M. DE ROCHEFORT REVIEWS HIMSELF
For a moment he said nothing more. And then: “M. Ferminard?”
“Yes, M. de Rochefort?”
“I have been a very great fool, it seems to me, for I did not in the
least consider the fact, when I played that deception upon you, that it
was an unworthy one. You believed in me. You had formed an opinion of
me. You paid me the compliment of never imagining that I would deceive
you. Well, honestly and as between man and man, I looked on the matter
more in the light of a joke. I said to myself, ‘How he will stare when
he finds I have outwitted him.’ It was the trick of a child, for it
seems to me one grows childish in prison. Give me that big sou, M.
Ferminard.”
Ferminard passed the coin through the hole and Rochefort, rising,
opened it, put the little saw in, closed it, and returned it to the
other.
“And here is the rope,” said he. “I have no more use for it.”
“But, monsieur,” said Ferminard. He paused, and for a moment said
nothing more. Ferminard was, in fact, covered with confusion.
Rochefort’s unworthy trick had struck him on the cheek, so to say, and
left it burning. He felt ashamed. Ashamed of Rochefort for playing
the trick and ashamed of himself for having found it out, and ashamed
of Rochefort knowing that he—Ferminard—thought less of him. Then,
breaking silence:
“It is nothing, M. de Rochefort. If you are tired of prison why should
you remain? It is true that there may be danger for you from M. de
Choiseul, but one does nothing without danger threatening one in this
world, it seems to me. Why, even walking across the street one may be
run over by a carriage, as a friend of mine was some time ago.”
“My good Ferminard,” said Rochefort, dropping for the first time the
prefix “monsieur,” “you are talking for the sake of talking, and for
the kind reason that you wish to hide from yourself and me what you are
thinking. And you are thinking that the Comte de Rochefort is a man
whom you trusted, but whom you do not trust any longer.”
“Monsieur—monsieur!”
“Let me finish. If that is not what you are thinking you must be a
fool, and as you are not a fool that is what is in your mind. Well, you
are right and wrong. I do not know my own character entirely, but I do
know that when I stop to think I am sometimes at a loss to imagine why
I have committed certain actions; some of these actions that startle me
are good, and some are bad; but they are not committed by the Comte de
Rochefort so much as by something that urges the Comte de Rochefort to
commit them. I fancy that some men always think before they act, and
other men frequently act before they think, but I do know this, that
once I am propelled on a course of action I don’t stop to think at all
till the business is over one way or another.
“Now, when I took that saw of yours, I said to myself, ‘Here is a
joke I will play on M. Ferminard. What a temper he will be in when
he finds that I have outwitted him. He wishes to prevent my escape
so that he may not be left in loneliness? We will see.’ Well, M.
Ferminard, embarked on that course of action, I never stopped to think
that all the time I was cutting that bar I was violating your trust
in me. When I found that you did not open the sou to examine whether
its contents were safe, I should have paused to take counsel with
myself and inquire if liberty were worth the deception of a good and
honest mind which placed its faith in me. But I did not pause to take
counsel with myself, and for two reasons. First, as I said before, I
never stop to think when I am in action; secondly, I am so unused to
meeting with good and honest minds that I did not suspect one was in
the next cell to me. It is true, M. Ferminard. The men with whom I
have always lived have been men very much like myself. Men who do not
think much, and who, when they do think, are full of suspicion as a
rule. We are robbed by our servants, our wives, and our mistresses. We
cheat each other, not at cards, but with phrases and at the game of
Love, and so forth. You said you were of small extraction and one of
the _rafataille_—well, it is among the _rafataille_, among the People,
during the last few days that I have met three individuals who have
struck me as being the only worthy individuals it has been my lot to
meet. They are yourself, Monsieur Lavenne, and little Javotte, a girl
whom you do not know.”
“Believe me, monsieur,” said Ferminard, “I have no unworthy thought
concerning you. At first, yes, but now after what you have said, no. I
am like that myself, and had I been in your place, I would, I am very
sure, have done as you did.”
“Perhaps,” replied Rochefort. “But I cannot use the rope, so here it is
and I will leave my release from prison to God and M. de Sartines.”
He began to push the rope through the hole. It would not go. Ferminard
was pushing it back.
“No, M. de Rochefort—one moment till I speak—I have been blinded to
my best interests by my desire to keep you as a companion. You must
escape, you must do as Fate dictated to you, and to me, when she gave
us the fruits of the labours of M. de Thumery. Honestly, now that I
think of the matter, I do not trust M. de Sartines a whit. He put us
here to keep us out of the way. Well, it seems to me that considering
what we have done and what we know, it may be in his interest to keep
us here always. Take the rope, M. de Rochefort, use it, follow the
dictates of Fate, and don’t forget Ferminard. You will be able to free
me, perhaps, once you have gained freedom and the pardon of M. de
Choiseul.”
Rochefort said nothing for a moment. He was thinking.
“M. de Rochefort,” went on the other, “the more I consider this matter,
the more do I see the pointing of Fate. Take the rope and use it.”
“Very well, then,” said Rochefort. “I will use it for your freedom as
well as mine. We will both escape.”
“Impossible. How can I come through this hole?”
“I will find a means. It is now ten o’clock, or at least I heard the
chime a moment ago when I was talking to you. Be prepared to leave your
cell. Can you climb down a rope?”
“Yes, monsieur, I have done so once in my early days.”
“Well, be prepared to do so again.”
“But I do not see your meaning in the least.”
“Never mind, you will soon.”
“You frighten me.”
“By my faith,” said Rochefort, laughing, “I am not easily frightened,
but if I were, I believe I should be frightened now. Put back your bed,
M. Ferminard, and when Bonvallot visits you on his last round pretend
to be asleep.”