The Honor of the Name

by Emile Gaboriau

  CHAPTER XXXII

  Alone in his cell, Chanlouineau, after Marie-Anne's departure, abandonedhimself to the most frightful despair.

  He had just given more than life to the woman he loved so fervently.

  For had he not, in the hope of obtaining an interview with her, perilledhis honor by simulating the most ignoble fear? While doing so, hethought only of the success of his ruse. But now he knew only too wellwhat those who had witnessed his apparent weakness would say of him.

  "This Chanlouineau is only a miserable coward after all," he fancied hecould hear them saying among themselves. "We have seen him on his knees,begging for mercy, and promising to betray his accomplices."

  The thought that his memory would be tarnished with charges of cowardiceand treason drove him nearly mad.

  He actually longed for death, since it would give him an opportunity toretrieve his honor.

  "They shall see, then," he cried, wrathfully, "if I turn pale andtremble before the soldiers."

  He was in this state of mind when the door opened to admit the Marquisde Courtornieu, who, after seeing Mlle. Lacheneur leave the prison, cameto Chanlouineau to ascertain the result of her visit.

  "Well, my good fellow--" began the marquis, in his most condescendingmanner.

  "Leave!" cried Chanlouineau, in a fury of passion. "Leave, or----"

  Without waiting to hear the end of the sentence the marquis made hisescape, greatly surprised and not a little dismayed by this suddenchange.

  "What a dangerous and blood-thirsty rascal!" he remarked to the guard."It would, perhaps, be advisable to put him in a strait-jacket!"

  Ah! there was no necessity for that. The heroic peasant had thrownhimself upon his straw pallet, oppressed with feverish anxiety.

  Would Marie-Anne know how to make the best use of the weapon which hehad placed in her hands?

  If he hoped so, it was because she would have as her counsellor andguide a man in whose judgment he had the most implicit confidence--AbbeMidon.

  "Martial will be afraid of the letter," he said to himself, again andagain; "certainly he will be afraid."

  In this Chanlouineau was entirely mistaken. His discernment andintelligence were certainly above his station, but he was notsufficiently acute to read a character like that of the young Marquis deSairmeuse.

  The document which he had written in a moment of _abandon_ andblindness, was almost without influence in determining his course.

  He pretended to be greatly alarmed, in order to frighten his father; butin reality he considered the threat puerile.

  Marie-Anne would have obtained the same assistance from him if she hadnot possessed this letter.

  Other influences had decided him: the difficulties and dangers of theundertaking, the risks to be incurred, the prejudices to be braved.

  To save the life of Baron d'Escorval--an enemy--to wrest him from theexecution on the very steps of the scaffold, as it were, seemed to hima delightful enterprise. And to assure the happiness of the woman headored by saving the life of an enemy, even after his suit had beenrefused, seemed a chivalrous act worthy of him.

  Besides, what an opportunity it afforded for the exercise of his_sang-froid_, his diplomatic talent, and the _finesse_ upon which heprided himself!

  It was necessary to make his father his dupe. That was an easy task.

  It was necessary to impose upon the credulity of the Marquis deCourtornieu. This was a difficult task, yet he succeeded.

  But poor Chanlouineau could not conceive of such contradictions, and hewas consumed with anxiety.

  Willingly would he have consented to be put to the torture beforereceiving his death-blow, if he might have been allowed to followMarie-Anne in her undertakings.

  What was she doing? How could he ascertain?

  A dozen times during the evening he called his guards, under everypossible pretext, and tried to compel them to talk with him. He knewvery well that these men could be no better informed on the subject thanhe was himself, that he could place no confidence in their reports--butthat made no difference.

  The drums beat for the evening roll-call, then for the extinguishment oflights--after that, silence.

  Standing at the window of his cell, Chanlouineau concentrated all hisfaculties in a superhuman effort of attention.

  It seemed to him if the baron regained his liberty, he would be warnedof it by some sign. Those whom he had saved owed him, he thought, thisslight token of gratitude.

  A little after two o'clock he heard sounds that made him tremble. Therewas a great bustle in the corridors; guards running to and fro, andcalling each other, a rattling of keys, and the opening and shutting ofdoors.

  The passage was suddenly illuminated; he looked out, and by theuncertain light of the lanterns, he thought he saw Lacheneur, as pale asa ghost, pass the cell, led by some soldiers.

  Lacheneur! Could this be possible? He doubted his own eyesight. Hethought it must be a vision born of the fever burning in his brain.

  Later, he heard a despairing cry. But was it surprising that one shouldhear such a sound in a prison, where twenty men condemned to death weresuffering the agony of that terrible night which precedes the day ofexecution.

