CHAPTER XXXIII
Ah, well, there was one woman, a fair young girl, whose heart had notbeen touched by the sorrowful scenes of which Montaignac had been thetheatre.
Mlle. Blanche de Courtornieu smiled as brightly as ever in the midst ofa stricken people; and surrounded by mourners, her lovely eyes remaineddry.
The daughter of a man who, for a week, exercised the power of adictator, she did not lift her finger to save a single one of thecondemned prisoners from the executioner.
They had stopped her carriage on the public road. This was a crime whichMlle. de Courtornieu could never forget.
She also knew that she owed it to Marie-Anne's intercession that she hadnot been held prisoner. This she could never forgive.
So it was with the bitterest resentment that, on the morningfollowing her arrival in Montaignac, she recounted what she styled her"humiliations" to her father, i.e., the inconceivable arrogance of thatLacheneur girl, and the frightful brutality of which the peasants hadbeen guilty.
And when the Marquis de Courtornieu asked if she would consent totestify against Baron d'Escorval, she coldly replied:
"I think that such is my duty, and I shall fulfil it, however painful itmay be."
She knew perfectly well that her deposition would be the baron'sdeath-warrant; but she persisted in her resolve, veiling her hatred andher insensibility under the name of virtue.
But we must do her the justice to admit that her testimony was sincere.
She really believed that it was Baron d'Escorval who was with therebels, and whose opinion Chanlouineau had asked.
This error on the part of Mlle. Blanche rose from the custom ofdesignating Maurice by his Christian name, which prevailed in theneighborhood.
In speaking of him everyone said "Monsieur Maurice." When they said"Monsieur d'Escorval," they referred to the baron.
After the crushing evidence against the accused had been written andsigned in her fine and aristocratic hand-writing, Mlle. de Courtornieubore herself with partly real and partly affected indifference. Shewould not, on any account, have had people suppose that anythingrelating to these plebeians--these low peasants--could possibly disturbher proud serenity. She would not so much as ask a single question onthe subject.
But this superb indifference was, in great measure, assumed. In herinmost soul she was blessing this conspiracy which had caused so manytears and so much blood to flow. Had it not removed her rival from herpath?
"Now," she thought, "the marquis will return to me, and I will make himforget the bold creature who has bewitched him!"
Chimeras! The charm had vanished which had once caused the love ofMartial de Sairmeuse to oscillate between Mlle. de Courtornieu and thedaughter of Lacheneur.
Captivated at first by the charms of Mlle. Blanche, he soon discoveredthe calculating ambition and the utter worldliness concealed beneathsuch seeming simplicity and candor. Nor was he long in discerning herintense vanity, her lack of principle, and her unbounded selfishness;and, comparing her with the noble and generous Marie-Anne, hisadmiration was changed into indifference, or rather repugnance.
He did return to her, however, or at least he seemed to return toher, actuated, perhaps, by that inexplicable sentiment that impels ussometimes to do that which is most distasteful to us, and by a feelingof discouragement and despair, knowing that Marie-Anne was now lost tohim forever.
He also said to himself that a pledge had been interchanged between theduke and the Marquis de Courtornieu; that he, too, had given his word,and that Mlle. Blanche was his betrothed.
Was it worth while to break this engagement? Would he not be compelledto marry some day? Why not fulfil the pledge that had been made? He wasas willing to marry Mlle. de Courtornieu as anyone else, since he wassure that the only woman whom he had ever truly loved--the only womanwhom he ever could love--was never to be his.
Master of himself when near her, and sure that he would ever remain thesame, it was easy to play the part of lover with that perfection andthat charm which--sad as it is to say it--the real passion seldomor never attains. He was assisted by his self-love, and also by thatinstinct of duplicity which leads a man to contradict his thoughts byhis acts.
But while he seemed to be occupied only with thoughts of his approachingmarriage, his mind was full of intense anxiety concerning Barond'Escorval.
What had become of the baron and of Bavois after their escape? What hadbecome of those who were awaiting them on the rocks--for Martial knewall their plans--Mme. d'Escorval and Marie-Anne, the abbe and Maurice,and the four officers?
There were, then, ten persons in all who had disappeared. And Martialasked himself again and again, how it could be possible for so manyindividuals to mysteriously disappear, leaving no trace behind them.
