The Honor of the Name

  CHAPTER XXV

  The secret which approaching death had wrestled from Marie-Anne in thefortification at the Croix d'Arcy, Mme. d'Escorval was ignorant of whenshe joined her entreaties to those of her son to induce the unfortunategirl to remain.

  But the fact occasioned Maurice scarcely an uneasiness.

  His faith in his mother was complete, absolute; he was sure that shewould forgive when she learned the truth.

  Loving and chaste wives and mothers are always most indulgent to thosewho have been led astray by the voice of passion.

  Such noble women can, with impunity, despise and brave the prejudices ofhypocrites.

  These reflections made Maurice feel more tranquil in regard toMarie-Anne's future, and he now thought only of his father.

  Day was breaking; he declared that he would assume some disguise and goto Montaignac at once.

  On hearing these words, Mme. d'Escorval turned and hid her face in thesofa-cushions to stifle her sobs.

  She was trembling for her husband's life, and now her son mustprecipitate himself into danger. Perhaps before the sun sank to rest,she would have neither husband nor son.

  And yet she did not say "no." She felt that Maurice was only fulfillinga sacred duty. She would have loved him less had she supposed himcapable of cowardly hesitation. She would have dried her tears, ifnecessary, to bid him "go."

  Moreover, what was not preferable to the agony of suspense which theyhad been enduring for hours?

  Maurice had reached the door when the abbe stopped him.

  "You must go to Montaignac," said he, "but it would be folly to disguiseyourself. You would certainly be recognized, and the saying: 'He whoconceals himself is guilty,' will assuredly be applied to you. You mustgo openly, with head erect, and you must even exaggerate the assuranceof innocence. Go straight to the Duc de Sairmeuse and the Marquis deCourtornieu. I will accompany you; we will go in the carriage."

  Maurice seemed undecided.

  "Obey these counsels, my son," said Mme. d'Escorval; "the abbe knowsmuch better than we do what is best."

  "I will obey, mother."

  The cure had not waited for this assent to go and give an order forharnessing the horses. Mme. d'Escorval left the room to write a fewlines to a lady friend, whose husband exerted considerable influence inMontaignac. Maurice and Marie-Anne were left alone.

  It was the first moment of freedom and solitude which they had foundsince Marie-Anne's confession.

  They stood for a moment, silent and motionless, then Maurice advanced,and clasping her in his arms, he whispered:

  "Marie-Anne, my darling, my beloved, I did not know that one could lovemore fondly than I loved you yesterday; but now--And you--you wish fordeath when another precious life depends upon yours."

  She shook her head sadly.

  "I was terrified," she faltered. "The future of shame that I saw--thatI still--alas! see before me, appalled me. Now I am resigned. I willuncomplainingly endure the punishment for my horrible fault--I willsubmit to the insults and disgrace that await me!"

  "Insults, to you! Ah! woe to who dares! But will you not now be my wifein the sight of men, as you are in the sight of God? The failure of yourfather's scheme sets you free!"

  "No, no, Maurice, I am not free! Ah! it is you who are pitiless! I seeonly too well that you curse me, that you curse the day when we met forthe first time! Confess it! Say it!"

  Marie-Anne lifted her streaming eyes to his.

  "Ah! I should lie if I said that. My cowardly heart has not that muchcourage! I suffer--I am disgraced and humiliated, but----"

  He could not finish; he drew her to him, and their lips and their tearsmet in one long kiss.

  "You love me," exclaimed Maurice, "you love me in spite of all! We shallsucceed. I will save your father, and mine--I will save your brother!"

  The horses were neighing and stamping in the courtyard. The abbe cried:"Come, let us start." Mme. d'Escorval entered with a letter, which shehanded to Maurice.

  She clasped in a long and convulsive embrace the son whom she feared sheshould never see again; then, summoning all her courage, she pushed himaway, uttering only the single word:

  "Go!"

  He departed; and when the sound of the carriage-wheels had died awayin the distance, Mme. d'Escorval and Marie-Anne fell upon their knees,imploring the mercy and aid of a just God.

  They could only pray. The cure and Maurice could act.

  Abbe Midon's plan, which he explained to young d'Escorval, as the horsesdashed along, was as simple as the situation was terrible.

  "If, by confessing your own guilt, you could save your father, I shouldtell you to deliver yourself up, and to confess the whole truth. Suchwould be your duty. But this sacrifice would be not only useless, butdangerous. Your confession of guilt would only implicate your fatherstill more. You would be arrested, but they would not release him, andyou would both be tried and convicted. Let us, then, allow--I will notsay justice, for that would be blasphemy--but these blood-thirsty men,who call themselves judges, to pursue their course, and attribute allthat you have done to your father. When the trial comes, you will provehis innocence, and produce alibis so incontestable, that they will beforced to acquit him. And I understand the people of our country sowell, that I am sure not one of them will reveal our stratagem."

