CHAPTER XXVII.

MATTERS BECOME VERY SERIOUS FOR ALL PARTIES--THE DISCOVERY AND THE FLIGHT

‘Ah!’ said Maître Picard, with a long expression of comfortable fatigue, and the same shudder of extreme enjoyment which he would have indulged in had he just crept into a bed artificially warmed, ‘Ah! it is a great thing to enjoy yourself, having done your duty as a man and a Garde Bourgeois!’

And he sank into an easy chair in which he would have been hidden but for his rotundity, and propping up his little legs with another seat, lighted a mighty pipe, the bowl whereof was fashioned like a dragon’s head, which vomited forth smoke from its nostrils in a manner terrible to behold.

It was a cold night. There were large logs of wood blazing and crackling up the chimney from the iron dogs, and amongst the glowing embers that surrounded them various culinary utensils were embedded, some of which sent forth fragrant odours of strong drinks or savoury extracts, whilst on a spit, formed of an old rapier, was impaled a pheasant, which the Gascon, Jean Blacquart, was industriously turning round as he sat upon the floor with his back against the chimney-projection, humming a student’s song, to which he made the bird revolve, in proper measure.

Everything looked very comfortable. The cloth was laid for supper, and bright pewter vessels and horn mugs with silver rims caught the light from the fire, which likewise threw its warm glow upon the ceiling and made the shadows dance and flicker on the walls. It was not so pleasant without. The frost was hard; the snow fell heavily; and the cold wind came roaring up the narrow streets, chasing all the cut-purses and evil company before it, much faster than all the guards of the night could have done even at the points of their halberds.

‘I think you might change your love-song for a sprightly dance, Jean,’ said Maître Picard. ‘Your tender pauses, during which the spit stops, do but scorch the breast of the bird, whilst the back profits not.’

‘It is an emblem of love, in general,’ replied the Gascon; ‘seeing that our breast is doubly warmed thereby, whilst our back comes off but badly, especially if our sweetheart is expensive, and requires of one the price of three doublets to make one robe.’

‘I was in love once,’ said Maître Picard, ‘but it is a long time ago. It wastes the substance of a portly man. Had I not eaten twice my ordinary allowance I should have fallen under the attack. The presents, too, which I offered to my lady were of great value, and none were ever returned.’

‘I never give presents,’ observed the Gascon, ‘for I have found in many hundred cases that my affection is considered above all price, and received as such.’

‘But suppose a rival of more pretensions comes to oppose you?’ said Maître Picard.

‘I never had a rival,’ said Blacquart grandly; ‘and I never shall. Admitting one was to presume and cross my path, he would find no ordinary antagonist. With this stalwart arm and a trusty blade I would mince him before he knew where he was.’ And in his enthusiasm he caught hold of the handle of the rapier, which formed the spit, and brandished it about, perfectly forgetting the presence of the pheasant, and firmly convinced that his chivalric energies were really in action. He took no heed of the remonstrance of Maître Picard, until a sudden and violent knocking at the street door so frightened him in the midst of his imaginary bravery that he let the rapier fall, and bird, spit, and all tumbled on the floor.

‘_Cap de dis!_ it made me jump,’ observed the Gascon. ‘What can it be, at this time of night?’

‘You can find out if you go and see,’ replied Maître Picard from behind his pipe.

‘Suppose it should be some wickedly-disposed students come again to vex us?’ suggested Blacquart, ‘and they were to bind me hand and foot. What would become of you without my protection?--Ugh!’

The last exclamation was provoked by a repetition of the knocking more violent than ever.

‘Go and open the door!’ roared Maître Picard, until he looked quite apoplectic. ‘No one is out to-night for their own amusement, depend upon it.’

With a great disinclination to stir away from the fireplace, the Gascon advanced towards the door. But, before he opened it, he inquired with much assumption of courage--

‘Who’s there?’

‘It is I, Philippe Glazer,’ said a well-known voice. ‘Are you dead or deaf, not to let me in? Open the door; quick!--quick!’

Reassured by the announcement, Blacquart soon unbarred the door, and Glazer hastened into the apartment. He was scarcely dressed, having evidently hurried from home in great precipitancy.

