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CHAPTER I
CHAPTER I
On the first Sunday in the month of August, 1815, at ten o’clock precisely—as on every Sunday morning—the sacristan of the parish church at Sairmeuse sounded the three strokes of the bell which warn the faithful that the priest is ascending the steps of the altar to celebrate high mass. The church was already more than half full, and from every side little groups of peasants were hurrying into the church-yard. The women were all in their bravest attire, with cunning little fichus crossed upon th
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CHAPTER II
CHAPTER II
A gently ascending road, more than two miles in length, shaded by a quadruple row of venerable elms, led from the village to the Chateau de Sairmeuse. Nothing could be more beautiful than this avenue, a fit approach to a palace; and the stranger who beheld it could understand the naively vain proverb of the country: “He does not know the real beauty of France, who has never seen Sairmeuse nor the Oiselle.” The Oiselle is the little river which one crosses by means of a wooden bridge on leaving t
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CHAPTER III
CHAPTER III
Few of the inhabitants of Sairmeuse knew, except by name, the terrible duke whose arrival had thrown the whole village into commotion. Some of the oldest residents had a faint recollection of having seen him long ago, before ‘89 indeed, when he came to visit his aunt, Mlle. Armande. His duties, then, had seldom permitted him to leave the court. If he had given no sign of life during the empire, it was because he had not been compelled to submit to the humiliations and suffering which so many of
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CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER IV.
This name Lacheneur awakened no recollection in the mind of the duke. First, he had never lived at Sairmeuse. And even if he had, what courtier of the ancien regime ever troubled himself about the individual names of the peasants, whom he regarded with such profound indifference. When a grand seigneur addressed these people, he said: “Halloo! hi, there! friend, my worthy fellow!” So it was with the air of a man who is making an effort of memory that the Duc de Sairmeuse repeated: “Lacheneur—Mons
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CHAPTER V
CHAPTER V
The abode of the Baron d’Escorval, that brick structure with stone trimmings which was visible from the superb avenue leading to Sairmeuse, was small and unpretentious. Its chief attraction was a pretty lawn that extended to the banks of the Oiselle, and a small but beautifully shaded park. It was known as the Chateau d’Escorval, but that appellation was gross flattery. Any petty manufacturer who had amassed a small fortune would have desired a larger, handsomer, and more imposing establishment.
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CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VI
Maurice and Marie-Anne had loved each other for many years. As children, they had played together in the magnificent grounds surrounding the Chateau de Sairmeuse, and in the park at Escorval. Together they chased the brilliant butterflies, searched for pebbles on the banks of the river, or rolled in the hay while their mothers sauntered through the meadows bordering the Oiselle. For their mothers were friends. Mme. Lacheneur had been reared like other poor peasant girls; that is to say, on the d
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CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VII
The demonstrations which had greeted the Duc de Sairmeuse had been correctly reported by Chanlouineau. Chupin had found the secret of kindling to a white heat the enthusiasm of the cold and calculating peasants who were his neighbors. He was a dangerous rascal, the old robber, shrewd and cautious; bold, as those who possess nothing can afford to be; as patient as a savage; in short, one of the most consummate scoundrels that ever existed. The peasants feared him, and yet they had no conception o
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CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER VIII
Only those who, in the bright springtime of life, have loved, have been loved in return, and have suddenly seen an impassable gulf open between them and happiness, can realize Maurice d’Escorval’s disappointment. All the dreams of his life, all his future plans, were based upon his love for Marie-Anne. If this love failed him, the enchanted castle which hope had erected would crumble and fall, burying him in the ruins. Without Marie-Anne he saw neither aim nor motive in his existence. Still he d
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CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER IX
The Reche, literally translated the “Waste,” where Marie-Anne had promised to meet Maurice, owed its name to the rebellious and sterile character of the soil. Nature seemed to have laid her curse upon it. Nothing would grow there. The ground was covered with stones, and the sandy soil defied all attempts to enrich it. A few stunted oaks rose here and there above the thorns and broom-plant. But on the lowlands of the Reche is a flourishing grove. The firs are straight and strong, for the floods o
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CHAPTER X
CHAPTER X
