The Man in Black

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER IX.

  BEFORE THE COURT.

  Since the poisoning of the Prince of Conde by his servant, Brillaut,at the instigation--as was alleged and commonly believed--of Madame laPrincesse, no tragedy of the kind had caused a greater sensation inParis, or been the subject of more talk, than the murder of M. deVidoche. The remarkable circumstances which attended it--and whichlost nothing in the narration--its immediate discovery, the apparentlack of motive, and the wealth, rank, and youth of the guilty wife,all helped, with the fulness of Paris at this time and the absence ofany stirring political news, to make it the one topic of interest.Nothing else was talked of in chamber or tennis court, in the GrandGallery at the Louvre, or in the cardinal's ante-room at the PalaisRichelieu. Culprit and victim were alike well known. M. de Vidoche, ifno favourite, had been at least a conspicuous figure in society. Hehad been cast for one of the parts in the royal troupe at theChristmas carnival. His flirtation with Mademoiselle de Farincourt hadbeen sufficiently marked to cause both amusement and interest. And ifmadame was a less familiar figure at Court, if she had a reputationsomewhat prudish, and an air of rusticity that did not belie it, andwas even less of a favourite than her husband, her position as a greatheiress and the last of an old family gave her a _cachet_ which didnot fail to make her interesting now.

  Gladly would the great ladies in their coaches have gone down to theChatelet to stare at her after the cruel fashion of that day; and,after buzzing round her in her misery, have gone away with a hundredtales of how she looked, and what she wore, and what she said inprison. But madame was saved this--this torture worse than thequestion--by the physician's order that no one should be admitted toher. He laid this down so strenuously--telling the lieutenant that ifshe had not complete repose for twenty-four hours he would beanswerable neither for her life nor her reason--that that officer,who, like the Chevalier du Guet, was an old soldier, replied "No" tothe most pressing insistences; and save and except Father Bernard, whohad the _entree_ at all hours by the king's command, would let no onego in to her. "It will be bad enough by-and-bye," he said, with anoath. "If she did it, she will be punished. But she shall have alittle peace to-day."

  But the great world, baffled on this point, grew only the morecurious; circulated stories only the more outrageous; and nodded andwinked and whispered only the more assiduously. Would she be put tothe question? And by the rack, or the boot, or the water torture? Andwho was the man? Of course there was a man. Now if it had been M. deVidoche who had poisoned her, that would have been plain,intelligible, perspicuous; since everyone knew--and so on, and so on,with Mademoiselle de Farincourt's name at intervals.

  It was believed that madame would be first examined in private; butlate at night, on the day before Christmas Eve, a sealed order came tothe Lieutenant of the Chatelet, commanding him to present madame, withher servants and all concerned in the case, at the Palais de Justiceon the following morning. Late as it was, the news was known in everypart of Paris that night. Marshal Bassompierre, lying in the Bastille,heard it, and regretted he could not see the sight. It was rumouredthat the king would attend in person; even that the trial had beenhastened for his pleasure. It was certain that half the Court would bethere, and the other half, if it could find room. The great ladies,who had failed to storm the Chatelet, hoped to succeed better at thePalais, and the First President of the Court, and even theCommissioners appointed to sit with him, found their doors beset atdawn with delicate "_poulets_," or urgent, importunate applications.

  Madame de Vidoche, the man and maid, were brought from the Chatelet tothe Conciergerie an hour before daylight--madame in her coach, withher woman, the man on foot. That cold morning ride was such as few,thank God, are called on to endure. To the horrors of anticipation thelost wife, scarcely more than a girl, had to add the misery ofretrospection; to the knowledge of what she had done, a woman'sshrinking from the doom that threatened her, from shame and pain anddeath. But that which she felt perhaps as keenly as anything, as shecrouched in a corner of her curtained vehicle and heard the yellswhich everywhere saluted its appearance, was the sudden sense ofloneliness and isolation. True, the Lieutenant sat opposite to her,but his face was hard. She was no longer a woman to him, but aprisoner, a murderess, a poisoner. And the streets were thronged, inspite of the cold and the early hour. On the Pont au Change the peopleran beside the coach and strove to get a sight of her, and jeered andsang and shouted. And at the entrance to the Palais, in the room inthe Conciergerie where she had to wait, on the staircase to the courtabove, everywhere it was the same; all were set so thick withfaces--staring, curious faces--that the guards could scarcely make away for her. But she was cut off from all. She was no longer ofthem--of things living. Not one said a kind word to her; not onelooked sympathy or pity. On a sudden, in a moment, with hundredsgazing at her, she, a delicate woman, found herself a thing apart,unclean, to be shunned. A thing, no longer a person. A prisoner, nolonger a woman.

