THE HUNGARIAN MILITIA
CHAPTER I
When Count Vavel and the vice-palatine disappeared from the window of
the dining-room, they did not retire to their pillows. They went to
Ludwig's study, where they refilled their pipes for another smoke.
"But tell me, Herr Vice-palatine," said the count, continuing the
conversation which had begun at the dining-table, "why is it that six
months have been allowed to pass since the Diet passed the militia law
without anything having been accomplished?"
"Well, you must know that there are three essential parts among the
works of a clock," returned Herr Bernat, complacently puffing away at
his pipe. "There is the spring, the pendulum, and the escapement. The
wheels are the subordinates. The spring is the law passed by the Diet.
The pendulum is the palatine office, which has to set the law in motion;
the escapement is the imperial counselor of war. The wheels are the
people. We will keep to the technical terms, if you please. When the
spring was wound up, the pendulum began to set the wheels going. They
turned, and the loyal nobles of the country began to enroll their
names--"
"How many do you suppose enrolled their names?" interrupted the count.
"Thirty thousand cavalry and forty thousand infantry--which are not all
the able-bodied men, as only one member from each family is required to
join the army. After the names had been entered came the question of
uniforms, arms, officering, drilling, provisions. You must admit that a
clock cannot strike until the hands have made their regular passage
through all the minutes and seconds that make up the hour!"
"For heaven's sake! What a preamble!" ejaculated the count. "But go on.
The first minute?"
"Yes; the first minute a stoppage occurred caused by the escapement
objecting to furnish canteens; if the militiamen wanted canteens they
must provide them themselves."
"I trust the clock was not allowed to stop for want of a few canteens,"
ironically observed Count Vavel.
"Moreover," continued the vice-palatine, not heeding the interruption,
"the escapement gave them to understand that brass drums could not be
furnished--only wooden ones--"
"They will do their duty, too, if properly handled," again interpolated
Vavel.
"A more disastrous check, however, was the decision of the _Komitate_
that the uniform was to consist of red trousers and light-blue dolman--"
"A picturesque uniform, at any rate!"
"There was a good deal of argument about it; but at last it was decided
that the companies from the Danube should adopt light-blue dolmans, and
those from the Theiss dark-blue."
"Thank heaven something was decided!"
"Don't be too premature with your thanks, Herr Count! The escapement
would not consent to the red trousers; red dye-stuff was not to be had,
because of the continental embargo. The militia must content itself with
trousers made of the coarse white cloth of which peasants' cloaks are
made. You can imagine what a tempest that raised in the various
counties! To offer Hungarian nobles trousers made of such stuff! At
last the matter was arranged: trousers and dolman were to be made of the
same material. The Komitate were satisfied with this. But the escapement
then said there were not enough tailors to make so many uniforms. The
government would supply the cloth, and have it cut, and the militiamen
could have it made up at home."
"That certainly would make the uniform of more value to the wearer!"
"_Would have made_, Herr Count; would have made! The escapement suddenly
announced that the cloth could not be purchased; for, while the dispute
about the colors of the uniform had been going on, the greedy merchants
had advanced the price of all cloths to such an exorbitant figure that
the government could n't afford to buy it."
"To the cuckoo with your escapement! The men have got to have uniforms!"
"Beg pardon; don't begin yet to waste expletives, else you will not have
any left at the end of the hour! The counties then agreed to pay the sum
advanced on the original price of the cloth, whereupon the escapement
said the money would have to be forthcoming at once, as the cloth could
not be bought on credit."
"Well, is there no treasury which could supply enough funds for this
worthy object?" asked the count.
"Yes; there is the public treasury for current expenses. But the
treasurer will not give any money to the militia until they are mounted
and equipped; the escapement will not furnish the cloth for the uniforms
without the money; and the treasury will not give any money until the
militia has its uniforms!"
"Well, a man can fight without a uniform. If only these men have horses
under them and weapons in their hands--"
"Two of these requisites we already have; but the escapement announces
that arms of the latest improvements cannot be furnished, because the
government has not got them."
"Well, the old ones will answer."
"They _would_ if we had enough flints; but they are not to be had,
because the insurrectionary Poles have captured the flint depot in
Lemberg."
"Each man certainly could get a flint for himself."
"Even then there are only enough guns for about one half of the men. The
escapement suggested that to those who had no arms it would
furnish--halberds!"
"What? Halberds!" cried Vavel, losing all patience. "Halberds against
Bonaparte? Halberds against the legions who have broken a path from one
end of Europe to the other with their bayonets, and with them carved
their triumphs on the pyramids? Halberds against them? Do you take me to
be a fool, Herr Vice-palatine?"
He sprang to his feet and began to pace the floor excitedly, his guest
meanwhile eying him with a roguish glance.
"There!" at last exclaimed Herr Bernat, "I will not tease you any
longer. Fortunately, there is a clock-repairer who, so soon as he
perceived how tardily the hands performed their task, with his finger
twirled them around the entire dial, whereupon the clock struck the
hour. This able repairer is our king, who at once advanced from his own
exchequer enough money to equip the militia companies, distributed six
thousand first-class cavalry sabers and sixteen cannon, and loaned the
entire Hungarian life-guard to drill the newly formed regiments. And
now, I will wager that our noble militia host will be ready for the
field in less than thirty days, and that they will fight as well as the
good Lord permitted them to learn how!"
"Why in the world did you not tell me this at once?" demanded Count
Vavel.
"Because it is not customary to put the fire underneath the tobacco in
the pipe! The king's example inspired our magnates. Those whom the law
compelled to equip ten horsemen sent out whole companies, and placed
themselves in command."
"As I shall do!" appended Count Vavel. "I hope, Herr Vice-palatine, that
you will not forget the amnesty for Satan Laczi and his men. They will
be of special value as spies."
"I have a knot in my handkerchief for that, Herr Count, and shall be
sure to remember. The company to be commanded by Count Ludwig Fertöszeg
will be complete in a week."
"Why do you call me Fertöszeg?"
"Because a Hungarian name is better for your ensign than your own
foreign one. Our people have an antipathy to everything foreign--and we
have cause to complain of the Frenchmen who served in our army. Most of
them were spies--tools of Napoleon's. Generals Moiselle and Lefebre
surrendered fortified Laibach, together with its entire brigade, without
discharging a gun. And even our quondam friend, the gallant Colonel
Barthelmy, has taken Dutch leave and gone back to the enemy."
"What? Gone back to the enemy!" repeated Ludwig, springing from his
chair, and laughing delightedly.
"The news seems to rejoice you," observed Herr Bernat.
"I shout for very joy! The thought that we might have to fight side by
side annoyed me. Now, however, we shall be adversaries, and when we
meet, the man who did not steal Ange Barthelmy will send her husband to
the devil! And now, Herr Vice-palatine, I think it is time to say good
night. It will be the first night in six years that I shall sleep
quietly."
They shook hands, and separated for the night.
CHAPTER II
From early morning until evening the enrolment of names went on at the
Nameless Castle, while from time to time a squad of volunteers,
accompanied by Count Vavel himself, would depart amid the blare of
trumpets for the drill-ground.