‘Maître Picard!’ he exclaimed, ‘you must come over with me directly to the Place Maubert. A terrible event has come about. M. Gaudin de Sainte-Croix----’

‘Well, what of him?’ asked the bourgeois, aroused from his half-lethargy of comfort and tobacco by Glazer’s haggard and anxious appearance.

‘He is dead!’ replied Philippe. ‘He lodged with us, or rather had a room to carry on his chemical experiments, and we have just heard that his body has been found lifeless in the vaults of the Palais des Thermes.’

‘Murdered?’ asked both the Gascon and Maître Picard at once.

‘I know not,’ answered Glazer; ‘a hundred stories are already about, but we are too bewildered to attend to any. However, he has left nearly all his possessions in our keeping, and we must immediately seal them up until the pleasure of the authorities be known.’

‘It is the office of the Commissary of Police of the _quartier_,’ said Maître Picard.

‘I know it,’ answered Glazer impatiently. ‘But M. Artus is ill in bed, and he has deputed you to witness the process, as a man of good report in his jurisdiction. His clerk, Pierre Frater, has started to our house. I pray you come, without more loss of time.’

It was a sad trial for Maître Picard to leave his intended banquet, especially to the mercies of the Gascon, whose appetite, in common with that pertaining to all weakened intellects, was enormous. But the urgency of the case, and Philippe Glazer’s _empressement_, left him no chance of getting off the duty; and hastily gathering together his cloak, arms, and other marks of his authority, he turned out, not without much grumbling, to accompany Glazer to his father’s house in the Place Maubert, which was not above ten minutes’ walk from the Rue des Mathurins.

Late as it was, the news of Sainte-Croix’s death had travelled over that part of Paris contiguous to the scene of the event, and when Philippe and the bourgeois arrived the court was filled with people who had collected, in spite of the inclemency of the weather, to gain some authentic intelligence connected with the catastrophe. The fact that Exili was, in some way or another, connected with the accident, had already given rise to the most marvellous stories, the principal one being that the devil had been seen perched on the northern tower of Notre Dame with the wretched physician in his grasp, preparatory to carrying him off to some fearful place of torment, the mention of which provoked more crossings and holy words than all the masses which the gossipers had attended for the last week.

Elbowing his way through the throng, Maître Picard assumed all his wonted importance, whilst he ordered Philippe to admit no one but the members of his household; and then, accompanied by Pierre Frater, the Commissary’s clerk, he ascended to the room which Gaudin had occupied.

It teemed with that fearful interest which sudden death throws around the most unimportant objects connected with the existence of the victim. The pen lay upon the half-finished letters; a list of things to be attended to on the morrow was pinned to the wall; and the watch was ticking on its stand, although the hand that had put it in action was still and cold. On the table were some dice, at which their owner had evidently been working, to render their cast a certainty at the next game of hazard he engaged in. A flagon of wine, half-emptied, a book marked for reference, a cloak drying before the expiring embers of the fireplace, each inanimate article spoke with terrible meaning.

‘You have the seals, Maître Frater,’ said the bourgeois; ‘we will secure everything until we have further orders.’

The clerk of the Commissary produced the official seal, together with some long strips of parchment to bind them together, and assisted by Philippe they proceeded to attach them to everything of importance in the room. But whilst they were thus engaged, a confused murmur was heard in the court below, and Maître Picard, looking from the window, saw a carriage drive through the _porte-cochère_ as hastily as the snow would permit. A man sprang from it, closed the door after him, and the next minute came up the staircase hurriedly, and almost forced his way into the room.

‘There is no admittance, monsieur,’ said the little bourgeois, presenting his halberd.

But the intruder was already in the centre of the chamber.

‘I am the valet of M. de Sainte-Croix, and my name is Lachaussée,’ he said. ‘I oppose this proceeding of sealing up his effects.’

‘On what grounds?’ asked the clerk, Frater.

‘Because there is much that is my own property,’ replied Lachaussée. ‘You will find one hundred pistoles, and the same number of silver crowns in a canvas bag, in that bureau. My master gave them to me, and promised still further to transfer three hundred livres to me. You will, without doubt, find that he has done so; if he has not, you may depend upon my word that everything is right which I have stated.’[19]

‘We do not doubt your word, monsieur,’ said the clerk; ‘but we cannot, at present, give up to you so much as a pin from this room. When the seals are broken by the authorities, whose servants we merely are, and under whose orders we now act, you may rest assured that the interests of no one will be overlooked.’

