“FATE GIVES--THE KING!”
News of this fresh and more violent disturbance among the people
brought the soldiery out in hot haste, who galloped down to the scene
of excitement, only to find the mounted police before them, headed by
General Bernhoff, who careering to and fro, cool and composed, forbade,
‘in the name of the King!’ any attempt to drive the mob out of the
square. Swaying uneasily round and round, the populace yelled and
groaned, and cheered and hissed; not knowing exactly whereunto they were
so wildly moved, but evidently waiting for a fresh ‘lead.’ The house of
Carl Pérousse, with its handsome exterior and stately marble portico,
offered itself as a tempting target to the more excitable roughs, and a
stone sent crashing through one of the windows would have certainly
been the signal for a general onslaught had not a man’s figure suddenly
climbed the pedestal which supported the statue of the late King in the
centre of the square, and lifted its living visible identity against the
frowning cold stone image of the dead. A cry went up from thousands
of throats--‘Sergius Thord!’--followed by an extraordinary clamour of
passionate plaudits, as the excited people recognised the grand head
and commanding aspect of their own particular Apostle of Liberty.
He,--stretching out his hands with a gesture of mingled authority and
entreaty,--pacified the raging sea of contradictory and conflicting
voices as if by magic,--and the horrid clamour died down into a dull
roar, which in its turn subsided into silence.
“Friends and brothers!” he cried; “Be calm! Be patient! What spirit
possesses you to thus destroy the chances of your own peace! What is
your aim? Justice? Ay--justice!--but how can you gain this by being
yourselves unjust? Will you remedy Wrong by injuring Right? Nay--this
must not be!--this cannot be, with _you_, whose passion for liberty is
noble,--whose love for truth is fixed and resolute,--and who seek no
more than is by human right your own! This sudden tempest, by which your
souls are tossed, is like an angry gust upon the sea, which wrecks great
vessels and drowns brave men;--be something more than the semblance of
the capricious wind which destroys without having reason to know why it
is bent on destruction! What are you here for? What would you do?”
A confused shouting answered him, in which cries of ‘Pérousse!’ and ‘The
King!’ were most prominent.
Sergius Thord looked round upon the seething mass below him, with a
strange sense of power and of triumph. He--even he--who could claim
to be no more than a poor Thinker, speaker and writer,--had won these
thousands to his command!--he had them here, willing to obey his
lightest word,--ready to follow his signal wheresoever it might take
them! His eyes glowed,--and the light of a great and earnest inspiration
illumined his strong features.
“You call for Carl Pérousse!” he said; “Yonder he dwells!--in the regal
house he has built for himself out of the sweating work of the poor!”
A fierce yell from the populace and an attempt at a rush, was again
stopped by the speaker’s uplifted hand; “Wait, friends--wait! Think for
a moment of the result of action, before you act! Suppose you pulled
down that palace of fraud; suppose your strong hands righteously rent
it asunder;--suppose you set fire to its walls,--suppose you dragged out
the robber from his cave and slew him here, before sunrise--what then?
You would make of him a martyr!--and the hypocritical liars of
the present policy, who are involved with him in his financial
schemes,--would chant his praises in every newspaper, and laud his
virtues in every sermon! Nay, we should probably hear of a special
‘Memorial Service’ being held in our great Cathedral to sanctify the
corpse of the vilest stock-jobbing rascal that ever cheated the gallows!
Be wiser than that, my friends! Do not soil your hands either with the
body of Carl Pérousse or his ill-gotten dwelling. What we want for him
is Disgrace, not Death! Death is far too easy! An innocent child may
die; do not give to a false-hearted knave the simple exit common to the
brave and true! Disgrace!--disgrace! Shame, confusion, and the curse of
the country,--let these be your vengeance on the man who seeks to
clutch the reins of government!--the man who would drive the people like
whipped horses to their ruin!”
Another roar answered him, but this time it was mingled with murmurs of
dissatisfaction. Thord caught these up, and at once responded to them.
“I hear you, O People! I hear the clamour of your hearts and souls,
which is almost too strong to find expression in speech! You cannot
wait, you would tell me! You would have Pérousse dragged out here,--you
would tear him to pieces among you, if you could, and carry the
fragments of him to the King, to prove what a people can do with a
villain proposed to them as their Prime Minister!” Loud and ferocious
shouts answered these words, and he went on; “I know--I understand!--and
I sympathise! But even as I know you, you know me! Believe me now,
therefore, and hear my promise! I swear to you before you all”--and here
he extended both arms with a solemn and impressive gesture--“that this
month shall not be ended before the dishonesty of Carl Pérousse is
publicly and flagrantly known at every street corner,--in every town and
province of the land!--and before the most high God, I take my oath
to you, the People,--that he shall never be the governing head of the
country!”
