His voice changed in uttering the name of this man, for whose happiness he would have given ten lives had they been his to give.
“I wish to save him,” he added, “I can do it.”
“Oh! if what you said were true? But you undoubtedly deceive yourself.”
“I know what I am saying.”
Fearing that some spy outside would overhear him, he came close to Marie-Anne and said, rapidly, and in a low voice:
“I never believed in the success of this conspiracy. When I sought for a weapon of defence in case of failure, the Marquis de Sairmeuse furnished it. When it became necessary to send a circular warning our accomplices of the date decided upon for the uprising, I persuaded Monsieur Martial to write a model. He suspected nothing. I told him it was for a wedding; he did what I asked. This letter, which is now in my possession, is the rough draft of the circular; and it was written by the hand of the Marquis de Sairmeuse. It is impossible for him to deny it. There is an erasure on each line. Everyone would regard it as the handiwork of a man who was seeking to convey his real meaning in ambiguous phrases.”
Chanlouineau opened the envelope and showed her the famous letter which he had dictated, and in which the space for the date of the insurrection was left blank.
“My dear friend, we are at last agreed, and the marriage is decided, etc.”
The light that had sparkled in Marie-Anne’s eye was suddenly extinguished.
“And you believe that this letter can be of any service?” she inquired, in evident discouragement.