The Duc de Sairmeuse had slept little and poorly on the night following his return, or his restoration, as he styled it. Inaccessible, as he pretended to be, to the emotions which agitate the common herd, the scenes of the day had greatly excited him. He could not help reviewing them, although he made it the rule of his life never to reflect. While exposed to the scrutiny of the peasants and of his acquaintances at the Chateau de Courtornieu, he felt that his honor required him to appear cold an
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CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XI
During the decisive moments of life, when one’s entire future depends upon a word, or a gesture, twenty contradictory inspirations can traverse the mind in the time occupied by a flash of lightning. On the sudden apparition of the young Marquis de Sairmeuse, Maurice d’Escorval’s first thought was this: “How long has he been there? Has he been playing the spy? Has he been listening to us? What did he hear?” His first impulse was to spring upon his enemy, to strike him in the face, and compel him
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CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XII
“No, never in my whole life have I met a woman who can compare with this Marie-Anne! What grace and what dignity! Ah! her beauty is divine!” So Martial was thinking while returning to Sairmeuse after his proposals to M. Lacheneur. At the risk of losing his way he took the shortest course, which led across the fields and over ditches, which he leaped with the aid of his gun. He found a pleasure, entirely novel and very delightful, in picturing Marie-Anne as he had just seen her, blushing and pali
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CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIII
The Chateau de Courtornieu is, next to Sairmeuse, the most magnificent habitation in the arrondissement of Montaignac. The approach to the castle was by a long and narrow road, badly paved. When the carriage containing Martial and his father turned from the public highway into this rough road, the jolting aroused the duke from the profound revery into which he had fallen on leaving Sairmeuse. The marquis thought that he had caused this unusual fit of abstraction. “It is the result of my adroit m
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CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XIV
If Martial had faithfully reported to Mlle. Blanche all that he heard in the Marquis de Courtornieu’s cabinet, he would probably have astonished her a little. He, himself, if he had sincerely confessed his impressions and his reflections, would have been obliged to admit that he was greatly amazed. But this unfortunate man, who, in days to come, would be compelled to reproach himself bitterly for the excess of his fanaticism, refused to confess this truth even to himself. His life was to be spen
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CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XV
It was only two weeks since the Duc de Sairmeuse had returned to France; he had not yet had time to shake the dust of exile from his feet, and already his imagination saw enemies on every side. He had been at Sairmeuse only two days, and yet he unhesitatingly accepted the venomous reports which Chupin poured into his ears. The suspicions which he was endeavoring to make Martial share were cruelly unjust. At the moment when the duke accused the baron of conspiring against the house of Sairmeuse,
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CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVI
The cottage where M. Lacheneur had taken refuge was situated on a hill overlooking the water. It was, as he had said, a small and humble dwelling, but it was rather less miserable than the abodes of most of the peasants of the district. It was only one story high, but it was divided into three rooms, and the roof was covered with thatch. In front was a tiny garden, in which a few fruit-trees, some withered cabbages, and a vine which covered the cottage to the roof, managed to find subsistence. T
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CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVII
The Marquis de Courtornieu idolized his daughter. Everyone spoke of that as an incontestable and uncontested fact. When persons spoke to him of his daughter, they always said: “You, who adore your daughter——” And when he spoke of himself, he said: “I who adore Blanche.” The truth was, that he would have given a good deal, even a third of his fortune, to be rid of her. This smiling young girl, who seemed such an artless child, had gained an absolute control over him. She forced him to bow like a
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CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XVIII
After his son’s confession, M. d’Escorval was prudent enough to make no allusion to the hopes he, himself, entertained. “My poor Maurice,” he thought, “is heart-broken, but resigned. It is better for him to remain without hope than to be exposed to the danger of another disappointment.” But passion is not always blind. What the baron concealed, Maurice divined; and he clung to this faint hope as tenaciously as a drowning man clings to the plank which is his only hope of salvation. If he asked hi
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CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XIX
