While the masters of Cinq-Cygne were waiting at Troyes for the opening
of the trial before the Criminal court and vainly soliciting permission
to see the prisoners, an event of the utmost importance had taken place
at the chateau.
Marthe returned to Cinq-Cygne as soon as she had given her testimony
before the indicting jury. This testimony was so insignificant that it
was not thought necessary to summon her before the Criminal court. Like
all persons of extreme sensibility, the poor woman sat silent in the
salon, where she kept company with Mademoiselle Goujet, in a pitiable
state of stupefaction. To her, as to the abbe, and indeed to all others
who did not know how the accused had been employed on that day, their
innocence seemed doubtful. There were moments when Marthe believed
that Michu and his masters and Laurence had executed vengeance on the
senator. The unhappy woman now knew Michu’s devotion well enough to
be certain that he was the one who would be most in danger, not only
because of his antecedents, but because of the part he was sure to have
taken in the execution of the scheme.
The Abbe Goujet and his sister and Marthe were bewildered among the
possibilities to which this opinion gave rise; and yet, in the process
of thinking them over, their minds insensibly took hold of them in a
certain way. The absolute doubt which Descartes demands can no more
exist in the brain of a man than a vacuum can exist in nature, and the
mental operation required to produce it would, like the effect of a
pneumatic machine, be exceptional and anomalous. Whatever a case may
be, the mind believes in something. Now Marthe was so afraid that the
accused were guilty that her fear became equivalent to belief; and this
condition of her mind proved fatal to her.
Five days after the arrests, just as she was in the act of going to bed
about ten o’clock at night, she was called from the courtyard by her
mother, who had come from the farm on foot.
“A laboring man from Troyes wants to speak to you; he is sent by Michu,
and is waiting in the covered way,” she said to Marthe.
They passed through the breach so as to take the shortest path. In the
darkness it was impossible for Marthe to distinguish anything more than
the form of a person which loomed through the shadows.
“Speak, madame; so that I may be certain you are really Madame Michu,”
said the person, in a rather anxious voice.
“I am Madame Michu,” said Marthe; “what do you want of me?”
“Very good,” said the unknown, “give me your hand; do not fear me. I
come,” he added, leaning towards her and speaking low, “from Michu
with a note for you. I am employed at the prison, and if my superiors
discover my absence we shall all be lost. Trust me; your good father
placed me where I am. For that reason Michu counted on my helping him.”
He put the letter into Marthe’s hand and disappeared toward the forest
without waiting for an answer. Marthe trembled at the thought that she
was now to hear the secret of the mystery. She ran to the farm with her
mother and shut herself up to read the following letter:--
My dear Marthe,--You can rely on the discretion of the man who
will give you this letter; he does not know how to read or to
write. He is a stanch Republican, and shared in Baboeuf’s
conspiracy; your father often made use of him, and he regards the
senator as a traitor. Now, my dear wife, attend to my directions.
The senator has been shut up by us in the cave where our masters
were hidden. The poor creature had provisions for only five days,
and as it is our interest that he should live, I wish you, as soon
as you receive this letter, to take him food for at least five
days more. The forest is of course watched; therefore take as many
precautions as we formerly did for our young masters. Don’t say a
word to Malin; don’t speak to him; and put on one of our masks
which you will find on the steps which lead down to the cave.
Unless you wish to compromise our heads you must be absolutely
silent about this letter and the secret I have now confided to
you. Don’t say a word to Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne, who might
tell of it. Don’t fear for me. We are certain that the matter will
turn out well; when the time comes Malin himself will save us. I
don’t need to tell you to burn this letter as soon as you have
read it, for it would cost me my head if a line of it were seen. I
kiss you for now and always,
Michu.
