In exitu Israel : $b an historical novel, volume 2 (of 2)Baring-Gould, S. (Sabine)
History
In exitu Israel : $b an historical novel, volume 2 (of 2)
Baring-Gould, S. (Sabine)
France -- History -- Revolution, 1789-1799 -- Fiction
'I will not detain you from the dogs one moment longer,' quoth Madame
Deschwanden, pouring a little water from a decanter on the table into
a tumbler; 'oblige me with a lump of sugar and a drop of orange-flower
water. Thank you. It makes one thirsty to listen to another person
talking. Well, as I was saying, you cannot manage this affair yourself,
you want my help. You must have my help. And, monsieur, I proffer it
with enthusiasm. I cast myself zealously into your cause. I lend my
assistance to one who is certain to fail abjectly, to one lacking
all the requisites essential to success; for I flatter myself that I
possess the qualifications in which he is deficient. I make no boast of
it, not I. But if Providence has endowed one person with a delicacy,
a _finesse_, a sensibility, and all that constitute a successful
intriguer, it is not boasting if she acknowledges thankfully that she
possesses these talents. She cannot be blind to them. If she were
blind, she would not use them.'
'In short, you will help me?'
'I will do my best. With me to say that, is to say it is done. I do
not boast, but I cannot shut my eyes to facts. If I were to do so, you
would call me a fool, and justly. I should be a fool. But I make one
stipulation,--no, I make two.'
'What are they?'
'Tell me,' entreated madame, throwing passionate earnestness into
her voice and gesture, 'tell me, you have no conscience. I am tired
of conscience. My faith! what is conscience? It is a kind of flea;
you never know where it is. Now it is here, now it is there. You come
down with your finger on the spot, and it is gone. And then there
is irritation everywhere, and no rest. My husband is a martyr to
conscience, so is Nicholas, but Nicholas is the corporal repeated in
miniature. Have morals, I say, have philosophy, but crush conscience;
it is a pest. And then, I insist, you leave Gabrielle to me. Do not
interfere. Let me manage her. I know the ins and outs of a woman's
mind; I will so manage the affair for you that you will be full of
gratitude to me, that you will overwhelm me with testimonials of your
indebtedness. If you interfere, and send your gendarmes to the house
again, then I throw it up. I will have no more to say to it, and you
may botch your work again. Will you promise me solemnly to let me
conduct operations in my own way? Will you promise me not to interfere
by so much as lifting a finger?'
'Wait a bit,' said Berthier; 'before I promise anything, tell me where
Gabrielle is now.'
'With the greatest pleasure. You know that she has seen the queen?'
'No!' he started.
'Yes, she has. She has seen her and has been refused.'
Berthier drew a long breath.
'She has been refused, and now she is at Versailles.'
'At Versailles!'
'Yes, monsieur. It seems that she has a friend there, one of the
delegates to the National Assembly.'
'To the States-General,' corrected the Intendant.
'To be sure, you are right. Well, she has taken up her abode with him.
He was an old friend.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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