The Conspirators

  CHAPTER XL.

  BONIFACE.

  As we have seen, Dubois urged on the trial of D'Harmental, hoping thathis revelations would furnish him with weapons against those whom hewished to attack, but D'Harmental took refuge in a total denial withrespect to others. As to what concerned himself personally, he confessedeverything, saying, that his attempt on the regent was the result ofprivate revenge, a revenge which had arisen from the injustice which hadbeen done him in depriving him of his regiment. As to the men who hadaccompanied him, and who had lent him their aid in the execution of hisplans, he declared that they were poor devils of peasants, who did noteven know whom they were escorting. All this was not highly probable,but there was no means of bringing anything beyond the answers of theaccused to bear on the matter; the consequence was, that to the infiniteannoyance of Dubois, the real criminals escaped his vengeance, undercover of the eternal denials of the chevalier, who denied having seenMonsieur or Madame de Maine more than once or twice in his life, or everhaving been trusted with any political mission by either of them.

  They had arrested successively Laval, Pompadour, and Valef, and hadtaken them to the Bastille, but they knew that they might rely upon thechevalier; and, as the situation in which they found themselves hadbeen foreseen, and it had been agreed what each should say, they allentirely denied any knowledge of the affair, confessing associationswith Monsieur and Madame de Maine, but saying that those associationswere confined to a respectful friendship. As to D'Harmental, they knewhim, they said, for a man of honor, who complained of a great injusticewhich had been done to him. They were confronted, one after the other,with the chevalier; but these interviews had no other result than thatof confirming each in his system of defense, and showing each that thesystem was religiously adhered to by his companion.

  Dubois was furious--he reopened the proofs for the affair of theStates-General, but that had been settled by the special parliament,which had condemned the king of Spain's letters, and degraded thelegitimated princes from their rank; everyone regarded them assufficiently punished by this judgment, without raising a secondprosecution against them on the same grounds. Dubois had hoped, by therevelations of D'Harmental, to entangle Monsieur and Madame de Maine ina new trial, more serious than the first; for this time it was aquestion of a direct attempt, if not on the life, at least on theliberty of the regent; but the obstinacy of the chevalier destroyed allhis hopes. His anger had therefore turned solely on D'Harmental, and, aswe have said, he had ordered Leblanc and D'Argenson to expedite theprosecution--an order which the two magistrates had obeyed with theirordinary punctuality.

  During this time the illness of Bathilde had progressed in a mannerwhich had brought the poor girl to death's door; but at last youth andvigor had triumphed; to the excitement of delirium had succeeded acomplete and utter prostration; one would have said that the fever alonehad sustained her, and that, in departing, it had taken life along withit.

  Still every day brought improvement--slight, it is true, but decided--tothe eyes of the good people who surrounded the bed of sickness. Littleby little Bathilde began to recognize those who were about her, then shehad stretched out her hand to them, and then spoken to them. As yet, tothe astonishment of every one, they had remarked that Bathilde had notmentioned the name of D'Harmental; this was a great relief to those whowatched her, for, as they had none but sad news to give her about him,they preferred, as will easily be understood, that she should remainsilent on the subject; every one believed, and the doctor most of all,that the young girl had completely forgotten the past, or, if sheremembered it, that she confounded the reality with the dreams of herdelirium. They were all wrong, even the doctor: this was what hadoccurred:

  One morning when they had thought Bathilde sleeping, and had left heralone for a minute, Boniface, who, in spite of the severity of hisneighbor, still preserved a great fund of tenderness toward her, had, aswas his custom every morning since she had been ill, half opened thedoor to ask news of her. The growling of Mirza aroused Bathilde, whoturned round and saw Boniface, and having before conjectured that shemight probably know from him that which she should ask in vain from theothers, namely, what had become of D'Harmental, she had, while quietingMirza, extended her pale and emaciated hand to Boniface. Boniface tookit between his own two great red hands, then, looking at the young girl,and shaking his head:

  "Yes, Mademoiselle Bathilde, yes," said he, "you were right; you are alady, and I am only a coarse peasant. You deserved a nobleman, and itwas impossible that you should love me."

  "As you wished, true, Boniface, but I can love you in another manner."

  "True, Mademoiselle Bathilde, very true; well, love me as you will, sothat you love me a little."

  "I can love you as a brother."

  "As a brother! You could love poor Boniface as a brother, and he mightlove you as a sister; he might sometimes hold your hand as he holds itnow, and embrace you as he sometimes embraces Melie and Nais? Oh!speak, Mademoiselle Bathilde, what must I do for that?"

  "My friend--" said Bathilde.

  "She has called me her friend," said Boniface, "she has called me herfriend--I, who have said such things about her. Listen, MademoiselleBathilde: do not call me your friend, I am not worthy of the name. Youdo not know what I have said--I said that you lived with an old man; butI did not believe it, Mademoiselle Bathilde, on my honor I did not--itwas anger, it was rage. Mademoiselle Bathilde, call me beggar, rascal;it will give me less pain than to hear you term me your friend."

