Memory of Flames

‘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 gu

the past. But it’s so difficult...’

‘And what about you, Charles? What have you lived through?’ Varencourt reared back and clenched his teeth as if he had just been hit and was preparing to retaliate. ‘I won’t answer questions like that!’

‘All right ... Well, here’s another type of question. What proof of loyalty did you give that allowed you to be accepted onto the committee?’

Varencourt pretended to calm down and laughed like a child.

‘You must know that I can’t answer that either. You would have to put it in your report to Joseph and he would fall off his chair.’

Paris was ill lit, although it was worse in other European capitals. They walked by the light of the moon, passing under lamps that had been blown out by the wind or had run out of oil. Margont was trying to control himself, but he was very angry.

‘You said nothing during that trumped-up half-trial!’

Varencourt replied jovially, ‘You were wriggling like a snake, hissing and trying to bite!’

That amuses you?’

“‘I am quick to laugh at everything so as not to have to cry,” said Monsieur de Beaumarchais. If only because he said that, I would have liked to meet him.’

They didn’t tell me about any of their plans!’

‘That’s because they’re cu

him alive.’

‘How many times have you met the other members of the committee?’

There is barely a meeting a month, except when we are pla

‘I’ll be the one to decide that!’

‘No! Listen to me: clearly you have been plunged into a world you don’t understand at all. I don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing. The main thing is that here you are, still alive. Do you know why Louis de Leaume was almost guillotined? It was because the police spotted one of the Loyalist group. And since the Loyalists were in the habit of meeting up just to have a drink because they were friends, when the police saw one of them, they had them all and they were all arrested. Every one of them! So I repeat: we won’t meet alone again!’

‘You’re hiding something from me!’

‘Don’t worry, everything I find out, I’ll sell.’

‘How can you—’

‘Stop! I won’t debate ethics with you. We would be wasting time. Besides, I would greatly appreciate it if you would stop showing your contempt for me.’

As they were less and less able to bear each other’s company, they separated.

The cramped, miserably furnished room plunged Margont further into despair. He flopped onto the bed and extinguished the candle. The darkness was like straw on the fire of his fear, which immediately flared up. He could not stop thinking about the blade he had been threatened with. He could see it, a luminous line coming through the darkness, making straight for his neck. The more he told himself it was over, the more he pictured the blade.

He could actually feel it against his neck, more vividly than when it had really been there. He decided to fight his reaction. To give himself courage, he ran through his real motivations. To defend republican ideals! Liberty! The Constitution! Equality between men! And so the dirty, dark little room with its imaginary dancing knife was filled with the great, inspiring ideas of the Revolution.