"It unquestionably denotes a superior ability," thought Martial, "Irecognize the hand of the priest."
It was, indeed, remarkable, since the search ordered by the Duc deSairmeuse and the marquis had been pursued with feverish activity,greatly to the terror of those who had instituted it. Still what couldthey do? They had imprudently excited the zeal of their subordinates,and now they were unable to moderate it. But fortunately all efforts todiscover the fugitives had proved unavailing.
One witness testified, however, that on the morning of the escape, hemet, just before daybreak, a party of about a dozen persons, men andwomen, who seemed to be carrying a dead body.
This circumstance, taken in connection with the broken rope and theblood-stains, made Martial tremble.
He had also been strongly impressed by another circumstance, which wasrevealed as the investigation progressed.
All the soldiers who were on guard that eventful night wereinterrogated. One of them testified as follows:
"I was on guard in the corridor communicating with the prisoner'sapartment in the tower, when at about half-past two o'clock, afterLacheneur had been placed in his cell, I saw an officer approaching me.I challenged him; he gave me the countersign, and, naturally, I allowedhim to pass. He went down the corridor, and entered the room adjoiningthat in which Monsieur d'Escorval was confined. He remained there aboutfive minutes."
"Did you recognize this officer?" Martial eagerly inquired.
And the soldier answered: "No. He wore a large cloak, the collar ofwhich was turned up so high that it covered his face to the very eyes."
Who could this mysterious officer have been? What was he doing in theroom where the ropes had been deposited?
Martial racked his brain to discover an answer to these questions.
The Marquis de Courtornieu himself seemed much disturbed.
"How could you be ignorant that there were many sympathizers with thismovement in the garrison?" he said, angrily. "You might have known thatthis visitor, who concealed his face so carefully, was an accomplice whohad been warned by Bavois, and who came to see if he needed a helpinghand."
This was a plausible explanation, still it did not satisfy Martial.
"It is very strange," he thought, "that Monsieur d'Escorval has noteven deigned to let me know he is in safety. The service which _I_ haverendered him deserves that acknowledgment, at least."
Such was his disquietude that he resolved to apply to Chupin, eventhough this traitor inspired him with extreme repugnance.
But it was no longer easy to obtain the services of the old spy. Sincehe had received the price of Lacheneur's blood--the twenty thousandfrancs which had so fascinated him--Chupin had deserted the house of theDuc de Sairmeuse.
He had taken up his quarters in a small inn on the outskirts of thetown; and he spent his days alone in a large room on the second floor.
At night he barricaded the doors, and drank, drank, drank; and untildaybreak they could hear him cursing and singing or struggling againstimaginary enemies.
Still he dared not disobey the order brought by a soldier, summoning himto the Hotel de Sairmeuse at once.
"I wish to discover what has become of Baron d'Escorval," said Martial.
r />
Chupin trembled, he who had formerly been bronze, and a fleeting colordyed his cheeks.
"The Montaignac police are at your disposal," he answered sulkily."They, perhaps, can satisfy the curiosity of Monsieur le Marquis. I donot belong to the police."
Was he in earnest, or was he endeavoring to augment the value of hisservices by refusing them? Martial inclined to the latter opinion.
"You shall have no reason to complain of my generosity," said he. "Iwill pay you well."
But on hearing the word "pay," which would have made his eyes gleam withdelight a week before, Chupin flew into a furious passion.
"So it was to tempt me again that you summoned me here!" he exclaimed."You would do better to leave me quietly at my inn."
"What do you mean, fool?"
But Chupin did not even hear this interruption, and, with increasingfury, he continued:
"They told me that, by betraying Lacheneur, I should be doing my dutyand serving the King. I betrayed him, and now I am treated as if I hadcommitted the worst of crimes. Formerly, when I lived by stealing andpoaching, they despised me, perhaps; but they did not shun me as theydid the pestilence. They called me rascal, robber, and the like; butthey would drink with me all the same. To-day I have twenty thousandfrancs, and I am treated as if I were a venomous beast. If I approach aman, he draws back; if I enter a room, those who are there leave it."
The recollection of the insults he had received made him more and morefrantic with rage.
