My dear Marthe,—You can rely on the discretion of the man who
will give you this letter; he does not know how to read or to
write. He is a stanch Republican, and shared in Baboeuf’s
conspiracy; your father often made use of him, and he regards the
senator as a traitor. Now, my dear wife, attend to my directions.
The senator has been shut up by us in the cave where our masters
were hidden. The poor creature had provisions for only five days,
and as it is our interest that he should live, I wish you, as soon
as you receive this letter, to take him food for at least five
days more. The forest is of course watched; therefore take as many
precautions as we formerly did for our young masters. Don’t say a
word to Malin; don’t speak to him; and put on one of our masks
which you will find on the steps which lead down to the cave.
Unless you wish to compromise our heads you must be absolutely
silent about this letter and the secret I have now confided to
you. Don’t say a word to Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne, who might
tell of it. Don’t fear for me. We are certain that the matter will
turn out well; when the time comes Malin himself will save us. I
don’t need to tell you to burn this letter as soon as you have
read it, for it would cost me my head if a line of it were seen. I
kiss you for now and always,
Michu.
The existence of the cave was known only to Marthe, her son, Michu, the four gentlemen, and Laurence; or rather, Marthe, to whom her husband had not related the incident of his meeting with Peyrade and Corentin, believed it was known only to them. Had she consulted her mistress and the two lawyers, who knew the innocence of the prisoners, the shrewd Bordin would have gained some light upon the perfidious trap which was evidently laid for his clients. But Marthe, acting like most women under a first impulse, was convinced by this proof which came to her own eyes, and flung the letter into the fire as directed. Nevertheless, moved by a singular gleam of caution, she caught a portion of it from the flames, tore off the five first lines, which compromised no one, and sewed them into the hem of her dress. Terrified at the thought that the prisoner had been without food for twenty-four hours, she resolved to carry bread, meat, and wine to him at once; curiosity was well as humanity permitting no delay. Accordingly, she heated her oven and made, with her mother’s help, a pate of hare and ducks, a rice cake, roasted two fowls, selected three bottles of wine, and baked two loaves of bread. About two in the morning she started for the forest, carrying the load on her back, accompanied by Couraut, who in all such expeditions showed wonderful sagacity as a guide. He scented strangers at immense distances, and as soon as he was certain of their presence he returned to his mistress with a low growl, looking at her fixedly and turning his muzzle in the direction of the danger.
Marthe reached the pond about three in the morning, and left the dog as sentinel on the bank. After half an hour’s labor in clearing the entrance she came with a dark lantern to the door of the cave, her face covered with a mask, which she had found, as directed, on the steps. The imprisonment of the senator seemed to have been long premeditated. A hole about a foot square, which Marthe had never seen before, was roughly cut in the upper part of the iron door which closed the cave; but in order to prevent Malin from using the time and patience all prisoners have at their command in loosening the iron bar which held the door, it was securely fastened with a padlock.
The senator, who had risen from his bed of moss, sighed when he saw the masked face and felt that there was no chance then of his deliverance. He examined Marthe, as much as he could by the unsteady light of her dark lantern, and he recognized her by her clothes, her stoutness, and her motions. When she passed the pate through the door he dropped it to seize her hand and then, with great swiftness, he tried to pull the rings from her fingers,—one her wedding-ring, the other a gift from Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne.
“You cannot deny that it is you, my dear Madame Michu,” he said.
Marthe closed her fist the moment she felt his fingers, and gave him a vigorous blow in the chest. Then, without a word, she turned away and cut a stick, at the end of which she held out to the senator the rest of the provisions.
“What do they want of me?” he asked.
Marthe departed giving him no answer. By five o’clock she had reached the edge of the forest and was warned by Couraut of the presence of strangers. She retraced her steps and made for the pavilion where she had lived so long; but just as she entered the avenue she was seen from afar by the forester of Gondreville, and she quickly reflected that her best plan was to go straight up to him.
“You are out early, Madame Michu,” he said, accosting her.