France -- History -- Revolution, 1789-1799 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
In a moment she came to me again; and I saw, even by that light, that
her face was twitching with eagerness. "Oh!" she said; "will he never
come? That man will be all day. Go and hasten him, Monsieur! If Géol
comes? Go, for pity's sake, and hasten him!"
I wondered, thinking such haste utterly vain and foolish--it was not
likely that Géol would arrive at this hour; but, concluding that
Madame's nerves had failed at last, I thought it proper to comply,
and, stepping carefully over the sleepers, reached the door. I raised
the latch, and in a moment was outside, and had closed the door behind
me. The bitter dawn wind, laden with a fine snow, lashed my cheeks,
and bit through my cloak, and made me shiver. In the east the daybreak
was only faintly apparent; in every other quarter it was still night,
and, for all I could see, might be midnight.
Very little in charity with Madame, I picked my way, shivering, to the
door of the stable--a mean hovel, in a line with the house, and set in
a sea of mud. It was closed, but a dim yellow light, proceeding from a
window towards the farther end, showed me where Jules was at work; and
I raised the latch, and called him. He did not answer, and I had to go
in to him, passing behind three or four wretched nags--some on their
legs and some lying down--until I came to our horses, which stood side
by side at the end, with the lantern hung on a hook near them.
Still I did not see Jules, and I was standing wondering where he
was--for he did not answer--when, with a whish, something black struck
me in the face. It blinded me; in a moment I found myself struggling
in the folds of a cloak, that completely enveloped my face, while a
grip of iron seized my arms and bound them to my sides. Taken
completely by surprise, I tried to shout, but the heavy cloak
stifled me; when, struggling desperately, I succeeded in uttering a
half-choked cry, other hands than those which held me pressed the
cloak more tightly over my face. In vain I writhed and twisted, and,
half-suffocated, tried to free myself. I felt hands pass deftly over
me, and knew that I was being robbed. Then, as I still resisted, the
man who held me from behind tripped me up, and I fell, still in his
grasp, on my face on the ground.
Fortunately I fell on some litter; but, even so, the shock drove the
breath out of me; and what with that and the cloak, which in this new
position threatened to strangle me outright, I lay a moment helpless,
while the wretches bound my hands behind me, and tied my ankles
together. Thus secured, I felt myself taken up, and carried a little
way, and flung roughly down on a soft bed--of hay, as I knew by the
scent. Then some one threw a truss of hay on me, and more and more
hay, until I thought that I should be stifled, and tried frantically
to shout. But the cloak was wound two or three times round my head,
and, strive as I would, I could only, with all my efforts, force out a
dull cry, that died, smothered in its folds.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account