For the second time the old lady looked at him long and steadily. Then she opened a drawer in the table and took out a paper which she laid before him.
"That has been arranged for," said she. "Here is the child's passport out of France all ready. You have only to convey it to him."
"Parbleu!" exclaimed the émigré, "this has all been very prettily planned! I can scarcely flatter myself that it was entirely for my benefit, since it was by mere chance that I came upon this errand."
Again Mme. de Chaulnes smiled that wintry smile. "Do not seek to probe too deeply, Monsieur. Yet, since you spoke of playing with the cards on the table, the Convention would, perhaps, rather see your band of Chouans leaderless, Monsieur Augustin, than possess themselves of the person of M. de Flavigny, who, after all, has no such forces at his disposal. 'Tout étant fait pour une fin, tout est nécessairement pour la meilleure fin.' You know your Candide, no doubt. . . . But to return to business. Does this safe-conduct convince you?"
"Only tolerably," answered La Vireville, as he examined it. "It would convey to me much more conviction if there were ever any chance of its reaching the child. You know as well as I, Madame, that I should be apprehended as an émigré the moment I set foot at Calais or Boulogne. No doubt that would suit the Convention just as well—better, in fact—but you can scarce expect it to make much appeal to me. I shall never have a second head; I do not propose to make those gentlemen a present of it for nothing. I also must have some kind of a safe-conduct, to protect me till my business is done."
"Really, Monsieur Augustin, you are very exacting," observed Mme. de Chaulnes. "Yet there is sense in what you say."
"I dare say that you, in your providence, have already such a safe-conduct made out for me?" hazarded he.
"Not altogether fully," said his adversary, and again she put her hand into the drawer. "It is blank, for we did not know who might be fired by the idea of rescue—though, to tell the truth, from what the boy said of your relations with him, we began to hope that we might have the pleasure of seeing you. . . . Shall we fill it in?"
La Vireville looked at her steadily as she faced him, the embroidery still in one frail, blue-veined hand, mockery round her mouth. It was sheer insanity. He had no right to do it, for he knew his life to be a hundred times more valuable than a child's happiness. He could be very ill-spared in Northern Brittany, in Jersey. . . . And though his real intention was not merely to cross the Channel and deliver himself up as a hostage, but by hook or by crook to get Anne out of France and himself into the bargain, the chances were quite fifty to one against his succeeding, and he knew it. It was just the knowledge that he was acting against all the canons of common sense and perhaps even of duty that decided La Vireville—that, and an intolerable picture of a little boy who had never known an unkind word being "brought up to some useful trade."
He nodded. "Yes, if you please."