patriots.
“Let no one slip through your fingers, citizen Bibot,” Marat admonished with grim earnestness. “That accursed Englishman is cunning and resourceful, and his impudence surpasses that of the devil himself.”
“He’d better try some of his impudence on me!” commented Bibot with a sneer, “he’ll soon find out that he no longer has a Ferney to deal with. Take it from me, citizen Marat, that if a batch of aristocrats escape out of Paris within the next few days, under the guidance of the d—d Englishman, they will have to find some other way than the Porte Montmartre.”
“Well said, citizen!” commented Marat. “But be watchful tonight…tonight especially. The Scarlet Pimpernel is rampant in Paris just now.”
“How so?”
“The ci-devant Due and Duchesse de Montreux and the whole of their brood—sisters, brothers, two or three children, a priest, and several servants—a round dozen in all, have been condemned to death. The guillotine for them to-morrow at daybreak! Would it could have been tonight,” added Marat, whilst a demoniacal leer contorted his face which already exuded lust for blood from every pore. “Would it could have been tonight. But the guillotine has been busy; over four hundred executions to-day…and the tumbrils are full—the seats bespoken in advance—and still they come…. But to-morrow morning at daybreak Madame la Guillotine will have a word to say to the whole of the Montreux crowd!”
“But they are in the Conciergerie prison surely, citizen! out of the reach of that accursed Englishman?”
“They are on their way, an I mistake not, to the prison at this moment. I came straight on here after the condemnation, to which I listened with true joy. Ah, citizen Bibot! the blood of these hated aristocrats is good to behold when it drips from the blade of the guillotine. Have a care, citizen Bibot, do not let the Montreux crowd escape!”
“Have no fear, citizen Marat! But surely there is no danger! They have been tried and condemned! They are, as you say, even now on their way— well guarded, I presume—to the Conciergerie prison!—to-morrow at daybreak, the guillotine! What is there to fear?”
“Well! well!” said Marat, with a slight tone of hesitation, “it is best, citizen Bibot, to be over-careful these times.”
Even whilst Marat spoke his face, usually so cunning and so vengeful, had suddenly lost its look of devilish cruelty which was almost superhuman in the excess of its infamy, and a greyish hue—suggestive of terror—had spread over the sunken cheeks. He clutched Bibot’s arm, and leaning over the table he whispered in his ear:
“The Public Prosecutor had scarce finished his speech to-day, judgment was being pronounced, the spectators were expectant and still, only the Montreux woman and some of the females and children were blubbering and moaning, when suddenly, it seemed from nowhere, a small piece of paper fluttered from out the assembly and alighted on the desk in front of the Public Prosecutor. He took the paper up and glanced at its contents. I saw that his cheeks had paled, and that his hand trembled as he handed the paper over to me.”
“And what did that paper contain, citizen Marat?” asked Bibot, also speaking in a whisper, for an access of superstitious terror was gripping him by the throat.
“Just the well-known accursed device, citizen, the small scarlet flower, drawn in red ink, and the few words: ‘Tonight the innocent men and women now condemned by this infamous tribunal will be beyond your reach!’”
“And no sign of a messenger?”
“None.”
“And when did–-“
“Hush!” said Marat peremptorily, “no more of that now. To your post, citizen, and remember—all are suspect! let none escape!”
The two men had been sitting outside a small tavern, opposite the Porte Montmartre, with a bottle of wine between them, their elbows resting on the grimy top of a rough wooden table. They had talked in
Roni Loren
Ember Casey, Renna Peak
Angela Misri
A. C. Hadfield
Laura Levine
Alison Umminger
Grant Fieldgrove
Harriet Castor
Anna Lowe
Brandon Sanderson