“If I consent, think what responsibility I assume in your father’s eyes!”
“But what do you think I should do?”
“You would do well to take the next train for Paris.”
“And leave you to resist these madmen, all alone? You have a fine opinion of me, indeed!”
“Come, now, Marcel, do not get angry. I am an old man, and command a certain amount of respect. It will be easy for me to keep out of a quarrel, but it will be no easy matter to keep an eye on you. To tell the truth, you would be greatly in the way. Here, you have no official standing; you are simply an inventor, and there is a whole group of workmen who regard you with no kindly feelings on account of your investigations in dyeing. They pretend that it is your intention to take away their living by manufacturing with the machine what they now do by hand. I assure you, Marcel, I have good reasons for keeping you away, and, if you are reasonable, you will obey me.”
“Well, Uncle Graff, I am not reasonable. That you have long known; on many occasions have I proved it, and I will prove it once again to-day. I don’t care what people think. I will keep close to your side, without givingyou any cause for trouble. But I will be present, because it is both my duty and my right. Besides, if I did not come, some time after you would say to yourself; ‘After all, he obeyed me very readily. My young nephew is bent on pleasure only, and is quite willing to keep out of the way when there is danger in the air.’”
As the old man listened to his nephew the look of anxiety, by degrees, disappeared from his countenance. Doubtless he blamed him for his unwillingness to obey him, but approved of his showing himself at once determined, devoted, and affectionate. Oh yes, affectionate above all! In the bachelor’s tender heart Marcel’s protests found a delightful echo. He felt himself loved by this nephew of his, whom he himself loved as though he were his own son, and all his discontent melted away in an exquisite sensation of happiness. Still, he would not confess to a satisfaction so little in accord with his expressed wishes. He gave himself an angry and displeased mien; but a smile shone in his eyes as he murmured—
“Very good! I cannot force you. As you please! If anything happens through you we shall know whose fault it is!”
“Uncle Graff, we will perish together!” exclaimed the young man, gaily. “What more brilliant end could I hope for! What a glorious item of news for the journals!”
“That would be the last straw!”
“What precautions are you going to take to prevent our being devoured by the popular lion?”
“None whatever! I am convinced that a display of force would effect no useful end. Accordingly, I begged the authorities not to disturb themselves. They wished to send us out the dragoons! Why not the artillery at once?”
“And who are the delegates to whom we shall have to reply?”
“There are eight of them. But it is the famous Balestrier who is at their head and acts as their mouthpiece.”
“He is a very intelligent fellow, only he reads too many books beyond his power of comprehension.”
“The rest are honest enough, but they have been incited to revolt by their companions at Troyes, and I am afraid I shall find them more violent than they are naturally disposed to be. They assume an attitude and play arôle.”
“We will judge them by their actions.”
Pointing out to his uncle on the laboratory table a glass recipient of moderate size, Marcel said—
“Look at this jar, Uncle Graff. If I were to throw a lighted match into it, in a moment I could annihilate all these ill-advised strikers.”
“Then that is the famous powder?”
“Yes.”
“Show it me.”
Marcel took the jar, removed the stopper, and poured into his hand a few small brown shavings. An odour of camphor spread throughout the room.
“It is the war powder in flakes, but I intend to manufacture it in pastilles. Then it will resemble an ordinary button without holes. In flakes it is more convenient for charging large projectiles. In pastilles it will be better suited for cartridge sockets. Non-compressed it burns like German tinder, with a smell of disinfecting powder, and entirely without smoke. Would you like to see it?”
“No!” said Uncle Graff, eagerly. “I do not care to see you handling such substances. One never knows! They might explode without any one expecting it!”
“Impossible! Besides, as this powder smells of camphor it might be placed with one’s clothes during the summer to prevent the moths from spoiling them.”
He laughed aloud. Uncle Graff, slightly reassured, forced him to place the bottle back on to the table.
“And the commerce powder?”
“I have none manufactured. But the formula is already there in the drawer.”
“With this formula Trémont’s discovery may be exploited?”
“Certainly, on condition one knows how to make use of it. But that is my secret, which I shall reveal only at the moment the exploitation commences. The different kinds of products employed, with their dosings, are specified.”
Opening a drawer he took out a sheet of paper, at the head of which were written the words: Powder Formula. No. I. Then followed lines of abbreviated words, with figures.
“Leave it in this drawer; I do not need it just now. You will give it me this evening, after the conference. Then I will write to your father and send on the paper to him.”
“As you please,” said Marcel.
Placing back the paper he shut the drawer. Uncle Graff left the room saying—
“I am going to see Cardez; if you want me you will find me with him.”
Marcel, left all alone, walked up and down the laboratory, then drew near the open window, and looked out on to the river flowing beneath. A fisherman was sitting there in a boat, moored in the middle of the stream, engaged in throwing baked grain as bait into the water all around him. A large straw hat covered his head, whilst the wind blew out his grey smock-frock into the form of a balloon. He did not appear even to see Marcel, but filled his pipe with tobacco, lit it, and began to throw out his line, at the end of which was a ball of worms as bait. After a few moments a bitecame, he struck adroitly, and landed a small silver-bellied fish in the boat. Marcel, interested, sat and watched from the window-ledge. After watching for a good quarter of an hour, the fisher, in his smock-frock, who, by the way, appeared to have the best of luck, the door of the laboratory opened, and Baudoin appeared. He seemed embarrassed, but came straight up to his master, and said, in tones of seeming regret—
“Monsieur Marcel, there is some one at the porter’s lodge who is asking for you.”
“Who is it?”
Baudoin said, with a wry grimace—
“A kind of chambermaid.”
Marcel arose eagerly. He thought, “It is Milona, sent by Madame Vignola. Something has happened.” In a trice he was out of the room.
Baudoin followed him with ill-pleased look.
“How he runs off to meet her! Ah, that crafty woman holds him tight indeed! And this servant, who looks like a gipsy! This kind of company does not inspire confidence in one!”
Marcel, on reaching the porter’s lodge, had found Milona there, as he had conjectured. Drawing her aside, he asked anxiously—
“No harm has befallen Madame Vignola?”
“No; I am with her all the time. But my mistress is uneasy for your sake. She heard cries and threats, and saw flashes of light through the darkness of the night. She well knows what these mad acts of folly committed by an angry mob mean, and would like to see you and have you explain the meaning of all this tumult.”
“May I go to her at once?”
