kill your horse, therefore I had better stop. Here are thirty francs; I
will sleep at the Red Horse, and will secure a place in the first coach.
Good-night, friend." And Andrea, after placing six pieces of five francs
each in the man's hand, leaped lightly on to the pathway. The cabman
joyfully pocketed the sum, and turned back on his road to Paris. Andrea
pretended to go towards the Red Horse inn, but after leaning an instant
against the door, and hearing the last sound of the cab, which was
disappearing from view, he went on his road, and with a lusty stride
soon traversed the space of two leagues. Then he rested; he must be near
Chapelle-en-Serval, where he pretended to be going. It was not fatigue
that stayed Andrea here; it was that he might form some resolution,
adopt some plan. It would be impossible to make use of a diligence,
equally so to engage post-horses; to travel either way a passport was
necessary. It was still more impossible to remain in the department of
the Oise, one of the most open and strictly guarded in France; this was
quite out of the question, especially to a man like Andrea, perfectly
conversant with criminal matters.
He sat down by the side of the moat, buried his face in his hands and
reflected. Ten minutes after he raised his head; his resolution was
made. He threw some dust over the topcoat, which he had found time to
unhook from the ante-chamber and button over his ball costume, and going
to Chapelle-en-Serval he knocked loudly at the door of the only inn in
the place. The host opened. "My friend," said Andrea, "I was coming from
Montefontaine to Senlis, when my horse, which is a troublesome creature,
stumbled and threw me. I must reach Compiegne to-night, or I shall cause
deep anxiety to my family. Could you let me hire a horse of you?"
An inn-keeper has always a horse to let, whether it be good or bad. The
host called the stable-boy, and ordered him to saddle "Whitey," then he
awoke his son, a child of seven years, whom he ordered to ride before
the gentleman and bring back the horse. Andrea gave the inn-keeper
twenty francs, and in taking them from his pocket dropped a visiting
card. This belonged to one of his friends at the Cafe de Paris, so that
the innkeeper, picking it up after Andrea had left, was convinced that
he had let his horse to the Count of Mauleon, 25 Rue Saint-Dominique,
that being the name and address on the card. "Whitey" was not a fast
animal, but he kept up an easy, steady pace; in three hours and a
half Andrea had traversed the nine leagues which separated him from
Compiegne, and four o'clock struck as he reached the place where the
coaches stop. There is an excellent tavern at Compiegne, well remembered
by those who have ever been there. Andrea, who had often stayed there
in his rides about Paris, recollected the Bell and Bottle inn; he
turned around, saw the sign by the light of a reflected lamp, and having
dismissed the child, giving him all the small coin he had about him, he
began knocking at the door, very reasonably concluding that having now
three or four hours before him he had best fortify himself against the
fatigues of the morrow by a sound sleep and a good supper. A waiter
opened the door.
"My friend," said Andrea, "I have been dining at Saint-Jean-au-Bois, and
expected to catch the coach which passes by at midnight, but like a fool
I have lost my way, and have been walking for the last four hours in the
forest. Show me into one of those pretty little rooms which overlook the
court, and bring me a cold fowl and a bottle of Bordeaux." The waiter
had no suspicions; Andrea spoke with perfect composure, he had a cigar
in his mouth, and his hands in the pocket of his top coat; his clothes
were fashionably made, his chin smooth, his boots irreproachable; he
looked merely as if he had stayed out very late, that was all. While
the waiter was preparing his room, the hostess arose; Andrea assumed
his most charming smile, and asked if he could have No. 3, which he had
occupied on his last stay at Compiegne. Unfortunately, No. 3 was engaged
by a young man who was travelling with his sister. Andrea appeared in
despair, but consoled himself when the hostess assured him that No. 7,
prepared for him, was situated precisely the same as No. 3, and while
warming his feet and chatting about the last races at Chantilly, he
waited until they announced his room to be ready.
