Chapter XIX. "That Is One!"

by Frances Hodgson Burnett

　　A week had not passed before Marco brought to The Rat in theirbedroom an envelope containing a number of slips of paper on eachof which was written something."This is another part of the game," he said gravely. "Let ussit down together by the table and study it."They sat down and examined what was written on the slips. At thehead of each was the name of one of the places with which Marcohad connected a face he had sketched. Below were clear andconcise directions as to how it was to be reached and the wordsto be said when each individual was encountered."This person is to be found at his stall in the market," waswritten of the vacant-faced peasant. "You will first attracthis attention by asking the price of something. When he islooking at you, touch your left thumb lightly with the forefingerof your right hand. Then utter in a low distinct tone the words`The Lamp is lighted.' That is all you are to do."Sometimes the directions were not quite so simple, but they wereall instructions of the same order. The originals of thesketches were to be sought out--always with precaution whichshould conceal that they were being sought at all, and always insuch a manner as would cause an encounter to appear to be merechance. Then certain words were to be uttered, but alwayswithout attracting the attention of any bystander or passer-by.The boys worked at their task through the entire day. Theyconcentrated all their powers upon it. They wrote and re-wrote--they repeated to each other what they committed to memory as ifit were a lesson. Marco worked with the greater ease and morerapidly, because exercise of this order had been his practice andentertainment from his babyhood. The Rat, however, almost keptpace with him, as he had been born with a phenomenal memory andhis eagerness and desire were a fury.But throughout the entire day neither of them once referred towhat they were doing as anything but "the game."At night, it is true, each found himself lying awake andthinking. It was The Rat who broke the silence from his sofa."It is what the messengers of the Secret Party would be orderedto do when they were sent out to give the Sign for the Rising,"he said. "I made that up the first day I invented the party,didn't I?""Yes," answered Marco.After a third day's concentration they knew by heart everythinggiven to them to learn. That night Loristan put them through anexamination."Can you write these things?" he asked, after each had repeatedthem and emerged safely from all cross-questioning.Each boy wrote them correctly from memory."Write yours in French--in German--in Russian--in Samavian,"Loristan said to Marco."All you have told me to do and to learn is part of myself,Father," Marco said in the end. "It is part of me, as if itwere my hand or my eyes--or my heart.""I believe that is true," answered Loristan.He was pale that night and there was a shadow on his face. Hiseyes held a great longing as they rested on Marco. It was ayearning which had a sort of dread in it.Lazarus also did not seem quite himself. He was red instead ofpale, and his movements were uncertain and restless. He clearedhis throat nervously at intervals and more than once left hischair as if to look for something.It was almost midnight when Loristan, standing near Marco, puthis arm round his shoulders."The Game"--he began, and then was silent a few moments whileMarco felt his arm tighten its hold. Both Marco and The Rat felta hard quick beat in their breasts, and, because of this andbecause the pause seemed long, Marco spoke."The Game--yes, Father?" he said."The Game is about to give you work to do--both of you,"Loristan answered.Lazarus cleared his throat and walked to the easel in the cornerof the room. But he only changed the position of a piece ofdrawing- paper on it and then came back."In two days you are to go to Paris--as you," to The Rat,"planned in the game.""As I planned?" The Rat barely breathed the words."Yes," answered Loristan. "The instructions you have learnedyou will carry out. There is no more to be done than to manageto approach certain persons closely enough to be able to uttercertain words to them.""Only two young strollers whom no man could suspect," put inLazarus in an astonishingly rough and shaky voice. "They couldpass near the Emperor himself without danger. The youngMaster--" his voice became so hoarse that he was obligated toclear it loudly--"the young Master must carry himself lessfinely. It would be well to shuffle a little and slouch as if hewere of the common people.""Yes," said The Rat hastily. "He must do that. I can teachhim. He holds his head and his shoulders like a gentleman. Hemust look like a street lad.""I will look like one," said Marco, with determination."I will trust you to remind him," Loristan said to The Rat, andhe said it with gravity. "That will be your charge."As he lay upon his pillow that night, it seemed to Marco as if aload had lifted itself from his heart. It was the load ofuncertainty and longing. He had so long borne the pain offeeling that he was too young to be allowed to serve in any way.His dreams had never been wild ones--they had in fact always beenboyish and modest, howsoever romantic. But now no dream whichcould have passed through his brain would have seemed sowonderful as this--that the hour had come--the hour had come--andthat he, Marco, was to be its messenger. He was to do nodramatic deed and be announced by no flourish of heralds. No onewould know what he did. What he achieved could only be attainedif he remained obscure and unknown and seemed to every one only acommon ordinary boy who knew nothing whatever of importantthings. But his father had given to him a gift so splendid thathe trembled with awe and joy as he thought of it. The Game hadbecome real. He and The Rat were to carry with