An Episode Under the Terror | Page 4

drawer?" and then vanished.
The old lady kept so still and silent that the shopkeeper's wife was
surprised. She went back to her, and on a nearer view a sudden impulse
of pity, blended perhaps with curiosity, got the better of her. The old
lady's face was naturally pale; she looked as though she secretly
practised austerities; but it was easy to see that she was paler than usual
from recent agitation of some kind. Her head-dress was so arranged as
to almost hide hair that was white, no doubt with age, for there was not
a trace of powder on the collar of her dress. The extreme plainness of
her dress lent an air of austerity to her face, and her features were proud
and grave. The manners and habits of people of condition were so
different from those of other classes in former times that a noble was
easily known, and the shopkeeper's wife felt persuaded that her
customer was a ci-devant, and that she had been about the Court.
"Madame," she began with involuntary respect, forgetting that the title
was proscribed.
But the old lady made no answer. She was staring fixedly at the shop
windows as though some dreadful thing had taken shape against the
panes. The pastry-cook came back at that moment, and drew the lady
from her musings, by holding out a little cardboard box wrapped in
blue paper.
"What is the matter, citoyenne?" he asked.
"Nothing, nothing, my friends," she answered, in a gentle voice. She
looked up at the man as she spoke, as if to thank him by a glance; but
she saw the red cap on his head, and a cry broke from her. "Ah! YOU
have betrayed me!"

The man and his young wife replied by an indignant gesture, that
brought the color to the old lady's face; perhaps she felt relief, perhaps
she blushed for her suspicions.
"Forgive me!" she said, with a childlike sweetness in her tones. Then,
drawing a gold louis from her pocket, she held it out to the pastry- cook.
"That is the price agreed upon," she added.
There is a kind of want that is felt instinctively by those who know
want. The man and his wife looked at one another, then at the elderly
woman before them, and read the same thoughts in each other's eyes.
That bit of gold was so plainly the last. Her hands shook a little as she
held it out, looking at it sadly but ungrudgingly, as one who knows the
full extent of the sacrifice. Hunger and penury had carved lines as easy
to read in her face as the traces of asceticism and fear. There were
vestiges of bygone splendor in her clothes. She was dressed in
threadbare silk, a neat but well-worn mantle, and daintily mended
lace,--in the rags of former grandeur, in short. The shopkeeper and his
wife, drawn two ways by pity and self-interest, began by lulling their
consciences with words.
"You seem very poorly, citoyenne----"
"Perhaps madame might like to take something," the wife broke in.
"We have some very nice broth," added the pastry-cook.
"And it is so cold," continued his wife; "perhaps you have caught a
chill, madame, on your way here. But you can rest and warm yourself a
bit."
"We are not so black as the devil!" cried the man.
The kindly intention in the words and tones of the charitable couple
won the old lady's confidence. She said that a strange man had been
following her, and she was afraid to go home alone.
"Is that all!" returned he of the red bonnet; "wait for me, citoyenne."
He handed the gold coin to his wife, and then went out to put on his
National Guard's uniform, impelled thereto by the idea of making some
adequate return for the money; an idea that sometimes slips into a
tradesman's head when he has been prodigiously overpaid for goods of
no great value. He took up his cap, buckled on his sabre, and came out
in full dress. But his wife had had time to reflect, and reflection, as not
unfrequently happens, closed the hand that kindly intentions had
opened. Feeling frightened and uneasy lest her husband might be drawn

into something unpleasant, she tried to catch at the skirt of his coat, to
hold him back, but he, good soul, obeying his charitable first thought,
brought out his offer to see the lady home, before his wife could stop
him.
"The man of whom the citoyenne is afraid is still prowling about the
shop, it seems," she said sharply.
"I am afraid so," said the lady innocently.
"How if it is a spy? . . . a plot? . . . Don't go. And take the box away
from her----"