August 18, 2025 • 29 mins
In this captivating novella by the renowned Elizabeth Gaskell, we delve into the life and memories of the aristocratic Lady Ludlow, as narrated by her young charge, Margaret Dawson. Lady Ludlow embodies the resistance of the old English gentry to embrace social reform and technological advancements, including education for the less fortunate and a more lenient approach to religion. Through her reflections on friends from the tumultuous times of the French Revolution, she seeks to protect and mentor the many young ladies under her care. [Summary by Rosie]
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter eight of My Lady Ludlow by Elizabeth Gaskell. This
is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the
public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit
LibriVox dot org. Recording by Annie My Lady Ludlow by
Elizabeth Gaskell, Chapter eight. Pierre went on, pretending to read,
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but in reality listening with acute tension of ear to
every little sound. His perceptions became so sensitive in this
respect that he was incapable of measuring time. Every moment
had seemed so full of noises, from the beating of
his heart up to the roll of the heavy carts
in the distance. He wondered whether Virginie would have reached
the place of rendezvous, and yet he was unable to
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compute the passage of minutes. His mother slept soundly. That
was well, by this time Virginie must have met the
faithful cousin, if indeed Morin had not made his appearance.
At length, he felt as if he could no longer
sit still awaiting the issue, but must run out and
see what course events had taken in vain. His mother,
half rousing herself, called after him to ask whither he
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was going. He was already out of hearing before she
had ended her sentence, and he ran on until stopped
by the sight of Mademoiselle Cannes, walking along at so
swift a pace that it was almost a run. While
at her side, resolutely keeping by her, Morin was strouding abreast.
Pierre had just turned the corner of the street when
he came upon them. Virginie would have passed him without
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recognizing him, she was in such passionate agitation, but from
Morin's gesture, by which he would fain, have kept Pierre
from interrupting them. Then, when Virginie saw the lad she
caught at his arm and thanked God, as if in
that boy of twelve or fourteen she held a protector.
Pierre felt her tremble from head to foot, and was
afraid lest she would fall there where she stood in
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the hard rough street. Begone, Pierre, said, Morin, I cannot,
replied Pierre, who indeed was held firmly by Virginie. Besides,
I won't he added, who has been frightening Mademoiselle in
this way? Asked he very much inclined to brave his
cousin at all hazards Mademoiselle is not accustomed to walk
in the streets alone, said Moran sulkily. She came upon
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a crowd attracted by the arrest of an aristocrat, and
their cries alarmed her. I offered to take charge of
her home. Mademoiselle should not walk in these streets alone.
We are not like the cold blooded people of the
Faubourg Saint Germain. Virginie did not speak. Pierre doubted if
she heard a word of what they were saying. She
leant upon him more and more heavily. Will Mademoiselle condescend
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to take my arm? Said Morin, with sulky and yet
humble uncouthness. I dare say he would have given worlds
if he might have had that little hand within his arm.
But though she still kept silence, she shuddered up away
from him, as you shrink from touching a toad. He
had said something to her during that walk, you may
be sure, which had made her loathe him. He marked
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and understood the gesture. He held himself aloof while Pierre
gave her all the assistance he could in their slow
progress homewards. But Morin accompanied her all the same. He
had played too desperate a game to be balked. Now
he had given information against the Sie de vu marquis
de Crequills, as a returned emigres to be met with
at such a time in such a place. Morin had
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hoped that all sign of the arrest would have been
cleared away before Virginie reached the spot. So swiftly were
terrible deeds done in those days. But Clement defended himself desperately.
Virginie was punctual to a second, and though the wounded
man was borne off to the abbe amid a crowd
of the unsympathizing jeerers who mingled with the armed officials
of the Directory, Morin feared lest Virginie had recognized him,
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and he would have preferred that she should have thought
that the faithful cousin was faithless, than that she should
have seen him in bloody danger on her account. I
suppose he fancied that if Virginie never saw or heard
more of him, her imagination would not dwell on his
simple disappearance, as it would do if she knew what
he was suffering for her sake. At any rate, Pierre
saw that his cousin was deeply mortified. By the whole
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tenor of his behavior. During their walk home. When they
arrived at Madame Babette's, Virginie fell fainting on the floor.
Her strength had but just sufficed for this exertion of
reaching the shelter of the house. Her first sign of
restoring consciousness consisted in avoidance of Moriu. He had been
most assiduous in his efforts to bring her round, Quite
tender in his way, Pierre said, and this marked instinctive
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repugnance to him evidently gave him extreme pain. I suppose
Frenchmen are more demonstrative than we are, For Pierre declared
that he saw his cousin's eyes fill with tears as
she shrank away from his touch if he tried to
arrange the shawl they had laid under head like a pillow,
or as she shut her eyes when he passed before her.
Madame Babette was urgent with her to go and lie
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down on the bed in the inner room, but it
was some time before she was strong enough to rise
and do this. When Madame Babette returned from arranging the
girl comfortably, the three relations sat down in silence, a
silence which Pierre thought would never be broken. He wanted
his mother to ask his cousin what had happened, But
Madame Babette was afraid of her nephew and thought it
more discreet to wait for such crumbs of intelligence as
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he might think fit to throw to her. But after
she had twice reported Virginie to be asleep without a
word being uttered in reply to her whispers by either
of her companions, Morin's powers of self containment gave way.
It is hard, he said. What is hard, asked Madame Babette,
after she had paused for a time to enable him
to add to or to finish his sentence if he pleased.
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It is hard for a man to love a woman
as I do, he went on. I did not seek
to love her. It came upon me before I was aware,
before I had ever thought about it at all. I
loved her better than all the world beside. All my
life before I knew her seems a dull blank. I
neither know nor care for what I did before then.
And now there are just two lives before me. Either
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I have her or I have not. That is all.
But that is everything. And what can I do to
make her have me? Tell me Aunt and he caught
at Madame Babette's arm and gave it so sharp a
shake that she half screamed out, Pierre said, and evidently
grew alarmed at her nephew excitement. Hush, Victor said she.
There are other women in the world. If this one
will not have you, none other for me, he said,
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sinking back as if hopeless. I am plain and coarse.
Not one of the scented darlings of the aristocrats say
that I am ugly brutish. I did not make myself
so any more than I made myself love her. It
is my fate. But am I to submit to the
consequences of my fate without a struggle? Not? I. As
strong as my love is, so strong is my will.
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It can be no stronger, continued he gloomily. Aunt Babette,
you must help me, You must make her love me.
He was so fierce here that Pierre said he did
not wonder that his mother was frightened. I, Victor, she exclaimed,
I make her love you. How can I ask me
to speak for you to Mademoiselle Dido, or to Mademoiselle Courcheois,
even or to such as they, And I'll do it
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And welcome. But to Mademoiselle de Crequy, why you don't
know the difference those people, the old nobility, I mean,
why they don't know a man from a dog of
their own rank, and no wonder for the young gentlemen
of quality had treated differently to us from their very birth.
