Little by little--while they fought below--the gloom had thickened, and
night had fallen in the room above. But Mademoiselle would not have
candles brought. Seated in the darkness, on the uppermost step of the
stairs, her hands clasped about her knees, she listened and listened, as
if by that action she could avert misfortune; or as if, by going so far
forward to meet it, she could turn aside the worst. The women shivering
in the darkness about her would fain have struck a light and drawn her
back into the room, for they felt safer there. But she was not to be
moved. The laughter and chatter of the men in the guard-room, the coming
and going of Bigot as he passed, below but out of sight, had no terrors
for her; nay, she breathed more freely on the bare open landing of the
staircase than in the close confines of a room which her fears made
hateful to her. Here at least she could listen, her face unseen; and
listening she bore the suspense more easily.
A turn in the staircase, with the noise which proceeded from the guard-
room, rendered it difficult to hear what happened in the closed room
below. But she thought that if an alarm were raised there she must hear
it; and as the moments passed and nothing happened, she began to feel
confident that her lover had made good his escape by the window.
Presently she got a fright. Three or four men came from the guard-room
and went, as it seemed to her, to the door of the room with the shattered
casement. She told herself that she had rejoiced too soon, and her heart
stood still. She waited for a rush of feet, a cry, a struggle. But
except an uncertain muffled sound which lasted for some minutes, and was
followed by a dull shock, she heard nothing more. And presently the men
went back whispering, the noise in the guard-room which had been
partially hushed broke forth anew, and perplexed but relieved she
breathed again. Surely he had escaped by this time. Surely by this time
he was far away, in the Arsenal, or in some place of refuge! And she
might take courage, and feel that for this day the peril was overpast.
"Mademoiselle will have the lights now?" one of the women ventured.
"No! no!" she answered feverishly, and she continued to crouch where she
was on the stairs, bathing herself and her burning face in the darkness
and coolness of the stairway. The air entered freely through a window at
her elbow, and the place was fresher, were that all, than the room she
had left. Javette began to whimper, but she paid no heed to her; a man
came and went along the passage below, and she heard the outer door
unbarred, and the jarring tread of three or four men who passed through
it. But all without disturbance; and afterwards the house was quiet
again. And as on this Monday evening the prime virulence of the massacre
had begun to abate--though it held after a fashion to the end of the
week--Paris without was quiet also. The sounds which had chilled her
heart at intervals during two days were no longer heard. A feeling
almost of peace, almost of comfort--a drowsy feeling, that was three
parts a reaction from excitement--took possession of her. In the
darkness her head sank lower and lower on her knees. And half an hour
passed, while Javette whimpered, and Madame Carlat slumbered, her broad
back propped against the wall.