  At last, the gray light of early dawn came creeping in through theprison-bars. Chanlouineau was in despair.

  "The letter was useless!" he murmured.

  Poor generous peasant! His heart would have leaped for joy could he havecast a glance on the courtyard of the citadel.

  More than an hour had passed after the sounding of the _reveille_, whentwo countrywomen, who were carrying their butter and eggs to market,presented themselves at the gate of the fortress.

  They declared that while passing through the fields at the base of theprecipitous cliff upon which the citadel was built, they had discovereda rope dangling from the side of the rock. A rope! Then one of thecondemned prisoners must have escaped. The guards hastened to Barond'Escorval's room--it was empty.

  The baron had fled, taking with him the man who had been left to guardhim--Corporal Bavois, of the grenadiers.

  The amazement was as intense as the indignation, but the fright wasstill greater.

  There was not a single officer who did not tremble on thinking ofhis responsibility; not one who did not see his hopes of advancementblighted forever.

  What should they say to the formidable Duc de Sairmeuse and to theMarquis de Courtornieu, who, in spite of his calm and polished manners,was almost as much to be feared. It was necessary to warn them, however,and a sergeant was despatched with the news.

  Soon they made their appearance, accompanied by Martial; all frightfullyangry.

  M. de Sairmeuse especially seemed beside himself.

  He swore at everybody, accused everybody, threatened everybody.

  He began by consigning all the keepers and guards to prison; he eventalked of demanding the dismissal of all the officers.

  "As for that miserable Bavois," he exclaimed, "as for that cowardlydeserter, he shall be shot as soon as we capture him, and we willcapture him, you may depend upon it!"

  They had hoped to appease the duke's wrath a little, by informing him ofLacheneur's arrest; but he knew this already, for Chupin had ventured toawake him in the middle of the night to tell him the great news.

  The baron's escape afforded the duke an opportunity to exalt Chupin'smerits.

  "The man who has discovered Lacheneur will know how to find this traitord'Escorval," he remarked.

  M. de Courtornieu, who was more calm, "took measures for the restorationof a great culprit to the hand of justice," as he said.

  He sent couriers in every direction, ordering them to make closeinquiries throughout the neighborhood.

  His commands were brief, but to the point; they were to watch thefrontier, to submit all travellers to a rigorous examination, to searchthe house, and to sow the description of d'Escorval broadcast throughthe land.

  But first of all he ordered the arrest both of Abbe Midon--the Cure ofSai
rmeuse, and of the son of Baron d'Escorval.

  Among the officers present there was one, an old lieutenant, medalledand decorated, who had been deeply wounded by imputations uttered by theDuc de Sairmeuse.

  He stepped forward with a gloomy air, and said that these measures weredoubtless all very well, but the most pressing and urgent duty was toinstitute an investigation at once, which, while acquainting them withthe method of escape, would probably reveal the accomplices.

  On hearing the word "investigation," neither the Duc de Sairmeuse northe Marquis de Courtornieu could repress a slight shudder.

  They could not ignore the fact that their reputations were at stake, andthat the merest trifle might disclose the truth. A precaution neglected,the most insignificant detail, a word, a gesture might ruin theirambitious hopes forever.

  They trembled to think that this officer might be a man of unusualshrewdness, who had suspected their complicity, and was impatient toverify his presumptions.

  No, the old lieutenant had not the slightest suspicion. He had spokenon the impulse of the moment, merely to give vent to his displeasure. Hewas not even keen enough to remark the rapid glance interchanged betweenthe marquis and the duke.

  Martial noticed this look, however, and with a politeness too studiednot to be ridicule, he addressed the lieutenant:

  "Yes, we must institute an investigation; that suggestion is as shrewdas it is opportune," he remarked.

  The old officer turned away with a muttered oath.

  "That coxcomb is poking fun at me," he thought; "and he and his fatherand that prig deserve--but what is one to do?"

  In spite of his bold remark, Martial felt that he must not incur theslightest risk.

  To whom must the charge of this investigation be intrusted? To the dukeand to the marquis, of course, since they were the only persons whowould know just how much to conceal, and just how much to disclose.

  They began their task immediately, with an _empressement_ which couldnot fail to silence all doubts, in case any existed in the minds oftheir subordinates.

  But who could be suspicious? The success of the plot had been all themore certain from the fact that the baron's escape seemed likely toinjure the interests of the very parties who had favored it.

  Martial thought he knew the details of the escape as exactly as thefugitives themselves. He had been the author, even if they had been theactors, of the drama of the preceding night.

