to my father." "I beg of you to send him my greetings." The queen looks up. There is the shadow of some awful calamity in her eyes. The king perceives that she is not herself. He lumbers up from the sofa, crosses the room on tiptoe, and, bending down, he puts his arm around her neck. Then he pats her on the back with fatherly good-nature. "Whatever happens we have each other and the chil- dren, and Madame Elizabeth. God is good." The queen drops her little pen. She leans her proud head against her husband's shoulder and bursts into tears. "It is the weather," he says consolingly, "only the weather. . . ." For once his majesty was right. The weather broke that night in a pitiless hailstorm. Never in the memory of man had there been such a storm. In and round about Paris the damage done was frightful. It was the month of July, and the corn was ripening for harvest. The fields were swept clean as if an army of locusts had passed over them — the proud grain was beaten and laid level with the earth. The storm broke over Paris at her gayest hour — just before midnight. . . . Hist! listen! Down poured the deluge and the wind piped high and heat- flashes (corn lightning) lit the blackened sky. One saw and yet one did not see. The gutters ran with water; children shrieked in terror, dishevelled women ran out on the streets peering here — peering there — where were their husbands in their hour of need? It was God's punishment. And the storm grew in fury ; the hailstones rattled down the ill-paved streets — the gutters ran as rivers, and blue lightning lit the torrid sky. With it all a stifling, brood- ing, intolerable heat. There were many homeless people in Paris that night, starving people who had wandered in from the great by- ways ; there was no food in the country, and they were here to look for work, stalwart, patient men, and women REVOLUTION '41 less patient. The women were the most blasphemous — wicked, obscene language floated over the heads of their hungry little ones. Work? Where could they find it? Terezia was frightened. She lay trembling on her velvet couch, shutting her eyes. The curtains were drawn, wax lights blazed on madame*s toilet-table, and over madame's fuU-length dress mirror. "Put them out," she commanded. "Where is Claire? If only Claire was here I would feel much safer." The hail tore at the spacious gardens of the Chateau de Fontenay ; delicate shrubs were literally plucked up by the roots and flung on high ; on the slate roof of the castle the huffe stones beat a merciless tattoo. "I am frightened," moaned Terezia. "Try and go to sleep," said Christina, who sat in one corner of the big room, by a shaded lamp, tranquilly but- ton-holing a cambric jacket. She looked older than of yore. Christina had passed through troubled waters. M. Carrabus' inability to keep in office (and his incidental flight) had surprised and pained her. Madame de Carrabus was no longer in Paris. Six months ago she had left France to join her husband. She had refused to take Christina with her. "Someone must stay behind and look after our daughter," she had said. Christina sighed as she drew her needle in and out of the delicate fabric. Her eyes had grown very keen of late. She bitterly regretted this gift of sight. She had been given to understand — by many disgraceful circumstances — that Terezia was — well, not a model of all the virtues. It hurt Christina; she felt less pride in the marquise's beauty now she know that it was alHcd to many paltry and ignoble traits of character. She had let her mother go, trembling, horrified — half realizing the bitterness of per- sonal disgrace, but without the flimsiest pretence of grief. True, young madame had at the time been much taken up with a ro^^al masquerade ; she was one of the patronesses of the ball and had felt her responsibility. . . . And all the 42 TORCHLIGHT love she protested — and all the love she wasted! If ever there was a stem old maid it was Christina. The spectacle of her mistress's unlicensed love affairs had taught her to hate men. Thej were all alike so she told herself — im- worthy of an honest woman's respect. . . . She kept her tongue in bounds by sheer force of habit. She had promised Marie-Antoinette to look after "her darling." . . . Christina smiled grimly and bit off her thread. A baby's sobbing brought her instantly to her feet. Christina flung down her work and ran across the yielding carpet (all was luxury in madame's bedroom), and bent down, cooing, smiling, adoringly over an oraate cradle. The cradle was very gilt, very lacey, very pink (madame had made up her mind she would have a daughter, if only to bestow upon her the incomparable inheritance of beauty). "The little wretch, he is always howling. Take him away," said Terezia, fretfully, half-turning on the sofa, and half-opening her eyes. "I was sleeping." "My precious !" said Christina. She took up the baby and cuddled him close to her spare bosom. "I wish he had been yours. Listen, Christina!" (the wind howled) . "I know I shall go mad !" Terezia sat up and passed her hand across her dry eyes. Christina, still holding the baby, walked over to his mother and put him down in her lap. He was not a beautiful specimen; wizened, with great big reproachful eyes. Terezia had not treated him well. Prior to his birth it had been impossible for her to remember her condition — and then — ugh, wasn't he his father's child? Terezia