Itwas five months since Marcel had solemnly promised his father to break with his giddy companions, give up his fast life, and no longer set foot in the club, but, instead of all this, to work and obliterate the acts of folly he had previously committed. Scrupulously keeping his word, he withdrew to Ars, and only seldom appeared in Paris. So well had he worked that the result of his efforts were manifest. The Minister, after the conversation he had had with Marcel, had expressed himself to Baradier, concerning the young savant, in such terms that the father was quite disarmed. All these deprivations of rights, which he had patiently submitted to, were now removed, and, not without considerable satisfaction, this fine young fellow of twenty-six years of age had resumed his former habits.
The first time he appeared at the club he had been welcomed with open arms by his companions, young and old alike.
“What has become of you; we have seen nothing of you for several months! Probably you have been travelling?”
Marcel replied that he had indeed been away from Paris, but added that he had been thinking seriously concerning gambling, and had determined to give up baccarat.
“How often have I heard you talk in that way,” said the Baron de Vergins. “All the same, you could not resist thetemptation to play if you were in front of the baccarat-table a single quarter of an hour!”
“Come along, then, and you will see.”
They passed into the large room. Beneath the ceiling floated a grey mist of tobacco smoke, like a fog.
On either side of the room was a green table, around which thronged a crowd of sour-visaged punters.
“Ah! You have two baccarat-tables now,” remarked Marcel.
“Yes; it is an innovation. At the one the minimum stake is a louis; at the other, it is ten francs. So that, when a punter has had a run of ill-luck at the large table, he goes to the small one to try and recoup, with the privilege of returning afterwards to the other, to lose once more what he may have won.”
“Very ingenious. A double sieve from which nothing escapes!”
He approached the large table, and his look immediately became fixed. In front of him, dealing the bank, he had just recognized Agostini. Impassive and smiling, a flower at his buttonhole, he gracefully distributed the cards at both tables. He did not see Marcel. With his sing-song voice he called out—
“Cards!”
Marcel, addressing the Baron de Vergins, asked—
“Who is the banker?”
“Count Cesare Agostini.”
“Newly joined the club?”
“For a time. Agreeable fellow, good fencer, and reckless player.”
“Is he lucky?”
“Ah, no. He has very bad luck. Loses more than any one else, in fact.”
“Do you know anything about him?”
“He was introduced by the Prince de Cystriano and M. Beltrand. The Agostini family is well known; they are the younger branch of the great Italian family, the dukes of Briviesca.”
“Why do they receive so many foreigners at the club?” asked Marcel, with a displeased air.
“Ah, my dear friend, the club lives on them, so to speak. I know they make themselves as much at home here as at their hotel. It is not very pleasant for us. But what is there to be done? The establishment must be kept going.”
“Has he any relations in Paris?” asked Marcel. “A sister?”
“No; he is unmarried, and has never been seen in the company of a lady.”
Marcel changed the conversation, made an excuse for leaving his companion, and went to the writing-room. Taking up a directory, he found a recent indication, handwritten as follows: “Count Cesare Agostini, 7 Rue du Colisée.” It was something to know this address, though what he wanted was information respecting that mysterious woman, Anetta or Sophia, Madame Vignola or the Baroness Grodsko. What was Agostini to him besides that infinitely charming creature, who had suddenly become metamorphosed into a most dangerous monster. Her brother, really? Her accomplice, without the slightest doubt. That was what he wished to know, and, at the risk of the greatest danger, he was determined to have his doubts removed.
He had taken a seat in a large armchair, the back of which, turned towards the door, almost entirely concealed him. Two members of the club were writing letters. The quiet of this retired spot, the ticking of the timepiece, seemed to numb his faculties. The murmur of distant voices lulled him into a reverie.
Suddenly a quiver ran over him, and he listened attentively. The voice of Agostini had just joined in the conversation.
“I have again lost two thousand louis. With the thousand yesterday, it is quite enough.”
He laughed, and one of his companions said—
“You ought to hold off for a few days, Agostini! It is useless being obstinate against ill-luck.”
“But if I did not play, what should I do? It is my only distraction.”
“That was a beautiful lady, at the opera, to whom you introduced Colonel Derbaut the other night.”
Marcel’s heart seemed to stop beating. He had a presentiment that the woman in question was the one who was engaging his own attention so strongly. He could not hear Agostini’s reply, and the other continued—
“If she is no more than a compatriot of yours, I should be pleased to make her acquaintance.”
Agostini laughed, but made no promise. And Marcel said to himself: “His compatriot? An Italian? It is Anetta, I am sure of it. What is she doing here with this villain? The army once more in danger, for she has made the acquaintance of Colonel Derbaut, a staff-officer.” Meanwhile, he had lost the thread of the conversation, but a second sentence told him all that was necessary—
“Very good! To-night, at the opera?”
“Agreed!”
Silence was restored. The members of the club continued their correspondence. Marcel rose from his seat, sure that he was about to meet the pretended sister of Agostini. She was not in Italy, as the adventurer had had the audacity to tell him at the charity sale. She was in Paris and, without thinking of the past, engaged on somefresh intrigue. Along whatever path she travelled she sowed corruption, infamy, and death.
Suddenly in Marcel’s memory arose the smiling, tender image of Madame Vignola with that bewitching smile, and those clear, limpid eyes. Was it possible that such a creature should be a monster? If so, then one greatly to be dreaded!
How can one help trusting in that exquisite gentleness which pervaded her whole person? And yet, had she not betrayed him? Had she not revealed the presence of the secret documents in the laboratory? And that, too, with marvellous rapidity, and a skill scarcely compatible with honesty. He would have liked to free her from every suspicion which hung over her; but was it possible?
Leaving the club, he returned to the bank, and, entering his father’s study, found his uncle Graff, attentively reading an evening paper. The old man arose on seeing his nephew enter, and, holding the printed sheet out to him, said—
“See here, Marcel, here is an article on this affair of ours. It is a report of a meeting of the Academy of Science, where Professor Marigot read his notice on the Trémont powder.”
Marcel carelessly took the journal. Without even glancing at it, he laid it on the desk.
“Is that all the interest you take in the matter?” exclaimed the uncle. “You are not inquisitive about the effect produced by Marigot’s official communication? Very well, I will tell you what he says. TheGlobehas given up a whole column to the discovery, which it states is an important one, and it predicts, within a short date, a revolution in the use of motive power. On the other hand, thePanache Blanc, Lichtenbach’s journal, is dead against the invention, which it qualifies as a shamefaced imitation,insinuating that it is simply the Dalgetty process, without the slightest change in the doses of the products.”
“What a brazen falsehood!” Marcel exclaimed, unable to restrain himself.
