Clara was very pale, and her heart beat with all that hurried throbbing to which the struggle between horror, terror, and noble resolution, might well give rise. "I claim your promise, sir!" she said, advancing towards the leader of the revolutionary force: "I claim your promise, sir! You said, if Clara de la Roche were given up, yonder old man's life should be spared."
Carrier paused, and still gazed upon her; but his pause proceeded from no feeling of mercy towards poor old La Brousse, nor from any difficulty in finding an excuse for violating his promise. Such considerations never impeded the progress of a Jacobin. He did pause, however; and with a look, conveying to the mind of the unhappy girl more feelings of repugnance than the aspect of death itself might have done, he answered; "You are as bold as you are beautiful. Knowing yourself to be a brigand,[5] and the daughter of a brigand, are you not afraid?"
-------------------- [Footnote 5: The name of brigand was the common term applied by the revolutionists to the Vendeans.]
"I have done no wrong," replied Clara, "and why should I fear?"
"Well, well," he answered, "the time may come, and the time will come, when you will fear; and when such is the case, send for Carrier, who may then, perhaps, find means to console you. As for that old brigand," he added, assuming an air of dignity, "I will keep my word. Set him free; but take care, Citizen La Brousse, how you venture to shelter an aristocrat again. There will be no mercy for a second offence."
Clara looked upon her own fate as sealed, but she thanked Heaven that her safety had not been purchased by the blood of the devoted old man; and, patiently suffering herself to be placed on horseback, she was led away towards Nantes, the streets of which city, and the river which flowed past its streets, were every day stained with the blood of creatures, young, and fair, and beautiful as herself.
As the last soldiers wound away from the farm, the leader selected five from amongst them, and gave some orders in a whisper, which instantly made them turn from the line of march that their comrades were pursuing, and take the path over the hill. This done, he himself rode up to the side of the unhappy girl he had captured, and poured into her ears a strain of wild and ferocious raving about revolutions, mingled with words of impure and fearful import, that made her heart sink.