The count made a fine-looking officer, with the crimson shako on his
head, his mantle flung over one shoulder, his saber in his hand. When he
saluted the ladies on their balconies, his spirited horse would rear and
dance proudly. His company, the "Volons," had selected black and crimson
as the colors for their uniform. The shako was ornamented in front with
a white death's-head, and one would not have believed that a skull could
be so ornamental.
The Volons' ensign was not yet finished, but pretty white hands were
embroidering gold letters on the silken streamers; lead would very soon
add further ornamentation!
When Ludwig Vavel opened the door of his castle to the public, he very
soon became acquainted with a very different life from that of the past
six years. For six years he had dwelt among a people whom he imagined he
had learned to know and understand through his telescope, and from the
letters he had received from a clergyman and a young law student.
The reality was quite different.
Every man that was enrolled in his volunteer corps Count Vavel made an
object of special study. He found among them many interesting
characters, who would have deserved perpetuation, and made of all of
them excellent soldiers. The men very soon became devoted to their
leader. When the troop was complete--three hundred horsemen in handsome
uniforms, on spirited horses--their ensign was ready for them. Marie
thought it would have been only proper for Katharina, the betrothed of
the leader, to present the flag; but Count Vavel insisted that Marie
must perform the duty. The flag was hers; it would wave over the men who
were going to fight for her cause.
It was an inspiriting sight--three hundred horsemen, every one of noble
Hungarian blood. There were among them fathers of families, and
brothers; and all of them soldiers of their own free will. Of such
material was the troop of Volons, commanded by "Count Vavel von
Fertöszeg."
Count Vavel had a second volunteer company, composed of Satan Laczi and
his comrades. This company, however, had been formed and drilled in
secret, as the noble Volons would not have tolerated such vagabonds in
their ranks. There were only twenty-four men in Satan Laczi's squad, and
they were expected to undertake only the most hazardous missions of the
campaign.
Ah, how Marie's hand trembled when she knotted the gay streamers to the
flag Ludwig held in his hands! She whispered, in a tone so low that only
he could hear what she said:
"Don't go away, Ludwig! Stay here with us. Don't waste your precious
blood for me, but let us three fly far away from here."
Those standing apart from the count and his fair ward fancied that the
whispered words were a blessing on the ensign. She did not bless it in
words, but when she saw that Ludwig would not renounce his undertaking,
she pressed her lips to the standard which bore the _patrona Hungaria_.
That was her blessing! Then she turned and flung herself into
Katharina's arms, sobbing, while hearty cheers rose from the Volons:
"Why don't _you_ try to prevent him from going away from us? Why don't
you say to him, 'To-morrow we are to be wedded. Why not wait until
then?'"
But there was no time now to think of marriage. There was one who was in
greater haste than any bridegroom or bride. The great leader of armies
was striding onward, whole kingdoms between his paces. From the
slaughter at Ebersburg he passed at once to the walls of Vienna, to the
square in front of the Cathedral of St. Stephen. From the south, also,
came Job's messengers, thick and fast. Archduke John had retreated from
Italy back into Hungary, the viceroy Eugene following on his heels.
General Chasteler had become alarmed at Napoleon's proclamation
threatening him with death, and had removed his entire army from the
Tyrol. His divisions were surrendering, one after another, to the
pursuing foe.
Thus the border on the south and west was open to the enemy; and to
augment the peril which threatened Hungary, Poland menaced her from the
north, from the Carpathians; and Russia at the same time sent out
declarations of war.
The countries which had been on friendly terms with one another suddenly
became enemies--Poland against Hungary, Russia against Austria. Prussia
waited. England hastened to seize an island from Holland. The patriotic
calls of Gentz and Schlegel failed to inspire Germany. The heroic
attempts of Kalt, Dörnberg, Schill, and Lützow fell resultless on the
indifference of the people. Only Turkey remained a faithful ally, and
the assurance that the Mussulman would protect Hungary in the rear
against an invasion on the part of Moldavia was the only ray of light
amid the darkness of those days.
Then came a fresh Job's messenger.
General Jelachich, with his five thousand men, had laid down his arms in
the open field before the enemy. Now, indeed, it might be said: "The
time is come to be up and doing, Hungary!"
He who had neglected to celebrate his nuptials yesterday would have no
time for marriage feasts to-morrow. Hannibal was at the gates! The noble
militia host was set in motion. The Veszprime and Pest regiments moved
toward the Marczal to join Archduke John's forces. The primatial troops
joined the main body of the army on the banks of the March, and what
there was of soldiery on the farther side of the Danube hastened to
concentrate in the neighborhood of the Raab--only half equipped, muskets
without flints, without cartridges, without saddles, with halters in
lieu of bridles!
Under such circumstances a fully equipped troop like that commanded by
"Count Fertöszeg," with sabers, pistols, carbines, and a leader trained
in the battle-field, was of some value.
The days which followed the flag presentation were certainly not
calculated to whispers of happy love, while the nights were illumined
only by the light of watch-fires, and the glare over against the horizon
of cannonading. Count Ludwig had so many demands on his time that he
rarely found a few minutes free to visit his dear ones at the manor.
Sometimes he came unexpectedly early in the morning, and sometimes late
in the evening. And always, when he came, like the insurgent who dashes
unceremoniously into your door, there was a confusion and a bustling to
conceal what he was not yet to see--Marie's first attempts at drawing,
her piano practices, or the miniature portrait Katharina was painting of
her. Sometimes, too, he came when they were at a meal; and then, despite
his protests that he had already dined or supped in camp, he would be
compelled to take his seat between the two ladies at the table. Hardly
would he have taken up his fork, however, when a messenger would arrive
in great haste to summon him for something or other--some question he
alone could decide; then all attempts to detain him would prove futile.
The day he received his orders to march, he was forced to take enough
time to speak on some very important matters to his betrothed wife. He
delivered into her hands the steel casket, of which so much has been
written. When he entered the room where the two ladies were sitting,
Marie discreetly rose and left the lovers alone; but she did not go very
far: she knew that she would be sent for very soon. Why should she stop
to hear the exchange of lovers' confidences, hear the mutual confessions
which made _them_ so happy? She did not want to see the tears which _he_
would kiss away.
"May God protect you," sobbed Katharina, reflecting at the same moment
that it would be a great pity were a bullet to strike the spot on the
noble brow where she pressed her farewell kiss.
"You will guard my treasure, Katharina? Take good care of my palladium
and of yourself. Before I go, let me show you what this casket which you
must guard with unceasing care contains."
He drew the steel ring from his thumb, and pushed to one side the crown
which formed the seal, whereupon a tiny key was revealed. With it he
unlocked the casket.
On top lay a packet of English bank-notes of ten thousand pounds each.
"This sum," explained Ludwig, "will defray the expenses of our
undertaking. When I shall have attained my object, I shall be just so
much the poorer. I am not a rich man, Katharina; I must tell you this
before our marriage."
"I should love you even were you a beggar," was the sincere response.
A kiss was her reward.
Underneath the bank-notes were several articles of child's clothing,
such as little girls wear.
