CHAPTER XXXI.
PHILIPPE GLAZER THROWS DESGRAIS OFF THE SCENT
With all his energy to overtake the fugitives, the exempt was again too late, although fate appeared almost to have thrown them into his hands. There were a train of market-carts coming into Compiègne on all sides from the suburbs; and Desgrais, after stopping one or two in authoritative tones, to the temporary astonishment of the owners, became so confused with their numbers by the time he reached the Place, where they were all collecting, that he gave up any further search, and resolved, after a little rest, to proceed to Offemont; for, as may be imagined after his harassing journey, he was well-nigh exhausted. The brandy he carried with him gave him a temporary power of endurance, and he now stood in need of more substantial nourishment; and feeling sure that the Marchioness would go at once to her château, not giving him credit for pursuing her so closely, he still reckoned upon seizing her before noon, and then, with the assistance of the municipal authorities of the town, taking her back to Paris.
In the meantime the humble conveyance which had taken up Marie and Philippe stopped with them at one of the principal inns, at the very time that the active agent of the Maréchaussée was endeavouring to discover them in the streets. At Compiègne the Marchioness was well known. The firing of the wheels of the post-carriage accounted sufficiently for her arrival in the market-cart; and her worn, jaded appearance, was attributed to fright at the occurrence. Her character stood well, no less at Compiègne and the neighbourhood than at Paris, as an amiable and much-wronged lady; the wild career her husband had followed since their separation—the embarrassment of her affairs—his unbridled licentiousness—all offered sufficient excuses for her attachment to Sainte-Croix; more especially in an age when gallantry was almost a virtue—at all events, a most venial transgression; and therefore it is not to be wondered at that the entire household of the hotel were anxious to do all they could to assist her at present, even to the point of becoming officious. A fresh carriage and horses to Offemont was all, however, that the Marchioness required, and these were immediately got ready.
‘And now, Philippe,’ said Marie, as they awaited the time to start in one of the rooms of the hotel, ‘I shall no longer require your help. You had better return to Paris as soon as you well may, and leave the rest of my destiny in my own hands. Here I am comparatively at home, and all are ready to assist me.’
‘I would see you as far as your house at Offemont,’ said the student.
‘There is no necessity for your so doing,’ returned Marie. ‘On the contrary, it may involve you in some little trouble, more especially if I am overtaken before I am able to clear myself to the satisfaction of everybody.’
‘But it is only now a few miles to the château,’ said Philippe.
‘And therefore is there the less occasion for you to accompany me, whichever way the venture turns. If I get there unobserved, your presence would be entirely superfluous; if I am overtaken, it would but involve another in this persecution. I have already been the cause of too much misery.’
The deep-drawn, almost wailing, sigh of utter exhaustion and misery which followed these words carried with it such an expression of desolation, that many who had far less faith in her sincerity than Philippe would have been affected by it. And yet the depth and calculation of this extraordinary woman prompted everything. She knew that if Philippe Glazer was found with her, a fresh link would be added to the chain of circumstances that connected her with Sainte-Croix’s affairs, and the revelations of the casket; and she was anxious that this should be annulled. Hitherto she had owed everything to his escort and invention; but, now that she was amongst her own people, and enabled to go on by herself, she foresaw that, in the event of their being overtaken, his presence would be considered anything but favourable to her position. And yet, through all this, she was not at the moment entirely devoid of feeling. We have said that the most schooled and lying natures have their gleams of candour and sincerity, and in an access of this kind she continued to the student—
‘You have been very kind to me, Philippe; risking everything to save me when, I doubt not, before long the whole world will have turned its back upon me. How can I return this devotion?’