Chapter XIII

THE INCENDIARY

Here René raised his head and realized that his chamber was full of

smoke. The atmosphere was growing dense, insufferable. The mirror over

the mantel broke into pieces with a sharp explosion and great tongues of

flame licked the sides of the chimney. A stout man with red whiskers put

his head in the door, shouting "Fire!"

Thrusting the manuscript into his bosom, René ran out, amid the

bewildered servants and guests. Pails of water were brought from the

kitchen and uproar reigned.

"Keep your wits!" he shouted. "Shut the windows and wet the blankets

from the beds."

He turned to some one near and asked how the fire had started. The man

replied that Count Keller's valet was to blame. Brosseur standing in the

passage way seemed inconsolable.

"I shall lose my place!" he almost sobbed. "My master will discharge me

for this carelessness."

René was everywhere at once, encouraging, urging, advising. Brosseur,

meanwhile ran into the Marquis's room, returning with the bed blankets.

At last the fire was extinguished and the proprietor grasped René's

hand, thanking him for his services. The guests pressed near with

praises for his conduct. Even the cook brandished his colossal fists in

fury at the stupidity of the fellow who had caused the mischief.

"I shall find him and break that heavy head of his!" he roared, darting

toward Brosseur's chamber. A moment later he returned in a rage,

exclaiming: "The rascal has escaped, leaving his baggage behind."

René shuddered, scarcely knowing why. He ran to his room in search for

his wallet. It was broken open and the box gone.

"The villain has robbed me," he muttered, as the plot became clear to

him. "I felt that I had seen his face before. Ah, Count Keller,--better

said, Count Scoundrel--I know now whence you came. Have I indeed undone

Amélie's father? Naundorff, watch-maker, I am henceforth your staunch

partisan! This piece of villainy confirms your claim."

He placed his hand in his breast in search for the manuscript and

breathed more easily on feeling it.

Book III THE KNIGHTS OF LIBERTY

Chapter I

LYING IN WAIT

Opposite the Dover wharf was an inn bearing the sign: The Red Fish. The

frequenters of this inn were usually sailors, wharf-hands, etc....

Sometimes passengers from a recently arrived vessel stayed over a short

while for the purpose of recovering from seasickness. At eleven in the

forenoon of a day following soon after that described at the close of

Book II, Kate, niece of the proprietor, displayed her rounded arms to

the admiring eyes of the guests seated in the dingy dining hall, as she

deposited on the tables bottles of beer and dishes of smoked salmon

stewed with potatoes. One of the young men was so absorbed in gazing

through a window out toward the wharf that he scarcely knew what he ate.

He seemed waiting for some one and in so doing attracted the attention

of two others seated in an obscure corner of the apartment, one of whom

was apparently of some thirty years of age, of contracted lips, keen

eyes and a nervous attitude. His general make-up was that of a man who

vibrates to the suggestions of an idea. He scarcely ate and his glass of

ale stood untasted. His companion had a very good appetite--a handsome

young man somewhat coarse in type, of splendid proportions, ruddy

cheeks, black whiskers, gleaming teeth and gay alert eyes full of

directness and candor.

The two men conversed in low tones. The younger always interrupted the

talk on the approach of Kate, for the purpose of making sweet speeches

in her ear.

"Indeed I recognize him," declared the elder. "I have seen him in Paris

and his title is Marquis de Brezé. His family is ultramonarchical and

its loyalty has been paid in gold, for its confiscated property has been

restored."

"I wonder why he is here."

"I cannot guess, Giacinto. Men in our position must always expect the

worst. Many Frenchmen, await their vessels in this inn, but the

Marquis's attitude arouses suspicion. He awaits some one. The fact that

he comes from _There_ should put us on our guard."

"Bah!" exclaimed Giacinto, with a flash of his perfect teeth, "'tis some

piece of gallantry--a question of petticoats."

"Or of politics. We must not lose sight of him, for holding on to the

end of a thread sometimes leads to a bobbin. This inn, in which _our_

Volpetti is in the habit of stopping, is so suspicious a place that even

the air is infected. If the Marquis awaits a lady, luck to him! But if

not--"

"I swear 'tis love," asserted Giacinto, failing to comprehend the

other's indifference to the romantic.

"Well, now let us get to business. If our brother knights have correctly

informed us, Volpetti will reach the inn today. Are you sure you will

recognize him? You know the fox is clever in disguises."

"Do you think he can escape me?" cried Giacinto, his face distorted with

a spasm of hatred. "Not even if he comes as the devil, his brother. Why

we are both Sicilians from Catania. I remember him when he walked

barefoot recruiting victims for the gambling houses. Later on he entered

the novitiate of a monastery. Then, I witnessed his initiation as

spy--under the direction--well in reality, in the employ of Queen

Caroline. O he is an adept, a born spy and happy only when exercising

his profession. He was Fouché's most dangerous agent and now performs

the same office to Lecazes. But to every man his hour! There are many

accounts pending between Volpetti and me! First, my brother Raphael's

long imprisonment; secondly, the ill treatment of Grazia, that

unfortunate girl; thirdly, the splendid Romeldi's death on the gibbet;

fourthly, the conspiracy of the 19th of August. Why has this mission

been assigned me? Because the Knights know well that Volpetti will not

escape me."

"Contain yourself" said the other. "To accomplish your purpose, calmness

is essential."

"Fear nothing," answered Giacinto, "I shall seem ice."

"Does Volpetti know you by sight?"

"As well as he does his own shirt, and his claws must have fastened into

me at Trieste, if the Knights had not protected me. Set a thief to catch

a thief. But here in England he and I are man to man."

"Even in England spies are aided by other spies. Change your tactics,

Giacinto. The devil! Lecazes snaps his fingers at scruples. The League

must learn that the enemy is full of insidious perfidy. We no longer

fight on the open as in the times of Napoleon. But the duel between

Revolution and Reaction is raging none the less fiercely. The hour is

ripe for blows and are we, the Knights of Liberty, to content ourselves

with Platonic phrases? Are we not to wreak vengeance at last? We are so

numerous as scarcely to know one another and yet so little is

accomplished. 'Tis a competent leader that we need."

"Platonism is dead," cried Giacinto. "Our business is to grapple with

the police. Volpetti's fate will soon be a warning to Lecazes and those

who are his masters. Every English Carbonaro will soon see that events

are at last shaping themselves--"

"What do you know?" eagerly demanded the other.

"I scent the critical moment approaching. I read men's thoughts upon

their foreheads. My friend, societies do much, but at times one man

arises who by a swift stroke accomplishes what societies are only

meditating."

"You assume the air of a prophet."

"Well, time will tell. Now to our work. Volpetti will soon arrive,

either alone or with a companion. He is to embark from Dover. When he

reaches this inn, you and I shall enter his room and dispatch him before

he has time to say 'Amen.' The Polipheme awaits us in the harbor. The

captain is our brother and confederate. I trust Volpetti will come

alone for so he will fall to me; but if he be accompanied, both of us

shall be implicated."

"And why not both of us even if he come alone? Should one waste honor on

dogs?"

Here Giacinto interrupted, saying:

"Did I not tell you it was a love affair? Behold the lady!"

The Marquis de Brezé had just hurried to meet two new comers, a man of

middle age and a young girl. Both wore shabby traveling garments and had

the appearance of Irish peasants. But in spite of her clothes, the

beautiful imperious face of the girl immediately excited admiration

while the man's grace and dignity revealed the aristocrat.

Giacinto grasped his friend's hand, and the other whispered:

"How remarkable!"

"What?" asked Giacinto.

"The resemblance."

"What resemblance?"

"Why the man and girl are reproductions of the guillotined king and

queen."

"I have seen them only in pictures; but by the devil! they are indeed

before us."

The Carbonari gazed at each other in amazement.

Chapter II

THE TRAPPED FOX

Naundorff and Amélie followed de Brezé toward the stairway and, in so

doing, passed the two Carbonari, who, pretending absorption in their ale

and salmon, did not raise their eyes.

René led his friends to the chambers he had engaged for them and when

the doors were closed, he threw himself upon his knees before the father

exclaiming:

"Forgive me!"

"What is it, René?"

"I have been robbed of your papers."

Naundorff turned pale and fell against the wall. But quickly recovering

himself, he said:

"René, you have lost my name, but you first saved my life," and with

simple dignity he drew the Marquis to his breast while Amélie trembled

and dropped tears from her beautiful eyes.

"And the manuscript?"

"I have it with me."

"How were you robbed of the box?"

René explained.

"That Count de Keller is my evil genius. He is none other than the

Volpetti who under the alias 'Naundorff' bestowed that name upon me in

Prussia. He represents the police who like a web envelop me. 'Twas the

police that directed the blows from which you rescued me in London. And

that police will now pursue you, René. I regret that we have undertaken

this voyage, for how are we to succeed in this difficult undertaking,

having lost my certificates of identity? Let us renounce the project and

return, I to exile and you to your country. I am not safe in England;

therefore I shall remove to Holland. In that land of liberty and

justice, I may find the happiness I seek, the simple happiness of family

life. René, I seem to hear again the words spoken to me in my dungeon:

_Your friends shall perish_."

René looked at Amélie. Her tears were dry and her lofty countenance

expressed only resolution. His discouragement was swept away and he

turned to the father, saying:

"I shall never give up the fight. And what of the knave who robbed me?

Is he to laugh in my face? Listen. Volpetti will soon be here. I also

have become a spy. I have tracked him by pouring out torrents of money."

"Bravo, my René!" said Amélie, giving him her hand.

"Girl," sighed Naundorff, "you have inherited the intrepidity of your

grandmother, Marie Antoinette and great-grandmother, Marie Thérèse,

combined; I, the stoicism and passivity of my father. While I am with

you, my blood rises and I believe in the impossible; my fears vanish, my

dual personality merges into one and I assure myself that I am not a

self-duped fool--God bless you!"

"Father," she exclaimed, "you have not the right to surrender claims

which your children inherit. Do you think that the iniquitous regime on

the French throne will last indefinitely? Has not that wonderful

colossus, Napoleon, rolled on the ground from his pedestal? Another

usurper today rules our country. Is his hour never to come?"

She was a picture of splendid anger and sublime indignation.

"Amélie, you frighten me," said Naundorff.

"Cast away your fears," she cried. "René will save us. Defenders will

spring out of the earth. Courage, my father; calmness, my husband," and

she gave a hand to each of the men. "We are a council of war. Let us

plan our course of action."

Naundorff kissed her forehead, saying: "I follow you," fascinated by her

spirit.

"Our two aims," she proceeded, "are to recover the papers and enter

France secretly."

"Regarding the first," said René, "trust to me. The spy shall not return

to France enriched by his spoils."

"Beware of the spilling of blood!" said Naundorff. "Our cause is else

lost."

René and Amélie made no rejoinder.

"Concerning the voyage to France," continued the Marquis, "we must first

dispose of Volpetti. Were he to precede us, our fate should be

imprisonment. In the meanwhile, Mr. and Miss O'Ranleigh," and he made

his companions a mock bow, "must not forget their role of musicians

journeying across the channel in search of employment. A happy

circumstance favors our project. A French merchant vessel, the

Polipheme, lies in the harbor. The captain is indebted to me for favors.

I met him on the wharf this morning and observed that I might have need

of him later. I can count upon his loyalty."

"Father, the sky grows clear!" cried Amélie.

"God grant it may!" said Naundorff.

"See!" exclaimed René. "There is the Polipheme."

He drew his companions toward the window, and as they looked out, his

face grew dark and he stammered:

"There--he--comes!"

Volpetti, alias the Count de Keller, in elegant traveling dress which

accentuated his aristocratic Chateaubriand air, approached the Red Fish,

followed by Brosseur.

"They are coming here!" exclaimed René, and he dragged Amélie and

Naundorff into concealment, returning himself to continue his scrutiny.

"The devil turns him over to me at last."

Chapter III

RENÉ WAITS

The Marquis's elation was equalled by that of the Carbonari below on

beholding the entry of Volpetti and his servant.

"We have him," whispered Giacinto.

"And his confederate, also," answered Louis Pierre, which was the name

of the other.

"He seems quite a muscular fellow."

"Leave him to me."

