“Good God!” cried Bordin, showing the young magistrate the three petitions for mercy; “how can I take upon myself to withdraw the application for that man.  If I suppress the paper I cut off his head.”

He held out the petition; de Grandville took it, looked it over, and said:—­

“We can’t suppress it; but be sure of one thing, if you ask all you will obtain nothing.”

“Have we time to consult Michu?” asked Bordin.

“Yes.  The order for execution comes from the office of the attorney-general; I will see that you have some days.  We kill men,” he said with some bitterness, “but at least we do it formally, especially in Paris.”

Monsieur de Chargeboeuf had already received from the chief justice certain information which added weight to these sad words of Monsieur de Grandville.

“Michu is innocent, I know,” continued the young lawyer, “but what can we do against so many?  Remember, too, that my present influence depends on my keeping silent.  I must order the scaffold to be prepared, or my late client is certain to be beheaded.”

Monsieur de Chargeboeuf knew Laurence well enough to be certain she would never consent to save her cousins at the expense of Michu; he therefore resolved on making one more effort.  He asked an audience of the minister of foreign affairs to learn if salvation could be looked for through the influence of the great diplomat.  He took Bordin with him, for the latter knew the minister and had done him some service.  The two old men found Talleyrand sitting with his feet stretched out, absorbed in contemplation of his fire, his head resting on his hand, his elbow on the table, a newspaper lying at his feet.  The minister had just read the decision of the Court of Appeals.

“Pray sit down, Monsieur le marquis,” said Talleyrand, “and you, Bordin,” he added, pointing to a place at the table, “write as follows:—­”

  Sire,—­Four innocent gentlemen, declared guilty by a jury have
  just had their condemnation confirmed by your Court of Appeals.

Your Imperial Majesty can now only pardon them.  These gentlemen ask this pardon of your august clemency, in the hope that they may enter your army and meet their death in battle before your eyes; and thus praying, they are, of your Imperial and Royal Majesty, with reverence, etc.

“None but princes can do such prompt and graceful kindness,” said the Marquis de Chargeboeuf, taking the precious draft of the petition from the hands of Bordin that he might have it signed by the four gentlemen; resolving in his own mind that he would also obtain the signatures of several august names.

“The life of your young relatives, Monsieur le marquis,” said the minister, “now depends on the turn of a battle.  Endeavor to reach the Emperor on the morning after a victory and they are saved.”

He took a pen and himself wrote a private and confidential letter to the Emperor, and another of ten lines to Marechal Duroc.  Then he rang the bell, asked his secretary for a diplomatic passport, and said tranquilly to the old lawyer, “What is your honest opinion of that trial?”