He advanced towards the poor girl as he spoke, whilst the crowd stopped in their passage. But as he approached her he was seized by a powerful arm, and, having been twisted round, was flung with some violence upon the ground.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE GAME IS UP—THE TRAP—MARIE RETURNS WITH DESGRAIS TO THE CONCIERGERIE
Any other officer than Desgrais would have given up further attempts to arrest the Marchioness, now that she was in the sanctuary of a convent—in a town, too, where any invasion of the privileges belonging to a religious house would have been avenged with the most unrelenting severity. But the exempt felt bitterly the manner in which he had been more than once duped upon the road, at times when his prey was completely within his grasp. He was exceedingly sensitive as regarded his position, and reputation as the most vigilant officer of the Maréchaussée, and he determined not to enter Paris again until he could do so accompanied by the Marchioness.
To effect this, he took a lodging in a retired quarter of Liége, and remained there for a few weeks, dismissing his archers and guards, with orders to return to Givet, and be in readiness to join him at Liége upon the shortest notice. To the Marchioness he was personally unknown. She had not met him above once or twice, and then without particularly regarding him; and this decided him as to the course he would pursue. He was young and active; the very business in which he was constantly engaged had given him admission into all ranks of society; and he had tact and ready perception to profit by his observations, and adopt the manners of any particular class which he found it necessary to assume. He arranged his plans and, when he imagined sufficient time had elapsed, proceeded to put them into execution.
To effect the capture he disguised himself in the dress of an abbe, and presented himself one evening at the gates of the convent in which Marie had sought shelter, requesting to see her. The porter, after a slight hesitation, admitted him to the parlour, and in a few minutes the object of his venture appeared.
The Marchioness had entirely recovered from the fatigues of her journey. Those who had known her intimately would have remarked a few lines on her face, resulting from the agitation caused by recent events; but to others there was still the same girlish, confiding face—still the same blue lustrous eyes and smooth expansive forehead, and the rosy lips still half-revealed the same beautiful teeth that had so dazzled the sight of the gallants, and raised the envy of the dames of the court at Versailles. She bowed gracefully to Desgrais as she entered the room, and then in her softest tones inquired ‘to what chance she was indebted for the honour of a visit from Monsieur l’Abbé?’
‘I am a poor servant of the Church, madame,’ he replied, ‘and am returning from a pilgrimage to Rome with relics to be deposited at the Jacobins, in the Rue St. Honoré. Being detained at Liége upon matters of ecclesiastical interest, I heard that you were here, and came to offer my respects.’
‘I have done little to deserve this attention, my holy father,’ said Marie.
‘You have suffered much undeserved misery, madame,’ answered Desgrais. ‘You were a supporter of our Church—a good and charitable lady, as all Paris can vouch; and I should have taken blame unto myself had I not paid this tribute to your goodness.’
‘Alas! mon père!’ cried Marie; ‘would that the world could think of me as well as you do. Of what avail has been my past life? You will find, on your return to Paris, the blackest stories current against me. A woman, once fallen, has no hope; but every one—those who would have cringed to her the lowest when she was in her position being the foremost—will hurry to crush her more utterly, to beat her lower down. I am lost—for ever!’