THE STRATAGEM AT MORTEFONTAINE--SENLIS--THE ACCIDENT
The alarm which had been so hurriedly given by the sentinel as the
Marchioness passed the post-house at Le Bourget, called the guard
together immediately; and after the short delay alluded to, they
replenished their lights, and pricked on at a smart pace along the
high-road, leaving directions with the _aubergiste_ to inform Maître
Picard of their route should he come up. Arriving at the fork, they
halted awhile until they saw the traces of the fugitives, which they
at once followed; for the surface of the snow on the left-hand road
was perfectly undisturbed; and these marks, keenly picked out by the
quick eye of Desgrais, brought the whole party up to the
_porte-cochère_ of the Docteur Chapelet, but a very short time after
Marie and Philippe had quitted it. Here the impressions of the horse’s
shoes suddenly ceased, and here of course they decided that the
fugitives had taken shelter.
The exempt rode up to the bell-handle and gave a mighty pull,
sufficient to have alarmed the whole village, had it not been so
profoundly wrapped in sleep. As it was, it awoke the doctor
immediately, for his ears were ever sensitive to the slightest tingle
of a summons; and he forthwith struck a light, and projected his head,
enveloped in a marvellous mass of wrappings, on account of the cold,
from the window of the room which overlooked the road at the end of
one of the wings.
‘_Dieu de Dieux!_’ exclaimed the doctor, as he saw the cavalcade below
his window. ‘What is the matter? Who is hurt? Who are you?’
‘Admit me directly,’ said Desgrais, without deigning to answer the
doctor’s questions; and in such a tone of authority that the
professor, imagining nothing less than that he had been sent for by
Louis Quatorze himself, or at the least Madame de Montespan, hurried
on his clothes, and tumbled downstairs into the court-yard, to which
the exempt and his force were soon admitted.
‘_Eh bien_, monsieur!’ said Desgrais; ‘you will now have the kindness
to give up the Marchioness of Brinvilliers and an accomplice, whom you
have sheltered in your house.’
The professor regarded the exempt with an air of a man who is asked a
question before he is thoroughly awake.
‘Every instant of delay compromises your own security,’ continued
Desgrais. ‘Where are they?’
‘On my word of honour, as a member of my learned profession, I know
not what you mean, monsieur,’ at length gasped out the doctor. ‘There
is no one within but Madame Chapelet and the servant.’
‘Sir,’ cried Desgrais in a voice of thunder, ‘if you do not
immediately produce the fugitives, we will give you the question of
the cord from the top of your own gateway.’
‘Will anybody tell me what I am expected to do?’ cried the professor
in an agony of bewilderment. ‘Sir, captain----’
‘I am no captain, monsieur,’ interrupted Desgrais; ‘but an exempt of
the Maréchaussée. We have traced the fugitives to your door, and now
demand them of you. Gentlemen,’ he continued, to the guard, ‘dismount,
and proceed to tie up the doctor and search his house.’
‘I tell you there is no one here,’ screamed the unfortunate professor,
as some of the guard proceeded to lay hands on him; ‘or if there is,
it is without my knowledge. You can search my house from top to
bottom. I will conduct you everywhere.’
This was said with such frantic anxiety that Desgrais placed the
confusion of the doctor rather to the score of undisguised fright than
unbelieved truth. He directly stationed sentinels round the house,
and, accompanied by Chapelet and the rest of his men, commenced a
searching investigation, scaring the servant--a rosy, drowsy
Normande--from her tranquillity, and even breaking the slumbers of
Madame Chapelet, whose appearance, in her provincial night-gear,
attracted less the attention of the Guet Royal. Not a corner of the
abode was left unvisited. Desgrais sounded the panels, and even broke
in the side of one of the fireplaces, which he thought was a masked
recess. He crept up into the lofts and down into the cellars, but, of
course, without success; until, having visited the stable and found
but one horse therein--a sorry animal, whose appearance betrayed not
the least token of recent exercise--he confessed himself fairly at a
loss to know what to do next.
