The Mystery of the Lost Dauphin Part 32

"Louis," she said, clasping her hands, "on listening to you, my reason vacillates. My G.o.d, what shall I do?"

"Bid the man come to you."

"Did you not this morning express disapproval of my receiving him?"

"I have changed my mind. You must grant him a secret interview. You must discover the nature of those doc.u.ments. Require him to bring them to you. You surely do not intend to take his word for it that they exist.

Get possession of his proofs and then we shall be able to judge.--Now, let me tell you something of this man's past life. You know nothing of his history, tho he is proposing to throw himself into your arms. He belongs to the lowest cla.s.s of Prussian people. His father was a mechanic, son of a kettle-mender. Until very recently he has been a watch-maker. He has been convicted of two grave crimes,--counterfeiting and arson. He has served a sentence at hard labor in a Silesia prison.

What say you, Therese, to the seating upon the throne of Saint Louis a felon whose wrists and ankles have borne infamous manacles?"

She looked affrightedly at her husband.

"You are horrified? Well, you have heard but the beginning. This man was the victim of misery owing, in all probability, to his vices. He was rescued by a woman. This woman, many years his senior, was for a long period his--Therese I dare not explain the relation to you. I respect you too highly to p.r.o.nounce the revolting words. But what do you say to the artifice of calling this woman his sister? Can you longer believe it probable that his body holds the royal blood?"

The blow was well aimed. The color mounted to the d.u.c.h.ess's face and she a.s.sumed an indignant att.i.tude. The Duke caressed her consolingly:

"After that unsavory episode, he contracted matrimony. His wife is a woman of the lowest origin, vulgar, insignificant. But, in compensation, he has an ambitious daughter, a veritable phenomenon indeed. 'Tis not an ordinary spectacle, that of a girl of eighteen or nineteen occupying herself with vaulting schemes--"

"Perhaps not with vaulting schemes," rejoined the d.u.c.h.ess meditatively.

"Nevertheless at eighteen there exists a clear comprehension of duty and expediency--"

"O Therese, _you_, you were early matured through suffering."

"And perhaps this young girl also."

The Duke was silent. He regretted the turn their conversation had taken.

He sought not to awaken pity, so he suddenly faced his battery in another direction.

"Your would-be brother, the Prussian mechanic, seeks to found a new religion. He is therefore a heretic, which is reason sufficient for excommunication and deprivation of the Church's sacraments."

These words produced an extraordinary effect upon the d.u.c.h.ess. She was a fervent Catholic devotee, intensified by the Revolution. Her cheeks burned and her eyes shot anger.

"Not only does he profess heresy," resumed the Duke, "but he proclaims and propagates his doctrines. He has written a book ent.i.tled 'The Heavenly Doctrine.' It contains an arraignment of the Church and interprets arbitrarily the Holy Scriptures. 'Tis clear that his motive in attacking Catholicity is retaliation, the Pope having refused to indorse his absurd pretensions. His marriage was according to Protestant rites. It is claimed that he reckons as a saint that old Martin who pretends revelations from the archangel Raphael."

"The King has received that old man," remarked the d.u.c.h.ess. "It is said that he spoke dreadful prophecies. The hand of G.o.d weighs heavily upon us!"

"Therese, it is unworthy a strong intelligence to attach importance to such nonsense. The old idiot would today be in a mad-house but for the indulgence of the King."

"Well," said she, making a great effort, "am I to grant this interview, then?"

"Certainly, that your mind may be at rest. Light drives away phantoms.

The King desires you to receive the man. Make it a condition that he bring the doc.u.ments. Arrange that the conference be secret, for 'tis necessary to proceed with the greatest caution. Our enemies are vigilant. Therese, I hold forth both arms to sustain the tottering throne, but shall be powerless unless you help me. Have I in you an ally? You and I must not work at cross purposes."

