After peace was concluded between France and Austria, towards the end of the month of February, 1806, a relative, whose influence had been employed for the reinstatement of the Simeuse brothers, and who was destined later to give them signal proofs of family attachment, the ci-devant Marquis de Chargeboeuf, whose estates extended from the department of the Seine-et-Marne to that of the Aube, arrived one morning at Cinq-Cygne in a species of caleche which was then named in derision aberlingot. When this shabby carriage was driven past the windows the inhabitants of the chateau, who were at breakfast, were convulsed with laughter; but when the bald head of the old man was seen issuing from behind the leather curtain of the vehicle Monsieur d’Hauteserre told his name, and all present rose instantly to receive and do honor to the head of the house of Chargeboeuf.
“We have done wrong to let him come to us,” said the Marquis de Simeuse to his brother and the d’Hauteserres; “we ought to have gone to him and made our acknowledgements.”
A servant, dressed as a peasant, who drove the horses from a seat on a level with the body of the carriage, slipped his cartman’s whip into a coarse leather socket, and got down from the box to assist the marquis from the carriage; but Adrien and the younger de Simeuse prevented him, unbuttoned the leather apron, and helped the old man out in spite of his protestations. This gentleman of the old school chose to consider his yellowberlingotwith its leather curtains a most convenient and excellent equipage. The servant, assisted by Gothard, unharnessed the stout horses with shining flanks, accustomed no doubt to do as much duty at the plough as in a carriage.
“In spite of this cold weather! Why, you are a knight of the olden time,” said Laurence, to her visitor, taking his arm and leading him into the salon.
“What has he come for?” thought old d’Hauteserre.
Monsieur de Chargeboeuf, a handsome old gentleman of sixty-six, in light-colored breeches, his small weak legs encased in colored stockings, wore powder, pigeon-wings and a queue. His green cloth hunting-coat with gold buttons was braided and frogged with gold. His white waistcoat glittered with gold embroidery. This apparel, still in vogue among old people, became his face, which was not unlike that of Frederick the Great. He never put on his three-cornered hat lest he should destroy the effect of the half-moon traced upon his cranium by a layer of powder. His right hand, resting on a hooked cane, held both cane and hat in a manner worthy of Louis XIV. The fine old gentleman took off his wadded silk pelisse and seated himself in an armchair, holding the three-cornered hat and the cane between his knees in an attitude the secret of which has never been grasped by any but the roues of Louis XV.‘s court, an attitude which left the hands free to play with a snuff-box, always a precious trinket. Accordingly the marquis drew from the pocket of his waistcoat, which was closed by a flap embroidered in gold arabesques, a sumptuous snuff-box. While fingering his own pinch and offering the box around him with another charming gesture accompanied with kindly smiles, he noticed the pleasure which his visit gave. He seemed then to comprehend why these youngemigreshad been remiss in their duty towards him, and to be saying to himself, “When we are making love we can’t make visits.”
“You will stay with us some days?” said Laurence.
“Impossible,” he replied. “If we were not so separated by events (for as to distance, you go farther than that which lies between us) you would know, my dear child, that I have daughters, daughters-in-law, and grand-children. All these dear creatures would be very uneasy if I did not return to them to-night, and I have forty-five miles to go.”
“Your horses are in good condition,” said the Marquis de Simeuse.
“Oh! I am just from Troyes, where I had business yesterday.”
After the customary polite inquiries for the Marquise de Chargeboeuf and other matters really uninteresting but about which politeness assumes that we are keenly interested, it dawned on Monsieur d’Hauteserre that the old gentleman had come to warn his young relatives against imprudence. He remarked that times were changed and no one could tell what the Emperor might now become.
“Oh!” said Laurence, “he’ll make himself God.”
The Marquis spoke of the wisdom of concession. When he stated, with more emphasis and authority than he put into his other remarks, the necessity of submission, Monsieur d’Hauteserre looked at his sons with an almost supplicating air.
“Would you serve that man?” asked the Marquis de Simeuse.
“Yes, I would, if the interests of my family required it,” replied Monsieur de Chargeboeuf.
Gradually the old man made them aware, though vaguely, of some threatened danger. When Laurence begged him to explain the nature of it, he advised the four young men to refrain from hunting and to keep themselves as much in retirement as possible.
“You treat the domain of Gondreville as if it were your own,” he said to the Messieurs de Simeuse, “and you are keeping alive a deadly hatred. I see, by the surprise upon your faces, that you are quite unaware of the ill-will against you at Troyes, where your late brave conduct is remembered. They tell of how you foiled the police of the Empire; some praise you for it, but others regard you as enemies of the Emperor; partisans declare that Napoleon’s clemency is inexplicable. That, however, is nothing. The real danger lies here; you foiled men who thought themselves cleverer than you; and low-bred men never forgive. Sooner or later justice, which in your department emanates from your enemy, Senator Malin (who has his henchmen everywhere, even in the ministerial offices),—hisjustice will rejoice to see you involved in some annoying scrape. A peasant, for instance, will quarrel with you for riding over his field; your guns are in your hands, you are hot-tempered, and something happens. In your position it is absolutely essential that you should not put yourselves in the wrong. I do not speak to you thus without good reason. The police keep this arrondissement under strict surveillance; they have an agent in that little hole of Arcis expressly to protect the Imperial senator Malin against your attacks. He is afraid of you, and says so openly.”
