the house you know," he insisted.
"Let them."
"And question your maid."
"She can only tell them the truth."
The lawyer was decidedly nonplussed. Looking about him, he could not help noticing that only three places were laid round the table, and that there were only three half-empty soup plates there, while the tureen still stood on the sideboard.
Through the door, which was ajar, he could hear old Levet give categorical replies to the questions which the sergeant of the guard put to him.
"There is no one here."
"Only the doctor came this afternoon."
"He came to certify."
"My son and daughter are at supper. My wife is dead. You can question the maid."
Maurin spoke once more to Blanche.
"Mademoiselle," he entreated, "for your own sake, tell me the truth."
"I have told you," she reasserted, "there is no one here except ourselves."
The lawyer smothered the harsh word which came to his lips: he said nothing more, however, turned on his heel and went out of the room.
"What is all this?" he asked curtly of the sergeant.
"You know best, citizen lawyer," was the soldier's equally curt reply.
"I?" Maurin retorted unblushingly. "What the devil has it got to do with me?"
"Well! it was you, I understand, who denounced these people."
"That is a lie," the other protested hotly.
"Who did then?"
"A friend of the family, Professor d'Arblay."
"Where is he?"
"He had an accident in the road. Sprained his ankle. He had to drive home."
"Where is his home?
"I don't know. I hardly know him."
"But you were with him in the Town Hall. You were seen coming out of the Chief Commissary's cabinet."
"I was there on professional business," the lawyer retorted tartly, "and you have no right to question me like that. I had nothing to do with this denunciation, as I have the honour of being on friendly terms with this family. And I may as well tell you that I shall use all the influence I possess to clear the whole of this matter up. So you had better behave decently while you are in this house. It won't be good for you if you do not."
He raised his voice and spoke peremptorily like one accustomed to be listened to with deference. But the sergeant seemed unimpressed. All he said was:
"Very well, citizen. You will act, no doubt, as you think best in your own interests. I have only my duty to perform."
He gave a quick order to two of his men, who immediately stepped forward and took up their stand one on each side of Charles Levet. The sergeant then crossed the vestibule, and taking no further notice of the lawyer, he went into the dining-room. Blanche and Augustin had resumed their seats at the table. Blanche sat with her chin cupped in her hand. Augustin, his eyes closed his fingers twined together, seemed absorbed in prayer. In the background Marie, the maid of all work, stood agape like a frightened hen.
The sergeant took a comprehensive survey of the room. He was a stolid-looking fellow, obviously a countryman and not over-endowed with intelligence, and he gave the impression that what he lacked in personality he strove to counterbalance by bluster: the sort of bumpkin in fact whom the Revolution had dragged out of obscurity and thrust into some measure of prominence, and who was determined to make the most of his unexpected rise to fortune. He took no further notice of the lawyer, cleared his throat, and announced with due pompousness:
"In the name of the Republic!"
He then unfolded a paper which he had in his hand, and continued:
"I have here a list of all the inmates of this house, as given to the Chief of Section this afternoon, either by Citizen Maurin or his friend the Professeur with the sprained ankle, whose address is not known. I will read aloud the names on this list, and each one of you on hearing your name, say the one word, 'Present' and stand at attention. Now then!"
He then proceeded to read and to interpolate comments of his own after every name.
"Charles Levet, herbalist! We have got him safely already. Henriette his wife! She is dead, I understand. Augustin Levet, priest! ... Why don't you answer?" he interposed peremptorily as Augustin had not made the required reply, "and why don't you rise? Have you also got a sprained ankle?"
Augustin then rose obediently and spoke the word:
"Present."
"Blanche Levet, daughter of Charles," the solder continued.
"Present."
"Marie Bachelier, aide ménage."
"Here I am, citizen sergeant," quoth Marie, nearly scared out of her wits.
"And a guest, identity unknown," the solder concluded; "where is he?" He rolled up the paper and thrust it into his belt.
"Where is the guest?" he reiterated gruffly, and still receiving no answer, he asked once more: "Where is he?"
He looked round from one to the other, rolling his eyes and clearing his throat in a manner destined to impress these "traitors."
Augustin thereupon said emphatically: "There is no one here."
And Blanche shook her pretty head and declared: "No one has been here all day except Citizen Maurin and the citizen doctor."
By way of response to these declarations the sergeant of the Republican Guard turned on his heel and called to the small squad who were standing at attention, in the vestibule, some outside the front door. To Blanche and Augustin he merely remarked: "We'll soon see about that." And to old Levet, who was standing patiently between the two soldiers, seemingly quite unmoved by what was going on in his house, he said sternly:
"I am about to order this house to be searched. So let me warn you, Citizen Levet, that if any stranger is found on your premises it will be a far more serious matter for you and your family than if you had given him up of your own accord."
Old Levet merely shook his head and reiterated simply:
"There is no one here."
The sergeant then ordered his men to proceed with the search. It was thorough. The soldiers did not mince matters. They even invaded the room where Henriette Levet lay dead. They looked under her bed and lifted the sheet which covered her. Old Levet stood by, while this sacrilege was being committed, a silent figure as rigid as the dead. In the dining-room Augustin had once more taken refuge in prayer, while Blanche, half-dazed by all that she had gone through, sank back into a chair, her elbows resting on the table, and her eyes staring into vacancy.
Louis Maurin,
