In the meanwhile the preparations for the count's trial were actively pushed on. All the officers of the battalion, including the commandant, were interrogated, and all, with one exception, we are compelled to confess, sought to throw the whole blame of their conduct on the count. Not a single witness for the defence was examined; for what was the use of it? The accused was condemned beforehand.
When the count was arrested he still had in his waist belt the pistols with which he marched into action. General Guerrero ordered that they should be left him. He doubtless hoped that Louis, impelled by despair, would, in a moment of terror, blow out his brains, and thus spare himself the shame of signing the death warrant. But he was not acquainted with the character of his enemy. The count possessed a mind too strongly tried by that touchstone called misfortune to have recourse to suicide, and tarnish the end of his career.
In the meanwhile Valentine had not been inactive. If he had consented to preserve his liberty, it was only in the hope of saving his foster-brother. Two or three days before the count's secret imprisonment was altered, toward evening, the door of his cell opened. He turned his head mechanically to see who entered, uttered a cry of joy, and rushed toward him. The newcomer was Valentine.
"You—you here!" he said to him. "Oh, thanks for coming!"
"Did you not expect me, brother?" the hunter asked.
"I expected your visit, though I did not dare count on it. You must be exposed to a thousand annoyances, and compelled to conceal yourself?"
"I! Not a bit of it."
"All the better; you cannot imagine how happy I am at seeing you. But who is the person accompanying you?"
In truth, Valentine was not alone; another person had entered the cell with him, and was standing motionless against the door, which the jailer locked again, after introducing the visitors.
"Do not trouble yourself about that person at present," Valentine said; "let us talk about business."