THE PASSWORD.
The first blow was terrible. It indeed required all Maurice's
self-command to enable him to conceal from Lorin how powerfully he was
affected by these startling events; but once in the garden, once alone
in the silence of night, his mind became more calm, and his ideas,
instead of running disordered through his brain, became once more under
the control of reason.
What! this house that Maurice had so often visited with the purest
pleasure; this house which had formed for him a paradise on earth,--was
in reality only a den of sanguinary intrigues. The kind and flattering
receptions bestowed on his ardent friendship resulted then from sheer
hypocrisy; the love of Geneviève from fear.
The plan of the garden is well-known, our readers having more than once
followed our young folks there. Maurice glided from bush to bush till
he was shaded from the moon's rays by the little conservatory where he
had been imprisoned previous to his first introduction to the house.
This conservatory was opposite the pavilion inhabited by Geneviève.
But this evening, instead of gleaming stationary from her chamber,
the light moved frequently from one window to another. Maurice saw
Geneviève through the curtain, evidently raised by accident, hastily
packing some things in a portmanteau, and with astonishment beheld some
weapons in her hands. He raised himself upon a post to enable him to
see farther into the room. A large fire was blazing on the hearth,
where Geneviève was destroying papers.
At this moment the door opened and a young man entered the room.
At first Maurice imagined this man was Dixmer. The young woman ran
toward him, seized his hands, and they both stood facing each other
for a moment, evidently influenced by some deep emotion. What this
emotion meant he could not divine, as their words did not reach his
hiding-place. But all at once Maurice measured his height with his eye.
"This is not Dixmer," murmured he. Indeed, the man who had entered was
small and delicate, while Dixmer was tall and masculine. Jealousy is an
active stimulant, and in a second he had compared the figure of this
man with that of her husband.
"This is not Dixmer!" murmured he, compelled as it were to repeat it,
to convince himself of the perfidy of Geneviève.
He approached still nearer to the window, but the nearer he came the
less he saw. His brain was on fire. He stumbled on a ladder; the window
was seven or eight feet high. He seized the ladder, and planting it
firmly against the wall, ascended and placed his eye at an aperture in
the curtain.
Geneviève's unknown visitor was a fair young man, about twenty-six or
twenty-seven years of age, with blue eyes, and an elegant demeanor; he
retained both the young woman's hands within his own, and was speaking
soothingly, endeavoring fruitlessly to assuage the grief of Geneviève,
which was plainly evinced by the tears which suffused her charming
countenance. A slight noise, accidentally made by Maurice, caused the
young man to turn his face toward the window. Maurice suppressed a cry
of astonishment, he recognized his mysterious deliverer of the Place
du Châtelet. At this moment Geneviève withdrew her hands from those of
the unknown, and went toward the fireplace to ascertain that the papers
were utterly consumed.
Maurice could no longer command his indignation. All those fierce
passions which torture the heart of man--love, vengeance, and
jealousy--lacerated him with their fangs of fire. He at once threw open
the ill-closed casement, and vaulted into the chamber. At the same
moment two pistols were pressed to his breast.
Geneviève, who had turned round at the noise, on perceiving Maurice
stood speechless.
"Sir," said the young Republican, coldly, to him who had a double hold
on his life, "you are the Chevalier de Maison-Rouge."
"And what if I am?" replied the Chevalier.
"It is this: you are a brave man, and consequently a cool one, and I
would say two words to you."
"Say on," said the Chevalier, without lowering his pistols.
"You can kill me; but you cannot do so before I have uttered a cry,
or rather I will not die without giving an alarm. Should I do so, the
thousand men who surround this house will have reduced it to ashes ere
the lapse of ten minutes; so lower your pistols and listen to what I
have to say to the lady."
"To Geneviève?" said the Chevalier.
"To me?" murmured the young woman.
"Yes, to you."
Geneviève, pale as a statue, seized Maurice's arm; but he repulsed her
coldly.
"You know what you affirmed, Madame," said Maurice, with profound
contempt. "I now see that you told the truth. You indeed do not love
Monsieur Morand."
"Maurice! hear me," said Geneviève.
"I have nothing to hear, Madame; you have severed with a single stroke
every cord that united my heart with your own. You told me you did not
love Morand, but you did not tell me you loved another."
"Sir," said the Chevalier, "what say you of Morand; or rather of what
Morand do you speak?"
"Of Morand the chemist."
"Morand the chemist stands before you. Morand the chemist is the
Chevalier de Maison-Rouge."
And extending his hand toward the table, he in an instant resumed the
black wig which for so long a period had concealed him from the young
Republican.
"Ah, yes," said he, with redoubled disdain,--"yes, I understand. It
is not Morand that you love, since Morand does not exist; but the
subterfuge, for all its acuteness, is none the less contemptible."
The Chevalier made a threatening movement.
"Sir," said Maurice, "permit me to speak a moment with the lady; join
in the conversation if you like; it will not be long, I assure you."
Geneviève, with a gesture, asked Maison-Rouge to have patience.
"Thus, Geneviève, thus," continued Maurice, "you have made me a
laughing-stock to my friends and a curse to my party. You have rendered
me, blind fool that I was, an instrument in all your plots and an easy
tool in your hands. Listen! It was an infamous deed; but you will be
punished, Madame, for in five minutes this man, who is going to kill me
before your eyes, will be lying dead at your feet; or if his life be
spared, it will only be to lose his head upon the scaffold."