“Here is something better. At the Bourse a rumour has got abroad that the Explosives Company is in possession of the Trémont patents, and the shares have begun to mount, in spite of the desperate efforts of the bears. Accordingly, our situation is saved, and, on the other hand, that of Lichtenbach seems to be in a terrible pass!”
“You do not expect me to get excited over that?”
“I do not, indeed. But your father, who for the past three months has hardly been able to sleep, is now happy and smiling. He has just gone to Aubervilliers to examine a plot of land, covering seven acres, which has been offered to us, and which would be the very spot for constructing the works necessary. He is especially pleased at owing this result to you. Though not very expansive, he is enthusiastic and warm-hearted, and exceedingly proud to be obliged to confess that you are so gifted. Up to the present, it is Trémont that has been mentioned, but, when it is known that it is you who brought the affair to its completion, and your name is in everybody’s mouth, as soon will be the case, then you will see your father expand.”
Marcel made no reply. He walked to and fro in the study, with so absent-minded an air that Graff exclaimed—
“What a strange fellow you are! And yet you must be well pleased with what I have been telling you. Though you will scarcely listen to me. What is the matter with you?”
The young man shook his head, and, with an attempt at a smile, said—
“There is nothing the matter with me, Uncle Graff. What do you expect me to say?”
“Ah! Perhaps you have no suspicion of the plans Baradier has been forming for you. He explained them to me this very morning. We are going to put Marcel at the head of the works as director. At the same time he shall be one of the managing directors of the Explosives Company we are about to completely reorganize. You see, Marcel, you are about to play a very importantrôlein life at twenty-six years of age. And your father added, ‘If he will marry, I shall no longer have anything to wish for. He will have satisfied me in everything.’ What do you think of the idea? I believe he was thinking of Geneviève de Trémont. What will your reply be?”
Marcel replied quietly—
“Nothing whatever, Uncle Graff.”
The old man touched Marcel on the shoulder, and, looking attentively at him, said—
“I do not understand you, Marcel; there is something you are hiding from me. Have you seen the woman of Ars again?”
This time, the young man broke out—
“No, I have not seen her; but I know she is in Paris. I know where I shall see her this evening. Uncle Graff, I intend to have the key to this living enigma.”
“Ah! My child, there is no enigma; she is simply a villain, nothing more! How anxious you make me in still troubling yourself with this woman! Take care! You know how dangerous she and her companions are. Remember the poor General, and this brave fellow killed at Ars. Just inform the police, she will be arrested, and all will be over.”
“If I were certain she were as guilty as you suspect her to be, I would do so. Though it is not very gallant to give up a woman.”
“What! Chivalry with such people?”
“But I have my doubts, Uncle Graff. I cannot make up my mind to condemn her unheard.”
“Yes! In a word, you wish to see her again. Don’t tell me any idle stories; I am not so stupid as to be taken in by them. She still holds you in her power. And you are about to risk being murdered, in some dark corner or other, for the pleasure of being deceived once more by such a traitress.”
“Uncle Graff, no one will kill me at the opera. It is there I rely on seeing her to-night.”
“Are you in earnest?”
“Have you disposed of your orchestra stall?”
“No.”
“Very well, give it to me.”
“Promise me you will do nothing extravagant, and that if this woman wants you to accompany her, you will not do so.”
“No; I cannot promise that. But I will be on my guard all the same. Agostini shall not knock me over like a pigeon.”
“Take a good revolver with you.”
“Certainly.”
“Ah!Mon Dieu! And I was feeling so happy!” groaned the old man. “Suppose you take Baudoin with you?”
“Under no pretext. Be assured, however, I am running no risk this time. Later on, we shall see.”
The arrival of Baradier cut the conversation short. Marcel returned home to dress before dinner.
That evening theWalkyriewas being given at the opera. When Marcel reached his stall, the second act was commencing. The domestic troubles of Wotan, the Scandinavian Jupiter, with Fricka, a real Juno without her peacock, possessed only a slight interest for the young man.Turning round, he leaned his elbow on the back of his stall, and looked about him. Slowly, the boxes began to fill, as though the subscribers had only decided to come at all because they had paid dearly for the privilege. Up above in the amphitheatre was a sea of eager faces turned on to the stage. There was the real amateur and artistic public.
But Marcel was not looking for critical observations as to the musical capacity of the different auditors of a masterly piece, rather for the face of a woman. Nowhere could he catch a glimpse of the beautiful profile of Madame Vignola. Two side boxes on the right of the actors still remained unoccupied. And Marcel, again turning towards the stage, kept a watch on them.
Towards the end of the act the sound of an opening door drew his attention. He saw a light appear in one of the side boxes, then a vague uncertain form appeared in its velvet frame. The door closed again, the background again darkened, and a woman, clothed in white,décolleté, and wearing a necklace of beautiful pearls, came to the front of the box. As her face was turned away from Marcel he could not distinguish her features. Still, what relation could there be between this vigorous brunette and the blonde and languishing Anetta? Strength, where he had found grace. No. This could not be the one.
As the curtain fell amidst a tempest of cheers, and the artists reappeared on the stage to bow their acknowledgments, the lady turned round, in such a way as to face Marcel, who, stupefied, recognized the look of the one he loved. He might have been mistaken in everything else, but not in the languishing look which formed so delightful a contrast with that mocking smile and imperious brow. He examined her attentively, without her being aware that she was observed. But what grief he felt at being obliged to recognize her in such a disguise!
Was not the very fact of this metamorphosis, the most complete of confessionals? Why, if not to disarm curiosity, these changes, in head-dress, in the colour of the hair, and the expression of the face? What was this comedy she was playing, and when? Was it at Ars that she was painted and disguised, or at the opera?
Marcel arose. All around him were leaving their seats. Madame Vignola was no longer in front of the box. Marcel counted the number of boxes. This one was the fourth after the passage. Standing behind a column, he kept watch.
This self-imposed waiting seemed interminable to him. The passers-by irritated him, he replied to a few bows, but avoided shaking hands with any one. Finally, the door of the box opened, and Agostini and an elderly man, wearing the rosette of the Legion d’Honneur, appeared. The count and his companion made their way towards the grand staircase, before Marcel, who had his back turned to them, and disappeared. Then the young man opened the door of the box, and entered.
The spectator was seated on the sofa. Marcel closed the door, and walked up to her. Turning her head, she looked at the intruder, and said, without the faintest agitation—
“You are in the wrong box, sir.”
He replied ironically—
“No, madame, there is no mistake, if I am in the presence of Madame Vignola, unless you are the Baroness Grodsko.”
