Part 23

Jacques was not mistaken when he thought he saw his brother among the convicts. The unhappy Edouard had undergone his punishment for the crime which he had allowed himself to be led into committing. His sentence condemned him to twenty years hard labor, to be branded and exposed to public view.

Lampin, who had already been in prison for theft, was sentenced to the galleys for life. In vain did he repeat to Edouard his lesson, and urge him to deny everything; Edouard had not enough strength of character to form a resolution. He contradicted himself, betrayed himself, and allowed himself to be easily convicted of his crime. The miserable wretch recognized his wife and child at the moment that he was branded with the mark of infamy. He saw Adeline fall unconscious before him; that heartrending picture was long present in his mind; the image of a woman who adored him and whose life he had wrecked, the sight of a child whom he condemned to the shame of not being able to mention her father without a shudder, and the memory of the happiness he had once enjoyed in his home,--all these overwhelmed the unhappy felon and made him feel more keenly the horror of his situation.

Remorse gnawed at Edouard’s heart, and led him, so far as he was able, to avoid the society of the other prisoners, who laughed at his grief and sneered at his cowardice. A hundred times the poor wretch formed a plan to put an end to his existence, but only in fear and trembling did he invent methods which his weak character instantly spurned. In this frame of mind Murville made the journey from Bicêtre to Toulon, without observing that his brother gave alms to his companions as they passed through Paris.

Lampin was always the same; at the galleys he retained his recklessness and gayety; shame was to him nothing more than an empty word, and he strove every day to lift Edouard above what he called prejudice.

The penitent culprit never receives useful advice in the society of galley slaves. For one criminal who knows the pangs of remorse, how many are there who become hardened in crime and take pleasure in corrupting entirely those whom sincere repentance might have led back into the paths of virtue!

The image of Adeline and her daughter gradually faded from Edouard’s mind, and gave way to the schemes of which his companions talked to him day after day. He banished a remorse which they proved to be useless, in order to invent some plan of escape; and after six months of imprisonment, distaste for life was replaced in his mind by an ardent longing for liberty.

A bold scheme was formed. Even at the galleys, prisoners find a way of establishing relations with those of their friends who are momentarily enjoying their freedom; and these latter brave everything to serve their comrades, because they know that they are likely at any day to demand a similar service from them.

It was Lampin who supervised the execution of the plot. Forced to be sober, he was in full possession of his wits. The day, the moment arrived. A keeper, who had been bribed, left a door unlocked; the convicts, supplied with files, removed their fetters; they assembled at midnight, killed three watchmen, and made their way into a yard, the wall of which was easily scaled by men accustomed to climb walls. Lampin went up first; Edouard followed him, clinging to the chain which his companion still had attached to his feet; several convicts had thus passed over the wall and jumped into the ditch which was on the other side. But musket shots were heard, the alarm was given, the garrison was under arms, soldiers ran to the walls and fired at the prisoners. Several fell dead, others surrendered, the revolt was put down; but it was some time before they could ascertain the number of those who had escaped.

Lampin and Edouard had heard the report of shots. They succeeded in getting out of the ditch, but where should they go? How could they make their escape quickly enough? Already soldiers were scouring the city and the harbor; soon they would fall into their hands. Edouard was in despair, and Lampin was cudgeling his brains, swearing that they should not take him alive. But at that moment they heard the sound of bells on a horse, and soon an open wagon, loaded with vegetables and driven by a young peasant, passed them. The peasant was seated in the front of the wagon, fast asleep, with his reins lying on the back of the horse, which followed at a slow pace its accustomed road.

“Do as I do,” said Lampin, running after the wagon. “We are saved.”

He climbed up behind, made a great hole in the peas, cabbages and carrots, and climbed into it, followed by Edouard, leaving hardly enough space to give them air. The peasant turned, rubbed his eyes, and saw nothing, for he was still half asleep; and he was preparing to snore louder than ever, when some soldiers passed the wagon.

“Did you meet anyone, my friend?” asked the sergeant of the peasant.

“No, no, no one, messieurs, no one but donkeys, wagons and people from our place.”