on the very day of his birth — a month ago — had detected a similarity of expression. And though the poor little mite had been born with a crop of dense black hair, he had already begun to grow down of a reddish tint. "Every day he grows more ugly — more re- pellent." Terezia never minced her words. Women of her (disposition revel in adjectives. When she was happy she REVOLUTION 43 was "gloriously happy," when unhappy (a frequent state of affairs) "there was no more miserable wretch in the kingdom." The two states knew no intermediate line. Like her beauty her mood was flamingly apparent. Maternity suited Madame la marquise de Fontenay (old Ravoral had breathed a sigh of relief when he'd paid her his first visit of congratulation). She had risen from her confinement with a skin of such dazzling purity and eyes of such extraordinary brilliancy that her very physi- cal perfection astounded her friends. Terezia touched the baby. He had stopped crying and was smiling as if half realizing a rare treat. "Poor little thing," she said. "How funny it seems to be so tiny. Look at his hands" (she uncurled his fingers), "they are really rather sweet." Christina beamed. "You'll grow to love him yet." "Christina, you are an old fool. Why will you believe in me.'"' "For old times' sake." The girl-mother nodded and tickled her son's neck. "Once upon a time I was a dear little girl," she told him, "so obedient (was I ever obedient, Christina .P), so prim, so painstaking. Here, take him, Christina — ^he is so hot. Don't look like a thunder-cloud. Ai! there is something struck!" She jumped to her feet, flew across the room and pushed back the heavy curtains. "I can't see any- thing. It is horribly dark." A vivid sheet of lightning played above the dense woods ; in an instant and for an instant the whole grounds were lit up. Across the courtyard clattered a pair of horsemen — darkness. Terezia had, however, glimpsed M. de Fontenay. "It serves him right," she said. "Won't he be in a rage ! He is as frightened of water as a cat. I expect they are drenched to the bone, I hope he will stay in bed and let Charles cosset him, and you can brew him one of your famous drinks — as long as I don't see him. Christina . . . U TORCHLIGHT Christina ! I refuse to be left alone ! Where are you go- ing to?" "It is time for his milk. Charlotte! Charlotte!" She went through the big door calling for *'that lazy baggage — the wet nurse. . . ." Of course the women were bound to quarrel. Christina was ludicrously jealous of Charlotte's enormous privileges. It rather amused Terezia — that is to say when she was utterly at a loss for amusement. Now she stood listening, one finger to her lips. She was thinking hard. Then she smiled. "I'U chance it," she said. "Life is too horribly dull — I adore thrills and excitement, and why, to please one man's insensate temper, should I shut myself up as a hermit? I have given him a son. My conscience is perfectly en regie — I can afford my little pleasures . . . mori tres cher Adolf." She seated herself at her pretty writing-table and fever- ishly scribbled a note, presumably to her "tres cher Adolf." Her heart beat rapidly. She felt intensely alive. The little letter, which she presently addressed in a careful hand, was packed full with lies and passion. She wrote a very good love-letter considering she only worked from imagination. She lay down presently on her chaise longtie — face down- wards on the little soft feather pillow, sprinkled with riolet perfume. Her long limbs were stretched in slothful repose. With a gentle beat of her finger-tips she made her calcu- lations — if no untoward incident occurred she was as safe as le petit Georges . . . she passed her tongue over splen- did lips . . . until to-morrow was a whole eternity. Suddenly as it had begun, the hailstorm ceased. Terezia fell fast asleep. And the little note, which she had so artistically penned, inconsiderately slipped from her hand to the floor. Monsieur le mari — half out of a sense of duty and half out of suspicion — as soon as he had donned dry clothes and drunk a cup of hotdllon, knocked at madarae's door; get- REVOLUTION 45 ting no answer, he boldly entered the room, walking, in his comfortable velvet slippers, as noiselessly as a cat across the floor. He stopped by madame's couch, and watched her flushed face, the smile of her half-opened "rosebud" mouth. (He did not flatter himself that she was dream- ing agreeably of her "great big tyrant.") By chance his eyes fell away from madame's enchantingly rounded elbow to the side of the sofa ; noticing a letter on the floor, he picked it up ; he looked at it, and pocketed it. Then, silently as he had entered, monsieur made his departure. Terezia, needless to say, when she discovered her loss and her "indescribable folly," worked herself up into a state of feverish excitement. Practical Christina soothed her as well as she might. "It is very late, long past midnight. Nothing can be done to-night. Just you go to sleep, like a dear child. The angels will watch over you." "Nonsense! What do I care about the angels.'' You must make inquiries at once." "And awaken suspicion?" "Find out who has stolen my letter. It's is positively indecent the way I am treated in my own house ! I am sur- rounded by spies, by enemies — by monsieur's inflexible hatred. He hates me! It is his only joy to cause me pain." Christina threw back the sheets on the great bed. Then she took forcible hold of the excited marchioness (aged just sixteen), and with considerable muscular power assisted her into bed. "I won't answer a single question," she said sternly. "I'll never help you again as long as you live if you don't do as I tell you. Take it calmly, madame.'