The Duc de Trélan obeyed him, opening his fingers with difficulty, as if they too were stiff. And he gazed at the little locket, at the worn, dangling chain, as a man sleepwalking or entranced might gaze. Then he said, in one and the same breath, “It can’t, it can’t be true! . . . I must start for Mirabel instantly!” and rose to his feet.
The Abbé faced him. “Something is asked of you, Gaston, before you meet her. As a soldier . . . You did not hear a horseman gallop into the yard a short time ago?”
The sleepwalker shook his head mutely. “Who was it?” he asked with indifference.
“A messenger in haste from Georges—with great news. He brought this. M. du Ménars opened it, and is outside now, waiting to consult you.” And he held out the open despatch.
The wounded man transferred the locket to the keeping of his hampered right hand, and took it. A quick touch of colour shot into his face as he read, and he bit his lip hard. Then, even paler than before, he held out the letter again. “Tell du Ménars and de Brencourt to see to it then, Pierre. I must start for Mirabel at once.”
The priest said nothing, and made no motion to take the despatch, but looked at him with some of his own steady colour fading, a most unusual phenomenon. Ah, was that inherent wilfulness going to ruin this also!
“You do not approve?” said Gaston de Trélan sharply. “But how could you understand! I would go to her over a world in flames!”
“And over your own honour, too?—Gaston, Gaston, reflect a moment, I implore you! Do not spoil this almost incredible miracle that God has wrought for you by snatching at it before the hour! See how she has been preserved for you all these years, how wonderfully the knowledge of it has come to light, and have patience a few days longer! For this unexpected coming of arms—why, it is the fulfilment of your greatest desire!”
“I have a greater now,” said Gaston de Trélan, looking far beyond him. “Are you human, Pierre, that you do not realise it?” Cadoudal’s despatch was almost crumpled to nothing in his clenched hand; he became aware of it. “Take this, before I—But, my God, that it should have come to-day!”
This time the priest accepted the letter, and retained the hand that gave it him as well. “Mon frère, consider!” he said pleadingly. “It only means the shortest of delays. You can hasten to Mirabel afterwards.”