If she had you to morrow, you would be miserable.
Let me alone for knowing the aristocracy. I have not
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been a concierge to a duke and three counts for nothing.
I tell you all your ways are different to her ways.
I would change my ways as you call them. Be reasonable, Victor, No,
I will not be reasonable, if by that you mean
giving her up. I tell you two lives are before me,
one with her, one without her. But the latter will
be but a short career for both of us. You said, Aunt,
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that the talk went in the conciergerie of her father's hotel,
that she would have nothing to do with this cousin
whom I put out of the way to day. So
the servants said, how could I know? All I know
is that he left off coming to our hotel, and
that at one time before then he had never been
two days absent. So much the better for him. He
suffers now for having come between me and my object
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in trying to snatch her away out of my sight.
Take you warning, Pierre, I did not like your meddling
to night, and so he went off, leading Madame Babette,
rocking herself backwards and forwards in all the depression of
spirits consequent upon the reaction after the brandy, and upon
her knowledge of her nephew's threatened purpose combined. In telling
you most of this, I have simply repeated Pierre's account,
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which I wrote down at the time. But here what
he had to say came to a sudden break. For
the next morning when Madame Babette Rose Virginie was missing,
and it was some time before either she or Pierre
or Morin could get the slightest clue to the missing girl.
And now I must take up the story as it
was told to the Intendant Flechier by the old gardener Jacques,
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with whom Clement had been lodging on his first arrival
in Paris. The old man could not, I dare say,
remember half as much of what had happened as Pierre did.
The former had the dulled memory of age, while Pierre
had evidently thought over the whole series of events as
a story, as a play, if one may call it so,
during the solitary hours in his after life, wherever they
were passed, whether in lonely can watches or in the
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foreign prison where he had to drag out many years,
Clement had, as I said, returned to the gardener's garret
after he had been dismissed from the Hotel Duguichlain. There
were several reasons for his thus doubling back. One was
that he put nearly the whole breadth of Paris between
him and an enemy, though why Morin was an enemy,
and to what extent he carried his dislike or hatred,
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Clement could not tell. Of course. The next reason for
returning to Jacques was, no doubt, the conviction that in
multiplying his residences, he multiplied the chances against his being
suspected and recognized. And then again the old man was
in his secret and his ally, although the perhaps but
a feeble kind of one. It was through Jacques that
the plan of communication by means of a nosegay of
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pinks had been devised, and it was Jacques who procured
him the last disguise that Clement was to use in Paris,
as he hoped and trusted, it was that of respectable
shopkeeper of no particular class, a dress that would have
seemed perfectly suitable to the young man who would naturally
have worn it. And yet as Clement put it on
and adjusted it, giving it a sort of finish and
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elegance which I always noticed about disappearance, and which I
believed was innate in the wearer, I have no doubt
it seemed like the usual apparel of a gentleman. No
coarseness of texture nor clumsiness of cut could disguise the
nobleman of thirty descents it appeared. For immediately on arriving
at the place of rendezvous, he was recognized by the
men placed there on Morin's information to seize him. Jacques,
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following at a little distance with a bundle under his
arm containing articles of feminine disguise for Virginie, saw four
men attempt Clement's arrest, saw him, quick as lightning, draw
a sword hitherto concealed in a clumsy stick, saw his
agile figure spring to his guard, and saw him defend
himself with the rapidity and art of a man skilled
in arms. But what good did it do? As Jacques
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piteously used to ask, Monsieur Flechier told me, a great
blow from a heavy club on the sword arm of
Monsieur de Crequy laid it helpless and immovable by his side.
Jacques always thought that that blow came from one of
the spectators, who by this time had collected round the
scene of the affray. The next instant, his master, his
little Marquis, was down among the feet of the crowd,
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and though he was up again before he had received
much damage, so active and light was my poor clement.
It was not before the old gardener had hobbled forwards,
and with many an old fashioned oath and curse, proclaimed
himself a partisan of the losing side, a follower of
a sea div aristocrat. It was quite enough he received
one or two good blows, which were in fact aimed
at his master, and then, almost before he was aware,
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he found his arms pinioned behind him with a woman's garter,
which one of the viragos in the crowd had made
no scruple of pulling off in public. As soon as
she heard for what purpose it was wanted. Poor Jacques
was stunned and unhappy. His master was out of sight
on before, and the old gardener Scarce knew whither they
were taking him. His head ached from the blows which
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had fallen upon it. It was growing dark June day,
though it was, And when first he seems to have
become exactly aware of what had happened to him, it
was when he was turned into one of the larger
rooms of the abbe, in which all were put who
had no other allotted place wherein to sleep. One or
two iron lamps hung from the ceiling by chains, giving
a dim light for a little circle. Jacques stumbled forwards
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over a sleeping body lying on the ground. The sleeper
wakened up enough to complain, and the apology of the
old man in reply caught the ear of his master,
who until this time could hardly have been aware of
the straits and difficulties of his faithful Jacques. And there
they sat against a pillar the livelong night, holding one
another's hands, and each restraining expressions of pain for fear
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of adding to the other's distress. That night made them
intimate friends, in spite of the difference of age and rank,
The disappointed hopes, the acute suffering of the present, the
apprehensions of the future made them seek solace in talking
of the past. Monsieur de Crequy and the gardener found
themselves disputing with interest in which chimney of the stack
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the starling used to build the starling whose nest Clement
sent to Urien you remember, and discussing the merits of
different Espallier pears, which grew and may grow still in
the old garden of the Hotel de Crequy. Towards morning,
both fell asleep. The old man wakened first. His frame
was deadened to suffering, I suppose, for he felt relieved
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of his pain. But Clement moaned and cried in feverish slumber.
His broken arm was beginning to inflame his blood. He
was besides much injured by some kicks from the crowd
as he fell. As the old man looked sadly on
the white baked lips and the flushed cheeks contorted with
suffering even in his sleep, Clement gave a sharp cry,
which disturbed his miserable neighbors. All slumbering around in uneasy attitudes,
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they bad him with curses, be silent, and then, turning round,
tried again to forget their own misery in sleep. For
you see, the bloodthirsty Canay had not been sated with
guillotining and hanging all the nobility they could find, but
were now informing right and left, even against each other.
And when Clement and Jacques were in the prison, there
were few of jenny blood in the place, and fewer
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still of gentle manners. At the sound of the angry
words and threats, Jacques thought it best to awaken his
master from his feverish, uncomfortable sleep, lest he should provoke
more enmity, and tenderly lifting him up, he tried to
adjust his own body so that it should serve as
a rest and a pillow for the younger man. The
motion aroused Clement, and he began to talk in a strange,
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feverish way, of Virginie, too, whose name he would not
have breathed in such a place had he been quite himself.