Kate was selecting chambers for the newly arrived. Giacinto, continuing

the rude gallantry he had begun at the table, followed her from room to

room, whispering love speeches and pinching her round arms. Volpetti and

Brosseur were drinking Malaga below.

"Leave me alone!" cried Kate, pretending anger.

"Darling, don't be so hard on me."

"But I have work to do. These rooms must be got ready, and I have not

been able to find them yet for the house is as full as an egg."

"Let me walk with you until we find them, then."

She could not resist this gallant offer, and together they promenaded

through corridors and apartments. At last she said:

"Well, I must give No. 10 to the master and 39 to the valet. They are

not close together, but 'tis not my fault."

"Who is in No. 8?" asked Giacinto, idly.

"'Tis a double apartment, occupied by two Irish people who look like

beggars. But a French Monsieur here has his eye on the girl. He spent a

long time with them today."

"Let them love each other. So do you and I."

As the pair descended the stairway, Volpetti and his valet were coming

up to their chambers. Giacinto kept well in the shade and hastened to

join Louis Pierre beside whom a pleasant-faced man stood, dispatching a

glass of rum.

This was the captain of the Polipheme.

"Do you wish to leave tonight?" asked the captain.

"Or at dawn," replied Louis Pierre. "Be prepared to draw in anchor and

have the sloop in readiness guarded by but one sailor."

The captain hesitated. He drew his fingers through his hair as if about

to object.

"Well--" he began.

"Captain Soliviac, do you realize that you _cannot_ refuse?"

"Refuse? Impossible! I was about to say that there are some people in

this inn wishing also to go to France. Do you object to their presence?"

"Who are these people for whom you have so high a regard, Captain?"

"Well one of them is the Marquis de Brezé."

The Carbonari started.

"What bond unites you to that sympathizer of the government?"

"No political bond. My father was befriended by the elder Marquis and

the young man has been my protector. Important matters urge his return

to France."

"Indeed! Well, the son of the Duchess de Rousillon is a strange

companion for you, Captain."

"Pshaw!" answered Soliviac. "He does not meddle with politics. His time

is occupied in hunting and love making. He is doubtless hurrying to

France to be reunited with some fair friend; or more likely still, the

lady accompanies him now, for he said that two Irish travelers, an uncle

and niece, were with him."

The Carbonari exchanged a look; then Giacinto said:

"Well, tell the Marquis he and his party may come."

"I have received another application for passage," said the captain,

"which I have refused."

"From whom?"

"From a gentleman bearing a marvelous resemblance to our countryman, the

Viscount Chateaubriand. He has a stout fellow with him who must be his

valet."

The Carbonari flashed a look at one another.

"How long since did he ask you?"

"Not five minutes ago; I was jumping from my sloop. He wears a long

traveling cloak and a broad winged hat."

"Well, run up to number 10," said Giacinto. "He is there. Call out

roughly, saying that two passengers have failed you at the eleventh hour

and that you may now carry him and his servant. Demand a high price and

simulate avarice. Be cautious. The man is a reader of faces."

"Suppose he asks which is to be the first landing place?"

"Say Dieppe, adding that he may be put off at Calais, Havre or Cherbourg

if he prefer and pay well for the privilege. Act as tho your object

were to exploit him." And Giacinto's face glowed with hatred. "And if

he asks the hour of departure, say midnight and that he must be at the

wharf by eleven, where the sloop will await him."

"I shall do as you say. Is that all?"

"I think not, indeed. Is your crew to be trusted?"

"In what sense?" asked the astonished captain.

"Will they keep mum about whatever takes place on board?"

"My men are absolutely to be trusted."

"Very well," said Louis Pierre, "I shall board the sloop at dusk and

remain upon her until the gentleman and his servant arrive. You must

have a sailor's dress ready for me, for I shall help run the sloop. You

must be there also, Captain."

"Very well," said Soliviac.

"Are you ready to go all lengths?" asked Giacinto.

The captain's frank, genial countenance became clouded. Corsair as he

was and accustomed to bloody adventures, he hesitated before the

executive justice of the Knights of Liberty, for he knew their vengeance

to be terrible. But raising his head, he said:

"All lengths."

"Captain," said Giacinto, "the man we track is worse than a wolf. He

merits a thousand deaths and we shall give him only one. If you desert

us, we shall consider that you cease to be a Knight. Nevertheless, we

shall take the matter into our own hands and trust you not to betray

us."

"Do you think I have joined the Knights to play the coward at the first

test? I unconditionally agree to your proposition. And now, what of the

other passengers?"

"Arrange that they board before or after Volpetti."

Soliviac bowed.

Meanwhile, the Marquis's eye was applied to the keyhole of Volpetti's

chamber, and watched that gentleman arrange his belongings. His wallet

and toilet case lay near. René reflected that his treasure might be in

either. Soon he was undeceived for he heard Volpetti say to Brosseur:

"Where is it?"

"Around my neck," and the valet pointed to a cord just visible above his

collar. René could scarcely contain himself as a prospect of swift

vengeance seemed near and he clutched Amélie's hand as she stood back of

him, erect and self-possessed.

Chapter IV

MINE AND COUNTERMINE

A more circumspect man than René would have retired from the keyhole

after ascertaining this information, but he was transported into

remaining. Just then Soliviac entered by the main door offering to take

the Count and his valet to France on the Polipheme. His intention was to

land at Dieppe, he remarked, unless Monsieur preferred some other port,

in which case--

He played his part well. Volpetti fell into the snare and requested to

be put off at Havre, offering a good sum for the privilege.

"Providence has delivered this man into my hands," exclaimed René,

overjoyed.

Volpetti agreed to be aboard by midnight, and on the departure of

Soliviac, continued his preparations for the journey. He instructed

Brosseur to have supper brought up to him, adding:

"Keep your ears open to what is said in the kitchen."

Soliviac was, meanwhile, being instructed by the Carbonari to take the

Marquis and his friends aboard at an early hour. The captain accordingly

sought René, informing him of what time he was expected. The Marquis

answered:

"The Irish gentleman and lady will be at the ship by that hour,

Soliviac. But I am not certain of going. If I do, I shall get to your

vessel by means of a small skiff."

The Carbonari frowned when Soliviac repeated these words to them. Louis

Pierre remarked:

"Deeper springs than love move the Marquis."

"I warned him," said Soliviac, "that he must be on time, else the

Polipheme would sail without him, and he answered that he did not

imagine that the vessel would leave before midnight."

The Carbonari exchanged a keen glance, and Giacinto said:

"Let him do as he is minded, but keep your eyes open. This is to be our

program: I remain ashore to track Volpetti and his servant. You,

Captain, and Louis Pierre will be aboard the sloop. If Brezé happens to

see us and asks to be taken aboard, he must be refused, on pretext of

lack of room. Now, each man to his business."

A half hour later, René descended the stairway accompanied by Miss

O'Ranleigh, her face hidden by a large bonnet. Mr. O'Ranleigh followed,

his hat pulled well over his forehead, and his coat collar high over his

neck. But the keen eyes of Louis Pierre again perceived the resemblance

and he muttered:

"Accursed race!--Race which has brought reproach and invasion to

France!--But who is this pair? And why does that young aristocrat pay

them court?"

As the two Carbonari walked down the wharf later in the evening, Louis

Pierre said:

"I am more strongly convinced that this is no love adventure. Be

cautious, Giacinto. You stay behind to strike the blow."

Following them came the Marquis and the two Irish passengers. René bade

his friends farewell for a brief while, saying to the girl in a low

voice:

"Fear nothing. I shall succeed."

"I wonder if this is a countermine, a cord set to entangle our own net,"

meditated Giacinto.

He followed the Marquis to the inn, which reached, the latter ran

immediately to his own room. Giacinto concluded to await René's exit

before carrying out his own plan, namely to hide in the apartment next

to Volpetti's and which had been that of the Irish guests. Just as he

was about to realize this scheme, the Marquis stepped in before him. For

fifteen years he had awaited this moment of revenge. He had entered the

ranks of the Knights of Liberty, the nucleus of the Carbonari, for the

sole purpose of wreaking vengeance on his countryman. A formidable power

was back of him, transforming him from an ordinary homicide into the

avenger of a cause. And now he was being cheated out of his due by this

unforeseen complication. He stood in the passage a half hour waiting for

the Marquis to come forth. At last he went down to supper and Kate

hurried to wait upon him. She marveled at his abstraction and tried

coquettishly to rouse him.

"Have you seen a black cat's shadow?" she asked, alluding to a local

superstition.

Giacinto abstractedly caressed her coarse hand.

"Tell me," he said, "does the French gentleman leave tonight? I mean the

one who first arrived."

"What business is that of yours?" she asked, annoyed at her lover's

coldness.

"Because," said the Sicilian in a passionate tone, "if he goes I must

leave you, my darling, for we sail together."

"He leaves tonight and the other also, No. 10. But, if you prefer to

stay, other vessels will leave tomorrow."

Giacinto gazed into her eyes with promise. Then, dashing off the

Chianti, he ran to his room, smiling at the credulity of servant maids.

He threw on his cloak, tied a sash around his waist, into which he

thrust a pair of pistols, grasped a thick stick, glided out of the hotel

and was soon lost in the mist.

Chapter V

THE CREAKING BOOTS

The night grew darker, and the mist denser. At half past eleven,

Volpetti, followed by Brosseur, took the road leading to the wharf, the

latter carrying the traveling bags and other baggage. Volpetti had the

box of documents and Brosseur grumbled at the heaviness of his own load,

which prevented his keeping up with his master. Being scarcely able to

see him, he followed by listening to the creaking of his boots. But he

was obliged to walk so slowly that the creaking became fainter and

fainter, seeming finally to die out altogether. Suddenly, he heard boots

again and hurried on, succeeding at last in overtaking the owner of

them; just then this owner turned and, with no warning, dealt Brosseur a

blow on the head so effective that the valet rolled over into the mud,

emitting only a smothered bellow. René leaned over his victim, turning

on the light from his lantern. A stream of blood tricked down his face

and he seemed insensible. Thrusting his hand into Brosseur's breast and

pockets, he extracted a bunch of keys. With these he opened the wallets,

but no box did he find. Then, shaking the fellow, to convince himself

that he was still unconscious, René hurried after Volpetti. A moment

later Giacinto stumbled upon the wounded man.

"The Marquis knows how to strike!" he exclaimed. "But he has yet to

learn how to remove his victims." And the Sicilian flung the baggage out

into the sea. Then, with the greatest difficulty, he pushed the half

living body of his enemy over the embankment into the water.

"Santa Maria be praised! The danger is over," and, crossing himself, he

hurried on.

When Volpetti heard, instead of Brosseur's heavy tread, light feet very

near him, he instinctively clasped the box to his breast and clutched

his dagger. Then he turned, calling out:

"Brosseur! Rascal! Where are you?"

For answer, a heavy blow descended on his head. Volpetti grasped his

pistol and turned, but his adversary flung his strong arms around him,

seized the pistol, which he pressed to the other's head, saying:

"Give me the box or I shall blow your brains out."

Volpetti struggled and tried to reach his dagger, but René twisted the

refractory arm until it snapped in the socket, making its owner roar

with pain. Louis Pierre had just leaped ashore, and, guided by the

commotion of the struggle, he ran to the group, which he expected to

consist of the two Italians.

Just then Giacinto ran up, crying gleefully:

"Aha! Do you recognize Giacinto Palli? Let us throw him into the sea."

"Not here," said Louis Pierre, binding his hands and feet. "He might

save himself."

"We can hang weights to him."

"Where is the servant?"

"The fat fellow? He is saying his prayers with the fish."

"Are you two men the enemies of this spy?" asked René.

"To the death," replied Giacinto, gagging his enemy with a pocket

handkerchief.

"Mine also. He has robbed me like a dog. I must leave Dover tonight for

this deed."

"Do you promise to maintain absolute secrecy concerning what occurs

aboard the Polipheme tonight?"

"I give you a gentleman's word," replied René.

The three men lifted the never so helpless, but still lucky, Volpetti

down the stairway aboard the sloop in waiting.

Chapter VI

THE PARDON

Naundorff and Amélie, from the Polipheme's deck, watched the men

carrying Volpetti to the sloop. They trembled and clasped hands. The

vessel was anchored in deep water and the waves rocked her from side to

side. The night was cold and damp. Amélie shivered, chilled by the

spray. Just then the guard announced the arrival of the sloop and René's

voice triumphantly called across the waters:

"Amélie! Amélie!"

