"You mean run away before the canaille. Not I. I'll see them all in hell first."
"I was thinking of Madame la Marquise and Mademoiselle Cécile."
"Then, pray," François retorted, with supreme arrogance, "cease thinking of aught but your own business, which is to look after the welfare of Monsieur l'Abbé Edgeworth."
With that, he turned his back on his visitor and stalked out of the room, leaving the Professor standing there motionless, a thoughtful look in his deep blue eyes and a sarcastic curl round his firm lips. A moment or two later Paul came in.
"Monsieur l'Abbé is waiting to see Monsieur le Professeur," he said.
The latter gave a short, impatient sigh and followed Paul out of the room. His interview with the old priest was short. The abbé with that patient acceptance of fate which he had shown since the one catastrophic event two days ago, was ready to follow this unknown friend as he had followed the two ruffianly guards the other day from the Levets' home to the château. He made his adieux to the family who had so generously sheltered him, expressed his thanks to them, as well as to Paul and Marie, who had looked after him, and finally stepped into the cabriolet which he understood would take him on to Vitry first, there to meet Belgian friends who would drive him by coach to the frontier. Monsieur le Professeur sat by his side and drove with him for about a kilometre or so; he then called to the driver to stop, alighted from the vehicle and bade the old priest farewell.
"The friends, Monsieur l'Abbé," he said finally, "who will take care of you at Vitry and convey you to the frontier, are kind and generous. The head of the family has held an official position in Paris for the Belgian Government. He has a safe-conduct for you. Try and think of no one but yourself until you are over the border. God guard you."
He then spoke a word or two to the driver which the abbé failed to hear. There were two men on the box. One of them now got down and took his seat under the hood of the carriage. He looked something of a ruffian, but the abbé did not mind his looks. He was used to friendly ruffians by now. He took a last look at the mysterious Professor, saw him standing bareheaded at the side of the road, his black cloak wrapped round his tall figure, one slender hand resting on the knob of his cane, his face a reflection of lofty thoughts within a noble soul.
It was a face and form the Abbé Edgeworth knew that he would never forget, even though he was destined never to see them again. As the driver whipped his nag, the priest murmured a prayer to God to bless and guard this mysterious friend to whom he owned his safety and his life.
18 IMPENDING TROUBLE
Three days had gone by since the incidents at la Rodière, and excitement in Choisy over the outrage on Dr. Pradel was working itself up to fever-pitch. In the evenings, men and women who had been at work in the government factories all day, would pour out in their hundreds and invade the cafés and restaurants, eager to hear further details of the abominable assault which by now had inflamed the passions of every adult in the commune. A devilish aristocrat had shown his hatred and contempt for the people by making a cowardly attack on one of the most respected citizens of Choisy, on a man who spent his life and fortune in ministering to the poor and doing good to every man, woman or child who called to him for help. Such an affront called aloud for vengeance. It was directed against the people, against the rights and privileges of every free-born citizen of France.
And paid agitators came down from Paris, and stood at street corners or on the tables in cafés and restaurants and harangued the excited crowds that readily enough gathered round them to hear them speak.
"Why, I ask you, Citizens," they would demand in ringing tones, "why did Louis Capet's head fall like that of a common criminal under the guillotine, a few days ago? Because he had conspired against the people. Conspired against our liberties: against yours, Citizens, and against mine. Judges and jury found him guilty, and pronounced death sentence upon him. King or ex-King, I didn't matter. He was found guilty by his fellow-men of having conspired against the people and he was punishment by death. Then why, I ask you," the impassioned orator would then go on, "why should those ci-devants up at La Rodière not be punished also? The outrage which they have committed against the whole of our commune, and our commune must pronounce judgement upon them, by virtue of the sovereignty of the people of France."
Rapturous applause and shouts of "Vive la République" and "Vive" all sorts of other things greeted the peroration. "The sovereignty of the people" were magic words which always stirred the blood of every self-respecting citizen. They were spoken by men who knew how to work on the passions of poor, ignorant folk whose lot through life had been one of continuous struggle against misery and starvation, and whom it was easy enough to persuade that by the overthrow of all existing dynastic rights, the millenium for the humble and the lowly would surely come. They were men employed by the revolutionary government for the sole purpose of stirring up trouble in places where the bulk of the inhabitants appeared placid and contented with their lot. Such a place was this small commune of Choisy, where people like the Levets lived the simple life, following their own avocations without the usual show of discontent, and where men like Simon Pradel set the example of quiet, unassuming generosity.
And this was a grand opportunity for sowing seeds of anarchy and turbulence beloved by the government, seeds that had already brought forth wholesale massacres in Paris, and the tragedy of January 21st. So the men who were sent down by the government to make trouble, got their opportunity now. They enticed the crowds into cafés and restaurants, and standing on tables, throwing their arms about, they talked and they harangued and shouted: "Down with the aristos!" till these humble folk, intoxicated by promises of a millenium and a life of ease and plenty, took up the cry and shouted: "Down with the aristos! To hell with La Rodière and the whole brood up at the château!"
The chief centre of this growing agitation was the restaurant Tison adjoining the café of the same name on the Grand' Place; a great number of people, women as well as men, usually crowded in there in the evenings because it was known that the hero of the hour, Dr. Pradel, usually took his supper in the restaurant. People wanted to see him, to shake him by the hand and to explain to him how ready everyone was in Choisy to avenge his wrongs on those arrogant ci-devants up at La Rodière.
Unfortunately Simon Pradel did not see eye to eye with that agitated crowd. He resented his own impotence bitterly enough, but he didn't want other people-certainly not a lot of rioters-to make trouble up at the château and, God help them, strike perhaps at Mademoiselle Cécile whilst trying to punish her brother. Up to now he had succeeded in keeping the more aggressive hotheads within bounds. He had a great deal of influence with his fellow-citizens, was very highly respected and they did listen to him when he first begged, then commanded them to mind their own business and let him manage his own. In this, strangely enough, he had an ally in a man he detested, Louis Maurin, the lawyer, who appeared just as anxious as he was himself to put a stop to the insane project advocated by the agents of the government; this was to march in a body to La Rodière, there to loot or destroy the contents of the château as had already been done once, four years ago, and if not actually to murder the family of aristos, at any rate to give them a wholesome freight followed by exemplary punishment.