CHAPTER XXXVI
Essentially a woman in grace and beauty, as well as in devotion andtenderness, Marie-Anne was capable of a virile bravery. Her energy andher coolness during those trying days had been the admiration and theastonishment of all around her.
But human endurance has its limits. Always after excessive efforts comesa moment when the shrinking flesh fails the firmest will.
When Marie-Anne tried to begin her journey anew, she found that herstrength was exhausted; her swollen feet would no longer sustain her,her limbs sank under her, her head whirled, and an intense freezingcoldness crept over her heart.
Maurice and the old soldier were obliged to support her, almost carryher. Fortunately they were not far from the village, whose church-towerthey had discerned through the gray mists of morning.
Soon the fugitives could distinguish the houses on the outskirts of thetown. The corporal suddenly stopped short with an oath.
"_Mille tonnerres_!" he exclaimed; "and my uniform! To enter the villagein this rig would excite suspicion at once; before we had a chance tosit down, the Piedmontese gendarmes would arrest us."
He reflected for a moment, twirling his mustache furiously; then, in atone that would have made a passerby tremble, he said:
"All things are fair in love and war. The next peasant who passes--"
"But I have money," interrupted Maurice, unbuckling a belt filled withgold, which he had put on under his clothing on the night of the revolt.
"Eh! we are fortunate!" cried Bavois. "Give me some, and I willsoon find some shop in the suburbs where I can purchase a change ofclothing." He departed; but it was not long before he reappeared,transformed by a peasant's costume, which fitted him perfectly. Hissmall, thin face was almost hidden beneath an immense broad-brimmed hat.
"Now, steady, forward, march!" he said to Maurice and Marie-Anne, whoscarcely recognized him in this disguise.
The town, which they soon reached, was called Saliente. They read thename upon a guide-post.
The fourth house after entering the place was a hostelry, theTraveller's Rest. They entered it, and ordered the hostess to take theyoung lady to a room and to assist her in disrobing.
The order was obeyed, and Maurice and the corporal went into thedining-room and ordered something to eat.
The desired refreshments were served, but the glances cast upon theguests were by no means friendly. It was evident that they were regardedwith suspicion.
A large man, who was apparently the proprietor of the house, hoveredaround them, and at last embraced a favorable opportunity to ask theirnames.
"My name is Dubois," replied Maurice, without the slightest hesitation."I am travelling on business, and this man here is my farmer."
These replies seemed to reassure the host a little.
"And what is your business?" he inquired.
"I came into this land of inquisitive people to buy mules," laughedMaurice, striking his belt of money.
On hearing the jingle of the coin the man lifted his cap deferentially.Raising mules was the chief industry of the country. This bourgeois wasvery young, but he had a well-filled purse, and that was enough.
"You will excuse me," resumed the host, in quite a different tone. "Yousee, we are obliged to be very careful. There has been some trouble inMontaignac."
The imminence of the peril and the responsibility devolving uponhim, gave Maurice an assurance unusual to him; and it was in the mostcareless, off-hand manner possible that he concocted a quite plausiblestory to explain his early arrival on foot accompanied by a sick wife.He congratulated himself upon his address, but the old corporal was farfrom satisfied.
"We are too near the frontier to bivouac here," he grumbled. "As soon asthe young lady is on her feet again we must hurry on."
He believed, and Maurice hoped, that twenty-four hours of rest wouldrestore Marie-Anne.
They were mistaken. The very springs of life in her existence seemed tohave been drained dry. She did not appear to suffer, but she remained ina death-like torpor, from which nothing could arouse her. They spoke toher but she made no response. Did she hear? did she comprehend? It wasextremely doubtful.
By rare good fortune the mother of the proprietor proved to be agood, kind-hearted old woman, who would not leave the bedside ofMarie-Anne--of Mme. Dubois, as she was called at the Traveller's Rest.
It was not until the evening of the third day that they heard Marie-Anneutter a word.
"Poor girl!" she sighed; "poor, wretched girl!"
It was of herself that she spoke.
By a phenomenon not very unusual after a crisis in which reason has beentemporarily obscured, it seemed to her that it was someone else who hadbeen the victim of all the misfortunes, whose recollections graduallyreturned to her like the memory of a painful dream.
What strange and terrible events had taken place since that AugustSabbath, when, on leaving the church with her father, she heard of thearrival of the Duc de Sairmeuse.
