Memory of Flames by Isabel Reid (Translator) Armand Cabasson Page B

I have learnt to live permanently with the blade of the guillotine round my neck!’
    With that he went out and disappeared into the night.
    Margont waited with Varencourt.
    ‘Did you know the welcome that was waiting for me?’
    ‘No, I didn’t, I swear to you! If they had ... Anyway, if you hadn’t
    convinced them you were genuine, I wonder what they would have decided to do to me.’
    He was finally beginning to show his full colours. Margont stared at him openly.
    ‘Who followed me to the printing press?’
    ‘I don’t know.’
    They left and Varencourt closed the door behind them, whispering, ‘Don’t bother having this house watched. They’ll never come back here. Vicomte de Leaume never lets us return to our meeting places. And he imposes even stricter rules on himself-he never sleeps twice in the same bed.’
    ‘Who does this house belong to?’
    ‘To one of the many French noblemen living in exile, waiting for Napoleon’s fall. They left all their property and possessions in France. Part of it was pillaged or seized during the Revolution and the period after. But there are still places like this. Vicomte de Leaume lived for two years in London. He made several rich contacts there and he’s kept in touch with them. As a result, he has dozens of keys to hovels like this one. The noblemen sit sipping brandy in their London clubs, perfectly happy to fund the Vicomte’s activities, as long as he’s the one who takes all the risks. If Louis XVIII does become king one day, these generous benefactors will be able to impress His Majesty with the important role they played in the restoration. In fact all they’re sacrificing is some gold and some broken-down shacks they inherited or rented or bought in the early years of the Revolution with the idea of hiding in them or salting away their possessions. If we win, they will receive honorary service charges, rents ... But as for the Vicomte, he can only play with what’s in his hand. His only cards are his ideas, but what’s at stake is his life. He’s well aware of it too, don’t you think? That’s why it was so clever of you to have mentioned your desire to be rewarded! He really drank that in! One Vicomte de Leaume is worth fifty Langeses!’
    ‘And a hundred Varencourts.’
    But Varencourt did not rise to the taunt.
    ‘Now you know why the Vicomte is head of our organisation —
    because he created it and, more especially, because he has access to money, which is after all the sinews of war!’
    As they moved further away from the building, they were both relaxing a little.
    ‘In any case, bravo, you made a good impression on them,’ said Charles de Varencourt.
    ‘Is that meant to be a joke?’
    ‘Not at all. They all distrust each other. You have to put yourself in their shoes. Jean-Baptiste de Chatel lost ten members of his family in the Vendee, royalists killed in battle or civilians gunned down in reprisals or massacred by the infernal columns of that criminal of a general, Turreau. Vicomte de Leaume also lost everything: parents, lands, fortune ... In addition, in 1793 he was the leader of a little group of royalists called the Loyalists - they were all arrested. Every day, through the tiny window of his cell, he saw the heads of his companions falling under the blade of the guillotine. He made himself watch, convinced that it would help him vanquish his fear and behave with bravado as he mounted the scaffold. He tried to imagine what he might do to make a lasting impression, something that would get him noticed and that would be a public slap in the face of his enemies. You must have worried him when you cited Danton. No doubt he thought about Danton as he sat in his prison cell. He hated him. But he certainly wanted to emulate him on the day of his death. Danton went up to the executioner and said: “Don’t forget to show my head to the people, it’s well worth seeing.” And the executioner did! Everyone had already forgotten the names of