. .as for
me, I vow, I love the game, for this is the finest sport I have yet
encountered.--Hair-breath escapes. . .the devil's own risks!--Tally
ho!--and away we go!"
But the Comtesse shook her head, still incredulously. To her
it seemed preposterous that these young men and their great leader,
all of them rich, probably wellborn, and young, should for no other
motive than sport, run the terrible risks, which she knew they were
constantly doing. Their nationality, once they had set foot in
France, would be no safeguard to them. Anyone found harbouring or
assisting suspected royalists would be ruthlessly condemned and
summarily executed, whatever his nationality might be. And this band
of young Englishmen had, to her own knowledge, bearded the implacable
and bloodthirsty tribunal of the Revolution, within the very walls of
Paris itself, and had snatched away condemned victims, almost from the
very foot of the guillotine. With a shudder, she recalled the events
of the last few days, her escape from Paris with her two children, all
three of them hidden beneath the hood of a rickety cart, and lying
amidst a heap of turnips and cabbages, not daring to breathe, whilst
the mob howled, "A la lanterne les aristos!" at the awful West
Barricade.
Pages:
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61