CHAPTER III.

While Clara was in this state of uncertainty, she remained in all the watchfulness of doubt; but when her resolution was once formed, she fell into a profound sleep, from which she did not wake till late upon the subsequent morning. The sun had been up for several hours, and the small room, to the precincts of which she was confined, was close and oppressive; and after listening for a few moments at the partition, to ensure that no strangers were in the farm, she knocked gently, to call the attention of Ninette.

No one answered; but on listening again, she plainly heard the young _paysanne_ bustling about her usual occupations in the kitchen, and she once more endeavoured to make herself heard. Still no reply was returned, and concluding that some danger existed, of which she was not aware, she desisted, and merely opened a small window, consisting of a single pane of glass, which, concealed amongst the masonry, served to give a portion of air and light to the apartment itself, without being discernible from the courtyard into which it looked.

Clara succeeded in drawing back the window, as she had done before on the preceding day; and a soft fresh air of summer, that now breathed warm and fragrant upon her cheek, made her long for peace and freedom. The little aperture was too high to afford any view of the world without; but Clara paused to listen, in order that her ear might not be quite so much prisoner as her eye. The first sounds she heard from the court, however, were not the most welcome. There was the tramp of armed men, with the grounding of muskets; and the next moment she could distinguish plainly from the other side, the voice of old La Browse speaking angrily to Ninette as he entered the kitchen in haste.

"Base girl!" he cried, "what means these soldiers without? You have betrayed us, Ninette--you have betrayed us--and have brought the stain of treachery upon my hearth! Out upon thee!--out upon thee! base girl!"

Even as he spoke there were other sounds in the cottage; and it was now evident that the house was in the hands of a party of the revolutionary troops from Nantes. Clara trembled in every limb; but she gently drew near and listened at the door that opened into the _armoire_, while the commandant of the detachment, with many a threat and many a blasphemy, interrogated old La Brousse upon the place of her concealment. She was mentioned by name--her person was described, and there could be no earthly doubt that the information which led to the search that was then in progress had been accurate and precise. Still old La Brousse held out; and as the soldiers seemed ignorant of the exact place of her concealment, he sternly refused to aid them by a word. At, length there was a pause; and then the voice of the commandant was again heard in a tone of command.

"Take him out into the court," he said. "Draw up a party--place the old brigand against the barn-door, and give him a volley! Let us see whether the wolf will die dumb! If she be given up, you save your life, old man!"

"It is not worth saving," replied La Brousse; and there was a noise of feet moving towards the door. As we have said, Clara de la Roche trembled in every limb; but she did not hesitate: with a firm hand, she withdrew the bolt of the concealed door, and in the next moment stood before her pursuers. The scene around her was one that might well make her heart quail. In the midst of a number of ferocious faces, sat the well-known Carrier, one of the most sanguinary monsters which the French revolution had generated. His naked sword lay beside him on the table, and with his hand he pointed to the door, towards which a party of the soldiers were leading poor old La Brousse. In the other corner of the apartment, overpowered by the consciousness of base treachery, lay fainting on the floor the unhappy Ninette, not even noticed by those to whom she had betrayed the secret intrusted to her; and several soldiers were seen descending the staircase that led to the rooms above, through which they had been prosecuting an ineffectual search. The suddenness of Clara's appearance, and her extraordinary beauty, seemed for a moment to surprise even Carrier himself, and starting up, he gazed upon her for an instant, at the same time making a sign with his hand to the soldiers who were leading the old farmer towards the door.

Clara was very pale, and her heart beat with all that hurried throbbing to which the struggle between horror, terror, and noble resolution, might well give rise. "I claim your promise, sir!" she said, advancing towards the leader of the revolutionary force: "I claim your promise, sir! You said, if Clara de la Roche were given up, yonder old man's life should be spared."

Carrier paused, and still gazed upon her; but his pause proceeded from no feeling of mercy towards poor old La Brousse, nor from any difficulty in finding an excuse for violating his promise. Such considerations never impeded the progress of a Jacobin. He did pause, however; and with a look, conveying to the mind of the unhappy girl more feelings of repugnance than the aspect of death itself might have done, he answered; "You are as bold as you are beautiful. Knowing yourself to be a brigand,[5] and the daughter of a brigand, are you not afraid?"

[Footnote 5: The name of brigand was the common term applied by the revolutionists to the Vendeans.]

"I have done no wrong," replied Clara, "and why should I fear?"

"Well, well," he answered, "the time may come, and the time will come, when you will fear; and when such is the case, send for Carrier, who may then, perhaps, find means to console you. As for that old brigand," he added, assuming an air of dignity, "I will keep my word. Set him free; but take care, Citizen La Brousse, how you venture to shelter an aristocrat again. There will be no mercy for a second offence."

Clara looked upon her own fate as sealed, but she thanked Heaven that her safety had not been purchased by the blood of the devoted old man; and, patiently suffering herself to be placed on horseback, she was led away towards Nantes, the streets of which city, and the river which flowed past its streets, were every day stained with the blood of creatures, young, and fair, and beautiful as herself.

As the last soldiers wound away from the farm, the leader selected five from amongst them, and gave some orders in a whisper, which instantly made them turn from the line of march that their comrades were pursuing, and take the path over the hill. This done, he himself rode up to the side of the unhappy girl he had captured, and poured into her ears a strain of wild and ferocious raving about revolutions, mingled with words of impure and fearful import, that made her heart sink.

At length they approached the town of Nantes. It was a beautiful evening in the height of summer, with the whole sky full of purple light; while the splendid city, rising from the banks of the water, was reflected in a thousand glistening lines from the bright bosom of the river. The air was light and soft; the heavens were calm and cloudless; there were birds singing in the tranquil freshness of the evening; and every thing spoke of peace and happiness. But as the party which escorted Clara de la Roche approached the banks of the Loire, her eye rested on a large boat, filled with human beings of every age, and sex, and class--from the old man with snowy hair, to the curly-headed child--from the lovely girl of eighteen, to the aged matron whose remaining hours could have been but few at best--from the old chivalrous noble of France, to some refractory Jacobin--from virtue and purity itself, to her who gained the means of life, or of luxury, by the abandonment of all holiness of heart. They were tied together; and though some wept and cast down their eyes, while others looked up, appealing to the glowing heaven above them, all were silent. At length two or three ferocious-looking wretches, who had been pushing the boat forward towards the centre of the river, leaped into a smaller boat by its side. A cannon-shot was heard as a signal, a rope was drawn, which seemed to pass under the larger bark; it rolled for a moment, as if upon a stormy sea--settled heavily down--there was a loud parting shriek, as its human freight bade the earth adieu for ever, and a howl of fierce delight from the monsters that lined the shore.

Clara closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, the boat, with all that it contained, was gone; but where it had last appeared, the waters were rushing and bubbling, as if the shallow river scarcely concealed the struggles of the two hundred victims who at that moment had found eternity beneath its waves. The brain of the poor prisoner reeled; her heart felt sick; the next moment sense forsook her, and she fell from the horse that had borne her through such a scene of crime and horror. A brief pause, of happy forgetfulness followed next; and then, when her eyes opened, she found herself in a close dark dungeon, with a multitude of her fellow-creatures lying round her, in loathsomeness, and misery, and disease, and despair.