THE PENAL CODE.
Startled for a moment by the dark and secret machinations of the black
robes, as he called them, against the persons he most loved, Dagobert
might have hesitated an instant to attempt the deliverance of Rose and
Blanche; but his indecision ceased directly on the reading of Marshal
Simon's letter, which came so timely to remind him of his sacred duties.
To the soldier's passing dejection had succeeded a resolution full of
calm and collected energy.
"Agricola, what o'clock is it?" asked he of his son.
"Just struck nine, father."
"You must make me, directly, an iron hook--strong enough to support my
weight, and wide enough to hold on the coping of a wall. This stove will
be forge and anvil; you will find a hammer in the house; and, for iron,"
said the soldier, hesitating, and looking around him, "as for iron--here
is some!"
So saying, the soldier took from the hearth a strong pair of tongs, and
presented them to his son, adding: "Come, my boy! blow up the fire, blow
it to a white heat, and forge me this iron!"
On these words, Frances and Agricola looked at each other with surprise;
the smith remained mute and confounded, not knowing the resolution of his
father, and the preparations he had already commenced with the
needlewoman's aid.
"Don't you hear me, Agricola," repeated Dagobert, still holding the pair
of tongs in his hand; "you must make me a hook directly."
"A hook, father?--for what purpose?"
"To tie to the end of a cord that I have here. There must be a loop at
one end large enough to fix it securely."
"But this cord--this hook--for what purpose are they?"
"To scale the walls of the convent, if I cannot get in by the door."
"What convent?" asked Frances of her son.
"How, father?" cried the latter, rising abruptly. "You still think of
that?"
"Why! what else should I think of?"
"But, father, it is impossible; you will never attempt such an
enterprise."
"What is it, my child?" asked Frances, with anxiety. "Where is father
going?"
"He is going to break into the convent where Marshal Simon's daughters
are confined, and carry them off."
"Great God! my poor husband--a sacrilege!" cried Frances, faithful to her
pious traditions, and, clasping her hands together, she endeavored to
rise and approach Dagobert.
The soldier, forseeing that he would have to contend with observations
and prayers of all sorts, and resolved not to yield, determined to cut
short all useless supplications, which would only make him lose precious
time. He said, therefore, with a grave, severe, and almost solemn air,
which showed the inflexibility of his determination: "Listen to me,
wife--and you also, my son--when, at my age, a man makes up his mind to
do anything, he knows the reason why. And when a man has once made up his
mind, neither wife nor child can alter it. I have resolved to do my duty;
so spare yourselves useless words. It may be your duty to talk to me as
you have done; but it is over now, and we will say no more about it. This
evening I must be master in my own house."
Timid and alarmed, Frances did not dare to utter a word, but she turned a
supplicating glance towards her son.
"Father," said the latter, "one word more--only one."
"Let us hear," replied Dagobert, impatiently.
"I will not combat your resolution; but I will prove to you that you do
not know to what you expose yourself."
"I know it all," replied the soldier, in an abrupt tone. "The undertaking
is a serious one; but it shall not be said that I neglected any means to
accomplish what I promised to do."
"But father, you do not know to what danger you expose yourself," said
the smith, much alarmed.
"Talk of danger! talk of the porter's gun and the gardener's scythe!"
said Dagobert, shrugging his shoulders contemptuously. "Talk of them, and
have done with it for, after all, suppose I were to leave my carcass in
the convent, would not you remain to your mother? For twenty years, you
were accustomed to do without me. It will be all the less trying to you."
"And I, alas! am the cause of these misfortunes!" cried the poor mother.
"Ah! Gabriel had good reason to blame me."
"Mme. Frances, be comforted," whispered the sempstress, who had drawn
near to Dagobert's wife. "Agricola will not suffer his father to expose
himself thus."
After a moment's hesitation, the smith resumed, in an agitated voice: "I
know you too well, father, to think of stopping you by the fear of
death."
"Of what danger, then, do you speak?"
"Of a danger from which even you will shrink, brave as you are," said the
young man, in a voice of emotion, that forcibly struck his father.
"Agricola," said the soldier, roughly and severely, "that remark is
cowardly, you are insulting."
"Father--"
"Cowardly!" resumed the soldier, angrily; "because it is cowardice to wish
to frighten a man from his duty--insulting! because you think me capable
of being so frightened."
"Oh, M. Dagobert!" exclaimed the sewing-girl, "you do not understand
Agricola."
"I understand him too well," answered the soldier harshly.
