Nevertheless, the man did not reach Escorval until nightfall.
Beset by a thousand fears, he had taken the unfrequented roads and had made long circuits to avoid all the people he saw approaching in the distance.
Mme. d’Escorval tore the letter rather than took it from his hands. She opened it, read it aloud to Marie-Anne, and merely said:
“Let us go—at once.”
But this was easier said than done.
They kept but three horses at Escorval. One was nearly dead from its terrible journey of the previous night; the other two were in Montaignac.
What were the ladies to do? To trust to the kindness of their neighbors was the only resource open to them.
But these neighbors having heard of the baron’s arrest, firmly refused to lend their horses. They believed they would gravely compromise themselves by rendering any service to the wife of a man upon whom the burden of the most terrible of accusations was resting.
Mme. d’Escorval and Marie-Anne were talking of pursuing their journey on foot, when Corporal Bavois, enraged at such cowardice, swore by the sacred name of thunder that this should not be.
“One moment!” said he. “I will arrange the matter.”