“It is a calumny!” cried the younger Simeuse.
“A calumny,—I am sure of it myself, but will the public believe it? Michu certainly did aim at the senator, who does not forget the danger he was in; and since your return the countess has taken Michu into her service. To many persons, in fact to the majority, Malin will seem to be in the right. You do not understand how delicate the position of anemigreis towards those who are now in possession of his property. The prefect, a very intelligent man, dropped a word to me yesterday about you which has made me uneasy. In short, I sincerely wish you would not remain here.”
This speech was received in dumb amazement. Marie-Paul rang the bell.
“Gothard,” he said, to the little page, “send Michu here.”
“Michu, my friend,” said the Marquis de Simeuse when the man appeared, “is it true that you intended to kill Malin?”
“Yes, Monsieur le marquis; and when he comes here again I shall lie in wait for him.”
“Do you know that we are suspected of instigating it, and that our cousin, by taking you as her farmer is supposed to be furthering your scheme?”
“Good God!” cried Michu, “am I accursed? Shall I never be able to rid you of that villain?”
“No, my man, no!” said Paul-Marie. “But we will always take care of you, though you will have to leave our service and the country too. Sell your property here; we will send you to Trieste to a friend of ours who has immense business connections, and he’ll employ you until things are better in this country for all of us.”
Tears came into Michu’s eyes; he stood rooted to the floor.
“Were there any witnesses when you aimed at Malin?” asked the Marquis de Chargeboeuf.
“Grevin the notary was talking with him, and that prevented my killing him—very fortunately, as Madame la Comtesse knows,” said Michu, looking at his mistress.
“Grevin is not the only one who knows it?” said Monsieur de Chargeboeuf, who seemed annoyed at what was said, though none but the family were present.
“That police spy who came here to trap my masters, he knew it too,” said Michu.
Monsieur de Chargeboeuf rose as if to look at the gardens, and said, “You have made the most of Cinq-Cygne.” Then he left the house, followed by the two brothers and Laurence, who now saw the meaning of his visit.
“You are frank and generous, but most imprudent,” said the old man. “It was natural enough that I should warn you of a rumor which was certain to be a slander; but what have you done now? you have let such weak persons as Monsieur and Madame d’Hauteserre and their sons see that there was truth in it. Oh, young men! young men! You ought to keep Michu here and go away yourselves. But if you persist in remaining, at least write a letter to the senator and tell him that having heard the rumors about Michu you have dismissed him from your employ.”
“We!” exclaimed the brothers; “what, write to Malin,—to the murderer of our father and our mother, to the insolent plunderer of our property!”
“All true; but he is one of the chief personages at the Imperial court, and the king of your department.”
“He, who voted for the death of Louis XVI. in case the army of Conde entered France!” cried Laurence.
“He, who probably advised the murder of the Duc d’Enghien!” exclaimed Paul-Marie.
“Well, well, if you want to recapitulate his titles of nobility,” cried Monsieur de Chargeboeuf, “say he who pulled Robespierre by the skirts of his coat to make him fall when he saw that his enemies were stronger than he; he who would have shot Bonaparte if the 18th Brumaire had missed fire; he who manoeuvres now to bring back the Bourbons if Napoleon totters; he whom the strong will ever find on their side to handle either sword or pistol and put an end to an adversary whom they fear! But—all that is only reason the more for what I urge upon you.”
“We have fallen very low,” said Laurence.
“Children,” said the old marquis, taking them by the hand and going to the lawn, then covered by a slight fall of snow; “you will be angry at the prudent advice of an old man, but I am bound to give it, and here it is: If I were you I would employ as go-between some trustworthy old fellow—like myself, for instance; I would commission him to ask Malin for a million of francs for the title-deeds of Gondreville; he would gladly consent if the matter were kept secret. You will then have capital in hand, an income of a hundred thousand francs, and you can buy a fine estate in another part of France. As for Cinq-Cygne, it can safely be left to the management of Monsieur d’Hauteserre, and you can draw lots as to which of you shall win the hand of this dear heiress—But ah! I know the words of an old man in the ears of the young are like the words of the young in the ears of the old, a sound without meaning.”
The old marquis signed to his three relatives that he wished no answer, and returned to the salon, where, during their absence, the abbe and his sister had arrived.
The proposal to draw lots for their cousin’s hand had offended the brothers, while Laurence revolted in her soul at the bitterness of the remedy the old marquis counselled. All three were now less gracious to him, though they did not cease to be polite. The warmth of their feeling was chilled. Monsieur de Chargeboeuf, who felt the change, cast frequent looks of kindly compassion on these charming young people. The conversation became general, but the old marquis still dwelt on the necessity of submitting to events, and he applauded Monsieur d’Hauteserre for his persistence in urging his sons to take service under the Empire.
“Bonaparte,” he said, “makes dukes. He has created Imperial fiefs, he will therefore make counts. Malin is determined to be Comte de Gondreville. That is a fancy,” he added, looking at the Simeuse brothers, “which might be profitable to you—”
“Or fatal,” said Laurence.
