For the last five minutes Madame Martineau had been searching in a drawer. At last she produced a pair of black gloves which she put into her husband's pocket. 'I hope, sir,' she said, 'that you will allow me to come in the carriage. I should much like to go with my husband.'
'That is impossible,' replied Gilquin roughly.
She restrained herself instead of pressing her request. 'At any rate,' she said, 'you will allow me to follow him?'
'The roads are free to every one,' answered the commissary, 'but you won't be able to get a vehicle, as there are none in the neighbourhood.'
At this Madame Martineau shrugged her shoulders slightly, and left the room to give an order. Ten minutes afterwards a gig drew up in front of the door, behind the brougham. It was now necessary to get the notary downstairs. The two gendarmes carried him, while his wife supported his head. Whenever the dying man uttered the slightest groan, Madame Martineau imperiously ordered the gendarmes to stop, which they did, notwithstanding the angry glances of the commissary. In this way they halted for a moment on each successive step. The notary looked like a corpse in their arms, and he was quite unconscious when they seated him in the carriage.
'Half-past eight!' exclaimed Gilquin angrily, looking at his watch for the last time. 'Confound it all! I shall never get there!'
There was no doubt about that. He would be fortunate if he arrived before the ball was half over. However, he sprang on his horse with an oath and ordered the coachman to drive as fast as he could. The brougham led the way, the gendarmes riding at each side of it; then, a few yards behind, followed the commissary, and the corporal, and last of all came the gig with Madame Martineau. The night air was very sharp. The little cortège passed over the long grey road through all the sleeping country, accompanied by a rumbling of wheels and the monotonous footfalls of the horses. Not a word was spoken during the journey. Gilquin was thinking of what he should say when he met the head-master's wife. Every now and then, however, Madame Martineau sprang to her feet in the gig, fancying that she heard a death-rattle, but she could scarcely distinguish the brougham as it rolled on before her through the black night.
It was half-past ten when they reached Niort. The commissary, to avoid passing through the town, directed the driver of the brougham to go round by the ramparts. When they reached the gaol, they had to ring loudly. As soon as the gatekeeper saw the white, stiffened prisoner they were bringing him, he went off to rouse the governor. The latter, who was not very well, soon made his appearance in his slippers. And when he saw Martineau, he became quite angry, and absolutely refused to receive a man in such a condition. Did they take the gaol for an hospital? he asked them.
'The man has been arrested, and what do you expect us to do with him?' cried Gilquin, losing his temper at this fresh impediment.
'Whatever you like, monsieur le commissaire, except bring him here,' replied the governor. 'I again tell you that I refuse to receive him. I won't take such a responsibility upon myself.'