An Episode Under the Terror

by Honore de Balzac
Translated by Clara Bell and others

AN EPISODE UNDER THE TERROR
DEDICATION

To Monsieur Guyonnet-Merville.
Is it not a necessity to explain to a public curious to know

everything, how I came to be sufficientlylearned in the law to
carry on the business of my little world? And in so doing, am I

not bound to put on record the memory of the amiable and
intelligent man who, meeting the Scribe (another clerk-amateur) at

a ball, said, "Just give the office a turn; there is work for you
there, I assure you"? But do you need this public testimony to

feel assured of the affection of the writer?
DE BALZAC.

AN EPISODE UNDER THE TERROR
On the 22nd of January, 1793, towards eight o'clock in the evening, an

old lady came down the steep street that comes to an end opposite the
Church of Saint Laurent in the Faubourg Saint Martin. It had snowed so

heavily all day long that the lady's footsteps were scarcely audible;
the streets were deserted, and a feeling of dread, not unnatural amid

the silence, was further increased by the whole extent of the Terror
beneath which France was groaning in those days; what was more, the

old lady so far had met no one by the way. Her sight had long been
failing, so that the few foot passengers dispersed like shadows in the

distance over the wide thoroughfare through the faubourg, were quite
invisible to her by the light of the lanterns.

She had passed the end of the Rue des Morts, when she fancied that she
could hear the firm, heavy tread of a man walking behind her. Then it

seemed to her that she had heard that sound before, and dismayed by
the idea of being followed, she tried to walk faster toward a brightly

lit shop window, in the hope of verifying the suspicions which had
taken hold of her mind.

So soon as she stood in the shaft of light that streamed out across
the road, she turned her head suddenly, and caught sight of a human

figure looming through the fog. The dim vision was enough for her. For
one moment she reeled beneath an overpowering weight of dread, for she

could not doubt any longer that the man had followed her the whole way
from her own door; then the desire to escape from the spy gave her

strength. Unable to think clearly, she walked twice as fast as before,
as if it were possible to escape from a man who of course could move

much faster; and for some minutes she fled on, till, reaching a
pastry-cook's shop, she entered and sank rather than sat down upon a

chair by the counter.
A young woman busy with embroidery looked up from her work at the

rattling of the door-latch, and looked out through the square window-
panes. She seemed to recognize the old-fashionedviolet silk mantle,

for she went at once to a drawer as if in search of something put
aside for the newcomer. Not only did this movement and the expression

of the woman's face show a very evident desire to be rid as soon as
possible of an unwelcomevisitor, but she even permitted herself an

impatient exclamation when the drawer proved to be empty. Without
looking at the lady, she hurried from her desk into the back shop and

called to her husband, who appeared at once.
"Wherever have you put?----" she began mysteriously, glancing at the

customer by way of finishing her question.
The pastry-cook could only see the old lady's head-dress, a huge black

silk bonnet with knots of violetribbon round it, but he looked at his
wife as if to say, "Did you think I should leave such a thing as that

lying about in your drawer?" and then vanished.
The old lady kept so still and silent that the shopkeeper's wife was

surprised. She went back to her, and on a nearer view a sudden impulse
of pity, blended perhaps with curiosity, got the better of her. The

old lady's face was naturally pale; she looked as though she secretly
practised austerities; but it was easy to see that she was paler than

usual from recent agitation of some kind. Her head-dress was so
arranged as to almost hide hair that was white, no doubt with age, for

there was not a trace of powder on the collar of her dress. The
extreme plainness of her dress lent an air of austerity to her face,

and her features were proud and grave. The manners and habits of
people of condition were so different from those of other classes in

former times that a noble was easily known, and the shopkeeper's wife
felt persuaded that her customer was a ci-devant, and that she had

been about the Court.
"Madame," she began with involuntary respect, forgetting that the

title was proscribed.
But the old lady made no answer. She was staring fixedly at the shop

windows as though some dreadful thing had taken shape against the
panes. The pastry-cook came back at that moment, and drew the lady

from her musings, by holding out a little cardboard box wrapped in
blue paper.

"What is the matter, citoyenne?" he asked.
"Nothing, nothing, my friends," she answered, in a gentle voice. She

looked up at the man as she spoke, as if to thank him by a glance; but
she saw the red cap on his head, and a cry broke from her. "Ah! YOU

have betrayed me!"
The man and his young wife replied by an indignantgesture, that

brought the color to the old lady's face; perhaps she felt relief,
perhaps she blushed for her suspicions.

"Forgive me!" she said, with a childlike sweetness in her tones. Then,
drawing a gold louis from her pocket, she held it out to the pastry-

cook. "That is the price agreed upon," she added.
There is a kind of want that is felt instinctively by those who know

want. The man and his wife looked at one another, then at the elderly
woman before them, and read the same thoughts in each other's eyes.

That bit of gold was so plainly the last. Her hands shook a little as
she held it out, looking at it sadly but ungrudgingly, as one who

knows the full extent of the sacrifice. Hunger and penury had carved
lines as easy to read in her face as the traces of asceticism and

fear. There were vestiges of bygone splendor in her clothes. She was
dressed in threadbare silk, a neat but well-worn mantle, and daintily

mended lace,--in the rags of former grandeur, in short. The shopkeeper
and his wife, drawn two ways by pity and self-interest, began by

lulling their consciences with words.
"You seem very poorly, citoyenne----"

"Perhaps madame might like to take something," the wife broke in.
"We have some very nice broth," added the pastry-cook.

"And it is so cold," continued his wife; "perhaps you have caught a
chill, madame, on your way here. But you can rest and warm yourself a

bit."
"We are not so black as the devil!" cried the man.

The kindly intention in the words and tones of the charitable couple
won the old lady's confidence. She said that a strange man had been

following her, and she was afraid to go home alone.
"Is that all!" returned he of the red bonnet; "wait for me,

citoyenne."
He handed the gold coin to his wife, and then went out to put on his

National Guard's uniform, impelled thereto by the idea of making some
adequate return for the money; an idea that sometimes slips into a

tradesman's head when he has been prodigiously overpaid for goods of
no great value. He took up his cap, buckled on his sabre, and came out

in full dress. But his wife had had time to reflect, and reflection,
as not unfrequently happens, closed the hand that kindly intentions

had opened. Feeling frightened and uneasy lest her husband might be
drawn into something unpleasant, she tried to catch at the skirt of

his coat, to hold him back, but he, good soul, obeying his charitable
first thought, brought out his offer to see the lady home, before his

wife could stop him.
"The man of whom the citoyenne is afraid is still prowling about the

shop, it seems," she said sharply.
"I am afraid so," said the lady innocently.