The desperate howls from below were audible to him, for he was near an open window; but they did not disturb him. His countenance retained the serenity of a man who forgets all, to allow sleep to weigh down his eyelids.
Bailly was deliberating with the electors and Lafayette.
Billot had his eyes fixed upon Berthier.
Lafayette was rapidly taking the votes of the electors; after which, addressing the prisoner, who was beginning to slumber:—
“Sir,” said he, “be pleased to get ready.”
Berthier heaved a sigh; then, raising himself on his elbow:—
“Ready for what?” he inquired.
“These gentlemen have decided that you are to be transferred to the Abbaye.”
“To the Abbaye? Well, be it so,” said the intendant. “But,” continued he, looking at the confused electors, whose confusion he readily comprehended,—”but, one way or the other, let us finish this.”
And an explosion of anger and furious impatience long restrained burst forth from the square.
“No, gentlemen, no,” exclaimed Lafayette; “we cannot allow him to depart at this moment.”
Bailly’s kind heart and undaunted courage impelled him to come to a sudden resolution. He went down into the square with two of the electors, and ordered silence.
The people knew as well as he did what he was about to say; but as they were fully bent on committing another crime, they would not even listen to a reproach; and as Bailly was opening his lips to speak, a deafening clamor arose from the mob, drowning his voice before a single word could be heard.
Bailly, seeing that it would be impossible for him to proffer even a syllable, returned into the Hôtel de Ville pursued by cries of “Berthier! Berthier!”
But other cries resounded in the midst of those,—cries similar to those shrill notes which suddenly are heard in the choruses of demons by Weber or by Meyerbeer,—and these were, “To the lamp-post! to the lamp-post!”
On seeing Bailly come back pale and disheartened, Lafayette rushed out in his turn. He is young; he is ardent; he is beloved. That which the old man could not effect, his popularity being but of yesterday, he, Lafayette—he, the friend of Washington and of Necker,—would undoubtedly obtain at the first word.
But in vain was it that the people’s general threw himself into the most furious groups. In vain did he speak in the name of justice and humanity. In vain was it that recognizing, or feigning to recognize, certain leaders of the people, did he supplicate them, grasping their hands, and endeavoring to allay their fury.
Not one of his words was listened to; not one or his gestures was understood; not one of the tears he shed was seen.
Repulsed step by step, he threw himself upon his knees on the front steps of the Hôtel de Ville, conjuring these tigers, whom he called his fellow-citizens, not to dishonor the nation, not to dishonor themselves, not to elevate to the rank of martyrs guilty men, to whom the law would award a degrading death, which degradation was a portion of their punishment.
As he persisted in his entreaties, he was at last personally threatened in his turn; but he defied all threats. Some of these furious wretches drew their knives, and raised them as if to strike.
He bared his breast to their blows, and their weapons were instantly lowered.
But if they thus threatened Lafayette, the threat was still more serious to Berthier.
Lafayette, thus overcome, re-entered the Hôtel de Ville as Bailly had done.
The electors had all seen Lafayette vainly contending against the tempest. Their last rampart was overthrown.
They decided that the guard of the Hôtel de Ville should at once conduct Berthier to the Abbaye.
It was sending Berthier to certain death.
“Come, then,” said Berthier, when this decision was announced.
And eying all these men with withering contempt, he took his station in the centre of the guards, after having thanked Bailly and Lafayette for their exertions, and in his turn, held out his hand to Billot.
Bailly turned away his face to conceal his tears, Lafayette to conceal his indignation.
Berthier descended the staircase with the same firm step with which he had ascended it.