Scaramouche: A Romance of the French RevolutionSabatini, Rafael
History
Scaramouche: A Romance of the French Revolution
Sabatini, Rafael
Adventure stories; France -- History -- Revolution, 1789-1799 -- Fiction; Love stories; War stories
She thrust Aline into the carriage, and sprang after her with the
energy of a girl. The heavy vehicle--too heavy by far for this race with
time--was moving before she had taken her seat. Rocking and lurching
it went, earning the maledictions of more than one pedestrian whom it
narrowly avoided crushing against a wall or trampling underfoot.
Madame sat back with closed eyes and trembling lips. Her face showed
very white and drawn. Aline watched her in silence. Almost it seemed to
her that Mme. de Plougastel was suffering as deeply as herself, enduring
an anguish of apprehension as great as her own.
Later Aline was to wonder at this. But at the moment all the thought of
which her half-numbed mind was capable was bestowed upon their desperate
errand.
The carriage rolled across the Place Louis XV and out on to the Cours
la Reine at last. Along that beautiful, tree-bordered avenue between the
Champs Elysees and the Seine, almost empty at this hour of the day, they
made better speed, leaving now a cloud of dust behind them.
But fast to danger-point as was the speed, to the women in that carriage
it was too slow. As they reached the barrier at the end of the Cours,
nine o’clock was striking in the city behind them, and every stroke of
it seemed to sound a note of doom.
Yet here at the barrier the regulations compelled a momentary halt.
Aline enquired of the sergeant-in-charge how long it was since a
cabriolet such as she described had gone that way. She was answered that
some twenty minutes ago a vehicle had passed the barrier containing the
deputy M. le Chapelier and the Paladin of the Third Estate, M. Moreau.
The sergeant was very well informed. He could make a shrewd guess, he
said, with a grin, of the business that took M. Moreau that way so early
in the day.
They left him, to speed on now through the open country, following the
road that continued to hug the river. They sat back mutely despairing,
staring hopelessly ahead, Aline’s hand clasped tight in madame’s. In the
distance, across the meadows on their right, they could see already the
long, dusky line of trees of the Bois, and presently the carriage swung
aside following a branch of the road that turned to the right, away from
the river and heading straight for the forest.
Mademoiselle broke at last the silence of hopelessness that had reigned
between them since they had passed the barrier.
“Oh, it is impossible that we should come in time! Impossible!”
“Don’t say it! Don’t say it!” madame cried out.
“But it is long past nine, madame! Andre would be punctual, and these...
affairs do not take long. It... it will be all over by now.”
Madame shivered, and closed her eyes. Presently, however, she opened
them again, and stirred. Then she put her head from the window. “A
carriage is approaching,” she announced, and her tone conveyed the thing
she feared.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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