  They placed a seat for her, and she sank into it, feeling at firstnothing but the shame of being so stared at. But presently she had torise and be sworn, and then, as she became conscious of other things,as the details of the crowded chamber forced themselves on herattention, and she saw which were the judges, and heard herself calledupon to answer the questions that should be put to her, the instinctof self-preservation, the desire to clear herself, to escape and live,took hold of her. A late instinct, for hitherto all her thoughts hadbeen of the man she had killed--her husband; but the fiercer for that.A burning flush suddenly flamed in her cheeks. Her eyes grew bright,her heart began to beat quickly. She turned giddy.

  She knew only of one way in which she could escape; only of one manthat could help her; and even while the first judge was in the act ofcalling upon her, she turned from him and looked round. She looked tothe right, to the left, then behind her, for Notredame. He, if he toldthe truth, could clear her! He could say that she had come to him fora charm, and not for poison! And he only! But where was he? There washer woman, trembling and weeping, waiting to be called. There was thevalet, pale and frightened. There were twice a hundred indifferentpeople. But Notredame? He was not visible. He was not there. When shehad satisfied herself of this, she sank back with a moan of despair.She gave up hope again. A hundred curious eyes saw the colour fadefrom her cheeks; her eyes grew dull, the whole woman collapsed.

  The examination began. She gave her name in a hollow whisper.

  It was the practice of that day, and still is, in French courts, totake advantage of any self-betrayal or emotion on the part of theaccused person. It is the duty of the judges to observe the prisonerconstantly and narrowly; and the First President, on an occasion suchas this, was not the man to overlook anything which was visible to theordinary spectator. Instead, therefore, of pursuing the regularinterrogatory he had in his mind, he leaned forward and asked madamewhat was the matter.

  "I wish for the man Solomon Notredame," Madame de Vidoche answered,rising and speaking in a choking voice.

  "That is the man from whom you bought the poison, I think?" the judgeanswered, affecting to look at his notes.

  "Yes, but as a love-philtre--not a poison," madame said in a whisper."I wish him to be here."

  "You wish to be confronted with him?"

  "Yes."

  "With the man Solomon Notredame?"

  "Yes."

  "Then you shall be, presently," the judge replied, leaning back, andcasting a singular glance at his colleagues. "Be satisfied. And now,madame," he continued gravely, as his eyes returned to her, "it is myduty to help you to tell, and your duty to confess frankly, all thatyou know concerning this matter. Be good enough, therefore, to collectyourself, and answer my questions fully and truly, as you hope formercy here and hereafter. So you will save yourself pain, and suchalso as shall examine you; and may best deserve, in the worst case,the king's indulgence."

  As he uttered this exhortation madame clung to the bar behind whichsh
e stood, and seemed for the moment about to faint, so that thePresident waited awhile before he proceeded. She looked, indeed,ghostly. Her white face gleamed through the fog--which, rising fromthe river, was fast filling the chamber--like a face seen for aninstant on a wreck through mist and spray and tempest. Ladies who hadknown her as an equal, and who now gazed heartlessly down at her fromgalleries, felt a pleasant thrill of excitement, and whispered thatthey had not braved the early cold for nothing. There was not a man inthe court who did not expect to see her fall.