And that was only eight months ago.
What a difference between those days when she lived happy and envied inthat beautiful Chateau de Sairmeuse, of which she believed herself themistress, and at the present time, when she found herself lying in thecomfortless room of a miserable country inn, attended by an old womanwhom she did not know, and with no other protection than that of an oldsoldier--a deserter, whose life was in constant danger--and that of herproscribed lover.
From this total wreck of her cherished ambitions, of her hopes, of herfortune, of her happiness, and of her future, she had not even saved herhonor.
But was she alone responsible? Who had imposed upon her the odious rolewhich she had played with Maurice, Martial, and Chanlouineau?
As this last name darted through her mind, the scene in the prison-cellrose suddenly and vividly before her.
Chanlouineau had given her a letter, saying as he did so:
"You will read this when I am no more."
She might read it now that he had fallen beneath the bullets of thesoldiery. But what had become of it? From the moment that he gave it toher until now she had not once thought of it.
She raised herself in bed, and in an imperious voice:
"My dress," she said to the old nurse, seated beside her; "give me mydress."
The woman obeyed; with an eager hand Marie-Anne examined the pocket.
She uttered an exclamation of joy on finding the letter there.
She opened it, read it slowly twice, then, sinking back on her pillows,she burst into tears.
Maurice anxiously approached her.
"What is the matter?" he inquired anxiously.
She handed him the letter, saying: "Read."
Chanlouineau was only a poor peasant. His entire education had beenderived from an old country pedagogue, whose school he attended forthree winters, and who troubled himself much less about the progress ofhis students than about the size of the books which they carried to andfrom the school.
This letter, which was written upon the commonest kind of paper, wassealed with a huge wafer, as large as a two-sou piece, which he hadpurchased from a grocer in Sairmeuse.
The chirography was labored, heavy and trembling; it betrayed the stiffhand of a man more accustomed to guiding the plough than the pen.
The lines zigzagged toward the top or toward the bottom of the page, andfaults of orthography were everywhere apparent.
But if the writing was that of a vulgar peasant, the thoughts itexpressed were worthy of the noblest, the proudest in the land.
This was the letter which Chanlouineau had written, probably on the eveof the insurrection:
"Marie-Anne--The outbreak is at hand. Whether it succeeds, or whether itfails, I shall die. That was decided on the day when I learned that youcould marry none other than Maurice d'Escorval.
"But the conspiracy will not succeed; and I understand your father wellenough to know that he will not survive its defeat. And if Maurice andyour brother should both be killed, what wou
ld become of you? Oh, myGod, would you not be reduced to beggary?
"The thought has haunted me continually. I have reflected, and this ismy last will:
"I give and bequeath to you all my property, all that I possess:
"My house, the Borderie, with the gardens and vineyards pertainingthereto, the woodland and the pastures of Berarde, and five lots of landat Valrollier.
"You will find an inventory of this property, and of my otherpossessions which I devise to you, deposited with the lawyer atSairmeuse.
"You can accept this bequest without fear; for, having no parents, mycontrol over my property is absolute.
"If you do not wish to remain in France, this property will sell for atleast forty thousand francs.
"But it would, it seems to me, be better for you to remain in your owncountry. The house on the Borderie is comfortable and convenient, sinceI have had it divided into three rooms and thoroughly repaired.
"Upstairs is a room that has been fitted up by the best upholsterer inMontaignac. I intended it for you. Beneath the hearth-stone in this roomyou will find a box containing three hundred and twenty-seven louis d'orand one hundred and forty-six livres.
"If you refuse this gift, it will be because you scorn me even after Iam dead. Accept it, if not for your own sake, for the sake of--I darenot write it; but you will understand my meaning only too well.
"If Maurice is not killed, and I shall try my best to stand between himand danger, he will marry you. Then you will, perhaps, be obliged to askhis consent in order to accept my gift. I hope that he will not refuseit. One is not jealous of the dead!
"Besides, he knows well that you have scarcely vouchsafed a glance tothe poor peasant who has loved you so much.
"Do not be offended at anything I have said, I am in such agony that Icannot weigh my words.
"Adieu, adieu, Marie-Anne.
"Chanlouineau."
Maurice also read twice, before handing it back, this letter whose everyword palpitated with sublime passion.
He was silent for a moment, then, in a husky voice, he said:
"You cannot refuse; it would be wrong."