She ran to the vessel's side as the rope ladder was thrown down and saw

what seemed to be a dead body, borne by her lover and his companion. On

reaching deck, René rapturously kissed Amélie's hand and then

triumphantly handed Naundorff the box.

"Drop anchor!" called out the captain, and the Polipheme rode away from

the English coast. Meanwhile Amélie, Naundorff, René, the captain, and

the two Carbonari gathered in the cabin. Punch was ordered, for they

were all soaking wet and had need of a stimulant. The liquor sparkled

with the tossing of the vessel and a sense of good fellowship diffused

itself among the ship's company, some of whom a few hours earlier were

unknown to one, another. With her customary resolution, Amélie took the

initiative:

"Gentlemen, we must understand each other. My father and I are not Irish

travelers seeking employment in France. We are French outlaws, the

police on our trail, and a mighty party seeking to exterminate us. The

man lying bound on deck is a villain who robbed us of our certificates,

the documents entitling us to our inheritance. The Marquis de Brezé, my

affianced lover, has recovered these papers. Am I correct in inferring

that you have aided him?"

"Mademoiselle," replied Giacinto, "the veriest coincidence has united

our projects. The Marquis has a strong arm but lacks caution. I cast his

first victim into the sea or we should not now be securely riding away

from Dover. O royal punch!" he cried, draining his glass.

"The second victim," remarked Louis Pierre, "will also sleep in the

water, but we are first to extract his secrets. What think you,

Captain?"

"'Tis the only solution, my friend," replied Soliviac gravely.

"'Tis a lamentable necessity," added René.

"Say, rather, a mild retaliation," insisted Giacinto.

Amélie's glance was of an avenging archangel.

Naundorff rose to his feet and towered above them all. His voice rose in

an appeal, a supplication: "No blood! No blood! Let us forgive!"

"Forgive that unscrupulous creature?--that instrument of tyrants?"

exclaimed Louis Pierre.

"He has betrayed and tortured the innocent," said Soliviac solemnly.

"He brought my brother to the scaffold" cried Giacinto.

"He sought the death of my father," said Amélie.

Then, in chorus, they cried:

"He must die!"

Silence followed. The captain poured out another glass of punch. Amélie

and René drew apart from the group and engaged in a lover's colloquy.

The three Carbonari talked animatedly of the accomplishment of their

plans. When, later, Amélie turned her eyes in search of her father and

failed to find him, she concluded he had gone to rest or that he chose

to protest by his absence against the general sentiment regarding

Volpetti.

Meanwhile, Naundorff was staggering along the vessel's deck, as she

tossed roughly, in the direction of the bound spy, who lay near a heap

of cordage where he had been deposited by his captors. His handsome face

was contracted with rage, which increased as he saw the watch-maker

approach. He believed that his last hour had arrived. Naundorff bent

over him, saying in a low voice:

"I have come to set you free."

Volpetti's eyes flashed amazement.

"Listen!" said his liberator, cutting the cords with his pen knife. "I

forgive you that God may forgive me. Your life has been a series of

iniquities. You have made me suffer so greatly that I have almost

doubted the existence of God. When you are free, change your mode of

life. Here you will surely be killed. Cast yourself overboard, for you

may be rescued by some other vessel. Do not stir yet. Be very quiet."

He had already freed Volpetti's hands. He now cut the cords binding his

legs and feet. The spy muttered:

"Harebrained imbecile!"

During this critical moment his past life rose before him. _He_ change?

Impossible! He was a spy by nature. When a school boy, he had spied

upon and delivered up his playfellows. While a novice in the monastery,

he had spied upon his brothers. Turned out of the monastery by the

Revolution, he had spied upon the revolutionists. His education and

inclinations fitted him for the life, and the present atmosphere was

auspicious, or 'twas the golden age of the secret police. The true

history of that epoch will never be written because certain knaves

carried it with them to the grave. When Volpetti entered the ranks of

the secret police, he displayed signal talent. According to a remark

made at the time by a prominent official, he was not only the eyes and

ears but also the arm of the government. The swift eye of Vidocq early

discerned the wonderful gifts of this king among spies: his art in

ingratiating himself into the good graces of his employers; his genius

at disguises and every species of simulation; his alertness in forming

intimacies with the familiars of those who were his predestined victims.

In short, he was a born spy and his machinations were labors of love. He

was furnished money, agents and whatever other auxiliaries he demanded.

His astuteness had discovered countless plots, effected the capture of a

multitude of conspirators, among these General Doyenne, who suicided in

prison, rather than submit to the ignominy of picket torture.

No need to say that in the heart of Volpetti there was no room for

gratitude or remorse. He held goodness to be weakness, and forgiveness

imbecility. That Naundorff should forgive the many years of persecution

suffered at his hands, was to him incomprehensible. Why, the tracking of

Naundorff had been his specialty for half a lifetime, his supreme title

to glory. He viewed him now with Satanic disdain as he loosed his bonds.

Volpetti's only gods were Destiny and Fatality. Since leaving London,

Fatality had seemed to be in the atmosphere. When earlier he was carried

on deck, bound and gagged, he had in a rage called himself a fool for

being trapped. But now Fatality seemed to be on the side of Naundorff

and Volpetti reflected:

"This man has been overtaken a thousand times. He is a bright mark for

the arrows of Fate."

Naundorff, meanwhile, repeated the regal formula of pardon;

"_I forgive you that God, who is over you and me and all men, may extend

to me his mercy,--God who sees us and to whom your evil deeds are known

as well as the moment in which his hand will reduce you to naught_. I

forgive you because it is my destiny to forgive and to expiate, and I am

ready to fulfil it; but I warn you to tempt Providence no longer."

Volpetti felt his limbs free and his blood resume its normal

circulation. He commenced to remove his clothes, Naundorff, meanwhile,

concealing him. Crawling to the edge of the vessel, he leaped into the

water and the deck guard sang out, "Man overboard!"

Chapter VII

THE REVELATION

This cry always throws crew and passengers into wild excitement, all of

whom now appeared as if by magic on deck. The fog was beginning to break

but the water still dashed madly against the sides of the vessel. In the

general confusion no one asked how the accident had occurred, but the

mate beckoned the captain aside and whispered:

"'Tis the prisoner who is overboard and that passenger," pointing toward

Naundorff, "unloosed him. I did not interfere because I did not realize

what he was about."

Muttering a curse, Soliviac approached Naundorff.

"What do you mean, Monsieur? In the devil's name, how have you dared to

set the prisoner free? Pernies, are you sure that this gentleman--Well,

however that be, bind him securely. Now, cock your guns, and if that

scoundrel swims near us, send him to the bottom with a bullet through

his head."

The sailors leaned over the edge, seeking to distinguish the floating

body among the waves which rose more and more furiously. The wind,

increasing with the fury of the waves, swept away the clouds and the

surface of the sea gleamed almost white. One of the Breton sailors, a

kind of wild-cat fellow, with green eyes which saw by night, cried out

that a man was floating near the vessel, whereupon four bullets were

sent in that direction. Two youths, by name Yvon and Hoel, lowered a

canoe and were after the fugitive within ten minutes.

Naundorff, guarded, almost a prisoner, calmly awaited results. René and

Amélie stood near him for the purpose of defending him, were it

necessary, but they could not conceal their terror and anger at the

spy's escape.

"You have undone us, father," said Amélie.

"We struggle vainly," said René. "If that man saves his life, may the

sea swallow the rest of us, for we should have a fate more terrible than

death. No country of earth could afford a refuge. To what end have I

recovered the documents? I, a de Brezé, a Giac, performing the office of

a common murderer!"

Naundorff remained silent. Just then there rang out from the watchman a

cry: "Ship to the larboard."

The encounter with another vessel is always an important occurrence at

sea. At that period the memory was fresh of combats with corsairs,

English, French, and Spanish. But the proximity of this ship was a

consideration of greater than ordinary gravity, for it signified the

probable salvation of the fugitive, whose body now gleamed on the

surface.

Soliviac growled:

"I wager that the rascal will be picked up."

Then the ship hove in sight like a black bird, now skimming, now flying,

now keeling. She was a schooner somewhat larger than the Polipheme. She

could be perfectly discerned, for the night had become clear. The

floating man cried out and she slackened speed and flung out a cable.

The sailors were about to fire. Soliviac restrained them saying, that

they would surely miss their aim and alarm the other vessel. Impotent

and raging, the Knights of Liberty beheld the spy's salvation as his

nude body gleamed against the schooner's dark side.

"He is saved!" they almost wailed.

"He is receiving a welcome!" growled the sailors as they turned

menacingly upon Naundorff, Soliviac the most infuriated of the group.

Clutching the watch-maker by the collar, he roared:

"Who are you to liberate prisoners aboard my vessel? Are you that

villain's accomplice? Well, by God, you shall suffer the fate reserved

for him."

"He deserves it," cried Giacinto. "This man, a stranger to us has been

entrusted with our secret. This serves us right for letting others

meddle in our business."

Amélie flung herself before her father and de Brezé stood beside her.

Soliviac motioned to certain sailors and they immediately overpowered

René, tho he struggled hard to free himself.

Up to this time Naundorff had remained silent, but, fearing the

consequences to his friend, he advanced, saying:

"Captain, release the Marquis. I shall explain my action. I beg to be

heard in the cabin, with only these gentlemen as witnesses," motioning

towards the Carbonari. The captain ordered René's release and the party

descended the stairway, Soliviac following Naundorff. On reaching the

cabin, Louis Pierre and Giacinto stood on each side of the captain, as

tho forming a court.

"You are," said Soliviac, addressing Naundorff, "a culprit. On my

vessel, I administer justice and hold myself accountable only to God.

You have constituted yourself the accomplice of a man condemned to

death. As you have set him free, 'tis only justice that you should take

his place, for his freedom means the death of the rest of us. But before

passing sentence, I shall listen to your defence."

"Permit me to say--" interposed René, but Soliviac interrupted with

firmness:

"It is the prisoner who must answer."

Naundorff raised his head and replied: "I neither explain my conduct nor

excuse myself, I liberated Volpetti because I had the right to do so."

"The right!" exclaimed the astounded Carbonari, thinking they heard a

lunatic.

"Yes, the right," insisted Naundorff. "The right to forgive belongs to

the most grievously offended and to none of you has that man brought

such evil as to me. Were I to describe what he has made me suffer, you

would comprehend the extent of human baseness. But there are no words in

which to describe that suffering. He buried me in a dungeon during the

best years of my youth; he took my name from me and almost my life; only

a few days since he directed the arms of assassins upon me. 'Tis I have

the right to forgive him,--I and none other. Be it known to you, Captain

Soliviac, that were forgiveness banished from the earth, it should find

asylum in my breast. My mission is to forgive; my duty, to prevent, even

at the loss of my life, the spilling of a drop of blood. I have

finished. Do with me as you will."

The Carbonari exchanged looks; in spite of their resentment, Naundorff

awed them. At last, Soliviac, somewhat nonplussed exclaimed:

"The devil, Monsieur! That speech is very fine, but there are times when

forgiveness of one man is condemnation to many others. That man's life

costs our death."

"And mine also," said Naundorff, tears trickling down his face, "and

that of my children."

"He raves!" exclaimed Giacinto. "Have we not listened sufficiently long

to the drivelings of a madman? I am sorry for this fine young lady, but

our business must be dispatched."

Soliviac assented and then addressed Naundorff:

"We shall believe your story, Monsieur, through an excess of credulity,

tho who will assure us that you are not a spy yourself, ingeniously

disguised? The case is this: that scoundrel owes you his liberty. How

are you to explain that?"

Naundorff moved back, and, with deliberate, majestic dignity, removed

his hat, cast off his cloak and stepped into the full light of the

cabin's lamp. The three Carbonari, completely taken back, uttered a cry

of amazement and uncovered in deference to royalty.

Chapter VIII

THE CAPTAIN

An hour later Naundorff sat surrounded by the three Carbonari, to whom

he had related his entire history. Pity and amazement were upon their

faces; Louis Pierre seemed stirred out of his taciturnity. On the table

lay the open box from which had been taken the documents corroborating

the recital. But these papers had scarcely been necessary, for the

Carbonari believed Naundorff blindly.

