"Monsieur le Procureur: I have this evening been informed beyond a doubt that La Mole has committed sacrilege. Many evil things such as books and papers have been found in his apartments in Paris. I beg you to summon the chief president, and to inform him as early as possible of the affair of the waxen figure meant for the King, and which was pierced to the heart."Catharine."[18]
"Monsieur le Procureur: I have this evening been informed beyond a doubt that La Mole has committed sacrilege. Many evil things such as books and papers have been found in his apartments in Paris. I beg you to summon the chief president, and to inform him as early as possible of the affair of the waxen figure meant for the King, and which was pierced to the heart.
"Catharine."[18]
The day after that on which Catharine had written this letter the governor entered Coconnas's cell with an imposing retinue consisting of two halberdiers and four men in black gowns.
Coconnas was asked to descend to a room in which the Attorney Laguesle and two judges waited to question him according to Catharine's instructions.
During the week he had spent in prison Coconnas had reflected a great deal. Besides that, he and La Mole were together for a few minutes each day, through the kindness of their jailer, who, without saying anything to them, had arranged this surprise, which in all probability they did not owe to his philosophy alone,—besides, we say, La Mole and he had agreed on the course they were to pursue, which was to persist in absolute denial; and they were persuaded that with a little skill the affair would take a more favorable turn; the charges were no greater against them than against the others. Henry and Marguerite had made no attempt at flight; they could not therefore be compromised in an affair in which the chief ring-leaders were free. Coconnas did not know that Henry was in the prison, and the complaisance of the jailer told him that above his head hovered a certain protection which he called theinvisible bucklers.
Up to then the examination had been confined to the intentions of the King of Navarre, his plans of flight, and the part the two friends had played in them. To all these questions Coconnas had constantly replied in a way more than vague and much more than adroit; he was ready still to reply in the same way, and had prepared in advance all his little repartees, when he suddenly found the object of the examination was altered. It turned upon one or more visits to Réné, one or more waxen figures made at the instigation of La Mole.
Prepared as he was, Coconnas believed that the accusation lost much of its intensity, since it was no longer a question of having betrayed a king but of having made a figure of a queen; and this figure not more than ten inches high at the most. He, therefore, replied brightly that neither he nor his friend had played with a doll for some time, and noticed with pleasure that several times his answers made the judges smile.
It had not yet been said in verse: "I have laughed, therefore am I disarmed," but it had been said a great deal in prose. And Coconnas thought that he had partly disarmed his judges because they had smiled.
His examination over, he went back to his cell, singing so merrily that La Mole, for whom he was making all the noise, drew from it the happiest auguries.
La Mole was brought down, and like Coconnas saw with astonishment that the accusation had abandoned its first ground and had entered a new field. He was questioned as to his visits to Réné. He replied that he had gone to the Florentine only once. Then, if he had not ordered a waxen figure. He replied that Réné had showed him such a figure ready made. He was then asked if this figure did not represent a man. He replied that it represented a woman. Then, if the object of the charm was not to cause the death of the man. He replied that the purpose of the charm was to cause himself to be beloved by the woman.
These questions were put in a hundred different forms, but La Mole always replied in the same way. The judges looked at one another with a certain indecision, not knowing what to say or do before such simplicity, when a note brought to the Attorney-General solved the difficulty.
"If the accused denies resort to the torture."C."
"If the accused denies resort to the torture.
"C."
The attorney put the note into his pocket, smiled at La Mole, and politely dismissed him.
La Mole returned to his cell almost as reassured, if not as joyous, as Coconnas.
"I think everything is going well," said he.
An hour later he heard footsteps and saw a note slipped under his door, without seeing the hand that did it. He took it up, thinking that in all probability it came from the jailer?
Seeing it, a hope almost as acute as a disappointment sprang into his heart; he hoped it was from Marguerite, from whom he had had no news since he had been a prisoner.
He took it up with trembling hand, and almost died of joy as he looked at the handwriting.
"Courage!" said the note. "I am watching over you."
"Ah! if she is watching," cried La Mole, covering with kisses the paper which had touched a hand so dear, "if she is watching, I am saved."
In order for La Mole to comprehend the note and rely with Coconnas on what the Piedmontese called hisinvisible bucklersit is necessary for us to conduct the reader to that small house, to that chamber in which the reminders of so many scenes of intoxicating happiness, so many half-evaporated perfumes, so many tender recollections, since become agonizing, were breaking the heart of a woman half reclining on velvet cushions.
"To be a queen, to be strong, young, rich, beautiful, and suffer what I suffer!" cried this woman; "oh! it is impossible!"
Then in her agitation she rose, paced up and down, stopped suddenly, pressed her burning forehead against the ice-cold marble, rose pale, her face covered with tears, wrung her hands, and crying aloud fell back again hopeless into a chair.
Suddenly the tapestry which separated the apartment of the Rue Cloche Percée from that in the Rue Tizon was raised, and the Duchesse de Nevers entered.
"Ah!" exclaimed Marguerite, "is it you? With what impatience I have waited for you! Well! What news?"
"Bad news, my poor friend. Catharine herself is hurrying on the trial, and at present is at Vincennes."
"And Réné?"
"Is arrested."
"Before you were able to speak to him?"
"Yes."
"And our prisoners?"
"I have news of them."
"From the jailer?"
"Yes."
"Well?"
"Well! They see each other every day. The day before yesterday they were searched. La Mole broke your picture to atoms rather than give it up."
"Dear La Mole!"
"Annibal laughed in the face of the inquisitors."
"Worthy Annibal! What then?"
"This morning they were questioned as to the flight of the king, his projects of rebellion in Navarre, and they said nothing."
"Oh! I knew they would keep silence; but silence will kill them as much as if they spoke."
"Yes, but we must save them."
"Have you thought over our plan?"
"Since yesterday I have thought of nothing else."
"Well?"
"I have just come to terms with Beaulieu. Ah! my dear queen, what a hard and greedy man! It will cost a man's life, and three hundred thousand crowns."
"You say he is hard and greedy—and yet he asks only the life of a man and three hundred thousand crowns. Why, that is nothing!"
"Nothing! Three hundred thousand crowns! Why, all your jewels and all mine would not be enough."
"Oh! that is nothing. The King of Navarre will pay something, the Duc d'Alençon will pay part, and my brother Charles will pay part, or if not"—
"See! what nonsense you talk. I have the money."
