As for the duke, deciding to play the parts of Orgon and Géronte1 to the end, he returned to Nanon and kissed her hand.
‘Come now, dear friend,’ he said. ‘The crisis is over, I hope. Collect yourself. I’m leaving you with this brother whom you love so much, because the queen is asking for me. Believe me when I tell you that it would take nothing less than an order from Her Majesty to make me leave you in such circumstances.’
Nanon felt that she was about to collapse. She did not have the strength to reply, but stared at Cauvignac and pressed his hand as though saying: ‘You haven’t deceived me, have you, Brother? I really can hope?’
Cauvignac replied to this pressure of her hand with an equal pressure of his own and, turning back to the duke, said: ‘Yes, Duke, at least the worst of the crisis is past, and my sister will understand that she has a faithful friend and a devoted heart beside her, ready to do anything to restore her to freedom and happiness.’
Nanon could not bear it any longer. She burst into tears, strong-minded and self-controlled though she was. She had suffered so much that she was no more than an ordinary woman, which is to say, weak and needing to cry. The Duke d’Epernon left, shaking his head and giving a look that meant he entrusted Nanon to Cauvignac. Hardly had he gone than Nanon cried, ‘Oh, how that man made me suffer! If he had stayed an instant longer, I think I should have died.’
Cauvignac motioned to her to keep quiet. Then he went and put his ear to the door to make sure that the duke was really leaving.
‘What do I care!’ said Nanon. ‘Let him listen or not! You whispered two words to reassure me. Tell me… What do you think? What are your hopes?’
‘Sister,’ Cauvignac replied, putting on a serious air that was not at all usual with him. ‘I shan’t say that I am certain of success, but I repeat what I have already told you, which is that I shall do everything I can.’
‘Succeed in what?’ Nanon asked. ‘Do we really understand one another this time or is there some dreadful misunderstanding between us again?’
‘Succeed in saving poor Canolles.’
Nanon looked at him with terrible intensity.
‘He’s finished, isn’t he?’
‘Alas,’ said Cauvignac, ‘if you’re asking for my honest opinion, I must admit that things don’t look good.’
‘How calmly he says it!’ Nanon exclaimed. ‘You do realize, don’t you, wretch, what that man means to me?’
‘I know that he’s a man whom you prefer to your own brother, since you would rather save his life than mine, and when you saw me you greeted me with a curse.’ Nanon made an impatient gesture. ‘Why, you’re quite right,’ Cauvignac went on. ‘I’m not saying this to you as a reproach, but as a simple observation. Because, I can say with my hand on my heart that if we were still, both of us, in the dungeon at the Château-Trompette, and I knew what I do now, I should say to Monsieur de Canolles: “Nanon has called you her brother, and you are the one who is being asked for, not I.” And he would have come in my place, and I have died in his.’
‘Then he is to die!’ Nanon exclaimed with an outpouring of grief which proves that in the most rational minds the idea of death is never a certainty, but always a dread, since asserting it has such a violent effect. ‘Then he is to die!’
‘All I can tell you, Sister,’ said Cauvignac, ‘is this, which must serve as the basis for our actions. It is nine in the evening. A lot may have happened in the two hours during which I have been escaping. Don’t despair, for goodness’ sake, because it could well be that absolutely nothing has happened. And I have an idea.’
‘Tell me, quickly.’
‘A league from Bordeaux I have a hundred men and my lieutenant.’
‘Can he be trusted?’
‘It’s Ferguzon.’
‘So?’
‘So, Sister, whatever Monsieur de Bouillon says, whatever Monsieur de La Rochefoucauld does, and whatever the princess thinks – and she thinks herself a better captain than those two generals – I think that with a hundred men, by sacrificing half of them, I could reach Monsieur de Canolles.’
‘No, you’re wrong, Brother. You won’t manage it! You won’t manage it!’
‘By heaven, I will, or die in the attempt.’
‘Alas, your death would convince me of your goodwill, but not save him. He is lost!’
‘And I tell you he isn’t, even if I have to take his place!’ Cauvignac exclaimed, even surprising himself with this outburst of near selflessness.
