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This he is, in yielding to Brusson's foolish desire, and thus trying one more expedient the last before resorting to the rack, for which Brusson is long since ripe." Mademoiselle Scuderi shuddered involuntarily. "Understand, Mademoiselle," he continued, "you would by no means be expected to go again into those gloomy dungeons, which inspired you with such horror and loathing.
My whole Being rejoiced, for Heaven seemed to be showing me, through the atrocious Cardillac, the way to escape from the hell in which I was being tortured. Quite contrarily to Cardillac's wish, I resolved that I would get access to you and speak with you. As Anne Brusson's son, and your former pet, I thought I would throw myself at your feet and tell you everything.
Two words will be sufficient excuse for me. I come about Olivier Brusson." "Olivier Brusson," cried Mademoiselle Scuderi, all excitement as to what she was going to hear, "that most unfortunate of men! What have you to say of him?" "I knew," said Miossens, laughing again, "that your protégé's name would ensure me a favourable hearing. Everybody is convinced of Brusson's guilt.
Observe, Mademoiselle, that the latter admission clearly refers to other crimes of which he has been guilty. But all attempts to get him to utter anything further have been vain. He begs and implores to be allowed to have an interview with you. To you alone will he divulge everything. Vouchsafe then, Mademoiselle, to listen to Brusson's confession."
Mademoiselle Scuderi was at his feet, imploring mercy for Olivier Brusson. "What are you doing?" broke out the King, taking both her hands and making her sit down. "You take us by storm in a marvellous fashion. It is a most terrible story! Who is to answer for the truth of Brusson's extraordinary tale?"
In addition to this came home-sickness for his beautiful native Geneva; so the little household went there, spite of Mademoiselle Scuderi's dissuasions and promises of all needful assistance. Anne wrote once or twice to her foster-mother, and then ceased; so that Mademoiselle Scuderi thought she was forgotten in the happiness of the Brusson's life.
It was now just three and twenty years since the Brusson's had left Paris for Geneva. "Horrible!" cried Mademoiselle Scuderi, when she had to some extent recovered herself. "You, Olivier! the son of my Anne! And now!
Hence he attached himself to her, and was as pleased to be with her as with his mother. When three years passed, the depressed state of Brusson's trade brought it about that job-work was scarcer every day, so that at last it was all he could do to get bread to eat.
Madame de Maintenon, faithful to her system of never mentioning unpleasant subjects to him, declined all intermediation; so that Brusson's fate was entirely in Mademoiselle Scuderi's hands. After long reflection, she hit upon a scheme which she put in execution at once.
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