As soon as the horses were put-to the marquis took leave, accompanied to the door by the whole party. When fairly in the carriage he made a sign to Laurence to come and speak to him, and she sprang upon the foot-board with the lightness of a swallow.
“You are not an ordinary woman, and you ought to understand me,” he said in her ear. “Malin’s conscience will never allow him to leave you in peace; he will set some trap to injure you. I implore you to be careful of all your actions, even the most unimportant. Compromise, negotiate; those are my last words.”
The brothers stood motionless behind their cousin and watched theberlingotas it turned through the iron gates and took the road to Troyes. Laurence repeated the old man’s last words. But sage experience should not present itself to the eyes of youth in aberlingot, colored stockings, and a queue. These ardent young hearts had no conception of the change that had passed over France; indignation crisped their nerves, honor boiled with their noble blood through every vein.
“He, the head of the house of Chargeboeuf!” said the Marquis de Simeuse. “A man who bears the mottoAdsit fortior, the noblest of warcries!”
“We are no longer in the days of Saint-Louis,” said the younger Simeuse.
“But ‘We die singing,’” said the countess. “The cry of the five young girls of my house is mine!”
“And ours, ‘Cy meurs,’” said the elder Simeuse. “Therefore, no quarter, I say; for, on reflection, we shall find that our relative had pondered well what he told us—Gondreville to be the title of a Malin!”
“And his seat!” said the younger.
“Mansart designed it for noble stock, and the populace will get their children in it!” exclaimed the elder.
“If that were to come to pass, I’d rather see Gondreville in ashes!” cried Mademoiselle Cinq-Cygne.
One of the villagers, who had entered the grounds to examine a calf Monsieur d’Hauteserre was trying to sell him, overheard these words as he came from the cow-sheds.
“Let us go in,” said Laurence, laughing; “this is very imprudent; we are giving the old marquis a right to blame us. My poor Michu,” she added, as she entered the salon, “I had forgotten your adventure; as we are not in the odor of sanctity in these parts you must be careful not to compromise us in future. Have you any other peccadilloes on your conscience?”
“I blame myself for not having killed the murderer of my old masters before I came to the rescue of my present ones—”
“Michu!” said the abbe in a warning tone.
“But I’ll not leave the country,” Michu continued, paying no heed to the abbe’s exclamation, “till I am certain you are safe. I see fellows roaming about here whom I distrust. The last time we hunted in the forest, that keeper who took my place at Gondreville came to me and asked if we supposed we were on our own property. ‘Ho! my lad,’ I said, ‘we can’t get rid in two weeks of ideas we’ve had for centuries.’”
“You did wrong, Michu,” said the Marquis de Simeuse, smiling with satisfaction.
“What answer did he make?” asked Monsieur d’Hauteserre.
“He said he would inform the senator of our claims,” replied Michu.
“Comte de Gondreville!” repeated the elder Simeuse; “what a masquerade! But after all, they say ‘your Majesty’ to Bonaparte!”
“And to the Grand Duc de Berg, ‘your Highness!’” said the abbe.
“Who is he?” asked the Marquis de Simeuse.
“Murat, Napoleon’s brother-in-law,” replied old d’Hauteserre.
“Delightful!” remarked Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne. “Do they also say ‘your Majesty’ to the widow of Beauharnais?”
“Yes, mademoiselle,” said the abbe.
“We ought to go to Paris and see it all,” cried Laurence.
“Alas, mademoiselle,” said Michu, “I was there to put Francois at school, and I swear to you there’s no joking with what they call the Imperial Guard. If the rest of the army are like them, the thing may last longer than we.”
“They say many of the noble families are taking service,” said Monsieur d’Hauteserre.
“According to the present law,” added the abbe, “you will be compelled to serve. The conscription makes no distinction of ranks or names.”
“That man is doing us more harm with his court than the Revolution did with its axe!” cried Laurence.
“The Church prays for him,” said the abbe.
These remarks, made rapidly one after another, were so many commentaries on the wise counsel of the old Marquis de Chargeboeuf; but the young people had too much faith, too much honor, to dream of resorting to a compromise. They told themselves, as all vanquished parties in all times have declared, that the luck of the conquerors would soon be at an end, that the Emperor had no support but that of the army, that the powerde factomust sooner or later give way to the Divine Right, etc. So, in spite of the wise counsel given to them, they fell into the pitfall, which others, like old d’Hauteserre, more prudent and more amenable to reason, would have been able to avoid. If men were frank they might perhaps admit that misfortunes never overtake them until after they have received either an actual or an occult warning. Many do not perceive the deep meaning of such visible or invisible signs until after the disaster is upon them.
“In any case, Madame la comtesse knows that I cannot leave the country until I have given up a certain trust,” said Michu in a low voice to Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne.
For all answer she made him a sign of acquiescence, and he left the room.