"You?"
"Yes, I."
"How did you get it?"
"Ah! that is telling!"
"Is it a secret?"
"For every one except you."
"Oh, my God!" said Marguerite, smiling through her tears, "did you steal it?"
"You shall judge."
"Well, let me."
"Do you remember that horrible Nantouillet?"
"The rich man, the usurer?"
"If you please."
"Well?"
"Well! One day seeing a certain blonde lady, with greenish eyes, pass by, wearing three rubies, one over her forehead, the other two over her temples, an arrangement which was very becoming to her, this rich man, this usurer, cried out:
"'For three kisses in the place of those three rubies I will give you three diamonds worth one hundred thousand crowns apiece!'"
"Well, Henriette?"
"Well, my dear, the diamonds appeared and are sold."
"Oh, Henriette! Henriette!" cried Marguerite.
"Well!" exclaimed the duchess in a bold tone at once innocent and sublime, which sums up the age and the woman, "well, I love Annibal!"
"That is true," said Marguerite, smiling and blushing at the same time, "you love him a very great deal, too much, perhaps."
And yet she pressed her friend's hand.
"So," continued Henriette, "thanks to our three diamonds, the three hundred thousand crowns and the man are ready."
"The man? What man?"
"The man to be killed; you forget a man must be killed."
"Have you found the necessary man?"
"Yes."
"At the same price?" asked Marguerite, smiling.
"At the same price I could have found a thousand," replied Henriette, "no, no, for five hundred crowns."
"For five hundred crowns you have found a man who has consented to be killed?"
"What can you expect? It is necessary for us to live."
"My dear friend, I do not understand you. Come, explain. Enigmas require too much time to guess at such a moment as this."
"Well, listen; the jailer to whom the keeping of La Mole and Coconnas is entrusted is an old soldier who knows what a wound is. He would like to help save our friends, but he does not want to lose his place. A blow of a dagger skilfully aimed will end the affair. We will give him a reward and the kingdom, indemnification. In this way the brave man will receive money from both parties and will renew the fable of the pelican."
"But," said Marguerite, "a thrust of a dagger"—
"Do not worry; Annibal will give it."
"Well," said Marguerite, "he has given as many as three blows of his sword to La Mole, and La Mole is not dead; there is therefore every reason to hope."
"Wicked woman! You deserve to have me stop."
"Oh! no, no; on the contrary, tell me the rest, I beg you. How are we to save them; come!"
"Well, this is the plan. The chapel is the only place in the castle where women can enter who are not prisoners. We are to be hidden behind the altar. Under the altar cloth they will find two daggers. The door of the vestry-room will be opened beforehand. Coconnas will strike the jailer, who will fall and pretend to be dead; we appear; each of us throws a cloak over the shoulders of her friend; we run with them through the small doors of the vestry-room, and as we have the password we can leave without hindrance."
"And once out?"
"Two horses will be waiting at the door; the men will spring on them, leave France, and reach Lorraine, whence now and then they will return incognito."
"Oh! you restore me to life," said Marguerite. "So we shall save them?"
"I am almost sure of it."
"Soon?"
"In three or four days. Beaulieu is to let us know."
"But if you were recognized in the vicinity of Vincennes that might upset our plan."
"How could any one recognize me? I go there as a nun, with a hood, thanks to which not even the tip of my nose is visible."
"We cannot take too many precautions."
"I know that well enough, by Heaven! as poor Annibal would say."
"Did you hear anything about the King of Navarre?"
"I was careful to ask."
"Well?"
"Well, he has never been so happy, apparently; he laughs, sings, eats, drinks, and sleeps well, and asks only one thing, and that is to be well guarded."
"He is right. And my mother?"
"I told you she is hurrying on the trial as fast as she can."
"Yes, but does she suspect anything about us?"
"How could she? Every one who has a secret is anxious to keep it. Ah! I know that she told the judges in Paris to be in readiness."
"Let us act quickly, Henriette. If our poor prisoners change their abode, everything will have to be done over again."
"Do not worry. I am as anxious as you to see them free."
"Oh, yes, I know that, and thank you, thank you a hundred times for all you have done."
"Adieu, Marguerite. I am going into the country again."
"Are you sure of Beaulieu?"
"I think so."
"Of the jailer?"
"He has promised."
"Of the horses?"
"They will be the best in the stables of the Duc de Nevers."
"I adore you, Henriette."
And Marguerite threw her arms about her friend's neck, after which the two women separated, promising to see each other again the next day, and every day, at the same place and hour.
These were the two charming and devoted creatures whom Coconnas, with so much reason, called hisinvisible bucklers.
"Well, my brave friend," said Coconnas to La Mole, when the two were together after the examination, at which, for the first time, the subject of the waxen image had been discussed, "it seems to me that everything is going on finely, and that it will not be long before the judges will dismiss us. And this diagnosis is entirely different from that of a dismissal by physicians. When the doctor gives up the patient it is because he cannot cure him, but when the judge gives up the accused it is because he has no further hope of having him beheaded."
"Yes," said La Mole; "and moreover, it seems to me, from the politeness and gentleness of the jailer and the looseness of the doors, that I recognize our kind friends; but I do not recognize Monsieur de Beaulieu, at least from what I had been told of him."
"I recognize him," said Coconnas; "only it will cost dearly. But one is a princess, the other a queen; both are rich, and they will never have so good an opportunity to use their money. Now let us go over our lesson. We are to be taken to the chapel, and left there in charge of our turnkey; we shall each find a dagger in the spot indicated. I am to make a hole in the body of our guide."
"Yes, but a slight one in the arm; otherwise you will rob him of his five hundred crowns."
"Ah, no; not in the arm, for in that case he would have to lose it, and it would be easy to see that it was given intentionally. No, it must be in his right side, gliding skilfully along his ribs; that would look natural, but in reality would be harmless."
"Well, aim for that, and then"—
"Then you will barricade the front door with benches while our two princesses rush from behind the altar, where they are to be hidden, and Henriette opens the vestry door. Ah, faith, how I love Henriette to-day! She must have been faithless to me in some way for me to feel as I do."