‘But this is such a trifle; you surely will not put me to such great inconvenience, for such it will be,’ answered Lachaussée, changing his tone.

‘We regret it,’ answered Maître Picard with much grandeur--now he had heard from Pierre Frater what he was to say; ‘we regret it; but, at present, the law is peremptory.’

‘If I have no influence with you,’ said Lachaussée, ‘I will bring hither one who, possibly, may have some.’

Before they had time to reply he left the room, and in the course of a minute returned, bringing back with him, to the astonishment of every one present, the Marchioness of Brinvilliers.

Marie was pale as marble. Her beautiful hair, usually arranged with such careful taste, was hanging about her neck and shoulders in wild confusion; her eyes glistened, and her lips were blanched and quivering. She had evidently left home hurriedly, wrapping about her the first garments that came to hand, which she drew closely round her figure from the inclemency of the weather. And yet, looking as she then did the picture of agony and consternation, from time to time she made visible efforts to master her excitement and, with that habitual duplicity which had long become her nature, to deceive those with whom she was confronted, respecting the real state of her feelings.

She looked wildly at the assembled party as she entered, and at last her eye fell upon young Glazer, whom she was well acquainted with, as we have already seen. Glad to meet with any one who knew her, under such circumstances, she directly went towards him, and caught his arm for support, exclaiming in a hollow and trembling voice--

‘O Philippe!--you know all--this is indeed terrible!’

Glazer addressed a few commonplace words of consolation to her; but ere she had finished, an access of violent hysterics placed the terrified woman beyond the comprehension of his words. He supported her to a chair, and Frater, Picard, and their attendants gathered round her in silence, as they watched her convulsed form with feelings of real pity; for the attachment existing between Gaudin and herself was now no secret. The only one perfectly unmoved was Lachaussée, and he regarded her with an expression of unconcern, showing that he doubted the reality of the attack.

In a few minutes she recovered; and starting up from her seat, addressed herself to Pierre Frater, who, from his clerkly look, her perception enabled her to tell was the chief person in authority.

‘Monsieur,’ she said, ‘I know not what Lachaussée has sought to obtain; but there is a small box here belonging to me alone, which I presume there will be no objection to my carrying away with me. Philippe Glazer may divine the nature of the papers it contains. He will explain it to you.’

‘Madam,’ replied the clerk, ‘it pains me to repeat the same answer to you which I gave to the valet of M. de Sainte-Croix; but nothing can be moved except with the consent of the Commissary, my master.’

‘Nothing of M. de Sainte-Croix’s property, I am aware,’ replied the Marchioness: ‘but this is mine--my own--do you understand? See! there it is!--you must give it to me--indeed, indeed you must.’

As she spoke she pointed to the small inlaid cabinet which has been before alluded to, and which was visible behind the glass-front of a secretary between the windows. She repeated her request with renewed energy. And well, indeed, she might; for it was that box which had furnished the most terrible poisons to her victims.

‘Indeed, madam,’ answered Frater, firmly but respectfully, ‘you cannot have it at this moment.’

‘You must give it to me!’ she exclaimed, seizing the clerk by the hand. ‘It contains a matter of life and death, and you cannot tell whom it may affect. Give me the box; my position and influence will free you from any responsibility for so doing. You see, the seals have not yet been put on the bureau; it can be of no consequence to you in the discharge of your duty. Let me have it.’

She let go his hand and went towards the bureau. But Frater stepped before her, as he exclaimed--

‘Pardon me, madam; and do not oblige me to forget my gallantry, or that politeness which is due to a lady of your station, by forgetting your own proper sense. The cabinet can only be delivered up to you upon the authority of M. Artus.’

‘And where is he?’ she inquired hurriedly.

‘He is ill--at his house in the Rue des Noyers,’ answered the clerk, ‘To-morrow he will, without doubt, give you every assistance.’

‘To-morrow will be too late!’ exclaimed Marie. ‘I must see him now--this instant. _Au revoir_, messieurs; I shall hope in a few minutes to bring you his order that you may deliver me my cabinet.’

And without any further salute she turned and left the room, requesting Lachaussée to await her return.

