One cry of horror she could not repress, when the guards, tiring of the racket kept up by their prisoners, took out their long whips and laid about them impartially, flailing at cringing backs and shoulders, and at the heads they tried to shield with their folded arms. The shouting ceased and the cart rolled on.
'Bastards! Stinking bastards, knockin' about a right'un like him!' muttered an angry voice behind her. Marianne knew the voice and, turning, saw Gracchus, whom she and Arcadius had left with the chaise in the square of Gentilly village, standing bareheaded in the rain with clenched fists and great tears rolling down his cheeks, mingling with the rainwater. He must have left the carriage to take care of itself and come himself to see the chain pass by. His eyes followed Jason's cart until it was out of sight. Then, when it had been swallowed up in the mist, and the other carts had come and gone and the kitchen wagon was clattering by with a great clanging of metal pots and pans, Gracchus looked at his mistress, who was sobbing on Jolival's shoulder.
'We're never goin' to leave him like that?' he asked belligerently.
'You know quite well we're not,' Jolival told him. 'We are going after him and we are going to do our best to free him.'
'Then what are we waiting for? Beggin' your pardon, Mademoiselle Marianne, but you'll not get him out of it by crying. We've got work to do! Where's the first stop?'
'Saint-Cyr.' It was Arcadius who answered. 'That's where the last search is made.'
'We'll be there first. Come on!'
The discreet travelling carriage, with no outward signs of wealth beyond a pair of lively-looking post horses, was waiting with lighted lamps under the trees not far from the Pont de la Bièvre. As the morning advanced, the tanneries which bordered this stretch of the river began to come to life, spreading a powerful stench through what was otherwise a pretty scene, dominated by the square church tower. Marianne and Jolival got into the chaise in silence while Gracchus hoisted himself nimbly on to the box. A click of the tongue as the whip curved gracefully through the air to flick the leader's ear, a faint creak from the axles and they were off. The long journey to Brest had begun.
Marianne leaned her cheek against the rough fabric of the squabs and abandoned herself to her tears. She wept quite silently, with no sobbing, and it did her good. It was as if the hideous sights she had just beheld were being washed from her eyes, and at the same time her own natural courage and will to succeed slowly returned to take possession of her mind. Arcadius, sitting beside her, knew her too well to make any attempt to stem the beneficent flow or offer the least word of comfort. What could he have said? It was necessary for Jason to endure this dreadful journey because it led not to his prison alone, but to the sea, from which he had always drawn his strength.
Marianne left Paris without regret, with no expectation of ever going back there, or with no more regret than the slight pang she felt at parting from her few remaining friends there: Talleyrand, the Crawfurds and, most of all, her dearest Fortunée Hamelin. But Fortunée had refused to give way to sentiment. Even as she embraced her friend for the last time, her eyes full of tears, she had insisted, with all the infectious enthusiasm of her sun-loving nature:
'This is not good-bye, Marianne! When you are an American, I shall come and visit you there, and see if the men are as handsome as they say. Judging by your corsair, it must be true!'
Talleyrand had confined himself to a calm assurance that they were bound to meet again some day, somewhere in this wide world.
Eleonora Crawfurd had applauded Marianne's plan to put the width of the ocean between herself and her alarming husband. Adelaide, left to act as mistress of the family mansion, had treated their parting in a philosophical fashion. As far as she herself was concerned, there was little to fear however matters turned out. If Marianne failed in her plans for Jason's escape, then she would of course return to her own place in the household. If she succeeded and she and Jason won their way to the State of Carolina, then there would remain nothing for Adelaide to do but pack up her traps, slip the key under the door and catch the first boat to a new and adventurous life, with the idea of which she was already half in love. All was therefore for the best in the best of all possible worlds!
Before she left Paris, moreover, Marianne had received a communication from her lawyer which, in the circumstances, was extraordinarily welcome. It stated that the unfortunate Nicolas Mallerousse had, during the time when she had stayed with him in Brest, after her escape from Morvan's manor house, constituted her his sole heir. The little house at Recouvrance and the few bits and pieces it contained were henceforth her own property, 'in memory', Nicolas had written in his will, 'of the days when she had made me feel as if I had a daughter once again'.
This legacy had touched Marianne deeply. It was as though her old friend were speaking to her from beyond the grave, assuring her of his affection still. She also saw in it the hand of Providence and something very like tacit approval on the part of fate for what she meant to do. There was, in fact, nothing which could possibly have been more useful just then than the little house on the hill, looking out one way to the sea and the other to the buildings of the arsenal and, in the midst of them, the prison.
All these things were in her mind as the horses trotted easily towards the next stage. The day was as grey as ever, but the rain had stopped. As ill luck would have it, its stopping had been the signal for a sharp wind to get up which must have been unpleasant for men out in the open in wet clothes. A hundred times, as they went on, Marianne looked back to see if the chain were yet in sight, but it never was. Even at their present gentle pace, the carriage could outstrip the lumbering wagons with ease.
Just as Jolival had predicted, they reached Saint-Cyr far in advance of the convict chain, giving him time to engage rooms for Marianne and himself in a modest but respectable inn. Even this necessitated a certain amount of argument, since her first concern was to discover where the prisoners were to spend the night. She was directed to a huge barn just outside the town, whereupon she immediately rejected the inn, declaring she could perfectly well sleep in the chaise, or even in an open field. For once, Arcadius lost his temper with her:
'What are you trying to do? Catch your death of cold? That will be a fine help, if we are obliged to put up in some inn for a week to nurse you!'
'Of course I should not stay anywhere – not if I were shivering with ague! If I were at my dying gasp I should still go with him, on foot if I had to!'
'Much good that would do you, if I may say so!' Jolival growled. 'For God's sake, Marianne, stop playing off these tragedy airs! It will not help Jason Beaufort if you catch your death on this damned road. On the contrary. And if your only aim is to mortify your flesh so as to share his sufferings, then you had better shut yourself up in a convent, my dear, the strictest we can find, where you may fast and sleep on the floor and have yourself beaten three times daily if you please! At least you will not be a hindrance when the chance of an escape does arise!'