"And then," said La Mole, with the trembling voice which falls from lips like music, "then we shall reach the forest. A kiss given to each of us will make us strong and happy. Can you not picture us, Annibal, bending over our swift horses, our hearts gently oppressed? Oh, what a good thing is fear! Fear in the open air when one has one's naked sword at one's side, when one cries 'hurra' to the courser pricked by the spur, and which at each shout speeds the faster."
"Yes," said Coconnas, "but fear within four walls—what do you say to that, La Mole? I can speak of it, for I have felt something of it. When Beaulieu, with his pale face, entered my cell for the first time, behind him in the darkness shone halberds, and I heard a sinister sound of iron striking against iron. I swear to you I immediately thought of the Duc d'Alençon, and I expected to see his ugly face between the two hateful heads of the halberdiers. I was mistaken, however, and this was my sole consolation. But that was not all; night came, and I dreamed."
"So," said La Mole, who had been following his happy train of thought without paying attention to his friend, "so they have foreseen everything, even the place in which we are to hide. We shall go to Lorraine, dear friend. In reality I should rather have had it Navarre, for there I should have been with her, but Navarre is too far; Nancey would be better; besides, once there, we should be only eighty leagues from Paris. Have you any feeling of regret, Annibal, at leaving this place?"
"Ah, no! the idea! Although I confess I am leaving everything that belongs to me."
"Well, could we manage to take the worthy jailer with us instead of"—
"He would not go," said Coconnas, "he would lose too much. Think of it! five hundred crowns from us, a reward from the government; promotion, perhaps; how happy will be that fellow's life when I shall have killed him! But what is the matter?"
"Nothing! An idea came to me."
"It is not a funny one, apparently, for you are frightfully pale."
"I was wondering why they should take us to the chapel."
"Why," said Coconnas, "to receive the sacrament. This is the time for it, I think."
"But," said La Mole, "they take only those condemned to death or the torture to the chapel."
"Oh!" said Coconnas, becoming somewhat pale in turn, "this deserves our attention. Let us question the good man whom I am to split open. Here, turnkey!"
"Did monsieur call?" asked the jailer, who had been keeping watch at the top of the stairs.
"Yes; come here."
"Well?"
"It has been arranged that we are to escape from the chapel, has it not?"
"Hush!" said the turnkey, looking round him in terror.
"Do not worry; no one can hear us."
"Yes, monsieur; it is from the chapel."
"They are to take us to the chapel, then?"
"Yes; that is the custom."
"The custom?"
"Yes; it is customary to allow every one condemned to death to pass the night in the chapel."
Coconnas and La Mole shuddered and glanced at each other.
"You think we are condemned to death, then?"
"Certainly. You, too, must think so."
"Why should we think so?" asked La Mole.
"Certainly; otherwise you would not have arranged everything for your escape."
"Do you know, there is reason in what he says!" said Coconnas to La Mole.
"Yes; and what I know besides is that we are playing a close game, apparently."
"But do you think I am risking nothing?" said the turnkey. "If in a moment of excitement monsieur should make a mistake"—
"Well! by Heaven! I wish I were in your place," said Coconnas, slowly, "and had to deal with no hand but this; with no sword except the one which is to graze you."
"Condemned to death!" murmured La Mole, "why, that is impossible!"
"Impossible!" said the turnkey, naïvely, "and why?"
"Hush!" said Coconnas, "I think some one is opening the lower door."
"To your cells, gentlemen, to your cells!" cried the jailer, hurriedly.
"When do you think the trial will take place?" asked La Mole.
"To-morrow, or later. But be easy; those who must be informed shall be."
"Then let us embrace each other and bid farewell to these walls."
The two friends rushed into each other's arms and then returned to their cells, La Mole sighing, Coconnas singing.
Nothing new happened until seven o'clock. Night fell dark and rainy over the prison of Vincennes, a perfect night for flight. The evening meal was brought to Coconnas, who ate with his usual appetite, thinking of the pleasure he would feel in being soaked in the rain, which was pattering against the walls, and already preparing himself to fall asleep to the dull, monotonous murmur of the wind, when suddenly it seemed to him that this wind, to which he occasionally listened with a feeling of melancholy never before experienced by him until he came to prison, whistled more strangely than usual under the doors, and that the stove roared with a louder noise than common. This had happened every time one of the cells above or opposite him was opened. It was by this noise that Annibal always knew the jailer was coming from La Mole's cell.
But this time it was in vain that Coconnas remained with eye and ear alert.
The moments passed; no one came.
"This is strange," said Coconnas, "La Mole's door has been opened and not mine. Could La Mole have called? Can he be ill? What does it mean?"
With a prisoner everything is a cause for suspicion and anxiety, as everything is a cause for joy and hope.
Half an hour passed, then an hour, then an hour and a half.
Coconnas was beginning to grow sleepy from anger when the grating of the lock made him spring to his feet.
"Oh!" said he, "has the time come for us to leave and are they going to take us to the chapel without condemning us? By Heaven, what joy it would be to escape on such a night! It is as dark as an oven! I hope the horses are not blind."
He was about to ask some jocular question of the turnkey when he saw the latter put his finger to his lips and roll his eyes significantly. Behind the jailer Coconnas heard sounds and perceived shadows.
Suddenly in the midst of the darkness he distinguished two helmets, on which the smoking candle threw a yellow light.
"Oh!" said he in a low voice, "what is this sinister procession? What is going to happen?"
The jailer replied by a sigh which greatly resembled a groan.
"By Heaven!" murmured Coconnas; "what a wretched existence! always on the ragged edge; never on firm land; either we paddle in a hundred feet of water or we hover above the clouds; never a happy medium. Well, where are we going?"
"Follow the halberdiers, monsieur," repeated the same voice.
He had to obey. Coconnas left his room, and perceived the dark man whose voice had been so disagreeable. He was a clerk, small and hunchbacked, who no doubt had put on the gown in order to hide his bandy legs, as well as his back. He slowly descended the winding stairs. At the first landing the guards paused.
"That is a good deal to go down," murmured Coconnas, "but not enough."
The door opened. The prisoner had the eye of a lynx and the scent of a bloodhound. He scented the judges and saw in the shadow the silhouette of a man with bare arms; the latter sight made the perspiration mount to his brow. Nevertheless, he assumed his most smiling manner, and entered the room with his head tipped to one side, and his hand on his hip, after the most approved manner of the times.
A curtain was raised, and Coconnas perceived the judges and the clerks.
A few feet away La Mole was seated on a bench.
