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Marie-Anne was dead dead, and she had not disclosed the name of the old physician at Vigano to whom she had intrusted her child. She was dead, and the terrified murderess stood in the middle of the room, as rigid and motionless as a statue. It seemed to her that madness a madness like that which had stricken her father was developing itself in her brain.
And finally, at the bottom of the casket, he found the marriage-certificate of Marie-Anne Lacheneur and Maurice d'Escorval, drawn up by the Cure of Vigano and signed by the old physician and Corporal Bavois. The truth was as clear as daylight. Stunned, frozen with horror, Martial scarcely had strength to return the letters to the casket and restore it to its place.
That certificate of marriage signed by the Cure of Vigano; what had she done with it? where was it? She remembered holding it in her hands. She sprang up, examined the pocket of her dress and uttered a cry of joy. She had it safe. She threw it into a drawer, and turned the key. Aunt Medea wished to retire to her own room, but Blanche entreated her to remain.
You will push on to Vigano, three leagues from here, where I live. I will take you to a priest, one of my friends; and he, upon my recommendation, will perform the marriage ceremony. Now reflect, shall I expect you on Wednesday?" "Oh, yes, yes, Monsieur. How can I ever thank you?" "By not thanking me at all. See, here is the innkeeper; you are Monsieur Dubois, again."
A performance of the first symphony is recorded at least ten, of the second at least three, months before that of the ballet. As this the "Prometheus" was written expressly for Vigano, the arranger of the action, it is not to be supposed that any great lapse of time took place between the execution of the order for and the production of the music.
"I am not ill, Monsieur." "Why do you not confide in me? Am I not your friend? What do you fear?" She shook her head sadly and replied: "I have nothing to confide." She said this, and yet she was dying of sorrow and anguish. Faithful to the promise she had made Maurice, she had said nothing of her condition, or of the marriage solemnized in the little church at Vigano.
Her sight failed her; there was a strange ringing in her ears, a cold sweat started from every pore. This paper was the marriage-certificate of Maurice and Marie-Anne, drawn up by the cure of Vigano, witnessed by the old physician and Bavois, and sealed with the seal of the parish. The proof was indisputable. She had committed a useless crime; she had murdered an innocent woman.
The time was fast approaching when she would require a confidant; and there was no one in whom she could confide. In this hour of extremity, when she really felt that her reason was failing her, she remembered the old physician at Vigano, who had been one of the witnesses to her marriage. "He would help me if I called upon him for aid," she thought.
But the old physician had not given his word lightly, and everything took place as he had promised. The priest at Vigano blessed the marriage of Maurice d'Escorval and of Marie-Anne Lacheneur, and after inscribing their names upon the church register, he gave them a certificate, upon which the physician and Corporal Bavois figured as witnesses.
This race of ancient rulers still gives birth to kings Lagrange, Volta, Rasori, Canova, Rossini, Bartolini, Galvani, Vigano, Beccaria, Cicognara, Corvetto. These Italians are masters of the scientific peaks on which they stand, or of the arts to which they devote themselves.
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