THE EXECUTIONER OF DESTINY
Lorgnette in hand, Cyrène was sitting in the music chamber of the Hôtel
de Noailles, scanning the bars of a sheet of music sent her by her
suitor. Near by was the harpsichord on which she was about to try it,
when it seemed to her that a screen beside her trembled. Glancing for an
instant at it she was reassured. Almost immediately, however, it again
shook and fixed her attention, but after watching it for a few moments
and seeing no repetition, she once more turned away, satisfied that she
had been mistaken. Then suddenly she became aware that a man was
standing beside her, sprang to her feet and would have screamed had his
attitude not been so deferential.
He was dressed entirely in black, of the best materials and Paris cut;
his age was over fifty, and his features well made, but pinched and of
an ashen tint. His expression of strange woe roused her sympathy and
quieted her fears.
"Who are you?" she said.
He took no notice of her words.
"Are you la Montmorency," he asked, "the _fiancée_ of the Guardsman?"
"This is a strange question," she exclaimed. "How does it concern you,
sir?"
"Deeply, deeply. These are matters of life and death."
"What do you mean?"
"Do not fear, your lover is safe. I could have killed him, but did not."
She became roused and agitated, and the thought flashed upon her that
the man might be a maniac.
"You would not," she said, trying to reason with him, "have injured
anyone so good and inoffensive as Monsieur de Répentigny?"
"Répentigny!" he cried. "It is because he bore that name that I tracked
him to Troyes. It was a Répentigny who slew my father, and blessed was
the light of the street lamp which showed me your lover was none of that
brood."
"You would have killed him, you say?"
"I was to do so, but it was by mistake."
"Who are you, then?" she inquired with the greatest earnestness.
"The Instrument of Vengeance. Do you hear it?" he continued, as if
listening. "The Voice of Vengeance in the distance, approaching,
approaching, calling, calling? Nearer, year by year, month by month, day
by day, hour by hour, moment by moment, until when it reaches my side I
shall slay my enemy. When he fled to the farthest Indies, there he found
me; now he is in Paris, and finds me here; wherever he goes he has found
me. He knows his fate. He knows that I am the Instrument of Vengeance,
that a day shall come that has not come, that this hand is the hand of
heaven, and this sword the sword of the Almighty."
"You say he slew your father?"
"Yes, thrust him through on the steps of our house--the House of the
Golden Dog."
"What was your father's name?"
"The Bourgeois Philibert, of Quebec."
"And who do you say killed him?"
"Répentigny."
"But not my Germain!" she exclaimed eagerly and positively.
"No, he is none of that spawn of evil."
"You will bear him no ill-will at any time then?" she pleaded.
"On the contrary, he is now on my side. They are his enemies too."
"_Who_ are his enemies?"
"The Répentignys; but fear not, Mademoiselle, he is far superior to
them. He shall triumph and prevail, for I shall keep him, and heaven has
appointed me its Instrument. Nothing they do can prevail against me and
our side."
"Why do you say they are his enemies? They are not always enemies who
carry the same name."
"Mademoiselle, I see you know not _this_ name," he said with grave
courtesy; "I see you know not _this_ name--this name of sorrow, this
name of blood--my father's blood--alas! alas! alas! alas!" and his voice
trembled with infinite dolor.
"Oh, poor man," she cried, weeping. "I pity you."
He turned upon her a dazed glance, a glance out of a mind absorbed in an
unspeakable grief, and returning into his absorption, left the room.
She had been so keenly excited from instant to instant by the statements
of Philibert that she had not checked the interview. Apart from her pity
for him, the safety of Germain was the single issue of her thoughts, and
it was with alarm that she sat down and put together her impressions on
that subject. The mixture of woe with triumph on Philibert's countenance
affected her powerfully, and the words, "You know not this name of
sorrow, this name of blood," troubled her. The vengeance, the killing,
the family feud, to which he referred, what were they all? "Oh,
Germain," she thought, continuing to weep, "some heavy cloud is hanging
over you."
Meanwhile the scandal had spread to several circles in Versailles, and
was lit upon by the Abbé Jude, who, too happy to contain himself, ran to
Cyrène and invented an order to her from the Princess to attend in her
chamber; and when he had led her into the presence of her Excellency, he
addressed the latter--
"Madame has of course heard the new tale?" he said.
"Something fresh this morning, Abbé? Who does it concern?"
"Not the great Monsieur, the Prince, my lady, but a Monsieur of much
nearer acquaintance."
"Indeed? Monsieur Who, then? How interesting! Make no delay."
"The difficulty precisely is to say Who, Madame; but it is he who
_calls_ himself Monsieur de Répentigny. There is in Paris at this very
instant a _real_ Monsieur de Répentigny--no relation to our one--who is
publicly declaring our Canadian to have stolen his title, and to be
nothing less than a cheat."
He gave a malicious look at Cyrène, who turned pale and caught at a
chair. However, the great lady herself intervened.
"Stop, Abbé; stop, sir. This time you pass the bounds permitted you. How
dare you come into the presence of a Princess inventing such slanderous
monstrosities against your superior. A nephew, sir, of the Chevalier de
Bailleul, acknowledged by him as such to myself in his own château, is
above the aspersions of a contemptible plebeian. Let this be a lesson to
you, and never dare again to enter my sight. Footmen, conduct him out
of my presence and service. No reply! I am irrevocable in this."
"What is the commotion I heard?" exclaimed Madame l'Etiquette, entering
just after the reader's expulsion.
The Princess told her of Jude's insolent assertion.
"It is a serious matter. As likely as not it is true," Madame said, and
looked severely at Cyrène.
"I know it to be a falsehood," the latter retorted, with fiery
quickness. "Those people are his enemies. I have it on the word of an
honest man and a Canadian."