“And if we should not succeed in that way,” asked Maurice, gloomily, “what could I do then?”
The question was so grave a one that the priest did not even try to answer it, and tortured with anxiety and cruel forebodings, he and Maurice remained silent during the rest of the journey. When they reached the town young d’Escorval realised the abbe’s wisdom in preventing him from assuming a disguise; for, armed as they were with absolute power the Duke de Sairmeuse and the Marquis de Courtornieu had closed all the gates of Montaignac but one, through which all those who desired to leave or enter the town were obliged to pass; two officers being moreover stationed beside it, to examine and question all comers and goers. Maurice noticed these officers’ surprise when, on being asked who he was, he gave them the name of d’Escorval. “Ah! you know what has become of my father!” he exclaimed.
“The Baron d’Escorval is a prisoner,” replied one of the officers.
Although Maurice had expected this reply, he turned pale with suppressed emotion. “Is he wounded?” he asked, eagerly.
“He hasn’t a scratch,” was the answer; “but please pass on.” From the tone of this last remark, and the anxious looks the officers exchanged one might have supposed that they feared they might compromise themselves by conversing with the son of so great a criminal.
The carriage rolled under the archway, and had gone a couple of hundred yards or so along the Grande Rue when Maurice noticed a large poster affixed to one of the walls, and which an elderly man was busy perusing. Instinctively both the inmates of the vehicle felt that this notice must have some connection with the revolt; and they were not mistaken, for on springing to the ground they themselves read as follows: “We, commander of the Military Division of Montaignac, in virtue of the State of Siege, decree—Article I.—The inmates of the house in which the elder Lacheneur is found shall be handed over to a military commission for trial. Article II.—Whoever shall deliver up the body of the elder Lacheneur, dead or alive, will receive a reward of twenty thousand francs. Signed: Duke de Sairmeuse.”
“God be praised!” exclaimed Maurice when he had finished his perusal. “Then Marie-Anne’s father has escaped! He had a good horse, and in two hours—”
A glance and a nudge from the abbe checked him; and in turning he recognized that the man standing near them was none other than Father Chupin. The old scoundrel had also recognized them, for he took off his hat to the cure, and with an expression of intense covetousness remarked: “Twenty thousand francs! What a sum! A man could live comfortably all his life on the interest.”
The abbe and Maurice shuddered as they re-entered the carriage. “Lacheneur is lost if that man discovers his whereabouts,” murmured the priest.
“Fortunately he must have crossed the frontier before now,” replied Maurice. “A hundred to one he is beyond reach.”