Painfully affected by the severity of his father, but firm in his
resolution, which sprang from love and respect, Agricola resumed, whilst
his heart beat violently. "Forgive me, if I disobey you, father; but,
were you to hate me for it, I must tell you to what you expose yourself
by scaling at night the walls of a convent--"
"My son! do you dare?" cried Dagobert, his countenance inflamed with
rage-"Agricola!" exclaimed Frances, in tears. "My husband!"
"M. Dagobert, listen to Agricola!" exclaimed Mother Bunch. "It is only in
your interest that he speaks."
"Not one word more!" replied the soldier, stamping his foot with anger.
"I tell you, father," exclaimed the smith, growing fearfully pale as he
spoke, "that you risk being sent to the galleys!"
"Unhappy boy!" cried Dagobert, seizing his son by the arm; "could you not
keep that from me--rather than expose me to become a traitor and a
coward?" And the soldier shuddered, as he repeated: "The galleys!"--and,
bending down his head, remained mute, pensive, withered, as it were, by
those blasting words.
"Yes, to enter an inhabited place by night, in such a manner, is what the
law calls burglary, and punishes with the galleys," cried Agricola, at
once grieved and rejoicing at his father's depression of mind--"yes,
father, the galleys, if you are taken in the act; and there are ten
chances to one that you would be so. Mother Bunch has told you, the
convent is guarded. This morning, had you attempted to carry off the two
young ladies in broad daylight, you would have been arrested; but, at
least, the attempt would have been an open one, with a character of
honest audacity about it, that hereafter might have procured your
acquittal. But to enter by night, and by scaling the walls--I tell you,
the galleys would be the consequence. Now, father, decide. Whatever you
do, I will do also--for you shall not go alone. Say but the word, and I
will forge the hook for you--I have here hammer and pincers--and in an
hour we will set out."
A profound silence followed these words--a silence that was only
interrupted by the stifled sobs of Frances, who muttered to herself in
despair: "Alas! this is the consequence of listening to Abbe Dubois!"
It was in vain that Mother Bunch tried to console Frances. She was
herself alarmed, for the soldier was capable of braving even infamy, and
Agricola had determined to share the perils of his father.
In spite of his energetic and resolute character, Dagobert remained for
some time in a kind of stupor. According to his military habits, he had
looked at this nocturnal enterprise only as a ruse de guerre, authorized
by his good cause, and by the inexorable fatality of his position; but
the words of his son brought him back to the fearful reality, and left
him the choice of a terrible alternative--either to betray the confidence
of Marshal Simon, and set at naught the last wishes of the mother of the
orphan--or else to expose himself, and above all his son, to lasting
disgrace--without even the certainty of delivering the orphans after all.
Drying her eyes, bathed in tears, Frances exclaimed, as if by a sudden
inspiration: "Dear me! I have just thought of it. There is perhaps a way
of getting these dear children from the convent without violence."
"How so, mother?" said Agricola, hastily.
"It is Abbe Dubois, who had them conveyed thither; but Gabriel supposes,
that he probably acted by the advice of M. Rodin.
"And if that were so, mother, it would be in vain to apply to M. Rodin.
We should get nothing from him."
"Not from him--but perhaps from that powerful abbe, who is Gabriel's
superior, and has always patronized him since his first entrance at the
seminary."
"What abbe, mother?"
"Abbe d'Aigrigny."
"True mother; before being a priest, he was a soldier he may be more
accessible than others--and yet--"
"D'Aigrigny!" cried Dagobert, with an expression of hate and horror.
"There is then mixed up with these treasons, a man who was a soldier
before being a priest, and whose name is D'Aigrigny?"
"Yes, father; the Marquis d'Aigrigny--before the Restoration, in the
service of Russia--but, in 1815, the Bourbons gave him a regiment."
"It is he!" said Dagobert, in a hollow voice. "Always the same! like an
evil spirit--to the mother, father, children."
"What do you mean, father?"
"The Marquis d'Aigrigny!" replied Dagobert. "Do you know what is this
man? Before he was a priest, he was the murderer of Rose and Blanche's
mother, because she despised his love. Before he was a priest, he fought
against his country, and twice met General Simon face to face in war.
Yes; while the general was prisoner at Leipsic, covered with wounds at
Waterloo, the turncoat marquis triumphed with the Russians and
English!--Under the Bourbons, this same renegade, loaded with honors,
found himself once more face to face with the persecuted soldier of the
empire. Between them, this time, there was a mortal duel--the marquis was
wounded--General Simon was proscribed, condemned, driven into exile. The
renegade, you say, has become a priest. Well! I am now certain, that it
is he who has carried off Rose and Blanche, in order to wreak on them his
hatred of their father and mother. It is the infamous D'Aigrigny, who
holds them in his power. It is no longer the fortune of these children
that I have to defend; it is their life--do you hear what I say?--their
very life?"