  "My friend," recommenced Bathilde, "if you have said all that, I pardonyou, for now not only can you make up for it, but also acquire eternalclaims upon my gratitude."

  "And what shall I do? Speak! Let me see! Must I go through the fire?Shall I jump out of the second-floor window? Shall I--What shall I do?Tell me! Everything is alike."

  "No, no, my friend, something much easier."

  "Speak, Mademoiselle Bathilde, speak!"

  "First it is necessary that you should swear to do it."

  "I swear by Heaven!"

  "Whatever they may say to hinder you?"

  "Hinder me from doing what you ask?--never!"

  "Whatever may be the grief that it may cause me?"

  "No, that is a different thing; if it is to give you pain I would ratherbe cut in half."

  "But if I beg you, my friend, my brother," said Bathilde, in her mostpersuasive voice.

  "Oh, if you speak like that I shall cry like the Fountain of theInnocents!"

  And Boniface began to sob.

  "You will tell me all then, my dear Boniface?"

  "Everything."

  "Well, tell me first--"

  Bathilde stopped.

  "What?"

  "Can you not imagine, Boniface?"

  "Yes, I think so; you want to know what has become of M. Raoul, do younot?"

  "Oh yes," cried Bathilde, "in Heaven's name, what has become of him?"

  "Poor fellow!" murmured Boniface.

  "Mon Dieu! is he dead?" exclaimed Bathilde, sitting up in the bed.

  "No, happily not; but he is a prisoner."

  "Where?"

  "In the Bastille."

  "I feared it," said Bathilde, sinking down in the bed; "in the Bastille!oh, mon Dieu! mon Dieu!"

  "Oh, now you are crying, Mademoiselle Bathilde."

  "And I am here in this bed, chained, dying!" cried Bathilde.

  "Oh, do not cry like that, mademoiselle; it is your poor Boniface whobegs you."

  "No, I will be firm, I will have courage; see, Boniface, I weep nolonger; but you understand that I must know everything from hour tohour, so that when he dies I may die."

  "You die, Mademoiselle Bathilde! oh, never, never!"

  "You have promised, you have sworn it. Boniface, you will keep meinformed of all?"

  "Oh, wretch that I am, what have I promised!"

  "And, if it must be, at the moment--the terrible moment--you will aidme, you will conduct me, will you not, Boniface? I must see him
again--once--once more--if it be on the scaffold."

  "I will do all you desire, mademoiselle," said Boniface, falling on hisknees, and trying vainly to restrain his sobs.

  "You promise me?"

  "I swear."

  "Silence! some one is coming--not a word of this, it is a secret betweenus two. Rise, wipe your eyes, do as I do, and leave me."

  And Bathilde began to laugh with a feverish nervousness that wasfrightful to see. Luckily it was only Buvat, and Boniface profited byhis entrance to depart.

  "Well, how are you?" asked the good man.

  "Better, father--much better; I feel my strength returning; in a fewdays I shall be able to rise; but you, father, why do you not go to theoffice?"--Buvat sighed deeply.--"It was kind not to leave me when I wasill, but now I am getting better, you must return to the library,father."

  "Yes, my child, yes," said Buvat, swallowing his sobs. "Yes, I amgoing."

  "Are you going without kissing me?"

  "No, my child, on the contrary."

  "Why, father, you are crying, and yet you see that I am better!"

  "I cry!" said Buvat, wiping his eyes with his handkerchief. "I, crying!If I am crying, it is only joy. Yes, I am going, my child--to myoffice--I am going."

  And Buvat, after having embraced Bathilde, returned home, for he wouldnot tell his poor child that he had lost his place, and the young girlwas left alone.

  Then she breathed more freely now that she was tranquil; Boniface, inhis quality of clerk to the procureur at Chatelet, was in the very placeto know everything, and Bathilde was sure that Boniface would tell hereverything. Indeed, from that time she knew all: that Raoul had beeninterrogated, and that he had taken everything on himself; then the dayfollowing she learned that he had been confronted with Laval, Valef, andPompadour, but that interview had produced nothing. Faithful to hispromise, Boniface every evening brought her the day's news, and everyevening Bathilde, at this recital, alarming as it was, felt inspiredwith new resolution. A fortnight passed thus, at the end of which timeBathilde began to get up and walk a little about the room, to the greatjoy of Buvat, Nanette, and the whole Denis family.

  One day Boniface, contrary to his usual habit, returned home fromJoullu's at three o'clock, and entered the room of the sufferer. Thepoor boy was so pale and so cast down, that Bathilde understood that hebrought some terrible information, and giving a cry, she rose upright,with her eyes fixed on him.

  "All is finished, then?" asked Bathilde.