“She is expecting you every minute.”
He gave a gesture expressive of the joy he felt.
“Then start back at once. We must not be seen crossing the plain together. In a few minutes I will follow you. Tell this to your mistress.”
Milona bowed with a kind of haughty deference. With a tender look at the young man she said—
“Do not tarry; she is never happy except when you are there!”
Marcel stifled a cry of joy.
“Oh, Milona! What has she told you?”
“Nothing. But even had she taken me into her confidence I would not betray her. All the same, I see the difference between when she is alone and when you are with her. She is not the same at all. Come! She was in tears all the morning.”
With a bow, she placed her fingers to her lips and withdrew.
Marcel watched her take her departure. His heart beat wildly; flashes of light seemed to pass before his eyes. He had forgotten everything—works, strikes, danger, Uncle Graff, and his good resolutions. Now he thought of nothing but the radiant blonde awaiting him in that solitary villa, for which he set off with all the ardour of youth and love.
Inthe dimly-lit salon Marcel and Madame Vignola were seated chatting near the window. It was ten o’clock. In the clear blue sky the sun shone brightly, and its warm rays breaking through the branches of the trees came with caressing gentleness to the lovers. Madame Vignola was saying in grave accents—
“Even in this out-of-the-way little place, right in the midst of the forest and far away from the rush of town life, there is no perfect peace and calm.”
“You seem to have no luck. Never before have the inhabitants of Ars shown themselves so turbulent. Generally they are quite peaceable and harmless creatures. If they have any claims to make they do it with moderation and politeness, sure, in advance, of obtaining what they want. I do not know what madness has come over them!”
Madame Vignola smiled.
“Doubtless they have listened to bad counsel and advice. But that is of little importance. The main thing is that you are not exposed to the violence of these madmen. When I heard them last night shouting out their threats of death I trembled.”
“Then you do take a certain amount of interest in me?”
“Can you ask me such a question?”
Passionately he seized hold of a dainty hand, which she made no attempt to withdraw.
“Well, now, listen, Anetta. I cannot understand how I have been able to find any joy in life before I knew you. I seem to myself only to have been alive the last month.”
Graciously raising her hand with threatening gesture, she said—
“Not another word! I know you have been anything but perfect. Don’t try to deceive me like all the others you have said you were in love with.”
“Oh! I have never been in love before. That I understand well enough now!”
“Marcel, for pity’s sake, be quite frank with me. I have gone through such suffering hitherto, but that was because my heart was untouched. I am afraid of suffering now, as I shall love—”
“No, have confidence in me. I will make you forget all your past sorrow. You are so young, and the future may yet be so bright for you. I want you all to myself. Once your mourning over you will again become mistress of your own destiny, and if you will authorize me to speak to your brother—”
The young woman gave a gesture of fright.
“To Cesare? Do nothing of the kind. You do not know him! In a moment he would become your most bitter enemy!”
“Why so?”
“Ah! It is sad to think of and even sadder to mention. Cesare is without fortune, and I have been left a wealthy widow by M. Vignola. Were I to leave my brother, and cease to be free, he would be absolutely without resource. How could I induce him to accept a modest station in life? He is already unhappy, indeed, at not being able to do honour to his birth, for we are descended from a princelyfamily. The Briviescas formerly reigned in Padua. An Agostini was ruler of Parma. But ruin came, and Count Cesare receives only the pay of a captain of cavalry. A sorry position for a man of his disposition! Accordingly, ever since I have been a widow he has undertaken the direction of my property. He finds it to his advantage, I believe, and I am well pleased that it is so. For he is very kind, and I am fond of him.”
“In that case give him what belongs to you. Have I any need of your fortune? I only want yourself! Leave Count Cesare all your possessions. I, too, shall be rich, and if I wished I could restore to you to-morrow more than all you would have sacrificed in becoming mine.”
She seemed astonished. A light shone in her beautiful eyes as she said—
“Tell me how?”
No suspicion came across his mind. He saw nothing but that exquisite mouth and those gentle eyes which questioned him so eloquently.
“I am in possession of a commercial secret calculated to bring about a complete revolution in the economic conditions of work in mines. The assured profit will not belong to me entirely, but I shall have my share of it. That sole share alone will be immense. They can do nothing without me, for I alone know the secret of the process of manufacturing the powder. A company will be formed to exploit the patents of this discovery. All this means fortune—you hear, Anetta?—an immediate and enormous fortune.”
“Oh! continue! Tell me all, my dear friend.”
“You are the first to whom I have said so much. But, then, can I conceal anything from you? Were you to ask me for my very honour I would sacrifice it for your sake. Besides, what have I to fear from one so kind and disinterested? Yes, I am the possessor of a glorious andpowerful secret. The glory of the discovery will belong to the inventor, and I shall be happy to have helped in making him world-famed. To those who have organized and rendered his work practicable will belong an incalculable financial power.”
Madame Vignola interrupted Marcel.
“But suppose you were to disappear—suppose some misfortune happened you; in these noisy street quarrels of the strikers you might be struck to the ground. Then what would become of this invention of yours? Probably you have given no more thought to the protection of your secret than you have to that of your life.”
As she spoke she pressed him to her heart, a look of anguish overshadowing her face. Her looks seemed to burn into Marcel’s brain as she gently passed her hand over his brow.
“No!” he said. “Do not deceive yourself. I took the precaution this very morning to write out the formulæ of this wonderful invention.”
“You have it on your person?” she asked in terrified accents.
“No, do not be anxious, dearest; I left it in my laboratory. It cannot be destroyed now. My Uncle Graff would take it from the drawer of my desk in case anything were to befall me. But I love you, and nothing can possibly happen to me. I must succeed and triumph if you love me!”
With a gesture expressive of infinite content, she said—
“Can you doubt it, after what I have said? How could I help loving one so fervent and capricious as you are? It is this youthful folly of yours which pleased me from the beginning. You are so different from those with whom I have hitherto lived. My early life was passed with my old parents, who were very strict and severe with me, in a coldand gloomy house in Milan. Then my husband, though so kind and anxious to please me, could not bring his cold and reasoning habits into harmony with my youth and inexperience. Sorrow andennuiwere my daily portion. It seems that I have only awakened to life from this very day, as though I had all my life been like the sleeping princess in the fairy tale. You have appeared before me, and now my eyes open to the light of day, my ears listen to your tender, loving words, and with inexpressible delight I awake to a new birth of happiness.”