At these words, the young woman’s face appeared frightfully agitated. Her eyes turned pale, and her lips trembled.
“Whose name is that you have uttered?” she murmured, in unsteady accents.
“Evidently one of your own! So far as I can judge,you change names, according to circumstances, just as you change faces, according to the men you associate with.”
“I do not understand what you mean. Once more I say, you are mistaken, retire.”
“No! I shall wait here till Count Agostini returns. We will have an explanation in his presence. He, at any rate, will not be able to deny his identity. And that will help to establish yours.”
Rising from her seat, and no longer taking the trouble to deny, she said—
“And he will kill you! Wretched man, leave here at once, without a moment’s delay. You do not know what dangers you are running!”
“I know them quite well. General Trémont is dead, Laforêt, the police agent, is dead, and so, doubtless, are many others who have resisted your fancies or intrigues. And if I, too, do not yield, you will try to compass my death also. But, before that happens, I will know who and what you are.”
The woman’s countenance darkened. Raising her beautiful arm, she said in tragic tones—
“Do not attempt it! You will never succeed!”
“Still, I have made a beginning,” he said madly. “Spy—thief—actress; yes, actress even in love!”
She did not appear to have heard the other insults he hurled at her, but from this last one, she recoiled. Blushing, she seized Marcel by the arm, and fixed on him a pair of eyes which seemed to flame with passion.
“No! I have not lied! Don’t believe that of me! Do not accuse me of having been false in love. I did love you! Can you think otherwise? Accuse me of whatever you wish, it matters little to me! We shall never see one another again, you hear!—never see one another again in this world. Therefore, believe what I now swear to you:I loved you; I still love you! I have never loved any one as I have loved you, and that is why I shall never see you again. Do not attempt to understand or to fathom my secrets; they would cause your death. Content yourself with what you know of me, and with the fact that you have not paid for it with your life. Become blind when I pass by your side; deaf, whenever my name is mentioned. Do not enter the darkness in which I am shrouded. Oh! Marcel, my loved one, go away, do not suspect me of having lied to you. Clasped in your arms, your lips pressed against mine, I told the truth, I—”
She stopped. Tears shone in her eyes, and her beautiful arms are flung around Marcel’s neck. He felt himself pressed to her throbbing bosom, the fire of her eyes blinded him, and he shuddered at the contact of that ardent mouth pressed to his own in a delirium of delight. Amid her sighs, he heard the word “Adieu!” and found himself near the door. There, her embrace relaxed, and he stood dazed and maddened in the passage, amidst the spectators who were returning to their seats. Taking up his coat, and staggering along like a man intoxicated, he obeyed his mysterious love, and left the theatre.
He no longer doubted. That cry, “I love you still!” was sincere. She was not lying when she confessed her love. Besides, why had she driven him away from her, if not inspired by the passionate fright of the woman who trembles lest her loved one meet his death. Then it was some strange will, superior to her own, which had compelled her to fascinate him, and which was again controlling her in the performance of some dark, mysterious deed or other! That he was, and must remain, ignorant of.
On reaching the Place de l’Opéra, he felt calmer. The open air did him good. But the memory of those glorious eyes, and that quivering voice, as she held him in her arms,came back to him with painful intensity. Ah! What a woman!
But she was a monster of corruption and depravity. He had told her so without the slightest protest. She was, beyond doubt, an accomplice in several murders; perhaps even that white and delicate hand of hers had itself been stained in blood! She was the secret agent of threatening hostility and venal treason. Her beauty, grace, and intelligence were so many attractions which served to captivate her dupes. Her love was only a means to an end.
A feeling of revolt came over him. He said to himself, “Really, I am too much of a coward. The attraction this woman exercises over me is taking away my moral faculty! At the very moment she appears in such a despicable light before me, I yet love her. And yet, I scarcely know her. She loved me; that is the reason she left me, unwilling as she was to ruin me!” He laughed in a nervous fashion, and thought, “Very soon, I shall be obliged to feel grateful towards her! And yet she is an infamous wretch. Yes; but how beautiful!”
A prey to these contradictory thoughts, he reached the Rue de Provènce, and immediately retired to rest. The following morning, when he awoke, he was astonished to find his uncle Graff at his bedside. It was eight o’clock. He had had a dreamless sleep. The old man, feeling uneasy, had been turning over and over in his bed, and, at daybreak, had not been able to resist the desire of making sure that nothing had happened to Marcel. For some time he had been watching his nephew sleep, and now he wished to question him, but, finding him silent, or evasive in his answers, he abandoned all hope of learning anything just then, and called on Baradier for a cup of coffee. He had left his room, fasting, and was dying of hunger.
The same morning, in Lichtenbach’s study, about teno’clock, Agostini and Hans were engaged in atête-à-têtewith the banker. Count Cesare was sitting in dreamy attitude, smoking a cigarette. Hans, impassive, was listening to Elias, who was speaking in even a duller voice than usual.
“The situation is certainly serious for you,” he was saying, “but for me it is becoming very grave. Relying on your information, I undertook a bear campaign, which was to place the Explosives Company in my hands, by permitting of my redeeming the shares for a mere trifle. It happens that my closest rivals, and deadly enemies, the firm of Baradier and Graff, have undertaken the counter-part of my operations, and all my efforts to shake them off have been unavailing. Then, I did not understand the causes of their firmness, but now I do. The notice read at the Academy of Science gives me the key to their calculations. They are in possession of the secret you have failed to find. They are in a position to exploit the Trémont powder, and the Dalgetty patent is worth nothing! This is the net result of all your intrigues. You have indeed something to be proud of!”
“What will all this cost you?” asked Agostini, coldly.
“How much will it cost me?” exclaimed the banker, furiously. “Almost all I possess! You seem to look at things in a very philosophical light! It is easy to say to a man one has ruined, ‘How much has it cost you?’ Can I rely on my physical attractions? To have money I must work, and it has been so with me for the past forty years!”
“Come, Lichtenbach,” said Hans, “don’t cry about it. We are aware that you will lose considerably, in case the affair does not succeed. But there will be something left. I will offer you ten million francs for whatever remains, if you like!”
“Stupid rogues as you are!” exclaimed Elias. “Youare speaking of what you know nothing about! This filthy affair of yours, managed by such silly dolts, has cost me the labour of half my life, and even more—my pride! For I, who have always had the upper hand of Baradier and Graff, am now at their mercy. Your famous Sophia has, indeed, been brilliant in this matter! A man-eater who has never failed. A flower of rottenness, one need only breathe to be intoxicated, such corrupting ferments does she exhale! A simple young man is given into her hands; a mere child’s-play for her, and here she remains, inactive and powerless, either unable or unwilling to make him give up his secret. Meanwhile, I have been losing all my money. You idiots! You stupid rascals! Will you give me back my money? I know of nothing in the world more despicable than an imbecile bandit! And that is what you are, both of you, and your Sophia into the bargain!”
