Michu sold his farm at once to Beauvisage, a farmer at Bellache, but he
was not to receive the money for twenty days. A month after the Marquis
de Chargeboeuf’s visit, Laurence, who had told her cousins of their
buried fortune, proposed to them to take the day of the Mi-careme to
disinter it. The unusual quantity of snow which fell that winter had
hitherto prevented Michu from obtaining the treasure, and it now
gave him pleasure to undertake the operation with his masters. He was
determined to leave the neighborhood as soon as it was over, for he
feared himself.
“Malin has suddenly arrived at Gondreville, and no one knows why,”
he said to his mistress. “I shall never be able to resist putting the
property into the market by the death of its owner. I feel I am guilty
in not following my inspirations.”
“Why should he leave Paris at this season?” said the countess.
“All Arcis is talking about it,” replied Michu; “he has left his family
in Paris, and no one is with him but his valet. Monsieur Grevin, the
notary of Arcis, Madame Marion, the wife of the receiver-general, and
her sister-in-law are staying at Gondreville.”
Laurence had chosen the mid-lent day for their purpose because it
enabled her to give her servants a holiday and so get them out of the
way. The usual masquerade drew the peasantry to the town and no one
was at work in the fields. Chance made its calculations with as much
cleverness as Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne made hers. The uneasiness of
Monsieur and Madame d’Hauteserre at the idea of keeping eleven hundred
thousand francs in gold in a lonely chateau on the borders of a forest
was likely to be so great that their sons advised they should know
nothing about it. The secret of the expedition was therefore confined to
Gothard, Michu, Laurence, and the four gentlemen.
After much consultation it seemed possible to put forty-eight thousand
francs in a long sack on the crupper of each of their horses. Three
trips would therefore bring the whole. It was agreed to send all the
servants, whose curiosity might be troublesome, to Troyes to see the
shows. Catherine, Marthe, and Durieu, who could be relied on, stayed
at home in charge of the house. The other servants were glad of their
holiday and started by daybreak. Gothard, assisted by Michu, saddled the
horses as soon as they were gone, and the party started by way of the
gardens to reach the forest. Just as they were mounting--for the park
gate was so low on the garden side that they led their horses until they
were through it--old Beauvisage, the farmer at Bellache, happened to
pass.
“There!” cried Gothard, “I hear some one.”
“Oh, it is only I,” said the worthy man, coming toward them. “Your
servant, gentleman; are you off hunting, in spite of the new decrees?
_I_ don’t complain of you; but do take care! though you have friends you
have also enemies.”
“Oh, as for that,” said the elder Hauteserre, smiling, “God grant that
our hunt may be lucky to-day,--if so, you will get your masters back
again.”
These words, to which events were destined to give a totally different
meaning, earned a severe look from Laurence. The elder Simeuse was
confident that Malin would restore Gondreville for an indemnity. These
rash youths were determined to do exactly the contrary of what the
Marquis de Chargeboeuf had advised. Robert, who shared these hopes, was
thinking of them when he gave utterance to the fatal words.
“Not a word of this, old friend,” said Michu to Beauvisage, waiting
behind the others to lock the gate.
It was one of those fine mornings in March when the air is dry, the
earth pure, the sky clear, and the atmosphere a contradiction to the
leafless trees; the season was so mild that the eye caught glimpses here
and there of verdure.
“We are seeking treasure when all the while you are the real treasure of
our house, cousin,” said the elder Simeuse, gaily.
Laurence was in front, with a cousin on each side of her. The
d’Hauteserres were behind, followed by Michu. Gothard had gone forward
to clear the way.
“Now that our fortune is restored, you must marry my brother,” said the
younger in a low voice. “He adores you; together you will be as rich as
nobles ought to be in these days.”
“No, give the whole fortune to him and I will marry you,” said Laurence;
“I am rich enough for two.”
“So be it,” cried the Marquis; “I will leave you, and find a wife worthy
to be your sister.”
“So you really love me less than I thought you did?” said Laurence
looking at him with a sort of jealousy.
“No; I love you better than either of you love me,” replied the marquis.
“And therefore you would sacrifice yourself?” asked Laurence with a
glance full of momentary preference.
The marquis was silent.
“Well, then, I shall think only of you, and that will be intolerable to
my husband,” exclaimed Laurence, impatient at his silence.
