The Dedalus Book of French Horror: The 19th Century by Terry Hale Read Free Book Online

see you and thank you.’
    She took my arm again, and we went on as far as the Rue Saint Guillaume.
    When we had arrived, she took a key out of her pocket, opened a small door, took hold of my hand, whilst we went up to the second floor, and gave a peculiar kind of tap at the door.
    A man about eight-and-forty or fifty opened the door. He was dressed like a working man, and appeared to be engaged at his trade as a book-binder.
    But the first words he uttered, the first thanks he expressed to me, betrayed the high-born nobleman.
    ‘Sir,’ said he to me, ‘Providence has directed you to us, and I receive you as his delegate. Is it true that you can save me, and are willing to do so?’
    I related every thing to him, and told him that Marceau undertook to take him as his secretary, and would require nothing of him but his promise not to bear arms against France.
    ‘When does Marceau set out?’
    ‘Tomorrow.’
    ‘Ought I to go to his house tonight?’
    ‘Whenever you like – he will expect you.’
    The father and daughter exchanged looks.
    ‘I think it would be more prudent if you were to go tonight, father,’ said Solange.
    ‘Be it so. But if they arrest me, I have no identity card.’
    ‘Here is mine.’
    ‘But you, yourself?’
    ‘Oh! I am known.’
    ‘Where does Marceau reside?’
    ‘In the Rue de l’Université, No. 40, at his sister’s, Mile. Desgraviers Marceau.’
    ‘Are you going with me?’
    ‘I will follow behind to escort the young lady home when you have gone in.’
    ‘But how will Marceau know that I am the man you recommend?’
    ‘You will deliver him this tri-coloured cockade; it is the sign of recognition.’
    ‘What shall I do for my deliverer?’
    ‘Trust me with your daughter’s liberation, as she has trusted me with yours.’
    ‘Let us go.’
    He put on his hat and extinguished the lights.
    We went down the stairs, lighted by the moon. At the street door he took his daughter’s arm, and went out.
    I followed them at a short distance. We reached Marceau’s house without meeting with anyone.
    I drew near to them.
    ‘This omens well,’ said I. ‘Now, shall I wait here, or go up with you?’
    ‘No, you must not run any further risk. Wait here for my daughter.’
    I bowed assent.
    ‘Once more receive my thanks, and farewell,’ said he, giving me his hand. ‘Language has no words to express the feelings I entertain towards you. I hope that God will one day enable me to express to you all my gratitude.’
    I replied by pressing his hand.
    He went in; Solange followed him; but she too, before going in, had pressed my hand.
    Ten minutes after, the door opened again.
    ‘Well?’ said I.
    ‘Well!’ she replied, ‘your friend deserves to be a friend of yours; his delicacy has no bounds. He feels that I shall be happy to stay with my father till the last moment. His sister has ordered a bed to be prepared for me in her own chamber. Tomorrow, by ten at night, my father will be beyond the reach of danger. So, tomorrow night, at ten o’clock, if you think the thanks of a daughter, who will owe a father’s life to you, are worth coming to receive, return once more to the Rue Ferou.’
    Oh! certainly, I will go. Did your father tell you anything for me?’
    ‘He thanks you for your card, which he returns to you now, and begs you to dismiss me to him as soon as possible.’
    ‘Whenever you please, Solange,’ replied I, with a heavy heart.
    I must at least know where to join my father,’ said she; then she added with a smile, ‘Oh, you have not yet got rid of me!’
    I took her hand, and pressed it to my heart.
    But she presented her forehead as before.
    ‘Tomorrow, then,’ said she.
    I put my lips to her forehead; and this time it was not merely her hand I pressed to my heart, but her heaving bosom – her palpitating heart.
    I returned home with a soul full of joy. I had never felt so elated. Was it the consciousness of having done a good action – was it that I began to love