But Jacques had as much delicacy of feeling as any
lady in the land, although mind you, he knew neither
how to read nor write, and he bent his head
low down so that his master might tell him in
a whisper what messages he was to take to Mademoiselle
de Crequy. In case poor Clement, he knew it must
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come to that no escape for him, now in Norman
disguise or otherwise, either by gathering fever or guillotine death,
was sure of his prey. Well. When that happened, Jacques
was to go and find Mademoiselle de Crequy and tell
her that her cousin loved her at the last as
he had loved her at the first, but that she
should never have heard another word of his attachment from
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his living lips, That he knew he was not good
enough for her, his queen, and that no thought of
earning her love by his devotion had prompted his return
to France, only that if possible, he might have the
great privilege of serving her, whom he loved. And then
he went off into rambling talk about petty Maitree and
such kind of expressions, said Jacques to Flechier, the intendant,
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little knowing what a clue that one word gave to
much of the poor lad's suffering. The summer morning came
slowly on in that dark prison, and when Jacques could
look round, his master was now sleeping on his shoulder,
still the uneasy starting sleep of fever. He saw that
there were many women among the prisoners. I have heard
some of those who have escaped from the prison say
that the look of despair and agony that came into
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the faces of the prisoners on first wakening, as the
sense of their situation grew upon them, was what lasted
the longest in the memory of the survivors. This look,
they said, passed away from the women's faces sooner than
it did from those of the men. Poor old Jacques
kept falling asleep and plucking himself up again, for fear
lest if he did not attend to his master, some
harm might come to the swollen, helpless arm. Yet his
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weariness grew upon him in spite of all his efforts,
and at last he felt as if he must give
way to the irresistible desire, if only for five minutes.
But just then there was a bustle at the door.
Jacques opened his eyes wide to look. The jailer is
early with breakfast, said some one lazily. It is the
darkness of this accursed place that makes us think it early,
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said another. All this time a parley was going on
at the door. Some one came in, not the jailer
a woman. The door was shut to and locked behind her.
She only advanced a step or two, for it was
too sudden a change out of the light into that
dark shadow for any one to see clearly for the
first few minutes. Jacques had his eyes fairly open now
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and was wide awake. It was Mademoiselle de Crequy, looking bright,
clear and resolute. The faithful heart of the old man
read that look like an open page. Her cousin should
not die there on her behalf without at least the
comfort of her sweet presence. Here he is, he whispered,
as her gown would have touched him in passing without
her perceiving him in the heavy obscurity of the place.
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The good God bless you, my friend, she murmured, as
she saw the attitude of the old man, propped against
a pillar and holding Clement in his arms as if
the young man had been a helpless baby, while one
of the poor gardener's hands supported the broken limb in
the easiest position. Virginie sat down by the old man
and held out her arms softly. She moved Clement's head
to her own shoulder softly. She transferred the task of
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holding the arm to herself. Clement lay on the floor,
but she supported him, and Jacques was at liberty to
arise and stretch and shake his stiff, weary old body.
He then sat down at a little distance and watched
the pair until he fell asleep. Clement had muttered Virginie
as they half roused him by their movements out of
his stupor, but Jacques thought he was only dreaming, nor
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did he seem fully awake when once his eyes opened
and he looked full at Virginie's face bending over him
and growing crimson under his gaze. Though she never stirred
for fear of hurting him if she moved. Clement looked
in silence until his heavy eyelids came slowly down and
he fell into his oppressive slumber again. Either he did
not recognize her, or she came in too completely as
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a part of his sleeping visions for him to be
disturbed by her appearance there. When Jacques awoke, it was
full daylight, at least as full as it would ever
be in that place. His breakfast, the jail allowance of bread,
and van Ordonnaire was by his side. He must have
slept soundly. He looked for his master he and Virginie
had recognized each other now hearts as well as appearance.
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They were smiling into each other's faces, as if that dull,
vaulted room in the grim abbey were the sunny gardens
of Versailles, with music and festivity all abroad. Apparently they
had much to stay to each other, for whispered questions
and answers never ceased. Virginie had made a sling for
the poor broken arm. Nay, she had obtained two splinters
of wood in some way, and one of their fellow prisoners,
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having it appeared some knowledge of surgery had set it.
Jacques felt more desponding by far than they did, for
he was suffering from the night he had passed, which
told upon his aged frame. While they must have heard
some good news, as it seemed to him, so bright
and happy did they look. Yet Clement was still in
bodily pain and suffering, and Virginie, by her own act
and deed, was a prisoner in that dreadful abbe, whence
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the only issue was the guillotine. But they were together,
they loved, they understood each other at length. When Virginie
saw that Jacques was awake and languidly munching his breakfast.
She rose from the wooden stool on which she was
sitting and went to him, holding out both hands and
refusing to allow him to rise, while she thanked him
with pretty eagerness for all his kindness to Monsieur. Monsieur
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himself came towards him, following Virginie, but with tottering steps,
as if his head was weak and dizzy, to thank
the poor old man, who now on his feet stood
between them, ready to cry, while they gave him credit
for faithful actions which he felt to have been almost involuntary.
On his pad for loyalty was like an instinct in
the good old days before your educational cant had come up.
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And so two days went on. The only event was
the morning call for the victims, a certain number of
whom were summoned to trial every day, and to be
tried was to be condemned. Every one of the prisoners
became grave as the hour for their summons approached. Most
of the victims went to their doom with uncomplaining resignation,
and for a while after their departure there was comparative
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silence in the prison. But by and by so said Jacques,
the conversation or amusements began again. Human nature cannot stand
the perpetual pressure of such keen anxiety without an effort
to relieve itself by thinking of something else. Jacques said
that Monsieur and Mademoiselle were forever talking together of the
past days. It was do you remember this or do
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you remember that? Perpetually. He sometimes thought they forgot where
they were and what was before them. But Jacques did not,
and every day he trembled more and more as the
list was called over. The third morning their incarceration, the
jailer brought in a man whom Jacques did not recognize
and therefore did not at once observe, for he was
waiting as in duty bound upon his master and his
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sweet young lady, as he always called her, and repeating
the story. He thought that the new introduction was some
friend of the jailer, as the two seemed well acquainted,
and the latter stayed a few minutes talking with his
visitor before leaving him in prison. So Jacques was surprised when,
after a short time had elapsed, he looked round and
saw the fierce stare with which the stranger was regarding
Monsieur and Mademoiselle de Crequy, as the pair sat at breakfast,
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the said breakfast being laid as well as Jacques knew how,
on a bench fastened into the prison wall, Virginie sitting
on her low stool, and Clement half lying on the
ground by her side, and submitting gladly to be fed
by her pretty white fingers, for it was one of
her fancy, as Jacques said, to do all she could
for him in consideration of his broken arm. And indeed
Clement was wasting away daily, for he had received other
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injuries internal and more serious than that to his arm
during the melee which had ended in his capture. The
stranger made Jacques conscious of his presence by a sigh
which was almost a groan. All three prisoners looked round
at the sound. Clement's face expressed little but scornful indifference,
but Virginie's face froze into stony hate. Jacques said he
never saw such a look, and hoped that he never
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should again. Yet, after that first revelation of feeling, her
look was steady and fixed in another direction to that
in which the stranger stood still, motionless, still watching. He
came a step nearer. At last, Mademoiselle, he said, not.
