El Dorado | Page 7

which he had spent with Marguerite in
their pretty apartment in the Rue St. Honore.
For an hour he wandered thus and met no one whom he knew. At times
it appeared to him as if he did recognise a face or figure that passed him
swiftly by in the gloom, but even before he could fully make up his
mind to that, the face or figure had already disappeared, gliding
furtively down some narrow unlighted by-street, without turning to
look to right or left, as if dreading fuller recognition. Armand felt a
total stranger in his own native city.
The terrible hours of the execution on the Place de la Revolution were
fortunately over, the tumbrils no longer rattled along the uneven
pavements, nor did the death-cry of the unfortunate victims resound
through the deserted streets. Armand was, on this first day of his arrival,
spared the sight of this degradation of the once lovely city; but her
desolation, her general appearance of shamefaced indigence and of
cruel aloofness struck a chill in the young man's heart.
It was no wonder, therefore, when anon he was wending his way
slowly back to his lodging he was accosted by a pleasant, cheerful

voice, that he responded to it with alacrity. The voice, of a smooth, oily
timbre, as if the owner kept it well greased for purposes of amiable
speech, was like an echo of the past, when jolly, irresponsible Baron de
Batz, erst-while officer of the Guard in the service of the late King, and
since then known to be the most inveterate conspirator for the
restoration of the monarchy, used to amuse Marguerite by his vapid,
senseless plans for the overthrow of the newly-risen power of the
people.
Armand was quite glad to meet him, and when de Batz suggested that a
good talk over old times would be vastly agreeable, the younger man
gladly acceded, The two men, though certainly not mistrustful of one
another, did not seem to care to reveal to each other the place where
they lodged. De Batz at once proposed the avant-scene box of one of
the theatres as being the safest place where old friends could talk
without fear of spying eyes or ears.
"There is no place so safe or so private nowadays, believe me, my
young friend," he said "I have tried every sort of nook and cranny in
this accursed town, now riddled with spies, and I have come to the
conclusion that a small avant-scene box is the most perfect den of
privacy there is in the entire city. The voices of the actors on the stage
and the hum among the audience in the house will effectually drown all
individual conversation to every ear save the one for whom it is
intended."
It is not difficult to persuade a young man who feels lonely and
somewhat forlorn in a large city to while away an evening in the
companionship of a cheerful talker, and de Batz was essentially good
company. His vapourings had always been amusing, but Armand now
gave him credit for more seriousness of purpose; and though the chief
had warned him against picking up acquaintances in Paris, the young
man felt that that restriction would certainly not apply to a man like de
Batz, whose hot partisanship of the Royalist cause and hare-brained
schemes for its restoration must make him at one with the League of
the Scarlet Pimpernel.
Armand accepted the other's cordial invitation. He, too, felt that he

would indeed be safer from observation in a crowded theatre than in the
streets. Among a closely packed throng bent on amusement the
sombrely-clad figure of a young man, with the appearance of a student
or of a journalist, would easily pass unperceived.
But somehow, after the first ten minutes spent in de Batz' company
within the gloomy shelter of the small avant-scene box, Armand
already repented of the impulse which had prompted him to come to
the theatre to-night, and to renew acquaintanceship with the ex-officer
of the late King's Guard. Though he knew de Batz to be an ardent
Royalist, and even an active adherent of the monarchy, he was soon
conscious of a vague sense of mistrust of this pompous,
self-complacent individual, whose every utterance breathed selfish
aims rather than devotion to a forlorn cause.
Therefore, when the curtain rose at last on the first act of Moliere's
witty comedy, St. Just turned deliberately towards the stage and tried to
interest himself in the wordy quarrel between Philinte and Alceste.
But this attitude on the part of the younger man did not seem to suit his
newly-found friend. It was clear that de Batz did not consider the topic
of conversation by any means exhausted, and that it had been more
with