"Her mother embroidered the three lilies on these with her own hands,"
said Ludwig, laying the little garments to one side. Then he took from
the casket several time-stained documents, and added: "These are the
certificate of baptism, the last lines from the mother to her daughter,
and the deposition of the two men who witnessed the exchange of the
children. This," taking up a miniature-case, "contains a likeness of
Marie, and one of the other little girl who exchanged destinies with
her. The Marquis d'Avoncourt, who is now a prisoner in the Castle of
Ham,--if he is still alive!--is the only one besides ourselves who knows
of the existence of these things. And now, Katharina, let me beg of you
to take good care of them; no matter what happens, do not lose sight of
this casket."
He locked the casket, and returned the ring to his thumb.
The baroness placed the treasure intrusted to her care in a secret
cupboard in the wall of her own room.
And now, one more kiss!
The girl waiting in the adjoining room was doubtless getting weary.
Suddenly Ludwig heard the tones of a piano. Some one was playing, in the
timid, uncertain manner of a new beginner, Miska's martial song. Ludwig
listened, and turned questioningly toward his betrothed. Katharina did
not speak; she merely smiled, and walked toward the door of the
adjoining room, which she opened.
Marie sprang from the piano toward Ludwig, who caught her in his arms
and rewarded her for the surprise. And thus it happened that Marie,
after all, was the one to receive Ludwig's last kiss of farewell.
CHAPTER III
The camp on the bank of the Rabcza was shared by the troop from
Fertöszeg and by a militia company of infantry from Wieselburg.
The parole had been given out for the night. Count Vavel had completed
his round of the outposts, and had returned to the officers' tent. Here
he found awaiting him two old acquaintances--the vice-palatine and the
young attorney from Pest, each of them wearing the light-blue dolman.
The youthful attorney, whose letters to the count had voiced the
national discontent, had at once girded on his sword when the call to
arms had sounded throughout the land, and was now of one mind with his
quondam patron: if he got near enough to a Frenchman to strike him, the
result would certainly be disastrous--for the Frenchman. Bernat bácsi
also found himself at last in his element, with ample time and
opportunity for anecdotes. Seated on a clump of sod the root side up,
with both hands clasping the hilt of his sword, the point of which
rested on the ground, he repeated what he had heard from the palatine's
own lips, while dining with that exalted personage in the camp by the
Raab.
At a very interesting point in his recital he was unceremoniously
interrupted by the challenging call of the outposts:
"Halt! who comes there?"
Vavel hastened from the tent, flung himself on his horse, and galloped
in the direction of the call. The patrol had stopped an armed man who
would not give the password, but insisted that he had a right to enter
the camp.
Vavel recognized Satan Laczi, and said to the guard:
"Release him; he is a friend of mine." Then to the ex-robber: "Come with
me."
He led the way to his own private tent, where he bade his companion rest
himself on a pallet of straw.
"I dare say you are tired, my good fellow."
"Not very," was the reply. "I have come only from Kapuvar to-day."
"On foot?"
"Part of the way, and part of the way swimming."
"What news do you bring?"
"We captured a French courier in the marshes near Vitnyed just as he was
about to ride into the stream."
"Where is he?"
"Well, you see, one of my fellows happened to grasp him a little too
tightly by the collar, because he resisted so obstinately--and, besides,
it must have been a very weak cord that fastened his soul to his body."
"You have not done well, Satan Laczi," reproved the count. "Another time
you must bring the prisoner to me alive, for I may learn something of
importance from him. Did not I tell you that I would pay a reward for a
living captive?"
"Yes, your lordship, and we shall lose our reward this time. But we
did n't capture the fellow for nothing, after all. We searched his
pockets, and found this sealed letter addressed to a general in the
enemy's army."
Vavel took the letter, and said: "Rest here until I return. You will
find something to eat and drink in the corner there. I may want you to
ride farther to-night."
"If I am to go on a horse, that will rest me sufficiently," was the
response.
Vavel quitted the tent to read the letter by the nearest watch-fire. It
was addressed to "General Guillaume."
That the general commanded a brigade of the viceroy of Italy's troops,
Vavel knew.
The letter was a long one--four closely written pages. Before reading it
Vavel glanced at the signature: "Marquis de Fervlans." The name seemed
familiar, but he could not remember where he had heard it. He was fully
informed when he read the contents:
"M. GENERAL: The intrigue has been successfully carried out.
Themire has found the fugitives! They are hidden in a secluded nook
on the shore of Lake Neusiedl in Hungary, where their extreme
caution has attracted much attention. Themire's first move was to
take up her abode in the same neighborhood, which she did in a
masterly manner. The estate she bought belonged to a Viennese baron
who had ruined himself by extravagance. Themire bought the
property, paying one hundred thousand guilders for it, on condition
that she might also assume the baron's name; such transfers are
possible, I believe, in Austria. In this wise Themire became the
Baroness Katharina Landsknechtsschild, and, as she thoroughly
understands the art of transformation, became a perfect German
woman before she took possession of her purchase. In order not to
arouse suspicion on the part of the fugitives, she carefully
avoided meeting either of them, and played to perfection the rôle
of a lady that had been jilted by her lover.
"Themire learned that our fugitive owned a powerful telescope with
which he kept himself informed of everything that happened in the
neighborhood, and this prompted her to adopt a very amusing plan of
action. _I_ wanted to put an end at once to the matter, and had
gone to Vienna for the purpose of so doing. I entered the Austrian
army as Count Leon Barthelmy, in order to be near my chosen
emissary. But my scheme was without result. I had planned that a
notorious robber of that region should steal the girl and the
documents from the Nameless Castle,--as the abode of the fugitives
is called,--but my robber proved unequal to the task. Consequently
I was forced to accept Themire's more tedious but successful plan.
The difficulty was for Themire to become acquainted with our
fugitive without arousing his suspicions. An opportunity offered.
One night, when we knew to a certainty that the hermit in the
Nameless Castle would be in his observatory because of an eclipse
of the moon, Themire put her plan into operation. The hermit, who
is only a man, after all, found a lovely woman more attractive than
all the planets in the universe; he was captured in the net laid
for him! When the moon entered the shadow, four masked robbers
(Jocrisse was their leader!) climbed into the Baroness
Landsknechtsschild's windows. The hermit in his observatory beheld
this incursion, and, being a knight as well as a recluse, what else
could he do but rush to the rescue of his fair neighbor? His
telescope had told him she was fair. Jocrisse played his part
admirably. At the approach of the deliverer the "robbers" took to
their heels, and the brave knight unbound the fettered and charming
lady he had delivered from the ruffians. As Themire had prepared
herself for the meeting, you may guess the result: the hermit was
captured!"
Oh, how every drop of blood in Vavel's veins boiled and seethed! His
face was crimsoned with shame and rage. He read further:
"Themire was perfectly certain that the mysterious hermit of the
Nameless Castle had fallen in love with her; and _I_ am not so sure
but Themire has ended by falling in love with the knight! Women's
hearts are so impressionable.