Michu sold his farm at once to Beauvisage, a farmer at Bellache, but he was not to receive the money for twenty days. A month after the Marquis de Chargeboeuf’s visit, Laurence, who had told her cousins of their buried fortune, proposed to them to take the day of the Mi-careme to disinter it. The unusual quantity of snow which fell that winter had hitherto prevented Michu from obtaining the treasure, and it now gave him pleasure to undertake the operation with his masters. He was determined to leave the neighborhood as soon as it was over, for he feared himself.
“Malin has suddenly arrived at Gondreville, and no one knows why,” he said to his mistress. “I shall never be able to resist putting the property into the market by the death of its owner. I feel I am guilty in not following my inspirations.”
“Why should he leave Paris at this season?” said the countess.
“All Arcis is talking about it,” replied Michu; “he has left his family in Paris, and no one is with him but his valet. Monsieur Grevin, the notary of Arcis, Madame Marion, the wife of the receiver-general, and her sister-in-law are staying at Gondreville.”
Laurence had chosen the mid-lent day for their purpose because it enabled her to give her servants a holiday and so get them out of the way. The usual masquerade drew the peasantry to the town and no one was at work in the fields. Chance made its calculations with as much cleverness as Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne made hers. The uneasiness of Monsieur and Madame d’Hauteserre at the idea of keeping eleven hundred thousand francs in gold in a lonely chateau on the borders of a forest was likely to be so great that their sons advised they should know nothing about it. The secret of the expedition was therefore confined to Gothard, Michu, Laurence, and the four gentlemen.
After much consultation it seemed possible to put forty-eight thousand francs in a long sack on the crupper of each of their horses. Three trips would therefore bring the whole. It was agreed to send all the servants, whose curiosity might be troublesome, to Troyes to see the shows. Catherine, Marthe, and Durieu, who could be relied on, stayed at home in charge of the house. The other servants were glad of their holiday and started by daybreak. Gothard, assisted by Michu, saddled the horses as soon as they were gone, and the party started by way of the gardens to reach the forest. Just as they were mounting—for the park gate was so low on the garden side that they led their horses until they were through it—old Beauvisage, the farmer at Bellache, happened to pass.
“There!” cried Gothard, “I hear some one.”
“Oh, it is only I,” said the worthy man, coming toward them. “Your servant, gentleman; are you off hunting, in spite of the new decrees?Idon’t complain of you; but do take care! though you have friends you have also enemies.”
“Oh, as for that,” said the elder Hauteserre, smiling, “God grant that our hunt may be lucky to-day,—if so, you will get your masters back again.”
These words, to which events were destined to give a totally different meaning, earned a severe look from Laurence. The elder Simeuse was confident that Malin would restore Gondreville for an indemnity. These rash youths were determined to do exactly the contrary of what the Marquis de Chargeboeuf had advised. Robert, who shared these hopes, was thinking of them when he gave utterance to the fatal words.
“Not a word of this, old friend,” said Michu to Beauvisage, waiting behind the others to lock the gate.
It was one of those fine mornings in March when the air is dry, the earth pure, the sky clear, and the atmosphere a contradiction to the leafless trees; the season was so mild that the eye caught glimpses here and there of verdure.
“We are seeking treasure when all the while you are the real treasure of our house, cousin,” said the elder Simeuse, gaily.
Laurence was in front, with a cousin on each side of her. The d’Hauteserres were behind, followed by Michu. Gothard had gone forward to clear the way.
“Now that our fortune is restored, you must marry my brother,” said the younger in a low voice. “He adores you; together you will be as rich as nobles ought to be in these days.”
“No, give the whole fortune to him and I will marry you,” said Laurence; “I am rich enough for two.”
“So be it,” cried the Marquis; “I will leave you, and find a wife worthy to be your sister.”
“So you really love me less than I thought you did?” said Laurence looking at him with a sort of jealousy.
“No; I love you better than either of you love me,” replied the marquis.
“And therefore you would sacrifice yourself?” asked Laurence with a glance full of momentary preference.
The marquis was silent.
“Well, then, I shall think only of you, and that will be intolerable to my husband,” exclaimed Laurence, impatient at his silence.
“How could I live without you?” said the younger twin to his brother.
“But, after all, you can’t marry us both,” said the marquis, replying to Laurence; “and the time has come,” he continued, in the brusque tone of a man who is struck to the heart, “to make your decision.”
He urged his horse in advance so that the d’Hauteserres might not overhear them. His brother’s horse and Laurence’s followed him. When they had put some distance between themselves and the rest of the party Laurence attempted to speak, but tears were at first her only language.
“I will enter a cloister,” she said at last.
“And let the race of Cinq-Cygne end?” said the younger brother. “Instead of one unhappy man, would you make two? No, whichever of us must be your brother only, will resign himself to that fate. It is the knowledge that we are no longer poor that has brought us to explain ourselves,” he added, glancing at the marquis. “If I am the one preferred, all this money is my brother’s. If I am rejected, he will give it to me with the title of de Simeuse, for he must then take the name and title of Cinq-Cygne. Whichever way it ends, the loser will have a chance of recovery—but if he feels he must die of grief, he can enter the army and die in battle, not to sadden the happy household.”
“We are true knights of the olden time, worthy of our fathers,” cried the elder. “Speak, Laurence; decide between us.”
“We cannot continue as we are,” said the younger.