The existence of the cave was known only to Marthe, her son, Michu, the
four gentlemen, and Laurence; or rather, Marthe, to whom her husband
had not related the incident of his meeting with Peyrade and Corentin,
believed it was known only to them. Had she consulted her mistress and
the two lawyers, who knew the innocence of the prisoners, the shrewd
Bordin would have gained some light upon the perfidious trap which was
evidently laid for his clients. But Marthe, acting like most women under
a first impulse, was convinced by this proof which came to her own eyes,
and flung the letter into the fire as directed. Nevertheless, moved by
a singular gleam of caution, she caught a portion of it from the flames,
tore off the five first lines, which compromised no one, and sewed them
into the hem of her dress. Terrified at the thought that the prisoner
had been without food for twenty-four hours, she resolved to carry
bread, meat, and wine to him at once; curiosity was well as humanity
permitting no delay. Accordingly, she heated her oven and made, with
her mother’s help, a _pate_ of hare and ducks, a rice cake, roasted two
fowls, selected three bottles of wine, and baked two loaves of bread.
About two in the morning she started for the forest, carrying the load
on her back, accompanied by Couraut, who in all such expeditions
showed wonderful sagacity as a guide. He scented strangers at immense
distances, and as soon as he was certain of their presence he returned
to his mistress with a low growl, looking at her fixedly and turning his
muzzle in the direction of the danger.
Marthe reached the pond about three in the morning, and left the dog
as sentinel on the bank. After half an hour’s labor in clearing the
entrance she came with a dark lantern to the door of the cave, her face
covered with a mask, which she had found, as directed, on the steps.
The imprisonment of the senator seemed to have been long premeditated.
A hole about a foot square, which Marthe had never seen before, was
roughly cut in the upper part of the iron door which closed the cave;
but in order to prevent Malin from using the time and patience all
prisoners have at their command in loosening the iron bar which held the
door, it was securely fastened with a padlock.
The senator, who had risen from his bed of moss, sighed when he saw the
masked face and felt that there was no chance then of his deliverance.
He examined Marthe, as much as he could by the unsteady light of her
dark lantern, and he recognized her by her clothes, her stoutness, and
her motions. When she passed the _pate_ through the door he dropped it
to seize her hand and then, with great swiftness, he tried to pull the
rings from her fingers,--one her wedding-ring, the other a gift from
Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne.
“You cannot deny that it is you, my dear Madame Michu,” he said.
Marthe closed her fist the moment she felt his fingers, and gave him a
vigorous blow in the chest. Then, without a word, she turned away and
cut a stick, at the end of which she held out to the senator the rest of
the provisions.
“What do they want of me?” he asked.
Marthe departed giving him no answer. By five o’clock she had reached
the edge of the forest and was warned by Couraut of the presence of
strangers. She retraced her steps and made for the pavilion where she
had lived so long; but just as she entered the avenue she was seen from
afar by the forester of Gondreville, and she quickly reflected that her
best plan was to go straight up to him.
“You are out early, Madame Michu,” he said, accosting her.
“We are so unfortunate,” she replied, “that I am obliged to do a
servant’s work myself. I am going to Bellache for some grain.”
“Haven’t you any at Cinq-Cygne?” said the forester.
Marthe made no answer. She continued on her way and reached the farm at
Bellache, where she asked Beauvisage to give her some seed-grain, saying
that Monsieur d’Hauteserre advised her to get it from him to renew her
crop. As soon as Marthe had left the farm, the forester went there to
find out what she asked for.
Six days later, Marthe, determined to be prudent, went at midnight with
her provisions so as to avoid the keepers who were evidently patrolling
the forest. After carrying a third supply to the senator she suddenly
became terrified on hearing the abbe read aloud the public examination
of the prisoners,--for the trial was by that time begun. She took the
abbe aside, and after obliging him to swear that he would keep the
secret she was about to reveal as though it was said to him in the
confessional, she showed him the fragments of Michu’s letter, told him
the contents of it, and also the secret of the hiding-place where the
senator then was.
The abbe at once inquired if she had other letters from her husband that
he might compare the writing. Marthe went to her home to fetch them and
there found a summons to appear in court. By the time she returned to
the chateau the abbe and his sister had received a similar summons on
behalf of the defence. They were obliged therefore to start for Troyes
immediately. Thus all the personages of our drama, even those who were
only, as it were, supernumeraries, were collected on the spot where the
fate of the two families was about to be decided.