Hans’ countenance remained unchanged. Agostini, with sombre look, flung away his cigarette, and said—
“There is some truth in what you say, Lichtenbach, so I will overlook your insolent words. But for that, I would have made you pay dearly for what you have just said.”
“Not another word!” growled Lichtenbach. “I defy you!”
“You will be foolish to do so,” continued the Italian. “A Count Cesare Agostini will not receive a gratuitous insult from a Lichtenbach.”
“Gratuitous? Indeed!”
“Come! Peace!” said Hans, in tones of authority. “We are not here to exchange compliments with one another, but to find some solution to the difficulty. It is true the Baroness has failed. We know the reason now, when it is too late. She has been stupid enough to fall in love with this young man, and has only half accomplished her mission.When she led him on to talk confidentially to her, she was afraid that he would despise her later on. To sum up, thecoupfailed. The young man is now on his guard; he will say nothing more, unless I undertake, as a last resource, to question him. For the present, however, the situation is as follows: We possess an excellent patent, similar, as regards the composition of the powder, to the one taken under the name of Trémont. But we are in ignorance of the trick of working it. Our powder is a brutal explosive. The Trémont powder is graduated in action. There is the real value of the discovery. Under these conditions, Dalgetty could establish a claim, and accuse of counterfeit the exploiters of the Trémont patent, which was taken out after ours. The result—scandal, trial, blackmailing. This is the line we must follow, and it may serve as a means for a settlement.”
“In what way?” asked Lichtenbach, interested.
“By sending a trusty ambassador to Baradier and Graff to offer them terms of peace.”
“They will not accept!”
“How do you know? It all depends on the manner in which the proposal is made; you may have to concede to them both material and moral advantages, in order to reach a fusion of the two affairs.”
“That would mean safety, and even triumph!” exclaimed Lichtenbach. “Just let me get them into my power, and they shall not escape so easily!”
“Then I will rely upon you! Ah! You sly rogue, you have come back to life again.”
“The fact is, the idea of being their dupe was killing me! The whole of my life would have been spent in vain! Ever since I have been in Paris, I have only had one desire—to injure them! Give up this joy! I could not! Whom shall I send them?”
“A priest,” insinuated Agostini.
“The Abbé d’Escayrac, if he would do me this service! Fine idea! He well knows how to lull one’s conscience by moulding a man’s intelligence to his will. But what can we offer Baradier and Graff?”
“Anything you imagine they might decently accept. What will it cost you? Have you not a daughter? She has been carefully brought up, and is of an amiable disposition, so I am told.”
“Well!”
“Offer her to young Baradier, with an enormous dowry. If Sophia were only willing, she would arrange the matter well enough!”
This time, Agostini manifested symptoms of violent discontent. He brought his hand down forcibly on the table, and, looking at the others with murderous eyes, said—
“And what is to become of me in this combination? Are you forgetting that Mademoiselle Lichtenbach is my affianced wife?”
“The engagement can easily be broken,” replied Hans, coldly.
“Do you intend to jest with me?”
“I never jest with any one to no purpose.”
“Then you are seriously thinking of overthrowing all my plans?”
“What use will your plans be to you, if Lichtenbach is ruined? Besides, you silly fellow, do you think Elias is a man likely to trouble himself with you, if you are no longer of any use to him? Already you have gone down several notches in his esteem. If an arrangement has to be made with you, we will offer you money. I know where to find it.”
The handsome Italian laid his hand on his heart.
“And what compensation will be large enough to satisfy me?”
“Ah, ah!” jeered Hans. “We are well aware that your conscience is as tender as it is delicate!”
Lichtenbach, who had remained silent, after hearing the suggestion concerning his daughter, now said—
“A Baradier marry a Lichtenbach! Is it possible? Never would the Graffs and Baradiers consent to such a thing! For my own part, I ought to protest with all my might against such a proposal.”
He remained silent, as though absorbed in thought, and then said slowly—
“Still, my daughter is well worthy of entering such a family. They are honest people, after all! And she is a charming and proud child. If only they would consent! My daughter would be certain of a happy future. She would have a peaceful and tranquil life. These Baradiers are honest and respectable, after all! If they would receive my daughter as their own, they would treat her well, and she would not be the prey of an adventurer! True, I hate them, and wish to do them harm, for all the humiliations they have inflicted on me. But if they would accept my daughter!”
A tear shone on the cheek of this hardened man—a tear more precious than a diamond, for it owed its source to a father’s love. Hans interrupted the scene; he was not a man to understand such tender feelings.
“So you adopt my plan? You will make an attempt at conciliation with our opponents. Offer them what you like, that is your own affair, and if we succeed, we will unite the two patents. You alone carry on the transaction, though, naturally, you reserve us our share. You see, this young Count Cesare might turn out troublesome. Is it agreed upon?”
“Yes.”
Hans and Agostini took their leave. Elias walked to and fro about his study, then he proceeded to his daughter’s room. Marianne was seated near the window overlooking the garden, working. She rose on seeing her father appear. Wearing a blue dressing-gown ornamented with quipure lace, her fair hair tied up in bands, she had about her a kind of virgin gentleness, which caused her father’s heart to swell with love and tenderness. Sitting by her side, he drew her near to himself, and entered into conversation.
“You have now been settled down here some considerable time. Are you satisfied? Is everything progressing as you wish?”
“Yes, father, I should be very ungrateful if I were not satisfied. You let me do whatever I want. But I hope you are well pleased yourself, also.”
“Certainly, little one, and I wish us always to remain so. But, you know, some day we shall be obliged to separate.”
Marianne looked serious; her smile vanished.
“A day in the distant future, father; there is no hurry.”
“You will marry. Would you not like to be married?”
“That will depend on the husband.”
A silence followed. The controller of men felt ill at ease before this child, whose future he had disposed of by calculation. He did not dare speak to her of Agostini, whom he had introduced to her, and praised in her presence only the night before. It was Marianne who took it upon herself to explain the precise situation of things.
“I am rather troubled, I confess, at the favour you accord this young Italian count, and at the way in which you speak to me of him.”
“My dear child!” exclaimed Lichtenbach.
