who combined
boldness and a convict's
dexterity with the
knowledge
peculiar to men of the world, especially as they would
not
scruple to give a stab to ensure silence.
In two hours the bars were sawn through. Three men stood on
guard outside, and two inside the parlour. The rest, barefooted,
took up their posts along the
corridor. Young Henri de Marsay,
the most dexterous man among them, disguised by way of precaution
in a Carmelite's robe, exactly like the
costume of the
convent,
led the way, and Montriveau came immediately behind him. The
clock struck three just as the two men reached the dormitory
cells. They soon saw the position. Everything was perfectly
quiet. With the help of a dark
lantern they read the names
luckily written on every door, together with the picture of a
saint or saints and the mystical words which every nun takes as a
kind of motto for the
beginning of her new life and the
revelation of her last thought. Montriveau reached Sister
Theresa's door and read the
inscription, Sub invocatione sanctae
matris Theresae, and her motto, Adoremus in aeternum. Suddenly
his
companion laid a hand on his shoulder. A bright light was
streaming through the chinks of the door. M. de Ronquerolles
came up at that moment.
"All the nuns are in the church," he said; "they are
beginningthe Office for the Dead."
"I will stay here," said Montriveau. "Go back into the
parlour, and shut the door at the end of the passage."
He threw open the door and rushed in, preceded by his disguised
companion, who let down the veil over his face.
There before them lay the dead Duchess; her plank bed had been
laid on the floor of the outer room of her cell, between two
lighted candles. Neither Montriveau nor de Marsay spoke a word
or uttered a cry; but they looked into each other's faces. The
General's dumb
gesture tried to say, "Let us carry her away!"
"Quickly" shouted Ronquerolles, "the
procession of nuns is
leaving the church. You will be caught!"
With
magicalswiftness of
movement, prompted by an intense
desire, the dead woman was carried into the
convent parlour,
passed through the window, and lowered from the walls before the
Abbess, followed by the nuns, returned to take up Sister
Theresa's body. The sister left in
charge had imprudently left
her post; there were secrets that she longed to know; and so busy
was she ransacking the inner room, that she heard nothing, and
was horrified when she came back to find that the body was gone.
Before the women, in their blank
amazement, could think of making
a search, the Duchess had been lowered by a cord to the foot of
the crags, and Montriveau's
companions had destroyed all traces
of their work. By nine o'clock that morning there was not a sign
to show that either
staircase or wire-cables had ever existed,
and Sister Theresa's body had been taken on board. The brig came
into the port to ship her crew, and sailed that day.
Montriveau, down in the cabin, was left alone with Antoinette de
Navarreins. For some hours it seemed as if her dead face was
transfigured for him by that unearthly beauty which the calm of
death gives to the body before it perishes.
"Look here," said Ronquerolles when Montriveau reappeared on
deck, "THAT was a woman once, now it is nothing. Let us tie a
cannon ball to both feet and throw the body
overboard; and if
ever you think of her again, think of her as of some book that
you read as a boy."
"Yes," assented Montriveau, "it is nothing now but a dream."
"That is
sensible of you. Now, after this, have passions; but
as for love, a man ought to know how to place it
wisely; it is
only a woman's last love that can satisfy a man's first love."
End