‘She is a deep one, that Marchioness!’ he said, ‘and has fairly
tricked us. We are sorry, monsieur,’ he added, addressing the
professor, ‘to have annoyed you in such an untimely manner; but you
have our best wishes that the remainder of your night’s rest will be
undisturbed.’
The professor made a grimace, and an attempt at a bow.
Desgrais continued--
‘Gentleman, we must be again on our way. One thing is certain--the
fugitives will not return to Paris, but, without doubt, are still on
the road, although this ruse--for such it is--is inexplicable. We must
go on to Senlis.’
The guard did not obey this order with their usual alacrity. They were
put out of heart by the escape of their intended prisoners when they
thought them in their grasp. Their horses, too, were fatigued; and
between Mortefontaine and Senlis there were still eight or nine good
miles of ground to be got over. But Desgrais’s orders were peremptory;
and although grumbling quietly to one another, they remounted, and
were again on their pursuit.
But the delay thus brought about had answered Philippe’s purpose, who
still kept bravely on with his companion, until at last they came to
the faubourgs of Senlis, and the horse’s hoofs clattered over the
pavement of the narrow streets, with the topography of which the
student was very well acquainted. The pace had, however, materially
diminished, and Philippe was not sorry when they at last stopped at
the _poste_--the Hôtel du Grand-Cerf. Luckily the inn was open, and
the people were up; for a public conveyance running from Valenciennes
to Paris was expected within an hour, either sooner or later--its
arrival being a matter of great uncertainty, depending alike on the
roads, the weather, and the thieves.
Philippe was on the ground the instant they reached the door; and,
assisting Marie to dismount, supported her into the inn, whilst one of
the _écuyers_ took the horse. As the student reached the _salle à
manger_, where a bright fire was burning, Marie could bear up no
longer. She strove to utter a few words, and then, her voice failing,
went into a violent fit of hysterics that appeared tearing her to
pieces.
Philippe was a clever fellow in his profession, and could have
prescribed fitly for a patient; but he scarcely knew how to act upon
the present occasion. His natural readiness, however, never deserted
him; so he sent for the mistress of the hotel, and, commencing by
ordering a chaise and four to be immediately in waiting, that he might
command more attention, said to the hostess--
‘We must make a confidante of you, madam. As a woman, you will assist
us. In a word, I am in love with this lady, and we have eloped
together to avoid a forced marriage on her part. Will you attend to
her kindly, whilst I hurry the stable-people?’
And without waiting for a reply Philippe left the convulsed form of
the Marchioness to the care of the landlady, whilst he went into the
inn-yard to urge on the putting-to of the horses. The hostess did not
disbelieve his story. We have before spoken of the singularly youthful
appearance of Marie’s features; and as Philippe Glazer was a handsome
young man, about the same age, she took it all for granted, and
directly entered into the trouble of ‘the poor young couple,’ as she
imagined them to be. The prospect of good payment might, at the same
time, have increased her sympathy.
When the carriage was ready Philippe returned, and then Marie was
slightly recovered, and was sipping some warm wine, poured from one of
a number of bright little pewter vessels which were ranged amongst the
glowing embers of the fireplace. She was, however, pale and anxious,
and earnestly inquired of Philippe if he was ready to start.
‘The horses are waiting,’ he replied, as Marie, turning to the
landlady, inquired, ‘How many others have you in the stable at
present?’
‘There are six,’ replied the hostess; ‘four of which are going on with
the Valenciennes express.’
‘Are the roads safe?’ asked the Marchioness.
‘But tolerably so, ma’amselle. They usually travel armed who go by
night, or with an escort.’
‘I will have two of your people,’ she added, ‘to ride by our side. Let
them mount immediately.’
‘There is little to apprehend from the robbers,’ said Philippe, as the
landlady hurried out of the room.
‘But a great deal from Desgrais, if he gets fresh horses,’ replied
Marie. ‘I would take them all on if I could.’
Philippe immediately saw her object. The mistress returned in two
minutes, and informed them that all was ready; when, hurriedly paying
the account, they entered the lumbering but comfortable vehicle that
stood at the door, guarded by two rough-looking _écuyers_, who, in
some old postilion’s trappings, had been suddenly raised to the
dignity of an escort.