"What a blow is tyranny to receive!" exclaimed Louis Pierre. "'Tis the

man who sits upon the throne today that invited foreign troops into our

country. Now shall we brand his forehead with the blister of usurpation

and fraud. When I longed to inflict upon the House a terrible

punishment, I little dreamed that God reserved one so complete, and that

I--_we_ should be the instruments."

Then Giacinto spoke:

"_We_, who are an invincible force, make the cause of Naundorff our own

cause. We shall be its defenders even against himself, if he should

again seek to overthrow it. What say you, Soliviac? I answer for it that

our brothers shall as one stand by him. Ah, we carry on the Polipheme a

revelation to our country. To the believing we carry faith; to the

incredulous proofs," and he motioned toward the documents.

Amélie's clear voice interposed:

"Gentlemen, formulate no plans, foster no hopes. Are you counting on

disembarking on French soil? That spy living and free, there is not a

safe spot in Europe."

"Mademoiselle speaks the truth," assented Giacinto, who gazed fascinated

upon her imperious beauty and splendid poise. "Our danger is great."

"Until now," she continued, "no one has suspected the existence of these

papers, which are of a nature to turn the tide of history. My father had

no intention of making use of them. He wished to owe his success to the

generosity of his sister, and he still trusts to that generosity. But

Volpetti knows our secret and he will set forces in motion to wrest this

last guarantee from us. He will not scruple as to means, even though our

lives be the price. Instead, therefore, of dreaming of splendid

victories and dashing revenges, let us think of a refuge. Captain

Soliviac, head the vessel toward Dunkirk, for any other spot of France

would be our sepulchre. Not even in Holland should we be safe."

Naundorff buried his face in his hands. The reproach implied in Amélie's

words cut him deeply. Tho his heart approved his extravagant

magnanimity, he realized that in freeing Volpetti he shut in his own

face the doors of France and lost the opportunity of an interview with

the sister whom he was so anxious to convince.

"Our fate is in God's hands, Amélie," he said with an imposing gesture,

"Volpetti is under superhuman control."

"That superhuman control," observed Giacinto sarcastically, "sent a

vessel to rescue him. That vessel at this moment carries him to France.

Heart of the Madonna! we require genius now to escape with our lives. Am

I not right, brothers?" and he turned solemnly toward the other

Carbonari.

"Gentlemen," said Amélie, "a secret merits a secret. Of what force do

you speak?"

"Mademoiselle," replied the Italian, "we are not permitted to reveal the

key of our society. But this much may I say: We are the mines which, in

annihilating the present, shall become the basis of the future. Though

having the appearance of pygmies, we are loosening the foundations of

the columns which support giants. Our aim is to protect the weak."

René listened with knitted brow and uneasy expression.

Louis Pierre added:

"We are vital reaction manifesting itself through convulsions. We are

creating by destroying. Our program is to undo the done."

"The program of Satan," murmured Naundorff involuntarily.

"No one can speak those words with so little reason as you,

Monseigneur," replied the other. "Did you not say just now that justice

is realized in violence? Did you not speak of expiation? and of the

iniquities of the past?"

"Yes," answered Naundorff. "I am effacing the sins of a dynasty--its

abuses, cruelties and indifference to human suffering."

"Father," said Amélie, "we are effacing also its frailties and

apostasies. Therefore, we must not temporize nor vacillate in critical

moments. O, can you not comprehend that justice would be on our side at

this moment if we might deal the usurpation a deadly blow?" "We are

ready to serve your cause," said Giacinto. "Naundorff and his daughter

may count upon our loyalty and we are those who walk by night through

the bowels of the earth. The soles of our shoes are cork that our

footsteps may not reach men's ears. Captain Soliviac," he concluded,

suddenly turning toward the seaman, "you are commanding aboard this

vessel. What route are we to take?"

Soliviac's green Celtic eyes flashed. So far he had taken no part in the

discussion, but now resolution stamped itself upon his face and his

voice vibrated with authority, that authority of supreme moments when

the ship ran great danger.

"We are to take the route which the other ship has taken; we are to

overtake her before she reaches France and capture her. She shall not

touch French soil while Camille Soliviac is Captain of the Polipheme."

The others were silent, comprehending the danger. No war raged on the

seas; corsairs and pirates were restrained severely.

"What other suggestion can you offer?" asked Soliviac.

"None," replied Giacinto and Louis Pierre.

"Such being the case--," and he turned to descend the stairway.

"Captain," interrupted Louis Pierre, "the schooner is lighter and

swifter than our brig. She has an enormous advantage."

"No," replied Soliviac. "She is going at ordinary speed and is

unconscious of our intention. Besides, she seems to be traveling

backward while we have increased speed since the lulling of the storm.

As soon as she is within reach of our cannon, we will salute and watch

the effect. Therefore, let us drink each other good luck in another

punch, after which Mademoiselle may retire to her state-room and pray

for us."

"I to my state-room?" demanded Amélie, her eyes flashing. "How little

you know me, Captain."

Naundorff clutched Soliviac by the sleeve, and, almost kneeling,

entreated:

"Renounce force, for in that renunciation is the secret of life. It has

been written: I took your cause in my hands and your grievance have I

avenged. O forbear to spill blood, forbear to destroy life."

The Captain, respectfully but with evident displeasure, moved away,

saying:

"There is no alternative."

"But what right have you, Captain, to attack that vessel for performing

a charitable deed?"

"What right?" retorted the Breton. "Tell me first by what right the

innocent boy-king was tortured, imprisoned, buried? When that schooner

and its crew sleep on the floor of ocean, no man will arise to speak to

me about rights. Ho there! to business." And he ran down the stairs,

followed by René and the Carbonari. Amélie flung her arms around her

father's neck as he fell on his knees in prayer. The pale blue morning

light filtered through the cabin windows and gleamed over the water.

Chapter IX

THE SCHOONER

The Polipheme with outstretched sails sped swiftly after the schooner.

Soliviac turned the telescope upon her, remarking to the mate:

"She seems to be lying to."

The mate took the instrument and looked also.

"Not only lying to," he said, "but she is also drawing in sails."

"What can that mean?" mused the captain.

"It means good luck to us, for within another quarter of an hour she

will be within our reach. Then we may send her a salute. There is no

necessity of announcing our intentions to the high seas: therefore,

lower the French flag and hoist the Dutch, in case there be witnesses to

our fray."

These orders were silently executed. The crew never commented upon the

captain's acts. Besides, having been habituated by their long campaigns

against England to piracy and lust for booty, they chafed at the

restrictions of a normally organized commerce and enthusiastically

welcomed the approaching struggle. The schooner's graceful form,

floating the English flag, was easily discernible. Her crew appeared

like ants, moving to and fro.

"Captain," exclaimed the pilot, "do you not see them signal? They have

just fired off a sky rocket."

"Let us give them a sample of _our_ rockets!" answered Soliviac.

"Let us demand the spy," whispered Giacinto.

"Are you crazy?" asked Louis Pierre. "What if the fellow leave them a

letter for the government? No. The vessel that has rescued Volpetti must

perish. Are you trembling? Have you contracted the scruples of the man

who is praying on his knees in the cabin? I also believe in divine

justice. I believe that 'tis we who accomplish it."

"Captain," called out the mate, "do you see that thin column of smoke

rising from her right side?"

Soliviac dropped the telescope, for his eyes served him better at that

distance than the instrument. He saw that the vessel was burning.

"She is afire!" he called out.

"Fire!" shouted the three Carbonari.

"The divine justice of which Naundorff spoke," said René.

"Nevertheless, inasmuch as a few buckets of water may extinguish that

justice, let us send a salute to the English flag, Captain," ironically

remarked Louis Pierre.

Soliviac gave the order and four little cannon, with a simultaneous

precision which revealed practice, sent their load into the schooner's

side.

"Load again!" shouted Soliviac. "At the masts and spars!"

Aboard the schooner, the unexpected attack produced panic. The crew ran

back and forth in consternation and the smoke grew denser.

"Louis Pierre!" called out Giacinto in ferocious joy, "I see Volpetti

aboard."

The Polipheme's second discharge broke the mizzen mast, which, falling,

caught beneath it two of the sailors. The smoke rose in great columns

and 'twas impossible to see what further happened.

"Where are we?" asked Soliviac of the pilot.

"Opposite the isle of Jersey, but nearer the shore than they. Those who

count on swimming ashore have slim chance."

"Keep an eye on the skiffs," called the captain. "Now they are trying to

save themselves."

Red tongues of flame shot out amid the smoke. The captain commanded.

"Another salute! Let water in to quench their fire."

Again the cannons' load was poured into the schooner's side. She

attempted no defence, for all her energy was directed to fighting the

fire aboard. One of the Polipheme's balls went into her bow, and the

water roared through the aperture.

"Now she goes to the bottom!" shouted Giacinto, wild with joy.

Just then the crew lowered a skiff. The tiny craft dropped to the water

and floated like a shell, and several persons cast themselves therein.

Two seized the oars and, to the astonishment of the spectators, started

toward the Polipheme, whose sailors would gladly have fired upon them

had not Louis Pierre interposed. The skiff came within hailing distance.

Two men, a woman and a child of some five years were visible.

"Save us!" they entreated wildly. "We have not harmed you!"

Amélie shudderingly grasped the captain's arm.

"Have mercy on them!" she said.

"It cannot be," he answered.

"At least the child," she insisted.

"Hello there!" he called to a sailor. "Cast them a cable and hoist up

the boy."

"And the others?"

A look and gesture from Soliviac answered the I question. The skiff drew

nearer and some moments later the child, almost dead with fright, was

drawn up to the deck. Amélie gathered him in her arms and covered his

face with kisses.

"Mamma! mamma!" wailed the little fellow in English.

Notwithstanding her natural courage, Amélie took refuge in a heap of

cables and clasped the child tightly to her breast. She did not wish to

see or hear, but the shrieks of the skiff's inmates sounded on her ears

even tho she covered them close.

She clasped the child tightly. Suddenly she I screamed aloud, for she

felt the vessel beneath her tremble amid a deafening explosion. The

child ceased sobbing through fright. The schooner's magazine had

exploded, casting her into the air. The detonation was followed by a

terrible silence while pieces of broken timber and mutilated bodies

floated on the surface of the water.

Naundorff raised the almost inanimate form of his daughter from the

deck, and then exclaimed in broken tones that seemed to presage naught

but a hopeless future:

"Blood has been spilled for our cause; God is against us!"

Book IV

PICMORT

Chapter I

THE CASTLE

At the foot of a mountain-chain which crosses Brittany, continues

through Normandy and terminates in Cherbourg, stands the castle of

Picmort. It pertains to the de Brezé patrimony, through the Guyornarch

fief, which was the avenue through which the illustrious family claimed

descent from the royal house of Brittany. Notwithstanding political

vicissitudes and the invasion of new ideas, the de Brezés continued to

exercise a veritable sovereignty in that corner of France. There lived

not in the valley a shepherd nor a long-haired peasant who failed to

acknowledge the dominion of the House de Brezé and render the tribute of

a reverence approaching divine honors. René during his hunting journeys

to Picmort received proofs of the extraordinary attachment which the

Bretons evinced to their master.

One evening as the setting sun gilded the lichens on the rough Celtic

rocks, there traveled toward the thicket a woman and a man,--the latter

carrying a child in his arms. They journeyed laboriously, as tho greatly

fatigued, especially the woman, who with the greatest difficulty lifted

her small feet, clad in rude sabots, which were in keeping with her

peasant's dress and the white coif covering her blond hair. At last,

heaving a sigh, she sank upon the ground. The man came to her saying

warningly and gently:

"Mademoiselle, it will soon be night and if we do not hurry, we shall

have to sleep here with the child. Can you not make an effort?"

"The sabots have bruised my feet," she complained, her beautiful young

face full of pain. "But no matter, I shall start again."

She tried to walk, but failed, saying:

"O I cannot, I cannot! What will become of us?"

Louis Pierre did not dare to insist further. He placed the sleeping

child on the ground and wiped his wet forehead with a nervous hand.

Suddenly, the barking of a dog came to them, followed by the appearance

of a great mastiff, springing through the thicket. The child awoke and

began to cry, and the woman,--girl, rather--half rose. Then the

approaching tread of a horse was heard and a splendid voice called to

the dog:

"Here Silvano!" and the horseman sprang lightly to earth. Turning to the

travelers, he said:

"A good and holy evening to you."

