and which I forced him
to surrender, related to the affair and would have compromised your
cousins. My life no longer belongs to me, but to them, you understand. I
could not buy in Gondreville. In my position, I should have lost my head
had the authorities known I had the money. I preferred to wait and
buy it later. But that scoundrel of a Marion was the slave of another
scoundrel, Malin. All the same, Gondreville shall once more belong
to its rightful masters. That's my affair. Four hours ago I had Malin
sighted by my gun; ha! he was almost gone then! Were he dead, the
property would be sold and you could have bought it. In case of my death
my wife would have brought you a letter which would have given you the
means of buying it. But I overheard that villain telling his accomplice
Grevin—another scoundrel like himself—that the Marquis and his brother
were conspiring against the First Consul, that they were here in the
neighborhood, and that he meant to give them up and get rid of them so
as to keep Gondreville in peace. I myself saw the police spies; I laid
aside my gun, and I have lost no time in coming here, thinking that you
must be the one to know best how to warn the young men. That's the whole
of it."
"You are worthy to be a noble," said Laurence, offering her hand to
Michu, who tried to kneel and kiss it. She saw his motion and prevented
it, saying: "Stand up!" in a tone of voice and with a look which made
him amends for all the scorn of the last twelve years.
"You reward me as though I had done all that remains for me to do," he
said. "But don't you hear them, those huzzars of the guillotine? Let us
go elsewhere."
He took the mare's bridle, and led her a little distance.
"Think only of sitting firm," he said, "and of saving your head from the
branches of the trees which might strike you in the face."
Then he mounted his own horse and guided the young girl for half an
hour at full gallop; making turns and half turns, and striking into
wood-paths, so as to confuse their traces, until they reached a spot
where he pulled up.
"I don't know where I am," said the countess looking about her,—"I, who
know the forest as well as you do."
"We are in the heart of it," he replied. "Two gendarmes are after us,
but we are quite safe."
The picturesque spot to which the bailiff had guided Laurence was
destined to be so fatal to the principal personages of this drama, and
to Michu himself, that it becomes our duty, as an historian, to describe
it. The scene became, as we shall see hereafter, one of noted interest
in the judiciary annals of the Empire.
The forest of Nodesme belonged to the monastery of Notre-Dame. That
monastery, seized, sacked, and demolished, had disappeared entirely,
monks and property. The forest, an object of much cupidity, was taken
into the domain of the Comtes de Champagne, who mortgaged it later and
allowed it to be sold. In the course of six centuries nature covered
its ruins with her rich and vigorous green mantle, and effaced them
so thoroughly that the existence of one of the finest convents was no
longer even indicated except by a slight eminence shaded by noble trees
and circled by thick, impenetrable shrubbery, which, since 1794, Michu
had taken great pains to make still more impenetrable by planting the
thorny acacia in all the slight openings between the bushes. A pond was
at the foot of the eminence and showed the existence of a hidden stream
which no doubt determined in former days the site of the monastery.
The late owner of the title to the forest of Nodesme was the first
to recognize the etymology of the name, which dated back for eight
centuries, and to discover that at one time a monastery had existed in
the heart of the forest. When the first rumblings of the thunder of the
Revolution were heard, the Marquis de Simeuse, who had been forced to
look into his title by a lawsuit and so learned the above facts as
it were by chance, began, with a secret intention not difficult
to surrender, related to the affair and would have compromised your
cousins. My life no longer belongs to me, but to them, you understand. I
could not buy in Gondreville. In my position, I should have lost my head
had the authorities known I had the money. I preferred to wait and
buy it later. But that scoundrel of a Marion was the slave of another
scoundrel, Malin. All the same, Gondreville shall once more belong
to its rightful masters. That's my affair. Four hours ago I had Malin
sighted by my gun; ha! he was almost gone then! Were he dead, the
property would be sold and you could have bought it. In case of my death
my wife would have brought you a letter which would have given you the
means of buying it. But I overheard that villain telling his accomplice
Grevin—another scoundrel like himself—that the Marquis and his brother
were conspiring against the First Consul, that they were here in the
neighborhood, and that he meant to give them up and get rid of them so
as to keep Gondreville in peace. I myself saw the police spies; I laid
aside my gun, and I have lost no time in coming here, thinking that you
must be the one to know best how to warn the young men. That's the whole
of it."
"You are worthy to be a noble," said Laurence, offering her hand to
Michu, who tried to kneel and kiss it. She saw his motion and prevented
it, saying: "Stand up!" in a tone of voice and with a look which made
him amends for all the scorn of the last twelve years.
"You reward me as though I had done all that remains for me to do," he
said. "But don't you hear them, those huzzars of the guillotine? Let us
go elsewhere."
He took the mare's bridle, and led her a little distance.
"Think only of sitting firm," he said, "and of saving your head from the
branches of the trees which might strike you in the face."
Then he mounted his own horse and guided the young girl for half an
hour at full gallop; making turns and half turns, and striking into
wood-paths, so as to confuse their traces, until they reached a spot
where he pulled up.
"I don't know where I am," said the countess looking about her,—"I, who
know the forest as well as you do."
"We are in the heart of it," he replied. "Two gendarmes are after us,
but we are quite safe."
The picturesque spot to which the bailiff had guided Laurence was
destined to be so fatal to the principal personages of this drama, and
to Michu himself, that it becomes our duty, as an historian, to describe
it. The scene became, as we shall see hereafter, one of noted interest
in the judiciary annals of the Empire.
The forest of Nodesme belonged to the monastery of Notre-Dame. That
monastery, seized, sacked, and demolished, had disappeared entirely,
monks and property. The forest, an object of much cupidity, was taken
into the domain of the Comtes de Champagne, who mortgaged it later and
allowed it to be sold. In the course of six centuries nature covered
its ruins with her rich and vigorous green mantle, and effaced them
so thoroughly that the existence of one of the finest convents was no
longer even indicated except by a slight eminence shaded by noble trees
and circled by thick, impenetrable shrubbery, which, since 1794, Michu
had taken great pains to make still more impenetrable by planting the
thorny acacia in all the slight openings between the bushes. A pond was
at the foot of the eminence and showed the existence of a hidden stream
which no doubt determined in former days the site of the monastery.
The late owner of the title to the forest of Nodesme was the first
to recognize the etymology of the name, which dated back for eight
centuries, and to discover that at one time a monastery had existed in
the heart of the forest. When the first rumblings of the thunder of the
Revolution were heard, the Marquis de Simeuse, who had been forced to
look into his title by a lawsuit and so learned the above facts as
it were by chance, began, with a secret intention not difficult
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