After Ricarik had finished reading this pious letter he again said to the abbess: "Madam, may it please you to sign."

Meroflede took the pen and wrote at the bottom, "MEROFLEDE, ABBESS OF MERIADEK," after which she said with a satanic leer: "The Bishop of Nantes is a skilful man; he will know how to make the miracle tell; a century hence people will speak of the prodigy to which the virgins of the convent of Meriadek owed their deliverance." An instant later she said distractedly: "The fires of h.e.l.l are burning in my veins!"

"What, madam, are you still thinking of Berthoald? How strong an impression must he have made upon you!"

"What I feel for that man is a mixture of contempt, hatred and amorous frenzy.... I am frightened at my own feelings.... No other man ever inspired me with such a pa.s.sion!"

"There is a very simple method of ridding yourself of these agonies....

I proposed the method to you.... I am ready to apply it."

"Take care! No violence upon him! Your life answers to me for his!"

"What are your intentions?"

"I do not know what to decide upon.... One moment I wish him to undergo a thousand deaths ... the next I am ready to fall at his knees, and ask pardon.... I am out of my mind ... out of my mind with love!" And the abbess wrung her hands, bit into the cushions of the lounge, and tore them with her nails in savage fury. Suddenly rising, her eyes wet with tears and glistening with pa.s.sion, she cried: "Give me the key of Berthoald's prison!"

"It is on this bunch," answered the intendant pointing to several keys that hung from his belt.

"Give me that one quick!"

"Here it is," said the intendant, detaching a large iron key from the bunch. Meroflede took the key, contemplated it in silence, and fell into a revery.

"Madam," said Ricarik, "I shall order the messenger in waiting to depart with your letter to the Bishop of Nantes."

"Go.... Go.... Take the letter and return!"

"I shall also take a look at the old goldsmith's shop.... He is to cast the large silver vase to-day!"

"Oh! What do I care!"

"There is a vague suspicion in my mind. I imagined this morning I noticed a sign of embarra.s.sment on the face of the wily old man. He told me he was to lock himself in the whole day. I suspect he has a plot with his apprentices to pilfer a portion of the metal. He also notified me the casting would not commence until night. I wish to see how it is done. I shall then come back, madam. Have you any other orders for me, my abbess?"

Meroflede remained plunged in revery, holding in her hand the key of Amael's prison. After a few seconds of silence, and without raising her eyes that remained fixed upon the floor, she said to the intendant:

"When you go out, tell Madeleine to bring me my cloak and a lighted lamp."

"Your cloak, madam? Do you expect to go out? Do you need it to go to Berthoald in his prison----?"

Meroflede interrupted the intendant by stamping her foot in a rage, and pointed him to the door with an imperious gesture, saying:

"Begone, vile slave!"

CHAPTER XI.

THE FLIGHT.

Bonaik, his apprentices, Rosen-Aer, and Septimine, confined since morning in the workshop, had impatiently waited for night. Everything was in readiness for the escape of Amael from the cavern when darkness should set in. The glare of the brasier in the forge and the furnace alone lighted the workshop.

"You are young and strong," said the old man to his apprentices; "for want of better weapons, the iron bars that have been removed from the window may serve you to defend us. Deposit them in a corner. Now pa.s.s the barrel out of the window, and fasten to one of the hoops this string, the other end of which is in Amael's hands. He is ready. He has just answered my signal."

Their hearts beating with hope and anxiety, Rosen-Aer and Septimine stood near the window in a close embrace. The apprentices pushed out the barrel. The darkness was thick. Not even the whiteness of the building in whose lower part lay Amael's prison, was distinguishable. Drawn towards himself by the latter, the barrel soon disappeared in the dark.

In the measure that it went, one of the apprentices paid out the rope attached to it. The rope was to help pull the barrel back as soon as Amael had seized it. At that critical moment a profound silence reigned in the workshop. All seemed to hold their breath. Despite the pitchy darkness of the night that prevented anything being seen without, the eyes of all sought to penetrate the obscurity. Finally, after a few minutes of anxiety, the apprentice, who, leaning out of the window, held the cord that was to pull the barrel back, said to the old man: "Master Bonaik, the prisoner is out of the cavern; he is holding the barrel; I feel the cord tighten."

"Then, you pull, my boy!... Pull gently.... Do not jerk!"

