France -- History -- Revolution, 1789-1799 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
It was known afterwards that they fell upon the body and tore it, like
the dogs they were; but I had seen enough. I reeled back, and for a
few moments leaned against the chimney, trembling like a woman, sick
and faint. The horrid drama had had only one spectator--myself; and
the strange solitude from which I had viewed it, kneeling at the edge
of the roof of the Château, with the night wind on my brow and the
tumult far below me, had shaken me to the bottom of my soul. Had the
ruffians come upon me then I could not have lifted a finger; but,
fortunately, though the awakening came quickly, it came by another
hand. I heard the rustle of feet behind me, and, turning, found
Mademoiselle de St. Alais at my shoulder, her small face grey in the
gloom.
"Monsieur," she said, "will you come?"
I sprang up, ashamed and conscience-stricken. I had forgotten her,
all, in the tragedy. "What is it?" I said.
"The house is burning."
She said it so calmly, in such a voice, that I could not believe her,
or that I understood; though it was the thing I had told myself must
happen. "What, Mademoiselle? This house?" I said stupidly.
"Yes," she replied, as quietly as before. "The smoke is rising through
the closet staircase. I think that they have set the east wing on
fire."
I hastened back with her, but before I reached the little door by
which we had ascended I saw that it was true. A faint, whitish eddy of
smoke, scarcely visible in the dusk, was rising through the crack
between door and lintel. When we came up the women were still round it
watching it; but while I looked, dazed and wondering what we were to
do, the group melted away, and Mademoiselle and I were left alone
beside the stream of smoke that grew each moment thicker and darker.
A few moments before, immediately after my escape from the rooms
below, I had thought that I could face this peril; anything,
everything, had then seemed better than to be caught with the women,
in the confinement of those luxurious rooms, perfumed with _poudre de
rose_, and heavy with jasmine--to be caught there by the brutes who
were pursuing us. Now the danger that showed itself most pressing
seemed the worst. "We must take off the bricks!" I cried. "Quick, and
open that door! There is nothing else for it. Come, Mademoiselle, if
you please!"
"They are doing it," she answered.
Then I saw whither the women and the servants had gone. They were
already beside the other door, the trap-door, labouring frantically to
remove the bricks we had piled on it. In a moment I caught the
infection of their haste.
"Come, Mademoiselle! come!" I cried, advancing involuntarily a step
towards the group. "Very likely the rogues below will be plundering
now, and we may pass safely. At any rate, there is nothing else for
it."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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