The quivering of an eyelash showed that she heard him. Mademoiselle,
he said again, with an intensity of beseeching that made Jacques,
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not knowing who he was, almost pity him. When he
saw his young lady's obdurate face. There was perfect silence
for a space of time which Jacques could not measure.
Then again, the voice, hesitatingly saying, Monsieur Clement could not
hold the same icy countenance as Virginie. He turned his
head with an impatient gesture of disgust. But even that
emboldened the man. Monsieur, do ask Mademoiselle to listen to
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me just two words. Mademoiselle de Crequy only listens to
whom she chooses, very haughtily. My Clement would say that
I am sure, But Mademoiselle, lowering his voice and coming
a step or two nearer, Virginie must have felt his approach,
though she did not see it, for she drew herself
a little on the one side, so as to put
as much space as possible between him and her. Mademoiselle,
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it is not too late I can save you. But
to morrow your name is down on the list. I
can save you if you will listen. Still, no word
or sign. Jacques did not understand the affair. Why was
she so obdurate to one who might be ready to
include Clement the proposal. As far as Jacques knew, the
man withdrew a little, but did not offer to leave
the prison. He never took his eyes off Virginie. He
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seemed to be suffering from some acute and terrible pain
as he watched her. Jacques cleared away the breakfast things
as well as he could, purposely, as I suspect he
passed near the man, hist said the stranger. You are, Jacques,
the gardener arrested for assisting an arister. I know the jailer.
You shall escape if you will only take this message
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from me to mademoiselle you heard. She will not listen
to me. I did not want her to come here.
I never knew she was here. And she will die
to morrow. They will put her beautiful round throat under
the guillotine. Tell her, good old man, Tell her how
sweet life is, and how I can save her, and
how I will not ask for more than just to
see her from time to time. She is so young,
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and death is annihilation. You know why does she hate me?
So I want to save her. I have done her
no harm. Good old man. Tell her how terrible death is,
and that she will die to morrow unless she listens
to me. Jacques saw no harm in repeating this message.
Clement listened in silence, watching Virginie with an air of
infinite tenderness. Will you not try him, my cherished one,
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he said towards you. He may mean well, which makes
me think that Virginie had never repeated to Clement the
conversation which she had overheard that last night at Madame Babette's,
you would be in no worse a situation than you
were before, no worse, Clement, and I should have known
that you were, and have lost you, my Clement, said,
she reproachfully ask him, said she, turning to Jacques suddenly.
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If he can save Monsieur de Crequy as well. If
he can, oh, Clement, we might escape to England. We
are but young, and she hid her face in his shoulder.
Jacques returned to the stranger and asked him Virginie's question.
His eyes were fixed on the cousins. He was very pale,
and the twitchings or contortions which must have been involuntary.
Whenever he was agitated, convulsed his whole body. He made
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a long pause. I will save Mademoiselle and monsieur if
she will go straight from prison to the Marie and
be my wife, your wife. Jacques could not help exclaiming
that she will never be Never ask her, said Morin hoarsely,
but almost before Jacques thought he could have fairly uttered
the words. Clement caught their meaning, begone, said he, not
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one word more. Virginie touched the old man as he
was moving away. Tell him he does not know how
he makes me welcome death, and smiling as if triumphant,
she turned again to Clement. The stranger did not speak,
as Jacques gave him the meaning, not the words of
their replies. He was going away, but stopped a minute
or two afterwards. He beckoned to Jacques. The old gardener
(26:16):
seems to have thought it undesirable to throw away even
the chance of assistance from such a man as this,
for he went forward to speak to him. Listen, I
have influence with the jailer. He shall let thee pass
out with the victims tomorrow. No one will notice it
or miss thee. They will be led to trial. Even
at the last moment. I will save her if she
sends me word she relents. Speak to her. As the
time draws on. Life is very sweet. Tell her how sweet.
(26:40):
Speak to him. He will do more with her than
thou canst. Let him urge her to live, even at
the last. I will be at the Palais de justice,
at the greve. I have followers, I have interest. Come
among the crowd that follow the victims. I shall see thee.
It will be no worse for him if she escapes.
Save my master, and I will do all, said Jacques.
Only on my one condition, said Morin doggedly, and Jacques
(27:03):
was hopeless of that condition ever being fulfilled. But he
did not see why his own life might not be
saved by remaining in prison until the next day. He
should have rendered every service in his power to his
master and the young lady. He poor fellow shrank from death,
and he agreed with Moraun to escape if he could,
by the means Morin had suggested, and to bring him
word if Mademoiselle de Crequy relented. Jacques had no expectation
(27:24):
that she would, But I fancy he did not think
it necessary to tell Morin of this conviction of his.
This bargaining with so base a man for so slight
a thing as life, was the only flawed that I
heard of in the old Gardener's behavior. Of course, the
mere reopening of the subject was enough to stir Virginie
to displeasure. Clement urged her, it is true, but the
light he had gained upon Morau's motions made him rather
(27:47):
trying to set the case before her in as fair
a manner as possible, than use any persuasive arguments. And
even as it was, what he said on the subject
made Virginie shed tears, the first that had fallen from
her since she entered the prison. So they were summoned
and went together at the fatal call of the muster
roll of victims the next morning, he feeble from his
wounds and his injured health, she calm and serene, only
(28:09):
petitioning to be allowed to walk next to him in
order that she might hold him up when he turned
faint and giddy from his extreme suffering. Together they stood
at the bar. Together, they were condemned. As the words
of judgment were pronounced. Virginie turned to Clement and embraced
him with passionate fondness, then making him lean on her,
they marched out towards the place de la Greeve. Jacques
(28:31):
was free. Now he had told Morin how fruitless his
efforts of persuasion had been, and scarcely caring to note
the effect of his information upon the man, he had
devoted himself to watching Monsieur and Mademoiselle de Crequy, And
now he followed them to the place de la Greev.
He saw them mount the platform, saw them kneel down
together till plucked up by the impatient officials could see
(28:51):
that she was urging some request to the executioner, the
end of which seemed to be that Clement advanced first
to the guillotine was executed, And just at this moment
there was a stir among the crowd, as of a
man pressing forwards towards the scaffold. Then she, standing with
her face to the guillotine, slowly made the sign of
the cross and knelt down. Jacques covered his eyes, blinded
(29:11):
with tears. The report of a pistol made him look up.
She was gone, another victim in her place, and where
there had been a little stir in the crowd. Not
five minutes before, some men were carrying off a dead body.
