"If the thing is to be done, you must get out as if you were escaping in good earnest. The wall between the two towers is, to my knowledge, at one place not over two feet thick; and on the other side, where there are nothing but bare grounds and the old ramparts, they never put a sentinel. I will get you a crowbar and a pickaxe, and you make a hole in the wall."Jacques shrugged his shoulders.
"And the next day," he said, "when I am back, how will you explain that hole?"Blangin smiled.
"Be sure," he replied, "I won't say the rats did it. I have thought of that too. At the same time with you, another prisoner will run off, who will not come back.""What prisoner?"
"Trumence, to be sure. He will be delighted to get away, and he will help you in ****** the hole in the wall. You must make your bargain with him, but, of course, without letting him know that I know any thing. In this way, happen what may, I shall not be in danger."The plan was really a good one; only Blangin ought not to have claimed the honor of inventing it: the idea came from his wife.
"Well," replied Jacques, "that is settled. Get me the pickaxe and the crowbar, show me the place where we must make the hole, and I will take charge of Trumence. To-morrow you shall have the money."He was on the point of following the jailer, when Dionysia held him back; and, lifting up her beautiful eyes to him, she said in a tremor,--"You see, Jacques, I have not hesitated to dare every thing in order to procure you a few house of liberty. May I not know what you are going to do in that time?"And, as he made no reply, she repeated,--"Where are you going?"
A rush of blood colored the face of the unfortunate man; and he said in an embarrassed voice,--"I beseech you, Dionysia, do not insist upon my telling you. Permit me to keep this secret, the only one I have ever kept from you."Two tears trembled for a moment in the long lashes of the young girl, and then silently rolled down her cheeks.
"I understand you," she stammered. "I understand but too well.
Although I know so little of life, I had a presentiment, as soon as Isaw that they were hiding something from me. Now I cannot doubt any longer. You will go to see a woman to-morrow"--"Dionysia," Jacques said with folded hands,--"Dionysia, I beseech you!"She did not hear him. Gently shaking her heard, she went on,--"A woman whom you have loved, or whom you love still, at whose feet you have probably murmured the same words which you whispered at my feet. How could you think of her in the midst of all your anxieties?
She cannot love you, I am sure. Why did she not come to you when she found that you were in prison, and falsely accused of an abominable crime?"Jacques cold bear it no longer.
"Great God!" he cried, "I would a thousand times rather tell you every thing than allow such a suspicion to remain in your heart! Listen, and forgive me."But she stopped him, putting her hand on his lips, and saying, all in a tremor,--"No, I do not wish to know any thing,--nothing at all. I believe in you. Only you must remember that you are every thing to me,--hope, life, happiness. If you should have deceived me, I know but too well--poor me!--that I would not cease loving you; but I should not have long to suffer."Overcome with grief and affection, Jacques repeated,--"Dionysia, Dionysia, my darling, let me confess to you who this woman is, and why I must see her.""No," she interrupted him, "no! Do what your conscience bids you do. Ibelieve in you."
And instead of offering to let him kiss her forehead, as usual, she hurried off with her Aunt Elizabeth, and that so quickly, that, when he rushed after her, he only saw, as it were, a shadow at the end of the long passage.
Never until this moment had Jacques found it in his heart really to hate the Countess Claudieuse with that blind and furious hatred which dreams of nothing but vengeance. Many a time, no doubt, he had cursed her in the solitude of his prison; but even when he was most furious against her, a feeling of pity had risen in his heart for her whom he had once loved so dearly; for he did not disguise it to himself, he had once loved her to distraction. Even in his prison he trembled, as he thought of some of his first meetings with her, as he saw before his mind's eye her features swimming in voluptuous languor, as he heard the silvery ring of her voice, or inhaled the perfume she loved ever to have about her. She had exposed him to the danger of losing his position, his future, his honor even; and he still felt inclined to forgive her. But now she threatened him with the loss of his betrothed, the loss of that pure and chaste love which burnt in Dionysia's heart, and he could not endure that.
"I will spare her no longer," he cried, mad with wrath. "I will hesitate no longer. I have not the right to do so; for I am bound to defend Dionysia!"He was more than ever determined to risk that adventure on the next day, feeling quite sure now that his courage would not fail him.
It was Trumence to-night--perhaps by the jailer's skilful management--who was ordered to take the prisoner back to his cell, and, according to the jail-dictionary, to "curl him up" there. He called him in, and at once plainly told him what he expected him to do. Upon Blangin's assurance, he expected the vagabond would jump at the mere idea of escaping from jail. But by no means. Trumence's smiling features grew dark; and, scratching himself behind the ear furiously, he replied,--"You see--excuse me, I don't want to run away at all."Jacques was amazed. If Trumence refused his cooperation he could not go out, or, at least, he would have to wait.