  "And if we should not succeed," asked Maurice, gloomily, "what could Ido then?"

  The question was so terrible that the priest dared not respond to it. Heand Maurice were silent during the remainder of the drive.

  They reached the city at last, and Maurice saw how wise the abbe hadbeen in preventing him from assuming a disguise.

  Armed with the most absolute power, the Duc de Sairmeuse and the Marquisde Courtornieu had closed all the gates of Montaignac save one.

  Through this gate all who desired to leave or enter the city wereobliged to pass, and two officers were stationed there to examineall comers and goers, to question them, and to take their name andresidence.

  At the name "d'Escorval," the two officers evinced such surprise thatMaurice noticed it at once.

  "Ah! you know what has become of my father!" he exclaimed.

  "The Baron d'Escorval is a prisoner, Monsieur," replied one of theofficers.

  Although Maurice had expected this response, he turned pale.

  "Is he wounded?" he asked, eagerly.

  "He has not a scratch. But enter, sir, and pass on."

  From the anxious looks of these officers one might have supposed thatthey feared they should compromise themselves by conversing with the sonof so great a criminal.

  The carriage rolled beneath the gate-way; but it had not traversed twohundred yards of the Grand Rue before the abbe and Maurice had remarkedseveral posters and notices affixed to the walls.

  "We must see what this is," they said, in a breath.

  They stopped near one of these notices, before which a reader hadalready stationed himself; they descended from the carriage, and readthe following order:

  "article I.--The inmates of the house in which the elder Lacheneur shallbe found will be handed over to a military commission for trial.

  "article II.--Whoever shall deliver the body of the elder Lacheneur,dead or alive, will receive a reward of twenty thousand francs."

  This was signed Duc de Sairmeuse.

  "God be praised!" exclaimed Maurice, "Marie-Anne's father has escaped!He had a good horse, and in two hours----"

  A glance and a nudge of the elbow from the abbe checked him.

  The abbe drew his attention to the man standing near them. This man wasnone other than Chupin.

  The old scoundrel had also recognized them, for he took off his hat tothe cure, and with an expression of intense covetousness in his eyes, hesaid: "Twenty thousand francs! what a sum! A man could live comfortablyall his life on the interest of it."

  The abbe and Maurice shuddered as they re-entered their carriage.

  "Lacheneur is lost if this man discovers his retreat
," murmured thepriest.

  "Fortunately, he must have crossed the frontier before this," repliedMaurice. "A hundred to one he is beyond reach."

  "And if you should be mistaken. What, if wounded and faint from loss ofblood, Lacheneur has had only strength to drag himself to the nearesthouse and ask the hospitality of its inmates?"

  "Oh! even in that case he is safe; I know our peasants. There is not onewho is capable of selling the life of a proscribed man."

  The noble enthusiasm of youth drew a sad smile from the priest.

  "You forget the dangers to be incurred by those who shelter him. Many aman who would not soil his hands with the price of blood might deliverup a fugitive from fear."

  They were passing through the principal street, and they were struckwith the mournful aspect of the place--the little city which wasordinarily so bustling and gay--fear and consternation evidently reignedthere. The shops were closed; the shutters of the houses had not beenopened. A lugubrious silence pervaded the town. One might have supposedthat there was general mourning, and that each family had lost one ofits members.

  The manner of the few persons seen upon the thoroughfare was anxious andsingular. They hurried on, casting suspicious glances on every side.

  Two or three who were acquaintances of the Baron d'Escorval avertedtheir heads, on seeing his carriage, to avoid the necessity of bowing.

  The abbe and Maurice found an explanation of this evident terror onreaching the hotel to which they had ordered the coachman to take them.

  They had designated the Hotel de France, where the baron always stoppedwhen he visited Montaignac, and whose proprietor was none other thanLaugeron, that friend of Lacheneur, who had been the first to warn himof the arrival of the Duc de Sairmeuse.

  This worthy man, on hearing what guests had arrived, went to thecourt-yard to meet them, with his white cap in his hand.

  On such a day politeness was heroism. Was he connected with theconspiracy? It has always been supposed so.

  He invited Maurice and the abbe to take some refreshments in a way thatmade them understand he was anxious to speak with them, and heconducted them to a retired room where he knew they would be secure fromobservation.

  Thanks to one of the Duc de Sairmeuse's valets de chambre who frequentedthe house, the host knew as much as the authorities; he knew even more,since he had also received information from the rebels who had escapedcapture.

  From him the abbe and Maurice received their first positive information.

