“Monsieur!” repeated the good Bailly, who presided over the Assembly; “what monsieur?”

  “Monsieur, the brother of the king,” replied the usher.

  At these words the members of the Commune looked at one another. The name of Monsieur had been in everybody’s mouth since break of day.

  Bailly cast an inquiring glance round the Assembly, and since the silent answers he gathered from the faces of his companions were unanimous, he said:

  “Go, announce to Monsieur that, however much astonished at the honour he is conferring upon us, we are ready to receive him.”

  Some moments after Monsieur was introduced.

  He was alone; his face was pale, and his walk, generally slovenly, this evening was more so than usual.

  By good luck for Monsieur, the lights were so placed as to leave a small space partially in the dark. This circumstance did not escape the observation of Monsieur. As yet he looked timidly on this immense reunion, where he found, at least respect, if not sympathy, and with a voice trembling at first, but which acquired firmness by degrees:

  “Gentlemen,” said he, “the desire to contradict a vile calumny has brought me amongst you. M. de Favras was arrested by your Committee of Inquiry, and they spread the report to-day that I was leagued with him.”

  Some smiles flitted across the faces of his auditors.

  He continued: “In my quality of citizen of the City of Paris, I thought it was my duty to let you know from myself the relations in which I stand to M. de Favras.”

  As we may easily imagine, the attention of messieurs the members of the Commune redoubled; they were about to hear, from the very lips of Monsieur himself, what relations his highness had with M. de Favras.

  His highness continued in these terms:

  “In 1772 M. de Favras entered my Swiss guard; he left them in 1775. I have never spoken to him since that time.”

  A murmur of incredulity passed through the audience, but a glance from Bailly repressed this murmur, and Monsieur remained in doubt as to whether his speech was approved or disapproved.

  Monsieur went on: “Deprived for now many mouths of the enjoyment of my revenues, rendered uneasy by certain payments which I have to make in January, I wished to be able to meet my engagements without having to apply to the public treasury. I had resolved, consequently, to obtain money on mortgage. Fifteen days ago M. de Favras was pointed out to me by M. de la Chatre as a man likely to be able to effect it through a banker of Genes. I therefore signed a bill for two millions, the sum necessary to meet my engagements at the beginning of the year and to pay for my house. This matter was purely a financial one and I told my steward to look after it. I have not seen M. de Favras, I have not written to him; what he has done in other matters is wholly unknown to me.”

  A sneer passed through the ranks of the Commune, which showed that they were not disposed to believe, on Monsieur’s word alone, that he had placed bills for two millions in the hands of another without seeing him, and through an agent, and, above all, that agent one of his old guard.

  Monsieur blushed, and without doubt urged on by the consciousness of being in a false position, said, in a lively manner, “And yet, gentlemen, I heard that there was distributed yesterday, throughout the capital, a paper conceived in these terms.”

  And Monsieur read — which was useless, since all there knew it by heart — the letter which we have before given.

  At the words, “Monsieur, the brother to the king, was at the head,” all the members of the Commune bowed.

  Did they wish to imply that they were of the same opinion as the circular: Did they simply mean they were listening?

  Monsieur continued: “You do not expect that I should defend myself against a charge like this; but at a time when calumnies of which every one must see the absurdity may easily confound the best citizens with the enemies of the revolution, I have thought it my duty, gentlemen, both to the king, to you, and myself, to enter into the details which you have just heard, in order that public opinion may recognise the truth at once. Since the day when, in the second assembly of great men, I declared myself on the great questions which still cause some division of opinion, I have not ceased to believe that a great revolution was ready, and that the king, through his virtues and superior rank, ought to be at the head of it, since it could not be of advantage to the nation without being equally so to the monarch.”

  Although the sense was not very clear in these last expressions, yet the habit they had acquired of applauding some forms of words caused them to applaud these.

  Encouraged by this, Monsieur raised his voice, and added, addressing the Assembly with a little more assurance:

  “Until they can bring forward one of my actions, one of my speeches, which contradicts, in any way, the principles I have professed — until they can show that the happiness of both king and people has not been my constant thought, my every wish — I have the right to be believed. I have changed neither sentiments nor principles, and I never shall change!”

  The Mayor of Paris replied: “Monsieur, it is a matter of great satisfaction to the representatives of the Commune of Paris to see amongst them the brother of a cherished king, and of a king who is the restorer of French liberty! August brothers! the same sentiment unites you! Monsieur showed himself the first citizen ready to vote fur the Third Estate in the second Assembly: he was nearly the only one of this opinion, save a few friends of the people. Monsieur, then, is the first author of civil equality. In coming to mix with the representatives of the Commune, he has shown, to-day, that he only wishes to be known through his patriotic sentiments. These sentiments consist of the explanation which Monsieur has just made to the Assembly. The prince comes before public opinion, and citizens value the opinion of their fellow-citizens. I offer Monsieur, then, in the name of the Assembly, the tribute and respect which it owes to the sentiments and the presence of his royal highness, and particularly to the value he attaches to men being free.”

