The Conspirators Part 68

As they opened the staircase-door they heard the voice of the portress, who appeared to be opposing the pa.s.sage of some one; they descended to discover the cause of the discussion, and found Bathilde, with streaming hair, naked feet, and wrapped in a long white robe, standing on the staircase, and endeavoring to go out in spite of the efforts of the portress. The poor girl had heard everything; the fever had changed into delirium; she would join Raoul; she would see him again; she would die with him.

The three women took her in their arms. For a minute she struggled against them, murmuring incoherent words; her cheeks were flushed with fever, while her limbs trembled, and her teeth chattered; but soon her strength failed her, her head sank back, and, calling on the name of Raoul, she fainted a second time.

They sent once more for the doctor. What he had feared was now no longer doubtful--brain fever had declared itself. At this moment some one knocked; it was Buvat, whom Brigaud and Boniface had found wandering to and fro before the house like a ghost; and who, not able to keep up any longer, had come to beg a seat in some corner, he did not care where, so long as from time to time he had news of Bathilde. The poor family were too sad themselves not to feel for the grief of others. Madame signed to Buvat to seat himself in a corner, and retired into her own room with Athenais, leaving Emilie once more with the sufferer. About daybreak Boniface returned: he had gone with Brigaud as far as the Barriere d'Enfer, where the abbe had left him, hoping--thanks to his good steed, and to his disguise--to reach the Spanish frontier.

Bathilde's delirium continued. All night she talked of Raoul; she often mentioned Buvat's name, and always accused him of having killed her lover. Buvat heard it, and, without daring to defend himself, to reply, or even to groan, had silently burst into tears, and, pondering on what means existed of repairing the evil he had caused, he at last arrived at a desperate resolution. He approached the bed, kissed the feverish hand of Bathilde, who did not recognize him, and went out.

Buvat had, in fact, determined on a bold course. It was to go himself to Dubois, tell him everything, and ask, as his recompense--not the payment of his arrears--not advancement at the library--but pardon for D'Harmental. It was the least that could be accorded to the man whom the regent himself had called the savior of France. Buvat did not doubt that he should soon return bearing good news, and that it would restore Bathilde to health.

Consequently Buvat went home to arrange his disordered dress, which bore the marks of the events of the day and the emotions of the night; and, moreover, he did not dare to present himself at the minister's house so early, for fear of disturbing him. His toilet finished, and as it was still only nine o'clock, he returned for a few minutes to Bathilde's room--it was that which the young girl had left the day before. Buvat sat down in the chair which she had quitted, touched the articles which she liked to touch, kissed the feet of the crucifix, which she kissed each night--one would have thought him a lover following the steps of his mistress.

Ten o'clock struck; it was the hour at which Buvat had often before repaired to the Palais Royal. The fear of being importunate gave place to the hope of being received as he had always been. He took his hat and cane, and called at Madame Denis's to ask how Bathilde had been during his absence; he found that she had never ceased to call for Raoul. The doctor had bled her for the third time. He raised his eyes to heaven, heaved a profound sigh, and set out for the Palais Royal.

The moment was unlucky. Dubois, who had been constantly on his feet for four or five days, suffered horribly from the malady which was to cause his death in a few months; moreover, he was beyond measure annoyed that only D'Harmental had been taken, and had just given orders to Leblanc and D'Argenson to press on the trial with all possible speed, when his valet-de-chambre, who was accustomed to see the worthy writer arrive every morning, announced M. Buvat.

"And who the devil is M. Buvat?"

"It is I, monseigneur," said the poor fellow, venturing to slip between the valet and the door, and bowing his honest head before the prime minister.

"Well, who are you?" asked Dubois, as if he had never seen him before.

"What, monseigneur!" exclaimed the astonished Buvat; "do you not recognize me? I come to congratulate you on the discovery of the conspiracy."

"I get congratulations enough of that kind--thanks for yours, M. Buvat,"

said Dubois, quietly.

"But, monseigneur, I come also to ask a favor."

"A favor! and on what grounds?"

"Monseigneur," stammered Buvat, "but--monseigneur--do you not remember that you promised me a--a recompense?"

"A recompense to you, you double idiot."

"What! monseigneur," continued poor Buvat, getting more and more frightened, "do you not recollect that you told me, here, in this very room, that I had my fortune at my fingers' ends?"

"And now," said Dubois, "I tell you that you have your life in your legs, for unless you decamp pretty quick--"

"But, monseigneur--"

"Ah! you reason with me, scoundrel," shouted Dubois, raising himself with one hand on the arm of his chair, and the other on his archbishop's crook, "wait, then, you shall see--"

Buvat had seen quite enough; at the threatening gesture of the premier he understood what was to follow, and turning round, he fled at full speed; but, quick as he was, he had still time to hear Dubois--with the most horrible oaths and curses--order his valet to beat him to death if ever again he put his foot inside the door of the Palais Royal.

Buvat understood that there was no hope in that direction, and that, not only must he renounce the idea of being of service to D'Harmental, but also of the payment of his arrears, in which he had fondly trusted. This chain of thought naturally reminded him that for eight days he had not been to the library--he was near there--he resolved to go to his office, if it was only to excuse himself to his superior, and relate to him the causes of his absence; but here a grief, not less terrible than the rest, was in store for Buvat; on opening the door of his office, he saw his seat occupied--a stranger had been appointed to his place!

As he had never before--during the whole fifteen years--been an hour late, the curator had imagined him dead, and had replaced him. Buvat had lost his situation for having saved France!