‘Take his place?’
‘Yes, indeed I would, because no one has any reason to hate that good man, Canolles, and everyone loves him, or almost, while people detest me.’
‘You? Why do they detest you?’
‘Why, quite simply because I have the honour to be linked to you by the closest of blood ties. Excuse me, dear Sister, but what I have just said is extremely flattering for a good royalist.’
‘One moment,’ Nanon said slowly, putting a finger to her lips.
‘What?’
‘You’re saying that the people of Bordeaux hate me?’
‘I might even say that they loathe you.’
‘Really?’ Nanon said with a smile that was half thoughtful and half happy.
‘I didn’t think that I was telling you something that you wanted to hear.’
‘You’re wrong,’ said Nanon. ‘I did, it’s very gratifying, or at least it makes good sense. Yes, you’re right,’ she continued, talking to herself rather than to her brother. ‘It is not Canolles that they hate, or you, for that matter. Wait a moment…’
She got up, wound a long silk cloak about her lithe and ardent form, sat down at the table and hastily wrote some lines that Cauvignac guessed must be quite important, to judge by her flushed face and the heaving of her breast.
‘Take this,’ she said, sealing the letter. ‘Hurry alone, with no servants or escort, to Bordeaux. There is a mare in the stable that can cover the distance in an hour. Get there as fast as humanly possible, and take this letter to the princess. Canolles will be saved.’
Cauvignac looked at his sister with astonishment, but knowing the sharp intelligence of her strong mind, he did not waste time in discussion. He ran to the stable, leapt on the horse she had mentioned and within half an hour was already more than halfway to Bordeaux. As for Nanon, as soon as she had seen him start on his way through her window, she knelt down and, despite her unbelief, said a short prayer. Then she placed her gold, jewels and diamonds in a chest, called for a carriage and got Finette to dress her in her finest clothes.
II
Night was falling over Bordeaux, and, apart from the district around the Esplanade towards which everyone was hurrying, the town seemed to be deserted. There was no sound apart from the footsteps of nightwatchmen in the streets far from this particular place, and no human voice, except that of a few old women returning home and shutting their doors in terror.
But near the Esplanade, far away in the evening mist, one could hear a dull, continuous rumble like the roar of an ebbing tide.
The princess had just finished her correspondence and informed the Duke de La Rochefoucauld that she could receive him. At her feet, crouching on a rug and studying her face and mood with the most acute anxiety, was Madame de Cambes, who seemed to be waiting for a chance to speak; however, this disciplined patience and studied modesty were contradicted by the wringing of her hands as they twisted and tore her handkerchief.
‘Seventy-seven signatures!’ the princess exclaimed. ‘You see, Claire, it’s not all fun playing at being queen.’
‘Yes, Madame,’ said the viscountess. ‘Because by taking the queen’s place you have assumed her finest privilege, which is that of granting mercy.’
‘And of punishing, Claire,’ the Princess de Condé replied, arrogantly. ‘Because one of these seventy-seven signatures is placed under a death sentence.’
‘And the seventy-eighth will be under a letter of pardon, won’t it, Madame?’ Claire added in a b
eseeching tone.
‘What are you saying, child?’
‘I’m saying that I think it is time for me to go and free my prisoner. Wouldn’t you like me to spare him the frightful sight of his companion being led off to die? Madame, since you are granting a pardon, let it be a full and total one.’
‘Why, indeed! You are right, child. In the midst of all these grave concerns, I had forgotten my promise. You did well to remind me of it.’
‘And so…’ said Claire, joyfully.
‘And so, do as you wish.’
‘Then one more signature, Madame,’ Claire said with a smile that would have softened the hardest heart, a smile that no painting could convey, because it is a smile that belongs only to a woman in love, in other words to life in its most divine essence.
She put a paper on the table in front of the princess, and showed her place where her hand should write.
Madame de Condé wrote: ‘Order to the Governor of the Château-Trompette to allow Madame the Viscountess de Cambes access to Monsieur the Baron de Canolles, to whom we are granting full and total freedom.’
