The Greatest Historical Novels. Rafael Sabatini
God's name, don't overdo it.'
André-Louis smiled, and Boissancourt, too, observed that André-Louis's eyes were bitter.
'That is impossible. There never have been such despots in the land as the apostles of Equality. Besides, it's amusing to see these poor rats dance to the tune which they themselves have called.'
'Maybe. But we are not here to amuse ourselves.'
If the dinner was to be a test of patriotism, the landlord proved himself a patriot of the stoutest. There was a broth containing the essences of real meat, a tender and well-nourished capon roasted with loving care, a bottle of wine which made them dream themselves on the banks of the Garonne, and the purest wheaten bread they had tasted in months. There were other things that mattered less. They were waited upon by the landlord's wife and daughter with fearful solicitude.
'Well, well! They don't starve in the country, it seems,' said Boissancourt, 'whatever they may do in Paris.'
'Members of the Government do not starve anywhere,' snapped André-Louis. 'That is what we are presently to demonstrate to the starving people.'
After dinner, when the table had been cleared, the Mayor of Blérancourt arrived, a portly, moon-faced little man of forty, named Foulard, sandy-haired, with dark little eyes that were red and sore-looking. An air of consequence invested him. Perceiving it, André-Louis took the offensive at the outset. He did not rise to receive the Mayor. He looked at him across the table, on which some papers were now spread, and there was reproof in the glance which he fixed upon the sash of office in which that functionary's paunch was swathed.
'So you are the Mayor, eh? You're a thought too well nourished, citizen. In Paris patriots grow lean.'
The Citizen Foulard was taken aback. The assurance went out of him visibly. His little eyes blinked at the massive Boissancourt, standing behind André-Louis's chair. But he was too intimidated by his reception to point out that there were no signs of emaciation about the Citizen-Emissary's secretary.
'Life,' he stammered, 'is ... is not so ... so hard on us in the country.'
'So I perceive. You grow fat. And you do other things. It is about these other things that I am here.' Thus aggressively he took the initiative. The Mayor, who had come to question, found that it was himself was to be questioned; and before the harsh menace of that voice, the stern contempt of that lean countenance, he grew instantly submissive. 'Before we come to business, Citizen-Mayor, you had better take a look at my credentials, so that you may know my authority.' He took up a card from the table. It was his commission as an agent of the Committee of Public Safety. He proffered it.
The Citizen Foulard came forward almost timidly. He studied the card a moment, and returned it. 'Perfectly, Citizen-Agent. Perfectly.'
'And now we are waiting for your President and your Commandant.' Under the table André-Louis tapped his booted foot impatiently. 'You do not hurry yourselves in Blérancourt.'
The door opened as he spoke, and the landlord announced:
'Citizen-Emissary, the Citizen-President and the Citizen-Commandant.'
They came in with airs of arrogance. Thuillier, the local despot, the provincial pro-consul, who was Saint-Just's friend and agent, was rendered very sure of himself by virtue of his intimate association with that great man. He came first, a vigorous, youthful fellow of middle height, with glossy black hair, a swarthy complexion, and an expression rendered truculent by his heavily undershot jaw. He was ill-dressed in black, and as President of the local Revolutionary Committee he was girt with a sash of office. He was closely followed by Lieutenant Lucas, who commanded the detachment of National Guards stationed in Blérancourt, and was nominally styled the Commandant. The Lieutenant was young and fair, and looked amiable. In his blue uniform, with its white facings and red woollen épaulettes, he had almost the air of a gentleman.
André-Louis's eyes played over them. He retained his seat, and his expression remained forbidding. Weighing the Citizen Thuillier at a glance, he did not give him time to speak, but adopted tactics similar to those which had succeeded with the Mayor.
'You have kept me waiting. In the days of the despots the time of an official might be wasted with impunity. In these days it is recognized that his time is not his own to waste. It belongs to the Nation which employs him.'
Like the Mayor before him, Thuillier was visibly shaken. Formidable must be the authority of a man who permitted himself to take such a tone with the President of a Revolutionary Committee. But since Thuillier's self-assurance was better grounded than the Mayor's, it was not so easily demolished. Recovering, he spoke arrogantly.
'You do not need to instruct me in my duty, citizen.'
'I trust not. But if I perceive the need, I shall not hesitate. Best look at this, Citizen-President.' And again he proffered his commission.
Thuillier scanned it. He observed that among the signatures it bore was that of Saint-Just. He was impressed, the more so, since he was vague on the subject of the functions of an agent of the Committee of Public Safety. He had had to deal before now with one or two representatives en mission, and was well aware of their wide powers. An agent of the Committee of Public Safety was something new in his experience. Aware that it could not be otherwise, since agents of the Committee were never sent upon such missions, André-Louis assumed that he would be taken at his own self-valuation, and that he must depend upon arrogance to establish by implication that the authority vested in him was unlimited.
'Let the Commandant see it, too, so that he may know by what authority I give him orders should the need to do so arise.'
Here was an encroachment. Thuillier frowned. 'If you have orders for the Commandant, he will take them from the Mayor or from me.'
André-Louis looked him sternly between the eyes. 'As long as I am in Blérancourt, the National Guard will take its orders also from the Committee of Public Safety, through me, its agent. Let that be clear. I am not here to trifle or to argue about forms. I have business to discharge. Grave business. Let us come to it. Boissancourt, set chairs for the citizens.'
They took the chairs which Boissancourt placed for them beyond the table, facing André-Louis, and the three of them looked at the Citizen-Agent and waited. The Mayor blinked his red-rimmed eyes in apprehension. Thuillier scowled haughtily. Lucas lounged, nursing his sabre, his air indifferent.
André-Louis sat back and pondered them, his expression wolfish.
'And so,' he said slowly, 'it seems that here in this innocent-looking little country village you permit yourselves to conspire, you harbour reactionaries, you plot against the Republic One and Indivisible.'
Thuillier attempted to speak. 'There has been ...'
'Do not interrupt me. I am informed of what there has been. I am concerned with the business which has led to the arrest of the man Thorin.'
At last full understanding dawned upon Thuillier. This agent had been sent to Blérancourt by Saint-Just himself so as to procure—manufacturing what was necessary—such evidence as would suffice to send the betrayed and inconvenient husband of Madame Thorin to the guillotine. Thuillier perceived his duty clearly. It was to work hand in hand with this very efficient agent of the Public Safety. He no longer scowled. He assumed instead a sympathetic gravity.
'Ah, yes. That is a sad case, citizen. Blérancourt blushes to think of it.'
André-Louis's answer was startling. 'I should think better of Blérancourt, and of you, if there were some evidence of a disposition to cut out this cancer.'
'You mean?'
'Come, citizen. Do not trifle with me. Where are the proofs of this good will, of this patriotic zeal?'
'But have we not arrested this villain Thorin, and sent him to Paris for trial?'
'For conspiracy,' said André-Louis pregnantly. He waited a moment. 'Come, come! Where are the others? Where are this scoundrel's associates, his fellow conspirators? Have you arrested them yet?'
Thuillier