I am sending you the laissez-passer filled in for the three of
us. I am unfortunately unable to bring it myself as my
abstraction of the order of release has already been discovered,
and I am being detained pending the arrival of Robespierre. But
I am at my own lodging, and I have every hope that, either by
the use of my own wit, or else by the favour of my friend
Robespierre, I shall shortly be able to join you. I would
therefore ask you to wait a few days. But should I presently
send you word not to do so any longer, or should you hear of
events which will render it impossible for me to accompany you,
you can then set out with Ombreval, travelling under the guise
described in the passport, and informing any questioners that
the other person mentioned has been forced by ill health to
interrupt his journey. As I have said, I have every hope of
winning through my present difficulties; but should I fail to
do so, my most earnest prayer will be that you may make your
way out of France in safety, and that lasting happiness may be
your lot in whatever country you may elect to settle. You may
trust the bearer implicitly, patriotic though he may appear.
He subscribed the letter with his initials, and, having enclosed the passport and sealed the package, he gave it to Brutus, with the most minute instructions touching its delivery.
These instructions Brutus carried out with speed and fidelity. He was allowed to quit the house without so much as a question, which left his plan for readmittance the greater likelihood of succeeding. In something less than an hour—for he hired himself a horse at the nearest post-house—he had delivered his letter to Mademoiselle at Choisy.
Its contents sowed in her heart the very deepest consternation—a consternation very fully shared by the Vicomte.
“Tenez!” he exclaimed, when he had read it. “Perhaps now you will admit the justice of my plaint that you did not make a simple purchase of my liberty, as I counselled you, instead of entering into this idiotic compact with that sans-culotte.”
She looked at him a moment in silence. She was suffering as it was at the very thought that La Boulaye's life might be in danger in consequence of what he had done for her. With reluctance had she accepted the sacrifice of his career which he had made to serve her. Now that it became the question of a sacrifice of life as well she was dismayed. All the wrongs that she and hers had done that man seemed to rise up and reproach her now. And so, when presently she answered the Vicomte, it was no more than natural that she should answer him impatiently.
“I thought, Monsieur, that we had already discussed and settled that?”
“Settled it?” he echoed, with a sneer. “It seems none so easy to settle. Do you think that words will settle it.”
“By no means,” she answered, her voice quivering. “It seems as if a man's life will be required for that.”
He shrugged his shoulders, and his face put on a look of annoyance.