M. de Brencourt’s whole soul was so set on getting Gaston de Trélan out of the mortal peril in which he stood, that he did not analyse his motives over closely. He had entered on the attempt for Valentine’s sake—and a little, too, for the sake of his own self-respect. And the Duc had sent a message of regret; from him of all men that was no empty form of words. Yet Artus de Brencourt was under the impression that he cared very little about de Trélan’s fate in itself. But it is hard to know one’s own heart.
He went on staring into the coals. He wished he did not keep seeing that figure by the dolmen in the forest waiting with folded arms to receive his fire. It was so very possible . . . He shivered. “How much better it would be if I could take his place!”
A knock, and the expected visitor was shown in, and the Comte roused himself. Hyde de Neuville, the newcomer, was surprisingly young for the position he occupied—only three and twenty in fact—good-looking, alert, intelligent, well-dressed, a man of good family accustomed to the best society, and, in some of his activities, to the worst. He had some astonishingly audacious exploits to his name. When he wrote letters—as to M. Chassin—he signed himself “Paul Berry.”
“I had gone to see Bertin,” explained the young man, coming over to the fire. “I was fearing a hitch about the escort. But it is all right. The two dozen men he had laid his hand on are perfectly reliable, and I am now quite satisfied. Uniforms, indeed, are more difficult to procure than bodies to put them on. But we shall manage.”
“You have no doubts about the forged order?”
“Not the slightest. And none of the Temple officials will be surprised, I think, if M. de Trélan is transferred, the circumstances of his capture having been so exceptional.”
“So damnable!” interpolated the Comte.
“But I really wanted to speak to you about something quite different,” went on the young conspirator. “Late last night I had a communication from my compatriot Bourgoing, who is in relations with Talleyrand. It appears Talleyrand thinks that, partly owing to the outcry which has been made about this abominable violation of M. de Trélan’s safe-conduct, Bonaparte would, after all, be rather glad to get out of going to the extremity to which he most undoubtedly meant to go when he sent those infamous orders to Brune.”
De Brencourt stared at him rather incredulously. “I can hardly believe that of the First Consul. He is entirely without scruples, and very unlikely to be frightened into turning back once he has started on a course, however black that course may be. He cannot be magnanimous now; it is too late. It would only look like weakness.”
“I know that. But Bonaparte, besides getting rid of the odium this affair is raising in certain quarters in Paris, would demand some kind of quid pro quo—that the Duc should personally ask for his life, and, I suppose, give an undertaking never to conspire against him. Talleyrand is almost convinced that in such a case he would be merciful—in fact that he would secretly be relieved. He could make at any rate some pretence of magnanimity; it might affect wavering supporters. But he has gone too far to set the Duc de Trélan free of his own motion; it would look too much like weakness, as you say. On the other hand if it were publicly known that the Duc had asked for mercy——”