“Do not think, Laurence, that self-denial is without its joys,” said the elder.
“My dear loved ones,” said the girl, “I am unable to decide. I love you both as though you were one being—as your mother loved you. God will help us. I cannot choose. Let us put it to chance—but I make one condition.”
“What is it?”
“Whichever one of you becomes my brother must stay with me until I suffer him to leave me. I wish to be sole judge of when to part.”
“Yes, yes,” said the brothers, without explaining to themselves her meaning.
“The first of you to whom Madame d’Hauteserre speaks to-night at table after the Benedicite, shall be my husband. But neither of you must practise fraud or induce her to answer a question.”
“We will play fair,” said the younger, smiling.
Each kissed her hand. The certainty of some decision which both could fancy favorable made them gay.
“Either way, dear Laurence, you create a Comte de Cinq-Cygne—”
“I believe,” thought Michu, riding behind them, “that mademoiselle will not long be unmarried. How gay my masters are! If my mistress makes her choice I shall not leave; I must stay and see that wedding.”
Just then a magpie flew suddenly before his face. Michu, superstitious like all primitive beings, fancied he heard the muffled tones of a death-knell. The day, however, began brightly enough for lovers, who rarely see magpies when together in the woods. Michu, armed with his plan, verified the spots; each gentleman had brought a pickaxe, and the money was soon found. The part of the forest where it was buried was quite wild, far from all paths or habitations, so that the cavalcade bearing the gold returned unseen. This proved to be a great misfortune. On their way from Cinq-Cygne to fetch the last two hundred thousand francs, the party, emboldened by success, took a more direct way than on their other trips. The path passed an opening from which the park of Gondreville could be seen.
“What is that?” cried Laurence, pointing to a column of blue flame.
“A bonfire, I think,” replied Michu.
Laurence, who knew all the by-ways of the forest, left the rest of the party and galloped towards the pavilion, Michu’s old home. Though the building was closed and deserted, the iron gates were open, and traces of the recent passage of several horses struck Laurence instantly. The column of blue smoke was rising from a field in what was called the English park, where, as she supposed, they were burning brush.
“Ah! so you are concerned in it, too, are you, mademoiselle?” cried Violette, who came out of the park at top speed on his pony, and pulled up to meet Laurence. “But, of course, it is only a carnival joke? They surely won’t kill him?”
“Who?”
“Your cousins wouldn’t put him to death?”
“Death! whose death?”
“The senator’s.”
“You are crazy, Violette!”
“Well, what are you doing here, then?” he demanded.
At the idea of a danger which was threatening her cousins, Laurence turned her horse and galloped back to them, reaching the ground as the last sacks were filled.
“Quick, quick!” she cried. “I don’t know what is going on, but let us get back to Cinq-Cygne.”
While the happy party were employed in recovering the fortune saved by the old marquis, and guarded for so many years by Michu, an extraordinary scene was taking place in the chateau of Gondreville.
About two o’clock in the afternoon Malin and his friend Grevin were playing chess before the fire in the great salon on the ground-floor. Madame Grevin and Madame Marion were sitting on a sofa and talking together at a corner of the fireplace. All the servants had gone to see the masquerade, which had long been announced in the arrondissement. The family of the bailiff who had replaced Michu had gone too. The senator’s valet and Violette were the only persons beside the family at the chateau. The porter, two gardeners, and their wives were on the place, but their lodge was at the entrance of the courtyards at the farther end of the avenue to Arcis, and the distance from there to the chateau is beyond the sound of a pistol-shot. Violette was waiting in the antechamber until the senator and Grevin could see him on business, to arrange a matter relating to his lease. At that moment five men, masked and gloved, who in height, manner, and bearing strongly resembled the Simeuse and d’Hauteserre brothers and Michu, rushed into the antechamber, seized and gagged the valet and Violette, and fastened them to their chairs in a side room. In spite of the rapidity with which this was done, Violette and the servant had time to utter one cry. It was heard in the salon. The two ladies thought it a cry of fear.
“Listen!” said Madame Grevin, “can there be robbers?”
“No, nonsense!” said Grevin, “only carnival cries; the masqueraders must be coming to pay us a visit.”
This discussion gave time for the four strangers to close the doors towards the courtyards and to lock up Violette and the valet. Madame Grevin, who was rather obstinate, insisted on knowing what the noise meant. She rose, left the room, and came face to face with the five masked men, who treated her as they had treated the farmer and the valet. Then they rushed into the salon, where the two strongest seized and gagged Malin, and carried him off into the park, while the three others remained behind to gag Madame Marion and Grevin and lash them to their armchairs. The whole affair did not take more than half an hour. The three unknown men, who were quickly rejoined by the two who had carried off the senator, then proceeded to ransack the chateau from cellar to garret. They opened all closets and doors, and sounded the walls; until five o’clock they were absolute masters of the place. By that time the valet had managed to loosen with his teeth the rope that bound Violette. Violette, able then to get the gag from his mouth, began to shout for help. Hearing the shouts the five men withdrew to the gardens, where they mounted horses closely resembling those at Cinq-Cygne and rode away, but not so rapidly that Violette was unable to catch sight of them. After releasing the valet, the two ladies, and the notary, Violette mounted his pony and rode after help. When he reached the pavilion he was amazed to see the gates open and Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne apparently on the watch.
