THE MODERN RICHELIEU
"So I have found you at last!"
Mr. Sabin looked up with a distinct start from the table where he sat
writing. When he saw who his visitor was, he set down his pen and rose
to receive her at once. He permitted himself to indulge in a little
gesture of relief; her noiseless entrance had filled him with a sudden
fear.
"My dear Helene," he said, placing a chair for her, "if I had had the
least idea that you wished to see me, I would have let you know my
whereabouts. I am sorry that you should have had any difficulty; you
should have written."
She shrugged her shoulders slightly.
"What does it all mean?" she asked. "Why are you masquerading in cheap
lodgings, and why do they say at Kensington that you have gone abroad?
Have things gone wrong?"
He turned and faced her directly. She saw then that pale and haggard
though he was, his was not the countenance of a man tasting the
bitterness of failure.
"Very much the contrary," he said; "we are on the brink of success. All
that remains to be done is the fitting together of my American work with
the last of these papers. It will take me about another twenty-four
hours."
She handed across to him a morning newspaper, which she had been
carrying in her muff. A certain paragraph was marked.
"We regret to state that Admiral, the Earl of Deringham, was seized
yesterday morning with a fit, whilst alone in his study. Dr. Bond, of
Harley Street, was summoned at once to a consultation, but we understand
that the case is a critical one, and the gravest fears are entertained.
Lord Deringham was the greatest living authority upon the subject of our
fleet and coast defences, and we are informed that at the time of his
seizure he was completing a very important work in connection with this
subject."
Mr. Sabin read the paragraph slowly, and then handed the paper back to
Helene.
"Deringham was a very distinguished man," he remarked, "but he was stark
mad, and has been for years. They have been able to keep it quiet, only
because he was harmless."
"You remember what I told you about these people," Helene said sternly;
"I told you distinctly that I would not have them harmed in any way. You
were at Deringham Hall on the morning of his seizure. You went straight
there from the Lodge."
"That is quite true," he admitted; "but I had nothing to do with his
illness."
"I wish I could feel quite certain of that," Helene answered. "You are a
very determined man, and you went there to get papers from him by any
means. You proved that you were altogether reckless as to how you got
them, by your treatment of Lord Wolfenden. You succeeded! No one living
knows by what means!"
He interrupted her with an impatient gesture.
"There is nothing in this worth discussion," he declared. "Lord
Deringham is nothing to you--you never even saw him in your life, and if
you really have any misgivings about it, I can assure you that I got
what I wanted from him without violence. It is not a matter for you to
concern yourself in, nor is it a matter worth considering at all,
especially at such a time as the present."
She sat quite still, her head resting upon her gloved hand. He did not
altogether like her appearance.
"I want you to understand," he continued slowly, "that success, absolute
success is ours. I have the personal pledge of the German Emperor,
signed by his own hand. To-morrow at noon the compact is concluded. In a
few weeks, at the most, the thunderbolt will have fallen. These arrogant
Islanders will be facing a great invasion, whose success is already made
absolutely sure. And then----"
He paused: his face kindled with a passionate enthusiasm, his eyes were
lit with fire. There was something great in the man's rapt expression.
"Then, the only true, the only sweet battle-cry in the French tongue,
will ring through the woods of Brittany, ay, even to the walls of Paris.
_Vive la France! Vive la Monarchie!_"
"France has suffered so much," she murmured; "do not you who love her so
tremble when you think of her rivers running once more red with blood?"
"If there be war at all," he answered, "it will be brief. Year by year
the loyalists have gained power and influence. I have notes here from
secret agents in every town, almost in every village; the great heart of
Paris is with us. Henri will only have to show himself, and the voice of
the people will shout him king! And you----"
"For me," she interrupted, "nothing! I withdraw! I will not marry Henri,
he must stand his chance alone! His is the elder branch--he is the
direct heir to the throne!"
Mr. Sabin drew in a long breath between his teeth. He was nerving
himself for a great effort. This fear had been the one small, black
cloud in the sky of his happiness.
"Helene," he said, "if I believed that you meant--that you could
possibly mean--what you have this moment said, I would tear my compact
in two, throw this box amongst the flames, and make my bow to my life's
work. But you do not mean it. You will change your mind."
"But indeed I shall not!"
"Of necessity you must; the alliance between you and Henri is absolutely
compulsory. You unite the two great branches of our royal family. The
sound of your name, coupled with his, will recall to the ears of France
all that was most glorious in her splendid history. And apart from that,
Henri needs such a woman as you for his queen. He has many excellent
qualities, but he is weak, a trifle too easy, a trifle thoughtless."
"He is a dissipated _roue_," she said in a low tone, with curling lip.
Mr. Sabin, who had been walking restlessly up and down the room, came
and stood over her, leaning upon his wonderful stick.
"Helene," he said gravely, "for your own sake, and for your country's
sake, I charge you to consider well what you are doing. What does it
matter to you if Henri is even as bad as you say, which, mark you, I
deny. He is the King of France! Personally, you can be strangers if you
please, but marry him you must. You need not be his wife, but you must
be his queen! Almost you make me ask myself whether I am talking to
Helene of Bourbon, a Princess Royal of France, or to a love-sick English
country girl, pining for a sweetheart, whose highest ambition it is to
bear children, and whose destiny is to become a drudge. May God forbid
it! May God forbid, that after all these years of darkness you should
play me false now when the dawn is already lightening the sky. Sink your
sex! Forget it! Remember that you are more than a woman--you are royal,
and your country has the first claim upon your heart. The dignity which
exalts demands also sacrifices! Think of your great ancestors, who died
with this prayer upon their lips--that one day their children's children
should win again the throne which they had lost. Their eyes may be upon
you at this moment. Give me a single reason for this change in you--one
single valid reason, and I will say no more."