“How could I live without you?” said the younger twin to his brother.
“But, after all, you can’t marry us both,” said the marquis, replying to
Laurence; “and the time has come,” he continued, in the brusque tone of
a man who is struck to the heart, “to make your decision.”
He urged his horse in advance so that the d’Hauteserres might not
overhear them. His brother’s horse and Laurence’s followed him. When
they had put some distance between themselves and the rest of the party
Laurence attempted to speak, but tears were at first her only language.
“I will enter a cloister,” she said at last.
“And let the race of Cinq-Cygne end?” said the younger brother. “Instead
of one unhappy man, would you make two? No, whichever of us must be your
brother only, will resign himself to that fate. It is the knowledge
that we are no longer poor that has brought us to explain ourselves,”
he added, glancing at the marquis. “If I am the one preferred, all this
money is my brother’s. If I am rejected, he will give it to me with
the title of de Simeuse, for he must then take the name and title of
Cinq-Cygne. Whichever way it ends, the loser will have a chance of
recovery--but if he feels he must die of grief, he can enter the army
and die in battle, not to sadden the happy household.”
“We are true knights of the olden time, worthy of our fathers,” cried
the elder. “Speak, Laurence; decide between us.”
“We cannot continue as we are,” said the younger.
“Do not think, Laurence, that self-denial is without its joys,” said the
elder.
“My dear loved ones,” said the girl, “I am unable to decide. I love you
both as though you were one being--as your mother loved you. God will
help us. I cannot choose. Let us put it to chance--but I make one
condition.”
“What is it?”
“Whichever one of you becomes my brother must stay with me until I
suffer him to leave me. I wish to be sole judge of when to part.”
“Yes, yes,” said the brothers, without explaining to themselves her
meaning.
“The first of you to whom Madame d’Hauteserre speaks to-night at table
after the Benedicite, shall be my husband. But neither of you must
practise fraud or induce her to answer a question.”
“We will play fair,” said the younger, smiling.
Each kissed her hand. The certainty of some decision which both could
fancy favorable made them gay.
“Either way, dear Laurence, you create a Comte de Cinq-Cygne--”
“I believe,” thought Michu, riding behind them, “that mademoiselle will
not long be unmarried. How gay my masters are! If my mistress makes her
choice I shall not leave; I must stay and see that wedding.”
Just then a magpie flew suddenly before his face. Michu, superstitious
like all primitive beings, fancied he heard the muffled tones of a
death-knell. The day, however, began brightly enough for lovers, who
rarely see magpies when together in the woods. Michu, armed with his
plan, verified the spots; each gentleman had brought a pickaxe, and the
money was soon found. The part of the forest where it was buried was
quite wild, far from all paths or habitations, so that the cavalcade
bearing the gold returned unseen. This proved to be a great misfortune.
On their way from Cinq-Cygne to fetch the last two hundred thousand
francs, the party, emboldened by success, took a more direct way than
on their other trips. The path passed an opening from which the park of
Gondreville could be seen.
“What is that?” cried Laurence, pointing to a column of blue flame.
“A bonfire, I think,” replied Michu.
Laurence, who knew all the by-ways of the forest, left the rest of the
party and galloped towards the pavilion, Michu’s old home. Though the
building was closed and deserted, the iron gates were open, and traces
of the recent passage of several horses struck Laurence instantly. The
column of blue smoke was rising from a field in what was called the
English park, where, as she supposed, they were burning brush.
“Ah! so you are concerned in it, too, are you, mademoiselle?” cried
Violette, who came out of the park at top speed on his pony, and pulled
up to meet Laurence. “But, of course, it is only a carnival joke? They
surely won’t kill him?”
“Who?”
“Your cousins wouldn’t put him to death?”
“Death! whose death?”
“The senator’s.”
“You are crazy, Violette!”
“Well, what are you doing here, then?” he demanded.
At the idea of a danger which was threatening her cousins, Laurence
turned her horse and galloped back to them, reaching the ground as the
last sacks were filled.
“Quick, quick!” she cried. “I don’t know what is going on, but let us
get back to Cinq-Cygne.”
While the happy party were employed in recovering the fortune saved
by the old marquis, and guarded for so many years by Michu, an
extraordinary scene was taking place in the chateau of Gondreville.
