The two prisoners of war occupied two adjoining rooms in the same
fortress. The rooms were located on the ground-floor, which in most
prisons might properly be called the third floor; for prisons do not as
a general rule begin at the ground like houses, but have two stories of
underground dungeons.
Each door of the prison was guarded by a detachment of men selected
from among the princess's guards; but the crowd, having taken note of
the preparations which satisfied its thirst for vengeance, gradually
melted away from the neighborhood of the prison, whither it had hurried
upon learning that Canolles and Cauvignac had been taken there.
Whereupon the guards who were stationed in the inner corridor, rather
to protect the prisoners from the popular fury than from any fear of
their escaping, left their posts, and thenceforth the ordinary sentries
were simply doubled.
The people, finding that there was nothing more to be seen where
they were, naturally betook themselves to the spot where executions
generally took place,--the Esplanade, to wit. The words tossed down to
them from the council-hall were instantly circulated throughout the
city, and every one drew his own conclusions from them. But the one
thing about which there could be no doubt was that there would be a
spectacle of horrible interest that same night, or on the following
day at latest; it was an additional fascination for them not to know
precisely what to look forward to.
Artisans, tradesmen, women, and children hurried toward the ramparts,
and as it was quite dark and the moon would not rise until about
midnight, many carried torches in their hands. Almost all the windows
were open, too, and many people had placed torches or lamps on
the window-sills, as they were accustomed to do on fête-days. But
the ominous muttering of the crowd, the terrified glances of the
sightseers, and the frequent passage of patrols on foot and mounted,
afforded sufficient evidence that it was no ordinary fête for which
such lugubrious preparations were being made.
From time to time cries of rage arose from the groups, which formed
and dissolved with a rapidity characteristic of the effect of a
certain class of occurrences. These cries always resembled those which
penetrated to the council-hall on several occasions:--
"Death to the prisoners! vengeance for Richon!"
The cries, the bright light, the tread of many horses interrupted
Madame de Cambes' devotions. She went to her window and looked out in
dismay at all the men and women with eyes flashing fiercely, who seemed
like wild beasts let loose in the arena, roaring for the human victims
they were to devour. She asked herself how it could be that all these
human beings, whom the two prisoners had never injured in any way,
could so savagely demand the death of two of their fellow-creatures;
and she could find no reply to her question, poor woman, for of all the
passions of mankind she knew only those which soften the heart.
From the window at which she stood, Madame de Cambes could see the
summit of the high, frowning towers of the fortress above the roofs of
the houses and the tree-tops. That was where Canolles was, and her
eyes wandered most frequently to them. But she could not avoid turning
them from time to time into the street, and then she would see those
threatening faces and hear those blood-curdling cries of vengeance, and
an icy shudder would run through her veins.
"Ah!" she said to herself, "in vain do they forbid my seeing him; I
must find a way to get to him! These horrible noises may reach his ear;
he may think that I have forgotten him; he may accuse me; he may curse
me. Oh! every moment that passes without my trying to find a way to
comfort him seems to me like treachery to him; it is impossible for me
to continue inactive, when perhaps he is calling me to his rescue. Oh!
I must see him. Yes, but, _mon Dieu!_ how to get to see him?--who will
take me to the prison? what power have I to order the doors opened?
Madame la Princesse has refused to give me a pass, and she had just
granted so much in answer to my prayers that she was quite right to
refuse. There are guards, there are enemies of his around the fortress;
the whole population has scented blood, and doesn't propose to be
cheated of its prey; they will think that I mean to help him escape,
rescue him; oh! yes: and I would rescue him if he had not already the
safeguard of her Highness's word. If I tell them that I simply want
to see him they won't believe me, and will turn me away; and again,
do I not run the risk of losing what I have already gained if I take
this step against Madame la Princesse's will? Will she not be likely
to retract the promise she gave me? And yet to leave him to pass the
long hours of the night in anguish and torture! Oh! I feel that it is
impossible, for myself even more than for him! I will pray God for
help, and perhaps he will inspire me."
Thereupon Madame de Cambes for the second time knelt before her
crucifix, and began to pray with a fervor which might have touched
Madame la Princesse's heart could she have heard her.
"Oh! I will not go, I will not go," said she; "for I understand that it
is indeed impossible for me to go thither. All night he will perhaps
accuse me of abandoning him. But to-morrow, to-morrow, my God, will set
me right in his sight, will it not?"
Meanwhile the uproar, the constantly increasing excitement of the
crowd, the sinister glare, which shone into her room, where there was
no light, and at times illuminated it as by lightning, caused her such
intense terror that she placed her hands over her ears, and pressed her
closed eyes against the cushion of her prie-Dieu.
