“And yet you kept silent?” demanded de Scudéry. “You did not testify before the court as to what transpired?”

  “Please permit me,” Miossens continued, “permit me, esteemed Mademoiselle, to point out that such a testimony would ensnare me in a messy legal business, if not lead to my complete undoing. Would la Regnie, in his tireless effort to sniff out criminals every which way he turned, have ever believed me had I accused the upright Master Cardillac, that epitome of piety and virtue, of attempted murder? Would not the sacred sword of justice have promptly turned its pointed edge against me?”

  “That’s impossible,” cried de Scudéry, “given your noble birth, your social status.”

  “Is that so?” Miossens retorted. “Just think of the Marshall of Luxembourg, who was imprisoned in the Bastille on suspicion of murder by poisoning simply because of a predeliction for having his horoscope told by le Sage. No, in the name of Saint Denis, I wouldn’t concede a hair’s breadth or the tip of my ear to that rabid la Regnie, dying to stick his knife into all our throats.”

  “But by remaining silent, you ensure that the innocent Brusson is bound for the gallows!” de Scudéry cut him off.

  “Innocent,” replied Miossens, “innocent, my good Mademoiselle, is that how you characterize the accomplice of that accursed Cardillac, who stood by him in his dastardly deeds, a man who earned death by execution a hundred times over? No, by God, that blaggard deserves to die, and the fact, most esteemed Mademoiselle, that I revealed to you the true circumstances of the case, was done on the supposition that you might somehow be able to make use of my secret on behalf of your protégé without delivering me into the bloodthirsty hands of the chambre ardente.”

  Enraptured in her heart of hearts to see her firm belief in Brusson’s innocence confirmed so conclusively, she did not hesitate to tell all to the count, well aware as he already was of Cardillac’s crimes, and to urge him to go with her to d’Andilly. All was to be revealed to the lawyer under a pledge of confidentiality, and his counsel sought as to how to proceed.

  Once de Scudéry had told all to the barrister in precise detail, d’Andilly again inquired after the most minute details of the case. In particular, he asked Count Miossens if he, too, was firmly convinced that he had been attacked by Cardillac, and if he would be able to identify Olivier Brusson as the individual who carried off the corpse.

  “In addition to the fact that I clearly recognized the goldsmith in the bright moonlight,” Miossens replied, “I also saw in la Regnie’s possession the dagger with which Cardillac was laid low. It is my dagger, clearly distinguishable by the fine handiwork of the hilt. Having stood on that night one step away and clearly able to make out all the facial features of the youth, whose hat had fallen, I would surely be able to recognize and identify him again.”

  D’Andilly looked down for several minutes in silence, then he spoke: “There is absolutely no way by ordinary means to save Brusson from the clutches of justice. For Madelon’s sake, he does not wish to identify Cardillac as a murderer. Even if he did so, and managed, by revealing the existence of the secret exit door, to account for the stolen loot, he would still be condemned to die as an accomplice. The same would hold true were Count Miossens to testify in court concerning the true circumstances of the incident with the goldsmith. A postponement in the proceedings is all that we can seek. Count Miossens must beget himself to the Conciergerie, request a meeting with the prisoner Olivier Brusson, and recognize him as the individual who carried off Cardillac’s corpse. He must hasten to call on la Regnie and say, ‘In the Rue Saint-Honoré I saw a person laid low, I stood directly beside the body as another leapt forth, bent down to the body and, sensing a flicker of life left, hoisted him onto his shoulders and carried him off. I recognized Olivier Brusson as the man who carried him off.’ This testimony will require the court to once again interrogate Brusson, in the presence of Count Miossens. Now then, the torture will be averted and the investigation continue. It will then be the right time to turn to the king himself. I will leave it to your ingenuity, my dear Mademoiselle, how best to approach His Majesty. In my opinion, it would be advisable to reveal the entire secret to the king. Count Miossens’s testimony will support Brusson’s confessions. A covert search of Cardillac’s house may perhaps prove fruitful. Brusson cannot be saved through law alone, but based on His Majesty’s inkling of extenuating circumstances, mercy may mitigate the sentence where the judge would be compelled to order punishment.”