  But there is in women a power of endurance far exceeding that of men.By an immense effort madame regained control over herself. Sheanswered the President's opening questions faintly but clearly; and,being led at once to tell of her visit to Notredame, had sufficientsense of her position to dwell plainly on the two facts important toher--that the object of her visit was a love-potion, and not a poison,and that the instructions first given to her were to take it herself.The latter assertion produced a startling impression in the court. Itwas completely unexpected; and though ninety-nine out of a hundredfancied it the bold invention of a desperate woman, all allowed thatit added zest to the case.

  Naturally the President pressed her hard on these points. He strove,both by cajolery and by stating objections, to make her withdraw fromthem. But she would not. Nor could he entrap her into narratinganything at variance with them. At length he desisted. "Very well, wewill leave that," he said; and so subtly had her story gained sympathyfor her that the sigh of relief uttered in the court was perfectlyaudible. "We will pass on, if you please. The boy who overtook you inthe street, and, as you say, altered all? Who was he, madame?"

  "I do not know."

  "You had seen him before?"

  "No."

  "Did he not open the door at this Notredame's when you entered thehouse?"

  "No."

  "Nor when you left?"

  "No."

  "How did you know, then, madame, that he came from this abominableperson whom you had been visiting?"

  "He said he did."

  "And do you tell us," the judge retorted, "that on the mere word ofthis boy, whom you did not know and had never seen, without theassurance of any token or countersign, you disregarded the manNotredame's directions on the most vital point, and, instead of takingthis drug yourself, gave it to your husband?"

  "I do."

  "Without suspecting that it was other than that for which you hadasked?"

  "Yes."

  "Madame," the judge said slowly, "it is incredible." He looked for amoment at his colleagues, as if to collect their opinions. Theynodded. He turned to her again. "Do you not see that?" he said almostkindly.

  "I do not," madame answered firmly. "It is true."

  "Describe the boy, if you please."

  "He had--I think he had dark clothes," she answered, faltering for thefirst time. "He looked about twelve years old."

  "Yes," the President said; "go on."

  "He had--I could not see any more," madame muttered faintly. "It wasdark."

  "And do you expect us to believe this?" the President replied withwarmth, real or assumed. "Do you expect us to believe such a story? Orthat it was at the instance of this boy only--this boy of whom youknew nothing, whom you cannot describe, whom you had never seenbefore--that it was at his instance only that you gave this drug toyour husband, instead of taking it yourself?"

  She reeled slightly, clinging to the bar. The court swam before her.She saw, as he meant her to see, the full hopelessness of herposition, the full strength of the case which fate had made againsther, her impotence, her helplessness. Yet she forced herself to makean effort. "It is the truth," she said, in a broken voice. "I lovedhim."

  "Ah!" the President replied cynically. He repressed by a gesture aslight disturbance at the rear of the court. "That, of course. It ispart of the story. Or why a love-philtre? But do you not see, madame,"he continued, bending his brows and speaking in the tone he used tocommon criminals, "that all the wives in Paris might poison theirhusbands, and when they were found out say 'It was a love-potion,' ifyou are to escape? No, no; we must have some better tale than that."

  She looked at him in terror and shame. "I have no other," she criedwildly. "That is the truth. If you do not believe me, there isNotredame. Ask him."

  "You applied to be confronted with him some time back," the Presidentanswered, looking aside at his colleagues, who nodded. "Is that stillyour desire?"

  She murmured "Yes," with dry lips.

  "Then let him be called," the judge answered solemnly. "Let SolomonNotredame be called and confronted with the accused."

  The order was received with a general stir, a movement of curiosityand expectation. Those in the galleries leaned forward to see thebetter; those at the back stood up. Madame, with her lips parted andher breath coming quickly--madame, the poor centre of all--gazed withher soul in her eyes towards the door at which she saw others gazing.All for her depended on this man--the man she was about to see. Wouldhe lie and accuse her? Or would he tell the truth and corroborate herstory--say, in a word, that she had come for a love-charm, and not forpoison? Surely this last? Surely it would be to his interest?

  But while she gazed with her soul in her eyes, the door which had beenpartly opened fell shut again, and disappointed her. At the samemoment there was a general movement and rustling round her, anuprising in every part of the chamber. In bewilderment, almost inimpatience, she turned towards the judges and found that they hadrisen too. Then through a door behind them she saw six gentlemen filein, with a flash and sparkle of colour that lit up the sombre bench.The first was the king.