A man had shot himself, they said. Pierre told me
who that man was. End of Chapter eight
Chapter eight of My Lady Ludlow by Elizabeth Gaskell. This
is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the
public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit
LibriVox dot org. Recording by Annie My Lady Ludlow by
Elizabeth Gaskell, Chapter eight. Pierre went on, pretending to read,
(00:23):
but in reality listening with acute tension of ear to
every little sound. His perceptions became so sensitive in this
respect that he was incapable of measuring time. Every moment
had seemed so full of noises, from the beating of
his heart up to the roll of the heavy carts
in the distance. He wondered whether Virginie would have reached
the place of rendezvous, and yet he was unable to
(00:43):
compute the passage of minutes. His mother slept soundly. That
was well, by this time Virginie must have met the
faithful cousin, if indeed Morin had not made his appearance.
At length, he felt as if he could no longer
sit still awaiting the issue, but must run out and
see what course events had taken in vain. His mother,
half rousing herself, called after him to ask whither he
(01:06):
was going. He was already out of hearing before she
had ended her sentence, and he ran on until stopped
by the sight of Mademoiselle Cannes, walking along at so
swift a pace that it was almost a run. While
at her side, resolutely keeping by her, Morin was strouding abreast.
Pierre had just turned the corner of the street when
he came upon them. Virginie would have passed him without
(01:26):
recognizing him, she was in such passionate agitation, but from
Morin's gesture, by which he would fain, have kept Pierre
from interrupting them. Then, when Virginie saw the lad she
caught at his arm and thanked God, as if in
that boy of twelve or fourteen she held a protector.
Pierre felt her tremble from head to foot, and was
afraid lest she would fall there where she stood in
(01:47):
the hard rough street. Begone, Pierre, said, Morin, I cannot,
replied Pierre, who indeed was held firmly by Virginie. Besides,
I won't he added, who has been frightening Mademoiselle in
this way? Asked he very much inclined to brave his
cousin at all hazards Mademoiselle is not accustomed to walk
in the streets alone, said Moran sulkily. She came upon
(02:08):
a crowd attracted by the arrest of an aristocrat, and
their cries alarmed her. I offered to take charge of
her home. Mademoiselle should not walk in these streets alone.
We are not like the cold blooded people of the
Faubourg Saint Germain. Virginie did not speak. Pierre doubted if
she heard a word of what they were saying. She
leant upon him more and more heavily. Will Mademoiselle condescend
(02:29):
to take my arm? Said Morin, with sulky and yet
humble uncouthness. I dare say he would have given worlds
if he might have had that little hand within his arm.
But though she still kept silence, she shuddered up away
from him, as you shrink from touching a toad. He
had said something to her during that walk, you may
be sure, which had made her loathe him. He marked
(02:49):
and understood the gesture. He held himself aloof while Pierre
gave her all the assistance he could in their slow
progress homewards. But Morin accompanied her all the same. He
had played too desperate a game to be balked. Now
he had given information against the Sie de vu marquis
de Crequills, as a returned emigres to be met with
at such a time in such a place. Morin had
(03:12):
hoped that all sign of the arrest would have been
cleared away before Virginie reached the spot. So swiftly were
terrible deeds done in those days. But Clement defended himself desperately.
Virginie was punctual to a second, and though the wounded
man was borne off to the abbe amid a crowd
of the unsympathizing jeerers who mingled with the armed officials
of the Directory, Morin feared lest Virginie had recognized him,
(03:35):
and he would have preferred that she should have thought
that the faithful cousin was faithless, than that she should
have seen him in bloody danger on her account. I
suppose he fancied that if Virginie never saw or heard
more of him, her imagination would not dwell on his
simple disappearance, as it would do if she knew what
he was suffering for her sake. At any rate, Pierre
saw that his cousin was deeply mortified. By the whole
(03:56):
tenor of his behavior. During their walk home. When they
arrived at Madame Babette's, Virginie fell fainting on the floor.
Her strength had but just sufficed for this exertion of
reaching the shelter of the house. Her first sign of
restoring consciousness consisted in avoidance of Moriu. He had been
most assiduous in his efforts to bring her round, Quite
tender in his way, Pierre said, and this marked instinctive
(04:18):
repugnance to him evidently gave him extreme pain. I suppose
Frenchmen are more demonstrative than we are, For Pierre declared
that he saw his cousin's eyes fill with tears as
she shrank away from his touch if he tried to
arrange the shawl they had laid under head like a pillow,
or as she shut her eyes when he passed before her.
Madame Babette was urgent with her to go and lie
(04:39):
down on the bed in the inner room, but it
was some time before she was strong enough to rise
and do this. When Madame Babette returned from arranging the
girl comfortably, the three relations sat down in silence, a
silence which Pierre thought would never be broken. He wanted
his mother to ask his cousin what had happened, But
Madame Babette was afraid of her nephew and thought it
more discreet to wait for such crumbs of intelligence as
(05:01):
he might think fit to throw to her. But after
she had twice reported Virginie to be asleep without a
word being uttered in reply to her whispers by either
of her companions, Morin's powers of self containment gave way.
It is hard, he said. What is hard, asked Madame Babette,
after she had paused for a time to enable him
to add to or to finish his sentence if he pleased.
(05:24):
It is hard for a man to love a woman
as I do, he went on. I did not seek
to love her. It came upon me before I was aware,
before I had ever thought about it at all. I
loved her better than all the world beside. All my
life before I knew her seems a dull blank. I
neither know nor care for what I did before then.
And now there are just two lives before me. Either
(05:45):
I have her or I have not. That is all.
But that is everything. And what can I do to
make her have me? Tell me Aunt and he caught
at Madame Babette's arm and gave it so sharp a
shake that she half screamed out, Pierre said, and evidently
grew alarmed at her nephew excitement. Hush, Victor said she.
There are other women in the world. If this one
will not have you, none other for me, he said,
(06:08):
sinking back as if hopeless. I am plain and coarse.
Not one of the scented darlings of the aristocrats say
that I am ugly brutish. I did not make myself
so any more than I made myself love her. It
is my fate. But am I to submit to the
consequences of my fate without a struggle? Not? I. As
strong as my love is, so strong is my will.
(06:28):
It can be no stronger, continued he gloomily. Aunt Babette,
you must help me, You must make her love me.
He was so fierce here that Pierre said he did
not wonder that his mother was frightened. I, Victor, she exclaimed,
I make her love you. How can I ask me
to speak for you to Mademoiselle Dido, or to Mademoiselle Courcheois,
even or to such as they, And I'll do it
(06:50):
And welcome. But to Mademoiselle de Crequy, why you don't
know the difference those people, the old nobility, I mean,
why they don't know a man from a dog of
their own rank, and no wonder for the young gentlemen
of quality had treated differently to us from their very birth.
If she had you to morrow, you would be miserable.
Let me alone for knowing the aristocracy. I have not
(07:11):
been a concierge to a duke and three counts for nothing.
I tell you all your ways are different to her ways.