  Count Miossens listened carefully to d’Andilly’s advice, and matters proceeded as the barrister predicted.

  Now the time came to approach the king, and this was the touchiest matter, since His Majesty so abhorred Brusson, whom he held to be the sole loathsome murderer who had so long kept Paris in a state of fear and trembling, that even the most offhand mention of the trial would bring on a fit of blind anger. True to her precept never to speak to the king of unpleasant things, Madame de Maintenon rejected any intervention regarding this matter, and so Brusson’s fate fell entirely into the hands of de Scudéry. After mulling things over for quite a while, she came to a resolve and promptly carried it out. She donned a black robe of heavy silk, adorned herself with Cardillac’s precious jewels, hung a long, black veil over her face, and appeared in this manner at the apartments of Maintenon at the hour when the king was customarily present.

  The noble figure of the venerable mademoiselle decked out in this ceremonious attire had a majestic air that must surely have aroused great respect, even among the loafing riffraff that customarily milled about in the antechambers. All dutifully stepped aside, and when she entered the reception room even the astonished king arose and strode toward her. The priceless diamonds in the necklace and bracelet immediately caught his eye and he cried out, “Heavens, those are Cardillac’s jewels!” And turning then to Maintenon, he added with a comely smile, “See, Madame la Marquise, how our lovely bride mourns her bridegroom.”

  “Oh, Honored Sire,” de Scudéry replied, as if perpetuating the ruse, “how would it befit a bride in mourning to deck herself out in such finery? No, I have completely cut myself off from that goldsmith, and would no longer have given him a thought, were I not haunted by the heinous image of how, having been murdered, his body was carried off.”

  “How’s that?” inquired the king. “How in heaven’s name! You saw the poor devil being dragged off?”

  De Scudéry related in a few words, not yet mentioning Brusson’s involvement, how by chance she happened to be passing in front of Cardillac’s house as the murder was discovered. She evoked Madelon’s distraught state, the profound impression that the poor child had made on her, the manner in which, amid the whoops of the mob, she saved the girl from Desgrais’s clutches. With ever growing and more fervent interest, the king listened to her account of the scenes involving la Regnie, Desgrais, and finally alluding to Olivier Brusson himself. Deeply moved by the force of the most poignant description of life in de Scudéry’s impassioned telling, the king did not immediately realize that she touched upon the hateful trial of Brusson, the man he found so loathsome, and could not manage to get a word in edgewise, only succeeding every now and then to give vent to his mounting emotions with a burst of air. Incensed at the outrage of it all, before he fully fathomed and managed to make sense of all that he had just heard, de Scudéry had already flung herself at his feet and begged for mercy for Olivier Brusson.

  “What are you doing,” the king exclaimed, grabbing her by both hands and drawing her into a chair. “What are you doing, my dear Mademoiselle? You surprise me in the strangest way! That is such a terrible story! What guarantees the truth of Brusson’s bizarre account?”

  De Scudéry replied, “Miossens’s testimony, the search of Cardillac’s house, and my inner conviction— dear God! Madelon’s virtuous heart, the same virtue I recognized in that poor unfortunate Brusson!”

  About to reply, the king turned upon hearing a sound at the door. Louvois, who had just been working in the room next door, looked in with a troubled mien. The king got up and followed Louvois out the door. Both de Scudéry and Maintenon considered this interruption dangerous, for once having been taken by surprise, the king would likely take care not to fall into the same trap twice. But several minutes later the king returned, strode swiftly back and forth a few times in the room, then positioned himself face to face with de Scudéry with his hands crossed behind his back, and whispered half in silence without looking at her, “I would like to meet your Madelon!”

  “Oh, my most gracious Majesty,” de Scudéry replied, “what great, great fortune you bestow on that poor, unfortunate child! A mere wink from you is all it takes to have the girl prostrate before you.”

