'Who mentioned murder? That principle is one of which the chevalier de Bruslart admits no compromise but none the less, you shall be punished as you deserve. I have managed to persuade him to hand you over to our dear Fanchon who seems to take in my view a quite excessive interest in you. She will find you employment for which you are well fitted. And she will also be grateful to the man who can renounce his own vengeance for her profit, and his own.'
'I wonder at the chevalier's scruples,' Marianne retorted, sick at heart, 'that he spares a woman's life and yet dishonours her in a baser fashion!'
'Dishonours? A fine word, coming from you! The chevalier's scruples yielded somewhat after I had told him of your exploits in my barn with that spy of Bonaparte's who was your so-called servant – and also that I found you on the shore clad in the most rudimentary fashion and attempting to seduce two of my men. One of whom, moreover, you murdered not long afterwards. No, after this very circumstantial account, the chevalier had no more hesitation. Especially since he hopes to be your first customer.'
Speechless with horror at this display of cruelty and duplicity, Marianne could find no answer. In her disgust she even forgot Gracchus and his danger but Arcadius Jolival intervened.
'I think that will do, monsieur,' he said his fingers playing nervously with his moustache. 'You have played your foul part to perfection and now I must ask you to leave this lady in peace. As to the worth of Bruslart's scruples, if he accepts the base assertions of a wrecker I can say nothing, but I can tell you what you are at once. You are a first-class scoundrel!'
Morvan's face paled and Marianne saw his jaw tighten. But before he could reply, the chevalier's voice called from the hollow crypt nearby.
'Ho there! Kerivoas! Come here and leave the prisoners alone. We'll settle that afterwards. For the present, we have more urgent business.'
The distant gleam of torchlight was now dancing on the walls and there was a hum of voices not far off. Morvan, who had seemed about to hurl himself bodily at the bars, stopped short and turned on his heel with a shrug.
'I'll come back later to slice off those big ears of yours, little man! Don't worry, you'll lose nothing by waiting.'
He went away to join the others and Marianne went disconsolately back to her straw bed where she sat down with her arms around her knees and her head with its long, tumbled mane of hair resting on her arms.
'This is the end,' she murmured. 'We are finished. And if that poor boy comes now he will be finished with us.'
'Be patient. We shouted loud enough to warn him! He may be on the other side of the wall—'
'What should he wait for? He cannot get near us! The conspirators are still in the crypt and we cannot tell how long they will be there – 'you can hear them—'
'Ssh! Listen!' Jolival said sharply. He went and pressed himself up against the bars as near as possible to the confused voices coming from the crypt.
'They are having a meeting,' he whispered.
'And – can you make out anything?'
He nodded and touched his big ears with a meaning smile. Marianne was silent, watching her companion's mobile features as they grew at first grave and then thoroughly alarmed. She heard a gruff voice which she recognized as belonging to the chevalier de Bruslart but was unable to make out a word of what he said. The leader of the band was speaking. He seemed to be explaining something. From time to time another voice would interrupt but the main burden always returned to Bruslart. And, gradually, the look on Jolival's face became so tragic that Marianne laid her hand on his arm and whispered urgently: 'What is it? You are frightening me! Are they talking about us?'
He shook his head and muttered swiftly under his breath:
'No – in fact, they are going away. Be patient a little longer.'
He listened again but the council seemed to be breaking up. There was a noise of seats being scraped on the floor and a clatter of booted feet. All the voices began speaking at once, then Bruslart's rose above the rest.
'To horse, gentlemen! For God and for the King! Tonight, at last, fortune is with us!'
This time, it was beyond a doubt. They were going. The footsteps died away, the voices faded and the lights vanished. In a few moments, Marianne and Arcadius found themselves once more alone with the heavy silence and the dim, ruddy light of their dungeon. Jolival left his post by the bars and went over to the brazier. Marianne saw that he was avoiding her eyes.
'You heard what they were saying?' she asked.
He nodded affirmatively but did not open his mouth. He seemed to be deep in thought. However, Marianne was too anxious to inspect his silence.
'Where are they going?' she asked with a touch of irritation. 'Why is fortune on their side tonight? What are they going to do?'
Jolival looked at her at last. His mouse-like face, usually so cheerful, was overcast as though by some distressing thought. He seemed to hesitate for a moment then, as Marianne came and clutched his arm anxiously, he said at last:
'I am in two minds whether to tell you but whether or not they are successful you will hear anyway. They have learned from one of their spies in the palace that the Emperor goes tonight to Malmaison. The former Empress is unwell. She has also learned that the Emperor's choice of a wife has fallen definitely on the Austrian arch-duchess and the news has affected her badly. The Emperor's decision to go was taken only an hour ago.'
'And?' Marianne felt her heart beat faster at the mention of the word 'Emperor', only to contract painfully at the news of his impending marriage.
'And they mean to carry out the old plan of Caboudal and Hyde de Neuville, the old plan which ever since the Consulate, Bruslart has always failed to carry off. They will set a trap for Napoleon when he leaves Malmaison, probably very late, stop his carriage, overcome his guard and then carry him off and—'
'Kill him!' Marianne almost screamed.
'Bruslart said no. He wants only to carry off the Emperor, get him across the channel and deliver him bound hand and foot to England – unless he will consent to fight a duel. A duel with Napoleon has always been the chevalier's great dream.'
'Is he mad?'
'No. He is a paladin, in his way. He believes only in fair fight and you could say that he only became a conspirator because there was nothing else for him to do and because there was no longer a royalist army. But Bruslart might be killed in such a duel or, if there is not one, the others may force the chevalier's hand. The stake is high, this time, and there are some, I know – your friend Morvan among them – who want Napoleon's head at all costs.'
'Why?'
Jolival chuckled cynically.
'Its very simple. The Duke of Medina-Coeli, the richest of all the Grandees of Spain, has offered half his vast fortune to whoever kills Napoleon and brings proof of his death.'
In the silence that followed, Marianne was able to gauge the depth of her feelings. Her heart was beating uncontrollably. She was trembling in every limb but she forced herself to be calm.
'Why did they say fortune was with them?'
'Because the journey was decided very quickly. There will be only a small escort to avoid attracting attention. And tonight, the conspirators number twenty-five at least.'
'But Fouche? Fouche knows all, sees all. Can Fouche not prevent this plot like all the others?'
'Fouche will be taken by surprise. Besides which, it must be admitted that for some time now Fouche seems to have been relaxing his care a little. Deliberately, no doubt, because he is a man who does nothing without a reason. My dear child – it is very possible that in a short while we shall have the great honour of sharing our dungeon with his majesty our Emperor and King, which will give me both the greatest possible joy and at the same time the utmost regret.'
Marianne bravely thrust away the sweet yet agonizing picture he conjured up of her love, in fetters, joining