So it was really Maurice d’Escorval whom the Marquis de Sairmeuse had seen leaving Lacheneur’s house. Martial was not certain of it, but the very possibility made his heart swell with anger. “What part am I playing here, then?” he exclaimed, indignantly. He had been so completely blinded by passion that he would not have been likely to discover the real condition of affairs even if no pains had been taken to deceive him. Lacheneur’s formal courtesy and politeness he regarded as sincere. He belie
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CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XX
Ah! ambition is a fine thing! The Duc de Sairmeuse and the Marquis de Courtornieu were past middle age; their lives had been marked by many storms and vicissitudes; they were the possessors of millions, and the owners of the most sumptuous residences in the province. Under these circumstances one might have supposed that they would desire to end their days in peace and quietness. It would have been easy for them to create a life of happiness by doing good to those around them, and by preparing f
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CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXI
The Duc de Sairmeuse and the Marquis de Courtornieu had more time before them than they supposed. The rebels were advancing, but not so rapidly as Chupin had said. Two circumstances, which it was impossible to foresee, disarranged Lacheneur’s plans. Standing beside his burning house, Lacheneur counted the signal fires that blazed out in answer to his own. Their number corresponded to his expectations; he uttered a cry of joy. “All our friends keep their word!” he exclaimed. “They are ready; they
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CHAPTER XXII
CHAPTER XXII
The clock in the tower of Sairmeuse was striking the hour of eight when Lacheneur and his little band of followers left the Reche. An hour later, at the Chateau de Courtornieu, Mlle. Blanche, after finishing her dinner, ordered the carriage to convey her to Montaignac. Since her father had taken up his abode in town they met only on Sunday; on that day either Blanche went to Montaignac, or the marquis paid a visit to the chateau. Hence this proposed journey was a deviation from the regular order
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CHAPTER XXIII
CHAPTER XXIII
Chupin’s stupefying revelations and the thought that Martial, the heir of his name and dukedom, should degrade himself so low as to enter into a conspiracy with vulgar peasants, drove the Duc de Sairmeuse nearly wild. But the Marquis de Courtornieu’s coolness restored the duke’s sang-froid . He ran to the barracks, and in less than half an hour five hundred foot-soldiers and three hundred of the Montaignac chasseurs were under arms. With these forces at his disposal it would have been easy enoug
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CHAPTER XXIV
CHAPTER XXIV
Having penetrated the mystery that enveloped his son’s frequent absence, the Baron d’Escorval had concealed his fears and his chagrin from his wife. It was the first time that he had ever had a secret from the faithful and courageous companion of his existence. Without warning her, he went to beg Abbe Midon to follow him to the Reche, to the house of M. Lacheneur. The silence, on his part, explains Mme. d’Escorval’s astonishment when, on the arrival of the dinner-hour, neither her son nor her hu
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CHAPTER XXV
CHAPTER XXV
The secret which approaching death had wrestled from Marie-Anne in the fortification at the Croix d’Arcy, Mme. d’Escorval was ignorant of when she joined her entreaties to those of her son to induce the unfortunate girl to remain. But the fact occasioned Maurice scarcely an uneasiness. His faith in his mother was complete, absolute; he was sure that she would forgive when she learned the truth. Loving and chaste wives and mothers are always most indulgent to those who have been led astray by the
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CHAPTER XXVI
CHAPTER XXVI
“Above all, make haste!” Maurice had said to the messenger charged with bearing a letter to the baroness. Nevertheless, the man did not reach Escorval until nightfall. Beset by a thousand fears, he had taken the unfrequented roads and had made long circuits to avoid all the people he saw approaching in the distance. Mme. d’Escorval tore the letter rather than took it from his hands. She opened it, read it aloud to Marie-Anne, and merely said: “Let us go—at once.” But this was easier said than do
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CHAPTER XXVII
CHAPTER XXVII
In the citadel of Montaignac, within the second line of fortifications, stands an old building known as the chapel. Originally consecrated to worship, the structure had, at the time of which we write, fallen into disuse. It was so damp that it would not even serve as an arsenal for an artillery regiment, for the guns rusted there more quickly than in the open air. A black mould covered the walls to a height of six or seven feet. This was the place selected by the Duc de Sairmeuse and the Marquis
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CHAPTER XXVIII
CHAPTER XXVIII
The abbe had been right in feeling he could trust the officers to whose care he had confided Maurice. Finding their entreaties would not induce him to leave the citadel, they seized him and literally carried him away. He made the most desperate efforts to escape; each step was a struggle. “Leave me!” he exclaimed; “let me go where duty calls me. You only dishonor me in pretending to save me.” His agony was terrible. He had thrown himself headlong into this absurd undertaking, and now the respons
