“There are the signals,” murmured Chupin. “The rebels will be here before two o’clock in the morning.”
The duke made no reply, but hastened towards M. de Courtornieu’s house. He was striding onward, when on turning a corner, he espied two men talking in a doorway; they also had perceived him, and at sight of his glittering epaulettes they both took flight. The duke instinctively started in pursuit, overtook one of the men, and seizing him by the collar, sternly asked: “Who are you? What is your name?”
The man was silent, and his captor shook him so roughly that two pistols concealed under his over-coat, fell to the ground. “Ah, brigand!” exclaimed M. de Sairmeuse, “so you are one of the conspirators against the king!”
Then without another word, he dragged the man to the citadel, gave him in charge of the astonished soldiers, and again hastened after M. de Courtornieu. He expected to find the marquis terrified; but on the contrary he seemed perfectly delighted.
“At last,” he said, “there comes an opportunity for us to display our devotion and our zeal—and without danger! We have good walls, strong gates, and three thousand soldiers at our command. These peasants are fools! But be grateful for their folly, my dear duke, and run and order out the Montaignac chasseurs——” He suddenly paused, and then with a gesture of annoyance, he resumed: “The deuce! I am expecting Blanche this evening. She was to leave Courtornieu after dinner. Heaven grant she may meet with no misfortune on the way!”
The Duke de Sairmeuse and the Marquis de Courtornieu had more time before them than they supposed. The rebels were advancing, but not so rapidly as Chupin had stated, for Lacheneur’s plans had been disarranged by two unforeseen circumstances.
When standing beside his burning cottage, he had counted the signal fires that blazed out in answer to his own, and found their number corresponded with his expectations; he joyfully exclaimed: “See all our friends keep their word! They are ready; and are now on their way to the meeting place. Let us start at once, for we must be there first!”
His horse was brought him, and one foot was already in the stirrup when two men sprang from the neighbouring grove and darted towards him. One of them seized the horse by the bridle.
“The Abbe Midon!” exclaimed Lacheneur, in amazement; “M. d’Escorval!” And foreseeing, perhaps, what was to come, he added, in a tone of concentrated fury: “What do you two want with me?”
“We wish to prevent the accomplishment of an act of madness!” exclaimed M. d’Escorval. “Hatred has crazed you, Lacheneur!”