He clasped his wife in his arms, uttering endearing words which seemed a promise of new days, full of happiness, and of a perfect union. The d.u.c.h.ess listened rapturously to the husband whom the state and church had given her. Her smothered youth rose in a strong tide. She realized that the grief which had really oppressed her through so many years was the glacial att.i.tude which she and the Duke had maintained towards; each other. Closing her eyes, she leaned upon his; breast. He folded her in his arms and led her into the adjoining apartment, her dormitory, through which they pa.s.sed into the oratory. They walked to the crimson prie-Dieu and knelt together upon; the velvet cus.h.i.+on. Holding her hand tightly, he solemnly said:

"Before G.o.d, who hears us, Therese,--sole woman that exists on earth for me,--and He knows I speak the truth,--promise me that you will save the royal House of France from peris.h.i.+ng, that you will not permit the impious to rejoice nor the enemies of the cause to triumph, that you will prevent the sacred oil from being poured upon the head of this counterfeiter, this incendiary, this heretic. If he be an impostor, 'twould be sacrilegious; if he be not an impostor (to state an impossible case) his accession to the throne would let loose again license and unbridled pa.s.sions which would precipitate a second Revolution. Promise, Therese. Swear!"

She raised her eyes to the crucifix. The thorn-crowned face against the dark background seemed, in a sublime melancholy, to murmur: "Father forgive them--" The oath died on her lips.

"Swear, Therese, my love, my wife!" repeated the Duke.

Tears coursed down her face as she groaned: "I swear, my G.o.d, I swear,"

and sank in a nervous paroxysm into her husband's arms. He had triumphed. Sustaining her, he led the d.u.c.h.ess from the oratory.

Chapter V

THE SISTER

In the sitting-room of a small inn whose sign reads "Hotel d'Orleans"

sat the five persons whom the Polipheme brought to France. Amelie, no longer a fresh radiant girl, and in deep mourning for her husband, Jean Vilon, sits beside Rene who whispers:

"When shall I see you light-hearted, Amelie? I am jealous of the dead.

He robs me of you."

"What else may I do than wear black? He was a great heart. Do not wonder at my grief, Rene."

Naundorff's face was almost transfigured. He looked twenty years younger. He seemed to have lost consciousness of his past sufferings.

Joy obliterated sorrow and his lips were wreathed in smiles.

"My friends," he was saying, "I reproach myself for having doubted of human justice. Early or late, the human heart turns to good as the body to earth. This is the happiest moment of my unhappy life. I am about to receive a great consolation and greatly did I require it, for on reaching Paris, my old wounds were re-opened. To return here after so many years and with such a record fastened to my name! I have visited my parents' prison. Yes, I have had the courage to do so. I am a man of memories. The tower has already been demolished. What haste to obliterate my past! In the remainder of the building a convent has been established, to which I have been refused admittance. I was brave enough to walk on the b.l.o.o.d.y ground whereon my mother--"

Amelie rose and threw her arms around her father's neck.

"Why do I dwell on this theme?" he asked, resuming his radiant expression. "Has not my destiny changed aspect? In spite of what we have suffered on the voyage, in spite of what you, my loved Amelie, have suffered, I say: 'Blessed be the hour in which I left London! Blessed the inspiration whereby I saved that wretch! These things have been registered to my credit. Blessed the faith I had in the one person who can save me and whose heart throbs at the sound of my name!'"

He fervently crossed his hands in an att.i.tude of prayer.

"It is my duty to announce to you the secret of my happiness. You have cast your lives into my cause and braved even death. But danger has at last ceased; and the sun has chased away the clouds. I am happy, happy.

O how strange that word sounds on my lips!"

Louis Pierre fixed on Naundorff a penetrating look and said:

"Monseigneur, we are waiting to know in what that happiness consists--"

"Listen, listen. This morning at about eleven o'clock a most affable gentleman brought me a message in answer to a letter I had written,--can you guess to whom?"

Then with his heart in his voice, he added:

"My sister, my sister!"

There was a moment of silence. Then Amelie asked almost sharply:

"Are we to infer that Madame does not Know how to write?"

"My dear child, what more can she do than send me word she will receive me--"