"I managed to have my regiment sent to her neighborhood, and took
up my quarters in her house. I sought by every means to lure the
hermit from his den; but he is a cunning fox, is this protector of
fair ladies! I could not get a sight of him. I decided at last to
waylay him (when he would be out driving with the veiled lady), to
pretend that I was a betrayed husband in search of his errant wife,
and ask to see the face of his veiled companion. This, naturally,
he would refuse. A duel would be the result; and as he has not for
years had a weapon in his hand, and as I am a dead shot, you can
guess the result--a hermit against a Spadassin! With a bullet in
his brain, the mysterious maid would become my property."
Here an icy chill shook Vavel's frame. He read on:
"That was my intention. But something on which I had not counted
prevented me from carrying it out. When I insisted on seeing the
face of the veiled lady, after telling him I believed her to be my
wife, Ange Barthelmy (I need not tell you that that entire story
was an invention of my own; I published it in a provincial
newspaper, whence it spread all over Europe), my brave hermit
showed a very bold front, and we were on the point of exchanging
blows, when the lady suddenly flung back her veil and revealed the
face of--Themire! You may believe that I was dumfounded for an
instant; then I began to believe that my faith in this woman had
been misplaced. Could it be possible that she had been caught in
her own trap--that she had found this Vavel's eyes more alluring
than the fortune we promised her, and that instead of betraying him
to us she would do the very opposite--betray us to him? It may be
that she has woven a more delicate web than I can detect with which
to entangle her romantic victim the more securely. At all events,
when I asked Vavel what relation the lady at his side bore to him,
he replied: 'She is my betrothed wife.'
"I confess I am puzzled. But I have the means of compelling Themire
to keep her promise. Her daughter is in my power!"
("Her daughter?" gasped Vavel. "Her daughter? Then Katharina is a
married woman!")
"But," he continued to read, "it might happen that a woman who is
in love would sacrifice her child. So soon as this war broke out,
Vavel threw off his hermit's mask, and is now leading a company of
troopers--which he equipped at his own expense--against us.
"From Jocrisse's letters I learn that Vavel's treasures are now in
Themire's hands. That which our fair emissary was commissioned to
find is in her possession. Now, however, the question is, What will
she do with it?
"Jocrisse also informs me that Themire is quite bewitched with the
amiability of the maid who has been intrusted to her care. If this
be true, then matters are in a bad way. If this is not another of
Themire's schemes, but actual sympathy, if this girl, whose
remarkable loveliness of character (even Jocrisse is compelled to
praise her) has won the piquant little Amélie's place in her
mother's heart, then it will be more difficult to separate Themire
from the girl than to win her from her lover."
This was a solitary ray of sunshine amid the threatening clouds which
enveloped Ludwig. He continued to read with rapidly beating heart:
"I must know to a certainty what Themire proposes to do. To-day I
sent her a message by a trusty courier, informing her that I should
be at a certain place at an appointed time--that I wanted her to
meet me and deliver into my hands the treasures she now holds. She
will have an excellent excuse for leaving the manor. Our troops are
approaching Steiermark, and have already crossed the Hungarian
border. Thus it will seem as if she fell by accident into the hands
of the enemy.
Vavel's heart almost ceased to beat. The letter shook in his trembling
hands.
"I shall not, however," he continued to read, "depend on the fickle
mood of a woman, who may be swayed by a tear or a love-letter. If
Themire does not appear with the maid and the documents at the
designated spot to-morrow evening, then I shall ride with my troop
to the manor. My troop, as you know, belongs to the 'Legion of
Demons,' and they do not know the definition of the word
'impossible'! If Themire of her own free will delivers the
treasures into my hands, I shall thank her becomingly. If, however,
she fails to meet me, I shall take the maid and the documents by
force."
Vavel did not notice that the firelight by which he was reading the
letter had begun to grow dim; he believed the characters on the page
before him were swimming in a blood-red mist.
"And now," the letter went on, "I come to my instructions to you,
general. You will move with your division toward the southern
shore of Lake Neusiedl, and cut off the way of our fugitives toward
the Tyrol. There is also another task which you must undertake. The
mysterious maid, once she is in our hands, must be treated with the
utmost courtesy and respect. A remarkable destiny awaits her. You
know the emperor is going to separate from Josephine. A new palace
will be built for the new empress. Who is the fortunate lady? As
yet, no one can tell. A royal maid who can bring as her dowry the
crown of a sovereign. A marriage that would unite the imperial
crown with the crown of Hugo Capet would firmly establish
Napoleon's throne. The legitimate dynasty would then be satisfied
with the sovereign chosen by the people. This fugitive maid is, I
hear, lovely, amiable, generous, pure, as only the ideal of a
sovereign can be."
Vavel stamped his foot in a paroxysm of fury. Had this miscreant written
that Marie was to be imprisoned in a convent, he could have borne it.
But to suggest that his idol, his pure, adored image of a saint, might
become the consort of the man on whom all the savage hatred of his
nature was concentrated--this was more horrible than all the torments of
hell. But he must calm himself and read the letter to the end.
"With this probability in view, I request that you send your wife
and daughter, with a proper escort, of course, to meet me in one of
the border cities, say Friedberg, where the ladies will be prepared
to take charge of the maid. You will understand that a lady of her
exalted position must travel only in company with distinguished
persons. Countess Themire Dealba's rôle is concluded. She must not
be allowed, in any character, to accompany our presumptive
sovereign to Paris. She will receive her five millions of francs,
as promised, and that will conclude our business transactions with
her. Pray communicate my desire to your wife and daughter, and bid
them prepare for the journey.
"Very truly,
"MARQUIS DE FERVLANS."
Not for one instant did Ludwig Vavel deliberate as to his course of
action.
He could not leave his post. For a soldier to quit his post before the
enemy is treason. He hurried back to his tent. Satan Laczi was stretched
on the bare ground, sleeping soundly.
Ludwig shook him vigorously.
"Awake--awake! You must depart at once."
Satan Laczi sprang to his feet.
"Take my own horse, and ride for your life the shortest way to
Fertöszeg."
"And what am I to do there?"
"Do you remember that an officer once asked you to steal the treasure I
kept concealed in the Nameless Castle?"
"Yes; but I did n't do it."
"Well, I want you to do it now for me."
"Which do you want, the maid or the casket?"
"Both, if possible; the maid in any case. But you must be sure that she
is alone when you approach her. Then say merely the name 'Sophie Botta,'
and she will listen quietly to what you have to say. Then show her this
ring,--here, put it on your left thumb"--he drew the steel ring from his
own thumb and slipped it on to Satan Laczi's,--"and say, 'The person who
wears this ring sent me to fetch you away from here. You are to come
with me at once.'"
"And where am I to take her?"
"You will have a carriage with four swift horses at the park gate
nearest the cemetery, and must drive with the maid to Raab.--Don't stop
on any account until you get there. In Raab you will inquire for the
house of Dr. Tromfszky, who is our army physician. He will have been
advised of your coming, and will take charge of the maid. Then you will
return to me here, and report what you have done. Here is a passport; if
you are stopped at our lines show it to the guard. And here is a purse;
don't spare the contents. And do not speak to a living soul about your
mission."
