“There will be two of us to do that when all is lost,” said Michu.

Laurence took his rough hand and wrung it warmly, as the English do.  Michu looked at his watch; it was midnight.

“We must leave here at any cost,” he said.  “Death to the gendarme who attempts to stop me!  And you, madame la comtesse, without presuming to dictate, ride back to Cinq-Cygne as fast as you can.  The police are there by this time; fool them! delay them!”

The hole once opened, Michu flung himself down with his ear to the earth; then he rose precipitately.  “The gendarmes are at the edge of the forest towards Troyes!” he said.  “Ha, I’ll get the better of them yet!”

He helped the countess to come out, and replaced the stones.  When this was done he heard her soft voice telling him she must see him mounted before mounting herself.  Tears came to the eyes of the stern man as he exchanged a last look with his young mistress, whose own eyes were tearless.

“Fool them! yes, he is right!” she said when she heard him no longer.  Then she darted towards Cinq-Cygne at full gallop.

CHAPTER VIII

TRIALS OF THE POLICE

Madame d’Hauteserre, roused by the danger of her sons, and not believing that the Revolution was over, but still fearing its summary justice, recovered her senses by the violence of the same distress which made her lose them.  Led by an agonizing curiosity she returned to the salon, which presented a picture worthy of the brush of a genre painter.  The abbe, still seated at the card-table and mechanically playing with the counters, was covertly observing Corentin and Peyrade, who were standing together at a corner of the fireplace and speaking in a low voice.  Several times Corentin’s keen eye met the not less keen glance of the priest; but, like two adversaries who knew themselves equally strong, and who return to their guard after crossing their weapons, each averted his eyes the instant they met.  The worthy old d’Hauteserre, poised on his long thin legs like a heron, was standing beside the stout form of the mayor, in an attitude expressive of utter stupefaction.  The mayor, though dressed as a bourgeois, always looked like a servant.  Each gazed with a bewildered eye at the gendarmes, in whose clutches Gothard was still sobbing, his hands purple and swollen from the tightness of the cord that bound them.  Catherine maintained her attitude of artless simplicity, which was quite impenetrable.  The corporal, who, according to Corentin, had committed a great blunder in arresting these smaller fry, did not know whether to stay where he was or to depart.  He stood pensively in the middle of the salon, his hand on the hilt of his sabre, his eye on the two Parisians.  The Durieus, also stupefied, and the other servants of the chateau made an admirable group of expressive uneasiness.  If it had not been for Gothard’s convulsive snifflings those present could have heard the flies fly.