I would change my ways as you call them. Be reasonable, Victor, No,
I will not be reasonable, if by that you mean
giving her up. I tell you two lives are before me,
one with her, one without her. But the latter will
be but a short career for both of us. You said, Aunt,
(07:33):
that the talk went in the conciergerie of her father's hotel,
that she would have nothing to do with this cousin
whom I put out of the way to day. So
the servants said, how could I know? All I know
is that he left off coming to our hotel, and
that at one time before then he had never been
two days absent. So much the better for him. He
suffers now for having come between me and my object
(07:55):
in trying to snatch her away out of my sight.
Take you warning, Pierre, I did not like your meddling
to night, and so he went off, leading Madame Babette,
rocking herself backwards and forwards in all the depression of
spirits consequent upon the reaction after the brandy, and upon
her knowledge of her nephew's threatened purpose combined. In telling
you most of this, I have simply repeated Pierre's account,
(08:17):
which I wrote down at the time. But here what
he had to say came to a sudden break. For
the next morning when Madame Babette Rose Virginie was missing,
and it was some time before either she or Pierre
or Morin could get the slightest clue to the missing girl.
And now I must take up the story as it
was told to the Intendant Flechier by the old gardener Jacques,
(08:38):
with whom Clement had been lodging on his first arrival
in Paris. The old man could not, I dare say,
remember half as much of what had happened as Pierre did.
The former had the dulled memory of age, while Pierre
had evidently thought over the whole series of events as
a story, as a play, if one may call it so,
during the solitary hours in his after life, wherever they
were passed, whether in lonely can watches or in the
(09:01):
foreign prison where he had to drag out many years,
Clement had, as I said, returned to the gardener's garret
after he had been dismissed from the Hotel Duguichlain. There
were several reasons for his thus doubling back. One was
that he put nearly the whole breadth of Paris between
him and an enemy, though why Morin was an enemy,
and to what extent he carried his dislike or hatred,
(09:23):
Clement could not tell. Of course. The next reason for
returning to Jacques was, no doubt, the conviction that in
multiplying his residences, he multiplied the chances against his being
suspected and recognized. And then again the old man was
in his secret and his ally, although the perhaps but
a feeble kind of one. It was through Jacques that
the plan of communication by means of a nosegay of
(09:44):
pinks had been devised, and it was Jacques who procured
him the last disguise that Clement was to use in Paris,
as he hoped and trusted, it was that of respectable
shopkeeper of no particular class, a dress that would have
seemed perfectly suitable to the young man who would naturally
have worn it. And yet as Clement put it on
and adjusted it, giving it a sort of finish and
(10:04):
elegance which I always noticed about disappearance, and which I
believed was innate in the wearer, I have no doubt
it seemed like the usual apparel of a gentleman. No
coarseness of texture nor clumsiness of cut could disguise the
nobleman of thirty descents it appeared. For immediately on arriving
at the place of rendezvous, he was recognized by the
men placed there on Morin's information to seize him. Jacques,
(10:26):
following at a little distance with a bundle under his
arm containing articles of feminine disguise for Virginie, saw four
men attempt Clement's arrest, saw him, quick as lightning, draw
a sword hitherto concealed in a clumsy stick, saw his
agile figure spring to his guard, and saw him defend
himself with the rapidity and art of a man skilled
in arms. But what good did it do? As Jacques
(10:48):
piteously used to ask, Monsieur Flechier told me, a great
blow from a heavy club on the sword arm of
Monsieur de Crequy laid it helpless and immovable by his side.
Jacques always thought that that blow came from one of
the spectators, who by this time had collected round the
scene of the affray. The next instant, his master, his
little Marquis, was down among the feet of the crowd,
(11:09):
and though he was up again before he had received
much damage, so active and light was my poor clement.
It was not before the old gardener had hobbled forwards,
and with many an old fashioned oath and curse, proclaimed
himself a partisan of the losing side, a follower of
a sea div aristocrat. It was quite enough he received
one or two good blows, which were in fact aimed
at his master, and then, almost before he was aware,
(11:32):
he found his arms pinioned behind him with a woman's garter,
which one of the viragos in the crowd had made
no scruple of pulling off in public. As soon as
she heard for what purpose it was wanted. Poor Jacques
was stunned and unhappy. His master was out of sight
on before, and the old gardener Scarce knew whither they
were taking him. His head ached from the blows which
(11:53):
had fallen upon it. It was growing dark June day,
though it was, And when first he seems to have
become exactly aware of what had happened to him, it
was when he was turned into one of the larger
rooms of the abbe, in which all were put who
had no other allotted place wherein to sleep. One or
two iron lamps hung from the ceiling by chains, giving
a dim light for a little circle. Jacques stumbled forwards
(12:14):
over a sleeping body lying on the ground. The sleeper
wakened up enough to complain, and the apology of the
old man in reply caught the ear of his master,
who until this time could hardly have been aware of
the straits and difficulties of his faithful Jacques. And there
they sat against a pillar the livelong night, holding one
another's hands, and each restraining expressions of pain for fear
(12:34):
of adding to the other's distress. That night made them
intimate friends, in spite of the difference of age and rank,
The disappointed hopes, the acute suffering of the present, the
apprehensions of the future made them seek solace in talking
of the past. Monsieur de Crequy and the gardener found
themselves disputing with interest in which chimney of the stack
(12:55):
the starling used to build the starling whose nest Clement
sent to Urien you remember, and discussing the merits of
different Espallier pears, which grew and may grow still in
the old garden of the Hotel de Crequy. Towards morning,
both fell asleep. The old man wakened first. His frame
was deadened to suffering, I suppose, for he felt relieved
(13:15):
of his pain. But Clement moaned and cried in feverish slumber.
His broken arm was beginning to inflame his blood. He
was besides much injured by some kicks from the crowd
as he fell. As the old man looked sadly on
the white baked lips and the flushed cheeks contorted with
suffering even in his sleep, Clement gave a sharp cry,
which disturbed his miserable neighbors. All slumbering around in uneasy attitudes,
(13:40):
they bad him with curses, be silent, and then, turning round,
tried again to forget their own misery in sleep. For
you see, the bloodthirsty Canay had not been sated with
guillotining and hanging all the nobility they could find, but
were now informing right and left, even against each other.
And when Clement and Jacques were in the prison, there
were few of jenny blood in the place, and fewer
(14:01):
still of gentle manners. At the sound of the angry
words and threats, Jacques thought it best to awaken his
master from his feverish, uncomfortable sleep, lest he should provoke
more enmity, and tenderly lifting him up, he tried to
adjust his own body so that it should serve as
a rest and a pillow for the younger man. The
motion aroused Clement, and he began to talk in a strange,
(14:22):
feverish way, of Virginie, too, whose name he would not
have breathed in such a place had he been quite himself.