He was a tall, young, finely proportioned peasant of beautiful beardless

face and abundant hair.

"Are you the people we await at Picmort?"

"We are," answered Louis Pierre. "Are you Jean Vilon?"

"My name is Jean Vilon, servant of God and my master, the Marquis de

Brezé. My letter of instruction reads that there will arrive a woman, a

child and two men."

"Our companion remained on the coast," replied Louis Pierre evasively.

"He will be here later."

"He shall be welcome when he arrives," replied Jean Vilon with grave

courtesy. "In the meantime I shall carry out my master's orders. He

wishes that no one in the village know of your presence. Prepare then to

follow my instructions."

"We shall obey you, Jean Vilon. I know you are a valued and trusted

servant of the Marquis."

The Breton made no rejoinder to the praise. He stooped and raised the

tired girl to the saddle, caressed the child and seated him on his

shoulder. Then, taking the reins in his hands, he led the horse into

the thicket. Night was almost upon them and the darkness was rapidly

increasing. The horse, had he not been preceded by Silvano and led by

Vilon, would have many times stumbled upon the stumps of trees hidden

beneath the grass and leaves. The child clung confidingly to Vilon,

asking incessantly, "Are we almost there?" After a three hours' journey,

they halted in an open which led to a species of natural bower. Here

Vilon aided Amélie to descend. He placed the child on the earth, tied

the horse to a tree and took from his pocket a small lantern which he

lighted from a flint. Then turning its beams full upon Louis Pierre's

face, he asked in the cautious tone of a peasant-warrior:

"The watch-word?"

"Giac and Saint Ann," Amélie hastened to answer.

"Correct," answered the young Breton. "Henceforth we are friends. My

master has written a letter of instructions, which he commands me to

burn after reading. Bear witness that I comply," and he took from his

belt a folded paper which he lighted with a flint. When it had crumbled

to ashes, he followed the mastiff for some distance. On reaching a great

stone, he halted, the removal of which disclosed an aperture which

resembled the opening of a wild beast's cave. He signaled the others to

follow, entering first himself, bearing the child in his arms. The

little fellow commenced to cry, whereupon Amélie drew near, whispering:

"Baby Dick, do you want to live with me or away from me?"

"With you, with you!" he cried.

"Well then," and she smiled sweetly into Jean Vilon's face, "go with

this good man, and he will take you where you will always be with me."

The peasant stared at her transported. Amélie took off her sabots and

followed him into the tunnel, Louis Pierre accompanying them. At first

they had almost to crawl, for the passage was so narrow, but soon they

were able to walk upright. After a while they reached a circular

apartment whose roof was sustained by granite pillars and whose floor

was strewn with dry herbs. Here Jean Vilon presented his charges with a

basket of provisions there awaiting them. Bread, wine, cheese and milk

constituted the refreshment, and their hunger made these seem delicious.

Their guide was silent during the meal, tho his eyes of changeful hue

were fixed from time to time on Amélie, in wonder and admiration. The

white Breton coif on her head intensified the girl's great beauty.

When the frugal repast was over, Jean Vilon cast the lantern's light

upon the wall; a rusty grating appeared, which he unfastened with a

rusty key. Back of the grating they beheld another passageway, narrower

still, high, inclined upward, and winding to the right, after ascending

which they passed through several galleries, reaching at last an oaken

door barred with iron. Jean applied a key to this, and it swung upon its

hinges. They entered an octagonal salon, through which they passed on to

another apartment wherein began a stairway which seemed interminable.

Amélie, notwithstanding her exhaustion, resolutely moved on; but there

came a moment when she tottered, for the lack of fresh air almost

asphyxiated her. Jean hastened to support her and with the gentlest

reverence, completed the ascent, his arm around her shoulders.

At the landing a current of fresh air revived her. They stood on the

floor of an empty cistern. Stars shone overhead. Amélie realized that

the arrangement was a military precaution for enabling the besieged to

escape. Jean explained that there existed a tunnel from the cistern to a

mine. They walked for a while along a subterranean passage. Suddenly

Jean seemed to pass through the wall. He had but leaned heavily against

it and thus disclosed a lane, so narrow that they had to push themselves

sidewise through it. At length they stood in a large yard, near the foot

of several tall gray towers overgrown with ivy. Amélie and Louis Pierre

looked back for a last sight of the passageway which had conducted them

thither. It had disappeared. No exit was visible and Jean smiled

demurely at their amazement.

Then he placed a finger on his lips and, bidding Louis Pierre go ahead

with the lantern, he approached one of the towers and pushed against the

postern, which yielded. Then, with the air of a host, he preceded them

up a winding stairway, across an antechamber and into a sumptuously

furnished salon, brilliantly lighted with wax tapers in porcelain

candelabra of crystal pendants. The apartment was an example of highly

refined Louis Quinze taste; the caprice of a Marquise de Brezé, removed

by a wildly jealous husband from court and incarcerated in the gloomy

towers of Picmort. This most capricious Marquise had adorned her prison

walls with the refinements and exquisite fantasies of Versailles, until

death came at last to her amid flowers, satins and laces. The boudoir

remained ever after untenanted, with its mythological paintings, gilded

screens, voluptuous couches, blue celadon jars, silver, ivory and

enameled ornaments. Even the Marquise's lace handkerchief remained where

the dying lady's feverish hand had crushed it.

"My master has written that this apartment is to be occupied by you,

Mademoiselle," said Jean. "It is called the Boudoir of the Marquise and

the windows are always closed. There is a belief among the peasants to

the effect that death should visit the castle if the windows be opened.

You had best, therefore, in order to avoid comment, remain during the

daytime in the rooms above. If you are seen from below, 'twill be

thought that you are a servant-maid or my sister from Saint Brieuc."

"You are a prudent man, Jean Vilon," said Louis Pierre.

"A prudent and faithful man," said Amélie, smiling sweetly upon the

Breton, as with the gentle dignity that so well became her, she seated

herself in an armchair.

"And now, Jean," she said, "provide my fellow-traveler with a bed and

room. I see my own here. Have a little mattress brought for the boy, as

he does not wish to leave me," and she caressed Baby Dick's blond head

as she added an assurance that she would be very comfortable.

As the two men retired, the light of dawn silvered the stern turrets of

Picmort.

Chapter II

BAD NEWS

On the following day, Amélie and Louis Pierre had a serious talk.

"I do not consider," remarked the girl, "that René has reason to complain

of my compliance with his instructions. I have obeyed him blindly, and

that is not so easy a thing for me to do. But now I demand to know why,

instead of accompanying my father to Paris and of hearing our faithful

adherents acclaim him King, I am banished as tho I were a prisoner and

enjoined to remain in a peasant's dress behind closed windows. In order

to breathe fresh air, I must ascend the dizzy heights of a tower."

Louis Pierre did not at once reply. He sat for a few moments in that

gloomy attitude which he so often assumed.

"Mademoiselle," he said after a few moments, "courage!"

"Speak the truth," demanded Amélie imperiously. "I am no weakling."

And her face was so gloriously brave that the Knight of Liberty spoke

with more than his accustomed frankness.

"Your father did not go immediately to Paris, for we are watched and

caution is necessary. Our original plan has been abandoned, namely, that

your father intercede with his sister and the Marquis reunite the

families attached to the cause. Were that program in progress, your

presence in Paris would be of inestimable value. The father and daughter

together would present a picture calculated to quiet all lingering

doubt. The impression you both produced upon Giacinto and me in the Red

Fish would be repeated upon all beholders. But as matters stand today,

your very faces would be your condemnation."

Amélie fixed her brave eyes on the knight's dark face.

"You mean," she said, "that Volpetti has been saved."

"He has, that is to say some of the sailors reached the shore. How they

survived fire, explosion, cannon, bullets and shipwreck I cannot say--"

Amélie buried her face in her hands, but the springs of her wonderful

iron will soon recovered their tension.

"And how has this been discovered?" she asked. "I mean that some have

been saved?"

"You know, that on reaching French soil, we arranged to travel

separately and by circuitous routes until we should reach some

neighboring port, from which each on a different day should take the

diligence. At Dinan, we spent our first night.

"Yes," said Amélie.

"At Dinan, Giacinto visited inns and taverns, conversed with sailors and

fishermen and from them learned the story he too well knew, the tragedy

in which he had played so prominent a part. He was told that two or

three sailors had floated ashore at Pleneuf, been given shelter by

fishermen and were now recovering."

"If that be all," said the girl, with a look of relief, "why conjecture

the worst? Volpetti was not in the best condition for swimming."

"God grant your wish."

"When René left me after our landing, he assured me that an inviolable

asylum awaited me here and a faithful guardian in Jean Vilon. 'From

father to son have the Vilons served the de Brazes,' he said. The

present steward's father was executed for his adhesion to the throne and

altar. The castle contains places of concealment known only to Jean and

myself. If the attempt were made to seize you, 'twould be impossible

while breath remains in Jean's body. He thinks that you are an unhappy

girl, distantly related to me whom I have rescued from enforced entry

into a convent."

"Louis Pierre, I know that you and Giacinto stand for ideas widely at

variance with those of which my father is a symbol; nevertheless, my

faith in you is absolute. You are now my guardian angel," and she

extended her hand to him.

He did not dare touch, much less to kiss it. His face was transfigured,

beautified, as he solemnly said:

"The daughter of France may trust the sons of the Revolution. She may

place faith in the enemy of the institutions which the Bourbon

symbolizes. No man more than I hates the dynasty which, in committing

treason against the country, became the cause of that country's woes,

the woes of a foreign invasion. Mortal, eternal, inextinguishable hatred

has Louis Pierre sworn against the House. This hate has guided his feet

and been the spring of his actions until a few days since. Now I give

the Bourbons a chance to prove that they have profited by adversity,

that they are capable of being animated by an impulse of justice, that

they repent them of their iniquities. I give the usurper a chance to

voluntarily abdicate the throne and acknowledge the union of royalty

with the strong, pure blood of the people. If this miracle be performed,

if the sister open her arms to the brother, Louis Pierre will retract

his malediction and forgive the House of Bourbon."

These extravagant words caused Amélie's expression to become graver and

loftier.

"Who doubts, Louis Pierre," she said in almost affectionate effusion, as

from a queen to a subject, "that my father will accomplish his mission?

The recital of his unparalleled suffering, his atrocious martyrdom, the

refuge he sought and obtained among the people, his children born of a

daughter of those people; all this will speak for him eloquently.

Humanity has suffered too greatly to remain unmoved before such woes. To

my father is reserved the sublime office of reconciling the people and

royalty."

Her eyes and cheeks glowed and the Carbonaro ejaculated:

"Blessed be the day when that light shines in France."

"It will shine!" she cried. "Victory is almost ours. My father is secure

beneath René's protection. He possesses proofs which, were it necessary

to appeal to a tribunal, would win the cause instantly. O even tho

Volpetti be risen from hell, what harm could he do?"

"What could he do?" repeated the Carbonaro. "He can do everything to

accomplish our ruin. Do not deceive yourself, Mademoiselle. If that man

lives, we are lost. He holds the strings of our enterprise, he knows the

entire history of the mechanic Naundorff. 'Tis he enveloped him in that

name as in a winding sheet. If Volpetti be living, woe to your father,

woe to you, woe to us all and to Soliviac, who has been of so great

service. 'Tis a question of life and death, and we are not sleeping upon

the danger, Mademoiselle," he concluded sombrely.

"What do you mean?" she demanded almost sternly.

"I mean that Giacinto is with Soliviac, and that they are exploring

every shoal, creek and cape, interviewing every fisherman. Their

destination is Pleneuf. Their project may have a startling effect," and

Louis Pierre's voice rang out almost stridently.