"Your orders shall be obeyed," responded Satan Laczi, as he turned to
leave the tent.
Vavel did not go back to the officers' tent. He went out into the night,
and stood with folded arms, gazing with unseeing eyes into the darkness.
PART VIII
KATHARINA OR THEMIRE?
CHAPTER I
It was a delightful May evening. Marie was practising diligently her
piano lesson, in order to surprise Ludwig with her progress when he
should return from the war. That he would return Marie was quite
certain.
Katharina had gone into the park for a solitary promenade. She had
complained all day of a headache--a headache that began to trouble her
after she had read the letter she had received that morning from the
Marquis de Fervlans. She held the letter in her hand now, and read it
again for the hundredth time.
Yes, she had accomplished her mission successfully; the fugitive maid
and the important documents were in her possession; and yet her
trembling hand refused to grasp the promised reward. A fortune awaited
her for the comedy she had played with such success--a comedy in which
she had acted the part of the charitable lady of the manor.
And what if there had been something of reality in the farce? Suppose
her heart had learned to thrill with emotions hitherto unknown to it?
Suppose it had learned to know the true meaning of gratitude--of love?
But five millions of francs!
If she were alone in the world! But there was Amélie, her dear little
daughter, who was now almost fifteen years old--almost a young lady.
Should she leave Amélie in her present disagreeable position, a member
of "Cythera's Brigade," or should she send for her, and confess to the
man whose respect she desired to retain that the child was her daughter,
and that she was a widow? Could she tell him what she had once been?
Would he continue to respect, to love her?
Five millions of francs!
It was an enormous sum, and would become hers if she should order the
carriage, and, taking Marie and the casket with her, drive leisurely
along the highway until stopped by a troop of soldiers that would
suddenly surround the carriage. A politely smiling face would then
appear at the window of the carriage, and a courteous voice would say:
"Don't be alarmed, ladies. You are with friends. We are Frenchmen."
But to renounce the love and respect so hardly won! Ah, how very dearly
she loved the man to whom she had betrothed herself in jest! In jest?
No, no; it was not a jest!
But five millions of francs!
Would all the millions in the world buy one faithful heart?
Katharina was suffering for her transgressions. She had intended to play
with the heart of another, and had lost her own. Besides, she could not
bear to think of betraying the innocent girl who loved and trusted her
and called her "mother."
But time pressed. Three times already Jocrisse had interrupted her
meditations to inquire if her answer to the marquis's letter was ready.
And still she struggled with herself. When Jocrisse appeared again, she
said to him:
"My letter is of such importance that I cannot think of intrusting it
to the hands of a stranger. You yourself, Jocrisse, must take it to the
marquis."
"I am ready to depart at once, madame."
Katharina wrote her reply, sealed it carefully, and gave it to Jocrisse,
who set out at once on his errand.
In the letter he carried were but three words:
"_Io non posso_" ("I cannot").
Katharina locked herself in the pavilion in the park, and gave orders to
the servants not to admit any visitors, whether acquaintances or
strangers.
An hour or more had passed when she heard a timid knock at the door, and
an apologetic voice said:
"A strange gentleman is here. I told him your ladyship would see no one;
then he bade me give your ladyship this, which he said he had brought
from Paris."
Katharina opened the door wide enough to receive the object. It was a
small ivory locket, yellow with age. Katharina's hand shook violently as
she pressed the spring to open it. She cast a hasty glance at the
miniature,--the likeness of her daughter Amélie,--then said in a
faltering voice: "You may tell the gentleman I will see him."
In a few minutes the visitor entered the pavilion.
"M. Cambray!" exclaimed the baroness.
"Yes, madame; I am Cambray, with my other name, Marquis Richard
d'Avoncourt. I am he to whom you once said: 'I shall be grateful to you
so long as I live.'"
"How--how came you here?" gasped the baroness.
"I managed to escape from my prison at Ham, went to Paris, where I saw
your daughter--"
"You saw my daughter?" interrupted the baroness, excitedly. "Did you
speak to her? Oh, tell me--tell me what you know about her."
"You shall hear all directly, madame. I told the countess that I
intended to search for her mother, and asked if she had any message to
send to her."
"Did she send a letter with you?" again interrupted the baroness.
"She did, madame. But before I give it to you I should like to have a
shovel of hot coals and a bit of camphor."
"But why--why?" demanded the baroness.
"I will tell you. Do you know what Napoleon brought home with him from
the bloody battle of Eilau?"
"I have not heard."
"The 'influenza.' I dare say you have never even heard the name; but you
will very soon hear it often enough! It is a pestilential disease that
is rather harmless where it originated, but when it takes hold of a
strange region it becomes a deadly pestilence--as in Paris, where a
special hospital has been established for patients with the disease. It
was in this hospital I found your daughter as a nurse."
"_Jesu Maria!_" shrieked the mother, in a tone of agony. "A nurse in
that pest-house?"
"Yes," nodded the marquis. Then he took from his pocket a letter, and
added: "She wrote this to you from there."
The baroness eagerly extended her hand to take the letter.
"Would it not be better to fumigate it first?" said the marquis.
"No, no; I am not afraid! Give it to me, I beg of you!"
She caught the letter from his hand, tore it open, and read:
"DEAR LITTLE MAMA: What sort of a life are you leading out yonder
in that strange land? Do you never get weary or feel bored? Have
you anything to amuse you? _I_ have become satiated with my
life--lying, cheating, deceiving every day in order to live! While
I was a little girl I was proud of the praises heaped upon me for
my cleverness. But a day came when everything disgusted me. It is
an infamous trade, this of ours, little mama, and I have given it
up. I have begun to lead a different life--one with which I am
satisfied; and if you will take the advice of one who wishes you
well, you, too, will quit the old ways. You can embroider
beautifully and play the piano like a master. You could earn a
livelihood giving lessons in either. Do not trouble any further
about me, for I can take care of myself. If only you knew how much
happier I am now, you would rejoice, I know! Let me beg you to
become honest and truthful, and think often of your old friend and
little daughter,
"AMÉLIE (now SOEUÉR AGNES)."
Katharina's nerveless hands dropped to her lap. This sharp rebuke from
her only child was deserved.
Then she sprang suddenly toward her visitor, grasped his arm, and cried:
"Tell me--tell me about my daughter, my little Amélie! How does she look
now? Is she much changed? Has she grown? Oh, M. Cambray! in pity tell
me--tell me about her!"
"I have brought you a portrait of her as she looked when I saw her
last."
He drew from his pocket a small case, and, opening it, disclosed a
pallid face with closed eyes. A wreath of myrtle encircled the head,
which rested on the pillow of a coffin.
"She is dead!" screamed the horror-stricken mother, staring with wild
eyes at the sorrowful picture.
"Yes, madame, she is dead," assented the marquis. "This portrait is sent
by your daughter as a remembrance to the mother who exposed her on the
streets, one stormy winter night, in order that she might spy upon
another little child--a persecuted and homeless little child."
The baroness cowered beneath the merciless words as beneath a stinging
lash: but the man knew no pity; he would not spare the heartbroken
woman.
