"Five minutes? Yes," he replied. "But abandon all hope, Madame, of
saving the prisoner; the house is watched; if you look in the court and
in the street you will see my men in ambuscade. Besides, I am going to
stay here in the next room."
The count was heard ascending the stairs.
"There's Hector!" cried Laurence, "quick, quick! conceal yourselves!"
She added, as they were retiring, in a low tone, but not so low as to
prevent the detective from hearing her:
"Be sure, we will not try to escape."
She let the door-curtain drop; it was time. Hector entered. He was paler
than death, and his eyes had a fearful, wandering expression.
"We are lost!" said he, "they are pursuing us. See, this letter which I
received just now is not from the man whose signature it professes to
bear; he told me so himself. Come, let us go, let us leave this house--"
Laurence overwhelmed him with a look full of hate and contempt, and
said:
"It is too late."
Her countenance and voice were so strange that Tremorel, despite his
distress, was struck by it, and asked:
"What is the matter?"
"Everything is known; it is known that you killed your wife."
"It's false!"
She shrugged her shoulders.
"Well, then, it is true," he added, "for I loved you so--"
"Really! And it was for love of me that you poisoned Sauvresy?"
He saw that he was discovered, that he had been caught in a trap, that
they had come, in his absence, and told Laurence all. He did not attempt
to deny anything.
"What shall I do?" cried he, "what shall I do?"
Laurence drew him to her, and muttered in a shuddering voice:
"Save the name of Tremorel; there are pistols here."
He recoiled, as if he had seen death itself.
"No," said he. "I can yet fly and conceal myself; I will go alone, and
you can rejoin me afterward."
"I have already told you that it is too late. The police have surrounded
the house. And--you know--it is the galleys, or--the scaffold!"
"I can get away by the courtyard."
"It is guarded; look."
He ran to the window, saw M. Lecoq's men, and returned half mad and
hideous with terror.
"I can at least try," said he, "by disguising myself--"
"Fool! A detective is in there, and it was he who left that warrant to
arrest you on the table."
He saw that he was lost beyond hope.
"Must I die, then?" he muttered.
"Yes, you must; but before you die write a confession of your crimes,
for the innocent may be suspected--"
He sat down mechanically, took the pen which Laurence held out to him,
and wrote:
"Being about to appear before God, I declare that I alone, and without
accomplices, poisoned Sauvresy and murdered the Countess de Tremorel, my
wife."
When he had signed and dated this, Laurence opened a bureau drawer;
Hector seized one of the brace of pistols which were lying in it, and
she took the other. But Tremorel, as before at the hotel, and then in
the dying Sauvresy's chamber, felt his heart fail him as he placed the
pistol against his forehead. He was livid, his teeth chattered, and he
trembled so violently that he let the pistol drop.
"Laurence, my love," he stammered, "what will--become of you?"
"Me! I have sworn that I will follow you always and everywhere. Do you
understand?"
"Ah, 'tis horrible!" said he. "It was not I who poisoned Sauvresy--it
was she--there are proofs of it; perhaps, with a good advocate--"
M. Lecoq did not lose a word or a gesture of this tragical scene. Either
purposely or by accident, he pushed the door-curtain, which made a
slight noise.
Laurence thought the door was being opened, that the detective was
returning, and that Hector would fall alive into their hands.
"Miserable coward!" she cried, pointing her pistol at him, "shoot, or
else--"
He hesitated; there was another rustle at the door; she fired.
Tremorel fell dead.
Laurence, with a rapid movement, took up the other pistol, and was
turning it against herself, when M. Lecoq sprung upon her and tore the
weapon from her grasp.
"Unhappy girl!" cried he, "what would you do?"
"Die. Can I live now?"
"Yes, you can live," responded M. Lecoq. "And more, you ought to live."
"I am a lost woman--"
"No, you are a poor child lured away by a wretch. You say you are very
guilty; perhaps so; live to repent of it. Great sorrows like yours have
their missions in this world, one of devotion and charity. Live, and the
good you do will attach you once more to life. You have yielded to the
deceitful promises of a villain. Remember, when you are rich, that there
are poor innocent girls forced to lead a life of miserable shame for a
morsel of bread. Go to these unhappy creatures, rescue them from
debauchery, and their honor will be yours."
M. Lecoq narrowly watched Laurence as he spoke, and perceived that he
had touched her. Still, her eyes were dry, and were lit up with a
strange light.
"Besides, your life is not your own--you know."
"Ah," she returned, "I must die now, even for my child, if I would not
die of shame when he asks for his father--"
"You will reply, Madame, by showing him an honest man and an old friend,
who is ready to give him his name--Monsieur Plantat."
The old justice was broken with grief; yet he had the strength to say:
"Laurence, my beloved child, I beg you accept me--"
These simple words, pronounced with infinite gentleness and sweetness,
at last melted the unhappy young girl, and determined her. She burst
into tears.
She was saved.
M. Lecoq hastened to throw a shawl which he saw on a chair about her
shoulders, and passed her arm through M. Plantat's, saying to the
latter:
"Go, lead her away; my men have orders to let you pass, and Palot will
lend you his carriage."
"But where shall we go?"
"To Orcival; Monsieur Courtois has been informed by a letter from me
that his daughter is living, and he is expecting her. Come, lose no
time."
M. Lecoq, when he was left alone, listened to the departure of the
carriage which took M. Plantat and Laurence away; then he returned to
Tremorel's body.
"There," said he to himself, "lies a wretch whom I have killed instead
of arresting and delivering him up to justice. Have I done my duty? No;
but my conscience will not reproach me, because I have acted rightly."
And running to the staircase, he called his men.