  Louis was about thirty-five years old at this time--a dark, sallowman, wearing black, with a wide-leafed hat, in which a costly diamondsecured a plume of white feathers. He carried a walking cane, andsaluted the judges as he entered, Three gentlemen--two about theking's age, the third a burly, soldierly man of sixty--followed him,and took their places behind the canopied chair placed for him. Thefifth to enter--but he passed behind the judges and took a chair whichstood on their left--wore a red robe trimmed with fur, and a small redcap. He was a man of middle height and pale complexion, keen Italianfeatures and bright piercing eyes, and so far was not remarkable. Buthe had also a coal-black moustache and chin tuft, and milk-white hair;and this contrast won him recognition everywhere. He was Armand Jeandu Plessis, Duke and Cardinal Richelieu, soldier, priest, andplaywriter, and for sixteen years the ruler of France.

  Madame gazed at them with a beating heart, with wild hopes that wouldrise, despite herself. But, oh God! how coldly their eyes met hers!With what a stony stare! With what curiosity, indifference, contempt!Alas, they had come for that. They had come to stare. This was theirChristmas show--part of their Christmas revels. And she--she was awoman on her trial, a poisoner, a murderess, a vile thing to bequestioned, tortured, dragged to a shameful death!

  For a moment or two the king talked with the judges. Then he sat backin his chair. The President made a sign, and an usher in a sonorousvoice cried, "Solomon Notredame! Let Solomon Notredame stand forth!"

  CHAPTER X.

  TWO WITNESSES.

  Madame de Vidoche heard the name and braced herself again, turningtowards the door as others turned, and waiting with dry lips andfeverish eyes for the man who was to save her--to save her in spite ofking and court. Would he never come? The door stood open, remainedopen. She could see through it the passage with its bare walls anddusky ceiling, and hear in the hushed silence a noise of shufflingfeet. Gradually the noise grew louder; though it still seemed a thingby itself, and so distant that in the court where they waited, withevery eye expectant, the slightest sound, the lowest whisper wasaudible. When the usher cried again, "Solomon Notredame, standforward!" more than one glanced at him angrily. He balked theirexpectation.

  Ha! at last! But they were carrying him! Madame shivered slightly asshe watched the four men come slowly along the passage, bearing ac
hair between them. At the door they stumbled and paused, giving hertime to think. They had been racking him, then, and he could not walk;she might have guessed it. Her cheek, white before, became a shadeghastlier, and she clutched the bar with a firmer grip.

  They brought him slowly down the three steps and through the narrowpassage towards her. The men who carried him blocked her view, but shesaw presently that there was something odd about his head. When theyset him down, three paces from her, she saw what it was. His face wascovered. There was a loose cloth over his head, and he leaned forwardin a strange way.

  What did it mean? She began to tremble, gazing at him wildly,expecting she knew not what. And he did not move.

  "THEY WERE CARRYING HIM" (_p_. 192).]

  Suddenly the President's solemn voice broke the silence. "Madame," hesaid--but it seemed to her that he was speaking a long way off--"hereis your witness. You asked to be confronted with him, and the court,hoping that this may be the more merciful way of inducing you toconfess your crime, assent to the request. But I warn you that he is awitness not for you, but against you. He has confessed."

  For a moment she looked dumbly at the speaker; then her eyes went backto the veiled figure in the chair--it had a horrible attraction forher.

  "Unhappy woman," the President continued, in solemn accents, "he hasconfessed. Will you now, before you look upon him, do likewise?"

  She shook her head. She would have denied, protested, cried that shewas not guilty; but her throat was parched--she had lost her voice,hope, all. There was a drumming noise in the court; or perhaps it wasin her head. It was growing dark, too.

  "He has confessed," she heard the President go on--but he was speakinga long, long way off now, and his voice came to her ears dully--"byexecuting on himself that punishment which otherwise the law wouldhave imposed. Are you still obstinate? Let the face be uncovered then.Now, wretched woman, look on your accomplice."