Coconnas was led to the front of the tribunal. Arrived there, he stopped, nodded and smiled to La Mole, and then waited.
"What is your name, monsieur?" inquired the president.
"Marcus Annibal de Coconnas," replied the gentleman with perfect ease. "Count de Montpantier, Chenaux, and other places; but they are known, I presume."
"Where were you born?"
"At Saint Colomban, near Suza."
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-seven years and three months."
"Good!" said the president.
"This pleases him, apparently," said Coconnas.
"Now," said the president after a moment's silence which gave the clerk time to write down the answers of the accused; "what was your reason for leaving the service of Monsieur d'Alençon?"
"To rejoin my friend Monsieur de la Mole, who had already left the duke three days before."
"What were you doing the day of the hunt, when you were arrested?"
"Why," said Coconnas, "I was hunting."
"The King was also present at that hunt, and was there seized with the first attack of the malady from which he is at present suffering."
"I was not near the King, and I can say nothing about this. I was even ignorant of the fact that he had been ill."
The judges looked at one another with a smile of incredulity.
"Ah! you were ignorant of his Majesty's illness, were you?" said the president.
"Yes, monsieur, and I am sorry to hear of it. Although the King of France is not my king, I have a great deal of sympathy for him."
"Indeed!"
"On my honor! It is different so far as his brother the Duc d'Alençon is concerned. The latter I confess"—
"We have nothing to do with the Duc d'Alençon, monsieur; this concerns his Majesty."
"Well, I have already told you that I am his very humble servant," said Coconnas, turning about in an adorably impudent fashion.
"If as you pretend, monsieur, you are really his servant, will you tell us what you know of a certain waxen figure?"
"Ah, good! we have come back to the figure, have we?"
"Yes, monsieur; does this displease you?"
"On the contrary, I prefer it; go ahead."
"Why was this statue found in Monsieur de la Mole's apartments?"
"At Monsieur de la Mole's? At Réné's, you mean?"
"You acknowledge that it exists, then, do you?"
"Why, if you will show it to me."
"Here it is. Is this the one you know?"
"It is."
"Clerk," said the president, "write down that the accused recognizes the image as the one seen at Monsieur de la Mole's."
"No, no!" said Coconnas, "do not let us misunderstand each other—as the one seen at Réné's."
"At Réné's; very good! On what day?"
"The only day La Mole and myself were at Réné's."
"You admit, then, that you were at Réné's with Monsieur de la Mole?"
"Why, did I ever deny it?"
"Clerk, write down that the accused admits having gone to Réné's to work conjurations."
"Stop there, Monsieur le Président. Moderate your enthusiasm, I beg you. I did not say that at all."
"You deny having been at Réné's to work conjurations?"
"I deny it. The magic took place by accident. It was unpremeditated."
"But it took place?"
"I cannot deny that something resembling a charm did take place."
"Clerk, write down that the accused admits that he obtained at Réné's a charm against the life of the King."
"What! against the King's life? That is an infamous lie! There was no charm obtained against the life of the King."
"You see, gentlemen!" said La Mole.
"Silence!" said the president; then turning to the clerk: "Against the life of the King," he continued. "Have you that?"
"Why, no, no!" cried Coconnas. "Besides, the figure is not that of a man, but of a woman."
"What did I tell you, gentlemen?" said La Mole.
"Monsieur de la Mole," said the president, "answer when you are questioned, but do not interrupt the examination of others."
"So you say that it is a woman?"
"Certainly I say so."
"In that case, why did it have a crown and a cloak?"
"By Heaven!" said Coconnas, "that is simple enough, because it was"—
La Mole rose and put his finger on his lips.
"That is so," said Coconnas, "what was I going to say that could possibly concern these gentlemen?"
"You persist in stating that the figure is that of a woman?"
"Yes; certainly I persist."
"And you refuse to say what woman?"
"A woman of my country," said La Mole, "whom I loved and by whom I wished to be loved in return."
"We are not asking you, Monsieur de la Mole," said the president; "keep silent, therefore, or you shall be gagged."
"Gagged!" exclaimed Coconnas; "what do you mean, monsieur of the black robe? My friend gagged? A gentleman! the idea!"
"Bring in Réné," said the Attorney-General Laguesle.
"Yes; bring in Réné," said Coconnas; "we shall see who is right here, we two or you three."
Réné entered, pale, aged, and almost unrecognizable to the two friends, bowed under the weight of the crime he was about to commit much more than because of those he had already committed.
"Maître Réné," said the judge, "do you recognize the two accused persons here present?"
"Yes, monsieur," replied Réné, in a voice which betrayed his emotion.
"From having seen them where?"
"In several places; and especially at my house."
"How many times did they go to your house?"
"Once only."
As Réné spoke the face of Coconnas expanded; La Mole's, on the contrary, looked as though he had a presentiment of evil.
"For what purpose were they at your house?"
Réné seemed to hesitate a moment.
"To order me to make a waxen figure," said he.
"Pardon me, Maître Réné," said Coconnas, "you are making a slight mistake."
"Silence!" said the president; then turning to Réné, "was this figure to be that of a man or a woman?"
"A man," replied Réné.
Coconnas sprang up as if he had received an electric shock.
"A man!" he exclaimed.
"A man," repeated Réné, but in so low a tone that the president scarcely heard him.
"Why did this figure of a man have on a mantle and a crown?"
"Because it represented a king."
"Infamous liar!" cried Coconnas, infuriated.
"Keep still, Coconnas, keep still," interrupted La Mole, "let the man speak; every one has a right to sell his own soul."
"But not the bodies of others, by Heaven!"
"And what was the meaning of the needle in the heart of the figure, with the letter 'M' on a small banner?"
"The needle was emblematical of the sword or the dagger; the letter 'M' stands formort."
Coconnas sprang forward as though to strangle Réné, but four guards restrained him.
"That will do," said the Attorney Laguesle, "the court is sufficiently informed. Take the prisoners to the waiting-room."
"But," exclaimed Coconnas, "it is impossible to hear one's self accused of such things without protesting."
"Protest, monsieur, no one will hinder you. Guards, did you hear?"
The guards seized the two prisoners and led them out, La Mole by one door, Coconnas by another.
Then the attorney signed to the man whom Coconnas had perceived in the shadow, and said to him:
"Do not go away, my good fellow, you shall have work this evening."
