"Come, let us investigate the garret. Give me the lanthorn, and follow me. If he is not there either, then we must renounce his capture for to-night. Fortunately we got the woman and the children—besides this," added the Jesuit, tapping upon the casket under his arm. "We shall find Christian, sure enough."
Saying this, John Lefevre opened the panel leading to the nook where stood the ladder to the attic; he climbed it, followed by the sergeant, arrived in the garret which had served as refuge to the unknown, noticed the mattress, some crumbs of bread and the remains of some fruit, pens and an inkhorn on a stool, and, scattered over the floor, fragments of paper covered with a fine and close handwriting.
"Somebody was hiding here, and spent some time, too!" exclaimed the sergeant excitedly. "This mattress, these pens, indicate the presence of a stranger of studious habits;" and running to the dormer window that opened upon the river, he mused: "Can Christian have made his escape by this issue?"
While the archer renewed his search, vainly rummaging every nook and corner of the garret, John Lefevre carefully collected the bits of paper that were strewn over the floor, assorted them, and kneeling down beside the stool, on which he placed the lanthorn, examined the manuscript intently. Suddenly a tremor ran over his frame, and turning to the sergeant he said:
"There is every reason to believe that Christian Lebrenn is not in the house. I think I can guess the reason of his absence. Nevertheless, before quitting the place we must search the bedroom of his two sons. It is in the rear of the ground floor room. Let us hurry. Your expedition is not yet ended. We shall probably have to leave Paris to-night, and carry our investigation further."
"Leave Paris, reverend Father?"
"Yes, perhaps. But I shall first have to notify the Criminal Lieutenant. What a discovery! To be able at one blow to crush the nest of vipers!—ad majorem Dei gloriam!"[34]
John Lefevre and the sergeant re-descended to the ground floor. After a few whispered words to the soldier, the Jesuit departed, carrying with him the casket in which the chronicles of the Lebrenn family were locked.
The chamber occupied by Hervé was ransacked as vainly as had been the other apartments of the house. During these operations Bridget had striven to allay the fright of her daughter. Hervé, somber and sullen, his hands bound like his mother's and sister's, remained oblivious to what was happening around him. Giving up the capture of Christian, the sergeant returned to his prisoners and announced to Bridget that he was to carry both her and her children away with him. The poor woman implored him to take pity on her daughter who was hardly able to keep her feet. The sergeant answered harshly, that if the young heretic was unable to walk she would be stripped and dragged naked over the streets. Finally, addressing his archers, he concluded:
"Three of you are to remain in this house. When Christian raps to be let in you will open the door, and seize his person."