“No! Let me continue,” interrupted Marianne.“Afterwards you may praise your candidate as much as you like. But allow me to speak to you quite freely. Yourprotegé’sconduct and habits make me uneasy. He does not seem to me frank; he is too polite, and full of compliments. There is something suspicious about this man who is always smiling and flattering. Besides, his voice has no genuine ring about it. His cold, cruel looks belie his handsome face and gentle words. Lastly, dear father, he is a foreigner. Are there no more Frenchmen to marry in France that one should be obliged to look for afiancéfor one’s daughter on the other side of the frontier? He is a count, but I have no ambition in that direction. He does not work, and I should not care to marry any one without business of any kind. Papa, if you wish to please me and consult my tastes, you will choose another suitor. Your daughter is something to you—that you have often given me to understand; you have, perhaps, insisted rather too much on the fact, for I might have formed too good an opinion of myself. Luckily, I am reasonable and modest in my demands. Do not marry me to an idle man, who is also ambitious and wicked. If you want me to be free from anxiety, send away this handsome Italian. He is not the man for me!”
Lichtenbach smiled good-humouredly and said—“Then who is?”
Marianne blushed, but made no reply.
“Ah, ah!” continued Lichtenbach. “So there is a secret, is there? Better tell your father all about it, little one. Have you met some one you like, my dear? Tell me everything; don’t be afraid. You know very well I will do nothing opposed to your wishes. If you do not like Agostini, why did you not tell me so sooner? Come, now, tell me all!”
With downcast head she said—
“No, no! It is useless. I have only one wish—to stay by your side just as I am. I shall be very happy.”
“You are not telling me the truth,” exclaimed Lichtenbach, excitedly. “You must tell me what you mean. Do you imagine there are difficulties in the way? Yes? Of what kind? Is it some one I know?”
“Let us say nothing more on the subject, father,” said Marianne. “I was wrong in introducing the subject. It can be nothing but a painful one for both yourself and myself. You had given me warning. But it was too late. The subject shall never be brought up again between us; that I promise you.”
“You could not speak to me otherwise if it were my greatest enemy. Is it so?”
He did not utter the name of Baradier, but Marianne read it upon his lips. She raised her eyes up to her father’s face, as though to ask pardon from him for what he must consider a kind of treason. She did not, however, find in his countenance that angry and threatening expression she dreaded to see there. He was passive and calm, and sat there for a moment without uttering a word. Then, in accents of great deliberation, he asked—
“We are thinking of Marcel Baradier, are we not? Yes, it must be he. I was wrong to let you visit Geneviève de Trémont. That was very imprudent on my part. However, it cannot be helped now. We must try to arrange matters.”
“Arrange matters!” stammered Marianne.
“Yes, my dear child. We must make an attempt. I would do anything to make you happy.”
“Forget your bitter feelings of the past?”
“I will try to make the Baradiers forget theirs.”
“Oh, father, dear father!”
She flung her arms around his neck with such a burst ofjoy, that Lichtenbach turned pale with shame. For the first time in his life, he had a very clear impression of the significance of a cowardly action, doubtless, because his victim in this case was his own daughter. At the same time, he felt that the evil deeds of a whole lifetime accumulate, and that, at some time or other, the interest must be paid, in humiliation and suffering. He looked at Marianne tenderly, and said, in accents of sincerity—
“Ah! is it so serious as that? Very well, my child, I will do everything possible to make you happy.”
After kissing her, he returned to his room, ordered his carriage, and drove away to call on the Abbé d’Escayrac.
Aboutfive o’clock Madame Baradier had just returned, and was reading in her small salon; her daughter, Amélie, and Geneviève de Trémont were working at the table, chatting pleasantly the while, when the servant entered, and said—
“There is a priest here, who wishes to speak to you, madame.”
Madame Baradier, lady patroness of several charitable institutions, was continually receiving appeals to her generosity. She made no distinction between the clergy and the laity, but received all with equal benevolence. Accordingly, she ordered the visitor to be showed in. The first glance she gave him showed her a fine, intelligent face, the general aspect being rather that of a fashionable and carefully dressed priest. The first words he uttered confirmed this judgment—
“Madame,” said the visitor, “I am the Abbé d’Escayrac, secretary of the Issy establishment, which is under the lofty patronage of the Bishop of Andropolis.”
“Superior of the Absolutionists, unless I am mistaken.”
“You are not mistaken, madame.”
“What can I do for your work, Monsieur l’Abbé?”
“You can do much, madame. But, first of all,”—here the Abbé lowered his voice—“I have information of special importance to communicate to you, and it might be better, if you have no objection, if we were alone.”
“As you please, Monsieur l’Abbé.”
The two girls had been well brought up. On a look from Madame Baradier, they arose, bowed, and left the room.
“You may now speak freely, Monsieur l’Abbé.”
“I am well aware, madame, how you are animated by a sincere Christian fervour,” continued the priest, “and it is on the certainty that all apostolic work must receive your cordial assistance that my mission is based. As you know, we are devoted heart and soul to the service of the poor. Poverty and misery, nay, even vice itself, have an exclusive claim on our interest and attention. To us a criminal is a brother we try to restore to the path of virtue, just as we use our best efforts to save a sick man. In this way a vast amount of misfortune and crime is revealed to us. We are the confidents of the most painful of physical vices, the most lamentable of moral back-slidings. We offer help to all, without exception, and often serve as intermediaries between those who have the power to punish and those who wish to be spared. We are never deaf to repentance, and try to turn it to the advantage of our holy religion.”
He spoke with grave earnestness, and an insinuating voice, turning on one side the obstacles in the way, preparing his ground, and gradually attempting to win over to his side the intelligence of the wife, so as to make of her an ally against the husband. Madame Baradier, astonished at this lengthy introduction, was beginning to wonder what was the meaning of it all, so she asked—
“Is it pecuniary help you want, Monsieur l’Abbé? If so, you will find us very sympathetically disposed towards your work.”
“We shall be very grateful, madame, for whatever you may do for us, but money is not at present the object of my visit. Recently, we have founded in the Var an importantestablishment, where we propose, in imitation of other powerful religious orders, to open a business establishment. To facilitate our efforts, we have received very important assistance. We are full of gratitude towards those who have helped us, and, the opportunity of doing them a service now offering itself, I, your humble servant, have been appointed to bring to you a message of conciliation from a man who, for many years, has been in a state of hostility with your family, but who now wishes to end his life in concord and peace.”
Madame Baradier, for the last few minutes, had been manifesting serious symptoms of uneasiness. She saw that the interview was assuming a form which did not please her; accordingly, she cut short the speech of the amiable Abbé, and said—
“Will you kindly tell me what you wish, Monsieur l’Abbé? The man’s name will, I believe, explain the affair far better.”
The young priest smiled; and, with the suppliant look of a martyr, he said—
“I am a minister of charity and pardon, madame. The man’s name is M. Lichtenbach.”