* Terezia, looking very dejected, said Christina was a brute, and that she truly and honestly disliked her, and that she had long suspected her of being heartless. Christina meanwhile was quietly folding her mistress's clothes and putting the room in order. Terezia sat up in bed. "You are not even listening to me. It is the very height of insolence! I will make my 46 TORCHLIGHT arrangements. M. de Lameth will protect me. He adores me." *'When will jou realize the folly of putting pen to paper?" Christina blew out the lights on the dressing- table. "What do you mean?" "There may be a duel." "A duel ! A duel ! M. de Fontenay can storm and back- bite and kick up fearful rows, but he'd never hazard an honest fight, I know my man." "After all, madame, he is a gentleman." "Come here, Christina, and I will tell you something which I always meant to keep to myself because I am so ashamed of the whole disgraceful affair. Nearer. I am not going to shout." Christina bent over her and buttoned madame's fragile nightdress. "What is it?" "Such a scandal. So much for his boasted lineage!" (she snapped her fingers). "You remember the story of his family jewels?" "Yes, madame." "You are not in a witness-box, or in a church. Don't be so stiff, Christina. I am sorry I was nasty just now. You are not a brute, really. Forgive me." "There, there, my precious. I would do anything in the world for you, if you would only be good." "I promise faithfully " Christina sighed and regarded her "little baby" with an exquisite and rare smile. After all, why should she con- demn her, sinful as she was? Youth and beauty have their privileges. Terezia fondled the faithful creature's hand. "It is all a fraud," she said. "He is only a mushroom marquis — the son of a low tradesman, and the grandson of a lacquey. He bought the title, he bought the jewels, he bought me !" She nodded her head. "It is every bit true. Isn't it awful? Christina, dear Christina, you'll send a message to M. LongueviUe? He is my only friend. I can trust him. REVOLUTION 47 He respects me, and he's very sorry for my abominable position. Though I knew nothing, it was an open secret at the time of our marriage. And how he boasted, and mamma too, of his splendid position and fortune. I don't believe he has even got money. I am sure he is crippled by debts ; or else he is the meanest monster alive. Is it any wonder I despise and hate him? I am so young." Christina bit her lips and scowled. "I always felt there was something wrong. You will be revenged yet. Take my word for it." "How?" "How can I say? I am no sorceress." 'I wish you were ; then you could turn him into a tad- pole and drown him comfortably in the pond, and no one would accuse j^ou of murder. If a man behaves as a toad, why shouldn't he be treated as a toad? Monsieur de Fon- tenay has behaved infamously." "Who has told you all this?" "Monsieur de Ravoral." "Just like his impertinence. Can't he mind his own business?" "He knew we were always quarrelling." "A fine way of making peace." *'He acted for the best. I have a clear cf^se against mon- sieur le marquis ; I'll divorce him for incompatibility of temper." (She yawned.) "I am awfully sleepy. Good night, dear Christina. I feel much calmer. Get word to Monsieur Longueville, and I will forgive everything." She banged at her pillow — "It Is hard." (Christina shook it.) "That is better. Of course, when I was asleep DevIn crept into the room and stole my letter. That is perfectly clear. He'll have no scruples about reading it." She laughed heartily. "Oh, Christina, it Is such a letter! I expect his hair will be green to-morrow — Chris- tina? " "Go to sleep.'» "In a minute. Is the door bolted to the passage?" "Yes." 48 TORCHLIGHT "To the nursery?" "No." "Then for mercy's sake lock it carefully. There is murder in the air." "Good-night." "Good-night. . . . How I wish I had Adolf here to protect me . . ." she called drowsily. "The idea!" snapped Christina. CHAPTER VII ly/T ID-DAY — a week later. Monsieur de Fontenay is ■^'-^ standing very erect by the ornate chimney-piece in his own magnificent salon. On her knees Terezia — Terezia very smart in an "adorable costume" (to quote herself), wlute organdie muslin, patterned with tiny pink rosebuds, over a white satin slip ; a wide sash of blue silk, touching her little high-heeled, buckled shoes ; her hair ar- ranged in a profusion of curls, golden, perfumed, glisten- ing; on her wrist, dangling by blue ribbons, to match her sash, a wide Leghorn hat trimmed with shaded pink roses — in her eyes a mutinous and yet imploring expression. ". . . See, I kneel to you," she said. "I ask your par- don — only let me out ! For one week I have suffered ex- cruciating agony. I feel I am dying. For one week you have kept me literally behind lock and key and made the most frightful insinuations against my character. In reality there lives no better woman in France." Terezia ended her speech, and raised imploring eyes to the ornate ceiling. Then she sighed profoundly — doubled up as it were (an extraordinarily pliant woman), she al- most touched the floor with her golden curls, and let the *'most adorable hat in Paris" trail in the dust. This last is but a figure of speech to represent Terezia's Incalculable self-pity — there was not a particle of dust in madame's salon. Flowers, pretty furniture, lovely pictures, a miniature library, a harp (of course), and an ivory and gold harp- sichord — if only the spirit of harmony and love had reigned In this charming room, what an enviable frame it would have been for a pretty woman! 