Directly after the young countess had ridden off, Violette was overtaken by Grevin and the forester of the township of Gondreville, who had taken horses from the stables at the chateau. The porter’s wife was on her way to summon the gendarmerie from Arcis. Violette at once informed Grevin of his meeting with Laurence and the sudden flight of the daring girl, whose strong and decided character was known to all of them.
“She was keeping watch,” said Violette.
“Is it possible that those Cinq-Cygne people have done this thing?” cried Grevin.
“Do you mean to say you didn’t recognize that stout Michu?” exclaimed Violette. “It was he who attacked me; I knew his fist. Besides, they rode the Cinq-Cygne horses.”
Noticing the hoof-marks on the sand of therond-pointand along the park road the notary stationed the forester at the gateway to see to the preservation of these precious traces until the justice of peace of Arcis (for whom he now sent Violette) could take note of them. He himself returned hastily to the chateau, where the lieutenant and sub-lieutenant of the Imperial gendarmerie at Arcis had arrived, accompanied by four men and a corporal. The lieutenant was the same man whose head Francois Michu had broken two years earlier, and who had heard from Corentin the name of his mischievous assailant. This man, whose name was Giguet (his brother was in the army, and became one of the finest colonels of artillery), was an extremely able officer of gendarmerie. Later he commanded the squadron of the Aube. The sub-lieutenant, named Welff, had formerly driven Corentin from Cinq-Cygne to the pavilion, and from the pavilion to Troyes. On the way, the spy had fully informed him as to what he called the trickery of Laurence and Michu. The two officers were therefore well inclined to show, and did show, great eagerness against the family at Cinq-Cygne.
Malin and Grevin had both, the latter working for the former, taken part in the construction of the Code called that of Brumaire, year IV., the judicial work of the National Convention, so-called, and promulgated by the Directory. Grevin knew its provisions thoroughly, and was able to apply them in this affair with terrible celerity, under a theory, now converted into a certainty, of the guilt of Michu and the Messieurs de Simeuse and d’Hauteserre. No one in these days, unless it be some antiquated magistrates, will remember this system of justice, which Napoleon was even then overthrowing by the promulgation of his own Codes, and by the institution of his magistracy under the form in which it now rules France.
The Code of Brumaire, year IV., gave to the director of the jury of the department the duty of discovering, indicting, and prosecuting the persons guilty of the delinquency committed at Gondreville. Remark, by the way, that the Convention had eliminated from its judicial vocabulary the word “crime”;delinquenciesandmisdemeanorswere alone admitted; and these were punished with fines, imprisonment, and penalties “afflictive or infamous.” Death was an afflictive punishment. But the penalty of death was to be done away with after the restoration of peace, and twenty-four years of hard labor were to take its place. Thus the Convention estimated twenty-four years of hard labor as the equivalent of death. What therefore can be said for a code which inflicts the punishment of hard labor for life? The system then in process of preparation by the Napoleonic Council of State suppressed the function of the directors of juries, which united many enormous powers. In relation to the discovery of delinquencies and their prosecution the director of the jury was, in fact, agent of police, public prosecutor, municipal judge, and the court itself. His proceedings and his indictments were, however, submitted for signature to a commissioner of the executive power and to the verdict of eight jurymen, before whom he laid the facts of the case, and who examined the witnesses and the accused and rendered the preliminary verdict, called the indictment. The director was, however, in a position to exercise such influence over the jurymen, who met in his private office, that they could not well avoid agreeing with him. These jurymen were called the jury of indictment. There were others who formed the juries of the criminal tribunals whose duty it was to judge the accused; these were called, in contradistinction to the jury of indictment, the judgment jury. The criminal tribunal, to which Napoleon afterwards gave the name of criminal court, was composed of one President or chief justice, four judges, the public prosecutor, and a government commissioner.
Nevertheless, from 1799 to 1806 there were special courts (so-called) which judged without juries certain misdemeanors in certain departments; these were composed of judges taken from the civil courts and formed into a special court. This conflict of special justice and criminal justice gave rise to questions of competence which came before the courts of appeal. If the department of the Aube had had a special court, the verdict on the outrage committed on a senator of the Empire would no doubt have been referred to it; but this tranquil department had never needed unusual jurisdiction. Grevin therefore despatched the sub-lieutenant to Troyes to bring the director of the jury of that town. The emissary went at full gallop, and soon returned in a post-carriage with the all-powerful magistrate.
The director of the Troyes jury was formerly secretary of one of the committees of the Convention, a friend of Malin, to whom he owed his present place. This magistrate, named Lechesneau, had helped Malin, as Grevin had done, in his work on the Code during the Convention. Malin in return recommended him to Cambaceres, who appointed him attorney-general for Italy. Unfortunately for him, Lechesneau had a liaison with a great lady in Turin, and Napoleon removed him to avoid a criminal trial threatened by the husband. Lechesneau, bound in gratitude to Malin, felt the importance of this attack upon his patron, and brought with him a captain of gendarmerie and twelve men.