  "Alas!" answered Boniface, "it is all through his own obstinacy. Theyoffered him pardon--do you understand, Mademoiselle Bathilde?--hispardon if he would--and he would not speak a word."

  "Then," cried Bathilde, "no more hope; he is condemned."

  "This morning, Mademoiselle Bathilde, this morning."

  "To death?"

  Boniface bowed his head.

  "And when is he to be executed?"

  "To-morrow morning at eight o'clock."

  "Very well," said Bathilde.

  "But perhaps there is still hope," said Boniface.

  "What?" asked Bathilde.

  "If even now he would denounce his accomplices."

  The young girl began to laugh, but so strangely that Boniface shudderedfrom head to foot.

  "Well," said Boniface, "who knows? I, if I was in his place, forexample, should not fail to do so; I should say, 'It was not I, on myhonor it was not I; it was such a one, and such another, and so on.'"

  "Boniface, I must go out."

  "You, Mademoiselle Bathilde!" cried Boniface, terrified. "You go out!why, it would kill you."

  "I say I must go out."

  "But you cannot stand upright."

  "You are wrong, Boniface, I am strong--see."

  And Bathilde began to walk up and down the room with a firm step.

  "Moreover," added Bathilde, "you will go and fetch a coach."

  "But, Mademoiselle Bathilde--"

  "Boniface," said the young girl, "you have promised to obey me; tillthis minute you have kept your word; are you getting lax in yourdevotion?"

  "I, Mademoiselle Bathilde! I lax in my devotion to you? You ask for acoach, I will fetch two."

  "Go, my friend, my brother," said Bathilde.

  "Oh! Mademoiselle Bathilde, with such words you could make me do whatyou liked. In five minutes the coach will be here."

  And Boniface ran out.

  Bathilde had on a loose white robe; she tied it in with a girdle, threwa cloak over her shoulders, and got ready. As she was advancing to thedoor Madame Denis entered.

  "Oh, my dear child, what in Heaven's name are you going to do?"

  "Madame," said Bathilde, "it is necessary that I should go out."

  "Go out! you are mad?"

  "No, madame," said Bathilde, "I am in perfect possession of my senses,but you would drive me mad by retaining me."

  "But at least where are you going, my dear child?"

  "Do you not know that he is condemned?"

  "Oh! mon Dieu! mon Dieu! who told you that? I had asked every one tokeep it from you."

  "Yes, and to-morrow you would have told me that he was dead, and Ishould have answered, 'You have killed him, for I had a means of savinghim, perhaps.'"

  "You, you, my child! you have a means of saving him?"

  "I said, perhaps; let me try the means, it is the only one remaining."

  "Go, my child," said Madame Denis, struck by the inspired tone ofBathilde's voice, "go, and may God guide you!"

  Bathilde went out, descended the staircase with a slow but firm step,crossed the street, ascended the four stories without resting, openedthe door of her room, which she had not entered since the day of thecatastrophe. At the noise which she made, Nanette came out of the innerroom, and gave a cry at seeing her young mistress.

  "Well," asked Bathilde, in a grave tone, "what is it, my good Nanette?"

  "Oh, mon Dieu!" cried the poor woman, trembling, "is that really you, oris it your shadow?"

  "It is I, Nanette; I am not yet dead."

  "And why have you left the Denis's house? Have they said anything towound you?"

  "No, Nanette, but I have something to do which isnecessary--indispensable."

  "You, go out in your present state! You will kill yourself. M. Buvat! M.Buvat! here is our young lady going out; come and tell her that it mustnot be."

  Bathilde turned toward Buvat, with the intention of employing herascendency over him, if he endeavored to stop her, but she saw him withso sorrowful a face that she did not doubt that he knew the fatal news.On his part, Buvat burst into tears on seeing her.

  "My father," said Bathilde, "what has been done to-day has been the workof men, what remains is in the hands of God, and he will have pity onus."

  "Oh!" cried Buvat, sinking into a chair, "it is I who have killed him!it is I who have killed him!"

  Bathilde went up to him solemnly and kissed him.

  "But what are you going to do, my child?"

  "My duty," answered Bathilde.

  She opened a little cupboard in the prie-Dieu, took out a blackpocket-book, opened it, and drew out a letter.

  "You are right, you are right, my child, I had forgotten that letter."

  "I remembered it," answered Bathilde, kissing the letter, and placing itnext her heart, "for it was the sole inheritance my mother left me."

  At that moment they heard the noise of a coach at the door.

  "Adieu, father! adieu, Nanette! Pray for my success."

  And Bathilde went away, with a solemn gravity which made her, in theeyes of those who watched her, almost a saint.

  At the door she found Boniface waiting with a coach.

  "Shall I go with you, Mademoiselle Bathilde?" asked he.

  "No, no, my friend," said Bathilde, "not now; to-morrow, perhaps."

  She entered the coach.

  "Where to?" asked the coachman.

  "To the Arsenal."