them The Sign,and it would be like carrying a tiny lamp to set aflame lightswhich would blaze from one mountain-top to another until half theworld seemed on fire.As he had awakened out of his sleep when Lazarus touched him, sohe awakened in the middle of the night again. But he was notaroused by a touch. When he opened his eyes he knew it was alook which had penetrated his sleep--a look in the eyes of hisfather who was standing by his side. In the road outside therewas the utter silence he had noticed the night of the Prince'sfirst visit--the only light was that of the lamp in the street,but he could see Loristan's face clearly enough to know that themere intensity of his gaze had awakened him. The Rat wassleeping profoundly. Loristan spoke in Samavian and under hisbreath."Beloved one," he said. "You are very young. Because I amyour father--just at this hour I can feel nothing else. I havetrained you for this through all the years of your life. I amproud of your young maturity and strength but--Beloved--you are achild! Can I do this thing!"For the moment, his face and his voice were scarcely like hisown.He kneeled by the bedside, and, as he did it, Marco half sittingup caught his hand and held it hard against his breast."Father, I know!" he cried under his breath also. "It istrue. I am a child but am I not a man also? You yourself saidit. I always knew that you were teaching me to be one--for somereason. It was my secret that I knew it. I learned well becauseI never forgot it. And I learned. Did I not?"He was so eager that he looked more like a boy than ever. Buthis young strength and courage were splendid to see. Loristanknew him through and through and read every boyish thought ofhis."Yes," he answered slowly. "You did your part--and now if I--drew back--you would feel that I had failed you-failed you.""You!" Marco breathed it proudly. "You could not fail eventhe weakest thing in the world."There was a moment's silence in which the two pairs of eyes dwelton each other with the deepest meaning, and then Loristan rose tohis feet."The end will be all that our hearts most wish," he said."To- morrow you may begin the new part of `the Game.' You maygo to Paris."When the train which was to meet the boat that crossed from Doverto Calais steamed out of the noisy Charing Cross Station, itcarried in a third-class carriage two shabby boys. One of themwould have been a handsome lad if he had not carried himselfslouchingly and walked with a street lad's careless shufflinggait. The other was a cripple who moved slowly, and apparentlywith difficulty, on crutches. There was nothing remarkable orpicturesque enough about them to attract attention. They sat inthe corner of the carriage and neither talked much nor seemed tobe particularly interested in the journey or each other. Whenthey went on board the steamer, they were soon lost among thecommoner passengers and in fact found for themselves a secludedplace which was not advantageous enough to be wanted by any oneelse."What can such a poor-looking pair of lads be going to Parisfor?" some one asked his companion."Not for pleasure, certainly; perhaps to get work," was thecasual answer.In the evening they reached Paris, and Marco led the way to asmall cafe in a side-street where they got some cheap food. Inthe same side-street they found a bed they could share for thenight in a tiny room over a baker's shop.The Rat was too much excited to be ready to go to bed early. Hebegged Marco to guide him about the brilliant streets. They wentslowly along the broad Avenue des Champs Elysees under the lightsglittering among the horse-chestnut trees. The Rat's sharp eyestook it all in--the light of the cafes among the emboweringtrees, the many carriages rolling by, the people who loitered andlaughed or sat at little tables drinking wine and listening tomusic, the broad stream of life which flowed on to the Arc deTriomphe and back again."It's brighter and clearer than London," he said to Marco."The people look as if they were having more fun than they do inEngland."The Place de la Concorde spreading its stately spaces--a world ofillumination, movement, and majestic beauty--held him as thoughby a fascination. He wanted to stand and stare at it, first fromone point of view and then from another. It was bigger and morewonderful than he had been able to picture it when Marco haddescribed it to him and told him of the part it had played in thedays of the French Revolution when the guillotine had stood in itand the tumbrils had emptied themselves at the foot of its steps.He stood near the Obelisk a long time without speaking."I can see it all happening," he said at last, and he pulledMarco away.Before they returned home, they found their way to a large housewhich stood in a courtyard. In the iron work of the handsomegates which shut it in was wrought a gilded coronet. The gateswere closed and the house was not brightly lighted.They walked past it and round it without speaking, but, when theyneared the entrance for the second time, The Rat said in a lowtone:"She is five feet seven, has black hair, a nose with a highbridge, her eyebrows are black and almost meet across it, she hasa pale olive skin and holds her head proudly.""That is the one," Marco answered.They were a week in Paris and each day passed this big house.There were certain hours when great ladies were more likely to goout and come in than they were at others. Marco knew this, andthey managed to be within sight of the house or to pass it atthese hours. For two days they saw no sign of the person theywished to see, but one morning the gates were thrown open andthey saw flowers and palms being taken in."She has been away and is coming back," said Marco. The nextday they passed three times--once at the hour when fashionablewomen drive out to do their shopping, once at the time whenafternoon