Petit-Pierre's letter to Bertha had not told Courtin much, except that
Petit-Pierre was in Nantes and awaited Bertha. As to her hiding-place
and the means of reaching it, the letter left him in the dark.
He did, however, possess an important piece of information in his
knowledge of the house with two entrances, through which Michel, Mary,
and the duchess had undoubtedly passed. For a moment he thought of
continuing his method of spying, and of following Bertha when, in
obedience to Petit-Pierre's injunction, she should seek the princess
in Nantes; and he also thought of discounting to his profit the
distress of the girl's mind when she should discover the true
relations of Michel and her sister. But the farmer had now come to
doubt the efficacy of the means he had hitherto employed; he felt he
might lose, without recovery, his last chance of success, if accident
or the vigilance of those he watched were to baffle once more his
sagacity and cunning. He therefore decided to try another means and
take the initiative.
Was the house which opened on the nameless alley to which we have
several times taken the reader, and also on the rue du Marché,
actually inhabited? If so, who lived there? Through that person, or
persons, might it not be possible to reach Petit-Pierre? Such were the
questions which reflection placed before the mind of the mayor of La
Logerie.
In order to solve them it was necessary that he should stay in Nantes;
and Maître Courtin at once resolved to give up returning to his farm,
where it was very probable that Bertha had already gone to meet Michel
on learning of the failure of his attempt to escape. He therefore
boldly decided on his new course.
The next day, at ten o'clock in the morning, he knocked at the door of
the mysterious house; but instead of presenting himself at the door on
the alley, he went to that on the rue du Marché,--his intention being
to convince himself that the two doors gave entrance to the same
house.
When the person who answered the knock had satisfied himself through a
little iron grating that the person knocking was alone, he opened, or
rather half-opened the door. The two heads now came face to face.
"Where do you come from?" asked the man inside.
Taken aback by the suddenness with which this question was put,
Courtin hesitated.
"_Pardieu!_" he said, "from Touvois."
"No one is expected from there," replied the man, attempting to close
the door; but it was not so easy to do this, for Courtin had his foot
against it.
A ray of light darted into the farmer's mind; he remembered the words
Michel had used to obtain the two horses from the landlord of the
Point du Jour, and he felt certain that those words, which he had not
understood at the time, were the countersign.
The man continued to push the door; but Courtin held firm.
"Wait, wait!" he said. "When I said I came from Touvois I was only
trying to find out if you were in the secret; one can't take too many
precautions in these devilish times. Well, there! I don't come from
Touvois, I come from the South."
"And where are you going?" asked his questioner, without, however,
yielding one inch of the way.
"Where do you expect me to go, if I come from the South, but to
Rosny?"
"That's all right," said the servant; "but don't you see, my fine
friend, that no one can come in here without showing a white paw?"
"For those who are all white, that isn't difficult."
"Hum! so much the better," said the man, a peasant of Lower Brittany,
who was running over the beads of a chaplet in his hand while
speaking.
But inasmuch as Courtin had really answered with the proper passwords,
he showed him, though with evident reluctance, into a small room, and
said, pointing to a chair:--
"Monsieur is engaged just now. I will announce you as soon as he has
finished with the person who is now in his office. Sit down,--unless
you want to spend the time more usefully."
Courtin saw that he had gained more than he expected. He had hoped to
meet some subordinate agent from whom he could extract, either by
trickery or corruption, the clues he wanted. When the man who admitted
him spoke of announcing him to his master, he felt that the matter was
becoming serious, and that he ought to be ready with some tale to meet
the necessities of the situation. He refrained from questioning the
servant, whose stern and gloomy countenance showed him to be one of
those rigid fanatics who are still to be found on the Celtic
peninsula. Courtin instantly perceived the tone he ought to take.
"Yes," he said, giving to his countenance a humble and sanctimonious
expression, "I will wait Monsieur's leisure and employ the time in
prayer. May I take one of those prayer-books?" he added, glancing at
the table.
"Don't touch those books if you are what you pretend to be; they are
not prayer-books, they are profane books," replied the Breton. "I'll
lend you mine," he continued, drawing from the pocket of his
embroidered jacket a little book, the cover and edges of which were
blackened by time and usage.
The movement he made in carrying his hand to his pocket disclosed the
shining handles of two pistols stuck into his wide belt, and Courtin
congratulated himself on not having risked any attempt on the fidelity
of the Breton, whom he now felt to be a man who would have answered it
in some dangerous way.
"Thank you," he said, as he received the book and knelt down with such
humility and contrition that the Breton, much edified, removed the hat
from his long hair, made the sign of the cross, and closed the door
very softly, that he might not trouble the devotions of so saintly a
person.
As soon as he was alone, the farmer felt a desire to examine in detail
the room in which he found himself; but he was not the man to commit
such a blunder as that. He reflected that the Breton's eye might be
fixed on him through the keyhole; he therefore controlled himself and
remained absorbed in prayer.