About two o’clock in the afternoon Malin and his friend Grevin were
playing chess before the fire in the great salon on the ground-floor.
Madame Grevin and Madame Marion were sitting on a sofa and talking
together at a corner of the fireplace. All the servants had gone to see
the masquerade, which had long been announced in the arrondissement. The
family of the bailiff who had replaced Michu had gone too. The senator’s
valet and Violette were the only persons beside the family at the
chateau. The porter, two gardeners, and their wives were on the place,
but their lodge was at the entrance of the courtyards at the farther end
of the avenue to Arcis, and the distance from there to the chateau
is beyond the sound of a pistol-shot. Violette was waiting in the
antechamber until the senator and Grevin could see him on business, to
arrange a matter relating to his lease. At that moment five men, masked
and gloved, who in height, manner, and bearing strongly resembled
the Simeuse and d’Hauteserre brothers and Michu, rushed into the
antechamber, seized and gagged the valet and Violette, and fastened them
to their chairs in a side room. In spite of the rapidity with which this
was done, Violette and the servant had time to utter one cry. It was
heard in the salon. The two ladies thought it a cry of fear.
“Listen!” said Madame Grevin, “can there be robbers?”
“No, nonsense!” said Grevin, “only carnival cries; the masqueraders must
be coming to pay us a visit.”
This discussion gave time for the four strangers to close the doors
towards the courtyards and to lock up Violette and the valet. Madame
Grevin, who was rather obstinate, insisted on knowing what the noise
meant. She rose, left the room, and came face to face with the five
masked men, who treated her as they had treated the farmer and the
valet. Then they rushed into the salon, where the two strongest seized
and gagged Malin, and carried him off into the park, while the three
others remained behind to gag Madame Marion and Grevin and lash them to
their armchairs. The whole affair did not take more than half an hour.
The three unknown men, who were quickly rejoined by the two who had
carried off the senator, then proceeded to ransack the chateau from
cellar to garret. They opened all closets and doors, and sounded the
walls; until five o’clock they were absolute masters of the place. By
that time the valet had managed to loosen with his teeth the rope that
bound Violette. Violette, able then to get the gag from his mouth,
began to shout for help. Hearing the shouts the five men withdrew to
the gardens, where they mounted horses closely resembling those at
Cinq-Cygne and rode away, but not so rapidly that Violette was unable to
catch sight of them. After releasing the valet, the two ladies, and the
notary, Violette mounted his pony and rode after help. When he reached
the pavilion he was amazed to see the gates open and Mademoiselle de
Cinq-Cygne apparently on the watch.
Directly after the young countess had ridden off, Violette was overtaken
by Grevin and the forester of the township of Gondreville, who had taken
horses from the stables at the chateau. The porter’s wife was on her way
to summon the gendarmerie from Arcis. Violette at once informed Grevin
of his meeting with Laurence and the sudden flight of the daring girl,
whose strong and decided character was known to all of them.
“She was keeping watch,” said Violette.
“Is it possible that those Cinq-Cygne people have done this thing?”
cried Grevin.
“Do you mean to say you didn’t recognize that stout Michu?” exclaimed
Violette. “It was he who attacked me; I knew his fist. Besides, they
rode the Cinq-Cygne horses.”
Noticing the hoof-marks on the sand of the _rond-point_ and along the
park road the notary stationed the forester at the gateway to see to
the preservation of these precious traces until the justice of peace
of Arcis (for whom he now sent Violette) could take note of them.
He himself returned hastily to the chateau, where the lieutenant
and sub-lieutenant of the Imperial gendarmerie at Arcis had arrived,
accompanied by four men and a corporal. The lieutenant was the same
man whose head Francois Michu had broken two years earlier, and who had
heard from Corentin the name of his mischievous assailant. This man,
whose name was Giguet (his brother was in the army, and became one of
the finest colonels of artillery), was an extremely able officer
of gendarmerie. Later he commanded the squadron of the Aube. The
sub-lieutenant, named Welff, had formerly driven Corentin from
Cinq-Cygne to the pavilion, and from the pavilion to Troyes. On the
way, the spy had fully informed him as to what he called the trickery
of Laurence and Michu. The two officers were therefore well inclined to
show, and did show, great eagerness against the family at Cinq-Cygne.