From crimson Maurice had turned white. He felt that he was discovered—that he was in this man’s power. What should he do? What was the use of denial? At times it is only prudent to confess, and extreme confidence often meets with sympathy and protection. He weighed these considerations in his mind, and then in an anxious voice replied: “You are not mistaken, monsieur. My friend and myself are both fugitives, undoubtedly condemned to death in France by this time.” And then, without giving the doctor an opportunity to respond, he briefly narrated the terrible events that had recently happened at Sairmeuse. He neither concealed his own name nor Marie-Anne’s, and when his recital was completed, the physician, whom his confidence had plainly touched, warmly shook his hand.
“It is just as I supposed,” said the medical man. “Believe me, Monsieur Dubois, you must not tarry here. What I have discovered others will discover as well. And, above everything, don’t warn the hotel-keeper of your departure. He has not been deceived by your explanation. Self-interest alone has kept his mouth shut. He has seen your money, and so long as you spend it at his house he will hold his tongue; but if he discovers that you are going away, he will probably betray you.”
“Ah! sir, but how is it possible for us to leave this place?”
“In two days the young lady will be on her feet again,” interrupted the physician. “And take my advice. At the next village, stop and give your name to Mademoiselle Lacheneur.”
“Ah! sir,” exclaimed Maurice, “have you considered the advice you offer me? How can I, a proscribed man—a man condemned to death perhaps—how can I obtain, how can I display the proofs of identity necessary for marriage.”
“Excuse me,” observed the physician shaking his head, “but you are no longer in France, Monsieur d’Escorval, you are in Piedmont.”
“Another difficulty!”
“No, because in this country, people marry, or at least they can marry, without all the formalities that cause you so much anxiety.”
“Is it possible?” exclaimed Maurice.
“Yes, if you can find a consenting priest, when he has inscribed your name on his parish register and given you a certificate, you will be so undoubtedly married, Mademoiselle Lacheneur and yourself, that the court of Rome would never grant you a divorce.”