When he had lived in Paris as secretary to Monsieur de Rochambeau he had often dined at La Belle Etoile in the Rue de l’Arbe Sec, and had come to know well the patron and his wife, a couple from Cabourg in Normandy, named Blanchard. In consequence, on his return in the previous April he had taken a room there; and, once more, the preceding evening, they had welcomed his reappearance. So, when he was dressed, he went downstairs and invited his old friend, the landlord, to join him in a midday draught.
Monsieur Blanchard was a fair-haired, blue-eyed man; honest according to his lights, intelligent and hardworking. He was also shrewd enough to realize that in these times of violent and diverse opinions it paid an innkeeper better to let his customers talk, and agree with them, than to air his own views. As mine host of a well-patronized hostelry in central Paris he missed very little of what was going on in the capital; and, knowing his deliberately cultivated impartiality, Roger felt that a talk with the cautious Norman would be the quickest way to bring himself up to date with the news.
The good Mere Blanchard, an apple-cheeked, motherly soul, had already solicitously remarked on Roger's haggard looks, and he had put them down to a slow summer fever contracted in the south of France; so he was not called on now to give further explanations to account for his sadly altered appearance. Without preamble he announced that, having been absent from Paris for seven weeks, he had heard little of what had been going on, except that the States General had met early in May, and was anxious to be acquainted with more recent events.
The landlord shrugged. "Really, Monsieur le Chevalier, there is little to tell. So far the States have disappointed us sadly. Their proceedings go on with zealous regularity but they have not yet got to the point of discussing the ills of the nation, let alone proposing remedies for them. The whole time of the Third Estate has been taken up with urging the other two to join it, but the nobles continue adamant in their refusal and meanwhile the clergy sit upon the fence."
"Has nothing whatever been accomplished, then?" asked Roger in some surprise.
"Nothing, Monsieur; although the events of the past week give slightly better promise. On the ioth the Abbé Sieyes moved that a last invitation be issued to the first Two Orders to join the Third, and that if it was refused the Third should proceed on its own with the verification of credentials. No reply being forthcoming verification was started on the 12th. Since then nine of the clergy have come over, and verification has been completed. What will be the next move remains to be seen."
"And how have the people of Paris taken this inactivity?"
"With patience, Monsieur. There have been no major disturbances. But a new element seems to be percolating into the city which fills many of us with uneasiness. As you walk abroad you will now notice here and there little groups of foreigners idling on the street corners— rough, brutal-looking men who speak only a patois of the South. How or why they should have come here, and who supports them, nobody knows; but wherever there is an outcry they are to be seen participating in it, although it is no concern of theirs."
"Is there no other news?"
"None of moment; other than the death of the Dauphin on the fourth of this month; but naturally, you will have heard of that."
Roger shook his head. "I had not. As I told your wife and yourself last night, I have been ill for some weeks; and on my journey north I still felt too poorly to enter into conversation with strangers. Of what did the young prince die ?"
"None of the doctors could put a name to his ailment, Monsieur; although it lasted for fifteen months. 'Tis said that all the poor little fellow's hair fell out and that his body was covered with pustules. And further, that since his corpse was embalmed it has shrunk to the size of a new-born infant's. His sufferings were great but I understand that he showed extraordinary fortitude for a child, and spent his last moments comforting his distraught parents."
"His loss must have proved a tragic sorrow to the Queen."
"Aye," nodded the stolid Norman dispassionately. "Perhaps it was a judgment on her; but wicked as she is one cannot help feeling sorry for the poor woman in the loss of her eldest son."
It was Roger's business to collect information; so he refrained from the impulse to prejudice his source by entering on a defence of
Madame Marie Antoinette. For a moment he remained silent, then, feeling that nothing more was to be gathered from his landlord, he ordered his horse with the intention of riding out to Versailles.
While it was being saddled he pondered the mystery of the Dauphin's death. To him, the symptoms—loss of hair, suppurating sores and decayed bones—sounded suspiciously like hereditary syphilis. Yet the Queen came from healthy stock, and the King was said to have refrained from sexual intercourse until eight years after his marriage, owing to a slight malformation which was later rectified by the nick of a surgeon's knife. Perhaps the boy had been the innocent victim of the immoralities of his great-grandfather, Louis XV. On the other hand it was just possible that one of the lecherous old King's cronies had, when Louis XVI was only a lad, amused himself by initiating the young prince into vice. If so, such a terrible disease contracted in his youth might easily account for his later horror of women and continued celibacy even after his marriage. It was an interesting speculation.
When Roger arrived at Versailles he found to his annoyance that the Court was not in residence. On the previous Sunday, following the obsequies of the Dauphin, the King and Queen had retired with the barest minimum of attendants to the privacy of their little chateau not far distant at Marly. Nevertheless, owing to the sittings of the States General the royal town was a seething mass of people; and the very first of his acquaintances that Roger ran into was the suave and subtle Monsieur de Perigord.
Limping up to him, the elegant but unworthy Bishop first congratulated him on his return, then expressed concern at his woebegone appearance.
Again Roger explained his hollow cheeks and sunken eyes as the result of a slow fever, and added that never again would he be tempted to expose himself to the treacherous climate of the Mediterranean. For a few moments they talked of Cannes, where he said he had spent the greater part of his period of exile, owing to its already having become a favourite resort of the English; then he remarked:
"From what I hear you do not seem to be making much progress with your Revolution."
"On the contrary," replied the Bishop blandly. "The Revolution became an accomplished fact three days ago."
Roger cocked an eyebrow. "Are the people then already become bored with politics, that they have accepted their triumph with so little excitement?"
"Nay, 'tis simply that few, even of the deputies themselves, realized the full implication of the momentous step taken by the Third Estate until this morning."
"I pray you read me this riddle."
"On Friday the 12th, all efforts of the Third Estate to induce the other two Orders to join them having failed, they decided to proceed with verification on their own. The verification was completed on the 14th. From that point they could not go backwards, or stand still, so willy-nilly they had to go forward and consider themselves as a duly elected parliament with powers to legislate on behalf of the nation. If the taking of such a step without the consent of the Kong, clergy or nobles does not constitute a Revolution, tell me what does."