The most accomplished actress could not have more artfully uttered such ravishing words as these which fell from the lips of the beautiful temptress. Turning aside her face, as though to conceal her blushes, her lithe form seemed to quiver with delight. He, maddened by this confession, and burning with the passion this redoubtable enchantress knew so well how to inspire, dropped his fevered head on Anetta’s shoulder. His reason seemed to leave him as he murmured—
“I adore you!”
At this moment she turned her head to look at him, perhaps to reply. Their lips met, and united in a burning kiss. Suddenly, above the green expanse of forest, in the midst of the calm in which the peaceful house was wrapped, rose a shout which grew louder and louder, whilst the clang of an alarm-bell could be distinctly heard. Anetta exclaimed—
“What is that?”
Marcel listened attentively.
“It sounds like shouts and cries for help coming from the direction of Ars.”
He rushed towards the window, and, already trembling with secret anguish, exclaimed—
“It is the alarm-bell! Perhaps the works are on fire!Mon Dieu! What can be the matter? You are well aware to what risks we were exposed at Ars, and I am afraid that matters have taken a turn for the worse in my absence.”
Madame Vignola opened the door, and called—
“Milo.”
The servant appeared. Without waiting to be questioned, she said—
“There is something wrong at Ars, madame. Bells are ringing, and a black cloud of smoke is rising above the trees. It might be possible to see from the roof.”
“I will mount at once!” exclaimed Marcel.
“I will follow you. Go with him,” she said to Milona.
But instead of keeping her word the young woman entered the small office where she was in the habit of writing her letters, took up a sheet of paper, and traced a few rapid lines. Steps could already be heard on the staircase. Marcel, pale and agitated, appeared before her.
“The fire must have caught the works. Oh, Anetta, I have forgotten everything by your side! Good-bye, I must rush off at once.”
“Marcel, do not forget that you are mine.”
With a look of fright she pressed him in her arms, and held him back.
“Darling, I must go. What would they think of me? I will return to-night. Let me go now.”
“Very well. But Milona will follow you, and bring me back the news. Promise me you will be very careful.”
A final kiss, and he was already in the garden. Anetta turned to the servant and handed to her the note she had just written.
“Run to Ars. On the river, in a boat, you will see Hans, dressed like a peasant. Give him this paper, and return at once. Go, Milo! This time we shall succeed.”
“And the young man, madame—what will you do with him?”
A look of anxiety came over her brow.
“I cannot tell yet, Milo. I believe I love him.”
The servant smiled faintly as she said—
“Poor fellow! What a pity!”
And, without another word, she disappeared.
Marcel was running towards the works. At the first turn of the road the whole town lay before his eyes. From the Supply Stores a lofty column of black smoke mounted towards the sky, and flames were beginning to break through the roof.
“Ah, the wretches!” exclaimed the young man. “They have set the place on fire! And Uncle Graff?Mon Dieu! if only he is safe and sound!”
Young and vigorous, spurred on by fear and anger, he ran along faster than ever. A mass of onlookers was standing in the street, kept in check by the police. Marcel rushed through them like a bullet and entered the yard, perspiring and out of breath. Workmen were manipulating the fire-engine belonging to the works. On seeing their master’s son arrive they exclaimed eagerly—
“Ah, M. Marcel! You have come at last!”
“How did the fire happen?” exclaimed the young man panting for breath.
No one replied. They were two hundred; he was alone. All the same he exclaimed, in angry tones—
“So it is you, rascals, you who have set fire to the works which afforded you your only means of livelihood?”
They protested noisily.
“No, M. Marcel, we did not do it! We set forth our demands, but we did not enforce them by such villainous means. There are strangers about. We had nothing to do with it.”
“Where is my uncle Graff?”
Terror-stricken, a foreman advanced—
“Ah, M. Marcel, we could not prevent him entering.”
“Entering where?”
“Into the managing department, with M. Cardez and your servant. They wanted to find the account books, etc.”
“But the managing department is on fire!” shrieked the young man, in despair. “If you could not prevent them going, you might at least have accompanied them.”
A crash was now heard coming from the burning building. Millions of sparks shot forth into the air, and a black dust filled the sky. It was the roof of the stores, which had fallen in.
“How can we reach them now?” said the overseer, anxiously. “They are caught between the weaving department and the stores. The fire is all over the place now.”
“By the roof.”
The workman shook his head discouragingly.
“Who will dare to go?”
“I will!”
“But it means death!”
“Well, I will risk it with them!”
“We will not let you go. What would your father say?”
“What would he say if I did not go?”
Scarcely knowing what he was doing, Marcel seized hold of a hatchet, and rushed into the works. A violent biting sensation of heat seized him by the throat, but he did not halt. He mounted the staircase leading to the door of the book-keeping department. Here he was forced to stop. Before him was a wall of flames. Climbing higher, he came out on the roof, ran along a drain-pipe, entered the loft,which was filled with smoke, and, almost suffocated, reached that part of the building which lay above the offices. The fire had not reached them. He halted. If Cardez and Uncle Graff were in the book-keeping compartment they were surrounded on every side by the fire. Accordingly, they could only effect an escape either from above or below. Without the slightest hesitation he began to cut away at the floor. Suddenly he heard his name called from the roof. Without stopping he shouted back—
“This way! In the loft!”
It was the overseer and three of the workmen, who had followed with picks and levers. They set to work. Marcel, with his hatchet, seemed possessed of the strength of ten men; the beams appeared to fall away like reeds before the blows he dealt. Bricks and plaster were flying in all directions. At last a hole was made in the floor, and Marcel, lying flat on the ground, shouted with all his might—
“Uncle Graff, Cardez, Baudoin—are you there?”
A stifled voice replied—
“Ah! This is you, Marcel. Yes, we are here. Be quick; we are almost exhausted. The smoke is suffocating us. We cannot open the window on account of the flames.”
“Take care of yourselves!”
Seizing the lever he gave a powerful lift, which considerably enlarged the hole. Then he saw the smoke rise as though by an escape-flue. There appeared in full view the three men, who had not let go their books and registers, stolidly awaiting deliverance or death. It was deliverance that came. A rope was lowered down the hole.
“Baudoin, fasten my uncle firmly under the arms with this rope. Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
“Pull away, my men!”