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CHAPTER XXIX
CHAPTER XXIX
The prospect of capturing Lacheneur, the chief conspirator, excited the Marquis de Courtornieu so much that he had not been able to tear himself away from the citadel to return home to his dinner. Remaining near the entrance of the dark corridor leading to Chanlouineau’s cell, he watched Marie-Anne depart; but as he saw her go out into the twilight with a quick, alert step, he felt a sudden doubt of Chanlouineau’s sincerity. “Can it be that this miserable peasant has deceived me?” he thought. So
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CHAPTER XXX
CHAPTER XXX
Though among the first to be arrested at the time of the panic before Montaignac, the Baron d’Escorval had not for an instant deluded himself with false hopes. “I am a lost man,” he thought. And confronting death calmly, he now thought only of the danger that threatened his son. His mistake before the judges was the result of his preoccupation. He did not breathe freely until he saw Maurice led from the hall by Abbe Midon and the friendly officers, for he knew that his son would try to confess c
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CHAPTER XXXI
CHAPTER XXXI
Chupin had not taken time to sleep, nor scarcely time to drink, since that unfortunate morning when the Duc de Sairmeuse ordered affixed to the walls of Montaignac, that decree in which he promised twenty thousand francs to the person who should deliver up Lacheneur, dead or alive. “Twenty thousand francs,” Chupin muttered gloomily; “twenty sacks with a hundred pistoles in each! Ah! if I could discover Lacheneur; even if he were dead and buried a hundred feet under ground, I should gain the rewa
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CHAPTER XXXII
CHAPTER XXXII
Alone in his cell, Chanlouineau, after Marie-Anne’s departure, abandoned himself to the most frightful despair. He had just given more than life to the woman he loved so fervently. For had he not, in the hope of obtaining an interview with her, perilled his honor by simulating the most ignoble fear? While doing so, he thought only of the success of his ruse. But now he knew only too well what those who had witnessed his apparent weakness would say of him. “This Chanlouineau is only a miserable c
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CHAPTER XXXIII
CHAPTER XXXIII
Ah, well, there was one woman, a fair young girl, whose heart had not been touched by the sorrowful scenes of which Montaignac had been the theatre. Mlle. Blanche de Courtornieu smiled as brightly as ever in the midst of a stricken people; and surrounded by mourners, her lovely eyes remained dry. The daughter of a man who, for a week, exercised the power of a dictator, she did not lift her finger to save a single one of the condemned prisoners from the executioner. They had stopped her carriage
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CHAPTER XXXIV
CHAPTER XXXIV
That Martial de Sairmeuse was to marry Mlle. Blanche de Courtornieu did not surprise the inhabitants of Montaignac in the least. But spreading such a report, with Lacheneur’s execution fresh in the minds of everyone, could not fail to bring odium upon these men who had held absolute power, and who had exercised it so mercilessly. Heaven knows that M. de Courtornieu and the Duc de Sairmeuse were now doing their best to make the people of Montaignac forget the atrocious cruelty of which they had b
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CHAPTER XXXV
CHAPTER XXXV
The ledge of rock upon which Baron d’Escorval and Corporal Bavois rested in their descent from the tower was very narrow. In the widest place it did not measure more than a yard and a half, and its surface was uneven, cut by innumerable fissures and crevices, and sloped suddenly at the edge. To stand there in the daytime, with the wall of the tower behind one, and the precipice at one’s feet, would have been considered very imprudent. Of course, the task of lowering a man from this ledge, at dea
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CHAPTER XXXVI
CHAPTER XXXVI
Essentially a woman in grace and beauty, as well as in devotion and tenderness, Marie-Anne was capable of a virile bravery. Her energy and her coolness during those trying days had been the admiration and the astonishment of all around her. But human endurance has its limits. Always after excessive efforts comes a moment when the shrinking flesh fails the firmest will. When Marie-Anne tried to begin her journey anew, she found that her strength was exhausted; her swollen feet would no longer sus
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CHAPTER XXXVII
CHAPTER XXXVII
When Abbe Midon and Martial de Sairmeuse held their conference, to discuss and to decide upon the arrangements for the Baron d’Escorval’s escape, a difficulty presented itself which threatened to break off the negotiation. “Return my letter,” said Martial, “and I will save the baron.” “Save the baron,” replied the abbe, “and your letter shall be returned.” But Martial’s was one of those natures which become exasperated by the least shadow of suspicion. The idea that anyone should suppose him inf
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CHAPTER XXXVIII