“Be on the lookout; some convicts have escaped; if you see any of them, call for help and notice which way they go.”

The soldiers passed on. The peasant lay down again, mumbling between his teeth:

“Oh, yes! I think I see myself watching convicts! I would much rather dream about my dear Manette; anyway I ain’t afraid of them; those fellows don’t amuse themselves stealing cabbages and carrots.”

“We are saved!” said Edouard to his companion, in an undertone.

“Not yet,” said Lampin; “this peasant is taking his vegetables to market, and if he should uncover us, I don’t believe he would take us for two bunches of onions.”

“What are we to do then?”

“Parbleu! we must take to the fields; but let’s wait until this rascal snores well; it won’t be long, as he is thinking of his dear Manette.”

In fact, the peasant was soon sound asleep. Thereupon Lampin put one hand out from under the vegetables, seized the rein, and pulled the horse to the other side of the road. The beast knew but two roads, the one to market and the one to his stable. When he was jerked violently away from the former, he supposed that his master was going home, so he turned back toward the village without hesitation.

“Well, we are safe now,” said Edouard, softly putting his head out from under the vegetables which covered him, and seeing nothing but trees and fields about him,--no houses.

“You always think that you are safe, you idiot,” said Lampin, “but we are not out of danger yet; we have just left Toulon; this peasant is taking us to his village, where we shall be pinched.”

“We must get out of the wagon and hide.”

“A fine thing to do! hide! Where, I should like to know? In the trees, like parrots? We must gain ground first, and with these chains on our feet, we shan’t go far.”

“We will file them.”

“Have we got the time? Come, let’s make a bold stroke; we are in a sunken road, and I don’t see any houses, and--first of all, get down, quick.”

“And then?”

“Get down, I tell you, and stop the horse quietly; meanwhile I will begin by searching our driver.”

Edouard got down from the wagon. Lampin drew in the reins, and the horse stopped.

“We must unharness him, and escape on him,” said Lampin; “let’s make haste.”

As he spoke, he searched the peasant’s pockets and took possession of his knife and a few pieces of money. Edouard, being very awkward and unskilled in the art of unharnessing a horse, called Lampin to his assistance. He seemed to be meditating a new plan as he looked at the peasant’s clothes.

“I am in mortal terror that he will wake,” said Edouard.

“If he wakes, he is a dead man,” said Lampin, as he hastily alighted and unfastened the straps that held the horse in the shafts. But the peasant was so accustomed to the movement of the wagon that he woke a few moments after it stopped.

“Go on, go on, I say!” he said, rubbing his eyes.

“We are lost!” whispered Edouard. Lampin did not reply, but he darted toward the wagon, and as the hapless peasant started to rise, he buried his knife in his breast.

The man uttered but one feeble cry. Edouard was horrorstruck.

“You wretch! what have you done?” he said with a shudder.

“What was necessary,” said Lampin; “the worst of it now is that I can’t take his clothes, which are drenched with blood; I must be content with the hat and the blouse.”

As he said this, the villain stripped his victim, put on his blouse, and hastily mounted the horse; then he turned toward Edouard, who had not yet recovered from his stupor.

“Now, my boy,” he said, “get out of it how you can.”

And he at once pricked his horse with the point of his knife, and disappeared, leaving Edouard beside the unfortunate man whom his companion had murdered.

XXXIII

THE WOOD-CUTTER AND THE ROBBERS

The night was drawing toward its close. Edouard was still beside the wagon, dismayed by Lampin’s flight, and so disturbed by all that had happened to him within a few hours that he had no idea what he had better do.

The unfortunate peasant still breathed; from time to time he uttered feeble groans. Edouard could not decide whether he ought to help him or to take to flight. He wavered and hesitated and the first rays of dawn found him in that condition. Glancing at himself, he shuddered at sight of his coat, which at once identified him as an escaped convict; and he trembled lest he should be taken for the murderer of the peasant. That thought froze his blood with terror; the sight of the peasant was horrible to him, and he walked away as rapidly as his strength permitted, until he reached a small tract of woodland, where he hoped to elude pursuit.

