Honore de Balzac (14 page)

Laurence rose, moved to the table beside the spies, and said:—"Read it
aloud; that shall be your punishment."

As the two men continued to read to themselves, she herself read out the
following words:—

Dear Laurence,—My husband and I have heard of your noble conduct
on the day of our arrest. We know that you love our dear twins as
much, almost, as we love them ourselves. Therefore it is with you
that we leave a token which will be both precious and sad to them.
The executioner has come to cut our hair, for we are to die in a
few moments; he has promised to put into your hands the only
remembrance we are able to leave to our beloved orphans. Keep
these last remains of us and give them to our sons in happier
days. We have kissed these locks of hair and have laid our
blessing upon them. Our last thought will be of our sons, of you,
and of God. Love them, Laurence.

Berthe de Cinq-Cygne. Jean de Simeuse.

Tears came to the eyes of all the household as they listened to the
letter.

Laurence looked at the agents with a petrifying glance and said, in a
firm voice:—

"You have less pity than the executioner."

Corentin quietly folded the hair in the letter, laid the letter aside on
the table, and put a box of counters on the top of it as if to prevent
its blowing away. His coolness in the midst of the general emotion was
horrible.

Peyrade unfolded the other letters.

"Oh, as for those," said Laurence, "they are very much alike. You hear
the will; you can now hear of its fulfilment. In future I shall have no
secrets from any one."

1794, Andernach. Before the battle.

My dear Laurence,—I love you for life, and I wish you to know it.
But you ought also to know, in case I die, that my brother,
Paul-Marie, loves you as much as I love you. My only consolation in
dying would be the thought that you might some day make my brother
your husband without being forced to see me die of jealousy—which
must surely happen if, both of us being alive, you preferred him
to me. After all, that preference seems natural, for he is,
perhaps, more worthy of your love than I—

Marie-Paul.

"Here is the other letter," she said, with the color in her cheeks.

Andernach. Before the battle.

My kind Laurence,—My heart is sad; but Marie-Paul has a gayer
nature, and will please you more than I am able to do. Some day
you will have to choose between us—well, though I love you
passionately—

"You are corresponding with
emigres
," said Peyrade, interrupting
Laurence, and holding the letters between himself and the light to
see if they contained between the lines any treasonable writing with
invisible ink.

"Yes," replied Laurence, folding the precious letters, the paper of
which was already yellow with time. "But by virtue of what right do you
presume to violate my dwelling and my personal liberty?"

"Ah, that's the point!" cried Peyrade. "By what right, indeed!—it
is time to let you know it, beautiful aristocrat," he added, taking a
warrant from his pocket, which came from the minister of justice and
was countersigned by the minister of the interior. "See, the authorities
have their eye upon you."

"We might also ask you," said Corentin, in her ear, "by what right you
harbor in this house the assassins of the First Consul. You have applied
your whip to my hands in a manner that authorizes me to take my revenge
upon your cousins, whom I came here to save."

At the mere movement of her lips and the glance which Laurence cast upon
Corentin, the abbe guessed what that great artist was saying, and he
made her a sign to be distrustful, which no one intercepted but Goulard.
Peyrade struck the cover of the box to see if there were a double top.

"Don't break it!" she exclaimed, taking the cover from him.

She took a pin, pushed the head of one of the carved figures, and the
two halves of the top, joined by a spring, opened. In the hollow half
lay miniatures of the Messieurs de Simeuse, in the uniform of the army
of Conde, two portraits on ivory done in Germany. Corentin, who felt
himself in presence of an adversary worthy of his efforts, called
Peyrade aside into a corner of the room and conferred with him.

"How could you throw
that
into the fire?" said the abbe, speaking to
Laurence and pointing to the letter of the marquise which enclosed the
locks of hair.

For all answer the young girl shrugged her shoulders significantly. The
abbe comprehended then that she had made the sacrifice to mislead the
agents and gain time; he raised his eyes to heaven with a gesture of
admiration.

"Where did they arrest Gothard, whom I hear crying?" she asked him, loud
enough to be overheard.

"I don't know," said the abbe.

"Did he reach the farm?"