Her exceeding anxiety was placed to the score of her attachment to Sainte-Croix; and as she quitted the apartment the others went on with their duties in silence. Lachaussée seated himself in a recess of the chamber and watched their proceedings; and Philippe collected a few things together which belonged to his father, and consisted principally of some chemical glasses and evaporating dishes, placing them in a box by themselves to be moved away as soon as it was permitted.

But scarcely five minutes had elapsed ere another carriage drove into the court, and Desgrais, the active exempt of the Maréchaussée, came upstairs to the apartment, followed by one or two agents of the police. As he entered the room, he cast his eye over the different pieces of furniture, and perceiving that the judicial seal was already upon many of them, nodded his head in token of approval. Then turning to Philippe he said--

‘Monsieur Glazer, there will be no occasion to inconvenience you by detaining your own goods. Whatever you will describe as yours, shall be at once made over to you on your signature.’

‘You are very good,’ replied Philippe; ‘but everything belonging to us, in the care of this poor gentleman, was of little consequence. There is, however, that little cabinet, which may be returned to its owner, who is most anxious to have it. It has been earnestly claimed by the Marchioness of Brinvilliers.’

‘The Marchioness of Brinvilliers!’ exclaimed Desgrais with some emphasis. ‘And you say she was anxious to carry it away?’

‘Just as I have told you; in fact her solicitude was remarkable.’

Desgrais was silent for a minute.

‘Stop!’ at length he said; ‘we will examine this cabinet that appears so precious. I have reasons for it.’

By his directions Pierre Frater took down the inlaid box from its shelf, Maître Picard being too short, and placed it on the table. The others collected eagerly round, especially Lachaussée, who at the first mention of it had left his seat. Sainte-Croix’s keys were discovered in one of the drawers of the table, and Desgrais, selecting one of curiously-wrought steel, applied it to the lock. The lid instantly flew open.

‘Here is a false top,’ said Desgrais, ‘with a written paper lying open upon it. Let us see what it says.’

And taking the document, he read as follows:--

‘“I humbly ask of those into whose hands this cabinet may fall, whoever they may be, to deliver it to the Marchioness of Brinvilliers, at present living in the Rue Neuve St. Paul; since its contents are of importance to her alone, and her welfare apart, cannot be of the slightest interest to any one in the world. Should she have died before me, let the cabinet be burnt, exactly as it is, without opening it or disturbing its contents.”

‘The paper concludes,’ continued Desgrais, ‘with an appeal to God respecting the sincerity of this request, and a half-implied malediction upon those who may refuse to grant it.’

‘I presume, monsieur, now that your curiosity is satisfied thus far, I may take the box with me to Madame de Brinvilliers,’ said Lachaussée.

‘Stop!’ replied the exempt, as the other stretched forth his hand, ‘here is another paper. It is a receipt for a sum of money delivered on account of work performed, and signed “Lachaussée.”’

As his name was pronounced, Lachaussée fell back from the table, and, muttering a few indistinct words, approached the door; but Desgrais cried out--

‘You appear interested in this affair, monsieur, and cannot yet leave us. Guards, place yourselves at the doorway, and let no one pass but with my orders.’

Two of the patrol who had entered with the exempt took up their station at the door, crossing their halberds before it. A dead silence reigned, and the curiosity of all was raised to the most painful intensity. Lachaussée leant back against the bureau, and folding his arms gazed steadily at the proceedings, but no visible token betrayed his emotion.

‘This affair requires some little extra investigation,’ said Desgrais. ‘This false lid must open with a spring, as there is neither lock nor handle to it.’ He held the cabinet up, and turning it round, discovered one of the studs that ornamented it of a darker colour than the rest, as if from constant handling. His experienced eye told him that this should be the one; he pressed it accordingly, and the partition turned up with a jerk against the side. A single and hurried expiration escaped his lips. He inverted the cabinet, and turned its contents on the table; they consisted of a number of little packets, boxes, and phials, mostly sealed up, and distinguished by various inscriptions.

‘“Sublimate!” “Vitrol!” “Opium!”’ exclaimed Desgrais, as he read each aloud. ‘_Mort bleu!_ messieurs, we are about to make some strange discoveries!’

‘Will you allow me to pass,’ said Philippe Glazer to Desgrais, ‘I think there is no one below, and I fancied I heard the bell sound?’

‘Of course,’ replied the exempt; ‘but return as soon as you conveniently may. We shall, perhaps, hereafter need you as a witness to these revelations.’