"Which shall I begin with, monsieur?" asked the man, respectfully holding his cap in his hand.
"With that one," said the president, pointing to La Mole, who could still be seen disappearing in the distance between the two guards. Then approaching Réné, who stood trembling, expecting to be led back to the cell in which he had been confined:
"You have spoken well, monsieur," said he to him, "you need not worry. Both the King and the queen shall know that it is to you they are indebted for the truth of this affair."
But instead of giving him strength, this promise seemed to terrify Réné, whose only answer was a deep sigh.
It was only when he had been led away to his new cell and the door was locked on him that Coconnas, left alone, and no longer sustained by the discussion with the judges and his anger at Réné, fell into a train of mournful reflections.
"It seems to me," thought he, "that matters are turning against us, and that it is about time to go to the chapel. I suspect we are to be condemned to death. It looks so. I especially fear being condemned to death by sentences pronounced behind closed doors, in a fortified castle, before faces as ugly as those about me. They really wish to cut off our heads. Well! well! I repeat what I said just now, it is time to go to chapel."
These words, uttered in a low tone, were followed by a silence, which in turn was broken by a cry, shrill, piercing, lugubrious, unlike anything human. It seemed to penetrate the thick walls, and vibrate against the iron bars.
In spite of himself Coconnas shivered; and yet he was so brave that his courage was like that of wild beasts. He stood still, doubting that the cry was human, and taking it for the sound of the wind in the trees or for one of the many night noises which seem to rise or descend from the two unknown worlds between which floats our globe. Then he heard it again, shriller, more prolonged, more piercing than before, and this time not only did Coconnas distinguish the agony of the human tone in it, but he thought it sounded like La Mole's.
As he realized this the Piedmontese forgot that he was confined behind two doors, three gates, and a wall twelve feet thick. He hurled his entire weight against the sides of the cell as though to push them out and rush to the aid of the victim, crying, "Are they killing some one here?" But he unexpectedly encountered the wall and the shock hurled him back against a stone bench on which he sank down.
Then there was silence.
"Oh, they have killed him!" he murmured; "it is abominable! And one is without arms, here, and cannot defend one's self!"
He groped about.
"Ah! this iron chain!" he cried, "I will take it and woe to him who comes near me!"
Coconnas rose, seized the iron chain, and with a pull shook it so violently that it was clear that with two such efforts he would wrench it away.
But suddenly the door opened and the light from a couple of torches fell into the cell.
"Come, monsieur," said the same voice which had sounded so disagreeable to him, and which this time, in making itself heard three floors below, did not seem to him to have acquired any new charm.
"Come, monsieur, the court is awaiting you."
"Good," said Coconnas, dropping his ring, "I am to hear my sentence, am I not?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"Oh! I breathe again; let us go," said he.
He followed the usher, who preceded him with measured tread, holding his black rod.
In spite of the satisfaction he had felt at first, as he walked along Coconnas glanced anxiously about him.
"Oh!" he murmured, "I do not perceive my good jailer. I confess I miss him."
They entered the hall the judges had just left, in which a man was standing alone, whom Coconnas recognized as the Attorney-General. In the course of the examination the latter had spoken several times, always with an animosity easy to understand.
He was the one whom Catharine, both by letter and in person, had specially charged with the trial.
At the farther end of this room, the corners of which were lost in darkness behind a partly raised curtain, Coconnas saw such dreadful sights that he felt his limbs give away, and cried out: "Oh, my God!"
It was not without cause that the cry had been uttered. The sight was indeed terrible. The portion of the room hidden during the trial by the curtain, which was now drawn back, looked like the entrance to hell.
A wooden horse was there, to which were attached ropes, pulleys, and other accessories of torture. Further on glowed a brazier, which threw its lurid glare on the surrounding objects, and which added to the terror of the spectacle. Against one of the pillars which supported the ceiling stood a man motionless as a statue, holding a rope in his hand. He looked as though made of the stone of the column against which he leaned. To the walls above the stone benches, between iron links, chains were suspended and blades glittered.
"Oh!" murmured Coconnas, "the chamber of horrors is all ready, apparently waiting only for the patient! What can it mean?"
"On your knees, Marc Annibal Coconnas," said a voice which caused that gentleman to raise his head. "On your knees to hear the sentence just pronounced on you!"
This was an invitation against which the whole soul of Annibal instinctively rebelled.
But as he was about to refuse two men placed their hands on his shoulders so unexpectedly and so suddenly that his knees bent under him on the pavement. The voice continued.
"Sentence of the court sitting in the prison of Vincennes on Marc Annibal de Coconnas, accused and convicted of high treason, of an attempt to poison, of sacrilege and magic against the person of the King, of a conspiracy against the kingdom, and of having by his pernicious counsels driven a prince of the blood to rebellion."
At each charge Coconnas had shaken his head, keeping time like a fractious child. The judge continued:
"In consequence of which, the aforesaid Marc Annibal de Coconnas shall be taken from prison to the Place Saint Jean en Grève to be there beheaded; his property shall be confiscated; his woods cut down to the height of six feet; his castles destroyed, and a post planted there with a copper plate bearing an inscription of his crime and punishment."
"As for my head," said Coconnas, "I know you will cut that off, for it is in France, and in great jeopardy; but as for my woods and castles, I defy all the saws and axes of this most Christian kingdom to harm them."
"Silence!" said the judge; and he continued:
"Furthermore, the aforesaid Coconnas"—
"What!" interrupted Coconnas, "is something more to be done to me after my head is cut off? Oh! that seems to me very hard!"
"No, monsieur," said the judge, "before."
And he resumed:
"Furthermore, the aforesaid Coconnas before the execution of his sentence shall undergo the severest torture, consisting of ten wedges"—
Coconnas sprang up, flashing a burning glance at the judge.
"And for what?" he cried, finding no other words but these simple ones to express the thousand thoughts that surged through his mind.
In reality this was complete ruin to Coconnas' hopes. He would not be taken to the chapel until after the torture, from which many frequently died. The braver and stronger the victim, the more likely he was to die, for it was considered an act of cowardice to confess; and so long as the prisoner refused to confess the torture was continued, and not only continued, but increased.
The judge did not reply to Coconnas; the rest of the sentence answered for him. He continued:
"In order to compel the aforesaid Coconnas to confess in regard to his accomplices, and the details of the plan and conspiracy."