  He was soon obliged to admit that he was mistaken in this opinion.

  The investigation revealed facts which seemed incomprehensible to him.

  It was evident that the Baron d'Escorval and Corporal Bavois had beencompelled to accomplish two successive descents.

  To do this the prisoners had realized (since they had succeeded) thenecessity of having two ropes. Martial had provided them; the prisonersmust have used them. And yet only one rope could be found--the one whichthe peasant woman had perceived hanging from the rocky platform, whereit was made fast to an iron crowbar.

  From the window to the platform, there was no rope.

  "This is most extraordinary!" murmured Martial, thoughtfully.

  "Very strange!" approved M. de Courtornieu.

  "How the devil could they have reached the base of the tower?"

  "That is what I cannot understand."

  But Martial found another cause for surprise.

  On examining the rope that remained--the one which had been used inmaking the second descent--he discovered that it was not a single piece.Two pieces had been knotted together. The longest piece had evidentlybeen too short.

  How did this happen? Could the duke have made a mistake in the height ofthe cliff? or had the abbe measured the rope incorrectly?

  But Martial had also measured it with his eye, and it had seemed tohim that the rope was much longer, fully a third longer, than it nowappeared.

  "There must have been some accident," he remarked to his father and tothe marquis; "but what?"

  "Well, what does it matter?" replied the marquis, "you have thecompromising letter, have you not?"

  But Martial's was one of those minds that never rest when confronted byan unsolved problem.

  He insisted on going to inspect the rocks at the foot of the precipice.

  There they discovered large spots of blood.

  "One of the fugitives must have fallen," said Martial, quickly, "and wasdangerously wounded!"

  "Upon my word!" exclaimed the Duc de Sairmeuse, "if Baron d'Escorval hasbroken his neck, I shall be delighted!"

  Martial's face turned crimson, and he looked searchingly at his father.

  "I suppose, Monsieur, that you do not mean one word of what you aresaying," Martial said, coldly. "We pledged ourselves, upon the honor ofour name, to save Baron d'Escorval. If he has been killed it will be agreat misfortune to us, Monsieur, a great misfortune."

  When his son addressed him in his haughty and freezing tone the dukenever knew how to reply. He was indignant, but his son's was thestronger nature.

  "Nonsense!" exclaimed M. de Courtornieu; "if the rascal had merely beenwounded we should have known it."

  Such was the opinion of Chupin, who had been sent for by the duke, andwho had just made his appearance.

  But the old scoundrel, who was usually so loquacious and so officious,replied briefly; and, strange to say, did not offer his services.

  Of his imperturbable assurance, of his wonted impudence, of hisobsequious and cunning smile, absolutely nothing remained.

  His restless eyes, the contraction of his features, his gloomy manner,and the occasional shudder which he could not repress, all betrayed hissecret perturbation.

  So marked was the change that even the Duc de Sairmeuse observed it.

  "What calamity has happened to you, Master Chupin?" he inquired.

  "This has happened," he responded, sullenly: "when I was coming herethe children of the town threw mud and stones at me, and ran after me,shouting: 'Traitor! traitor!'"

  He clinched his fists; he seemed to be meditating vengeance, and headded:

  "The people of Montaignac are pleased. They know that the baron hasescaped, and they are rejoicing."

  Alas! this joy was destined to be of short duration, for this was theday appointed for the execution of the conspirators.

  It was Wednesday.

  At noon the gates of the citadel were closed, and the gloom wasprofound and universal, when the heavy rolling of drums announced thepreparations for the frightful holocaust.

  Consternation and fear spread through the town; the silence of deathmade itself felt on every side; the streets were deserted, and the doorsand shutters of every house were closed.

  At last, as three o'clock sounded, the gates of the fortress were openedto give passage to fourteen doomed men, each accompanied by a priest.

  Fourteen! for seized by remorse or fright at the last moment, M deCourtornieu and the Duc de Sairmeuse had granted a reprieve to six ofthe prisoners and at that very hour a courier was hastening toward Pariswith six petitions for pardons, signed by the Military Commission.

  Chanlouineau was not among those for whom royal clemency had beensolicited.

  When he left his cell, without knowing whether or not his letter hadavailed, he counted the condemned with poignant anxiety.

  His eyes betrayed such an agony of anguish that the priest whoaccompanied him leaned toward him and whispered:

  "For whom are you looking, my son?"

  "For Baron d'Escorval."

  "He escaped last night."

  "Ah! now I shall die content!" exclaimed the heroic peasant.

  He died as he had sworn he would die, without even changing color--calmand proud, the name of Marie-Anne upon his lips.