"You mean," said the Vicomtesse slowly, "that they will shout of victories until the Prussians are in sight of Paris."
"The Parisians will pay two sous for good news, and nothing at all for evil tidings," I answered.
Thus we lived for some weeks, through the heat of July--and I could neither leave Paris nor give thought to Charles Miste. That scoundrel was, however, singularly quiet. No cheque had been cashed, and we knew, at all events, that he had realised none of his stolen wealth.
On the tenth of July the Ollivier Ministry fell. Things were going from bad to worse. At the end of the month the Emperor quitted St.
Cloud to take command of the army. He never came to France again.
Chapter XV
Flight
"Repousser sa croix, c"est l"appesantir."
During the first week of August the excitement in Paris reached its greatest height, and culminated on the Sat.u.r.day after the battle of Weissenburg. Of this defeat John Turner had, as I believe, the news before any other in Paris. Indeed, the evil tidings came to the city from the English _Times_. The stout banker, whose astuteness I had never doubted, displayed at this time a number of those qualities--such as courage, cool-headedness and foresight--to which we undoubtedly owe our greatness in the world. We are, as our neighbours say, a nation of shopkeepers, but we keep a rifle under the counter. A man may prove his courage in the counting-house as effectually as on the field of battle.
"These," I said to Turner, "are stirring times. I suppose you are very anxious."
I had pa.s.sed before the Bourse in coming to the Avenue d"Antan, and had, as I spoke, a lively recollection of the white-faced and panic-stricken financiers a.s.sembled there. For one franc that these men had at stake, it was probable that John Turner had a thousand.
"Yes--I am anxious," he said, quietly. "These are stirring times, as you say; they stimulate the appet.i.te wonderfully, and, I think, help the digestion."
As he spoke a clerk came into the room without knocking--his eyes bright with excitement. He gave John Turner a note, which that stout gentleman read at a glance, and rose from the breakfast table.
"Come with me," he said, "and you will see some history."
We drove rapidly to the Bourse, through crowded streets, and there I witnessed a scene of the greatest excitement that it has been my lot to look upon; for it has pleased G.o.d to keep me from any battle-field.
Above a sea of hats a score of tricolour flags fluttered in the dusty air, and wild strains of the Ma.r.s.eillaise dominated the roar and babble of a thousand tongues wagging together. The steps of the great building were thronged with men, and on the bases of the statuary orators harangued high heaven, for no man had the patience to listen.
"What is it?" I asked my companion.
"News of a French victory; but it wants confirmation."
[Ill.u.s.tration: A MAN CLAMBERED ON THE BOX BESIDE THE COACHMAN. "I WILL SING YOU THE Ma.r.s.eILLAISE!" HE SHOUTED.]
Some who could sing, and others who only thought they could, were shouting the Ma.r.s.eillaise from any elevation that presented itself--an omnibus or a street refuse-box served equally well for these musicians.
"How on earth these people have ever grown to a great nation!"
muttered John Turner, who sat in his carriage. A man clambered on the box beside the coachman.
"I will sing you the Ma.r.s.eillaise!" he shouted.
"Thank you," replied John Turner.
But already the humour of the throng was changing, and some began to reflect. In a few minutes doubt swept over them like a shower of rain, and the expression of their faces altered. Almost immediately it was announced that the news of the victory had been a hoax.
"I am going to my office," said Turner, curtly. "Come and see me to-morrow morning. I may have some advice to give you."
In the evening I saw Madame, and told her that things were going badly on the frontier; but I did not know that the Germans were, at the time of speaking, actually on French territory, and that MacMahon had been beaten at Metz.
"Get the women out of the country," said John Turner to me the next morning, "and don"t bother me."
I went back to the Hotel Clericy and there found Alphonse Giraud. He was in the morning-room with the two ladies.
"I have come," he said, "to bid you all good-by, as I was just telling these ladies.
"You remember," he went on, taking my hand and holding it in his effusive French way--"you remember that I said I would buy myself a commission? The good G.o.d has sent me one, but it is a rifle instead of a sword."
"Alphonse has volunteered to fight as a common soldier!" cried Lucille, her face glowing with excitement. "Is it not splendid? Ah, if I were only a man!"
Madame looked gravely and almost apprehensively at her daughter. She did not join in Giraud"s proud laugh.
"There is bad news," she said, looking at my face. "What is it?"
"Yes, there is bad news, and it is said that Paris is to be placed under martial law. You and Mademoiselle must leave."
Alphonse protested that it was only a temporary reverse, and that General Frossard had but retreated in order to strike a harder blow.
He nodded and winked at me, but I ignored his signals; for I have never held that women are dolls or children, that the truth must be withheld from them because it is unpleasant.
So Alphonse Giraud departed to fight for his country. He was drafted into a cavalry regiment, "together with some grooms and hostlers from the stables of the Paris Omnibus Company," as he wrote to me later in good spirits. He proved himself, moreover, a brave soldier as well as a true and honest French gentleman.
Madame de Clericy and Lucille made preparations for an early departure, but were averse to quitting Paris until such time as necessity should drive them into retreat. I saw nothing of John Turner at this time, but learnt from others that he was directing the course of his great banking house with a steady hand and a clear head. I wanted money, but did not go to him, knowing that he would require explanations which I was in no wise prepared to give him. Instead I telegraphed to my lawyer in London, who negotiated a loan for me, mortgaging, so far as I could gather from his technical communications, my reversion of Hopton in case Isabella Gayerson should marry another than myself. The money was an absolute necessity, for without it Madame and Lucille could not leave France, and I took but little heed of the manner in which it was procured.
It was in the evening of August 28th, a few hours after General Trochu"s decree calling upon foreigners to quit Paris, that I sought a consultation with Madame. The Vicomtesse came to my study, divining perhaps that what I had to say to her were better spoken in the absence of Lucille.
"You wish to speak to me, _mon ami_," she said.
In reply I laid before her the proclamation issued by General Trochu.
In it all foreigners were warned to leave, and persons who were not in a position to "_faire face a l"ennemi_" invited to quit Paris. She glanced through the paper hurriedly.
"Yes," she said; "I understand. You as a foreigner cannot stay."
"I can stay or go," I replied; "but I cannot leave you and Mademoiselle in Paris."
"Then what are we to do?"
I then laid before her my plan, which was simple enough in itself.
"To England?" said Madame de Clericy, when I had finished, and in her voice I detected that contempt for our grey country which is held by nearly all Frenchwomen. "Has it come to that? Is France then unsafe?"
"Not yet--but it may become so. The Germans are nearer than any one allows himself to suppose."
I saw that she did not believe me. Madame de Clericy was not very learned, and it is probable that her history was all forgotten. Paris had always seemed to her the centre of civilisation and safely withdrawn from the perils of war or internal disorder.
I begged her to leave the capital, and painted in lurid colours the possible effects of further defeat and the resulting fall of the French Empire.