The rope, hoisted by impatient arms, was drawn up, andUncle Graff, black with dirt and smoke, trembling, and scarcely able to breathe, though perfectly happy, was pressed in Marcel’s arms, whilst tears flowed down their cheeks, though not a word was uttered. Cardez and Baudoin were hoisted up in the same way.
“By the way,” said Marcel, “is there anything else you want from the office? I will go down, if you like.”
“No!” exclaimed Uncle Graff; finding his voice; “we have all the books we want. That is sufficient! The place is insured, so there is nothing more to do.”
“Then we must beat a retreat at once,” exclaimed Marcel. “The smoke is getting denser here.”
Marcel, helping along his uncle, made his way to the drain-pipe. From the yard they were seen returning safe and sound. An immense shout arose, almost deafening the roar of the flames. They reached the works, where the firemen had already taken up their positions with the object of preserving the buildings still intact. Once in the yard Uncle Graff sank down on a bale of wool, turned pale, and almost fainted. He had come to the end of his strength.
“A glass of water!” exclaimed Marcel.
In a moment a decanter was in his hand. No matter what he had asked for, his demand would have been immediately obeyed. Full of respect before courage and devotion, the mob regarded him with indulgent and reverent tenderness. The very men who had cried out only the night before, “Down with the masters!” were ready to shout out, Hurrah for M. Marcel! The reason was that he had just performed a feat none of them had had courage to attempt, and in their inmost souls they were conscious that he was braver and better than themselves, and, accordingly, they felt nothing but admiration for him.
“Cardez, take these registers and the money home,”said Marcel. “We will go to my home, Uncle Graff. You must try to regain your strength completely.”
“No! I feel better already. I can breathe more freely. Ah, Marcel, you came just in time. Another quarter of an hour and you would have found us all dead.”
“I was miserable at the thought that I was not with you all the time.”
“Had you been with us everything would have been lost! We were dying. Your absence was quite providential! But for that, all would have been over with us!”
“But how did it all happen?”
“We cannot understand anything yet! For an hour we had been discussing with the delegates, and I must say the peaceful settlement of the strike seemed very doubtful, when we were suddenly interrupted by shouts of ‘Fire! Fire!’ The workmen assembled in the yard awaiting the delegates had just seen a dense cloud of smoke issue from the stores. To tell the truth, they were ill-disposed towards us. When we crossed the yard on the way to the office they received us with a hostile silence. Not a head was uncovered. Veritable enemies on our own ground! In a moment the fire effected a complete change. They became like madmen when they saw the works burning. At bottom these workmen are not evil-disposed, for they rushed forth from every direction, shouting out, ‘To the pumps!’ When they saw me appear with Cardez they shouted: ‘M. Graff, this is not our work!’ A moment after one of the strangers, who has been here only a week, a native of Luxembourg, named Verstraet, being caught prowling about the works, they half killed him, accusing him of being the incendiary. We were obliged to tear him from their hands.”
Marcel listened with gloomy interest to this recital. He associated the fire with the strange fears, manifested ondifferent occasions by Baudoin, respecting the safety of the laboratory. He heard the servant say, “Just now, there are men here whose appearance is anything but prepossessing.” The workmen also spoke vaguely about strangers. Everything was wrapped in mystery. Instinctively, Marcel felt himself enveloped in a network of threats and hatred. Was it still this secret of the General de Trémont, which brought disaster on all those who possessed it? Looking round for Baudoin, he found that he had disappeared. The fire was raging less fiercely, for the torrents of water poured on the stores had extinguished the bales of wool. The works themselves did not seem to have suffered to any considerable extent; the loss was only partial. The captain of the Ars fire brigade, a plumber by trade, came out from the rest and stood there, hot and panting, with cap in hand, before M. Graff and Cardez.
“Well, gentlemen, we shall come out of this affair better than we might have expected. At present, more than two-thirds of the works are safe. We may take our breath a little. It has been warm work, indeed, the last hour!”
“Yes. But for M. Marcel,” said Cardez, “we should not be speaking to you at this moment, M. Prevost.”
“That was a very noble act of his,” said the captain. “Ah! neither my men nor myself had thought of doing as he did. There was courage enough in us, but we should not have thought of piercing a hole in the roof. He did not lose his head; and that was the main thing.”
Just at that moment, a voice quivering with anguish, was heard, and Marcel, pale and excited, came rushing from the laboratory, exclaiming—
“Uncle Graff. Come here, quick!”
“What is the matter?” asked Cardez.
“Stay here! My uncle only!” said the young man. Monsieur Graff immediately went up to his nephew.Baudoin was already on the threshold guarding the entrance.
“Come in!Mon Dieu! Come in!” said Marcel, pushing the old man before him. “Baudoin, shut the door and place the key inside.”
“What is the matter now?” exclaimed the old man.
“Look!”
Standing there on the threshold of the capharnaum, the three men looked around in bewildered astonishment. All the signs of a desperate fight had thrown the room into the utmost disorder. A curtain, half torn from the window still open on the river, was hanging from its broken pole. Jars, retorts, and alembics of every description crushed to pieces lay scattered about the floor. On the table was a large clot of blood, still wet, as though some one had there met his death. The paper everywhere was splashed over with large red spots, and the drawer of the table lay wide open before their eyes.
“What has taken place here?” asked Uncle Graff, in low tones.
“Look in the drawer, Uncle Graff,” said Marcel. “Try to find the formula I placed there before your eyes.”
“Well!”
“It is there no longer! It has been stolen! Look for the flagon containing the war powder, which was on the table. Disappeared!”
“Stolen? By whom?”
“Perhaps by the same person who set fire to the works? Whose blood is that on the floor? Uncle Graff, we have brought about our heads a terrible stream of enemies. Think of what has happened concerning the inventions of M. de Trémont. There has been a whole band of rascals at work for months, bent on stealing these secrets at whatever cost, and in face of the greatest difficulties! My fatherguessed this, for it was with the utmost trouble that I succeeded in obtaining his permission to continue this discovery. Baudoin knew it, for he asked my permission to keep watch in the laboratory. It was the excitement caused by the fire which forced him to quit his post; doubtless, had he stayed here, he, too, would have lost his life. But whose blood is this that has been shed?”
“Come, my child, do calm yourself,” said the old man, alarmed at the increasing agitation of his nephew. “Speak, Baudoin, tell us all you know.”
“Monsieur Graff, I know who has fallen here, and I know, too, whose hand struck the blow. The victim is a man devoted to our cause, who, from the very first, had scented the culprits. He could not help the robbery being committed, and, had he not been killed, he would certainly have arrested the thief.”