His first care was to file his fetters and throw them away; but he could not rid himself of his costume also, and he realized that he could not show himself without risk of being arrested. That thought drove him to frenzy for an instant. He regretted that he had not stripped the peasant entirely.

Day broke, and the peasants began to go to their work. Edouard plunged into the wood, picked figs and olives and climbed into a tree to await the return of night.

But how long that day was! and how many times did he shudder with apprehension as he saw peasants come into the wood and sit down to rest not far from the tree in which he was hiding! He heard them talking about the poor wagoner’s murder.

“It was a convict who did the job,” said the peasants; “a number of them escaped last night from the galleys at Toulon, but they’re on their tracks, and they can’t fail to take them soon.”

Edouard realized only too well the difficulty he would have in escaping, and he abandoned himself to despair. The night arrived at last; he descended from his protecting tree and resumed his journey. Every time that the faintest noise reached his ear, he stopped and buried himself in the thickest bushes. His face and hands were torn by thorns and brambles; but he did not feel the pain; he would have been glad to hide in the bowels of the earth. He walked as fast as his strength permitted, picking up fruit of which he retained some for the following day, stopping only in the most solitary places, and hiding during the day in the top of some densely-leaved tree.

On the fourth day, toward morning, he passed a small cottage surrounded by a garden; he cast a glance over the wall in the hope of discovering fruit; but what was his joy when he saw linen and clothes hanging on lines; the idea of taking possession of them and getting rid of his convict’s costume, at once occurred to his mind; the thought of theft no longer frightened him; he justified it by his plight. Only a half ruined wall, four feet high, separated him from the priceless garments; for the first time, he did not stop to consider the danger. He climbed the wall, took whatever he needed, and made his escape without the slightest twinge of remorse; for what he had done seemed to him a mere trifle to what he had seen done.

Having reached a dense wood, he removed his accusing costume and donned the clothes which he had stolen. Thereupon, being a little more at ease in his mind, and thinking that he must already be very far from Toulon, he set forth again, determined to ask hospitality for the night of some peasant, and hoping that they would give him a crust of bread, which seemed to him a priceless treasure capable of restoring his strength. As he did not choose, however, to take the risk of entering a village, where he feared to meet gendarmes who were in pursuit of him, he decided to knock at the door of an isolated cabin, surrounded by dense woods.

A peasant answered his knock and asked him what he could do for him.

“A great deal,” said Edouard; “I am an unfortunate man, worn out with fatigue and hunger; allow me to pass the night in your house, and you will save my life.”

“It’s a fact,” said the peasant, scrutinizing him with attention, “you seem very tired and very sick. But who are you? For a body must know who he takes in.”

“I am--I am an unfortunate deserter; I trust my secret to you; don’t betray me!”

“A deserter--the devil! It isn’t right to desert! But I’m not capable of betraying you; come, come in, and you can tell me why you deserted.”

Edouard entered the cabin, conscious of a keen sense of delight in being once more under a roof.

“Look you,” said the peasant, “I’ll give you half of what I have got and that won’t be very good; but you hadn’t ought to be hard to suit. I’m a poor wood-cutter; I ain’t rich, I live from day to day, but I am glad to share my supper and my bed with you. I’ve got some bread and some cheese and the remains of a bottle of wine, and we’ll finish it. My bed ain’t bad; it’s the best thing in my house, and I’ll bet you won’t wake up. Come, my friend, tell me your adventures. I have been in the army myself; yes, I used to be a soldier, and I flatter myself that I didn’t desert; I’d like to know what reason you had for doing such a miserable thing as that.”

Edouard invented a fable, which he told the wood-cutter, who listened with attention.

The strangeness of Edouard’s story, the improbability of his adventures, his embarrassment when his host asked him for details concerning his regiment and the place where they had been in garrison, all tended to arouse the wood-cutter’s suspicions, and he began to fear that he had been duped by some vagabond.

