The night was dark, and she could distinguish nothing in the gloom without. She listened; not a sound broke the stillness.
Agitated and trembling she picked up the letter, approached the light, and looked at the address.
“The Marquis de Sairmeuse!” she exclaimed, in amazement.
She recognized Martial’s handwriting. So he had written to her! He had dared to write to her!
Her first impulse was to burn the letter; she held it to the flame, then the thought of her friends concealed at Father Poignot’s farm made her withdraw it. “For their sake,” she thought, “I must read it.” She broke the seal with the arms of the De Sairmeuse family inscribed upon it, and read:
“My dear Marie-Anne—Perhaps you have suspected who it is that has given an entirely new, and certainly surprising, direction to events.
“Perhaps you have also understood the motives that guided him. In that case I am amply repaid for my efforts, for you cannot refuse me your friendship and your esteem.
“But my work of reparation is not yet accomplished. I have prepared everything for a revision of the judgment that condemned Baron d’Escorval to death, or for procuring a pardon.
“You must know where the baron is concealed. Acquaint him with my plans and ascertain whether he prefers a revision of judgment, or a simple pardon.
“If he desires a new trial, I will give him a letter of license from the King.