“And who is the man who struck him?”
“Ah! This is by no means the first attempt. He is a determined villain; all the troubles in the district have been caused by this man. It is he who started the conflagration. He who stabbed General de Trémont. It is the man of Vanves. In a word, it is Hans!”
“How do you know this?”
“Because I have seen him. Laforêt, whom I had sent for to keep a watch on these people whom I suspected, and who has doubtless paid with his life for his zeal and devotion, followed him last night, and we both spent part of the night in tracking his movements. We were present at his conferences with the leaders of the strike at the Soleil d’Or. We heard him give his orders to his acolytes. It is he our unhappy workmen obeyed, without knowing it, seduced as they were by the rabid language of the leaders. This is the villain who, secretly, and from a distance, directed the riot, and set fire to the works!”
“But how could he know that the written formula was in the table of the laboratory? Why did he come here?”
“He came here because I ran off to the fire and left my post. He has, somehow or other, received precise information.”
Baudoin stopped. He gave his young master a look of anguish.
“Ah, Monsieur Marcel, must I speak? Will you pardon me?”
Marcel turned pale. All the same he said, in firm tones—
“Speak. I insist upon it.”
“Well, then, this man, for the past week, has been living at the Villa de la Cavée.”
“Impossible!” exclaimed Marcel. “Hans! This villain?”
“Monsieur Marcel,” resumed Baudoin, bravely, but with infinite sadness, “I have seen him there myself. Laforêt has been watching him for a whole week. He lived in the attic, and only went out at nights.”
“And I never suspected anything!” exclaimed the young man, in stupefied grief. “Then who is this woman who has been there the last six weeks? What is this atrocious farce she has been playing with me?”
“Ah!” exclaimed Uncle Graff. “A woman! Another woman? Incorrigible child!”
Marcel, seated by the table on a stool, his head in his hands, was endeavouring to collect his ideas. He was falling from a pure heaven of delight in which he had been living into the degradation of blood and crime.
“Come, it is impossible!” he continued, with trembling voice. “Why should she have deceived me so atrociously? Was there any need to make me so madly in love with her? No, I cannot believe her guilty; she never lied once to me.Her very looks were frank and true. No, no! You are mistaken; you are heaping calumny on her! Even though the man be a villain, she, at least, is no accomplice of his. She is his victim, as we all are. If they tried to harm me, she had not the strength or the authority to resist. And if she knows what has happened, she is lamenting it all, as we are, this very moment.”
His desperate protests were stifled by sobs, and, leaning his head on the blood-stained table, he wept bitterly. His uncle respected his grief, and, taking Baudoin to the window, he said to him, in subdued tones—
“In your opinion, who has been in the laboratory after you left it?”
“Laforêt, who was keeping watch over our man, must have followed him to this very spot. During the tumult caused by the fire Hans entered the yard of the works, and went right to the summer-house. Laforêt must have surprised him whilst he was examining the drawer. A terrible struggle must then have taken place between Hans, who is a giant in form, and Laforêt, who is very muscular. Hans doubtless made use of some arm or other to rid him of his adversary. Laforêt, killed outright, or stunned, fell on the table, thereupon Hans seized him and dragged him to the window. He became entangled with the curtain, which has been torn away; the weight must have been a heavy one, for the pole is broken.”
“And afterwards?” asked M. Graff, anxiously.
“Afterwards Hans flung the ill-fated Laforêt out of the window. The current has carried him off. Probably he will be picked up in the sluice of the mill of Sainte-Savine.”
“And the woman, Baudoin?” whispered the old man.
“Ah, Monsieur Graff, I do not know if she is the woman of Vanves or not. Both the scent she uses and hervoice are different. But a voice may be modified, and a perfume changed. What remains unchanging is villainous skill and seductive charm. This one has all that is needed to madden a man—beauty, distinction, grace. Look at M. Marcel there, in tears. It is neither crime nor theft that has brought him into that state. It is the grief caused by suspecting the one he adores, and the fear that he may now be under the obligation of hating her.”
“Poor fellow! He, at least, did not deserve to suffer. He has been very brave. But for him, Baudoin, we should not now be in the land of the living.”
“True; and but for this wretched woman all this trouble would have been avoided. She well knows what she has done, and with whom she has had to deal. It is not you she would have undertaken to corrupt. She would have known beforehand that your calm and tranquil reason would have guarded you from her attacks. But with the General and M. Marcel it was different. Oh, M. Graff, she has made no mistake! Had she had either the necessary time or desire both the old and the young man would have given up their secret of their own accord.”
Uncle Graff, astonished at such clear-sightedness, looked at Baudoin with considerable interest.
“Ah, sir, you are astonished at hearing me speak in this way. But what I have said is not an invention. My General, on those days when he was master of himself, spoke to me in similar terms. He accused and blamed himself, well knowing how weak he was.”
“And his weakness brought him to his death. Let us consider ourselves fortunate that Marcel has not been treated so harshly. The poor fellow suffers; he is unhappy. But, then, he is only twenty-five years of age, and in one’s youth no sorrow lasts long. But if these rascals had killed him? Ah, his father seemed to guess the danger he ran! Heimagined his son would be safer at Ars, in the midst of the workmen, but you see how mistaken he has been.”
“Ah! But, after all, this woman knew how to track him. And in this quiet spot her power was more manifest than ever.”
“What will she do now?”
“Disappear with her acolytes.”
“Are there many of them?”
“There is a pretended brother, a handsome, dark-complexioned young fellow; the servant, who called this morning for M. Marcel; and then Hans, without counting those we know nothing about. A whole band, you may be certain. Sir, not a single act of rascality or treachery happens in the country without those rascals having a hand in it. Laforêt told me so himself: ‘France is exploited by foreigners. The Government will do for strangers what they will not do for Frenchmen. If only an individual offers himself, speaking with a foreign accent, and wearing a many-coloured decoration, all kinds of privileges are showered upon him.’ We are a set of ninnies and simpletons, M. Graff, though we imagine ourselves very clever.”
Marcel drew near. During the past few minutes his face seemed to have become quite furrowed.
“Uncle Graff,” he said, “the present is not the time for lamenting. We must act at once. Perhaps we may still come across the bold scoundrel who has been here. We must give a description of him to the police. For myself, I shall go to the villa and find out the whole truth.”
