His plan was, apparently, simplicity itself; he would voyage abroad
with Marie-Elizabeth to Constantinople and would there sell her into
slavery or the harem of some wealthy Turk; her beauty would command a
substantial price that would reimburse her betrayer for the expenses
of his undertaking, and besides he could return in safety to give out
that she was dead, and to claim her entire property as her disconsolate
widower, her father having recently died.
Having arrived at this decision, he informed his wife that she was
to accompany him on a journey that he was obliged to make to some
far-distant baths for the sake of his health; and Marie-Elizabeth, ever
trustful of his designs, and of his surpassing love for her, consented
at once, albeit her husband did not enlighten her as to their actual
destination.
From Paris they travelled to Lyons and thence to Beauvoisin. From
the latter place they went over into Savoy, which they crossed in
the direction of Genoa, Marie-Elizabeth being compelled to traverse
the Alps, as the archives tell us, “on a vicious mule with an old
pack-saddle.” But from the moment of their departure from Paris
a change had come over the spirit of the doomed woman; ever since
then, when Defrêne had forbidden her to bid farewell to her beloved
mother and her relatives, Marie-Elizabeth had been weighed down with
forebodings of evil. And on reaching the seaport of Genoa these
forebodings seemed to acquire the most sinister confirmation in a
hint of danger conveyed to her by a good and compassionate man, Pierre
Pilette, a wagoner who had acted as their guide over the passes into
Italy.
This man told Marie-Elizabeth that, having gone with the Marquis (to
interpret for him, presumably) to visit certain merchants of Genoa,
Defrêne had made anxious inquiries for some vessel that should take him
to Constantinople; further, that Defrêne had tried to obtain from them
letters of credit on some merchant in that city, but that it had not
been possible for them to accommodate him, although they had cashed all
such letters upon themselves as he had brought with him from France.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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