“Marie-Anne Lacheneur gave it to Abbe Midon, who came to me and said: ‘Either the baron will escape, or this letter will be taken to the Duc de Richelieu.’ I voted for the baron’s escape, I assure you. The abbe procured all that was necessary; he met me at a rendezvous which I appointed in a quiet spot; he coiled all his rope about my body, and here I am.”
“Then you think if the baron escapes they will give you back your letter?”
“Most assuredly.”
“Deluded man! As soon as the baron is safe, they will demand the life of another prisoner, with the same menaces.”
“By no means.”
“You will see.”
“I shall see nothing of the kind, for a very simple reason. I have the letter now in my pocket. The abbe gave it to me in exchange for my word of honor.”
M. de Courtornieu’s exclamation proved that he considered the abbe an egregious fool.
“What!” he exclaimed. “You hold the proof, and—But this is madness! Burn this accursed letter by the flames of this lantern, and let the baron go where his slumbers will be undisturbed.”
Martial’s silence betrayed something like stupor.