"He has been murdered!" said the Commissary, sternly.
"Dare you say so?" exclaimed Monjoy, with equal fury and indignation.
"In my official capacity, I may say anything," replied the commissary, with a grimace—"to La Force with the prisoner!"
Within another hour Monjoy found himself in that formidable prison—formerly the hotel of the Maréchal Duc de la Force—accused of murder. Maréchal de Contades was in disfavour at court; Maréchal de Broglie was still in Germany, where the Seven Years' War was raging as fiercely as ever; his aunt the Prioress was dead. Thus Monjoy had no friend in Paris, save one, for whom he dare not send; so he remained in his vault, sunk in misery, and careless for the future.
In this prison are detained until the day of trial those who are accused of crimes. It is a spacious edifice, divided into several departments, and having eight courts, all watched and guarded well.
At last, in the extremity of his misery. he sent for Isabelle, that he might, to her at least, absolve himself from the crime of which he was accused. She came clad in deep mourning, and the meeting between them was painful and affecting. But as it was known that they had been lovers in their youth, Paris was ready to believe the worst; and as the sordid M. du Platel and d'Escombas' kinsman, the Governor of the Conciergerie, cried "fire and sword" against them both, rumour succeeded in having Madame accused of being "art and part" in her husband's death. So she was arrested, and committed to a separate vault in La Force, one of the places named les Secrets in that formidable edifice, which is formed entirely of hewn stone and enormous bars of iron, and in the construction of which neither wood nor plaster are employed.
There they languished for many months without a trial, as it happened that just about this time the chief court of justice in France, the Parlement de Paris—without the full concurrence of which no criminal can be arraigned—was removed, first to Pontoise and thereafter to Soissons, on account of their severe proceedings against the Archbishop of Paris, who (to repress the disorderly lives of the people) had issued a pastoral letter "forbidding all priests and curs to administer the sacrament to any one, no matter of what rank, unless they could produce a certificate from their father confessor"—a pastoral which gave great offence to the court of the Most Christian king.
To be brief: when the Court ultimately assembled, poor Monjoy was brought to trial, and on being put to torture admitted that he was guilty of the murder in the Rue de Tournon, and consequently was sentenced to be broken alive upon the wheel.
When asked who were his accomplices, amidst torments the most excruciating, he persisted in affirming that he had none; that Madame d'Escombas was guiltless and pure as when she left her convent. French medical skill was brought to bear upon his quivering limbs, and then, maddened by agony, he continued deliriously to acknowledge himself guilty of the murder again and again; but on being questioned for the last time concerning Madame d'Escombas, he accused her too!
On this the windlass of the rack was instantly relaxed, and he fainted, with blood pouring from his mouth and nostrils.