Monsieur Lecoq by Émile Gaboriau (romance novel chinese novels .txt) 📕

troops by my side; I demanded that he should be summoned before the tribunal; I told them that I had in my possession unquestionable proofs of his complicity.”

“Did you say that the Marquis de Sairmeuse had been wounded?” inquired Marie-Anne.

Chanlouineau’s face betrayed the most intense astonishment.

“What!” he exclaimed, “you do not know⁠—”

Then after an instant’s reflection:

“Fool that I am!” he resumed. “Who could have told you what had happened? You remember that when we were travelling over the Sairmeuse road on our way to the Croix d’Arcy, and after your father had left us to ride on in advance, Maurice placed himself at the head of one division, and you walked beside him, while your brother Jean and myself stayed behind to urge on the laggards. We were performing our duty conscientiously when suddenly we heard the gallop of a horse behind us. ‘We must know who is coming,’ Jean said to me.

“We paused. The horse soon reached us; we caught the bridle and held him. Can you guess who the rider was? Martial de Sairmeuse.

“To describe your brother’s fury on recognizing the marquis would be impossible.

“ ‘At last I find you, wretched noble!’ he exclaimed, ‘and now we will settle our account! After reducing my father, who has just given you a fortune, to despair and penury, you have tried to degrade my sister. I will have my revenge! Down, we must fight!’ ”

Marie-Anne could scarcely tell whether she was awake or dreaming.

“My brother,” she murmured, “has challenged the marquis! Is it possible?”

“Brave as Monsieur Martial is,” pursued Chanlouineau, “he did not seem inclined to accept the invitation. He stammered out something like this: ‘You are mad⁠—you are jesting⁠—have we not always been friends? What does this mean?’

“Jean ground his teeth in rage. ‘This means that we have endured your insulting familiarity long enough,’ he replied, ‘and if you do not dismount and meet me in open combat, I will blow your brains out!’

“Your brother, as he spoke, manipulated his pistol in so threatening a manner that the marquis dismounted, and addressing me:

“ ‘You see, Chanlouineau,’ he said, ‘I must fight a duel or submit to assassination. If Jean kills me there is no more to be said⁠—but if I kill him, what is to be done?’

“I told him he would be free to depart on condition he would give me his word not to return to Montaignac before two o’clock.

“ ‘Then I accept the challenge,’ said he; ‘give me a weapon.’

“I gave him my sword, your brother drew his, and they took their places in the middle of the highway.”

The young farmer paused to take breath, then said, more slowly:

“Marie-Anne, your father and I have misjudged your brother. Poor Jean’s appearance is terribly against him. His face indicates a treacherous, cowardly nature, his smile is cunning, and his eyes always shun yours. We have distrusted him, but we should ask his pardon. A man who fights as I saw him fight, is deserving of confidence. For this combat in the public road, and in the darkness of the night, was terrible. They attacked each other silently but furiously. At last Jean fell.”

“Ah! my brother is dead!” exclaimed Marie-Anne.

“No,” responded Chanlouineau; “at least we have reason to hope not; and I know he has not lacked any attention. This duel had another witness, a man named Poignot, whom you must remember; he was one of your father’s tenants. He took Jean, promising me that he would conceal him and care for him.

“As for the marquis, he showed me that he too was wounded, and then he remounted his horse, saying:

“ ‘What could I do? He would have it so.’ ”

Marie-Anne understood now.

“Give me the letter,” she said to Chanlouineau, “I will go to the duke. I will find some way to reach him, and then God will tell me what course to pursue.”

The noble peasant handed the girl the tiny scrap of paper which might have been his own salvation.

“On no account,” said he, “must you allow the duke to suppose that you have upon your person the proof with which you threaten him. Who knows of what he might be capable under such circumstances? He will say, at first, that he can do nothing⁠—that he sees no way to save the baron. You will tell him that he must find a means, if he does not wish this letter sent to Paris, to one of his enemies⁠—”

He paused; he heard the grating of the bolt. Corporal Bavois reappeared.

“The half hour expired ten minutes ago,” he said, sadly. “I have my orders.”

“Coming,” said Chanlouineau; “all is ended!”

And handing Marie-Anne the second letter:

“This is for you,” he added. “You will read it when I am no more. Pray, pray, do not weep thus! Be brave! You will soon be the wife of Maurice. And when you are happy, think sometimes of the poor peasant who loved you so much.”

Marie-Anne could not utter a word, but she lifted her face to his.

“Ah! I dared not ask it!” he exclaimed.

And for the first time he clasped her in his arms and pressed his lips to her pallid cheek.

“Now adieu,” he said once more. “Do not lose a moment. Adieu!”

XXIX

The prospect of capturing Lacheneur, the chief conspirator, excited the Marquis de Courtornieu so much that he had not been able to tear himself away from the citadel to return home to his dinner.

Remaining near the entrance of the dark corridor leading to Chanlouineau’s cell, he watched Marie-Anne depart; but as he saw her go out into the twilight with a quick, alert step, he felt a sudden doubt of Chanlouineau’s sincerity.

“Can it be that this miserable peasant has deceived me?” he thought.

So strong was this suspicion that he hastened after her, determined to question her⁠—to ascertain the truth⁠—to arrest her, if necessary.

But he no longer possessed the agility of youth, and when he reached the gateway the guard told him that Mlle. Lacheneur had already passed out. He rushed out after her, looked about on every