Having read the letter Cauvignac was amazed beyond expression to find
his heart swollen with emotion and his eyes moist.
He sat motionless and silent as if he could not believe his eyes.
Suddenly he cried:--
"It is true, then, that there are in the world hearts that are generous
for the mere pleasure of being generous! _Morbleu!_ she shall see that
I am as capable as another of being generous when the need arises."
As they were at the gates of the city, he handed the letter to
Barrabas, with these instructions simply:--
"To whatever is said to you, reply: 'On the king's business!' nothing
more, and deliver this letter into no hands but Madame la Princesse's
own."
While Barrabas galloped away toward the princess's temporary domicile,
Cauvignac rode in the direction of Château-Trompette.
Barrabas met with no obstacle; the streets were empty, the city seemed
deserted, for everybody had gone to the Esplanade.
At the palace gate the sentries undertook to forbid his passage, but,
as Cauvignac bade him do, he waved his letter, crying:--
"On the king's business! On the king's business!"
The sentries took him for a messenger from the court, and raised their
halberds, and Barrabas entered the palace without further hindrance.
If the reader will take the trouble to remember, this was not the first
time that Master Cauvignac's worthy lieutenant had had the honor of
appearing in Madame de Condé's presence. He alighted, and as he knew
the road, darted rapidly up the staircase, passed through the crowd of
startled servants, and made his way into the princess's suite. There he
halted, for he found himself face to face with a woman at whose feet
another woman was kneeling.
"Oh! madame, mercy, in the name of Heaven!" the latter was saying.
"Leave me, Claire," replied the princess; "be reasonable; remember that
we have laid aside the emotions of womankind as well as the garments;
we are Monsieur le Prince's lieutenants, and reasons of State control
our actions."
"Oh! madame, there are no such things as reasons of State for me,"
cried Claire; "nor political parties; nor opinions. For me there is
nothing and nobody in the world but the man who is to leave it, and
when he has left it there will be naught for me but death!"
"Claire, my child, I have already told you that it is impossible; they
put Richon to death, and if we do not return like for like we shall be
dishonored."
"Ah! madame, one is never dishonored for having pardoned; one is never
dishonored for having made use of the prerogative which belongs only to
the King of Heaven, and the kings of earth; one word, madame, a single
word; the poor boy is waiting!"
"Why, Claire, you are mad! I tell you it is impossible!"
"But I told him that he was safe; I showed him his pardon signed by
your own hand; I told him that I would return with your ratification of
the pardon!"
"I signed it on condition that the other was to die; why did he allow
the other to escape?"
"He had absolutely no part in the escape, I give you my solemn word;
besides, the other may not have escaped; he may yet be found."
"Very true! beware!" interposed Barrabas, who arrived at that moment.
"Madame, they will take him away; the time is flying, madame; they will
grow weary of waiting."
"You are right, Claire," said the princess, "for I ordered that it
should be all over at eleven, and the clock is just striking eleven; it
must be all over."
The viscountess uttered a shriek of despair, and rose to her feet, to
find herself face to face with Barrabas.
"Who are you? what do you want?" she cried. "Have you come so soon to
tell me of his death?"
"No, madame," replied Barrabas, assuming his most affable expression,
"on the contrary, I come to save him."
"How so?" cried Claire; "speak at once!"
"By handing this letter to Madame la Princesse."
Claire put out her hand, snatched the letter from the messenger, and
handed it to the princess.
"I have no idea what there may be in this letter," said she, "but in
Heaven's name read it!"
The princess opened the letter and read it aloud, while Madame de
Cambes, turning paler at every line, devoured the words as they fell
from her Highness's lips.
"From Nanon?" cried the princess when she had read it through. "Nanon
is close by! Nanon gives herself up! Where is Lenet? Where is the duke?
Call a messenger, a messenger!"
"I am here, madame," said Barrabas, "ready to go wherever your Highness
would have me."
"Go to the Esplanade, to the place of execution, and bid them suspend
operations,--but no, they would not believe you," she added, and
seizing her pen, wrote at the bottom of the letter, "Suspend!" and
handed it open to Barrabas, who rushed from the room.
"Ah!" murmured the viscountess, "she loves him more dearly than I; and
he will owe his life to her, wretched creature that I am!"
Stunned by that thought, she fell helplessly upon a chair, although she
had received upon her feet all the crushing blows of that terrible day.
Meanwhile Barrabas did not lose a second; he flew down the stairs as if
he had wings, leaped upon his horse, and rode furiously away toward the
Esplanade.
While he was on his way to the palace, Cauvignac had ridden straight
to Château-Trompette. There, favored by the darkness, and rendered
unrecognizable by the broad brim of his hat being pulled down over his
eyes, he had questioned the bystanders and learned the whole story of
his escape in all its details, and that Canolles was to pay the penalty
for him. Instinctively, hardly aware of what he was doing, he thereupon
hurried away to the Esplanade, driving the spurs into his horse,
galloping madly through the crowd, upsetting and riding over every one
who came in his way.
When he reached the Esplanade he spied the gallows, and uttered a yell,
which was drowned by the howling of the populace, upon whom Canolles
was heaping insults in order to excite them to tear him to pieces. It
was then that Canolles saw him, divined his purpose, and motioned to
him that he was welcome.
Cauvignac stood up in his stirrups and looked in every direction,
hoping to see Barrabas or some messenger from the princess, and
listening to hear the word: "_Reprieve!_" but he could see nobody and
could hear nobody save Canolles, whom the executioner was just about to
push from the ladder into eternity, and who pointed to his heart.
Thereupon Cauvignac raised his musket, pointed it toward the young man,
took careful aim, and fired.
"Thanks!" said Canolles, opening his arms; "at least I die the death of
a soldier."
The ball pierced his breast.
The executioner pushed the body from the ladder, and it swung at the
end of the infamous rope; but it was nothing more than a corpse.
It was as if the report of the musket was a signal, so quickly was it
followed by a thousand others.