"He is coming," replied the apprentice joyfully; "the prisoner's weight is upon the barrel."

"Great G.o.d!" suddenly cried Rosen-Aer, pointing out of the window. "Look in the cavern! There is a light!... All is lost!"

Indeed, a strong light, shed by a lamp, suddenly appeared in the subterranean prison. The semi-circular opening of the air-hole was luminously marked across the darkness. The reverberation of the light projected itself upon the water in the moat--and revealed the fugitive, who, half submerged, held himself up with his two hands on the floating barrel. Immediately after, Meroflede appeared at the air-hole wrapped in her scarlet cloak with its hood thrown back, and leaning against the remaining bars which Amael had not had time to remove. At the sight of the fugitive, the abbess uttered a scream of rage and cried twice, "Berthoald! Berthoald!" She then disappeared, taking her lamp with her, so that again all was left in thickest darkness without. Frightened at the appearance of the abbess, the apprentice who drew the barrel threw himself back and dropped the cord. Fortunately the goldsmith seized it as soon, and amidst the mortal fear of all, drew the barrel close to the window, saying: "Let us first save Amael."

Thanks to the barrel, which floated almost on a level with the window sill, the latter was easily scaled by the prisoner. His first movement upon stepping into the workshop was to throw himself on his mother's neck. Mother and son for a moment forgot their common danger and were holding each other in a pa.s.sionate embrace when a rap was heard at the door.

"Woe is us!" muttered one of the apprentices. "It is the abbess!"

"Impossible!" said the goldsmith. "To ascend from the prison, pa.s.s the cloister, cross the courtyard, and come as far as our workshop she would need more than ten minutes."

"Bonaik!" cried from the outside the rough voice of Ricarik, "open the door instantly."

"Oh! what shall we do! The coal vault is too narrow to conceal Rosen-Aer and her son," muttered the old man; then raising his voice, he answered: "Seigneur intendant, we are just at the cast, we cannot leave it----"

"That is the very operation I want to witness," cried back the intendant. "Open immediately."

"You, Septimine, and your son remain near the window, lean out your heads; you will otherwise be suffocated," hastily said the old man to Rosen-Aer, taking a swift resolution. And pushing Amael, his mother and Septimine to the cas.e.m.e.nt, he whispered to one of the apprentices: "Pour the full contents of the box of sulphur and bitumen upon the forge brasier.... We shall fill the workshop with smoke."

The young slave obeyed mechanically. At the moment when Ricarik began again to knock at the door with redoubled force, a sulphurous and bituminous smoke began to spread in the workshop, and soon was so intense that one could hardly see his hand before his eyes. Thus, when the old man finally proceeded to open the door to the intendant, the latter, blinded and suffocated by a puff of the pungent and thick vapor, instead of stepping in, jumped back.

"Walk in, seigneur intendant," said Bonaik, "this is the effect of the casting after the fashion of the great Eloi.... We could not open to you sooner out of fear of chilling the liquid metal, which we were pouring into the mold.... Step forward, seigneur intendant; come and see the casting."

"Go to the devil!" answered Ricarik, coughing fit to strangle and stepping further away from the threshold. "I am suffocated ... blinded!"

"It is the effect of the casting, dear seigneur," and watching the bunch of keys at the belt of the intendant, who was rubbing his smarting eyelids with both hands, Bonaik seized him by the throat and cried: "This way, boys! He has the keys of the gates!"

At the call of the old man, the apprentices and Amael rushed forward, precipitated themselves upon the intendant and smothered his cries by holding his throat tight, while Bonaik, seizing the bunch of keys, said: "Drag this fellow into the workshop and throw him out of the window into the moat. That will settle him quickly, and he will no longer punish and kill poor slaves!"

The old man's orders were immediately executed. Despite the resistance of the Frank, the noise of his body was soon heard, dropping into the water.

"Now," cried the old man, "all come here! Follow me and let us run!"

Hardly had the old man taken a few steps in the alley when he saw the slave who watched the gate approaching from a distance with a lighted lantern in his hand. "Remain hidden in the shadow," the goldsmith said in a low voice to the fugitives, and he walked briskly toward the gateman, who met him with a look of surprise:

"h.e.l.loa, old Bonaik! Is not the intendant in your workshop? I do not know what the man is thinking about. It is two hours since the boat and oarsmen are waiting for his messenger.... They are growing impatient and want to go."