A hurricane of applause answered him--a tempest of shouting that seemed
to surge and sway through the air and down to the earth again like the
beating of a powerful wind.
“Give me your trust, O People!” he cried, carried beyond himself with
the excitement and fervour of the scene--“Give me yourselves!”
Another roar replied to this adjuration. He stood triumphant;--the
people pressing up around him,--some weeping--some kneeling at his
feet--some climbing to kiss his hand. A few angry voices in the distance
cried out--‘The King!’--and he turned at once on the word.
“Who needs the King?” he demanded; “Who calls for him? What is he to
us? What has he ever been? Look back on his career!--see him
as Heir-Apparent to the Throne, wasting his time with dishonest
associates,--dealing with speculators and turf gamblers--involving
himself in debt--and pandering to vile women, who still hold him in
their grasp, and who in their turn rule the country by their caprice,
and drain the Royal coffers by their licentious extravagance! Now look
on him as the King,--a tool in the hands of financiers--a speculator
among speculators--steeped to the very eyes in the love of money,
and despising all men who do not bear the open blazon of wealth upon
them,--what has he done for the people? Nothing! What will he ever do
for the People? Nothing! Flattered by self-seekers--stuffed with eulogy
by a paid Press--his name made a byword and a mockery by the very women
with whom he consorts, what should we do with him in Our work! Let him
alone!--let him be! Let him eat and drink as suits his nature--and die
of the poison his own vices breed in his blood!--we want naught of him,
or his heirs! When the time ripens to its full fruition, we, the People,
can do without a Throne!”
At this, thousands of hats and handkerchiefs were tossed in the
air,--thousands of voices cheered to the very echo, and to relieve their
feelings still more completely the vast crowd once more took up ‘The
Song of Freedom’ and began singing it in unison steadily and grandly,
with all that resistless force and passion which springs from
deep-seated emotion in the soul. And while they were singing, Thord,
glancing rapidly about him, saw Johan Zegota close at hand, and to his
still greater satisfaction, Pasquin Leroy; and beckoning them both to
his side whispered his brief orders, which were at once comprehended.
The day was breaking; and in the purple east a line of crimson showed
where the sun would presently rise. A few minutes’ quick organisation
worked by Leroy and Zegota, and some few other of their comrades
sufficed to break up the mob into three sections, and in perfect order
they stood blocked for a moment, like the three wings of a great army.
Then once more Thord addressed them:
“People, you have heard my vow! If before the end of the month Carl
Pérousse is not ejected with contempt from office, I will ask my death
at your hands! A meeting will be convened next week at the People’s
Assembly Rooms where we shall make arrangements to approach the King. If
the King refuses to receive us, we shall find means to make him do so!
He _shall_ hear us! He is our paid servant, and he is bound to serve us
faithfully,--or the Throne shall be a thing of the past, to be looked
back upon with regret that we, a great and free people, ever tolerated
its vice and tyranny!”
Here he waited to let the storm of plaudits subside,--and then
continued: “Now part, all of you friends!--go your ways,--and keep order
for yourselves with vigilance! The soldiery are here, but they dare not
fire!--the police are here, but they dare not arrest! Give them no cause
even to say that it would have been well to do either! Let the spiritual
force of your determined minds,--fixed on a noble and just purpose,
over-rule mere temporal authority; let none have to blame you for murder
or violence,--take no life,--shed no blood; but let your conquest of the
Government,--your capture of the Throne,--be a glorious moral victory,
outweighing any battle gained only by brute force and rapine!”
He was answered by a strenuous cheer; and then the three great sections
of the multitude began to move. Out of the square in perfect order they
marched,--still singing; one huge mass of people being headed by Pasquin
Leroy, the other by Johan Zegota,--the third by Sergius Thord himself.
The soldiery, seeing there was no cause for interference, withdrew,--the
police dispersed, and once again an outbreak of popular disorder was
checked and for a time withheld.
But this second riot had startled the metropolis in good earnest.
Everyone became fully alive to the danger and increasing force of the
disaffected community,--and the Government,--lately grown inert and
dilatory in the transaction of business,--began seriously to consider
ways and means of pacifying general clamour and public dissatisfaction.