"Was the act I committed so ignoble and abominable?" he pursued. "Thenwhy did your father propose it? The shame should fall on him. He shouldnot have tempted a poor man with wealth like that. If, on the contrary,I have done well, let them make laws to protect me."
Martial comprehended the necessity of reassuring his troubled mind.
"Chupin, my boy," said he, "I do not ask you to discover Monsieurd'Escorval in order to denounce him; far from it--I only desire you toascertain if anyone at Saint-Pavin, or at Saint-Jean-de-Coche, knows ofhis having crossed the frontier."
On hearing the name Saint-Jean-de-Coche, Chupin's face blanched.
"Do you wish me to be murdered?" he exclaimed, remembering Balstainand his vow. "I would have you know that I value my life, now that I amrich."
And seized with a sort of panic he fled precipitately. Martial wasstupefied with astonishment.
"One might really suppose that the wretch was sorry for what he haddone," he thought.
If that was really the case, Chupin was not alone.
M. de Courtornieu and the Duc de Sairmeuse were secretly blamingthemselves for the exaggerations in their first reports, and the mannerin which they had magnified the proportions of the rebellion. Theyaccused each other of undue haste, of neglect of the proper forms ofprocedure, and the injustice of the verdict rendered.
Each endeavored to make the other responsible for the blood which hadbeen spilled; one tried to cast the public odium upon the other.
Meanwhile they were both doing their best to obtain a pardon for the sixprisoners who had been reprieved.
They did not succeed.
One night a courier arrived at Montaignac, bearing the following laconicdespatch:
"The twenty-one convicted prisoners must be executed."
That is to say, the Duc de Richelieu, and the council of ministers,headed by M. Decazes, the minister of police, had decided that thepetitions for clemency must be refused.
This despatch was a terrible blow to the Duc de Sairmeuse and M. deCourtornieu. They knew, better than anyone else, how little these poormen, whose lives they had tried, too late, to save, deserved death. Theyknew it would soon be publicly proven that two of the six men had takenno part whatever in the conspiracy.
What was to be done?
Martial desired his father to resign his authority; but the duke had notcourage to do it.
M. de Courtornieu encouraged him. He admitted that all this was veryunfortunate, but declared, since the wine had been drawn, that it wasnecessary to drink it, and that one could not draw back now withoutcausing a terrible scandal.
The next day the dismal rolling of drums was again heard, and the sixdoomed men, two of whom were known to be innocent, were led outsidethe walls of the citadel and shot, on the same spot where, only a weekbefore, fourteen of their comrades had fallen.
And the prime mover in the conspiracy had not yet been tried.
Confined in the cell next to that which Chanlouineau had occupied,Lacheneur had fallen into a state of gloomy despondency, which lastedduring his whole term of imprisonment. He was terribly broken, both inbody and in mind.
Once only did the blood mount to his pallid cheek, and that was on themorning when the Duc de Sairmeuse entered the cell to interrogate him.
"It was you who drove me to do what I did," he said. "God sees us, andjudges us!"
Unhappy man! his faults had been great; his chastisement was terrible.
He had sacrificed his children on the altar of his wounded pride; hehad not even the consolation of pressing them to his heart and of askingtheir forgiveness before he died.
Alone in his cell he could not distract his mind from thoughts of hisson and of his daughter; but such was the terrible situation in which hehad placed himself that he dared not ask what had become of them.
Through a compassionate keeper, he learned that nothing had been heardof Jean, and that it was supposed Marie-Anne had gone to some foreigncountry with the d'Escorval family.
When summoned before the court for trial, Lacheneur was calm anddignified in manner. He attempted no defence, but responded with perfectfrankness. He took all the blame upon himself, and would not give thename of one of his accomplices.
Condemned to be beheaded, he was executed on the following day. Inspite of the rain, he desired to walk to the place of execution. When hereached the scaffold, he ascended the steps with a firm tread, and, ofhis own accord, placed his head upon the block.
A few seconds later, the rebellion of the 4th of March counted itstwenty-first victim.
And that same evening the people everywhere were talking of themagnificent rewards which were to be bestowed upon the Duc de Sairmeuseand the Marquis de Courtornieu; and it was also asserted that thenuptials of the children of these great houses were to take place beforethe close of the week.