  In the first place, nothing had been heard of Lacheneur, or of his sonJean; thus far they had escaped the most rigorous pursuit.

  In the second place, there were, at this moment, two hundred prisonersin the citadel, and among them the Baron d'Escorval and Chanlouineau.

  And lastly, since morning there had been at least sixty arrests inMontaignac.

  It was generally supposed that these arrests were the work of sometraitor, and all the inhabitants were trembling with fear.

  But M. Laugeron knew the real cause. It had been confided to him underpledge of secrecy by his guest, the duke's _valet de chambre_.

  "It is certainly an incredible story, gentlemen," he said;"nevertheless, it is true. Two officers belonging to the Montaignacmilitia, on returning from their expedition this morning at daybreak,on passing the Croix d'Arcy, found a man, clad in the uniform of theEmperor's body-guard, lying dead in the fosse."

  Maurice shuddered.

  The unfortunate man, he could not doubt, was the brave old soldier whohad spoken to Lacheneur.

  "Naturally," pursued M. Laugeron, "the two officers examined the body ofthe dead man. Between his lips they found a paper, which they opened andread. It was a list of all the conspirators in the village. The braveman, knowing he was mortally wounded, endeavored to destroy this fatallist; but the agonies of death prevented him from swallowing it----"

  But the abbe and Maurice had not time to listen to the commentaries withwhich the hotel proprietor accompanied his recital.

  They despatched a messenger to Mme. d'Escorval and to Marie-Anne,in order to reassure them, and, without losing a moment, and fullydetermined to brave all, they went to the house occupied by the Duc deSairmeuse.

  A crowd had gathered about the door. At least a hundred persons werestanding there; men with anxious faces, women in tears, soliciting,imploring an audience.

  They were the friends and relatives of the unfortunate men who had beenarrested.

  Two footmen, in gorgeous livery and pompous in bearing, had all theycould do to keep back the struggling throng.

  The abbe, hoping that his priestly dress would win him a hearing,approached and gave his name. But he was repulsed like the others.

  "Monsieur le Duc is busy, and can receive no one," said the servant."Monsieur le Duc is preparing his report for His Majesty."

  And in support of this assertion, he pointed to the horses, standingsaddled in the court-yard, and the couriers who were to bear thedespatches.

  The priest sadly rejoined his companions.

  "We must wait!" said he.

  Intentionally or not, the servants were deceiving these poor people. Theduke, just then, was not troubling himself about despatches. A violentaltercation was going on between the Marquis de Courtornieu and himself.

  Each of these noble personages aspired to the leading role--the onewhich would be most generously rewarded, undoubtedly. It was a conflictof ambitions and of wills.

  It had begun by the exchange of a few recriminations, and it quicklyreached stinging words, bitter allusions, and at last, even threats.

  The marquis declared it necessary to inflict the most frightful--hesaid the most _salutary_ punishment upon the offender; the duke, on thecontrary, was inclined to be indulgent.

  The marquis declared that since Lacheneur, the prime mover, and hisson, had both eluded pursuit, it was an urgent necessity to arrestMarie-Anne.

  The other declared that the arrest and imprisonment of this young girlwould be impolitic, that such a course would render the authoritiesodious, and the rebels more zealous.

  As each was firmly wedded to his own opinion, the discussion was heated,but they failed to convince each other.

  "These rebels must be put down with a strong hand!" urged M. deCourtornieu.

  "I do not wish to exasperate the populace," replied the duke.

  "Bah! what does public sentiment matter?"

  "It matters a great deal when you cannot depend upon your soldiers. Doyou know what happened last night? There was powder enough burned to wina battle; there were only fifteen peasants wounded. Our men fired in theair. You forget that the Montaignac militia is composed, for the mostpart, at least of men who formerly fought under Bonaparte, and who areburning to turn their weapons against us."

  But neither the one nor the other dared to tell the real cause of hisobstinacy.

  Mlle. Blanche had been at Montaignac that morning. She had confided heranxiety and her sufferings to her father; and she made him swear that hewould profit by this opportunity to rid her of Marie-Anne.

  On his side, the duke, persuaded that Marie-Anne was his son's mistress,wished, at any cost, to prevent her appearance before the tribunal. Atlast the marquis yielded.

  The duke had said to him: "Very well! let us end this dispute," at thesame time glancing so meaningly at a pair of pistols that the worthymarquis felt a disagreeable chilliness creep up his spine.

  They then went together to examine the prisoners, preceded by adetachment of soldiery who drove back the crowd, which gathered again toawait the duke's return. So all day Maurice watched the aerialtelegraph established upon the citadel, and whose black arms were movingincessantly.

  "What orders are travelling through space?" he said to the abbe; "is itlife or is it death?"