  Perhaps he spoke in mercy, and to prepare her; for she looked, anddid not at once swoon, though the sight of that dead yellow face, withits stony eyes and open mouth, drew shrieks from more than one. Theself-poisoner had done his work well. The sombre features wore even indeath a cynical grin, the lips a smile of triumph. But this was on thesurface. In the glassy eyes, dull and lustreless, lurked--as all sawwho gazed closely--a horror; a look of sudden awakening, as if in themoment of dissolution the wicked man had come face to face withjudgment; and, triumphant over his earthly foes, had met on thethreshold of the dark world a shape that froze the very marrow in hisbones.

  Grimmest irony that he who had so long sported with the things ofdeath, and traded on men's fear of it, should himself be brought heredead, to be exposed and gazed at! Of small use now his tricks andchemicals, his dark knowledge and the mystery in which he had wrappedhimself. Orcus had him, grim head, black heart and all.

  A moment, I have said, madame stared. Then gradually the truth, thehideous truth, came home to her. He was dead! He had killed himself!The horror of it overcame her at last. With a shuddering cry she fellswooning to the floor.

  When she came to herself again--after how long an interval shecould not tell--and the piled faces and sharp outlines of the courtbegan to shape themselves out of the mist, her first thought, asremembrance returned, was of the ghastly figure in the chair. With aneffort--someone was sponging her forehead, and would have restrainedher--she turned her head and looked. To her relief it was gone. Shesighed, and closing her eyes lay for a time inert, hearing the hum ofvoices, but paying no attention. But gradually the misery of herposition took hold of her again, and with a faint moan she looked up.

  In a moment she fell to trembling and crying softly, for her eyes metthose of the woman who stooped over her and read there something new,strange, wonderful--kindness. The woman patted her hand softly, andmurmured to her to be still and to listen. She was listening herselfbetween times, and presently madame followed her example.

  Dull as her senses still were, she noticed that the king sat forwardwith an odd keen look on his face, that the judges seemed startled,that even the Cardinal's pale features were slightly flushed. And notone of all had eyes for her. They were looking at a boy who stood atthe end of the table, beside a priest. The cold light from a windowfell full on his face, and he was speaking. "I listened," she heardhim say. "Yes."

  "And how long a time elapsed before Madame de Vidoche came?" thePresident asked, continuing, apparently, an examination of which shehad missed the first part.

  "Half an hour, I think," the boy answered, in a clear, bold tone.

  "You are sure it was poison he required?"

  "I am sure."

  "And madame?"

  "A love-philtre."

  "You heard both interviews?"

  "Both."

  "You are sure of the arrangement made between Vidoche and this man, ofwhich you have told us? That the poison should be given to madame inthe form of a love-philtre? That she might take it herself?"

  "I am sure."

  "And it was you who ran after Madame de Vidoche and told her that thedraught was to be given to her husband instead?"

  "Yes."

  "Do you acknowledge, then," the President continued slowly, "that itwas you who, in fact, killed M. de Vidoche?"

  For the first time the boy faltered and stumbled, and looked this wayand that as if for a chance of escape. But there was none, and FatherBernard, by laying his hand on his arm, seemed to give him courage. "Ido," he answered, in a low tone.

  "Why?" the President demanded, with a quick look at his colleagues. Hespoke amid an irrepressible murmur of interest. The tale had been toldonce, but it was a tale that bore telling.

  "Because--I heard him plan his wife's death--and I thought it right,"the boy stammered, terror growing in his eyes. "I wanted to save her.I did not know. I did not think."

  The President looked towards the king, but suddenly from an unexpectedquarter came an interruption. Madame rose trembling to her feet andstood grasping the bar before her. Her face passed from white to red,and red to white. Her eyes glittered through her tears. The womanbeside her would have held her back, but she would not be restrained."What is this?" she panted. "Does he say that my husband was--there?"

  "Yes, madame, he does," the President answered indulgently.

  "And that he came for poison--for me?"

  "He says so, madame."

