Monsieur Lecoq Émile Gaboriau (popular books of all time .txt) 📖

they will demand an investigation, and then farewell to the rewards due to my services.

“It will be shouted from the housetops that Chanlouineau, in the presence of the tribunal, declared you, Marquis, his leader and his accomplice. You will be obliged to submit to the scrutiny of physicians, who, seeing a freshly healed wound, will require you to tell where you received it, and why you concealed it.

“Of what shall I not be accused? They will say that I expedited matters in order to silence the voice that had been raised against my son. Perhaps they will even say that I secretly favored the insurrection; I shall be vilified in the journals.

“And who has thus ruined the fortunes of our house, that promised so brilliantly? You, you alone, Marquis.

“You believe in nothing, you doubt everything⁠—you are cold, sceptical, disdainful, blasé. But a pretty woman makes her appearance on the scene. You go wild like a schoolboy and are ready to commit any act of folly. It is you who I am addressing, Marquis. Do you hear me? Speak! what have you to say?”

Martial had listened to this tirade with unconcealed scorn, and without even attempting to interrupt it.

Now he responded, slowly:

“I think, sir, if Mademoiselle Lacheneur had any doubts of the value of the document she possesses, she has them no longer.”

This response fell upon the duke’s wrath like a bucket of ice-water. He instantly comprehended his folly; and frightened by his own words, he stood stupefied with astonishment.

Without deigning to add another word, the marquis turned to Marie-Anne.

“Will you be so kind as to explain what is required of my father in exchange for this letter?”

“The life and liberty of Monsieur d’Escorval.”

The duke started as if he had received an electric shock.

“Ah!” he exclaimed. “I knew they would ask something that was impossible!”

He sank back in his armchair. A profound despair succeeded his frenzy. He buried his face in his hands, evidently seeking some expedient.

“Why did you not come to me before judgment was pronounced?” he murmured. “Then I could have done anything⁠—now, my hands are bound. The commission has spoken; the judgment must be executed⁠—”

He rose, and in the tone of a man who is resigned to anything, he said:

“Decidedly. I should risk more in attempting to save the baron”⁠—in his anxiety he gave M. d’Escorval his title⁠—“a thousand times more than I have to fear from my enemies. So, Mademoiselle”⁠—he no longer said “my good girl”⁠—“you can utilize your document.”

The duke was about leaving the room, but Martial detained him by a gesture.

“Think again before you decide. Our situation is not without a precedent. A few months ago the Count de Lavalette was condemned to death. The King wished to pardon him, but his ministers and friends opposed it. Though the King was master, what did he do? He seemed to be deaf to all the supplications made in the prisoner’s behalf. The scaffold was erected, and yet Lavalette was saved! And no one was compromised⁠—yes, a jailer lost his position; he is living on his income now.”

Marie-Anne caught eagerly at the idea so cleverly presented by Martial.

“Yes,” she exclaimed, “the Count de Lavalette, protected by royal connivance, succeeded in making his escape.”

The simplicity of the expedient⁠—the authority of the example⁠—seemed to make a vivid impression upon the duke. He was silent for a moment, and Marie-Anne fancied she saw an expression of relief steal over his face.

“Such an attempt would be very hazardous,” he murmured; “yet, with care, and if one were sure that the secret would be kept⁠—”

“Oh! the secret will be religiously preserved, Monsieur,” interrupted Marie-Anne.

With a glance Martial recommended silence; then turning to his father, he said:

“One can always consider an expedient, and calculate the consequences⁠—that does not bind one. When is this sentence to be carried into execution?”

“Tomorrow,” responded the duke.

But even this terrible response did not cause Marie-Anne any alarm. The duke’s anxiety and terror had taught her how much reason she had to hope; and she saw that Martial had openly espoused her cause.

“We have, then, only the night before us,” resumed the marquis. “Fortunately, it is only half-past seven, and until ten o’clock my father can visit the citadel without exciting the slightest suspicion.”

He paused suddenly. His eyes, in which had shone almost absolute confidence, became gloomy. He had just discovered an unexpected and, as it seemed to him, almost insurmountable difficulty.

“Have we any intelligent men in the citadel?” he murmured. “The assistance of a jailer or of a soldier is indispensable.”

He turned to his father, and brusquely asked: “Have you any man in whom you can confide?”

“I have three or four spies⁠—they can be bought.”

“No! the wretch who betrays his comrade for a few sous, will betray you for a few louis. We must have an honest man who sympathizes with the opinions of Baron d’Escorval⁠—an old soldier who fought under Napoleon, if possible.”

A sudden inspiration visited Marie-Anne’s mind.

“I know the man that you require!” she cried.

“You?”

“Yes, I. At the citadel.”

“Take care! Remember that he must risk much. If this should be discovered, those who take part in it will be sacrificed.”

“He of whom I speak is the man you need. I will be responsible for him.”

“And he is a soldier?”

“He is only an humble corporal; but the nobility of his nature entitles him to the highest rank. Believe me, we can safely confide in him.”

If she spoke thus, she who would willingly have given her life for the baron’s salvation, she must be absolutely certain.

So thought Martial.

“I will confer with this man,” said he. “What is his name?”

“He is called Bavois, and he is a corporal in the first company of grenadiers.”

“Bavois,” repeated Martial, as if to fix the name in his memory; “Bavois. My father will find some pretext for desiring him summoned.”

“It is easy to find a pretext. He was the brave soldier left on guard at Escorval after the troops left the house.”

“This promises well,” said Martial. He had risen and gone to the