Andrea had not spoken without cause of the pretty rooms looking out upon
the court of the Bell Tavern, which with its triple galleries like those
of a theatre, with the jessamine and clematis twining round the light
columns, forms one of the prettiest entrances to an inn that you
can imagine. The fowl was tender, the wine old, the fire clear and
sparkling, and Andrea was surprised to find himself eating with as good
an appetite as though nothing had happened. Then he went to bed and
almost immediately fell into that deep sleep which is sure to visit men
of twenty years of age, even when they are torn with remorse. Now, here
we are obliged to own that Andrea ought to have felt remorse, but that
he did not. This was the plan which had appealed to him to afford the
best chance of his security. Before daybreak he would awake, leave the
inn after rigorously paying his bill, and reaching the forest, he would,
under pretence of making studies in painting, test the hospitality of
some peasants, procure himself the dress of a woodcutter and a hatchet,
casting off the lion's skin to assume that of the woodman; then, with
his hands covered with dirt, his hair darkened by means of a leaden
comb, his complexion embrowned with a preparation for which one of his
old comrades had given him the recipe, he intended, by following the
wooded districts, to reach the nearest frontier, walking by night and
sleeping in the day in the forests and quarries, and only entering
inhabited regions to buy a loaf from time to time.
Once past the frontier, Andrea proposed making money of his diamonds;
and by uniting the proceeds to ten bank-notes he always carried about
with him in case of accident, he would then find himself possessor of
about 50,000 livres, which he philosophically considered as no very
deplorable condition after all. Moreover, he reckoned much on
the interest of the Danglars to hush up the rumor of their own
misadventures. These were the reasons which, added to the fatigue,
caused Andrea to sleep so soundly. In order that he might awaken early
he did not close the shutters, but contented himself with bolting the
door and placing on the table an unclasped and long-pointed knife, whose
temper he well knew, and which was never absent from him. About seven in
the morning Andrea was awakened by a ray of sunlight, which played,
warm and brilliant, upon his face. In all well-organized brains, the
predominating idea--and there always is one--is sure to be the last
thought before sleeping, and the first upon waking in the morning.
Andrea had scarcely opened his eyes when his predominating idea
presented itself, and whispered in his ear that he had slept too long.
He jumped out of bed and ran to the window. A gendarme was crossing the
court. A gendarme is one of the most striking objects in the world, even
to a man void of uneasiness; but for one who has a timid conscience, and
with good cause too, the yellow, blue, and white uniform is really very
alarming.
"Why is that gendarme there?" asked Andrea of himself. Then, all at
once, he replied, with that logic which the reader has, doubtless,
remarked in him, "There is nothing astonishing in seeing a gendarme at
an inn; instead of being astonished, let me dress myself." And the youth
dressed himself with a facility his valet de chambre had failed to rob
him of during the two months of fashionable life he had led in Paris.
"Now then," said Andrea, while dressing himself, "I'll wait till he
leaves, and then I'll slip away." And, saying this, Andrea, who had now
put on his boots and cravat, stole gently to the window, and a second
time lifted up the muslin curtain. Not only was the first gendarme still
there, but the young man now perceived a second yellow, blue, and white
uniform at the foot of the staircase, the only one by which he could
descend, while a third, on horseback, holding a musket in his fist, was
posted as a sentinel at the great street door which alone afforded the
means of egress.
The appearance of the third gendarme settled the matter, for a crowd
of curious loungers was extended before him, effectually blocking the
entrance to the hotel. "They're after me!" was Andrea's first thought.
"The devil!" A pallor overspread the young man's forehead, and he looked
around him with anxiety. His room, like all those on the same floor, had
but one outlet to the gallery in the sight of everybody. "I am lost!"
was his second thought; and, indeed, for a man in Andrea's situation,
an arrest meant the assizes, trial, and death,--death without mercy or
delay. For a moment he convulsively pressed his head within his hands,
and during that brief period he became nearly mad with terror; but soon
a ray of hope glimmered in the multitude of thoughts which bewildered
his mind, and a faint smile played upon his white lips and pallid
cheeks. He looked around and saw the objects of his search upon the
chimney-piece; they were a pen, ink, and paper. With forced composure he
dipped the pen in the ink, and wrote the following lines upon a sheet of
paper:--
"I have no money to pay my bill, but I am not a dishonest man; I leave
behind me as a pledge this pin, worth ten times the amount. I shall be
excused for leaving at daybreak, for I was ashamed."
