The chirography was labored, heavy and trembling; it betrayed the stiff
hand of a man more accustomed to guiding the plough than the pen.
The lines zigzagged toward the top or toward the bottom of the page, and
faults of orthography were everywhere apparent.
But if the writing was that of a vulgar peasant, the thoughts it
expressed were worthy of the noblest, the proudest in the land.
This was the letter which Chanlouineau had written, probably on the eve
of the insurrection:
"Marie-Anne--The outbreak is at hand. Whether it succeeds, or whether it
fails, I shall die. That was decided on the day when I learned that you
could marry none other than Maurice d'Escorval.
"But the conspiracy will not succeed; and I understand your father well
enough to know that he will not survive its defeat. And if Maurice and
your brother should both be killed, what would become of you? Oh, my
God, would you not be reduced to beggary?
"The thought has haunted me continually. I have reflected, and this is
my last will:
"I give and bequeath to you all my property, all that I possess:
"My house, the Borderie, with the gardens and vineyards pertaining
thereto, the woodland and the pastures of Berarde, and five lots of land
at Valrollier.
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