His emotion was so great that he could not conceal it, and he left theroom.
He was overwhelmed by the grandeur of soul exhibited by this peasant,who, after saving the life of his successful rival at the Croix d'Arcy,had wrested Baron d'Escorval from the hands of his executioners, andwho had never allowed a complaint nor a reproach to escape his lips, andwhose protection over the woman he adored extended even from beyond thegrave.
In comparison with this obscure hero, Maurice felt himselfinsignificant, mediocre, unworthy.
Good God! what if this comparison should arise in Marie-Anne's mind aswell? How could he compete with the memory of such nobility of soul andheroic self-sacrifice?
Chanlouineau was mistaken; one, may, perhaps, be jealous of the dead!
But Maurice took good care to conceal this poignant anxiety and thesesorrowful thoughts, and during the days that followed, he presentedhimself in Marie-Anne's room with a calm, even cheerful face.
For she, unfortunately, was not restored to health. She had recoveredthe full possession of her mental faculties, but her strength had notyet returned. She was still unable to sit up; and Maurice was forced torelinquish all thought of quitting Saliente, though he felt the earthburn beneath his feet.
This persistent weakness began to astonish the old nurse. Her faith inherbs, gathered by the light of the moon, was considerably shaken.
Honest Bavois was the first to suggest the idea of consulting aphysician whom he had found in this land of savages.
Yes; he had found a really skilful physician in the neighborhood, aman of superior ability. Attached at one time to the beautiful courtof Prince Eugene, he had been obliged to flee from Milan, and had takenrefuge in this secluded spot.
This physician was summoned, and promptly made his appearance. He wasone of those men whose age it is impossible to determine. His past,whatever it might have been, had wrought deep furrows on his brow, andhis glance was as keen and piercing as his lancet.
After visiting the sick-room, he drew Maurice aside.
"Is this young lady really your wife, Monsieur--Dubois?"
He hesitated so strangely over this name, Dubois, that Maurice felt hisface crimson to the roots of his hair.
"I do not understand your question," he retorted, angrily.
"I beg your pardon, of course, but you seem very young for a marriedman, and your hands are too soft to belong to a farmer. And when I spoketo this young lady of her husband, she blushed scarlet. The man whoaccompanies you has terrible mustaches for a farmer. Besides, youmust remember that there have been troubles across the frontier atMontaignac."
From crimson Maurice had turned white. He felt that he wasdiscovered--that he was in this man's power.
What should he do?
What good would denial do?
He reflected that confession is sometimes the height of prudence, andthat extreme confidence often meets with sympathy and protection; so, ina voice trembling with anxiety, he said:
"You are not mistaken, Monsieur. My friend and myself both arefugitives, undoubtedly condemned to death in France at this moment."
And without giving the doctor time to respond, he narrated theterrible events that had happened at Sairmeuse, and the history of hisunfortunate love-affair.
He omitted nothing. He neither concealed his own name nor that ofMarie-Anne.
When his recital was completed, the physician pressed his hand.
"It is just as I supposed," said he. "Believe me, Monsieur--Dubois, youmust not tarry here. What I have discovered others will discover. Andabove all, do not warn the hotel-keeper of your departure. He has notbeen deceived by your explanation. Self-interest alone has kept hismouth closed. He has seen your money, and so long as you spend it at hishouse he will hold his tongue; but if he discovers that you are goingaway, he will probably betray you."
"Ah! sir, but how is it possible for us to leave this place?"
"In two days the young lady will be on her feet again," interrupted thephysician. "And take my advice. At the next village, stop and give yourname to Mademoiselle Lacheneur."
"Ah! sir," Maurice exclaimed; "have you considered the advice you offerme? How can I, a proscribed man--a man condemned to death perhaps--howcan I obtain the necessary papers?"
The physician shook his head.
"Excuse me, you are no longer in France, Monsieur d'Escorval, you are inPiedmont."
"Another difficulty!"
"No, because in this country, people marry, or at least they can marry,without all the formalities that cause you so much anxiety."
"Is it possible?" Maurice exclaimed.
"Yes, if you can find a priest who will consent to your union, inscribeyour name upon his parish register and give you a certificate, you willbe so indissolubly united, Mademoiselle Lacheneur and you, that thecourt of Rome would never grant you a divorce."
To suspect the truth of these affirmations was difficult, and yetMaurice doubted still.