Chapter III

GIACINTO'S RETURN

Amélie was forced to resign herself patiently to await the news. Life

tends to normalize itself, whatever the given conditions, and she wisely

accommodated herself to the inevitable. During the mornings she roamed

over the great castle, in company with Vilon and Baby Dick. They would

ascend towers and descend into subterranean passages, rearranging the

salons and adorning the altars. The only inmates of the lofty feudal

edifice, besides Vilon, Amélie, Louis Pierre and the child were two

maid-servants, one of whom was in charge of the kitchen. At dawn both

maids went into the fields for fruit and vegetables or to take the cows

to pasture, so that Amélie, free from importunate eyes, walked about

freely. They were curious to see the Marquis's relative, she who slept

in the Marquise's boudoir, but they made no impertinent inquiries

through fear of Jean Vilon, who alone waited upon the guest. During the

afternoon, Louis Pierre would come up from his room and play dominoes

or discuss the future with her. The Carbonaro had read many books. His

brain had received certain ideas as though they had been graven thereon

with a corrosive. He was visionary, mystical and a dreamer, and

pertained to the sect known as Theophilanthropists; he believed himself

destined by Providence to accomplish some high mission requiring great

valor and abnegation. His chief characteristic was a contempt for life,

and this secured him Amélie's esteem.

With Jean Vilon, Amélie conversed less than with Louis Pierre and her

treatment always displayed an air of affectionate patronage. She was a

woman, very much of a woman, and fully conscious of her effect upon men.

She used no coquetry toward the fine peasant for in no particular did

her feminine artifices approach familiarity. The homage she loved to

receive was that of the soul, the adoration of chivalry; she longed for

the devotion which illustrious unhappy queens had inspired, such as Mary

Stuart, or Marie Antoinette. The attachment of Jean Vilon, each day more

apparent, was such as a youth of medieval ages paid the holy relics. He

divined and filled her every wish. On warm nights he escorted her

through the woods that she might breathe the fresh, pure air. They took

long walks which brought the roses back to her cheeks and the litheness

to her limbs. These clandestine rambles, which seemed at first so risky,

soon became a custom.

But her chief delight was the child, the unfortunate waif, torn from the

arms of his drowning mother and cast into hers. When asked his name, he

would answer "Baby, baby!"

"Only Baby?" Amélie would ask.

One day the little fellow fixed his blue eyes, full of candor, on her

face, and added:

"Baby Dick."

"His name is Richard, then," said Amélie. "This is some information

gained," and with that much she had to content herself. The child had

either forgotten or did not know his family name. Of his father he

remembered nothing; of his mother he knew that she lived in a cottage

near the beach, amid many flowers and with a large dog, as large as

Silvano. Amélie began to think that he was a child born out of wedlock

and she felt for him a greater attachment than ever. From the first

moment of being with her, he had called her "Mamma." Her eyes would fill

with tears as she placed him at night in his little bed and clasped his

tiny hands in prayer. "He has no mother but me," she would say with

trembling lips.

One afternoon Louis Pierre read aloud to her from Rousseau's Emile while

she held Baby Dick on her knees. Suddenly Jean Vilon appeared.

"A man has just arrived," he said "bringing my master's watch-word. He

came by the road of Saint Brieuc. Shall I open to him?"

Louis exchanged a lightning glance with Amélie.

"Is he dark, handsome, with curly black hair and in sailor's clothes?"

she asked.

"Yes, and he seems very tired."

"Bring him through the subterranean passage, no matter how great is his

fatigue. The servants must not see a stranger enter."

Jean Vilon withdrew, and it was night when, almost fainting with

exhaustion, and covered with dust, Giacinto appeared before them. Amélie

ordered Vilon to retire. There was no need to ask questions. The

Italian's face, with terrible eloquence, revealed the truth.

Nevertheless Louis Pierre inquired:

"Bad news?"

"The worst."

"Volpetti is saved?"

"Saved and on the road to Paris."

Louis Pierre's voice uttered an inarticulate growl, but the girl

recovered sufficient courage to say:

"Come, take heart! How did he save himself?"

"He and three others swam ashore. The waves dashed them against the

rocks, wounding and bruising them seriously. One of the men died from

the effects; two others are lying on their backs in a fisherman's

hut, and the only other of the party--was ever misfortune equal to

this?--the only other,--he whose bruises amounted only to pinches

and who speedily recovered sufficient strength to write a number of

letters,--each of which is a dagger thrust in our sides--is that--cursed

dog,--that--fiend--Volpetti!"

Giacinto clutched his fine black hair and tore a handful from his head.

"Fate is against us," said Louis Pierre gloomily. "And Soliviac?"

"Aboard the Polipheme, on the sea, coasting toward Cherbourg. He would

gladly sail away to Hamburg, out of danger's way, were he not a knight.

He stays because we may have need of him."

"So you have accomplished nothing?"

"Nothing. After Volpetti communicated with the prefect, a guard of

soldiers surrounded the hut in which he was recovering. 'Tis a wonder

that I was not captured for I have been chased like a wild beast. A

bullet pierced my cap and I have reached you by miracle."

Louis Pierre interrupted:

"You and I must leave for Paris at once. If one of us be killed, the

other may reach the city and warn Naundorff. We shall take separate

routes."

"Very well, but we need horses and money."

"Mademoiselle," said Louis Pierre, "you will be safe, here. Danger

cannot reach you with Vilon as a guard. Otherwise, I should not leave

you. You know the secret passages and are safe from all the spies and

European cabinets in existence. As for us, we are burning our last

cartridge in going to Paris. Volpetti has unlimited resources:

gendarmerie, regular troops, magistrates, spies and those fellows who go

by the name of 'Partisans of the Order.' What a tremendous mistake it

was to let Volpetti go. If we today considered our own safety, we should

immediately board the Polipheme and depart forever from the coasts of

France."

Amélie rose and stretched a hand to each Carbonaro:

"Defenders of a cause you espoused through generosity, friends,

brothers, you shall live always in my heart. If my father's act in

freeing Volpetti bring evil to you, O forgive him! I implore you on my

knees." And the beautiful girl was sinking to the floor, when the

Knights interposed and raised her. They pressed their lips upon her

white hands, as though she were a queen. They left without a word, for

their voices were full of tears. From a window, she watched them leave

and her brave spirit sank within her.

After their departure, she seemed to fall into a lethargy. She missed

the long colloquies with Louis Pierre. Alone in the sumptuous apartments

whose dust-covered portraits of ladies and paladins seemed to look upon

her with cold disdain, she suffered the inevitable effect of isolation.

No letters reached her, for René trusted nothing to the mails. She

tortured herself with surmises; she seemed to see her father in the

hands of the police or in a dungeon; René the victim of some political

snare, and the Carbonari prisoners on an indictment of piracy. And she

told herself over and over that her father's absurd magnanimity had

caused all the trouble.

Her only consolation was the companionship of Baby Dick, and the little

fellow was never separated from her. Hours and hours they would sit

together at the window which looked over the deep entrenchments, Amélie

sewing, but with frequent interruptions, for she could not refrain from

stroking Baby's soft curls or taking him on her knees. He, meanwhile,

asked questions incessantly and, when she failed to reply promptly,

covered her face with kisses. Silvano would lay his splendid head in her

lap and look into her face with his great intelligent eyes.

Chapter IV

NIGHT

In the midst of her anxiety, a new trouble broke upon her,--the

transformation taking place in her guardian, Jean. Not that the Breton

permitted himself liberties; the deference he paid her was daily more

marked and his attitude--that of devoté before an image--was more

intensified; but the devoté had eyes and the eyes would light up on

beholding his mistress; he had hands and those hands would tremble in

placing food on the table. She felt that he loved her with a wild, deep

love which only his iron will controlled.

She instinctively accentuated the difference in their ranks; she no

longer walked with him through the woods. Her fear of him increased

daily until she entered none of the castle's apartments, remaining

constantly in the boudoir or in Baby's little chamber which adjoined her

own.

"This misfortune," she soliloquized, for as such she designated Vilon's

passion, "has its cause in my disguise. Had I appeared to him in my

proper character he would never have dared. My God, help me! At the

mercy of a man whose eyes dart lightning, and from whom I must conceal

my fears, I have need of all my self-possession. If I falter, this

splendid animal will grip me."

One night she lay awake listening to Vilon's furtive footfalls in the

antechamber where, in his impassioned fidelity, he kept guard. Such

vigilance, far from tranquilizing the girl, filled her with ever

increasing terror. She tossed upon the gilded Pompadour bed, whose

woodwork was carved in capricious and elegant mythological designs. The

Marquise's pale shade seemed to be near. The child's tranquil breathing

came to her from his little low bed, back of the embroidered Chinese

screen. A tiny lamp, whose light was softened by a green glass globe,

projected unsteady rays, which magnified shadows and increased her

terror. She was fast becoming a victim to insomnia. Her lids closed but

the light shining through them wrought figures of fantastic dragons and

pale oblique-eyed damsels and mandarins with drooping mustaches who

first became animated and then disappeared. When these grotesque visions

vanished, there glowed on the silken background goddesses and nymphs of

Watteau pattern, who, descending from amid the bed carvings, danced

gayly on with clattering satin shoes and gleaming bosoms. Their laughs

rang shrill as they too vanished and there arose from the depths of the

tangled forest the tanned countenance and blond hair of Jean Vilon. He

seized one of the nymphs around the waist; the nymph was herself; she

struggled vainly; he clasped his rude hands around her delicate neck and

compressed it with gradually increasing force, almost extinguishing

life. In order to assure herself that all was delusion she opened wide

her eyes just as the brass enameled clock pealed forth midnight.

In an effort to sleep, she turned on her side and drew the pillow over

her face, but she continued to hear inexplicable noises. People seemed

to be walking through the castle. Suddenly a wild hope filled her.

Perhaps her father, having triumphed, had summoned her to join him.

Perhaps René was the bearer of the good tidings. She raised herself on

her elbow. No longer was there any question. Footsteps sounded through

the vestibules, the antechambers, the salons; light gleamed under the

door. Suddenly the lock was noisily forced and a lady in traveling

costume, followed by two servants wearing the de Brezé livery, walked

swiftly toward the bed.

Amélie became speechless with amazement. Seated upright, she stared at

the lady with wide eyes, who, in turn, fastened on the girl a hostile,

terrible look. The two recognized each other. Amélie beheld again the

arrogant faded beauty of the face so wonderfully like René's in feature

and so different in expression. And the lady gazed again awestruck upon

the facsimile of the countenance which in miniatures, pastels,

oil-paintings, engravings, lithographs, snuff boxes, etc., was the

object of compassionate adoration. The resemblance was at that moment so

striking that the Duchess de Rousillon remained motionless, dominated by

an involuntary reverence. Quickly recovering her sang froid, she said:

"Leave the bed!"

"Why are you here?" demanded Amélie. "Why have you forced an entrance

into my room at such an hour?"

The girl's indignation momentarily disconcerted the lady, but very soon

she laughed disdainfully:

"I might ask with what shadow of a right you have taken up quarters in

my castle?"

"This castle, madam, appertains to René de Giac, Marquis de Brezé."

"I am his mother. I come in his name and with full authority from him.

Rise at once if you have a sense of decency that we may talk in a

suitable manner."

"René has given you no authority," protested the girl.

"My authority will soon be manifest," replied the Duchess.

"Jean Vilon! Jean Vilon!" called Amélie.

"Jean Vilon will not come. He is my slave. Do not become hysterical. And

rise, I repeat. 'Twill be a pleasanter method than having my servants

pull you out of bed."

"In order that I should rise, madam, these servants must retire. I am

not accustomed to dressing in the presence of men."

The Duchess was constrained into making a signal. The liveried

attendants placed the wax tapers on the mantel and left the apartment

and Amélie deftly and modestly made a hasty toilet. Then she turned to

the Duchess, saying:

"Will you now be good enough to explain your conduct?"

The Duchess advanced upon her in fury.

"I dare say," she hissed, "that you can guess I have come to break the

cords by which you hold my son,--you and that imposter, your father. The

scales have at last dropped from René's eyes; he is disillusioned and

repentant. He revealed to me your hiding place. In his name I come."

"You lie, madam. May my soul be banished forever from God if René knows

you are here. Did he know it, he would stand before me now and shield me

from you."

"Impertinent, intriguing adventuress! I tear away your mask. Believe

what you choose regarding my son, but prepare to obey my orders."

"And I remind you that I am your son's betrothed wife."

"That pretence is the most amusing proof of your ingenuity. The wife of

my son! So great an honor, Mademoiselle Naundorff, would overwhelm our

family. The de Brezé contract an alliance with the daughter of the

convict Prussian watch-maker!--Let us talk rationally; you are the

sweetheart of a good man who loves you devotedly. My steward, Jean

Vilon, is ready to marry you at this moment."

