“My dear Peyrou:—Three days ago a great calamity occurred. A pirate galley made a descent on the unguarded coast.
“The pirates put all to fire and sword, and carried off into slavery all the inhabitants upon whom they could fasten their chains. I hardly know how to tell you the rest of this misfortune. The woman Agniel and the child that you confided to her care have disappeared, no doubt massacred, or carried away captives by these pirates. I went into her house, and everything there showed marks of violence. Alas! I must tell you, there remained no doubt that the woman and child had shared the fate of the other inhabitants of this unfortunate village. We can hardly hope that the child was able to endure the fatigues and hardships of the voyage. I send you the only thing that could be found in the house, the picture of the child, which, in obedience to your order, the woman Agniel had taken to Montpellier, where the portrait had been executed about a month before. I saw the child quite recently, and I can assure you that it is an excellent likeness. Alas! it is, perhaps, all that remains of him now. I send this letter directly to Malta by the tartan St. Cecile, so that it may reach you safely.
“P. S. In case the child is recovered, I inform you that there is a Maltese cross tattooed on his arm.”
To complete the explanation of the tragedy, it remains to be said that, although Pog—the Count de Montreuil—was dangerously wounded, he retained sufficient strength and presence of mind to keep the events of that fatal night a profound secret.
After the death of Emilie, he commanded Justine, under the direst threats, to say that her mistress, overwhelmed with grief at the death of her child, had finally succumbed to the desperate illness which ensued.
Nothing seemed more plausible than this account, hence it was generally accepted.
The Count de Montreuil remained concealed in his house until his wound was thoroughly healed. With every conceivable threat and promise, he tried to induce Justine to reveal the secret of the child’s hiding-place, but all his efforts were unavailing.
It now becomes necessary to explain how the count surprised the interview between Emilie and the commander.
Learning the supposed death of his child, while in the lazaretto or pest-house near Marseilles, he was plunged in desperate grief. He believed that his wife was no less inconsolable, and, notwithstanding the penalty of death incurred by deserters from the lazaretto, before the expiration of the established quarantine, he swam that night even from the island Ratonneau, where the sanitary buildings were situated.
Reaching the coast, where a trusty servant awaited him with clothing, he assumed another name, and galloped in hot haste on the road to Lyons. Leaving his horses about two leagues from his house, he accomplished the rest of the journey on foot. Passing through the little gate which the commander had left open, he entered the park.