Before starting he laid his plans with the prefect, who was unable at that late hour, it being after dark, to use the telegraph. They therefore sent a mounted messenger to Paris to notify the minister of police, the chief justice and the Emperor of this extraordinary crime. In the salon of Gondreville, Lechesneau found Mesdames Marion and Grevin, Violette, the senator’s valet, and the justice of peace with his clerk. The chateau had already been examined; the justice, assisted by Grevin, had carefully collected the first testimony. The first thing that struck him was the obvious intention shown in the choice of the day and hour for the attack. The hour prevented an immediate search for proofs and traces. At this season it was nearly dark by half-past five, the hour at which Violette gave the alarm, and darkness often means impunity to evil-doers. The choice of a holiday, when most persons had gone to the masquerade at Arcis, and the senator was comparatively alone in the house, showed an obvious intention to get rid of witnesses.
“Let us do justice to the intelligence of the prefecture of police,” said Lechesneau; “they have never ceased to warn us to be on our guard against the nobles at Cinq-Cygne; they have always declared that sooner or later those people would play us some dangerous trick.”
Sure of the active co-operation of the prefect of the Aube, who sent messengers to all the surrounding prefectures asking them to search for the five abductors and the senator, Lechesneau began his work by verifying the first facts. This was soon done by the help of two such legal heads as those of Grevin and the justice of peace. The latter, named Pigoult, formerly head-clerk in the office where Malin and Grevin had first studied law in Paris, was soon after appointed judge of the municipal court at Arcis. In relation to Michu, Lechesneau knew of the threats the man had made about the sale of Gondreville to Marion, and the danger Malin had escaped in his own park from Michu’s gun. These two facts, one being the consequence of the other, were no doubt the precursors of the present successful attack, and they pointed so obviously to the late bailiff as the instigator of the outrage that Grevin, his wife, Violette, and Madame Marion declared that they had recognized among the five masked men one who exactly resembled Michu. The color of the hair and whiskers and the thick-set figure of the man made the mask he wore useless. Besides, who but Michu could have opened the iron gates of the park with a key? The present bailiff and his wife, now returned from the masquerade, deposed to have locked both gates before leaving the pavilion. The gates when examined showed no sign of being forced.
“When we turned him off he must have taken some duplicate keys with him,” remarked Grevin. “No doubt he has been meditating a desperate step, for he has lately sold his whole property, and he received the money for it in my office day before yesterday.”
“The others have followed his lead!” exclaimed Lechesneau, struck with the circumstances. “He has been their evil genius.”
Moreover, who could know as well as the Messieurs de Simeuse the ins and outs of the chateau. None of the assailants seemed to have blundered in their search; they had gone through the house in a confident way which showed that they knew what they wanted to find and where to find it. The locks of none of the opened closets had been forced; therefore the delinquents had keys. Strange to say, however, nothing had been taken; the motive, therefore, was not robbery. More than all, when Violette had followed the tracks of the horses as far as therond-point, he had found the countess, evidently on guard, at the pavilion. From such a combination of facts and depositions arose a presumption as to the guilt of the Messieurs de Simeuse, d’Hauteserre, and Michu, which would have been strong to unprejudiced minds, and to the director of the jury had the force of certainty. What were they likely to do to the future Comte de Gondreville? Did they mean to force him to make over the estate for which Michu declared in 1799 he had the money to pay?
But there was another aspect of the cast to the knowing criminal lawyer. He asked himself what could be the object of the careful search made of the chateau. If revenge were at the bottom of the matter, the assailants would have killed the senator. Perhaps he had been killed and buried. The abduction, however, seemed to point to imprisonment. But why keep their victim imprisoned after searching the castle? It was folly to suppose that the abduction of a dignitary of the Empire could long remain secret. The publicity of the matter would prevent any benefit from it.
To these suggestions Pigoult replied that justice was never able to make out all the motives of scoundrels. In every criminal case there were obscurities, he said, between the judge and the guilty person; conscience had depths into which no human mind could enter unless by the confession of the criminal.
Grevin and Lechesneau nodded their assent, without, however, relaxing their determination to see to the bottom of the present mystery.
“The Emperor pardoned those young men,” said Pigoult to Grevin. “He removed their names from the list ofemigres, though they certainly took part in that last conspiracy against him.”
Lechesneau make no delay in sending his whole force of gendarmerie to the forest and to the valley of Cinq-Cygne; telling Giguet to take with him the justice of peace, who, according to the terms of the Code, would then become an auxiliary police-officer. He ordered them to make all preliminary inquiries in the township of Cinq-Cygne, and to take testimony if necessary; and to save time, he dictated and signed a warrant for the arrest of Michu, against whom the charge was evident on the positive testimony of Violette. After the departure of the gendarmes Lechesneau returned to the important question of issuing warrants for the arrest of the Simeuse and d’Hauteserre brothers. According to the Code these warrants would have to contain the charges against the delinquents.