"What!" shrieked Amélie. "What do you say of Jean Vilon?"

"That he is to be your excellent husband. The dear fellow is wild with

joy in knowing that I have brought the chaplain in my chaise to bless

the couple. You have made him lose his head about you. Ah, do not play

the innocent. You have understood each other very well for some time. I

shall stand sponsor and bestow a dot upon you. As for Jean? I shall give

him the Plouret farm. In short you shall be consoled for not being the

Marquise de Brezé. The wife of an honest man is a more suitable position

for your station--"

"Is this a nightmare?" cried Amélie. Then with supreme disdain, she

added, "Not even René, himself, could obtain from me what you propose.

My life is in your hands, the life of the woman whom your son loves. But

my will you cannot conquer. Drag me to the altar I will say no with my

last breath."

The Duchess seemed taken aback at the emphasis with which the refusal

was spoken. She revealed her true character, that of a pompous

impertinent woman, performing awkwardly an assigned role. With an angry

gesture, she passed into the adjoining apartment, and held for ten

minutes or more a whispered conference with others. She' returned

accompanied by her two attendants, one of whom looked at Amélie in a

peculiar manner. Both approached the bed whereon Baby was lying and

lifted him up. The frightened child commenced to cry and Amélie ran to

him, but they snatched him from her arms and disappeared.

"If you love the child so greatly," observed the Duchess, "you may have

the happiness of his company by consenting to marry Jean Vilon. He is

pretty badly spoilt, owing to the manner in which you have brought him

up. Jean is willing to adopt him. Is he really your own? Well, we shall

soon be able to judge of that."

The Duchess retired and the doors were barred and bolted after her.

Amélie realized that she was indeed a prisoner.

Chapter V

THE CHILD

Imprisonment could not subdue her. She would have died rather than

yield. Her father's fate, her lover's fate and the fate of dear little

Dick, weighed each moment more heavily on her heart. The Duchess's visit

to Picmort signified much; it indicated that the police had discovered

their plans.

"If my father," she thought during the long sleepless hours, "had been

received by his sister, if his rights had been recognized, the Duchess

would not have dared to outrage me with this proposition. Can René be

imprisoned? He must be living, or his mother would not seek to marry me

to Jean Vilon. In this plot, I see the hand of Volpetti. I wonder if the

spy was not one of the servants. I think I recognized him. O they would

be rid of me, and, not daring to kill me, they think to marry me basely.

For so could the Duchess free her son and they have one more pretext for

disclaiming my father's pretensions--But Baby Dick? What is to become

of him?"

Terror stricken she walked the floor. She began to comprehend how great

was the love which bound her to the frail being to whom she had been

playing the role of mother. She reproached herself cruelly for having

contributed to orphan the little fellow. His beauty, his grief at being

separated from her, his caresses, his cunning little ways, all these

surged to her mind and seemed to obliterate her other griefs.

"What does this mean? I know not my father's whereabouts; René is likely

in grave danger; but my thoughts are absorbed with this child who is

joined to me by no tie, whom chance placed in my arms and violence

removed."

Morning dawned and she had not closed her eyes. The birth of day brought

calmness as it does to all human souls. She had no longer need of

concealment, so, running to the windows, she flung them wide open,

heedless of the warning that death would ensue, which Vilon had given

her when she arrived in the Castle. The light streamed into the

Marquise's boudoir. The capricious antiquated draperies became

illuminated like a stage setting, contrasting with the desolate

magnificence of the exterior and the sombre massiveness of the towers

which the sun began to brighten. Amélie looked out through those windows

for the first time.

"What will they do to Baby?" she asked herself. "What can they do?

Nothing more than separate him from me I suppose. But he has become so

dear to me--Still that shall not break my will. _I_ the wife of Jean

Vilon?--What is the meaning of this? How has he dared lend himself to

the scheme? Why has he let the Duchess in? O his passion explains it

all. How repellent!--Better death a thousand times."

She gazed vacantly upon the faded silken hangings, the sumptuous

furniture and elegant old laces; she caught her image in the mirrors of

magnificent frames wherein the Marquise had so often beheld her pallid

wasted features. Suddenly, she started, listening affrightedly to Baby

Dick's cry in the next room.

"Mamma 'Mélie! Mamma 'Mélie!" he called. "Come! Give me breakfast. It is

very late."

With passion of which she had not deemed herself capable, she ran to the

door and shook it violently, crying:

"My little heart, I can't come to you. Wait. Be very patient."

"My pretty mamma, I am alone. That bad lady shut me in. O break the

door, mamma."

"I can't Baby," she answered, pushing with all her strength against the

panels. And giving way to her grief, she dropped into a chair and

sobbed. For the first time, despair seized her. Woman's tenderest

attribute--the maternal instinct--vanquished her strong heart, even tho

her attachment was for another woman's child. Perhaps, on that very

account, 'twas more highly idealized.

Baby Dick continued to call to her in his sweet, pleading tones and she

hid her face in the satin cushions, in a longing to drown his voice. But

though she heard his wails more faintly, they seemed on that account

more plaintive. She jumped into bed, drew the clothes over her head and

sobbed in time to his moaning.

"O if I might break down that door and clasp his little body in my arms,

I should fling away every ambitious project, even happiness with René.

My love and pity outweigh every other consideration."

At eight o'clock breakfast was brought her by the two men who had come

with the Duchess during the night. She asked several questions, to which

no answer whatever was given. The morning seemed interminable. At noon

the same attendants brought a lunch which, like the others, passed in

silence. Amélie could not eat more than a morsel of bread, for the

child's cries were incessant. She refrained from talking to him, for

doing so seemed to increase his suffering; but at length she could

contain herself no longer, and tapping on the panels, she called

affectionately:

"Baby! Baby! This is your Mamma 'Mélie."

"I am hungry, mamma!" he cried.

"Hungry, darling?" she exclaimed, a frightful suspicion crossing her

mind. "Have they given you nothing to eat? Have you had no broth? Even

tho you are not in my arms, eat everything they give you, Baby; I am

close by. It is just as though I were with you."

"But Mamma 'Mélie, they give me nothing, no broth, no milk. O give me

something, mamma!"

A chill of horror ran through her veins. O were they capable of such

cruelty? It must be that they had forgotten to take food to little Dick.

Who would deliberately starve a child? But to think that he had been a

whole day unfed! She wrung her hands and threw herself against the

walls. With difficulty she repressed herself from screaming aloud. She

shook the door with all her strength, though she well knew that that

strength was impotent. Her temples seemed bursting. She felt on the

verge of dementia. She recalled her father's imprisonment and the

numerous historical crimes related. But O to starve a child! This too

was possible. Depravity is boundless when it possesses a human heart.

When evening at last came and the same speechless attendant brought her

supper, she darted a withering look at him, saying:

"Order food taken to the child at once! If you are not tigers, have pity

on him. Starve me if you will. What has he to do with this miserable

plot?"

The man made no answer, whatever. He fixed his eyes upon her and she

knew that he was Volpetti indeed.

The night was terrible. During the first part Baby sobbed incessantly,

tho his voice grew fainter and fainter. At last it died out altogether.

She grew frantic and running to the windows, called aloud:

"Jean Vilon! Jean Vilon! Wretch! Is it thus you obey your master?"

Then, as silence followed:

"René! René!"

Then:

"Silvano! Silvano!"

But no answer came. Picmort, the grim giant, was silent. Again she ran

to the door separating her from Dick. He was speaking to her but in a

voice so faint that it was scarcely more than a murmur.

"He will die! he will die!" she wailed. "No child can resist such

treatment. God have mercy on us both. What have I done to bring such

suffering on this baby?--But I might save him; yes, if I renounce René

forever. No, no! Rather perish the entire world. These fiends would

defeat me through my sense of pity. Well, they shall not. I shall be

stone. What is this child to me? Have I not once saved his

life?--Perhaps my father was right. We have spilt blood--O no, no! My

father you were weak and that weakness is my undoing--And now my pity

for this child is making me also a weakling."

She broke into bitter weeping. Dick was calling:

"Mamma! Mamma!"

She crept to the door and whispered:

"My heaven, be patient. Very soon you shall have food and be with me."

With an air of a somnambulist did Amélie comb out her long blond hair

and arrange it in its accustomed style. Then she performed her entire

toilet, laughing stridently from time to time. Sometimes tears would

trickle fast down her beautiful face, so pale and worn with its great

anxiety. When at noon the silent attendant brought the meal, she said

to him:

"Tell the Duchess de Rousillon that I shall comply with her wishes,

provided she has the door opened immediately which separates me from the

child."

Chapter VI

THE MARRIAGE

An hour later, Baby sat in Amélie's lap. She had given him milk and soup

and he was covering her face with kisses,--this child whom she loved

more than ever since renouncing for him what was dearer to her than

life. Suddenly the doors were thrown wide open and the Duchess entered

accompanied by the two liveried attendants, bearing handsome clothes,

jewels and laces. Amélie did not raise her eyes. Two girls, the

maid-servants who had been so curious to see her, approached eagerly and

began to deck the bride. They fastened a velvet petticoat beneath an

embroidered silk jacket and pinned the veil and flowers in her beautiful

hair. Soon she was transformed into a lovely Breton bride. Then the

Duchess summoned Jean Vilon, who, in gala costume, a spray of wild

flowers on his breast tied with many colored ribbons, made a brilliant

handsome picture. He was pale, ecstatic, scarcely sensible of what was

in preparation. Things had happened in so bewildering a manner that he

could not co-ordinate his thoughts; he remembered that the Duchess had

unexpectedly arrived and imposed her authority as René's mother to force

entrance into the castle; then she had ordered him in her son's name to

prepare to marry the girl above, who was under the family's special

protection, adding that her misfortunes were the consequence of being

abandoned by a man who had betrayed her. Jean, tho wild with joy,

hesitated and the Duchess added that Amélie came from his class and was

unconnected with the de Brezé family.

"Be a good husband to her, Jean, and you will lack nothing. Be a good

father to the child, and I will give you the Plouret farm."

O what did the farm matter to him! He trembled in a rapture of love. The

husband of Amélie! He enveloped her now in a glance that was a wave of

flame and then, intimidated by the prize he longed to grasp, he turned

interrogating eyes upon the Duchess.

At length they went into the chapel. Two tenants of the de Brezés served

as witnesses. The altar was adorned with gorgeous pots, holding paper

flowers, and the chaplain stood ready to perform the ceremony. The two

serving-maids pressed near the bride, according to the custom of Breton

girls, in eagerness to touch her so as to hasten their own marriage.

Amélie seemed more a statue than an animate body. She recalled René's

words: "In Picmort are the tombs of my ancestors, the ashes of my

fathers; in Picmort I was baptized; in Picmort we shall receive heaven's

blessing on our union." Since living in the castle she had often

pictured their marriage in that chapel. She gazed on the long row of

sepulchral arches to right and left and on the tombs with slabs

supporting the prone forms of Crusader-paladins, hands crossed on

breast; on the superb crucifix surmounting the altar; on the colored

oblong windows. This was the chapel in which she was to have been united

to René de Giac, but there stood now at her side a peasant, a rustic, a

servant of the House of Brezé.

"But I must keep my word," she told herself. "I have promised this for

the child's life."

When she realized that no miracle was forthcoming to liberate her, she

was near screaming:

"Help! help! Violence is being enacted. I do not wish to marry."

But she knew that such appeal would be futile. She would be called

hysterical and the child's martyrdom recommenced. Her story was so

extraordinary, her claims so pretentious, that the witnesses would think

she raved. Raising her eyes to the face of the crucified, she seemed to

hear these words:

"Suffer now, for the hour of your expiation has arrived."

