The Honor of the Name Part 64

The duke was about leaving the room, but Martial detained him by a gesture.

"Think again before you decide. Our situation is not without a precedent. A few months ago the Count de Lavalette was condemned to death. The King wished to pardon him, but his ministers and friends opposed it. Though the King was master, what did he do? He seemed to be deaf to all the supplications made in the prisoner's behalf. The scaffold was erected, and yet Lavalette was saved! And no one was compromised--yes, a jailer lost his position; he is living on his income now."

Marie-Anne caught eagerly at the idea so cleverly presented by Martial.

"Yes," she exclaimed, "the Count de Lavalette, protected by royal connivance, succeeded in making his escape."

The simplicity of the expedient--the authority of the example--seemed to make a vivid impression upon the duke. He was silent for a moment, and Marie-Anne fancied she saw an expression of relief steal over his face.

"Such an attempt would be very hazardous," he murmured; "yet, with care, and if one were sure that the secret would be kept----"

"Oh! the secret will be religiously preserved, Monsieur," interrupted Marie-Anne.

With a glance Martial recommended silence; then turning to his father, he said:

"One can always consider an expedient, and calculate the consequences--that does not bind one. When is this sentence to be carried into execution?"

"To-morrow," responded the duke.

But even this terrible response did not cause Marie-Anne any alarm.

The duke's anxiety and terror had taught her how much reason she had to hope; and she saw that Martial had openly espoused her cause.

"We have, then, only the night before us," resumed the marquis.

"Fortunately, it is only half-past seven, and until ten o'clock my father can visit the citadel without exciting the slightest suspicion."

He paused suddenly. His eyes, in which had shone almost absolute confidence, became gloomy. He had just discovered an unexpected and, as it seemed to him, almost insurmountable difficulty.

"Have we any intelligent men in the citadel?" he murmured. "The a.s.sistance of a jailer or of a soldier is indispensable."

He turned to his father, and brusquely asked: "Have you any man in whom you can confide?"

"I have three or four spies--they can be bought."

"No! the wretch who betrays his comrade for a few sous, will betray you for a few louis. We must have an honest man who sympathizes with the opinions of Baron d'Escorval--an old soldier who fought under Napoleon, if possible."

A sudden inspiration visited Marie-Anne's mind.

"I know the man that you require!" she cried.

"You?"

"Yes, I. At the citadel."

"Take care! Remember that he must risk much. If this should be discovered, those who take part in it will be sacrificed."

"He of whom I speak is the man you need. I will be responsible for him."

"And he is a soldier?"

"He is only an humble corporal; but the n.o.bility of his nature ent.i.tles him to the highest rank. Believe me, we can safely confide in him."

If she spoke thus, she who would willingly have given her life for the baron's salvation, she must be absolutely certain.

So thought Martial.

"I will confer with this man," said he. "What is his name?"

"He is called Bavois, and he is a corporal in the first company of grenadiers."

"Bavois," repeated Martial, as if to fix the name in his memory; "Bavois. My father will find some pretext for desiring him summoned."

"It is easy to find a pretext. He was the brave soldier left on guard at Escorval after the troops left the house."

"This promises well," said Martial. He had risen and gone to the fireplace in order to be nearer his father.

"I suppose," he continued, "the baron has been separated from the other prisoners?"

"Yes, he is alone, in a large and very comfortable room."

"Where is it?"

"On the second story of the corner tower."

But Martial, who was not so well acquainted with the citadel as his father, was obliged to reflect a moment.

"The corner tower!" said he; "is not that the tall tower which one sees from a distance, and which is built on a spot where the rock is almost perpendicular?"

"Precisely."

By the promptness M. de Sairmeuse displayed in replying, it was easy to see that he was ready to risk a good deal to effect the prisoner's deliverance.

"What kind of a window is that in the baron's room?" inquired Martial.

"It is quite large and furnished with a double row of iron bars, securely fastened into the stone walls."

"It is easy enough to cut these bars. On which side does this window look?"

"On the country."

"That is to say, it overlooks the precipice. The devil! That is a serious difficulty, and yet, in one respect, it is an advantage, for they station no sentinels there, do they?"

"Never. Between the citadel wall and the edge of the precipice there is barely standing-room. The soldiers do not venture there even in the daytime."

"There is one more important question. What is the distance from Monsieur d'Escorval's window to the ground?"

"It is about forty feet from the base of the tower."

"Good! And from the base of the tower to the foot of the precipice--how far is that?"