"By Heaven!" cried Coconnas; "this is what I call infamous; more than infamous—cowardly!"
Accustomed to the anger of his victims, which suffering always changed to tears, the impassible judge merely made a sign.
Coconnas was seized by the feet and the shoulders, overpowered, laid on his back, and bound to the rack before he was able even to see those who did the act.
"Wretches!" shouted he, in a paroxysm of fury, straining the bed and the cords so that the tormentors themselves drew back. "Wretches! torture me, twist me, break me to pieces, but you shall know nothing, I swear! Ah! you think, do you, that it is with pieces of wood and steel that a gentleman of my name is made to speak? Go ahead! I defy you!"
"Prepare to write, clerk," said the judge.
"Yes, prepare," shouted Coconnas; "and if you write everything I am going to tell you you infamous hangmen, you will be kept busy. Write! write!"
"Have you anything you wish to confess?" asked the judge in his calm voice.
"Nothing; not a word! Go to the devil!"
"You had better reflect, monsieur. Come, executioner, adjust the boot."
At these words the man, who until then had stood motionless, the ropes in his hand, stepped forward from the pillar and slowly approached Coconnas, who turned and made a grimace at him.
It was Maître Caboche, the executioner of the provostship of Paris.
A look of sad surprise showed itself on the face of Coconnas, who, instead of crying out and growing agitated, lay without moving, unable to take his eyes from the face of the forgotten friend who appeared at that moment.
Without moving a muscle of his face, without showing that he had ever seen Coconnas anywhere except on the rack, Caboche placed two planks between the limbs of the victim, two others outside of his limbs, and bound them securely together by means of the rope he held in his hand.
This was the arrangement called the "boot."
For ordinary torture six wedges were inserted between the two planks, which, on being forced apart, crushed the flesh.
For severe torture ten wedges were inserted, and then the planks not only broke the flesh but the bones.
The preliminaries over, Maître Caboche slipped the end of the wedge between the two planks, then, mallet in hand, bent on one knee and looked at the judge.
"Do you wish to speak?" said the latter.
"No," resolutely answered Coconnas, although he felt the perspiration rise to his brow and his hair begin to stand on end.
"Proceed, then," said the judge. "Insert the first wedge."
Caboche raised his arm, with its heavy mallet, and struck the wedge a tremendous blow, which gave forth a dull sound. The rack shook.
Coconnas did not utter a single word at the first wedge, which usually caused the most resolute to groan. Moreover, the only expression on his face was that of indescribable astonishment. He watched Caboche in amazement, who, with arm raised, half turned towards the judge, stood ready to repeat the blow.
"What was your idea in hiding in the forest?" asked the judge.
"To sit down in the shade," replied Coconnas.
"Proceed," said the judge.
Caboche gave a second blow which resounded like the first.
Coconnas did not move a muscle; he continued to watch the executioner with the same expression.
The judge frowned.
"He is a hard Christian," he murmured; "has the wedge entered?"
Caboche bent down to look, and in doing so said to Coconnas:
"Cry out, you poor fellow!"
Then rising:
"Up to the head, monsieur," said he.
"Second wedge," said the judge, coldly.
The words of Caboche explained all to Coconnas. The worthy executioner had rendered his friend the greatest service in his power: he was sparing him not only pain, but more, the shame of confession, by driving in wedges of leather, the upper part of which was covered with wood, instead of oak wedges. In this way he was leaving him all his strength to face the scaffold.
"Ah! kind, kind Caboche," murmured Coconnas, "fear nothing; I will cry out since you ask me to, and if you are not satisfied it will be because you are hard to please."
Meanwhile Caboche had introduced between the planks the end of a wedge larger than the first.
"Strike," cried the judge.
At this word Caboche struck as if with a single blow he would demolish the entire prison of Vincennes.
"Ah! ah! Stop! stop!" cried Coconnas; "a thousand devils! you are breaking my bones! Take care!"
"Ah!" said the judge, smiling, "the second seems to take effect; that surprises me."
Coconnas panted like a pair of bellows.
"What were you doing in the forest?" asked the judge.
"By Heaven! I have already told you. I was enjoying the fresh air."
"Proceed," said the judge.
"Confess," whispered Caboche.
"What?"
"Anything you wish, but something."
And he dealt a second blow no less light than the former.
Coconnas thought he would strangle himself in his efforts to cry out.
"Oh! oh!" said he; "what is it you want to know, monsieur? By whose order I was in the forest?"
"Yes."
"I was there by order of Monsieur d'Alençon."
"Write," said the judge.
"If I committed a crime in setting a trap for the King of Navarre," continued Coconnas, "I was only an instrument, monsieur, and I was obeying my master."
The clerk began to write.
"Oh! you denounced me, pale-face!" murmured the victim; "but just wait!"
And he related the visit of François to the King of Navarre, the interviews between De Mouy and Monsieur d'Alençon, the story of the red cloak, all as though he were just remembering them between the blows of the hammer.
At length he had given such precise, terrible, uncontestable evidence against D'Alençon, making it seem as though it was extorted from him only by the pain,—he grimaced, roared, and yelled so naturally, and in so many different tones of voice,—that the judge himself became terrified at having to record details so compromising to a son of France.
"Well!" said Caboche to himself, "here is a gentleman who does not need to say things twice, and who gives full measure of work to the clerk. Great God! what if, instead of leather, the wedges had been of wood!"
Coconnas was excused from the last wedge; but he had had nine others, which were enough to have crushed his limbs completely.
The judge reminded the victim of the mercy allowed him on account of his confession, and withdrew.
The prisoner was alone with Caboche.
"Well," asked the latter, "how are you?"
"Ah! my friend! my kind friend, my dear Caboche!" exclaimed Coconnas. "You may be sure I shall be grateful all my life for what you have done for me."
"The deuce! but you are right, monsieur, for if they knew what I have done it would be I who would have to take your place on the rack, and they would not treat me as I have treated you."
"But how did the idea come to you?"
"Well," said Caboche, wrapping the limbs of Coconnas in bloody bands of linen; "I knew you had been arrested, and that your trial was going on. I knew that Queen Catharine was anxious for your death. I guessed that they would put you to the torture and consequently took my precautions."
"At the risk of what might have happened?"
