In the Chevreuse valley

The first thing Dolores saw was the kindly face of Cornelia Bridoul, who was bending over her with tears of joy in her eyes. The good woman had been waiting at the door of the “Bonnet Rouge” and had sprang into the carriage the moment it stopped. Dolores was still very faint and utterly bewildered. She glanced at Cornelia, at Bridoul and then at Coursegol. Then she swooned again. Taking her in his arms, the wine-shop keeper carried her to the chamber she had formerly occupied, where he placed her upon the bed, leaving his wife to bestow such care on her as in her weak condition she might require. This done, he repaired to the back shop, where, by his direction, Coursegol had preceded him.

“You want to know what all this means and how it was accomplished,” said he, as he entered the room and carefully closed the door behind him. “I am now ready to tell you. But first you must have something to strengthen you, for you have just passed through a trial sufficient to break down even Hercules himself.”

As he spoke he took a flask of brandy from a closet and filled glasses for his companion and himself. After they had drunk the liquor and seated themselves, he continued:

“Time is precious, and it will not do for Dolores and yourself to remain long here, or, for that matter, in Paris! You are safe for the moment, but at what instant you may again be in deadly peril it is impossible to say! I have succeeded in cheating the guillotine of its prey, and I will tell you how in as few words as I can. When I learned that Dolores was in prison and heard of your own arrest, I determined to move heaven and earth to save you, but was at a loss to know either where to turn or what to do. Just at that critical juncture word was brought me that I had been chosen a member of the Committee of Public Safety, on the recommendation of no less a personage than Robespierre himself, and that the Dictator wished to see me at once. I saw my opportunity and hastened to him without an instant’s delay.

“Robespierre received me cordially and informed me that I could be of the greatest service to him and the Republic. I answered that as a true patriot I was not only willing but anxious to do all that lay in my power. He smiled and said that he had a mission of the utmost importance to entrust to me, that he had selected me for it because of my well-known zeal for the Nation’s welfare and my equally well-known integrity. I bowed, and he went on to say that certain members of the Committee of Public Safety were plotting against himself and the continuance of his power. My mission was to win over those members to his interest and restore harmony in the Committee. I accepted the mission and succeeded.

“The Dictator’s delight and exultation were boundless. He told me to name the price of my distinguished service and, whatever it might be, it should instantly be paid. He undoubtedly expected that I would demand money and position, but I demanded neither. I simply asked for his warrant, under his own signature and the great seal of the Republic, to save from prison and the guillotine two of my friends who were accused of crimes of which they were entirely innocent. Robespierre was surprised. He hesitated; then he asked the names of my friends. I gave them and he showed further hesitation. Finally, he drew up the warrant, signed it, placed the great seal upon it, and directed me to take two of his clerks and have it at once carried into effect. You may well imagine that I did not let the grass grow under my feet. I took the precious document and, accompanied by the clerks, fairly flew to the Conciergerie, where I had learned you were confined previous to going to the guillotine.

“When I arrived I was informed, to my terror and dismay that the cart laden with the condemned had already started for the Place de la Revolution and that Dolores and yourself were among the victims. I procured a carriage and with my companions drove at headlong speed to the very steps of the guillotine. The rest you know. Now, Robespierre is treacherous and forgetful of services when his end has been attained. He may revoke his warrant and order your re-arrest at any moment. Hence I say that time is precious and that it will not do for you to remain long either here or elsewhere in Paris. You must seek safety as soon as possible in the little cottage in the Chevreuse valley, where the Dictator and his myrmidoms will not think of searching for you. This is imperative!”

Coursegol grasped his friend’s hand.

“You are a man, Bridoul!” said he. “You have saved our lives and won our undying gratitude! We will follow your advice to the letter! But you must do something more. Antoinette de Mirandol and Philip de Chamondrin are still in the Conciergerie. They have an order for their release, but cannot use it without your help. You must aid them to escape and join us in the Chevreuse valley!”

“I will do it!” said Bridoul, solemnly. “I swear it!”

