“I knew the son, the moment I saw him,” said the man, whom Blanche had observed gazing on St. Foix, “though he does not know me; the father I had almost forgotten.”
“Well, you may say what you will,” said the third ruffian, “but I don’t believe he is the Baron, and I am as likely to know as any of you, for I was one of them, that attacked him, with our brave lads, that suffered.”
“And was not I another?” said the first ruffian, “I tell you he is the Baron; but what does it signify whether he is or not?—shall we let all this booty go out of our hands? It is not often we have such luck at this. While we run the chance of the wheel for smuggling a few pounds of tobacco, to cheat the king’s manufactory, and of breaking our necks down the precipices in the chase of our food; and, now and then, rob a brother smuggler, or a straggling pilgrim, of what scarcely repays us the powder we fire at them, shall we let such a prize as this go? Why they have enough about them to keep us for—”
“I am not for that, I am not for that,” replied the third robber, “let us make the most of them: only, if this is the Baron, I should like to have a flash the more at him, for the sake of our brave comrades, that he brought to the gallows.”
“Aye, aye, flash as much as you will,” rejoined the first man, “but I tell you the Baron is a taller man.”
“Confound your quibbling,” said the second ruffian, “shall we let them go or not? If we stay here much longer, they will take the hint, and march off without our leave. Let them be who they will, they are rich, or why all those servants? Did you see the ring, he, you call the Baron, had on his finger?—it was a diamond; but he has not got it on now: he saw me looking at it, I warrant, and took it off.”
“Aye, and then there is the picture; did you see that? She has not taken that off,” observed the first ruffian, “it hangs at her neck; if it had not sparkled so, I should not have found it out, for it was almost hid by her dress; those are diamonds too, and a rare many of them there must be, to go round such a large picture.”
“But how are we to manage this business?” said the second ruffian: “let us talk of that, there is no fear of there being booty enough, but how are we to secure it?”
“Aye, aye,” said his comrades, “let us talk of that, and remember no time is to be lost.”
“I am still for poison,” observed the third, “but consider their number; why there are nine or ten of them, and armed too; when I saw so many at the gate, I was not for letting them in, you know, nor you either.”
“I thought they might be some of our enemies,” replied the second, “I did not so much mind numbers.”
“But you must mind them now,” rejoined his comrade, “or it will be worse for you. We are not more than six, and how can we master ten by open force? I tell you we must give some of them a dose, and the rest may then be managed.”
“I’ll tell you a better way,” rejoined the other impatiently, “draw closer.”
Blanche, who had listened to this conversation, in an agony, which it would be impossible to describe, could no longer distinguish what was said, for the ruffians now spoke in lowered voices; but the hope, that she might save her friends from the plot, if she could find her way quickly to them, suddenly reanimated her spirits, and lent her strength enough to turn her steps in search of the gallery. Terror, however, and darkness conspired against her, and, having moved a few yards, the feeble light, that issued from the chamber, no longer even contended with the gloom, and, her foot stumbling over a step that crossed the passage, she fell to the ground.
The noise startled the banditti, who became suddenly silent, and then all rushed to the passage, to examine whether any person was there, who might have overheard their councils. Blanche saw them approaching, and perceived their fierce and eager looks: but, before she could raise herself, they discovered and seized her, and, as they dragged her towards the chamber they had quitted, her screams drew from them horrible threatenings.
Having reached the room, they began to consult what they should do with her. “Let us first know what she had heard,” said the chief robber. “How long have you been in the passage, lady, and what brought you there?”
“Let us first secure that picture,” said one of his comrades, approaching the trembling Blanche. “Fair lady, by your leave that picture is mine; come, surrender it, or I shall seize it.”
Blanche, entreating their mercy, immediately gave up the miniature, while another of the ruffians fiercely interrogated her, concerning what she had overheard of their conversation, when, her confusion and terror too plainly telling what her tongue feared to confess, the ruffians looked expressively upon one another, and two of them withdrew to a remote part of the room, as if to consult further.
“These are diamonds, by St. Peter!” exclaimed the fellow, who had been examining the miniature, “and here is a very pretty picture too, faith; as handsome a young chevalier, as you would wish to see by a summer’s sun. Lady, this is your spouse, I warrant, for it is the spark, that was in your company just now.”
Blanche, sinking with terror, conjured him to have pity on her, and, delivering him her purse, promised to say nothing of what had passed, if he would suffer her to return to her friends.
He smiled ironically, and was going
