Читать книгу The Complete Works of Emile Zola - Emile Zola - Страница 92

THE ESCAPE

THE next morning, at about seven o’clock, Marius hired a cabriolet. He did not wish to go by the diligence, and as he needed a vehicle for the flight he preferred to hire one at Marseille which would take him to Aix, and serve to bring back his brother. On the previous evening he had made an arrangement with a sea captain to convey Philippe to Genoa.

Marius and Fine set out at nine o’clock, the young man driving. It was quite a pleasure party for the two lovers. At the hill of La Viste, they got down and ran along the road like children, letting the horse come on at his own pace. They breakfasted in a small room at an auberge at Septèmes, and at dessert sketched out a multitude of plans for the future. Now that Philippe was about to be set at liberty they could think of their marriage, and were quite affected as they saw the time approaching when they would be able to love in peace.

The remainder of the journey was also very gay. Towards noon they passed beside the Albertas property, and stopped again, to give the horse breath and take rest themselves, beneath the trees on the right hand side of the road, reaching Aix at three o’clock. Notwithstanding all the delay, they still arrived too soon. So as not to arouse suspicion they had decided not to go to the prison until the evening. In the meantime the young man left the cabriolet in care of his companion in a deserted street, and proceeded to the house of his relative Isnard, who placed horse and trap in safety, promising to bring them at midnight precisely to the summit of the hill of Arc. When these precautions had been taken the two young people hid themselves until dark.

As Marius and Fine were returning to Isnard’s shop, the former, at the turn of a street, almost fell into the arms of M. de Cazalis, but he walked on rapidly with his head bent down, and the deputy did not notice him; nevertheless the young man was in despair at this meeting. He felt extremely anxious, fearing that some new misfortune might happen at the eleventh hour, to prevent him bringing his task to a happy issue. M. de Cazalis had no doubt come to Aix to hasten his vengeance, he thought, and had perhaps succeeded.

Marius was in a fever until the evening, and the most strange ideas passed through his mind. Now that he had the money, he dreaded meeting with other obstacles. At last, at nine o’clock, he went to the gaol accompanied by Fine. The two young people knocked at the massive door. A heavy step was heard and a harsh voice inquired what they wanted.

“It is us, uncle,” exclaimed Fine. “Open the door.” — “Open quick, Monsieur Revertégat,” added Marius in his turn.

The voice grumbled and answered in a surly tone: “M. Revertégat is no longer here, he is ill.” The wicket was shut, and Marius and Fine stood mute and bewildered at the closed door.

The flower-girl had not thought it necessary to write to her uncle for four months. She had his promise and that sufficed. So the news of his illness fell on her and her companion like a thunderbolt. It had never struck them that the old fellow might be ill. And now all their efforts were paralysed by an unforeseen impediment. They had Philippe’s ransom and were unable to deliver him. When they had in a measure recovered from their painful astonishment, Fine drew herself up.

“Let us go and see my uncle,” she exclaimed, “he must be with one of his cousins in the Rue de la Glacière.”

“What’s the use?” answered Marius, “all is lost.”

“No, no, come along.”

He followed her as if bowed down by despair, while she stepped out boldly, unable to believe that chance could possibly be so cruel.

Revertégat was, in fact, at his cousins’ in the Rue de la Glacière. He had been laid up there for a fortnight. When he saw the young people enter, he understood their errand. He raised himself up, kissed his niece on the forehead, and said to her with a smile:

“Well! the hour has come then?”

“We have been to the prison,” answered the young girl, “and they told us^ you were ill.”

“Good heavens! why did you not warn us?” exclaimed Marius sorrowfully, “we would have been more expeditious.”‘

“Yes,” continued the flower-girl, “now you are no longer gaoler, what are we going to do?”

Revertégat looked at them and seemed surprised at their despondency.

“Why are you in such despair?” he inquired at last. “I am rather unwell, it is true; I asked for a holiday, but I still hold my post; I shall be at your orders tomorrow evening, if you like.”

Marius and Fine uttered an exclamation of delight.

“The man who answered you,” continued Revertégat, “is taking my place for a few days. Tomorrow morning I shall go and resume my duties; I have now only a little fever, and can go out without danger. Besides, the matter is urgent.”

“I knew there was no occasion for despair!” exclaimed the flower-girl triumphantly.

Marius was trembling with emotion.

“You did quite right to come and see me today,” continued the gaoler after a short silence. “I heard this morning that M. de Cazalis was at Aix, and was doing all he could to hasten on the performance of the sentence. They tell me he has succeeded in having it fixed for three days hence. If M. Philippe should not get away tomorrow night, I shall no longer be able to be of use to you, for after tomorrow the prisoner will be transferred to the gaol at Marseille.”

