“The life and liberty of Monsieur d’Escorval.”
The duke started as if he had received an electric shock.
“Ah!” he exclaimed. “I knew they would ask something that was impossible!”
He sank back in his arm-chair. A profound despair succeeded his frenzy. He buried his face in his hands, evidently seeking some expedient.
“Why did you not come to me before judgment was pronounced?” he murmured. “Then I could have done anything—now, my hands are bound. The commission has spoken; the judgment must be executed——”
He rose, and in the tone of a man who is resigned to anything, he said:
“Decidedly. I should risk more in attempting to save the baron”—in his anxiety he gave M. d’Escorval his title—“a thousand times more than I have to fear from my enemies. So, Mademoiselle”—he no longer said “my good girl”—“you can utilize your document.”
The duke was about leaving the room, but Martial detained him by a gesture.
“Think again before you decide. Our situation is not without a precedent. A few months ago the Count de Lavalette was condemned to death. The King wished to pardon him, but his ministers and friends opposed it. Though the King was master, what did he do? He seemed to be deaf to all the supplications made in the prisoner’s behalf. The scaffold was erected, and yet Lavalette was saved! And no one was compromised—yes, a jailer lost his position; he is living on his income now.”
Marie-Anne caught eagerly at the idea so cleverly presented by Martial.