“There is no danger,” declared the abbe, after he had examined her. “She has only fainted, and it will not be long before she regains consciousness.” And then, rapidly but clearly, he gave the necessary directions to the servants, who were as astonished as their mistress.
“What a night!” murmured Madame d’Escorval, as staring on the scene with dilated eyes she mechanically wiped her forehead, covered with cold perspiration.
“I must remind you, madame,” said the priest sympathizingly, but firmly, “that reason and duty alike forbid your yielding to despair! Wife, where is your energy? Christian, what has become of your confidence in a just and protecting providence!”
“Oh! I have courage left,” faltered the wretched woman. “I am brave!”
The abbe led her to a large arm-chair and compelled her to sit down. Then in a gentler tone, he resumed: “Besides, why should you despair, madame? Your son is with you in safety. Your husband has not compromised himself; he has done nothing more than I have done myself.” And briefly, but with rare precision, the priest explained the part which he and the baron had played during this unfortunate evening.
Instead of reassuring the baroness, however, his recital seemed to increase her anxiety. “I understand you,” she interrupted, “and I believe you. But I also know that all the people in the country round about are convinced that my husband commanded the rebels. They believe it, and they will say it.”
“And what of that?”
“If he has been arrested, as you give me to understand may be the case, he will be summoned before a court-martial. Was he not one of the emperor’s friends? That alone is a crime, as you know very well yourself. He will be convicted and sentenced to death.”
“No, madame, no! Am I not here? I will go to the tribunal, and say: ‘I have seen and know everything.’ ”
“But they will arrest you as well, for you are not a priest after their cruel hearts. They will throw you into prison, and you will meet him on the scaffold.”