‘And now to Offemont, by Compiègne,’ cried Philippe to the riders. ‘A
treble _pour boire_ if you get there under three hours, and without a
change! _Allons!_’
‘_Allume! hi donc! hue! hue! ir-r-r-r!_’ The traces, long enough for
eight horses, tightened; the postilions shouted and cracked their
whips; the animals left off whinnying and fighting, and then started
swiftly off; their feet clattering and the bridle-bells jingling
through the empty streets of Senlis. They did not, however, put out
their full speed until they left the town; but then, urged on by
Philippe every minute, they dashed on like lightning. But a short way
from the gates they met the Valenciennes express, with the lamp over
the driver’s head gleaming upon the white road along which they were
toiling; and after this the way was clear. On, on they went, as the
bare and spectral trees that bordered the route appeared to be flying
past them; their very speed counteracting, by its excitement, the
depression and fear caused by the journey. Villeneuve-sur-Verberie!
they had passed over three leagues. There was a short halt at the
_poste_ to change the riders of the horses, and thus divide the work,
and they were again on the road, which now passed through forests and
along straight avenues of trees, with snow-laden branches overhanging
the way. Then came more villages, in which no signs of life were
visible; again they were hurrying over the open country, or traversing
the wood. But still the same rattling pace was kept up, until they
again stopped, for as long a rest and as good a bait as the impatience
of Marie and Philippe would allow, at La Croix-Saint Ouen; at the
post-house of which village they left their escort, fully satisfied
that their horses could be of no further service to any one, for that
night at least.
Desgrais had lost too much time at Mortefontaine to get to the inn at
Senlis until half an hour after the Marchioness had left. It did not
take him long, however, when he got there, to undeceive the landlady
as to the real position of affairs. Here fresh annoyances awaited him.
The horses, as we have seen, had all been bespoken; those of his own
troop were too tired to proceed, and the exempt therefore determined
to use those waiting for the Valenciennes express, which arrived a
minute or two after he reached the Grand-Cerf. This of course led to a
violent uproar between the passengers and the guards; but the former
could not well help themselves. Desgrais asserted his royal authority
for so doing, against which there was no appeal; and the travellers
accordingly were obliged to remain at the hotel, whilst the exempt,
and three picked followers, took the horses, and were again on their
journey, leaving the scared hostess to recount to her customers,
against her will, the deception which had been practised on her.
Nothing befell the party as they rode on to Villeneuve-sur-Verberie,
where a relay of fresh horses was obtained at the _poste_, with fresh
intelligence of their intended prisoner. At La Croix-Saint-Ouen they
fell in with the two stable fellows left behind by Philippe, and from
them Desgrais learned that it was the intention of the fugitives to go
to Offemont. Knowing that the establishment of the Marchioness at this
place was large, and that several horses were at her disposal, the
active exempt foresaw there was yet necessity for the utmost speed;
but his companions were completely knocked up; they had ridden in
heavy accoutrements from Paris, and although they did not dare to
refuse, Desgrais perceived the pursuit would be a sorry business; he
therefore determined to go on alone, and mounting a fresh horse, slung
a flask of brandy over his shoulders, and started by himself for
Compiègne. He was a man of unflinching purpose and iron nerve, and he
resolved not to return to Paris until Marie was in his power.
It was between five and six in the morning when he entered a little
village adjoining Compiègne, and still dark; but the exempt found the
hamlet in some commotion: lights were flitting about the street, and
people talking simultaneously, at the top of their voices, in the
manner of their countrymen at the present day, as they gathered round
some object in the middle of the road. Desgrais pushed forward, and
asked the cause of the tumult at such an unwonted hour.
‘The wheels of a post-carriage have taken fire, monsieur,’ replied a
bystander, ‘and one is quite destroyed.’
‘And the travellers?’ eagerly demanded the exempt.
‘Have gone on to Compiègne in a market-cart, not ten minutes ago.’
Desgrais put spurs to his horse, and galloped off without saying
another word.