“I suspected it.”
“Am I to imagine that his personality will render all understanding impossible, even in the interests of religion?”
“It is not my place to form such a resolution, Monsieur l’Abbé. I cannot forget that there are in this house two men who are alone entitled to reply: my husband and my brother. Permit me to call them.”
“I am at your disposal, madame.”
“No. Monsieur l’Abbé, do not speak so. Whatever happens, be sure that we all rightly appreciate the mission of conciliation you have accepted. We shall not confound the mission with its agent.”
Bowing to the priest, she left the room. The Abbé remained motionless in his armchair, buried in thought. He was fulfilling a mission useful to his order in a double sense. No preoccupation foreign to his religious duties troubled him. He rightly appreciated Elias, but the evangelical spirit would not allow him to neglect the salvation of even the most despicable of men. Had not Christ permitted the kiss of Judas? Did not the Holy Father lave the feet of the filthiest of beggars? Besides, the interests of the Church inspired him. The door opened, and Graff appeared. Coming up to the young Abbé, he bowed—
“My sister, Madame Baradier, has just informed me of your presence, Monsieur l’Abbé. My brother-in-law, Barassin, is busy in the office, and begs to be excused. Besides, I have full permission to act as I think best. Will you explain?”
“Has not Madame Baradier told you?”
“In a few hasty words. You are sent by Lichtenbach? Good! That does not astonish us in the least. So long as he was the stronger, he did us all the harm he could. Now that we have the upper hand, he is trying to stop the game. Let us hear what he wants.”
M. d’Escayrac smiled.
“It is pleasant to talk to you, monsieur; one knows at once where one is going.”
“Very well, Monsieur l’Abbé; since you know, proceed at once to facts.”
“By chance, your firm and that of Lichtenbach have met on the same ground concerning the exploitation of a patent.”
“You call that chance? Good! Good! As for the ‘same ground,’ there is some truth in that, since, in order to obtain the patent in question, they have exploded a house, that of one of our friends; set fire to a manufactory, ourown; assassinated two men, and risked killing several others. It is a ‘ground’ sprinkled with blood, Monsieur l’Abbé! But, still, it is that abominable ‘same ground!’”
The priest crossed his hands with an expression of horror.
“Monsieur, I knew nothing of what you are now revealing to me. Were it any one but yourself who were speaking, I should think he had taken leave of his senses. It is impossible that the man, in whose name I am here, should have committed the frightful acts you now reproach him with.”
“Let us understand one another,” replied Uncle Graff, eagerly. “I do not accuse Lichtenbach of having shed blood. He is incapable of it for several reasons, the best of which is that he would not dare to do such a thing. But the patent of which you speak has been obtained by the means I have just informed you of. Monsieur l’Abbé, you have been beguiled into a disagreeable enterprise. Still, in us you have to deal with those who have too much respect for religion for you to need to fear any responsibility. You may explain yourself without any further beating about the bush. Whatever may be said between us will not be repeated. After all, this interview may have some useful result, who knows?”
“I have no doubt whatever of that,” said the Abbé, considerably troubled all the same. “Oh, monsieur, how pleased I am to have to discuss the interests entrusted to my charge with so benevolent a man as yourself! God be praised! If possible, we will bring about a perfect understanding. If only you knew what I myself dread! In very truth, M. Lichtenbach is not so responsible for all that has happened as you suppose. He is not his own master in this matter; he has to deal with powerful personages, who will not lay down their arms, and who, I am afraid,will have recourse to the most extreme measures to obtain the supremacy over you.”
“We have nothing to fear!”
“There are poisoned weapons which will kill even the most invulnerable. Be on your guard, monsieur, against the plots to which your adversaries at bay may have recourse. I speak to you in all sincerity. I was not aware of the past, but I have been terrified at the glimpse into the future that has been permitted me.”
“By whom? Lichtenbach?”
“Oh! He was terrified himself; and begged me to come and speak to you, simply knowing me to be one whose character could offer him sufficient guarantee for discretion. I can assure you that in him you no longer have an enemy to deal with. Of that he is ready to give you whatever proof you wish.”
“He is deceiving you, Monsieur l’Abbé. You have been his dupe, and know him well. What does he want?”
“He proposes the complete fusion of the two enterprises by the exploitation of the two patents. Though the Dalgetty is previous to the Trémont patent, the two discoveries, being almost similar, shall be considered as equal.”
“What is that?” exclaimed Uncle Graff. “Lichtenbach is, indeed, very kind. One is genuine, the other counterfeit. The Trémont patent is the result of work and intelligence; the Dalgetty patent is the result of fraud and theft.”
“My dear sir,” exclaimed the Abbé, uneasily, “official declarations are a guarantee of faith. One cannot go against facts. The Dalgetty was taken out by an English company before the Trémont.”
“And how does that affect us? The Dalgetty has no value; those who have sent you here are well aware of that fact. We have them in our power, I tell you; theycan do nothing. Their patent is not worth the money they have spent in taking it out. For months past Lichtenbach and ourselves have been adversaries over the Explosives Company. We hold the right end, that he well knows. He will soon have to undertake a liquidation. And then?”
“He offers to stop his bear operations.”
“He cannot continue them any longer.”
“He will take at half price the shares of the Explosives of which you are the holders, and pay for them at once.”
“I dare say he will; they will rise at a leap to two hundred francs each!”
“He is ready to offer you a pledge of his frank and, henceforth, invariable co-operation. If, in your family, you had a person belonging to his family, if an alliance united your common interests, would you not consider that an absolute guarantee of his sincere cessation of enmity against you?”
Graff turned pale, but succeeded in mastering his emotions, and, wishing to know his opponent’s inmost thoughts, he said—
“Who is the person in question on Lichtenbach’s side?”
“Mademoiselle Marianne, his daughter.”
“And on ours?”
“Your nephew, M. Baradier.”
“So these two would be married, and Baradier, Graff, and Lichtenbach would form one single family.”
“I do not know whether or not you are acquainted with Mademoiselle Lichtenbach. She is a charming young lady, brought up under the loftiest religious influences, and calculated to offer your nephew the most serious guarantees of happiness possible. It would be a joy to us to have contributed to the reconciliation of former enemies, separated by quarrels, which might, doubtless, easily be forgotten inthe midst of general satisfaction. Concord and peace instead of enmity; no more fears or threats. One common and complete prosperity! Come, my dear sir, pronounce the words of redemption and hope, make an effort over your pride, and give the world an example of gentleness and charity.”