"And now, madame," he continued in a sharp tone, "you can go back to
your home and take possession of your reward. You have worked hard to
earn the blood-money."
Here the baroness sat suddenly upright, tore from her bosom a small gold
note-case, in which was the order for the five millions of francs. She
opened the case, took out the order, and tore it into tiny bits. Then
she flung them from her, crying savagely:
"Curse him who brought me to this! God's curse be upon him who brought
this on me!"
"Madame," calmly interposed the marquis, "you have not yet completed the
task you were set to do."
"No, no; I have not--I have not," was the excited response, "and I never
will. Come--come with me! The maid and what belongs to her are
here--safe, unharmed. Take her--fly with her and hers whithersoever you
choose to go; I shall not hinder you."
"That I cannot do, madame. I am a stranger in a strange land. I know not
who is my friend or who is my foe. _You_ must save the maid. If
atonement is possible for you, that is the way you may win it. You know
best where the maid will be safe from her persecutors. Save her, and
atone for your transgression against her. Ludwig Vavel gave you his love
and, more than that, his respect. Would you retain both, or will you
tear them to tatters, as you have the order for the five million francs?
Will you let me advise you?" he asked, suddenly.
"Advise me, and I will follow it to the letter!"
"Then disguise yourself as a peasant, hide the steel casket in a hamper,
and take it to Ludwig Vavel, wherever he may be."
"And Marie?"
"You cannot with safety take her with you. The maid and the casket must
not remain together. You must conceal Marie somewhere until you return
from the camp."
"Will you not stay here and keep watch over her until I return?"
"I thank you, madame, for your hospitality, but I must not accept it. I
come direct from the influenza hospital. I feel that the disease has
laid hold of me. I have comfortable quarters at the Nameless Castle,
where my old friend Lisette will take care of me. Don't let Marie come
to see me; and if I should not recover from this illness, which I feel
will be a severe one, let me be buried down yonder on the shore of the
lake."
When the Marquis d'Avoncourt left the pavilion he was shaking with a
violent chill, and as he took his way with tottering steps toward the
Nameless Castle, Katharina, broken-hearted and filled with anguish, wept
out her heart in bitter tears.
CHAPTER II
Marie had finished practising her lesson, and hastened to join Katharina
in the park. She found her in the pavilion, and was filled with alarm
when she saw her "little mama" kneeling among the fragments of her
fortune. Katharina's tear-stained eyes, swollen face, and drawn lips
betrayed how terribly she was suffering.
"My dearest little mama!" exclaimed Marie, hastening toward the kneeling
woman, and trying to lift her from the floor, "what is the matter? What
has happened?"
"Don't touch me," moaned the baroness. "Don't come near me. I am a
murderess. I murdered her who called me mother."
She held the ivory locket toward Marie, and added: "See, this is what
she was like when I deserted her--my little daughter Amélie!"
"Your daughter?" repeated Marie, wonderingly. "You have been married?
Are you a widow?"
"I am."
Katharina now held toward the young girl the portrait M. Cambray had
given her. "And this," she explained in a hollow tone, "is what she is
like now--now, when I wanted her to come to me."
"Good heaven!" ejaculated Marie, gazing in terror at the miniature, "she
is dead?"
"Yes--murdered--as you, too, will be if you stay with me! You must
fly--fly at once!"
"Katharina!" interposed the young girl, "why do you speak so?"
"I say that you must leave me. Go--go at once! Go down to the parsonage,
and ask Herr Mercatoris to give you shelter. Tell him to clothe you in
rags; and when you hear the tramp of horses, hide yourself, and don't
venture from your concealment until they are gone. I, too, am going away
from here."
"But why may not I come with you?" asked Marie, in a troubled tone.
"Where I go you cannot accompany me. I am going to steal through the
lines of Ludwig's camp."
"You are going to Ludwig?" interrupted the young girl.
"Yes, to deliver into his hands the casket containing your belongings.
After that I--I don't know what will become of me."
"Katharina! Don't frighten me so! Do you imagine that Ludwig will cease
to love you when he learns you are a widow, and that you had a
daughter?"
"Oh, no; he will not hate me because I had a daughter," returned
Katharina, shaking her head sadly, "but because my wickedness destroyed
her."
"Don't talk so, Katharina," again expostulated Marie.
"Why, don't you see that she is dead? Look at these closed eyes, the
white face! Ask these closed lips to open and tell you that I did not
murder her!"
"Katharina, this is not true! Your enemies have told you this to grieve
you. Look at these two pictures! There is not the least resemblance
between them. This pale one is not your daughter. He who told you so
lied cruelly."
Katharina sighed mournfully.
"He who told me so does not lie. It was your old friend Cambray."
"Cambray?" echoed Marie, with mingled delight and astonishment. "Cambray
is here? My deliverer, my second father! Where is he?"
"He is gone. He accomplished that for which he came,--to crush me to the
earth, and to serve you,--and has gone away again."
"Gone away?" repeated Marie, incredulously. "Gone away? Impossible!
Cambray would not go away without seeing me! Which way did he go? I will
run after him and overtake him."
"No; stay where you are!" commanded Katharina, seizing her arm. "You
must not follow him."
"Why not?"
"Listen, and I will tell you. Cambray brought these pictures and this
letter from Paris. The letter was written by my daughter in the
hospital, where she caught the dreadful disease which caused her death.
She had been nursing the sick, like a heroine, and died like a saint. It
is well with her now, for she is in heaven. If I weep, it is not for
her, but for myself. The deadly disease Amélie died of has seized upon
your friend Cambray; and the noble old man is unselfish even in dying.
He does not want you to come near him, lest you, too, become affected by
the pestilence. He is gone to the Nameless Castle, where Lisette will
take care of him--"
"Lisette?" interrupted Marie, excitedly. "Lisette, who was afraid to go
near her own husband when he lay dying!"
"Well, what would you? Shall I send some one to nurse him?"
"No--no. _I_ am the one to take care of him! He was a father to me. For
my sake he was imprisoned, persecuted, buried alive all these years! And
I am to let him die over yonder--alone, without a friend near him! No; I
am going to him. That which your other daughter had the courage to do,
this one also will do!"
"Marie! Think of Ludwig! Do you wish to drive him to despair?"
"God watches over us. He will do what is well for all of us!"
"Marie"--Katharina made a last effort to detain the young girl--"Marie,
do you wish to go to Cambray to learn from him that I am the curse-laden
creature who was sent after you to capture you and deliver you into the
hands of your enemies?"
Marie turned at these desperate words, held out her hand, and said
gently:
"And if he were to tell me that, Katharina, I should say to him that,
instead of destroying me you liberated me, and instead of hating me you
love me as I love you."
She made as if she would kiss Katharina; but the excited woman turned
away her face, and held toward Marie the letter Cambray had given her.
"Read this, and learn to know me as I am," she said in a choking voice.
While Marie was reading the letter, Katharina covered her burning face
with both hands; but they were gently drawn away and held in the young
girl's warm clasp, while she spoke:
"A reply must be sent to this letter, little mother. I shall say to her,
through the soul now on the eve of departure to the better land where
she dwells: 'Little sister, your mother will wear the pure white
garment, as you desired, in mourning for you. Instead of you, she will
have me, and will love me, as I shall love her, in your stead. Bless us
both, and be happy.' Shall I not send this message to your Amélie with
my good friend Cambray?"