CHAPTER XXXVIII
To disturb the merrymaking at the Chateau de Sairmeuse; to change the joy of the bridal-day into sadness; to cast a gloom over the nuptials of Martial and Mlle. Blanche de Courtornieu. This, in truth, was all that Jean Lacheneur hoped to do. As for believing that Martial, triumphant and happy, would accept the challenge of Maurice, a miserable outlaw, he did not believe it. While awaiting Martial in the vestibule of the chateau, he armed himself against the scorn and sneers which he would probab
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CHAPTER XXXIX
CHAPTER XXXIX
Terrible as Martial imagined the scandal to be which he had created, his conception of it by no means equalled the reality. Had a thunder-bolt burst beneath that roof, the guests at Sairmeuse could not have been more amazed and horrified. A shudder passed over the assembly when Martial, terrible in his passion, flung the crumbled letter full in the face of the Marquis de Courtornieu. And when the marquis sank half-fainting into an arm-chair some young ladies of extreme sensibility could not repr
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CHAPTER XL
CHAPTER XL
The twenty-four hours which Blanche had spent in measuring the extent of her terrible misfortune, the duke had spent in raving and swearing. He had not even thought of going to bed. After his fruitless search for his son he returned to the chateau, and began a continuous tramp to and fro in the great hall. He was almost sinking from weariness when his son’s letter was handed him. It was very brief. Martial did not vouchsafe any explanation; he did not even mention the rupture between his wife an
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CHAPTER XLI
CHAPTER XLI
One must have lived in the country to know with what inconceivable rapidity news flies from mouth to mouth. Strange as it may seem, the news of the scene at the chateau reached Father Poignot’s farm-house that same evening. It had not been three hours since Maurice, Jean Lacheneur and Bavois left the house, promising to re-cross the frontier that same night. Abbe Midon had decided to say nothing to M. d’Escorval of his son’s return, and to conceal Marie-Anne’s presence in the house. The baron’s
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CHAPTER XLII
CHAPTER XLII
To quit Sairmeuse without any display of violence had cost Blanche an almost superhuman effort. The wildest anger convulsed her soul at the very moment, when, with an assumption of melancholy dignity, she murmured those words of forgiveness. Ah! had she obeyed the dictates of her resentment! But her indomitable vanity aroused within her the heroism of a gladiator dying on the arena, with a smile upon his lips. Falling, she intended to fall gracefully. “No one shall see me weep; no one shall hear
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CHAPTER XLIII
CHAPTER XLIII
It was the second day after Marie-Anne’s installation at the Borderie. That event was the general topic of conversation; and Chanlouineau’s will was the subject of countless comments. “Here is Monsieur Lacheneur’s daughter with an income of more than two thousand francs, without counting the house,” said the old people, gravely. “An honest girl would have had no such luck as that!” muttered the unattractive maidens who had not been fortunate enough to secure husbands. This was the great news whi
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CHAPTER XLIV
CHAPTER XLIV
The old physician at Vigano, who had come to Marie-Anne’s aid, was an honorable man. His intellect was of a superior order, and his heart was equal to his intelligence. He knew life; he had loved and suffered, and he possessed two sublime virtues—forbearance and charity. It was easy for such a man to read Marie-Anne’s character; and while he was at the Borderie he endeavored in every possible way to reassure her, and to restore the self-respect of the unfortunate girl who had confided in him. Ha
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CHAPTER XLV
CHAPTER XLV
Detected by Mme. Blanche in a palpable falsehood, Chupin was quite crestfallen for a moment. He saw the pleasing vision of a retreat at Courtornieu vanish; he saw himself suddenly deprived of frequent gifts which permitted him to spare his hoarded treasure, and even to increase it. But he soon regained his assurance, and with an affectation of frankness he said: “I may be stupid, but I could not deceive an infant. Someone must have told you falsely.” Mme. Blanche shrugged her shoulders. “I obtai
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CHAPTER XLVI
CHAPTER XLVI
Kneeling by the half-open door, Blanche eagerly watched the workings of the poison which she had administered. She was so near her victim that she could distinguish the throbbing of her temples, and sometimes she fancied she could feel upon her cheek her rival’s breath, which scorched like flame. An utter prostration followed Marie-Anne’s paroxysm of agony. One would have supposed her dead had it not been for the convulsive workings of the jaws and her labored breathing. But soon the nausea retu
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CHAPTER XLVII
CHAPTER XLVII
Of all the persons who witnessed Baron d’Escorval’s terrible fall, the abbe was the only one who did not despair. What a learned doctor would not have dared to do, he did. He was a priest; he had faith. He remembered the sublime saying of Ambroise Pare: “I dress the wound: God heals it.” After a six months’ sojourn in Father Poignot’s secluded farm-house, M. d’Escorval was able to sit up and to walk about a little, with the aid of crutches. Then he began to be seriously inconvenienced by his cra