"What, father! do you think this man capable--"
"A traitor to his country, who finishes by becoming a mock priest, is
capable of anything. I tell you, that, perhaps at this moment he may be
killing those children by a slow-fire!" exclaimed the soldier, in a voice
of agony. "To separate them from one another was to begin to kill them.
Yes!" added Dagobert, with an exasperation impossible to describe; "the
daughters of Marshal Simon are in the power of the Marquis d'Aigrigny and
his band, and I hesitate to attempt their rescue, for fear of the
galleys! The galleys!" added he, with a convulsive burst of laughter;
"what do I care for the galleys? Can they send a corpse there? If this
last attempt fail, shall I not have the right to blow my brains out?--Put
the iron in the fire, my boy--quick! time presses--and strike while the
iron's hot!"
"But your son goes with you!" exclaimed Frances, with a cry of maternal
despair. Then rising, she threw herself at the feet of Dagobert, and
said: "If you are arrested, he will be arrested also."
"To escape the galleys, he will do as I do. I have two pistols."
"And without you--without him," cried the unhappy mother, extending her
hands in supplication, "what will become of me?"
"You are right--I was too selfish," said Dagobert. "I will go alone."
"You shall not go alone, father," replied Agricola.
"But your mother?"
"Mother Bunch sees what is passing; she will go to Mr. Hardy, my master,
and tell him all. He is the most generous of men, and my mother will have
food and shelter for the rest of her days."
"And I am the cause of all!" cried Frances, wringing her hands in
despair. "Punish me, oh, heaven! for it is my fault. I gave up those
children. I shall be punished by the death of my child!"
"Agricola, you shall not go with me--I forbid it!" said Dagobert,
clasping his son closely to his breast.
"What! when I have pointed out the danger, am I to be the first to shrink
from it? you cannot think thus lowly of me, father! Have I not also some
one to deliver? The good, the generous Mdlle. de Cardoville, who tried to
save me from a prison, is a captive in her turn. I will follow you,
father. It is my right, my duty, my determination."
So saying, Agricola put into the heated stove the tongs that were
intended to form the hook. "Alas! may heaven have pity upon us!" cried
his poor mother, sobbing as she still knelt, whilst the soldier seemed a
prey to the most violent internal struggle.
"Do not cry so, dear mother; you will break my heart," said Agricola, as
he raised her with the sempstress's help. "Be comforted! I have
exaggerated the danger of my father. By acting prudently, we two may
succeed in our enterprise; without much risk--eh, father?" added he, with
a significant glance at Dagobert. "Once more, be comforted, dear mother.
I will answer for everything. We will deliver Marshal Simon's daughters,
and Mdlle. de Cardoville too. Sister, give me the hammer and pincers,
there in the press."
The sempstress, drying her tears, did as desired, while Agricola, by the
help of bellows, revived the fire in which the tongs were heating.
"Here are your tools, Agricola," said the hunchback, in a deeply-agitated
voice, as she presented them with trembling hands to the smith, who, with
the aid of the pincers, soon drew from the fire the white-hot tongs, and,
with vigorous blows of the hammer, formed them into a hook, taking the
stove for his anvil.
Dagobert had remained silent and pensive. Suddenly he said to Frances,
taking her by the hand: "You know what metal your son is. To prevent his
following me would now be impossible. But do not be afraid, dear wife; we
shall succeed--at least, I hope so. And if we should not succeed--if
Agricola and me should be arrested--well! we are not cowards; we shall
not commit suicide; but father and son will go arm in arm to prison, with
heads high and proud, look like two brave men who have done their duty.
The day of trial must come, and we will explain all, honestly, openly--we
will say, that, driven to the last extremity, finding no support, no
protection in the law, we were forced to have recourse to violence. So
hammer away, my boy!" added Dagobert, addressing his son, pounding the
hot iron; "forge, forge, without fear. Honest judges will absolve honest
men."
"Yes, father, you are right, be at ease dear mother! The judges will see
the difference between rascals who scale walls in order to rob, and an
old soldier and his son who, at peril of their liberty, their life, their
honor, have sought only to deliver unhappy victims."
