THE MARCHIONESS OF BRINVILLIERS,

THE POISONER OF THE SEVENTEENTH

A ROMANCE OF OLD PARIS.

BY ALBERT SMITH.

[WITH AN ILLUSTRATION BY J. LEECH.]

CENTURY.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

The Flight of Marie to Liége.- Paris.-The Gibbet of Montfaucon.

MIDNIGHT was sounded upon the heavy bell of the Bastille by the sentinel on guard but a few minutes before the Marchioness of Brinvilliers-terrified, breathless, and, in spite of her hurry, shivering in her light dress beneath the intense cold,-arrived at the Hôtel D'Aubray. There were no signs of life in that quarter of Paris, for the inhabitants had long retired to rest: a faint light, gleaming from the front windows of Marie's residence upon the snow that covered the thoroughfare, alone served to guide her to the door. The drowsy concierge admitted her, and she hurried across the inner court, and up stairs to her own apart

ment.

Françoise Roussel, her servant, was waiting up for her. Her mistress had left in such an extreme of anxiety, and half-undressed, that Françoise saw at once an affair of great moment had disturbed her; and now, as Marie returned, the girl was frightened by her almost ghastly look. As she entered the room she fell panting on one of the causeuses, and then her servant perceived that she had lost one of her shoes, and had been walking, perhaps nearly the whole distance from the Place Maubert, with her small naked foot upon the snow, without discovering it. In her hurried toilet, she had merely arisen from her bed, and drawn her shoes on, without anything else; and throwing a heavy loose robe about her, had thus hurried with Lachaussée to Glazer's house; for from Gaudin's accomplice she had learned the first tidings of his death, and the dangerous position in which she stood. And now,

scarcely knowing in the terror and agony of the moment what course to adopt, she remained for some minutes pressing her hands to her forehead, as if to seize and render available some of the confused and distracting thoughts which were hurrying through her almost bewildered brain. A few offers of assistance on the part of her domestic were met with short and angry refusals; and Françoise, almost as frightened as the Marchioness herself, remained gazing at her, not knowing what measures she ought next to adopt.

Meanwhile Desgrais, with the important casket, and accompanied by the clerk Frater, and Maître Picard, had reached the house of M. Artus, the commissary of police in the Rue des Noyers, arriving there not two minutes after Marie had quitted it to regain her own abode. Philippe Glazer had accompanied them, partly from being in a measure an implicated party in the affair, but chiefly out of anxiety for the position of the Marchioness, in whose guilt he had not the slightest belief. He was aware of her connexion with Sainte-Croix ; but this was a matter of simple gallantry, and in the time of Louis Quatorze much

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more likely to enlist the sympathies of the many on the side of the erring party, than to excite their indignation.

"I suppose you have no further occasion for me?" observed Maître Picard, as he stood at the foot of M. Artus's bed, after having awaited the conclusion of Desgrais's account of the discovery ; " because, if you have not, I would fain go home."

The little bourgeois was thinking of the roast pheasant which he had abandoned to the voracity of the Gascon. He had a wild hope that it might be yet untouched.

"Stop, mon brave," said Desgrais. "You cannot leave me until we have found Madame de Brinvilliers. I have only missed her by a few seconds. You must come on with me to her house, where she most likely is by this time."

"I suppose there is no necessity for me to remain here longer," said Philippe Glazer.

"None whatever, monsieur," replied the Exempt. "You will take care of M. de Sainte-Croix's property; and we may call upon you tomorrow to analyse the contents of this casket."

Philippe bowed, and left the room. The moment he was clear of the house, having borrowed a lighted lantern from one of the guard, who was at the door, he set off as fast as his legs would carry him towards the Rue St. Paul, having heard enough to convince him that the Marchioness was in danger of being arrested. Upon reaching the Hôtel D'Aubray he clamoured loudly for admission. At the sound of the first knock he perceived a form, which he directly recognised to be that of Marie, peep from behind the edge of the curtain and immediately disappear. Some little delay took place before his summons was answered; and then the concierge, peering through the half-opening of the door, told him that Madame de Brinvilliers was not within. Pushing the menial on one side, with a hurried expression of disbelief, Philippe forced his way into the court, and perceived, as he entered, the figure of the Marchioness hurrying up stairs. He bounded after her, and stood by her side upon the landing.

"Philippe!" exclaimed Marie, as she recognised his features. "I was afraid it was Desgrais; and I had gone down to give orders that no one might be admitted."

"You have not an instant to lose," replied young Glazer hurriedly, "and must leave the house in reality. I have just now left them with M. Artus, about to come on and arrest you. You must fly-instantly."

"Fly! by what means?" asked Marie; "my horses are at Offemont, except the one at - at his house in the Rue des Bernardins. O Philippe!" she continued, "tell me what to do in this fearful extremity. I know not how to act-I am nearly dead."

All her self-possession-all her duplicity gave way beneath the crushing agony of the moment. She burst into tears, and would have fallen to the ground had not Philippe caught her in his arms.

"Is there nothing in the stables that we can depart with?" asked he of Françoise, who had been watching this short scene with trembling attention. "It will not do to hire a carriage, as that would give a certain clue to our route."

"A man brought a tumbrel here this afternoon, with some things from the country. He has left it, with the horse, in the stables: and sleeps himself at the Croix d'Or, in the Rue St. Antoine."

Bring this light with you, and shew me the way," said Philippe, as he placed the Marchioness in a fauteuil, and hurried down stairs, followed by the femme de chambre.