Philippe hastily promised compliance, and then quitting the apartment, hastily flew downstairs to his father’s shop. The old man had retired to rest early, but his man Panurge was fast asleep upon one of the tables--so soundly that it required no very gentle treatment from Philippe to waken him.

‘Ho! Panurge!’ cried his young master, in a sharp but low voice, ‘awake, man, unless you wish every wretched bone in your miserable carcase broken. Do you hear me?’

‘Hippocrates sayeth that erysipelas upon the baring of a bone is evil,’ muttered Panurge, who mixed up his sleeping studies with his waking faculties.

‘Pshaw!’ cried Philippe, ‘I will give you cause for it, all over you, if you do not attend. Rouse up, I tell you.’

And he gave Panurge such a mighty shake as would have aroused him had he been in a trance. As it was, it immediately restored the assistant to the full exhibition of what faculties he possessed, and he awaited Glazer’s further orders.

‘You know the house of Monsieur Artus, the Commissary of Police, in the Rue des Noyers?’

‘I do,’ replied Panurge; ‘he hath been ill of a choleric gout, for which we gave him the juice of danewort----’

‘The pest on what you gave him!’ said Philippe, ‘so long as you know where he is to be found. Now look you; go off there directly, and if you lose no time on the way you will probably find the Marchioness of Brinvilliers at his house. Give this note to her, and only to her, as you value your useless life.’

He hastily wrote on a scrap of paper:--

‘The police have found some articles in a cabinet belonging to M. de Sainte-Croix, which may cause you much embarrassment from the publicity it will give to your acquaintance. Be careful how you proceed.

‘P. G.’

‘Now, off!’ said Philippe, hastily folding the note; ‘and return here as soon as you leave this in her own hands. Poor lady!’ he continued, half speaking to himself; ‘it would be sorrow indeed if mere gallantry should link her with the deeds of which her cavalier appears to have been the perpetrator.’

Without another syllable Panurge set off, and Glazer was returning to the room when he met Desgrais descending the stairs, carrying the cabinet and followed by two of the police, who had Lachaussée in custody between them. He addressed him--

‘We shall require the services of your father and yourself to-morrow, M. Glazer, to analyse these different articles. I have put a seal upon them, and must hold you answerable for their safe keeping.’

‘I denounce my being kept a prisoner,’ exclaimed Lachaussée, ‘as informal and unjust. You have no right to detain me upon the mere circumstance of my name appearing on that piece of paper.’

‘I will make ample reparation for any wrong I may do you,’ answered Desgrais, coolly. Then, turning to the guards, he added--

‘You will conduct this person to the Châtelet. And now, M. Frater, you can accompany me, with Maître Picard, to the Rue des Noyers without loss of time. We shall probably there light upon the Marchioness of Brinvilliers.’

Philippe’s heart was in his throat as he heard the name pronounced. He immediately endeavoured to contrive some delay in Desgrais’s departure, offering him refreshment, begging him to stop whilst the cressets of the watch were retrimmed, and pressing articles of outer wear upon him, by reason of the cold, which he pretended he could not find. A few minutes were gained in this manner, and then the guard departed across the Place Maubert, Philippe’s only hope being that Panurge had already got there.

Whilst this scene of fearful interest was being enacted at Glazer’s, Marie had reached the house of the Commissary of Police. Some of the domestics were sitting up for further orders from Desgrais, and by them she was informed that M. Artus could not be disturbed. By dint, however, of heavy bribes, giving them all the money she had about her, which was no inconsiderable sum, she was ushered into the apartment of the Commissary, and to him, in a few hurried words, she made known the object of her visit. But her earnestness was so strange that M. Artus requested she would wait until the next day, when he should have received the report of the proceedings from his agents. Had she shown less anxiety, he would doubtless have granted what she so urgently desired.

Finding there was no chance of assistance from this quarter, she left the room in an agony of terror, and, scarcely knowing what course to pursue, was about to return to the Place Maubert, when Panurge arrived with Glazer’s note. She hastily read it, and the contents struck her like a thunderbolt. ‘Then all is over!’ she exclaimed; and without exchanging another word with the assistant, or any of the officials, she flew through the streets, half clad as she was, with the snow deep on the ground, and the thoroughfares wrapped in the obscurity of a winter night, in the direction of her _hôtel_ in the Rue St. Paul.