None of the members of the Cabinet were much surprised, therefore,
when they each received a summons from the King to wait upon him at the
Palace that day week,--‘to discuss affairs of national urgency,’ and the
general impression appeared to be, that though Carl Pérousse dismissed
the ‘street rowdyism,’ as he called it, with contempt, and spoke of
‘disloyal traitors opposed to the Government,’ he was nevertheless
riding for a fall; and that his chances of obtaining the Premiership
were scarcely so sure as they had hitherto seemed.
Meanwhile, Pequita, whose childish rage against the King for not
noticing her dancing or applauding it, had been the trifling cause of
the sudden volcanic eruption of the public mind, became more than ever
the idol of the hour. The night after the riot, the Opera-house was
crowded to suffocation,--and the stage was covered with flowers. Among
the countless bouquets offered to the triumphant little dancer, came
one which was not thrown from the audience, but was brought to her by a
messenger; it was a great cluster of scarlet carnations, and attached
to it was a tiny velvet case, containing the ring promised to her by
Pasquin Leroy, when, as he had said, she ‘should dance before the
King.’ A small card accompanied it on which was written ‘Pequita, from
Pasquin!’ Turning to Lotys, who, in the event of further turbulence, had
accompanied her to the Opera that night to take care of her, and who
sat grave, pale, and thoughtful, in one of the dressing-rooms near the
stage, the child eagerly showed her the jewel, exclaiming:
“See! He has kept his promise!”
And Lotys,--sighing even while she smiled,--answered:
“Yes, dear! He would not be the brave man he is, if he ever broke his
word!”
Whereat Pequita slipped the ring on her friend’s finger, kissing her and
whispering:
“Take care of it for me! Wear it for me! For tonight, at least!”
Lotys assented,--though with a little reluctance,--and it was only while
Pequita was away from her, performing her part on the stage, that this
strange lonely woman bent her face down on the hand adorned with
the star-like gem and kissed it,--tears standing in her eyes as she
murmured:
“My love--my love! If you only knew!”
And then the hot colour surged into her cheeks for sheer shame of
herself that she should love!--she--no longer in her youth,--and utterly
unconscious that there was, or could be any beauty in her deep lustrous
eyes, white skin, and dull gold hair. What had she to do with the
thoughts of passion?--she whose life was devoted to the sick and
needy,--and who had no right to think of anything else but how she
should aid them best, so long as that life should last! She knew well
enough that love of a great, jealous, and almost savage kind, was hers
if she chose to claim it--the love of Sergius Thord, who worshipped her
both as a woman and an Intellect; but she could not contemplate him as
her lover, having grown up to consider him more as a sort of paternal
guardian and friend. In fact, she had thoroughly resigned herself to
think of nothing but work for the remainder of her days, and to entirely
forego the love and tenderness which most women, even the poorest,
have the natural right to win; and now slowly,--almost unconsciously
to herself,--Love had stolen into her soul and taken possession of
it;--secret love for the man, who brave almost to recklessness, had
joined his fortunes in with Sergius Thord and his companions, and had
assisted the work of pushing matters so far forward, that the wrongs
done to the poor, and the numerous injustices of the law, which for
years had been accumulating, and had become part and parcel of the
governing system of the country, now stood a fair chance of being
remedied. She, with her quick woman’s instinct, had perceived that
where Sergius Thord, in his dreamy idealism, halted and was uncertain of
results, Pasquin Leroy stepped into the breach and won the victory. And,
like all courageous women, she admired a courageous man. Not that Thord
lacked courage,--he had plenty of the physical brute force known as
such,--but he had also a peculiar and uncomfortable quality of rousing
desires, both in himself and others which he had not the means of
gratifying.
Thus Lotys foresaw that, unless by some miraculous chance he obtained
both place and power, and a share in the ruling of things, there was
every possibility of a split in the Revolutionary Committee,--one half
being inclined to indulge in the criminal and wholly wasteful spirit
of Anarchy,--the other disposed to throw in its lot with the Liberal or
Radical side of politics. And she began to regard Pasquin Leroy, with
his even temperament, cool imperturbability, intellectual daring, and
literary ability, as the link which kept them all together, and gave
practical force to the often brooding and fantastic day-dreams of Thord,
who, though he made plans night and day for the greater freedom
and relief of the People from unjust coercion, had not succeeded in
obtaining as yet sufficient power to carry them into execution.