She was silent; the colour was coming and going in her cheeks. She was
deeply moved; the honest passion in his tone had thrilled her.
"I would not dare to suggest, even in a whisper, to myself," he went on,
his dark eyes fixed upon her, and his voice lowered, "that Helene of
Bourbon, Princess of Brittany, could set a greater price upon the love
of a man--and that man an Englishman--than upon her country's salvation.
I would not even suffer so dishonouring a thought to creep into my
brain. Yet I will remember that you are a girl--a woman--that is to say,
a creature of strange moods; and I remind you that the marriage of a
queen entails only the giving of a hand, her heart remains always at her
disposal, and never yet has a queen of France been without her lover!"
She looked up at him with burning cheeks.
"You have spoken bitterly to me," she said, "but from your point of view
I have deserved it. Perhaps I have been weak; after all, men are not so
very different. They are all ignoble. You are right when you call us
women creatures of moods. To-day I should prefer the convent to marriage
with any man. But listen! If you can persuade me that my marriage with
Henri is necessary for his acceptance by the people of France, if I am
assured of that, I will yield."
Mr. Sabin drew a long breath of relief, Blanche had succeeded, then.
Even in that moment he found time to realise that, without her aid, he
would have run a terrible risk of failure. He sat down and spoke
calmly, but impressively.
"From my point of view," he said, "and I have considered the subject
exhaustively, I believe that it is absolutely necessary. You and Henri
represent the two great Houses, who might, with almost equal right,
claim the throne. The result of your union must be perfect unanimity.
Now, suppose that Henri stands alone; don't you see that your cousin,
Louis of Bourbon, is almost as near in the direct line? He is young and
impetuous, without ballast, but I believe ambitious. He would be almost
sure to assert himself. At any rate, his very existence would certainly
lead to factions, and the splitting up of nobles into parties. This is
the greatest evil we could possibly have to face. There must be no
dissensions whatever during the first generation of the re-established
monarchy. The country would not be strong enough to bear it. With you
married to Henri, the two great Houses of Bourbon and Ortrens are
allied. Against their representative there would be no one strong enough
to lift a hand. Have I made it clear?"
"Yes," the girl answered, "you have made it very clear. Will you let me
consider for a few moments?"
She sat there with her back half-turned to him, gazing into the fire.
He moved back in the chair and went on with his writing. She heard the
lightning rush of his pen, as he covered sheet after sheet of paper
without even glancing towards her; he had no more to say, he knew very
well that his work was done. The influence of his words were strong upon
her; in her heart they had awakened some echo of those old ambitions
which had once been very real and live things. She set herself the task
of fanning them once more with the fire of enthusiasm. For she had no
longer any doubts as to her duty. Wolfenden's words--the first spoken
words of love which had ever been addressed to her--had carried with
them at the time a peculiar and a very sweet conviction. She had lost
faith, too, in Mr. Sabin and his methods. She had begun to wonder
whether he was not after all a visionary, whether there was really the
faintest chance of the people of her country ever being stirred into a
return to their old faith and allegiance. Wolfenden's appearance had
been for him singularly opportune, and she had almost decided a few
mornings ago, that, after all, there was not any real bar between them.
She was a princess, but of a fallen House; he was a nobleman of the most
powerful country in the world. She had permitted herself to care for
him a little; she was astonished to find how swiftly that sensation had
grown into something which had promised to become very real and precious
to her--and then, this insolent girl had come to her--her photograph
was in his locket. He was like Henri, and all the others! She despised
herself for the heartache of which she was sadly conscious. Her cheeks
burned with shame, and her heart was hot with rage, when she thought of
the kiss she had given him--perhaps he had even placed her upon a level
with the typewriting girl, had dared to consider her, too, as a possible
plaything for his idle moments. She set her teeth, and her eyes flashed.
Mr. Sabin, as his pen flew over the paper, felt a touch upon his arm.
"I am quite convinced," she said. "When the time comes I shall be
ready."
He looked up with a faint, but gratified smile.
"I had no fear of you," he said. "Frankly, in Henri alone I should have
been destitute of confidence. I should not have laboured as I have done,
but for you! In your hands, largely, the destinies of your country will
remain."
"I shall do my duty," she answered quietly.
"I always knew it! And now," he said, looking back towards his papers,
"how about the present? I do not want you here. Your presence would
certainly excite comment, and I am virtually in hiding for the next
twenty-four hours."
"The Duchess of Montegarde arrived in London yesterday," she replied. "I
am going to her."
"You could not do a wiser thing," he declared. "Send your address to
Avon House; to-morrow night or Saturday night I shall come for you. All
will be settled then; we shall have plenty to do, but after the labour
of the last seven years it will not seem like work. It will be the
beginning of the harvest."
She looked at him thoughtfully.
"And your reward," she said, "what is that to be?"
He smiled.
"I will not pretend," he answered, "that I have worked for the love of
my country and my order alone. I also am ambitious, although my ambition
is more patriotic than personal. I mean to be first Minister of France!"
"You will deserve it," she said. "You are a very wonderful man."
She walked out into the street, and entered the cab which she had
ordered to wait for her.
"Fourteen, Grosvenor Square," she told the man, "but call at the first
telegraph office."
He set her down in a few minutes. She entered a small post-office and
stood for a moment before one of the compartments. Then she drew a form
towards her, and wrote out a telegram--
"To Lord Wolfenden,
"Deringham Hall,
"Norfolk.
"I cannot send for you as I promised. Farewell--HELENE."