Three days later there was opened in one of the chambers of the
Emperor’s palace at Vienna a Congress of four nations--Prussia, Russia,
Austria, and Sardinia. Detricand’s labours had achieved this result at
last. Grandjon-Larisse, his old enemy in battle, now his personal
friend and colleague in this business, had influenced Napoleon, and the
Directory through him, to respect the neutrality of the duchy of Bercy,
for which the four nations of this Congress declared. Philip himself
little knew whose hand had secured the neutrality until summoned to
appear at the Congress, to defend his rights to the title and the duchy
against those of Detricand Prince of Vaufontaine. Had he known that
Detricand was behind it all he would have fought on to the last gasp of
power and died on the battle-field. He realised now that such a fate
was not for him--that he must fight, not on the field of battle like a
prince, but in a Court of Nations like a doubtful claimant of sovereign
honours.
His whole story had become known in the duchy, and though it begot no
feeling against him in war-time, now that Bercy was in a neutral zone
of peace there was much talk of the wrongs of Guida and the Countess
Chantavoine. He became moody and saturnine, and saw few of his subjects
save the old Governor-General and his whilom enemy, now his friend,
Count Carignan Damour. That at last he should choose to accompany him to
Vienna the man who had been his foe during the lifetime of the old Duke,
seemed incomprehensible. Yet, to all appearance, Damour was now Philip’s
zealous adherent. He came frankly repenting his old enmity, and though
Philip did not quite believe him, some perverse temper, some obliquity
of vision which overtakes the ablest minds at times, made him almost
eagerly accept his new partisan. One thing Philip knew: Damour had no
love for Detricand, who indeed had lately sent him word that for his
work in sending Fouche’s men to attempt his capture in Bercy, he would
have him shot, if the Court of Nations upheld his rights to the duchy.
Damour was able, even if Damour was not honest. Damour, the able, the
implacable and malignant, should accompany him to Vienna.
The opening ceremony of the Congress was simple, but it was made notable
by the presence of the Emperor of Austria, who addressed a few words
of welcome to the envoys, to Philip, and, very pointedly, to the
representative of the French Nation, the aged Duc de Mauban, who, while
taking no active part in the Congress, was present by request of the
Directory. The Duke’s long residence in Vienna and freedom from share in
the civil war in France had been factors in the choice of him when the
name was submitted to the Directory by General Grandjon-Larisse, upon
whom in turn it had been urged by Detricand.
The Duc de Mauban was the most marked figure of the Court, the Emperor
not excepted. Clean shaven, with snowy linen and lace, his own natural
hair, silver white, tied in a queue behind, he had large eloquent
wondering eyes that seemed always looking, looking beyond the thing
he saw. At first sight of him at his court, the Emperor had said: “The
stars have frightened him.” No fanciful supposition, for the Duc
de Mauban was as well known an astronomer as student of history and
philanthropist.
When the Emperor mentioned de Mauban’s name Philip wondered where he had
heard it before. Something in the sound of it was associated with
his past, he knew not how. He had a curious feeling too that those
deliberate, searching dark eyes saw the end of this fight, this battle
of the strong. The face fascinated him, though it awed him. He admired
it, even as he detested the ardent strength of Detricand’s face, where
the wrinkles of dissipation had given way to the bronzed carven look of
the war-beaten soldier.
It was fair battle between these two, and there was enough hatred in the
heart of each to make the fight deadly. He knew--and he had known since
that day, years ago, in the Place du Vier Prison--that Detricand loved
the girl whom he himself had married and dishonoured. He felt also that
Detricand was making this claim to the duchy more out of vengeance than
from desire to secure the title for himself. He read the whole deep
scheme: how Detricand had laid his mine at every Court in Europe to
bring him to this pass.
For hours Philip’s witnesses were examined, among them the officers of
his duchy and Count Carignan Damour. The physician of the old Duke of
Bercy was examined, and the evidence was with Philip. The testimony of
Dalbarade, the French ex-Minister of Marine, was read and considered.
Philip’s story up to the point of the formal signature by the old Duke
was straightforward and clear. So far the Court was in his favour.
Detricand, as natural heir of the duchy, combated each step in the
proceedings from the stand-point of legality, of the Duke’s fatuity
concerning Philip, and his personal hatred of the House of Vaufontaine.