"And if this language should not be heard," resumed Dagobert, "so much
the worse for them! It will not be your son, or husband, who will be
dishonored in the eyes of honest people. If they send us to the galleys,
and we have courage to survive--the young and the old convict will wear
their chains proudly--and the renegade marquis, the traitor priest, will
bear more shame than we. So, forge without fear, my boy! There are things
which the galleys themselves cannot disgrace--our good conscience and our
honor! But now," he added, "two words with my good Mother Bunch. It grows
late, and time presses. On entering the garden, did you remark if the
windows of the convent were far from the ground?"
"No, not very far, M. Dagobert--particularly on that side which is
opposite to the madhouse, where Mdlle. de Cardoville is confined."
"How did you manage to speak to that young lady?"
"She was on the other side of an open paling, which separates the two
gardens."
"Excellent!" said Agricola, as he continued to hammer the iron: "we can
easily pass from one garden to the other. The madhouse may perhaps be the
readier way out. Unfortunately, you do not know, Mdlle. de Cardoville's
chamber."
"Yes, I do," returned the work-girl, recollecting herself. "She is lodged
in one of the wings, and there is a shade over her window, painted like
canvas, with blue and white stripes."
"Good! I shall not forget that."
"And can you form no guess as to where are the rooms of my poor
children?" said Dagobert.
After a moment's reflection, Mother Bunch answered, "They are opposite to
the chamber occupied by Mdlle. de Cardoville, for she makes signs to them
from her window: and I now remember she told me, that their two rooms are
on different stories, one on the ground-floor, and the other up one pair
of stairs."
"Are these windows grated?" asked the smith.
"I do not know."
"Never mind, my good girl: with these indications we shall do very well,"
said Dagobert. "For the rest, I have my plans."
"Some water, my little sister," said Agricola, "that I may cool my iron."
Then addressing his father: "Will this hook do?"
"Yes, my boy; as soon as it is cold we will fasten the cord."
For some time, Frances Baudoin had remained upon her knees, praying with
fervor. She implored Heaven to have pity on Agricola and Dagobert, who,
in their ignorance, were about to commit a great crime; and she entreated
that the celestial vengeance might fall upon her only, as she alone had
been the cause of the fatal resolution of her son and husband.
Dagobert and Agricola finished their preparations in silence. They were
both very pale, and solemnly grave. They felt all the danger of so
desperate an enterprise.
The clock at Saint-Mery's struck ten. The sound of the bell was faint,
and almost drowned by the lashing of the wind and rain, which had not
ceased for a moment.
"Ten o'clock!" said Dagobert, with a start. "There is not a minute to
lose. Take the sack, Agricola."
"Yes, father."
As he went to fetch the sack, Agricola approached Mother Bunch, who was
hardly able to sustain herself, and said to her in a rapid whisper: "If
we are not here to-morrow, take care of my mother. Go to M. Hardy, who
will perhaps have returned from his journey. Courage, my sister! embrace
me. I leave poor mother to you." The smith, deeply affected, pressed the
almost fainting girl in his arms.
"Come, old Spoil-sport," said Dagobert: "you shall be our scout."
Approaching his wife, who, just risen from the ground, was clasping her
son's head to her bosom, and covering it with tears and kisses, he said
to her, with a semblance of calmness and serenity: "Come, my dear wife,
be reasonable! Make us a good fire. In two or three hours we will bring
home the two poor children, and a fine young lady. Kiss me! that will
bring me luck."
Frances threw herself on her husband's neck, without uttering a word.
This mute despair, mingled with convulsive sobs, was heart-rending.
Dagobert was obliged to tear himself from his wife's arms, and striving
to conceal his emotion, he said to his son, in an agitated voice: "Let us
go--she unmans me. Take care of her, my good Mother Bunch.
Agricola--come!"
The soldier slipped the pistols into the pocket of his great coat, and
rushed towards the door, followed by Spoil-sport.
"My son, let me embrace you once more--alas! it is perhaps for the last
time!" cried the unfortunate mother, incapable of rising, but stretching
out her arms to Agricola. "Forgive me! it is all my fault."
The smith turned back, mingled his tears with those of his mother--for he
also wept--and murmured, in a stifled voice: "Adieu, dear mother! Be
comforted. We shall soon meet again."
Then, escaping from the embrace, he joined his father upon the stairs.
Frances Baudoin heaved a long sigh, and fell almost lifeless into the
needlewoman's arms.
Dagobert and Agricola left the Rue Brise-Miche in the height of the
storm, and hastened with great strides towards the Boulevard de
l'Hopital, followed by the dog.