Nevertheless, while mumbling his pater-nosters, Courtin's eyes did
rove about the floor below him. The room was not more than a dozen
feet square, and was separated from an adjoining room by a partition,
in which there was a door. This little room was plainly furnished in
walnut, and was lighted by a window on the courtyard, the lower panes
of which were provided with a very delicate iron grating painted
green, which prevented any one on the outside from seeing into the
apartment.
He listened attentively to hear if any sound of voices could reach
him; but as to this, precautions had doubtless been taken, for though
Maître Courtin strained his ears toward the door and toward the
chimney, near which he was kneeling, not a sound reached him.
But, as he stooped beneath the chimney-piece to listen better, Courtin
caught sight, among the ashes, of several bits of crumpled paper lying
in a heap, as if placed there to be burned. These papers tempted
him; he dropped his arm, and then, leaning his head against the
chimney-piece, he slowly stretched out his hand and took up the
papers, one by one. Without changing his position he managed to open
them, confident that his movements at that level were hidden from any
eye at the keyhole by a table in the middle of the room.
He had examined and thrown away as of no interest several of these
papers, when on the back of one (among a number of insignificant bills
which he was about to crumple up on his knee and return to the ashes)
he spied certain words in a delicate and refined handwriting, which
struck him; they were as follows:--
"If you feel uneasy, come at once. Our friend desires me to say that
there is an empty room in our retreat which is at your service."
The note was signed M. de S. Evidently, as the initials indicated, it
was signed by Mary de Souday. Courtin put it carefully away in his
pocket; his peasant craftiness had instantly perceived the possible
good he might get out of its possession.
He continued his investigations, however, and came to the conclusion,
from sundry bills for large payments, that the owner or lessee of
the house must be intrusted with the management of the duchess's
money-matters. Just then he heard the sound of voices and of steps in
the passage. He rose hastily and went to the window. Through the
grating we have mentioned he saw the servant escorting a gentleman to
the door. The latter held in his hand an empty money-bag, and before
leaving the premises he folded it up and put it in his pocket. Until
then Courtin had not been able to see his face; but, just as he passed
in front of the servant to go out of the door, Courtin recognized
Maître Loriot.
"Ah, ha!" he said. "So he's in it, is he? It is he who brings them
money. Decidedly, I made a good stroke in coming here."
He returned to his place near the chimney, thinking that the time for
his interview had probably arrived. When the Breton opened the door he
found the visitor so absorbed in his orisons that he never stirred.
The peasant went to him, touched him gently on the shoulder, and asked
him to follow him; Courtin obeyed, after ending his prayer as he began
it, by making the sign of the cross, which the Breton imitated.
The farmer was now shown into the same room where Maître Pascal had
formerly received Michel; on this occasion, however, Maître Pascal was
much more seriously employed. Before him was a table covered with
papers, and Courtin fancied he saw the shining of various gold-pieces
among a pile of opened letters, which seemed to have been lately
heaped there as if to hide them.
Maître Pascal intercepted the farmer's glance; at first he was not
displeased, attributing it to nothing more than the inquisitive
interest which the peasantry always attach to the sight of gold and
silver. Nevertheless, as he did not choose to allow that curiosity to
go too far, he pretended to search for something in a drawer, and in
order to do so threw up an end of the long green table-cloth so that
it covered the pile of papers effectually. Then, turning to his
visitor he said roughly:--
"What do you want?"
"To fulfil an errand."
"Who sends you?"
"Monsieur de la Logerie."
"Ah, do you belong to that young man?"
"I am his farmer, his confidential man."
"Then say what you have to say."
"But I don't know that I can do that," said Courtin, boldly.
"Why not?"
"Because you are not the person to whom Monsieur de la Logerie sent
me."
"Who was it, then?" asked Maître Pascal, frowning with some
uneasiness.
"Another person, to whom you were to take me."
"I don't know what you mean," returned Maître Pascal, unable to
conceal the impatience he felt at what he supposed to be an
unpardonable piece of heedlessness on Michel's part.
Courtin, noticing his annoyance, saw that he had gone too far; but it
was dangerous to beat too rapid a retreat.
"Come," said Pascal, "will you, or will you not tell me what you are
here for? I have no time to waste."
"Bless me! I don't know what to do, my good gentleman," said Courtin.
"I love my young master enough to jump into the fire for him. When he
says to me 'do this' or 'do that,' I always try to execute his orders
just as he gives them, so as to deserve his confidence; and he did not
tell me to give his message to you."
"What is your name, my good man?"
"Courtin, at your service."
"What parish do you belong to?"
"La Logerie."
Maître Pascal took up a note-book, and looked it over for a few
moments; then he fixed an investigating and distrustful eye on
Courtin.
"You are the mayor of La Logerie?" he asked.
"Yes, since 1830." Then, observing Maître Pascal's increasing
coldness, "It was my mistress, Madame la baronne, who had me
nominated," he added.
"Did Monsieur de la Logerie only give you a verbal message for the
person to whom he sent you?"