“We know very little, Marcel, about the people with whom we have to deal if we can think they have lost a single second in escaping.”
“How can they imagine they are even suspected?”
“Thecoupis effected; all they need do now will be to clear off!”
Marcel gave a gesture of protest.
“Yes,” continued the old man, gently. “You are asking why she could have gone? How could she have taken her departure without seeing me again? My poor child, you are still under the effect of the delusion practised on you! You cannot yet understand that all the tenderness she lavished on you was calculated, interested in its nature, that, in short, you were only a victim. And you still expect her to be waiting for you. Well! we will all go and see, my child. Then we shall know the value of the promises by which you have allowed yourself to be deceived. Meanwhile we must inform the authorities. Take my advice, and say nothing about the powders. We must speak of the murder only. Our man will be caught just as easily, if he is to be caught at all, which I very much doubt. We will keep our secret in the background. Ah! We have to deal with enemies stronger than ourselves! Do not reproach yourself in any way. Everything was too well arranged. In one way or another, you were bound to succumb. Luckily, your life is out of danger.”
“Thanks, Uncle Graff, you do your best to console me. But I shall never forgive myself, in case you are right. Come along.”
They descended into the yard. The fire had been extinguished, and the pumps were now silent, with the exception of the one belonging to the works, which was still dashing water on the ruins. On their approach, the crowd of workmen stood there in respectful silence, all heads uncovered. This misfortune had kindled renewed sympathy with their masters, and their devotion enjoined an attitude of respect. Cardez came forward, and said—
“Monsieur Graff, the workmen want you to speak to them. They do not wish to remain suspected.”
Graff advanced, and said in grave accents—
“My friends, I know you too well to accuse you of the crime which has been committed here. I am well aware that you are hot-headed, but you are very honest all the same. Besides, what would have been the use of such wilful destruction, if not to throw you on to the streets and cause you to die of hunger? The very moment the fire broke out, your delegates and ourselves were on the point of coming to a mutual understanding. After the good will you have just given proof of, in uniting to save the works, I can only admit of one solution, the one most favourable to you. Accordingly, I grant you your demands.”
An immense cheer of mingled joy and gratitude burst from five hundred throats. Caps were waved high in the air. Graff raised his hand; silence was instantly restored.
“I beg you to remember that it is to the manager quite as much as to myself that you owed this result. If he is severe in point of discipline, it is because he feels it to be necessary in the interest of the work. But no one is a stauncher upholder of your interests than your excellent director.”
“Hurrah for M. Cardez!”
Uncle Graff smiled.
“Come, come! You are like overgrown children! Yesterday you wanted to hang him. And myself into the bargain! To-day you receive him with shouts of joy. And it is at this moment that you are more just and reasonable. Remember what has taken place. And next time you have any demands to make, do not begin by threats of murder. Now, go home, all of you, and to-morrow morning, at the usual hour, we shall expect you back at work!”
The crowd melted away in respectful silence. With its usual fickleness it now showered blessings on those ithad formerly cursed. Obeying its instincts, which are always generous and kind when left to develop freely, it congratulated itself on the happy ending of a day which might have been so tragic, and now withdrew, delighted at the prospect of resuming the labour it had contemptibly looked upon as utter slavery.
WhilstMilona was running in the direction of Ars, her mistress returned quietly to the salon. Flinging herself on the sofa, she abandoned herself to a delightful reverie. What a difference she found between Cesare Agostini and Marcel! A feeling of nausea came over her when she compared them with one another. The complaisant and needy lover, who always knew when to close his eyes, when some mysterious interests of his were at stake, and this tender, sincere lover, who thought of nothing but her happiness, and sacrificed for that his own.
She remembered Hans’ sarcastic remarks, “Take care you are not caught in your own net, and fall in love with this young man.” Had he then read her inmost thoughts, this dread accomplice of hers, who trampled humanity under foot, and who had no more respect for joy and happiness than the hail has for the harvest? Suppose it were so? Had she not the right to do as she wished? Was she a slave, linked to obscure and threatening adventurers engaged in some formidable though tremendous task? Or was there equality for both them and herself, in danger, success, and pleasure alike? Who could compel her to do what was displeasing to her—above all, who would dare to attempt it? She knew she was as dangerous as any of them,and they, too, were well aware how powerful and audacious she was. If it were necessary to try conclusions with them, they would see who would come out the winner.
She smiled, and her face shone with the light of a glorious graciousness. In that young woman, with those delicate, refined features, who would have discovered the bold, sarcastic Sophia Grodsko? What would Lichtenbach have said, had he seen her, and what would all those have thought who had known her, so faithless and vice-stained, fatal to all who had loved her, and whom she had led on to ruin, dishonour, or death? A young man, the least remarkable of all she had hitherto met, in all probability, had obtained the triumph of making her uneasy and anxious at the thought of what might become of him. Following him in imagination, on his way back to the town, she wondered if it would not have been better to have kept him by her side, instead of allowing him to rush off to the burning works, and especially towards the spot where Hans was watching—Hans, more to be dreaded than all the other scourges combined.
She rose, and, already repenting of having shown such a lack of decision, she was deliberating whether or not she ought, herself, to go to Ars, and find out what was taking place there. Prudence checked the impulse. All the same, she mounted to the second floor of the villa, on to a balcony from which a view of the valley could be obtained beyond the trees. There she quickly saw that the danger, if there had been any, had lessened. The smoke was disappearing, not a single flame was to be seen, and the hubbub from the town had calmed down, whilst even the church bell had ceased ringing. She was about to descend, when she saw Milona open the garden gate. The servant was coming along the alley with rapid and uneasy steps. Sophia had a presentiment that she was the bearer of bad news, and gavea sharp, low whistle. Milo mounted the steps all out of breath, and came straight to her mistress—
“I have performed your commission,” she said. “I found Hans. He read your note, and placed it back in my hands. Here it is.”
“Good. That is not all. What is the matter?”
“Agostini is close behind me. He has just landed at Ars.”
Sophia frowned. A slight blush mounted to her cheeks. Taking a match, she lit it, and set fire to the paper Milona had handed to her. Thoughtfully, she watched the ashes fly away in the wind. Then she asked—
“How is he coming here?”
“In a cab. Listen, you may hear the horse’s hoofs already.”