"So, sir," he said, hesitatingly, "in case I was able to find apriest----"
The physician was silent. One might have supposed he was blaming himselffor meddling with matters that did not concern him.
Then, almost brusquely, he said:
"Listen to me attentively, Monsieur d'Escorval. I am about to take myleave, but before I go, I shall take occasion to recommend a gooddeal of exercise for the sick lady--I will do this before your host.Consequently, day after to-morrow, Wednesday, you will hire mules, andyou, Mademoiselle Lacheneur and your old friend, the soldier, willleave the hotel as if going on a pleasure excursion. You will push onto Vigano, three leagues from here, where I live. I will take you to apriest, one of my friends; and he, upon my recommendation, will performthe marriage ceremony. Now reflect, shall I expect you on Wednesday?"
"Oh, yes, yes, Monsieur. How can I ever thank you?"
"By n
ot thanking me at all. See, here is the innkeeper; you are MonsieurDubois, again."
Maurice was intoxicated with joy. He understood the irregularity ofsuch a marriage, but he knew it would reassure Marie-Anne's troubledconscience. Poor girl! she was suffering an agony of remorse. It wasthat which was killing her.
He did not speak to her on the subject, however, fearing something mightoccur to interfere with the project.
But the old physician had not given his word lightly, and everythingtook place as he had promised.
The priest at Vigano blessed the marriage of Maurice d'Escorval and ofMarie-Anne Lacheneur, and after inscribing their names upon the churchregister, he gave them a certificate, upon which the physician andCorporal Bavois figured as witnesses.
That same evening the mules were sent back to Saliente, and thefugitives resumed their journey.
Abbe Midon had counselled them to reach Turin as quickly as possible.
"It is a large city," he said; "you will be lost in the crowd. I havemore than one friend there, whose name and address are upon this paper.Go to them, and in that way I will try to send you news of your father."
So it was toward Turin that Maurice, Marie-Anne, and Corporal Bavoisdirected their steps.
But their progress was very slow, for they were obliged to avoidfrequented roads, and renounce the ordinary modes of transportation.
The fatigue of travel, instead of exhausting Marie-Anne, seemed torevive her. After five or six days the color came back to her cheek andher strength returned.
"Fate seems to have relaxed her rigor," said Maurice, one day. "Whoknows what compensations the future may have in store for us!"
No, fate had not taken pity upon them; it was only a short respitegranted by destiny. One lovely April morning the fugitives stopped forbreakfast at an inn on the outskirts of a large city.
Maurice having finished his repast was just leaving the table to settlewith the hostess, when a despairing cry arrested him.
Marie-Anne, deadly pale, and with eyes staring wildly at a paper whichshe held in her hand, exclaimed in frenzied tones:
"Here! Maurice! Look!"
It was a French journal about a fortnight old, which had probably beenleft there by some traveller.
Maurice seized it and read:
"Yesterday, Lacheneur, the leader of the revolt in Montaignac, wasexecuted. The miserable mischief-maker exhibited upon the scaffold theaudacity for which he has always been famous."
"My father has been put to death!" cried Marie-Anne, "and I--hisdaughter--was not there to receive his last farewell!"
She rose, and in an imperious voice:
"I will go no farther," she said; "we must turn back now without losingan instant. I wish to return to France."
To return to France was to expose themselves to frightful peril. Whatgood would it do? Was not the misfortune irreparable?
So Corporal Bavois suggested, very timidly. The old soldier trembled atthe thought that they might suspect him of being afraid.
But Maurice would not listen.
He shuddered. It seemed to him that Baron d'Escorval must have beendiscovered and arrested at the same time that Lacheneur was captured.
"Yes, let us start at once on our return!" he exclaimed.
They immediately procured a carriage to convey them to the frontier. Oneimportant question, however, remained to be decided. Should Maurice andMarie-Anne make their marriage public? She wished to do so, but Mauriceentreated her, with tears in his eyes, to conceal it.
"Our marriage certificate will not silence the evil disposed," said he."Let us keep our secret for the present. We shall doubtless remain inFrance only a few days."
Unfortunately, Marie-Anne yielded.
"Since you wish it," said she, "I will obey you. No one shall know it."
The next day, which was the 14th of April, the fugitives at nightfallreached Father Poignot's house.
Maurice and Corporal Bavois were disguised as peasants.
The old soldier had made one sacrifice that drew tears from his eyes; hehad shaved off his mustache.