I gave him some cordial, which he was inclined to refuse. It revived him, but I saw he could live only a few hours. Presently he made an effort. “I will tell you,” he whispered.
“Tell me first of my wife,” said I. “Is she alive?—is she alive?”
If a smile could have been upon his lips then, I saw one there—good Voban! I put my ear down, and my heart almost stopped beating, until I heard him say, “Find Mathilde.”
“Where?” asked I.
“In the Valdoche Hills,” he answered, “where the Gray Monk lives—by the Tall Calvary.”
He gasped with pain. I let him rest awhile, and eased the bandages on him, and at last he told his story:
“I am to be gone soon. For two years I have wait for the good time to kill him—Bigot—to send him and his palace to hell. I can not tell you how I work to do it. It is no matter—no. From an old cellar I mine, and at last I get the powder lay beneath him—his palace. So. But he does not come to the Palace much this many months, and Madame Cournal is always with him, and it is hard to do the thing in other ways. But I laugh when the English come in the town, and when I see Bigot fly to his palace alone to get his treasure-chest I think it is my time. So I ask the valet, and he say he is in the private room that lead to the treasure-place. Then I come back quick to the secret spot and fire my mine. In ten minutes all will be done. I go at once to his room again, alone. I pass through the one room, and come to the other. It is a room with one small barred window. If he is there, I will say a word to him that I have wait long to say, then shut the door on us both—for I am sick of life—and watch him and laugh at him till the end comes. If he is in the other room, then I have another way as sure—”
He paused, exhausted, and I waited till he could again go on. At last he made a great effort, and continued: “I go back to the first room, and he is not there. I pass soft, to the treasure-room, and I see him kneel beside a chest, looking in. His back is to me. I hear him laugh to himself. I shut the door, turn the key, go to the window and throw it out, and look at him again. But now he stand and turn to me, and then I see—I see it is not Bigot, but M’sieu’ Doltaire!
“I am sick when I see that, and at first I can not speak, my tongue stick in my mouth so dry. ‘Has Voban turn robber?’ m’sieu’ say. I put out my hand and try to speak again—but no. ‘What did you throw from the window?’ he ask. ‘And what’s the matter, my Voban?’ ‘My God,’ I say at him now, ‘I thought you are Bigot!’ I point to the floor. ‘Powder!’ I whisper.
“His eyes go like fire so terrible; he look to the window, take a quick angry step to me, but stand still. Then he point to the window. ‘The key, Voban?’ he say; and I answer, ‘Yes.’ He get pale; then he go and try the door, look close at the walls, try them—quick, quick, stop, feel for a panel, then try again, stand still, and lean against the table. It is no use to call; no one can hear, for it is all roar outside, and these walls are solid and very thick.