“Great God! the monster!”
“It seems that his case is serious; he will be sentenced to death in default; but you understand that he won’t return to these diggings, to be caught. We shan’t see him again; I am sorry for that, for he is a smart fellow; it’s a pity that he went too far.”
“And we?”
“We are to be transferred to the Conciergerie before long, to be tried. That’s the place, my man, where you will need firmness and eloquence. If you weep there as you do here, it’s all over; we shall take a sea voyage in the service of the government.”
“You villain! is it possible?”
“Hush, they’re listening to us; enough said.”
While the wretched Edouard was in the throes of all the anguish of terror and remorse, and, surrounded by vile criminals who plumed themselves upon their crimes and their depravity, found himself the object of their contempt, so that not one of them addressed a word of compassion to him or deigned to sympathize with his sufferings, Adeline passed peaceful days at Guillot’s farm. She watched the growth of her daughter, who was already beginning to lisp a few words which only a mother could understand. Jacques, still overflowing with zeal and courage, insisted upon doing the hardest work; he did more than two farm hands, and to him toil was a pleasure. At night he returned to Adeline; he took his little niece on his knees, and danced her up and down to the refrain of a military ballad. Everybody loved Brother Jacques; for that is what he was called in the village after he was known to be Madame Murville’s brother-in-law; and the peasants were proud to have under their humble roof a woman like Adeline, and a fine fellow like Jacques.
But that peaceful life could not endure; a certain trip of Sans-Souci’s to Paris was destined to cause a great change. Jacques’s excellent comrade set out one day for the great city, intrusted as usual with secret commissions from Adeline and her brother-in-law, both of whom, although without communicating with each other, had the same thought, the same desire, and burned to know what Edouard was doing.
Hitherto Sans-Souci had been unable to obtain any information, but an unlucky chance led this time to his meeting a friend whom he had not seen for a very long time. This friend, after practising divers trades, had become a messenger at the Conciergerie. He was employed by those prisoners who were still allowed to communicate with the outside world. Sans-Souci mentioned the name of Edouard Murville; his friend informed him that he was in the prison, and that his sentence was to be pronounced on the following day.
“In prison!” cried Sans-Souci; “my brave comrade’s brother! Ten thousand cartridges! this will be a sad blow to Jacques.”