  And then she scurried toward the door as fast as she could in her black dress, called out, “The king wants Madelon Cardillac to appear before him!” and promptly returned, weeping and sobbing with rapture and deep emotion. Having anticipated such royal kindness, she had brought Madelon along. The girl remained with Madame la Marquise’s lady-in-waiting, with a brief petition in hand drafted by d’Andilly. Moments later she lay speechless at the king’s feet. Fear— bewilderment— deep veneration— love and pain— a muddle of all these emotions made the seething blood flow ever more quickly through all her veins.

  Her cheeks glowed bright purple— her eyes glittered with luminous pearls of tears that filtered through her silken lashes and fell from time to time upon her lovely lily-white breast. The king appeared to be bedazzled by the wondrous beauty of the angelic child. He gently lifted the girl from the ground, then made a gesture as if wanting to kiss her hand that he held in his. He let her hand fall again and peered at the lovely child with a tear-soaked gaze, which attested to he himself being choked with profound emotion.

  Quietly Maintenon whispered to de Scudéry, “Is she not the spitting image of La Vallière, that dear little thing? The king is reveling in the sweetest stream of memories. Your game is won.”

  As quietly as Maintenon whispered, the king appeared to have heard her words. His face flushed red and his gaze withered Madame. He read the petition that Madelon had handed him, and spoke then in a mild and kindly voice, “I am well inclined to believe that you, my dear child, are convinced of the innocence of your beloved; but let us hear what the chambre ardente has to say!”

  With a swift and gentle motion of the hand the king dismissed the girl, who was about to drown in a flood of tears.

  De Scudéry realized to her horror, that the memory of La Vallière, as favorable to her cause as it had first appeared, had the contrary effect on the king’s mood as soon as Maintenon mentioned her name. Might it be that the king was somehow so vexed by the memory that he was on the point of sacrificing beauty, or perhaps His Majesty felt like the dreamer who, stirred by a fleeting magical image he thought to embrace, mourned its fast fading. Perhaps he no longer saw before him his erstwhile mistress La Vallière, but rather thought of Soeur Louise de la Miséricorde (La Vallière’s cloister name in the convent of the Carmelite nuns she joined), whose memory pained him with her piety and penance. What else was there left for de Scudéry to do now but quietly wait for the king’s decision?

  Count Miossens’s testimony before the chambre ardente had in the meantime become known and, as is often the case, public opinion being easily driven from one extreme to another, the very same man who had first been maligned as the most reprehensible murderer and whom the crowd threatened to tear to pieces even before being brought to the execution site, was now bemoaned as the innocent sacrificial lamb of a barbaric justice system. Only now did the neighbors recall his virtuous way of life, his great love for Madelon, his devotion, and the total commitment of body and soul he brought to the old goldsmith. Great throngs often gathered in a threatening manner before la Regnie’s palace, crying out: “Let Olivier Brusson go, he is innocent!” and even throwing stones at the windows, so that la Regnie was obliged to seek the protection of the gendarmes before the infuriated mob.

  Many days went by without de Scudéry having the least knowledge of how Olivier Brusson’s trial was proceeding. Inconsolable, she repaired to the apartments of Madame de Maintenon, who assured her that the king was silent about the matter, and that it did not seem advisable to remind him of it. But when Maintenon inquired with a strange smile how dear little La Vallière was doing, de Scudéry became convinced that deep inside the heart of the proud woman seethed a chagrin concerning a certain matter that could well entice the irascible king into a psychic territory to which she herself was barred. De Scudéry now fathomed that nothing more was to be hoped for from Maintenon.

  Finally, with d’Andilly’s help, de Scudéry managed to establish that the king had had a long secret talk with Count Miossens. Further, that Bontemps, the king’s trusted valet de chambre and charge d’affaires, had been to the Conciergerie and had spoken with Brusson, and finally that this Bontemps had gone to Cardillac’s house with a company of men and spent a considerable amount of time there. Claude Patru, the occupant of the ground-floor apartment, confirmed that all night long he heard a rumbling overhead, and it is certain that Olivier was present, for he clearly recognized his voice. This much was certain, that the king himself sought to investigate the true connection between the facts of the case; what seemed incomprehensible, however, was His Majesty’s lengthy hesitation to come to a decision. La Regnie must surely have done his utmost to keep his teeth firmly planted in any victims who sought to be released from his clutches. This spoiled any hope of germinating the truth.

