“And if you should be mistaken. What, if wounded and faint from loss of blood, Lacheneur only had strength enough to drag himself to the nearest house and implore the hospitality of its inmates?”
“Oh! even in that case he is safe; I know our peasants. There is not one who is capable of selling the life of a proscribed man.”
This youthful enthusiasm elicited a sad smile from the priest. “You forget the dangers to be incurred by those who shelter him,” he said. “Many a man who would not soil his hands with the price of blood might deliver up a fugitive from fear.”
They were passing through the principal street, and were struck with the mournful aspect of the little city, usually so gay and full of bustle. The shops were closed; and even the window shutters of the houses had not been opened. So lugubrious was the silence that one might have supposed there was a general mourning, and that each family had lost one or more of its members. The manner of the few persons passing along the footways testified to their deep anxiety. They hurried along, casting suspicious glances on every side; and two or three who were acquaintances of the Baron d’Escorval averted their heads directly they saw his carriage, so as to avoid the necessity of bowing.
The terror prevailing in the town was explained when Maurice and the abbe reached the Hotel de France, where they proposed taking up their quarters; and which establishment the former’s father had always patronized whenever he visited Montaignac; the landlord being Laugeron--Lacheneur’s friend, who had been so anxious to warn him of the Duke de Sairmeuse’s return to France. On catching sight of his visitors, this worthy man hastened into the courtyard, cap in hand, to give them a fitting greeting. In such a situation politeness amounted to heroism; but it has always been supposed that Laugeron was in some way connected with the conspiracy. He at once invited Maurice and the abbe to take some refreshments, doing so in such a way as to make them understand that he was anxious to speak to them in private. Thanks to one of the Duke de Sairmeuse’s valets who frequented the house, the landlord knew as much as the authorities; and, indeed, he knew even more, since he had also received information from several rebels who had escaped capture. He conducted Maurice and the abbe to a room looking on to the back of the house, where he knew they would be secure from observation, and then it was that they obtained their first positive information. In the first place, nothing had been heard either of Lacheneur or his son Jean, who had so far eluded all pursuit. Secondly, there were, at that moment, no fewer than two hundred prisoners in the citadel, including both the Baron d’Escorval and Chanlouineau. And finally, that very morning there had been at least sixty additional arrests in Montaignac. It was generally supposed that these arrests were due to traitorous denunciations, and all the inhabitants were trembling with fear. M. Laugeron knew the real cause, however, for it had been confided to him under pledge of secrecy by his customer, the duke’s valet. “It certainly seems an incredible story, gentlemen,” he remarked; “but yet it is quite true. Two officers, belonging to the Montaignac militia, were returning from the expedition this morning at daybreak, when on passing the Croix d’Arcy they perceived a man, wearing the uniform of the emperor’s body guard, lying dead in a ditch. Not unnaturally they examined the body, and to their great astonishment they found a slip of paper between the man’s clenched teeth. It proved to be a list of Montaignac conspirators, which this old soldier, finding himself mortally wounded, had endeavored to destroy; but the agonies of death had prevented him from swallowing it——.”
The abbe and Maurice had no time to listen to the general news the landlord might have to impart. They requested him to procure a messenger, who was at once despatched to Escorval, so that the baroness and Marie-Anne might be made acquainted with the information they had obtained concerning both the baron and Lacheneur. They then left the hotel and hastened to the house occupied by the Duke de Sairmeuse. There was a crowd at the door; a crowd of a hundred persons or so—men with anxious faces, women in tears—all of them begging for an audience. These were the friends and relatives of the unfortunate men who had been arrested. Two footmen, wearing gorgeous liveries, of haughty mien, stood in the doorway, their time being fully occupied in keeping back the struggling throng. Hoping that his priestly dress would win him a hearing, the Abbe Midon approached and gave his name. But he was repulsed like the others. “M. le Duc is busy, and can receive nobody,” said one of the servants. “M. le Duc is preparing his report to his majesty.” And in support of his assertion, he pointed to the horses, standing saddled in the courtyard, and waiting for the couriers who were to carry the despatches.
The priest sadly rejoined his companions. “We must wait!” said he. And yet, intentionally or not, the servants were deceiving these poor people; for, just then, the duke was in no wise troubling himself about his despatches. In point of fact, he happened to be engaged in a violent altercation with the Marquis de Courtornieu. Each of these noble personages was anxious to play the leading part—that which would meet with the highest reward at the hands of the supreme authorities at Paris. This quarrel had begun on some petty point, but soon they both lost their tempers and stinging words, bitter allusions, and even threats were rapidly exchanged. The marquis declared it necessary to inflict the most frightful—he said the most salutary punishment upon the offenders; while the duke, on the contrary, was inclined to be indulgent. The marquis opined that since Lacheneur, the prime mover, and his son, had both eluded pursuit, it was absolutely requisite that Marie-Anne should be arrested. M. de Sairmeuse, however, would not listen to the suggestion. To his mind it would be most impolitic to arrest this young girl. Such a course would render the authorities odious, and would exasperate all the rebels who were still at large.
“These men must be put down with a strong hand!” urged M. de Courtornieu.
“I don’t wish to exasperate the populace,” replied the duke.
“Bah! what does public sentiment matter?”