But Jacques had as much delicacy of feeling as any
lady in the land, although mind you, he knew neither
how to read nor write, and he bent his head
low down so that his master might tell him in
a whisper what messages he was to take to Mademoiselle
de Crequy. In case poor Clement, he knew it must
(14:45):
come to that no escape for him, now in Norman
disguise or otherwise, either by gathering fever or guillotine death,
was sure of his prey. Well. When that happened, Jacques
was to go and find Mademoiselle de Crequy and tell
her that her cousin loved her at the last as
he had loved her at the first, but that she
should never have heard another word of his attachment from
(15:06):
his living lips, That he knew he was not good
enough for her, his queen, and that no thought of
earning her love by his devotion had prompted his return
to France, only that if possible, he might have the
great privilege of serving her, whom he loved. And then
he went off into rambling talk about petty Maitree and
such kind of expressions, said Jacques to Flechier, the intendant,
(15:27):
little knowing what a clue that one word gave to
much of the poor lad's suffering. The summer morning came
slowly on in that dark prison, and when Jacques could
look round, his master was now sleeping on his shoulder,
still the uneasy starting sleep of fever. He saw that
there were many women among the prisoners. I have heard
some of those who have escaped from the prison say
that the look of despair and agony that came into
(15:48):
the faces of the prisoners on first wakening, as the
sense of their situation grew upon them, was what lasted
the longest in the memory of the survivors. This look,
they said, passed away from the women's faces sooner than
it did from those of the men. Poor old Jacques
kept falling asleep and plucking himself up again, for fear
lest if he did not attend to his master, some
harm might come to the swollen, helpless arm. Yet his
(16:12):
weariness grew upon him in spite of all his efforts,
and at last he felt as if he must give
way to the irresistible desire, if only for five minutes.
But just then there was a bustle at the door.
Jacques opened his eyes wide to look. The jailer is
early with breakfast, said some one lazily. It is the
darkness of this accursed place that makes us think it early,
(16:32):
said another. All this time a parley was going on
at the door. Some one came in, not the jailer
a woman. The door was shut to and locked behind her.
She only advanced a step or two, for it was
too sudden a change out of the light into that
dark shadow for any one to see clearly for the
first few minutes. Jacques had his eyes fairly open now
(16:52):
and was wide awake. It was Mademoiselle de Crequy, looking bright,
clear and resolute. The faithful heart of the old man
read that look like an open page. Her cousin should
not die there on her behalf without at least the
comfort of her sweet presence. Here he is, he whispered,
as her gown would have touched him in passing without
her perceiving him in the heavy obscurity of the place.
(17:14):
The good God bless you, my friend, she murmured, as
she saw the attitude of the old man, propped against
a pillar and holding Clement in his arms as if
the young man had been a helpless baby, while one
of the poor gardener's hands supported the broken limb in
the easiest position. Virginie sat down by the old man
and held out her arms softly. She moved Clement's head
to her own shoulder softly. She transferred the task of
(17:36):
holding the arm to herself. Clement lay on the floor,
but she supported him, and Jacques was at liberty to
arise and stretch and shake his stiff, weary old body.
He then sat down at a little distance and watched
the pair until he fell asleep. Clement had muttered Virginie
as they half roused him by their movements out of
his stupor, but Jacques thought he was only dreaming, nor
(17:58):
did he seem fully awake when once his eyes opened
and he looked full at Virginie's face bending over him
and growing crimson under his gaze. Though she never stirred
for fear of hurting him if she moved. Clement looked
in silence until his heavy eyelids came slowly down and
he fell into his oppressive slumber again. Either he did
not recognize her, or she came in too completely as
(18:20):
a part of his sleeping visions for him to be
disturbed by her appearance there. When Jacques awoke, it was
full daylight, at least as full as it would ever
be in that place. His breakfast, the jail allowance of bread,
and van Ordonnaire was by his side. He must have
slept soundly. He looked for his master he and Virginie
had recognized each other now hearts as well as appearance.
(18:41):
They were smiling into each other's faces, as if that dull,
vaulted room in the grim abbey were the sunny gardens
of Versailles, with music and festivity all abroad. Apparently they
had much to stay to each other, for whispered questions
and answers never ceased. Virginie had made a sling for
the poor broken arm. Nay, she had obtained two splinters
of wood in some way, and one of their fellow prisoners,
(19:02):
having it appeared some knowledge of surgery had set it.
Jacques felt more desponding by far than they did, for
he was suffering from the night he had passed, which
told upon his aged frame. While they must have heard
some good news, as it seemed to him, so bright
and happy did they look. Yet Clement was still in
bodily pain and suffering, and Virginie, by her own act
and deed, was a prisoner in that dreadful abbe, whence
(19:24):
the only issue was the guillotine. But they were together,
they loved, they understood each other at length. When Virginie
saw that Jacques was awake and languidly munching his breakfast.
She rose from the wooden stool on which she was
sitting and went to him, holding out both hands and
refusing to allow him to rise, while she thanked him
with pretty eagerness for all his kindness to Monsieur. Monsieur
(19:46):
himself came towards him, following Virginie, but with tottering steps,
as if his head was weak and dizzy, to thank
the poor old man, who now on his feet stood
between them, ready to cry, while they gave him credit
for faithful actions which he felt to have been almost involuntary.
On his pad for loyalty was like an instinct in
the good old days before your educational cant had come up.
(20:06):
And so two days went on. The only event was
the morning call for the victims, a certain number of
whom were summoned to trial every day, and to be
tried was to be condemned. Every one of the prisoners
became grave as the hour for their summons approached. Most
of the victims went to their doom with uncomplaining resignation,
and for a while after their departure there was comparative
(20:26):
silence in the prison. But by and by so said Jacques,
the conversation or amusements began again. Human nature cannot stand
the perpetual pressure of such keen anxiety without an effort
to relieve itself by thinking of something else. Jacques said
that Monsieur and Mademoiselle were forever talking together of the
past days. It was do you remember this or do
(20:48):
you remember that? Perpetually. He sometimes thought they forgot where
they were and what was before them. But Jacques did not,
and every day he trembled more and more as the
list was called over. The third morning their incarceration, the
jailer brought in a man whom Jacques did not recognize
and therefore did not at once observe, for he was
waiting as in duty bound upon his master and his
(21:08):
sweet young lady, as he always called her, and repeating
the story. He thought that the new introduction was some
friend of the jailer, as the two seemed well acquainted,
and the latter stayed a few minutes talking with his
visitor before leaving him in prison. So Jacques was surprised when,
after a short time had elapsed, he looked round and
saw the fierce stare with which the stranger was regarding
Monsieur and Mademoiselle de Crequy, as the pair sat at breakfast,
(21:32):
the said breakfast being laid as well as Jacques knew how,
on a bench fastened into the prison wall, Virginie sitting
on her low stool, and Clement half lying on the
ground by her side, and submitting gladly to be fed
by her pretty white fingers, for it was one of
her fancy, as Jacques said, to do all she could
for him in consideration of his broken arm. And indeed
Clement was wasting away daily, for he had received other
(21:54):
injuries internal and more serious than that to his arm
during the melee which had ended in his capture. The
stranger made Jacques conscious of his presence by a sigh
which was almost a groan. All three prisoners looked round
at the sound. Clement's face expressed little but scornful indifference,
but Virginie's face froze into stony hate. Jacques said he
never saw such a look, and hoped that he never
(22:15):
should again. Yet, after that first revelation of feeling, her
look was steady and fixed in another direction to that
in which the stranger stood still, motionless, still watching. He
came a step nearer. At last, Mademoiselle, he said, not.