He then drew the pin from his cravat and placed it on the paper. This
done, instead of leaving the door fastened, he drew back the bolts and
even placed the door ajar, as though he had left the room, forgetting
to close it, and slipping into the chimney like a man accustomed to that
kind of gymnastic exercise, having effaced the marks of his feet upon
the floor, he commenced climbing the only opening which afforded him
the means of escape. At this precise time, the first gendarme Andrea
had noticed walked up-stairs, preceded by the commissary of police,
and supported by the second gendarme who guarded the staircase and was
himself re-enforced by the one stationed at the door.
Andrea was indebted for this visit to the following circumstances. At
daybreak, the telegraphs were set at work in all directions, and almost
immediately the authorities in every district had exerted their utmost
endeavors to arrest the murderer of Caderousse. Compiegne, that royal
residence and fortified town, is well furnished with authorities,
gendarmes, and commissaries of police; they therefore began operations
as soon as the telegraphic despatch arrived, and the Bell and Bottle
being the best-known hotel in the town, they had naturally directed
their first inquiries there.
Now, besides the reports of the sentinels guarding the Hotel de Ville,
which is next door to the Bell and Bottle, it had been stated by others
that a number of travellers had arrived during the night. The sentinel
who was relieved at six o'clock in the morning, remembered perfectly
that just as he was taking his post a few minutes past four a young
man arrived on horseback, with a little boy before him. The young man,
having dismissed the boy and horse, knocked at the door of the hotel,
which was opened, and again closed after his entrance. This late arrival
had attracted much suspicion, and the young man being no other than
Andrea, the commissary and gendarme, who was a brigadier, directed their
steps towards his room.
They found the door ajar. "Oh, ho," said the brigadier, who thoroughly
understood the trick; "a bad sign to find the door open! I would rather
find it triply bolted." And, indeed, the little note and pin upon the
table confirmed, or rather corroborated, the sad truth. Andrea had fled.
We say corroborated, because the brigadier was too experienced to be
convinced by a single proof. He glanced around, looked in the bed, shook
the curtains, opened the closets, and finally stopped at the chimney.
Andrea had taken the precaution to leave no traces of his feet in the
ashes, but still it was an outlet, and in this light was not to be
passed over without serious investigation.
The brigadier sent for some sticks and straw, and having filled the
chimney with them, set a light to it. The fire crackled, and the smoke
ascended like the dull vapor from a volcano; but still no prisoner fell
down, as they expected. The fact was, that Andrea, at war with society
ever since his youth, was quite as deep as a gendarme, even though he
were advanced to the rank of brigadier, and quite prepared for the
fire, he had climbed out on the roof and was crouching down against
the chimney-pots. At one time he thought he was saved, for he heard
the brigadier exclaim in a loud voice, to the two gendarmes, "He is not
here!" But venturing to peep, he perceived that the latter, instead of
retiring, as might have been reasonably expected upon this announcement,
were watching with increased attention.
It was now his turn to look about him; the Hotel de Ville, a massive
sixteenth century building, was on his right; any one could descend from
the openings in the tower, and examine every corner of the roof below,
and Andrea expected momentarily to see the head of a gendarme appear at
one of these openings. If once discovered, he knew he would be lost, for
the roof afforded no chance of escape; he therefore resolved to descend,
not through the same chimney by which he had come up, but by a similar
one conducting to another room. He looked around for a chimney from
which no smoke issued, and having reached it, he disappeared through the
orifice without being seen by any one. At the same minute, one of the
little windows of the Hotel de Ville was thrown open, and the head of a