The chaplain put the questions to which the groom replied in a

passionate tremor; Amélie's well-nigh inarticulate assent made her the

wife of Jean Vilon. Almost swooning, she left the chapel. As the bridal

pair reached the salon, the Duchess approached with an affectionate

greeting and holding a diamond brooch which she sought to place in the

girl's bosom. Amélie drew back, as from the sting of a venomous reptile,

refusing the Judas kiss which the lady would have sounded upon her

cheek. But the Duchess continued to smile in insolent triumph. At last

did an insuperable obstacle exist between her son and this impertinent

girl. This union to a peasant made the pretentions of Naundorff seem

more extravagant than ever. The liveried attendants smiled also in joy

at the diabolical victory. Then the Duchess addressed this speech to the

groom:

"Jean, you are a faithful servant and it has made me happy to divine

your wishes and give you the wife you desired. She is suitable to you,

being of your class. Her father is a watch-maker and her mother a

seamstress. May God give you long life. The castle of Picmort remains in

your custody, it being the property of my son, the powerful Marquis de

Brezé, whom I on this occasion represent. The farm of Plouret is yours

and thither may you retire when you are minded to do so."

Amélie heard the words and thought she must be dreaming; such duplicity

bewildered her. Indignant protests rose to her lips but her helplessness

and disdain smothered the words. Casting upon the Duchess a look of

regal scorn, she left the salon and re-entered the Marquise's boudoir.

Very soon after, the Duchess with her two liveried attendants and the

chaplain was driven away from the castle. Jean Vilon carried the lady's

belongings to the chaise and bowed in profound respect and gratitude as

she departed. Amélie, having locked herself in, wept bitterly, the child

clasped to her breast. Was all this true, great God? Was she indeed the

wife of Jean Vilon? Absurd! Heaven would yet guide her out of this

dilemma. O rather than submit, she would fling herself from that window

into the pit below.

Baby covered her with kisses and childish coaxings which seemed in a

measure to console her for what she had endured on his account, and he

was dearer to her than ever. No real mother, she reflected, could love

more deeply than she this child. Evening fell upon the grim castle and

shadows darkened the Marquise's boudoir. Amélie, folding Baby's hands

bade him pray, after which she placed him in bed. She barricaded the

doors by drawing pieces of furniture against them and prepared to pass

the night in vigil.

Suddenly a slight noise filled her with terror. It came from the

mythologically wrought panels adorning the walls. It sounded like the

gnawing of a mouse. The gnawing grew louder, the panel moved, revealing

a door whose edges were the gilded framing, and Jean Vilon in his bridal

clothes, the nuptial flowers in his breast, stood before her. He was a

handsome man, the finest "gars" in that part of Brittany. Happiness made

his dark face beautiful. She repelled her husband with a look of scorn

which made him stand motionless.

"How dare you enter, Jean?" she demanded advancing upon him with a

threatening look. "How dare you enter without my permission? Did you

not see that I had locked myself in? You come like a thief through a

secret entrance which only you know. Wretch! Leave me this instant and

never return. Do you hear? _Never!_"

Jean advanced in his turn, stammering:

"Mademoiselle, what do you mean? Are we not husband and wife? I have

known the secret of that door since I was a boy, but I have never used

it. You were safe under my protection. But now! By God and Saint

Anne!--the priest has joined us!--"

Amélie, taking courage at his moderation, said still more scornfully:

"You say we are joined together? Idiot! Do you consider that service

valid? Are you pretending innocence? Are you a fool or a knave? Are you

the Duchess's creature or her victim? Do you not know how they have

wrested from me my consent? Has no one told you that I married you to

save the child's life?"

Jean stared at her in speechless amazement, and Amélie perceiving his

ignorance, breathed more freely.

"Mademoiselle," he said at last, "I am neither a murderer nor a

hypocrite."

"Then why have you married me, wretch?" His eyes changed hue, resembling

the sea water which beats against the Coast of Brittany emitting at

night phosphoric light.

"Because I love you, because I love you!" he cried, coming close to her,

so close that she felt his breath. "Because my mistress told me that you

were not as I had been told, a relative of the family. She said you were

a peasant like myself, who had suffered misfortune and been abandoned by

a scoundrel. Even knowing this," he concluded affectionately, "I loved

you and was wild with happiness when she offered to marry us."

"Vile calumniator!" hissed Amélie with flaming cheeks.

"My mistress also said that your father had rendered a service to her

husband, the late Marquis, during the exile, giving that as the motive

for your having been received in the castle. 'I wish now to further

befriend the girl,' said she, 'by giving her a good husband. Are you

ready to marry her? I will give her a dot of 75,000 francs,' But

Mademoiselle, I agreed not because of the dot or the farm,--God confound

me if I lie--but because I love you. Since you came, I have not slept a

single night. If I closed my eyes I dreamed of you. I was like one

bewitched." And he knelt at her feet, sobbing like a little child.

She was moved to pity and said:

"Jean, I see that you are a victim of the serpent also. Listen to the

truth. I have married you because I was forced to, brutally forced. They

were starving,--_starving_ to death--do you hear?--that little child,

who is no child of mine.' Our marriage is a sacrilege in the eyes of

God. By considering yourself my husband, you damn your own soul. Jean,

beware of what you do!"

He rose and folded his arms across his breast.

"What you say may be true, Mademoiselle, and it hurts me to believe my

mistress guilty of such conduct. But be the cause what it may, we are

married. I am your husband; you are my wife; no power in heaven or earth

can separate us. Whether the child is yours or not, matters little to

me. Your life before I knew you concerns me not; I ask no questions.

From today you are mine. Today you have been born anew, purer than water

that falls from the clouds. I should defend you and the child to the

death--I love you so much. You shall never again suffer, for now you

belong to me. O if my mistress had not come to marry us, I should have

killed you. You are holy to me, but my love is terrible. At last you are

mine! O happiness!"

The Breton flung his arms around her.

Chapter VII

DEATH

Amélie sprang back, preparing for the struggle which the strength of the

bridegroom would have rendered futile. The enameled clock rang out the

hour of seven. The mythologically wrought panel opened again and a man

entered.

Jean loosed his hold and stood petrified. The man advanced and asked in

a terrible voice:

"What does this mean? What is going on in my house?"

"René!" cried Amélie, running to her lover who clasped her in his arms,

regardless of the fire in Jean's eyes.

"Jean Vilon," said the master, "render an account of yourself. What has

taken place in this castle? Unfaithful servant, how have you guarded

this trust?"

Vilon trembled and knelt before René.

"Your lordship," he stammered, "your mother--the orders she brought

me--from you."

"Orders? Were they not to refuse entrance to anyone not giving the

watch-word? Did my mother speak it, imbecile? Do I call you imbecile? I

mean scoundrel. How have you treated this woman,--this woman who should

be as holy to you as the Virgin?"

"Your lordship, it was the Duchess, the wife of my late master whose

ashes rest in the chapel"--incoherently articulated Vilon. "Should I

refuse her?--close the door in her face?"

"Certainly, beast!" cried René, losing all control of himself. "You owe

obedience to me and to me only, though you die for it."

He clenched his fists and advanced upon Vilon, who, making no

resistance, prepared to receive the blow. But Amélie, with the

generosity of her upright character, interposed.

"René, do not debase yourself. Jean Vilon is in no wise to blame. He has

believed your mother, thinking he honored you. When you sent him

instructions, you could not foresee this possibility. Fate brought her.

Jean is upright and faithful."

Her persuasive voice brought calmness to René, but a monstrous doubt

seemed to find lodgment in his mind.

"Very well; now let us come to the point. What has happened here? Under

what pretext has my mother come with pretended messages from me? She

surely has not foregone three days of frivolous court life for the

pleasure of viewing country scenery. When I (for I have transformed

myself into a professional spy) learned in Paris that she had taken the

road to Brittany, I hastened after her, feeling sure that she was coming

to Picmort. I met her just now on the road, unperceived by her party. I

have entered the castle with my secret key and chosen this method of

surprising you,--the same employed by the jealous Marquis who imprisoned

his wife in this salon. Now, tell me what has happened. Come! the

truth!"

Amélie remained silent, for not until that moment had she realized the

extremity of the case, the nature of the confession she must make to her

lover. Her customary valor forsook her.

"René," she faltered, "do not reproach me; forgive me, rather. Why have

you delayed so long in coming? Why have you left me here defenceless?

Why have you abandoned me?"

"Defenceless? Abandoned? And that fellow? Has he not protected you? He

has orders to die for you. Tell me quickly what has been done. Answer,

each of you. What does this mean?"

Amélie covered her face with her hands and turning to the wall, burst

into bitter weeping. René seized Vilon by the collar, shaking him

violently and saying:

"Traitor, what have you done? Answer or I will choke you."

The Breton freed himself with so lithe a movement that the superiority

of his physical strength was evident. Folding his arms on his breast, he

said quietly:

"The Duchess arrived in a post chaise accompanied by the chaplain and

two attendants. I opened wide the gate through which the lords of

Picmort have always entered. I kissed her hand in respect. She spent

three days here, giving orders and being obeyed. On the third, she

decreed that I should marry this young lady--"

René leaped in rage.

"And--you married--her?" he shrieked.

"Yes."

"When--when?"

"Today, at four o'clock in the Picmort chapel."

"Devil!" roared René. "And you, Amélie, have you consented?"

"Yes," she wailed.

"This is superb!" and he laughed in fury. "Explain yourself, that I may

then kill you. Did you fall in love with this fellow?"

"René!" she implored, sinking to his feet, "Have pity on me. I consented

because your mother was starving to death before my eyes that little

child we saved from the ship. O René, never call her mother again."

"Is that what she did?" stammered the Marquis, clasping his hands.

"Yes," she replied. "René, my father was right; the crimes of the mighty

are expiated by the innocent. How can one hear a little child cry for

bread and not save him? Yes, I have taken vows at the altar. I am the

wife of your steward."

"Why did you marry her?" demanded René, turning furiously on Vilon.

"Because your mother said you wished it."

"Did you know of the child's starvation?"

"By the cross, I did not."

"And you dared to love her?"

"From the moment I saw her," he cried with impetuous sincerity.

"Aha! I find the motive. Obedience to the devil! So you loved her?"

"Your lordship, that was not the motive. I could never have dreamed of

marriage had it not been for the Duchess--"

"Dog, only _I_ am your master. Only _I_--"

"True, but here we are not accustomed to distinguish between the orders

of your lordship and his mother. Parents represent God on earth."

"Jean is innocent. Another in his place would have acted likewise. Be

just, René," said Amélie.

The steward looked on her in deep gratitude.

"René, your mother is the only culprit,--she and that fatality which

dogs all who aid our cause. We carry misfortune with us. We should have

told Jean our secret to begin with; we should have treated him as a

friend, not as a menial. Then our enemies could not have deceived him.

But how could we suspect that your mother had a suspicion of my presence

here? René, a vicious womb has borne you--the womb of a hyena."

"Amélie," he groaned, "I do not attempt to defend my mother's conduct.

She has acted like a fiend. But she is mentally incapable of planning

the villainy. She was the instrument of the police. O Amélie, 'tis our

parents who accomplish our ruin. Your father sets Volpetti free and my

mother delivers you to another man. O I rave! You are mine, mine! No

other man exists."

He clasped her hands and she gazed passionately up into his face,

forgetful of Vilon, who frowningly beheld his honor as bridegroom

affronted. At length René remembered the importunate presence, and

sternly said:

"Begone!"

"You bid me go!" said the Breton, roused at length. "If I go my wife

comes with me."

"Your wife!" laughed René scornfully. "This woman is not your wife,

fool."

"The priest has joined us," insisted the peasant.

"Through a fraud,--a crime."

"That matters not. She has said 'Yes' at the altar. We are husband and

wife before God."

René turned threateningly upon him and Vilon lowered his head. The idea

of resistance never entered his brain, but neither could he entertain

the idea of resigning Amélie. In body and soul he belonged to his

master, the Marquis de Brezé; in body and soul she belonged to him, Jean

Vilon.

Amélie placed herself beside her husband.

"Jean is right," she said. "He is indeed, my master. Happiness has died

and love also. Like you, I sought at first to break this bond--but I

cannot,--we cannot. I expiate."

Tears flowed fast over her cheeks. Wild passion shot from Vilon's eyes.

He longed to kneel before her and clasp her in his arms. He dug his

nails into the palms to restrain himself. He hoarsely asked:

"Is this the woman your lordship has loved?"

"She was my promised wife. You have undone me by one act, Jean Vilon,"

answered René in a voice of deep sadness.

Jean's mouth contracted. He suffered terribly, but he did not yield. He

kept assuring himself that Amélie was his, his treasure. Only death

could separate them.

René clutched the Breton's wrist and pressed it till the bones almost

cracked.