  She looked at him for a moment wildly, then sank back on her stool andbegan to sob. She had gone through so many emotions; love and death,shame and fear, had so sported with her during the last few days thatshe could taste nothing to the full now, neither sweet nor bitter. Asthe dawning of life and hope had left her rather dazed than thankful,so this stab, that a little earlier would have pierced her veryheartstrings, did but prick her. Afterwards the thankfulness and thepain--and the healing--might come. But here in the presence of allthese people, where so much had happened to her, she could only sobweakly.

  The President turned again to the king. Louis nodded, and with apainful effort--for he stammered terribly--spoke. "Who is th-thislad?" he said. "Ask him."

  The judge bowed and returned to the witness. "You call yourself Jeande Bault?" he said somewhat roughly. The name, and especially theparticle, displeased him.

  The boy assented.

  "Who are you, then?"

  Jehan opened his mouth to answer, but Father Bernard interposed. "TellHis Majesty," he said, "what you told me."

  After a moment's hesitation the boy complied, speaking fast, with hisface on his breast and a flushed cheek. Nevertheless, in the silenceevery word reached the ear. "I am Jehan de Bault," he pattered in histreble voice, "seigneur of I know not where, and lord of seventeenlordships in the county of Perigord----" and so on, and so on, throughthe quaint formula to which we have listened more than once.

  Ninety-nine out of a hundred who heard him, heard him with increduloussurprise, and took the tale for a mountebank's patter; though patter,they acknowledged it was of a novel kind, aptly made and wel
l spoken.Two or three of the bolder laughed. There had been little to laugh atbefore. The king moved restlessly in his chair, saying, "Pish! Wh-hatis this rubbish? What is he s-saying?"

  The President frowned, and taking his cue from the king, was about torebuke the boy sharply, when one who had not before spoken, but whosevoice in an instant produced silence among high and low, intervened."The tale rings true!" the Cardinal said, in low, suave accents. "Butthere is no family of Bault in Perigord, is there?"

  "With His Majesty's permission, no!" replied a bluff, hearty voice;and therewith the elderly soldier who had come in with the kingadvanced a pace to the side of his master's chair. "I am of Perigord,and know, your Eminence," he continued. "More. Two months ago I sawthis lad--I recognise him now--at the fair of Fecamp. He wasdifferently dressed then, but he had the same tale, except that he didnot mention Perigord."

  "S-someone has taught it him," said the king.

  "Your Majesty is doubtless right," the President answeredobsequiously. Then to the boy he continued, "Speak, boy; who taught ityou?"

  But Jehan only shook his head and looked puzzled. At last, beingpressed, he said, "At Bault, in Perigord."

  "There is no such place!" M. de Bresly cried roundly.

  Father Bernard looked distressed. He began to repent that he had ledthe child to tell the tale; he began to fear that it might hurtinstead of helping. Perhaps after all he had been too credulous. Butagain the Cardinal came to the rescue.

  "Is there any family in Perigord can boast of three marshals, M. deBresly?" he asked, in his thin incisive tones.

  "None that I know of. Several that can boast of two."

  "The blood of Roland?"

  M. de Bresly shrugged his shoulders. "It is common to all of us," hesaid, smiling.

  The great Cardinal smiled, too--a flickering, quickly-passing smile.Then he leaned forward and fixed the boy with his fierce black eyes."What was your father's name?" he said.

  Jehan shook his head, impotently, miserably.

  "Where did you live?"

  The same result. The king threw himself back and muttered, "It is nogood." The President moved in his seat. Some in the galleries began towhisper.

  But the Cardinal raised his hand imperiously. "Can you read?" he said.

  "No," Jehan murmured.

  "Then your arms?" The Cardinal spoke rapidly now, and his face wasgrowing hard. "They were over the gate, over the door, over thefireplace. Think--look back--reflect. What were they?"

  For a moment. Jehan stared at him in bewilderment, flinching under thegaze of those piercing eyes. Then on a sudden the boy's face grewcrimson. He raised his hand eagerly. "_Or, on a mount vert!_" he criedimpetuously--and stopped. But presently, in a different voice, headded slowly, "It was a tree--on a hill."

