Solange
by
DR. LEDRU’S STORY OF THE REIGN OF TERROR
BY ALEXANDRE DUMAS
Leaving l’Abbaye, I walked straight across the Place Turenne to the Rue Tournon, where I had lodgings, when I heard a woman scream for help.
It could not be an assault to commit robbery, for it was hardly ten o’clock in the evening. I ran to the corner of the place whence the sounds proceeded, and by the light of the moon, just then breaking through the clouds, I beheld a woman in the midst of a patrol of sans-culottes.
The lady observed me at the same instant, and seeing, by the character of my dress, that I did not belong to the common order of people, she ran toward me, exclaiming:
“There is M. Albert! He knows me! He will tell you that I am the daughter of Mme. Ledieu, the laundress.”
With these words the poor creature, pale and trembling with excitement, seized my arm and clung to me as a shipwrecked sailor to a spar.
“No matter whether you are the daughter of Mme. Ledieu or some one else, as you have no pass, you must go with us to the guard-house.”
The young girl pressed my arm. I perceived in this pressure the expression of her great distress of mind. I understood it.
“So it is you, my poor Solange?” I said. “What are you doing here?”
“There, messieurs!” she exclaimed in tones of deep anxiety; “do you believe me now?”
“You might at least say ‘citizens!'”
“Ah, sergeant, do not blame me for speaking that way,” said the pretty young girl; “my mother has many customers among the great people, and taught me to be polite. That’s how I acquired this bad habit–the habit of the aristocrats; and, you know, sergeant, it’s so hard to shake off old habits!”
This answer, delivered in trembling accents, concealed a delicate irony that was lost on all save me. I asked myself, who is this young woman? The mystery seemed complete. This alone was clear; she was not the daughter of a laundress.
“How did I come here, Citizen Albert?” she asked. “Well, I will tell you. I went to deliver some washing. The lady was not at home, and so I waited; for in these hard times every one needs what little money is coming to him. In that way it grew dark, and so I fell among these gentlemen–beg pardon, I would say citizens. They asked for my pass. As I did not have it with me, they were going to take me to the guard-house. I cried out in terror, which brought you to the scene; and as luck would have it, you are a friend. I said to myself, as M. Albert knows my name to be Solange Ledieu, he will vouch for me; and that you will, will you not, M. Albert?”
“Certainly, I will vouch for you.”
“Very well,” said the leader of the patrol; “and who, pray, will vouch for you, my friend?”
“Danton! Do you know him? Is he a good patriot?”
“Oh, if Danton will vouch for you, I have nothing to say.”
“Well, there is a session of the Cordeliers to-day. Let us go there.”
“Good,” said the leader. “Citizens, let us go to the Cordeliers.”
The club of the Cordeliers met at the old Cordelier monastery in the Rue l’Observance. We arrived there after scarce a minute’s walk. At the door I tore a page from my note-book, wrote a few words upon it with a lead pencil, gave it to the sergeant, and requested him to hand it to Danton, while I waited outside with the men.
The sergeant entered the clubhouse and returned with Danton.
“What!” said he to me; “they have arrested you, my friend? You, the friend of Camilles–you, one of the most loyal republicans? Citizens,” he continued, addressing the sergeant, “I vouch for him. Is that sufficient?”
“You vouch for him. Do you also vouch for her?” asked the stubborn sergeant.