visiting is most likely to begin, and once when thestreets were brilliant with lights and the carriages had begun toroll by to dinner- parties and theaters.Then, as they stood at a little distance from the iron gates, acarriage drove through them and stopped before the big open doorwhich was thrown open by two tall footmen in splendid livery."She is coming out," said The Rat. They would be able to see her plainly when she came, because thelights over the entrance were so bright.Marco slipped from under his coat sleeve a carefully made sketch.He looked at it and The Rat looked at it.A footman stood erect on each side of the open door. The footmanwho sat with the coachman had got down and was waiting by thecarriage. Marco and The Rat glanced again with furtive haste atthe sketch. A handsome woman appeared upon the threshold. Shepaused and gave some order to the footman who stood on the right.Then she came out in the full light and got into the carriagewhich drove out of the courtyard and quite near the place wherethe two boys waited.When it was gone, Marco drew a long breath as he tore the sketchinto very small pieces indeed. He did not throw them away butput them into his pocket.The Rat drew a long breath also."Yes," he said positively."Yes," said Marco.When they were safely shut up in their room over the baker'sshop, they discussed the chances of their being able to pass herin such a way as would seem accidental. Two common boys couldnot enter the courtyard. There was a back entrance fortradespeople and messengers. When she drove, she would alwaysenter her carriage from the same place. Unless she sometimeswalked, they could not approach her. What should be done? Thething was difficult. After they had talked some time, The Ratsat and gnawed his nails."To-morrow afternoon," he broke out at last, "we'll watch andsee if her carriage drives in for her--then, when she comes tothe door, I'll go in and begin to beg. The servant will thinkI'm a foreigner and don't know what I'm doing. You can comeafter me to tell me to come away, because you know better than Ido that I shall be ordered out. She may be a good-natured womanand listen to us --and you might get near her.""We might try it," Marco answered. "It might work. We willtry it."The Rat never failed to treat him as his leader. He had beggedLoristan to let him come with Marco as his servant, and hisservant he had been more than willing to be. When Loristan hadsaid he should be his aide-de-camp, he had felt his trust liftedto a military dignity which uplifted him with it. As hisaide-de-camp he must serve him, watch him, obey his lightestwish, make everything easy for him. Sometimes, Marco wastroubled by the way in which he insisted on serving him, thisqueer, once dictatorial and cantankerous lad who had begun bythrowing stones at him."You must not wait on me," he said to him. "I must wait uponmyself."The Rat rather flushed."He told me that he would let me come with you as your aide-decamp," he said. "It--it's part of the game. It makes thingseasier if we keep up the game."It would have attracted attention if they had spent too much timein the vicinity of the big house. So it happened that the nextafternoon the great lady evidently drove out at an hour when theywere not watching for her. They were on their way to try if theycould carry out their plan, when, as they walked together alongthe Rue Royale, The Rat suddenly touched Marco's elbow."The carriage stands before the shop with lace in the windows,"he whispered hurriedly.Marco saw and recognized it at once. The owner had evidentlygone into the shop to buy something. This was a better chancethan they had hoped for, and, when they approached the carriageitself, they saw that there was another point in their favor.Inside were no less than three beautiful little Pekingesespaniels that looked exactly alike. They were all trying to lookout of the window and were pushing against each other. They wereso perfect and so pretty that few people passed by withoutlooking at them. What better excuse could two boys have forlingering about a place?They stopped and, standing a little distance away, began to lookat and discuss them and laugh at their excited little antics.Through the shop-window Marco caught a glimpse of the great lady."She does not look much interested. She won't stay long," hewhispered, and added aloud, "that little one is the master. Seehow he pushes the others aside! He is stronger than the othertwo, though he is so small.""He can snap, too," said The Rat."She is coming now," warned Marco, and then laughed aloud as ifat the Pekingese, which, catching sight of their mistress at theshop-door, began to leap and yelp for joy.Their mistress herself smiled, and was smiling as Marco drew nearher."May we look at them, Madame?" he said in French, and, as shemade an amiable gesture of acquiescence and moved toward thecarriage with him, he spoke a few words, very low but verydistinctly, in Russian."The Lamp is lighted," he said.The Rat was looking at her keenly, but he did not see her facechange at all. What he noticed most throughout their journey wasthat each person to whom they gave the Sign had complete controlover his or her countenance, if there were bystanders, and neverbetrayed by any change of expression that the words meantanything unusual.The great lady merely went on smiling, and spoke only of thedogs, allowing Marco and himself to look at them through thewindow of the carriage as the footman opened the door for her toenter."They are beautiful little creatures," Marco said, lifting hiscap, and, as the footman turned away, he uttered his few Russianwords once more and moved off without even glancing at the ladyagain."That is one!" he said to The Rat that night before they wentto sleep, and with a match he burned the scraps of the sketch hehad torn and put into his pocket.