On the third day, when the Congress would give its decision, Detricand
brought the Chevalier to the palace. At the opening of the sitting
he requested that Damour be examined again. The Count was asked
what question had been put to Philip immediately before the deeds of
inheritance were signed. It was useless for Damour to evade the point,
for there were other officers of the duchy present who could have told
the truth. Yet this truth, of itself, need not ruin Philip. It was no
phenomenon for a prince to have one wife unknown, and, coming to the
throne, to take to himself another more exalted.
Detricand was hoping that the nice legal sense of mine and thine should
be suddenly weighted in his favour by a prepared tour de force. The
sympathies of the Congress were largely with himself, for he was of
the order of the nobility, and Philip’s descent must be traced through
centuries of yeoman blood; yet there was the deliberate adoption by the
Duke to face, with the formal assent of the States of Bercy, but little
lessened in value by the fact that the French Government had sent its
emissaries to Bercy to protest against it. The Court had come to a point
where decision upon the exact legal merits of the case was difficult.
After Damour had testified to the question the Duke asked Philip when
signing the deeds at Bercy, Detricand begged leave to introduce another
witness, and brought in the Chevalier. Now he made his great appeal.
Simply, powerfully, he told the story of Philip’s secret marriage with
Guida, and of all that came after, up to the scene in the Cohue Royale
when the marriage was proved and the child given back to Guida; when
the Countess Chantavoine, turning from Philip, acknowledged to Guida
the justice of her claim. He drove home the truth with bare unvarnished
power--the wrong to Guida, the wrong to the Countess, the wrong to the
Dukedom of Bercy, to that honour which should belong to those in high
estate. Then at the last he told them who Guida was: no peasant girl,
but the granddaughter of the Sieur Larchant de Mauprat of de Mauprats of
Chambery: the granddaughter of an exile indeed, but of the noblest blood
of France.
The old Duc de Mauban fixed his look on him intently, and as the story
proceeded his hand grasped the table before him in strong emotion. When
at last Detricand turned to the Chevalier and asked him to bear witness
to the truth of what he had said, the Duke, in agitation, whispered to
the President.
All that Detricand had said moved the Court powerfully, but when the
withered little flower of a man, the Chevalier, told in quaint brief
sentences the story of the Sieur de Mauprat, his sufferings, his exile,
and the nobility of his family, which had indeed, far back, come of
royal stock, and then at last of Guida and the child, more than one
member of the Court turned his head away with misty eyes.
It remained for the Duc de Mauban to speak the word which hastened and
compelled the end. Rising in his place, he addressed to the Court a few
words of apology, inasmuch as he was without real power there, and then
he turned to the Chevalier.
“Monsieur le chevalier,” said he, “I had the honour to know you in
somewhat better days for both of us. You will allow me to greet you here
with my profound respect. The Sieur Larchant de Mauprat”--he turned to
the President, his voice became louder--“the Sieur de Mauprat was my
friend. He was with me upon the day I married the Duchess Guidabaldine.
Trouble, exile came to him. Years passed, and at last in Jersey I saw
him again. It was the very day his grandchild was born. The name given
to her was Guidabaldine--the name of the Duchese de Mauban. She was
Guidabaldine Landresse de Landresse, she is my godchild. There is no
better blood in France than that of the de Mauprats of Chambery, and the
grandchild of my friend, her father being also of good Norman blood, was
worthy to be the wife of any prince in Europe. I speak in the name of
our order, I speak for Frenchmen, I speak for France. If Detricand,
Prince of Vaufontaine, be not secured in his right of succession to the
dukedom of Bercy, France will not cease to protest till protest hath
done its work. From France the duchy of Bercy came. It was the gift of
a French king to a Frenchman, and she hath some claims upon the courtesy
of the nations.”
For a moment after he took his seat there was absolute silence. Then
the President wrote upon a paper before him, and it was passed to each
member of the Court sitting with him. For a moment longer there was
nothing heard save the scratching of a quill. Philip recalled that day
at Bercy when the Duke stooped and signed his name upon the deed of
adoption and succession three times-three fateful times.
At last the President, rising in his place, read the pronouncement
of the Court: that Detricand, Prince of Vaufontaine, be declared true
inheritor of the duchy of Bercy, the nations represented here confirming
him in his title.
The President having spoken, Philip rose, and, bowing to the Congress
with dignity and composure, left the chamber with Count Carignan Damour.
As he passed from the portico into the grounds of the palace, a figure
came suddenly from behind a pillar and touched him on the arm. He turned
quickly, and received upon the face a blow from a glove.
The owner of the glove was General Grandjon-Larisse.