As soon as the girl had indicated the spot, Glazer told her to return to her mistress, and bid her prepare as quickly as she could to leave Paris, taking with her only such few things as were immediately necessary. Next, pulling the drowsy horse from his stall, he proceeded to harness him, as well as his acquaintance with such matters allowed him to do, to the rude country vehicle which Françoise had spoken about. All this was not the work of five minutes; and he then returned to Marie's apartment.

But, brief as the interval had been, Marie had, in the time, recovered her wonted firmness, and, aided by her servant, had rapidly made her toilet, wrapping herself in her warmest garments for protection against the inclemency of the weather. When Philippe entered, he found Françoise occupied in making up a small parcel, half unconscious, however, of what she was doing, from flurry at the evident emergency of the circumstances; and Marie was standing before the fire, watching the destruction of a large packet of letters and other papers, which were blazing on the hearth.

"I am ready, madam," said Philippe : " do not delay your departure an instant longer, or you cannot tell into what perplexities you may fall. Every moment is of untold value."

"Where do you propose to take me?" asked the Marchioness earnestly.

"I see no better refuge for the instant than your château at Offemont."

"Offemont!" exclaimed Marie; "it is twenty leagues from Paris; and in this dreadful weather we should perish on the route."

"It must be attempted," said Philippe: you say your horses are there; and if we can once reach them, your means of getting to the frontier will be comparatively easy. We must brave everything. Your enemies I know to be numerous in Paris, and you cannot tell what charges they might bring against you when in their power, which it would be next to impossible to refute. Come, come!"

He took her by the hand, and led her to the door, the servant following them closely, and receiving from the Marchioness a number of hurried directions and commissions, which it was next to impossible she could remember. As he quitted the room, with some forethought Philippe blew out the candles, and collected the pieces; for the night would be long and dark: there were seven or eight hours of obscurity yet before them. When they got to the court where the horse and tumbrel were, the former evidently in no hurry to depart, young Glazer fastened the lantern he had borrowed from the guard to the side of the vehicle, and then assisted the Marchioness to mount, and take her seat upon some straw.

"It is a rude carriage, madam," he said; "but the journey would be less pleasant, if it was going to the Place de Grève."

Marie shuddered as he spoke; but it was unobserved in the obscurity. As soon as she was seated, Philippe drew a coarse awning over some bent sticks which spanned the interior; and, making this tight all round, prepared to start.

"Stop!" he exclaimed, as if struck by a sudden thought, "it will be as well to see all clear before us."

And he advanced to the porte cochère that opened into the street, when to his dismay he perceived the lighted cressets of the Guet Royal coming down the Rue Neuve St. Paul. In an instant he closed the door, and barred it; and, turning to Françoise, exclaimed,

"Go up to the window of your mistress's room, which looks into the road; and when the guard comes, say she is from home.”

"There is a court which leads from the stables to the Rue St. Antoine," said the Marchioness from the vehicle. "You can get out that way."

"

"It is lucky," said Philippe, "or we should otherwise have been trapped. Françoise! up-up, and detain them every instant that you can. I will prevent the concierge from replying."

He took his handkerchief and hurriedly tied it round the clapper of the bell, which hung within his reach over the porter's lodge. Then, turning round the cart, he led the horse through the inner court and stabling to the passage indicated by the Marchioness. Fortunately the snow was on the ground, and there was little noise made beyond the creaking of the vehicle, which in half a minute emerged into the Rue St. Antoine, and Philippe closed the gate behind him.

The thoroughfare was dark and silent; but the snow was falling heavily, as its twinkling by the side of the lantern proved. This was so far lucky, because it would cover up the traces of their route almost as soon as they were made. The fugitives could plainly hear the sound of voices and the clatter of arms in the Rue Neuve St. Paul; and, aware that the delay could only last for a few minutes, Philippe urged on the animal as well as he could, and turned up a small street which ran in a northerly direction from the Rue St. Antoine.

"You are passing the gate," said Marie, who all along had been looking anxiously from the vehicle, as she pointed towards the Bastille, where one or two lights could be seen, apparently suspended in the air, from the windows of the officials and the guard-room.

"I know it, madame," replied Philippe. "It would not be safe for us to leave the city by that barrier. It is the nearest to your house; and if they suspect or discover that you have left Paris, they will directly conclude it is by the Porte St. Antoine there, and follow you. Besides, we might be challenged by the sentinels."

"You are right," said the Marchioness; "the Porte du Temple will be better."

And, shrouding herself in her cloak, she withdrew under the rough shelter of the tilt; whilst Philippe kept on, still leading the horse, through a labyrinth of small narrow streets, which would have been cut by a line drawn from the Bastille to the Temple. At last he emerged upon the new road formed by the destruction of the fortifications, which we now know as the Boulevards, and reached the gate in question, which he passed through unquestioned by the gardien, who merely regarded the little party as belonging to one of the markets. Had he been entering the city instead, he would have been challenged; but, as the authorities did not care what any one took out of it, he was allowed to go on his way, amidst a few houses immediately beyond the barrier, forming the commencement of the Faubourg, until he came into the more open country. Here the reflected light from the white ground in some measure diminished the obscurity. The snow, too, had drifted into the hollows, leaving the road pretty clear; and Philippe clambered on to the front of the tumbrel, taking the reins in his hand, and drove on as he best might towards the grande route. Not a word