"The farm!" whispered Peyrade to Corentin. "Let us send there."

"No," said Corentin; "that girl never trusted her cousins' safety to a
farmer. She is playing with us. Do as I tell you, so that we mayn't have
to leave here without detecting something, after committing the great
blunder of coming here at all."

Corentin stationed himself before the fire, lifting the long pointed
skirts of his coat to warm himself and assuming the air, manner, and
tone of a gentleman who was paying a visit.

"Mesdames, you can go to bed, and the servants also. Monsieur le maire,
your services are no longer needed. The sternness of our orders does
not permit us to act otherwise than as we have done; but as soon as the
walls, which seem to me rather thick, have been thoroughly examined, we
shall take our departure."

The mayor bowed to the company and retired; but neither the abbe nor
Mademoiselle Goujet stirred. The servants were too uneasy not to watch
the fate of their young mistress. Madame d'Hauteserre, who, from the
moment of Laurence's entrance, had studied her with the anxiety of a
mother, rose, took her by the arm, led her aside, and said in a low
voice, "Have you seen them?"

"Do you think I could have let your sons be under this roof without
your knowing it?" replied Laurence. "Durieu," she added, "see if it is
possible to save my poor Stella; she is still breathing."

"She must have gone a great distance," said Corentin.

"Forty miles in three hours," she answered, addressing the abbe, who
watched her with amazement. "I started at half-past nine, and it was
well past one when I returned."

She looked at the clock which said half-past two.

"So you don't deny that you have ridden forty miles?" said Corentin.

"No," she said. "I admit that my cousins, in their perfect innocence,
expected not to be excluded from the amnesty, and were on their way to
Cinq-Cygne. When I found that the Sieur Malin was plotting to injure
them, I went to warn them to return to Germany, where they will be
before the telegraph can have guarded the frontier. If I have done wrong
I shall be punished for it."

This answer, which Laurence had carefully considered, was so probable in
all its parts that Corentin's convictions were shaken. In that decisive
moment, when every soul present hung suspended, as it were, on the faces
of the two adversaries, and all eyes turned from Corentin to Laurence
and from Laurence to Corentin, again the gallop of a horse, coming from
the forest, resounded on the road and from there through the gates to
the paved courtyard. Frightful anxiety was stamped on every face.

Peyrade entered, his eyes gleaming with joy. He went hastily to Corentin
and said, loud enough for the countess to hear him: "We have caught
Michu."

Laurence, to whom the agony, fatigue, and tension of all her
intellectual faculties had given an unusual color, turned white and fell
back almost fainting on a chair. Madame Durieu, Mademoiselle Goujet,
and Madame d'Hauteserre sprang to help her, for she was suffocating. She
signed to cut the frogging of her habit.

"Duped!" said Corentin to Peyrade. "I am certain now they are on their
way to Paris. Change the orders."

They left the room and the house, placing one gendarme on guard at the
door of the salon. The infernal cleverness of the two men had gained
a terrible advantage by taking Laurence in the trap of a not uncommon
trick.

At six o'clock in the morning, as day was dawning, Corentin and Peyrade
returned. Having explored the covered way they were satisfied that
horses had passed through it to reach the forest. They were now awaiting
the report of the captain of gendarmerie sent to reconnoitre the
neighborhood. Leaving the chateau in charge of a corporal, they went
to the tavern at Cinq-Cygne to get their breakfast, giving orders that
Gothard, who never ceased to reply to all questions with a burst of
tears, should be set at liberty, also Catherine, who still continued
silent and immovable. Catherine and Gothard went to the salon to kiss
the hands of their mistress, who lay exhausted on the sofa; Durieu also
went in to tell her that Stella would recover, but needed great care.

The mayor, uneasy and inquisitive, met Peyrade and Corentin in the
village. He declared that he could not allow such important officials to
breakfast in a miserable tavern, and he took them to his own house. The
abbey was only three quarters of a mile distant. On the way, Peyrade
remarked that the corporal of Arcis had sent no news of Michu or of
Violette.

"We are dealing with very able people," said Corentin; "they are
stronger than we. The priest no doubt has a finger in all this."