Marius shuddered. He had come just in time. He arranged with the gaoler and made an appointment for the next evening. He then ran and told Isnard that the escape was delayed for twenty-four hours.

On the morrow, the two young people remained hidden all day, and having a certitude, they were more calm. The escape was to be made at eleven o’clock. Towards ten, they repaired to the prison. Revertégat, who was at his post, gently opened the door and introduced them into the gaol.

“All is ready,” he said.

“Is my brother prepared?” inquired Marius.

“Yes, but I have had to take some precautions. To save my responsibility as much as possible, I wish the prisoner to appear to have fled by the window of his cell.”

“That’s a capital idea, uncle,” Fine interrupted, gaily.

“This is what I’ve done,” continued Revertégat. “This afternoon I filed through one of the bars at M. Philippe’s window, myself.”

“But is it necessary for my brother to go through the window?” asked Marius, anxiously.

“Not in the least; we shall fetch him now, and he’ll walk out with us by the door. Only I shall remove the one bar and fasten a piece of cord to the others. Tomorrow they will suppose he escaped that way. I shall all the same send in my resignation, but by following this plan I shall avoid great annoyance.”

Revertégat lit a dark lantern and the three proceeded towards Philippe’s cell. They found him up and ready to leave, but he was so pale and emaciated that Marius hesitated to recognise him. They greeted each other in silence, refraining from speaking, so as not to make a noise. The gaoler went to the window, wrenched out the iron bar and fastened the cord. Fine had remained in the passage on the watch, and all four then returned down the narrow corridors, gliding slowly along the walls in fear of knocking up against each other in the. dark.

Marius had not let go of Philippe’s hand. As soon as they had attained the gaoler’s lodge he threw a cloak over him, hid his head in the hood, and wanted to get away at once. Now that he had almost reached the end of his trouble, he dreaded failure. He started at the least sound. Revertégat who feared that the noise they had made coming along the passages, might have given the alarm, had the greatest difficulty in keeping him quiet for a few minutes; being determined not to open the gate until he was sure that all was well. When he had ascertained that absolute silence reigned in the prison, he decided to draw back the bolts.

The two brothers with heads bent down, hurried off towards the Place des Prêcheurs, Fine remaining behind for a moment, to give her uncle the fifteen thousand francs. She rejoined her companions just as they were entering the little Rue Saint Jean.

They then took the Cours, walking in the dark shadow of the trees. They had now only one fear: they must quit the town, then closed with gates, which the keepers were required to open to belated travellers; and they were in dread of being stopped there miserably.

They continued walking, glancing around them, distrustful of the few people they happened to meet. On reaching the Rue des Carmes they perceived a man who began following them. Their hearts were beating fit to break. Suddenly this person hurried forward, and came and tapped Marius merrily on the shoulder.

“Eh! I’m not mistaken,” he said, “it’s you, my young friend. What on earth are you doing at this time of night on the Cours?”

Marius, in silent anger, was already clenching his fists, when he recognised the voice of M. de Girousse.

“As you see, I’m taking a walk,” he stammered.

“Ah! You’re taking a walk,” continued the count in a bantering tone.

He looked at Fine and particularly at Philippe wrapped up in his cloak.

“That’s a form I know,” he murmured.

And he added with his friendly abruptness of manner:

“Shall I accompany you? You wish to leave Aix, do you not? They don’t open the gate to everyone. I know a keeper. Come on.”

Marius gratefully accepted. M. de Girousse had the gate opened without difficulty. On the way he had not addressed a single word to the young people, but when they reached the Place de la Rotonde he held out his hand to Marius and said:

“I’m going in by the Obitelle Gate. A pleasant journey.”

And bending forward he added in an undertone:

“I shall have a good laugh tomorrow when I see de Cazalis’ face.”

As Marius looked after this generous man, who hid his goodness of heart beneath the sour-tempered manners of a welldoer, he was quite affected.

Isnard was awaiting the fugitives with the cabriolet. Philippe wished to drive so as to receive all the night air full in the face. He experienced intense delight in feeling the vehicle bearing him away in the darkness and appreciated to the utmost all the charm of liberty.

Then came effusions of the heart and mutual confidences as the horse slowly ascended the hills.

Fine and Marius confessed their love to Philippe, and when the latter heard that they would soon be married he became sad. He thought of Blanche. Marius understood his feelings and conversing with him, in an undertone, promised to watch over everything during his absence. In the meanwhile he would make active efforts to obtain his pardon, and neither he nor Fine would forget the exile.

The next morning, Philippe leaning on the bulwarks of a little craft bound for Genoa, gazed for a long time towards the shore of Saint Henri. Right away, above the blue waves, he perceived a grey speck, the house where poor Blanche was shedding away all the tears in her heart.