"Where are you going?" he said; "you are pale--what has happened? Is it right for you to be out alone? Take my arm.""Where is the commandant?" she asked.
Hardly had the words left her lips when she heard the movement of troops beyond the Porte Saint-Leonard and distinguished Hulot's gruff voice in the tumult.
"God's thunder!" he cried, "I never saw such fog as this for a reconnaissance! The Gars must have ordered the weather.""What are you complaining of?" said Mademoiselle de Verneuil, grasping his arm."The fog will cover vengeance as well as perfidy.
Commandant," she added, in a low voice, "you must take measures at once so that the Gars may not escape us.""Is he at your house?" he asked, in a tone which showed his amazement.
"Not yet," she replied; "but give me a safe man and I will send him to you when the marquis comes.""That's a mistake," said Corentin; "a soldier will alarm him, but a boy, and I can find one, will not.""Commandant," said Mademoiselle de Verneuil, "thanks to this fog which you are cursing, you can surround my house.Put soldiers everywhere.
Place a guard in the church to command the esplanade on which the windows of my salon open.Post men on the Promenade; for though the windows of my bedroom are twenty feet above the ground, despair does sometimes give a man the power to jump even greater distances safely.
Listen to what I say.I shall probably send this gentleman out of the door of my house; therefore see that only brave men are there to meet him; for," she added, with a sigh, "no one denies him courage; he will assuredly defend himself.""Gudin!" called the commandant."Listen, my lad," he continued in a low voice when the young man joined him, "this devil of a girl is betraying the Gars to us--I am sure I don't know why, but that's no matter.Take ten men and place yourself so as to hold the cul-de-sac in which the house stands; be careful that no one sees either you or your men.""Yes, commandant, I know the ground."
"Very good," said Hulot."I'll send Beau-Pied to let you know when to play your sabres.Try to meet the marquis yourself, and if you can manage to kill him, so that I sha'n't have to shoot him judicially, you shall be a lieutenant in a fortnight or my name's not Hulot."Gudin departed with a dozen soldiers.
"Do you know what you have done?" said Corentin to Mademoiselle de Verneuil, in a low voice.
She made no answer, but looked with a sort of satisfaction at the men who were starting, under command of the sub-lieutenant, for the Promenade, while others, following the next orders given by Hulot, were to post themselves in the shadows of the church of Saint-Leonard.
"There are houses adjoining mine," she said; "you had better surround them all.Don't lay up regrets by neglecting a single precaution.""She is mad," thought Hulot.
"Was I not a prophet?" asked Corentin in his ear."As for the boy Ishall send with her, he is the little gars with a bloody foot;therefore--"
He did not finish his sentence, for Mademoiselle de Verneuil by a sudden movement darted in the direction of her house, whither he followed her, whistling like a man supremely satisfied.When he overtook her she was already at the door of her house, where Galope-Chopine's little boy was on the watch.
"Mademoiselle," said Corentin, "take the lad with you; you cannot have a more innocent or active emissary.Boy," he added, "when you have seen the Gars enter the house come to me, no matter who stops you;you'll find me at the guard-house and I'll give you something that will make you eat cake for the rest of your days."At these words, breathed rather than said in the child's ear, Corentin felt his hand squeezed by that of the little Breton, who followed Mademoiselle de Verneuil into the house.
"Now, my good friends, you can come to an explanation as soon as you like," cried Corentin when the door was closed."If you make love, my little marquis, it will be on your winding-sheet."But Corentin could not bring himself to let that fatal house completely out of sight, and he went to the Promenade, where he found the commandant giving his last orders.By this time it was night.Two hours went by; but the sentinels posted at intervals noticed nothing that led them to suppose the marquis had evaded the triple line of men who surrounded the three sides by which the tower of Papegaut was accessible.Twenty times had Corentin gone from the Promenade to the guard-room, always to find that his little emissary had not appeared.
Sunk in thought, the spy paced the Promenade slowly, enduring the martyrdom to which three passions, terrible in their clashing, subject a man,--love, avarice, and ambition.Eight o'clock struck from all the towers in the town.The moon rose late.Fog and darkness wrapped in impenetrable gloom the places where the drama planned by this man was coming to its climax.He was able to silence the struggle of his passions as he walked up and down, his arms crossed, and his eyes fixed on the windows which rose like the luminous eyes of a phantom above the rampart.The deep silence was broken only by the rippling of the Nancon, by the regular and lugubrious tolling from the belfries, by the heavy steps of the sentinels or the rattle of arms as the guard was hourly relieved.
"The night's as thick as a wolf's jaw," said the voice of Pille-Miche.
"Go on," growled Marche-a-Terre, "and don't talk more than a dead dog.""I'm hardly breathing," said the Chouan.
"If the man who made that stone roll down wants his heart to serve as the scabbard for my knife he'll do it again," said Marche-a-Terre, in a low voice scarcely heard above the flowing of the river.
"It was I," said Pille-Miche.
