"Citizen," said the commandant, "I think the /ci-devant/ has fooled us; there's nothing stirring.""He is there," cried Corentin, pointing to the window."I have seen a man's shadow on the curtain.But I can't think what has become of that boy.They must have killed him or locked him up.There! commandant, don't you see that? there's a man's shadow; come, come on!""I sha'n't seize him in bed; thunder of God! He will come out if he went in; Gudin won't miss him," cried Hulot, who had his own reasons for waiting till the Gars could defend himself.
"Commandant, I enjoin you, in the name of the law to proceed at once into that house.""You're a fine scoundrel to try to make me do that."Without showing any resentment at the commandant's language, Corentin said coolly: "You will obey me.Here is an order in good form, signed by the minister of war, which will force you to do so." He drew a paper from his pocket and held it out."Do you suppose we are such fools as to leave that girl to do as she likes? We are endeavoring to suppress a civil war, and the grandeur of the purpose covers the pettiness of the means.""I take the liberty, citizen, of sending you to--you understand me?
Enough.To the right-about, march! Let me alone, or it will be the worse for you.""But read that," persisted Corentin.
"Don't bother me with your functions," cried Hulot, furious at receiving orders from a man he regarded as contemptible.
At this instant Galope-Chopine's boy suddenly appeared among them like a rat from a hole.
"The Gars has started!" he cried.
"Which way?"
"The rue Saint-Leonard."
"Beau-Pied," said Hulot in a whisper to the corporal who was near him, "go and tell your lieutenant to draw in closer round the house, and make ready to fire.Left wheel, forward on the tower, the rest of you!" he shouted.
To understand the conclusion of this fatal drama we must re-enter the house with Mademoiselle de Verneuil when she returned to it after denouncing the marquis to the commandant.
When passions reach their crisis they bring us under the dominion of far greater intoxication than the petty excitements of wine or opium.
The lucidity then given to ideas, the delicacy of the high-wrought senses, produce the most singular and unexpected effects.Some persons when they find themselves under the tyranny of a single thought can see with extraordinary distinctness objects scarcely visible to others, while at the same time the most palpable things become to them almost as if they did not exist.When Mademoiselle de Verneuil hurried, after reading the marquis's letter, to prepare the way for vengeance just as she had lately been preparing all for love, she was in that stage of mental intoxication which makes real life like the life of a somnambulist.But when she saw her house surrounded, by her own orders, with a triple line of bayonets a sudden flash of light illuminated her soul.She judged her conduct and saw with horror that she had committed a crime.Under the first shock of this conviction she sprang to the threshold of the door and stood there irresolute, striving to think, yet unable to follow out her reasoning.She knew so vaguely what had happened that she tried in vain to remember why she was in the antechamber, and why she was leading a strange child by the hand.A million of stars were floating in the air before her like tongues of fire.She began to walk about, striving to shake off the horrible torpor which laid hold of her; but, like one asleep, no object appeared to her under its natural form or in its own colors.
She grasped the hand of the little boy with a violence not natural to her, dragging him along with such precipitate steps that she seemed to have the motions of a madwoman.She saw neither persons nor things in the salon as she crossed it, and yet she was saluted by three men who made way to let her pass.
"That must be she," said one of them.
"She is very handsome," exclaimed another, who was a priest.
"Yes," replied the first; "but how pale and agitated--""And beside herself," said the third; "she did not even see us."At the door of her own room Mademoiselle de Verneuil saw the smiling face of Francine, who whispered to her: "He is here, Marie."Mademoiselle de Verneuil awoke, reflected, looked at the child whose hand she held, remembered all, and replied to the girl: "Shut up that boy; if you wish me to live do not let him escape you."As she slowly said the words her eyes were fixed on the door of her bedroom, and there they continued fastened with so dreadful a fixedness that it seemed as if she saw her victim through the wooden panels.Then she gently opened it, passed through and closed it behind her without turning round, for she saw the marquis standing before the fireplace.His dress, without being too choice, had the look of careful arrangement which adds so much to the admiration which a woman feels for her lover.All her self-possession came back to her at the sight of him.Her lips, rigid, although half-open, showed the enamel of her white teeth and formed a smile that was fixed and terrible rather than voluptuous.She walked with slow steps toward the young man and pointed with her finger to the clock.
"A man who is worthy of love is worth waiting for," she said with deceptive gaiety.
Then, overcome with the violence of her emotions, she dropped upon the sofa which was near the fireplace.
"Dear Marie, you are so charming when you are angry," said the marquis, sitting down beside her and taking her hand, which she let him take, and entreating a look, which she refused him."I hope," he continued, in a tender, caressing voice, "that my wife will not long refuse a glance to her loving husband."Hearing the words she turned abruptly and looked into his eyes.
"What is the meaning of that dreadful look?" he said, laughing."But your hand is burning! oh, my love, what is it?""Your love!" she repeated, in a dull, changed voice.