Graff had silently listened to the priest’s earnest pleading. His bent forehead and closed eyes gave the Abbé d’Escayrac to believe that his words were having their due effect on the old man’s thoughts. There was a moment’s silence. Then the uncle looked the Abbé straight in the face, and, in firm tones, said—
“Monsieur l’Abbé, in the cemetery of Metz, there are Graffs who would leap from their tombs if one of their descendants were to demean himself so far as to marry the daughter of a Lichtenbach!”
“Monsieur!” exclaimed the Abbé in surprise.
“Then you do not know the Baradiers and Graffs, or you would not propose to them an alliance with a Lichtenbach? Do you know who Lichtenbach is? Between Lorraine and Paris, there is not a mile of ground which has not been strewn with French blood, on account of this wretch. A spy, to lead the enemy to victory; food-supplier to the foe; when our troops were dying of hunger, he fattened on war, and enriched himself on treason. He sold his brothers of France—the Jews, who fought in our ranks and died like brave soldiers, double Judas as he was! And after receiving the reward for his treason, he turned Christian, and set about defiling another religion, by the disgusting intransigence of his apostate zeal! There you have a picture of Lichtenbach, Monsieur l’Abbé. Must I now tell you who Graff and Baradier are?”
“Oh, I know well, my dear sir! Your honour and patriotism are universally respected. But what animosityand rancour! Is this what I shall have to tell the one who sent me?”
“Tell him he is an impudent rascal for having charged such a man as yourself with such a mission. Tell him our scorn for him is only equalled by his hatred against us. Assure him we have not the slightest fear. If he wishes to slander us, we will pay him back in the same coin; if he dares to strike us, we will defend ourselves. In the latter case, let him be careful!”
“Monsieur!” said the Abbé, in tones of entreaty. “Reflect? Anger is a bad counsellor.”
“Monsieur l’Abbé, I am perfectly calm. You do not know me. I never give way to passion. If I did, the result would be terrible. But a great deal would be needed to bring about such a state of things!”
“Must I then leave you without obtaining any result? I am well aware that you are exposed to the most terrible dangers.”
“I thank you for warning us. We shall be on our guard.”
“Is that your last word?”
“No, Monsieur l’Abbé. Never has a priest entered this house without taking away, for himself and his work, a testimony of our respectful deference and humble piety.”
Graff took from his pocket a cheque-book, wrote a few words, and, handing the piece of paper to his visitor, said—
“For your poor parishioners, Monsieur l’Abbé.”
“Oh!” exclaimed the priest. “This is princely liberality. I will pray for you, monsieur, with all my heart.”
“Thanks, Monsieur l’Abbé,” said Graff, with a smile. “But pray, above all, for Lichtenbach.”
And, opening the door, he conducted the priest out.
That same evening, about nine o’clock, after dinner, Lichtenbach descended from his brougham, close to theentrance of the Boulevard Maillat. It was a brilliant night, and the groves in the Bois, under the silvery light of the moon, raised their dark masses against the horizon. The banker hurried along, not without some anxiety, for the spot was a deserted one, and a likely haunt of undesirable characters. After walking about a hundred yards, he halted in front of the ivy-covered gate of a villa, and knocked. A few seconds passed, then a small door turned on its hinges, and a woman appeared. It was Milona. Recognizing the banker, she stepped backwards, without uttering a word, and led the way into a garden in front of the house.
“Is madame at home?” asked Elias.
“She is expecting you,” said the Dalmatian, in guttural accents.
“Good. Have the others arrived?”
“Yes; an hour ago.”
They proceeded along a flower-bed, the flowers of which gave out fragrant odours on to the night air. The servant mounted a flight of steps, followed by Lichtenbach. On reaching a dark ante-chamber, Lichtenbach handed his overcoat and hat to Milona, who opened a door, and out of the darkness he passed suddenly into the light of the salon, the windows and curtains of which were hermetically closed. Seated at a table, Hans and Agostini were playing at piquet and drinking grog. On a divan Sophia reclined, in an elegant white deshabillé. The two men scarcely raised their heads on hearing Lichtenbach enter. The Baroness slowly sat upright, nodded graciously, and said—
“Sit down by my side. They are finishing their game. How did you come? I did not hear the wheels of your carriage.”
“I left it near the Porte Maillot.”
“What precautions! Can you not trust your coachman?”
“I trust no one.”
“And suppose some night prowler had struck you to the ground, to teach you not to walk about alone at night in these parts?”
Elias raised the butt-end of a revolver from his pocket, and said—
“I should have been able to speak to him in his own language.”
“I see; then you never travel without an interpreter?”
“I cannot let myself be murdered for a paltry twenty francs; it would be altogether too stupid!”
The conversation was interrupted by an exclamation from Cesare, who, in a passion, threw the cards down on to the table. Hans laughed to himself, and made a rapid calculation on a piece of paper.
“That makes thirty-five louis for you to pay. You have lost fourteen hundred points!”
“It is enough to make one believe in the Evil Eye!” growled the handsome Italian. “Ever since this Marcel Baradier cast his eyes on me, I cannot touch a single card without losing, at no matter what game!”
Glancing angrily in the direction of Sophia, he said—
“This must come to an end!”
“Come, now, peace!” ordered Hans, authoritatively. “What noise you make for nothing at all! What news have you, father money-bags? Has your jesuit d’Escayrac seen our friends?”
“He has. They refuse.”
“Refuse what? Be precise. Your daughter or our affair?”
Elias changed colour, and his eyes flashed. However, neither anger nor chagrin appeared from his voice.
“They refuse both alliance with me and co-operation with you. Everything, in short!”
“Donnerwetter!” growled Hans. “Are they mad?”
“No; they are aware that you have nothing, and they have everything. This they prove by sending us about our business.”
“You take all this very calmly,” exclaimed Count Cesare. “I have seen you less resigned than you now appear.”
“I am not in the habit of fighting windmills. You have tricked me into an absurd and dangerous business; now I am simply leaving it, that is all.”
“Leaving your feathers behind.”
“As you say. But as few as possible. I have already turned round about and effected a counter-operation.”
“You rogue! You will end by earning money, where we lose everything!” replied Agostini, pale with anger.
“If I do so, it is because I am not so stupid as you, who can do nothing but spend it.”
Hans burst into a laugh. As Agostini seemed to be on the point of losing his temper, he laid his hand on his arm, and forced him to keep his seat.
“Old money-bags is right; but we must not act like horses when there is no hay in the rack, and begin to fight. Let us study the situation, and see what can be done. First of all, what does the beauty say? Up to the present she has not spoken a word. Still, she must have an opinion on the matter; we will allow her to give it first.”