This last stroke was more than he could bear, and Buvat returned home almost as ill as Bathilde.

CHAPTER XL.

BONIFACE.

As we have seen, Dubois urged on the trial of D'Harmental, hoping that his revelations would furnish him with weapons against those whom he wished to attack, but D'Harmental took refuge in a total denial with respect to others. As to what concerned himself personally, he confessed everything, saying, that his attempt on the regent was the result of private revenge, a revenge which had arisen from the injustice which had been done him in depriving him of his regiment. As to the men who had accompanied him, and who had lent him their aid in the execution of his plans, he declared that they were poor devils of peasants, who did not even know whom they were escorting. All this was not highly probable, but there was no means of bringing anything beyond the answers of the accused to bear on the matter; the consequence was, that to the infinite annoyance of Dubois, the real criminals escaped his vengeance, under cover of the eternal denials of the chevalier, who denied having seen Monsieur or Madame de Maine more than once or twice in his life, or ever having been trusted with any political mission by either of them.

They had arrested successively Laval, Pompadour, and Valef, and had taken them to the Bastille, but they knew that they might rely upon the chevalier; and, as the situation in which they found themselves had been foreseen, and it had been agreed what each should say, they all entirely denied any knowledge of the affair, confessing a.s.sociations with Monsieur and Madame de Maine, but saying that those a.s.sociations were confined to a respectful friends.h.i.+p. As to D'Harmental, they knew him, they said, for a man of honor, who complained of a great injustice which had been done to him. They were confronted, one after the other, with the chevalier; but these interviews had no other result than that of confirming each in his system of defense, and showing each that the system was religiously adhered to by his companion.

Dubois was furious--he reopened the proofs for the affair of the States-General, but that had been settled by the special parliament, which had condemned the king of Spain's letters, and degraded the legitimated princes from their rank; everyone regarded them as sufficiently punished by this judgment, without raising a second prosecution against them on the same grounds. Dubois had hoped, by the revelations of D'Harmental, to entangle Monsieur and Madame de Maine in a new trial, more serious than the first; for this time it was a question of a direct attempt, if not on the life, at least on the liberty of the regent; but the obstinacy of the chevalier destroyed all his hopes. His anger had therefore turned solely on D'Harmental, and, as we have said, he had ordered Leblanc and D'Argenson to expedite the prosecution--an order which the two magistrates had obeyed with their ordinary punctuality.

During this time the illness of Bathilde had progressed in a manner which had brought the poor girl to death's door; but at last youth and vigor had triumphed; to the excitement of delirium had succeeded a complete and utter prostration; one would have said that the fever alone had sustained her, and that, in departing, it had taken life along with it.

Still every day brought improvement--slight, it is true, but decided--to the eyes of the good people who surrounded the bed of sickness. Little by little Bathilde began to recognize those who were about her, then she had stretched out her hand to them, and then spoken to them. As yet, to the astonishment of every one, they had remarked that Bathilde had not mentioned the name of D'Harmental; this was a great relief to those who watched her, for, as they had none but sad news to give her about him, they preferred, as will easily be understood, that she should remain silent on the subject; every one believed, and the doctor most of all, that the young girl had completely forgotten the past, or, if she remembered it, that she confounded the reality with the dreams of her delirium. They were all wrong, even the doctor: this was what had occurred:

One morning when they had thought Bathilde sleeping, and had left her alone for a minute, Boniface, who, in spite of the severity of his neighbor, still preserved a great fund of tenderness toward her, had, as was his custom every morning since she had been ill, half opened the door to ask news of her. The growling of Mirza aroused Bathilde, who turned round and saw Boniface, and having before conjectured that she might probably know from him that which she should ask in vain from the others, namely, what had become of D'Harmental, she had, while quieting Mirza, extended her pale and emaciated hand to Boniface. Boniface took it between his own two great red hands, then, looking at the young girl, and shaking his head:

"Yes, Mademoiselle Bathilde, yes," said he, "you were right; you are a lady, and I am only a coa.r.s.e peasant. You deserved a n.o.bleman, and it was impossible that you should love me."

"As you wished, true, Boniface, but I can love you in another manner."

"True, Mademoiselle Bathilde, very true; well, love me as you will, so that you love me a little."

"I can love you as a brother."

"As a brother! You could love poor Boniface as a brother, and he might love you as a sister; he might sometimes hold your hand as he holds it now, and embrace you as he sometimes embraces Melie and Nas? Oh!

speak, Mademoiselle Bathilde, what must I do for that?"

"My friend--" said Bathilde.

"She has called me her friend," said Boniface, "she has called me her friend--I, who have said such things about her. Listen, Mademoiselle Bathilde: do not call me your friend, I am not worthy of the name. You do not know what I have said--I said that you lived with an old man; but I did not believe it, Mademoiselle Bathilde, on my honor I did not--it was anger, it was rage. Mademoiselle Bathilde, call me beggar, rascal; it will give me less pain than to hear you term me your friend."

"My friend," recommenced Bathilde, "if you have said all that, I pardon you, for now not only can you make up for it, but also acquire eternal claims upon my grat.i.tude."

"And what shall I do? Speak! Let me see! Must I go through the fire?

Shall I jump out of the second-floor window? Shall I--What shall I do?

Tell me! Everything is alike."

"No, no, my friend, something much easier."

"Speak, Mademoiselle Bathilde, speak!"

"First it is necessary that you should swear to do it."

"I swear by Heaven!"