Monsieur Lecoq - Émile Gaboriau (inspiring books for teens txt) 📗

he declared; “and to tell your mother of your return, and of the dangers to which you have foolishly exposed yourself, would cause her untold tortures. Go at once. Cross the frontier again this very night.”

Jean Lacheneur, who had witnessed this scene, now approached.

“It is time for me to depart,” said he, “and I entreat you to care for my sister, the place for her is here, not upon the highways.”

The abbé deliberated for a moment, then he said, brusquely:

“So be it; but go at once; your name is not upon the proscribed list. You will not be pursued.”

Thus, suddenly separated from his wife, Maurice wished to confer with her, to give her some parting advice; but the abbé did not allow him an opportunity.

“Go, go at once,” he insisted. “Farewell!”

The good abbé was too hasty.

Just when Maurice stood sorely in need of wise counsel, he was thus delivered over to the influence of Jean Lacheneur’s furious hatred. As soon as they were outside:

“This,” exclaimed Jean, “is the work of the Sairmeuse and the Marquis de Courtornieu! I do not even know where they have thrown the body of my murdered parent; you cannot even embrace the father who has been traitorously assassinated by them!”

He laughed a harsh, discordant, terrible laugh, and continued:

“And yet, if we ascended that hill, we could see the Château de Sairmeuse in the distance, brightly illuminated. They are celebrating the marriage of Martial de Sairmeuse and Blanche de Courtornieu. We are homeless wanderers without friends, and without a shelter for our heads: they are feasting and making merry.”

Less than this would have sufficed to rekindle the wrath of Maurice. He forgot everything in saying to himself that to disturb this fête by his appearance would be a vengeance worthy of him.

“I will go and challenge Martial now, on the instant, in the presence of the revellers,” he exclaimed.

But Jean interrupted him.

“No, not that! They are cowards; they would arrest you. Write; I will be the bearer of the letter.”

Corporal Bavois heard them; but he did not oppose their folly. He thought it all perfectly natural, under the circumstances, and esteemed them the more for their rashness.

Forgetful of prudence they entered the first shop, and the challenge was written and confided to Jean Lacheneur.

XXXVIII

To disturb the merrymaking at the Château de Sairmeuse; to change the joy of the bridal-day into sadness; to cast a gloom over the nuptials of Martial and Mlle. Blanche de Courtornieu.

This, in truth, was all that Jean Lacheneur hoped to do.

As for believing that Martial, triumphant and happy, would accept the challenge of Maurice, a miserable outlaw, he did not believe it.

While awaiting Martial in the vestibule of the château, he armed himself against the scorn and sneers which he would probably receive from this haughty nobleman whom he had come to insult.

But Martial’s kindly greeting had disconcerted him a little.

But he was reassured when he saw the terrible effect produced upon the marquis by the insulting letter.

“We have cut him to the quick,” he thought.

When Martial seized him by the arm and led him upstairs, he made no resistance.

While they traversed the brightly lighted drawing-rooms and passed through the crowd of astonished guests, Jean thought neither of his heavy shoes nor of his peasant dress.

Breathless with anxiety, he wondered what was to come.

He soon knew.

Leaning against the gilded doorpost, he witnessed the terrible scene in the little salon.

He saw Martial de Sairmeuse, frantic with passion, cast into the face of his father-in-law Maurice d’Escorval’s letter.

One might have supposed that all this did not affect him in the least, he stood so cold and unmoved, with compressed lips and downcast eyes; but appearances were deceitful. His heart throbbed with wild exultation; and if he cast down his eyes, it was only to conceal the joy that sparkled there.

He had not hoped for so prompt and so terrible a revenge.

Nor was this all.

After brutally repulsing Blanche, his newly wedded wife, who attempted to detain him, Martial again seized Jean Lacheneur’s arm.

“Now,” said he, “follow me!”

Jean followed him still without a word.

They again crossed the grand hall, but instead of going to the vestibule Martial took a candle that was burning upon a side table, and opened a little door leading to the private staircase.

“Where are you taking me?” inquired Jean Lacheneur.

Martial, who had already ascended two or three steps, turned.

“Are you afraid?” he asked.

The other shrugged his shoulders, and coldly replied:

“If you put it in that way, let us go on.”

They entered the room which Martial had occupied since taking possession of the château. It was the same room that had once belonged to Jean Lacheneur; and nothing had been changed. He recognized the brightly flowered curtains, the figures on the carpet, and even an old armchair where he had read many a novel in secret.

Martial hastened to a small writing-desk, and took from it a paper which he slipped into his pocket.

“Now,” said he, “let us go. We must avoid another scene. My father and⁠—my wife will be seeking me. I will explain when we are outside.”

They hastily descended the staircase, passed through the gardens, and soon reached the long avenue.

Then Jean Lacheneur suddenly paused.

“To come so far for a simple yes or no is, I think, unnecessary,” said he. “Have you decided? What answer am I to give Maurice d’Escorval?”

“Nothing! You will take me to him. I must see him and speak with him in order to justify myself. Let us proceed!”

But Jean Lacheneur did not move.

“What you ask is impossible!” he replied.

“Why?”

“Because Maurice is pursued. If he is captured, he will be tried and undoubtedly condemned to death. He is now in a safe retreat, and I have no right to disclose it.”

Maurice’s safe retreat was, in fact, only a neighboring wood, where in company with the corporal, he was awaiting Jean’s return.

But Jean could not resist the temptation to make this response, which was far more insulting than if he had simply said:

“We fear informers!”

Strange as