"Go, then; go--go," convulsively sobbed Katharina, and fell upon her
face on the floor as Marie hastened from the pavilion.
CHAPTER III
When her grief had exhausted itself, Katharina stole back to the manor,
where she removed the steel casket from its hiding-place, wrapped it in
her shawl, and, passing noiselessly and unseen down a staircase that was
rarely used, crossed the park to the farmer's cottage.
Here she told the farmer's wife that she was going to play a trick on
her betrothed, that she wanted to borrow a gown and a kerchief. She bade
the farmer saddle the mule which his wife rode when she went to the
village, and to hang the hampers, as usual, from the pommel. In one of
these she placed the steel casket, in the other a pistol, and filled
them both with all sorts of provisions. Thus disguised, she mounted the
quadruped, and set out alone on her way toward the camp.
Almost at the same moment that Ludwig Vavel had learned of the deceit of
the woman he loved, he became convinced that his ambitious designs had
come to naught. The rising of the German patriots against Napoleon had
ended in their defeat, and not a trace was left of the uprising among
the French people themselves.
It was the third day after the battle of Aspern when Master Matyas
entered Count Vavel's tent.
The jack of all trades had proved himself a useful member of the
army--not, indeed, where there was any fighting, for he much preferred
looking on, when a battle was in progress, to taking an active part in
the fray. But as a spy he was invaluable.
"I have seen everything," he announced. "I saw the balloon in which a
French engineer made an ascent to the clouds, to reconnoiter the
Austrian camp. He went up as high as a kite, and they held on to the
rope below, down which he sent his messages--observations of the
Austrians' movements. I saw the bridge, which is two hundred and forty
fathoms long, which can be transported from place to place, and reaches
from one bank of the Danube to the other. And I saw that demi-god flying
on his white horse. He was pale, and trembled."
"And how came you to see all these sights, Master Matyas?" interrupted
Vavel.
"I allowed the Frenchmen to capture me; then I was set to work in the
intrenchments with the other prisoners."
"And did you manage to deliver my letter?"
"Oh, yes. The Philadelphians are easily recognized from the silver arrow
they wear in their ears. When I whispered the password to one of them,
he gave it back to me, whereupon I handed him your letter. I came away
as soon as he brought me the answer. Here it is."
This letter by no means lightened Vavel's gloomy mood. Colonel Oudet,
the secret chief of the Philadelphians in the French army, heartily
thanked Count Vavel for his offer of assistance to overthrow Napoleon;
but he also gave the count to understand that, were Bonaparte defeated,
the republic would be restored to France. In this case, what would
become of Vavel's cherished plans?
It was after midnight. The pole of "Charles's Wain" in the heavens stood
upward. Ludwig approached the watch-fire, and told the lieutenant on
guard that he might go to his tent, that he, Vavel, would take his
place for the remainder of the night. Then he let the reins drop on the
neck of his horse, and while the beast grazed on the luxuriant grass,
his rider, with his carbine resting in the hollow of his arm, continued
the night watch. The night was very still; the air was filled with
odorous exhalations, which rose from the earth after the shower in the
early part of the evening. From time to time a shooting star sped on its
course across the sky.
One after the other, Ludwig Vavel read the two letters he carried in his
breast. He did not need to take them from their hiding-place in order to
read them. He knew the contents by heart--every word. One of them was a
love-letter he had received from his betrothed; the other was the Judas
message of his enemy and Marie's.
At one time he would read the love-letter first; then that of the
arch-plotter. Again, he would change the order of perusal, and test the
different sensations--the bitter after the sweet, the sweet after the
bitter.
Suddenly, through the silence of the night, he heard the distant tinkle
of a mule-bell. It came nearer and nearer. He heard the outpost's "Halt!
Who comes there?" and heard the pleasant-voiced response: "Good evening,
friend. God bless you."
"Ah!" muttered Ludwig, with a scornful smile, "my beautiful bride is
sending another supply of dainties. How much she thinks of me!"
The mule-bell came nearer and nearer.
By the light of the watch-fire Vavel could see the familiar red kerchief
the farmer's wife from the manor was wont to wear over her head. The
mule came directly toward the watch-fire, and stopped when close to
Vavel's horse. The woman riding the beast slipped quickly to the ground,
emptied the provisions from the hampers, then, lifting the object which
had been concealed in the bottom of one of them, came around to Vavel's
side, saying:
"It is I. I have come to seek you."
"Who is it?" he demanded sternly, recognizing the voice; "Katharina or
Themire?"
"Katharina--Katharina; it is Katharina," stammered the trembling woman,
looking pleadingly up into his forbidding face.
"And why have you come here?"
"I came to bring you this," she replied, holding toward him the steel
casket.
"Where is Marie?"
"She is safe--with the Marquis d'Avoncourt."
"What?" exclaimed Vavel, in amazement, flinging his carbine on the
ground. "Cambray--d'Avoncourt--_here_?"
"Yes; he is at the Nameless Castle, and Marie is with him."
"After all, there is a God in heaven!" with deep-toned thankfulness
ejaculated Ludwig. Then he added: "Oh, Katharina, how I have suffered
because of--Themire!"
"Themire is dead!" solemnly returned the baroness. "Let us not speak of
her. Here, take these treasures into your own keeping; they are no
longer safe with me. Open the casket and convince yourself that
everything is there."
"I cannot open it; I have not got the key."
"Have you lost your ring?"
"No. I have trusted the most notorious thief in the country with it. I
have sent him with the ring to Marie. I bade him show it to her, and
tell her that she was to follow him wherever he might lead her. Satan
Laczi has the ring."
Katharina covered her eyes with her hand, and stood with drooping head
before her lover.
"I have deserved this," she murmured brokenly.
Vavel passed his hand over his face, and sighed. "It was all a dream!
It was madness to expect impossibilities," he murmured. "I am familiar
enough with the stars to have known that there are constellations which
never descend to the horizon. The 'Crown' is one of them! Of what use
are these rags now?" he exclaimed, with sudden vehemence, pointing to
the casket, which Katharina still held on her arm. "Whom can they serve?
They have brought only sorrow to him who has guarded them, and to her to
whom they belong. I cannot open the casket; but I need not do that to
destroy the contents. Pray throw it into the fire yonder."
Katharina obeyed without an instant's hesitation. After a while the
metal casket began to glow in the midst of the flames. It became red,
then a pale rose-color, while a thin cord of vapor trailed through the
keyhole.
"The little garments are burning," whispered Vavel, "and the documents,
and the portraits, and the heap of worthless money. From to-day," he
added, in a louder tone, "I begin to learn what it is to be a poor man."
"I have already learned what poverty means," said Katharina. "Look at
these clothes! I have no others, and even these are borrowed."
"I love you in them," involuntarily exclaimed Vavel, extending his hand
toward her.
"What? You offer me your hand? Do you believe that I am Katharina--only
Katharina?"