The quivering of an eyelash showed that she heard him. Mademoiselle,
he said again, with an intensity of beseeching that made Jacques,
(22:37):
not knowing who he was, almost pity him. When he
saw his young lady's obdurate face. There was perfect silence
for a space of time which Jacques could not measure.
Then again, the voice, hesitatingly saying, Monsieur Clement could not
hold the same icy countenance as Virginie. He turned his
head with an impatient gesture of disgust. But even that
emboldened the man. Monsieur, do ask Mademoiselle to listen to
(23:01):
me just two words. Mademoiselle de Crequy only listens to
whom she chooses, very haughtily. My Clement would say that
I am sure, But Mademoiselle, lowering his voice and coming
a step or two nearer, Virginie must have felt his approach,
though she did not see it, for she drew herself
a little on the one side, so as to put
as much space as possible between him and her. Mademoiselle,
(23:23):
it is not too late I can save you. But
to morrow your name is down on the list. I
can save you if you will listen. Still, no word
or sign. Jacques did not understand the affair. Why was
she so obdurate to one who might be ready to
include Clement the proposal. As far as Jacques knew, the
man withdrew a little, but did not offer to leave
the prison. He never took his eyes off Virginie. He
(23:44):
seemed to be suffering from some acute and terrible pain
as he watched her. Jacques cleared away the breakfast things
as well as he could, purposely, as I suspect he
passed near the man, hist said the stranger. You are, Jacques,
the gardener arrested for assisting an arister. I know the jailer.
You shall escape if you will only take this message
(24:04):
from me to mademoiselle you heard. She will not listen
to me. I did not want her to come here.
I never knew she was here. And she will die
to morrow. They will put her beautiful round throat under
the guillotine. Tell her, good old man, Tell her how
sweet life is, and how I can save her, and
how I will not ask for more than just to
see her from time to time. She is so young,
(24:25):
and death is annihilation. You know why does she hate me?
So I want to save her. I have done her
no harm. Good old man. Tell her how terrible death is,
and that she will die to morrow unless she listens
to me. Jacques saw no harm in repeating this message.
Clement listened in silence, watching Virginie with an air of
infinite tenderness. Will you not try him, my cherished one,
(24:47):
he said towards you. He may mean well, which makes
me think that Virginie had never repeated to Clement the
conversation which she had overheard that last night at Madame Babette's,
you would be in no worse a situation than you
were before, no worse, Clement, and I should have known
that you were, and have lost you, my Clement, said,
she reproachfully ask him, said she, turning to Jacques suddenly.
(25:10):
If he can save Monsieur de Crequy as well. If
he can, oh, Clement, we might escape to England. We
are but young, and she hid her face in his shoulder.
Jacques returned to the stranger and asked him Virginie's question.
His eyes were fixed on the cousins. He was very pale,
and the twitchings or contortions which must have been involuntary.
Whenever he was agitated, convulsed his whole body. He made
(25:31):
a long pause. I will save Mademoiselle and monsieur if
she will go straight from prison to the Marie and
be my wife, your wife. Jacques could not help exclaiming
that she will never be Never ask her, said Morin hoarsely,
but almost before Jacques thought he could have fairly uttered
the words. Clement caught their meaning, begone, said he, not
(25:54):
one word more. Virginie touched the old man as he
was moving away. Tell him he does not know how
he makes me welcome death, and smiling as if triumphant,
she turned again to Clement. The stranger did not speak,
as Jacques gave him the meaning, not the words of
their replies. He was going away, but stopped a minute
or two afterwards. He beckoned to Jacques. The old gardener
(26:16):
seems to have thought it undesirable to throw away even
the chance of assistance from such a man as this,
for he went forward to speak to him. Listen, I
have influence with the jailer. He shall let thee pass
out with the victims tomorrow. No one will notice it
or miss thee. They will be led to trial. Even
at the last moment. I will save her if she
sends me word she relents. Speak to her. As the
time draws on. Life is very sweet. Tell her how sweet.
(26:40):
Speak to him. He will do more with her than
thou canst. Let him urge her to live, even at
the last. I will be at the Palais de justice,
at the greve. I have followers, I have interest. Come
among the crowd that follow the victims. I shall see thee.
It will be no worse for him if she escapes.
Save my master, and I will do all, said Jacques.
Only on my one condition, said Morin doggedly, and Jacques
(27:03):
was hopeless of that condition ever being fulfilled. But he
did not see why his own life might not be
saved by remaining in prison until the next day. He
should have rendered every service in his power to his
master and the young lady. He poor fellow shrank from death,
and he agreed with Moraun to escape if he could,
by the means Morin had suggested, and to bring him
word if Mademoiselle de Crequy relented. Jacques had no expectation
(27:24):
that she would, But I fancy he did not think
it necessary to tell Morin of this conviction of his.
This bargaining with so base a man for so slight
a thing as life, was the only flawed that I
heard of in the old Gardener's behavior. Of course, the
mere reopening of the subject was enough to stir Virginie
to displeasure. Clement urged her, it is true, but the
light he had gained upon Morau's motions made him rather
(27:47):
trying to set the case before her in as fair
a manner as possible, than use any persuasive arguments. And
even as it was, what he said on the subject
made Virginie shed tears, the first that had fallen from
her since she entered the prison. So they were summoned
and went together at the fatal call of the muster
roll of victims the next morning, he feeble from his
wounds and his injured health, she calm and serene, only
(28:09):
petitioning to be allowed to walk next to him in
order that she might hold him up when he turned
faint and giddy from his extreme suffering. Together they stood
at the bar. Together, they were condemned. As the words
of judgment were pronounced. Virginie turned to Clement and embraced
him with passionate fondness, then making him lean on her,
they marched out towards the place de la Greeve. Jacques
(28:31):
was free. Now he had told Morin how fruitless his
efforts of persuasion had been, and scarcely caring to note
the effect of his information upon the man, he had
devoted himself to watching Monsieur and Mademoiselle de Crequy, And
now he followed them to the place de la Greev.
He saw them mount the platform, saw them kneel down
together till plucked up by the impatient officials could see
(28:51):
that she was urging some request to the executioner, the
end of which seemed to be that Clement advanced first
to the guillotine was executed, And just at this moment
there was a stir among the crowd, as of a
man pressing forwards towards the scaffold. Then she, standing with
her face to the guillotine, slowly made the sign of
the cross and knelt down. Jacques covered his eyes, blinded
(29:11):
with tears. The report of a pistol made him look up.
She was gone, another victim in her place, and where
there had been a little stir in the crowd. Not
five minutes before, some men were carrying off a dead body.
A man had shot himself, they said. Pierre told me
who that man was. End of Chapter eight
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