  Then, when Monsieur understood, without doubt, that in spite of the praise bestowed on his conduct by Bailly, it would be differently judged afterwards, he replied, with that paternal air which he knew so well how to assume, whenever he thought it would answer:

  “Gentlemen, the duty I have just fulfilled has been a painful one for a virtuous heart, but I am sufficiently compensated by the sentiments which the Assembly have so kindly expressed towards me, and my mouth ought only to be opened to ask pardon for those who have offended me.”

  Monsieur had thus performed his part of the counsel which he had given to his brother Louis XVI.

  He had thrown off M. de Favras, and as we have seen, owing to the praises of the virtuous Bailly, the scheme had been successful.

  Louis XVI., or hearing this, determined, on his side, to swear fidelity to the constitution.

  One fine morning the usher came and told the President of the Assembly, who on this day was M. Bureaux de Pusey, just as the usher had reported Monsieur to the mayor — that the king, with one or two ministers and three or four officers, knocked at the door of the manege as Monsieur had knocked at the door of the Hotel de Ville.

  The representatives of the people looked astonished. What could the king have to say to them, after being for so long separated from them?

  They caused Louis XVI. to be introduced, and the president gave him up his arm-chair.

  All at once the saloon resounded with acclamations! All France, except Petion, Camille Desmoulins and Marat, believed that it was once more loyal. The king had wished to come and felicitate the Assembly upon what it had effected — to praise this beautiful division of France into departments; but what he could no longer suppress was the great love he entertained for the constitution.

  The commencement of the discourse caused some uneasiness, the middle was gratifying, but the end — the end brought out all the enthusiasm of the Assembly.

  The king could not resist expressing his love for this little constitution of 1791, which was not as yet even born; what would he do, then, when he saw it some day full grown?

  We cannot give the discourse of the king; there are six pages of it; it is quite enough to have quoted that of Monsieur. As much as there is, however, Louis XVI. did not seem too wordy to the Assembly, which was often moved to tears.

  When we say that it was moved to tears, we do not say so metaphorically — Barnave, Lameth, Dupont, Mirabeau, Barrere, all wept. It was quite a deluge.

  The king left — but the king and the Assembly could not part so; it came out after him and hastened to the Tuileries, where the queen received it.

  The queen, the stern daughter of Maria Theresa, was no enthusiast — she did not weep; she presented her son to the deputies of the nation.

  “Gentlemen,” said she, “I share all the sentiments of the king. Here is my son! I shall not neglect to teach him, in good time, to imitate the virtues of the best of fathers, to respect public liberty, and to maintain the laws, of which I hope he will be the most firm pillar.”

  Now there was a real enthusiasm. They proposed to take the oaths that very instant. They formed themselves into a sitting of the Assembly. First of all the president pronounced the following words:

  “I swear to be faithful to the nation, and to uphold with all my power the constitution decreed by the National Assembly, and accepted by the king.”

  And all the members of the Assembly accepted the oath at once, and raising his hand, each in turn said, “I swear!”

  For the ten days following, the pence of Paris expended itself in balls, fetes, and fireworks. From all parts came news of oaths being taken; all over they were busy swearing; people swore on the Greve, at the Hotel de Ville, in the churches, in the streets, in the public squares: altars were erected to La Patrie — to these they conducted all scholars, and they took the oath, just as if they had been men and understood what was meant by it.

  The Assembly directed a Te Deum to be sung, and there, on the altar, before God, they renewed their oath.

  The king only was not present at Notre Dame, and so did not swear again.

  His absence was remarked, but all were so pleased, so confident, that they were quite satisfied with the first excuse he pleased to give them.

  “Why have you not been to the Te Deum? why have you not sworn like the rest, on the altar of God?” the queen asked, ironically.

  “Because,” was the answer of Louis XVI., “I wish to lie well, and not to forswear myself.”

  The queen breathed. Until then, like the rest, she had believed in the good faith of the king.

  CHAPTER XIX.

  A Gentleman.

  THIS VISIT of the king to the Assembly took place on the 4th of February, 1790.

  Twelve days later — that is to say, in the course of the night of the 17th of the same month, in the absence of the governor of the Chatelet, who had leave to go to Soissons, where his mother was dying — a man presented himself at the gate of the prison, bearing an order signed by the lieutenant of police authorising the visitor to speak, without a witness, to M. de Favras.

  We cannot say whether the order was a forgery or not; but, at any rate, the sub-governor, whom they awoke in order to submit it to him, considered it was all right, and directed him, in spite of the lateness of the hour, to be admitted into the cell of M. de Favras.

  After having issued the proper orders, he returned to his bed to complete the night’s rest which had thus been broken.

  The visitor, under the pretence that in drawing the order from his pocket-book he had dropped an important paper, took the lamp and looked on the floor, just as he saw M. le Sous Directeur of the Chatelet enter his apartment. Then he said he believed he had left it on his dressing-table, and he begged them, in any case, to give it to him before his departure.

  Then, giving the lamp to the chief turnkey, he invited him to conduct him to the cell of M. de Favras.