"Yes; I have a bit of a letter here, but it isn't for that person."
"Can I see that bit of a letter?"
"Of course; there's no secret in it, because it isn't sealed."
And Courtin held out to Maître Pascal the paper Michel had given him
for Bertha, in which Petit-Pierre begged her to come to Nantes.
"How happens it that this paper is still in your hands?" asked Maître
Pascal. "It is dated some days ago."
"Because one can't do everything all at once; and I am not going back
our way just yet, and till I do I can't meet the person to whom I'm to
give the note."
Maître Pascal's eyes had never left the farmer's face from the moment
he had failed to find Courtin's name on the list of those whose
loyalty could be trusted. The latter was now affecting the same
idiotic simplicity that had succeeded so well with the captain of the
"Jeune Charles."
"Come, my good man," said Maître Pascal, "it is impossible for you to
give your message to any one but me. Do so if you think proper; if
not, go back to your master, and tell him he must come himself."
"I sha'n't do that, my dear monsieur," replied Courtin. "My master is
condemned to death, and I don't wish to say a word to bring him back
to Nantes. He is better off with us. I'll tell the whole thing to you;
you can do what you think best about it, and if Monsieur is not
pleased, he may scold me; I'd rather that than bring him here."
This artless expression of devotion reconciled Maître Pascal in a
degree to the farmer, whose first answer had seriously alarmed him.
"Go on, my good man, and I will answer for it your master will not
blame you."
"The matter is soon told: Monsieur Michel wants me to tell you, or
rather tell Monsieur Petit-Pierre,--for that is the name of the person
he sent me to find,--"
"Go on!" said Maître Pascal, smiling.
"I was to tell him that he had discovered the man who ordered the ship
to sail a few moments before Monsieur Petit-Pierre, Mademoiselle Mary,
and himself reached the rendezvous."
"And who may that man be?"
"One named Joseph Picaut, lately hostler at the Point du Jour."
"True; the man whom we placed there has disappeared since yesterday,"
said Maître Pascal. "Go on, Courtin!"
"I was to warn Monsieur Petit-Pierre to beware of this Picaut in town,
and to say he would look out for him in the country. And that's all."
"Very good; thank Monsieur de la Logerie for his information. And now
that I have received it, I can assure you that it was intended for
me."
"That's enough to satisfy me," said Courtin, rising.
Maître Pascal accompanied the farmer as he went out with much
civility, and did for him what Courtin had noticed that he did not do
for Maître Loriot,--he followed him to the very door of the street.
Courtin was too wily himself to mistake the meaning of these
attentions; and he was not surprised, when he had gone about twenty
paces from the house, to hear the door open and close behind him. He
did not turn round; but, certain that he was followed, he walked
slowly, like a man at leisure, stopping to gaze like a countryman into
all the shop-windows, reading the posters on the walls, and carefully
avoiding everything that might confirm the suspicions he had not been
able to destroy in Maître Pascal's mind. This constraint was no
annoyance to him; in fact, he enjoyed his morning, feeling that he was
on the verge of obtaining the reward of his trouble.
Just as he arrived in front of the hôtel des Colonies he saw Maître
Loriot under the portico, talking to a stranger. Courtin, affecting
great surprise, went straight to the notary, and inquired how he came
to be at Nantes when it was not the market-day. Then he asked the
notary if he would give him a seat in his cabriolet back to Légé, to
which the latter very willingly assented, saying, however, that he
still had a few errands to do and should not be ready to leave Nantes
for four or five hours, and advising Courtin to wait in some café.
Now, a café was a luxury the farmer would not allow himself under any
circumstances, and that day least of all. In his religious fervor he
went devoutly to church, where he assisted at vespers said for the
canons; after which he returned to Maître Loriot's hotel, sat down on
a stone bench under a yew-tree, and went to sleep, or pretended to do
so, in the calm and peaceful slumber of an easy conscience.
Two hours later the notary returned; he told Courtin that unexpected
business would detain him at Nantes, and that he could not start for
Légé before ten o'clock. This did not suit the farmer, whose
appointment with Monsieur Hyacinthe (the name, it will be remembered,
of the mysterious man of Aigrefeuille) was from seven to eight o'clock
at Saint-Philbert-de-Grand-Lieu. He therefore told Monsieur Loriot
that he must give up the honor of his company and go on foot, for the
sun was getting low and he wanted to get home before night-fall.
When Courtin, sitting on the bench, had first opened his eyes, he saw
the Breton servant watching him; he now paid no attention to him and
seemed not to see him as he started to keep his rendezvous. The Breton
followed him over the river; but Courtin never once betrayed, by
looking backward, the usual uneasiness of those whose consciences are
ill at ease. The result was that the Breton returned to his master and
assured him that it was a great mistake to distrust the worthy
peasant, who spent his leisure hours in the most innocent amusements
and pious practices; so that even Maître Pascal, cautious as he was,
began to think Michel less to blame for confiding in so faithful a
servant.