The Baroness appeared to awake from a reverie, and she said, in disdainful tones—
“It is not my custom desperately to follow up badly-conceived operations. You know what I have always told you since the Vanves night: that there was an evil spell over the whole affair. You will arrive at no successful end.After all, you have obtained half of what you wanted—the war powder. Follow the example Lichtenbach sets you. Give it up, and pass on to something else.”
“Something else, indeed!” growled Hans. “No, I shall not let go an affair which has cost me so dear. Some one must pay me for the arm I have lost!”
“Well, what plan have you to offer?” asked the Baroness, impatiently.
“You will arrange to strike up a fresh acquaintance with Marcel Baradier. Bring me the young man here one of these evenings. He knows the secret of the manufacture, and he shall either give it up to you of his own free will, or I will undertake to force him to do so.”
Lichtenbach’s hands trembled nervously. Sophia remained impassive.
“Well, what do you say to my proposal?” asked Hans, in jovial tones.
“I will have nothing further to do with the matter!” declared the Baroness.
“Ah! take care!” exclaimed Agostini. “I know why you refuse to help us against young Marcel. You are afraid for him. That is the difficulty.”
“And what if it were so?”
Hans made no reply. He appeared to reflect deeply. Then, with feigned good temper, he said—
“After all, you may be right. In any case, we can do nothing without you.”
Lichtenbach heaved a sigh of satisfaction. The conciliating attitude suddenly assumed by Hans seemed to be full of meaning. Wishing to know what this terrible partner of his really thought, he judged it useful to dissimulate his own ideas.
“Come, we will say nothing more on the matter! What this affair has cost me I will pass through the profitand loss account. Still, it is a pity we could not find that secret trick of manipulation. There was a great deal of money to be earned by it, after all!”
Hans bit his lips, but made no reply; whilst Agostini turned gracefully round to Lichtenbach, and said—
“And my marriage? What is to become of it?”
“What has become of this affair of ours,” replied Elias, roughly, “nothing. The one fell with the other! My fine fellow, you have no longer a prospective dot. I took you with the Trémont powder, and the only powder now left is blinding dust!”
“Ah! You treat me in this way. I may give you reason to repent it!”
“And if I wished, you would not be allowed in France another twenty-four hours. Let us be going,” added Lichtenbach; “it is already late.”
“We will accompany you to the toll-gate, for fear something may happen to you. This quarter is not very safe at nights. Good night, Sophia.”
“Good night.”
She held out her white hand, which her dreaded ally touched with that iron hand of his, covered with a glove.
“May I not stay a few minutes, Sophia?” asked Agostini.
“No,” said the Baroness, emphatically. “Good night!”
Ringing the bell, Milona appeared.
“Show these gentlemen out, Milo.”
Silently they left the house, preceded by the Dalmatian, who held a round lantern to light the way through the sinuous turnings of the path leading to the little ivy-covered door. This she opened, and then disappeared. They proceeded along the Avenue Maillot in silence, each occupied with his own thoughts. Suddenly Hans stopped, and said, in low accents—
“Sophia is tricking us. But things shall not happen as she imagines. I pretended to give way, the better to deceive her. Now this is what we will do. Cesare will send a letter in a disguised hand-writing to young Marcel Baradier, fixing a rendezvous at the Boulevard Maillot about ten o’clock at night. I shall be there to receive him, with others on whom I can rely, and I will undertake to introduce the pigeon into the dovecot. Once there, Sophia must be forced to employ her wiles, whether she will or not. It is the same plan I mentioned just now, and which she refused. The only difference is that I do not ask for her permission before putting it into practice.”
“But suppose Baradier does not come?” said Cesare.
“What? Not come? Can you imagine that he would not come to a rendezvous fixed by the Baroness? He will fly to it at once. And when we have him!”
“What will you do?” asked Lichtenbach, in quivering accents.
“That is my own business. Just trust to me to loosen this young man’s tongue!”
“Violence?”
“A mode of persuasion he cannot resist.”
“And suppose he denounces you on leaving the house?”
“If only he will speak beforehand he will have plenty of time to say what he wishes afterwards.”
Lichtenbach shuddered. He felt that Hans had made up his mind to kill Marcel Baradier, and that the bandit was pursuing a double end: possession of the secret, and revenge for his mutilation.
“For the future,” he said, “I will have nothing more to do with your actions, in which I repudiate all share. I do not wish even to know the result of your attempt. You seem to have gone mad!”
“Ah! don’t think we ever relied on you for anythingelse than an advance of funds?” said Count Cesare, jeeringly. “To us you have been the hen which laid the golden eggs; now that you have stopped laying, go your own way!”
“No tricks with us, Lichtenbach,” said Hans. “If we succeed, the Dalgetty patent will have its full effect, you know; consequently you will share in the profits. What you say now is only another instance of your hypocrisy; you reject the responsibility, but are willing to accept the profits. Very well, my friend, you shall have them!”
They had reached the spot where Lichtenbach’s carriage stood. Agostini gracefully opened the door, saying—
“Good night, my prince, pleasant dreams!”
Meanwhile, M. Mayeur had acted in accordance with information received from Baudoin and Colonel Vallenot. For a week now he had known the details of Count Cesare’s life. Of very good birth, belonging to an illustrious family, Signor Agostini had been obliged to leave the Italian army after an affair of honour.
Concerning Hans, nothing could be discovered. The Baroness had been tracked, through Agostini, to her rooms in the Boulevard Maillot. The hotel had been let furnished. She lived very quietly, under the name of Madame de Frilas. M. Mayeur had sent an intelligent agent to the Baron Grodsko at Nice, and obtained from him full information concerning her.
Provided with his notes, M. Mayeur had returned to the War Office to communicate them to Colonel Vallenot, and ask of him the result of his personal investigations. Introduced at once into the Minister’s cabinet, the magistrate had seen the results of his examination confirmed by supplementary details. In proportion as light was thrown on the personality of the different actors in the drama, the gravity of the affair became more and more evident. They discovered, beyond the faintest shadow of doubt, that they hadto deal with an association of international espionage, which had been working for at least ten years on behalf of foreign governments, probably exploiting them in turn, and betraying them to the profit of one another.
It was possible that the whole of Europe had been duped by these clever rascals. The least false step might alarm the culprits and cause them to disappear! M. Mayeur grew pale at the restraint placed on him. But how was it possible to neglect such imperious political necessities? Colonel Vallenot was the first to speak out clearly on the subject—
“From this moment, General, it is certain we hold the Ténébreuse, as our agents call her. This is the woman of whom I spoke to you at the outset of our investigations some months ago, the one involved in the Cominges, Fontenailles affairs, etc. We have only to order, and she is in our power. Is it possible that we can let her escape?”