  Almost a month had gone by, when Madame de Maintenon sent word to de Scudéry that the king wished to see her that evening at Maintenon’s apartments.

  De Scudéry’s heart beat double-time, cognizant that Brusson’s fate was about to be decided. She told poor Madelon, who fervently prayed to the Virgin and all the saints in heaven to instill in the king’s heart the conviction of Brusson’s innocence.

  And yet it seemed at first as if the king had forgotten the entire matter; as usual, engaged in charming chitchat with Maintenon and de Scudéry, he did not devote so much as a syllable to poor Brusson. At long last, Bontemps appeared, approached the king, and whispered a few words so quietly that both women were unable to catch the drift. De Scudéry was on tenterhooks. Finally, the king got up, walked toward her, and spoke with a radiant expression. “I wish you luck, my dear Mademoiselle – your protégé, Olivier Brusson, is free!”

  Tears welling up in her eyes, unable to utter a word, de Scudéry wanted to fling herself at the king’s feet. But he held her back from so doing, saying, “Now, now, my dear Mademoiselle, you ought to be a parliamentary lawyer and fight out my lawsuits, for by Saint Denis, your powers of persuasion are second to none. But be that as it may,” he added in a more serious tone of voice, “whosoever rises to the defense of the cause of virtue itself is not immune to the insidious accusations of the chambre ardente and all the courts of law in the world!”

  De Scudéry finally found the words to express her gratitude in the most glowing terms. The king interrupted her, announcing that she awaited expressions of far more fiery thanks in her own house than he might expect of her, for it was likely that at this very moment the fortunate Olivier Brusson was embracing his Madelon. “Bontemps,” the king concluded, “will pay out to you a thousand Louis d’or in my name as a dowry for dear little Madelon. May she marry her Brusson, who hardly deserves such good fortune, but then let both of them leave Paris. That is my wish.”

  Martinière came running toward her mistress, followed by Baptiste, both greeting her with faces glimmering with joy, both cheering, and crying out, “He is here!— He is free!— Oh, the dear young folks!”

  The jubilant couple fell to de Scudéry’s feet. “Oh, I always knew that you, you alone would save my bridegroom,” cried Madelon.

  “Dear God, I never lost faith in you, my mother,” Olivier cried, and both kissed the hands of the worthy lady and shed a thousand hot tears. They embraced again and affirmed that the otherworldly bliss of this moment offset all the nameless sufferings of the past days, and they swore never to be separated from each other until death do them part.

  A few days later they were united by the blessings of a priest. Even if it had not been the will of the king, Brusson would not have been able to remain in Paris, where everything reminded him of that terrible time of the misdeeds of Cardillac, and where a chance mishap revealing the dark secret to more people could have adverse consequences and forever disrupt his peaceful life. Immediately after the wedding, with the blessings of Mademoiselle de Scudéry, he moved with his young bride to Geneva. Richly endowed by Madelon’s dowry, and given his exceptional skill in his craft, and his virtuous demeanor, the two enjoyed a happy, carefree life together. The selfsame aspirations were fulfilled that had failed his father and led him to an early grave.

  A year after Brusson’s departure from Paris, a public proclamation signed by Harloy de Chauvalon, Archbishop of Paris, and by the barrister Pierre Arnaud d’Andilly, let it be known that a penitent sinner as a sacrament of penance bequeathed to the church a lavish stolen fortune of diamonds and jewelry. Everyone who had until the end of 1680 been divested of jewelry on the public street by an attacker with murderous intent was invited to get in touch with d’Andilly, and, should the description of the stolen jewel perfectly match that of any of the pieces found in said treasure hoard, and should there be no other doubt as to the legitimacy of said person’s rightful claim, would retrieve the jewelry. Many of those among Cardillac’s prey who had not been murdered but merely knocked unconscious by a fisticuff found their way to the barrister’s offices, and to their considerable surprise, got their stolen jewelry back. The rest of the treasure was left to the Church of Saint-Eustache in Paris.