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Updated: June 29, 2025
As she descended the grand staircase, she could not help saying to herself: "Martial's presence here is incomprehensible." It was certainly very extraordinary; and it had not been without much hesitation that he resolved upon this painful step. But it was the only means of procuring several important documents which were indispensable in the revision of M. d'Escorval's case.
For example, having noticed how much Marie-Anne regrets the loss of her flowers, he has declared that he is going to send her plants to stock our small garden, and that they shall be renewed every month." Like all passionate men, M. Lacheneur overdid his part. This last remark was too much; it awakened a sinister suspicion in M. d'Escorval's mind.
It was the first time that he had ever had a secret from the faithful and courageous companion of his existence. Without warning her, he went to beg Abbe Midon to follow him to the Reche, to the house of M. Lacheneur. The silence, on his part, explains Mme. d'Escorval's astonishment when, on the arrival of the dinner-hour, neither her son nor her husband appeared.
This knowledge is worth a fortune, my boy, if you are not a fool!" And he died, without being able to tell his family where he had concealed the price of Lacheneur's blood. Of all the persons who witnessed Baron d'Escorval's terrible fall, the abbe was the only one who did not despair. What a learned doctor would not have dared to do, he did. He was a priest; he had faith.
Only those who, in the bright springtime of life, have loved, have been loved in return, and have suddenly seen an impassable gulf open between them and happiness, can realize Maurice d'Escorval's disappointment. All the dreams of his life, all his future plans, were based upon his love for Marie-Anne.
He was one of those who, some days before the disaster of Waterloo, had strongly urged the Emperor to order the execution of Fouche, the former minister of police. Now, Fouche knew this counsel; and he was powerful. "Take care!" M. d'Escorval's friends wrote him from Paris.
Although he had been intrusted with several of those missions from which generals and diplomats often return laden with millions, M. d'Escorval's worldly possessions consisted only of the little patrimony bequeathed him by his father: a property which yielded an income of from twenty to twenty-five thousand francs a year.
Only I don't see that it teaches us anything." An ironical smile curved old Tirauclair's lips. "It teaches us that M. d'Escorval's father was condemned to death," he replied. "That's something, I assure you. A little patience, and you will soon know everything." A French general and politician, born at the chateau de Sairmeuse, near Montaignac, in 1758.
Do you suppose that he has been stupid enough not to have laid anything aside during all these years? He has put this money not in grounds, as he pretends, but somewhere else." "You are saying what is untrue!" interrupted Maurice, indignantly. "Monsieur Lacheneur left Sairmeuse as poor as he entered it." On recognizing M. d'Escorval's son, the peasants became extremely cautious.
This conclusion was so bold that Lecoq was disconcerted. "What!" he exclaimed; "do you suppose that M. d'Escorval's fall was only a fiction? that he didn't break his leg?" Old Tabaret's face suddenly assumed a serious expression. "I don't suppose it," he replied; "I'm sure of it."
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