“Where is the countess?” were his first words.
“She has gone to bed,” said Madame d’Hauteserre.
The mayor, incredulous, listened to noises that were heard on the upper floor.
“What is the matter with you, Goulard?” said Monsieur d’Hauteserre.
Goulard was dumb with surprise as he noted the tranquil ease of the faces about him. Observing the peaceful and innocent game of cards which he had thus interrupted, he was unable to imagine what the Parisian police meant by their suspicions.
At that moment Laurence, kneeling in her oratory, was praying fervently for the success of the conspiracy. She prayed to God to send help and succor to the murderers of Bonaparte. She implored Him ardently to destroy that fatal being. The fanaticism of Harmodius, Judith, Jacques Clement, Ankarstroem, of Charlotte Corday and Limoelan, inspired this pure and virgin spirit. Catherine was preparing the bed, Gothard was closing the blinds, when Marthe Michu coming under the windows flung a pebble on the glass and was seen at once.
“Mademoiselle, here’s some one,” said Gothard, seeing a woman.
“Hush!” said Marthe, in a low voice. “Come down and speak to me.”
Gothard was in the garden in less time than a bird would have taken to fly down from a tree.
“In a minute the chateau will be surrounded by the gendarmerie. Saddle mademoiselle’s horse without making any noise and take it down through the breach in the moat between the stables and this tower.”