  With a swift look of triumph the Cardinal turned to M. de Bresly."Now," he said, "that belongs to----"

  The soldier nodded almost sulkily. "It is Madame de Vidoche's," hesaid.

  "And her name was----"

  "Martinbault. Mademoiselle de Martinbault!"

  A murmur of astonishment rose from every part of the court. For amoment the King, the Cardinal, the President, M. de Bresly, all wereinaudible. The air seemed full of exclamations, questions, answers; itrang with the words, "Bault--Martinbault!" Everywhere people rose tosee the boy, or craned forward and slipped with a clattering noise.Etiquette, reverence, even the presence of the king, went for nothingin the rush of excitement. It was long before the ushers could obtainsilence, or any get a hearing.

  Then M. de Bresly, who looked as much excited as any, and as red inthe face, was found to be speaking. "Pardieu, sire, it may be so!" hewas heard to say. "It is true enough, as I now remember. A child waslost in that family about eight years back. But it was at the time ofthe Rochelle expedition; the province was full of trouble, and M. andMadame de Martinbault were just dead; and little was made of it. Allthe same, this may be the boy. Nay, it is a thousand to one he is!"

  "What is he, then, to M--Madame de V--Vidoche?" the king asked, withan effort. He was vastly excited--for him.

  "A brother, sire," M. de Bresly answered.

  That word pierced at last through the dulness which wrapped madame'sfaculties, and had made her impervious to all that had gone before.She rose slowly, listened, looked at the boy---looked with growingwonder, like one awakening from a dream. Possibly in that moment thelater years fell from her, and she saw herself again a child--a tall,lanky girl playing in the garden of the old chateau with a littletoddling boy who ran and lisped, beat her sturdily with fat, bare armsor cuddled to her for kisses. For with a sudden gesture she stretchedout her hands, and cried in a clear voice, "Jean! Jean! It is littleJean!"

  * * * * *

  It became the fashion--a fashion which lasted half a dozen years atleast--to call that Christmas the Martinbault Christmas; so loudly didthose who were present at that famous examination, and the discoverywhich attended it, profess that it exceeded all the other amusementsof the year, not excepting even the great ball at the Palais Cardinal,from which every lady carried off an _etrenne_ worth a year'spin-money. The story became the rage. Those who had been present drovetheir friends, who had not been so fortunate, to the verge of madness.From the court the tale spread to the markets. Men made a broadsheetof it, and sold it in the streets--in the Rue Touchet, and under thegallows at Montfaucon, where the body of Solomon Notredame withered inthe spring rains. Had Madame de Vidoche and the child stayed in Paris,it must have offended their ears ten times a day.

  "A MAN HALF-NAKED ... CRAWLED ON TO THE HIGHROAD" (_p_.212).]

  But they did not. As soon as madame could be moved, she retired withthe boy to the old house four leagues from Perigueux, and there, inthe quiet land where the name of Martinbault ranked with the name ofthe king, she sought to forget her married life. She took her maidentitle, and in the boy's breeding, in works of mercy, in a hundrednoble and fitting duties entirely to her taste, succeeded in findingpeace, and presently happiness. But one thing neither time, norchange, nor in the event love, could erase from her mind; and that wasa deep-seated dread of the great city in which she had suffered somuch. She never returned to Paris.

  About a year after the trial a man with crafty, foxy eyes camewandering through Perigueux, with a monkey on his shoulder. He saw notfar from the road--as his evil-star would have it--an old chateaustanding low among trees. The place promised well, and he went to itand began to perform before the servants in the courtyard. Presentlythe lord of the house, a young boy, came out to see him.

  More need not be said, save that an hour later a man, half naked,covered with duckweed, and aching in every bone, crawled on to thehighroad, and went on his way in sadness--with his mouth full ofcurses; and that for years afterwards a monkey, answering to the nameof Taras, teased the dogs, and plucked the ivy, and gambolled at willon the great south terrace at Martinbault.

  THE END.

  * * * * *Printed by Cassell & Company, Limited. La Belle Sauvage, London, E.C.