  The turnkey opened a door, allowed the unknown to pass, and in his turn followed, and shut the last door behind him.

  He seemed to look at the unknown with curiosity as he attended him.

  They descended twelve steps, and found themselves in a subterraneous corridor.

  Then a second door presented itself; it was opened and relocked like the first by the jailer.

  The unknown and his guide found themselves now on a kind of landing, having before them a second flight of steps to descend. The unknown stopped, gazed into the dark corridor, and when he was assured that the obscurity was as solitary as silent:

  “Yon are the chief turnkey, Louis?” asked he.

  “Yes,” replied the jailer.

  “A brother of the American lodge?”

  “Yes.”

  “You have been placed here for these last eight days by a mysterious hand to effect something unknown?”

  “Yes.”

  “You are ready to accomplish this work?”

  “I am ready.”

  “You were to receive your orders from a man?”

  “Yes, of the anointed.”

  “How were you to recognise this man?”

  “By three letters, embroidered on a plastron.”

  “I am that man, look at the three letters.”

  On saying these words, the visitor opened his coat, and showed embroidered on its breast the three letters L. P. D.

  “Master,” said the jailer, bowing, “I am at your service.”

  “Very well; open the cell of M. de Favras, and he ready to obey me.”

  The jailer bowed without answering, and passing on in front, in order to light the way, he stopped before a door.

  “This is it,” he murmured in a low voice.

  The unknown made a sign with his head; the key, already in the lock, turned twice, and the door stood open.

  Although they had taken every precaution to prevent the prisoner’s escape, by putting him in a cell twenty feet under ground, they had not been careless of his comfort. He had a good bed with white curtains. Near this bed was a table, covered with books, pens, ink, and paper, intended, no doubt, to assist him to prepare his defence.

  A lamp crowned all.

  Upon a second table, in a corner, glittered the articles of the toilet, such as had been taken from the dressing-case of the marquis himself.

  M. de Favras slept so soundly, that the door was opened, the unknown approached his bed, and a second lamp was placed on table by the jailer, who withdrew at a gesture of the visitor, without awaking him.

  For a moment the unknown regarded the sleeping man with a profound melancholy, and then, as if remembering that time was precious, he shook the sleeper by the shoulder.

  The prisoner turned, and was at once thoroughly awake, with eyes wide open, like those who are in the habit of sleeping always expecting to be waked to hear bad news.

  “Be composed, M. de Favras,” said the unknown, “it is a friend.”

  For an instant M. de Favras looked at the visitor with an air of doubt which expressed his astonishment that any friend should come to seek him at some eighteen or twenty feet under ground. Then, all at once, recalling his recollections: “Ah!” said he, “the Baron Zanoni.”

  “Myself, dear marquis.”

  Favras smiled, and looking round him, pointed out with his finger a stool which held neither books nor clothes. “Will you sit down?” said he to the baron.

  “My dear marquis, I come to propose a thing that admits of no long discussion, and since we have no time to lose — ”

  “What are you going to propose, my dear baron?”

  “You know they will try you to-morrow.”

  “Yes, I have heard something like that,” replied Favras.

  “You know that the judges before whom you will appear are the same as those who acquitted Augeard and Bezenvul?” “Yes.”

  “Do you know that neither was acquitted except through the intervention of the court?”

  A third time. Favras replied, “Yes,” without there being any perceptible alteration in his voice.

  “Without doubt, you hope the court will do for you what it has done for your predecessors?”

  “Those who have had the honour to assist me in relation to the enterprise that has brought me here ought surely to do something for my sake, M. le Baron. Let what they do be well done.”

  “They have already determined what to do; and I can instruct you as to what course they intend to pursue.”

  Favras did not exhibit any curiosity to know.

  “Monsieur,” continued the visitor, “‘has presented himself at the Hotel de Ville and declared that he did not know you now, that in 1772 you had entered into the guards, and that in 1775 you had left them, and since that time he had never seen you once.”

  Favras bowed his head as a token of acquiescence.

  “As far as regards the king, he not only no more thinks of flying, but on the fourth of the present month he went to the National Assembly and swore to the constitution!”

  A smile passed over Favras’ lips.

  “Do you doubt the truth of this?” asked the baron.

  “I did not say so,” said Favras.

  “Then you will see at once, marquis, that it will not do to reckon on Monsieur, nor on the king either.”

  “Eight! M. le Baron.”

  “You will go before the judges.”

  “You have told me so before.”

  “Yon will be condemned I”

  “It is very likely.”

  “And to death.”

  “It is very possible.”

  And Favras stretched himself out like a man about to receive the last stroke.

  “But,” said the baron, “do you know to what death, my dear marquis?”

  “Are there two kinds of death, dear baron?”

  “There are ten: there are the wheel, hunting, pieces, etc., and for more than a week there has been one which combines them all; as you say, there is but one now — the pillows!’“

  “The gallows!”

  “Yes, the Assembly, having proclaimed equality before the law, have found it but just to proclaim equality in death. Nobles and peasants must now go out of the world through the same gate. You will be hung, my dear marquis.”