"Monsieur," said Caboche, "you are the only gentleman who ever gave me his hand, and we all have memories and hearts, even though we are hangmen, and perhaps for that very reason. You will see to-morrow how well I will do my work."
"To-morrow?" said Coconnas.
"Yes."
"What work?"
Caboche looked at Coconnas in amazement.
"What work? Have you forgotten the sentence?"
"Ah! yes, of course! the sentence!" said Coconnas; "I had forgotten it."
The fact is that Coconnas had not really forgotten it, but he had not been thinking of it.
What he was thinking of was the chapel, the knife hidden under the altar cloth, of Henriette and the queen, of the vestry door, and the two horses waiting on the edge of the forest; he was thinking of liberty, of the ride in the open air, of safety beyond the boundaries of France.
"Now," said Caboche, "you must be taken skilfully from the rack to the litter. Do not forget that for every one, even the guards, your limbs are broken, and that at every jar you must give a cry."
"Ah! ah!" cried Coconnas, as the two assistants advanced.
"Come! come! Courage," said Caboche, "if you cry out already, what will you do in a little while?"
"My dear Caboche," said Coconnas, "do not have me touched, I beg, by your estimable acolytes; perhaps their hands are not as light as yours."
"Place the litter near the racks," said Caboche.
The attendants obeyed. Maître Caboche raised Coconnas in his arms as if he were a child and laid him in the litter, but in spite of every care Coconnas uttered loud shrieks.
The jailer appeared with a lantern.
"To the chapel," said he.
The bearers started after Coconnas had given Caboche a second grasp of the hand. The first had been of too much use to the Piedmontese for him not to repeat it.
In profound silence the mournful procession crossed the two drawbridges of the fortress and the courtyard which leads to the chapel, through the windows of which a pale light colored the white faces of the red-robed priests.
Coconnas eagerly breathed the night air, although it was heavy with rain. He looked at the profound darkness and rejoiced that everything seemed propitious for the flight of himself and his companion. It required all his will-power, all his prudence, all his self-control to keep from springing from the litter when on entering the chapel he perceived near the choir, three feet from the altar, a figure wrapped in a great white cloak.
It was La Mole.
The two soldiers who accompanied the litter stopped outside of the door.
"Since they have done us the final favor of once more leaving us together," said Coconnas in a drawling voice, "take me to my friend."
The bearers had had no different order, and made no objection to assenting to Coconnas's demand.
La Mole was gloomy and pale; his head rested against the marble wall; his black hair, bathed with profuse perspiration, gave to his face the dull pallor of ivory, and seemed still to stand on end.
At a sign from the turnkey the two attendants went to find the priest for whom Coconnas had asked.
This was the signal agreed on.
Coconnas followed them with anxious eyes; but he was not the only one whose glance was riveted on them.
Scarcely had they disappeared when two women rushed from behind the altar and hurried to the choir with cries of joy, rousing the air like a warm and restless breeze which precedes a storm.
Marguerite rushed towards La Mole, and caught him in her arms.
La Mole uttered a piercing shriek, like one of the cries Coconnas had heard in his dungeon and which had so terrified him.
"My God! What is the matter, La Mole?" cried Marguerite, springing back in fright.
La Mole uttered a deep moan and raised his hands to his eyes as though to hide Marguerite from his sight.
The queen was more terrified at the silence and this gesture than she had been at the shriek.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, "what is the matter? You are covered with blood."
Coconnas, who had rushed to the altar for the dagger, and who was already holding Henriette in his arms, now came back.
"Rise," said Marguerite, "rise, I beg you! You see the time has come."
A hopelessly sad smile passed over the white lips of La Mole, who seemed almost unequal to the effort.
"Beloved queen!" said the young man, "you counted without Catharine, and consequently without a crime. I underwent the torture, my bones are broken, my whole body is nothing but a wound, and the effort I make now to press my lips to your forehead causes me pain worse than death."
Pale and trembling, La Mole touched his lips to the queen's brow.
"The rack!" cried Coconnas, "I, too, suffered it, but did not the executioner do for you what he did for me?"
Coconnas related everything.
"Ah!" said La Mole, "I see; you gave him your hand the day of our visit; I forgot that all men are brothers, and was proud. God has punished me for it!"
La Mole clasped his hands.
Coconnas and the women exchanged a glance of indescribable terror.
"Come," said the jailer, who until then had stood at the door to keep watch, and had now returned, "do not waste time, dear Monsieur de Coconnas; give me my thrust of the dagger, and do it in a way worthy of a gentleman, for they are coming."
Marguerite knelt down before La Mole, as if she were one of the marble figures on a tomb, near the image of the one buried in it.
"Come, my friend," said Coconnas, "I am strong, I will carry you, I will put you on your horse, or even hold you in front of me, if you cannot sit in the saddle; but let us start. You hear what this good man says; it is a question of life and death."
La Mole made a superhuman struggle, a final effort.
"Yes," said he, "it is a question of life or death."
And he strove to rise.
Annibal took him by the arm and raised him. During the process La Mole uttered dull moans, but when Coconnas let go of him to attend to the turnkey, and when he was supported only by the two women his legs gave way, and in spite of the effort of Marguerite, who was wildly sobbing, he fell back in a heap, and a piercing shriek which he could not restrain echoed pitifully throughout the vaults of the chapel, which vibrated long after.
"You see," said La Mole, painfully, "you see, my queen! Leave me; give me one last kiss and go. I did not confess, Marguerite, and our secret is hidden in our love and will die with me. Good-by, my queen, my queen."
Marguerite, herself almost lifeless, clasped the dear head in her arms, and pressed on it a kiss which was almost holy.
"You Annibal," said La Mole, "who have been spared these agonies, who are still young and able to live, flee, flee; give me the supreme consolation, my dear friend, of knowing you have escaped."
"Time flies," said the jailer; "make haste."
Henriette gently strove to lead Annibal to the door. Marguerite on her knees before La Mole, sobbing, and with dishevelled hair, looked like a Magdalene.
"Flee, Annibal," said La Mole, "flee; do not give our enemies the joyful spectacle of the death of two innocent men."
Coconnas quietly disengaged himself from Henriette, who was leading him to the door, and with a gesture so solemn that it seemed majestic said:
"Madame, first give the five hundred crowns we promised to this man."
"Here they are," said Henriette.
