Midnight was sounded upon the heavy bell of the Bastille by the sentinel on guard but a few minutes before the Marchioness of Brinvilliers—terrified, breathless, and, in spite of her hurry, shivering in her light dress beneath the intense cold—arrived at the Hôtel d’Aubray. There were no signs of life in that quarter of Paris, for the inhabitants had long retired to rest; a faint light, gleaming from the front windows of Marie’s residence upon the snow that covered the thoroughfare, alone served to guide her to the door. The drowsy concierge admitted her, and she hurried across the inner court and upstairs to her own apartment.
Françoise Roussel, her servant, was waiting up for her. Her mistress had left in such an extreme of anxiety, and half-undressed, that Françoise saw at once an affair of great moment had disturbed her; and now, as Marie returned, the girl was frightened by her almost ghastly look. As she entered the room she fell panting on one of the causeuses, and then her servant perceived that she had lost one of her shoes, and had been walking, perhaps nearly the whole distance from the Place Maubert, with her small naked foot upon the snow, without discovering it. In her hurried toilet, she had merely arisen from her bed and drawn her shoes on, without anything else, and throwing a heavy loose robe about her had thus hurried with Lachaussée to Glazer’s house; for from Gaudin’s accomplice she had learned the first tidings of his death and the dangerous position in which she stood. And now, scarcely knowing in the terror and agony of the moment what course to adopt, she remained for some minutes pressing her hands to her forehead, as if to seize and render available some of the confused and distracting thoughts which were hurrying through her almost bewildered brain. A few offers of assistance on the part of her domestic were met with short and angry refusals; and Françoise, almost as frightened as the Marchioness herself, remained gazing at her, not knowing what measures she ought next to adopt.
Meanwhile, Desgrais, with the important casket, and accompanied by the clerk Frater and Maître Picard, had reached the house of M. Artus, the Commissary of Police, in the Rue des Noyers, arriving there not two minutes after Marie had quitted it to regain her own abode. Philippe Glazer had accompanied them, partly from being in a measure an implicated party in the affair, but chiefly out of anxiety for the position of the Marchioness, in whose guilt he had not the slightest belief. He was aware of her connection with Sainte-Croix; but this was a matter of simple gallantry, and in the time of Louis Quatorze much more likely to enlist the sympathies of the many on the side of the erring party than to excite their indignation.
‘I suppose you have no further occasion for me?’ observed Maître Picard, as he stood at the foot of M. Artus’s bed, after having awaited the conclusion of Desgrais’s account of the discovery; ‘because, if you have not, I would fain go home.’
The little bourgeois was thinking of the roast pheasant which he had abandoned to the voracity of the Gascon. He had a wild hope that it might be yet untouched.
‘Stop, mon brave,’ said Desgrais. ‘You cannot leave me until we have found Madame de Brinvilliers. I have only missed her by a few seconds. You must come on with me to her house, where she most likely is by this time.’
‘I suppose there is no necessity for me to remain here longer,’ said Philippe Glazer.
‘None whatever, monsieur,’ replied the exempt. ‘You will take care of M. de Sainte-Croix’s property; and we may call upon you to-morrow to analyse the contents of this casket.’
Philippe bowed, and left the room. The moment he was clear of the house, having borrowed a lighted lantern from one of the guard, who was at the door, he set off as fast as his legs would carry him towards the Rue St. Paul, having heard enough to convince him that the Marchioness was in danger of being arrested. Upon reaching the Hôtel d’Aubray he clamoured loudly for admission. At the sound of the first knock he perceived a form, which he directly recognised to be that of Marie, peep from behind the edge of the curtain and immediately disappear. Some little delay took place before his summons was answered, and then the concierge, peering through the half-opening of the door, told him that Madame de Brinvilliers was not within. Pushing the menial on one side, with a hurried expression of disbelief, Philippe forced his way into the court, and perceived, as he entered, the figure of the Marchioness hurrying upstairs. He bounded after her, and stood by her side upon the landing.
‘Philippe!’ exclaimed Marie, as she recognised his features. ‘I was afraid it was Desgrais, and I had gone down to give orders that no one might be admitted.’