CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE JOURNEY--EXAMINATION OF THE MARCHIONESS
Hurried on by the orders of the exempt, and escorted by a body of archers, who kept at full gallop round the carriage, the postilions spurred and lashed their horses, bringing Desgrais and his prisoner to Dinant sooner even than they expected. But, beyond the advantage of losing as little time as possible upon the road, there was no absolute necessity for this speed. Theria had not received the letter, as we have seen; and if he had, he could have rendered but little assistance to the Marchioness. Still Desgrais knew his prisoner; and uncertain as to what trouble she might cause him by her wonderful art and powers of inventing stratagems, he determined not to relax his vigilance until Marie was safe and secure within the walls of the Conciergerie.
No great deal occurred upon the road worthy of chronicling. The Marchioness threw herself in the corner of the carriage, and covering her face with a veil, remained so throughout the journey. From the attempt she had made at self-destruction, Desgrais kept his eye upon her; and upon their arrival at Dinant he ordered all the knives to be removed from the supper table, leaving her under the guard of Antoine Barbier, the archer who had watched her at Liége, whilst he went to arrange with a courier to start directly for Rocroy, and inform the magistrates of that place that the Marchioness would be there on the morrow; in order that they might interrogate her, unexpectedly, before she had sufficient time to plan her answers.
As soon as Marie saw that she was left with the same man to whom she had given the note intended for Camille Theria, she uttered an exclamation of surprise.
‘I thought you were to remain at Liége,’ she said. ‘You have come with us, and the letter has not been delivered!’
The man was taken rather suddenly aback by the Marchioness’s affirmation. He became confused, and turned away without replying.
‘You have deceived me!’ she continued with violence, ‘and I am utterly lost. Now I see why you would not take a reward from me. Where is the letter?’
‘I have not got it,’ replied the archer. ‘I can answer no more questions, or I shall be punished.’ And he continued his march.
She would, in spite of this, have spoken to him again, but a servant of the inn entered the room bearing a tray, on which was some refreshment. Marie refused it, as the man placed it on the table; but directly afterwards, correcting herself, told him to leave it and retire. The archer glanced at the service to see that there was nothing with which the Marchioness could commit suicide, and then dismissed the attendant, as he continued his monotonous patrol before the door. Suddenly Marie seized one of the drinking-glasses and dashed it upon the ground, breaking it into several pieces. The noise alarmed the sentinel, and as the Marchioness sprang forward to seize one of the bits, with the intention of swallowing it, he also rushed from his post and seized it from her.
‘Again foiled!’ she muttered through her teeth, as she retreated to the table. ‘Why have you done this?’
‘My orders are to watch you closely,’ said the man, ‘and at present I have nothing to do but obey the directions of Monsieur Desgrais.’
The Marchioness again was silent for some time. She pushed the cover laid for supper away from her, and remained gazing intently at the fire. At last she spoke.
‘My friend,’ she said to the archer, ‘I believe you have done well. The moment of insanity has passed, and I am grateful to you; you shall see that I will not forget you, in consequence.’
The man roughly inclined his head, and continued his promenade.
‘Does your condition of life please you?’ asked Marie.
‘Mass!’ replied the archer, as he stopped and leant upon his pike. ‘There might be better and there might be worse. I like it well enough: there is no choice if I did not.’
‘You can leave it, if you choose,’ said the Marchioness. ‘Listen. I have gold enough at Offemont to buy land in Italy that would support you and yours for life. Is there no one you would care to share it with?’
The man did not answer. He looked at Marie, and vainly endeavoured to fathom her meaning.
‘You are my only sentinel,’ she went on. ‘What is to prevent our flying together. Once at my château, I will load you with wealth, and you can pass the frontier before our flight has been discovered. I can also put myself beyond the reach of----’
‘No more, madame!’ replied the archer sternly. ‘You have mistaken your man. Has not one lesson been enough?’
The conversation was broken by the entrance of the servant of the hotel--a powerful coarse Flemish woman, with a repulsive manner and countenance, under whose charge Marie was to be placed for the night, a change of guard being posted outside her chamber. She shuddered at this ill-favoured creature, as she followed her to the sleeping apartment, wherein six hours of repose were to be allowed to her before they again started on their journey.
On arriving at Rocroy the next day she was taken before M. de Palluan, as they had previously arranged, and subjected to a severe examination. But unexpectedly as the interview was brought about, the magistrate could elicit nothing from her; even in the face of a confession in her own hand-writing, which a courier had brought after her from Liége, having found it amongst some more of her effects in her chamber at the convent. She met every question with a firm denial or an evasive answer, given with a readiness and self-possession that astonished her interrogators, who, finding that nothing had been gained by this course, which they imagined would have decided any question of her innocence, however slight, that existed, broke up their court, and made arrangements for proceeding with her at once to the Conciergerie--the chief prison in Paris.[21]