“You are an angel, madame.” (She was to be an angel for all the world, it seemed.) “But this will not be the end of it. I count upon your influence to save us.”
“To save you! I will do it or die! Love that will not shrink from a crime must be love indeed. Is there a woman in the world for whom such a thing has been done? Poor boy! Come, do not lose time, dear M. Chesnel; and count upon me as upon yourself.”
“Mme. la Duchesse! Mme. la Duchesse!” It was all that he could say, so overcome was he. He cried, he could have danced; but he was afraid of losing his senses, and refrained.
“Between us, we will save him,” she said, as he left the room.
Chesnel went straight to Josephin. Josephin unlocked the young Count’s desk and writing-table. Very luckily, the notary found letters which might be useful, letters from du Croisier and the Kellers. Then he took a place in a diligence which was just about to start; and by dint of fees to the postilions, the lumbering vehicle went as quickly as the coach. His two fellow-passengers on the journey happened to be in as great a hurry as himself, and readily agreed to take their meals in the carriage. Thus swept over the road, the notary reached the Rue du Bercail, after three days of absence, an hour before midnight. And yet he was too late. He saw the gendarmes at the gate, crossed the threshold, and met the young Count in the courtyard. Victurnien had been arrested. If Chesnel had had the power, he would beyond a doubt have killed the officers and men; as it was, he could only fall on Victurnien’s neck.
“If I cannot hush this matter up, you must kill yourself before the indictment is made out,” he whispered. But Victurnien had sunk into such stupor, that he stared back uncomprehendingly.
“Yes. If your courage should fail, my boy, count upon me,” said Chesnel, squeezing Victurnien’s hand.
In spite of the anguish of mind and tottering limbs, he stood firmly planted, to watch the son of his heart, the Comte d’Esgrignon, go out of the courtyard between two gendarmes, with the commissary, the justice of the peace, and the clerk of the court; and not until the figures had disappeared, and the sound of footsteps had died away into silence, did he recover his firmness and presence of mind.