It was evident, however, to the whole country that the times were in a
ferment,--that the Government was growing more unpopular, and that Carl
Pérousse, the chief hinge on which Governmental force turned, was under
a cloud of the gravest suspicion. Meetings, more or less stormy
in character, were held everywhere by every shade of party in
politics,--and strong protests against his being nominated as Premier
were daily sent to the King. But to the surprise of many, and the
annoyance of most, his Majesty gave no sign. The newspapers burst into
rampant argument,--every little editor issued his Jovian ‘opinion’ on
the grave issues at stake;--David Jost kept his Hebraic colours flying
for the King,--judging that to flatter Royalty was always a safe course
for most Jews;--while in the rival journal, brilliant essays, leaders
and satires on the political situation, combined with point-blank
accusations against the Secretary of State, (which that distinguished
personage always failed to notice,) flew from the pen of the mysterious
writer, Pasquin Leroy, and occupied constant public attention.
Unlike the realm of Britain,--where the ‘golden youth’ enfeeble their
intellects by the perusal of such poor and slangy journalism that
they have lost both the art and wit to comprehend brilliant political
writing,--the inhabitants of this particular corner of the sunny south
were always ready to worship genius wherever even the smallest glimmer
of it appeared,--and the admiration Leroy’s writings excited was
fast becoming universal, though for the most part these writings were
extremely inflammable in nature, and rated both King and Court soundly.
But with the usual indifference of Royalty to ‘genius’ generally, the
King, when asked if he had taken note of certain articles dealing very
freely with both him and his social conduct, declared he had never heard
of them, or of their writer!
“I never,” he said with an odd smile, “pay any attention to clever
literature! I should be establishing a precedent which would be
inconvenient and disagreeable to my fellow sovereigns!”
The time went on; the King met his Ministers on the day he had summoned
them in private council,--and on the other hand Sergius Thord convened
a mighty mass-meeting for the purpose of carrying a resolution formed to
address his Majesty on the impending question of the Premiership. From
the King’s council, the heads of Government came away in haste, despair
and confusion; from the mass-meeting whole regiments marched through the
streets in triumphant and satisfied order.
After these events there came a night, when the sweet progress of calm
weather was broken up by cloud and storm,--and when heavy thunder boomed
over the city at long dull intervals, like the grinding and pounding of
artillery, without any rain to cool the heated ether, which was now and
again torn asunder by flashes of lightning. There was evidently a raging
tempest far out at sea, though the land only received suggestions of
this by the occasional rearing up of huge dark green billows which broke
against the tall cliffs, plumed with mimosa and myrtle, that guarded the
coast. Heavy scents of flowers were in the air--heavy heat weighed down
the atmosphere,--and there was a languor in the slow footsteps of the
men, who, singly, or in groups, arrived at the door of Sergius Thord’s
house to fulfil the dread compact binding upon them all in regard to the
‘Day of Fate.’ Pasquin Leroy and his two companions were among the
first to arrive, and to make their way up the dark steep stairs to the
Committee room, where, when they entered, they found the usual aspect of
things strangely altered. The table no longer occupied its position in
the middle of the floor; it was set on a raised platform entirely draped
with black. Large candelabra, holding six lights each, occupied either
end,--and in the centre one solitary red lamp was placed, shedding its
flare over a large bronze vessel shaped like a funeral urn. The rest
of the room was in darkness,--and with the gathering groups of men, who
moved silently and spoke in whispers, it presented a solemn and eerie
spectacle.
“Ah! You have now arrived,” said Max Graub, in a cautious sotto voce to
Leroy, “at the end of your adventures! Behold the number Thirteen! Six
lights at one end, six lights at the other,--that is twelve; and in the
centre the Thirteenth--the red Eye looking into the sepulchral urn! It
is all up with us!”
Leroy said nothing,--but the face of the man called Axel Regor grew
suddenly very pale. He drew Leroy a little aside.
“This is no laughing matter!” he said very earnestly; “Let me stand near
you--let me keep close at your side all the evening!”
Leroy smiled and pressed his hand.
“My dear fellow!” he said; “Have no fear! Or if you have fear, do not
show it! You stand in precisely the same danger as myself, or as any of
us; you may draw the fatal Signal!--but if you do, I promise you I will
volunteer myself in your place.”
“_You_!” said Regor with a volume of meaning in the utterance; “You
would stand in my place?”
“Why, of course!” replied Leroy cheerily; “Life is not such a wonderful
business, that death for a friend’s sake is not better!”