"He die!" cried Geneviève; "he lose his head upon the scaffold! But you
do not know then, Maurice, that he is my protector, and that of my
family; that I will give my life for his; that if he dies I will die;
and that if you are my love, he is my religion!"
"Ah!" said Maurice, "perhaps you still mean to pretend that you love
me. Really, women are sadly weak and contemptible."
Then turning to the young Royalist,--
"Now, sir," said he, "you must either kill me or die yourself."
"Why so?"
"Because, if you do not kill me, I shall arrest you."
Maurice extended his hand to seize him by the collar.
"I shall not dispute my life with you," said the Chevalier de
Maison-Rouge; and he flung his pistols on a chair.
"And why do you not dispute your life?"
"Because my life is not equivalent in value to the remorse I should
experience in feeling that I had killed a brave man, and more than all
since Geneviève loves you."
"Ah!" cried the young woman, clasping her hands, "you are always kind,
great, loyal, and generous, Armand!"
Maurice regarded them both, almost stupefied with astonishment.
"One moment," said the Chevalier, "allow me to return to my chamber.
I give you my word of honor it is not to escape; I wish to conceal a
portrait."
Maurice turned his eyes quickly toward that of Geneviève; it hung in
its place. Perhaps the Chevalier divined Maurice's thoughts, or perhaps
he wished to try his generosity to the utmost.
"Come," said he, "I know you are a Republican, but I know also that you
possess a pure and loyal heart. I will trust you to the end. Look!"
And he drew a miniature from his breast, and displayed it to Maurice.
He beheld before him the portrait of the queen. Maurice bowed his head,
and rested his forehead on his hand.
"I await your orders, sir," said Maison-Rouge; "if you desire my
arrest, knock at this door when it is time for me to give myself up. I
care not for my life from the moment it is not sustained by the hope of
saving my queen."
The Chevalier quitted the room without a gesture from Maurice offering
to detain him.
As he left the chamber Geneviève cast herself at the young man's feet.
"Pardon, Maurice," sobbed she,--"pardon for all the evil I have done.
Forgive my deception; forgive me, if only on account of my tears and
suffering, for believe me I have wept much and suffered much. My
husband left me this morning; I know not where he is gone, and perhaps
I may see him no more. And now I have only one friend left,--nay more
than friend, a brother,--and you will destroy him. Pardon, Maurice,
pardon!"
Maurice raised the young woman.
"What would you?" said he. "There is fatality in all this. Every one
stakes his life in these days; the Chevalier de Maison-Rouge has played
like all the rest, but he has lost the game, and he must therefore pay."
"That means that he must die, if I understand you rightly?"
"Yes."
"He must die; and it is you who tell me this?"
"It is not I, Geneviève; it is fatality."
"Fatality has not uttered its last word, since you can save him."
"At the expense of my word, and consequently of my honor. I comprehend,
Geneviève."
"Shut your eyes, Maurice; that is all I ask; and as far as a woman may
evince her gratitude I will promise you mine."
"I should close my eyes to little purpose, Madame; there is a password
given, and without this password no one could go out. Besides, the
house, as I have told you, is surrounded."
"And you know the word?"
"Certainly I know it."
"Maurice!"
"Well?"
"Dear friend Maurice, tell me this password; I must know it."
"Geneviève," cried Maurice, "do you mean to say to me, 'Maurice, for
the love I bear you, sacrifice your word and your honor, betray your
cause, abjure your opinions.' What do you offer me, Geneviève, in
exchange for all this, you who tempt me thus?"
"Oh, Maurice, save him, save him first! and then ask of me my life."
"Geneviève," replied Maurice, in a desponding tone, "hear me! I have
one foot on the road to infamy; before I make a final descent I wish at
least to find a sufficient excuse for so doing. Geneviève, swear to me
you do not love the Chevalier de Maison-Rouge!"
"I love him as a sister and a friend; not otherwise, I swear."
"Geneviève, do you love me?"
"Maurice, I do love you; it is true, as God now hears me."
"If I do what you ask me, will you abandon relatives, friends, country,
and fly with the traitor?"
"Maurice! Maurice!"
"She hesitates! Oh, she hesitates!"
And he turned from her with all the violence of disdain. Geneviève, who
was leaning upon him, feeling suddenly her support give way, fell upon
her knees.
"Maurice," said she, wringing her hands, "I will swear to do all that
you require of me. Order, and I will obey."
"You will be mine, Geneviève?"
"I will."
"Swear it, by Christ."
Geneviève extended her arms.
"My God," cried she, "thou didst pardon one poor woman who had gone
astray; I trust in thy mercy that thou wilt also pardon me."
And the great tears rained down her cheeks, falling upon her long hair
hanging dishevelled on her bosom.
"Not thus!" said Maurice, "swear not thus! or I cannot accept that
oath."
"O Heaven!" replied she, "I swear to devote my life to Maurice, to die
with him, and if requisite, for him, if he will save my friend, my
brother, my protector, the Chevalier de Maison-Rouge."
"'T is well: he shall be saved," said Maurice.
And he went toward his chamber.
"Sir," said he, "resume your costume of the tanner Morand; I return
your parole, you are free. And you, Madame," said he turning to
Geneviève, "this is the password, 'Carnation and Vault.'" And as if
horrified to remain in the chamber where he had pronounced the words
which constituted him a traitor, he opened the window, and sprang from
the room into the garden below.