‘Will that do?’ the princess asked.
‘Oh, yes, Madame!’ cried Madame de Cambes.
‘And I must sign it?’
‘Yes, indeed.’
‘Well, then dear,’ said Madame de Condé, with her most charming smile, ‘I must do all that you wish.’
And she signed.
Claire fell on the paper like an eagle on its prey. She hardly took the time to thank Her Highness, before pressing the paper to her heart and rushing out of the room.
On the stairs, she met the Duke de La Rochefoucauld, whose perambulations through the town were always followed by quite a large body of captains and admiring citizens. Claire gave him a happy little wave. De La Rochefoucauld, surprised by this, stopped for a moment on the landing, and before going in the Madame de Condé’s room, continued to look at Claire until she reached the bottom of the staircase. Then, coming in to Her Highness’s room, he said: ‘Everything is ready, Madame.’
‘Where?’
‘There.’
The Duchess racked her brains.
‘On the Esplanade,’ the duke explained.
‘Very good,’ said the princess, pretending to be quite calm, because she felt that he was looking at her, and, though her feminine nature told her to shudder, she thought more of her dignity as the leader of her faction and that told her not to weaken. ‘Very well, if everything is ready, go on, Duke.’
The duke paused.
‘Do you think it proper that I should be present?’ the princess asked, her voice trembling slightly – something that, despite her strength of will, she could not entirely suppress.
‘As you wish, Madame,’ replied the duke, who might very well have been engaged at that moment in one of his studies of human nature.
‘We shall see, then. You know that I have pardoned many condemned persons.’
‘Yes, Madame.’
‘And what do you say about that?’
‘I say that everything Your Highness does is well done.’
‘Yes,’ the princess went on. ‘I prefer that. It would be more worthy of us to show the Epernonists that we are not afraid of taking reprisals, to deal on equal terms with His Majesty, to show that we are confident in our own strength and so return ill for ill without anger or excess.’
‘Most politic.’
‘Isn’t it, Duke?’ said the princess, trying to perceive Monsieur de La Rochefoucauld’s real intentions behind his measured tones.
‘However,’ the duke went on, ‘it is still your view that one of the two men should compensate for the death of Richon, because if that death is left unrevenged, it will be thought that Your Highness has little regard for the brave men who devote themselves to your service.’
‘Oh, yes, definitely, one of the two will die, on my word. Don’t worry.’
‘Might I know which of the two Your Highness has seen fit to pardon?’
‘Monsieur de Canolles.’
‘Ah!’
This ‘Ah!’ was said in a peculiar manner.
‘Do you have something in particular against that gentleman, Duke?’ the princess asked.
‘Madame! Do I ever have anything for or against someone? I put men into two categories: obstacles and supports. The first must be overthrown and the second encouraged… as long as they support us. That is my policy; I might almost say my morality.’
‘What trouble is he stirring up here?’ Lenet thought to himself. ‘What is he up to? He seems to hate that poor Canolles.’
‘Very well, then,’ said the duke. ‘If Your Highness has no further orders for me…’
‘No, Duke.’
‘I shall take leave of Your Highness.’
‘So it’s to be this evening…’
‘In a quarter of an hour.’
Lenet prepared to follow the duke.
‘Are you going to watch it, Lenet?’ asked the princess.
‘Oh, no, Madame,’ he said. ‘I don’t like these shocks, as you know. I shall be content to go halfway, as far as the prison, and see the moving scene of poor Canolles being freed by the woman he loves.’
The duke pulled a face of philosophical scepticism, Lenet shrugged his shoulders and the funerary procession left the palace for the prison.
Madame de Cambes had only taken five minutes to cover the same distance. When she arrived, she showed the order to the sentry at the drawbridge, then to the guardian at the gate, then called for the governor.
The governor examined the order with that dull eye that governors have, when they never get excited over death sentences or pardons. He recognized Madame de Condé’s seal and signature, bowed to the messenger and, turning towards the gate, said: ‘Call the lieutenant.’