The cab stopped in front of the door, and Cesare descended. The cabman waited. Sophia slowly descended the staircase, and found herself in the hall, to receive the handsome Italian. He advanced with shining eyes and eager gait. Carelessly, and with an air of indifference, she held out her hand.
“Well, well! my dear,” said he. “Is this the way you receive me after a fortnight’s absence?”
“Silence!” she said firmly; “this is no time for nonsense. Hans at this very moment is doubtless risking his life to obtain possession of the powders.”
“Have you then succeeded with our young victim?”
“You may see for yourself. There will be more to learn later on.”
“Diavolo!”
Rushing from the room, he exclaimed—
“Milo, tell the cabman to wait.”
He returned—
“Who knows if we shall not need him shortly? As Ipassed by I saw the town was in the greatest commotion imaginable, and that the works were on fire. Is this accident an invention of yours?”
“I believe Hans arranged the whole affair.”
“Gay disposition, Hans! He is fond of an attractivemise en scene. But I should be glad to have a little lunch; I left Paris quite hurriedly.”
“Milona will serve you.”
They passed into the dining-room. The table was set, and Cesare took a seat.
“Come and talk to me, my beautiful Sophia. Time has weighed heavy on my hands since last I saw you. I have vainly sought for distractions.”
“What have you been doing?”
“Ah! Trying to win a little money at cards. A kind of fatality seems to pursue me, my bad luck never leaves me, and I cannot touch a card without losing.”
“You have lost much?”
“Too much! I so easily get excited, you know.”
“Well, how much?” asked Sophia, impatiently.
The handsome Italian replied with a smile—
“Nothing at all, cara; I had the money!”
“Who gave it you?”
“Lichtenbach. I was obliged to accustom him to my little fancies. When he becomes my father-in-law I shall appeal to him rather often.”
“Take care. He may tire.”
“He will not be allowed to do so.”
“His resources are not inexhaustible.”
“You are jesting. I am well acquainted with the source of his wealth.”
“Indeed! Who has been informing you?”
“A relation of mine, the Very Reverend Monsignor Boldi, whom I saw in Paris a few days ago. Lichtenbach,in addition to his wealth, is a church trustee. I no longer wonder at the influence he wields. He has the disposal of immense sums, and of almost limitless power. But he is not a man of action. He is always hesitating and trembling. Had you seen how terrified he was when I alluded to his position as a kind of ecclesiastical banker, you would have laughed outright. Ah! cara, his brow was covered with perspiration. Whatever can he be afraid of?”
“From his constituents, nothing. From you, everything. That he doubtless guessed at once.”
“Oh!Mon Dieu! All that trouble for such a trifle! A mere bagatelle of forty thousand francs. That cursed baccarat! But Lichtenbach never plays, except on the Bourse. And there he always wins!”
“Question!”
“Ah! Can he, too, be cursed with bad luck?”
“We are now doing our best to arrange matters so that he may have nothing but good luck!”
“The powder affair?”
“Yes. Listen, what is that?”
A sound was heard outside. Taking from a cupboard a small revolver, she slipped it into her pocket, and said—“Are you armed?”
“I am always armed. What are you afraid of?”
“Wait!”
In the silence a curious whistling sound was heard. Sophia’s features relaxed.
“It is Hans!”
A rapid step was heard on the sand of the alley. The door of the salon opened, and Milona made her appearance, followed by the colossus. He was still clothed in his mean-looking fisher’s costume. Flinging his hat on the ground, he removed his blouse and his huge shoes, without the slightest thought of Sophia’s presence, and exclaimed—
“Milo, my clothes.”
Placing on the table a glass recipient and a sheet of paper, he said, with a grimace—
“Here it is!”
“Then you have succeeded at last?”
Sophia and Cesare approached with a kind of respect, and saw through the jar the brownish shavings of the powder which had already cost so much blood!
“Yes, here it is! This small phial and this piece of paper again represent the life of a man.”
“You were surprised in the act?”
“Yes. And I have killed again.”
“Who is the victim this time?” exclaimed Sophia, pale as death.
“Do not alarm yourself, my dear; it is not your turtledove.”
Hegave Cesare a glance, which immediately put the Italian on the alert. His light, careless attitude disappeared, and a cold, hard look came into his face.
“It was a troublesome fellow I have had on my track for several days,” continued Hans. “A Government spy. It was not the first time we had met, either. He almost caught me three years ago at Lyons, in the affair of the Sergeant-Major. I took good note of him at the time, and his account is now settled!”
“But will his murder not be discovered?”
“What then? We must clear off at once; the authorities never trouble about detectives, that you know very well. This one will undergo a curing process, with his broken head, in the river, until he is fished out. Meanwhile, we shall be on the other side of the frontier.”
Milona entered, carrying a suit of elegant-looking clothes, a grey felt hat, and yellow shoes. Unceremoniously, Hans dressed himself.
“The cabman is at the door. Did he see you enter?” asked Sophia.
“No. I am not such a fool as to show myself to him. It was very convenient to come along the end of the garden, where the wall is conveniently low. I am returning the same way, and I would advise you, my children, to vacate this place as soon as possible. As you are aware, we are due shortly in Venice. The first who arrives will wait for the rest. There, I again become Major Fraser.”
Placing in a leather bag his glass recipient and the folded paper, he shook hands with Agostini, smiled familiarly to Sophia, and disappeared as he had come. The Italian gave a kick at Hans’ cast-off clothes, and said—
“Milo, all this must disappear, my child.”
“In the kitchen fire,” said the Dalmatian, gravely.
“And you, Sophia, what do you intend to do? You have heard what our noble friend has just said. In my opinion, the best thing we can do is to start at once.”
The young woman made no reply. She passed into the salon with slow, steady steps, as though laboriously seeking the right form to explain her meaning. Sitting down, she took a cigarette, and, looking at the handsome Italian standing before her, said—
“Yes, indeed, I do think you would do well to start off. There is no reason for you to stay here. As for myself, a sudden disappearance would excite suspicion; it would, in fact, be a very tactless thing to do.”
“But will you not be suspected if you remain behind? Will no action be taken against you?”
“I? Suspected? In what way? Who could suspect me? Have I done anything whatever calculated to excite mistrust? There has been no one here except Marcel Baradier; he alone knows me.”
“But doubtless he gave you the information by the help of which Hans succeeded in his enterprise.”