However, as he owned nothing that was likely to tempt cupidity, the peasant shared his supper with Edouard none the less; then he invited him to undress and go to bed. Edouard accepted this invitation with a good heart; he had taken off his jacket and was about to remove his waistcoat, when a sudden reflection stopped him, and he stood before the wood-cutter, speechless with confusion.

“Well, have you got over wanting to go to bed?” said the peasant, noticing Edouard’s sudden terror.

“I beg pardon; I am going--I am going to lie down.”

“It seems to me that you started to undress yourself, and now you stand there as if you didn’t know what to do.”

“Oh! the fact is, I thought better of it; it will be wiser for me to stay dressed, so that I can get ready quicker to go away in the morning.”

“As you please! suit yourself.”

Edouard threw himself on the bed, and the wood-cutter did the same; but not with the purpose of going to sleep; he was secretly anxious, for he was afraid that he had offered shelter to a scoundrel, and he was trying to think how he could set his doubts at rest.

The miserable wretch, who was overdone with fatigue, and who had not slept on so soft a couch for a weary while, soon yielded to the sleep that took possession of him. The wood-cutter, who had pretended to do the same, rose softly as soon as he was certain that the stranger whom he had made welcome was asleep.

He left the room, and struck a light in a small cave. He lighted a lamp, took his gun, and noiselessly returned to the small room where Edouard lay. The unhappy man’s sleep was disturbed and restless; he struggled and twisted violently on his couch, and broken sentences escaped from his lips; the wood-cutter listened and distinctly heard these words:

“On the road--in the middle of the night--he was murdered--take off these irons, relieve me of these chains which prevent me from escaping.”

“Murdered!” echoed the peasant between his teeth. “Damnation! I have taken in a highway robber! And that scoundrel is sleeping on an honest man’s bed! Who knows that he hasn’t made an appointment with all his gang at my house? Indeed, they say that the neighborhood has been infested with robbers for some time. Perhaps they mean to take possession of my cabin and turn it into one of their dens. The devil! if I was sure of it, I’d begin by getting rid of this fellow, while he is alone. But let me see; I must try to verify this suspicion of mine.”

The wood-cutter walked toward Edouard; with great care he slit the back of the unfortunate convict’s waistcoat, put aside the portion which covered the shoulder, and held his lamp to it, concealing with the other hand the rays of light which might have fallen on the stranger’s eyes. Holding his breath, he put his head forward and with a shudder of horror saw the fatal brand.

“I wasn’t mistaken,” said the wood-cutter, setting his lamp down on the hearth and cocking his gun. “He is a villain, but by all the devils, he shan’t stay in my house any longer! Even if I have to run the risk of other dangers, I will drive this rascal out of my cabin.”

He returned to the bed and pushed Edouard roughly with the butt of his gun. The convict woke, sat up in bed and gazed in terror at his host, who was aiming the gun at him, and whose eyes were blazing with anger.

“Leave my house this minute!” cried the wood-cutter in a loud voice, with his gun still leveled at Edouard; “clear out! and don’t think of coming back, or I will blow your brains out.”

“What’s the matter? why this outbreak?” said Edouard, gazing about him in surprise. “Am I no longer in the cabin where I was made welcome? Are you the man who deigned to share your food and your bed with an unfortunate fellow-creature? And now you turn me out! What have I done to be treated like this?”

“You know well enough, you villain; go and join your comrades on the highroads, go and rob and murder travellers; but you will find no shelter under my roof.”

“You are mistaken, monsieur, you are wrong; I swear to you, I am not a robber, I am not capable of evil designs!”

“Indeed! and perhaps you’re an honest man? What about that mark that you bear? Was it for your brave acts that you were decorated like that?”

“Great God!” said Edouard, putting his hand to his waistcoat and discovering that it was cut; “what--you dared----”

“I wanted to make sure what you were; your conduct aroused my suspicion and I had to see if I was right. Come, you can see that your talk and your stories won’t deceive me any longer. Come now, off with you, I can’t sleep with a man like you.”