Then he motioned to Madame de Cambes to sit down. But she was so anxious that she had to move about to combat her impatience, and she remained standing. The governor felt he should say something.
‘Do you know Monsieur de Canolles?’ he asked, in the tone of voice he might have used to enquire about the weather.
‘Oh, yes, Monsieur!’ the viscountess replied.
‘Is he your brother, perhaps, Madame?’
‘No, Monsieur.’
‘A friend?’
‘He is… my fiancé,’ said Madame de Cambes, hoping that this confession would encourage the governor to make a little more haste to release the prisoner.
‘Ah!’ said the governor, with no change in his tone of voice. ‘I offer you my compliments, Madame.’ And, having no more questions, he lapsed back into immobility and silence.
The lieutenant came in.
‘Monsieur d’Outremont,’ the governor said. ‘Call for the turnkey-in-chief and have Monsieur de Canolles set free. Here is the order for his release.’
The lieutenant bowed and took the paper.
‘Would you like to wait here?’ the governor asked.
‘Might I be permitted to follow this gentleman?’
‘You may, Madame.’
‘Then I shall. You understand, I should like to be the first to tell him that he is safe.’
‘Very well, Madame, and please accept the assurance of my respects.’
Madame de Cambes quickly curtsied to the governor and followed the lieutenant. This was the same young man who had already spoken to Canolles and Cauvignac, and his sympathy made him hasten all the more. In a moment he and Madame de Cambes were in the courtyard.
‘The chief turnkey!’ the lieutenant shouted. Then, turning to Madame de Cambes, he added: ‘Have no fear, Madame. He will be here in a moment.’
The second turnkey came.
‘The turnkey-in-chief has vanished, lieutenant,’ he said. ‘We have called for him in vain.’
‘Oh, Monsieur!’ said Madame de Cambes. ‘Is this going to cause some further delay?’
‘No, Madame. The order is clear. Don’t worry.’
Madame de Cambes thanked him with one of t
hose looks that one only sees on the faces of women and angels.
‘Do you have the spare keys for all the cells?’ Monsieur d’Outremont asked.
‘Yes, Lieutenant,’ said the turnkey.
‘Then open the cell of Monsieur de Canolles.’
‘Monsieur de Canolles in number two?’
‘Exactly, number two. Quickly, open it.’
‘In any case,’ said the turnkey, ‘I think they’re both together. We’ll choose the right one.’
Jailers in every day and age have always been facetious. But Madame de Cambes was too happy to mind the crude joke. On the contrary, she was smiling: if necessary, she would kiss the man to make him hurry up, so that she could see Canolles a second earlier.
Finally, the door opened. Canolles, who had heard footsteps in the corridor and recognized the viscountess’s voice, threw himself into her arms, while she, sublimely unaffected by modesty, forgetting that he was neither her husband nor her lover, hugged him with all her strength. The danger that he had been in and the eternal separation that had loomed before them like an abyss purified everything.
‘Well, my friend!’ she said, glowing with joy and pride. ‘You see that I have kept my word. I have obtained a pardon for you, as I promised. Now I have come to fetch you and take you away.’
Even as she spoke, she was pulling Canolles towards the corridor.
‘Monsieur,’ the lieutenant told him. ‘You may devote all your life to this lady, because you certainly owe it to her.’
Canolles did not answer, but his eyes looked tenderly at the liberating angel, while his hand was clasping that of the woman.
‘Don’t be in such a hurry,’ the lieutenant said, smiling. ‘It’s over, you’re free, so take time opening your wings.’
But Madame de Cambes, taking no notice of these reassuring words, continued to pull Canolles down the corridor. He did not resist, exchanging signs with the lieutenant. They arrived at the staircase, and the two lovers went down it as though they really had the wings that the lieutenant had just mentioned. Finally, they reached the courtyard. One last door and the atmosphere of the prison would no longer weigh on their poor hearts…
Finally, the last door opened. But on the far side of it was a group of gentlemen, guards and archers blocking the drawbridge. It was Monsieur de La Rochefoucauld and his supporters.
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