“He did certainly give it me, a couple of hours ago. The execution has been concomitant with the revelation, so to speak. By what miracle could I, who have not stirred from here, have informed the one who entered the laboratory, and rid himself of his spy? This latter will not speak, as he is dead! The laboratory will be found ransacked and in disorder. Very good! Have there not taken place to-day, at the works, sufficient events in which several rascals have been implicated, without there being any need to charge me with a deed so much more likely to have been wrought by any of them? If I leave I shall be suspected. Why have I taken to flight? How is it I have left no explanation of my departure? What has become of me? Then, afterwards, what and who am I? Whilst if I remain quietly here with Milona, Marcel returns, finds me serene and calm, and everything is safe. Is the arrangement not a good one?”
Cesare smiled, and, in ironical tones, said—
“Very good, indeed; too good, in fact!”
Sophia frowned.
“What do you mean?”
Drawing near her, with subtle grace, and still bent on adopting gentle means, he said—
“Have you no longer confidence in me, cara? Why are you trying to deceive me?”
“In what way, may I ask?”
“You are not telling me the truth. This is the first time you have played me false, Sophia.”
She bit her lips, and turned slightly pale.
“My dear Cesare, do not ask so many questions. Do as I tell you, as you have always done hitherto. You have never found it a bad policy, have you? Very well, continue as before.”
“No!”
This refusal rang out sharp as a lash.
“Ah! Might I be permitted to know the reasons influencing you?”
“They are the same as yours. You will not come with me on account of this young Marcel Baradier. But it is on that very account that I am bent on your accompanying me.”
“Can you be jealous?”
“I am.”
“That is something quite novel; and I must confess I am greatly surprised!”
“It is diversity of sensations which gives a charm to life!”
“Then you think—”
“That this fair-complexioned young fellow has pleased you more than was agreed upon in our programme. Now, though I was disposed to allow you to practice your wiles on him, in the interests of business, I no longer feel inclined to permit you to flirt with him for art’s sake. The play is over, let us drop the curtain without continuing the love scene in the green-room.”
“You are a very practical lover, Cesare.”
“Did you not know that before?”
“I have been very generous to you.”
“Many thanks.”
“And now I intend to act as I please, and to-day I cannot obey you.”
They looked at one another like two wrestlers about to come to close quarters. Cesare’s eyes sparkled with anger, while Sophia stood there calm, with lowered eyelids, as though unwilling to meet his look. The Italian, with an effort, controlled himself, and speaking with affected gaiety, said—
“Come, cara, let us not quarrel. We have every possible reason to be indulgent with one another; have we not been acquainted so long? Tell me what you have resolved on. I will do all I can to further your wishes. Is it a week’s liberty you want? When that length of time has elapsed will you promise to come to Venice?Mon Dieu! We may well be complaisant with one another. I will imagine I am nothing more than the brother of Madame Vignola, and will bear you no ill-feeling; that I promise. Will that satisfy you?”
She replied with a sigh—
“I do not know.”
“But I must know.”
“How can you be so stupid, Cesare, as to speak to the Baroness Grodsko as you would to any other woman? One would think you had forgotten what she is when some fancy takes possession of her. My poor friend, I am sorry for you; Lichtenbach’s company must have spoiled you. You must stop seeing him; he has turned you into a mere bourgeois!”
“You are jesting with me?”
“No!”
“You refuse to promise to come and rejoin me?”
“When I left Zypiatine, was he ever a source of annoyance to me?”
“Then you confess you wish to leave me?” exclaimed the Italian, pale with anger.
“You will know later, my friend. At present I have not the slightest wish to see you again.”
“Ah! Now you are speaking frankly. Do you forget that we have several secrets in common?”
“No; nor do I forget there is no obligation for you to remember them.”
“That means?”
Sophia raised her eyelids, and flashed a look on Agostini which astonished him.
“It means that if for my own safety your disappearance were necessary, your life would be very cheap.”
“You threaten me with death?”
“Fool! You are well aware that if you breathed a single word calculated to throw light on our enterprises, there are at least five persons who would kill you at once.”
“But the affairs of the association are not your affairs, and you know that I am acquainted with the ones as well as with the others.”
“Listen, Cesare; people like ourselves ought to be agreed in everything we do, if we wish to run no risk of ruin. The slightest discord places us at the mercy of our enemies. We must serve one another with the greatest self-sacrifice. Every selfish demand detracts from the force necessary to common success.”
“Ah! Do you pretend to impose an apathetic indifference on people who live with an intensity a hundred times greater than the rest of mankind? You forget that I love you, and I will submit to no rivalry, Sophia.”
“And how will you compel me to obey your wishes, may I ask?”
“In the simplest manner imaginable. I will inform Marcel Baradier of your life before you gave up your whole existence to international investigations and diplomatic intrigues, and we shall see if his love for you will survive, for instance, an account of the incident of Segovia.”
Sophia turned so pale that Cesare was afraid of the impression he had produced. Grinding her teeth, and stamping about the room like a wild beast at bay, she seized upon the revolver she had taken up on the arrival of Hans, and, levelling it at the head of the Italian, said—
“Ah, you villain; never again shall you betray a single human being!”
With extraordinary agility, Agostini leapt on to her, dashed her arm upwards, so that the shot could not reach him, and pitilessly twisting her beautiful white wrist, he took possession of the revolver, which he calmly placed in his pocket. Then looking resolutely at Sophia, he said—
“Now let the dagger have a turn!”
She fell into a chair.
“You dog! To dare to raise your hand against me! You shall be punished for it.”
“Good! But we cannot lose our time with such nonsense. Can it be admitted that the man the Countess Grodsko has chosen as her companion will submit to being fooled like the veriest ninny? You may hate me if you like, Sophia, but you shall not despise me! This is the first time we have tested our strength against one another, and as you see, I have not been found to be the weaker. Do not recommence the struggle; if you do, I shall treat you without the slightest gallantry?”
Shaking her head, and looking at her bruised hand, she said, submissively—
“You have hurt me, Cesare!”
“Whose fault is it? Upon my word, I believe you were mad, for a moment. You brave me, all for the sake of this young fop! Do you know I am going to kill him?”
“I forbid you!” said Sophia, emphatically.
“I shall be delighted to obey you,” he said gallantly. “There is this difference between us, that I am dominated by respectful attentions towards you, and treat you like a sovereign, whilst you, by your language and your attitude, wish to reduce me to the rank of a lackey! Is that just?”
She made no reply. He walked to and fro for a short time, then drawing nearer said—