“Unhappy wretch that I am,” said Edouard, leaving the bed and beating his brow, “I have no resources left; I am lost, cast out by the whole world. Obliged to shun society, which spurns me, reduced to the necessity of living in the darkness, this infamous mark drives me to crime; only among brigands can I find shelter now; only by committing new crimes can I prolong my existence! The road of repentance is closed to me; I have no choice but to be a criminal!”

As he spoke, he threw himself on the ground and writhed in despair at the wood-cutter’s feet. The latter was moved for a moment, when he saw the mental distress of the wretch before him; he laid down his gun, and would perhaps have yielded to compassion, when two whistles rang out and were repeated loudly in different parts of the forest.

Instantly the wood-cutter’s suspicion and rage revived in full force. He had no doubt that the signal that he had heard was that of the brigands come to join their comrade. He took his gun again; Edouard tried once more to implore his compassion; he approached his host, raising his hands in entreaty; but the wood-cutter, mistaking the meaning of the miserable wretch, whom he deemed capable of murdering him, stepped back and pulled the trigger.

The gun was discharged! being badly aimed, the murderous bullet did not strike its victim, but whistled over his shoulder as he knelt on the floor, and buried itself in the wall. Thereupon rage and despair revived Edouard’s courage; he determined to sell his life dearly; he seized an axe which he saw in a corner of the cabin, and as his host returned toward him to strike him with the butt of his gun, he dealt him a blow in the head which stretched him lifeless at his feet. The wood-cutter fell without uttering a sound; his blood spurted upon Edouard, who was horrified to find himself covered with it.

At the same moment the door of the cabin was broken in; four men, clothed with rags, but armed to the teeth and wearing hideous masks, appeared in the doorway and put their heads into the room, gazing for some moments in surprise at the spectacle which met their eyes.

“Oho!” said the one who seemed to be their chief, “it seems to me that strange things are happening here, and that we have comrades in the neighborhood. Thunder and guns! Here’s a fellow who looks to me as if he had done a good job!”

Edouard was standing motionless in the middle of the room, still holding in his hand the bloody axe with which he had struck down the wood-cutter.

The brigands entered the room. The leader scrutinized Edouard and uttered an exclamation of surprise and delight.

“It is he!” he cried at last; “it is really he! Look at him, comrade,--you should recognize him too.”

“Parbleu! yes, it’s our friend; come, Murville, embrace your old acquaintances, your faithful companions in pleasure and adversity.”

Edouard heard voices which were familiar to him; he raised his eyes and saw Lampin before him; but he did not recognize the other brigand, whose voice had caught his attention. The latter took his hand and shook it violently; Edouard looked at him again, and sought upon the horribly mutilated face features which were not unknown to him.

“What,” said Lampin; “don’t you recognize Dufresne, our old friend?”

“Dufresne!” cried Edouard; “is it possible?”

“Yes, Murville, it is himself,” said Dufresne, untying a number of bands which disfigured his face by representing scars, and taking off a plaster which concealed one eye and a part of his forehead, as well as a beard which covered his chin and his upper lip. “I’m delighted that you don’t recognize me, for that demonstrates my talent for disguising myself; and that’s something, especially when one has a death sentence hanging over him. But you, my rascal, you seem to have limbered up a little since we met. The devil! this does you credit.”

“Comrades,” said Lampin, who had been prowling about the cabin, “there’s nothing of any good to us here; the shot we heard may bring people in this direction, whom we should not be pleased to meet. Take my advice and let us quit this hovel and go back into the woods; we can talk more safely there.”

Lampin’s advice being adjudged prudent, the robbers left the cabin, taking with them Edouard, who had hardly recovered from his surprise and could not believe that he had found Dufresne again in the person of the chief of a band of outlaws.

After walking for some time through the thickest part of the forest, the robbers stopped in a clearing; they built a fire, produced provisions which they spread on the grass, and having prepared their weapons in case of surprise, they seated themselves about the flame, which alone lighted their meal.

“I don’t know,” said Dufresne, gazing at Edouard with savage joy, “what presentiment led me to hope that we should be united some day. In fact, I have always acted with that end in view; isn’t that so, Lampin?”