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CHAPTER XLVIII
CHAPTER XLVIII
The reason of Mme. Blanche had sustained a frightful shock, when Chupin was obliged to lift her and carry her from Marie-Anne’s chamber. But she lost consciousness entirely when she saw the old poacher stricken down by her side. On and after that night Aunt Medea took her revenge for all the slights she had received. Scarcely tolerated until then at Courtornieu, she henceforth made herself respected, and even feared. She, who usually swooned if a kitten hurt itself, did not utter a cry. Her extr
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CHAPTER XLIX
CHAPTER XLIX
Time gradually heals all wounds, and in less than a year it was difficult to discern any trace of the fierce whirlwind of passion which had devastated the peaceful valley of the Oiselle. What remained to attest the reality of all these events, which, though they were so recent, had already been relegated to the domain of the legendary? A charred ruin on the Reche. A grave in the cemetery, upon which was inscribed: “Marie-Anne Lacheneur, died at the age of twenty. Pray for her!” Only a few, the o
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CHAPTER L
CHAPTER L
Martial de Sairmeuse’s unexpected visit to the Chateau de Courtornieu had alarmed Aunt Medea even more than Blanche. In ten seconds, more ideas passed through her brain than had visited it for ten years. She saw the gendarmes at the chateau; she saw her niece arrested, incarcerated in the Montaignac prison, and brought before the Court of Assizes. If this were all she had to fear! But suppose she, too, were compromised, suspected of complicity, dragged before the judge, and even accused of being
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CHAPTER LI
CHAPTER LI
Beset by a thousand fears and anxieties, Blanche had failed to notice that Aunt Medea was no longer the same. The change, it is true, had been gradual; it had not struck the servants, but it was none the less positive and real, and it betrayed itself in numberless trifles. For example, though the poor dependent still retained her humble, resigned manner; she had lost, little by little, the servile fear that had showed itself in her every movement. She no longer trembled when anyone addressed her
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CHAPTER LII
CHAPTER LII
Half reclining upon a sofa, Mme. Blanche was listening to a new book which Aunt Medea was reading aloud, and she did not even raise her head as the servant delivered his message. “A man?” she asked, carelessly; “what man?” She was expecting no one; it must be one of the laborers employed by Martial. “I cannot inform Madame,” replied the servant. “He is quite a young man; is dressed like a peasant, and is perhaps, seeking a place.” “It is probably the marquis whom he desires to see.” “Madame will
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CHAPTER LIII
CHAPTER LIII
How was it that Martial had failed to discover or to suspect this state of affairs? A moment’s reflection will explain this fact which is so extraordinary in appearance, so natural in reality. The head of a family, whether he dwells in an attic or in a palace, is always the last to know what is going on in his home. What everybody else knows he does not even suspect. The master often sleeps while his house is on fire. Some terrible catastrophe—an explosion—is necessary to arouse him from his fan
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CHAPTER LIV
CHAPTER LIV
A few lines of the article consecrated to Martial de Sairmeuse in the “General Biography of the Men of the Century,” give the history of his life after his marriage. “Martial de Sairmeuse,” it says there, “brought to the service of his party a brilliant intellect and admirable endowments. Called to the front at the moment when political strife was raging with the utmost violence, he had courage to assume the sole responsibility of the most extreme measures. “Compelled by almost universal opprobr
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CHAPTER LV
CHAPTER LV
The Duc de Sairmeuse was one of those men who remain superior to all fortuitous circumstances, good or bad. He was a man of vast experience, and great natural shrewdness. His mind was quick to act, and fertile in resources. But when he found himself immured in the damp and loathsome station-house, after the terrible scenes at the Poivriere, he relinquished all hope. Martial knew that Justice does not trust to appearances, and that when she finds herself confronted by a mystery, she does not rest
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EPILOGUE THE FIRST SUCCESS
EPILOGUE THE FIRST SUCCESS
Safe, in his own princely mansion, and surrounded by an army of retainers, the Duc de Sairmeuse triumphantly exclaimed: “We have outwitted Lecoq.” In this he was right. But he thought himself forever beyond the reach of the wily, keen-witted detective; and in this he was wrong. Lecoq was not the man to sit down with folded hands and brood over the humiliation of his defeat. Before he went to Father Tabaret, he was beginning to recover from his stupor and despondency; and when he left that experi
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