He put spurs to his horse and galloped to the crossroads. The place was deserted. At the entrance of one of the roads stood the cabriolet which had brought M. d"Escorval and the abbe.
At last M. Lacheneur saw the fugitives approaching in the distance. He dashed forward, to meet them, trying by mingled curses and insults to stay their flight.
"Cowards!" he vociferated, "traitors! You flee--and you are ten against one! Where are you going? To your own homes. Fools! you will find the gendarmes there only awaiting your coming to conduct you to the scaffold. Is it not better to die with your weapons in your hands?
Come--right about. Follow me! We may still conquer. Reinforcements are at hand; two thousand men are following me!"
He promised them two thousand men; had he promised them ten thousand, twenty thousand--an army and cannon, it would have made no difference.
Not until they reached the wide-open s.p.a.ce of the cross-roads, where they had talked so confidently scarcely an hour before, did the most intelligent of the throng regain their senses, while the others fled in every direction.
About a hundred of the bravest and most determined of the conspirators gathered around M. Lacheneur. In the little crowd was the abbe, gloomy and despondent. He had been separated from the baron. What had been his fate? Had he been killed or taken prisoner? Was it possible that he had made his escape?
The worthy priest dared not go away. He waited, hoping that his companion might rejoin him, and deemed himself fortunate in finding the carriage still there. He was still waiting when the remnant of the column confided to Maurice and Chanlouineau came up.
Of the five hundred men that composed it on its departure from Sairmeuse, only fifteen remained, including the two retired officers.
Marie-Anne was in the centre of this little party.
M. Lacheneur and his friends were trying to decide what course it was best for them to pursue. Should each man go his way? or should they unite, and by an obstinate resistance, give all their comrades time to reach their homes?
The voice of Chanlouineau put an end to all hesitation.
"I have come to fight," he exclaimed, "and I shall sell my life dearly."
"We will make a stand then!" cried the others.
But Chanlouineau did not follow them to the spot which they had considered best adapted to the prolonged defence; he called Maurice and drew him a little aside.
"You, Monsieur d"Escorval," he said, almost roughly, "are going to leave here and at once."
"I--I came here, Chanlouineau, as you did, to do my duty."
"Your duty, Monsieur, is to serve Marie-Anne. Go at once, and take her with you."
"I shall remain," said Maurice, firmly.
He was going to join his comrades when Chanlouineau stopped him.
"You have no right to sacrifice your life here," he said, quietly. "Your life belongs to the woman who has given herself to you."
"Wretch! how dare you!"
Chanlouineau sadly shook his head.
"What is the use of denying it?" said he.
"It was so great a temptation that only an angel could have resisted it. It was not your fault, nor was it hers. Lacheneur was a bad father.
There was a day when I wished either to kill myself or to kill you, I knew not which. Ah! only once again will you be as near death as you were that day. You were scarcely five paces from the muzzle of my gun.
It was G.o.d who stayed my hand by reminding me of her despair. Now that I am to die, as well as Lacheneur, someone must care for Marie-Anne.
Swear that you will marry her. You may be involved in some difficulty on account of this affair; but I have here the means of saving you."
A sound of firing interrupted him; the soldiers of the Duc de Sairmeuse were approaching.
"Good G.o.d!" exclaimed Chanlouineau, "and Marie-Anne!"
They rushed in pursuit of her, and Maurice was the first to discover her, standing in the centre of the open s.p.a.ce clinging to the neck of her father"s horse. He took her in his arms, trying to drag her away.
"Come!" said he, "come!"
But she refused.
"Leave me, leave me!" she entreated.
"But all is lost!"
"Yes, I know that all is lost--even honor. Leave me here. I must remain; I must die, and thus hide my shame. I must, it shall be so!"
Just then Chanlouineau appeared.
Had he divined the secret of her resistance? Perhaps; but without uttering a word, he lifted her in his strong arms as if she had been a child and bore her to the carriage guarded by Abbe Midon.
"Get in," he said, addressing the priest, "and quick--take Mademoiselle Lacheneur. Now, Maurice, in your turn!"
But already the duke"s soldiers were masters of the field. Seeing a group in the shadow, at a little distance, they rushed to the spot.
The heroic Chanlouineau seized his gun, and brandishing it like a club, held the enemy at bay, giving Maurice time to spring into the carriage, catch the reins and start the horse off at a gallop.
All the cowardice and all the heroism displayed on that terrible night will never be really known.
Two minutes after the departure of Marie-Anne and of Maurice, Chanlouineau was still battling with the foe.
A dozen or more soldiers were in front of him. Twenty shots had been fired, but not a ball had struck him. His enemies always believed him invulnerable.
"Surrender!" cried the soldiers, amazed by such valor; "surrender!"
"Never! never!"
He was truly formidable; he brought to the support of his marvellous courage a superhuman strength and agility. No one dared come within reach of those brawny arms that revolved with the power and velocity of the sails of a wind-mill.
Then it was that a soldier, confiding his musket to the care of a companion, threw himself flat upon his belly, and crawling un.o.bserved around behind this obscure hero, seized him by the legs. He tottered like an oak beneath the blow of the axe, struggled furiously, but taken at such a disadvantage was thrown to the ground, crying, as he fell:
"Help! friends, help!"
But no one responded to this appeal.
At the other end of the open s.p.a.ce those upon whom he called had, after a desperate struggle, yielded.
The main body of the duke"s infantry was near at hand.