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Updated: July 24, 2025
"I have my orders." "Coming," said Chanlouineau; "all is ended!" And handing Marie-Anne the second letter: "This is for you," he added. "You will read it when I am no more. Pray, pray, do not weep thus! Be brave! You will soon be the wife of Maurice. And when you are happy, think sometimes of the poor peasant who loved you so much."
But this conviction did not appease her sorrow. Hers was one of those pure and proud natures that are more sensitive to the whisperings of conscience than to the clamors of the world. She had been accused of having three lovers Chanlouineau, Martial, and Maurice. The calumny had not moved her. What tortured her was what these people did not know the truth. Nor was this all.
He briefly narrated the facts, exalted the merits of the government, of the Restoration, and concluded by a demand that sentence of death should be pronounced upon the culprits. When he ceased speaking, the duke, addressing the first prisoner upon the bench, said, rudely: "Stand up." The prisoner rose. "Your name and age?" "Eugene Michel Chanlouineau, aged twenty-nine, farmer by occupation."
Connecting the stories of the peasants with the words addressed to Chanlouineau at Escorval by M. Lacheneur on the preceding evening, he arrived at the conclusion that this report of Marie-Anne's approaching marriage to the young fanner was not so improbable as he had at first supposed. But why should M. Lacheneur give his daughter to an uncultured peasant? From mercenary motives?
"If I should comply with your request, Maurice," said M. Lacheneur, "in less than three days you would curse me, and ruin us by some outburst of anger. You love Marie-Anne. Could you see, unmoved, the frightful position in which she is placed? Remember, she must not discourage the addresses either of Chanlouineau or of the Marquis de Sairmeuse.
He had been separated from the baron. What had been his fate? Had he been killed or taken prisoner? Was it possible that he had made his escape? The worthy priest dared not go away. He waited, hoping that his companion might rejoin him, and deemed himself fortunate in finding the carriage still there. He was still waiting when the remnant of the column confided to Maurice and Chanlouineau came up.
The handsomest young farmer in the country, and the best also. Ah! he has good blood in his veins; we may well be proud of him." "Ask him to stop," said M. d'Escorval. Lacheneur leaned over the balustrade, and, forming a trumpet out of his two hands, he called: "Oh! Chanlouineau!" The robust young farmer raised his head. "Come up," shouted Lacheneur; "the baron wishes to speak with you."
From this total wreck of her cherished ambitions, of her hopes, of her fortune, of her happiness, and of her future, she had not even saved her honor. But was she alone responsible? Who had imposed upon her the odious role which she had played with Maurice, Martial, and Chanlouineau? As this last name darted through her mind, the scene in the prison-cell rose suddenly and vividly before her.
"Ah!" exclaimed Maurice, in a ferocious tone; "so they imprison women also!" The worthy corporal struck himself a heavy blow upon the forehead. "I am an old stupid!" he exclaimed, "and express myself badly. I meant to say that I came to seek mademoiselle at the request of one of the condemned, a man named Chanlouineau, who desires to speak with her."
Confined in the cell next to that which Chanlouineau had occupied, Lacheneur had fallen into a state of gloomy despondency, which lasted during his whole term of imprisonment. He was terribly broken, both in body and in mind. Once only did the blood mount to his pallid cheek, and that was on the morning when the Duc de Sairmeuse entered the cell to interrogate him.
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