For Love of a Bedouin Maid. Le Voleur
and the wind had cleared the clouds, so that the moon now shone brightly overhead, illuminating the street; for all that, once or twice he stumbled and nearly fell, so badly were the roads repaired.
On and on he ran, but still saw no signs of those he sought. At last he came to a large square, and here he paused for breath, and to consider his next step. It was evident he had missed the two police agents whom he believed to be following General Buonaparte. Then doubts began to assail him. Was he following the right road? that most likely to be taken by the General to gain his own house, which was situated, as St. Just knew, in the Rue Chantereine (afterwards Rue de la Victoire). For a moment he stood thinking and panting; then, anxious to lose no time, he was about to retrace his steps, when he heard a faint sound, like the cry of some one in distress, proceeding from a narrow court on his left. Impulsively, half hoping, half fearing it might proceed from those he sought, he dashed into the court, fear for Buonaparte, and excitement making his breath come short and fast.
This was what had happened. Vipont or Sotin, one of the two, creeping behind Buonaparte, had flung his cloak over the General's head and dragged him by his superior strength away from the street and partly up the court. His companion was, at the time, a few yards behind, and the General's frantic struggles to release himself from the strange bondage had necessitated the exercise of all his assailant's force to retain him in his grasp and force him out of the main street. No attempt had yet been made to kill him. But, at the moment when St. Just ran up, the man was shortening his sword to plunge it into Buonaparte's back; St. Just raised his arm; the crack of a pistol shot rang out upon the night; and the would-be assassin staggered forward and dropped upon the footpath, with a bullet in him. But so nearly had he achieved his purpose, that his sword, when he fell, made a long gash in Buonaparte's cloak.
The other, who had been coming up to help, seeing his comrade fall, and, with that, the failure of their plot, did not hesitate a moment, but made a rush for the narrow court, knocking down St. Just, who attempted to bar his passage; and, plunging into the darkness, disappeared.
When St. Just came to himself, which he did quickly, though the breath had been knocked out of him, he found Buonaparte bending over him and binding with a scarf a slight wound in his head.
"It is nothing, sir," he said, staggering to his feet, and feeling somewhat giddy. Buonaparte had asked him whether he was seriously hurt. "One gets harder knocks on the battlefield and marches; on—"
"You are a soldier, I see," interrupted the General, "and surely we have met before. Is it not so?"
"We have, General," was the prompt reply, and St. Just straightened himself and saluted. "I was with you through most of the Italian campaign. In General Augereau's division. I accompanied the corps home, when you ordered him to Paris. Lieutenant St. Just, at your service, General."
"You have seen service then, young man," was Buonaparte's sharp answer. Then, looking searchingly in the other's face. "Did I not see you at the Luxembourg; but now?"
"You did, sir, as officer for the day of the Guard of the Directors."
"And how comes it that you were so opportunely present when I was in such peril?"
"From certain words I accidentally overheard, I feared there were designs against your life, and I followed you. It was I who escorted you to the Directors on your arrival. When I heard you say that you would walk alone, I tried to warn you; you may recollect it, Sir, and that I was dismissed to my duties by the President of the Directors."
"I remember. I remember also that the President's words were prompted by my own. Lieutenant St. Just, I owe you an apology; more, my life. You shall not find me ungenerous or ungrateful."
"To have saved the life of the most illustrious soldier of France, General, is its own reward."
Buonaparte loved flattery, though he affected to despise it. "Your reward shall not stop at that," he laughed, "Walk with me now; we can talk of this attack upon me, on our way. One moment, though," and he kicked Vipont's unconscious body carelessly with his foot. "What are we to do with this carrion?"
"I will care for him; Voilà!" And so saying, St. Just dragged Vipont to the nearest doorway and, covering him with his cloak, left him. The body of a wounded—even of a murdered man—was at that time a common sight in the early morning in the streets of Paris.
St. Just leaning on Buonaparte's arm, they quitted the narrow passage and made their way back to the main thoroughfare. Here they were lucky enough to find a passing coach. This Buonaparte hailed. Then he told St. Just to get in and accompany him to his house in the Rue Chantereine.
During the drive, St. Just placed the General in the possession of affairs (so far as he knew them) at the Directoire. Buonaparte listened intently to every word that fell from St. Just's lips, and, though the faintness of the light prevented St. Just from seeing much more than the outline of his companion's figure, he knew from the tone of the other's replies that every word he uttered was being carefully weighed. He had hardly finished his relation, before the carriage drew up at Buonaparte's house. A few moments later, St. Just found himself following his host into a room in which sat Buonaparte's wife. Josephine sprang to her feet with a cry of joy. "My husband!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck. "I was beginning to think you were never coming. Bourrienne was here quite early in the evening and told me you would come to me immediately." Both Buonaparte and his wife were so taken up with one another that, for some moments, St. Just remained unnoticed. But presently Buonaparte remembered him and introduced him to his wife, to whom he made St. Just tell his story of the night's adventures.
When the young officer had finished, there was a momentary silence, during which Josephine and St. Just were thinking as was natural, one of the other, "how handsome he (she) is."
Josephine was the first to break the silence. Turning to St. Just with a smile, she said: "Sir, I thank you for your bravery and adroitness in delivering my husband from his peril. In return, if you have anything at heart that we can forward, I am sure I express both his sentiments and my own when I say that we will do so."
"Madame," St. Just replied, "I am content in that I have been the humble means of saving your husband's life; of preserving a husband for you, but also her greatest General for France. Permit me to say in answer to your kindness that all I ask is, to be near the General in his campaigns now and always, in order that, while my life lasts, I may devote it to him."
Buonaparte rose to his feet and, crossing to St. Just, held out his hand. "Sir," he said, "you have earned from me to-night, not only my gratitude, but also my esteem, which I do not lightly confer, or, when conferred, withdraw. You have spoken like a soldier, and your sentiments do you honor. Your request to accompany me in the next campaign is granted."
Then Madame Buonaparte advanced to him.
"Mons. St. Just," she said, in her gracious manner, "to offer money to a soldier were an insult; for bravery and a sense of duty are beyond all price. But you may, at least, accept this little gift, as a memento of this night, and also as my witness to my husband's promise; for," she continued laughingly, tapping Buonaparte on the shoulder, "men, when they rise to power, are apt to forget those not so fortunate."
With that, she handed to St. Just a golden chain formed of a hand holding a heart suspended to it by a chain.
Bowing deeply, St. Just kissed the hand that held it out to him, as though she were already an Empress, instead of but a General's wife.
The action, theatrical as it was, delighted her.
Then Buonaparte interposed. "Mons. St. Just," he said, "in return for what you have done for me, I promise to do you three services, even to the sparing of your life, should you do aught to forfeit it; the promise to begin from now, and to remain in force till the end of my life."
St. Just bowed and thanked the General. Then he rose to go. Buonaparte pressed him to remain for that night, at least, in his house, urging as one reason St. Just's wound. At this the young soldier laughed. He had made light of this wound, removed the bandage before arriving at the house—so soon in fact as the bleeding had ceased.
"No, I must return to–my duties," he replied; "though, if the Minister of Police recognizes me, it will be a case of an underground cell in the Temple and