Jocelyn listened to Marcel in mute reverence. He now beheld that illustrious man wrapt with pensive brow in ever deeper meditation. A few instants later, Marcel stepped towards an oaken trunk that age had blackened. He opened it, took out several rolls of parchment, lay them on the table, pushed a stool near and sat down to write. His virile and characterful face betrayed by degrees increasing sadness, and, to Jocelyn's surprise several tears dropped from the provost's eyes upon the lines that he was writing. Tears from so great a man, from a man of such energy, endowed with ancient stoicism, profoundly impressed the champion. Jocelyn's heart ached, and he began to suspect Marcel's motives for the affectation of safety that he had shortly before displayed before his family. Jocelyn saw him dry his tears and seal the parchment with black wax, using for that purpose the impress of a large gold ring that he wore on his finger, after which, placing the scroll together with the others that he had taken from the trunk, he made one package of all, sealed them together and replaced them in the trunk. He then locked it, and giving the key to Jocelyn, said to him deliberately:
"Keep this key safe.... I charge you to deliver it to my wife and to tell her, in case certain events should happen, that she will find in that trunk, together with my testament and some other papers that it is well to keep, a letter for herself ... written by me this evening ... written for my beloved Marguerite...."
"Master Marcel," Jocelyn answered, a cold shudder running over his frame, "these are lugubrious preparations."
"Lugubrious?... no ... but prudent.... I have fulfilled my sacred duty.... I now find myself in a singular frame of mind.... The latest happenings, those of to-day, cast over my mind, not any doubt upon the decision I should take, but considerable uncertainty on the head of the means to be adopted. Never yet have I been so in need of a clearness of judgment as now, when I must take some supreme and irrevocable step. I imagine that by talking over the general condition of things, these will stand out more clearly before me. Thought expressed in words becomes preciser, while mute it often fades from one thing to another and is lost to the goal in mind. Therefore, listen to me, and if in the rough sketch that I shall present any omission should strike you, any point should seem obscure, tell me so.... It is a friendly duty that I now conjure you to fulfill."
"I listen, Master Marcel."
"Upon your return from Clermont—pardon that I open the wound of your private sorrow—I also wept over the death of your unfortunate brother—upon your return from Clermont, you informed me of the massacre of the Jacques. The following day we learned that the Captal of Buch and the Count of Foix exterminated at Meaux another considerable troop of revolted peasants. Finally, recovering from the stupor into which these formidable insurrections had struck it, the nobility gathered its forces and running over the country it put a mass of serfs, men, women and children, to frightful tortures and to death, whether these sympathized with the Jacquerie or not, and set their villages on fire. That settled, at least for a long time to come, all thought of an alliance between the townsfolks and the country people. The destruction of the Jacquerie reduces the bourgeoisie to its own forces in its struggle against the Regent. The bourgeoisie has, thereupon, no choice but either to accept the unequal fight or deliver itself to Charles the Wicked, and instead of dictating terms to him, accept those that he may choose to dictate to us."
"That was the calculation of the blood-thirsty knave. He said so explicitly to me at Clermont."
"Nevertheless, by massacring the Jacques, skillful politician though Charles the Wicked be, he deprived himself of powerful auxiliaries against the Regent, whose forces are far superior to those of his own. He may fail in his calculations."
"The scoundrelly prince! Had he followed your generous advice, his own hands, re-inforced by thousands of armed peasants and thousands of bourgeois, would by now have crushed the royal troops. And profiting by the general enthusiasm of the people, who are as exasperated at the English as at the seigneurs, Charles the Wicked would now be chasing the foreigners from our soil and would ascend the throne in the midst of the acclamations of a people whom he would govern placing before them the example of submission to the national assembly."
"Such was the glorious mission that opened before Charles the Wicked. It is not yet too late if he would only have the courage, the wisdom and the loyalty to devote himself body and soul to so noble an aim. I shall presently explain that. At present, however, he is, just as ourselves, no other than a rebel against the loyal authority of the Regent. The latter disposes of considerable forces. He has on his side the monarchic tradition, which in the eyes of the people runs back into the night of the ages; he has on his side the royal name, the courtiers, the clergy, the royal officers, the administrators of the revenue and of justice, in short, all those who live upon abuses and exactions—a huge clientage that imparts formidable strength to the Regent. Charles the Wicked is too clear-sighted not to have realized by now all that he lost by destroying the Jacquerie, and how slight his chances now are of usurping the crown. He must have thought of an eventual settlement with the Regent in case our cause, to whose side he still seems to lean, should be seriously compromised, or actually lost."