Regor looked at him, and a speechless devotion filled and softened his
eyes. Certain words spoken to him by a woman he loved echoed through his
brain, and he murmured:
“Nay, by the God above us, if death is in question, _I_ will die rather
than let _you_ die!”
“That will depend on my humour!” said Leroy, still smiling; “You will
require my permission to enter into combat with the last enemy before he
offers challenge!”
Max Graub here approached them with a warning finger laid on his lips.
“Hush--sh--sh!” he said; “Think as much as you like,--but talk as little
as you can! I assure you this is a most uncomfortable business!--and
here comes the axis of the revolving wheel!”
They made way,--as did all the men grouped together in the room,--for
the entrance of Sergius Thord and Lotys. These two came in together; and
with a silent salute which included the whole Committee, ascended the
raised platform. Lotys was deadly pale; and the white dress she wore,
with its scarlet sash, accentuated that paleness. She appeared for once
to move under the dominance of some greater will than her own,--she
moved slowly, and her head was bent,--and even to Pasquin Leroy as she
passed him, her faint smile of recognition was both sad and cold.
Once on the platform, she seated herself at the lower end of the
funereally-draped table; and leaning her head on one hand, seemed lost
in thought. Thord took his place at the opposite end,--whereupon Johan
Zegota moving stealthily to the door, closed it, locked it, and put the
key in his pocket. Then he in turn mounted the platform, and began in a
clear but low voice to call the roll of the members of the Committee.
Each man answered to his name in the same guarded tone; all without
a single exception were present;--and Zegota, having completed the
catalogue, turned to Thord for further instructions. The rest of the
company then seated themselves,--finding their chairs with some little
difficulty in the semi-darkness. When the noise of their shuffling feet
had ceased, Thord rose and advanced to the front of the platform.
“Friends,” he said slowly; “You are here to-night to determine by
the hand of Chance, or Destiny, which of certain traitors among many
thousands, shall meet with the punishment his treachery deserves. In
the list of those who are to-night marked down for death is Carl
Pérousse;--happy the man that draws _that_ name and is able to serve as
the liberator to his country! Another, is the Jew, David Jost,--because
it has been chiefly at his persuasion that the heads of the Government
have been tempted to gamble for their own personal motives with the
secrets of State policy. Another, is the Marquis de Lutera;--who though
he has, possibly through fear, resigned office, is to blame for having
made his own private fortune,--as well as the fortunes of all the
members of his family,--out of the injuries and taxations inflicted on
the People. To his suggestion we owe the cruel price of bread,--the tax
on corn, a necessity of life;--on his policy rests the responsibility
of opening our Trades to such an over-excess of Foreign Competition and
Supply that our native work and our native interests are paralysed by
the strain. To him,--as well as to Carl Pérousse, we owe the ridiculous
urbanities of such extreme foreign diplomacies as expose our secret
forces of war to our rivals;--from him emanates the courteous and almost
servile attention with which we foolishly exhibit our naval and military
defences to our enemies. We assume that a Minister who graciously
permits a foreign arsenal to copy our guns--a foreign dockyard to copy
and to emulate our ships,--is a traitor to the prosperity and continued
power of the country. Two of the great leaders in Trade are named on the
Death-list;--one because, in spite of many warnings, he employs foreign
workmen only; the other, because he ‘sweats’ native labour. The removal
of all these persons will be a boon to the country--the clearing of a
plague of rats from the national House and Exchequer! Lastly, the
King is named;--because,--though he has rescued the system of National
Education from Jesuit interference and threatening priestly dominance,
he has turned a deaf ear to other equally pressing petitions of his
People,--and also because he does nothing to either influence or guide
society to its best and highest ends. Under his rule, learning is set at
naught--Art, Science and Literature, the three saving graces which
make for the peace, prosperity and fraternity of nations,--are rendered
valueless, because no example is set which would give them their
rightful prominence,--and wine, cards and women are substituted,--the
three evil fates between which the honour of the Throne is brought into
contempt. We should know and remember that Lotys, when she lately
saved the life of the King, did,--as she herself can tell you,--plead
personally with him to save the people from the despotic government of
Carl Pérousse and his pernicious ‘majority’;--but though she rescued the
monarch at the risk of her own much more valuable existence--and equally
at the risk of being misunderstood and condemned by this very Society to
which her heart and soul are pledged,--he refused to even consider her
entreaty. Therefore, we may be satisfied that he has been warned;--but
it would seem that the warning is of no avail;--and whosoever to-night
draws the name of the King must be swift and sure in his business!”