Giguet and the justice of peace rode so rapidly to Cinq-Cygne that they met Laurence’s servants returning from the festivities at Troyes. Stopped, and taken before the mayor where they were interrogated, they all stated, being ignorant of the importance of the answer, that their mistress had given them permission to spend the whole day at Troyes. To a question put by the justice of the peace, each replied that Mademoiselle had offered them the amusement which they had not thought of asking for. This testimony seemed so important to the justice of the peace that he sent back a messenger to Gondreville to advise Lechesneau to proceed himself to Cinq-Cygne and arrest the four gentlemen, while he went to Michu’s farm, so that the five arrests might be made simultaneously.
This new element was so convincing that Lechesneau started at once for Cinq-Cygne. He knew well what pleasure would be felt in Troyes at such proceedings against the old nobles, the enemies of the people, now become the enemies of the Emperor. In such circumstances a magistrate is very apt to take mere presumptive evidence for actual proof. Nevertheless, on his way from Gondreville to Cinq-Cygne, in the senator’s own carriage, it did occur to Lechesneau (who would certainly have made a fine magistrate had it not been for his love-affair, and the Emperor’s sudden morality to which he owed his disgrace) to think the audacity of the young men and Michu a piece of folly which was not in keeping with what he knew of the judgment and character of Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne. He imagined in his own mind some other motives for the deed than the restitution of Gondreville. In all things, even in the magistracy, there is what may be called the conscience of a calling. Lechesneau’s perplexities came from this conscience, which all men put into the proper performance of the duties they like—scientific men into science, artists into art, judges into the rendering of justice. Perhaps for this reason judges are really greater safeguards for persons accused of wrong-doing than are juries. A magistrate relies only on reason and its laws; juries are floated to and fro by the waves of sentiment. The director of the jury accordingly set several questions before his mind, resolving to find in their solution satisfactory reasons for making the arrests.
Though the news of the abduction was already agitating the town of Troyes, it was still unknown at Arcis, where the inhabitants were supping when the messenger arrived to summon the gendarmes. No one, of course, knew it in the village of Cinq-Cygne, the valley and the chateau of which were now, for the second time, encircled by gendarmes.
Laurence had only to tell Marthe, Catherine, and the Durieus not to leave the chateau, to be strictly obeyed. After each trip to fetch the gold, the horses were fastened in the covered way opposite to the breach in the moat, and from there Robert and Michu, the strongest of the party, carried the sacks through the breach to a cellar under the staircase in the tower called Mademoiselle’s. Reaching the chateau with the last load about half-past five o’clock, the four gentlemen and Michu proceeded to bury the treasure in the floor of the cellar and then to wall up the entrance. Michu took charge of the matter with Gothard to help him; the lad was sent to the farm for some sacks of plaster left over when the new buildings were put up, and Marthe went with him to show him where they were. Michu, very hungry, made such haste that by half-past seven o’clock the work was done; and he started for home at a quick pace to stop Gothard, who had been sent for another sack of plaster which he thought he might want. The farm was already watched by the forester of Cinq-Cygne, the justice of peace, his clerk and four gendarmes who, however, kept out of sight and allowed him to enter the house without seeing them.
Michu saw Gothard with the sack on his shoulder and called to him from a distance: “It is all finished, my lad; take that back and stay and dine with us.”
Michu, his face perspiring, his clothes soiled with plaster and covered with fragments of muddy stone from the breach, reached home joyfully and entered the kitchen where Marthe and her mother were serving the soup in expectation of his coming.
Just as Michu was turning the faucet of the water-pipe intending to wash his hands, the justice of peace entered the house accompanied by his clerk and the forester.
“What have you come for, Monsieur Pigoult?” asked Michu.
“In the name of the Emperor and the laws, I arrest you,” replied the justice.
The three gendarmes entered the kitchen leading Gothard. Seeing the silver lace on their hats Marthe and her mother looked at each other in terror.
“Pooh! why?” asked Michu, who sat down at the table and called to his wife, “Give me something to eat; I’m famished.”
“You know why as well as we do,” said the justice, making a sign to his clerk to begin theproces-verbaland exhibiting the warrant of arrest.
“Well, well, Gothard, you needn’t stare so,” said Michu. “Do you want some dinner, yes or no? Let them write down their nonsense.”
“You admit, of course, the condition of your clothes?” said the justice of peace; “and you can’t deny the words you said just now to Gothard?”
Michu, supplied with food by his wife, who was amazed at his coolness, was eating with the avidity of a hungry man. He made no answer to the justice, for his mouth was full and his heart innocent. Gothard’s appetite was destroyed by fear.
“Look here,” said the forester, going up to Michu and whispering in his ear: “What have you done with the senator? You had better make a clean breast of it, for if we are to believe these people it is a matter of life or death to you.”
“Good God!” cried Marthe, who overheard the last words and fell into a chair as if annihilated.
“Violette must have played us some infamous trick,” cried Michu, recollecting what Laurence had said in the forest.
“Ha! so you do know that Violette saw you?” said the justice of peace.
Michu bit his lips and resolved to say no more. Gothard imitated him. Seeing the uselessness of all attempts to make them talk, and knowing what the neighborhood chose to call Michu’s perversity, the justice ordered the gendarmes to bind his hands and those of Gothard, and take them both to the chateau, whither he now went himself to rejoin the director of the jury.