I shall arrest an emigré, who has had the audacity to cross the Rhine in a contraband boat, and come to Plobsheim with his family, to conspire. That is at least a sure case. Ah! I understand one thing now!" he cried, lifting his arm threateningly; "and that is, that events are stronger than wills, and that although there are men who, like the war-chariots of Holy Writ, crush multitudes as they pass, they themselves are pushed forward by the same irresistible power that tears volcanoes and hurls cataracts."
Then, after this flow of words, which did not lack a certain eloquence, he burst into a harsh laugh.
"Bah!" said he, "there is nothing before life, and nothing after life. It is a waking nightmare, that is all. Is it worth while worrying over it while it lasts, or regretting when it is lost? Faith, no; let us dine. Valeat res ludicra, isn't that so, Charles?"
And preceding his friends, he led the way into the dining-room, where a sumptuous repast awaited them.
"But," said Young, seating himself with the others at the table, "what is there in all that to make you get married within the week?"
"Ah! true, I forgot the best part of the story. When they called me the Monk of Cologne—where I never was a monk—and the canon of Augsburg—where I never was a cannon—they reproached me for my orgies and debaucheries! My orgies! Let me tell you what they were; for thirty-four years I drank nothing but water and ate nothing but carrots; it is no more than fair that I should eat white bread and meat now. My debaucheries! If they think I threw my frock to the devil to live like Saint Anthony, they are mistaken. Well, there is one way to end all that, and that is to marry. I shall be as faithful a husband and as good a father of a family as another, if citizen Saint-Just will give me time."
"Have you at least selected the fortunate lady who is to have the honor of sharing your couch?" asked Edelmann.
"Oh!" said Schneider, "so long as there is a woman, the devil himself can look out for her."
"To the health of Schneider's future wife!" cried Young; "and since he has left the devil to provide her, may he at least send one who is young, beautiful, and rich."
"Hurrah for Schneider's wife!" said Monnet sadly.
Just then the door of the dining-room opened, and the old cook appeared on the threshold.
"There is a citizeness here," she said, "who wishes to speak to Euloge Schneider on urgent business."
"Well," said Schneider, "I know nothing more urgent than my dinner. Tell her to return to-morrow."
The old woman disappeared, but returned almost immediately. "She says that to-morrow will be too late."
"Then why didn't she come sooner?"
"Because that was impossible," said a soft supplicating voice in the ante-chamber. "Let me see you, I beg, I implore you!"
Euloge, with a gesture of impatience, bade the old cook pull the door to and come close to him. But then, remembering the freshness and youthfulness of the voice, he said with the smile of a satyr: "Is she young?"
"Maybe eighteen," replied the old woman.
"Pretty?"
"With the devil's own beauty."
The three men began to laugh.
"You hear, Schneider, the devil's own beauty.
"Now," said Young, "we need only find out if she is rich, and there is your wife ready to hand. Open the door, old woman, and don't keep her waiting. You ought to know the pretty child if she comes from the devil."
"Why not from God?" asked Charles, in such a sweet voice that the three men started at it.
"Because our friend Schneider has quarrelled with God, and he stands very high with the devil. I don't know any other reason."
"And because," said Young, "it is only the devil who gives such prompt answers to prayers."
"Well," said Schneider, "let her come in."
The old woman opened the door at once, and on its threshold there appeared the elegant figure of a young girl dressed in a travelling costume, and wrapped in a black satin mantle lined with rose-colored taffeta. She took one step into the room, then stopped at sight of the candles and the four guests, who were gazing at her with an admiration to which they gave expression in a low murmur, and said: "Citizens, which one of you is the citizen Commissioner of the Republic?"
"I am, citizeness," replied Schneider, without rising.
"Citizen," she said, "I have a favor to ask of you on which my life depends." And her glance travelled anxiously from one guest to another.
"You need not be alarmed by the presence of my friends," said Schneider; "they are true friends, and lovers of beauty. This is my friend Edelmann, who is a musician."
The young girl moved her head slightly as if to say, "I know his music."
"This is my friend Young, who is a poet," continued Schneider.
The same movement of the head again meaning, "I know his verses."
"And, lastly, here is my friend Monnet, who is neither a musician nor a poet, but who has eyes and a heart, and who is disposed, as I can see at a glance, to plead your cause for you. As for this young friend, as you see, he is only a student; but he knows enough to conjugate the verb, to love, in three languages. You may therefore explain yourself before them, unless what you have to say is sufficiently confidential to require a private interview."
And he rose as he spoke, pointing to a half open door, leading into an empty salon. But the young girl replied, quickly: "No, no, monsieur—"
Schneider frowned.
"Your pardon, citizen. No, citizen, what I have to say fears neither light nor publicity."
Schneider sat down, motioning to the young girl to take a chair. But she shook her head.
"It is more fitting that suppliants should stand," she said.
"Then," said Schneider, "let us proceed regularly. I have told you who we are; will you tell us who you are?"
"My name is Clotilde Brumpt."
"De Brumpt, you mean."
"It would be unjust to reproach me with a crime that antedated my birth by some three or four hundred years, and with which I had nothing to do."
"You need tell me nothing more; I know your story, and I also know what you have come for."
The young girl sank upon her knees, and, as she lifted her head and clasped hands, the hood of her mantle fell upon her shoulders and fully disclosed a face of surpassing loveliness. Her beautiful blond hair was parted in the middle of her head, and fell in long curls on either side, framing a face of perfect oval. Her forehead, of a clear white, was made still more dazzling by eyes, eyebrows and lashes of black; the nose was straight but sensitive, moving with the slight trembling of her cheeks, which showed traces of the many tears she had shed; her lips, half parted, seemed sculptured from rose coral, and behind them her teeth gleamed faintly