Just as the mayor's wife was ushering her guests into a vast dining-room
(without any fire) the lieutenant of gendarmes arrived with an anxious
air.

"We met the horse of the corporal of Arcis in the forest without his
master," he said to Peyrade.

"Lieutenant," cried Corentin, "go instantly to Michu's house and find
out what is going on there. They must have murdered the corporal."

This news interfered with the mayor's breakfast. Corentin and Peyrade
swallowed their food with the rapidity of hunters halting for a meal,
and drove back to the chateau in their wicker carriage, so as to be
ready to start at the first call for any point where their presence
might be necessary. When the two men reappeared in the salon into which
they had brought such trouble, terror, grief, and anxiety, they found
Laurence, in a dressing-gown, Monsieur d'Hauteserre and his wife, the
abbe and his sister, sitting round the fire, to all appearance tranquil.

"If they had caught Michu," Laurence told herself, "they would have
brought him with them. I have the mortification of knowing that I was
not the mistress of myself, and that I threw some light upon the matter
for those wretches; but the harm can be undone—How long are we to be
your prisoners?" she asked sarcastically, with an easy manner.

"How can she know anything about Michu? No one from the outside has got
near the chateau; she is laughing at us," said the two agents to each
other by a look.

"We shall not inconvenience you long," replied Corentin. "In three hours
from now we shall offer our regrets for having troubled your solitude."

No one replied. This contemptuous silence redoubled Corentin's inward
rage. Laurence and the abbe (the two minds of their little world) had
talked the man over and drawn their conclusions. Gothard and Catherine
had set the breakfast-table near the fire and the abbe and his sister
were sharing the meal. Neither masters nor servants paid the slightest
attention to the two spies, who walked up and down the garden, the
courtyard or the lawn, returning every now and then to the salon.

At half-past two the lieutenant reappeared.

"I found the corporal," he said to Corentin, "lying in the road which
leads from the pavilion of Cinq-Cygne to the farm at Bellache. He has
no wound, only a bad contusion of the head, caused, apparently, by his
fall. He told me he had been lifted suddenly off his horse and flung
so violently to the ground that he could not discover how the thing was
done. His feet left the stirrups, which was lucky, for he might have
been killed by the horse dragging him. We put him in charge of Michu and
Violette—"

"Michu! is Michu in his own house?" said Corentin, glancing at Laurence.

The countess smiled ironically, like a woman obtaining her revenge.

"He is bargaining with Violette about the sale of some land," said the
lieutenant. "They seemed to me drunk; and it's no wonder, for they have
been drinking all night and discussing the matter, and they haven't come
to terms yet."

"Did Violette tell you so?" cried Corentin.

"Yes," said the lieutenant.

"Nothing is right if we don't attend to it ourselves!" cried Peyrade,
looking at Corentin, who doubted the lieutenant's news as much as the
other did.

"At what hour did you get to Michu's house?" asked Corentin, noticing
that the countess had glanced at the clock.

"About two," replied the lieutenant.

Laurence covered Monsieur and Madame d'Hauteserre and the abbe and his
sister in one comprehensive glance, which made them fancy they were
wrapped in an azure mantle; triumph sparkled in her eyes, she blushed,
and the tears welled up beneath her lids. Strong under all misfortunes,
the girl knew not how to weep except from joy. At this moment she was
all glorious, especially to the priest, who was sometimes distressed
by the virility of her character, and who now caught a glimpse of the
infinite tenderness of her woman's nature. But such feelings lay in her
soul like a treasure hidden at a great depth beneath a block of granite.

Just then a gendarme entered the salon to ask if he might bring in
Michu's son, sent by his father to speak to the gentlemen from Paris.
Corentin gave an affirmative nod. Francois Michu, a sly little chip of
the old block, was in the courtyard, where Gothard, now at liberty, got
a chance to speak to him for an instant under the eyes of a gendarme.
The little fellow managed to slip something into Gothard's hand without
being detected, and the latter glided into the salon after him till he
reached his mistress, to whom he stealthily conveyed both halves of
the wedding-ring, a sure sign, she knew, that Michu had met the four
gentlemen and put them in safety.