There was a deep pause. Suddenly Max Graub rose, his bulky form and
great height giving him an almost Titanesque appearance in the gloom of
the chamber. Raising one hand as a signal, he asked permission to speak,
which was instantly accorded.
“To my chief, Sergius Thord, and my comrades,” he said with a slight
military salutation; “I wish to explain what perhaps they have already
discovered,--that I am a poor and uncouth German,--not altogether
conversant with your language,--and considerably bewildered by your
social ethics;--so that if I do not entirely understand things as I
should, you will perhaps pardon my ignorance, which includes other
drawbacks of my disposition. But when death is in question, I am always
much interested,--having spent all my days in trying to find out
ways and means of combating man’s chief enemy on his own ground.
Because,--though I fully admit the usefulness of death as a cleanser and
solvent; and as a means of clearing off hopelessly-useless persons, I
am not at all sure that it is an advisable way to get rid of the healthy
and the promising. I speak as a physician merely,--with an eye to what
is called the ‘stock’ of the human race; and what I now want to know is
this: On what scientific, ethical, or religious grounds, do you wish
to get rid of the King? Science, ethics, and religion being only in the
present day so many forms of carefully ministering to one’s Self,
and one’s own particular humour, you will understand that I mean,--as
concerns the ‘happy dispatch’ of this same King,--what good will it do
to you?”
There was a silence. No one vouchsafed any explanation. After a
considerable pause, Thord replied.
“It will do us no good. But it will show the country that we exist to
revenge injustice!”
“But--is the King unjust?”
“Can you ask it?” replied Thord with a certain grave patience. “During
your association with us, have you not learned?--and do you not know?”
“Sit down, Graub!” interrupted Pasquin Leroy suddenly; “I know the
King’s ways well enough,--and I can swear upon my honour that he
deserves the worst that can be done to him!”
A murmur of sullen approval ran through the room, and somewhat lowering
glances were cast at the audacious Graub, who had, by his few words,
created the very undesirable impression that he wished, in some remote
way, to interfere with the Committee solemnities in progress, and to
defend the King from attack. He sat down again looking more or less
crushed and baffled,--and Thord went on.
“We have little time to spend together to-night, and none to waste. Let
each man come forward now, and take his chance,--remembering,--lest his
courage fail him,--that whatever work is given him to do, this Committee
are sworn to stand by him as their associate and comrade!--to defend
him,--even at the risk of their own lives!--and to share completely in
the consequences of whatever act he may be called upon to perform in the
faithful following of his duty! Friends, repeat with me all together,
the Vow of Fealty!”
At once every man rose,--and all lifting their right hands on high
repeated in steady tones the following formula after their Chief,--
“We swear in the name of God, and by the eternal glory of Freedom! That
whosoever among us this night shall draw the Red Cross Signal which
destines him to take from life, a life proved unworthy,--shall be to us
a sacred person, and an object of defence and continued protection! We
guarantee to shield him at all times and under all circumstances;--we
promise to fight for him against the utmost combined power of the
law;--we are prepared to maintain an inviolate silence concerning
his movements, his actions and their ultimate result,--even to the
sufferance of imprisonment, punishment and death for his sake! And may
the curse of the Almighty Creator of Heaven and Earth be upon us and our
children, and our children’s children, if we break this vow. Amen!”
The stern and impressive intensity with which these words were spoken
sent a slight tremor along even such steel-like nerves as those of
Pasquin Leroy, though he repeated the formula after Sergius Thord
with the attentive care of a child saying a lesson. At its conclusion,
however, a sudden thought flashed through his brain which brought a
wonderful smile to his lips, and a rare light in his eyes, and touching
the arm of Axel Regor, he whispered.
“Could anything be more protective to me,--_as you know me_,--than this
Vow of Fealty? By my faith, a right loyal vow!”
The man he so questioned looked at him doubtfully. He did not
understand. He himself had repeated the vow mechanically and without
thought, being occupied in serious and uncomfortable meditation as to
what possible dangerous lengths the evening’s business might be carried.
And, accustomed as he now was to the varying and brilliant moods of one
whom he had proved to be of most varying and brilliant intelligence,
his brain was not quick enough to follow the lightning-like speed of the
chain of ideas,--all moving in a perfectly organised plan,--conceived
by this daring, scheming and original brain, which had been so lately
roused to its own powers and set in thinking, working order. He
therefore merely expressed his mind’s bewilderment by a warning glance
mingled with alarm, which caused Leroy to smile again,--but the scene
which was being enacted, now demanded their closest attention, and they
had no further opportunity of exchanging so much as a word.