“Enough,” replied Coursegol. “Dolores and myself will leave for the refuge this very night!”

Madame Bridoul was summoned and acquainted with the decision that had been reached. She reported that Dolores had recovered consciousness and strength and would be ready for the departure when required.

“One thing more,” said Coursegol to Bridoul and his wife. “Neither Philip nor Antoinette must know that we have escaped the guillotine until they find us alive and well in the Chevreuse valley!”

This was agreed to, and, at nightfall, Coursegol and Dolores, provided with the requisite passports, quitted Paris. In due time they reached the little cottage in the Chevreuse valley in safety.

About a fortnight after the supposed execution of Dolores and Coursegol, Philip and Antoinette, with the aid of Bridoul and the order of release wrested from Vauquelas, succeeded in obtaining their freedom. No sooner were they out of the Conciergerie than they hastened to the refuge provided for them in the Chevreuse valley. What pen can describe their joy and gratitude to God when, on their arrival, they found that the little cottage contained two other tenants, and that those tenants were their beloved friends whom they had mourned as victims of the hideous guillotine?

Dolores, after the first transports of delight at the reunion were over, endeavored to continue her rôle of martyr and to induce Philip to keep his promise to her to marry Antoinette, but the latter had greatly changed since that dreadful parting at the Conciergerie. She had become capable of as great a sacrifice as Dolores, and firmly refused to stand longer between Philip and the woman he had loved for so many years. She still loved Philip, it is true, but her love had grown pure and unselfish it was now a sister’s love, not that of a woman who wished to be his wife.

To say that Philip was overjoyed by this unexpected turn of affairs is only to state the simple truth.

Dolores at first demurred, urging the wish of the late Marquis, also that she was devoted to God, but Antoinette’s only reply was to join their hands and bless them, and Dolores finally consented to the marriage that at her heart’s core she so ardently desired.

Philip and Dolores were quietly united in wedlock a few weeks later. Coursegol, the Bridouls and Antoinette were the only persons present at the ceremony besides the bride and groom and the officiating priest. Shortly afterwards the Marquis de Chamondrin and his wife, accompanied by Coursegol, Antoinette and the Bridouls, the latter having sold their wine-shop, went to England and from there to Louisiana, where Mlle. de Mirandol owned extensive estates. Antoinette decided to remain in Louisiana, having persuaded Madame Bridoul to take charge of her house and Bridoul to assume the management of her business.

Philip and Dolores spent ten years in America and then returned to France. They had two children, a son and a daughter, the latter named Antoinette, and their life, though always slightly tinged with melancholy, was serene and peaceful. After his return to his native land, Philip rebuilt the Chateau de Chamondrin and took up his permanent abode there, determined to lead the life of a country gentleman and student and to take no part in the political controversies of the time, nor could he be induced to reconsider this decision though he was twice offered a seat in the Chamber of Deputies. After the exciting and terrible scenes of the Reign of Terror through which he had passed, he longed for quiet and repose. Coursegol was made the steward of his estate and managed it with such shrewdness and intelligence that Philip became rich and all the prestige of the Chamondrins was restored.

In the month of May, 1822, while in Paris, to which city he had been called by important business, the Marquis de Chamondrin met an old nobleman who had been a fellow prisoner in the Conciergerie. They talked together a long time over the past and the frenzy, perils and heroism which had stamped those eventful days, and a chance word, let fall by his companion, first acquainted Philip with the fact that Dolores had endeavored to sacrifice her own life in order to save that of Antoinette de Mirandol. The Marquis de Chamondrin turned pale as death and pressed his hand convulsively against his heart, but he speedily recovered his color and self-possession and the old nobleman did not even suspect the emotion to which his revelation had given rise.

Philip never mentioned the knowledge he had acquired to his wife, but his love and reverence for her were vastly augmented by it, and, whenever he thought of the sacrifice that God in His mercy had not permitted to be made, he murmured to himself:

“Dolores has a noble and heroic soul! An angel from Heaven could not have acted more grandly!”