49 50 TORCHLIGHT The fly in the ointment was very apparent. The fly In this case was red-headed, apoplectic and domineering, sneering — Insufferably superior. "No," he said icily. "I am going to be master in my own house ! As you cannot, madame, behave properly, you must be taught manners. I won't be made the laugh- ing-stock of all Paris." Devin stroked his bristly moustache, and stamped his feet. "I did no wrong. You yourself admit the letter was . , . (sobs) never . . . delivered." "Get up from the floor, and don't whine. Who has paid for that dress? I married a pauper, the daughter of a common swindler " "You fiend !" She rose with surprising agility, sprang forward, and with her little hand wide outspread, she soundly boxed monsieur's very visible ears. Lord, a bully cannot stand a straight attack! Tere- zla's heart contracted, at first, in terror at her dramatic effort and then leaped In bubbling dehght at the effect of her action. Monsieur collapsed like a spent bubble ; he shivered. "Don't," he said. "For mercy's sake remember your dignity — and mine." His teeth chattered. The roses in Terezia's cheeks matched the roses on her garlanded hat. "You to lecture me," she said slowly, towering over the little man. "I have long known the truth — of this, par exemple." (She stroked a jeweled brooch set as a basket with different precious stones which she wore at her breast.) . . . "An heirloom once in the possession of Marie de Rohan — a brooch of great intrinsic worth, but of still greater sentimental value." She turned and looked out of the great French window on to a high terrace — a wide sweep of landscape garden below, bathed in July sunshine. "And this old family estate, sacred to many memories " She looked monsieur straight in the face. "Behold the owner of all this splendor — the signeur steeped in noble traditions — the representative of a famous REVOLUTION 51 name — ^You see I remember. I really have quite a good memory." The blood receded from de Fontenay's face. His eyes bulged, and his lips trembled. If his life had depended on it he could not have answered the beautiful, mocking creature. "You made a fool of me," she said calmly. "Had I loved you I would have been furious. As it happens it is for me a matter of complete indifference. I would have loathed you just as much had you been the son of a hun- dred heroes instead of the child of a sausage manufac- turer. Marseilles, I believe? Sausages must have been popular — or haven't you paid for the jewels and the chateau? Don't tell me any tiling. In any case I wouldn't believe you." "You may sneer, madame. My father was an honest citizen. His excellency, the Comte de Carrabus " "My father is a good man." *'A fraudulent banker " 'He created joy " "On the brink of a precipice- "Some of us are bound to go over. Papa had the mis- fortune to miscalculate his distance." "A common felon, madame." "Remember I am his daughter !" *'A disreputable " "The most beautiful woman in France ! And I take it the saints forgive my behavior — nay, encourage it. It is their way of making amends for my deplorable mar- riage. . . ." She folded her hands very piously. "Have I not shown heavenly resignation to an unkind fate?" She leaned over towards him. "Now are we even," she whispered, and touched him lightly on his arm. "Let me go my own way, and I will never breathe the word sausages again. I will wear the Rohan jewels in perfect good faith ■ — I will, to my friends, speak kindly of my good-natured husband. . . . Hein? Is it a bargain, my great big tyrant?" 52 TORCHLIGHT He stroked his moustache. "It is all a lie " "I'll agree — on condition " "What do you want" Madame pointed her finger to a delightful carriage, which at that moment swept past the window, and dropped a deep curtsy. "I want monsieur's gracious permission to drive into Paris to meet my friends. Monsieur will remember that Madame Vigee Lebrun is at present en- gaged in painting my portrait — it is most important that the sittings are continued." "On condition you return home to-night." "I make no conditions." "I won't have it !" She drew on her soft kid glove, smootliing it carefully on her arm. "You can be quite at ease. I am staying with the Cardilacs. Claire insists on it. She is a great dear, is little Claire. I love her." She sighed. "It is a perfect day. I intend to have a lovely time. Au revoir, my dear Devin. Look after le petit Georges. He was crying for you last night." He could not find words to answer her superb Insolence. He not only let her go, but he conducted her to her car- riage — waving the grim Christina aside, and folding the rug about her delicate dress. Terezia was in the seventh heaven of delight. She could not help beckoning Christina on the off-side of the car- riage and whispering in her ear: "He is a vile little toad and I have squashed him to jelly. "_ Christina scowled so ferociously at this remark that the very coachman, who happened to look round, almost