Then turning to La Mole, and shaking his head sadly:
"As for you, La Mole, you do me wrong to think for an instant that I could leave you. Have I not sworn to live and die with you? But you are suffering so, my poor friend, that I forgive you."
And seating himself resolutely beside his friend Coconnas leaned forward and kissed his forehead.
Then gently, as gently as a mother would do to her child, he drew the dear head towards him, until it rested on his breast.
Marguerite was numb. She had picked up the dagger which Coconnas had just let fall.
"Oh, my queen," said La Mole, extending his arms to her, and understanding her thought, "my beloved queen, do not forget that I die in order to destroy the slightest suspicion of our love!"
"But what can I do for you, then," cried Marguerite, in despair, "if I cannot die with you?"
"You can make death sweet to me," replied La Mole; "you can come to me with smiling lips."
Marguerite advanced and clasped her hands as if asking him to speak.
"Do you remember that evening, Marguerite, when in exchange for the life I then offered you, and which to-day I lay down for you, you made me a sacred promise."
Marguerite gave a start.
"Ah! you do remember," said La Mole, "for you shudder."
"Yes, yes, I remember, and on my soul, Hyacinthe, I will keep that promise."
Marguerite raised her hand towards the altar, as if calling God a second time to witness her oath.
La Mole's face lighted up as if the vaulted roof of the chapel had opened and a heavenly ray had fallen on him.
"They are coming!" said the jailer.
Marguerite uttered a cry, and rushed to La Mole, but the fear of increasing his agony made her pause trembling before him.
Henriette pressed her lips to Coconnas's brow, and said to him:
"My Annibal, I understand, and I am proud of you. I well know that your heroism makes you die, and for that heroism I love you. Before God I will always love you more than all else, and what Marguerite has sworn to do for La Mole, although I know not what it is, I swear I will do for you also."
And she held out her hand to Marguerite.
"Ah! thank you," said Coconnas; "that is the way to speak."
"Before you leave me, my queen," said La Mole, "one last favor. Give me some last souvenir, that I may kiss it as I mount the scaffold."
"Ah! yes, yes," cried Marguerite; "here!"
And she unfastened from her neck a small gold reliquary suspended from a chain of the same metal.
"Here," said she, "is a holy relic which I have worn from childhood. My mother put it around my neck when I was very little and she still loved me. It was given me by my uncle, Pope Clement and has never left me. Take it! take it!"
La Mole took it, and kissed it passionately.
"They are at the door," said the jailer; "flee, ladies, flee!"
The two women rushed behind the altar and disappeared.
At the same moment the priest entered.
It was seven o'clock in the morning, and a noisy crowd was waiting in the squares, the streets, and on the quays. At six o'clock a tumbril, the same in which after their duel the two friends had been conveyed half dead to the Louvre, had started from Vincennes and slowly crossed the Rue Saint Antoine. Along its route the spectators, so huddled together that they crushed one another, seemed like statues with fixed eyes and open mouths.
This day there was to be a heartrending spectacle offered by the queen mother to the people of Paris.
On some straw in the tumbril, we have mentioned, which was making its way through the streets, were two young men, bareheaded, and entirely clothed in black, leaning against each other. Coconnas supported on his knees La Mole, whose head hung over the sides of the tumbril, and whose eyes wandered vaguely here and there.
The crowd, eager to see even the bottom of the vehicle, crowded forward, lifted itself up, stood on tiptoe, mounted posts, clung to the angles of the walls, and appeared satisfied only when it had succeeded in seeing every detail of the two bodies which were going from the torture to death.
It had been rumored that La Mole was dying without having confessed one of the charges imputed to him; while, on the contrary, Coconnas, it was asserted, could not endure the torture, and had revealed everything.
So there were cries on all sides:
"See the red-haired one! It was he who confessed! It was he who told everything! He is a coward, and is the cause of the other's death! The other is a brave fellow, and confessed nothing."
The two young men heard perfectly, the one the praises, the other the reproaches, which accompanied their funeral march; and while La Mole pressed the hands of his friend a sublime expression of scorn lighted up the face of the Piedmontese, who from the foul tumbril gazed upon the stupid mob as if he were looking down from a triumphal car.
Misfortune had done its heavenly work, and had ennobled the face of Coconnas, as death was about to render divine his soul.
"Are we nearly there?" asked La Mole. "I can stand no more, my friend. I feel as if I were going to faint."
"Wait! wait! La Mole, we are passing by the Rue Tizon and the Rue Cloche Percée; look! look!"
"Oh! raise me, raise me, that I may once more gaze on that happy abode."
Coconnas raised his hand and touched the shoulder of the executioner, who sat at the front of the tumbril driving.
"Maître," said he, "do us the kindness to stop a moment opposite the Rue Tizon."
Caboche nodded in assent, and drew rein at the place indicated.
Aided by Coconnas, La Mole raised himself with an effort, and with eyes blinded by tears gazed at the small house, silent and mute, deserted as a tomb. A groan burst from him, and in a low voice he murmured:
"Adieu, adieu, youth, love, life!"
And his head fell forward on his breast.
"Courage," said Coconnas; "we may perhaps find all this above."
"Do you think so?" murmured La Mole.
"I think so, because the priest said so; and above all, because I hope so. But do not faint, my friend, or these staring wretches will laugh at us."
Caboche heard the last words and whipping his horse with one hand he extended the other, unseen by any one, to Coconnas. It contained a small sponge saturated with a powerful stimulant, and La Mole, after smelling it and rubbing his forehead with it, felt himself revived and reanimated.
"Ah!" said La Mole, "I am better," and he kissed the reliquary, which he wore around his neck.
As they turned a corner of the quay and reached the small edifice built by Henry II. they saw the scaffold rising bare and bloody on its platform above the heads of the crowd.
"Dear friend," said La Mole, "I wish I might be the first to die."
Coconnas again touched the hangman's shoulder.
"What is it, my gentleman?" said the latter, turning around.
"My good fellow," said Coconnas, "you will do what you can for me, will you not? You said you would."
"Yes, and I repeat it."
"My friend has suffered more than I and consequently has less strength"—
"Well?"
"Well, he says that it would cause him too much pain to see me die first. Besides, if I were to die before him he would have no one to support him on the scaffold."
"Very well," said Caboche, wiping away a tear with the back of his hand; "be easy, it shall be as you wish."