The Greatest Historical Novels. Rafael Sabatini
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Delaunay's impatience would brook no postponement of that excursion to Charonne beyond the following Décadi, the Republican Sunday—for the Revolutionary Calendar, which divided the week into ten days, the month into three weeks, and the year into ten months, had by now been adopted. So, on the next Décadi, three days later, the two deputies and the banker drove out to Charonne, taking with them that stalwart champion of the Mountain, François Chabot, who represented the Department of Loir-et-Cher in the National Convention.
They dined early in the afternoon, in the garden, just the six of them with the Citoyenne Grandmaison to do the honours of the table as hostess. La Guiche, Roussel, and the others had temporarily effaced themselves. Under the lime trees, from which the ardent June sun was drawing the fragrance, a feast was spread with abundance of choice wines to which the deputies did the fullest justice.
François Chabot, now in his thirty-fifth year, was a stiffly built, vigorous little man with a lively, good-humoured face that was fairly full in the cheeks. His nose was disproportionately large, and made a line with his deplorable brow which sloped away to be lost in a mass of brown curls. He had the full lips of the sensualist and a prominent chin in which there was a dimple. His eyes were good and in their seeming alertness simulated an intelligence altogether greater than that which lay behind them. In dress he observed a patriotic and unclean slovenliness; his clustering brown curls were ill-kempt, and generally he did not suggest that soap and water played any considerable part in his daily habits. In manners as in appearance he was gross and uncouth, betraying constantly his plebeian origin.
Nevertheless, he was unquestionably a great man in the State, and he seemed destined for yet further greatness. His popularity dated back to the moment when he had discarded the Capuchin habit so impatiently worn for fifteen years, so that he might assume instead the tricolour cockade and procure election to the Legislative Assembly. No gesture could have been more symbolical of the casting-off of the trammels of superstition, or could more sharply and favourably have drawn attention to him. Of this he had known how to take the fullest advantage. Eyes and ears were not turned in vain upon the new deputy. His commonplace mind imposed no restraints upon his use of the turgid eloquence that emotionally sweeps the rabble off its feet. And then the ardent patriotism revealed in his denunciations! He was a very sleuth-hound of republicanism on the trail of every aristocratic or counter-revolutionary activity. Few orators occupied the tribune as frequently both in the Convention and the clubs. He discovered plot after plot, most of which had no real existence, and if there were some in the Convention who sneered at him and his interminable fiery denunciations, yet his popularity with the mob rose ever higher, so that even those who sneered were compelled to recognize him for a power in the land, to be ranked among the half-dozen men at most to whom the Nation looked for leadership.
The rugged, downright Danton made the mistake of despising him, stigmatizing his denunciations as capucinades, in contemptuous allusion to his conventual antecedents. This merely had the effect of ranging Chabot entirely on the side of Robespierre in the great struggle for mastery that was just beginning.
At the moment he came fresh from the triumph of his latest denunciation which had been hurled at the Deputy Condorcet's criticisms of the new constitution. Together with this, Chabot had announced the discovery of the latest conspiracy against the State, in which he had implicated several prominent men. If there were still in the Convention some who were daring enough to deride his accusations, yet such was his authority that the seals had been placed, by his demand, upon the private papers of three whom he denounced.
After these labours, the deputy for Loir-et-Cher may have felt that he owed himself a little relaxation. Delaunay's suggestion that they should spend a day in the country, at a house where a good table was kept with a charming hostess to preside over it, came opportunely.
Delaunay had understated the case when he attributed only two passions to Chabot. The Capuchin's starved youth had left him a sensualist in every direction. He loved good food and good wine, as much as he loved all the other pleasures of the flesh. Indeed, his history justifies us in describing him as a glutton and a drunkard. These proclivities he could rarely indulge save at other men's tables, for despite his avidity for money he remained poor. He had never discovered how money could be made, so ingenuous was he in matters of finance; and it had never yet occurred to him that ways of enriching himself were ready to the hands of a man who had climbed to his position.
These omissions in the ex-Capuchin's education were to be repaired by André-Louis under the limes in the garden at Charonne. They had plied him steadily with wine, and added to it the intoxication of skilful flattery, until the man's wits were addled. He had grown increasingly voluble, and increasingly at ease in his manners. He had addressed himself with an ever-growing familiarity to the handsome Babette, and he was ogling her fondly when, the repast being ended, she rose to withdraw. Protesting against her departure, he rose with her, seized her about the waist, and sought to compel her to sit down again. In the struggle he even kissed her; and there was a moment when Delaunay, aware of the relations between de Batz and the lady, was afraid that the lecherous Capuchin would not only ruin their hopes, but himself come to grief. The blood, indeed, was rising to the Gascon's swarthy face when a kick and a wink from André-Louis recalled to him the need for prudence.
The dark, queenly Babette, meanwhile, played her difficult part with skill. Dissembling her disgust at the uncouth deputy's too physical attentions, she laughed lightly, almost coquettishly, as she disengaged herself. With a promise to return so soon as the household duties claiming her would permit, she tripped away across the lawn.
Chabot was disposing himself to go in pursuit of her when the massive Delaunay heaved himself up, took the ex-Capuchin by the shoulders, and almost flung him down again on his chair.
'A little circumspection, name of a name,' the Angévin growled at him.
Chabot, almost winded by the violence, sat still. Only his smouldering eyes followed the graceful figure as it moved across the lawn to the long, low white house with its green shutters. He was a little aggrieved. There had been a distinct implication in Delaunay's mention of a charming hostess. Charming, Chabot had certainly found her. But surely of an excessive coyness, an utterly unnecessary aloofness.
To create a diversion, de Batz poured wine for him. The deputy fetched a sigh, and sipped it appreciatively, taking from it what compensation he could for other joys which it seemed were to elude him. And then at last with some abruptness the conversation turned on money. It was Benoît the banker, who was also of the party, who tossed that ball among these players.
'Morbleu, de Batz,' he said, 'that last operation of yours must have brought you in at least a hundred thousand francs.'
Chabot, in the act of drinking, almost choked. A hundred thousand francs! God of God! Were there such sums to be made? But how? He was asking these questions almost before he knew it, and André-Louis was laughing as he answered him.
'On my soul, will you affect ingenuousness, Citizen-Representative? Is it for a man of your eminence in the State, a man of your influence and power, to ask such a question? For a hundred thousand livres that de Batz may make as a result of infinite pain and labour, there's a million to be picked up without effort by a man in your position.'
Chabot's eyes held a look that was almost of consternation.
'If there is, I should be glad to know more precisely where. I would so, by God!' He turned upon Benoît. 'You, who are a banker, a man who makes money by money, though God knows how, what have you to say to that?'
Benoît explained to him the transactions in confiscated property which could be rendered so profitable. A man in Chabot's position would be among the first to know what was to be bought and what margin of profit it would leave.
Chabot was shocked. 'You mean, citizen, that I am to abuse the position which by the people's trust and faith in me I am permitted to occupy?' He grew stern. 'Will you tell me how I could justify myself before the tribunal of my conscience?'
'What justification does a man need who has done no harm?' quoth André-Louis.
'No