And now the captain turned to the other two down-at-heel soldiers who stood skulking behind their lieutenant.
“Go,” he commanded, “round the billets where your comrades are. Bring them hither. And one of you to the commissariat, and bring the ci-devant here too. And no delay, remember. No gossip on the way as you value your lives. I give you five minutes to have all the men and the prisoner here.”
The men went immediately to execute the peremptory order, while the lieutenant remained in the shop looking the picture of humility and dejection. Ma’ame Colombe who had a kindly heart inside her ample bosom, felt almost sorry for the man, so miserable did he look. Indeed it seemed as if this squad of elegantly clad soldiers sowed anguish and terror in their path.
But the worst was yet to come. Ma’ame Colombe thought that she had probed the last depths of humiliation when she heard that gorgeous officer call her Amédé a thief. To such a pass had this so-called revolution brought the respectable children of France, that they saw themselves bullied and insulted, and held up to shame before their neighbours. What was all that in comparison with the shame of seeing Amédé confronted with the proof that in very truth he was in possession of papers and valuables which were the property of Madame de Frontenac?
It all happened so quickly. Poor Ma’ame Colombe could scarce believe her eyes. All that she saw was two soldiers guided by their sumptuous captain go straight through the back parlour and out by the back door into the yard. What happened out there she did not know, but a minute or two later the three men were standing once more in the parlour, and the captain had in his hand a small box, a thick leather wallet and a bag which obviously contained money.
At sight of these Amédé—her Amédé—had jumped to his feet as if he had been stung; all the blood rushed to his face, and made it crimson with choler, and it looked for the moment as if he would hurl himself on the officer of the Republican army—which would have meant instant death for him, as the soldiers had already shouldered their muskets. Ma’ame Colombe gave a terrified shriek, whereat Amédé suddenly seemed to realize his position, the flush died out of his poor face, and with eyes downcast he resumed his former silent, constrained attitude.
The Captain shrugged his shoulders and with a note of dry sarcasm in his voice he said:
“I see you make no attempt at denial. You are wise, citizen. Try and induce your mother not to shriek and you’ll find that everything will turn out for the best.”
He did not say this unkindly, and poor Ma’ame Colombe even thought that she detected an indulgent tone in his voice. She rose to her feet and put her podgy hands together, and when the Captain re-entered the shop, she looked up at him with tearful, entreating eyes.
“He did it with a good motive, M’sieu’ le—I mean citizen captain. Look at the innocent. He is no thief. I swear he is no thief. I’d like,” she went on, turning fiercely round and darting defiant glances on the crowd of gaffers on the doorstep, “I’d like to see the man who dared to say that my Amédé is a thief.”
The officer had handed the pièces de conviction to one of his men, with orders to put them in the wagon. Then he commanded Amédé to stand up before him.
“Thief or no thief,” he said dryly, “you are guilty of having acted contrary to the interests of the Republic. You know what that means?”
Amédé made no reply, only hung his head, and twiddled his hot fingers together.
“It means,” the officer continued, “that but for one thing, your life would have had to answer for this act of treason.”
A groan went round the crowd on whose ears those words had fallen like the toll of a passing bell. But Ma’ame Colombe did not utter a sound. She clung to her Hector and the two old people stood there hand in hand, striving by this loving contact to conquer the icy fear that had gripped their hearts.
“The one thing that will probably save you,” the officer resumed after a dramatic pause, “is that the Republic has need of you in her revolutionary army. The enemy is at the gates of France, you are young, healthy, vigorous; it is for you to show your mettle by defending your country. Thus you will redeem the past. For the moment it is my duty to take you before the Committee of Public Safety, whose final word will dispose of your fate.”
He spoke loudly so that all the listeners might hear. Gaffers and urchins and market-women hardly dared to breathe. They felt awed, and could only gaze at one another, as if trying to read each other’s thoughts. And while awed whispers still went the round, the down-at-heel soldiers, who had spent the night in the village, came skulking back in groups of two or threes. They pushed their way through the crowd into the shop. One of the last to arrive was M. de Frontenac, closely guarded by two of the men.
And there they all stood now in the shop, a dozen or so of them, beside the sacks of haricots and button-onions and split peas; all of them with the exception of the prisoner, looking dirty and bedraggled, with their worsted caps covered in dust, bits of hay and straw clinging to their coats and to their hair, barelegged and grimy-faced,
