“My God!”
“And it’s a miracle that Maurice has not been up stairs.”
“But whence does he come from? Why have we had no news of him?”
“I don’t know. He has only been here five minutes. Poor boy! after I told him his father was safe, his first words were: ‘And Marie-Anne!’ He loves her more devotedly than ever. He comes home with his heart full of her, confident and hopeful; and I tremble—I fear to tell him the truth.”
“Yes, it’s really too terrible!”
“Now I have warned you; be prudent—and come in.” They entered the room together; and both Maurice and the old soldier greeted Jean warmly. They had not seen one another since the duel at La Reche, interrupted by the arrival of the soldiers; and when they separated that day they scarcely expected to meet again.
Now Maurice, however, was in the best of spirits, and it was with a smile on his face that he remarked: “I am glad you’ve come. There’s nothing to fear now.” Then turning to the abbe, he remarked: “But I just promised to let you know the reason of my long silence. Three days after we crossed the frontier—Corporal Bavois and I—we reached Turin. We were tired out. We went to a small inn, and they gave us a room with two beds. While we were undressing, the corporal said to me: ‘I am quite capable of sleeping two whole days without waking,’ while I promised myself at least a good twelve hours’ rest; but we reckoned without our host, as you’ll see. It was scarcely daybreak when we were suddenly woke up. There were a dozen men in our room, one or two of them in some official costume. They spoke to us in Italian, and ordered us to dress ourselves. They were so numerous that resistance was useless, so we obeyed; and an hour after we were both in prison, confined in the same cell. You may well imagine what our thoughts were. The corporal remarked to me, in that cool way of his: ‘It will require four days to obtain our extradition, and three days to take us back to Montaignac—that’s seven, then there’ll be one day more to try us, so we’ve in all just eight days to live.’ Bavois said that at least a hundred times during the first five or six days of our confinement, but five months passed by, and every night we went to bed expecting they’d come for us on the following morning. But they didn’t come. We were kindly treated. They did not take away my money; and they willingly sold us various little luxuries. We were allowed two hours of exercise every day in the courtyard, and the keepers even lent us several books to read. In short, I shouldn’t have had any particular cause for complaint, if I had only been allowed to receive or to forward letters, or if I had been able to communicate with my father or Marie-Anne. But we were in the secret cells, and were not allowed to have any intercourse with the other prisoners. At length our detention seemed so strange and became so insupportable that we resolved to obtain some explanation of it at any cost. We changed our tactics. We had hitherto been quiet and submissive: but now we became as violent and unmanageable as possible. The whole prison resounded with our cries and protestations; we were continually sending for the superintendent, and claiming the intervention of the French ambassador. These proceedings at last had the desired effect. One fine afternoon the governor of the jail released us, not without expressing his regret at being deprived of the society of such amiable and charming guests. Our first act, as you may suppose, was to hasten to the ambassador. We didn’t see that dignitary, but his secretary received us. He knit his brows when I told my story, and became excessively grave. I remember each word of his reply. ‘Sir,’ said he, ‘I can assure you most positively that any proceedings instituted against you in France have had nothing whatever to do with your detention here.’ And I expressed my astonishment frankly. ‘One moment,’ he added, ‘I will give you my opinion. One of your enemies—I leave you to discover which—must exert a powerful influence in Turin. You were in his way, perhaps, and he had you imprisoned by the Piedmontese police.”
Jean Lacheneur struck the table beside him with his clenched fist. “Ah! the secretary was right!” he exclaimed. “Maurice, it was Martial de Sairmeuse who caused your arrest——”
“Or the Marquis de Courtornieu,” interrupted the abbe, with a warning glance at Jean.
In a moment Maurice’s eyes gleamed brilliantly, then, shrugging his shoulders carelessly, he said, “Never mind; I don’t wish to trouble myself any more about the past. My father is well again—that is the main thing. We can easily find some way of getting him safely across the frontier. And then Marie-Anne and I—we will tend him so devotedly that he will soon forget it was my rashness that almost cost him his life. He is so good, so indulgent for the faults of others. We will go and reside in Italy or Switzerland, and you shall accompany us, Monsieur the Abbe, and you as well, Jean. As for you, corporal, it’s already decided that you belong to our family.”