The Vow of Fealty being duly sworn, Sergius Thord stood aside, and made
way for Lotys, who, rising from her seat, lifted the funeral urn from
the table and held it out towards the men. She made a strange and weird
picture standing thus,--her white arms gleaming like sculptured ivory
against the dark bronze of the metal vase,--her gold hair touched with a
blood-like hue from the reflection of the red lamp behind her,--and her
face,--infinitely mournful and resigned,--wearing the expression of one
who, forced to behold evil, has no active part in it. As she took up her
position in the front of the platform, Thord again spoke.
“Let each man now advance and draw his fate! Whosoever receives a blank
is exempt for another year;--whosoever draws the name of a victim must
be prepared to do his duty!”
This order was at once obeyed. Each man rose separately and approaching
Lotys, saluted her first, and then drew a folded paper from the vessel
she held. But they moved forward reluctantly,--and most of their faces
were very pale. When Pasquin Leroy’s turn came to draw, he raised his
eyes to the woman’s countenance above him and marvelled at its cold
fixity. She seemed scarcely to be herself,--and it was plainly evident
that the part she was forced to play in the evening’s drama was a most
reluctant one.
At last all the lots were taken, and Johan Zegota lit up the gas-burners
in the centre of the room. A sigh of relief came from the lips of many
of the men who, on opening their papers found a blank instead of a name.
But Leroy, unfolding his, sat in dumb amazement,--feeling, and not for
the first time either, that surely God, or some special Providence, is
always on the side of a strong man’s just aim, fulfilling it to entire
accomplishment. For to him was assigned the Red Cross, marked with the
name of ‘The King!’ The words of Sergius Thord, uttered that very night,
rushed back on his mind;--“Whosoever draws the name of the King must be
swift and sure in his business!”
His heart beat high; he occupied at that moment a position no man in all
the world had ever occupied before;--he was the centre of a drama such
as had never before been enacted,--he had the greatest move to play
on the chess-board of life that could possibly be desired;--and the
greatest chance to prove himself the Man he was, that had ever
been given to one of his quality. His brain whirled,--his pulses
throbbed,--his eyes rested on Lotys with a passionate longing; something
of the god-like as well as the heroic warmed his soul,--for Danger and
Death stood as intimately close to him as Safety and Victory! What a
strange, what a marvellous card he held in the game of life!--and yet
one false move might mean ruin and annihilation! As in a dream he saw
the members of the Committee go up, one by one, to Sergius Thord, who,
as each laid their open papers before him, declared their contents.
When Paul Zouche’s paper was declared he was found to have drawn Carl
Pérousse, whereat he smiled grimly; and retired to his seat, walking
rather unsteadily. Max Graub had drawn a blank,--so had Axel Regor,--so
had Louis Valdor and many others.
At last it came to Leroy’s turn, and as he walked up to the platform and
ascended it, there was a look on his face which attracted the instant
attention of all present. His eyes were singularly bright,--his lithe
handsome figure seemed taller and more erect,--he bore himself with
a proud, even grand air,--and Lotys, moved at last from her chill and
melancholy apathy, gazed at him as he approached, with eyes in which a
profound sadness was mingled with the dark tenderness of many passionate
thoughts and dreams. He laid down his paper before Thord, who, taking it
up read aloud:
“Our friend and comrade, Pasquin Leroy, has received the Red Cross
Signal.”
Then pausing before uttering his next words he raised his voice a
little, so that he might be heard by everyone in the room, and added
slowly:
“To Pasquin Leroy, Fate gives--the King!”
A low murmur of deep applause ran through the room. Max Graub and Axel
Regor sprang up with a kind of smothered cry, but Leroy stood immovable.
Instead of returning to his seat as the others had done, he remained
standing on the platform in front of the Committee table, between Lotys
and Sergius Thord. A strange smile rested on his lips,--his attitude was
inexplicable. Surveying all the men’s faces which were grouped before
him in a kind of chiaro-oscuro, he studied them for a moment, and then
turned his head towards Thord.
“Sergius,--so far, I have served you well! Destiny has now chosen me out
for even a greater service! May I speak a few words?”
Thord assented,--but a sudden sense of inquietude stirred in him as he
saw that Lotys had half risen, that her lips quivered, and that great
tears stood in her eyes.
