“Obey, monsieur!”
The abbe made a sign, and in half a minute the man’s step was heard upon the stairs. At the same time Gourville appeared behind Fouquet, like the guardian angel of the superintendent, pressing one finger on his lips to enjoin observation even amidst the bursts of his grief. The minister resumed all the serenity that human strength left at the disposal of a heart half broken with sorrow. Danecamp appeared. “Make your report,” said Gourville.
“Monsieur,” replied the messenger, “we received orders to carry off the prisoners, and to cry ‘Vive Colbert!’ whilst carrying them off.”
“To burn them alive, was it not, abbe?” interrupted Gourville.
“Yes, yes, the order was given to Menneville. Menneville knew what was to be done, and Menneville is dead.”
This news appeared rather to reassure Gourville than to sadden him.
“Yes, certainly to burn them alive,” said the abbe, eagerly.
“Granted, monsieur, granted,” said the man, looking into the eyes and the faces of the two interlocutors, to ascertain what there was profitable or disadvantageous to himself in telling the truth.
“Now, proceed,” said Gourville.
“The prisoners,” cried Danecamp, “were brought to the Greve, and the people, in a fury, insisted upon their being burnt instead of being hung.”