"That I may wholly and entirely believe that you are Katharina, and not
Themire, answer one question. A creature who calls himself the Marquis
de Fervlans and Leon Barthelmy is lying in ambush somewhere in this
neighborhood, waiting for you to settle an old account with him. If you
are the same to me that you once were, and if I am the same to you that
I was once, tell me where I shall find De Fervlans, for it will be _my_
duty then to settle with him."
Katharina's face suddenly blazed with eager excitement. She flung back
her head with a proud gesture.
"I will lead you to the place. Together we will seek him!" she cried,
with animation in every feature.
"Then give me your hand. You _are_ Katharina--_my_ Katharina!"
He bent toward her, and the two hands met in a close clasp.
* * * * *
Count Fertöszeg ordered the drums to beat a reveille; then he selected
from his troop one hundred trusty men, and galloped with them in the
direction of Neusiedl Lake. Katharina on her mule, without the tinkling
bell, trotted soberly by his side.
PART IX
SATAN AND DEMON
CHAPTER I
There was a notorious troop with Napoleon's army, the sixth Italian
regiment, which was called the "Legion of Demons."
The troop was made up of worthless members of society--idlers,
highwaymen, outcasts, and desperate characters, who had lost all sense
of respectability and morality. The majority of them had sought the
asylum of the battle-field to escape imprisonment or worse.
When their commander led his "demons" to an attack, he was wont to urge
them thus:
"_Avanti, avanti, Signori briganti! Cavalieri ladroni, avanti!_"
("Forward, forward, Messieurs Highwaymen! My chivalrous footpads,
forward!")
A division of this legion of demons had made its way with the vice-king
of Italy thus far through the belt-line, and had been intrusted with the
mission mentioned in De Fervlans's letter to General Guillaume. The
marquis commanded this body of the demons, he having, as Colonel
Barthelmy in the Austrian army, become thoroughly familiar with that
part of Hungary.
* * * * *
Lisette and Satan Laczi's little son were living alone at the Nameless
Castle.
When Marie, who was come in quest of her friend Cambray, rang the bell,
the door was opened by the lad.
"Is there a strange gentleman here?" she asked.
"I don't know. He went to see Lisette, and I did not see him come away,"
was the reply.
"Then let me come in," said the young girl. "I want to speak to Lisette,
too."
"She will beat me if I let you come in," returned the boy, opening the
door after a moment's hesitation.
The fumes of camphor were perceptible even in the vestibule; and when
Marie's little conductor knocked at the door of the kitchen, a heaping
shovelful of hot and smoking coals was thrust toward him, and a scolding
voice demanded irritably:
"What do you want again? Why do you keep annoying me, you little
torment!"
"Excuse me, Lisette," humbly apologized the lad, "but our young mistress
from the manor is here."
At this announcement Lisette hastily shut the door again, and opened a
small loophole in an upper panel, through which she spoke in a sharp
tone:
"Why do you come here? Has the Lord forsaken you over yonder, that you
come back to this pest-house? Get out of it as quickly as you can. Go
down and hide yourself in the Schmidt's cottage--perhaps they will not
betray you. Anyway, you can't stop here with us."
"That is just what I mean to do, Lisette,--stop here with you,"
smilingly responded Marie. "Where is my friend Cambray?"
"How should I know where he is? A pretty question to ask me! He is n't
anywhere. He has gone to bed, and you can't see him."
"I shall hunt till I find him, Lisette."
"Well, you will do as you like, of course; but you will not find M.
Cambray, for he does n't want to see you."
"Very well," returned Marie. Then to the lad by her side, "Come with
me, Laczko; we will hunt for the gentleman."
Lisette was beside herself with terror at the danger which threatened
Marie; but before she could utter another word, the young girl and her
little escort had disappeared down the corridor.
There was a great change everywhere in the castle. The floors were
covered with muddy foot-tracks; huge nails had been driven into the
varnished walls, and great heaps of dust, straw, and hay lay about on
the inlaid floors of the halls and salon. Marie hardly recognized her
former immaculate asylum.
She called, with her clear, soft-toned voice, into every room, "Cambray!
father! art thou here?" but received no reply.
Then she mounted the staircase to her own apartment. The door was open
like all the rest, but a first glance told Marie that the room had not
been used until now. Lisette, beyond a doubt, had lodged her respected
guest in this only habitable chamber.
Marie entered and looked about her. The metal screen was down!
She hastened toward it. There was a light burning in the alcove, and she
could see through the links by placing her eyes close to them. The noble
old knight was lying on the bare floor, with his hands forming a pillow
for his head. His glassy eyes were fixed and staring, and burning with a
startling brightness. His parched lips were half-open, as if he were
speaking.
"Cambray! father!" called Marie; in a tone of distress.
"Who calls? Marie?" gasped the fever-stricken man, making a vain attempt
to rise. He fell back with a deep groan, but flung out his hand as if to
ward off her approach.
"Let me come in, Cambray. It is I, your little Marie. Please let me
come in. There, close to your right hand, is a button in the floor.
Press it, and this screen will rise."
The sick man began to laugh; only his face showed that he was laughing,
no sound came from his parched throat. He was laughing because he had
prevented his favorite from coming to his pestilential resting-place.
Marie deliberated a moment, then decided to resort to stratagem:
"If you will not let me come in to you, papa Cambray," she called,
simulating a petulant tone, "I shall go away, and not come back again.
If you should want anything there will be a little boy here, outside;
you can summon him by pressing that button. Good night, dear papa
Cambray!"
The sick man turned his face toward the screen and listened in dreamy
ecstasy to the sweet voice. He raised his hand, waved it weakly toward
the speaker, then clasped it with the other on his breast, while his
lips moved as if in prayer.
"Go fetch candles, and the tinder-box," whispered Marie to the little
Laczko. "Place them here by the sofa, then light the lamp in the
corridor."
"May I fetch my gun, too?" asked the boy.
"Your gun? What for?"
"I should n't be afraid if I had it with me."
"Then fetch it; but don't come into the room with it, for I am
dreadfully afraid of guns. Leave it just outside the door."
It was quite dark when Laczko returned with the candles and a heavy
double-barreled fowling-piece. He carefully placed the latter in the
corner, then asked:
"Shall I light the candles now?"
"Certainly not. I don't want the gentleman to know that I am here. Maybe
he may want something, and open the screen. I am going to lie down on
this sofa, and you are to stand close by the alcove and watch the
gentleman. If he should lift the screen, and I have fallen asleep, you
must waken me at once."
Marie wrapped herself in her shawl, and lay down on the leather couch.
Laczko took up his station as directed, close by the metal screen,
through which he peered from time to time.
But there was no danger of Marie falling asleep. She could not even keep
her eyes closed. Every few moments she would sit up and ask in a
cautious whisper:
"What is he doing now?"
"He is tossing from side to side."
This reply was repeated several times.
At last the answer came that the invalid was perfectly quiet, whereupon
Marie decided not to inquire again for an hour.
Suddenly she heard the lad say, in a trembling voice:
"I am dreadfully frightened."
"What of?" whispered Marie.