“She grieves!” he thought, sullenly, in his strange and confused way of
balancing justice and injustice--“She grieves that the worthless life of
the King she saved, is now to be taken by a righteous hand!”
Meanwhile Leroy faced the assembly.
“Comrades!” he said; “This is the first time I have assisted in the
work of your Day of Fate,--the first time I have recognised how
entirely Providence moves _with_ you and _for_ you in the ruling of your
destinies! And because it is the first time, our Chief permits me to
address you with the same fraternal liberty which was allowed to me on
the night I became enrolled among you, as one of you! Since then, I have
done my best to serve you--” here he was interrupted by applause--“and
so far as it has been humanly possible, I have endeavoured to carry out
your views and desires because,--though many of them spring from
pure idealism, and are, I fear, impossible of realisation in this
world,--they contain the seed of much useful and necessary reform in
many institutions of this country. I have--as I promised you--shaken the
stronghold of Carl Pérousse;”--again the applause broke out, none
the less earnest because it was restrained. “I have destroyed the
press-power and prestige of that knavish Jew-speculator in false news,
David Jost; and wherever the wishes of this Society could be fulfilled,
I have honestly sought to fulfil them. On this night, of all nights in
the year, I should like to feel, and to know, that you acknowledge me as
your true comrade and faithful friend!”
At this, the whole of the company gave vent to an outburst of cheering.
“Do you doubt our love, that you ask of it?--or our gratitude that you
seek to have it expressed?” said Thord, leaning forward to clasp his
hand;--“Surely you know you have given new life and impetus to our
work!--and that you have gained fresh triumph for our Cause!”
Leroy smiled,--but though returning his grasp cordially, he said nothing
to him in person by way of reply, evidently preferring rather to address
the whole community than one, even though that one was his acknowledged
Chief.
“I thank you all!” he said in response to the acclamations around him.
“I thank you for so heartily acknowledging me as your fellow-worker!
I thank you for giving me your confidence and employing my services!
Tonight--the most important night of my destiny--Fate has determined
that I shall perform the greatest task of all you have ever allotted to
me; and that with swiftness and sureness in the business I shall kill
the King! He is my marked victim! I am his chosen assassin!” Here
interrupting himself with a bright smile, he said: “Will someone
restrain my two friends, Max Graub and Axel Regor from springing out of
their seats? They are both extremely envious of the task which has been
allotted to me!--both are disappointed that it did not fall to them
to perform,--but I am not in the humour for arguing so nice a point of
honour with them just now!”
A laugh went round the company, and the two delinquents thus called to
order, and who had really been seeking in quite a wild and aimless way,
to scramble out of their seats and make for the platform, resumed their
places with heads bent low, lest those around them should see the deadly
pallor of their countenances. Leroy resumed.
“I rejoice, friends and comrades, that I have been elected to the high
task of removing from the Throne one who has long been unworthy
of it!--one who has wasted his opportunities both in youth and
middle-age,--and who, by his own fault in a great measure, has lost much
of the love and confidence of his people! I am glad and proud to be
the one chosen to put an end to the career of a monarch whose vices and
follies--which might have suited a gambler and profligate--are entirely
unbecoming to the Sovereign Ruler of a great Realm! I shall have no
fear in carrying out my appointed duty to the letter! I here declare my
acceptance of whatever punishment may be visited on one who removes from
life a King who brings kingliness into contempt! And,--as our Chief,
Sergius Thord, suggested to-night,--I shall be swift and sure in the
business!--there shall be no delay!”
Here, as he spoke he drew a pistol from his pocket and turned the muzzle
towards himself,--at which unexpected action there was a hasty movement
of surprise, terror and confusion among the company.
“Gentlemen all! Friends! Brothers!--as you have been,--and are to
me,--by the binding of our compact in the name of Lotys! It is the
determination of destiny,--as it is your desire,--that I should kill
the King! You have resolved upon it. You are sure that his death will
benefit the country. You have decided not to take into consideration any
of his possible good qualities, or to pity any of the probable sorrows
and difficulties besetting him in the uneasy position he is compelled
to occupy. You are quite certain among yourselves, that somehow or other
his removal will bring about that ideal condition of society which many
philosophers have written of, and which many reformers have desired,
but which has till now, proved itself incapable of being realised. The
King’s death, you think, will better all existing conditions, and you
wish me to fulfil not only the call of destiny, but your own desire. Be
it so! I am ready to obey! I will kill the King at once!--here and now!
I _am_ the King!”