At that moment the door opened, and, unheard by her, a man entered;
after pausing a moment upon the threshold, with an expression of
affectionate compassion, when he saw how her whole body was shaken by
her sobbing, he approached with a sigh, and laid his hand upon her arm.
Claire rose to her feet in dismay.
"Monsieur Lenet!" she exclaimed: "Monsieur Lenet: ah! you have not
abandoned me?"
"No," was the reply: "I feared that you were but partly reassured, and
I ventured to come to you to ask if I can be of service to you in any
way."
"Oh, my dear Monsieur Lenet," cried Claire, "how good you are, and how
grateful I am to you!"
"It seems that I was not mistaken," said Lenet. "One rarely is
mistaken, God knows, when one fancies that one's fellow-creatures are
suffering," he added with a sad smile.
"Ah! monsieur," cried Claire, "you say truly; I am indeed suffering!"
"Did you not obtain all that you desired, madame, and more, I confess,
than I myself dared hope?"
"Yes, of course; but--"
"But--I understand; you are terrified, are you not, to see the fierce
joy of this mob in its thirst for blood; and you are moved to pity for
the fate of the other poor wretch who is to die in your lover's place?"
Claire was silent for a moment with pale cheeks and her eyes fixed upon
Lenet's; then she put her hand to her sweat-bedewed brow.
"Oh! forgive me, or rather curse me!" said she; "for, selfish brute
that I am, I have not even thought of him. No, Lenet, no; in all
possible humility I confess that these fears, these prayers, these
tears of mine are for him who is to live; for, absorbed as I am by my
love, I had forgotten him who is to die!"
Lenet smiled sadly.
"Yes," said he, "that may well be, for it is human nature; it may be
that the selfishness of individuals is the salvation of the masses.
Every one cuts a circle about himself and his own people with a sword.
Come, madame," he continued, "pursue your confession to the end.
Confess frankly that you are in haste to have the poor wretch undergo
his fate; for his death will ensure the safety of your _fiancé!"_
"Oh! I hadn't thought of that as yet, Lenet; upon my word I hadn't. But
do not turn my thoughts in that direction, for I love him so dearly
that I do not know what I may be capable of wishing in the intensity of
my love."
"Poor child!" said Lenet, in a most compassionate tone, "why did you
not say all this sooner?"
"Oh! _mon Dieu!_ you terrify me. Is it too late? Is he not really
safe?"
"He is, since Madame la Princesse has given her word; but--"
"But what?"
"Alas! can one be sure of anything in this world, and do not you
yourself, who believe as I do that he is safe, weep instead of
rejoicing?"
"I weep because I cannot visit him, my friend," Claire replied.
"Consider, that he must hear these fearful noises, and believe that he
is in imminent danger; consider, that he may accuse me of lukewarmness,
of forgetfulness, of treachery! Oh Lenet, Lenet, what torture! Really,
if the princess knew how I suffer, she would have pity on me."
"Very well, viscountess, you must see him."
"See him! impossible. You are well aware that I asked leave of her
Highness to see him, and that her Highness refused."
"I know, and I approve her refusal with all my heart; and yet--"
"And yet you advise me to disobey!" cried Claire in surprise, gazing
earnestly at Lenet, who lowered his eyes in confusion.
"I am old, dear viscountess, and suspicious just because I am old,--not
in this matter, for the princess's word is sacred. She has said that
only one of the prisoners shall die; but, accustomed as I have become
in the course of a long life to see fortune turn against the one
who seems most secure of her favor, my rule is always to seize any
opportunity that presents itself. See your _fiancé,_ viscountess; take
my advice and see him."
"Oh! Lenet, you terrify me beyond words; really you do!"
"I have no such intention; moreover, would you prefer that I advise you
not to see him? You would not, would you? And you would scold me even
more severely, I know, if I had said the opposite of what I do say."
"Yes, yes, I admit it. But you tell me to see him; that was my one
desire; I was praying when you arrived that I might be allowed to see
him. But isn't it impossible?"
"Is anything impossible to the woman who took Saint-Georges?" asked
Lenet, with a smile.
"Alas!" said Claire, "for two hours I have been trying to think of some
way of obtaining admission to the fortress, but I cannot."
"What would you give me if I were to show you a way?"
"I would give you--I would give you my hand on the day that I go to the
altar with him."
"Thanks, my child," said Lenet; "indeed, you could do nothing more
acceptable to me, for I love you like a father; thanks."
"Tell me the way! Tell me the way!" said Claire.
"It is this. I asked Madame la Princesse for a pass to allow me to
talk with the prisoners; for if there were any way of saving Captain
Cauvignac I would be glad to enroll him in our party; but the pass is
useless to me now, as you have condemned him to death with your prayers
for Monsieur de Canolles."
Claire could not repress a shudder.
"So take this paper," continued Lenet; "there is no name mentioned in
it, you see."